#banter is so fun to write

[ghosttotheparty]

based on this post by @liightsnow <3

“Lucas, what’s your favourite song?”

“Oh, uh. I don’t know.”

“Figure it out,” Steve says tightly. “And tell me. If we don’t have the taPes we can get some in town in the morning.”

The room is quiet, tense, and everyone knows what’s going through Steve’s head.

Just in case.

It’s almost uncomfortable, all of them sitting around the basement of Nancy’s house, on the sofas and the floor like they’re waiting for something.

“Mine’s Time After Time,” Erica says after a moment. “Cyndi Lauper.”

Dustin snorts.

“Excuse me?” Erica says, tilting her head, and Eddie suppresses a smile, looking back and forth between them. “Why is that funny?”

“Nothing,” Dustin says, shrugging.

“‘Nothing?’ Why’d you laugh then, huh?”

“Just…” The others are all watching too, suppressing their own tired smiles as they bicker. “You’re such a hard-ass, it’s kinda funny that your favourite song’s a romantic ballad.”

“Language,” Steve scolds. Eddie’s smile grows.

“What’s your favourite song, then, asshole?” Erica asks.

“Language,” Steve says louder. Eddie is grinning now, rocking back and forth, looking away from Steve’s scandalised expression to Dustin’s face, which is now flushing pink.

“…Angeleyes,” he admits. “By ABBA.”

There’s a chorus of muffled laughter around the room.

“ABBA?” Eddie questions, making a face, and Dustin raises a finger at him.

“This needs to be a judgement-free zone—“

“You were just laughing at me for Cyndi Lauper,” Erica interrupts, shoving at him.

“That’s ‘cause it was funny.”

“ABBA’s kinda funny, too,” Lucas says, shrugging. Max is next to him, giggling behind her hand, headphones around her neck, and Eddie can’t remember the last time he saw her laugh. Dustin flips Lucas off.

“What’s your favourite song?” he asks, slumping into his seat and crossing his arms, almost pouting.

Lucas pauses, thinking for another moment before he says, “Rio,” firmly. “Duran Duran.”

Steve gives an approving nod, and Eddie rolls his eyes. Figures the jocks would have the same music taste.

“Why?” Dustin asks. Lucas makes a face, tossing a hand.

“‘S a good song, why do I need a reason?” he asks, then leans forward. “Why do you like Angeleyes?” he teases. Dustin turns pink again.

“Makes me think of Suzie,” he says begrudgingly. “Does Rio make you think of anyone special?”

“Shut up,” Lucas snaps, backing off. Eddie glances at Max, whose cheeks are pink she she looks down, still smiling. Eddie’s grin widens.

When he glances at Steve, he’s smiling too, watching the kids fondly. And Eddie is grateful for this moment, for the softness and banter and bickering and normalness, even if it’s brief.

“Robin, what’s your favourite?” Lucas asks, ignoring the way Dustin is snickering at him.

“Uh,” she sighs, looking up at the ceiling, arms around her legs that are drawn to her chest. “Emerald Eyes, Fleetwood Mac.”

“Wait, do we all have the tapes for these?” Steve asks. "I think I have Fleetwood Mac, but..."

“I have Erica’s,” Nancy says. “In my room. I might have Dustin’s too.”

“I have mine at my house,” Lucas says. Steve hesitates.

“I might have it too,” he says. “I’ll check when we stop at mine tomorrow.” Lucas nods. “Nancy, what’s yours? You have it?”

“Yeah,” Nancy says. “I have it, its’s One Way or Another. Blondie.”

Steve nods.

The rooms falls quiet again. Eddie looks at Steve again, at the way he’s sitting on the floor, arms around his legs like Robin. at the way he’s biting his lip, deep in thought. There’s a crease between his eyebrows. He looks too old, not at all like the boy Eddie used to see in the hallways at school. It feels weird to miss him.

“Steve,” he says quietly. Steve blinks, looking up at him like he’s startled. “What’s yours?”

“Uh, Shout At The Devil by Mötley Crüe,” he says. “I have it in my room.”

He’s met with silence.

Eddie finally stops rocking back and forth, staring at Steve, wondering if he really just said what Eddie heard. Steve blinks and looks back at him, then at the kids.

“…What?”

“Mötley Crüe?” Lucas says slowly.

“Yes?”

“Since when do you listen to metal?” Dustin says, and Eddie would go after him for his tone (he sounds disgusted) if he weren’t still frozen, stuck in place.

“Since, like, middle school,” Steve says defensively, rocking Eddie’s world even more. “What’s your deal?”

“I thought you were gonna say something by, like, Wham,” Max says dryly. Steve makes a face.

“Or ABBA,” Erica adds, dodging Dustin’s elbow.

“He listens to metal all the time,” Robin says, and Eddie finally tears his eyes away from Steve to look at her, wide-eyes. “Drives me crazy.”

“You don’t mind Van Halen,” Steve says defensively, leaning forward to look at her, and Eddie’s gaze finds him again.

“I do when I get out of school,” she says sassily. “And I’m tired, and I want a nap, and I get into your car to hear some guy yelling—“

“It’s not yelling, oh my god—“

Eddie’s lips are parted as he looks at Steve in awe as they bicker. He snaps out of it when Steve looks at him, their eyes meeting across the coffee table, and he blinks.

“What?” Steve says, half-smiling like he knows. Eddie shrugs, starting to rock back and forth again.

“Didn’t know you had it in you,” he says lightly. Steve raises an eyebrows. (God, why is that hot?)

“To have good music taste?” he asks, amused. Eddie shrugs again.

“Debatable.”

“The hell do you mean debatable?” Steve says, defensive again. Eddie grins.

“Mötley Crüe’s glam metal—“

“You are so fucking annoying,” Steve says, his eyes wide. “Oh my god.”

Eddie throws his head back with a loud Hah! as a chorus of Language! rings around the room, followed by giggles as Steve makes a face.

“What’s yours?” Nancy asks, kicking Eddie lightly from where she’s sitting on the sofa.

“Master of Puppets,” he says, his smile fading. “Metallica. I have it in my room, but I don’t know if we’ll be able to get it from the trailer—“

“I have it.”

Eddie’s eyes snap back across the coffee table. Steve is looking at him. Earnestly. Seriously. Eddie furrows his brows.

“What?” Steve says. “I have it.”

“Who are you?” Dustin says, and Steve finally looks away from Eddie to glare at Dustin.

“You be quiet, Angeleyes.”

“It’s a good song—“

“For a twelve year old girl, maybe.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Erica interrupts.

Their voices turns to white noise. Eddie stares at Steve, his cheeks flushing with heat, and he pulls a piece of his hair across his face absentmindedly, gazing and gazing and gazing at Steve while he bickers with Dustin. Steve’s smile when Lucas joins him in teasing Dustin makes Eddie’s face flush warmer, and Eddie blinks hard, dropping his hair and looking away so he doesn’t combust.

He turns a little bit to find Nancy staring at him, her head tilted, eyebrows raised a little, her eyes shining with amusement even though her expression kind of looks like she’s watching a house fire.

“Unbelievable,” she says after a moment, and his face turns hot, and he knows he’s blushing profusely as he points at her.

“You can’t say shit to me.”

She raises her hands in surrender, wide-eyed.

She gives him the same look the next day when Steve comes back with the tapes. Steve calls, “Eds,” while Eddie is laying upside down on one of the sofa, and Eddie tries to sit up before Steve tosses the tape to him. He manages to catch it, looking at it curiously in a lapse of memory before he remembers just as he spots his name written on the label, slanted and a little loopy in Steve’s handwriting.

He looks up at Steve while Steve walks away to find Robin, and he’s smiling again, and Nancy is rolling her eyes.

“You’re acting like he made you a personal mixtape,” she says when Steve is out of earshot. “He’s getting you a tape so you don’t die a gruesome death—“

“Listen, Wheeler, I’ve been through a lot,” he says, letting his head fall again as his eyes close. holding up a hand to shut her up. “Let me have this, please.”

“Okay, Eddie.”

She’s smiling.

