#and the berries are drawn/shaded really nicely

[mint-tea-ashes]

Can I offer you an Ash holding different berries in this trying time?

[knockknockitsnickels]

My Personal Best & Worst Skins for Each Don't Starve Character bc I love to yap

Based purely on personal opinion, though if anyone wants to share their own thoughts pls feel free. I'm going to be basing these mostly off of the in-game sprites, which tend to have more vibrant colors than the portraits. I'm sorry for not including said sprites, but I was unable to find good pictures of them all. Also this won't be including the Culinarian/Challenger skins, since those are pretty simple and same-y.

Wilson: Imo the quality of Wilson's skins vary from pretty good to just kind of mid. Nothing stands out as a skin I really want, but there's nothing awful either. My personal favorites are a toss-up between the Verdant, Victorian, and Mad Scientist, but for now I'm going with Verdant because I like the vibe. Worst is between Survivor and Merrymaker - Survivor probably deserves the spot for being bland, but I decided on Merrymaker just because I hate the berries in his hair. I think the holly leaf motif is a cute idea, but the berry placement feels kind of random.

Willow: Willow's in a similar situation to Wilson where there are no skins I really love or hate. Best is probably forlorn doll - all of the details on her head make her in-game sprite a little busy, but the yellow eyes and red dress are cute. Honorable mention to Snowfallen and Victorian for also being cute though. Worst goes to Woeful because a) I have no idea what concept it's going for (Lizzie Borden???) and b) I hate whatever's going on with her hair.

Wolfgang: I recognize that the reference to Hulk Hogan has perhaps aged poorly but I can't not love the Giant. Look at his sick sunglasses and try to tell me this skin is bad. Worst is Incredible Strongman (mostly because of how his hair is drawn. It looks like he's wearing swiss rolls on his head).

Wendy: Best is the Moonbound - I like the hair color change (though the washed out portrait colors don't really do it justice), and the markings under her eyes which resemble tears (like runny mascara, if that makes sense) are a fun detail. Wendy doesn't really have any skins I hate, but my least favorite is Survivor - it's just a little bland, and I don't care much for the "bone" motif (her flower & the ones around her neck).

WX-78: WX is the first character discussed in this post where I think that almost all of their skins are fantastic. It's difficult to choose a favorite - I think using a nutcracker motif for the Christmas-themed Merrymaker set was an inspired choice, Snowfallen gives them this cool, ice-themed supervillain look (literally, I think it was inspired by the character Mr. Freeze from Batman), and while I get why people don't really like the color scheme, I can't not love the super sentai theme of the Midori Roboto (it also just appeals to me as a fan of cheesy 80s rock). With all of that said - I'm sorry, I adore their Guest of Honor outfit, it's so dumb. I think objectively Experiment is probably their actual best skin but I have to be true to myself. Worst goes to Gladiator - it doesn't look so bad in the portrait, but in-game all of the different colors - red, gray, & multiple shades of yellow - around the face area make this skin really busy. Concept's cool, but the execution's flawed.

Wickerbottom: My girl. She's got a few nice skins - Snowfallen gets points for making her look like an ice queen, & I think I like her Moonbound skin more than most other people (I just think the 3rd eye is a cool idea for her). That said, I think the Bewitched is the best one - it looks lovely, the witch theme is fun, & it's the only one which significantly changes up her silhouette. Worst is Volt Goat (a lot of the early Halloween skins were kinda bland, I'm surprised this is the first one I've mentioned).

Woodie: I was surprised by how many good skins Woodie has, since I remembered them being a bit underwhelming. I like his Roseate, Merrymaker, and Snowfallen skins quite a bit, and the last shred of Canadian patriotism in me really enjoys the Hockey skin, but his stupid hippy Halloween costume is too conceptually funny to not include. Sorry I'm really predictable at this point. Worst goes to Masquerader - it's way too busy, and on his in-game sprite you can barely see his mouth.

Wes: Triumphant is hands-down his best skin but shoutout to Lover for that smug lil pose he does in the portrait. I honestly don't think Wes has any bad skins - even the ones I personally think are ugly make really fun use of the clown scheme - so the crown goes to Mandrake for being boring.

Maxwell: Poor Maxwell, man. He's stuck with some of the worst skins in the game. Klei, please PLEASE stop trying to give this man facial hair it does NOT look good. Anyway his best is Gladiator for looking cool (though the portrait colors are REALLY washed out) and making way better use of the "dark magician" theme then some of his other skins dark wizard. Snowfallen is also pretty cool however it DOES lose points for the facial hair. Anyway everyone hates Dark Wizard and while it DOES look goofy as hell Moonbound is worse. I don't know why ppl don't mention it, Moonbound is way worse. #StopTryingToGiveMaxwellABeard #ShaveThatMan

Wigfrid: Like WX, I think almost all of Wigfrid's skins are really good and im gay. Moonbound wins the prize bc she looks like a magical girl and I love that. If I had to pick a worst one I guess I'd choose Guest of Honor. I still like it, the outfit's just a little plain.

Webber: Webber my beloved. I love the Rebel on concept alone & the Victorian for making him a lil sailor boy, but Snowfallen has my heart. I love the way he's colored to look like a snowman (the legs on his head being the "twigs") and that the fluff on his body resembles a sweater. Survivor is probably the worst, it's almost identical to the original aside from some messy hair and spiderwebs. However even the worst Webber skin still belongs to Webber, and is therefore adorable.

Warly: Warly my also beloved, who's also got a lot of great skins. I really like the Candyman, but Roseate is probably the best one - I like the little rose shape in his hair. Worst is ABSOLUTELY Carrat, but shout out to Head Chef (the chef hat in the portrait isn't actually part of his sprite) and the Triumphant for being disappointing (come on, "evil chef" is such a fun idea. Why didn't you make him Bobby Flay).

Wormwood: I probably should've used the in-game sprites for this post, since the coolest part of his skins (the blooming) isn't shown on the portrait. Case in point, my favorite Wormwood skin, Triumphant, looks really bland in the portrait, but when it blooms it opens up into this really cool & striking red eye. I tried to include a picture but it was really big & this post is long enough as it is so you're gonna have to trust me, it's cool. I again don't think Wormwood has any bad skins - I guess I'll go with Roseate since the leaves on his head look Uncomfortably like hair, but it's still good.

Winona: I am EXTREMELY gay All of Winona's skins are really hot fantastic and no I am NOT biased. I want to gush about all of them (SNOWFALLEN! VICTORIAN! THE FIXER! THE ONLY GOOD SURVIVOR SKIN!) but the best is the Swashbuckler. She's so good I'm going insane. I guess her worst is Moonbound? I like some of the ideas but I think it just looks kind of messy, esp whatever's going on with her hair & shoulders.

Walter: WALTER MY BELOVED! I mentioned earlier that Wigfrid's Moonbound skin makes her look like a magical girl, but Walter's actually IS a magical girl skin - his portrait even has him striking the Sailor Moon pose! I think some of his other skins are probably objectively better, but this one's still my favorite. Honorable mention to Triumphant just bc I like the idea (turning a boyscout into a dennis-the-menace style troublemaker). I'm going to give worst to Bee Costume just bc the eyeballs on his head freak me out (but I do think the idea of him dressing up as a bee for Halloween bc he's allergic is fun). Side note, a lot of Walter's skins have hats in the portrait but not in-game? I dunno what's up with that, I guess it's so they don't interfere with equipment?

Wortox: Unfortunately none of Wortox's skins really stick out to me in a positive or negative way. Favorite is probably a tossup between Survivor & Masquerade - went with the former based purely on vibes. I also kinda like the sea-serpent theme of Swashbuckler & gargoyle theme of Victorian. Worst is going to Draconic for being kinda bland & similar to the original. I guess you could make a similar complaint about Uncorrupted, but it's that way for LORE reasons so I wouldn't want them to change it.

Wurt: I really like aquatic monster designs, so i enjoy a lot of Wurt's skins, but the best is Victorian bc a) it's cute and b) deep lore. S/out to Merrymaker's cute sugar-plum fairy motif tho. I will give the worst to Verdant because I don't really like the colors (purple, green, yellow, cream, & brown are a lil clashy).

Wanda: Finally, Wanda. I really like the star motif in her Masquerader fit, and while Tinkersmith is super cute, it looks a little too similar to her original outfit for me (I'm also not a fan of Triumphant's sunglasses, but I like that her hair looks like a shadow hand).

Anyway the moral of the story is don't give Maxwell a beard. Thanks.

[blujayonthewing]

@antique-symbolism BEARING IN MIND that the ones I've invented or heavily modified are still works in progress... :D

Melliwyk's Nightcap

- 1.5oz brandy - 1oz white creme de cacao - 2oz whole milk - 2 drops purple food coloring - 1 dash lavender bitters - about 1oz heavy cream - pocky

Shake all ingredients except cream together with ice and strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Float a layer of whipping cream on top and garnish with a stick of chocolate pocky.

NOTES: Melliwyk likes brandy (when she drinks at all), a brandy alexander is sometimes considered a nightcap, and lavender-- well known as a sleep aid-- is among her many nicknames :D I wanted so badly for this one to be natively purple but I just couldn't do it, and unfortunately 'visually evoking Mel's actual nightcap' is part of the point, so, food coloring it is :') I originally did this with lavender syrup (I don't think I measured it; I wrote down 'a barspoon' but I just poured An Amount lol)-- I think the extra sweetness was nice, but on the other hand the lavender syrup did bring a kind of cloying lavender perfume flavor that the bitters avoids? I've thought about adding back simple syrup but I don't want it to get TOO unwieldy with too many ingredients 🤔 Also I've tinkered around a lot with the base but a standard brandy alexander just uses heavy cream straight up, and I think that actually might split into a (mostly) white foam layer anyway once it's shaken so I might try returning to that next and see how it works out. Also I thought the pocky would be just a fun lil bit of extra visual flair BUT it turns out the chocolate scent really adds a lot to the experience!

Presto!

5oz strawberry lemonade

1oz UV Blue Raspberry Vodka

0.5oz grenadine

1/4tsp purple luster dust

Starfruit

Stir ingredients together with ice. Garnish with a slice of starfruit and drink with a curly straw.

NOTES: The infuriating thing about this one is that I found it by googling 'purple cocktails', went out of my way to buy the blue liquor and grenadine, and then found out it's only purple because of the huge amount of purple food glitter (I wanted to add just a little hit of gold glitter instead but it looked a) not purple and b) really bad). BUT-- the flavor profile is exactly perfect-- bright, sweet, and snappy-- and WITH the luster dust, so is the aesthetic 🤔 This one needs tinkering. I think I could probably get it natively purple with just a little bit of blue caracao, without changing the flavor profile too much. I ALSO realized that obviously this one actually should be fizzy, so I'm wondering about adding a sprite or a club soda, or whether carbonated strawberry lemonade is a thing or...?

Goodberry

1oz raspberry syrup

0.5oz lime juice

2oz gin

2oz tonic

fresh raspberries

Gold luster dust (optional)

Shake syrup, lime juice, luster dust, and gin with ice. Strain into a glass with raspberries and fresh ice. Top with tonic.

NOTES: Gin derives its flavor from juniper berries, and the gin and tonic was invented for medicinal purposes; this raspberry g&t also ends up being the exact shade of pink that I've drawn goodberries, which are a little infamous in Juniper's campaign as being hated by Fengling, haha. IN THEORY I want this to be garnished with a sugared raspberry but in practice raspberries go soft about twelve seconds after buying them so I've never actually had a chance to do that, but I think it'd be cute :3 (to be honest the raspberries mixed in are also essentially garnish and I've made this a lot without them because we never have raspberries in the house, you don't really need em, they're just nice). Speaking of gin, I've also done a lavender earl grey gin cocktail in the past that I've always lowkey associated with Juniper as well, but I dunno how to make that as ~thematic~ aside from 'it just feels right,' lol. iirc that one is essentially just earl grey iced tea, lemon juice, gin, and I think lavender syrup-- I don't have an exact recipe cause I haven't made it in awhile but 10/10 would recommend

The Druidcraft comes from this post, EXCEPT that the original recipe calls for honey, but actually you have got to do a honey syrup instead or it just won't mix properly (I have a bottle made up, but it's really easy to just like. stick some honey and some hot water in a little cup and mix them together for a small amount). It's really nice! I also add a lil gold shimmer to this one, because I'm a nerd and it's ~magical~

By the way, these have all spiraled out of me thinking about the tavern themed home bar/ game room we want to build in the basement, and specifically thinking about how it'd be fun to invent a healing potion cocktail, which... I have still not done, lmao :'D I actually want it to be a shooter (you can down a potion as an action, after all), and the problemmm is that I'm a chronic overthinker; lots of drinks are red, it would be pretty easy to throw together something that's red, but I can't decide what kind of flavor profile I want it to actually have 🤔

god I wish I had a good camera and somewhere with good lighting to take pics of the dumb dnd cocktails I've modified/ invented

[xxbangchansidedishxx]

Chan X Felix- Tiny Surprise

Tw: size kink, degrading, masturbation, fairies, piss.

Felix flew through the forest, his glass like wings fluttering through the soft summer breeze and his silver blonde hair shimmering as the sun bounced off it. A soft giggle like wind chimes left his lips as he raced the butterfly back to his home. Felix’s place in this world was to heal and protect, from animals to plants a single sprinkle of his magical dust could repair any damage done to them.

He was well known amongst the butterflies and other various species in the forest. His bubbly fun personality made them all feel at peace so it wasn’t unusual for him to play with them and race home.

The two glided through the air before coming to a stop with a sudden ‘thud’.

That’s strange… I never remember there being a tree here. Felix thought to himself before looking up and being greeted by a man.

The small fairy felt panic rise in his chest. He saw his butterfly friend stuck in the material of the mans bag, but there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t risk being seen by the human.

He rushed to hide amongst the petals of a red rose, peeking out ever so slightly to watch the situation unfold as he hoped for the best.

“Aw hello there. Poor little thing.”

The human spoke, gently helping the butterfly free.

A small smile appeared on his lips as the bug fluttered away.

Felix let out a breath that he didn’t know he was even holding. He knew how relentless humans could be when it came to species smaller than them and he was just glad that this human didn’t hurt his friend.

Felix scanned the tall man with his eyes. He had soft orange hair and a handsome kind looking face. He wore a simple black tank top showing off the muscles in his arms and a pair of skinny jeans.

The fairy had to admit that this human was rather beautiful. It had been years since he last saw a human in this part of the forest. His head began to wonder.

What is he doing here? Will he be a threat to my home? What if he sees a fairy? I wonder how it would feel to run my fingers through his pretty hair.

He shook his head trying to forget the thought.

He knew he could never mingle with a human. It was deadly right?

Before he got himself into any more trouble he flew the short distance to his mushroom home before plopping down onto his buttercup sofa and sighing.

He couldn’t get the image of the human out of his head. He seemed different from others he had crossed paths with. Most would have just swatted the butterfly away but this man helped the creature. He closed his eyes letting his head paint an image of how the man looked again. Beautiful. His defined arm muscles. Veins bulging out. He had to be strong Felix thought to himself. If his arms are so pretty and veiny I wonder what his cock looks like? It’s got to be huge. Felix was probably no bigger than his hand but he wondered what it would feel like to be filled up with his big cock.

He had never felt this horny before and it was over a human that he barely even saw for five minutes. He let out a soft whimper as he began to palm at his hard cock with a tiny hand. He tugged at the material of his trousers pulling them down along with his red lace panties letting his cock spring free. He didn’t have the patience to tease himself today. He just needed to cum. He grabbed his length and began to fuck into his hand, his hips rolling back and fourth at just the right pace. Soft moans left his parted lips as he felt his high approach. Images of the human doing the same flashed through his head as he felt his entire body shake with orgasm and ribbons of white release from his cock. He panted , catching his breath feeling tired from his orgasm. He felt his eyes get heavy as he drifted into a sleep wondering what the fuck he had just done.

-The Next Day-

Like every other morning the fairy boy was awoken by the soft sunrise spilling through his windows. He tiredly fluttered over to his mirror to fix his appearance. Stepping out of his stained panties from the previous night and replacing them with a new pair. He wore blue skinny jeans and a black slightly cropped top that showed off his toned abdomen. Looking in the mirror he inspected his face, smiling cutely at his freckles and quickly applying some lipgloss before fixing his hair and heading out the door. Every morning he looked in the close by bushes for berries to make his breakfast. He’s surprised when he sees the handsome man again. He was stood by the bush that Felix goes to, carefully picking the sweet fruits and placing them in a bowl.

‘Wow this human really is weird.’ Felix thought to himself . He has never heard of humans picking berries this early in the morning especially not this deep in the forest. He wanted desperately to know more. It wouldn’t hurt him to follow him right? He wouldn’t go too far. He would just follow him to the entrance of the forest.

He continued to watch the orange haired man from a shorter distance this time. He made sure he was still hidden but this time he could see his features better. On his face there were little freckles scattered around. No where near as many as Felix had but still equally charming.

When the human had finished collecting berries he began to walk along the path home. Not knowing of the little fairy that was following.

A small gasp left Felix’s lips when they arrived at a cottage not far from his own home.

Wow the human lives in the forest?

Maybe…. Maybe it couldn’t hurt to go inside. He wouldn’t stay long he would just study the man a little more.

He followed him through the door taking in the room around him.

It was decorated beautifully. Shades of cream and wood brown made the house feel warm.

He fluttered over to the open kitchen landing on a countertop filled with fresh fruits and he hid behind an apple, peaking out at the man who was looking around his kitchen.

Without any warning the man brought a large hand to grab the apple making the little fairy freeze in terror.

“Oh…um hello.”

The man seemed confused seeing the tiny figure on his counter but he spoke softly.

Felix opened his mouth but he couldn’t reply. Was he going to hurt him?

“Hey hey, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. It’s okay I won’t hurt you. What’s your name?”

