#and when when the years passed and the tea room closed and the Fringe moved in they wouldn't move till they finished their scones

[the-busy-ghost]

I think one of the things that’s best (and weirdest) about Edinburgh is that it feels like every single event that’s ever happened in that city could hypothetically be going on at once, especially at night. Like past eras never left, they just tutted disapprovingly, moved up a little and then continued their conversations as the present awkwardly squeezed itself into the next space.

There’s a specific vibe it gives off like, theoretically, there could be old ladies from the 1930s gossiping in tearooms on Princes Street while at the same time fifteenth century alewives haggle at the mercat cross in the old High Street. On a dark February night David Rizzio is murdered while bodysnatchers sneak out of the Calton graveyards and in Leith a modern family tuck into their chips with salt and sauce in front of the tv. 1960s folk singers pass up the Canongate on horseback like the lords riding to parliament three hundred years earlier. A sixteenth century nobleman could be face down in the cellar of a pub in the Grassmarket at any given moment, with a skye terrier nosing hopefully around him for crumbs, even while the crowd over by the bar erupts at the sight of Tony Stanger bringing the ball down over the try line and clinching the Grand Slam. You could walk down the Vennel or Warriston’s Close alone and yet somehow feel like you could be passing the ghosts of merchants and tapsters and poets and soldiers, all going about their business without even noticing you. Glasgow is a city in motion and Stirling has its history in the traditional sense, but if New York is the city that never sleeps, Edinburgh is the city that never quite got round to dying. 

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

Prompt idea: Geralt gets a contract for a monster that has been sighted nearby. When he tracks it down, he is surprised to find mothman!Jaskier who (much like actual mothman) has an ass that won’t quit.

?

I just want you to know that Mothskier now lives in my head rent free 24/7. I love him. I would die for him. This is my new favorite emotional support au.

2k-ish words - please feel free to shove comments through the bars of my enclosure, I would really like that

art by the ever-wonderful @mawbwehownets, whose drawing of Mothskier made me legit cry.

tw: mild injury, brief blood mention, strangers to lovers

---

“So what you’re saying,” Geralt raises an eyebrow slowly, curious, “Is that you need me to catch a monster that’s half man and half moth?”

“Yup.”

“Alright,” Geralt pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and pointer finger. The frustrated Witcher takes a slow breath to calm and center himself, before he ends up botching the entire contract-writing process. Humans tend to grow attached to the strangest monsters sometimes, and apparently this mysterious local being was no different. “Let me get this totally straight, so there are no mistakes or misunderstandings. You want me to capture this man-moth and get it out of your woods, but you don’t want me to kill it?”

“He’s called the Mothman, and he’s pretty damn stubborn about sticking around,” the aging farmer corrects Geralt with a little frown. Then his expression shifts and he smiles in a way that seems almost apologetic. “We were hoping you could find a way to relocate him without hurting or killing him, Master Witcher.”

“That’s completely possible, if he isn’t attached to this specific patch trees by any magical or biological means. You said his natural habitat is just… the forest?”

“As long as there's an abundance of pine around he seems pretty happy. Before he came to live with us, Mothman lived in a heavily forested area up the coast; or at least that’s what the historical records and local mythology seem to indicate.”

“That’s actually pretty helpful information to have on hand, I’m impressed,” Geralt nods. “Alright, Mr. Stevens. I promise to relocate the poor thing without killing or maiming him, and I’ll be sure to take him somewhere far enough away that your crops won’t be in danger. Thanks for calling me first instead of just going straight to an extermination service.”

“Honestly, Master Witcher,” the farmer sighs and readjusts his dirty baseball hat, “If it weren’t for the mischief he’s been getting into lately, we would have let him stick around until spring. I hate to admit it to a man as strong and stern-faced as yourself, but the poor creature is almost… adorable at times.”

“Well that’s a first,” Geralt chuckles, honestly amused by the situation he’s found himself in. “A monster being referred to as ‘adorable’ rather than ‘terrifying’. I’ve never heard such a thing in my many years of life.”

“Then you’d better prepare yourself, Sir Geralt. He’s got a pair of big blue puppy-dog eyes that’ll knock you on your ass if you aren’t careful. And that’s coming from a man who raised three daughters with dimples.”

“Hmm. Fuck.”

---

Geralt knows enough about moths to come up with a plan he thinks will work.

Before he heads into the woods to find and capture the poor wandering creature, the Witcher takes a detour through the lighting section of the nearest Lowe’s.

---

Unfortunately for Geralt, the farmer was right about the power of Mothman’s puppy dog eyes, which are big and blue and begin to water as soon as the Witcher’s net knocks him to the ground. The creature lies in a whimpering tangle of limbs beneath the heavy, magically enhanced restraints. Geralt takes an opportunity to look at what the locals called "a cryptid".

Mothman has a long, lithe body that's covered in a light layer of grey-brown fur, but his hair resembles that of a human’s, falling over those enormous blue eyes in a lovely chestnut fringe. When Mothman sees the swords on Geralt’s back he cries out in panicked recognition and tries to pull his arms up far enough to shield his face. The lamp Geralt used to lure him into the clearing is still bathing him in a pool of yellow light; it’s almost pretty for a monster, Geralt notes.

As the Witcher takes a step forward, the cryptid squeaks and buries his face against his own shoulder. His entire frame is trembling.

“Hey there, shhhhh,” the Witcher murmurs quietly. He drops into a squat and holds both hands up to show Mothman that they’re weapon free. Tears are now falling freely down the creature’s surprisingly human face; whoever or whatever this is, they are likely some kind of Fae. “I’m not here to hurt you, I just want to get you back through the veil.”

“Liar,” Mothman huffs. His voice has a surprisingly musical quality to it and Geralt is now sure of his Fae parentage (or grand-parentage).

“I promise I’m not lying,” Geralt reassures him, slowly crawling forward. When he reaches for the nearest corner of the net, he feels all of Mothman’s muscles go tense. “I’m going to lift this up and I am going to restrain you, but I swear that I’m not going to kill you. I wish to cause as little distress as possible. Is that alright, Mothman?”

The creature hisses and yanks his foot back away from where Geralt’s hand had nearly touched it. “Jaskier.”

“Hmm?” Geralt glances up, raising an eyebrow.

“My name is Jaskier,” the Fae repeats, glaring up from between the sections of woven rope that make up the heavy net. “Not Mothman.”

“My apologies, Jaskier,” Geralt bows his head. He words his introduction carefully, in case this thing can manipulate his name like others of his kind: “You may refer to me as Geralt.”

“That’s your real name,” Jaskier states. The Witcher’s head snaps up.

“How did you know?”

“Hmm,” Jaskier sticks his tongue out as he mimics the sound Geralt made earlier. “Not telli-AH! Stop! Oh go- gods, stop! Please!”

Geralt drops the short section of rope he’s trying untangle from around Jaskier’s ankle and snaps his eyes upwards, already searching for damage. “What’s wrong!?”

“My wing!” Jaskier bawls. His scent spikes out through the clearing, sharp with panic and pain. The creature’s chest begins to shake more violently than before, his shoulders shuddering with the rising force of his sobs, “It’s t-t-torn! Oh gods, my wing! Sir Witcher, p-please!”

Geralt freezes, his gaze settling on the torn section of Jaskier’s large, furry wing. It’s a nasty wound near one of the joints, a faint trickle of barely-luminescent blood has already dried around the edges. Jaskier tries to flutter it a little and screams in agony when the muscles shift too suddenly, shrilly enough that Geralt needs to cover his hypersensitive ears. The Witcher's heart crashes down into his boots; based on the way the shivering Fae has gone pale and silent, the pain is too much for him to process. He’s gone into shock.

A torn wing is exactly the kind of thing Geralt had promised the farmer (and the collective of townspeople he represented) wouldn’t happen to the peaceful moth creature if they hired a Witcher instead of an exterminator. He sighs and gives the strange being another once-over. “Everything's alright, Jaskier. You’re going to be alright. I’m so, so sorry that you've been wounded. We’ll get you out of this net and get you something for the pain, but it’s going to hurt a little to untangle you. Stay still, don’t struggle, and it’ll be over soon.”

“J-Just kill me,” Jaskier pants. He’s continuing to hyperventilate and Geralt needs him to calm down before he passes out. The Fae reaches a hand for the dagger at Geralt's waist and the Witcher twists out of reach with a frown. Jaskier sobs again, fingers still seeking, “I might n-n-never fly a-again so just k-kill me!”

“Breathe with me, Jaskier,” the Witcher instructs, forgoing patience and cutting through the net with that same dagger. He scoops Jaskier up into his arms, ignoring the keening sound at the back of Jaskier’s throat when his wing is jostled, and rushes the Fae to his truck, tucking him into the passenger’s seat and wrapping him in a large, fluffy blanket. “I’m taking you to my friend. She’s an expert at healing magical creatures and I'm certain that she'll get your wing fixed in no time.”

Jaskier doesn’t give an answer. When Geralt looks up into the creature’s face again, the injured Fae has already passed out.

---

Jaskier moves with all the grace of a newborn foal as he explores the room Geralt has provided for him. His wing has been inspected, treated, and bandaged by a rather scary sorceress named Yennefer, who glared at the Witcher the entire time she was caring for him. She had also taken one of Geralt’s old t-shirts and cut an enormous hole in the back for Jaskier’s wings to fit through. The shirt’s bottom hem falls to the middle of his thighs and the thick black material is softer than anything he’d ever felt before.

He hears a knock on the door and calls out, “It’s open!”

Geralt enters slowly, bearing a pair of pajama bottoms and a mug of tea. “I brought you some last minute supplies and - uh… I brought you some tea. Yen always likes some before she goes to sleep and I figured since this was a new place and new places can be scary that I should-”

“Thank you,” Jaskier interrupts, smiling shyly. His antennae twitch happily as he takes the offerings from Geralt's hands and the Witcher watches them with wide eyes. Jaskier carefully sets the pajamas and the tea on the nightstand before turning back to look at Geralt. “I will… see you tomorrow?”

Geralt gives one sharp nod. “Hmm.”

“Goodnight,” Jaskier sing-songs, taking a seat on the edge of the bed as Geralt exits.

From the other side of the closed door, Jaskier’s superior hearing picks up the Witcher’s final whisper: “Goodnight, Jaskier. I will always be sorry for causing you pain.”

The next morning he meets Geralt at the breakfast table, refreshed and ready to learn about the human world. He’s summoned a glamour in order to hide his more Moth-like traits, the only things that remain of his true nature are his wings and antennae; his fur is gone and he’s dressed in a pair of sweatpants and that same old shirt. The Witcher offers him a bowl of fruit and mug of something sweet-smelling. Jaskier glares into the mug with a slight pout to his lips before finally asking, “What is this?”

“Hot chocolate.”

Jaskier takes a sip and his antennae flutter, twitching happily as he swallows the best drink he’s ever had in his long life. He eats a strawberry from the bowl and slowly works his way through the hot chocolate, eyeing Geralt warily as the Witcher moves through the familiar kitchen to make his own breakfast.

“Where is Yennefer?”

“She went home,” Geralt shrugs.

“She isn’t your mate?”

“N-No,” Geralt sputters, turning to stare at the nervous young Fae. “Why would you think that?”

“You smell like each other.”

“We spend a lot of time together,” Geralt shrugs again. “Good friends, that’s all.”

“Hmm,” Jaskier mimics his host for a second time. Rather effectively by the annoyed twitch at the corner of Geralt’s mouth. “Just wondering.”

“Anything else you’re curious about?”

“Why don’t you have more lights?”

“Huh?”

“Lights,” Jaskier gestures around the minimalistic layout of Geralt’s open-concept kitchen/living room and its distinctive lack of lamps. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans forward against the dark marble countertop. The pout has gone from 'slight' to 'full-bore' and Geralt is clinging desperately to his braincell with how cute it looks. “It’s no fun.”

“You really like lamps, don’t you?” the Witcher replies, mouth dry. Jaskier huffs and takes another sip of his hot chocolate, antennae flickering back and forth in irritation. Geralt bites his lip to hide a smile; it’s too fucking cute, which is an odd thought for a Witcher to have.

“So what if I do enjoy a nice lamp or five in my living space?” Jaskier argues. "I'm a Moth of taste."

“No matter,” Geralt laughs quietly. “Finish your drink before it gets cold.”

---

Jaskier stays with Geralt for a few weeks while his wing heals, and for a creature whose sole interest seems to be fancy light fixtures, the Fae becomes a source of light in Geralt's own world. They go to a nonhuman friendly second-hand store to find Jaskier some more clothes and Geralt discovers the cryptid's love for oddly patterned shirts in bright colors. Jaskier chooses several to fill out his closet, as well as a sweater two-sizes too large in deep black (Geralt tries his best not to attach any meaning to this choice), a few pairs of pants, and a jean jacket that he declares, "Can be altered."

They watch movies together and make food together - Jaskier is always incredibly impressed by the way the automatic coffee maker works, and how easily Geralt can control the flames of the stove. Jaskier also follows the Witcher along on less dangerous hunts and helps bandage him up after worse ones, always there with a smile and a little kiss over the cleaned-up wound.

“It really is magic,” Jaskier always insists, lips pink and shining from licking them as he concentrates. "It makes you heal faster."

Geralt realizes one night - two weeks into Jaskier’s stay, as he leans against the doorframe and watches the strange creature’s even breathing - that he has gone and done the stupidest thing a Witcher can do: fall in love with a pretty, temperamental young Fae. Head over fuckin’ heels, actually.

So he makes a decision.

---

The next evening, after the dinner dishes have been cleaned and put away, Geralt herds Jaskier down the hall to the guest room. Those entrancing blue eyes blink up at him in obvious confusion. “Bedtime already?”

“No, not quite. I just- I made you… uh…”

“Do you have a surprise for me?” Jaskier asks, used to the Witcher's issues with verbalizing.

Geralt nods, relieved and thankful for the Fae’s steadfast understanding. “Do you want to cover your eyes or should I just open the door and show you?”

“I’ll close my eyes,” Jaskier smiles, covering his eyes with both hands. Geralt finds it adorable, as Jaskier always is, and allows himself a matching grin as he swings the door open. The ceiling light is off but Geralt has built a blanket fort at the center of the room and surrounded it with fairy lights of all colors and sizes. Inside the blanket fort is a mass of blankets and pillows; Jaskier has the odd habit of building nests - Geralt jokingly calls them cocoons - and sleeping in those on the floor instead of on the very comfortable mattress the Witcher has provided.

“Open them,” Geralt urges.

Jaskier pulls his hands away and Geralt watches as his pupils go huge and wide. Jaskier's face breaks out in the sunniest, most blindingly happy smile Geralt has ever seen. He turns and throws his arms around the Witcher, his wings fluttering behind him and his antennae twitching and flicking above his head. He tries desperately to speak but only manages a half-snuffled little “I’m-” before bursting into tears of joy.

Geralt just holds him, letting his arms fold carefully around Jaskier’s waist, just beneath his wings.

"I just wanted you to know that, if you wanted to stay, there would be room for you. Your room, if you want it."

"I do," Jaskier smiles, burying his face in the Witcher's neck. "I'd love to stay. I'd love nothing more than to spend my days going on adventures with you."

"Well then," Geralt gathers all of his courage and presses a soft kiss to the crown of Jaskier's head. He's met with happy spasms from the antennae so he does it again. And again. Moving from the top of the Fae's head to his cheeks and then his mouth - pretty and pink and pouting and so worth the trouble. "I suppose we can get started on our next adventure tomorrow."

[starlingflight]

The Way Ahead

A/N: Asked @floreatcastellumposts to give me a prompt to get me out of my writer’s block (If anyone else wants to send me a prompt, then please do!). She gave me ‘McGonagall finds out that Harry is an Auror’ and this was the result: 

Minerva sighed as she fell heavily into the chair behind her new desk. Her bones ached from weariness; she took a sip of her tea in order to suppress the yawn threatening to escape her. There was no time for rest. 

The parchment in front of her was so long the end of it snaked off the edge of the desk and trailed onto the rich carpet, the list of chores upon it stretching across the office. 

Minerva took her quill and began searching down the list, ticking off items which had been dealt with. Hagrid had managed to secure the Thestral herd this morning. Minerva tried not to think about how much longer that particular task may have taken if not for the increased number of volunteers who could now see the winged horses roaming the battle-scarred grounds of Hogwarts. 

She scratched her quill across the parchment, and scanned down the rest of the never ending list. The repairs of the castle were taking longer than expected, due in part, to the ancient magic holding much of the structure up. And creating a definitive list of which students would and would not be returning in the Autumn was proving rather difficult. Nobody, it appeared, was quite ready to think about the future just three short weeks after the fall of Voldemort. 

“I’m getting too old for this,” Minerva whispered, lifting her cup to take another sip. 

“Nonsense,” came a voice from behind her. Minerva jumped slightly, having forgotten once again that her new office came with an audience. “I should think there's still a few decades in you yet.” 

She did not bother responding to Albus’ remark, his portrait, it seemed, would be just as taxing as the man himself had been. 

Never mind that his tenure of the school had not started with the most devastating battle Hogwarts had seen in its long history, never mind that she would have to oversee a cohort of students who would be unable to walk the corridors without replaying scenes from said battle, never mind that a vast number of them were dealing with the loss of loved ones to Voldemort's tyranny. 

Minerva was pulled from her morose thoughts by a soft knock on the door. She bit back another sigh, mentally steeling herself for the next in a long line of problems she was sure was about to walk through her door.

“Enter.” 

The door opened slowly, almost tentatively, and a shock of untidy black hair appeared around it. 

“Good evening, Professor,” Harry Potter said politely. “Do you have a moment for me and Neville?” 

Minerva pressed her lips together, attempting to hold back a smile. She doubted there was a single witch or wizard in the country that couldn’t spare a minute for Harry these days. 

“Come in,” she said at once, gesturing to the two chairs in front of the desk as Harry and Neville entered her office. 

It had only been a week since she'd seen the pair of them last at Remus and Nymphadora’s funeral. Neither of them looked any better than they had then. Both of them had dark circles under their eyes as though they’d had trouble sleeping and a staid expression upon their faces which would look out of place on most teenagers. 

It was not their expressions, however, that caught Minerva’s attention, but the matching robes which the two young men were wearing, scarlet with gold fringe and the Ministry crest embossed upon their chests. 

“Am I to assume you’ve come to tell me you won’t be returning to school in September?” Minerva asked, directing a cup of tea to each of them with her wand. 

“We’ve joined the Aurors,” Neville said, though it was rather unnecessary given his attire. “We wanted to come and tell you ourselves.” 

There was a hint of uncertainty in Neville’s voice, his lip trembled slightly and Minerva was forcefully reminded of the young boy who had tripped on his way up to the sorting hat many years ago. 

“Kingsley asked us,” Harry added. “He said it didn’t matter about our N.E.W.Ts because we have real world experience.” 

Harry did not look uncertain in the way that Neville had. Minerva could not remember the last time Harry had looked unsure of himself, though she was sure it had been years ago at this point.

“A characteristically wise decision by our new Minister for Magic,” Minerva said honestly. “I, for one, will rest easier knowing the Auror department is being replenished with such worthy young men.” 

Neville spluttered slightly on the tea he’d been sipping. He lowered his cup to reveal his face had turned the same colour as his robes. Harry frowned down at his shoes, his expression not unlike the one he wore in her class when dealing with a particularly difficult transfiguration problem. 

“Gran’s quite pleased,” Neville said once he’d regained his composure. “She said my mum and dad would be proud.” 

A lump suddenly rose in Minerva’s throat, her hand trembled slightly where it gripped the delicate, china cup. Her thoughts were cast back almost eighteen years. 

It was an unbearably stifling summer day, the muggy sort of weather which made Minerva want to do little more than retreat to her office with her books and a well-aimed cooling charm. Today, however, she had other plans. 

She knocked softly on the door of the remote house the Longbottom’s called home. Only a moment later, the door was opened by a beaming Frank, he gestured for Minerva to enter with an excited hand, pulling her into a hug the moment she stepped over the threshold. 

In the tiny sitting room she found Alice, looking tired but perfectly at peace with the tiny pink bundle clutched tightly to her chest. 

“Neville,” She said softly. “Meet Minerva, one day she’s going to be your head of house.” 

Minerva moved closer, reaching out a finger to stroke Neville’s soft cheek. “He’s beautiful,” she breathed. 

Alice held the baby out to her and Minerva gladly took him, cradling him close and rocking him slightly. His little eyelids fluttered for a moment as he passed over but Neville did little more than yawn before closing them again. 

“He’s going to make a brilliant Auror one day,” Frank said, resting a loving hand on Alice’s shoulder. 

“No,” Alice said sharply, her expression suddenly turning stern. “He’s going to live a life of peace. He’ll be a magizoologist or a teacher, something good.” 

“Well,” Minerva said matter-of-factly. “I think it’s a safe bet he’ll be a Gryffindor and it will be my responsibility to help him figure out the rest.” 

Alice and Frank both smiled at this, looking adoringly at their brand new son. “There’s no one we’d trust more than you, Minerva,” Alice said. 

“Of course, it’s quite a lot of work,” Neville said, pulling Minerva from her reverie. “Lots of exams and training exercises, but the job’s not done yet, is it?” 

Minerva felt her eyebrows rise at this. “And which job might that be?” 

“The Death Eaters,” said Harry harshly. “We haven’t got them all yet.” 

“Some would say you’ve done quite enough,” Minerva said gently. “That you’ve earned a break.” 

Harry shook his head firmly, finally lifting his gaze from the floor to meet Minerva’s. “I don’t need a break.” 

He had always looked so much like James, but at that moment, the spark of determination in his green eyes reminded her unequivocally of Lily. 

The clouds had broken overnight. Thunder and lightning had rent the air; rain had pelted loudly upon the lead-lined windows of Hogwarts and another new life had been brought into the world. 

Minerva had waited until late afternoon to visit the Potter’s cottage, knowing that Black, Lupin and Pettigrew would be anxious to get there first and wanting to give the new family a small amount of breathing room. 

Her fist had barely left the door before it flew open, revealing James Potter. His hair was untidier than she had ever seen it and there was a look of wild joy on his eyes. He picked Minerva up and spun her into the cottage, laughing joyfully as he did so. 

“He’s perfect,” he said. “Looks just like me, he’s going to be a total heartbreaker!” 

“Put me down, Potter!” Minerva cried, trying to sound stern but unable to contain a light chuckle at his antics. 

“Come and see him!” James said, taking Minerva’s arm and pulling her up the stairs until they reached a nursery, painted sky blue and decorated with snitches and quaffles which fluttered around the walls. 

Lily sat in a rocking chair by the window, she looked just as exhausted as Alice had yesterday though it was hard to tell given how serenely she was gazing down at the baby in her arms. 

“We’ve named him Harry,” James said, his tone finally softening in the presence of his newborn son. 

“A lovely name,” Minerva said, leaning over Lily’s shoulder to catch a glimpse of unruly dark hair, so like James’. 

“He’s ever so well behaved,” Lily said proudly. “He’s slept most of the day so far.” 

“Don’t worry,” James added quickly. “I’ll teach him how to get into mischief before he gets to you, Minerva.” 

“That, I don’t doubt,” Minerva agreed. 

“He won’t,” Lilly said. “He’s going to be a good boy. No trouble for this little one.” 

Minerva and James exchanged sceptical looks, but neither dared argue with Lily who had a glint in her eye which Minerva had learned not to disagree with. 

“You’ll be so good, Harry,” Lily said solemnly, staring down at the baby and giving the impression she’d forgotten there was anyone else in the room. “And so loved.” 

 That same glint shone in Harry’s eyes now, as he looked steadily at Minerva. 

“It looks as though the Aurors have gained two superb new additions,” Minerva said evenly. Though her heart felt heavy in her chest. “I can’t say I’m not disappointed not to have you back next year.” 

“You’ll see us around,” Neville said cheerfully, placing his cup back on the desk. “I’m sure Harry will be trailing after Ginny every weekend.” 

Neville jumped slightly as Harry swung out a foot and kicked him in the shin. 

Minerva placed her cup to her lips in order to hide her smile. “I will remind you that I have rules about non-students visiting the grounds, Mr Potter,” she said sternly.

“Of course, Professor,” Harry agreed, a flush working its way across his cheeks. 

Harry placed his empty cup on the desk and Neville stretched as he stood. “Best be off,” he said. “Early start in the morning, we just wanted to pop in and give you the news.” 

They both stood, quickly saying their goodbyes to Minerva as they moved towards the door. 

She took them in their new scarlet robes and wondered, not for the first time, if this was what Alice, Frank, Lily and James would've wanted. 

That they would've been proud of their sons, Minerva had no doubts whatsoever. That they would be pleased with the role she had played in their growing up, she could not be so sure. 

She had been the one to declare that she would make Harry an Auror if it was the last thing she did but, like so many things recently, this did not feel like victory. 

"Take care of yourselves," Minerva said as Neville reached for the doorknob. 

He turned back and grinned at her. Harry gave her a small smile too. "Don't we always?" Neville asked. 

[xxsmokeyy]

Levi x Reader (F) It’s The Tea

genre: fluff, canon divergence — coffee shop setting

summary: a misplaced table and a pair of hands that had a knack for good tea; you wonder what brought Humanity’s Strongest to your shop.

wc: 6,262

part II

“I’ll have one flat white,” a customer says as she picks money from her coin purse. You give her a smile after receiving her payment, the exact amount saving you the task of calculating change.

“Coming right up.” And you make your way to the coffee beans to make the blend she ordered. She watches in patience as you skillfully maneuver around the counter, getting everything done along the process. You incline the porcelain a little to make for the finishing art, steamed milk piercing through the coffee and creating a signature shape. In no time, you hand her the drink on top of a saucer.

She silently nods as brief thanks, and as soon as she turns her back to you, you dart your eyes on a table of one by the far right windowpane. You carefully spectate her and what direction she’s going. She’s going to the table!

The make-do suspense keeps you on your toes as you look at her intently, breath slightly hitching, waiting for her to sit on the lone chair. The woman navigates across the room, heading straight for your wishful desires. Your hands fly to your mouth in shock, witnessing the life-changing moment unravel before your eyes. No way. She really is.

The cup of coffee on her left hand, she uses her right to move the chair to take a seat. But just when she’s about to pull it back, someone calls her from another table, waving at her excitedly.

You stand upright and alert while your scrutinizing gaze follow her movements. She looks at where the voice is coming from, and almost immediately, her face brightens upon seeing who. Her right hand lets go of the wooden furniture and proceeds to where the caller sits. You look at her destination and find three people on a table of four. It doesn’t take long before she takes the free seat and starts chatting with them.

Your body slumps back with a disappointed sigh. Looks like no one’s sitting there yet again.

It’s the closest call you’ve ever had after years of this shop’s existence. Why no one chooses to sit there is beyond you. Either your customers are not alone, or they are, but only to take out their orders. Actually, even if they’re alone, they’d take the table for two instead. Do they not want to look lonely that bad? You groan in annoyance.

The table consists of a small, circular table and a single chair by the window. In your mightiest opinion, it’s the perfect place to just sit down, enjoy a cup of hot coffee, and read a book. But nobody’s ever done that through the passing years, and you can only witness the table being neglected by people.

It irks you a little. Could there have been another way to maximize the space that stemmed from unproportional construction? Maybe it really is time to remove those. Maybe it’s not really a big deal.

You’ve been contemplating too many times replacing it with a plant vase or a decorative ornament to take up the space since it’s of no use anyway. But something just tells you you shouldn’t. Besides, just thinking thinking about feels costly.

The rest of the day goes by quickly, and before you know it, you’ve opened the store again, serving customers after customers. This time, you never gave the table another glance. Surprisingly enough, you spent the whole night debating with yourself on what decoration you should fill the space with. A nice bookshelf would’ve been good, but you decided to go with a monstera plant to make use of the window right by it. Not until your day off, though, which is still on Sunday.

Having consecutively served around six customers and cleaned used tables, you sit and take a breather, resting your eyes by reading a book to let a couple minutes go by.

You slowly get sucked into the story, the marvelous art of prose bringing you into the plot’s little universe. The way the writer used the most fitting descriptive words possible astounds you, making a smile of enjoyment involuntarily creep up your lips. Somehow, you think writing is similar to making coffee, mixing different elements to create the perfect blend, the sole goal of making an exquisite taste that will leave people aching for more? Oh, and they both smell good, books and coffee. A chuckle leaves your lips.

Just when you’re deep in thought, things starting to stir up in the narration, someone speaks in front of you.

“One black tea,” a stern voice curtly orders, interrupting your peace. Harshly brought back to reality, you rise to your feet to resume to work. First tea of the day, huh?

Sure, your shop is known for its good coffee, but your tea can put up for a competition, too. It’s just that these days, coffee is more on the popular side, since tea can be made in almost any household now.

You close your book to attend to the customer, but not without leaving a bookmark on the current page. When you look at him, you almost freeze in your tracks. Well if it isn’t Humanity’s Strongest himself!

A pair of dazing stale eyes bore into your own with an unreadable expression and you compose yourself. Crap, you must have been caught giggling to yourself. You feel heat speedily cover your cheeks, turning you to a blushing mess. How shameful.

“Pardon me,” you excuse, clearing your throat before telling him the price. He wordlessly fishes for his wallet and pays. He does find you a bit weird, laughing at nothing, but pays it no more mind. He’s supposed to be on leisure, not meddling with some brat’s uncanny actions.

As you turn your back to make his beverage, you squint your eyes in loss of face. It really is the Captain Levi, and you probably looked like a creep in his eyes. Now what will become of your shop’s repute?

You shove the thought to the back of your head and start working. The ravenhead watches back as you work your hands into making a, hopefully, good blend. Your heart is beating wildly inside your chest like it’s about to jump off your rib cage, but you try to ignore it. The thought of a widely known persona such as him inside your very shop is crazy. To what do you even owe this pleasure?

Oh well, you’ll just pour your heart into making his tea, that way you might erase his ridiculous impression of you in his head. Hey! What’s so bad about giggling while reading? your subconscious tries to defend while you strain the boiled tea leaves into a clean china. The earthly smell hits your nose, making you want one, too.

