#al has a big long think after the conversation

[jojojooo33]

Thinking about. egg* trans girl Al running into Claus after the main series. Claus has transitioned (I'm shoving canon in a locker) and sees Al approaching in the distance and is like, "ah fuck it's that pipsqueak alchem-- oh wait."

Al comes up to him and Claus is like, "Hey you're not Ed." And Al replies, "Oh, did we meet you on our journey?" Claus starts vaguely explaining being trans and Al is like, "I have no idea who you are but what do you MEAN you can change your body with just normal medicine? That's so cool you can do that, tell me more."

[girlgenius1111]

You Come Back With Gravity

alexia and r have an argument. r misunderstands, and when alexia leaves to calm down, she thinks she's going for good. angst + fluff :)

-----

Alexia was big on communication, and she didn't like to fight. Neither did you, although your track record in past relationships may argue otherwise. That was more on your former partners, though, than it was on you. Not fighting was new for you. Alexia never yelled, and she insisted that the two of you talk about any issues that were going on calmly, and like adults. A voice had never been raised between the two of you, arguments never escalating to full blown shouting matches, mostly because of Alexia's insistence that they didn't.

Something about this argument, though, felt different. Alexia had proposed a few weeks ago, and, after having a bit too much to drink, you'd brought up something that had been nagging at the back of your mind for a while. Alexia had brushed it aside that night, and again and again since, until you practically forced her to talk about it. Normally, when you presented Alexia with an issue you had, she was quick to try to fix it. Your teammates often joked about the complete 180 Alexia did when she was around you, melting and agreeing to anything you asked of her. You were the same way for her, but it was more surprising that their normally very willful captain so easily did as you said.

If Alexia wouldn't budge on an issue, she normally had a reason, and you didn't require her to explain herself to you. This was different, though. You needed an explanation, before your mind continued to take off in the worst directions.

"Alexia, do you not see that this is important to me?"

"I do, amor, but there is no room for discussion. We are not going public with our relationship. It has stayed low key for this long, and I intend to keep it that way." Alexia was quickly losing her patience with you, and you could tell. Still, you persisted. 

'You won't even give me a reason, Ale! Is this what our relationship is going to be like for the rest of our lives? You make a decision that affects both of us, and I just have to live with it?" Your voice was slightly raised and you could tell Alexia was upset. You were pacing around the room, and she was sitting, completely still, on the couch. Alexia was never still. A part of her was always moving.

"I am not changing my mind on this, mi amor." Alexia told you calmly, although her jaw clenched tight when she finished speaking.

"Okay, well that's it. You don't care what I think. Whatever you say goes, is that it?" You were using anger to hide how terrified you were. There was really only one reason that you could think of to explain Alexia's complete refusal to be transparent about your relationship.

"You know that it is not."

"This is absurd, Ale, we can't even have a conversation without you-"

"¡Basta! Stop yelling, I do not want to talk anymore about this," Alexia shouted finally, rising to her feet.

"I am yelling because you are not listening to me,"

"You are not listening to me. No more of this, we can discuss it when we are both calmer."

"I don't want to push this aside again, I would like to resolve it now." You tried to calm yourself down slightly despite your words, drawing in a few deep breaths as you waited for your fiancée to respond.

"It is resolved. There is no discussion to be had. There is no other option; we are not going public. No."

You let out a humorless laugh, and Alexia's eyebrows shot up. She did not like to be laughed at.

"You aren't being fair, Alexia. I deserve an explanation for why you are so very ashamed of me, to the point you don't want anyone to know we are together."

Alexia rolled her eyes, not taking your statement seriously. She thought you were just being dramatic, there was no way you really believed that. You did believe it, though and Alexia's complete dismissal in the face of your admitted vulnerability made you furious.

"Jesus, Alexia. Fine. You get your way. As usual. Captain Alexia always gets what she wants." You yelled, throwing yourself down on the couch dramatically and burying your head in your hands. You didn't want to cry while you were fighting with her, and you swallowed the lump in your throat. You knew you weren't being fair, or particularly nice but Alexia had hurt your feelings and she didn't even seem to understand why.

It was dead silent for a full minute before Alexia let out a long, drawn out exhale, and spoke.

"You are being mean. I am going to go to Alba's."

Her words were stiff, clearly communicating how upset she was with you, and you whipped your head up to look at her, watching as she headed towards the door, grabbing her keys. She put her airpods in, but you didn't see her do so.

"Ale? Are you coming back?" You called, voice full of insecurity.

Alexia couldn't hear you, not with her music playing as loud as it was, and she walked out the door without acknowledging that you'd spoken.

You were frozen. This was what you always did; take a small fight and push it so far that the other person finally saw that you weren't worth the trouble. It hadn't happened with Alexia yet because you'd never fought with her. It wasn't enough that she didn't want anyone to know the two of you were together, you had to push her until she didn't want to be with you, period.

You were an over-thinker to your core, and you were convinced, absolutely, that you had just destroyed the most important relationship that you'd ever had. It was hard to breathe, hard to think, the suffocating weight of thinking that the woman you loved was not coming back taking over.

You weren't sure why you were surprised. People left, people always left. Why would this be any different? Alexia was the best person you'd ever known, and she deserved far better than what you could give her, even when you were at your best. Of course Alexia didn't want anyone to know that she was with you. Of course she didn't want you. You had only yourself to blame.

-----

While you sat alone in your apartment, spiraling, Alexia was driving not to her sisters, but to the beach. She needed some peace and quiet to think, which she surely would not find at Alba's.

She just needed to cool down. You were upset, she was upset, and continuing on like you had been would only lead you both to say things you didn't mean. She'd take an hour, calm down, and head home. Alexia had no idea that you had asked her a question before she'd left, had no idea that you were sitting at home, convinced she was done with you.

The longer she was gone, though, the more guilty she felt. She remembered the look on your face when you'd spoken:

"I deserve an explanation for why you are so very ashamed of me, to the point you don't want anyone to know we are together."

She thought you were just trying to make a point at the time, but as she got space from the fight, and from her own anger, she felt less sure about that judgment. You'd looked distraught when you said it. It would explain why you were so very upset with her reluctance to go public, why you were so very upset with her.

Alexia had watched many relationships fall apart once they hit the public eye; some of her own, and some of them, her friend's. She didn't want that. As long as you two kept this to yourselves, allowing your loved ones and teammates to know and no one else, the media couldn't destroy it. That was Alexia's biggest fear; losing you, and having no control over it.

Of course, you were sat at home, practically catatonic, at the thought that you had lost Alexia.

-----

Alexia didn't even make it an hour like she planned. She was parking in the driveway 44 minutes after she'd left, flowers next to her in the front seat, as she tried to figure out if she'd given you enough space to think. She determined that she had, mostly because she couldn't stand leaving things like this any longer, and she fixed her hair in the mirror, tucking the shorter pieces behind her ears in the way she knew you liked, before grabbing the flowers.

When she had left, it was still light out. It was dark, now, and Alexia was surprised when she opened the door and there was not a light on in the house. She panicked slightly, wondering if you'd left, before spotting your silhouette on the couch. Exactly where you'd been when she left. It looked like you hadn't moved, even an inch. The blonde slipped her shoes off, walking cautiously closer to you, flipping on the light.

You didn't make a move, giving her no indication that you knew she was there with you. Alexia could tell you were trembling, and every breath you drew in came with a small, pained whimper. Alexia was more than concerned, now. She dropped the flowers on the table, before crouching down in front of you.

"Mi amor?" She said softly, weary to touch you, not wanting to startle you.

"Hey, amor?" She spoke slightly louder this time. Still, you didn't even twitch. Tentatively, she reached her hand out, letting her hand wrap around your wrist. She was going to try to pull your hand away from your face, but you beat her to it, jumping a foot in the air at her touch, and scrambling backwards.

"It is me, amor, it is just me," Alexia reassured, throwing her hands up in the air, and not moving any closer.

"Ale?" You gasped, as if you couldn't believe that she was here in front of you. You were half convinced you were hallucinating. It felt like 2 minutes had passed, but also like it had been hours since she left.

"It is just me," Alexia repeated, taking a seat on the very edge of the couch. You were still shaking, and Alexia longed to bring you into her arms.

"What are you doing here?" You asked.

"What do you mean?"

"You came back. Why?"

"Why... why would I not come back? This is our home. Ours. Did you not want me here?" Alexia asked insecurely, entirely confused at your reaction. Your eyes were watery, and you bit your lip, shaking your head at her.

"No, I want you here, I... I asked if you were coming back. And you left without answering."

"Qué?" Alexia asked, looking genuinely confused. Alexia couldn't lie to you, and if she'd ignored something you'd said, she'd admit to it.

"Before you walked out the door, I asked if you were coming back." You explained further, although you were already relaxing slightly. Ale was here, she came back.

A look of realization dawned over your girlfriend's face. "I had my headphones in, amor, I did not hear you."

Now that Alexia could see where your mind had started to go, it wasn't hard to piece the rest of it together. It made sense, suddenly, why you were so upset. You'd thought Alexia had left you.

It was only seconds after that revelation that Alexia was reaching across the couch and pulling you into her arms; one wrapped tightly around your back, the other hand lacing through your hair and pushing your face into her neck. You clung tightly to her, melting into her touch.

"I would never leave you. Not today, not tomorrow. Not ever. I wanted to calm down, so we could have a conversation. I should have thought that through, bebé, I am so sorry."

You shook your head against her. "I shouldn't have overreacted, it was just that you were so upset, and we never fight. You're so good, Ale, it's like I'm always waiting for the other shoe to drop, always waiting for you to realize that you can do better. I thought you had, I thought that's why you didn't want anyone to know about us."

Alexia shut her eyes tightly. You'd meant what you'd said earlier, then, and she'd completely dismissed it. She guided you away from her, just a bit, cradling your face in her hands. She brushed your hair back out of your face, pursing her lips as she tried to figure out what to say.

"It was not an overreaction. You thought I ignored you, you thought I was leaving. I know how nervous these things make you, mi amor, I should have been clearer."

"Amor, do you think that I want to keep our relationship private because I am ashamed of you?" When Alexia said the words, it felt ridiculous. You knew it was irrational to feel the way you felt, but at the same time… your fear was all encompassing. You tried to lean away from her, preserve some of your dignity even as more tears slid down your face, but Alexia wouldn't let you. "Hey, no. Tell me, por favor.” 

“You’re you Ale. And I’m just me. I would understand if you didn’t want people to know you were with me, you should be with someone better, prettier,-” 

“Stop.” Alexia said, shaking her head frantically. She looked physically pained at your words. “Stop. You are not allowed to talk about yourself like that. You are mí niña, mí niña perfecta. I am proud that you are mine, everyday. You are the best, you are the prettiest. You are all I need, te prometo que.” The blondes eyes were wide with a desperate need for you to believe her. You wanted to. 

“Then why, Ale? Why don’t you want people to know you’re with me?” You chewed on your bottom lip when Alexia didn’t answer right away, and her thumb reached over to lightly tap it. You released your lip, tightening your grip on your girlfriend, only growing more terrified for her answer as time passed. 

“You are so perfect.” Alexia started, giving you a stern look when you shook your head on instinct. “It’s so easy with you. So easy to love you, so easy to be with you. The media complicates everything, the fans. They would say horrible things to you and about you. As long as no one knows, I can keep you safe. I can keep you mine. Just mine.” 

“Alexia, I’m not worried about that.” You assured her. 

“You should be, mi amor, I am worried about it.” Alexia emphasized, and you only really realized the stress this worry was causing her at that moment. “It would not be the first time the media has ruined a relationship, and I do not think I could survive it if I lost you.” The blonde’s voice cracked at the end of her sentence, and suddenly, she wasn’t holding you anymore, you were holding her. Cradling her face in your hands as you insistently tried to get her watery, hazel eyes to meet yours. 

“Even if the media goes crazy, even if people say mean stuff. I’ll still want you, Ale. It won’t be fun but it’s worth it. If it’s for you? It’s worth it, it’ll always be worth it.” 

Alexia let out a sound that was halfway between a sob and a sigh of relief, burying her face in your neck. Her tears were wet against your skin, her breaths ragged and frantic. “Te amo,” she murmured. “You make me so happy, amor. If you are not worried about the media, then I will try not to be. If you want people to know, then we tell. Whatever you want, whatever you need. As long as you know that I love you, that you are perfect, that you are mine, forever. Para siempre.” 

Now you were crying, and she was still crying, as she gave you a very wet kiss, and it was entirely more emotional than either of you would have liked, but there was nothing to be done. The perfect relationship, you supposed, was one where you each thought the other to be perfect. Even if you didn’t see yourself that way, Alexia would always be there to convince you of your perfection, as you would for her.

-----

[undertheorangetree]

To Be Alone With You

Summary- Osferth becomes infatuated with a healer from the continent.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ NSFW. Female Reader. Osferth's got a big old crush. Like he’s down bad. Blood. Minor injuries. Shoddy knowledge of 10th century healing. Blasphemy. Admittedly more plot than porn. Cunnilingus. Masturbation. P in V sex. Against a wall in a church no less.

Author's Note- The fact that Osferth canonically fucks and is good at it to the point where women fight over him lives in my mind rent free. Anyway read the rest on ao3 link is belowww

dividers by me lmao

Osferth likes to think that he's different now. Or at least, that he has changed since first joining Uhtred. He's grown further into himself- his confidence, his ability to be a warrior, that he himself has changed as a whole. He's stronger now and though he still values his faith, it does not feel so all consuming, an anchor around his throat forever reminding him of his bastardry. He is proud of the man he has become, of the one that he continues to grow into, and it feels right that, over time, he has changed for the better.

But he seems to forget all that the moment he lays eyes on her.

She had arrived with a traveling priest from the continent, one who had come with the intention of spreading the word of God to the infamously heretical ealdorman. And though she traveled with a priest and his retinue, she wore no habit. Her hair was loose, catching the waning rays of the sun and he felt his heart stutter in his chest when he caught the colour of it shining in the light. She had caught his eye then, as their little ship docked, and smiled at him so brightly he felt himself fall back into the boy he once was, the cursed baby monk.

Though Uhtred had wanted to throw the whole group out at the first sign of a sermon, he agreed to give them a night in the inn out of respect for how long they had been traveling- after they had paid a small fee, of course- and Osferth had managed to catch her in the tavern later that night.

The words had caught in his throat the moment he tried to speak, but Finan had been with him and it had been easy for him to ask if they could join her and begin a conversation. He had nursed his mug of ale while they spoke, not wanting to embarrass himself in front of her further, and joined Finan in highlighting all that Coccham had to offer. Finan had quickly become drunk, but they had found a joint amusement in that and he had revelled in every smile she cast his way. They learned that she was the priest's healer, having studied in Frankia before deciding to join the priest in order to see what the world had to offer. She told them of her travels to Burgundy, Provence, and the Northern Byzantine Empire, regailing them with stories Osferth could only dream about. Uhtred had joined them midway through the conversation, allowing Osferth the opportunity to join her on her bench, their arms brushing against each other.

By the time morning came, the priest had gone and she had stayed on as their healer. Uhtred offered her a cottage and the promise to retrieve everything she could possibly need. He had grinned at Osferth the moment she turned her back on them, raising his eyebrows playfully, and he had felt his face begin to burn from how obvious his immediate infatuation must have been.

At first, he simply admired her from afar. Though he is proud of all the progress he has made to become the man he is now, that all seems to melt away when he is around her. More often than not, he stumbles over his words when he tries to speak to her, face burning scarlet and heart beating faster in his chest. It is clear that the others know of his infatuation, as they do everything in their power to facilitate some kind of interaction between them. Inviting him over when they are speaking to her, offering her his assistance whenever she needs it. Finan had gone so far as to shove him in her direction whenever he felt like causing trouble, though thank God he had only stumbled into her once. She had done little more than laugh then but he had avoided her for two days out of sheer humiliation.

It is safer to simply keep his distance. Though he enjoys talking to her- more than enjoys it, if he is honest with himself- he does little more than embarrass himself when he tries. He wants more, he wants everything, but for now he will settle for admiration. Distance.

It seems kinder. To both himself and her.

He can see her now, walking back to her cottage with a basket full of herbs and flowers she must have picked nearby the river. There is a woman walking with her, one he doesn't know well enough to know her name, but they are laughing as if they are close friends. The other woman reaches out to rest a hand on her arm and he watches longingly as she raises her own to clutch at the other woman's fingers. He cannot hear what they're saying over the echoing clack of the wooden swords the boys are using to practice- a sparring match he is admittedly supposed to be monitoring- but she has a pull on him he can't quite explain and he can’t bring himself to look away.

It comes with consequences.

Read the rest here

[bunniesanddeer]

- [ ] SORRY THIS IS SO LONG! (This is a Alastor x fem! Cat! Reader)Okay so you know the scene where Alastor threatens Husk? The first part is the same thing it’s just that the reader saw the whole thing, unnoticed by neither Alastor or Husk. After it’s over, Alastor sees the reader(who totally has a crush on her), her looking right back at him with ears “pinned” to her head and a horrified look in her eyes. Since her and Husk are besties(slay💅🏻) furiously, she goes over to Husk to help him up. He assures her he’s fine and she walks away, absolutely furious with Al. He can’t help but feel a little guilty and remorseful, both feelings he’s not used to. Day after day of the reader ignoring him, he try’s to get her to forgive him but she’s a very stubborn feline. She isn’t easy to forgive after something like that. One day, after months, he finally gives up and hides in his room. He’s completely lost in thought and feels a bit upset and ashamed. He doesn’t notice the tears rolling down his cheeks. Meanwhile, the reader is at the bar, talking with Husk. As much as he despises Alastor, he tries to encourage the reader to talk to him. She finally complies and goes to his hotel room . She hears barely audible sobs through the door but knocks anyway. At last, she is met face to face with the demon himself, failing to hide his tear stained face. She can’t help but feel a little forgiveness for him. Long story short, he opens up to her, she forgives him and happily ever after❤️

Hi, sorry this took so long. A lot has happened to me in the last two weeks. I don't think I hit everything in this ask, but I hope it is still good?