—————————

Without you, my hope is small Let me be me all along

Eddie inhales slowly, feeling coming into his body. He can see bright light through his eyelids, and he feels cold, but something warm is touching his hand.

Let the fires rage inside Knowing someday I'd grow strong

Fingers playing with his, tracing them, running across his knuckles, squeezing and massaging and holding gently. The music that's playing is quiet, like it’s coming from headphones instead of a speaker, and Eddie’s lips twitch into a smile when he recognises the song.

Without you, without you

His hand finally shifts, his fingers twitching, and the hand holding his tightens as weight makes the bed he’s on shift.

“Eddie?”

Eddie exhales, squeezing his hand a little bit and turning his head. The pillow he’s laying on is really soft, and he hears his hair scratch over the fabric.

“Hey, Stevie,” he says weakly. His voice is scratchy and rough and almost unintelligible, and it hurts to speak. He winces. Feeling seeps back into his body, and he groans.

“You okay?” Steve asks softly, and his other hand is touching Eddie’s face, tracing his cheek lightly.

“My whole body hurts,” Eddie grumbles, closing his eyes again.

“Yeah, no shit, moron,” Steve says, but he’s laughing a little, and Eddie snorts, coughing. He turns his head so he isn’t coughing into Steve’s face.

“Fuck.”

“You’re gonna be okay,” Steve says softly.

Eddie sighs, relaxing into the bed as Steve touches his face again, squeezing his hand. His fingertips brush over his forehead and cheek and the bridge of his nose.

But with you in my life You're the reason I'm alive

Eddie slowly turns his head toward the music, squinting in the bright lights of the hospital that reflect off the sterile walls and while blankets that are covering his body. There’s a walkman next to him on the bed, the chord of the headphones tangled as the music plays quietly but loud enough to be heard. Eddie closes his eyes again, smiling softly.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t mind glam metal,” Steve says. Eddie can hear his smile. “Pretentious fucker.”

Eddie laughs weakly again, coughing.

“I don’t mind,” he whispers.

He turns his face into Steve’s palm and kisses it. And then his face flushes with heat as Steve leans down and presses his lips to his forehead. He wants to hide behind his hair, but he’s too tired to reach up to pull it across his face, and then he doesn’t really want to hide as Steve smiles at him with this softness in his eyes that no one’s ever looked at Eddie with before.

“I thought they were gonna follow us through,” Eddie says quietly. “The— The bats. ‘S why I stayed.”

Steve squeezes his hand.

“I told you not to be a hero,” he whispers.

“I know, I’m sorry.”

Steve kisses his forehead again, and then he leans over Eddie, pressing their foreheads together.

“You’re okay,” he breathes, so softly that it seems like it’s to himself.

Eddie sighs, focussing on the pressure of Steve’s forehead against his, of Steve’s fingers twisted around his. He smells like expensive soap, citrusy and warm.

“You wanna go to a Sabbath gig with me someday?” he mumbles. Steve laughs softly.

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Cool.”

[mediumgayitalian]

Nico really fucking hates capture the flag.

Well, not always. Last week was fun. Last week was the annual Everyone Against The Stolls (to atone for their crimes), and Nico got to chase Connor around at top speeds, cackling, committing his shrieking and begs for mercy to memory. That was nice. That almost made him forgive the fucker for digging a trench under Nico’s unwelcome mat for him to fall into at seven thirty in the godsdamn morning.

But tonight’s game is boring.

He’s been standing, alone, at the base of the flag for the past forty bajillion hours. He’d raised a few dozens skeletons to spar with at first, since animating them to fight himself isn’t technically against the rules, but that got dull fast. (It isn’t much fun sparring with a partner who doesn’t have a brain. He already has to do that enough with Percy when he comes to visit camp.) He’d climbed the various trees around the clearing, or at least he tried until he got reamed by the dryads for climbing on a manner that was too annoying (?), and tried his hands at a few summoning spells. Nothing held his interest long.

And now he’s just standing, doing nothing, and he’s not allowed to leave. He has to stay in this stupid spot on the off chance that someone comes stumbling over to fight him for the flag.

“You’re our best swordsman, she said,” he says mockingly, beaming the nastiest vibes he can manage in Piper’s vague direction. “We need you on our defensive line, she said. Nyeh nyeh nyeh.”

His checks his watch. He groans. He looks critically over the grass, looking for a softer patch, and when he locates it he throws himself dramatically upon it, groaning louder.

“This sucks!” he yells, to no one.

“Will you shut up!” shouts back the dryad he pissed off earlier. “For the love of photosynthesis! Fuck!”

He bites his tongue hard to hold back laughter. (If he can avoid getting his entire cabin overgrown with prickle bushes again, that’d be great.) “Sorry,” he calls, trying with everything he has to sound contrite. Convincing his father to fight the Titan War was easier, actually. Acting is not his calling.

“Hmph!”

At least listening to see if she’ll come out and yell at him again provides something to ease his boredom. Yes, he’s going to regret bothering her, but in his defense, solo guarding is cruel and unusual punishment. He’d rather sit by an outlet with a fork and see if he can poke and let go fast enough to avoid dying. That at least would be interesting.

A rustling of leaves recaptures his attention, and he pauses.

“Holly?”

When no one answers, which is odd because she’s taken every opportunity in the last hour to either insult him or pelt him with stones, he lifts his head.

“You’re not going to scare me, dude. I had my fear glands surgically removed to become a better soldier.”

Not true. Obviously. But a fun bonus of being the camp weirdo is that no one doubts anything he says. He’s working on convincing everyone younger than him that he needs weekly tributes of chocolate delivered to his door every Friday or the dead are going to take over the world. So far, it’s working.

“Look, Holly, I’m sorry about the zombie, okay, I promise it didn’t mean to sneeze part of its brain on you —”

The rustling sounds again, only this time Nico can see that it’s not Holly’s tree, and in fact she is nowhere to be found. Alarmed, he jumps to his feet, shifting so he’s balanced on the balls of his feet, poised to attack. Is Piper’s plan failing? Has someone actually managed to make it all the way over here without getting (gently, probably, although they lost the last game and Piper gets cranky without dessert) maimed?

The rustling sounds for a third time. This time, an armoured someone stumbles out of the underbrush, tripping over their own foot and nearly landing flat on their face.

Nico has his sword at their throat in a millisecond.

“Wo-oah, Morbius. That’s probably my least favourite sword you could stab in me.”

Nico goes bright red. “I have never wanted to stab you more than right this second.”

Will, chest plate skewed to the right, quiver completely empty, and black paint smeared under his eyes, snickers. He puts a finger on the tip of Nico’s sword and pushes it away from his neck.

“The opportunity was right there, babe. I couldn’t not.”

“You really, really could. In fact at all times, you should remember these words of wisdom: shut up.”

“…Damn. Inspiring.”

Nico rolls his eyes, but the effect is somewhat lessened by the smile on his face and the obvious pleasure in his expression. He’s even feeling merciful enough to accept Will’s kiss, although his sword keeps a good amount of distance between them. (Will’s on the blue team, after all. It would be unprofessional to be fraternizing with the enemy.

…Well, too much, anyway.)

“What’re you doing here? You’re supposed to be with the other archers, sitting in trees and causing havoc.”

Will shrugs, grinning lazily. “I quit. This game is senselessly violent and I’m Against It On Principle. I’m a pacifist, you know.”

“Uh huh.” Nico raises an eyebrow. “I assume this doesn’t count you choking Cecil out in a headlock, this morning.”

Will opens his mouth. Nothing comes out. He closes it again.

“Cecil is my mortal enemy,” he grudges after a moment. “He doesn’t count.”

“‘Course not. Not like you cried for two hours when he went to visit his mom last weekend or anything.”

“Will you — stop saying I cried. I barely teared up, okay. Barely.”

Nico can’t quite force down the stupid grin that pulls across his face, matching Will’s, nor can he resist grabbing the leather straps of his boyfriend’s armour and hauling him close.

“You better not be here to distract me,” he mumbles, leaning close and pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw, the corner of his mouth. Will hums, settling his hands on Nico’s hips.