You smile as you hand over the teacup. “Thank you for your service,” you add, even going as far as bowing. The moment the phrase escapes your lips, you regret it right away. Chills shoot up your spine. It sounds so awkward and unnecessary, but should you just treat the Captain like any other people knowing he’s done so much for your country?

Your cheeks flush into a faint, pink color. Thankfully, you’re slightly angled downwards, he might not see. Levi only eyes you for a second before nodding and taking the cup of tea in his hands, his calloused fingers grazing your hands fleetingly.

When you hear his footsteps fade, you rise and rub a palm against your face. You hesitantly take a glance toward the Captain, and shock takes over your whole system. To be totally honest, you never thought you’d see the day someone would sit on that table.

He looks perfectly placed on the table, like it’s reserved a long time just for him. He’s in civillian clothes, probably to not attract a lot of people. The sunlight gives his face a pretty sheen, the air from the window blowing lightly on his dark fringes. Your heart continues to skip several beats for no clear reason. Maybe that is the reason why your instincts keep telling you to not replace it.

Meanwhile, Levi sips on the freshly brewed tea, the strong flavor staining on his tongue just right. As he occupies his mind somehwere else, the taste hits better. Everything feels evenly distributed, the base smooth and pleasant, the amount of water not brimming. The temperature isn’t so bad as well.

Then and there, he guesses you source fine leaves from the innermost walls, which is a luxury at this point, not to mention your non-overpriced charge.

Not bad, he thinks.

You’re dumbstruck as you sit back in awe. You weren’t able to decipher what he’s thinking, but you know for sure he doesn’t hate it from seeing that he emptied the whole thing and left a generous tip.

You grab your tray and proceed to cleaning up the table he previously seated on, the whole decision of shopping for a plant on Sunday going down the drain.

—

It’s been a whole month since the Captain’s visit, and you think of the once in a lifetime moment often, and at times randomly. You sure as heck won’t be removing the table now that something has happened.

“Thank you,” you say as you hand the cup of coffee, serving the last one for the queue. It’s a late, cloudy afternoon, looking like it’s about to shower, and the shop is pretty dull. Well, that only means you can read more.

“Is this the shop they say sells well?” you hear someone from the ordering area. “Yeah, you go ahead,” they converse. You’re making coffee for yourself at the moment and you can’t peer to look at whose voice it is.

“What? You do it!”

“Just go! We don’t have time!”

“What the fuck? You’re the one holding the knife, aren’t you?!” a man shouts in a whisper. You can’t hear crystal clear due to being far into the counter, although you know they must be disturbing the atmosphere.

Vexed by their rowdiness, you turn around and stop making the blend. You walk to the front of the counter, “Excuse me, please lower your—”

“Give me all your money, lady. Let’s transact in peace so nobody gets hurt,” the man grabs your collar, knife pointed straight into your neck. Another man of his companion moves to the side to cover their actions. You don’t feel the sharp edge prick your skin due to intense panic.

You look around frantically, worried if there are other people harmed. To your relief, they seem to not notice anything, if you can even call that relieving. Now there must be no saving you.

“It’s alright, we won’t bring someone else into this, just do what we ask,” the other guy says, wide, haunting eyes looking straight into you. You feel cold sweat drip from your forehead.

“Now hand us what you got.”

On the other hand, Levi finishes with his errands around the capital and stumbles within your shop’s vicinity. Walking mindlessly, he checks the skies to tell the time, but sees the dark clouds instead. It seems it’s about to pour.

He’s already in front of your shop, but the threatening rain will be bigger trouble, he might get stranded if he stops by. Plus, he probably didn’t bring enough money, so he’s got no choice but head back now.

Just when he’s about to leave, his peripheral vision miraculously catches sight of your horrified expression through the window, putting him to an abrupt halt. He turns to see better, and finds two men roughing you up while trying to hide the commotion.

He clicks his tongue and spins to turn away. It’s not his business anymore, it’s for the Military Police to deal with. They might be loan sharks for all he knows, and you’d be held entirely accountable for that.

Unable to take the view of the knife pointed to your neck out of his head, he sighs defeatedly and eventually discovers himself inside the store, else it’d slowly eat at his conscience.

“Oi, what’s going on here?” he questions with a firm voice, turning heads his way.

“It’s Captain Levi from the Survey Corps!”

“What a lucky day!”

People stir up upon seeing the Captain to which he only ignores, full attention on you and the two criminals.

The robber without a weapon quickly turns around to check, shaking in fear. As he makes terrifying eye contact with the Captain, he makes haste for the door in desperate hopes of escaping, but to no avail. Levi grabs the back of the poor guy’s head and slams it against an empty table, putting him to deep sleep. Then turning to your armed assaulter, Levi closes in with big steps and takes the knife down before swinging the side of his hand, striking a nerve on the man’s neck to knock him out.

Levi perceives they’re complete amateurs and wonders why they even steal. Atleast one of them tried to run, he thinks as he looks down on the passed out crooks.

You’re not exactly sure if your heart calmed down or speeded up even more—maybe both, but you feel safe and more at ease.

Tying the last knot, he stands from his kneeled form and dusts his hands off to rid himself of the filth.

You only watch silently, mind clouded in confusion of what to do. Captain Levi came just in time and saved you and your shop of possible bankruptcy. Say, it could have been the worst timing considering you haven’t cleared your cash box for weeks now. You’re reminded of how much you owe the Captain.

“Don’t worry, they’ll be out cold for a while, just call the MP’s on them,” Levi assures before taking a glance at you and fails to understand your expression, your face looks like it’s leaking shit in his opinion.

You look at the two robbers dozing off tied together by the help of Levi and your spare rope before giving your savior another bow. “Thank you so much!” you exclaim and raise your head to meet his fierce gaze.

“And sorry for the trouble, people around here can get belligerent, especially to us business owners,” you add.

He observes you from head to toe, eyes particularly lingering on your neck, and you blush in embarrassment, feeling his hot stare.

“Is there—?”

He takes something from his pocket and offers you a handkerchief which you cluelessly accept. You later on realize what it’s for, finally feeling a sting on your neck. You wipe the bleeding area and see trails of crimson on your apron as well.

With no reason to stay any longer, Levi steers to leave, but is just in time to witness the rain pour down heavily, big droplets washing against the windows. He sighs, it’s just as he guessed.

You, on contrast, get an idea to show your gratitude, feeling a physical candle light up in your brain. “Captain Levi, please stay and let the rain pass while I brew you some coffee,” you negotiate with strong willed eyes, fixed on returning him a favor. It’s the least you could do from within your limited skills, and you’d like it if he’d accept. Actually, you won’t accept if he rejects, fully wanting to pay him back atleast a tad.

He looks back at you, slightly surprised. You seem like a more persistent person now rather than an easily flustered mess. Could he be so insensitive as to decline your generous offer after seeing your firm resolve? But more importantly, coffee? Could he be so thick-skinned as to ask for something else other than that?

When he stays quiet, you decide to go ahead and make him a drink from one of your premium coffee beans, but you’re put to a stop as he speaks.

“I’d prefer tea.”

Oh, right. He did ask for black tea a month back, didn’t he? You give him a smile and a thumbs up of approval before turning your back to make his tea.

Levi massages his temples and takes a seat, eyeing the immobilized crooks and the outside, thinking what he got himself into. It won’t be so bad to stay for a while and let the rain ease down, right?

You wait for the water to boil before dropping a bunch of mint leaves, then waiting for it to simmer. You prepare a porcelain cup and saucer and pour in the hot liquid, adding honey for a natural sweetener. You mix in a couple droplets of lemon to balance the flavor and you’re good to go.

You set the tea on his chosen table of two, giving the free seat a momentary glimpse. You wonder how it would feel like to have a proper conversation with Captain Levi, only to quickly dismiss the thought of joining him as you hear someone call you from the counter. Thankfully, people are back to minding their business and don’t bother the Captain anymore. You excuse yourself and return to work, still a couple hours away from closing time.

Levi sits back and enjoys the tea you made, soon learning it’s a fresh peppermint tea. Though it’s only the second time he’s having your brew, he doesn’t know why he already has high expectations. The choice of blend is perfect for a rainy day, and it’s exactly what he would have made when he returned back to the headquarters. You don’t really look like someone who prefers tea, but he’s impressed nevertheless.

He sips on the cup, letting the weather pass and the taste line his tongue. A variety of things occupy his mind involuntarily and before he knows it, the rain has calmed down into a shower.

He stands to leave but suddenly notices an umbrella left on his table. When did that get there? He takes a glimpse at you and finds you looking back at him with curious, alert eyes like that of a cat, immediately averting your gaze and resuming to pick up the dirtied tableware onto your tray.

Levi confirms it’s from you, and it’s another one of your acts of gratitude. He’s left with no choice and grabs it, wraps his slender fingers around the handle, and takes his leave.

Satisfied, you sigh in relief as you watch his back drift into the darkness. You look at the handkerchief in the pocket of your apron, smiling. Despite rumors of him being an unrelenting leader and a ruthless thug that stretched way back, the Captain is a kind man, isn’t he? If there really is such thing as coincidence, you’d like to consider yourself lucky for having experienced it.

—

About two more weeks pass when Levi finds himself hooked into the sweet aroma of the tea you make, the ambience of your shop’s environment, and something else he can’t put a name on. In actuality, he may or may not be using your umbrella as an excuse to go to your store right now.

He takes a glance at his hand holding the same umbrella. He briefly questions himself what he’s doing but pushes the thought aside with the use of his well thought of excuse. True enough, he can’t just go around using other people’s possession, can he?

He begins to sense the growing familiarity of your shop as he closes in. The choice of location being just at the mouth of the city, the distinct line between rural and urban is visibly emphasized.

As Levi enters through the saloon door, his eyes almost immediately find your form, leisurely reading while leaning on the counter, back turned against the entrance, your hair up in a braided bun which he finds neat. He clicks his tongue as he approaches to order.

“It’s easier to mug you that way,” he says and you jolt in surprise. Recognizing the stone cold voice, you spin to see the Captain in front of you, inside your very shop once again. This is no coincidence anymore!

“Captain Levi!” you greet with a beam, utterly delighted to see him. “Pleasant afternoon, what can I get you?” you ask and look him straight in the face. He’s in casual clothes, so you guess it’s another one of his day off’s. His sombre eyes of a unique bluish grey color take on your gaze fiercely. It’s true that the eyes convey one’s entire personality, as you feel his menace even though he doesn’t intend to display it.

“Black tea,” he says without a hitch, giving you the exact amount of money, and you proceed to your working space. Boiling of water, straining of tea leaves, pouring it into clean china; as you hand it to him, they start to resemble a routine.

He goes ahead and takes the corner table, and you couldn’t be any happier, thinking he seems to like the spot, choosing it among every other free seats. Levi takes a sip, and enjoys it with no wonder. You didn’t fail to make an exquisite blend.

A couple moments later, he’s still there. While everyone else chitchats with their company, he sits in silence with his beverage, ocassionally looking at the sky freely laid out by the window. He’s never really one to catch up with the bulletin and read daily papers, he’d prefer books for that matter.

As you wipe with a rag the empty tabletop just beside him, you see him looking at the window, cup of tea in hand. He, however, feels your stare, and wordlessly slides an umbrella on the table without batting you an eye. You recognize it as yours and take a step towards him.

“You better not have arrived home drenched that night,” he says. It’s only until he returned to the headquarters that he had realized you must have given him your only umbrella.

A chuckle leaves your mouth, aren’t you concerned. “I might have.” He clicks his tongue.

You grab it in your hands and follow his gaze, soon looking vacantly at the view as well. “You can see the skies from there, right?” you ask, earning a low hum in response.

“I wonder how far they stretch from outside on… Some say they’re boundless,” the words unconsciously slip from your mouth as you watch the clouds move. Something about relatively slow afternoons just hypnotize you to no end.

Levi shifts his gaze to your figure upon hearing a frame of your mind, finding a glimmer of ambition in the mesmerizing pools of your eyes. He can hear your train of thoughts out loud, while you wonder if you could ever get to experience the outside world. He remembers a couple friends thinking the same thing way back, and he realizes, it’s people like you that he hates to see drift away, one of those whom he feels he has to protect, though it’s not like you know each other to great extent.

He brings his cup to his lips and frankly speaks, “It’s not pretty out there.”

His words interrupt you from your daze, making you look at him. You notice he grips the teacup oddly, holding it around the mouth instead of its handle. You heave out a shallow sigh. “Figured you’d say that,” you say with a sad smile. It’s undeniable, coming from him.

You fish something from the pocket of your apron and leave it on his table, then making your way back to the counter. A seemingly little exchange of borrowed objects. He eyes his cleaned dry handkerchief and leaves a comment before you can stray farther, “It does seem endless.”

The corners of your lips upturn into a grateful smile. He really is soft. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t know exactly what you’re thanking him for.

—

Time and time passed, and he always comes every week without fail. Sometimes, when days are light, he even visits twice a week. You could say you have developed quite a relationship with the Captain, though not something that can be considered close to sentimental. The distance is still present, but you’d have small talks here and there, sometimes you’d lend him your books just so he doesn’t bore himself to death, or maybe so he’d stay a little longer.

You gradually learn to read his moods through the language of his orders. You find that he’s more of a tea lover based solely from the fact that he never once asked for coffee. Black tea is his regular, Oolong tea is when something probably turns out good or successful, since the price a little higher and you guess it’s his little way of celebrating, Chamomile tea when something is roughly off, you figure as he never speaks excessively when he orders it.

You never end up joining him, though. Of course, he always takes the table of one, there isn’t room for another.

“The usual,” Levi briefly says and hands you the exact charge. Never faltering, you smile and continue to make black tea for the man. “You still haven’t hired a helper,” he points out and you hum in agreement.

“I can manage by myself,” you inform as you stir his tea. You’ve managed years by your own, what use is there for an extra hand? Besides, it’s not like your shop gets hoarded by huge amounts of people. Coffee shops attract a moderate number, and you’re fine with that.

You slide the finished drink to Levi and he accepts, heading to his own little corner. Ever since he first came, you labeled the corner seat as his own, and you never thought of removing it again. He doesn’t seem like a very social person, like he’s a man of few words if talking is unnecessary. You always wonder how it must feel to have a conversation with such a persona; must be novel and inspiriting. Problem is, you don’t have the guts to initiate it. You don’t want to be overlooked as a fangirl of the sort. If possible, you want to converse casually.

It’s the looming distance between a coffee shop owner and a country’s renowned soldier that obstructs you from feeling on level as him.

Still, you don’t know why you’re currently grabbing a book from one of your drawers and why you’re currently making your way toward him, tray still in hand to clean afterwards as an excuse.

“Fancy a book?” you offer as you set one of your favorite titles on his table. He darts his eye on it and studies the cover for a brief moment, seeing if it’s up to his standards. It doesn’t really pique his interest, but you made an effort, and it’d be of great companion with the tea.

Levi accepts the book in his hands and starts reading, later learning about the main character’s introduction. “You have a lot of books,” he comments out of observation. This isn’t the first time you offered him one, nor is it just the second. He’s come to a conclusion that you have a liking for it.

You hum in agreement. “I like collecting them, but they’re still not enough to fill a shelf, though. I’m thinking about putting one here,” you say, already envisioning where to place it.

He almost immediately thought of the Headquarters’ library. A lot of books there just get covered in dust, unmoved. Cadets these days don’t take reading as hobby. He considers the idea of bringing some for your shop to make use of it. “I can hand you some,” he says, flipping the page.

Your eyes widen in an equal mix of delight and surprise. He’d go that far? For what? Is the Captain really like this? “Really? From where?” you try to hide the excitement in your voice, but it doesn’t escape his ears. Well isn’t that great? An upgrade for your shop and a chance to see him again. Not that he’s not showing himself enough.

“Scouts’ library,” he says, flipping another page, and you’re deep in thought. Is that allowed? Do I have to pay?

Just a couple of pages in, he seems partially engrossed. The protagonist is a traveller who encounters metaphorical life obstacles and is most likely to find self-discovery through it, that’s as much as he knows.

He notices you still haven’t left and bats you an eye. You look troubled and euphoric at the same time, he couldn’t understand entirely what you’re thinking but he has a clue. “It’s free. Some of it are old anyway,” he informs, which seems to bring your face relief. So his hunch turns out to be right, you were thinking of the burden.

“Oh, I wasn’t thinking that!” you deny right away, waving your hand dismissively, cheeks blushing. You definitely were.

He stays quiet, and you feel ashamed. Does he think you’re a cheapskate? Or thick-faced? Hey, he’s also reading, you must be a distraction. Oh god, how can you make acquaintances with him now?

You aim to leave and give him his space, afraid that you might be bugging him for too long now, but Levi suddenly speaks just in time.

“You have an allurement for things about the outside,” he asserts in heed. When you don’t answer, he continues, “It’s not all rainbows out there, you know.” His perception of you still stands as he’s continuously reminded by you of people who go through great measures to reach their dreams, and those he lost due to wanting to seek for more.

You don’t know if it’s a positive connotation or a negative but he doesn’t sound so enthusiastic. Your grip on the tray tightens. The way he puts it… is he trying to make you drop your interest?

“I do know that. I just,” you pause, contemplating what to say. You’re stuck with I just want to dream, is it so bad? or I just want to experience the forbidden, I’m sick of being stuck in this birdcage, or an impulsive one: I just want to see, would you bring me outside?

Instead, you settle with “I wouldn’t know, I’m a mere shop owner. I don’t have the chance to sit and talk with someone who’s gone beyond the walls.” Like you, sir.

He studies you as you look back at him with firm eyes. Brat, you already live a life with fair peace. The resolve in your eyes didn’t waver, not one bit. He thinks, will you be content with knowing about the outside? Levi heaves out a sigh and closes the book before leisurely taking a sip on his tea.

“Maybe if you’d put another chair, we’ve been talking for months now,” he then says, an even amount of sarcasm in his tone, enough to not come off as rude.

Dumbfounded, you gawk at the Captain for a good five seconds, eyes slightly enlarged in surprise before laughing your head off, turning a couple heads your way for a fleeting second.

“What’s funny?” he quizzes, thin brows furrowed together, and you wave him off, wiping your euphoric tears away.

“Well, I didn’t know it’d be that simple, Captain!” you giggle, eyes genuinely happy and hearty. Just put a chair in? In all seriousness, he doesn’t exactly look approachable with those half lidded dark eyes and a permanent scowl now, does he? That’s one of the primary reasons you have trouble making advances to him.

Levi looks at you, taking in the undeniably beautiful sight before clicking his tongue and averting his gaze.

He’s absolutely certain he paid no attention to the way you tucked your hair behind your ear in a timid manner, the way your silky locks sway gracefully by the wind’s cool breeze, the way your delicate fingers held to the tray tightly as you try to compose yourself, and the way your glowing eyes looked back at him with a gentle gaze once you’ve finally calmed down. Yes, he likes to think he paid no extra mind to those details.

“Tch, did you think I’d bite you or something?” he deadpans, taking another sip on his cup.

“No, absolutely not!” You absolutely did. “I’ll put another chair some other day,” you say and wave him goodbye upon seeing a customer enter, returning to your working place.

He shakes his head lightly and finishes his cup, bringing the book with him as he takes his exit. The smile in your face never disappeared throughout the day, chest booming in an unrelenting speed.

Sunday comes, and you decide to do a general cleaning. You also buy a small shelf from the nearest furniture shop and have it delivered, filling it with some of your books. You squeeze in a chair to the corner by adjusting the other tables’ distances, and you can only laugh at yourself for not thinking of this long ago. You think, why not just sit on a table of two? but figure maybe the Captain’s already grown fond to the spot.

You feel like a schoolgirl as you mindlessly prepare things to talk about and questions to ask. How much does he know? Are titans really that big? Is the ocean real? What brought him to your shop?

But after that, you never saw him again. You think maybe he’ll arrive later or the next day, but more weeks pass, and not even his shadow appeared.

The slowest weeks achingly turn to months. You’ve been awfully attentive to the morning papers since then, looking for the slightest news about him, or their operations. You think it’s completely understandable, being perfectly aware that the Captain is a busy man. You know that visiting little tea shops isn’t actually a luxury that a guy like him affords, but it tugs at your heart a teeny bit, a small part of you involuntarily longing for him. Eitherway, you just wish for his and his people’s safety.

About five months have passed since you last saw him. Levi, on the other hand, has gotten busy those said times. Expeditionary Operations came after another, and he’s buried with work once they arrive back. His squad got promoted to Special Operations Squad, and intensive training was mandatory. The amount of free time he had back then was generous, and in those five months, he had no time to slack off.

But he never forgot you, every single time he drinks tea, he starts doubting his own blend as compared to yours.

“That’s the last of it,” Levi says as he hands over piles and piles of paperwork to the Commander. Erwin only grunts his response.

The ravenhead contemplates for a few moments before finally speaking, “I’ll be out. I’ll return before dinner,” he informs and turns his back, words more of a statement than asking for permission. The higher ranking officer only stares at him as his figure leaves the room. Fair enough, he’s done with his current tasks as a Captain and it’s his first day off in a while. He leaves him be.

Levi dismisses his tan jacket and fixes his cravat as he heads to the shop he favors. He ends up forgetting the books he’s supposed to give but pushes it aside. Oh well, just another excuse for him to visit.

Minutes of walking on foot, steps a little quicker than normal, and he finally arrives, the ambience hugging at his aura. It’s been long since he last set his foot here. He pushes at the saloon door, a ton of improvisations greeting his sight. The interior is now painted a beige color, the warmth going along with the wooden accents. You’ve added the shelf you said you wanted to put, a fair number of books in it. Lastly, his preferred corner seat already has two chairs opposite to each other.

Your back is turned against the door again, leaning on the counter as you occupied yourself with a book. He notices that your hair has gotten longer in a span of months. He shortly wonders what else has changed.

“Oi, the usual,” a familiar voice says, stoic tone resonating in your ears and you immediately feel your soul light up, like it’s been ages since you last felt so giddy. A chaotic mix of worry, excitement, longing, and bliss surges all throughout your body.

When you face the stale eyed man, your tingling heart shamelessly speeds up, a smile rising on your lips.

—

You wave him farewell as he leaves, and as he cuts eye contact, heat shoots up into your cheeks like crazy, which he totally misses out on.

One step out and Levi feels the presence of a stalker just around the alley. He gives her a bored look and starts walking away, which she then reveals herself and follows suit.

“So this is you and your secret lover’s getaway, huh?” Hange teases, obviously aiming to pry for more. Now what, she’s spying on him? This insane woman.

“Don’t be ridiculous, she has good tea,” Levi answers in nonchalance, staring right ahead the road. The woman makes silly noises at his response, similar to those sounds only she can produce when learning new discoveries about titans.

“Precisely,” the redhead says in satisfaction, nodding her head with her hands stroking her chin as if she got the answer she’s waiting for.

He shoves her actions aside, couldn’t care less about whatever conclusion she came up with. But no matter how much he keeps convincing his subconscious, it’s the tea that draw me in, he just can’t bring himself to believe in it.

[chocosvt]

⚬ pairing: junhui x reader ⚬ word count: 8125 ⚬ warnings: none! ⚬ genres: secret relationship, some slice of life uni moments, FLUFF, very light angst, spice, roommates!wonhui.

✧✎ synopsis: you’re friends with junhui - but also, not really. it’s friends and a little bit more than that. it’s difficult keeping your relationship a secret, especially when you’ve never loved someone the way you love him.

✧✎ a/n: NOBODY MOVE! I WROTE A JUN BDAY FIC ;_; this is really just me projecting all my years of love onto a word doc. enjoy!!

It was midnight, and the apartment was dark, unmoving. No one had bothered to clean the blue cereal bowl left in the sink and there remained bread crumbs on the countertop from lunch. As you flicked through the strange glimpses of late-night television, yawning in an outrageous width, there was a hunger pang, accompanied by an immediate craving for some sort of sweet candy.

So, you did what seemed best: fit into your sneakers and a windbreaker and push open the door to Jun’s bedroom while he was curled up on his side watching his drama. Wonwoo would usually be occupying the adjacent bed, though he had stayed over at Joshua’s dorm to study for his next history summative. Yet he’d left his beat-up, decaying textbook on his pillow.

“Put on your slippers or something, we’re going to the convenience store.”

Jun didn’t say anything, rather he continued holding out his phone, the bedsheets pulled taunt to his nose. Looking at Jun’s desk that sat next to the door, you picked up the rubber band ball he’d been adding to since his twelfth-grade year and threw it at his shoulder.

“Ow!” He squeaked dramatically. His head then poked over his shoulder as he attempted to see where the ball rolled off to.

“Put on your slippers,” you reiterated, “I want strawberry tangs.”

Without much effort, Jun quickly gave up looking for the elastic ball and returned to watching his drama, establishing his comfort while somehow still persisting to ignore you. He was very much so a homebody, and if it weren’t for you guiding him out the apartment like a grandchild taking their elderly for an afternoon walk, then he might’ve never left his bedroom apart from his class schedule. Yet, you knew exactly how to persuade him, weaken his heart that was already soft and golden.

An immediate whine rumbled in his throat when you jumped on the bed, pulling at him until he finally rolled onto his back, at last pressing pause on his phone. You tossed a thigh over each side of his silhouette and gripped the boy’s wide shoulders, gazing unflinchingly past his black fringe and into those big, glistening eyes.

“Come with me to the store,” you weren’t sure if you were offering or demanding, “please?”

“I-Isn’t it a little late for that?” Jun stumbled through his laughter. “Why do you need me?”

It was a surface-level question really, but nonetheless, your heart still skipped a beat. In only a second or more the silence was bearing down too heavily and it felt like your heart was a book with all its pages out. Jun’s eyes were twinkling as he blinked up at you.

“Walking around alone at night? Hello? Do you have no concern for me?” Came your joking counter.

He tossed his head back, the black fringe bouncing from his lashes. His capitulating yelp of, “fine, fine, I’ll come” was satisfactory enough for you to remove yourself from the boy’s tiny waist, where you stepped on the floor and nearly sprained your ankle due to that dumb, elastic ball. At least you found it. While you returned the toy to his desk, Jun quickly threw a worn jean jacket over his black long sleeve and didn’t bother bending down to fix his sneakers, his heels jutting out the back.

At the convenience store, the only shoppers were you, Junhui, and this lady wearing a huge pair of sunglasses, though you figured she was far from the strangest of the midnight stragglers.

It was rather quiet, even with the fluorescent lights buzzing and the battery-powered fan keeping the cashier cool at the register. You grabbed the first package of strawberry tangs while Jun sorted through the other flavours very meticulously.

“What about blue raspberry?” He said. “You don’t want that?”

“I don’t know, I just really have a craving for strawberry.”

Jun detached a bright green package from the rack. “Sour apple? What about that?”

“Not tasty at all. Pass.”

He grabbed another package and quirked his eyebrow. “Sweet cherry? Come on. That sounds good.”

You lightly hit his arm with the strawberry candy, your laughter echoing over the shelves, “I just want strawberry! If you think the sweet cherry sounds good then you buy it!”

But Jun just shook the black fringe from his playful gaze, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Tangy zangys are the bottom tier of gummy candy. No way.”

“So shut up then.” The words were harsh, yet your smile was no more menacing than a butterfly.

Since it would be impossible for Jun to leave the store without stocking his snack collection, you shopped for longer than expected, filling a basket with spicy chips and hard candies and a few chocolate bars. Heading home down the nighttime street, beneath the moonlight, the infinite expanse of a blackness that felt like a cocoon, you had already ripped open your strawberry tangs while Jun tore the corner off a tiny pouch of bubblegum poprocks.

They crackled loudly on his tongue, in which he made sure to hover in close proximity to your ear, ensuring you could detect every small fizzle. Each time it warranted you to shove him away, muttering a cheap laugh about how it wasn’t required that he lean in so generously, though you couldn’t evade that one nervous thought ticking at the back of your head: you wanted to kiss him, wrap your palm around Jun’s neck and taste the electric bubblegum from his heart-shaped mouth.

“Aren’t you glad you came with me?” You asked, suckling the sugar off a red candy strip.

Jun swallowed his poprocks. “I guess you can word it like that.”

Standing at the living room fish tank, you opened the tab to the flake box and shook the food into the water, your pink guppy who you had so fittingly named, Princess Pebble, swimming toward the surface in order to nip at the flakes. Wonwoo observed you from his seat at the kitchen table, dragging his spoon through the remainder of his cereal, scooping out the last soggy pieces.

“I feel good about it,” Wonwoo hummed, referring to the history test he wrote yesterday, “I think I might’ve left out some information on the essay question.”

You closed the fish flakes and returned to the table, where you left your cup of tea.

“Eh, who cares,” you mumbled behind the rim, “you’re gonna get like a ninety-five anyways.”

The boy shrugged, pressing a fingertip to his glasses, moving them higher up his nose. He had always been diligent with his studying, though he often left the apartment to write notes at the library or a classmate’s dorm. It was difficult to accomplish much when Junhui would distract him, and rather than reading his textbook, Wonwoo would always end up playing computer games with the latter.

“Did you hear Jun come home last night?” You asked, gulping the rest of your tea.

Wonwoo set his bowl into the sink and filled it with water, smiling. It irked you somehow. You were only curious about whether or not he heard Jun return from his dance practice.

Joining him at the sink to clean your mug, you bumped his elbow. “What’s so cute over here?”

“Nothing,” he hummed dismissively, “I heard him crawl into bed, that’s pretty much it.”

“And that’s funny or something?”

“You ask about him quite frequently.” Wonwoo turned to you with a suspecting glance, one that made you subtly desire to dump a cup of water over his head. “You know that, right?”

The morning air was cool, yet your face felt immensely heated, almost prickling.

“I ask because we’re fri—”

“Friends. Yeah, yeah.” Wonwoo huffed, the omniscient smile creeping back toward his mouth, to which you could do nothing apart from gawk at your roommate despite his reiteration of a musing that wasn’t at all unfamiliar. “I’ve always loved you for your innate sense of comedy. It’s priceless.”

