#Expert Guidance at Your Fingertips

[gyancareer]

gyancareer

[neodermatologist23]

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[nova-amor]

after being sealed away for 150 years, choso couldn't keep his hands to himself. especially when it came towards you. the touches were innocent at first— fingertips ghosting over your cheeks, knuckles brushing against yours, arm grazing against each other whenever he walked a little too close.

and, over time, with your permission, the touches became more frequent, lingering a bit longer. exploring and familiarizing just how smooth and soft your skin was, how the scent of your body splash complimented you, how right it felt touch another person.

with more time, choso began to reflect on just how touch-starved he had been while sealed away, and his wandering hands reflected this. his touches grew to be more frenzied— slipping beneath your shirt, kneading at the soft dough of your breasts, his mouth devouring each and every whimper, moan, and plea that escaped yours. his obsession to feel you became insatiable.

through some guidance, choso became an expert on the subject of your anatomy. he knew where to touch you, how you liked it, what you preferred. with each kiss, each wandering touch, choso reveled in the pleasurable sensations that came with skin-to-skin contact. how he had gone so long without physical human connection, he wasn't sure. and now that he had it, had experienced it, he wasn't letting go.

"can i touch you here?" choso whispered one night, the heat of his mouth radiating through the thin fabric of your panties. his hooded eyes peered up at you, his cheeks flushed and lips bruised from how long you two had been making out. he could smell your arousal through the stained cloth, a wet patch having formed over your crotch. his mouth was already salivating.

"please, darling, i promise t' be a good boy. promise promise promise. just wanna make you feel good— " he almost whimpered, bottom lip jutting out with a pout. "just wanna show you how much i love you— you know i love you, right? yeah yeah, i love you so much, honey— never loved anyone more, never will— best thing t' ever happen to me; just wanna show ya how special you are—"

[lady-ashfade]

Strange Dream.

Prince Zuko x Spirit!Human!Reader

-♡ I just had a thought and ran with it. Haven’t watched the show in so long so not the best expert. But my dad remembers it all- anyway. Idk what I’m doing with this.

-♡ words: 564

-♡ warnings: defensive zuko, kinda fluffy.

the forest was cold and wet, the only thing to keep him comfort was knowing his uncle was beside him. but still, he didn’t feel like himself anymore after hearing what his father & sister had been planning. he worked himself to the edge each day hoping to go home and be welcomed back to take his place by his father. and yet there was no truth to that promise.

his eyes feel shut when he laid down by the fire, he was so drained. the past few days and have been hell for them. he wanted to let his thoughts go and the painful stabbing at his heart fade so he slept peacefully.

and he didn’t expect to be awaken with the feelings of a warm and caring hand on his cheek. zuko shot up from the ground and startled the person kneeling over him with wide eyes. the stranger jumps back while he raising his hands and ready to burn them. but there was something about them, they didn’t seem dangerous but in fact…strange.

their clothes were silk white and their eyes made him feel warm underneath their gaze, like he wasn’t a monster at all but something to be understood.

just before he could ask them a question the area he was in had him look around. it was hazy and more beautiful, the trees greener and he could feel natural energy on his skin. his uncle was no where to be seen but neither was the small camp they had set up.

“Where am I?” he spoke with growing concern. the person smiles and titles their head up at him.

“You’re sleeping, but at the moment I am here. in your mind.” you open your hands to show the area. this forest was special to your people and when a soul needs guidance you are willing to help.

“Tell me, is there something I can help you with?” your soft smile and happy attitude made him hesitate to let you in. who in the hell were you? and why did he feel so drawn to you…

“No, I have everything under control. So you can leave.” Your face didn’t drop a bit as you continued to sit there and look up at him with beautiful eyes. “I wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want me to.” his eyes glare down at you and he sighs in frustration. and you knew right then he was going to be a hard cookie to crack but you liked a challenge.

“Just leave me alone! Get out of my head.” He hit his head slightly while raising his voice but his tone didn’t scare you. you had many like him before but they all caved. all they needed was a ear to listen.

“Know this, prince Zuko. Many have denied what they needed and came to ruin, you’ll let me in sooner or later.” letting out a breath as your fingertips start to light up underneath your skin.

“And I’ll be here willing to listen.” you point your fingertip at him.

Zuko doesn’t have time to answer before he starts falling backwards towards the ground only to not meet the stern ground but to be reawaken. he was no longer sleeping but back in the wet forest with his uncle giving him a curious stare.

it was a strange dream, with a even stranger person.

[chainelunaire]

a heart of a jack of clubs

(7,4k words. angst through and through, somehow ambigious ending. slowburn. so slow, it takes them quarter of a century to fuck.)

when you’re almost 8 months pregnant, you meet scaramouche.

it’s pretty awkward, actually - you sit under a tree in a chinju forest, trying to breathe, but you do a pretty bad job at that. everything hurts so much, you hoped no one would hear your crying, but gods like to laugh at you. you close your eyes from time to time, hoping you would never open them again. you never knew that giving birth is such a challenge, you only heard of it, and you thought you’ve prepared yourself. but it was supposed to be a month more untill you meet your child. and now, well, yeah. nothing is ever right in your life.

when you open your eyes again, after getting so tired of screaming and maybe losing your consciousness for a minute, there’s three of them right in front of you: a little girl with soft white hair in a pretty green dress, touching your forehead. a man with a stark red strand in his light grey hair, his gaze is so worried and pained. the third man stays behind those two, and you can’t even comprehend how he looks like.

“i think she’s dying” girls says a little too brightly. the man with white hair looks a little bit bewildered.

“don’t say it like that!”

“does it matter?” the third man says. “open your eyes, kaedehara. she is dying.”

“still, you can hurt her with this even more” the kind man sits in front of you - his touch is blessedly chill against your feverish skin. “lady, can you hear me? can you understand what i say to you?”

you can only blink slowly in response. because of the pain you can’t really scream anymore, but tears start streaming down your face once again. you want to ask them to kill you, because you’ve suffered for god knows how many hours by now. maybe you even do ask them, considering that the girl now frowns, the kind man tries to wipe your tears away and even the third man stiffens because of your cries.

“i am no expert, but i think it’s a preterm birth.” girl says, her tone really sad now “she really might die. we need to move her in some more of a clean space, quickly.”

