#local whores give lectures

[your-local-friendly-door]

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#basic guide for finding my other blogs: local _ gives lectures #local door gives lectures #local angel gives lectures #local butcher gives lectures #local worm gives lectures #local whores give lectures #🚪 #intro post

[mypoisonedvine]

Idk if you’re requests are still open, but if they are I’d love an professor!Fem reader X Eddie. Maybe she’s his college professor in her late 20s/early 30s and he has a crush on her. I was listening to the song Let me love you down by Ready for the world and maybe something inspired by that, where he’s trying to prove that he can make her feel good and do what guys her age can do. I feel like all fics with age gaps are always Eddie being older and not the other way around!

warnings: smut (semi-public, rough, drunken sex lol), age gap (reader is older, doesn't say how much, and eddie is 20), hair pulling, spanking, degradation (but like, friendly playful degradation), alcohol consumption, reader is iconic ngl and eddie is a total beast in the best way

He was down so bad. Embarrassingly bad. Like, Hot for Teacher on repeat, imagining you every night, can’t focus in class, dreams of pencil skirts and button downs bad.

Seriously, Eddie was already struggling enough to keep his grades up; how a super-super senior ever got into college was beyond him, but it’s not like this was the finest establishment of higher education or anything… but you, you were the finest thing he’d ever seen.

Those tight skirts, the heels, the reading glasses, the slight sternness to your lecturing— it was all really doing it for him for some reason. Maybe it was some desire to reclaim all his issues with authority, take some of the power back, you know. Or, alternatively, give up all the power and let you do whatever you wanted to him… he wasn’t particularly picky in that regard.

Either way, he never learned anything in class; he was too busy staring, drooling, dreaming. You dropped the chalkboard eraser and bent over to pick it up, thank god this room had desks or someone might’ve seen him getting hard.

He wondered if you noticed him at all. Unfortunately, you probably did, but for all the wrong reasons: he was totally flunking. And whenever you asked him what part of the material was challenging for him, he couldn’t even answer— because blaming your hotness for his failure wasn’t exactly going to cut it.

Actually, he was thinking of you— of his total ineptitude in your class, of his massive crush on you, all of it— when he saw you that night. Maybe it was an amazing coincidence, or maybe it was sort of bound to happen when he spent as much time thinking about you as he did. Either way, he never expected to see you here, dressed like that.

This bar was the only metalhead spot in town, and the local talent wasn’t quite as good as Eddie remembered Corroded Coffin to be, but they were alright. Tonight was a band he’d never seen before called Gore Whore. With a name like that, they had to be pretty good.

So, yeah, he was expecting some decent music and a few drinks, not to see his professor rocking a very new vibe— black leather, messy eyeliner, but thankfully still with the same sexy glasses. Honestly, he had to fight off a semi just seeing you dressed like that…

Now he had to figure out if he should talk to you or not. He had to, right? But also, like, how?

Well, his first step was to chug down his current drink and then throw back another as quickly as he could: liquid courage, right?

His second step was to rub his clammy palms on his jeans until he decided it was the right time to approach you. He didn't want to wait until the band was playing because, if they were any good, they'd be way too loud to hold a conversation during their set. He kept putting it off out of nervousness until he saw musicians starting to plug instruments in and tune, and realized he would probably be too late if he waited any longer.

He finally convinced himself to saunter over to where you were standing, linger behind you creepily when you didn't see him, and clear his throat before breaking the silence.

“Hey, teach,” he greeted, hoping it wasn’t a terribly stupid opening line. You turned over your shoulder and took a second to recognize him before you smiled.

“Hey, Edward M…un—" you hesitated.

“Munson, yeah,” he grinned, “or just Eddie.”

“Munson!” you repeated. “For some reason I kept thinking ‘Munster’, I guess I’m showing my age a bit with that one…”

You don’t look your age at all, he wanted to say, but then he wasn’t sure if that was actually a compliment or just some backwards way of calling you old— which you weren’t! But you were just a bit too old for him, from a societal acceptance standpoint, which was exactly what made it so tempting. “I, uh, didn’t expect to see you here,” he pointed out, motioning to the club.

“Well, I don’t come here a lot,” you admitted, “but I used to. You know, when I was a bit more young and rebellious like you.”

“You act like you’re a grandma or something,” he laughed, “you’re young, you know.”

“Whatever,” you rolled your eyes. “I don’t come here a lot, is the point.”

“Why’d you come out tonight?” He wondered. “Is your, uh, boyfriend in the band or something?”

The way you raised your eyebrow at him made it clear his subtle probe wasn’t so subtle after all. “Gore Whore? It’s an all-female band…”

“O-oh, right…” he trailed off. “I mean, maybe your girlfriend’s in the band, I dunno, that’s cool too.”

You snorted a laugh and shook your head. “I don’t have time for any of that, Munson. Boyfriends or girlfriends.”

“What do you have time for?” he asked.

“I mean, I’ve got nowhere to be tonight,” you shrugged. “What did you have in mind?”

His heart raced. “I— I dunno, maybe you can’t do, like, dating or whatever, but maybe you’re into, perhaps… some ill-advised fooling around with your charming, boyish, young and rebellious student?”

You laughed again, but the look in your eye was promising. “Really swinging for the fences, huh?” you noticed.

“I’m, uh, pretty drunk, actually,” he admitted.

“Yeah? Me too,” you grinned. “My place or yours?”

He choked on his own throat. Did that actually just work? Or was he hallucinating somehow? "Uh, I mean, if you wanna be really ill-advised, my van's parked out back..."

The smile you gave him then was enough to make him weak in the knees. It was the same smile you were giving him as he laid back in the van and you kept going down, down, to the bulge under his belt.

"Fuck," he gasped as you got his jeans open, yanking them down his thighs enough to free his throbbing cock; your fingers were so soft on his silky, sensitive skin, and he admired the way you licked your lips as you stroked him. "You're so fuckin' hot. Fuck."

You looked at his face again, looking quite proud of yourself. "You thought about this, didn't you?" you noticed.

"This? No," he denied. "Fucking you in the classroom, or your office, in my dorm? I thought about that a lot."

You giggled slightly as you spit down onto his dick, slicking the movements of your hand which made him flex against it.

"But I never thought we'd end up in the back of my van behind the ba— oh, fuck!"

Your lips were around the head of his cock, and you'd already started bobbing your head and stroking the rest in rhythm. No teasing, no build-up, just getting right to it: it was so sexy to him, he could've melted right there. He nearly did; he tilted his head back with a groan, reaching up to hold the back of your head though he didn't push you down 'cause, you know, he's respectful and all that.

"Damn," he laughed thinly, though he knitted his eyebrows together and bit his lip a second later. "You— fuck, that's good, you're so— god, babydoll..."

You smiled slightly around him, pulling off with a gasp and stroking his spit-soaked cock in the meantime. "Better than the girls your age do it, huh?"

He nodded quickly, swallowing even though his mouth was suddenly dry. You bent back down and licked a long stripe up his cock, even lathing his balls with your tongue for a moment, before speaking again.

"What about you? Do you know how to fuck like a grown-up?" you taunted. "Or are you just an overgrown teenager like most twenty-year-old guys?"

He smiled a little, finally feeling like he knew how to handle you. "Oh, sweetheart— I can rock you better than anything you would've heard in there tonight. Promise."

"Promise?" you repeated teasingly. "Talk is cheap, big boy."

That it is; and he had a plan to shut you up. Shoving your head back down, he groaned as he slid his cock all the way to the back of your throat. "Fuck," he said again, louder, "there you go— I'll fuck you right, babydoll, but you gotta earn it first. Maybe it's my turn to teach you a few things, hm?"

When he gave you another break, you were still playing cocky with him. "Considering your grade in my class, Munson, I'm not sure I've been teaching you anything."

"Why don't you teach me what that shirt of yours looks like inside out?" he encouraged. Smiling proudly as you stripped yourself of the leather jacket and t-shirt, he palmed his own cock— slowly, careful not to get himself too worked up yet— and admired you. "Wanna show me that pussy, too? Been imagining it for a little too long, I think..."

You peeled your jeans off and he bared his teeth at the sight of your panties— black, lacy, everything he'd dreamt of since he first saw you.

"What are you wearing those for, babydoll?" he cooed, reaching out to run his fingers over the lace on your hip. "What did you come out here for tonight?"

"You know what I came here for," you challenged, "so are you gonna gimme it or not?"

Well, he was gonna do his best.

Only a little while later, he had you bent over the console with those panties around your knees, a fistful of your hair in his fingers, your ass bouncing on him with every thrust; he was fucking you hard and fast and mean, doing his best to make you regret questioning if he was old enough to do this right.

"S'that how you like it?" he taunted. "You just need to get treated like a dirty whore, don't you? Tired of all the authority, just wanna keep your legs open for somebody, be their little slut for the night?"

"Yes," you sobbed, clinging tighter onto the console with a whimper. "Yes, Eddie, fuck... fuck me like that, just like that."

He gave your ass a hard spank with his free hand, loving the way you tightened up on him and moaned so loud from the pain. "Beg me to hit you more," he instructed.

"Spank me again, please, Eddie," you whined, getting another few hits on your stinging ass as your reward. "Fuck! Fuck, so good..."

He gripped your hips to keep you still and drive himself deeper than he thought possible, and you yelped as your toes curled and your legs kicked. One of your hands reached back instinctively and tried to grab at his hip, keep him from going too far into you, but you were a little too weak to have any real impact on him. "No no," he scolded, "I'm just giving you what you wanted, babydoll. Giving you all this dick— fuck, take all this dick, whore."

Whining and hiding your face under your arms, you tried to arch your back up before he shoved it back down with his hand to keep your ass nice and on display for him, groaning with pride. "Fuck, Eddie!"

"Isn't this what you came here for?" he smirked, grinding his cock deep inside you as you squirmed. "Got all dressed up in your little black panties, took yourself out to the club so some stranger could treat you like this?"

Though your face was still hidden, you nodded.

"Guess I really do need to teach you a few things, sweetheart," he announced proudly. "Like what happens when you tell a guy to fuck you like a grown-up. Now hold on tight, babydoll, m'gonna make sure you don't forget me too quick— you're gonna feel this tomorrow when you're teaching my class."

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n

[diviinaee]

okokk enough angst I'll give you guys fluff (maybe a lil sad)hcs i have of the listeners bc its almost new years and then 10 days later its my birthday JDJDDJDKDK

warning bc when i say listeners i mean ALL OF THEM. as in starting from angel ALL THE WAY TO MORGANS LISTENER. i am determined to give everyone a piece bc everyone deserves to be seen. although these are just characters, behind each one is a story to be told and i hope i gave each one their own individual little facts

i tried my best to give them each a lil message from me and 4 personal hcs so that all's fair <33

Angel

Y O U S N O T. hehe lemme run before david kills me for taking his nickname

okokk my angel oc is Filipino so if that shines through in some of these thats why 🤭

as much as it may seem like they cant cook, they're actually really good. The main issue is time. Due to work, Angel relies on premade food to be ready to go. which is why when David offers to cook, Angel can't help but feel so grateful

This is canon i think but they have REALLY BAD insomnia. usually David's presence is a huge help but on the hard days, they do need meds

their family is H U G E. David was worried that the pack was gonna be alot for Angel but they were like, "lol you should see my family"

Baaabe

they remind me of my sister lol

is a squishmellow hoarder. oh theres a new one coming out? yea baaabe is the 1st person at the checkout line

their keys jingle. ITS LIKE A LITTLE DOG BELL. everyone hears the jingle and they're like "oh baaabes here"

asher and baaabe are volunteers are the local animal shelters. they spent 25% of their holiday savings for toys, food, and medicine for all the animals in need

i imagine baaabe works in graphic design so they are very much an organized person. THEYRE LIKE THOSE PEOPLE ON TIKTOK WHO HAVE LIKE CONTAINERS FOR EVERYTHING

Sweetheart

ah my baby

dances in ballet. their tiktok is mostly them BANGING their pointes on the floor and milo and aggro starin in the background like 0_o. ballet helps with flexibility which is a MUST if they wanna KICK SOME ASS- i need to calm down dear god.

knows how to play chess and other strategy games. card games especially help simulate strategy for the field of investigating so they really enjoy these types of games

attempts to meet with Marie and Colm once a week. They preach for a healthy relationship with Milo's family

their new house: milo and sweetheart were given a pc by david and angel bc Y E S. now they can play scary games with a BIGGER MONITOR

Darlin'

S I G H this bitch (im kidding i love them)

has nicknames for E V E R Y O N E. oh david? boss baby. asher? pokemon. lovely? pikachu. vincent? whore. ANYWAY-

hates to admit it but they are SO good with kids. they will literally be a jungle gym for the kids and just t-pose

they take value in the small things. their jacket, sam's keys, little things like that. they would never loose anything you give them

back to the kids, theyre weak for sick kids, and overall kids who just have it rough in life. They always try to make it to pack meeting bc although david's lectures are never fun, a kid may need someone to talk to, and darlin would die before they let a kid fall the same way they did

Bright Eyes

this fiesty one (love you twin)

they love being alone. although fred and sam are working on being a lil nicer, bright loves taking in the silence. theres just something so calming about the wind that blows on the trees and the birds chirping at the air

is working with Darlin' on their atitude. they know they have some fault with their turning. they really hate admitting that. But they want to be better and it is a process.

loves girl scout cookies. Its like their lil flag of truce. You know Bright loves you when they share their cookies

they really like hanging out with vincent and lovely. although fred,sam, and darlin are cool, vinnie and lovely just have this sibling energy about them that makes them very approachable. bright always tries to warm vinnie before they go to his house but 8 times out of 10, bright is getting their hair done by lovely while they listen to vincent gush about his cars

Lovely

awe lovely (these are some of @nichiuu 's hcs bc we share the same mind)

is a very calming presence to be around. they just love with so much of their heart and everyone agrees that they are a soul that should be protected

is friends with freelancer. they have nights here its just the two of them and they just gossip about their bfs. gavin and vincent are very happy that they have each other bc it brings a smile to their faces everytime

has a lil pomeranian name khoine (@nichiuu has more on her) and KHOINE DID NOT LIKE VINNIE AT FIRST. she would go out of her way to make sure that vincent knew that she was the queen of the house. he may be the vamp clan's prince, but that did not matter when she is there.

has a sweet tooth. ice cream truck? lovelys fighting the kids for the last tweedy bird ice cream? the restaurant has a dessert menu? lovely is ordering EVERYTHING on it

Freelancer

HEHEHE MY KIN

undiagnosed mental illnesses ill say that. they struggle with alot but they will always admit that their friends are the reason they keep pushing through.

they are anemic. they have weighted blankets and meds for it but they also will allow gavin to just.... lay on them +bonus is caelum lays on top of gavin (more weight THE BETTER)

is a S U C K E R for pixar movies. they joke about how jack-jack from the incredibles is actually their baby

they love giving gifts. almost every weekend is when the damn friendgroup gets together for dinner and 9 times outta 10 freelancer has gotten the boys a new gift

+1 bc theyre my child: they have a cat named Jewels (juju for short) she's spoiled to the max bc gavin just conjures up everything for her. her toy ripped? here's a new one. she wants another little sweater? it LITERALLY has her name on it.

Starlight

YOU POOR INNOCENT SOUL (i didnt mean for that to quote ursula oops)

very dark academia. avior loves it. he loves everything about them . their sense of style, the way they carry themselves through a day, everything (sap)

they love dancing. not professionally but thy just love moving with their mind. its their little form of self expression. Avior is able to tell how their feeling without his ability to read emotions because Starlight is very expressive in their dances

has stims that they try to mask. whenever theyre excited they wave their hands in the air. when theyre proud, they do little claps and whistles. avior makes note of every last one of them to make sure if he should celebrate or help them with something

they love writing. next to the surface they use as a bed in the hellscape, hidden behind a delicate cloth, are little poems that describe a little human and their demon companion an their journey through hell

Sunshine

cottagecore w h o r e

they love thrifting with elliot. every weekend results in new clothes in their wardrobes that they 100% try to match everyday

they have a tiny shake in their hand due to nerve damage from the crash. they find it to be annoying but being with Elliot helps. When he holds their hand and brings it up to his lips, they're at peace.

loves painting. LIKE MURALS. they volenteer to the city to cover some unwanted graffiti that may have negative messages and replaces them with positive affirmations

they love the simple things. grocery shopping, walking to the park, hanging out with friends. It's all a reminder of life and their 2nd chance they were given. Sometimes life is unexpected, so you must love every second.

Bestie (Blake)

oh my bestie (lol get it- bestie- yea ok shutting up)

has an terminal illness (which is why Blake wants to meet a Deathwalker. he believes with a deathwalker's help, he can "cure" their ilness) although Blake is rowing his boat in DaNile, Bestie accepts this fate. Their happy with what they could do in this lifetime

hates mouse traps. their method is harmless traps that don't injure the mice. After allowing the mouse to calm down, they release them in safe areas far away so they have a smaller chance of getting stuck in a trap again

advocates for stuff they believe in. Every day that they live is NOT taken for granted and they are determined to fix some things before they leave this world and let the River's current win

volunteers at hospitals because they know what it's like to be stuck having to listen to machines say how sick you are. however they really try to avoid pediatrics. although they are determined to help, they can't help but admit it is extremely saddening to see parents not able to give their child a normal childhood.

Warden

MY SWEET SUMMER CHILD I AM SO SORRY

Warden is a bookworm to THE MAX. they have bookshelf and have them labeled by human time period. they are very curious of humanity's development from their first years to now

Is roughly young. vega speaks of them in a way of an adult talking to a child. they find this very frustrating. They do their best to seem mature when in reality they are barely starting their journey

warden is one of the many demons who prefer aria over elegy. elegy has too many labels, too much noise. aria gives them a sense of belonging. a sense of peace.

caffine addict. this bitch will chug 6 cups of coffee and will be shaking and their coworkers are just like -_-

Baby (Ivan)

oh you poor child. im not rlly gonna talk about them under ivans grasp. ill talk about them after the whole incident

really loves making sundaes. they don't really have a favorite so they will literally take anything thats ice cream

they don't know why (bc memory modification) but they are really in love with being comfortable. Whether it's plushies or an extra blanket, they have to be comfortable or else they will be up at ungodly hours wondering what's wrong

they also have noise cancelling headphones due to paranoia. the headphones are all decorated and full of stickers of stuff they love

avid water drinker. THIS BITCH IS EVERYONES WATER ALARM CLOCK. oh it's been 2hrs since you've drank water? no shit, theyve LITERALLY BEEN OUTSIDE TELLING YOU TO RINK WATER FOR THE PAST HR ARE YOU DEAF

Baby (Ollie)

you sweet person. YOU MAKE ME TOO SOFT

ollie suffers with a lot of health problems but baby is always determined to help him. they take notes at the doctor's office on what remedies help, what coping strategies they can do for him, and his list of medications

the have a sensitive nose. GOD FORBID they walk past a bath and body works bc then theyre on the floor with ollie trying to regain their senses back

they really try to pay attention to star trek bc ollie loves it but they always fall asleep as ollie pets their hair and whispers in their ear.

they are very protective of their coworkers. they're like the staff's caretaker. Migraine? they got pain pills. Annoying supervisor won't let you take a break? fuck them go take a 20 min break.