Reminder

Pairing: Alastor x Cat!Reader

Tags/Warnings: Angst, that scene in Dad Beat Dad, sad Alastor angst with a happy ending

Word Count: 2,003

There was something to be said about how easy it could be to forget who he was. Maybe it was his charisma, the way he so easily drew you in to him. Maybe it was the way he smiled at you, how he could seem so soft with you, when he was so cold and sharp with others. There was so much about him that you admired, too, and it made it all so easy to forget. He always smiled, and although there was something to be said about toxic positivity, it made you happy, made it easier to smile back. You adored the way he held himself, always so confident. It was something you strived to emulate. But sometimes, he reminded you of who he was; The Radio Demon. Sometimes that little hind-brain of yours lit up at the sight of him, and all the things you knew about him would come flooding back.

Alastor was meant to be feared. He had earned his power in Hell, and to do that he had done awful, terrifying things. It seemed you needed a reminder, because you had grown far too comfortable with him. 

You followed quietly after Husk. He had taken off after Alastor and the Morningstar’s just after Mimzy had shown up. You didn’t know much about her, but with the way your friend had looked at her, you knew she wasn’t good news. Wishing to know more, you had followed after, hoping to join whatever conversation Husk and Alastor started up.

You did not find what you had expected. Husk and Alastor seemed to be arguing, which wasn’t unusual, but the way Al responded was strange. He looked annoyed. Husk yelled at Alastor, and Alastor responded with a laugh, and then Husk said something that shocked you down to your core.

“Big talk for someone who’s also on a leash,” Husk had whispered hoarsely. Someone owned Alastor’s soul? How? Who? What could have possibly happened to do such a thing?

Your tail swished roughly against the floor, and your ears perked forward to hear more of the conversation. Eavesdropping wasn’t a good thing, but you needed to know more. 

Alastor’s head swiveled around in a terrifying way. The hallway grew darker, and his form grew large. “Aha! What did you say?” Alastor asks rhetorically. 

A green chain wraps around Husk’s throat, and it makes your heart jump. Alastor was going to hurt him! Your body grows stiff, and you watch on in horror as Alastor grows to a gigantic height, filling the hallway. He stalks towards Husk, and he starts yelling. You can’t hear a word, though, over the pounding of your heart. Your ears pin flat against your head, and your tail tucks itself around one of your legs. 

The whole ordeal is done in just a moment, and Alastor is back to his normal size. Husk is shaking, quivering on the ground, and despite the risk, you can’t help but rush towards him.

“Husk!” Your soft hands wrap around his forearms, and you help him to his feet. “Are you okay?”

Your head swivels, and you keep your eyes locked on Alastor, who has stopped walking away. His brows are sharply downturned, and despite the smile still lingering on his face, he looks desperately confused. Your tail whips back and forth behind you, drawing his gaze. His brows furrow further, and he cocks his head. He calls your name, and you can only shake your head in response. 

Something sharp grows in your chest when you look back at Husk. He still looks terrified, something you’ve never seen. How could you forget yourself? How could you forget who Alastor is? The two of you were on separate planes entirely. Whatever were you thinking?

You take in a sharp breath, and continue checking over Husk. The other feline assures you he’s fine, but you know better. You sigh, and push him to head back downstairs. You ignore the prickling feeling of Alastor’s gaze on your back. You need to separate yourself from him. It was not worth the risk.

Alastor can’t begin to describe the way he had been feeling over the last several weeks. While the hotel had burst into action for Charlie’s trip, and everything that came of it, he had been dealing with something else entirely. The threat Heaven posed was nothing, not when your eyes held such disdain, such fear within their depths. It was all because of him, too. There was no one to blame but himself. 

Alastor hated the feelings that were swirling in his gut. He hated how weak they made him. He hated how much he wanted you by his side, again. There was something so wonderful and enticing about how little you cared about his station, and now it was gone. You were deeply aware of his power over others, and you had removed yourself from his side. 

He had to do those kinds of things, though! That is what bothered him most. He needed to put the souls he owned back in their place when they disobeyed, when they spoke against him. Husker was no different. He might have been one of Alastor’s favorites, but Husker only had so long of a leash to pull and tug, and he had cut it short, that day. Alastor couldn’t understand why you didn’t understand that.

His affection for you had long since weakened him. It was something that kept him awake when he rarely lied down to rest. It buzzed in his thoughts when he was meant to be focusing on anything else. And yet. There was something so intoxicating about being around you. You were warm, and your face sent flutters down his spine. He couldn’t fathom why you were different from all those before, but you were, and that was that. It was much too late to change it now, he would have to cope with all these changes in his afterlife. 

The way your ears pinned back, and your tail flicked back and forth whenever you saw him, hurt. He was used to Husker responding that way to his presence, but at least that cat-demon bothered to acknowledge him. You outright ignored him to the best of your ability. You barely looked at him, and you hadn't spoken to him in weeks. It had affected the dynamics within the hotel, something that Charlie had brought up to him.

Alastor could only respond, “I have no clue, my dear. I’m sure it will work itself out in time.” Alastor lied through his teeth, and tried not to let that angry pit in his belly from eating at him. It hurt, but he refused to admit anything out loud. He could live with this, and he could move on. Smile, smile, smile, and smile he did. Even at his own expense.

He passed by the bar, and there you were, chatting with Husker. You had a bright drink in your hand, and you were laughing. The sound was bliss for Alastor, as he had gone so long without the sweet sound. Husker was rolling his eyes, continuing to tell some story that Alastor couldn’t bother to focus on. He just watched the way you reacted, and his chest ached. Something must have alerted you to his presence, however, because you turned, your eyes just barely glancing over him, before you stiffened, and turned back around. All contentment seemed to leech from you, and Alastor’s entire body seized.

So it was like that, was it? This is what all the months you had spent together had come to? All his wasted feelings, for nothing. Alastor could feel his smile slipping, so he stalked off to his room. With a strange sound escaping from his throat, he resolved to rid himself of these horrid feelings. 

There would be no more weakness, not on Alastor’s part. What was any of it worth? What was a heart meant for, if not to be trod on? Hot, wet tears trail down his cheeks, sore at the effort of keeping up his smile. One of his hands tug at the thick locks of hair closest to his face. His ears flop back, and he lets himself go loose as he makes it to his room. He would not let it happen again.

Husk sighs, and it draws your anxious gaze to him. “I know this probably ain’t what yer wantin’ to hear, but you should probably talk to Alastor.” 

You frown. “Why would I do that? He hurt you, Husk, and he was threatening to do worse. I shouldn’t have been any form of anything with him, dude.” You sigh, and your eyes trace invisible patterns on the bar top. “I should have known better. It was a wake-up call, and I have heeded it.”

Husk grunts, and he sets down the glass he had been cleaning. “I know, but he’s been off for a while now, and I think he regrets it, even if he refuses to admit it. I was also pushing things, shouldn’t have done that. It’s how Hell is, and I made my bed with that fact, long ago.” Husk puts his hand on your shoulder, and you meet his eyes. His expression is serious. “You were happier around him, too. Don’t let this one thing stop you from that. I hate him, that’s true, but you’re a good friend. You also mellow him out, a lot. I think, if you do this right, we’d all be better for it.”

You let out a harsh breath, and glare at the end of your t ail that curls around your ankle. The thought of Alastor makes your heart pound, and you know it isn’t just fear. You wanted to let that feeling grow, but you were so afraid of all the things he could do, just because he wanted to. Was it worth the risk?

Husk seemed to know what you were thinking and just said, “You’ve got this, kid.”

With a huff, you pushed up from the stool, and hopped down. You could do this. You just needed to confront The Radio Demon. And make it out alive. And maybe confess your budding feelings. Who knows. 

There was a knock at his door. It made his head ache. Everything felt strange, but he managed to make it up from where he had been slumped against the wall, and get to the door. He pressed his head against it, and listened closely. 

“Alastor, can we talk?” He could hear your soft voice, and the slight waiver it had. His chest squeezed harshly, and he couldn’t help but swing the door wide open.

“Sweetheart!” His voice was harsh and gravelly, and his static surged at the sight of you. Oh, your sweet little cat ears twitched at every noise, and your little tail was curled around your ankles. Oh, you seemed so nervous? Whatever did he do? “You’ve come to talk to me?”

“Oh, Al…” You whispered, your face awash with pity. Alastor felt self-loathing and something heavy twist his gut. He brushed off his pants, trying to relieve himself of the feeling. “We should talk, but we should probably get you some water first. You look a mess.”

And then you were smiling at him. It was a small one, but it held so much light in it. Alastor felt some of that lightness fill him up, and he could only hope it stayed. 

One of your soft hands reached up towards his head, and he settled his cheek into it. Your thumb rubbed at his tear-stained face. 

“I’m sorry, cher,” Alastor mumbled. He didn’t know where the words had come from, but they bubbled up and out of him before he could stop them.

“I know. We’ll talk about it, don’t worry.” And those words calmed him. The two of you would figure this out. It would take time, but he was sure he’d have your affections again, even if something had to change.

Reminder that my Asks are open! It might take a minute to get to, but feel free! Also, the pinned post on my profile is my taglist. Please reply there, if you would like to be added.

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[dancingtotuyo]

Scathed 12 (Javier Peña)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: anxiety, trauma, illusions to past self harm/suicide attempt, mentions of miscarriage (all very brief compared to previous chapters), the drug war, Narcos season 3 spoilers

Notes: no surprises here! All the love for my beautiful beta reader and wife @guiltyasdave

Words: 2879

Series Master List | Author Master List

Journal Entry

March 3rd, 1995

I think I’m back to where I was before Javier. Trisha has been reminding me that progress isn’t linear, but it’s hard to go back so much. I made it through the grocery store last week and by that marker I’m further ahead. I cried in the car after, but I still made it in. I’m going to try a couple summer classes.

Emily didn’t tell the kids to stop calling Javier. She caught them leaving trailing voicemails from time to time, mostly Ale, sometimes Mateo, never Miguelito. He seemed to know what was going on. That Javier was out of their lives.

Emily couldn’t help but reflect on it. How one person could come into your life for such a short period of time and play such a significant part in it, leave such a big space behind.

Alejandra was the one who asked. When Emily picked her up from school, or when she saw Chucho for riding lessons. He always cast her a questioning look. Emily would shake your head, never asking if he’d heard from Javier. It wasn’t her business. It would hurt to know.

Yet, she didn’t stop replaying that last conversation. He was convinced he wasn’t enough. He reminded her of when he blamed himself for her panic attack. Was there a chance he was as broken as she was? That’s what had bonded them. That’s why he’d felt safe, but how could two broken people be good for each other? Emily had gotten her answer. They weren’t. He’d only hurt her. Set her further back on her goals.

Worst of all, he was hurting her kids. He’d abandoned them too, and Emily wasn’t sure how she was supposed to handle that.

Journal Entry

April 18th, 1995

I can’t close my eyes without nightmares in the best times, but the days are easier than they’ve been in a long time.

Jaime had seen the changes in his daughter, the way Javier’s silence impacted her. It was hard to miss. Emily hadn’t told him much about their lack of communication. He knew what the beginning was like, Emily’s questions, the information he could parlay to her, but those had stopped within the first couple of months. The phone bill was lower than he anticipated each time with most calls outbound when Emily wasn’t home, but the kids were. He hated that too. Javier had become an extension of their family. He made Emily smile again, and then he left. He didn’t keep his promises.

Her father still struggled to understand it all. Emily hadn’t told him alot about what happened to her in Mexico either. What he knew was mostly second hand information and the facts, but the day to day horrors she faced, he had limited knowledge about. He wanted to know. He wanted to understand. He wanted to be that person for her, but he understood that Javier had in some magical way, been the person in her life that understood, and for that Jaime mourned his daughter’s loss with her.

As upset as he was with Javier, he found his pride in Emily increased by the day as she continued to work towards her goals, having to re-reach some in the process. As she progressed, it further set a plan in motion.

One Saturday, Jaime pulled Emily out, taking her for a drive. It was rare they got afternoons one on one. Usually one of the kids was tagging along, but this was something he wanted to do just the two of them.

Emily stared out the window, quietly as the radio played softly. Jaime glanced over at his daughter. She hadn’t asked a lot of questions when he pulled her out of the house, but he had the feeling she hadn’t been sleeping as well the last couple of weeks. It made him a little bit nervous about his plan. He wasn’t sure how she would react. They’d only talked about it in theory, as a hopefully one day. There hadn’t been a timetable.

He turned down a residential street, about ten minutes from home. Emily perked up beside him. “Where are we going?”

“I’ve been thinkin.”

Emily raised an eyebrow, lifting above the frames of her sunglasses. “About?”

“You’ll see.”

She let out a long sigh. “Dad.”

“You been having nightmares again?”

Emily’s head snapped toward him in rapt attention. He was never very good at easing into this stuff. “I’m always having nightmares.”

“Em.”

Emily sighed, running a hand through her mop of curls. She looked back out the window, biting on her thumb nail. “I’m doing better.”

“Just because you can go to the grocery store again doesn’t mean you’re not having nightmares.”

She continued to bite at her nail, picking at a hangnail that had developed. “Turns out, I’d been blocking some stuff out. It’s not very fun when your worst memories aren't your worst memories anymore.”

Jaime parked the car on the side of the street, pushing his sunglasses to the top of his head so Emily could see his eyes. She didn’t move hers. “You can talk to me about it.”

“Dad…”

“When you were a little girl. We used to ride around town.” He smiled. “Just driving. You loved sitting shotgun with me. Your mom wouldn’t let you. She said it wasn’t safe.”

Emily chuffed. “That’s ironic.”

“Yeah.” He feigned a smile, nodding along. After a beat of silence, Jaime took the opening before him, the one he’d been waiting for for years. “What happened that she didn't stop it?”

Emily paused. Had they never had this conversation? That first year home was so foggy in her brain. She wasn’t sure what she did and didn’t tell him. Emily swallowed, closing her eyes to keep the tears back. To this day, she wasn’t sure how much her mother had and hadn’t done, and how much was just him.

“She encouraged me… saw a rich man and his interests. She didn’t see any issue with it”. Her nails bit into her palm, Jaime gripped the steering wheel in front of him, knuckles turning white.

“If I had known…”

“I know, Dad.”

“I want to know more if you’re ready to tell me.”

Emily let it sink in, not moving for a minute. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready to tell you everything.”

“I’m not asking to know everything. Just some things. You don’t have to keep it bottled up inside.”

Emily inhaled sharply. Her thumb grazed under her watchband. The one that hid her scar. She couldn’t talk about that. She wasn’t ready for him to know what she had attempted. She thought about the events leading up to it. She wasn’t sure her Dad or Anna knew about her miscarriages either. Those were just facts, things that had happened, it didn’t include the trauma that each event was wrapped in, the mounting pile that led up to each event.

“I guess I haven't thought about how much I haven’t told you.”

Emily let her mind take her back for a second, eyes glazing over with tears as she thought about the beginning. The vacation to Mexico that turned into six years of hell. She could never figure out why he’d picked her. There was nothing special, nothing that stood out about her younger self. At least, nothing she could pinpoint, but maybe that’s why he’d picked her.

“Mom was all too happy to have our trip extended indefinitely.”

“You were at his hotel.”

“Yeah.” Emily paused. “When I found out I was pregnant, I told him before mom. He moved me in with him before I even got the chance to tell her. I remember feeling relieved, like I would be okay.” She looked down. “Things weren’t bad at first, but that almost makes it worse. I mean, I was 15. What did I know?”

Jaime watched, silence ringing in his brain, but it was one of the first times it truly clicked for him. He’d struggled to comprehend it at times. He knew it wasn’t her fault, but the thoughts still ran through his head. How she hadn’t seen the signs? How she’d let it happen? but it finally clicked in a concrete way. Emily hadn’t let anything happen. If he hadn’t been able to control or predict Felix, how could a 15 year old girl? He felt a rush of shame that it took this long to understand it. “You didn’t know anything.”

Emily’s head snapped back to him, a vulnerability in her eyes. The one that reminded Jaime of when his daughter was a child.

“You were supposed to be worried about homecoming and algebra. Not raising a baby. Not going through…”

Emily nodded. “I don’t really want to go more in depth right now.”

“That’s okay.” He turned off the vehicle. “Thank you.”

“So you didn’t drive me across town just to talk?”

Jaime shook his head. “I wanted to show you this.” He pointed out the passenger window to the house. A simple, single story rancher. It had a nice front porch and a garage. From what Emily could tell, the backyard was already fenced in. A “FOR SALE” sign sat proudly in the front yard.

“Dad…”

“I saw the listing last week. It’s got three bedrooms and two bathrooms. The backyard sounded like it’s got enough room for a nice garden.”

Emily fought against the panic rising inside of her at the thought of living anywhere else but with her parents. Her chest tightened as she inhaled sharply.

“Hey,” Jaime reached for her hand. “I’m not saying you have to move, or that it has to be this house, but we’ve talked about this, Sweetheart. I think you might be close.”

Emily looked between the house and her father, eyes darting back and forth like an animal not sure which path to take. “I’m not where I was last summer.”

“No, but you’re in a better place than you were last spring. You sat through the whole Christmas program this year. Not just the kids’ portions.”

“Barely-“

“But you did.”