“I’m Felix.” He spoke timidly.

The large man flashed a bright smile at the fairy, offering a finger for him to shake with his tiny hand.

“Well it’s nice to meet you Felix, I’m Chan. How did you get in my house tho?”

Felix blushed red at the question. How was he going to explain that he had been following him ever since he saw him yesterday? He hung his head in shame.

“I- I followed you home. I didn’t mean to! I just haven’t seen a human around here so I was curious- I promise I’m not weird or anything.”

He rushed to justify his actions making Chan chuckle.

“It’s okay it’s okay. Don’t worry about it. Wow, I never expected to see a pretty fairy in my house today.”

Felix’s heart skipped… ‘pretty’? He thought he was pretty.

“Well I never expected to see a handsome human picking berries from MY bush this morning.”

He playfully teased the man, flying up so that they were face to face.

“So that was your bush huh? No wonder the berries taste so sweet.”

He smirked shooting the freckled fairy a wink making his heart swoon.

Felix stuttered trying to think of a witty response but his brain had shut off completely.

“Anyway Felix. I have to head out again but I’ll be back soon. You are welcome to stay as long as you like. It would be fun to get to know you.”

He walked towards the door giving a small wave as he left.

What the fuck…

Felix was actually in his home… he spoke to him… and they were…friends?

It was too much for the little fairy to process. He needed to rest.

He fluttered around the house searching for Chan’s bedroom so he could lay down.

When he reached the room he was surprised by the size of the bed. It was truly huge.

The pillows smelt like him . Sweet with slight musk.

He drifted slowly into a peaceful sleep.

~

“Mmh please r-right there.” Felix moaned out when he felt Chan’s fingers hit just the right spot.

He incoherently blabbered as each thrust made him come more and more undone.

“You like that hm? Little pretty fairy likes my fingers inside him?”

Lust dripped from the humans voice making Felix blush.

“F fuck I love it so much.”

~

Chan stood in the doorway shocked, watching the scene in front of him. The tiny fairy was lay on his bed slowly palming at his length in his sleep.

Soft whimpers left his lips and his wings twitched with pleasure.

He could feel his trousers begin to get uncomfortably tight and he bit down hard on his lip to control himself.

He should leave. He knew he should but he was drawn to the fairy.

“Ch Chan your cock mmh.”

Felix moaned out in his sleep, his grinding getting faster.

When Chan heard his name he couldn’t take it anymore.

He walked over to the bed carefully sitting down and he lightly shook the Fairy with a gentle finger.

His eyes fluttered open and when he saw the human his face burned red as he recalled the events of his dream.

“You aren’t exactly a quiet sleeper.” The orange haired man chuckled.

“I uh … what do you mean by that?” Felix panicked. This couldn’t get any worse right?

“I never knew a pretty little fairy like you would be so slutty.”

Chan smirked as he began to lightly trace the patterns on Felix’s wings, making little desperate whines leave his parted lips.

“You like that hm? Does it feel good when I touch your wings like this?”

He Changed the direction of his fingers making the fairy gasp.

“P please Chan.”

Felix didn’t even know what he was begging for at this point. He just needed more.

“Use your words darling. What is it you want?”

“Fuck I need your cock please channie.”

Any embarrassment Felix felt was now long gone. All that clouded his mind was lust.

The two stripped them self’s from clothing and Felix looked in awe at the size of Chan’s cock.

It was huge … even bigger than Felix’s entire body. The tip was tinted pink and pre cum was smeared around the slit while pretty veins decorated it.

He brought a hand to slowly run along one of the veins making the human let out a shaky breath. It was almost pathetic how tiny Felix looked next to his cock alone.

“You are so big Channie.” His eyes glowed with want and his mouth salivated at the thought of the pleasure it could give him.

“Hands and knees darling. Let me prep you.”

The fairy did as he was told. He spread his cheeks apart giving Chan a clear view of his little pink hole.

He felt a slick finger rub against it. Teasing him and making him wet.

“So tiny. How is my cock going to fit in here hm? Have you had anything in here before?”

The question made Felix burn up.

“J just my fingers.”

A Yelp left his lips as he felt the finger enter him. Fuck the way it filled him up made him feel as if he was in heaven. He pressed back trying to feel it deeper inside him.

“Someone’s eager. Such a slutty little fairy. All mine to play with.”

He moved his finger faster making the fairy scream out .

“Ch chan I fuck if you keep doing that I’m g gonna cum.”

���Tsk I suppose we better get you on my cock then. I’m not going to miss the opportunity to fill that pretty little hole with my cum.”

The words made Felix shudder. He fluttered over to the mans cock and lined it up with his stretched hole before sinking down, a loud whimper leaving his lips as he felt the head buried inside him.

That’s all he could fit in his tiny little hole.

Chan’s fingers grasped carefully onto the fairy’s hips as he rocked into him.

“F fuck it feels so good. S so big.”

Felix blabbered as he lost himself in the pleasure.

“You look so pretty bouncing on my cock like this darling. So fucked out and pretty. I bet you wish you could fit more inside that slutty little body of yours.”

Felix couldn’t even take in the words being spoken to him. He was too focused on the feeling of Chan twitching inside him. He felt a warm feeling in his stomach and he clenched around the humans cock.

“Going to cum already? How pathetic that my cock makes you come undone so quickly. It’s okay, let go for me my little fairy.”

With those words Felix felt his body begin to spasm and his tiny cock release strings of white. But it wasn’t over yet.

Chan continued to fuck into him, chasing his own high. The feeling was making Felix go crazy. His body shook with overstimulation and he felt like he was going to cum again.

A strangled cry left his lips as his cock released more liquid but this time it wasn’t a milky white. When he realised what he was done he burned with embarrassment.

“Did my little fairy piss himself hm ? Couldn’t hold it until I was done with you.”

Chan began to rock into Felix even harder. He felt his stomach knot up and a low groan left his lips as he released into the fairy.

After catching their breath the human pulled out, admiring the mess he had made of the fairy.

“You look so pretty like that. My cum leaking out of your pretty hole and down your little thighs. Covered in your own piss. Such a slutty little mess.”

Felix whimpered at the words.

“Fuck that was amazing.”

He was almost in disbelief how good it felt.

It was like a flip switched and Chan was back in full caring mode.

He placed a gentle kiss onto the fairy’s cheek.

“I’m glad you felt good darling. How about I clean you up hm? We can watch a movie after too if you’d like? I’d love to get to know you more.”

Felix’s lips curved up into a little smile.

“That sounds great channie!”

Perhaps humans weren’t so bad after all.

In fact Maybe Felix was in love with one.

[lasquadrasfuckhouse]

Okay, so those are the smells that they wear, but what smells attract/catch their attention? I myself am a person who wears like, lots of spicy smells with floral top notes and like, white musk bases, Avon mesmerize black mixed with lavender and rose is one of my go to so I'm super curious!!

-✨ anon

anonymous asked: Because if your scent hcs, what kind of scents do you think la squadra would like on their s/o?

GREAT MINDS THINK ALIKE LOL

scents la squadra would like on their partner 🌼🍃🌦️🧁🍫

this one ended up a bit suggestive mostly thanks to melone lol

risotto ✂️

he's drawn to two types of scents: softer, lightly sweet, gentle and romantic scents, like rose and red berries and vanilla, because he likes softness and he is a sweetheart. and second skin sort of scents that are very subtle and just smell like You. think juliet has a gun not a perfume, it's a one note kinda deal that relies more on melding with your body chemistry so it's like, You! But Clean And Sexy. like the scent equivalent of wearing lipstick just a shade darker than your natural lip colour.

prosciutto 🚬

simple and clean, he could pick up on more subtle scents so he's just sort of comforted by a very natural and fresh, maybe citrusy scent. like hugging ur babe and they just smell Nice and it makes u 😊 but would be very Intrigued and impressed with someone who could pull off more daring and spicy scents too.

pesci 🎣

fresh and warm, more classic and subtle scents. like sunshine after rain!!! would find comfort in familiarity, he'd probably get emotional if his babe wore the same perfume or cologne his nonna or nonno wore and he'd just wanna hug em all the time

formaggio 🧀

would just be really happy if his babe smelled like him or he smelled like his babe. it's attractive because Babe We're Sharing 😍 he's more impartial to warmer scents tho

illuso ✨

darker, mysterious, femme fatale sort of scents, deep sort of sensual. black opium, plum, black orchid, dark chocolate. almost Hypnotic and Intoxicating ya kno? which is very funny because almost all those examples are ones i had for things risotto would wear so i could just imagine risotto walks past and illuso is like On God?

melone 🍈

classic aphrodisiac kinda shit. jasmine, rose, strawberry, chocolate, he'd be interested in the notion of 'these scents make u wanna FUCK' and HAVE been making people wanting to fuck for thousands of years, very fascinated with the chemistry and history of that. but aside from that he'd be really interested in studying his partner's specific body chemistry and experimenting with them to be like babe no we gotta find the Perfect scent for u with Science it's so Sexy 😩 but i feel like he'd also like something with sea salt or seaweed notes, something salty in a way that's like. not Sweaty, still fresh and clean but very natural and sort of reminiscent of a warm body, y'know? kinda like elizabeth arden green tea, it's fresh but has almost savory base notes.

the roommate: wear dolce & gabbana light blue around him and see what fucking happens

me: what's probably gonna fucking happen is fucking 😂

ghiaccio ❄️

same taste for himself and a partner but less in the Babe We're Sharing way and more in the way of this is the Correct and Best scent. would find it kind of cute if his babe smelled a bit like a cupcake but he also smells a bit like a cupcake.

the roommate: [ghiaccio voice] clearly you are right and that's so fucking sexy of you.

sorbet and gelato 🔪🍦

they already smell like each other so on their beloved third they would probably like the same scents, spicy and smoky. or alternatively, something deep and cool, a bit mysterious and unique. they also like the smell of blood and gasoline but that's because they're fucking crazy so

[tsuki-sennin]

Oh what's this!? A double-stuffed deluxe serving of PreCure, served at late night! 25 and 26! We're goin' out into the woods! And make a new nemesis, but such is life! And in Episode 26? Who knows~! But with a title like "Kokone's Promise! Challenging King Green Pepper" I think this might be a simple one.

Spoilers, I guess...

This is a long boi btw, figured you'd like to know.

-Ohayo, Yuin~!

-Yeah kicked ass two weeks ago, huh?

-That's definitely a Delicioustone, but what we buildin', Narshe?

-Spiritoru?

-Bundoru bundoru?

-Holy shit he made a robot.

-Nikoniko? Nico Nico Nii?

-Alright ladies, I realize there's quite a natural bounty before us, but don't take chances with mushrooms and unfamiliar berries, eh?

-They put shades on the fox.

-The dog and dragon too!

-Oh Mari-chan, you too?

-Guess Kokone would feel nervous. I can't imagine she's spent much time so far away from an urban setting.

-Oh fuck

-Ghoast!

-To be fair, ghosts are kinda real in other PreCure titles.

-What a nice town!

-I see the soundtrack's followed us here, hmm?

-"Fuck it, I can't find my way around here, I'm gonna set this whole forest on fire."

-Alriiiight, let's go!

-Koko-neechan!

-Y'know, for a murder ghost robot, Spiritoru seems like a pretty swell chap.

-Spin the tent!

-We used to play this game a lot in elementary school.

-No pot!

-It's okay, I know a dealer~!

-...Takumicchi, did you run here!?

-Oh, Minato-san.

-"Goddammit, I have to wake up early..."

-Listen to Amai-kaichou. Having a meal out here in such a beautiful campground as this would be perfect!

-Ooooooh, paella~!

-Oooooh, a seafood paella~!

-No fire, huh?

-Well, can't really blame them. Most of the fires I usually start are by accident.

-My grandmother said this... "If you wish it to be so, luck will always be on your side."

-Ranchi, my girl.

-Hooray! Fire!

-Spoooooky happenings!

-Oh, a thicc boi, huh?

-Ranchi got Smitty Werbenjagermanjensen's number 1 hat.

-There was a thicc boi!

Ran-Ran: He was the Eggman! Takumi: He was the Eggman? Amane: He was the Walrus!? Goo goo g'joob!?

-"Dinner's ready, bitches!"

-Oh shit, Narshe's building up.

-Y'know Seccy, I'd probably like you a lot more if you actually did something!

-Oh shit, Spiritoru face reveal.

-I love him already.

-Ooooh, a whole barbecue goin' on!

-Recibepis

-"Fuck, my clout!"

-And just like that, Takumicchi takes his leave.

-Ahhhh, c'mon lad!

-Recipeppi, hellooooo!

-Don-Don! Iitotokomkke! Oh wait, wrong series

-Cubed meat?

-Is he... spoiling the eat?

-"Is he a fucking robot. That's cringe."

-As a recently converted Ruru Amour stan, your distaste is noted, Rosemary.

-"Ohhhhh, the famous Pretty Cures!"

-Oh shit, he's got a wrench!

-I see, so an Ubau-zo doesn't have to be strictly a kitchen tool, eh?

-I kinda knew that, but feels weird to see this used.

-"On behalf of my Dad, I will beat you up!"

-What should I call you, Spiritoru? I like you, I'd hate to be mean to you the way I am to Narshe and ambivalent like I am to Seccy...

-"Ganbare! Ganbare! U-Bau-Zo!"

-One of my favorite villain archetypes is the "Surprisingly strong comic relief", so I'm definitely having fun with Spiritoru. He's got such a banger design, I love him.

-"You meatbag humans don't get it! Why eat when you can recharge!?"

-That's it, Yuin, punch that gigantic solid metal monster thing.

-Don't stop on our account Precious!

-"Nisen Kilocalorie Punch!"

-Unit conversion tells me 2000 Kilocalories is equivalent to 8368 kilojoules. 2 kilos worth of of TNT!

-GIrl's got a lot of power behind those punches.

-We did it! The barbecue has been saved!

-What a nice guy he is!

-Men need their beauty sleep just as much as men do!

-Ah, old maid! I kick ass at this game, deal me in!

-Gotta water your mind for your

-Oooooooh, that starscape is very nicely drawn.

-Kokone episode, hell yeah!

-Well, I'll see you all next time when I see Kokone talk about green peppers.

-.

-Next time, let's go!

-Mmm... Spiritoru, Spiritoru...

-Supi-kun?

-Supi-kun, definitely.

-Oh shoot, there's nobody who can make Delicioustones huh?

-...I have to ask though... what exactly is Supi-kun doing to the food by capturing the Recipepsiman?

-Like, Gentle fucked up the flavor and ruins everybody's meals. I can see how this can completely fuck over a restaurant's reputation and how Amane would feel guilty over this.

-Narshe steals memories associated with certain foods, and we saw first hand how that can hurt a person and how tragic it'd be to lose a cherished memory.

-All we've seen Supi-kun do is cube meat. I can see why having something like that happen to you while you're eating dinner would frazzle you, but the food seems otherwise just fine.

-"Fuck it, lunchbreak!"

-Oooooh, I love green peppers!

-God, stuffed with cheese and baked, or chopped up into a salsa, or cut up with beef in steak fajitas...

-I should pull a Shinichi Saruhara and imagine myself some of my favorite dishes after this. It's super late at night and it'd take way too long to cook, and I don't even think we have the ingredients...

-Kome-Kome's suffering is incalculable.

-Kokone, a hardened veteran of the Pepper Wars.

-I will save you, Kone-Kone.

-I mean, Koko-meechan.

-Koko-Koko

-I used to be a pretty picky eater as a kid. I don't know exactly how I grew out of it, but nowadays I usually try to recognize ingredients I like and how they fit into the bigger picture of the dish.

-Takumicchi's dad has the right idea! Introducing them as components to something you do like.

-Oh, Takkun!

-...Takkun...

-Ah, sorry, uh... "Takkun" is a nickname reserved for somebody else, in my heart.

-Yeah, help us out!

-Hide the bitterness.

-Green peppers in a pound cake?

-I'm a big carrot cake guy, but... how on earth?

-Is Yui one of those moms who'd try to bake brussel sprouts into brownies?

-"Nooooo, Kokone! They'll murder you!"

-King Green Pepper seem a charitable and courteous capsicum.

-He and his other bell pepper kin actually register at a solid zero on the Scoville scale, so if he proves too much for you, the name "Cure Spicy" will unfortunately prove to be wasted on you, Kokone.

-"Yo Godatz, I'm the new guy!"

-"NOOOO DON'T TALK TO HIM LIKE THAT YOU FOOL! YOU LISTEN TO YOUR MOTHER WHILE SHE'S TALKING TO YOU!"

-I think I'm liking Seccy more and more now jhkjlh

-Eat the food, fox girl!

-"HOLY SHIT WHAT WHY IS SHE SO BIG"

-"...Fack."

-Oh wow, she bonked.

-C'mon Koko-neechan, be a big girl! This is... honestly very embarassing!

-Good evening, DILF Butler!

-Yeah, you at least attempted, huh?

-Y'know, there's quite a bit of what I personally read as neurodivergent subtext to Kokone's character, so I get where she's coming from with this.

-Hell, my distaste for non-fried shrimp even has a similar origin to hers.

-Let's just say there's a very good reason why you devein and remove the shells from them. No amount of thorough cooking will undo that pain.

-Dish washin' time.

-"IF THAT BITCH DOESN'T EAT THESE FUCKING PEPPERS I AM GOING TO SHIT"

-Y'know, maybe Narshe should've installed a GPS in Supi-kun. Probably would've helped.

-Whomst

-Ooooh, that pepper is a thicc boi

-That shot of Pam-Pam hiding in the peppers is honestly super adorable.

-Friends with the peppers!

-The secret ingredient is always love.

-Oooooh, that's tantalizing...

-"Pepper Detected."

-Don Don! Toru Toru! Bundoru!

-Takumicchi, you gotta breathe better man!

