#Thank you so much for commissioning me again Winter ;^; always a delight

[swanbornbyleda]

Albert Wesker and Chris Redfield for @wintersummer--3232 || Full Version

[llamagoddessofficial]

Thank you @kertneyk for this absolutely fabulous commission!! @aka-indulgence's rattlesnake bounty hunter Sans is one of my favourite characters. He's a fiend- but he's also a delight to write~

---

Sweeping and cleaning the saloon took a lot less time than you expected. You supposed that the first winter frost had done you a favour, freezing the ground so well- there was less mud and dust coating the floor because less was being kicked up. Everyone had been much less rowdy tonight, far too tired from trying to stave off the cold; most folks just wanted a warm seat and a beer. 

Your pa gave you a pat on the shoulder, and took over for you for the night. In the winter, he liked to keep the saloon open all night; he said that when he was young, few things had been more comforting to him than the lights of an open tavern after a long hard winter workday. There was also the unspoken fact that both of you knew a few of the men curled up in their seats weren’t just passed out from drunkenness... many didn’t have enough money for a bed. They had the coin for cheap drinks, and little else. The saloon was the only place they could stay the night where they knew they wouldn’t be cold.

You wrapped your shawl around your shoulders, making sure to close the door quickly behind you. No need to worry about the locks tonight- also no need to worry about walking home. You quickly made your way back toward the house, the full moon showing you your way, cold but bright.

... But you didn’t go through your front door. You went around the back. Light trickled out from under the guest room door, it was no doubt lovely and warm in there.

... Were you happy Goldenfang was lodging with you, taking up your guest room? No, damn him, you weren’t. The scoundrel made your life hard enough, and now he was constantly within shouting distance of you. But he’d been in your little, middle-of-nowhere town for months now, refusing to leave, and him staying with you was the better alternative because you were sure the poor old innkeeper would’ve dropped dead from stress if Goldenfang spent another night in his establishment. Sans was all too keen to take up residence with you instead, when you offered. 

True to his name, he seemed to have a never ending hole of money that he’d been using to rent the space out. Hunting outlaws was nothing if not lucrative, and although he was a menace, he certainly had the coin to make it worthwhile. The money was helpful- stars know money was hard to come by, this close to nowhere. 

Unfortunately though, his proximity had made you grow to... TOLERATE his company. You’d never admit it to him, his already-sizeable ego would grow so big it’d make his head fall right off his broad shoulders.

You knocked, gently. “... Sans? It’s me.”

You knew he’d heard you, because there was a gentle rattling sound behind the door that quickly subsided again. You had to grit your teeth together to stop yourself from feeling a little swell of softness in your chest. Sans’ tail only rattled when he was angry, or excited, and sometimes when he saw you for the first time in a while he’d rattle like he couldn’t help himself. Your pa said it was like a dog’s tail wagging at the sight of its master.

... Again, were it anyone else, it would’ve been sweet. But because it was him you refused to acknowledge it.

“Y’know, bargirl, I saw Goldenfang in town a year back when he caught Sammy Sparrow and bought him in. I ain’t never seen him let someone talk to him the way you talk to him. Yer aware that if anyone else spoke to him like that, they’d be a stain on the floor, right?”

He was an incorrigible flirt and a big, shit-faced bully. You wouldn’t let yourself be swayed into feeling anything soft for a violent gunslinger.

... Sans opened the door. 

It always caught you off guard, how massive he was. Barrel chested and built like an ox. His frame filled most of the doorway, blocking out the light; the moon brightened his silhouette significantly, glancing off his golden tooth, but your gaze was always drawn up to his red hot eyelights. So small, yet so red, the colour piercing through any gloom no matter how thick.

... He looked tired, though. His sockets were sloped and shadowed, he was missing his signature hat and jacket, only wearing an old button up linen shirt. When he looked down and saw you, his face brightened a bit, huge crimson tail shifting out of sight in excitement.

“awwh.” He got some of his signature sharp grin back. But his voice was gruff, husky, like he’d just woken up, and he had pronounced eye bags. “ya came to check up on me? i’m flattered. you missin’ me, pretty thing?”

You wouldn’t admit he was right. You had been worried. Sans never missed a day when you were at the saloon, if he was kicked out (usually after several strikes from your broom) he’d just wait outside the bar entrance for you to finish, a cigarette between his teeth.

... You folded your arms, glaring up at him, totally unimpressed.

His sockets lidded. Another tiny rattle, that died out again. He was feeling pretty rattly tonight. “i love it when ya look at me like that, doll.”

“Like I wanna cut you tail to snout, and make somethin useful outta your skin, like a bedroll or a cute purse?”

“damn right i’d make a cute purse.” He drawled. You weren’t expecting that to come out of his mouth; you weren’t fast enough to disguise your smile. He noticed, the smug fuck. You quickly covered it up with a nose-wrinkled sneer.

“Whatever.” You moved forward, ready to walk into his room to talk.

... He leaned to the side, putting his arm up on the door frame. Body blocking you.

“u-uh... heheh...” He was trying to look casual. “you can’t...”

...

The glare you shot him must’ve been something else, because he visibly shrank back. Like hell you were gonna let him tell you what to do. 

“You got a woman in there with you?”

He blinked, then quickly got indignant, brows creasing; “what? no. what do you take me for, darlin’? you really think i’d skip out of spendin’ time with you to fool around with some other dame?”

You paid him no mind, easily ducking under his arm and coming out of the cold. To be fair, he was being honest, there was no one else in there... but the room looked a mess, the bed was just a big collection of blankets and-

- the door closed behind you. You felt something big push against your chest, and suddenly you were up against the wall, pinned like a butterfly in a frame. You let out a quick, shallow gasp; it was his hand. Sans was holding you against the wall with just his palm, sharp phalanges splayed to stop the clawed ends from tearing your clothes.

“H-hey!” Your tiny hands came up to fight at his massive skeletal one. No luck; the fact that he clearly wasn’t expending much effort to keep you down was salt in the wound.

“doll.” He crooned. “i’m serious. now ain’t a good time.”

You were slightly concerned that the only emotion that rose to prominence was hot embarrassment at being so easily and effortlessly restrained. You weren’t afraid at all, despite being pinned against a wall while alone in a room with a violent bounty hunter who’d made his interest in you abundantly clear.

You looked up at him. You’d been alone with him enough, by this point. Sans was a devil of a snake... but one thing you knew for absolute certain about him, was that he’d never hurt you.

You bit the inside of your cheek. “... Okay. Alright. I’ll admit it.”

He paused.

“Sans... I’m worried.” Your voice was uncharacteristically gentle considering the history of your conversations with him. “What’s wrong with you?”

For once, he seemed off guard. His smile slipped. “... huh?”

“You’re acting off.” You tilted your head a little, imploring, softening despite his hand still squashing you against the wall. “You’ve always got a temper on you, but recently, it’s gotten outta hand. I mean... I had to kick you out because you shot that man in the arm for literally just touchin’ me. And when I came outta the saloon, you weren’t waitin’ in your spot. Is somethin’ wrong? Are you feelin okay?”

You still remembered the look on his face, when the drunk idiot had touched you. 

Under the shadows created by the brim of his hat, one crimson eyelight was visible, glaring out, burning a hole into the man. The rage in Sans’ stare burnt hotter and redder than the barrel of any fired gun. A constant, grating sound filled the saloon- the sound of his rattle, shaking quickly and furiously.

... Sans had been in a foul mood. Fouler than usual. It had been that way for several days- though his gentleness and playfulness with you hadn’t changed, something in the way he interacted with outlaws had been shifting. Darkening. His temper had thinned, he didn’t seem quite so boisterous or gleeful. He’d stopped taunting, and started just going for the kill. 

...

His eyelights darted away. It was strange, seeing such a massive and feared man seem... well. Nervous. You had to remind yourself every now and then that this was Goldenfang, the legendary bounty hunter.

His voice was low, a cautious thrum. “... you can’t say nothin’ to nobody.”

“Course.”

...

“... have ya heard of ‘wintering’?”

Your brow creased. He took that as a no.

“it’s somethin’ us naga do when it gets cold.” He took his hand off your chest, but one phalange kept absentmindedly playing with the neck of your shawl. “leftover instincts, from back when we were wild. winter’s a dangerous time fer snakes so our heads go a bit loony.”

“Loony? What happens?” His tail brushed up against the back of your legs, you were used to him doing that, he had a thing for surrounding you with his body. 

“we get tired, mostly.” That explained why he looked so sleepy. “end up sleepin a bunch more, our bodies wanna hibernate. but we also get angrier, an’ scarier, since only the strong would survive the cold. we’re more defensive of what we think is ours.”

Your eyes narrowed. “... So you think I’m yours?”

He grinned, warmly, the expression making your heart flutter without your consent. Carmine dusted his cheekbones and he removed his hand. “well. i certainly like thinkin’ about it that way, doll.”

You rolled your eyes, but less out of genuine upset, and more just playfully. More of his tail wound around you.

“i thought i’d just... stay here and sleep, ‘stead of followin’ you to the saloon.” He said, gaze resting on your neck. “my mood’s been gettin’ worse.”

“Keepin’ out of trouble? Ain’t like you at all.”

Sans chuckled.

...

“... i don’t regret shootin’ that rat fer touchin’ you.” He said, simply. His eyelights hardened, for a moment, a glimpse of the monster everyone feared. But they softened again before they returned to your face. “... but i don’t like scarin’ you. i’m just gonna get more an’ more possessive an cranky. better i’m cranky in here, without a gun in my hand, huh?”

...

What was going on? He was so different. He was usually so much more... lecherous. So much more Goldenfang. Is this what wintering did? You’d already warmed up to this brute much more than you’d ever admit, and you’d warmed up to his worst side. Right now, there was something so oddly sweet about him. Maybe it was the tiredness, making him soft, or maybe you were just more attached to Sans than you were ready to admit.

“... How’re you feeling?”

“i wanna nap.” He made a face, tone suddenly grouchy. “an’ i got a headache like a cow hoofed me in the skull.”

That made you giggle a bit. He was delighted to get that reaction. He only usually got a laugh that open when he’d coaxed you into sharing some drinks with him.

“... Well.” You righted your shawl. “Thank you for telling me why you’re actin’ so weird. I should head to my room, if you wanna sleep.”

...

“hey, doll.” More of his tail started sliding around you. Your lower legs were now completely covered. “i... do you think you...”

...

“You ain’t subtle.” You teased. “You want me to stay?”

“my head’s all over the place right now. it’s real cold, i hate bein’ cold. i can feel it in my bones. it’d... be real nice, havin’ somebody warm nearby.”

...

... If you went to your room, you’d have to start up the fire. You’d be cold for quite a while until the wood caught, and you’d be even colder as you waited for the heat to actually fill the room. It was nice and warm in Sans’ room already, he’d clearly had the fire going for a while... and even though you were used to it, you didn’t like sleeping alone. 

... Also, you felt bad about leaving him on his own, when he was like this. It felt like caring for him when he was drunk- it was okay to be softer than usual, because he wasn’t in the right mind. He couldn’t help it if he was wintering.

...

“... Sure, alright. I can stay. But no funny st-”

You weren’t able to finish your sentence, Sans’ tail suddenly squeezed you in excitement, lifting you clean off the floor; you had time to let out a surprised yelp, but not enough time to process Sans scooping you into his giant arms. The air was immediately filled with the sound of his tail rattling. He wasted no time in carrying you over to the mess of blankets and pillows he had turned his bed into- he all but crashed into the mattress, drawing you up and into his chest, his massive tail looping over you like a heavy scaly blanket.

He pressed his face into your hair, giving you one more squeeze before easing- he had a huge grin on his face, jagged teeth pulled into an almost goofy smile, and he was making a delighted hissing sound you’d never heard him make before.

“... Damn.” You said, looking up at him, slightly breathless from surprise. “You’re secretly a total softie, ain’tcha?”

His breath ruffled your hair, he looked faux-offended. “secretly? i got no secrets from you, doll.”

You were surprisingly comfy in his arms, despite how his size completely swamped yours. “I’m gonna tell everyone that Goldenfang is real cuddly when it gets cold.”

He let out a low, drawling laugh. You could feel it through his ribcage.

“c’mon darlin. i got a reputation to uphold.”

... You didn’t expect the sound of his rattling tail to be so soothing.

[bluexiao]

hi im not sure if your requests are open for thoma specifically but if they are, id like to request his reaction when shorter reader pulls him down by his dog tag necklace thing to kiss him to shut him up/when hes being a tease <33 thank u! have a great day/night :)

CHARACTERS. Thoma; short! gn! Reader

NOTES. i lied i’ll post one brainrot today! considering the fact i’m so short let’s say i indulged in this for far too much (also this also applies on others who are shorter than him!) also this doesn’t have any proofread since i’m quite tired so yep. thanks sm nonnie for this request~ i’m sorry it was longer than it originally should be�� like i said i really indulged on this one. pls just read the last scenario if you’re looking for the one on the request!

THOMA

Do you know those scenes where the shorter one reaches out for something really high for them and the love interest does it for them from behind? Yes he would absolutely do that with you.

He’s not quite dense—maybe at the start only? Like he wouldn’t know what effect he has on you but when he looks down and sees your flushed look, he’d definitely realize it.

“Ho~, have I successfully snatched your heart?” he muses, but it sounded so light-hearted that you found it difficult to get mad at his antics early in the morning where you’re assigned to cook for the day.

Because you’re smaller than him, he believes he can carry you. Although it’s actually one of his greatest secrets, especially when you two were still not yet together. Before he confesses, however, in order to be sure, he asks if he could carry you on his back—this is so that even if you reject him he’s sure he already had his wish fulfilled by then. No awkwardness, right???

Anyway, when you told him you liked him too, that’s when he confesses about this quite hesitant, actually; a shy smile on his face as he reached for the back of his neck, scratching it awkwardly.

He loves having you wrap your arms around his waist and bury your face on his chest, definitely. He doesn’t even care if you’re both in the middle of the street or something, swaying each other without a care in the world and the other people on it.

He honestly just loves making you feel protected, y’know? To wrap his arms around you like he’s your personal shield or warm blanket from the harsh winters. If you were both in Dragonspine, he’d make sure you’re always warm by having you close to him.

HEADPATS. Ugh he loves them for both you and him actually? There’s a thing with you two when he gently pats you on the head and before you can turn away, he crouches down to your height and grabs your hand to gesture it towards his own, the skin on the corners of his emerald eyes crinkling slightly from the sheepish grin on his face.

“You want headpats too?” you mused and he whined, pouts even.

“Aw, come on, honey~ not after I gave you one,” you don’t even know if he’s genuinely sad or just wants to tease you, but after giving him what he wants, you could see that precious smile of his; his teeth showing as a sign of his delight. By then, you knew what the answer was.

He actually loves it when you pull him by his dog tag necklace and steal a kiss on him. This usually happens on the mornings when he has to go out or maybe at nights when he goes home. He acts surprised but he’s actually not considering you’ve done it a couple of times already.

When you do it to shut him up or just to tease him, he may actually not be surprised anymore. He just smiles and lands a chaste kiss on your lips again.

“… and you know what, honey, there’s another new stall down the street, I was hoping to drop by but then another one from the Kanjou Commission tries to strike a conversation with me! What is it with-hmph—” and he effectively shuts up, eyes slightly wider as he looks into yours with his lips still near your own. He could feel your breath but it felt like you stole his.

Not only a few seconds later, a smile forms on his lips as he chases the high of your lips, pressing a chaste kiss on them before another one, and another one.

“Thoma, honey, enough, enough!” you giggled as you were already around his arms, feeling him kiss your cheek by then, “I just did that to shut you up, you’ve been talking about the Kanjou Commission since earlier.”

“I apologize, honey,” he was still smiling as he then lands a final kiss on your forehead, being longer than the last few ones he peppered on your face, “Now you have my attention. So? How about you tell me your day?”

TAGLIST (pls send an ask to be added!)

@softlybeloved @rim0na @icecappa @sushiyay @scaraslover @beastielevi @cursedraiden @thesatanofpizza @izayanna @stellumi @coco-goat-milk @nonniechan @m3gitsune @thispenguinrocks @chuubear @kiyoobi @catisnerd @ventislatte @weakestpoint @pinkfei @aweebstuff @zhongchi14 @windwheel-aster @irethepotato @squiddaloo @scaramunch @cruxdou @favonius-captain

[monsterfloofs]

idk if requests are open but i got this idea and wanted to send it in before i forgot-

Rich dragon/dragonborn who is an avid collector of artist!reader's paintings. They're always at any exhibitions they can go to, they get first dibs on commission slots- just this dragon being the reader's best patron. This isn't that weird since dragons are known to latch onto a certain thing for their hordes, but what the reader doesn't know is that the dragon also wants them, to be the "centerpiece" of the their horde. (not yandere, just pining-)

Dragon could be any gender, gn for the reader :D thx again, i love your drabbles and art ;3; <3

Yup! Still doing requests! It has felt like a fun little heartfelt collaboration between me and the requesters and I have been really enjoying telling stories together! I just hope I have been doing a good job and people are happy with what I have written for them! Since people are still asking if I am doing requests, I think that’s a good sign! ^v^ )9 This is such an adorable idea and I am really touched that you shared it with me! I shall try to do it justice. ;u; )

skldflksklf and thank you again for the compliment I feel so spoiled everyone is so kind ahhhhhh

Female Dragonborn (Amaltheia) x Gender Neutral Reader (Sfw)

You had prepared iced tea and shortbread for your first lone gallery showcase. It wasn’t a large collection, but you stood in the center all the same, beaming with pride. Standing amongst the paintings in the gallery, you were more radiant than any of the pieces you have created.

It was something that clutched at her heart, wanting more than anything to have yours. To see you painting in the garden of her estate, gently rendering the delicate rose petals as you study them with keen interest. The cool winter months spent inside beside the hearth, reciting poetry and snuggling close.

It was these romantic revelries that caused her to act as she did. Dressing up as a member of staff of her own house, but doing this gave her more freedom to be able to interact and flirt than if she came as herself. You beam when you see her, “Hello Amaltheia, is the Master of your house intending to buy up my whole gallery this time around?” She grins back at you wolfishly, her sharp pearly whites flashing for just a moment before she bows her head. “I can’t say for sure,” she growls, “But if she did that now, you wouldn’t have much of an exhibit to showcase for the rest of the weekend. I shall try to fend her off the best I can until it’s over.” You laugh and Amaltheia’s tail swishes back and forth. Watching how your eyebrows raise and your eyes crinkle, your face wholehearted partaking in joy and mirth. That was one of the things she loved about you so dearly, you were an emotional and lovely soul that she couldn’t help but feel attracted to.

“I have to thank you and your Master again,” You say as you start pouring Amaltheia a cup of tea, “Without your support I don’t think I would have even been able to make it as far as I have in my career.” Amaltheia gives a snort but takes the cup gently from your hand, “I am sure you would have flourished all the same. Even without her help.”

“I’ve come to think of you as a friend,” You murmur, your voice suddenly turning soft as Amaltheia perks up to catch the words, “You’re always so kind to me, I wish there was a way I could repay your kindness.” Amaltheia swallows hard, her golden eyes shifting. There was a pang of guilt that pulsed against her heart, but she decided to ignore it for just a little while longer. “Then, as friends, would you allow me to treat you to dinner after the show? I am sure after today you will be tired.”