Emily bit her lip. She knew she was doing things she couldn’t do on her own a year ago. She was grocery shopping alone now. She made it through the zoo last week, just her and the kids. She’d pulled them out of school and it had been relatively quiet, but it was still something. Trisha had told her to celebrate it.

She sighed. “No pressure?’

“No pressure.”

She looked back at the house. Something about it called to her. She loved her parents, but she didn’t want to live with them forever. Emily’s fingers found the door handle before she had time to fully comprehend it. “Okay.”

Her dad followed her up, pulling a key out of his pocket. “I know the realtor.”

“Of course you do.” She smiled as he let them in.

The house was empty. It hadn’t been staged yet, but that didn’t matter too much. Emily walked through the house almost silently, like speaking would break the tug in her heart. The living room, dining area, and kitchen all ran together in a loop. The bedrooms sat off a hallway. She knew which one would be Alejandra’s and which one would be the boys’. The master suite had a large bathtub, but the back patio was the selling point. Her swing would fit, and so would a firepit. The backyard spread out, large enough for a garden and a playset for the kids.

She could see it all in her mind. The garden. The kids playing. Looking up at the stars on those sleepless nights, talking to Jav- She cut off the thought. Just stargazing, just her and a bottle of something.

Emily inhaled deeply. She liked this house. She wanted this house. Could she actually be ready to do this? They’d talked about it. Planned for it, but it was still a year earlier than they’d talked about.

“What do you think?” her dad spoke, standing beside her.

“You knew I’d love it.”

He grinned. “I am your father.”

“How would it work?”

“We’re ten minutes away if you need us. Anna and I would take the kids once a week overnight.” He smiled at her. “We’ve got the down payment saved up for you. We paid the house off a couple years early, so we’ve got some more wiggle room to help you out.”

“Dad.”

“It’s yours if you want it, Sweetheart.”

Emily felt tears well in her eyes “And if we do this and I can’t handle it?”

“Then you move back and we’ll rent it until you’re ready.” Jaime said it like it was the simplest thing in the world. Was it really that easy? All she had to do was say yes? That she wanted this?

“Can I have some time to think about it?”

Jaime nodded. “Of course.”

Journal Entry

May 25th, 1995

My birthday is tomorrow. Dad asked me what I wanted to do, and I couldn’t come up with anything. I can’t stop thinking about last year. It felt a lot more hopeful, but there are things this year to look forward to. Ale has a riding lesson with Chucho. I think I’m just going to ride Paz. We’ll have cake when we get home.

Emily closed her eyes, inhaling the fresh air as she sat on top of Paz, taking the familiar paths through the woods of the Peña ranch.The past year ran through her mind. Everything had looked so promising only for it to come crashing down. One single person did that. Maybe it wasn’t fair to pin it all on Javier, but maybe it was. He’d made her feel safe and that opened doors. Doors that shut the moment he pulled away. She was slowly starting to pry them open. Some were budging, others weren’t.

She found herself in the back pasture at the river’s edge. There were no sign of the drug runners at the moment surrounding her with only the sounds of nature. Cattle grazed behind her. The river rushed in front of her as she stared across it. She liked it here. It was quiet, serene.

Paz shuffled under her. A fly landed on the horses’s coat. Emily watched as she twitched the muscle on her shoulder to chase it away. She smiled, running a hand over her shoulder. “You’re such a good girl.”

Paz knocked her head up and down as if in agreement causing Emily to laugh. She leaned forward in the saddle. “Today is my birthday you know.”

Paz turned her head back to look at Emily. She offered the mare a soft smile. “I thought birthdays would be different after last year. I thought-“

She let out a sharp breath as the rest of the thought cut through her mind. She thought Javier would be there for her other birthdays, for the rest of her birthdays. She had expected it, wanted it, anticipated it…

Her eyes fixed on the river as her mind raced to break records on what that meant. Javier had been her friend, her best friend, but something else nagged at her. The expectation of forever, the desire for forever…

Before she could get lost in it, the rustle of trees and crunch of underbrush jerked her out of it. She twisted in the saddle, Paz slowly turning around with her. Gracie’s muzzle popped out of the woods first. Emily furrowed her brow, trying to ignore the anxiety coursing through her.

The rider ducked under a branch as he cleared the tree line. Emily felt the world around her go quiet as her eyes met with soft brow irises she knew by heart.

Javier froze the second their gazes met, pulling Gracie to a stop with a soft “woah.”

Nobody said anything. Neither of them moved, eyes pinned to the other’s. So many things roared in Emily’s ears. He was back? For how long? Why hadn’t he called? She had hoped he would when he got back. It didn’t matter that she didn’t know if she was going to forgive him or not. He hadn’t given her the opportunity to make that choice. He hadn’t given her the opportunity for much. Hadn’t bothered to return her children’s messages.

Even now, he offered nothing. He didn’t apologize for blocking her out. He didn’t even try. He just stared at her like she was some stumbling doe bleeding out. Anger filled her, and before Emily knew it, she kicked Paz forward, jogging past Javier without giving him an opportunity to make up some bullshit excuse or offer up an apology. She was half way back to the house before she realized there were tears on her cheeks.

Journal Entry

May 26th, 1995

He didn’t have anything to say, just stared at me like I wasn’t supposed to be there! He was the one who’s not supposed to be there. What the fuck?

Javier dropped his head with a sigh. He hadn’t expected her. Hadn’t planned through his apology. In Colombia, he’d been convinced he’d done the right thing, but being home, seeing her, he wasn’t so sure anymore, but Javier didn’t know if he could fix this.

……………………………………………………………………

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[mage-ical-character-person]

Architect Sanctuaries and Storage.

So! I feel like we don’t talk about the Sanctuary caches from Subnautica enough as it relates to Below Zero.

Like. First of all, Al-An, where are you going, your people are here. You’re not gonna check to see if anyone else is trapped in a sanctuary with failing power like you were? Granted, I think the Sanctuaries in The Crater are probably Hooked up to the Alien Thermal Plant so they’ll be fine as long as the lava zone continues to be hot. Probably why Ryley wasn’t getting any alien distress signals. But the threat of Kharaa has more or less passed, and these Architects were part of Al-An’s research team, you’d think he’d do something.

It’s recommended to put them in a compatible medium as soon as possible, you said it yourself get down there and fabricate more bodies!

Also. On the “factory reset” point. I feel the need to point a couple things out.

First of all, in the Dunes Cache, you can download this from the alien terminal

(Side note this entry specifically is so revealing about Architect society and stuff. PLUS entire other Architect character like I have so many thoughts. Might get its own post at some point I dunno)

It seems like they were storing the memories like… separately from the individual. They were probably also backed up on the network if Al-An’s comments in the whole “How do humans cope with the loss of memories” conversation are anything to go by.

I think the memories just end up feeling less like something the Architect actually experienced personally and more like something they heard about. Like they lose some personal connection to the events.

but still. I think if the Architect’s technology had a flaw like that they’d be working to fix it. And that leads me to a theory on why the Sanctuaries in the first game are so different to Sanctuary Zero where we find Al-An.

I think that with Kharaa meaning Sanctuary sites more vital than probably ever, improving the technology behind them would’ve probably been a priority. I think Sanctuary Zero is perhaps some sort of prototype for improved Sanctuary technology. Sanctuary Zero is bigger, despite storing only one Architect, while the Sanctuary Caches in the first game are implied to store multiple. It’s got this big bulky Architect Containment Cube to put Al-An in, and the PDA makes a point of noting that whoever’s stored inside is able to remain fully conscious with “whole brain emulation” something we don’t seem to see in the first game’s Sanctuaries.

I think the Network decided to stick Al-An in this instead of a normal Sanctuary both because they needed to test it anyway, and after what he did it’s possible they didn’t really care if it went wrong and he was lost in the process. If it did work, he’d have to continue to carry that emotional weight even if he got a new body, and he’d be forced to be awake, thinking about what he’d done in the thousand years before then. I think the Network would’ve found that to be an apt punishment, without it being only for punishment’s sake, but also part of Sanctuary research. More efficient that way.

[c0kitty]

𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 .... 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐘 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐒 w/ barista!megumi fushiguro x f!reader             « 0:00 ─〇───── 0:00 ⇄          

summary: barista!megumi on his night shift, seems to always wonder about the pretty girl who appears to be trying to study, but eventually, always falls asleep. (⛦) content: fluff. suggestive. making out. set in college. reader has rizz. megumi is awkward asf but we love him. reader sleepy all the time. sweet cuddles. megumi pines so hard. (⛦) w/c: 3k+

every other day, like clockwork, megumi finds you sitting in the far left corner, by the bookcase that presses against the beige walls. he didn’t intentionally act like a creep, keeping track of your visits. but he just found himself always looking at you, magnetized by you

your routine was the same each time. first, you would gently put down the computer, and then you would itch your new hair of the month, whether it was freshly done box braids or a slick-down puff. after settling in, you would order some food, your face lighting up with a smile, one that would leave him forgetting the number of shitty customers he had.

you’d try to make up a conversation, ‘how was your day,’ ‘what's on today’s menus,’ and because megumi was, in his friend's words, socially incompetent he would reply with one or two words, similar to a caveman. 

it was something you never seemed to really mind, nodding your head long like he told his life story, and with your order, you would eat. 10 minutes would pass, you would be knocked out asleep, with your head resting on your arms. eventually, one hour later, you would wake up, check the time, frown slightly, and leave.

it all seemed somewhat pointless to him, this ritual, but it was kind of relatable with his constant procrastination to certain things. although there was a rule not to have sleeping customers in here, every time he would think to approach you, this fluttering sensation would feel in his stomach, and then it would seem a little bit impossible to do just that.

it's 8:36, and you're still here sleeping, a little over the time you usually are here for, and the shop is completely empty. he looks at the coffee pot, then to you. megumi finds himself mindlessly walking to your table, with a steaming hot coffee.

he notices your head turned in the opposite direction, your body rising from your soft breaths. it takes him shamefully over a minute to actually bring himself to wake you up, resting his heavy-weighted hand on your shoulders, and shaking you gently.

you turn your head to look at him, your lids droopy and a little red, meet his. for maybe over a second, he thought you would yell at him for waking you up. but, you just sit up, casually wiping away a trace of drool on your plush lips.

“did i order something in my sleep or …?”

“no, here. on the house,” he replies, with a little bit of a rise to his voice, placing the steaming mug in front of you. your eyes go to soften, looking from the drink to him.

“thank you so much, god knows im addicted.” you said, eye’s joining in, with the corner of your mouth lifting. your face is like the sun, he has to look away at some point — but he doesn’t. “i’m closing in 8 minutes.” he states, you glance down at the time eyebrow-raising. “but i'll be here for 25 more minutes to close up and clean.”

your lips form into a soft pout, with a sigh, “i didn’t even get to study.” and now you're standing up, packing up your belongings, closing your laptop in a matter of seconds. “i’ll get out of your way, thank you again for the drink.”

“i’m not kicking you out. do whatever you need to do, until i actually leave,”  he says hurriedly, you look at him, eyes brightening up again, “you just saved my life. my teacher would have bitten my ear off. how can i repay you?” 

“a big tip would be nice,” he replies, sarcastically, almost reflexively. he’d forgotten for a moment you were a customer, that not everyone could take his jokes. but your laughter cuts through his doubt.

 it also, rang through his mind even after he walked back to the register.

it’s closing time, and megumi is locking the door. to his surprise, turning around he still finds you still there. “do you always do this for your customers?” you ask, head-tilted.

his black brows knit faintly, recalling if ever a time,  “no, usually kick them out as soon as they start to sleep. either eat — or work.”

“such a tyrant.” you playfully remark. the edge of his lips lift slightly,  a rare sight that even his friends couldn’t accomplish, it really only happens at their demise. “so i guess i’m a little special, huh?” 

his mouth parts slightly, were you flirting with him?   “i – well, you looked tired and comfortable. i was scared that if i woke you up you would kill me.” he replies.

“good thinking, probably would have.” you laugh.

“don't wanna worry my roommates. so i’ll see you friday ...”  you continue, angling your head up to squint at his name tag. “megumi. cute name.” 

he could feel the tips of his ears getting red. he had to stand there a minute, even after you left, to put together what just happened.

“this can’t keep happening.” megumi remarks, standing beside you as he places the leftover treats on your table. it was the 4th or 5th time that you had somehow mystically fallen asleep, leaving him to close up with you. he wasn’t entirely complaining. but the way you made him red and in a slurry for words, made him regret ever letting you inside the cafe.

he knew you were just joking though, after being with you for quite some time being sometimes oblivious to your words, and flirty was just a part of your personality.

your head lifts from your arms, your eyes already zoned on the treats he brought, taking it in your hand. “oooo, i love this so much. megumi, you are the best, seriously. the heavens graced you man.” it’s a purple tart, sugar dusting around its edges, and it was also the one you always seem to get when coming here.

you take it in your mouth, biting into it. crumbs fall to the corner of your lips, and then there’s this sudden urge to dust the little crumbs at the side of your mouth, that were shiny from your sparkly lipgloss. but he, of course, doesn’t.

he ignores your exaggerations, a question stuck in his head. “why can’t you study at home?” megumi always wanted to question your home life, wondering what you did after you flashed your pretty smile, and said goodbye to him at the door.

your gaze shifts to his, putting down the tart to speak. “my roommates are so annoying, rowdy too. love them, but it’s so hard to focus sometimes.” you continue, playing with coils in the back of your hair, “also, the library is a no-go, it’s filled with so many students stressing out on deadlines like me. messes with my vibe.” 

your eye’s suddenly widened, “wait, are you trying to send me out? i can’t read social cues sometimes.” 

he shakes his head quickly to your question, adding, “no, but there are moments where im so close to doing it.” you smile at that, obviously teasing. being you were the only customer here, he goes ahead, and takes the seat in front of you.

“good, because i plan to mooch off of you and your for snacks, a little while.” megumi rolls his eyes at that, even if he totally, quite seriously, wouldn’t mind.

you continue to do your work, whilst megumi’s hazel green eyes trail to your assignment, that rests beside your computer.

“you got the first question wrong.” 

you look up to him, “huh?”

“can i?” you nod your head. megumi hovers over you, reaching for your pencil, and scribbles onto the equation. “you had to integrate f(x) again, to integrate f ’(x). also, the constant had to be substituted to equal 6. the other stuff is correct though.”

done explaining, megumi looks up, and he doesn’t realize how close he is to you. he watches as you flutter your lashes. your gaze briefly drops to his lips, before returning to meet his eye’s. you tilt your head, and he doesn’t realize that you’re saying something until now. “...you’re so good for me, gumi.” 

“huh?” megumi stammers, suddenly backing up.

“i said you’re so good at this,” you repeat. his heart beats in his ears — this was not one of those a wet dreams of you he was haunted by. megumi scratches his throat, and goes to sit back in his chair.

“so, are you a calculus major?” you ask, and he’s so grateful for the change in conversation; as he attempts to ignore the heat pooling at his stomach.

“no,  in engineering.” you nod your head, continuing your homework. “that makes more sense.” his eyebrow’s furrowed, were you implying something? “what is that supposed to mean?” 

you wave your hand dismissively, to clarify, “you just seem like the type, introverted, analytical. you're kind of an open book y’know. at first i thought you were pretty reserved too, but once someone gets to know you, you care for them in your own language.” 

tilting your head up, pencil touching your chin, you add, “i bet you love documentaries too, and have a dog to keep you company.” he didn’t know how she knew that, was so some witch. “is that a bad thing?”

you look away from the ceiling, flicking your eye’s to him. “what is a bad thing?”

“being … predictable.”

“you’re not predictable; you just wear your heart, very tiny, on your sleeves. i like that about you.” you say, your sincerity almost crushing his heart.

“but,” you add, shifting your gaze back to your work. “you gotta introduce me to your doggie though.” 

“well, goodnight.” you say. both lingering at the doorway, megumi hesitant to let go of the limited time you guy’s shared. 

“can i have your —”

“could you —” you both speak in unison, a laugh escapes your lips at that.  “you go first,” you gesture to him.

“could i have your number?”  megumi manages to ask and you nod your head, giving him your phone number. done exchanging social, he slips his phone back into his pocket.

you’re looking at him now, a small smile gracing your lips, when megumi speaks without thinking, “text me when you get home?”

for a brief moment, he wonders if it was weird to ask or maybe makes it obvious to his crush on you, but his doubt fades as you agree with a warm, “yeah i will.” 

“alright night.” you wave at him, and as you turn away, he watches you walk away.

sleeping beauty: im expectin 70 pics of ur doggies

sleeping beauty: wouldn’t mind if u were in a few of them too

yeah, he was definitely doomed.

it’s when yuji comes in randomly, standing by the counter. pestering and complaining to him about how he couldn’t pass this math class, “seriously, this guy is purposely failing me. i turned —”

“dude, are you even listening to me?” megumi seemed distracted, looking at something in particular. yuji follows megumi’s gaze and at that, he couldn’t help but laugh.

“damn, you look so love-struck.” yuji teases, and megumi rolls his eyes before snapping his attention back to wiping the counter.  “i excuse you for not listening to my crisis. you should talk to her.”

“i’m not love-struck, just keeping an eye.” megumi replied defensively. it was the first time you had come to the cafe, seeming surprisingly focused. typing away the computer. you ordered so much coffee in a span of two hours, he was getting a little concerned. you were actually working with no naps, the entire time and you look so drained doing so.

“also, she doesn’t like me — not that i do.” he cleared his throat, feeling somewhat put on the spot. “maybe she flirts with me time to time or you know says things that make me question that maybe she’s my soulmate, but we’re just friends.” 

