#corks just strumming along

[uselessalexis165]

🎶She had to save herself🎶

———

@neutralmacaddams so I heard ya boy can play the guitar

#and this is the result #lila just singing her about her baggage #corks just strumming along #my art #my sketch #transformers animated #tfsona #tfa oc #tf oc #corks #lilang bituin #traditional art #neutralmacaddams #transformers

[cc-pdf]

What’s It Like In New York City?

Katsuki Bakugou x reader

Quirkless rock band au

Based off of the song, Hey There Delilah

Word count: 2913

Warnings: Slight alcohol use. Nothing to be worried about though.

  After a long day at university you decided you deserved a night out on the town. Although you had piles of homework to do, you decided to put that all aside and just relax and have a few drinks. You grabbed your big winter coat and stepped out of campus into the swirling cold winter outside. L Street Tavern was one of the closest bars to your campus, so you decided to settle down there. Plus, they always have live music there, even better.

  After a short walk through the blistering cold air you had finally arrived at the historic bar. You noticed a flyer on the window it read,

  "Sex Bob Omb playing tonight."

  You had never heard of them before. It was probably just some local band. You stepped through the bars creaking door and took a seat on one of the oak stools. There were only a few other people at the bar. Most of them were probably in their mid 40s or 50s. You had given them a slight wave when you sat down just to be friendly. They had waved back, but then quickly returned back to their conversations. You weren't really looking for people to talk to, you just wanted to relax after the stressful day.

  After a couple of drinks you heard the tuning of a guitar in the corner. You looked over to see a couple people in the corner. They were dressed like classic teenage band members. Black jeans, skate shoes, a random t-shirt they found in the back of their closet. You examined each member. A spiky blond seemed to be the lead. He was tuning his guitar and had a microphone stood in front of him. Behind him was a short black haired girl behind a microphone. She seemed to be the backup singer. The last person was a crazy red haired boy at the drums. It seemed like your typical band that probably practices in the garage. You loved those types of bands. Something about them just seemed so raw and authentic.

  A few moments later you jumped to the sound of the red hair banging his drum sticks together.

  "ONE TWO THREE GO!" He yelled signaling the band to start.

  You never really thought a band like this would be playing at a historic bar in the middle of a harsh Boston winter. But, bands really will play wherever they can nowadays. They have to try and get any recognition they can.

  "This is the beginning of the song." The blond muttered into the microphone with his raspy voice. "I'm hearing voices, animal voices. The creme da la creme. the feminine abyss. And I'm reaching my threshold. Staring at the truth till i'm blind." He began lazily singing with the sound of a rough, badly tuned guitar.

  The lyrics weren't too bad for just some random band. You actually thoroughly enjoyed the sound of such a band like this. You could see the the crazy red hair banging at the broken down set of drums releasing all of his anger. It made you giggle a bit.

  "My body's stupid, stereo putrid. Spilling out music into raw sewage." The girl jumped into sing. She surprisingly had a pretty good voice, although it didn't really suit the vibe of the band.

  "Reaching my threshold. Staring at the truth till I'm blind." They all sang together. They repeated the same verses a couple more times. When the song had ended you could tell they were all out of breath from the loud performance. They were panting like dogs on a hot summer day.

  "WE ARE SEX BOB OMB!!!" The girl yelled out to the bar while raising her hands in the air.

  "I hope you guys enjoyed, but we've lost all of our breath for tonight, peace." The blond said while walking into the back room. Most people started clapping and cheering, some people were booing them at the fact they only played one song, but you just returned to your bitter cold beer in front of you. The cold alcohol entering your stomach calmed you from your hard day.

  A few moments later the band members took a seat at the bar near you. It seemed they just wanted a few drinks after that harsh performance.

  "Miller Lite, please." The spiky blond said to the bar tender under his raspy tone.

  "Same here." The other two members said. The bar tender poured the three drinks and slid them across the bar to them.

  "You like the show?" The blond looked over and asked to you, as you sipped your cold drink.

  "Yeah, wasn't expecting such a lame band to go this hard." You said looking over to him.

  "Hey, we try our best to look professional here." He snapped back at you.

  "I'm just teasing." You said focusing back on your drink.

  "So, you from around here?" He said with his masculine tone.

  "I go to university near here, but I'm originally from New York City." You said fiddling with the rim of your drink.

  "The big apple, huh? Must've been rough living there." He responded.

  "Not really..." You said taking a sip of your beer.

  "We're from around here. Cambridge to be exact. We spend a lot of time over in Boston though. Trying to get a good gig." He explained while taking another sip of his Miller Lite.

  "I'm sure you'll get a gig. You're pretty good." You said trying to sound nice.

  "Thanks. Maybe you can come watch us here again sometime." He said passing you a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket with their schedule printed on it.

  "Thanks, but I'm leaving the city for a few weeks to visit family back in New York. Maybe I'll see you after. My names y/n, by the way." You said looking into his bright crimson eyes while grabbing the schedule. You could see the disappointment in his eyes.

  "Oh, well that's a downer. You must be pretty busy with school too..." He said trailing off.

  "Damnit Bakugou, stop flirting with the poor girl." The red hair chipped in. The girl laughed along.

  "Shut up you prick, at least she's not a whore. I'm not even flirting." He snapped at them while getting up to go to the bathroom.

  After he had came back things were pretty quiet after the remark the red hair had made.

  About a half hour later you decided you should start heading back to campus. It was 12:30 and you needed some rest.

  "Hey, I'll try and come see your band when I come back." You said waving to them as you walked out the door.

  "See ya!" The blond said with that tired voice of his.

  "Yeah, see ya." The other two trailed along.

  You knew you probably wouldn't see them again because you're always so hung up with school. It didn't really matter to you anyways, they were just some random band at the bar.

  Little did you know, the ash blond, Katsuki Bakugou, thought you were absolutely stunning. With that perfect h/l, h/c hair of yours, your big, e/c eyes, and your little smile, you were nothing but perfect to him. You were stuck in his mind for the next few weeks. You weren't some crazy little fake fan girl looking to fuck for once. You seemed genuine.

  You had pinned the schedule he gave you onto the cork board in your dorm. Although you didn't really care too much to go and see them again, maybe it would be nice to check and see if they're still playing at L Street Tavern when you get back.

  Only a couple days later you got on the bus to New York. It was a long ride, but it was worth it all in the end. You desperately wanted to see your family after 4 long months of living alone at school.

~

  A couple weeks after your encounter with Katsuki Bakugou you still hadn't left his mind. Your beautiful name was glued to his brain. He decided to tune up his guitar and start a song about you. He liked to get his thoughts out by writing songs. It calmed him. He started with a simple,

  "Hey there y/n, what's it like in New York City? I'm a thousand miles away, but, girl, tonight you look so pretty." He thought it sounded cheesy, but he continued writing it anyways. He enjoyed the sound of a rough acoustic guitar against a sweet love song. He had never written a song like this before, it was all so new to him. He usually wrote songs about his anger or hate for people, usually engaging in more of a hard rock, or head bangers.

  A couple days later he decided to find an open mic to play the song at. He was pretty proud of the new tune and couldn't help but share it. He found an open mic session at a small family owned restaurant right around the corner from L Street Tavern. He was worried you might show up and hear the song, but he remembered, you were staying in New York for a pretty long time.

  The night of the open mic had come. He stepped into the tiny restaurant and sat down at a table with his guitar. There was quite a few people at the restaurant that night. He hoped they would like his newly crafted love song.

  Eventually, he stepped into the space with the cheap microphone and pulled his guitar strap over his shoulder.

  "I wrote this song for a girl that's been stuck in my mind for the past few weeks. I hope you enjoy." He said into the microphone.

  Authors note - Hey, I would suggest maybe listening to Hey There Delilah by Plain White Ts during this part :) okay back to the story.

  He started gently strumming his guitar to a rhythm.

  "Hey there y/n what's it like in New York City? I'm a thousand miles away, but, girl, tonight you look so pretty. Yes you do. Times square can't shine as bright as you. I swear, it's true." He began the song with his lazy guitar playing. He continued the song. He could tell most of the people in the restaurant enjoyed the honesty behind the lyrics. It made him happy someone was enjoying his work.

  "Hey there, y/n. Don't you worry about the distance. I'm right there if you get lonely. Give this song another listen. Close your eyes. Listen to my voice, it's my disguise. I'm by your side." He sang under his gruff voice.

  "Oh, it's what you do to me. Oh, it's what you do to me. Oh, it's what you do to me. Oh, it's what you do to me. What you do to me." He led on with the catchy bridge.

  "Hey there, y/n. I know times are gettin' hard. But just believe me, girl. Someday I'll pay the bills with this guitar. We'll have it good. We'll have the life we knew we would. My word is good." Bakugou carried on.

  "Hey there, y/n. I've got so much left to say. If every simple song I wrote to you. Would take your breath away. I'd write it all. Even more in love with me you'd fall. We'd have it all." He went on, after that singing the bridge again.

  "A thousand miles seems pretty far. But they've got planes and trains and cars. I'd walk to you if I had no other way. Our friends would all make fun of us. And we'll just laugh along because we'd know. That none of them have felt this way. Y/n, I can promise you. That by the time that we get through. The world will never ever be the same. And you're to blame." He sang emotionally while strumming along.

  "Hey there, y/n. You be good, and don't you miss me. Two more years and you'll be done with school. And I'll be makin' history like I do. You know it's all because of you. We can do whatever we want to. Hey there, y/n, here's to you. This one's for you." After this he slowly ended the lovely song with the bridge,

  "Oh, it's what you do to me. Oh, it's what you do to me. Oh, it's what you do to me. Oh, it's what you do to me. What you do to me, oh oh, woah, woah. Oh woah, oh. Oh." He sang softly, ending the song by strumming all of the strings on his beat up guitar.

  After he had finished the sweet tune someone came up to him.

  "Hey kid, that song you played was actually pretty good. The lyrics and rhythm were amazingly catchy. No one can ever go wrong with a classic love song. Maybe I can help you get big. I know some people in the industry. I came here to find some new musicians, actually." The mysterious figure said to him.

  Bakugou was in shock. He knew people liked his music. But not to the point where somebody like this would notice him. Especially this song. It was just some overly cheesy love song.

  "Thanks." He said not knowing what to say. He was speechless.

  "Here, give me a call." He said while slipping his business card over to the blond.

  Of course later that night he couldn't help but call the guy. He had never heard anything like this from someone.

~

  Y/n was nearing the end of her trip. She was sitting in her Mother's car on the way to the bus station back to Boston. She couldn't help but over hear the radio.

  "Hey we have a new love song from this band called Sex Bob Omb. I thought it was pretty good, how about we give it a play." You couldn't believe what you just heard, so you immediately turned up the volume on the radio. You could hear that spiky blond's classic voice over the sound of a relaxed, acoustic guitar. It seemed very unlike the band to have a song like this, or even be on the radio.

  "Hey there y/n, what's it like in New York City? I'm a thousand miles away, but, girl, tonight you look so pretty. Yes you do." The song started out gently. You jumped at these lyrics. You thought you were dreaming. But you weren't...

  "Mom, I think this song is about me..." You said trying not to sound insane.

  "Sweetie, it's just some song on the radio I'm sure you're over thinking it." She said calmly.

  "No, Mom, I saw this band at the tavern a few weeks ago. The lead singer was talking to me at the bar." You denied her.

  "I'm sure it's just a coincidence." She said keeping her eye on the road.

  "Times Square can't shine as bright as you. I swear, it's true." You softened at these lyrics. The way he wrote them... It made you feel like you were the only girl in the world that mattered.

  "Hey there, y/n. Don't you worry about the distance. I'm right there if you get lonely. Give this song another listen. Close your eyes. Listen to my voice, it's my disguise. I'm by your side." You couldn't help but feel like he was actually by your side, like he stated. You wished he could sing this to you, with that guitar of his, while looking you in the eyes. You really were falling for some mysterious guy. You would have never thought you would fall for some rebellious band member... or someone that you barely even knew. Music had never moved you in a way like this, it was so connecting, yet unexpected.

  Finally, You had made it back to your campus. You rushed up to your dorm to see that schedule he gave you. You wanted to see him again. The lyrics of the song made you melt. It warmed your heart. Making you fall for the random blond even more. Thankfully, the band was booked pretty far ahead on the schedule.

  A few nights later you caught yourself back at L Street Tavern hoping to see them there. You were sure they wouldn't be there now that they had made it on the radio. But it didn't hurt to try and see if they would be there.

  Unexpectedly you heard the sweet voice of the girl scream,

  "WE ARE SEX BOB OMB!"

  You turned around and made eye contact with the blond. His face flourished red. You couldn't stop staring into his glistening crimson eyes.

  "Wait, it's y/n." He said walking over to you, stopping the other band members.

  "The girl you wrote the song about? I thought that was just a made up name." The red hair said furrowing his eyebrows.

  "You came..." He said looking into your love struck eyes.

I really wanted to make a story inspired by this song so I hope you liked it. :)

Please comment some more songs you would like me to write stories about.

Also yes I got the name Sex Bob Omb and the song they sang is from Scott Pilgrim vs. The World hehe. Also, L Street Tavern is a real bar in Boston!

#bakugou #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #quirkless bakugou #quirkless au #band au #mha #mha x reader #bnha #bnha x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugo #bakugo x reader #boku no hero #boku no hero x reader #my hero academia #my hero academia x reader #mha quirkless #mha fanfic #bnha fanfic #bakugou fanfic #mha drabble #mha fanfiction #mha bakugou

[kodzusken]

Hi bubba! Can I request a cute little blurb of where the reader and Tom are a bit tipsy and they start dancing to taylor swifts song lover? And he asks her to move in with her 🥺 I’m soft for this

🛎 order up!

friday nights with tom were nothing short of amazing. you were both off work by the time you saw each other, and this time, you were both the right amount of stressed to want to pour two tall glasses of red wine and enjoy each other’s company. you smiled up at him from across the table as he re-corked the wine, taylor swift’s music blaring from your phone near you.

after you’d both had half a glass each, you were settling on the couch, ready to pick out a movie. tom opened his arms wide, and you carefully settled into them, blushing as he wrapped them around your waist. you took a sip from your glass, letting yourself relax against him. “this is nice.” 

he laughed, slipping one arm from you to reach for his own drink. “that’s why we do it, love,” he reminded you. “everyone needs a little break from time to time.” he pressed a kiss to your temple as the guitar strummed the first few familiar chords of taylor swift’s lover.

“we have to dance!” you cried, drawing another laugh from tom’s lips. 

“what about the movie?” 

“we can do that after,” you shrugged, turning your head a little to look at him. your smile and tom’s tipsiness eventually wore him down as he stood, setting his wineglass down. you stood clumsily next to him, unable to surpress a giggle as he caught you in his arms. 

you pressed your forehead to his as you felt yourself to slightly get dizzy, and you saw a slow smile spread across his face. he cupped your cheeks with his palms and leaned in to kiss you. even though he’d done so seemingly thousands of times, you were still taken aback as you smiled into the kiss.

“‘m so lucky to have you,” tom slurred quietly as he pulled away, making you blush. 

“i’m the lucky one here,” you protested as you slowly began to revolve on the spot. your heart filled with warmth as tom’s hands tenderly clasped yours and the soothing words of taylor swift engulfed the room. “i swear.” 

“move in with me,” tom blurted out randomly, moving your arms so he was hugging your waist. 

you raised an eyebrow, a hint of sobriety poking at your chest. “wh-where’d that come from, tommy?”

“dunno,” he giggled. “i just-when i come home, i wan’ you to be there. always, y/n.” your cheeks flushed red as you buried your face in his chest, trying to hide your bright smile. “what do you say, baby?”

“i say yes,” you said almost immediately, squeezing his hand. “a-are we going to talk about this more when we’re sober?” you felt him chuckle as he held you tighter. 

“of course, if you want to.” 

you hummed along with the music as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “take me out, take me home...”

tom continued to sing haphazardly. “you’re my, my, my lover.” you couldn’t help but burst out laughing. he frowned playfully. “what? you don’t like my singing, love?” 

you smiled. “it wouldn’t kill you to take lessons.”

he jokingly cuffed you on the shoulder as he laced your fingers with his. “well, get used to it, darling, because you’ll be hearing a lot once we move in together.” his words threw you both into a fit of giggles as you danced.

can we always be this close forever and ever?

permanent taglist: 

@stiles-banshees @corneliastarks @addison-raes @m19friend @averyfosterthoughts @parkerslutz @zabdisamor @alopix861 @astronomical-parker @marshyrebelcloud @screeching-student-unknown @boyfriend-cal @miraclesoflove @parkrpeter @a-hardcore-romantic @cloudy-zoey @hollandsamor @aidiastyles @halfblood-princess-505 @aidiastyles @kickingn-ames @stuckonspidey

blurbs taglist:

@starlightparker @kitykatnumber @seamusfnngan @spideygirl2003 @astronomical-parker @starlight-starks @luvgxnya @gayfeministbroadwayyeet @in-a-lot-of-fandoms-tbh @t-monosapiens-h

tom holland taglist: 

@givelove-always @starlightparker @kitykatnumber @m19friend @averyfosterthoughts @iam-thevillain-of-thisstory @alexxcorona113 @its-the-unknownspideywrites @astronomical-parker @yourlocalbisuperhero @trustfundparker @parkerpeter24 @kelieah @the-crazy-fanfictionist @k-wedgeworth @quaksonhehe @awaywithtime @gayfeministbroadwayyeet @universeoffandoms1 @in-a-lot-of-fandoms-tbh @lmaotshollandd @yoinkyourheart @t-monosapiens-h

#peter #parker #peter parker #peter parker fic #peter parker x reader #peter parker fics #peter parker imagine #peter parker imagines #peter parker fluff #peter parker angst #peter parker smut #peter parker blurb #peter parker blurbs #tom #tom holland #tom holland fic #tom holland fics #tom holland imagine #tom holland imagines #tom holland fluff #tom holland angst #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland blurb #tom holland blurbs

[katekarnage7]

The Pill

All right, so, I made a post a little while ago asking if anyone would be interested in reading a fic where I physically, emotionally, and mentally destroyed our favorite bard. Apparently, this is something that a *lot* of people want to read. So, here ya go! Here’s the original post and the AO3 link if you want to see those.

