#He really just be following the warrior of light around waiting for them to participate in a mutual ass beating and when they don't do that

[mothwingwritings]

I am going feral.

I will never be normal about this cutscene.

[oxygenbefore1775]

Loved your headcanon of the warrior ghost!

I don't know if you are doing requests but can you write one about them reacting to Ryan and Shane.

I just know Annie would be annoyed with Shane touching her stuff!

Oh yeah, I will be happy to do that! Imma say right away that Im a proud Shaniac so i might be biased in terms if ghost proof

AoT Warriors vs Ghoul Boys

I guess it's a crossover but idc

cw: mentions of death, obscene language, mild harm (or threats to do harm)

Annie

learns about the ghoul boys from Bertholdt who tells her about some rookies paranormal investigators

immediately tenses up - feels like this visit is gonna be rough on her

casually goes to her room in hopes that the ghoul boys won't come inside

boy was she wrong

(I guess Ryan informed Shane about the ghost that gets aggressive when their stuff is touched so naturally Shane's gonna tease the ghost)

senses that Shane is going to be a jerk - because of the way he is looking around the room in search of objects to move around

(Annie won't be able to actually harm Shane because it's gonna be a huge win for the Boogaras all over the world)

is irritated since Shane not only touches her things but also taunts her about her inability to hurt him

instead of inflicting violence, she turns the room really cold

finally decides that this is beneath her and retreats to another room that the ghoul boys have already inspected and waits out there

Bertholdt

is kinda reluctant to interact with the ghoul boys (he is still embarassed about the previous attempts of communication gone wrong)

decides to follow them around for a bit because they seem nice

finds it nice that Ryan is being respectful towards the ghosts and appreciates his attempts to calm Shane down

takes it upon himself to convince Shane that the ghosts are real

that's why stays behind in order to interact with the cameras and audio-recorders that the ghoul boys have set up

makes an entire speech about the ghosts' existence in front of the camera - but it turns out sounding like a muffled mess (Ryan wasn't able to make out a single word when he was listening to audio recordings later in the studio)

to seem more compelling, repeatedly closes and opens the door that's in the camera's view

is too excited and manipulates magnetic fields around him which consequently distorts the footage of the camera

the said footage is by far the most valued asset of the Boogara nation

Colt

the moment he sees the holywater gun on Ryan - he keeps his distance from him

(ghoul boys actually know his name and invite him to a conversation)

interacts with the ghoul boys via the spirit-box but responds only to Shane's questions

once Shane's questions get progressively obnoxious, is baffled and stops answering

nudges the ghoul boys to use ouija board by incessantly tapping on it which scares the living hell out of Ryan

is dissapointed in the offering required for the seance to begin because it's just some chewing gum

still proceeds to respond to questions in the usual manner by dragging the triangular thingy across the board

gets sabotaged by Shane because he is independently moving the triangular thingy (yk Shane does is evety time with the ouija board)

gets upset, feels disrespected and stops participating in the seance

Pieck

is disinterested in Shane and his snotty remarks about the ghosts

Ryan is her prime target because his fear of ghosts amuses her

flickers Ryan's flashlight from time to time which distresses Ryan

seizes all of her Ryan tantalizing activity whenever Shane is in the vicinity - just wants Ryan to feel gas-lit

takes her sweet time with Ryan when the time comes for each of the ghoul boys to stay alone in the dark room for five minutes

tugs on Ryan's shirt during those five minutes

her real opportunity to shine comes when the ghoul boys come down into the basement

in that moment turns off all of the light-emitting devices

watches Ryan's panick setting in and giggles adorably

wants the ghoul boys to come back again sometime

Porco

hates both of the ghoul boys

for different reasons: Shane seems like a better and funnier version of himself while Ryan seems too anxious to even be a paranormal investigator (it only makes sense to call him out about it)

in fact envies them because unlike him the ghoul boys can leave this haunted property

gadgets around Porco show readings so high that it convinces Ryan of a demonic presence in the house

when the ghoul boys (primarily Shane) ask him for a sign in order to prove the demonic presence, violently slams the door

at some point gets really mad because the ghoul boys have been taunting his fellow ghosts and feels very protective towards the other ghosts

wants to rid the house of the ghoul boys by threatening to harm them and manifesting his hatred towards them via the spirit-box

feels that he is the only one capable of protecting his fellow ghosts

Reiner

has no idea that the ghoul boys are visiting the house

is casually relaxing on the bed when the ghoul boys come in and disturb him

because Reiner frequents this room quite often, the beds and the armchairs have imprints of his body

has full-on gay panic when the ghoul boys notice those imprints and discuss them

doesn't know whether they are teasing or complimenting him

(the time comes for the ghoul boys to get ready for the sleepover in the haunted house)

gets flustered when Ryan takes one of the bedrooms where Reiner usually stays

unwilling to sacrifice his comfort even for one night, chooses to stay in this bedroom

his presence makes Ryan feel really uneasy so he couldn't sleep the whole night

Zeke

is a proud Shaniac

doesn't like Ryan's demeanor and thinks that it's irrational of a living human to believe in ghosts

(yk the first thing Shane says when entering the haunted house is "it's your chance to get on YouTube" in attempts to make the potential ghosts to cooperate)

is vane enough to try and get himself those 15 minutes of fame

is excited to use the spirit-box but this time decides to use this opportunity and starts talking about his life

"It all started with my father's cruel plan regarding my future..."

because spirit-box is unable to transmit messages for a long period of time, his speech gets cut off and it sounds like a delirious stuff

doesn't get disappointed about it because it indeed sounds really funny

hm, turns out I really like making those. shoud i start taking requests?

[silentprincess17]

A Proposal Gone Awry

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | AO3

Summary: Link has been touring the breadth and width of Hyrule to clear out the remaining monster camps, and soon enough, he reaches Zora’s Domain. Mipha asks him to wait before he heads back to the castle, which he was intending on doing... but some mischievous children may have other plans.

Part 4 (Final)

Mipha floated in the pool, the water cascading in gentle waves over her prone form.

It was the fifth time she had left her own private pools after a prolonged period of recovery. She waded her way through a sea of guilt, shame, mortification, longing, pining and despair. Heartbreak was a painful thing, and it was a shame her Grace couldn’t heal it. Still, her time in almost near seclusion had helped her to come to several key realisations, which she could freely admit after the initial torment and hurricane of emotions drifted into colder water.

Number 1: She realised how much she had fooled herself.

Really, she had never even talked to Link about her feelings, planning to use the armour as her segue on the topic. An armour given at an engagement! What had she been thinking? How had she deluded herself into it?

Number 2: The answer was that she was simply too scared. Too terrified to ever voice her affection for him. And it had all backfired so spectacularly. There were so many signs that she had, simply put, ignored. All the way from Link saving Zelda during their journey, to finding out who they really were: soulmates bound through all of time and fated to be together. Her cheeks coloured, from thinking of all of the ridiculous explanations she had made up in order to continue living in a fantasy she had constructed in her mind.

Number 3: All of this could have been avoided, if she had talked to him properly.

Still, it was too late to regret it now, but with hindsight, she should have done everything differently from the start. She could have saved herself so much pain. The only saving grace she had was that Link thankfully had no idea what was going on. She didn’t even want to consider what would have happened had he realised.

The flow of the water changed, and Mipha instinctively looked up, as Bazz walked in, holding a bloom of Blue Nightshades in his hands. Every day since she had returned from the castle, he came carrying a small bundle of flowers as an apology. He had noticed how reclusive she had become, and the blanket of sadness that covered her like waves covered the ocean. She had reassured him multiple times she wasn’t sad because of his little stunt, and he didn’t need to bring flowers, but the poor boy had taken it to heart.

He had even brought the whole gang over on the first day that she had left her rooms, each of them bearing a gift. Bazz himself had brought her purple hyacinths, which apparently “symbo-bolises forgive-ness”. Gaddison had polished her treasured Lightscale Trident, something which Mipha hadn’t held for over two months. It had felt so good to wield it in her hands again. Rivan had given her a hearty blue snail, whilst Sidon had given her a huge hug, and a pendant that had Vah Ruta engraved into it. She knew her father must have helped him, but she still appreciated the effort he had put in. Once she had hugged him, he had softly whispered in her ear that she was his Hero, and he wanted her to smile again, like this, and he had given her the best gift of all- his trademark smile and pose.

It had made her feel comforted and helped her realise that she had a family here. She had responsibilities. She couldn’t just hide away from the world because she didn’t have the courage to talk to the man she loved, and now he had been taken away.

She was Mipha, Princess of the Zora, a daughter, a sister, a warrior. Yes, Link had played a large part in her motivations. She had always wanted to protect him, ultimately. First by healing his wounds, then by fighting the lynel with him, to finally creating an armour containing a piece of herself. But what she had failed to realise then, and she understood now, was that it wasn’t just all for Link. It was for her Domain, for her people who she would eventually rule over.

After that fourth realisation, it became easier to ease herself out of her rooms. To slowly begin to partake in the council meetings. To swim in her home’s beautiful waterfalls. To allow herself to heal.

She smiled as Bazz shuffled closer, his sword still scrapping the floor with every other step. He held out the peonies he had gathered today, and this time pressed a letter into her hand. She raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t say anything, just shrugged. She flipped it open, and it was about an event at the Flight Range. She read, and reread the short brief,

To all the children in Hyrule,

I, the Great Revali, Champion of the Rito, will be offering free lessons in the all-important field of archery.

Should you want to participate, convince your parents/guardians to bring you this Saturday to the Flight Range.

Teenagers are welcome on the following day and for those who do not possess this basic knowledge, I mean Sunday.

Remember that if you do come, I will expect nothing less of excellence, or at least, the maximal effort to be demonstrated until you achieve said excellence.

Master Revali, Champion of the Rito

Well, she never would have guessed Revali liked children. Or indeed teaching. He… well, she wouldn’t say he was the most patient of the Champions. Still, it was good of him to do… probably. She wasn’t sure he would have many students left after the first session.

But why had Bazz given this to her….? She got her answer when she looked up to Bazz’s huge, silently pleading eyes. She sighed. The children had done a lot for her these past few months. It was the least she could do to supervise them on a short trip. It was highly likely Revali would scare them all away, if she was being honest, which would be the main reason she wouldn’t want to bring them. Still, if they wanted to go, then she would accompany them. It was only right she gave back a little of what they’ve given her.

She smiled as she heard Bazz screaming to the other three and lifted herself out of the pool. She was out of practise with her spear, and she was certain Revali would notice. Not that she cared for his crass comments, especially considering what she had gone through these past two months… but she was still competitive and just in case he asked her to practise like they once used to, she needed to make sure she wouldn’t fail within the first minute.

The children squabbled together on the swim to the Rito Village. They were excited for their first time out exploring Hyrule, and she had to remain vigilant if any one of them decided to pop up for air and sit on the bank to appreciate the views. Whilst she did understand how shockingly green the world must appear to them when compared to the Domain, there were still monsters around, and these children were all her responsibility.

Soon enough they arrived, threaded in amongst the throng of people present in the Flight Range. Revali was at the entrance, by a giant board of names. He held the chalk in his hands as he wrote down the name of each child at a specific time slot, before directing them towards the bonfire that was burning in order to stay warm. From what she could make out, around half of the slots were filled, with lessons starting at 1 pm. As this was the sign up session, no one had been assigned into classes yet. She assumed it would be dependent on the numbers that turned up today…

She made sure the children were organised in file row by age, with the eldest first, (Gaddison, Bazz, Rivan and Sidon) before she approached Revali.

He merely nodded at her, wrote down the four names and directed her in much the same way as everyone else. Well, she wasn’t expecting favouritism, but surely in light of their history he could- wait- actually… What did she want him to do? She had only had a few training sessions with Revali, and aside from the battles they had fought together, she had rarely interacted with him. He didn’t tend to stay for the informal sessions they had as Champions, and, as he rubbed a lot of their group the wrong way, she had never paid much attention as to why that was.

She only smiled, asked if he needed any help, “No thank you, Mipha. Just head to the bonfire.” And Mipha understood his curt dismissal. He looked stressed, and she wouldn’t want to exacerbate that.

After a couple of hours, it was the Zora children’s turn. All of them headed off towards the Flight Range, were given basic instructions in how a bow works by Revali, and a brief guide into using a paraglider as an emergency safety check. The main benefit of practising at the Flight Range was that even if they slipped, or lost control, the wind was so strong it would buffet them in the air until Revali himself would pick them up. Anyway, no one would be flying out unless they fell; the first lessons would take place on the deck whilst aiming at the target just across.

Mipha was not afraid of anything going wrong. She trusted Revali. Despite their differences, Revali would never let any of one of them down.

Gaddison did the best, she adapted well to the new weapon, a swallow bow, managing to hit the inner turquoise ring after five arrow shots, whilst Bazz came in second hitting it after eight. Rivan managed in twelve, and Sidon could only hit the outside ring. He was perhaps too small for this sort of venture. Mipha understood his need to participate though; she knew he really wanted to be accepted into Bazz’s brigade, and she wouldn’t stop him from trying to fit in.

Whilst the children were firing at the target, she came to stand by Revali. He was intently focussed, but she thought she could perhaps try to get him to relax a little.

“This is a really good thing you’re doing Revali… training the next generation of potential archers.”

He fixed his emerald eyes on her, funny, how she had never noticed the startling colour before, “Well thank you, Mipha. Not all of us are handed our legacies. I have to make my own.”

She paused… hesitated a little as she thought over what he meant. It was true: she had never realised but all of the other Champions were in positions of power. She was a Princess, Urbosa was Chief of the Gerudo, Daruk was Chief of the Gorons. Zelda was Princess of Hyrule, and Link was Captain of her Royal Guard team. Except for Revali. His only title was Champion… “Perhaps that is a good thing. Self-made legacies are the ones that people remember the most.” He didn’t reply, so she asked another question. “How did you come up with the idea of making the Flight Range a training centre?”

He wrapped both arms around his chest, which she read as a little defensive, “Teba. His son, Tulin, trains here. Well. I guess I should say, ‘will’ train here.” He shook his head, “Anyway, I also don’t want to be remembered solely by the Rito for having trained Rito warriors. I want this to be an endeavour that spans across Hyrule. Archery is just as, if not more, important than simple swordplay.”

Ah. There it was. She wisely chose not to say anything else on the matter, “It’s an admirable aim, Revali. And from the volume of people here… I’d say you are in a good position.”

He merely shrugged. “It’s only the first session, Mipha. It would be foolish to assume the same pattern for the future.” He hesitated, looked at her ornamental silver again, before his gaze flickered away onto the children. He cleared his throat, risked another glance at her, before speedily asking, “Why did you change your armour?”

She was about to respond to his initial statement actually, to reassure him that it would work, and that he was a Champion which would undoubtedly make people want their children to be taught by him, but he had caught her completely off-guard. “What do you mean?”

He jabbed a feather at her clasp. “That never used to be there.”

Oh Goddesses. How would she explain such a thing? How had he even noticed such a small difference? “Well, one of the scales needed to go. It happens sometimes.” There. That wasn’t a lie. Technically, the scale had to go, and it didn’t happen often obviously, but she wouldn’t have to explain the ins and outs.

He paused, just for a second, before continuing on, “Is it susceptible to attack?”

“Well, yes-”

He jutted in, “Would you like to train then? It’s important to maintain your defence. Especially with such a pronounced wound that anyone could take advantage of.”

She did not mention the wound was, in fact, sealed completely by the clasp. But she appreciated his offer. It had been so long since she had properly trained with a Champion. And… now actually, she could remember him doing the same thing at the ball. Had he spotted it from then? Had he wanted to ask if she was okay from then? Had he wanted to train… to help her better defend herself from then? She wasn’t sure why she found that surprising, but it felt good to know he cared. “Okay.”

“Monday evening… at the Domain, for your convenience?”

She nodded, and with that, it was the end of the children’s turn. She established what time, exactly, on Monday evening, and invited Revali to come over for dinner. He hadn’t had a chance to visit the Domain properly in all the chaos of the Calamity, but there was no such rush now.

Mipha had a giant pile of things to do, and she tried her best to do it all quickly. First, she dropped the children back to their home familial pools, reassuring their parents that everyone had been well behaved. Then she informed her father that she had invited Revali to dinner so preparations could be made in time. Finally, she visited her Divine Beast, Vah Ruta... She paused at the entrance, smoothing her hand across the door. Ruta was pleased to see her Champion back, and Mipha found herself falling back into her routine of caring: she gave Ruta good clean, and even ended up having a late-night bonding training session to attempt to prepare herself for Monday.

In all her haste to do it all, by the time she finally reached her pools, she was so tired she immediately blacked out.

It was only in the morning that she realised, for the first time that night, in the span of two months, she didn’t think of Link. Of her failed proposal. Of her shame and embarrassment at reading the whole situation so wrongly.

And she finally braved the courage to pull out the package that she hadn’t touched since that evening. She decided it was time to post it to Link. She wrote a short note about completing his armour set, and she didn’t mention anything else. By letting go of it, and subsequently of the feelings that were associated with it, Mipha finally felt lighter than she had for a long time.

She grabbed her Lightscale Trident, keen on getting some practise before Revali came. Who knows, maybe he could teach her some archery too. Whatever it was, she was keen to finally put her trident to some good use again. For the first time in two months, she had something to look forward to… a goal she could achieve.

Perhaps her proposal had gone awry… but it had given her a much needed wake up call.

She was more than a girl who loved a boy.

She was Mipha, Princess of the Zora, Champion of the Zora and of Vah Ruta, a warrior and healer that contributed to the destruction of the Calamity. She was Sidon’s hero, and it was time she lived up to it.

Mipha stepped forward, her Grace poised in her movements, bold, determined, and ready.

[tabloidtoc]

Us, May 3

You can buy a brand new copy of this issue without the mailing label for your very own at my eBay store: https://www.ebay.com/str/bradentonbooks

Cover: Pregnant Meghan Markle: My Baby, My Way

Page 2: Red Carpet -- rufflemania -- Hollywood style stars are tier-ing it up in this flattering design with feminine flair -- Tracee Ellis Ross, Kaitlyn Dever, Margot Robbie, Logan Browning, Nicola Coughlan

Page 3: Lizzo, Maude Apatow, Lucy Boynton, Jessica Alba, Lily Collins

Page 4: Who Wore It Best? Anya Taylor-Joy vs. Isla Fisher vs. Regina King in Stuart Weitzman Nudist sandal

Page 6: Loose Talk -- Shonda Rhimes on the intense backlash she received over Rege-Jean Page's exit from Bridgerton, Kelly Ripa on her most embarrassing interview, Luke Bryan on his mother LeClaire's Instagram fame, Blake Shelton on The Voice's new coach Ariana Grande, Reese Witherspoon joking about wearing bottoms that aren't sweatpants

Page 8: Contents

Page 10: A Final Farewell to Prince Philip, his four children Prince Charles and Princess Anne and Prince Andrew and Prince Edward were among the loved ones who participated in the emotional ceremony, feuding brothers Prince Harry and Prince William (and his wife Duchess Kate) put their differences aside after the intimate service, due to Covid-19 protocols the grieving Queen Elizabeth stayed socially distant from the other 29 people who attended the funeral for her husband of 73 years

Page 11: ACM Awards 2021 -- Maren Morris teamed up with her husband Ryan Hurd and won Female Artist of the Year, Thomas Rhett won Male Artist of the Year, Carrie Underwood took the stage

Page 12: Hot Pics -- Rosie Huntington-Whiteley wore an orange coat during a visit to NYC, John Stamos plays a coach on the TV show Big Shot, Zach Braff goofed around on the set of Cheaper by the Dozen in L.A.

Page 13: Eva Longoria on her trampoline while aboard a yacht in Miami, Howie Mandel arrived to the set of America's Got Talent dressed as a bug in Pasadena

Page 14: Jon Hamm and his rescue dog Splash strolled around the neighborhood in L.A., Heidi Klum in all white in Pasadena, Sara Gilbert and Linda Perry take a stroll in L.A.

Page 15: Eddie Cibrian and LeAnn Rimes held hands after dinner at Il Segreto in L.A., Patrick Dempsey shot a scene for his show Devils in Rome

Page 16: Rachel Brosnahan in a blue dress and carrying a clear umbrella on the set of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel in NYC, Lin-Manuel Miranda at the opening of a vaccination center for Broadway workers in Times Square, Trisha Yearwood feeds one of her rescue pups

Page 18: Gen Z Has Spoken -- these celebs are making the young kids proud -- Baggy Jeans -- Hailey Bieber, Tracee Ellis Ross, Bella Hadid

Page 19: Middle Parts -- Busy Philipps, Lizzo, Jennifer Lopez, Kourtney Kardashian, baguette bags -- Dua Lipa, Elsa Hosk, Irina Shayk, Kendall Jenner

Page 20: Seeing Double -- stars bear a striking resemblance to their famous counterparts -- Elizabeth Banks and Chelsea Handler, Emmanuelle Chriqui and Nina Dobrev, Betty Gilpin and Jodie Comer

Page 21: Rob Lowe and Ian Somerhalder, Jaime Pressly and Margot Robbie, Isla Fisher and Amy Adams, Rupert Grint and Ed Sheeran, Kyle Richards and Kacey Musgraves

Page 22: Clueless Crew -- stars are totally buggin' over Cher Horowitz's style in yellow plaid -- Robin Roberts on Good Morning America, Katie Holmes was rollin' with her homie beau Emilio Vitolo Jr. in NYC, Vanessa Hudgens, Dianna Agron

Page 23: Gabrielle Union

Page 24: Stars They're Not Like Us -- Jay Leno took one of his vintage automobiles out for a spin in L.A., Chrissy Teigen and John Legend took a selfie with a fan while grocery shopping in Beverly Hills, Kylie Jenner has custom vending machines

Page 25: Carrie Underwood in her massive walk-in closet, Denzel Washington signs autographs for fans in NYC, Megan Thee Stallion on a private plane, Drake and his bodyguard in Beverly Hills

Page 26: Stars They're Just Like Us -- Sarah Jessica Parker catches a yellow cab after working at her shoe store in NYC, Brad Paisley picked up five pizzas to go in Montecito

Page 27: Kelly Osbourne handed out goods at a drive-thru food distribution event at the Islamic Center of Southern California, HGTV's Egypt Sherrod transformed her closet into a meditation space in Atlanta, in between filming Law & Order: SVU's Mariska Hargitay and Ice-T take a selfie

Page 28: Hollywood Dads -- Scott Porter on parenting his two kids McCoy and Clover

Page 29: Jonathan Tucker on life with twins Hayes and India, parenthood is a lot tougher than Jovi Dufren imagined, Maksim Chmerkovskiy can't wait to show son Shai his work

Page 30: Love Lives -- Rihanna and A$AP Rocky are showing no signs of slowing down -- the pair enjoyed a night out in L.A. hotspot Delilah where they were holding hands and laughing and they're not hiding the fact that they're dating but they just don't want people in their business -- they're a good match and are each other's best friend

Page 31: Justin Bieber and Hailey Bieber may look like the picture-perfect couple, but Justin admits that their first year of marriage wasn't what he expected, saying it was really tough and there was just a lack of trust and he blamed the strain on his own personal struggles and said before he didn't have someone to love or someone to pour into but now, more than two years after exchanging vows with Hailey, he has that

* Kacey Musgraves' romance with Dr. Gerald Onuoha is giving her butterflies -- the pair are so happy they found each other and while Kacey, who split from her husband Ruston Kelly last summer, is trying not to get too ahead of herself, her connection to the Nashville-based doc is off the charts and it's got the potential to go a very long way

* Today's Savannah Guthrie is thankful to have husband Michael Feldman in her life, especially given the demands of her early morning work schedule

Page 32: Kourtney Kardashian and Travis Barker are getting serious -- all the details on their whirlwind romance

Page 33: Adapting to parenthood has been a breeze for Emma Stone and she's soaking in all the precious moments of being a mom for the first time -- she and husband Dave McCary welcomed their baby daughter in March and Emma is super protective and a very hands-on mom and Dave is also hands-on and helps with their daughter -- thanks to the little one, Emma's marriage with the comedian has also gotten stronger and having a baby has brought them closer in a way they never expected -- Emma is looking forward to getting back to work; she's taken this time off to embrace motherhood and her number one priority is to raise a healthy baby so that's what she's focused on right now

* Britney Spears is setting the record straight -- despite her ongoing conservatorship battle with her dad, Jamie Spears, she is doing totally fine, assuring fans that she's extremely happy and she has a beautiful home, beautiful children and she's taking a break right now because she's enjoying herself -- although the legal drama with her father is heating up, Britney is staying strong and she has this wonderful ability to see the positive even when the odds are against her

* Keeping Up With Us -- production for the Downton Abbey sequel is underway, Mossimo Giannulli is a free man, Chrissy Teigen returned to Twitter 23 days after announcing that she was leaving the platform, Vanessa Bryant remembered her late husband Kobe Bryant on what would have been their 20th wedding anniversary, Helen McCrory lost her battle with cancer at age 52 according to her husband Damian Lewis

Page 34: A Day in My Life -- Whitney Port

Page 35: Colton Underwood is ready to live his truth -- during an interview on Good Morning America, the former Bachelor came out as gay, saying he's run from himself for a long time and he came to terms with his sexuality earlier this year and he's the happiest and healthiest he's ever been -- now that he feels like he can finally breathe, Colton is excited for his next chapter, which fans will get to see on an upcoming reality show with Olympian Gus Kenworthy -- a huge weight has been lifted off of Colton's shoulders and he is looking forward to being his authentic self

Page 36: Moms Tell All -- Happy Mother's Day! From milestones and manners to rules and nanny-bans, celebs and insiders talk about raising kids in Hollywood

Page 37: Bindi Irwin says life at home with her daughter Grace Warrior has been positively blissful and her family with dad Chandler Powell is so full of love, adding that the newborn has already met some of the wildlife at the Australia Zoo where Bindi and Chandler live and work and of course she's seen some crocs and really lit up when she saw them -- while the Aussie conservationist is sad Grace won't get to meet her late dad Steve Irwin, Bindi's brother Robert Irwin and mom Terri Irwin have been by her side constantly and Robert is obsessed with Grace and has been helping out so much and her mom has been the biggest guiding light and she's already taught Bindi so much about being a mother, both in how she raised her and by showing her things day by day and Terri is quite the baby whisperer and she's so great a calming Grace down when she's crying -- first-time father Chandler is also a natural with Grace and he's been the most supportive and involved dad and together, he and Bindi make such a great team -- for now, Bindi, who stars with Chandler in Crikey! It's a Baby!, is hoping Grace will follow in her animal-activist footsteps, saying having three generations of strong women working as conservationists is a dream come true

* Jennifer Garner said teaching your kids is a lifelong job, and certainly values are something you have to show them -- Jennifer, who shares kids Violet, Seraphina and Samuel with ex Ben Affleck, is staying true to her word and has led by example when it comes to things like kindness and patience and she won't let anyone in the house to judge or speak ill of people, and she enforces the same wholesome, traditional values that she was raised with and the kids have been taught to be loving, hardworking and fair -- Jennifer has always taken a kids-come-first approach to parenting, and it shows as they bake together, enjoy movie nights, read books and have very active lives and it's a very healthy, happy household filled with laughter and love

Page 38: Gwen Stefani has her hands full with her sons Kingston, Zuma and Apollo with ex-husband Gavin Rossdale, but she wouldn't want it any other way -- Gwen's a tomboy, so having three boys wasn't daunting for her at all, plus she has fiance Blake Shelton by her side to pitch in with parenting duties and Gwen and the boys have a blast at Blake's ranch in Oklahoma where they enjoy riding their ATVs, and they play baseball and football -- it's not all fun and games, though because Gwen is big on boundaries and manners and she doesn't want to raise Hollywood brats and it's important to her that her sons be gentlemen

* Meghan Markle's pregnancy with Archie was no walk in the park, as she revealed during her bombshell TV interview with husband Prince Harry, the couple had concerns over whether or not the royal family would provide security for their son and claimed there were conversations about his skin color -- but this time around, as Meghan and Harry gear up for baby No. 2 at home in L.A., she's doing everything her way, without the royals and Meghan and Harry feel blessed that they're able to raise their daughter in the U.S. and can live by their own rules and make the decisions they feel are best for their children; having independence is the most important thing for Meghan and she's got free rein to be exactly the kind of mom she wants to be -- her parenting style is really like most mothers out there, and she's been craving pasta and doing yoga two times a day as her due date nears and she keeps a lot of art supplies out to foster creativity and healthy snacks around and she's a devoted mom and wants the best for her kids

Page 39: Kate Hudson has a lot on her plate, so the mom of three, who shares son Ryder with former husband Chris Robinson and son Bingham with ex Matt Bellamy and daughter Rani with boyfriend Danny Fujikawa, knows when to put her foot down as things can get a little overwhelming at times for Kate, but when she says no, it absolutely means no, and the kids respect her very much because of that

* Gigi Hadid, who shares daughter Khai with boyfriend Zayn Malik, wants to spend every waking moment with her precious little girl -- Gigi could easily afford to employ a team of nannies but chooses not to and she prefers to do everything herself and besides, she can't bear to be away from Khai for more than a few hours

* Candace Cameron Bure's three grown kids are flying the coop, but she's still super involved in their lives, despite slowly becoming an empty nester -- the mom of Natasha, Lev, and Maksim with former hockey player Valeri Bure says it's been a very transitional time and she's been trying to help them make decisions they feel good about and it's challenging, but they're figuring it out

Page 40: Oh, Baby! Meghan Markle's due date is just around the corner, and here are all the details

* Bump Brigade -- Halsey, Gal Gadot, Shawn Johnson East

Page 42: 10 Years of the Cambridges -- a look back at Prince William and Duchess Kate Middleton's solid marriage for their anniversary

Page 44: Jennifer Lopez and Alex Rodriguez: What Really Happened -- cheating and lies? The truth behind J.Lo's split from fiance A-Rod

Page 45: Friendliest Exes -- these former couples managed to stay close after going their separate ways -- Gwyneth Paltrow and Chris Martin, Jennifer Aniston and Justin Theroux, Orlando Bloom and Miranda Kerr, Demi Moore and Bruce Willis, Lisa Bonet and Lenny Kravitz

Page 48: Gifts for Mother's Day

Page 54: Entertainment -- Ben Barnes on Shadow and Bone

Page 58: Fashion Police -- the most daring Oscars looks -- Bjork, Whoopi Goldberg, Charlize Theron

Page 59: Rachel Weisz, Gwyneth Paltrow, Lady Gaga

Page 60: 25 Things You Don't Know About Me -- Julia Michaels

[geeky-politics-46]

The Asgardian Candidate

Loki/The West Wing FanFiction Crossover

Chapter 3 - “The First Debate”

The 2 candidates strode toward the center of the stage for the ceremonial pre-debate handshake. Both men exuding confidence & authority, even though the air around them was thick with palpable tension

The first lady, Abbey, entering hand in hand with her husband. It was an effort to further highlight the differences between the candidates.

President Bartlet easily outplayed Loki in policy knowledge, but regardless the handsome raven haired charismatic Loki managed to maintain a thin lead over the incumbent. Tonight they were hoping to change that.

They had found a vulnerable spot in Loki, one that Jed was particularly suited to take advantage of. Jed Bartlet was a family man 1st & foremost, nothing mattered more to him. Loki, always solo on the campaign trail with no spouse or relatives to be seen, became visibly angered at the mention of family.

After the first lady had smiled & waved to the audience she turned to her husband. Abbey tipped her head up & kissed Jed, she then placed her hand on his chest over his heart & touched her forehead to his. Both of their eyes closed in that moment & the president placed his hand over Abbey’s, smiling as their hands met.

Loki watched the display with annoyance, to him they were simply putting on an act, a show for their audience. They were posturing.

To the Bartlet’s however this was their moment of ritual, a grounding force that connected them before a moment of political chaos. While it may have been Loki’s weakness, Jed derived only strength from his family & especially from his wife.

Loki placed his hands on his hips & shifted his weight to signal his impatience with being made to wait. He had just finished rolling his eyes when Abbey pulled away from her husband & exited the debate stage.