“we can’t really move her, you know?” girl turns her head and you guess her gaze makes the third man sigh loudly. “okay, okay, don’t look at me like that” you hear his steps and he finally bends in front of you. you can’t really see his face because of how ridiculously big his hat is, but his voice is much softer now when he speaks to you directly “hold on my shoulders, lady, we’re gonna take a quick ride.”

you do as he says, feeling another wave of terrible pain shuttering your body. almost laying on his chest, yet you hear no heartbeat. his skin velvety and cool under your fingertips, when he easily lifts you from the ground, and from now on you don’t remember anything.

***

you took your son outside to play in grass, when scaramouche returns from sumeru. unexpectedly, as always.

here’s the trick: even if you can say now, that kazuha is your friend (and thank god for him, he’s the best human who ever walked this earth), nahida is probably your friend too, even though you don’t see her a lot and she’s much, much more reserved than kazuha (who is a grown man, despite his height), scaramouche is an interesting case. you’ve never ever asked him, who he even was, what he did for life. you felt like you had no right, since you’ve been nobody yourself. he’s just kinda...there. you don’t know what to think of him. you can’t label it, so you just don’t do it.

he visits you regularly. he’s at your house more often, then even kazuha; he has more than enough duties in sea, and scaramouche doesn’t. he just does as he pleases. and it seems like he wants to be near you a lot of the times. you don’t mind, really: he’s a nice company, very useful and not overbearing. he also seems to know a lot about caring for kids, which you find unexpected, but again, you need that guidance. 

even if in the beginning you thought he was the one with a cold heart, now you’re definitely not sure. you gave birth that night and you’ve slept for over two weeks after. nahida told you, that she put you in that state, since she was afraid, you die. your body was so fragile after giving birth, she spent days and nights healing you. kazuha was busy building you new home with the help of the beidou’s crew - you don’t want to know, how nahida learnt, that you were homeless. in that time, scaramouche was the one who cared for your son: he fed him, lulled him to sleep, checked on his health. you’ve learnt that only months after, nahida told you that. but you kinda got the feeling anyway.

you could easily say, scaramouche liked spending time with the kid. he brought him presents anytime he visited. expensive toys from fontaine, liyue and snezhnaya, clothes from natlan, candies and some delicious food from sumeru. he says, he doesn’t care about mora, and it looks like he doesn’t lie, but you still feel uneasy with how much he spends on your son. but again, he helped you. he still helps you a lot. weeks, then months go by, and you’re so used to him at your side, you start to feel a bit lost when he finally leaves again. you know he’ll return, yet you still wonder, what if not.

“look who’s all grown up now” your son squeals in delight when he hears scaramouche’s voice, and you turn your head too, because your son tends to have better sight than you, he also hears a lot more than you. 

scaramouche’s on his way to your little home, and you stand up to greet him. you actually stop, because he stumbles funnily, when you come near him. it’s as if he wanted to hug you, forgetting himself for a second. you see no problem though. you would hug him, if he wanted you to. 

it’s always a happy time, when he’s at your home - playing with your son, while you make dinner, then telling you both his stories. they’re quite endearing, and he has such a nice voice, while telling them, it’s as if he was truly a balladeer. your son loves listening to him, he actually likes to sit on his lap and watching him speak. you usually stand near the kitchenette, cup of tea in your hands, watching them talk.

it brings you somewhere close to longing for something you never had. but you, weakly, love that feeling. and sometimes scaramouche looks at you strangely, like he wants to ask, what are you thinking, but even if he did ask, you don’t know what to tell him. you don’t know what you want of him yourself.

you love when scaramouche comes to your home. that you know for sure.

this time is only slightly different. your son is sleeping soundly in your arms, when you want to bring him to his bed. you hear scaramouche’s voice near your ear:

“lemme hold him. please”

you look at him with wide eyes.

he actually rarely took your son in his arms. it wasn’t like he didn’t want to, more out of his respect for you as your son’s mother. 

he holds your son with such gentleness, caressing his hair through his fingers. you smile, because of how fond you find that gesture. he studies the kid’s face for a minute, and then he looks straight in your eyes:

“you really love him, huh?”

“what? of course i do. i am his mom”

“not every mother loves her child” and you know, there’s a bad, bad story behind those words, yet you say nothing on that matter. 

“you love him too” you say instead. it’s as clear as the sky is blue to you. it’s clear for pretty anybody - read, nahida and kazuha - too.

and yet, for a second, he looks like a kid, who got cought stealing candies before dinner.

“bullshit. i’m just helping you because you’re such a baby and know nothing”

“yeah. that’s why you asked to hold my son”

“exactly”

“okay. give him back to me then”

he actually takes a step back. you think it’s funny how he looks like he will fight you if you try to snatch a baby back in your arms. so you laugh quietely.

“scaramouche” you call him.

“what” he snaps back, but quiet enough not to wake your son. you take one step towards him, then another, untill you can hug him lightly, and he’s so stiff in your arms, like a porcelain doll.

“it’s okay. you can love my son too,” you whisper, feeling how his head falls on your shoulder. “i allow that.”

you stay like that for long, long moments, and you’re actually so surprised that your heart doesn’t beat so fast. it’s just so calm to you, being near him.

“i wanted to say to you that it’s okay to stay here, you know” 

“i always stay, stupid”

“no. i mean for real. i know you don’t want that, probably. but you can always stay with us. for however long”

you hear him laugh bitterly.

“you say you know i don’t want to stay? so funny”

“why?”

“because it means you truly know nothing”

***

your first kiss with scaramouche happens when your son is five and he learns that everyone has a father, except him.

interestingly enough, it’s kazuha, who tells you that. he visited you again, while being in inazuma, as he always did for past years. your bond only grew stronger with years, but you know that it’s nothing, comparing to his bond with scaramouche. they weren’t even that good of a friends. it’s more likely that something tragic bonded them, and you’re partly glad you know nothing about it.

you’ve learned a lot about scaramouche in past years while living with him. he still left sometimes, when nahida needed him or his duties called, but he lived with you for much longer. his trips were much shorter too. you fell into some kind of ruitine, and with that came few things you needed to know about each other.

he never actually hid anything from you, it’s just that you felt uncomfortable being persistent, so you learned thing at a time. you’ve learnt he doesn’t need to eat or drink, but he likes to cook and does this often. you’ve learnt he doesn’t care if it’s hot or cold outside, he’s fine anytime. if listen closely, you can hear how his joints quietely screeching everytime he moves. his skin is slightly velvety to touch, like cold porcelain. he sleeps with his eyes open.

he’s not a human, not really. you thought that would worry you more, with everything you’ve been through, yet you just... don’t care.