“Nope. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Drama queen.”

“Excuse — I am the least dramatic, I’ll have you know. I’m a pinnacle of solemnity. I am a shining beacon of stoicism. I am — mmfh,” He trails off. “Okay, doing this now, mhm.”

Nico smiles triumphantly into the kiss. Will, he has found, is very easy to shut up, despite his long-running nickname of Motormouth. It’s almost like he has an off button that can be accessed only by Nico sticking his tongue in his mouth. Nico is doing his civic duty, honestly. He should be compensated for his service.

(‘Course, doesn’t hurt that Will smells, like, really good, all the time, and his lips are soft as hell and he is actually quite the kisser, in fact. That is definitely a fun bonus.)

He smooths his hands over Will’s shoulders, travelling up the sides of his neck and settling in his hair. Will keens, slightly, when he wraps a finger around a frizzy golden curl and tugs, slightly, when he scratches his nails along his scalp. The rush of power at the feeling makes Nico dizzy, and his sword clatters to the ground as he busies himself with more interesting — and important — things.

Like pulling more of those sounds from his boyfriend’s throat. Or making his knees buckle, again, like he did the other night — gods, that was good, it made Will flush scarlet and Nico feel like he was fuckin’ floating, to have Will so needy and touchy and totally at his mercy —

“Free line to the flag! Go go go go!”

Nico startles, whirling towards the sudden cacophony of noises. To his horror, what looks like half the camp, helmets shining with plumes of blue, comes pouring into the clearing, weapons raised, voices mixing in one long, victorious shout. He lunges for his sword, but before he can grab it, two strong arms tighten around his torso, pinning his hands to his side.

Immediately, he knows he’s been set up.

“Oh, you — fucker!”

He feels the curve of Will’s grin against his neck. “First shower privileges for a whole month, baby.” He noses along his jaw, pressing an apologetic kiss to his cheek. “Couldn’t resist.”

Nico struggles, aghast, watching the once-red flag shimmer in Lou Ellen's hold to a bright, shining blue. “I am breaking up with you, you traitor, you Iago, you vixen — ”

Will snorts. He ducks down and pecks Nico on the lips, again, and again, and then shifts to his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, his temples, his forehead, and all over his face, making louder and louder mwah sounds until Nico is laughing, punching his shoulder and shoving him away.

“Okay! Okay. Let me go, you villainous toad. We will discuss how much you’ll have to grovel for my forgiveness after Piper finishes yelling at me for getting distracted.”

Will presses one last kiss to his nose, smiling cheekily before stepping away, heading towards his boasting team. “Enjoy that lecture! Love you!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Nico rolls his eyes, resting his aching cheek in his hand. “Love you too, asshole.”

[kinkmom]

Get Kissed, Idiot

Ashley knows how to rile Andrew up. 😏 Luckily the outcome is to fuck her and not kill her (this time).

Hopefully the gif keeps a readable speed. :'0 Too bad I don't know how to easily make rolling text like RPG maker does, it would have been a cooler visual.

[poisonous-honey]

Nahida’s Precious Tailor

The little lord of Sumeru calls upon your aid as she wishes for a wardrobe change.

Who’s Here: Reader/Player, Nahida, Wanderer, Kaveh, and Alhaitham makes a short appearance

Contains: Cursing, SAGAU (Self Aware Genshin Alternate Universe), Artist/Tailor Reader, Reader isn’t explicitly shipped with anyone so you can make do however you wish

Note: Inspired by @sunnysolaria. Not their exact ask, I just had fun making this (～￣▽￣)～ (i.e. this basically word vomit)

====

Time ticks by as you and Nahida sit in the middle of the Sanctuary of Surasthana. You can vaguely hear the sounds of children singing softly in the background which makes it a bit more eerie to be here, but you push it away to try and focus on the task asked of you. Nahida looks on in wonder as you continue to ponder, not noticing you’ve started to mumble out loud. 

“I knew you liked to waste your own time, but I thought you’d at least be decent enough to spare others from your terrible habits.”

Hearing Wanderer you’re snapped out of your thoughts and turn your eyes away from Nahida to see him arrive. Your mind, still a jumbled mess, can barely recall what he said to make a proper retort. You assume he insulted you so you open your mouth hoping to say any form of comeback.

“Sup.” 

Of course, you didn’t. 

Nahida quickly spreads her arms wide taking Wanderer’s scrutinizing eyes off your form, allowing you to collect your thoughts better.

“I’ve asked them to be my tailor! They’re helping me think of outfit designs! Some of the ones they’ve already thought of have been fascinating!”

You blank for a sec upon hearing that. You’re happy she liked some of the designs you thought of, but you forgot she could read your mind at all. Trying to shake the thought that she could read your mind whenever she pleases, you turn to Wanderer to shoo him away.

“Yeah I’m actually here for important business, so if you could skedaddle somewhere else for a bit that’d be great.”

He ignores you and keeps his attention focused on Nahida, which has you silently cursing under your breath.

“Why do you even need new clothes? Let alone asking the Player to design and make them for you. Their sense of fashion is atrocious.”

You gasp and put your hand to your chest. You’re about to tell him your clothes were for sure more comfortable than anything he could be wearing, but Nahida cuts you off.

“Before the Player landed in Teyvat, they would sometimes bring up pictures of everyone with different clothes. Some people looked completely different from how they are now.”

Your brow raises as you cock your head. You didn’t think they could see anything outside the game when you were playing. They were too good at hiding everything they were able to do to your device. Or maybe it was just Nahida, that would be better for your peace of mind.

“Oh, so you saw your beta designs? Is that why you asked me specifically?”

Nahida nods her head, “Partly. It’s why I wanted to try something different, but I haven’t actually seen my own alternative designs. I can’t say I’m not still curious to see them.”

Your eyes brighten just a little. “I can still show you if you want me too! It’s all saved to a photo album on my phone. I’d just have to find it.”

She leans in closer to you with curiosity and marvel on her face. You take that as a yes and take-out your phone to start looking for it. During the time it takes you to find the set of pictures Wanderer ends up sitting next to you and staring at all the pictures you pass by. As soon as you find Nahida’s beta designs and hand her your phone, Wanderer starts to come at you.

“Wow, someone’s obsessed.”

Your head whips to his direction, and you look at him with a mix of disdain and embarrassment. The sadistic pleasure is very visible on his face as he continues.

“Over 2000 pictures dedicated to us? And a lot of them seem to be of the same person. I wonder what they’d think if they knew you had sections dedicated to them in your photo gallery.”

Shame shimmers underneath your skin the more he talks. You’re glad he only saw the folder number. You stopped organizing your pictures in folders a long time ago so you can’t imagine how much you have now. If he knew the actual number you’d probably die on the spot. Even so, you don’t want to take shit from this fucking edgelord.

“Oh shut the fuck up! I didn’t know any of you were even real at the time I just liked the game okay.”

He arches his brow and rests his head on his hand, still carrying that shit-eating grin, “The fact you thought we weren’t even sentient just makes this more pathetic.”

Wanderer soon brings up the pictures he saw of himself on your phone which has you combusting on the spot. Nahida continues to stare at her beta designs, ignoring the “argument” going on between you two. She examines them for a bit longer before tapping your shoulder to get your attention and holds out your phone for you to take back.

You quickly take it and hide the source of your shame, giving Wanderer the middle finger while you're at it. You focus as much on Nahida as you can, with him laughing in the background. 

“Did you like any of them?”

Nahida stares at you intently for a moment before saying anything. “Player, would you have preferred it if I looked like one of these designs?”

You’re stunned for a sec before panic quickly sets in. Of course, she was probably reading your mind to see what you thought of them. You thought they were all pretty interesting, but you didn’t want her thinking you thought they were superior. You vaguely hear Wanderer tease you for managing to upset such a forgiving god and Nahida saying that she wasn’t upset, just asking, but it’s in one ear and out the other amidst your frantic state.

“Oh! No, no, no, no, no, no Nahida you got the wrong idea!” You take your phone back out before gesturing to the whole page of beta designs. “Yeah I think these designs are cool, some more than others but that’s beside the point! I like you Nahida even if your dress looks like a shuttlecock-”

“What are you even saying-”

“Stop focusing on the unimportant Wanderer.”