President Bartlet was the 1st to extend his hand, his warm friendly smile covering a feeling of anxiety. He may be the President of the United States, the Commander In Chief, but something about this man exuded an authority outranking even his own.

Loki locked hands with the President, his lips curling into his signature mischievous smirk, lowering his gaze slightly & boring his rich emerald eyes into his opponent. He was ready for a battle.

As they walked to their podiums, Loki’s eyes stayed on the President. Like a predator stalking his prey, he watched every step the man took. The president could feel the eyes on him, causing him to swallow hard as he took his position.

The 2 men stood roughly 20 feet apart on the large stage, podiums angled toward the front center. The audience had begun to silence & still themselves. The moderator was finishing up sorting her papers. It was nearly time to begin.

Bartlet adjusted his microphone, straightened his tie, basically anything except look at the man to his left. Loki was still staring him down, & he couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle at the nervous fidgeting he had elicited.

Loki’s attention snapped to the front of the stage as the moderator began reciting the debate rules over her own microphone. Truth be told, he had been so wrapped up in his game that he had forgotten she was even there.

He could hardly even see her due to the stage lights, so he looked for the news & TV cameras instead. That was where he would focus. That was who he was campaigning to after all, to the millions watching on TV. They were who he wanted to win.

As the cameras went live the moderator once again recited her introduction & the rules for the debate. This time leaving out bits & pieces that pertained only to the candidates themselves or to their staff. It was really showtime now.

“Good evening, & welcome to the first debate for this year’s U.S. Presidential election. The participants are President Josiah Bartlet, & Mr. Loki Laufeyson. I am Rachel Maddow your moderator. The topics this evening will all be pertaining to U.S. domestic policy. The format for the debate is as follows, & has been agreed to by both campaigns. Each candidate will make a 2 minute opening statement. The debate will then be divided into 6 segments, each 14 minutes long. At the beginning of each segment I will ask both candidates the same lead-off question & they will each have up to 2 minutes to respond, we will then move into open discussion for the rest of the time allotted. At the end of the debate each candidate will be given 2 minutes to make a closing statement. Mr. Laufeyson you won the coin toss, so we will be beginning with you. You have 2 minutes for your opening statement please.”

Loki shifted his weight from foot to foot, hands poised on the edges of the podium. He glanced downward & licked his lips. A smile spread across his face as he brought his gaze back up, locking into the cameras.

“Well, first of all thank you dear Rachel & my opponent, President Bartlet, for taking part in this glorious display of… purpose… before the American people. I know you all feel lost, like leaves scattered in the wind. Without a true direction. That is the downside of freedom, it diminishes life’s joy as you scramble for identity. In order to truly embrace all that this life, this country, has to offer you must put your trust in a true leader. Someone who will lead you down the path toward greatness without question or hesitation. I will be that benevolent leader if you put your trust in my hands.”

“Thank you Mr. Laufeyson. Now to you President Bartlet.”

“I grew up on the promise of life, liberty, & the pursuit of happiness. Along the way, however, we learn how important so many other things there are in our lives. Healthcare, an education, family. Those are just a few that pop to mind. I am, & will be a, president who see’s these issues as ever evolving questions seeking adaptable solutions. As your president I will continue to fight for policy that pulls us forward together, not pushes people into a line. To unite as one family; because at the end of the day, if you have people to call your family - even if you aren’t related by family - you are never truly lost.”

Loki could feel the color drain from his face. Bartlet had just fired a shot across the bow, within the first five minutes of the debate Loki knew he was already starting to sink.

————————

It simply got worse from there. On Asgard Loki never had to attend to matters of actual policy. He was trained as a sorcerer & warrior with a birth right to the throne. Why in the nine realms would he have bothered to learn about budgets & taxes? He was a prince, destined to be a king. A ruler waiting for his throne.

Despite his best efforts to keep up, & even throw a few quick magical charms to make his answers sound more polished, he knew he was floundering. The bile was rising in his stomach as he watched the human to his right take the last of the open question time.

All he had to do now was deliver his closing statement. Then he would re-evaluate. He knew he would have to make a big move tomorrow if he wanted to hold any footing .

“We have now come to the final segment of our debate, the closing statements. Mr. Laufeyson, you have 2 minutes.”

“Standing here, before all of you, I must confess that I spent much of my life being lied to. Many of you have also spent your lives being lied to, by the politicians who claim they will put your needs first. Being told you were something only to find out it was all fiction. All they really care about is power. It’s time for something different than these same lies time after time. I will never feed you those same lies, I will lead you to where you can fully flourish. I will make it easy for you.”

“President Bartlet, you have 2 minutes for your closing statement.”

“While I know that many voters prefer to not delve too deep into the world of policy specifics, & I certainly understand why, but a president should be able to give you a specific plan of how they intend to solve the problems befalling our country. While my opposition here certainly has a flair for language, even when it edges a tad on the overdramatic, I have yet to hear him detail exactly how he will lead this country to a better place. I can tell you that there aren’t many un-nuanced moments in leading a country, it takes much more than fancy generalities. So, Mr. Laufeyson, my question to you is what comes after the generality? What are the next 10 words? How are we going to do it? Give me the next 10 words after that & I’ll drop out of the race right now.”

Loki stood yet with his mouth agape. Fists clenched so tight on the podium his knuckles were white. A mere mortal had bested him, & he knew it just as well as Loki did. Even the moderator had appeared stunned at Bartlet’s closing statement bravado.

As the moderator closed out the debate, the tv camera crews began their scuttle over to the spin room to try & get the best spot for interviews. Bartlet smiled & waved to the audience as he strode offstage. Loki stood there, basking in the stage lights for just a moment longer. Taking a deep breath to compose himself before turning & leaving through the other side of stage. He could already see staffers & stagehands clearing a path for him, they could feel the frustration radiating off of him.

His campaign staff would be taking care of all the post debate interviews. On his best days he hardly had patience for them, on days like today he would rather be looked in closet with his brother than deal with the media’s pedantic prattling. Loki had a plan to put together, & he had to put it together fast.

[cozy-the-overlord]

Dances and Daggers

Summary:   The Summer Festival is upon Asgard, as is the tradition of the dagger ceremony, where each unmarried gentleman chooses a lady to bestow with the honor of carrying his dagger for the night. As Prince Thor’s betrothed, Teki’s only goal is to accept his dagger with grace and hope that her violent stepfather doesn’t find fault with her in the process. But Prince Thor is unpredictable, and when he ignores his engagement on a whim Teki finds herself in a desperate situation. Luckily, Thor isn’t the only prince in Asgard…

Pairing: Loki x Original Female Character

Chapter 11: The Games

Previous Chapter  |  Next Chapter

Word Count: 2,322

Chapter Summary: The long-anticipated Summer Games have arrived.

A/N:  This is probably my favorite chapter in this story and I'm really excited to post it. I got some bad news yesterday and have kind of been in a weird headspace ever since, so this has really been giving me something positive to look forward to. Seeing your likes and comments really make my day every week :) 

I hope you enjoy it, and as always, thank you so much for reading!

TW: Violence, child abuse

Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae @moumouton4 

if you want to be tagged, feel free to just send me an ask/message! :)

Read it on Ao3!

The first day of the Games arrived in all its vicious glory. Feasts, festivities, toasts, the clinking of mugs and the cheering of names—it seemed the whole of Asgard was gathered about the arena, the usual level of pandemonium descending upon the crowd as each warrior was introduced.

Teki sat stiff as a board in her seat, hands properly clasped in her lap as she stared straight ahead, unblinking. The swelling by her temple hadn’t completely gone down, but her mother had been able to manipulate a loose hairstyle that mostly hid it from view. While that worked seemingly well, Teki was afraid to move the wrong way, lest her hair shift and reveal her injuries. Even clapping seemed dangerous.

The princes were soon called forward as well, raucous applause erupting across the masses as Thor, the three-time defending champion, leapt with a bow and a winning smile. Loki’s name was somewhat lost in the ensuing chaos.

Teki was careful to keep her face neutral. She didn’t know where Osvald was seated, but wherever he was chances were high that he had a good view of her atop the royal platform next to Frigga. She knew he’d be watching her for any kind of improper reaction. She was determined not to give him one.

Besides her, the Queen clapped halfheartedly for her sons. Teki was rather surprised at her lack of enthusiasm. Shouldn’t a mother be more unhampered in her support? But Frigga’s brow was creased with worry. Teki gazed at the boys choosing their weapons alongside the other fighters—swords, knives, axes. She wondered if she’d be able to clap if Brant was in the arena.

The first day was dedicated to contests and non-confrontational competitions—archery, footraces, axe-tossing. Supposedly, this was the less violent segment of the Games, although the words “less violent” and “the Games” didn’t really match up. Inevitably, a judge made a bad call, the affronted contestant sprang up in insulted frustration, and then suddenly everyone in the arena was shouting at the top of their lungs and throwing each other to the ground. These brawls were a staple of the Games, and more often than not Thor was one of the first to start them, so King Odin usually let them go on for a bit before silencing everyone with a clang of his spear.

Teki tried to watch with the diligence expected of future royalty, but the summer heat worsened her headache and stifled her attentiveness, sending little beads of sweat dripping down her face and irritating her bruised skin. At least the royal platform was shielded from the sun—she felt bad for the people huddled around the ring with no cover whatsoever. Still, it was far too hot to properly follow anything.

The only time the competition truly held her attention was during the knife throwing, although she was ashamed to admit why. Loki dominated the event like it was his life’s calling. His movements were almost feline, cutting through the air as if he were a blade himself, carrying a kind of fluidity that even the veteran participants lacked. Teki didn’t think he missed a single throw. When the judges crowned him winner, she couldn’t resist her tiny grin.

It made her think of the gold-hilted dagger wedged beneath her mattress along with her father’s journal. She found herself fantasizing about wearing it to the Games, sitting here in her seat with Loki’s blade at her waist. Lots of women did something like that—wearing their warrior’s weapon of choice to show solidarity with him during the tournament. She imagined how Loki would react, if he looked up at the podium and saw her wearing his dagger. She wondered if his face would light up the way it did when she came to watch him practice …

The trumpets blared, announcing the next event. Teki shook herself from the daydream. What was she thinking? She was betrothed to Prince Thor, destined to be his Queen. She couldn’t allow her thoughts to wander elsewhere. The next group trooped into the arena. Teki only sunk lower in her seat.

One-on-one duels began the following day. This was what everyone had been waiting for. The crowd was absolutely feral as the order was announced. Most of the people were foreign to Teki, but her ears perked up at a few familiar names: Loki would be fighting towards the beginning, against another novice combatant. Thor was going against a hulking man from Vanaheim. Fandral was paired against another one of Thor’s friends: the slender, controlled warrior who preferred a spiked mace to a sword and whom Teki had rarely seen lose.

Good, she thought as the two shook hands, I hope he kicks your butt.

Again, she found herself struggling to stay focused throughout the duels between people she didn’t recognize. The first one ended when one of the men yielded. The second went through until the loser was knocked to the dirt, unconscious and bleeding. The third went on so long that by the time a winner was called the crowd had almost completely lost interest.

But then it was Loki’s turn. Teki perked up when he arrived in the field with a slight bow, adjusting his golden breastplate as he did. He met her gaze when he turned to the platform, his impassible expression relaxing a moment when he saw her smiling.

His opponent bowed as well. He was a crazed looking thing, wisps of his wildfire hair curling past his neck like a lion’s mane. His name was Geirr, and while the master of ceremonies said he was the same age as Loki, Teki was certain he looked a bit older.

The two boys took their stances in the arena with their staffs. Teki swallowed. She wished Loki could use his daggers. The games were set up in a series of rounds, with the winners of each duel going on to fight each other in the next. They changed the weapons each time: round one was quarterstaff, round two was sword, round three was axe, and so on until the final round, where the last two warriors used their weapon of choice. While Teki knew well that Loki was more than capable with the weighted staffs, nothing could compare to his deadliness with his daggers.

At the sound of the trumpet, Geirr was quick to jump to the offensive.  He leapt forward with several well-aimed stabbing motions that Loki deftly avoided. He blocked another swing and attempted a hit of his own, grazing Geirr’s torso before the red-haired boy pushed him back.

It was a very even match. The two chased each other into every corner of the arena, each sharp clap of their staffs meeting echoing across the thrumming crowd like thunder. Teki found herself leaning forward in her seat. At moments, Loki seemed just on the edge of victory. He got the first hit, smacking his opponent against his ribcage and causing him to double over in pain. The crowd cheered, but then Geirr was on his feet again and rushing at the prince, and once more Loki was on the defensive.

Teki’s chest hurt from holding her breath. Come on. Loki was right on top of him, landing blows on his shoulder, his hip. Geirr was struggling to stay on his feet. She dug her nails into the palms of her hands. So close. Come on—

Geirr feinted to the right. It was a sudden jerk that caught Teki off guard, and she inhaled so sharply it stung.

It seemed to catch Loki off guard too. When he moved to block, Geirr whipped the other end of the staff around from the left. It collided with the prince’s face with a sickening crack. Her hands flew to her mouth, muffling her gasp. Loki fell backwards. For a moment, the crowd was silent.

Loki didn’t move.

The master of ceremonies rushed into the arena, raising Geirr’s hand. “The winner! Geirr Alfrson!” The people erupted into cheers.

Teki barely heard them. Loki was still on the ground, flocked by individuals in the blue robes of the healing ward. Was that blood on his face? She stared at them with a knitted brow. Was he unconcious? How hard of a blow must it have been to knock him unconscious? The healers were caring him out of the fighting area on a pallet of some sort. He still hadn’t moved.

Frigga was already on her feet, rushing down the stairs to the medical tents set up just outside the crowd. For once, she didn’t think of Osvald. Teki hurried to follow her.

The Queen stopped at the entrance to the white tent, speaking in hushed tones with one of the healing women. Teki slipped past them, seemingly without notice.

Inside, Loki was awake, and Teki exhaled in relief. He was sitting up on a cot as another woman in blue held a blood-soaked cloth to his nose.

“How are you feeling now?” she was asking.

He shrugged. “Fine.”

“Any lightheadedness?”

“Not really.”

“Very well.” The woman stood, patting him gently on the knee. “It was a simple heal. You should be able to rejoin the festival without issue when you feel ready.” With that, she exited the tent, nodding slightly as she passed Teki on the way out.

Loki heaved a sigh, cradling his head in his hands. Teki approached him slowly, kneeling at his side.

“Hey,” she asked quietly. “Are you all right?”

He glanced up quickly. Once he saw that it was only her, he relaxed a bit.

“I’m fine.” He huffed bitterly. “I could’ve taken him. Easily. One quick illusion, and he never would’ve seen it coming.” She jumped when he smacked the mattress. “I thought maybe—for once in my life—”

 He was crying, Teki realized with a start. Tears pooled in the corners of his eyes, dangerously close to spilling over. She didn’t know what to say.

“You did wonderfully,” she murmured. “There’s no reason to be ashamed. He just got a lucky hit—”

“There shouldn’t have been a lucky hit!” There was something dark in his face, something Teki had never seen there before. It scared her. He scowled. “Thor wouldn’t have let him get a lucky hit.”

“But—you can do things Thor can only dream of,” Teki pointed out. Where was this coming from? “Like the liquid light, with Brant—”

Loki laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. “That doesn’t matter! It’s just a trick, nothing but a trick. Tricks don’t win the day. Father wants real warriors, not childish pranks.”

“You are a real warrior!” she insisted. “You won the knife toss yesterday, and you still did really well today—”

“You don’t understand!” he cried. “It’s not enough! It’s never enough.”

He fell forward, covering his eyes with his hand. His body shook with barely restrained sobs. Teki’s heart was breaking. She reached out hesitantly, fingers brushing against his shoulder. When he didn’t flinch away, she moved closer. Loosely, giving him plenty of room to pull away if he wanted to, she eased the prince into an embrace.

At first, he stiffened, and Teki almost made to let him go, but then his arms encircled her torso, gripping her as if she were his only anchor to land. She held him tighter in return.

And with that, the dam broke. Loki sobbed into her shoulder openly, unabashedly, no longer attempting to keep up appearances. Teki didn’t say anything. She had never been very good at comforting people, never really knew how. All she could do was rub his back and let him cry.

She wasn’t sure how long it went on for. Eventually, Loki stopped, pulling away to wipe at his eyes with the heel of his hand. He kept his head down, seemingly ashamed to meet her gaze.

“Forgive me,” he murmured hoarsely.

She frowned. “For what?”

“It’s—” His voice caught in the back of his throat “Pathetic. Selfish, to complain. Forgive me.”

“No it’s not.” Teki reached out to push his chin up so he’d look at her. Still, he avoided her eyes. “How is it selfish?” Norns know how many times he’s put up with my tears.

“I just—” He shook his head. “Here I am, whining to you about my gripes with my father, when you—when you’re suffering through conditions I can’t even imagine.” His fingers brushed against her temple, just barely running across the swelling. Now it was her turn to face the floor in shame. He had noticed. Of course he had.

“It’s so selfish…” he repeated, his voice so soft it seemed to be coming from somewhere else.

“No,” she whispered. She turned back to him, hoping the determined sincerity came across in her expression. “You always can complain. Anytime. I’ll always listen. You’re not selfish.”

He stared at her, his eyes tired and swollen. His hand traced her profile, down from her temple to cup her cheek. She shivered.

“But I am,” he said finally, almost too quiet to hear. “Because I don’t want you to marry my brother. And the reason is entirely selfish.”

Teki’s heart stuttered to a halt. What? Her mouth fell open, but no words came out. What should she say to that? What could she say to that?

Just then, the tent flap pushed open. Loki stiffened, pulling away from her immediately. Twisting around, Teki found herself melting under the iron gaze of Odin AllFather. Frigga stood not far behind. She felt the color drain from her face.

For a moment, they just stared at her. Teki quickly scrambled to her feet, burning (she had been kneeling, how must that have looked?).

“Your Majesties,” she faltered, somehow managing to sink into a clumsy curtsey. “If—if you’ll excuse me.” And with that, without waiting for a response, she fled from the tent.

[notchesandbullets]

The Unofficial Parents of the Happy Hungry Bunch (Zeno x Immortal!Reader)

[Spoilers for the manga, chp 100 and 101]

Words: 2.6k

"Miss! Get back!!" Zeno shouted at Yona, running to her side desperately.

Golden hair darted into your vision as you yanked your knife out of the body at your feet. Your eyes shot open as blood spurted onto your face.

"Zeno!!" You cried, reaching out for him. He made it in front of her in time, but the strike aimed for the princess pierced him instead. They were relentless, numbers pouring over the Ouryuu. Your hands covered your face in horror as the bandits continued to slaughter him, chopping off his arms.

Then, one of them sliced off his head.

"NO!!!" You screamed.

Yona was still beside you, her face as white as a sheet and Yoon was beyond horrified. The rest of the dragons had a mix of shock and anger on their faces from where they were scattered around on the ground and Hak could barely move, only his eyes betraying his fury.

You fought your way beside Zeno, lips curling back in a ferocious snarl to ward off the soldiers who had finished hacking the precious Ouryuu to pieces.

"You'll pay for that." Your eyes glowed red, you couldn't even hear Yona scream your name as you cut them down, one by one.

They were too many and their numbers overwhelmed you quickly. You spat out blood, as a sword was suddenly pushed through your chest.

You faintly heard the anguished cries coming from your comrades.

Your deranged grin made Zeno halt as his body slowly regenerated.

You... were like him?!

Your wounds closed, magically repairing itself.

"I will protect them all. What, are you scared?" You challenged them as they backed away, drawing your blades once more. "You haven't seen anything yet."

For the first time in a thousand years, Zeno was positively speechless.

You were just like him.

He leaped up with a battle cry, fighting with a fervor you've never seen before as you dashed back into battle. The two of you fought side by side until the rest of them fled, thoroughly shaken by what they've just seen. They killed you two over and over again, and yet, you both had lived.

You grinned at Zeno in victory, and then the two of you were surrounded by your group, sending you tumbling to the ground with an 'oof'.

Yoon was weeping, and Shin-ah wasn't faring much better. His mask had gotten lost in the skirmish and his beautiful golden eyes were filled with terror. Kija had thrown himself between you and Zeno, eyes puffy from unshed tears and he finally bawled, burying his head into the ground. Yona was clinging to Zeno tightly, sobbing into his ripped and bloodied clothes.

Your gaze was gentle as you shushed the boy and the blue dragon's cries, pecking Yoon's head and tenderly rubbing your hand over Shin-ah's bloodied knuckles.

"You're all adorable." Zeno smiled brightly, patting Yona's head comfortingly.

"It's okay." You reassured Yoon softly. "We're alive. We're okay."

Hak and Jae-ha were behind you, and as you twisted to look behind you, you caught sight of their relieved but battered expressions.

You and Zeno shared a look as you embraced your friends tightly. Your conversation would have to wait, the children came first.

You stood up, ushering the dragons one by one in front of you, insisting that their wounds all needed to be treated even though yours hadn't stopped bleeding. Yoon was tearfully scolding you, but it didn't have the same harsh edge to it that you've become accustomed to as his voice broke.

After you had made camp and the pretty boy was finished patching everyone up, things had calmed down a bit. You were spread out lazily next to Zeno, face staring up at the setting sun with your arms resting behind your head. His injuries had healed completely, as had yours and you were itching to talk to him.

"You guys are really lively!" Zeno beamed. The dragons, Hak, Yoon and Yona then shifted their attention on you. You nearly collapsed under the weight of their stare.

You smiled sheepishly as Hak narrowed his eyes at you. You scurried behind Zeno, as if the Ouryuu could protect you from being crushed under the Thunder Beast's glare.

Yoon walked over, inspecting Zeno carefully before moving onto you. The two of you have no trace of the battle scars that should have been left behind.

"There are no wounds or scales..." Yoon murmured.

"After some time passes, it turns back to normal skin." Zeno explained with a cheery smile.

"You two, you really won't die?" He asked quietly, almost fearfully.

"I won't die." Zeno automatically responded and you nodded in agreement.

The boy promptly faced you, and bonked you on the head. You cried out, clutching your head in pain. "Yoon~" You pouted.

"You should have said something!!" He shouted, gesturing his hands wildly. "Do you have any idea how troublesome it is?!"

"Why did you stay quiet until now?" Hak asked quietly, head still spinning a little at the revelation. You glanced down.

"Because nothing changes whether you know or not." Zeno stood up, stretching his arms up over his head. "Zeno's powers don't activate unless there's a large injury anyway."

You shrugged as Jae-ha shifted his attention to you questioningly. "I'm just immortal. It doesn't matter to me whether you know or not. I'll always be there to protect you."

You looked at every single one of them. "All of you."

"Hey," Zeno whined. "That's my line."

He looked so adorable, you could help it. You pinched his cheeks, tugging at them. "Awwww Zeno, you're so cute!!"

Your friends watched you, dumbfounded, as the fearless warriors was reduced to a pile of mush in a matter of milliseconds.

Both of them.

Zeno tickled you in revenge and you squealed, running away from him.

"So..." Yoon's eyes followed you as you sprinted around the campsite, turning to Shin-ah. "These two, huh?

He nodded silently. Hak rolled his eyes humorously. "Guess they really are the adults here."

You tripped over a tree root, and Zeno lost his footing behind you, sending the both of you crashing to the ground at the same time.

"Although, they really don't act like it." Jae-ha mused.

Kija's eyes were still sparkling with relief at the fact that neither one of you were dead. "I think it's great! Y/N and Zeno make great parents!"

The light in his eyes didn't dim as everyone turned to look at him weirdly. His face flushed bright red as realization dawned on him.

"W-Wait! I didn't mean it like that!"

It was too late though, as the poor Hakuryuu was made a target for Hak and Jae-ha's relentless teasing. Shin-ah's head was tilted to the side in confusion as he watched his brothers squabble playfully, not quite sure how to join in.

Yona giggled as she watched their antics and Zeno didn't miss the way your eyes softened as they landed on the safe and sound bunch.

"You really love them, don't you?"

The corner of your mouth quirked up in a smile. "Yes."

And the two of you sat in silence, watching over your friends fondly. Eventually, Jae-ha eased up on the innocent Kija, approaching you carefully.

"What's the real reason, Y/N?" Jae-ha spoke up softly. He knew there was more than what you told them earlier. Zeno's gaze snapped to yours, unsure of what you would say to that.

It appears that he wasn't the only one curious. Hak made his way over to the forming circle and Yona followed him. Shin-ah plopped down on the ground in front of you, still albeit confused, but wanting to participate in whatever was happening and Kija settled next to him. Yoon came over as soon as he put dinner over the fire, eyeing you questioningly.

They were all in front of you, forming a semi-circle in a matter of seconds and you were at a loss for words. Zeno was beside you, and he leaned over, placing his hand over yours on the ground.

"If you don't want to tell them or me, right now," He whispered in your ear quietly, "Then, you don't have to."

You shot him a reassuring smile, flipping your palm to catch his hand before he could pull away, squeezing it in thanks.

You took a deep breath, before turning to the anxiously awaiting children in front of you.

"The more people that know, the worse it is for me." You chose your words cautiously. You didn't want to give them the wrong impression if you didn't explain it accurately. "Zeno was able to blend in and get away with it because he was a dragon that served a king before he left. For me, on the other hand, I've been hunted my entire life because of this power."

You shifted uncomfortably, not really wanting to tell them about what happened after, but Zeno wrapped an arm around your shoulder, drawing you close to him. You closed your eyes as you basked in the warmth radiating from him.

"There are a lot of people out there, who want what I have. To save themselves, to save loved ones, to save innocent ones, no matter who they are they always want it once they know about it. Generals, kings, ordinary citizens, everyone. For a time, I was kept in the dark for several years as people tried to figure out how to obtain my immortality." You continued, fingers toying with the hem of your shirt.

You left out the part that was gruesome, they didn't need to hear about the torture that you had gone through over time.

"So, I started keeping it a secret. If it was ever out in the open, the people alive to see it would need to be terminated so that knowledge of my ability didn't spread. It was the only way to keep myself and others safe. I understand you all must be upset," You winced as you were met with varying reactions. "But please try to respect why I chose to do what I did. I did not intend to hurt you by keeping this from you."

Shin-ah's head was bowed, and you couldn't see his facial expression, but his hands were clenched tightly in his lap. Jae-ha was shaking with what you assumed was anger, and Yoon was outright crying. Hak wasn't mocking the boy like he normally did, instead he was staring right at you, a turmoil of emotions swirling in his cobalt eyes. Yona's pleasant features were murderous and you were almost taken aback at the depth of rage manifesting there. Kija's mouth was pressed in a hard line, his dragon claw tearing his clothes at the force he was gripping them with.

You looked away guiltily, unable to keep eye contact with them knowing that they were upset with you. Needless to say, you were shocked when they all jumped on you.

"Y-You idiot!" Yoon reprimanded, throwing himself down in your lap so you couldn't see the tears gathering in his eyes.

"You endured so much pain!" Kija wailed, face filled with torment. "I am so sorry, Y/N!!"

"Did you think we would expose you?" Jae-ha asked, seemingly calm, but you recognized the insecurity in his eyes. You shook your head, smiling at him reassuringly. He didn't feel any better.

Shin-ah dropped to your side, face buried into your shoulder.

"Shin-ah?" You called softly, hoping to jolt him out of whatever trance he was in.

"You..." You strained to hear him. "You didn't deserve that." Shin-ah finished quietly, but firmly.

"He's right." Hak rested his chin on your head, making you sputter indignantly. "You didn't deserve what happened to you. We understand why you chose to keep it from us." His voice was uncharacteristically soft and your shoulders dropped as the tension eased from it.

"Yona?" You piped up timidly, realizing that she had yet to say anything.

Her shattering sobs was all the answer you got, and you wrapped an arm around her, rocking her gently. That sent the rest of them spiraling down, unable to take it anymore.

Shin-ah and Kija broke down, with Yoon furiously trying to wipe away the tears still streaming down his face. Jae-ha was desperately attempting to retain a semblance of control, but failed miserably. Your hair grew damp and you realized it was coming from the ex-general above you.

You tucked your face into the crook of Zeno's neck, and he rested next to yours, unshaken by Hak who continued to remain perched on top of you. Your breath was even against his skin, and Zeno resisted the urge to shudder. He was so angry when he heard what you had been through, but your comfort was more important than his feelings at the moment. He knew you didn't need to know his vengeful streak just yet, but he was for sure going to gather the rest of the dragons and Hak to avenge what had been done to you.

Zeno had no doubt they'd all agree.

You were too precious to all of them.

He knew you had promised to protect all of them, even him, but not if he got to it first.

It was true though, you had all eternity to duke it out with him. But somehow, his fate now seemed a lot less lonely when he pictured you in it.

Zeno smiled softly, looking down at where you were resting, fondly.

I'll keep you safe, Y/N. No one will ever hurt you again.

Bonus:

"Come at me." Zeno's blue eyes flashed. "I have all the time in the world."

"Me too." You said seriously.

"Y/N, you have to say something else." Zeno instructed, squatting down beside you, losing all the fire he had a second ago. "That's not very threatening."

"Stop patronizing me!" You whined childishly.

"YAH!!" Yoon whacked you both over the head with a wooden spoon. "STOP SCARING TONIGHT'S DINNER!!"

You were apparently terrorizing the nearby forest animals, practicing your slogans so that in a battle, you had a handful to pick from. Yoon was not impressed with your idea.

You shot him an innocent look and Zeno copied you. He glowered, and you shrunk back from his angry gaze, hiding behind the Ouryuu. Zeno chuckled, casting a look over his shoulder to see you staring back at him wide-eyed.

The array of animals before you had absolutely no idea what was going on and you were not going to try to explain it, lest you would get scolded at by mother again.

You grinned mischievously at Zeno as Yoon turned away and the animals all scattered, using the distraction as a diversion to escape.

"What say we practice on a bit more of a likely audience?"

Zeno laughed after as you bounded off into the night, doubling over at his stomach as he distinctly heard Jae-ha cry out and the scuffling that followed. It would appear that you had made contact with your target.

He couldn't keep the smile from stretching across his face as he heard his earlier words being repeated by you, only to have the Ryokuryuu reply, "Isn't that Zeno's line?"

If the thump that shattered the silence was anything to go by, Zeno was guessing that you were less than pleased with his answer. He traveled towards the sound, and found you hunched over a now distraught Jae-ha.

He really wouldn't mind eternity if it was with you.

Thank you... Zeno thought silently, sending a prayer up to the heavens. Thank you for Y/N, I'll treasure her forever.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs, “Sand and Stars.”

This should get interesting quickly 

The GA council chambers were silent. Many alien races stood in solemn silence as they watched the footage.

The Rundi chairwoman averted her eyes as the last wreckage of the ship vanished into the void leaving behind only its jettisoned parts.

“Commander Vir has been announced Missing In Action.”

The Council chamber glanced between each other, sure that he was more than just missing. The human representative, seeing the looks on their faces lowered his head, “It is a human tradition that a man or women be presented only as Missing in Action until a body is found.”

“But…. That will be… forever.”

“Then commander will be forever known as missing in action protecting his planet, protecting your planets , and everything he loved…. We would ask, in human tradition that we…. Have a moment of silence for Commander Vir.”

Off to the side, Lord Celex stood atop his pedestal eyes fixed on the repeating footage before him, watching as the ship carried a great warrior into blackness. A great warrior and a good friend, someone that lord Celex had always respected and come to admire though he had never told the human that. Around the room others were thinking the same.

The Drev councilor had known the commander’s ties to the Drev nation, known his membership in two separate clans. And to him it was as if he was losing one of his own.

The Rundi chairwoman felt similarly…. As if she too had lost a friend, an who had always been more than willing to meet her people on their own level, to speak with them the way they spoke among themselves, and to follow their traditions to matter how arbitrary.

“The UNSC  is declaring war against the Burg. We do not expect the GA to understand, to care or even to participate, but we do ask that you do not impede our progress….” The human paused eyes narrowing slightly, “You will NOT impede our progress.”

There was silence around the room as some of the council chamber shifted.

Eventually Lord Celex hopped forward, “We will not impede your war human, but what of those who wish to stand with you.”

That seemed to surprise the councilor who turned, “Lord Celex?”