“i never thought i would tell you this, but it doesn’t matter. you’ve learned this yourself!” kazuha says, and you stand outside the room, hearing everything they say, hoping, they won’t see you. “you know, how much nahida loves you, and i know you love her - don’t you dare to interrupt me right now. it doesn’t always have to be blood. don’t fool me and say you don’t love the kid.”

“i do” scaramouche says after a long pause “and i’m not his father. there’s no need for a father at all. they’re useless.”

“but he wants one. he wants you to be”

“he has a father, he was born somehow, wasn’t he? do you see him here? me too. so that’s what i’m not. i’m not his father.”

you feel so much pain you can’t breathe.

you don’t even go out to say your goodbye to kazuha. you just sit on a stone near the cliff, watching foxes running and playing around. you hate them with your whole being.

“so you heard everything”

it’s rare now to see scaramouche parading in his hat and fancy outfit. his hair grew a bit longer, he wears no hat, and his shorts and shirt are very simple. his haori is a present from you on his birthday. he wears it religiously.

and you’re pained.

“i have”

“i see. may i sit near you?”

you nod, turning your head away.

he sits silently next to you. he’s still the most pleasant person to just sit next to in complete silence, and you despise yourself for how weak you were. you gave up on being close to him, but your son? what he ever did to him?

“actually, i genuinely hate inazuma” scaramouche says suddenly - your heart clenches, because yeah, of course, why would he love it here? you live in a deep of a chinju forest, in small wooden house with your son. he has an opportunity to visit anywhere he wants. whay would he want to even be there, of all places? “i hate it so fucking much, you can’t imagine.”

“i truly can’t”

“yeah, you can’t” he says again, no mockery in his voice. “this is the place where i was born and left behind. the only thing i ever wanted is to set everything up in flames here. and i felt like that for years. centuries.”

your heart sinks.

“i thought you’re i don’t know? twenty five?” kazuha is around thirty, so you’ve guessed he’s also around his age, even with how young he looks. scaramouche chuckles.

“yeah. slightly older than that” he looks at you with unreadable smile “still, i’m here. any ideas, why?”

“you’re masochistic?”

“no, anything else? come on, you can do better than that” his smile disappears as fastly, as it was brought. “here i thought you would explain me why”

you don’t answer anything to that. he chuckles again - more bitterly this time.

“i meant what i said. kid has a father. a shitty one, i assume. i don’t want to be anything like that. you need to believe me” he takes your hand in his and squeezes it slightly, making you look at him. and he’s so serious and worried right now, you feel your heart might explode. “i wish only the best on you two. i wouldn’t do anything to harm you. and you don’t have to tell me anything. i know a thing or two about how shitty those kitsune bastards can be. in the end, it’s your life, and i’m no one to you, you owe me nothing”

“are you serious right now?!” you almost yell, yanking your hand away. “you’ve lived here for five years! five! you’ve teached my son how to read, you’ve played with him, you brought him gifts, you brought me gifts, and you sleep in my room on a bed that stands next to mine, and you are no one to me?! you fucking selfish little-” you stop only when you hear him laughing. it makes you even more mad, but it disappears the moment you see how glassy his eyes are. and he keeps laughing and laughing and laughing, untill he stops completely.

“i do sound like my mother” he whispers, more to himself than to you. and then he looks at you again, his eyes are so clear and sad for how badly he hurt you. “i shouldn’t have said that”

the worst part is that you don’t feel hurt for yourself. you feel bad for your kid.

you never planned on having kids. your plan was to become a priestess in a great shrine, which is really ironic, considering of course it was a kitsune who made you change your mind. who made you drop everything you planned behind, to run away with him from your hometown, only for him to drop you the second he got what he wanted from you. and maybe he didn’t even want anything at all. probably that, because that’s just how cruel yokais can be. it was all just a fun game, and you kinda lost. you would strongly disagree it was fun at all.

that’s the reason your pregnancy was so difficult. the baby was just too strong for your human body. he keeps getting stronger every day, and you were so thankful to scaramouche because he seemed to know how to handle your son. he’s so strong willed and independent even now, that you need help. because yeah, you do not know how to raise a child.

your son looks like a normal kid, except for his now little dark claws. they showed when he became four, and he cried that night, thinking he’s very ugly now. and you know why he’s thinking that. some might say he’s scary and looks like a demon, but even though your son’s eyes are blood red with a vertical pupil, they remind you strangely of kazuha, of all people. your son is half yokai, yeah, and people might be scared of him, but his gaze holds no malice. he’s the sweetest boy, who loves you deeply, who loves scaramouche, nahida and kazuha. you hope, he’ll be like kazuha, because his kindness and gentleness is seen in him even now, and you don’t want to hate your kid just because for who his father is.

the dinner is very silent - even your son keeps it low, because he somehow sensed that something is wrong between you two. he thanks you for food, kisses you on a cheek while saying goodnight and then turns to his room.

“don’t you wanna say goodnight to me too?” scaramouche asks suddenly. your son turns to him, surprised. ever so gentle, scaramouche rarely openly show affection towards kid, even when your son wanted him to.

“can i?” he asks hesitantly. scaramouche smiles lightly and extends his hand.

“come here, give your dad a hug”

you drop the plate you were holding, and your son literally runs towards scaramouche. you know if it was you he would probably hit you (not intentionally, but he’s that strong at his age), but scaramouche catches him easily, and it reminds you of a day when he brought you here just as easily. you chew your bottom lip, while watching, how happily your son hugs said man, and that man, while smiling, looks you right into the eyes, as if asking for your forgiveness.

you turn away.

scaramouche usually reads after the dinner, yet you’re not surprised to find him in your room. he looks up at you - it’s late in the evening, your son is very much asleep, so it’s quiet and cozy here.

“that was super weird.”

“which part?”

“i’m not his father. i’m not anyone’s father” he frowns “and it felt really weird saying things like that”

“oh, really”

“don’t fucking laugh at me, woman” you think it’s adorable, how his harsh words don’t match the soft tone of his voice. “i’m not-”

“scaramouche”

“what?”

“can i kiss you?”

you’re afraid you broke him for a minute - he looks at you with such a strange expression on his face, you can’t comprehend it. he looks so young and vulnerable and alive, you can’t imagive, how he’s not a human. and how much you want him by your side.