-Pepper flavored curry and rice! Smoked turkey and pepper jack panini! Bell pepper udon stir fry! Bell peppers are botanically fruits because their seeds are on the inside of the pods!

-Delicious Party Pepper Cure!

-Oh yeah, you're technically not that kinda pepper, huh Blackpep?

-Man, Supi-kun's way better at monster design than his Dad.

-Hmmm... part of me wonders if Narshe intentionally programmed him to have this kind of conflict?

-"For fuck's sake, just eat your goddamn peppers, kids!"

-Crusty Bread Barrier!

-Daaaamn, Kokone opening fire on her own.

-You go girl!

-Humans do a lot of things, Supi-kun.

-Don't look back Takumicchi, just run!

-Hell yeah, we've recovered!

-Oh god that mouth shot

-That was unneccesary

-Pepper Steak! From hit indie RPG Maker game off!

-Mmmmmm...

-I thoroughly enjoyed both of these episodes as usual. Not a lot left for me to say, other than "Goddammit, I need to imagine those peppers right fucking now."

-Now, if you would excuse me... Join me when I wake up for Kamen Rider Geats, Episode 1! And on Saturday! With episode 27 of this show~!

-Episode 27!

-RANCHI EPISODE

-Lot of Kome-Kome focus, huh?

-...Oh god, she's gonna fucking morb.

-Anyways, look forward to that, this has been way too fucking long~!

[thebonnylads]

It Is Time to ramble abt how y'all look huhuhu :evil:

hm,, maybe go in colour order? (i.e. roygbiv)

-🌺

Oki so-

Cherry has cracks of magma spanning her entire body and his skin is a really dark red! Their hair is like hot wires just being drawn from the plate and is just warm to the touch! The mobility in her hands is limited from the cracks, but he can use their fire rod just fine! The fire rod is usually strapped to their waist by their pants! They can also bring up a panel that is auto translating to whatever the person's main reading language is, with a soft red text on a dark red background 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑓𝑜𝑛𝑡, which is called Serif!

Smith is a bit h to draw bc he's translucent other than his clothes, looking like a ghost in like Harry Potter but instead of glowing blue, he's a soft green! His hair at the ends is dyed green n is the one that looks the most like how he did before dying. His eyes glow green and he's confident but low-key, if that makes sense? He's also the tallest at 4'4 but wears heeled boots to appear taller- he also has a boomerang that I've been bonked with a lot-

I'm a fucking ice sculpture with slush-like hair and I breathe out frost. My eyes at angles looks like frosted over glass while others see ice blue eyes- I'm the shortest at 4'0 exactly n my hammer is almost always strung on my back or balancing on my shoulder

Berry has the same hair as before death, being blond to ombre purple hair that's almost constantly in a braid! When they do take their hair down, it's wavy n I love running my hands through it- their cracks are black and when they use too much magic or emotions go high they bleed a super dark red from every crack, especially the ones on their hands! They have a lil quiver that is self filling on their hip usally covered by their tunic n a pin that can turn into their bow, that glimmers like enchanted bows in Minecraft!

Shade has a nice dark skin tone that is also cracking like shattered glass and soft red eyes that are almost pink! Their cracks bleed in the same way as Berry and for the same reasons as well as if they just popped out of the Twili realm. They prefer to be in the shade but can come into the light for a hour but they have to take a hour rest before going back out- they also use bombs, and nab them from a pocket dimension-

Also fun fact! Cherry, Berry, and Shade can't sign like everyone else in the system, aka in just ASL, but they made one that is a mix of ASL and BSL but all open-handed signs that you can see Cherry mostly do bc she can't talk like the others well!

[jehaatiade]

:,) a humble ask for hc’s for Din, Ezra, and Javier admitting they love you in an angsty situation :,)

This took me hours but it came together so well! Thank you for the wonderful prompt!

Din:

he has mixed feelings about taking you along on bounties. you’re the rare combination of a talented bounty hunter and a person who’s never tried to cheat him.

but on the other hand… the possibility of coming back from a hunt without you makes something deep in his chest ache.

you make him laugh. you like him, but you’ve never pushed him to take off his helmet. you make the Razor Crest and the flight time between planets seem more alive.

he’s kissed you. more than once. but only as a Mandalorian, the cold beskar of his helmet against your forehead. he doesn’t know if you understand what that means.

the two of you are on a nameless dump of a moon where the grey salt flats are studded with wreckage from a space battle, tracking a pirate with a hefty bounty on his head, when it happens.

you get a single glimpse of the pirate before there’s a hail of blaster bolts headed in your direction. you both take cover, and the Mando uses terse field signs to lay out his plan: you go right and flush him out. i’ll go left and take him down.

the plan does not come together nicely. in fact, the plan does not come together at all.

the mark is harder to scare than you expected, and by the time you’re in range to force him out from behind his cover, you’re close enough that he can grab you.

it’s a little embarrassing, honestly. you haven’t been in a choke-hold with a blaster to your head since you were sixteen and stupid.

“Let her go,” the Mando says. despite the anger in his tone, his voice is even and his aim doesn’t waver. you’ve admired that rifle since the first time you saw it: the faint iridescence of its prongs, the elegant curve of its stock, the meticulous modifications to its forestock. you’ve never had it pointed at you before.

“Of course, my friend,” the pirate says. “Because I have survived this long by being incredibly foolish. No, she is coming with me. If you ask nicely, I may even leave her in one piece once I reach my ship. If you try to interfere…”

he makes a nonchalant who knows? gesture, and for a second the barrel of his blaster isn’t pressed against your head.

you haven’t been sixteen and stupid for a long time. the heel of your boot comes down on his instep with as much force as you can muster, and when his hold weakens, you drive your elbow back into his nose.

the pirate crumples into a groaning heap at your feet. the Mando lowers his rifle. you make a show of dusting off your hands, because no one has ever accused you of lacking a sense of drama.

it looks like the Mando wants to say something - you can see it in his posture - but he doesn’t, so you fill the silence. “Don’t tell me you were worried, Mando,” you tease. “Like you’d miss me bouncing around the Crest’s cargo hold making a mess every time we go somewhere. You just love having me around.” 

you’re not expecting him to reply, so you take the binders off your belt and bend to cuff the pirate. when you straighten, the Mando is right next to you.

“Yes,” he says. “I was worried. Yes, I would miss you. Yes. I love you.”

for once, you’re speechless, so you just watch your smile grow in the reflection of his visor. then you lean just a little bit forward, closing the gap and pressing your forehead to his.

(and then the pirate at your feet snickers, and you kick him in the ribs.)

Ezra:

taking this job has been one of your worst decisions to date. and of course, you did it because Ezra talked you into it.

“An absolutely unprecedented adventure, little bird!” he’d said. “A moon still molten from the fires of creation, spitting up gems like a baby with a colic? The harvest will be unparalleled; with the right gear, we will stroll through the lava fields collecting Niobe’s roses as easily as if we were berry-picking.”

it is, of course, not that easy.

calling the Red Moon molten is not an affectation; its broken crust oozes lava like a slow-clotting cut. you’re here for rhodoniobium, beautiful silver blooms that appear on the surface of the lava flows. it isn’t difficult to use the nets and poles to retrieve Niobe’s roses. what’s hard is staying alive while you do it. miners die in ugly ways every single day, and they’re rarely mourned.

liquid water is a thing of fantasy down here, for the most part, and everyone is forced to return to the base camp at Kīpuka when they run out. that’s where the two or you are headed when you get separated.

you’ve been examining plutonic rock formations since you arrived, looking for evidence of pegmatite mineral inclusions: rubies, sapphires, emeralds and other beryl gems. sure, they don’t sell for as much as Niobe’s roses, but you’ve never been able to resist sparklies. 

Ezra usually indulges you, but in this case, he’s been looking forward to a bath for two weeks. so when you stop to chip a sample from a smooth dome of granite, he keeps walking. you don’t think anything of it, figuring you’ll catch up to him, until a sharp “Shit!” comes through over the comm.

“Are you all right?” you ask, quickly starting to pack up your tools.

“Hardly the finest way to introduce oneself, taking pot-shots at innocent passersby,” Ezra says, his voice fuzzy with distance. “If you have had your entertainment, I would be much gratified to be permitted to pass.”

you abandon your tools and set out after him at a run as a much younger man says “This is our gorge, and if you want to pass through to Kīpuka, then you’re going to have to pay our toll.”

“I am always enthusiastic to participate in the civil preservation of infrastructure, have no doubt,” Ezra assures the men who you suspect are holding him under rails. “My partner is a ways behind, and she is carrying our meager pickings. You’ll allow me to contact her and request her presence?”

a grunt of agreement, and a short pause, before Ezra’s voice comes through more clearly on your private channel. “May I assume you’ve been listening, little bird?”

“Yeah,” you pant. your lungs are starting to burn, and you’d be tempted to throw off your heavy insulating gear if you didn’t know that the average air temperature around here is high enough to bake bread. “How many?”

“Four. Alas, more than I feel confident dispatching alone.”

“Almost there. I’ll come in over the ridge. Be ready to draw.”

“I always am.” there’s a pause, and at first you think he’s finished. then your comm crackles again. “If this goes wrong, little bird-”

“Don’t,” you say, because it feels like bad luck.

“I love you. Most ardently. If I die here, then I die happy to have known you.”

the only thing you can say is “Damn it, Ezra.” because you can’t wipe the tears from your eyes, and that’s going to make shooting these bastards just that little bit more difficult. he laughs softly, and clicks back to the public channel.

Ezra chats away with the bandits, distracting them with that awful anecdote about the channelrats while you close the last small distance to the ridge above the gorge. you crawl to the edge, thrower rifle cradled in your arms, and take a sniper’s position.

“I’m almost there,” you say over the public channel. “Is everything all right?”

“Of course, little bird.” You can’t see Ezra’s smile, but you can hear it in his voice. He’s ready.

it goes very quickly, as most gunfights do: you push a stone over the edge to start a small rockslide, the bandits turn toward the noise, and you shoot the two men lounging in the shade while Ezra shoots the two standing in front of him.

“Ezra? You know what?” you ask once the bodies have hit the ground.

“What?”

“In spite of the fact that you have damned awful timing, I love you, too.”

Javi:

as Javier yells at you, you wonder idly if Murphy can hear you upstairs. “You could’ve been killed!”

“Just because you couldn’t have made it out of there, doesn’t mean I couldn’t!”

“And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he hisses, stepping closer.

you shove him back. “It mean you strut around Colombia flashing your badge and shooting sicarios like that’s what you get paid for! You’ve got Kiki Camarena keeping you safe. You know what I’ve got? A fucking press pass! If my cover’s blown, I get auctioned to the highest bidder and tortured to death!”

“Which is exactly why you should know better than to go sniffing around Escobar’s planes!”

“I don’t tell you how to do your goddamned job, Javi! Don’t you try and tell me how to do mine!”

Javi snarls and digs the packet of cigarettes out of his breast pocket, tossing it carelessly on the couch once he extracts one.

“You’re upset because I could’ve died?” you ask derisively as he lights his cigarette. “Let me tell you something. You, breaking in guns drawn because you think you’re rescuing me, are a lot more likely to get me killed than any mistake I could make.”

“Shut up,” he growls. he won’t look at you as you move closer.

“What is your problem? If this is still about those papers on the guerrillas-”

he shakes his head and turns away. you fucking hate it when he does this, pulling away from an argument rather than just fighting it through to the end.

“Then what?” you demand. if he’s going to disengage, then maybe you need to hit the right buttons to make him change his mind. “Don’t tell me you’re pissed off because you’ve finally realized I really am a better operator than you-”

“Because I love you!”

Javi’s outburst startles you, and you take a step back without thinking about it. he sighs, the tense lines of his shoulders going lax, and turns to face you again.

“Because I love you,” he says more softly. “Because I don’t know what to do without you any more, and that scares me more than any narco son of a bitch. Because I can’t even imagine what I would do if you were killed. Just the thought makes me feel sick.”

“Javi…” you whisper.

he shakes his head to stop you. “You want to know why, every time you come here, I ask you how your articles are doing? It’s because I have this-” he huffs out a helpless laugh. “- idiotic, ridiculous fantasy that one day, you’ll do so well that you’ll leave the agency and actually be a journalist for a living. And you’ll come and live with me, and I won’t have to wonder if you’re dead every time you go longer than a week between calling me.”

“Javi,” you say again. when you take the cigarette from his loose grasp to put it down in the ashtray, he raises his hand to rub his knuckles against his eyes. “You’re right. Part of your fantasy is ridiculous.”

“Only part, huh?” he doesn’t quite manage to make his sarcastic smile look sincere.

“Yeah. The part where you don’t seem to realize that all you have to do is ask.” you cup the strong angle of his jaw and lean in, almost nose to nose. “All you have to do is ask.”

“Why would you want to stay with me?” he asks. “I’m an asshole. I work too much. I’d just make you sick of me.”

“Because I love you,” you say, and kiss him.

[woodelf68]

Young, But Growing

Belated fill for @sifkiweek2020‘s week four prompt “fluff”. With thanks to @otterskin, for furry-faced inspiration. (Note: Sif and Loki are around 13-14 Midgardian years old here.)  On AO3 | Moodboard

----- 

Odin waited until everyone was nearly finished with their breakfasts before addressing his eldest son.

“Thor, you’ll be with me this morning.”

Thor paused with a sausage halfway to his mouth. “What?”

“I spoke to your tutor yesterday, and he felt, and I agree, that you would benefit from some more hands-on instruction in the act of government.”

“But – “ Thor looked at Loki helplessly, then back at their father. “Loki and I were going to go riding to the lake today.”

“The lake will still be there another day.”

“What about me, Father?” Loki looked interested. “Will you want me, too?”

Odin smiled at his youngest. “Your tutor assured me you have an excellent grasp of the topics you’re covering without the need for any extra help.”

Thor scowled, predictably, but Odin was surprised to see Loki’s face fall in disappointment instead of looking pleased by the praise. “What is it, Loki? Is something wrong?”

“It’s nothing.” Loki did his best to smooth out his expression, but then, spurred by the fact that his father had actually both noticed and asked, impulsively continued. “It’s just that it’s funny that Thor does poorly and he gets to spend more time with you; while I do well and I do not.” He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “As I said, it’s no matter.”

Odin looked at him silently for a minute. It hadn’t escaped his notice that his boys were growing up – Thor’s latest growth spurt had put him on eye level with Odin himself, and Loki wasn’t far behind, all slim long limbs with the promise of future height – and that perhaps he ought to take advantage of Loki still being young enough to want to spend time with him.

Loki fidgeted under the scrutiny. “Really, it – “

“If you would care for a lesson in battle tactics,” Odin said, interrupting him. “Then I will be available for a game of hnefetafl after dinner.”

Loki’s face lit up so brilliantly that Odin couldn’t hide his own answering smile in his beard.

“I would like that.” Loki beamed at him. “Thank you, Father.”

“And don’t worry,” Odin added affectionately. “You’ll get your turn at learning the very boring daily duties involved in running Asgard one day, too.” His tone turned dry.  “There are more than enough to go around, Norns know.”

Frigga laughed. “So what are your new plans for the day, Loki?” she asked, feeling a surge of fondness towards her husband.

“Might still go riding, I suppose. Take a book and find a nice spot to read.” He looked at Thor, who still looked put out. “You can tell me about your day later, Thor; you might get to do something interesting.”

“All right.” Thor perked up. “I suppose it’ll be better than books and lectures if I get to actually do something.”

—

Loki exited the palace a short while later, a book and a few provisions for lunch stowed safely away in his interdimensional pocket. It was a bit of magic that he’d only recently mastered and was still thrilled with. He saw Sif sitting on a low stone wall, idly drumming her heels and keeping an eye on everyone exiting the palace. As soon as she saw him she jumped down, smiling.

“Loki!” When no one emerged from the palace behind him, her brows drew down, puzzled. “Where’s Thor?”

“Father kept him behind this morning. Apparently our tutor had some words to say about Thor’s less than exemplary classroom performance and Father is going to try to drum some lessons into Thor’s thick skull via a different approach.”

“Oh. Well, where are you going? Do you want to spar?”

“No, I do not. I’m going for a ride.”

Sif fell into step beside him as he continued walking in the direction of the stables, her ponytail swinging behind her. “Can I come?”

Loki considered. “I don’t see why not.”

They made their way to the stables and proceeded to tack up their horses. Thor’s stallion drummed his hooves against his stall door, demanding attention, and Loki consoled him for being left behind by offering an apple from the barrel that was kept to provide treats for the horses. Drawn by the commotion, Sleipnir gave a bugling neigh from further along the aisle to remind Loki that he, too, existed and Loki fetched an apple for him as well. “Yes, hello,” Loki said affectionately, scratching the thickly muscled grey neck as the apple was lifted gently from his palm.  Sleipnir munched it happily, ears pricked forward, watching Loki out of one brown eye.  “You’d like to come along, wouldn’t you? Thor and I will have to get Father to come riding with us one day.“ One of Loki’s earliest memories was of being lifted up atop Sleipnir into his father’s waiting arms, and how the ground had looked so very far away. But his father had been a steady, solid presence behind him in the saddle, one arm securely wrapped around Loki’s waist, and Loki had been nothing but thrilled with how high up he was.  He smiled and gave Sleipnir a final pat before returning to his own bright chestnut mare, who was as quick and spirited as her eight-legged sire, even if she only had the usual number of legs. He led her to the entrance of the stables, where Sif was waiting with her black, and they both swung up into the saddles to the accompaniment of creaking leather and jingling harness.

“Where to?” she asked.

“Thor and I were going to go to the lake,” Loki said. It was a beautiful day, a fresh, cool breeze stirring the manes and tails of the horses and keeping the sun from being overwarm.  He had thought about staying closer to home, but with a companion along, the longer ride appealed again.

“Sounds good to me.” Sif touched her heels to her horse’s sides, and her mare stepped smartly out into the yard.