Smartass

this little snarky BITC- im kidding i love them.

aaron makes the pancakes, smartass makes waffles. they're just cute like that. aaron tries to roast them about their cooking but e all know he's lying. even he knows it lol

loves true crime podcasts. they joke with aaron about how he better not piss them off. but to aaron it's no joke. he's seen them taking notes. aaron: WHO THE HELL NEEDS TO KNOW WHAT DRUGS DONT SHOW UP IN DRUG TESTS-

i picture them as someone with lots of silblings. unfortunately they are the middle child so they're used to being overlooked. aaron's love was always so confusing bc they felt as if they didn't deserve it

throwback to aaron's confrontation audio: they never really learned about their own personal worth. they only saw worth in what they did aka their school, their job, etc. when aaron says he doesn't care about that and he wants to hear about the little things, they were so scared. he doesn't care? but thats what everyone cares about. right?

Asset

oh you poor robot.

anton is working with asset to give them more opportunities in life

they're like a lil kid, learning about the world and its functions. they have moments where they'll ask questions and anton is just stuck answering them. some are..... (asset: where do babies come from anton: -_-)

james wont admit it but he has a soft spot for them. they were wronged and he feels that dad protectiveness for them

favorite pastime is reading, especially happy books. its proof that marcus was just a bad apple of a bunch. there is more than just that stoic lab. there is color, adventure, mystery, and happiness

Cutie

......my kinnie #givecutieabreakandletthemgototherapyinsteadofgettingmadatthem2023

self sabotages alot. somedays they really start believing that they don't deserve Geordi and his love but he's always there to reassure them that they deserve love.

is VERY impulsive. they aren't in bed? yea they're in the bathroom dying their hair. yea its the 3rd time this week.

pintrest BITCH. they have boards for E V E R Y T H I N G. THEIR EDDING, THEIR HOUSE, THEIR HOME, THEIR WORK. IF IT DOESN'T HAVE A PINTREST BOARD THEN IT DOESN'T EXIST

collects plastic bags. istg they're like my mom. THAT LITTLE SPACE UNDER THE SINK? YEA GO OPEN IT. WHAT'D YOU FIND? PLASTIC BAGS.

Honey

you lil snarky asshat.

is actually very emotional. oh the titanics on? ya ik honey is already crying with a bowl of popcorn on the couch

theyre an overthinker. every once in a while guy will come home to honey hiding in their closet. once he asks what wrong he gets a quiet little "am i too...mean?" it breaks guy's heart everytime

collects seashells bc i see them as someone who loves the ocean. its their little thing that they only have ever told guy tbh. he treasures every seashell they give him bc he knows it's their ay of showing that they love him

streamer!honey is my SHIT. if they were asked "whos important after guy?" they would immediatly respond with "my followers". they fight through life struggles bc they find it important that among all their followers, they can at least put a smile on someone's face

Precious (Regulus)

you poor soul.

they're a very romantic person. if you love them, they will make love letters, gifts, all that. you know that you are loved with them

regulus kinda took advantage of their love for physical touch. they love the feeling of someone's skin. it proves that they're real. that they're here.

loves fruit loops. THEY ARE THE BEST CEREAL NO ONE CAN TELL ME OTHERWISE TYVM

their favorite holiday is Valentine's Day. Even if that year they recieve nothing, the smell of love is in the air as everyone around them loves with all their hearts.

Morgan's Listener

YOU SNEAKY LIL- I WANT MORE. i need them AND MORGAN back.

they are a very closed off person. After living a life hidden away in order to avoid the spotlight, they really want to find a sense of normalcy in the chaos.

they have an Australian Shepard named Leo. he's very energetic and is a puppy still. He enjoys Morgan's presence and that's what makes his owner more accepting of Morgan

they have their own brand of hair products. I see them as Native American and to me and my people, hair is very important. They preach healthy hair and volunteer at the local homeless shelter and love giving haircuts and hair products out for free

they have Morgan as "the oracle" bc of their seer abilities. its a little inside joke between them and Morgan. they really love making jokes of big things to heal their inner child

if there is one thing you can learn from me in this post, it's that I love giving complexity to characters. Often times in real life, you can be minimized to one aspect of yourself. Sometimes it's a bad aspect. But it's important to know that as human beings, we are complex. Remember to give all life a chance. You all deserve love! And I hope I was able to distribute that today <3

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #redacted listener #redactedverse

[kushielsmercy]

Another one for lambden (beloved)

(7) “Forever is a long time to have something like that tattooed on you.” & (13) Meet Ugly

Pleeaassse 😘😘😘😘

Thank you for this prompt, this one was extra fun to write!!!

Read on A03

Sometimes Vesemir gets it in his head that it’s not too late to play the father-figure and he’ll waste Lambert’s time rambling on about the value of preparation. If he bothered asking Lambert he’d know to save his breath, but he never bothers to ask.

On those nights, it’ll take Eskel half an hour to stoke the fire high, Lambert another twenty to dig up some of the really good stuff, and an hour past that for their tongues to loosen enough to air their dirty laundry.

So there Lambert will be, telling a hi-fuckin’-larious story about how he ended up killing three water hags with only his gloves, and Eskel will have put the palm of his hand over the top of his mug, absentmindedly rocking it in circles, the way he does when he’s close to calling Lambert’s bullshit. Except this contract happened, and he’s got the acid scar on his ass to prove it, so Lambert is fifteen seconds away from being a richer man.

But then, about twice a winter, on the rare occasion that he decides he’s not yet got one foot in the grave and can stay up with the youth, he’ll have a drink only to take offense to the fun, ruining a damn good time by scolding them to be more careful. Evidently, all Lambert needs to do to stay alive is keep his kit in good repair and his supplies fully stocked. Simple as that.

Lambert sure wishes someone had told him that earlier, he’d have saved a lot of coin bribing healers whose greed was only slightly stronger than their distaste for his kind.

Eskel’s told him the whole thing lasts forty-seven-and-a-half minutes, covering topics from herb preservation to boot polish. He gets a kick out of Vesemir’s serious face, because Eskel has issues. Lambert’s never made it past minute six: topic three sub point c - how to prevent rust in humid climates.

All told, it could be worse. Vesemir can lecture him like a child all he wants, but he can’t stop Lambert from taking his booze and drinking alone. It’s what he does most nights anyhow. But it’s a damn waste of a good fire, and just once it’d be nice if someone would bother checking the state of his kit before making assumptions.

It’s like this.

Ten vials of swallow, individually wrapped and stored in extra thick glass.

Fifteen of White Honey

Five of everything else

At least ten of every herb not local to his current area, dried and pressed, carried in a waterproof leather carrier.

Bombs. Many bombs.

He repaired his sword in the last town, even though he could have waited a few weeks longer. Horse got new shoes too.

He even splurged for new chain mail that is woven tighter than his old shit, it’s a good bit tougher to slice though. Pricey stuff - he’s spent a fair number of nights with his right hand lately because that used up most of the coin he’d saved for whores.

Call him what you want, but Lambert isn’t reckless. Preparation keeps him alive.

All that preparation is a lot of effort though, so sword to his throat Lambert could maybe see where people get the impression he should go hunting for extra fucks to give.

There are two categories.

Life and Death

Not Life and Death

Unfortunately, Life and Death activities are usually individual pursuits. Or if they start as group projects by the end Lambert’s the only one still breathing to know the score. Lambert’s Not Life and Death hobbies can occur in a tavern, a brothel, or even in a goddamn alley. They require far fewer brain cells and are subject to much higher public scrutiny.

“Forever is a long time to have something like that tattooed on you,” the hedgewitch says, hesitating with the point of the charmed ink stick hovering above his ass.

Lambert growls in frustration. The flower petals circling his left nipple aren’t fine art either, but a bet’s a bet.

“Get on with it,” he snaps, because for some idiot reason he’d dragged the cat along to the only tattooist for miles, determined to prove that he wasn’t some namby-pamby who backed out of a bargain. So now here he was at 3am, ass-out in some hut in the middle of nowhere, and this Aiden character has a front-row seat and most of Lambert’s coin.

“Forever ain’t that long for a Witcher,” Aiden drawls, flipping the elf another oren.

She bits down on it before nodding, clearly deciding that if she tried to interfere in every damn fool decision men make, she’d be broke before the week was out. Lambert feels the tip of the stick touch down on his ass, wincing from the unexpected sting. It takes more effort than expected to not pull away from the touch; the hurt isn’t anything once he’s ready for it but he’s a bit nervy. The cat wouldn’t even tell him what he’d decided to mark him with. He’d just sketched out a design and handed it to the hedgewitch with a wicked grin.

It’s a matter of moments before she’s done; judging by the scant number of strokes, Aiden only asked for a simple sketch. Probably for the best, it’ll be easier to pass off as some blacked out decision he doesn’t remember getting.

Aiden’s hands brush over the tender skin, causing Lambert to suck in a tense breath. They’re nice fingers, long and thick. No small part of why he ended up with nothing left to bet but his own ass, if he’s gonna get real honest with himself. The cat had kept fiddling with the cards in his hand, skimming his finger over their tops and reorganizing them again and again. Sometimes he’d shuffle them around with only the one hand, which was a special torture.

Lambert hears the coin purse jingle again.

“Will you stop wasting all my -”

“Not your coin anymore, darling,” there’s a smirk in Aiden’s voice. “Would you be so kind as to give us some privacy, ma’am?”

Oh. Well, that’s okay then.

“I don’t know why the hell you think I’d be crazy enough to leave two witchers alone with my supplies, but this is my home and you and your idiot friend here need to get out.”

Lambert hears more coin exchanging hands.

The women sighs the sigh of poor common folk everywhere. “If I find a single leaf unaccounted for, I will make sure you never work in his province again, you hear me?”

Aiden’s fingers trail down Lambert’s cleft. “Wouldn’t dream of it, ma’am. We’re just honest folk looking for some good, clean fun. My friend and I stay well out of trouble.”

Lambert rolls his eyes and out of the corner of his eye sees the elf do the same. It’s reassuring that he’s not the only one charmed by the cat’s specific blend of bullshit and flattery. Lambert doesn’t believe any of the tales the cat spun this even, which would normally would have caused Lambert to stalk off with the night still young, but Aiden doesn’t seem to have any intent to deceive. It feels like a game. We both know that 90% of what I’m saying is bunk, but the other 10% is the god’s honest truth. Can you guess which?

A long finger slides into him without warning and the elf makes a quick retreat, not one for a show. Lambert swears when Aiden crooks it just so, using his other hand to scrap his nails across the newly marked skin.

Which reminds Lambert - “So you gonna tell me what she drew or just make me wait until the next time someone sees me drop trou and starts laughing?”

Aiden hums and adds another finger. “I rather think it suits you - I’m not cruel. At some point you’re going to have to tell me how the fuck you got an acid burn on your bum. It was quite the inspiration.”

“Aiden,” Lambert threatens, gasping.

“Fine, fine,” Aiden relents. “It’s a dick with wings, and the burn is the cum shooting out.”

Lambert gathers enough of his wits to kick a leg back into Aiden’s balls. It’s good to keep a conversation on topic.

“That suits me? You fucking prick,” Lambert growls.

Aiden, admirably, gets back to finger-fucking Lambert long before he recovers enough air to defend himself. “I’m serious,” Aiden insists, “and right. You’ll get used to that.”

Lambert flicks him off. He briefly considers pulling off Aiden’s fingers to emphasize his point, but the damage is already done and this is building to be an excellent orgasm.

“You’re an unrepentant dick,” Aiden continues, undeterred. “Truly, honestly, horrendous. Your language alone is enough to give a priest a stroke. But somewhere in there is a bit of an angel -”

“You know fuck all,” Lambert cuts that right off.

“You didn’t have to help them with-”

“You going to fuck me or what?” Lambert gripes.

“And that’s why I said only a little bit,” Aiden says, triumphant. “I agree, you are almost exclusively a dick, and I can assure you there’s no need to worry, this is the standout piece of artistry. The proportions are lovely.”

Lambert is at least forty percent sure he hates the cat, but Aiden’s also tugging on his own laces, so Lambert opts to bury his head in his forearms and not think about it.

“You won’t be laughing when I fleece you next time,” Lambert tells the bench.

“Lambert, darling,” Aiden laughs as he slides in, “I’d never make a bet this dumb.”

#lambden #laiden #lambert/aiden #aiden/lambert #witcher lambert #prompt fill #shielwrites

[leiawritesstories]

Speak To My Heart

Rowaelin Month, Day 15: A bad day

Word count: 3422

Warnings: language, bit of depression, fighting. In short, there is angst in this fic. Hope the ending makes up for the rest.

Linguistics and foreign languages are two of my personal passions, so please bear with the bits of language talk that I couldn’t resist including. Brief word of clarification: a lot of expressions we use in English either translate into something extremely rude or don’t make sense in other languages. Translation companies have been trying for quite some time to make sure they don’t accidentally send a client a translated instruction manual that reads “fuck your mother” instead of “for questions, contact your local energy department.” All right I’ll get off my soapbox. :)

The phrases in foreign languages, marked with *, are translated into English at the end. Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rowan’s day had been shit. The second he walked through the door, he’d been bombarded with an endless slew of crash reports, malfunctioning equipment, faulty passwords, and best of all, having to rewrite half the security firewalls because one of the rash young idiots in his department couldn’t be bothered to check his work for errors before sending it to management. And management thought it was the department boss’s job to fix all of his employees’ fuckups.

He hated IT.

Even more so since being promoted to department chair. 

All he wanted to do was the fun stuff--program design and development, fixing the flaws in his own designs, and of course making those who tried to break into his company’s systems regret their pitiful existence. But Cadre Tech’s bitch of a CEO refused to let the best software engineer on her staff actually do his job. 

Most days, he could cope with the pile of useless shit she directed to his desk. Most days. Today was not one of those days. Probably because on top of all the meaningless tasks he’d had to field, he was also forced to sit through one of Maeve’s bullshit “department head strategy sessions,” where every department chair had to pretend they gave a single shit about any word coming from their CEO’s garishly red, pinched mouth. 

As if she knew anything her staff actually did. 

Thanks to the compulsory meeting, Rowan was stuck in his office at nearly ten o’clock, painstakingly combing through the final draft of the update to CT’s translation program. This program had shot the company to fame and fortune, or at least insane stock value. “A Google Translate that actually translates,” their marketing department called it, and by the gods, that stupid slogan worked. And made sense. Rowan knew the program was just as good as it claimed to be.

He’d put in the hours, alongside a team of linguists, software engineers, designers, and people fluent in at least one other language. Frequent were the sessions where the project whiteboard turned into a jumble of words in twenty or more languages, Spanish alongside Arabic next to a column of simplified Japanese characters spilling over into a row of Cyrillic lettering. Rowan himself spoke German and some Spanish, but even he was lost amid the cacophony of eighteen different people switching from language to language, trying to figure out how idiomatic expressions translated from one language to another and what words should never, ever be placed together. 

It took the team well over a year of bickering, or as they called it, friendly linguistic disagreements, to make it from loosely mapped concept to functioning program. By the time it hit the market three years ago, the software had been so well promoted that companies all over the world snapped up their chance to finally communicate properly with the client they’d offended years ago with a bad translation. 

At launch, of course, Maeve stood in front of a sea of shouting reporters brandishing microphones, smiling her serpentine smile, and proceeded to thank the creative team for all their “contributions” before taking all the credit herself. 

Said creative team went to the bar that had become their usual gathering spot that night to get drunk and shit-talk their horrible boss, not necessarily in that order. 

His favorite memory of that night was hearing the chief linguist, an outside contract with multiple advanced degrees who spoke eight separate languages besides English fluently, refer to Maeve as “quella puttana rugosa che non riusciva a convincere un cazzo a venire a dieci metri da lei se si vestiva da figa.*” The Italian speakers on the team were crying with laughter, and so was everyone else, once she translated it.

And then she downed another shot of vodka and hissed something that sounded like “sukya bliyad, no puedo mich betrinken con esta ordures.**” When everyone blinked in confusion, she sighed and relayed the sentiment in English. 

Nobody had laughed as hard as Rowan. Aelin Galathynius just had that effect on him.

She brightened his darkest days.

But she couldn’t ease the strain of today.

And it was all his fault.

~

Aelin glanced up at the clock on her wall and cursed in three different languages when she saw that it was nearly eleven. Without meaning to, she’d spent all afternoon and evening writing lesson notes on idiomatic expressions. She really couldn’t help herself once she got into the topic; it was her pet project.

And the subject of one of her dissertations. Yes, she had multiple. 

She’d worked her ass off for years to get through college, then through graduate and doctoral work while teaching at universities to offset costs, then earned a full-time teaching position at one of the top-ranked universities in the world. She got to teach linguistics, her lifetime love, and give guest lectures at other universities and at conferences, teaching people all over the world about the complexities and interrelatedness of language. Hell, she spoke ten; she’d be qualified to speak on linguistic relationships by virtue of that alone.

Gods, she was the chief linguist behind the most successful translation software ever produced. Even if the bitch who owned the rights to said software had literally threatened to sue over ownership rights if any of the people who’d poured their figurative blood and sweat and literal tears into building the program tried to claim a small piece of the credit each of them so richly deserved. 

That software and her role in its creation--even though Maeve Ond had claimed the public credit, the creative team spoke at interviews and made news features for their work in Cadre Tech’s massive success--had solidified her credentials as a professor of linguistics, had boosted her into her lecturer spot.

Last year, her university granted her tenure. 

She should have been overjoyed, and she was, but not as much as earning tenure deserved. 

Because there was nobody to share her joy.

Three years ago, in the wake of CT’s overnight jump to worldwide fame, Aelin fled a love she did not and never would deserve. 

She told herself she would never look back. But she did. Almost every day, she looked back at the life she’d shared with Rowan and tried to convince herself that she did the right thing.

Try as she might, she could never silence the whisper that echoed always in her mind. 

“You broke both of your hearts” 

Someday, she told herself, someday she would be back in Doranelle. Someday, she would have a chance to apologize. Someday, maybe she could fix the Rowan-shaped chasm that gaped wide in her heart. 

Yet here she was, sitting in a very nicely appointed hotel room in the university district of Doranelle, typing furiously away as if burying herself in notes and prep for tomorrow’s lecture could make the urge to contact Rowan disappear.

~

Three years earlier. Doranelle.

“Knock, knock.”

Rowan’s head jerked up from where it had most definitely not been slumped on his desk. “Wha--Oh. Hi, Aelin.”

“You’re falling asleep, buzzard, let’s go home.” He heard laughter in her soft voice. 

“As if you won’t just get home and start cross-checking every single one of the phrases on your ‘potential problem’ list.”

She chuckled, walking over to him. “Fine. We’re both perfectionist work whores. Doesn’t mean we don’t need sleep.”

“I know you too well to believe you’re actually going to sleep.”

“All right, you win. Come home now, I’ll make some food, and you can put me to bed.” She winked saucily at him, leaving very little doubt what putting her to bed would entail, and he was up out of his chair in seconds. 

“Hand over your computer, Fireheart,” he grinned as they walked into the small house they shared on the outskirts of the city. 

“What?”