“yes” he says quietely, voice not above just a whisper “yes, you can”

***

your son is eleven, when his... father decides to show up.

and you think, why would it end differently? of course there’s always a way to ruin it for you. last few years was the best you ever had in your life, so something needs to change to show you, how are you not actually in charge.

your life became just a little bit too perfect. it consisted of you, scaramouche and your son having a breakfast together, then you stay to study with your son, while scaramouche works in a garden, because you can’t do hard work, so your health won’t worsen. later you usually go for a walk to a shrine or at the seacost. you’ve visited countless festivals and watched fireworks together. in evenings you still listen to scaramouche’s stories, and then you say goodnight to your son, so you can to bed together. years later, you still only sleep together. he likes to kiss you, yeah, but nothing more. you’re fine. you’re not sure your body won’t betray you anyway.

so of course it has to be ruined.

and this prick - you really can’t even bring yourself to call him a father of your beautiful, kind, sweet son - shows up looking exactly like you’ve seen him last time. you know time flies, and you’re fine with you aging, yet it feels like a slap in a face. you’ve never felt this way with scaramouche, even though he too, obviously, doesn’t change a bit.

give me my son, that prick says. you did everything i’ve wanted from you. now it’s time for me to teach my son how he needs to be.

your blood boils with such rage, you think you’ve never been able to feel this much. you remember how one morning he just never returned, and later you found out you were pregnant. how much you cried, feeling horror almost in your bones, and how high priestess said that if you decide to keep the child, best case scenario it’ll take a good half of your life. the decision wasn’t up to you anyway. it was late, and you made peace with the fact that you will probably die soon.

did you really think i’ll just leave my son be with you, he asks, not really wanting you answer. 

fuck you. scaramouche is his father, you think stubbornly. and, also, fuck you again.

he says, he’ll return back when your kid will turn twelve, and he’ll ask if he stays with you or go with him. he will know that man who raised him never was his father, and he’ll hate you for it. 

and maybe if you were stupid young self, you would listen to him. you would dread the date and think a hundred times over how to tell your son that... how to tell him anything. you would cry because your son might turn into his father, hurting more and more people, without the possibility for this cycle to break.

now you’re smarter. 

you see there’s a lot of foxes near your house. your son sits at a table, focused on a book scaramoche presented him just a week ago. it’s a book from nahida, so it’s very special. scaramouche is nowhere to be seen - he’s probably in city, buying stuff you need. your heart aches for how heartbroken he will be.

foxes get closer to your son. be it your young self, you would cry out of horror.

but now you’re smarter. 

so you take your son’s hand and just run.

***

you hide with your son for five years, when you meet nahida.

your son is first to pinpoint her in the crowd. people moving and dancing around you, there’s smell of hot spice and something sweet in the air, the sun is so hot and red. you change regions frequently, you need to, but natlan so far is the least favourite of yours. you hate how loud it is, how hot it is. there’s no serenity in those lands, only war and feasts.

“nahida? nahida!” your son’s voice helps you to snap out of it. you feel something between panic and excitement.

there she is: still so small and young, an adult in a kid’s body. you’r afraid people might hurt her. but she moves right towards you, her gaze stoic and unwavering.

“nahida!” your son kneels so he can hug her and she does immediately hug him back, her little hands look even smaller on his back. your son is not very tall, rather lean and not so broad. he reminds you of a fox - the only one you won’t hate.

“i’m so glad to see you. it’s been so long” you blame yourself for longing in his voice. you took everything from him too.

“how have you been?” she asks him, holding his face with her hands. he smiles widely.

“we’re fine. wanna talk to mom? i thought you like me better” she finally giggles and pats him on a head.

“we’ll have plenty of a time to talk. but yes, i need to talk to your mother”

you can’t let go of your habits that easily - all those years you spend watching your son every moment, so no one would steal him from you. nahida sees that, she was always capable of seeing through people.

“i wonder what it takes to be able to hide from everyone, even from the goddess of wisdom” she starts. 

you sigh.

“you wouldn’t want to know”

“i always wanna know” she argues “i can’t believe i was finally able to find you. we’ve all tried to find you”

“please, don’t torture me like that. please.”

she gets quiet for a moment.

“you look sick” it’s because you are sick. there was no peace in your life, not a second since you were on a run. you don’t age like normal humans, not after given a birth to yokai, yet sometimes you wish you just get grey hair and that’s it. your body hurts all the time, so much, sometimes you can’t sit straight. “i told you years ago, if you don’t watch yourself you will-”

“don’t care”

“but i do. your son does.” you know who else does too, probably. “can you at least tell me, what happened? i can’t help you if-”

“no one can help me.”

“i think we might argue about that” she gets closer to you and takes your hand into hers. you immediately feel strange relief, as if something very heavy was taken off your shoulders. “tell me. we will find a way. i, as an archon of wisdom, will find a way for you”

there’s sunset, and music gets louder, people start dancing again. your son looks at you, his lips trembling. you so, so want to go back to your home in a dark forest. 

“please, mom” he whispers, almost inaudible. “let’s return”

the ghost of his father still haunts you at nights, but with years passing your horror started to fade away. there’s no way somebody was able to make your son someone different. he loved you deeply, yet you knew he judged you for not saying anyone a word. 

he looked so much like scaramouche sometimes, it brought you to a physical pain. he frowned like him, his smile was just as mischievous and fond as his, he liked to read, liked to watch fireworks and work in garden. he was so softspoken even when he was hurt or angry.

there’s no way he could be like anyone but his father.

you blink once, twice, feeling tears sting your eyes. 

and start speaking.

***

you’re with kazuha in mondstadt year later, when scaramouche steps in your rented room.

“there you are” is all he says. you almost jump off the chair, turning to him immediately.

“i’ll leave you two” kazuha stands up and winks at you. “good luck”

traitor.

what you expected to see? scaramouche looks exactly like six years ago, still young and lean, though he looks much, much darker now. his clothes are from the way back, when he dressed in black and turqiuose, but now it has more purple to it. the bells on his veil dangle dangerously.

"let’s summarize what we have here” he says as if nothing happened, as if you haven’t seen him for so long. “instead of talking to me and just saying you need some help, you decided to run away and hide for years, am i right?”

“it wasn’t like that”

“oh? tell me how it was then”

you have no words. you knew he would be mad, that’s why you begged nahida not to tell him anything. nahida said okay. and there was kazuha, who didn’t say anything, when you tried to ask for his promise to stay silent.

he probably did it for your son. he wanted to see him so much, it became hard to keep him low.

“i hear nothing” the venom in his voice almost burns you.

“i couldn’t say anything. he would take my son away”

“he wouldn’t”

you smile sadly. you still feel heavy in your stomach, your back hurts.