You laugh, though your voice holds nervousness in it. “I said I wanted to repay your kindness, not for you to feel as though you owe me some--”

“I don’t!” Amaltheia balks, cutting you off quickly. “I have also. . .” An awkward grumble rolls in the back of her throat as she tries to formulate words. “I have also. . . grown very fond of you. Think of it as. . .” her shoulders shift and she sighs, “An apology,”

“An apology?” You echo, your expression turning inquisitive, “Whatever do you have to apologize for?”

Amaltheia gives a soft crooked smile, “It is a little complicated, but I shall try to give you an explanation over dinner. . . that is, only if you feel comfortable in accompanying me.”

You think about it for a moment before you smile, “I hope you don’t mind a tired artist keeping you company then. Dinner sounds delightful, I actually wasn’t sure what I was going to eat when I got home,”

Her tail thumps against the floor, nervous, but a very much elated gesture.

[mysoftboybensolo]

The Alienist and the Soprano

Chapter 13: The Holidays

A/N: This was inspired by Laszlo’s love of opera and my thought on what if he fell for an opera singer. Multi chapter. Canon divergence, there is no Mary Palmer here (I loved Mary and Laszlo, so I don’t feel like I could have her here and have him be with another woman). A mix of show and book canons. No Y/N, OC named Evelina Lind.

A03: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32029150

Pairing: Laszlo Kreizler x Fem OC!

Summary: The last thing Laszlo Kreizler ever expected while investigating the death of children was to fall in love, and with an opera singer no less!

Warnings: Age gap, Victorian Christmas, mentions of past abuse, but much fluff! I had done my research on what Christmas was like back then, as well as the Hanukah dates and it seems 1897 was a big year; “Yes Virginia, there is a Santa Claus” was published in September of 1897, electric Christmas lights were growing in popularity and the unification of the boroughs in New York was official on New Years. And there is your history lesson of the day.

The air grew colder as Laszlo and Evelina’s relationship grew warmer. Evelina was spending more time with the team, just as Laszlo was becoming more and more acquainted with Evelina’s opera friends. Compared, they were a more rambunctious group, and she knew that Laszlo had his limits, but admired him for trying so hard. Maria often helped Laszlo along when Evelina was not by his side and he felt immensely grateful to her for guiding him through the corral. At first, her opera friends hadn’t been sure of Laszlo, unsure of this man who makes a living in psychoanalyzing people, who didn’t seem to fit in anywhere, but they always caught the spark of joy in his eyes when Evelina came beside him, the way he tried so hard for her. Even if he couldn’t keep up with them, they still saw the utter devotion between the pair and that was enough for them to approve the relationship.

It was a time for the singers to rest themselves for The Nutcracker to be performed, and a real treat for them all. It had done so well last Christmas that the opera house had decided to do it again, and who knows, perhaps it will become a Christmas tradition.

As November closed in, Evelina had been helping Sara scout out locations for her new agency, hoping that she’ll find it before the weather turned too cold to be out scouting. As they looked around a space, Evelina asked Sara a few questions. “What will you require of your workers to do?”

“Just as any other detective agency will have, secretaries, detectives. Roosevelt has agreed to let the officers help us whenever we need it, which must mean he bears no ill will towards my leaving. Hmm, no, too small. I need at least four rooms; this will not do.” They stepped out into the cool air, leaving them both to shiver. “Winter certainly is coming, there is no doubt.”

“Yes, that shall mean Christmas!” Evelina replied excitedly. “It’s my favorite time of year. Everything looks so magical with the snow and the good cheer, and of course the music.”

“Well, then you might convince Laszlo to have a party this year. He doesn’t celebrate it, at least, from what I have known of him. I wonder if it comes from an unhappy memory,” Sara mused.

“Then I shall make it my duty to give him a Christmas full of happiness. The opera will be performing The Nutcracker, perhaps I will invite him to a performance then have a party. It’ll only be a small affair, you, John, and the Isaacson Brothers.”

Sara looked at her strangely then asked, “You are aware that they are Jewish, don’t you?”

“I am more than aware, in fact, I know that it starts on the nineteenth of December and ends on the twenty-seventh. And it doesn’t have to necessarily be a Christmas party, but a holiday party. A celebration of simply being together and friends. Surely, Laszlo couldn’t object to that.”

Wrapping her arm around Evelina’s, Sara couldn’t help but to smile. “Not when you put it that way, he wouldn’t.”

Laszlo visited just shortly after the ladies returned home, feeling too frozen to go any further. “And how has the property hunting been going for you?”

Sara groaned, “Don’t mention it. It feels as if I am never going to find the perfect place. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am going to get myself a good stiff drink,” she huffed as she went off to the kitchen, leaving Evelina and Laszlo alone in the den.”

Now was the perfect time for her to ask the question. “Laszlo, Christmas is coming soon, and I was wondering what it is that you do for the holidays?”

“Well, Christmas Eve, I spend it with the children who are left behind at the institute, watch them open their gifts in the morning then return home for a quiet day in.”

“Oh, Laszlo,” she said, “I love that you take care of your children, but what about yourself? Doesn’t it get to be a bit lonely?”

He pursed his lips in thought then said, “Well, yes, I suppose, but it was better than what I used to have when I was younger. Those were the better days. We hosted a fine Christmas party, my father was at his best and my mother wore her finest, and the house looked like a picture book. But” he said, with matter-of-fact tone, “When the party was over, it wasn’t so picturesque.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” she softly affirmed.

“No, I want to, and we promised, no secrets.” It was true, after the absolute confusion that came from not sharing their feelings and the disaster that followed, they had agreed that nothing would be held back. “Santa was not something told in my household, but rather the fear of God. He’d make me read the bible which involved the birth of Christ, but any little flaw, hesitation or stutter and he’d beat me while calling me a blasphemer for ruining the scripture.”

She wanted to ask how that was better than the usual days, but she wasn’t sure if she was ready for that. “My mum died just a week before Christmas, and to celebrate it without her was awful. Winston was not manageable during those times,” she paused after the mention of her brother, and Laszlo saw a flash of pain in her eyes. “When he was locked up, that first Christmas, my father broke down, he felt he had broken his promise to my mother in keeping the family together. Even though I told him that he was not to blame for Winston’s actions, every year after, I could see the echo of pain in his eyes. This will be my first Christmas without any of them.”

Laszlo lifted his hand, unsure if he ought to reach out and comfort her, and knowing that she’d not only appreciate it, but that he’d have to get used being open with another, he placed a hand on top of hers, which rested on her lap. It was the right move to do, as it had made her smile and lean in to rest her head against his shoulder. Laszlo felt a small surge of pride in himself, he was doing better in showing intimacy and he liked it.

Having a party to plan helped to fill Evelina’s free time from the opera, but most importantly, it allowed her the chance to make a surprise for Laszlo. Thanks to her covert cleverness, she found out which children will be spending Christmas at the institute and with the permission of the staff, she managed to pull them together to work on a surprise for him. They nearly got caught once, Laszlo came back from a meeting a bit sooner than Evelina expected, but she managed to play it off well, saying that she had been bored and wanted to play the piano for the children.

Stevie proved to be rather helpful in preparing Christmas at Laszlo’s home and was more than happy to be commissioned by Evelina to help with the planning. He scoured out the best decorations and the best tree to have standing in Laszlo’s den, and when he was finished with it, even he could admit he did a rather fine job. There was one thing that Laszlo had a hand in the decorations, and it was the purchase of these new electric string lights, meant to replace candles, and it was a smart choice, and in Evelina’s words, magical. As Stevie was busy with the decorations, Evelina was off to work with the invites and the Isaacson Brothers were surprised to say the least but were still very pleased to be invited to such a party, knowing how much it meant to her. Sara had been the first unofficial guest invited and John most certainly was not one to pass up a party.

Christmas Eve arrived and Evelina dressed herself in her green and red velvet walking gown, truly getting into the spirit and went to the institute to see Laszlo. Many of the parents came to take their children home for the holidays and as much as it was a wonderful sight to see parents not forsake their little ones, it was doubly heartbreaking to see those few whose parents never came. It was Laszlo and Evelina’s special mission to make sure that they still received the experience that they would have had if they were home, even carrying on the duty of decorating the tree and great hall for the children to enjoy. Most of the staff could go home to spend it with their family, but there were a few who did not have a family of their own who stayed and happily joined in the festivities with the children.

Daylight had gone when was a surprise waiting at the front door, and who would have guessed that Santa would come and see the children of the Kreizler Institute? Watching John all dressed up as Santa was a delight, especially when the younger children climbed on his lap and gave “Santa” a hug and wished him a Merry Christmas. It didn’t take much convincing, for John thought it a wonderful idea and he could not say no to Evelina’s sweet intentions, even if it made him look a bit silly. Sara was the unofficial Mrs. Claus, dressed in her lovely green evening gown and many of the children loved going up to her and asking questions of the North Pole, truly convinced that she was indeed the wife of Santa. She watched John take in the children’s excitement with great stride and enjoyment and thought it the finest thing she had ever seen, and her heart swelled at the thought of him doing this for the children.

When John and Sara left, it was time to show off Evelina’s surprise. Gathering the children up, she sat at the piano and began to play. Laszlo watched with wonder and love as Evelina led the children in a most heavenly rendition of Ding Dong Merrily On High, the children looked so happy to be a part of something. He wasn’t even bothered by the religious overtones of the song; he just enjoyed the sweet voices that sang in perfect harmony and was touched to see that his love put so much effort into surprising him.

Soon, it got to be bedtime and the children were escorted back their rooms, eagerly awaiting Santa’s arrival and the staff to their rooms. Usually, Laszlo was the only one to take up the duty of stuffing the stockings and providing the children with gift, making sure each one got an equal amount from Santa. Evelina stayed with him and happily helped to stuff the stockings, despite her own sleepiness. It was an endearing sight, the pair of them on the floor, helping to stuff stockings and wrap presents.

“How long have you done this?”

“Ever since the institute was opened. It was quite sad to see those children left behind to have nothing, so I made sure to carry on the tradition of Santa. You may think that I do not agree with the idea of telling fantastical stories to children, but I think it is important in the development of a child. It stimulates their creativity as well as teaches them lessons.”

Evelina smiled and started with, “Don’t laugh, but I still believe in Santa. Oh, I don’t mean that there is an actual person who goes about in a flying sleigh and gives presents to all children around the world, but the idea of him. Do you remember back in September there was that article answering a little girl’s question of if there was a Santa? That article was a wonderful summation of how I feel about Santa. How there is someone who can be full of good cheer and selflessness and the possibility that we could be just like him. Like this, right now. The fact that you go out of your way to make sure these children have a merry Christmas, to never make them feel left out, it is very Kris Kringle of you. And I am sure you’d look dashing in red.” His deep blush only proved her right.

It was nearing midnight when they had finished and left the institute and despite the chill, they walked through the snowy streets, enjoying the calm and winter beauty. “I am sorry if this wasn’t what you had imagined you’d spend your Christmas Eve.”

“Indeed, it was far better than I could hope. To help give children a good time, to create magic and now walking home with you, it is wonderful.” The church bells tolled, and they stopped to listen to the lovely knells as it chimed Christmas day. “Merry Christmas, my darling.”

Laszlo smiled, knowing that she gave him at last an endearment. “Frohe Weihnachten, meine liebe.”

Laszlo came to pick up Evelina early on Christmas day so she could be at the institute before the children woke and watch with Laszlo as they opened their gifts from Santa as well as from Laszlo himself. She loved the glimmer in his eyes when looking at the children enjoying themselves, forgetting their woes and problems, glad to see that they would have a normal childhood that he never had. Once he was sure that the children were taken care of, the pair went off to enjoy Christmas themselves. It had been purely coincidental, but Laszlo wore his dashing green vest and tie while Evelina wore her lovely red satin dress, looking as if they had coordinated with the holiday and each other, anyone who didn’t know them would have been certain they were husband and wife.

The party was beginning at noon, giving time to everyone that was coming to enjoy their morning and get ready to spend it together. Sara had been the first to arrive, no surprise, the Isaacson Brothers came, Marcus brought along his dear Esther and her daughter, and then John. Laszlo had almost thought that all the guest had arrived, when Stevie entered and said, “We’ve got two more guests!”

Laszlo looked perplexed, for who else could come, and Evelina watched in amusement as his mouth fell agape as Cyrus walked in with his niece, Joanna, looking rather fine in their Sunday best. Laszlo jumped up from his seat and went to his old employee and friend. “Cyrus! How are you? I didn’t know you were coming.”

“No, but Miss Lind did. Stevie brought Miss Lind to my work and she had personally invited me to the party, as well as Joanna. It was wonderful of her to come to me personally.”

Evelina stood and warmly greeted Cyrus and Joanna. “I am so glad you came. Laszlo told me so much of you and I just had to properly get to know his dear friend.”

“And I am honored to know the woman who could convince him to throw such a party,” Cyrus laughed heartily.

Evelina had been a wonderful hostess, making sure everyone had been attended to, even making sure Stevie felt welcomed in the celebrations and had helped Lucius feel a bit more at ease with the help of Joanna, of which the pair seemed quite intrigued by each other. Laszlo watched in wonder of how she could manage to move around with grace, kindness and energy when he still had difficulty to be as open to those of whom he feels are his friends. He admired her and was honored to be the man of whom she loved above others.

The afternoon was spent playing games, Blind Man’s Bluff, Yes and No, and Charades. Laszlo had sat out of Blind Man’s Bluff, but allowed himself to be dragged into Charades and Yes and No. He was afraid of appearing to look ridiculous, but Evelina argued that everyone was doing the same, so they all looked the same amount of ridiculousness. The luncheon was informal, people made their own plates and sat around Laszlo’s den, like they all were old friends, and it was a kind of homey feeling that Laszlo had never felt before, it was warm, safe, good.

It would not be a good party without a mistletoe, at least according to John, who hung it over his friend’s head and teased that someone ought to kiss him or else he will. Evelina more than happily rose to the challenge, making it the second kiss that the pair had shared. She challenged John to hang it over his head and get a kiss, or else he’ll have to kiss the lizard at the institute, and just as she hoped, Sara decided to help him out by placing a chaste kiss to his cheek, but he turned on accident and the pair had kissed on the lips. The blush on their faces told so much and Evelina buried her face in Laszlo’s chest to try and stop her smile from being noticed, but she spotted something beyond him. Moving towards it, she couldn’t help but to admire the beautiful piano. Laszlo came up beside her and said, “You may play on it whenever you wish. It’ll be nice to see that old thing getting some use. I haven’t played in so long.”

“You played?” She had never known that Laszlo used to play, at least before the incident.

“Yes. I was quite good.”

“Better than good,” Sara interjected, coming in the conversation, hoping to escape her situation. “His name was in all the papers; he could have been a great pianist.”

“Why don’t we do gifts?” Evelina suggested, hoping to prevent Laszlo from falling into his darker thoughts, and she excitedly handed out her gifts. They weren’t expensive gifts, but they were heartfelt and personal to each, and that meant more than anything in the world, even Stevie, who hadn’t expected to get a gift and didn’t usually like to be sentimental, but even he couldn’t refuse the copy of An Anarchic Adventure by Jules Verne, his favorite author. Laszlo had received a copy of The Psychology of Emotions by Théodule-Armand Ribot, of whom Laszlo had been fascinated with.

Laszlo made himself go last, giving everyone incredible gifts; Stevie getting his very first shaving kit as he was now a young man, Esther and her daughter fine new dresses, to name a few, and lastly went to Evelina, giving her a box. When she opened it, it was a beautiful toiletry box, made of a dark wood and lined with pink velvet. Opening one of the drawers, she noticed two large and full bottles of her perfume, ‘Fantasia de Fleurs’. “Oh, Laszlo! This is too much! And on top of that, two bottles of my perfume?”

“It is not too much,” he countered, “And besides, it is for selfish reasons too, for I love your scent, perhaps a bit too much,” he admits with a blush across his cheeks. “No one else should buy this for you but myself.”

It was true; when she did first receive this, it was meant to be a bribe gift from one of the patrons at the opera, but she loved the scent too much to toss it away. To have Laszlo buy it for her not only was sweet, but intimate, and she liked that he felt way, wanting no other to buy her perfumes. Sara had been the one to inform which perfume it was and told Laszlo that she had mentioned about getting a box of her own, and he made sure to get the finest box with the two largest bottles so she wouldn’t have to.

The Isaacson Brothers had left with their guests and just before everyone was to go off on their own, Evelina made sure to have a few carols played and sung. John and Sara had quite nice voices which blended very well together, Cyrus deep and warm, and Joanna and Stevie wholeheartedly sang. Laszlo’s voice was not deep or powerful, but it was soft and comforting, and it sounded wonderful to hear him sing Silent Night in German, a request that Evelina had asked, and he did only for her. When he sang, all stopped and listened, and all Laszlo could see or know was Evelina, playing the piano, with a grace and power that reminded him of his youth. Instead of painful memories, it made him smile and happy.

Cyrus and his niece left to have dinner with their family, John to his grandmother’s, leaving Sara and Stevie to join Evelina and Laszlo to the opera for The Nutcracker. This had been Stevie’s first time to the opera and the wonder in his eyes was so enduring and how he watched as the story enfolded before his eyes. In the dark of the auditorium, Evelina had reached her hand over to Laszlo’s, and held it. He looked over at her and wordlessly, he thanked her for a wonderful Christmas.

The good cheer from Christmas continued to carry on for the next few days as New Year’s was approaching and for good reason. The New York government had made the decision to unite the five boroughs of the city to create what would be nicknamed “Greater New York” and it was a wonderful reason to celebrate.

It was a momentous occasion, one that Evelina wished to see and thanks to Laszlo’s influence, they managed to watch it all happen close by and safe away from the mad crowd and the pouring rain. As the New Year rang, everyone watched in wonder as fireworks blasted in the sky, cannons fired, steamboats blowing their horns and brass bands played their hearts out, for when the new year rang, the new flag had unfurled over city proclaiming it’s celebration, the birth of the City of New York.

“Oh, darling,” Evelina gasped, “Just think, we are lucky to have seen this happen. To see a city come together as one, it’s beautiful!”

Laszlo wrapped his arms around Evelina’s waist and placed his head in the crook of her neck as they watched the city celebrate outside, “1898 shall be a happy year. I am sure of it.” She turned her head and shared their third kiss but first kiss of their new year and turned back to watch the merriment.

It then struck him right then and there, something that he thought would never be possible, something he’d never have, and yet it was here in his arms, and he would not let it go so easily. Now, it was just the matter of asking the question.

Tagging: @monsieurbruhl​ @cazzyimagines​, @scuttle-buttle​, @violetmuses​ @flutterskies​ @sokoviandelights​ @rumblelibrary​ @fictionlandslanddreams​ @somethingthatsaysbubbles​ @alindeluce​  and @barnesxnobles

[nxrthmizu]

| the song of your heart | day 12

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@daminette-december2019-2020​

prompt | soulmate au

pairing | Damian Wayne x Marinette Dupain-Cheng 

words | 679 

author’s note | You know that tiktok trend where your soulmate can hear the song you’re singing? Yeah, this is it (Also yes I’m aware I skipped days :P ) Note: Paris is 6 hours ahead of New York (Which I’m going to use as a reference for Gotham). 

