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luna-redamancy · 3 years

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Fix It (Thorin x F!Reader) 18+ NSFW Commission

Thank you @anjhope1 for the Ko-fi! Here is your ko-fi commission!

Note: The Thorin image as well as the divider is not mine. The Thorin image was originally posted by @thearkenstone-ck (I found it on pinterest, luckily the url is at the bottom right) and the dividers used are by @firefly-graphics which can be found Here

Warnings: Smut, angst, Thorin being an ass for a bit.

⚠️18+ Content ahead, Please read at your own risk ⚠️

It wasn’t unknown to you that braids have significance, in fact that was the first conversation you ever had with Thorin upon him asking for your approval to court you- how important and vital the braid was. How each placement of the strands of hair was significant, how by tilting the braiding outward you can declare a budding love, but inward you can declare a passing of something, such as a birthright.

‘Yet how did this happen?’ You mentally scolded yourself as you watched each passing dwarf look at you like you were a conundrum. You knew it had to have been your hair. It was Muhudtuzakhmerag, or Spring Fest, in Erebor and Thorin requested you wear a traditional ‘Queen’s Braid’ to the event to walk alongside him.

The request itself was simple, and sweet of him, to want you to participate like the queens before you, however, there was not a single portrait of what the said braids looked like. So you simply went by your best educated guess coupled with the old instructions written on ancient parchment that looked like it was going to fall apart any moment now.

The festival would begin with the giving of the straw. First, Thorin would place a strand of the straw into your hair, and you into his tunic pocket. This was to symbolize the true connection and reliance the dwarves had with nature. The next event was the ‘Carrying of the Straw’ where you and Thorin would lead a line of dwarves through the kingdom, assisting each other in carrying a barrow of straw to the feast room. All to honor Yavana, Mahal’s wife who originally gave the first dwarves their first straw of barley.

To say this event was huge for the dwarves would be an understatement. And, with this knowledge, you had hoped to look your best for Thorin.

As soon as you entered the throne room to meet with Thorin, Balin, and Dwalin before the event, you knew you messed up royally.

“(Y/n)...” Balin began gently, before Thorin’s angry voice startled you.

“What in Mahal have you done?” Thorin wasn’t shouting, but his fists were clenched like he was desperately trying not to.

“I tried my best to follow the instructions, is it that awful?” You looked at Balin and Dwalin, your eyebrows furrowed and your expression hurt at Thorin’s tone of voice. “What did I do wrong?” You asked the elderly dwarf, in hopes he would be able to give you advice before Thorin began speaking again.

“Everything.” He spat, shaking his head with a humorless chuckle as he began to pace the throne room floor.

“Lass,” Balin began before Thorin held his hand up, “Don’t speak to her.”

“The one time I request for you to do something specific and you can’t even get that right!” Thorin shouted, making you flinch as you stood back, your eyes beginning to fill with tears.

“I knew it was a mistake to ever court you, I never loved you to begin with.”

A gasp left your throat, “T-Thorin…” You felt your heart sink to your stomach. He regretted loving you, courting you, marrying you, all because of one braid?

“I can fix it,” You offered, your tone showing how close to the verge you were to breaking into tears, wanting to appease him so he wasn’t so angry with you.

“You can’t fix being human,” He huffed, “I knew a low human would never be able to meet the standards of being the queen of Erebor. If I could turn back time and never let you join this journey, I would---”

“Thorin, enough.” Dwalin all but growled at him. “It is just a braid, you can re-do it for her.” Dwalin tried to reason but Thorin let out a humorless chuckle. “You can re-do a braid, but you cannot redo or undo the damage that has been done. She has shown she does not care about our culture or our practices.”

Looking to Balin, you suppressed a sob as tears went down your cheeks. “I’m so sorry,” You told him, eyes full of regret and pain as you quickly took the pins holding the braid in place out, the metal clanging as it hit the stone floor.

“Lassie, it’s alright,” He began to soothe you but you shook your head.

“I’m so sorry,” You repeated shaking your head, exiting the room, with your hand up to your mouth to attempt to muffle the gasps leaving your throat as you continued to suppress the sobs threatening to escape.

“Thorin what have you done?!” Balin shouted at him as soon as you fled the room, glaring at the boy he watched grow up in these stone walls.

“Something I should have done a long time ago.”

“You will come to regret it. Don’t you realize you just told your wife that you despised her?”

“I don’t have time to deal with this, we have a festival to lead.” Thorin brushed past both of them to go grab his crown for the festivities.

As you put on a plain slip and slid into bed, you felt hot tears bubble down your face. He didn’t love you. All because you were human. Your heart ached as you heard the cheering, the Broken Bone Race being completed and the victor being given a medal, Thorin’s laugh trickling into your ears despite the many voices you have heard. That made you begin to sob as you clutched the pillow.

“He doesn’t love me…” You murmured to yourself, wiping your tears. “He wants a dwarrowdam.” You felt your heart clench as those words passed your lips.

Sitting up, you sniffled, wiping your eyes almost aggressively as you put on a robe. Maybe something in the library could help you with your love issues.

Thorin couldn’t deny the worry in his heart as he searched the halls of Erebor for you a few days later. Upon returning from the festivities, Thorin wasn’t too concerned with your absence, figuring you needed time alone from the blow-up that occurred in the throne room, but when it was the third day that he hadn’t seen you at any meals, your very presence and being missing from his day to day activities such as your walks together, he knew something was wrong.

His gut twisted as he walked down another corridor, before halting in his steps. “(Y/n)?” He breathed out, confused at the sight of you. You were dressed in the average dwarrowdam fashion, your hair up in braids like every other dwarrowdam he had come across.

It wasn’t you.

“Yes?” You cut straight to the point as you turned from your discussion with an advisor, and seeing Thorin’s dumbfounded expression, you excused the gentleman as you turned fully toward him. “What is it that you need, Thorin?” Your voice was cold, posture stiff as you stared him down with calculating eyes.

It was like you were a different person altogether.

“What happened to you?” Was all he could think to say.

Tilting your head, you raised a brow at him. “What you wanted.” Was all you answered as you turned on your heel, leaving him in the stone hallway all alone as you went to speak with the advisor once more.

Bursting through the doorway, Thorin’s voice caught the ears of the Company members fairly quickly.

“There’s something wrong with (Y/n)!” He yelled out, completely unsettled by your appearance. He knew you preferred your hair loose, not confined by things, and how you liked to wear flowy dresses made by soft fabrics, not thick dresses weighed down with crystals and braided fabric tassels.

“You finally noticed.” Dwalin scoffed, continuing to sharpen his blades, his disapproval of Thorin very clear.

“Aye, it wasn’t like she was missing from your chambers for three whole days and four whole nights.” Balin’s tone was clearly passive aggressive as he handed out documents to each member.

At Thorin’s lost expression, Balin chuckled bitterly.

“You told her you didn’t love her, that you despised her because she was human and what did you expect her to do!” Balin finally lost it, throwing his papers across the room, tears welling up in his eyes.

“She didn’t deserve that, Thorin!” Balin yelled, a tear going down his cheek. “All she wanted to do was make you happy and instead of applauding her effort and guiding her to the correct way, you belittled her! You ruined her self-esteem and told her she meant less than the dirt on your boots.”

“She didn’t deserve any of that… And now… Now you have the audacity to come in here like you did nothing wrong?”

“I didn’t realize…”

“You don’t seem to realize a lot of things, Thorin.” Balin huffed moving to pick up his papers as Fili, Kili, and Ori helped collect them from off the ground.

“I have to do something.”

Bofur shook his head, “If she’d let you.”

Thorin looked at him like he just grew two heads.

Rolling his eyes, Bofur shook his head again. “You were an utter arse, Thorin. You expect some weepy apology is going to make her forget everything you said? How little your actions have done to prove you do indeed care for her?”

“She’s lost weight, Thorin. She doesn’t come to meals, she hardly sleeps. And what do you notice? Oh, that she’s wearing a traditional dress.” Bofur’s sarcasm seeped through his tone.

“Y’know, Thorin, I hope she doesn’t forgive you. I hope she doesn’t let her sorry excuse of a One back into her life.” Bofur’s words cut into Thorin, hitting him where it hurts most. And for a moment, Thorin wasn’t Thorin son of Thrain, son of Thror, king of Erebor. In this moment he was a young dwarrow being scolded.

“But if you do somehow manage to weasel your way into her good graces, you better work your arse off to prove to her that you care for her.”

“I will.”

Bofur huffed through his nostrils as he went back to carving a wooden duck as if Thoin wasn’t even there.

“You better go find her, then.” Dwalin nodded to Thorin, a small smile on his face was all Thorin needed to feel encouraged as he set off to go find you.

Seeing Thorin for the first time in the past couple of days affected you more than you’d like to think, his harsh words being pulled from the back of your mind to the forefront, replaying in your head over and over. Instead of meeting with your advisor, you waited until Thorin was gone so you could go back to your room, the room you originally had before you and Thorin were wed.

Looking into the mirror, you couldn’t help but criticize everything about yourself. Your braids weren’t as taught as how they were this morning. The gown made you look radiant this morning but now it felt like a bulky mess that you shouldn’t have attempted to wear.

“Is it all for nothing?” You wondered as you stepped away from the vanity mirror and sat on the edge of the bed.

“He didn’t even notice.” You scoffed, flopping backwards.

The next morning, Thorin was adamant on approaching you.

“Good morning, Dushin-Mizim (dark jewel).”

“Morning, King Thorin.” Your reply was short as you walked past him, your hair half braided today, and in a less formal traditional dwarvish gown.

Thorin frowned, usually you’d kiss his cheek and say “Good morning, my love,” to him before he’d hold your hand and the two of you would walk together. Not that he blamed you for not doing so.

Instead of eating with him, you sat at the other end of the table, alone as you carefully ate your breakfast.

Sighing, Thorin brought the water glass up to his lips. ‘I deserve this,’ he thought as he watched the way the sunlight filtered through the sky-lights, making a rim of light circle the top of your hair, making you look angelic. An ache began to settle in his chest, he missed you.

He’s got to come up with a plan.

“How was your day, Ghivashel (Treasure of all treasures)?” Thorin attempted to make conversation as you approached after exiting a meeting.

“Perfectly fine, King Thorin.” You responded icily as you walked past him, your face stoic until you moved where he couldn’t see your face. Your eyebrows were furrowed and you bit your lip. ‘Does he love me still?’ you pondered, but that thought was quickly squashed when you realized he began to act lovingly again once you were in dwarvish attire. ‘He loves the facade.’ you decided as you walked to your room.

Looking in the mirror, you shook your head. “This isn’t me.” You murmured to yourself, while you had nothing against dwarrowdams, you knew this style of dress, this hairdo, it wasn’t yours. It didn’t suit you. You felt like a wolf in sheep's clothing, an imitator waiting to be revealed.

Unravelling your hair, you sighed as your scalp was relieved of the taught pressure. Reaching behind you to unravel the laces of your bodice, you let out a relieved groan as you pulled the thick fabric off of you in favor of pulling on a light night gown.

Returning to the mirror you brushed your hair, refreshed to see it how it usually is. Free and relaxed.

“I’m done pretending... “ You told yourself, nodding to your reflection. “I am (Y/n), a human.. Not a Dwarrowdam.” You felt tears build in your eyes, “and if Thorin wants one so bad, then so be it, but I will not erase myself for his pleasure.”

The next morning you felt alive again, as if someone had cleaned out the cobwebs of your chimney and lit the fire once more. Putting on a loose gown, you only brushed your hair, carefully placing oils where they were needed before looking in the mirror. You finally looked like yourself again.

“Good morning, amrâlimê (My love).” Thorin called out to you as you exited your bedding chambers, making you pause in your stride.

“Good morning, King Thorin.” You responded blandly, watching as he analyzed you, your expression cool but your heart hammering inside of your chest. Would he say anything? Would he stop calling you the names you cherish close to your heart?

“You look radiant,” He smiled at you, before letting it drop, his expression turning serious. “I would like to have a talk with you, today, whenever you have time, of course.” He looked nervous as he spoke, something you hadn’t seen since the day he asked to put in your courting braid.

“I’ll be free this evening,” You told him, curious as to what he needed to tell you.

You could practically see the cogs turning in his head as he nodded, like he was having an inner conversation before looking into your eyes.

“Would you… Do me the honor of meeting me in the gardens this evening?” Thorin held his hands behind his back, nervously rubbing his thumb over the other one, just waiting for you to say no. After all, he had to earn your trust again, to earn your love again.

You paused, a ‘no’ quick to push itself to the tip of your tongue, but as you watched his eyes dart around your face, his eyebrow scrunched like how it always does when he’s worried, you felt your face soften.

“I shall.” You chose to say instead, a smile threatening to lift your cheeks as he perked up like a puppy, a spark returning to his eye.

“You won’t regret it, I promise.” He vowed, hesitating, like he was ready to give you a kiss before physically holding himself back.

Coughing nervously, he nodded, “I will see you then.”

You couldn’t deny the disappointment that bubbled in your chest as he walked away, you had hoped he would offer to walk you to breakfast.

“Well with how you’re acting, don’t be surprised if he thinks you hate him now.” Your inner voice taunted but you shook your head, you had every right to be upset with him.

The day seemed to drag on and on, and as you dragged your feet to the dining hall after your final meeting, you remembered Thorin had wanted to see you.

“The gardens,” You hummed to yourself as you headed that way, seeing petals of (favorite flower) being littered on the ground. Raising a brow, you followed them, a small smile growing on your face as you approached the entrance to the gardens.

Thorin stood staring at the stars, his back turned and between you and him sat a table. Two plates, two chairs, two water glasses.

“So your discussion was a date?” Your voice pulled Thorin from his thoughts, his head quickly swinging to face you.

“Not exactly, no.” Thorin spoke quickly, as if your words scalded him like a hot pan.

“If you do not wish to stay for the meal then I will not ask you to.” He began, gesturing to the seat. “But I will ask if you’d like to take a seat so you can be comfortable while we talk?”

Biting your lip, you let out a breath before chucking off your heels, your feet sinking into the cool grass as you approached the table.

Thorin sighed in relief, believing you were going to turn your back and leave the minute he opened his mouth.

“What is it you wished to talk about?” You questioned, your voice professional as you took a look around the gardens. Lanterns were placed all around the garden, giving the space an ethereal glow and if you listened hard enough you’d hear the gentle noises of the creek.

“I would like to apologise.” Thorin stated, and the statement alone nearly made you choke on your saliva. Thorin? Apologizing?

“I… I have no reason, excuse or otherwise to explain to you why I spoke the way I did.” He furrowed his brows. “I am a horrible excuse for a husband, a failure of a One, and a failure as your friend.” Thorin spoke, his voice close to cracking before he cleared his throat.

You frowned, not expecting this at all, especially the glassy look in his eyes.

“I wanted to let you know I did not mean a thing I said.”

“I knew it was a mistake to ever court you, I never loved you to begin with.” His words replayed in your head, your lip beginning to tremble.

“Meeting you was the biggest blessing Mahal has ever given me, being able to love you and to cherish you was a gift I threw away,” Thorin’s voice finally cracked, as he let out a shaky sigh.

“Menu tessu (You mean everything to me) and I was a fool to tell you otherwise.” He shook his head, angry at himself.

“I love you, (Y/n), I love the way you take the blankets from me when we’re sleeping, I love the way your eyes sparkle when you’re happy, I love the way you care so much for people you love…” Thorin halted himself, looking up to the sky briefly before looking back to you.

“But despite all of that, I have wronged you, I have wronged you and belittled you,” He frowned at the sight of your tears building in your eyes.

“And I understand if you would like to leave.”

“Leave?” You couldn’t help but echo, causing him to nod.

“After all I have done, I cannot expect you to want to stay with me, Men Kurdel (My heart of hearts). I made you feel inadequate, when I should be the one making you feel like a goddess. I failed you.” Tears slipped down Thorin’s cheeks.

“That is what I wanted to discuss with you, a way to make your life easier, a way to just---” He sighed, “If there is one thing I want, (Y/n), it is to make you happy.”

“And you think that’s away from you?” You cut him off, furrowing your brows as a tear slipped out, rolling down your face and dripping off your chin.

“I have spent days trying to make myself more like a dwarrowdam because you hate how human I am, because I want---” Your own sob cut you off, your breath hitching as you began to cry harder.

“Because I wanted you to love me again.” Your voice cracked as you barely got out the words, and at the same time, Thorin’s heart felt like it cracked in half as he watched you emotionally collapse in front of him.

Thorin nearly leapt from his chair, moving to cradle you in his arms, yet unsure as he hovered his form close to yours.

“Please, love me again,” You whimpered as Thorin pulled you into his arms, tucking your head into his neck as you sobbed.

“I never stopped loving you, (Y/n),” He murmured into your ear, his arms tightening their hold on you as if this was all a dream. “I am so sorry,” Thorin wept as you clutched onto him just as tight.

You missed him so much.

“I will spend the rest of my life making this up to you,” He vowed, pulling away so he could look at you, tears springing to his eyes again at the look of anguish on your face.

“Just please, come back to me, come back to our chambers, let me hold you, at least for just this night?” Thorin’s tone was on the edge of begging as he cradled your face in his palm, his forehead against yours.

Not being able to find the words, you nodded. And at that moment, he pulled you off the chair entirely, your form clinging to his as he brought you back to your shared chambers.

Setting you down on the bed, Thorin pulled away to go to your wardrobe.

“What’re you doing?” You tearfully asked, a whimper wanting to pull itself from your mouth at the lack of contact.

“Your nightgown--”

“Thorin, please hold me.” His priority was your comfortableness while yours was to be as close as possible to him. Quickly shutting the wardrobe doors, Thorin returned to the bed, barely able to kneel on it before you latched yourself onto him again.

Hugging him close, you could feel his heartbeat through his tunic. A sigh of relief left you before you looked up to him, seeing him already watching you with admiration and fear. Fear of you changing your mind and walking out of his life for good.