He scoffs at you and rolls his eyes.

“But you’re you. For a lot of these I think they had a different vision of you in mind when drawing these.”

Nahida puts her hands on yours and only then did you realize how much you were fidgeting. She smiles warmly at you, “There’s no need to be so nervous. I was just asking!”

You deflate in relief, “Thank goodness. I guess back to my last question then… Did you like any of them? If you thought one of them was pretty good I could make that for you?”

She thinks on it for a moment and ultimately shakes her head, “I did like a couple, but I’d rather you make me something new! There’s a reason these weren’t chosen, and you said it yourself they don’t make you think of me. I know you put your heart into the clothes you make, so a design made by you, for me, is perfect.”

You smile at her. Her faith in you to make something good for her fills you with pride.

“I’ll do my best for you.”

Out of the corner of your eye you notice Wanderer opening his mouth, probably to talk more shit, so before he can say anything you make a show of stretching and square him straight in his face. He roughly grabs your hand and pushes it away from him, staring at you with the fiercest scowl you’ve seen from him. You merely smirk in his direction.

“Oh I’m so sorry, I forgot you were there. I was just trying to stretch, no hard feelings yeah?”

You put your phone away again and get up to leave, waving goodbye to Nahida and ignoring Wanderer’s pointed gaze as you walk towards the door. Nahida cheerfully waves back and Wanderer silently seethes in his place. 

���⭐⭐⭐

On your way down to the ground floor of the city you continue to brainstorm multiple ideas to potentially make for Nahida. Dresses, regal robes, bejewelled shirts, and big pants. Should you try to lean into her godhood? Maybe go for a nature theme or add more computer-Esq patterns into the design. Should you give the poor girl shoes? You’re so deep in thought you don’t realize how close you had gotten to the edge of the pathway. A stray tree branch catches your foot, and you trip, snapping out of your mind to see houses and merchant stalls.

Luckily before you could plummet onto some poor person’s roof you’re caught by your arm and roughly pulled away from the ledge and into someone’s chest. You both fall to the ground and a small group of students that witnessed your mishap crowded around you.

“Oh my Archons, are you two okay?” “Do you need any help?” “Can we get you anything?”

“I’m fine thank you, but Player, are you okay?”

“Kaveh!?”

You get up and turn around to see it was indeed Kaveh that had saved you from cracking your head open on one of the rooftops below. He’s helped up by one of the others, and he stares at you intently.

“Yes it’s me, but seriously are you okay?”

You hear some of the others murmuring questions, mostly asking if you’re okay. “Yeah I’m fine. Thank you, really.”

You, of course, take this moment to hug him which Kaveh immediately reciprocates. “Gods you need to be more careful. You nearly scared me half to death.”

He peels himself away from you when he notices the others are still worried about you. The few students around ask if you’re sure you’re okay and fawn over you a little before leaving you in Kaveh’s care. As you’re waving bye you feel Kaveh’s hand rest on your shoulder which has you turn to look at him, his gaze still filled with concern.

“Are you sure you-”

“Yes Kaveh. You saved me, I’m fine.”

You grab his hand and hold it in front of you. It looked like he wanted to say a lot more, but he eventually settled and gazed at you softly, tightening his grip on your hand just a bit. “I’m glad. So what’s weighing so heavily on your mind that you can’t look up to notice your surroundings?”

You fidget under his stare for a second, not being able to remember until you see Wanderer flying off somewhere in the distance. It feels like you were hit with a brick as you remember the important task that was given to you. As you turn back to Kaveh to explain, you stop to look at what he’s wearing. It’s his normal outfit, but taking it all in you realize you don’t know what makes Sumeru wear… Sumeru wear. You’re pulled into your thoughts again and about to walk off before Kaveh pulls you back a little, clearly confused.

“Hold on, where are you going??”

Oh yeah, you had forgotten he asked you a question. “Nahida asked me if I could design new clothes for her. I was thinking of ideas earlier, but now I see all of them were lacking. None of them really looked like Sumeru clothes so now I need to do research since,” You look over Kaveh’s outfit again and take a glance at the people around you, “I don’t even know where to start.”

His brows furrow, and his hand moves to his chin. You want to chuckle seeing him do the thinking idle animation, but you don’t want him to start overthinking his existence again over something so trivial. Suddenly, Kaveh grabs you by your shoulders and his face ends up really close to yours.

“I can help you! If you want me to, that is.”

You stare at Kaveh in slight surprise. You guess you should've known he’d want to help with your artistic endeavours.

“You know how to make clothes?”

He falters a bit, but is still as enthusiastic as before, “Well no, but I do know a thing or two about style. I learned more than just how to make a building during my time at the Academia you know.”

He playfully pokes your forehead, and you swat his hand away with a smile. “Yeah I wasn’t thinking. I’d definitely appreciate your help.”

“Perfect! We can start by heading to the Grand Bazaar. Oh, but first I have to drop off my materials. I was on my way to do that before I had to drop everything to keep you from falling.”

You look past him to see a ton of blueprints and rulers and a ton of other materials. Making your way over you start to pick everything up for him, Kaveh soon following suit. You hear him mumbling, hoping nothing broke in his rush. Guilt creeps up your spine seeing him fret over every item he picks up.

“... Sorry.”

His head snaps to your direction hearing you apologize and quickly tries to calm any guilt you currently feel. “Please it’s okay, besides it doesn’t seem like anything’s broken. If you still want to make it up to me then try taking better care of yourself.”

You huff and continue to help him collect his things off the floor. “That’s a tall ask, but I’ll try for you.”

“You better.”

You finish gathering all of Kaveh’s materials and help him carry them on the way to Alhaitham’s despite all his protests saying he could do it himself.

⭐⭐⭐⭐

“What are you doing here??”

“This is my house, or did you forget?”

You honestly weren’t expecting to see Alhaitham today. You were pretty sure you caught sight of him in the Academia on your way to the Sanctuary or Surasthana so you assumed he was working. Judging by Kaveh’s reaction, you guess that’s what he was supposed to be doing.

Kaveh scoffs, “Never mind. Player, can you hand me the rest of my things? You can wait here while I put them all away.”

Kaveh carefully brings his materials over to his room, and you decide to sit next to Alhaitham as you wait for him to put them away. He’s currently reading something you have no hope of ever understanding. You’re content to sit here in silence as you wait not wanting to bother him, when he starts talking, not even taking his eyes off the book he’s reading.

“You nearly had quite the fall earlier. You’re quite lucky Kaveh was able to catch you in time.”

It takes you a bit to register what he was referring to, but when it settles you gawk at him, barely believing what he’s insinuating.

“Wait, so you saw me nearly fall to my death, and didn’t even bother to check up on me??”

He closes his book with a snap and turns to look at you. Moments like this make you wish you were able to read him, his passive face making it near impossible to tell what he was thinking. You watch as he reaches for something behind him and pulls out a small heart-shaped gold and green box with a soft glow. He hands it to you without saying a word.

You take it and inspect it for a while, not being able to figure out what it is. You don’t see any clasps or hinges to be able to open it so you’re filled with nothing but questions.

“What’s this for?”

“Consider it my apology for not checking up on you earlier. Open it later.”

You huff and nod your head. Realizing you're probably not going to get anymore out of him you change the topic, talking to him about whatever you feel like as you wait for Kaveh. You’re in the middle of explaining the task Nahida gave you and the research you’re about to do when Kaveh finally steps out of his room.

“Everything's put away, we can head off now!”

You get up excited and skip to the front door, not realizing Alhaitham getting up as well. Kaveh does though and swiftly starts to question him. 

“Where are you going? Back to work I’d hope.”

That has you turning around right before the door.

“I have some things I need to acquire at the Bazaar. Since you’re also going I thought to simply come along.”

You smile, you appreciate the thought, but feel Kaveh won’t in the slightest.