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[Gotham, 3pm]

“Again?” Damian grumbled, the tune of the unnamed song drifting through his mind. 3pm classes were usually the worst for him- It seemed to be the time when his soulmate would hum the most. 

The melody wafted through his senses and drowned out the teacher’s explanation of the circle theorem. Everything else paled in comparison to the sweet voice that was weaving around in random patterns, drawing a net between him and reality as he relaxed, listening closely to the harmony instead of the teacher. 

I wonder what she’s doing, Damian mused. She always hummed at 3pm without fail, going about in for the next 2 hours- Sometimes 3. Without stopping. 

[Paris, 9pm] - Same time 

A continent away, a certain bluenette was humming happily, feeling rather lively as she sewed the pearls into the hem of her latest commission. The dress was coming along nicely- It was Penny’s dress for her wedding to Jagged, and Marinette would run through hell not once, not twice, but three times in order to get every last detail perfect. 

The tune drifted out of her closed lips (That were biting onto a pinch cushion as she only had two hands and those two hands were occupied) as she tightened the thread around her twenty-third pearl. “Seventy-five more to go.” She breathed, picking up another pearl from the container. 

Her humming resumed shortly, only pausing whenever she had to take a drink or a breather. Glancing at the time on her alarm clock, Marinette decided that it was time to go for a nightly stroll around the city of lights. 

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[Gotham, 8pm] - A few hours later 

His soulmate’s humming had stopped a few hours ago, and Damian would rather die than admit his mind felt a little too quiet without it, but it was true. Something was just missing when her voice wasn’t running through his mind, humming those unnamed songs that he just wished she could learn the lyrics to so he could at least guess what languages she spoke. 

Dinner was a short affair, and after it he swiftly returned to his room to finish up any of his measly assignments. Vivaldi’s winter movement- Allegro mon troppo- Flowed out of his laptop’s speakers as he began humming the familiar melody, once in a while putting down his pen to mimic the movements he would make if he were playing the violin. 

[Paris, 2am] - Same time

Eyes squinted open as Marinette groaned, peering at the bedside clock. It wasn’t even surprising anymore- Her soulmate had a tendency to hum classical music in the early hours of the morning- Or the late hours of the night. She rolled back into her bed with a huff as she came to the conclusion that her soulmate was either a very late sleeper/a very early riser or he lived in a different timezone. 

The notes of Vivaldi’s winter movement cascaded familiarly over Marinette as she let them lull her to sleep, knowing the melody by heart as her soulmate had been singing the movement for weeks now. 

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[Gotham, 6am] - A few hours later 

Damian groaned, his eyes reluctantly stretching them open to allow a little light into his receptor cells. A familiar tune lingered in the back of his mind, soft and hiding away, just simply existing quietly- 

His eyes widened. He sure wasn’t the one that was humming the tune, so... 

His soulmate was humming Vivaldi’s first winter movement. 

[Paris, 3pm] - Same time 

“Marinette,” Adrien said after a moment, stopping in his tracks as he looked up from their assigned classwork to turn towards the girl seated behind him. “Are you singing Vivaldi?” 

“Oh, that’s what it is?” Marinette looked delighted. “I’ve been asking around to see if anyone knew what I was singing!” 

The blonde looked slightly surprised. “Wait- What you’re saying is...” 

“My soulmate’s a Vivaldi fan, I suppose.” The bluenette shrugged with a smile on her face. “He hums it in the middle of the night. Has such a lovely voice, too.” 

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taglist. @maskedpainter ​@animegirlweeb @starmist19​ @myazael @stainedglassm @user00000003 @toughluna

please help me by reblogging these fics! Pretty sure Tumblr has me in tag jail atm so I don’t think much of my stuff is showing up on people’s dashes. Thank you so much! 

»»——⍟——««

[xbellaxcarolinax]

Forging A Heart (Ivar the Boneless) 8- Discovery

Pairings: Ivar x Artemis (OFC)

Word Count: 2780

Warnings: None!

7- Obedience

...

Artemis had learned that although snow is beautiful, it can turn into deadly sheets of ice when the temperature dropped low enough. She came to realize that the hard way, slipping along the streets of the city when completing her tasks. She had even fallen once, the sharp jagged edges of the ice cutting a gash above her brow.

It was superficial, but it had bled, much to her annoyance. When she had returned to the cabin with blood leaking down to her chin, Ivar didn't hesitate in laughing, mocking her for being weak. How could one who was born among hot plains become accustomed to an icy hell?

Winter appropriate boots were issued, a tiny delight in an otherwise tasteless life. They were surprisingly of high quality, the interior made of rabbit fur that kept her feet especially warm. Accroding to Ivar, it was no act of kindness. He would just tire of seeing his slave bruised up and bloody from her clumsiness.

More days passed, but the winter seemed endless. Artemis grew accustomed to her new life, though she was still struggling to accept it. In the early days she'd often cry herself to sleep, feeling an overwhelming loneliness suffocate her. Now, her emotions were blurred, and she began to view the world with apathetic eyes.

Sometimes, when she stared off past Kattegat's harbor, she'd imagine herself drifting away on a tiny boat. Her ancestors were masters of the sea, why wouldn't she be able to find her way back home? But it was just a fleeting thought.

She pushed herself to assimilate as Helga had often suggested, acquaintancing herself with other thralls and finding herself with Aria for company. The Irish girl was quite the character and would be considered a woman of loose morals in Christian lands. But she was kind, and had the skills of a homemaker, teaching Artemis mending techniques whenever she had the chance.

So far, life in Kattegat was extremely bland, cold, and uneventful.

The welts on her back healed quickly, scarring minimally with the help of the healer's salve. She supposed she had Ivar to thank for that, though she'd hate to admit it.

Whenever she thought of Ivar, she'd compared him to winter itself. His demenor was frigid, just like icy winds the seeped through the cabin at night. She had no idea what to think of him anymore. Sometimes she feared him, as most did, and other times she felt bad for him, watching him disappear into the mountains to grieve his losses.

Sometimes, she followed him, only to hear his gut wrenching sobs. In normal circumstances, she would've sympathized, but he was far too complex to simply understand his behavior. There were many instances in which he decides to ignore her, while on others he couldn't stop running his mouth, glancing at her with the curious eyes of a child, as if trying to work a puzzle.

That particular night had his curious eyes locked elsewhere, on something of extreme value. Artemis watched Ivar analyze a golden chalice, his ocean eyes admiring the craftsmanship and details of its design.

"What have I done to offend you this time, hmm? If your eyes could, they would kill me," She hadn't realized she was glaring as it was second nature to her now. She was always glaring.

Looking away from his eyes shining in the candle light, she continues to mend his breeches that had laid forgotten on her lap. Ivar was constantly destroying his clothing from dragging his body everywhere, and now she was constantly mending them, a tedious task that she hated.

Ivar sat slumped over his desk, his ale untouched to the side of him. He turned to eye Artemis, who sat by the fireplace, her mending forgotten again. Her skin glowed with the shadows of the fire and her pale eyes shone brighter than anything he'd seen before. The contrast was striking and Ivar couldn't bring himself to look away.

"That cup...it was stolen from the monestary in Crete, " Artemis finally answers quietly, turning to look at the shadows dance across his chiselled face.

"And what does it matter?" Was the boyish reply, "What is so important about this cup that your eyes wish me ill?"

She watches the fire for a moment, the embers hissing as they burn and crackle loudly against the quietness of Ivar's chambers. She wondered if Bjorn had gifted him the chalice. It was to no surprise to her that Ivar had in his possession the very chalice that was to be blessed for holy communion. Was Ivar feared so, that he recieved gifts to keep his anger at bay?

"Skilled hands made that chalice,"

"And what of it?" Not understanding, he sucks his teeth in annoyance. She wasn't a seer to be speaking in riddles. He focused his eyes on her as she laid his breeches on the fur rug, meticulous in sticking the bone needle into the thick fabric.

"I made it, Prince." She replies with equal force, holding out her calloused hands as if to prove her worth.

Ivar looks at her small hands, noting the lack of smooth skin, but it could have been due to her labors since arriving to Kattegat, and so he simply sucked his teeth unimpressed, waving his hand in the air aimlessly to dismiss her statement.

"You jest," He says, fingers gliding over the small pearls embedded perfectly into the gold, "This is fine work. Not even my people have learned to craft such delicate ornaments," Vikings made weapons of destruction, not dainty items to be viewed like a beautiful woman on display. Kattegat had only seen items such as the chalice when his father returned from his first raid in Lindensfarne. Whatever fine items they had, such as jewelry, were mostly traded or stolen from the Baltic lands.

Artemis frowns at his comment.

"My father and I were employed by the abbot. He had commissioned the gold chalice in your hands, as well as all the other gold and silver that was stolen from the monastery,"

"You lie."

"I do not." Ivar's huffs, glancing at the gold again as if he was just seeing it again for the first time. It was impressive work, even he had to admit.

"You can forge silver and gold?"

"I am the daughter of a blacksmith, I can forge any metal I please," The pride could easily be detected in her tone.

"Hmm." There was silence after that.

Artemis turns back to the mending, picking up the bone needle and staring intently at the tears the were left to mend. She couldn't focus on it, pulling the thread around as if she were actually completing the task.

"And that is why you were in the monestary," Ivar breaks the silence again, "To deliver the items." Turning the gold chalice this way and that, he put it to his smiling lips as if testing it. She grunts in reply, moving to work with the tough fabric.

"I suppose you aren't the whore we thought you to be," Ivar smirks, eyes peering at his slave who sat quietly by the hearth. He was half expecting a reaction from her, but instead she remained quiet, closing her eyes tightly and inhaling deeply. She refused to say a word. She wouldn't.

"I'm quite surprised you were allowed such an upbringing," He continues to taunt, "If women aren't allowed to fight, then how could you have learned the trade of men?" She remains quiet still, trying to ignore him as she poked the bone needle into the fabric with difficulty. She would need a lot more practice.

"You may speak freely, Artemis." To this she turns her head, shocked at her name name spilling from his lips so easily. She takes a moment to gather her thoughts before answering.

"I studied alongside my brother. He was to be the true heir, until he passed from plague," Artemis kept her eyes on the threading of the garment, distracting herself from Ivar's gaze, but it didn't help, "Someone had to help with the family business, even if it was a daughter." The memories of her father flashed in her mind, causing those melancholic feelings to resurface.

The man lost a wife, a son, and now a daughter. What did he have left?

Her hands begin to shake, causing her to prick a finger. She hisses, nursing her finger quickly before glancing at Ivar.

Why was he frowning?

"No mother?" He asks.

"She died when I was a girl of the side sickness,"

Ivar remains quiet, only looking at her with eyes that were less menacing and more...sympathetic. It must have been a trick of the fire. The fire makes people see what they want to see, and she had always wished for his gaze to be kinder. It was just a trick.

"I did wonder why you cannot complete the tasks a woman should," He breaks the awkward silence with a snort, "You were raised by men." He then tosses the golden cup towards her.

She catches it easily, watching the metal gleam beautifully with the colors of the roaring fire. Her reflection on it's golden surface revealed her frowning face. Ivar was right, for once. She was not the best cook or seamstress, as those tasks were expected from a woman to complete with efficiency. But her mother had passed when she was young, and Artemis didn't have the guidance that a young girl should from a mother, and there was only so much a father could provide.

"That is true," She begins, "But I can forge metals better than anyone," Well, she couldn't possibly be the best. She was still young, and with age came experience, but she was extremely skillful, and had learned so much already. She casts one last look at the chalice, thinking she'd never see it again.

Ivar eyes twinkled with mirth as a smile stretched across his pale face.

"Oh? Shall I put you to the challenge?" He was grinning now, like a mad man. Artemis ran the pad of her thumb over the rim of the chalice, her chalice, while looking at Ivar from under her lashes.

"What did you have in mind, Prince Ivar?" Ivar didn't hesitate in his answer, leaning forward in his chair as he focused all his attention on his slave.

"I am in need of a new axe, one to aid me in England. Have you ever forged one?"

The axe was the first large piece she had learned to make as it was the weapon of choice for the Emperor's soliders. Artemis hides a snicker behind her fingers, quickly gaining composure at the sudden annoyed knitting of Ivars brows.

"Of course, in the Greek fashion," Ivar hummed in approval, placing his hand under his chin in thought before replying.

"It's settled, report to me in the morning, we shall be paying the blacksmith a visit."

...

Artemis tightened her cloak around her body, hoping to shield herself from the morning chill. It seemed that the early morning and late night winds were always the harshest.

She has passed by Kattegat's blacksmith plenty of times since her duties had doubled, and she would often take a minute or two to peer inside the forge, reminiscing in the sights and sounds that tried to bring her back home. It didnt work, but she relished it, even if for a fleeting moment. But it was different arriving there with Prince Ivar, who dragged his body with gloved leather hands over the snow with determination in his eyes.

"Young Ivar, and company, what can I do for you?"

Artemis had seen this particular blacksmith before, sometimes with an older man. He was a handsome fellow, with long dark hair tied back messily, and with the typical blue eyes of the northerners. He was of strong build, broad shoulders that seemed endless and a height that made him tower over the both of them.

"Arvid," Greeted Ivar, heaving himself up onto a stool by the sharpening stone wheel, "Your father?"

"Out on business with Floki. The boats need stronger nails to support the wood," Arvid quickly answers the crippled prince, "What can I do for the prince of Kattegat?"

"My slave here is from foreign lands. She claims to be a blacksmith. I would like to put her to the test, if you can provide us with the materials needed," Ivar removes the leather from his hands, digging into the folds of his breeches to reveal a golden coin. He tosses it at Arvid who catches it in one hand with ease.

"From Ragnar's hoard?" The blacksmith asks, turning the coin over in between his fingers. It was a foreign coin for sure, but it was still gold.

"It is of no importance'" Ivar growls "Now get us what we need, she will be working on an axe," Arvid nodded, tucking the coin away in a purse before going to the back of the shop to retrieve the items.

Artemis takes in her surroundings quite vividly, as if it would be the last time she would see such a place. Not many candles were lit as the natural daylight illuminated the area just enough to work. The hearth was a familiar sight, and she absentmindedly stepped closer to it, her body shivering as it adjusted from cold to warm. It was all familiar yet so different. Everything was the same and yet nothing made it feel like home.

"Slave!" Avrid called out, "Come and help with the material."

"Her name is Artemis," Ivar shouted back with an grimace as he motioned for Artemis to remove his furs from his shoulders before taking his axe and placing it on the sharpening stone. "Go help the fool," He whispers to her. She bowed her head towards Ivar in respect before making her way towards the blacksmith, who bore the largest of smiles.

"My apologies, Artemis," Arvid had a charming smile, and she was happy to see he had all his teeth intact, "I know you," He says quietly, "You always peer in the shop. I was beginning to think it was to admire me," Arvid belted out a laugh when he saw the pink rise in her cheeks.

"I just wanted to observe your technique. It is different from what I've learned,"

"Right, well, if you say you are a smithy, then I assume you know what these items are," He had laid out on the long table familiar items to her that she had used alongside her father and brother.

"Yes." She says, running her hands over the different tools, before turning to look back at Ivar. He was sharpening his axes but his eyes were glued to the pair, the blue unmoving.

"This would take some time." Artemis says. It would take a few days, a week at most.

"Obviously," Ivar snorts, "We have time, it is not yet spring," Ivar removes the axe from the sharpening stone, testing the edge with his thumb. "We have time, but do not waste it."

"And what of my duties to you and Edda?" She wouldn't make much progress if she were expected to complete her daily duties on top of being in the forgery, it wouldn't work.

"Don't worry about the old hag, she has enough thralls to help her. But you will complete your duties to me come the morning and evening," Ivar said pointedly.

"You may begin."

Artemis flexed her fingers, removing her cloak to which Arvid took and placed away. The blacksmith then placed a small block of steel on the anvil closest to Ivar, handing her a hammer. The fires of the forge seemed to roar as Ivar's and Arvid's expectant eyes watched her for her next move.

It felt like an eternity since she had been able to touch any metals, and her hands missed the transformation of rough surfaces into smooth finishes. She placed a pair of gloves on that lay beside her with no hesitation, grabbing at the long metal tongs to grip the steel. The fire licked at the metal, turning it from its usual dark color, to a beautiful combination of bright red and orange.

Heat started to build up, and sweat began to form on Artemis' brow quickly, her curls already laying damp against her forehead. Pulling the bright yellow metal from the fire, she placed it on the anvil and took a deep breath. Gripping the hammer tightly in her hand, she raises her arm high, bringing it back down with a vicious pound.

And then she smiled.

Now it felt like home.

...

 @didiintheblog @heavenly1927

[lephilodi]

Settling In (D&D RP Ch. 3)

We set out shortly after I had gathered what was important to me, namely my books and the various pieces of literature I had...kept in my possession from home. I tried to get them to wait until dark, but they were rather insistent on leaving as soon as possible. I suppose I will have to come back for my aquarium, mushrooms, and other belongings.

It was today I learned that Luciel is actually a bard of the College of Creation, as he produced a parasol for me out of thin air. Very courteous of him. It was only a few hours to get to their town thankfully, but upon my insistence, they took me to a relatively safe place in the forest not too far away, where they had stashed some strange vehicle of theirs and covered it in vines. Then they were off to celebrate their victory, leaving me alone again in the ever-darkening wood.

I watched as the stars slowly began to appear from the skies. Some of my people despised them, but I always found them to be beautiful. After all, life has no color without light, leaving creatures pale and blind...

Pale and blind, just like the one who had ruined my life. Erebossk.

I truly try not to let my thoughts linger on him. I chose to leave that life behind, thanks to help from a friend. I try to reminisce on what he taught me, rather than what I had lost.

Thankfully, sometime after the midnight hour had passed, Kala and Luciel emerged from the shadows between the dark trunks. I floated down from the top of the vehicle to greet them, but something was clearly bothering them. <I didn't expect to see you back already.>

It was Luciel who spoke first. "Heyyyy Lephi. We have a question for you."

Something is definitely off. What happened in town? <Alright... go ahead.>

Luciel hesitates for a moment again before speaking. "What's a spelljammer?"

I immediately straighten up, rooted to the spot. <Well, I know you can't read or understand Qualith. And I doubt you knew that word before. Can you tell me where you learned it?>

Both the elf and the firbolg simultaneously answer, "No.”

Okay, this is immensely suspicious, and I don't like it. I'm praying to Ao that I won't have to wrestle away Luciel's bag of holding, as it currently had my books, star maps, and schematics inside. <Very well. Spelljammers are ships designed to travel between planes and through realmspace. Even to other crystal spheres. Does that satisfy your curiosity?>

Kala spoke, "For now, yes."

“We were also told some...things, some negative things about you. But we don’t believe they’re true.” Luciel looks up at me, but I can still see some uncertainty in his eyes.

<Well, in that case, it’s probably all true.> I won’t deny what my people are, what we do. What I did.

Kala steps forward again. “Well, we don’t believe them. Not when it comes to you.”

<I appreciate that young ones. But I can see you are tired. You should go and get some sleep.>

The pair eventually went back into town to rest after checking on me. I got as comfortable as I could in the seat on top of...whatever this device is, and decided to rest with one eye open tonight.