“friends who flirt, yeah alright.” yuji pointed out with a grin, pulling away from the counter. “well, i gotta go, nobrara will listen to me complain. you gotta introduce me to her one-day when she’s not in her … zone. cya”

two more coffees and a pastry (that he’d saved from the rush of customers) later. it was dark outside, the yellow lights from the streetlamps casting a soft glow on the road, and it was time to close. he approaches you, noticing your tired eyes fixed on the computer, the redness evident.

“it’s closing time,” he says. though you didn’t move an inch, he gently shakes your shoulder, and it seems to startle you. “oh, shit sorry, this is killing me.” with a sigh, you close your laptop. 

“we can go. i gotta pull an all-nighter for this assignment.”

“what's the assignment anyways?’ he asks, walking you to the door.

“it’s not an assignment. my computer deleted a project i had been working on for half the year. gots to redo it all, to turn it in tomorrow.”

he nods, and you guys are at the entrance. a yawn leaves your mouth, “imma go, i’ll see you thursday.” you say, but megumi still stands by the door — contemplating something. he suddenly rushes towards you, taking a few steps, and grabs your hand. 

you turn your head to him, “do you wanna come over?”

you look at him, eyebrows raised high, but no words escape your lips. megumi suddenly realizes how … sexual that sounded. “i mean,” he stammered, “you said you had nowhere else to study, and i live by myself, so …” he was rambling now.

with a tired smile, you reply, “yes, that would be great. thanks.” he nods his head, and the two of you walk side-by-side to his apartment, which was thankfully, not that far away. unlocking his door, he felt a little self-conscious, even though he did clean his rooms 24/7.

“so, this is my house,” he says, following you inside. two dogs, divine and demon, come bounding towards you. their fluffy bodies nuzzle against your feet, clearly used to being spoiled with attention. “so these are the cuties.” you bend to rub at their fur, and the both of course, turn-over for more. 

he wondered why he couldn’t be a dog when he had reincarnated.

going to his counter, he takes out their food, and the dogs shift their attention to megumi, hunger apparent. you're standing in the middle of the room now, looking around. “nice place,”

“didn’t know you had style, gumi,” you joke. megumi finishes with feeding his dogs, walking to you, in the middle of the room, momentarily forgetting his role as a host. “oh, uh you could sit anywhere,” you nod your head, sitting on his couch, not before taking off your shoes in front of the door.

“if you need anything just tell me. food. water. dessert.” he says. you laugh, replying, “got it, but i'll be an easy guest to the host. you won’t even know im here.”

“alright, im gonna go shower.”

your words were kinda of an understatement, every thought of you seemed to consume him, especially now you were in his home, on his couch, playing with his dogs. he’s been in the shower for about an hour, contemplating life, and trying his damn hardest to issue his boner down. 

megumi walks into the living room, a towel draped around his neck, hair falling at his eyes. your eyes flick to him, staring at him for a few seconds. he thinks, was there something on his face? before blurting out loud, “...is there something on my face?”

“oh, no. you just look really good with your hair-down.” your eyes shift back to your computer like you didn’t just make his heart skip a beat and make his forever hairstyle. he sits down, at the end of the chair, playing on his phone. it’s comfortable silence, with only the tv background noise, and his dogs rest at your feet.

almost two hours later, megumi notices your slumped posture. your head fallen backward, body rising with every inhale. seeing you like that, made him so undeniable soft. megumi was more than a little tired himself, trying to stay up with you. 

absentmindedly, he goes to get you a pillow and one of his throw blankets. by your side, he places them on the living table, after closing your laptop. you looked a little stiff so, he adjusts you to lie down, head on the couch. with his blankets covering you and his pillow resting under your head, he goes to leave.

but before he could, a hand wraps around his wrist, your hand. with your eye’s struggling to stay open. “stay.” your voice mumbled, really a miracle he could hear it. 

“i can’t.” he began, but you looked up at him, a pout left on your lips. “it’s my dream gumi, you can’t say no to me.” oh. you thought you were dreaming … about him? you tug him, with your hands on his wrist, and then he contemplates. looking back to his bedroom, to you. 

“please?” you add.

and, already tired, he folds. he goes to lay right next to you. the couch was only so big, so you both had to shuffle close together until your head ended up on his chest. your arms draped across him, legs tangled together.

megumi wakes up before you, finding you still in the same position as before, your head resting on his chest, arms tightly holding him. your face was tilted at him, your lips exhaling out gentle breaths. his hazel green eyes drawn to your lips, noticing how moisturized and soft they looked, he just wanted to kiss you.

but he doesn’t, instead, he lets his mind fill with rapid thoughts.

should he leave before you wake up? what would this mean if he didn't? you were dreaming about him …. but maybe it was just friend vibes?

“stop overthinking, it’s too early in the morning,” your voice interrupted his thoughts, your eyes were still closed, how’d you notice? “i can feel your heartbeat.” you somehow respond to his thoughts.

“oh well, i wasn’t overthinking. just … lost in thought.”

your soft laughter fills the room as if this entire situation was normal. he glances down, now meeting your eyes, which were already on him. “i won’t say no if you ask, gumi.” he was confused about what you were talking about, til your eyes flick at his lips. 

was he dreaming?

“can i kiss you …” he remembers they just had woken up. “after we brush our teeth, of course,” he asks. you nod, a smile playing on your lips. you both get up and he leads you to the bathroom. megumi was more than a little impatient to feel your lips on his, as the toothbrush went in his mouth, especially when you teasingly bumped your hips to his. 

with both of you guys done, he wastes no time wrapping his arm around your waist. you turn around to face him, tilting your head up. though it takes a second for megumi to build the confidence to press at your lips, but when he does it makes him melt. 

minty from the tooth toothpaste, it was slow, and soft, as you both tried to find each other’s rhythm. his arms find their way traveling from your waist to your butt, pulling you closer to him. your arms snake around his neck, lips overlapping. the kiss almost turns frantic, needy.

“you know i’ve seen the way you look at me.” you murmur to his lips.

“hm.” megumi sucks at your upper lip, and he could feel your tiny gasp in his mouth. he kisses you so hard, he almost forgets you both needed to breathe. his heart beating miles per minute.

he pulls away, which creates a small smack sound. looking down at you, your lips are pouty and bruised. “i was jus’ waiting for you to tell me you want me.”

“i want you. want you so much, baby.” he says mindlessly, it’s raw and honest. and then the corner of your lips quirk up, you do the initiative in closing the gap between you two, with an open, heated kiss.

[ego-meliorem-esse]

I present to you my years long obsession - female America.

This is not a Nyotalia version it's just a concept of "what if everything is the same but Alfred was born a girl". Like i see so much potential! In a world where all the odds are stacked against her, she despite it all gets to where she is today. Making good and bad decisions along the way.

A lil hc/backstory for my main girl:

• Given name (by dad Arthur) is Elizabeth Felicity Kirkland but during the revolution changes her last name to Jones. Her first name change happens in the 1820/1830s when she changes it to Alexandra, also dropping her second name. (I was young when I came across the name and it means "defender/protector of man" and I was /obessed/ so i just stick to it since she is a loser and just thinks it's a cool sounding name)

• She goes by Alex/Al and I think that's neat :)

• My girl is tall. Like 181 cm tall. Sender but with visible muscles. She does want a bigger behind but her Anglo-Saxon genetics say nah.

• As a child she spent more time in England due to her being a girl so I think even if Arthur was absent he didn't allow her to spend much time alone in the colonies. She resents that ofc

• Just like with Alfred, Alex is very fkn close to Matt even if she forgets to call him or check up on him for months at a time. Al: "Hey man I know I just called a while ago but how've you been? Matt: "you called me 5 months ago..."

• Works at NASA as a part time aeronaitical engeneer. Loves physics, hates chemistry (self projection im sorry)

• During the revolution she dressed up as a boy but the people she worked with knew she wasn't one. People went along with it anyway.

• Other than during the American revolution, she dressed in feminine presenting clothes up until the 1930s. After that it was trousers all the way!

• Alex was never a nurse during wartime but definitely did accountaint work in ww1 and later joined the Women’s Auxiliary Air Force (WAAF) where she stayed until 1943 when she joined her men fighting on the ground ( Conversion to Army status, Women's Army Corps - WAC). That's when she saw actual combat.

• Isn't fond of birds. Canaries are fine. Eagles are unsettling.

• Obsesses over a certan thing/hobby at a time up to a point where she perfects her skill. When she was about 14 (human years) it was the whole freedom and equality of man and all the politics regarding it. In the 1890s her obession was cars and motor vehicles. The 1910s brought a new obsession on womens rights. 1960s was space exploration where she devoted almost all her time researching and working for NASA, disregarding her goverment/state duties as a country. In the 1980s it was the internet. In 1990s she got really interested in the Balkan wars (self insert >:)) for whatever reason. Today her attention is mostly on social media and her attention span ia short af. Still really likes all things tech.

• Hasn't got many properties/real estate. Al does own a penthouse in Seaport, Boston and a late 17th and early 18th century colonial home in Newbury, Boston (that she needs to renovate asap). The only other real state she owns is in California, though modern and recently buit, it's not big nor does she spend much time there.

• Her personality is basicaly Alfred if he grew up as a woman and had to face opression based on sex and inequality that came with it. So still bubbly, extroverted, a social butterfly but also self-serving, idealistic, manipulative sprinkled in with sarcasm, cautiousness and craftiness. Same feckin sense of humour tho.

• In 1783, at the Treaty of Paris in Versailles both her and her father had to sign the document that started her independence (She herself had a human representitive 'cus of her age/sex bla bla but it was mostly formalities). At that signing Arthur gave her a flintlock pistol that he himself used in the 1640s. Not many words were exchanged, he just put it in her hand to keep. She still has it in her attic. Somewhere. She'd find it if she just takes the time to look for it I'm sure.

• In 1889 she straight up did her first war crime/murder of a fellow nation (if you don't count shooting her pops face off at Saratoga in 1777). After an altrication with Antonio that resulted in him insulting and slapping the girl for her audacity and mouthiness, she punched him straight in the jaw. A fight insued where she got ahold of his belt and straight up strangled him. Took her a while to process that and accept it. On the bright side Antonios scilence was heard around the world and while perplexed and insulted, older and influential (mostly male at that point) nations started to feel a glint of respect forming for the young startup.

• Al was given a family pocket watch by her father in the 90s (No more empire for Arthur so he sad :(((((( ) that was suppoaed to go to a firstborn son of a lord as an inheritance symbol. Everyone thought Jack would get it since Matt is techincally not Arthur's son. But even he would be expected to recieve it before Al. Then in an unexpected turn of events, while visiting her grumpy and nostalgeous empire-missing dad, Arthur pulled out the watch while eating stale kebabs in front of the telly and gave it to her casualy without as much as a word (The empire started with her, it shall end with her). She keeps it in her work desk drawer in a wooden box.

• Al and Zee have an interesting relationship. While being different in almost every aspect, there ia a mutual respect for eachother from eachother. While not really being able to see eye to eye, they are sisters in a certain roundabout and very fucked up way. Girls who learned that they are very much judged by their sex despite being daughters of a high ranking British lord. While aware that she will never be Alex/Elizabeth in her fathers eyes, Zee still gets treated as a treasure by her father. Much to Zee's annoyance.

• It's still Matt who's in Alex's shadow. Despite the dificulties she rises above and is the perfect child of an empire. Smart, intelligent, inquisitive, a fast learner and incredibly aware of the political and historical situation at all times. Even despite being a girl and less than a son in the eyes of a 17th/18th century society, she suceeds.

• Arthur wanted a son to come from his colonial endeavours, as all empires/nobility at the time did. And as all other empires at the time had. But ofc karma is a bitch and he's the only empire with an only child being a daughter. Though at first thougrly dissaponted, when he lays his eyes on his daughter for the first time, the only emotion he can feel is /joy/.

• Instead of sowing/knitting Al's education was very much focused on natural sciences, since that is where Arthur quickly realized she exels at. He swapped her Violin and General History of Music lessions with Astrophysics and The History of Astronomy. All in an attempt to stop her from making his ears bleed from the constant prattling about The Four Square Theorem or The Brachistocrone Curve. It only got worse, but his daughter was happy and content.

I have sooooo many more of these jfc i might do more later but for now this is all I can think of.

TLDR: Female America is great and has so much potential as a character hghhhhhhhh

[thesupernaturalhouse]

Okay, I can't be the only one, who thinks it's kinda ridiculous how people hate Lilith right?

And I think it's even more hypocritical of people to hate Lilith but love Lucifer/Alastor/Adam

Now- I'm not saying you can't dislike a character, no....but we've seen this women ONCE, not counting the story/flashback

And frankly, I don't think she's done anything worthy of, you know, being hated as much as she is

"She took Charlie form lucifer" the fuck she did, im 90% sure that Charlie snuck out of bed and went to find Luci and Lilith(if it was Lilith) jsut went 'no- no. You're supposed to be asleep'

There was no clear context that Charlie was being taken away form Lucifer- not to mention even-

Okay, let's say that they did divorce, which I'm not even sure if they did, and Lilith took Charlie to live with her

She CLEARLY did not keep Charlie AWAY from Luci, we see portraits/pictures of Charlie as a kid young adult, teenager, etc, in her dad's office/home

We even see family portraits with her as a kid and teen/young adult, so the divorce was also probably not until she was already fully grown

Keep in mind, Chalrie is canonically 200 years old, or older, this divorce could've been when she was, like, 180 she probably wasn't a kid when the separated

So even if she was taking Charlie away in that scene, it clearly was not forever and honestly doesn't seem possible with the timeline

"She abandoned charlie" so did....Lucifer??

Like, she mentions him not contacting her for a long time, the one phone call she DOES get from him is about a meeting, not exactly a meaningful conversation

And if he became like this after the 'divorce', then unless lilith divorced him and then left. That probably means Charlie hasn't had a meaningful talk with her dad for longer than 7 years

Or even seen him, I forget if Charlie says that 'this is the first time I'm seeing him in years' or smth

Not to mention Charlie clearly still loves her and views her in a positive light

"Shes in heaven" Okay....we don't know why tho??

I mean, personally, I like to think she's planning war crimes against heaven and is using whatever deal she and Adam had as a cover up

But we don't know the reason, it could be a good one! it could be a shitty one! We don't know!!

We know, like, 4 things about this women and people are already hating her, and I just don't get it

Like why?? What's the reason??

And maybe im overreacting or yall havnt seen the same fans/thing I have

But I've seen people say they hate Lilith but love Lucifer, I've seen people paint her in a bad light to either have a villian/antagonist or to show Adam in a better light, or to victomize/pity Alastor

And I just don't get it, how is she worse then Alastor or Lucifer here?

Which, even if she does own Al's soul, I don't think it'd be a big deal?? Like....Alastor owns souls to, and Lilith isn't abusing her power over him(unlike Al with Husk), I think if she did own his soul, she would've stoped him from suggesting a deal/favor to Charlie

I can't be the only one who thinks like this either right?

i also personally dont want her to be a villian and i also dont want sera to be a villian either; Lute is a good enough villian

Sera ALSO gets hate, which I don't really get. Like this women is trying her best to run heaven by herself and make sure nobody dies under her care

Like this, women clearly has truama/ptsd, just as lucifer does about his falling. And for the exterminations to be fair, if I was told a bunch of rapists and serial killers were coming to my house, I'd grab the gun too!!

Doesn't mean all sinners are like that, I'm sure a lot are in hell for minor crimes, but heaven doesn't know that!

Cut her some slack man, I doubt she's had a nap in 4+ billion years

Also this isn't hate on any of the characters, I absolutely love lucifer, I just think that people needa stop painting lilith and/or sera to be the bad guy

[fairestwriting]

Hello Lis! Wow, it’s been a minute. How are you doing?

Sooo I got a request I was saving.

May I request HCs of the Music Club Trio (Cater Diamond, Kalim Al Asim, and Lilia Vanrouge) (Separately) who found out that [Reader] [Gender Neutral] [Platonic or Romance (your choice)] can sing/rap incredibly when they were alone practicing their vocals in an empty classroom? [Reader] was trying to keep their talent low-profile as they don’t like too much attention and can’t deal with embarrassment if something slips. How would the three react?

- @sanctum-of-ramshackle

hellooooo it has been a Lot of minutes huh 😭 but im surviving!!! the call of writing is one i can't bring myself to ignore .....

and! since you said both platonic and romantic are fine, im writing it more ambiguously so the other readers can see it however they prefer ;3

Cater Diamond

At first, he's too shocked to move, standing near the door and just listening in awe, but he eventually just snaps. Breaks your focus with a sound that's almost a squeak, rushing into the classroom you thought was empty way too quickly. Probably startles you into making a noise sounding just as awkward as his.

The questions of when and how you learn to sing like this start, Cater grabbing your hands and lookinf at you with big, bright eyes. And though he's usually cheerful, this degree of excitement still feels like a completely new side to him. You mumble out your explanations of how you've been practicing a long time, but had some specific boundaries...

He listens to each and every word, maybe even surprising you with the attentiveness. You might have expected requests for videos and pictures for social media posts anyway, but there are none. Instead, he cheerfully raises a hand and asks if he can practice with you. Then if you want to go to karaoke with him this weekend-- He's a bit more pushy about this one.

(If you're especially close, Cater might ask for an audio of you singing your favorite song. The intimate feeling of the request makes him nervous, but he can't really resist. Doesn't matter if your next school break is far away, he already knows he's gonna miss your singing a near painful amount.)

Kalim Al-Asim

He doesn't think twice after the first few lyrics he sees you sing so soulfully... a part of him wanted to stay by the door and listen until you were done with the song, but Kalim just can't hold back, and he rushes into the classroom just like Cater would. Unlike him, though, Kalim mostly showers you in praise.

