#this one is specifically where I pair songs like meat and wine

[dumbbullet]

Thought i needed a cover for my Hozier & Sleep Token playlist. No not the 6+ hour one, the other one.

[hanbintms]

            it  is  eye  ,  kofi  ,  back  on  your  dash  with  my  newest  child  !  as  a  reminder  :  i’m  twenty4  ,  prefer  she / her  or  they / them  pronouns  ,  and  i  reside  in  the  est  timezone  !  the  muse  that  i  have  flowing  for  hanbin  is  truly  unmatched  even  though  i  literally  came  up  with  him  within  like  . . .  three  hours  ,  no  kidding  .  that  being  said  ,  he’s  a  brand  new  muse  and  i  can’t  wait  to  plot  with  everyone  once  again  (  or  for  the  first  time  !  )  i  won’t  talk  your  ears  off  as  i  know  this  intro  might  get  a  little  long  ,  but  aside  from  that  ,  can’t  wait  to  write  hanbin  with  ya’ll  !

            (  SONG  KANG , THIRTY , CIS  MAN , HE / HIM  )  *  hey  ,  i’m  looking  for  the  office  of  HANBIN  KOO  .  they’re  the  EMPLOYEE  /  IN - HOUSE  CHEF  who’s  known  around  the  office  as  THE  EPICURE  ,  if  that  helps  ?  not  to  be  a  gossip  ,  but  i’ve  heard  that  they’re  AFFABLE  but  UNCOUTH  ,  is  that  true  ?  i  also  heard  that  they’re  the  one  who  THREW  ICED  TEA  AT  HIS  EX  IN  THE  LOBBY  .  anyways  ,  here’s  the  coffee  they  ordered  .

statistics.

            name  :  koo  hanbin  .  nicknames  :  han  ,  hannie  ,  hanbinie  ,  +  binnie  .  age  +  date  of  birth  :  thirty  +  january  9th,  1991  .  zodiac  :  capricorn  .  moral  alignment  :  true  neutral  .  gender  +  pronouns  :  cis  man  +  he / him / his .  place  of  birth  :  busan  ,  south  korea  .  place  of  residence  :  west  village  ,  new  york  city  ,  new  york  .  orientation  :  bisexual  biromantic  .  occupation  :  in  house  chef  and  internet  personality  .  nationality  :  korean  (  holds  american  citizenship  )  .  ethnicity  :  korean  .  language(s)  spoken  :  korean  ,  english  ,  conversational  italian  ,  and  conversational  japanese  .

background.

            koo  hanbin’s  life  was  relatively  normal  when  he  was  born  .  his  mom  ,  koo  seonghwa  ,  worked  as  a  nurse  in  the  pediatric  department  of  a  local  hospital  in  busan  while  his  father  ,  koo  kyuchul  ,  was  an  office  worker  .  they  weren’t  the  richest  family  ,  nowhere  near  it  ,  but  the  koo  family  made  it  work  .  hanbin  has  more  memories  of  being  with  his  grandparents  more  often  than  his  parents  simply  because  of  their  demanding  careers ,  but  that’s  not  to  say  that  they  weren’t  loving  and  attentive  parents  when  they  had  time  to  be  with  their  only  son  .  

             however  ,  life  began  to  change  for  him  when  was  six  years  old  .  suddenly  ,  the  money  began  to  dwindle  as  quickly  as  it  was  brought  in  .  the  refrigerator  wasn’t  full  unless  seonghwa’s  mother  would  make  some  things  for  them  ,  and  kyuchul  was  coming  home  later  and  later  .  seonghwa  began  to  work  harder  in  an  attempt  to  break  even  ,  but  she  never  seemed  to  get  her  head  above  water  .  she’d  confront  her  husband  about  the  large  sums  of  money  that  would  disappear  from  their  account  ,  but  he  always  blamed  it  on  higher  bills  ,  raised  rent  ,  or  sudden  payments  that  he  had  to  make  .  it  never  made  any  sense  ,  but  seonghwa  started  a  separate  account  to  ensure  their  son  could  at  least  have  food  on  the  table  and  clothes  for  school  .

            the  next  couple  of  years  go  by  and  the  money  situation  worsens  ,  with  seonghwa  getting  to  her  wits  end  .  she  spends  more  time  with  hanbin  at  her  parents’  place  ,  sleeping  with  her  son  in  her  old  bedroom  and  hoping  he  doesn’t  hear  her  cry  at  night  .  she  struggles  to  understand  why  her  husband  is  keeping  secrets  from  her  ,  especially  as  they’ve  been  married  happily  for  the  last  eleven  years  ,  but  it  takes  some  tough  love  from  her  mother  to  get  seonghwa  to  pick  herself  up  .  so  ,  she  decides  to  confront  her  husband  one  night  when  she  finds  out  his  location  from  one  of  his  co - workers  ,  and  she’s  devastated  .  seonghwa  finds  kyuchul  with  a  younger  woman  ,  gambling  away  her  hard  earned  money  .  like  a  scene  out  of  a  drama  ,  seonghwa  kicks  her  husband  where  the  sun  doesn’t  shine  and  promptly  dragged  the  other  woman  outside  to  wack  her  upside  the  head  with  her  purse  .  seonghwa  was  hurt  ,  but  she  had  finally  gotten  answers  ,  and  she  wasn’t  going  to  be  embarrassed  like  this  ever  again  .

            so  ,  seonghwa  and  hanbin  permanently  move  in  with  her  parents  ,  and  it  takes  some  time  for  seonghwa  to  get  over  kyuchul  .  she  focuses  on  her  child  and  her  job  .  from  the  age  of  ten  ,  hanbin  began  spending  more  time  with  his  grandparents  in  their  small  ,  but  popular  barbecue  meat  restaurant  .  when  he  finishes  his  homework  ,  he  helps  his  grandparents  take  orders  ,  and  he  slowly  begins  to  work  the  kitchen  as  he  gets  older  .  his  grandparents  soon  leave  the  kitchen  work  to  him  as  they  get  up  in  age  ,  and  hanbin  runs  the  kitchen  as  if  he’d  been  doing  it  for  over  twenty  years  .  however  ,  when  he  graduates  from  high  school  ,  hanbin  decides  to  spread  his  wings  .  over  the  last  twelve  years  or  so  ,  hanbin  honed  his  cooking  skills  from  his  grandfather  and  spent  most  of  his  childhood  in  the  kitchen  ,  so  his  grandparents  passed  their  restaurant  down  to  seonghwa’s  brother  ,  and  hanbin  left  for  new  york  .

            eighteen  years  old  and  with  only  enough  money  to  get  a  small  sublet  ,  he  knew  he  needed  to  find  a  job  pronto  .  without  formal  kitchen  training  ,  hanbin  would  often  get  turned  away  from  jobs  (  because  he  was  better  than  a  busboy  !  )  and  eventually  ,  the  fates  was  on  his  side  .  he  forced  his  way  into  the  kitchen  of  a  popular  italian  restaurant  ,  immediately  snagging  the  title  of  junior  chef  .  hanbin  ,  a  fast  learner  with  even  faster  knife  skills  ,  easily  works  his  way  up  the  ranks  within  the  restaurant  .  within  six  years  ,  hanbin  becomes  head  chef  and  is  a  force  to  be  reckoned  with  in  the  kitchen  .  although  his  income  changes  significantly  ,  hanbin  starts  a  youtube  channel  in  hopes  of  sharing  his  love  for  food  and  cooking  .  within  a  year  ,  his  following  grows  substantially  ,  and  he’s  approached  to  broaden  his  efforts  by  working  at  masters  international  .

at masters.

hanbin  has  been  at  masters  for  five  years  .  he  started  working  here  after  his  youtube  channel  expanded  ,  and  he  was  approached  to  create  his  own  cooking  content  for  masters’  youtube  channel  .  

basically  ,  he  has  his  own  version  of  test  kitchen  ,  but  it’s  not  really  the  same  thing  .  he  makes  recipes  for  holidays  ,  celebrations  ,  and  is  constantly  showing  how  to  make  traditional  korean  dishes  (  would  not  be  surprised  if  he  has  a  ‘  cooking  with  my  mom  !  ’  type  series  )  .

gives  food  tips  too  like  which  wines  pair  best  with  certain  foods  or  how  to  make  the  most  out  of  your  first  hosting  gig  .  probably  has  a  video  where  he  shares  his  cooking  playlist  because  he  wants  you  to  get  in  the  mood  😌  .

probably  came  up  with  the  special  lunch  for  Daddy  Masters™  but  gets  ticked  when  he’s  asked  to  cook  it  because  does  that  man  know  a  schedule  ?  probably  not  .  [  ‘  we  were  on  a  break  !  ’  specifically  ,  hanbin2   was  on  his  lunch  break  .  ] 

is  it  true  that  he  threw  an  iced  tea  in  his  ex’s  face  ?  absolutely  ,  and  he  has  no  problem  admitting  it  lmao  .  who  was  said  ex  ?  i  guess  we’ll  never  know  [  this  a  number  one  champion  sound  ]  .

probably  well  received  around  the  office  but  i  wouldn’t  be  surprised  if  people  disliked  him  .  it  could  be  his  off  putting  persona  or  honestly  the  simple  fact  that  he’s  got  a  lot  of  sass  and  no  ass  .

headcanons.

you  can  read  a  full  list  of  headcanons  HERE  ;  below  is  an  abridged  version  .

has  a  gyeongsang  dialect  from  living  in  busan  ,  and  honestly  . . .  that’s  hot  .  so  ,  when  he  speaks  in  korean  it’s  rather  strong  and  aggressive  /  pitch  is  vastly  different  from  other  parts  of  korea  .  

i  literally  have  no  idea  how  to  explain  his  personality  other  than  by  using  his  moral  alignment  :  true  neutral  .  he’s  kinda  that  guy  who  knows  everything  but  won’t  tell  you  that  he  does  ?  did  he  eavesdrop  ?  maybe  ,  but  he  won’t  tell  you  that  .  he’s  largely  indifferent  to  a  lot  of  what  happens  around  masters  and  maybe  it’s  because  he’s  been  here  for  half  a  decade  ;  he’ll  just  make  sure  you  drink  water  if  you’re  drunk  and  crying  .

a  Dog  Father™  to  a  little  re:  big  goldendoodle  named  duri  .  he  is  most  definitely  judging  you  and  can  often  be  found  sunbathing  in  that  solarium  .  

a  very  simple  man  when  it  comes  to  his  coffee  :  caffè  americano  or  an  espresso  macchiato  please  .  and  don’t  forget  the  butter  croissant  !

mostly  expressionless  . . .  like  i  really  have  no  idea  how  to  explain  how  he  looks  at  people  because  i  feel  that  stoic  is  too  harsh  of  a  word  .  if  you  wanna  know  how  he  feels  though  ,  he  has  extremely  expressive  eyes  .

he  won’t  admit  it  but  he  loves  hosting  .  office  potluck  ?  he’s  your  guy  .  having  a  conference  ?  he’ll  make  your  snacks  .  if  you’re  coming  over  he’ll  make  a  charcuterie  board  and  will  lie  saying  he  made  it  with  some  stuff  he  had  on  hand  (  but  that’s  a  lie  ,  he  went  to  the  grocery  store  and  obsessed  over  it  for  a  solid  three  hours  )  .

finds  joy  in  the  mundane  .  some  people  might  think  he’s  weird  because  he  loves  grocery  shopping  ,  and  heavily  judges  people’s  carts  because  processed  food  ?  yuck  !  he  won’t  say  that  to  your  face  though  he’ll  just  be  like  ‘  are  you  sure  you  wanna  buy  that  ?  ’  and  will  sneakily  replace  your  frozen  pizza  with  pizza  ingredients  hehe  .

that  being  said  don’t  take  him  grocery  shopping  with  you  NFUDNSFDS  .  he  gets  ticked  about  food  waste  ,  and  those  who  don’t  use  reusable  bags  .   probably  has  a  lil  garden  at  his  place  and  composts  !  is  angry  about  people  calling  a  chunk  of  cauliflower  a  steak  (  in  other  words  ,  don’t  to  it  )  !

wanted connections.

DISCLAIMER  :  i  will  not  be  plotting  anything  romantic  with  characters  under  the  age  of  twenty - five  due  to  his  age  !

ONE  TRUE  LOVE  :  this  is  open  to  literally  anyone  ,  preferably  like  ,  28  to  30  but  we  can  talk  details  .  truly  ,  they’re  his  one  true  love  as  the  title  states  ,  and  i  like  to  believe  that  they  were  a  really  happy  couple  who  had  a  meet - cute  .  they  moved  in  together  and  things  were  great  ,  but  they  broke  up  when  they  felt  a  mutual  dissolve  in  their  relationship  .  that  being  said  ,  they’re  good  friends  now  !

BEST  FRIEND  :  who  wouldn’t  love  a  best  friend  .  basically  ,  they  get  along  well  ,  and  they  are  used  to  sung’s  non - verbal  communication  NVJCNXJV  .  it’d  be  really  fun  if  they  had  totally  different  personalities  but  somehow  they  managed  to  click  .  TAKEN  BY  GRIFFIN  OLSON  .

TASTE  TESTER  :  someone  who  he  calls  on  to  often  try  his  food  at  the  office  .  they  possibly  will  appear  in  his  videos  on  masters’  youtube  channel  ,  so  i  think  a  relationship  based  around  food  would  be  really  fun  !  TAKEN  BY  KENNEDY  CRAWFORD  /  SORAYA  HATHAWAY  .

HORN  DOGS  (  DEROGATORY  )  :  i  have  no  other  name  for  this  plot  but  i’m  thinking  two  people  who  cannot  keep  their  hands  off  of  one  another  .  i’m  talking  sneaky  touches  in  the  elevator  ,  secret  hook  ups  in  the  seventh  floor  bathroom  ,  quick  makeouts  and  nearly  getting  caught  .  bonus  points  if  people  around  the  office  don’t  believe  they’re  Banging™  because  their  personalities  are  so  different  .  

CRUSH  :  also  known  as  ,  someone  having  a  crush  on  him  ,  but  he  sees  them  as  a  friend  (  or  even  worse  ,  like  a  younger  sibling  )  .  TAKEN  BY  AYLIN  SAHIN  .

PLATONIC  SOULMATE  :  best  friends  ,  but  make  it  sentimental  .  they  are  thicker  than  thieves  ,  get  on  each  other’s  nerves  ,  but  they  don’t  know  what  they’d  do  without  the  other  .  finish  each  other’s  sentences  (  and  sandwiches  .  sung  will  finish  it  )  and  are  borderline  like  an  old  married  couple  with  the  way  they  act  .

that’s  all  i  got  now  but  i’ve  reblogged  some  posts  that  can  be  found  HERE  and  i’m  down  to  fill  any  wcs  that  you  may  have  as  well  !

[chaoticallysapphic]

the great trial part four

summary: This was meant to be the easy part. The part filled with brightness and love. The war was over and you had the love of your life all to yourself. No more Baatar, no more secrecy and no more lies. But with the calm comes the realization as all the adrenaline finally leaves you. Now you know, this is the hard part.

a/n: lol I just realized part four of tgd is where it got smutty. What a pattern like I didn’t even try. Thank you @medeliadracon​ and @ladyxffandoms​ !

word count: 5k

You pick up reading again and sometimes Kuvira joins you, the both of you sit with your back resting against an armrest as your legs are tangled together.

Lily is asleep on the armchair and jazz music softly plays from the radio as the newly repaired domes shut for the evening. Kuvira is humming as you turn the page of your novel and dog ear the corner before snapping it shut, she looks up from her book with a quirked brow. 

“I’m bored,” you groan out, tilting your head back in annoyance as you let the book slide onto your lap. “How are we gonna spend the rest of winter like this.”

“We’ll manage,” she replies, wedging a bookmark between the pages and softly shutting the book. “We should probably make dinner.” 

Resting your head against the back of the couch you eye the kitchen with a sigh. “We could make bean curd puffs, those are fun.” 

And so the both of you end up in the kitchen with Kuvira making the mixture as you roll the dough into a thick stick, the countertops and even the floors are covered in flour as you begin to cut the roll into twelve pieces. You don’t notice the way Kuvira watches you, a small smile that's reserved only for you as she watches you begin to spread the pieces out with the palm of your hand. 

By now you're the one humming the song. Kuvira’s noticed how much you like this new song that plays on the radio, how you hum or softly sing the lyrics when it comes on. You catch her staring and raise a brow, a slight flush dusting your cheeks. “What?” 

“Nothing,” she shakes her head. “You just look so beautiful.” You stop your movements, your mouth open in surprise. Neither of you has gone as far as complimenting the other, for the most part, an outsider might just think you’re roommates with how the two of you have been acting these last few months. 

Abandoning the dough you try to fill your head with confident words as you turn to your soulmate and take the step to be closer to her. Kuvira’s grip on the spoon loosens as she watches you step closer and slowly bring your flour-covered hands to rest on her cheeks. “You look... Really pretty.” 

And she does, she’s started to wear her hair down for you and she’s dressed in a white tank top and light green sweatpants which might not be appealing to some but it shows off her muscles and curves in a way that she knows you like. 

Taking the chance you lean forward and gently press your lips against hers. You haven’t kissed since the hospital which was midsummer, the months have gone by so slowly and with it, your anger has dissipated into a dull flame within you. 

Hesitantly she kisses you back, one of her hands goes to rest on your hip but she doesn’t hold it in fear of you pulling away. She’s had dreams of you finally kissing her again, none involve standing in the middle of the kitchen with flour covering one of you but she doesn’t care.

She just wants you. Slowly you pull your lips away from hers but don’t move an inch away from her body. 

“I’ve missed this,” she admits, “I’m sorry.” She doesn’t say what she’s sorry about but you know, there’s honestly too much for her to apologize for her to fit it into one simple sentence.

And you know you’ll need quite a few more I’m sorry‘s before you reach that next step but right now you won’t ask for more. Right now you wrap your arms around her neck and begin to sway to the song on the radio. It’s one of your favorites. 

Kuvira slowly wraps her arms around your waist and tucks her face into the crook of your neck, breathing you in like she hasn’t seen you in years. To be fair it’s felt like that to her. 

A part of her wants to shower you in I love you’s but she doesn’t think it’s time for that just yet. Dr. Hanika said it’s best to let you make the first move this time around, to give you the control and decision making she originally took from you all those years ago. So instead she pulls you just a fraction closer to help keep her mouth shut. 

You take the soft barrier of pillows down, neither of you moves to touch the other but it’s comforting to know that you won’t push her off the bed if her arm brushes against your own.

Your parents come over for the winter solstice with presents aplenty and grins on their faces. They pull you into their arms and press loving kisses on your cheek, your dad does the same to Kuvira whilst your mom simply sends a forced smile her way before going to love on Lily. She understands your mother's hatred towards her, she just hopes one day they can talk it out for you. 

The two of you had spent the day making cookies and homemade hot chocolate to prepare for your parents, the house smells of cinnamon and sugar as plates upon plates of cookies are set at the counter waiting to be eaten. Your father replaces the wilting bouquet with one filled with red, white, and gold and your mother sets the presents down in front of the window.  

You both felt bad for not being able to get them presents, but your father had assured both of you that they understood. Besides, they just wanted to make up for the lost time. So you all sit around the table eating the feast the two of you had prepared and drinking wine, your dad is regaling Kuvira with a story of your tenth winter solstice where you had accidentally drunk your mother's wine. 

Your mom places her head in her hands and groans “I felt like the worst mother in the world.” 

“Hey, you're not,” you say with a grin. “You held my hair back a few hours later and the worst mother in the world wouldn’t do that.” The table erupts into boisterous laughter as she playfully glares at you. Kuvira takes a sip of her wine as she chuckles, her cheeks hurt from smiling.

She turns a blind eye when she notices your dad slipping Lily a chunk of meat, knowing you're trying to train her to not beg. He pats the hound’s head as the conversation continues, this time your mom is telling everyone about some of her weirdest experiences with drunk people in Zaofu. 

The night continues much the same until finally, you all decide to retire to the living room. Kuvira decides to sit on the armchair so the three of you can snuggle up on the couch. You surprise her by walking over and sitting on her lap, laying your back against her chest. She rests her chin on your shoulder and wraps her arms around your waist, a smile of contentment gracing her lips. 

Your mother ignores the display and hands you the first present on the pile, explaining that it’s for Lily. You quirk a brow at that before ripping the paper off and opening the box up. 

Inside is a knitted dark green sweater with the words “I’m the favorite” stitched across the chest in white. You snort, bringing a hand up to cover your mouth and even Kuvira laughs at the sight. The I in favorite has been replaced by a middle finger, this is 100% your mothers doing, it has her humor plus your dad can’t knit. 

“Thank you,” you say as you begin to calm down. “I think she’ll love this.” Your dad takes it from you to put it on Lily who wags her tail back and forth in excitement at the attention. It fits her perfectly and the words can be seen from your seat on Kuvira’s lap. 

Next, is a cranberry sweater made for you that is super comfortable, a few pairs of thick socks for the both of you to share. New books and a new pair of gardening gloves. At some point during the unwrapping, you hear the shudder of a camera a few times, your father holding it up to capture memories for the two of you. 

There’s only two presents left in the pile and this time your dad hands this one specifically to Kuvira, who pinches her brows together in confusion. You shift a bit on her lap to give her more room to open it up, watching with bated breath to see what it could possibly be. 

Inside is a new sketchbook that’s leather-bound with a sleek metal clasp that locks. It’s wider and thicker than her current one which is running out of space and beneath the book is more charcoal pencils to add to her depleting collection. 

She thickly swallows as her hand runs over the beautifully engraved leather that has her initials in swirly letters at the bottom. It’s simple and it’s hers. 

With the Beifong’s it was usually things for sparring or extravagant gifts that anyone but Kuvira would prefer like fancy tunics and those massive metal necklaces they all wore. She’d sit in the back of the group staring at the gifts that felt like they didn’t really belong to her with a heavy heart.

But this is 100% hers. You brush a pesky strand of hair out of her face for her before turning to give your dad a thankful smile. 

You knew he’d get her something but you worried about what it might be. Seeing her reaction is enough to know that your father's streak of perfect gift giving has not been broken. Carefully, as if worried she may break it, Kuvira places it back inside its box for now and looks up, offering your father the faintest of grateful smiles. He understands though and beams at her appreciation. 

The last gift is also for Kuvira, it’s a heavy box that she slowly rips open, taking her time unlike you with your gifts. When she lifts the lid she’s met with soft emerald green fabric, slowly pulling it out you help her by taking the empty box, setting it on the floor. It’s a knitted sweater like yours. It looks like it’s a size too big for her but you once told her that’s how your mom knits, the bigger the better. 

She doesn’t know what to say or do, you mentioned offhandedly how your mom makes everyone in the family sweaters for Winter Solstice, but she didn’t expect to get one as well. Not only is she not a family member, but she’s not even a friend. That nagging voice in her brain tells her that she probably didn’t make this. Maybe your mom bought it from a store or maybe you guilted her into making one. 

But it’s soft and it’s beautiful and it’s hers. Nothing extravagant (although at times Kuvira does miss the finer things in life) or flashy. The emerald goes great with your cranberry, and she wonders if your mother thought of that or if it's just a coincidence.

Kuvira grips the fabric and looks up to see your mom watching with a pensive look. She takes a sip of her wine as Kuvira softly says “Thank you, for the gifts.” It’s directed at the both of them but her eyes stay on your mother who simply nods. 

Shortly after, your parents call it a night and leave and you carefully extract yourself from her hold to hug them both. When you pull your mother into a hug you whisper softly “thank you, mom. It means a lot.” She nods, she doesn’t hug Kuvira, not ready for that, and offers her a nod of the head before leaving with your father. 

As you're cleaning up the mess of wrapping paper and half-empty wine glasses, Kuvira shyly slips the sweater on to see if it fits and is surprised by how comfortable it is. The sleeves go past her wrist and graze at her knuckles and the sweater stops at the tops of her thighs. She looks down at the sweater, so many emotions that she can’t keep track of race through her mind and it’s so loud that she accidentally tunes you out. 

Your back is facing her as you begin to wash the dishes, you're talking to her about what you’ll do with all these leftover cookies. When she doesn’t reply to your joke about having a cookie eating contest you look over your shoulder and stop scrubbing the dish in your hands. 

The color makes her hair look slightly darker and brings out her eyes. She’s running her fingers over the fabric with a blank face and you wish to know what’s going on in that head of hers. She looks softer, less harsh with it on. 

For so long you’ve seen her dressed ready to fight with a hardened look on her features, but right now she looks warm and cozy. She looks like safety and comfort personified, like if she wraps her arms around you a cocoon of soft blankets and loving whispers will encase the two of you. 

You stop with the dishes and wipe your hands dry before walking up to Kuvira, when your hands go to gently touch hers it brings her out of her thoughts. Her eyes are clouded with emotion as you pull her into your arms. She wraps her arms around your waist and tightly grips at your shirt as she begins to cry. 

To her, this is the first step in repairing a relationship she deeply misses, Kuvira and your mother were once close when she was in the guard. She sometimes brought her lunches which she now knows must have been made by your dad and always had her back. She cheered the loudest at her ceremony and even offered to have her come over for dinner to which Kuvira declined, not wanting to impose. 

When she left those years ago she didn’t realize what she was severing, what she was destroying, and she knows she can’t change it, but she wishes she had stayed in Zaofu. They could have had three winter solstices together by now if she had just stayed put.

You wouldn’t be in the process of forgiving her because she would have left Baatar for you and you’d probably already be married or on your way to it. She knows that such a thing has been put on the back burner and won’t happen for a long time now, but she hates herself for destroying all those possibilities. 

But you don’t seem to mind the past as you pull her closer and soothingly rub her back. Your embrace reminds her of the present and what will hopefully be the future. At this moment she’s realized how far the two of you have come within the past few months. It reminds her that Dr. Hanika said not to let the past consume you and that when Kuvira smiles you look so happy to witness such a thing. That despite all her wrongdoings you're still here which is more than she ever expected. 

That night Kuvira falls asleep in that sweater with your arms wrapped around her. She dreams of a future where she’s gained your mother’s respect and your forgiveness. 

Spring comes like a force to be reckoned with. Your garden is teeming with the buds of the seeds you planted last fall as you happily spend your days back outside. The sessions with Dr. Hanika have proceeded and all gone smoothly, today was meant to be your first couples session since last summer. Both of you are nervous about what might happen during it so you throw yourselves into separate activities to pass the time. 

Lily is lying by your side, leisurely eating grass as you pull at the weeds that have attacked your precious garden. While you're doing that Kuvira is inside drawing with a cup of tea by her side, she’s gotten better but is by no means a professional, she hasn’t even shown you any of her work due to the insecurities she has regarding her skill. You understand thankfully, never once have you asked to look inside or pressured her.

When the doorbell rings, the both of you freeze, your nerves amplifying at the realization that there is no going back. Kuvira snaps her sketchbook shut, locking it with her bending before going to open the door. She’s been dreading this day the most. In her dreams last night she envisioned a session far worse than the last. In it, you verbally decimated her before saying it was over, that you could never love someone so monstrous. 

To bring her comfort she’s wearing your mother's green sweater with a pair of your leggings. When she asked this morning if she could borrow them you didn’t seem to mind which eased her nerves a bit. You wouldn’t be willing to share clothes with her if you were planning to end it today. At least that’s what she told herself.

While Dr. Hanika is getting situated in the armchair you finally come inside and place your gloves on your herb shelves. Your pants have dirt-stains on them and you know it’d probably be best to change but you want to get this over with so you take a seat on the couch, next to Kuvira. 

“Well, I can already tell you guys have been doing better,” she smiles. You tuck your hands under your legs as she begins to talk. She asks you both questions about your day like what does that consist of? How do you guys communicate now? Are you happy? You both take turns answering those questions and when you get to the last you answer honestly and say “Yes, I am.” 

Kuvira doesn’t show it but inside she’s doing cartwheels at your words. She looks over at you and replies after you “I’m happy.” 

“And what does your sex life look like right now?” That question stuns both of you. Kuvira just stares at the coffee table with wide eyes, not knowing how to reply as you flush a deep red. 

“Uhm we haven’t…” You shake your head. “Not since before.” Before the end of my empire, Kuvira thinks. Not since that night almost a year ago where she thought you had finally left her, the night before it all went to shit. Not since your dream that finally made you snap, not that she blames you. 

Not since “I can’t look at you right now!” and the crack in her heart that followed those words. 

“Y/n, what is holding you back from taking that next step?” Dr. Hanika readies her pen as she patiently waits for your reply. Honestly, you’ve wanted to for the last couple of weeks but then you go to sleep and dream of her with him. Your mind keeps reminding you of her betrayal despite desperately wanting to move forward. 

Nervously you wring your hands and let out a deep sigh. “Uhm, I just keep picturing him.” You try to keep your voice neutral, try to not spit out that last word even though every part of you wants to. Kuvira stiffens beside you and coughs. “I want to but every time I close my eyes it’s images of them together.” 

“How does that make you feel, Kuvira?” 

“Honestly? Awful…” Kuvira quickly adds “but not angry or anything. I just feel awful because I’ve done this to her and us.” She has to add that she’s not angry. In the past, she was almost always angry, and she needs you to know she’s not mad at you. This is her fault, and she’s aware of that now. 