Thankfully the next morning, the whole party seemed much more chipper, though Galvar seems to be suffering from a bit of a hangover. Kala removed the plants and vines from the strange conglomeration of devices below me, revealing some sort of crab tank with a set of four ballistas attached to the top, and I realized with some concern that I had been sleeping in the hot seat. Luciel crawled into the tank portion to pilot it, while Kala crawled up to the seat where I was sitting and deposited herself in my lap. She had in hand what appeared to be two halves of a coconut and began clapping them together as we began moving, somehow accelerating the pace of the whole group. Must be some strange magical item. We set off before the sun gets too high in the sky, headed north into Neverwinter Wood.

By mid-afternoon we arrived at a very run-down manse in the middle of the forest. Pumpkin patches surrounded a large house completely covered in ivy. It looked certainly worse for wear, especially with a boar's head carved into the front door. I close my eyes and open up my psionic field to get familiar with the small region around the manse as the others go over their plan on how to get rid of the gulthias tree in the manse's well, sensing four beings of low intelligence within the manse, likely the vine blights they speak of.

I follow as they head inside, floating over the broken wood of busted down doors, and out into the courtyard of the manse. Before me was indeed a well, from which great, thick vines erupted, spreading out across the flagstones. I readied my whip just in case, as I could sense the creatures down inside the well.

Luciel created a great length of chain from thin air with his magic, slowly lowering it in a circle all the way around the tree. And... Ilsensine above, Crete is flying.

I look over to Galvar to see him grinning up at the minotaur. I suppose he learned a new spell. Kala has her flame scimitar at the ready, and they begin the attack.

Combat with the blights is mercifully short and swift, leaving only the tree in their wake. The caster's flame-based spells making short work of the tree, even if Crete's halberd sent blood-like sap spraying everywhere. Finally, Kala casts her own Blight spell, and the tree withers away to dust, leaving the well empty.

<Well, I think this place could use a serious clean-up.> I pull the dehydrated cleaning cubes from inside my sleeve, going to the kitchen to submerge them in water and set them to work.

I come back out to the courtyard to the other four discussing what to do next.

"I think it would make the most sense for Crete and I to go to Neverwinter, so we can sell our loot and see what we can have made with the dragon parts," Luciel explains. “And we’ll look for some builders to fix this place up and maybe set up some outbuildings. Plus I have this sweet stuffed winter wolf head we found to give to Falcon, since he seems to really like stuffed heads of sentient beings. Y’know, just a nice gesture from the new neighbors.”

Oh I really don’t like that. I’m all for keeping repurposed skulls for pots, but at least those were once my food. I lessened the amount of waste from my kills. But I’d rather not have my own head on this...”Falcon’s” wall.

Kala’s also speaks up, “And I’ve got that spider silk weave I commissioned at the Coster to go pick up in town.”

“Then I’ll get started on that secret room for Lephilodi that we were talking about at the bottom of the well!” Galvar says cheerily. “Is that alright with you Miss Lephilodi? We thought it would be the best way to keep you safe when the builders are here.”

<Oh, I see. Well, as long as I have a bed and some space, I suppose it can’t be much worse than Axeholm. And I prefer to be awake at night anyways.>

“Aye! And we’ll set up a hidden door as best we can so no one can bother ye!” exclaimed the dwarf.

<I suppose that will do for now. Thank you.>

“In that case, we’re off!” shouts Luciel jubilantly, as he turns Crete into a giant eagle in front of my very eyes.

Crete plucks up Luciel in his claws and they soon are out of view beyond the trees.

Well that was interesting...

Kala shape-shifts into a wolf and heads for town while Galvar lowers himself into the well to start excavating. I decide to make myself busy and check on the cleaning cubes. They’re not too far along yet, but this will give me time to look around the house.

Unfortunately, the roof of the kitchen is caved in, and the doors on the lower level are all broken for the most part. Most of the furniture is broken, so I do my part and toss all the unsalvageable wood outside with telekinesis. This feels like settling into Axeholm all over again. However, I am delighted to find a laboratory, a library, and a bathing room that still has warm, running water. That’s good, I’ll need a bath later once this room is cleaned as well. There is one master bedroom along with what likely used to be an apprentices’ bedroom, though the latter had a giant hole in the floor and was even more filthy than the prior rooms. Thank goodness the cubes work quickly.

Towards the end of the day, I sense Kala return from town, and I go out to meet her. Galvar comes back out of the well and goes inside to wash up for a moment. Good, I’ve been wanting to ask Kala about something.

I try to speak with my gentlest voice. <Kala, I’ve been meaning to ask you. Are you...okay? You seemed even more upset than Luciel last night, and...when we first met I could tell you were trying to hide a secret from me. But I did not pry because that is not my place.>

Kala looks up at me swiftly. “Oh! Yes, well...I’m not a firbolg. I’m a changeling. I’m fine now, I promise. It’s just that some things that we were told about you, I’ve also heard said about my kind. That’s why I was upset.”

Ah. So that’s what this one has been hiding. <I see. I know little of your kind personally, but I can assure you I have no qualms against you. After all, that would be rather hypocritical of me wouldn’t it?> I project some amusement to help put her at ease before Galvar comes trotting back outside.

With Kala’s help and her Stone Shape spell, they are able to work a bit longer. I decide to head up to that much needed bath as they do so. Thank Ilsensine, the cubes are finished in here. I draw the warm water and strip out of my cleric’s robes. Even with the ivy blocking the windows, I can still see just fine in the darkened room...and I can still see the scars that criss-cross my light skin. Some were accidentally self-inflicted, learning experiences on my body from my time studying how to use a blade-whip. Others...were not. I try not to dwell on them as I sink into the tub of warm water, and I let out a physical sigh of relief. It’s so hard to stay hydrated when you don’t produce your natural mucus anymore. A symptom of my strange diet, but maybe after eating the dragon’s brain, my skin will start slicking down again. But until then, lotions will have to suffice. I soak myself for a while, occasionally shifting to get everything in contact with the water despite my height, before getting out and doing my skincare routine. I put my dampsuit back on afterwards and then my robe, stepping back out of the steam-filled bathing room only to be met by Galvar.

He snapped and pointed his forefingers and thumb towards me, shooting me a wink before he drawls out, “Lookin’ good.”

I immediately feel my face flush white. Was that a compliment???

Galvar immediately started freaking out. “I am so, so sorry, it was supposed to be a joke! I didn’t mean to freak you out!!!”

<G-Galvar, it’s just blush. We blush white, it’s okay. I just...I think it’s time we all get some rest...>

[mostfacinorous]

GO Whumptober Day 28: Such Wow. Many Normal. Very Oops.  [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9][10][11][12][13][14][15][16][17][18][19][20][21][22][23][24][25][26][27]

The cause of the freezing, humans determined, was either merely ‘nature’ or ‘the growing climate crisis’, depending on whether the person speaking believed in that sort of thing. Either way, everyone could agree that it was unusual to unheard of, and no one much appreciated it. 

It had eased off a bit, though-- still frozen, so the snow and ice was sticking around, but the wind had died off and the snow was no longer coming down in buckets, for which they were all very grateful. 

The Bentley remained where she’d been parked since that first attempted afternoon out, and the plowed mountain behind her only grew ever higher and ever thicker. 

Much like their American cousins from years prior, local heads of council had to remind their followers not to jump out of upper floor windows and into the snow, for fear of cars lurking underneath, and injuries that could and would result from such foolishness. 

It didn’t fully stop it from happening, but it might have deterred an idiot or two.

 Fortunately, neither Crowley nor Aziraphale was particularly interested in jumping out of windows. 

There were, however, interested in having a bit of a walk, as it had warmed up enough to allow for it again, and they were feeling a little cooped up. 

And so they packed their cocoa and coffee into a couple of thermoses-- carefully color coordinated in black and lightest blue tartan, so as to never be confused with The Thermos, of which they did not speak-- and headed to the park for a bit of time in the watery grey sun of London in winter. 

The streets were clear enough to walk on safely and carefully, but the path round the lake was only worn down by others’ feet, and the snow had been trampled enough to have turned to mud, then frozen back to ice in places, making their usual habit of walking and talking more dangerous. 

They had decided, after God’s admonition about getting closer, to try and keep their time apart to a minimum. This suited them both quite well, considering the trials and tribulations they’d faced of late, and it was delightful to finally have an excuse to be around one another that neither side could really argue with. After all, not being near Aziraphale when God arrived had put Crowley out of commission for days, and if he had been close, She may not have come at all. Thwarting at its finest, on both sides of the line. 

And so, if they held hands to help steady one another, there wasn’t anything Heaven nor Hell could do about it, short of shaking their heads with disgust. 

“I miss the ducks.” Crowley said suddenly, interrupting the silence that had descended as their last conversational topic had waned. 

“Do you?” Aziraphale asked, surprised. “You always treat them quite poorly; I thought you disliked them.”

“I do not!” Crowley protested. “I play with them. Same as how they play with one another, innit?” 

Aziraphale held his thoughts on the matter. He did glance out across the lake, though. 

“I wonder how firmly frozen it is. Do you suppose they will be able to ice skate on it, after a storm like that?” 

Crowley tilted his head and looked out over the ice. 

“At least a couple of ‘em are gonna give it a go. Look.” He nodded off near the high reeds, where the ducks liked to put their eggs come spring, and where a few children appeared to be slipping off their shoes, with plans of skating over the ice in their stockings.

“Heavens.” Aziraphale said. “Perhaps we ought to do something to stop them.” He began heading in that direction, a little too far off to be heard if he yelled. 

“Bit too late for that, Angel!” He heard as Crowley raced past him, realizing as he did that he’d pressed his mobile into Aziraphale’s hands. He looked up to see a child take off from the edge straight towards the middle of the pond-- and promptly fall through the ice and into the waters below. 

“Bugger.” Aziraphale muttered under his breath.

Crowley was fast, faster than the other children, even, and he shouted for them to stay as he slid on his stomach towards the hole in the ice. 

Aziraphael fumbled with the phone for a spare moment, then got a call in to emergency services. “Hello, yes, I am in St. james’ park, just north of the playground on the birdcage side of the lake-- a child has fallen through the ice and my partner has gone in after them. No, no, I can’t see-- they’ve surfaced. Please send help, I’m going to give you to a child now.” 

Aziraphale handed the phone off to the young girl who was standing by, mouth agape. 

“Help them find us, please.” He told her, a touch of miracle in his voice to give her the courage she needed to do the job, and then he turned to the lake. 

“Crowley?” He called to the man who was clutching at the ice with inhumanly sharp talons that had sprouted from his fingers while he held a boy between his chest and the rim of the hole. “What can I do to help?” Aziraphale asked. 

Crowley had lost his glasses, and his eyes were wide. 

“Don’t come out on the ice- it’s not gonna hold.” Even as he spoke, his fingers on one hand went crashing through the surface, sending them both bobbing as the boy cried out. 

“Tail!” Aziraphale shouted, hoping Crowley had enough presence of mind to handle the change. He had always been a better swimmer while serpentine, and perhaps, that done--

He saw the moment that Crowley gained the advantage and they became a little steadier in the water. 

“Now then-- if you have to, put him on your back, and break the ice away between you and the shore until you can climb out safely!” 

Aziraphale felt next to useless, but he supposed at least one of them had a mind that was not freezing or panicking, and thus was able to assist that way. 

“You hear that?” He heard Crowley mumbling comfortingly to the boy. “I’m going to give you a piggy ride now. You hold on tightly, understand? And I’ll soon have us out of here.” 

Aziraphale watched, fretting terribly as Crowley helped the boy to climb around on the other side of him, and then began the process of smashing through the ice with his claws. 

Aziraphale turned around and saw the fire brigade approaching, an ambulance in tow, and turned back to warn Crowley to hide his transformations. 

“The Rescuers are here-- it won’t be long now!” He tried to make it sound hopeful and not as though he was playing supernatural lookout. It seemed to work, though, as the first of them reached him and clapped a hand on his back. 

“You’re the caller?” She asked, and Aziraphale nodded, pointing as he accepted Crowley’s phone back from her. 

“They’re nearly to the edge,” He added helpfully, though there was a dark and obvious trail of broken ice that marked how far they’d come. 

“We’ve got them.” She promised, and waved for backup. 

A small army of men and women ran down to the river’s edge to lift the boy off of Crowley’s back as he final grabbed hold of solid land, and Aziraphale managed to shoulder his way through them to reach down and grasp Crowley’s hands. 

“There you are, you brave, stupid fool.” He said, pulling him up and onto land and into his arms. 

Crowley was shaking with cold, and he had already partially soaked through Aziraphale’s clothing when the team brought them emergency blankets. 

“Come on now, let’s get you out of your clothes and warming up.” One of the men instructed. 

Aziraphale turned to be sure the boy was receiving the same sort of care; he was already in someone’s thermals. 

“Alright.” Crowley agreed, surprising Aziraphale. He was looking straight at the angel, though, not at the humans who were trying to shuffle him off to the trucks for treatment. “Stay with me?” He asked, almost a plea, and Aziraphale knew it was only partially to help him fend off discovery. The other part was God and the unspoken threat of having saved a human life-- and what Hell might do to him for it. 

“Of course. Let me help him-- he’s ah, special needs.” 

“Alright.” The officials were quick to agree, with the tiniest nudge from Aziraphale. “The parents are on their way, I’m sure they’ll want to talk to you and we’ll need to take down statements for our reports after.” 

“Of course.” Aziraphale said again. “If you can just fetch us some dry clothing for him--” 

He sent them scurrying, and turned back to Crowley. 

“Shall we get out of here before they come back, my dear? Make a run for it?” 

Crowley, still shivering as if his bones intended to shake out of his skin, grinned back at Aziraphale. 

“Best idea you’ve had all day, Angel.”

They booked it, making it out of sight before Aziraphale dried Crowley with a miracle and warmed him with another. 

The walk home was almost anticlimactic, after all that. 

“Ohh… I dropped the thermoses!” Aziraphale lamented, and Crowley huffed. 

“Shall we stop by that little teashop up near Piccadilly?” He offered. 

“Oh, let’s. I suppose you could do with something warm to drink anyway.” 

“I wouldn’t object. And then home, to a fire and several blankets.” Crowley insisted. He paused, then added, “Thank you, by the way. I saw the boy and didn’t think-- I ought to keep you around, have you keep doing that for me, when needed.” 

Aziraphale bumped their shoulders together. 

“You’ll be hard pressed to get rid of me, you’ll find, if you keep pulling stunts like that.” 

Their usual routine resumed, they made their way towards the tea shop, and home, and left the humans to wonder why they had run, why the boy was swearing the man who’d saved him was a mermaid, and how the hell someone had happened to miraculously be in the right place at the right time to stop childish stupidity from turning tragic. 

It was, all in all, a rather successful outing.

[rosezure]

Songbird 4 - We’re All Suspects

Songbird Chapter 4

A/N: I wanted to try something out with the points of view in this part. Hope you guys enjoy this chapter! :)

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to the BNHA/MHA universe, nor its characters. This work is intended for entertainment purposes only. My own characters are, however, of my creation.

Content warning: nudity, mentions of pain, mentions of violence. Please,  let me know if I’ve forgotten anything!

Summary | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Winter in Japan was much colder than in Pindorama. Everything was covered in white, and snow fell every other day. Asa was enchanted. The coldest she'd felt was when she escorted Queen Yeba to the Andes for a secret meeting among allies. 

Now, Asa lived in a traditional Japanese home currently covered in snow. Her very own little winter wonderland. The house was quite large, having many rooms and accommodations. Her favorite part was the forest that surrounded it. Though the hot springs in her backyard were a strong second.

Asa had been delighted when she learned of the house's possession of one. In Pindorama, there was something similar: Houses at the foot of the Great Peak Mountain often had small lakes in their backyards. The waters were cold, but they were known for being refreshing to those that traveled through the dense humid Amazon jungle. 

Perhaps it could be her absolute favorite place right now.

Asa sat in the hot springs, as naked as the day she was born. Crystal-like snowflakes fell from the heavens as she leaned back with her mouth open to catch them. She giggled at the contrast of temperatures in her mouth.

"Madam," The housekeeper, Mrs. Ito, walked out of the house. Her beautiful smile flashed as she bowed.

"Mrs. Ito, please," Asa blushed, "Call me Asa, I insist!" She submerged, leaving her nose and up above the surface.

"Right, Asa," She older woman smiled, "The headmaster and some teachers have arrived for dinner," Mrs. Ito clapped excitedly.

"Splendid!" Asa rose from the hot water and beamed, "Please, tell them to come to enjoy the hot springs!" She asked, already moving around and making sure everything looked presentable.

"Right away, Asa! I'll provide them with the robes and slippers," Mrs. Ito bowed again and disappeared into the house.

"This will be a fine opportunity to assess how pro-commission these coworkers of mine are," Asa mumbled to herself as she retied her hair in place. 

The guests arrived: a small animal-like man, a tall dark-haired man, an elderly woman, and two blonde men. Beaming, Asa greeted them and invited them in. They shed their towels or robes and entered the spacey private onsen.

The guests introduced themselves, bowing their heads slightly.

Keigo had been warry of the invitation sent by the newcomer. She had her own house near the campus, and it was apparently luxurious. He didn't want to meet the ice queen Aizawa had described, much less some spoiled royal brat.

But even he had to admit the house was gorgeous. The residential complex was styled after the Edo Period, akin to high-ranked samurai living quarters. And at the very back, there was a private onsen where "Asa" was waiting for them.

To say Keigo was surprised at the foreigner's invite was an understatement. But he was beyond blown away by the beauty of the onsen in her backyard. The hot spring was surrounded by boulders of all shapes and sizes. Smaller stones formed a pathway to the spring, and it was decorated with all sorts of plants on either side. In the far left corner of the spring was a beautiful fountain cascading down into the steaming waters. 

Asa waved them over. Keigo felt himself blush as he almost stumbled when he saw her: She was breathtaking. Her dark hair was in a tight bun, leaving her features visible. Her copper skin contrasted ethereally with her icy blue eyes. Sadly, her wings weren't out, and Keigo felt himself kind of wishing they were. 

"Welcome!" Asa's accent as she spoke Japanese was only slightly noticeable. She smiled elegantly, inviting them in.

"Hello, miss Asa," Nezu greeted in English. He offered his hand, or paw, for her to shake. She took it gracefully. Keigo noticed her movements were reminiscent of a ballerina. But to him, it just meant she was probably deadlier than she looked. 

"I am Nezu, headmaster of UA High. These are my coworkers Shota Aizawa, Hizashi Yamada, Chiyo Shuzenji, and Keigo," Nezu pointed to each one of them. Asa nodded in understanding.

"It is customary here to address new acquaintances by their family name, correct?" She asked in Japanese, tilting her head.

"Quite right, miss Asa," Nezu nodded, almost dropping the towel on his head, "But you can call me Nezu." He was grateful she understood and spoke Japanese. Using his limited English would have made communicating hard. 

"If it is alright with you, sir," Asa offered a polite smile, "I'd rather call you Headmaster or sir," her tone was respectful, and her smile never wavered.

"Of course!" Nezu laughed lightly, "Whatever makes you comfortable." Asa nodded, then turned to Keigo and the others.

"Thank you for welcoming me into your school. I hope we can work well together and prepare great champions." Asa bowed her head at the end of her mini-speech.

"You are adorable, miss Asa!" Recovery Girl got closer to the woman and squeezed her cheeks. "You'll make a fine addition to our team." She patted Asa on the shoulder.