“he would” you repeat, and for the first time scaramouche looks less mad. “when i returned home, after i found out i was pregnant, he followed me. i didn’t know that. and when i told my family i needed help, well...”

he looks at you expectantly. you feel so cold in your limbs.

“what did he do?” he asks you, way calmly this time.

“my yonger sister, she... she went out one day and never came back. my parents searched everywhere, nothing. and week later another girl. and another”

he stays silent, yet you see how he clenches his fists so much, you hear that sweet, sweet sound of creaking joints. you can’t smile anymore. 

“i know it was him.” you say simply. “there’s no evidence. i don’t know what he did to them. i hope they hadn’t suffered and died quickly, because he enjoys... he loves to play.”

“i killed him” he says matter-of-factly. you feel cold sweat on your back with how calm and lifeless he looks. “he broke the rules anyway. so i did what i had to do”.

“what rules are you talking about? how did you even found him?”

“i asked my mother” that surprises you. “see, i could, of course, just kill him in silence. but the forest belongs to yokai. there are rules. kitsune can’t really mess with humans that much anymore. apparently, that made everyone’s life difficult, and it was not easy to lure him in... long story short, he’s dead. he won’t bother you anymore.”

“you asked your mother?”

now he looked nervous.

“i had to. i needed help to track him down. this is her land. she knows where he could hide, since she’s yokai herself” you remember all the times he spoke to you about his family, his mothers or his sister. he rarely did this, granted, yet it pains you even more to hear him going through it alone.

“are you okay?”

“you kidding?” he looks at you, bewildered “that’s what you choose to ask me?!”

“i don’t know what else to ask” you asnwer truthfully. 

you see the gnosis on his chest starts to shine - he closes it with his hand, as if his heart hurt. you know he has no heart. you’ve never heard his heartbeat.

suddenly the door slams open.

there’s kazuha with your son, standing in front door. kazuha took him under his wing, helping you hide him, because there’s no such place as the ocean, and though kitsune usually hate water, your son loved it. you’ve seen him only yestersay, thinking he’s already on a ship, which is now under kazuha’s command.

but it seems like everything goes not how you expected today.

you see so much emotions on scaramouche’s face. from surprise and joy to sadness and anger. he’s angry at you, because you’ve stolen him of those years he could spent near you and your kid, like a family that you were. you see, that it’ll take time for him to forgive you for those years he lost, net seeing your son growing up, changing and become who he is now. they’re the same height now, the eyes of your son are still bright red and kind, but not at all naive. he’ll only learn now, how simillar they look, when they get angry, or how their sense of humour is basically the same. they look nothing alike, and yet it was your son and his behaviour who reminded you always of what you’ve left behind. and you’re so sorry too.

you’re so, so sorry you hurt them both.

and then scaramouche smiles - widely, so fond and kind, like years ago.

“so grown up now, you don’t even want to give me a hug?” he says, only half-joking. he’s testing waters, if he could take what was his once back.

your son runs towards him in a second.

kazuha pats your back reassuringly, as if saying that it’s going to be okay now. you’re sure you’ve never seen scaramouche cry. it’s just tears down his face, as he smiles and hugs your son tighter. and you actually now know, what you want to ask.

can you return home?

***

it’s almost twenty five years after you first meet scaramouche, when you finally can say you’ve found peace.

scaramouche chuckles, when you say that to him, as if you said something really funny.

“your standarts are still really low” he says, and you nod thoughtfully.

“yeah. i’m living with you at the end of the day”

he glares at you, but says nothing. you’ve learnt a lot from him in those years, so now he keeps his mouth shut.

when you first returned to your home in a forest, you were too busy bringing it back it’s cozy view. it was still not as abandoned, as you imagined. kazuha told you, scaramouche returned here regularly, hoping to meet you here one day. 

it took him a year to become less paranoid. you could understand that, since you too couldn’t really let go of the feeling that you’re free to do what you want. finally, what you want. not what you need. nahida took your son to sumeru, to help him become more independent, and you? you were truly all for youself, the first time in your life.

“what is going on inside that brain of yours now?” scaramouche asks you impatiently. you only smile in response.

“that’s a secret”

“ugh. disgusting” he holds you closer, eyes sparkling with mischief “tell me”

you look at him and can’t not smile. he’s so beautiful in your eyes. you could never understand, how he switches so easily between being angsty teen brat and a centuries old wise son of a god. you think that that sounds right, because only a god could create someone so endearing and loving and vulnerable and brave-

“you’re doing it again”

“doing what?”

“drifting off” he says seriously. “what’s on your mind?”

what’s on your mind? your son was no longer there, so you couldn’t tell yourself scaramouche was here only for him. however much he loved him, it was stupid to stay in denial. you couldn’t afford that anymore.

“do you love me?” you ask him. he looks surprised for a second, but collects himself very quickly.

“of course not. i just enjoy spending years of my life near somebody i hate”

“you would love that. you easily could do that out of spite, don’t lie.”

“you know me so well” he retorts sarcastically, but stops himself, seeing your face “why you asking stupid questions?”

“because i want more”

he stays silent, and you hate how sometimes you truly can’t say, what he’s thinking right now.

“okay let’s forget-”

“you’ve seen me naked” he starts cautiously. that you did. “i’m not human. i am a puppet at the end of the day.”

“do i look like somebody who would spend years of their life living with a puppet and suddenly find out that yeah, i might actually care that said puppet has no dick?” he coughs, as you quirk your eyebrow. “yeah, exactly”

“but can you imagine my mother designing my dick?” he asks in the most flat tone, his face unreadable. you can’t help but cackle. the corner of his mouth twitches, as if he tries to supress a smile. “that fox bitch definitely could though.”

“maybe it’s for the best she was stopped”

“probably, yeah”

you want to say to him, he’s not a puppet, he should stop thinking of himself like that, but you know it would just anger him, if anything. he was always realistic. he was a puppet. with his own mind, his thoughts, desires, feelings. he was just...like that.

and the thing is, even with your inexperience, you know, that there are definitely more skilled men in a block. maybe you could even snatch one for a good night, but you don’t want to, genuinely. you never did. you want this puppet - you want him - and there all it is to it.

so when he finally gives in and kisses you, rolling on his back so you would be on top of him, you can only sigh. he sits up and puts your hair from your face with quiet, yet so fond smile, you can feel your heart breaking your ribs.