“Oh no you’re not coming with us! Knowing you, you’d try to but in with your own ‘advice’ when you don’t even understand the first thing about art. The clothes our Player is designing are for Lord Kusanali. Any help that you could provide would only serve to make the design a disaster.”

Your face falls as Kaveh starts an argument with Alhaitham, exactly what you expected. You debate dragging him away, but decide against it, saying you’ll wait for him outside. The only sign that he heard you is the slight turn of his head before you step outside yourself.

As you exit you look at the heart-shaped box Alhaitham gave you. You’re far too impatient to wait until you get home to see what’s inside, but you don’t know how to open it. You fiddle with it for a while when you hear the door open and close. Turning around you see Kaveh step outside and shove the box in his direction. 

“Huh? What’s this?”

“Alhaitham gave this to me, but I have no idea how to open it. Can you maybe, help me?”

He complains under his breath hearing Alhaitham’s name, but does take it from you to inspect it. Barely any time passes when he realizes what it is and presses on the jewel in the centre of the box. You flinch as wings suddenly pop out from its sides. Kaveh hands it back to you, and you stare at it with glee. He gave you a Sumeru styled glider.

“What a coincidence.”

You roll your eyes and try pressing the jewel to get the wings to retract, which it does, and tell Kaveh to shush. 

“Give him the benefit of the doubt just this once. I’ll have to thank him later. Anyway, what was the plan again?”

A smile finally forms on his face, and he goes over the plan he concocted “Yes! First we’ll stop by the Grand Bazaar, the Zubayr Theatre will have plenty of costumes that we can look at. I also know a few market stalls that sell fabric-”

You listen to him go on for a while when your eyes start to wander, and it’s when your eyes land on someone rummaging through their clothes looking for something you remember Kaveh’s and Alhaitham’s shared idle animation. He had them earlier, but just to make sure you decide to ask anyway.

“Sorry to interrupt, but you have your keys right Kaveh?

Kaveh stops and turns to you. You see his face contort multiple times, like he’s struggling to decide whether he should feel offended or not, before sighing.

“Of course I do, they're right… Uhh.”

You cross your arms and stare at him with as much disappointment you could muster. You watch as his face turns red as he continues patting himself down. Soon he gives up and slumps.

“... I think I left them with all of my things.”

You raise an eyebrow. “How did you even-”

“I have no idea. Give me a sec I’ll go get them.”

⭐⭐⭐⭐

Nahida twirls around in front of a mirror much larger than her, looking at the clothing you made for her from all angles. Her green mantelet swirls around her, the edge covered in padisarah designs and her bell chiming with every movement. The coat underneath a darker shade filled with swirls and flowing behind her legs. The necklace you gave her thumping against the sleeveless white shirt. In case she wanted some type of sleeves you also made white add-on sleeves with golden cufflets. Where the shirt ends, beads were placed to separate the blue and purple scarf around her waist. It had pale yellow ruffles that flowed over her pants. The pants are fairly puffy, also white and stop right above her ankles. You also decided to make her shoes, white and the same green as her mantelet with gold accents and adorned with green jewels at their tips. 

You fidget in your place behind her and mindlessly twiddle your thumbs. She hasn’t said anything yet, and it was starting to get to you. You spent a long time looking over clothes and books with Kaveh to try and understand Sumeru design, but even after all the studying you were still nervous presenting it to her. You’re at least thankful Wanderer hasn’t said anything to spite you yet.

Not wanting to be stuck in suspense any longer you just decide to ask her directly. “So Nahida… Do you like it? ‘Cause if you don’t I can make something else-”

“No I love it!” She turns and lets you see the massive smile on her face, her arms still spread wide. “I especially like the scarf. I’m not exactly sure why, but it reminds me of something I lost. I appreciate it, thank you!”

You breathe a sigh of relief. The scarf is what you were most worried about since it didn’t match the rest of the colour scheme. Especially since Kaveh had quite a bit to say about it, but you felt it to be integral. 

She then turns her attention to Wanderer, who still hasn’t said anything yet. “What do you think?”

He stares at her outfit for a moment, looking her up and down, before sighing and reluctantly giving his own opinion, “It’s… Alright.”

You elbow him in the arm for that which he barely even reacts to. “Oh come on, surely you have more to say than that.”

His brow twitches, “It’s amazing you managed to make anything presentable.”

You scoff and back away from him, “Never mind I don’t want your opinion anymore.”

Nahida claps her hands and grabs both of your attention, “I’m glad you like it too! Maybe our player can design you some new clothes as well!” 

“As if.” “Fat chance.”

You both end up dismissing the idea at the same time. The thought of working as hard as you did for Nahida on someone like Wanderer makes you want to die. He probably wouldn’t even try it on.

You then remember Kaveh wanted you to tell him everything after once you finished up here. Knowing him he’s been letting this eat away at his thoughts, so you should probably head off now.

You relay this to both of them, Nahida nods in understanding before waving cheerfully and Wanderer just walks off, causing you to roll your eyes. You wave back to Nahida and as you turn around you suddenly trip and fall face-first into the floor.

“Oh, sorry. I was just trying to stretch, you got in my way.”

Looking up you see Wanderer, dead faced as usual, but you can see the mirth in his eyes. Kaveh is instantly forgotten as you feel rage fill you and bubble under your skin. He starts to walk towards the exit, and you hop up to follow him, yelling and cussing him out as you try to catch up. Nahida watches on with a small smile, clutching the scarf in her hands.

⭐⭐⭐⭐ 

Thanks for reading! 

Here’s the sketch I made to try and better describe her clothing. I’m terrible at describing clothing and wish I could just beam the perfect descriptors onto the page lmao.

I’m not exactly happy with the colour scheme (The cloak/mantelet reminds me too much of Collei’s), but this was the first time I’ve designed anything more complicated than a sweater and hoodie lol. I’m still proud I managed to come up with anything. As to why I gave importance to the scarf, it’s ‘cause I tried to make it look like a Rukkhashava Mushroom. 

“A fungus that grows in layers upon layers, like a sea of clouds, and which mostly grows on trees deep in the rainforest. Therefore, they are considered by the people of Sumeru to be the holy crystallization of Rukkhadevata's legacy. In Sumeru, those who dwell in the forest have a tradition of offering Rukkhashava Mushrooms to the Akademiya, but no one knows what these offerings are meant to be used for. Word has it that the Akademiya always performs a secret annual ritual at the Sanctuary of Surasthana, during which the sages will consume these mushrooms to commemorate Lord Rukkhadevata's sacrifice.”

And here’s her beta designs from Hoyo if you’re interested

[reineyday]

it's been 12 hours and i'm still thinking about how kai, kuroo and yaku, when getting off the court, wordlessly fell into this formation where kuroo and kai flanked yaku, who put his arms around both of their necks, and then they walked off like that with yaku barely touching the ground. it's so cute. they're so friends!!!

[robinfollies]

smth smth arthur gets sleepy when it’s cold…

[marlynnofmany]

Here's a genre crossover I'd love to see: a robot and a talking skeleton. They'd get along great. They have so much in common! And if their human buddy starts to get uppity, they can burn him to the ground by making fun of his squishy bits and need to eat.

[hardlypartying]

“We could do that you know?” There’s a thread of light breaking the horizon, the dark sky beginning to change. “Get married if everything else fails.”

“Sorry can’t do that,” Kiara clicks her tongue, “already made one.”

“You made a marriage pact without me?” Rafe leans back to stare at her in offense, his mouth hanging open a little. “With who?”

Read chapter 16 here

Listen to the playlist I can’t shut up about

[meganechan05]

"Hi, Princess💜"

"It's Queen to you💛"

"Whatever you say, Princess💜"

[mediumgayitalian]

prev

———

By all accounts, Will knows what he’s doing.

He still drives like a godsdamn maniac.

“Do you want us to die?” Nico hollers, cheeks aching from the force of his grin, belly flipping at the peal of Will’s laughter.

The bike is exhilarating, as Will weaves it around cars at unbelievable speeds, working with the bike like it’s a part of him, like it’s not a separate thing he has to move. He steers it with a natural ease Nico’s only really seen in some of the best pegasus riders in camp — he knows the machine intimately enough to anticipate how it moves, how it reacts. It really is an extension of his body.