It’s what everyone assumed anyways. You and Jun fought tooth and nail to articulate your friendship, to paint with the colours that would lead everyone to believe it was true. Most often your explanations worked, yet there remained some who were particularly stubborn. Wonwoo was an evident case. But he was too close, too eagle-eyed, and he saw that you and Jun behaved in a manner completely beyond friendship. Despite the likewise feelings, something unbeknownst kept you apart.

“I know exactly what that means, idiot!” Echoed your shout as Wonwoo disappeared down the corridor, hoping to take refuge in his bedroom.

“I’m glad!” The depth of his voice reverberated into the kitchen, and you heard his door quickly shut.

No less than a few seconds later did Junhui reveal himself from around the corner, clean and freshened up after a steamy shower, one he desperately needed upon immediately passing out, sweat-soaked and exhausted in his bed the night before. Soonyoung definitely hadn’t taught their lesson with any degree of ease. Pretending you weren’t just quipping at Wonwoo, you smiled.

“Were you two fighting?” Jun asked, pulling out a frying pan from the cupboard. He usually whipped together an omelette for breakfast.

“No, not at all. We never fight, remember?”

Jun scoffed while opening the fridge, removing an egg carton and a plastic wrapping filled with vegetables. Still hungry, you started peeling open a tangerine from the fruit basket and stood next to him as he organized the produce onto a cutting board. Ever so faintly, you could smell the crisp scent to his aftershave. It was peculiar how a bit of foam could render your chest that cottony.

“In fact, when’s the last time you even remember an argument Wonwoo and I had?” You prodded.

“Two days ago,” Jun laughed, “when Wonwoo wanted to watch that exploration documentary on King Tut, but you changed the channel so you could finish the last season of Home Makeover.”

Pressing his rose lips together, Junhui casted you an innocent glance. “So there’s that.”

Separating a small slice of tangerine, you gently pushed the clove into the boy’s mouth. He smiled softly as he began to chew. With the gentle tang of citrus in the air, you set a hand on Jun’s shoulder and buried your face against his warm neck, whispering, “yeah, and it was definitely worth it.”

Quite frankly, neither you, Jun, Wonwoo, or Joshua were fairing optimally at the library. While Wonwoo sat on the opposite side of the table helping Joshua organize his economics presentation, you were neglecting your biology packet, instead choosing to sketch a tiny Princess Pebble in the paper’s upper corner. Jun had been tasked with reviewing his latest theatre script, yet he hadn’t even flicked through it. He was intrigued by one of the numerous mangas he’d saved to his phone.

“Take the last point off here,” Wonwoo said, peering over Joshua’s shoulder at his laptop, “there’s too much text, and this isn’t a major branch of your topic anyways.”

Joshua sighed as he made a few clicks on his keyboard. “Dude, I don’t think I can edit another word. This class is so boring.”

“Mr. Canning is just a boring professor,” Wonwoo sympathized, “it would be best if it were someone who weren’t so… dry. I guess is the right word.”

Slumping back in his chair, Joshua huffed, “he’s like a human chalk stick.”

Desperate to discuss something that wasn’t related to his lacklustre econ class, Joshua spared a glance at Jun’s unopened script. “Shouldn’t you be learning that?” He asked.

Jun didn’t look away from the phone in his lap. “I can’t do it here.”

“That means he’s going to open it for the first time at one in the morning, the day of his performance.” You chuckled, outlining the sketch of your guppy using Wonwoo’s pink gel pen.

Harshly, Jun’s hand smacked your knee under the table and you couldn’t help but laugh, garnering an over-the-shoulder glare from a student in the corner who’d been trying to focus on their colossal textbook. Wonwoo smiled at them apologetically while Joshua feigned as though he were typing something on his laptop. However, Jun’s hand didn’t leave your knee, and your laughter became an immediate drought, to which the sole thing you could feel was his palm creeping higher up your leg.

Attempting to be subtle, you turned your head slightly and looked at the boy with a bit of a warning expression, though Jun simply continued to scroll through his manga.

“I’m going to check the world history section,” Wonwoo announced, rising from the table, “anyone want to come with?”

Joshua pushed out his chair. “I’ll come just so I don’t have to stare at this shitty powerpoint.”

As soon as the boys walked beyond earshot, you pinched the edge of Jun’s ear. He finally tossed his phone onto the table, though he didn’t exactly appear compassionate, rather he was smirking, for he knew if you truly didn’t want his hand touching your leg then you would have bumped it away.

“You can’t do that.” Nonetheless, there surmounted a need to establish some insignificant boundary, one that neither of you were going to follow through. “Not when they’re so close.”

“But they didn’t see.” Jun replied, squeezing your inner thigh. “It shouldn’t matter.”

“It does. What if Joshua saw?” At that point, Wonwoo was fairly conditioned to your lingering fingertips, grazes and stares. He usually pretended not to notice them. However, Joshua was a risk.

Jun shrugged. “I don’t know. Don’t you worry too much? I always touch your leg.”

That was the problem. People trying to convince other people that their relationship was wholly platonic didn’t linger in such an intimate way. They didn’t creep fingertips up the other’s inner thigh beneath a tablecloth, or possess a gaze that traced the other’s lips like a delectable piece of candy when they spoke. There shouldn’t be any whispers pressed quickly against the other’s ear when no one else was looking, or the dire urge to climb into the other’s lap when their legs were wide open.

Both of you were afraid. Neither of you wanted to break the question that would thrust your relationship into the light. You kept waiting for the right time, but it always seemed one step ahead.

The movie theatre was nearly empty as the longwinded credit screen continued rolling, the last few congregations throwing their soda cups and empty packages into the garbage on their way out. Still, the floor of practically every row had been scattered with butter popcorn or melted m&m’s, shiny chocolate wrappers left crinkled in the recliners like the employees were supposed to take them home as gifts. Wonwoo put his hands on the back of his head, examining the disastrous rows.

You sensed he was feeling rather lucky about not being scheduled that night. Jun forced himself from the recliner and picked up his cup of fruit punch, jammed with way too many ice cubes.

If no one else was going to comment, you might as well. “That wasn’t the worst.”

“Agreed.” Wonwoo said, pushing up his glasses. “The murderer’s ploy was difficult to follow at times. I started getting confused when he left his car in the woods.”

“What?” Jun gawked. “That’s when you got confused? I didn’t even know what was happening after the first half hour.” His eyes gleamed in astonishment.

“Same.” You admitted. “I guess you’ll have to explain in the car.”

Reaching into the cupholder, you pulled out the package of strawberry tangs with nothing but a tiny amount of the powder-like sugar left inside.

“Thank you for picking up your trash,” Wonwoo sighed, taking the lead down the stairway while the credit music still played, “I’d hate to be working tonight.”

The wide corridor was completely vacant by the time you exited the theatre. Ever so slightly you could hear the galactic sound effects from the arcade machines. That buttery scent of popcorn seemed to waft no matter where you stood in the cinema. Wonwoo announced that he was going to check the concession counter to see who was on cash, but assured he would meet you and Jun at the back exit. Jun hurriedly downed his fruit punch in a large gulp before you emerged into the night.

You were confined to the small overhang by the doorway, for a hard rain was pelting against the concrete and turned the night air considerably cooler. Not one of you had checked the forecast beforehand, and you would undoubtedly get drenched straight through to the flesh in your thin long-sleeve.

“How are we going to make it to the car?” You groaned.

Pulling up his hood, Jun only laughed. “Now is a good time to be able to teleport.” He then stuck out his hand for a moment, the raindrops hitting his palm.

“Does it feel like bullets?”

“No. It feels kind of nice actually.” He remarked.

Curious, you rolled up your sleeve and extended your arm into the downpour. Jun was right, it felt satisfactory as each of the brisk droplets splashed your skin. However, you prematurely discovered the rain wasn’t so appealing when Jun suddenly shoved you from beneath the overhang.

“Hey— what the hell?!” You squealed upon the immediate repercussions, the cold water already leaking through your top while Junhui slapped his thigh, cackling.

Wanting to erase that luminous grin of his, you attempted wrestling the lanky boy into the weather, but no more than a few harmless drops skimmed his shoulder. Yet, with another brute shove, Jun stumbled, feeling the silver needles of rain pour down from the night sky and swirl at his dampening sneakers. He was laughing as he grabbed your wrist, pulling you hard against his chest before you were even cognisant that an immense wetness was soaking through your every article.

You wished it had been indignance drumming in your heart rather than affection, because it was taking every single fibre of your being not to kiss him. As the droplets beaded down his skin, he was like a springtime flower caught in the morning dew, and when he carded back the wet, black hairs plastered to his forehead, you thought it was possible to fall into him and never feel that concrete scrape your knees. Gently, his hand touched the small of your wet back, his breaths deepening.

He urged you in tighter as his tongue ran along his bottom lip, tasting the rain.

You were shivering, frigid, though your blood was far too warm to let yourself take note. Instead, you moved your head closer, closer, Jun’s cold palm cupping your cheek and your eyes fluttering shut and your soft mouths just brushing together— until Wonwoo appeared from inside.

Instantly, you two pushed away from each other. With his eyes widening, Wonwoo stuttered.

“I-I’m… I’m going to pretend as best I can that something weird didn’t almost happen.” He stated, swallowing thickly. “Just… Why did you two have to get soaked? You’re sitting in my car, y’know!”

At last, you felt that icy shiver trickle down your spine.

“S-Sorry.” You hummed, teeth chattering.

“I guess it’s fine,” Wonwoo sighed, “I have some towels under the passenger’s seat.”

Not long after returning to the apartment, Wonwoo gathered his laptop and slipped into his pyjamas. He proceeded to flop onto the couch to edit his research paper, though it didn’t take much for his eyelids to start weighing down, his dense paragraphs blurring together on the screen. More often than not you would take advantage of Wonwoo’s midnight crashes in the living room.

After exchanging your damp, terribly cold clothes for a warm t-shirt and sweatpants, you found yourself cozied beneath Jun’s comforter for the umpteenth night. The boy’s head rested against the crook of your neck, where his slow breaths were cool to your skin, though they occasionally became heavier when your fingertips stroked at his smooth hair. He was much like a kitten who loved a thorough scratch behind the ears. You swore that he purred whenever you rubbed the right spot.

Holding out his phone, he’d been finishing an episode of his drama before bed. You tucked some of the black locks behind his ear, noting how much it’d grown over the months. Then your gaze wandered over every detail that shaped his face, as though he were a textured oil painting.

His eyes were always glimmering, seemingly innocent and curious, yet you knew just how much that earthly shade could darken when he fell into his professions. When Jun acted on stage, his gaze lost its untainted nature. It moulded into the role of the sinister characters he preferred playing. When he danced in blazing lights, those eyes were sharp enough to consume, to cut, almost like a razorblade.

But then you studied his lips, his heart-shaped cupid’s bow, the small constellation of moles that dotted his skin like kisses from past soulmates. You thought back to the mist and the rain, his hand resting against the small of your back, how close you were to tasting the flavourful, fruity mix of his drink. In fact, you wondered why you didn’t just kiss Junhui whenever you wanted. What was stopping you, in that moment, from turning his head toward you so that your lips could press to his?

Suddenly, the boy laughed at his phone screen, to which you felt the brassy reverberation erupt in his chest, his eyes glinting and his mouth stretched into a box-like smile. You pulled a few strands of hair from his forehead as he seemed to be glowing, his cheeks rosy.

Jun mewled in surprise when your fingers threaded rather tight through his black locks, feeling you tilt his head up until his gaze was burning into yours.

You didn’t hesitate. Leaning forward, you kissed him sweet and slow.

Jun’s eyes fluttered as the pressure warmed his mouth, a small whine getting caught in his throat upon the gentle sting of your hand tugging at his tresses, his scalp tingling. His phone sunk into the bedsheets, and instead he was gripping your t-shirt, moving his head with yours as the kiss deepened. He tasted like mint, and his small whines were silky.

How on earth could you have ever shied from kissing him when it felt so relieving? Nothing else held any significance to you apart from making his pretty lips shine.

However, you needed to catch your breath. Releasing the firm grasp on his hair, you detached your mouth from his, your chest rising and falling in great lengths. The boy’s eyes couldn’t be more glazed, his lips shimmering, flushed garnet and slightly swollen. Neither of you uttered a word. The blankets fell from Jun’s shoulders as he straddled your waist eagerly. Again, his mouth slotted with yours, and your hands slid up his caramel thighs, imprinting his flesh with the curve of your fingernails.

If you kept quiet enough, then perhaps Wonwoo would remain asleep until morning.

Standing amongst the crowd in the cramped performance hall, it was inevitable that you would get bumped around like a tiny, flying pinball. After rutting into Wonwoo’s shoulder for the third time, he seemed dauntingly close to losing his indolence and snapping, though he realized it wasn’t your fault that others were pushing toward the front of the stage and bit his tongue.  

It became tradition for Soonyoung and his students to rent the downtown performance hall and host a fundraiser. The event typically lasted a few hours, with a few short interludes where the dancers would retreat backstage to catch their breath. Being Jun’s roommate, you and Wonwoo were always granted access into the small dressing room, and though you never admitted it, you loved experiencing that small flash of pride whenever the moonstruck audience watched you slip away.

The next interlude was closing in. Despite the different dancers on stage, you really, truthfully, only watched Jun. Each time he captured the centre position, you couldn’t help but cup your hands around your mouth, being one of the first to cheer overtop the deafening music as he moved so fluidly, with poise. He was a completely different person when he performed. Somehow, his tender-hearted nature would peel back and he’d emerge a domineering beacon.

As soon as the stage ended, an uproar rippled from the audience and resonated deep in your ears, to which you couldn’t help but slightly bury your head against Wonwoo’s shoulder to muffle the cacophony. Nonetheless, you were clapping, smiling, staring fondly as Jun grabbed his collar and fluffed it out, welcoming a slight gust of humid air. His skin was dewy with sweat, and yet he glowed beautifully, even when he was breathing so heavily through his nose.

Soonyoung was speaking into his microphone, but you missed half his speech, and before you knew it you were being dragged by Wonwoo through the crowd toward the backstage entrance. The room was at least big enough to accommodate the dancers. Jun was in the corner, gulping down his water.

“Only three more songs,” Wonwoo smiled, “you guys really stepped the level up this year.”

It took a moment before Jun replied, the column of his neck glittering as he completely crushed the plastic bottle in his hands.

“Yeah,” he burst out, “I’m freaking dying.”

“It’s for a good cause at least.” Wonwoo reasoned, ignoring how you stepped on his foot.

After Jun rolled his eyes, he was staring at you.

The air grew much too thick, and you had to clear your throat. “S-Seriously, you’ve improved so much. I can’t believe it.”

“Thanks,” Jun replied, scratching his nape, “it’s nothing special, really.”

“Uh? Nothing special?” Wonwoo quirked an eyebrow. “Didn’t Soonyoung say you’re one of the best in the class?”

When Jun innocently flitted his gaze toward a distant spot and pressed his lips together, Wonwoo merely huffed, announcing he was going to the lobby for a drink of water. You watched him wind between the busy dancers, either wiping down their sweat or fanning themselves, until he disappeared out the door. When you faced Jun again, you looped your fingers through the satin collar of his stage outfit and kissed him quickly, knowing everyone was too occupied to take note.

He squeaked, “what happened to being careful?”

“This is your fault.” You eagerly pinned it on him. “Try being less hot.”

“That’s horrible advice. And also not possible. Which makes it worse than horrible.”

You weren’t sure whether or not you wanted to feel his mouth again or whack the side of his head with his deflated water bottle. Opting for latter, you stole another kiss, though you tensed in surprise when Jun wrapped his arm around your waist to secure your body firm against his. Hastily, you pushed at his toned stomach, your heart drilling manically as you looked over your shoulder toward the dancers. It didn’t appear as though anyone had seen and you breathed out in relief.

Suddenly, Soonyoung poked his head through the doorway.

“Ten minutes!” He shouted before disappearing.

Jun was staring at you with the most ingenious twinkle.

“That was your fault.” He purred, tapping your thigh with his water bottle. “Try being less hot.”

You did feel a small sliver of guilt. After all, Wonwoo had been waiting back at the apartment for approximately an hour, twiddling his thumbs, wondering why you and Jun required so much goddamn time just to buy some hot fudge sundaes. The molten taste of the chocolate, the vanilla ice cream, cold and sweet, was completely stolen from your lips by the boy whose lap you were occupying. Wonwoo’s sundae sat on the dashboard, dripping slowly beneath the evening sunlight.

And yet, that infinitesimal sliver was plucked straight out when Jun latched onto a sensitive patch of your neck, softly digging in his teeth and swirling his tongue. Your fingers sheathed through the black hair and pulled up at the roots, knowing how much pleasure he took from the dull sting. Button by button, Jun started to simultaneously open your shirt, to which you questioned if this was really happening, if you were really going to sort of out the complications of intercourse in his car.

The device abandoned in the passenger’s seat buzzed. You already knew the name to the text. As Jun kissed his way down to your collarbone, licking and suckling, you reached for your phone, feeling it buzz again with another impatient text. The guilt from earlier began to resurface.

[ wonwoo | 7:49pm ] This is suspicious now. WHERE ARE YOU? >:(

[ wonwoo | 7:49pm ] Actually screw that. WHERE IS MY HOT FUDGE SUNDAE?

The screen blipped with yet another message.

[ wonwoo | 7:49pm ] I know you’re reading these… Answer me or I won’t feed Princess Pebble!!

“J-Jun,” you piped up, hearing his low, husky mumble while he continued to mark your collarbone, “I think we need to go home now.”

The boy splayed a few more open-mouthed kisses against the skin before peeking up at you, his eyes wide and glimmering, lips flushed a deep magenta. With half the buttons of your shirt hanging open and your heart blazing, you had to snip the venereal longing in its bud.

“What’s wrong?” Jun hummed, pushing his fingers through the loops on your jeans. “Who’s texting?”

“Wonwoo. He’s been waiting for almost an hour, and his sundae is gonna be a puddle at this rate.”

He blinked a bit cluelessly, though still in musing. “There’s no way to be quick about this, is there?”

Rebuttoning your shirt, you shook your head and laughed. “Let’s wait before we ruin the car. I’m sure there’ll be a better time in the future.”

Jun nodded in agreement and relaxed back into the seat, a ray of sunshine that bled golden slanting through the windshield. Somehow, Wonwoo’s sundae wasn’t a complete pool sitting in the plastic cup, but that didn’t negate the fact he was still going to start his theory on responsibility and trust the moment you stepped onto the welcome mat. As you finished clasping the last buttons, something had caught Jun’s eye out the window, for he immediately panicked and tightly gripped your waist.

“Oh my god, g-get off my lap,” he grunted, to which your head bumped against the ceiling during the hurried shuffle and your knee whacked the gearstick.

“Ow! Okay, I’m going! Jeez, could you not give me a warning?”

“No,” Jun remarked, looking quickly to the rear-view mirror to straighten out his hair, “it’s Jeonghan and Soonyoung. They just came out of the store.”

When you glanced out Jun’s window, you noted the duo making their way across the parking lot, some plastic bags filled with groceries hanging from Jeonghan’s hand while Soonyoung appeared to be texting someone. To both your dismay, Soonyoung immediately recognized Jun’s car. You watched as the blonde bumped Jeonghan’s shoulder, how they took a slight detour on their way over.

“We have to talk to them?” You whined. “Are you kidding? Lock your window.”

Jun’s brow pinched together. “How is that going to help? They already saw us so just relax.”

“You’re telling me to relax? You practically threw me off your la—”

“Shht,” Jun snapped as the two boys drew nearer, “just shhhhht okay?” And with an incredibly large gulp, he plastered a happy-go-lucky smile to his mouth and let the window slide open.

“Jun?” Soonyoung called, leaning down slightly to peer inside the vehicle. “What’re you doing out here, huh? Back from shoplifting?”

Jeonghan bent down too, grinning snidely. “You looked a little frazzled or something.”

“Me?” Jun pointed at himself. “No, I’m fine. Just – we have to leave. Wonwoo is waiting.”

“Wonwoo?” Jeonghan seemed excited. “I haven’t seen him in a while. Hey, tell him I’m still appreciative for writing my World History paper on the Persian Empire.”

You knew it was best to stay quiet, but you couldn’t help your slight choke. Wonwoo had come home one day saying that one of his classmates offered him seventy-five bucks if he’d write their history paper. He wasn’t going to oblige originally, but cracked after listening to his classmate type out their introduction in the library, that it was just so bad Wonwoo felt piteous and decided to pitch in.

Gaping at Jeonghan, you exclaimed, “that was you?”

“Yeah. I mean, I still dropped that class. And Wonwoo definitely thinks I’m a dumbass. But I didn’t have to do a spot of work, and now I’m getting smooth nineties in English. You just have to make up some shit and do a couple fancy indents and you’re set.”

Jeonghan paused, then leaned in a little further to look you up and down. “Y’know, I’ve never seen you before. How easily do you give out your numbe—”

“We really have to go,” Jun interrupted, already clicking the button to roll up the window, “see you at practice, Soonyoung. Bye Jeonghan!”

The two boys didn’t really have any other option apart from stepping back, allowing Jun to exit the parking space and turn onto the road. Not that it would help much, you turned on the air conditioning until it felt like the wind was pure ice, hoping that you’d be able to preserve Wonwoo’s melting fudge sundae. You made sure to text him on your whereabouts, that you were heading home, and churned up a white lie about how you ran into Jun’s friends who held a persistent conversation.

It wasn’t entirely false. And yet, Wonwoo still managed to see through it.

[ wonwoo | 7:54 pm ]: Just say you were making out.

[ wonwoo | 7:54 pm ]: Btw, I fed Princess Pebble.

[ wonwoo | 7:54 pm ]: I’m not a sinner. Unlike you guys.

Later that evening, after delivering Wonwoo his melted cup of chocolate ice cream, after Jun quickly threw some extra clothes into his backpack and ran to his late-night dance practice, you were standing at the fish tank with some new plants you bought for your guppy. As the bright lights of the tank reflected across your face, there was a strange feeling inside you. It seemed like turbulence, confusion, your heart experiencing one sentiment but your brain thinking another.

You hadn’t realized you were absently standing there until Wonwoo came into the dark living room, holding a crumpled tube of toothpaste and his toothbrush. Watching the pink fish swim in between her new seaweed arrangement, he asked you if there was an extra tube stored in your bedroom.

“Don’t think so. Text Jun and ask him to stop at the store when his practice ends.”

“I’ll do that…” Wonwoo sighed. “Hey, you know I already fed Princess Pebble?”

He accompanied you at the tank. For some reason, you refused to look at Wonwoo. You felt unusually vulnerable, like a fragile shell that could be cracked open even by the gentlest hands, and the more you thought into your emotions, the harder your heart started pounding.

“I-I know,” you smiled weakly, “but I got her some new plants today. I just put them in.”

Wonwoo could always tell when something was off-kilter. You almost hated how sharp his senses were, that he was able to detect with such accuracy how you were being eaten up inside. Softly, he touched your shoulder, urged you to turn toward him so he could see the honest colour in your eyes.

“What’s wrong?” He frowned, pushing up the bridge of his glasses.

You felt terrified, but there was no sense in pretending.

“How do I tell Jun that I’m in love with him? That I don’t want us to be a secret anymore?”

It was a weighted question, and you knew that. But it was also the truth. As much as it could be invigorating to maintain a secret relationship, you were beginning to feel the brittle side effects that came with keeping such love behind closed doors. You didn’t want Jun to push you from his lap just because his friends might’ve seen you, nor did you want to keep an eye out for whether or not you should knock his hand off your thigh in public. The secrecy had been fun, but it wasn’t enough.

Scratching the blue collar of his shirt, Wonwoo appeared uncertain.

“I’m not sure, honestly. I just think you shouldn’t repress this. You need to be upfront.”

“How?” It sounded like a desperate plead. “I don’t know how, Wonwoo.”

“Stop overthinking it,” the boy advised, grabbing onto your shoulders and giving your frame a small, grounding shake, “you know Jun. You know he isn’t a rash person. You know if you tell him he’ll hear every word of it. It doesn’t take a genius to see you’re all he thinks about.”

Wonwoo  brushed at the side of your cheek with his thumb. “Don’t hurt yourself like this, okay? The next time you’re alone, just say how you feel. I promise it won’t be as bad as you’re hypothesizing.”

You inhaled a deep breath and nodded. Overthinking was a poison to you. It shouldn’t be that difficult to be honest, especially when you knew how attentive Jun was, the manner in which he always adapted himself to be of a comforting presence.

“Okay,” you attempted to draw together some confidence, “I’ll do that.”

“Good.” The boy grinned, still fiddling with his empty tube of toothpaste. “It really doesn’t bother me that you guys run around together. Just… please… never do anything weird in my bed.”

The next time you were alone with Jun, it was all but a desirable circumstance. Once you came home from work and heated up some leftover dinner in the microwave, you decided to feed Princess Pebble, though your jaw unhinged as you noticed something a little unorthodox about her tank: a pink blotch floating against the surface of the water. Immediately, the tears welted hot and stinging against your eyes. You had to use the small net to scoop your guppy out from the water.

Remarkably, Princess Pebble had lived a long life for a fish. You remembered walking with Jun to the pet store one summer afternoon, after you two finished your last day of eleventh grade and had just escaped a brutal chemistry exam. Rather than studying beforehand, you spent ample time researching different types of fish, and would often send Jun pictures asking him to choose which one he thought was cutest. Yet, at the end of it all, you chose a guppy with the prettiest pink scales.

“Don’t most people want a puppy? A kitten? And you choose a boring fish.”

Jun had teased, sounding awkward and a bit lisped through his braces.

Somehow, Princess Pebble had managed to live a five-year lifespan. Wonwoo told you most guppies live for two years, three years if the owner takes good care. Sitting at the kitchen table, you placed her body onto a piece of paper towel, the thick tears dripping down your cheeks while your sinuses grew wet and congested. You didn’t know if it was petulant to be your age, crying over a pet fish. In fact, you didn’t even possess the heart to rise from the table and discard her body.

It wasn’t much longer until Jun returned home after his theatre class, to which you heard his key rattling in the lock. Wonwoo was scheduled for a shift at the cinema, most likely handing out overpriced popcorn and chocolate and having to reject every person who asked for his number.

“Hey,” he called, shouldering off his backpack, “Wonwoo texted me. That weird thriller we were looking at is playing next week. We should—,”

Jun paused the moment he heard your runny sniffling. He didn’t realize that your fish was sitting on the paper towel until he took a few steps closer. You felt embarrassed Jun had to see you like this. If you were crying, it had always been over something with a little more gravity, like the time you were distraught about flunking your laboratory practical, and Wonwoo couldn’t persuade you to open your bedroom door no matter how frequently he stood outside, pleading.

Plucking at the collar of your shirt, you used the fabric to clear away the tears. Without a word, Jun grabbed another chair from the dining table and pulled it next to you, scooting in close. As soon as you felt his arm drape around your shoulders, it was like someone had pulled the plug on a bathtub filled with water, to which you pressed your face against his neck and sobbed harder.

“I’m so sorry.” Jun whispered, hugging you tight to his comfortable chest. “It’s okay to be upset. I know how much she meant to you.”

He drew soothing strokes down the back of your head, and he sat with you until those wet pearls ran dry with salt. You knew it wasn’t wise to keep her body out in the air, that you would have to discard her somehow, yet the thought of having to flush her away seemed too cruel. Jun wiped the soft glisten from your cheeks with his sleeve, his fingers then tracing up and down the side of your face.

“I-I don’t want to flush her.” You blubbered.

The boy shook his head. “We won’t do that. We’ll find a good way to handle it.” His thumb brushed tenderly below the fragile skin of your eye for a moment, and he seemed to be in musing.

“Wait here.” He announced, suddenly running into his bedroom.

You could hear Jun shuffling through his closet, moving around clothing hangers and pushing aside boxes still filled with some of his old belongings from homelife in Shenzhen. When he remerged into the living room, he was holding a particular tissue box, one that you hadn’t seen since twelfth grade biology. You, Jun, and Wonwoo had painted and decorated the box as part of an optional project, to see if you could grow any plants from the packets of radish and tomato seeds your teacher had.

Nothing ever grew. Wonwoo claimed there had been some green sprouts when it was his turn to look after the makeshift garden, but that his cat snuck into his room and ate them all. Jun always kept a multitude of random things that dated back to your adolescence. As awkward and bumpy as those times were, seeing the tissue box reminded you that there had been precious moments too.

“Why do you still have that?” You laughed, even if your chest was aching.

“Because that was the first time us three did something together.” Jun said, returning to his seat beside you. “It was one of the first memories I made after moving away from home.”

You fondly looked at Jun while pulling the tissue box toward you, slathered in old, chipping acrylic paint and obnoxious, starry glitter.

Licking the dry salt off your lips, you smiled. “Princess Pebble would love this.”

“It can be her shrine. When Wonwoo comes home, we can find a good place to bury it.” Jun explained. “I know I called her boring five years ago, but I didn’t mean it. I loved her too.”

In the pensive silence, you thought back to your conversation with Wonwoo, recalling his firm grip on your shoulders as he reiterated the importance of freeing your heart, of not bogging yourself down with too many untold truths. Then, you glanced at Jun. You thought about that fluttering feeling when you kissed him, when you ran your fingers through his hair, listening to his deep-chested laughter whenever he gleefully buckled over into your lap after telling one of his hit-or-miss jokes.

The boy tensed slightly as you pulled him into a hug, though he quickly came to ease and warmth. You thanked him, because it just felt like the right thing to do for his compassion.

And then you told him something else.

“I love you.”

Without missing a heartbeat, he murmured against your hair, “I love you too.”

It was late, unreasonably late, the past-midnight late where the entire world falls still like an unperturbed pond. Downtown was completely hushed. Every so often the wind picked up, though it inevitably withered away in between the buildings and emerged a pitiful whistle onto the street. And yet, despite the fact you should be tucked in bed while the moon protected the silence in her silver hands, you were pushing outside the convenience shop with Jun close behind.

He took the end of a straw into his mouth and slurped at the sweet, cherry-flavoured slushie that was beginning to empty. Immediately, he crinkled his forehead and his face contorted.