“Your computer, love. I’m leaving both of our work bags on the shelf by the front door so we can actually catch some rest tonight.” He pressed a finger to her mouth to silence her protests. “Uh-uh, Ae, we have interviews tomorrow and I won’t let the genius behind this program’s flawless word-to-word be anything but well-rested.”

She sighed, but he saw the love in her eyes. “Here, then, my dear brilliant software engineer. Leave your notebook, too, because I know if it’s anywhere near you, you’ll be up at three in the morning scribbling blocks of gibberish and picking apart your faultless code until you go insane.”

Both of their work satisfactorily put aside, Aelin made good on her promise to cook Rowan dinner. 

And then he made very good on his promise to put her to bed. 

The next morning, they were both awake with the sunrise, content to lay curled in each other’s arms as the morning light spread across their room.

Rowan drifted back into sleep, waking for good when he caught a whiff of coffee from the kitchen’s direction. 

“Morning, you sleepy buzzard,” Aelin grinned, sipping from her mug.

Rowan dropped a kiss on her head as he reached for his mug. He took a long drink, sighing as the milky, sweetened caffeine hit his mouth. 

“I will never understand how you drink your coffee black, Fireheart.”

“Not all of us need to sweeten the hell out of coffee to drink it, Ro. Maybe if you can’t handle the real thing, you should go back to your pretty little cups of crappy cafe tea.”

“Mention my pretty little teacups again, Ae…”

She giggled. “You be quiet and drink your coffee-flavored milk, my love.  We both know you’re impossibly grumpy until you have caffeine in your veins.”

He grumbled something unintelligible as he drank his coffee.

They were nearly late to work that morning, even having planned an extra half hour to arrive, thanks to Aelin wearing what Rowan dubbed her “sexy professor suit.” She fixed the pins in her French twist in the car, making herself once again a portrait of professionalism, and slipped Rowan’s hand from her leg.

“Two hands on the wheel, Whitethorn.”

He pouted. “But I’m a safe driver and I want to hold your hand.”

“My hands are over here, love, not down by my skirt.”

When he pulled into his spot, Aelin closed her eyes and took a deep, slow breath. 

“You good, Fireheart?”

Gods, she loved hearing him call her that. “Yeah. I just…needed a moment to settle myself. To tell myself the cameras aren’t here to tear apart what I say.”

Rowan wrapped his hands around hers. “Dr. Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, the bland reporters are here to stand in awe of your expertise. Not a single word you say will come across as anything but brilliant and beautifully said.”

She squeezed his hands, her usual confidence returning. “I love you, buzzard.”

“I love you too, Fireheart. Let’s go talk about our amazing achievement.”

The day sped by in a blur of reporters, interviewers, teleprompters, practiced speeches, lights, cameras, and crew. When the last bleached-blonde anchor of the last interview of the day cut her crew’s cameras, Aelin flopped against her second-in-linguistic-command, Dr. Nehemia Ytger, the expert on ethnic African languages. 

“If I never see a news crew again, it’ll be too soon,” she sighed. “I’m beat.”

Nehemia snickered. “But we’re done talking about how proud we are that Maeve and her marvelous company have done such a grand service to the world.”

Aelin snorted softly. “Right. And now we servicepeople want to go home and take off our heels.”

“Amen to that.”

As the team filed out of the studio, Rowan made his way over to Aelin. “Holding up?”

“Not anymore,” she said, leaning casually into his side. “My heels are killing me, there’s a hairpin stabbing into my scalp, and I really, really need to pee.”

Rowan laughed, deep and husky. “Let’s get you home, then.”

“I’m stopping in the bathroom first.”

Just before she left the ladies’ room, Aelin heard voices in the break area. Familiar voices--Rowan’s, Maeve’s, and the snippy, borderline whiny tones of Remelle Frelau, who worked in the marketing department and had a hell of a boner for Rowan. 

“--looking at revenue over--” Maeve’s voice cut out, but from the gasps of the other two, the revenue was through the roof. 

“And it’s all thanks to this genius here,” drawled Remelle, who if Aelin had her guess was probably clinging onto Rowan like a platinum-blonde leech. 

“Ms. Frelau, this was the product of a team. No single person could possibly have made it happen alone.”

“Oh, call me Remelle, or even better Remy. And you’re the team leader, so you practically did create it by yourself.”

Aelin snickered to herself. Vapid bitch had no idea what she was saying. 

“That’s not how teams work, Ms. Frelau. We wouldn’t be here without Dr. Galathynius and Dr. Ytger’s language expertise, not to mention the creative genius of the engineers, graphic designers, linguists, and programmers.”

“Ms. Frelau, though her judgment is clearly biased, has a point, Mr. Whitethorn,” Mave said. “You demonstrated remarkable collaborative leadership qualities throughout this project, and I fully expect that you will continue to do so.” Maeve’s heels clicked away. Rowan’s voice followed her.

“Thank you, Ms. Ond, but I have to credit Dr. Galathynius--”

“Will you stop kissing that woman’s ass?” snorted Remelle. “Gods, she’s not worth your time or your praise; all she does is translate words into different languages and you idiots drool over that like it means anything.”

Aelin jerked like she’d been slapped. She knew Remelle was a self-centered, shallow, spiteful bitch, but she hadn’t known she would do this.

“--did more for this project than you and your useless whiteboard of catchphrases,” growled Rowan. 

“I don’t care what she ‘did for the project,’ Rowan, she’s never going to be good enough for you.”

“Thank you for caring about my welfare, Frelau, now please kindly fuck off.”

Aelin chose that moment to saunter out of the bathroom and head straight for Rowan, her face showing no hint of having heard that conversation. She did note with satisfaction Remelle’s vain attempt to march out of the room with some semblance of dignity. Too bad her heel caught on the seam of the hallway carpet and the break room’s tile flooring and she had to grab the doorframe to keep from collapsing. 

“You’re awfully quiet, Aelin.”

“Just thinking. Processing, really. It’s been a hell of a day.”

Rowan nodded. “I bet.”

“And hearing fucking Remelle rip into me for being useless…didn’t make it better.”

“Shit, you heard that?”

“Yeah. I heard that.” Her voice was hollow. 

Rowan pulled into their driveway and shut off the engine. Reaching across the console, he cupped Aelin’s face in his hands. “Aelin. You are brilliant. You are terrifyingly smart. You are a force of nature. Nothing, nothing you will ever do is useless. Don’t let that jealous bitch make you think you are less than the perfect woman.”

She smiled tentatively at him. “She…she told me before that last interview that I could never be enough for you. Because you--because of Lyria.”

Rowan raked a hand through his hair. “Ae, can we talk about this inside?”

That night, he told her about his former fiancé, Lyria. He told her about their whirlwind romance, their youthful dreams. He told her about the horrific crash that stole away Lyria’s life. A drunk trucker, a narrow pass in the mountains. He showed her the box in which he kept all the memories of that life. He cried. Aelin cried. He curled against her, let her comfort him.

“Sometimes, I wish she was still here. She’d understand everything. She always did.”

Aelin had no response. She let Rowan fall asleep, his weight shifting off her and into his bed, and looked through the box. Everything she saw served as another reminder that this was the first woman he loved, the woman who understood everything. 

She was worthy of him. 

But was Aelin?

The more she looked at Rowan and Lyria’s happiness, the more the answer solidified. 

No.

When Rowan woke up the next morning, Lyria’s box sat on Aelin’s side of the bed, a side that had not held Aelin.

He glanced out the window.

Her car was gone.

He got up and frantically paced through the house.

Everything she’d brought into his home was gone.

As was she.

~

Present day. 

Rowan opened his front door mechanically, pulled off his shoes, dropped his work backpack on its shelf, and was halfway to his bedroom before he realized he’d just opened his front door. His front door that was always locked. 

Someone was in his house.

Someone who either had a duplicate key or insanely good lockpicking skills.

Exactly one person owned a duplicate key to his house.

Aelin.

That’s impossible, she lives in Orynth, she can’t be here, he told the traitorous part of his brain that leapt with joy at seeing Aelin’s face again.

He turned around and made his way through the kitchen--nobody there--to the living room. He flicked on a lamp, casting a soft light around the room.

And nearly had a heart attack.

Aelin Galathynius sat on his couch. 

For a moment, he just gawked at her. She looked so…different. Older. Gone was the infectious smile that had captured his heart. Dark shadows smeared under her eyes, testament both to the long hours she devoted to her work and to recent sleepless nights. She was twisting a ring on her right hand, a familiar sign of her nerves. From his angle, Rowan could see a hint of dark script on her wrist. A tattoo. The Aelin he knew didn’t have tattoos.

“I’m not a ghost.” Her voice, weary and hollow, broke the tense silence.

Rowan crossed the room, propped an arm on the fireplace. “Why?”

“Why am I here? Why did I leave? Why did I cut you out of my life?”

“Everything.” He couldn’t keep the waver from his voice, but his eyes burned into hers.

She took a steadying breath. “I’m here to apologize, first of all. I’m here to face what I ruined and to try and start mending it. I’m here to come to terms with everything I broke when I left three years ago.”

Whatever he’d expected her to say, it certainly wasn’t that.

“I’m sorry, Rowan. I’m sorry I left like that. I was…I was scared.”

“You can’t just run away from your fears, Aelin!” He couldn’t keep the frustration from his tone. “You can’t just abandon someone when you have a bad day!”

“I’m sorry! I know I shouldn’t have left! I know I can’t run from my fears; I’ve spent the last three years trying and fucking failing to do that! But I don’t know what else to do.”

“Saying something about it would have been a good first step.” 

“I’m bad at emotions, Rowan. I tried. It wasn’t enough.”

“That’s not a good enough excuse.”

Aelin flicked a tear from her face. “I know.” Her shoulders slumped. “I’m so sorry, Rowan. I should never have left. I let some stupid comment root into my head and make me doubt myself. I made myself believe I would never be good enough for you. I left you. I loved you, and I still left you. I still love you, even though I’ve tried to suppress it. I can never make up for that. I…I just wanted to tell you how much I’ve regretted that horrible decision all these years. I want you to be happy, Rowan, I--”

“How am I supposed to be happy without a source?” He’d dropped onto the couch, close enough to touch her but still keeping his distance.

“What?”

“You didn’t just take yourself away, Aelin. You were my happiness. I’ve spent three fucking years trying to make myself believe I’m better without you in my life, and I can’t.”

She was unabashedly crying by that point. “What do you want me to do? How can I make up for abandoning you?”

“Stay.”

Her gaze locked onto his, both of their eyes pooling with tears.

“Stay with me, Fireheart.”

“But--”

“I never stopped loving you either.”

A choked sob ripped out of Aelin. Rowan couldn’t hold himself in check any longer; he reached out and tugged her gently into his arms. To his shock, she didn’t resist, burying her face into his chest as sobs shook her shoulders. When she calmed, he tilted her chin up.

“Will you stay, Aelin?”

“Yes. Even though I will never deserve your forgiveness, yes.”

~

Translations:

* = “that pinched old whore who couldn’t convince a dick to come within ten metres of her if she dressed up provocatively” (Italian)

** = loosely translated as “Fucking hell, I can’t get drunk off this garbage.” (in order, Russian (badly phonetically spelled out because Rowan POV), Spanish, German, Spanish again, French) (the Russian doesn’t directly translate, so it could mean several different variations of expletive)

~

Might there be a second part? Perhaps......

#my writing #rowaelin month #aaaaaangst

[prettyboy-parker]

favorite fics of 2020 (and a goodbye)

hi all!

first, i wanted to say this is inspired by one of my closest friends my bitch @honeybunstarker . thank u for that 

secondly, i wanted to say a final goodbye. i know that i nearly left a few months ago, but i was still on the fence about writing for marvel then. now, ive lost all interest. thank you all for fueling my love for writing, and making these past two (??? i actually don’t know) years full of excitement and encouragement! from the ups (the blocklist, secret santa) to the downs (my favorite blogs and friends deactivating without a word), ive had the greatest time in this fandom. 

in case you were worried, i am NOT deactivating. my fics will be available for you to read whenever you want.

but, i will not be writing for marvel anymore, nor will i be posting on this blog.

now that the sad part is done, i didn't want to leave you guys without anything to entertain yourselves with. so, here are my favorite fics, including some non-marvel, from this year! 

(all descriptions are from the work itself)

my top fic from this year, which is also one of my favorite fics of all time, is a dog named sunshine.

“Bucky Barnes has issues. Mental health issues, and a whole lot of them, to be precise. Bucky is fucked up, and he knows that. His apartment looks like a dumping ground on most days, he can’t sleep through the night, sometimes he doesn’t shower for six days and doesn’t leave the house except to see his therapist once a week. Mostly, Bucky has no idea how the whole “talking about your problems” thing is supposed to help him, but sometimes his therapist has some really great ideas. Like getting a dog. Which is how Bucky meets Steve. Steve has blond hair and shoulders as broad as Bucky’s future if he wouldn’t suffer from depression and multiple mental disorders, and a waist as small as Bucky’s self-esteem. Steve also has a yellowish dog with floppy ears called Sunshine. And sunshine makes its way into Bucky’s life with a bounce in its step.”

a modern stucky fic which portrays depression in the best way i have seen in a fic so far. unfortunately, it has been orphaned before being finished :(

starker:

hey baby, slip between my beta-pleats and get to know my alpha-helix? By @starkerforlife6969​ and @darker-soft-starker​

“Even though Tony can't tell the difference between Manolo Blahnik and Jimmy Choo, Peter really has no other choice.

His heat is around the corner, so even though he loathes the party-going, booze drinking, smug playboy know-it-all that is Tony Stark-

He'll just have to do.”

if you asked me what my favorite starker fic of all time is, i’d tell you it’s this one

raising hybrid puppies by jaypendragon

“A non-powered Tony/Peter coffee shop AU with billionaire Tony and working-class, teenage Peter. Also, Toomes has a bakery and somehow Last Week Tonight is a genuine plot point.”

underage, slowburn, happy ending 

even though it’s one of the most notorious fics for the ship, i never read it until the summer. 

waiting for marriage by tuesday 

“In which Tony gets married and kidnapped in that order.

—

Tony Stark went to Vegas to cause a scandal.”

just super fun!

push you out (pull you back in) by @lovelystarker​

“So basically, Peter's kind of fucked. And not in the way that he wants to be-preferably by his mother's hot new boyfriend who has beautiful brown eyes and a disposition that's more than put-together. It wouldn't be so hard to ignore the crush, really it wouldn't, but Mr. Stark has practically moved in, so Peter can't avoid him if he wants to, and unlike his mom's past boyfriends, this one actually likes to spend time with him. So yeah, Peter's kind of fucked.”

just,,, wow. important to note that it is unfinished.

stucky:

you go to my head by alby_mangroves and brideofquiet

“Why would you do that for a man you don’t know?” Bucky asks.

Steve raises one slow eyebrow at him, then the other, till his expression turns from skepticism to disbelief. His forefinger and thumb reach into his shirt’s front pocket and draw out a wrinkled dollar bill.

Steve looks him in the eye when he says, very patiently, “For money, Bucky.”

40′s stucky is my favorite stucky

that boy is a problem by 2best friends

“In which a twinky little goth punk named Bucky puts a leash around Steve's dick and he's really into it.

(The leash is a metaphor. For now.)”

just porn

all the angels and the saints by speranza 

“In which Steve Rogers loses God and finds God and loses God, and also: Bucky.”

if it makes you cry, it’s probably good!

sugar sweet by colorcoated 

“College Student Bucky finds himself immediately attracted to Steve. He knows that Steve's a bit older than him, and that Steve himself is put off by the age difference. . . But that doesn't stop Bucky from wanting to climb him like a tree.”

the only slowburn i have tolerated 

my bucky by cleo4u2 and xantissa 

“Bucky finds a feral Alpha in the woods. Rather, the Alpha finds him. Bucky is sure it’s the end of his life as an independant Omega. It turns out to be the beginning of the strangest romance Bucky’s ever known.”

stony:

(i want you to see) the darkest side of me by ann2who

“In Monte Carlo, Steve meets the wealthy widower Anthony Stark. It’s love at first sight—at least for Steve—and he can’t believe his luck when Tony asks him to live at Stark Mansion, his large estate in Malibu. Never in his life had Steve thought something like this was possible… never had he been this happy. However, soon Steve realizes that Tony is still deeply troubled by the death of his first wife and haunted by the many ghosts she left behind. The longer Steve lives in her shadow, the more he understands that… He can never be what Tony’s wife had once been for him. And Tony might never truly love him.”

total mindfuck.

ironstrange:

let it be by lucifersfavoritechild

“While dealing with his son's car accident and a rapidly-dissolving marriage, Tony is drawn to Peter's surgeon, Dr. Stephen Strange.”

where severus snape is hot, not a stalker, and somehow gets the girl by utopiste

“Or: Peter Parker is sick and wants to cut his Neuroscience class. Tony just wants to help (and maybe date his son's hot teacher). Stephen Strange just wants to give his lecture in peace.”

miscellaneous:

geraskier: who needs plans anyways by NTK

“All witchers are alphas or betas by nature, since no omega has ever survived the Trial of the Grasses. Gerald has never had any problems with satisfying his needs on the occasional rut, for the whores from Poviss to Nilfgard were eager to be of service to a sturdy hunk like him. On the other hand, a certain omega/ bard/ occasional witcher tagalong has always made certain to acquire enough suppressants from local healers before setting out on a new adventure. That is, until the travels with his favourite White Wolf led the unlike pair into uncharted territory for longer than expected… life ensues”

philtriss: bound by sapphiresmoke

“Leashing involves a pupil being bound to their master in body, mind, and magic,” Philippa explained, folding her hands on the desk in front of her. “It is not something to undertake lightly, but if you accept, I will be able to share my magic with you, and instruct you in ways that would be otherwise be impossible if I were to only rely on verbal communication. It is intimate, it is at times invasive, but if you consent to this, Triss, it will make you vastlymore powerful, and from the look in your eyes, that seems to be exactly what you are looking for.”

vandermatthews: one more night like this would put me six feet under by jukeboxgraduate

“To be alongside the same person week after week, to share honesty and trust with someone day after day, is a rare treasure in a life that hinges on dishonesty. Hosea holds it close to his heart.”

din/cobb: every wave is a tidal if you hang around by wolfhalls 

“Din comes to Mos Pelgo, and finds a lot more than he was looking for.”

and finally, rough day by @no-droids​, because we all need to be a little indulgent sometimes.

#starker #stony #ironstrange #stucky #fic recs #geraskier #philtriss

[hotchley]

The team not taking turns calling Hotch a Whore because of Megan Kane's death. Lets say she lived and shes going to prison. All bets are off. They will call him Whore for a week before theres a sexual harassment seminar.

Okay but this is actually perfect and she definitely should have lived!!

As they take her away- she thought she wasn’t going to make it so that end scene still happens- she looks back one last time, and stares directly at Hotch who just squirms under her gaze.

“I still think you’re a whore,” she says.

And he just... he just mouths the word okay and looks like a disappointed dad as opposed to someone that’s angry or mad or even upset about being called that.