“you’re so beautiful” he whispers, while looking you straight in the eyes “always were and always will be”

you kiss him with desire you refuse to ignore any longer. 

he’s definitely not the most expirienced either, but what he lacks with skill he makes up to with his patience and tenderness. he has to be gentle because of how fragile your health is, so he tries to do that exactly. his smile so innocent, almost angelic, if only it wasn’t for the devilish sparks in his eyes, that lit up when you whine his name. you quickly decide, that you both love that. that, and how cool his skin feels under your touch, especially when he kisses your neck, while telling you to lift yourself a bit. you shiver in anticipation and yet still moan, when you feel the first finger inside. you don’t see his face, but you know that now he must be smiling like a stupid arrogant brat that he is.

and yet, his fingers feel so good, you clench on his shoulders with such force you fear you can break him. he only shushes you, his other hand patting your back, mouth never leaves your neck for long. he fucks you slow and steadily, keeping you in place, so you don’t move and he’s the one deciding the pace. even when you beg him to go faster, he only kisses you lovingly and continues to torture you with slow deep thrusts. you hate him for it, but not really.

you come with his name on your lips, and he keeps fucking you through it, so tenderly you feel tears in your eyes. to your surprise, you feel something wet on your neck too.

“scaramouche?” you ask worriedly, lifting his face with your hands so you can look at him properly. “are you okay?”

his eyes are glassy, and his cheeks are wet with tears, but you’ve learned a long ago that his tears are the only way showing anything of his emotions. and even though he cries, that’s not all to it.

“i’m great” he chuckles and kisses your shoulder, as you ruffle his hair “better than i have ever been”.

***

it’s winter, when you talk to scaramouche abouth death.

you have always dodged this topic elegantly. nahida told you, now decades ago, that your life won’t be long, nor that it would be joyful. scaramouche argued with her on that, but you silently agree with her. your life was on a thread the minute you felt your son in you. you can’t believe he’s so mature now, even though he still looks like a teen boy. and while scaramouche doesn’t visit his mothers ever, your son did visit his mom once. he later stayed in her shrine for about a year, learning from her, since she was, in scaramouche’s words, a knowledgeable bitch. 

but it wasn’t you and your condition, that triggered that talk.

kazuha dies so suddenly, it leaves everyone in shock. of course he was an old man now, but still you hadn’t expect it. you’re sure, if it was up to scaramouche or nahida, they would try to save him, but he just... dies in his sleep, that’s kind of it. the most peaceful, most kind death one could ever imagine. your heart roars in loss when you hear the news, your son cries in his bed when he learns his favourite unckle won’t ever return. he was your friend, the best friend of your small family, his kindness saved you the day you wanted to die - losing him feels worse than losing an arm. even nahida, who, you know, is very, very reserved, can’t help but shed a few tears.

only scaramouche stays stoic. even months after, you don’t really talk about how he lost another human that he loved dearly. 

you lay in bed together, your face in his neck, while he stares at a ceiling, swirling a strand of your hair between his fingers. 

“you're angry” you whisper. you know he is. you know his fears all too well now.

but he surprises you.

“no” he says quietely. “not really”

“huh?!”

“if it was me, say, hundred years ago, i would be so pissed with him” he says with a smile - not his usual arrogant one, something different. “that would make me so mad, i would probably find a way to bring him back alive just to kill him myself for that. but i think i get it now. huh. we really do change through our lives, don’t we?”

you don’t know what to answer to that, so you just lay there silently.

“i asked nahida to turn my head off, when you die”

this is such a shock, you stand up on your elbows to look at him. but he looks back at you - calmly and peaceful.

“what did you just say?”

“i said, i asked nahida to turn me off, when you die.” he scoffs softly and caresses your hand gently. “because you will die, y/n. like i said, i get it know. it’s not something you can’t decide not to do. yet i can decide what to do with myself. and six hundred years is more than enough”

“you can’t just decide to kill yourself” you whisper in shock, “nahida won’t do that, she won’t do that to you” he looks at you in surprise, but then smiles.

“oh, it’s not like that. she just... she’ll change the things in my head, i don’t know. she’s way better with tech, than me. so one day i’ll just stop working, i guess.” it’s impossible to you how he smiles dreamily, how content he looks “huh, i don’t know for how long i’ll walk on this land after you, but i’m looking forward to find it out.”

“what about our son?” and there it is, the only pain he lets himself have.

“nahida will take care of it. and, like i said, i won’t be gone in a blink of an eye. i’ll take care of him myself too. i guess, i’ll just finally have a life i’ve always dreamt about” he again turns to you and smiles fondly “i had a purpose and i fullfilled it. that would be a normal human life. have i ever told you? i once wanted to become a god. now i want nothing, but to become a mortal.”

you know it’s useless to argue with him, but you try to keep in mind that he really is centuries old. you would never know what it feels like to be this old. and to think of it - you don’t really want to find out. you see the example right before your eyes, how lonely it can be.

“you look so worried”

“i feel like i’ve been bamboozeled”

“oh, you definitely have been” he laughs and puts you near himself, so he can kiss your forehead. “but let’s use what we have now yeah?” you nod and he smiles wider, while rolling you on your back, so he can be on top of you. he looks so smug doing it you can’t help but scoff. 

“alright then” he kisses your nose lovingly, and you giggle again. “hold on my shoulders, lady. we’re gonna take a wild ride.”

[welcometololaland]

Said I wouldn't, did it anyway. Wrote a 4 x 16 coda, and @rmd-writes is going to write the companion piece, to be posted soon. Thanks to @celeritas2997 for your help and expert guidance.

all is near and can't be touched | T | 3,800

“Being in love with you could never feel like an obligation, TK,” Carlos says patiently, his fingers tracing over the shell of TK’s ear and threading into his hair. “That’s not how it feels. It’s never felt like that.” “How does it feel then?” TK asks, his voice barely a whisper, lost in the tiny expanse of space between them, swallowed up by the dark. “It can’t be that great right now.” Carlos smiles softly, lingering sadness written into the corners of his lips. “Being in love with you isn’t just a feeling, baby,” he murmurs. “Being in love is an action, and it’s a choice. I choose to love you, in sickness and in health, no matter what.” “That makes it sound hard,” TK breathes, sinking into the feeling of Carlos’ fingertips on his scalp, as if they’re touching his heart. Carlos shakes his head, just slightly. “I think that’s what makes love beautiful,” he says. “Without choice, love doesn’t bind us. It’s an illusion; it’s not real.”

