#but native violets have started popping up all over the place

[two-calicos-in-a-trenchcoat]

Fuckxingbusjisjsjs

Ugh

New landscaping guy is cutting the native wildflowers growing in my front yard

[sinceileftyoublog]

Fontaines D.C. Live Show Reivew: 10/9, The Salt Shed, Chicago

Photo by Zach Caddy

BY JORDAN MAINZER

It's clear that on Romance (XL), Fontaines D.C. are a changed band. The story behind their "bigger" sound and reach is well-known by now, the Dublin quintet ditching scene go-to Dan Carey for Simian Mobile Disco's James Ford to flesh out the ideas that started when they opened for Arctic Monkeys throughout the U.S. Taking inspiration from the hip-hop, R&B, and dance stalwarts of yesterday and today, the band members went their respective ways, reflected, experimented on their own, and then wrote and holed up in the studio together for months, at different locations. Knowing that they wanted to explore grandiose themes--life, death, and, yes, romance--beyond the confines of their native Ireland, it makes sense that Grian Chatten and company decided to break down any sonic barriers. And they've let us know every step of the way, from Romance lead single and industrial boom-bap banger "Starbuster", to album and current tour set opener "Romance", whose melodic vocals, chiming synths, and blasts of distortion present us with this new era of Fontaines D.C.

Photo by Zach Caddy

On Wednesday night at The Salt Shed, the band's reintroduction was as gradual as ever, as the members came out in bunches, building up "Romance" piece by piece, Conor Curley's guitar, Conor Deegan III's bass and Tom Coll's drums, Carlos O'Connell's keyboards, green strobe lights, and then Chatten's vocals. It took me the whole song to get used to not just how they sounded, but that there were more band members on stage than I expected, and how they looked. For one, Fontaines D.C. are touring with guitarist Cathal Mac Gabhann and multi-instrumentalist Chilli Jesson of Palma Violets. Moreover, multiple band members had dyed hair and wore Matrix-meets-Brat leather jackets and sunglasses. If you didn't know it before, it was clear this wasn't the same scrappy band who wrote Dogrel.

Photo by Zach Caddy

Throughout much of their set, Fontaines D.C. performed the songs that best emphasized their expanded sound. There was the post-grunge standout "Here's the Thing", replete with Chatten's unexpected falsetto, Curley's buzzing guitars, and Deegan III's menacing bass line. "Bug" sported acoustic guitars and whooshing synthesizers, shoegaze beauty "Sundowner" a gentle Curley on lead vocals. Just like on their previous albums, though, the songs that ended up being the live anthems were those where Chatten showed off his mighty pen. The loud-quiet-loud "Death Kink" takes its name from those who believe the idea that misery makes good art. "There's a certain kind of air in the smoke / Must be some amount of truth in the joke / For it to make you laugh, ha ha ha," Chatten sang, the audience laughing with him in unison. As a frontperson, Chatten spent most of his time rousing up the crowd, arms waving in the air like Craig Finn, or jittering around in circles reminiscent of Ian Curtis. The crowd ate it up; someone even tossed a blow-up doll over the barrier during "A Hero's Death".

Photo by Zach Caddy

Approaching the climax of their set, Fontaines D.C. made sure to get out of the way their clear-cut back catalog highlights: "Jackie Down the Line", "Big", and "Sha Sha Sha", the final preceded by a simple, "Free Palestine" from Chatten. Yet, I'm glad they gave prime real estate to Romance closer "Favourite", a stunning, glorious, reflective slice of jangle pop, the band playing it last before coming out for an encore. The song is, at once, hyper-specific and universal, perhaps most successfully exemplary of Romance's wide-reaching goals. During one verse, Chatten describes the type of hangover where your mind is running all over the place, thinking about how you might have had a good night, regretting some decisions, yearning for a simpler time when your immediate world was "bed radios and days spent playing football indoors," and nonetheless realizing that you were lucky not to experience the time "when they painted town with Thatcher." Anyone, Chatten posits, can feel nostalgic for a time while recognizing its ills.