“How many times have I said not to do that?” You laughed as he passed you the slippery cup.

“I don’t know. Three?” Jun replied with a grimace. “I can really feel it. Wait, I need a moment.”

You stopped next to the traffic post at the end of the street. Jun grabbed at his hair and squeezed like it was some miraculous remedy for curing a brain freeze. Directing the straw into your mouth, you sucked up the cherry syrup and crushed ice until you felt the distant ache thrum inside your head.

“Okay…” Jun concluded, brushing the long, black fringe from his eyes, “I’m good now.”

Thrusting the drink back into his hands, you couldn’t help but huff: “you’re such a baby.”

As though to prove your point, Jun started whining. “My head is so, so cold. It’s freezing.”

“So put this up or something.” You teased, reaching around the back of his neck to pull the boy’s hood over his head. Giggling slightly, you grinned at him as he shot you a questionable glance.

The streets remained quiet, and the sky was remarkably clear, no more than a few ragged and thin clouds drifting over the stars. The last time you had been on this corner, you were licking the strawberry sugar off your fingertips while Jun crumpled his last packet of popping candy. You remembered tracing the rose tint that warmed his lips, each fibre in your muscle twitching because you just wanted to wrap a hand through his locks and kiss him like he was your last breath.

You didn’t understand how you could love one person so much. Why love often fused itself into your bloodstream more than functionality. Your heart knew how to beat, yet it stumbled whenever you gazed at him. Your lungs knew how to filter the air, yet they closed up whenever you caught his eye. Your tongue knew how to articulate, yet it tied itself in a knot the moment he’d touch you.

“Hey,” you mumbled, patting his arm, “can I ask you something?”

Jun looked away from the stars, sipping at his drink again. He nodded.

The moon probably wanted to crush your heart in her hands for how loudly it was thumping.

“What if I told you that I want people to know we’re together? What would you say?”

Despite your anxiousness, you weren’t as afraid as you anticipated. Maybe it was because Jun didn’t immediately sour or attempt to disparage your sentiments. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking as he blinked at you, but it didn’t matter. When it was most important, Jun picked his words carefully.

“I’d tell you that I want the same thing,” he admitted, his tone deepening and the amber in his cheeks sparked with pink, “that I want people to know how I feel about you… That I’ve always been in love with you.”

You smiled wide, like a kid who just got their braces off. Unable to contain such a rapturous energy, you stepped in close to Jun and held onto his shoulders, dotting the corners of his mouth with small kisses before you pressed your lips against his. You felt him smirk, though it seemed too devious. Jun had suddenly wrapped his arms around your lower back, pushing you in chest-to-chest. You melted as he kissed you, your fingertips ghosting along the soft hairs at his nape, the moonlight on your skin.

When you arrived back at the apartment, you could hear a few of Wonwoo’s gentle snores echo from behind the bedroom door. Just before you slipped away into your own room, Jun left a goodnight kiss to the top of your head, his hand thoughtfully squeezing your hip.

“I-Isn’t it a little late for that?” Jun stumbled through his laughter. “Why do you need me?”

It was a surface-level question really, but nonetheless, your heart still skipped a beat. In only a second or more the silence was bearing down too heavily and it felt like your heart was a book with all its pages out. Jun’s eyes were twinkling as he blinked up at you.

You finally knew what you should have said.

“Because I love you.”

✧✎ a/n: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY SWEET PRINCE!! never would i have imagined that someone who’s on the opposite side of the globe could mean so much to me ;_; mr. moon has been such a healing presence, and it’s bc of him that i have found so much happiness these past five years! whenever i see him smiling and laughing and have good ol times just being himself, all my worrisome thoughts somehow fade away and i feel only joy!! 

anyways, i don’t want to ramble for too long (i could really fill a page with my cloying sentiments r.i.p) but i hope this was a wholesome fic!! the stars aligned and for once i was able to write a fic for a member’s birthday :_) 

[kim-monsterlings]

Gwynna - F Firbolg x F Human (Reader) // NSFW

The pictures do not belong to me. I only created the mood board. Do not repost my work anywhere.

Content: NSFW/Lemon; mentions of deceit, flirting, an obsession with fruity lip gloss, kissing, sort of strip tease (reader), nipple play (kissing, touching), fingering + orgasming, fluff

Wordcount: 2708

“Tropemas” Summary: for months, the firbolg hadn’t made any progress in her module, until you found out she had already passed it

Notes: Gwynna was my absolute favourite to write and I fell in love with her so this was me intending to personally save best for last - though my gnoll Ollie comes close second. This was intended to be my last tropemas story, but things got away with me and Farren the lich will be here soon. For now, enjoy my absolute sweetheart Gwyn <3

Masterlist // “Tropemas” Masterlist

Being lied to stung. It stung like an anchor breaking the surface of the ocean as your stomach fell, knees weak and heart aching, but not all lies. Only some.

This lie did the opposite.

Finding the firbolg you had tutored for the last eight weeks leaving a classroom she had no business being in - not with her grades, not without passing the module she came to you for help in - hadn’t left you struggling for breath. Beyond the fog clouding your thoughts, the deceit turned you against the wall before she saw you too.

In that same classroom, Silverstone - a silver fox of a wyvern-shifter - had taught you the year before, in the year Gwynna studied in. Only he taught the optional module, and it was all he led. If Gwynna hadn't passed the one you tutored, her compulsory module, she couldn't have taken it.

Which seemed odd, as she'd failed her past two exams.

The library remained ever quiet when you set up your usual booth with old textbook notes and the textbook itself, decorated in part by Gwynna's doodling as she tired of your lessons; small flowers matching those she wove into her bright hair, like the flowers she grew at home far from the city, or small notes you later stumbled upon, on paper torn from her notepad, and always little compliments: 'you looked cute today', 'i love your perfume', 'try the tea with honey i promise you'll love it!'

Many of your prior tutees had passed the module with your help, yet Gwynna’s grades only worsened since spending longer hours with you. Her lack of focus had changed how you tutored, though it was obvious now her inability to settle wasn’t through boredom or confusion, but because she already knew it all.

You greeted the golden-skinned firbolg with the same smile as always, smothered in her warm hug. Standing “only” at seven foot - apparently short for firbolgs - and always carrying the scent of the woods and flowers, you returned the close hug and breathed deep. She was glowing in the sunlight, wearing wide, flared trousers and a warm jumper.

"I bought tea," you said. Her wide ears twitched as you handed her a cup. "Three sugars, no honey."

"No honey?"

"They didn't have any, Gwyn. It's a university library café." Her sigh lifted your smile, and maybe a little cruelly, too. "I wanted to try something today. Practice exam."

Her voice weakened. "Tea without honey and a practice exam? Do you hate me?"

The knot in your chest forced you to take her hand with a small squeeze before her crestfallen face ruined you. She played you too well after weeks together: always with the soft, doe eyes and pinned back ears. Gwynna exhaled - her next words inevitably to question if she still had a test, until you closed her warm fingers around a pen.

Baby blue eyes narrowed. "What are you doing for an hour?"

“Looking over some old material.” You smiled, not ignorant to her throat bobbing. The textbook for Silverstone’s module rested before you. “Never hurts to refresh it.”

Her lips parted on a breath many times, so close to speaking. It was your pen bitten by her teeth and not the first - you had separate pens for her now. She hadn’t yet opened the test when she straightened. "Did you reconsider tutoring more modules?"

“Like Silverstone’s?” Beneath overgrown bangs, she looked to you with a soft nod. “Maybe once you pass your module, I’d reconsider.”

The pen returned to her glossy lips. On the first evening of coffees and yawns, Gwynna asked of other modules but this was the only one you tutored. Not even a week later, she failed her exam. Had it counted toward her final grade, the sessions would have been far longer beforehand and from then - until a second mock she again failed, the nights together in your corner of the library ran long after dark.

With her final only over a month from today, her grades from practice exams were still low. You almost wanted to see how long she could pretend for.

"Do you want to try the tea?"

The small, paper cup dripped damp marks onto her unopened test paper and you smiled. "Don't distract yourself, Gwyn."

"I'm not! Isn't yours so plain?"

"Will you at least try the test if I try it?"

In the same sweet tone you pretended to reconsider tutoring for Silverstone, Gwynna passed her tea. “I might.”

The sweetness stuck on your tongue; too sickly, far too hot, but you loved it. Not for the tea but the fruity flavour of her lipgloss on the rim. It wasn’t the tea warming through you, tightening your chest. Her lips curled; she could read you too well, but not well enough to know why you were flushed.

"Finish the test."

Every new question, she stalled. Her pen spun in her slender fingers or her tail twitched by your hip. Those feigned moments of confusion had before guilted you for failing to help her, but tonight you sipped your tea and watched when her forehead scrunched.

Then she would deliberately choose the wrong answer.

"Worst score yet, Gwyn." Only someone with a complete understanding of which answers were right could fail so spectacularly, but she winced all the same. “Your mock next week,” your said quietly - there wasn’t one, not with the final so close, but Gwynna had no idea as she looked up. “Would a change of environment help? If could bring honey tea to yours.”

“No.” The pain sharp in your chest couldn’t be only the desire to catch her in the act of failing, but you fought it. Gwynna brushed her long fringe from her rounding eyes before touching her hand to yours. "I have sweeter tea at home."

"Friday?"

Friday worked.

From then to Friday, you shared one more evening bundled in the corner booth. Gwynna never once touched a pen or a textbook in the session. For hours, she leaned against you, legs pressed tight and her tail wound to your ankles. So far your favourite night together as she spoke of home - even inviting you back in the holidays to the woods. Despite her teasing for your scrawled handwriting, nothing warmed you more than her warm hands taking yours, tracing the smudged ink and she held it until the end of your session.

Dressing in the outfit she always complimented most on Friday evening was coincidence, nothing more.

Her single flat off wasn’t far from you, both living off of campus, though Gwynna distanced from city centre. The flat’s cosy quiet led you into a tiny lounge where she hugged you close - “look at you! So pretty,” she’d whispered, leaning down - before leading you round with a hand in yours to the smaller kitchen.

In plain sight, Silverstone’s textbook tucked beneath the module you taught on her coffee table. 

"Before I make tea," she hummed, filling the kettle. Her hair swung in a thick plait down to the middle of her back as she turned, eyes bright. "You're not making me do another practice test are, you?"

"Would you throw me out if I did?"

"Yes."

“Maybe later,” you teased. Her lips twitched but she held a frown until reaching for mugs on a shelf much taller than you. “How are you finding things?"

Her voice warmed the small room, backed by the small clinks of her spoon in the mugs. Without asking, she made your tea how you liked - frowning and grumbling at the lack of sugar as she did, before offering you a biscuit. Homemade, so you couldn't resist.

"How do you find our sessions, too?"

Gwynna blinked over her shoulder before winking. "Highlights of my week."

Streetlights softened the smile on her dark lips. They glistened with her fruity lipgloss, pulled into a wider smile when you welcomed the hot tea in her favourite mug; favourite for her favourite person, she'd whispered, and the golden tint to her skin flushed.

"I forgot to ask..." She hummed so gently you nearly refrained from asking, scared of upsetting her. Though she had lied to you for weeks, so spoke softly, casually. "How do you find Silverstone? Do you like him?"

"Oh, I love him! He teaches almost like you, actually-"

If you hadn’t reached for her hand, her sweet tea and mug would have shattered by your feet. From curses to apologies, she stammered, quieting the more she backed away from the kitchen. She never moved her hand from yours.

Silverstone had been your favourite lecturer. To hear her compare you was a high compliment and a reassurance that your style of tutoring wasn’t an utter failing. Had she not refused to look back at you, the compliment would’ve meant much more.

One, soft gasp came at her legs pressing back against the sofa. She had nowhere to run to with her fingertips still brushing yours. Her fringe shadowed her closed eyes. With every call of her name, her ears turned back, so you tiptoed. Her frilly collar tickled your palm but it was enough to lower her for your lips to meet.

All seven foot of her fainted back. Her arms stroked around your waist until you followed her down. She lost all timidity in settling you on her lap and turning her face against yours, foreheads together.

"You kissed me. You just kissed me."

"And I'd do it again, Gwyn.” Her breath came as a whine when you loosened her collar to stroke her neck. “If you let me."

Her kiss was your answer. She tasted of sweet fruits, more than just the gloss of her lips, more than the tea still warm on her tongue, like she was yours to taste and hold. The warm hand then stroking your hip tightened, gently running lower until she was squeezing your ass and shifting you closer across her wide thighs.

"I never meant to lie," she whispered. Like the reminder of her deceit could lose you, she ran her nose to yours and indulged again until you gasped. "That was... that was a lie. I did mean to lie to you. I didn't want you to stop tutoring me, and-"

“Gwyn, none of that matters. Not when you’re trying to undress me.”

Even leaning back beneath you, her face rose above yours. She softened her kiss and her fingers before tentative on your back dipped beneath the waist of your trousers, low enough you hummed into her lips and louder with her tongue sweet to yours. Loose strays on her nape ran through your fingertips, holding her closer with parted mouth kisses following your jaw lower. 

"When did you pass the module?"

She mumbled something into your throat so low you couldn't hear, and sighed. "The day after we met."

"Gwynna, that... you never needed my help?"

Her cheeks flushed a warmer shade. "I nearly corrected you sometimes. I'm sorry! I'm," she rasped, curling you close when you reared back, jaw fallen low. "I can make it up to you?"

Heat rounded her stare, eyelashes fluttering in a deliberate, blatant look down and up to your warming face. She was the one to unbuckle your belt, but you rose from her thighs with a parting kiss to stand, bending lower to undress.

Gwynna curled her fingers into the edge of the sofa cushions. Standing before her in only your underwear made you hesitate, but her soft, whispered plea undid the clasp of your bra. Her groan muffled behind bitten lips though she never once looked away when your thumbs tucked behind the hem of your underwear, and they fell.

Nothing could delay her any longer with you bare and in reach. The strength of a firbolg dragged you returned to straddling her lap. Her thighs spread wider and parted your legs, bound close at her mercy. Though with the way she trembled, a whisper of your name before she lifted a hand to your chest, you had never felt more in control.

"How are you going to make it up to me, Gwyn?"

Her smile was your last sight before she stole your breath and tasted your moan. Sweet and warm, delicate like the careful touch exploring you. The smooth pad of her thumb stroked your nipple and shivers bloomed beneath her touch

Her lips silenced you. Sweet and warm, delicate like her touch as she explored you. The pad of her thumb stroked your nipple and she ran her fingertips down your spine, sending small shivers through you.

Not following the falling of her palm left you crying and holding her shoulders tight. Her finger stroked low and entered you to the knuckle. Gwynna’s laugh softened to a shy smile.

“Like this,” she said and curled her finger to stroke deeper, following your fluttering walls around her. “Is this okay?”

That she asked warmed you, but you were quicker to burn when your body clenched against two crooked fingers. “More. More, please.”

It was an oversight, not to follow her fallen hand; an oversight making you cry and curse and clutch her shoulders tight when she eased a thick finger between your legs, a sheepish smile lifting her lips when she looked up.

“More,” she echoed. Only her hand cupping your nape held you from falling back when your back arched in pleasure. With her fingers finding a hastening rhythm, her thumb brushed against your clit before rubbing it firmer. “More?”

She held you tighter when you panted, “give me everything.”

Her blouse fell loose on her arms under your hands until your bodies pressed flush, the heat of her stirring through to where her fingers slowed. Gwynna stole the breath you desperately needed when your eyes rolled back, the coaxing of her three fingers lifting you to your peak.

Gwynna’s breathing deepened with yours. Each stroke of her fingers came against your hips grinding down, her hair loose under your tugging. “What do you need? You’re so close,” she hummed, nestling against your chest and sucking your nipple into her mouth. “So pretty.”

She was there, touching you where you needed to be touched, breathing as hard and as hot as you were. "How does it feel? What do you need?"

“I need you. To touch-”

Her cosy flat erupted with light. Gwynna’s kisses marked your chest above your racing heart but never slowed the firm touch on your swollen clit. Through your legs trembling and walls clenching around her still moving hand, she prolonged the intense pleasure until your cries softened into quieter moans against her shoulder.

Warm arms curled you to her chest, slumped and still tingling. Her nose bumped yours and on lifting your glossy stare, her lips parted to suck your release from her fingers. The teasing wink as she licked you from her lips made your stomach flutter.

"Was that okay?"

"More than okay," you mumbled. "Lie to me anytime."

Her forehead creased. "We never finished our tea."

"Gwyn, we won't finish them."

Nestled into your throat, her lips pulled up. She nibbled at your jaw and laid close, the both of you swaying until the rush faded and your breathing slowed. In the pause before you begged Gwynna to carry you to her bedroom - your legs still trembled, her hand running up to your thigh - you tipped her chin up. Her eyes closed in anticipation of a kiss which you surrendered too before swallowing a laugh.

"You'll find this funny," you began, and she hummed, tucking hair behind your ear. "I planned on asking you out when I was no longer your tutor."

Gwynna's wide ears drooped. "This took so long because of me?"

"That depends." As you had, she shivered from the brush of your fingertips running along the cups of her bra; it would be off in minutes. "How long have you wanted me?"

"Why do you think I wanted you as my tutor?"

“Take me to your bedroom,” you whispered.

Gwynna laid you down on her bed, where the night drifted passed in many kisses and returned favours, until you woke to do it again.

[muertawrites]

Two Halves - Chapter Eighteen (Zuko x Reader)

Chapter 17

Word Count: 2,200

Author’s Note: Shit’s hitting the fan y’all - not just in Two Halves but in everything else as well. I’m formatting this and ignoring all the impending doom swirling around me by drowning it out with Disney move soundtracks. 

You wake before Zuko the next morning, which isn't hard considering you barely slept. Toph arrives under the cover of early dawn, the sky just becoming gray as her ship lands on the palace grounds; you meet her without your husband, as you never got the chance to tell him she was coming the night previous. 

“You didn't have to rush out here,” you tell her, clutching her hands in an anxious vice. “It's not safe.” 

“When have I ever cared if anything was safe?” she scoffs. “Sparky clearly needs help protecting you.” 

The words are delivered with sarcastic wit, but her fingers shake in your palm. 

You decide you won't tell her about Qiang’s threat - you don't want to give him reason to hurt anyone else. Instead, you tell her that the palace is under constant, heavy surveillance, and that you're still unsure who exactly is conducting the strange occurrences that have plagued you or what their motives are. Not exactly a lie, but enough that you feel she won't be put in any more danger. 

“Do you think you can even trust your guards?” Toph wonders, her arm clenched tightly to your elbow. 

“Suki vetted every one of them herself,” you tell her. “But… we still don't know.” 

As you walk with her through the palace, nothing feels secure - the servants that pass you all seem suspicious, the guards and metal benders that flank you all looking like strangers through the gaze of your fear. Anyone could be working under Qiang; the thought of being so unsafe in your own home, even with the people you trust most beside you, makes you ill to the point you feel dizzy. 

“Zuko should be up,” you blurt. “Why don't you spar with him before breakfast? I’ll meet you.” 

Toph’s brow furrows with unease, her grip on your bicep becoming tighter. 

“Are you okay?” she asks. 

You nod, but don't bother to put on a brave face. 

“I just feel a little tired,” you reply. “I didn't sleep very well last night.” 

Again, not a lie. 

Toph considers this for a moment, no doubt gauging your pulse, then concedes, letting you go with a firm, nervous squeeze. 

“Okay,” she says. “We’ll stay close.” 

When you see that she goes without incident, you sweep through the corridor, hastily making your way back to your own, personal bedroom, and locking the door behind you. For a moment, you stand staring at the threshold, considering pushing your vanity or wardrobe in front of it to barricade yourself in. 

Your vanity. Your wardrobe. 

It sinks in that you haven't been alone in this room since you returned from Ember Island; you moved your belongings into Zuko’s room, opting to sleep next to him and making plans to convert the room back into a sunroom. You pace the floor slowly, inspecting the bed and its thin, billowing canopy, the windows and their gorgeous views beyond lightly veiled curtains; had you stayed in this room, they'd have been switched out for heavier ones in anticipation of winter, but they remain, letting in cool air that chills the dormant space. Dust has gathered on the deep, glossy wood of your vanity, your fingers leaving streaks in their wake as they run along its edge. You pull the single drawer open as if by instinct, something catching in your chest as its only remaining contents slide out from the shadows. 

A single pai sho tile - the lotus. 

On its side, so minuscule you can barely make it out, is a series of addresses; you discovered the markings one night while nervously toying with the gift from Iroh, finding various locations around the world listed on the piece after inspecting it under a magnifying glass. You told no one of this, not even Zuko, knowing deep down that it was something Iroh meant only for you. Your fingers trace over the address in the Imperial City - a pub by the name of Ichigo’s. 

Without a second thought, you dash to the trunk at the foot of your bed and pull a cloak from its depths - the one you and Zuko used to navigate the city unnoticed during your wedding celebrations. You strip out of your ceremonial robes, folding them neatly in the space where the cloak was and replacing them with your traveling clothes. You thank the spirits for the cold weather as you pull the cloak tightly around yourself, making sure it obscures your face before leaving the room once more. 

In the corner of your bedroom, there's a hatch; it's hidden under a false floorboard, beneath a thick rug, and leads to tunnels that wind in a labyrinth below the palace. Zuko explained that they've been there for hundreds of years, known to very few select people within the palace walls as an escape for the royal family should the need ever arise. 

“It's how we hid when Aang invaded the Fire Nation,” he told you. “It's where I confronted my father and left.” 

You raise the hatch from its disguise, slipping into the hole it forms in the floor with a single candle, the lotus tile, and the knife with which Qiang intends for you to kill your husband. In a matter of seconds, the board and rug fall back into place, and you slip from the palace in the dark, the entire world above unknown to your disappearance. 

The streets of the Imperial City are unfamiliar to you, but you make an effort to walk with sure steps. Your face is well hidden under your cloak, shadowed by the gray gloom of a silver sky, but it isn't as if anyone is curious enough to slow and peer beneath it; the air is brisk, and people rush past you in a haste to get where they need to go, back into warmth. 

Ichigo’s is on the fringes of the city, resting on a small hill beside the docks amongst a cluster of other businesses; together, they form a small alley and marketplace, its shops and stalls either shuttered or lit with hanging burners to fight off the winter cold. As you approach the bar, climbing over a set of wood steps that creak and shift under your weight, rain begins to fall. 

The inside of the bar proves much more welcoming than its surly exterior. In one corner, a fireplace burns with a wide, open hearth, a set of thick logs crackling cheerfully within. The paneled walls are decorated in an array of tapestries and promotional posters for other local businesses, and the tables that span the room are cozy and intimate, seated with cushions and placed atop tatami mats that buffer the rough wood floors. The bar itself is also quite quaint; only a few feet long and hosting about four seats, its shelves of liquor bordered by a twinkling string of lanterns and a small, handwritten message board announcing the day’s kitchen specials. What catches your eye, however, is the cluster of pai sho tables against one wall, the one farthest occupied by an elderly man in a white robe; you approach him tentatively, taking the seat opposite him and bowing respectfully under the guise of your hood. 

“Are you interested in a game?” the man asks. His voice is kindly, his mouth spreading into a grandfatherly smile as he speaks. “I don’t often find strangers willing to play against me.” 

“A game would be nice,” you reply, unsure what exactly you’re doing but knowing this man must be the reason Iroh sent you here. “Do you mind if I play with my own lotus tile?” 

“Not at all,” the man accommodates. “I too have my own set of tiles.” 

You reach into the pocket of your cloak, placing your lotus amongst the tiles set up on the game board; the man observes you carefully, leaning in to get a better look at the piece you’ve brought with you. 

“Do you mind if I see that for a moment?” he asks. “The craftsmanship is exquisite.” 

You nod, allowing him to take the piece. He turns it over in his fingers, running the pad of his thumb over the intricately carved design and holding it up to his face, inspecting it with great discretion. A nervous flicker tickles your stomach as he traces over the sides of the tile, no doubt finding the inscriptions on its surface. 

“You’ve been sent by a friend of mine,” the man finally states. 

“I believe so,” you respond. “I’m in need of some help.” 

“Then you’re in the right place,” the man says with a grin. He stands, handing the lotus tile back to you and ushering you to follow him. “Come with me. There’s another friend I’d like you to meet.” 

Wary, you follow him to the side of the bar, where he lifts a heavy curtain and slips into a back room. You clutch the knife in your pocket tightly, discreetly, hoping you haven’t just made a grave mistake and gotten yourself in more danger. He takes you through the bar’s storage room, moving aside a tower of boxes to reveal a small door, held in place by a simple, secure latch; he snaps it open, leading you through a low archway that descends into the building's basement. 

On the other side of the short passage, you find a tiny, yet nicely decorated sitting room - curtains hang from the ceiling creating a tentlike atmosphere, parted in places to reveal maps of the four nations hung on the walls. The center of the room is occupied by a large desk upon which many books and scrolls are scattered, and the air is heavy with the smoke of incense. Under the single lantern that lights the space, you spot the familiar face and humble stature of an older woman. 

“Advisor Yong,” you gasp. 

She stands in shock, pacing quickly over to you as you lower the hood of your cloak to reveal your face. She takes your hands in her own, clutching them tightly. 

“My lady,” Yong breathes with as much awe as you addressed her with. “How did you come all this way? Are you alone?” 

“Iroh gave her his tile,” the man who brought you explains. “I assume he sent her for her safety.” 

“There are tunnels under the palace,” you add. “I told the staff I was feeling ill and snuck out. Nobody knows I'm here.”

Yong guides you to the table, sitting you down beside her and telling the man to fetch you a cup of tea. The time-wisened lines in her skin seem deeper than usual, creased by a frown that distorts her whole face.

“They'll be discovering that you're gone soon,” she says, “so we must make this quick. Has Iroh told you about his membership with the Order before?” 

You shake your head, furrowing your brow in confusion. 

“The Order of the White Lotus,” Yong elaborates, “is an ancient society that operates beyond political bounds. We come together to share ancient philosophy and knowledge, but since the war… we act as a sort of lifeline organization as well. Emergency aid for those who need it.” 

“Iroh gave me that lotus tile when he was here for the wedding,” you tell her. “He must have known something I didn't because we’re in much more danger than we thought - Qiang threatened me. He wants me to kill Zuko.” 

“Qiang…” Yong mutters. “He can't be the one behind this. He doesn't have the manipulative tact to convince so many groups to act according to his will.” 

“He made it seem as if they were huge,” you continue. “He told me they had informants all over the palace.” 

“He's a good liar,” Yong dismisses, though her expression remains concerned. “Intimidating, too; that's why he was the one to threaten you. But he isn't the leader. What did he tell you? When he gave you the order?” 

“He said they'd kill my family. I don't want to lose anyone, but Katara and Aang…” 

Yong nods. 

“Aang is too important,” she finishes for you. “His death would devastate the world and put countless lives in danger. I promise, we won't let any harm come to them or anyone else.” 

She stands once more, offering a hand with which she raises you up. She continues to clutch it, gripping you as if letting go means surrendering you to the enemy. 

“I’ll call a meeting of our members within the city,” she states. “We have a few members staffed at the palace who we’ll ensure are at your guard. I’ll alert internal security and have them investigate Qiang immediately.” 

The man returns, and Yong instructs him to leave the tea and accompany you back to the palace - as far as he can without compromising the security of the tunnels. 

“Advisor Yong,” you say as you're ushered again through the passage and out the back of the pub, “we only have a week. Is that… do we have enough time?” 

Yong’s eyes sweep your face, her pupils flitting back and forth as she tries to find the right words to say.

“I won't lie to you,” she finally answers. “I don't know. All I can promise you is that we’ll do our best. We reconquered Ba Sing Se with much lesser numbers than we have now - here's hoping those odds are still in our favor.” 

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[go-dark-turtle]

(This is for @kakyoin-shades thank you so much for inspiring me. Anyhoo I hope you enjoy my first Jotaro x reader fan fiction. Let me know what you think. Thank you~ 😎)

Overdrive into Platinum

Jotaro x Gender Neutral reader fanfiction.

After the events of facing N'Doul, Kakyion had to spend time in the nearby hospital which meant the Stardust Crusaders were a member short. However it wasn't until Avdol received a telegram from his fromer shop assistant that they were in the area in the town outside of Luxor.

"Oi Avdol who exactly is this person?" Polnareff asked while placing his cheek on his palm leaning over the table to try and read the telegram.

Avdol placed the telegram in his chest pocket and gave the Frenchman a glare for trying to read it. He gently clasped his hands and softly spoke "Ah lets see well Y/N came to me about 4 years. They asked me for a reading. They wanted to know more about the world so I took them under my wing teaching everything I knew. Then a year later it was discovered they had a unique ability."

"So they are stand user?" Joseph asked while holding his cup.

"No, they use Hamon. I know now it's a very old practice..." Avdol nodded

"That can't be, the only Hamon users left are myself and my mother..." Joseph scratched his chin trying to figure it out "The Hamon tribe was wiped out after I defeated Straizo..."

Just then you walked into the cafe and smiled at Avdol and charged at him and pinned him against the table glaring down at him. "Long time no see Avdol ha ha ha ha ha!"

"What the heck Y/N! What in the world has gotten into you." Avdol struggled to get you off him.

Jotaro walked up behind you and pried you off Avdol and holding your arm and looked at your face. " Listen here, I don't know who you think you are, but pulling this sort of shit off isn't funny."

You grunted and glared at the young teen and took a deep breath. "KWOOOOOOOO"

"Watch out Jotaro! KWOOOOOO" Joseph tackled his grandson to the ground and used his hamon to deflect yours.

"Ah if it isn't Mr Joestar, HA HA HA HA, Oh it's going to be an absolute pleasure taking you out." You cackled at the older gentleman.

Polnareff ran over to Avdol and helped him up while Jotaro dusted himself down and marched up to you and used Star Platinum to hold you down to the ground, you struggled against the invisible grip and grunted and growled knowing you couldn't move against his tight grip. His aqua eyes scanned over your face and that's when he nodded to his grandfather who took the place of Star Platinum to hold you down. Jotaro held your cheeks and Star Platinum brushed your fringe back and right in the centre of your forehead a fleshbud.