It's a bit hard to have any sort of conversation for a bit, when he keeps guahing about how well you held that note and how emotional you sounded in that verse and how your voice was so, so, so beautiful, why didn't you share that with the club before?

...At least, with that one question, Kalim gives you enough time to explain yourself, and your concerns about unwanted attention, then the stage fright... and he does listen, though it takes a bit for him to understand. But it's definitely not in a malicious way, and you can see that. He's just so, so, so awed by how amazing your singing voice sounds.

Then, he has his own questions, a few on your background with music -- hardly the focus -- and a bunch on if you'd be willing to sing for the Music Club when they gathered. He assures, with that always sunny smile of his, that it's completely okay if you don't want to do that, but he's sure the other members would be delighted to hear you too.

And if you don't want to share that with them, Kalim asks if it's okay for him to listen to you a little more? He promises to not disrupt your practice. If you agree, you'll find that he's really an ideal audience member, clapping excitedly at the end of every song. And he happens to know one, he'll go all puppy-eyed as he asks to join you. Starting then, he'll take every opportunity to make your songs a duet.

Lilia Vanrouge

The only one who manages to stay by the door for a whole song, with that hard-to-read smile of his reaching up to his eyes. He claps as you finish your song, chuckling and fondly commenting how he had no idea you were so talented. Might spook you if you're jumpy, and it'd make him laugh too, but not without an apology. Pranks aren't the focus now.

Lilia walks up to you, looking straight into your eyes as he speaks. Part of his surprise is that your talent managed to fly under his radar for so long, when he usually picks up on these things so easily. He did have a feeling you were the type to hide your true potential for whatever reason, sure, but that's still not even remotely close to learning this secret of yours.

Lilia already mentions he's assuming you don't want to attract too much attention, or be judged, before you even start to explain. He reassures with a soft voice that he won't be sharing it with anyone you don't want to share your voice with, and his interest is more in how you got into music in the first place. If you play any instruments, if you had any training...

You see a rare glint of awe in his eyes as he speaks, it's clear that just from these few minutes of showcasing your skill, he's gained plenty of artistic interest and respect for you. He's especially curious about whether you write your own music or not. Depending on your own approach to your work, he'll honestly offer to help you... for the price of getting to be the first to hear any new songs you make, of course, he'll say with a cheeky smile.

if you wanna support my work, you can buy me a ko-fi or commission me!

[m0chis-cafe]

how i think scarabia dorm members would kiss you.. ⋆⑅˚₊

word count; 2k (ik its long, can you tell what my favorite dorm is? /s)

warnings; slightly suggestive in jamils bit, your in his lap. in both; jamil and kalim are just exhausted

characters: kalim and jamil

Kalim Al-Asim 💧

-his lips are nice but they're a little crackly, due to the fact that everywhere he is (the scalding sands and scarbia dorm) is really hot and dry

-if you did point it out he would ask Jamil for tips

-or if you put lip oils on him, he'd gladly let you

-he does that thing where if you had lip oils on, he would ask what it was and then just kiss you and comment on the scent/flavor

-he's so patient yet energetic about kissing you

-showers your face with kisses/would gives you a quick kiss between classes or when he sees you and then just continues on like nothing with a big smile on his face

-does not care if you're in public, in moderation

-but he does treasure the time your both alone, and he can be as affection as he wants

-loves to kiss your jaw, lips, and cheeks

-holds you from behind or has you at his side almost all the time, and you/him will be having a conversation with someone and hell randomly kiss your cheek (if you are beside him), or your jaw (if he's holding you from behind)

-if you help him take off his jewelry and hair accessories, giving his head scratches (you know that feeling taking things out of your hair and then rubbing your scalp, yea that), he will get so soft and calm on you

-Your also best friend with Jamil (he will deny it, but he does enjoy your presence), you help with Jamil's duties to look after Kalim

-more like you help with damage control cause jamil trusts you (even enough to cook kalims food without him checking it)

-Because you help your at orientation standing up front with Kalim and Jamil, and he makes it very obvious by holding your hip and kissing your cheek while Jamil is talking to the freshman

-not possessive, even if it may seem like it. he just likes showing how much he loves you

Orientation had gone well, even if Kalim had wandered off to try to change the robe colors and ended up running into one of the most powerful faes in the land.... besides that! Only a few students got sorted into Scarabia with you, Kalim, and Jamil. Even though Kamil seemed energetic and peppy in front of everyone, you could see the exhaustion start to seep in from the long day.

As you three stood in front of the freshman, still in your ceremonial robes. You took turns speaking, explaining the sorcerer of the sand's morals, expectations of the dorm, food and sleeping situations, and just a general explanation of Scarabia dorm. Jamil ended it by telling the second years to help the freshman to their rooms, and that if they had any other questions they could ask any of the three of you. Most of them followed the second years but few had questions about dorm and classes. Once all questions had been answered and everyone else was in their rooms, including Jamil, only you and Kalim were left in Scarabias lounge.

You let out a deep sigh, "well, that didn't go horrible?" glancing over you saw Kalim already looking at you. He smiled softly at you, "aha ha, well it's been worse befo- '' before he could finish he got cut off by himself yawning. You immediately opened your arms to him, he basically jumped at you clinging to your waist and burying his face into the space between your shoulder and neck. your arms found purchase around his shoulders, one of your hands coming up the back of his neck to twirl a bit of the loose fluff at the nape of his neck. You whispered into his ear, "do you want to get your adornments off love?" he glanced up at you nodding silently.

You took his hand and led him back to his dorm room, you left him to change out of his robes on his own, going to the bathroom attached to his dorm room to change out of yours as well. After you were done you went and sat on the edge of his bed, watching as he stood next to his desk, now in just black shorts and a scarabia dorm hoodie, yet all of his adornments were still clinging to him. Shuffling on his bed to now be on the end, you patted at the small bench that hugged the end of his bed signaling for him to sit.

He sat criss crossed on the bench facing you. You reached out and cupped his cheeks, leaning down and connecting your lips, he reached out and held both of your wrists pulling you more towards him. After a while, you needed a break for breath, dropping your hands from his cheeks as you parted. He caught your lips in a quick peck. Pulling away he flashed his signature smile, "thank you, my desert rose.". A light blush adorned your cheeks at the all-too-familiar pet name, you simply hummed as you reached out to his head scarf. untying the bow on the side and slipping it off, folding it on the bed next to you. Next were his earrings and bracelets, both now resting on the folded scarf.

Your hand lifted to cup his jaw as you moved your face to be right in front of his, whispering softly above his lips, "I love you, Kalim.".He closed the small gap, giving you small lazy pecks to your lips and cheeks, "you'll never know how much I love you, my beautiful desert rose."

Jamil Viper 🐍

-his lips are so nice, and you can't convince me otherwise

-he "isn't the best" at anything, but he truly does keep up his appearances

-loves to tease you, but only when you guys are alone

-in public, the most he will do is hold your hand, not because he's embarrassed of you, but because he flustered very easily

-he hasn't been with anyone else, so he's not used to physical affection from anyone

-jamil is so grateful that you do help him become more comfortable with giving and receiving affection

-in turn, he would take care of you, but not like he does with kalim where he's slightly forced to, he really wants to

-you also do the same for him, seeing as he's always stressed with being damage control and needed to run most things in scarabia dorm

-if you help him with any of it, he will give you all of his affection and attention when he can

-most affection while in the scarabia dorm lounge at night when everyone else is asleep and your bith playing old board games from the scalding sands (even if you've never won a single game seeing him happy and telling stories of his home is worth it)

-only really gives you kisses when you're in his dorm room, it's the only place he knows people cant barge in

-most scarabia students don't even know you guys are together, they assume you are in the same position as Jamil. Working under the Al asim family

-nope, you just want to lessen jamils workload

-mostly light kisses placed on your jaw, neck, and lips

-similarly to kalim he will melt if you help him take out his hair, undo his braids, and take out the gold accessories, hell melt, suddenly he's all mushy

-accompanying him to cook for the dorm is a mist, even if you can't cook you are the only person he allows to linger in the kitchen with him

-tells you stories of different recipes from his home, the spices, etc

-would let you taste test them, and even make you sweets of your own as random surprises

-if he's especially tired by the day he will collapse on his bed with you and just talk to him about the day while you undo his hair and you both swap random kisses and acts of affection

-helping him with his eye makeup (we've all seen his eyeliner/shadow, it's gorgeous), and him giving you random kisses wherever he can when you do

(connected to kalims story kind of, but it's with jamil, same orientation premise.)

You sat at jamils desk in his dorm room reading a novel about different spells from history. It was meant to be for a project in Treins class, but you kept going due to the fascination that had sparked the more you read. You were waiting for Jamil to come back from orientation, after all, you weren't an official student, so you simply waited for him in his room. You hadn't realized how long it had been until you finished the chapter you were on and glanced up to see the night sky sprinkled with stars.

Your thoughts were interrupted when you heard the quick opening and shutting of the door, jumping slightly you looked over to see a worn Jamil. You watch quietly as he trudges to the edge of his bed falling face-first into his sheets. Marking your place in the book, you set it down and make your way to him. Sitting next to him you caress his back slowly, "How was orientation my viper?". All he does in response is groan into his sheets. Sighing softly you tell him to get out of his robes and you go into his bathroom to get makeup wipes. Walking back you see that he's now laying on his back, clad in black shorts and a scarabia shirt, arm thrown over his head, and robes were thrown to the floor.

Settling to sit next to him on the bed, wipes in hand, "C'mon, makeup off.". He flops his arm off his face and into the bed, turning his head towards you, "then come here beloved." he spoke softly as he held out his hands at either side of his hips. Immediately understanding what he wanted, you climbed into his lap, resting your knees on the sides of his hips. His hands rested on your hips slightly under your sweater, you turned a little to reach for the makeup wipes. You took one out of the package and leaned down to wipe his eye makeup off, all while he rubbed small circles on your hips and planted random kisses on your face. In between you would take breaks and close the space, giving him a quick peck on the lips or telling him about your day/asking him to speak about his.

Once you were finished with his makeup you leaned back up and set the package and dirty wipes on his bedside desk. When you leaned back to him you realized his braids were still in, motioning for him to sit up. He gave an exasperated sigh but sat up with you still in his lap, moving his arms to wrap around your waist. You started at the bottom taking out the bottom of the braids, slowly working on them one by one taking out any accessories on your way, including his iconic red feather. During this process, Jamil moved back and forth from your chest to your neck, jaw, and shoulder littering your skin with kisses and small thank yous while you worked. You took the jewelry you did take out into your hands, once again leaving it on his bedside, "there! all done." When you looked back at him he had a small smile on his face and practically hearts in his eyes, you waved your hand in front of his face. "...Jamil, a-are you ok?". He looked dazed as he replied whispering softly, "you truly have charmed me, my beloved."

(get it, snake whisper, it's a charming spell, it's funny)

[dapandapod]

Bruises

I realized I forgot to post this on Tumbl! It's about 8,5k and written in one day in a fit of inspiration (helppppp) because I needed that sweet sweet Jaskier whump. Please enjoy this emotional hurt/comfort ish-fix-it of season 2. On Ao3 here

Jaskier never expected to see Kaer Morhen, especially not in the way he ended up seeing it.

The dwarves lead him and Ciri as far as they can, banter and cutting remarks following Jaskier at every step.

Sure, he gives as good as he gets; whatever he is dealt he makes sure to give back, if he can get away with it.

But you can only be hit so many times before it becomes a bruise, no matter how lightly.

And Jaskier is already sore, from years of barbs, from years of being told to “fuck off, bard” or “shut up, bard” or “you are so fucking loud,” and well. It hits harder when it is someone you consider a friend.

Especially when it turns out that friendship was one sided.

The little princess is full of resentment and anger, but trading banter puts a small smile on her face, so he lets her.

If the way to get friendly is to let her tease him, so be it. He knows she needs an outlet for her inner turmoil so it doesn’t fester, so he turns up the dramatics and plays along.

The second to last eve they spend with the dwarves, it suddenly becomes too much. He knows Yarpen isn’t a fan, he knows there is some truth behind his name calling and swearing. 

Ciri is sitting across the fire, sharpening a stick with the knife from her boot, looking for all the world like she isn’t paying attention to the conversation around her.

But then one of the dwarves calls Jaskier an ignorant, lazy, useless human, wondering what the fuck he is doing here anyway.

Maybe it is the ale, maybe it is the smoke stinging his eyes, or the years of putting up with it.

Jaskier doesn’t remember which one of them it was afterwards, and it doesn’t matter. His anger flares. He stands up, and the group goes very quiet.

“Have any of you asked me anything of my life? Have any of you bothered to ask what I was doing in a fucking prison cell, why I don’t have a lute, or where I went after you left that fucking dragon hunt with Geralt?”

There is complete silence, only the crackling of the fire and the night sounds of the forest.

“You might think I’m useless, and that I am lazy, and that I’m ignorant. But I don’t have to be here. I have people depending on me, yet here I am. Giving up responsibilities and comforts alike, all for someone who can’t even call me a friend, surrounded by people who clearly don’t want me here.”

He flexes his hands, feeling the blistered and burned skin strain, the pain clearing his head some.

“I’ll be out of your hair tomorrow.” He finishes, picks up his bedroll and his pack, and settles on the outskirts of the camp, by the wagon.

Close enough to be safe, far away enough to get some peace.

It takes a few minutes for the muttering to begin, a few more until Ciri stands up too, and gathers her bedroll.

Until now, she has been distant, and he can’t blame her in the least. Now she settles down just a few feet from him, alongside the carriage.

It is colder here in the north, and neither of them had any kind of proper gear packed for their journey, unplanned as it was. He still drapes his leather jacket over her when he hears her chattering teeth, and settles on his bedroll with just a thin blanket.

~

Kaer Morhen is all big halls, high ceilings and hairy men. Hairy witchers. Lots of them too, and Ciri runs to greet them with a big smile.

They had found Eskel along the path, guiding them the rest of the way up. Ciri knew some of the way already, but only the paths closest to the keep, so it was a great relief having someone who knew what to avoid and what trails led them past ancient traps and monster dens.

The road was long, and Jaskier can’t believe Geralt thought he would make it here unscathed. Eskel seemed a little concerned as well when Jaskier explained his task, but said nothing.

Still says nothing, now that Ciri is surrounded by witchers, and Jaskier is left just standing there at the edge of the room. He is usually not one to hesitate to introduce himself, but he is tired, hungry, and frankly feeling rather neglected.

Eventually Ciri introduces him to the group, and it takes about three seconds after that to figure out who Lambert is.

Ah, ‘Lambert, Lambert, what a prick,’ indeed.

He is given dinner, a place to sleep, and is shown to the room where they keep a myriad of bathtubs. Lucky for him, there is already a fire going, making the room warm and toasty, and making it considerably easier to warm the water without any signs.

Jaskier can’t lie, he had been picturing hot springs, or anything pre-heated really, especially the shallow pool that had been built in the floor.

A quick toe dip later, and he is never stepping foot in that pool, ever.

His fingers ache when they come in contact with the heat of the fireplace, and he flexes them in an attempt to dispel the discomfort.

Sinking down into a tub at long last is heaven.

Dirt from far more than the road to the keep has had his skin itching, his hair stuck in a permanent curl around his ears, and he longs for his artistic dishevelment once more.

Sharing breakfast with the witchers of Kaer Morhen enlightens him about the many odd manners of Geralt of Rivia.

Watching the other witchers mess with each other explains so much. Unguarded food is immediately stolen, and if given the chance, someone will increase the temperature of their tea all the way to boiling, and then challenge each other to drink it, and so on, and so forth. Brotherly pranks, clearly, but the kind you need a certain set of mutations to deal with.

Jaskier only has his mixed heritage to keep him out of the worst of troubles that technically would be bad news for full humans, but nothing to keep him safe from this, so he steers clear.

Yennefer and Geralt join them that same afternoon.

Ciri runs into Geralt’s arms, and Jaskier remains at the table where he is challenging Coën with loaded dice.

Not until most of the others have gone to bed does Geralt finally approach him.

“Thank you for bringing her safely here.”

Jaskier looks at him for a long while, before replying.

“You’re welcome.” He says finally, and Geralt pats his shoulder. Weird.

~

After that first day, Jaskier approaches Vesemir while the others are busy.

The way he left things in Oxenfurt doesn’t sit right with him, and he is pretty sure Pricilla is going to assume he is dead if he doesn’t get a message to her soon.

He still has no idea how long he is supposed to stay in the keep, but he writes a carefully worded letter, assuring his safety and asking her to keep singing the Song of the Shore.

She will know what the coded song title means, and he has enough funds squirreled away to keep the entire Sandpiper operation going for a while longer, before he needs to find a way to beg his benefactor for assistance.

Vesemir gives him a long look, and Jaskier offers the letter he is holding, stifling a frustrated sigh.

“You are free to read it. I’m not trying to give away your location, just assure my safety of me and those I left behind.” He says, because he knows.

He spent years in the library of Oxenfurt, and he has read the old tomes that contain what little witcher history there is to find, as poorly depicted as it is. He knows about the sacking of the keep, understands the fear of it happening again.

It still stings.

Vesemir accepts his offer, and opens the letter, reading it over. His eyebrow climbs up his forehead, and he looks at Jaskier before putting it back into its envelope.

“I’ll have it sent.” He says, his mustache twitching when he makes a considering face. “Do any of the others know?”

“About the Sandpiper?” Jaskier asks, and Vesemir nods. “Yennefer knows. She was a part of the last group I sent off, before…” Jaskier stops and takes a breath. “Before. I know how and when to keep things to myself.”

Vesemir nods again approvingly, and takes the letter with him.

No one seems to have noticed the exchange, and Jaskier is left wondering if that is a good or a bad thing.