It could have been the end, if it wasn’t for one Agent Emily Prentiss, who “affectionately” and “jokingly” calls him whore on the jet home. Everyone else looked at her, absolutely horrified, but Hotch accidentally said: What? So then Emily was like: HAHA YOU RESPONDED TO WHORE! And he just... opens then closes his mouth, then looks down at his report.

(Everyone definitely puts in their reports that he got called a whore, then give them directly to Strauss so he can’t change them.)

JJ and Spencer are too polite and too scared to actually refer to him as a whore, so it’s actually just Penelope, Emily and Dave because Morgan won’t do it when people are around, but he still does it sometimes. Penelope even does it over the phone. The local P.D laugh.

It really all goes downhill when Hotch gets back from a meeting with the Section Chiefs of Quantico and the Director of their particular area (if that role doesn’t exist... go with it) but nobody realises. It’s been a week since the case.

Emily yells “how was the meeting whore?” at the top of her voice. Everyone hears. Anderson faints from the second-hand embarrassment. That’s on a Friday.

On Monday, they come in and realise that it is them seven- and only them seven- that are sat in the bullpen (they all got an email saying they had to go there) which confuses them all.

And then Hotch sees the person from internal affairs and is like: Oh no no no NO!

And then they all get a lecture on a hostile work environment, which Emily finds hilarious and Hotch spends the entire time with his head buried in his hands because it’s so embarrassing.

#people talk to me

[steponmepinkjun]

ok ok these are the Questionable Local Felix rumours ive gathered but i cant stress enough to take this with a Massive grain of salt bc it was never from the source themselves. 1) felix is a weeb and used to call his fav anime girls his waifus. this one i wholeheartedly believe imo i see it. i can feel it. he was probably a mikasa stan. im projecting shut up. 2) he lost his v-card at 14... im not gonna elaborate on that one for obvious reasons, im just gonna say me too bro we livin this whore life together✨3) he was a kik kid. this one is actually confirmed as true mf had his old kik profile pic leaked and it looks like every 12 year old fuckboi wannabe ever its the Funniest thing ever. i cant rmb any of the others but ill come back to you if i do

chan thot wbk we all heard the moaning in the back of tiktok and then theres just wow as a whole. tag yourself im the one bitch who he called pretty during the predebut 3racha live stage of id:a and started screeching belligerently.

literally Dont Even Get Me Started on the whitewashing in the kpop industry. im a tanned skin asian myself and it just makes me ::::'))) they be whitewashing entire videos not just photos and using makeup and skin brightening creams and its horrible. its seriously horrible. ppl often make fun of darker skinned idols too... "hurl a bottle of makeup remover like a molotov cocktail" PLEASEEE that sent me but youre so right for this take tho. men w makeup outsold. like the makeup from the victory song mama stage? UGHHH PLEASE. makeup artist felix when. i literally know nothing about makeup bc im trans and femininity usually makes me dysphoric (but also i wanna get into makeup highkey? i just dont want it to make me look like a girl?) but like i am So Here For It.

anyway here's a thread of unwhitewashed skz for the soul: https://twitter. com/aintcheww/status/1338395728620605440?s=20 and here's a thread of felix's freckles: https://twitter. com/Bllack98/status/1390808708544925696?s=20 as u can see they often only show his cheek freckles but it does down to his ears and theyre adorable. im in love with this man -felix bi anon

I just know in my heart, in my heart of hearts, deep in my soul, that these are all true 😂.🙊 Because if I was gorgeous, talented, charismatic, and ever had even a single occasion to show up in a head-to-toe sky blue suit decked out w the gold rolex, even once, even as a joke, I too would show up to life every day going, "Yeah, I could steal your girlfriend AND your boyfriend in the short moment while the next episode of this fuckin anime is loading. What of it? You can't touch this. Hi, flop 😚" with my fuckin deep ass voice, and then just fuckin dance my lil ass off into the sunset. Would you not, if it was you?! I'd be up in EVERYONE'S dms with the unbearable fuckboy energy, giving that lip bite jaw stroke shit, and STILL winning. STILL serving, as he should 😂 I feel like there is an energy to predbut pics of him that I actually relate to, he just seems (to me) like this very bright, very sensitive kid, kind of not really sure how to channel that and definitely having success in how he's perceived but not really letting his true vulnerability or creativity shine through... And I think that's very much what adolescence is about, I mean they are literally still kids, they are all SO young, I could give them very much "back in my day" lectures as I hobble in with my cane and my bad back and my outdated slang, they're that much Fetuses in my eyes as the resident old ass bitch 😂 but I do relate to the way I feel like as time as gone on his sense of self and confidence in his own abilities and identity has just completely started to shine through, so as someone who sort of looks at all the kids with this benevolent, protective energy as well as acknowledging how fabulous they all are—the way you hype your friends up, like YAAAS BITCH, give it to them! Let them have it! Also I love you and would ride out for you! Very THAT energy—I feel like there's a growth w Felix that is very palpable and is really heartwarming to see. But at the same time I also know deep in my soul that Felix was that kid that worked part time at Abercrombie & Fitch—not Hollister cause Hollister was the broke bitch alternative to A&F if you were a bitch that had money 😂—and would curate the store playlists, be too busy talking w his friends to greet customers, and audibly sigh when someone rifled through the table of denim he just folded immaculately (same bestie 😔) before getting froyo with his work besties in the food court and using it as an opportunity to flex on everyone who didn't have the newest statement tee that he bought w his employee discount. He also defo got the job because he couldve been one of the iconic A&F models himself and always reeks of the cologne they spray on all the clothes in store. And none of that is a read, it is a FACT 😂😭 I also live for Chan giving us whole entire golden retriever energy, as well as exhausted mom of seven no braincell havin ass children, on top of Business Professional, Sickening on the Sales Floor Business Fish, inspiring motivational poster at the dentists office energy, at the same time as SIR WHO TAUGHT YOU TO MOVE LIKE THAT 😳, and then on top of it all whatever that is thats been coming to light on my fyp these days 😳 bitch idk wtf an eshay is and at this point I'm too afraid to ask 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

(sidenote I s2g if I was that girl at that show that he called pretty my heart would have leapt out of my chest cavity like it was fuckin fire drill and they would have had to close down the whole venue while they waited for the coroner, I would NOT BE OKAY 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭)

I literally cry at Chan being like "oh no I'm barefaced" like SIR. I want you to go sit in a corner and think about what you've done. I will pick your short ass up by the scruff of your neck and throw you out the damn window. Knowing DAMN WELL they all gorgeous NO FUCKIN FILTER, meanwhile I'm sitting there entombed in blankets like a fuckin earthworm, bags under my eyes like I work at Prada Marfa, body shaped like a refrigerator, adult acne signing into the chat every chance she gets, double AND triple chin reporting for duty, hairline RUNNIN from my face like it's got a warrant, giving very much Danny Devito as The Penguin teas 🙄🙄🙄 like sir I will shove a falcon wing up your fly ass 🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄 Like hello hi hello sir from the uggos, we see you and your crew and REJECT you from the club, none of yall qualify on your worst day, goodbye, dismissed, case adjourned, bring in the dancing lobsters 🙄 if I was that pretty YOU COULDN'T TELL ME SHIT. I would be UNTOUCHABLE. Idk man I mean like I see the difference in the beauty standard socially, but I hope that tide turns and shit changes, it makes me sad and it's so harmful.

I always felt a little out of place in the makeup world because, at the time, when I was coming up trying to learn shit it wasn't like it is now where there's respect for creative freedom and there's a niche for every style. It was like, if you wanted to learn to do makeup, there was a Right Way to do it and that meant worshiping Kevin Aucoin and Bobbi Brown books like the bible and making every look the standard of Flawless, Effortlessly Eurocentric Youth-Fetishizing 90's Supermodel Minimalism. I wanted to create looks that felt inspired and were performance art and statement pieces, my personal aspiration with my looks was that like... I wanted to achieve something beyond the banal of being human. I wanted to look like a fucking alien, I wanted people to see my makeup and go "I don't know what the fuck that is but it's confusing and scary and I am feeling Emotions about it" but there wasn't room for that, not in the spaces I found online but especially not in the irl world of makeup around me. I saw makeup and fashion as a tool to take control of the way the world experienced me, I wanted to transcend the petty rules of peoples perceptions of me, but... Idk. I wish I could rediscover that passion for makeup as a medium and the human body as a canvas, but... Idk. I'm a tired old bitch now and I can't be bothered anymore. I don't even wanna be perceived at this point and any form of self expression that falls short of an invisibility cloak is falling short of the goal lmfaoooooooo 😂 ugh how depressing! Not the mood. But ANYWAYS I completely live for the boys and in my head Felix is literally four inches tall and could fit into my shirt pocket, I mentally picture him as the epitome of Pampered Smol, and no one can convince me otherwise, the boy is Tiny, a Petito, a Micro, a Wee Bern. If I even begin to approach the absolute hysteria that thinking of Lee Felix Ear Freckles would cause me I will absolutely collapse and once I am revived with smelling salts I will need to be sent to the seaside for the season to recover 👌

#Everyone feel free to look at me and go Hi Flop 😊 Hi Bald 😊 #Anyways I am missing Hyunjin #jaywhypeepee you betta free my boy or I'm comin to ya house and I'm shittin in ya left shoes #asksteppie #felix-bi-anon

[pinkatron]

Of Winters and witches.

Dandelion slipped into the chair across from Geralt, looking harried as he placed one of the tankards of beer in front of the witcher.

“Heaven help us Geralt, I am just glad we got a room.” He bemoaned, as a roaring group of buskers had already taken up the front of the large tavern and inn’s house.

“It’s just as well.” Geralt sipped at the beer, which was actually frothy and cold. “A simple stop over, previous contract was paid well, and you made a mint off that barron and his wife. It’s a good start to the spring season, and I still haven’t shaken off the winter from my bones so a night of rest and merriment is perhaps exactly what is needed.”

Dandelion looked at him, grinning slyly.

“Merriment you say?” He arched his fingers gracefully over his beer. “Caught the eye of any charming lass?”

“Aye, a few.” Geralt murmured as his friend laughed outright. “It will be good to play the field, work the ice from my joints.”

“And johning from the sound of it, will warm you the rest of the way.” Dandelion winked salaciously, which was quite ruined by the fact that his new bonnet kept slipping. “Though I am sure you have a whole gaggle of willing women at your keep to bring you warmth in the winter months.”

Geralt frowned a little. Dandelion caught the expression as he took a large sip of his beer. He choked a little, the foam sticking in his blond mustache and making it look like sea foam awash on hay.

“Surely you have entertainments of the flesh up in that mountain hole of yours?” Dandelion looked affronted, and mildly concerned.

“Flesh a plenty, aye, but none that fit the title of inamorata.” Geralt eyed the bard waiting to see his reaction.

The bard spluttered because he had a reputation to uphold after all. He slammed his tankard down on the table, his face so rife with concern it was comical.

“Well, why ever not?” The bard’s lip seemingly was attached to his eyebrow, as both lifted in confusion and frank disbelief. “Surely a lovely little doxie would jump at the chance to have a winter’s worth of coin,  bed, and a warm body to chase away the mountain chill. That sounds like it would be a whore’s dream. Paying client, no need to fear if they are or aren’t coming. Ha….”

“May be a whores dream, Dandelion,” Geralt took a sip of his beer. “But frankly, we wouldn’t bring a whore up for the same reason I don’t bring you up.”

“I choose to not follow you there.” Dandelion sniffed, and his eyes lit up as the bar maid, an older woman with plump wide hips and a belly which had seen many children, sauntered up with their order of kipper.  Her breasts quite literally spilled over her bodice, and were only held in place by her chamois, which was in full view of the tavern. “I have obligations! A whole estate to catch up with and help run. I have lectures to give, and nieces and nephews to spoil on yule.”

The woman looked at Dandelion and blushed, her plump cheeks and upturned nose painting their interest upon them.

“I like to spoil people after all.” Dandelion grinned at the woman with coy turn of his lips. She tittered, as most did before turning and sending a sly wink to the bard. Geralt knew he would likely have the room to himself.

“Oven’s already been warmed, Dandelion.” Geralt took a pointed sip of his beer to hide his amusement.

“All the better.” Dandelion had flushed a little as well, though from the beer or the buxom mother, Geralt wasn’t sure. “Who in their right mind would prefer a cold oven? I for one would like to know it works, and works well, before I go trying to bake bread within it.”

He hadn’t taken his eyes off the curvy woman, who seemed to Geralt to be swaying her hips, just to keep Dandelion interested. And interested the bard was, Geralt could smell it. When Geralt looked at her, however, she looked like a criers bell, her skirts moving back and fourth to the point where the witcher was nearly surprised that he couldn’t hear the musical strike on iron. His friend’s choice in lovers was always a mystery to Geralt.

“You were saying?” Geralt kicked Dandelion’s shin under the table, and Dandelion hissed, and gave Geralt a cross look before his eyes drifted back to the nearly mocking concern.

“It was actually you who were saying.” Dandelion sniffed as Geralt grabbed a cracker and put a healthy slathering of the pickled fish onto it.

“Hmmm,” Geralt frowned. “With what has befallen my guild, it would be too great of risk to bring someone there.”

“But you pay a whore to be discreet!” Dandelion practically shouted, and a few of the patrons looked over to him annoyed at the outburst. The band too was annoyed at it, for they got louder, and cast the colorful bard baneful looks.

“All it would take, is one.” Geralt shook his head ruefully chewing at the oily fish. “One open mouth and an army of angry peasants would be against our gates.”

Dandelion looked around, and frowned. The witcher grabbed a cracker and slathered it in fish. The briny taste accompanied by the cool beer was delicious.

“Geralt, I think that is absolutely abhorrent.” He stated sniffing fitfully, once again catching the witchers eye. “I know you retreat there to rest. I can’t imagine a full winters worth of forced celibacy is something that one endures with grace. What is there to do?”

“Plenty.” Geralt raised a brow as a woman at the bar caught his eye and blushed, looking away sweetly. Dandelion looked to the bar where the women was, and then looked to Geralt, who had become distracted.

“Are you just going to sit there staring at the local color? Or are you going to elaborate?” The bard leaned back with his beer smiling knowingly.

“What is there to tell?” Geralt smiled and then tossed back his beer finishing it in a single swallow. “We sleep, we train, and we do the same thing that any man does when his home is falling apart around him.”

“You ignore it?” Dandelion leaned forward taking an innocent sip at his beer. Geralt laughed as he stood up.

“Something like that.” He patted Dandelion on the shoulder roughly, causing his bonnet to list, and the feather to dip down into his beer.

“Fine, fine,” The bard adjusted his bonnet and dabbed at the beer laden feather with a cloth rag that had seen better days. “Go, Geralt, you need this more then I ever could.”

The witcher didn’t bother to acknowledge him. Instead, he walked to the bar, where the girl looked up to him sweetly, and he made a soft motion with his head. Dandelion watched and sipped at his beer as the woman followed him, at a polite distance.

He was mulling over Geralt’s words, shoveling the last of the kipper and crackers into himself, when what Geralt said finally dawned on him. Flesh a plenty. Did that mean? Dandelion froze, feeling his cheeks light aflame as images unbidden flashed into his head of what a keep of only men, trapped together overwinter, would get up to. It was then, as his fantasies reached a fever pitch, that the plush matron from earlier in the conversation came back to the table.

“Seems as though a boy like you could use an experienced hand.” She grinned down at him, and Dandelion’s mouth went dry.

“My lady, with one as gorgeous as yourself, the hand could be virginal and the enjoyment would be just as sweet.” He said, and the women smiled and reached out her arm.

“I have an hour or two, before I must get back.” She grinned as Dandelion took her arm. “Lets see if we can’t put that sweet mouth of yours to use.”

It didn’t matter, as he fell into a spare room at the inn, that he suffered turgescence not because of the woman in front of him, but because of the witcher who was coaxing sweet sounds of praise from his prize somewhere in the rooms above. If the woman in front of him was as wise as he believed, then she knew full well what had just taken place, and was more then happy to take advantage.

Soon, all thoughts of witchers disappeared, as the wise woman pillowed his head softly between soft flesh, and Dandelions clever mouth proved to be sweet indeed.

#Why are there whores in kaer Morhen? #Geralt #geralt of rivia #Dandelion #Witcher book #Fanfic blurb #Fanfic #fanfition #Oh boy season 2... #Witcher netflix commentary #Netflix #witcher

[featheredomen]

I’ve decided this is going to be the week I actually get my shit together (never mind that it’s already Tuesday, leave me alone), so I’m just gonna leave this post here and update it whenever I do something that I needed to do/was overdue/is just good for my general well-being, and I’ll see where it’s at on Friday. You know, might use this blog as an actual blog :P - 7:10am, 30/03

30/03 - Tuesday

- Went to my first lecture of the week, Sex, Death and Ritual (the only lecture that takes attendance, and it’s only 50 minutes long, and it’s the only thing I have to leave the house for, and it’s at 9am, so you can imagine how difficult it is for me to convince myself to do it lmao)

(A lovely nursing student said she loved my hair when we were getting on the loop bus <3)

- Tidied up my room a little, but more importantly I put away all my washing that’s just been hanging out in piles for the last couple of weeks

- Watched this week’s Philosophy lecture. I don’t think my Philosophy Professor is okay (”and that’s why our world is basically so screwed” - smiling with absolutely no feeling)

- Did one of my readings for SDaR: Revitalization movements: Some theoretical considerations for their comparative study. American Anthropologist 58(2): 264–281 (and was personally attacked by one paragraph in particular but no biggie)

- Actually called the uni counsellor and got an appointment for two weeks time <-- I’m actually real proud of this one, I’ve been putting it off for three weeks, and I hate phone calls almost as much as I hate genuinely admitting that i need help

- Finally finished the second reading for SDaR: Roth, C. F. 2002. goods, names, and selves: rethinking the Tsimshian potlatch. American Ethnologist 29(1): 123–150. (this one fucking killed me, none of the words properly registered and I don’t think I took away what I was meant to but god damn I’’ve been awake since 5am and it’s nearly 8 now, my brain is mush :P)

- Checked my uni email two days in a row (this is terrifying don’t judge)

- Wrote 419 words for TDA (one of three novels I’m cycling through atm)

I think I might call this a day.

31/03 - Wednesday

Me, trying to talk myself out of going to uni: I can’t go to uni *cough* I’m sick Me, to me: Boo, you whore

- Went to my 9am Discovering Archaeology lecture

- Went to my 10am Philosophy tutorial

- Watched my SDaR lecture from week 3 because apparently I missed it lolwhoops

- Went to my 12pm Sex, Death, and Ritual tutorial for two hours. It was fun. India, Dallas and I ~bonded~, mostly over Buffy

- Actually talked to my SDaR Professor and organised to get an extension on the assignment that’s one and a half weeks overdue and she’s not even gonna take points away for being late omg she’s so nice I feel guilty ;-;

There is no internet in this house what the fuck

01/04 - Thursday

Had a lovely sleep-in until 9:30 :3

- Put on a load of washing

- Paid rent (I am so very very broke omg)

- Went on a long and near-pointless journey for Easter eggs, wasting my entire afternoon, while trying to coordinate with my brother and father who are so uninterested in the entire thing. Barely successful. Working with those two is like pulling teeth. Have acquired a couple of eggs from the Good Chocolate place. Will have to go on a quest to get the last two I need probably Saturday.