Tags will be at the bottom and if you would like to be tagged in future chapter(s) of this story, let me know!

---

The tiny pill with the opaque casing and the milky white magical substance that always seemed to glow, could fit in the palm of Jaskier’s hand and still look insignificant. However, it was anything but.

His fingers fumbled to lock the door of his inn lodgings behind him as he rushed to the bed. He collapsed onto his knees, wincing at the sting that erupted through them before grabbing the bag he had hidden beneath the bed. He tore open the bag, his adrenaline running on high and pushing all other thoughts out of his head, as he grabbed the box within. Inside the delicately carved boxed, there sat a vial, and inside that vial? An infinitesimally small pill. The substance that filled the opaque casing glowed so brightly the entire box shined with a soft, ethereal light.

He ripped open the vial and tossed the cork aside, upturning the bottle and watching as the pill fell into the palm of his hand weightlessly. A tremor ran through his body as he remembered the circumstances of which the pill came into his possession.

Tears filled his cornflower blue eyes and slipped down his frozen, tinted pink cheeks. He promised himself he wouldn’t cry. A rock tripped him up as he desperately made his way down the mountainside and he fell, hard, onto his knees. “Fuck!” tore from his throat, leaving him to double over with a hollow chest and aching heart. As soon as the aches subsided, he allowed numbness to take their place. Numbness, he decided, was far better than the fucking destroyed feeling Geralt had left him with. The worst part however, the reason why he wasn’t turning around to punch the daylights out of Geralt of Rivia was that… he had to leave. He would always give the oaf whatever he wanted, would always stick around even though Geralt was quite literally fucking around with a mage, and if he didn’t leave now, he never would.

He pounded the ground once before clambering to his feet. He would not cry over Geralt of Rivia. He would not cry over the White Wolf or the fondness his heart felt for the witcher, or even the warmth that used to permeate every single bone in his body when he was with him. The Butcher of Blaviken did not deserve his heart or his tears.

So, he walked. He walked down the mountainside, down a path that would surely lead him away from his so-called friend. He fought creatures and nearly died as they desperately clawed at his body. He escaped and walked until the muscles in his legs cried out in pain and screamed at him to falter, and yet, he didn’t. Distantly, he strummed a few strings on his lute, longing for the sound to come out as beautifully and transcendentally as it once had. Instead, it came out broken and discordant. Perhaps, he supposed, like him.

And so, the bard kept going. He wandered from town to town, desperately trying to sing happy tunes that would bewitch the masses, and yet, they fell flat. Soon, his purse became light and his stomach empty. Any new material he wrote rang out sadly and, in the midst of a quickly ratcheting war, no one wanted to hear sadness. They had enough of it and so had Jaskier.

He sighed as he threw the last coins he had onto the bar and managed to get himself lodgings for the night. The stink of piss and ale that permeated the backwater inn was nearly enough to run him out of the town entirely, but alas, the inn was cheap and Jaskier was tired.

He stumbled up to his room and collapsed onto the bed, waiting to fall into a fitful sleep. Of course, that simply wasn’t in the cards because, for some incomprehensible reason, the world of the supernatural could never leave him alone. A whoosh of dust and dirt whipped up into a frenzy, forming a circle in the middle of the room, and Yennefer stepped through. He cursed and stared at the mage, who wore a stunning black dress, which Geralt would find delicious, he thought bitterly. 

“Yennefer?” he asked, his voice broken. He nearly gaped at how pitiful it sounded.

“Hello, little bard,” Yen said with an air of disinterest. 

“What are you doing here? Not that it isn’t a pleasure to see your lovely face, but I thought you and Geralt had run off into the sunset together. Gone off to slay monsters and weave chaos.” Jaskier couldn’t help the spike of bitter pain that ran through him. After all, it used to just be him and Geralt, going off on their adventures and skirting the line of life and death. Then, Yennefer came along and fucked it all to hell.

Yennefer let out a breathless, half-laugh. “I’m not traveling with Geralt at the moment, little bard, and I’m not here for idle gossip. I’m here to warn you of certain… events that are transpiring in Nilfgaard.”

“I know. They’re having their usual; food, women, wine, and a little bit of that pleasant chaos. Causing right hell for the townsfolk and making them all tighten up their purse strings.”

“Right, well, they’ve caused Cintra to fall. I came to warn you that Nilfgaard soldiers know of any and all involvement when it comes to our dear witcher, and you might find yourself in danger.”

“Lovely. Perfect. Just another example of Geralt’s wonderful presence in my life. Now, I’m trying to get some well-deserved beauty rest and pesky sorceresses like you interrupt that,” Jaskier said, lying back further on his bed and hooking one ankle over the other. He raised an eyebrow in a silent challenge.

“My point, bard, is that if a Nilfgaard soldier gets a hold of you, your resolve to be a good little dog to Geralt likely won’t hold,” Yennefer said, stepping up to the foot of the bed and watching Jaskier with those unnervingly vibrant violet eyes. “So, if you’re captured, you’re to take this.” She opened her palm to reveal a vial, inside which a small pill sat.

“Ooh, wondrous. Is this your latest in a string of attempts to get me killed, mage? If it is, it isn’t exactly subtle. What if I don’t take your little pill, huh?” 

“Then you betray Geralt and all of the Continent. How’s that for side effects?”

Jaskier snatched the vial from her hands, not wanting to admit how, even though Geralt had tossed him aside like he was nothing more than a common dung beetle, he still recoiled at the thought of hurting him. “What does it do? Make my toes shrivel and fall off? Burn off my eyebrows and put warts all over my luscious skin?” he quipped, throwing Yen a sharp grin.

“Pray you never have to find out,” she said, turning her back on Jaskier.

“Oh, well, that’s very specific. It’s not like you could bloody tell me what would happen. No, no. You’ve got to be all ominous and darkly mysterious about it!”

Yennefer chuckled and threw Jaskier an almost smug smirk before another portal swallowed her up.

“Bloody mages.” Jaskier bit back the urge to throw the vial to the ground and smash it underneath his heel. He unhooked his ankles and relaxed further into his bed, turning the vial over in his hands. One pill, imbued with magic, most likely, seeing as a mage gave it to him. He popped the vial open and allowed the pill to topple into his hands.

It held a glow he knew right then would haunt him forever. He held it up, bringing it closer and closer to his face, until-

A series of loud thuds rang out, bringing Jaskier back to the present. His time was up. Now or never, he supposed, and brought the pill to his lips. The door slammed open just as he forced the pill into his mouth and swallowed. A blur edged at the corner of his vision as a soldier, dressed in coal black armor with what looked like veins etched into the metal, stepped forward.

Jaskier got to his feet and put on his trademark smirk. “What took you so long, you lovely, strapping young men? I swear, I’ve been lonely and utterly saddened here just waiting for you. Even had time to powder my nose and don my best fineries.”

The knight drew a small dagger, not bothering with his sword, and stepped closer to Jaskier, until they were nearly sharing the same air. He wore a smirk of his own. Though, in Jaskier’s opinion, it was far cockier. Jaskier was, if nothing else, humble. “You think you’re so funny and so damned smart, bard, but we found you,” he said, bringing the dagger up and pushing the tip of it up against Jaskier’s neck.

“I wasn’t hiding, d-darling.” The words fell from his mouth with a slight slur. He chuckled breathlessly, nervous, but unclear as to why. The knight’s face began to blur and the colors of the world began to run. Unsteady on his feet, he swayed, inky black mixing in with the unfocused world, and he fell. He crumpled to the ground and allowed the world to go dark.

---

He awoke to a splitting headache and a disabling fuzziness all over. His mouth and throat felt like they had been stuffed full of cotton. Then, the world slowly shifted further into place. He had been stripped of his shirt, leaving him in only his trousers. His wrists ached, bound by manacles he then found himself strung up by. Instinctively, he yanked at his bindings, trying in vain to free himself. “Shit,” he mumbled.

Where the absolute, ever-loving fuck was he?

His gaze flicked around the room, consuming every detail. The ‘room’ was actually a cell in what was clearly a dungeon. Puddles of disgusting water dotted the floor and the putrid stench of mildew and rot filled the air. A grate sat in the ceiling directly above him, allowing light to cascade down and bring sharp clarity to his bound form. A table sat off to his right and upon first glance, you might not see anything wrong, and yet, a cold, immobilizing feeling struck directly into the center of his chest. It made his heart beat faster and his palms slick with sweat. On the table sat a tray of knives; thin and thick, long and short, sharpened and dull - as well as whips, needles, and a small device with three metal bars and a screw on the top, presumably to tighten it. 

However, he didn’t have time to ruminate as, seconds later, the metal door directly across from him was thrown open. A man with a scraggly beard in a dark jacket with equally dark trousers, flanked by two men in black, veined armor stepped into the room.

The bearded man stepped closer to him, an unnerving smirk upon his face. “Do you know who I am, bardling?” he asked, his deep voice soft and malicious.

With his bound wrists aching and his mind still fuzzy, he could only reply, “No.” He winced as his voice cracked.

The bearded man’s brown eyes fixed on him as he started circling around him with the air of a man who had long since been a predator. “Well, I know you, Jaskier. Oh, I’m sorry. Should I say Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove instead?”

Julian? Was that his name? His fuzzy world couldn’t comprehend it. So, instead, he did the next best thing; running his mouth until things made more sense. “Is there a reason I’m strung up like cattle or are you just living out some of your deepest, darkest fantasies? Well, I can’t say I’m opposed. Though, bondage isn’t really my area-” 

“Silence. I don’t care for idle chatter. You see, I’ve heard you have some very pretty songs to sing about a certain witcher.”

Julian - Jaskier? - clenched his jaw. His head whirled, thoughts spinning in a chaotic void of emptiness. “I haven’t the faintest idea what on earth you’re talking about. If I’d met a witcher, you’d have heard about it. Trust me on that one,” he said.

The bearded man’s smirk never faltered. “Looks like the little lark refuses to sing for us. How terribly tragic.” His tone indicated, however, that it was not terribly tragic at all. Slowly, the man shed his jacket, revealing a thin, cream-colored shirt stained with dark spots of… blood. It looked like it had never been washed since its purchase.

The man crossed to the table with the tray on it and picked up a long, thin blade. He twirled it in his fingers, eyes holding contact with Julian’s own. “Tell us about Geralt of Rivia and his little lion cub.”

A spark of annoyance mixed with pure, unadulterated desperation roared in Julian’s gut. “I don’t know this Geralt you speak of or the-the lion cub! I swear it! Just let me down from these cuffs and we can have a nice chat about-”

The first cut came as a shock. Burning pain erupted from where the blade met his skin, slashing a strip just below his collarbone. “Fuck,” he hissed as blood slipped down his chest in small rivulets.

“I’ll ask again, bardling,” the man said. “Where is Geralt of Rivia?”

“I don’t know!” Julian cried again.

And so it repeated. The bearded man would ask a question, Julian would reply with the only response he had, and a cut was made. Over and over, it happened until blood spilled down his chest, painting it into a stomach-turning portrait. 

Eventually, the man grew tired of his knives and turned to whips. The loud crack came and pain burst across his skin. Tears spilled down his face, mixing with sweat. “Please!” he would beg and cry, and still the pain would not stop. With every moment, his world became sharper, and things began coming back to him.

Then, the man set down the whip and grabbed a butcher’s knife. “Tell us about Geralt of Rivia, or I will start cutting off your fingers. You need those to play your precious little lute, don’t you, lark? Don’t you need them to play your tunes of mutants and monsters?”

Julian’s throat had long since been filled with razors and had been made raw by hours - or was it minutes? Days? - of screaming. “Please,” he croaked. 

The man simply sneered and came close to him; close enough for Julian to feel the other man’s hot breath on his face and he allowed his eyes to slip closed. “Disgusting witcher’s whore,” the man spat. Julian winced as he felt the spit land on his cheeks and chin.

Seconds later, a fist made contact with his face, and his eyes filled with stars. The tangy copper of blood permeated his mouth and he coughed it up, allowing it to dribble down the sides of his mouth. He kept his eyes closed, not wanting to see his fingers get mutilated. Then, the tell-tale sound of footsteps rang out, then a clatter of metal on metal, and finally, the thud of a heavy, metal door slamming closed.

His eyes opened and he found the room to be empty. The tray had been left on the table, tools stained with blood. His blood. Bile rose up his throat and, before he could stop himself, he threw up all over the stone floor. He couldn’t even wipe his mouth for god’s sake.

Blood still oozed down his chest and pain overwhelmed him. His throat and wrists shared the same raw ache and his torso screamed in agony. Whoever Geralt of Rivia was, he had condemned him to this.

It wasn’t long after that day that the dripping started.

---

At first, it felt good. A nice drip of water that was a welcome change from the pain that riddled his body. It fell from the grate above his head and he reveled it in, enjoying every moment. However, the torture continued. Julian wasn’t sure how long it went on. He just knew that, when the sun went down, one single meal would be brought to him and he would be fed. Beyond that, he ate nothing and drank nothing. Sometimes, he almost thought the knight giving it to him looked… sympathetic. However, that simply couldn’t be true, even if it was always the same man. The days soon blurred together in a flurry of screams.

He found it easiest to repeat a couple of words over and over.

“My name is Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove. I am a bard by the name of Jaskier and I don’t know who Geralt of Rivia is.”

Soon, the bearded man whose name Julian did not know, brought red-hot brands. They burnt his skin, melting it and sending waves of fiery pain through him. The knives and whips seemed to be on a rotation, but the one constant was that little drip of water.

Every few seconds, a small drip would land on the crown of his head. Even during the hours when he was mutilated. 

His body shook from exertion, every muscle wanting to give up, to give in. He wished he knew the answer to their questions. He just wanted it to stop. 

“My name is Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove. I am a bard by the name of Jaskier and I don’t know who Geralt of Rivia is.”

His mind became clearer and more fogged at the same time. That once welcome drip became insufferable. His skull ached with it until it became a pounding instead of a drip. Over and over it would come. 

“My name is Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove. I am a bard by the name of Jaskier and I don’t know who Geralt of Rivia is.”

Soon, white-hot pain became a constant. He learned to live with it. Even when they broke his fingers with the barred device, apparently called a thumbscrew. He simply lived with the pain. 

“My name is Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove. I am a bard by the name of Jaskier and I don’t know who Geralt of Rivia is.”

After that, every few days, a dark-skinned woman in long, flowing robes would come in. She would chant and whisper in his ears and feed him herbal mixes. Every once in a while, she would curse and say a feminine name under her breath. It was familiar and yet completely foreign. His mind became more splintered on those days and after she left, he would have a pounding headache.

“My name is Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove. I am a bard by the name of Jaskier and I don’t know who Geralt of Rivia is.”

Sleep came in fitful moments that never truly left him feeling rested. His mind sunk into a desperate state of confusion. 

“My name is Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove. I am a bard by the name of Jaskier and I don’t know who Geralt of Rivia is.”

The words he kept repeating to himself slowly started to slip through his fingers. They melted into a flurry of ‘pleases’ and ‘don’ts.’ 

He just wanted it to end. Why wouldn’t it end? His eyes itched and his throat burned from the power of his sobs. The tears reminded him of that omnipresent drip that haunted him.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

“Somebody help me,” he whispered, in the dead of night, when he was absolutely sure no one would hear him.

---

Sweat poured down his back as he raised the axe, swinging it down in a brutal swipe. The log split down the middle, coming apart in two neat pieces. Monsters never came apart this easily, Geralt thought absent-mindedly as he split another log.

The wood would be good for making fire and would be desperately needed as the chill in the air increased with each passing day. The cold autumn sun shone down upon the little cabin in the middle of the vast forest. Ciri sat upon the small steps leading up to the door, humming a soft tune and twirling a small dagger as a breeze swept through the trees, making the grass dance and the leaves shake.

All in all, it should have been peaceful. It was peaceful, except for… well, except for his nightmares. Geralt couldn’t get the image of two bright blue eyes, ringed with gold near the center, and the way they shone with unshed tears. The picture of a face usually lit up with happiness falling into something unrecognizable and cold. A mouth so fond of words becoming nearly speechless. 

“That’s not fair.”

He brought the axe down, ripping the piece of wood in two.

“See you around, Geralt.”

Geralt tossed the axe aside, not caring where it landed. A gentle hand appeared on his bicep and tugged on his arm. “Come on, Geralt. It’s getting cold out here,” Ciri said, tucking her dagger into a sheath on her hip. It was no colder than it had been earlier, besides the gentle breeze, which made him realize her true angle. He recognized the act of kindness for what it was and gave her a tight smile and a pat on the head.

Ciri smiled and slapped his hand away. “Your hands are so filthy,” she complained with no real heat behind her words.

“Hmm. Only because I’m cutting wood to keep you warm,” he said, his lips quirking a little.

Ciri scrunched up her nose. “You know you get cold too, Geralt. Now, can we please go inside?” 

He patted her head again and Ciri giggled, hitting his hand once more then gathering some of the wood into her arms. She trudged into the house, light blonde hair streaked with the tiniest bit of dirt. Geralt picked up the rest of the firewood and carried it inside, humming a soft tune to himself. It took him a moment to recognize it, to really hear what he was singing, and immediately, guilt filled him and he froze on the doorstep into the house. His chest clenched and a familiar voice came into his thoughts, unbidden.

“Toss a coin to your witcher, oh Valley of Plenty.”