“From my understanding, your sex life was a bit complicated in the past. Kuvira you’ve told me that you’d withhold yourself as a form of punishment, is that correct?” She nods. “It seems like you used sex as a reward which is an unhealthy way to look at such an intimate activity. I think the two of you shouldn’t rush this and only do it once you fully trust Kuvira again.” 

You nod, not being able to look at either of them at the moment. You want to trust her and for the two of you to be happy and in love but no matter how hard you try you can’t step over that line. It’s terrifying and you're worried that once you finally do trust her again this peacefulness will disappear and be replaced with the animosity that once used to rule your relationship.

“Okay…” You say. Kuvira nods in agreement. The session continues much as it did before that question was asked. It’s a bit tense now and the hour passes on with forced replies up until the end. 

“I have some trust exercises. I want the two of you to practice for the next couple of weeks, maybe even months. You both need to be patient and understand that trust is a very hard thing to earn back and give to someone who’s deeply hurt you. The fact that both of you are still trying just shows how much you want to make this work.” 

She begins to write a list of things on her notepad before ripping off the page and handing it to you. Both of you lean forward to read over the list together as Dr. Hanika packs up for the day. 

Talk about your fears, be open, and accepting of what your partner has to say.

Look into each other's eyes for thirty seconds, try to work yourself up to three minutes.

Tell your partner why you love them.

Ask for what you need to do in order to gain Y/n’s trust again.

Have a calm conversation where you ask each other questions

Compliment each other

“Next week I’d like to do one on one sessions and the week after that we’ll do another couple's session. I’d like for the two of you to work on these until then. Remember to not rush this, it’s okay to take your time.” She shows herself out, softly shutting the door behind her. Silence falls as the two of you anxiously re-read the words. 

“Should we do one now?” Kuvira asks. You shrug and softly set the piece of paper on the coffee table. 

“I guess? But I don’t know which one to start with. I mean there’s so many.” Kuvira rakes a hand through her hair and sighs. She looks over it again, that top one scares Kuvira, she doesn’t know if she wants to hear your fears or tell you hers. 

“Number two looks easy, we could try that?” And so you do. The both of you twist around on the couch until you are directly facing each other, knees touching as you mentally psych yourself up. “Thirty seconds isn’t too long.” 

You nod and take a deep breath before looking up and locking eyes with Kuvira. The first few seconds it seems easy and you feel silly for getting worked up at the prospect but as time ticks on you start to see why she listed it in the first place. 

Prolonged eye contact is intimate. Staring into Kuvira’s eyes for this long makes you feel bare and you quickly realize how much you don’t like that. Ripping your eyes away at the 25 seconds mark, you tense up. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“No it’s fine, it’s okay.” Kuvira hesitates before placing a hand on your shoulder and offering a comforting squeeze. “It’s gonna take some time, I understand.” She wishes it didn’t, she wishes it didn’t pain you to simply look at her for only thirty seconds. But she swallows that down and offers you a reassuring smile. 

“Thank you,” you say, you don’t even realize the iron grip you had on your ankles during the attempt and release them with a shaky sigh. “We’ll get there, right?” 

“Right.” 

You mess up four days later. Continuing with the eye contact exercises you work your way up to thirty-five seconds which feels like such a victory. You try to compliment her cooking, and she compliments the way your garden is coming along. It’s going so well and you're so tired of this that you go too fast too soon and you have no one else to blame but yourself. 

Both of you have a glass of wine with dinner which leaves you slightly buzzed but not tipsy. When you're getting ready for bed your eyes follow Kuvira’s legs that are starting to lose some of their definition.

She’s wearing a pair of shorts due to the recent heat with a tank top and suddenly that desire you’ve tried to ignore these past few weeks comes rearing up with no control. And so you sit on the bed with your knees tucked underneath you and grab Kuvira’s hand as she goes to grab the covers to pull back. She looks at you with furrowed brows as you pull her closer until she’s sitting on the bed as well. 

In her mind, she thinks that maybe you want to practice eye contact again but is left in a state of shock when you place your lips against her own. Her breath hitches when your hands go to cradle her face as you shuffle closer. Kuvira desperately wants to kiss you back but knows she can’t, so she gently pushes you away, you reluctantly let her. 

Panting, you ask “don’t you want to?” 

“Of course I do but Y/n are you ready? Dr. Ha-” 

“I’m ready, I promise,” you place a gentle kiss on her jaw, a place you know she loves. She lets out a shaky sigh. “I want you Kuvira, please.” And fuck, who’s she to deny you when you say please? So Kuvira gently grips your chin and presses her lips against your own. She doesn’t push you and leads like she used to so you thread your fingers through her hair and tug, eliciting a moan from your lover. 

You climb onto her lap as you begin to pick up the pace and gently tug on her lower lip with your teeth. Kuvira wraps her arms around your waist, her hands resting on your ass to keep you close. That heat that you’ve missed begins to pool within you, your whole body feels like it’s been lit with desire and you don’t want that feeling to ever leave. 

When Kuvira squeezes your ass, ripping a moan out of you it gives her the perfect opportunity to prod her tongue in your mouth. Your tongues meld together in a way that shoots right down to your core, it feels so right, so hot and maybe your therapist was wrong about waiting. 

When Kuvira goes to pull away she sucks on your tongue and slowly lets go of it. You both look into each other's eyes as you pant before Kuvira attaches her lips to your neck. Tilting your head to the side you breathe out her name as she bites down on that spot that drives you up the wall. 

The moan that leaves your lips is sure to wake the neighbors. Kuvira feels smug about it. Let them all know how good she can make you feel. When she pulls away she stops to admire her handiwork and smirks at the big purple hickey that could be seen from across a room. She leaves open mouth kisses up your neck and your jaw, before pulling you back into a bruising kiss.

You both make out for who knows how long, you just know that you want to feel every part of her after such a long time. The kiss is fiery and full of long contained passion that’s bursting at the seams. You only pull away for a moment to breathe before pulling her back in, not being able to take a second away from her lips. At some point, you push Kuvira down onto the bed and lay your body against hers. 

You make sure not to fully put all your weight on her, placing a hand down above her head as neither of you pulls away from the other. Her hands trace up and down your sides, fingertips skimming the tops of your breasts in a teasing manner that has you grinding down for any type of friction. 

You make yourself pull away from her, wanting to finally feel her body like you dreamed of. The sight before you has you groaning, her hair is a mess, spread out across the pillows and her cheeks are flushed. Kuvira’s lips are bruised, and she stares at you with eyes so dark with lust it feels like they're swallowing you whole. 

“Beautiful…” You whisper, Kuvira continues to pant as she watches you. Your hands slide down her body, feeling at the muscles that are just barely there before reaching the hem of her tank top. You slide a hand underneath, your fingers running across her stomach. 

Kuvira leans her hips up and glares. “Take it off,” she growls out impatiently. You grin as your fingers grip the ends of her shirt and pull it off, she leans up to help you and you toss it somewhere behind you. She’s not wearing any wrappings and spirits, she looks so beautiful. 

“Fuck, I want you so bad.” 

Her words seem to snap something into place that was askew this whole time. Suddenly painful images flash through your mind, ones you’ve tried so hard to bury. 

Baatar’s above her as he takes one of her nipples into his mouth with that sickening grin. She moans out his name as a hand reaches up to grip his stupid hair. Kuvira arches her back in pleasure as his other hand trails down to her clothed sex.

Next thing you know you’re jumping off of her and scrambling off the bed as a pained whimper escapes your lips. Kuvira bolts up, confusion written on her face before she sees tears begin to fall. Her face drops at the sight. “Y/n…” 

You shake your head, not being able to talk for fear of letting out some kind of ugly sound before rushing off to the bathroom where you empty the contents of your stomach into the toilet. You stay seated on the floor with the bathroom door locked as you cry into your hands. 

The next morning you can only maintain eye contact for ten seconds. 

One step forward, two steps back.

[pikapeppa]

Samson/Roman Hawke smut and fluff: Trash

A little Satinalia special for @schoute featuring her divinely cranky Roman Hawke and Sammyboi! Including PARTY BANTER, fluff, and as always, NSFW smut. Note: the smut may appear dubcon for those who aren’t familiar with this pairing, so read at your own risk.

~8000 words; read here on AO3 instead.

*************************

Roman gazed balefully at the entrance to the Hanged Man. The usual tavern racket was way louder than usual — so much so that she could hear the music and laughter and singing emanating through the door. 

She didn’t want to go inside tonight. She usually liked coming here, insofar as she liked being anywhere in Lowtown. But tonight, the Hanged Man was somewhere that Roman would rather have avoided. 

She couldn’t avoid it, though, not without hurting Varric’s feelings. She gritted her teeth, then finally pushed through the door. 

The noise and heat hit her like a tidal wave. The Hanged Man was packed with at least fifty more people than usual, and their laughter was more boisterous and drunk than Roman was accustomed to hearing. The troupe of musicians in the corner was louder and livelier than usual, playing a cheerful driving song that was, unfortunately, prompting people to dance — very badly, by Roman’s estimation, not that she was an expert dancer herself or anything. It was smelly in here too, like hot cider and roasted meat and sweat from all the people dancing, and Roman wrinkled her nose as she slunk over to the bar.

The bar, too, was more crowded than usual with people clamouring for attention. Luckily, Roman was enough of a fixture here that one hard look had the bartender hurrying over. “Champion!” he panted. “Er, I mean, Miz Hawke, um—” 

She cut him off. “Two fingers of whiskey,” she said. She glanced around at the writhing bodies in the tavern, then turned back to the bartender. “Make it three.”  

The bartender nodded, and a long minute later, he slid a tumbler along the bar. “Happy Satinalia,” he yelled over the noise. 

She nodded brusquely and left him a gold royal for a tip, then gulped down her drink in two big swallows before looking around the room more carefully. Now where the fuck was Varric?

She didn’t bother looking at the dance floor; Varric was about as fond of dancing as she was. She scanned the tables, and when she finally spotted him, she couldn’t help but smirk.

He was sitting at the head of a long rectangular table toward the back of the room, in the comfortable padded armchair that usually sat in his suite at the back of the Hanged Man. He was overseeing a game of wicked grace, looking comfortable and happy and giving the distinct impression of being the man in charge.

He kind of is, she thought. He’s hosting this big fucking party, after all. Ever since the Arishok had sacked the city three years ago, Varric had started sponsoring a Satinalia party at the Hanged Man. The first one had been to celebrate the reopening of the Hanged Man, seeing as it had been partially destroyed by the qunari. But for the following two years after, he’d continued to host these Satinalia parties every year, paying for the food and the drinks and the entertainment — a small fortune, given how much the greedy residents of Kirkwall could eat and drink.

“Why do you do this?” Roman had asked him one year. 

“Why not?” he replied. “It makes people happy. We can always use a little happy around here, especially in Lowtown.”

Roman curled her lip. “It’s not like it makes a difference. They’ll eat all your food and drink all your booze today, then go back to talking shit about you behind your back tomorrow.”

Varric shot her a sympathetic look and patted her elbow. “It’s one night, Hawke. A night where we can forget all that shit and have a good time. You should try to join in.”

She clicked her tongue in annoyance, and Varric chuckled. “Besides, if you’re worried about me losing money, don’t. I’ve got a special fund I keep specifically for this party, and you know what it’s made up of?”

“What?” she said suspiciously.

His smile widened. “Winnings from wicked grace.”

Roman gave him an incredulous look. “You pay for all of this with your winnings from wicked grace?”

He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his belly. “What can I say? I’m a lucky guy.”

Roman actually laughed at that, and since then, she hadn’t questioned him about throwing this party every year. Besides, it was nice to see Varric looking all happy indoors, rather than looking all disgruntled while trampling around the fucking countryside with her.

She slunk through the crowds toward him. “I’m here,” she yelled. 

He looked up from his cards and smiled. “Hawke,” he yelled back, and he waved for her to join the table. “Come on, sit down, I’ll deal you in the next round.” 

She shook her head; she didn’t know anyone sitting at the table right now, and she wasn’t in the mood to make chit-chat with strangers. “Just wanted you to see I’m here. And now that I’ve shown my face, I’m going home,” she said, only half-jokingly.

Varric smiled. “Ha ha. Seriously though, get some food, enjoy yourself, find the others. I think the whole crew is here except for Blondie and Choir Boy.” 

She nodded. Of course Sebastian wasn’t here, since he never did anything involving booze or fun. And Anders was probably stuck at the clinic in Darktown.

I wonder if Samson is here, she thought. Then again, she wasn’t sure he was even going to come. He’d shown up at Varric’s Satinalia party only once in the past three years, so there was no guarantee he would come this time. Maybe he’d just gone straight to Roman’s mansion to go to sleep.  

Lucky asshole, she thought. “I’m stealing this,” she said to Varric, and she took his mostly-full stein of lager from the table. 

He waved affably, and Roman made her way toward the nearest wall, intent on getting out of the crowd. But the revelry in the tavern was so uncontained that by the time she was pressed against the wall away from the worst of the people, a big mouthful’s worth of lager had gotten sloshed over her hand and onto her skirt. 

“Fuck’s sake,” she muttered. She gulped down the drink as quickly as possible, then swiftly placed the empty stein on a passing waitress’s tray and grabbed a fresh drink from the tray at the same time. 

She sniffed the drink, and a faint aching feeling tugged at her ribs. The stein contained mulled wine, and the distinct Ferelden smell made her feel both homesick and resentful at the same time — kind of like being at this party made her feel.

Roman had never been fond of parties. The cheerfulness and the jollity always made her feel as though there was something wrong with her. The bigger the party, the more isolated she felt, like the divide between her own moodiness and other people’s carefree cheer was even more stark and glaring, and she had never known how to bridge that divide — not that she really wanted to, since most people were shit and she hated small talk. 

Still, sometimes she wondered what it would be like to have a gift with people, like Varric had: to be comfortable around people, to see the good in them and chat with them and not be braced any second for them to suddenly decide that she was an evil piece of shit for being an apostate with a temper and a foul mouth that even sailors would cringe away from.

She took a big gulp of mulled wine, and the aching feeling in her rib cage swelled even more. Then someone sidled up beside her — someone she wouldn’t have expected to seek her company willingly. 

Fenris nodded politely. “Hawke,” he said.

She nodded in return. “Surprised to see you here,” she said.

“Varric insisted,” Fenris said dryly.

Roman scoffed. “Yeah, he’s pretty fucking persuasive.”

“That he is,” Fenris said, and he took a sip of his wine — normal, non-mulled wine.

Roman curiously eyed his glass. “Is that that Aggregio shit you like?”

He shook his head. “It’s Orlesian. A bit on the vinegar-y side, but I will take what I can get.” He gave her an odd look. “Besides, they don’t import goods from Tevinter here.”

She scoffed and swirled her drink. “Not legally, maybe. You should ask Varric to hook you up, get you some black-market fancy wine. He knows people.”

Fenris huffed in amusement. “That is an understatement. That dwarf knows everyone and their mother.”

Roman smirked at him, and she was surprised to find him smirking as well. Then she was surprised to find herself feeling this relaxed in Fenris’s company. They usually spent any time together walking on eggshells to avoid falling into the kinds of shouting matches he and Anders usually had. He must be pretty fucking drunk. 

She glanced down at her half-empty stein of mulled wine. Then again, she was pretty tipsy already too.

She took another deep drink, and Fenris sipped his wine as well. Then Aveline joined them. “Fenris, Hawke,” she said with an officious little nod. “Happy Satinalia.”

“And to you,” Fenris said. Then he raised an eyebrow. “I’m surprised to see the captain of the guard here.”

“I’m here for Varric, as you well know,” Aveline said testily. “Although I suppose it doesn’t hurt to have a member of the city guard here to keep the peace. Just in case.” She frowned at the boisterous patrons in the room.

Roman rolled her eyes. “Don’t fucking bother. If you get involved in any fights here, you’ll only make things worse.”

“She’s got a point,” Fenris said. “It would be prudent for you to not get involved.”

Aveline pursed her lips, then sighed. “Donnic said the same thing,” she admitted.

“He is a wise man,” Fenris said.

Aveline shot him a resentful look. “You’re only saying that because he goes to your house every week to play cards.”

Fenris shrugged. “If you wish to rejoin our games, take it up with your husband, not with me.”

Aveline harrumphed and folded her arms, and Roman hid her smirk in her stein. Then Isabela and a pink-cheeked Merrill pushed their way through the crowd. 

“Ooh, hello everyone!” Merill said breathlessly. “Isabela was teaching me an Orlesian two-step! It’s very hard work though, a lot more hip twirling than I would have thought.”

Hip twirling? Roman thought. She didn’t think that Orlesian dances were known for their hip action. She glanced at Isabela, who winked at her. 

Merrill was looking around the tavern with wide eyes. “I’m so thirsty. I wonder if I can get a glass of water here?”

“Not likely, kitten,” Isabela said. “But here.” She plucked a stein from a passing tray and sniffed it, then handed it to Merrill. “Cider. Not water, but close enough.”

Merill beamed at her, then took a big gulp of cider, and Fenris narrowed his eyes. “You ought to eat something,” he warned.

Merrill lowered the stein and gave him a chiding look. “Don’t fuss, Fenris. I can hold my liquor, you know.” 

Fenris pursed his lips and looked away, and Isabela chuckled. “Now children, don’t fight, just dance. Who’s going to dance with me next?” She tilted her head cheekily at Aveline. “What about you, big girl? Care to dance?”

Aveline frowned. “Are you making fun of me?”

Isabela grinned. “No, actually. Why? Are you a bad dancer?”

“I never said that,” Aveline said — defensively enough that Roman knew she must be a terrible dancer.

“It’s all right if you are,” Isabela said soothingly. “If you’re dancing with me, nobody will be looking at you anyway.”

“I’m not dancing with you,” Aveline said stiffly.

Isabela sighed. “Fine, fine. What about you, Hawke?”

“Not a fucking chance,” Roman said, and she finished off her mulled wine.

“Oh come on,” Isabela coaxed. “I can sense that you have moves.”

Roman sardonically lifted her eyebrow. “Ask me again and the only moves I’ll make are toward the fucking door.”

Isabela laughed. “All right, sweet thing, no need to get sassy.” Then, finally, she gave Fenris a slow and salacious smile.

He lowered his mostly-empty glass. “What?”

“What about you?” she said silkily. “Care to dance?”

Fenris shook his head. “I don’t dance.”

“Not even with me?” Isabela simpered.

“No, Isabela,” he said patiently. “Not even with you.”

She sauntered right up to him and trailed her finger down his chest. “How much do you want to bet that I can change your mind?”

Fenris raised an eyebrow, and Aveline stepped away. “All right, I’m going, er, elsewhere.”

“Me too,” Roman drawled.

“Me too!” Merrill said with a nervous giggle. They all dispersed, Aveline toward the opposite side of the room and Merrill toward Varric’s table and Roman back toward the bar, all of them chased by Isabela’s husky laugh. 

Roman carefully pushed her way through the crowd at the bar and held up three fingers. A moment later, the bartender handed her a tumbler of whiskey, and she deftly flicked him another gold royal for a tip, which he caught in mid-air with a smile.

A deep, sarcastic voice spoke behind her — one she didn’t recognize right away. “Ain’t that flush of you, Champion.” 

She turned around and immediately stiffened. The person speaking to her was a tall and pasty fellow that she instantly recognized as one of Meredith’s more loyal Templars, accompanied by a shorter man who was also a Templar, both apparently on shore leave. 

An instinctive flush of anger bloomed in her gut, but she forced herself to ignore it. She might be half-drunk, but she was sober enough to know that getting in a fight with Templars at Varric’s party would be a shitty thing to do.

“Yeah, it was,” she said. “Fuck off and enjoy the party.” She started to step around the Templars, but they shifted in front of her.

Roman gave the taller Templar a flat look. “Get the fuck out of my way.”

Unfortunately, he didn’t listen; instead, he and his crony stepped closer. “We heard you’re a blood mage,” he growled.

The anger in her gut curdled, and she lifted her chin. “You heard that, huh?”

“Yeah,” the shorter Templar said. “So? It true?”

She laughed nastily. “You think I’d tell you if it was? How fucking stupid are you?” She tilted her head. “Oh wait, you’re Templars. Never mind, I answered my own question.”

The shorter Templar curled his lip and took a step toward her, and she tensed her fists, ready to hit him if he took another step. She wouldn’t use magic, not during this party, but she had no fucking qualms about punching someone in the face. 

The shorter Templar stepped even closer, and Roman bared her teeth in a snarl. But before she could raise her hand to strike, another voice interrupted. “Evening, fellas. Is there a problem ‘ere?”

Samson, Roman thought, and her shoulders loosened. He was standing just behind her with one hand tucked in his pocket and the other holding a stein, and his lips were curled in a polite smile — or seemingly polite, at least, though Roman could see the hint of mockery at the corners of his lips. 

The Templars were looking at Samson now instead of her, and the taller one sneered. “Samson. The fuck are you doing here?”

“Having a drink, same as you,” he said, and he lifted his stein. “Happy tidings and all that.”

The shorter Templar snorted, and the taller one folded his arms and jerked his head at Roman. “You friends with this apostate cunt or something? That why you’re stepping in for her?”

Roman swelled with anger. “Cunt?” she snarled, and she took a step toward the taller Templar. “Who the fuck are you calling a—” 

Samson grabbed her arm, and the shorter Templar laughed. “Oh ho, look at ‘im, putting the brakes on mages like he thinks he’s still a Templar.”

Roman wrested her arm away from Samson and glared at him, but he wasn't looking at her; he was looking at the two Templars still, and there was a quizzical look on his face now. “Does Cullen know you’re here?” he said.

The taller Templar went tellingly still, and the shorter one’s face crumpled into a scowl. “What’d you say?”

Samson shrugged and tucked his free hand back in his pocket. “Just askin’ if Cullen knows you’re here. Last I heard, the Knight-Captain had forbidden all of you from going to the Hanged Man or the Blooming Rose on your nights off.” He smirked. “Too much of a distraction, I heard.”

The shorter Templar stared at Samson. “How the fuck d’you know—”

The taller one elbowed him. “Shut it, you dimwit,” he hissed. He shot Samson and Roman a venomous look, then pulled his crony toward the door, and a moment later, they were gone.

Samson turned to her with a half-smile. “Bird,” he said, and he sipped from his stein.

She tutted. “I was handling that just fine without your help,” she said, but without any real heat. She hadn’t expected him to come, and frankly, it was kind of a nice surprise that he was here. He was wearing a rust-red shirt that was unbuttoned partway down his chest so she could see his chest hair, and… okay, fine, if she was being totally honest — an honesty she would entirely attribute to the mulled wine — he looked pretty attractive.

She took a gulp of her whiskey, then squinted at his chest. His shirt wasn’t unbuttoned, actually; he was just missing a couple of buttons. 

“Something wrong?” he said.

She scoffed and plucked at his open shirt. “You look sloppy as fuck.”

He twisted his lips ruefully. “Yeah. Nicest shirt I’ve got, if you can believe it.” 

“You should just let me buy you something new,” she said, for the umpteenth time. “Then you don’t have to go around looking like shit.”

“If I look like shit, why’re you staring?” he asked.

She tore her eyes away from his chest and scowled at him. “I’m not staring.”

“Sure you are,” he said.  “It’s all right, Bird. You look good too.” His eyes travelled from her low-necked top to her knee-length skirt, and he smirked. “There’s a stain on your skirt.”

She rolled her eyes. “I know. Someone made me spill my fucking beer.”

“And you’re nagging me about being sloppy?” he said archly.

She gestured emphatically at her skirt. “This was an accident! You showed up looking like this!”

“Give me credit, will you? I tried,” he said plaintively.

She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You did not. You didn’t even shave. You’re all whiskery.”

He tsked. “You and the whiskers. I can’t figure out if you like them or not.”

“They look good,” she said without thinking. “They feel like shit on my skin.” Oops, that was more candid than she’d intended. 

She frowned resentfully at her half-empty tumbler, and Samson chuckled — a rough little heh-heh-heh that lifted an annoying buzzing sensation between her legs. “That doesn’t help me decide whether to shave the bloody whiskers off or not,” he said.

She shrugged and looked away from him. “Just do what you want. It’s your face. I don’t care what you do.”

He sighed and shifted a little closer to her — close enough that their arms were touching. “You’re a bloody pain in the ass, you know that?”

She clicked her tongue. “Ah, fuck you, too.” She tapped her tumbler to his stein and finished off her drink.

He grinned at her, then took a gulp from his stein before speaking again. “You’re in a good mood. Having a nice time then, eh?”

“Not really,” she said. “I don’t like parties.” 

“Me neither,” he said. “Never really felt right when I was at them. Always got the feelin’ like there was something I wasn’t quite in on, even if I was right in the thick of it.”

She looked at him in surprise. That was exactly how she’d always felt at parties.

He met her eye, then rubbed a hand over his chin. “What? Something on my face?”

“If you don’t like parties, why did you come to this one?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I knew you had to come, for Tethras. Thought I’d keep you company.” He gave her a crooked little smile. “Misery loves company, or so they say, and I figured you’d be pretty bloody miserable.” He drank from the stein, and Roman watched the bobbing of his throat as he swallowed. 

He lowered the stein and looked at her, then lifted his eyebrow. “What—”

She grabbed his shirt and dragged him into a kiss. 

He grunted in surprise and wrapped his arm around her waist, and Roman twined her tongue with his for a moment before pushing him away. “Your face is scratchy,” she said.

He stared at her stupidly for a second, his half-bared chest rising and falling as he panted for breath. Then a broad smile stretched across his face. “You bloody minx,” he said.

She smirked. Then a tall burly man bumped into her shoulder hard. 

She stumbled slightly, annoyed but unfazed; this fucking tavern was way too crowded, after all. A second later, however, the man’s disparaging tone made it clear that the bump was definitely not an accident. “Look at this,” he drawled. “The Champion’s a whore for the beggar.” He bared his yellowed teeth at her in a semblance of a grin. “Times so desperate that you’ve got to fuck the trash on the street?”

A ringing rage suddenly burst in her ears. Without thinking, she swung her empty tumbler up and smashed it across the burly asshole’s face. 

“Roman!” Samson barked.

The man stumbled back with a howl of pain, and the people around them cried out in shock and tried to shuffle away. Roman ignored them and took a threatening step toward the burly asshole, and Samson grabbed her arm. 

“Roman, stop,” he hissed. 

She twisted out of his grip. “He said you’re trash,” she yelled. “You’re not fucking trash. He’s the trash.”

Samson opened his mouth, but before he could reply, the burly man’s big hand squeezed her shoulder in a painful grip. “You fucking bitch—”

She viciously clawed at his hand, and when he whipped his hand back with a yelp, she raised the now-cracked tumbler, ready to smash it across his face a second time.  

“Stop!” Aveline shouted. She pushed through the crowd and stepped between Roman and the burly man. “Hawke, what’s happening here?”

“She hit me in the face, that fucking bitch!” the burly man bleated. 

Roman snarled and took another threatening step toward him, but Aveline held up a hand. “Enough,” she said loudly, and she turned toward the burly man. “Outside, now. Unless you want to come with me to the holding cells.” 

“Yeah, get the fuck out of here,” Roman spat. “If I see your fucking face again—”

Samson grabbed her hand and pried the tumbler from her fingers. “Come on,” he said in exasperation, and he started pulling her away toward the back of the tavern. 

She tried to pull her hand out of his grip. “What are you doing? Let me go!” 

“Getting you somewhere quiet to calm down,” he gritted.

“I am calm,” she yelled. “It’s that asshole who isn’t calm! You heard him, he fucking started it!” 

Samson didn’t reply, and he didn’t let go of her hand. He kept pulling her through the tavern, out of the main room with its music and its noise and through to the inn area at the back, which was much quieter. 

She sighed loudly and smacked his arm. “Let me go. I’m fucking calm.”

“No,” he said, and he kept tugging her through the corridors until they were in a secluded back corner of the inn, where a few dilapidated crates and barrels sat there waiting to either be repaired or thrown away. 

Samson finally released her hand and folded his arms. “I told you not to get into fucking fights for me.”

She glared at him. How dare he scowl at her like he was the angry one? “It wasn’t my fault. He was looking to start a fight!”

“You made the fight happen,” he accused.

“I did not!” she retorted.

He gave her a chiding look. “You hit him with a bloody tumbler, Bird.”

“You’re not fucking trash!” she yelled.

He wilted and rubbed his forehead. “Bloody Maker’s balls…”

“You’re not trash,” she railed. “There’s nothing wrong with you. He doesn’t even fucking know you, how can he just go around—”

Samson suddenly clasped her neck in his hands and pinned her against the wall, and Roman gasped at the impact of her back striking the wall. “You’re lookin’ for an excuse to fight,” he said roughly. “You say you’re not, but you are.”

She glowered at him, stung by the injustice of this accusation. “I am not,” she retorted. “I don’t want to — I don’t want to be this way! You think I like being all — fucking pissed all the time?” 

“That’s not what I’m saying. I just…” He sighed. “Maker, I don’t know what I’m saying. I just… don’t want you to get in fucking fights for me. I can fight for myself.”

“But you don’t,” she said. “You don’t fight when they pick on you, and I hate it.”

His eyebrows rose, and he released her neck. “Right, right. Because I’m a coward, right?”

Her frustration ratcheted higher. “You’re not a fucking coward!” she shouted. “You’re — there’s nothing wrong with you!”