"ORA!" Star platinum yanked it out at full force.

"YUCK!" Joseph used a hamon kick to make the fleshbud into dust.

You sat up and held your face like you woke up from a dream and you noticed Avdol.

"Mr Avdol, I am so sorry. I... I was too weak to overcome him..." You rushed to his side and placed your hand on his and bowed in his presence.

"Y/N, Im so sorry you were under his control...how did it happen?" Avdol placed his other hand on yours and looked at you.

"2 years ago, after discovering my hamon powers I began to research my past a little. But I only got so far, the records of my grandfather and before him were gone from all existence. That's when that night I came back to your shop to ask more but Dio was there outside of your shop. standing there in the dimly lit street his skin was so white and eerie looking I was frozen on the spot unable to do anything. His voice was so calm and yet I felt more terrified. The last words I heard before under his control was 'It's ironic that a Hamon user is under my spell.' Mr Avdol I'm so ashamed of myself I let him take over." You hung your head in shame.

"Y/N, I am to blame if I had run the other way that night I could have saved you from that terrible and terrifying encounter. Please don't feel ashamed, he is a terrifying monster." Avdol patted your shoulder "But what matters is now you are safe with us, Y/N these are my friends Mr Joestar, Jotaro and Polnareff, everyone this is Y/N."

Everyone except Jotaro shook your hand and when you approached him with an open hand he smacked it away and walked outside to have a smoke.

"Ah don't mind my grandson Y/N he keeps himself to himself dont take it personally. So you are a Hamon user? I don't understand how that can be. The Hamon race died out a long time ago." Joseph tiled his head in confusion.

"Well I only got to meet grandma Zeppeli once before she passed on but she didn't say anything about Hamon..." You smile at the memory.

"ZEPPELI?! OH MY GOD! Now it all makes sense." He laughed and ruffled your hair and cried a little "My old training partner Ceaser, he's your grandfather... I had a feeling he had a girlfriend on the side back then, heh heh I miss the training days."

Jotaro walked back in and saw you and his grandfather laughing and chatting, he glared even more and pushed you aside. "Don't think that because you're free from Dio's control we can be friends. The others might not see it but I'm still suspicious of you!"

"Jotaro would you calm down, they are actually more connected to us more than you think. Caesar, my old training buddy, was their grandfather...." Joseph folded his arms at his grandson .

"I dont care, I still don't like them." Jotaro glared at you and sat down to join Avdol and Polnareff having a cup of tea.

You put your hands on your hips and shook your head at how disrespectful he was not just to you but to his own flesh and blood.

***Later at the hotel***

There were only 3 rooms available and Polnareff was insistent he had his own room. As much as Joseph was up for sharing with Jotaro, Avdol voted against it and went with him. That ment by default you shared a room with Jotaro, thankfully the room you two were put in had a bunkbed and a bit of space to sit and watch TV. Joseph and Avdol's room were a few doors down from you both. But due to single rooms being smaller Polnareff's room was directly belows yours.

"Good night Mr Joestar, Avdol, Jotaro and Y/N. Hey and you two don't you be fighting all night I need my beauty sleep." The Frenchman spun his key around his finger and headed down to the second floor.

You both glared at the tall haired man but then followed the older gents down the hallway, you stopped with them as Jotaro carried on to the room.

"Ah this is our spot good night Y/N if you need me or Mr Joestar just come on by." Avdol smiled.

Joseph smiled at you both "Now listen up you two, we have a big day ahead of us tomorrow so get some rest okay." You smiled and waved them good night before catching up to Jotaro.

"Ugh what a pain..." He gritted his teeth and opened the door knowing tonight was going to be a rough and challenging night.

"Oh wow what a lovely room." You looked all around the room " Ah I want top bunk."

"No top bunk is mine, back off." Jotaro started to climb the ladder

"I called it first." You janked the back of his belt

"Dont touch me...." Jotaro turned around and towered over you and backed you into the wall.

"Ah I'm sorry, I'm sorry, you can have the top bunk just dont hurt me.. " You felt helpless in his icy glare.

He huffed and climbed up the ladder to place down his rucksack while you sank to the floor and sighed with relief and closed your eyes.

PSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSCH!

Your eyes widened and you looked over and noticed he helped himself to one of the beers in the fridge without asking permission.

"Hey! You should ask before opening that!" You sprung to your feet and pointed at him

"Pfft, I don't need to listen to someone like you." He shrugged and proceeded to bring the can to his lips.

You shook your head in disbelief and held the can "KWOOOOOOOOOO!" you breathed deeply.

You smirked as the liquid inside came out like a big blob and encased itself around your finger and you walked towards the door.

"Oi gimme that back." Jotaro marched up behind you.

"You need to ask permission first..." You smirked more turning the doorknob and the door opened ajar.

Jotaro slammed his hand on the door and forced it to slam again. You looked up at him and you sighed.

"Fine if you really want it back then here take it!" You charged Hamon through the liquid, but due to the force of the Hamon charged it exploded over his jacket and forced him backwards in shock.

"Ugh... oh you are going to pay for that. Star Platinum." Jotaro threw off his jacket and clenched his first and glared at you more.

"Oh you wanna fight then alright. KWOOOOOOOO!" You charged Hamon in your fists and watched him approach you. (ha ha yes he is approaching you lol)

He was getting closer and that's when you smirked knowing you had the upper hand.

"OVERDRIVE!!!!!!" You punched his stomach and he landed on the floor.

You stepped forward and nudged him while he was paralaysed on the floor. He looked up at you and realised how strong you were and gritted his teeth and charged Star Platinum at you and pinned you against the wall which caused you to hurt your back being slammed so suddenly.

"WHAT IS GOING ON IN HERE?" Joseph slammed the door opened and saw you pinned against the wall by Star platinum and Jotaro was on the floor stunned by hamon. "Y/N! JOTARO! I WANT AN EXPLANATION NOW!"

You both started to bicker and talked over each other and Joseph held his hand up "I don't want to hear anymore pettiness. You are supposed to be a team. Now stop all this fighting and for the love of hermit purple get some bloody sleep. Avdol and myself could hear you fighting all the way down the hallway. Just be thankful he's not in here otherwise you'd both be sorry. Now make up and get some rest."

Joseph left the room and Jotaro called back his stand and you fell to the floor. " I'm sorry Jotaro, I didn't mean for your jacket to get drenched in beer." You crawled over to him and used Hamon to get rid of his paralysed state before dusting yourself down and standing up.

"Y/N I'm sorry too, are you okay?" Jotaro stood up and looked to the floor not wanting to make eye contact.

"I'll be fine, what about you? I just sent Hamon on your stomach. I hope it didn't leave a mark..." You felt bad and clenched your fists nervously.

"Ah I wouldn't worry about that, the old man is right let's get some sleep, ugh...." Jotaro turned to climb up the bunk bed and that's when he realised his abs felt like a thousand bruises all appeared at once.

He lifted his tank top and saw a huge burn mark left by the Hamon. Your eyes widened and you dashed to the bathroom, you grabbed a face cloth and some badges from the first aid kit and encouraged him to sit down.

"Y/N thank you..." He smiled softly at you.

You nodded and placed the wet cloth on the burn and wrapped the bandage around his waist making sure it was secure.

"There we go all fixed. Again I'm so sorry I've never been in a fight before so I have no idea how strong my powers are really..." You looked down and admitted

"Until today you've...never been in a fight? I...I feel such a dick... Y/N I was so angry hearing you are a Hamon user and letting Dio take over you so easily. I started to blame you for this mess with Dio, but you aren't to blame at all. You were all alone in the dark unable to ask for help, of course you would be terrified.... Y/N I hope you can forgive me." Jotaro looked up at you with such sad eyes.

You nodded " It's okay, Jotaro I forgive you. I understand now why you were so hostile towards me. Friends?" You held out your hand.

He nodded "Friends!" He shook your hand and smiled softly. "Anyway I'm going to sleep now."

"Good night Jotaro." You smile at him.

You turned off the light and switched on the lamp on the table in the corner by your bottom bunk and you smiled and grabbed another beer can and quietly charged Hamon through it and walked over to the bunk bed and smirked while using your powers to make the can float up to him. It nudged his arm and he opened his eyes and shifted towards the edge of the bed and saw you tap your nose and place your finger over your lips.

"Our secret" You whispered

Jotaro smirked and opened the can and took a sip while adjusting himself to look up at the ceiling. You got into the bottom bunk and leaned over to turn off the light, jotaro finished his beer and used Star Platinum to gently place it in the bin. He shifted himself to nestle into bed and that's when his eyes sprung open with the realisation his heart started to race and his cheeks flared up. He tried to shake off the feeling but then he took a deep breath and leaned over the bunk bed railing carefully seeing you sleep soundly and softly, the feelings got stronger and his heart raced even more. He sat back up and closed his eyes and shrugged it off and fell asleep.

*** The next morning***

You and Jotaro went out shopping to get a few bits for breakfast to eat on the train to Luxor, the streets were bustling with vendors on every street and cars drove in the streets. Jotaro was very quiet and you wondered if his injury was worse than you thought.

You looked up at him as he looked forward to the busy street you grew more and more concerned, but you took in his features, his dark hair and his aqua coloured eyes, the more you looked up at him you soon realised you started to blush. You were lost in his beauty and at that moment you were about to open your mouth to ask him if everything was okay but,

"Y/N watch out!" He pushed you into an alleyway

You both landed with a thud and you could hear a truck drive by with police cars chasing after it.

"Y/N are you okay? You aren't hurt are you?" Jotaro held your side.

You blinked a few times and realised that everything happened so quickly, you looked down at your side and saw he was holding onto your waist and saved you from falling onto the ground. You looked up at him and smiled and nodded.

"Ah sorry Jotaro thank you i wasn't paying attention...." You leaned your back against the wall.

He sat next to you and sighed with concern "You did seem a little spaced out, I hope it's not from our fight from last night..."

"Ah no no not at all. We are cool? friends right?" You shyly smiled at him

"Of course Y/N." He smiled back.

He tried to stand up but his hand brushed against yours and he gasped and his face lit up

"Shit sorry I didn't mean..." He was a little flustered.

"Ah, I'm sorry did I hurt your wound?" You looked at his flustered state.

"No, I mean yes, I mean we should get going... yare yare daze..." He slid his body up the wall and he pulled down his hat.

"Jotaro, are you honestly okay?" You tilted your head at him.

"Y/N... " He tipped his hat up and you saw his bright red blush on his cheeks.

"Whoa Jotaro are you...." Your eyes widen and you also blushed seeing him stand there in a shy state.

He looked down and reached for your hand and held onto it softly blushing like crazy and pouting the entire time.

"Y/N yes I am. anyway we should go..." he held your hand a little tighter and walked beside you.

You smiled and enjoyed the feeling of his warm hand holding yours so softly.

"Ah Y/N I never got to thank you properly for fixing me up last night." He smiled at you, his eyes shining with joy.

You waved your other hand as you were nearing the end of the alleyway "You don't need to do anything Jot..."

He leaned to your side and placed a soft kiss on your cheek he smiled and then within minutes you were back in the streets, your face was beaming red.

"Oh there you two are.... Oh?! O la la~" Polnareff noticed you both holding hands " Tres bien! Oooooohhh wait until Mr Joestar and Avdol hear about this!"

"Ah don't you dare tell Mr Avdol!" You pouted at him

"You dare tell the old man.... I'll never hear the end of it..." Jotaro pointed at him.

"OOOOOOHHHHHH~ Hey Mr Joestar Avdol guess what!" Polnareff started to run up to the train station.

"Polnareff! get back here!" You ran beside Jotaro and chased the Frenchman

"Yare yare daze..." Jotaro sighed and used Star Platinum to trip him up.

You both looked down at the Frenchman and pointed at him.

"You say anything about us to the old man or Avdol and I swear your head will be as smooth as a baby's butt got it!" Jotaro glared down at him.

"And I'll use Hamon to make sure it doesn't grow back. got it!" You huffed at him.

"Ahhh yep got it.. got it... ha ha ha.." Polnareff gulped and nervously giggled.

"Good." Jotaro smirked.

"Glad we agreed on something eh Jotaro." You laugh.

You both giggle as you board the train with Joseph and Avdol confused why Polnareff is on the ground.

THE END!

[gusu-emilu]

seven nights to turn (2/4)

chapter two: from sixth to seventh night

Ship: Jiang Cheng / Wen Ning

Summary: Jiang Cheng counts the passage of time by nights, not days. He's spending the next seven in a cabin on the fringe of the Cloud Recesses. On the first night, he hears humming.

Rated E, Post-Canon, Hate Sex (in the previous chapter), Mentioned Canon-Typical Violence, Guilt, more jiang cheng brooding

< Ch. 1

read on AO3 or on Tumblr below

The humming stops.

Jiang Cheng waits, but there is no sound inside. He bangs on the door again. “Wen Qionglin!”

The door slides open abruptly. Wen Ning stares down at him from inside, his face covered in shadow.

For a few moments, neither of them move. Then Wen Ning steps aside, making room for Jiang Cheng to enter, his eyes never wavering in their sullen glare.

Jiang Cheng hesitates, then steps inside.

════ 白天 ════

The Lan servant carrying his breakfast finds him like that, folded on the floor like a heating talisman crumpled in the Ghost General’s fist.

“Get out!” Jiang Cheng shouts. He snatches up a set of robes and covers himself, jumps to his feet and stumbles.

The servant is trembling and wide-eyed, his gaze darting back and forth between the floor and Jiang Cheng. He fumbles with the tray of food and steps inside, trying his hardest to maintain proper posture. Because of course, the servant, rigid in the inane ways of the Lan, just has to complete the task of leaving the tray in its precise spot in his quarters and giving Jiang Cheng all the customary bows.

“Get out! Speak to no one of this!”

As soon as the boy backs out through the doorway, he breaks into a sprint, feet pounding on the path and crunching on fallen leaves as he flees.

Jiang Cheng groans and digs his knuckles into his temples. He’s had a headache coming on all week, but now it’s here in full force. His mouth is dry, his neck aches. And the rest of him…

Shameful. It’s a good thing I don’t have anywhere to be today.

He cleans himself, fixes his hair, gets dressed. He chooses the stateliest of his outfits. It doesn’t give him any of his dignity back, instead seeming to float over him, foreign and numb on his skin, as if the fabric does not want to touch him.

He looks in the mirror. His eyes are sunken.

A pendant in the window casts a sun-shaped shadow on his face; a faint circle, spoked and distorted.

He doesn’t look in the mirror again after that.

* * *

Two hours later, he’s standing outside the door of Wei Wuxian’s quarters. Birds chirp overhead, their songs sickeningly cheery. The wooden panel of the door glares back at him like an accusation, daring him to knock.

He doesn’t know why he’s here.

What does he even have to say to Wei Wuxian?

I saved your life before you ever saved mine? I just want to talk like brothers again? Your right-hand man fucked me last night?

He’s about to walk away when the door slides open.

“Jiang Cheng!” Wei Wuxian stands in the doorway, looking as startled as Jiang Cheng feels. “What are you doing here?”

Jiang Cheng’s stomach flips. He opens his mouth, then closes it, exhaling sharply as he straightens his spine, trying to look somewhat put together.

What is he doing here?

“Where are you headed?” Jiang Cheng says tersely, ignoring Wei Wuxian’s question. He’s always been more comfortable when he’s the one doing the questioning.

Wei Wuxian crosses his arms and leans against the doorpost. “I’m just making a trip to Caiyi Town to buy some orange oil for A-Yuan. It’s to clean the wood of his guqin. He ran out yesterday.”

Jiang Cheng scoffs. “Aren’t you a dutiful shushu.”

Wei Wuxian shrugs.

Jiang Cheng turns to leave. He has to get out from under Wei Wuxian’s gaze before he figures out what Jiang Cheng did last night—who did him last night. The shame is already making his skin burn.

The hell did you come here for? Stupid, stupid—

“Jiang Cheng?” Wei Wuxian calls before he’s taken two steps away.

He sucks in a breath. “What.”

“…You look dead.”

“You!—And you look like you need a bone broken!”

Wei Wuxian just smiles and nods. Teasing. Obnoxious.

Wei Wuxian opens his mouth to speak, but he’s cut off by a bustle of footsteps as three juniors hurry over from the courtyard to bow in front of him. Their usual perfect Lan posture is disrupted by nervous sways and shuffles of feet that make their white robes ruffle. They look bewildered.

Jiang Cheng never thought he’d be so relieved to see anyone from the Lan Clan. The interruption is a chance for him to leave right now. Yet he stays in place, waiting to find out what chaos has befallen the Cloud Recesses.

“W-Wei-gongzi?” one of the juniors says.

“What happened?” Wei Wuxian looks from one disciple to the other with concern.

“That haunted lantern from last week,” the shortest one says, his words hasty and anxious, “the spirit is—”

“That old thing?” Wei Wuxian puts his hands on his hips. “It’s still giving you trouble?”

“Wei-gongzi, the spirit is really—”

“Alright, alright, don’t worry. I’ll come.” He waves his hand at the juniors. They all smile with gratitude, then bow and hurry away.

He turns to Jiang Cheng. “I need a favor from you.”

“I’m not doing shit for you.”

“Well, I’m asking you anyway, because it looks like I won’t be going to Caiyi Town after all.” He pulls out a few coins from a pouch. “This should cover the price of the orange oil for A-Yuan. He needs it today.”

“You’re delusional if you think I’m going to buy it. Get one of the servants to do it if you’re so busy!”

Wei Wuxian leans forward and lowers his voice. “Look, the servants won’t buy the cleaning oil that A-Yuan likes. Someone outside the Lan needs to do it.”

Another wonderful thing about this insufferable place, that apparently there are even rules about what can be used to clean a guqin.

“Where’s your Ghost General?” Jiang Cheng tries to hide the way his stomach lurches at saying that name. “Have him do it.”

Wei Wuxian’s shameless levity fades. His voice softens. “Honestly, I don’t even see him much anymore.”

That’s…unexpected.

Before Jiang Cheng can react, Wei Wuxian takes his hand and drops the coins in them. Jiang Cheng jerks away, but the coins are already in his hand.

“If you want Wen Ning to buy it instead, he’ll do it if you ask,” Wei Wuxian says, smiling. “Well, I have to get going!” He runs off after the juniors.

“Wei Wuxian!”

He disappears around a corner with a swirl of black robes.

The nerve!

Jiang Cheng looks down at the silver coins in his palm, cold metal gently pressing into his skin. His first thought is to throw them at Wei Wuxian’s door and go back to his cabin.

But then again…

A trip to Caiyi Town might be the change he needs. There’s nothing left to do here except wait for one last word from the Lan about the trade arrangements, and Jiang Cheng has seen enough of the Lan after hours of suffocating discussion over the past few days. And the longer he stays in the central Cloud Recesses, the greater chance he has of running into Lan Wangji, with his obnoxiously oversized hairpiece and glares of silent fuck you’s.

And the longer he stays in the Cloud Recesses, the greater the chance of running into Wen Ning, too. He’s managed to avoid the Ghost General by day so far, and encountering him by night has already ended in enough of a disaster. To stand before Wen Ning in broad daylight…

He’ll go.

It stings his pride to buy the oil like some errand boy, but his dignity has already crumbled enough that chipping away one more piece won’t make much difference. He leaves the coins outside Wei Wuxian’s door—he can buy things for Lan Sizhui himself, without money that is definitely Lan Wangji’s—and starts down the path to Caiyi Town.

Soon he reaches a deep, shaded part of the mountain’s forest. He focuses on the scenery to keep his mind occupied, but the rhythm of his steps—the way the soles of his shoes grip the stone path and press into the stale winter dirt—it nearly puts him in a trance. He can’t prevent his thoughts from wandering to a dark room, to memories he does not want to relive so soon.

“You never helped us. You never helped any of us.”

Wen Ning’s words, that bite on his lip, that shove against his shoulders, repeat again and again in Jiang Cheng’s mind until they change the pace of his footsteps, and suddenly he’s speed-walking.

Figures, that for once Jiang Cheng tried to be generous, and it backfired so badly that Wen Ning unleashed years of resentment on him. How was he supposed to know that Wen Ning wouldn’t want the talismans? That Wen Ning would hate the idea of the tea so much that he would use the heat from it to humiliate him? Jiang Cheng would have preferred for Wen Ning to just spit the tea in his face than do…that.

“You think I need this remedy to make me more human.”

Isn’t that what Wen Ning wants? Isn’t that why he let Wei Wuxian return his ability to hum?

But of course, Jiang Cheng is not Wei Wuxian. The world has reminded him of that since they were children.

The path widens as he descends the mountain. His throat is dry, and there is a bitter, acrid taste in his mouth. The bracing winter air bites at his skin.

He is beginning to wonder if last night was some type of penance.

This trip to Caiyi Town is some type of penance, too, he tells himself. He has never done a single thing that helped the Dafan Wen. Buying a bottle of oil for their last living family member is the least he can do.

And if Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji marry, as seems to be on the distasteful horizon, Lan Sizhui will almost be like Jiang Cheng’s…nephew.

He hears a voice to his right.

Lan Sizhui’s.

He stops and looks over.

White robes flash between the dense rows of trees as Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi pass by. They are too far away for Jiang Cheng to make out what they’re saying, but when he is about to continue on his way, he catches one name: “Wen Ning.”

They’re talking about Wen Ning.

As if I care.

He takes two steps toward Caiyi Town.

Then he turns around to silently follow the juniors, straining to pick up their conversation across the patch of forest, peering at them through breaks in the trees and burning with self-hatred for doing it.

“He seems fine when we’re on night hunts,” Lan Jingyi says.

Lan Sizhui doesn’t sound convinced. “That’s not the Cloud Recesses, though.”

“Well, I don’t blame him! It’s probably Lan Qiren’s fault for not letting him help with our training!”

“I think it’s more than that,” Lan Sizhui says solemnly.

“What’s the problem, then?”

To save himself at least some dignity, Jiang Cheng stops following and lets the juniors go on. He is above eavesdropping.

Lan Sizhui’s voice fades as the two boys continue up the path to the Cloud Recesses. “Wei-qianbei hasn’t even figured it out. It’s just, ever since we came back from Dafan Mountain…” The rest of the words slip away as Jiang Cheng stands in place, watching the white-robed figures disappear.

What would make Lan Sizhui so concerned about Wen Ning?

And why wouldn't Wei Wuxian know what's wrong?

The sound of humming echoes in Jiang Cheng’s memory. The melody holds more sorrowfulness he had noticed before.

Or maybe he’s just imagining things.

To remind himself that he doesn’t care, he turns back the way he was supposed to be going, walking even faster than before.

It’s a long trip to Caiyi Town. After a while, a stream meets his path and flows alongside it. Cold mist brushes him when the trail curves close enough to the water.

Cold…

What kind of life does Wen Ning live in the Cloud Recesses? What does he do all day, when Lan Sizhui is busy training with the juniors, and Wei Wuxian is either running around or fawning over his precious Hanguang-Jun?

Whom does Wen Ning have to keep him company?

The chill of lonely nights wandering through the halls of Lotus Pier rise unbidden in Jiang Cheng’s mind. Walking alone down long, dark corridors faintly lit by lanterns. Passing Wei Wuxian’s room and trying not to look. Passing A-Jie’s room and lingering in front of the door. Not passing his parent’s rooms at all.

Walking out on the docks with the breeze from the lake whispering in his ear, a wine jar in one hand, the Jiang clarity bell in the other. Looking out at the dark water and seeing a boat filled with lotus pods and people who would never come back to Lotus Pier, their ghost laughter echoing across the water like a dirge.

Does Wen Ning hum every night because he likes it? Because he wants to perfect a newly-restored ability?

Or…is there another reason for his songs?

The stream beside the mountain path has disappeared, and a sign for Caiyi Town sits on the edge of the trail, indicating that the village is finally less than two li away. It occurs to Jiang Cheng that he could have just flown his sword. He thought a walk would clear his head. It’s done far from that.

In his memories, the cold breeze of Yunmeng nights sharpens, transforms into the sensation of Wen Ning’s cold hands on his throat.

He was an outlet, wasn’t he?

He was an outlet for Wen Ning’s anger.

How much of that anger was for Jiang Cheng’s mistreatment of the Wens? How much of it was grief disguised as fury?

Did he really have to take all that out on me?

Rage bubbles up inside Jiang Cheng. He wants to let it rise, let it boil over, but it’s pushed back down by…by…

By what? Pity? Sympathy? Guilt?

Jiang Cheng had sixteen sobering years for his grief to dull, and even now it still haunts him.

Wen Ning’s consciousness was just restored a few months ago.

Has he had a chance to process everything?

…Has Wei Wuxian?

The forest opens up. Hazy sunlight shines on Jiang Cheng. Several roads converge to the shape of Caiyi Town in the distance, where there is much more traffic, the roads busy with pedestrians in plain robes, travelers with donkeys, and merchants with wheelbarrows. There’s more noise there, too.

A distraction.

He has a task to complete. He’ll buy the oil for Lan Sizhui, drop it off at the boy’s door, get his mail and reply to every letter, then train with his sword. He just needs to keep himself busy. Keep himself moving. It’s how he has always pushed the pain out of his mind.

Caiyi Town is as colorful and cheery as always. It’s still as lively as it was when he visited the Cloud Recesses to study, when he walked these streets with Wei Wuxian and A-Jie. The streets are still filled with countless passerby, merchant’s carts, and oarsmen trying to sell boat rides on the canals that wind through the town. The same trees still grow right out of the cobblestone.

No, nothing ever changes in Caiyi Town. The only things here that have changed are Jiang Cheng and the spaces beside him.

“Mai shuzi!” a street merchant calls. “Mai shuzi!”

Jiang Cheng stops in his tracks.

A man pushing a wheelbarrow of wood nearly rams into him. He snaps at the man and storms off toward an alleyway, searching for a less crowded street to walk on.

But before gets off the main road, he can’t stop himself from glancing over his shoulder toward the call of Mai shuzi! still coming from a market stall. Upon the cart’s dark teal cloth is an array of polished, serrated wooden rectangles.

Of course there would be vendors selling combs here.

Of course.

This week-long trip to Gusu is beginning to feel like slow torture. He should have found someone else to go shopping for him. At this point, he’s just walking around aimlessly, stalling his visit to the store as he tries not to think about Wen Qing returning the comb to him in the Burial Mounds. The disappointment in her eyes. The regret that eats at him every time he thinks of that comb.

He could have vowed to protect Wen Ning, too.

Would she have come with him, then?

Would that have kept her and Wei Wuxian alive?

He reaches the dock where, years ago, he went out in a boat to investigate water ghouls with the Lan. Wen Qing and Wen Ning had joined the mission too.

Even from the beginning, those two had been different.

The water ghouls had been sent to Caiyi Town by the Wen Clan, another plot to subjugate others in their quest for power. And yet when one of the water ghouls slashed Jiang Cheng’s leg open, Wen Qing—Wen Ruohan’s personal doctor—jumped into his boat to treat his wound.

Wen Chao massacred the Jiang Clan, but Wen Ning rescued Jiang Cheng and recovered the bodies of his parents.

The Wen Clan left no survivors in Lotus Pier, but the last survivors of the Dafan Wen sacrificed themselves for Wei Wuxian when Jiang Cheng wouldn’t.

The hands of a Wen struck him with the disciple whip, incinerated his golden core, but the hands of a Wen healed his wounds and put a new golden core inside him.

Wen Ning killed A-Ling’s father.

Wen Ning saved A-Ling from Baxia.

And now here Jiang Cheng is, staring out at the water, back at the river where he had his first encounter with the two Wens who were different.

He never earned the help the Dafan Wen gave him. It was always Wei Wuxian they acted for.

Wei Wuxian. Always Wei Wuxian.

Zidian crackles on his fist.

Wei Wuxian won the hearts of Wen Qing and Wen Ning, gained their respect and trust, saved their family. He earned all the help he received.

Jiang Cheng received the help of the Dafan Wen and did nothing in return except to watch Jin Guangshan scatter their ashes.

He deserved everything that Wen Ning did last night, didn't he?

Everything but the sick pleasure it gave him.

Wen Ning had not meant to pleasure him.

He couldn’t have…surely…

Jiang Cheng should be angry. He should be so overcome with rage that he’s ready to strike with Zidian, to overturn a market stall or throw something into the river. Instead he feels only a quiet concern, a buzz at the back of his head and at the tips of his fingers.

Wen Ning hadn’t said anything when he left Jiang Cheng’s room. What had he been thinking, then?

The memory of the Burial Mounds returns.

We’re even now, Wen Qing had said when she held out the comb.

If Jiang Cheng had still entertained some deluded idea that Wen Qing returned his affections, it was shattered after that. The comb she returned was proof of how useless his meager gesture of kindness had been. Once the gift was back in his hands, it was a final send-off for him to go his own path, alone. A way for Wen Qing to claim that their scale was balanced when it never would be.

Was Wen Ning just completing a second turn of the cycle? Returning the tea, this useless gesture from Jiang Cheng, in the cruelest way possible? Finding his own twisted version of settling their debts so they never have to speak again?

If last night was a cruel parting gift…why does it hurt to imagine himself and Wen Ning never crossing paths again?

Over the past few months, they’ve often run into each in the shadows on the juniors’ night hunts. Jiang Cheng protecting Jin Ling, Wen Ning protecting Lan Sizhui…and Jin Ling, too. They’ve never exchanged words, only strained glances, but Jiang Cheng has grown used to Wen Ning’s presence on night hunts, begun taking relief in knowing that someone so powerful is now watching over his nephew.

Although he hates to admit it, he’s even grown used to falling asleep to the sound of Wen Ning’s humming.

He even enjoyed the feeling of…

His entire body tenses.

You need to get moving. How long have you been standing here?

He takes a deep breath. It’s warmer in the valley of Caiyi Town than in the mountains of the Cloud Recesses, but the air is still cold enough to clear his head. He leaves the port, walks back into the busy streets of the town, and finds a shop at which to buy the oil.

The shopkeeper takes her time getting the bottle of oil, doing about three times as much chatting as searching, apparently having decided that Jiang Cheng is a prime audience for her long-winded product introductions and rambling lessons about guqin maintenance. Because of course, in his Jiang Clan Leader robes, it’s only logical that Jiang Cheng would be a guqin player.