~

Things are a bit tense in the keep. Geralt still hasn’t seemed to forgive Yennefer for her betrayal, and Ciri seems to be more withdrawn lately.

Between witcher practice and chores, Jaskier tries to make himself as useful as he can be.

Which is not very, as it turns out, since he is not trusted to be in the lab anymore because of a tiny little tasting incident. Nor is he allowed to help with the patching up the keep. The library is Vesemir’s baby, and Jaskier is sure he is safeguarding secrets of the past there.

So Jaskier just… hangs around. Without a lute, he can’t play, and he probably wouldn’t be able to just yet anyway with his fingers still in their sorry state. The blistered skin has started peeling now, and new soft pink skin has started to show underneath.

He and Yennefer are getting closer, both of them evidently outcasts of a sort.

Especially since none of the other witchers make an effort to get to know them, nor is Geralt paying any kind of attention to either of them. She is the only one who really knows about the firefucker, and nobody has bothered to ask about the bandages.

If she had her chaos, she could have healed him, but she doesn’t, so instead she makes what ointments she can and watches him like a hawk to make sure he doesn’t eat it instead of applying it.

~

Late summer is slowly becoming early fall, and Jaskier realizes that his window for leaving is ever shrinking.

He doesn’t want to leave, not really, but he has no idea what he's doing here. Geralt hasn't asked him to leave, but neither has he asked him to stay.

Their interactions are short and rarely between them alone.

A lot of it consists of Geralt being nearby when Jaskier is retelling funny stories of their travels, making Ciri smile and the other witchers roar with laughter and the corner of Geralt’s mouth twitch in an aborted smile.

They don’t treat him like the dwarves did, but they clearly don't know why Jaskier is here either, and it is frustrating to say the least.

They seem to appreciate his singing more than Geralt ever did, sure, but sometimes it feels like they use him to annoy Geralt, and sometimes Jaskier thinks it’s working…

Lambert is probably the worst. He is an asshole and excuses it by calling it honesty.

He picks up where Geralt left off after the mountain, poking at every visible sore spot until Jaskier is stinging. Jabs and jibes, poking fun at Jaskier to make the others laugh. Nothing he isn’t used to, but something that makes Jaskier feel uncomfortable when nobody steps in to stop him.

Ciri sticks close to his side after those nights.

She doesn’t say much, doesn’t try to defend him, and he would never ask her to, but she glares at Lambert and asks Jaskier to tell her another story, which he gladly does.

~

It’s been two weeks since their arrival, and he, Lambert, Coën and Geralt are gathered around the dining table. Most of the others have filtered out to their own tasks or downtime activities, but they linger, chatting and playing dice. Coën stays out of it, still not trusting Jaskier since the loaded dice incident, which Jaskier is immensely proud of.

For the first time in a long time, Jaskier is actually enjoying himself, and enjoying being next to his friend. Maybe, after all this time, Geralt has started to think of him as a friend too.

Until Lambert opens his mouth and ruins it all.

“You are not half as bad as Geralt made you out to be. Or maybe it’s because he made you leave your lute behind at the bottom of the mountain?”

Next to him Geralt stiffens, and Jaskier feels his jaw working.

“Thanks,” is all he says, shaking the dice in the cup one more time before slamming it down on the table a little harder than strictly necessary. Then he stands up and climbs over the bench, very fucking done with the entire conversation.

Behind him he can hear Coën berating Lambert, who pretends he has no idea what he said wrong.

Fucking asshole.

He doesn’t hear Geralt say anything, nor ask about the missing lute.

It’s not that cold out yet, but the air is fresh and crisp on his face when he steps out through one of the side entrances to the courtyard. Here and there witchers are milling about, but Jaskier wants to be alone.

He hurries to the main gate and across the bridge, seeking his solitude amongst the trees on the other side. Technically, it is a bit dangerous to go out alone, but Jaskier is pretty sure no little beasties would dare come close to a monster hunter’s keep in broad daylight.

“Jaskier.” Geralt calls after him, and Jaskier stifles a long line of swears. Still he lets Geralt catch up to him, even if he is decidedly not looking at the witcher.

“Lambert can be such a prick.” Geralt says when he has caught up. “He only wants to rile you up.”

Jaskier notices the clear lack of an apology in there.

“So I’ve noticed. And he succeeded,” Jaskier says shortly, flexing his fingers again.

A bad habit now, but it is better than picking at the sharp, hardened edges of skin that still cling to his fingertips as they heal.

Clearly, Geralt hadn’t thought through what he wanted to say, or he had expected this to be enough. It isn’t. He lingers, still standing there, waiting for… something.

“What do you want from me, Geralt?” He asks when Geralt isn’t saying anything, and turns to look at him. His… friend. The man he has spent far too many years believing he meant something to.

“... I wanted to see if you are alright.” Geralt says haltingly, and Jaskier finally snaps.

“Oh yes, I am clearly alright after being told time and time again that I am annoying, unwanted, useless, loud, and being told by your family that you had made me out to be all those things too, before they even met me.”

Geralt looks taken aback, but Jaskier is not done.

“I’m tired of this, Geralt. I am so fucking tired of this. Not once have you come to my defence, not once have you told them to fuck off.”

“You can hold your own.” Geralt says, frowning, and Jaskier spreads his arm in frustration.

“I can, of course I fucking can! I have to, since not even the man I thought of as my best friend considers me a friend enough to have my back!”

Again, the witcher doesn’t have a reply to that. Fucking figures.

“Leave me alone, Geralt. Before I say something I’ll regret.”

“...Don’t wander.” The witcher cautions him hesitantly, and thankfully returns towards the bridge.

Jaskier stays longer than what is probably advisable. He is just fuming, and he kicks a young tree, making yellow leaves fall down around him.

He could technically blow off steam by sitting down to write, but there would be an audience no matter where he goes in the keep, and he is also not very much in the mood for another Burn Butcher Burn.

That one has done enough damage already.

In the end, it is Ciri who ends up fetching him. She doesn’t say anything about his red eyes and tousled hair, nor the bruises on his knuckles.

“Dinner is ready,” is all she says, and waits for him to join her back across the bridge with the others.

Jaskier takes his dinner and chooses another table far from the big group. Predictably, Ciri joins him, but he didn’t expect Eskel to sit down with them, too. Nor Yennefer. Nor Geralt.

They talk amongst themselves, even if Ciri and Jaskier are the only one replying to Yennefer when she says something.

It makes him feel weird, considering their rivalry all these years.

He knocks their shoulders together and teases her, calls her the worst wife ever. It is worth it for the smile he teases out of her, but he notices Geralt pull in a sharp breath of air.

“What?” he asks, but Geralt says nothing, just stares down at his food.

That evening, Geralt walks Jaskier back to his room.

“I’m sorry,” the witcher finally says after a long stretch of silence that Jaskier refuses to fill. “For what Lambert said. And for what I made Lambert believe.”

Jaskier blinks in surprise. When there is nothing else, he turns towards his door.

“Sure. See you around, Geralt.”

But Geralt stops him with a hand around his wrist.

“Are you and Yennefer… really married?”

Of course. Of course that is what would be on Geralt’s mind. Another sore spot amongst the others on his bruised heart.

“Fret not, witcher, the sorceress is still unwed and free for the taking. She did get me out of a rather sticky situation, though, so if it’s all the same to you, I do consider her my friend and platonic wife.”

With that, Jaskier turns and closes the door behind him.

Fuck, that was not how he wanted this day to go. His eyes sting and he swallows many times and he clenches his fists to keep his emotions in line.

Maybe it is time to leave.

Maybe it is time to go back to where people need and want him. Where he can make a difference. Where he can matter. Where he is enough.

His eyes sting once more, and with a great sigh he heaves himself from where he was leaning against the door and pours himself a cup of water.

He’ll talk with Eskel in the morning. Or Vesemir. Find a way to leave that won’t inconvenience anyone any further.

~

Leaving is harder than he thought, mainly because now, all of a sudden, people seem to seek his company.

Yennefer keeps appearing, asking him for help with stupid things. Some of them, he realizes, might be a way to regain the trust she broke between her and Geralt, but he appreciates her company it all the same.

Especially since most of it includes making Ciri smile, some other parts of it to make Lambert’s life a little more shitty. Something he is all for, to be honest.

Jaskier is petty when he wants to be, and right now he is the Prince of Petty.

Geralt too, seems to have come to some conclusion. He bites back faster when Lambert becomes too much, or Eskel, or Coën for that matter. In Jaskier’s defence, even.

It’s… weird. Nice, but weird.

And it is tearing at the walls that he spent all summer building.

~

Jaskier writes another letter to Pricilla.

Vesemir had told him that he will accept no return letter, but there are some strings he could pull if it were really necessary. Since they are hiding from Nilfgaard in a keep deeply hidden away by time and nature, Jaskier respects the need for it, and continues writing his one sided letters.

He is rather used to one sided communication, after all.

~

When he finally thinks he is about to get Eskel alone, it is not by his own doing.

“I’m sorry, I found a journal without a name, and I looked through it to see who it belonged to.”

Well, fuck.

“Jaskier. You are putting yourself at great risk.”

“And others even more so, if I don’t.” Jaskier replies, knowing exactly what he is referring to. Eskel blinks, then nods.

“I need to go back, Eskel. Before winter comes.”

“It’s too dangerous. The pass will be open for a few weeks more, but you are a wanted man.”

This is news.

“What do you know?” He asks quietly, accepting his journal back.

“I have no idea how you got into the prison cell, but word’s spread that the White Wolf busted you out.”

Fuck.

“That’s not good.”

“I’m sorry.” Eskel says, and Jaskier pats his shoulder, but he immediately pulls his hand back with a grimace. How can one see the spikes on his shoulders, and forget that they are, indeed, spikey?

“Shouldn’t have done that. Why do you keep wearing spikes?” Jaskier says. “ Also, no fault but my own, I suppose, with the jailbreaking and all that. Actually, scratch that, are all witchers allergic to just bailing someone out? Or is it just a Geralt thing?”

Jaskier tries to lighten the mood, but his stomach is sinking and his hands feel clammy. Time to write another letter or three.

“Witcher’s are all cheapskates, I’m afraid,” Eskel grins, but then sobers. “Do the others know?”

Jaskier shrugs.

“They didn’t ask. Nobody asked.”

At the same time, Geralt comes around the corner and spots them, a frown forming on his forehead. Of course.

“Right. Well, if you would keep this to yourself, I’d be immensely grateful.” Jaskier says quietly, and this time Eskel pats Jaskier’s shoulder.

“I got your back, bard,” the scarred witcher says, ironically, and now there is a lump forming in Jaskier’s throat.

Great. Fantastic. Splendid. Amazing.

Without waiting, Jaskier takes off towards his room to hide his journal again. Not to avoid Geralt. Not at all.

~

The letters he puts together are swiftly given to Vesemir. His eyebrows shoot up again when he spots one of the names addressed.

“Not a friend I would have expected of you, Pankratz.” Vesemir says quietly. “I hope you know what you are doing.”

Jaskier knows. It is a high risk game for everybody involved, with him in the direct line of fire.

“They will have to make do without me for a while.” Jaskier says quietly. “Or so Eskel tells me.”

“Ah, yes. Might be good to lay low for a while. You are welcome to stay the season with us, if you don’t have anywhere else to go, but we expect you to pull your weight.”

Does he have anywhere? Is he really welcome here?

The way Geralt looks at him sometimes, he is not so sure.

“Thank you. Though I might need to make a trip down to civilization soon. Some more clothes, paper and a lute. What kind of bard am I without a lute?” He asks, half joking.

“It’d be better if we sent down one of our usuals.” Vesemir says, scratching at his beard. “A man like yourself is sure to stand out anywhere in these small settlements.”

Was that a complement?

“Was that a complement?” Jaskier says, smirking, and Vesemir huffs goodnaturedly.

“I can see them looking, bard. I have eyes. And ears.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Jaskier asks, frowning, but Vesemir turns to go.

“Write me a list of what you need, and I’ll see what we can do.”

~

Aubry and Coën leave only a few days after Jaskier had written his list. He doesn’t really expect them to find him a lute, but something stringed to play would be nice. It’s rather likely they would find a 4 stringed lute at most, nothing like the one he smashed over that guard’s head, nor like the one he got from the Elven kind that he keeps safely in Oxenfurt.

Frankly, he’s glad that he couldn’t bring one of his nicer instruments.

The temperature changes could crack the wood, if not treated carefully, and it would be hell to keep that many strings tuned. He is pleasantly surprised when there is a knock on his door, and Geralt steps in with a leather case.

“The boys found you something,” he says by way of greeting, and Jaskier stands from his desk to accept the offered case.

He can feel the corner of his mouth tick up, and he wipes his hands on his trousers first to rid himself of stray ink before he dares touch it.

He grips it by the neck, feeling the smooth wood even through the leather of the case, and the gentle sounds of the strings as they are pinched in his grip.

“Oh, hello there,” he whispers to it, and opens it reverently.

She has six strings and a little care package, and she is terribly out of tune. The wood is old, loved, worn out, and he can see clearly where her previous player liked to put their fingers, the lacquer worn or marked to help the unpracticed one.

“What a beauty you are,” he tells her, and from the corner of his eyes, he sees Geralt leaning against the door frame, arms crossed. It almost looks like he is smiling, but Jaskier won’t turn his head to look.

There is a nervousness in him, like when you get to know a new lover. Excitement, fondness, curiosity.

He sits down on the bed, lute perched in his lap, and attempts to tune it. He fishes out the little tuning fork around his neck, raps it on his knuckles, plucks the matching string, and starts adjusting it.

Geralt makes a face; it’s probably not a nice sound to sensitive ears, but he remains.

“Did you know, it's common lutes have as many as 12 courses?” Jaskier says, turning the peg until it feels right.

“Courses?” Geralt asks.

“Strings. Oh, I might need to get this little darling some new pegs eventually, and that string looks a little worn out. We will fix you up, love.” He coos at the lute, and he hears Geralt huff.

“Doesn’t yours have 13?” Geralt asks, and Jaskier looks up, surprised.

“They do, yes.” Jaskier looks down, and his hands suddenly feel a little clammy, his cheeks warm. “The most I have ever heard of is 35, which is ridiculous. One of my old masters in Oxenfurt has one with 19, but I find those are best suited for academic music, rather than music for the masses.”

Geralt doesn’t say anything else, and when Jaskier looks up, Geralt is smiling.

“What?” He asks, but Geralt just shakes his head.

“Just haven’t talked like this in a while. It’s nice.”

That… is not what he expected him to say. Truth be told, he is still a little hurt. He still hasn't received a proper apology from that outburst from Geralt on the dragon hunt, nor any kind of thanks for just dropping everything to come with him again.

“This is going to take a while,” Jaskier says hesitantly, when Geralt doesn’t say anything else, nor move. “Technically, I should look her over first, then tune, but ah, can’t blame a man for being excited, can you?”

Jaskier looks down, puts his tuning fork back inside his shirt, where it clinks against the ring, and puts both hands on his lute.

“I don’t mind. If you don’t mind me staying.”

This is so weird.

Geralt stays, and listens to Jaskier tuning his new treasure. It takes him almost twenty minutes to see that Geralt is holding another bag, most likely one with the requested clothing.

They will have to wait a little more, as Jaskier is getting into position and putting the lute strap over his shoulder.

His right hand already stings a little, the new skin not used to the sharpness of the strings. Jaskier plays a few scales to get to know her, and to get back into it. He plays a little ditty from his past, humming the familiar nonsense words of the warm up song of his early days in the academy.

They don’t know each other yet, but it feels good to play again.

Just because he can, and because he wants to show off a little, Jaskier decides to test her limits. An old lullaby, embellished by the academics and time, harmonies and contrast ringing out in the room.

He smiles, until his index finger stings, and he hisses and puts it in his mouth.

“You alright?” Geralt asks, sitting up straighter from where he finally was sitting on the chair by Jaskier’s desk.

“‘m good,” Jaskier says around the finger in his mouth. “Just a cut. New skin’s not tough yet.”

He takes the finger out, and inspects it. His fingers are red, and the small cut is bleeding a little more than it should. Even his cuts are dramatic, he hears his teacher say, an echo from a distant past in the back of his mind.

“...New skin?” Geralt asks, face blank, and Jaskier looks up at him. The good atmosphere in the room is changing, and for some reason Jaskier feels like it is his fault. It makes him feel a bit defensive.

“Yes, you know, after the old skin blisters after a bad burn? Haven’t played in some time either, so that probably makes it worse, I suppose.” Jaskier can’t help but prod, to see if Geralt will take notice.

“You didn’t tell me about the burn,” Geralt says, his mouth a thin line.

“You didn’t ask.” Jaskier says, laying both hands flat over the strings, looking at Geralt challengingly. Good mood is all but gone now, and he feels that old bruise makes itself known again. This time he is the one poking it.

“Usually don’t have to.”

“Maybe I got tired of our one sided friendship,” Jaskier says before he can stop himself. Fuck, that is not how he meant to say that.

By the looks of it, Geralt doesn’t take it too well either.

He stands up, staring at Jaskier as if he grew a second head.

“Tired?” He says, hands clenching and unclenching against his sides.

“When was the last time you called me your friend, Geralt?” Jaskier says, starting to get agitated. “When was the last time you asked me something, anything that didn’t directly relate to Yennefer, Ciri, or you needing me to do something? When was the last time you apologized, for anything you have said to me?”

Jaskier stands up and puts the lute down on the bed, lest he does something he regrets too. All the words are pouring out of him now, why risk breaking anything but his own heart?

“Maybe I grew tired of being the only one trying.” He grabs his handkerchief to stop the blood from his finger, clenching his hand hard around it.