“Commander Vir was an ally, and a friend. He has treated the Celzex nation with not but respect and friendship. Humanity has stood behind this council since the beginning, since the Drev war.” He turned to look at the Drev councilor, “I feel that it is only fair my people do the same…. I find that it would be the best way to honor a man who honored us.”

There was a pause before the Drev councilor stood, “Commander vir is one of our own, a Sentinel of the Wandering tribe, and a declaration of war on him and his is a declaration of war on us and ours.” He slammed his spear against the floor, “Let humanity and the Drev stand beside each other in war, as we once stood against each other, and let the galaxy tremble before our assembled might.”

The Gromm stood next, “We owe the commander a great debt for saving our people, first form illness, and then from the Burg invaders as they first attempted war upon us. We will join in the fight, though supplies are most of what we can offer.”

A Tesraki stood, “We will join sides with the humans.” Turning to look at the FInnari who stepped up to add.

“As shall we. Commander Vir saved our species from extinction.”

The entire council chamber didn’t stand, but those who did were more than enough. The warriors and the arms dealers, and the politicians.

For the first time in thousands of years a majority of the GA council chamber was going to war.

***

Landing in a human life-pod is not an experience Dr Krill had ever wanted to experience, but un luckily for him, his entire life had been about things he had never ever wanted to experience ever in his entire existence.  IT had all started when he insisted on staying behind until all his patients were put onto life pods or moved onto a different part of the ship. Dr. Katie had gone with a few of the critical cases and he had seen his last human off before realizing that there was no room left in the life pod for him. Oh well, those sort of things tended to happen but what was he to do really so he moved his way over to another one of the pods.

Obviously it had occurred to him the gravity of what was going on. The Commander had initiated a protocol which would seal on contained units inside the ship and then break it into pieces violently throwing the backwards and out of reach for the black hole, or.... whatever it was.

However, the med bay was in a position very close to the command structure of the ship, s it would be one of the last to be jettisoned. However, that didn't look good for their options of escape, so he had ordered the others out as quickly as possible and stayed behind to put the last things together before getting himself to his own life pod.

When he did, he strapped himself securely in.

IT had taken a bit longer for him to figure out the controls than he would have liked, but with a press of a button, he had been rocketed off into space.

The view hadn't been all that great, in fact Krill had almost lost his cool upon seeing the debris of the ship being shot away from the massive black swirling vortex which had caused a rift in the very fabric of space itself. Krill nearly lost his cool, or let’s be completely honest, he did in fact lose his cool and he did so very violently and very suddenly freaking out silently inside his pod where nothing and no one could hear him. He watched as the last segment was shot off past him and towards the still warring battlefield of Kree airspace.

IT seemed odd to hi that that part of the ship would be going so much faster than hi, that was until he realized what was going on. Beside him The command deck of the UNSC Harbinger was slowly gaining speed towards the swirling vortex, and so was he. HE squealed in surprise and panic, and tried everything he could to get the shuttle moving faster, but it seemed as if he had gone to far already. Dr. Krill was being sucked into the event horizon of a black hole. Of course not that Krill knew much about black holes. I mean it was black and it was a hole in space so he sort of assumed that is what was going on, though he couldn't really have said for certain.

Did it matter?

He was going to die.

HE had never thought it was going to end like this, but looking over at the other ship, he realized he wasn't entirely alone. Commander Vir was aboard that command deck, probably watching fro his captain's chair as doom rose up to meet hi. Dr Krill wished there was some way to contact him, maybe to bring a little bit of comfort before the two of them died, but he knew that was impossible, so he sat, and hoped that maybe the commander wouldn't notice him there. It was probably better if he thought it was only him as he plunged into the darkness.

They began moving faster and faster and faster towards the opening. Krill turned away eyes noble to look.

The closer they got the more the air seemed to warp around in until the very essence of space itself seemed to tear and break. He felt himself being pulled in many directions all at once, not all that unlike a warp.

At any moment he expected himself to be torn in half.

The world went black and then it went red, and then everything around him went white. He was swirling, his body trembling.

He felt sick, horrible, as bad as any warp on a human ship had ever been for him, and then suddenly everything was silent.

Krill waited for an inevitable death that never came. He opened his eyes and looked around expecting to see nothing but black, but instead, a delicate blue light was filtering in towards him from the outside. He turned in his seat blinking in surprise when, instead of death, he saw the glassy blue surface of a planet with delicate lines of clouds swirling over its face, deep blue water, and the brown and green, almost like earth though, he could tell by the landmasses that it wasn't.

Keill turned to look back behind him, but found nothing to be there. The black hole just have collapsed in on itself.

But no, that wasn't right, it wouldn’t be a black hole at all but some kind of warp tunnel, which made more sense. Now that he thought about it other than being black, the hole hadn't looed much like a black hole.

He turned to his other side, though if that meant that HE had survived, than maybe it also meant....

He didn't see the other part of the ship just now, but it’s not like he had 360 degree vision.

There were also more important things to think about right now, the number one being how he was going to survive all of this. The lifepod only had a few hours of sustainable air before he was going to die, and that meant he had to land the pod quickly. Luckily for him, he wasn't expected to pilot. It had a protocol for this, and he only hesitated for a second before pressing the button and holding tight as the shuttle began it's slow descent towards the face of the planet.

It had been an almost tranquil approach for the first few minutes, maybe the first half hour.

That was until they hit upper atmosphere and little tongues of flame began licking at the side of the the windows.

KRill rattled in his seat being shaken like  juice in a jug as he careened from the sky..... not slowing down as he could.

HE did not like this at all.

WHy wasn't he slowing down?

Why wasn't he stopping?

The fire outside his window grew up until he could see nothing. He was pushed back in his seat screaming as he plunged from the sky going from one horrendous death straight into another. he clasped the sides of the seats as the ground rose up at an alarming rate. A few hundred feet above the ground and its engines fire suddenly jolting him so violently that he completely backed out. Luckily he wasn't awake for the next part when the padding was deployed and he hit the ground, the shuttle bouncing and tumbling for a moment before coming to rest in the shallow waters of an inland sea.

And there he lay unconscious as the star above him curved over the horizon and vanished down into nothingness.

***

Stars spun in the night sky overhead as smoldering pieces of wreckage burned. Hot oil melted into the sand along the side of the beach as the native animals ran for cover in whatever direction they could find to save themselves from the great and intense heat. A set of vibrant white rings orbited the planet cutting over the sky above them.

There was a crashing off in the distance, and under the glow of the stars, a panel of metal crashed to the ground, and a hand clawed upwards towards the sky glowing gently in the cast white light from the planetary rings.

The hand bent down to grasp at the metal before it, pulling the body up and from the interior of the smoking wreckage. It fell to the ground with a thud sending up a wave of sand in all directions. Overhead stars winked and fire crackled. The silhouette lay prone for a long moment before weakly clawing at the sand, pulling itself away from the wreckage and across the open sand of the beach dragging its body towards the glittering surface of the water which reflected like a mirror the stars above.

It reached the edge dipping a hand into the water’s surface sending ripples out over the starry night sky.

It lay there for a long moment under the stars with the fire burning distantly at its back.

The ripples dissipated over the glassy surface dissipating to turn the sky and the water into one seamless whole.

Commander Adam Vir Rolled onto his back one hand still resting lightly in the water clothes singed and smoking as he stared up at the stars overhead turning to reflect off the glassy surface of his eye.

The vastness of the universe stretched out before him spinning overhead in a slow churn of eternity as he fell in  and out of consciousness, the stars his only companion in the darkness.

He shivered slightly, not from the cold, or the chill wind pulled over to him from across the water, but eventually his eyes closed and he slowly faded out his mind taking him somewhere safe and warm as he lay, just another piece of the wreckage on an alien planet.

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Lucien’s Whimsical Date (Eng Translation)

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

Disney Dates Collection: Gavin // Kiro // Victor

The date begins with MC in the office at around 9pm

She has been working tirelessly on a program for about half a month

She’s worried and stressed because she can’t think of something innovative for her program

 Lucien suddenly calls to ask if she’s still at work, and suggests that she sets her work aside and relax i.e. by going to the amusement park the next day

MC hesitates, but Lucien goes into science mode and tells her that her efficiency might actually decline if she keeps focusing on one single thing

MC caves in, and immediately feels happier <3

The next day, the weather looks fine and perfect

And then it suddenly starts POURING right when they are two streets away from the amusement park

Lucien covers her head with one hand, and pulls her hand with the other to find shelter from the rain

They end up outside a shop

Lucien: Come to think of it, our story seems to always be associated with rainy days. 

[Note: I did this translation while listening to a Chinese gameplay commentary, and the commentator said, “Your story is associated with rainbows, but you just can’t see them...” T^T] 

Lucien notices cute Disney character plushies in the window of the shop and smiles

Lucien: I think I can understand the meaning of this sudden rain. 

Lucien: Perhaps it was meant to sound a prelude so that would come here. 

Lucien: Since it’s still raining, why don’t we go in to take a look? 

A pair of Mickey and Minnie plushies catch MC’s attention, but she can’t reach it. Lucien tries to get them for her, but he keeps grabbing the wrong ones 👀

Because she's trapped in between the shelf and Lucien’s fine chest, she turns into a Gavin i.e. her ears start flushing

Lucien finally gets the correct set:

Lucien: This pair?

MC nods vigorously, and says they can get one each

While saying this, I reach out to take Minnie from Lucien’s hands. However, Lucien suddenly retracts both hands. 

MC: Eh? 

Lucien sways the Minnie in his left hand lightly, then smiles faintly as he reaches out his right hand, which is holding Mickey.

Lucien: If possible, I actually prefer to keep her. If MC wants to use these dolls to represent the both of us... I’m thinking this would be more meaningful, right?

 After hearing his words, I feel the temperature of my cheeks rising even further. I gently poke the doll in Lucien’s hand. 

MC: [blushing] ...put these back first!

Lucien: Hm? Why?

Lucien raises his eyebrows slightly, his smile gentle and calm. There’s a hint of mischievousness in his narrow eyes. 

MC: [blushing] There seems to be other styles over there. Let’s go and take a look!

With this, I turn around and run towards the other end of the plushie section. Behind me, I hear the sound of Lucien’s faint, low laughter. 

~

By the time MC leaves the shop, the rain has reduced to a drizzle. Soon after, Lucien walks out of the shop too.

I walk up to grab Lucien’s hand, and swing it twice. 

MC: Lucien, let’s go!

Lucien: Judging from your expression, you seem to be in a much better mood?

MC: It’s because even before I’ve done anything, the heavy rain has already run away!

Lucien: You’re not wrong. Even though we don’t have umbrellas, the rain has dissipated on its own. This is why even when you meet temporary difficulties, don’t blindly immerse yourself in the feeling of loss. Everything has a solution, am I wrong? 

MC agrees, and they finally head to the amusement park, which is still as crowded as ever despite the rain

Lucien suggests that they try something different today - instead of being participants, they become observers

Lucien: Sometimes, people’s emotions have an influencing effect, especially in this place. 

As they wander around aimlessly, MC feels delighted because she doesn’t have to consider what attraction to go for next, etc. 

The smiling faces of the visitors, the vibrant colours, the colourful balloons, the inter-dimensional cartoon celebrities... I can more clearly feel the charm of the amusement park. 

I also have his company at my side...

I turn my head, sneaking a peek at Lucien. Similar to what I was doing just now, he’s watching the visitors queuing up to take a picture with a cartoon celebrity.

As though noticing my line of sight, Lucien turns his head over, meeting my eyes directly.

Lucien: What’s wrong?

MC: Nothing!

I shake my head, but the corners of my lips curl up involuntarily. Suddenly, a colourful castle enters my vision. I point excitedly at the one which has a spire.

MC: Lucien, look at that castle! Isn’t it very pretty? Since young, I’ve always liked colourful castles with spires. I’ve even dreamt of them! 

MC: I once dreamt that little monsters took over a castle, and I turned into a little super warrior, bravely sending those monsters running! 

MC: The moment the monsters disappeared, there were colourful rivers of light outside the castle.

Lucien blinks slowly, then his eyes bend at a nice angle. 

Lucien: Sounds like it was a righteous yet intriguing dream. 

I purse my lips and smile, then look at my surroundings. 

MC: We seem to have walked around the entire park. Let’s go for the attractions!

Lucien: All right. I’ll have to trouble MC to be my guide. 

Immersed in the joyful atmosphere, I even forget the time. When I come back to my senses, I realise that the sky has started to darken, and the rain has long since stopped. 

MC: It’s already 6pm...

Lucien: After this, do you want to have something to eat and have a rest, or continue playing? 

MC: Let me think...

The lights in the park start flickering on one by one and MC decides to bring Lucien to the spinning teacup ride

MC asks if Lucien finds the light installations pretty

Lucien: When I’m with you, it seems I can always discover a different scenery. 

All of a sudden, there are dazzling lights in the sky. 

[Note: The original word used here is “流光”, which can mean (1) “rivers of light” (like an aurora...?), or (2) streamers (i.e. party confetti). I picked the “rivers of light” interpretation because it seems more appropriate. But I’m really not sure which one the writers are referring to so please don’t scold me if it turns out to be party confetti LOL]

MC: Too perfect... we were just talking about rivers of light just now, but I never thought that we’d see them. It’s so magical!

Lucien stands next to me. His expression is calm as he lifts his head to look at the lights. Then, he leans down slightly. 

He laughs lightly, and I feel his warm breath brush against my cheeks, as tender as a feather. 

Lucien: In the amusement park, nothing is impossible. That includes the whimsical lights in your dream. 

Hearing his words, I’m left stunned. In the next second, a thought flashes across my mind. 

MC: ...! Lucien, did you...?

With a sudden realisation, I look at him, my eyes filled with disbelief. Lucien doesn’t say anything. He just smiles faintly and straightens a finger to do a “shh” posture.

I was right! These lights were created by Lucien! 

-- in order to complete the whimsical dream I once had. 

Lucien rubs the top of my head, the corners of his lips turned upwards slightly, the colours in his eyes tender. 

Before he retracts his hand, I hurriedly hold onto it, and then entwine my fingers with his. 

MC: ...Lucien, thank you.

I originally planned to say even more, but my eyes are drawn to the couple in front of us. 

They are lifting a Mickey doll in their hands, happily taking a selfie with the almost vanishing lights as a keepsake. 

Thinking about how we ended up not buying the dolls from the shop just now, I suddenly feel slightly envious, and a little regretful towards my earlier decision. 

Lucien: What are you thinking about? 

MC: ...N-nothing much.

Following my line of sight, Lucien’s eyes sweep towards the couple in front of us, then holds my hand to walk forward. 

Lucien: Let’s go, it’s almost our turn.

They ride the spinning teacup

MC confesses how she feels:

MC: I regret not taking photos of those beautiful lights, and regret...

I bite my lip, letting out a light sigh. At this moment, a low laugh travels to my ears. Lucien turns his face over, drawing nearer to me. 

He pinches the tip of my nose gently. 

Lucien: Do you still feel regret now? 

MC: Eh? 

Before I can react, Lucien takes out a pair of dolls from behind his back. It was the pair we saw at the shop!

My eyes widen in surprise, and I have no idea what to say. 

Lucien: After you left the shop first in the afternoon, I bought them. 

Lucien: As for why they could appear here, it’s thanks to the enthusiastic helpers in the shop.

Lucien: As for your other regret... want to take a photo? 

Without waiting for me to react again, Lucien suddenly places the dolls into my arms and takes out his phone.

“Kacha” “Kacha”

Facing me, he takes several photos.

MC: ...eh, are you going to create more rivers of light? 

I take the phone from him in confusion. After swiping through the photos, I realise that the photos only feature me, looking silly while holding the plushies. 

MC: Why am I the only one in the photos... I even thought you’d capture the lights!

I purse my lips, pretending to be unhappy. Even so, the gradual heating up of my ears reveal my inner happiness. 

Lucien laughs and sits even closer to me, gently wrapping an arm around my shoulders. 

His body temperature seeps through his shirt, travelling from my arm to the depths of my heart.

I lift my head to look at Lucien. Neon lights flash across his face, casting a reflection in his eyes. 

In the midst of the mottled, changing lights, I can clearly see a tiny me. 

Lucien brushes my hair which has been messed up by the wind, then places a hand on my back, speaking in a low voice.

 Lucien: Only you. Only the time spent with you are worth treasuring forever. 

His warm breath lingers on the tip of my nose. He gazes at me tenderly. In that moment, my heartstrings are tugged, as though making contact with electricity.

The surrounding scenery and neon lights follow the movement of the spinning cup and continuously change. Only the starlight above us remains bright. 

However, no matter how beautiful these lights are, they can’t compare to the tiny universe in Lucien’s eyes - the ones that reflect me in them. 

MC: ...it’s the same for me.

Hugging a doll each, Lucien and I are nestled together quietly. As the music gradually reaches an end, the speed of the spinning teacups also slows down. 

As though noticing my reluctance, Lucien suddenly asks. 

Lucien: I wonder if MC’s “battery” is fully charged? As compared to the library, isn’t the relaxation from this trip to the amusement park even more fruitful? 

MC: You’re right! My entire body is full of energy! Tomorrow, I can definitely welcome the new day of work with vitality!

Looking at my brilliant smile, the corner of Lucien’s lips curl upwards as well. 

Lucien: In that case, it’s my turn to gain energy.

After saying this, he takes my hand in his once again, pressing his forehead against mine. His eyes drift shut.

In our arms, Mickey and Minnie’s foreheads are also leaning against each other.

As though energy could really transfer from my body to his, the space between Lucien’s eyebrows smoothens out, and his expression is one of a rare, complete state of relaxation. 

I close my eyes too, feeling my throbbing heartbeat and his body temperature. Our skin is tightly pressed together, allowing our breaths to gradually mingle.

Perhaps more magical than the amusement park is Lucien - a miraculous existence.

As long as I’m by his side, I am always surrounded by happiness and joy.

-

Lucien’s Post: The amusement park at night seems to possess an even more unique charm. 

MC: I think so too!

Lucien: Perhaps next time, we can consider staying here overnight.

-

Lucien’s Post: The amusement park at night seems to possess an even more unique charm.

MC: Eh? What charm?

Lucien: I feel very close to you.

-

Lucien’s Post: The amusement park at night seems to possess an even more unique charm.

MC: It’d be great if today never ends.

Lucien: Even if it ends, it will remain in our hearts.

[archaneanscribe]

Eight Days

I tried my hand at expanding on and reimagining the detail's of Julian and Lena's first meeting. Part of the Archanea Chronicles.

The heavy iron door of the cell slammed shut with a dreadful clatter, but Julian could barely hear it over the ringing in his ears.

Hissing in pain, he rolled over onto his back on the cold, hard floor, the relief he felt at no longer lying down on his broken arm negligible at best. This is what happens when you betrayed the Soothsires, after all. You get beaten until you're black and blue, and are thrown away to rot.

"Bastards..." he growled under his breath once he had heard his former-allies-turned-captor's footsteps retreat a good distance, "I knew they were a bunch of animals, but they didn't even have the decency to kill me..."

"Are you in need of healing?"

If he were in better shape, Julian might have jumped out of skin at the sudden realization he wasn't alone. Seeing that he wasn't, he just twitched at the voice coming from his right, lolling his head in that direction with considerable effort. He couldn't get a great look at his cellmate due to the sideways angle and probable concussion he had, but he could make out a staff in their hand.

"Yeah, but why bother?" he replied, letting out a huff of air that was supposed to be a sigh, but was more of a pitiful shudder, "They'll just beat me again tomorrow."

"And I will heal you again tomorrow."

He diverted all his energy to focusing his vision in order to really see his companion. Red hair, white clothes, a staff... it was that girl! The girl who was the reason he was here in the first place.

She seemed tired of waiting for an answer, because a flash of light illuminated the grimy cell as a warm feeling washed over him. As a bandit, he was rarely on the receiving end of healing magic, so he silently marveled at the feeling of bone reconnecting and flesh pulling back together. It wasn't painful, but it was definitely... odd.

As quick as it began, it was over, and he was good as new.

Well, he felt more gently used instead of on the verge of death, which was good enough. He still ached, but he was able to sit up now. After doing that, he scooted backwards until his back rested against the wall. Feeling more human, he was finally able to see her properly. Despite having been in here for a week longer than him, the only things that seemed to be wrong with her were impressively dirty robes, and tired, tired eyes.

At the same time, she was appraising him as well, but with medical curiosity, "Are you feeling better?"

"Much," a beat, "Aren't you worried about what they'll do to you? They might be idiots, but it'd take more than an idiot to not figure out what happened here."

She shook her head, brushing some hair aside to reveal a small cut, "When this happened, your leader was quite angry with the man who did it. I am more..." her expression, which had previously been impassive, grew bitter, "...valuable, if I am undamaged."

Yeah. He knew exactly what she meant there.

"That's probably true. Never scuff up the merchandise," he said the last word with venom, "That used to just mean jewels and trinkets, not people."

Setting her staff aside, she cautiously moved closer to him, stopping an arm's length away, "Kidnapping women is not something you did before?"

"No!" he shouted defensively, forcefully snapping his jaw shut to regulate his volume, "No. We did plenty of unsavory things- we stole and we killed, sure, but we had our limits. But then Hyman took over. Bastard has been pushing those boundaries day by day. But he finally crossed the line when he," he gestured towards her, "You know."

She nodded, "Is that why you are here? You objected to your leaders actions?"

"I just couldn't let it continue. It'd have been bad enough as it is, but you're not just any woman," he pointed to her staff, "You're a cleric! A holy woman! A healer!"

Her face softened into a smile, and it softened his heart, to see something so beautiful in this setting. She closed that final distance between them, laying a hand on his forearm- her hands were small, but the skin was rougher than he expected, "You have a good heart."

While she had been on the money before, now she was as wrong as could be.

His shoulder was still tender, but he shrugged her off, "You don't know what I've done. Not being alright with selling people isn't anything special."

"You chose to stand up for what you believe in. Most sit back and watch, no matter how much they object."

"Look, lady-"

"Lena."

He looked at her like she had grown an extra arm, but her smile only grew, like a flower emerging from a crack in the cobblestone, "My name is Lena. What is your name?"

More than a little lost at the direction this interaction was headed, all he could do was blink numbly as he replied, "Uh, Julian. I'm Julian."

"Well, Julian, there is something you need to know. The other staff I have is Warp. It is very rare and valuable, worth much more than my life."

"Why-"

"If you are truly so blackhearted, you will call for one of your associates and tell them this. I'm sure they would let you go free if you did."

His eyes drifted over to where she had been sitting before, and true enough, he saw a staff that was much more ornate than what she had used on him. From there, his gaze moved back to her, a serene smile still gracing her face (which he was increasingly noticing was quite lovely).

"Why are you telling me this?"

"You stood against your comrades for my sake. I believe I owe you the honesty."

What a strange woman.

Seeming content that she had accomplished whatever her goals were, Lena moved back to the side of the cell she was originally in, sitting all too calmly for someone in her situation.

If she noticed him staring at her in bewilderment, she said nothing.

---

When their guard arrived later that night, he beat Julian within an inch of his life once more. True to her word, Lena healed him again.

He didn't utter a peep about her staff.

---

Julian really couldn't tell you why Hyman didn't decide enough was enough and just kill him properly, even as the days ticked by. Maybe he just lost interest. Maybe he thought that being in a cell next to a beautiful woman, unable to do anything with her was punishment enough (he would think that, the pig).

Or maybe, just maybe, he was smarter than Julian gave him credit for, and knew that his former subordinate was growing more attached to the cleric the longer they were imprisoned together, which would make her eventual fate hurt him worse than any torture.

It would be tough not to notice.

They never brought any food or water just for him, but Lena always offered him some of hers. He had turned her down.

On day three, his stomach had triumphed over his mind.

After that, he let the arrangement slide, so long as she agreed to eat more of it than she gave him. He was used to being hungry, after all.

On day five, they started to talk. The time before hadn't been entirely silent, but that had been most out of necessity, like asking for privacy when relieving themselves. It was the fifth day that she, almost speaking more to herself than him, began to recount her life story. The granddaughter of a nobleman who gave away all his time and money to help those who needed it, she chose to follow in his footsteps, renouncing her title and leading the life of your average cleric.

That was selling her short, actually. She walked paths hardened warriors refused to tread, such as traversing the Ghoul's Teeth to treat those who lived in the border villages, those who everyone else had abandoned as fools or unable to be saved.

"I am simply doing what I must as a cleric. I am no better than any of my sisters of the cloth."

He couldn't help but see her as much, much more than that.

So moved he was, that when she asked about him, he was more honest than he ever was to himself. He told her about his father, who on his deathbed had tried to impart good values on his boy. Telling him to protect those who need it, to be kind and fair to everyone around him.

He also told her how he, an angry sixteen year old boy at the time, had disregarded those teachings when a tough looking older man had taught him how to pick locks. There was no remorse in his voice when it came to him stealing to survive, nor was there any judgement in her eyes.

The regret came later.

It came in the times when he had stolen from those who had less than he had. When he has participated in raiding the nearby villages. The nights when he heard young boys cry out for their fathers amidst the flame and he didn't sleep.

On day five, he cried. As the tears came, she placed a soothing hand on his shoulder and let it linger.

---

On day six, he asked her if she could absolve him, as a holy woman.

"You can only find absolution through your own actions, Julian. Your soul is in your own hands."

---

On day seven, he asked how exactly the Warp staff worked. She said it couldn't take the wielder with it.

Later that night, they overheard their guard mention to another brigand that they finally found a buyer for their "prized merchandise".

---

On day eight, he leaned in close to her ear and whispered, "We're getting out of here, together."

On day eight, she smiled.•

[witharsenicsauce]

Chosen Stories From The War #43: A Secret Place to Pray

The ice on the ground created a blanket of glass that broke and splintered as they stepped over it. Parysatis led the way, sure-footed after years of hiking these treacherous trails. Gur-Rai followed, almost as confident but with the dexterity of a child taking their first steps. He watched the girl in front of him with silent curiosity as she raised her arm and let Tyche land.

“How much hunting do you get done with her?” Gur-Rai finally broke the silence. “Tyche’s a sweet old girl, but it seems like a bow or a rifle would be faster.”

“I catch as much as Aisha can in a day.” Parysatis said without looking back at him. “And that is what got me my seat at the left hand of the Khatun. She saw that I have many skills, not just good aim.”

“What exactly is your job for her?” Gur-Rai’s arms shot out as he slid backward on icy ground, and he barely managed to steady himself.

“I am her eyes across the steppe.” Parysatis said softly. “The Khatun cannot be in all places at once. But with Tyche’s wings, I can see the edges of our kingdom and the crevices under rocks.”

“She’s got good eyes.” Gur-Rai noted.

“As she should. I see through those eyes” Parysatis stopped and turned to him. “We shall start simply. You need to learn how to call your eagle.”

“Can I text instead?” Gur-Rai chuckled at his own joke. 

Parysatis did not laugh with him. “Your eagle is not a machine, you can’t just plug a code into it and make it obey. You need to learn to speak to it in ways it understands the way it respects.” She pointed down into the ravine beside them. “Go down there about 200 yards, and face me.”

Gur-Rai silently complied, looking back at Parysatis only once. She was watching him closely, and he saw the purple glow of her eyes in the low morning light. She was beautiful, but in a reserved kind of way. The type of girl to admire from afar, to wonder about briefly, and then to never to see again.

He finally stopped where she told him and turned to face her. She held out her other arm, and he mimicked her with his. From far away, he saw her stroke her eagle’s head softly, and then the glow of her eyes disappeared as she closed them.

Tyche leapt off Parysatis’ arm and came swooping down the ravine, her caw echoing in the high hills only once. Gur-Rai flinched a bit as she came close, but forced his arm to stay steady enough for her to land. 

And land she did, digging her claws into his sleeve, and he was happy he’d worn his armor for this. She ruffled her feathers and adjusted herself, and he saw the eagle’s eyes were glowing purple, like Parysatis’ had been.

Gur-Rai blinked, then reached out and gently patted the eagle on the head. “Good girl.” He said softly.

The glow faded from Tyche’s eyes, and he looked back up the hill to where Parysatis stood, her white hair blowing in the brisk wind. She held out her arm and made a noise like the coo of a pigeon and the screech of a fox all at once, and Tyche leapt from Gur-Rai’s arm and soared back up to her mistress.

He lowered his arm slightly, and saw that she had not closed her eyes this time. Tyche’s dark eyes remained so as Parysatis looked out towards where Gur-Rai stood, as though she were waiting for him.

He took a deep breath, thankful his siblings weren’t watching this, and pursed his lips, replicating the coo-screech he heard Parysatis make. For a moment, the eagle did nothing, so he tried again, and again, and again.

Tyche leapt from Parysatis’ arm again, and this time Gur-Rai knew to brace himself. He caught Tyche, letting her stabilize herself in his grasp, and when she finally did, he patted her head.

“There’s a good girl.” He said as he looked back up to Parysatis. She nodded to him slowly, gesturing for him to come back up the hill.

.

.

Senuna shifted her weight onto her left foot and crossed her arms, looking up at Drakaina as the Khatun stared into her glass of vodka.

“Have you been pleased with what you see?” Drakaina asked. “My ancestor built this city, and his son, Ögedei Khan, fortified its walls. It has stood against all odds, even those from off-world

Senuna bobbed her head. “It’s impressive what you’ve done here, I’ll admit that.”

That made Drakaina look up, curiosity in her eyes. “Impressive…is that all?”

“I haven’t seen more than the city.” Senuna said. “And you told me you have much more territory than that.”

“The rest of it lies in villages and Elerium mines.” Drakaina added quickly. “They are relatively scattered, due to their natural geographic location.”

“Fair enough.” Senuna still refused to sit, instead shifting back onto her right foot and putting a hand on her hip. “But I assume this means they get your protection, such as it were?”

“Of course.” Drakaina stood up, tipping her glass back and draining the remainder of it. “Until their children can be trained to fight for us, we send our own to protect them. They repay us by sending their warriors when they are grown, who then fight to defend us.”

Senuna bit her lip. “Do those kids get a choice?”

“They all choose to serve us.” Drakaina said curtly. “I give them food, shelter and protection. In return, they give me their sword arms.”

“And I thought I was a shitty boss~” Senuna chuckled.

Drakaina glared at Senuna. “I care for each of my warriors as a mother cares for her children. Do not accuse me of being callous.”

“I’m a mother too…” Senuna hesitated before she uttered the last word. “...Well in any case, far be it from me to tell you how to do your job. But all my soldiers go onto the field having chosen to carry a gun.” 

“Is that why you sought help?” Drakaina retorted.

“You called me here, remember?” Senuna giggled. “I sought their help because, the Reapers, Skirmishers, Templars, and us? We have a common goal.” 

Drakaina moved back up to where her throne stood, but didn’t lower herself, instead opting to just stand in front of it. “I am not here to debate ideologies with you. The last raid was very successful, but the rewards were minuscule compared to what we require.”

“Okay.” Senuna raised a brow. “And that is what, exactly?”

“There is a small outpost just south of Bürd, where we believe ADVENT is looking to build yet another city center. The people there have set up a small village and are receiving supplies. They are guarded by hybrids in armor.”

“Oh how scary!” Senuna chuckled. “This almost sounds like one of our havens, and ADVENT attacks those all the time. This should be easy.”

“Should be.” Drakaina said. “It never is. I would like to borrow two of your Chosen this time.”

“I knew you’d take a liking to them.” Senuna giggled. “Konnie, again?”

“Her and her brother, the sniper. He can set up with my archers and offer range support.” Drakaina hesitated. “Commander, how much do you know about her?”

“Who? Kon-Mai?” She sighed. “I didn’t have access to her files when I was plugged in, if that’s what you’re asking. ADVENT had me thinking I was still back home, fighting aliens and taking numbers.”

Drakaina sat down and leaned against the armrest of her throne. One of the skulls shifted under the pressure. “I thought you were used to manage all of ADVENT’s network.”

“I was.” Senuna bobbed her head. “But it’s…like a dream. Someone could call a file up from my brain, and in my sleep I could interpret that information as something completely different.”

“So you knew nothing about the Chosen?” 