- Can you tell I have lost momentum lmao

02/04 - Friday

Well and truly lost momentum at this point. Dicked around doing basically nothing all day. Did boot up the Evil Within in the arvo and played for a bit because I felt like giving myself a Laura-induced heart attack. It was fun :3

- Made a new gifset for The Evil Within which I haven’t done in a few weeks, so I’m considering it a win

- Made a couple of gifs for the continuation of my Evil Within chapter series, will complete that at a later date

Ordered KFC with the housemates because it’s free delivery all Easter weekend - why is this significant? Because for once, I was the devil on Ryan’s shoulder whispering at him to make bad Friday-night food choices >:3

03/04 - Saturday (it’s still part of this week, pipe down)

- Got all my washing in off the line

- Went on an early morning last-minute Easter egg run to the local shops. Way too painless. I therefore assume that I have done something horribly wrong. But for now, Easter shopping is complete, and it’s a beautiful sunny day out there, 28 degrees and it’s not even 10:30 :D

#personal

[skylyknightly]

Billy Darley? Yes

Do you know what it’s like to mess around with a Darley?  For your sake- I hope not.  They’re absolute animals, what the people say is true.  They’re ruthless killers, they have no hearts, they don’t care who they hurt in the process, they’re blood sucking parasites.  Their gang is like a pack of sharks, ruthless as their leader and they all move together, never lingering far from each other.  So, if you mess with one of them, you mess with all of them.  You fuck around with their favorite bartender and you fuck with them as well.

“Dog don’t you fucking dare break another chair or SO HELP ME GOD I will come over there and grabs one of the broken legs and give you a colonoscopy with it!” Rolling her eyes (Y/N) lays down a beer in front of Old Gary, one of the locals she sees at least five times a week.  Over by the back where the gang is, Dog lays the chair back down as the rest of the crew laughs at him over getting called out.  “You keep those boys in line better than their own boss (Y/N) , you’re like their mother.”  Krystal laughs next to her as she cleans a few of the glassware in the small hand washing sink they have behind the bar.  (Y/N) shrugs a little and leans against the counter grabbing up a new dirty cup and hands it to her, “I’d gladly give him pointers on how to if he’d suck his ego up and listen for once but that’s too much to ask for from a Darley, Kryss.”  As if the devil heard her himself, the door to the run down bar named Four Roses swings open and emerges a freshly shaved and clothed Billy Darley, he knew better to come into the bar covered in blood and guts from the last time.  He still had a lingering migraine from both (Y/N) and Krystal screaming like banshee’s at him for getting blood everywhere.  But as they say, with every shit memory in a place like this- there’s always a good one to follow it.  Billy walks in with a smirk as he recalls one of his most favorite memories here, and that includes one of the bartenders who steals a glance at him when no one else is looking.

It was well past closing time, probably around four in the morning and here she is, still cleaning after some frat assholes from one of the shit universities around here decided they were tough shit and caused a fight to break out.  “Why is it I’m always the one working when all the fucking fights happen?  I’m tired of cleaning up after their shit is handled.” Grumbling to herself as she kneels down to pick up broken pieces of glass and wood off the ground and tossing them into a garbage bin that she dragged over with her.  “Maybe if you gave Sammy the same shit you give me all the time the sexist fuck would listen to you.”  Whipping her head around and staring up at the infamous Darley she glares a little and gets up with a huff grabbing a broom and starts sweeping up glass.  “I wouldn’t have to if your little band of misfits stopped fighting everyone that tried to get a look at me Billy.  It gets old after a while, they were just some hotshots trying to show off.”  Pushing off the edge of the counter he makes his way over towards her and grabs the broom out of her hands and lets it fall from his own and turns her around and nudges her back against the pool table in the middle of the bar and looks down at her tilting his head.  “And what if they weren’t?  Could have been packing heat for all you know.  Kids that look like that are unpredictable sweetheart, can’t trust them.” She shoves at his shoulders trying to create some distance and glares up at him, “And I can trust you?  I don’t think so, I hear a lot about you and your crew Darley.  I’m not some girl you can push around and have a good time with.  I’m not a cheap whore and I can take care of myself.  So if you wouldn’t mind moving the fuck back that’d be great.”  Billy stares down at this girl.  This tiny girl thinks she’s bigger than him in the food chain and he hasn’t had a challenge like this in a long time.  He continues to stare at her for another few seconds before she opens her mouth to start lecturing him again before he sweeps down and pulls her up into a rough fire fueled kiss.  She was shocked, why the fuck was this psycho, this drug dealer, this gun dealing MAN kissing HER?  He nudges her mouth open with his tongue and slips it into her mouth and starts rubbing it against her own making her shiver and freeze her thoughts as she wraps her arms around his neck, tugging him down to her level as she starts to suck on his tongue.  The action draws a low groan from his mouth and it causes her to make a sound that she doesn’t ever recall making before. Billy reaches down and grabs her up by the back of her thighs and sets her down on the edge of the pool table and slides his hands up her bare thighs and over the sides of her shorts settling onto her bare waist and pulls away from her lips and looks down at her chewing on the side of his lip, lifting an eyebrow at her with a slight smirk playing at his lips.  “You were saying?” She looks up at him flushing a light red and looks away from him and fidgets a little on the table, “sh-shut up.”  Leaning down he skims the tip of his nose over her neck and settles on a place between her shoulder and neck connection and starts attacking the spot with his lips and teeth, causing a string of moans and groans from the woman. It may be four in the morning but god damn does it feel like the night just begun.

“Oh fuck Billy!”  With one of her legs up on his shoulder and her hands trying to grip at something on the pool table to keep herself from flying up off the table she moans loud enough that she’s surprised she hasn't woken any of the homeless drunks outside the bar.  Billy’s looking down where they’re connected, watching his cock enter and exit her sweet folds he just has his mouth against not even ten minutes ago with a grin on his face and turns his head a little biting her calf lightly and holding her thigh with his hand.  “Fuck kitten you’re taking my cock so well, are you enjoying this?  By the fucking sounds you’re making I’m assuming you are.” glancing up at her face he grins more as he sees her scrunched up in pleasure and nodding quickly as her eyes flutter open and stare up at him. “If you don’t fucking touch me I swear I might actually get pissed.” Chuckling at her response he slides his hands up her body and grabs at her breasts, running his thumbs over her erect nipples and leans down taking one between his teeth and starts sucking on it and running his tongue over it as he continues to thrust inside her.  She moans even louder if that’s even possible and grabs his shoulders arching her back up into him and screws her eyes shut tightly biting on her lip trying to keep her noises in, “Don’t you dare fucking keep those sweet noises from me (Y/N) or else, “reaching a hand down he runs his middle finger over her clit spelling out the alphabet and smirks when she makes a squeak and releases her lip from her teeth.  As he gets to the letter J she clenches up inside which draws a loud moan from him followed up by a hiss as he grips her leg tighter and her breast with the other, “Fuck you better be close, if you don’t fucking cum for me then we’re going to have a problem (Y/N).  You better do it, Right. Fucking. Now.”  She whimpers softly at his command and bucks her hips up into him as she lets out a loud whine and arches her back up into him again as tears form in her eyes, “F-fuck please Billy I-I’m Cumming! Fuck-fuck fuck!” She clenches around him again as she finally releases which causes him to swear and hiss pulling out of her holding himself in his hand as he looks her over and biting his lip “That was really fucking hot (Y/N), What’re you-Ohh fuck.” (Y/N) scrambled down off the pool table and took his cock into her mouth and started to hollow her cheeks out and reach up gripping his balls lightly rolling them around in her hand as she runs her tongue along the vein on the underside of his cock and staring up at him as he fists her hair. “Fuck the boys were right, you’re full of fucking surprises”  He hisses and lolls his head back as he starts fucking her mouth with his cock and fists her hair tighter as he releases a jet of cum down her throat as the champ of a woman swallows everything down that he has to offer and pulls her lips from him as she licks and kisses the tip with a light giggle and smiles softly up at him. “I could say the same about you Billy Darley.” Oh yeah, that’s gotta be the best memory Billy Darley has of this place.  South side Boston may be a fucking shit show but in this bar, there’s so many good things that are hard to forget.  If he ever forgets that night then you may as well shoot the guy and put him out of his fucking misery.

#oof #this is so weird #ive never done this before #whelp #hope it's okay enough? #feedbacks cool #watch me get banned lmaooo #Billy Darley #Death Sentence #Garrett Hedlund

[prorevenge]

Call Me Mean Shit AND Cheat On Your Fiancé? Here, Let Me Ruin Your Dating Life

So, first post here, kinda scared, but oh well. Also, this is kinda very long so, uh, grab your stash of candy or whatever and enjoy I guess. This also happened a few years ago so it's kinda fuzzy

First, I'll introduce you to the cast. The reason I describe their personalities and some of their looks is because it comes into play a little later. A little context is that I come from a considerably large family, with five siblings. My parents died when I was around four (or at least, I've been told), so my older brothers were my main caretakers. Mostly Lukas 'cause he had a lot of time on his hands. We are all blonde with grey/blue eyes except for my only sister, who got most of her traits from our mother.

(these are listed in order from oldest to youngest (for siblings), also, you can probably tell we're of Scandi origin so shut up any racist bastards out there)

Markus: quite tall, around 5'9, but his spiked hair adds to his height, so he really looks like he's 6'2. He is the big dummy of the family, but is still very lovable. Very loyal and it is very rare for him to betray someone. Kinda like a giant puppy or a really tall child. He's super kind and hardworking, and you can rarely see him shout, get angry, or ignore anyone. His personality is very important later

Lukas: also quite tall, around 5'9 as well, but looks hella shorter cause of Markus' goddamn hair. His most prominent feature is his eyes. This hard, cold, emotionless, and dead scary blue eyes. He could kill you with his glare if he wanted. He controls his emotions very well, and it's hard to get him to loose his temper. He's also kind of a drag queen. His personality is also very important later

Erik: on the shorter side, he acts like your insecure and awkward teen all the time. Doesn't like confrontation, and would rather spend his time studying for Uni than actually talking

Hilde: a little taller than Erik, which is embarrassing for him, brunette, hazel eyes, a slightly darker complexion. Acts like an awkward mix between Erik and Markus, her looks are important

WellInTheory: the shortest of the all ;n;, but still considerably tall compared to the average. Looks a lot like Lukas, with grey eyes instead. I have a short temper, if you know how to set it off, but otherwise, I'm pretty chill. The most important thing to note is that: I love my brothers to no end. Hell, I missed one of my Uni finals for Markus *very very very important*

EB: entitled bitch, Markus' fiancée whom I just happen to hate very, very much

Now that we've gone through introductions, let's begin, shall we?

So, here's the background information: Me, Hilde, and Erik are all in UNi. Erik in his third year while me and Hilde were in our second. Luckily, Markus and Lukas have a house so us three are staying there

Markus had come from the local bar with EB. Now, it was 3 AM at the time so none of us knew (he called a cab). In the morning, since I'm always the first to wake up to go to morning lectures, I go down for breakfast, and low and behold, there is EB, standing in the kitchen with my brothers fucking makeup on her fucking face. So naturally, I had no clue she was there and instantly panic. I grab the nearest frying pan and threaten her with it.

Me: Uhm, who the fuck are you, why do you have my brother's make up on, and why the fuck are you in our house?

EB: oh, didn't you know, you must not be very sharp then! Markus brought me home with him~ I'm EB, Markus' girlfriend~~~~~

Me: okay, that explains two questions, now answer the last

EB: what do you mean

Me: *deep inhale* I MEAN, why the fuck do you have my brother's makeup on?!

EB: it's not hissss~

Me: yes it issssssssss (me mocking her)

At this point she just ignores me and pulls her phone out of her purse, and I happen to catch a glimpse of Lukas' eyeshadow palette in it. Of course, I lunge and pull it out of her purse instead of asking for it like a normal person. EB starts shouting at me that "I stole her makeup" and that "you will pay for this!". Yea right. I just stole back something you stole originally. Just at the right time, Lukas comes down, searching for his makeup and his coffee. He notices EB and basically asks her the exact same questions, and she responds with the exact same answers. Another perfect timing, and Markus comes down. Same questions, but now:

Markus: why do you have Lukas' makeup on?

EB: oh this, this isn't his. At least, not anymore. It's not like he needs it, he's so ugly even this makeup can't cover it!~ (keep in mind my brother was constantly getting hit on by boys and girls alike, ie. he's one of the prettiest men out there (its my opinion (no I am not incest (fight me James Charles fans))))

Markus: it doesn't explain why you stole his makeup--

at this, EB cuts him off and starts throwing a fucking tantrum

EB: YOU'RE JUST SIDING WITH HIM CAUSE HE'S YOU LITTLE BOYFRIEND!!!!11!!1!!!1!1 WHEN YOU BROUGHT ME HOME I THOUGHT YOU ACTUALLY LOVED ME11!!!1!1!!111

*dead silence*

EB: whAT/!?!?11/!? oh so NOW you're scared--

Markus: Lukas is my brother...

Needless to say, she was embarrassed, but that did not stop her for ridiculing me

EB: well, that doesn't matter, that little girl shouldn't have reached into my bag, it's a violation of private property

And literally everyone in the room (except maybe Markus cause he's too nice for his own good) was literally like: no u, but in a mental or very quiet way.

Time passes, I get to witness Markus get harasses verbally daily by EB and as he drifts away from our little family.

Finally, the last semester of Uni arrives.

Over the course of multiple stressful weeks, EB just gets more and more annoying, and for some reason, she absolutely hates me and my sister, but mostly my sister. Why? cause she's a racist bitch that clearly doesn't understand genetics.

EB: WHY IS THAT UGLY BLACK BITCH EVEN LIVING WITH YOU?!?!

Markus: cause she's our sister--

EB: NO SHE ISN'T!!!1!11!!! SHE DOESN'T LOOK ANYTHING LIKE YOU!!!111!1

Markus: well thats because--

EB: I. DON'T. CARE!1111!!!!!!! JUST GET HER OUT OF MY SIGHT1!!!11

Markus: why?

EB: CAUSE SHE'S BLACK!111!! and YOU

she turns to me, who had just come through the fucking door

EB: YOU'RE JUST A NARCISSISTIC LITTLE WHORE WHO DOESN'T HAVE A FUCKING BRAIN!!!11!1!!!!

I had just come back from a particularly confusing lecture and my mind was still swimming at the new information thrown at me, and I was now being yelled at the moment I stepped through

Me: ...wha...?

It was all I could manage

EB: SEE? SEE?!?!??! SHE'S FUCKING BRAINDEAD AND USELESS!!!!! THE SLUT AND WHORE IS ONLY OUT TO GET OLDER MEN-

She's abruptly cut off as Erik, who had come down a few minutes earlier and was watching from afar, and Lukas stepped in front of me. Lukas gives his signature death glare and leads me away.

Lukas: insult us one more time and you'll be prohibited to come in contact with any of our family, you racist son of a bitch. Markus, you can follow her if you wish.

Erik: I wonder what Markus sees in you...

EB: a- wha- bu- AFAKLDAHFALHF (no really its what it sounded like)

this is surprising cause as mentioned before, Erik HATES confrontation and Lukas rarely looses his temper.

Fast forward a little, I'm hanging out with my friends at the local pub, when suddenly...

EB: AND OMGGGGGG WellInTheory IS SUCH A BITCH11!!!!1!!111!!!!!!

She continues complaining about me loudly, so naturally, I take out my phone and record the whole, goddamn thing. But I also recorded something I didn't expect.

EB, started to french kiss some guy. I don't know what this whore was thinking, but it seemed no one cared except for me. After she finished making out, she starts to complain about me and my sister loudly for another 10 mins or so before leaving.

I captured the whole thing. Markus and EB's marriage was going to happen in less than two days. You know what this means? Simple. Nuclear revenge! In the purest form, over the course of many years! :D

So I drive home as fast as I can without violating any laws, and run into our house. EB had gone home with one of those three men to do some sacrilegious acts, I would presume. I leap up the stairs and crash through Markus' door, then shove the video into his face.

...

I had to comfort him for five hours. FIVE. HOURS. He was that distraught at the video, and had either cried or hiccupped while ranting to me. Lukas, Erik, and Hilde eventually came in as well, probably to complain about the noise, only to find Markus breaking down and had to help as well.

After he had calmed down enough to form legible words, I presented my nuclear revenge plan. Everyone was in on it in some way or another, and they all loved it.

​

Fast forward, (wow there are a lot of these) and it's now the wedding day.

Markus had asked whether EB wanted him to invite his siblings, she of course, said no. But here we are, dressed in our best dresses. Erik, being the sneakiest one of all, had switched EB's wedding dress to the exact same dress me and Hilde were wearing an hour earlier. Lukas and Erik were wearing the exact same suit EB's secret boyfriend was and EB's father were wearing. When EB sees us, she goes fucking insane.

EB: WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE?!?! I TOLD YOU NOT TO COME

Lukas: Really now...? We got invitations~ Signed by you at that

EB: WHAT?! SHOW THEM TO ME

Lukas hands over four invitations that indeed, has her signature on them. She became furious, and of course, started dumping all the blame on me and Hilde. I could clearly tell that my brothers were livid. They however, kept it all in as they waited for the plan to unfold further.

We could tell people were staring at EB, me, and Hilde because of the dresses. We had specifically chosen dresses that better suited me and Hilde's body types, and looked absolutely horrendous on EB. Some brighter people were starting to laugh as they figured out the plan to destroy the wedding. It's time for wedding vows. As request from the four of us, the officiant asked for EB's vow first.

Officiant: do you take Markus as your husband?

EB: yES~~~~

Here, is where shit went down

Officiant: Markus, do you take EB as your wife?

Markus: do I? Well, considering she hates the rest of my living family enough to deny them any access to my wedding, and considering she cheated on me with some random guy... what do you think?

Lukas: considering the points you just listed, I'd say no to this marriage. She always smelt bad, and she would always take forever in the shower anyways...

Erik: agreed. and besides, what whore french kisses a random guy in the public? and you call WellInTheory a slut... Also, the fact you denied wearing and stealing Lukas' makeup... just...

Hilde: take that you racist bitch. I hope whatever's left of your clearly broken family sobers up and disowns you forever. I hope to see you on the streets!!

Me: so I'm the slut, "just out there to get older men", eh? yea, I think not. I mean look at you! You even copied our dress! how shameful. And the fact that your secret boyfriend is here as well, wearing the same suit as my brothers... shame...

EB just stood there, with her mouth easily catching three of four flies per minute

Markus: I think... nah. I'll not marry you. My family's right, you are a disgusting bitch. Now, where's the cake?

The rest of the wedding was spent laughing at, ridiculing, or completely avoiding EB, and a cake fight happened. EB was crying over how "I THOUGHT YOU WERE LOYAL TO ME MARKUS AAAAAAAAGHHHH" or something like that, and every time she tried to rekindle their relationship, Markus would either laugh at her, throw a scalding comment at her, act like she was the black plague, or just flat out ignore her. Remember when I said Markus' personality would be important later? Yea, this was why.

​

I also stalked her on IG, Facebook, etc. Anytime she got another boyfriend, I sent the video to said boyfriend and warned them and also suggested them to check her phone. They always broke up a day later.