He scoffed and folded his arms. “Are you blind or something? I’m a lyrium-addicted beggar with missing buttons on my best bloody shirt.”

She glared viciously at him and prodded his half-bared chest. “There’s nothing wrong with you that isn’t wrong with me too. If you’re fucking trash, then so am I.”

He stared at her without speaking, and Roman’s belly twisted; his expression was softening from anger into something far softer and more unnerving.

She curled her lip. “What the fuck are you looking at me like that for?”

A little smile lifted the corners of his lips. “That was almost romantic, Bird.”

She recoiled slightly, then shoved his abs. “Don’t be fucking stupid. It was not.”

He didn’t move. “It was, sort of. You going to be giving me roses in the moonlight next?”

His smile was broad and his tone was playful now, and Roman’s annoyance swelled, along with the hot feeling in her cheeks. “Shut the fuck up,” she said, and she shoved him again.

He grabbed her wrist and pinned it back against the wall, and a sudden hot rush of lust flooded between her legs. She twisted her wrist, and Samson stepped closer, close enough that she was trapped against the wall by his body. 

He stroked her cheek with his other hand, and Roman twisted her face away. “Quit it,” she snapped.

He gripped her jaw and turned her face to look at him, and her heart thudded between her legs at the force of his hand on her jaw. She slipped her free hand into his open shirt and twisted his nipple, and he gasped in pain and released her jaw. 

His hand on her wrist only tightened, however, and Roman gasped with excitement at the firmness of his fingers around her wrist. Then he captured her other hand and forced it back against the wall as well. 

“Bloody wildcat,” he growled. “Just calm down, will you?”

“Then let me go,” she snapped breathlessly.

He huffed. “See, I don’t think you really want me to.”

“Yes I do,” she said belligerently.

He lifted his eyebrows skeptically. “You sure? Then tell me again to let you go, and I’ll do it. Go on, say it again.”

His tone was taunting, and it was like tossing oil on her flaring temper and her lust. She sneered at him but didn’t speak, and he let out a smug little laugh. “Didn’t think so. I know what you’re really looking for.”

“You don’t know shit,” she snapped.

“Yeah, I do,” he said, and he pressed his hips to hers.

His cock was a hard ridge pressing against the vee of her thighs, and her lips fell open with a gasp. Then Samson pressed his mouth against her ear. “You want me to fuck you,” he whispered. “That’s why you’re wearing this skirt, isn’t it?”

She dragged in a breath and wriggled in his grip, rubbing herself against his groin in the process. “What the fuck are you talking about?” she panted.

“This skirt,” he murmured in her ear. “This is the one you had on when we first fucked in the alley outside.”

His voice was low and sly, and the heat in her cheeks and her abdomen swelled even more. He was right, unfortunately; this was that same skirt, the same one Samson had shoved up before pinning her against the wall to fuck her from behind, and she’d be lying if she hadn’t thought about it when putting it on this evening. She wasn’t very well going to admit that, though.

Unfortunately, it seemed that she didn’t need to; Samson was laughing softly against her ear, that smug and knowing little chuckle that both enraged her and riled her up to a maddening degree. “Aw, you got dressed up for me tonight, eh?” he teased. “That’s romantic too.”

“Fuck you,” she spat. “Fuck you, fuck you, I hate you—”

He released her wrist and slid his palm up along her thigh, and Roman broke off with a convulsive gasp. Then he was rubbing her sex, his fingers sliding against her throbbing pussy through her smalls, and he was talking in her ear once more.

“Don’t be embarrassed, Bird,” he murmured. “I picked out this shirt for you, too.”

His fingers between her legs, his voice in her ear, his whiskers scratching her face… She fucking wanted him, and it was so annoying. She gasped in a breath and tried to gather her scrambled thoughts. “You picked the shitty shirt with missing buttons for me? Fuck you,” she moaned.

He laughed softly and pressed his fingers against her clit. “No, you daft idiot. I picked the one in your favourite colour.”

Her heart squeezed, and she scoffed. “Whatever. You’re the idiot.” 

“And you’re a bloody pain in my ass,” he purred. Then, without warning, he pushed the crotch of her smalls aside and slid one finger inside of her.

The unexpected pleasure of his finger drove a cry from her throat. She twisted her free hand in his shirt, and he released her other hand and covered her mouth. “Shh,” he hissed. “Keep your voice down, eh?”

His finger was curling relentlessly inside of her, striking at a spot inside of her that was making her legs feel shaky, and she couldn’t stop herself from moaning against his palm. She thrust her hips eagerly toward his hand, and he exhaled hard.

“Maker’s balls, Bird,” he groaned. “What am I supposed to do with you?”

She twisted her face away from his palm. “Fuck me,” she rasped. “Fuck me right now.”

“Where am I supposed to do that?” he said quietly. “There’s no furniture here.”

“Like that’s ever stopped you before,” she said.

He smiled slowly at her, then suddenly pulled his finger free. Before Roman could protest or say a word, he was lifting her up and depositing her on a dusty barrel at waist-height. 

He roughly reached into her skirt, and she lifted her hips so he could pull her smallclothes off. “If I get a splinter in my ass, you’re helping me get it out,” she threatened.

He shot her a reproving look as he shoved her smallclothes in his pocket. “Look, d’you want to fuck here or not?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Then stop complaining and spread your legs,” he commanded. 

She glared at him as she parted her knees. “Don’t fucking tell me what to do.” 

He gave her a reproachful look as he unbuttoned his trousers, but Roman ignored it; she was too focused on his cock, the thick hard length of it straining against the fabric of his smalls, and now he was pulling his cock out and stroking it with one hand while he stepped closer to her…

She eagerly shifted closer to the edge of the barrel, and Samson’s eyes dropped to her thighs. “Come on, Bird, let me have a look at you,” he breathed. He lifted the edge of her skirt to look at her pussy, and Roman spread her legs wide so he could see her better.

The look on his face grew hungry, and Roman stared at his lustful expression with a growing hunger of her own. “Pervert,” she accused.

He looked up at her and grinned. “Takes one to know one,” he teased. He stepped closer to the barrel and grabbed her hip, then thrust into her hard.

She gasped and jolted, then wiggled closer to the edge of the barrel so he could fuck her deeper, and he groaned and grabbed her thigh. “Put your legs around me,” he urged.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and locked her ankles together at the small of his back. He thrust into her again, and this time she was forced to cry out with pleasure; the edge of the barrel was digging into her ass a bit, but with her legs wrapped around him, it felt like he was striking much deeper inside of her with every thrust. 

He gripped her hip with one hand and the edge of the barrel with the other and slammed his cock inside of her, and Roman moaned again.

“Shut the fuck up, Bird,” he groaned, and he slammed into her again. She gasped and sank her teeth into the side of his neck, and he groaned and thrust into her over and over, rapid deep thrusts that sent ripples of pleasure through her fingers and her toes, and she greedily sucked and bit his neck to stop herself from moaning at how fucking good it felt. 

After a couple of blissful minutes, Samson gasped fitfully and dug his fingers painfully into her thigh, and she grunted against his neck as his cock grew even harder inside of her. He came a moment later, shuddering and painting against her collarbone as he thrust into her a frenzied blur, and Roman savoured the forceful striking thrusts of his cock as he rode out his climax. 

A long moment later, he sighed heavily and nipped her neck, and the feeling of his teeth on her neck sent a little shiver down her spine. He patted her thigh, and she untwined her legs from around his waist with a little grimace. 

“My ass hurts,” she complained. 

He smirked at her as he stepped back and tucked his cock into his trousers. “Sorry,” he said.

“You are not,” she accused. 

“Ah, you’re right, I’m not,” he said unrepentantly, and he helped her down from the barrel. She immediately felt his seed dripping down the inside of her thigh, and she quickly untied the red scarf from around her wrist to wipe it up. 

“Hey, I’ll do that,” Samson said affably, and he reached for the scarf.

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Why?”

“Because I’m a gentleman, o’course,” he said. “Gentlemen clean up their messes.”

His face was lit with a broad shit-eating grin, and Roman couldn’t decide whether she wanted to laugh or to smack him. Instead, she shot him a flat look as she wiped the inside of her thigh. “You really want to be a gentleman? Then you can go down on me.”

His grin fell into a look of surprise. “Eh?”

“I didn’t come,” she said. 

He grimaced. “Oh. Balls. Sorry, Bird.” He eyed her uncertainly. “You… you really want me to go down on you? Now?”

She paused in her wiping and raised her eyebrows. “What, you’ll fuck me at the back of the Hanged Man but you won’t go down on me?”

“It’s not that,” he said hurriedly. “It’s just…” He scrunched his face up a bit. “I already came in you.”

“So?” she said.

“So I’m not really keen to, uh, eat my own cooking, if you get my meaning,” he said.

Roman gave him a withering look. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Yeah…” He sighed and wilted. “You want me to do it anyway, don’t you?”

She clicked her tongue. “You’re the one who was saying you’re a gentleman.” She went back to wiping the inside of her thighs.

Samson rubbed the back of his neck. Then, to her surprise, he kneeled in front of her. “All right, twist my bloody arm,” he grumbled. He pushed her skirt up to her hips, and Roman felt a fresh thrill of heated anticipation pooling between her legs. 

He leaned in and kissed her hip, and her pussy pulsed at the nearness of his mouth. Then he sighed. “Can’t believe I’m doing this,” he muttered, and he drew his tongue along the length of her cleft.

She gasped and sank her fingers into his hair. Despite his reluctance, he was doing just as good a job as he always did: his tongue was circling smoothly around her clit, teasing her with the exact amount of pressure that felt fucking good while making her crave an even firmer touch of his tongue.

She dragged in a shaky breath and rolled her hips toward his mouth. He drew his tongue firmly over her clit, and the firm pressure sent a shock of pleasure through her body.

She gasped and clenched her fingers in his hair. He lapped at her clit again, and she bucked toward his mouth. He reached up and placed his palms on her bare thighs to push them wider apart, and the heat of his hands on her skin sent another thrill of pleasure through her limbs. 

She rocked her hips toward his tongue, and within seconds she was grinding against his mouth, her rapture rising steadily with every smooth hot stroke of his tongue against her swollen clit. She gasped convulsively and pulled his hair, and he growled into her pussy and tugged at her clit with his lips, and she let out a moan. 

He leaned away and shot her a resentful look. “Seriously, Roman, shut up—”

“Don’t fucking stop,” she gasped, and she pulled his head between her legs once more.

He grunted and sealed his lips over her clit, and she shoved the back of her other hand against her mouth to stifle herself, and not a moment too soon: a few blissful licks later, she was shuddering and slumping back against the wall as her rapture rippled from her pulsing clit down to her calves and all the way up to her scalp.

She closed her eyes and leaned her back against the wall, giving the wall all of her weight as the pleasure washed through her limbs. When her climax had finally ebbed away, she dropped her hand away from her mouth and sighed.

Then Samson kissed her and thrust his tongue into her mouth.

“Mmph,” she protested, but his tongue was sliding against her own. She poked his belly and bit his tongue, and he pulled away from her.

“See?” he said pointedly. “Doesn’t taste so good, does it?”

She gave him a shut-the-fuck-up look. “Tastes like it always does when I suck you off after you fucked me.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Oh. Yeah, that makes sense.”

She snorted and reached into his pocket to take back her smallclothes. “You really are a fucking idiot,” she told him. She pulled her smalls back on and smoothed out her skirt, then started to sidle past him toward the corridor, but he stopped her with a hand on her hip.

She paused and looked up at him, then frowned; he looked quite serious. “What’s wrong?” she said. 

“Stop getting into fights for me,” he said quietly. “I don’t want you getting into trouble.”

She sighed in annoyance, and he squeezed her hip. “I mean it, Roman. You have to keep your head down more.”

“Are you going to tell the whole world to fuck off and leave me alone, then?” she said archly. “Because if everyone gets off my case, I’d gladly keep my fucking head down.” 

He clicked his tongue wearily, then pecked her on the forehead and gave her butt a little smack. “Forget it, all right? Let’s go get another drink.”

She shot him a resentful look and made her way from their dark abandoned corner back into the nearest corridor, then stopped short in surprise: Isabela was leaning casually against the wall. 

She looked up at them with a knowing grin, and Roman stared at her. “Were you listening in?” she demanded.

“Yes, actually,” Isabela said. 

Roman recoiled. “Why the fuck were you listening in?”

“I was guarding this hallway so you could have a private moment,” Isabela said. “It’s hardly my fault that you make so much noise.”

Roman deflated a bit. “Oh. Fuck.”

Samson rubbed his chin and gave Roman an I-told-you-so look. Roman hunched her shoulders defensively, and Isabela let out a throaty laugh as she approached them.  “Don’t look so embarrassed, sweet thing. Having a quick one at the back of a tavern is perfectly natural. We’ve all done it.” 

“Thanks, I guess,” Roman muttered.

Samson eyed Isabela cautiously, then touched his fingers to his forehead in a small salute. “Kind of you to keep an eye out for us, cap’n.”

Isabela raised her eyebrows. “Well well. Captain, you say? Talk dirty to a girl, why don’t you?” She elbowed Roman. “You should invite me to join you next time.”

Roman rolled her eyes. “Maker’s fucking balls,” she complained, and she started walking away.

“That wasn’t a no,” Isabela called after her. 

She shook her head and didn’t reply. A second later, Samson caught up to her. “Er, what was that exactly?”

“Approval from Isabela,” Roman grunted. 

“Really?” Samson said. “That’s, er, nice?”

“Whatever. I don’t need anyone’s approval,” Roman said. But for some reason, she didn’t feel as irate as she would have expected from having Isabela listen in to her and Samson fucking. And Isabela had even been friendly to Samson, which was — well, not unexpected necessarily, because Samson and Isabela had barely ever spoken. But Roman was so accustomed to seeing people treat Samson like a pile of nugshit that witnessing the opposite was… nice.

Yeah, it was nice. The more Roman thought about it, the more she realized that she was actually feeling… pretty good, actually. She was still a little tipsy from the booze, and her damp smallclothes were reminding her of the excellent illicit sex she and Samson had just had at the back of the tavern, and someone other than herself had treated Samson like a person…

Damn, she thought in surprise. Against all odds, she was actually feeling… kind of happy.

She looked up at Samson with a little smile, and his eyebrows jumped up. “What’s with you?”

She shrugged. “Nothing,” she said. “Come on.” They stepped back into the main room of the Hanged Man, and Roman balked for a second; it was somehow even more noisy and crowded and hot than before. The musical troupe in the corner were playing a song with a hard driving beat while the majority of the patrons twirled and spun to the music with varying degrees of coordination and drunkenness. Every few minutes, a howl of laughter and dismay would go up from one of the tables where people were playing cards, and the entire room was scented with mulled wine.

A funny swelling feeling filled her chest. Then Samson leaned in close to her ear. “It’s bloody hopping in here,” he yelled. “I’ll find some drinks, you find us a corner?”

“No,” she yelled back. “Come on.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him into the middle of the crowd.

She ruthlessly pushed her way through the pulsing crowd of bodies until they reached Varric’s table. He was still sitting in pride of place at the head of the table, and the rest of their little crew was sitting with him and playing cards: Fenris and Merrill were on the left side of the table and Anders was on the right, having apparently gotten away from the clinic at last. Aveline was sitting beside him with no cards and her arms petulantly folded, and they all looked up when Roman pushed her way through the crowd. 

Varric smiled. “Hawke! Samson! Have a seat, join us.”

“Thanks,” Roman said, and she poked Anders’s arm. “Move over.”

“Happy Satinalia to you too,” he drawled as he shifted over. “Where’ve you been?”

“Busy,” she said. She pushed Samson down onto the bench beside Anders, then seated herself on the padded right arm of Varric’s chair. 

“Busy doing what?” Isabela said as she sashayed over. 

“None of your fucking business,” Roman said, but with no heat. 

Isabela winked cheekily and sidled around to sit on the other arm of Varric’s chair, and Anders snorted in amusement. “This is rich. Varric, you look like the owner of a harem now.”

Isabela tsked. “A harem of two isn’t much of a harem. Merrill, you should come and sit in Varric’s lap to round us out.”

Merrill tittered. “Who, me? Oh no, I couldn’t!”

Anders glanced at Aveline. “What about you, then? You could go on up and sit in Varric’s lap.”

“Over my dead body,” Aveline said flatly.

“Over mine, actually,” Varric said drolly. “I don’t think I could survive all of Aveline’s muscle.”

Merrill, Anders and Isabela laughed, and Aveline smiled faintly. Then Varric tapped Roman’s arm. “Are you and Samson joining in the next round, then?” 

His tone was casual, but his expression was faintly hopeful — the look he usually wore when asking if Roman would play cards with them, even knowing that she was going to say no. 

But today wasn’t a usual day, and Roman wasn’t in a usual mood. She shrugged. “Yeah, deal us in. Right?” She looked askance at Samson.

“I suppose,” he said tentatively. “I, uh, haven’t any coin to bet, though.”

“That’s okay,” Varric assured him. “The elf here hasn’t got any coin, either. He’s just playing on good faith.” He jerked a thumb at Fenris, who sighed and tugged his ear. 

“I’ll win it back next week, I swear it,” he grumbled. 

Varric nodded affably. “Uh-huh. Whatever you say.”

The others chuckled as Fenris tsked, and Roman watched contentedly as Samson’s posture relaxed a bit. Then she looked at Varric once more, and an unusual feeling of warmth spread through her chest. He was smiling broadly at her, and Roman knew that he understood the significance of her agreement to play cards.

She shrugged and looked away from him. “Happy Satinalia or whatever,” she muttered.

He chuckled. “You too, Hawke. Now come on, let’s play.”

“We’re all waiting on you,” Anders pointed out.

“All right, all right,” Varric said affably, and he set down a card. “Okay, Daisy, it’s your turn.” 

The round of wicked grace continued, with Anders seeming to have the winning hand. Roman listened quietly as they chatted and teased each other in turn, and she marvelled at the strangeness of the situation — the strangeness of sitting here with this weird little group of misfits, all of them victims of shitty circumstance in one way or another, now joined together in a mish-mashed group of semi-friends who spent most of their time together and helped each other out when help was needed, whether they even particularly liked each other or not.

Kind of like a family, Roman thought, and that weird squirmy feeling of warmth invaded her chest again.

She shifted slightly on Varric’s chair. Then Samson subtly squeezed her ankle. “You all right, Bird?” he said quietly. 

She nodded. “Yeah. I’m fine,” she said. And for once, she genuinely meant it.

[puppy-phum]

ah thank you @yibobibo for tagging me ^^ these are always so much fun! also am avoiding going to sleep lol so here I go

1. What is the color of your hairbrush? umm this dark berry red? idk it’s a very old one and i should probably get a new one :’D

2. Name a food you never eat. hmm, am really not that picky with food. but i had an disagreement with meat loaf for a long time bc once as a kid i got sick while eating it and well. let’s say it came back up :) so i was a bit traumatized lol 

3. Are you typically too warm or too cold? too cold! definitely ;; that’s why i hate living here when summer is like maybe two weeks and otherwise am freezing 24/7

4. What were you doing 45 minutes ago? umm watching ultimate note i think lol it has taken over my weekends

5. What’s your favorite candy bar? wow hmm. i think fazer’s dark choco + chili bar is amazing? otherwise maybe kinder’s bueno 

6. Have you ever been to a professional sports game? yeah, a couple of times :’D to watch ice hockey lol bc it’s probably the only sport i enjoy... oh, and karate once too! that was cool somehow :o 

7. What is the last thing you said out loud? “how are you like this” to heihua in ultimate note bc i dunno why but they keep. flirting with each other while bullying other ppl???  

8. What is your favourite ice cream? chocolate! (or if it’s available, i absolutely adore sorbets or some very nice and sour berry flavors!) 

9. What was the last thing you had to drink? peppermint tea ^^

10. Do you like your wallet? oh yeah :o i love the flower pattern on it and several ppl have complimented it a lot too? i can’t remember where i bought it but it’s nice and i always feel so fancy when i flip it out haha 

11. What is the last thing you ate? some chocolate :’D why does every other answer seem to be somehow related to chocolate... (ah yes, bc i love it) 

12. Did you buy any new clothes last weekend? hmm no. but am actually waiting to go shopping after christmas so that i can get new stuff ^^ 

13. What’s the last sporting event you watched? ummmm does street dance of china count? 

14. What is your favorite flavor of popcorn? uh, the normal? is that butter then??? i don’t even know any other flavors

15. Who is the last person you sent a text message to? i’d say @i-am-just-a-kiddo who always has to suffer from my continuous screaming over. everything, basically (i am a very hyper person when it comes to things i love) 

16. Ever been camping? not specifically but i’ve slept in a tent a couple of times and done some hiking lol also i think i would love to try?

17. Do you take vitamins? nope, not really? should i?? maybe i should, at least some d vitamin... i miss seeing the sun, where is it ;o 

18. Do you regularly attend a place of worship? nope, not really religious 

19. Do you have a tan? umm no our summers are short as mentioned and i usually try to avoid getting tanned ^^’ 

20. Do you prefer chinese or pizza? chinese bc i get tired of pizza very fast

21. Do you drink your soda through a straw? yeah! i love the feeling of using a straw :’) also love it when they are funny colored or fancy or just very silly looking? 

22. What color socks do you usually wear? very basic gray/white/black but then i have these random colorful socks too? and something like,,, deep turquoise. and dark wine red. and socks with flowers??? 

23. Do you ever drive above the speed limit? no i am a very law abiding citizen jfghjf (tho i drive very rarely bc i don’t own a car)

24. What terrifies you? ummmmm. let’s say randomly that i would absolutely freak out if one day i was closing my curtains and someone was looking at me through my window (which is highly unlikely bc i live in the third floor but my brain insists on this one on a daily basis) 

25. Look to your left, what do you see? my empty tea cup, waiting to be taken away. so that i could sleep. sigh

26. What chore do you hate most? umm. vacuuming? it just feels like such a waste of time 

27. What do you think of when you hear an Australian accent? i feel like the first two things that just pop into my head when someone mentions australia are troye sivan and @ashenwren ♥ 

28. What’s your favorite soda? coke or pommac (it’s this fruity soda? i used to call it as kid’s beer when i was young lol) 

29. Do you go in a fast food place or just hit the drive thru? would usually go to the place but i guess for now it would be safer to go to the drive thru? idk 

30. What’s your favorite number? i have no idea what i’ve answered previously to similar questions but let’s go with eight 

31. Who’s the last person you talked to? physically talked to? my parents probably

32. Favorite meat? chicken but i could also say shrimp or any fish tbh 

33. Last song you listened to? dpr ian - so beautiful x (this song is so addictive somehow??? and the mv is amazing!) 

34. Last book you read? uhhh this book related to men’s studies where the author talked about his own experiences and views on being a man in this society that really much supports toxic masculinity and those toxic ways to show it (i cried) 

35. Favorite day of the week? probably thursday currently bc ultimate note :’) 

36. Can you say the alphabet backwards? uuuhh not right now probably but if you give me a moment i promise i can

37. How do you like your coffee? just like i like my men so,,, no. (lol that was an opportunity too perfect not to use) 

38. Favorite pair of shoes? my pair of combat boots! or whatever you can call my black boots that make me feel badass but also fancy and comfortable 

39. Time you normally get up? i try to make it around 10am but i just laze around in bed and i might actually get up at 11am-12pm 

40. What do you prefer, sunrise or sunsets? both tbh, sunrise has its own vibe that’s completely different from sunset and both are just breathtaking! (no wonder my xicheng fic is very much full of/based on this day cycle symbolism smh) 

41. How many blankets on your bed? one, i surprisingly enough get very hot during night (and not in the sexy way) 

42. Describe your kitchen plates. light blueish gray? square. the smaller ones have these blue shapes on a white background, circle. 

43. Describe your kitchen at the moment. clean too! i cleaned it yesterday :’D

44. Do you have a favorite alcoholic drink? i’d say long drinks. or just,,, i dunno, vodka with orange juice? always works 

45. Do you play cards? oh i did nothing else during the summer but play cards with my mom jfhgfghk it’s very relaxing somehow (also i love to teach ppl new games even if i know like,,, maybe five) 

46. What color is your car? don’t own one 

47. Can you change a tire? absolutely! i used to join my dad as a kid when he changed his tires :’D so i know the process and would be able to handle one i suppose

48. Your favorite state or province? i. don’t really have one? maybe the one on our west coast, i like the dialect over there 

49. Favorite job you’ve had? i’ve only had like two? maybe? and i didn’t really enjoy either but does doing theater stuff as a hobby count? bc i’ve enjoyed that and it felt like a job at certain points :’) 

wow this got so long wth ;o i didn’t even realize it was 40 questions jdhgkfg but it was fun! i hope this tells you something about me :’D and i’ll tag the two ppl who i’ve already tagged into these answers :’D so go for it you two! and then i want to tag some of the ppl i always bother aka @kholran @stebeee @manhasetardis @aheartfullofjolllly @leonzhng @lzswy (i know some of you have been tagged already but i hope it’s fine. also no need to if this feels like too much!)

[ficsandcatsandficsandcats]

Prompt Request

So, here’s the thing, dear reader. This thing kind of took on a life of its own. 

Fandom: The Witcher Pairing: Jaskier x Reader Word Count: 4,558 Rating: M Prompt:  “Hello! I’m glad to find another writer who writes for Jaskier. Can you please write a fic with Jaskier x female reader (perhaps one that is sweet and kind, but insecure about herself) that is both got fluff and angst with the prompts “Don’t be scared, I’m right here.” + “You’ve shown me what love can feel like.” + “I love you. You are what matters to me.” + “Can I kiss you?” + “Are you scared?” + "I can’t believe you’re carrying my child.” + “Shh, don’t worry, I’ll take very good care of you.” a/n: Reader and Jaskier are in an arranged marriage and end up falling in love. There are little breaks between parts to denote time passing. How much time? Who knows. But time! I hope that this is ok and that you like it and that you aren’t 96 by the time you finish reading it. For better or worse, here it is. 

It was the happiest day of your life. That’s what they told you, anyway. That’s what you’d always hoped it would be. Everything about the moment was like something from a dream. You, standing in a simple white gown with a crown of buttercups on your head. The man standing in front of you was handsome, with sparkling blue eyes and rich, chestnut hair. He smiled at you and squeezed your hands, clasped before you, with tenderness. This was everything you wanted your wedding to be, if only you knew the groom.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate the union of Y/F/N and Julian Alfred Pankratz. May their union provide happiness and bounty for both of their houses,” the priest declared, intoning the words with solemnity suiting the business merger this wedding essentially was. The man named Julian smiled at you but you could see a tinge of nervousness in his eyes as well. It helped you feel less alone.

“The groom has requested to provide vows of his own writing. He may speak them now,” the priest said. You’re surprised to hear this, wondering what this stranger could have to say to you. He squeezed your hands tighter and though a crowd was gathered around you (including many weeping ladies sitting on the groom’s side of the chapel), he only had eyes for you.

“It is no secret that this wedding is… complicated. I have only known you for a short time. Indeed, I only laid eyes on you as you walked down the aisle. I cannot speak to your interests, your tastes, or even your favorite color. I do not pretend to possess the knowledge to make you happy but I can promise you this; I will treat you with respect and kindness and I will do my utmost to make the best of this for the both of us, if you will allow me to.”

If you had to be forced into a political marriage, you’re happy at least that you have ended up with someone kind.

“Y/N, repeat after me…” the priest begins but you stop him.

“Actually, I would also like to recite my own vows,” you say, surprising yourself. You look back at your almost-husband and take a deep breath.

“I have heard you are quite the wordsmith so I won’t spend too much time trying to impress you here but I wanted to say that I offer in turn respect and kindness and also a really good loaf of bread.”

He laughs and you feel a smile break across your face as well and you both stay focused on each other as the rest of the formalities are read. When the moment comes that the priest announces you man and wife, your new husband leans forward and you can feel your heart in your throat.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, a whisper’s breadth from your lips.

“I mean, that’s what we do now isn’t it?” you ask, feeling awkward under the watchful eye of the crowd around you.

“Not necessarily. Not unless you say so,” he says firmly. You know that he means it and that you don’t need a kiss to complete the arrangement, at this point you have both held up your sides of the bargain and your families are wealthier with new trades.

“Yes,” you say decisively. He smiles and pulls you in closer and his mouth is soft and tender on yours. It’s a sweet kiss, but not chaste, his teeth gently nipping at your bottom lip as you pull apart, giving you a wink as he does.

��-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“My name is Jaskier, by the way. Well, it is Julian Alfred Pankratz but everyone calls me Jaskier. Everyone but my family but fuck ‘em.”

The words slip out with a slight slur, the result of the wine you’ve both been drinking. You’d gone to the after-wedding feast for appearance’s sake but he’d snuck you both out with a plate of cheese and meats and a bottle of wine to escape the pomp and circumstance. You were grateful for the opportunity to get to know your husband. Crowds always made you nervous anyway. Jaskier had pulled off the stifling doublet and undone the buttons on his undershirt in a way that you thought should shock you until you remembered that you were married now. At some point you had placed the flower crown on Jaskier’s head and he left it on, looking like some sort of fae being that was put on this earth to save or damn you and you weren’t sure if you cared which it was.

“I’m not feeling very charitable towards my family either,” you say in response to his outburst, the closest you’ve come to openly expressing how you felt about being forced into a marriage to a stranger.