“I didn’t say that.” Senuna stopped, then looked away. “I heard her speak to me a couple times, but I interpreted her voice as something else. Someone else. They were always connected to someone I knew once. Dhar-Mon…well. His voice is pretty distinct. But Konnie, not entirely sure what I saw for her.” Senuna admitted. “The first time I really saw her was when she carried away Mox to one of ADVENT’s torture facilities.”

“So they do still participate in abductions.” Drakaina nodded. “That is valuable information.”

“Have you lost many to that method?” Senuna asked.

“No.” Drakaina picked up her empty glass and held it up, the light refracting through broken crystals. “…Only one.” 

.

.

“Mai!”

At first, Kon-Mai didn’t even realize someone was calling her, until she heard footsteps directly behind her. She turned, and then slowed her brisk trek, allowing Aisha to catch up to her.

“Mai?” She raised a hairless brow.

“Yes, sorry. It…slipped out.” Aisha bowed. “Kon-Mai. I wanted to check on you; are you doing alright after that lesson?”

“I am fine.” Kon-Mai said curtly, turning away.

“You seemed really distracted after that first demonstration.” Aisha continued.

“Perhaps I was. But it should not concern you.” Kon-Mai scoffed. “I simply need a place to rest. Clear my head.”

“Oh. Why didn’t you say so?” Aisha chuckled. “I know a place actually. Come on.”

Kon-Mai watched Aisha take up a long stride in front of her, leading her westward toward where the sun was setting. She hesitated, but then the woman turned back and waved her to follow. In the low light, the gentle embroidery along her hijab glowed a soft blue.

Kon-Mai followed her silently, the smaller woman keeping up a fast pace that Kon-Mai kept time with easily. Once outside of the city, she looked back once toward the blue glow, and the barren land around it.

“Do you not farm here?” Kon-Mai asked. “The only vegetation I see is the animal feed…” 

Aisha shook her head. “As much as I would like to--I much prefer vegetables to meat, if I’m honest with you--it seems edible plants don’t take well to this soil anymore.”

“Anymore?”

“I heard they used to.” Aisha elaborated. “When my parents were fleeing ADVENT they briefly settled down around here, near Khorgo, and there was some arable land there.” She hummed a bit. “Sometimes I think about going back there and seeing if anything is left but…I have my new family here. As much as I want to look back.”

Kon-Mai remained silent, musing on this for a moment. “If you did go back…” She finally said. “What would you hope to find?”

Aisha didn’t answer her, and Kon-Mai abandoned the question when she looked around at the line of trees they suddenly stepped into. Larch trees with thick, needled branches reached out, covering the pale sky in a curtain of green.

“What is this place?”

“I come here to pray.” Aisha said. “The other warriors, they don’t mean to be rude, but they don’t really understand why I still practice. I come here so they won’t hound me for answers when all I want is a spiritual connection.”

“I can appreciate that.” Kon-Mai chuckled. “I often find my brothers in particular like to bother me when I am trying to meditate.”

Aisha chuckled. “I’m curious, your eldest brother seemed like he was at least interested in religion, but what exactly does ADVENT practice?”

“Practice…is a strong word. I suppose the religion of ADVENT centered around the Elders, and thus any customs were woven into their government.”    

“But what else?” Aisha kept prying. “What do they teach you about how the universe works? Where do you think people go when they die?”

Kon-Mai thought for a moment, trying to recall old teachings from almost a decade ago. “They never told us.”

“Never told you?”

“No. They never taught us of an afterlife. They only said there was the void, and if we failed them, they would throw us into nonexistence.”

Aisha stopped walking briefly at that, faltering in her steps as she looked up in surprise. “Oh…like Buddhism? Was there rebirth?”

Kon-Mai shook her head. “If there was, it was not attainable for us.”

“So you…would just die?” Aisha blinked. “That’s…terrifying. I’m sorry.”

“The idea of nonexistence never troubled me until I was staring it in the face.” Kon-Mai retorted. “And even then I would have chosen that over what my parents would do to me for failure.”

“And what would they do?” Aisha kept prying.

Kon-Mai’s silence served as an answer, and the two came to a silent stop in a small clearing, where the trees formed a small circle. 

Aisha settled down on her knees, facing Southwest, and Kon-Mai settled into her meditation pose beside her. Instead of closing her eyes, though, she watched Aisha instead, observing as she bowed, touching her head to the ground. Something tugged at the strings of her heart as she witnessed it, and soon she too closed her eyes.

They held that silent vigil until the sunlight fully faded, and the dim glow of orange clouds was the only light remaining. Surprisingly, it was Kon-Mai who broke the silence. As she heard Aisha get back to her feet, she asked “How does the Khatun feel about you practicing still?”

“The Khatun doesn’t mind.” Aisha shrugged. “Generally all her warriors are allowed to practice any religion they want. Many adopt Shamanic beliefs because, well, that’s the majority and it’s just easier.”

Kon-Mai followed her demonstration and stood. “And you did not adopt them as well?”

“That’s a long story, but no, I kept my own faith.” Aisha chuckled. “When I first came to Karakorum, I had a really rough time assimilating. It may sound counterintuitive but keeping to the traditions I was raised with helped me during that time.”

“This was after your parents…” Kon-Mai trailed off.

“Yes. I don’t remember the event really well. My clearest memory is after it was all over, and I was on a black horse, and Monkh…” Aisha broke off again, her voice shaking as she said “M-Monkh was carrying me.”

“Monkh?” Kon-Mai asked, suddenly blinking as though something was in her eye. Her temple stung for just a moment, and a shiver went up her back, all in such quick succession she herself hardly noticed it. “Who is Monkh?”

Aisha took a few steps, and then leaned back against one of the trees so she faced Kon-Mai. “She was the Jinong before me.” She said. “I might have mentioned we were close but…it was more than that.”

“More in what way?”

“She was almost grown up when they found me, and I was really young, extremely young. I had such a hard time adjusting to Karakorum, new people and language and food and it was all so overwhelming, I threw fits, I lashed out, and nobody would take me in, not even those who knew me.” She crossed her arms over herself. “Nobody but Monkh.”

“She adopted you?”

“She was more like a big sister than a mom.” Aisha admitted. “But…yes. She took care of me. She encouraged me to keep praying because praying helped calm me. She never forced me to, she wasn’t Muslim herself but…she always said it was important to remember the roots, especially those that gave me nourishment. She arranged for my meals to be caught, she sewed all my clothes and beaded my jewelry with her own two hands, and she taught me riding and archery and sword fighting. Nobody else believed in me. Monkh…Monkh believed in me.”

Kon-Mai swallowed, and realized she was holding back tears. “Her loss must have been very hard.”

Aisha nodded. “I regret so much from my childhood, but I most regret how much I took her for granted. I didn’t realize how precious life was until…” Aisha bit her lip, and when she spoke again, her voice cracked. “I’m sorry.”

Kon-Mai took a step toward the young woman, holding out a hand but hesitating to touch her. “I…I know how it feels to lose someone you loved, without ever being able to tell them goodbye, or how much they meant to you. It is a pain that sent me spiraling, I cannot imagine experiencing it as a child.”

Aisha stepped forward and grasped Kon-Mai’s hand, squeezing it. “Thank you…” Tears were streaming down her face now. “I just wish I could have thanked her.”

“Perhaps you still can.” Kon-Mai said. “If I have earned another chance, perhaps you will too.”

Aisha shook her head. “It’s a silly thing to hope for. And yet, I still do.”        

.

.

The inside of the mine was not dark, but lit up in a rainbow of soft, glowing light. Dhar-Mon closed his eyes and felt the familiar hum of Elerium crystal radiating off his skin. Like a babe being swaddled, he felt comfort in this early memory.

Then he opened his eyes and composed himself, looking around at the miners around him. Most only payed him a few glances before squaring up their shoulders and returning to their work, running wheelbarrows full of sediment out and in and dumping them onto an assembly line, where more workers, smudged in dirt, sifted through the sediment and broke open geodes to get at the crystals inside.

He approached one of the miners, and they turned and gasped, startling backward and scrambling away, yelling something in Mongolian or…maybe Kazakh? He could not tell. Dhar-Mon only raised his hands in response, trying to demonstrate he was not there to hurt them. 

Luckily, one of the others, an old man who looked as though he had seen years in the mine, seemed to understand, and stepped forward. Dhar-Mon slowly lowered his hands, and bowed low to the person who was by all means his elder.

The old man smiled a toothless grin. “Sain uu, khüü mini!” The man chuckled, and upon realizing that Dhar-Mon didn’t understand him, broke into a sympathetic laugh. Dhar-Mon smiled awkwardly, looking around at the other miners that were still watching his hesitantly.

The old man beckoned Dhar-Mon over to the assembly line, where the others continued to sift through the silt and dirt, removing the Elerium from its earthen shell. He watched in curiosity as it was then sent down the line to be washed and sprayed, the dirt splashing over a young woman’s face as she cleaned the glass-like rock.

“This is difficult work.” Dhar-Mon said. “I sincerely hope the Khatun rewards you well.”

The man either didn’t hear him or didn’t understand him as he led Dhar-Mon farther along down the line, where the clean Elerium was taken into mortars and pestles and ground into shining, powdery dust. Each time the pestle struck the glowing rock, sparks would bounce away, and Dhar-Mon would flinch.

The glowing dust, pulsating with irradiated energy, traveled along the conveyor line to the end, where two others began re-mixing it with a soft, white powder, almost resembling dry clay. Their careful hands mixed the sparkling Elerium with this clay, before it was shoved off the table into a vat of liquid that began to boil. Dhar-Mon was at first nervous about this unknown reaction, until he saw the fire burning under the vat.

“They are stabilizing the Elerium. To keep it from degrading.” He rubbed his chin. “Fascinating. It seems to dampen the raw energy available but…” It made sense, if they were using it in things like jewelry, they didn’t really need the Elerium to pack that much of a punch.

The old man patted Dhar-Mon on the arm, chuckling as he returned to his post, leaving Dhar-Mon to either stay or go. The Hieromonk wandered around the vat for a few moments, watching as the water boiled away, leaving a paste of glowing blue rock that settled heavily in the bottom of the cauldron. The mix was not perfect, but he figured it would be further distilled and refined and sure enough, a thin looking lad came over, dragging a wheelbarrow and stopping only to reach in and scoop the rock-paste into the wheelbarrow.

Dhar-Mon raised a brow as he saw that the boy, who looked no older than a teenager, was not wearing cloves around this hot metal. And with that exhausted look in his eyes, that was absolutely asking for trouble. Dhar-Mon reached out, and the boy startled a bit, but looked up at Dhar-Mon almost like he was in a trance. Dhar-Mon did not have to pull hard to get the spade away from him, and he rolled up his sleeves and began doing the boy’s assigned work for him.

“I have many more scars than you.” Dhar-Mon said. “And I would like that to remain the truth.”

He wasn’t sure that the boy understood him, but he did begin tearing up. Once the wheelbarrow was full, Dhar-Mon took hold of it himself and pushed it along, the boy leading him to where it needed to go.

They approached the yawning mouth of the mine, and inside he heard pickaxes ringing against stone, and felt the pulsing radiation from the barely exposed rock. He stopped for a moment, gazing down into the black mouth that continued on seemingly forever…

A scream echoed from down the tunnel, and for a moment all the miners stopped, but when Dhar-Mon dropped the wheelbarrow and began to run toward the noise, the boy stopped him, crying out in Mongolian and shaking his head quickly.

“Someone could be hurt!” Dhar-Mon insisted. “I must help them!”

“No!” Was all the boy said, looking up at him with pleading eyes. “No. No. No.” 

.

.

Pratal Mox stared out at the sun setting over the icy mountains and yellow grass, where the horses stood and picked out what little bits of vegetation they could pull from the ground, and he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“You aren’t going to be able to sleep until you face this.” His wife said, moving her hand from his shoulder down around his waist.

“I am naively hoping it will not need facing.” He said. “Vox Prima…I mean. Kon-Mai has not shown much interest in her past, and I am hoping we can leave this place before it shows interest in her.”

“Even so. She has a right to know. And you have the power to tell her.” Elena moved to stand beside him. “Look at how much good it’s done Gur-Rai to have old friends and new friends again.”

“Gur-Rai is…” Mox twiddled his thumbs. “He is different. His memories were not completely overwritten by Camazotz, he remembers things the others don’t.”

“And maybe Kon-Mai remembers too.” Elena crossed her arms. “Or at the very least, I think someone in this camp does.”

Mox sighed. “That is what I fear. What if they tell her?”

“Tell her yourself.” She took his hand. “You’ve taken hold of your own fate time and time again, my love.”

“I know, and I’m tired.” Mox sighed. “It is not just my fate anymore. How do I tell Kon-Mai that I was the ferryman who led her to hell?” 

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Summary: The chapter begins with Gur-Rai and Parysatis going out to open field so Gur-Rai can train to become an eagle hunter. As it’s his first lesson, Parysatis starts him off by just teaching him how to land the eagle on his arm, which he does with some difficulty. Back at Karakorum, Drakaina is meeting with Senuna to talk about the next mission, and Senuna briefly chastises Drakaina on her leadership methods.

After the training, Aisha catches up with Kon-Mai and invites her to a secluded spot, where she likes to pray. She tells Kon-Mai that her devotion stems from her parental figure, Monkh, encouraging her to maintain that which connected her to her happiness. Aisha also clarifies that Monkh was the previous Jinong before her, and that one of her earliest memories is waking up in her arms.

Down in the Elerium mines, Dhar-Mon meets several of the miners, who are all diligently working on mining Elerium to be used recreationally and in warfare. One old man shows Dhar-Mon around, and he sees the process by which Elerium is stabilized. While helping a young boy bring the processed sludge in for refining, Dhar-Mon hears a scream from deeper in the mine.

In Karakorum, Pratal Mox reflects on how much he knows about Kon-Mai’s past. Elena encourages him to tell her, but he hesitates.

(Hello everyone, I know it’s been over a month and I’m so sorry I kept you all waiting. February just completely kicked my ass, starting with my cat passing away and ending with a slew of health problems that have left me pretty much out of commission until now. I’m not 100% better yet, but I am recovering and recovered enough to get this to you. I have NOT given up on the shark babies, and I’m still in this for the long haul!

Thanks to my buddies in the discord for helping me get my motivation!)

[devnicolee]

The Chosen Ones (7)

A/N: Enjoy! There is one chapter left, which I am really excited about :)

Warnings: Slow burn, verbal abuse (and one mention of physical abuse), angst

Word Count: 6,000 words

Pairings: M’Baku x OC 

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6]

Asha groaned as she felt something nudging her shoulder, assuming it was M'Baku's feeble attempts to wake her up. "Five more minutes," she mumbled, her voice groggy and tired. She shifted on her side, burying her face deeper into his chest, her hand sliding across his midsection to hold onto him tighter. There was no response to her exhausted pleas for more sleep. In fact, she quickly realized that all she could hear were his loud, deep snores. Yet she still felt another more forceful nudge hit her back, forcing her eyes to pop open.

Her eyes trailed up his torso and landed on M’Baku’s face, eyes closed as he continued to sleep. Her lips curved into a content smile as she just stared at him… her boyfriend. It amazed her how far the pair had come in mere weeks… from only existing in quiet, hidden moments to being able to love each other loudly and freely. She decided to lean on his advice, not to dwell on those broader implications, the details they would have to sort out back home. She knew he already gained her sister and brother’s approval, which was all she truly cared about. But the jury was still out on the Council and her mother. Asha already had two strikes against her where the majority of them were concerned. 

It does not matter, she decided. She seceded 25 years to the will and opinion of the Council and her parents, she refused to cower or give them a day more. She worried about the other things and how to be in a successful relationship when she had no experience. But she and M'Baku loved each other and they both had the will and desire to be together. That meant they would climb any walls, weather whatever storm, and extinguish any fires this world threw at them. She finally had the person and love she prayed for every night; she would not let him go without a fight. Her thoughts were interrupted by something hitting her yet again. She frustratingly turned around to come face to face with the same black panther as last night. Inches away from her face, the panther used its nose to nudge her shoulder, a silent demand to start the day.

"Fuck!" she yelped, sitting up abruptly. She, of course, knew it meant her no harm but was also not expecting such a jarring wake up call. Her traveling companion, however, did not have this luxury. Her loud outburst immediately pushed M'Baku out of his restful sleep. Forever the warrior, he leaped out of the sleeping bag, robbing Asha of his warm body heat, and immediately raised his knobkerrie, ready to strike. He examined the cave terrain wildly, searching for an unknown threat.  

"Stand down soldier," Asha chuckled as she ran her hands through the soft, thick black fur of the now resting panther, laying down relaxed after doing their job to wake the couple up. Her heart still thumped loudly against her chest as it tried to return to its resting rate. "It woke me up and I was n-not expecting a Bast wake-up call. Sorry for screaming," she offered before standing up herself.

"Damn panthers," M'Baku mumbled angrily under his breath. But he shook off his annoyance rather quickly as Asha cleared up their makeshift camp. "What time is it?"

Asha fiddled with her beads, immediately distracted by two texts from her brother and sister. "U-u-uh just after 7. But we better get going. Brother called an emergency council meeting 2 hours before the King's Exhibition. We need to find the herbs and get back to the palace before then." The balls of light keeping them warm the night prior bounced around as the two moved about, getting ready to finish the last leg of their journey. Asha raised her hands, each instinctively moving back toward their owner as her skin absorbed them. 

"Why a council meeting?" M'Baku asked as he pulled bags of fruit out of his bag for both to munch on for breakfast and swung it back on his shoulders. 

"Well, we do not need to convince the whole country... just the Mining and Border Tribes. No need to wait for the King's Exhibition if we can avoid it. It is supposed to be a fun and joyous event, believe it or not."

The two emerged from the cave, the Panther waiting for them on the small cliff. They fell in step behind it as it led them back to their original trail. The morning air was crisp and cold, the sun peeked through the swaying tree tops giving them a sliver of light. It still didn’t look like morning on their path though, the thick forest blocked out most of the sun. The mountain had a new layer of fresh, undisturbed snow, which did not remain long as their footprints smashed through it.

"What is the King's Exhibition anyway?" Despite not following the Panther Goddess, all of Wakanda was invited to partake in the celebrations of the week-long Festival of Bast. This was to be the Jabari's first year and he planned on participating to show solidarity. However, M’Baku quickly realized he had no idea what was involved.

"Oh, it is just a show of our King's strength and prowess in battle. Really just a chance for my oh-so-humble brother to show off. He basically fights the Dora, members of the King's Guard and then any challenger from across Wakanda. But unlike Challenge Day, no one is fighting to the death. It is more of a public training session. Everyone loses to him, of course," she added. 

"What is the point of it?" he inquired, knocking some branches out of their path. 

"It shows the strength Bast gives her protector. Her power and by extension, his power to protect all of us. It is quite fun to watch, or so I have heard," she added as a caveat. Snow drifted down lightly around them from the branches and leaves above them, immediately melting to water as it connected with her clothes. 

"You have never been?" 

She chuckled, managing to keep at least some of the bitterness out of her voice. "You would be surprised at the amount of things I have never seen or done. I have not celebrated a Festival of Bast in 15 years. Though, I didn't much care to celebrate her in those later years to be honest." M'Baku glanced over at her and noticed a flicker of shame and regret passing behind her dark brown eyes. 

"Hey," he said gently, pulling on her arm to stop her. "You don't need to feel ashamed about that. You did the best you could. Bast forgives, clearly," he said, gesturing toward the panther that stopped a few feet ahead of them to wait. 

Asha nodded softly, looking up at him to find concern in his big brown eyes… concern and intense love and adoration for her. Love and adoration that made her legs grow weak and the butterflies in her stomach flutter. She couldn’t explain it but it felt like the farther they went on this journey, the easier it became to open her heart and share her soul with this gentle giant beside her. She immediately thought back to what Bast told her, how the journey of loving and accepting herself would make loving others that much easier. Bast is rarely wrong.

"Thank you. I needed to hear that... be reminded of that. T-there is just so much I would have done differently had I known what I know now… you know?" she responded as they broke their eye contact and continued uphill. Asha, being someone who did not train incredibly often, was beginning to feel the strain of this journey as the air grew thinner and the path steeper. M'Baku seemed perfectly capable and fine with the hike but she was starting to grow that uncomfortable stitch in her side that she usually got when she trained with T'Challa. 

"Yes, regrets are the price we pay for living. We all struggle with that… trust me. But it is not about how you lived before, but how you choose to live now. All those things you would do differently, you can do going forward. You have a bright future ahead, Asha. You have to just decide what you want to do with it."

Silence fell over the two; the only sounds were the soft crunch of snow beneath their boots, the random babble of animals moving through the trees around them as she contemplated his words. Asha went from having no real future at all to the one she always dreamed of. However, she now had to apply those dreams to her real life. She was no longer limited, chained in darkness with small fleeting glimpses of the sun. She was fully stepping in the light and she could finally bask in its warmth, serenity, and peace. Now that she was standing in the sun, she was not sure exactly what path she should forge. But she knew, a path without M'Baku was not a viable one. Where the light took her, she was determined to have him by her side loving and affirming her. 

The inner light now flooding Asha's life was only eclipsed by the darkness the forest plunged them in as they trekked farther up the mountainside. It was as ominous as the night before, possibly even more so since they both knew the sun was shining above the thick treetops. The rustles and chatter of the forest seemed to get louder as they went, M'Baku constantly raising his weapon and shielding Asha as if a monster was seconds away from emerging from the trees. Each step seemed to dial up the creepy meter of the whole journey, putting the two on edge. They were not deterred; at the top of this summit laid their destiny, their reason for being. They had no choice but to press forward, stomping out any anxiety or fear that tried to poke through their armor of confidence. 

"Do you like Jabariland?" M'Baku asked out of the blue.

Asha gave him a confused look from the corner of her eye, noting the way his hands fidgeted. Was he nervous? "It is gorgeous... the people were amazing. I felt more at home there... more at peace than I ever had in the Golden City. What is not to like?" 

"Yes, but could you see you-" he started to say before he cut himself off, raising his hand to stop her. The panther leading their way had stopped, halting in front of a break in the trees. Asha walked to stand behind it and saw them.

"Glory to Hanuman," M'Baku whispered, amazed that a childish dream and a hunch led them to this. The only two people in the world who could make it to this promised land. The herbs sat in the middle of the clearing, covered in thick clear ice. But nothing could diminish the distinct and almost magical purple glow of the heart-shaped herb. The purple glow reflected across the white snow as the bright sun shined down on the field, filled with more herbs than either could have dreamed of. 

"Bast... M'Baku, this is it. You were right!" Asha exclaimed, clutching his thick bicep. "W-we can save T’Challa, w-w-we can save the Black Panther." She hadn’t let herself get too attached to the idea that they were right, after all, it was a longshot. But here they were, staring their and Bast’s dreams in the face and it was glorious. 

The moment her foot connected with the hard Earth in the clearing, it started. It was soft initially, like faint distant whispers as several quiet voices invaded her ears. She pushed forward, ignoring them. Nothing would stop her now. With each inch forward, the voices grew louder and more unruly. Asha had no idea what they were saying, what they wanted. She knew it was all in her head but she understood why such a phenomenon would drive people away from this place. It was almost impossible to ignore and it was terrifying. A piercing pain started to spread through her skull as she tried to continue. Soon the pain, the symphony became too loud to ignore.  

"Ah!" she cried out as she fell to her knees, so close that a herb was within arm’s reach.

"Asha!” He had been watching from the tree with the panther and rushed forward when she hit the ground. He was at her side in record speed. He clutched her face, rotating her head in his hands as tears streamed from her eyes. He examined her head and body finding no obvious injury, realizing that the voices they were warned found their next victim. 

She whimpered slightly from the pain, unable to speak as it became too much to handle.  He felt his world crumbling at her pain and distress. He wondered if his hypothesis was wrong. Had he brought her all the way here, pumping her soul with false hope with every mile only to push her into a world of pain? 

"Asha... It's gonna be ok... Go back and I will get the herb. It is ok, you have done more than enough," he whispered, offering more encouraging words as he helped her to her feet. The pain had yet to subside, she was not sure if she had experienced agony such as this before. But as she started to walk back toward safety, the black panther, a casual and quiet guide up until this point, brandished its teeth at her and growled deeply. Its body blocked the way back toward the trees, forcing her to stay there. As if a cue, more panthers emerged from the trees surrounding them, pacing so neither could retreat. M'Baku, deciding that the sooner they had an herb in hand, the sooner they would be allowed to leave, reached to pull one out of the Earth. However, he pulled and pulled but its roots were unmovable. The ice casing around the herb was too thick to break and remove the herb from its flower and the ground was too hard to rip the flower from the soil. He tried everything he had in his arsenal while whatever magical properties inhabiting this mountain brought his all-powerful partner to her knees. 

Asha pushed through her pain and watched him struggle with the plant, a realization dawning on her. There was a reason it was the two of them and no one else. Further proof that their survival depended on each other, that their destinies were intertwined long before they knew of each other's existence. He got them here and now, she had to do her part.

"I-I h-have to melt th-th-the ice, M'Baku. W-we can’t t-take them frozen l-like… this. I c-can do it," she pushed out, her breathing labored as she tried to overcome the pain and channel her powers. 

M'Baku immediately shook his head, "Asha... you were on death's door not even a full 48 hours ago, you are not strong enough to use your powers like this yet." 

Asha shook her head, "I made it up this m-mountain. This is my purpose, I c-cannot.... I w-will not fail.” She crawled closer to the herb and sunk her warm hands into the thick snow around the herb closest to her. 

“Bast, give me strength," she whispered to herself. She closed her eyes and channeled all the fire, the heat in her being down into her palms and fingers. She imagined the field in her mind and pictured projecting that heat outward like a blanket. Her labored breathing grew as she fueled all the power in her body into the ground beneath her. the heat from her internal flame slowly melting the clear ice protecting each herb. 

Asha grew concerned, as she tried to melt all the herbs that she did not have enough energy for this task. She could feel her steam running out. Thankfully, the ice transitioned to water on the last herb just as her body grew cold, void of any flames. As soon as the last herb thawed, Asha's eyes fell closed slowly, her body slumping into the snow as her mind succumbed to the voices and tumbled into her past. 

T'Challa and Asha circled each other on a deep blue training map, the 10-year-old pushing her exhaustion aside to train with her older brother. She and T'Challa went blow for blow for a few minutes, trading hits as they danced across the training floor. She had gotten surprisingly better since they started training together, improving far more in their secret limited sessions than her actual training. She was small and quick, which helped her keep up with him even though he was clearly more skilled and stronger. 

A few minutes of skillful fighting and she found herself on her brother's back, arm around his neck holding him in a chokehold. "Yield!" she demanded playfully. 

"Never," he retorted as he flipped her over his head and forced her to the ground. He did it as slow as possible, as to not actually hurt her. She rolled on her back for a few minutes, catching her breath before standing again and starting the process over. 

Their second fight went similarly. However, Asha suddenly felt different. She felt like another energy source coursing through her veins. She figured it was merely a second wind to help her fight. It propelled her to fight harder than she usually did, forcing T'Challa to up his game. She and T'Challa circled each other before he lunged toward her again. She raised her hand to block his first attempt when he jumped back unexpectedly, dodging with grace toward the side. Bewilderment filled her eyes until she saw a line of fire separating the two siblings. 

"A- Asha... what is going on?" he asked tentatively as he pushed himself to stand.

Asha looked down at her hands to find them covered in flames. "Oh my bast!" She dropped to the ground and tried to stomp them out by banging her hands on the floor, but they wouldn't die. Her hand felt fine, she did not feel the agony of being on fire and yet she was. "T'Challa... what is happening to me??" she cried, panic setting in as she stared at this peculiarity.

"I do not know. But stay calm, I will get baba. It will be alright Asha."

Asha sunk to the ground, tears streaming down her face as she watched her hands and, unbeknownst to her at the time, her future burn right before her eyes. 

The training room dissolved, her father's office replacing it as Asha sat, hands back to normal, next to T'Challa as he tried to calm her down. He rubbed comforting circles into his young and extremely distraught sister's back as they waited for their father to speak. Her father paced by his desk, throwing agitated looks at his daughter every few minutes, making her feel as though she had done something wrong. 

"She is one of them. A mutant," he spat out with disgust. 

"So what do we do?" their mother asked quietly from the other side of the office, keeping a healthy distance from her now dangerous daughter. "You have campaigned against mutants in our borders for years. This will look like hypocrisy." 

"We do nothing," T'Chaka hissed. "We do nothing, we say nothing. No one can know about this." 

T'Challa stood, a look of disbelief painted on his face, "How do you expect to keep this a secret? She is a princess? It is not like you can just hide her away." 

"No, that is exactly what we are going to do. She almost killed you, T'Challa! Her powers are uncontrollable. We will find a way to suppress them until she is old enough to control them. Until then, she will not leave the palace," her father decided resolutely. It was not lost on Asha how they all spoke about her as if she were a mere object and not a person sitting right in front of them. 

She shared a scared look with her brother before the scene changed again. She was now sitting on her brother's bed as he prepared for his 18th birthday party. They had been laughing and joking around, until their father appeared in the doorway. 

"Yes baba?" he asked. 

"You look good, strong. Please finish quickly. It is not good to be late to a party in your honor." Asha wanted to shrink herself or have the floor dissolve her as her father's eyes scanned the room. In the last three years, she found the best way to survive in her home was to simply avoid her father at all cost. At least then, he could not verbally castigate her for merely existing. 

"Asha!" he barked, "What are you doing?" 

Asha hung her head, "I was just helping T'Challa get ready. I will go back to my room." 

He nodded, "Good. We cannot have anyone seeing you wandering around during the party. Go now." 

"Yes, baba." Asha climbed off T'Challa's bed and started to walk toward the door. "Happy Birthday, T." She gave him a tight hug and a wide smile, mainly for his benefit. She did not want him worrying about her on his big birthday and knew he was already concerned about leaving her without her only advocate when he went away for university. That smile carried her until she was out of the view of his door and down the hallway to her own room. 

 Her brother's room disappeared as an intense argument in the royal gardens formed, Asha face to face with Hasani.

“What is the issue? It is just a date outside this Bast forsaken palace?" 

An adult Asha tried to let him down easy, gave all the excuses her father outlined for her and he refused to accept any of them. It was almost as if he wanted to catch her in a lie. "I cannot leave. I would feel more comfortable if we just stayed in." 

"No! I want to go on a real date outside of this palace. Today!" he demanded rudely. Asha scoffed silently. She knew the courting dates were part of the royal deal, her dad's attempt to pawn her off on someone else. However, she did not need to put up with another verbally abusive man in her life, her father was more than enough. 

"Perhaps we should just chat another day? You seem upset, Hasani and I do not wish to upset you further. You know your way out, yes?" she said politely, deciding to deescalate the situation before it grew out of control. She turned away from him slightly, preparing to walk out of the gardens. 

"No!" A hand enclosed around her wrist and yanked her back. His grip was so tight that Asha knew a bruise would blossom on her wrist later. 

"Hasani, you are hurting me! Let me go!" she whispered, trying to avoid a scene as she failed to tug her hand out of his grip. She looked around for a passing Dora, cursing herself for telling Alexis that she did not need to watch over her during this date. She could feel the Panther beating against its cage, determined for release as someone attacked its owner. Even with the rings donning each of her fingers, she knew the flames were growing to uncontrollable levels. "Hasani, I do not want to hurt you, please let me go!" she begged, knowing that this was not headed in any good direction. 

He scoffed, "What could you do to hurt me?" 

As if on cue, sparks flew out of her hands, one hitting him right on his wrist causing him to jump back several feet. Fire shot out of her extended hand, drawing a line between them to protect her. 

"W-w-what the fuck? I-I knew you weren't sick!" he cried, outraged. 

Asha's hands clamped over her mouth in shock as she tried to approach him and make this right. "Hasani, please! I-it is not what it looks like!" But it was too late, he was off, Asha knew, to tell his mother who was meeting with her father in his office. She took off running after him, knowing that whatever happened next... she would certainly pay for this. 

She was back in her father's office, Asha arguing with her father who refused to listen. "But I do not love him, baba! And he doesn’t love me! H-he hates me! H-he treats me horribly. You cannot expect me to marry him!" 