Loki followed suit, moving easily with his horse as they rode out into the city’s streets side by side. As they passed through the already busy market square, people moved out of their way, some half-bowing or inclining their heads respectfully to Loki as they rode by. He straightened his spine that tiny bit more, his shoulders going back and his chin lifting, secretly pleased by the fact that he knew they were for him this time and not just for Thor, his usual riding companion, or either of their parents. He nodded back occasionally in acknowledgement, and when a small girl, the daughter of a bookseller he frequented, hailed him by name, he smiled and sent a tiny green pegasus winging her way, her expression one of utter delight as it landed on her outstretched hand briefly before dissolving into sparkles. He was in a good mood when they emerged out into the countryside beyond the capital.

"Care for a run?” he asked Sif. His mare was prancing under him and champing at her bit, clearly eager to stretch her legs.

“Always!” Sif grinned.

Together they sent their horses into a smooth, ground-eating canter over the fields, eventually slowing down to a trot and then a walk as they rode uphill into dappled woodland shade, Sif falling back behind Loki as the trail narrowed too much to ride two abreast. It was cool, and it was peaceful, and Loki appreciated that Sif hadn’t felt the need to fill the silence with constant talking as Thor usually did. Finally they emerged into a broad clearing, the sun shining full upon them again, and Loki grinned as he saw it sparkling on the lake up ahead.

“We’re here,” he announced needlessly, turning to look back at her.

“I haven’t been up here in ages. This was a good idea. Perfect day for it, too. Maybe a bit cool for swimming, but we can catch some fish and gather berries for lunch.”

“Do you have a fish hook? Or line?”

“No, of course not; I didn’t know we were coming out here. Don’t you?”

“I brought a loaf of bread and some cider; I wasn’t planning on going fishing.”

“Well, we can use spears,” said Sif negligibly.

Loki made a non-committal noise. “Mm.” He made for the shade of a broad tree near the lake, where they dismounted and let their horses drink before untacking and rubbing them down and then leaving them in hobbles to graze to their hearts’ content. Finally Loki and Sif slaked their own thirst on the cold, fresh water. “Are you sure you want to wade into that to fish?“ he asked dubiously. "I’m willing to share my bread and we can gather berries, as you said.”

Sif hesitated, then shook her head stubbornly. “It’s the principle of the thing. No point in coming to a lake just to look at it. Unless you want to go swimming or build a raft – “ They had done that one year, she and Thor and Loki, labourously felling young trees and cutting them to length before tying them together tightly with rope, rejoicing when they had finally made a water-worthy craft, spending days happily paddling around the lake on it. She had always had a hook and line in her belt pouch back then. “Then I intend to fish. And warriors of Asgard are not afraid of a little cold water,” she declared stoutly.

“Suit yourself. I brought a book.” He settled himself comfortably at the base of a tree, face shaded but legs stretched out into the sun, and drew forth his book to read.

Sif gave a huff of exasperation and went to find a suitable branch to whittle down into a fishing spear. Finding one that would do, she sat down on a large rock near Loki and began the pleasurable work of peeling the bark off in long strips, watching it curve away from her knife. She began to sing a somewhat suggestive song that she had picked up from the older warriors in the barracks.

“Do you mind?” asked Loki. “I’m trying to read.”

“Read to me, then,” said Sif, angling her knife down the long branch and shaping it into a smooth pole, just the right width to fit comfortably in her grip, Prongs would give her a better chance of catching the smaller fish more likely to be in the shallows of the lake, but she only had a short length of leather thong in her belt pouch, not enough to securely lash the wood above the prongs to prevent it from splitting further up. She made a mental note to add some twine to her pouch and began to carve a simple barb instead. "Unless it’s something on magic I wouldn’t understand.”

“No, it’s on the folklore of Vanaheim. All right, I’d just started a new story; let me go back a bit.” He began to read out loud, of a tinker who was forced, when his cartwheel broke just as dark was falling, to spend the night in a wood known to be haunted by the ghost of a thief who had been hanged for his crimes. Sure enough, the ghost soon appeared, bearing the remains of a noose around his neck and shackles on his wrists, and offered the tinker a deal. If the tinker could remove the ghost’s bonds before the setting of the moon, he would be given the gold that had been hidden and never recovered. If he tried and failed, however, the tinker would forfeit his life. Loki paused for dramatic effect and saw that Sif had stopped whittling and was leaning forward with flattering interest, wholly absorbed in the story.

“Would it be honourable to keep stolen gold?” she asked doubtfully.

“If he didn’t know who it had belonged to,” said Loki thoughtfully, “I think he would be justified in keeping it. And – gold means the victims were probably well-off. The tinker could probably make better use of the money than whoever it had originally been stolen from – if they were even still alive.”

“Fair points,” said Sif. “All right, go on.”

“The tinker agreed,” Loki continued, “And fetched a knife and file from his cart. But they passed through the bonds as if through smoke, without leaving any mark. The moon sank lower and lower towards the trees, and the ghost gave a harsh growl. "You fail as all the others failed, and your bones shall join theirs. Live tools can’t cut a ghost.”“

Sif’s eyes dropped to her own knife, and she absentmindedly carved another couple of shavings away from the barb before abandoning it once again.

"The moon touched the edge of the horizon. Through his fear, the ghost’s words stirred an idea in the tinker’s mind, and he glanced around wildly, seeing the flash of white in the moonlight. Seizing some poor soul’s thigh bone, the tinker brought it down with all his strength on his tools, shattering them into pieces. And there, amongst the broken shards of metal, glowed the ghosts of his tools. He picked them up; the noose parted swiftly under the ghostly blade of his knife, and with six strokes of ghostly file, the shackles fell to the ground just as both moon and ghost disappeared from sight. In the ghost’s place, a bag of gold sat on the ground.”

Sif sat back with satisfaction. “That was a good story, and a clever idea. I liked it. But I question whether tools can have ghosts. Surely our fathers have seen many shattered weapons in battle, and what is a weapon but a tool? Yet I have never heard any tales of ghostly weapons.”

“Perhaps they have to be shattered deliberately?” Loki hazarded. “There is some small magic involved in all smithing; I would not discount it entirely without testing it.” Surely he could find some old nicked weapon in the armoury that would not be too great a loss to sacrifice in the pursuit of knowledge? “And would one notice a ghost of a shattered weapon in the midst of battle? It would serve no purpose against a live enemy, after all, if the logic of the tale holds.”

“Hm.” Sif finished up the back-pointing barb near the end of her spear, thinking. She wasn’t sure if she liked the idea of shattered weapons yielding ghostly versions of themselves or not. But… “You’re going to test it out, aren’t you?”

“I think I should; we might need to fight an undead foe one day against whom regular weapons won’t work. In fact, I would say that it is my duty, as a prince of Asgard, to learn everything possible which might help me defend her one day,” he said virtuously. “Although I don’t think we can duplicate the conditions exactly. The knife might need to be of Vanir make, and I certainly don’t have the thigh bone of a murdered man. But we’ll start with the basics. Shatter one Asgardian knife, look for its ghost. Do you want to be there?”

“Yes, of course. And what about Thor? He can smash it with his hammer.“ She sharpened the point of her spear a little bit more and tested it against her finger. "What do you think?” she asked, holding it up.

“It looks adequate,” Loki admitted, now half-wishing he had made one for himself. And Thor was a good idea; he didn’t know how hard it would be to shatter Asgardian steel but surely Mjölnir could do it.

“Thank you for your high words of praise,” said Sif gravely, jumping to her feet, and Loki laughed. “Now let’s see if I can catch anything with it.”

Loki put his book away, interested despite himself, and followed her down to the water’s edge. She stripped off her boots and socks, and rolled her breeches up as high as she could before stepping into the shallows of the lake.

“Fuck,” Sif swore, as the cold clamped down on her legs.

Loki snorted and grinned.  Ah yes, that was why he’d forgone the fun of spearing fish.  It was different when you were swimming and moving around, but he saw no need to subject himself to the discomfort of standing still in the chilly lakewater waiting for a fish to go by when he had another plan of his own.  But first he was willing to give Sif a chance.

He tsked at her. “Such language, my lady. What would your mother say?”

“She’d blame my father for not guarding his tongue around me.” She gritted her teeth and forced herself to move deeper into the water, lifting her spear and holding it poised as she stood still, staring into the water, watching for prey. “And I’m not a lady, I’m a warrior of Asgard.”

“I don’t see why you can’t be both,  Is it the rank or gender that you take exception to?”

“Neither,” said Sif. “It is the expectations attached to the gender. That I should have no desires other than to learn how to cook and clean and sew, that I might one day take care of a husband and children.” She saw a flash of movement and drove her spear down, scowling as the fish darted back out towards deeper water before her spear reached it. “I wish for more, for honour and glory and the chance to serve Asgard as one of her warriors. I’m a good fighter; I should be allowed to do what I’m good at.” Another jab, another miss. She swore. This was easier in the creek that ran clear and narrow through the back of the palace gardens, and which, when followed deep into the woods, eventually broadened out into a wide pool that was their usual swimming spot.

“You’ll get no quarrel from me there,” said Loki. Sif took joy in battle the way that Thor did, and he was glad that she had been allowed to start weapons training with the other boys. He was sure that his mother had had something to do with that – he’d overheard her talking to his father about it one day, before they’d moved away and out of hearing range. And as for being allowed to practice what one was good at – he let wisps of green magic curl about his fingers – he still didn’t understand why it was looked down upon for men to practice magic on Asgard. His father, the king, practiced magic, and no one said anything against him. He pushed the usual resentment away and brought himself back to the present. “Be a warrior and marry someone who’s got servants to do the cooking and cleaning. Like Thor,” he said, as if it didn’t matter. That was another of those things that went mostly unsaid but understood; he was sure that Sif had originally been introduced as a playmate in the hopes of a betrothal between Sif and Thor one day.

Sif looked up, her face twisting in obvious rejection of the idea. “And have to be queen one day? To be tied to the palace, and have to be nice to people even when I can’t stand them? No thanks.”

Loki felt more cheered by this then perhaps he ought to have been. “Well, there’s me,” he said lightly. “You’d still have to be nice to people sometimes, but you’d be a lot freer as a princess than a queen, and you’d still get the servants for cooking and cleaning.”

Sif laughed. “I’ll keep it in mind for the future.” She turned her eyes back to the water and made a wild thrust, groaning when yet another small fish eluded her spear.

She hadn’t said no, thought Loki, a quiet thrill running through him. It wasn’t often that he heard someone voice a decided preference for him over Thor, and Sif seemed to have so much more in common with Thor. But she had completely vetoed the idea of marrying Thor, while suggesting she might consider him. Suddenly feeling immensely fond and gallant, he stirred himself. “Come on out, this isn’t a good place for spearfishing, and your legs must be freezing. Let me have a go at it.”

“Do you think you can do better?’ she challenged, but was glad for an excuse to leave the water; she had to lean on her makeshift spear to keep from stumbling on her numb feet as she waded back onto shore. “And what makes you think that I’ll let you use the spear that I did all the work on?”

“Oh, I don’t need a spear,” said Loki airily. “Make a fire, and warm yourself up. I’ll go get your fish.” And he shifted, shrinking down in size until an otter stood where the boy had been. He gave her his best open-mouthed otter grin and scampered into the lake.

Sif stared after the sleek brown shape cutting gracefully through the water, dumbstruck for a moment before recovering her voice. “Show-off!” she yelled. The otter disappeared under the water. Shaking her head, she fetched the rub rag she had used on her horse and turned to the task of drying her feet and legs and chafing some warmth back into them, before pulling her stockings and boots back on gratefully. She was just dumping her first armful of twigs and branches inside the ring of stones containing the remains of previous fires when Loki resurfaced at the edge of the lake with a fish clenched between his sharp little teeth. He tossed it onto the shore at her feet, looking as smug as an otter can possibly look, then disappeared back into the water again. She snatched up the fish, quickly stunned it with one of the heavier branches she’d gathered. and laid it next to the fire pit. She resumed gathering wood for the fire, but she hadn’t even had a chance to get it started before Loki was back, squeaking cheerfully as he dropped a second fish beside the first.

“Yes, well done, why didn’t you just say you could do that in the first place?’ she grumbled, dispatching the second fish in the same way before crouching back down in front of her neatly-arranged wood and then pausing in striking her flint to her steel when he simply stood there, watching her with his bright, mischievous eyes. “Well? Aren’t you going to change ba–” She shrieked as Loki shook himself, the water flying out from his dense coat in a wide spray of droplets. Having been wetted by a fair share of them, Sif lunged to her feet and dove at him.

“I’ll get you for that!”

Loki tried to dart away, but Sif had been fast and she’d managed to catch hold of his long, muscular tail. He quickly shifted back to his usual form in an amorphous blurring of shapes, depriving her of a tail to hold, and sprang to his feet, backing away. He held up his hands placatingly, unable to keep a grin off his face. “I’m sorry, Sif, I shouldn’t have done that.” He danced back as she swung at him.

“You don’t look sorry!”

He retreated around the fire pit as she came after him, trying to banish the grin off of his face and failing miserably at it. “I can’t help it! My otter brain thought that it was funny.  But I got your fish for you!  And…and I’ll even clean them if you want.” He felt very generous for offering this; the usual camp rules were that the person who caught the food didn’t have to clean it.

Sif stopped pursuing him, debating and then noticing something. “Fine. Clean the fish and I’ll forgive you. But how are you still completely dry in this form?” She reached out to touch his tunic and he let her. "You can’t have shaken it alloff.”

He shrugged. “Magic.” He made a face. “Ugh, my mouth tastes horrible, though.” He pulled his bottle of cider out of his interdimensional pocket and took a long draught, chasing away the taste of raw fish. Replacing it, he walked over to the fish and squatted down, taking out a knife to scale and gut it. “Get the fire going.”

Sif did as instructed, using lots of kindling to get the fire to burn fast and hot, and then sat back, watching Loki come back from the water’s edge with the cleaned fish and sit back down, setting them aside on a rock until the fire burned down into hot coals. He looked at her sideways, a little smirk on his face. Sometimes, she thought, he looked exactly like his mother. She’d seen that expression on the queen’s face more than once.

“You think you’re so clever.” She threw a small pebble at him.

Loki batted it aside easily. “Am I not?” He couldn’t help feeling pleased with himself; this was only his second time as an otter, and he hadn’t tried to catch anything the first time. But certain instincts seemed to come naturally with each shape.

“You have your moments,” she admitted grudgingly. “What’s it like, being an otter?”

“Fun.” Loki grinned and drew forth the cider again, offering it to her. “If you don’t mind sharing the bottle.”

“When have I ever?” Sif uncorked the bottle and took a swig, pleasantly surprised to find it still cool. “If I can overlook the fact that you had your actual teeth in the fish that I’m going to eat…” She took another swallow before passing the bottle back. “Are you using magic to keep this cool?”

“Yes, it’s a fairly simple spell.” Feeling justifiably smug, he took a swallow of the cider and then re-corked it and set it down between them. “I can keep things warm, too.” He pulled out his loaf of herb bread and tore it in half, passing her one portion.

Sif bit through the crispy crust into the soft, warm bread. “Mm, this is good.” She tilted her face up to the sun, closing her eyes contentedly as she chewed. “Hey!” She opened her eyes and looked at him. “Could you have kept my legs warm in the lake?”

Loki pursed his lips. “I’ve never tried to use that spell on a living being, but I don’t see why not?” He spread his fingers and held out his hand, staring at it consideringly.

“Well, don’t go and start experimenting now, when we’re out in the middle of nowhere. If something were to go wrong, I wouldn’t know how to help.”

“Such faith in my abilities,” said Loki deprecatingly. “But no, I’ll ask my mother about it first. Although – “ he smirked at her. “I thought, as a warrior of Asgard, that you weren’t afraid of a little cold water.”

“And I’m not, and I proved it. But what if we were someplace where an enemy might ambush us, and I couldn’t run or fight well because my legs were stiff with cold? I wouldn’t turn down a spell to keep them warm if I had to go wading in a cold lake or river.”

“Sensible girl,” said Loki approvingly. “If I am to marry some day, I will consider nothing less in a wife.”  He took a bite of bread. “Also – “ he chewed and swallowed. “You are not afraid of hard work. Another admirable trait.”

“Oh? Well, I suppose I must admit that you have shown that you would be a good provider. That’s important, in a husband.”

Loki grinned. “Thank you; tooth-marked fish are my specialty. Also, I’m very adept at stealing bread from the kitchens.”

Sif snorted. “‘Stealing’, my foot. You’ve got every single kitchen maid charmed and willing to give you whatever you want.”

Loki looked modest. “It’s amazing what a few compliments will do.  But,” he added fairly, “They deserve them. It’s hot work, slaving in the kitchens. They’re nice to visit, but I’d hate to be cooped up in there all day. And – how many people do you think ever bother to send back a message that they enjoyed what they ate? It’s not hard to make the cooks happy by letting them know that you appreciate their culinary efforts.”  His mother had pointed this out to him once, and he’d found it good advice. It was only when the cooks were truly frazzled preparing for a feast that he ever found himself chased away from the kitchens empty-handed.

“Well,” said Sif, “Please tell whoever made this bread that I enjoyed it very much.”

“Solveig will be pleased to hear it.” Loki poked at the fire, which had nearly died down, the smoke scenting the air. “I think this is ready; have you got a couple of sticks to lay the fish on?”

Sif pulled two straight sticks out of her pile of unburnt kindling, and laid them down upon the hot, glowing embers of the fire. Loki leaned over her and laid the two fish crosswise across the sticks. They only took a few minutes to cook, and then they were burning their fingers as they pulled the hot fish off the coals onto a couple of large leaves they’d had ready, the blackened, crispy skin flaking away and revealing the succulent flesh within.