“Kiss me, please?” You asked tilting your head back to make it easier for him to attach his lips to yours. Thorin’s expression softened as he captured your lips with his own. A needy whimper left your lips as you clutched his tunic in your hands, his own cupping your face as he kissed you deeply.

Pulling away, Thorin pecked your lips one last time before pressing his forehead against yours.

“Thorin, I need you.” You murmured, you had been deprived of his touch, of his love, for so long now.

“I’m yours, I’m here,” He responded to you, not quite understanding your meaning, simply thinking you needed reassurance until you repeated yourself.

“I need you, Thorin.”

His expression changed from one of concern to something sensual as he dragged his thumb across your cheek.

“Are you sure?” He couldn’t help but question, not wanting you to regret being with him when you were so emotionally fragile.

“Absolutely.” You reassured, this time capturing his lips with yours, catching him off guard before he quickly fell into the rhythm you were searching for.

Lowering you gently on your back, you felt the familiar pillows beneath you as you arched into him, your hips rolling into his causing a pleased groan to release from his lips, his hands finding your butt as he controlled your movement against his clothed crotch.

“More, Thorin, please,” Your tone was leaning on the side of begging as he severed the kiss to pepper kisses along your jaw and neck.

“I’ll give you all you want, amrâlimê,” He reassured, lifting off of you to help you with your dress, the offending fabric being tossed to the floor before he yanked off his tunic, leaving him bare chested with you in your undergarments.

“Beautiful,” Thorin murmured, admiring the way your body was laid beneath him.

Smiling at him, you couldn’t help but admire him as well, the small scars from battles that have come and gone, the chest hair mostly covering him, the muscles beneath it.

You were brought out of your admiring state as he began to remove your undergarments, leaving you bare with him still in his pants.

“You’re very overdressed,” You hummed as he chuckled, the sound going straight to your core as he leaned back over you to kiss at your shoulders and the valley of your breasts.

“Don’t worry about me, amrâlimê, focus on you.” He spoke softly as he kissed his way down your stomach, his hands coming up to tease your nipples for a moment, drawing a gasp from you. It served as a distraction as he skipped over your pussy to mouth at your thighs.

“Thorin,” You couldn’t help but groan out as he purposefully neglected where you wanted him most.

“Please,” You whined until you felt his breath over your pussy.

“I said to focus on you, (Y/n),” He hummed, now massaging your inner thighs with his calloused hands. Before you could think of a response, his tongue stole the words out of your mouth as it came in contact with you. Licking, flicking, sucking, you couldn’t focus on what he was doing as the pleasure made you reach out and grab at his hair.

Thorin swore he would make it up to you, and he planned to start right now through worshipping your body, making you feel every ounce of pleasure he could provide you.

Looping his arms under your thighs, he held his hands above your hips, locking you in place as he feasted on you.

“Thorin!” You couldn’t help but moan out, your tone high pitched as you felt yourself climbing higher and higher to your peak. Whether you called his name out of lust or trying to give warning, Thorin wasn’t sure, but he knew one thing for certain: you were close.

He flicked his tongue over your clit rapidly, circling it before suckling the bundle of nerves into his mouth, his cheeks hollowing as he aggressively accelerated you to your climax.

Your back arched as your grip on his hair tightened, your mouth opening in a silent moan as your hips wiggled up and down, his own grip loosening as he let you ride out your orgasm. Releasing your clit from his mouth, he kissed your inner thigh as you slowly calmed down.

“Men lananubukhs (I love you),” Thorin whispered as he rested his head on your opposite thigh, rubbing circles on your hips.

“What about you?” You questioned once you got your bearings again.

Thorin shook his head, pressing another kiss to your inner thigh before crawling up to pull you into his embrace. “All I care about is that you are satisfied, my beloved.” He nuzzled the top of your head, feeling a sense of pride as your thighs continued to tremble from the intensity of your orgasm.

“I told you before, all I want is to make you happy.”

It felt like flowers were blooming in your ribcage, something soft and delicate taking place in your heart as you curled into Thorin’s embrace, his arm around the small of your waist bringing a sense of comfort.

While nothing could erase the past, nor the heart that came with it, you’ve decided that for now, you would enjoy the peace that resonated in your heart.

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valhallasubstitute · 4 years

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In Times of Celebration...

Osferth x reader

Prompt #13 – ‘There was only one bed’

It’s not every day that the future King turns seven. Edward invites Uhtred and company to join the celebration in Wessex, but you and Osferth arrive later than expected. Due to your late arrival the ale house has only one room available…and that room only has one bed…

WARNINGS: 18+ SMUT, unprotected sex – it’s the ninth century they have an excuse, you don’t. fluff

A/N: My first celebration request done! This is my first time writing Osferth, so I apologize if it’s a little OOC, like Sihtric, his lack of lines haunts me :/

Anyways I’m gonna write the requests in the order they were submitted in so if yours doesn’t pop up as quick as you expected then don’t stress cause you’re on the list and I love you all equally

WC: 2476 - this is ridiculously long, I wanted to set the scene and then got carried away whoops

Tags: @bebbanburgsflame - thank you my love for the request, @flowers-in-your-hayr

It was late when you arrived in Winchester, but the usually dark streets were filled with candlelight and laughter. The future king was turning seven the next day and evidently the best way to celebrate was to grab yourself a cup of ale in one hand and a pretty girl in the other.

Osferth’s hand was on your lower back as you weaved your way through the packed streets, guiding you gently as he smiled at the drunk passers-by, knowing all too well that the rest of your friends would be exactly the same.

The tavern was heaving with people and your good spirits were starting to dwindle. It had been a long ride; your horse was newly broken and while beautiful she was difficult and Uhtred had lost patience with both of your attitude’s. The others had ridden on while Osferth had stayed behind with you. You had ended up swapping horses and how well your horse behaved for the gentle monk had grated on you, but you couldn’t really blame her.

But you could blame Osferth for having the most uncomfortable saddle to ever grace Gods green earth. All you wanted to do was collapse on to the nearest bed and dream away the ache of the ride, but first you had to pay for the room.

The owner was a difficult man to find but his smile was wide and offered the room at half price. You began to protest but he insisted.

‘The healers assure me that my wife is to give birth tomorrow, praise Him. I believe it to be a good sign that he should share a birthday with the future king of Wessex – why should I not share my happiness with you?’

‘Do you hear that Y/N? Praise him indeed.’ Osferth’s smile was infectious, and you couldn’t help but share in his joy.

‘Thank you for your kindness.’

Your gratitude quickly faded as you walked into the room, it was modest, and the bed looked like heaven but there was only one filling the room. Turning to Osferth with a startled expression you expected him to turn on his heels, ready to ask for another room right along with you but he just shrugged and took your bag inside.

‘Osferth what are you doing?’

‘Unpacking?’

‘But- ‘

‘I know but we should be grateful we even got a room.’ He beckoned you, a reassuring smile on his face. You wanted nothing more than to rid him of the look. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to share a bed with him, rather it was a problem that you did. And here he was, smiling at you like it was perfectly fine. Of course you had slept beside each other before, your furs being laid next to each other when you were on the road or napping by the river side by side when at home but you had never shared a bed with him, under the covers, layers of clothes removed… You fought quickly to hide the blush that threatened to out you.

‘I will sleep on the floor; you can have the bed.’

‘You cannot sleep on the floor Y/N.’

‘Then we should ask for another room- ‘

‘There are no other rooms.’ He was laughing at you quietly, his amusement was gentle and light, never pushing you too far. ‘And besides, I do not believe it was such a reach to think us together.’

You threw a pillow at him in an attempt to hide the deep red that was rapidly spreading across your body. He caught it with one hand, a light dusting of pink appearing on his own cheeks.

‘Are you going to help me unpack?’ you shook your head with a grin, settling back into the soft linen. Osferth rolled his eyes but quickly resumed the task at hand. With his back turned you took the opportunity to admire him.

You were surrounded by beautiful people constantly. Your Lord and the men that served him always made the scenery just that much prettier but there was something about the baby monk that had gripped you body and soul. Under all those robes and armour, you knew laid a warrior’s body. To assume otherwise would be a mistake, one you would not make twice.

It took him a while when you first met for him to look you in the eye but when he finally did you were lost in a soft world of blue. Combine that with a jawline that could cut sharper than your sword and you were all in from the very beginning.

And then he grew into himself. You watched along with the others as he stood a little taller, spoke a little louder, held your gaze for as long as you could manage. Boy to man, lamb to wolf, friend to fantasy.

You were so lost in the idea of him that you barely noticed him removing his armour in front of your very eyes until the leather hit the ground. You were transfixed as the layers of clothes were placed on a stool, and milky skin was revealed.

There were hardly any scars, save the large one on his abdomen. He was slighter than the others, but the muscle rippled as he moved regardless, his strength was as quiet as the rest of him but in its silence, it screamed the truth.

You watched as he leant down and undid the laces of his boots. His hands were a frequent visitor in your thoughts. They were calloused from hard work and a hard life, but they held your soup bowl when you were ill, despite the fact it burned him a little. They guided you through packed crowds, keeping you safe and in sight. And when his fingers brushed against your own it felt like God had put him on this earth to make you feel alive.

As he approached the bed, dressed in breeches alone, you found yourself flustered, your thighs clenching together on their own accord.

‘What- why are you undressed?’

‘I do not wish to sleep in my armour Y/N, we’re not on the road and we’re here to enjoy the celebration. If it offends you then I can re dress?’

‘No. I- You’re right.’ You nodded your head as you said it, convincing yourself that he was right and ignoring the pit in your stomach as you removed yourself from the bed.

You started with your boots, kicking them to the side of the room. You had none of the finesse that Osferth had, not when you could feel his eyes on you. Glancing at him every now and again as you removed your weapons you could see him watching you through thick lashes. He had more subtlety than other men, but the intention was the same.

The thought sent tiny sparks through your body, and the colour of his face brought you a little satisfaction. Despite your best efforts his eyes made you clumsy, the knot of your armour unyielding against your fumbling fingers.

You turned yourself away from him, a half-arsed attempt to hide the affect the situation was having on you. You didn’t even hear him coming up behind you and the feel of his hand covering yours made you jump. Your hand dropped to your side like a stone does when thrown into a river and Osferth’s breath fanned against the back of your neck.

His hands made quick work of what yours could not and before you knew it you were lifting your arms, letting the man behind you remove the armour completely. The two of you stood there, your back to his chest, heat radiating off each other and your breath coming out in quick puffs. You turned to him with downcast eyes.

The cross that sat on his chest snapped you out of the lust that coursed through your veins. God did you want this, but you pushed yourself away with a murmur of thanks. He was your friend and a man of God. And despite being a warrior of Uhtred’s your nerve evaporated.

The candles were blown out and your body stiffened as the bed dipped as Osferth climbed in. You could still feel him, his proximity making sleep impossible.

While your body lay perfectly still your mind tossed and turned – you had seen the desire in his eyes, felt his breath coming out quick and hot against you. He had made no move to push you and you had stepped back. But what if you hadn’t?

You rolled over, expecting to be greeted with his back but instead you were met by his face. He looked at peace, his eyes closed and his breathing even. Your intention was not to wake him, but the light tracing of his face stirred him, his hand moving in a flash and long fingers coming to grip your wrist.

‘I shouldn’t have pulled away…’ Your voice was barely a whisper, but his eyes were fixed on you. His grip eased on your wrist and his touch moved from your arm to your waist, squeezing gently.

It felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room and the single thin layer of fabric that separated you from Osferth felt like entirely too much.

You sat up and Osferth followed, confusion evident on his sharp face.

‘Y/N what are you doing?’

Your hand gripped the bottom of your tunic and pulled it over your head before your courage was lost to the night. The air nipped at your skin, your nipples hardening with the ghost touch. Osferth’s eyes were everywhere, desire mixing with the confusion as you crawled towards him.

‘What I should have done.’

He reached for you tentatively, his hands cupping your face and bringing his lips to yours. They were soft and gentle, his tongue parting your lips in exploration.

The taste of him was intoxicating and you climbed into his lap in seek of some relief.

Your hands went from the slopes of his shoulders to the rim of his breeches. He tugged himself free and a blush spread from his chest up to the tops of his ears. The sight of him did not disappoint, his cock stood proud and was already leaking precum.

You had been with other men, but none quite had this effect on you, the want, the arousal, it was all him. The sight of him in such a state pulled a moan from your lips and another wave of wetness to pool between your thighs.

The rest of your clothes were removed, and you lay bare before the monk, your back arched as his hands slowly explored all there was to touch. His touch was feather light, leaving goose bumps in his wake. His lips followed his fingertips and as he tweaked one nipple, he took the other into his mouth, humming as you moaned.

He circled it with his tongue, letting his teeth graze it as he pulled away. Leaving a trail of open mouthed kisses he moved his attention to the other breast, his free hand slowly making its way south.

His name was pulled from your lips in a whine, the pressure of his thumb circling your clit exactly what you needed. His knuckles grazed against your entrance and you could feel him smile against your skin.

Needing to ground yourself there was no better anchor than his member, you could feel it sitting against your thigh. It felt like velvet to touch and the way his breath hitched made your body tingle with anticipation.

The way you held him left Osferth breathless, his own rhythm lost in the way you stroked him. You could feel it, still pumping him you guided him to your entrance.

Unable to censor yourself you gasped at his size. He lingered, teasing you with both his body and smile. His lips melted against yours as he entered you, hot breath fanning your face as gasps and moans filled the room.

Like everything else surrounding you, Osferth was gentle. His pace was steady and his thrusts deep, your fingers lacing together as you pulled him closer, your heels digging into his thighs.

While he used his free arm to prop himself up, you used yours to caress his face, pushing away the strands of blond hair that obscured your view of his pleasure.

You could feel yourself growing closer, relishing in the way he breathed your name as you clenched around him. Releasing your hand, he slipped his own between your bodies finding that sweet spot once more.

Your orgasm creeped up on you slowly, your back arching and your chest brushing against his as you called out, your cries of bliss mixing with the celebrations still raging on below.

Osferth’s own release came quickly after, a soft moan interrupting your panting, his brow creased and mouth silently begging to be kissed.

As you came down from your high Osferth pulled you to him, your limbs tangled as you faced each other, the smiles on your faces couldn’t be hidden, but neither of you had any desire to do so.

‘This may be forward Y/N-‘Your laugh interrupted him, your eyes wide and filled with amused exasperation as you gestured to your naked bodies.

‘I think we’re past forward, Osferth.’ His laugh was soft, and you watched as pink creeped into his complexion once more.

‘You are far more than a friend and I thank God for you, I do not wish to be without you.’

‘After tonight, you do not have to be.’

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

The future king of Wessex was paraded through the hall, the priests that proceeded him unable to keep him in check but the atmosphere in the room was one of happiness and good humour.

If anyone were to look over at you, they would think you were overjoyed, the smile on your face rivaled that of the Queen. In reality your hand was slotted with Osferth’s, his thumb tracing circles over your knuckle.

You could feel Finan’s eyeing the two of you, but you could not find it in you to care. You watched as the Irishman lean into Uhtred ear, his voice just high enough to hear above the chanting.

‘I think it’ll be a marriage we’ll be celebrating next.’ You blushed as your Lords eyes fell to you, but Osferth seemed to beam at them, his hand squeezing yours. When he spoke, his voice was as happy as you had ever heard it.

‘I wouldn’t be surprised either Finan.’

You didn’t know what filled you with more excitement at that moment - the fact that he wanted to marry you or that you got to show him just how willing you were when you returned to your shared bed.

#the last kingdom fanfic #tlk fanfic #osferth #osferth x reader #osferth smut #osferth fluff #inga writes #100 followers celebration

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amarriageoftrueminds · 3 years

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I’m a sucker for those fics where Steve, after a few years of living in the past (after the honeymoon phase with Peggy is over basically), realises he’s made the biggest mistake of his life and that Peggy isn’t his true love. Like yeah bitch, this is what you get for making such dumb decisions

Oooo I know just what you mean; for a while there after Endgame where I was just livid with his character (still feeling like canon had poisoned my view of him) I was all about Steve being made to actually work for Bucky’s reacceptance for once.

(Usually in post-TWS fics the Steve-pov is of Bucky seeming standoffish and indifferent because of mental health problems to do with recovery, but then the Bucky-pov immediately reveals that that was the only reason and I’m like ‘hmm okay but he did pull your arm out of its socket, Bucky, he did leave you to lie at the bottom of a ravine without looking for you, are you sure you’re immediately ok with him?’)

It was nice to imagine Bucky being treated well instead of like dirt as (let’s face it) everyone else does.

I can picture that Endgame-asshole sitting down to a 1950s meal of yet-another-boiled-thing that not-a-great-cook-Peggy made and just... Suffering, lol.

After recently re-thinking my whole attitude to Peggy tho I cannot handle any fic that kisses her arse or treats her as an Inspirational Woman From History or where Steve spends any time at all with her, after the revelations of CATWS.

It’s also super disheartening to realise how many pre- and post-Endgame fics have Steve 'fixing’ the Soldier by going back in time somehow and retrieving the ‘right’ Bucky and either straight-up wiping the Soldier out of existence thereby or somehow merging the two into one with jiggery-pokery.

(Often with a side of ‘and he fucked Peggy’ because Steve cannot be allowed to be a virgin Cevans is too hot he’s Captain MURica’. Which totally ignores Peggy’s misdeeds and has a wildly OOC Bucky be happy about it? One fic I remember had TWS and OG-Bucky swapping places in time and in TWS’ absence Steve fucked and married OG-Bucky and when TWS got back had plastered TWS’ bedroom with photos of himself and OG-Bucky, and the writer thought this would be uplifting for TWS?? instead of, y’know, absolutely soul-destroying??)

And I’m like: SERIOUSLY?!

What a hideously cruel, insanely unhealthy attitude towards a mentally unwell person; that they just need to be regressed and turned back into the ‘right’ person, the one they were before the trauma, in order to ‘fix’ them; just because that’s what somebody else wants them to be??