He bit back a curse, remembering the deep, lilting tone with ease. In fact, he couldn’t get that damn voice out of his head. Not for a lack of trying, though. He shook his head and headed further into the abode. The bundle of wood in his arms felt heavy, even though he knew it couldn’t be. 

He set the wood down and took to making a fire, Ciri sitting next to him and observing his movements. For a while, the pair stayed quiet, not a word being spoken. Geralt used to pray for that, used to pray for his blessed silence, yet when he got it, he wanted to throw it away in exchange for soft smiles and endless chatter.

“I love the way you just… sit in the corner and brood.”

“I’m here to drink alone.”

“Good. Yeah, good. No one else hesitated to comment on the quality of my performance, except… for you. Come on. You don’t want to keep a man with… bread in his pants waiting. You must have some review for me. Three words or less.”

The fire began to spark and catch on the wood as he used Igni to light it. Ciri’s eyes shone with wonder as she gazed upon the flames that quickly swallowed the logs before them. A warm, fuzzy feeling spread through Geralt’s chest. Even though he would never admit it, he had come to rather care for the child that destiny thrust upon him.

Ciri brought her hands up and let the fire warm them, rubbing them together every so often. “When is Yennefer coming back?” she asked, eyes still focused on the flames dancing in the hearth.

Geralt sighed, sitting back and allowing the fire to mesmerize him. “I don’t know.”

Ciri stared at him, as if waiting for him to elaborate or provide a longer answer. “Ever the conversationalist,” she mumbled, going back to admiring the fire created by magic. A pang jolted through Geralt and his chest constricted, making it feel ten times too small for his heart. Why on earth did she have to be so similar to… to him? Destiny and its endless taunting, he supposed, and internally cursed it once more.

The day soon fell into a cold, suffocating night and inky blackness filled the sky. Still, he stayed sitting on the hard, wooden planks in front of the fire. He knew that, in the morning, the stars would be drowned out by a frosty dawn and a new sun would rise, then he would regret his lack of sleep, but that was the problem of tomorrow’s Geralt. When did he become a poet anyway? Scratch that, he knew exactly when, but knowing and admitting… well, they were very different things.

The absence of endless, mind-numbing chatter and the strumming of a lute as a soft voice worked its way through countless renditions of the same song…

It hit him harder than he expected.

What are we looking for again?

Blessed silence.

Yeah, I don’t really go in for that.

Ciri, thick blanket in hand, made her way over to Geralt and plopped herself down next to him. Without a word, she moved his arm and curled into his side. Instinctively, he pulled the girl closer, his heart warming at the lack of fear in her scent. He hated constantly being able to smell emotions. It made him feel unnatural and freakish, though, he supposed that was true. After all, if enough people scream something at you whilst also spitting on you and cursing the very ground you walk on, you begin to believe it.

However, the little lion cub of Cintra never had a hint of fear in her scent. Not in regards to him, at the very least. The essence of daisies and petrichor clung to her, filling the air. The girl had come into his life like a storm, so it was only fitting that she smelled like one, he supposed.

He held her that way as the fire crackled steadily in the hearth and the night continued on. Soon though, he heard those soft, tell-tale snores coming from Ciri and chuckled. A gleeful, fond feeling filled his chest and settled in his stomach as he lifted the girl into his arms and properly stood up, carrying her to the room they shared. She liked to sleep close to Geralt because, like him, she had nightmares. Companionship eased the pain.

He laid her down on one of the two beds in the room and tucked her in beneath the blankets. That fond feeling grew as Ciri, usually so strong and unshakable in her resolve, curled up and finally allowed herself to be at peace. He tucked a strand of light golden hair behind her ear and retreated to the other bed. He rid himself of his boots and socks then slipped under the thick wool blankets. A sigh escaped his lips, unbidden, as he sunk into the comfort of the bed.

Luxuries such as baths and beds were things he wouldn’t have even considered before a certain bard entered his life. Simple human things usually went unnoticed to Geralt, but Jaskier? Jaskier insisted on showing him the finer things in life, chattering on about how grand life could be when you decided to truly live it. He wondered what it would be like to truly live life, as Jaskier had said. What ifs plagued him. What if he had never made a wish with the djinn? What if he had gone to the coast with Jaskier? What if he had kept a lid on his damn temper and not blamed the innocent bard for every single thing that went wrong in his life?

And that’s how he laid, thoughts of bards and the possibilities of a world where he himself wasn’t such a cruel freak running about his head, until he finally fell into a restless sleep.

---

The bard stood before him, and the inn that had been bright with color was dull in comparison to the man. Geralt couldn’t speak as those blue eyes tore into him, stealing his words, his breath, and his reason. Jaskier took a step forward, his lute cradled in his arms, and his eyes full of… friendship and love. Geralt didn’t deserve either.

Jaskier stood there, silent as the night, until the inn faded away, replaced by a mountaintop and framed by a gray sky. “See you around, Geralt,” the bard said, turning on his heel.

Geralt opened his mouth, and a desperate cry for Jaskier to stay, to never leave him, died on his lips as the air swallowed the memory. Then, the bard turned back around, his eyes dull, cold, and lifeless. “Geralt,” he whispered and blood began to wet the front of his doublet in a quickly growing stain.

Jaskier fell backward, hitting the ground with a resounding thud. The air had been punched out of Geralt’s lungs as the world slowed around them. “No, no, no,” he yelled, rushing to the bard’s side. He fell to his knees and shifted the other man into his lap, his hand rising to cup his cheek and when he did, the skin underneath his fingers melted into dust. Then, slowly and with building speed, the rest of Jaskier disintegrated into nothingness, the remains of his body caught in the wind.

Geralt longed to cry, to weep for the loss of his bard, and yet… he couldn’t. His body wasn’t capable of shedding a tear, not even for the obnoxious, kind, sassy chatterbox that had clung to Geralt for over two decades. Had it really been two whole decades? Time flew, especially for mortals.

Geralt slowly got to his feet and then, he heard it. The screams of townsfolk calling him a butcher, a monster, a freak, and no one came to his defense. No bard raised his lute and yelled back, drowning out the voices.

Though, Jaskier did speak and his words were carried by the very same wind that had swept him away, “Geralt.”

Geralt turned, hand outstretched.

“Geralt,” the voice shouted, this time with more urgency.

He grasped at the wind.

“Geralt!”

Geralt gasped, cold air filling his lungs as the world slipped back into place. Ciri shook his shoulder from her place in his arms. She must’ve crawled into bed with him at some point during the night. “Are you okay?” she asked, her voice soft and gentle.

“I’m fine,” he managed. Having an audience for his nightmares unsettled him and anyone seeing his weakness made him want to toss up his dinner. Had he even had dinner the night before? He couldn’t remember.

Ciri’s eyes shone with a thinly-veiled concern, something he had only truly seen in… “Jaskier,” she said. “You kept saying his name in your sleep. That’s the bard that used to play at my birthday banquets, you know.”

Geralt lifted his head off the pillows in alarm. “He what?”

“He used to play the sweetest, most lovely songs. I adored him. How do you know him?” Ciri asked, looking up at him with those frosty blue eyes.

He realized he wasn’t going to get out of this with a simple ‘oh, just a friend from back when.’ He would need to fully explain and so, he did, “We met in a tavern in Posada...” After those first words, the rest came flowing out more easily. He wove a tale of their two decades together that he liked to think Jaskier would’ve been proud of, even if the words were halting and didn’t come easily. 

When he had finished, Ciri’s eyes danced with emotion. “After two decades, you just… pushed him away like that?” she whispered, not daring to break the soft calm that had fallen over the room. “Please tell me you went after him and apologized.” Geralt stayed silent, not meeting Ciri’s gaze. He didn’t want or need her judgment, but he knew he would get it anyway. 

Ciri’s little exhale sent daggers of guilt flowing through him. As if he needed another reminder of how badly he fucked up. She cleared her throat. “Geralt, as much as I love you, I think you need to talk about your actual feelings more. You pushed away the man who had been in love with you and following you around for the better part of twenty years and-”

“He wasn’t in love with me!” Geralt sputtered, a tinge of growl seeping into his tone.

Ciri fixed him with a stern look that slowly melted into something almost… pitiful. He hated it. “Oh, Geralt, you must be joking. He tagged along on your adventures, sang your praises—quite literally—and somehow stuck around even though you punched him in the stomach and made jabs at him at every possible opportunity, if your account is accurate. So, if that’s not love, then I don’t know what is.”

Geralt stayed still, shocked into silence. Then, slowly, as if the stars were finally aligning, everything clicked into place. “Fuck. He was… and I… Fuck.”

Ciri nodded. “Exactly! We need to find him, Geralt.”

“No. We can’t. We have to keep you safe, and Yennefer wouldn’t know where we went. Anyway, we don’t know where Jaskier is. Even if we did, why would he hear me out?”

The temperature in the room seemed to drop as Ciri glared, her brow furrowing. “It sounds like a bunch of excuses to me, and you know what? He would forgive you. I just know it.”

Geralt bit the inside of his cheek, thinking. Then, finally settled on a few words. “We’ll talk about this in the morning. Go to sleep.”

Ciri pouted a little bit but snuggled into his chest all the same. He held her close and ran soothing fingers through her hair until her breathing evened out and her body went lax and peaceful. Moments where he could just protect this girl, the one who had wriggled her way into his heart and who truly became his daughter, those moments were what made running from Nilfgaard worth it.

Geralt sighed, allowing himself to relax, and sunk into thoughts about Jaskier. When sleep finally took him, he dreamt of warm hands, soft smiles, garish clothes, and songs sung at far too high of a volume.

---

The slamming of a door broke his fitful sleep. Geralt sat straight up, Ciri groaning slightly as he jostled her. He leapt out of bed and grabbed his sword, which was leaning against the wall, then carefully crept over to Ciri and shook her awake. As her blue eyes fluttered open, he held a finger to his lips and pointed at the door.

She nodded and slowly slipped out of the bed. Her dagger and its sheath had been placed on the dresser the night before. Geralt kept his eyes on the door as she grabbed the dagger. He motioned for her to stay put and readied his sword as he heard approaching footsteps. The door stood five yards away from his place by the bed. He could easily rush forward and take down the attacker if need be.

The door swung open and an irritated feminine voice filled the room along with the scent of lilac and gooseberries. “Geralt!” Yennefer said, pausing in the doorway. Her eyes swept over his defensive form and the blade in his hands. “Glad to see you’re already prepared to fight. We have to go.”

Geralt frowned, tilting his head slightly. “Go where? Are we in danger?”

“No. Not yet, in any case,” she said, crossing over to him. Her long, gray dress complimented the vibrant purple of her eyes and the stark darkness of her hair. “The siege on the Nilfgaardian fortress near Novigrad is happening today. Right now, in fact.”

Bells started ringing in Geralt’s head, warning him that something terrible had happened. A deep unease settled into his bones. “Yen, what’s going on?”

Yennefer bit her lip and glanced at Ciri. “Our… informant within the base sent word that someone of import has been captured. They couldn’t provide much more for us to work with, but it spells dreadful news for the resistance. The raid has been moved up to today for that reason. I got here as soon as I could to tell you.”

That deep sense of unease worsened, curling in his gut and twisting in his heart. “Why do you need me? Ciri needs a guardian and you don’t usually call for me.”

Yennefer hesitated. “Listen, Geralt, I… We’re working with a third of the forces we would have had if we could’ve waited. We’re in dire times and we require a strong fighter. Ciri can stay here on her own. We… I need your help.” 

Even though the romantic aspect of their relationship had died out long ago, Geralt still felt helpless to refuse the mage anything. “Lead the way.”

Yennefer smiled, small yet grateful. She turned on her heel, sparing Ciri one more glance, before heading out of the door. Geralt donned his armor, fastening the straps and sheathing his sword across his back, then followed her. Ciri trailed behind them. By the time he had made it outside, the air had already begun to whirl at Yennefer’s demand, and soon a portal formed.

Geralt took a single step towards the portal before Ciri launched into his arms. She buried her face in his chest and clung to him. He patted her head, his movements stiff and halting but still comforting. At least, he hoped they were comforting.

He cleared his throat. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Ciri slowly raised her head and looked him in the eyes. “You’d better. I’ll never forgive you if you die. Oh, and don’t forget that we’re going to find Jaskier after this!” she said, drawing away from him and doing her best to put on a smile.

Geralt sighed, trying to act put out by her, but they both knew he loved her. “I would expect nothing less.” He gave her a small smile of his own and turned back to the portal. Yennefer raised an eyebrow at him, but he simply shrugged her off.

The two stepped through the portal and got whisked away to the battlefield.

---

His boots connected with mud and immediately, he sunk into the ground up to his ankle. A loud squelch rang out as Yennefer’s fine shoes also connected. “Ugh,” she groaned. They had stepped directly into a muddy area in the midst of a rainforest. His sensitive hearing picked up chatter from somewhere deeper into the forest. Yennefer began walking and beckoned for him to follow. Soon, they were traversing a maze of trees, vines, and roots intended to trip them up.

The pure ice cold chill in the air was enough to make Geralt regret coming with her.

They finally reached a small camp of tents. Men were milling around, carrying odds and ends. Some were sharpening swords and taking practice swings with them. A balding man marched up to Geralt and Yennefer. He had a scraggly beard and a scar across his jaw. “Ah, you’re finally here. I take it this is the infamous White Wolf?”

Geralt internally winced at the name. Yennefer smiled in her polite fashion, that little hint of danger just beneath the surface. “Indeed it is, Marko.”

The man, Marko, stretched out a hand for Geralt to shake. “I’m glad you’re on board.”

Geralt regarded the outstretched hand for a moment and was about to shrug it off when Yennefer elbowed him. He shot her a look then grasped Marko’s hand and shook it. “Hmm.”

Marko, seeming to think nothing of it, began to lead them through the camp. A small, very unwelcome breeze swept through the trees. The biting air was enough to chill even him to the bone. Soon enough, the air would be cold enough to cause hypothermia for the entire army. How delightful. Well, perhaps that was an exaggeration, but still.

Marko led them in between scores of tents, talking to the odd soldier as he went. His voice carried a tiredness that you only truly found in those who had fought tooth and nail to survive and now carried those memories like a weight on their shoulders. He glanced back at Geralt. “As Lady Yennefer no doubt told you, this raid has turned into primarily a rescue mission. We’ll need you on the front lines, taking down the Nilfgaardian knights.”

Yennefer placed a gentle hand on his bicep. “You won’t have to take them on alone.”

Geralt shot her a look and shook her hand off. “I wasn’t worried.”

Eventually, they reached an area with a small path cut in between the trees and vines. Marko gestured towards the path. “You’ll have to hurry. The first group of our men have already gone out.”

Before Marko could say another word, Geralt headed off down the path with Yennefer trailing behind him. His keen senses picked up on the hiss and slither of a snake somewhere in the forest and the pitiful cry of a hare being struck down by a predator. These were sounds he had become accustomed to in his many years of life.

They walked in silence for many minutes, stalking through the trees with purpose. Then, with enough strength to curdle the blood of any living thing, a scream rang out. It ripped through the trees along with the clash of metal on metal and the racket of battle cries. Hooves beat down on the earth somewhere ahead of them. He broke out into a sprint, hand flying to his sword instinctively.

Yennefer was hot on his heels as they tore through the forest. Finally, finally, the trees broke into a grassy plain, stretching to a mountain where a black stone fortress sat. On that grassy plain, no more than twenty yards away, the blood of fallen men stained the ground. It seeped into the earth and soaked it.

Niflgaardian warriors with their blackened, wavy armor clashed with resistance soldiers. Men fell to the ground in heaps of blood and anguished cries. The heavy stench of sulfur, body odor, and that unmistakable sour tang of fear filled the air. The sulfur clung to many of the resistance warriors and he knew the meaning well: righteous anger.

The sun, slowly making its way higher into the sky, began to chase away the cold of the late morning as it became early afternoon. Geralt pulled his sword and charged into the thick of battle, ignoring Yennefer’s calls behind him.

A Nilfgaardian knight ran at him like a bull seeing red and swung his heavy blade. He was fast, Geralt would give him that, but not quite fast enough. He easily sidestepped the attack made by the warrior and drove his blade into the man’s back, who collapsed like a felled tree. Moments in the heat of battle were the ones he was good at. A battle - no matter how bloody - was like a dance. Keep light on your feet and move with precision or else you’ll fall.

One by one, he struck down warriors who dared approach him. Their screams and the stench of spoiled milk filled the air as they crumpled, blood staining the earth. He didn’t know how long it took for the battle to end, but by the time the last Nilfgaardian man had fallen, the sun was high in the sky and beating down on them with remarkable force. A breeze, now feeling pleasant after the sweat and exertion of battle, swept across the field.

Blood had managed to work its way into his boots at some point, and he was certain his socks would be stained. More to the point, they had been soaked through. He grunted and ignored the minor inconvenience. As the resistance warriors began their march to the looming, ominous fortress on the mountainside, he followed. They made their way across the grassy plain and to a thicket of trees around the base of the mountain.

They crept through, low-hanging vines being chopped off swiftly. He wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead. Strange, all things considered. He didn’t usually sweat, but he had a hunch the sense of unease lingering in his bones had something to do with it. This feeling of utter wrongness clung to him, and he couldn’t shake it. Not for a lack of trying, though.

They came across a small gate hidden in the trees that led to the grounds beside the fortress. It had been built partially into the mountain but still had outside entrances. He glanced around at the men who were making their way to the gate. Somehow, he had lost Yennefer in the scuffle. No worry settled inside him, though. He was certain she had found safety.

One of the men managed to get the gate open and cheered in success. The rest of them filed through the new opening and marched forwards, coming face to face with a new bout of guards.

---

Geralt wasn’t sure how long it took them to finally infiltrate fully, he just knew it had happened. At that moment, he stood in the midst of a long hallway, the bodies of fallen warriors left in his wake. He continued down the dark path that was only lit by windows off to his left. As he reached the end of the hallway, he saw a series of doors. Not just simple doors either—these were made of heavy metals and designed to be impenetrable.