"Thank you very much!" Asa grinned widely, giggling quietly. Her smiles and words seemed genuine enough, but Keigo felt flustered for some reason. It was like something about Asa that he couldn't quite grasp, yet it made him uncomfortable.

"Mr. Aizawa, Mr. Yamada, Mr. Keigo, thank you for coming. I understand it must be strange to have a foreign coworker joining under these circumstances. I'll try my best to help in any way I can." She bowed once again.

Keigo was irked. She was too polite. Too smiley. Too nice. There had to be something wrong with her. Something she was hiding. And Keigo was going to find out what it was. 

"I assure you my mission is to work with you and for you," Asa declared, interrupting Keigo's thoughts. He looked up to see her staring straight at him. 

"Uh, right. Good." He nodded stiffly. Maybe his scowling wasn't as subtle as he thought it was.

The conversation continued to flow amongst them, but Keigo tried his best to stay out of it. After a few more minutes, Mrs. Ito called them for dinner. 

The dining room was beautiful. The dark wooden walls and tiles contrasted gracefully with the lighter-colored furniture. The food was laid out on a table in the center of the room. Soon, everyone had taken a seat on flowery-patterned cushions on the floor.

Dinner flew by with more chit-chatting and laughs. Asa was a natural diplomat: Everything she said and did was deliberate, showing her guests how much she valued their company. Even Aizawa seemed to be more at ease than usual, and Hizashi laughed delightedly at Asa's stories. Nezu and Recovery Girl were reminiscing, telling her about childhood memories attached to the dishes she had prepared. 

After they all finished eating, Asa took them to walk around the garden. It was kept safe from the harsh winter by a glass covering and its own heating system.

"Some of these species come from Pindorama. I had some sent over since they're used in some of our religious rituals and for healing." Asa walked ahead of them, explaining what each plant was and how it's used.

"Ah, I'm sorry! This is probably boring," She laughed lightly, her eyes turning to half-moons. Keigo felt himself blush. 

"Not at all," He blurted out. This was the first time he'd actually spoken. The others turned to look at him in astonishment. Keigo cleared his throat.

"Oh, thank you," Her smile seemed softer this time. 

Shortly after the walk in the garden, Asa sensed it was probably time to see her guests off. Recovery Girl was getting too cold, and Aizawa's state was worsening.

"What if I helped with that a bit?" Asa offered, seeing Aizawa's pained expression. 

Hesitantly, Aizawa nodded. Asa carefully removed the long coat she had worn over her clothes for the short trek. Carefully, she helped Aizawa onto a bench between two tall trees. She knelt beside him on the ground and gingerly placed her hand over his recovering leg.

"I'm not sure if you'll feel any side effects," She frowned, "So, please tell me if it's too much," She took a deep breath.

Soon, a strange aura began encircling them. Keigo watched in amazement as her wings ripped through her clothes. It tore through the layers she wore, exposing her back to the cold air. 

Asa's lips moved, but no sound came out. Yet, all of them felt a strange feeling of comfort. The air suddenly became warmer. Aizawa's leg seemed to be glowing, causing the man's eyes to widen.

The young woman stood up, removing her hand from his leg. She stood up and sighed.

"I hope that helps a little," Asa offered Aizawa a hand. He took it and stood up, his leg feeling more stable than before.

"It does," Aizawa smiled to everyone's surprise, "Thank you, Asa!" 

"It was my pleasure, Mr. Aizawa," She bowed slightly.

They left after that, bidding her cheerful goodbyes and promising to see her at work soon.

Keigo couldn't sleep that night. He'd never been so impressed by someone's quirk. His first reaction had always been to analyze and determine if they presented a threat to him or not. Yet, now, every time he closed his eyes to try and sleep, he'd picture her wings, those gorgeous, majestic, white wings. Hell, he still felt the aftershocks of her quirk. It didn't just heal Aizawa's pain; it felt like it was healing his own soul and-

Wait a minute.

Her quirk was a healing quirk. It healed wounds, cuts, bruises, pain. Not feelings or emotions. Or did it? 

Keigo stood up from his bed, running to his desk to go over the files he'd received on Asa. They contained classified information about her quirk's history, which the queen herself had. How he got them wasn't relevant. Keigo was sure they never mentioned any other form of healing in the description. But maybe, just maybe, he'd missed it in the report.

Asa of Pindorama's Quirk Description

Type: Healing.

Pros and cons: Can heal open and scarred wounds, bones, muscles, veins, etc. The subject's wings are exposed every time the quirk is activated, which can cause unwanted attention. 

How: Classified. 

Keigo read through every little detail. He skimmed every page and every folder, taking notes of the information he read. But, he found nothing about the strange feeling of comfort and warmness she'd made the others feel. 

Could it be a side effect? If so, why wasn't it included in the files?

What was Asa of Pindorama hiding behind those icy blue eyes?

One thing was certain: She wasn't just a simple healer.

In the onsen, Keigo noticed that her body was littered with scars. Some were too big to have been accidents or minor injuries. It was almost like her skin held war stories from how marked it was. Could it be she was tortured? Or maybe she was a soldier or spy of some sort. That seemed to match his theory more.

If Asa was really the enemy, then she'd have to be an excellent spy to have infiltrated the system. She even got a recommendation letter from the queen herself! What more proof was there that she wasn't a mere healer?

The ex-pro hero wrote down all of his observations. He wrote about the scars, the callouses on her hands, the polished manners that were almost too perfect, and every other information he thought was relevant. He wrote on an old notebook he had lying around his new room.

Follow the events of March, Keigo sold his old house and bought a smaller apartment. After he was hired by Nezu, he sold that apartment and settled for an even smaller one near UA High. But he still had most of his belongings; they were just piling up in random corners around his apartment. 

Maybe he needed to focus on cleaning his place. 

Yeah. Keigo was going to clean up and donate as many things as he could. Then, and only then, would he start focusing on his new "mission": Expose Asa of Pindorama as an enemy spy.

Asa sighed in relief once they were out of sight. Healing Aizawa's leg took a toll on her. She had meant to lessen the pain only, but she ended up using too much power and fully healed it. Hopefully, he wouldn't notice it soon. Asa wasn't sure how she would explain not being able to control her quirk. 

She helped Mrs. Ito clear the dining room and wash the dishes. After that, she went straight back to the onsen. Asa let her body practically melt into the hot water, feeling her tensed muscles relax. Asa had heard of the healing properties of onsens. She'd openly admit to having felt ten times better after spending time immersed in the hot springs. Yet, she couldn't help but replaying the evening. 

Hours later, Asa was still submerged in the hot waters of the onsen. Something was off about Headmaster Nezu and Keigo. And she would get to the bottom of it.

The way Keigo seemed overly suspicious and cautious bothered Asa. Sure, she knew they wouldn't all warm up instantly to her. Keigo, however, seemed wearier than the rest. Asa couldn't have one of them suspecting her true intentions already. No, she'd have to deal with him personally. 

From what she could gather on intel and data, Keigo was formerly known as the Winged Hero, Hawks. Whatever happened all those months ago made him retire. Of course, he wasn't the only one, but he was the youngest of the newly retired heroes. 

Yet, what made him stand out to Asa was his affiliations. Keigo had been brought up by the HPSC. He was taken in by them when his father was caught by Endeavor. Keigo's mother was in no state to take care of him, so the organization took it upon themselves to raise Keigo Takami. 

Asa believed his connection to the agency could be dangerous to the mission. She'd have Keigo watched, just in case.

Nezu was a whole different story. He was intelligent, clearly a capable teacher and headmaster. But Asa's instincts screamed the minute he entered her home. If she hadn't controlled herself, his head would've rolled right then and there. 

Asa lifted her wet hands to her temples, massaging them lightly. She groaned in annoyance.

This was becoming unnecessarily complicated. 

[trvelyans-archive]

the distance traveled & that which has yet to be

a commission for the lovely @bluekaddis of their oc lizabeth trevelyan and cullen post-tresspasser !!! angst is my Jam and i was very excited to work on this piece (poor lizzie has been through the ringer) and i’m very pleased with out it turned out. thank you for trusting me with your gal !!! learning more about her was a delight and i hope you enjoy this sweet little moment between your babies <3

cullen/inquisitor, hurt/comfort, 2100 words.

---

The Inquisitor’s quarters remain as they left them.

One of Lizzie’s first bows hangs on a plaque above the fireplace; a couple of her sketches sit dusty in ornate golden frames on her desk, on her bedside tables. It’s just as drafty and cold as Cullen remembers. It’s just as safe.

Yet he hurries to shut the balcony doors anyway while Lizzie sets down their bags on the bed, the mattress protesting loudly as she sits down next to them. When he’s sure the doors are pulled shut, enough that they won’t be thrown open in the wind like they have been in the past, he turns around, wiping his hands on the front of his pants, and smiles at her.

“It’s good to be back, isn’t it?” he says softly as he wanders towards her, late night sun slanting across the stone floor in muted orange stripes. “I was sorely missing our usual daily routine while we were in Orlais…”

Lizzie nods and smiles but says nothing further, brushing her fingers wistfully over her arm. She’s pulled at the knot so that her sleeve hangs limp and open, now, and Cullen still isn’t used to the way that one of her beautiful archer’s hands is missing as she does so.

He loves her no less without it. The Anchor was causing her so much pain and grief at the end that he’s glad it’s gone – it was killing her, after all, but that was obvious to anyone who had looked or spent a few minutes in her presence when it was lashing out. He’s not glad how much grief it causes her still, though. He hates it.

He wants to say something, but he doesn’t know what to say anymore. He’s told her over and over again that she’s strong, that she’s still whole, that she’s still beautiful, and yet, no matter how many times he says it, no matter how tearful he is when he does, she doesn’t believe him.

He loves her just the same and she thinks that he shouldn’t.

She remains silent, and, not knowing what else to say, he suggests they dress for bed. It will be nightfall soon enough, and Lizzie’s been falling asleep earlier and earlier every day since the events of the Winter Council to the point he’s worried sometimes that she’s going to turn in for bed in the middle of the afternoon. Thankfully, she agrees, hastily removing clothes from her pack until she reaches her nightgown and disappearing into her washing room to change. Cullen sighs, stripping down until he’s left in nothing more than a pair of thin brown pants and a white shirt, and waits on the bed for her return.

She climbs beneath the covers as soon as she emerges, and he moves to follow. “Harritt is close to finishing up your new sword, last I heard from him,” Cullen says hesitantly, standing up and moving around to his side of the bed, crawling in after. “I was sure to tell him to make it lightweight so it won’t give you any trouble.”

“Thank you,” she whispers, leaning back against the headboard.

Cullen clears his throat. “Would you still like to learn?” he asks quietly. “If not, I can –“

“Yes,” she says. “I still want to learn.”

“You will,” he replies softly, leaning over to press a kiss to her forehead and then deciding against it. “Thankfully, you’ll have a great teacher. Cassandra’s very excited –“

She turns her head to stare at him incredulously, the ghost of a smile on her face.

“I’m kidding, pup,” he laughs under his breath, shuffling closer and wrapping his arm around her waist, loosely enough that she can move if she wants to. “I’ve been looking forward to this, believe it or not. It’ll be fun, just the two of us. And I will be a good teacher, I promise. Don’t let Cassandra tell you otherwise. You’re not one of my recruits, and I’m not going to treat you like one. Okay?”

“Okay,” she murmurs, and the small smile she had vanishes, no trace of it left behind.

He doesn’t know what to do anymore. He’s tired of this. That sounds selfish and yet he doesn’t stop himself from feeling it anyway. He loves her. He’s always loved her. Why won’t she believe him? She was like this before, and he allowed her to be, he accepted her to be – they’ve both been through enough things in the past to warrant discretion, even on his behalf. But they moved past that. This doesn’t change anything. Why does she think it does?

But she’s settled against the welcoming curve of his arm and that’s something, at least. He moves even closer, his other hand daring beneath the covers to rest on her thigh.

“You’re not hungry?” he asks. “It’s not too late to ask the maid if she’ll bring something to eat –“

“I’m fine,” Lizzie answers, her eyes distant.

Cullen sighs and knows she doesn’t hear it. He tentatively moves the hand around her waist further until it’s splayed open on her stomach, and he feels her stiffen but not move away. That makes him smile. Maybe tonight, in a familiar place, in a familiar position, he’ll bend the rules a little and get away with it. Maybe she’ll move ahead in her healing process.

He just wants to hug her.

Lightly, his fingertips follow the slope of her stomach, from below her bellybutton to the tightest point of her abdomen. She doesn’t stop him, but he can see her curling the sheets of the bed with a white-knuckled grip. He lowers his chin to her shoulder and tilts his forehead against her temple, breathing softly against her neck in an effort to comfort her, a way to tell her ‘I love you’ without her being able to deny it.

He moves over the fabric between her breasts and she gasps, suddenly, pushing him away.

He’s seen the wounds that the anchor left behind a few times, all when the healers were first working on her at the Winter Palace. She hasn’t let him see them since. He thought they had healed, now, scarred over – he didn’t know they still hurt.

“Are you okay?” he breathes as she pulls away from him.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” she replies, reaching up to brush some hair behind her ear, but it’s been recently shortened in a way she’s not used to so it falls back in front of her face immediately, obscuring her from view as her eyes begin flitting across the room and never coming to rest on his face, which is screwed up with worry and red with embarrassment.

“Was it painful? I-I can fetch a salve of some kind -”

“No,” she says. “No, it was fine.”

“Lizzie,” he murmurs.

“I’m just tired,” she says with a forced smile. “We should go to bed.”

“Lizzie.”

His voice cracks and he didn’t mean for it to, but he can’t help it. “Please, talk to me,” he says, shifting so he’s sitting in front of her, holding his hand open on the bed in case she wants to take it. “I love you. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“You don’t want to know –“

“Yes, I do!” He leans closer, dropping his voice to a whisper. “I love you more than anything, but I don’t know how to love you the way you want me to. In fact, I don’t know if you want me to love you at all.”

“Maybe I don’t.”

“Why?”

“Because!” The word comes out on a croak and tears begin to well in her eyes before she even takes another breath. “I’m… I don’t deserve it.”

“Why not?” he asks.

“Because I’m a fool!” she says. “I… I tricked everyone in the Inquisition to follow me under Solas’ guidance! Where are we now, Cullen? A castle he showed me! And I let him go! And I… I…”

She struggles to swallow amidst the heavy flow of tears.

“I let everyone down,” she breathes. “I let you down.”

“Lizzie –“

“And you don’t want to touch me, Cullen, or be married to me, or see me,” she continues. “You don’t want to see my scars or my arm or my…”

He moves closer. “Lizzie –“

“I’m useless,” she interrupts. “I’m bloody useless. I’m nothing.”

After that, he can’t manage to say anything else. If he does, he’ll start crying, and that will get them nowhere. For a long, long moment, he watches her face and thinks – he strategizes. As a Commander, sometimes that can be what he does best.

She thinks she’s useless, that she’s a failure, but she isn’t. There are so many people all over Ferelden who have been aided by the Inquisition under her orders; she helped rebuild the Templars and gave them a future under a more peaceful rule. She is kind to everyone she meets, more forgiving than some people deserve. She’ll risk her life for the people she loves – her journey through the Eluvians proved that much.

He loves her so much, and he would not have waited by her bedside for three days and three nights until she woke up after her confrontation with Solas, after her ‘failure’, if he didn’t.

He tells her these, slowly, one by one, ensuring she can understand it every time. She lets him take her hand and hold it to his lips, gracing her knuckles with the softest kisses he can manage, the only ones he thinks she’ll allow. The sun disappears beneath the mountains eventually, replaced with a sky full of twinkling stars and a shining silver moon, and he continues, naming the things he loves about her until he runs out breath, and the only reason he does is because she kisses him.

It’s the first time she’s really kissed him since he let her go through the Eluvian. He’s kissed her since, but she hasn’t kissed him first. This time she does. This time she lets it linger.

He leans forward to cup her face, savouring the taste of her lips against his, the tenderness she touches his mouth with. She wraps her arm around his neck and draws her against him, and only when he’s firmly pressed against her does he let his hand fall down towards her breasts again, to the ties in the middle of her shirt that he grabs the end of between his thumb and his forefinger.

“Can I?” he asks as he draws away from her, looking at her in question.

She nods, and his heart soars.

He tugs the string and her collar falls open, revealing spindly webs of dark green scarring, the kind on someone’s skin after they’re struck by lightning. He grits his teeth and closes his mouth so she doesn’t see and so she doesn’t think it’s about her. It’s not about her. It’s about everything that’s hurt her and everything that will. She wouldn’t believe that.

Determined, he grazes his fingertips over the scarring and the soft skin of her breast, soft despite the jagged lines cut through it. With his other hand he pushes her sleeves down her arm, revealing her whole chest to him, painted navy blue in the darkness, the rise and fall of her chest like the gentle ebb and flow of ocean waves on a quiet night, an unusual sight after a month of storms. When he glances up at her face, she’s watching him with rapt attention, and still she doesn’t push him away.

Progress.

He sits up until he can crawl closer, his knees on either side of her legs as he bows his head to brush his mouth over the scars. She winds her arm further around his shoulders and draws him closer until he scarcely has enough room for air but he’s not complaining, really, when she’s the one who spent a month drowning in silence and he’s only now helping her start to float again. He can feel her tears dripping onto his head as he works his way down her body, and it makes him falter.

Her heart is beating madly in her chest and he rests his forehead against it.

“Maker,” he whispers hoarsely, barely managing to hold back tears, “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too,” she says, and he can hear the smile in her voice this time. When he raises his head to kiss her again, it’s still there. It stays throughout the kiss and long after it’s over.

It’s good to be home, even if home is a little different now. It’s still home, and she’s still here, and he still loves her, and it feels like she’s beginning to remember that.

[chrystening]

Silent Elegy | Daenerys Targaryen / Female Reader

Title: Silent Elegy  Fandom: Game of Thrones (TV) Rating: M Words: 2.4k Summary: There’s only so long you can suffer in silence. Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, viserion is your kid too

commissions open :^0

You skirted through the corridors of Dragonstone. Its cold, hard floors echoed under the urgency of your heel.

Not in her quarters–

not in the the throne room–

not with any of her advisors, not even Missandei–

Your brow furrowed slightly.

In your search for Daenerys, you had come across everyone despite the queen herself… and only a single other person.

Your stomach churned with unease. You knew you were correct, but did you dare think it?

You all but jumped down the steps of Dragonstone, briny air hitting your nose. In your hurry, you stumbled into the path of three Dothraki screamers, landing against one’s bronzed chest. Dany’s khalasar.

You muttered an apology in the common tongue. He looked irritated for a second, before vague recognizance of who you were hit their eyes. Few were spared from the wrath of the Dothraki under their khaleesi’s rule – Daenerys made sure early on that you were one of them.

“Finne ajjin khaleesi?” you spoke.

The Dothraki clucked his tongue, before returning a curt reply. You jaw tensed.

You didn’t know enough Dothraki to be fluent, but you could recognize a few words: Cave. Foreigner. Alone.

You froze, letting them brush past you. You continued, more dread in your step.

When you arrived at the mouth of the cave, Daenerys was leaving. You felt the acidic burn of jealousy sear its way through your veins. At her side, and the possessor of her attention, was Jon Snow. They conversed fluidly.

Daenerys didn’t look hostile. She was courteous, even if her eyes lacked the rosiness you had see when you spoke to her but still – you noted the small breadth of space between them both as they strode.