“Why are you here then?” Geralt spits, and it’s like a slap.

“I ask myself the same thing every day,” Jaskier shoots back, finding himself taking a step forward. “Why am I here, when clearly nobody wants me to be?”

Geralt stares at him, and Jaskier can’t really tell what that expression is.

“Are you leaving?” Geralt asks through clenched jaws.

“Can’t. Apparently there are consequences for being broken out of jail. Especially when it happens to have been by someone like the White Wolf.”

This time, Geralt visibly flinches.

“Didn’t think about that, did you?” Jaskier says. “I was so glad you found me again, I didn’t give a damn about the consequences. I pretended we could start again, maybe you would want me by your side, walking next to you for once, not just trailing behind like some forlorn fucking puppy.”

Jaskier looks at his bed, looks at the oh so loved lute, that had seen so many sets of hands, every scratch and tear a part of a journey.

“Vesemir has allowed me to stay through the winter. Unless you’ve all got something against that. Let me know, and I’ll be on my way.”

Jaskier wishes he wasn’t in his room. Wishes he could just leave. Instead, he has to stand there like an idiot and wait until either Geralt does, or opens his mouth, for once.

“I didn’t realize…” Geralt begins but trails off.

“That actions have consequences, Geralt? That words do damage too? Did you learn nothing from your entire Butcher experience?”

That is a low blow, and he knows it, but he doesn’t feel like being nice right now.

It’s remarkable that Geralt hasn’t blown up at him yet, which in itself is probably not a very high standard to hold anyone against.

“You are still bleeding,” Geralt says eventually, and Jaskier looks down to see that he’s dropped his handkerchief. The witcher bends down and picks it up, grabbing Jaskier’s hand along the way.

Jaskier is too stunned to protest, and Geralt lifts his hand enough to inspect the cut. It’s not bleeding much anymore, but from where it’s placed, it is likely open easily.

Geralt pinches the tip of Jaskier’s finger with the handkerchief, and Jaskier suddenly flashes back to another room, another time when someone held his hand.

It takes effort not to just yank his hand back, his pulse rising and his palms getting clammy again. Geralt looks at him from under his brow, concerned, but Jaskier pinches his lips shut.

“Will you tell me about it?”

“About what?” Jaskier manages when Geralt breaks the stare to reach for some linen Jaskier has been using as bandages every now and then.

“What I missed this past year. How to be your friend. Where we go from here.”

Geralt makes a tight wrap around his finger, to the best of his ability. Not the best place for a bandage, but at least Geralt has experience.

“I can’t tell you where we go from here, Geralt. If you ask, I can tell you about the months since the dragon hunt, but the rest, you will have to figure out along with me.”

Geralt holds Jaskier’s hand in his for a moment longer, neither of them looking at the other. The witcher’s hand is not much larger than his. With a gentle thumb, Geralt moves Jaskier’s fingers, allowing him to see what the firefucker did to him.

“You and Eskel seem to get along,” Geralt says carefully. “Does he know?”

The corner of Jaskier’s mouth tugs upwards in half a smile. Geralt is fishing, but Jaskier won’t say unless there is an actual question.

“Some. He found a journal of mine that I thought I had hidden.”

Geralt frowns and releases Jaskier’s hand. It drops to his side, and they both just stand there in the middle of the room, looking anywhere but at each other.

“You don’t usually hide your songs.”

“It wasn’t a song book.”

“... Can I see?”

Fuck it, why not. Whatever is happening in this room tonight will change things either way.

The new hiding place isn’t really a hiding place, just the drawer in his desk. He hands Geralt the leather bound pages, and Geralt opens and looks through it.

At first glance, it looks like his economic books. Taking stock of things bought and sold, to who and where.

Geralt glances up at Jaskier, who just nods at the book again.

Flipping a few pages, Geralt starts to make connections. When he looks up at Jaskier again, his face is carefully blank.

“You are the Sandpiper.”

“I am.” Jaskier agrees.

“You smuggled elves out of the big cities.”

“Indeed. Don’t worry, I have taken precautions for if I’m not around.”

If he should be discovered. If he were not to come back.

“Jaskier, you are putting yourself at risk.”

“And so are you, every time you take a contract. Don’t you dare tell me it’s not the same.”

“So it’s for the money?”

Jaskier sniffs, glaring at the witcher.

“No. It’s for the people who don't have anyone else to turn to. Because when they run out of elves, they will find new targets. You can’t tell me you took every contract for the coin, I have seen you accept contracts for half of your rate if they can’t afford it.”

“Is that why your fingers were blistered?” Geralt asks.

“No. That’s… something else. Something I’d rather not talk about tonight, if you don’t mind.”

Jaskier knows that if he does, he will spend the rest of the evening wondering if he gave anything away, wondering where Rience is, who else he is burning because Jaskier got away.

Geralt gives the book back, and Jaskier places it back in the drawer.

“Rest your hand, Jaskier. Heal before you play again.”

The room is strangely empty when Geralt has left.

Jaskier sits on the bed, staring at his hands for a long while, until he finally decides to look at what was in the bag of clothes that Geralt brought, and Jaskier promptly forgot about in favor of the lute.

Looking through it,it seems like Geralt might have added a shirt of his own to Jaskier’s new wardrobe.

He shoves it to the bottom of the pile.

Jaskier doesn’t make it down to dinner that night.

~

After that day, things slowly progress in small steps.

Everything goes to shit, however, when Voleth Meir makes herself known.

Ciri’s body moves at the possessing demon’s will, and she manages to stab three witchers badly before the alarm is raised.

Yennefer wakes him up, pulling him from a dream into a nightmare. She needs him.

Somehow they always need him.

The powers channeled through Ciri’s small body are strong, destructive.

Jaskier is hiding under a table when a large creature steps through a portal, a creature he has never seen before. It sweeps at the witchers, and Voleth Meir laughs with Ciri’s mouth.

It takes Yennefer tearing open her veins for Voleth Meir to finally let go, for Ciri to free herself from the snares her mind had been tangled in.

With a scream, Ciri, Yennefer and Geralt disappear from view through a portal.

Jaskier sees Lambert land on his back, leg bleeding badly after a swipe from one of the creatures still roaming. He pulls him to the relative safety of his table, and tears his tunic enough to wrap Lambert’s leg.

“Thank you,” Lambert grumbles as he gets his bearings, the commotion in the room making it hard to hear. Jaskier just nods, tying the makeshift bandage off.

Finally, it’s over.

And somehow, Yennefer got her powers back.

~

The days after are a mess. One of the stabbed witchers doesn’t make it, and Ciri has been hiding in her room, guilt ridden, making herself as small as physically possible.

Geralt tries to coax her out, but he still has too little time, too many things to sort out. With her newly regained magic, Yennefer heals who she can, focusing on major injuries until she almost exhausts herself completely.

All the while, Jaskier is left to his own devices. Again.

Not that there is anything he can actually do for them. He isn’t medically trained, nor does have magical abilities.

It leaves him wondering how he survived the whole ordeal at all, and while he feels lucky about it, there is also a morsel of guilt.

So Jaskier finds himself knocking on Ciri’s door. She is reluctant to let him in, but with some honey cake bribes, she finally relents.

This, he knows. This, he can help with.

A young girl, plagued with guilt and fear, struggling to get a hold of herself and what she did, he knows how to help her.

“Not what you did. What your body did, under someone else's control.” Jaskier reminds her between bites. “I might not have gone through what you have, but I know what it is like to feel helpless. Fear and expectations don’t mix well, especially not when a murderous witch is involved.”

They talk a lot, mostly Ciri actually, and maybe they cry a little. After they finish their stolen cakes, and Jaskier has sworn not to tell Lambert, Jaskier brings out his lute to let Ciri play.

It seems she has a basic knowledge, plucking out the chords of a famous love song.

Sadly, not one that Jaskier had written, but at least it wasn’t one of Valdo Marx’s. Which he tells her.

And then she proceeds to play one of Marx’s love songs.

When Geralt finally joins them, Jaskier is chasing a giggling Ciri, who is hugging the lute close, calling her a traitor and a terrible little child, cursing Valdo for tainting her poor, innocent ears.

~

The first day Ciri dares to join them for breakfast, she hides behind Geralt. Both Yennefer and Jaskier hover, ready to step in between if anyone has anything to say.

They don’t.

Lambert is the first one to approach, bandage and limp both gone, Jaskier notes. He sits opposite of Geralt and Ciri, slamming his plate down, his fork rattling down across the table.

“Hey, it happens. What is a little mind control between friends?” is all he says, then digs into his food with the worst table manners Jaskier has seen in a while.

The tension breaks when Jaskier starts berating him for it, and is met with a mouthful of food telling him exactly where he can stuff his manners.

Ciri smiles when Eskel settles next to her, bumping their arms together.

The others make a toast to the lion cub among the wolves, the one who finally found a way to shut Lambert up. Even if it was by challenging him to stuff his mouth full enough to almost choke.

~

The first snow falls not long after.

The last letter has been sent, the last visit to the village by the foot of the mountains has been made, and those witchers unwilling to be stuck for the season have left.

It is colder than a grave hag’s asshole, as Eskel declares one day, with Coën immediately wanting to know why he knows that piece of information.

“I am a man of science,” Eskel grins and winks, and Lambert almost spits out his mead.

Ciri and Yennefer are slowly bonding, their first lessons taking place by the giant lake below the keep.

Jaskier takes care of his lute, works on new material, and with Vesemir and Eskel’s help, looks for new routes for the Sandpiper to take.

Geralt finds him more often now, seeking out his company rather than just tolerating it.

For a moment, Jaskier had expected him and Yennefer to fall back into bed as soon as the air was cleared, but if they have, they never said.

Instead, Yennefer spends more and more time with Ciri, trying to work out ways to control her power when they realize just how strong the young girl already is.

Sometimes they all do things all together.

They go ice skating.

They lose a snowball fight, pelted until they yell for mercy.

Jaskier finally learns of the hot springs, much to his outrage.

“You mean I could have dipped into preheated water all along?!” he yells, waving his arms around dramatically, and is rewarded when Ciri snickers, and Geralt bites down a smile.

It makes something in his chest soar.

The walls from the past year are slowly being torn down.

Deliberately so, in fact.

Piece by piece, Jaskier decides to let Geralt in.

It’s not perfect. It’s painful and it’s terrifying to let himself be open to hope again, to trust that there is friendship this time.

~

When Geralt learns about the firefucker, he is gone for an entire day.

Jaskier has no idea where he went, and he is feeling terribly vulnerable after talking about it, hands shaking and heart racing. Yennefer finds him outside her workroom, and she pulls him inside, cursing Geralt all the way.

“Let him sulk,” she says. “If he can make a hardship his fault, he will. When he gets his head out of his ass, he’ll come back.”

Later that night, Jaskier hears Yennefer rip Geralt a new one for leaving like that, when Jaskier clearly was shaken up and shouldn’t have been left alone.

Ciri learns about the firefucker days after, and angry tears roll down her cheeks when she realizes what Jaskier went through for her, even before they met.

They sit on the bridge outside the gates, feet dangling over the edge. The air is cold enough for their breath to fog, and Ciri’s slightly damp hair to freeze.

Jaskier thumbs her tears away and presses a kiss to the top of her head.

“The whole world could be at my heels, and I would do it all again to keep you safe.”

“Sometimes, I just want the world to burn.” Ciri whispers, and Jaskier tucks her into his side.

~

Geralt calls him his friend now.

It’s good.

Jaskier gets to borrow a horse, and they go out riding in the snow around the keep. They argue about whose turn it is to do the laundry, and who is the worse cook. 

When the window to Jaskier’s room breaks for reasons Lambert and Ciri swear up and down they know nothing about, Geralt simply moves him into his own.

The bed is wide enough for the both of them, which makes Jaskier think of who else might have shared it before him, but he pushes that thought down.

It has no place here, nothing to stand on.

They actually interact less after sharing a room, both of them needing their own space during the day.

They learned that after a vicious fight, where Geralt found all Jaskier’s sore spots once again and pounced.

“Do you ever tire of your own voice?!” he asked nastily, and that shut Jaskier right up.

He slept in the main hall for three days, until Geralt actually apologized.

After that first apology, the rest came a little easier.

They talked about what happened on the mountain. They talked about Jaskier’s past, and Geralt confessed that sometimes, since way before the dragon hunt, he thought Jaskier was only following him for the stories, for the fame it brought him.

It was Jaskier’s turn to apologize, for not seeing that, for not respecting privacy and boundaries set. He realizes he might have been blind to Geralt’s reactions to his songs, distracted with the fame their association granted them.

“But,” Jaskier says,”Not once would I have left you, even if you never lifted your sword ever again.”

To this, Geralt admits to how he always expects to be abandoned, or to be left behind.

“The thought of you leaving, or dying, it’s terrifying. I don’t think I could piece myself together again. So I left first.”

It’s like a kick in the chest, when Jaskier realizes.

That is the first night they actually sleep close on purpose. Geralt is a nasty little blanket thief, but Jaskier makes due by simply curling in close.

~

Midwinter comes, and a new year grows on the horizon. Darkness grants them a perfect view of the stars above, and the snow a blanket to let the world sleep.

Jaskier still is not allowed to join them on hunting trips, but he is getting good with a bow, under Vesemir’s sharp eyes.

~

Another sleepless night, another early morning, at the first light of dawn, when the first rays find their way through the dirty windows of Geralt’s room, that is when Jaskier dares to press a kiss to Geralt’s forehead.

Convinced that the witcher is asleep, he leans on his elbow, tracing a wild strand of hair behind his ear. It’s a quick kiss, dry lips against warm skin, making Jaskier’s entire body ache.

This is why he feared bringing down those walls. This is why he withstood the bruises, an armor to keep his heart at bay.

He doesn’t expect Geralt to open his eyes and gaze up at him. Doesn’t expect Geralt to wrap a hand around his neck and pull him down, pressing a kiss of his own to Jaskier’s forehead.

Resting against Geralt’s chest, Jaskier draws in a shaking breath.

“Ask me, Geralt.” He whispers into the dawning day.

“Do you love me?” Geralt whispers back, arms tightening around Jaskier’s back, pulling him closer.

“I do.” His voice wavers, eyes stinging. “Where do we go from here?”

“Wherever we want to. We’ll figure it out.”

“Geralt?”

“Hm?”

“Do you…?”

Jaskier doesn’t dare ask. Too scared of the question, even more scared of the answer.

Instead of replying, Geralt rolls them over.

Now he is the one leaning on his elbows, hovering inches from Jaskier. They are so close, he can feel every breath Geralt takes, see the pulse jump in his throat.

Instead of replying, Geralt kisses him.

A surprisingly chaste kiss, lingering and soothing and earth shattering and heart wrenching.

“I do.” Geralt whispers finally, lips brushing together. “Whatever that will do to us, I do.”

~

Come spring and the first visit to the village below the mountain, Vesemir finds him with ten envelopes and a small box.

The box is a set of strings and pegs and lute varnish they couldn’t get before the pass closed this winter. Most of the letters are from Pricilla, updating him on what is going on in Oxenfurt and the Sandpiper network, all well coded.

Jaskier realizes he can’t stay anymore.

The world around them is growing ever more restless and chaotic, and the only way to be prepared is to be out there.

Parting with Geralt is harder than it ever was before.

Being alone is dangerous, but being with them is even more so.

He has an organization to run. Stories to tell. Lies to spread.

During the winter, Jaskier came to realize how he can make a difference. On the road, with a lute on his back, in inns and taverns, the way he always did.

As they part, on a crossroad that finally will lead them to part, they stand next to new Roach and Pegasus, arms wrapped around each other and foreheads pressed together.

“Ask me,” Jaskier whispers.

“Won’t you tell me?” Geralt whispers back, making Jaskier huff and smile.

“I won’t make it that easy for you, witcher.” He teases, and Geralt steals a kiss, humming softly into it.

“So I’ll have to come find you then, and ask you to tell me again.” Geralt mumbles against his lips.

Jaskier will hold him to that.

Words held back until they meet again.

The road is long, and full of dangers.

Jaskier hopes it will lead him to Kaer Morhen once more.

[songsandsagas]

Midnight Campaign - Session 0

System: Loner: Another Solo RPG, 2nd Ed., by Roberto Bisceglie

Today, I did the thing I usually do when I can't think of how to proceed with one of my solo games: I started a brand new solo game.

I wanted to use a super simple system, and it doesn't get much simpler than Loner: Another Solo RPG, 2nd Ed., by Roberto Bisceglie. Character creation is as easy as choosing a character concept, two major character skills, a character frailty or drawback, and two major pieces of gear. That's it. Boom! A character is born.

I wanted to explore the campaign world of Midnight: Legacy of Darkness, by Greg Benage and Robert Vaughn. Think of a high fantasy setting like Middle Earth, only in this world, the Big Bad Evil Guy won and became the world's only living god, forever closing off the world from the influence of other divine beings. While I won't be using the Ampersand Game, 5th Ed., rules for which the campaign world was designed, I will use the book as a setting and flavor guide for my adventures.

The Mythic Game Master Emulator, 2nd Ed., has become an indispensable tool for my solo games. I'm going to leave out Mythic's Chaos mechanic in favor of Loner's Twist mechanic, but I will use the Mythic d100 tables extensively to generate new situations and encounters.

After looking through the campaign source book, I decided to make an Erunsil (snow elf) character. The Erunsil elves fight with special serrated knives and icewood bows. I don't know what icewood is yet, but it sounds cool.