“Oh come on you can do better than that,” Jaskier goads.

“No I mean, I understand where they’re coming from. I’m their only daughter and one does have to consider the future…”

“Come on darling let’s not start this false marriage with more lies. I recognize that I’m a hell of a catch to get but surely somewhere deep inside of you there is some anger over this. You could have married anyone you pleased but you get saddled with a stranger. I could have been 85 years old or had a humpback or, or, or been Valdo Marx for god’s sakes!” Jaskier exclaims. His fervent anger makes you laugh but also makes you bold.

“It was….”

“Yes?” Jaskier says encouragingly, gesturing with the empty goblet in his hand.

“Well I must admit…”

“Go on,” he urges.

“It was damned disgusting,” you finally blurt out, half-shocked at your own temerity.

“Yes! More! Keep going!” Jaskier insists, rising unsteadily to his feet to cheer you on with more gusto.

“For all of my life leading up this I have done everything they’ve asked. I’ve been an excellent pupil, I’ve attended every stupid event even though I couldn’t have cared less, I have sacrificed and tried to be a good daughter and carried this stupid legacy and I don’t know what I expected but… but they could have at least talked to me! They could have asked me how I felt, they could have pretended to give a shit. They could have tried to care, I deserved that at least, didn’t I?” your anger turns to bitter sadness and Jaskier stops pumping his fists when he sees your shoulders start to shake with stifled sobs.

“Oh no, oh bollocks, no please don’t, hey,” he crouches next to you and pulls you into a hug you’re too upset to resist. His arms are strong and he offers quiet, comforting words in your ear as you cry into his chest, your face pressing up against the soft linen of his shirt and the patch of dark hair beneath.

“Shhh, don’t worry. I’ll take good care of you. I know we didn’t choose this but you’re not in this alone, I promise,” he murmurs the words into the top of your head as one hand rubs soothing circles into your back. He holds you long after the tears dry and you fall asleep curled around each other.

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

Your life falls into a sort of rhythm. He introduces you to Geralt who immediately rejects adding you to their adventures until Jaskier makes him try your bread. You hadn’t been lying about the promise, having honed your craft through years of baking to cope with the feelings you were forced to repress. He begrudgingly acquiesced to you joining them on very specific journeys for very specific lengths of time but despite himself you grow on him. You and Jaskier also grow to know each other better. Before long he knows that your favorite color is (Y/F/C) and you learn more of his life as a bard. At first you were nervous about going to the inns with him as he performed, especially when he would flirt and sing directly to you, but he always seemed to sense when you were too uncomfortable and would turn his attention back on the rest of the crowd. In time that began to bother you as well but you didn’t examine those feelings, trying hard to enjoy the relative peace you had.

At first you didn’t mind when Jaskier would go on his long journeys and you even grew to enjoy your solitude in the little house your parents had given the two of you as a wedding present. It was easily the most modest of your properties, but you didn’t care, you reveled in the ability to make a space your own. As time went on, the longer Jaskier was away you grew to wish there were more signs of him around. He didn’t possess much, bringing with him only clothes and the lute he took with him on his journeys. When he came back he would tell you all about his journeys and perform his new songs for you and you would provide him with a sampling of what you’ve done with your baking and pottery and the other things you did to fill your time. He was usually back after a few weeks but one night Geralt came with word that he would be leaving for much longer, at least a month, and while the words weren’t directly spoken you could tell that there was no guarantee they would both be coming back.

“Are you scared?” you asked Jaskier after Geralt had left ostensibly to tend to Roach but truly to give them space to talk.

“A little,” he confessed, “But I must go, you understand.”

You bite your lip and he saw you warring with some emotion he couldn’t place.

“Y/N?” he asked, “Come on, talk to me.”

“It’s just… what if you don’t come back?” you ask.

“Don’t let Geralt scare you, he always makes things sound worse than they truly are. I will be back. I made you a promise and I intend to keep it,” he says.

“But what if you can’t?” you insist.

“Well… then everything I own is passed to you and you could be your own woman again. I mean, we don’t really prevent each other from living our lives but you could find someone to fall in love with and have children and whatever else people do,” he doesn’t look at you as he says this and you’re quick to wipe away the tears that come up as he speaks. He glances back up at you and brushes the last trace of wetness from your cheeks.

“Don’t be scared,” he insists, “I’m right here.”

He pulls you in for a hug and holds you, much as he did your wedding night, and you squeeze back as hard as you can as though you can keep him chained to you through the embrace. You look up to say something else and your lips brush by accident, the first they’ve touched since the kiss on the altar. He wordlessly pulls you in again and deepens the kiss, running a hand through your hair as he tentatively brushes tongue against your lips. You part them in response and shift in his arms til you’re straddling him, arms wrapping back around his neck. His hands trace the contours of your body through the clothes and settle on your hips. You arch against him and feel him beneath you, hard and wanting. The pressure of your body pressing against him pulls a moan from his lips and the sound seems to break through the moment, pulling him back to earth. He reluctantly pulls back from the kiss and for a moment you sit there, panting and uncertain.

“You have a long journey tomorrow,” you whisper when the silence grows too long, “I should let you rest.” “Y/N…” he begins but you slide off of him and hurry to the kitchen, eager to find a way to rid yourself of the energy and emotions that have gotten away with you. Jaskier thinks about following, wants nothing more than to finish what you’d both started, but he leaves tomorrow, and you were right. He may not come back. And he could never forgive himself if he got you with child and then died to leave you to care for it alone.

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

75 loaves of bread, 19 dozen cookies, and 14 pies later, Jaskier comes back home.

You’re sitting by the hearth reading when you think you hear it, that familiar strumming of a lute in the distance. Then you hear an unmistakable voice and you jolt to your feet, running to the door. You can see him walking, still a block away and you keep running. When he sees you he stops singing and places the lute on his back. By the time he’s got his strapped on you’ve tackled him in a hug that nearly knocks him off of his feet and he lifts you slightly off the ground, spinning you in a little circle as he does.

“You’re home,” you say.

“I’m home,” he echoes, one hand brushing the side of your face and cupping your chin, “And I have so much to tell you.”

You hold hands as you walk back to the house and he begins to tell you about the journeys he and Geralt have been on. You’re only half paying attention as he speaks, no story of dragons or mythical artifacts capable of competing with the sight of him finally in front of you again, the sound of his voice and the feeling of his hand in yours. Over bread he tells you about his dilemma over writing a series of songs or one very epic song to capture the tale. By the time night has fallen you’re both seated in front of the fire, your head on his shoulder. You notice his fingers twitching and you can tell there’s something left unsaid.

“Jaskier?”

“Hmm?”

“What is it?”

“What is what?” he asks, the innocence in his voice forced. You sit up and level a look at him.

“Don’t do that. Don’t pretend nothing’s wrong. We’ve never lied to each other, don’t start now,” you say. He sighs and you feel your heart pounding in your chest as you think about what he may be about to say. He’s in love with someone? He’s cursed and dying? He isn’t really here and this is just a dream and soon you will wake up alone in your bed, the right side cold and empty?

“It’s foolish really, it’s nothing to be worried about,” he says.

“Then tell me what it is,” you urge, trying to soften the demand with a smile.

“Being out there with Geralt for so long… well, it made me realize some things,” he says. Your heart stops and you fight the urge to tell him to stop, to let you live in the fantasy you hadn’t realized you’d fallen into where somehow he did fall in love with you and this marriage that started as a contract can become more.

“I thought a lot about my time here in this house. With you. I thought about the little flecks of paint on your fingers and the smudges of flour in your cheeks. I thought about that little snorting sound you make in your sleep…”

Your face burns bright red as he lists your faults. Countesses never snorted; you were almost certain.

“I thought about the way it feels when you listen to my stories, truly listen to them. Not because you’re paying me for them or because I’m forcing them on you. The way you just… listen to me. I have written so many songs about it but I think, maybe, I’ve never felt it like this before,” he takes a deep breath and turns to face you, the soft, blue eyes staring into yours intently as he speaks again, “You’ve shown me what love can feel like.”

It takes a moment for the words to sink in and when they have you’re still not sure how to feel. Making someone feel loved doesn’t mean they love you back. You had learned that the hard way from your parents to your sparse attempts at romance in the past. He looks at you anxiously, waiting to see what you will say but the words fail you like a curse striking you mute.

“Ah,” he says after a while, turning back to face the fire.

“No, Jaskier,” you begin but he stands and takes a deep breath, shaking his head and forcing on a smile. It’s a performance you’ve seen many times before and the first time he’s ever turned it on you.

“Please, Y/N, it’s probably for the best,” he says.

“No but you don’t understand,” you continue.

“Heartbreak is good for the songs, really. And we never made any promises to each other. Not any real ones at least. Not ones that matter.”

The words break your heart and anger you at the same time. You’ve spent a lifetime letting people tell you how you feel or what is best but not Jaskier. Never him.

“Julian Alfred Pankratz shut up and listen,” you snap, standing to meet him eye to eye. He’s visibly taken aback, eyes going wide in shock, but he stays quiet.

“Before you go too deeply into a pity party, I would like the opportunity to actually speak for myself. How dare you say those promises didn’t matter? When from the very start we have spoken honestly and fairly to each other? Sure, the marriage wasn’t sincere, but the vows were. Respect and kindness and, and, and bread! And more than that, more than anything we could have promised each other that day, love. I love you. You are what matters to me. I’m sorry if that ruins your career plans but you’ll just have to adapt!”

The pair of you stand in stunned silence as your words resonate and then you are pulled into his arms as his lips hungrily seek yours. You begin tearing at each other’s clothes, a trail of fabric leading to the bedroom. Once inside his gestures slow a little and when you impatiently rip at the buttons on your dress he halts your hands with his and his nimble fingers slip through them with ease, his eyes hungrily staring into yours as he works. He’s shirtless now and you let your gaze fall to take in the lean, corded muscles in his shoulders and arms, the toned definition of his body. You run your hands along the veins in his neck, down to the definition of his shoulder blades, across the collar bones, down into the hair on his chest which is soft and coarse all at once to the touch. The dress falls away and you feel the cold air of the room hit your exposed skin, shocking you to the fact of your nakedness and making you lose whatever courage you had summoned in your anger and passion. He sees your eyes fall away and the blush rise in your cheeks and he gently lifts your chin back up to meet his eyes.

“What is it, love?” he asks, the word moments before unspoken now falling casually and naturally from his lips.

“I’ve never… I don’t share your… experience,” you admit.

“Well I hardly find that shocking. I am very, very experienced,” he says with a roguish wink. You laugh nervously and he runs a hand along your arm, barely grazing your breasts which are taut and eager for his touch.

“How about this time I take the lead. If I do something that you don’t like, you tell me and it stops immediately,” he says.

“What if you’re enjoying it?” you ask.

“I will never enjoy something if you’re not enjoying it too. Please tell me. And next time, if, and gods I pray and hope there will be a next time if I don’t utterly cock this up, you can take charge. Does that sound good?” he asks. You nod but he shakes his head, leaning down to give you a long, lingering kiss.

“I need to hear you say the words,” he murmurs against your chin.

“That sounds good,” you answer. He smiles at you and pulls you in for another kiss, his hands bolder in his exploration, brushing against your breasts before lowering his mouth to kiss and caress them with his tongue. You’re quiet at first, not intentionally but because the sensations are new and you struggle to breath through them. You see him looking up at you, watching your face as you react, taking his cues from your body. A hand reaches lower and you part your legs for him. He finds you wet and makes a satisfied, throaty sound as he brushes a finger lightly against the folds. You gasp and he looks back up for confirmation.

“Yes, do that again,” you say. He presses in further, two fingers roaming the length of you and circling the top. You grip his hair and he continues the same rhythm.

“Do you like this?” he asks, not because he isn’t sure but because he loves to hear you try to speak when he has you like this, wet and needy and at his mercy.

“Y-yes,” you reply. “Fuck.”

“Such dirty language, Y/N, am I a bad influence?” he teases as he slides one finger gently inside of you. You can’t respond, struggling between your need to breathe and the effect his hands have on you.

“You feel ready for me, Y/N. Do you want more?” he asks.

“I want everything,” you say breathlessly. He stands, pulling his hands away despite your whine of protest and he gently leans you back over the bed. He pulls off the last of his clothing until he is just as naked and you can see the proof of his arousal.

“Is it… odd to think a penis is beautiful?” you wonder aloud. He laughs and shakes his head.

“Oh god I love you,” he says, eyes shining brightly as he stares at you in wonder.

“Prove it,” you say, a playful challenge. His eyes darken and he climbs on top of you and you can feel the delicious weight of him, the lean, strong body and the weight of his desire pressed up against your thigh.

“You may have heard that this hurts but I’m going to tell you a secret; it shouldn’t. If it starts to hurt, tell me. I want every part of this to be as exquisite for you as it possibly can be,” he whispers, warm breath tickling your ear. You nod in agreement and then, when he doesn’t move, you agree out loud. He shifts his weight around and you can feel the tip of him brushing against your entrance gently. He slides it through in increments, halting when he feels resistance until he feels you relax beneath him once more. His kisses are softer than before but deeper as well. Before long he is fully sheathed inside of you. He rests his forehead against yours, holding perfectly still to let you adjust to the feeling until you tentatively shift your hips beneath him eliciting a soft moan. He follows your lead, gently rocking himself in and out of you, his movements slow and thorough and forcing soft gasps of pleasure from your lips. You urge him to go faster and he matches your motions, angling with his cock the way he did with his fingers, following the sounds you make and the look on your face until he finds exactly where you need him. You come apart underneath him and the feeling of your release spurs his own, buried deep inside of you where he stays until you both have caught your breath.

“All in all,” he says once he’s curled up by your side, “Marriage isn’t that bad.”

The sound of your laughter lulls him to sleep.

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Jaskier stays around for a while after this but before too much time has passed Geralt returns with word of a nearby job. He is wary about bringing you, insistently so in a way that almost hurts your feelings, but he finally relents. He asks you to ride Roach, an action that drives Jaskier nearly apoplectic and the trip to the neighboring town is spent with protests about injustice and the bonds of friendship that are meant to rise beyond that of romance. The job is quick and Jaskier is able to perform one in the series of songs about his prior adventures at the inn while you and Geralt eat.

“Does he know?” Geralt asks, yellow eyes seeking yours.

“Does he know what?” you ask.

“Hmm,” is all he says in answer before looking back down at his meal.

“What?” you insist.

“It might not be my place to say,” he says.

“Well you’ve already said this much you might as well keep going,” you say. You’ve grown much more assertive since marrying Jaskier and Geralt can’t help me pleased by it, even if it is inconvenient for him at this moment.

“You’re with child,” he says bluntly, popping a piece of bread in his mouth as he does. You stare at him blankly.

“What?” you ask.

“What?” Jaskier asks, suddenly reappearing behind his friend and reaching for your ale to take a drink between songs.

“I…” you look to Geralt for help but he gives you a look that tells you you’re on your own. Coward.

“I’ll tell you after your set,” you say.

“Is something wrong?” Jaskier asks, worry creasing his brow. “Y/N, tell me.”

“Ok. Well. And this might be wrong because frankly I don’t know how he would know, though it would make sense…” you trail off as you try to remember if your courses were due yet. Jaskier watches you anxiously and you know you have to put him out of his misery.

“He says that I’m… pregnant,” you say. You watch Jaskier’s face carefully and you can see the moment what you’ve said resonates. His eyes light up and he gives a little incredulous laugh.

“You are? With me?”

You scoff.

“No, Jaskier, with a bloody goat. Yes with you,” you say. He leans over the table to kiss you, knocking over the ale and squashing Geralt’s meal with his knee but the witcher doesn’t say anything and simply stands and walks away to leave you your moment. Jaskier cradles your face in his hands and happy tears run down his face.

"I can’t believe you’re carrying my child,” he says, his voice awed and filled with love.

“Well you’ve got a few months to come around to it,” you joke.

“I will be the best father and I will love this child with every ounce of my being. I will write them a litany of songs that would make the angels weep with the love I hold for them and their mother,” you smile at the dramatics that come of Jaskier’s emotions and press your foreheads together.

“I’m glad this will be good for business,” you tease.

“This is the best thing. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me,” he says. And for once, without reservation or fear, you believe him.

[imacrowcawcaw]

The Apples (Penntin)

Author (as known on Various sites): Lady Lover- Rockfic, Luluthechoosingcrow - AO3, theladylovingcrow - Deviantart and Wattpad, @sammy_bluebells - Instagram, @imacrowcawcaw - main Tumblr, @theladylovingcrow - writing/art Tumblr, @insannywestan - Sanny shipping Tumblr

Fandom: The Magicians

Pairing: Penny Adiyodi/Quentin Coldwater (Penntin)

Length: 3.3k

Warnings/tags: Fluff, Getting Together, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Confusion, Marriage Proposal, Accidental Marriage, accidental Marriage Proposal, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Penny is pretty soft here, Banter

Summary: It was all in the apple. If only he hadn't been holding it... but, was marriage really that bad? Penny was surprisingly calm for someone who had just proposed to a nerd he had hated four months ago. Maybe everything would be alright.

Author’s Notes: Taking a break from my other Penntin fic to write this one -- it was one of those amazing daydreams us writers have that rarely get written down, but I thought this was worth getting out of bed and typing up. I should note that I decided to really diverge from canon because it just makes sense for this to be happening under different circumstances than what actually did. So, Julia managed to kill Reynard and the Beast, Penny's hands never got fucked up, the wellspring was replenished, and both Alice and Kady are more or less out of the picture, romantically. Enjoy!

AO3 link right here! 

----------

Quentin sighed and warmed his hands on the fire in front of him. He looked up at the night sky in between the tree tops and grinned, wondering how he managed to land himself such a great life in Fillory of all places. It was so unbelievable, and yet he had never been more awake. Maybe it was the opium air.

He snorted and took a bite of the apple in his hand, gazing around the fire at the four other men with him. Penny was busy roasting some pheasants he had caught, an orange glow reflecting his concentrated, furrowed eyebrows. The other three were servants of the castle - his servants, technically - that had come along to help with their quest.

“We should reach the edge of the woods by noon,” one of them said. Quentin was pretty sure his name was Malke.

Penny grunted and shook his head. “If you’d just let me travel us there…”

“You know we can’t. There’s old magic ruins there, the wards are still up and we’ll bounce off. Have to go back to the beginning.”

Penny and Quentin eyed each other for a minute before the other man grumbled and conceded, going back to the birds he was slowly turning with magic over the fire. Quentin sat back and took another bite of his apple, then accepted a sip of wine from Malke’s flask. The stars twinkled and the trees rustled softly; he let the night’s atmosphere enveloped him.

He jerked and looked up when his knee was tapped. Penny had finished with the pheasants, apparently, and had a bit of the meat speared on the dagger he had been using to pare them. Quentin eyed it suspiciously but Penny just chuckled and shook his head, urging the food closer to his face.

“Trust me, white boy, it’s not gonna kill you. The yellow is turmeric powder. Try it.”

Quentin sighed and did as was prompted. He leaned forward and took a bite, moaning a little as flavor exploded on his tongue.

“Wow, that’s good,” Quentin mumbled, mouth still full.

Penny grinned and nodded, picking off a piece for himself to try. He groaned his own approval and gave another bite to Quentin, snorting and brushing his thumb over his cheek when a bit of food got on it.

Quentin blushed and looked away, a warm feeling running through his veins. He knew that Penny was just messing with him - he flirted with everyone, and especially loved to make himself squirm - but that didn’t stop the pleasantness of the action. But it didn’t matter; they were finally becoming friends, and he wasn’t going to ruin that.

“Full moon tonight. Think we’ll run into any werewolves?” Penny asked, tilting his head up to look at the sky where a brightly glowing moon shone in between the trees.

“Hope not, I don’t really want to hear anymore complaints to bring back to court.”

Penny laughed. Everyone they ran into seemed to notice Quentin’s crown right away and asked him to do something -- about their crops, their children’s education, the mice in hats invading their house. There had been some weird problems. But Quentin had heard it all graciously, and dutifully wrote them down in a notebook to deal with when they got back to Whitespire castle.

He was trying his hardest to be a good king and do the right things, but he was also tired. They’d been on this quest for a specific type of berry bush for several days now, and he already had four pages full of requests and complaints. Everyone seemed to have a million problems to fix and no directions to the berries. Quentin couldn’t say he blamed them; Fillory had been fucked over by The Beast for a long time, and there was a lot that needed to be fixed. Plus, the berries only had one specific, uncommon use, so he supposed that most people ignored them.

“Lighten up, man. We’ll find the fucking berries,” Penny sighed, quickly tugging a strand of Quentin’s hair like he did when he was getting tired of listening to moping. “Come on, you need to get your mind off of everything. Drink.”

Penny handed him his own flask - full of smuggled in Earth scotch - and Quentin took it, getting a good mouthful. He watched as Penny started the motions for a fireworks spell and joined in, that warm feeling growing inside of him again. They really were becoming good friends; Penny would never have tried to cheer him up a couple months, or maybe even weeks, ago. But now they were sitting side by side, eating pheasant off each other’s knives, sharing alcohol, and watching the mini fireworks display above the fire.

He rolled the apple in his hand and took another swallow, trying to reconcile the uncomfortableness in his gut with the delicious taste. It didn’t add up; the bird was good, he was happy, and Penny was actively being friendly with him. There was nothing wrong, except -- this was the feeling of being watched.

He worriedly gazed around for spying eyes in the trees and realized that everything was very still. The servants had stopped talking and moving quite a while ago and were staring at them strangely. Quentin tried to subtly nudge Penny with his mind, gaining a glare for the detested Taylor Swift song then a worried look as the man also realized.

“Uh, guys? Is everything good?”

Malke coughed and cleared his throat. “Of course, Your Highness. It’s just that- well, I mean… are you certain, Sire?”

Quentin could only guess that he was nervous about the quest and he relaxed. No one in Fillory had been on anything like an adventure for a long time; afraid of the beast, kept to their small homes and villages by a desperate lack of resources as magic unknowingly withered away. He smiled, big, and tried to reassure them.

“Yes! I’ve never been more sure about anything. It will go great, and life will be much better once this happens.”

“He’s a good king, he knows what’s best,” Penny added on. Quentin figured he had caught the thought of what was happening from his still open mind. “Sometimes things can be uncomfortable if they’re unfamiliar, but we do what we have to for the good of the kingdom.”

Penny sat back after his turn at inspiring the men and gnawed at a wing. He shot Quentin a look, understanding (or so they thought) passing through both of them. He held out a pheasant thigh and Quentin gladly took it, nudging him for real this time with his shoulder.

“You could be a good king, too. I feel inspired by that. I’d follow you anywhere.”

“Yeah, well,” Penny laughed, “You’ve always followed me around, even when I didn’t want you to. Like a little lost puppy, Coldwater, sulking right behind me and complaining when I told you to fuck off.”

“Hey, look where it lead us!”

“True,” Penny conceded with another nod. He tossed his bone on to the fire and watched the remaining string of fat sizzle. A waft of smoke blew into their faces and they both turned their heads.

Quentin looked down at the forgotten apple in his hand and brought it to his mouth, taking a large bite. He never would have thought that magically grown purple apples and tumeric pheasant would make a good meal, but a lot of things weren’t as he was expecting anymore. All of Fillory, for example.

“You know, I’m glad you don’t hate me anymore,” he said quietly, turning to look at the man sitting next to him.

Penny met his eyes, an almost sorry look in his own. “I never hated you. Hearing you singing all the damn time, sure, and you get on my nerves, but… you’re not bad. All things considered, I like where we are now. I’m glad this is happening,” he said, referring to their growing friendship and the list of epic quests they were slowly collecting under their belts.

“Me too.”

Quentin realized that Malke and the other two servants were staring at them, still, but it looked to be more out of respect and some odd, growing happiness than uncertainty. Weird, but good. How long had that been happening? Since he’d been king, or just starting now?

He kept getting so distracted by Penny that everything else seemed to fade into the background; it was never a feeling he had gotten with just a friend before, but it wasn’t bad. Maybe dangerous, in high-risk situations, but he could probably turn it off. Besides, Penny was observant enough for the both of them.

“Doesn’t mean you still don’t have to try, Q,” he whispered.

Quentin grinned and looked back up at the stars.

----------

“Uh, hey, can we talk?” Quentin asked, poking his head around the corner into the Armory.

Penny looked up from his book and sighed. He marked his page with a strip of ribbon and set it onto a stack of more leather-bounds he had obviously been perusing. The Armory was slowly and surely being built up again after its contents had been ransacked by The Beast; citizens who had taken a book or two for safe keeping returned them, Brakebills gave up a few extra copies, and new volumes of knowledge were even being written. It was a place the whole group ended up in quite often, for its resources and relative solitude.

Quentin walked inside and cautiously sat down on one of the wooden chairs they had moved in there. He gazed at the materials Penny had spread around him -- a modern notebook and pen, yellow sticky notes, the royal symbol on a sash that let him access the Armory, and five books on Fillorian customs.

“So you know, then,” he sighed.

Penny nodded his head, containing the grimace his face wanted to make to just a slight scowl.

Quentin didn’t mind; it was a huge improvement to how they used to interact. Their first few months of knowing each other had been rough in many ways, particularly involving Penny’s anger and Quentin’s cowering personality. They had clashed on a near daily basis in a volatile way that just left them both more resentful.

He couldn’t pinpoint what exactly had changed when, but the fights had become less frequent and less extreme recently. It seemed they had both realized the size of their problems with each other was much, much smaller than the size of the problems with the worlds at large. Their quests together had certainly helped too, as had getting drunk and stumbling through the halls hanging off of each other’s shoulders on an almost weekly basis.

Too bad it might not last.

“Did you know that’s what it was?” Penny asked him. There was a slightly accusing look in his eyes, like Quentin had just let him (possibly) fuck up their lives without sayng anything.

He shook his head quickly. “No, no, of course not! It wasn’t in the books, I had no clue that was a thing.”

Penny sighed and nodded, silently passing his notebook to Quentin so he could see his research.

At the top of the page, it read “Fillorian Marriage Customs” in big letters. Underneath, there were outline-style notes on various concepts that would hopefully help them figure out the whole mess they had accidentally gotten into.

Quentin looked over the most important section -- Marriage Proposals. He brushed his hands over the smooth paper and read aloud from Penny’s surprisingly nice handwriting.

“Four common ways of proposing: classical arranged marriage through parents, asking for political marriage, bargaining, or proposal ceremony.”

“That’s what we did,” Penny interjected quietly.

Quentin looked up to find the man closer to him than he expected. His breath caught in his throat as he watched dust and sunlight glint on Penny’s long lashes, his whole face awash from the window so he looked like glowing caramel.

Penny took the notebook back and explained, not seeming to notice Quentin’s staring -- or maybe just being used to him “spazzing out”, as he often said.

“A proposal ceremony is this complicated, really fucking odd ritual that is traditionally done between two high-ranking magicians, apparently. During a full moon they have to share food, then share wine, and then perform magic together in front of three witnesses, all while the recipient of the marriage proposal holds an apple. Which we did.”

“In fucking order. God,” Quentin sighed, slumping back into the chair.

He wasn’t sure what to think. On one hand, he wanted to immediately call it off because obviously they weren’t romantically involved and it wouldn’t be a good idea. On the other hand, the servants had gossiped and now practically the entire kingdom knew. Calling it off could be really bad press. Quentin could still hear Margo’s voice in his head as she pulled him aside to chastise him about something he didn’t understand in the moment; “The apple , Q, the fucking apple. You idiot. Make a decision, and make it fast.” Then she strutted away with her long, pink dress swishing around her legs. It had left him in a daze of confusion until he’d heard some guards chatting as they made their rounds -- and then everything had started to make horrifying sense.

Penny snapped him out of his thoughts, like he always seemed to do. “So, we need to talk about this. Dinner?”

A level conversation from Penny was not what he had been expecting, but Quentin took it. He also took the offered hand to pull himself up, helping Penny clean up the space before they pulled the heavy doors shut behind themselves and parted ways, agreeing to meet back up at the castle gates. From there, Penny traveled them to a tavern that had become one of their favorites.

They ordered food and beer, settling down against the rough bark of a large tree right outside. The sun was just setting and the air was still warm, so they sat in silence and watched the sky darken; both thinking.

A bar wench brought their food and Quentin took a drought out of his cup, trying to ignore the eyes she was making at Penny.

“Alright. So, uh…” He trailed off, uncertain of what to actually say. What were they supposed to do about the situation? There were so many variables, and yet so few options and even less time. Margo had warned him about the deadline for cancelling before it became absolutely politically devastating; Fillorians did not take divorces (or ended engagements) lightly.

Penny cracked a wry smile like he knew what Quentin was thinking - he probably did - and chugged his beer, setting down the empty stein on the grass. He wiped his mouth and trained his eyes on the emerging stars.

“We have two options: be married for the rest of our lives, or not.”

Quentin snorted. “Well, when you put it that way. I mean, why not?”

“Yeah. Seriously.”

“Wait, what? Really?”

He turned to look at Penny -- that was supposed to be sarcastic. The other man was staring straight up at the rising moon, eyes stealy but voice soft. He didn’t sound like he was kidding.

“Really?” Quentin tried again, matching his voice to the one Penny had used. “You see marriage as an option? You know that it’s lifelong and monogamous, right?”

“I know. And yes, it is technically an option. You don’t wanna marry me, Coldwater?”