Read on AO3

[onsa-online-sewing-academy]

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[femuirdris]

Mushroom Soup for the Soul

Fire Emblem Awakening | Rating: G | Character Focus: Frederick, F!Robin | Ship(s): Fredsumia, F!Chrobin

Frederick teaches Robin to cook, but when he asks what piqued her interest in pursuing his guidance, they end up discussing love versus duty.

Companion piece to Companions in Clumsiness

[Read on AO3!]

While she didn’t remember any of her life until meeting Chrom, Robin retained many skills under her belts. She, of course, was a fine tactician, a skilled mage, and was even a budding swordsman. Her interests held steadfast, as well—her passion for reading and chess, alongside her disdain for early mornings and excessive physical activity, all manifested in some way throughout her daily affairs. Cooking was an anomaly though, a task she held little passion for but was eager to learn to better serve herself and her fellow Shepherds. Plus, she didn’t want to end up completely helpless, should such a scenario arise where she was dependent only on herself.

Or on the many Shepherds still fed from a silver spoon.

During her game meat-eating training sessions with Frederick, she suggested different ways game could be cooked to make it more palatable, but admitted she had no cooking skills of her own to even attempt such a feat. She spoke of her interest in learning, and Frederick insisted he be the one to teach her, if only partly to make working up to bear meat a little more tolerable. As a bonus, they considered the lessons an opportunity to grow their friendship, too. They were rarely paired out on the battlefield, with Robin usually paired with Chrom or Gaius, and Frederick with Sumia or Lissa. Plus, with Frederick usually running around performing all kinds of duties to keep operations running smoothly, and with Robin working out battle strategies well ahead of time, they rarely had moments of respite to aquatint themselves further.

This evening’s course was a creamy mushroom soup, as Robin had recently learned of Frederick’s interest in foraging. He had done the honors of collecting the ingredients and preparing the vegetable stock prior. (He made sure to recite the recipe for the stock, but noted that it was fairly simple to prepare in advance.) Left for Robin was simply washing, dicing, and combining the ingredients. Simple enough! she thought.

Well, the washing certainly was.

“Ah, Robin, remember to hold your knife like so,” he demonstrated as he spoke, “as choking up on the blade gives you more control over the motion.”

“Like this?” She adjusted her hand position, her forefinger resting on top of the blade. “Er, wait no—“

“If I may,” he asked permission, and she hummed in approval. Frederick adjusted her finger so it was gripping around the knife instead. “This gives you more ample control of the knife’s motion, keeping it from swiveling from beneath you. It is not unlike proper weapon technique; you do not want your foe to disarm you with a flimsy grip.” She nodded. “And now…”

He returned to his own knife and chopped the onion with quick, circular motions. His left hand was splayed out like a spider to stabilize his knife work, his fingertips tucked safely beneath his knuckles.

“You see?”

“Yeah, I think so!” she said tentatively. She chopped slowly, adjusting to the unfamiliar motions, but quickly got into a rhythm. Her cuts were a bit uneven, but her technique showed promise. With a bit of practice, Frederick assured her, she’d be an expert in no time. He had seen how quick she was to improve her swordsmanship on the battlefield; surely a chef’s knife would be no trouble at all.

As Robin diligently continued her chopping, adding garlic and mushrooms to the mix, Frederick rummaged around the wares storage. He located the Valentian oven, his favorite cast iron cooking vessel, giving it an affirming nod and a small smile. He hooked it over the campfire, stoking the flames so they licked up the sides of the oven, heating it thoroughly.

“The Valentian oven does a marvelous job at regulating temperature—more so, I would say, than a ceramic vessel. It tolerates the high heat of the flames far more reliably, as well,” he explained. “Now that you’re finished, we can add a bit of cow’s butter and sauté the onions and garlic together.

Frederick went silent as he observed Robin thoughtfully, his careful breaths unheard over the sizzle of the sautéing aromatics.

“If I may be so bold to reaffirm,” his voice broke the silence, “why did you want to learn cooking skills again? You mentioned briefly that, ‘One of us has to!’ but I cannot imagine in what scenario you and milord would find yourself without myself or any stewards arou—“

“Hold on,” she interrupted, straightening her back and pausing her stirring briefly. “Who said anything about Chrom? I sure didn’t.” Her voice was shaky, but she turned back to watch the pot, though her eyes were unfocused.

He frowned, his eyebrows knitting together with concern. “Forgive me for my bold presumptions, but are you and milord… not courting?”

Now her cheeks mirrored the ferocity of the fire in both heat and color. “Frederick, by the gods, what would ever give you that idea?!”

Frederick dismissed her questioning briefly to add mushrooms to the pot. “Now, roast the mushrooms with the aromatics for approximately ten minutes’ time, stirring occasionally to allow all the mushrooms to have an equal time on direct heat and soften.”

Compartmentalizing her thoughts proved easier in battle than now, but she tried her damndest to focus on the mushrooms than Frederick’s insinuation.

“To answer your question, Robin,” Frederick continued, Robin uttering a small groan, “but you two share many knowing glances with each other, many intimate and overt touches. When I adjusted your hand, your face remained curious and professional—this is not so when milord assists you on the training grounds with your sword technique.”

She glared, and her response oozed venom. “You touched my hand as a test of my purported affections for Chrom?”

“No, merely an observation to provide an example,” he replied cooly.

“Well, we are not, as a matter of fact, courting in the slightest. Chrom is my closest companion, and besides, he’s the general and I am his chief tactician. It just… wouldn’t be right,” she insisted, a sadness replacing the anger in her tone. “I would never forgive myself if my feelings caused me to make poor calls on the battlefield—and Chrom would be beside himself, too. You understand, don’t you? I mean, isn’t that why you haven’t courted Sumia yet?”

His face flushed at her accusation. “I—er—well, I cannot compare the scenarios exactly. Milord is the prince of this realm, after all, and is of age where he is expected to wed within the coming years. On the contrary, I am a knight, and will always be a knight, and my duty is first and foremost to the royal family.”

She laughed incredulously, punctuating with a small snort. “And you think that the prince of Ylisse would be allowed to take an amnesiac foreigner as his wife? It’s bad enough he made her his chief tactician—I mean, even you mistrusted me through countless battles.”

“I only had milord Chrom and milady Lissa’s safety in mind when we first met,” he snapped, his frown drooping further to his chin. “And now I must consider milord’s happiness—“

“Just like you’re considering Sumia’s happiness, hm?” He winced. “She is absolutely over the moon to spend time with you, and yet your duty to the royals and the Shepherds comes first. So does mine. And besides—like I said, I’m some amnesiac you found asleep on the side of the road. Do you really think some foreigner of dubious origins is fit to court the prince of the realm? For his sake, he’d be far better off with a prudent noble like Maribelle, or even continue to improve Feroxi relations with Olivia.” She stirred the mushrooms aggressively.