"I don't particularly care if you love him or not. Sometimes arranged marriages are a necessary part of being royalty. You were the fool that showed your… disease to him. These are the consequences."  

Asha threw up her hands, anger causing tears to stream down her face as she defended herself for the 100th time for the incident that thrusted her into this mess. She shared an exasperated glance at her brother and sister, the only two people who were ever on her side. "It was an accident, baba! I swear." 

She knew she messed up, she regretted it everyday but she didn’t deserve this. She especially didn’t deserve the bloodied cut and bruise on her face, the reason her brother dragged her to her father’s office to demand the engagement be called off. It took Asha, Okoye and three other Dora to pull T’Challa off Hasani after he happened to walk in on an argument between the couple right as the back of Hasani’s hand connected with Asha’s cheek. It was the first time he had ever done such a thing and Asha knew it would be last since her brother made it clear he would not live to tell the tale if he touched her like that again. 

"Sometimes I think you are determined to destroy this family and everything I built," he said as he settled behind his desk. "It is like you do not care if this family survives."  

If he had slapped her in the face, that would have been less painful. "How could you say that?" she whispered, the hurt clear in her words. 

"Baba! Please!" T'Challa said, no longer a young boy now but a grown man who refused to let anyone, even his beloved baba, attack his sister. He pushed Asha behind him as if he could act as a physical barrier between her and their father's verbal abuse. He, of course, knew it was too little too late to protect her from him but he tried to mitigate where he could. "Asha is not trying to destroy us by refusing to marry an abusive man. You did not hear the way he spoke to her. Why would you want her to marry a man who cares so little for her? Who is blackmailing our family into it? He has already proven that he has no self-control or respect for her. If you think those bruises were a one-time incident, you are mistaken. These lies have gone far enough, it cannot be worth it anymore." 

"Enough!" King T'Chaka yelled, silencing his disobedient and reckless children. "T'Challa, you will stay out of it. You will be king one day but that is not today. And Asha, you will marry Hasani. You are lucky I was able to find this man for you. He is of royal blood, far better than you could have hoped for. Now, T'Challa and I will be leaving for Sokovia in a week's time. I suggest you take that time to accept this. I will not have this conversation with you again." 

Asha nodded softly, her "Yes baba" so despondent and quiet that it broke T'Challa's heart. She shrugged off his comforting hand from her shoulder and raced out of the room. Asha rarely left her dad's office without tears clouding her vision, today was no different. 

Asha woke among the dirt and swaying grass of the Ancestral Plane. Her second visit was far less confusing, almost as if she expected it. Bast did say she would see her again so she supposed this was that time. And this time, she knew she was not actually dead, which offered a small comfort. 

She stood up and dusted the dirt off the long white dress with gold trim now hanging over her shoulders. Her bare feet sunk into the soft dirt as she walked toward a tree overflowing with black panthers. She did not need prompting, did not need Bast to lead her way. The path, the course forward, who she needed to speak to was as clear as day. She did not get very close before one jumped down from a high branch and landed in front of her. 

Baba, she thought to herself. Sure enough, she watched as the panther quickly turned into a man... her father. 

The two simply stood there, feet apart and stared at each other. He looked smaller than he did in life. He was never a big person, but his presence made up for what he lacked in stature... strong and intimidating. She never got to see the gentle King everyone else adored and worshiped. She had always only gotten the worst of him. She could not deny the small part of her that was filled with the urge to rush forward and hug him, the part that was still desperate for his approval and his love. But the larger part forced her feet to stay planted like a tree firmly in the same spot. She expected there to be more resentment toward him. What once was a burning inferno seemed more like a small contained fire, still present and noticeable but not all consuming.

"Why are you here... again?" he asked. 

"That seems to be a question for Bast, not me... I found a new garden of the Heart-Shaped Herb and when I thawed it, I passed out. And I guess she brought me here." 

"You found a new garden?" He did not even try to hide the surprise in his voice. 

Asha scoffed, bowing her head slightly, turning away from him to study the horizon and the pale yellow and orange sky. "Always a tone of surprise. Apparently, Bast doesn't hate me or my kind as much as you did." 

"I never hated you Asha." 

"Really? You could have fooled me. 15 years... 15 years, you treated me like a prisoner, like I was nothing to you. If you did not hate me, you certainly didn't love me. It does not benefit either of us to pretend otherwise," she added coldly. If she was going to speak to him, it would be rooted in honesty, not historical fiction to sugar coat his actions simply because he died. 

"I did not know how to deal with a child who was more powerful than I. Bast told me you were destined for great things and I refused to believe it. I was so obsessed with the mantle of King that I lost sight of... well, everything. I have had much time to think since being here." 

"Yes, I would imagine death gives you all the time in the world to contemplate your failings," Asha responded, that small fire of resentment showing in her words, regardless of how she tried to contain it. The beautiful and serene terrain of the Planes did nothing to counter the frustration bubbling beneath the surface. She did not know what she expected from a conversation with her father but this was lacking. But she wondered if every conversation would; after all he could not come back from the dead and redo her childhood. His damage was set in stone and no words would fix it. 

"What will you do now?" 

"I will take the herb down the mountain and save your golden son and your tribe from being uprooted. That is all T'Challa and I seem to do lately, save our country from your failures. I will save your country, as Bast destined it. And then, I will find my place in that country, the place you selfishly denied me for decades," Asha responded. 

T'Chaka nodded sadly, "Can you forgive me? I was not perfect in life. I made so many mistakes that forced you and T'Challa down paths that almost led to Wakanda's destruction. If I could go back, if I could have a chance at life anew, I would do so much differently. I did not hate you, I hated your powers and what they represented. But for you, I am sure that distinction means little. I failed you as a father... I failed you as your King and unfortunately, my realizations came too late. I can't fix it; I can't make it up to you. But I can apologize… and I am so sorry. Truly." 

Asha did not hate her father, that was true. She did not know if she loved him either. But she had finally lost almost all the anchors of her past life, this was the final one. No amount of harbored resentment would fix his mistakes. Hating him until the end of her days, refusing to forgive until she was in a tree in the Planes next to him would not give her the life and childhood she desperately had wanted and deserved. She knew she needed to learn how to move on, to stop being weighed down by the past. She did not need to love her father to forgive him. She could not carry this pain, this resentment into her new life. She deserved to be light, not weighed down by someone else's failures and insecurities.

"A king who admits his faults? Quite the rarity." She refused to look at him, still studying the horizon, "You know I used to pray to Bast to take my powers, take my life, take everything so that you could love me. So that you could look at me as you looked at T'Challa and Shuri, with love, adoration, and hope. I wanted that so bad for so long that it almost killed me. Everyday felt like a festering wound that just would not heal. Your ego allowed me to wake up every day without hope, without light. Y-you caused that and, to be honest, I never thought I could forgive you for it. For planting seeds of hatred so deep in my heart that I started to believe them to be my own thoughts, my own insecurities." 

She turned to face him finally, "But I cannot live that way anymore. I have finally started to uproot those weeds and my soul is so light," Asha sighed as tears sprung to her eyes, "that sometimes it feels as though I could fly away. I will never again be weighed down by the hatred you sowed nor the hatred your actions sowed in me for you. I will never feel for you as your other children do, but I do not need to hate you. I appreciate your apology and I forgive you."

 "Thank you. I wish I could be there... to see the new garden," he whispered. "I wish I could be there to right so many wrongs." 

"You are right where you need to be, T'Chaka," an angelic voice interrupted. They both turned to find Bast behind them. T'Chaka bowed slightly, stepping aside so the Goddess could approach. Asha stood tall as Bast stood directly in front of her, her face beaming with pride and joy. 

"So, you solved my riddle?" Bast asked. 

"Yes, but you couldn't have made it easier?" 

"Well... There is just no fun in that. I am so proud of you, Asha. You fulfilled your destiny and Wakanda's future, that was once destroyed, is now like that garden: overflowing and teeming with life and hope. That is because of you and Lord M'Baku. Now I have a few final requests of you before you return to your life, if you do not mind?" 

Asha raised her eyebrow, knowing the only acceptable answer was yes. She just nodded and waited for Bast to proceed. 

"One, keep the Garden where it is. There will be a desire to move them to the Hall of Kings. But that mountain will serve as the bridge that connects the Jabari to Wakanda and the Black Panther. It must stay where it is to thrive. Two, you are learning about your powers, finally understanding and controlling them. Do not let another living soul limit them again. Three, love is overflowing in your life. It has not always felt like it, I know, but I hope you feel it now. Do not lose sight of the love you have, the family you have, as you settle into the mountains with your new one. There is space for it all." 

Asha wrinkled her nose, laughing lightly. "Family in the mountains? M'Baku and I certainly are not there yet. Besides, I still need to find my place here." 

"Of course... your place in Wakanda just may have a bit colder climate than you think, Asha Udaka," Bast mused. "It is time to go now. I expect I will not be seeing you again until your life has run its course, but worry not. You have a long and vibrant life ahead surrounded by those you love and who love you immeasurably." 

Bast wrapped Asha into a hug so loving, so tender that only a Goddess could conjure such a thing. So much waited for her on the other side, and for the first time, she could not wait to get back to them. 

***

Tag List: @destinio1 @muse-of-mbaku @jellybean531 @skysynclair19 @ashanti-notthesinger @gloriousgam3r @archivistofwakanda @leahnicole1219 @mygirlrenee @dramaqueeenamby

[sparrowwritings]

Final Fantasy Writing Challenge Day Twenty-One: “To succeed in life, you need three things; a wishbone, a backbone and a funny bone.” -- Reba McEntire

Day Twenty -- Masterpost -- Day Twenty-Three

The courtyard emptied quickly now that the citizens of the Crystarium were well assured that their Exarch, the Scions and the Warriors of Darkness were well. Or, at least, as well as people who had been through a harrowing experience and a long journey back to the city could look like. As usual, no one asked any probing questions. With all of the details that would have needed explaining, such a lack of outright curiosity was a relief.

Y’shotla let loose the breath (and tension) that she had held practically since the final confrontation with Emet-Selch. The other adults were doing much the same. Lara and Roger’s souls were completely fine, even after all of the damage that had been done from the corruption of Light. No aether leaked from their beings, and the brightness they projected was at far more ordinary levels when it came to the two of them.

(She likened the sudden repair of souls to filling in the cracks of a near-shattered vase with more clay, and fusing with heat. 

Perhaps that wasn’t the best of metaphors, but it made the most sense to her.)

Even the Crystal Exarch (now known to the Scions by his true name G’raha Tia) had fully recovered on the journey back. Being this close to the Crystal Tower had turned his sickly pale skin back to its healthy color. His aether was also back to levels that she was far more used to seeing it in him. 

She still had many a question about his side of the mess, but an interrogation held when the four youngest members of the group were practically unconscious on their feet would be in poor form. Perhaps she would ask later. When she herself was also less weary.

“We should be off to rest,” Thancred suggested. “Now that we know that there will be a morrow, there’s plenty more we can get up to.” He nodded at Ryne. “Not the least of which is seeing what lies beyond the Flood of Light.”

That snapped the red-haired girl out of her tired daze. “Really? You’re serious?”

He cracked a grin. “Absolutely.”

Just before Ryne could give her quite obvious answer, a hand fell on the girl’s shoulder. She stopped to blink and look towards who the hand was attached. The owner was Lara, looking as if she could sleep for a week. Perhaps she would, if given a chance. Still, she smiled back at Ryne’s confused expression before turning to Thancred with a resolute proclamation. “Actually, Roger and I have plans for Ryne first.”

“You do?” “We do?”

Both Roger and Thancred spoke at the same time, with much the same amount of confusion. The young man clearly hadn’t been paying attention--he was just as tired as his sister, and the sudden talk of plans had left him high and dry. Or so Y’shtola could tell just from watching his expressions change. 

From the corner of her eye, she could see the Leveilleur twins and Urianger give each other equally perplexed expressions. G’raha Tia’s ears had lifted up and his head tilted in curiosity. A curious thing, to see his full expression. She made a mental note about it before tuning back into what was happening. 

Lara, thankfully, was not so tired as to be impatient with her brother. “Remember the other day when we made plans for a day of just us younger folk?”

Roger still had a blank expression.

“Where we wanted to invite Ryne, Alphie and Ali over to our apartment after...?”

It took a few more seconds than it probably should have, but he eventually snapped out of his fugue state. “OH! THOSE PLANS!” His voice echoed around them as he clamped his mouth shut with his hands. A scarlet blush covered his entire face and Y’shtola could help the chuckle bubbling in her chest. The nicknames and the reaction was just too adorable. She managed to cover her mouth with a hand just in time.

Alisaie was the first to respond. “You seriously had to wait until just after nearly dying for the umpteenth time to invite us over to your place?” Her words and tone were harsh, but the quickly growing smile on her face betrayed how pleased she was at the prospect. “You’re not even going to sleep first?”

“To be clear,” Lara held up a finger with the hand not currently on the utterly shocked Ryne’s shoulder. “This invitation is for at least the day after tomorrow. When I lay down in my bed later I’m not getting up for a whole day.” 

“Hah, I’m already pretty much asleep…” Roger commiserated. 

“So.” She turned her attention back to Ryne. “I know you want to explore what’s out in the rest of the world, but I would like to officially invite you to join Alphinaud, Alisaie, Roger and I on a day of nothing in particular but being friends, followed by a sleepover at our apartment. Want to come?” 

“When did this turn into a sleepover?” Alisaie mock protested.

Alphinaud was mumbling to himself. A quick readjustment of one of her ears helped Y’shtola hear the quiet words, “I don’t think I’ve ever been invited to a sleepover…” 

Ryne’s entire face, along with some of her neck and shoulders, went about as red as her hair. Her voice was about as quiet as when Y’shtola first knew her as Minfilia. “I...um…”

Seeing the girl’s distress, Lara let go of her shoulder and lifted her arms in panicked surrender. “Whoa wait, you don’t need to--that is…” Her eyes darted around, not meeting Ryne’s. “You don’t need to answer right now! I don’t even know when we’ll get to it! Don’t feel obligated to say yes if you don’t want to go!” Her words were turning jumbled and rambly. The tiredness did not help on top of Lara’s natural way of showing nervousness.

“I thinketh that what young Lara means to say is that thine invitation is open regardless of thine answer.” Urianger smoothly inserted his conclusion as the ramble was becoming too high pitched for even Y’shtola to hear. Lara shut her mouth and nodded quickly. “She only wishes to inform that thine company would be most appreciated whilst also enjoying the company of the Leveilleur twins.”

“Wh-what he said. Sort of.” Lara mumbled.

“And perhaps it would be best to ask and answer when all have been well rested.” Y’shtola announced, giving a significant look to Thancred. He at least had the wherewithal to narrow his eyes back at her. “Not to sound like a mother hen, but it’s well past time for all of you to sleep.” she shooed the children off in the direction of the apartments. “Let’s worry about all of this later.”

G’raha Tia cleared his throat, having spent the past conversation nervously running his hands up and down his forearms. “Fully agreed.” He gave a timid smile. The friendliness he was trying to portray was offset by how nearly flat his ears were on top of his head. “Though when plans of any sort have been finalized, I will be full glad to offer any assistance or supplies that the Crystarium can spare.” 

“The offer is seconded.” Y’shtola used her Master Matoya voice to make her point. Only the Leveilleur twins seemed to have been listening. It was only a little disappointing. 

“W-we should, probably go. Sleep that is.” Lara still wasn’t looking in Ryne’s direction. “We’ll let you know when the sleepover is happening. C’mon, Roger.” She turned and grabbed her brother with one arm. He was so tired that protesting was out of the question.

“We should be heading off ourselves.” Alphinaud yawned. Alisaie rubbed at an eye and nodded sleepily.

“I shall accompany thee.” Urianger volunteered and followed once the twins had set off for their own sleeping quarters.

Thancred waited until Ryne had recovered before gently saying, “Let’s sleep on that, eh? Give yourself some time to think about what you wish to do.”

“Okay…” She mumbled. Satisfied, he walked ahead while the girl kept a somewhat slower pace. It looked as if she had been handled an overly difficult puzzle to work through. Y’shtola hoped that the rest would help her.

Then it was herself and the Crystal Exarch. His ears were still fairly flat, but they lifted a little as he smiled at her. “I suppose I should bid you goodnight, Y’shtola.”

Instead of returning the farewell, she responded, “You’re no longer obligated to keep the Warriors of Darkness at arm’s length anymore, you know.”

His ears rose as high as they could before falling back even flatter than before. G’raha Tia clutched his staff closer to him, as if anticipating an attack. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.” The lie was as obvious as the white in his red hair or the nose on his face. She kept her eye roll to herself. 

“If that’s what you wish to tell yourself, then fine. Just replay this scene in your memory when you try to put Roger and Lara on your high pedestal again.” She turned a heel towards the aetheryte. “Blessed night, Exarch.”

She didn’t have to look to know that he was staring at her until the light of the crystal carried her off back to Slitherbough.

-----

Y’shtola didn’t hear much about the slumber party until a while afterword. All of the participants had kept most of the details close to their chest. She didn’t blame them. The whole point of the endeavor was to spend time away from the adults, and divulging would have been against the point.

Still, she managed to glean some information. 

Ryne had decided to join. Her reaction had come from being overwhelmed by both the trip that Thancred had suggested and Lara’s invitation. It made sense. The poor girl had been raised as a weapon and a tool. Family and friends hadn’t been a part of her life until very recently. Having a choice between one or the other? Utterly mind-boggling. Thankfully (and wisely) Thancred had postponed their plans to travel past the Flood of Light til after the slumber party.

Lara had insisted that it was to be a casual event, and so made certain that armor and weapons were put away the entire time. When Ryne had brought up that she only had the one kind of dress to her name (she had several copies in case of damage), apparently Lara had balked and then let the girl have a set of her own clothes that she hardly wore anymore. Y’shtola, under the guise of needing to secure supplies from the Crystarium, had even witnessed the girl wearing it. If one wasn’t aware of Ryne’s status as the Oracle of Light, they would know it instantly from how much joy she was radiating at that moment.

More details had yet to be uncovered by her, but the next day after the slumber party all five of the young people sported changed hairstyles that went back to normal far too soon for Y’shtola’s liking. 

Other than the obvious moral increase in the young ones, a secondary positive effect happened thanks to that night. After having the Scions meet up with the Exarch for a standard extolling of information, he asked Roger and Lara to stay behind. Y’shtola wasn’t so untactful to stay behind and listen...but if she lingered but a moment as the door shut behind her and so happen to overhear G’raha Tia start to apologise to the both of them, then it was a happy coincidence that such a thing had occurred.

[cronquette]

:four: 

Disclaimers:

-Dedicated to Julia

-I do not own any of the Naruto franchise, I’m just making my SasuSaku dreams come to life.

-More personal notes will be situated at the end of the chapter

Enjoy!

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

“Some beautiful paths can't be discovered without getting lost.”

― Erol Ozan

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

The dewy grass left trails of freshness that wafted towards her nose, for it was sunrise when she had approached the village. It was massive, buildings wrung with wood and stoned grounds, stalls brimmed with fresh, rosy apples or exotic, blooming flowers flung themselves at her every second, catching her cocooned curiosity quickly. Her dress was modestly masked with a cloak, in case the spring cold would make itself known once more, and torment her small being with its ever freezing bite.

Her footfalls scraped slowly as she wandered through the streets, not paying heed to much of the crowds or clamour for she wanted to check her surroundings at the very least; it was not as if she had anything physically to hide. Her most prominent feature that would glimmer daintily in the sunlight, her glowing pink tresses, were now concealed from prying eyes. And her jewel, the captivating viridescent rhinestone, was tucked away safely in her skirt pocket, where her hand had been tucked in, lightly grasping it for fear that it would suddenly disappear. The only thing that would hold people’s gaze would be her foaming green irises, but she had held her head away in her hood that it would be impossible to observe such globes with practically no sunlight to hover over them. They practically glimmered under the sun’s speculation.

Her strides were slow, and her chest heaved slowly. She took in her sights, savouring her surroundings as she walked further, and further, through the roads. Marketing was certainly a thing she’d caught on straight away, for there were a myriad of sellers, creating clamour for people to take a peep at the things they held in possession. Many were farmers, she took a guess, as they had all sorts of crops and vegetables, fruits and whatnots sitting in their respective baskets, just anxiously waiting to be eaten. Others seemed to have sewn fine clothing, or smooth, meticulously crafted pottery, lathered in clean coats of polish to finish them nicely and make them look quite presentable.

The domesticality was all new to her, a culture she wasn’t very familiar with. Living in a coven all her life, food supplies either discreetly and swiftly delivered or fetched as soon as possible. Residing secretly was something she was used to, the exception of the ritual she had just experienced, along with attending all the others. She wasn’t suited for such open marketing, which proved her uselessness currently all the more when she realised there was not one silver coin in her pocket. Even packed with all her clothes, food to suffice for just a few days, and scrolls to help her study, she wasn’t able to purchase one single thing. It was fruitless to whine and beg, she wouldn't succumb to such vulgarity. Her mentor taught her that, and even so, there was no way she would lower her position as a witch before those humans. 

Even so, she couldn’t help but smile. Ino would enjoy this, she knew. The outdoors was just so suited for an out-going, confident girl such as the said blonde, and it was unfortunate she wouldn’t be accompanying the pinkette. The sun would be much entertained playing with golden locks, and accentuating such crystal eyes.

A new start was certainly refreshing, and she had a tingling feeling that it would be quite soon that she would be reaching new horizons and milestones

::

Wherever Sasuke traversed, a cold, sinister aura always accompanied him, But his firmness wasn’t able to intimidate everyone, so to say. There were, however, many who greatly feared him and the power he held. Those were mostly outside the palace walls, though. Within the elegant patterned pillars and marbled flooring, there was nothing short of being annoyed by the Uchiha. His servants, the dainty things they were, served him rightfully, not complaining unless amongst the company of themselves, and he paid no heed otherwise.

Hearsay was something not really familiar within the castle walls.

However, in the court, it was more than likely to be the everyday news.

Sasuke took his place at the old oak table, sitting comfortably at the head, his eyes steely piercing through the silence of the room. To his right, sat stiffly none other than Hyuuga Hiashi, in all his glory, arms crossed low around the biceps, his mouth achieving such a downturn it surfaced a memory of his own father doing such imposed actions. It made his brows knit deeper, before cooly turning to face frontwards.

“I take it you’re all well,” his words meant nothing; it was just procedure to stall a little before heading to the main topic, he had to remind himself. He’d seen many of his ancestors do so before him, and he wanted nothing more than to place his feet in their steps. A cold stand of wind shook the omnipresent tension this room always carried when such meetings took place.

Silent nods prodded him to continue, and so the raven folded his hands, leaning his elbows pointed on the table as his palms stood in front of him. He sharply inhaled: this conference would last an hour (as always), and so bringing different subjects to light at the right time was always something laying dormant at the back of his mind. He decided to start with the one that probed the nightmares that shook the living daylights out of him.

“Witches. And Warlocks. Those creatures still hang free,” He licked his lips in such a tantalisingly slow way it made one gulp.

“Why?”

His Adam's apple bobbed as the last word came out. His voice was a dagger, slicing the peace of the government before him in one single blow.

“Pardon me, your majesty,”

It was one of the further participants at the table who spoke, nevertheless, his voice wrung firmly, and his eyes, though pale like milk, shone with tenacity that they were quite nice to be held in.

“Those creatures may be vulgar, but they hold some sort of intelligence, sire. They’re hard to catch, and they certainly do not want to be found. I suspect they dwell in an abandoned part of Konoha’s vast forests, but it would be a matter of searches to see. Alas, you and I both know these follow ups have been taken before, and everytime, the result has always been futile.”

“Do you suggest that we abandon our searches entirely, Neji?” he gritted out with venom spitting from his teeth.

“I do not suggest as such, my Lord. However, there is only so much you can do; you’re not yet King of this land, you are Crowned Prince. The level of your status has merely succeeded upwards. There are still elders who have more power over you,” he fussed haughty, for his own clan leader was one of the few. The temptation to stomp over to his chair and rip his throat with the Uchiha’s bare hands was so enticing, but he had self control. He knew it was not the time to play like animals.

But Neji was truly a jackass.

“Hyuuga,” the domineering, stygian orbed male nodded to Hiashi, receiving his stern attention. The silence between them spoke louder than anything, for the elder knew exactly what the prince desired. And although it was something that was made to sleep for the moment, everyone in that room wanted nothing more than those chakra-wielding things to die. A common trait shared by all the civilians and warriors. Those of flesh and bone.

“You ask me to send out troops to find passages to where they lay, Sasuke,” he bit out gruffly. He cleared his throat, almost as if to show he had still a sort of superiority towards him.

“I can do so, but the most I can send is two troops of twenty. It’s a fleeting risk, however, all the more scarce that they will have to split halves in order to scatter north, south, east and west,” he answered. Sasuke refused to release the relieving breath he was holding, and instead flared his nose, as if to contemplate the proposition. It wasn’t much: ten of their men each searching thousands of acres, How long it would take to know of their return infuriated him beyond measure, but then again, less members meant more freedom.

They could move better in less numbers, so that was something that he could hold himself onto. Apparently, it was enough to convince him.

“I’ll take that chance,” his voice was hoarse from not trying to rush his words, an attempt to not sound desperate, for even in a room full of eyes his pride was bound to be torn like a ravaging pack of lions.

A small nod from the Hyuuga was all that he needed to know. Another search was going to be sent.

“Is that all you want to discuss with us, my Lord?” the aforementioned narrowed his eyes at the man who spoke. The lackadaisical, smart annoyance had his arms crossed behind his head, leaning comfortably on the back of his chair as if he had a care in the world. It wouldn’t surprise him if he didn’t. The audacity of the Nara didn’t disturb the Uchiha as much as before, so it only gave him so much as a twitch to his left eye.

“No, but most of the topics I am to discuss aren’t as much of importance. Feel free to sleep through the rest of this conference,” he spoke the last sentence sarcastically.

“May I but in before I snore then, your Highness?” he sighed.

The dark haired male shrugged, as if to say do as you wish.

“Some girl entered the village today,” he chided, “strange gal. Doesn’t look like she’s from here. We ought to keep an eye on her.” he proceeded to yawn, and leant back further, he looked as if to fall off his chair.

“Her appearance, Nara?” the young Hyuuga male inquired.

From his observation, she wasn’t very memorable, having been concealed through a cloak. The only thing that caught his eye was her eyes: the bright, emerald orbs they were.

Interesting.

::

It didn’t take long for Sakura to tire herself out through gallivanting aimlessly, padding her way through stones and pebbles on the ground, the sky’s heat accentuating through every hour, and the board weighted pack on her shoulders smally growing heavier by the minute. She wiped the swelling beads of perspiration that scurried down her forehead with the back of her hand, and released a breath of exasperation.

This village was immense in land expanse, and she hadn’t even gotten through to the heart of it, the place that made her mind twist with fascination-- the palace itself. In all its splendour, the building stood proudly in the heat, almost glimmering with pride: she could see it. But it seemed today was not one of which she could journey so far. She’d seen carriages steadily rocking bye, the horses trotting with such elegance she was entranced so much she stopped just to see them going by.

Oh, what a place this was.

She’d brought with her many of the scrolls containing the recounts of some of her predecessors’ experience, those--of course-- who’d made it out alive, and she pondered whether her experience would be deemed just as exhilarating. Or, gruesome enough to know she’d be burnt alive at the stake. She really didn’t know.

She then had encountered a bakery, blooming with warmth and delicious treats stacked at the window sill, enticing all who laid eyes on them. The pinkette frowned in despair as she knew she would not be able to purchase such a delicacy. Her stomach even whined at how imbecilic she was for not even bringing any coins to spare.

As she was about to move along, a voice caught her attention.

“Excuse me Miss, I can’t help but see how you’re looking at the pastries in our shop. Would you like to buy something?”

Unlike the Haruno, this girl wasn’t wearing a dimple, and so her chestnut locks gleamed hazelnut-like as she made her way towards her. Said strands were neatly folded round the top of her head to create two buns, only a ragged fringe framing her face. She dressed simply, with very few (maybe two) rosy petticoats that rivaled Sakura’s own hair. Not that it mattered-- it wasn’t as if she could see it anyway. She wore a slightly darker shade for her bodice, the tone drifting to a crimson, and her flat stomacher was an off-white, almost cream colour. She was a civilian, no doubt, but she seemed more dressed up than what would be necessary.

“Your shop?”

“Ah, it does seem like I’m not best suited for the occasion in this,” she picked up the thick skirts as a way of gesturing to her outfit, “however my family does own the bakery. You’re not from here, are you? I’m Tenten, a pleasure to meet you!”

Her beam was so bright and fulfilling it made the rosette pop a grin as well, taking her hand and shaking it firmly.

“Sakura, nice to meet you too,” she smiled softly.

“And I would love to buy something from your shop, it’s just that I don’t have any money on me right now. I’m very gratified at the offer, though.”

The brunette shook her head with a laugh, before grabbing the Haruno’s wrist and practically dragging her into the store. They were instantly met with the cozy smell of bread and sweet aromas, and the warmth of ovens burning with fervour.

“Oh, har har! Since you’re new around here, I’ll let you have a pastry for free! Your choice: pick one and it’s on the house,” she gestured to the room. The room was tantalisingly dizzying her with spells of temptation, and this girl was a civilian!

The pinkette smiled weakly and bit out a childish, nervous giggle. Not eating for a while seemed to take a toll on her. 

“I couldn’t. Really, Tenten, I appreciate the offer, but I must get going-”

“But you’re new, Sakura! I bet you don’t even have a place to stay.” she wagged an accusatory finger at the aforementioned. The latter grew pale at the revelation, trying to scatter ideas through her head and pick out the most logical option. However, there was none. It really was inevitable. She didn’t know what to do or say, but opening and closing her mouth frantically in an attempt to let out words was an amusing sight to display.

“Aha!” The brunette smirked. She then proceeded to run behind a counter, and with a flimsy towel, she meticulously pulled out a small, hand-sized meat pie, with slow strings of steam wafting upwards. She pushed her hands towards the Haruno’s petite frame, and instantly caught a whiff. She swallowed, before acquiescing.

The inside of her mouth burst with flavour as she took a bite. Her tongue tingled as she chewed pensively, still captured in the eyes of a certain baker’s daughter.

“I-It’s good,” she commented.

She ended up eating another one after.

::

Shikamaru was always observant, his skills made prominent for the Uchiha’s gain, and although it was a trapping situation, he didn’t mind. His life always bore him no matter what he did, the most he spent doing was making out the shapes of clouds in his spare time. That, and help soothe the load of paperwork that had been flung on his shoulders.

As of this moment, the conference had come to a close, and he was free to roam as much as he desired. 

Instead, he sat at a small bar stall, a metal mug of beer filled to the brim with golden alcoholic liquid, topped off with frothy substances bursting atop. One pint of the drink, and above all, his tobacco pipe puffed with intoxicating reels of smoke, making the man beside him choke in disgust.

“God, Shikamaru, do you have to smoke that crap?! It stinks!”

He would have scoffed at the said Uzumaki, who vexibly stalked him to this den after claiming that he needed some sort of relief off of all his errands as ‘Teme’s Right-Hand man’, and wanted some company. He still had no clue how the blonde was able to get away with that filthy nickname. But it wasn’t his place to judge their relationship, as the topic itself was something so obscure it confused even the two men in the involved party. And the Nara really didn’t appreciate getting himself into puzzling situations that twisted his brain unless he was forced to, or it was a pastime he participated in.

“If you don’t like it, you can leave, Naruto.” he sighed, as he took a swig at the beer in front of him, gasping as the bitter drink swelled down his throat. It was a bitter-sweet feeling, but he was used to it. It burned, but he relished in the pain.

“No way! I’m staying, ‘ttebayo. Oi, bartender! I’d like a pint sized mug of whiskey if you will!” she exclaimed, slamming his fisted hand on the sticky countertop. No one made enough effort to properly clean the wooden table, but no one complained.

Shikamaru shook his head, punching the blonde’s bicep rather harshly:

“I’m not taking care of a drunk you.”