He left any panic about gripping onto Will somewhere in Long Island — to let go would be suicide. He has to hold on to stay onto the bike, to know to lean when Will leans, to tense when he tenses. Besides that, he’s having fun. He’s not the one driving, so he’s free to rest his helmet on Will’s back and watch as the world whips by — dizzying, really, as the speed of the bike making the green-budding trees melt into the bright blue skies, mix with the tar black asphalt, glow under the sparkling sun. The whole world looks like sidewalk chalk after it rains, a swirling mass of colour and streaks as artistic or more than what it was before it was washed away. The only indication that they’re actually going anywhere rather than standing straight in the middle of a kaleidoscope is the spots of roadside green that pop up every now and again, or a heavy lean to the side and Will switches lanes.

As they pull out of New York, Will starts to slow down. The dizzying mass of colours calms until everything’s at a slow spin, as Will mellows out to a speed that can be registered on a mortal odometer. With less wind whipping all over, Nico can actually hear him.

“Better than a flying chariot?”

Nico grins. “Definitely.”

“Another great thing about this is that it has a CD player. Two-nothing for the sad hunk of wood.”

By great thing Will of course means the same four songs I’ve been obsessed with for a month playing over and over and over until you are ready to launch yourself off the bike and join the dead raccoon at the side of the road, but that still doesn’t manage to ruin it. Something about driving top speeds in the early spring air makes it hard to be annoyed about annoying.

(Or maybe it’s the way Nico can feel Will’s muscles shift every time he moves, or how he winks every time he catches Nico’s eye in the mirrors, or the lowkey kind of sinful the way he straddles the seat. But Nico is quite happy sharing a name with a river in Egypt, so he ignores these fun facts and continues to delude himself, an art in which he is become quite wondrously skilled.)

Somewhere between Jersey and Delaware, the traffic picks up again, so Will shouts for him to hold on and cranks up the speed. Nico clenches tightly around his waist, squeezing his eyes shut, this time, and listens to the roar of air as they shove through it fast enough to rival sound. When they’re drifting, again, Nico can feel an incline, and looks up just in time to watch Will exit off the highway.

“Are we here already?” he shouts, incredulous. He knows his ADHD makes him bad with time, but jeez — it can’t have been more than an hour, an hour and a half.

“Not yet,” Will says, barely having to raise his voice as they come to a stop, heel of his boot clicking on the pavement. He checks both ways and then, once nothing comes around the bend, pushes off and guides them down a winding back road, tipping around curves and speeding down hills. Nico’s stomach bottoms out every drop, and he can’t clamp down the giggle that pushes out his throat, as ridiculous as it is. Luckily, Will’s giggling, too.

In a few minutes, they pull up to an old, rusted gas station, with signs so old they’re hand-painted. Will kills the engine and flicks out the kickstand, pulling off his helmet and shaking out his hair. It’s such a tangled mess that Nico can’t help but reach out and tug on a lopsided curl.

“I didn’t think this thing needed gas.”

“It doesn’t!” He pats a dark piece of glass in between the handlebars. “It’s solar-powered. But I figured you could use a minute to stretch your legs, and frankly, if I don’t eat something soon I genuinely might cook you.”

“You forgot to eat today, didn’t you.”

“…No.”

As soon as he speaks, his eyes start to water. His throat swells. He holds his breath for a noble four seconds, and then starts wheezing.

Nico sighs heavily. “Dumbass.”

Hauling him upright by the collar, Nico drags him towards the little corner store. This, at least, is familiar. Will gets caught up in his work easily, and forgets to do things like eat or move or, on one particularly amusing occasion, breathe. (Just tipped right over, one day, onto the floor, mid-poultice. There is a chip on the side of the stone mortar to this day. Nico, Will’s other friends, and his siblings take shifts bringing it up to dunk on him properly. Last he checked, Lou Ellen commissioned Jake Mason to make a plaque to hang on the infirmary wall, memorializing the incident forever.)

“C’mon, stupid. Let’s get you a sandwich. And Benadryl.”

“I’m honestly fine,” Will wheezes, cheeks swelling slightly.

“Stop talking,” Nico orders. “You’re making it worse.”

Wisely, Will clamps up. That, or his throat is starting to close. Either is likely.

His stubborn determination to continue lying despite being literally allergic to it would be impressive, if it wasn’t so irritating.

A little bell rings by the door when Nico pushes it open, making the person sitting behind the counter look up.

“Ah,” they say sagely, folding up their newspaper. “Demigods.”

Immediately, Nico’s on alert. Before he can draw his sword, though, Will lifts a hive-spotted hand in a wave.

“Hey, Berchio,” he croaks.

The person at the counter — Berchio — smiles ruefully.

“Benadryl?”

Nico nods hesitantly, still a little wary at the stranger, but Will is starting to keen over, now, and Nico didn’t think to bring an Epi-Pen (since the allergy is totally avoidable, William, you are your own worst enemy), so he’s running out of options. “Please.”

Chuckling to themself, Berchio ruffles around a shelf by the checkout counter, locating the familiar bottle after a minute — Will gets himself into these situations a lot, he has a serious twizzler problem and should consider getting his own stash instead of lifting it from the Hermes cabin and then lying about where it went — and rolling towards them. The spokes of their wheelchair have little skull charms on them that make a pleasant tinkling noise as they spin, making Nico trust them instantly. He should get Chiron wheel beads. That’s sick as hell.

“Here, kid. Drink water, too, you’re going to dry yourself out.”

Will garbles out a thank you, choking down the medicine. As all meds do with Apollo’s children, lucky bastards that they are, it works quickly, and in minutes he’s breathing right again.

“Gods, I love oxygen.”

“You are a human disaster,” Nico informs him. “Like, hugely.”

Will takes a sip of his water, pondering that. “Is that more embarrassing for you, or for me?”

“Why the hell would it be embarrassing for me?”

“Well, since you like me so much.” Nico chokes. “I might be a disaster, but at least I don’t have a crush on one.”

“All this wheezing,” Berchio sighs. “This must be Nico?”

“The one and only,” Will says cheerfully. He reaches out and touches a warm hand to Nico’s throat, immediately clearing his airways. Now no longer struggling for breath, Nico darts out and punches him, hard, on the arm.

“Ow! Meanie!”

“You are such a derp-faced dweeb,” Nico hisses, fully aware he’s red in the face. “Why are you — why are you this way.”

“I’m gonna tell Chiron you were bullying me!”

“Tell him! I’ll tell him you were the one to sprinkle instant mashed potatoes all over the grass before it rained, not Cecil!”

Will snaps his mouth shut. “I told you that in confidence.”

Nico smiles smugly. “Well, that’s on you. My loyalties are about as secure as my parent’s relationship.”

“If you two are finished flirting,” interrupts an amused voice, making both of them jump. Berchio watches them with their arms crossed, eyebrow raised in a similar chiding way to Chiron last time he caught Nico attempting to sneak an entire tray of brownies from the kitchen (mark his words — as soon as he can shadow travel again, no other camper will be seeing a brownie as long as they shall live). They shake their head, tutting exaggeratedly. “My, my, Will, I’m beginning to understand why you mentioned him every time you opened your mouth. I figured you liked him, but this is ridiculous.”

For once, Will is the one to flush crimson. He stutters something entirely incomprehensible, gesturing vaguely towards Berchio, and then frantically towards Nico, and finally squawks something about trust and the breaching of it. He goes red to the very roots of his hair, clamping his own mouth shut mid-sentence and scowling something awful.

Suddenly, Nico gets it. This is why no one ever leaves him alone. Oh, he is loathe to give the assholes he’s friends with credit, but…

When does he ever get to see Will — confident, easy Will — go scarlet?

“So you like me,” he says, shit eating grin stretching across his face. “Oh ho ho ho.”

“Oh, shut up,” Will snaps, without any heat. “Last time we played volleyball you got a concussion ‘cause you couldn’t stop staring at my chest and took a ball to the face.”