​

I've mostly gotten over it now, but still occasionally destroy some relationships just to remind her. After all, you mess with my brothers? I ruin your life. Mutual, I think.

(source) story by (/u/WellInTheory)

#prorevenge #by /u/WellInTheory #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #last10

[theonewiththefanfics]

Misconstrued (Part 1)

Synopsys: When Roger hears Freddie and the Reader discussing how their lifestyle has taken a toll of the drummer’s and hers relationship, Roger breaks things off before she can. The only problem is- he didn’t hear the full conversation.

Pairing: Ben Hardy! Roger Taylor x f!Reader

Genre: angst... let’s ring in the New Year with some heartbreak

Warnings: swearing

Word count: 3616

   It had been a gruelling day of rehearsals and the only thing Roger wanted to do, was go to the tour bus and fall into the arms of his girlfriend. His scalp was itching from the amount of hairspray on his head and his biceps were sore from drumming all day.    As he approached the open doors, he heard two voices conversing, which without a question were that of Y/N and Freddie. Roger smiled at that. He had been terrified his friends wouldn’t like her, but they adored the girl, and Freddie had even dubbed her an honorary sister. Well, he wasn’t really afraid they would not like Y/N, he was afraid they wouldn’t like him dating Y/N, for she was Brian’s best friend.    The drummer had met her during a gig at a local college pub. She had been sitting by the bar and conversing with some guy, looking like an absolute angel, when Brian had seen the way Roger couldn’t keep his eyes away from her frame.    “Don’t you even think about it,” the curly haired man slapped his blond counterpart over the head. “She’s off limits.”    “Wh- what do you mean? Do you know her?”    “Of course, I know her. She’s only the best at everything. Top of the class.”    “Hold on,” Roger turned and pointed at Brian, disbelief written all across his face, “are you telling me, someone, that hot is really studying something as nerdy as you do?”    But instead of Brian responding, a sweet voice called the blond out on his bullshit. “So, you’re saying that someone can have the looks but not the brains?”    Roger had never felt his heart beat as fast as it did then. She was behind him, arms crossed, her kissable lips pursed in a thin line and the Y/E/C eyes glinting with amusement. He was at a loss for words. Pathetically he managed to get out some sort of an apology and introduce himself.    Her eyes had lit up, and the way Y/N smiled at him took his breath away. Roger had been in love with from then on, but the conversation flooding out from the bus in the present made him stop in mid-step. “It’s just hard.” It was Y/N speaking. “Half the time he’s away, and whenever he’s free I have lectures. That takes a toll on a relationship. So, I don’t know if it’s worth it anymore. I love it, but my heart’s just not feeling it… I don’t think it has been for a while now.” Roger's heart dropped.

“Do you truly think it’s a good idea?” Freddie asked, concern in his voice. “He’s not gonna be thrilled about it.” He heard Y/N scoff. “Of course, not. But he’s just gonna have to deal with it.” Roger had had enough. Suppressing the tears that threatened to spill, he stormed away from the bus and back to the drum kit at their assigned rehearsal space. Prenter was there, which only fueled his rage, but it wouldn’t matter. Not after he talked to Y/N. Though it would seem easier said than done, for he couldn’t bring himself to face the girl and the truth. It wasn’t until she literally had to stop him, while he was making his way to the bus, when Roger was pulled back to reality.    “Hey, Rog!” Y/N called out jogging up to him and leaning in for a kiss when he turned his head away. She furrowed her brows but shook off the weird behaviour. “So, I kinda need to talk to you.”    “Yeah,” Roger cleared his throat and crossed his arms. “I think we do need to talk, and I’d like to go first.”    “Sure,” Y/N said mimicking his position.    “I- umm- I think we need to stop seeing one another.”    Her voice was barely above a whisper when she responded ten seconds later. “What?”    “Yeah, you know. We’ll be going on tour soon, I’ll be away for months on end and I just don’t think it’s working anymore. No hard feelings though, right?” the last part he said through a chuckle and Roger finally met Y/N’s gaze. What he expected to see was her face filled with relief, not with pain and heartbreak.    “When did this stop working?”    Roger rolled his eyes, putting on the performance of a lifetime breaking his and the girl's heart. “Look, Y/N. What we had was fun, but that is all it was- just shagging and you trailing around us. Which was great, don’t get me wrong, but there are other groupies in the world. Gotta take care of them as well.”    At that point, Y/N had a palm over her mouth, trying to hold back the sobs that literally shook her body. “How can you say that? After two years, how can you say that?” her tone rose with every sentence. “How dare you call me a groupie?” His voice was sharp as a razor as he spat the words out. “Listen you can whore yourself to a different band. I’m done with you.” And those were the words that broke Y/N. “Whore myself? Is that what you really think of me?” “As I said,” Roger replied walking away. “You were just a good shag.” Y/N stood in the middle of the car park, numbly looking after the man she thought was the love of her life. It was like her eyes couldn’t see properly anymore, but somehow, she made her way to the parked car and started the engine, revving out of the stadium and driving herself away from the one person that was her home.

***

The show went off without a hitch, though everyone could see Roger was beating the drums harsher than he usually did, he was more all over the place as if trying to get rid of some pent-up anger. “Wait here love,” Roger said to the first groupie he had found after the performance was over, as he approached the bus, “I’ll be right back.” Fuck, he didn’t even really know how the girl looked like, all his eyes had picked up was flaming red hair and that was it. Her face was too blurry and honestly, he didn’t give two shits, for she would be just another one on the long list of his one-night stands. The list he had quit two years ago when he met Y/N, but now that that was over, it was time to bring out the pen. Sighing he entered the narrow space and was immediately assaulted by the never-ceasing energy of Queen’s lead singer. How he could still be so hyper was beyond the drummer. “Did you hear the good news?!” Freddie jumped up from the couch when Roger entered the bus, water sloshing over the plastic cup he’d been sipping from. “Fred, really I’m not in the mood,” the drummer said grabbing a full whiskey bottle from the table and flinging himself down onto the couch. “What do you mean? Did Y/N not tell you?” “Oh, she didn’t need to,” it was bitter chuckle that came from Roger, as he glared at their front man. “I heard enough of your conversation.” “Then why aren’t you jumping with joy while Brian berates her for abandoning her studies like that?” “What?” Roger was confused, and a sinking feeling appeared in his stomach. “Y/N was gonna come on tour with us. She said she missed you so much, darling, that she’d be willing to put her studying on hold. I thought you two talked. Where is she by the way? I positively remember she promised me she’d be in the front row of the show.” Rogers eyes filled with tears as he dropped the bottle to the ground and tugged at his hair. “Shit! Shit, shit, shit, shit, fuck, fucking damn it, God fucking damn it!” Brian immediately knew something was wrong. “Rog what did you do?” A horrible minute passed, and everyone could feel the tension rise in the bus when the Roger finally spoke. “I broke up with her.” The words tasted foul like rotten eggs in his mouth. “You what?” Brian was almost fuming as he heard Roger say that, praying it was just alcohol making him speak fallacies. But then again, Roger hadn’t even had a sip of a drink that night, nor had he seen the blond with one during the day. “I broke up with her.” “Why?” it was a confused and hurt looking Deaky that asked the question emerging from their bunks. “Why would you ever do something so stupid?” “Cause I thought she was gonna leave me and I didn’t wanna be the one left in the dust.” “So, you just decide to break her heart instead?” for a second Roger thought Brian’s hair was gonna light on fire from how palpable the anger was. “Fucking hell, Taylor.” The whole bus fell silent, completely opposite of how noisy the outside was, as a bunch of fans and groupies waited for the band to emerge and allow them to bask in their presence. That’s when Roger abruptly stood up and threw on a leather jacket over his sweaty chest. “I hope the only thing on your mind right now, is fixing things with Y/N,” Freddie’s voice had a dangerous note to it. Like if Roger would even think of something else, he’d be personally responsible for the drummer’s death. Roger didn’t reply, simply flung the door open, only to be greeted by Paul. “Shove off Prenter,” Roger said, pushing past the man and out as the guy was just about to press a palm against his chest to push him back inside the bus. Immediately, the groupie grabbed onto his elbow, but he just shook the stranger off. “You can’t just leave like that cause some fling left you,” Paul’s nasally voice called after him as he ran in front of Roger and blocked his path. “If you don’t move, I’ll punch my drumsticks so far down your throat, you’ll be shitting wood for weeks.” “And if you leave now when you have a month left before touring, you’ll be the one to announce to EMI about the departure of Queen’s drummer.” “Oh, shut it, you fucker. You’re nothing but a glorified paperboy so you can stick that high and mighty 'I-care-about-Queen' attitude in someone else’s arsehole. Everyone knows why you’re really sticking around, and no one is buying your bullshit.” Even though Roger’s little outburst was more than unusual, since he liked to keep the temperament on the inside, for the sake of the band, he couldn’t keep this in. Having to deal with how badly he fucked up with Y/N and now Prenter forbidding him to run after the girl who he was fairly certain he’d marry, was not only pressing on his buttons, but it was punching them in and now they were stuck. Roger was pretty sure he’d be reprimanded by the label and maybe even his bandmates, but he didn’t care. With a right hook to Paul’s head, he left the man on the ground and jumped in his car, chasing after Y/N. The whole ride was an anxiety-filled thing. He kept speeding and even got pulled over by a cop. Usually, he’d try and get out of a punishment by having them recognize who the blond was, but now he just accepted the ticket and finished the few miles between him and Y/N.    Roger was sweating and crying as he rushed inside her apartment building and practically flew up the stairs to the fifth floor. Roger didn’t care if he would wake up the whole damn complex, as long as Y/N would come out and talk to him, as long as she gave him a chance to fix everything he had ruined. But it wasn’t her door that opened, it was the flat opposite of hers.    “You know,” Old Miss Marci said, “she’s not here.”    Roger’s head whipped around, as he started at the senile woman. “What? Where is she?”    She shrugged her hunched over shoulders and sighed. “Don’t know. She just got here sometime midday and left. Packed bag and all.” “Please,” he begged the old woman, not giving a shit about his reputation or the fact that someone might come out and see the drummer of Queen in hysterics at his girlfriend’s apartment. “Can you tell me where she went?” “No,” replied Miss Marci. “And even if I did know, I wouldn’t.” “Why?” a broken sob echoed through the hallway. “Because people only cry like that of a broken heart,” she said entering her flat. “And the way Y/N cried… it was like her whole soul had been shattered and shredded.”

***

   Roger spent the night in his car, weeping the whole time and at some point, he must have passed out, for he was awoken by a knock on his window. A giant head full of big brown curls was in the view.    Sniffling Roger straightened up and unlocked the door, letting his friend step inside.    “I take it didn’t go well,” Brian’s voice was soft and the look he gave the blond screamed pity.    “Didn’t even get to talk to her. She’s not home,” through puffy red eyes, Roger looked at Brian. “Any guesses as to where she might have gone?”    A sad sigh passed Brian’s lips. “Probably her parents. But you really have no chance of talking to Y/N there, when she’s that upset.” Brian chuckled, surprising Roger. “When we were twelve, we got into a big argument. So, she made her parents tell me she was away at her grandmother's, simply because she didn’t wanna talk. And when I tried climbing up the tree that connected to her balcony, Y/N had barricaded the whole thing with a couch and taped over her windows with all of her posters, just so I couldn’t see what was going on inside.”    Roger’s lips tugged up at the thought of a young Y/N, sitting in her bedroom and pouting at something Brian had done. She was so headstrong, and it was one of the things that attracted the man to her.    He had tried asking her out that same night they meat, but Y/N had brushed him off.    “Do you really think I don’t know about your reputation, Taylor?”    “Those are just rumours, love.”    A perfectly shaped eyebrow sleeked up in a beautiful arch. “Really? Cause, I’d be inclined to believe what my best friend says about his other friends.”    And once again Roger was flustered, but this time his eyes bore into Brian’s skull, hoping it would combust. “Brian’s talked about me?” He gritted through clenched teeth and Roger swore to wipe off the satisfied smirk that appeared on the brunet’s face after they went outside for a smoke.    “Obviously. You know, he’s very proud of what you all have done.”    “Oh,” Roger smiled at Y/N, and his cheeks turned a bit more red than usual. It wasn’t often that compliments made him blush, and even though it was the girl relaying Brian’s words, the praise that he saw in her eyes struck a chord.    “Is that the only thing he’s told you about me?”    Of course, Roger knew of his reputation, he was sometimes quite proud of it, but not in that moment. When looking at Y/N he wanted to erase every girl he’d ever had sex with, kissed or even thought of. She had already consumed his minds and to be fair, the drummer wasn’t that upset by it.    Y/N sipped on her drink before placing it on the side of the stage where they’d been talking the whole time. “No. he's also mentioned you and your escapades with the groupies.”    Roger nodded, swallowing hard, but the soft smile Y/N gave him ignited a spark of hope, and all of that turned into a raging forest fire when she said, “But I’d like to make my own opinion of you. So how about we start off with a simple coffee date?”    Not once in his life had Roger been asked out, it was always him going up to the girls and batting his eyelashes, before they caved in and he brought them home. Y/N was an enigma, a smart and confident and an absolutely breathtaking woman, and Roger wanted to throw himself in front of a car for letting her go.    Every day he would come to Y/N’s doorstep and ring the bell and every night he would leave the same way- without receiving an answer. He even resorted to knocking on Miss Marci’s door, but she just shooed the boy away.    Brian was no help either, and every time Roger made his way into the studio, his band mate’s mood soured. The blond tried to figure out why the hell Brian was acting so pissed off when he was attempting to fix things with Y/N, his heart clenched at the answer he received.    “She doesn’t even wanna talk to me, simply because she knows there is a possibility of me relaying things to you,” Brian looked at Roger,who was sitting by the drum set at the studio, like he was about to throw his Red Special at the man’s head.    But he didn’t give up and then one evening, thirty-five exhausting days after that horrid fight him and Y/N had had, he finally saw her.    She had her suitcase laying on the ground as she was digging for her keys. Roger was stunned seeing the woman returning to her apartment, but it was like he was an empty space to him.    “You know when people leave for a whole fucking month it’s to get away from the negative things. In my case- to get away from the person who hurt me. So, why don’t you stop pestering Brian and Miss Marci for where I am and move the fuck on.” Y/N’s voice was made of steel as she swung her flat’s door open and trudged inside, not bothering to look if the man would follow. She knew he would.    Roger didn’t hesitate to run inside and fall to his knees, wrapping his arms tightly around Y/N’s legs and burrowing his head between her legs as he cried. “Get up, Taylor. Before my neighbours see you begging like this,” he’d never heard her voice so cold and devout of any emotions. Roger was sick to his stomach realizing it was his doing. “I don’t care,” he sniffled, “I’ll crawl on my stomach if I have to. Please, Y/N. My love, you have to know it was a mistake. I’m an idiot and I misheard things and I’m so so sorry. I know you might not want to see me, but I have to make things right. It’s only been a month. I don’t believe for a second that you don’t love me anymore.” Roger stood up, ready to engulf her in his arms, but what she said froze him. “And this month has put a lot of things in perspective for me,” she looked at Roger like he was vermin. “I have feelings for you, of course, I do. But that is not going to change what you did and what that did to us.” “Don’t say that, darling. What we have is too good to let it go that easily.” “Had Roger, past tense.” “No,” he shook his head. “I won’t accept that.” “Then tell me- did you mean it?” “What?” he understood clearly what Y/N was asking, but he didn’t want to reply. “When you called me a whore- did you mean it?” “Of course not,” two warm palms cupped the girl’s cheeks, but she turned her head to the side. “You know I don’t think of you that way. Never do.” For a second, Roger thought that she’ll place her own hands on top of his and melt at the touch, but instead she pulled them away and left his arms hanging by his sides. “I’m not asking you what you think of me right now. I’m asking you when you were angry at me, did you mean what you said?” The shame in his eyes told Y/N enough. “It doesn’t matter, Rog, if you think I’m a saint when you wake up and I have breakfast ready with a coffee at the side, or you want to throw me to the curb after something doesn’t go your way. When you said those words, you hurt me like no one else had. And now you’ll have to deal with the consequences. There have been so many times I’ve been mad at you, to the point I thought about leaving. But I didn’t. I let myself cool down, just so I didn’t hurt you like you hurt me. Because I loved you and I wanted to make it work. So, just cause you heard a tiny part of a conversation where you hadn't even heard the beginning, doesn’t give you the right to treat me the way you did.” “I know,” the blond sobbed dropping down to his knees once more and fisting his palms in Y/N’s sweats. “I know and I’m so sorry. I’m a complete wanker, just please, Y/N. Please. Don’t give up on me. On us.” Her hands wove through the blond locks, like so many other times they had, only now it felt like a goodbye. “See that’s the thing, Rog- there isn’t anything to give up on anymore.” With that, Y/N detached herself from the man and turned away. “You can show yourself out. I'm pretty sure you have a tour to get to,” she whispered as she made her way to the bedroom, leaving a broken Roger sobbing on the floor.

Tags (crossed out wouldn’t take): @perriwiinkle @thiccio-and-thicciet @roseslovedreams @vesoleil @gloomybisexualemo @16wiishes @wanderingsami @lumelgy @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @breezy1415 @pizzarollpatrol @crazy--me @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl @deathbyarabbit @s-c-a-r-e-d-po-t-t-e-r @reblogger-not-a-blogger @m-a-t-91 @dalilx @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki @maladaptive-ninja-returns @averyrogers83 @in-the-end-im-still-trash @gallifreyansass @dewy-biitch @avxgers @unlikelygalaxygiver @sweet-ladyy

A/N: happy 2019!!!! we made it... sorta... kinda... idk, send help.

P.S. what did you think? Part 2???

P.S.S. if you wanna be tagged in anything, drop me a message :)

#ben hardy x reader #ben hardy #ben hardy! roger taylor #ben hardy x you #ben hardy imagine #roger taylor imagine #imagine roger taylor #imagine ben hardy! roger taylor #roger taylor #ben hardy!roger x reader #bohemian rapsody movie #bohemian rhapsody #borhap #warren worthington imagine #warren worthington iii #warren worthington x reader #warren worthington the third #joe mazzello #john deaky #deaky #disco deaky #freaky deaky #deacy #freddie #freddy mercury #queen #queen band #rami malek #rami malek imagine #rami malek x reader

[goloyieng]

MIYEN Matthew (@Miyen_mimdit) - Personally in the Horn I SUPPORT H.E Dr.

@WilliamsRuto, the Chief Hustler, for PRESIDENT in #Kenya come 2022, August. His political ideology and strategy on the BOTTOM–UP ECONOMIC MODEL are APPEALING to me as a regional Youth. IMPROVE 100% individual n House building hold Money bag-sufficiency.

For those who hold STRONG divergent opinions about Ruto and the Bottom–Up Model, we accommodate your views. We are simply fighting an ELITE SYNDROME that for one to be anything he/she must have had a KNOWN father, or political party or a social status. That mindset is SLAVERY.