Am I taking crazy pills? It makes me want to claw my eyes out!

Another funny thing about these kinds of fics, I’ve been wondering whether it’s just in my imagination, but does anybody else ever get a sense of... like... writers forcing themselves to praise Peggy??

As if you can feel them thinking ‘I can’t dislike or dismiss her because I’ll be accused of misogyny and/or just hating her because she interferes with my ship’.

But you can tell they don’t actually like her, they just want to be seen to like her; as if they may not even be aware that they don’t like her?

I’d actually be super curious to know if it’s just me who comes away with this impression...

#hey nonny #toAyourQ #anti-st*ggy #antipeggy #antiendgame #endgame steve is a skrull #dat's me

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diamondcitydarlin · 4 years

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So, after that last episode (that mysteriously I also seemed to have predicted- the whole Guillermo finding a group of hunters thing) I’ve run away with my second theory that Guillermo may find himself in a relationship with Craig Robinson’s character, just complicating things further and putting certain things to light between him and Nandor that neither of them really explored before. Namely jealousy. But in talking about this with my husband we ended up writing/RPing a scene, following Nandor noticing that Guillermo’s been getting distracted by his phone a lot more, smiling and laughing at it in a way he didn’t before.

Nandor takes his confusion to the other vampires at some point, and they had this to say,

Nadja says definitively, “Well, I don't know how human phones work, but I'm telling you, he's got a bit of crumpet on the side.”

Nandor grimaces. “Nadja...I know Guillermo isn't...small but you didn’t have to go there. Also I don’t see what any of this has to do with human food.”

Nadja rolls her eyes. “NO. I mean he's fucking someone. Regularly, even. And probably sending lots of naughty little nudie pics to his new lover.”

A look of simultaneous horror and realization crosses Nandor’s face before he’s decided that is an impossibility. It must be. It has to be.

“....nooo....that's silly...” he laughs, albeit nervous. “That wouldn't happen...!” But his look at the camera seems searching, as if he needs more confirmation that what Nadja’s suggesting absolutely, definitely would never, ever, ever happen. Ever.

Laszlo meanwhile, pauses from nursing his pipe to add in no uncertain terms, “She's right, he's definitely getting it up the arse from someone.”

But this is more insult than Nandor can humor and he stomps his foot. “Ok that's enough! None of that is happening!!!”

“I actually agree with them,” Colin adds from his corner chair where everyone to this point had forgotten he was sitting. “All the signs are there.”

And Colin indisputably has more knowledge towards modern, human behavior than any of them present...but then, he is Colin.

“Do you ACTUALLY agree with them or are you just trying to infuriate me?” Nandor challenges, to which Colin replies flatly, “Yes.”

“What does it matter, anyway?” Nadja interjects with a sweep of her hands. “Has it affected his ability to serve?”

Nandor thinks for a moment, perhaps desperate, because he needs a logical reason to be consumed by this.

“Well, he-...! He gets distracted sometimes and it’s very irritating!”

Laszlo does a cursory look around the space of their library. “Seems to be the same mediocre work he’s always done.”

“He obviously still grooms you, as you don’t look like a complete cretin,” Nadja adds.

Having seen that this was a complete mistake to bring up with his roommates, Nandor backtracks. “Alright, let’s just forget it. There are other, more pressing matters to discuss-”

“Oh no, I think this is worth exploring,” Colin says, because of course, and then in his usual unassumingly ignorant tone of voice, “Why would it bother you that Guillermo has a private life if he’s still doing his job? I’m confused.”

To be sure, he isn’t.

Nadja’s eyes go wide in realization. “Wait, wait, wait!!! You-...!” She points to Nandor as if there was some confusion as to who she was talking about. “You’re jealous, aren’t you?”

“You haven’t gone soft for that little creep after all this time, have you?” Laslzo asks, though his tone is more grave and warning.

“I-...I haven’t-...! No, what-...I don’t even know what you’re talking about...!” Nandor attempts to deflect, but it’s less than convincing.

“Perhaps...” Colin suggests, once again in that grating, flat tone of voice. “Perhaps you wish...that you were the one...he was sending naughty pictures of himself to?”

“He does!” Nadja exclaims before Nandor can defend himself, and then she’s gripping to Laszlo’s arm in panic and remorse. “Oh, my darling...he’s fallen in love with his familiar...”

“That is very dangerous ground to tread, old chap.” Laszlo’s gaze is fixed firmly to Nandor’s; meanwhile the latter looks like a deer caught in the headlights.

Nadja, now overly sympathetic, has risen from her seat on the couch to give Nandor’s hands a patronizing pat. It’s somehow worse.

“Nandor, believe me when I say this...it’s never a good idea to entertain feelings for a mortal. It doesn’t end well.”

“Mainly in old age and death,” Colin needlessly adds.

Nandor once again attempts to assert his position as former warrior-conqueror, that this is not the case and he will not tolerate anymore suggestions of this nature, but Nadja has silenced him quickly with a maternal finger to his lips and a soft, “Hush now, you stupid, stupid, dumb little lovesick vampire. We will sort it all out.”

Then to (mainly) Laszlo, “We will have to sort this out.”

“You’re damn right we will,” he agrees. “We’ll have no truck with vampire that thinks there’s any kind of future with a bloodsack. Either you turn him or he goes.”

Nandor’s gone from aforementioned deer-in-headlights to little lost duck adrift on the ocean, shaking his head ‘no’ in a panic. “N-n-no...no, no, no, it doesn’t have to come to that-”

“It’s going to come to something!” Laszlo rallies back.

“Yes,” Nadja agrees, though softer. “We have few options left at this point. He must be turned and live as your eternal mate, or you must dismiss him, or-”

Then, Laszlo’s very helpful, demonstrative miming of a slice across the neck. “We -WHIIIEEECKK- him. Post-haste.”

Nandor’s shaking his head ‘no’ very violently at this point and trying to backpeddle the whole situation, but it seems the consensus has been made.

“Very well,” Nadja agrees, albeit with the same remorse as before. “Perhaps a month then? A month to make a decision. This can’t be easy.”

“Gizmo’s very lucky I cannot deny my good lady wife anything,” Laszlo says pointedly to Nandor. “A month seems generous...but so be it. Do something about this, or we will.”

Nandor’s companions begin to disperse then, and as he is still desperate and a bit disoriented from the whole confrontation he panics.

“Eh-!! Uhm-...wait!” And once he has their attention, “Listen to my wooords! You will forget eeeverythiiing I just saiiid...”

He must have known somewhere deep down this was going to be as embarrassing at it was futile. Laszlo’s glaring unimpressed, Colin gives him a judgmental eye-narrowing, and Nadja now pats him insultingly on the cheek.

“Poor, poor, stupid little vampire...” she sighs sadly to no one in particular, and then they’re all gone, leaving Nandor in the wake of this all-too-sudden, all-too-disturbing revelation.

#wwdits #wwdits tv #wwdits season 2 #wwdits spoiler #spoilers #guillermo x nandor #nandor x guillermo #laszlo cravensworth #wwdits nadja #colin robinson #ficlet #guillermo de la cruz

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wowweeharrystyles · 4 years

Text

Part 9 | The Jumpsuit, Falling & (more) Ripped Trousers | 6.1k words

Sequins & Zippers’ Summary: An internship with Harry Lambert transformed into a job of a lifetime - Aurora Del Gatto finds herself touring the world with the one & only Harry Styles as his ‘Head of Wardrobe.’ Aurora is nothing but nerves & excitement as she packs her bags & almost 100 custom designer suits that belong to an unbelievably kind rockstar. She never thought she’d fall in love on top of it all.

Read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

Masterlist

a/n: I hope y’all are doing what you need to during this crazy time. All the love to you all !!! 💕also...a little bit of niall in this part... go stream HBW !!!

The loud knock on the door causes Harry and Aurora to jump and scramble to sit up on the couch.

“Heard there’s a curly headed boy in here!”

A once blonde, now brunette head pops into the doorway. If the irish accent wasn’t enough to give away who it was, his face surely does. Aurora messes with her hair and Harry wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, trying their best to compose themselves. They had made their way back to Harry’s dressing room from the empty arena before Harry was to be pulled away for training, soundcheck and all the usual pre show prep. One thing led to another and the episode of Friends Aurora had pressed play on was long forgotten.

“Niall!” Harry exclaims, jumping off the couch. He hugs his old friend as Aurora is frozen on the couch. Harry hadn’t even mentioned the possibility of Niall coming to the show tonight. It didn’t even cross Aurora’s mind that in Dublin (duh), that Niall might be in attendance. A deer in headlights describes Aurora best at this moment. “Haven’t seen ‘ur hair this messy in ages! Who do you have here with you?” Niall jokes, his laugh filling the space. When Harry steps out of the doorway to invite Niall in, he fixes his hair and Niall’s laughter stops. Niall lets out a surprised “Oh,” with a small laugh.

“Uh, Niall, this is Ror- uh, Aurora,” he corrects himself, a dopey smile forming on his face.

“Lovely to meet you, Aurora,” Niall offers a hand out to her.

“Wasn’t how I was intending to introduce the 2 of you, but here we are,” Harry adds.

“Uh, great to meet you as well, Niall,” Aurora says as she stands up. She shakes his hand. “Harry, you could’ve said he was coming,” Aurora comments directly to Harry.

“It wasn’t for sure yet and I kind of wanted it to be a surprise,” Harry tells Aurora.

“A surprise?” Niall questions. “For Aurora?” He continues to question as he gestures to Aurora, a small look of confusion on his face.

“Ugg,” Aurora groans, to no one in particular, “Harry, please don’t.”

“Hey, if you’re going to rub in my face that you were once a ‘Niall girl’,” he uses air quotes to pester her more, “then I’m going to have some fun with it.” Niall’s laugh echoes off the walls of the dressing room.

“I’m gonna need more of a story behind this,” Niall says through bouts of laughter.

Aurora groans again, rolling her eyes at Harry before turning back to Niall. “Wish we could've had this conversation over some drinks, but here we are.”

“We could get drinks right now, I know where the bar is,” Niall adds.

“I’m technically working… so drinking is a no,”

“But making out on the couch is fine?” Harry asks through a chuckle, Niall’s laugh joins in.

“Oh god, the 2 of you together is really gonna be like this huh?”

“Like what?” Harry asks.

“You 2 picking on me and just overall, chaotic.” The 2 former bandmates shrug their shoulders when they make eye contact.

“Anyways,” Niall circles back to the original request, “I need the story. Correct me if I’m wrong, but did Harry say ‘Niall girl’?”

“He sure did. I made the mistake to share that I once had One Direction posters on my wall growing up. Definitely pumped Harry’s ego a bit and I had to bring it down by informing him that I was a quote unquote a Niall Girl back then.” Aurora sighs and then laughs at the face Niall is making at Harry. “Ni, you don’t have a chance anymore, so stop even entertaining the thought in your head,” Harry says as he tosses an arm around Aurora’s shoulders.

“How much does it kill you that she had posters of me in her room?” Niall asks Harry.

“Don’t wanna talk about it,” Harry states with a straight face.

“Can we not talk about any of this anymore?” Aurora questions, her cheeks flushed from embarrassment still. Both Harry and Niall’s laughter fill the room once again and Aurora can’t help but smile at the 2 old friends.

Harry ushers them both to the empty couch and chairs to sit back down. Niall opts for the chair after grabbing a sparkling water from the fridge under the vanity counter. Niall seems carefree and comfortable. Harry doesn’t talk much about being in the band or the other guys much. It’s not that he avoids it at all costs. If it comes up he’ll talk but he doesn’t volunteer the conversation himself. Aurora does know that he keeps in touch with Niall the most. She had caught him giggling at something on his phone recently and when she asked what it was all he said was that Niall sent him a joke.

“I’ve seen the suits you’ve got our boy Harold in, they’re incredible, really,” Niall comments to Aurora.

“Oh, yeah, I only helped pick some of them out, thanks though,” Aurora says shyly.

“Don’t do that,” Harry interrupts. “You’ve done more than that.” Aurora only blushes slightly and shakes her head.

“Getting him in clothes is the hardest part, honestly,” Niall comments.

“Why does everyone say that?” Aurora questions. “Gemma made the same comment and Lambert alluded to it as well.”

“Harry over here was barely dressed half the time and would put up a fight when he was told to put pants or a shirt on for anything. Quite a show off back in the day,” Niall shares.

Aurora laughs, “Well, I haven’t had much trouble.”

“Think there’s something more in it for him when he listens,” Niall says.

Harry rolls his eyes at Niall. An alarm rings from Harry’s phone.

“I’ve gotta head to sound check, wanna come with, Ni?” Harry asks as he stands up. Niall agrees to join and the 2 boys stand up to leave.

“Have a good sound check,” Aurora says before pressing a kiss to his lips quickly. “Niall, seriously it was great meeting you. I’m assuming you’re staying for the show?” He nods, “Great, I’ll see you later then.”

“Great to meet you too. See you later, Aurora,” Niall says, his blue eyes bright and his irish accent strong.

| | | | |

Harry’s dressing room becomes a common room tonight and by the time Harry has to get ready, his whole band is in here. Niall’s tagged along with Harry since he got here earlier and Aurora has enjoyed the commotion for once. Niall is sharing a story about one of the many shows they had done together when Aurora finishes prepping Harry’s jumpsuit for the show. She joins Sarah on the couch while waiting for Harry to be done with Ayae.

“He falls flat on his arse,” Niall continues telling the story. “In front of a sold out arena. No idea what he even tripped on or anything, to this day.”

“Hey!” Harry interrupts. “There was a loose flap on the stage!” He defends.

“Buddy, I really don’t think there was, but keep telling people that if it makes you feel better.” Harry rolls his eyes at Niall.

“Ror, I’m ready!” Harry says as he walks towards the wardrobe cases. Aurora gets off the couch to help get him into the jumpsuit.

“Hey, Mully just messaged saying he was here,” Niall says to Harry. “I’m gonna go find him.” Harry and Niall hug for a moment, a few pats on the back, Niall wishing him good luck. Aurora smiles at the two. No love was lost between them. Though Aurora doesn’t know everything about what that time was like, she's grateful that behind all the rumors and drama Harry and Niall still get along like they did when they first met on the X Factor. She’s most grateful for the fact that Harry has someone who understands it all. Someone who can relate to him and someone to share those memories with. She’s supportive and understands what she can but she wasn’t there.

Harry’s band, Ayae and Helene follow Niall out the door leaving Aurora and Harry alone, just as it happens every night.

“Okay, here ya go,” Aurora says as she hands off the jump suit to Harry. He steps into the jumpsuit and pulls the sleeves up on his shoulders. He lets out a grunt when he goes to button it close. “What?” Aurora asks with a look of worry on her face.

“Uhm, fits a bit tighter than it did last,” Harry says slowly.

“Oh no…. Can you close it?”

“I mean, yeah, I think it’ll be fine, just not as roomy as it was for the Late Late Show.” Harry fastens the buttons up the front and adjusts the fabric in a few spots before he looks up to Aurora.

“Turn around for me,” she directs to inspect that it’s still okay to perform in. As he turns around Aurora’s jaw drops, “Oh.” The jumpsuit certainly fits tighter than it did last. “Uh, is it comfortable?” She stutters out.

“Uh yeah,” Harry moves around a bit. “Does it look okay?”

“Honest?”

“Well, yeah,” Harry says, slightly confused.

“So uh, it definitely fits tighter… but it looks really good.” It’s all that Aurora can say. Her brain actually cannot form anymore full sentences. It’s not that the jump suit looked bad when he wore it for the Kiwi performance on the Late Late Show almost a year ago, it’s just that it looks better than it did. Harry turns to Aurora to try to figure out what she’s thinking.

“What?” Harry asks when Aurora’s face is unreadable. He chuckles a little when her cheeks turn a light shade of pink under his gaze.

“Well your ass looks great.”

“Rory!” Harry yells, almost startled by the comment coming from her.

“What?! It’s the truth!” She says with a short laugh. “Let’s just say all those training sessions are doing their job.” Harry shakes his head, a small huff coming out of his mouth before a dimple inducing smile covers his face. He’s drawn towards Aurora and the look in her eyes. He can’t put his finger on it. When he gets his hands around her waist, instinctively he pulls her as close as she can get to him. Her hands grab on his shoulders and then slide down to his biceps. She lets out a small giggle as Harry presses his face into her neck, his lips landing on the soft skin below her ear. Aurora moves her hands to his chest to push him away from her to get him to stop tickling her neck with the soft touch of his lips. Pressing up to her toes, she kisses him square on the lips quickly before she pulls away from his hold. “Just don’t stop training.”

She pretends like nothing has happened and goes to grab Harry’s socks and shoes. She openly watches him as he puts them on. She follows him into the large, echoey bathroom as she always does. Hopping onto the counter she watches as he goes through his routine.

“So what’d you think of Niall?” Harry asks curiously, his face reads a hint of caution but also approval. Being the one member he has stayed in contact with the most, he’s hoping she likes him as much as he does. He’s also nervous. He’d be lying if he said the image of Aurora’s childhood bedroom with Niall’s face plastered on the walls wasn’t haunting his mind.