But, still!

Oblivious to your internal screaming, Daenerys finally saw you. Her face softened, and the ghost of a smile graced her face as she strode more quickly towards you. Jon was left in her wake as she came closer. Your heart twinged with delight. You wished you could muster up any sorts of smile in return, but your spirits were too low.

“There you are. I haven’t seen you all day,” she said, lines of pleasure at her eyes.

That’s my line, you thought hopelessly.

You smiled weakly in response.

“Well… here I am,” you said lamely. You inwardly cringed at the pathetic chuckle you made in order to seem unaffected.

Daenerys tilted her head to the side in confusion. Her smile was withstanding, though, telling you that she was oblivious to the reason behind your odd behavior.

You heard a low clearing of the throat. Right behind Dany was Jon, suddenly.

“Your Grace,” he began, looking to Daenerys, who looked back. “If we could continue our conversation?” Daenerys’s eyes sobered with recognition. What conversation? You desperately thought. Why can’t you just say it in front of me? Daenerys nodded after a pause. She looked at you.

You swallowed drily. You couldn’t burden her. Not with all that was on her plate.

She was staging an invasion , spearheading an entire war… it wouldn’t have surprised anyone that you nodded along, shifting out the way to let Daenerys pass.

She gave you a passing glance, smiling in apology, before she strode off without another word. The murmur of their voices was lost in the washing of the waves. The farther they got, the more they shrank in your view.

Suddenly, you felt forgotten.

Suddenly, you felt small.

-

Whenever you closed your eyes, you could see Viserion. You could see him soaring through a cold, blue-gray sky, and you could the large spear of ice that ripped his throat open. Pools and pools of blood rained down. It was more blood than you’d ever seen pour out of anything .

Oddly enough, you could also see yourself. Your face was frozen in terror, your mouth agape but no scream spilling out. You were in so much disbelief and shock that you couldn’t make a sound. All that moved of you were your eyes, trailing after Viserion’s plummeting figure. His wings failed to catch the wind, weakly beating like the wings of an angel cast out of heaven.

Viserion landed in a lake frozen over by winter, skidding and cleaving through ice until the friction slowed him to a stop. He stopped… and then he sank.

-

Your eyes shot open.

Feeling alone… It was perhaps bearable back on Dragonstone. Just almost bearable .

You felt yourself grasping at the dregs of your sanity.

Now, it was not – not after everything that had happened.

“Without him, my lady, you would not be alive,” Brienne spoke. The room was tensely silent besides the crackle of fire. And of course, besides the voices of people talking. Talking, talking. So much talking, politicking.

Who cared? Who could care when… You fingers found their way to the three-headed dragon pin on your breast. Three dragons on her banner, yet one gone. You shook silently with grief where you sat.

Viserion. That was his name, but to you he was Prumia – heart. Heart, because he was so loving and so affectionate, compared to his brothers. You could remember the first time he dipped his head by you, allowing you to climb atop his scales. Riding him was as natural as walking. You had always felt like a second mother to Daenerys’s children but that… that was when you knew you were.

Your eyes rose from your seat amongst the Northernmen. You were in Targaryen black, red flint-like jewels sown in the hems – and yet you were not up there, not with Daenerys. Not by her side. Instead here you were beside Bran, a Stark. You cast a passing glance at him. He was seated, as he had no other alternative. He was composed. If not a little empty , you thought, curiously. You looked up at Daenerys, who felt so far away.

Your eyes slid from Daenerys’s strong, graceful figure to the brooding one beside her. Your mind spiraled, swam with despair.

“What does the Warden of the North say about it?” You saw her look to Jon, searching for his answer. Trusting his judgement.

You hated him. Well, of course you didn’t – you found it hard to truly hate anyone – but you wished you did.

You bowed your head, solemnity creasing your face.

If Jon was to say Daenerys pardon Jaime, then the kingslayer was to be pardoned.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Jaime replied, bowing his head.

Everyone in the Great Hall stood, now that the nobility were excusing themselves.

“He’s with him, you know,” you heard. It was low and quiet, so no one could’ve but you could’ve heard. Your head snapped to the boy beside you, the only one who wasn’t standing.

Bran stared not at you, but far off, like he was seeing something no one else was. He seems... to do that. You made to disregard him but your heart quickened at his next words, so quick and rapid it was painful.

Bran turned to you calmly. His brown eyes, dark and as lifeless as coal, bore hollowly into yours.

“Viserion.” At the name, your blood ran cold. “He’s with him – the Night King.”

It felt like your throat closed, because suddenly you couldn’t breathe.

You whipped your head towards Dany, eyes wide with fear and terror, looking to her as if she had any idea of the news you had just received. Daenerys’s eyes flickered to you. Her expression morphed from confusion to controlled distress, alarmed at the utter horror on your face. Her visage swam as your eyes washed over with stinging tears.

Your Prumia, now an living-dead slave… Your Prumia, now your enemy...

Even if he was lying, even if Viserion wasn’t the pawn of humanity’s worst enemy, the wound was still fresh. And worst of all, you were alone in knowing it. Daenerys was all but gone to you, dancing around Westeros to secure her seat to rule. You were alone, full of grief and no one to share it with. It was too much. You had to leave.

Before you had known it, you were clipping through shoulders, feet speeding to the nearest exit. The gruff noises of indignation from Northernmen were all you left in your wake.

Daenerys watched you go, about to take a running step towards the door before she managed to contain herself into a hurried stride.

I can’t handle this – I can’t handle this –

Outside, you were running blind, narrowly brushing past corners. You were atop the battlements of Winterfell when you heard your name called out.

“Wait!”

Your eyes squeezed shut.

Suddenly, the floor turned to butter and your legs flew out from under you. Your eyes opened quick enough to see the snowy ground come up to meet you. Your eyes squeezed shut in anticipation of the impact – but there was none. You registered thin arms wrapped around your waist holding you up.

You tried to turn your head, but it was hard to with Daenerys’s face in the way.

“Are you okay?” Daenerys asked incredulously.

You gathered your bearings and shrugged her off. She fidgeted at your cold shoulder.

“I’m fine,” you muttered. You turned away and tried to shield your face from her view. If you met her eye, you’d break.

“You’re not,” she pressed, stepping closer.

You didn’t respond, crossing your arms and stepping away.

Daenerys called out your name, distraught. When you didn’t turn around, she called it again, her voice hard.

You stopped in your tracks, before reluctantly turning.You still didn’t raise your eyes.

“Why are you…” she said, dumbfounded. She eliminated the distance between you both. She tried to compose herself, tempering her frustration. “You’ve been… distant… to me,” she finished, matter-of-fact. You balked at her in disbelief. Seeing her oblivious face brought out the worst in you.

“I’ve been distant lately?” you erupted. You couldn’t contain it. “Me?”

Daenerys flinched at your raised voice, before standing a bit straighter. “You’ve been avoiding ever since we got to Winterfell.” Her voice was measured and composed, but with an icy bite. Icy. Cold. That’s what she was all the time, wasn’t it…? Or how she wanted to appear.

But not with me. Never with me, you thought.

Your lips tightened bitterly. Somewhere inside you, you knew you were being cruel, utterly unlike yourself. “I’m surprised you cared enough to notice.” As a wind swept by, you bid yourself not to shiver. The cold of the north was unrelenting, but you refused to show weakness.

Daenerys bristled. “What does that mean?” she asked, exasperated.

There it was. You could see it on her face – she was disengaging from you, as she had been for the past few months.

Something in you flared.

“It means you can see to Jon if it’s company you desire,” you gritted.

Daenerys was taken aback. She narrowed her eyes. “I suppose it’s my fault for daring to care–”

“Well, you didn’t care to be with me before!” you cried. “You were just fine before. You were fine for months. ”

You could see on her face that she finallyrealized what this was all about. She looked at you indignantly, her voice rising as well. “I apologize that I was too occupied organizing an army to coddle you.”

Suddenly you felt like a child. Coddling?

Your eyes grew as cold and hard as coal. “And I apologize for being the only one of us who bothered to grieve for Viserion.” As soon as you said that, you could feel the pain you inflicted, and it hurt you as well. Her face faltered, hurt flashing across her features. Suddenly it was her who looked like a child.

“How could… how could you say that?” She stepped forward, fuming. “That’s not true–”

“Isn’t it?” you cried. You wrapped your arms around yourself. “You didn’t stop for a second and I grieved alone . I grieved alone because you were...” You sighed, fatigue showing in your visage. Your voice pitched. “Occupied.”

Daenerys was crestfallen.

“Occupied with trying to rule Westeros,” you croaked. Then in a whisper, “Occupied with Jon.” Daenerys looked guilty. Even if nothing had happened, she had caused you such turmoil.

“I love you.” You didn’t look up until she grabbed your hands. “I love you ,” Daenerys asserted.

She was deathly serious, her eyes bidding for you to understand. Believe me , they said. Of course, you did. You always had.

“I know.” Your body shuddered, tears starting to sting as you babbled. All your vitriol dissipated. “I just didn’t want to worry you, you’ve been so busy–  and now Viserion is with the Night King– And I was just going to handle it by myself– but… it’s... been hard.” Daenerys’s eyes widened with horror as her hands brought you closer. “It’s been so hard,” you whimpered. Once Dany’s gloved hands brushed against your cheek, you felt the dam inside you burst.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and you could hear that she meant it. “I’m so, so sorry,” Daenerys croaked. Her eyes were wet.

The clammer of smithing and the bustle of people down below, preparing for the long night, caught your ear. You nudged Daenerys away from clear sight. No one could see her like this. You felt shame. Daenerys wasn’t allowed to be vulnerable.

“It’s fine,” you breathed.

“No, it’s not,” Daenerys whispered in the embrace. “It’s not fine.”

“You’re trying to reclaim a throne ,” you said softly. “You’re trying to re-establish a dynasty.”

“And you’ll be by my side when I do,” she declared. She swiped at her eyes, recollecting herself.

You smiled even with wet cheeks. “I envy you. You’re always strong.”

Daenerys took a moment to look at you, truly look at you. She looked at you in disbelief. Daenerys played at being strong.

But you… she thought.

She clasped your hands, warming them instantly. “You are true strength. My true strength.”

She embraced you again, holding you close. It was cold out here. But you still didn’t want to move. The fur of her coat caressed you and her hair tickled you. It was hard to want to move while listening to the steady pat of her pulse and smelling the scent you had come to associate with home.

“He’s with him, Dany,” you muttered, pain twinging your chest.

Daenerys shushed into your ear, something she knew would calm you. And even though it couldn’t take you away from reality, it did calm you.

You blinked away the bleariness of your eyes, looking to the pale blue of Winterfell’s sky. In the distance, Rhaegal and Drogon seemed to float on the winds. You closed your eyes, but your heart still hurt. You smiled weakly into her skin.

It hurt, but it held a duller ache and you were here, in her arms.

It hurt, but it felt like healing.

[yukiwrites]

Libra, Taking Charge

Thanks for the support as always, @xpegasusuniverse! This couple is actually one of the first ones I did in my awakening files, so it was super satisfying to write for them! ;v;)b

Summary: Libra and Cherche were more than used to their lives as the heads of the orphanage they built at the outskirts of Ylisse. The children were well loved and gave young Gerome much needed companionship. Winter was approaching and it was time to plan for the yearly fundraiser...

Commission info HERE and HERE!

______________________________

The spring flowers were just about to give their last bloom to the world, welcoming the warm summer yet again. By the window of a recently built orphanage, Libra smiled softly as he watched some of the children play around the garden, guarded by a very unlikely pair of eyes.

The wyvern Minerva was a highly intelligent animal -- she could understand words and commands, and, although she couldn't speak per se, she was also able to communicate with her knight, Cherche and Headmaster Libra, Cherche's husband.

Libra chuckled heartily, turning his attention back to the cloth doll he was making. The sound of a door opening in the distance preceded the delicious smell of his wife's cooking, making Libra's smile widen.

"My, you're getting ready for it quite early this year." Cherche's voice had an amused tone, followed by a graceful laugh inherent only to her.

The monk raised his attention from his work only to receive Cherche's kiss on his cheek before turning back to finishing the doll's smile. "Indeed. I fear that this year's winter will be harsher than usual." He said in a preoccupied tone. "All the more reason for the fall fundraiser to succeed."

Cherche slid her hands on her husband's shoulders, leaning on the cool window. Her gaze also fell onto the children playing outside, which only made her smile widen. "Should I come up with a new recipe for this year, then? Hearsay is that the pumpkin crop is going to be bountiful -- surely the usual farmers will donate more than usual to help with the event."

Libra's hands stopped moving as he lifted the doll close to his face so as to properly examine it. Then, he leaned his head on his wife's arm, closing his eyes to enjoy the last of the pleasant sunlight before summer began. "That would be wonderful, my love. I have a few ideas involving the children as well -- they expressed their interest in joining the organization last year, so I've been wondering since then what we could have them do."

"Oh?" Cherche asked quizzically, never taking her eyes off of the playing kids right outside. Their guard, Minerva, was flapping her wings humorously, clearly having her fun as well.

"It would be wonderful if they could sing a carol, don't you think? The church usually has the village children sing during mass, but this one group would be composed solely of our children."

It wasn't unusual for Libra and Cherche to refer to the orphans they took care of as their own children -- young Gerome was also being raised amongst them, so they all might as well be the couple's kids, no problem. 

"Oh, that sounds positively wonderful!" Cherche hummed happily, scratching her husband's neck to forewarn him she was moving her hand away lest he bonked his head on the window. "What shall we have them sing? Oh, perhaps I could even sew some adorable uniforms for them all to wear -- our Gerome included! He will look dashing with the blonde hair and heavenly voice he got from you!"

"Er-" Libra flinched, more than quickly putting himself on his feet to look at his wife. "Perhaps I should design the uniforms, my dear?" He asked with a hint of desperation. He knew his wife's sense of fashion quite well. "We can sew it together," he added before she protested, "however I'm sure you- yes, you will be rather busy coming up with the new pumpkin recipe, won't you?"

Cherche placed one hand over her cheek, almost pouting. "Why, that would be no trouble at all -- I need but confirm which crops we will receive as a donation to combine with the ones we already grow here..." She sighed, visibly unhappy. "Aren't you the one who will have much on his hands, dear husband? To give the children singing lessons, craft unique dolls to sell during the event and meet with the people from the church surely will have most of your attention."

"Gh-" Libra gulped. She was right and both of them knew it. However! He could not let her take the reins of the uniforms.

It... It was for public safety. Yes. Indeed, for public safety.

"Nonsense, Cherche." He let out a nervous laugh as he carefully placed the doll and his sewing tools on a nearby table. "It will be a simple drawing -- after that I promise I'll share the workload with you."

Cherche didn't move from her I-am-visibly-showing-how-upset-I-am pose, though her expression held a simple pout and a cocked eyebrow. Libra felt cold sweating itching down his back -- if she started fighting for the position of designer, he would need the blessings of all gods to withstand and counter her sound arguments and perfect execution of any task assigned to her. Cherche's heart was in the right place, but the things she regarded as 'cute' were... not. What was appalling was that even the children were starting to absorb her, well, unique beauty standard, making Libra even wonder what was true beauty in the first place.

Of course, as a monk, he was of one mind to accept any and all who would come to him, no matter their tastes. He actually found that side of hers to be rather endearing, but that wasn't the point at the moment: The entire point of hosting a fundraiser was to attract people into donating, which meant appealing to the masses.

Cherche's tastes were far too... Advanced to be understood and accepted by the people around them, though Libra could actually see the entire village charmed by his wife in a few years' time, just like with the children.

However, that time was not now. He had to stand his ground.

"Oh, very well." Cherche sighed in defeat, walking from behind the chair towards her husband. She placed her index over his chest, a smirk brewing at the corners of her lips. "You'll leave the new dish to me as agreed, yes? I'll make sure to go over it with the nuns at the church so I can sell them beside their booth."

Partly relieved for taking the uniforms away from Cherche, Libra smiled with uncertainty, now worried about whatever it was that his wife was cooking -- quite literally! -- this time.

Nevertheless, Cherche simply reached in for a quick kiss before winking to her husband. "Come; lunch's ready! I'll ask Minerva to round up the children so we can all eat together."

Libra's shoulders sagged minimally, huffing a smile. "Thank you. I'll help set the table."

The fundraiser for the orphanage happened yearly at the end of autumn, just as the last of the leaves were falling and all the delicious crops have been harvested -- it served to help raise funds for the upcoming winter, so they could have more blankets, reinforced walls, proper roof management, warm clothes and such.

As predicted, the harvest had been bountiful -- so were the donations. The event consisted in most of the nearby farmers donating their surplus to the church so it could hold the festivities which ranged from caroling (debuting this year!), racing games and the selling of baked and handmade goods. Since the couple’s arrival, there was also the amusing and somewhat nerve-wracking wyvern-riding event as well, but that was for children older than 13 and adults, of course.

Libra, Cherche and the nuns were the ones who organized everything as well as set up their booths during the entirety of the event -- it was a tiring business, to be sure; but it was all worth their while and labor if it meant to see the children smiling and having their fun.

The scheduled carols were a huge hit -- the kids were more than lacking in the vocal department, but their charisma was off the charts, especially with the adorable uniforms they wore. They captivated their audience every time they were on stage, being called to encores more than once during their presentations. 

Cherche never did find an especially, er, adorable dish she could make with the leftover pumpkins, so she simply presented a pumpkin purée inside a cup that very much looked like a cracked skull, to Libra’s despair. She also had ‘dragon eggs’ in her repertoire, not to mention a spider shaped bread with sausages… Surprisingly, they were all hits with the children, though the adults would need a bit getting used to to their… unique designs.

Despite the bolts of cold sweat springing up here and there during the day, Libra was delighted to reach the end of the event with a full sold-out house -- earning promises from his wife to bring the ‘adorable’ dishes back the next year, alongside a few new additions.

“Oh, well,” he chuckled as they packed everything back into the church. “As long as she and the children are content, it was all worth it. Perhaps next year I’ll see her designs for the uniforms…”

“Oh, what great news!” Cherche giggled from inside the dark room, making Libra flinch out of his skin. “I’ll hold you onto that, my dear husband!” She snuck a peppy kiss while Libra carried a crate, unable to even tear away from her to speak.

“Mhm!” Libra widened his eyes with the sudden kiss, though sagged his shoulders in defeat. Oh, well. He meant what he said, so now he should own up to it. May the next year be good to him!

[carmenlire]

Off the Record Ch. III

read chapter one

read on ao3

Magnus walks into the office at 7am sharp. He’s carrying a latte from the coffee shop around the corner and as he takes a sip, he grimaces a little at the bitter taste.

He’s running on three hours of sleep, having stayed up far too late working on the finishing touches of Alec’s suit. It’s been a while since Magnus has worked around the clock for a piece and it’s strangely invigorating even if he does want to collapse on his couch and sleep the morning away.

Nodding to a few of his employees, Magnus manages to make it up to his office without talking to anyone. Really, only a few departments were up and running this early. Magnus might demand a lot from his staff but he wasn’t unreasonable.

He kept unreasonable expectations to himself.

Clary’s not due for a couple of hours so Magnus has the floor to himself. Walking into his office, Magnus sees the two mannequins displaying Alec’s sample jackets near his desk. In the bright morning light, Magnus takes another drink from his cup as he studies them.