He faltered. “Well, I mean- okay, yes it is an option. And yes, I kind of don’t want to marry you. We have about a day to call it off.”

Penny looked at him strangely, and it was all Quentin could do to look at the sky and eat his stew. What was he thinking? It was times like these where he wished he had the psychic powers Penny did.

“Trust me, you don’t.” And his wards hadn’t been up, great. “But why don’t you want to marry me? We’ve been getting along.”

If he wasn’t mistaken, Penny sounded almost offended. Not mockingly indignant - he knew he was hot - but actually a little upset, like he had been considering the marriage.

“I have. It’s a viable option.”

“Stop reading my fucking mind!”

“Then close it!” Penny snapped right back, crowding Quentin against the tree so suddenly he couldn’t breath.

They were both breathing hard, worked up with worry and lust and thoughts of the future. Quentin stared at Penny, trying to read the look in his eyes; what was he thinking? About all of this? A sudden kiss was pressed to his lips and then Penny’s face was back in front of him like it had never left, staring intently.

Quentin sighed and tipped his head back. He could still smell the beer on both of them, and feel the brush of Penny’s beard -- it was more pleasant than he would have thought. Penny’s eyes slowly closed as their foreheads were pressed together. He understood a little bit more now.

“Say we did get married. Are you really willing to be celibate, or only have sex with me, for the rest of your life? And what about Kady?”

He thought that Penny might get angry - bringing up his ex-girlfriend usually did the trick - but he only shook his head. “Kady isn’t coming back. Or, if she is, I’m moving on. Too much happened. Besides,” he said, opening his eyes and smiling until Quentin felt his knees shake, “I’d have you. I don’t know what it is, but something is telling me that I actually wouldn’t mind it that much. You’re not bad looking, Q.”

He knew he was blushing, but Penny also looked like he wasn’t sure why he said what he had, so it was fine. This whole marriage and friendship business with Penny was odd and confusing but it was also really, honestly fine.

“I don’t think I wouldn’t mind either. I mean, we’re actually pretty similar.”

“What?” Penny scoffed, “How? Have you taken another walk in the flying forest, Q?”

The Penny he usually knew was still in there; that was good. Quentin shrugged his shoulders in the small space he had between the tree and his fiance (and that was crazy). “Well, we’re both magicians, and we more or less discovered Fillory together. We both like beer and food, and traveling, and our friends, and I know that you like some nerdy shit underneath all of that tough guy-ness. And, we’re both getting over stone-cold girlfriends, so.”

So, we should get married, he thought with a quirk of his eyebrows. Penny’s eyelids lowered in agreement and he leaned in again, asking for another kiss.

Quentin granted the request, slotting their lips together. It was nice -- warm, stew-flavoured, slow and gentle in a way he enjoyed more than he could have guessed. Penny was constantly surprising him, his soft kisses being even the least of the things Quentin was discovering about him.

“Husband,” he whispered, pulling back.

“Not quite yet,” Penny rejoined, giving him one more peck before standing tall like the tree they had been resting on.

He smiled and stood up, helping Penny gather their bowls and cups to bring back inside. It wasn’t going to be smooth going, falling into a romantic relationship and then marrying so soon after being almost enemies. But he was willing to try, for the good of his country (they liked monarchs in stable marriages) and for the good of his personal life. Penny could make him happy, he thought, and he would try, too.

“Hey, Q, we need to have apple pie at the wedding,” Penny whispered in his ear, leaning down to give him a smooch on the cheek before striding away. Quentin grinned without restraint and followed after him like the puppy he was.

[detroitbydark]

Have Yourself a Merry Airport Christmas (H.O.) Chp 2

Title: Have Yourself A Marry Airport Christmas

Chapter 2: You’re a Keen One, Mr. Brit.

Summary: You thought your holiday had been ruined until a handsome Brit steps in to rescue your Christmas spirit.

Word Count: 3000+

Authors Notes: This chapter is so self indulgent, particularly the beginning. I'm unrepentant. As before this remains to fluffiest of fluff. No Warnings.

Tags: @aossi​ @the-southernbelle​ @hoforhaz​ @tomsrebeleyebrow​ @skymoonandstardust​

“A bucket list? Like that thing before you die?” You ask a little incredulous. Harrison laughs, your face must show your confusion because he takes pity on you.

“Darling, I’m talking about your Christmas Bucket list.” He explains with raised brows as if it’s common knowledge.  “The things that you just can’t have a holiday without. Like, My family always watches The Polar Express-“

“I love that one! We always watched Scrooged and A Christmas Story.”

Harrison nods, his already bright eyes light up and he gives you a toothy grin. “That’s it exactly! Also, I love Bill Murray. You’ve got excellent taste.” 

It’s silly but you feel your cheeks heating up. You giggle at his praise.

“Ok, so now you tell me something on your bucket list.” He encourages. He leans his elbows on his knees waiting for your answer. You think for a moment. What were those things you had to have?

“Tourtiere” you say slowly, letting your mind roll through your families traditions.

“That’s French, yeah?”

“Yeah, I guess, i think it’s more French Canadian? it’s this meat pie we eat every year on Christmas Eve. Oh! And Tom & Jerry’s!” You say enthusiastically

“A what? Like the cartoon?”

“No, no, no…it’s a drink” you laugh and Harrison smiles as you ramble on. Just talking about Christmas at home seems to magically transport you back in time. You're a child sitting on the red shag carpeting at your grandparents. Your Grampa is sneaking your pieces of chocolate out of the 5lb box he’d picked up at Sackley’s. Your Mother is shooting him dirty looks because she’s told you to eat your dinner five times already.   A virgin Tom & Jerry is cooling at your side and you use a spoon to scoop the sweet foam and eat it. The lights twinkling on your Gramma’s ancient artificial tree along with the tacky fiber optics she adored. Everything is right with the world as Bing Crosby songs a song about a White Christmas. 

“Sounds good. An American thing?.” He questions. 

You shake your head as you slip back into the present “Nah, it’s pretty specific to the part of Michigan I’m from.” Harrison is quick to make notes on his phone. 

You feel yourself wilt a little remembering that those are things you're missing as you speak. Harrison notices too, “what else? Tell me more. Don’t stop.” He pokes you gently in the shoulder, gathering your attention back.

“Don’t act like I don’t know what you’re doing” you tease, giving him a faux tight-lipped face. “Ummm...presents, of course, and hot coffee and fresh oranges or apples in the morning.”

“My mum always did pastries, sausage and eggs for Christmas breakfast.” He adds. 

“My Great Grandmother grew up during the Great Depression and they never had much for Christmas.” You explain trying to remember your Gramma’s stories, “she’d get,like, hair ribbons and pencils and would be so excited. But they lived on a dairy farm in Wisconsin so fresh fruit in the middle of winter was something crazy, especially like citrus fruit.” You can’t help but smiling at the memory. “My mom always went out and found the biggest, prettiest apples and oranges and put them in our stockings. We were allowed to go through our stockings before the adults got up but we had to wait for them to wake up to get our presents from Santa.” You pause, pulling a face “I feel like I’m talking a lot.”

Harrison moves closer so his knee is bumping against yours, “I like it. Don’t stop.” 

You chew your bottom lip trying to fight back a smile. Your gaze drops to your hands and then begins a slow scan of the gate around you. It’s cleared out a bit, you’d heard plenty of people on phones trying to secure hotel rooms and the like. There was still a good number of people around but it’s wasn’t nearly so crowded and people had more room to spread out. Some of the tension seemed to ease off too as people accepted their fate and tried to make the best of it. Nearby a few soldiers had pulled out a deck of cards and were playing what sounded like a rousing game of spades. By the window, a pair of small children race matchbox cars up and down the sill. A small tree with colored lights twinkles at the gate desk, it’s worker long since vanished.

“We put a pickle on our tree. An ornament” you clarify, not looking away from the tree. “The kid that found the hidden pickle got to open the first present”.

“I’ve heard of that.” He says scrolling through his phone and finding a picture. When he turns it, you’re greeted with one of the most gorgeous trees you’ve ever seen. It’s easily takes up the corner of the room. It’s needles are blue green. it’s full and bushy. You can almost smell the scent of pine just looking at it. White lights and gold ribbon twinkle and shine. Cream, gold, and deep burgundy ornaments cling to the branches and a bright glowing star sits at the peak just barely brushing against the ceiling.

“That’s Mum’s big tree” Harrison says proudly. “It sits by the fireplace and it’s the first thing you see when you come in. She has a smaller one she puts all of the ornaments my sister and I made over the years on. That’s where the presents go.”

You take his phone and let your fingers graze along the screen. “It’s gorgeous. I bet it looks even better in person.”

“Absolutely stunning” he agrees taking his phone back when you offer it, your fingers graze his and you feel a little spark travel through your hand. You don’t look at him but you can hear the deep breath he takes before starts speaking again “I’m...I��m missing her wassail this year. it’s like a spiced wine?.” He chuckles lightly, “now that I think of it quite a bit of our tradition involves alcohol.”

“All the best do” you offer with a wink and a nudge of your elbow.

The pair of you spend the next few hours talking about your families. You sound like a pair of excited children comparing traditions and holidays past. You reach a lull in the conversation and the two of you watch travelers mill by. Harrison inspects the list he’s been making. 

“Ok so I think we need to split up for a few? The shops are open for a bit longer and I need to get some things if we’re going to do this right.”

You laugh but realize he’s serious, “Harrison, we just met. You don’t have to do anything for me.” 

He gives you a soft look, “I want to do something to take my mind off things and if I can cheer you up while I do it? I’m pretty chuffed about the idea!” 

You can’t help the shy smile you fight back. When was the last time someone went out of their way for you. Here was an absolute stranger willing to spend his Christamas Eve and Christmas Day with the sad girl he’d just met for no other reason than to see her happy. 

“Can we just say we’re doing this for us?” He asks when you don’t respond back immediately. You nod, biting your lower lip to keep your smile at bay. Harrison doesn’t bother checking his as he pushes off the ground. He grabs your hands as he goes, pulling you up along with him. Your hands stays in his for an extra second before you pull away. He gives you a smirk, “So now we're going to split up.”

You’ve only just met him and you already feel hesitant to leave. You’ve always been accused of having an awful poker face and Harrison only confirms it. “Do you trust me?” The question startles you. 

You answer without hesitation. 

That startles you even more.

“Yes.”

“Alright then. You’re in charge of dinner tonight. I’ll take care of tomorrow, yeah?” You nod as Harrison continues, “give me your phone” he holds out his hand, palm up, and you quickly fish in your pocket. When you hand him your phone he quickly sets himself up as a contact and calls himself. “Ok, now that we can get up with each other we’ll do what we’ve got to do and meet back here in a few hours. Sound good?”

He’s wandering around one of the handful of airport shops that were still open. Today was definitely turning out to be a lot more interesting than he’d originally thought when he’d first seen his flight was canceled. He couldn’t help himself when he’d spotted you hiding under your hoodie. Alone. Like he was but so much more sad. It had radiated off you in waves and had drawn him to do something, anything to make it go away. 

He’s just finished grabbing a travel toothbrush and toothpaste. His bag was probably already at Heathrow already but regardless of where it was, he didn’t have it and he was going to need to get rid of some wicked morning breath tomorrow. His phone rings as he grabs a tiny bottle of mouthwash.  Tom’s ugly mug stares back at him before he swipes to answer it.

“Ello?”

“Harrison? Don’t tell me you got grounded.” He can hear the teasing tone in his friend's voice. Harrison picks up a Beanie Baby snowman from a display and tosses it in his hand for a moment before setting it back down. 

“Fine, I did NOT get stuck in Boston due to a stupid fucking snow storm.”

Tom laughs loudly, barking into the phone. Harrison holds it away from his ear until he’s sure he won’t rupture an eardrum listening to it. 

“Have you got a hotel. From what they’re saying on the news you’re likely to be there through tomorrow night at least. The whole north east is a mess.”

Harrison grabs some different candy bars, some bottles of water, a few various other little bits and bobs. He wishes he had a buggy because his arms are getting full. The older man at the counter catches his eye and encourages him to make a pile. Harrison nods in thanks as he unloads and starts moving around again. “Nah, I’m here for the duration I think.”

“Bullshit, I’ll make some calls-”

“Tom” Harrison interrupts before his friend can get to far ahead of him, “I’m spending Christmas here with a...friend.” The line goes silent for a moment.

“A friend…” Tom tries the words out slowly. Harrison picks up a travel sized fleece blanket and adds it to the pile along with a few things from his list. “Harrison Osterfield, you’re the only lad I know who gets snowed in at an airport and picks up a girl.”

Harrison makes a dismissive sound, “Not like that. Just two lonely souls finding one another on Christmas Eve.” It sounds a bit dramatic and cliche even to his own ears. It makes him smile.

“A proper Hallmark movie, you are” 

“Shut it Holland. She’s nice and she’s missing her family.” Harrison takes one last look around the store before handing his credit card to the cashier.  

“Well, I’m still making some calls.”

“I figured you would.”  Harrison takes his bags and fights back an eye roll. 

Tom couldn’t help himself. He was one of those people born to be a helper and, if you asked Tom himself, he’d tell you he’d been blessed with the opportunity to help and so he would. Harrison wonders idly what you would do if Tom did come through with a room. Would you come along with him or would that be the end of your budding friendship. He’d had a good time talking to you. He’d loved how your eyes lit up when you spoke of your family, even if he saw a hint of sadness when you spoke about how long it had been since you’d been home, or when you’d slipped and admitted they weren’t always supportive of your pursuits. His family was the exact opposite, so was Tom’s. It was hard to imagine any family not wanting to put all their love and strength behind someone going after their dreams. It made him want to make a night of sleeping in an airport something fun and memorable for you. 

“At this point I’m fine where I am man. Don’t worry so much. Did your Mum and Dad get in before the storms got bad?” He changes the topic to something Tom couldn’t help but talk about; his family. 

Nikki and Dom Holland were supposed to fly in with Sam and Paddy to spend the holiday in Atlanta. Harry had been with Tom for the last month. It was the first time in recent memory they’d have the whole family back together.

“Thank God! Yes! I would have been a fucking mess if they’d gotten stranded.” 

Harrison grins, “well tell them I say ‘hey’ and Merry Christmas.” 

Tom rambles on for a few minutes about the dinner Sam was cooking and marveling over how big Paddy was getting before the conversation starts winding down.  The sound of Paddy’s infectious laugh bleeds into the phone. “Hey, I’ve got a few things to do let me let you-” 

“Sounds like a plan.” Tom cuts him off. Harrison can hear him holding back his youngest brother. He hears the youngest Holland asking ‘Is that Haz? I wanna talk to Haz!’. Tom sounds out of breath and Harrison can only imagine him spinning in circles and holding his baby brother at arms length. “Tell your new lady friend, Merry Christmas for me!”

Harrison laughs as the phone goes dead. He wanders slowly back toward the meeting spot. He hadn’t noticed when he was rushing around but the airport had been neatly decorated for the holidays. Faux pine garlands hung across most shops and the occasional wreath decorated the front of the different gate attendant’s stands. 

A huge tree is simply decorated with white light and red and gold bulbs next to the massive Light up Boston sign created for tourist and instagram pictures. There’s a mother positioning a sulking teen in the gap where the ‘T’ should be.

“Come on Chad!” She encourages bringing her camera up. “Be the ‘T’. Put your arms out”. 

Harrison snickers loud enough that the kids hears him while jutting his arms straight out at his sides. He doesn’t smile but the mother seems to get the picture she wants and tells her son how excited she was to put it in her scrapbook. The kid gives her a soft smile at this. 

Harrison sees  you already back in your spot as he gets closer. You’ve got your phone held up. You must be FaceTiming your family. You’d mentioned earlier that you’d planned on doing it. He can’t help but frown at your strained smile. Your jaw is tight and your free hand is balled into a fist in your lap. 

His lips press into a firm line as crosses to you. Your eyes go wide as he appears next to you but you’re quick to turn your attention back to the woman on screen.

“I’m fine Mom. Really” you force the words out with another plastered on smile. 

“You’re sleeping in an airport, I wouldn’t actually consider that fine.” Your mother's tone is reproachful, “why didn’t you just get a hotel room. You’re always putting yourself in these situatio-“

“Mom” 

Harrison watches your cheeks flush red as he slides down into a sitting position next to you, his body just out of frame. 

“It isn’t in the budget.”

 He catches your eyes darting his way. You’re not sly. He lets his hand creep to your free one and gives it a little squeeze. You’re looking at your mother but your smile is suddenly less forced.

He feels yours fingers twine with his and give a gentle squeeze back. There’s a flurry of activity on screen and suddenly there’s other faces popping into screen, a dark haired man and a small boy’s face. Your smile widens as you see them.

 “Auntie Y/N! Merry Christmas!”

“There’s my little bud-“

“Alright Y/N. Please be safe” your mother starts, effectively cutting you off. Harrison losses site of the new comers as your mother must turns the camera from them.

“Your brother and the kids just got here” she continues in “and I’m going to get them settled in”

“Oh...ok.”  Harrison can hear the disappointment in your voice. He watches quietly as a flurry of ‘I love you’s’ flies back and forth before the screen cuts to black.

“You good, Darling?” Harrison asks after you put your phone away. 

“Perfect.” You force out. It’s clipped but you smile widely and he doesn’t want to push it. Your eyes wander to the bags at his side and you lean closer. He chuckles and tucks them behind him.

“No peeking until Christmas.” He chides. Your smile turns to something much more natural as you laugh. 

“Well fine than. You’re no fun.” You pout playfully before moving your own shopping bags into view.

Harrison watches you sit back, and begin pulling things out of a bag. “You ready for Christmas dinner?”

You dine on luke warm hot pockets that you’d instructed Harrison to pretend were meat pies. Baggies of fruit snacks are to be the substitute for cranberry sauce. He’d got a good laugh at the airport sized bottles of Baileys and rum you’d shown him hidden in your bag and stared at you curiously after everything had been packed and you’d all but dragged him through the terminal to Starbucks. You’d ordered two peppermint mochas and, as discreetly as possible, poured the contents of the bottles into each one.

“Boozy cocoa” you explained, with your arm looped in his while the pair of you strolled around the terminal. You drag him to a large window that looks out over the runways. The pair of you watch the plow trucks try to keep up with the snow.

“It’s pretty. Shitty, but pretty” you note and he laughs, watching you from the corner of his eye. The way the snow reflects the light leaves you softly lit. You're relaxed and leaning slightly into him. 

“It’s gorgeous.”

[strawberries-n-sugar]

FUNKY FLAVORS & OLD TUNES

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Short! "Skinny"! White reader (please don't be offended and if you are then don't read? I can only find specifically x black reader, x plus size reader, x tall reader for every character and I enjoy reading all of those things because I have a imagination but I am none of those things so just something from the other perspective and it isn't meant to offend anyone :), hope you ALL enjoy. This isn't meant to show hate to anyone, just show some love to people who arent those three things)

Warnings: maybe some 18+ (I write straight from my head), old music, old funk and groove music, horniness, corniness, puns, sarcasm, innuendos, maybe some old doo wop, maybe some 90s, a plethera of music in a variety of forms, nerdiness, uhm, thats it? Oh, Daddy! Sam at the end and not the kinky kind XD, interracial relationship (I dont know why that is a warning but some people get offended so I thought I would play it safe), bad dancing my a short bitch who think she has the skills of Tom Hiddles, maybe some sad talk, Steve and Buck being matchmakers

Summary: Things have been rough for Sam and the whole Avengers gang actually since losing Tony but Sam finds a little escape every now and then. A new little hole in the wall juice and homemade icecream joint. The owner might be stealing his heart but she can't see it, good things come in small packages, or was it dynamite? For Sam, it's both, the joint is always thumpin' and so is his heart

“Funky Flavors, that’s new?” Sam comes to a slow jog from his run as he is about to stop noticing a new business had opened just off the route he runs when he runs around the Lincoln Memorial. “I could go for some juice,” he shrugs talking to himself as he goes in, removing his earbuds from his ears. Upon walking in the first thing he notices is the music, She’s A Bad Mama Jamma by Carl Carlton blared through the small system. “Okay,” he raises a brow and looks around, the small place was empty at the moment. Figuring that the owner was in the back he let’s himself dance.

“Hey~!” He gets a little too into it as you walk out from the back. You don’t say anything and just watch smiling and trying not to laugh, being your size came in handy, quite often you go unnoticed. After a minute you decide to butt in. “Hey Shug, what can I getcha?” 

“Oh shit! Huh?” He stops suddenly, caught of guard he jumps a little. “How long you been there?” “About a minute and a half, smooth moves.” “Thanks,” he rubs the back of his neck, “Wait, Shug?” “Sorry, habit, daddy called me and momma that so it stuck and now I say it.” “That’s sweet,” he smiles. “Thanks, and thankyou for stopping by.” “Yeah, noticed the new place, decided to stop by. Thirsty after the run, uh, what do you have? You ain’t from around here are you?” “No,” you giggle and hand him the menu, “I’ve got homemade icecreams and original beverages”

He looks the menu over and reads it off 

Mango Mornin’ Sunrise- mango and pineapple orange juice slushie (alcoholic and non-alcoholic options)

Momma I’m Messed Up- vodka, Redbull, rum. Blueberries, blackberries, and tequila 

Wet- (icecream flavor and drink; drink comes with dish of sugar dipped strawberries, homemade) starwberries, red wine; 19 Crimes 

Classic Homemade Butter Pecan Icecream (optional served with homemade pecan pie)

The I’m Sorry Miss Jackson (icecream flavor and drink)- Jack Daniels, coconut and chocolate

Moonshine Milkyway- homemade icecream with Milkyway and moonshine flavor 

The Send Help- Irish Trashcan with a scoop of I’m Sorry Miss Jackson on top

Pantie Dropper- (alcoholic and non-alcoholic options) smoothie with pineapple, orange, lemon, pineapple and grapefruit

Soaking Thighs- (alcoholic and non-alcoholic options) smoothie with blackberries, red grape juice, and pineapple 

Thigh Rider- Red’s Apple ale with apple cider

Summer Heat- blackberry sprite beverage 

F*** Me, Now- house-made strawberry juice (alcoholic and non alcoholic options)

Sam rubbed his neck and cleared his throat, “Jesus girl,” he laughs. “So what’ll it be Mr?” You ask, leaning over the counter as Let’s Get It On by Marvin Gaye comes on. “Shit, I’ll have a Fuck Me Now” 

“One Fuck Me Now comin’ right now Shug,” you say shocking yourself with how you kept a straight face and not noticing how he was watching you as you made it. “Alcoholic or regular?” You glance at him. 

“It’s 10 in the morning girl” “And?” “Regular, this time,” he laughs. 

“Alright here you go,” you finish up and pass it to him, making your way over to the register. “I like the station, which one is it?” 

You laugh, “that ain’t the radio, it’s my playlist”

“Say what?” He raises a brow like he doesn’t believe you. 

“What?” You ask seriously as you ring him up. 

“It’s just-”

“Just?” You shake your head and stretch your eyes. 

“Well-”

“Well?”

“You’re wearing a Asking Alexandria t-shirt for one thing”

“Yeah, nice ain’t it? Soft too,” You smirk as you know the next song will address the elephant in the room as Play That Funky Music White Boy comes on and you both laugh. 

“3.45″

“oh, right,” he pays you already sipping at it. 

“You said this time, so, you’re coming back?”

“Maybe,” he smirks. 

“Alright, I’ll hold ya to it,” you say, thinking about how you’d like him to hold you to a wall and chewing your bottom lip. You quickly remind yourself that that won’t ever happen. Guys don’t really want your type, you aren’t thicc, or super curvy, there’s no meat with your potatoes and nothing for them to hang on to, you have to have a little something to work with because thicc thighs save lives and no man wants to cuddle a stick, you aren’t a snow-bunny. All things you have heard before, and that was just about your weight and all things you have heard before, the short jokes didn’t end either much less would anyone take you seriously as a woman.

“I’ll see you later Lil Juicy,” he smiles as he leaves.

“Lil Juicy?”

“You’re little and you make juice”

“Bye,” you both laugh and you watch him walk away.

“I’ll bring some friends next time,” he calls.

“Wait!”

“Yeah?”

“I’m looking for help so if you know anyone-”

“I’ll spread the word” “Thanks, bye”

Stepping outside once the door shut behind him and the door closed behind him, “I think the new Captain America has found his Miss America,first lady?  She is damn cute,” he smiles and chuckles making his way. 

Days go by, and then a week, and a week and a half where Sam can’t get you out of his head and you hadn’t stopped thinking about him either but you hadn’t seen him again yet. He did spread the word because the next day his friend Wanda show’s up and she started working for you. You liked her, she was nice and a giant help but working with her became hard sometimes when customers would go googly eyed over her. You couldn’t blame them, she wasn’t thicc but she but she was you could still understand why, she was gorgeous.

“So, have you heard from Sam?” You ask her while it is slow.

“Yes, he said he was bringing Steve and Bucky today”

“Really?” Okay, that was overzealous, it didn’t help when the trio came in. Sam, and ofcourse you recognized the other two based on them being the Avengers, and through talking with Wanda.

“Alright, Steveo, you first,” Sam gets his phone out to record the old man’s reaction. 

“Hello,” Steve says friendly, “Hi, what’ll it be?” 

“The uh,” he clears his throat with a blush, “No need to be shy,” you encourage him. “The strawberry one” 

“No, you’ve gotta say the name,” Sam teases him. “the fuck me now....” “That is a bad language word!” Sam teases and you make Steve’s drink as Bucky looks over the menu and he and Steve watch Sam watching you, glancing to each other knowingly. Well, it was obvious with how happy he was and how he chewed his bottom lip as you bent over to grab things not paying attention. 

“Alright, and you Shug?” You give Steve his drink and ask Bucky what he would like 

“I’ll have the Summer Heat, add vodka. Thanks,doll”

“You’re welcome,” you start making it and it was quiet except for Stand By Me by  The Drifters was on and you sang along and harmonizing, Sam hums along as well harmonizing with you. “This one or Ben E King?” He asks, “this one, obviously” “Alright, :Lean On Me, Club Nouveau or the original?” “The original sucks, doesn’t flow,” you answer as you make the drink and the guys just watch the two of you as they sit with their drinks. 

“You have good taste-”

“Bet you think she tastes good too,” Buck says casually and you all turn to look at him shocked.

“What?” He shrugs, “I’m 103, and I was bagging bitches in the 40′s” 

You all shrug and make the touche face. Steve on the other hand was about to implode trying to remain a gentleman and not laugh. “He wants to eat strawberries from your tits,” Buck continues sipping his drink. 

“Okay Pal, thanks,” Sam leans over to take it and Buck smacks his hand.

“I wouldn’t mind,” you joke honestly

“We approve,” the two old men say in unison looking at Sam.

“Ask her,” Buck edges him on and points to you with his head while you aren’t looking.

“Ask who what?” Wanda asks confused as you rise from what you were doing behind the counter. 

“Y/N,” Buck answers her.

“Ask me what?”

“Would-would you maybe uhm-would you like to come record shopping with me?”

“Sure, just message me,” you exchange numbers, thinking it was meant to be a casual friend thing. 

The next week after texting him almost constantly and him texting you you make arrangements. He picked you up, opened the door for you, and the day was amazing. You wandered through the record store browsing only for him to sneak up behind you and put his arms around you at some point to look in the same crate and look down to read your face to see if it was okay only to find you blushing again. He smiles feeling a sudden little boost in confidence, the pointers that Steve and Buck had given him were working. He swallows a lump in his throat, hoping you don’t notice before speaking softly by your ear. 

“Want to do this again next Friday?” “S-ure, but Sam...” “Hmm?”

“Can we not do this?” “Yeah,” he pulls away, “Y/N, are you okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine.....I just, well, I really-I don’t want to get the wrong idea”

“What is that?” he tilts his head.

You choose not to answer, you weren’t really allowed to answer that question as you look around gauging the room and seeing a few women who may get offended just by you telling the truth. They would probably attack you, call you a liar, mock you, definitely laugh. “I can’t answer that, I need jeans...can we swing by American Eagle-wai-,” you check your wallet to see if you will have enough. “i think I have enough for one pair,” he nods and you buy the records you want and you both leave. His hand in the middle of your back holding the door for you. “Thankyou” “You’re welcome....”

He walks to American Eagle with you as you find a assistant to help you find the one section of the store that is a half of a table that will have your petite sizes. She walks you over and Sam watches as you look through the very small section of the large store where the pants short enough in length and small enough in waist for you are and buy a pair and he looks at the other sections, pretty much the entirety of the ladies section of the store with the other jeans. 

“Ready?” You come over to him with your bag. “Yeah, hang on, let me see that?” 

You hand him your bag and he looks at the receipt, “Why did yours cost twice as much?” 

You shrug, “this is the only place that has anything to fit me at all other than the kids section at Walmart, lets go. I’m just happy i am thicker than I used to be in high school and I can eat now and it ain’t much but I’m proud of my little booty I do have some days,” you laugh. 

“So, next week?”

“Yeah, I love hanging out with you”

 Sam takes you home and gets the door, it was a silent drive home. He walks you to your door. 

“Thanks Sam, I had fun,” you start to hug him but can only reach his waist so to make it less awkward you make it quick. “Night,” you smile and start to go inside.