Loki sucked and blew on his burnt fingertips as he tried not to drop his fish, the leaf not doing much to shield his palm from the heat. “A hand-cooling spell would come in useful right about now.”

“Mm,” Sif agreed, blowing on fish and fingers alike, and saying another unladylike word.

There was no way to eat it neatly, so Loki didn’t even try, biting into the smoky-tasting fish with as little care as Thor usually showed at mealtimes, Sif making just as much as a mess of it as he did. They chased it down with the rest of the cider, and washed their hands in the lake afterwards after smothering the remains of the fire. A quick check on the horses showed them to be fine, and Loki stretched and yawned, comfortably full and disinclined to movement.

“I think I’m going to close my eyes for a bit,” he announced, and chose a spot on the soft grass to stretch out on, folding his arms behind his head.

“Seriously?” While Sif wasn’t feeling particularly energetic, she wasn’t in the mood for a nap, either. “May I borrow your book to read, then?”

Loki lazily twisted his hand and the book appeared in it. He held it out to her without opening his eyes. “You could read me a chapter if you like,” he offered magnanimously.

“All right.” Sif settled with her back against a large rock and turned to where he’d left the bookmark. “The Bäckahäst,” she read, and began the description of a shapeshifting creature that could take the form of a beautiful white horse to lure humans to it and drown them under the waters of the brook where it lived.  Sif particularly liked the story of the farm girl who defeated one by keeping her wits about her; Loki liked the fact that she banished it with a magical rune.

“You’ve never turned into a horse, have you?” She was quite sure he would have made sure that they’d known of it if he’d had – he’d been quite proud to show off the elegant, silky-coated hunting dog he’d transformed himself into one day – but one never entirely knew with Loki. Sometimes he kept a new skill hidden until the most opportune moment to reveal it.

“Not yet. Mother doesn’t want me to try anything that much larger than myself until I’m a bit older; all the books advise against it,“ he admitted. "So far I’ve only shifted into things the same size as myself or smaller.” He shrugged. “ I think I would be fine, but it’s more fun to do animals that can pass unnoticed where a person couldn’t, so I’m willing to oblige her for now. Why?” He cast a mischievous glance her way. “Would you like to ride me?”

Sif’s face heated; she wasn’t so young or so sheltered that she was unaware of the possible innuendo in that question. But if he thought that would put her off…

“That depends on whether you want to be ridden,” she said levelly, and saw the answering tinge of pink rise to his cheeks.

“Mm.” Loki jumped to his feet. “Why don’t we head around to the side of the lake where the berry bushes grow thickest?” He held out his hand. “I’ll put the book away.”

Sif passed it back to him, glad of the excuse to drop that particular line of conversation, although a part of her mind couldn’t help imagining how he would look as a horse, and how it would feel to sit astride him, to feel the intimacy of him moving between her thighs. Her mind couldn’t quite go to the other place yet.

Thankfully, the new and slightly awkward heightened awareness of him only lasted until he bent and picked up a smooth stone on their way around the lakeshore, and sent it skipping across the water.

“Four,” he announced. He knew he could do much better, but it wasn’t bad for his first throw of the day.

Sif at once accepted the unspoken challenge and cast her eyes around for a suitable stone of her own. Picking one up, she sent it chasing after his, and the easy familiarity between them was back as they engaged in a friendly competition as they made their way towards the west shore of the lake in fits and starts. “Six,” she crowed.

Loki narrowed his eyes and took extra care in choosing his next stone, looking for one as large and flat as possible. He angled his body and let it fly, sweeping his arm out with a fast, fluid, practiced motion and watching the stone skim low across the surface of the water, barely touching before lifting off again. Seven…eight… “Nine,” he said with satisfaction.

She scowled at the fading ripples in the water. “Are you sure you’re not using magic?”

“For nine ? With the right stone, I can do 14-15, easy. You just need to spend more time throwing things and less time hitting them.”

“I don’t think throwing my sword at you during practice would be as effective,” she teased.  

“I meant knives,” he retorted. “You should practice with me sometime.”

“I suppose it couldn’t hurt,” she allowed, and was surprised by the brilliance of the smile he gave her.

“As I said, sensible.”

They arrived at the start of the berry bushes, and meandered their way through them, picking and eating at their leisure until they were sated and their fingers and mouths were stained purple with the juice.  Loki fought the urge to smear a purple streak down her cheek, still feeling beneficent at not being rejected out-of-hand as possible future husband material.

“What do you think Thor’s doing right now?” Sif mused.

He shrugged. “Since he hasn’t hunted us down, he’s probably in the training yards. Hitting things,” he added with a laugh. “Father only mentioned keeping Thor in for the morning. By the time he’d had lunch, there wouldn’t be much point in following us all the way out here only to have to turn around and go home again almost at once. Speaking of which – “ he glanced up at the sky, judging the time. “We should start heading back. Don’t say anything to Thor yet about our plans; he’ll want to go charging down to the armoury immediately to pick out an old weapon to smash, and I want to do some research first, see if I can find any other accounts that lend credence to that story.”

“All right.”

They made their way back to their horses, tacking them back up before mounting and turning their heads towards home. The energy of the morning was gone; they took their time going back, setting an easy pace until they clattered back into the stableyard. Loki waved away the groom that came out to take their horses.

“We’ll take care of them ourselves, thank you, Leif.” He swung down from the saddle, Sif following suit, and they led their horses inside, untacking them and companionably grooming them together, cross-tied in the aisle. They parted ways after returning their horses to their cleaned stalls, Loki heading for the royal wing of the palace.  He’d take a fresh look through his own books first, and then go down to the library after supper. Passing the open door to his mother’s chambers, he stuck his head in.

“I’m back, Mother.”

“Oh, good,” Frigga called from within, rising from her loom. “Come in and talk to me.”

Loki stepped into the comfortable, airy rooms, feeling as at home here as he did in his own chambers.

“Did you have a nice day, sweetheart?” She pulled him in close, smelling woodsmoke and green grass and fresh air, and underneath all that, the scent of her own boy which she’d always know no matter what overlaid it. It was a good smell. She buried her nose in his hair, breathing in deep, and kissed him.

“I did. Sif rode down to the lake with me.” He leaned against her comfortably. “I took my otter form again and caught us some fish.”

“Clever boy. Did you have any trouble changing back?”

“None at all.” He looked at her a little wistfully. “I wish you could shift with me. We could do things together.”

Frigga smiled. “I could chase you around the lake. That would be fun. But alas, I am stuck in this one very dull form. I hope I do not disappoint too much.”

“Never!  I didn’t mean that.  And you could never be dull.” Loki said stoutly, and her arm came around him in a one-armed hug. “I like all the things we do together. Magic, and my knife lessons, and talking about books.”

“That’s good.  And I can still chase you…but you have to run first.” She curled her fingers over his ribs, tickling, and Loki sprang away with a yelp of laughter. “Not far enough,” she warned, stalking towards him, and Loki backed away, circling behind a chair.

“What is it with girls chasing me today?” he complained, but his eyes were bright.

Frigga’s eyebrows rose. “Sif?” she guessed.

“I…might have shaken water all over her before changing out of my otter shape,” Loki confessed sheepishly.

“And did you apologise?”

Loki rolled his eyes. “Yes, Mother.”

“Good boy.” Frigga said approvingly. “I’m assuming she forgave you, since you don’t seem upset.”

“No, we’re fine; that was hours ago,” said Loki dismissively. He heard a noise behind him, and made the mistake of taking his attention off of his mother as he turned around to see his father and Thor coming in from the hallway together. It was a move he regretted as his mother caught him up from behind and began tickling him mercilessly.

"Got you!"

“AAHHH!” He kicked and wriggled and squirmed away, taking refuge behind his father, who looked down at him in surprise.

“Are we interrupting something?” Odin asked, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

“Mother’s in high spirits,” said Loki, half breathless. Impulsively he fixed his eyes on his mother, and mouthed “TICKLE HIM.” He cocked his head towards his father and wriggled his fingers in illustration.

Frigga smirked and gave Loki the tiniest of nods.  It was a look that Sif would have immediately recognised.

“I am indeed; come give me a hug, husband.” Frigga held out her arms, and Odin automatically moved forward, although he looked a little suspicious.

“Far be it from me to deny such a request from my beautiful wife.”

Loki watched in anticipation as his father went into his mother’s arms, and his mother slid her hands under his outer robes, turning her face into his father’s neck for a moment with a contented hum. And then Odin jerked and shouted, and Loki broke into the giggles.

“So it’s to be like that, is it?” Odin roared, and Frigga squealed as her arms were pinned and she was lifted bodily from her feet. “Two can play at that game!”

“Odin!  Put me down; the boys are watching!” Frigga laughed, still trying to tickle him but otherwise not fighting it.

“Boys, go away and entertain yourselves until dinner.” Odin ordered, heading into their bedroom.

Thor and Loki exchanged wide-eyed glances.  “Yes, Father,” they chorused, and pushed and pulled each other into the corridor, fizzing with mirth, and closed the doors behind them.

“I never expected that to happen.” Loki giggled again.

“You didn’t expect Father to back down from a fight, did you?” Thor grinned. “Even if it is only a tickle fight.” They made their way to their adjoining rooms.

“Come tell me about your day while I wash up,” Loki said, pushing open his doors. He went into his washroom and began scrubbing at the berry stains on his hands.

Thor lounged against the wall. “Well, we started with accounts. Very boring, you can handle those when I’m king.”

Loki snorted. “The treasurer will handle the day-to-day accounts, but you need to be able to look at his reports and understand them in case he tries to siphon off any money for his own use.” He considered his teeth, and thought of fish breath, and gave his teeth a rub with tooth cloth and paste, the sharp clean scent of the crushed rosemary in it filling the air.

“Father said something along those lines,” Thor admitted. “Then we discussed the current trade re-negotiations with the dwarfs, and he asked my opinion on the various points being discussed. You would have done well with that, Brother, it’s all about using your words as cleverly as possible to get as much out of the other side as you can without them noticing. And then he grilled me on the history of the dwarfs over lunch but afterwards he came down to watch me spar,” said Thor happily. Now what about you?”

Loki rinsed his mouth out. “Went to the lake with Sif; she was hanging around when I went outside and asked to come along, so…” He shrugged. “Did some reading once we got there, skipped rocks, caught some fish for lunch.”  Mischief struck him. “Talked about marriage. You know, the usual thing.”

“What?” Thor started, and stared at Loki casually inspecting his hair in the mirror, tidying it slightly with his comb. “You and Sif? Aren’t you a bit young to start courting?”

Loki turned away from the mirror and brushed past Thor to go into his bedroom, hiding his pleasure in the idea. “Of course we are. Don’t be silly; we were just talking about it in the abstract, about what we might want in a spouse. If we ever did get married.”

“Oh.” Thor sounded disappointed. “What did you decide?”

“I said I wanted someone who was sensible and a hard worker; Sif said a husband should be a good provider. All very romantic,” he said lightly.

“Hm.” Thor thought about it. “Sif is sensible and a hard worker. She’ll stay at the training yard as long as she has an opponent, and then work on her forms by herself.”

Loki thought of the time Sif had put into fashioning her spear, and was quite sure she would have stayed in the water for far longer trying to catch a fish if he hadn’t stepped in. “She is; I’ll give her that.”

“Well, there you go,” said Thor cheerfully. “Just so you know, I would be delighted to have Sif for a sister-in-law some day.”

“You’re not interested in her for yourself?’ Loki asked cautiously.

Thor tried to think of Sif that way, and couldn’t. He shook his head. “It would be like courting my little sister. It would be nice to have her really be.  Besides, I’m probably meant for a political marriage. Sif’s of good family, but Tyr is already loyal to our house.”

That was true, Loki had to admit. Perhaps he’d been wrong about things? “But don’t you think Sif would rather have a big strapping warrior for a husband instead of someone like me?”  He wasn’t even sure why he was asking this, except perhaps the need to hear it reputed. But she didn’t say no, his mind chanted at him.

“You mean an infuriating know-it-all?’ Thor grinned.

Loki hunched himself unhappily. “Is that what I am?”

Thor hesitated, seeing that he’d misspoke. “You are, sometimes, but it’s only because you’re so smart and clever that it can make me feel stupid by comparison. Like today. But you’re so much more. Mother says you’re going to be one of the greatest mages in the Nine Realms, and I say you’re going to be one of the finest warriors as well. And there’s no one else I’d rather have as my brother than you.”

Loki flushed with pleasure, his shoulders coming back up. “That’s kind of you to say.”

“I’m not being kind, it’s the truth,” said Thor loyally. “And you’ll see. One day we shall ride out together across the Nine Realms on adventures far and wide and prove our worth in battle. Skalds shall sing of the deeds of the Odinsons and Sif the Valorous.” Thor sat down on the edge of Loki’s bed, and Loki, deciding that he was clean enough not to need to change clothes, joined him, magicking his boots off and swinging his legs up onto the furs.

Loki smiled. "Sif the Valorous?"

"She would like that, would she not?"

"She would indeed." Loki could so clearly see the pride in Sif's face if she were to earn such a name. Or perhaps it would be Sif the Bold, or Sif the Fierce, they would suit her equally well. Still smiling, he turned the conversation back on Thor.

“So what about you? What qualities would you like in a wife?”

“Someone pretty,” said Thor promptly, and Loki couldn’t even chide him for being shallow, because it seemed a perfectly reasonable request. “And kind,” he added, rather more surprisingly.

“A good quality in a future queen,” Loki said, studying Thor’s thoughtful face.

“And someone who is… comfortable to come home to at the end of the day, someone who will listen to my problems and be able to advise me on them.”

“So, basically Mother.”

Thor smiled ruefully. “We would be lucky to find someone like her.”

“Father’s getting lucky right now.”

Thor scrunched up his nose. “Not an image I want in my head, Brother.”

Loki’s face copied Thor’s. “No, you’re right. Sorry.”

“Tell me more about what you would like in a wife,” Thor said, to distract himself. “There must be something other than ‘sensible and hard-working’.”

“I don’t know; it’s not something I’ve thought about much before.” Loki drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. “The things you said, they’re good. And she must be fine with me working magic. That’s the most important thing.” He rested his chin on his knees, thinking. “Someone who doesn’t bore me in conversation. And someone who is comfortable with silence, who doesn’t feel the need to fill every minute with mindless chatter.”

“Still sounds like Sif.” Thor grinned.

“All right, yes, I suppose she does fit some of the qualifications,” Loki allowed magnanimously. “But don’t you dare say anything to her of this. Swear it. On your honour.”

“I swear,” said Thor, but his eyes were twinkling.

“I’m sure Sif will be too busy making her name as a warrior to have any time for romance anyway.”

“Ah yes, of course. You’re probably right.”  Thor nodded, very seriously, an effect ruined by the smirk he couldn’t quite stifle.

Loki hit him with a pillow.

But, his mind said gleefully, she hadn’t said no.

[whumpernickel]

witcher fic number two! also on ao3

still not super confident in my writing, but im a lot happier with this one than with the first.

so here, have some jaskier with the flu and geralt trying not to confront his own emotions.

It had been four hours since Jaskier had last spoken - or at least since he’d said anything more than “shit” for tripping over his own feet - and Geralt was beginning to worry.

Not worry. Geralt didn’t worry, and especially not about Jaskier who was a grown man and whose prolonged, uninterrupted silences were no one’s business but his own. But this was the first nice day after a miserable stretch of cold, dreary, drizzly ones, and Jaskier, hopeless romantic though he was, hadn’t said or sung a word about the frolicking birds or the dancing sunlight or whatever his personification of the hour was.

And Geralt was on edge – that's what he was. Anything out of the ordinary had him like this, because, more often than not, out-of-the-ordinary meant imminent peril. Silence was horribly out of the ordinary for his usually animated, usually singing, usually noisy shadow. The last full sentence he’d heard Jaskier say was, “She’s still mad at you for making us travel in the rain all day yesterday, and, frankly, I don’t blame her,” which Geralt had all but guffawed at him for, for presuming he knew Geralt’s mare better than he did.

So, when Roach headbutted Geralt once again, catching him off-guard and nearly tumbling him headlong into the rain-sodden road, Geralt eyed Jaskier expectantly, bracing for insufferable levels of I-told-you-so smugness and deepening his frown when none was forthcoming. He was surprised to find the tiniest itch of disappointment at this lack of banter, but more prevalent than that was his mounting concern. Something was obviously wrong, and there was a reason that Jaskier wasn’t telling him.

Jaskier flinched as if startled when he caught the sour look directed at him. He scowled to match it, clearly clueless as to why they were scowling at each other, but lending admirable commitment to the act, nonetheless.

"What?" he croaked.

"...You're quiet."

Somehow worse than a smug Jaskier was this halfheartedly-smug one that emerged as he responded:

"You sound disappointed-"

"I'm not."

Geralt cringed inwardly at how quickly the denial came out, but Jaskier barely glanced up at his response. He seemed more than content to take Geralt at his word, for once.

"Wonderful," he said, too cheerful, "then neither of us will mind if it remains that way."

It was an enthusiastic invitation to leave it the fuck alone, but Geralt was nothing if not contrary. He found his attention drawn to Jaskier and his unsettling Jaskier-less-ness even more, now that he knew Jaskier was avoiding it. Every little thing stole his focus: a stumble, there, when Jaskier normally would have been sure-footed on even ground; a shiver, here, when the midday sun ought to have been enough to banish any lingering morning chill.

For the thirtieth time in half-as-many minutes, Geralt's eyes darted back to his quiet travel-companion, and apparently this was just one glance too many.

Jaskier heaved a dramatic sigh and stopped in his tracks. He didn't say anything, but there was a clear and demanding What? in the hands-on-hips posture and dead-eyed annoyance he aimed at Geralt.

Geralt stopped, too. He frowned at Jaskier critically – appraisingly – and watched as Jaskier's attitude from moments before shrunk back within him, the bard’s arms folding over his chest in an attempt to maintain his image of stubborn petulance while also making himself a lesser target. It wasn't working.