Aurora can see his brain churning as he asks the question and she smiles a little at the almost nervous look that is now on his face. “Crazy to meet him if I’m honest,” she shrugs. She sees Harry take a deep breath, his shoulders rising but not falling when he breathes out a shallow breath. “I’m glad you’ve kept in contact with him.” Aurora’s trying to direct the conversation to be about Niall and Harry not Niall and Aurora. She can tell he’s thinking too much. “Harry?” He hums at her as he finishes brushing his teeth. “You know, even though I had posters of Niall on my walls, I did take them down a long time ago. My mom found them in the back of my closet and they were there for a reason.” She sighs. He thinks too much and there’s reasons he thinks too much. She just doesn’t know why yet, but that conversation is for another day. “Babe,” at the pet name, Harry looks at her, “Niall wasn’t the one who took care of me when I burned my arm with a steamer. He doesn’t bring me coffee exactly how I like it or flirt with me by getting me new sneakers,” she laughs lightly. “He doesn’t make me laugh on a daily basis or know exactly when I could use a hug.” Now Aurora has hopped off the counter and is standing next to Harry, looking at him in the mirror. “He’s not you. He never will be no matter what. I may have had posters of him on my walls 4 years ago but that doesn’t matter anymore.” Aurora turns to face Harry and he follows her movement so they’re face to face now. She tucks a rogue curl back into place before continuing. “You’re all that matters, okay? I’m here, with you, yeah? Please stop thinking so much,” she pleads. Harry nods minutely. A small smile appears on his face, the cliche twinkle is back in his eye and he uses one hand to pull Aurora’s face to his, kissing her softly.

“You know I get in my head a lot,” Harry says quietly when they pull apart from each other. Aurora offers a small smile and sighs at him.

“I know, but you need to talk to me about it. Tell me when something isn’t sitting right, tell me anything. I can read you pretty well but I can only do so much.”

“Promise I’ll work on it as long as you promise me you’re a Harry girl now,” he mocks. Aurora groans as she pulls away from his hold.

“You know, you’re really good at ruining the moment?” She jokes as she walks back to the main part of the dressing room.

“You can’t deny you don’t adore it!” Harry yells back. She laughs and it echoes through both rooms and it makes Harry smile.

Aurora turns around when she hears him walk back through the door. There’s still a ghost of a smile on his face when he looks at her. She huffs, unable to form a thought when she goes to give the last look on his jumpsuit.

“What?” Harry questions, a sparkle in his eye.

“Nothing,” she brushes her thoughts away. Harry raises an eyebrow at her in question. “You look really good,” she admits with a shrug before turning away from him. She starts to pick up a few things to put away but Harry is quick to grab her waist and turn her around. She only sees the smile that’s covered his face for a moment before his lips are on hers.

| | | | |

Everyone has been spending the extra days off at the hotel’s private pool. They nap and read and just enjoy the time off. Harry and Aurora are sitting on a cushion covered wooden sectional that sits in the corner of the pool area covered by large yellow and white umbrellas. Regardless of the heat, Aurora snuggled into Harry’s side, his feet crossed at the ankle, propped up on the bench in front of them and his arm around her shoulders. He has one of his woven fedoras on and sunglasses covering his eyes. Aurora traces over the butterfly tattoo on his stomach, idly as he hums and rests his head on top of hers.

“This is nice,” he repeats for the hundredth time this afternoon. Aurora giggles in response. Harry turns his head and places a soft kiss to her hair. Harry starts humming again.

“Is that a new one?” Aurora asks.

“Ahhh not yet, just a little melody that’s been stuck in my head.”

“Are you writing for the next album?” She asks as she reaches for his cross necklace. Aurora fiddles with it between her thumb and pointer finger.

“Not purposefully. I’ll write whatever comes to me or record a voice note or something so I can use it later if I want. But not really thinking about the next album yet. I want to enjoy the tour and the first album more before I get into the next ” he shares, looking down at her.

“That makes sense. It seemed like it was always a quick turnaround for the band. Must be nice to enjoy it all and not have to think about the next thing when you’ve just started the first thing. ” She drops the necklace and her hand slides up the side of his neck and stops at his jawline. Aurora’s fingers trace lightly over the harshness of it.

“Yeah it’s been nice, more enjoyable” he smiles down at her. “Not that it wasn’t enjoyable-”

“Don’t have to explain yourself, I understand what you’re saying.” Aurora’s fingers don’t leave his jawline, only grip it harder to bring his face down to hers. His breath fans out across her face before his lips land on hers. She smiles when he pulls away for a brief moment. He mirrors her smile before going in to kiss her again. Between their smiles and the small giggles coming from both of them, they barely can connect their lips.

It’s when they’re laying in the same spot later, cold margaritas on the table nearby, the sun setting off in the distance when Aurora gets a glimpse of Harry that makes her heart swell. His face is soft as he enjoys the view. A tint of red covers the top of his cheeks and nose, the sun having made a mark. Everything feels so normal, so mundane. Three full days spent in the Australian sun has only made Aurora’s heart grow fonder of the curly headed boy that she’s tucked into. With nothing to do but enjoy each other’s company, laugh with their friends and soak up the sun, she’s had a lot of time to think about everything. She’s thought about how thankful she is that this is her life, that while working, this is the break she gets to take, that her job is to dress the man she’s falling in love with. She’s thought about that last part a lot. She’s not sure she’s falling in love with him so much as already fallen in love with him. She’s there. She fell and she fell hard and she’s there. She’s fallen so hard that a small glimpse of him in the light of the sunset is enough to make her want to give her whole self to him.

Aurora thinks about it the whole way back to the hotel room. Harry even asks why she’s so quiet. When she responds with “just thinking” he doesn’t stop the questioning there.

“Ror,” he whispers.

“What? You’re the only one who can think too much?” Aurora jokes as they walk into the elevator.

Harry sighs as a small smile ghosts his face, “what’re you thinking about, love?”

“Uhm, can I tell you once I’ve figured it out?”

Harry angles his body towards her so he can see her face completely. He pulls her closer to him with the hand that is at her waist. He kisses the top of her cheek then her temple. “Sure,” he says quietly, “just don’t go making up stories in that pretty little head of yours, okay?” Aurora nods.

Once they get back to the hotel room both of them take their turns to shower and get ready for bed. Aurora’s sitting on the bed, Harry’s rolling stone tshirt on and scrolling through her phone when Harry walks out of the bathroom.

“Did you call your mum?” he asks. Aurora mentioned that she wanted to when he hopped into the shower.

“Mom was asleep, but I called Leila,” Aurora explains.

“How is your sister?” He asks as he wrings out his hair with the towel one last time, tossing it back in the bathroom.

“Good…” she answers broadly, not totally focused on the conversation.

“Ror, you’re still thinking hard about something.”

“Yeah, no, I know. Promise I’m fine. Leila helped a bit.” Harry gives her a questioning look as he sits down on the bed with her. “I’m still trying to work it out in my head, okay?” He nods slowly at her. “We’re fine. I promise we are. Nothing to worry about,” she explains as she reaches for him. She’s endeared by the caring look in his eyes. He looks rested and calm and his skin has tanned a bit.

She pulls him into her rather than finding her spot tucked into his side. His hair is still damp and she knows if she touches it too much it’ll go all frizzy. So instead, she smoothes it down so it doesn’t tickle her neck too much. He willingly wraps his arms around her torso, his legs automatically finding her bare ones underneath the sheets and weaving with them. Subconsciously she starts to trace the ink that litters his arm.

“Ready for the show tomorrow?” Aurora asks after some silence.

“Yeah,” he answers slowly.

“Is it hard to go back to touringn after a small break?” She asks, curious. She always hated going back to school or work after long weekends or short trips. His job is different but it’s work, all the same.

“Uhm, it normally is a bit hard yeah, but feels a bit different now, this time.”

“What’d you mean by that?”

“It’s all a bit different now, used to be such a routine, go home for a few days or family and friends would come to me when I had a few days. It was always so hard when they left and I had to get back to work. Not that-”

“Not that you didn’t enjoy it,” Aurora finishes for him.

“I say that a lot, huh?”

“Don’t need to explain it to me, remember? I understand.” Harry sighs at Aurora’s words and lets his hand that's sitting on her hip find the hem of his t-shirt she’s wearing and slid underneath. He gives the skin at her hip a light squeeze before he lets the heat from his hand radiate on the skin there and rub circles into her flesh haphazardly.

“Right, well it was hard then cause I’d have to say goodbye and it was always for an unknown amount of time. I should’ve been going back to work well rested but I would stay up for hours in the night dreading having to leave or them leaving me.” Harry stops his movements and wraps his arms around Aurora tighter, his face burying itself in Aurora’s neck and breathing in the smell of her shampoo. He pulls his head away only for a moment to share the rest of his explanation. “But it’s different now because it’s my tour and it isn’t how it used to be and I’ve got you with me. And as long as you’re not planning on going anywhere I don't’ have to dread going back to work cause you’ll be there too.”

| | | | |

Aurora decides to watch from the mix tonight in Melbourne and by the time Harry makes his way to the Bstage she doesn’t regret the choice at all. Harry can spot her any night, but tonight is different. He catches a glimpse of her as he walks up the metal stairs, Mitch following not far behind. She still has on the black and white floral jacket. The one he wore years ago. The one he gave her, while sitting on the very stage he’s walking up. Only the stage was in an arena in a different continent. His smile mocked the glimmer of the gold foil on his suit and shined right up until the moment he focused on the next song.

“One, two, three, four,” he almost whispers into the mic. Mitch starts to play the guitar and Aurora’s heart swells when Harry starts singing ‘Sweet Creature.’

If anyone would ask Aurora what her favourite song of Harry’s is she’d probably end up listing the whole album. Right now though, her favourite is ‘Sweet Creature.’ If it were actually possible, his vocals would melt her heart into nothing. There’s something about it stripped down like this, it’s the most similar to how he sings when he’s on his own, when he’s with Aurora. It's the most similar to how he sounds when he’s in the shower or when he’s getting ready in the mornings. He’ll sing his current and old favourites and sometimes mess around with the melody of some of his own.

“You will bring me home,” he belts. “Sweet creature, sweet creature, when I run out of road,” he sings with his eyes closed, full heart and soul poured into each note. He lets the audience sing the next line. As Mitch’s guitar fills the speakers on its own and the audience screams louder, Aurora can tell Harry is trying to avoid turning in her direction but he can’t fight it. He turns his head to where she’s standing. She watches as his jaw softens. His eyes search the small section he knows Aurora’s standing in. When he finds her, a smile appears on his face. A dimple and the crinkles at his eyes follow the turn of his lips. His eyes twinkle. Maybe from the lights. Maybe it’s the result of the emotion of the song. Maybe it’s because he’s just seen the girl he’s in love with, singing along to his own song, in his old jacket with a look on her face that could be described as nothing short of absolute adoration.

He doesn’t linger long. He knows that he can’t stare at her from the stage forever and his cue is coming soon for the last line of the song.

“You will bring me home,” his voice sounds through the speakers, deep and clear. It rattles Aurora’s chest a bit.

Harry thanks Mitch and grabs his own guitar, now solo on the small stage. Even though Aurora can’t pick one favourite from Harry’s album she could give you at least her top 5 favourite One Direction songs. ‘If I Could Fly’ is without a doubt in the top 5. Aurora does think Harry’s version on his own is the best version of it. Every night she’s thoroughly entertained when Harry tries to quiet the audience before he asks them to sing the chorus for him. She can’t help but take on the smile that appears on his face when the entire audience is singing, in unison, the song he poured his heart into years ago.

As the song comes to an end and the opening of ‘Anna’ begins, Aurora’s eyes follow Harry as he walks down the stairs and back up the path that is littered with flowers and sparkles and signs and fans yelling his name. She sees the pile of flowers that sit on top of a crate at the edge of the mix near the bstage stairs and smiles. She can’t help but think how lucky she is to be standing here, wearing the Gucci jacket of dreams, getting to dress the rockstar that has just tossed his planet painted guitar over his chest and falling in love with him all at the same time.

| | | | |

The golden Calvin Klein suit is the last Aurora can take, she thinks. He screams sunshine in this. Just like that day in Amsterdam - so many things go back to that day in Amsterdam - the bright golden colour of the suit has the same effect that the yellow t-shirt did.

Aurora's tucked up in the corner of the couch in Harry’s dressing room. Harry is sitting in the chair in front of the vanity mirror, Ayae fixing his curls after Harry messed them up a few minutes ago. She can’t stop catching his eyes in the mirror and they both laugh quietly each time. When his hair is back in place and Harry thanks Ayae, he walks to where Aurora is on the couch. He raises an eyebrow up at her.

“You know,” Aurora starts, “there’s this thing,” she laughs nervously. “I don’t even know how to explain it. It’s gonna sound crazy, but you’re-you’re like,” she pauses before continuing, “sunshine. My own personal sunshine.” Harry tries to hide a smile as he places his hand on top of Aurora’s that is resting on her knee. He bends down and presses a kiss to the top of Aurora’s head.

“Don’t sound crazy to me, love. If I look like sunshine to you, then I'm your sunshine.”

Aurora pulls her hand out from underneath Harry's and grabs his face with both of them. She locks eyes with him for a short moment before pulling him down for a kiss.

| | | | |

Aurora and Helene are laughing while looking through the photos Helene took during the show tonight in Sydney. Some of the photos of Harry are quite entertaining to say the least.

“This one!” Aurora yells when Helene clicks to the next photo. “You have to post this one.” Helene laughs at Aurora’s eagerness. “It’s perfect.”

“Oh is it?” Helene pesters.

“His hair looks incredible. The lighting is perfect,” Aurora compliments. “And- and,” she stutters out, “he looks like sunshine.”

“You’re really in love with him, huh?” Helene asks with a newly serious tone. Aurora smiles at her before sighing.

“I mean, yeah,” she shrugs as if it’s not that scary. As if being in love with the world's biggest pop star isn’t something to be scared of. Like it’s not this terrifying idea, cause it’s not. At least not right at this moment.

He’s her sunshine and she’s in love.

| | | | |

“Do not tell me that was the sound of something ripping!” Aurora yells from across the large backstage space in Brisbane. She doesn’t dare to turn around to see the chaos that is happening surrounding the ping pong tables. She takes a deep breath as silence fills the room. Silence apart from Harry's laugh, that is.

“Oh, Rory,” Harry calls through fits of laughter.

When Aurora turns around her jaw drops and she has to force herself to take a deep breath so she doesn’t yell.

“15 minutes!” calls the stage manager. Aurora’s heart sinks before it starts to beat rapidly.

“Fucking hell,” she whispers to herself. “Take them off, I gotta fix ‘em,” she tells Harry as she reaches into her bag to find a needle and black thread.

“I’ll just put a different pair on. It’s fine,” Harry says as he walks towards Aurora.

“It’s not fine Harry. I’d have to steam another pair of pants, which will take more time than we have and anyways, we don’t have any other options. We only packed what was needed for the Australia shows.” Aurora is frustrated. 15 minutes before the show? Really?

“Oh,” is all Harry lets out as he slips out of the ripped pants.

“You just had to be doing trick shots right before the show, huh?” Aurora half laughs, half scolds as she sits down to stitch the rip up the inside of the leg of his pants.

“Sorry, Ror,” he offers as he begins to watch her get to work but his name is called back at the ping pong tables and he runs back to his game.

“Should probably put your shirt and jacket on at least!” Aurora calls after him, not looking up. “Won’t have a minute to spare once they're finished!” She doesn’t look up, too focused on the work at hand. It’s not till she hears the band and stage crew cheer not 2 minutes later that she looks up.

Harry’s standing at one end of the ping pong table with only his boxers and tall black socks on, a look of pride covering his face. The paddle outstretched in one hand and he’s taking in the cheers as he does on stage.

Now Aurora’s angry. Here she is doing her job, trying to fix the pants Harry has ripped almost the entire length of while Harry is off, still playing around, now 10 minutes till the show is supposed to begin.

“Rory!” he sings. “How’s my girl doing over here?”

“Not your girl right now,” she says shortly. She doesn’t look up to him. She just keeps focusing on weaving the thread in and out of the black fabric. She does see his feet stop in its place, just at the edge of her range of sight. Backstage begins to quiet down a bit.

Harry’s band gathers at the stage door ready to go when they're told to do so. There’s murmurs from the stage crew as they get everything ready. Aurora takes a deep breath to try and calm the shakiness in her hands.

“Ror, why’re you shaking?” Harry whispers. Aurora hears the click of Helene’s camera.

“Trying to fix your pants, less than 10 minutes till the show,” she answers quickly.

“I can go on stage late, it’s fine. Take your time, love.”

“Harry, please, I’m not your girl right now, I'm not ‘love’, I’m trying to do my job. Just let me fix these, I’ll call you when they’re ready. Now, go put on your tank and jacket, please.” Aurora isn’t messing around and Harry’s figured that out now.

“Yeah, okay,” he says solemnly. “Pushing start time by 10 minutes!” the stage manager announces instead of giving the 5 minute warning. “Officially, 15 minutes till new start time!

Although Aurora is angry with Harry for ripping his pants in the first place and now pushing back the show to accommodate her she relaxes a bit and her hands calm down.

A few minute pass and when she knots the final stitch she calls for Harry. Standing up from her spot she turns the pants right side out. When she finally looks away from the pants she sees Harry standing in front of her, the top half of his body much more covered than the bottom half.

“Thank you” he whispers to Aurora as he takes his pants from her. “I’m sorry,” he says as he buttons them close. When she meets his eyes she can’t help but smile softly at him. She sighs heavily, weaving the needle that’s still in her hand on the shoulder of her shirt, just like her mom always does.

“Out of all the suits to rip before the show it was the simple black Givency one. Really?” Aurora messes with the collar of his jacket quickly, pulling it so it sits evenly on his shoulders. “Gotta respect me when I’m working okay? I’m here to be your ‘Head of Wardrobe’ first.” Harry nods, understanding. “I know the line is blurry, but when I’m trying to fix your clothes in a timely manner and you’re acting like a spoiled rockstar, you gotta check yourself. I’ll be your girlfriend after the show and we can laugh about how you ripped the entire inside seam of your pants then. Right now, though, I’m annoyed and a little angry. You shouldn’t have been playing ping pong like that in your suit in the first place, but I am not your mother, so, yeah.” Aurora shakes her head.

“I’m sorry,” Harry offers again.

“Thank you, but it’s fine. We’ll figure this out eventually,’ Aurora shrugs. “You’re all set. Good luck,” she says as she pushes him towards the stage door.

“Be my girl for a minute?” Aurora’s eyebrows furrow at the question. “Just want a good luck kiss,” he explains.