The shopkeeper is about to hand over the oil when, conveniently, she gets sidetracked and gestures toward a set of brushes. “Oh, and I must tell you, here we have—”

“Just give me the oil!”

The shopkeeper falters, her face falling a bit. Then she puts on an overly-enthusiastic smile again. “Well, if you’re needing oil to shine the wood, you surely need something to clean the strings, and these brushes are made of the finest—”

Jiang Cheng can’t take it anymore. He slams his fist on the counter, leaving behind a handful of coins. “Fine.” He nods toward the set of cleaning supplies. “The brush too, if it’ll make you stop talking.”

The shopkeeper glares at him, then grumbles to herself as she counts out more money than should be a reasonable price for a little brush.

“It costs that much?”

“It does for you,” she says without looking up.

He lets her take the entire pile of coins. She hands him a brush with a light brown handle.

"Not that one.”

She glares at him and picks up a brush with a black handle.

“Or that. No, not that one either—"

The shopkeeper huffs and puts them back. "Is there anything you do like?"

Jiang Cheng points to one in the corner of the display.

"Ah, I see. A good choice. This one will bring luck.” She holds out the brush, shaking her head. “With your temper, you'll need some."

Jiang Cheng leaves the shop feeling a little more ashamed than when he came in, but at least the pressure in his temples lifts as soon as he’s outside.

These merchants are nothing but scammers and chatterboxes.

And it’s a fine excuse for himself. That he caved and bought the brush because he’s a busy man with enough money to spend some extra coins if it gets him out of the company of incessant salespeople as soon as possible. Not because buying Lan Sizhui a bottle of oil that wasn’t his idea feels like…not enough.

He only bought it to get out of the shop.

That’s precisely why when he reaches Lan Sizhui’s quarters, relieved to find no one nearby, he leaves the oil outside the door and keeps the brush in his pocket.

════ 第六晚 ════

On the sixth night, there is no humming.

Jiang Cheng barely sleeps.

════ 未知 ════

Shadows and moonlight. Safflower, lobelia, mint.

Wen Ning waters the safflower and lobelia pots on his windowsill, loses his focus by the time he moves to the mint pot, and pours the water onto the floor. He notices the thin stream of liquid and jerks up the watering pot, nearly knocking the mint plant off the windowsill. He catches it just before it tips over.

It didn’t fall, he tells himself as he sinks down and sits next to the puddle of water he spilled. It isn’t a big deal.

But it came so close. These herbs are his comfort, his proof that he is not just a weapon, not just a tool for destruction—that he can create. That he can bring life from his dead heads.

Yet he could kill so easily when he is not paying attention.

His nerves have been close to snapping all day, and this little fumble is just enough to send him over the edge. He’s left on the floor with his face in his hands.

Of course, he cannot blame the plant for his fragile state of mind.

Only himself.

Only his sin against Jiang Wanyin.

He presses his fingers harder into his face, covering his eyes.

What have I done?

Why couldn’t death have taken away his emotions?

Death is supposed to put a man at rest. To rid him of his attachment to this life and send him to the next. But Wen Ning is still shackled by all of his anger, jealousy, guilt, grief, and now even this slumbering lust that has been awakened.

Jiang Wanyin had liked it. In some wicked way, he had even liked Wen Ning’s roughness, the roughness that was as much a product of the resentful energy holding Wen Ning’s body together as it was a product of his own anger.

But Jiang Wanyin was humiliated that he liked it. Humiliated that he could enjoy the Ghost General’s touch.

Because what else could Jiang Wanyin feel about it?

Wen Ning has finally found someone who likes his touch, and not only is it the one man Wen Ning is the most conflicted about—it is someone who will always be ashamed of this experience.

Anyone would be ashamed of it.

Yet that is not the cruelest part. The cruelest part is that this is what Wen Ning had wanted.

He's figured out Jiang Wanyin by now—the man is as starved for affection as Wen Ning is.

Wen Ning is not sure if it was his own idea, or if it came from the resentful energy that has been building in him, growing stronger the more he grieves his family and the more lost he feels—but the thought entered his mind the moment Jiang Wanyin explained what the tea was really for and he realized that nothing has changed in the way Jiang Wanyin sees him. What he sees him as.

He had been fooled into believing—twice—that Jiang Wanyin was reaching out in kindness, when in his eyes, Wen Ning is just a thing to be fixed.

His first thought had been anger.

His second thought: what painful revenge for his family—for himself—it would be to give Jiang Wanyin the affection he craves in a way that would repulse him and break him apart.

Wen Ning got his revenge alright. And what is he left with? What does he have now? A scolding from the memory of his sister that he should never seek to harm, only to heal. An incessant desire to touch, to kiss, to hold. To feel.

A glimpse of his body becoming something that isn’t only meant to destroy, that can bring pleasure—but only when that pleasure is mixed with fear. With pain. He is a tool for destruction, after all.

A tool of destruction does not deserve to feel.

The murderer of Jin Ling’s father does not deserve to feel.

His breath hitches. He drags his fingers down his cheeks, curling them into his skin.

What have I become?

Wasn’t it enough for death to leave Wen Ning with an ugly body?

Why did it have to leave him with an ugly mind, too?

════ 第七晚 ════

On the seventh night, there is still no humming, and Jiang Cheng still cannot sleep.

The air in the cabin is just warm enough to be comfortable for winter, holds just enough traces of the lotus flower sachet beside his bed for him to imagine that he is soothed by the scent. But despite the warmth and the fragrance, the night air of the Cloud Recesses is stifling when not softened by the song he’s grown used to falling asleep with.

Five nights. Is that really all it took? Five nights?

It’s ridiculous, that in five nights he’s become this attached to Wen Ning’s humming, and his sleep is still suffering on the second night without it. If he had insomnia before coming to Gusu, what he has now is simply hell.

How can he have become so dependent on Wen Ning’s song?

How can he crave a lullaby from someone who slammed him against a wall and humiliated him?

Those lips that hummed so sweetly have bitten his lips, have sucked on—

He groans. Flips onto his stomach.

Tomorrow morning he leaves the Cloud Recesses. He would tell himself that he’ll sleep better in his own bed in Lotus Pier, that the nights after this one will give him peace, but he wouldn’t believe it. He’s never slept well when he has unfinished businesses. Perhaps Wen Ning thinks they’re even, but Jiang Cheng is at the bottom end of their scale and is only sinking lower.

There are things he must take care of if he wants to sleep soundly.

He buries his face in the pillow and groans louder.

Fuck.

* * *

Five minutes later, he’s wandering through the forest searching for Wen Ning’s cabin.

The night is foggy, but the moon is bright through the haze. The forest floor is streaked with shadows stretching from tree branches like fingers spread across the blue grass. There is no cabin in sight.

Jiang Cheng has overhead enough conversations to piece together that the Ghost General lives somewhere on the outskirts of the Cloud Recesses, but he has no idea in which direction, and it’s a big mountain. It could take a while to find him.

What he’ll do once he does find Wen Ning…he has time to think about that.

By the time he holds his hand up to Wen Ning’s door, he has not thought of much. He pauses there, deciding whether to knock or walk away and give himself more time, when something makes him shiver.

Hmm, mm, hmmm, mm.

He lowers his hand.

The melody encircles him.

Suddenly he’s hit with how tired he is. Half of him wants to sink down right here, to rest on the ground with his ear pressed to the door, drifting asleep to Wen Ning’s lullaby, the sound soft like bedsheets wrapping around him, elegant even with its cracks and imperfections.

The other half of him wants to strangle Wen Ning for turning him into a sappy, desperate weakling, and that half wins. He bangs on the door.

The humming stops.

Jiang Cheng waits, but there is no sound of footsteps or tidying inside. He bangs again.

“Wen Qionglin!” he calls when there’s no reply.

The door slides open abruptly. Wen Ning stares down at him from inside, his face covered in shadow.

Jiang Cheng tries to speak as loudly as he did when the door was still closed, but his voice is thin. “I have business with you.”

For a few moments, neither of them move. Then Wen Ning steps aside, making room for Jiang Cheng to enter. His eyes never waver in their sullen glare.

Jiang Cheng hesitates, then steps inside.

The one-room cabin smells faintly of herbs. The space is small and tidy, and although there is a jumble of strange plants and spiritual items in the windowsill, even those seem to have some type of order. He expected to see some sign of recent activity—a book open on the table, a craft to work on or something to fix—but Wen Ning’s motley assortment of belongings are all tucked away in their proper places.

There are no lamps or candles lit inside. Wen Ning makes no move to light one, leaving only dim moonlight to see by.

Was he just sitting here in the dark and humming?

Something about that image is so pitiful, yet almost…almost—

“Please sit,” Wen Ning says quietly as he gestures to the tea table in the center of the room. He turns his back to Jiang Cheng, walks over to a table next to his collection of plants, and begins preparing something, cutting up herbs and roots and fumbling a bit with the knife.

Reluctantly, Jiang Cheng sits and tries to clear the uncomfortable thoughts from his mind. Soon he hears steam hissing from a kettle.

After a while, the hissing starts to grate at his ears. Surely Wen Ning is stalling, using the tea as an excuse to ignore him, because it doesn’t take this long to boil water and cut up a few leaves.

“What made you stop humming?” he blurts out.

Wen Ning pauses. His shoulders hunch up a bit.

He goes back preparing the tea.

“Didn’t have the face to come hum on my doorstep anymore?” Jiang Cheng says. He shouldn’t be snapping at Wen Ning like this, but he knows if he prods enough, he’ll get a reaction. Something to work with, because he can only stumble around blindly in this cold silence. “I see you’ve become a coward.”

Wen Ning turns around, his expression unreadable. He walks over and sets a pot and a tea cup in front of Jiang Cheng, then backs away. “I didn’t think Jiang-zongzhu would appreciate it.”

“So now you decide where to draw the line?”

Something flickers across Wen Ning’s stiff face, something almost…sad. “I’m sorry.” He puts his hands together and bows, hiding his eyes. “I w-won’t disturb Jiang-zongzhu anymore.”

This timidity is not what Jiang Cheng expected. It should’ve been easy to predict given Wen Ning’s personality, but it still catches him off guard, rattles him.

He really has to be sorry? Does he think I’m so fragile that he has to feel bad for me?

“Cut it with the ‘zongzhu’ bullshit,” Jiang Cheng says. “You still have the nerve to call me that?”

“I will keep my distance from now. So I will not call you much of anything.”

“You!—” Zidian rouses, sending faint electricity up Jiang Cheng’s arm. The undue apology felt much better than this dismissal, but at least now Jiang Cheng knows how to respond. “You…you feel guilty.” He draws out the word, feeding his spite into it.

Wen Ning’s lower lip twitches.

“Good,” Jiang Cheng says, reaching for the pot of tea. “Now sit.”

Wen Ning sits and watches Jiang Cheng pour himself a cup. “I’m s-sorry,” he says again. “If you want me to make up for it somehow, please just tell me what it is.”

It’s offensive, that Wen Ning is still trying to do things for him. He gave enough over the years with nothing in return, yet his confused form of payback was to service Jiang Cheng, and now he’s asking to undo that payback with yet another act of service.

“I don’t want anything else from you.”

Wen Ning visibly winces. Then he tilts his head slightly, as if to ask, Then why are you here?

Jiang Cheng should be the one apologizing, the one offering, but Wen Ning has already rejected his small gesture and dug Jiang Cheng deeper into this trench of the Wen Clan. He can’t apologize outright for his neglect back then, nor can he follow Wen Ning’s example and ask so bluntly what he wants, so all he gets out is, “I’m here to make us even.”

Wen Ning shakes his head. “We can’t be.”

“You think you get to decide? Once I say we’re even, we’re even.” A lie, of course. Jiang Cheng can’t bring Wen Ning's family back.

Wen Ning shakes his head again, turning away slightly. His words come out rushed and quiet. “I—I—at—Q-Qiongqi Path…please just tell me what you want me to do, Jiang-zongzhu.”

Great. Just perfect.

Wen Ning thinks he meant that he’s supposed to make them even. That Jiang Cheng came to take more from him.

What nerve, to put on this guilty act about Jin Zixuan’s death, when he was being controlled by a fucking flute? Jiang Cheng’s wrongdoings were at least of his own free will!

That thought grabs him like a hand clawing at his ribcage.

Wen Ning is a puppet.

A puppet enslaved to the will of anyone who knows how to control him.

Jiang Cheng has always had a sense of this, but somehow he has not realized it until now.

“How much of that was your fault?” he asks. His voice isn’t barbed enough to hide that it isn’t really a question.

Wen Ning meets his eyes, bewildered.

It’s terrifying, to pry his fingers off this grudge he’s held onto like a ship's anchor to stabilize himself for so long. The thought of pulling up the anchor and letting the wind carry him out to sea…

Suddenly he doesn’t want Wen Ning to answer.

But Wen Ning does answer. “It was my resentful energy. Even now, I…I…” He looks down at his hands with loathing. “I still don’t know how to control it.”

Jiang Cheng scoffs. “Wei Wuxian hasn’t fixed that for you?”

Wen Ning’s fingers slowly curl into his palms, and Jiang Cheng knows he struck a nerve. Maybe if he gets Wen Ning angry enough, he will finally take something.

Wen Ning’s voice is thick with emotion. “Please just tell me what you want.”

Jiang Cheng wants to flip the table over. He settles for slamming a hand on it instead. “I don’t want anything from you!” He leans forward. “Don’t you get it? You should be telling me what you want!”

Wen Ning stares at him for a long time, unbelievably motionless in the face of Jiang Cheng’s outburst, and Jiang Cheng feels himself shrink up with shame.

Then Wen Ning's shoulders sag, and he finally seems to understand.

“There is nothing you can do.”

That should not hurt as much as it does.

It’s the only thing Wen Ning could say that would make sense, but Jiang Cheng can already feel the sleepless nights piling up if this is what he’s left with to replay in his mind from his visit to the Cloud Recesses.

“What other choice did I have?” Jiang Cheng asks, sounding more desperate than he’d like. “What did you expect me to do? Favor your clan over mine?”

And he hadn’t had a choice. If the Jiang had sheltered and protected the Wen, they would’ve turned the entire cultivation world against them. What authority did Jiang Cheng have back then? What power did his clan have in the face of that worm Jin Guangshan and his bottomless pockets and his sycophantic bastard son, who danced circles around Jiang Cheng until his death in Guanyin Temple?

But the feeling that he should have done more has never stopped haunting him.

“Tell me,” Jiang Cheng says, leaning forward, “what could I have done?”

Instead of telling Jiang Cheng that he could have saved their family, or spoken against the Jin, or at least saved his sister, Wen Ning looks away and says, “You could have just…cared about us.”

Jiang Cheng’s entire body goes numb. “Wh…what?”

“You could have cared about us. Like…l-like…” Wen Ning turns away, panicked, and presses his lips together tightly like he’ll die a second time if he opens his mouth.

“Like what?”

Wen Ning struggles, his mouth just barely opening and closing.

“Spit it out! You think I can’t take it?”

“Like others did,” Wen Ning settles for, sealing away whatever name was on his tongue.

Jiang Cheng can guess whom he means. He grimaces, lets out a sour snort of laughter. “I see. You’re right. No one can compare to Wei Wuxian.”

But by the look that Wen Ning gives him and then quickly hides, his guess seems…wrong. Like Wei Wuxian was not whom he meant.

But who else in the cultivation world showed any care for Wen Ning?

Suddenly Jiang Cheng’s breath feels like it’s been punched out of him.

A-Jie?

“You—you meant—” His fingers curl into the table, as though he could rip out a chunk of the wood. Zidian sparks violet. “Don’t tell me you dare to have meant my sister!”

Wen Ning nods, looking as broken as Jiang Cheng feels. His face shows everything he doesn’t say: that because of him, her son is an orphan, and he’ll likely forgive Jiang Cheng sooner than he forgives himself.

Jiang Cheng jumps to his feet, jostling the table and spilling the tea. “You dare speak of her?”

Wen Ning just sits, slumped over slightly, staring at the amber liquid running across the table.

Misery claws at Jiang Cheng every time he thinks of A-Jie, but the pit forming in his stomach is twice as deep as usual.

What if he’s right?

When he and A-Jie visited Yiling to let Wei Wuxian see her wedding gown, Wen Ning was there too.

Jiang Cheng locked him out of the courtyard.

But A-Jie found a way to bring him inside, however symbolic, bringing him soup when he did not need to eat.

And in Yiling, after Lotus Pier had been burned down, during the murky nights that drowned Jiang Cheng in the lingering sting of whip lashes and the agonizing emptiness of having no golden core—

How much time had A-Jie spent with Wen Ning and Wen Qing while they hid there? Had they become friends?

Even if they hadn’t…

A-Jie could not do anything to protect them, but it’s possible that she spoke to Jin Zixuan about the Burial Mounds, urged him to do something to help. Jiang Cheng can clearly imagine how the conversation might have gone, A-Jie’s soft but stern voice, her unyielding drive to sow peace, to stand up for those she loved, and…Jin Zixuan had shown signs of coming around, just before his death. Signs of accepting the Yiling Patriarch and his ragtag settlement.

Jin Zixuan had sought to embrace them sooner than Jiang Cheng had.

What does it matter? You’ve always been selfish, always—

It would have been suicide for the Jiang to support the Wen scraps in the Burial Mounds, but they could have quietly passed them resources, put up a few more protective enchantments around the mountain, been more skillful in their diplomacy with the rest of the clans…

If Jin Zixuan could have reached out, if only because A-Jie had wanted him to…why hadn’t Jiang Cheng?

He’s right, Jiang Cheng realizes, and his heart sinks. He’s right.

But that doesn’t mean it’s fair for Wen Ning to say this.

It isn’t fair to use Jiang Yanli’s name and prove how much of a disappointment Jiang Cheng is to her memory. He already knew that.

“I didn’t care about your people,” Jiang Cheng growls. He thinks of Wen Qing with a pang, thinks of Wei Wuxian with a force that grips his entire body, and he feels like a fool.

Because he has never been good at loving. It is easier to say he never loved than to admit the number of times he failed at it.

Wen Ning finally looks up from the puddle of tea now dripping onto the floor. “Then you can leave.”

Jiang Cheng snarls. “You think you can just dismiss me after—”

“Please.” Wen Ning’s lip quivers. “Please.”

Jiang Cheng is still taking from him. He’s taking just by standing in Wen Ning’s quarters. “I’ll come and go as I see fit. Who are you to tell me what to do?” he snaps, hoping to provoke Wen Ning enough to awaken the anger he knows lies dormant within him. To make him erupt.

To get him to take.

He lowers his voice, filling it with venom.

“Why would I listen to the words of a Wen-dog?”

Large, cold hands grab him by the shoulders and throw him at the door. Something small and light flies out of Jiang Cheng’s robes and lands in the space between them.

A small brush with a crimson handle.

Jiang Cheng’s heart misses a beat.

The fury disappears from Wen Ning’s face. “What…what is that?” he asks, slow and careful. His eyes are fixed on the brush.

Why didn’t I take it out before I came here? Idiot, fucking idiot—

Jiang Cheng snatches the brush and hurries to hide it in his robes, but it’s too late. Wen Ning saw.

Saw the guqin brush, with its red handle, its black rim and golden tassel.

The exact colors of the Wen insignia.

* * *

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter, you can be a supportive sibling like Jiang Yanli by visiting me on AO3!

Ch. 3 >

[phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess]

if you have a question about aussie slang, for a fic or whatevs, please just ask i don't know all of it, but we do have some fun words and sayings that are day to day statements

esp. the more rural you go

not everyone has the full accent though, because you do get a lot of pressure at work to come across... professional or whatever.

the only one i've never been sure of being an Actual Phrase, or if it Became A Phrase after popularisation on a tv show, is "Stone the Flaming Crows" bc a dude from Neighbours used to say it frequently.

examples of day to day stuff i can think of right now

mad as a frog in a sock (angry about something, went off, off the shits)

mad as a cut snake (usually means 'they're nuts', but can also mean they exploded with anger, usually contextual)

she'll be right (it's fine - can be a flippant statement, can be reassurance, etc)

drongo / galah - (idiot, not very smart, wanker, etc)

dunny = toilet

thunderbox/outhouse / long-drop - usually outdoor toilet

dry as a nun's nasty / dry as a dead dingo's donger (I am thirsty, or It Is Hot AF/we need rain so bad)

chuck a u-ey (do a u-turn)

Oi! (Hey I want your attention/i was surprised, general exclamation, stop that, you are in a lot of fucking trouble mate - depends on the tone of voice and volume) like "OI!" says aunty ruth has just found her dentures in jello and she knows you did it, etc

Bugger off (go away, or sometimes a statement of disbelief)

Yeah nah /Nah yeah (can mean yes, no or maybe depending on what was said directly before the statement)

you cant pull the wool over my eyes - you can't lie to me like that / i can see you are not telling the truth

shut your gob / put a sock in it / put a cork in it - (shut up / shut the FUCK up / close your mouth or i will shut it for you) depends on tone

Ya wally (you idiot)

Roo = kangaroo

o = can be affixed to anything to shorten it at the servo - gone to the service station, arvo - afternoon, smoko - morning tea, bottlo - where the grog is

goon/goonsack - wine in a box

grog - alcohol

stubbie - beer, ususally

boardies - board shorts

rashie - swimming shirt,

slip, slop, slap - ancient proverb for avoiding sunburn. singing pelican.

thongs - footwear

sheila = female / woman, don't hear this a lot at the moment tbh except in certain contexts or from specific people

'Getting rowdy' = things are heating up, people are riled up, a fight is about to/has just broken out, etc.

DJ's like a mad cunt = one very specific meme about a bad PM we had like 10 years ago. i can't tell you how many PM's ago, it's been game of thrones here lmao

Beyond the black stump / Out whoop-whoop / references to timbuktu (quite a distance away)

strewth!/crickey!/bloody hell - (exclamation of surprise, expletive replacement, etc)

flat out like a lizard drinking (tired / drunk / exhausted / sleeping)

pull a harry holt - (I've heard a dozens variations of this one, it means Go Missing / Disappear, often used as a joke. PM Holt went swimming one day and disappeared)

have a stickybeak (to poke your nose in/investigate/look around)

chuck a wobbly/throw a tanty/chuck a tanty/throw a wobbly (throw a tantrum, i have legit never seen anyone successfully deescalate a situation by telling someone not to chuck a wobbly or throw a tanty, go figure lmao)

bogan - (very specific kind of low-income, generally white, people. sort of like rednecks, but with more stereotypical aussie features like a mullet, singlet tops, sunnies, stubbies, etc. tend to fall under the liberal party ideology - who are our republicans... )

ankle-biters / rugrats / little takkers / gremlins / nippers - (kids, usually the littler ones)

tiff - argument, small fight (had a tiff, had a row)

pav = pavlova

piss/whizz/take a piss = going to pee

vegemite - delicious

Kiwi = New Zealander

Banana benders - the disrespectful bs that apparently other states call anyone living in Queensland, the wankers

station - farming areas that have sheep or livestock usually, have farmhands etc.

dole bludger(s) - (anyone on Centrelink, whether they want to be or not, with no other employment. but like, a lot of people on centrelink have a job that does not cover enough and need additional financial supports to meet a minimum wage, or are students or apprentices, etc. there are people who go on centrelink on and off to avoid engaging in the jobseeking stuff, they are the real dole bludgers, but a lot of richer people tend to call anyone on 'welfare' bludgers)

don't you come the raw prawn with me - (do not lie to me / don't try that shit with me, mate / I wasn't born yesterday /etc)

dak/dack - to dack someone is to come up behind them and yank their pants down (or skirts). Often taking out your boxers, too.)

budgie smugglers - (speedoes, male swimwear)

togs/toggs or cozzie (swimwear, any kind. cozzie = costume)

mozzie - (mosquito)

better than a kick up the backside /better than a kick in the arse - (pretty self explanatory, one of those phrases parents use to get slightly hurt kids to start laughing and/or coworkers to commisserate about new work rules, etc)

I wouldn't piss on (name) if they were on fire - (self-explanatory, you hate them, or they're a useless tit or an insufferable person /a suckup etc, and you would gladly hand them a match)

one for the road = getting a drink for the road, usually. can also make a joke of it like, "one last piss for the road" = I'm going to the bathroom before I leave

here's your handbag, what's your hurry - probs not an aussie phrase but a common joke in my family

----------------

So like, there's some words and items from Australian Indigenous culture that often get used wrong in stereotypical characters, like saying 'gone walkabout', using 'cooee', making digeridoo jokes, and making some really uncomfy 'savages' statements can be very disrespectful. You might want to go looking into Australia's fucked up policies and historical (and only recent) situations before starting any arguments about this stuff... in many ways it mirrors the cruelty of american colonisers to native american peoples, etc.

Avoid some phrases. Your character gone to cool their head? He's gone off on to soak his head, or he's on his bike (gone away) but he'll be back... You can use 'Oi, dickhead!'

Please don't mock the names of towns or places, they are often the names from the traditional custodians and inhabitants.

-----------------

Random things:

We drive on the left side of the road, driver's side reversed.

More of our cars are automatic than manual. Utes aren't atypical, but bigger vehicles are out in rural areas because more than a few of the rural roads are poorly maintained or dirt, with potholes that yoyo your soul into your body.

If you have a character on a long drive on a non-highway, or rural road: +if you are on a one-lane road and someone is comingthe other way, you both move half-on, half-off; for big vehicles or trucks, you can choose to pull off completely and stop. Just for safety, esp. in rain, fog, mist or late at night. +at one-lane bridges, you have a give way sign on one side. if you want your characters to have a moment of 'pause to look at each other while driving' or 'a quiet moment of reflection', have them wait for another car or truck to pass from the other side. These can be a few metres long, to like, a really long bridge. +They may pass markers that say 'flood level marker' with numbers of 2, 3 or 5 metres. Could be useful to remark on if your fic needs a reason for them to have a crisis. +Bushfire warning signs (from Low to Catastrophic) are frequent +Animal Crossing signs are very frequent, and often have a wildlife rescue number on them +Water restriction signs are in most small towns, they range from levels 1 to 6. This can change what the characters are allowed to do with water in little towns, etc. +You may occasionally find a small servo and one or two houses. +pubs don't open/won't serve alcohol until after 10am. the joke has always been, 'beer on your cornflakes' but you will never be able to actually get that unless you preplanned the night before in your hotel room. +Around dawn and dusk, a lot of animals like hares, kangaroos, wallabies, sometimes echidnas and koalas and little numbat things, and snakes and bushmice will be close to the road. Sometimes dashing across. They do not react logically to cars approaching, and will leap out at random. Hares do this zigzag nonsense. If you need the character to hit the brakes frantically, or swerve, this is a good reason. If you are ever driving here and see an animal on the side of the road, flip lights to low beam, slow down and watch to see how they react. If you can. If there's a truck blaring down on you, you may not be able to.

+Emus are in more rural areas. Echidnas sometimes appear on fringes of towns though.

+Kookaburras are a lovely creature, I have rescued a few and they are nice... but their laugh is very grating when it goes off super early in the morning. They eat snakes (good) and baby birds (not so good).

+Lots of snakes round here. LOTS. Carpet Snakes are pretty common, red-belly black snakes, eastern brown (big danger!!!), whip snakes have declined in my region, keelback snakes, this one black and white banded one we found deceased, etc. Snakes can climb, snakes can SWIM. Putting something that stinks around a campsite MAY help, but not always.

+Never go swimming in a dam you don't own, and that hasn't been checked, and if no one knows where you are. How deep is it? What's on the bottom? How stirred is the water? etc.

+Kangaroos CAN drown you. They have perfected this attack, and will do it to humans, dogs and other pursuers alike. They can also eviscerate you with their hind paws or shatter your ribs with a kick. The 'boxing' they do is exceptionally violent. This seems to surprise people, but like, giraffes can kill each other by slamming their heads into each other, you think a 7 ft swole motherfucking cryptid can't do harm? They can be lovely tho, if they trust you. But DO NOT GO PETTING WILDLIFE.

+Dropbears, austrilanicus vericanthus bitus, are real. We do make jokes about them, but they are a Problem. The pee on yourself thing won't ward them off, that's more about working out which tourists are the most gullible (and if they run with it, the moistest) lmao. Akubras and other thicker-layered headwear,

+We have wild dogs and feral pigs. Do not fuck with the feral pigs, some are HUGE, and no... they're not just pigs who escaped farms, these are MASSIVE motherfuckers who will Get You if they See You. Rustling in the night outside the tent? Good Luck.

+Koalas should not be picked up directly. They have claws, and a lot of them have chamydia. I mean if a character saves one in a fic that's fine I guess, but like... someone's getting antibiotics after that lmao. They are bigger than you think, dumber than you think, and sometimes they have to be chased across a highway with a windscreen cover bc they're not very bright and keep failing to climb metal fences, lmaoooo

+Towns of about 20-30k will have more shops (some franchise, some local owned), servos, fast food places and usually at least two to three shopping centres. Usually small level entertainments like a cinema, or local groups. +Towns with 10-20k, may have one or two major shopping centres, servos (tracks and RVs catered to), possibly a maccas, and the majority of stores will be local-owned. May have a cinema, but not one that has the newest releases. Local council may have more festivals, or 'that one thing they're known for'. +0-10k towns have a small local store, prices usually a bit higher. A servo, often with capacity for trucks. Local festivals. Characters can cop a bit of side-eye in these places, esp. if they don't fit the traditional ideas or are loud/violently american. +Grey nomads are a thing. Old people with fancy caravans who drive So Slow, and move all around aus. Several refused to stop during covid and it was like, WHO DO YOU THNK WE'RE TRYING TO KEEP ALIVE BY STOPPING YOU MOVING THROUGH MULTIPLE TOWNS???

+Some rural areas have legit red dirt, its always super cool to look at. Some places have light brown to dark brown, some have more chalky colours or yellowish dirt. Depends.