Geralt hadn't been entirely oblivious to Jaskier's condition - he could never completely drown out his constant presence, however hard he tried - and so he'd been noticing (and disregarding) little things all throughout the day: the tired bowing of Jaskier's back and shoulders when he thought Geralt wasn’t looking, the uncharacteristic irritability in his normally-playful jabs, the purposeful shallow breathing in an attempt to avoid coughs that occasionally slipped past anyway, the way the pallor to his skin had worsened whenever the trail steepened or whenever their unusually-minimalist conversation had shifted to food, the stagnant scent of cold-sweat and stress underlying Jaskier's usual familiar one whenever he stepped into Geralt's personal space and the slightly elevated heat radiating off of him along with it, the shudders intermittently jolting his shoulders in spite of the warmth of the day, the bruised-looking shadows under his eyes that Geralt was sure hadn’t been so stark just a day ago.

He'd dismissed all of this in favor of basking in rare, blissful silence. But the details had continued compiling in some recess of his mind, building up into a great, nagging, restless-leg kind of feeling that he could no longer ignore.

"Are you ill?" Geralt finally asked.

"Pardon?"

Geralt waited sternly for his answer.

Jaskier rolled his eyes, then hiked his lute higher onto his shoulder and resumed their trek.

"I'm not ill," he said, the harsh crack in his voice on the word "ill" belying his stalwart conviction. "And since when would it matter?"

"It matters when we run into the beast, and I have to waste precious time and concentration saving your useless arse because you're delirious from fever."

It came out a little harsher than Geralt intended – well, no, it came out exactly as harsh as Geralt had intended, but much harsher than he wanted, and he found himself frustrated not for the first time at how often his intentions and desires so poorly aligned. Jaskier kept his attention forward, but Geralt still saw a strange look overtake his companion’s face for a brief moment, equal parts stung and calculating, before falling comfortably back on annoyance.

"Good thing I'm not feverish, then.”

"You're warm," Geralt prodded.

"It's a warm day."

"You're shivering."

"You're scary."

"You're not afraid of me."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do."

And he did. From the moment the bard’s eyes had lit up with a giddy, “Oh, fun,” after first realizing Geralt was the infamous Butcher of Blaviken, it had been clear that Geralt didn’t scare him in the slightest. It was one of the many things about Jaskier that frustrated and confused him.

Also among these things were his seemingly boundless social energy, his unflappable confidence (no matter what gaudy outfit he wore or what godsawful thing he said), and his insistence on denying that he was sick when he very clearly wasn't well.

"Jaskier."

"Geralt," Jaskier grunted in a mockery of the witcher’s tone – a surprisingly decent one, to be true, but that was mostly owing to his illness-roughened throat.

"We're stopping here."

"Hm, then I guess we're not saving and-or slaying our beast tonight, yeah? You said we couldn't make any extra stops if we wanted to make it there before nightfall."

Geralt stifled a huff of frustration.

It was true. This particular curse reversal required that they find the animal at dusk, so they were pressed for time. Geralt had said so, earlier, when Jaskier was complaining he wanted to rest because he was tired. Geralt hadn't realized, however, that "tired" was apparently the new slang for "ill and grievously stupid,” and he'd been actively trying to ignore Jaskier for... well, for as long as he'd known the bard, really, so it had taken him longer than it should have to start taking the warning signs seriously.

He felt guilty for that, now.

"We can spare ten minutes," Geralt grumbled, leaving little room for objection as he followed Roach to a decent patch of shade off the path.

Jaskier shrugged and trailed behind them. "Well, I usually require a full eight hours’ beauty sleep, but... okay."

He sat himself and his lute down gingerly against a tree, while Geralt browsed Roach's packs for whatever he could scavenge in the way of a human-grade fever-reducer and similar herbs, and Roach snuffled at the ground and ignored the both of them. When Geralt turned back around, Jaskier had shut his eyes and let his head fall back against the tree trunk, brow furrowed and lips pressed together in a taut line. It was a worrisome thing to see the usually-so-expressive human with such an actively restrained look on his face.

Geralt considered this and added another small phial to his handful before walking over. He knelt in front of Jaskier.

"Jask."

Jaskier cracked an eye open. "Yesk?" he responded, then snorted tiredly at his own half-assed attempt at humor.

Geralt didn't laugh. He reached out and pressed the back of his hand to Jaskier's forehead, briefly noting the way Jaskier recoiled, first with surprise and then with a shiver, before becoming wholly preoccupied by the intense heat beneath Jaskier’s skin.

"Your hands are freezing, Geralt!” Jaskier complained. He shuddered and hugged himself, looking three shades more miserable than before. “Gods, I’m starting to wonder if that sylvan had a damned point about your dad being a snowman..."

"You have a fever."

"Hm," was all Jaskier had to say to that. The irony of this was not lost on either of them, nor was the annoyance it elicited from one witcher, who maybe understood a little bit, now, why others found his noncommittal grunts so damned frustrating.

"And a cough."

Jaskier at least had the decency to look guilty for hiding it. The slight edge of accusation to Geralt's voice may have helped, too.

"Pain?" Geralt continued his verbal checklist of Jaskier's symptoms.

"Just a bit of a headache," he half-admitted.

Geralt hummed. He placed a waterskin and a small pouch into Jaskier’s hands.

Jaskier wrinkled his nose when he uncinched the pouch and realized it was food: dried berries and a little leftover bread from their last inn-stay. He started to push it away.

“I’m good, thanks-”

“Eat,” Geralt commanded, “You haven’t eaten. You need to eat something.”

Nausea colored Jaskier’s face a papery grey just at the idea, and the silent plea in his eyes was just pathetic enough that Geralt almost caved and took the bag away from him. But thirst and hunger were an added stress that the bard’s body didn’t need right now.

"Try," Geralt urged more gently.

Jaskier grimaced, but he tore off a piece of bread and placed it in his mouth, chewing slowly and reluctantly.

“Happy?” he spoke around the meager bite.

Geralt smiled encouragingly. This must have been the right response, as Jaskier seemed to yield to the approval, and his next bite was much less hesitant. Geralt made sure he’d drunk some water, as well, before standing to set about gathering what usable wood he could find in the immediate vicinity – not much, but he only needed enough to boil a cup of water.

It was quiet once again as Geralt worked, heating water and steeping herbs, but it was a little more comfortable and a little less foreboding this time around. Perhaps because Jaskier’s silence had a clear explanation, now, no longer the faceless monster lurking in the shadows that it had been before. He didn’t speak up again until Geralt walked back over, cup in hand.

“Oh, did you make me tea?” he quipped. “How domestic.”

“It’s an infusion.”

Jaskier traded Geralt the pouch and waterskin for the cup and stared into its steaming contents. “It looks like tea.”

Geralt gave a snort of impatience to put Roach to shame. “Drink it,” he said, before turning back around to clean up.

Behind him, Jaskier made an exaggerated gagging noise at the bitter herbs. "That is just... vile– Geralt what the devil have you given me? Are you trying to put me out of my misery? I mean, I appreciate the gesture..."

Geralt huffed out a sound that may have been amusement or may have been exasperation – even he wasn't sure.

"It's mostly catnip. Some ribleaf and melissa and a small amount of beggartick,” he answered truthfully, though he knew the plant names meant fuckall to the man.

"It's disgusting, is what it is..."

"Just drink it."

Jaskier all but pouted as he did what he was told, pulling an inordinate look of disgust for just how small of a sip he took.

Geralt sighed and mentally cursed himself for having become so soft as he went rummaging through his bags once again.

“You owe Roach,” he said, dropping a small cube of sugar into Jaskier’s cup.

Jaskier stared dumbly at the ripples in his cup while the words caught up to him. He blinked.

“Hey, I gifted those to her so she’d stop trying to chew my sleeves- I owe nothing,” he argued, but there was a warmth that had crept into his expression at the gesture, and it softened any bite his words might (but most likely wouldn’t) have had. Geralt had to pretend like he didn’t notice it for both of their sakes. Or so he told himself.

There really couldn’t have been much the small amount of sugar did for the bitter drink, but Jaskier seemed to have decided it fixed the problem just fine, and he drank the rest quickly without further complaint. By the time he was finished, Geralt had everything stowed away in Roach's saddlebags. Ten minutes had already turned into twenty, and Geralt was itching to get back on schedule.

He looked between his mare and his bard. Both seemed to have sensed Geralt’s antsiness, Roach scuffing at the dirt impatiently and Jaskier already halfway to his feet.

Part of Geralt told himself that he was only about to let Jaskier ride Roach so the ill man wouldn’t have the chance to slow them down any more than he already had, but another part of him was panicked when he saw Jaskier’s eyes widen and lose focus, and he rushed forward to grab the man as he tilted dangerously forward.

“Jaskier.”

“‘M alright,” Jaskier said, though he was clinging to Geralt’s forearms like he wasn’t so sure. “Jus’… Just stood up too fast. Just need a second...”

It was a strange contrast, the harsh heat that poured off of Jaskier and overwhelmed the space between them compared to the weak, clammy chill of his fingers on Geralt’s arms. Geralt silently willed the herbs to take effect and watched Jaskier’s eyes shift as they began registering his surroundings once again. He waited until his companion was able to support his own weight before moving, but he continued to hold onto Jaskier, anyway, as he steered him over to Roach’s flank. 

“Up.”

Jaskier frowned at him, and Geralt sighed.

“Do you doubt my horse, bard?”

“Never! Not Roach. I doubt you, no offense.”

The witcher huffed.

...Maybe just a little taken.

“Get on the horse, Jaskier.”

“Look, you were already wrong about her once today, need I remind,” Jaskier protested, even as he complied and climbed up into the saddle with Geralt’s help. “I just don’t want her mad at me next because of you.”

There it finally was, the I-told-you-so Geralt had expected from earlier. As much of a relief that it was to have that little bit of normalcy back, he still felt no small amount of irritation at being reminded that he’d managed to piss off his mare and also be wrong about it. He opened his mouth, a retort stinging at the tip of his tongue, but then he caught the softly murmured, “Thanks, old gal,” as Jaskier patted Roach’s neck, and Geralt wasn’t quite sure where that irritation fucked off to all of the sudden.

The remainder of their journey was a quiet affair. Neither of them spoke much, and Jaskier was still stifling his coughs, not for Geralt’s sake but for Roach’s, this time, as he spent most of the ride resting against her neck, drifting in and out of sleep.

It gave Geralt little room to ignore the question that had begun to itch at his temples. They were finally nearing civilization again, muddy-ash buildings cropping up gradually over the hill, and Jaskier was stirring awake from another fitful few minutes of rest, so Geralt decided to ask it.

"Why did you deny it?"

Jaskier turned his head to blink at Geralt, hair plastered against one side of his face.

"What?"

"You knew you were sick – Why lie?"

Jaskier sighed. He sat up in a wilted imitation of alertness.

"I dunno Geralt," he deadpanned, clearly knowing. "Supposing I had told you that I might be sick – Would you have let me come along, or would I still be in Dregsdon right now, while you get to have all the fun breaking curses and saving the fine folk of the kingdom and disappearing for weeks-stroke-months-stroke-years at a time?"

Jaskier’s voice sounded worse, now, despite the medicines, and there was a trembling weakness to his posture at the effort of just keeping himself upright. No, Geralt most definitely would not have let him come along.

"Hm."

“Right, that's what I thought."

The bard faced forward with an air of self-satisfaction. Under any other circumstances, it was an expression that would have grated on Geralt’s nerves like metal on stone, but the present context made it one of the most effective guilt-trips he’d ever been dragged along, and Geralt found himself floundering for something - an excuse, an explanation, a deflection.

What he came up with was:

"I would have come back.”

There was about a collective half-ounce of confidence behind these words, and they both knew it.

Jaskier rolled his eyes mightily.

“Oh, would you have?”

Geralt glanced at Jaskier, glanced away, shifted stiffly in his armor, readjusted his grip on Roach’s reins.

"...Most likely," he appended.

Jaskier’s laugh was a short and less-than-amused thing, and it caught on a coughing fit halfway out that made him see spots. He waved Geralt’s hand away when Geralt reached out to steady him, and continued to talk through the tail-end of the fit.

"Look,” he rasped, “not to go and play long-suffering wife to your sea-beguiled sailor, but there really is never knowing when you're going to leave or come back. It’s aggravating."

Geralt could read enough subtext to guess that “aggravating” really meant “disappointing and lonely,” and he couldn’t help but agree. He must have been looking as guilty as he felt, because Jaskier seemed to take pity on him, his expression lightening to something a little more reminiscent of his usual playfulness. Geralt found himself scowling preemptively at the bard’s smirk.

"The children are beginning to ask questions, Geralt."

Geralt glared.

"Think of the childr-"

"Shut up, Jaskier."

Jaskier did, but not without a snicker.

They were lucky enough that there was a hamlet not far from where the possessed waterfowl was alleged to be stalking. Daylight was near-gone by the time they made it there; Geralt would have to move fast, but he reckoned he should be able to get everything settled here and still make it in time to apprehend the beast. The inn he’d found was hardly an inn - really just some person’s home with a sign tacked onto the door declaring it to be one, but Jaskier’s eyes brightened with a glimmer of hope, anyway, when Geralt woke him outside of a building instead of halfway back into the wilderness as he’d been expecting.

“So, do we get Roach put up and head out now, or are we waiting ‘til tomorrow evening?” he asked as he climbed down from the mare in question. His body-language screamed, Dear gods, please say ‘tomorrow.’

Geralt shook his head.

“You’re not coming with me. You’re staying behind to sleep this off.”

Jaskier opened his mouth to protest, but Geralt cut him off before he could get started.

“Keep an eye on Roach while I’m gone.”

It was as close as Geralt was about to get to saying, “I promise I won’t disappear this time,” and it was by no means a guarantee that the same could be said for any future excursions, but Jaskier seemed to get the message.

“Okay,” he agreed, “but she and I are gonna talk about you while you’re gone.”

“Good. Maybe you’ll have lost your voice by the time I get back.”

[100yearoldcomics]

July 24, 1922 Out Our Way by J.R. Williams

Out Our Way is really shaping up to be a mixed bag of "nice window into rural family life in the past" and "the most racist thing I've posted yet" every time I pull another one out, doesn't it? And this comic, by the way, was such a runaway success that it ran for 55 years, until 1977. Ahh, American pop culture.

[ID: First things first, everyone depicted in this comic is a racist stereotype of a black person. A husband and his portly wife sit in a horse-drawn cart with a loose front wheel, the wife shading herself with a parasol. A man stands on the street, hands behind his back and a corncob pipe in his mouth, inquiring with the couple. One of their horses is noticeably much larger than the other. /end] Passersby: Dat team ob yoahs don' match up berry well, Raz! Raz: Wot's de mattah wid yo, man? Dis am de bes' matched team in town! One jes match mah wife an de othah one jes match me.

[ask-de-writer]

WELCOME TO EQUESTRIA! : Origin of the Rom, part 2 : MLP Fan Fiction : Part 7 of 8

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to MLP Fan Fiction

~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

WELCOME TO EQUESTRIA!

The second part of the Origin of the Rom

ORIGIN OF THE ROM SERIES in reading order.  (will be completed as the stories are posted in linked form)

Part One : NORE’S CHOICE, which starts HERE

Part Two : WELCOME TO EQUESTRIA! which starts HERE

Part Three : FAIR AND UN-FAIR, which starts HERE

Part Four : ON THE ROADS OF EQUESTRIA, which starts HERE

Part Five : THE FIRST ROM HEARTHWARMING,  which starts HERE

Part Six : SANDO’S LAKE, which starts HERE

Part Seven : A BRIEF HISTORY OF THE ROM, which starts HERE

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

13716 words

© 2015 by Glen Ten-Eyck

Writing begun 08/09/15

All rights reserved.  This document may not be copied or distributed on or to any medium or placed in any mass storage system except by the express written consent of the author.

TUMBLR EXEMPTION

Blog holding members of Tumblr.com may freely reblog this story provided that the title, author and copyright information remain intact, unaltered, and are displayed at the head of the story.

Fan art, stories, music, cosplay and other fan activity is actively encouraged.

~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

The whole group laughed, but many got thoughtful looks as they tasted bits of the patties that I went ahead and hoofed out, saying, “Down payment on dinner.  Let the mares do their thing.  They want to thank you properly for saving their wagon and everything that they need for making a living, not to mention that it is their home for now.”

While Malit and Maina were cooking and brewing up a big pot of tea, Sando and Rom got out a flute, drums, and a lyre which they gave to Phapa.  The exotic music of Gyptia resounded from the Equestrian hills.  

Nore began to dance.

All but the flute playing members of Rom’s band, even the ones cooking, began to chant in Gyptian.  

Nore danced the Shehan Ja Rom for them.  

That was followed by Sarel’s swirling sashes as she danced.  Several of the watching troopers suddenly got it.

“Look at that dance!  She is telling how we saved the wagon today!”

When Malit and Maina circulated among the troops with cups of tea and piles of sweet buns, the realities of military life asserted themselves.  

Sunbreak called, “Line up.  Let them serve, don’t mob them!”  Tasting some of the sweet buns she added thoughtfully, “Perhaps I was hasty in saying don’t mob them! These are better than anything that I have ever got at a fair!”

Privately agreeing with Sunbreak, I pondered the possibility that we had found by accident, the means to make good bits at a fair.  I knew, from my earlier life as Marchhare the Trader, exactly where and when all of the fairs within fifty miles were.

The Red Branch flood, as huge as it was, did not wipe out all the communities with fairs.  Counting the gold that we had found up in the pass, we did not have enough to buy the land, build our homes,  shops and settle down to a quiet life.  The reward would likely change that but we did not have it yet.

I prefer to not count wealth that is not in hoof.

I was right about the troops. All twenty, counting Sunbreak, had a great time.