“Hasn’t stopped you before,” Aurora says challengingly.

“You’re not making the line any clearer,” he challenges back.

“Shut up and let me kiss you,” Aurora states as she grabs his face in both of her hands. His hands find a grip on her waist before dipping his head down and meeting their lips lightly. He lets one hand drop, the other smoothing around her waist so he can hold her whole body with the one. He presses another kiss to her lips before he pulls away. He grabs her waist tightly once more and presses a kiss to her cheek.

She watches as the sound manager sets up his in-ear and weaves it through the back of his jacket. Harry adjusts the cords and the piece in his ear quickly and spares a last look at Aurora who’s standing where he left her, arms now crossed against her chest, smiling back at him. He mirrors her bright smile for a quick moment before turning around and disappearing through the doors.

#harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #sequins & zippers #aurora on tour #harry styles fanfiction #one direction imagine

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heartlessconviction · 3 years

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Kingdom Hearts: Melody of Memory. Pleasantly surprised however not worth £60

So I’ve beaten Melody of Memory and I’ll be the first to say, it surprises me just how fun this game is. I am not fond of Rhythm games to begin with and as you may already know I am exceedingly critical when it pertains to the KH series as a whole. I think most of the games are flawed in a game design and mechanical standpoint. And I’ll be bold enough to say the series has been getting progressively worse since KH2FM dropped in 2007. Re:Mind redeemed KH3 somewhat yet we are 11 patches in and Guard is still fucking broken so you be the judge there. There really isn’t much I can say since the gameplay really doesn’t have any level of depth towards it, you hit the notes on time with the beat essentially. You have a melee attack which is placed onto the 2 bumpers and one face button, you need all 3 since at some point you will need to hit notes simultaneously. The most depth you will get is in the Gliding and avoiding attacks, upon the track some heartless will try to hit you and by jumping over these it counts as a beat in any given song, you will also need to utilize the jump since certain heartless can only be hit whilst in the air. At parts in a song you will also need to glide and manouver your character into green notes, but the same basic rule of thumb applies here. Later in the game you will come across deep dives and boss fights, which force you to also use the analogue stick to hit notes, but at the end of the day you are just tackling a song. The amvs that play are pretty scripted and in these segments they can become extremely distracting as the notes tend to blend in with the video in the background. This only applies to the Deep Dives and the boss fights, but it can become a pain in the arse when you miss a note due to a white flash lingering within the video and it tricks you to press the button a tad early. In terms of story the game is pretty bareboned, I will say this now. If you are playing this game strictly for the story and you have no interest in the Rhythm game genre. Save yourself 60 dollars, the new story content is held towards the end of the 8 hour campaign, for the rest of it Kairi is pretty much summarizing the events of the Xehanort Saga. Poorly I might add as so much context is stripped away from these summaries. If this is your first KH game, do not go into this expecting to understand the events of the previous Saga. These summaries are designed to pad out game time, they do not serve as passable representations of the last 15 years of the series. There are far more effecient ways to experience the story as a newcomer via The Story So Far HD Collection Bundle. MoM fails heavily in this regard. {I’m not going to go into depth on the new Story content as this isn’t a spoiler review or anything.} In terms of playable characters you have 4 teams, consisting of 12 characters as a whole. A Sonic Heroes predicament, all of the characters function the same and whatever miniscule difference they have is strictly cosmetic. At some point in a few worlds you will have guest characters with you, but again they function the same. A disappointing aspect of this Team System is that the Team Members are locked and with no ways to customize them, perhaps mods for the Switch will fix this. However for the base game each member is locked into a particular team, so you are unable to change them around. For example you cannot put Sora, Roxas and Xion within the same team. I do not understand why this hasn’t been included as timeline plotholes cannot be used as an excuse, as you can face any of the bosses with any of the teams. So you could have Team Days face off against KH1 Ansem. Admitingly its a small omittance since the teams are merely cosmetic. Yet as we know cosmetics whilst insignicant to the gameplay itself does hold merit to a games content and overall value when it pertains to replayability and customizability. Teams and Team Members: Team Classic: Sora, Donald and Goofy Team Days: Roxas, Axel and Xion Team 3D: Riku and Dream Eaters Team BBS: Aqua, Ventus and Terra The song selection is something I adore and hate at the same time, you have classics such as: Sanctuary Simple and Clean The 13th Dialema The other Promise Another Side/Another Story {Deep Dive} Vector To the Heavens Even One-Winged Angel makes an apperance. Yet there is a shocking absence of KH3 representation, you have Let it go and a few other songs. {Around 8 in total} But considering the fact I actually prefer a lot of the KH3 variations of the songs its disappointing they didn’t make the cut. Especially the masterpieces from the Re:Mind DLC. Above all of that for a lot of the songs they use the original PS2 renditions rather than the remastered variations from the HD remixes which... Why? They are inferior in comparison imo. Even so, Let it Go in japanese is fire. As a whole this game surprised me, but I do not think for a second that its worth the 60 quid asking price. Its amazing to have a homage to all of these amazing tunes from the series thus far, nevertheless for the story content whilst it isn’t as halve arsed as Re:Coded. Its not enough to justify the price tag. Rhythm games are not for everybody and that is perfectly fine, people aren’t getting upset because KH has a Rhythm game. They take issue with the fact lore is locked behind the paywall, and yes whilst you can just watch the cutscenes on youtube like most of us do with Union cross and Dark Road, it just isn’t the same experience that you would get from experiencing the cutscenes yourself after a tough challenge. If this game was 30, which I whole heartedly believe it should have been. I would be a tad warmer in my critique. Unfortunately that isn’t the case, from a gameplay standpoint this is truly a quality product. Its just overpriced, now if they included the KH3 songs and the Re:Mind songs within the base product maybe that would shift my stance, however I have a suspicion they are going to try and milk those for DLC. If not great but it just feels like something Square would do at this point. No Simple and Clean Ray of Hope Mix is not included. Yeah, it baffles me as well. The conclusion in which I will sign off with is this. Despite my feelings on the games price tag, It has succeded in fundamentally changing the approach in which I listen to music going forth. Upon playing this overtime my brain slowly started to recognize the patterns and began to pick up on the subtle nuances that the majority of these songs contain. Small features of a particular track you wouldn’t even think about on a casual listen can be indispensible in building up to the grander narrative of a song, the slightest of mistakes can cause the melody as a whole to fall flat and this was something I had to come to grips with and adapt to when going for the full chains. Even now when I listen to songs in my free time, these small details are easier to notice and I feel that I am presented with a whole new experience with some of my favourite Songs. It is like I am truly experiencing them for the first time once more and that is something I will forever attribute to this game.

#Kingdom Hearts #Melody of Memory #Surprised me #A tad overpriced however

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sageclover61 · 4 years

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It’s Only A Myth Witchers Don’t Need Family

@geraskierweek

TITLE: It’s Only A Myth Witcher’s Don’t Need Family

AUTHOR/ARTIST: @sageclover61

PROMPT DAY #: Day 6, Found Family

SUMMARY: The general population is wrong about a long of things. Witchers have feelings, Mages have feelings, and Bards are more than the shenanigans they get up to. Geralt might think he doesn't care what others believe him to be, but he's more than their hatred and their fears. Over time, he learns a valuable lesson about his pack.

WORD COUNT (if applicable):4881

BOOKS/NETFLIX/2002 SHOW/VIDEO GAME: Netflix

TRIGGERS/WARNINGS: NA

RATING: T

ADDITIONAL NOTES: AO3 link https://archiveofourown.org/works/22828018

Everyone knows that Witchers don’t have feelings. They don’t form attachments, they can’t feel anything , and they’re no better than the monsters that they hunt. Those who believe in souls would say that Witchers don’t have them, can’t have them, because they’re too inhuman for a thing as human as a soul.

Some say that Witchers were born without souls, and others would say that they were cut out of them. Either way, they were inhuman.

They’re wrong. Witchers didn’t do families. Or attachment. But it’s a choice, a rule, a law . They’re sterile, and the only thing that separates them from the monsters that they hunt is the choices that they make. But not because they were incapable of attachments or feelings. Rather, they felt everything too strongly, and used the coldness they displayed as a means to protect themselves.

They could live forever. No one around them was going to. Human lives were a single grain of sand in the hourglass of the universe.

Everyone knows that mages trade their capacity to feel things for the enhancements that make them beautiful and immortal and powerful. It makes them cold, and petty, and amoral. They’re human, anymore. They’re something greater.

Humanity fears them for it, and uses them, and craves to be like them in the same pretty sentences they weave to use to abuse them.

Mages don’t want families. They sacrifice their ability to have children in exchange for power. They don’t need anyone. Not to depend on, not to be dependent on them. They did live forever. Even the lives of the Witchers were but a grain of sand.

Everyone knows that bards aren’t to be trusted. Their words hid too much behind them, charming wives away from their husbands, husbands away from their wives, and running away before anything could be done about it.

But there were whispers, in dark corners of taverns at night, when no bards were around. Rumors of clandestine meetings, from which only the bard would leave alive and of coin trading hands as quickly as daggers sinking into hearts, and strange concoctions being tipped into drinks when no one was watching, leaving the drinker dead by morning.

They didn’t have families. They didn’t need families, all the bastard children running around unclaimed. They didn’t have time for them. Lives too short, too many places to visit and epic ballads to write, and deaths to be gleaned at the hands of jilted lovers.

They’re wrong, about Witchers. Witchers are less than human, but they’re more, too. If humanity is defined by their capacity to feel, then Witchers are defined not only by their infinitely greater senses, but also their infinitely greater capacity to feel .

Geralt can’t speak for all the Witchers, but he finds that their disdain for him makes everything, easier, somehow. They hate him, so they send him on his way once he’s helped them, often without paying all that he’s owed, and it’s easier to keep himself from getting attached to them. He says little, cloaking himself in a facade of whatever the fuck they need to keep from desiring to get closer to him.

He pretends so well and for so long, that he forgets that he’s pretending. Opinions of him decrease and decrease, until he didn’t know they could get any worse, and then it does get worse.

“You say that you can’t choose but you had to, and you’ll never know if you were right. Your reward will be a stoning and you will run. You will try to outrun the girl in the woods and you cannot. She is your destiny.”

She does not tell him that the stoning is his reward for caring so much, but it is. He cares deeply, and impossibly, and being able to do so is supposed to be against the way of the Witcher.

He kills neither the girl nor the mage, but the whole town of Blaviken is dead.

Geralt uses a Witcher Sign, and he wonders if anyone else had ever thought of such a use for it. He uses Axii to wipe the knowledge of the curse of the black sun from Stregobor’s mind, and force him to forget about Renfri.

He manages to convince Renfri to stop hunting him, and move on with her life. She’s safe, now. She doesn’t have to run unless she wants to, and she can discover for herself what she wants.

She’s 16 and she has never had peace. But she can have it now, she deserves it.

Renfri trails after him for 3 days, and then, she is gone, having chosen for herself what comes next.

She was the first of Geralt’s pack, though she did not know it.

Jaskier was, in all probability, the sluttiest slut who had ever been a slut. If not, he was definitely the sluttiest bard who’d ever existed. He who would happily charm into his bed anything and everything that could possibly consent to joining him there. The husbands, the wives, the elves, the monsters, even those who believed themselves to be the most celibate of priests and priestesses allowed themselves to be charmed into his bed.

He loved this life of performing for the masses, and running from vengeful cuckolds. Jaskier had always craved some more adventure, and this was as fun as it got.

But then, the great Witcher, Geralt of Rivia, walked into the bar while he was playing, and he knew that even greater adventure awaited him.

His first adventure, and he even ended up with a brand new, elven crafted, lute. From Filavander, the king of the elves. He didn’t think it could get any better than that, but then he was falling in love with the Witcher who didn’t use enough words, and, who despite his course addressing of him, treated him well.

Tumbling into Geralt’s bedroll with him, there was no place on the entire Continent that he would rather be.

He was the second member of Geralt’s pack, and followed by his side, faithfully, for twenty three years.

Yennefer did not have a choice. She had a series of impossible decisions, and a destiny that led in a direction she did not wish for, so she broke it. No longer was she the little girl to accept the hand of cards that had been dealt to her. No. She needed no one. She was as alone as she had always been, but she chose power over being a wife or a mother. She did not know that was her choice.

She did not know that humanity despised mages, even while demanding their services to fix their messes. Yennefer had the potential to be the greatest mage to ever exist, and yet for thirty years she was nothing more than a royal arse wiper.

Nobody. She was nobody. She was hated and despised by the same people whose very lives depended on her. It was not what she had envisioned, nor was it the power she’d so desired.

But then she was escorting the queen and the new darling princess the queen didn’t even want, and she could not allow her to so callously attempt to bargain with the assassin for her own life, with the life of her child.

What mother was willing to allow a fiend her child if it meant that she could live?

The assassin kills the mother with a single blade, but Yennefer is willing to risk her own life to save the babe, and the magic accepts her desire without requiring her life.

The baby wasn’t born of her blood, but she realizes that’s okay. She doesn’t know what Kalis named her daughter, so Yennefer names the baby Ksenia.

Yennefer hates being trapped in a gilded cage for a stupid mayor of a stupid town in a stupid country that she hates infinitely. But she must provide for the little girl she’s raising as her own, and this is the only way, now that she’s left the Aedirn court.

Ksenia is almost ten, and Yennefer loves her more than she's ever loved anyone, and if the mayor so much as touches a single hair of her head, she's burning this town down.

She was entertaining herself with a masked orgy when a Witcher brought her a pitcher of apple juice and a dying bard. What wish did they make, she wondered, as she mixed the antidote for the tumor in the throat.

Could she use the Witcher to get the mayor off her back? She didn’t want her daughter growing up here. It simply wasn’t the best place for her to be. So what to do…

In retrospect, using the Witcher to attack the members of the council she hated the most, especially before she knew all of what was going on, was an incredibly stupid mistake. She was lucky Ksenia hadn’t suffered any harm, once the djinn had set its sights on the house they were all in.

So was the fact that Geralt had made the third wish silently. It could be anything. But whatever wish he’d made, Ksenia was safe, and so was she. It had to be good enough.

“You know, you could have just told me that you wanted to get yourself out of this place.”

Yennefer turned around quickly, seeing the Witcher standing behind her. “And how do I know you truly would have helped us? Your kind isn’t so fond of my kind, as I recall.”

She could hear the bard speaking with Ksenia, but it wasn’t important. Whatever Geralt was about to say, however, she could feel that it would be one of the most important things she would hear for a very long time.

“Contrary to popular belief, Witchers aren’t all heartless beings. Regardless of my feelings towards someone, I will not ignore a child in danger, especially when there is a chance I can help save them.”

Yennefer didn’t know what to say, so she remained silent, watching her daughter. The daughter whose life she had risked foolishly, because she had been too selfish to ask for assistance.

Ksenia was laughing at something the bard had said, she wasn’t sure what. When had she last seen such a carefree expression on her child’s face? Had she really spent so much valuable time with this worthless situation, when there were so many more important things? Like whether or not her daughter was happy ?

There was a sigh from Geralt, then, as he moved to leave. “I will not keep you from your child any longer than I already have. All I ask is that should anything happen, you ask for help, before it is too late.”

“Ksenia.” She did not raise her voice, loathe as she was to separate her from what she was finding so hilarious, but she also needed to know that the child really was okay after all that had happened.

“Yes, Mama?” Ksenia turned her head in recognition of her name being called, but she didn’t move the rest of her body, and she was still grinning, eyes still laughing. She somehow looked younger than her nine years. Smaller and more innocent, but not unhealthy. Not injured .

“It’s time to go, My Heart. There’s another home waiting for us elsewhere.” She didn’t know where, but there would be somewhere . Anywhere would be better than this place had been for them.

Yennefer and her daughter were the third and fourth additions to Geralt’s pack, and neither of them had any idea.

“And what does a Mage like you want with a dragon hunt?” Jaskier asked the next they saw Yennefer. “Don’t you have a daughter to be looking after?”

The expression of sour hurt that spread across Yennefer’s face was almost enough for him to regret his taunt. But it wasn’t until she said, “Ksenia is dying from dragon pox, I need the dragon’s heart to cure it,” that he really regretted it.

Even after so long, he could still remember the fear in his sisters’ eyes as they heard of a mysterious plague sweeping through the land, and the horror in his parents’ eyes when the youngest had fallen ill with it. He could remember watching helplessly as it spread from one sister to the next, as his parents locked his sisters away in a room, unable to watch as the sickness slowly stole away their lives.

“Jaskier-”

It had been the strangest, and deadliest plague. A wasting illness, a horrible rash, an ever rising fever. It had left them bedridden, lost in waking nightmares. Famished, but unable to eat, and sweating more than they could possibly hope to drink. He could still hear their screams, as the disease had taken weeks to run its course. Though he had been told to stay away, he just couldn’t. He’d snuck into their room, laying with them, and holding them as they shook and cried, praying to any god who would listen to spare his baby sisters.

But it had all been pointless. A month after the first signs had been noticed, they had all been stolen away from him, leaving him alone to face his parents.

“Jaskier!”

Jaskier found himself blinking, staring at Geralt in confusion. When had the Witcher moved in front of him? “Geralt? What’s the matter?”

Golden eyes stared back at him, narrowed in concern. “You were speaking with Yennefer, but froze. I’ve been trying to get your attention for several minutes now.” he paused for a moment, eyes searching for any unseen wounds, but Jaskier knew that he wouldn’t find any. “What happened?”

He shook his head, trying to calm his heart as he put on the same fake smile he’d been forced to wear all those years ago. “It’s nothing, I was just distracted for a moment.”

Jaskier might have missed the whole of the battle sleeping in, but the fight he’d missed had nothing on the scene he witnessed now. The whole of the dragon’s lair was littered with blossoming flowers in a pale blue, yellow, and dark purple, and in the back of the cave, alongside the massive body of the green dragon, a golden egg was glowing .