He turned to one of the doors and gave it a push. It slowly swung open; strange, all things considered, but he brushed it off.

The sight he saw next would haunt him forever.

---

Tag list: @cirillafromcintras

#geraskier #jaskier #geralt z rivii #fanfiction #whoot whoot #the pill #my writing #the witcher #cirilla of cintra #yennefer of vengerberg #post-ep6 #my poor babies #gerlion

[assassins-and-hidden-blades]

For the 'Bad Things Happen Bingo' can I suggest Infected wound with Geraskier and some angsty Jaskier whump? Maybe Jaskier gets a hit when protecting/helping Geralt on a hunt and doesn't treat it well enough so Geralt has to step in when infection starts to affect Jaskier? Just a suggestion everything you do is great anyways so just do what you want!

I’ve probably spent wayy longer than I should have delving into lore here, but it was worth it. I hope you like it, even though I haven’t really written much of The Witcher yet. It doesn’t help that I haven’t met Jaskier in the books/game yet, which has caught me out a bit. Thank you so much for requesting and your words! 

Prompt: Infected Wound ( @badthingshappenbingo )

Characters: Geralt/Jaskier

Warnings: Kikimore worker, violence, infection, swearing

----------

Jaskier was humming again.

Geralt watched as Jaskier strummed his lute alongside Roach, as they moved through yet another bog. The local village had complaints of a monster stalking the place, and as per usual, Jaskier tagged along with the Witcher, despite very strong recommendations to stay at the inn. 

By the description of survivors, Geralt had already made an assumption on what this monster could be, and had coated his blade in an oil as he was riding. 

As the bog became murkier, the ground became softer, making it harder for Roach to move through the mud. Thus, Geralt dismounted and hitched Roach against a tree. Sifting through his saddlebag, he pulled out a small vial. He pulled the cork off and downed the liquid in one. 

“What’s that one for?” Jaskier had stopped a few paces ahead, slowly walking backwards as to keep an eye on Geralt.

“Improves my senses.”

Jaskier pulled an approving face. “I could use one of those.”

“Hmm...”

Geralt patted Roach’s nose and walked up to Jaskier, who swung his lute over his shoulder. “This place does not feel very friendly.” They began to approach a large lake.

As Jaskier continued to ramble, Geralt could feel the effects of the potion take place, and his ears caught a new, but not unfamiliar noise. “Jas...” he warned, a hand coming to the belt of his scabbard on his torso. He was ready to pull his sword into his awaiting palm. Jaskier continued to chatter, mostly to himself. “Jaskier!” 

He turned his head at the sound of his name. At the same time, the water in front of them exploded, a monster rearing its head. “Geralt!” Jaskier’s voice trembled. The monster turned its head towards the noise and spat defensively.

It hit Jaskier in the leg, causing his body to buckle at the sudden pain. He watched as Geralt sprang into action, clutching his thigh.

Whatever that was, it wasn’t water. 

He crawled backwards until he could lay his back against a tree, shoving his lute aside so he wouldn’t squash it. He was too terrified to look at the damage to his leg, and more importantly, his trousers. 

In a spurt of a ‘fuck it’ attitude, he looked down. His skin was seared and red, burning hot and freezing cold seemingly at the same time. He took off his jacket and tried to wipe the substance off of the wound, before wrapping and tying it around his leg. He rested his head against the back of the tree, taking deep breaths. 

A growling shriek caught Jaskier’s attention moments after. Geralt had impaled the monster on his silver blade. Thank Melitele, he thought to himself. When all went silent, Geralt’s footsteps resounded through the bog. “Jaskier.” He crouched beside the bard.

“I’m fine. Just a bit of a twinge. Now, help me up.” Jaskier reached his arm out to meet Geralt’s. “What was that?”

“It was a sub-class kikimore. A worker.” 

“Uh-huh, and what do they spit at people who talk too loud?”

“Acid.”

Geralt made it back to Roach with Jaskier’s arm over his shoulder and his lute in his free hand. “Get on Roach.”

Formerly speechless, Jaskier looked at him, wide eyed and hiding a smirk. “Did you just say what I thought you just said?”

Wordlessly, Geralt supported Jaskier’s weight as he wrestled the saddle. He took Roach’s reins in his hand to lead her back to town. “How is it?” He was referring to Jaskier’s leg.

“Yeah, no, it’s fine. A bit of ointment will do the trick.”

“Herbalist it is, then.”

----------

The bog slowly dissipated as the ground became sturdier and the air became lighter. The beaten path was wide; Geralt was sure that he was nearing the town. “Um, Geralt?” He turned to see Jaskier squinting. “How many paths are in front of us?”

“Only one.”

“Oh, okay, good, good. Because I see about five.” Geralt stopped Roach just in time for him to catch Jaskier on his quick descent to the ground. He dragged him to the side of the path and sat him against a (different) tree.

“You said you were fine.”

Jaskier huffed a small laugh. “I mean, I was.” 

Geralt unwrapped the temporary binding around Jaskier’s leg. Immediately, Geralt sighed. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He stood straight and moved to Roach, digging around in his saddlebags. He returned with a small wooden circular container and some clean bandages.

“We were almost back to town, anyway. Thought I could last.” Jaskier began sweat beads down his temples, leaving trails on his pale skin. 

Geralt twisted the cap off of the container, revealing a white cream. He dipped his fingers in before applying a generous amount to the weeping wound. Jaskier gasped. “Fuck!” Instinctively, he grabbed Geralt’s wrist to stop him from putting more on.

Not really knowing how to comfort him, Geralt spoke with uncertainty. “Um, I should’ve probably warned you; this will hurt.” 

Jaskier glared at him. “Good to know.” Reluctantly, he released his wrist. For the entire time, Jaskier seemingly held his breath as Geralt covered the wound with the ointment. 

Once or twice, Geralt caught Jaskier’s conscious waning. “Stay awake, Jas.”

The bandages were wrapped expertly around Jaskier’s leg and tied tightly. Pulling his arm over his shoulders, Geralt rose to his feet, placing Jaskier on Roach’s haunches, before sliding into the saddle himself. He willed her into a gallop, hoping he could get to someone before he would need to resort to more desperate measures, before the foreign tightness in his chest becomes too much to bear.

#the witcher #infected wound #badthingshappenbingo

[ducktracy]

122. boom boom (1936)

release date: february 29th, 1936

series: looney tunes

director: jack king

starring: tommy bond (beans), joe dougherty (porky), billy bletcher (soldiers, enemy, general hardtack)

something you don’t see everyday—a cartoon released on february 29th. jack king’s first official cartoon prominently featuring porky (he made a very small cameo in hollywood capers). jack king would only direct a handful of porky cartoons, but they’re effectively disconcerting, strange, and downright offputting. at the same time, they’re fascinating because of that. we don’t really get any of that offbeat mood here. instead, beans and porky are soldiers in the midst of the great war. they’re sent to rescue their hostage general, but the obviously unsafe environment makes that task quite a challenge.

if the title isn’t an obvious indication as to what the cartoon entails, the opening shot of bombs exploding amuck solidifies our understanding immediately. i already love the lighting of the explosions reflecting off the fence, very moody. while king isn’t as cinematographic as, say, frank tashlin, he certainly is more ambitious with his camera angles and staging than friz freleng or even tex avery. a closeup of a bomb exploding in the dirt transitions to a shot of silhouettes charging forward. elsewhere, a dog blows his bugle, interrupted by a bomb. the bomb explodes and he now lies on the ground, injured, weakly blaring out “taps”. great, snappy timing.

some more explosions and violence just for the hell of it. a cannon is extended, targeting a dog perched inside a chimney and shooting below. the perspective on the cannon is great, a lovely curved shot as a dog pops out and conks the other dog on the head with a mallet, who slumps over. fatal cartoon violence!

elsewhere, a horse is desperately attempting to weave in and out of a barrage of bullets. a particularly threatening bullet follows him closely, tearing his backpack and clothes to shreds and attempting to do the same ritual to his metal helmet. the bullet weasels its way under and propels the helmet upwards, shredding a hole right in the middle of it. animation is quick, fast, and exhilarating. the hat snaps back down to its rightful owner with such force that the horse gets himself stuck inside the helmet, the helmet acting like body-fitting handcuffs.

nevertheless, the horse manages to seek refuge in a crumbling building, shutting the door with his foot. no matter-the bullet shoots right through the door and explodes almost everything in sight. lovely, rubbery, smooth animation as the bullet thins out and turns into a snake-like saw, tearing the helmet restraint off of the horse, who’s ducking. the bullet zips away, and buys the horse enough time to gallop over to a shelf full of bullets. now, the horse drags over part of a broken piano (not unlike the harman-ising days), the mallets hitting the bullets and firing them off. unfortunately for the horse, a spare bullet crashes right behind him and explodes. a looney tunes staple as we see the angel of the horse floating carelessly in heaven, strumming yankee doodle dandy on a lyre. death, always a good punchline! (see daffy going to hell and coming to terms with it in draftee daffy. it’s hilarious!)

another collection of gags as the soldiers engage in the fight. a particularly dopey dog with a prominent overbite fires a pop gun, the cork flying back and smacking him right between the eyes. meanwhile, a dog shooting a machine gun trembles from the impact as he slowly walks away. back to the overbite dog, shooting again and this time pulling his helmet over his face for protection. just as he believes he’s outsmarted himself, he pulls the helmet back up, just in time to be pinged once more (a gag parallel to porky’s trouble with a rubber horseshoe in the village smithy).

the stuttering dog from into your dance and hollywood capers pulls the pin out of a hand grenade and mistakenly tosses the pin instead. the impact of the explosion sends the dog flying into the air. conveniently, a first aid truck happens to be trucking on by. the driver scoops up the dog in a net and dumps him carelessly into the back of the truck.

porky’s turn for the spotlight. he whistles as a signal to his soldier buddies, and they all dive into the war zone. smart of his buddies to jump back into the trench, leaving porky alone to his oblivious self. he crawls forward on his hands and knees, visibly wary. a famous jack king hat take as his helmet flies into the air in surprise at the sound of a distant explosion. he tugs at his collar, sweat beading his face. he tiptoes forward...

and immediately flies back into the trench, right inside of their base (a great transition between the scenes as his body hurtling forward wipes the screen). he attempts to dive under a bunk bed for shelter (occupied by beans), but instead breaks the bed thanks to his weight.

beans wakes up and scratches his head in befuddlement. he shrugs it off, jumping out of bed and dragging the cowardly porcine by the feet. porky rises to his feet as beans pats him on the shoulder reassuringly—“take it easy, porky ol’ boy! take it easy!” porky’s not one for the war life as he stutters “phooey! i wish i’d-a stayed on the farm!” a fellow soldier, a snarky hippo, pops his head up from his bunk and chides “is mama’s little man afraid?”

just as porky’s about to assert that no, mama’s little man is NOT afraid, the sound of a nearby explosion interrupts his confident façade. he cowers under a table while the surrounding soldiers mock him, all singing “you’re in the army now” (including vocals provided by a random duck). porky shudders audibly at the thought. beans orders porky to snap out of it, and helps himself to spoonfuls of (heh :)) beans, porky cautiously peering out from beneath the table.

elsewhere, a bird flies amongst the fire, inevitably getting shot and spiraling towards the ground, right into the trench. it drags itself inside, where porky and beans are having a hearty meal of baked beans. exhausted, the bird collapses right in front of the duo. beans notices a scroll lodged in the bird’s helmet and pulls it out. it reads: AM BEING HELD PRISONER BY ENEMY IN OLD FARMHOUSE. SEND HELP — GEN. HARDTACK”.

right away, beans drags porky along as they race out of the trench. beans wastes no time boarding a motorcycle, leaving porky in the dust. speedy, quick animation as beans practically runs porky over, tossing him into the sidecar. the speed is to be commended—it actually conveys a sense of urgency and exhilaration. it seems tex’s knack for speed as demonstrated in gold diggers of ‘49 is finally rubbing off. porky struggles to keep his hat from flying away in the wind.

an anthropomorphized bullet (the original bullet bill!) has its sights set on beans and porky. a lovely overhead shot as it watches them speed by, hurtling straight after. the sense of speed is heightened even more, a tame parallel to tex’s speed in gold diggers. lovely, dynamic shots as they fly past curves and weave through trees, even running right into a tree that separates the motorcycle and the sidecar.

regardless, beans and porky reunite as they fly over the battlefield, their transportation falling beneath them. the bullet still whizzes after them, and the two dive into a hole for cover. the bullet explodes, yet porky and beans pop out unscathed like whack-a-moles in the distance. a lovely visual and great use of cartoon physics as the two physically lift up their hole and carry it a few feet, transplanting it back into the ground and ducking once more as another explosion endangers them.

seemingly alone, bullet nowhere in sight, beans and porky dash to a crumbling building, both peering inside. general hardtack is being tortured by his captors, bound up by ropes. one of the captors lights a candle under his feet and gives him the hot foot, forcing him to talk. beans comments “that’s general hardtack!”, and with some quick thinking he ties a spool of barbed wire to a nearby rocket.

with the strike of a match, the rockets are ignited and propel straight inside. the rocket wraps up one of the enemies with barbed wire, and then the other. beans and porky save the day as they push both captors over, beans cutting the rope off of the general, much to his gratitude.

now free, all three of them rush outside and spot a parked plane. they board and prepare to fly home. of course, no one is safe in war, not even the heroes of the cartoon. the plane is almost immediately shot to pieces, nosediving straight to the ground. fade transition as our heroes are now all in a hospital bed, bandaged up tight. the general awards beans a ribbon, who rips it in half and pins the other shred to porky. iris out as they all have a good laugh about it. such is war!

certainly one of king’s best entries by far. this is one of the rare cartoons i have actually seen before, but seldom remembered. while i’ve repeatedly mentioned how offputting his porky cartoons are (this is more of a beans cartoon honestly), it is interesting to see how he characterizes porky for the first time—as a bumbling coward. the energy was very high and upbeat in this one, and it actually conveyed a sense of urgency and exhilaration, which i welcome with open arms. the gags weren’t too side-splittingly funnt, but they aren’t exactly dull either. the horse dying and going to heaven is always a plus. beans and porky had a nice dynamic going, and this cartoon does have a lot of personality. the animation was stellar, very fluid, smooth, rubbery, malleable, and fun. while this isn’t the most fantastic cartoon out there, it’s certainly one of the better ones we’ve seen thus far, and potentially worth a watch just for the hell of it.

link!

#lt #boom boom #reviews #long post

[empresskaze]

A Mage's Mistake

Ok so this has been in my drafts forever. It involves my OC Kyoichi who I don't write about a lot. He's from my never to be finished fantasy novel and is quite easy to whump given he's got some issues. I used him in the first sneeze fic I ever wrote on the forum Of Pride And Stubborness. For anyone who read that, this little drabble takes place many years before that. So his health isn't as bad and his hair is still blondish.

This is for @stargayzerlilies thank you for reminding me how much I love this dork. ❤