Breakfast was equally fine.  Tea and batter cakes wrapped about berry preserves filled every pony there.  Through a mouthful of batter cake, Vard declared, “If ever you need more help from the Equestrian Aerial Armor, just ask.  If I have any say, you will get the help at once.”

Not every step of a journey is an adventure.  The far side of the Notch was a long gentle slope.  It was well wooded and we found some more useful and/or tasty things to add to our store.  

We came out of the woods at a well tended Royal Road wayside.  Rom stared in near disbelief.  He said, “They have solidly mortared fire places and free wood to burn?  How come nohorse steals the wood?”  Feeling the solid footing under the grass, he stared down at what was, to him, a wonder.  “How can there be such grass over ground that is firm underhoof for the pulling of our caravan?”

I laughed, but gently.  “Rom, I did tell you that the Princess Luna spent two hundred years figuring these things out.  Her title as High Commissioner of Equestrian Roads is not simply a title.  She worked, in harness or by the magic of her own horn to learn how to create many sorts of roads, each suited to different purposes and kinds of land.  She paid equal attention to the waysides for the convenience of the dray ponies who use the roads.  See?  Just over there, is a ready supply of clean water. Even the spacing and kinds of trees give both shade and shelter in bad weather.”

Sando was not paying attention to that.  He was marveling at the road itself.  “Marchhare, how is this road made?  This is no mere layer of gravel.  It is somehow locked in place.”

“That is right, Sando.  First, the way is prepared by digging down to solid sub soil.  Heavy larger stone is laid for a foundation and small rock poured and packed about it to half its depth.  Smaller but still substantial cobbles then cover the foundation and also get half covered with locking gravel. This top surface is laid over that base and solidly packed.  After that, the road is watched closely for ruts, holes or other problems and they are fixed promptly.

Maina observed, “These Royal Roads are a true marvel of this land of Equestria, if the rest of the system is as good as this.”

Casting a practiced eye at the road, I commented, “Most is better than this.  This has had only indifferent maintenance.  You will see.”  In unwitting prophecy, I added, “We are going to be using these roads a lot for a while.”

We took the time to fix a nice meal before hitting the road.

Nore did little happy-skippy dance steps while pulling beside me.  “It almost feels like the caravan is floating!” she exulted.  “These roads are amazing!”

I was making for Haulmarket. They had a fair scheduled and I was guessing that it was still going to be put on.  The town only lost a bit of commons and a few fields. They were going to need the income of the fair for cleanup, if nothing else.

It was not long before we found the first fair notice posted on a wayside note board.  Haulmarket fair was still on and only two days of Pulling away.

Just outside of the town, we came to the fair turnoff.  The pony there to steer exhibitors to the fairground nearly had an attack when he saw Rom’s band.  Even my dear Nore, the smallest of the horses, was big enough that he had to look up to talk to her.  

To his credit, he only asked the proper information and steered us down the correct way.  

The layout director took one look at us and suggested, “You say you gonna do traditional dances and stuff?  Go set up down there at the end of the midway.  Make a big cul-de-sac ring out of your booths.  You can do your dances in the middle of it.”

We parked the caravans in an open ring. Rom directed, “We can just put out the rain flys for booth roofs.  Malit, do we have enough boards to set up counters?  Nore, you are so good with boxes, can you make us some safe cash boxes?”

Things that we had were swiftly set up.  Rom politely asked the fair set up director, “We have heard that you have flood damaged commons.  There are trees and such washed onto it.  We have need of some boards which we can split out of the flood wrack.  We could also set up a big charcoal burn to help you clear the area for future use.  Would that be acceptable?”

The director shrugged, “Don’t see why not, but anything to do with the commons has to go through the Council.  I can’t say either way.”

Council Pony Foulip declared, “Big charcoal burn?  That would be worth lots of bits!  You keep your claw hooves out of that commons!  We will let it by contracts and make us good money!”

He sent a pony around selling cheap boards for counters and such.  Maina took one look at them and snickered, “Those are the sort of wood that you work from?  No wonder your wheels are so bad!”

Malit and Nore, with Sarel’s help, solved the problem of booth parts by picking tall, overgrown grasses from both commons and fairground.  Nore worked it over into fine woodlike boards, both light and strong.  

Nore, pointing proudly at our beautifully appointed booths and said, “It was lucky for us, really, that the pony selling lumber for making booths had such shoddy wood.  It made us look at using grass-wood, like we do for instruments and caravan sides and tops!  Our booths look better than any of the others that are set up so far!”

Glancing up the Midway, I nodded. “That is certainly true!  It looks like we are ready for tomorrow’s fair.  What is for dinner?”

Like a conjurer doing a trick, Nore and Sando produced trays with an array of sweet nettle and clover buns.  They had three dipping sauces for them.  Along side, to complete things was a perfectly huge pot of tea!

We were all gathered around eating our sweet buns and drinking the tea when Council Pony Foulip strode up self-importantly and declared, “Fair don’t open till tomorrow!  You can’t go selling that stuff yet!”

Maina looked up at him and said, “Sell what?  Ordinary food like this?  This is just our dinner.  It is better than a pony made wheel but not much.  What we sell for the fair will be good!”

I could see his mouth watering at our dinner.  “No, Foulip.  You may not have any of our dinner.  Go home to eat, make your own, or buy your dinner from a restaurant.  As you pointed out, earlier, we can’t sell it yet and you have been rude.

“Royal Road Law allows us privacy in our camp, which this is until fair opening tomorrow.”

We finished up with the food. The mares broke out the instruments.  We had THREE lyres now.  Nore had managed to slip another one past my scrutiny.  This one was pretty big.  It had a deeper, sweeter voice than any of the others, so far.  There were several sorts and sizes of flutes to work with too.

The regular evening dancing and singing began.

Shortly, I noticed something.  We had watchers.  Ponies were gathered all about, where they could hear and see.  They were drawn by the loud trills, exotic music, and the brilliant sashes swirling in the firelight.

If it was an omen of things to come, it was  good one.  The day of the fair dawned clear and fine. Nore, Malit and Sarel took the center of our cul-de-sac with Rom and Sando playing flute and lyre.

I was busy at the snack booth.  I set out straight nettle and other baked travel rations, with dipping sauces.  I ground nettle cake flour and Phapa helped to shape and bake the dough.  Maina was busy making up toppings and tea.  Nore had made up a lot of her paper like stuff into cone shaped cups for tea.

Business was brisk.  That is putting it mildly.  We had to open a second chest of travel rations well before noon!  The mares were taking turns at single dances, so that they could rest.

Nore was resting in the food booth to be close to me.  I liked that too, truth be told.  I watched her serve a cup to a cute little filly with bows in her mane and forelock.  

A big pony hoof struck the cup from the filly’s grip!  Foulip demanded, “You gets your snacks up at my booth.  Got spring water and my secret recipe hay twists!”

The filly started to cry, “Don’t have no coppers left!  You spilt my drink!  You owes me my drink!”

Nore, face grim, reached out and touched Foulip’s shoulder lightly.  He squalled in pain as his hoof dangled uselessly.

I gave my wife an amazed look.  A constable charged up.

Foulip started to yap, “Arrest that … thing!  She assaulted me!  Look at my leg!  I done nothing to her and she attack me!”

The constable was not entirely stupid, to my delight.  He asked Nore, “Ma'am, what did happen here?”

Foulip cut across, “I told you! Now haul her off!”

He turned and slapped manacles onto Foulip.  “Sir, I will arrest you if I have another interruption while I am asking my questions.”

Nore, nodded at the constable’s action and said, “What happened was a violation of fair rules. Unless I misunderstood what they are.  It is an offense to interfere with the trade of other booths, exhibits or performers.  He assaulted the little filly here, knocking her fresh bought drink from her hooves.   He tried to send her away from our booth.  It looked like he was about to physically strike her.  To defend the young one, I used the Gyptian Death Touch on his shoulder.  You came to investigate.”

“Gyptian Death Touch?  Is he going to be OK?”

“He will be fine, Constable. He will recover in about an hour.  If I wanted to kill him I would have touched him near his heart or up higher on his neck.”

The constable crouched down to be on the filly’s level and asked, “Did it happen the way that she told me or the way that other pony told me?”

Blubbering a bit, she replied, “He spilled my tea drink.  He say I got to buy water from him but I got no more copper.”

The constable nodded and told her, “I am sorry about your drink.  I am going to take him away. It is all that I am allowed to do.”

TO BE CONTINUED

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[btshogwartsauheadcanons]

The Chaos Next Door (pt. 3, continued)

“Can’t you just say ‘Congratulations’?”

“Congratulations!!!”

“That didn’t sound at all sarcastic,” Taehyung said sarcastically.

“Well, what are you going to do about it now?” Jungkook asked.

“Yoongi invited me to go to a café with him with good hot chocolate,” Taehyung explained. “Should I… confess then?”

“Confess when you feel like confessing,” Jungkook said.

“When did you confess to Jimin?” Taehyung asked.

“Like, when we were riding the biggest rollercoaster in the park, right when it started.”

“Great timing.”

“Hey, I felt that it was the right moment,” Jungkook protested. “And Jimin kissed me right when we were on the loop-de-loop. Rollercoaster kisses are quite thrilling.”

“Aish, you two are too cute,” Taehyung chuckled. He himself couldn’t quite imagine kissing Yoongi on a rollercoaster.

“You’ll know when it’s the right time,” Jungkook said.

“I guess…” Taehyung nodded.

“Oh, hold on. I think Jimin’s calling me too.”

“Don’t keep your man waiting!” Taehyung giggled. “See you, Jungkook.”

“Good luck with Yoongi!” Jungkook added before hanging up. Taehyung smiled again, imagining the excitement on his best friend’s face, before putting down the phone. It felt good finally saying what had been pent up in his chest for so long. But that still didn’t quite undo the tangle of worries in his head about Yoongi. Even though Taehyung pretty much realized his feelings for him already, he knew Yoongi must still be in a lot of mental turmoil because of his accident. He may not appear so depressed now, but Taehyung could still tell he was a boat marooned far away from the shore.

Maybe confessing soon wasn’t the right time. Taehyung didn’t want to further complicate things in Yoongi’s head. But for some reason, Taehyung didn’t feel quite restless about not being able to tell Yoongi about how he felt. The two of them were neighbors after all, and right now, Taehyung still enjoyed those moments with Yoongi in his apartment doing chores that he normally hated doing.

Yeah, it still felt like he had all the time in the world.

…

Dressing up with only one hand was hard. But now, Yoongi realized that dressing up nicely to go out using only one hand was even harder.

“Damn it,” Yoongi cursed out loud when he found out he unbuttoned his shirt wrong again. With one hand, he angrily undid all his buttons and went back to the closet to see if he had something else that was good to wear that didn’t have so many damn buttons. All the other nice things he had to wear were the suits he put on for his competitions. He couldn’t exactly wear that to a simple café outing. But then again, Kim Taehyung probably would.

Finally, his eyes landed on a dark green, turtleneck sweater he received from Seokjin for his birthday. Judging by the tag that was still on the clothes, Yoongi hadn’t worn it yet. ‘Well, there’s a first time for everything,’ he thought, taking off his button-down shirt and pulling the sweater over his head. He looked at himself in the mirror.

Seokjin must have really thought this present through because Yoongi found himself liking the sweater. The color wasn’t any of his usual black or white, basically Seokjin’s way of adding any other color to Yoongi’s wardrobe, but the dark green was something that he liked. Not too bright or loud. The sweater seemed to be the right size too since it didn’t completely swallow him up either and it went well with the black, skinny jeans he was wearing.

Satisfied with how his clothes look, Yoongi ran a comb through his hair to fix it a bit before finally putting on some earrings. Having about three piercings in each ear was one of his little ways of rebelling against his parents. Finally, he deemed himself ready and stayed in the living room to wait for Taehyung.

It didn’t take long before Yoongi heard a knock on the door which caused him to stand up a bit too eagerly to answer it.

“Hey, did you have to wait long?” Taehyung greeted with a slightly anxious smile on his face. He was wearing blue, denim jeans and a teal shirt with a white jacket on top that had really cool paint splatter designs. He also had on a dark blue beret hat. Again, not something Yoongi saw himself wearing personally but Taehyung really did manage to pull it off.

“No, I just finished changing too,” Yoongi shook his head and stepped out of the apartment before locking the door behind him. “So, shall we go then?”

“Sure!” Taehyung grinned enthusiastically and the two of them started walking. “Oh, almost forgot.” He paused and pulled out a pair of shades. “As much as I love of my fans, they do kind of get into your personal space.”

“That’s understandable,” Yoongi nodded. “You can borrow this too if you want,” he said, handing him a face mask that he kept in his pocket.

“Sad that I’ll have to cover up my handsome face,” Taehyung sighed, taking the mask from Yoongi and putting it on.

“You don’t have to completely cover your face,” Yoongi muttered. Taehyung smirked at him.

“Why? Want to see more of it?” he teased. Yoongi felt himself blush and quickly walked ahead.

“Do whatever you want! I’ll start catching a bus.” Behind him, Taehyung laughed and walked quickly to catch up.

The two of them managed to quickly board a bus and, since there weren’t that many people around, Taehyung didn’t have to wear the mask Yoongi lent him. Not that Yoongi completely minded since he himself couldn’t imagine being that famous to the point where he had to hide in pubic to avoid being approached so often.

Talking to Taehyung was never tiring either. Even though they haven’t known each other for so long, Yoongi found his more talkative side being drawn out as he chatted with Taehyung. He was quite a good listener too. Even though Taehyung often had a blank look on his face while listening to Yoongi, he didn’t drift away from the conversation at all. After worrying for practically the whole night about how awkward things might be with Taehyung when they went out, Yoongi found himself relaxing instead at how easy things were going.

“Not a lot of people come over to this café so you can leave your mask off too,” Yoongi suggested as soon as they stepped out of the bus, directly in front of the café.

“’Cityscape,’” Taehyung looked up and read aloud the title. “Ahh! I get it. ‘City’ and ‘escape’, right?” he grinned proudly.

“Congratulations, you have proven that you do indeed have ten brain cells,” Yoongi clapped slowly and walked ahead into the café.

“Come on, don’t be mean like that,” Taehyung chuckled and chased after him.

Inside, the café itself had a simple, minimalistic, black-and-white aesthetic with some pops of gray, yellow, and dark red. Kind of like a city, considering the name of the café of course. What Yoongi liked the best were the watercolor paintings of cityscapes, the skyline of Seoul sketched onto the white walls, and the elegant, black piano that rested against the wall at the far end of the café.

Yoongi smiled at the employees behind the counter, Mr. Sangmin and Ms. Sonyeo, who both knew him as a regular visitor, and went ahead to sit at his usual spot near the piano. Meanwhile, Taehyung followed slowly behind him, admiring the aesthetic of the café. His eyes lingered over the art pieces and he ran his fingers over some of the wall sketches before finally sitting down at the table beside Yoongi. Even so, Yoongi noticed that Taehyung’s eyes never quite stopped roaming the interiors of the café and he smiled to himself, glad to see that he was right in thinking that Taehyung would enjoy the place.

“Are you two ready to order?” Mr. Sangmin asked, approaching their table.

“Just the usual for me,” Yoongi said.

“One americano and one vegetable sandwich,” Mr. Sangmin nodded.

“Any recommendations?” Taehyung asked, looking up at Yoongi.

“The cinnamon-spiced hot chocolate here is really good. I tried it once,” Yoongi said.

“I’ll have that one then,” Taehyung told Mr. Sangmin. “And the berries cheesecake.”

“Hey, it’s lunchtime. Eat proper food too,” Yoongi nagged.

“Fine, I’ll have the same sandwich as his then,” Taehyung added.

“Alright, please wait a few minutes for your order to be completed,” Mr. Sangmin bowed once before leaving Yoongi and Taehyung alone.

“I can kind of see why you like this place,” Taehyung said, looking around the place again. “There aren’t too many people inside and the designs and art are nice to look at when you some time to think. Not to mention the fact that this probably looks like the inside of your wardrobe,” he added, grinning.

“Hey, I did a wardrobe change today,” Yoongi said, gesturing at his sweater.

“I noticed,” Taehyung chuckled. “It looks good on you. But you know, I bet you could pull off pastel colors too.”

“That will be the day when you decide to wear a plain t-shirt and jeans outside,” Yoongi rolled his eyes.

“I’m willing to make a trade,” Taehyung raised an eyebrow.

“In your dreams, Kim Taehyung.”

“Your drinks,” Mr. Sangmin said, appearing with his tray. “One americano and one cinnamon-spiced hot chocolate.” He laid down two steaming mugs in front of them. “The sandwiches will be ready in a few minutes,” he added before leaving.

“Wow, this smells amazing,” Taehyung said, leaning over to sniff his hot chocolate.

“It tastes amazing too,” Yoongi added, blowing on his coffee before taking a sip. “I tried it once for a bit of a sugar rush and it really hit the spot.”

“Hey! We should take a picture together,” Taehyung exclaimed, pulling out his phone. “And we’re against the pretty art against the wall too so it’s perfect!”

“I’m not much of a social media person,” Yoongi backed away slightly. “And you probably have a million followers on Instagram or Twitter or whatever so…”

“I’m not posting this,” Taehyung shook his head. “I just want to keep it for myself and look back on it.” Yoongi paused for a while, considering this, before taking out his phone as well.

“In that case, I want a picture too,” he said. Taehyung grinned and held out his phone with the camera ready. Yoongi leaned in slightly towards Taehyung and smiled as he took the picture.

“Want me to do yours?” Taehyung offered. Yoongi nodded and handed him his phone before they took a picture again. This time, Taehyung made a funny face so Yoongi decided to join in and flash his signature gummy smile.

“Aww, I kind of want this picture more,” Taehyung pouted as he looked at the image on Yoongi’s phone.

“No problem, I’ll send it to you later,” Yoongi said and resumed drinking his coffee.