He’d never seen this kind of flower before, but even from where he was standing, he could feel the magic emanating from the petals, so thick it was almost impossible to breathe.

His sisters would have loved it. A sunny meadow would have been prettier, but even a cave full of flowers in their favorite colors would have been a hit.

Despite himself, he reached down to pick one of the pale blue ones. Even as he bent now, it felt like blasphemy to vandalize it, but he just wanted to get a better look at the flower that reminded him so much of his youngest sister.

Even as he severed the stem, the flower crumbled into dust.

“Humans have all but wiped the dragons out, believing them to hold all manner of cures for their ailments. Fertility, blindness, lost limbs, even to hold the secrets of immortality. They’re wrong. There is no cure that can restore your womb.”

Jaskier glanced to where Borch was standing in front of Yennefer. Borch was holding a handful of the flowers that he’d just tried, and failed, to pick.

“These flowers only grow where dragon fire has burned, but they’re most common where we hatch our young. I give these to you freely. My heart will heal yours.”

“ Dragon’s Heart,” Yennefer gasped.

Jaskier swallowed heavily. “Borch,” he said, quietly. He did not think he could speak louder, but he also did not think the gold dragon would have any trouble hearing him. “Would flowers like these… have saved them?”

“Perhaps, Julien Alfred Pankratz.”

His insides burned at how ironic it was that flowers in their favorite colors might have saved the lives of his little sisters. There was a very sad, very epic ballad in there somewhere.

A dragon’s fire breathes new life.

“You may take these with you, Bard.” Borch handed him a bouquet of three flowers, one in each color. One for each sister. “They will not wilt, and if you were to plant them, they would grow.”

“Thank you.” There were no words that Jaskier could say that would convey his gratitude. But his heart burned, too. These were the flowers that would have saved the lives of his little sisters, and he was only holding them too many decades too late to be of use. “Yennefer, may I come with you?” He was intimately familiar with dragon pox. At the very least, he could help Ksenia feel more comfortable while Yennefer prepared the medicine to cure it.

“Jaskier.”

Jaskier turned around, and walked towards where Geralt was standing outside the cave. He hugged the witcher. “I need this,” he whispered, brokenly, even as Geralt kissed his forehead. “I need closure. And you need to go find your Child Surprise. She needs you.”

“I know you do.” Geralt’s voice was soft, almost softer than Jaskier thought was possible. “I’ll find you, or you will find me, when you’re ready. And by then, I may have my Child Surprise, ready for you to meet.”

Yennefer made the cure for dragon pox, and Ksenia lived.

And Jaskier found himself in a place he’d never ever thought he’d return.

There were three marked graves in a meadow in Lettenhove. The pox had been believed too contagious for them to be buried in the family graveyard, so they had been buried here instead. This was almost easier, however, because it meant that he could carry out his task without any witnesses.

He planted the baby blue flower over the first grave, the purple flower over the second grave, and the yellow flower over the third.

“Answer your calling,” his eldest sister had said, her dying words to him, as he’d held her hand and fervently wished that she would live. “Go be a bard.”

He had spent his entire childhood trying to be the very best big brother that he could be. He’d learned to braid their hair, and had played dress up with them, and stolen their mother’s makeup, and cooked with them. He’d also sung an infinite number of songs, and read bedtime stories or made them up, and all in all, they were his fondest memories.

But they had been gone for decades, and he’d left very soon after their deaths, unable to cope with their absences in a house in which the ghosts weighed more than the air they breathed.

There had been no joy, and the pain had not only been emotional.

“In a house of too many secrets

There’s no people, only their strife.

At the end of dying meadows,

A dragon’s fire breathes new life.”

He sighed. “No, no, that’s not right. There needs to be something about the memories in that house. It was… rife with them.”

“Excuse me. I’m sorry, are you desecrating those graves?”

Jaskier spun around. A brown haired woman was leaning against a tree at the edge of the meadow. She looked young, but looks could be deceiving. “Excuse you, I would never . If you must know, they’re family.”

“Sometimes our blood is the people we want to hurt the most. I’m Renfri. You’re… Jaskier, the bard, right?”

She was armed, but she hadn’t drawn her blade, nor did he think that she was about to attack him. Or at least, he hoped not. He was armed too, at least. If it came to that. Not that he was very useful with a blade.

“They died of dragon pox. I wish them no ill will, I’m simply here for closure. What brings you to the graves of three Lettenhove daughters who didn’t even have the respect of being buried in their family graveyard?”

“I had heard that the bard who traveled with the white wolf of Rivia was traveling this way, and I wanted to meet you. I’m on my way to see Geralt again, it’s been… a number of years since I saw him last, and I thought it would be polite to ask if you cared to accompany me.”

Jaskier looked back at the graves. The flowers seemed… healthier, than when he’d planted them. Taller, perhaps, if that was even possible.

“As I’m sure you know, there’s an inn not that far from here. I’m leaving in the morning, but we can stop here as we leave.”

He didn’t have his closure yet, but he did also greatly want to go back to Geralt. He’d been feeling lethargic for days.

It was possible the woman was using him as a trap to get Geralt, but if that was the case, then she had no idea who she was dealing with. If she was telling the truth though, and he really thought she was, then it meant he didn’t have to travel to Cintra by himself, and he liked that idea.

“I’m not ready to go back to the inn yet, but I will travel with you back to Geralt.”

He sang a few ballads in the tavern at the inn, including a new one in his rotation about the White Wolf. Songs of heartbreak and the lonely Witcher were popular with the masses, even if it was mostly an exaggeration.

He loved Geralt, and maybe Geralt loved him back, but while his heart did feel broken, it has nothing to do with Geralt and everything to do with three little girls.

He still channeled it into the song.

"Did Geralt break your heart?" Renfri asked when he joined her after his performance. "I would be happy to knock some sense into his skull for you."

Jaskier shook his head. "We both had things that we needed to take care of, and we'll see each other again when we're done. But some audiences prefer songs like that one and I like the coin they'll part with when they're satisfied."

"I couldn't help but overhear you in the meadow, were you writing a new ballad?"

"I'm hoping it'll bring me closure. Anyway, I think I'm going to head to bed."

Travelling with Renfri was nice. She let him ride double on her horse, and they made really good time.

They chatted about their adventures, telling various stories or just making idle chit chat. She was infinitely more talkative than Geralt.

But it didn’t help with the emptiness he was feeling in his chest. It was growing. He hadn’t noticed it at first, but now, Renfri’s random diversions of dialogue was the only thing distracting him away from it.

“Tell me about the bards who assassinate people with poison while wandering around the bar with no one ever the wiser.”

He blinked. “What?” He supposed it wasn’t exactly a secret that some bards used the opportunity provided by their ability to wander around mostly unnoticed to perform more nefarious acts, but he’d never done it himself. He’d never… felt that urge. “There’s probably good money for those with the skill and inclination. But why commit murder when the greatest pleasures in life comes from sleeping with them?”

It occurred to him that he’d slept with a lot fewer people once he’d started sleeping with Geralt. The Witcher had a lot more stamina than your standard human. Needed less sleep, too. Meant the best of both worlds.

“The call of the White Wolf is loudest at the dawn

The call of a stone heart is broken and alone

Born of Kaer Morhen

Born of No Love

The song of the White Wolf is cold as driven snow

Bear not your eyes upon him lest steel or silver draw

Lay not your breast against him or lips to ease his roar

For the song of the White Wolf will always be sung alone

Cast not your eyes upon him, lest he kiss you with his sword

Lay not your heart against him or your lips to ease his roar

For the song of the White Wolf we'll always sing alone

For the song of the White Wolf we'll always sing alone”

Jaskier was singing in the bar of an inn somewhere north of what was left of Cintra, and he was beyond exhausted. Sleep did not come easily, and what sleep did come was plagued by nightmares of losing what little family he thought he’d gained.

He was about to beg off because even just lying restlessly on a bed sounded better than staying down here any longer, when who but Geralt walked in, Ksenia and a younger girl he didn’t recognize on his heels.

The younger girl was the spitting image of Pavetta, and he realized it could be none other than Princess Cirilla of Cintra.

“Geralt!” he exclaimed, barely noticing as Renfri made a beeline after him as he hurried over to embrace the Witcher. “I missed you so much,” he whispered, standing up on his toes so that he could kiss Geralt.

“And I you,” Geralt answered, after kissing him back. “Ciri, meet Jaskier.”

“Hi,” the little girl said.

“Geralt.”

“Renfri?” Geralt smiled at Jaskier’s traveling companion, who was standing behind Jaskier. “It’s good to see you again. This is Ciri, and Ksenia. And I guess you’ve met Jaskier?”

“Ran into him in Lettenhove. Geralt, I would be happy to see that the girls get something to eat, and a room.”

“You should do that,” Jaskier suggested, before kissing Geralt again. “I think Geralt and I have… some things to, uh, talk about.”

“We do?”

“We do,” Jaskier repeated, dragging Geralt in the direction of the room he and Renfri had already rented for the night.

They stayed a few days longer than Geralt had intended, but Renfri and Jaskier had enough coin, and Ksenia and Jaskier both needed a few days of rest before making the long journey to Kaer Morhen.

Once they left, Ciri and Ksenia, who had been riding double on Roach, took turns riding double with Renfri so that the horses could rotate who was carrying the weight of two. Sometimes Geralt would insist Jaskier ride as well, which was new, he’d never let Jaskier ride Roach before.

It took them weeks to get to Kaer Morhen, but Vesemir was waiting for them when they arrived.

The eldest witcher stared at them, and then he rolled his eyes as he opened the gate to let them in. “The others didn’t bring their packs this year,” he said. “But Lambert, Eskel, and Coen are all here.”

“Thank you,” Geralt said, and with that, he led his family into the home that would always welcome him.

Destiny would bring Yennefer back to them, and time would allow Ksenia a full recovery from her time bedridden by the dragon pox. Yennefer would have to come, someone had to teach Ciri control of her volatile magics.

Vesemir wasn’t going to say anything, but he really hoped it was before Ciri managed to dismantle the entire keep with a single shout.

The other Witchers learned to enjoy having some women in the keep who could remind them to stop eating traveling rations all winter long. It was a reminder, really, that they deserved good things too.

And Jaskier… wasn’t just a bard. He taught Ciri and Ksenia, with Renfri’s help and using Geralt’s long hair, all of the courtly braids he’d learned to make of his sisters’ hair. He also made a mean chicken noodle soup.

He also worked on his newest ballad, an ode to the memory of his sisters.

“Jaskier! You have to play a new ballad! A sad one, those are my favorites,” Ciri begged, one eaving after supper when Geralt’s pack and all the Witchers had gathered in the main living room, in front of the warm fire. She was sitting at Jaskier’s feet, watching out the window as it continued snowing.

Jaskier hummed, and plucked idly at his lute as he considered whether or not he was ready to play the ballad that would bring him closure. “100 years ago, the dragon pox took my little sisters away from me. I haven’t finished it yet, it’s not really telling the story I want to tell.”

“That’s okay,” Ciri said. “I want to hear it anyway.”

Jaskier smiled, sadly. He couldn’t deny her anything, and he didn’t want to.

“At the end of the old road

In a house built on a foundation of strife

There’s too many secrets, too many memories

Too many necessaries after too many centuries

All the things of which it was rife.

Far too much that was all but owed

And yet, a dragon fire breathes new life

Into what first appeared a dying meadow

Being that which is not a rough

But all it ever needed was that new life.”

He plucked a few more chords, but he didn’t resist when Geralt tugged the lute from his idle fingers. “You’ll be happy with it when you finish it, and it’ll bring you the closure you’re still seeking.”

“I’ll help!” Ciri exclaimed. “It’s just a matter of finding the right words, right?”

“Something like that.” He leaned against Geralt, and let himself find comfort in that.

#witcher fanfiction #geraskier #found family

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elialys · 4 years

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Ten(too?) x Rose - How to Baby Proof Your TARDIS

This is a gift for @lastbluetardis as part of the Secret Santa (@dwsecretsanta) exchange ^^ The title pretty much says it all. Don't expect anything from this except cavity inducing domestic pregnancy fluff.

Writing this, I could literally not decide if this was Ten x Rose, or Tentoo x Rose in their new TARDIS a few years down the line. Whatever works for you, I guess :D

Happy holidays ♥

[READ IT ON AO3]

HOW TO BABY PROOF YOUR TARDIS

The straw that finally breaks Rose’s aching back happens that night, when she tries using the loo adjacent to their room, and the lid simply refused to be lifted.

No matter how much she pulls, huffs or puffs (with an increasing amount of loud cursing), the bloody thing will not budge, for reasons unknown to her. From what she can see, there is no obvious mechanism that she can snap off, and no Doctor around to tell her what he’s done – and more importantly, how to undo what he’s done.

The thing about being thirty-five weeks pregnant is that she needs to pee.

Often.

It also means that if she doesn’t get to do it in the proper place in the appropriate amount of time, there will come a point when her body will go ‘tough!’ and pretty much make her pee no matter what.

Which is why Rose waddles away from their bedroom, making her way to the next available bathroom as swiftly as she can manage in her state…only to find the toilet just as inaccessible.

Now, the other thing about being thirty-five weeks pregnant is that if she gets remotely upset (and the prospect of peeing herself in the next two minutes is definitely upsetting) she will respond in one of two ways: wrath, or tears.

That night, she does both.

The way she hollers his name is quite terrifying, even to her own irrational ears. For one thing, she sounds exactly like her Mum does on a bad day. She also sounds like someone about to commit a murder.

Wherever he’s been, the Doctor hears her call well enough. Unfortunately, she’s too livid and desperate by then to be impressed in any way by how quickly he reappears, nothing short of tripping over his own feet as he staggers into the small room.

His panicked expression only worsens when he takes her in, tearstained face and all.

“What is it? Contractions? Spotting? Vitamin deficiency?”

“I need to pee!” she barks at him, pointing at the closed lid. “Open that bloody thing up!”

“Oh,” he says, having the nerves to just stand there and blink for a moment, until her nostrils flare and she fixes him with a glare so intense that he startles back into action at once. “Oh! Of course, just a tick!”

“I don’t have a tick,” she snaps back, miserable, as big, fat tears stream down her face, along with an impressive amount of mucus from her nose.

His screwdriver is already out and buzzing away at the lid, soon leading to an audible CLICK.

“There you go!” he exclaims, bravely beaming at her, although there is unmistakable terror in his eyes, well aware that he’s mucked this up.

She points at the door, sniffling and swallowing down more gunk in the process. “Out,” she whispers, and that soft, furious word seems to terrify him more than any shouting.

He does not argue, swiftly leaving the room, having the decency to close the door behind him, allowing Rose to do her business on time – and in the right place.

“I’m sorry.”

His voice comes muffled through the door, and she has no problem whatsoever picturing him as he must be, pretty much splayed all over the wood, already self-flagellating for upsetting her.

Now that her desperate urge to urinate has been dealt with, she feels immensely better, and a lot more rational – as well as a tad embarrassed. How much crying, snotting and peeing can someone manage in a day, exactly?

“We’ve talked about this,” Rose reminds him thickly, blowing her nose with toilet paper.

“I know.”

“It’ll be months before she’s big enough to move around on her own, let alone find herself near a loo.”

“I know.”

Rose sighs, finishing cleaning herself up. She takes some time at the sink to splash cold water on her blotchy face, looking as blotted and uncomfortable as she feels.

When she opens the door, he’s moved, leaning back against the opposite wall. He looks like a puppy who’s just been kicked.

“Is that really what you’ve been up to all night?” she asks him, more softly. “Baby proofing the TARDIS?”

The Doctor doesn’t answer, but the way he ruffles the hair at the back of his head is telling enough.

To be fair, he’s been good for a long time. Months, even.

He’s been protective of her, obviously, and the way he’s been insisting on doting on her from the moment they found out she was pregnant has been both endearing and frustrating. She regularly gets annoyed with the way he seems to think she cannot perform simple task by herself anymore (including wrapping a towel around her own body after showering), but she cannot stay mad at him for long when he keeps on looking at her as if she was the most mesmerising being in the universe.

Unfortunately, he’s become more than protective and attentive, these past few days.

He’s become paranoid.

She’s partly to blame for it, as she’s the one who suggested they tried out one of those Lamaze classes her Mum kept badgering her about…which had not been a success.

They’d both felt terribly out of place amongst those cooing couples, especially after the Doctor told one of them that their birth plans involved taking Rose to the soothing waters of Lusthion III in the Tresush Cluster, known for their naturally numbing properties, at which point they all started looking at them the way most regular people did.

Awkward social interactions aside, the instructor made the mistake of reminding everybody that it was never too early to start making a checklist of their home, in order to determine what could be a possible hazard for their child.

The Doctor obviously took it as a challenge.

“Did you know there are three-thousand-six-hundred-and-forty-nine ways for a child to get harmed on this TARDIS?” he’d asked her a couple of days ago, once he was done with his thorough inventory.

He’d looked slightly crazed by then, having obviously imagined in great details how their offspring could get hurt in every single one of these ways.

“Is at all?” she’d antagonised him instead of thinking up something sensible to say that would have calmed him down. “Thought it would be more, to be honest, seeing how children can literally hurt themselves just by walking from one end of a room to the other.”

That stupid remark had put a fire under his arse, for lack of better word.

They both know from his constant blabbering of facts that Rose should have entered the nesting phase of her pregnancy by now. And yet, while she sometimes feels compelled to work on the nursery some more, the Doctor is the one who’s been reorganising the entire TARDIS for the last two days.

It hasn’t been all bad, as he did get rid or fixed some implements that had been a danger to them both for years – including loose wires and other exposed mechanical hazards.

Rose began losing patience a few hours ago, when he started putting carpet all over the floors.

“Carpet?” she’d asked. “Carpet?”

“It’ll be softer on her little hands and knees when she starts to crawl.”

How he could be so endearing and infuriating at the same time was beyond her.