Fixed too since tumblr ate half my other post...

~~~~

The subtle aroma of dried leaves and crushed weed grass filled the air. The fire beneath the black pot crackled forcing bubbles up through the dense liquid. Kyoichi leaned over the concoction peering over the top of his glasses. Turning back, he pushed the sleeves of his hakama up then crossed his arms, strumming his fingers against his arm.

Even for the Majera master, potions had never been his strong point. Kyoichi lacked the patience for brewing long drawn out spells, rune script was so much more effective and less time consuming. Another bubble burped up from the reddish brown liquid. Kyoichi turned back to his spell component lined along the table. Only three more remained but the timing was the important part. Grasping a pale blue bottle he raised it, the his distorted face reflecting back at him, Kyoichi removed the cork. King's Blood, the common name given to this oderless clear liquid was only a hint at how valuable it truly was. Kyoichi only had a few drops left, thankfully the potion only called for one.

Holding the bottle steady over the pot, Kyoichi slowly began to tilt making sure only a drop would fall.

Suddenly his hand tensed as a muscle spasm shot through his arm. "Not now..." Kyoichi gritted his teeth as the pain increased. Slapping his free hand onto his shaking arm did nothing, his now weakened fingers lost their grasp and the bottle fell into the pot.

Pulling his arm back in pain, holding it tightly to his chest, Kyoichi watched as the vile slowly sank. "Luni's Black Blood!' He spat angry at himself. The sharp pain slowly eased running from elbow to fingers until Kyoichi's arm only had a twinge of numbness.

"Two days of work!" He breathed pushing up his glasses. "Ruined by..." His words were cut short by a low rumbling. Kyoichi adjusted his glasses in time to see the pot shaking but then just as quick it stopped. Curious, he leaned closer. A small rose then popped. Kyoichi sighed in relief but before he could react, the pot shook and a cloud puffed out covering the surly mage in a fine film. Inhaling sharply Kyoichi bent forward coughing harshly into his hakama sleeve. Tears streamed from his burning green eyes down his cheeks. Kyoichi fiercely rubbed the ruined potion from his face, blanketing his clothes.

Another raucous cough shook him as his sniffled. A quick wave of his hand, the windows flew open and the noxious fume drifted out.

Exhaling another cough, Kyoichi rubbed his eyes blinking repeatedly. Suddenly he inhaled sharply as a ticklish sensation pricked his sinuses. Pinching his nose, Kyoichi stifled a hard sneeze. His ear popped as another fought it's way out from around his hand. Sniffling he quickly pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and hurried to the back door pushing it open with his shoulder.

The cool air helped clear his chest but Kyoichi continued to sneeze exhaustedly into his cloth as he had both hands clasped around his nose. Fresh tears ran down his face but blinking did little as he could barely keep them open during his allergic reaction to the fumes.

Finally able to take a breath, Kyoichi muffled a dry cough again. Running a hand through his blonde hair, he sniffled again, pinching his nose. "Kami help me..." He muttered as he headed back in to clean up his mess.

#kaze writes: drabbles #kaze writes: kyoichi #allergy fic #sneeze fic #allergies

[theredwidows]

Posted @withrepost • @tompettyofficial "This is one of those photos that you can tell what song the band is playing by the kind of guitar Tom’s holding. It's 'Mary Jane’s Last Dance,' and this is just a few seconds into the iconic guitar riff that opens the song. On the 2017 tour, Tom almost exclusively played a Gibson SG on 'Mary Jane’s.' This photo is from the BottleRock Festival in June 2017 in Napa, CA. I loved this moment. You could hear a pin drop most nights just before Tom played the intro riff. The stage was usually dark, save for a lone spotlight on TP. Tom would wander around the stage, strumming the guitar, before settling on the stage edge to launch into the song. By the time the band kicked in, the stage lights were up and the crowd was ecstatic. 'Mary Jane’s' was a galvanizing force in the band’s show, whether it was up front in the setlist or toward the end of the night. Everyone knows the words. Doesn’t matter if it’s under a circus tent in Cork, Ireland, in a hockey arena outside Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, in a big beautiful park in Napa, CA, or at Deer Creek Music Center in Noblesville in front of tens of thousands of Indiana girls (and boys) on an Indiana night — everyone sings along!” - @actennille, Photographer. #pettyforever Now available as either a lithographic or fine art print! For details and to order click the Bio link! (at The Black Heart) https://www.instagram.com/p/BrYtSunF3Bl/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1uqc6ktjonrja

#pettyforever

[5bi5]

i really like music, i play bass, viola, guitar and ukulele! i like reading, drawing, music, plants and peach cola, but i dont like country music or getting up early. i have depression and mild-ish anxiety so that stresses me out sometimes. also i love dodie and p!atd :)

You’re sitting on the bed in a yellow room. The walls hold art– some yours, some not –as well as a cork board, a couple posters, and a shelf with three houseplants, all of which are thriving. On the nightstand beside you is a glass of peach cola, and a mug of hot tea. The tea belongs to Dodie, who’s perched in an armchair across from you strumming a calming song on a ukulele. You strum along on your own ukulele, and she sings softly. Shafts of late afternoon light stream in through the window, the light turned almost silver from the clouds outside. You can hear the steady patter of raindrops, half in time with the music. You stop playing for a moment to take a sip of your drink, and just listen to Dodie sing. There’s nowhere either of you needs to be, nor anything either of you needs to do, so you’re content to just sit here for a while in peace. 

[notdepressedjusttired]

Can you??? Answer??? All the Soft Asks??????

This is gonna take a while ;;;;;

🌸Blankets: Have you been in love?

Yes.

🌸Stuffies: How did you meet your best friend?

I have 3 of them??

My oldest friendship dates back to Kindergarten. His name is Joshua, he gave me a flower, and told me I was pretty. I still talk to and hang out with him. I tease him a lot because I’m older than him by 7 months but he’s like;;; 6’ tall? I love him with all my heart though. We’ve been through a lot of shit together.

My current IRL best friend I met my freshman year; her sophomore year of high school. We actually only passed by eachother during passing period, but we both had the same nerdy Doctor Who bag. I had said I like her backpack and she was about to say thanks, but she burst into laughter after she saw we had the same bag. A few weeks later we were both cast in our school’s first musical of the year and she hasn’t been able to get rid of me since. We’ve gone through almost too much together if I’m being honest…

My BEST FRIEND BEST FRIEND is @thighkyuu We met on here over a year ago after one of us was having a bad night; I can’t remember which, but we must have talked til like 4 AM. We bonded over Mysme, anime, music, our philosophies about life, our depression and anxiety ((fucked up as that may sound it’s true)), just all kinds of things. We’ve both been through our separate traumas over the course of that year, but we were there for eachother. She’s been my only constant over this year and I would do anything for her.

🌸Fluffy Pillows: What happened in your most recent dream?

Jesus, here comes my voltron obsessed ass.

Okay. So. Everyone knows that I love Keith, I’d do anything for him, so naturally we’re partners. “There is no way you two aren’t twins.” If I remember, I think Lance said that.

Anyway, in the dream, this was before they left Earth. Keith and I were in the shack going over our cork board filled with papers/files stolen from the Garrison, photographs of the strange markings on the cave wall, the rock formations in the desert, and all of this string; we’re covering the board trying to figure out what the hell pulled us out in the middle of the desert. All the sudden there was a flash of light and a huge BOOM. Naturally we both ran outside and saw an alien space craft entering the atmosphere. My first thought of course “I’m taking my hoverbike and explosives from the back.” “I’m taking mine to see what the fuck is in that ship.”

I set off the explosives and get the fuck out of there. It all goes as canon but I’m riding next to Keith on my hoverbike while he has 4 other people on his bike. Im dying from laughter and Keith just looks pissed but then we get to the cliff and we’re both ecstatic about it while 3 of the 5 on his bike scream in terror. The rest goes as canon but I’m tagging along and adding in my 2 cents in every now and again.

When we go to look for Red, Keith can’t get a clear feel for him. Keith knows the general area he’s going to be in but can not figure out which hangar Red is in. Suddenly theres like this ping in my head and I grab his upper arm and start pulling him to the hangar Red is in. We’re both relieved as fuck and Keith goes up to him and asks for entry and Red denies, I look over and see all the soldiers running toward us and start backing the fuck up. “RED OPEN THE FUCK UP!” still no entry, Keith opens the hangar door sucking everything out into space. We’re both freaking the fuck out cause what the hell do we do?! Red comes in. Keith is in the pilot’s seat; I’m standing next to him cause what else am I supposed to do??

Then I woke up.

🌸Scented Candles: How do you relax?

I watch voltron. Sketch Keith. Listen to music. Go on tumblr. You know anti-social fun stuff.

🌸Gem Stones: What’s your birthstone/favourite stone?

My birthstone is Garnet. It is also my favourite stone.

🌸Pyjamas: Describe your favourite pyjamas!

I dont wear pyjamas… I’m usually fully dressed or completely naked when I go to bed.

🌸Fuzzy Socks: What’s your favourite movie?

V for Vendetta. No competition.

🌸Kittens & Puppies: Name of your pet or your ideal pet?

Zarina Karina McBeana The Third. My bichon. She’s turning 11 this year *sniffles* they grow up so fast.

🌸Laughter: What’s the funniest joke you’ve heard?

My ex-boyfriend saying he’s sorry for everything he’s done to me and then asking for me back. I was clutching my fucking sides I was laughing so hard.

🌸Mittens: Do you like the snow?

❄I❄❄L❄O❄V❄E❄❄S❄N❄O❄W❄

🌸Hot Coco: What’s your favourite Starbucks drink?

Chai anything. I’m easy to please.

🌸Soft Kisses: Describe your OTP

We been makin shades of purple out of Red and Blue.

🌸Rainy Days: What do you do on a rainy day?

Sleep. Go on tumblr. Sleep more.

🌸Flower Petals: What’s your favourite flower?

Orchids because I too die if not given the proper attention.

🌸Cotton Candy: What’s your favourite candy?

Albanese Gummi Bears. It has to be Albanese or I will not eat them.

🌸Bubble Baths: Your favourite memory?

Turning around and seeing Sam’s face for the first time IRL at Kamicon a couple weeks ago.

🌸Wooly Scarfs: What song do you think relates the most to you?

Sick of losing soulmates by Dodie Clark. There are many kinds of soulmates. Friend soulmates, romatic soulmates, mentoring soulmates. And I’ve lost too many soulmates in my short life. I dont think I can handle losing any more…

🌸Roasted Marshmallows: Your camping with friends! Describe the forest you’re pitching your tent in.

We found a clearing in the thick of green woods next to a stream. The friendly scent of pine needles reminds me of home. Joshua is pitching tents. Mary Grace is chatting away with Abby and Tina about the mountain we’ve just climbed down. Sam and I find ourselves in the middle of the forest enjoying the smell of the dew drops in the grass as we collect kindle wood. Cosmo is tuning her ukulele when we finish the fire and set up camp. The evening begins creeping in as the sun starts to fade from view. We all stay in a comfortable silence as we look up at the stars and swirling nebula; listen to the sound of the gentle breeze and Cosmo lazily strumming “I can’t help falling in love with you” by Elvis Presley. The air is chilled but everything feels warm.

🌸Bird Songs: Name 5 things you love

Keith Kogane, friends/family, music, theater, sharp objects.

🌸Old Books: Do you read? If so, what’s your favourite book series?

I do read. My favourite book series continues to be the hunger games. My favourite solo book is The fault in our stars.

🌸Warm Hugs: Who would you love a hug from right now?

My choreographer Kristina Lewis… She took her own life 2 years ago… I’d do anything to bring her back and tell her how much I love her…

🌸Clouds: What’s the best shaped cloud you’ve seen?

It was the shape of a hippo! I was so excited.

🌸Fae: Describe yourself as a fairy

Little shit. Sets things on fire all the time. Makes people’s lives a living hell. Wears red and black clothes only. Definitely one of those fairys that have dragon kind of wings.

🌸Holding Hands: What was the name of your first love?

Daniel.

🌸Cupcakes: Favourite cupcake flavour?

Vanilla bean. I’m a very plan person.

🌸Tealights: Describe a romantic date perfect for you

At home, Pizza and candy boxes everywhere, blanket pile, lights off, movie marathon, cuddling, forehead kisses, raspberries being blown into the neck and cheek, smiles, giggling, flustered faces.

🌸Gardens: What’s the sweetest gift you’ve received

My tech teacher bought me these beautiful detail brushes ((for those of you who dont know I was head painter at my old school)). They’re my most treasured possessions.

[andrewrosswatson1987]

REVIEW: BELOW THE NECK DECLARE WASTE OF LIFE ON NEW EP

Below The Neck brace for the release of debut EP, Waste Of Life, today (September 6). The Inverness outfit are a melodic and metallic hardcore five-piece made up of vocalist, Thomas Wooley; guitarists, Conor Hedges and Rory Troup; bassist, Johnny Fowler; and drummer, Finnbar Connell.  As the genre descriptors suggest, these guys are brutal yet they’re so much more than mere brutality. Along with this, they’re also supporting fellow metallic hardcore, Cork of Ireland four-piece, BAILER.  This taking place Aberdeen, at Musical Vision tonight (September 6).  This the same day as today’s aforementioned EP, so give it a listen before heading off to see them in their support slot later tonight. Tomorrow (September 7) they head back up to Inverness, at The Tooth & Claw for NeckFest.  The day after (September 8) is Dundee, at Conroy’s Basement. This supporting the guys from BAILER in not only just Aberdeen, but Inverness and Dundee, too. They’re also hitting the road with Dayshifter on the Scottish dates of their winter tour. They count off Opium in Edinburgh on November 16 and The Tooth & Claw, again, on November 17. Recording and mixing was handled by A-COG (Andy Coghill) of Inverness, with Perth’s John Harcus mastering.  Sean Boa wrote, performed and recorded the introductory track. The singles for the project are, so far, “Waste Of Life”. The opening track, “Intro”, is grave. Almost sad, but an underlying threat seems to develop.  Choral vocal comes, haunting.  Knifing strings come from out of nowhere, then dissipate.  This, however, is only the start of the nightmare.

“Waste Of Life” doesn’t mess about, wading right into the nightmare. Chugging guitar refrain hints at the upcoming epic.  This swaggers with a jump in tempo.  Then after that, just slamming.  Hits of guitar, drum and bass toll the bell and it’s, indeed, epic. The bass then drives, thick as a tree trunk and right to the gut.  Lead guitar melody foreboding and slithering like the snake that cast Adam and Eve out of the Garden of Eden.  “Waste of life” punctuated with syllables extended to bring out the emphatic, the last breath before becoming a corpse and returning to the earth. “Twelve”.  This slams, almost grooving.  Impossibly low.  The discordant guitar and bellowed vocal as one before machine gun bass shoots to barren territory. The deathly guitar then jabs, obliterating all before pulsing for a fadeout. Closer is “L’appel Du Vide (The Call Of The Void)”.  This rings in with the feel of emotionally taut.  Melodic, tribal drum brooding and the guitar chords ringing out.  This then, slung low, has an air of triumphant about it.  Then things gallop with immediacy, urgent.  Frustration as he proclaims, “Set me from all these lies.”  A real fighting spirit to see the day through.  Syncopated hit of drum and strum of thick chord, jarring, with every punch landing. “You’d be better off dead,” screamed through clenched teeth. With that, the emotionally taut lead guitar melody is swapped for smashing brutality.  Like Corey Taylor, of Slipknot, at his most angry.  Real aggression, both hoarse of throat, guttural and low plus screaming like an almost demonic falsetto Rob Halford, of Judas Priest. All the tracks on Waste Of Life particular highlights are “Waste Of Life”, “Twelve” and “L’appel Du Vide”. This effort proves Below The Neck to be brutal with a degree of sophistication about it. Indeed, it’s violent from start to finish with enough dynamic shifts to keep you interested.  Yes, the choral vocals and strings at the start are a major departure from their sound but it works, thematically. One might wonder how it’ve worked in a live band scenario, or embellished so. Below The Neck, indeed, are a good mix of simplicity and complexity.  You can, generally, bounce to their riffs in a nu-metal sort of way yet, these are planned and crafted in a way that’s staggered.  In other words, they do things, it seems, with a live crowd in mind, much satisfaction from how a gathering might react to their riffs.  Guitar music to incite wild times. Below The Neck’s latest EP, Waste Of Life, can be bought on iTunes, here. Also visit their Facebook and YouTube pages to keep tabs on Below The Neck.

#Below The Neck #Waste Of Life #Thomas Wooley #Conor Hedges #Rory Troup #Johnny Fowler #Finnbar Connell #BAILER #Musical Vision Aberdeen #Musical Vision #Aberdeen #The Tooth & Claw Inverness #The Tooth & Claw #Inverness #Conroy's Basement Dundee #Conroy's Basement #Dundee #A-COG #John Harcus #Slipknot #Corey Taylor #Judas Priest #Rob Halford #Opium Edinburgh #Opium #Edinburgh #Andy Coghill #Sean Boa

[biteinsane]

I know this is stupid but can you make a fanfic of Stanford singing a embarrassingly catchy song. Just when he was singing his song out loud thinking he was alone Fiddleford catches him and Ford's embarrassed

Characters: Stanford Pines and Fiddleford McGucketWord count: 408

Stupid? Gosh darn I like this idea. You’re getting some 70s thing though cause the first thing my mind thought was a catchy song was the llama song and as funny as that would be…no.

Fiddleford could hear…something faint down the hallway. He could deal with it though.

If something did come into the cabin and all it wanted to do was make some humming noise, Fidds would let it. Strumming his banjo drowned it out, but he found himself unconsciously going along with it. It was an actually song he remembered hearing on the radio but couldn’t quite remember the name of it or the words.

At least it wasn’t that weird little horse thing. Unless it learned a new song then good for it but the voice wasn’t as annoying.

“Alright.” He put his banjo next to the bed before pushing himself off of it. “Let’s see which one of Ford’s friends came for a visit.”

Fidds made his way down the hallway and stopped at Ford’s study where the sound was the loudest. Still faint but now he could hear the words.

“You just call on me, brother,” the song went on softly. “When you need a hand.

“We all need somebody to lean on.”

The engineer slowly opened the door trying not to make any sound as he slipped through.

“I just might have a problem that you’ll understand.” His friend was the one singing. Stanford Pines was singing. Fidds never heard him sing before.

“We all need somebody to lean on.” Ford was going about his studies like he didn’t know he was singing out loud. He pinned pictures to cork-boards and wrote notes in his journal all while singing.

“Lean on me when you’re not strong.” Ford turned around not noticing Fidds at first. “And I’ll be your f-FIDDLEFORD! I-I-I didn’t see you there! When…when did you come in?”

Fidds crossed his arms. “I never knew you could sing.”

“No…? I wasn’t-”

“I know we sang when we were drunk in college but that don’t count.” He watched Ford’s face turn bright red. “Ya got a nice voice, Ford.”

“I-I…” He just pulled his journal up toward his face to hide. “I didn’t know you could hear…”

“And who would have guessed you actually listen to the radio!”