“Night Y/N....,” he grabs your arm and turns you, he lifts you enough to be face to face with you which honestly made you feel like a child as your feet dangles so high off the ground, “Thanks, I needed this on jean shopping day,” you say sarcastically to play off that it actually hurts because you really like Sam. 

“Y/N,” he sits you on the railing and holds your waist so you won’t fall.

“Hmm?” You ask, looking at your thighs, thinking about how they are thick compared to when people complimented your thigh gap and you hated it but had to smile because you couldn’t eat for a year due to being sick but you had to smile and say thankyou, and how now you had improved a lot and it has taken you years to do so but you still weren’t thicc enough to be good enough. 

“Look at me,” he lifts your chin and you glance at him, trying to have eye contact but you look so pathetic right now. 

“I like being able to pick you up,” he starts and smiles, you start to cut him off and hop down but he grabs your thighs to hold you there and he cuts you short. “I’m not finished.” 

That stern voice made the heat pool between your legs, you knew you loved this man. 

“Maybe you haven’t noticed, but I watch you walk away and I stare at your ass every time you bend over or squat for somethin’-” you can’t stop the blush in your ears and your face. “Really?” “yes, and I like being able to pick you up, it’s cute. if you would have hugged me a second ago instead of flinging your arms around me and moving away I would have wrapped my arms around you and taken a second to just enjoy your head against me.....I think you are a beautiful lady, and you are interesting, and intelligent, I can talk to you and I love that. Please, go out with me next week on another date?”

“Another?”

“Yes, I thought this was a date until you got sad....”

“I didn’t know, I thought you just saw me as a friend and wanted to hang out; that’s usually how it goes...”

“Alright, my fault. I should have been more clear,” he puts a hand to his chest, still holding you so you don’t fall. “Please, may I take you out to dinner, next Friday? I’ll pick you up at the same time, it’s a date...please,” he looks up at you as he kisses your knuckles. “You don’t have to beg little old me, I’d love to,” you answer honestly and he kisses the side of your lip almost your cheek. “I’ll get my real kiss next time,” he helps you down and that was how it all started. That is how you became Mrs. Sam Wilson a year later, and now here you were almost three years later lying down and watching him pace back and forth in front of the bed with your new son.  

“Sam, I have a idea”

“To get him to sleep?”

You nod and go to your playlist and press play letting the soft  shoo doo shooby doo~ shoo doo dooby doo~ In the still of the night~ fill the room.

Sam see’s his eyes drift closed and carefully lays him in his crib and crawls up over you on the bed slowly before swiftly flipping the situation so you’re straddling him. He grips and caresses your thighs and chews on his lip before pulling your neck in for a kiss, “I’ll have a Fuck Me Now please” “Coming right up” 

[twotwinks]

a thing i was tagged in a long time ago by @rochc93. i am, believe it or not, attempting to catch up on these things. i always intend to do them but it’s either not a good time when i think about them or i’m not thinking about them. sorry i’m a mess

Who were you named after?

First name, nobody bitch. That’s all me. Middle name, like twenty different characters who are important to me but all on accident because I didn’t realize we shared the name until after I’d picked it. Notable instances include Rita Rose Vrataski from Edge of Tomorrow and also Amy Rose (a recent discovery). Last name, Gary King and also because I like confusing people about my gender by deliberately using a “male” title while presenting female (though hopefully not for much longer) and also being nonbinary. (Also s/o to ladies who call themselves king instead of queen. Yes I’m thinking of Kagamine Rin in the WanOpo songs Death Should Not Have Taken Thee and Our Adventure Log Has Vanished.)

Last time you cried?

two weeks ago to the day, when my dad let our dog Koko get hit by a car, things have been Extra Bad around here since then

Do you like your handwriting?

No. When I was little everyone always used to tell me how pretty it was but then I started trying to be a Serious Writer and my penmanship degraded as a result of how fast I had to get the words out of my head. Now my mom whines all the time about how messy and illegible my writing is.

What is your favorite lunch meat?

TURKEY

Longest relationship?

Umm....about two years ago for about three months-ish? I think? Maybe two months? I don’t know, we were dating for Christmas and then I broke up with him right before Valentine’s Day because my mental health couldn’t take it. I realized I was aro shortly after. Who would’ve guessed, huh?

Do you still have your tonsils?

Yep!

Do you bungee jump?

no and i never will

What is your favorite kind of cereal?

Dude this changes like monthly. Sometimes Honey Bunches of Oats. Sometimes Frosted Flakes. Sometimes I get a ridiculously strong craving for Strawberry Awake or Lucky Charms or Honey Nut Cheerios. I just get to eat cereal so infrequently that I can’t really have a favorite, I just have to indulge whatever craving I currently have because I only get the chance to eat one box every three months or so.

Do you untie your shoes when you take them off?

Yes because when I was little my mom ingrained into me that not untying my shoes first would ruin the backs of them way faster than they should. In all fairness we were poor and couldn’t afford to buy me new shoes that often because my feet are so sensitive that an actual comfortable pair costs $100.

Do you think you’re strong willed?

oh fuck no i mean have you ever spoken to me??? i’m the biggest baby pushover to ever live

Favorite ice cream?

Either that Death by Chocolate stuff they serve at Purdue’s dining courts sometimes or mint chocolate chip. It has to be green though or it loses something sdkhsdhk

What is the first thing you notice about a person?

Usually like their shirt, I guess? I don’t know, this isn’t something I’ve ever really thought about. Maybe it’s also if they have one of those annoying faces or voices. Or if they have a queer vibe. Look I’m not good with people ok.

Football or baseball?

Football but only because marching band and/or soccer

Favorite doughnut?

Okay this is going to sound weirdly specific but. Chocolate cake donut with chocolate frosting and rainbow sprinkles. Also on a related note I once let a girl in high school copy my homework (that I myself had found the answers to on the internet, it was a really unfair English assignment). She was so happy that she said she’d buy me a donut for breakfast the next day (she made a donut run for herself once a week as a special treat). I gave her my oddly specific request, but since I knew it was kind of a rare donut to find I told her anything chocolate would work. The next day, lo and behold, she showed up with the perfect donut. She had them make it special for me (insert Discord’s pleading face emoji). That was the day I learned my lesson about judging “dumb blondes”.

What music are you listening to?

I’ve been back into Touhou doujin arrangements again lately, especially eurobeat. However I’m also hyperfixating on Sonic the Hedgehog again so the game soundtracks and the Crush 40 albums are starting to show up in my frequent rotation on Spotify.

If you were a crayon, what color would you be?

The obvious choice is mint green but I could also very easily be a lime green or a glittery ruby slippers red.

Who was the last person you talked to on the phone?

I believe I talked to my grandma a little bit on my mom’s phone not that long ago? Other than that according to my phone it looks like I took a call from my dad back in April?

Hair color?

that real deep almost black brown. i nearly got into a fistfight with some boys in second grade who insisted my hair was black. it’s not black it’s just very thick. it actually looks much lighter if you just separate a smaller chunk and look at it.

Eye color?

Hazel. Brown with some green flecks. Or possibly green with some brown flecks. Also both of my irises look different up close but you can’t tell unless you’re really up in my face.

Favorite food to eat?

pasta but it can’t have red sauce

Scary movies or happy endings?

happy endings all the way

Last film you watched in the cinema?

do you really expect me to remember this. i honestly do not fucking know. i have no brain when it comes to movie theaters. i was gonna do a double feature of birds of prey and the sonic movie the tuesday before spring break (cheap prices for students!!!) but i ended up having a headache that day so i couldn’t go and then shit hit the fan and there was no theatergoing. i have tried and failed to get my parents to rent the sonic movie since. i’m very unhappy about it now that i’m hyperfixating again.

What color shirt are you wearing?

well i think it used to be white but it’s really old so now it’s like off-white. also it has a big snake on the back. i don’t even like snakes i just enjoy this shirt.

Favorite holiday?

Christmas!!! I don’t necessarily actually enjoy celebrating the holiday (thanks fam) but I love the idea behind it and the aesthetics. Also it’s peppermint season!

Beer or wine?

Listen I am super picky about alcohol. I haven’t liked any of the wine I’ve tried, but the first two wines I had other people told me it was bad (and then they took me out and bought me alcohol I would actually like because I’d never drank before and apparently getting me tipsy in Ireland over spring break was an Honor for them I literally didn’t pay for a single drink that night) and the third wine I had was paired with the wrong type of food (we couldn’t get the Right wine bottle open). I didn’t really mind the beer I tried in Ireland though, so I guess beer? I really like cider best though, and apparently I can also handle vodka.

Night owl or morning person?

night owl i wish i could be nocturnal

Favorite day of the week?

Friday. It has all the joy and anticipation of the coming weekend without the curse of my dad being home or the responsibility of homework looming over everything.

Favorite animal?

HEDGEHOG yeah i never really got past that from when i was little. but i also just love pretty much all animals. except like. snakes and spiders but sometimes snakes have their moments.

Do you have a pet?

Yeah. We have a lot of “family” pets but I consider Patches (cat) and Gabby (dog) to be Mine Specifically. If my mom hadn’t forced me out of therapy I’d probably be bringing Patches with me to college next year as an emotional support animal.

Where would you like to travel?

Europe babey. I just wanna hang out in France and England and Scotland and also go back to Ireland. I miss Ireland so much y’all.

ok that’s it. that’s all for this one. i’m not tagging anyone because i’m sure it’s already made the rounds among everyone. but if it missed you and you still wanna do it go for it. consider yourself tagged. poof.

[nadiineross]

note: this was gonna be for day 4 but i didnt get it in time so i guess it sucks to suck

Chloe’s hometown was once again in the strange transitional state between summer and fall where the sun still burned brightly in the day but the night air was just a touch above too cold. At sunset, the entirety of town breathed a sigh of relief like how one would upon entering an air-conditioned room after slaving about under the smothering heat all day. 

What they got was a pleasantly cool evening, fewer bugs, and the sounds of muted chatter. Townspeople took out their plates and chairs, sitting on their porches and yards to enjoy the reprieve. 

The Frazer-Ross household was one of the few who hadn’t taken to the outdoors, though their lovely semi-transparent curtains did present themselves to the town through open windows. 

The sliding door leading to the backyard was left open, living room lights swelling past the glittering curtains onto the grass. 

Inside, Nadine was placing dishes into the table, carefully straightening out the forks and spoons, and folding a napkin delicately to tuck under a plate. Chloe’s phone was plugged into the speakers, the volume turned low so that Nadine could barely make out the words of the song.

“Chloe,” she called and frowned, glancing quickly over her shoulder at the kitchen. 

“Yes, love?” came through the open doorway. 

“Louder, please.” 

Chloe complied. Billy Joel’s crooning drifted through the walls, around corners, and out into the backyard too. Nadine began to hum along to the music, enjoying the peaceful ambience. 

Suddenly, the fairy lights extended over their backyard flickered on. They glowed a soft orange, hung in uneven rows. Those that were in need of a change blinked on and off. Chloe had set it all up herself half a year ago after she had sent Nadine off with an absurdly long grocery list and surprised her with a picnic blanket under it later in the night. 

They were both well past forty, been with each other over a decade, and the way they acted with each other, the sweetness of it, sometimes still surprised even Nadine. It wasn’t to say they’d gone soft because she doubted she’d ever know how to do that. They were just in the habit of making each other smile. 

As if on cue, the music turned up even more and Nadine’s grin widened. 

The table was as neat as it was ever gonna be, so she left it alone, reaching up to undo her hastily scraped updo and pushing the loose curls away from her face. 

Perhaps it was the ambience setting the mood, perhaps this was just the kind of person she’d grown to be—she slipped her eyes closed and began to sing softly. When a warm presence hovered behind her, she broke off, eyes blinking open to see the soft glow of their fairy lights. Behind her, Chloe picked up where she left off. She wound one arm around Nadine’s middle and swept Nadine’s hair off one shoulder so she could slot her chin in. 

The whole thing was terribly cheesy; even alone, Nadine would have been mortified by the thought of doing this if she were ten years younger. 

Slowly, she relaxed into Chloe’s embrace and started again in a hum, eyes closed. Chloe pressed a grin to her neck, a kiss, and sang louder. Neither of them would ever be good enough to go for a professional singing career, but Nadine thought that they sounded pleasant enough for a pair of thieves. At least, not ear-shatteringly terrible. 

Chloe’s body lulled Nadine’s into a sway and led her away from the table in an effort to avoid potential toe-stubbings. Emboldened, Nadine joined in for the last line. 

Chloe exhaled softly. It could’ve been a huffed laugh or a simple expression of happiness, Nadine couldn’t tell. 

The next song, something acoustic, played after the saxophone faded out. They slowed to a stop. Smiling, Nadine turned her head, eyes downcast to watch Chloe push her head against her neck, and brushed the corner of her lips against Chloe’s temple. Contented, Chloe hummed tunelessly against the heat of her skin. 

Before she pulled away, she stooped impossibly closer and gave the meat of Nadine’s neck a playful tug with her teeth. It was jarring, that and the sudden absence of Chloe flush against her. 

Nadine hissed, swivelling around to give her an admonishing glare. 

Chloe simply smiled over her shoulder, halfway to the kitchen door already. Then, although it was said like a flippant line, she said sincerely: “Wait one second please.”

Huffing, she waited. 

Mid-word, the song changed to something she didn’t recognise. It was faster than the other two but not overly so, and the voice was low and smooth. The volume jacked up suddenly and Chloe came skidding out a beat later. 

Nadine couldn’t stop the wide grin at the mere sight of Chloe’s giddiness, dropping the huffy attitude in favour of opening her stance so Chloe could barrel into her. She swung around Nadine’s middle, picking her up into the air for a spin. 

“Come on,” Chloe said, glee making her almost giggly. She would be appalled if Nadine voiced this so she didn’t. “Dance with me.” 

Her enthusiasm was infectious, and Nadine found herself laughing along. Chloe set her down on the other side of the table and drew her by her the hand into their backyard. Their feet were bare against the grass and dirt, and Nadine knew she’d have to shower again just to get the muck out between her toes but she couldn’t find it in herself to mind. Chloe was, after all, beaming like she’d won the lottery or landed a heart-dropping leap, and what else was Nadine to do except indulge her. 

Chloe smoothed her hands over the top of Nadine’s airy blouse and then back up to her shoulders. Without further prompting, Nadine snaked her arms around Chloe’s middle and settled them at the small of her back. 

Washed in orange, they danced and stared at each other and tried not to crack up when their eyes met. 

Nadine felt faintly like a lovestruck teenager enjoying a domestic moment with her high school sweetheart. She wondered then, briefly, what young Chloe would’ve been like and in quick succession, thanked God for blessing her with an adult one. She doubts her former self would enjoy the company of a bratty teenage Chloe, the uppity kid she was, always seeking her father’s approval. 

The song changed again, to something classical this time. Chloe immediately adopted a stern face and, rather dramatically, stepped away to bow. 

“You queued this to do this specifically, didn’t you,” Nadine said as she took Chloe’s hand anyway and let herself be swept into a wide waltz. 

“Absolutely,” she replied, readily. 

“Ridiculous.” 

Chloe laughed and smiled, charmingly. “You bring it out of me.” 

“You too,” Nadine said, softer. 

They bumped into a flower pot, but neither of them was particularly stringent about garden maintenance and Nadine led them off to the other end of their backyard. 

“What else do I bring out of you?” Chloe asked, coyly. 

Before Nadine could reply, Chloe spun her with some flair and yanked her closer. Using the momentum, Chloe backed them up the single step into their home and fell into the couch a short stumble away. Nadine’s laugh dissipated into a short huff as she landed on top of Chloe, propping herself on her elbows so she didn’t crush her wife completely. Chloe watched her, carefully, eyes gleaming in the light, and pushed a palm up to cover Nadine’s cheek. A smile teased at her lips. 

They were quiet for a moment, the sound of violins filling in the calm. 

Finally, Nadine dipped her head down for a languid, tongueless kiss. When she backed up, Chloe followed her for a moment until she relaxed back into the cushion. Nadine hovered only an inch away, eyes crinkled with her grin. 

“Hi.” 

Chloe rubbed a thumb against her cheek. “Hey.” 

“Did you have fun?” she asked, indulging. 

“I did.” Chloe nodded, nose brushing against Nadine’s as she did. “Did you?” 

“Ja,” she said with a laugh. Nadine kissed her again, sighing through her nose when Chloe returned it with enthusiasm. 

The music had returned to their Billy Joel playlist in the time spent making out and whispering silly things to each other. 

Eventually, Nadine let up, hoisting Chloe to her feet by the single arm she’d wound around her back. Chloe lay her hands on Nadine’s collar bones and aimed sloppily for her cheek, getting her jaw instead. She patted Nadine’s cheek before she stepped away with a laugh. 

“God,” Chloe exhaled, “I’m in love with you.” 

Nadine blinked, smiled, then went a bit red. This wasn’t exactly news to her, seeing as they were married and all, but they weren’t the type to be so candid with their affection. Usually, they were a show-don’t-tell kind of couple, and it suited them just fine. 

“Thanks, wife, I’d hope so,” Nadine said, lieu of replying in kind. 

Chloe pouted. “Come on, I’ve been so romantic all night.” 

Huffing a laugh, Nadine steered her to the kitchen and gave a gentle shove. Inside, the dishes Chloe had been preparing were waiting in steaming plates on the counter. A bottle of wine stood uncorked. 

Before Nadine could make for the plates, Chloe shot out to grab her wrist and hauled her closer. 

“Really?” 

“Yes,” Chloe said, deathly serious, and then nestled her head in the crook of Nadine’s neck, sighing into the hollow at the base of her throat. 

Nadine pressed her head into Chloe’s temple and failed spectacularly in suppressing her grin. “I married you, dickhead.” 

Chloe nodded against her. “That, you did.”

A beat later, Nadine brushed her lips against Chloe’s forehead, murmured a quiet “love you,” and untangled herself from their impromptu hug.

They made quick work of setting the table and dug in. 

Out of nowhere, Chloe poked Nadine’s calf with her toe and waited for her to glance up. 

“It’s good.”

“What’s good?” 

“That you love me. That I love you.” 

“Are you on something?” Nadine raised her eyebrows and bounced a fork in her hand. “What’s gotten into you? You alright?”

Chloe scoffed. “Wow. Meet a girl in a war zone and woo her so thoroughly, she goes and forgets all about the rocky start.”

Nadine stared at her for a drawn-out second.

Chloe raised her eyebrows.

She speared some food onto her fork, attempting for nonchalant. “We don’t celebrate this anniversary.” 

“Yes, we do,” Chloe insisted. “We do the decades.” 

“The dec—?” 

Nadine stopped short. Her fork hovered in the air until she slowly put it down. 

Ten whole years, she’d known and grown to love this infuriatingly gorgeous, cunningly intelligent woman. Chloe smiled as she watched realisation dawn on Nadine. She looked ethereal, grinning like she’d won the lottery and outlined by a faint orange glow from their fairy lights.

Nadine was overcome by the urge to hold Chloe again and, never one to shy away from going after what she wanted, she put down her fork and stood. 

Chloe made a sound of protest. “Oi, I made us this and you’d better eat it.” 

“Half of this is microwaved leftovers that I cooked,” Nadine pointed out. 

“Yes, and I microwaved it,” Chloe started, but then stopped when Nadine dragged her chair back and settled into her lap. “Oh.”

“You’re so annoying.” 

“You were always a sweet talker.” 

Nadine forwent a response, pulling Chloe closer by the back of her neck. They stayed together for several long seconds before parting. Her eyes were a stormy grey, her swollen lower lip squeezed between a row of white teeth. 

“Happy anniversary,” Chloe murmured, arching up to lick into Nadine’s mouth.

Breathless and grinning wildly, Nadine cupped Chloe’s neck in both palms to keep her from straying. Not that she had any intention of doing so. 

Against her lips, Nadine returned the sentiment, “Happy anniversary.” 

[jesiwrites]

For Pride, For Honor, For Glory

Summary: “Tell me how you sucker punched the crap out of that piece of shit Loras and embarrassed him to the point he won’t even look you in the eye.”

Tanner is fifteen years old. The pretty bastard of the army, a fledgling soldier, and a popular subject of gossip; Loras wants to see if he can add another notch on his belt.

It’s a GOT-type setting, so genre-typical warnings apply. Attempted sexual assault of a minor, intoxication.

It said something about Tanner and Allister’s closeness to where, even after a fuck, they were cordial enough to share the same bed, hold each other close, and engage in pillow talk that ranged from military tactics to the going-ons of the campsite.

Perhaps cordial wasn’t the right word. Tanner knew, but he’d rather Allister figure it out on his own than be forthright. They had gone this long without saying what they were, preferring to let the others guess and know with looks, touches, and a need to be together to signal what they meant to each other. Tanner looked at it that way, in any case.

Allister snorted before tossing his head back and letting a laugh out from deep in his chest. “No, no, no, really? That was you? You, the pretty bastard of the army?”

Tanner crinkled his nose and made a snort, then a laugh. “What, you think I don’t know how to throw a punch?” He gave a light shove to Allister’s chest.

“Never said that! Tell me how you sucker punched the crap out of that piece of shit Loras and embarrassed him to the point he won’t even look you in the eye,” Allister teased, toothy grin and a devilish delight in his eyes. He pushed Tanner’s hip with a tease, laughing when Tanner brushed his hand away.

“It’s a long story,” Tanner offered, to which Allister gestured to the dark night outside. They had hours until the morning.

Tanner was fifteen years old and had been making a name for himself in the army. He was diligent, quiet yet friendly; a strikingly handsome bastard boy of Lord Aesnir Palatinus III who took to a lance like the fire dancers of the south to their batons, maneuvering a polearm the way a color guardsman did a banner. Caster took a shine to him as the boy was eager to learn and prove himself. It showed in the way he pushed him harder through drills, drug him up by the collar of his shirt and threw him back into the practice ring until Tanner would nearly pass out from heat and physical exhaustion. Without being told, Tanner would tend to the stables before the stable boys, taking his horse for obstacle course drills, moving with her as one unit and piercing through dummies with his lance. He had gotten to the point of training her to buck and kick to defend him should he make an oversight.

It was a team of rider and mare if he had ever seen one.

Loras, meanwhile, was a knight who was comfortable resting on the laurels of many things: his name; his skills; his good looks. A fine swordsman, all things considered, but the titles and various privileges that came with his station had made him comfortable in recent memory. He had a reputation for being quite the dog of the army, taking nubile young men and many a blushing maiden to bed with the deftness of a fisherman in a clear lake during spawning. And he eyed the young bastard boy the way a chicken hawk did prey, not that it was unusual for any of the men in the army to have their eye on fresh meat.

Especially if that fresh meat had cheekbones like his father’s and carried himself with dignity, but sand-colored skin; wine red eyes; and slate grey hair that draped down his shoulders all of his own. Tanner would play with his hair in agitation when he heard the same refrain across the camps: “Aesnir’s pretty bastard…pretty like a woman…pretty like his whore mother.”

That same old song and dance haunted him since he was born. Everyone knew that Tanner chose not to engage in relations with anyone in the army, for one reason or another. They had their suspicions of whom he bedded, but no one had ever heard of anyone bedding him; the idea of doing so a challenge of mythic proportions. He was perfectly aware of what people said about him. It didn’t hurt any less, even as he drove himself to be a good soldier. He was a boy becoming a man with eyes on a ranked position, titles and dignity that he was frequently told he didn’t deserve due to his pedigree.

He kept to himself mostly, overseeing and training new recruits, delegating responsibilities of the camp to people he sized up as worthwhile. There was a sense of caution in his eyes, despite his gregarious nature: sweet and kind, but keeping would-be paramours well over arm’s length. Some of them had been on the sharp end of his weapon, taking the hint or seeing it as an obstacle to overcome.

Loras had been one of the latter.

It had been a day they were sniffing out raiders like hounds on a fox. It was one of Tanner’s first missions as a member of the cavalry, being expected to follow before leading. Loras claimed glory for his kills and charisma towards the townsfolk; Tanner wasn’t faulted for observing him. Tanner continued to prove himself a worthy recruit, his horse bucking and kicking when he would miss a hit to make up for his oversight, lance spearing through a neck or skull like a fork into a cut of meat. It had been a good mission all around. The night ended with a celebratory meal, ale and mead flowing freely with roasted boar and root vegetables.

Loras took the opportunity to seat himself next to the recruit, who was being teased by some of the other men for a variety of things his tongue had let slip.

“Now now, what’s everyone teasing the little blueblood for?” Loras started, gentle smile as he looked down at Tanner. He was playing with his hair; he always did when he was flustered, like he was trying to hide behind it.

“Well, Tanner here just confessed an interesting little secret for us,” started Magnus, the axe-wielder. He was bulky but intelligent, like an ancient yew or oak tree. He started out a commoner, but one wouldn’t know with how well he could mimic the upper class when discussing tactics or going ons of the army when prompted. Craster looked to him to guide the foot soldiers for good reason.

“Oh?” Loras asked, looking at Tanner. “Not good to keep secrets from your brothers at arms.”

“It’s personal, no need to share it,” Tanner started, looking at Magnus with the slightest hint of embarrassment. Loras had to admit, he was cute, painfully so. He wouldn’t have been surprised—

“I’m surprised you’ve kept your virtue in tact with all these beasts here, little half-prince,” Magnus said smoothly, the table going silent as Tanner made a thousand yard stare into his mug of ale. That wasn’t a secret; everyone knew Tanner was a virgin of some capacity. Not totally, not with the way he flirted; but enough to prove he hadn’t quite let his boundaries be breached yet. “You mean to tell me none of these strapping young men have you curious to try?”

“Oh there’s a few--!” Tanner started before clamping his mouth shut; gods, alcohol was going to get him in trouble for half of the things he said. He wanted to sign a waiver to forfeit responsibility.

“Oho, a few, huh?” Loras grinned, sitting beside the younger man with a deliberate tap of his hip against Tanner’s. “Do tell; I may be able to make something of it.”

Tanner snorted and shooed away Loras, the knight only mildly affronted. He hadn’t seen someone this shy since one of the handmaidens of the court, a soft-spoken nit named Agatha who turned out to be quite the screamer by the end of it. “Come on, there’s a few here you’ve clearly got your eye on,” the knight said with the tease of an older sibling, looking at the boy who kept squirming in his seat. He was thoroughly out of his element, dangerously close to being the butt of a joke. And with a crippling hatred of being embarrassed, to boot.

“Didn’t you mention one of those recruits? Alexander?” one of the younger soldiers offered to Tanner, whom corrected him: “Allister.”

“Ah, how cute, you know his name. Not bad though, you like that sort: manly, sure of himself.”

“I’ve also found that Scotch character rather handsome,” Tanner admitted meekly, taking another drink of ale in a meager attempt to shut himself up.

“Ahaha, two pretty men having their way at each other, looking like a pair of women without the bits!” Magnus howled at the observation. “Both of the two you mentioned, I bet they’re a right pair of cads. Allister probably fucks whoever looks his way right, and that noble boy could charm the pants off the royal family without even trying, from what I’ve heard.”

Of course Tanner had his eyes on men with experience, who had more swagger in their bodies than some men had in the experience of their lives. Loras took that assessment to heart; he could charm him, he determined. “So, those two specifically? Are men naturally your type, Tanner, or have you ever fucked a woman?”

Tanner felt his face grow a little warm but made a slow blink and nodded. “Of course. Just…servant girls, girls who were curious. Sometimes they felt bad because I’d been excluded, because they knew what I was. One girl told me that she wanted to see what it was like, fucking a pretty boy. She said I was gentle, scared even. I mean, I was twelve.”

“And your first time with a man?”

“I went to a whorehouse,” Tanner admitted. “I wanted to bed.”

Whatever embarrassment normally accompanied his admissions was surprisingly absent. Tanner was a painfully honest drunk, the kind that was perfect to assassinate literally or figuratively. Loras wasn’t in the mood for bloodshed.

“Was he pretty like you?” Magnus teased with a little sneer, more good-natured than anything.

Tanner nodded again as if a father or uncle was addressing him, coaching him through the minutiae of fucking versus lovemaking. “He was,” he murmured, “Fair skin and pale blue eyes.”

“Ah those are always gorgeous. You have good tastes, by all accounts.”

Tanner felt his face warm up more, deciding it was the ale and not the compliment. “I should probably go to bed, this is…quite a lot that I’ve talked and I’m afraid I’ll get myself into more trouble.”

“Come. I’ll walk you to your room,” Loras said, hand on Tanner’s back as he held him steady. Magnus watched the scene unfold and then back at Tanner, who was wobbling like a new fawn. Loras gathered himself and kept his hand on Tanner’s back, leading him away to the quarters.

Was it dirty-handed, taking advantage of an easily flustered, inebriated boy? Of course.

But you didn’t look at a lame boar and think “I should kill my food honorably.”

He could’ve been crueler and had half a dozen men who wanted to claim a piece of the royal bastard for themselves when he was finished, but he’d rather save the privilege in its entirety for himself. At the end of the day, Loras knew what he was: a glory hound. And he wasn’t about to look a feast away just because it had fallen to the floor. Tanner was unaware enough to not have registered where he was in the hallway, all the doors in all the corridors blending together. The braziers were like melted suns on the walls, the windows slightly tilted. He watched Loras open the door and looked around, and said something that made Loras’ blood start to run cold: “Did we pass my room, Ser Loras.”