“She’s still getting oxygen through an umbilical cord,” Rose pointlessly reminded him. “It’ll be a while before she crawls.”

“Well it’ll be softer on your toes, then. You’re the one who’s always complaining about having sore feet.”

That’s when Rose had gone to bed, too achy and uncomfortable to attempt to reason with him again, aware that there was nothing much she could do or say when he was in that mood.

She’s drawing the line at toilet lids, though.

She walks to him, now, reaching up to cup his face. “Doctor,” she tells him calmly, her own bout of hysteria having receded for the time being. “I need you to get it together. You can’t expect me to be the only sane person on this ship. ‘m way too hormonal to pull it off.”

He scowls at her. “I am fine.”

“Yeah?” she asks with a scoff. “How did you lock all those toilet lids, exactly?”

“Magnetism,” he explains at once. “I gave both the lid and the seat strong magnetic properties by tinkering with the spin of their electrons.”

She blinks at him.

“Ah,” he concedes, tilting his head. “I get how that could be seen as me being somewhat irrational.”

“Somewhat?”

“Fine. Unreasonably irrational, then.”

She trails her fingers from his cheek to his hair, shaking her head a little. “Look, ‘m not against you being protective and taking precautions. I love that you’re thinking about all that stuff, when all I can think about lately is how many fried pickles I can eat before it makes me wanna spew. But I almost peed my pants tonight.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, swallowing hard.

She caresses his hair. “I know,” she says, before giving him a soft kiss, her protuberant belly pressing against his chest. “Can we wait until she’s born and mobile before we turn every toilet into giant magnets, though?”

“Sounds fair,” he says, briefly nuzzling her nose with his.

“You can make it up to me by feeding me,” she informs him.

“Ah,” he says again, tugging at his ear, before he starts wriggling out of her embrace. “Why don’t you…get changed first, eh? It’s a tad chilly tonight, I’d say you need another layer.”

As he spoke, he managed to escape her hold, slowly moving away from her.

“What have you done to the kitchen?” she asks.

Surely he knows better than to mess with her food.

“Nothing!” he splutters. “Much.”

She glares at him.

“Five minutes,” he tells her. “That’s all I need.”

“Fine,” she says. “But if I find out you’ve done anything to my pickles, ‘m moving out.”

She’s barely done talking that he’s dashing out of the corridor.

Rose follows with a waddle.

#doctor who #ten x rose #tentoo x rose #dwsecretsanta #ficandchips #fic of mine

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sabraeal · 4 years

Text

Tender Concessions, Part 1

Written for the third day of the Holiday Gift-a-thon! Though this was originally supposed to be the seventh chapter of Sensitive Negotiations, I realized that it would involve re-tracing too much of Chapter 6, which was a departure from the structure of the fic as a whole. So instead it is now its own three part companion! Not exactly what I expected, starting out, but that’s the way writing goes sometimes.

The snows have eased to a flurry when they reach the gates of Rodatrad, but Shirayuki still feels a pang of guilt as the guard emerges from his post, bundled up to within an inch of his life.

Obi jostles her with an elbow, eyes crinkling above his cowl. “Don’t worry, Miss, it’s his job to be out like this.”

Her mouth curves into a frown. “Guards can get sick too, Obi.”

She can’t see it, not with his mouth covered, but she knows he grins before he digs his heels into his mount, urging it up to where the man stands. He lifts up a hand, already falling into the loose-limbed posture he affects around other guards, the one that makes them recognize one of their own, that leads to conversations about wives and kids Obi has never met and never will, about shifts and rotations and clueless captains.

But the man only stares up at him and asks, “Purpose?”

It’s hard to make Obi speechless, but it takes him a full moment to recover from that. “My lady has business with the Duke of Rodatrad.”

The man squints at her. “I’ll send word to the manor.”

Obi’s breath mists on the air in a frustrated cloud. Another interminable wait in the snow, just like there had been at the city gate.

“It will only be a--” the guard lets loose a sneeze so loud it nearly spooks her mare, leaving it shuffling anxiously under her-- “few minutes.”

Shirayuki goads her forward, brow furrowed. “I’m sorry, do you have a cold?”

“It’s nothing,” he tells her with a shake of his head. “Just from being left out in the chill. I’ll feel right as rain when I--”

“Here.” She rummages through her pouch; a harder proposition in the cold than she’d thought. Still, with a bit of digging, her fingers seize her prize: a gauzy package that crinkles as she drops it into his hand. “Brew this when you’re back in the post. It will keep the chill from settling into your bones.”

The guard stares at it, wide-eyed. “Thank you, I’ll be sure to--” he looks up, gaze catching on something just beyond her-- “oh, you’re the pharmacist from Lyrias. His lordship is waiting for you.”

She blinks at the man’s back. “How...?”

Gears groan as the portcullis begins to life, moving at a snail’s pace. Obi’s eyes crinkle again, entirely too pleased, and--

Her heart nearly jumps straight out of her chest as he leans in, close enough that she can feel the warmth of his breath on her face, close enough that if she just shifted, she could close the space between them--

And he flips up her hood, sending snow spilling wetly onto her nose.

“It fell down,” he tells her, suddenly much too far away. “You should be more careful, Miss.”

“Oh.” Her fingers brush at the fur of her hood, on the smooth hair that rests on it. “Huh.”

“If that’s going to get us in places, we should get you one of those Samese hats. You know, with the flaps over the ears.”

If she hadn’t understood his suggestion, there would have been no mistaking the mime that accompanies it. “Obi!”

“No?” He grins, making his hands stick out to the side. “Maybe some catmuffs? We could ask where Yuzuri found hers.”

He leans in, eyes playfully hooded, and its-- it’s not anything different than usual, but still her thighs clench on her saddle, remembering --

Ah, things best forgot. “The hood is fine.”

His gaze fixes forward, smile dropping from his face. “You’re right, Miss. They should know you for more than just a color.”

She traces the line his sight carves, right to where a man waits for them in the courtyard. He is tall, as all the northerners seem to be, hands clasped behind his back as they approach. In the south, a lord might have them await his pleasure in a parlor of a garden, leaving them to wait for hours at a time. But here, it is a slight to not greet an expected guest upon their arrival, a sign that they are not worth time or courtesy.

They’re practiced at this now, drawing up the horses a respectful distance away before dismounting. Two grooms hurry out, eager to help them off their mounts, though Obi does not need it and shoos away the one that offers her aid.

It’s my job to take care of you, Miss, he’d told her, back at Ravhol, that includes keeping you from falling face-first off your horse.

She hadn’t appreciated it then, but she does now, breath catching as his palms close around her ribs, as he lifts her off the back of her mare as if she weighed no more than a wayward kitten. Her hands brace on his shoulders, steadying her descent to the cobbles, and--

And she lets them linger, just a moment longer, palms trailing down to his chest before she steps away, ready to greet the great lord of the north.

Lord Akihito is not quite what she expects. He is not wizened, not as Lord Tadashi; rather, he is Lord Hideo’s age, old enough to have gray hairs at the temple and children grown. Still, there are no strapping sons at his side, only a woman whose own dark hair time has spun with threads of silver.

They stand before him, spines straight, gazes meeting his. It is his move first; should he turn his back to them now, they would be politely ushered off the grounds by his guard. Nothing short of a royal command would see them inside after that, and, well-- that would miss the point entirely.

She expects him to move to Obi first; though they all knew it was the red-haired pharmacist who was their royal guest, she still did not outrank a knight-- or a man-- in their minds.

But Akihito does not. Instead he tilts his head back, taking the measure of each of them, and steps decidedly to her.

“If I make my guess, you are the intelligent one between the two of you, my lady,” he says, clasping her wrist as every other lord has done with Obi, and none with her.

She stares, jaw slack, hand limp against his arm.. He...?

Obi bursts into laughter; not his usual bitter bark or soft purr, but instead guffaws so loud she jumps, clutching at Akihito to steady herself. When she dares a glance back, he’s nearly bent in half, hands braced on his knees.

“Well.” Akihito’s lips twitch. “I see I’m the first of my compatriots to make that particular deduction.”

“Oh!” She pulls her spine straight, staring right into the storm of his eyes. “Obi is very smart!”

The laughter stops between one breath and the next, and even though she cannot turn to look, Obi’s gaze is a palpable press. Almost...a caress.

Akihito hums, unconvinced, but he spares Obi another assessing glance. “Clever, certainly. But I can tell with a look that you are the one with the plan, he is the one sent to see you carry it out.”

“Ah.” Too late, she realizes the warmth against her palm is his arm, that she has been holding it all this time-- “That would be...correct.”

She drops it, taking a polite step back. His lips twitch again, right at the corner.

“You will have to forgive my husband,” says the woman next to him, voice smooth as honey and as comforting as a hearth at midwinter. “He is quite perceptive, and takes undue pride in the fact.”

“It would only be undue if one of those idiots--”

“Your loyal retainers,” the woman reminds him, the words worn from good use.

“--had managed to sniff out their arse from their--”

“Mixed company, my love.” She smiles up at him, fondness erasing her age. “As you can see, my husband does not share the same...blindness as some of the other lords.”

“Do not be fooled.” His mouth curves to match hers. “She is mild now, so that later she might be bold.”

She inclines her head as she winds her arm through his. “A lady might say anything in her own home.”

“But not in the courtyard?” Obi offers with a slanted smile, his shoulder brushing hers as he comes to her side.

The lady lifts her hand in a shrug. “There is a distinct comfort in insulting a man in front of a hearth instead of in a drift.”

“My wife, the lady Masami,” Akihito sighs, long suffering. “Come, let us go inside, where my wife may sharpen her wit.”

She leans into him as they turn, nudging him with an elbow. “You know full well I may sharpen my wit anywhere I like.”

Akihito waves her off, but the look he graces her with is warm. “Then let us go so it may be done in comfort.”

“There, now,” she says with a smile. “I like that.”

Shirayuki startles as a hand folds over hers, chin jerking up to meet amused amber.

“Oh,” he purred, tucking her arm through his. “I think I like them.”

Shirayuki breathes easier in Rodatrad.

There is no precise reason for it; Akihito is, after all, a northern lord, just like any of the others, revered across the north for being the last bastion of the old ways.

“I can’t see why,” he says over dinner the first night, frowning into his venison. “It’s all well and good to hold onto to tradition, but some of these men...”

Masami laughs, joyous. “You would be a relic too, if only I had given you a son.”

Akihito opens his mouth as if to argue, and then shuts it swiftly. “As much as I would like to protest,” he says evenly, “that is probably a more astute assessment than I would like it to be.”

“Hear that, Miss?” Obi’s breath fans over her shoulder. “How disappointing for you.”

Her laugh leaves her on a breathless giggle, the heat of his breath lingering on her skin. “Shush.”

“Maybe I should ask about nephews,” he offers, lips hooking into a smirk. “Surely there’s someone here to beget an heir upon you.”

I’d give one to you, if you wanted. Shirayuki’s hands clench in her lap, air rasping through her teeth. The memory of his touch haunts her even now, the phantom slide of fingers along her thighs.

“You’re right,” she manages, spearing a bit of roast. “I wouldn’t have to look far at all.”

“You might be used to being left in a corner to molder,” Akihito warns when they first sit down in his study, hands folded over his desk. “That will not be so here.”

A thrill runs through her. “Don’t worry about me,” she says with a grin, “I’m prepared.”

Negotiations are vigorous.

“You call this plant Phostyrias,” Rodatrad says, skimming over her proposition, “but I recognize this. Olin Maris, isn’t it?”

Her mind stutters, just for a moment. “Part of it, yes. I didn’t realize you would...”

“Be so well read on the topic?” His mouth twitches at a corner, as good as a smile when he’s without his wife. “I like to keep abreast of what happens in Lyrias. Unlike some, I am not afraid of progress.”

It’s an understatement, to say the least. Rodatrad may be part of the North, but Akihito himself was raised in the South.

“My father was a fixture on the council when Kain’s father ruled,” he explains, “I spent the Season in the South, and then returned home for winter. That is the problem really,” he shook his head, “too many lords now stay in their manors, thinking their abstinence from court sends a message, and then wonder why their voices are not heard.”

They have been at this for days now, but even still, Shirayuki is relaxed in the duke’s presence, comfortable. “But you have not sat in your seat for many years.”

His mouth tilts ruefully. “Ah, well. Some memories cannot be forgotten.”

“You cannot use your Wisteria tricks on me,” Akihito warns her with a waggle of his finger when she tries to haggle payment. “If the boy king wants to plant possible poison in my soil, he will have to pay for the privilege.”

“It’s not poison,” she protests, heat blooming on her cheeks and in her words. “We have tested it extensively in Lyrias. It will pose no danger--”

“This generation,” he says mildly, “but what about the next, and the next? Do you know how it will spread in the spring? Do you know if it will grow wild? Will your glitter stones form around the seeds then, or will we have to dig up every sprout we find?”

She presses her lips thin, stymied. All their testing had been on a single generation, one that had shown as much ability to reproduce as a mule, but still, his questions niggle at her conscience. “Lord Akihito--”

“Ah, but you are flushed, Lady Shirayuki.” He smiles, for once, close-lipped and faint, just as Kiki does. “Let us take a small break. I’ve been meaning to show you the improvements on the manor.”

“Oh.” Shirayuki blinks, spine pulling straight. Akihito is a man who believes in progress, and according to Obi, his home proves it. “Yes, that would be lovely.”

Rodatrad had been a fortress once, back when the borders had not been so defined and incursions from Sama often made it this far south. But with peace, and a lord eager to keep it, Akihito had made it into a manor house as fine as Seiran.

“They have had southern ties longer,” Akihito tells her. “Seiran brides, Wisteria grooms, and the reverse.” He lets out a grunt, amused. “A good thing for the culture, a bad thing for tradition.”

Tradition. It seemed the North was governed by little else. Kichirou believed that it was only a return to the old ways that would lead them forward, that they must eschew the social mores of the south to becomes truly powerful. Hideo had felt much the same, but Akihito--

Akihito is the one guiding the future of the North, and she has not a single inkling of his vision of it.

Her fingers clench on his arm, steeling her. “Lord Akihito, what do you--”

A giggle chimes down the hallway, as demanding of attention as the university’s bells. Rodatrad’s mouth lifts at a corner, his gaze distant, fond.

“My, my,” he hums, pleased. “It seems that your man is making excellent company for my lady.”

Her jaw drops, and she means to protest, to tell him there’s nothing about Obi that is hers, that he has only ever been his own--

But it is already too late. Akihito lopes down the hallway like a much younger man, like a hunter searching for his quarry, and it takes all her concerted coordination to keep her grip on him, to not trip as he chases the fleeting sound of joy down Rodatrad’s cavernous halls.

Her feet tangle on a particularly perilous part of her hem, and she just barely rights herself, face flushed from the effort. She’s used to being towed around-- after all, Obi has a terrible allergy to using his words-- but this has all become quite enough. The last thing she needs is to faceplant right into one of the horny armors that line the hall and not only give this mission an ignoble end, but an diplomatic incident to bookend it. Izana might be aware of her clumsiness in the ballroom, but informing him he’d lost a treasured diplomat because she tripped into a lance would beggar belief, even if it was entirely true.

Shirayuki takes in a breath, warning on her lips, but--

But she hears a laugh. Not a bell-like chime, but a chest-deep chuckle, so familiar it rattles her bones.

“Ah, here,” Akihito murmurs, mouth curving slyly as he spots a door just slightly ajar. “Found them.”

Shirayuki is not one to eavesdrop-- well, not unless Obi makes her-- but when Rodatrad leans over, curling a finger in invitation--

Well, she’d be lying to say she isn’t curious.

The parlor is cozily furnished, fire burning merrily in the hearth. Masami is curled up like a girl half her age in a chair that could only be called overstuffed if one was being polite. A glass of wine dangles from her fingers, the color and crystal sending pink scattering across the table.

But it’s not the duchess she’s looking for, oh no, but instead the man sprawled across the settee, legs stretched long, a glass of wine half drunk on the table before him.

The tension flies from her shoulder, so much she nearly collapses to the carpet. Obi’s been strung as tight as a bowstring these last few months, ready to loose at the first lord who tried to insinuate themselves into her bed. But here he is relaxed, that wary set to his jaw loosened to a smile, his arms eating up the back of the cushions.

With no sons, no nephews, no young cousins needing an heir apparent, he could finally sit back, sure of a job well done. After all, the only man who had been in her bed this trip was --

I’d like to take care of you. Show you how sweet I could be.

Her thighs clench. He might have no memory of it, but his touch haunts her still, tracing down her stomach, gripping her thighs --

I’d give one to you, if you wanted.

Her breath rattles out of her chest. He had told her that he would -- would put a child in her, if she would like. If that was what she mourned most from her future with Zen.

There had been no good way to tell him that she did not want a child in that moment so much as the making of one.

I’d make it good for you.

“Sir Obi certainly seems at ease,” Rodatrad observes, a wry twist to his mouth.

Shirayuki startles, heat fanning across her cheeks. Now was really not the time to be thinking of -- of those sorts of things. She was representing the crown-- the university!-- and here she was thinking about--

Most men can hardly manage the once, Miss, but I could bring you there at least--

“Yes!” she yelps. “He is very, ah, comfortable here.”

Akihito grunts, thoughtful. “He fits well within Rodatrad’s walls. You would think he’d been born as one of our retainers.”

“That would, ah--” she tries not to think of his mouth at her neck, the way his hand had splayed over the whole of her stomach-- “please him to hear.”

He may be comfortably clothed now, lounging on Masami’s settee, but in her mind they are in a bed in Kaninshala, his bare chest just barely illuminated in the moonlight--

“Do you think he’d like to be Duke one day?”

Her whole mind stutters, memory dissolving like spun sugar under the sudden gout of reality. “Excuse me?”

“I do have a daughter,” Akihito reminds her. “She’s one of the queen’s ladies now, but I could always recall her.”

“Erk?” Shirayuki inquires eloquently.