“Fiddleford,” Ford groaned trying to see if he could just shove his face into the journal so he wouldn’t have to deal with this.

“Now you have to accompany me when I play the banjo.” He threw his hands in the air and walked out of the room. “I’m gonna get it right now.”

“Fiddleford!” Ford chased after him.

#gravity falls #fiddleford mcgucket #stanford pines #not really fiddauthor but if you want it to be it can be #my writings #fanfiction #song is lean on me by bill withers #not sure if that would be embrassing or not i just wanted that song

[rebel-and-rouge]

Why?

{{Lady Hiensou’s Performance for A Taste of the East, hosted at the Wanderer’s Elysium! Music for the performance can be found here: http://tinyurl.com/hiensouperformance }} 

The lights blindingly dropping on the stage, and the head of a petite femme. Her hair, vanilla, flutters about her shoulders like a veil of silk. The blaring of an aetherically amplified guitar shakes against her horns and yet she doesn't seem to falter; Dark lashes shroud her eyes, of which the crowd might notice the mask of her face painted in a thick and opaque lavender. She opens her eyes to reveal glimmering citrine orbs.

She wore not a kimono, nor furisode or yukata. This was Eorzea, and so she sought to combine a blend of the elements to honor the refuge brought to them by the Eorzean Alliance. It was a dress made of many varying layers: cut at the collar, and crossed with the haneri going left over right. She taps a geta-adorned foot against the wooden flooring: feeling for her cue. The trapping about her waist, closer to obi-jime than a true obi, dangled from her midsection and tapped along her womb and leg.

Charms of sun-hued azaleas shimmered in the spotlight, finally coming to a stop where she stands towards the back of the stage: centered, taking in a deep breath to calm the nerves that force goosebumps of terror along her shrouded arms. Addressing the crowd with a deep, formal bow--- hands brought in at the centers of each thigh, body a rigid 'L' to where she, finally, is given a moment where she need not look at the audience. Then she straightens;

"みんな様。楽しい夜をありがとう。(Everyone, thank you for such a lovely evening.)" She does well to note the articulation and grace by which she speaks the doman language; There is not a lick of accent, nor country dialect, that disturbs the grace of her mother language. "私はあなたを失望させないことを願っています。(I hope I will not let you down.) ご親切本当にありがとう。。。(I give a thousand thanks...)"

"ォㇾァダー。(Oleandre.) ガンス。 (Ganz.) 浩平。。。彼を説得して我々に加わらせることができなかったのが残念だ。(Kouhei--- a pity he could not be here.)"

"瞳の奥が。。。" Her tongue flicks an accented dialect that spills from her harmonious throat. Her fingers are splayed against her chest, draping along the lavender and coal ensemble that hugs her petite frame. Then her hand raises to her temple, to address the fact she might be searching for someone in the crowd...and yet her search seems fruitless. "ぼやけて見えない。" The alto that vibrates low in her throat creates the selfsame vibrato that is common to traditional doman song.

"心の底の。。。" Back down to her chest do those fingers wander, finding an off-center against her chest where she prods each digit against the cage of her heart. Her expression drops, a sort of melancholy sultriness added to her countenance. Her posture straightens, dainty pointers curling at her side while she switches from dazed despair to prolific content: her lips coiled into a smile. "気持ちはあるの?"

Her sleeve is drawn over them, a cowl for soundless laughter. Much like the muses of theatre does she seem to convey. With sudden grace, her body twists and the silks of her sleeves and dress billow: dipping low to her left with an arch made capable of the flexible, keeping herself poised on the ball of one foot and the haunches of the other. "世界の---" Another twist to send her layers aflutter: miming the same action but at her right. "全てを---" She centers;

arms at her sides. "があなたの幸せなの?" Her hands draw to her, those flames brought towards the hat neatly pinned in her hair. It ignites, and the materials of the hat burns in a shimmering mess of blues and silvers. Her body twists away, holding herself, to impress upon the witnesses the fluttering, glimmering debris as a veil upon her crown: the starry sky's horizon. "Wh~y?♪" Quite possibly the only common one might hear loose from her lips. "孤独な空を見上げるの?"

Our painted actress pleads, her head craned towards her aetheric mess; a tilt to behold her fading scintillance: "Wh--y? 笑って見せてよ。。。" She has quite the confident bellow for a woman her size: the bel canto echoing emphatically. She faces the crowd, and sways at the hips with phantasmal grace, "言葉にするのが下手な! あなたの性格わかるから。。。" She offers her hand, until it draws back with folded digits. "Ah-ah~♪"

She finally persuades another fusillade of gratification: the look on her face contradicting the sorrow in her eyes...and maybe, just maybe, she is contrasting. She echoes the memory of someone in her motion, whilst those amber orbs draw a darker despair. "遠い昔に何があったの?" It is with that that her shoeless toes traverse the stage. She seems like she is floating, using but the tips of her toes and managed motions to keep her dress from billowing.

"視線をそらす..." Presenting herself to the right side of the audience, she presents a faux display of bashfulness, arms drawn behind her whilst her shoulders raise. Then back, where her eyes behold the curtain: contemplation-- shall she run? No. She then addresses the left. "あなたの瞳に。"

Her eyes tilt away from the crowd-- to the floor-- then back up, motioning first to point at some spectator in the crowd, then to beckon the rightmost crowd to look, and to feel--- "一人でさみしい---" And to the other side she slides, mimicking those same actions."---夜に抱きしめられる。" Then front and center does she finally stand, Lady Hiensou's palms crossed over the center of her chest. "そんな温かさ知ってる?"

"Wh~y?♪ どうして形にこだわるの?" Her head cranes back slightly to expose the length of her neck, posture straightening to fully expand her chest to create those aforementioned bursts of melody. "Wh~y?♪ 心を開いて。" Her head trembles with her words: as if swayed by her very own recital. For those that could understand her, there was a gravity in her words that seemed to speak of personal strife: "大きな荷物を背負った---あなたを受け入れられる力。"

She chokes for a moment; only so that she may place a cork on the pain that even rises now to the surface of her face: "あるわ---信じてみて..." Her right hand splays out to the audience again, whilst the left coil towards her chest. Those painted lids draw to a close, "O~h-- Yeaaa~aaaah!~♪--- Oh,~♪ yeah..." Whilst the guitar blares, strumming eloquencies that she was sure not even her own tongue could project, she sits upon the center stage.

She wags a finger dismissively towards the crowd; "あなたのために翻訳します。(I will translate it for you.)" The femme's tone blares above the instruments.

Leaning forward, she sways with a renewed smile on her face: fragile yet warm. "If we're free then we must be....falling from the sky." The femme's thick accent licks out words of common; something that...maybe she didn't even consider she'd do. She had to emphasize her words; flow with the melody. "'Cause we're free then we must be...too scared to flyyyy?~♪" Patting at her lap, each of her dainty fingers curl into the skirts of her robes.

"Wh~y?♪ Do those eyes always long to reach the endless sky?~♪ Wh~y?♪ Do you hide your beaaaau~tiful smile? You've hidden behind your selfish solitude--- You can't say how you feel--- but I belieee~ve iii~iin you...Ah-ah~♪ So you can trust in me..."

She releases her skirts and presses a palm to the stage, hoisting herself back onto her feet. "Why~?♪ Oh oh, Yeaaa~aaaah!~♪...." At this point she flutters her arms out from her sides, raising them towards the sky to pronounce her expression and distaste for this paramour's long, lost gaze-- a gaze that prevents him from seeing the fantasy beside him. At the final strum of the guitar, and the piano that follows, the femme lets out a low, and equally formal bow towards her audience.

#performance #bengara akiba #lady hiensou #ayaka #why #doma #doman #raen #au ra #final fantasy xiv #final fantasy 14 #rp #ff14 #ffxiv

[overhere-series]

Over Here: Chapter Three

And there we are! Last of the revisions on these opening chapters are now officially finished, enjoy the book from here with a far better exposition. 

Cass’s alarm blares to life. She fumbles her phone off the nightstand like a wet bar of soap, thumbs the alarm off and curls back into the covers again. Images from her dream persist- a brown bird, a black hole, a town so alive with color it belongs in one of her dad’s books. They don’t fade to fuzz as most dreams do, stark and vivid as the bridges tend to be. If anything, it’s all coming into sharper focus as she wakes.

But the pent-up panic it gives her begins to ease as she takes in the whiff of incense wafting up from her dad’s studio. Eyes closed, she listens for the thrum of his music downstairs, be it the beats of radio fodder or high-speed banjo strumming.

None of his familiar genres welcome her, though, just a jazzy number droning soft from a source there in the room with her. The incense swirls more lavender than cinnamon.

“Is everything alright?” a lilting, reedy, painfully familiar voice asks.

Cass sits up with a jolt that sways her bed-no, hammock. She crashed out in a hammock, cushy pillows and blankets lumped beneath and around her. Thin tapestries are draped across the ceiling instead of painted stars like her room back home, too, matching the root-like patterns of the rugs that cover the floorboards.

Unlike the collection house, there’s not a glint of metal or plastic among the wood and cloth besides the radio on a table in the corner.  The source of the music then, though how it’s playing she can’t guess. It looks like it’s got flowers growing into the grate of its speakers.

The feather-haired guy preening in the wall mirror thumbs the stringy bass hums and foreign but pleasant voice down.

Cass presses her face into the pillows and groans.

“Cass?”

She glares at him with half her face still pressed to the pillows. So he can get a good look at her unamused eyes without distraction.

Far from being intimidated, Winston just cocks his head. Her dirty looks need to step up their game, apparently. “Are you alright?” he repeats.

“Can’t be,” she hisses. “Still here.” The wavering fear from the dream ebbs back, worse than before as a shred of relief comes arm in arm with it like a new pal it’s picked up. Add in how comforting the tweaks on the sounds and scents of home are in this place and her feelings get too tangled for her to deal with this early in the morning.

The rest of last night bleeds back to her, including how she’s come to find herself crashed out here. Here being another world, but also this sort of hotel the bird got them into after the whole sylphs incident. Cass had passed out within minutes of getting to the room, too tired even to rail Winston for more answers. A full night’s rest later and her energy to handle this place has made a comeback, though.

More of a comeback than she likes. She’s almost eager to get going, more than just to get back home.

Winston still his head tilted at her. He seems to have cleaned up when she was out, suit spotless white and feathers ruffled in a slightly less mad scientist mess than when she saw him last. Almost like the feathers grew with the grain of normal hair, framing his face in a weirdly owlish way.

“That sound, do you know what made it?” he asked.

Cass holds up her phone for him to see, but snatches it back when he reaches to take it. He draws away as she puts her legs over the side of the hammock and stretches. “It’s an alarm, birdbrain,” she says, and tosses the phone in her bag. “You guys have radios, for crying out- forget it, don’t worry about it.” Not the time to be debating tech capabilities of this place, even if she has no idea how they’ve wired electricity into this firetrap of a house or where the stations are coming from.

“It’s an alarm but I’m not to be alarmed?” Winston asks.

She rolls her eyes at the grin on his face and laces up her shoes. “Aren’t you a comedian. Thanks for not waking me up, early-”

She cuts herself off before she can finish the pun tucked in the taunt. The absence of new clothes and a shower makes her itchy and does a lot for her patience to see a joke in any of this disaster.

Winston just folds the blanket she’s dumped to the rugs instead of getting all peeved. Once she has her bag across her back, Cass takes him by the elbow to keep him from tidying the rest of the room.

“Come on, sooner we’re on the road, the better.”

*

From the hippy hotel they take off over that mossy bridge, careful to skirt the patch of lyreblooms this time around. Silence hangs between the pair as they walk. They may as well be on some scenic nature hike at the pace Winston ambles, Cass’s quick strides overtaking his wider ones with no real effort. He strolls along with his hands in his pockets, taking in the shift of the leaves from those ribbony reds to a purple like plum trees. Like he’s just as amazed with his own world as Cass probably should be.

Of course, he also ends up the one to break their silence. “Making another alarm?”

She’s got her phone in her hands. No service, no wifi, but she dials her house anyway. All she gets is angry beeping in her ear. She growls. “Might as well. Probably the only thing I can do with this thing now.”

“May I?” Winston curls his fingers in an apparently multiversal ‘gimme gimme’ gesture.

Cass hands it over, frustrated but nosy to see what he’ll do. She watches out of the corner of her eye as he explores it.

“Oh!” he says after a moment. “I’ve never seen one of this kind alive before- something about the material keeping magic out.” His fingers blur a bit, something surrounding them that she can’t quite see.

With it the screen flickers, her default background of Painted Hills going pixels until he tosses it back. The phone’s so hot to the touch she almost hot-potatoes it back. “What did you even do?”

“Nothing! Just a small drop of magic but that must be a bit for such a device to cope with,” he notes with a laugh. “I’ll leave the tampering to Marshall. He has a way of making metal and glass do his bidding somehow, though this inbetween material doesn’t respond near as much.”

“What, plastic?”

“Yes, that. Over Here still has yet to crack it, or at least this side of it. Those inorganic creations of yours aren’t bad as iron but still...”

“You can’t actually call it that,” she says. Her lips press tight together. A safe, slightly mocking question, even if she blurted it out. “Over Here. It’s dumb.”

“In relation to your world, we can and do,” he laughs. “The country we’re in at the moment is Ellis. Certainly not the worst of places for an otherlander to fall to.”

Cass bristles at his phrasing, like she’s the alien here next to a barefoot bird in a tux who walks through walls. The fact that this world even made up a word for people like her- or that there’s people like her period- doesn’t make her feel any better about the sound of it. “So if I’m an otherlander, what’s that make you? Doesn’t explain to me why you’re a bird in my world and a person in this one. Like do you change in the gap or-”

She flinches as Winston disappears from her side.

On the ground instead is the bird from the park, still tapping along the path.

“Okay. Werebird.”

She tenses up as the bird pauses, wings spread wide, and sprouts back up to her guide. Another shimmer she can’t quite see encases what probably doesn’t make for a pretty transformation. At least she’s not subjected to some drawn-out Animorphs cover stuff, quick enough that she might have blinked and the bird popped back into Winston.

He fluffs a hand through his newly messy feather hair and walks on. “Magician, actually,” he tells her, voice cracking bad as Stan’s.

She goes stiff, containing a spasm in her chest that’s definitely not a laugh. “Right. Meaning?”

“Meaning I create and perform magic, as do most in this world.”

“You guys are real subtle,” she says, faux impressed. “And do you cut yourselves in half or is it more like card tricks?”

“Perhaps I ought to get to the root of things, yes?” he replies. Cordial as ever, Winston stops and reaches into the branches above them. Clumps of little black berries weigh them down, letting him pick a bunch off. “In this world, where there’s life, there’s magic. Every living thing creates it in one form or another, though humans more than most.”

“Okay.” A rehearsed answer, sincere enough it’s not condescending since it has to be common knowledge here. Cass watches him pull a small bottle from his jacket and take up his stroll again beside her.

Absently he crams the berries inside, dying his long fingers blue in the process. “Because humans produce more, they can control their magic and use it to shape the world around them. It’s why I exchange forms, whisk, or do this.”

“Do what?”

He spits in the bottle, pops the cork on, and shakes it up. After a second he holds it up to his eyes and, satisfied, shows it to Cass. “Making a focal- a magic focus, if you will. Put enough of them together in a particular manner and you have an amalgam of them, like Marshall’s device. Something of a magical machine, I believe? If we’ve time I’ll show you more.”

“I’m cool with not watching you spit magic on things.”

Winston shrugs, not the least bit sheepish. “I’d have used pure magic, but then you wouldn’t have been able to see it.”

Cass squints at the bottle. A tiny shimmer might have glinted on the glass, but nothing too flashy. “Still can’t see it,” she says.

“Don’t worry, you will,” he assures, stowing the bottle in the little leather bag he keeps his coins in. “Either way, the ink will last longer that way and we’ll be able to scribe Marshall and the others.”

She lags behind a second as he picks up the pace. “Wait, what?”

“The scribing ink, it’s for sending messages without-”

“No! The seeing thing. Why can’t I see magic? I saw the gap just fine.” A heat rises in her chest along with her panic. How many things like the sylphs are out here that she can’t see? The less she needs to rely on the bird, the better, but being blind until something triggers her magic vision or whatever bothers her more than she cares to admit.

But Winston just walks on. “Your eyes will adapt,” he says. “Give it time.”

Questions sit in Cass’s mouth, begging to be spat out already, but she grits her teeth against them. Probably just going to open the floodgates on another nonsense non-explanation. She grips the straps of her bag and keeps an eye on their surroundings. Not like she’ll be here long enough for this to matter.

The trees grow tidier than they were in the last town, back to flashy reds and violets without being so tangled and overgrown. The pair continue downhill with the stream and eventually come to the crumbling remains of another bridge. From here the forest gives way to a crop of hills. Vineyards stretch like nets over them, dotted with big houses here and there. No more magical than wine country back in Oregon.

To her dismay, though, the town across the bridge looks about as magical as the last. More of those mossy stones lay together to form the road at their feet, leading past cabins and trees to a tidy square of more brick buildings. Long strands of flowers and green flags stamped with a silver tree hang between the rowhouses. In the right light, it looks a little like the vines grow through the bricks and into the walls.

“Stay close,” Winston says. Cass glances from the buildings to the buzzing street of people. She jogs up behind her guide, shoulders high like a touch from these people can burn her.

Snatches of conversation pass through one ear and out the other. It’s not long before she sees how the clothes on these magicians seem to lack seams, how their faces and complexions can line up with any garden variety Earth human but off slightly. They don’t seem at all concerned with the two travelers, preoccupied with heading to their own individual point A’s and point B’s. Or chatting on porches, or chasing kids around. Cass trains her stare on a select few, like a guy in a sweeping skirt leaning against a house with a moody look on his face. Or a cat, who leaps down a branch of flowers and morphs into a woman to talk to the moody guy.

She catches Winston’s arm to keep from stopping to study them all. Her hands itch for the sketchbook in her bag, but she gets sucked out of it when Winston looks down at her.

She lets go. “What? I’m trying not to lose you out here,” she mutters, then forges on when he just tilts his head again. “Do you even know where we’re going?”

“Somewhere for decent directions,” he says. He cranes around, eying the signs above each building before settling on one. Whatever it is, he drifts toward it and beckons her with a quick ‘come along’.