He swatted his hand in the air as if dismissing him lightly, his nose wrinkling in laughter. As his drink was carefully handed to him, he recklessly bumped it towards the beer on the counter, slightly tipping the liquids together in an attempt to make some sort of toast.

“I’ll be careful, promise.”

The Nara was tempted to mutter something along the lines of ‘tis what you said last time’, but he held his tongue and instead sucked in yet another breath of tobacco, his mind slightly clouding in a sort of dizzy utopia. He heard a breathy exhale from his left before a slightly slurred sentence arrived, leaving his brows furrowed in calculation.

“Hey, heard from Sasuke that there’s a new girl in town. Do you know where she is, now?”

“What, are you willing to scare yet another one of the female species that resides in Konoha?”

The Uzumaki sputtered, leaving a smirk to cross the brunet’s features.

“Go to hell, Shikamaru!”

“And no, I just wanna meet her.” he lipped, pouting like a child. He was obviously highly offended, and that added to the other man’s pride.

In the end the two downed their drinks forcefully, not wasting one drop and yet attempting hard to sustain themselves from succumbing to the drunkenness. However their walking patterns seemed quite unsturdy and Naruto was easily daydreaming, so it wasn’t a good sign. In the end, they tossed their cash to the bartender carelessly, and stumbled around the village in search of a certain lady.

::

They found her, and quite simply too. The Nara remembered she was last seen, and where he found her, at the bakery he most frequented, since their baked goods were better than the others, it was a good travelling pace of exercise, and it was conjoined with a neighbouring weaponry store next door which they also owned. So, easily, they found her, although that was just going to be a place of questioning her whereabouts.

The bell chimed as the wooden door opened.

“Tenten,” Shikamaru respectfully regarded, a clumsy Naruto staggering behind. The shop was warm and cozy, and instantly scents of sweet and savoury adorned his senses.

“Tenten! Nice to see ya, we were wondering if you’ve got any information about where the new girl is-”

The brunet stopped in confusion at the sudden halt of breath from the Uzumaki. Something that he didn’t do often. Something in his opinion that he should do often. But that wasn’t the point.

He found the blonde gaping ahead of him, all sense of inebriation perished as his eyes glistened with a look of familiarity at whatever was behind him. Instantly, he turned around.

A small girl sat at the furthest table, shoulders squared and eyes wide with the same look of intensity as the male beside him. Her mouth hung lowly, as she was blinking frantically, as if they were an illusion she was trying to escape from. Her rosy brows knitted as she tried to find the words to say, but the whole room rushed cold as the two apparently came to the same sort of conclusion of words.

“Sakura-chan?!”

“Naruto?!”

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

Hi! Merry Christmas, or whatever you celebrate around this time. Can you believe it? 2020 is finally over, my God. My friends and I are deciding to go on a zoom call and play rick astley’s never gonna give you up as the end credits of this year. Seriously, it all goes downhill from here fnhdbkjdf. One of my friends is already stomping on 2021, don’t get me started lol.

I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Please comment/review, as I really like to know that people still read my story, especially on ffnet and ao3. To those who have done so before, thank you so much! Every comment/review makes my entire day.

since my beta reader had something come up, until you read this, Julia! XD

Yours truly,

-Avis

[tanoraqui]

ok my last review of my own SPN fic from the early 2010s gets its own post bc the other two were getting long and honestly this was more Good Omens fic than anything. Literally I lost steam on it when faced with the prospect of writing Supernatural characters other than Crowley (the fic, of course, being centered around the idea that What if That Was Proper, GO Crowley, and if so, How).

Once More Unto the Breach proposes that, shortly after the events of Good Omens, Aziraphale was yanked back to Heaven and tortured for a while until he, ah, saw the light again (with input of later seasons, I suppose I’d include Naomi in this somewhere), and Crowley was yanked back to Hell where he was tortured...and just kinda. Tortured. A lot. And had his grace stripped out, this one of the last of the angels who’d followed Lucifer in his fall (and idea SPN never got into but hella could’ve tbh; it fucks). And then, now that he was basically a normal mortal, for some reason they dropped him back in the timestream in like 1500s? Scotland with no memory, planning to let him lead a normal human life and then SURPRISE you’re back in Hell! Bitch! Suffer! 

Except instead of leading a normal human life, he (per canon spn) sold his soul to a crossroads demon for a bigger dick, and then, uhhhh, paperwork got lost and he just kinda ended up in the shuffle as a normal demon working his way up through the ranks, eventually becoming the SPN!Crowley we know? Aziraphale, meanwhile, has been sent out again to participate in the newly destined Apocalypse, Michael vs. Lucifer - ineffable!

And then, ofc, they meet a time or two...mostly very awkward and Aziraphale is like, “he’s superficially familiar but no, it’s obviously not My Crowley - who was evil and lied to me, ofc”, and Crowley is like, “what a weirdo.”

The Apocalypse fails to happen again. Aziraphale attempts to quietly duck out of Heavenly duties and resume his bookstore in London. Ch.2 of this fic - which I wrote! - is a pretty solid fic all on its own, of alternatingly Castiel’s and Raphael’s side showing up and trying to persuade him to join their team, and Aziraphale trying very hard to politely send them away before eventually snapping and joining Castiel. In the middle of a fight in a random heaven that happens to be an early 19th century British Navy ship in the height of a storm, because fanfiction is for SELF-INDULGENCE and nothing else.

Actually, u know what, just

“Is that so,” Ezekiel asked softly, playing with his blades. He had three now, his own and Castiel’s. “And how, exactly, are you going to stop me?

Aziraphale made up his mind. “He’s not,” said the bookseller, stepping between them and spreading his wings like a shield in front of the wounded rebel. “I will.”

“What are you doing?” hissed Castiel. “You do not need to die!”

Ezekiel laughed. “You?” He stepped back mockingly, and spread his arms in challenge. “Little brother, you are even lower class than the pathetic excuse for an angel cowering behind you. Who are you to challenge I, Ezekiel, Weapons Master of the Heavenly Host?”

Aziraphale stood up straight, spreading his wings wider. Lightning flashed for the first time in the tempestuous sky above, illuminating their feathery expanse.

“I am Aziraphale,” he stated, “Guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden.” The scabbard appeared at his side like it always did, like it hadn’t done for over 6000 years. He reached down and drew the sword, hilt conforming perfectly to his grip. The blade caught fire instantly, and any raindrop that came near evaporated to steam before it touched the flame. “And I wield the Sword of War.”

Ezekiel’s step backwards was genuine this time, as was the fear in his voice.

“The Sword is a Weapon of Heaven, and belongs to Raphael!” he managed.

“I’m afraid it doesn’t,” Aziraphale said gently. It was an elegant sword, long and thin and rapier-like, and very clearly meant to kill. “This is the blade given to my hand by Michael, Commander of the Heavenly Host, when we all trained together as brothers. Before all the senseless bureaucracy took hold. From me, it passed to the human Eve, and there it became a Symbol to the humans, of War. It’s their Weapon, really, so I will use it on their behalf. If Raphael considers that ‘rebellion’, then so be it.”

ANYWAY. So, Aziraphale joins Cas’s rebellion and mostly starts sorting records in the very neglected Library of Heaven that contains a book recounting the life of every single person ever, bc that’s my idea of heaven and I’m right. But also he needs to rescue the nice young rebel angel whose capture kinda prompted him into this decision in the first place, and that means breaking into the really serious heavenly prison area...so he goes to the new King of Hell and bargains to borrow one of the lost Treasures of Heaven (remember those, from s6?) that Crowley has ended up with. They agree: Aziraphale can have the Crown of Pollution thing for 24 Earth hours, and in return, at a time of his choosing, Crowley will get a treasure of Heaven to which Aziraphale has access for 24 hours.

Upon getting the Crown back, Crowley informs him that the treasure he’d like is...Aziraphale, actually. The Sword of War, if he wants to be fussy, and Aziraphale is welcome to come along with it! After all, surely a warrior of Heaven is as valuable as an artifact. “You want me to...smite your political enemies?” Aziraphale says slowly. “Sure,” says Crowley. “Also, come to tea for 10 minutes once a week or so and tell me hte latest news from your little war. I never said the 24 hours had to be consecutive.”

Obviously Aziraphale is Pissed AF, but he’s also stuck, and afraid to tell anyone that he’s been Dealing with a demon. So he goes once a week to tea, and gives absolutely monosyllabic answers full of ice...

Crowley fills some of the silence by starting t just bitch about work...and offers booze every time...once, after a hard battle, Aziraphale accepts...he offers bitchy comments about the demons Crowley complains about...don’t do this, Aziraphale tells himself firmly; it’s not YOUR demon, and anyway that was still probably a lie, and even if it wasn’t (it definitely wasn’t) you can’t find him; he’s probably dead...and this one’s MUCH trickier... There’s an assassination attempt on Crowley in which Aziraphale throws his sword across the room to him and it catches fire just as it does for Aziraphale, just as it doesn’t do for anyone else...

And that’s kinda where I stopped writing, bc I kept just...not wanting to write scenes with actual SPN characters, even though I really did need to involve Castiel, if I wanted him and Aziraphale to have a, “wait, you’re working with Crowley?” “Wait, YOU’RE working with Crowley?!”

I don’t really know how the rest of all that was supposed to go, with Purgatory and the Leviathans and everything. Cas WAS definitely having Aziraphale do research, while he alphabetized the Library, into Purgatory, and that’s a whole additional level of “wow I thought you were legit but Apparently I’m Disappointed Again.” Aziraphale is angry at both Crowley and Cas, but *checks outline* when Cas absorbs all the souls and goes nuts, Crowley runs, worried, to tell Aziraphale. Aziraphale tries to confront/calm Cas, and gets the dubious honor of being the first person “spared” by the new god.

Somewhere in here, logically, Aziraphale must tell SPN!Crowley about GO!Crowley, and Crowley’s like, “weird. I mean, I guess I’ve had dreams now and then of flying or being a snake or burning-but-in-a-good-way, but doesn’t everyone?” (I didn’t write this down anywhere but, like...it must happen.)

Somehow (Library of Heaven? Someone finally found the lost paperwork in Hell?) Aziraphale and Crowley find out that GO!Crowley’s (OG Crowley’s!) lost Grace is in, where else, Hyde Park, turned into, what else, an apple tree. If he is proper Crowley, it should woosh back into him when he touches the tree...

Aziraphale watched it breathless anticipation (not that he usually breathed anyway) as Crowley rested his hand on the bark of the tree. 

Nothing happened. 

“Well, that was a bit of a disappointment,” said Crowley. He reached up and carelessly grabbed an apple, brought it down and bit into it.

Everything exploded in the bright light of Grace.

In the planning document, I’ve written that Crowley goes back to Hell to try to wrangle it and Aziraphale ditto Heaven, which I guess...is reasonable. Good Omens ends with them both happily fucking off to stay on Earth and that’s the happy ending, but here, early SPN s7 with Cas having just fucked off into a lake and exploded with Leviathans, both Heaven and Hell could really use a sensible guiding hand, and unlike every other time (ie, all the time) that’s true, there’s a genuine opportunity for someone to step in and have influence. So...

Verdict: 11/10 this fic still SLAPS; thank you for coming on this exciting journey of nostalgia with me.

[ahh-fxck]

Warrior’s Blues Chapter 10: Glass Windows

The next chapter has finally arrived, lovelies! In this chapter, a lot is revealed but only a little bit happens. Geralt has been disassociating, and he is slowly coming up for air. Certain truths are revealed about him, his family, and his past. We also meet Eskel for the first time. WARNING: Mildly graphic homophobia, child abuse, and homophobic child abuse.

Huge, huge, enormous thank you to @stressedspidergirlsfandomblog​ who is the co creator and beta of this fic. You keep this fic on the rails, friendo, I adore you for it. 

Please let me know if you’d like to be (un)tagged from the tag list!

@astouract​ @ladyknight-keladry​ @yes-im-the-violin-girl​ @smolpoe​

Rating: E

 Geralt hits the blue mat with a violent thud, a whuff of air escaping his lungs. Yennefer stands over him triumphantly with her violet eyes glittering. He blinks, shaking off his disorientation and regaining his bearings. Out of the corner of his eye he watches her legs, using his vantage point to conceal his scrutiny as he carefully calculates. Then, with a sudden movement, he grabs at the back of her calf. She slips out of the way and kicks him in the ribs as she goes by, just hard enough to be felt. Grunting, he rolls away from the kick. Then he jumps to his feet and begins to playfully stalk her again.

 The hotel’s gym is open 24 hours, and at this time of night it is deserted. As they circle on the blue mat in the back of the room it is possible to see treadmills, weights, bikes, and a large red exercise ball arranged neatly nearby.

 Luckily, the laundry room had been deserted as well. A little earlier, a puppy fight had broken out between Geralt and Yennefer up in their hotel room. After hitting a lamp, they had decided to be proper adults and go down to the gym to settle the score. On their way, they had tossed his new clothes into the washer.

 Counting the last time Geralt had hit the mat, Yennefer had taken him down four times to his one, and he was finally starting to break a sweat in the air-conditioned room.

 “Getting slow, old man!” Yennefer crows, dodging in towards him. He grabs the back of her neck and tries to force her down, but she brings up her arm and blocks his other hand from getting a grip, careful to be gentle with his healing bones. Then she shoves into him, setting her feet rock-solid into the floor. While Yennefer is tiny compared to Geralt, her body is strong and sure, and she knows how to use it.

 Geralt growls and shoves harder, making the mistake of leaning just too far off of his center of gravity. Yennefer suddenly drops, diving up under his arm and spinning behind him. This time he manages to avoid her grab for his neck by just a hair, twisting away and righting himself. Then, as she is recovering her balance, he ducks down. Using his long arms to his advantage, he makes a quick grab. Geralt lands a grip on her heel as Yennefer dodges away, and this time he yanks her leg up and brings her crashing down to the mat.

 “You’re older than me.” He points out with a wicked grin, ducking out of the way as her other foot comes flying at his head. She uses the shift in his gravity to slip away from him, kicking off of the arm holding her and springing upright. He bounces upright with her, just a moment too slow to get his arms in place.

 “Yes, but I have clearly been putting in more hours on the mat,” she retorts primly, then lands a spinning kick high on his chest that knocks the breath out of him. “Amazing what exercise will do. I’ve been up and moving instead of laying around getting head.”  

 Geralt grunts at the impact, staggers, shakes it off, and squares up with her. “You wouldn’t let someone suck your dick even if you had one, Yen,” he observes with a teasing smirk, circling her again.

 “I could if I wanted to,” Yennefer replies archly, feinting towards him and then ducking the other way, trying to land a playful blow on his ribs. Geralt swiftly dodges, light on his feet, and grabs her hand. With a smart yank he pulls her off balance and steps behind her. With his arm wrapped around her waist he bears her carefully but quickly to the floor, pinning her beneath his bulk. She squirms, cursing.

 “Had enough?” He grins crookedly against her ear.

 “You wish,” she pants, worming her legs free. She twists suddenly and slips out from under him, rolling rapidly away out of his reach. Growling, Geralt follows her up. Yennefer grins wildly and taunts him, beckoning ‘come at me’, and he’s just annoyed enough to fall for it.

 When he grabs for her she tries to pull him off balance again, but this time he’s ready. He drops his center of gravity low and plants himself in a solid stance, and Yennefer suddenly feels like she’s trying to uproot a big oak tree. As she loses her own center for just a fraction of a second, Geralt seizes his moment. Yanking his arm back with her still attached, he puts his hand on the back of her neck and swiftly steps around her, bearing her to the ground again. Yennefer goes down with a grunt and immediately elbows his ribs.

 “Wanker!” She laughs breathlessly.

 “Every night before bed.” Geralt snarks, eliciting a cry of mock disgust from Yennefer.

 “Oh gross! I don’t want to hear about your dick!”

 “You’re the one who brought it up,” he chuckles wickedly, dodging out of the way of another flying elbow. Then he very carefully lets Yennefer up, springing back out of her reach. As she gets back to her feet, laughing, Geralt takes a quick moment to wipe the sweat off of his face with his shirt. His hand aches from the exertion, but he and Yen have been careful with it and it’s still in good shape.

 Yennefer looks at the clock, then back at him. “Lucky for you, it looks like your utter destruction is going to have to wait until after the laundry is changed over.” She walks across the room to towel herself down. “Do you remember where it is from here?”

 “I’ve got it,” Geralt grunts dismissively. “Back in a minute.” She nods and grabs her water bottle as he turns away. He pads quietly over to his new athletic shoes, examining them. They’re similar to what he used during physical training exercises while still enlisted, and they’re easy enough to get on, but he hates the fact that they’re not broken in yet. He flexes his feet as he stands, a stormy expression on his face. The shoes feel like his life now; stiff, uncomfortable, and new.

 He walks out into the hallway towards the laundry room, swiping up his water bottle and wallet on the way out. The fluorescent lights of this floor buzz and flicker overhead. They are grindingly loud to his senses, where other people might barely notice them. The bottle is cold and damp in his hands, and the hallway itself is sparse, a long stretch of cream wallpaper and grey triangle patterned carpet. Geralt pauses at a junction, scanning, and spots the sign for the laundry room. Turning the corner, he heads in that direction.

 His body crawls with uneasy energy as he walks, making him feel restless and uncomfortable. The last day or so that he’d spent with Yennefer had been good, grounding. He’d had a nice breakfast with her, and she had filled him in on the rest of the conversation she’d had with Jaskier. When they had come back to the hotel they’d had a long nap curled together, and a quiet dinner in the hotel room. After that he’d tried to go back to bed, his body feeling heavy and emotionally depleted.

 Yennefer hadn’t been impressed. They hadn’t loved each other for two decades for nothing, and she could spot a depression nap a mile away. Instead of letting him sink into it, she had followed him into the bed. There she had sat on him, pulling at his face and poking him in ticklish spots until he’d finally broken into an exasperated growl and tackled her to get her off of him. They had rolled around the room like puppies until they bumped into the lamp, almost knocking it over. At that point, by mutual agreement, they had moved downstairs to the gym.

 It had been nice to spar with Yennefer. They had started doing hand to hand combat training together when they were working in the Middle East, and had continued even after Ciri was born. They made sure during Geralt’s short visits home to spend a little time together on the mat. It had been one of the constants in his life.

 Normally, he loved training with his wife. Right now he half-hated it though. The rush and flow of their gentle, playful combat was so familiar and safe that it was dragging him out of his protective fog. Reality felt harsh by comparison. The last few weeks had felt like a distantly remembered dream, like Geralt had been there but hadn’t really been participating in it. Now, as he padded up the hallway, the dam cracked. Memories began trickling in, then they rose in a great flood and swept him away.

 When the military police had come for Geralt in his office, it had been a surprise. Five men had come into the room, one of whom had announced he was under arrest. Geralt remembers feeling like he’d been dropped into the cold deep of an ocean, his body going numb with creeping shock. By the time that he’d walked out of his office surrounded on all sides, his memory was already starting to go fuzzy. The intervening days were a blur.

 Three quiet days in a cell, a court martial held swiftly on the third day, and he had been on a plane back to Fort Morhen by around dawn. Geralt hadn’t spoken a word in his own defense. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. He’d already broken everything. Somewhere on the flight back to the States he had realized there was no way he could bring himself to call Yennefer or Coën, and had started slipping into a black despair.

 On the plane he had slept, trying to avoid overhearing the voices of the soldiers around him. The energy around him had been ugly, but no one had touched him. When he’d gotten into his car, there was another long, smeary blank where memory should be. There was the park with the children dressed in fairy wings, the parade… Jaskier.

 That part was like a bright smudge of light across the darkness. Kind eyes, tender hands, and beautiful long limbs. Food. Gentleness. The bar too, wood and darkness and rainbow fairy lights splashed across a backdrop of fuzzy emptiness. Geralt remembered feeling weirdly safe, installed behind the bar. Like he’d fit in someplace, for just a minute, for the first time in his life. It made him ache, because it was something he’d never felt before. He was afraid of it. He longed for more of it.

 Being surrounded by queers had been the best and worst part of the whole experience, what little of it Geralt could remember. His whole life had been consumed in one long effort to blend in. Vesemir had been obsessed with his performance as a soldier, tying it closely to his performance as a son. The consequences for failing to please him had always been harsh.

 Geralt had started attending military schools at twelve. There had been other gay boys in school, and later, other men who had served alongside him in the service, most of them hiding in the same misery that he was. It had been desperately isolating, living alongside other men like himself but unable to connect. They’d always felt like they were on the other side of a glass window, like they were in some other world he wasn’t meant to touch. The burning loneliness had caused him to withdraw, but it had never soured him or made him hateful. Deep down, he had a soft spot for queer people and had always looked out for them as best he could.

 Inside the bar, Geralt still felt like he was on the other side of a glass window, but what he was seeing was finally  good. Men in love taking their ease. Women flirting, touching each other’s hands over baskets of fries. Not to mention that he’d seen more genders in one room that night than he’d ever seen in one place.

 Geralt wakes from his reverie for long enough to duck into the laundry room, squinting under the gnawing buzz of the light overhead. This one is flickering badly now. It hadn’t been when he and Yennefer were in earlier, but now it is causing the whole room to dance unpleasantly. His nerves dance with it, jangling and rattling. Geralt grits his teeth and gets the quarters from the machine, switches his laundry over, and ducks back out into the hallway. As Geralt heads back towards the gym, he becomes lost in thought again.

 It was hard to square the pain and self-loathing inside of him with the peace he felt around the queers he’d been serving. The other queers that he’d been serving, if he was going to be honest. And the honesty burned like ice under his skin, making even his bones ache. He twisted between the contradictory feelings, unable to face them.

 Vesemir had frequently told him that adopting him was the worst mistake he’d ever made, a worthless investment and a failure. And when another boy had been caught kissing Geralt at school at around eleven, Vesemir had thrashed Geralt within an inch of his life. He had used a belt, whaling him with the buckled end and leaving huge welts and gashes. Geralt had been forced to sleep on his stomach for weeks, his back covered in sticky wads of gauze that Vesemir had placed. It hadn’t been the first beating Geralt had received, nor was it the last, but it was certainly the worst. Then, the long list of shortcomings gained another epithet: faggot.

 After that, Geralt had been terrified. Everywhere he turned there was some kind of reminder that he was in danger, from the casual slurs thrown around the military bases to the harassment, beating, and rape of the more incautious (or merely unlucky) men around him. The world he lived in had a rapacious cruel streak, and he would have done almost anything to avoid bringing it down on himself.  

 When Geralt had turned 24, homosexuality had finally been removed from the DSM in the United States. He had just been starting his career when it was removed. That meant that he’d grown up in a world that looked on people like him like they were ill at best, less than human at worst. He rarely heard gay men spoken of in anything but the harshest of terms, and had internalized the urgent need to hide in order to survive.

 It had meant lying to everyone, including himself. When a boy managed to smuggle a titty magazine or postcard into the middle school barracks, Geralt had learned to ape the sweaty-palmed admiration for the images. In high school, he had learned how to brag just enough to keep the other boys out of his hair.

 In college, Geralt had learned to attend at least a few of the weekend parties every year. Learned how to allow himself to be seen with the women who flirted with him, let them crawl into his lap. If he drank enough he could push aside his indifference when they kissed him, and if he drank more, when one of them would pull him into a broom closet or a quiet bedroom for a blow job, he could close his eyes and let it happen. He’d even learned, as insistent women had drawn his hands up under their skirts, to use his dexterous fingers to please them. It protected him. Kept him safe.  

 On the other hand, college had also been the first real crack in the armor he had built for himself. During his sophomore year, his boyhood friend Eskel had been assigned as his roommate. It had been the year their relationship changed.

 Eskel was the first person that had made friends with Geralt when he’d started attending military school in the United States at twelve. Geralt had been an awkward and quiet child when they’d first met. His pale coloring and foreign accent, together with his stiff demeanor when meeting new people, meant that he was ostracised from the start. Eskel hadn’t cared, though. He was easygoing where Geralt was taciturn, charming where Geralt was unintentionally rude, and he’d made friends with most of his yearmates within a fortnight of arriving at the school.

 The fact that Geralt was standoffish merely sparked Eskel’s interest, and he’d made it a special point to try and charm him. The odd, surly boy was clearly intelligent, and had a knack of being well-liked by the teachers, although Eskel could never quite figure out how he did it. Whenever Eskel made friendly advances though, bounding across the quad to try and start a conversation or genially cornering him in between classes, Geralt had shut him down.

 It had taken Eskel six months to figure out that all he needed to do to get Geralt’s full attention was ask for help. Well, to be precise, he had to be blatantly wrong about something and      then     ask for his help. The first time it had happened, Eskel had accidentally made an incorrect assertion in class right before the bell rang. Behind him and off to his right he’d heard a scoff, and turned to see Geralt scowling incredulously at him.

 Much to Eskel’s surprise, the boy had stalked out of the classroom after him. Geralt had cornered him to tell him      exactly     how wrong he was, in precise and categorical detail. Flustered, Eskel had said, “If you’re such an expert, then why don’t you help me study?”

 The look on Geralt’s face had been priceless. He was so taken aback that he forgot to be angry for a moment, and then his eyes lit up. Eskel found himself getting a full run down on the subject immediately, right there in the hallway. It had been like drinking from a firehose, he’d later told Geralt, but he hadn’t cared, because it was so gratifying to see Geralt finally engage with him.

 Eskel would say that the friendship started right there, but Geralt saw it a little differently. To his eyes, Eskel, who had seemed a boy of normal intelligence, suddenly became very stupid. It had exasperated Geralt to no end, but he’d set to work helping the other boy out. No matter how many lectures he gave him though, or how detailed they were, Eskel always seemed to find another dumb question to ask. It was genuinely astonishing.

 It had taken him months to start trusting the other boy enough to actually warm up to him. By that point Eskel had taken a genuine liking to Geralt, and soon they were fast friends. Eskel made it a point to help Geralt socialize with the other boys, which made Geralt’s life quite a bit easier. In turn, Geralt had been happy to continue helping Eskel study.

 They’d been lucky enough to attend the same high school. By then, they were often mistaken for brothers. It hadn’t hurt that they looked so similar, with their rangy, broad-shouldered frames and golden eyes. Eskel’s hair was dark where Geralt’s was ice blond, but they had the same cupid’s bow lip and high cheekbones, and they were almost always seen together when they had a moment to spare. Eskel’s project of helping Geralt be more sociable had more or less been a success, but Geralt’s attempts to enlighten Eskel were met with a continued charade of stupidity and ignorance.  

 When they had graduated high school, they’d applied to the same set of military colleges. Through a stroke of luck, they’d both been accepted into one of the premier colleges in the nation. The first year split them apart, and Geralt had rarely felt lonelier in his entire life. They saw each other in the halls, and Geralt sometimes was able to make time to help Eskel study, but there was a rift between them that grew as each busy month passed.

 The following year when they’d been assigned as roommates, Geralt hadn’t known how to feel about it at first. The loss of contact the previous year left him feeling awkward around his best friend, not quite able to trust the idea of opening back up to him. But Eskel, ever good-natured, had won him back over in a matter of weeks. It was a comfort to have someone nearby in the middle of the night when nightmares struck, not to mention a co-conspirator in mischief.

 One night, Eskel had managed to smuggle in a truly generous portion of hooch. They had knocked it back quickly to hide the evidence. Then they discreetly cleaned the vessel and snuck it back into its proper place. That having been accomplished and feeling very clever indeed, they had collapsed together in a fit of giggles on the bottom bunk. Eskel’s bunk at the top of the ladder felt like it might as well have been on the moon.

 They’d melted into a puddle on the bed together and had one of those long, rambling conversations that you can only have when you’re young and drunk and it’s the middle of the night. Eventually the topic had turned to sex. Eskel, who had a great deal more freedom at home on holidays, had already taken lovers by the time he was sixteen years old. He’d had the time and safety to discover that he was bisexual, and he’d been more than happy to tell Geralt about his exploits with people of both sexes. Normally Geralt at least tried to make up stories of his own, fictional women indistinguishable from the brags of the other young men his age. That night he was so silent that Eskel, even though he was blind drunk, had taken notice.

 It had piqued his curiosity, and Geralt for once was too hammered to lie about his love life, at least insofar as women were concerned. It turned out that he hadn’t ever properly made out with a girl, much less gone any further. As to his feelings about men, he was silent.

 The idea that Geralt had survived to the age of 19 without ever making out with someone had blown Eskel’s mind. He’d known how few opportunities Geralt had to meet women in military school, but he hadn’t realized exactly how strict Vesemir was about Geralt making outings on his visits home until right then.

 Gallantly, he had offered to do the only thing a real friend would do in this situation, which was to kiss Geralt and correct that imbalance in his life. He wasn’t a girl, Eskel had explained earnestly to him, but at least Geralt could get some practice in. That way he wouldn’t be so hopeless when they finally attained off campus privileges next year, and the co-ed parties that entailed.

 At first, Eskel hadn’t understood the weird flash of pain in Geralt’s eyes. But his friend had tipped his chin up, inviting him in to brush lips, soft as a butterfly. That tiny touch had been like a spark to tinder, kindling a wildfire. Their tongues slid together, then their hands were fisting each other’s shirts, and within breathless moments they were grinding together like they’d die if they couldn’t get just a little closer to one another. Sloppy kisses with clashing teeth turned into a frantic flurry of discarded clothing, and they had tangled together on the floor amongst their pajamas to avoid the shrieking of bedsprings. They’d fucked against the cold linoleum breathlessly, mindlessly, cocks pressed together between their bodies as they writhed.

 Lying together on the sticky floor afterwards, sweaty and panting, Eskel had turned and blinked at Geralt. “You don’t like girls, do you.” It was a statement, not a question. Staring at the ceiling, sweat cooling on his chest, Geralt had shaken his head. Eskel had grunted, but he’d been content to leave it at that. Geralt was Geralt. Eskel didn’t mind keeping his secret.

 After that, their friendship had transformed. They had no romantic leanings towards one another, but they were young and hungry. They became lovers. Geralt had many memories of tangling together in the dark with Eskel; hungry, silent, frightened memories. Their encounters had slaked the sheer physical brunt of his loneliness and craving for touch, but they’d also left him feeling so much more isolated and lost. Eskel had other lovers, and was able to show his classmates pictures of his occasional girlfriends. Geralt was always afraid of discovery, though. Always alone.  

 When Geralt started the service alongside Eskel, he had become more discreet than when he was in college, but occasionally his longing would boil over. Geralt would find himself tangled with Eskel in deserted places, desperately seeking a moment of relief. There were other men around the bases too, sometimes. Rare sparks of heat hidden guiltily in back rooms and motel suites, the little joy they derived swamped by the fear of being caught.

 Then had come Yennefer. She had given him hope, for a while. He’d never been more attracted to a woman in his life. Part of him had hoped that he could redeem himself by falling in love with her. And in a way, he truly had. After their first drink together they had exchanged poetry, novels, long hours of discussion that led into a kind of emotional intimacy he’d never had before. Their relationship quickly became a deep source of strength and support for them both. They ate together, slept near one another when they could, and sparred like puppies. Sometimes, he was even able to convince himself that the surge of adrenaline from tangling with another warm body was desire.

 The magnetism between Geralt and Yennefer was intense. For both of them it had presented an opportunity to escape their identities, a chance to pretend at normalcy and hide from harassment. It was possible to maintain the illusion that they had a crush on one another, at least in the company of other people. Even in private, sometimes they pretended to each other, to themselves. Brief brushes of lips, sweet caressing hands on breasts, halfhearted fingers dipping into waistbands but never following through.

 They maintained the facade of attraction to one another for years, each in their own way wishing it was real. It had all shattered when they finally fucked. They had been laying around a hotel room in Tel Aviv during one of Geralt’s month-long periods of leave. Coën had gone out to find a lover, and as far as Geralt knew he’d been successful because it had been rolling around to 3 am and there was no sign of him. Yennefer had procured some surprisingly smooth arak, and together they had been steadily demolishing it for hours.