+Reminder: Australia has very specific gun laws, if your character/s have weapons then they may need to be sneaky or store them specifically in the vehicle. Although if you're talking about like, mad max type rules, then who cares. But if you have them get into a gun fight in a town, the police will come, etc.

Dunno, just ask if you have a question... just trying to think of random things to paint a picture if you have a character over here for a roadtrip or mission or whatever.

[chrwrites]

SOFTober day 25: Care

TW: Minor injury, mention of blood and knives (I promise it’s not what it looks like this isn’t for the ANGSTober prompts)

The cold air caressing your skin that makes the golden rays of sun hitting your face feel warmer. Trees dressing in different shades of red and yellow. The sound of the leaves crunching under your feet as you walk. Rainy days where you can just stay at home under the comfort of a blanket while you enjoy a cup of tea. The smell of spices in the streets, warm cinnamon to give you the energy to get through the day, and nutmeg comforting you on the way home. Sweet pumpkins become the most used ingredient in all your favourite meals.

Isn’t October the most beautiful month?

At least, October is Luka’s favourite month. He just loves the atmosphere around him during this month. It’s warm and comforting, and it makes him reminisce about the summer that has just passed, inspiring new songs. 

October is beautiful even when it ends, giving people the chance to get together, have fun, and try new things. This year, the new thing to try is pumpkin carving. 

Luka finds his bandmates already working on their pumpkins when he walks below deck, taking his headphones off to greet everyone and only then he notices that Marinette is there too. He smiles at her, and she raises her hand to wave it at him quickly before going back to focus on the pumpkin she is drawing on with a marker. Her tongue is sticking out between her lips and her brows are furrowed in concentration and she looks as pretty as ever. 

Juleka distracts him from that vision handing him his own orange vegetable to work on and making him sit right across from Marinette. She’s too focused on her work to notice the way he’s looking at her, and Luka takes a deep breath before starting to work on his pumpkin. This should be funnier than thinking about how much he likes Marinette, anyway. 

Taking the seeds out of the pumpkin was the easy part, but he doesn't struggle as much as he expected when drawing on the uneven surface of the vegetable the typical design Jack O'Lanterns have, he just has to be more careful in the actual carving of the thing now.

And he's doing good, really, he’s doing good despite his work going slower than the others because he has arrived late in the first place, and also because he gets lost pretty easily in admiring the way Marinette brushes her midnight fringe away from her eyes as she works, and how she looks indecisive when she has to choose which knife to use next. Do you really need to use different knives?

He watches her capable hands move on the surface of the pumpkin, almost as if she was actually sculpting something. She looks so absorbed in what she’s doing that Luka can’t help but notice how relaxed she looks, wishing for her to always look so happy and relaxed. 

He smiles to himself and goes back to work on his own pumpkin until he decides it’s better to peek at her again, there’s a satisfied expression on her face, and then someone says something that makes her laugh and, like a sailor entranced by a siren, Luka watches her red lips curl to reveal her teeth and crinkles form at the side of her eyes. The blue eyes that– “Ah!” his thoughts are interrupted by a sudden pain on his hand, and he curses himself as he notices that his palm is bleeding. Great.

He quickly reaches for the rack that’s lying next to him on the table to cover his wound, jerking away from the table and looking at the cause of his pain. The knife is stuck in his pumpkin, looking as harmless as a knife can look.

“Luka?”, Marinette calls, there’s worry in her voice as she rushes to him.

“It’s nothing”, he tries to brush it off, and winces when Marinette takes his hand and removes the rack to inspect his wound. The warm feeling of her hand on his makes him forget of the sting he feels in his hand for a moment. 

“Come on, I’ll take care of it”, Marinette grabs his good hand and lets him lead her to the bathroom where they can find a first aid kit.

“You don’t have to do this, you know… I can take care of it by myself”, Luka says, the tone in his voice low as he opens a cabinet and tries to take the big white box containing what he needs to bandage his wound with one hand, but Marinette pulls herself on her tiptoes to grab it herself and moves to his side.

She sits on the edge of the bathtub, a teasing smile on her face as she sets the box open on the wooden laundry box next to her and tilts her head, looking at him, “Tell me again how you can do this by yourself?”.

Luka gulps, taking a deep breath to steady himself. When did the room become so hot?

Marinette pats the empty spot next to her, it reminds him of how he did it the first time they met years before, and he slowly walks to her. 

“You always take care of everyone, let me take care of you for once”, Marinette says as she takes his hand. Between her words and her gentle touch, he doesn’t know what causes his heart to flutter and his cheeks to feel warm. It’s probably both. 

He bites his lower lip, his gaze dropping on his knees as she starts cleaning the wound with some antiseptic.

“You should have been more careful”, she speaks softly, and tries to contain the giggle that threatens to escape from her lips when she notices Luka wincing.

“I... got distracted”, is all he manages to say to justify himself. By you .

Marinette shots her head up to give him a reprimanding look, “I thought you knew better than distracting yourself when handling knives”, she says, and when Luka grimaces as the cotton ball soaked with antiseptic makes his wound burn, Marinette doesn’t bother to restrain her chuckle, “Come on, big boy, it’s not that bad”.

Luka sighs, she doesn’t have the right to mock him when she’s the reason he got hurt in the first place. It’s already bad enough: he can’t play his guitar, her being this close to him is making him feel breathless, and he can’t stop staring at her as she taps gingerly on his wound to make sure it won’t get infected. 

“This is your fault”, Luka breaths out, making Marinette’s head jerk up to look at him with a frown, “You... You’ve distracted me”, he continues.

He feels Marinette’s hand twitch on his, and he immediately regrets his words.

Marinette’s cheeks turn red, and in an attempt to not make him notice it, she lowers her head to focus her attention back on his wound. Her raven hair falling from her shoulders help her covering her cheeks. The room is silent as Marinette lets go of his hand to grab a bandage, and Luka is cold until she is back holding his hand and wraps it delicately with the gauge, asking if it’s too tight before tying it.

“It’s alright”, Luka says, his voice coming out a bit croaky makes him clear his throat.

“Good”, Marinette answers, her lips pressed into a thin line. Her hand doesn’t leave his, and after a few moments she raises her head to finally look at him in the eyes. 

There still is some pink on her cheeks, and from this close Luka can see the pretty freckles on her nose. It makes him think that he wouldn’t mind getting hurt if that allows him to have her this close and take care of him. Marinette’s fingers brush over the gauge in an attempt to soothe his pain and a new kind of warmth makes its way in her heart, the feelings she has fought for so long dancing in her stomach. She inhales a deep breath, trying to steady herself and ignore how dizzy she’s feeling.

Luka is looking at her, there’s sorry in his eyes as he speaks, “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable”.

“You could never do that”, Marinette says promptly, taking both of his hands into hers and holding them closer to reassure him, “I- I didn’t expect that, is all”.

Luka nods, but doesn’t dare to say anything, he just squeezes her hands. They keep looking at each other, memorizing each other’s features until something clicks in Marinette, and she gets up quickly with the excuse to put the emergency kit away. Her hands are trembling as she does that, and Luka is puzzled when he looks at her.

When Marinette turns to him, her posture is stiff, but she doesn’t hesitate to hold out her hand to Luka, “We should go”, she says reluctantly.

It makes him take her hand and get up, but instead of walking out of the bathroom with her, he pulls Marinette to him. Her chest collides with his and he isn't able to look at the confused frown on her face because as soon as she looks up at him he's pressing his lips to hers.

It takes him more than a second to realize what he is doing, and just as he is about to pull away and apologize for his sudden gesture and for being an idiot, he feels Marinette’s hands wrap around his neck. She is kissing him back, and it’s making fireworks explode in Luka’s chest. His skin is tingling as he lets himself go under her touch and Marinette guides him into the slow kiss. It’s gentle like she has been with him, and there is so much care and love in it that he hopes that as soon as his hand reaches her waist to pull her closer she feels the same care he has for her. And when he thumbs her cheek with the hand she has just taken care of he hopes to let her know how he feels about her, and how grateful he feels to have her in his arms. He’s putting all the things he wished to say to her in that kiss, all the love and admiration he has for her, and how she makes him feel everytimes he smiles. It's sweet and delicate and gentle, and it makes Luka forget about him being an idiot as they both get lost into a blissful oblivion.

It’s Marinette who breaks the kiss, Luka’s eyes are still close as he lets out a soft sigh that would probably embarrass him had he been in a different situation, but he doesn’t care. All he cares now are Marinette’s soft lips, and he chases them, too eager to feel them on his again.

It makes Marinette chuckle as she puts some distance between them, her face is still inches from his, but that makes him open his eyes. Marinette’s pretty blue eyes are shining brighter under the lights, and there’s a teasing smile gracing her red lips, how beautiful. And he has actually kissed her. On the lips. And it was better than he has ever imagined. Wow. I kissed Marinette.

Her voice shakes him from his dazed state, Marinette is grinning widely and it makes him want to kiss her again, “Hey, if you wanted me to kiss you better, all you had to do was ask”.

[romioneficfest]

Guard Duty

Title: Guard Duty

Prompt:/Day 6 Vest, Ron’s Bedroom, Day of Fred’s Funeral Tumblr Name: 

Rating: K, K+ Brief Summary: One more day in Ron and Hermione’s life and one more promise is made. Trigger Warning: mention of death, grieving 

It had been a long and hard day for everyone, but finally, the evening was slowly drawing to a close.

Hermione picked up the two mugs from the table and hastened her steps towards the living room where Ginny sat huddled against Harry, her legs folded under her, body resting heavily against him. Harry looked up as she approached and Hermione placed both the mugs on the table, indicating one with her finger and gesturing silently towards the young girl.

‘Dreamless Sleeping Potion,’ she mouthed quietly to Harry and his eyes moved over to Ginny as he wrapped one arm more snugly around her shoulder.

“Thanks,” he muttered, his smile not reaching his eyes, looking way older than he was- but exactly like the man who had the weight of the world on him. Hermione bushed the top of his head lovingly before patting Ginny’s arm tenderly. But she turned around quickly before Harry could see her tears, walking away briskly, in dire need of someone.

“He is upstairs,” Harry provided softly and she paused mid-step.

“I know,” she replied just as quietly.

It had been two whole days, she reminded herself again as she trudged up the rickety, old staircase- two whole days since the war had come to an end. Perhaps it would take many more before the realisation actually sunk in, she reckoned. After all, these two days had somehow managed to be harder than the months in the forest- except for the weeks when Ron had left.

She pushed open the familiar door to his bedroom, faintly noticing how it still creaked the way she remembered from back in their fourth year. It felt like an eternity had passed since then. Despite all their cleaning spells the previous day, Ron’s room still retained a little of the mouldy odour from the time the ghoul had taken up the place, but at least now it was spotless. Cleaning it had been almost therapeutic, she realised, as she closed the door softly and noticed the man lying on his stomach, arms and legs splayed out on the bed that was a little small for his tall frame.

He had discarded his button-down on the chair and was just clad in his inner vest and the black trouser he had worn in the afternoon during the funeral.

Death had struck so hard this time, taking away so many from them. Hermione couldn’t fight the tears anymore, and for a few long minutes, stood still, watching the gentle rise and fall of his back, breathing deeply and in tune with his. He was safe, she reminded herself again, broken perhaps, but safe- the war had been won.

She released a shuddered breath and noiselessly walked to where he lay. A sigh escaped her as her arms reached out to touch his hair and then his arm, and she greedily soaked in the slight warmth of his skin- the war was won, Ron was safe…  

Hermione bit down her lips to cut down on a sob as she placed her head over his, quickly wiping off the moisture that trickled down. She couldn’t wake him up no matter how much she needed him, she reminded herself. He had barely slept the past couple of nights, having spent them guarding the house instead…  

After a few minutes, she pushed herself up but before she could move any further, his arms clasped around hers.

“Stay,” he called, voice muffled in the pillow but not hiding his exhaustion.

Hermione collapsed on the floor readily and Ron turned his head to face her. She let out the tiniest of moans as his eyes found hers, and placed her hand on his face to brush aside his fringe from his eyes.

“I thought you were sleeping,” she whispered, rubbing the pad of her thumb over his stubbled cheek. “Hoped you were sleeping,” she added.

“Did try,” he replied, grabbing her hand in his and bringing it to his lips. “Couldn’t. Where were you?”

“Got your parents and Ginny some tea with some Dreamless Sleeping Potion,” she replied sadly. “Thought they needed it today,” she added in a quieter voice.

Ron pushed himself up to rest on his side and when he just continued to watch her, she looked away, blushing at the intensity of his gaze.

“What would I ever do without you?” he asked with the softest of smiles and placed a tender hand over her cheek, brushing the corner of her lip, his finger lingering a little longer. “I’m so tired, Hermione,” he said at long last as he pulled his hand away and ran it through his hair. “George?” he exhaled, not meeting her eyes.

“He’s with Lee,” she told him, grabbing his arm in hers, tracing the intricate patterns of the brain scars with the tip of her finger. She tried hard to fight the image haunting her, but she could hear the ominous boom as the spell crashed close to them again, she saw Fred’s lifeless form - and suddenly, his face morphed into Ron’s and she shuddered violently, clasping his hand tightly in hers.

“Again?” he asked and she nodded, exhaling.

“C’ mere,” he called and she climbed up on the bed beside him, resting her back against the wall as Ron took to gazing at the lines on her palms.

“I’m so bloody tired,” he exhaled at last, “but I can’t sleep. What if-”

Hermione knew they had cast some of the strongest protections around the house. She too feared some hiding Death Eater would target them again, but she pushed that thought aside.

“We’ll take care of them,” she promised, sniffing away her tears and entwining her fingers with his. She folded her legs under her, tugged him by the arm, silently gesturing for him to place his head on her lap. Ron collapsed back on the bed and pressed his face into her lap as his arm wrapped around her legs.

“We’ll take care of all of them. But it’s my guard duty now, and your turn to sleep,” she told him as she tenderly ran her fingers through his hair.

And finally, after two long days, sleep Ron did.  

[loveafterthefact]

Love After the Fact Chapter 76: Going Home? Question Mark?

Lance, Keith, and their ‘associates’ give their farewells and prepare to leave.

Sorry for my perpetual lateness :’(

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Keith sits across from his mother, sipping some tea. Krolia watches him. He’s very still, waiting patiently for her to speak. He's put his circlet back on, though not his Altean clothes, as they no longer fit. A part of her wonders if he has what it takes to be a leader. He always seems so gentle outside of combat.

Perhaps a little too gentle.

“Are you going to tell me, or are you two keeping it to yourselves for now?”

“Putting it like that sort of backs me into a corner,” Keith observes. He worries his lip. “We’re very excited, but I don’t feel ready to celebrate yet.”

“Because you don’t want to feel sad if you miscarry,” Krolia concludes.

Keith nods. Guilt stings at his hearts. “Lance is so happy. I don’t know what I’ll do if-”

“You’re allowed to be happy, kitten.” Krolia pushes some hair out of her son’s face. “Thace’s equipment only goes so far. A few movements ago, we weren’t certain you could get pregnant. Now, you know you can, and you will have every possible chance of bringing this kit into the world.”

"Right..." Gazing around his freshly cleaned den, Keith’s visibly saddened. The windchimes are gone from outside; BleepBloop’s climbing towers missing; the fireplace has been cleaned and scrubbed of soot. The den is empty, like it’s never been lived in. It feels wrong.

“Keith? What-”

“I don’t want to go,” he whispers, throat tight and ready to choke him. “I want to stay here with all of you. I want to see Lance be happy and feel like himself.” “Feel like himself?” Krolai’s ear cocks, trying to understand.

“When we return, Lance will become busy again, with no more excuses to delegate so much of his work. He’ll sort through it, and give me the easy tasks so that he finds time to eat and sleep, and we’ll be together, but apart all over again. He’ll be distant, and coy, and never touch me unless we’re alone and I’ll hate it!” The young man sighs, tugs on a lock of his hair. "I know he's trying, but I don't know how to help him break out of these habits. I don't think he can do it alone, either. I don't want him to."

Krolia fixates on her son, watching his frustration over the rim of her cup. “This is my fault. No one ever told you what being a bearer means on Altea, did they.”

“Obviously I know what it means-”

“No, you don’t.” Krolia’s stare is searing. “Pregnancy is power, Keith. A good man or not, the crown prince is no different than any other Altean sire. You carry his progeny, and he will worship at your feet. He will give you anything you ask for. If you want to be his fawned-over, spoiled pet, tell him. If you want power, tell him. If you want luxury, tell him. If you want to share in his duties, tell him. If you want him to hold you, keep you close all the days of his life, tell him. Whatever you want, he will give it to you.”

“Momma. That’s…”

“That’s survival, kitten. You have power over him. He’s desperate for heirs. After your first kit, hold out on him. You’ll have whatever you want.”

“Momma, what I want is my mate. By my side. Sharing my life.” Keith sips his tea. “I understand what you’re saying. And I understand that you still have concerns about me mated to an Altean, and living on Altea. But I promise, Momma. I promise I don’t have to manipulate Lance into giving me things that I need. I can just ask.”

He waits until his mother meets his gaze. When she does, her eyes are so very sad. Sad for everything they’re still struggling to build between them. He taps his fingers against the clay of his cup, tries to find a way to explain why he’s not worried about having to ask for things.

“You know, when I first arrived, I spent the first movement avoiding everyone, including Lance. I didn’t realize it at the time, but he was watching me. Asking the guards about me. He must have asked the gardeners, or was approached, because it’s the only way he found out about this flower I stole from a greenhouse.” Keith laughs. “The next thing I know this garden he built for me is full of orchids. I kept finding new blankets and pillows, uh. Puzzles. Random trinkets. Raw crystals. Snacks.

“We’re addressing his control issues, obviously, but… He was so desperate to make me comfortable, to make it easier. He cared about me even then. I don’t need to manipulate or use him to get what I need or want. Chances are he’ll give it to me before I even ask.”

“I hope you’re right. I do think better of him. But he wears the face of the species that slaughtered your father. My mate.”

“Are you sure we shouldn’t be blaming my uncle for that?” Keith asks, steady, completely serious.

“An excellent question, kitten. One I ask more every quintant.” The soldier woman gets to her feet. “We should go and meet your mate and your friends. It’s about time for you to leave and we need to stop by my den on our way to the Compound.”

Keith nods, reluctantly following his mother to her own den. BleepBloop is already on their ship, ready for Altea. It’s on the edge of the community. No one owns dens, or even has an ancestral den anymore. Too many people have left, or died. A den becomes empty, and whoever’s lived on the fringes the longest gets to move inward if they like.

“I have something for you,” Krolia tells him. “I suppose, in a way, you have your mate to thank for this. Perhaps you can educate him about it.”

“Okay?”

“Wait here.” Krolia ducks inside her den, coming back out seconds later with a very small wolf cub. “So your mate decided to save an orphaned wolf cub, which was incredibly honorable and respectful of him, but his mother’s companion could not find a surrogate for him, and now he needs a home. The hunter decided that since your mate saved him, you two might like to have him.”

“I-” Keith gulps. Being offered a cub is an extreme honor, especially as an outsider. And the cub is cute. He takes the animal from his mother, rubbing his ears, looking him over. “I love him already. So much.”

Not that he could turn down a wolf cub even if he wanted to. Especially not this one, the one that carries not only a piece of his mother's life force, but Lance's as well. He strokes the wolf’s midnight fur, working a tangle out of the pale blue ruff circling around the animal’s neck and down his back. The cub stares up at him with brilliant, golden eyes.

“I knew you two didn’t have the time for him, so I told Lance I’d keep him here. It was his idea to give him to you today. I guess he thought it might make going home easier.”

“It doesn’t,” Keith whispers. “But it’s still something. Stupid idiot, he’s really toeing that line between secret and surprise.” He holds the cub up to his face, smiling. “You had a rough start, huh?” The cub licks his nose. “Me too. Don’t worry. It gets so much better.” Keith smirks. “Finally someone to take BleepBloop down a peg. He’s gonna be so jealous-”

Keith’s comms unit buzzes in his pocket, a message from Adam: It’s time to go. He takes a deep breath. “Well, little one. Wanna come with me to Altea?”

The animal licks at his face again, tail wagging. Keith grins, cuddles the cub close. Yeah, he’s keeping this little guy.

Keith stalls on his way to the compound, stopping to talk to people, ask a few carefully worded questions about the political climate and what the villagers think of Lance, ask if those thoughts have spread. It’s good news. It means their kit will be a little safer.

“So… Lunch last quintant was a thing, huh?” Lance nibbles at his breakfast. He’s in Allura’s sitting room, one of the few rooms she and Lotor have deemed safe from prying eyes and ears. Meaning Lotor and Pidge searched the room from top to bottom.

Allura nods, eating as quickly and as much as her manners will allow. “It really was quite something.”

“What do you think?”

“I think…” Allura wipes her mouth with her napkin. “I think I should stay closer to Lotor and keep a closer eye on Romelle. I think you should keep an eye on yourself and keep closer to Keith.” She gives her brother a meaningful look.

“Was it that obvious?”

“No. The others wouldn’t have caught it. But I know you, and I know Keith. I could tell… Are you trying to keep it quiet?”

“For now. Keith may very well miscarry and feels too uncertain to make an announcement.” Lance sips his tea.

“And?” Allura gives her brother a pointed look. Lance sighs.

“And the longer we can hide this, the longer our child will be safe. The moment Alfor and Zarkon know, our baby’s future will be dictated to us.” Lance leans forward in his seat, expression tense. “Remember our cousin, Griffin? His son is four years old and rumor is Alfor’s already made an arrangement. Keeping it quiet means I have time to come up with something myself, or pass some legislation under the table to protect the rights of our children. We only have a few movements until the thaw, and I’ve just got ideas, nothing written.”

“Do you plan on including Nibling in that?” Allura asks, gesturing to her belly with her spoon. “Because frankly I don’t like the way Honerva’s been looking at me lately. Lotor doesn’t like it either.”

“Of course. Anyone possessing Altean blood, or under Altean rule.” Lance frowns. “How long do you have?”

It’s a more difficult question than it seems. Galra gestation is only five phoebs, their children born small-bodied, vulnerable and useless with eyes and ears still shut. Altean infants gestate for a decaphoeb and a half- three times as long. They’re born hearing and seeing, ready to learn how to walk and talk.

“Well, I’m about six phoebs along… We’re guessing six more, judging by their development.”

Lance nods. “I don’t know how long we have. I just- I want us to be safe and happy.”

“Lance…” Allura taps her finger on the table. “You don’t remember what Mother was like. She wasn’t at all how she’s described. I mean, she was kind and all that, but she was also wild and very strong. A powerful leader and presence. She didn’t die by accident, Lance. Her death was on purpose. When she was assassinated, they chose her for a reason.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Safe and happy are not available to us. Be respected instead. Be the type of leader that people will kill on purpose, because of who you are, not what you are. That’s how you can best protect our children. Be feared and respected.”

Lance nods, licks his lips. “I should visit Romelle before I go.”

Allura sighs. “I’d appreciate it if you would… I know father was lying about looking for more possible solutions. It was unusually kind of him.”

“I… had a screaming fit with him before we left Altea. I think I got through to him. Somewhat. He’s still Alfor, but he’s a slightly less frustrating Alfor.”

Allura laughs through her nose. “We must take what we can get.” She meets her brother’s gaze. “I am going to miss you, brother.”

“I’ll miss you, too.” Lance rises to his feet, giving his sister a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll come visit again when I can.”

“So… When I make you an uncle?”

Lance grimaces. “Or when Keith makes you an aunt.”

The princess nods, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. They stay like that for a long moment, Lance standing, Allura sitting, missing each other, still in the same room. This woman, his sister, raised him, loved him, supported every one of his choices, even if she disagreed.

Sometimes, he still feels lost without her.

“I love you, Lance.”

“Love you too, ‘Lura.” Lance kisses her cheek again, slips his hand from hers as he heads for the door. “I’ll see you again soon.”

Across the hall, in another room, Lance finds an even sadder affair. Romelle is sitting by a sunny window in yet another red stone room, eyes staring into some unfathomable distance. Despite her vacant expression, she’s visibly well cared for. Her hair is groomed and braided how she always wore it before and she’s clean. Her clothes are fresh, fingernails files short and round so she can’t hurt herself.

He wonders if she still knows how loved she is.

“Hey, Romelle. I just thought I’d come say goodbye. We’re leaving today, so…”

Lance sits in the chair opposite the frail woman, disrupting his sister’s imprinted shadow. Before he knows it, Lance’s eyes are stinging, welling with tears. He grew up playing with this woman, watching her and Allura fall in love. She was so, so young when she went on that final voyage with Alfor, and she won’t ever get better. Not hoping for conversation, Lance elects to sit quietly and keep his friend company for a while-

“Are you afraid of the water?”

“I-” Lance blinks, unsure of the proper response. He takes a chance on the truth. “No, I’m not afraid of the water. I love the water.”

Romelle hums, skeptical, quizzical. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t be. You would not even be aware.”

“Beg pardon?”

“What has come to pass will pass again... the love story theirs and yours are so very fond of. Only neither of you knows it.”

“Romelle-”

“Generations of flesh give way to the rebirth of souls… The guardian waits for the descendants.”

“...I understand,” Lance lies. It’s easy, like lying to a small child, promising that there are no monsters outside their door. He stands, having had as much as he can bear. He gently squeezes the woman’s hand.

“Do not fear the water,” Romelle whispers. “Even submerged, you will still burn.”

“Good, uh.” Lance clears his throat. “Good to know.”

As Lance leaves to gather Pidge and Adam and say goodbye to Lotor, Shiro, Thace, Ulaz, and a few other Blades, he can’t quite shake the anxiety. He struggles to convince himself that Romelle is unwell, just spouting random nonsense from her collapsing mind.

He doesn’t quite succeed.

Sooner or later, Keith finds himself in the courtyard where they arrived, the ship open, revealing a number of packages- gifts and other items they’ve accumulated since their arrival. Lance is talking with Thace and Kolivan, hands animated, eyes shining. Whatever they’re discussing, Lance is excited for it.

“Keith.” Krolia turns him to face her, grips his shoulder tight. “Listen to me carefully. Are you listening?”

Keith turns to his mother, nods, holds the wolf cub closer between them, petting his head.

“You train this animal well. You keep him close. Do not trust anyone except the crown prince… There is something in the stars. I have seen it. All we can do is brace ourselves and wait.”

“What do you mean?” Keith whispers, fear trickling like ice down his spine.

“I mean that the sociopolitical strain on Daibazaal is reaching a breaking point, and none of us are prepared. There are enemies in every corner, and fools behind and beside them. You are carrying the hopes and dreams of an entire civilization in your womb. Know your place, even if it is to run.”

“I-” Keith gulps, nods. “I will… I love you, Mom.”

“I love you too, kitten.” Krolia embraces her son, kisses his temple. “You tell that Altean of yours I’m allowed to visit, because I can and will.”

“Okay. Just let us know you’re coming. There’s an entry medical procedure.”

“Noted. I see your mate-”

“Ready to go, beloved?” Lance slips an arm around his waist.

“Not really,” Keith whispers.

The Altean’s smile is so, so sad and so very gentle. “Me neither. But we’ll come back soon; I promise.”

“I know.” Keith doesn’t want to ask for one more trip before their kit is born, but he imagines Lance is already trying to set up the same thing. Lifting his gaze, he spies Adam, holding both of Shiro’s hands. They’re talking quietly.

He’s not the only one breaking his heart today. As he watches, Pidge trots up to the Altean, tugs on his vest, gently whispers that it’s time to go. The look on Adam’s face is inscrutable as he nods, leans up, whispers something in Shiro’s ear before he slips away and onto the ship. The conflicted expression on Shiro's face tells Keith it was a tender confession. His heart breaks for his littermate and for Adam, who finally found each other only for them to be kept apart by duty and honor.

As the ship lifts off the ground, Lance catches Keith sniffling into his new pet’s fur, trying to hide it. The crown prince doesn’t question the cub’s presence, having known about it the whole time. Instead he just holds his husband close, lets him cry.

There’s not a whole lot else he can do. Pidge’s feelers creep over his hands, investigating them both. They hum, soft enough to barely register, sitting quiet for a moment before going to watch Altea loom larger and larger before them. They whisper quietly to Adam, who only shakes his head.

Leaving here is far harder than leaving Altea.

[ladywynneoutlander]

Hi guys. So I am writing a little story for the holiday season. It is very fluff-tastic, mostly family and love with a minimum of plot. I very much hope someone enjoys it!

Heart’s Abundance

Part 1 - Giving Thanks

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5 , Part 6

Bree and I are sitting in the kitchen, enjoying my own special blend of “Liberty Tea,” a mixture of dried strawberry leaves, lemon balm, and chamomile. It is hot, fragrant, and delicious. As we sip, the afternoon sun warms the whole room, giving the feeling of a golden cocoon in the midst of a particularly cold November day. Adso is with us, basking in a windowsill, and we are all practically purring with contentment. Then the sound of dried leaves crackling underfoot reaches our ears. We have visitors. Brianna and I sigh slightly but smile at each other. She opens the door while I take a honey cake from the cupboard.  

It is Young Ian and Rachel. I smile warmly at them. Ian is dressed in particular native splendor today, owing to a visit from a group of prominent Mohawks passing through. His head is freshly plucked and spiked, with metal ornaments and turkey feathers hanging from the back.  Over his pink calico shirt is a vest decorated with astonishing beadwork, and his buckskin trousers are fringed. Next to him Rachel’s Quaker attire is a contrast. She is in a gray wool dress with plain white cap and kerchief. As she enters the sunny room, she unwraps her shawl to reveal the newest Murray, snuggled in a sling against his mother.

Brianna closes the door behind them, then her face lights with a smile, “Why, you look like a Thanksgiving pageant!”

The couple look at each other in incomprehension. “A what, cuz?” Ian inquires.

“You know! When the Pilgrims and Indians ate together. At Plymouth? It was a long time ago…” Her voice becomes more hesitant as the faces of our guests remain blank.

I understand the difficulty. Thanksgiving isn’t celebrated now, even though the famous harvest meal happened more than one hundred years before. I’m struggling to salvage this time-travel faux pas when Jamie steps through the door leading to the front of the house. He bends to kiss my cheek then crosses to wiggle a finger at the newly freed baby. “And what’s that then?” he says, turning to Brianna. “Is thanksgiving not something you do, no a meal?”