“We may have, but do you really want to be alone in your state,” Loras replied coolly at the young boy who was doing his best not to show that he was at the halfway point of tipsy and drunk. Loras didn’t give Tanner an option to respond before guiding him into his room, the boy taking to it like a suggestion.

Loras’ room was no different than any of the other knights’ or soldiers’. Minimally decorated, a few medals and pins to suggest his stature and accomplishments along with his armor, but above all, he carried it all in his heart, character, and disposition. Tanner was both a little stunned and a little unsurprised, figuring Loras cared little for material tokens of his winnings. He looked back up at Loras, mouth against his and fingers holding his chin, firm lips against his.

A few seconds later, he registered: “Goodness, you are cute.”

Tanner overestimated his tolerance, the alcohol making the room tilt and waver, but not spin. He was still a lightweight, all things considered. Loras composed himself with enough swagger to diffuse his slight sway, the cant of his head weaving and bobbing like he had a good laugh. First-timers were always easy; get them drunk enough and say enough nice things to them, and they’d do anything to keep the night going.

Tanner was proving to be no exception, especially given the fact his self-esteem issues had all the subtlety of a gaping chest wound. He starved for affection; he didn’t quite believe the experience was real. Loras especially liked the way he sat in his lap and straddled him, draping his arms around him as the knight supported him from falling over. His inhibitions had been stripped from him like his trousers were close to being; a terribly lonely boy who wanted affection from anywhere, particularly from men. It was almost sad how easy it was. He could’ve done it here, pull himself out while Tanner was least expecting it and just hazy enough to register what was going on –

But he did have a soft spot for seeing Tanner on his back, being put in his place for good.

“Ah, ah, ah, what a sweet little thing you are,” Loras teased, leading Tanner to the bed and holding his side, tracing the slight curve to it. A pretty little prize, he determined, enjoying how cute he looked as he kept trying to blink away the effects of the ale, color in his cheeks. The knight grabbed his chin, pulling him down for another kiss as the hand stroking Tanner’s side went around and pushed his ass towards him. He restrained a laugh at Tanner’s expense when the recruit fell over himself and into the bed face first.

Tanner inhaled and pushed himself up, pushing back against the bed. His sway was becoming less pronounced, his faculties returning to him as he gripped his head and winced. He looked back at Loras, a hand around his wrist as he guided him back into the bed like a song. He had him, he needed to confirm it. He loomed over the younger soldier, pinning his arms back to keep him from moving and settled himself between his legs.

Tanner didn’t like the way the knight leered at him, not as a person but a conquest. It was becoming increasingly clear there was no kindness or consideration; he was a notch in Loras’ belt, a prize that he would gloat about winning to the whole army. Tanner felt a sense of dread pool at his stomach as Loras had his wrists gripped behind his head, thrashing and kicking.

“Easy, easy, thought you said you were curious to try,” Loras whispered in his ear, coquetry with a bite of expectation. “Come on now, I know you’re pretty like a girl; didn’t think you’d be a fucking tease like one, too.”

Tanner’s nostrils flared at that sentiment. “Get - the fuck - off me,” he snarled, every syllable and fragment clipped like stabbing.

Revulsion coursed through him like sickness, feeling the urge to vomit in the pit of his stomach and to the back of his throat as Loras smashed his wet lips against his, taking a hand away to reach around and find the waistband of Tanner’s trousers, beginning to yank them down. Red flags were in Tanner’s eyes with alarms ringing in his ears; he had to do something. Loras was between his legs, pinning him down and he was scared; gods above, he was scared. He was in possession of himself to not cry or shut down, trying to relax himself from the thrash but thinking of a way to get out of the hold quickly and give enough distance between the two of them. Without fail, he curled his legs to his chest and kicked firmly into Loras’ shoulders, launching the knight off of him and a good few feet away from the bed. For a moment, he thanked the fact he was more flexible than he gave himself credit for.

He quickly scrambled off the bed, keeping a wide distance between him and the other man. He looked like a feral animal ready to strike, Loras seeing that he snatched his hunting knife off the bedside table and had it unsheathed at him.

“You come near me and I gut you. Stand down,” Tanner warned. He had all the fear of a young man but with all the determination of someone ready to kill. Loras kept down to the ground, not unlike a wolf being challenged by an upstart and aware it was losing. Tanner was merely threatening him; he was a little stunned Tanner didn’t take the opportunity to mount his back and put the knife to his throat.

“This does not leave this room. There will be no discussion of what happened tonight. So gods help us both.”

And with that, he backed against the door and slipped out, keeping Loras’ knife as protection.

---

The morning had started normally, with an average breakfast of smoked meat, gruel and water. Men had split off into their factions and groups, sitting around their compatriots who would hear their stories and entertain their bullshit.

Tanner came in, a sheen of sweat on his forehead as he was still dressed in riding leathers. It was the middle of the week, his usual day to do his drills with Silverfish. What made today unusual was how silence came like a wave the moment he walked in the door. He looked around at the men and chose to not say a word, making his breakfast and slinking to an unoccupied table to assess the day.

Then he heard snickering, tucking his hair behind his ear. He was always self-conscious but something told him he had every right to be right now. He could feel eyes looking at him, the whole room watching him; something wasn’t right. He looked up and scanned the room. Everyone was looking at him, staring at him, leering at him. And he was alone, the fact making the situation worse than usual.

Where was Loras?

Something between hurt, anger and embarrassment set in like teeth. Another soldier grabbed him by the shoulder and teased: “Hey, so that’s your type? Didn’t think you’d be so quick to bend ov—“

Tanner turned at the soldier who looked at him like the he had yanked the tongue clean out of his throat. He put up his hands to his chest in a show of surrender. Tanner snarled, “Where is he? Where is Loras?”

The soldier tried his luck again. “Why, so you can demonstrate your oral abilities?”

He went white as a sheet when Tanner had his eating knife at the soldier’s throat. “I’d say you calm your oral abilities before I remove them. Permanently.” Whatever warmth left in Tanner’s eyes was replaced by indignant fury, out for blood. He repeated his question one last time.

“He’s over by the fires,” the soldier spat out, legs halfway ready to give out. He was used to enemies ready to hack him to size; an ally and fellow soldier wasn’t exactly who he had intended to piss off this early in the morning. Tanner lowered the knife and turned on his heel.

He made a beeline to the fireplaces, boots stomping into the wooden floor. He stalked like a wildcat, ready to pounce and tear limb from bloody limb, finding himself next to a certain blonde and overly cocky (and not particularly handsome in hindsight) knight, glaring down at him. The knight looked up at him, a cocky smirk on his face as he rested his chin on the back of his hand.

“Well, good morning, Tanner. How’d you sleep,” he offered sweet like honey. Tanner wanted to give the world to spit it in his eye.

“What did you say this morning.” His voice was grave, holding his anger in his fists like white-hot coals, the knife shaking in his grip. He didn’t care if his hands were on fire; he was ready to burn the man alive, shove his face into the damn fire to watch him scream as the flames licked off his skin.

Loras looked surprised, letting way to mild amusement. “This morning? I didn’t take you one to care about idle gossip around the camps, always so serious.”

Tanner cut him off. “Don’t skirt the issue; what have you been saying.”

“Goodness, Tanner, I thought we had a rather pleasant evening last night,” Loras started, corners of his eyes crinkling with delight. “You were so sweet, so eager to please, you know; who knew such a cautious, skittish little boy was such a sex kitten in the sack.”

Tanner felt hot in his face, his nostrils flaring even more as Loras spun a lie from his own ego, relishing in Tanner’s humiliation. “Mewling like a wanton queen, I always knew you liked cock, but goodness, not so voraciously. Couldn’t seem to keep your hands off me, practically begging me with that mouth of yours, like that cheap whore of a moth—“

One minute, Loras had his shit-eating grin like he had his cake and ate it too. Somewhere in the slow motion memory and adrenaline-fueled haze, he was up at his feet, fury and agony mashed in his eyes and brow line. His hands had flown up to cover his clearly broken nose, blood dribbling down over his lips, chin and onto the floor. It took a few seconds for pain to register on Tanner’s knuckles, blood smeared on the back of them as testament for the punch.

He didn’t remember feeling his mouth move but he heard his voice say, “The ring. Now. Gather your lance. Don’t bother with your armor.”

It took at most twenty-five minutes, a small procession behind Tanner not unlike schoolboys excited to see a fight at the nearby field. Tanner still had his riding leathers on, his hair done in a sloppier rendition of his usual topknot, curls of his hair falling out the bun and over his ears. He gripped his lance like a throat in a stranglehold, lips in a firm frown. He was ready. Loras had bandaged his nose, gauze bandaged haphazardly over it but still oozing confidence. His victory was certain; he did have more years on him in the army, after all.

“Really, Tanner?” Loras taunted. “A bastard-born greenhorn challenging a knight to a duel of honor? What honor could you possibly have?”

“I don’t lie,” Tanner started, bracing himself to either move, parry or strike at a moment’s notice.

Loras charged first; Tanner parried. The knight expected that much, swinging his blade over. Tanner read the move, ducking and rolling to the side while keeping his lance close to his chest. Loras was puzzled for a moment, but not surprised; it wasn’t too unusual for lancers to wield their weapons like spears. Lancers without training, he snorted to himself.

“You did last night-“ He swung his lance again, his cocky stance making his attacks too wide, too easy to read, too easy to dodge.  He wasn’t taking a single part of this fight seriously, determining he was fighting an indignant, hurt child with wounded pride. Tanner’s face said it for him, the way rage was setting in his eyes; it reminded him of a bull to a slaughter.

He sidestepped, pushing Tanner away, who stumbled but didn’t fall. “When you said you were ready-“

They continued the back and forth, Loras dodging and Tanner attacking; impenetrable force of a man who underestimated the indignity of a boy. “When you said you wanted it-!”

It got quiet. Loras was stunned. Tanner’s lance had ripped through his shirt and shoulder, another nick on his neck. It was too shallow to damage his jugular, but the fact he even went that far made him painfully aware of his situation.

“I don’t attempt to rape one of my brothers at arms.”

And then Loras was thrown like a haystack from a pitchfork.

The knight guarded his shoulder, hissing. The blade had grazed him, but what surprised him was the maneuver. Tanner had caught his shirt, twisted the lance to catch again to be able to have him in a distance hold before throwing him to the side and knocking him to his flank. The knight only had experience of doing that move with a man in armor. His lips set into a firm line; Tanner was good, frighteningly good.

What made it worse was the maneuver proved that Tanner was ready to kill him to prove a point.

Loras drew his sword, parrying Tanner’s swings, knocked back half a pace each time blows were countered. He had gotten sloppy, not counting for Tanner’s footwork with his lance on top of the sheer force he was commanding with his polearm. The way he swung it, not only intent on slicing and eviscerating Loras, but actually hacking him, was more reminiscent of handling a halberd. The counters kept going until Tanner sliced at Loras’ hands, making the man hiss and drop his sword. Some of the men took to retreating to call for backup, someone to stop before things escalated. Tanner had him on the ground, without a weapon, and with intent in his eyes. He raised his weapon, rage replacing inhibitions, pride mercy--

“Tanner, yield!”

The whole army watched, the captain the only person who had the gall and balls to grab Tanner and his lance with his bare hands, not bothering to parry with his sword. The field was silent in awe, Tanner looking at Craster, stunned out of his indignation and brought into the reality of the moment: he was going to murder Loras in cold blood over a spiteful rumor and his wounded pride.

“Explain yourself, boy.”

Tanner was wide-eyed, angry and damn well terrified, the one man who had any right to be considered a father figure to him staring him down and gutting him with cold disappointment. Color drained from his cheeks as he looked down at the rightfully terrified Loras, who was peeking out from under his arm that he had flung to futilely protect himself from an upcoming beheading. His lance was several feet from him to his right, several paces further his sword; if he had tried to grab either weapon, he would’ve been cleaved in half.

“I-I,” Tanner started; gods above, it had been a minute since Craster had been that pissed off at him. “Loras – I, it’s personal, Loras was calling me a pretty bastard whore, lying about – I was defending my honor!” he explained, embarrassment making him trip over his words. He felt the ground wanting to sink under him; he hated being embarrassed, hated disappointing people—

His head snapped to the right as his lance fell, Craster’s right hand flat and crossed over to his left side with his left hand wielding Tanner’s lance. “Defending your honor how? By being a knightslayer on top of being a bastard? For gods’ sake, Tanner, you kill everyone who called you a pretty whore’s bastard, there’d be no one left in the country; fuck, the whole realm!”

He then looked at Loras and said, “I’ll deal with you and your stupid mouth in my quarters.” He then looked at Tanner again. “The both of you – separately, if I can help it.”

---

Allister looked at Tanner, wide-eyed and propped up on one arm. He threw his head back for a belly laugh, watching Tanner tell the story, the way he recounted his embarrassment and sheer loathing of Loras being his typical piece of shit self.  “The hell did you tell Craster?”

“The whole thing, about how Loras tried to pin me down and was trying to assault me. He patted my back and said good job on kicking him off of me and would’ve paid all the gold he was worth to see it. Then he told me that, while I shouldn’t have been alone with Loras, that I had handed his ass so thoroughly that he wouldn’t have thought to antagonize me again. And he was right.”

Tanner had rolled to his back as he recounted the story, looking up in the direction of the ceiling but not focused. His eyes fluttered a hair, closing them as he chuckled. “Can’t believe I almost killed that idiot, thank the gods Craster stopped me. Would’ve taken weeks to clean up the blood.”

Allister looked at the lieutenant for a moment, eying his frame: sturdy as a birch tree, but not as hefty as his own; sharp cheekbones and equally sharp nose; muscles toned, not made from work like his had been. His hands were roughened from the army and from years of attempting to be a leather maker’s apprentice and son, while Allister had always hefted rocks and mortar for his father and brothers, thighs and buttocks cut from years of squatting and heaving the workload. Tanner had the body of a disregarded boy who proved himself to be a man in due time; Allister’s was the body of a boy who was expected to work like a man the day he crawled out of his mother’s womb.

To any other man, it would’ve been humbling that Tanner chose him to share it with. Allister was pleased he was the only one who had any real chance.

He broke the silence. “I suppose Loras is right about something though.”

Tanner scrunched his nose at the comment. “Gods, how?”

“You are quite the little sex kitten,” Allister teased, wrestling on top of the lieutenant and kissing his throat. Tanner came undone when he played with his bare nipples, laughing as Allister made little bites at his throat. “Glad I got to be the one to see it.”

Tanner looked at Allister for a moment, a look in his eyes that radiated something that Allister couldn’t – didn’t want to - place, but felt warm all the same. He pecked the stonemason’s forehead and murmured, “Me too.”

[leeesbian]

so in our new campaign @klaarg and i made characters that knew each other outside of the campaign and hers is a warlock wizard noble and mine is a cleric who performs blessings and weddings in the court that her character belongs to and they hate each other! but i wrote a rare moment of peace between them because i thought it would be nice

“Please welcome to the altar: Telron Virthanas.”

And down the ornately decorated carpet walked the high elf in question, dressed immaculately in glittering white and silver robes accented with shiny black boots and a jeweled headpiece decorated in rubies and diamonds. Though on his face lay an expression of pure poise, his eyes told a different story- a story that the cleric announcing him could see. Teodora’s past with Telron was short and sweet: she moved in with his family when she was twenty-five as their court cleric, and she had always harbored suspicions about him. He knew the man was a magic user- he didn’t exactly keep it secret- but some of his abilities and knowledge struck her as… odd. Since their meeting, Telron had been betrothed, but had for reasons of his own design been putting off the marriage (and often spent more time with his personal servant Grigory than he did his fiancee, but that is a story for another time), and seeing him standing at the altar today on his long anticipated wedding day, Teo could finally see why he was dreading this day so. As much as they two may have disliked each other, Teo was excited to perform Telron’s marriage rites, much to Telron’s dismay. Weddings were one of the things that reminded her of her home back in Ioma. Though they were few in number, weddings among the liberated slaves were joyous, colorful, and a true testament to love between two people. The weddings that Teo had performed since joining the Virthanas court had, admittedly, seemed to lack the love Teo could see between those on her island, they were incredibly beautiful- all sparkling gold and silver and diamonds, guests dressed in their absolute best, feasts cooked over the course of a week, ribbons and flowers and glitz and glamour, and even though these weddings were not exactly like the ones Teo was used to, she absolutely adored every second of every one.

“Please welcome to the altar: Diora Belynn.”

Telron’s parents released both of his arms and stepped off to his left as his betrothed made her way down the aisle. Her flowing white hair was stick straight with two ringlets framing her long and elegant face, but her wedding gown was- in comparison to the man awaiting her- simple. It was glittering white and cut in such a way that her shoulders were exposed, and she wore a long lace veil which trailed behind her in a long and flowery train. Teo smiled at her and her parents as they mirrored the motion by Telron’s family, stepping off to her right and beaming with pride. Teo took in a deep breath, removing her hands from inside of her long cream white sleeves and gesturing to the two of them. “Will the betrothed please kneel at the altar and take hands?”

Telron and Diora kneeled down onto the cushion at Teo’s feet and grasped silver ringed hands, looking up at Teo expectantly. Teo then kneeled in front of the two then pulled from the pocket of her robe a long white silk ribbon, which she delicately wound around the two elves joined hands. “If the bridegroom would state his vows?” She said as she took their now tied hands gently into her own.

Telron quietly sighed. “I, Telron Virthanas, hereby do take the woman before me to be my partner,” he said with very little emotion to his voice. “My love, my song, my wife. I will protect her virtue, I will keep her from harm, I will love her with my whole heart and self. We are not only joined by ribbon at this wedding altar, but we are too joined in spirit.”

Teo’s chest hurt to hear Telron state these words she found so beautiful and romantic in a tone dripping with enmity. However, she simply swallowed then turned to the bride: “If the bride would state her vows?”

As Diora straightened her back and began to repeat her own scripted vows, Teo found herself finally really analyzing the two elves kneeling before her. They truly were two of the most beautiful people she’d ever seen- glowing sun kissed skin, sharp jawlines and cheekbones with shining bright eyes; Telron’s spun gold hair and Diora’s shocking white waves; slender necks and wrists; full lips and elegant noses. If there were any actual feelings of love between the two, Teo believed that they would create the most gorgeous and powerful family together. But Teo was not dull, not a fool, she knew how these political marriages worked. This poor girl’s family would become attached to Telron’s powerful one, the wedding would be attended by hundreds of elite and equally well known noble families, Telron and Diora would move into a massive manor on a huge plot of land, and never speak to each other again. Knowing this, admittedly, did make Teo feel sad that this wedding was not one that she really believed in, but working for nobles meant that no one she would perform marriage rites for would be marrying for love, never marrying for the right reason.

As Diora finished her vows, Teo reached forward and carefully unbound their hands, then produced a small ceremonial pair of scissors from behind the altar and split the ribbon in half. “The couple’s joining is symbolized before you, and the joining of families is symbolized by this gesture,” she recited, handing one ribbon half to Telron’s mother and the other to Diora’s. She then pulled a match from the tinderbox beneath the altar and quickly lit it before continuing: “The candles spread across the surface of this altar represent the lights which shall guide the betrothed through their new life as one-“ She lit the first candle. “The light from the support of their families-“ The second. “The light from the support of the community-“ The third. “The light of the clergy that binds them-“ And the final. “And the light of Gods on high.” Teo carefully extinguished the match before folding her hands in her lap and looking back at the couple. “If the betrothed would remove their rings?”

As Diora carefully slid the silver ring off her finger, it seemed that Telron’s was already off and on the altar before Teo could instruct them to place the rings there. She gave him a knowing yet disapproving look, to which he responded with just the hint of a smirk. She sighed before smiling again and looking back at the altar. “The rings which you have worn for one year prior to this ceremony now symbolize your commitment to your families, your homes, and each other-“

To Teo’s horror, Telron let slip a very quiet laugh- which he carefully masked as a cough, but Teo still made pointed eye contact with him before continuing a bit more assertively: “And will now be replaced with rings of gold, which you shall wear until death do you part.” Teo removed the rings provided by each party’s parents from the pocket of her robe and handed one to each of them. Diora offered her hand to Telron, which he reluctantly slid the ring he was given onto her finger, then repeated the action and received his own before turning back to the altar. “If the betrothed would stand and join hands once more?” And they did. Teo smoothed out the creases in the front of her robes before folding her hands neatly in front of her. “In our lives, we are loved first by our families, second by our spouses, and last, by ourselves. In this second step of your journey, the gods above will help guide you in the next steps, but only so long as you allow them. I, Teodora yr Portia di Lollad yi Ioma, court cleric to the Virthanas family, hereby do pronounce you: Telron Virthanas and Diora Belynn, no longer betrothed, but wed. May the gods smile on your joining, and may the sun shine on your new life as one.”

And as the couple turned to face their families and loved ones, the entire hall was filled with music and applause.

The feast following a noble’s wedding ceremony is arguably more beautiful than the wedding itself. The colors are no longer limited to creams, whites, silvers, with a hint of whatever color primarily decorates the family’s crest (in the case of the Virthanas, red), the hall smells like freshly cooked meats and vegetables and ale and wine as opposed to perfumes and incense, but above all, it is where everyone truly comes alive- the ceremony is formal, quiet, stuffy, but the feast allows the guests to reveal their truest selves.

By drinking in excess.

Which is exactly what Telron planned to do.

Of course he understood the importance of the joining, but this woman was lucky to have him specifically. Really, his family was just doing hers a favor- he could’ve married anyone he wanted, really, (well not really), his mother simply thought Diora was a nice and pretty girl and his father thought their joining would brighten up their family name. If he could’ve put it off longer, he would have. He would’ve gladly continued traipsing about the countryside and sleeping in dirty inns and drinking cheap ale like some kind of a commoner with a crazy amnesiac and the goody-two-shoes cleric he was for whatever reason always forced to spend time with if it meant he could avoid his family, this wedding, nobility in general, and spend time with Grigory. He would’ve been roped back into it eventually, though. He would’ve been found no matter how far he travelled, and he still would have had to marry this woman he cared next to nothing about in order to please his family.

If marrying meant he was able to publicly drink good wine and not be judged, though…

He was on his third glass when he insulted one of Diora’s cousins nearly to the point of tears, his fourth when he made someone’s great aunt spit out her drink upon hearing a lude joke, and his fifth when he slapped someone’s glass right out of their hand and laughed as it shattered on the floor. He knew his parents were watching from somewhere and were probably disapproving of his behavior greatly, but the farther along he got the less he cared. In fact at one point he decided it was best if he went and found an empty table and sat down to avoid truly speaking his mind to anyone. He sat sulking and sipping red wine, accidentally sloshing some out onto his white robes and cursing himself for allowing himself to be so… sloppy.

Before his eyes, however, the stain seemed to lift and fade away. He brushed a hand over the spot before looking up and seeing one of the last people he wanted to see in this state.

“You look like you’re enjoying yourself,” Teo said with a judging bounce of her eyebrows. She had changed from her priestess’s attire into something still formal but seemingly more comfortable, and she had also taken her hair down from the ornate updo it had been in during the ceremony. She was holding two glasses of water and sat down beside Telron (with one chair in between them) and set one of the glasses in front of him. He scoffed at the glass and folded his arms over his chest and looked away from her. “Come to watch me suffer, have you?” He said, wrinkling his nose in disgust. He heard her sigh and set her own glass on the table. The band at the front of the hall continued to play, filling the space with boisterous music and the silence hanging between the two. “Listen, Telron, I-”

“If you even think about sympathizing with me or telling me you know how I feel I swear I will drag you across the room by your ridiculous hair and throw you out the window.”

“You know, today is supposed to be happy-”

“And I’m far from that. Next question.”

“Could you let me talk to you for more than five seconds for once?”

Telron finally looked up and made eye contact with Teo, flashing her a broad sarcastic smile and staring at her impatiently. Teo sighed and shifted in her seat to face him, folding her hands in her lap. “I’ve been officiating these weddings for five years-”

“And I’ve been going to noble weddings since before you were born- hey!” He interjected as she leaned forward and slapped the side of his head with a flat palm. “Do you have any idea how long it took me to make my hair look nice for this stupid wedding?”

“I asked politely if you wouldn’t interrupt me,” Teo said, leaning back in her seat again and taking a sip of her water. “As I was saying. I’ve been officiating these weddings for five years, and yet have I married a couple who looked like they liked each other, let alone were truly in love. My personal beliefs as weddings go, two people shouldn’t be married unless they do truly love each other, and organizing weddings of individuals who most certainly do not fall into that category… well, it breaks my heart, to use a cliched analogy.”

“Where exactly are you going with this? I have wine to drink, you know.”

“You’ll drink the water I brought and listen to me, you lush.”

Telron scoffed, absolutely revulsed by the woman’s attitude, but rolled his eyes and picked up the glass of water before him and turned toward her.

“My point is… I know that after today, you’ll likely only speak to Diora when you’re in court meetings or in public, if you even go out in public with her ever. I know that you must be unhappy with the entire arrangement, anyway. But that doesn’t mean you get to act like a spoiled child and drink like the world is ending.”

Telron scoffed again. “You really don’t know anything about me, do you?”

“I know enough to know that you’re acting out only to hide the sliver of you cares about this ordeal.”

“How dare-”

“I also know that the only time I saw you with an expression even close to people who should be getting married usually have you were looking at someone who was decidedly not your wife.”

At this, Telron finally closed his mouth and took a drink of water.

Teo sighed heavily and shook her head, folding her arms across her chest and looking over at the table Diora was sitting at; Telron stole a glance and saw her sitting by her mother and who he guessed to be some of her cousins, looking as “happy” as he was feigning to be before he started drinking. He took another look around the room before his eyes found Grigory, dressed in a slightly more refined servant’s uniform, his hair slicked back out of his face, candlelight from the chandeliers above making his skin glow and highlighting his freckles. He didn’t look particularly happy either, but Telron wouldn’t be particularly happy either if he was at an extravagant event such as this one and was not participating in the festivities but simply collecting empty glasses. He happened to glance up at the same time and make eye contact with Telron from across the room. He smiled sadly and simply shrugged a shoulder before turning and walking back towards the doors to the hall to return the glasses on his silver tray to the kitchen.

“You aren’t as sly as you think you are, you know,” Teo said, interrupting Telron’s train of thought. He looked back over to her and leaned forward in an attempt to be menacing. “If you say a word to anyone, I swear-”

“Lose the theatrics. My lips are sealed.” Teo smirked at him before glancing over and watching as Grigory quickly left the room. “You care for him deeply, don’t you?”

Telron kept his mouth shut and quickly looked down to take a drink from his glass. Teo looked back at him and hesitated before reaching over to pat Telron’s arm gently- a gesture which Telron was not fond of and he quickly leaned back to avert the touch. Teo rolled her eyes and pulled back, shaking her head. “I only hope that you can find some semblance of happiness from this union,” she said, smoothing out the front of her dress. “And I’m sorry that you are so unhappy right now.” Telron pursed his lips and looked up at Teo, who was giving him a kind smile. “Why are you being so civil?” He asked with a smirk. “Normally you wouldn’t even give me the time of day.”

Teo laughed softly. “I have a strong belief that all outside issues should be held off until after a wedding,” she explained. “It’s supposed to be the most… joyous and romantic day of someone’s life. There’s no room for animosity.”

“But you hit me.”

Teo grinned and shrugged. “Maybe a little animosity.”

At that, Telron actually laughed, but just a little. He glanced up and saw the door to the hall creak open again, and Grigory enter and begin to make his way toward their table. Telron quickly wiped the smile from his face and sat up straight; Teo turned slightly to see Grigory approaching and simply rolled her eyes. “I’ll leave you to it then,” she said, smoothing out her dress a second time as she stood up. Grigory seemed to take on an anxious expression as Teo stood up, but Telron subtly waved a hand as a gesture to not worry. Teo turned to face him, and he stopped in his tracks and curtly said, “Apologies, sir, I don’t mean to interrupt-”

“You are not interrupting a single thing, I promise,” Telron said quickly, shaking his head, to which Teo laughed in return. Grigory smiled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck and turning to Teo. “The… ceremony was beautiful, Teodora,” he said. Teo shook her head but smiled nonetheless. “He’s been drinking, I’d be gentle with him.” She responded. Grigory just laughed and took a few steps closer to the young noble. “I like to think I usually am.”

Telron couldn’t help but blush lightly at that statement, which he tried to cover with a laugh. “Only if I don’t specify otherwise.”

As Teo started to turn to walk away, Telron quickly got up from his seat and stepped up to her side, grabbing her wrist. She stopped and looked up at him, he quickly released her, and murmured a soft, “Thank you.”

Teo smiled. “Don’t get used to it.”

Telron smirked and crossed his arms. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

[dfroza]

the One who fashioned Heaven and earth and created the seas and the springs

this is our Creator who is seen written of in the Scriptures, just as John wrote down the words of the Revelation given to him nearly 2,000 years ago.

Today’s chapter of the New Testament of the Bible is Revelation 14:

The scene changed. I looked and saw the Lamb standing on top of Mount Zion, and with Him were the 144,000 who had His name and His Father’s name inscribed on their foreheads. And I heard a voice from heaven roaring like a waterfall and clapping like thunder. The voice I heard was like a symphony of harpists playing their instruments. As I watched, they began to sing a new song before the throne, the four living creatures, and the twenty-four elders. The only ones with the ability to learn this song were the 144,000 who had been rescued from the earth, virgins who had not given themselves to sexual relations. They follow the Lamb wherever He goes. They have been purchased from among humanity as the firstfruits, set apart for God and the Lamb. In their mouths, no lie was found; no blemish marred them.