 Suddenly she had rolled over with a twinkle in her eye, and announced that she thought it was time for them to fuck. Everyone already thought they were doing it, she said, crawling up along his body. Why not see what all of the fuss was about? And Geralt had felt a rush of longing, and he smiled and pulled her close. He had tried, and his heart had been in it… But he had been unable to perform properly, despite rallying at the very end, and Yennefer had looked bored out of her mind the whole time. When they parted, they discovered that the condom had slipped off.

 That night, they cemented the suspicion that Yennefer was asexual. She’d never been more attracted to a man in her life, but nevertheless, fucking Geralt had left her as cold as all the others. In a way, it was a relief. There was no pretending anymore, not even for herself. It was also the night that Yennefer figured out that Geralt was gay. She’d had suspicions, but the utter despair he’d had on his face when he hadn’t been able to stay hard was telling. When she’d rolled over and locked eyes with him, asking him point blank, he hadn’t been able to answer her. The bleak, lonely expression he’d given her had been answer enough.

 Yennefer had laid at his side, replaying all of her memories of their life together back to herself. Suddenly, a lot of things that hadn’t quite fit snapped into focus. The way Geralt didn’t spent much time around other women, despite bragging about them like every other soldier she’d met in her fucking life. His absolute refusal to keep porn mags around,      unlike     basically every other soldier she’d ever met, Coën included. The amount of time he spent with Eskel… When she’d asked him about that, he’d turned bright red and rolled over, hiding his head under his pillow. Upon further interrogation, he’d finally admitted that they were lovers. More things clicked into place.

 Next week Yennefer had taught Geralt how to find a call boy safely. Seeing prostitutes was better than risking everything with his coworkers, the way she saw it. At first, she’d been there to escort him, to help keep him safe as he learned the ropes. Later, after Cirilla, he found them on his own. Yennefer’s skills as an investigative journalist had been invaluable, and Geralt was able to keep his affairs discreet.

 When he and Yennefer had realized she was pregnant, they both panicked. Neither of them was prepared in any way to be a parent. Yennefer had inherited a genetic condition from her mother that caused growths in her uterus- she had been told she’d never have a child. She had told Geralt about how, as a teenager, the pain had been so bad they’d nearly removed her uterus. She’d refused to let them do it. It was her choice, and she wasn’t about to let it be taken away from her.

 Geralt remembered sitting next to her staring at the positive pregnancy test as clear as day, as if it had just happened a moment ago. He had seen a look of crushing certainty cross Yennefer’s face that had frightened him to his marrow. He knew before she’d even said it that she couldn’t give this surprise child up. It didn’t matter how afraid Yennefer was of being a bad parent. It felt like the only chance that she would ever have, and she told him so. Deep in his bones, beneath the terrible fear of fucking up some helpless scrap of a being, Geralt had known it was his only chance, too.

 After some discussion, he and Yennefer had gotten married. It was a sensible choice, providing Yennefer with access to the benefits of being a military spouse, and Geralt with clear rights to see his daughter should something unexpected happen. The ceremony had been a simple one, held by a military chaplain. After that, hiding had been a great deal easier for both of them. Yennefer no longer felt the pressure to ‘find someone,’ as it were, and Geralt finally had an excuse as to why he wasn’t seeing other women. The marriage had protected them, concealed them both.

 Over the years the hiding had eaten at Geralt though. Worn him thin. And at the very end, he had started to get sloppy. Freezing when he should have dodged. Ducking out of cover too soon, or back into it too slow. Allowing Eskel to up the ante as they drowned in numbness, escalating because they were both desperate to feel anything, anything at all. Something was going to break, and eventually it had.

 Which led Geralt, in a circle, back here. To Rhode Island, to the hotel, to Jaskier and Yennefer and the rest of his small family waiting in London. To the raw light raking across the pain, kindness where there shouldn’t have been any, to hunger and craving and satiation. For the first time in his life he was free to want what he wanted, and it was terrifying.

 Jaskier had been like heat after a long trek in the deep cold, warming his bones. Kissing him had felt like dying a good death. Intimacy with him had been like bathing in light, radiant memories searing through the haze surrounding them. Spending quiet time in Jaskier’s company, eating, discussing meaningless things, had been full of peace, like Geralt’s feet were touching the earth for the first time in a life of freefall.  

 Even more disorienting was the fact that Yennefer had hunted Geralt down. He genuinely hadn’t believed Yennefer would come looking for him. He barely felt like he had a right to his family before he’d been discharged, and he couldn’t understand why they would still want him now. The money he’d been making was gone, he was a terrible father, and he’d brought danger and shame to their doorstep by being publicly outed as gay.

 The fact that Yennefer had spent weeks hunting for him in a foreign city spoke more than words ever could. The unwavering love that she’d shown when she found him had stricken him to the quick, something he had no armor for and no way of coping with. Yennefer didn’t care that he was gay. She didn’t care that he’d lost his job and couldn’t support her anymore. All she’d wanted was the same thing she’d wanted all along. To know that he was safe. To know that he was happy. She and Coën supported him in ways that he couldn’t even fathom, and they weren’t about to let his public outing destroy their family.

 In fact, if anything, Yennefer had been relieved. To her, it meant a chance to knit their family back together and connect Geralt to his daughter and brother. It had been a long time since he had spoken on the phone to either of them, but Yennefer had finally talked him into making a call with her tonight. The family were worried sick about him, and she’d convinced Geralt that hearing his voice would do them a world of good after the scare he’d given them.

 Reluctantly, he’d agreed. Yennefer had told Geralt she called Ciri every night at around 0300 (0800 in London) to greet her after breakfast. Coën had already informed Ciri that Geralt had been found. Tonight he was going to hear the voices of his brother and daughter for the first time in months. He isn’t sure he wants to. The guilt of that is the final straw that breaks his composure.

 A wave of overwhelming emotion crashes slowly down over Geralt, leaving him just enough time to get himself someplace safe to discharge the energy. He pushes blindly into the gym, downs his water bottle, and climbs onto a treadmill. Yennefer rises to greet him and he ignores her, keying the treadmill into motion with numb fingers. Then he ups the pace until he is running full-tilt, straining to keep himself in place.

 Yennefer’s face darkens with concern, and she approaches him slowly. She moves up to the side of the treadmill and examines Geralt’s face, his body. They are stiff, blank, a carefully controlled exterior of utter calm that belies the explosions happening underneath. With a grim look, she presses her lips together and nods, recognizing a meltdown in progress.

 His face has a peculiar way of turning off when he hits the point of meltdown, like a book being slammed shut. The first time it had happened, she hadn’t understood what she was seeing, but that had been years ago. Now, she can recognize them from a mile away. At first, she’d thought he was having some kind of tantrum while they were arguing. It took her a lot longer to understand that his meltdowns were, in fact, a physical expression of being totally overwhelmed. Not something he chose, but something that happened to him without his consent or control. 

     Yennefer slammed the binder down onto the shitty motel bed, eyes flashing. “And you know what else?” She snapped, beginning to rifle through it with short, sharp motions. The binder bounced on the tan and white duvet under the force of her ire. “I don’t give a rat's ass what order the battalions had their platoons in! Not! Fucking! Relevant!”  

     “But-” Geralt said, trying to get a word in edgewise. His normally pale face was almost white with distress, the muscles around his jaw tight. He was sitting on the edge of the single bed in the hotel room, a few feet from where Yennefer was abusing her binder.  

     “No! I’m sorry, was I not clear just then? Do you want me to write it on your dick? Maybe you’ll see it down there.” She snarled, slapping a page down so hard she tore part of it.  

     “But the-” Geralt tried again, growing increasingly agitated. Unusually for him, he was panting, his body compressed and stiff. Normally even when he was annoyed with her, there was a steadiness about his presence that she’d come to rely on. The fact that it was now mysteriously absent wasn’t lost on her, but it only served to pour fuel on the fire. Anything that made Yennefer nervous usually made her angry, and this was no exception.  

     “No!” Yennefer shouted, cutting him off with a sweeping motion of her hand. They’d been arguing about picayune details of troop movement for over an hour, and she couldn’t understand why he was so obsessed by certain things that she, frankly, found irrelevant. She’d personally hit the last straw about ten minutes ago. Normally Geralt had the sense to leave off when she got too angry, but he seemed stuck this time, like he just couldn’t let it go. She rounded on him just in time to see his face switch off. One moment he was engaged with her, agitated but paying attention. The next, his face was a carefully controlled blank, stiff and empty.  

     In the two years that she’d known him, she’d never seen this particular facial expression on Geralt. At that moment she was too angry to think about it rationally though. Under the impression that he was switching argument tactics to give her the silent treatment, she stalked over to him. “And another thing!” No movement. He didn’t even look at her. His eyes didn’t even flicker.  

     Exasperated, she tried again. “Geralt, I swear to fuck, you aren’t five years old. Don’t ignore me!” When he didn’t move, she shoved his shoulder. “I don’t think so, asshole! You don’t get to treat me like that!” With a sudden, explosive motion, Geralt violently shrugged her hand off of his shoulder and rose from the hotel bed. Yennefer hopped back, sheer surprise derailing her anger. Geralt had always been exquisitely gentle with her, even at play.  

     He began to stalk stiffly back and forth across the room as if she wasn’t there, hands folded at the back of his neck, his breath coming in short pants. She stumbled out of the way as he pushed past her, making a restless circuit of the whole room. At first, she continued to try to get his attention, to no avail. Finally, as the restless movement continued, she found herself retreating to Coën’s room across the way. This was now officially out of her league, and she wanted backup.  

     Coën was asleep when she found him, and she gently punted him in the ribs. He awoke with a start and squinted at her blearily, then at the clock. It was late afternoon, but he’d gone to bed at around dawn, so it wasn’t surprising that he was still down. “Gfqukx?” he muttered irritably, scrubbing his face.  

     “There’s something wrong with Geralt. I think I broke him.”  

     Yennefer’s face hanging over his head was surprisingly anxious, which wasn’t like her. Normally when presented with a problem, she jumped straight to anger and then razed whatever obstacle was in her way down to smoking rubble. Coën gave her a long, puzzled look, then startled as he heard a ‘thump’ from across the way in Yennefer and Geralt’s room. He swung his legs out of bed quickly, grabbing his pants out of the air as Yennefer tossed them to him. “Wha’d you do, Yenna?” he slurred irritably, still half awake as he tugged his pants on.  

     “Argue with him! All we were doing was arguing! I don’t know what the fuck his stupid problem is but I think he’s mad that I’m right.” Yennefer tossed her hands in the air, then glared over her shoulder at the door.  

     Coën snorted. That was a very Yennefer take on the situation. Another thump caused his head to jerk up, and he stuffed his feet rapidly into his scuffed old boots. It sounded like Geralt was hitting the walls. He normally hated drawing attention to himself, even when he was angry. Yennefer was right, something was off.  

     The sound of a door opening in the hall made Yennefer start. She opened Coën’s door just in time to see Geralt take off down the hall, face still blank and unreadable. He was moving at a light jog, and as she watched, he pushed out of the door at the end of the motel hall and onto the dusty street outside. Something about the strained way he was moving, the stiffness of his face, alarmed the hell out of both Coën and Yennefer. They looked at each other.  

     “You call Eskel. I’m going after him.” Coën announced, thinking quickly. “I don’t know what the fuck that just was but I don’t like it.” And without another word, he booked out through the door and followed Geralt up the street. They might not be best friends or anything, but his buddy Geralt looked like he might not be able to take care of himself just then and Coën wasn’t about to let him get hurt.    

     Back in the little motel, Yennefer’s stomach gave a nervous twist. She poked her head out the door and watched Coën vanish, then looked back at the little black phone sitting on the dented bedside table. She didn’t know Eskel well enough to like him yet, but he was Geralt’s best friend. They’d known each other forever. Coën was right. If anyone would have insight into what the fuck just happened, it would be him.  

     Praying that he’d actually get back to her, Yennefer sat down on Coën’s rumpled bed and dialed Eskel’s pager number. She keyed in the number for the motel room, her name, and ‘911!’ then hung up and waited. Realizing the door to her own room was still hanging open, she got up, closed it, and came back to sit amongst the tangled blankets. The phone rang a moment later.  

     With a rush of relief, she answered. “Hello?” She had a habit of picking on good-natured Eskel, and now she slightly regretted it. What if he hadn’t picked up?  

     “Hello? Lieutenant Úlfur speaking.”  

     “Eskel. It’s Yennefer. Do you have a minute?”  

     “Not a long one, why? What’s going on?”  

     “It’s Geralt. I think I broke him.”  

     There was a long pause in which Eskel could almost be heard choosing his words carefully. “I think you’re going to have to tell me the rest.” And Yennefer did, rushing through a description of the incident as quickly as possible. When she finished, he snorted softly into the receiver. “He’s probably fine. He never goes far. It might not look like it, but he’s usually still pretty aware of his surroundings when he freaks out.”  

     “What, he’s done this before?” Yennefer asked, astonished. It didn’t seem like the kind of thing a big strong guy like Geralt would do, much less do frequently. In the privacy of her own mind she thanked Coën’s quick thinking intuition. If she’d been on her own, she’s not sure she would have thought to call Eskel about this.  

     “Yup. Used to hide it by running on the track at school. I bet he just went out for a run, he’ll be back soon.” Eskel sounded calm, his voice gentle as he tried to reassure Yennefer. He didn’t like her much yet either, but she was important to Geralt, so he was going to do his best to be kind to her.  

     “We’re in the middle of Tel Aviv! Where the fuck is he going to run?” Yennefer snapped. She stood, grabbing the phone base and going to look out the window with the cord trailing behind her. There was nothing but dusty, crappy parking lot beyond the brown and orange curtains. It was deserted, save for a few cars.  

     “In the middle of Tel Aviv, probably. If Coën’s with him, they’ll be fine.” Eskel replied, a note of amusement in his voice. “Look, is this the first time you’ve seen him freak out like this?” If Geralt had been alone with Yennefer, Eskel might have been more concerned, but he’d seen Coën in action around Geralt before. The photographer might be into causing mischief on his down time, but he was a steady ally when things got serious, and Eskel had faith in his ability to wrangle Geralt.  

     “Do you think I would have called you over something I’m used to, asshat?” Yennefer paced back to the bed and stuffed the phone back onto the bedside table. She sank onto Coën’s bed, looking around the ugly little motel room. Brown carpet. Cream colored walls, yellowed by smoke. She began to pick at a tiny rip in the duvet.  

     “...Fair. Fine. Listen, he must like you. He doesn’t usually feel safe enough to lose it around anyone but me.” Eskel shifted, and she could hear a crinkle in the background.  

     “That doesn’t make a fucking lick of sense.”  

     He snorted. “Maybe not, but look. I’ve known him since we were twelve. I’ve never once seen him crack unless he’s someplace where he has a gut feeling he’s safe. So. He likes you. Good for you.” Eskel paused, and she could hear the scrape of a lighter in the background, then a slow exhale. “I don’t know why it happens, but sometimes he just… I don’t know. Gets overloaded or something. It always passes.”  

     “How the fuck did he make it through military school?”  

     “Like I said.” Eskel paused to take a drag of his cigarette, then puffed it out. “He doesn’t crack unless he’s someplace safe. When he was a kid he’d just wait until no one was watching. Or he’d wait til he was alone with me. I think it scares him, to be perfectly honest with you. He doesn’t like talking about it at all. Mm. Speaking of which, if you tell him you called me about this, that’s on your own head.”  

     Yennefer snorted. Geralt would be mortified if he knew she and Eskel were discussing him like this, but that was the least of her worries right now. “If he wants to fight me over it I’m sure I can handle it.” She paused, nibbling the inside of her lip. “If this happens again, is there anything I can do?”  

     “Ehh. I’ve tried to talk to him while he’s freaking out but it doesn’t seem to do much good. He’s like… it seems like he’s mostly aware, but he doesn’t have a ton of control over what’s going on with his body. He can’t talk to you no matter what, so don’t try asking him anything that isn’t a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’.” Eskel paused, as if deliberating something. Then he added, “It’ll make it worse if you yell at him, though. You gotta talk to him real soft and slow.”  

     Yennefer frowns, about to voice a complaint, but breaks off as Eskel keeps talking. Her stomach churns with nervous anger, and she picks even more ferociously at the blanket. Geralt was a grown man, she shouldn’t have to lift a finger to help or protect him. It wasn’t fair. It was even less fair that she liked him enough that she was probably going to do it anyway.  

     “When you’re trying to get through to him after he’s freaked out, sometimes nonverbal communication works. Hand gestures, gentle touches if he sees ‘em coming, like that.” Eskel continues, his voice soft and even. “I figured out through trial and error that getting overwhelmed seems to be what kicks this problem off. And uh, after fucking around with it a little bit, it turned out the quickest way to cool him off was getting him someplace dark and quiet away from people. So you could try that.” He pauses, taking a puff from his cigarette as he thinks. “If he hasn’t got anywhere safe like that, I used to take him for a run. The point is to get him away from noise and people as much as you can.” Another pause, another slow exhale of smoke. “Have you seen him do that funky rocking thing yet?”  

     Yennefer narrowed her eyes. “I’m going to go with no, because I don’t think you mean that little bopping thing he does when he’s thinking deeply.” She pulled a long thread out of the duvet cover, then gritted her teeth when she realized she’d caused a run in the cheap fabric. With a quick movement she snapped the thread, then balled it up into a little knot and flicked it irritably into the trash can.  

     “I definitely don’t. He uh, he has this thing he does where he’ll rock his whole body back and forth and like. Hit himself. Tap on himself with his hands. I don’t know, it’s hard to describe, I’ve only seen him do it a few times. It looks freaky, but it’s harmless. I don’t know what the fuck is happening there, but it seems to really calm him down. If he ever kicks off with that, just let him do it, it’s helping him.”  

     “Do you know why?” Yennefer asked, frowning.  

     Eskel blew out a breath. “Nope. No clue. Just one of those things about him. I do know if he tries to hide the movement or stop it, it makes it worse though, so uh. Don’t make him stop if he starts, I’m really serious about that.”  

     Yennefer bit her lip. This was way out of her league, and she was    not       happy about it. Still… she thought back on Geralt’s warm presence in her bed the night before, and something in her softened. “Okay. Anything else?”  

     “Ehh… I don’t think so. Well, wait, no. You guys are pretty close nowadays, right?” There was a note of hesitation in his voice, a catch that Yennefer at the time hadn’t understood. She’d found out later that it wasn’t because Eskel was jealous, precisely… More that it was bittersweet for him to see Geralt beginning to deeply bond with another person, especially one as aggressive as Yennefer. It made socializing as a group difficult, and he’d been spending less time with Geralt as a result. It was good that Geralt was happier, good that he was maybe even falling in love, but Eskel missed his best friend.  

     “Close enough. Why?” Yennefer replied, her voice guarded. If Eskel was about to say something impertinent, she was happy to rip him a new one.  

     “Well… he drops tells when he’s starting to wind up. I figured out years ago if I could get him someplace quiet fast enough sometimes he’d chill out and we wouldn’t have to do the whole… thing, whatever it is that he does. From what he says about you, it sounds like he trusts you a lot, so you might be able to herd him away when he’s winding up.”  

     “What, I’m his mother? No! That sounds like a pain in the ass, he can take care of himself.” Yennefer growled. She was hitting her limit with suggestions of ways to care for a grown ass adult. This shouldn’t be her fucking problem. It’s not like any other man she’d been close to needed this kind of care.  

     Eskel went silent, exasperated. Occasionally, she could hear a shift, an exhale. Finally he said, “You asked me if there was anything else, this is the anything else. Do you want to know or not?” She could hear a note of carefully concealed anger in his voice. Eskel might be calm, even sweet, but when it came to Geralt’s wellbeing his patience for other people’s foibles was limited.  

     Yennefer hesitated, torn. She had something approaching zero interest in acting like Geralt’s damn caretaker, but on the other hand, he had become important to her. She didn’t like picking up after other people’s emotional messes, but she found that she liked the idea of letting him suffer alone even less. She wavered, then said, “Fine. Yes. I want to know.”  

     Eskel gave a soft grunt, and she could hear a note of grudging approval in it. “All right.” He said, and his chair creaked as he leaned out of position for a moment, then again as he relaxed back into his spot. “Hmm. All right. So first thing you’re gonna want to look for is the way he moves. It’ll depend on whether he’s in a public place or not what you’re looking for.”  

     “Why the difference?”  

     “Trust. Safety. Out in public if one kicks off he’ll clamp down on it and hide it, it looks different than when he’s alone in a room or, you know, with someone he trusts.”  

     Yennefer chewed her lip, thinking the last two hours over. Now that Eskel mentioned it, Geralt    had       been moving differently. “Okay. I’m listening.”  

     “All right. So. Out in public, he gets real still and stiff.”  

     “How the fuck am I supposed to differentiate that from how he usually moves?” Yennefer snapped, annoyed. Geralt wasn’t exactly the most expressive person when he was around people he didn’t trust, which was almost everyone.

     “Hey. I’m not with him all the time anymore, you are. I don’t know how to describe it, you’re just gonna have to look for it. You’ll see what I mean.” Eskel replied, stung. Yennefer had a way of getting under his skin, and he didn’t always know how to handle it.  

     “Fine.” Yennefer glared unapologetically at the dirty, ugly wallpaper covering the motel room walls. “And in private?”  

     “You’ve seen him flick his fingers and crack his knuckles and stuff, right? All those little repetitive movements he makes when he thinks no one’s looking?”  

     Yennefer snorted softly. As a matter of fact she knew exactly what Eskel was talking about. It was one of the more unusual things about Geralt, but she found it charming. “Yes. I know exactly what you’re talking about.”  

     “Well… he gets stiff in public ‘cause he’s trying to hide those. In private, if he feels safe enough, he’ll start doing a lot of those movements. Rocking. Pacing, too. You’ll see different ones as well, not just the uh, publicly acceptable ones like knuckle cracking. When you see it you’ll know it. He starts doing it really intensely when he’s upset and about to blow.”  

     Feeling uneasy, Yennefer scooted up to put her back against the headboard. This was way out of her depth, and what’s worse, she didn’t really understand any of it. There was no good reason she could see for Geralt to be like this. The fact that she couldn’t make sense of it and couldn’t name it made her nervous and angry. She hesitated for a moment, again considering hanging up on Eskel and washing her hands of the whole mess, but something kept her on the line. After a moment she said. “Okay. What else?”  

     “Uh.” Eskel paused, blew out a drag of his smoke. “Okay. Tone of voice. He uh, his voice flattens out even more. Starts getting clipped. It sounds like he’s getting snippy but it’s a little different.”  

     “That… actually I did hear today, now that you mention it.” Yennefer admitted, tilting her head thoughtfully. “Okay. Anything else?”  

     “Yeah. You know that thing he does when he’s fed up with everyone’s shit and wants to bail?”  

     “Yes. I know exactly what you mean. He gets squirrely. Starts looking for exits and making excuses about his grandmother being on fire, so to speak.”  

     Eskel gave a low, warm chuckle. “Exactly. You see that paired up with him getting stiff and short-tempered, chances are he’s on the wind up. It’s… different from when he’s mad. Once you spot it, I think you’ll know what I mean. You’re pretty sharp.”  

     Yennefer blinked, then relaxed slightly, mollified by the compliment. “I probably will. Is it safe for him to take off like he just did? We’re not in a familiar part of the city.”  

     “Ehh… not really, no. I mean, generally it’s been fine because he avoids people, but he can get pretty agitated if they try to touch him or get him to talk while he’s like this. If he’s out in public that could go real bad, real fast. So uh. Try to keep him from booking it out of there in the future. But since Coën’s there with him, I’m sure he’ll be fine. Betcha they’ll be back any minute.”  

     Staring at the dingy bedside table, Yennefer thought it over. Her eyes traced the bubbles in the varnish, the scuffs and scratches in the wood. “Okay. Has he… do you know if he’s ever been to a doctor about it?”  

     Eskel snorted smoke and coughed. The cough very quickly became a chuckle. “No. Fuck no. Our boy wouldn’t go to a doctor over shit like that, he doesn’t want anyone to know.” He coughed again, clearing his throat and settling back down. “Man. Don’t ever try and talk him into it, that’s the fastest way to get him mad I’ve ever found.”  

     “Personal experience?”  

     “Mm. Yup. He doesn’t like it when there’s something different about him. Likes to hide it.”  

     “I’ve noticed. Has he always been like that?”  

     “Yup. His old man is a piece of work. Always wants him to be the perfect little soldier boy. Anything that woulda kept him from success in the Army was a non-starter.”  

     Yennefer grunted, frowning. “He doesn’t talk much about him.” By this point she’d seen the scars. They’d horrified her and filled her with unspeakable anger, but she’d never been able to get Geralt to talk about them. He didn’t like talking about Col. Vesemir at all, not if he could avoid it.  

     “Nnnope. Don’t expect that to change.” The chair creaked again. “Listen, thanks for calling. He ever gets in trouble and you need me, I’m there. No questions asked.”  

     “I know.” She hesitated, frowning, then added. “Thank you for getting back to me so quickly.”  

     Eskel chuckled. “No problem. I figured you wouldn’t call me unless something was on fire.” His chair creaked again. “Look, I gotta get off to work soon. Are you guys going to be ok?”  

     “Yes.” Yennefer replied with conviction. She wasn’t actually certain that they were, but she knew that she didn’t want to have to juggle Eskel’s feelings on top of everyone else’s when Geralt and Coën finally turned back up. “Talk to you later, Lt. Úlfur.”  

     “You’ve got it. Be safe out there.” Eskel hung up, leaving Yennefer sitting alone on Coën’s motel bed. She hung up the phone and stood, heading back out into the hallway. For a brief moment she considered going out to find her boys, but she very quickly realized that she was going to find them faster by staying put. With a sigh, she went back into her hotel room and began to tidy away her binders. Even if there was still work to be done, it would have to wait until later. She couldn’t focus anymore.  

     It wasn’t long after that when she heard the outside door slam and the soft noise of Geralt’s footsteps coming back up the hall, followed by Coën’s heavier tread. She raised her head as they came into the room.  

     “No.” Geralt said, the second he saw Yennefer. Behind him, Coën rolled his eyes.  

     “Ger-” She began, but he cut her off with an angry gesture.  

     “No! I don’t want to talk about it. Leave me alone.” He began stuffing his things into his bag, meeting her look of angry astonishment with a flat glare.  

     “Going somewhere?” Coën drawled laconically, leaning against the hallway door. He didn’t look particularly interested in letting Geralt leave again, but his body was relaxed, his expression amiable and unthreatening.  

     “Finding someplace else to sleep. Leave me alone.” Geralt snapped, burning with embarrassment. Behind him, Coën snorted.  

     “Chill, asshole. No one’s mad at you. Settle in, I’ll go buy us a couple of six packs or something. You cool to hang out?” He sauntered over and got into Geralt’s face, gently backing him away from his bag. Geralt growled, annoyed, but he allowed Coën to maneuver him into an ugly little chair in the corner of the room. “Yenna promises not to pry, doesn’t she? We’ll deal with it some other time. No big deal.” He patted Geralt on the shoulder, unimpressed by his stormy expression. Then he turned, fixing Yennefer with a long, quelling look that said, ‘You know you wanna play ball, don’t you?’  

     Geralt shrugged Coën’s hand off, but remained in his chair. He turned a somewhat more uncertain look on Yennefer, who up until that point absolutely    had       been planning to grill him.  

     Yennefer, having the courtesy to look slightly guilty as Coën stared her down, nodded. “Maybe there’s some shitty movie on the telly. I’ll get it on, we can finish up our work later.” She glanced at Coën, who nodded.  

     “Sounds like a plan.” Coën said, pleased that Yennefer had decided for once to simmer down and help Geralt out. The two of them could be like toddlers sometimes, kicking off irrational arguments at the slightest provocation. He stepped out from between them carefully, observing their body language for cues of further aggression much like a zoologist might study two angry animals. When he felt assured that they were finally settled and done with fighting, he grinned. “Okay. You kids be good while I’m out, I’ll be back in a few.” He sauntered out of the room, leaving Geralt and Yennefer sitting in awkward silence.  

     When he came back some time later, bearing a huge box of falafels and a case of beer, Yennefer and Geralt were perched stiffly on opposite ends of the bed, watching a movie. Ignoring the obvious tension between the two of them, Coën kicked off his boots and tossed each of them a cold beer. Then he shoved Geralt aside, forcing him to the middle of the bed so that Coën could sit on the outside edge.  

     By the end of the night, Yennefer and Coën were drunk and leaning companionably against Geralt, one on each side. At first he’d looked put upon, but by now he was full of food and beer, sleepy and comfortable. Tentatively, he relaxed between the two of them, a look of bemused affection on his face. They spent the rest of the night that way, screen flickering across their faces until they fell asleep.  

 Yennefer retreats to the door of the gym and looks around the hallway, then settles herself in a chair near the entryway. Nothing to do now but wait, and stop him if he tries to take off before he’s worn himself out. Sighing, she takes a long pull from her water bottle and gets comfortable, dropping into a light meditation while she studies the wall opposite. Out of the corner of her eye, he continues running.

 Over the years, Yennefer had gotten used to Geralt’s seemingly endless series of little quirks. By the time their daughter had been born, they were almost invisible to her. That’s why it had come to her as a surprise when Coën had first drawn the parallel between Geralt’s quirks and Ciri’s needs, after Ciri had been diagnosed as autistic when she was a toddler. At first, she hadn’t wanted to see the similarities, but before long the parallels were glaring. It hadn’t taken her and Coën long after that to figure that Geralt was likely autistic as well, though they both know there would be hell to pay if they actually tried to point it out to him. Geralt could hardly cope with being gay, it didn’t make sense to add one more thing to his plate. The insight had been good, though. It had meant she and Coën were at least better able to understand Geralt and meet his needs, especially during the stressful visits home every year.  

 Running himself out takes the better part of an hour, but eventually Geralt wears himself down. The energy begins to dissipate, and his legs and arms begin shaking as he runs. He carefully slows the pace to a more manageable rate. Then he runs the rest of the trembling out of his limbs before keying the machine to a stop. He’s dripping with sweat, panting with the exertion, emotionally spent.

 When Yennefer comes up to his elbow again, Geralt barely notices her. She exerts gentle pressure on his arm and he goes where she leads, the scent of lilac and gooseberry cutting through the stink of stress and sweat. He would have been able to find the room on his own, eventually, but he trusts her to guide him.

 Silently she leads him through the hotel and back to their room, communicating with gentle touches. Keying the door open, she uses her hand to gently urge him inside. Closing the door behind him, she hands him a clean towel and points to the bathroom. She knows speech is not as effective when he’s dazed like this, so she relies on gentle nonverbal cues. He blinks dumbly in the direction of the bathroom door for a moment, waiting for meaning to become clear. Yennefer waits patiently with him, watching his eyes trace the space between her finger and the bathroom door. Eventually, understanding dawns. Nodding, he takes the towel and pads off to shower.

 When Yennefer is sure that the shower is running and he is inside of it, she quickly exits the room and heads back downstairs to retrieve the laundry. Normally she insists that he care for it himself, but tonight, she thought it better to just get it done. Hurrying back, she manages to return before he is out of the shower.

 Geralt emerges some time later, his eyes clearer, clean-shaven, a towel wrapped around his waist. Yennefer is hanging the last of his shirts in the hotel closet, keeping them from getting rumpled. She smoothes the wine-red one out between her fingers, then turns to face him. He stills while she gives him a considering look. His eyebrows go up as she walks over to him and cups his cheek in her hand, then draws him down for a brief, chaste kiss. Her hand slides down to the back of his neck and cradles him close, forehead to forehead, then she releases him.

 As Geralt straightens, he runs his hand over her hair in a gentle gesture of affection. A quick smile plays across her face as she looks up at him. “Everything all right?” She asks, knowing that it isn’t.

 “Thinking about Jaskier,” Geralt admits, in a moment of unusual honesty. “And my old man. Remembering a lot of stuff. Thinking about Ciri and Coën, too.”

 Yennefer’s face becomes more serious, and she nods. “We’re going to be calling them, soon. We should talk about it before you and I get on the phone.” A lost, hurt expression crosses Geralt’s face. He nods, and she reaches up to cup his cheek, trying to will love into him through the palm of her hand.