“Really?” Taehyung grinned excitedly.

“Sure,” Yoongi nodded, looking at the picture again on his phone. He never really took selfies but maybe he wouldn’t mind so much if it was with him and Taehyung.

…

Their sandwiches arrived a few minutes later, along with the berries cheesecake that Taehyung more than willingly shared with Yoongi. A few people came and went in the café but none that seemed to recognize who he or Gamer V was. Taehyung was thankful for that, he didn’t quite want anyone interrupting them.

“So, one more week until you get to remove the bandages,” Taehyung said. Both of their drinks, and the refills they ordered to pass the time, were long gone. It was mid-afternoon and only two middle school students were in the café.

“Yeah,” Yoongi nodded, running a finger lightly over the bandaged portion of his hand. “I think I’ve forgotten how to eat and dress up with both hands now,” he joked.

“I’ll kind of miss being able to just come and go in your apartment,” Taehyung sighed. “It’s nice seeing a place that is a lot less messy than mine.” Yoongi smiled at the joke and Taehyung felt as if the floor was falling beneath them again. ‘And I’ll miss spending more time with you,’ he thought. He would miss those times when Yoongi chose not to leave the kitchen or the laundry room when Taehyung was busy taking care of things and the meaningless, casual conversations they shared together.

“You can still drop by of course,” Yoongi said, looking up at him. “After everything you’ve done for me, you’re more than welcome to come over. If you’re not busy of course.” He paused and his gaze turned down at the table. “I know I won’t be busy any time soon.”

“You still don’t feel like playing the piano?” Taehyung asked. For a second, Yoongi glanced at the black piano against the wall right beside them.

[xaz-fr]

The Kite Maker pt 1/2

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@tales-around-sornieth

Sometimes she had dreams where it felt like she was watching someone else. But it was her. But it wasn’t. The scenes were familiar in the way that places in dreams were familiar but she had no names for the places she saw, the dragons she met. They all called her by her name and knew her. They smiled when they saw her or bowed their heads low in respect. Even the largest Imperials would sometimes bend their great heads for her. But it wasn’t her. She knew it wasn’t her because when she woke up she knew it wasn’t her.

Nadalin roused herself from where she’d drifted off in the shade of her bamboo stand. Above the wind was gently tossing the tall grass back and forth making the leaves rustle and she could hear the twinkling of her wind chimes down the pathway. She yawned and rubbed her eyes. The dream again. It filled her with longing. Where was that place? Who were those dragons? Who was she?

“Nadalin, Nadalin,” she heard someone calling her and she got to her feet. She left her scroll behind. She’d get it later. She walked down the wooden path to where the bamboo opened out to the clearing she’d cut away and kept well tended where her home was and her tools. Helida was dozing on one of the support beams that held up her home in the sun, the flower on her tail in full bloom in the open sun. “Nadalin,” the call came from around the cabin.

“Yes, I’m here,” she called back.

An elegant black and white rosette pearlcatcher half-encrusted with pink gems came around the bend. Her horn was a solid pink crystal that was slightly translucent and glittered in the midday light. Behind her was a humi man. At least she thought they were a man. Their form was lithe but did not belay one gender over the other but was slender with a swaying gait. A small frill of horns edged the side of their face but was lost amid a cascade of… pink. She’d never seen pink hair before. Nadalin supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised. Dragons came in all sorts and your humi shape was only what you desired it to be. Why else would Doubt decide to look so… like that.

“There you are,” Nila said delightfully. She was always so delightful, despite her condition.

“Yes, sorry, I fell asleep out in the stand,” Nadalin apologized. “I’m sorry, I don’t recognize you,” she said to the wildclaw.

“I’m a new resident I don’t blame you,” they said. “I am Sigurrós.”

“Sigurrós,” she said. They nodded. “Well, welcome to the Hall I suppose. Did you need me for something?” she asked Nila.

“Oh, yes,” Nila nodded. “Rosy here wanted to know if we had any kite makers in the Hall. He’s from an old Wind clan you see and he quite misses them. I told him about you and well, here we are,” she said helpfully.

“Oh. Ah. Yes,” Nadalin nodded slowly. “I wouldn’t say I’m particularly skilled but it’s a hobby,” she said with an awkward sort of laugh.

“Did you make that one?” Sigurrós asked and pointed at one she was in the process of making. It was half glued together and wasn’t even close to being finished. It was of a colorful fish and she was still in the process of constructing the head and painting it.

“Yes,” she said.

“Then you’re doing fine,” they said and beamed at her. That made her chest warm up happily.

“Well, I will leave you two to discuss,” Nila said.

“Thank you, Nila,” Sigurrós said with a grateful smile.

“Of course, dear. Any time,” she waved at Nadalin and went on her way. She didn’t fly. Her back legs were too unstable for a proper landing so she could never fly again.

“So, you want a kite?” Nadalin asked Sigurrós awkwardly.

“Yes,” they nodded. “My old employer used to have several magnificent ones outside of his shop. They were huge things made by old Wind dragons. I’m not asking for anything quite so elaborate,” they added quickly seeing her unease. “I just want something fun and colorful to brighten up this dreary swamp,” they huffed.

She giggled a little, “I think I can provide. Do you have anything specific in mind?”

“A flower, maybe? If you can manage it? I love flowers.”

“Alright,” she nodded.

“And… is your name really Nadalin?” they asked her.

“Yes.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, how’d you get that name?”

“It’s always been my name. Johanna named me, I think,” she shrugged. “Why?”

Sigurrós looked conflicted. In the end they just shrugged, “No reason,” they said with a smile. “It’s just interesting.”

“So is Sigurrós,” she teased.

They laughed. “Yeah,” they grinned. “Rosy is fine, Sigurrós is a bit of a mouthful you know?”

“Alright, Rosy,” she said. “Do you have any colors in mind? Size maybe? Do you want to be able to control the kite or is it just supposed to hang out in the sky indefinitely?”

“Pink, I like pink,” they said. She wasn’t terribly surprised. “And I guess fairly large. I want it to sort of act like a sign so the others know where I am. Jessabelle and Aya have already complained to me that through a bramble patch and obsidian berry bushes is no place for a home like mine, who cares that it’s in a clearing they can’t see it from the sky,” they sighed. “So I figure a big, pretty, kite would do just fine to help them find it from the air. That’s how my old clan would make important buildings, with impressive kites.”

“Nila said you were from an old Wind clan?”

“Oh yes. One of the oldest.”

“Wow. Why did you come here?”

Rosy had a lost look on his face, “Um… well… it was—

“It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me if it’s difficult,” she said.

“Oh. Okay. Thanks. It isn’t something easily spoken about.”

“That’s okay. You don’t have to.” There was an awkward moment of silence between them. “Well! I should get started on that kite for you. I’ll bring it to you when it’s done. How about that?”

“Yeah, that sounds great,” Rosy said, also a bit awkward. “Just ask Aya if you can’t find it. She might complain but she knows the way.”

“I will,” she nodded.

“Great. This is great. Thank you so much. I can’t wait to see what you make. I’ll see you soon.”

“You will,” Nadalin promised.

“Make stories,” Rosy said in an off handed manner like it was habit as they turned to go. They looked back at her, blushed a little and quickly took a few steps before their majestic pink wings snapped open and they flew away.

When they were gone Helida slid off her perch and fluttered over to land on Nadalin’s shoulder. “You shouldn’t talk too much to him,” she said.

“Huh?” she snapped her head over to look at the Nature sprite. “Why not?”

“Just trust me on this,” Helida said, her antenna quivering, brows drawn over her rich green eyes almost in annoyance. “Make his kite, don’t affiliate with him.”

“Helida, you’re being silly. They seemed very nice. Not like some of the other members of the Hall. We could always use more friends.” Helida just made an annoyed noise. “Either way I have to go see them once more to give them their kite. Don’t be such a brat.”

“It is easier this way,” Helida said.

“And you’re being cryptic again,” she brushed the guardian sprite off her shoulder. Helida immediately took flight and hovered next to her. “I’m going to do some drawing, want to model with that pretty flower of yours?” she asked and gave her tail a little tug.

“Sure,” Helida said and followed Nadalin over to her outside desk. She got out her charcoal and inks and found some paper that had enough free space to work on and started drawing the flower at the end of Helida’s tail to learn how flowers worked for Rosy’s kite.

[darkhymns-fic]

No Other Place

To a young Lloyd, the dwarf looked to be a bear, ready to eat noisy children like him.

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters: Lloyd Irving, Dirk Rating: G Mirror Links: AO3, FF.net Notes: Written for Tales of Symphonia Week 2017, for Oct 8 - A Place to Call Home. (Thanks so much for creating this event!)

“Stay wary of bears,” his mother once said to him, tucking him among the leaves, for blankets were only a luxury. But his parents’ arms were warm enough, and he enjoyed feeling the sun on his face at dawn, slipping through the boughs that shielded his family from above. “They are always looking for food, and noisy children catch their attention. So you must always be quiet when we travel, Lloyd.” And such warnings were lightened with hugs and kisses to his forehead, so that he didn’t go to sleep with fear.

Yet the man who carried him reminded him of such a bear. His arms were as thick as tree trunks, and his steps made deep prints into the wet soil as the rain continued to pour that night. With his little body tired, and his head swimming with foreign sounds, Lloyd let himself be carried by this bear that had been drawn to his cries.

“Oh? I’m a bear, am I?” spoke the man once Lloyd was fully awake. The place he was in now was like a cave – a bear’s cave where the walls were of earth instead of wood, and where the ceiling was low for creatures that rarely needed to stand. The man smiled, showing flat teeth instead of fangs, although he had dark fur that covered the lower part of his face. “Well, I’m a nice bear!”

This bear was not in want of food. He even fed Lloyd, giving him a filling meal of oatmeal and berries out of clay bowls. Occasionally scratching at his bandages while he ate, Lloyd stared at this creature. He had on thick gloves that covered his hands, and wondered if claws were hiding away in there. Yet the bear-man had ruffled his hair before, and he had felt nothing sharp brush against his scalp then.

He was tying up bundles of cut wood together, just a few feet away from the door. Lloyd wiped his mouth, wide-eyed at the amount, at the way the bear-man heaved such heavy wood outside and into the cart that was near. From not too far off, he could hear Noishe whine, still laying near the home that seemed to be carved straight into a mountain. The dog would not leave his position, healing away wounds that young Lloyd could not place how they came to be.

“What are you doing?” he asked the bear-man. He kept his distance still, mindful of this person’s strength.

“I’m building a home for us.” He tugged at a knot, tightening it further so that it stayed rooted to the top of the cart. There was no mule or horse to help lug it along – not like those farmers Lloyd would see when his family would pass through a village. “Humans like you are not meant for a dwarf’s abode.”

Human? So that means he really was a bear if he called him that! Lloyd watched as the bear-man went to the front of the cart, grabbed both outward spokes in his hands and started dragging the cart behind him. The wheels made deep tracks in the road, but the bear-man showed little strain as he pulled.

Lloyd followed along. His shirt was still torn across the torso from before (What was before? All he remembered was darkness and rain) and the scrapes on his knees continued to sting, even with the care the bear-man showed him. The cart lumbered over every stray stone or dip in the road, but it continued forward, its speed staying consistent.

It wasn’t a long traveling. The forest path they took soon opened into a wide glade, one that looked to have been recently cleared. There was the peppering of tree stumps around, with brush and leaves having been swept to the outer ridges. A stream was running nearby, cutting into the earth in a long, sinuous shape. Lloyd rushed to that stream, hands on the soft bank as he leaned forward. The waters reflected his face; one such bandage pressed against the side of his head, with smudges of dirt still plastered around his cheeks. The bear-man had done his best trying to clean him, but Lloyd’s tears had been unending, and it was all his caretaker could do to calm him down to sleep while also still dressing his wounds.

There was the plunk of hammer and nail, catching Lloyd’s attention. Some of the wood from the cart was lessened. The sun was bright, beating down on the bear-man’s back. Lloyd did his best to blink away the brightness, trying to understand the sky better without the comforting shield of tree branches (or when it was dark, held together by pinpricks of white as he rode another’s shoulders).

“Am I living with you?” he asked suddenly, careful enough to not be near the other working. There were tools on the ground; of saws and pliers, of nails, dividers, and hammers so heavy and large, they needed to be wielded two-handed by any regular man. All of them were well-used and had seen their share of construction. The bear-man handled them as easily as his father did with his sword.

“Why, I cannot leave a young lad like you to fend for yerself, can I?” The bear-man shook his head with a deep, but heartful laugh. If this was how bears sounded, they didn’t seem as scary as Lloyd once thought.

And what about mommy and daddy? But Lloyd didn’t ask, was afraid to ask. He sat on the ground, clenching the grass between his tiny fists. He watched without understanding how the bear-man built, but he did. He watched the other coax the wood to stay in place, for the ground to stay steady, for the tools to work to his whim. The rhythm of clanging metal and foot stomps, and the texture of that wood being carved stayed with Lloyd long after that day, replacing the darkness and rain.

“But ya don’t have to stay forever,” the bear-man told him, snapping him away from the calm he felt. The sounds of construction were already drowning out the memories of soft crickets he would once listen to, late at night, when his mother’s lullabies weren’t enough. “I know how humans are. Always wandering from place to place, needing to live out everything they can. Not like us dwarves. We’re as content as the stones in the earth to be where we are for years to come.”

Lloyd looked back into the forest, imagining if that’s where his parents had gone. Wandering the world, without him. But why without him?

“Still, until then, I hope to give you a place to call home, for at least a little while.” A swift clapping of hands against the knees, brushing up a cloud of dust from his work – from the dirt, from the freshly-cut lumber, from the sweat that must have been soaking his clothes from working all day in the sun with little shade.

Lloyd, wrenching his eyes away from the trees, watched the other turn to him with that wide smile. A flash of white broke through the fur – the beard – on the man’s face, large hands placed on his hips. “I’m sure no other bear can offer ya the same! Ha ha ha!”

The voice was deep and thrumming, and it made Lloyd’s ears sing from the sheer resonance. But after hours of weeping and confusion, his felt his own face stretch, making his head feel light. Besides the laughter, there was only the water’s eternal flowing behind him, and the soft rush of the trees from the breeze to offset the sun’s heat.

At some point, wanderlust will come to you. I don’t blame you for wanting that. It’s just like you humans, after all.

Lloyd took his time to pack. Not that he had many things to bring along, besides his whittling tools and camping supplies, yet as the time neared to leave, his hands slowed. He didn’t hesitate as much when he had chased after Colette and the others, but now, with the world larger than ever, there was something comfortable about this one place in his known universe, where the walls had been polished with care, and where preserved fruit in their jars were always sitting in the cabinets for a hungry boy.

“Lloyd! Not like you to be hanging about when an adventure’s waiting fer ya! Unless school’s involved!”

Lloyd raised his head, finding Dirk coming back through the front door after another morning of weeding the garden. “I’m just making sure I got everything!”

“Ay, is that all?” Dirk grinned at his son. “Not already feeling homesick?”

“How can I be if I’m still here at home?”

The dwarf only shook his head at such an answer. “Well, ya got nothing to worry about. As long as ya have your friend, and my sword.”

That was something that Lloyd knew intimately, though he still had trouble tightening the knot on his knapsack. His eyes kept roving across the hardwood floors. He had tripped over by those small steps constantly when he was ten years of age, rushing to get his breakfast. He had sat by that corner there, watching the dwarf work on his commissions, until he would see finished swords, armor, trinkets and figurines lay neatly on a mat on the floor, ready to be handled with care towards their destination.

He swung the knapsack over his shoulder, testing the secureness of his swords. “I’ll just say goodbye to mom first, then…” He paused.

Dirk patted the boy’s back, making Lloyd cough from the strength of it. “Remember, lad? We’re like rocks beneath the earth. We won’t move from our place. Unless there’s a world-altering event.” He laughed then, as if at a great joke. “And even then! Here your home still stands.”

This house might as well have been made from stone for how long it stood, how no part of it went to wear and tear. The door’s hinges were still strong and well-oiled as he walked out, looking past the running stream that would lull him to sleep when he left the balcony door open. His eyes then strayed to the trees, where the sky was hidden, where it was easy for one to get lost in.

I’ll still be here for ya, Lloyd, even when you’re an old man and gray hairs are sprouting from your head. You will always have a place here.

He turned around to engulf the dwarf in a tight hug, one that caught the other off-guard. “Now, what’s this all about?” Yet swarthy arms met across his back, his pats a bit less rough this time. “I’m not the one flying away!”

On those days when Dirk would teach the young boy his Dwarven Vows, those sayings of a people hidden away but whose traditions had surfaced through his foster father’s dedication, he would remind him often. This was his home. This was where he can always rest his head. Lloyd, having only known the world as far as Iselia, could not at first imagine why he would leave in the first place.

“Ya remember what I taught ya though?”

“Yeah.” Lloyd quickly wiped his eyes; not that Dirk would ever reprimand him for showing his heart, but so he could look upon the dwarf more clearly. “Let’s all work together for a peaceful world, right?”

“Of course, but also…” Dirk handed over a folded map to Lloyd, which had been forgotten back at the dinner table. “Never forget the basics!”

Lloyd was too happy to even feel a little chagrined by his mistake. “Thanks, dad.” He stepped back then, his grin matching his father’s. Even at his taller height, Dirk would always be that bear to hear his cries, to carry him away from danger and build a roof over his head. What other bear in the world could ever say the same?

“…You forgot one other vow though.”

“Ay? Well, that be a first!”

Lloyd took a moment, looking over the house one more time – the balcony above, the stable to the side, the flower pots hanging from the awning. “There’s no place like home!”

Dirk paused, then laughed – that same laughter from years ago, and still sent Lloyd’s ears singing. “Of course! I’ll make sure to keep the fireplace stoked for when ya come home, lad.”

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