Cass doesn’t even have time to grab him before he darts inside, leaving her to pause under a wooden sign that reads Fausts’ in loopy painted print.

Minutes later she sits staring at the spread on the table with her arms crossed. The warm, yeasty scent of fresh bread curls around her, fruit glistening in its bowl just like the beads of condensation on the glass of amber juice placed beside them. More jazz swoons from a radio, pluckier than the stuff she knows with more piano and guitar than horn. Cass’s dark brows narrow in concentration, her jaw tight.

“You’re not going to eat anything?” Winston prompts.

Her stomach rumbles almost on cue, silent but no less insistent for it. When did she eat last? Pizza back him, an eternity enough ago that she can’t argue with a free meal.

But her old knowledge of magic makes her hesitant to touch a thing. Reminds her of how fae trapped people with banquets they couldn’t resist, or how Persephone got roped into the underworld from just a couple of seeds.

Still, she’s not exactly at a banquet in the woods or the Greek realm of death. Despite the waitress levitating dishes in a cloud around her and the wood-paneled style of a vineyard inn, the restaurant they sit in now manages to have a small-town diner vibe. Everyone chatters around them like they know each other, though she and Winston receive some raised brows and pitying smiles dressed as they are.

Not exactly a swords and sorcery tavern or anything, but it springs to mind all the rules she’s been ignoring since she got here. Shit, has she given anyone her full name? Cassandra Ryan Douglas isn’t usually her opener but does it have to be first, middle, and last or just what she calls herself?

Winston staying polite and patient as ever only feeds her suspicions, but she reaches for the juices after a few seconds of his staring. Putting off sipping it and his pestering in one fell swoop.

His eyes shift soon to the contents of his jacket on the table, anyway. As soon as the waitress led them to a table, he dumped out his ink bottle, coins, and a strip of cloth that could be a bowtie out in front of him. Wherever they go when he goes bird, Cass doesn’t want to know.

She slouches in her seat. “How’s that plan coming, featherhead?”

“Along. I’m stitching one,” he says. He nibbles some bread in thought, oblivious to the looks they’re getting.

The waitress, probably a Faust since it looks like everyone running the place shares the same thick black hair and stocky build, wanders back to top off their drinks. Well, Winston’s. “Anything else you two need?” she asks.

“You wouldn’t know how to go about getting to Haven by week’s end, would you?”

Faust flourishes a hand for her cloud of empty glasses and tops off one for the table beside them. There’s a flicker of surprise on her at the question, but it passes quick. “You sure you want to try the week before the festival?” she says, dubious. “All we have here are those two-seater fliers on the hill. I don’t want to tell you your luck for getting tickets this time of year, either.”

“Don’t remind me,” Winston says, still tracing the grain of the table like he can read an answer from it. “Where would the nearest land port be?”

“Malone,” Faust says. Her eyes lingering on Cass’s flannel and the bag on the back of her chair. When Faust’s stare goes to the copper hair gnarled to the side of Cass’s head her face burns.

Winston plays with the bottle from his jacket. “From Pendle Creek? Two days just to go around the marsh, not to mention the full trip to the edge of it. I don’t know if we’ve that sort of time.”

“Well, you can’t slip through those marshes,” Faust warns. “Even the wardens won’t stir up the nameless out there.”

“Not if we can’t help it, no. What about the nearest train station?”

“There’s one in Clemence if you’re willing to walk. And if you’re not afraid of heights. Not sure what your luck is during festival week but it’ll be cheaper. Anything else I can do for you two?” Her flock of empty dishes accumulates as she speaks with them.

“A map, please, if you have it.” Winston beams at her, though the moment Faust spins around he rubs his fingers beneath his eyes. Under his breath he mumbles something along the lines of ‘coffee’.

Cass snorts and downs the last of her juice. Nice to know the bird’s even a little miserable under all his cheer, and that the juice isn’t perfect enough to be dangerously irresistible. As she wolfs down the rest of the food, she manages to get a question out. “What’s this festival about?”

Winston blinks. He has this lost, backlit stare like he’d forgotten her. “It’s the solstice festival,” he explains. “The longest day of our year.”

“I know what a solstice is.” The first week of June over, they’ll be having the first day of summer in about a week back home, though Earth doesn’t put a lot of song and dance on it.

Winston notes her crossed arms and goes for reassurance again. “It’s an old holiday here, nothing to be nettled about. It just addles any plans we make if everyone’s traveling at once.”

So the Christmas airport rush, just magic. “So you’re saying you have a plan, though.”

He rolls the ink bottle in his hands. “I’ll get a few messages home and then it’s a train to Malone, I suppose,” he says. “We’ll just have to hope we can get passage all the way to Haven, but just getting that far without those marshes would be gift enough. Fragments are the last thing we need.”

He leans back in his chair, eyes closed and hands folded on the table. Had he actually slept at all last night? Doesn’t matter to Cass if he hadn’t, but since he’d been up before her she has to wonder. So long as his at least early bird if not insomniac tendencies don’t keep him from guiding her, she’ll take it.

Slumped in her seat, she rolls a coin across her knuckles, tries to keep from fumbling it when she fudges the trick. “Uh huh. How long should that take?”

“Only a few days, at best.”

“What’s at worst?”

“It depends. If my work comes up, we might be just a little delayed.”

“What work?” The fleeting image of the bird at a desk plinking at a keyboard makes her mouth twist. Like this guy seriously has a job- but fancy suits and coins have to come from somewhere, she reasons.

“Here’s the map you asked for,” says Faust as she swings by again. She slips Winston a scrap of paper, which he pockets the same moment the doors fling open.

The vast majority of the customers turn their heads, the murmurs between them already striking up. The girl in the doorway has the same coarse dark hair, pale skin, and stocky frame as the other Fausts in here, panting as she looks the room over. Her eyes light on every face in the restaurant, even Cass’s for a second, but eventually she collects herself and heads for the kitchen with a stiff jaw.

The rest of the room lulls back to its previous thrum of voices and clatters, but the waitress and the girl add their arguing to the mix. The waitress puts hand to her mouth, eyes wide at the girl’s grim expression.

Cass snaps her fingers in front of Winston’s beak of a nose. The bird’s been watching the scene unfold with keen interest, stowing his stuff back in his pockets. He still doesn’t meet her eyes until she snaps again.

“What?” he says.

“It’s not our business,” she tells him. “C’mon, we paid up and we’ve been in this town too long as it is. Let’s go. We’re going to Clemence now, right?”

Winston’s eyes are already back to the scene at the kitchen doorway, but he pushes out of his chair and snatches up the last of his bread without arguing. They’re almost to the door before Faust grabs Winston’s arm and yanks.

“You,” she says in a low tone. “You’re a longcoat, aren’t you? A warden?”

“Do you have need of one?” Winston doesn’t pull away from Faust, or from Cass who’s taken his other arm and prepared to tug-of-war for him. This is my bird, don’t make me fight for him.

But Faust inclines her head, like she doesn’t want to be caught nodding but would definitely take up a brawl to get Cass’s guide from her. There’s a look on her face more fierce than any glare Cass can drudge up to match it, a menace in her stare that can melt glass. It softens when she gives a nod to the girl at her side.

“There’s this voice…” she begins.

“A voice with direction or all around you, up here?” Winston taps a finger to his temple with his newly freed hand.

“Up there. There’s a wall of thickets and they followed this- this… there’s something in there with them,” she murmurs, barely holding composure. She can’t be more than thirteen or fourteen, maybe Cass’s brother’s age. “My brother and sister.”

“And my niece and nephew,” Faust tags on. “It’s a nameless, isn’t it?”

“Likely so. How long ago?”

“Half hour.”

Winston rakes a hand through his feathers, appearing to actually be mulling this over. Cass gets a grip on his jacket. Is he even serious? They’re going after some missing kids just because- what, is this his job? How often does this even happen?

Considering the sylphs and his finesse handling those, probably more than rarely. Still, he’s not dragging her out on a rescue mission without so much as an explanation.

“Wait, what the hell’s a nameless?” she rasps, trying to stay sotto voce as the rest of them.

“Are you otherlander?” the girl asks, scanning Cass over. Seeing more of these magicians with their seamless clothes and bare feet makes her flannel and battered track shoes stick out, but her lack of know-how alone doesn’t help either. Cass flushes red.

“It’s a bit of cover,” Winston confides, all but stage-whispering behind his hand. “We’re both wardens, though we are in a bit of a rush hence the…” He waves to their attire and, though Faust raises a brow, her niece seems to buy it. “We’ll see what we can do, yes? We may need help finding this barrier.”

The girl takes a deep breath and nods. Her eyes are red at the bottoms, tears pressing but her mouth a white line of resolve. At the sight of it, Cass’s anger with the bird wilts. Not this kid’s fault something happened to her siblings, and even so she’s holding it together to help them even if she’s probably scared out of her mind to go back to where she lost them.

“Definitely,” Cass says. “That’d be really brave of you. To show us. What’s your name?”

“Hazel Faust,” the girl says. Her eyes still look full to spilling tears all down her cheeks, but she wipes it on her sleeve and braces herself to show them out. Her aunt takes moment to hug her, tell her everything will be okay, the whole bit.

Winston offers Cass a grateful grin. Her face just burns even more.

#chapter update #over here series #writing #ya fantasy #fantasy #and now we're good to go! see you all in future updates!

[ducktracy]

133. bingo crosbyana (1936)

release date: may 30th, 1936

series: merrie melodies

director: friz freleng

starring: billy bletcher (spider)

the second cartoon that sparked a lawsuit by bing crosby himself. this one is the most well known of the two as “the lawsuit cartoon”, which i find strange—let it be me’s depiction of bing is much more defamatory and vile than bingo crosbyana’s. with that little segue: bing(o) returns as a flamboyant fly, wooing all of the flies in the kitchen. however, his act is quickly dropped once he encounters a menacing spider.

where else do flies congregate to indulge in hearty meals? pan into a kitchen. two flies share a plate of pasta, pulling a lady in the tramp before lady in the tramp was a thing (looney tunes style)—slurping on the same noodle and throwing each other together, literally butting heads. another group of flies gorge themselves on the contents of an orange, using macaroni as straws to slurp the juice out.

who knew flies suffered from poor eyesight like us boring humans? one fly fashions a safety pin and a toothpick as a bow and arrow while another poses confidently, an olive resting inside his head ready to be pierced. unfortunately, the armed fly has trouble with his depth perception, unable to focus. the other fly senses this and urges his buddy to stop before a catastrophe can occur. he marches off screen and reappears with a comically enlarged orange positioned perfectly on his tiny little cranium, now more confident than ever to be shot. his buddy fires... and still manages to miss, pinning the fly against the wall by the wings.

enter our favorite swooner crooner, bingo crosbyana. i love the staging, playing around with shadows and silhouettes is an easy way to earn my appreciation. a group of girls crane their necks to get a good view of the source of those warm, warbly tones. a sombrero-donning silhouette of a fly strolls into view, strumming a guitar and crooning his way along. one fan situated in a wall mounted matchbox is particularly smitten with bingo. however, her mother isn’t as pleased, marching out and dragging her inside by the ear, finally pouring a teacup of water over bingo’s shadow. warm crowd!

segue into a formal introduction of the title song as a trio of girls sing the chorus. they’re accompanied by various visual and instrumental gags all contributing to the samba beat of the music. i have to say—friz’s merrie melodies are way under appreciated, especially during the dark ages of the buddy cartoons. carl stalling is undoubtedly the best composer the studio had, but friz’s collaborations with bernard brown and norman spencer’s music make for a wonderful pair. even if the visuals aren’t exciting to match the music, you can always count on music to be saving grace, even in the worst of cartoons (not that this is bad! just an aside.) bingo himself gets spruced up, dousing himself in perfume and admiring his reflection in a tin pan.

bingo grabs his guitar and meets his bobbysoxers, tipping his hat with a bow and contributing his own voice to the song. once the song is concluded he silences the applause with a hand: “alright, alright. you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

with that, bingo flies into a table, where he uses it as a plane runway, soaring around the kitchen like a literal airplane. speaking as a lady myself, this is how you impress the ladies, folks! take notes! he zooms around the kitchen (the scene amplified in humor by the ridiculous plane sound effects), swerving in and out of the caverns that lie in swiss cheese, speeding over a crowd and nearly taking off the heads of a bunch of angry fly-men, swiping off the feathers of a cuckoo bird (returning the way he came to take off one last tail feather), un-threading the buttons off of some flies’ pants with a needle, and so forth. some nice classic bit of looney humor as bingo writes “how’m i doin” in a trail of smoke produced from a match he striked. the camera angles are fun and experimental, and the animation as he finally skids to a halt on the kitchen table is smooth, bouncy, and mesmerizing.

all of the girls are enamored with bingo, whereas the men are seldom pleased. bingo surveys his crowd of adoring fans, selecting one of the girls from the crowd as his dance partner. we enter a second chorus of “bingo crosbyana”, vocals still fresh and fun. he and his girl engage in a dance sequence that is particularly pleasing to look at. very flouncy, swingy, and smooth, and pairs very well with freleng’s timing. some fun added in as a fly scratches his back on the rough side of a matchbox to the beat of the music. the girls all applaud the dance, while the men grumble and point.

a favorite of any cartoon: the billy bletcher spider (this will still be an ongoing trope). a menacing spider lowers himself down to the table where bingo and his girl are positioned. the girl spots the spider and shrieks, which grabs bingo’s attention. a great visual as bingo is literally scared yellow (old slang for being frightened, typically in a mocking way: “what, are ya yellow?” yellow-bellied is another derivative), temporarily stricken with jaundice as he darts away from the spider and frightening speed, much to the bewilderment of his fans.

with bingo out of the way, his girl is now vulnerable, screaming as she desperately attempts to dodge the nefarious clutches of the belly laughing spider. some crowded (but in a suitable way) animation as he weaves his way through the gaggle of terrified women, going for anyone he can grab. all of the women dive into a roll of wax paper for refuge, and even cowardly crosbyana pokes his head out of a nearby teacup, diving into the roll himself and effectively knocking out all of the girls from the other end, putting them in danger as the spider nears.

the spider sticks his head inside the roll of wax paper, and the men who had grumbled and cursed at bingo before work together to save him. they snag a nearby mixer and work together to get it spinning, striking the spider painfully right in the butt repeatedly. fueled with new motives, the aggravated arachnid chases after the men, cornering one straggler in particular. the straggler pops open a bottle of champagne, the cork pressing right up against the spider and shooting him across the kitchen, landing right into an electrical cord.

sure enough, the spider is stuck. another fly turns the cord on, and the spider is flooded with painful volts of electricity as he rockets into the air in agony. the plug becomes loose and the spider flops down to the ground, right onto a piece of fly paper. victory at last! the flies crowd around to laugh and jeer as they observe the spider helplessly attempting to dig and crawl his way out of the paper to no avail.

now hearing laughter instead of screams, bingo pops his head out of the wax paper and senses that the coast is clear. he perched himself on a nearby spoon to get a good look for himself at the events he had missed. more than pleased, bingo grins and puffs out his chest, hilariously boasting “well, we certainly got him this time!”

he’s met with angry glares from all genders, and a fly jumps on the other end of the spoon in retaliation. bingo is catapulted into the air, crash landing in a full teacup, where we iris out on his bewildered expression.

as i mentioned before, i found let it be me to be much more defamatory than this one. not that defamation is inherent to the quality of a cartoon, but i DO find the former to be the better entry. but that isn’t to say this is a bad cartoon by any means. it certainly echoes the lady in red in terms of designs and characters, and both this and the lady in red have its charm. bingo was amusing (that ending is fantastic, as is the scared yellow gag) and the animation in the cartoon was particularly beautiful. however, it felt more like a 1935 cartoon than a 1936 cartoon (there is a difference!), at times feeling a bit barren and stretched out. yet overall, not a bad short. it wasn’t the funniest or most fascinating, but the dance sequences in particular were entertaining to watch. 50/50 in terms of recommendation. it wouldn’t be a total waste of a watch, but it wouldn’t kill you if you avoided it, either. it’s always up to your call!

link!

#lt #bingo crosbyana #reviews #long post #freleng

[carina-debayle]

Serick’s Friendship

Log Date: 12/3/16

OOC Note: The text in these logs are strictly for the readers enjoyment. Anyone using the knowledge displayed within this text without the participants knowledge risks the potential of blacklisting from future communication and roleplay. Please do not meta-game!

Tags: @lightsinshadows

After the Grand Alliance I returned home to my apartment. Well… our apartment. Our home. I suppose I was still feeling uneasy after Armont and I’s… could it really even be called a spat? Our disagreement. I mostly felt discouraged, unsure of what to do or how to go about expressing myself to him. Sitting alone within our living room, the air felt dry and suffocating. And I was left to my dreadful thoughts… well, at least for a moment…

Serick Burwani kicks the door open, a brow perked as he glances about the room. “Shit. Living fancy again aren’t you?” he spies a hat on a rack and knocks it off. Replacing it with his own, more superior hat. Across his back is a large package, larger at the bottom and narrow at the top, bound in black leather with clasps holding it shut on the side.

Carina Roussos: “What in seven- Serick?! You can’t just barge in like that!” she huffs. Perking a brow toward the man, Carina inspected him some. “What brings you here…?”

Serick Burwani: “Ha! You need sturdier doors for that, girlie.” he pauses at the use of a familiar nickname, letting out a low growl. “Chasing someone down. Shitlord of a bandit. Targets caravans with women and children so they put up less of a fight. Gonna feed him his own guts when I find him.” he had a couple of daggers strapped to him, and at his leg was a pistol.

Carina Roussos: “I see… so then you’re here because?” she waves her index finger up some, a small smile spreading across her lips, “this does bring back fond memories I suppose,” she laughed out gently, taking her hat out, “does that box contain this man’s guts you intend to force feed him?”