I saw another messenger flying through midheaven. He carried an eternal gospel, bringing good news to all the citizens of the earth—every ethnicity, nation, language, and people.

Heavenly Messenger (with a loud voice): Fear God. Give Him glory, for the time of judgment has arrived. Worship the One who fashioned heaven and earth and created the seas and the springs.

Another messenger, a second, came along.

Second Messenger: Fallen, fallen is Babylon, the great city! She has intoxicated all the nations with the wine of the wrath of her sexual perversion.

Another messenger, a third, followed.

Third Messenger (with a loud voice): Those who worship the beast and its image, and all who receive its mark on their foreheads or on their hands, will be forced to drink the wine of God’s wrath, poured out undiluted into the cup of God’s anger. And they will face the torment of fire and the agony of sulfurous flames before the holy messengers and the Lamb. The smoke of their torment will rise throughout the ages for eternity. Day and night will come and go without pause or cessation. There will be no end to the torture experienced by those who worship the beast and its image and by those who receive the mark of its name.

Here is the patient endurance of the saints, those who keep the commandments of God and remain faithful to Jesus.

Then I heard a voice call out from heaven.

A Voice: Record this: “Blessed are the dead who have died in the Lord from now until the end.”

Spirit: Yes, they will rest from their labors because their deeds remain with them.

Then I saw a white cloud, and seated on the cloud was one like the Son of Man, a golden wreath atop His head and a sharp sickle in His hand. Another messenger proceeded from the temple and called with a loud voice to the One who sat on the cloud.

Heavenly Messenger: Take Your sickle and reap the harvest, because the harvest of the earth is full and ripe and because the time to harvest has come.

Then the One seated on the cloud swung His sickle over the earth, and the earth gave up its harvest.

Just then another messenger proceeded out of the heavenly temple. He also had a sharp sickle. Then another messenger (the one with authority over fire) came out from the altar, and he called with a loud voice to the one who had the sharp sickle.

Messenger of Fire: Take your sharp sickle and gather together the clusters of grapes from the vines of the earth, for the grapes are ripe and ready for harvest.

So the heavenly messenger swung his sickle over the earth, gathered the fruit of the vine from the earth, and threw it into the great winepress, which is the wrath of God. And the winepress was trampled outside of the city, and blood flowed from the winepress. The blood ran deep. It reached as high as the bridle on a horse and ran for the distance of about 185 miles.

The Book of Revelation, Chapter 14 (The Voice)

Today’s paired chapter from the Old Testament is Numbers 15 that contains specific instructions given to Moses under the terms of the old covenant that culminated in the revelation of grace in the new covenant revealed by the True illumination of the Son:

[Numbers 15]

The Eternal One spoke to Moses about sacrifices.

Eternal One: Give the Israelites these instructions: “When you enter the land I determined would be yours, where you’ll settle and make your homes, and when you burn a food offering, burnt offering, or sacrifice of meat from the herd or flock to make a pleasing aroma for Me; you should always accompany it with a grain offering—about two quarts of really good flour mixed with about one quart of oil. Do this whether your offering is a sworn vow or something you’re freely offering during the appointed festival. Oh, and give a drink offering of some wine: about one quart for each lamb whenever you make a sacrifice or offering. For bigger animals like a ram offer about four quarts of flour and about one and one-quarter quarts of oil, and make about one and one-quarter quarts for the drink offering of wine. All of this will be a soothing aroma to Me. For a bull (whether burnt or simply as a sacrifice to satisfy a promise or as an offering of well-being), about six quarts of flour mixed with about two quarts of oil, and make the drink offering two quarts of wine. Offer it by fire to make a soothing smell to Me. This is how you should offer oxen or rams, male lambs, or young goats. The specified accompaniments are for a single animal, so increase it based on the number of offerings you make. Every Israelite should follow these instructions for an offering by fire to make a soothing smell for Me. Others who happen to be living among you temporarily or permanently should offer sacrifices in the same way. There should be no difference throughout the community in this matter—Israelite or not—forever. You and the foreigner dwelling with you are the same, as I see it, so you all should follow the same rules and regulations.”

(to Moses) Tell the Israelites this as well: “After you’ve entered the land that I’m taking you to, whenever you enjoy the land’s bread, give a contribution to Me by raising up your offering to Me. Just as you set aside a little grain on the threshing floor, so you and your descendants should set aside a little cake loaf from the first batch, as an offering to Me.

“If, somehow, someone overlooked or otherwise accidentally failed to do what I spelled out through Moses for the congregation (all those commandments from the first day I gave them to you and throughout coming generations), and it only came to the attention of the community after the fact, then the whole congregation should offer a bull together. Offer all of it by fire so that it smells good to Me along with the requisite grain and drink offerings, and sacrifice a male goat since it was a sin of sorts. In the process, the priest will cover all the Israelites, and they’ll be forgiven, for it was an unintentional offense. So, if they do all the right things to rectify the situation, then everyone (and not just native Israelites but even all the other people who happen to be living with them at the time) will be forgiven.

“If an individual sins by accident (and the congregation catches it in time), he should offer a female yearling goat as the sin offering. Thereby the priest shall cover that individual who sins accidentally in front of Me. Now that the mistake is covered, that person shall be forgiven. This is the way it should be for Israelites and outsiders alike—for anyone who accidentally errs. If it’s not an accident—the guilty person simply didn’t care about abiding by the instructions I gave to the Israelites through Moses and knowingly disregarded them—that’s different. Such a person, whether an Israelite or a stranger, has essentially rejected God. The community will ostracize him, and he’ll have to bear the burden of his guilt.”

One time, when the Israelites were wandering in the wilderness, it was discovered that somebody had broken the Sabbath rest commandment by gathering firewood. The people who saw the man brought him to Moses and Aaron and the gathered congregation. They weren’t sure what to do with him because nothing had been declared yet, so they kept him confined. The Eternal One told Moses the man should be killed, that the whole congregation should take him outside the camp and stone him to death. So they did just as the Eternal told them to do and executed him.

Once again the Eternal One spoke to Moses.

Eternal One: Tell the Israelites to make fringes on each corner of their clothes and include a blue thread in each fringe. They should do this forever, as it will bring to mind all My commandments and remind them not to wander off to do whatever their eyes see or hearts desire, and pursue them without restraint. Instead, they will remember and do all of My commandments and be holy to your God.

I, the Eternal One, am your True God, the One who brought you out of Egypt to be your God. I am the Eternal One, your True God.

The Book of Numbers, Chapter 15 (The Voice)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for Sunday, june 7 of 2020 with a paired chapter from each Testament along with Today’s Psalms and Proverbs

[expressandadmirable]

Sound the Bells

“A date.” Sol looked at her Tiefling suspiciously. “What do you mean?”

Aviva shrugged, her smile almost sheepish. “I mean a date. Go out, get a table, eat, drink. Like normal people.”

“We’re not normal people.”

“No, but we can still eat like them!” Aviva laughed. “I know it’s maybe not the ideal city to go looking for a restaurant, but it could be fun. We’ve got the time, and we’re proper Heroes now, so people should at least be polite.” She paused, clearly not wanting to press. “It’s a thought, anyway.”

Sol pursed her lips for a moment before responding, suddenly apprehensive. “I can’t say I’m too keen on leaving the manor grounds, to be honest.”

If Aviva was disappointed, she did not show it; perhaps she had been expecting that answer. Instead, she nodded in understanding. “That’s okay. Maybe we can do something within the walls.”

The Tiefling had not asked for one, bless her trusting heart, but Sol still felt she owed her an explanation. “I know the Seer spread the word that we’re the ones who saved him, so I don’t expect to meet open hostility. But for my own self, I’m not likely to feel comfortable around other Elves without armour and a sword for a long while. I’m just not ready yet.”

“I know.” Aviva took Sol’s hand in hers, her smile gentle, reassuring. “I don’t blame you. Centuries of mistrust don’t go away in a day, and certainly not because one man finally said sorry. The fact that you’re here at all is progress enough.”

“Garden walks are dates, though,” Sol offered instead, trying to quiet the inner whisper that wondered absurdly if she was letting Aviva down. She had forgotten the moments of insecurity that accompanied close companionship and she was none too pleased to feel their return.

“Garden walks are dates,” Aviva agreed with a grin, “and as of now, that’s what we’re doing tonight. I’ll make a basket, we can have a picnic. Like normal people.” She leaned in for a kiss, her free hand rising to touch the weblike scar on her dajyr’s cheek. “I’d like that very much.”

Sol nodded, her forehead brushing Aviva’s, the voice inside her quieting. “Good.”

Leaving another kiss on the Drow’s lips, Aviva rose from the bed. “Then it’s a date. I’m headed into the mercantile district with Morgan now, so I’ll grab a few things while I’m out. I’ll meet you by the garden door at... sundown? Sundown. Wear something soft.”

Sol knew exactly what that meant: try not to wear your armour. She smiled faintly as she watched Aviva move about the room, quietly admiring the sincerity of her compassion.

“It’s a date.”

* * *

Sol fastened her belt. As requested, she had left her armour aside, opting instead for the cream-coloured tunic and brown leather vest that lived deep at the bottom of her pack. They were not fancy, but they were clean and comfortable -- and soft.

She descended the servants’ stairs to the manor’s kitchen, but saw no flash of purple hair nor crimson tail. She had heard Morgan’s excited chattering echoing down the hall some time ago and knew the pair had returned from their excursion; rather than stopping by their shared room, however, Aviva had made herself scarce for the afternoon. Sol appreciated the extra time to herself after so many months in the party’s immediate company, but it did give her cause to wonder where the Tiefling could have gotten off to.

“Hey sunshine.”

As if on cue, Aviva appeared from the linen closet, carrying a ridiculously ornate blanket she had found and pushing the door shut behind her. She was clad in her usual leather trousers, though not her blouse and surcoat; instead, she wore a deep blue kurta that accentuated her dancer’s figure, the fabric threaded with green and gold vines. Her hair was swept elegantly upward and held in place with a pair of lacquered sticks. She had applied particularly dramatic makeup for the occasion, pairing kohl-rimmed eyes with dark purple lipstick that made her smile seem deep and endless.

“Have you been hiding in there all day?” Sol asked once she had recovered from the view, making the Tiefling snort with laughter. “Probably a bit cramped for a changing room.”

“Cheeky. Morgan let me use her room. I wanted to be able to meet up with you here, make it a little bit special. Not a lot of room for surprises on the road.” Aviva turned toward the kitchen, but Sol caught her hand before she could step away.

“You look beautiful.”

Aviva grinned, her cheeks flushing a deeper red. “As do you.”

Sol raised an eyebrow and scoffed. “I disbelieve your flattery, but I appreciate it nonetheless.” She knew how underdressed she looked by comparison.

“I mean it,” Aviva answered, running her thumb over Sol’s knuckles. “I like when you’re just you.” No rank, no title, no destiny. The weight of the world could wait for one night. She released the Drow’s hand and reached for the basket sitting on the nearest table. “This way.” As she headed for the door to the garden, Sol relieved her of the basket, lacing their fingers together. Still looking ahead, the Tiefling smiled.

The myriad scents of the garden filled the evening air, pleasantly warm for the lateness of the year. They made their way slowly along the gravel paths, twisting through rose bushes and flowering trees, elegant topiaries towering over their heads like sentinel dryads. Sol made a show of looking furtively over her shoulder before plucking a rose from one of the bushes, which Aviva tucked behind her ear with equal faux stealth. When they reached the ivy-covered far wall of the garden, they spread the blanket on a circular patch of grass ringed by low hedges, an area perhaps designed specifically for private stargazing. Aviva presented the contents of her basket: meat, fruits and cheeses accompanied by a small bottle of sweet rice wine. A proper picnic.

They ate, and they drank, and they talked. As usual, Aviva was most interested in what life in Deepgift was like. What sort of food did they eat, what music did they write, what did they do for fun, were there any flowers? In turn she spoke of growing up in Corneria, the beauty of the city during the Festival of Torches, the museums she liked to explore. It was as if they had made a silent pact not to mention their mission, the fear and danger that awaited them. But it lingered at the edges of the conversation, in the shadows of their subject changes. Deepgift was corrupted. Corneria was empty. Neither of them knew what the future would bring.

“Would you sing?” Sol asked softly, setting her sake aside.

Aviva blinked at her. “What, now?” She hesitated, unused to an audience of one. “What would you like to hear?”

“Whatever comes to you.”

Frowning at nothing, Aviva thought for a moment, then she straightened and closed her eyes. She began to sing, her low, resonant melody filling their little clearing. Her song spoke of the sun rising from the west, unnatural, a portent of doom. Over and over the refrain begged the sailors to sound the bells, to stand together in the face of the impossible. If the end comes, she promised, they will have fought their most valiant fight.

Apropos.

Sol felt the pain in Aviva’s voice, the weight of her soul in the words, and her heart ached. When her song concluded, her eyes still closed, the Drow took her face in both hands and kissed her, hard and desperate and returned with equal ferocity. Recovering herself, she released the Tiefling and gently touched her forehead with her own.

“Whatever happens, Aviva Lux... I’m glad you’ll be there with me.”

Aviva nodded. “And I you. Haluei’en.”

(First Lux piece that directly references its title song; please give it a listen here)

[blondebird]

                                       Headcanon Transfer

                                                      Before + Stationary + Mental Health + Jobs                                                                                 And More...

HC | BEFORE THE APOCAYLPSE

The girl Beth was before the apocalypse is hidden now. There is no time to think back to how she would sit around a bonfire with her friends while they drank wine coolers and moonshine. There was no longer Instagram, or Twitter, or the pressure to dress for a perfect balance of sultry and respectable. She had only gotten her first pair of heels the year before, a kitty heel with polished black faux leather.

Beth thoroughly enjoyed creating birthday cards by hand, caring for the animals on the farm and the ones her father would occasionally bring home. She was close with her mother, learning to cook many different kinds of meat and vegetable dishes. She didn’t eat meat herself, but that didn’t often affect her.

Beth loved cornflower blue and pastel pink, and would decorate the borders of her homework with idle doodles. She loved to draw, but rarely pursued this hobby due to having little time. She played sports, none specifically that she excelled at. She stopped playing soccer when she began high school, preferring to spend her free time with her music.

Beth was an average student. She excelled in Music and English, but struggled with Biology and Math. Even before the apocalypse, she had no intention of going to college for further education. She wanted to try and join a singing group with a few of her friends, and failing that, move to a big city to find an agent on her own.

Beth secretly harbored feelings for a boy named Jimmy, who had the sweetest smile and kindest eyes. She wanted to be a mother one day, and hoped (as much as she feared) that Jimmy would be the boy she married. They’d never done more than kissed, but she’d wondered, and wondered often.

Beth played party games like Never Would I Ever, with water instead of booze. She would play in her friend’s pool, have sleepovers, cry on the phone, lament over celebrities. She would count the letters in her name compared to that of her crush’s, and brainstorm names for their children.

Beth loved the zoo, watched movies on Netflix (when her Internet behaved), went on vacations, made cookies at Christmas, and hearts for Valentines’ Day. She lived for the thrill of giving presents, and blushed at every one she received. She never swore in front of her parents, and prayed at church every Sunday.

HC | DEMEANOR

Beth was raised to show the utmost respect to her peers, elders and seniors. Everyone, really. You were to mind your pleases and thank yous, and avoid swearing unless you catch your finger in any of the farm equipment. (Like the time her daddy got his thumb caught in a pair of bolt cutters, eesh, he cussed so much her mom almost didn’t let him back inside.)

If Beth really likes you, and trusts you, she won’t be hesitant to be honest and up front. The sweet, cautious farm girl demeanor falls away to reveal a thoughtful, observant young woman. Her natural demeanor is one of a follower, and a hard worker. She wants to make sure things run smoothly, and will only rule in her domain (such as when she babysits, or if she’s in charge of dinner).

Beth can even be sarcastic, she can be rude, but both those are only if she feels cornered, of if someone isn’t giving her proper respect. (This is especially true during her time with Daryl, where she learns that being open and honest is far better in this new world.)

HC | STATIONARY

Beth is an absolute stationary fiend. Anything cute, shades of pastel, stripes, spots, just cute, and she’s gotta have it. She has an ENDLESS supply of notebooks with matching pens, stickers, post-it notes, ridiculous arrays of paperclips, and goodness knows what else. This started because she wanted to be organised in school, and quickly became a desperate goal of attaining all of the cute things, ever. And she admits, it’s SHAMEFUL, and it’s shallow, but it doesn’t stop her from enjoying the little things. This includes cute masking tape, staples, ANYTHING you can think of.

Not that the contents is equally as cute. She uses this as a form of self-expression, and it is how she processes the world around her. She likes to treat herself in small ways, and sometimes she will buy a notebook with the express intent of writing songs about love, or ex-boyfriends, or fights with her friends. Now that she’s older, she is freer with her language and her wants, and she no longer worries about revealing too much to the diary. Her parents and sister can’t snoop anymore.

HC | MENTAL HEALTH

  From a writer standpoint, I wanted to take a moment to write a stream of consciousness regarding Beth, and how she has progressed through the series.

  This is not a complete guide, and by no means do I claim to be an expert on mental health. I am going to try and speak in plain terms, and about things I’ve noticed with Beth. I do not claim that what is listed below is consistent with every experience, nor do I believe that any mental illness or disorder should be included into a character for the sake of drama. I hope that I have spoken respectfully about the topic, and feel free to approach me if you feel I have misinterpreted anything.

  There are consequences for the events that Beth has experienced, and they have a direct impact on her experience with others, and her reactions. I just wanted a place to work through these, to discuss the effects it has had on her up to and including her return to Grady. I am unlikely to list direct names of illnesses, but I will state that Beth as I play her experienced depression before the outbreak.

                                                                                 …

  There has always been an indescribable pang to Beth’s existence. It wavered from low periods, to days of uncertainty and heightened states of awareness. Beth had a very loving and supportive family, and friends, and she was cared for. People respected her, and her bouts of ‘low’ periods, but mainly Beth would self-manage. She would push herself out of the lows, and not let on how incredibly unhappy she felt. Because, she justified to herself, she had no reason to be sad. This logical perspective did not dismiss the idle ‘maybe it’s not even worth it’ thoughts that would crop up.

  Beth was active with her church group and her friends, which kept her in the swing of things. She didn’t allow herself to fully acknowledge or feel the lows, and eventually during her time in middle school, around the age of thirteen, this cropped up. Beth had a falling out with her best friend Anna, and that spiraled into a self-destructive attitude. Beth became snappier, a difference from her sunny disposition growing up, and she didn’t know why. She just knew that she was unhappy, at a fundamental level, but there was nothing to blame.

  Whether it was the shift in attitude, or the falling out with Anna, Beth was ostracized from her friends. For several months she sat on the outside of everyone else, quiet, unsure. They would speak to her, but they would also intentionally skirt around her. She was still around them, because it was a small town, but there was a mutual understanding that she was acting out, and they couldn’t discern why. Eventually Hershel noticed a dip in her daughter’s mood, and how she was no longer spending time with her friends after school. Beth was reluctant to eat, had lost interest in choir, and ultimately rode off on her horse one night after these facts were pushed.

  After a teary conversation, Beth admitted that she just didn’t know what she was doing, or why she was doing it. Annette and Hershel took her to see a psychiatrist named Milly, who specialized in adolescent mental health issues. While not the most severe case she had ever seen, she expressed concern over Beth, and helped her reframe her perspective. Much of Beth’s maturity and confidence in changing and being who you are, not who you were, comes from her brief time with Milly. This, in addition to her family, shaped her into a more mindful and optimistic person.

  For a brief time, Beth took antidepressants, and attended sessions once every few months to check her state. She was on a smaller dose of antidepressants as of the outbreak, and her checkup sessions were six months apart. Beth spoke about this with Jimmy, as he had been one of her friends when she’d first had to attend the sessions.

  Beth experiences minor anxiety attacks, and constantly has to check herself, and her actions. Aside from her first suicide attempt at the farm, Beth has not taken to anything related to self-harm. She knows it is something she is capable of, and is actively trying to keep herself away from that side of herself. She does not view those who self-harm as weak, and suicide is not weak. It is a tragedy, and it makes her genuinely upset.

  Since Grady, Beth has experienced panic attacks. One at the sight of a lollipop, and the way in which it was offered to her. This was caused by the trigger of it, but she is unlikely to succumb to it a second time. It was one of the things she buried deep inside her mind, rather than deal with. The other came at a nightmare, after the wolves attacked. She will frequently wake up, with the sensation of being shot cutting through her head. Primarily anything to do with the smell of blood will trigger her to remember her own wound, but she is usually better at managing this.

  Grady prompted a large portion of Beth’s current anxiety and fear, and will often cause her to lock up, but I feel as though Grady needs to have it’s own post.

HC | WE ALL GOT JOBS

                                       Beth volunteered to work in the kitchen after a few weeks within Alexandria. When the group arrived, jobs were quickly handed out. Because of the injury sustained at Grady, and the concern about her time spent in the hospital, they kept her in town. She wasn’t allowed to volunteer for scavenging, and was actively discouraged from pursuing any work that would be too physically demanding.

                                       Due to feeling useless within Alexandria, she sought out Deanna and explained her skills. They decided she could easily work within the kitchen, given that she knew how to properly cure meat. This was a pressing issue, due to the group hunting. It also meant that those who went on runs were better equipped with food that would last, and they could rely on the food prepared in Alexandria.

                                        Once Beth has proven she can be alert and contribute to the runs, she is going to speak with Rick and Deanna about it. She doesn’t want to fall into the same position she was in at the prison, where others fought for her. She wants to prove that she more than what people think she is, a fact that is only exacerbated by the attitudes she experienced in Grady.

                                       Beth’s work in the kitchen primarily centers around making jerky, jam, and other easily preserved goods. She also cooks larger meals which are taken by those who do not have time to cook, or those unable to. She makes stews, casseroles, and works with Carol on other, fancier dishes. She is learning a lot, but much of this was knowledge gained from her mother, Annette.

HC | RESPECT FOR THE DEAD

"Help me take her down.“

"Don’t matter, it’s dead.”

"It does matter.“

Beth doesn’t have pity for the walkers. She knows that it’s kill or be killed when it comes to them, and she won’t hesitate to defend herself. What she cannot (and will not) stand for is people who belittle the walkers, and truss them up into games. This is highlighted at the gold club when she attempts to take down the woman with the sign ‘RICH BITCH’ around her neck.

The walkers were once someone’s friend, family, acquaintance, rival, enemy – they werepeople. Desecrating the walkers for personal amusement is akin to playing with any 'human’ corpse, because that’s what they are. They were all once human, and she despises what the world has devolved into.

The humans who take it upon themselves to toy with and torture walkers for personal amusement are despicable to Beth. In the same vein, people who treat them as human, if not higher, are also of a questionable nature. They are nothing but a threat, a tragedy, and a walking corpse. They aren’t toys or people (not anymore).

Beth will avoid killing them as much as possible, and won’t seek a fight. She will also still refer to them by 'he’ and 'her’, assuming the can tell what gender they are. This links back to her first exposure to the walkers, in the form of her friends and family in the barn. She had been taught they were still people, just sick in the head.

And while Beth knows now there is little chance of returning from the state walkers decay into, she still views them as once human, and deserving of her respect. She will try to calmly, peacefully, put the walker out of it’s misery, and make a note in her diary of another person to pray for.

(Above all, she will protect the group and herself, and would never put a walker above that of a living human being.)

HC | HEARTS AND BUTTONS

Sidenote, both Beth and Lori wear necklaces that feature heart iconography. Lori has her locket, which has Rick’s ring on it until they reunite. It’s a proper locket, closed over, with pictures in it no doubt. It ends up on a dark piece of cloth, rather than the chain. Beth, on the other hand, has two hearts, both outlines of hearts, which begins on a proper fine chain, only to be fixed with a cloth strap looking piece later on, as well as a button.

The addition of a second heart to her necklace, as well as a button made me want to look it up. What’s the significance of the button? One definition I found was; a button can symbolize life. Your life can be closed up or too open. Sometimes for your own protection button up against people that just want to interfere in your life. Given the episodes where her necklace gained the button match up with her development with Daryl, I think this was to show it was time for her to open up. Maybe.

Her fine silver chain and single heart were introduced with her, when she was ignorant of the true epidemic. And the necklace stayed that way until well into season three, and appeared in it’s adapted form by the end of season four. The chain is still present across the back, still integral, but behind her. The dark fabric is wrapped around the hearts, keeping them secure. The button – I really wish I knew who the button came from, or if it just fell off her shirt. But there had to be some significance. You don’t just pick up a button and attach it to your necklace.

(And I haven’t even talked about her bracelets. Unnecessary, but properly from Maggie who went on runs. I’m going to headcanon that each came from a different person, one from Glenn, one from Daryl, one from Maggie. Not all were directly given to her, but were brought back for anyone to grab. Or were they brought back, specifically for her? It was her birthday at some point in S3 and S4. Perhaps they were birthday presents?)

The show uses necklaces throughout it, with Andrea and her sister and the mermaid necklace, with Daryl and the necklace of walker ears, and the 22 necklace that Shane wore. I just find it interesting that there are parralells between Lori and Beth’s jewelry choices. As they both adapt and become stronger, the fine chain transformed into something sturdier, but no less beautiful.

People change. Their accessories reflect that.

HC | FAVORITE THING

The question would have been impossible, once upon a time. Beth had her phone, her laptop, her assortment of heels and finery, and a dozen other bits and pieces she thought she couldn’t live without. All of it had gone up in smoke and flames, the day the walkers had broken through the fences. It went to show you how useless technology was, for all it’s bells and whistles.

Her iPhone was useless; her Macbook AIR was a paperweight; her heels were a liability. Beth looked around in the cell she now lived in, her fingers running along the frame of her bunk. She was fortunate enough to know the people who made the initial runs, and was lucky enough to have bits brought back for her. A locket from Daryl, a book from Glenn, a new pair of sneakers from Maggie, and other things that fleshed out her outfit.

”My favorite thing?” Beth hummed, a mischievous smile always on her lips. She let out a sigh, hands falling to her knees. “Gosh, make it hard why don’t you.” It was then she saw it, tucked into the rungs of the bunk above her. She pried it out with lithe fingers, her index finger playing with the frayed edge of the cover. Beth fell to her tummy now, legs kicked up on her bed.

”Ah bet you’re thinkin’, typical of a girl… Or, or, why a lil’ book? But it’s not what you think. It isn’t all boys n’ school or any of that.” Beth smiled down at the green coated pocket book, the inside cover scrawled with silly phrases. “See, my momma got me this f’Christmas, like she always does. It’s so I could write down my plans, so I could warn her… If I needed to get picked up, from school, or the pool, or church, I could let her know. I was always a bit scatterbrained when it came t’times.”

Beth wiped away a tear, brushing it straight onto the sheets. “See, I forgot about it. I forgot it existed, it was in my school bag from Christmas, t’… Till we ran from the farm. And then through the forests, and through the storage lockers. We didn’t have a proper Christmas last year but — you don’t expect that, not now.” Beth licked her lips, idly dooling in the margins.

”But see, I had written things in it, at the farmhouse, when I wanted — a way out. After m’mom came out of that barn and… Y’know. When things were bad. But I look back to it now, and I just feel better, knowin’ I’ve made it, I’ve changed. I’ve proven myself wrong. And that’s what this book is about.” Beth scratched at the spine of the book like it was a cat keening into her touch.

”Once we cleared the prison, and settled down, I found it again. I didn’t need t’cry anymore, because I knew, like last time, I’d be okay. I wrote in it when the inmates died, Axel, and…” Beth shook her head. “And I wrote in it, when I was feelin’ sad, or lonely, or mad. I didn’t wanna make everyone else suffer f’my problems. Especially ‘cause I was carin’ for Judith, after Lori passed away.”

Beth capped her biro, now sitting up once more. “It’s been good for me. And one day, when I’m old and tellin’ my grandkids about all this, I’ll remember it all. I’ll remember the names of everyone I’ve known, of all their hopes, and dreams, and wishes, ‘cause…” Beth stood up, still cradling the diary. “If you write it down, it’ll come true. Maybe not in this lifetime, but in the sky, in Heaven, they’ll be happy. That’s all I want.”

The blonde wiped at her eyes again, though there were no tears. “Bet y’weren’t looking for me to ramble. That’s why I started the diary. So my mom could see it, in case she’s too busy in Heaven takin’ care of everyone else. She’d be like that, mom… Talkin’ with Lori about how I needa watch myself ‘round boys, while they braid Sophia’s hair. Patricia there, laughing along. Otis cookin’ a barbeque… Jimmy, he’d visit, t’be polite.” Beth let out a laugh, though it didn’t sound at all amused. This was how she coped.

”Don’t tell anyone. I don’t really want them knowin’ I keep a diary. It’s not like that.”

It was her diary, but it had more to it than the name suggested.

HC | BAD JOKES

If Beth sees you frowning for too long, she’ll come over and tell you terrible jokes. Even if you get mad at her, she’ll be happy. Being angry is better than being sad, in her eyes. It means you’re still alive, and still feeling things. It’s also an ideal ice breaker, and a method her choir teacher taught her for making friends with the competition at choir meets.