I named my Erunsil elf Eredath. Eredath's skills are combat and survival. Whenever he performs a combat or survival related task, he rolls an additional Chance die. Eredath's frailty is his gruff and unfriendly nature. Whenever he attempts to charm or compel someone, he rolls an additional Risk die. His two major pieces of gear are a set of Erunsil knives (Erunsil elves favor fighting with a knife in each hand) and his icewood bow. Eredath also wears fur armor and carries a leather backpack with some basic pieces of adventuring gear. I usually don't bother with writing out a full inventory when I create a character for my solo games. I just assume the character has most of the gear he would need to survive in the wilderness for about a week or so.

Despite the name of the system being called Loner, and despite the idea of having a solo survivalist hero braving the dangers of a fantasy world, the only way I know how to make a character like Eredath work is to give him a companion. Eredath needs to converse with someone who balances out his cold exterior and grim determination.

He needs a faerie.

I created Arella, his faerie companion. I immediately thought of Link being healed by faeries in The Legend of Zelda, so I decided Arella will have access to healing magic. I want Eredath to handle most of the heroic action, so Arella will assist Eredath with a little bit of magic and historical knowledge, though she isn't much of a combatant.

I decided on the nature of Eredath and Arella's relationship. I'm not sure yet how they initially met, but I like the idea of them having traveled together for some time. In their travels, their bond has taken a para-romantic turn. Arella has occasionally used potions to assume a "giant" form on nights when the pair are caught up in an amorous mood. There ya go. A sprinkling of sexual tension to keep things interesting.

Of course, Eredath and Arella must have a quest. Looking through the Midnight campaign source book, I found a passage about the Foul Bog of Eris Aman, located in the Veradeen, the lands of the Erunsil elves: "The Foul Bog is a dangerous place, and there is never good enough reason to venture into its terrible wilds."

A dangerous, foul swamp that promises certain death. Perfect. Except for the fact that "never" is a long time, and the only reason someone would have for venturing into a dangerous place must be a good reason, indeed.

I decided that a medicinal herb named gossamer, also known as ghost petal, grows in the swamp. More importantly, gossamer is the main ingredient of potions of healing, a necessary item in the war against Izrador, the aforementioned Big Bad Evil Guy of the setting.

And there I have it, the start of a new adventure.

[jades-typurriter]

Wife Swap

This was a bit of a chain of inspiration; me and Bowsiosaurus, who have crushes Vanilla and Toriel respectively, joked about switching girlfriends, and then vee drew this rather out of the blue to follow up on it. Vee THEN wanted to pay me to write a story to go with it, but I was feeling motivated anyway after seeing how this came out, so I asked ver to help me design Posie instead. Anyway, this is RIDICULOUSLY self-indulgent. Please enjoy the boundary between realities passing over the two of us at a party!

Jade and Bowsie stood in the living room of a mutual friend, holding plastic cups of fruit punch and catching up about their new relationships. It was a casual affair: a few friends who all happened to be in town at the same time, some movies, bags of popato chisps—chips? no, no, chisps, it was hard to tell for a second—lining the countertop along the side of the room.

“We met when she moved into the apartment next to mine,” the serpent explained as Jade stretched, letting out an appropriately catlike yawn. “A lot of the time we were getting to know each other was me making excuses to help her with things, if I’m being honest.”

“Well, hey! You don’t have to be a man to get to a girl’s heart by being gentlemanly.”

“She does like to call me that…”

“Tori’s little helper, huh?” she teased.

“G-grawawawa!!”

“Heehehehehee! Okay, okay. What sort of stuff does a lady like Toriel even need help with? She seems pretty capable.”

“Well, um! I really like helping her in the kitchen. I’ve learned a lot about baking from her! She also does a lot of community service type things. Did you know she used to be a teacher?”

“Oh? For what grades?”

“Little, little kids, uh, kindergarten and stuff.”

“Oh, wrow,” Jade mrowed, “that’s a fun coincidence! Vanilla has a daughter right about that age.”

“You and moms, huh.”

“Oh, shush,” she snickered.

“It’s true!”

“It is!! It is.”

“So, has dating someone with a kid been complicated?”

“Oh, not at all! Cream and I get along really well, actually. I sit down with her and, like, have tea parties with her little chao. She’s such a sweetheart. She made some cookies for me last week!”

“Uwa!! Well, if you’re getting along well with her, that must be a good sign for Vanilla.”

“I’d like to think so, yeah! If the family likes you, you’re so in.”

“Mhm, mhm.”

There was a lull in the conversation for a few moments. Bowsie looked absentmindedly over ver shoulder at someone messing around at the snacks table. It looked like they were trying to pick something up with a fork instead of just grabbing it with their hand, which was odd—it was all finger food! Or, wait, did the host spring for a chocolate fountain? Had that been there the whole time?? Jade took a sip of her punch, and Bowsie turned back around when she leaned in conspiratorially:

“Alright, so, apart from the obvious—what do you like about her?”

“Grawa??”

“Like!! Any little habits, cute things you’ve noticed. I know she’s an older woman and I know she’s twice your size, like, believe me. I’m shaking your flipper about it. But like other than that.”

“Um… okay, h-her, her ears are really nice…”

“I suppose I’m obligated to shake paws with you on that too.”

“Heehee, yeah, I guess so!”

“So, do we just both have a thing for big floppy ears and we didn’t know it?”

“No, no, it’s more like! Well, her fur is soft all over, but it’s really nice to just touch her ears, y’know?”

“Ohhhhh, yeah yeah yeah. Petting girls is just like a blessed experience.”

“Yeah… It’s like…”

As vee continued the thought, something began to change in the back of ver mind. Literally. Whatever was going on crept over the room from behind them, continuing from the snack table. Ver long, fishy tail began to shorten, fluff sprouting along its length as it seemed to roll itself up like a snowball—and like a snowball it sat, puffy and cute, at the small of ver back. The fins on ver head lost their perkiness, flopping down the sides of ver face, which was also pulling back into itself, snout disappearing in favor of a pink, Y-shaped nose.

The fins lengthened, and more fur began to grow in place of the scales there; soon enough, they stretched all the way down to ver butt, nicely framing the new tail. The tie around ver neck stretched in odd ways: the ribbons at the sides reached around ver neck, pinching itself into the links of a necklace, for which the knot of the tie became a big, bejeweled pendant. From ver tummy sprouted something a lot like the fur cropping up elsewhere, but much tidier—a dress, appearing seemingly from nowhere, sporting cuts at the hips and a hem in the front that matched ver (previous) underbelly pattern. Between the neckline and the pendant was, suddenly, some notable cleavage, and a feather boa cascaded over ver shoulders, seemingly from nowhere.

“She’s just such a cute little thing,” Vanilla continued, swirling the red wine she now held in her paw. “She really thrives on affection! Rubbing her ears is one of the easier ways to do it… she can’t get enough of laying her head in my lap and letting me scratch right between them.”

As the serpent spoke, Jade distantly realized that it was getting harder and harder to tell what vee was saying. It was getting harder and harder to see ver. Maybe the punch had more alcohol in it than she'd realized? She struggled to listen more closely; her ears burned, as if in embarrassment, though she still couldn’t make out any specific words. She felt like she should be flustered by what her friend was saying, but she wasn’t sure why… Slowly, the sensation came into sharper focus, drifting away from feeling exposed and closer toward a sense of scandal, like she was more shocked that this was the subject of public conversation than the subject matter itself. Nervously, she attempted to change the subject:

“Yeah, yeah, totally!” She began, taking the tried-and-true “smile and nod” approach for when you can’t hear someone in a crowd. “So, you were saying earlier about how you help Toriel around the house, right? Do you ever have to help her deal with computer stuff?”

“Oh, dear, you know I’m no good with computers.”

“Well, you know you can ask Annie for help any time you need!” Jade continued, seemingly unable to reconcile the sudden difference in tone. “She’s taught Vanilla a few things before. That’s one thing that’s sorta weird about the relationship, is just, the total difference in skills 'cause of how far apart we are in terms of age…”

She was interrupted by the lengthening of her own snout. The changes approached her from the front—she had been facing the opposite way as Bowsie, after all. Her kitty nose flattened, vanishing beneath the fur of her face and becoming two simple slits; her canine teeth became more pronounced, sticking out from under her upper lip. Her fur began to turn white, spreading from her nose over her face and down along her neck, and the hair that framed either side of her face became less and less fluffy, more and more orderly, until it was two solid masses of fluff: floppy, lop-goat ears that now grazed her shoulders.

Her loose top, once propped up by a single shoulder and a chest full of fluff, became a sleeveless gown, held in place by a chest full of… well, chest. A very full chest, as a matter of fact. Her hips widened, and she grew a head or two taller—she would have towered over Bowsie like this, but Vanilla was actually a fairly tall woman. Her paws grew to match the scale of the rest of her body, and the fluff around her neck receded to reveal a luxurious string of pearls. At her hip, Anodyne—hitching a ride in the phone in her pocket—slowly morphed from silicone transistors and diodes to brass gears and springs, taking the shape of her beloved heart-shaped locket.

Toriel and Vanilla stood in a reputed ballroom, sipping from crystal wine glasses and gossiping about their adorable new partners. It was a rather big-name event: Mobians and monsters who had made reservations months in advance, live music, hors d'oeuvres lining the pristine tablecloths of the refreshments along the side of the room.

“Sorry,” Toriel said, blinking hard over her bifocals, eyes refocusing on her gal pal at the end of her snout. “Where was I a moment ago?”

“You were talking about the age difference between you and Bowties, Tori,” Vanilla chirped.

“Oh! Yes, that is right,” she said, the conspiratorial smile returning to her face. “Now, I am only saying this because you were talking about pressing your partner’s buttons—how naughty, by the way! One of the cutest things about Bowsie, though, is the way that he falls all over himself at the slightest advance.”

“Oooh,” the rabbit tittered, “Not just younger, but less experienced?”

“That is understating it!”

“How flattering, though!”

“Well, sometimes I wish it were less of a momentous occasion when I change my clothes. It can be frustrating when your partner needs to stop and collect himself when you wish you could simply get into things. But, yes, I suppose all the attention is nice… It makes me feel pretty to be able to knock someone flat like that again!”

“Oh, hush, Tori. You look as good as ever! You haven’t aged a day as long as I’ve known you.”

“And neither has our taste in partners, hmm?”

“Goodness!!”

“It is true!”

“It is!” Vanilla giggled. “It is.”

Thank you for reading! If you'd like to see more of my writing, feel free to take a look here and here.

[queenwille]

I’d tell you that maybe you should try pressuring your government to agree to some of the VERY generous deals that Hamas has time and time again proposed that would get Israeli hostages back instead of ignoring them and killing anyone actually trying to reach out to return hostages, but considering you people rioted to let soldiers rape Palestinians, it’s pretty clear that human lives mean very little as long as the end goal of mass Palestinian extermination followed by wars with Iran, Iraq, and Lebanon in order to keep getting those sweet sweet US munitions is within reach.

lmao “i’d tell you maybe you should try pressuring your government…”

someone missed the news for the last idk… 10 months? or is it that you just read bias ones? thanks tho. also generous, lol. you really didn’t read, huh? i mean sure you didn’t, or else how would you have so much time to write dumb anon messages, if you did the proper research?

“you people rioted to let soldiers rape palestinians” let’s clear a few things, since you came unprepared to this conversation:

1. idk how many protested there, but if im generous i’d say roughly 300? but probably much less. do you know how many israelis are there? 9m, well… less since, you know, but about there. you people. lol you bigot ass, you do understand extremists are everywhere and usually take the front page, right?

2. not that it’s any excuse, but he’s detainee, not just any random palestinian. supposedly a Nukhbah, the elite squad of the al-qassam brigades. the same squad that orchestrated the oct7 horror. not that i feel any need to explain myself to you, but i would like it mentioned here, that i still don’t think it’s an excuse to what those foul idiots did to him.

3. despite all of that, as israel is a democratic country with rules and laws, it’s essential that they’re followed. furthermore, the IDF is a militant organization with even tighter rules to follow, so while wearing the IDF uniform, there’s literally no space for personal revenge and rules must be followed and that was strictly against the rules. that’s exactly why those soldiers, a week later, are still being held in custody, undergoing trial and in investigation, even though some, even government officials, are against their arrests and are being very vocal about it. yes, those protesters are still mad and protesting about it, it’s also part of the whole democratic country thing, you know.

4. bonus fact: prisoners aren’t even held by the IDF to avoid all kinds of conflicts, as it’s not their speciality and these are consider very high risk prisoners. israel has a separate organization the specializes in holding prisoners, both local and political, such as terrorists. after the IDF (or police, for locals) detains them, gets them processed and investigated, only the prisons’ agency can keep them, if needed.

and oh, yeah, sure, israel and israelis are so thrilled to get fucking bombed from fucking everywhere by all kinds of fucking bombs for uncle joe’s big bucks. said only by americans ever. y’all really overestimate your relevance like all the time, it’s amazing really lol and the way you love to project your money issues everywhere. exhausting.

see this as my daily reminder that:

✨not everything is about the USA✨

[aegor-bamfsteel]

How do you think Theon Greyjoy would have fared at the Archery contest during the Hand’s Tourney in AGOT?

As mentioned in a similar ask about Sarella, Anguy won that contest by outshooting “Ser Balon Swann and Jalabhar Xho at a hundred paces after all the other bowmen had been eliminated at the shorter distances,” (AGOT, Eddard 7) which can be estimated at about 250 feet. Has Theon ever been shown to shoot that far, and (if not), can we estimate his maximum range from known cases? (No, of course I wouldn’t just say “pretty well” or “not great” based on reputation).

Right off the bat, Theon has a few more instances of shooting arrows than Sarella (who just has the one scene in the AFFC Prologue) mentioning that he’s been practicing archery under Dagmer Cleftjaw (so before the age of 9) and had pretty good accuracy even then (saying he put an arrow through a “seagull on the wing” in ACOK Theon 3). Tyrion, a complete stranger, vaguely remembers Theon being “good with a bow” (ACOK Tyrion XI), and it sounds like he was one of the archers who shot down the Frey ravens (AGOT Catelyn IX) among Brynden Tully’s men. However, I’ve found two instances of Theon shooting arrows where we can roughly estimate the distance (if anybody has found other cases, please point them out).

Drunk, Theon decided, watching [Todric] bellow. It was said that the ironmen of old had oft been blood-drunk in battle, so berserk that they felt no pain and feared no foe, but this was a common ale-drunk. "Wex, my bow and quiver." The boy ran and fetched them. Theon bent the bow and slipped the string into its notches as Todric knocked down the Botley boy and flung ale into his eyes. Fishwhiskers leapt up cursing, but Theon was quicker. He drew on the hand that clutched the drinking horn, figuring to give them a shot to talk about, but Todric spoiled it by lurching to one side just as he loosed. The arrow took him through the belly. The looters stopped to gape. Theon lowered his bow. "No drunkards, I said, and no squabbles over plunder." On his knees, Todric was dying noisily. "Botley, silence him." Fishwhiskers and his sons were quick to obey. They slit Todric's throat as he kicked feebly, and were stripping him of cloak and rings and weapons before he was even dead. —ACOK Theon III

Theon intends to shoot at Todric’s drinking horn but shoots him in the belly instead due to sudden movement, so he’s close enough to see fairly small objects. He’s also able to make himself heard to the people next to Todric without it being mentioned that he had to move closer or raise his voice. A normal conversational voice is 60 decibels (dB). Sound pressure level normally halves (by six decibels) for each doubling of distance, meaning the distance between Theon and Todric at the point of shooting was about 40 feet.

The other instance is when Theon, carrying a longbow and with long razor-tipped broadhead arrows, shoots Stiv when he holds a dagger at Bran’s throat:

A low thrum came from the woods behind them. Stiv gave a choked gasp as a half foot of razor-tipped broadhead suddenly exploded out of his chest. The arrow was bright red, as if it had been painted in blood. The dagger fell away from Bran's throat. The big man swayed and collapsed, facedown in the stream. —AGOT Bran V

Bran is able to hear (though quietly) Theon shoot the arrow before it makes impact with Stiv’s chest. This is fairly significant because at shorter distances, Bran wouldn’t have been able to detect the arrow’s shooting and impact as separate events, and it’s estimated that humans can separate sounds as little as 20-30 milliseconds apart. Since sound travels 343 m/s through air, that puts the minimum distance of Theon from Stiv at 6.86m or 20.6 feet. However, that doesn’t take into account how loud the thrum of Theon’s bow is. It may be surprising that longbows are actually one of the quietest bows (the recurve is louder, and the crossbow the loudest) and the larger arrows like broadheads make quieter noises when shot, because the energy the bowstring would’ve made slapping the wood is transferred into hurling the arrow. According to this thread, the longbow firing could be around 74dB or over 10 times louder than normal conversation, about as loud as a vacuum cleaner. Using the same formula for sound over distance as in the Todric example, 74dB can be heard from about 90 feet away, meaning the distance between Stiv and Theon was between 20 and 90 feet (though admittedly, definitely closer to 90, maybe about 85 feet).

That’s about all I can estimate about Theon’s maximum archery distance; it’s less than 100 feet, far less than Anguy’s winning distance of 250 feet. It seems his archery talent is more in his accuracy at hitting small (sometimes moving) targets at somewhat “close” distances rather than hitting larger stationary targets at very far distances (maybe significant foreshadowing for his role in protecting the Starks in TWOW?) Meanwhile, the Hand’s Archery Contest in AGOT was based on who could hit archery butts from the farthest pace away, which is definitely not Theon’s strong point if my textual analysis means anything. Just based on what I can determine about sound distance from two more detailed scenarios of his shooting, Theon would probably make it to the early-middle rounds of the Hand’s Archery Contest and get eliminated by 40 paces/100 feet from the targets, (and probably insult all the men who got further than he did and mock the idea of Ned getting a tourney in general to make himself feel better about losing so soon).