William Ruto: The Bottom-Up Economic Model that we are advocating is premised on a candid and genuine conversation that puts women and young people at the centre of our country’s economy. The two groups have remained marginalised despite their huge potential in the transformation of Kenya. The low-interest rate regime that the Bottom-Up Economic Model propagates presents a new investment environment that delivers SMEs and entrepreneurs from the bondage of shylocks, helping them access affordable loans to fulfill their start-up, cash flow and investment needs.

We aim to reemodel our economy to give priority to small and medium-sized enterprises will facilitate growth at the grassroots where majority of Kenyans are struggling to get financing to expand their businesses.

On South Sudanese Update

Miyen - Most foreign states' interests center around CONTROL of oil investments oppts &the use of South Sudan to buffer the spread of Islamic fundamentalism. The US intends to use SSD to check the spread of Islamic fundms in the Upper Nile Valley+counter Chinese interests in the country.

Dear; Your Lordship the Mayor, Juba City Council,

There are NO LAWS within the legal jurisprudence of your office and that of State Government to fine SMEs, Mama Mbogas, Hawkers,& vendors for not op(ening)erating their bizs. Its ILLEGAL n IMPUNITY of the highest degree.

The #SouthSudan National Revenue Authority (NRA) should robustly encourage REGISTRATION of SMEs, Boda Boda guys, Small Scale Processing and Manufacturing company (s) both FOREIGN n local so as to tap into the GROWING TAX POOL that requires harnessing. Paying taxes is PATRIOTISM.

Decades and decades of South Sudanese whoring their time away in East Africa have produced citizens who think they know the East Africa region more than the Rutos and Musyokas of Kenya. Here is a young man who is talking South Sudanese politics, while at the same time spewing some truth who Kenyans should choose come August 2022. The time is ripe for the East African Federation to be realized already. Will Salva Kiir Mayardit become the next president of EAF, and followed by Ruto?

Below is an article from Harvard Business Review's August 2003 issue by Gardiner Morse on Bottom Up Economics; Bangladesh is way ahead on how best to empower vulnerable communities with microcredit loans.

Africa Update

H i s t o r y V i l l e (@HistoryVille) -

With a population of 793 million people, the United Nations has predicted that by 2100, Nigeria would be the third most populated country in the world, just behind China (1,020,665,216) and India (1,516,597,380).

Below are designs of Cape Coast International Airport by Kofi Anto, a final year Central University architecture student - Akorfa Ama Akoto.

Bottom-Up Economics

By Gardiner Morse

From the August 2003 Issue

Iqbal Quadir is best known as the founder of GrameenPhone, now Bangladesh’s largest phone company in terms of subscribers. During the 1990s, Quadir stitched together a global consortium that launched GrameenPhone in 1997 to provide mobile phone services throughout Bangladesh. His innovative scheme has allowed local entrepreneurs—mostly women—to buy cellular handsets with loans from microcredit pioneer Grameen Bank and then rent the phones, with airtime, to neighbors. Today, GrameenPhone has nearly 1 million direct subscribers, in addition to the 30,000 entrepreneurs whose handsets provide phone access to 50 million people. Quadir is now a lecturer in public policy at Harvard’s Kennedy School of Government in Cambridge, Massachusetts. In an interview and follow-up e-mails with HBR’s Gardiner Morse, Quadir argued that investing in local entrepreneurs, rather than funneling aid to their governments, may be the best hope for the world’s developing economies.

If GrameenPhone is so successful, why hasn’t it been widely replicated?

Good ideas aren’t replicated instantly; GrameenPhone took nearly five years to go from concept to launch. In most developing countries, it takes months to incorporate a new company and years to get a cellular license, not to mention the difficulties in assembling management and attracting capital. And in many countries, government bureaucracies resist entrepreneurial activities that may redistribute power. Vested interests protect private and public monopolies and quasi monopolies. There are systemic obstacles and huge barriers to entry.

Remember, also, that companies are not replicated outright anywhere. Specific features are. The question isn’t, Why hasn’t GrameenPhone been duplicated? It’s, Are there features of the GrameenPhone model that can be replicated in other environments? Its most important feature isn’t the phone system itself but the microloans that mobilize an army of individual entrepreneurs to profitably meet an unsatisfied need.

How else could the GrameenPhone model be applied?

Here’s one example. I’ve been talking with Dean Kamen, the inventor of the Segway scooter, about a new way to bring electricity to villages in developing countries. Dean is reengineering the Stirling engine, originally developed 200 years ago, to generate about one kilowatt of electricity, enough to light 60 small households. Now, instead of, say, Westinghouse building a single 200-megawatt power plant in Kampala, the capital of Uganda, imagine 200,000 microentrepreneurs, each purchasing a Stirling engine and selling one kilowatt in their respective communities in rural Uganda.

Explain the benefit.

Both approaches involve selling equipment from America for electricity in Uganda. But only the second empowers entrepreneurs from below, dispersing economic influence. Historically, such technological empowerment promoted the economic and political climate that gave rise to today’s developed economies. Water mills, eyeglasses, clocks, and other productivity-enhancing tools put power in the hands of entrepreneurs and merchants in medieval Europe, creating a countervailing economic force against coercive authorities. In response to entrepreneurs’ demands and growing economic clout, authorities made compromises, giving rise to important reforms such as property rights, enforcement of contracts, separation of the judiciary from the executive, and other checks and balances, creating the fertile ground for capitalism and democracy to take root. Similar economic and political changes need to take root in poor countries.

But isn’t lack of capital the real barrier to economic growth in developing countries?

The real problem is where the capital goes. Capital given to entrepreneurs creates jobs, economic growth, and, ultimately, improved governance. Capital given to predatory government bureaucracies only reinforces centralized authority and strengthens vested interests.

Foreign aid to governments in developing countries is based on conventional “wishdom”—it is more of a wish than a fact that poor countries consistently benefit from capital from rich countries. This aid is “wished” by rich countries to achieve geopolitical ends, to support the sale of their equipment and consulting services, and to alleviate poverty. The problem is, meeting the first two wishes by aiding governments can jeopardize the third. Supporting small entrepreneurs, however, promotes democracy and eventually helps satisfy all three wishes.

How should companies engage developing countries?

By promoting trade. Trade creates and sustains entrepreneurs who will pressure their governments to adopt pro-business policies. It creates jobs, drives innovation, and gives the people a political voice.

Consider the difference between giving $500 million in aid to the government of Kenya versus buying apparel from Kenya that allows 500 different entrepreneurs to make profits of $1 million each. While building identical foreign-exchange reserves, the latter creates many more jobs, produces bigger economic ripple effects, aligns the government’s interests with the country’s prosperity through taxation, and disperses power to a large number of businesses—all of which promotes democracy and growth.

Corporations can engage the citizens of poor countries in commerce. First, don’t just sell: Open factories in poor countries and create jobs. Develop and sell technologies that enable citizens to produce more; sell productivity tools, like cell phones and power generators, not soft drinks and cigarettes. Second, partner with small entrepreneurs, which is increasingly possible because they’re becoming connected through information technologies. Third, procure. Data processing and call centers can be moved to poor countries. Supplies and furniture can be bought there. Why couldn’t large corporations buy office furniture made in Africa? Why does office furniture need to be so uniform and boring in America?

What’s in it for companies? Isn’t their business ultimately about making profits?

All of these are profitable moves. Cost reduction and market expansion are always profitable. Locating production facilities in poor countries, partnering with local entrepreneurs, and procuring goods and services there reduce costs. Because buying from poor countries expands their purchasing capacity, rich countries’ corporations, in their own interests, should urge their governments to lift barriers for importing from poor countries. All these actions will expand markets. Focusing solely on selling to developing countries is self-defeating. Unless productivity and purchasing power in developing countries are raised, companies in rich countries cannot boost their sales or profits there.

Businesses cannot ignore the broader contexts. Profits should be seen as a means, not an end. I put together GrameenPhone with that in mind.

If capitalism is based on profit maximization, why shouldn’t profits be an end?

I don’t see capitalism in that limited way. GrameenPhone’s 2002 profits of $44 million allowed the company to expand its services. Profits attract investors and allow old investors to exit. So profits remain the means for assembling the project, expanding the services, and rewarding investors. Adam Smith and his followers argued that under certain conditions profit maximization automatically leads to the common social good. That is, profit maximization can be a means.

Even if profits are a means to build things, corporate managers are forced to see them as an end.

That’s because they are focused on the short term. Increasingly, they will come to see profits as a means. Remember, companies face an evolving set of standards that affects their conduct. How those standards change depends on the knowledge and organizational ability of citizens. For instance, after citizens groups—acting directly or through their governments—demanded higher environmental standards, companies could no longer ignore damage they may have been causing to the environment. Similarly, citizens groups are emerging with the help of new technologies, locally and globally, to demand better labor standards and more socially responsible behavior from companies. These types of demands on companies are bound to rise, requiring them to be more mindful of social needs and less focused on the single-minded pursuit of profits.

Companies will find, I think, that they generate more income when they proactively meet social needs than when they struggle to maximize profits each time they are forced to adapt to new, more exacting social and environmental standards. When they take action to address social needs, they are making profits a means to an end: the common social good.

Gardiner Morse is a former senior editor at Harvard Business Review.

Credit: DP Samoei Ruto on a campaign trail and Miyen Matthew.

[misssophiachase]

25 Days of Klaroline + College

Caroline Forbes' Juliet debut is under threat if she doesn't find a Romeo replacement STAT. Enter cocky but talented musician Klaus Mikaelson who might just be able to save the day. But what crazy thing does he want in return?

Wherefore art thou Romeo?

Northwestern University Theatre, 2pm

"You have got to be kidding me," Caroline whined, pacing back and forth across the stage like a caged animal. "You know, I always said Enzo was too god damn precious for his own good. Surely he can dust himself off and get his lazy ass back on stage."

"He broke his leg, Care."

"And?"

"In three places."

"Kind of brings new meaning to the term break a leg," Katherine chuckled from the front row of the theatre. Caroline ceased pacing so she could respond to her best friend, and head costume designer, in the form of a dirty look.

"You're not helping things, Kat," Bonnie drawled, her sense of humour certainly had the worst timing.

"So, what exactly are we going to do, Bon? Opening night is in two weeks." Caroline growled, her attention solely focused on her other best friend and assistant director of the musical.

"Well, that's what an understudy is for and…."

"No, no, no," Caroline huffed, beginning to pace again. "Stefan Salvatore is more interested in his hair than acting. I'd rather omit his character altogether than take the stage with him."

"Kind of difficult when the title of the play is Romeo and Juliet."

"Are you going to keep making bad jokes or come up with something constructive, Pierce?"

"Are you going to keep being a drama queen, Forbes?"

"Children, this isn't helping." Bonnie hissed, looking between the two. The three girls had been friends since growing up together in small town Virginia and this bickering between them wasn't entirely unfamiliar. Caroline was always so highly strung and Katherine so not which meant disagreements were common place.

She didn't mean to come across so difficult and agitated but Caroline had put a lot of energy into this production. She always wanted to be an actress, it was her dream, but her mother had insisted that she study something more practical. Something, in her words, that would pay the bills and support her later in life. Hence why she found herself at Northwestern as a journalism major. Even if she would never be an actress this musical meant so much and Caroline had no intention of letting it fall apart because Enzo decided to get drunk at a frat party and fall down a few flights of stairs.

"We need to recast the role, there's no other choice."

"Two weeks is not enough time to introduce someone new, Care. Stefan is the only person up to speed, so the best thing we can do is..."

"Please, Bon," she pleaded, grabbing her friend by the hands unexpectedly. "Give me one day. If I can't find anyone by then we'll go with broody boy and his hair."

"One day," she agreed, albeit reluctantly. "I can only hold off Alaric for so long." Alaric was their director and resident drama teacher who they knew wouldn't approve of Caroline's scheme but what he didn't know wouldn't hurt.

"Great," she sighed, thankfully. "Okay, so I'll see you both at eight tonight and don't forget to wear your cutest outfits."

"I'm sorry?"

"Come on Kat, you have many cute outfits. I've seen them."

"I think she means where are we going and why do we need to dress up?"

"We're finding our Romeo of course."

"While you have extremely banging legs Forbes, I'm not sure it's going to be enough to convince some poor stranger to don a costume, sing and spout Shakespearean English."

Caroline rolled her eyes in frustration. Their production was a modern, rock version which was more Baz Luhrmann than BBC and any guy would be lucky to act opposite her. Even the annoying but talented guy she had in mind. It would take a little convincing but her short, black dress might help.

"Who said it was a stranger?"

Rhythm Room, 9pm

The bar was packed at this time of the night, not unusual for a Friday, with a large contingent of patrons hailing from nearby Northwestern University.

Klaus and his band, The Originals, had been the regular Friday night act for the best part of the year. He wasn't quite sure whether it was their talent or the half price beer that brought people along but he didn't care so much if they got the exposure he desired.

His father had laughed at, what he liked to call, his unrealistic dream all those years ago. Taunting him mercilessly, saying that he would never make it as a musician and that he needed to follow a more practical, career path. To avoid his wrath, Klaus had applied to study economics. It wasn't difficult, he understood the course work just fine, but his mind was anywhere but in those monotonous lectures.

"Klausy," she purred annoyingly in his ear, approaching him side of stage, his mind definitely elsewhere. He hated that nickname just as much as he detested her presence. Klaus blamed his weakness on too many beers a month ago but apparently Hayley had been sober and entertaining relationship dreams. Klaus would pay the nearest person if he could deter her in anyway. So far his bandmates had been unwilling to assist. They thought the spectacle was bloody hilarious which didn't help his predicament.

"Hayley," he chided, moving away swiftly, taking his guitar in hand. "I told you things aren't like that between us."

"But the night we spent together was so magical." Klaus was struggling to remember said night. "I know you felt it too."

"We can't repeat it again."

"Why?" She pouted, her brown, doe eyes bigger than usual and bottom lip extended in desperation. Before he could reply, she made her presence known. Blonde, beautiful and demanding all at once with her hands placed on her hips. Hips that were accentuated in the confines of a little, black dress.

Klaus knew Caroline Forbes all too well. Yes, she was absolutely stunning to look at but she was also highly strung, highly organised and annoyingly demanding throughout campus. The fact he welcomed her unexpected appearance was saying a lot about his current company. "I need to speak to you about…"

Klaus discarded his guitar and enveloped her in his arms before she could finish that sentence he knew would be whiny. She was warm and her body highly responsive, melting into his embrace. Klaus wasn't surprised her reaction given his impressive track record with the female sex. His lips were on hers before she could object. Massaging her mouth suddenly didn't seem enough as his tongue pushed its way longingly into her hot mouth. She moaned against his lips, Klaus tightening his grip around her slim waist.

"What the hell," she panted, pushing him away, even if her hands were shaking as she did it. "You presumptuous ass." A quick look around the immediate area was telling Klaus, Hayley had made a sudden and not so unwelcome exit.

"Apparently you needed something?"

"Well, it certainly wasn't a pathetic attempt to stick your tongue down my throat, Mikaelson."

"It wasn't that bad, love. The body never lies, after all."

"Oh, trust me, it was bad," she shot back, rubbing her lips in frustration. "I need to sanitise my poor mouth. Who knows where yours has been and what diseases I might have caught?"

"The list is long and disturbing," he joked, licking his crimson lips. "Why do you hate me so much, Forbes?"

They'd known each other since orientation week of freshman year. He'd pushed in line and she hadn't appreciated his sneaky manoeuvre, kicking him out publicly and unceremoniously. Klaus had since labelled her the princess of their year and managed to ignore her for the most part, even if she was kind of cute in an unusually uptight way.

"Well, attacking me with your tongue is a pretty good reason."

"Last time I checked you needed me, not the other way around, sweetheart."

"Fine," she conceded. Klaus prided himself on his ability to read body language and the way she was puffing out her chest and ruffling her golden waves was telling Klaus she wanted a favour. After her little outburst, he was surprised she would persevere but he figured she must be desperate. "I, uh, was wondering if you would like to take the part in the college musical?" Klaus was struggling to keep a straight face. He didn't do musicals or succumb to forced requests.

"I know I'm probably one of the only English people you know but it's a little too late in the year for April Fool's Day."

"This isn't a joke," she shot back. "If you must know, we're kind of short a Romeo."

"Why? Did you nag him to death?"

"Maybe if I had he wouldn't have fallen down the stairs drunk," she muttered.

"Look, I can understand how this must put a crimp in your plans but I'm curious as to why you think I'm best for that particular role?"

"Not really the best, I know you're a man whore..."

"Way to make me say yes," he scoffed.

"What I was going to say, before you so rudely interrupted, was that you are a man whore but I have no doubts you could make even the most cynical of women believe that you can fall in love for the right person. I mean who needs words when you can deliver a dimpled smirk?"

"I think that's what they call a backhanded compliment but I'm not interested either way," he shot back lazily. "Musicals aren't my thing."

"It's a rock musical," she persisted. "Last time I checked it's what your band plays in this very establishment every Friday night."

"Which is exactly why I need to keep doing that and not embarrass myself or ruin my reputation on stage and in an unflattering pair of tights."

"For starters, this isn't one of your BBC specials. This is a modern day adaption and there are no tights, only leather jackets and jeans. We have a number of local journalists attending because of the hype. A year in this place hasn't yielded much but I have a feeling our production might push you into the 'must see' category. If you would just take a listen to the songs, you would realise that the music is actually cutting edge."

"And what would you know about cutting edge music? Last time I checked you're a journalism major that likes to do a bit of acting every now and again."

"And last time I checked, you're an economics major that has a rather big chip on his shoulder about a hobby."

"It's not a hobby," he bit out without thinking. She'd managed to sum up exactly what he tried to portray to the outside world for his father's sake.

"Which is exactly why I know you are right for this part, Mikaelson. I have dreams, have had since I was ten singing into my hairbrush and reciting all the lines and musical numbers from Grease. But my mother decided that I needed to do something..."

"Practical," Klaus finished knowingly.

"Something to pay the bills..."

"And support you later in life."

"Why do I suddenly feel like our parents have had a conversation on how best to crush our dreams?" She quipped. Before he could respond, Hayley had returned, her brown eyes brimming with unshed tears.

"I'm willing to forgive you for that indiscretion," she whimpered feebly. "We are meant to be, Klaus."

"Oh," Caroline inquired, looking between them curiously. "I should really go, don't want to interrupt this private and utterly awkward moment."

"There's no moment." Klaus was willing her to stay with his eyes but had no idea if she would help him out.

"I didn't realise you two were..."

"We're not," Klaus growled. "My heart has only been with one person and it's you, love." He knew he was being facetious but Klaus figured if she really wanted him for the part then she'd come through and pretend to be his girlfriend. Musicals weren't his thing but he'd heard the hype about the upcoming production and knew this could give his singing career a push in the right direction, not that he'd ever admit it to her.

"Well," she squeaked.

"I know you feel it too." Klaus had to admit watching her squirm was highly entertaining.

"Yes, I feel it," she murmured, obviously doing all she could not to roll her eyes and give them away. "I've always had this thing for people who are willing to participate."

"You know me too well love, I've always been a team player."

Northwestern University Theatre, 7pm (2 weeks later)

"How many bows can one arrogant person make?" Caroline muttered through gritted teeth, not surprised that Klaus was making this all about himself. She'd been determined not to give him the spotlight because he was such an ass but their pairing on stage had created a buzz no one saw coming. According to an early review by the local paper they were both destined for stardom.