“That — it was — that hit was malicious,” he sputters. “And how is it my fault you’re always ditching your shirt at the first available opportunity like some kind of whore? I couldn’t not look!”

“Avert your eyes, then, scoundrel!”

“I — don’t call me a scoundrel! You’re a scoundrel!”

“You’re both late, is what you are,” Berchio interrupts again. “Will, I assume you’re running an errand?”

Still a little flushed, Will nods. “Yes. Thanks, Berchio. We’re picking up parts in Roanoke, I just stopped for some food.”

“He forgot to eat this morning,” Nico pipes up. He figures that Berchio seems comfortable enough with Will that they can act as a disappointed authority figure, which will make Mr. Daddy Issues Solace crumple like a castle built on a pillar of sand — he needs the humbling. (Also, Nico will get him on a healthier track or die trying. It’s not fair that he gets to be a big hypocrite about good diet and eating and sleeping habits and then turn around and act a fool. Someone needs to watch out for the idiot, or he’s going to get himself killed, and then Nico is going to have to spend the rest of his life in the Underworld, yelling at him.)

“William.”

Nico’s theory is proven correct. Berchio stares at Will with the perfect mix of disappointment and concern, immediately triggering the scramble-to-please expression on Will’s face. He practically stumbles over himself trying to follow after him and get fed.

“Are you happy with a sandwich, Nico? I know Will’ll eat anything that even remotely looks like food, but most of us have standards,” they tease.

Nico snorts at Will’s offended pout. “Yeah, a sandwich is more than fine. Thanks, Berchio.”

After handing them both a sandwich they pull from one of the many fridges in the little convenience store, they guide them outside, parking their wheelchair next to the curb they sit on and joining them in a little picnic.

“So how do you know each other?” Nico asks, gesturing between the two of them.

Will answers first, because Berchio, who is a polite person with manners, takes the time to swallow their food.

“I stop here all the time,” he says, garbled, making both Nico and Berchio wince. Nico takes the initiative to kick him.

“Stop being disgusting and explain yourself without showing off the contents of your mouth,” Nico threatens, “or I’m going to stab you again.”

Will swallows, sticks out his tongue, and continues.

“First time I used the bike, I got it into my head that I should go visit my mom. Would’ve been fine, except I was thirteen and hadn’t been outside of camp in six years and got chased by a pack of empousai the second I left the city, basically.”

“I was collecting herbs and sensed him coming,” Berchio explains. “He crossed the borders I have set up; I hid him here. Now he stops by whenever he’s travelling to chat.” Berchio smiles warmly. “I appreciate the company.”

Will grins back. “Me too! Plus, I very much appreciate the herb exchange. Speaking of which, I have your goldenrod.”

He digs into his jeans pocket, pulling out a bundle. He hands it over to Berchio, who accepts it gratefully, handing over their own bundle to Will.

“And your witch hazel.”

“Berchio’s an Ipotane,” Will explains, catching sight of Nico’s furrowed brow. “They’ve been doing this healing stuff for centuries. They’re real good with salves.”

Nico shakes his head fondly. “Even when you’re being cool, you’re a nerd.” He gestures to the bike. “Taking your secret motorcycle to visit your secret mentor to learn more about healing. Gods, it’s like Apollo made you in a lab.”

“You take that back! I contain multitudes!”

“And now you’re quoting famous poems, dear gods, try to prove my point better, why don’t you —”

“Blah blah blah!”

Nico grins at him, rolling his eyes, and Will is just as playfully dramatic with his bit lip and hidden smile and the hair he tucks behind his ear like he does when he wants to touch somebody but isn’t sure if it’s invited. Nico answers the question for him, reaching out and flicking his knuckles as an excuse to touch his hands. Will takes it, beaming.

“Thank you for the food, Berchio,” Will says when they finish, leaning down to hug them. “We gotta get going, but I’ll be back in a couple weeks. I had a dream about an outbreak, so no doubt the infirmary will need restocked soon.”

“Bring your boyfriend next time,” Berchio suggests, grinning when Nico goes red at the term. “Watching the two of you was not unlike one of Sterne’s famous productions.”

“I take offence to that,” Will says haughtily.

“Good. You needed humbling.”

“Nobody appreciates me around here!”

Nico bites back the I do that threatens to escape his throat. Gods, he’s so embarrassing. Whoever taught him how to speak should have to pay for their crimes.

They head back to the bike, waving goodbye to the Ipotane and speeding off. The drive the rest of the way down south is much calmer, bellies full and energy somewhat spent, and it helps that there’s no traffic. Will cruises, keeping time with the sun that’s inching across the sky, ignoring Nico’s suggestion to attempt to race his dad. They arrive in Roanoke in good time, following Nyssa’s scrawled directions to the parts shop.

The shop is old, visibly, paint peeling and smelling strongly of car grease. As Nysa predicted, the person they speak to — a mechanic, by the look of her jumpsuit — doesn’t ask so much as a single question at the two teenagers rolling up to her doorstep, heading to the greasy shelves of car parts and grabbing what they need with a shrug.

“Well,” says Will slowly as she piles them on the counter, “that’s…more than I anticipated.”

Nico looks at the stack of twisted metal. He looks at the bike. Finally, he looks at his dumbass friend.

“Solace.”

Will scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah?”

“Solace, tell me you have space to put this stuff.”

“Well, we can try the seat compartment?”

Nico buries his head in his hands. “Solace.”

“What!”

“You know what, lughead! We cannot do the one thing we came here to do! Gods!”

“I usually go on supply runs for the infirmary, okay!” Will cries. “That stuff is way less bulky! I forgot to compensate!”

Nico groans. At this point, they’re going to have to bus back, or something equally as stupid. And what are they gonna do with the bike? Gods, if Nico was here by himself and also maybe possibly with Reyna, who could share her strength, he’d just —

He stills.

“Oh, no,” Will says, pointing a stern finger, “oh, no, di Angelo, I know that look, you have been expressly banned —”

“Relax,” Nico grumbles. “Don’t you trust me?”

“With everything,” Will says automatically, then flushes for the second time that day. “But that is not the point —”

Deciding he will return to that later — and he most certainly will — Nico darts forward. Before Will can stop him, he puts both hands on the pile of parts, lunges towards the nearest shadow, and shoved them in, withdrawing as quickly as he can manage.

“Nico!”

He waits.

“Oh, you fuckin’ — you goddamn son of a mother!”

He checks his hands — still solid.

“I am going to smash you flat an’ feed you through a goddamn juicer! You fuckin’ heart-stopper!”

He grins. “I told you I could do some Underworld magic.”

“Underworld deez fuckin’ nuts!” Will stomps forward, grabbing Nico’s hands to do his own inspection. “What part of doctor’s orders are you missin’, huh? You think I wanna watch you fade again? You think I wanna —” His voice cracks, hands tightening around Nico’s wrists. Nico softens immediately, smug look melting into something gentler.

“Will.”

“You coulda died, Nico, you coulda faded to — to nothin’.”

“Will.” He flips his hands so his palms meet Will’s, and squeezes, smiling gently. “Feel my vitals, dork. Am I fading?”

Will exhales. “No.”

“Am I close?”

“…No.”

He squeezes again. “I’m fine, Will.”

“You scared me.” The anger in his voice has faded into something soft — something afraid. Suddenly the hands on his wrists feel more clingy than anything, and a twinge of guilt goes off in Nico’s stomach.

“I’m sorry.” He squeezes Will’s hands one last time, and when that doesn’t do much, lets go to wrap around his cheeks, instead, forcing him to meet his eyes. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I don’t mean to restrict you,” Will says softly. “It’s just — I worry, is all.”

Nico taps their foreheads together, smile pulling at his face. This, he can — this he can deal with. This version of Will, soft and nervous and caring, makes it a lot easier to slide his fingers into the mess of Will’s curls, to run his thumbs over his cheekbones and feel him shiver.

“Would that have anything to do with the alleged crush you have on me?”

Will grins. “It might.” One of his hands comes up to rest on top of Nico’s, brushing over his knuckles. “All your moonin’ after me had me looking twice, I guess.”