“Well…” she hesitates, then boldly rushes on. “Where I grew up, in Boston, some people take a day near the end of November to give thanks for their blessings. They celebrate with a feast and invite close friends and family.”

“It sounds lovely,” Rachel says kindly, “though oughtn’t we to give thanks every day?”

“Of course,” Brianna agrees, ‘it’s just nice to take a special moment for it now and then.” She looks wistfully at me. “Right Mama?”

Suddenly I recall craft-paper feathers, Macy’s parade on the television, and the taste of a cranberry jello salad in perfect vividness. I move to stand by Brianna and take her arm, smiling softly in understanding. “Yes, darling. It is.”

Jamie looks at us and his own face grows tender. Rachel still looks confused, but Ian, who has been watching carefully exclaims, “Sounds like a fine idea! We should have our own thanks meal, aye?”

I look at Ian gratefully, thankful indeed for his enthusiastic spirit. I also see Jamie’s face. It is creasing slowly into a smile. “Aye. We should.”

Brianna’s hand tightens on my arm in excitement. “Great! We’ll have Thanksgiving on the Ridge!”

-o0OOO0o-

A few days later I pull Brianna’s turkey out of the oven and baste it well with drippings, butter, and thyme before pushing it back inside for another half hour. It is nearly time to eat and the bounty of the Ridge is spread throughout the kitchen. It will be a delicious meal (if I do say so myself). The smell is heaven, and by the discreet peeking and increasingly frequent visits of men and small children, they think so too.

Jamie and Brianna brought down this large tom the day before. Even with ten people there would be plenty to go around. I had also dug the last of the fresh vegetables and emptied the pantry. Fanny had spent the entire prior afternoon baking. It would be a feast indeed.

The table is set and festooned with colorful dried leaves and pinecones. Roger even wove a clever cornucopia from twigs and filled it with gourds. Perfect. The turkey has a chestnut mushroom stuffing. There are also yams and brussels sprouts and onion gravy, and (elegance indeed!) yeast dinner rolls rather than corn bread. Crocks of butter and honey and jam round out the meal. My mouth waters just setting it all out.

Soon everyone gathers and we ceremoniously present the pièce de résistance on a platter. Looking from face to face around our large farm table I see Fanny’s eyes widen and smile happily to myself. We are all here, Brianna, Roger, Jem, and Mandy. Germain and Fanny. Jenny and Ian and Rachel with the baby sleeping peacefully in a basket. Jamie takes my hand and gives it a squeeze, then leans over and whispers, “I often think your time strange, Sassenach, but this is fine, aye?” He kisses my lips softly.

The others, used to us, are chattering away. Jamie straightens, clears his throat and waits for quiet, then looks to the end of the table, saying formally, “Ieremiah, an toireadh tu taing?“

Jem, sensitive to the honor thus bestowed, sits up straight as an arrow, “Aye, sir.” He folds his hands before him and I am suddenly reminded of my first dinner at Leoch, when young Hamish said grace. Jem has the same red hair. I add Hamish to my prayers as we all bow our heads together.

“Dear Holy Father. Thank ye for the food before us. Thank ye for our family and friends. Bless us, O Lord, and help us to do good always. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”

“Amen,” the table echoes.  

Jemmy peaks at his father, and at Roger’s nod of approval relaxes happily in his chair. Jamie carves and wafts of fragrant steam are released. The table makes noises of appreciation all around. We fill our plates and enjoy the meal.

“You know,” Roger says, buttering a roll. Since we are giving thanks today, maybe we should each say something we’re thankful for. I believe that’s something they do in Boston, aye Brianna?” He smiles at his wife and she nods.

“Oh yes, it’s a tradition.” When no one volunteers she goes on, and looking directly at Jamie and I, “I’m thankful to be home.” Brianna then turns to Mandy on her right. “And what about you sweetheart? What are you thankful for?”

Mandy turns up a honey-smeared face and smiles. “I thankful for Esmeralda!”

Everyone chuckles and Roger goes next. “I’m thankful for family, for my wife and bairns.”

Jem says, “I’m thankful for Grandda. And Grandma,” he adds hastily.

Germain is next. “I’m thankful for my friends.” He smiles at Fanny and Jem.

Fanny answers in a small voice, “I’m thankful to Mr. and Mrs. Fraser for keeping me.”

“Oh Fanny,” I say gently, “We want to.” She blinks quickly and gives a small smile and we continue.

Jenny, Ian, and Rachel take their turns.

“I’m thankful for our new wee bairn.”

“I’m thankful to have my mam here, and my wife.”

“I’m thankful for the peace we enjoy here.”

Jamie says simply, “I’m thankful for ye, Sassenach.”

I look around the table slowly and finally turn my face up to Jamie, the man who is my heart, “I’m thankful for each of us. For love and family. For every moment.”

“Amen,” he says, and kisses me.

-o0OOO0o-

Soon afterward the table is cleared, and dessert brought out. We have apple tansey, clootie dumpling, and for Brianna, pumpkin pie. There is also custard and sweet cream. I am just setting coffee to boil when a solid thump sounds on the front door. Everyone freezes in surprise for a heartbeat. Visitors are nearly unheard-of this time of year. Then, just as chaos breaks out, Jamie rises. He walks to the front of the house, myself close behind. He seems unhurried and calm, but I notice he carries the carving knife in his left hand.

Jamie opens the door, letting in a blast of frigid November air. What greets us looks like nothing so much as a bear covered in deer hide. Albeit a bear with merry blue eyes glinting above his beard.

“Myers!” Jamie greets the mountain man warmly, discreetly passing the knife to me. I stash it in my deep pocket. “Welcome! What brings ye here so late in the year?”

The bristles part with Myers’ grin. “Well, I’ll tell ‘ee sir. I’ve come wi’ company. Found ‘im near frozen on his way up from Cross Creek.” He steps aside to reveal a second figure in the dooryard, just as tall, but more solidly built.

Peering around Jamie’s shoulder my mouth falls open in shock. The last person I ever expected to see on the Ridge is the Ninth Earl of Ellesmere.

For once I recover more quickly than Jamie, and step around my husband. “William!” I say in sincere pleasure.

The young man looks up a bit uncertainly, then seeing my happiness recovers himself. “Mother Claire.” He might have said more but is prevented by a blur of yellow homespun that comes hurtling through the door and crashes into his middle. William teeters precariously at the impact before coming solidly back to his feet, Frances Pocock clinging to him in perfect imitation of a baby opossum on its mother’s back.

“William! Oh William! I thought I might never th-, see you again!”

William gingerly pats the capped head. “It’s good to see you again too, Fanny.” He smiles gently down, a slight shadow passing briefly in the depths of his slanted eyes. He gently disentangled Fanny and turns to Jamie. “I hope our arrival isn’t a cause of inconvenience to you sir. I…”

Seeing him hesitate I break in as politely as I can. “Of course not! You are both most welcome! Come in and warm up. We are just about to have dessert.”

I usher the newcomers and the gaping crowd back into the kitchen. In a few moments of flurried activity William and John Quincey are greeted by all and settled at the table, the children relocated to stools.

“We had a fine harvest this year so we’re having a wee meal to celebrate and give thanks for it,” Jamie explains, smiling.

“Judging from this bounty, indeed you have!” Myers exclaims as he unabashedly fills his plate with apple tansey, sweet cream, and one of the remaining rolls covered in honey and jam. Jem and Germain looking on in fascination.

I pour him coffee, hiding a smile. “We’re pleased to share it with you.”

William eats more sedately, but with evident pleasure. Watching him, Fanny on one side and Brianna on the other, I wonder suddenly why he has come. Then I look at Jamie. He is watching the boy as well, and though his face is expressionless, to me his eyes reveal the joy he takes in the sight. No. The reason doesn’t matter. I slide my arm around Jamie’s and lean against him, expressing without words my own joy in his happiness.

[kittymunst3r]

Nami pressed her fingers against her forehead, closing her eyes as she attempted to gather her thoughts. It felt like it was her millionth time trying to recall the events that happened with the Golden Demon. Swallowing, Nami recalled Ahri’s words. 

I look forward to meeting with you again… 

Nami groaned outwardly and rolled over in her bed, grabbing a pillow and squeezing it to herself. She should be tracking the Golden Demon, so why was she still here? Another frustrated grunt and the siren rolled on her back, flinging the pillow away as she stared up at the dark ceiling. The red light of her alarm clock red 2 a.m. and Nami pushed herself up from the bed, grabbing her favorite vanilla sweater and wrapping herself in it.

“How did you know I was there, demon?” Nami wondered aloud, now starting to pace her small apartment. With a huff, Nami pulled on a pair of baggy, grey sweatpants and pushed her feet in a warm pair of boots before leaving, needing the cold air of winter to comfort her. 

The streets were mostly empty at this time of night, the orange cast from the street lights glowed warmly against the sharp bite of the wintery air. Nami took a deep breath and let it out, watching as the air puffed out in front of her. Continuing her trek down the street, she passed the familiar bright shine of the corner convenience store. Perhaps she’d buy a tea, she thought, reaching into her pockets before she noticed a familiar streak of blonde hair. 

“Ezreal?” Nami called out, the streak of blonde hair moving towards a nearby motorcycle stopped and turned. 

“Nami?” Ezreal cocked his head to the side then turned from the bike and smiled. “What are you doing here?”

The siren shrugged and glanced over his shoulder and looked around for his shopping bags. 

“I could ask the same of you,” Nami replied.

“I sort of work here part time,” Ezreal said with a smile and pushed a hand nervously through his hair.

“But I thought you worked for a museum?” Nami asked. This question caused the man to let out a nervous laugh while he shook his head.

“Ah- that’s uh- that’s a bit complicated. Right now I work here,” Ezreal replied.

“This must be Guardian related, right?” Nami asked with a smirk. Ezreal was a terrible liar.

“Actually-,” Ezreal began and froze, his eyes looking past Nami and off in the distance. “Can I give you a ride somewhere?” He asked suddenly.

Nami, caught off guard by the sudden change in conversation, gave Ezreal a puzzled look. 

“No, I actually live nearby-,” Nami hooked a thumb behind her. 

“I’ll take you there,” Ezreal said, an obvious edge in his voice.

Nami swallowed, suddenly feeling the air grow tense. 

“What’s wro-,” Nami began and Ezreal stepped forward, standing so close to the siren that she nearly yelped. 

“You have a shadow-,” Ezreal said, his voice incredibly quiet, then his hands were on either side of her, rubbing up and down with enthusiasm. “You look cold,” he said, louder. “Let’s go for some tea or coffee.”

“Yeah, okay,” Nami said, feeling her stomach tightening up. She wasn’t sure why, but she followed Ezreal’s lead. Lux’s diary was right, something about his man just made him easy to follow.   

Ezreal carefully handed Nami a helmet, his movements were quick but not in a panicked sort of way. It felt strange seeing Ezreal with such a serious, focused  expression when as far as Nami had known him he always held a boyishly charming sort of smile. 

“Hang on tight,” Ezreal said as they both boarded his motorcycle.

Nami swallowed hard, fighting the urge to stay and fight whoever was following her. It was against the siren’s nature to run from any fight. After all, she wielded the Tidecaller, no one could escape the drowning wrath she could bring down if someone wanted a fight.

Turning the key to his motorcycle Ezreal gave a slight shake of his head, as if he were reading Nami’s thoughts.

“I mean it, hold tight,” Ezreal said and Nami leaned forward, her arms wrapping around the man’s waist. “And don’t look behind us.”

With a jolt the pair were off, and Nami felt a surge of adrenaline as her heart pounded in her ears. Prior to now the siren had never ridden on a motorcycle and it was exhilarating and she could understand why Ezreal owned one.

Ezreal blazed through the city, his tail light leaving a streak of red to follow them in the dark of night. Nami half expected for some kind of twisted arms to reach from behind and pluck her from the bike but no such nightmare came. Ezreal continued through the downtown area, the traffic heavier as the man weaved expertly through cars. Nami lost track of time as the pair went down street after street in the most bizarre patterns. Finally, Ezreal stopped after entering a dark alley and the man gave a sigh before turning the engine off.

Swinging her leg over, Nami got off the motorcycle and felt herself wobble. There was an unusual numbness in her extremities and Ezreal chuckled, helping to steady Nami while removing his helmet and ruffling his disheveled hair. 

“That was close,” Ezreal said, his voice weary as he too got off the motorcycle.

“What was close? What’s going on?” Nami asked, crossing her arms. 

Ezreal put his helmet on the seat of the motorcycle and looked down either side of the dark alley.  

“Not here. Let’s get that tea,” Ezreal said, motioning for the siren to follow. “You look like an ice cube, and I know I certainly feel like one.”

Nami felt like stamping her feet and demanding answers right then and there but pressed the urge back, knowing that at least she would be getting some answers. And Ezreal was starting to look rather blue. 

“Very well, lead the way.” Nami nodded and Ezreal left the alley, crossing the dark, empty street. A few more minutes of weaving through more alleyways and Ezreal came to a steel door, it’s rust and decay that chipped the yellow-white paint made it look like it hadn’t been opened in years, decades even. 

“After you,” Ezreal said, opening the door with a loud creak and making a slight bow.

Nami could see a faint glow of light further into the dark room and stepped inside the large building. Where were they, she wondered to herself as Nami felt a blanket of warmth lay across her she continued inward. The squeak of the rusted door closed behind her as Ezreal followed closely behind. 

“Don’t be afraid,” Ezreal said quietly in the dim light.

“I’m not afraid,” Nami shot back, looking over at him, her face serious.

“That’s either really brave,” Ezreal said as a smile split his features. They came to another door, brighter light showing from under the door and Ezreal continued, “or really foolish.” 

Ezreal pulled the door open and Nami could see a brightly lit kitchen. It was definitely a commercial kitchen, and in excellent condition. All of the appliances here seemed new, their stainless steel surfaces sparkling in cleanliness. 

“Where are we?” Nami asked, walking through the kitchen. 

“Somewhere safe,” Ezreal said, moving to one of the stoves and picking up a tea kettle. “For now, anyways.” 

Nami watched as the man busied himself with getting two mugs, setting them on a counter and assembling the tea.

“How do you like your tea?” Ezreal asked and Nami nearly scoffed at the sheer normality of his question. Sometimes it was hard for the Marai siren to understand that this was how the people of land really lived. How did they like their tea? What would they wear to the spring formal? Did Brian get eliminated on that one show? 

Nami thought of the darkness that seeped at the fringes of her home, threatening to spread throughout the realm unchecked. That was the real world. Her world, and it was hard for Nami to admit that sometimes she dreamed of a time where she didn’t have to return to the abyss and fight against the never ending darkness.

“Strong, with sugar,” Nami said distractedly and Ezreal smirked.

“Of course,” Ezreal chuckled with a shake of his head.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Nami asked and the man laughed again.

“Did you know that some ancient cultures correlate how you take your tea with what kind of soul you have?” Ezreal mused, starting to pour the steaming water from the kettle in one of the cups. 

“And what do these ancients say about how I like mine?” Nami asked, her head tilting curiously. Ezreal looked over at Nami as he finished pouring.

“That you’re like Lux,” he replied, bringing the siren her cup of tea. “You are built of strength, but weak to matters of the heart.” 

Nami felt her eyebrow raise as she looked on at Ezreal.

“Seriously?” Nami asked and Ezreal looked at her with a straight face.

“Oh definitely,” Ezreal said, his tone serious. “The ancients were wise. You’ll end up in love with a total scoundrel if you’re not careful.” Ezreal sucked in a breath before a snicker slipped out, his face splitting into a big smile as Nami blew out a breath of a laugh.

“Ezreal!” Nami said, pushing on him and he yelped out.

“Hey, Nami! Careful! I have hot tea!” Ezreal said, his laughter bubbling out. 

This was definitely how Lux described him in her diary, Nami thought to herself. How he was behaving earlier was totally out of character for him. So what happened? What was going on?

“Okay, Ezreal. I’ve been pretty patient, which, if you didn’t know, is not my strong suit.” Nami took a tentative sip of tea and found it to be delightfully warm and fragrant. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“Yeah,” Ezreal shifted uneasily, his brows furrowing together as he began to pace back and forth. “First, you should know that- well, it’s not that no one trusts you- it’s just, this doesn’t usually happen…”

Nami blew out a breath, putting her cup on a counter.

“Ezreal. Start at the beginning and don’t skip around,” Nami said trying to keep her impatience from turning into annoyance. What did he mean by trusting her? Why was Ezreal at that convenience store? Nami felt her eyes narrow and Ezreal began to look nervous.

“I don’t know what I’m not supposed to say-,” Ezreal said, his eyes rolling as he tried to explain, his hands twisting nervously. 

“Then say it all,” Nami said, her voice commanding and Ezreal bit his lip.

“Fineee. But Lux is gonna kill me, that is if Ahri doesn’t get to me first…” Ezreal’s voice trailed and Nami snapped her fingers. 

“Ezreal. Focus.” Nami bit out, starting to sound exasperated.

“Ahri thinks that there’s a reason why the Golden Demon left you alive. You spent so long chasing him down, always narrowly missing this time and that-,” Ezreal’s voice trailed off, leaving the implication hanging in the air. Nami felt understanding beginning to dawn.

“She thinks I’m a spy for the Golden Demon,” Nami said, swallowing hard.

“I wouldn’t say spy…” Ezreal said, crossing his arms and shifting. It was clear that he was growing more and more uncomfortable as the conversation continued. 

“You were placed at the convenience store to watch me, weren’t you?” Nami asked, but she knew the answer already. Of course Ezreal had been sent there to watch her. The Star Guardians had been betrayed somehow before, although Lux’s diary was short on a great many important details on exactly what transpired. 

“Yes,” Ezreal confirmed but began to speak quickly. “It’s just not like the Demon to just leave anyone alive ya’ know. Jinx said when she found you he was speaking to you?” 

Nami looked away from Ezreal, remembering the sound of the Demon’s entrancing voice as it felt permanently etched in her mind.

Magnificent…

Nami shivered. “I don’t remember much.” The siren tapped her forehead where it still displayed stitches and a large purple bruise. “But I do remember his gun, and some sort of gas contraption. It had to be what kept my powers suppressed. But him speaking to me doesn’t explain why you were sent to keep watch on me.” 

“Well, I was only meant to keep an eye on your comings and goings. Then I noticed that you started to have someone follow you.” Ezreal shifted and sighed. “I thought maybe you had a boyfriend, or admirer.”

Nami blanched. Her? Something as trivial as a boyfriend? It wasn’t that Nami was unwelcome to the idea, but how could hearts and romance belong in her world, the same world as the darkness? Nami shook her head fiercely, a flush tingeing the peaks of her cheeks. “No- no boyfriend.”

Ezreal nodded. “I had to be sure. So I asked Lux about it, and she confirmed. But the flowers at your doorstep…”

“Flowers?” Nami asked, unaware of any flowers left at her apartment.

Ezreal gave a solemn nod. “They were lotus flowers.”

Nami felt her stomach seize up as she recalled the last blurred image of the Golden Demon; a white lotus flower blooming at his feet.

“What happened to them?” Nami asked, swallowing hard. “They were intercepted by me,” Ezreal said. “I thought they may have been some sort of trap set by the Demon. We had the flowers extensively tested but nothing came of it. Lux thought-,” Ezreal hesitated and Nami’s brow rose. 

“What?” Nami could feel anger welling up within her. 

“Well… she thought maybe it was some sort of signal. For you to- um-,” Ezreal looked at the ground, as if too embarrassed to go on. 

“For me to what?” Nami felt something inside her snap. What had happened to their starting anew? Was that just a trick? A way to manipulate her, gain her trust?

Ezreal frowned, his brows knotting together. “Nami… Lux- she-,” the man faltered, “she had to be careful. Ahri ordered-” but Nami moved away from Ezreal and moved through the kitchen.

“Screw Ahri’s orders,” Nami said defiantly and Ezreal winced. “Is this supposed to be the great Star Guardians?” Nami scoffed, crossing her arms. “All of you are just a bunch of squabbling children, all of you ungrateful for a power bestowed on you that could change the fate of this realm for the better. Ahri’s ordered to keep me at arm’s length, has she? Me, the only one in this lot chasing down a demented killer? I’ve seen his victims…” Nami’s eyes looked distant as she recalled the memory. “I’ve seen him hunt. What he’s done, his power…” Nami’s attention snapped to the man, her voice quiet. “Ahri-,” Nami shook her head. No, Ahri couldn’t have that much sway. “Lux thinks I’ve been compromised? That I’m somehow in league with the Golden Demon?” 

Ezreal only nodded and Nami felt disappointment wash over her. And oh how she loathed the feeling. She had told herself from her first steps on land that finding the Moonstone, protecting her people, it would come first over everything. No matter what. And yet, here she was, entangled in this Star Guardian mess because it was the first real lead she had in finding the missing stone. 

For all that was said between her and Lux, the new bud of trust that had sprouted between them was surely dead now. The Marai siren would never again trust Luxanna Crownguard. A hardness grew in Nami’s eyes as she tried to process the betrayal felt within her.

“Nami-” Ezreal started, his eyes looking sad.

“I’ve heard enough.” Nami’s eyes went to the ground. “You- you guardians let me sit as an easy, open target for him. And I’m just supposed to be okay with that? He leaves sick gifts at my home and you say nothing.” The siren balled her hands into fists, trying to quell the surge of magic that rolled off her. Nami could feel a tear start to roll down her cheek and looked up to see Ezreal reach out to comfort her but she slapped his hand away. “Lux made me track down an untraceable beast. Forced me into being a part of his sick rituals of slaughter, and I could do nothing. Save no one. All so I could be a part of this elite club, to get answers I needed for my people. The Star Guardians.” Nami didn’t hide the venom in her voice as she practically spit out her last sentence, causing Ezreal to flinch. “You’re all weak children.”

“We’re not- Lux isn’t-,” Ezreal started, his hand reaching up defensively.

“You’re trying to defend her? Trying to defend the suspicions that somehow I’m involved with a demented killer?” Nami smirked and rubbed a hand over her face. “Unbelievable.”

“I don’t think-,” Ezreal started but Nami shook her head.

“Do you really think it matters what you think, Ezreal? You have these unimaginable powers. Powers to change the fate of this star- to help so many…” Nami felt her mind drift to home, to the terrifying darkness that lurked beneath the ocean waves. 

“We do help the people of this star,” Ezreal countered and Nami gave him a look that flashed momentarily with sadness. 

“Not all the people.” Nami started to leave and Ezreal grabbed her arm to stop her.

“Hey- don’t go,” Ezreal continued, “there’s more I need to say.”

“For once in my life,” Nami said, peeling the man’s fingers back. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“At least tell me where you’re going,” Ezreal said quietly. 

“To kill the demon,” Nami said simply and Ezreal’s eyes widened.

“Nami, that’s not a good idea.” 

“Of course it is,” the siren replied. “If I can destroy the indestructible Golden Demon, then I won’t need the powers of the Star Guardians or the moonstone to save my people. I will know that my strength can surpass any darkness. And any star guardian.”

Ezreal said nothing and Nami left, leaving the same way she came in. The siren stepped out onto the street and began to walk, unknowing of what part of the city she was in. It didn’t matter, she didn’t need to get anywhere. She only needed her shadow to catch up with her.

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Afternoon Tea Pt 1

Ru’Yi was not dressed in her uniform but a fine cotton lace yellow gown and ballet flats.

She’d done her hair in braids and pinned it up in a bun and donned blue crystal earrings.

It was a special occasion to have tea with the Vice Chancellor, Mr. Baldwin told her. Few students were invited into that library so she should look nice.

It wasn’t the large library, but a room in the Vice Chancellor’s personal office. A floor to ceiling window let in ample light that shined on several old fashioned globes and towering bookcases, the tops of which were reachable only by ladder. She craned her head up, walking through the door as Finger Von Frings held it open for her.

“The Principal’s office is built on top of the original Cassell Manor,” He said, closing the door behind her. “Hilbert Ron Anjou tried to recreate this particular space from memory. He liked to come here and think about the past.”

She looked up in wonder at the tall man, walking next to him to the table. 

“How’s your friend?” He asked as he removed his cowboy hat and settled it on the globe.

“Tom’s...” She paused, considering how to politely put his precarious situation. “...doing better. He says that he’s going to stay on medication for the rest of his life though. They can barely keep him below 50%...” She said sadly. “I’m just...” She sighed. “...glad they can.”

“I’m glad to hear that too.”  He lifted the antique porcelain teapot and poured the hot water into her cup. He then sat down and she followed. “ I’m not much for tea. I’m more of a beer guy myself but...” He shrugged. “...hey tradition’s tradition.” 

He picked up a manila envelope from the table and opened it. “I wanted to tell you a little bit about the past and... show you this.”

He slid a photograph from the folder and held out it to her.

It was a picture of a group of people, standing together. They were all dressed formally, some ceremonially. One a man with pale hair stood in a beautiful ornate kimono. Another with a kimono but not as ornate. The rest of the men were in dark tuxedos. “Hey! That’s Mom and Dad! And... Is that me?!”

“You were very little back then. Yeah. Barely a year old.” He settled back leisurely in the chair, letting his legs stretch out. “Recognize anyone else?”

“There’s you. And Auntie Nono and Uncle Caesar. That’s all.” 

“That was the first congregation of the Cassell House of Reagents. Shortly after Anjou’s death, we had to figure out a way forward for the College.” He stirred his tea with a small spoon. “Cassell College has been through plenty of dark times. But many would say that what happened before Anjou died was the darkest time in our history. Ever since, we’ve just been trying to recover and praying that a dragon wouldn’t wake up in the meantime.”

“This is the stuff, Dad doesn’t want to talk about.” She said frowning.

“It’s not that he doesn’t want to talk about it. It’s that he can’t. The details of that time are sealed. Confidential. Need to know only.”

She looked at the photo again. “A lot of people seem pretty sad.”

“There are those in that photo who’ve since passed on. Schneider, Manstein... Guderian...” Finger lifted his eyes to the hat on the globe, sadness coming over his face. “...Flamel.”

The names were unfamiliar to her other than Anjou. She kept her silence.

“You’ll learn more about this people later on. Heh.” He smiled a little. “But even before that, we lost a lot of people.” He shook his head. “Friends... long time friends. Some people lost family. A lot of people died. Your parents especially suffered a lot. That makes it even harder to talk about.”

“At that meeting, there was an issue of unstable hybrids that your mother was especially passionate about. They could be born naturally. But a lot of them were actually created by a very evil group of people. They were victims of that time but... the Cassell College still treated the same way they’d treated these hybrids for centuries.”

He shifted in his chair. “You see, back before we had things like Genetic testing, when Hybrids were newly created, they used an alchemical process to forcibly create hybrids. The embryos grew in the natural way, in the womb of a mother. Many of those women died. And even if they lived, there was a chance for those hybrids to be unstable. Those unstable hybrids would grow into monsters. So... as soon as a child was seen to be unstable... it was violently killed. It didn’t matter how young it was.” He said with a slow sad shake of his head.

Ru’Yi swallowed her tea. Trying to imagine a child being put to death.

“Meixiu stood up because she had been unstable but received treatment from an unknown source. She was cured. She said that she spoke for all the mothers who had to watch their children die.”

“She said that going forward, it can no longer be the policy of the Secret Society to destroy unstable hybrids without seeking a cure for them. Technology had advanced. There was no longer any excuse. She demanded that we put forth significant efforts to cure instability.”

He sighed through his nose. “Even now, I get choked up because I know how hard it must have been to stand up and say that. But even then, the old guard refused. The old guys said it was too dangerous. That people would die. That a cure would never be found.”

He pointed to the two Japanese men in the photo. “This here... is Chisei and Chime Gen. She has a special friendship with these two. Chisei used to be High Patriarch of a group formally known as Hydra but is now just the Japan Division. Even though he wasn’t the leader at the time, he was still highly respected by them. He had been on the front line of destroying the unstable hybrids of Japan. He killed dozens... maybe even hundreds of them.”

“So when he stood up and confessed that he still is haunted by his actions to this day and voted her direction? It was like the entire building moved. You could feel history being made.” 

Finger’s blue eyes twinkled. “All of the Japan delegates voted his way.”

“Caesar is an old politician at heart, but Chisei is his dear friend. He voted his way as well... and where Caesar goes,” He waved his hand, “...most divisions will fall in line.”

“In the end, you saw a split between the old generation and the new. All the old guard voted to keep things the way they were but... none of the new blood agreed. Cassell turned in a new direction... into the future.”

“There are still those who agree with the old guard. But it’s too late now. Especially with a severe case like Tom being successfully treated, we have reason to believe that the new era will last.”

He pulled another photograph out and held it out to her. “Don’t tell your mom I have this.” He grinned proudly.

It was a picture of her mother embracing the Japanese man. She could tell by the way the fabric gathered in their hands that they were clinging to each other tightly. “Is this... Chisei?”

“Mhm. Maybe someday I’ll get to tell you their story. But it would be better if you heard it from them. After all. I was only there for part of it.”

“Are those evil people still around?” Ru’Yi asked.

“Hm?” Finger’s eyes widened slightly.

“You said.. evil people created unstable hybrids.”

Finger’s eyes lowered. “I don’t wanna say too much. But the truth is the knowledge is out there now. And so long as there are dragons and hybrids and people who want power, there’s a chance one or two will pop up.”

“Dad told me not to ask about what happened after I arrived here.” She lifted her eyes to him.

Finger looked at her in silence for a few seconds then he nodded.

“I’m... unstable?” Fear clawed at her heart.

“No.” He smiled. “You’re not.”

She let out a breath in relief.

“I just... wanted to you to know a few thing so you can feel proud of your parents. So you don’t feel like they’re hiding things from you. They’re not.” He shook his head. 

“Thanks, Vice Chancellor...”

“Oh Please... call me Finger! That title is so ... “ He grimaced. “It’s a mouthful.”

“Right.” She laughed.

“So, I’m curious Ru’Yi...” He leaned forward a bit. “Why did you join Cassell College anyway...?”