"As many as I bloody like love, especially given I did you a favour," he smiled waving at the crowd and all his adoring fans.

"You're never going to let me forget that, are you?"

They'd started out their journey unwitting alliances and pretend lovers, on stage and off. They had been hailed the hottest Shakespearian coupling to take the amateur, college stage in a while. What she hadn't expected was to fall in love with the arrogant ass. She had to blame it on all those staged kisses.

"Never."

As the curtain fell on the rapterous audience, Caroline threw her arms around her Romeo. "You are so infuriating."

"But you love me."

"You're okay, I guess."

He placed a brief kiss on her nose before continuing. "I'm more than okay. Did you see my performance out there tonight? And the best part about all of this was finding the love of my life and I didn't even need to act."

On FF HERE

#wherefore art thou romeo #misssophiachase #klaroline drabbles #however long it takes #25daysofklaroline

[jaskierswolf]

A Thirst Like Flames

Part 3/6  (1, 2 - 4)

Ship: Gerlion - Rated: E (for smut) - Also on AO3

CW specific for this chapter: voyeurism, exhibitionism, Dandelion/female OC, sex work. (Can you guess what happens?)

Summary: There was an itch prickling over Dandelion’s skin, a constant ache in the pit of his stomach and his mind felt hazy at all hours of the day. He watched the sun creep behind the horizon, quill in hand, the long feather brushing against his cheek, willing for some kind of inspiration, anything to distract him from the never ending lust. He couldn’t help it, he was a young man in his prime and he’d spent the last few months in the wilderness with a rather gorgeous witcher.

The arrangement, as Dandelion had begun to think of it, was working well. With his ballads gaining popularity over the continent, his coin purse was beginning to fill out. Not that it stopped them from sharing rooms at inns, but occasionally he or Geralt would actually manage to visit a brothel to sate their needs. Masturbation was wonderful but even that was a short term solution. Occasionally one just needed to good tumble in the sheets, and Dandelion always made sure he paid for the night. He enjoyed the afterglow of sex just as much as the act itself, and even though he was paying them, he enjoyed waking up in his lover’s arms, but mostly the pair of them got each other off in the mornings or just before bed, whenever the need arose, and if they had the coin they’d visit a brothel. It worked for them.

The life of a witcher and that of a travelling bard did share one thing in common.

It wasn’t easy to settle down.

And honestly, neither of them wanted to. Geralt kept bemoaning that witcher’s were not meant for love and family, whereas Dandelion’s wanderlust seemed to bleed through into matters of the heart. How anyone could be happy with just one lover, he would never understand. There were so many beautiful people out there just waiting to be adored, it would be a bloody shame to deny them the opportunity.

Dandelion tried not to think about how he always returned to Geralt, be it in the mornings or evenings. He tried not to think of how, despite his wishes for freedom, he had essentially tethered himself to the witcher.

He tried not to think of how easy it would be to fall in love with him.

It was easier not to think about it.

“Geralt?” he called to the witcher.

Geralt looked across from where he was riding Roach. Dandelion’s own gelding was shorter than the mare, a chestnut horse that had nothing on Roach but it was better than walking everywhere. Geralt had been good at not riding too fast, but Dandelion’s feet were constantly sore and blistered by the end of the day. At least this way he could switch between riding and walking.

Gods, by the end of the year his thighs would be like tree trunks. He’d never exercised so much in his life before. The life of a viscount in training had been cushy, and his life as a student hadn’t been much harder. It was all desks and fancy chairs, the occasional lecture room with firm wooden benches.

In fact, the most exercise he’d had before had probably been in the bedroom.

Oh, how things had changed.

“We should visit a brothel in the next town, my friend,” Dandelion suggested.

To his surprise, Geralt shook his head. Dandelion pouted, ready to launch into a sonnet about the carnal delights that could be found waiting for them in the bed of a whore… or even two, but Geralt cut him off. “I need to stock up on potion ingredients, and the last contract didn’t pay well thanks to a certain bard.”

Dandelion flushed, averting his gaze. It hadn’t been his fault. He didn’t know that the gorgeous lady he’d been flirting with had been the Alderman’s wife. Was he supposed to be psychic? Not everyone had Geralt’s keen witcher’s senses, he hadn’t exactly been able to smell the mingling of their scents, as Geralt had described it. Dandelion was half convinced the witcher was making that up. There was no way he’d been able to smell that.

Although….

Geralt had mentioned he could smell when someone had orgasmed.

“I’ll have you know, that I am not to blame, dear witcher! If she was happily taken then she should have refused my advances. How the bloody hell was I supposed to know that she was married? She kept looking at me with those eyes, the colour of forget-me-nots, and cheeks like roses. She was practically begging me to take her to bed.”

Geralt snorted. “You can go to a brothel, I won’t stop you, my friend, but I don’t have the coin. I’ll stay in the woods outside of town and you can meet me at dawn. Don’t be late.”

Dandelion rolled his eyes and sniffed haughtily as he adjusted his hat with one hand. “Nonsense! We’ll just have to share.”

“Share?”

“A whore, obviously Geralt, do try to keep up.”

Geralt pulled Roach to a halt and Dandelion had to circle round as he trotted ahead. He peered at the witcher, quirking his eyebrow. “What?”

“You want to share a whore?”

Dandelion sighed dramatically, holding the reins in one hand as he flicked out a wrist in a flourish. “It’s cheaper and that way neither of us will need to camp out. It’s a practical and pleasurable solution. Come on, Geralt, when was the last time you had the soft flesh of a woman’s thighs around your waist, the feel of her breasts in your hands.”

“Shut up, Dandelion,” Geralt growled and spurred Roach onwards.

Dandelion chimed a laugh, and followed after his witcher. “So is that a yes? Geralt! Geralt come back!”

____________

It was a yes, even though Geralt never said the word. He never enjoyed the way Dandelion waxed poetry about women, as if they were a rose to be viewed purely for their beauty. He never admired the male figure in quite the same way. Whilst the poet wasn’t ashamed of his love of men, he only openly spoke of women as his lovers, occasionally omitting the gender altogether if he deemed it necessary.

Geralt had never really understood the need to hide. He didn’t exactly advertise his attraction to men, it was easier, not to mention cheaper, to hire a female whore after all, but he didn’t make the same effort that Dandelion did to hide it. Although, the bard in all his flamboyant gestures and colourful silk clothes did portray the more stereotypical dandy type.

And arseholes were less likely to actually try and attack a witcher, unless they were drunk or downright idiotic. Some thought that besting a witcher would impress whatever girl they had their eyes on, but Geralt was fairly good at discreetly using Axii to convince them that it wasn’t worth the fight.

Although, he had to admit, he did enjoy a good brawl, and the fighting rings were a good source of extra income when they were running low.

He sighed, pressing his fingers to his forehead. Perhaps he should have sought out the local fighting ring instead of going along with Dandelion’s ridiculous plan of sharing a whore, but there was no denying that he could use a good fuck. He was half-tempted to push the poet up against the nearest tree and fuck the living daylights out of him, but they didn’t do that. Quick hand jobs in the forest were a far cry from getting fucked against a tree.

But Dandelion was growing ever more tempting with every day that passed. Geralt knew the way the poet’s breathing hitched in his throat just before he came. He knew the way he would bite his lips in a fruitless effort to keep quiet, the obscene sounds of his moans that rang out in the night. Geralt knew how those cornflower blue eyes looked when he was hungry with lust, the scent of his arousal permeating the air until it was all that Geralt could smell. He knew how the bard’s cock felt in his hands, as Dandelion cried out, Geralt’s name falling from his lips like a prayer.

But he didn’t know how his lips tasted. He didn’t know whether Dandelion’s swan-like neck was as sensitive as he imagined. He could only guess at how beautiful it would look with an array of bruises and bite-marks left behind by Geralt’s mouth. He didn’t know how Dandelion’s cock would feel in his mouth, a taste of his cum.

And he wanted to know.

Fuck, he wanted to know everything.

If he hadn’t been taught from such a young age that witchers didn’t feel, he might have begun to think that he was falling in love with the poet.

But that was off the cards. It was just sex, hell, it wasn’t even that. They were friends, companions on the road.

And it was cheaper to share a whore.

“Greetings!” Dandelion trilled, giving the madame his most charming smile. The poet winked as he slid some coin across the bar. “We’d like to share, if that’s acceptable?”

The madame glanced between Geralt and his poet, looking decidedly unimpressed. He supposed they made a strange sight. The two of them couldn’t be more different in looks. Geralt with his dull black armour, two swords, and harsh demeanour, versus the colourful bard with hair the colour of golden corn, shiny burgundy silk clothes, and a lute strapped to his back.

They were the moon and the sun.

But, as the saying went, opposites attract.

And fuck, Geralt was attracted to the bard, too attracted. Dandelion would only get hurt by his side but Geralt was too weak to let him go, not whilst he wanted to stay, and Geralt hoped he would stay for a long time yet. The path had been so cold before Dandelion. He steadfastly ignored Vesemir’s warnings about getting attached to humans. A witcher’s lifespan far exceeded that of a human, if they survived the monsters of course.

It was better to settle for whores and one night stands. Geralt had never had a problem before, but being the Butcher of Blaviken was enough to put most humans off. No one had even attempted to befriend him since Renfri.

His friends were dwarves, druids and sorceresses. Although, that last one was still to be determined. The graduates of Aretuza were as prickly as they were powerful, manipulating the world and its people more skilfully than any politician, spy or monarch.

“You want to share with the witcher?” the madame asked, doubt ringing clear in her voice.

“I want to share with my friend, but we’d be happy to take our business elsewhere. A town like this must have more than one brothel,” Dandelion snapped, putting both hands on his hips, his charming air vanishing in an instant.

“No need, I have just the girl for you.”

Dandelion’s shiny smile was back, brighter than before, blinding Geralt and making his stomach twist in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

“Excellent!” the poet cheered with a clap of his hands, “Show us the way!”

Dandelion’s hair shone in the candlelight, bouncing as he quickly turned around to wink at Geralt. There was a sparkle in his eyes that seemed to light up the entire room. The poet’s tongue flicked out between his lips, and, not for the first time, Geralt wondered what it would be like to kiss him.

“Isn’t this a lovely establishment, my dear friend?” Dandelion wittered on, and Geralt ignored the weird stab of pain in his heart at the word friend. They were friends, just friends.

Friends.

Maybe if he repeated it enough then he would begin to believe it.

“It’s a brothel,” he said, his voice sounding dull compared to the warm tenor of his friend.

“Yes, yes, and it’s a rather lovely brothel. If you ignore the smell of sweat. Oh, but that must be even worse for you!” Dandelion exclaimed, looking horrified. Geralt shrugged. It did stink, but he was used to focussing on the nicer smells in places like this. They tended to burn incense, and here was no exception. The floral scent of freesia masked the worst of the sweat and sex, but Geralt focused on the pretty poet next to him. Dandelion still preferred the scented lavender oil in his hair. Before Dandelion, for Geralt’s life now existed as before and after Dandelion, lavender had not been a scent that he enjoyed. It was too strong, and reminded him of the sleeping drafts they used at Kaer Morhen before the mutagens…

But now it was the scent of Dandelion.

Mixed with chamomile and the poet’s natural musk, Geralt had grown rather fond of lavender.

Instead of saying all of this, he just muttered “I manage.”

Dandelion just wrinkled his nose, seemingly disgusted with the whole idea. Geralt couldn’t help the faint smile. It warmed his heart to know how much his friend cared about him, about the whole world in which they lived. Dandelion loved the world and in turn the world loved him back.

It was how it should be.

They were led through to one of the rooms on the second floor. It was cramped but nicely decorated. A pretty young blonde was lying on the bed, her fingers in the middle of braiding her long hair. She glanced up when she saw them, dark blue eyes looking up through thick black lashes.

And all Geralt could think of was that the colour was wrong.

Too dark.

The colour of a stormy ocean instead of the cornflower blue he’d grown used to.

There were freckles dusting her cheeks, and scattering down her neck below the bodice of her dress. She was slender, like Dandelion, but she lacked the muscles his poet had gained over the year…

Geralt cursed.

Winter was fast approaching and he’d been heading north soon, towards Kaer Morhen… towards home. He wondered where the poet would go for winter, perhaps to Oxenfurt. He always spoke of the city fondly.

“Geralt?” a strong hand on his arm snapped him out of his thoughts.

He blinked, the girl was still on the bed, looking more than displeased. He mumbled an apology for his rudeness.

“Can’t say that’s the best welcome I’ve had,” she muttered “I can get another girl if you’d prefer.”

“Nonsense!” Dandelion exclaimed. “He’s just tired, isn’t that right, my dear?”

Geralt nodded.

“See, nothing to worry about!” the poet trilled. “Now, how do you want us?”

“You shared before?”

They both shook their heads.

“I thought so, you can always tell,” she said, swiftly untangling the braid in her hair until it fell loosely down her back. “Are you taking turns or sharing?”

Geralt looked at Dandelion, it had been the poet’s idea and so the decision fell to him. Dandelion hummed, his tongue sticking between his lips as he considered, then he turned back to look at Geralt, tilting his head, one hand on his hip. “What do you think, darling? Would you be happy to watch?”

Geralt swallowed, the thought of watching his bard fuck another person should have bothered him… but instead he found himself growing hard in his trousers. He could already imagine the sinful things that Dandelion would say, the dirty poems and rhymes he would wax as he bedded the beautiful whore in front of them.

The bard was rumoured to be an unparalleled lover, and Geralt wanted to know, wanted to see why.

He nodded, barely looking at the girl, unable to tear his gaze from his friend as the pair of them stripped out of their clothes. Travelling together meant that Geralt had seen Dandelion naked many a time, but never like this. When they touched each other, they never took off more than necessary.

Marie, as the girl told them, pulled Dandelion to the bed, running her hands down his chest as she straddled his hips. Dandelion gazed up at her like she was a gift from the gods. He looked at her like he’d seen the sun for the first time. It made Geralt feel sick. He knew what it felt like to be caught under the poet’s gaze, how it felt to bask under the warmth of his affection.

Geralt should have realised that it wasn’t meant for just him.

“Oh, you are just stunning, darling, radiant as spring,” Dandelion cooed, fingers trailing down Marie’s spine. Geralt saw her shiver. He knew that whore’s often pretended to enjoy the company of their clients but Geralt could smell her genuine arousal mixing with the bard’s. Dandelion’s long fingers danced across her skin as she rolled her hips forward, making the poet sigh happily. Geralt could hear the spike in Dandelion’s pulse, as his breath hitched in his throat. Marie gasped as Dandelion cupped her breast.

Geralt was growing achingly hard in his trousers. He knew his turn was next.. but… he was also a witcher. His stamina was… a lot and if he wanted to cum without exhausting Marie then he really should start.

“Do you want me to ride you, poet?” Marie purred, her hands splayed on Dandelion’s chest.

Geralt hoped his bard would say yes. The way he was lying back on the bed with his hair fanned out behind him was enticing. Geralt could easily imagine Dandelion pinned underneath him as he fucked the bard.

Or maybe even fucked himself on Dandelion’s cock.

He hadn’t bottomed very often, most men assumed the witcher would top and Geralt didn’t really care enough to correct them, but suddenly the idea of Dandelion fucking him became the only thing he could think about. The poet’s long, clever fingers opening him up, brushing against his prostate. He growled, palming himself through his trousers. The sound drew Dandelion’s attention, and the poet fucking winked at him.

“What would you prefer, darling?” Dandelion asked, his voice hoarse, losing its usual smooth musical timbre.

Geralt felt too hot under Dandelion’s burning gaze. It was everything he wanted and yet not enough. “Ride him,” he choked out.

Marie laughed, and then reached between her thighs to coat her fingers before stroking the poet’s cock. Dandelion’s wanton moan echoed in the room, the sound going straight to Geralt’s aching cock. He growled and rushed to unlace his trousers, a hiss escaping his lips as he took himself in hand. Dandelion swore as Marie lowered herself onto him, both whore and poet gasping at the feeling. The scent of their joined arousal was almost too much.

She rode Dandelion with the enthusiasm that only a whore could have, moaning and whining and gasping as she fucked herself. Dandelion’s fingers gripped into the soft muscles of her thighs, thrusting into her, a string of poetic nonsense falling from his lips.

Geralt couldn’t look away.

He fisted his cock in time to their movements, imagining it was him that made Dandelion moan so sinfully.

It had been before, but fuck… this was a whole new level.

The way their bodies moved as one, the sounds of flesh slapping together, sweat glistening on the poet’s skin. Geralt’s eyes caught a bead of sweat trickling down Dandelion’s neck and he was hypnotised. He wanted to lick the droplet from the poet’s skin, taste the salt on his tongue, bite down on the muscles of Dandelion’s neck as he keened, his orgasm shuddering through his body.

Marie must have noticed where Geralt was looking because she leaned forward to kiss Dandelion’s neck. The poet’s breath caught, and he cried out, thrusts losing their rhythm as he came.

“Fuck, Geralt…” he moaned, just as he would when they touched each other in the woods.

Marie gasped wordlessly, fingers gripping into the sheets, but Geralt was too focussed on his bard.

His bard.

His poet.

His Dandelion.

For Dandelion was his, there was no denying it now. It was one thing for the poet to say Geralt’s name when he was the cause of his orgasm, but that had not been the case.

Geralt almost pitied Marie.

She hadn’t deserved it.

“Oh fuck,” Dandelion whined as his head hit the pillow. He was breathing heavily, his fingers tracing patterns into Marie’s thighs, and Geralt was reminded of the way that Dandelion’s fingers would dance over the strings of his lute when he played in the taverns.

He closed his eyes, gripping his cock tighter in his hand. His pleasure was still building slowly, as it always did, but his mind was spiralling and he felt unable to relax. His muscles were tense and he gritted his teeth.

“Your turn, witcher,” Marie called from the bed, “unless you’d rather fuck the poet. He won’t mind.”

“I’m fine,” he growled.

“But Geralt,” Dandelion pouted as he turned to face Geralt, cheeks still flush and rosy.

“I’ve changed my mind,” Geralt muttered, doing up his trousers and stalking from the room. “Dawn, Dandelion.”

“Dawn, yes, of course. I’ll be there.”

Geralt sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, jealousy was raging through him like poison. He knew that Dandelion had thought of him, and yet suddenly he felt sick to his stomach. Why hadn’t Dandelion said something? Geralt had been right there, every damn day for months, and yet the poet, famous for his inability to shut up, never said a fucking word.

It had taken a whore to make the truth spill from his lips.

And Geralt wasn’t even sure whether Dandelion had meant to tell him. What did he expect from Geralt? Was Geralt supposed to forget it, pretend it never happened? Or maybe Dandelion had been expecting Geralt to take up Marie’s offer…

And he’d run away.

“Fuck!” he yelled, startling a nearby cat as it was washing itself. The creature hissed and spat at him, clawing at the air. Geralt paid it no attention and carried on walking towards the stables to fetch Roach. He would make camp in the woods, and hopefully Dandelion would be there in the morning.

Geralt wasn’t sure what he’d do if the poet decided not to show.

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