Serick Burwani scoffs and slings the package off his back, setting it on the ground. “No. It doesn’t. Ain’t found ‘im yet, so I can’t exactly cut his guts out.” he looks up at the cake and his tail flicks to the side. He reaches up to it. “Was gonna crash here. Didn’t think you’d be here.”

Carina Roussos: “Didn’t think I would be in my own house?” she laughs with a sigh, “fortunately my daughter is out with her uncle for tonight and Armont is well… not here,” she sighs, “you’re more than willing to sleep on the couch though if you need a place to stay the night.” Carina narrows her eyes toward him as he reaches his hand toward her cake, "no touching. I’ll get my axe, don’t try me.”

Serick Burwanu stopped just before his fingertip swiped a portion of icing. “No shit huh?” he sneers at her and narrows his own eyes. “We haven’t fought in some time have we? If we ever did. You weren’t out of your sorry self-pity pile of shit state by that time were ya?”

Carina Roussos waves her hands up, “I think you may find that some things never change. Were you looking to fight?”

Serick Burwani: “Ha. Not until after I get this job done.” he waves it off and looks around for a wine rack or something similar. “Afterwards, though. We’ll see if you’ve toughened up any.” he hops up onto the counter and peers around. His boots were filthy.

Carina Roussos: “Serick! Come on, I cook food here!” she scoffs, shooing him off the counter, “you’re just like a cat,” she stuck a tongue out at him, “tell me what you want, and I’ll get it for you.”

Serick Burwani hops back and just gives the most shit-eating grin. “Booze if you got it. Ain’t had a drink in too damn long.” he takes up his package and hops over the couch, kicking his feet over the sidearm.

Carina Roussos: “I try not to carry too much 'booze’… Armont is a bit of a heavy drinker,” she mumbles, digging through her wine rack to pull out a bottle, “this is one of my own… only because I know Armont would be annoyed if I gave someone one of his wine. He is very protective of it,” she says, walking over to place it on the Miqo'te man’s belly. “This seems like a familiar sight…” she laughs.

Serick Burwani rips the cork off with a grin and spits it back over the couch. “Aye. Old times. Hells girlie, how long 'as it been?” he takes a deep swig, scrunching his nose at the taste, wine was always too fruity for him. “Least we don’t got a bunch of lizards sittin around the house, eh?”

Carina Roussos sits beside him, scooting him back farther into the back. “Yeah… I suppose. The diversity wasn’t bad, but most of the Au Ra we knew had some… issues. Not that we didn’t have issues of our our,” she sighed out with a shake of her head. “It has been a long time… I was reminiscing recently on a time since past.”

Serick Burwani: “Reminicing eh? Usually folks drink to avoid shit like that.” he grins and takes another sip. “And here you are. Married and with a kid. Lookin like you’re going to a beach. Living the life.” his package is sat across his lap, and he drums his fingers against the lid to make a hollow sound.

Carina Roussos: “Right…” she said out softly, “if I said otherwise, I’d sound ungrateful. I made Armont upset with such a statement. This new life, it’s secure. That is good.  see you’re still mixed up with trouble. Must be exciting.”

Serick Burwani: “Ha. Nearly got my guts scooped out myself not long ago. Big ole ugly fucker swung an axe at me, caught me off guard.” he pats his side and drains a portion of the bottle before holding it out to her. “It’s the only thing what doesn’t bore me to tears. I’m good at killin folks, what can I say?”

Carina Roussos takes the bottle back from him, staring down at the dark green glass. “We were similiar in that aspect… as much as I hate to admit it, I am not built for a still life. That makes me ungrateful though…” she says out plainly, “I don’t pity myself though, I do feel fortunate. Security is good. I am happy you’re not dead. I don’t think you quite understand how relieved I am to see you every time… I fear every time I see you will be the last.”

Serick Burwani: “Eh, if I die I die and the buzzards get a meal.” he shrugs and flips open a few of the clasps on his case, closing them afterwards. “Wait till your baby girl’s older. Take her everywhere. Show her the world. You get your adventure, she gets to learn.” he shrugs like it was an easy decision. “Don’t settle for anything less than what you want. Gotta take it. Remember?” Serick casts her a sidelong glance, flipping the clasps open and closed.

Carina Roussos: “Yeah… you’re right,” she smiles lightly, “I just, have to be patient. It will be good I’m sure,” she glances over to him, poking a finger to his head, “I consider sometimes just going away a bit on my own, I think perhaps that will help quell my idle-unrest.”

Serick Burwani: “Ha, yeah. Leave the hubby to watching the girl. Go crack some skulls and have some fun.” he whaps her hand away and undoes all the clasps on his case. “If you ain’t careful you’ll get fat and lazy. That just ain’t you, now is it?”

Carina Roussos: “Pssh… please, I practice swinging my axe everyday. Armont has only beaten me once of six times. His brother I have beaten as well. I will say though, I have gained some weight since having Hestia…”

Serick Burwani glances her over, entirely unabashed. “Aye. That you have. Not bad weight, though. Looks to be muscle.” he nods and flips the case open. “I gotta say, though. Lots of free time when all you do is run around chasing people.” he plucks one of the strings inside the case and it lets out a nice twang.

Carina Roussos glances inside the case, “you… you’re not wrong. I do miss that…”

Serick Burwani: “Got into woodcarving. Learned to play this.” he pulls out the old lyre and pushes the case to the ground with a clatter. “Got good at knives again. Mostly I try to drink the time away, but fuck if that doesn’t get expensive.” he smirks and starts plucking idly at the strings. “Ain’t no piano. But it stands in well enough.”

Carina Roussos smiles happily, her elbows resting to her knees as her cheeks went into her palms, “easier to transport as well I’m sure…” her eyes drop to the strings, “have you gotten lots of practice in? I am not doing much at the moment if you want to play a song,” she grins.

Serick Burwani: “Practice. Ha.” a chord sounds and he leans his head back, closing his eyes. “you’d be surprised how many hunters got songs they want to share. I can’t sing for shit, though. Not since this.” his chin tilts up to show off the old scar on his neck. “Not that I ever did before, mind you.” still, he starts strumming up a song.

Carina Roussos scoffs, “yeah… I understand. I sing for Hestia sometimes but… it’s a bit embarrassingly,” she snorts, “I have a lousy voice, smoke inhalation does that to you…”

Serick Burwani: “You don’t smoke. Could always potion yourself up a fix, too.” he shrugs and goes into the song, his voice gravel and stone as he muttered out the phrases.

Carina Roussos: “I am sure I inhaled enough to have a lasting effect… Calamity you know,” she glances down to her bare belly, scars running down all of her skin. Humming along some with the song, Carina smiled contently, “it’s nice… I like it.”

Serick Burwani stopped singing, but kept strumming on his instrument. “Heard it from a couple of other hunters. A couple what shot down any who hurt them. We teamed up to go after a bandit clan in the shroud.” his brows knit into a glare. “Had to shoot one of 'em. Wasn’t no saving them after those arrows hit their chest. Ruined their lungs.”

Carina Roussos: “I see… that is the sort of life some choose to live. A hard choice… but not for you I’m sure,” she placed the bottle down on the wooden floor, “were you friends with them?”

Serick Burwani: “Nah. They were both right pricks. Thought they were better'n me.” he scoffs and strums out a few chords. “The guy. He looked like he was about to rip my throat out with his bare hands after I killed his wife.” he shrugs and flicks a ragged ear. “Parted ways. I kept the bounty.”

Carina Roussos: “I see… that too is hard to avoid,” she stays silent a moment, her eyes moving toward the fire, “your sentiments… they start to ring through me. At times… I wish I had just decided to cut myself off from others and stayed alone.”

Serick Burwani: “ha. Too late for you now, girlie.” he shakes his head and stomps his foot on the ground, making a steady beat for a shift in chords. “Got yourself a family. Wouldn’t have done that if it weren’t something you wanted to fight for. That baby girl’s your life now. Least until she can take care of herself.”

Carina Roussos: “My daughter means everything to me… but I can’t just strap her to my back and go adventuring… I wish I could, but it’s too dangerous.”

Serick Burwani: “Then wait. Bide your time. Someday she’ll be grown and you’ll be free. Unless you got yourself another brat by then.”

Carina Roussos: “I don’t like to think of her as a burden… she’s not. I just don’t want something bad to happen to her. Unfortunately, being selfish simply isn’t an option.”

Serick Burwani: “It is. But if you pick it you’re a worse person than I am.” he looks over with a sneer. “And that’s really shitty.”

Carina Roussos: “You’re not as bad as you think you are Serick… you’re never as bad as you think you are. If you were, well I think you would have finished me off sooner.”

Serick Burwani: “You weren’t worth the trouble before. Now? Maybe. But I’ll be damned to the seven hells before I take a momma away from her baby girl. Everyone else? Fair game.” Serick scoffs out a low laugh, tapping his boot to the floor.

Carina Roussos she laughs some, “well I guess I appreciate it. I suppose. You do know I consider you to be my friend… even if you don’t consider me to be yours, yeah?”

Serick Burwani: “Yeah yeah you’re sappy and sentimental. I know. Picked that up some time ago yeah?” he stops and drums his fingers against the side of the guitar. “Nice to know there’s someone out there what don’t hate my guts though. Even if it’s you.” his nose scrunches up into a sneer.

Carina Roussos laughs at his reaction, “gee, thanks!” she snorts out, poking her elbow against his arm, “still hate the water?”

Serick Burwani grumbles and shoves her back. “Aye. That ain’t something you get over. Least when I was with the pirates they didn’t swim either.”

Carina Roussos: “I guess… I mean I couldn’t swim for the life of me either until Hito taught me… I’d say some things are surmountable.”

Serick Burwani: “I don’t do enough growing. Let me drink and smoke and fight and enjoy the shit I enjoy without trying to drown me.”

Carina Roussos smirks, “yeah… I suppose that’s just who you are. Oh well… so long as you don’t end up dead too soon, I’m happy with how you are. Not that I know you care,” she leans back against the couch, playing with her jacket, “guess Armont’s isn’t coming to get me tonight… probably got caught up planning for his House’s expeditions…”

Serick Burwani leans forward and sets his guitar into the case, snapping it shut and pushing it forward with his foot. “I don’t got any plans to die. Too much fun.” he sneers and slips off the couch himself, kicking his feet up onto the couch cushions. “Sounds like your man’s too busy playing with that stick up his ass.”

Carina Roussos: “I wish I knew what to do to remove it… even for just a bit,” she grumbles.

Serick Burwani: “I say you kick him right off that high horse he’s sittin on. Or let me do it.” he laughs and folds his arms over his stomach. “Imagine the look on his face. Gettin his racist, noble Ishgardian ass handed to him by a fuckin homeless, bounty-huntin cat.”

Carina Roussos: “Oh please Serick, he already gets beaten by me,” she snorts, “I just wish I knew what I could do to interest him… I know his work is important to him, but I’d like his attention as well,” she crosses her arms, sinking into the couch seat.

Serick Burwani is quiet for awhile, his eyes closed. “Like what I used to give.”

Carina Roussos opens her mouth some, before shutting her mouth choosing to not respond to that. “He’s just a busy man…”

Serick Burwani chuckles at that. “Remember. Gotta take what you want. If that’s his attention, gotta take it from him.”

Carina Roussos: “Yeah… yeah, guess the who self-deprecating aspect of me makes that hard. Not very good at being you know… persuasive like that.”

Carina Roussos: “Oh come on!” he growls out, smacking his metal knuckles to the ground. “No more of this self-pitying crap! You’re better than that Carina. What the fuck have you been doing all this time to go back to being a piece of shit like that again?”

Carina Roussos winces some, frowning, “it’s a scar of mine that can only be covered… never really fully healed. You of all people, should understand that,” she leers toward him, “I’d say it’s gotten better, but I still struggle. I try not to let it win though,” she laughs softly, “at least you’re honest about it, I respect that.”

Serick Burwani just grumbles and flips her off. “Yeah well it still pisses me off. You keep saying crap like that and I WILL fight you.”

Carina Roussos: “Fight me then! Perhaps just the thing I need for a pick me up is a good spar,” she winks to him.

Serick Burwani taps one of the hilts of his dagger. “No holds barred. Beat the shit out of each other until we’re both satisfied that you’re not gonna dig yourself a pity pile.”

Carina Roussos: “I’m willing if you are, sometimes you just need the pity beaten out of you.”

Serick Burwani: “If I win I get that cake,” he had the most serious look he’s ever had.

Carina Roussos sighs, "fine… and if I win, you have to come and visit me again some time before Starlight.”

Serick Burwani pushes himself up and hops up and down a few times, peeling off his gloves. “We going outside or do I got permission to fuck this place up?”

Carina Roussos: “Outside,” she said plainly.

Serick Burwani: “No fun.”

Carina Roussos: “I’d rather keep my home in one piece, thanks…”

Serick Burwani: “Noooo fun!” he calls back over his shoulder, stuffing his gloves into his pocket. “We going fists, or weapons?”

Carina Roussos: “Probably safer with fists.”

Serick Burwani: “Aye. Don’t need to be bleeding each other out. It’ll get all over my cake.”

Carina Roussos: “Oh hush about the cake…” she rolls her eyes, leading them out.

Serick Burwani pulls out his knives, throwing them into the dirt a ways away. His gun is tossed next to them. “Aight. Here we go.”

Carina Roussos tugs at her gloves some, the leather squeeze as she closes her fists, “ready as I’ll ever be,” she grins, digging her heels into the grass.

Serick Burwani launches himself forward, throwing a swift right hook to her jaw.

Carina Roussos more or less eats shit as he knocks her to the side with a swift fist to her face. Breathing uneasily from the rather sudden hit to the face, spitting some blood that she tasted from her teeth more than likely cutting the inside of her mouth, Carina swiftly swung a muscular leg up toward the side of his head.

Serick Burwani let out a laugh when his first strike connected. “COME ON, I THOUGHT-” his words were cut short by a kick to the head, stumbling back while the world spun around him. He blinks and shook his head to settle his vision before hopping forward, grabbing for her hair to distract while he brought his knee up to her stomach.

Carina Roussos brings a fist back, stepping back to avoid his hands before launching her fist forward to him back in the jaw. “Best not be talking shit before the match is even over! Three hits, Serick!”

Serick Burwani was off-balance from the failed attack, trying to bring his arm up to block the strike. Seems he’s gotten slow in his time away. The fist connects and knocks him to the ground, bringing a loud laughter from him as he un-crumpled himself from the ground. “Atta girl! Now you got some fire back!” Legs coil beneath him and he launches towards her, shoulder aimed at her diaphragm in a shoulder tackle.

Carina Roussos topples back as a loud crack was heard. Seething through her teeth painfully, Carina’s eyes lit up in ferocity as she fought through the burning pain in her shoulder to bring her legs up to kick Serick harshly in the chest to send him back.

Serick Burwani was indeed sent flying back, his own ribs cracking in a couple of places from the rage-fueled kick. He coughs and sputters, laughing on his back in some twisted, pain-laugh combination. “Fuckin hells. Thought we were tryin’ to avoid killing each other.” he rasped out, staring up at the sky.

Carina Roussos: “You aren’t dead are you?” she grunts, “I win, besides… you know you like this sorta stuff,” she groans out painfully as she sat up, staring up at the sky, “fuuuuuuck!” she yelled out, taking a deep breath and exhaling it out noisily, “that was… that was good…”

Serick Burwani coughed out another laugh. “Ain’t dead yet, girlie. Gotta try harder than that. He waited for a time before trying to sit up, wincing and twisting his lip up into a snarl, showing off his chipped fangs. "Now. Don’t pull this shit again you hear? You got too much business to take care of to whine and cry to yourself.”

Carina Roussos: “Yeaaah… yeah… you’re right,” she takes a few deep breathes, looking up at the sky, “you know.. dusk is my favourite time of day… just between day and night… it gives me such a strange feeling and it feel so fleeting.”

Serick Burwani looks up to the sky, one arm held to his side, the other scratching at the scruff on his chin, sliding down his scars. “Like taking just the right shot. Only got a moment and it’s gone. Aye. I know how ya feel.”

Carina Roussos: “It’s nice… I wish it lasted longer. Seems the good moments in life are like that. Come and go so fast…” she exhales again before painfully standing to her feet, “well probably broke my collarbone some, but that’s not something a potion can’t fix,” she smiles toward the Miqo'te man, “thanks, Serick.”

Serick Burwani scoffs and flips her off. “Well fuck you. You broke my ribs.” still, he breaks out a grin and turns back to the apartment complex. “If I don’t take one'a your potions, can I still get the cake?”

Carina Roussos: “You can have a slice of cake and a potion, how about that?”

Serick Burwani: “that’ll do girlie.”

Serick Burwani: “Your potions still taste like fried marmot asshole?”

Carina Roussos: “Yeah, pretty much.”

Serick Burwani: “Fix that.”

Carina Roussos grabs two vials filled with a light green substance, returning back into the main area, “afraid they have their purpose,” she tosses him one of them, “will still probably have some bruising, but it will heal anything broken.”

Serick Burwani had a knife out, nearly to the cake, “Oh yeah. Should wash it down with this.”

Carina Roussos narrows her eyes toward Serick, “I will cut your cake, I am sure your idea of a slice is half the cake,” she scoffs.

Serick Burwani scoffs back and snatches the potion from her hand, downing it with a scrunched nose. “Fuckin hells that’s awful.”

Carina Roussos: “Yeah well, that’s medication for you,” she moves over to the cake, cutting him a decent sized slice with a nearby knife. Placing it on a plate for him, she offered it to the man, “want to take Hestia’s bed since she’s gone for the night?”

Serick Burwani takes the cake and goes over to the fireplace, laying down with the cake balanced on his chest. “Naw. I’ll sleep here…

…Hey.”

Carina Roussos: “Yeah?”

Serick Burwani: “Remember that time I hadn’t slept in like, a week and passed out in the main room. Some big fight broke out and I woke up all bruised up?” He was eating the cake with his hands. Like an animal.

Carina Roussos: “I suppose… you got into a lot of fights. Why, were you thinking about it?”

Serick Burwanj: “Naw. Just sleeping in front of a fire reminded me of that. What a pile of shit eh?” He sneers over at her. “I’m gettin old.”

Carina Roussos: “Oh hush up… if you’re getting old then I am too…” she spat back in annoyance, “it’s not like I was much better… remember when I’d sleep under my desk instead of in a bed? We weren’t that much different you know…”

Serick Burwani: “Ha. Yeah. What a child,” Serick knocks the plate off onto the ground, lucky to not have it break, and pulls his hat onto his face.

Carina Roussos brings her boot up, pressing it to his head, "what’d you say…” she asked through grit teeth.

Serick Burwani grumbles something and waves her foot off. “Said you come a ways since then.”

Carina Roussos: “That’s what I thought,” she 'humphed’ removing her boot from him as she reclined against the couch cushion quietly, “there were a lot of places you probably could have gone to… did you at least come here to see me?” she asked softly.

Serick Burwani didn’t say anything. Didn’t think he’d have to.

I think… things would get better. No. I believed they would.

#journal #serick burwani #rorick aster