“Still got it,” he murmurs to himself, eyes raking over the fabric looking for anything out of place, pushing a loose pin back into position.

He has no idea what Alec will think of the suits. Really, while Magnus might have the tiniest crush on the reporter, the man’s an enigma. In his early thirties, Alec Lightwood was by all rights a man on a mission.

Magnus could relate even if he wondered just how much the old adage rang true.

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.

Alec seemed constantly in motion, flying off to far flung countries and racking up awards and accolades. It was undeniably attractive, all that accomplishment and drive. Magnus has always loved someone who knows what they want and Alec certainly fit the bill there.

With a sigh, Magnus turns and makes his way to his desk, sitting down and setting his cup to one side while he boots up his computer. While Alec was sure to be the most exciting part of his day, Magnus’s world couldn’t stop for a consultation.

He spends the next few hours losing himself in work. He skims the day’s headlines and gets caught up on his email-- at least as much as he ever is.

It feels like for every reply he sends, two more messages pop up in his inbox in a never ending deluge of correspondence.

He looks over the daily media report his publicist emails at the start of the day, seeing how the Bane brand is faring in the media. Thankfully, all mentions look positive with an editorial piece in Tokyo Vogue speculating about his winter line. Magnus raises a wry brow as some of their theories are remarkably close to his actual portfolio while others are so off the mark as to be laughable.

Taking a short break, Magnus thinks for a quick second before taking his phone out and positioning the mannequins in their most advantageous light. Taking a few pictures, he chooses one before posting it to his Instagram with the caption, Special commission for a client. I wonder who?

Immediately locking his phone again, Magnus looks up at the knock on his door, smiling as Clary pops her head in.

“Good morning, Biscuit,” he greet warmly. “What do you need?”

Walking into his office without a word, Clary only takes enough steps until she can close the door behind her, leaning against it as she looks up at the ceiling without saying a word.

“What is it?” Magnus’s voice is bemused as he takes in his assistant of three years. Clary’s a consummate professional even if she has a propensity to be a little dramatic.

With a sigh, Clary straightens and holds the folder to her middle. If Magnus’s isn’t mistaken, there’s a blush sweeping over her cheeks. He’s just about to ask what on earth just happened when she speaks up.

“You’re ten o’clock is here. Alec and Isabelle Lightwood.”

Looking up at the clock, Magnus is a little taken aback to see just how much time has passed while he was working. It’s ten on the dot and Magnus gives the Lightwood siblings points for punctuality.

“What’s got you so flustered?”

Glaring, Clary manages to hiss, “You didn’t tell me that Isabelle was stunning,” in a stage whisper that has Magnus barking out a laugh as he walks over to the mannequins.

“Now that you mention it,” he muses. “She is your type.”

Fanning herself with the folder, Clary straightens back into her professional stance. “Should I send them in?”

Smoothing down a lapel, Magnus gestures absently with a hand. “Of course, dear.”

He barely hears the door open again, focused on last minute adjustments in a move that is not an effort to quell his nerves.

Magnus Bane doesn’t get nervous and certainly not over a client.

He ignores the voice in his head calling him a big goddamn liar and turns around as he hears steps approaching. Face set into a welcoming smile, every thought in Magnus head disappears for a beat, then two, then three.

Alexander Lightwood can wear a pair of Levis like no one Magnus has ever seen before, making a perfectly plain sweater-- which Magnus has a sneaking suspicion is Valentino-- look couture.

He hadn’t bothered to shave this morning and it gives him a deliciously rugged air. Distantly Magnus wonders if he’s drooling before he shakes his head imperceptibly and pulls his shit together.

If he didn’t know better, Magnus would swear that Alec was similarly affected. Holding out a hand, Magnus says, “Magnus Bane. I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced.”

To his utter delight, Alec smiles and it looks easy, open. Magnus might have expected a certain coolness but right now, Alec looks approachable and friendly.

“Alec.”

Magnus thinks he hears Isabelle mutter underneath her breath but he can’t quite place the words. It’s no matter, though, because in the next instant Alec is sliding his hand into Magnus’s.

His palm is warm, inviting, and as the two of them shake hands, it feels like their in their own little world-- at least to Magnus.

Alec, for his part, looks completely unaffected as his smile cools. The handshake is completely perfunctory before Alec drops his hand and turns toward his sister.

“You already know Izzy,” he says with a nod in her direction and Magnus almost gets whiplash from the change in attitude, the earlier friendliness turning almost icy.

Magnus has worked with jerks before and while it chaps his ass, Magnus doesn’t let his expression shift as he turns toward his friend.

“Of course. Isabelle,” he greets, smile deepening, and leans close to kiss her cheek.

She reciprocates, resting her hands on his shoulders, before pulling back. Back to Alec, Magnus only sees Isabelle as she rolls her eyes in her brother’s direction.

“Magnus. Thank you so much for doing this. We know you’re a busy man who did this as a favor to a friend.”

The tilt of Magnus’s mouth turns wry as Isabelle speaks through clenched teeth and as he takes a step back, Magnus’s gaze flicks over to Alec who looks like he’s chewing glass as he says, “Thank you, Magnus. Next week’s dinner is important and my sister’s been raving about you since she told me about our appointment.”

Slightly mollified, Magnus just offers, “Good to know my reputation precedes me,” and turns with a extravagant hand towards the two mannequins.

“Why don’t we get down to business,” he says briskly and starts with the classic suit jacket. “I’ve created two sample suits. As you can see, I went with classic for this first piece. All black wool with silk lapels and finishing details.”

Moving toward a hidden closet, Magnus opens the door and takes out the hanger with the rest of the ensemble. Handing them over to Alec, who takes them without hesitation, Magnus continues, “Go ahead and try this on and we’ll see how it fits.”

He winks. “We’ll see just how close to your measurements I could come to with just pictures as reference.”

Clearing his throat, Alec nods and turns towards Magnus’s ensuite bathroom and closes the door without a word.

Left alone with Isabelle, he looks over as she sighs heavily.

“He’s such a dunce,” he hears before she’s smiling apologetically. “Sorry about him. I’d blame it on the jet lag but unfortunately my brother isn’t exactly the warm and fuzzy type.”

Magnus waves that away. “He’s not the first less-than-pleasant client I’ve had, dear, and he won’t be the last. While I’m disappointed, of course, that he doesn’t have the same sunny disposition as you, I have to admit that I’m looking forward to seeing him fill out my clothes.”

“Alec might prefer to wear simple clothes but he definitely has his own sense of style,” Isabelle agrees. “He does get a little set in his ways, though.”

“Don’t say that Alec didn’t want to come this morning,” Magnus says sardonically.

Grimacing, Izzy just replies, “He wasn’t an ass about it but once my brother finds something-- someone-- he likes, it takes some persuading to steer him in a different direction. He has the disappointing and extremely frustrating habit of landing himself in ruts.”

Magnus can’t help himself from coming to his defense, suggesting, “He is a busy man. I can’t imagine that he has all the time in the world to explore when he’s always off on assignment.”

Isabelle huffs but before she can say anything, the bathroom door is open.

Goddamn.

Magnus keeps his neutral expression, though it takes more effort than he’d like to admit. He’d gotten damned close to Alec’s measurements and as he runs a critical eye over the suit, cataloging the dozen places that need altering, Magnus gives himself a little pat on the back for another job well done.

Gesturing sharply for Alec to approach the tri-fold mirror in the corner of his office, Magnus swings by his desk to pick up his pin cushion and tape measure before joining Isabelle and her brother.

If his eyes happen to drop to a truly magnificent ass, Magnus assures himself that no one’s the wiser.

Coming around to stand in front of Alec, Magnus smooths the shoulders of the suit.

“This needs let out three quarters of an inch,” Magnus mutters under his breath, noting the tightness as the fabric stretches over an impressive set of shoulders.

Alec stands still as Magnus repins the area. Magnus doesn’t pay him much mind as he circles around, making other minute alterations. Tugging down the back of the jacket, Magnus admires the flare that accentuates slim hips before coming back around and shifting to the shirt.

Looking up, Magnus meets Alec’s eyes, his own dancing just a little as he reaches toward the collar.

“Now, I don’t know the dress code for this event but I’ve tailored the shirt and jacket so that it’s suitable for both a bow tie or open throat.” So saying, Magnus unbuttons the top two buttons, fingers just gliding over the warm skin of Alec’s neck.

While his expression doesn’t change, only half of Magnus’s mind is on which style fits best, waiting for Alec to give him some feedback.

Most of his thoughts are caught on the ripple of Alec’s throat as he swallows hard, mouth opening on an almost silent gasp that only the two of them hear. Their eyes collide and Magnus wishes desperately that this was a sign. It’s a moment suspended in time-- Magnus’s fingers still along the collar of the shirt, spreading it wider to show a larger swathe of tan skin.

No one says anything and Magnus can’t even begin to string a sentence together as he wonders what the hell the man in front of him is doing to his usually iron-clad professionalism. Before he can do anything though, Alec’s clearing his throat. It jars them from the spell that seems to have been cast over their tableau and while Magnus doesn’t startle, he does blink, the breath shuddering out of him as Alec’s tongue darts out to drag over a full bottom lip.

“Actually,” Alec says slowly, looking at Magnus as though for permission, “The gala is black tie only. No open throats allowed.”

“Of course,” Magnus replies mechanically. On autopilot he buttons the shirt back up and takes a step back, regaining some equilibrium with the move.

Turning his back for a brief moment, Magnus walks over to his desk, grabbing the slim box from the corner of his desk. He lifts the top as he returns to Alec, holding it out for both he and Isabelle to look over.

“I thought you might say that,” Magnus says with a small smile, nodding towards the black silk bow tie resting in white satin. “I had the design team bring this up just in case you opted for the more formal choice.”

Isabelle reaches for the piece of fabric, but Alec beats her to it, lightly slapping her hand away. “I can tie my own bow tie,” he says dryly, rolling his eyes as only a big brother can before taking a step or two closer to the mirror for a better look.

Magnus watches the display with a smile. His eyes catch on the graceful, if utilitarian, movements of Alec’s hands as he expertly ties a perfect bow. Leaning closer to the mirror, Alec’s thumb runs under the wing tip collar of the oxford shirt, smoothing the black silk, and Magnus’s mouth goes dry.

Get a grip, he tells himself and brightens when Alec’s eyes catch his in the mirror, as if asking for a second opinion.

Gesturing for Alec to step back, Magnus runs a critical eye of the outfit. He reaches for Alec’s arms, pulling them straight in front of him, gauging the length.

“It’s a little tight,” Alec admits, subtly flexing his arms.

Magnus’s reply is absent as he says, “The sleeves are too short. I’ll send down to the store for the next size and tailor it to the measurements I’ll take in a few minutes.” Shooting the cuffs, Magnus looks up with a frown. “Do you have cuff links or do you need a pair? I have a few on hand to get the general effect but I can refer you to a few jewelers if that’s more your speed.”

“I have cuff links at home. I didn’t think to bring them,” Alec admits sheepishly.

Magnus waves that away.

“I should have told Isabelle. No matter, like I said, I have some that will give us the effect we need and see what adjustments might need to be made.”

Grabbing the a notebook on a side table, Magnus reaches for the pencil tucked behind his ear, pulling his tape measure from around his neck. He spends the next several minutes readjusting pins and getting real measurements, wanting to make sure that this Bane Original especially fit like a dream.

Taking a step back, Magnus studies the new silhouette before his gaze snags on the pants. Tossing his notebook to the side, Magnus kneels and reaches for the hem of Alec’s pants, tugging them down over sock-clad feet.

He smiles, just a little, at the mini ducklings that make an otherwise plain black sock fun.

“What do you think of the silk stripe down the side? Too much?” Magnus glares at the pant leg, debating on the length when he looks up to see Alec already studying him. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Alec says and Magnus leaves it at that. He can’t help clients who won’t say what’s on their mind.

Deciding the length works-- surprising since Alexander’s exceptionally tall-- Magnus stands back up, dusting his hands off in the process.

“Well, how does it look,” Magnus asks, stepping back and gesturing for Alec to spin.

Alec does so, looking down at himself in the suit. “I like it,” he says, sounding surprised. Shrugging a little, he looks up at Magnus as he completes his revolution. “I like it a lot.”

Magnus smiles, leaning down to grab his sketchbook from where it’d landed on the floor. “That’s what I like to hear,” he says lightly. He tilts his head toward the second mannequin. “Do you want to try on the second suit? I know it’s flashier, a little bolder, but I looked through press pictures from past formal events and sometimes you like something with a little edge.”

Alec bites his lip, thinking, as he glances over to the other side of the room. He smiles faintly. “Purple, though,” he asks, eyes laughing as he looks more than a little taken aback.

Magnus’s reply is prim as he merely offers, “Aubergine, Alexander. It’s all about the shade.”

“Oh, of course,” Alec agrees easily, laughing. “That makes all the difference.”

“Magenta is different from violet is different from lavender.”

Nodding, Alec grins and Magnus notes the faint laugh lines just starting to form at the corner of his eyes. “You’re right," he says gravely. “My mistake.”

“As long as you’re aware,” Magnus murmurs, taking a step back.

“Can I offer either of you something to drink? Eat?” He winces. “I’ve been a terrible host and businessman. Forgive me.”

Alec waves that away almost before he’s done talking. “I’m good. Iz?”

Smiling, Isabelle asks for water which Magnus goes to the intercom to order from Clary. She knocks on the door to the office before poking her head in. Walking into the office, Clary holds the bottle of water out but Magnus nods toward Isabelle and Clary falters imperceptibly before she switches directions.

Magnus watches as Clary hands the bottle to Isabelle, who takes it with a wide smile, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she says something to low for him to hear. Clary laughs though, breathless, and Magnus finds himself intrigued.

Looking up, he catches Alec’s eye and the two of them exchange looks as Isabelle and Clary talk for another minute before Clary takes a step back, tripping over air with a small yelp before turning on her heel and leaving the room posthaste.

The room’s silent for a minute before Alec clears his throat. Magnus sees Isabelle close her eyes as though in pain before pasting a bright smile on her face and turning towards her brother.

She tries to ignore his look, instead moving to brush an invisible piece of lint from the front of his jacket. Alec doesn’t say anything, and Magnus doesn’t either before Isabelle sighs exasperatedly and snaps, “What?”

Theatrically raising his brows, Alec just pleasantly returns, “Why don’t you tell us?”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she just says, “So, she’s cute. What about it?”

Grinning, Alec pokes her shoulder. “You have a type,” he says knowingly. “Why don’t you just ask her out and save everyone involved-- including the long-suffering witnesses-- the pain of drawing it out.”

“We’re not here to talk about me. We’re here to focus on you. And what a sight to focus on,” Izzy exclaims. “You look great, Alec.”

She throws a sharp look at Magnus that he has no hope of deciphering before she says, “Lydia won’t know what hit her.”

At that, it’s Alec’s turn to look uncomfortable.

Isabelle immediately jumps on the shift in expression, demanding, “What happened?”

Clearing his throat, Alec spares a fleeting glance at Magnus before admitting, “Lydia and I are no longer a thing.”

“You’re no longer a thing,” Isabelle repeats incredulously. “What?”

Shrugging, Alec just says, “We both decided that things had run their course and we should go our separate ways. We’re still friends just-- just nothing else.”

Magnus absorbs the information. The truth is, people rarely paid attention to their tailor and Magnus has been a fly on the wall of conversations some people would kill to know. He can’t quite believe Alec’s airing his business so nonchalantly in front of him but Magnus fulfills his role, remaining obscure.

That’s, at least, until Alec turns directly towards him and offers, “It’s probably hitting the news soon, so I didn’t see an issue letting someone know before it’s official. I hope you don’t mind.”

Alec rubs the back of his neck, “I know that we’ve only known each other an hour,” he says, tone self-deprecating, “But I trust you. I don’t know why but I do.”

“Client confidentiality is a must in my business, I assure you.” Magnus smiles, just a little, adding, “I’d hope my friendship with Isabelle would vouch for me but just so you know, I’m not in the business of spreading gossip.” He arches a brow. “I have better things to do with my time. I am a busy man after all,” he sniffs.

Alec’s expression warms at the reassurance and he snorts a laugh. “Good,” he says. “I’m glad."

Taking a few steps over to Magnus, Alec holds out his hand. “Thank you. I know I was a little short with you when we first arrived and I’m sorry. You’ve been nothing but helpful and I love this suit.”

Magnus slides his hand into Alec’s grip, their handshake professional even if Alec’s expression is much more open this second time around.

“You’re welcome, Alexander. I’m glad that Isabelle thought to mention my name. It’s been awhile since I’ve done such a commission and I have to admit that I’d forgotten how fun it can be, filling a rush order for a particularly influential client.”

“I’m influential, huh?” Alec’s voice is soft, searching, and Magnus can’t stop himself from leaning infinitesimally closer.

“Well, you’re only one of the most well-known journalists in The States, if not the world,” Magnus replies demurely. “I can’t wait to see how you photograph in my clothes.”

Close, Magnus can see the way Alec’s eyes widen and the way the faintest color sweeps across his cheeks before he pulls-- finally-- his hand from Magnus’s.

It’s over quicker than Magnus can blink and he can’t help but wonder if he didn’t just imagine the way Alec swept a lingering thumb across his palm.

Stepping back, Alec nods towards Izzy. “I hope I can do them justice,” he says before continuing, “I promised Iz that we’d get lunch soon and we’ve taken up enough of your time. While I love the craftsmanship of the second suit-- and you might have even gotten me into it if it was for a different occasion-- I think I’ll go ahead and order this black one.”

“Smart choice,” Magnus manages, still preoccupied before he shakes his head and snaps back to attention. He smiles brightly at Alec.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Alexander. I have to admit that I might watch your news segment regularly. It’s nice to meet the man behind the camera.”

“Yeah,” Alec asks, sounding pleased at the news. “I hope I don’t bore you.”

“Never,” Magnus vows. “Not even when I have no idea what treaty or legalese you’re talking about.”

Clearing his throat, Magnus steers the conversation away from his embarrassing habit. He just met the man-- Magnus doesn’t need to spill all of his secrets this morning.

He walks until he’s standing behind Alec and helps him shrug out of the jacket. He gestures toward the bathroom. “Feel free to change back into your street clothes while I hang this up.”

Alec follows his direction and disappears into the bathroom. Magnus doesn’t know quite when Isabelle moved but he’s suddenly being nudged in the ribs.

Wincing, Magnus jerks out of Isabelle’s particularly pointed reach.

“What?”

Pointing a finger in his direction, Isabelle’s tone is playfully accusatory as she replies, “Don’t play dumb with me, Bane. You were totally checking out my brother.”

Glaring, askance at both Isabelle’s forwardness and his own lack of discretion, Magnus merely scoffs and says, “He’s Alec Lightwood. Of course I was checking him out. I’d have to be dead not to take that man in.”

Izzy chastises him. “You weren’t being subtle,” she says dryly.

Rolling his eyes, Magnus’s voice is equal parts annoyed and amused as he says, “Don’t worry, dear. I’m sure you’re very straight brother didn’t notice.”

Isabelle doesn’t say anything in response and when he looks over from where he was hanging the jacket back on the empty mannequin, he sees his friend looking like she’s chewing particularly cutting glass.