“She is an obedient girl, though in something so personal, I imagine she would prefer to be confounding.” He cocks his head, and she can nearly hear the clockwork churning in his mind. “However, Sir Obi does give off an entirely inappropriate air, and if she believes that she is being perverse...”

Shirayuki remembers an entirely different northern night now, buttered rum warm against her hands, the pub’s light setting the braid on Obi’s tunic glittering. I’ve got some talent in lighting a flame--

“No.”

Akihito blinks, and it’s only then that she was the one who spoke, that she’s the one that put that forbidding word into the air.

“Well,” he says, the corner of his mouth twitching. “I’m sure he would find her quite amenable as well--”

“He’s content with his title,” she informs him hurriedly, “and he doesn’t even want the one he has!”

Akihito hums, turning his head back to the door. “We shall see. My wife and I are very persuasive.”

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #my fic #sensitive negotiations #tender concessions #drunk diplomacy arc #ans #me: wow it'll be nice to finally finish this fic #me 8K later: why do i do this to myself #AT LEAST THIS MEANS I TECHNICALLY FINISHED BOTH THIS YEAR :|

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fuck-customers · 5 years

Text

Lazy coworker

Sorry if this is written shittily, I just need to get this off my chest.

So I work at the colonel's chicken place in Australia and have this coworker who is an absolute NIGHTMARE to work with every single shift. She spends the majority of the time in the corner of the office on her phone when the line of customers who SHE HAS TO SERVE is out the door (I cannot touch her till and only one of our registers takes card, and 90% of our customers use card these days), never ever does anything she's asked (ie. stocking fridges, boxes, even sweeping the damn floor) an back talks every single manager when they even attempt to tell her off. She's also just an asshole to me and expects me to do every simple thing she can do when I have my own shit to do. I'm so sick of having to fix her stupid mistakes.

Last week she did absolutely nothing and yet left early even though she hadn't counted her till. She takes multiple half an hour smoke breaks in a single shift after begging for them (I have really bad asthma and that's another thing I hate is smokers getting a million breaks when I cant even stop doing something for a second or I get in trouble but :) thats another issue) and still does jack all after she comes back. She is the loudest and most obnoxious person who works there, and says the rudest shit while customers are still in earshot.

Just today was the last damn straw for me, I'm going to officially talk to my managers about her because I'm so sick of it. She was the one taking the car orders and also making potato and gravy today, but she got to leave half an hour early because she'll throw a fit if she cant leave exactly when she wants to. Anyway, because of this, I had to help make new potato and gravy for night shift, which I don't know how to do well as it's not usually my job, but oh well I got it done and only left 35 minutes late! BUT when I went there to start it, I saw that the whole bench we hold everything in to keep temp was OFF as in she had been making COLD out of temp potato and gravy ALL DAY and somehow hadn't noticed?

I instantly could tell it was god damn COLD so we had to throw all of that out and make all new batches because she couldn't be arsed to turn on the fucking table. Her stock was also half assed when she made it, the gravy was as thick and chunky as snot (sorry for the gross graphic, it literally was tho) and she did none of her dishes, which she had burned old potato and gravy in. :) Anyway long story short she's a lazy bitch who I can't stand and dread working with.

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fandomshatepeopleofcolor · 5 years

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Why do people still support BTS? The amount of cultural appropriation and Anti Blackness & Racism in that group is astounding. Yes they apologize but how many more apologizes for the same thing are people going to take before they are just done with them. This could be for Kpop in general TBH

Okay, so the thing with BTS is their apologies for their misogyny and appropriation weren't half arsed.

This is an excerpt from RM's interview on the radio show HipHopplaya back in 2015

Q: You shouted, “Westside Till I Die” during ‘If I Ruled The World’.

RM: That’s well… I was really wrong then (laughter). After the album came out and I listened to it, I thought “Ah”. I think I was immersed in the emotions while recording and ended up shouting like that.

Q: What’s the specific reason why you feel you were wrong?

RM: First off, I didn’t even live in the 'west side’… And even if that song had a G-Funk sound, what I shouted wasn’t the way to respect the west coast hip-hop musicians. I believe there are many meanings inside the words “Westside Till I Die”. Sweat, struggles, pride, etc. Isn’t it a phrase that compressed all these factors of life.

Q: Are you saying that you overlooked the weight and complex undertones that the phrase has within hip-hop?

RM: That’s right. I believe it’s different from words like “Yo!” or “Check It!”. As a result, I was thoughtless.

Q: Are you admitting it to be a mistake?

RM: Further than a mistake, it was a wrong. I have nothing to say.

Here's a bit from a billboard interview and article about RM's collaboration with Wale.

Q: Speaking of solo songs, “Change” recently came out. Rap Monster, you and Wale are talking about different-but-similar issues when South Korea and America are both having interesting political times. Did you guys have a chance to discuss your different viewpoints?

We didn’t have the time to get into it deeply, but I’m always watching the news about Trump and America; I always watch. When he first suggested a collaboration, I was like, “What should we do?” We could just do you know, a common hip-hop song, but I wanted to do a little more special. We have our political situation in Korea and the students are very angry. So, I think, if we talked about what’s going on, then we’ll have a real special collaboration. I think my guess was right and it became special.

“”Change” features Rap Monster, dubbed “RM” for the release, and Wale trading off verses about societal ills, primarily those currently causing divisiveness in the U.S. With the duo criticizing the “alt-right,” Twitter’s ability to “kill,” “racist police” and declaring “no faith in the government,” the unrestrained hip-hop track is one of the most progressive songs yet….. Though most K-pop acts shy away from politicizing their music, or even touching on seemingly controversial topics, the Rap Monster-led K-pop act has addressed politics and cultural issues in their songs on multiple occasions, with a particular focus on youth-related issues such as mental health, bullying and suicide.”

I can't find the link but I do also believe that when RM was accused of misogyny in 2016 because of lyrics he wrote in past songs, he went on to read the book Breaking Out of the Man Box. And a close friend of his (the musician eAeon) came out with this on his Twitter.

“Recently Namjoon (Rap Monster) and I met privately and had a serious long talk about the issue of misogyny. Namjoon felt shame and guilt because of the controversy and revealed to me that he is distressed and unable to sleep well due to it.

So I said that misogyny is not a label or stigma that cannot be erased, but rather an obstacle in the right path that can exist within anyone. Rather than feeling like it’s unfair or painful, it’s a matter of deciding to fix it or not after discovering it within oneself.

I talked about how I am also in the process of continuously fixing myself whenever I discover something I am lacking. Namjoon listened attentively and understood better than other people I have spoken to about similar topics with.

I’m glad and relieved after seeing Big Hit’s statement in Donga Ilbo. Because I think the members and the company are moving toward a proper direction. What’s important is not the past or current location but rather what direction one is moving toward.”

In 2018 Jimin also wore a t-shirt depicting a mushroom cloudfrom the Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombings and another member (who it is escapes me at the moment) wore a hat seemingly inspired by ones worn by a faction of the Nazi party back during WW2. The day after the Simon Weisenthal centre called out these huge, and highly offensive mistakes, the company and band issued a formal apology. Not only that but in the days following at their Tokyo Dome concert the members in question gave a personal apology.

These guys, unlike a lot of idols or celebrities actually seem to want to learn from their mistakes and genuinely care about not offending people. And I've been a fan of them for 4 years now and I can say that the style of music has changed to reflect what they've learnt.

They're far from perfect and I don't doubt they will make mistakes in the future, but I trust them to be decent people and wholeheartedly apologise the same way they have always done.

I am usually critical of mistakes made by celebrities and the way in which they handle being called out, I wouldn't be a mod on this blog if I just blindly fawned after artists I like. So the fact that I still like BTS and have remained a fan for so long says a lot I think.

Anon, I think the judgement you've made is slightly unfair.

Mod TZ

#anonymous #fhpoc asks #mod tz #bts #i don't think i needed this amount of detail in this answer cuz anon didnt even give examples or sources #but so many people hate bts and these are the kind of claims people love to jump on and tote around #and i wont have it cuz there actuall idiots out there who need to be called out and held accountable #time doesnt need to be wasted trying to slander celebs with some ounce of a conscience

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punkscowardschampions · 5 years

Text

Ali & Ro

Ali: One of your kids is here??? Ro: Oh no! Ro: I double checked everyone was aware of the cancellations and everything Ali: You know what people are like, probably received but didn't actually read/listen to the message, like Ali: I'll quickly get in before ma can be her charming self any harder Ro: Thank you Ali: [allow time for that] Ali: Done Ali: Why'd you have to cancel anyway? Ro: Sadly I have yet to master being able to be in two places at once, especially when one of those places is so ridiculously far away Ro: What's more surprising though is that you've remained at home for long enough shepherd my pupil in and out for me without assumedly cursing Tess Ali: Ugh, I feel that Ali: until we're blessed with time-turners, we'll all have to muddle through Ali: and I've been there enough myself to guess where you are, so I won't pout about any potential adventures you could've been on Ali: everyone is DOA and MIA today, plus if I let her shout at me for long enough she might not ground me forever 🤞 Ro: Indeed Ro: Well, I can't deny that would be very much appreciated as I've been subjected to plenty of pouting already as things stand Ro: You can let her know that I'll be making my grand return soon enough which will at the very least give her another target should she desire one Ali: You can probably ignore him, he's just feeling the ill-effects of a 3-day bender, like Ali: some hydration and vitamin c and he'll be over it Ali: can't say the same of mother but my sins definitely outweigh yours Ali: though the offer is appreciated 💚 Ro: He's very much fine in that regard I'd been assured prior to my arrival and of course did my part to truly make it so by making him a late lunch or early dinner once I got there Ro: Regrettably, that offer was taken very much not in the manner it was intended Ro: The tally of my sins therefore apparently exceed the number of yours, in Drew's eyes at any rate Ali: Sounds like Drew Ali: you spoil him Ali: Caleb's mum made him work today, as he was too sick for school Ro: All I've spoilt is his afternoon seemingly Ro: Yet again, I'm a waste of time Ali: Hey Ali: don't take on his bad mood just 'cos he's mad he didn't get what he wanted Ali: you know it's bullshit Ro: None of his grievances are unfounded Ro: I shouldn't break promises Ro: Even if I did make them for less than ideal reasons Ali: No, but you know Ali: you have those reasons regardless Ro: And he has his own reasons to be upset Ali: Which you're clearly giving a fuck about Ali: so he owes you the same in return, yeah Ro: Of course, but his anger is fuelled by how much he does care, obviously Ro: It's because he likes me so much that he wants to take things further than they are Ali: Partly Ali: but I don't think anyone can say that that's all it is Ali: not to discredit how he feels in any way Ali: if anything, it takes into consideration all aspects Ro: He is the only one who can address that with any degree of clarity but its a conversation we're unlikely to have for a while Ali: I'm sure it won't be anything like that long Ro: That almost sounds as if you are in fact discrediting how he feels but I have no desire to get into a disagreement with you about the one I just had with him Ali: No, I'm saying he's nothing if not persistent Ali: trust me, he'll get over it if he has any sense Ro: It's less about the sense he possesses and more about the degree to which my own has abandoned me Ali: Do you regret the fact you didn't or regret the fact you were considering it? Ro: Both regrets somehow exist side by side and I have no idea how that can be Ro: Or which of the many internal voices vocalising my many mistakes I should begin to listen to Ali: Sounds about right Ali: are you in love with him? Ro: Yes Ali: Yeah Ali: it's Ali: the worst kind of headfuck Ali: amongst many other things Ro: What would you do in my place? Ali: About what Ali: specifically Ro: My next move Ro: He says I won't lose him but I know it's more likely than not Ro: Especially now that Carly has her own caravan to host in Ali: You shouldn't do it if that's the only reason why Ali: doing it because you're fearful of any outcome is just a bad idea Ali: it should always be primarily that you want to Ro: I do want to but I also don't want to Ro: It's complicated Ali: It is Ali: it might stop being complicated Ali: or you might do it before it does Ali: either of those is fine and valid Ro: What if it doesn't and I can't? Ali: You will Ali: if you want to, then you will Ali: I said it was the most important factor but definitely not the only, not even close Ali: it's complex but you know, like most things, stressing upon it will never make it less so Ro: I suppose Ali: It's like all this stuff isn't it Ali: thinking you'll never get your period and then it just happens Ali: we've all got our own pace for all of it Ro: And my pace is several steps behind always Ro: Maybe next time I should just go to the party Ali: Well his is coming up so Ali: you will be at that one Ro: Oh my god, don't remind me I haven't even begun brainstorming gifts yet Ali: 😂 Ali: you do have time Ali: but it might distract you from this worry so have at it Ro: You're so fortunate that Caleb's is ages away Ali: I know Ali: so much of me cannot hack that, I'd actually die Ro: After emerging from Carly's mostly unscathed, you could be forgiven for believing yourself immortal, I'm sure Ali: It was pretty hectic Ali: not sure if I'd say life-threateningly so but keep that between us Ali: could tell ma though Ali: keep her from hysteria Ro: I'll use that as my conversational opener when I come in if you'd like Ali: Subtle, cheers Ali: tell her there were no recreational drugs or pre-maritial relations too, whilst you're at it Ro: Carly would appreciate the lack of, I'm certain Ro: More so than Tess would my attempts at such a clearly crafted lie Ali: Can't win with her, like Ali: don't lead with that though Ali: even if that's a truth Ro: It's the kind of day I'm having Ro: I'll simply wish on everything possible that the losses extend to calories as well Ali: Don't waste the magic Ali: I know you skipped lunch Ro: You know because I told you I was busy running around after Drew Ali: Exactly Ro: Nonetheless, I've spent more time on this bus than anything else Ro: It's a pity I can't transfigure my bike here Ali: it seems like a good idea until it starts chucking it down halfway Ro: True, I'd be unlikely to garner any sympathy or permission for more time off from Tess even if I caught my death Ali: Seriously Ali: if she has to see any of us tomorrow at all, she might actually lose it completely Ali: what with Bea and Fraze being their delightful selves all weekend too Ali: the only ones not on the shit list rn are Tommy and Joe and that's only through absence Ro: Precisely Ro: Much like how the idea of finding birthday gifts for Drew is favorable after the nightmarish pursuit we all have to endure in order to provide something that Bea will undoubtedly dislike and return where possible Ali: 😂 s'why I kick it homemade Ali: good luck finding any takers for my sentimental tat, babe Ali: bless Ro: Alas the memory of my childish homemade cards finding their way to the recycling bin earlier than I feel necessary haunts me still Ro: Did Carly like what you made for her though? Ali: 😞 Ali: Yes, thankfully she's far more receptive and forthcoming with her thanks Ali: and the caravan looks amazing Ali: looked, I HOPE everyone kept out Ro: It would be difficult for her not to be, Bea, of course, is without competition in that regard Ro: I was impressed by the pictures despite being well aware of your artistic eye and resourcefulness in gathering materials Ro: Perhaps you should take and utilise all the magic yourself immediately Ro: Protection spells have been employed and succeeded for less Ali: True Ali: and a good idea to boot Ali: I better do it remotely Ali: aside from me leaving the house for anything but school and work rn being a deathwish, I'm not sure of the state I'd find the residents in, like Ro: Hm, yes arguably that is an even better idea Ali: Obviously, I do not plan to be her prisoner for long Ali: but for a great escape, I need even greater plans on the outside Ro: It would be my pleasure to extend such an offer, dear sister, but my own flight of fancy earlier did little else but backfire so it's best I stay under lock and key until I feel suitably chastised Ro: Either by Tess or myself Ali: Self-flagellation is next to godliness, of course Ali: I'll think of something Ro: I have no doubt that you will Ro: But whilst the subject of faltering has been raised, can I ask you something? Ali: of course Ali: scientia potentia est Ro: I was just wondering if you spent much time with Drew this weekend, that's all Ali: Not a huge amount Ali: but I saw him about, doing his thing Ali: if I saw anything like that I would've kicked his arse and told you Ali: in that exact order Ro: Okay Ro: Well, thank you Ali: Of course Ali: sisterhood before everything Ali: especially boys Ro: My favorite religion and the one to which I've been devoted to for the longest and most faithfully Ali: 💚 Ali: What's your ETA? Ro: 13 and a half minutes Ali: Ooh precise Ali: that'll please the jailer Ali: tell her 15 and you'll be back in the good books when you're arse is up the table without her even having to shout up the stairs Ali: 👍 Ro: I already told her 21 minutes so I have enough time to fix my face somewhere that isn't a very full bus Ro: She doesn't need to know that I've been crying Ali: 😕 Ali: Cold water fixes all Ali: we can talk about it properly after Ali: feels like forever Ro: It's not too late to pray for a summer storm Ro: Though it seems everyone misses me until they get the opportunity to spend time with me, so I might be wise to adjust my prayers accordingly actually Ali: Not everyone Ali: just him Ali: and just because he's mad Ali: we'll tea and talk, promise Ro: As long as you share too Ali: I gotcha Ali: you wanna hear all the fantastical and sordid exploits Ro: Fantastical yes, sordid not so much Ali: 😂 Ali: I'll do my best to spin the yarn into something comfortable and befitting Ali: don't worry Ro: Being guaranteed one less thing to overthink about will forever be appreciated Ali: That's my job Ali: one of Ali: labour of love, really Ro: tá mé i ngrá leat freisin Ali: 💚💚💚 Ali: right, I got a table to set Ali: not gonna know what's hit her Ali: Rock even agreed not to throw any spaghetti up the wall Ali: providing I buy him sweets for a week Ro: I'm in awe of your power whether or not she will be Ali: whether a six-year-old can stick to a deal is another thing Ali: did threaten him with a broken pinkie so 🤞 Ro: I'll likewise threaten him with the type of hex befitting a 6 year old promise breaker if needs be Ali: 💀🐸🐀🕯🥀💀 Ro: Our minds have always worked in similar ways, that's a truth which deserves to be universally acknowledged Ro: But for now, go Ro: There will be plenty of time for talking later

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