 “I know you’re still upset about what happened last time we were all together, kochany. I know it’s making all of this awfulness about the discharge so much worse. But running more isn’t going to fix anything.”

 Geralt grimaces and pulls away from Yennefer, his expression becoming stiff and guarded. He walks over to the bed and picks up the fresh underwear and new soft black pajama pants that Yennefer has set out on the bed for him. Normally she doesn’t set out clothes for him, but tonight he finds himself grateful to not have to think about finding the damn things in an unfamiliar room. He pulls on his underwear and pants, glowering, and then picks up the shirt.

 Yennefer looks over him as he turns away, her eyes running over his naked body. It was a familiar sight to her, almost as familiar as her own. He’d never been shy about changing in front of her, or frankly, lounging around in his underwear when he was off duty. The countries where they’d spent most of their early lives together had been deadly hot, and they weren’t always lucky enough to have air conditioning.

 Yennefer’s girlfriends exclaimed about how lucky she was to see him naked like that on the regular, but to her, Geralt’s body was simply… his. She had never felt particularly stirred by it, aside from a certain unavoidable aesthetic appreciation. Her eyes run along his long limbs as he dresses, scanning for new injuries. There’s a few more scars on his calves, shiny patches where skin had been abraded or blasted away. More alarmingly, there’s a jagged new gash of a scar on his back, pink and shiny where most of the rest of them have faded to white. She frowns as he finishes putting on his pants and picks up his shirt.

 Geralt tenderly lifts the t-shirt from the bed to examine it. It’s another one from home, and it still smells like Ciri’s favorite essential oil, made from orange blossoms. The oil has a tendency to get all over everything in the house, to the point that he associates it now with his visits home. As he picks it up he hesitates to put it on, his heart pulling painfully. The last time he had seen Ciri had been a mess. He sinks into a reverie as he plays with the shirt carefully, moving the fabric in a gentle, rhythmic fashion across his fingertips.

 Geralt had been in and out of her life unsteadily since she was born. He wrote her letters every month, and sent gifts as often as he could. Every time he was shipped to a new place, he would take the time to hunt down a new book of pictures to show her where he’d been. They were huge, glossy professional pieces, meant for adults and their coffee tables, but Yennefer and Ciri had told him that they treasured them. His actual physical presence in her life had been spotty, though.

 He’d been able to take leave to stay with his new wife Yennefer after her pregnancy had become unstable. Coën and Geralt had gone with her back to London, where she knew people and would be able to resume work with the AP after Ciri was born. Between him and Coën, they had managed to get her through her difficult and medically complicated pregnancy.

 Ciri had been born in an NHS hospital in London. She was a tiny little scrap of a thing, but healthy and strong, with lungs that could sustain a shatteringly loud wail. It had felt like the Universe had hit Geralt between the eyes, watching her emerge into the world. Her first cry had broken him open in a way he didn’t even know he could break, and he had fallen instantly and powerfully in love. The hospital midwife had whisked her away to be cleaned and weighed, as he and Yennefer and Coën had huddled together on the hospital bed in stunned silence.

 When Ciri had been brought back some time later and placed into Yennefer’s arms, he had wondered how anything so red and wrinkly could be the most perfect thing he’d ever seen. But she was. And when Yennefer had placed her in his arms, overwhelmed, he had begun to cry, silent tears leaking down his cheeks and dripping onto her little blanket.

 Hours later, in the dark of the night, Geralt’s Army pager had begun to blow up. When he’d stumbled off of the cot and out into the hallway to find a phone, Ciri had woken in her little bassinet. He remembered hearing her crying as he wandered away from the room.

 By the time he’d gotten off of the phone a few minutes later, his newly tender heart was shattered. His leave had been canceled. There had been an emergency, and his entire battalion was being mobilized as quickly as possible. They’d given him the information about his flight booking, and he’d realized that he had to leave within the hour if he wanted to make it back to the apartment to pack and then out to the airport.

 Saying goodbye to Yen, to Coën, and especially to Ciri, felt like Geralt was ripping his whole heart out and leaving it with them. As he’d left the hospital he’d felt like his chest was on fire, like he couldn’t breathe. He’d wondered idly if this is what dying felt like, but he knew that it wasn’t. Walking out of the hospital door, Geralt felt it glide shut behind him. As it closed, a crushing wave of self-hatred had come over him. His parents had abandoned him, and now he was no better. Even years later, even when he knew better, the feeling had never really left him. Simmering with rage and crushing guilt, he had gotten into the taxi and driven away.

 That Christmas, while he was deployed, the letter with the lock of hair had arrived from Yennefer, letting him know that he was still loved, still part of a family. And nine months later, he had been able to take leave and come home to see his family. Ciri was a year old by that point, and he had been able to stay for a month. She had been learning to walk, and Geralt had been able to see her take some of her first, hesitant steps. At that age, she also loved to bounce. He had been happy to hold her and let her bounce on his legs as long as she wanted to. His arms were more than strong enough to handle it.

 The next few visits were hard. Ciri was a toddler. Her complex needs, different than most toddlers, had caused Yennefer and Coën a great deal of confusion and stress; finally, she had been diagnosed as autistic. While Yennefer and Coën had managed to adapt quickly once they had support, and with surprising grace, Geralt hadn’t. He’d felt helpless, out of his depth with a child who needed things he couldn’t provide. He loved her more deeply than he’d ever loved a single living soul, but she needed a father who was a stable presence, one who was part of her routines. A father with a deep reserve of calm, and lived insight into her needs.

 Geralt had been able to stay for a month each visit, but it hadn’t ever been enough. The visits were a blur of Ciri’s screaming, tantruming, and meltdowns. Though he doted on her and was exquisitely gentle, she nevertheless threw a fit every time he got too near. She was calm enough around her mother and Coën, who she was familiar with, but her father was basically a stranger to her.

 Coën and Yennefer had tried to convince him differently, but deep down Geralt had the suspicion that he was doing something wrong to set her off so badly. He quickly became withdrawn and circumspect around his daughter. Ciri had kissed his cheek as he left though, and he still remembers the feeling of her chubby little hands patting his face as he said goodbye each visit.

 On Ciri’s fourth birthday, Geralt had been able to make it home. Sometimes he felt like it was the worst timing of his life, even though he had been grateful to see his family. He had been jet-lagged, traumatized, and exhausted, and the usually quiet house had been filled to the brim with toddlers. The noise, sudden movements, and unstable tempers of the children filling the house had overwhelmed him. He had found himself full of a sudden, blinding rage. It had terrified him. Instead of staying for cake and presents, he had gone for a run. Ciri had been crushed.

 Even though Geralt hadn’t harmed a soul, the fact that he was even capable of that kind of anger around children shattered his trust in his ability to be a safe father for his daughter. The rest of the visit had been brutal. Unable to convince himself anymore that he could keep his cool around his daughter, he’d tried to protect her by withdrawing from her. This frightened Ciri and made her try harder and harder to get his attention.

 While Geralt was mostly able to maintain a gentle air with her, there were several incidents where she had thrown things or bitten him and he’d barked at her. What he’d said had been harmless enough, if too loud, but it had caused his deeply sensitive daughter to scream with terror. Yennefer had intervened each time, and Coën had taken him for walks, but he’d never really recovered his confidence.

 The visit in 1989 had probably been the best, despite all of Geralt’s misgivings going into it. He had made it home in time for his birthday, and they had managed to have a quiet and fun celebration for him. He had received a new mixology manual and a book about horses that his daughter had picked out for him, after Yennefer had told her how much he used to like them as a boy. That had set the visit off on the right foot.

 By then Ciri was six years old, and a great deal calmer as long as she was safe in her home. She had loved books, and horses, so much of their visit was consumed by trips to the library and long hours curled together on the couch, reading under a warm blanket. There were still the occasional conflagrations and blowouts when they both became overwhelmed at the same time, but Yennefer and Coën had gotten much better at heading them both off at the pass. They did their best to support Geralt as he learned new emotional skills to keep up with his daughter. When he had walked away from their door to the taxi though, Ciri had a terrible meltdown. Her howls of distress had followed him up the street, haunting him.

 After that, two years had passed. By 1991, Ciri was eight years old. He had come home in time for another birthday, but this time it was an unmitigated disaster. Ciri had been hostile from the get-go, which he accepted privately was his own fault. (It was not, but nothing Yennefer said had been able to convince him otherwise.) She had been struggling with changes in her schooling and routine, and the disruption of her frequently-absent father’s visit had been the final straw. By now she was old enough to hate how often he was gone, old enough to miss him terribly. With everything else going on it had all turned to anger, the way it sometimes does in children.

 The birthday dinner itself had consisted of Ciri refusing to sit at the table with him, ripping the present she’d picked for him out of Yennefer’s hands and throwing it on the floor. The struggle had knocked Geralt’s drink into his lap, despite Coën and Yennefer’s best efforts to de-escalate the situation. When Ciri had clawed Yennefer across the face, mid-meltdown, Geralt had totally lost his composure. Much to his shame, he had reacted on instinct, hollering at her to treat her mother with some goddamn respect or he’d give her something to be sorry about. The silence had been ringing afterwards. He had pushed away from the table, apologized, and quickly exited the apartment. Coën had glanced at Yennefer and, when she nodded, he ran out the door after Geralt to talk him down.

 The rest of the visit wasn’t much better. Despite everyone’s best efforts to keep them both calm and regulated, Ciri’s absolute merciless eight year old anger and resentment and Geralt’s uneven, exhausted temper had boiled everyone raw by the time he left a month later. It wouldn’t have been so bad if he’d had the emotional resources going in, but he had arrived traumatized and jetlagged, and Ciri had a way of getting under his skin that literally no one else in the world could.

 Geralt loved children, always had, and around other people’s kids he had felt confident. That made it all the more devastating when Ciri would crack his composure and he would snap; It was easier to avoid if he was well-rested and on a routine, but on his visits home he didn’t have that. Though he was always physically gentle with her, and had never touched a hair on her head, the way Ciri would scream after he raised his voice made him physically ache. He hated himself for being the source of any of her pain.

 Worse than any of that, though, was when he tried to leave for the airport. Ciri had clung to him the whole day before, suddenly switching from rage to tearful neediness, which he also had no idea how to handle. He had let Yennefer pack his bags for him so that he could take the time to curl up with her on the couch under a blanket, like they had years before, and read her books about horses. It had been a tiny blip of peace and he still treasured the memory.

 But when he brought his bag to the door the next day, Ciri had a truly epic meltdown. She had clawed his baggage apart to prevent him from leaving, and when he insisted on putting it back together, had come for him, trying to rip and batter at him to keep him home. He still had a long vertical scar on his face, under his eye, from where one of her nails had ripped his skin. And when Yennefer and Coën had gently bundled Ciri up between the two of them to keep everyone safe, she had yowled at the top of her lungs that he should never come home again, that he was bad, bad, bad! And he had never forgotten the look that Coën had given him, a cool look of warning, as if to say:  Add one more thing to my plate and I will deck you. What Geralt saw instead was: You have hurt this child too many times, get the fuck out of this house. Stepping back from the knot of them on the floor, he had said his goodbyes and fled.

 He hadn’t been back since.

 Partly that had been the fault of his career, which had picked up at that point. His responsibilities had escalated, and if there wasn’t time for leave, well, he wasn’t going to push. And if he’d fudged it with his commanding officers so that he could stay on duty longer than he should have… well, that was on him. It was the most cowardly thing he had ever done. As a result, he had already been afraid to face his family before the court martial even happened. The dishonorable discharge had just felt like the final straw.

 He feels the bed sink next to him as Yennefer sits by his side, reaching out and gently touching the t-shirt in his hands. It’s from the London Zoo, something Ciri picked out for him when she was about five. Her elegant hand covers his, gently stilling his fidgeting.

 “She misses you, you know.” Yennefer says quietly. Geralt nods mutely, eyes tracing the pattern of elephants all over the shirt. His throat bobs as he swallows hard, then clears his throat.

 “I miss her too, Yen.”

 “You could talk to her,” she reminds him gently, and he nods again.

 “I don’t want to,” he mumbles.

 “You’re afraid to,” she corrects. He shrugs and grimaces, then nods.

 “It would do her some good to hear your voice… she’s been terrified since you went missing. I told her it was just a mixup, but she really needs you, Geralt.” Yennefer reaches out and slides her arm around his waist, squeezing him close. “And I know you feel bad about what happened… but you’ve been making it worse by running, kochany. Time to stop.”

 Geralt’s throat tightens into a hard knot, and he looks down at the shirt in his hands. He glares at the elephants, as if spending his ire on them would make any sort of difference. When he realizes how ridiculous that is a moment later, all of the fight goes out of him and he sags. Flipping the shirt open, he slides it on over his head.

 He lays back on the bed afterward, feet still on the floor. Yennefer reaches out and strokes his stomach thoughtfully. As her hand traces idle, firm patterns she wonders what to do. Letting his eyes slide half shut, he ponders as well.

 "It's probably best if we keep your conversation with her short," Yennefer says a while later, breaking the silence. She had found that giving her daughter and husband clear scripts for short phone interactions reduced anxiety for both of them. She’d gotten it down to a science by now. Geralt would never admit it, but he was just as anxious on the phone as Ciri was when he made his calls home. Yennefer had quickly gotten sick of having to juggle both Ciri and her husband losing their cool, so she’d worked out a system. "I can let her know exactly what is going to happen, that way. Keep any surprises from happening."

 Geralt nods. In this matter Yennefer has always been the expert, and he defers to her without question. He has zero trust in himself to be what his daughter needs, but Yennefer has always done her best to help him bridge the gap. Having her present, having a clear plan, makes the interactions with Ciri so much smoother. As much as he hates needing it, as much as he craves to be a normal father with normal skills, he appreciates how she always works to keep him and Ciri connected.

 After being raised by a man with a harsh tongue and a harsher outlook on life, Geralt had spent his whole life in the military. It left him ill-equipped to speak with the kind of gentleness and forethought that his daughter deserved to hear. As a result, he felt he had a tendency to put his foot in his mouth around his daughter. Yennefer’s scripts were the magic that kept him and Ciri talking during his long stretches away from home.

 "I think what I’ll do is this. I will call her, do our morning greeting conversation like we always do. Then, I will tell her a very short version of how I found you. I’m going to leave out Jaskier, because I think that’s your story to tell.” Geralt flushes awkwardly and nods again, his stomach tensing under her hand. The fear of being known by his daughter as gay is still deep and immediate for him. She glances at him and he gestures for her to continue, not wanting to talk about it.

 “Then, I am going to tell her that you are here. I will tell her that I am going to put you on the phone, and that you will tell her that you are OK and you love her. Then, I will tell her that you will hand the phone back to me, and I will finish our usual morning call. Does that sound manageable?”

 “That sounds fine,” he rumbles quietly, his voice calm even though she can feel beneath her fingers the stress he’s hiding.

 “Do you want to talk to Coën?” She asks, letting him avoid her gaze. He shifts away from her, and after a moment, rolls upright.

 “Sure,” Geralt replies uneasily. And he does, but he’s also worried about how his friend will react to all the shit he’s pulled over the last month. Coën loves him, but he isn’t one to mince words when he is upset.

 Yennefer reaches over and gently squeezes Geralt’s leg, picking up on his concern. “He’s going to be with Ciri, mój drogi. If you’re worried he’s going to pick a fight with you, you are absolutely correct, but he’s not going to do it in front of our daughter.”

 Geralt grimaces, shaking his head. “I really did it this time, didn’t I?”

 “No, kochany. We still love you. But you did scare the hell out of us, and he’s very angry about some of your choices.”

 Geralt turns to look at Yennefer, examining her face. His own is guarded. “I guess that’s fair,” he admits reluctantly. Turning away with a shrug, he turns to look at the patterns on the carpet. As he does so, he rubs his fingers across the pink new scarring on his knuckles. The bones underneath still ache, but he barely notices it anymore.

 “At least you didn’t get into a fight,” Yennefer says, eyes falling to the movement of his fingers. “When I saw the x-rays I didn’t know what to think.”

 Geralt grunts and shakes his head. “No fight. Just fucked up and lost control.”

 She reaches out and grabs his hand, intertwining his fingers gently with hers. “I think just about anyone would have been overwhelmed, Geralt. That was a bad day.”

 He frowns. It galls Geralt that Yennefer knows how weak he’d been, and he doesn’t want to talk about it any more. Even if she is being kind. He grimaces, but despite his instinct to pull away he stays still, letting her squeeze his fingers. Her cool skin against his feels good, a reassuring, kind feeling.

 Eyeing him, Yennefer debates whether or not to pursue the subject. In the end, she decides not to. There would be time to talk about that day again later. Instead, she says, “Ciri’s gotten a lot calmer since you last saw her. She’s been working very hard. She’s figured out a lot of her own sensory triggers now, did you know that?”

 Geralt nods cautiously. “She writes to me about it. I think she thinks about it a lot,” he observes, squinting at his hands and avoiding looking at Yennefer’s face. “I’m surprised she trusted me enough to write to me about it.”

 Yennefer sighs, heartsore and exasperated. “You’ve been writing her a letter every month since she was born. Our house is filled with insane knicknacks, some of which-” she points her finger warningly at him, “have been totally age-inappropriate.”

 Geralt snorts. “Sorry,” he apologizes, cracking a rueful smile.

 “Don’t be, she still loves them. I just put them up on shelves where they won’t break,” she smiles, squeezing him affectionately again. “And she loves the movies and audio recordings of yourself that you send for her birthdays. She even has a lot of very positive memories from your visits, believe it or not. You’ve built this idea up that you’re terrible for her, but to her? You’re her hero. Of course she would trust you enough to write to you about that.”

 Geralt sinks into an uncomfortable silence, his face falling. The kind words feel wrong to him, but he knows better than to argue with Yennefer about things like this anymore. Reaching his arm out he pulls her in against his side, craving her warmth and gentle touch.

 Yennefer looks up at him from his shoulder, giving him a long, thoughtful examination. He squirms and turns his face away after tolerating it for a short while, and Yennefer snorts softly. The tension in his body is coiling tighter and tighter again, so she nudges him until he begins to rock. Better than another blowout. She keeps her arm around his waist and they sway together. At first Geralt’s breath is harsh, too quick, but as time passes the rhythmic movements work their magic and the tension slowly bleeds back out of his muscles. Eventually, she glances at the clock and pulls very softly away.

 “It’s time.”

 Geralt nods, shifting aside so that Yennefer can fully disentangle herself. Golden eyes follow her as she pads softly over to her purse and pulls out a calling card. She dials a number, waits, enters a PIN, and dials another number. As that’s ringing, Geralt rises and sits at the round grey table across from her. Yennefer reaches out with her free hand and grabs his, holding it in a reassuring grip. The look he flashes her is raw, vulnerable, and he tightens his hand in hers.

 The phone picks up. He can hear a man’s voice and recognizes it immediately, even though he can’t pick out every syllable. “Hello? Who’s this?”

 “Just me, Coën.”

 “Oh hey, Yenna, good morning! Nice to hear from you! Is everyone there today?” Coën inquires. She can hear him moving, and assumes he is on his way to bring the phone to Ciri.

 “Yes.” Her voice is warm, and she flashes Geralt a smile full of love. “Everyone’s here today.” She gives Geralt a gentle squeeze, and he gives her an awkward, hesitant smile in return.

 “Great. Great, that’s really good to hear,” Coën replies, his voice full of relief. Though he was loath to admit it, Geralt’s disappearance had been the worst scare of his life. “Ciri honey! Your ma’s on the phone.” Over the line, Yennefer can hear a rustle and the sound of Ciri approaching. “Got your dad today, too. C’mere, baby. Ready to talk to her? She’ll fill you in.”

 Yennefer’s smile widens as she hears the phone exchange hands.

 “Mum?”

 Geralt’s heart flips as he hears his daughter’s voice from across the table. Ciri’s voice pierces to the heart of him, and it always will. It’s good to hear. It wakes something in him that has been sleeping, a ferociously soft, all-consuming love. When he’d been discharged he’d gone into despair, believing that he’d never see Ciri again. Thinking that he was no longer a father, he had packed this part of himself away. To his shock and relief it’s still right there, the second he hears that muffled word.  

 Yennefer takes in the suddenly intent expression on his face and feels the tension in her shoulders ease. The light is back in his eyes. His beautiful golden eyes are one of her favorite parts about him, always fiercely alight, full of intelligence and hidden humor. It had frightened her to the core when she’d looked into them in the hospital and found them dull and dim. It’s a relief to see him rekindled, and it reassures her that she’s doing the right thing putting them on the phone together.

 “Hello love.” Yennefer replies. “How has your morning been?”

 Geralt listens, heartbroken and enchanted, as Ciri and Yennefer talk back and forth. They discuss Ciri’s previous day, and her plans for today. The cadence of their voices speaks of a comfortable routine, a script repeated until it’s well worn and full of solace and love. Then Yennefer tells her a heavily edited version of how she came to find Geralt.

 Geralt’s heart speeds up as Yennefer prompts Ciri with the script she’d made for her loved ones. Then, violet eyes lock with his and she gives him a serious look, as if to ask if he’s ready. He blanches but nods and takes the phone from her with a steady grip, bringing the receiver to his ear.

 “Hey, Cirilla. It’s your dad. I’m okay, I’m here with your mom.” Her name on his lips has a distinctly Polish sound, ‘Tseereellah.’ His throat feels like it’s frozen over and his fingers and lips numbly tingle as he speaks to her for the first time in months… but his voice is warm, the love he feels coming through in his tone. A soft rustle is all he can hear at first.

 Then. “Hi, Dad. Are you ok?” Ciri’s voice is soft in his ear. His heart melts the instant that he hears it, and Yennefer can see his face soften. He looks bewildered, befuddled by the affection he feels for her, frightened by how vulnerable that makes him feel.

 “I’m ok,” he reassures her. “I’m here at the hotel with your mom safe. I love you very much, Ciri.”

 She giggles on the other end of the line. “Tsee-ree,” the girl imitates happily. “I like it when you say it like that, Dad. I love you too.” To Yennefer, it looks like he can’t tell if he wants to laugh or cry. He pulls his hand back from hers to rub his face, hiding his expression from her.

 “Have a good day, kochany. I’m going to hand the phone back to your mom now,” he rumbles gently, his voice suspiciously thick, then hands Yennefer back the phone. Every fiber in him wants to go run, but he has already committed to talking to Coën, so he fidgets uncomfortably instead. Yennefer makes eye contact with him and makes a little circle in the air with her finger, then holds it up as if to say ‘once.’

 He understands immediately. It wasn’t always possible to run, so he’d adapted some of his physical training exercises for small spaces as a way to compensate. He nods and goes over to the middle of the room, dropping to his stomach and then starting to do a series of movements that put deep resistance into his joints. He has to favor his healing hand, but it’s not hard to compensate. The routine itself is familiar, easy to vanish into. The pressure and the burn of his muscles gives him something tangible to focus on. As he moves, the uneasy energy coiling in his body rapidly settles.

 Yennefer eyes him for a moment, then, satisfied, returns to her conversation with Ciri. Unlike her daughter, Geralt has an overwhelming fear of meltdown. As a result, it is easier to convince him to ground himself out than it ever had been with their daughter. Seeing that the tension is going back out of him, she’s able to put her full focus into the last few minutes with Ciri. When she sees Geralt begin to wind up his routine, she says her goodbyes. Then Coën gets on the line and she turns to look at Geralt. He rises and returns to sit with her, his cheeks flushed, the set of his body relaxed and steady. When Yennefer hands him the phone, he takes it and cradles it against his ear.

 “Hey, brother.” Coën’s voice cuts across the distance from London, grave and gentle. “How’s it going? We missed you.” Geralt can hear the gentle reproof in the last sentence, and he winces.

 “I missed you too,” he says quietly, then falls silent, his throat constricting. There were too many things to say. He couldn’t say any of them. If he started, he was going to fall apart.

 Coën waits for a while to see if there will be more. When there isn’t, he says, “How’s everything going out there? I hear you’ve had some crazy luck, buddy. You’re going to have to tell me about it next time I see you.”

 Geralt gives a low chuckle, his voice rough. “I will. You been taking good care of our girls?”

 “Nothing but the best, man. You know it. Been taking care of yourself?”

 “Sure,” Geralt replies noncommittally. “You?”

 “Sure, I do pretty good. Got a nice place to run out here. Ciri’s starting to join me, that’s been fun.”

 “That sounds really great,” Geralt replies, feeling a twist of longing and regret. It should be him out there running with Ciri, not Coën. Unable to bear continuing the conversation, he says, “I won’t keep you, Coën, it sounds like you and Ciri have a busy day ahead of you.”

 “You know it man, gotta keep those young minds growing. Listen, Yenna tells me things might go well out there for you. Good luck, right? She’s gonna keep me updated. You got my number if you need anything, ok brother? I’m always here.” Coën speaks carefully to avoid giving too much away to Ciri, but it warms Geralt to know that Coën supports him. Yen must have told him about Jaskier. He cuts a quick glance at her, wondering how much Coën knows. Given how close Coën and Yennefer are… probably everything.

 “Ok, man. Thank you.” Geralt says quietly. Then, “Give Ciri a hug and kiss for me.”

 “Will do. Talk to you soon.”

 “Yeah.”

 Geralt hands the phone back to Yennefer and goes to the bathroom, running the sink so that he can’t hear the rest of the short conversation. He washes his face with cool water, runs it over his hands. His insides feel like they are racing, short and gentle though the conversation with his brother had been.

 Even though Coën is a few years younger than both Yennefer and Geralt, he has always been a kind and grounding presence for both of them. Hands down, he is one of the most positive relationships Geralt has ever had. Knowing that he’s disappointed and frightened Coën leaves Geralt feeling scared and sad. He waits until he hears Yennefer’s voice stop before turning off the taps and drying himself. When he emerges from the bathroom she looks up at him, violet eyes softer than usual.

 “Everything ok?”

 He shrugs, heading for the bed and crawling into it. Her eyes flick over him, then to the clock. It’s well past 0300, and he’s been in the States longer than she has. He’s probably exhausted. Her own body clock hasn’t recovered from jet lag yet. Part of her is still in London, waking up and starting the day. The part of her that’s here, though, is exhausted. Rising, she joins him in the bed. They reach out and turn out their bedside lamps, then curl together in the thick darkness just before the dawn.

 “Are you okay?” she repeats, her voice breaks the silence. She tucks her head under his chin more comfortably, then slides her hands up under his shirt to rest on his warm skin.

 Geralt’s stomach jumps at the unexpected contact, then relaxes into the comfort of her touch. He heaves a soft sigh, nuzzling the top of her head. “It was good to hear her voice. Him too.” He still feels heartbroken, crushingly lonely. But for the first time in a long time he also feels hope, a little tiny light kindled deep within his heart. His family is still his, they still love and want him. Maybe everything isn’t quite as broken as he thought it was.

 Yennefer smiles against his chest, tracing an idle circle on his back under his shirt. “I’m glad they got to hear you. They’re both happier now… they love you so much.” He huffs into her hair, shifting again to try and deal with the discomfort of that statement. She squeezes him gently, letting him process in blessed silence.

 A while later he says, “What are we going to do? If…”

 “If things go well with your idiot?”

 “Stop calling him that,” Geralt snorts, mildly annoyed, but she can hear his smile in the darkness.

 “I will when he shows me more than a glimmer of intelligence,” she teases gently. She can feel the tiny movement of a silent chuckle. Shifting back a little, she tips her head back to look at him. Her violet eyes study his face in the darkness.

 “If things go well, Coën thinks we should just move Ciri here. Keep the family together.” She kisses his chest. “I’ve been thinking about it, too. We could get a month to month for us to start… and if things take off between you two, we can scale up to a larger one and bring them over. Besides, if things don’t pan out, then we’ll all be together to figure it out. Ciri’s been all over the world with us. Another move isn’t going to throw her nearly as much as not being able to see you.” Under her fingers, Yennefer can feel Geralt’s body tense again. He looks at the curtains behind her, studying them intently.

 “Okay,” he says cautiously, after a long moment. “I want to think about it before I decide.” He presses his face back into her hair, pulling her close.

 She relaxes, pressing herself against him. “I do, too. We have some time to figure it out, there’s no rush just yet. Let’s sleep on it, moj drogì.” Heaving a tired sigh, she nuzzles his collarbone and breathes in the scent of him, clean from the shower and mingling with the orange blossom smell on his shirt. A peace rolls over her, and she closes her eyes. She can feel him nod, and she smiles sleepily, squeezing him one last time before allowing herself to begin to drift.

 In his arms, Geralt can feel Yennefer’s body go heavy and limp, her breathing evening out. Though he’s exhausted, sleep evades him. He mulls on the recent events, allowing the feelings and images to flow through him, working on allowing them to integrate. It’s slow going. Eventually, somewhere around true dawn, he finally falls into a deep sleep.

 Geralt awakens later that day to find that he is alone. He has a vague recollection of movement earlier, of feeling cold as Yennefer had left the bed, but she tended to wake before he did and he’d learned to tune it out a long time ago. The room is rich with the smell of coffee from the coffee maker. As he sits up on his elbow, he can see a neatly folded pile of athletic clothing atop which sits a brightly colored package. Interest piqued, he pushes the rest of the way up off of the bed and walks over to inspect it. The package turns out to be a small gift bag laying on its side with a note on top of it.

     Geralt-  

     Gone to do a few errands. I will be back by lunch time.  

     Go to the gym. Enjoy your present.  

     See you soon.  

     Love,  

     Y  

 Geralt smiles and opens the package, curious. Inside is a green leatherbound book bearing the title,  A Bon Vivant’s Companion Guide on How to Mix Drinks. He flips open the first page and sees a used bookstore business card tucked inside, then scans the page itself. The guide, it turns out, is a replica of the first cocktail book ever printed. This particular one is the 1867 edition. His smile broadens to a grin.

 Pouring himself a cup of coffee, Geralt sits down and begins paging slowly through it, savoring the old book smell and the soft rustle of the pages between his fingers. Happily diverted, he spends the better part of an hour drinking coffee and reading through recipes and commentary from more than a century before.

 When he finishes his coffee, he reluctantly sets the book aside. His whole body is still heavy with depression and full of a dull, gnawing ache. The prospect of exercising is daunting, but he knows that if Yennefer gets back and finds him still sitting on his ass, she will find ways to make him regret his life choices. She may be deeply loving, but her patience is limited and he’s been burning through it like kindling lately. He does need to exercise and he knows it, so this is one battle he’s not going to pick.

 Heaving a sigh, he gets up and shuffles off to the bathroom. He washes his coffee cup conscientiously, dries it, then comes back into the main room and sets it back near the coffee maker. Then he sweeps the maker itself off of the grey counter and returns to the bathroom. He sets it on the counter, delicately pulls it apart, and cleans every piece with precision. The damn thing is filthy with old oil, and it’s been making even his good coffee taste like burnt store brand grounds.

 The final piece slides onto the coffee maker with a comforting ‘click’ a few minutes later. He places it back on the counter, pleased. Then he dons his new athletic clothing, grabs his room key and water bottle, and heads to the hotel gym. It’s mid morning by then, and the gym is busier at this time of day. There’s a few scattered people, but not enough to bother him. He takes a long pull from his water bottle before heading to the mat in the back to do his warmups. Occasionally he feels a set of eyes on him, but he steadfastly ignores them until they turn away again.

 When he is done warming up, he moves through the rest of his exercise routine, methodical, slow, precise. It helps him wake up, helps him blot out all the unwanted thoughts and emotions that he’s unable to process. He finishes with a long run on the treadmill, slow and steady, eating up miles under his long legs. As he runs, he feels some of the distress and tension finally beginning to work its way out of his body, leaving him clearer headed than he’s been in months, possibly longer.

 By the time he returns to the room, Yennefer is perched at the little round table in the back of the room. She smiles when she sees him and points to the shower. He grins, walking towards her and holding his arms out, playfully threatening to hug her to his sweaty chest. Crying out in mock disgust, she grabs a piece of hotel stationery off of the table and wads it up in a ball. It hits him in the shoulder and he stops with a laugh, bending over to pick it up and toss it into the trash can.

 “When you get out of the shower,” she pauses pointedly, wrinkling her nose, “Let’s get some lunch.”