“What,” he wonders. “I might flirt a little but I’m very much aware that he’s not interested, Isabelle. I would never make a client uncomfortable, though I find it hard to believe that Alec is a homophobic bigot, considering the way he teased you earlier about my very lovely assistant.”

Isabelle laughs. Loud, echoing laughs that, quite frankly, startle Magnus.

He doesn’t say anything, just smiles and waits for his possibly deranged friend to calm down. Isabelle quiets down to soft snickers after a few minutes, wiping under her eyes to clean up her running eyeliner.

“Alec is as from a homophobic asshole as you can get,” Izzy assures him. “I promise you didn’t make him uncomfortable. He’d have no problem telling you to get lost if you had.”

She shrugs. “Who’s to say. Alec probably didn’t notice you flirting but if he had then he must not have minded very much.”

Magnus doesn’t know what to make of that so he opts to ignore it, though he can’t deny that it lingers in his mind, thoughts twisting over those innocuous words.

He shakes his head, impatient at himself, as the bathroom door opens and Alec comes back out, dressed in the warm brown sweater and worn jeans.

Handing the suit to Magnus, Alec smiles easily. “Thanks again, Magnus. I can’t wait to see the finished product.”

“You’re more than welcome, darling. When do you need this suit again? I need a firm time.”

Squinting a little, Alec throws out, “How about Tuesday afternoon? Four? The gala’s at eight but I won’t get ready until the late afternoon. Does that work?”

“Perfect,” Magnus beams. “With a rush order, every extra hours counts. I’ll have this delivered to your home or office Tuesday afternoon.”

Tapping his pencil against his chin, Magnus thinks for a second, making sure that he has everything he needs.

“Oh! What color accent do you want for the pocket square?”

It’s a small thing but definitely a touch that most clients like to personalize. Magnus does his best to tailor every order to the client’s specifications and so he waits for Alec to think through options, hoping that it won’t be a fashion faux pas.

He once had a special commission for an orange paisley suit with a blue plaid pocket square and string tie. The client was over the moon with the finished product, even if Magnus had hated every stitch.

“Let’s go with a blue. I trust you can pick the best shade that will be a pop of color but won’t be overpowering or too dark?”

“I can do that,” Magnus agrees easily, happy with Alec’s choice. “Classic, masculine-- very you, darling.”

Magnus can’t resist and he’s treated to a soft smile as Alec ducks down, hiding his face from view.

Isabelle clears her throat. “Well, we’d best be getting to lunch. I’m starving and Alec’s paying so no need to dawdle. Right Alec,” she asks, studying her brother like a bug under her microscope.

“Yeah,” Alec says, voice rough.

“Have a good day you two and thanks for stopping by, Isabelle. It was nice seeing you.”

“We should get lunch soon.”

Magnus winks. “Stop by Clary’s desk on your way out and she can set something up for us.”

Izzy grins, nodding, before turning towards the door and leaving without a backwards glance, not waiting for Alec to follow.

Still, Alec doesn’t leave right away and Magnus is loathe to end their meeting.

“Maybe I’ll see you around, Alexander.”

“That’d be nice, though I am out of the country a lot for work.”

“A journalist’s work is never done,” Magnus teases.

“It does seem like it sometimes.”

Taking a step closer, Magnus slowly says, “Well, maybe when you’re in town next you can call me and we’ll see if we can make our schedules work.”

He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a business card and holding it out for Alec to take.

Alec reaches out slowly, as if afraid it’s a trap, before grabbing the card. His fingers brush over Magnus’s and they both still at the contact.

“Thanks,” Alec breathes before breaking the connection and taking the card, sliding it into his back pocket.

“Don’t mention it,” Magnus manages and smiles.

Taking a step, Alec starts to turn toward the door, throwing one last glance over his shoulder.

“I’ll see you around, Magnus.”

Nodding, Magnus doesn’t say anything, just watches as Alec leaves, carefully closing his office door with a quiet snick.

The minute the door closes, Magnus is blowing out a breath and falling back onto his couch with a muttered curse.

“Christ,” he whispers under his breath, working on his breathing.

While things had gotten off to a rocky start with Alec, there was just something about him that Magnus couldn’t put his finger on that made him want to come closer and learn more about the damnably closed-lip man.

Magnus couldn’t get a read on him. Cool one minute, bright enough to melt the polar caps the next. There’s something there that makes Magnus want to burrow closer and find out just what Alec’s hiding under the small smiles and brusque facade.

It’s interesting reconciling the man who reports the news in dangerous, tense locales with the approachable, long-suffering big brother he’d met today. Two sides of the same coin and Magnus can’t help but wonder what other sides there are to one Alec Lightwood.

Alas, he probably won’t see the man again, Magnus thinks glumly.

He’d put the ball in Alec’s court and while Alec had been everything polite about the invitation, Magnus doesn’t want to think that there’s anything more there but an exceptionally talented designer fulfilling a lucrative commission.

More’s the pity, he thinks and sighs again.

Lack of sleep starts to catch up to Magnus and with a quick look at the clock that hangs over his desk, Magnus decides that he can take a few hour nap before his early afternoon appointment with the textiles manager in Milan.

He’s asleep almost before he makes the choice, his last thought lingering on Alec and just how well he filled out a pair of jeans.

[monstersandmaw]

Edit: I’ve decided to add those 700 words to this post too!! See below!

Kieran's story is now so long and out of control that I'm going to split it into two for you! Yay! More story!

Part One is 5000+ words, and Part Two isn't finished yet, but is already at 3000+ words, so there's so much in store to come! I hope you're looking forward to it - I've totally fallen in love with this boy. He's gruff and grumpy, but I hope you'll come to love him and see him as he truly is...

A 700 word preview is up on Patreon already, and the rest will be posted there for the October story in two parts. That means you’ll be getting easily more than 13,000 words for just $5 this month! To put that into perspective, if that were a commission, it’d cost £130 (approx $169...)

Join my other Pixes and Goblins and have exclusive access to this and every other monthly story up there, as well as works in progress, early access to all other Tumblr stories (excluding paid commissions), character profiles, ideas, polls to help me decide what to write next... 

Click here to become a Patron and enjoy Kieran’s story tomorrow, and the Orctoberfest story I posted today, as well as all the other benefits!

Preview...

“What?” you barked, glowering up at the massive minotaur who stood at the town’s gateway, leaning heavily on his double-headed axe. “No, you can’t be serious? Really?”

“Yup,” he said, sounding genuinely sorry for you. “Maralin’s caravan went through two weeks ago, and she’s always the last merchant to head through here before autumn gets too far along towards winter. I’m sorry.” He flicked an ear and scratched idly at his chin, “Perhaps you can find work here over the winter and carry on in the spring after the thaws?”

You shook your head, determination crystallising into something hard and unbreakable in your chest. “No, I have to get through the Wychwood now, today, last week even. I can’t stay here over the winter. Thank you though,” you added hastily, knowing it wasn’t his fault that you’d missed the caravan, and that there was no reason to be rude to him.

“Hey, wait,” he called incredulously after you as you headed with a determined stride towards the meadow which skirted the large forest. “You can’t be serious about going out there alone!”

“I’ve got no choice!” you replied, hoisting your pack further up your shoulders and tightening your grip on your mage staff. It looked fairly ordinary, and so far only a couple of people had suspected that there was more to it than met the eye. You’d hidden your mage tattoos well, not wearing anything sleeveless and keeping your gloves on as much as you could. The marks were not ostentatious, but the pencil-thin lines that passed up your middle finger and branched out into a geometrical, abstracted lotus flower on the back of your hand would be obvious to anyone who bothered to look closely. Luckily the chill of mid autumn was enough that wearing gloves didn’t attract so much as a raised eyebrow.

You had to get away though, and so you stepped into the trees, mindful of the town guard’s warnings of bands of gnolls and bandits, of trickster spirits, and nastier things which had no name and had been in the forest longer than anything else. You knew too that there were numerous herds of nomadic satyrs and fauns who did not take kindly to wandering humans blundering through their territory, but occasionally a herd of centaurs or cervitaurs had been known to help out a lost human, even seeing them safely to the edge of the forest. Perhaps you might encounter one such herd, if you were lucky.

If you stuck to the road, you’d be a sitting duck for bandits, but if you strayed too far from it, you ran the risk of getting lost, or stumbling into the middle of a group of folk native to the area, who might not appreciate your intrusion to say the very least. But, what choice did you have? Your former master had barely let the ink dry on your tattoos before he’d tried to bind you to his will. Linked to you, he would have a pool of power twice as deep as his own from which to draw, and you would be little more than a well from which he could tap whatever he liked. It sickened you that he’d raised you and developed your skills only to have him turn on you and betray you like that. It made you never want to use magic again. Almost.

Shuddering, you focused on getting away, and on what lay ahead of you, not on what lay behind you.

To start with, you stuck to the road, figuring that any bandits would think twice about operating so close to the town where the watch could be roused with a scream or two, and that you would be safe for a little while. Your first couple of days in the Wychwood passed uneventfully. You refrained from using your magic, knowing it could attract anyone with sensitivity to it for miles around, and resorted to trying to trap rabbits. By the fourth day, you’d run out of food other than the very toughest of rations, and four out of five of your traps remained empty, but you discovered to your great delight that at least one had worked. You ate ravenously that night, heedless of the smoke of your small fire.

The next morning, you awoke with dew frosting your blanket, and the sound of rustling in the bushes around you. You froze, barely daring to breathe, but a rasping voice chuckled, “It stirs!” and a few other gleeful voice added comments like, ‘good ears for a human’ and ‘maybe she’s not so useless after all’.

“What do you want?” you asked, sitting up and trying to act calmly.

Read more over on Patreon!

[tact-and-impulse]

Eating Together, Drinking Alone Chapter 30

It’s the last chapter for the plot, although I have one last omake in mind. Thank you for the support so far, and stick with me for just a little longer! FF.net, AO3

Chapter 30: Sakurayu

Hiko was not inside his house when it surrendered to gravity. Subconsciously, he had expected it to happen, because the beams were beginning to rot, and he had only replaced one. Still, he had gone to buy more clay and returned to wreckage.

He stared for a moment, at the broken roof and walls. The commissions were in the workshop, but it wasn’t that much consolation. He took a long pull from his jug, before clearing the debris. The crockery was smashed, his futon impaled by a large plank. It was tedious to avoid splinters, but as he moved the worst part of a shelf, something distracted him.

A paper rested on the floorboards, yellowed and forgotten. He unfolded the creases, and was startled. In one corner, his features were drawn in faded pencil. This was the only portrait his sister ever made. He thought he had thrown it in the fire, along with her other letters during his attempt to drink himself into the afterlife. It must have been misplaced, and listlessly, he began to read the contents.

Nii-san,

Here’s that picture I promised you. Please don’t mock it, I tried my best, to make it close!

There’s been a cold going around the village. Don’t worry, I haven’t been sick and neither has Yoshiro. I make sure we’re both warm, and the baby is too. It’s a lively child, kicking right now!

Do you have enough blankets and firewood? There must be enough food near Kyoto, but I worry about you carrying a sword. You must be bothered, but that is my lot in life as your sister, and now that I’ve met you again, I intend to cherish it. We’re family, always. Isn’t that so nice?

I hope to see you in Hida soon.

Natsuko

“Damn it.” He immediately left the clearing and shoved the letter in his coat pocket, where it seemed to weigh heavily. The wind barely had any bite left, for winter was truly gone.

He kept walking; by late afternoon, he was in Kyoto. The gravestone was overgrown, and he tore out the surrounding weeds. “What is it with you, Natsuko, and collapsed houses?” He said aloud.

But then again, the house had been thirty years old. It was inevitable to lose it, as he had lost so many things. And he had gained others, some fleeting and some more constant, but he never forgot any of them. That was the way he lived.

He splashed his jug’s contents onto the stone, before quietly promising. “I’ll be back for Obon.”

And with that, he continued his detour to the post office. It was fortunate, for there was a letter from Tokyo. “It’s about time they had another brat.” He muttered, but he couldn’t stop the grin spreading across his face. After all, it had been four years, since he had last visited.

***

“Shishou, you’re here early.”

This was a sight that brought back memories. His idiot apprentice was still playing the part of housewife, airing out futons in the yard. However, he now kept an eye on a little boy, running his shinai through the new spring grass.

“My house broke down.”

The idiot’s eyes widened. “Are you alright?”

“As you can see, not a scratch. I was out at the time, and before you ask, I’ve made preparations for the repairs while I’m gone. Now come here, you brat.” He beckoned Kenji over, and the boy screamed with delight as Hiko lifted him. “Hm, you’ve grown a little, since last summer.”

“Shishou!” Kenji repeated his father’s greeting. “More Hiten Mits’rugi?”

“My place needs to be rebuilt first, but that should be before the year’s end.”

His apprentice only smiled. “Well, we’ll see about that.”

“Yes, we will.” The tanuki girl stepped out of the house, with a fire in her eyes. “Kenji’s been learning more from me. The third generation of Kamiya Kasshin has to be secured somehow.”

“Oro! But there’s the new baby. Would you like to see him, Shishou?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” He made a show of shrugging and was led to the cradle. At the sleeping infant bundled within, he bluntly said. “It’s an exact copy of the first one.”

“No, Shinpei has darker hair, it’s more brown than red.” The tanuki girl argued. “Anyway, you can figure out the difference soon enough. Won’t you stay here with us, until your house is fixed?”

“You can stay as long as you like, Shishou.” His apprentice mildly said, but Kenji protested.

“No, stay forever!”

“Shh, Kenji.”

However, it was too late. Shinpei sleepily opened his eyes –blue, Hiko noticed—but didn’t cry. Instead, he yawned and absently smiled. Good grief, this one was going to turn out like his idiot father.

“I refuse to stay forever, but I can manage until the shrine visit at the end of the week. The first brat shows more promise for Hiten Mitsurugi, anyway.”

Kenji was overly excited, already climbing up Hiko’s leg at the mention of the sword style. He must have realized there was something in the coat pocket, for he asked. “Is this candy?” Hiko could have stopped him, but he didn’t. Kenji’s small hand drew out Natsuko’s letter and he exclaimed. “Ah, it’s a picture!”

Somehow, he didn’t feel melancholy, seeing the brat admire the pencil drawing. “That was made by my sister.”

“Oh.”

“That’s enough, Kenji.” His apprentice intervened. “Give the paper back, it belongs to him. There you are, Shishou.” He gently pried his son’s fingers off and returned the letter, without looking at it, while the brat sullenly went to his mother.

The tanuki girl had picked up the newborn, and as she patted her older son’s back, she firmly said. “We’re sorry, Hiko-san. It’s come up before, but that’s your business. Kenji, apologize to Hiko-san.”

The boy pouted slightly, but he clenched his fists and looked up at Hiko. “Sorry!” Behind him, his parents smiled approvingly, and the baby cooed at being held.

Damn his weakness.

“It was an accident, there’s no point in apologizing. For that matter, I’ll share everything tonight.” He addressed his apprentice and the tanuki girl, and he almost relished their shocked expressions.

After the children’s nightly routine caused enough delay, he talked until the very end. His apprentice was completely silent, while the tanuki girl occasionally wiped at her eyes. By the end of it, she didn’t bother. “Um, I think I’ll check on Kenji and Shinpei. Excuse me.” Her voice was strained. “But thank you, Hiko-san. Thank you for telling us all of that.”

Then, it was quiet again, before his apprentice finally spoke. “This one is also glad, that you told us.”

“Is that all?”

He ignored the sarcasm. “When this one was younger, this one didn’t understand you. This one thought you didn’t know anything about the world, when it was really the opposite. You already realized how harsh the world was, and this one was wrong, to judge you so hastily.”

“Idiot, how could you have known?” He scoffed. ”I let you go, thinking you’d learn the hard way. Perhaps if I knew just how terrible your choices were, I would have gone after you. Perhaps.” He reiterated.

“Regardless, it is all in the past, Shishou.” His apprentice’s expression softened, his gaze on the house’s interior, and Hiko nodded. It was a tacit agreement that the present mattered now, and they understood each other, a little more.

And so, the week slowly went by. The morning of the shrine visit was hectic, with too many last-minute errands, and the baby was fussing from lack of sleep. Hiko offered to buy pickled cherry blossoms, for sakurayu. “I can be spared, just go to the shrine.” With the amount of tea they needed, he would surely miss the ceremony, but he argued against their protests, saying he didn’t mind.

It wasn’t the only thing he had anticipated.

When he returned, only a few others had arrived, and none with a white kerchief. The granddaughters of some doctor were cooing over the new brat, to someone’s jealousy. With all the effort a five-year-old could muster, Kenji tried to push the two girls away. “He’s my brother! Mine!”

His apprentice carried him away, promising assistance in the kitchen, and offhandedly said to Hiko. “Tae-dono went to the Akabeko, to pick up Tsubame-chan and the sekihan. She should return soon.” And he grinned, the idiot.

Stoically, Hiko took a corner for himself and sipped a salty cup of sakurayu. Eventually, the crowd thickened with unfamiliar faces, and growing weary, he closed his eyes.

“Is this seat taken?”

That familiar voice was hesitant, and he smirked. “No.” After rustling movement ceased, he stole a glimpse. Sekihara drank from her own cup of tea, her face calm and carefree.

“It’s been a while, Hiko-san.” She smiled. “But, you haven’t changed.”

So, they weren’t like strangers after all. He cleared his throat. “Neither have you. How’s your business?”

“It’s doing very well. I’m actually about to open another location. It’s the Kobeko, in a small town on the Tokaido road. I’ll give you the address, there are pottery workshops as well.”

“I suppose I could visit, while my house is being rebuilt.”

“I heard about that.” Her voice was touched with concern. “I’m relieved that you’re alright…will you stay here then?”

“Not for long. The new brat’s been coughing.”

“I see.” She paused. “Would you prefer accompanying me at the Kobeko? I have a house, not too close to the town.”

“That’s bold of you.”

She blushed, and he realized how much he had missed that expression. “Yes, as I should have been four years ago. But I was afraid of what the future held and even of how I felt. I wasn’t sure what you thought either.”

He leaned back, deliberately taking his time to look at her. “Obviously, I was in love with you, from the beginning.”

She sharply inhaled. “You were?”

“That was why I couldn’t take you away from your livelihood. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have been the Sekihara I fell for.”

“Yes, but I liked you too. And…I think I still do.” There was budding hope in her eyes, her lips parted-

Abruptly, he glanced away. “I’ll consider your offer. But I’m difficult to live with.”

“I already guessed that.”

“And you still offered anyway.”

“Because it might be worth it. Aren’t you willing to find out, Hiko-san?” She gave a charming smile, which was probably her best. He’d have to learn, to say no to that expression.

“Maybe, maybe not.” He was probably growing far too soft, but right now, he decided he didn’t care.

Under the table, she moved her hand next to his, so they laid side by side on the tatami. Her skin was just brushing his, and it only took him a second to move his fingers over hers. He kept looking ahead, ignoring her startled expression when she turned to him.

The room was filled with the other guests’ cheerful conversation. A scruffy man, a sharp-eyed woman, a couple with a stark height difference. An officer’s family, a group of laughing teenagers. His apprentice held the newborn, and the tanuki girl gave a cup of water to the older brat.

“It’s a lovely afternoon.” Sekihara remarked, with a nervous laugh.

He allowed himself to smile. “So it is.”

And still, he didn’t pull away.