“The people of Ylisse could never mistrust you as much as I once did,” he growled.

“What a ringing endorsement, Frederick,” she spat.

“That is not how I intended my words,” he grumbled, his attention brought to her near destructive stirring. “We should add the stock now.”

Robin glanced down at the oven, blinking rapidly as if waking up from a dream. “Right. We’re cooking,” she said matter-of-factly. She stood up quickly, brushing by Frederick with little regard to him and reached for the stockpot and ladle. She added the stock slowly and methodically, careful to not spill any into the fire. “How long?”

His tone equally dry, he replied, “About fifteen minutes’ time with this. Stir occasionally, to ensure the ingredients do not stick to the oven.”

“Got it.”

“Now then,” he continued, firmer this time, “what I meant was that even if milord were to take you as his wife, you have already succeeded in gaining my trust. I do not give such trust lightly, especially when it comes to protecting the royal family. There are many members of the Shepherds who have yet to gain my faith in them.”

An, “Oh,” escaped her lips breathlessly. “That is quite the compliment from Frederick the Wary.”

“Indeed. And you deserve to be showered with more, considering your skill and dedication in serving the realm,” he explained. “However, I am not here to pucker my lips against your buttocks.”

Laughter jetted from her nostrils. “Then why bother in the first place?”

“Robin, it is painfully evident that you captivate milord. If you were to spurn his affections, I am unsure if I’d be able to see you in such a favorable light,” he said grimly.

“Frederick, he has yet to even approach his feelings with me! Hell, last week in the bathing tent—er—“

Frederick’s eyebrows shot up. “The bathing tent? Robin, your sense of propriety, please!”

“Wh—it wasn’t like that!” The burning of her cheeks was almost painful. “Er, never mind. The point is, Chrom has not expressed anything to me directly. Hell, he might even think we’re just good friends!”

“Mmm. Despite your closeness, I have known and observed milord for far longer than you. His affections for you rival none, despite his many, many admirers, both romantic and platonic,” he admitted, a feather-light dusting of pink to his cheeks. “As milord’s former closest confidant, and as a,” he sucked in a heavy breath, “friend… to you both, I implore you to—stir again, the mushrooms are sticking to the sides!”

“Huh? …Oh!” She stirred, digging at the sides of the oven to scrape any clinging mushrooms.

“I implore you to allow yourself to court milord, if that is what you both desire,” he finished.

“I don’t know… I—it just. It wouldn’t be—“

He cut her off. “I’ve said my piece. I only want you to consider it for both milord’s happiness,” his expression softened, “and your own.”

“We don’t know how this war is going to end,” she muttered. “What if something awful happens, what if I—what if someone hurts him?” Her free hand gripped the bridge of her nose in frustration.

Frederick reached for the cream to add to the soup, slowly adding it as Robin stirred it in. “What if something good comes amidst the war? You would do well to read more of milady Sumia’s romance novels. They might inspire your next course of action.”

At that, Robin burst into laughter, her face still miserably warm, and pushed him aside playfully. “Oh gods, Frederick, she got you on those too?”

“No, but I cannot deny her the opportunity to recite them in full detail during our lengthy marches. It passes the time in the most delightful manner,” he said with a smile—one not unlike the smile he has when Chrom sings his praises, though with an uncharacteristic softness.

“I never thought I’d ever describe you as adorable but…” she snickered, “it seems I have been proven wrong.”

His blush made its way up to the tip of his ears as Robin’s snarky grin widened.

“Th-That’s not—“ he stammered. “I’m not—er—“

“Frederick, if you’re telling me to pursue Chrom despite our very different social standings and birth origins, and despite the war and our leadership roles in the army, the least you could do is not be a hypocrite. At least you and Sumia are similar in that regard! I mean, you’re the royal family’s most trusted knight, she’s a noble and knight, you’re both Ylissean, you both have all of your memories from before you met…” You’d never hurt her, she wanted to add. She winced as she remembered her nightmare just before meeting Chrom—the only memory she had at all prior to meeting him, and she still wasn’t sure why or how.

“Robin, are you alright?” His voice welled with concern as her eyes glazed with anxiety. “Robin!”

“Ah!” She snapped to attention. “Anyway, if you’re insistent on me and Chrom, then I’m afraid I must be more insistent on you and Sumia. It’s only fair, since we both have the army and Ylisse’s best interests at heart. It would be a shame to spurn the affections of a fellow Shepherd you care so deeply about.”

“Mmm, I suppose… you do have a rather sound rebuttal there…”

“What? You weren’t supposed to agree with me!” she squawked. “What happened to the most dutiful, dedicated knight in the halidom putting his duties first?” She gasped when she realized how aggressive she was with the spoon, smooshing the mushrooms. “O-oh gods, I am so sorry…”

Frederick chuckled. “Ah! Don’t be, you’re already on to the next step: pulverizing the mushrooms so as to blend it into liquid.”

She allowed a relieved sigh to escape her lips, continuing her work on destroying the mushrooms.

“I thought you’d be on my side if I turned this around on you, Frederick…” she continued. “Duty, social standing, the roles we play… don’t they all come before matters of the heart?”

He furrowed his brow. “I did not wholeheartedly agree with your apparently false rebuttal! I merely said it was sound! I take the utmost pride and dedication in serving milord, and he absolutely comes first. However, you are attempting to justify spurning milord’s affections.”

Robin’s eyes darted away from his piercing gaze. He was right. But if he knew how she had killed Chrom in her nightmares each time she slept, he’d cleave her with his own axe.

Her mashing became erratic in her anxiety, but there was so little left to blend, she was merely sloshing around the liquid.

Frederick steadied his hand on her shoulder.

His tone was firm, but lacked his usual commanding edge. “That should be plenty, Robin. Give it some time to meld the flavors together more and it’ll be done.”

She sighed as she lifted the spoon from the pot, watching the soup drip from the sides. “I’m sorry.”

“There is naught for which to apologize. The soup is complete.” He nodded.

“No I mean—“

“You don’t need to apologize. I believe it was you who pointed out how duty-bound we both are. We are sworn to protect the people of Ylisse, the royal family, our…” he hesitated, “most cherished companions.”

“Yeah,” she replied with a tentative smile.

“Now then, I believe we have a meal to serve! Prepare the bowls and I will alert our dinner guests.”

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