“You’re such a dick,” Nico scoffs, and yanks him down to meet him in the middle, laughing, swallowing his smile and relishing in the warm press of their bodies. It’s — gods, it’s everything, it’s a thousand times better than he imagined, and at the same time everything he expected. Will smells like wind and sunshine and his lavender shampoo, and his hands are roughened from all the antiseptic he has to use, and his lips are surprisingly chapped, but the press of his cheeks is soft, and the feel of him is overwhelming. It feels, as cliche as it is, like the final burst of a firework after watching the smokey trail of the rocket with bated breath, watching it crest the night sky before exploding, finally, amongst the stars, it’s like —

A cleared throat startled them apart.

“Anytime y’all feel like paying for those parts, it would be great.”

Will grins sheepishly. “Sorry,” he says, pulling out the money Chiron gave him. His grin turns sly, and Nico’s knees turn to jelly. “My boyfriend’s just super distracting.”

[still-breathing-au-p3r]

Kirijo stopping by after school to deliver another batch of make-up work for him– which is starting to seem like Purgatory levels of endless–  has become part of his normal daily routine. He complains, of course, but it really is preferable to being bored out of his skull, or worse, alone with his thoughts. There’s only so many books Arisato can bring at once, and Shinjiro’s always been a fast reader. He finds himself with far too much time on his hands and far too little of anything to fill it with pretty often these days. 

So if he has to choose between schoolwork and shitty daytime television, he’ll take his chances with the former. 

The quiet is nice. Kirijo’s never really been one to fill the silence just for the sake of it, which is something Shinjiro greatly appreciates about her. Aki will be at practice until late today, so it’s just the two of them for now…and math. He’s never been a fan of the subject, and it’s always seemed to dislike him right back.

Frowning, he scans over the page. He doesn’t see the problem, but if Kirijo says she spotted it, it’s in there somewhere. Dammit.

She pauses, and then hums one of those soft little laughs of hers that make Shinjiro’s heart do circus acts.

Kirijo’s face falls. She and Aki both always get so deflated at any reminder that leaving the hospital isn’t going to mean he’ll suddenly be healthy again. Or that he’ll ever be healthy again.

Hell, at this point there’s still no actual guarantee that he gets to leave the hospital at all. Aki and Kirijo, the juniors, his doctors– everyone talks about it in strictly optimistic terms. He does it himself, even– just now he’d said ‘when’ instead of ‘if’, hadn’t he? 

He tries not to be too cynical, but he never quite stops being aware of that ‘if’ hovering at his back like an angry ghost. He could still drop dead at any point, after all.

Shinjiro groans. The thought has crossed his mind on more than one occasion. It’d be the most logical thing to do. But the more he thinks about it, the more unappealing the idea gets. 

The number of times Aki has tried to rope Shinjiro into doing any kind of exercise with him is basically infinite. Having to turn around and be the one to ask him about it would be way more trouble than it’s worth. He’d never hear the end of it, even when he didn’t need the physical therapy anymore.

Well shit. That’s no idle threat, because Mitsuru Kirijo doesn’t do idle threats. If she did that, Aki would just barge in here and wouldn’t take no for an answer. Either way, Shinjiro would be dealing with a serious headache.

Again, she’s not wrong. Aki really is the best option here no matter what angle you’re looking at it from: whether that’s ‘knowing about exercise’, ‘minding Shinjiro’s business like it was his own’, or ‘being irritatingly persistent’. 

And if Shinjiro’s being honest with himself, he probably won’t do the exercises if left to his own devices. Aki will make sure he does them, and that’ll be better for him in the long run.

It’ll still be really annoying though.

[next post for October 30th]

[tethrras]

deciding to headcanon that the lighthouse makes people feel Calm and Docile and Relaxed to excuse the fact that more of the companions aren't as mad as lucanis that ANY of this is happening

[blossom23]

I genuinely needed to scream about this where it would be appreciated but wen I met jeffrey combs at a Star Trek con i cosplayed as a bride w my friend and we looked so insanely good and the cosplay was bonkers sexy and gorey but anyway wen we met him he literally fw us so hard and said ‘2 brides 1 groom☝️😏’ ‼️

[dickytwister]

you there!! 🫵 read this snippet of my extremely late flufftober entry ft. shassie

[warpedlegacywrites]

The Reign, ch19: The Sky Is Watching

Theresa and her band make their way through the Fallow Mire.

“Remind me to thank Harding for properly informing us about the water!” Dorian shouted. His own reserves were running low, forcing him to resort to using his staff as a melee weapon. A hard swing knocked a skull clean off the shoulders of the nearest corpse. It bounced across the mossy ground until it was crunched beneath one of the Iron Bull’s massive boot heels.  Bull barely noticed, carving a wide swathe with his greataxe. His battle-roar was nearly a match for the menacing thunder overhead. At least he was having fun.  “You could have stayed at camp and let Solas take your place,” Blackwall reminded Dorian, plunging his sword straight through an exposed ribcage and swinging up, cutting the corpse in half from the waist up.  “And miss out on this lovely display of southern charm?” Dorian gave an aggravated cry as his boots sunk into the wet mud, holding him in place. He was forced to expend energy he barely had to fend off more bodies with a spout of flame while he dislodged himself.  Cole, who was similarly ensnared, declared forlornly, “The mud wants my feet to stay.”  “It certainly does.” Dorian tsked over his unsalvageable boots. “Is this what Fereldans might consider a tourist trap?”  “Aw, what’s the matter?” Bull called mid-swing. “Not enough slaves to rub your footsies?”  “My footsies are freezing, thank you!” Dorian gritted his teeth and pushed back against a particularly determined skeletal figure, sending it right into Brycen’s shield, which promptly shattered it. “If this is what spring is like, I shudder to think of summer. However do you manage winters?”  That last was directed at me, since Dorian knew I shared his distaste for the cold. I tossed him a chastising look before sizing up a gathering cluster of corpses charging straight at me. I channelled my annoyance into a chain of lightning, dispatching them all at once before they could summon more.  “Once again,” I told him, panting heavily, “I’m from Ostwick, not Ferelden.” I sank the end of my staff into the mud and leaned on it, hazarding a glance around. That appeared to be the last of them. For now. My scarf had fallen from my nose at some point during the fighting, and I quickly adjusted it back into place. “Although honestly, nationality doesn’t seem to matter much when you’re a mage.” Mattrin and Margot exchanged awkward glances, making me feel just a little guilty for my bitter tone. But only a little.  “Unless you’re Tevinter.” Dorian clapped me on the shoulder, using me for support while he caught his breath. “Then it appears to be the only thing that matters.” “Ehh, quit your whining and hike up your skirt, mage boy,” Bull grunted and rested his axe over his shoulders with arms stretched from one end to the other.  Dorian glared daggers at him. “At least I’m wearing clothes. Why are you always bare-chested?”  “Just for your benefit, big guy.” Bull flashed his teeth in a hungry grin while Dorian sputtered and struggled to come up with a snappy rebuttal.  

DAFF Tag List: @rakshadow, @rosella-writes, @effelants, @bluewren, @breninarthur,

@ar-lath-ma-cully, @dreadfutures, @ir0n-angel, @inquisimer, @crackinglamb,

@theluckywizard, @oxygenforthewicked, @exalted-dawn-drabbles, @melisusthewee, @blarrghe,

@agentkatie, @delicatefade, @leggywillow, @about2dance, @plisuu,

@hekaerges

[theinvisiblequestion]

Rating/Warn/Catgry: Teen; no warnings apply; no category Relationships: Rook/Emmrich Volkarin Characters: Rook, Taash, Lace, Bellara, Neve, Lucanis, Davrin, Varric, Emmrich Additional Tags: Missing Scene, Party Banter, Canon Compliant, Mid-Canon, No Spoilers, Language of Flowers, Sex Talk, Sex Magic (discussions of), Orlais Bashing, Background Relationships, Male Rook, Mourn Watcher Rook

Rook is distracted while planning for a dragon hunt with Taash and Harding. Hilarity ensues as the entire team conspires to razz their leader about what’s in Orlais, and whether or not it’s safe to use magic during sex.