Photo by Zach Caddy

That mental back-and-forth played out during the band's encore, too. "In The Modern World", played first, refers to a trip Chatten and Curley took, where they met another Irish traveler, who gave them a drug that numbed them to their surroundings and overall troubles. Its acoustic guitar line, Chatten's whispered rasp, orchestral synths, and layered vocals in the chorus certainly recall the Lana-esque faded L.A. glamor the band was going for. But the lasting sound of the night was "Starburster", a stream-of-consciousness-seeming rap inspired by Chatten having a panic attack in the St. Pancras tube station. The song is composed as if to surprise you around every corner, beginning with piano plinks, harmonic synths, a snapping snare drumline, and a chorus punctuated with Chatten's breathless gasps, replicated live by a sampled gurgle. "Starburster" is certainly one of Fontaines D.C.'s finest songs, and it will likely be played during every set for the rest of their career, but I feel like only on this specific tour can it close the night. If the band is trying to show that they've grown beyond the taut, literate punk blasts of their first three records, what better way than to unspool like nervous wrecks?

[wirewitchviolet]

Absolute Shameless Lying Edutainment Commercials from the ‘80s

I don’t know why it suddenly got into my head to talk about this, but I just randomly remembered these two commercials I saw when I was very young and what serious BS both of them are. First we’ve got The Sweet Pickles Bus.

So the actual product here is what I’m pretty sure was an honestly shamelessly overpriced plastic box containing like, half a dozen flash cards with letters of the alphabet. Pretty sure you didn’t even get the whole alphabet. Which is such a huge waste of money. No child wants a plastic box of flash cards, no parent wants to buy that. Wasn’t really a reasonable price either. But that is absolutely NOT what this commercial was selling. What we CLEARLY SEE here is a promise that your box of crappy flash cards is going to be HAND DELIVERED BY SOME KIND OF MUPPET DUCK DRIVING A GIANT PICKLE BUS WHO WILL PERSONALLY PLACE IT IN THE HANDS OF YOU, A SMALL CHILD, AND YOU WILL HAVE A LITTLE INTERACTION. That is something I could, and in fact did, beg my mother to pay for like the snot-nosed little toddler I was until she caved.

And guess what? There was no bus. There was no duck. They just shipped this box of garbage through the regular mail. I think my mother made the really bad call of trying to keep up kayfabe and insisted that the duck was in a hurry and I missed him because I was asleep which gave me a haunting regret for years. And the thing is, it honestly wasn’t that plausible that this was legit. It’s not like, a cartoon duck here. You can customize a van, you can get a mascot costume. This might have been a weird local thing because local ads were a thing back then. Kind of a birthday clown business model, you know? This is why a few years later commercials for toys and board games started really covering their asses with stuff like “game cards do not actually talk.”

Like yeah, free floating living cartoons are not going to burst out of this cheap game, even a small child should get that, but they absolutely could have had a guy in a duck suit drive a delivery van around. That’s straight up misleading.

The other one popping into my mind today though is freaking Muzzy. Does anyone remember Muzzy? This is Muzzy.

So like... that really is not, in fact, French those AMERICANS are speaking. That’s not even proper French Muzzy is speaking. This is butchered French gibberish I have to assume was the result of people looking up one word at a time in an English to French dictionary. Transcribing it, we’ve got:

“Je suis, le grand Muzzy.”

“Je suis la jeune fille!”

Literally, one word at a time, that’s:

“I am, the big Muzzy.”

“I am the young girl!”

Even in English that’s super weird and awkward but like... this is not at all how French is structured. This isn’t even something you need to be a native speaker to know, this is like, literal day one high school French knowledge.

First off, I would never, ever say, in French, “Je suis Violet.” I would say “Je m’appelle Violette.” Literally that’s “I call myself Violet,” with the explicitly femme version of the name. “I am” is reserved for like, a type of thing/person you are. Also, adjectives always come after the nouns they describe, and even in the right order, “la fille jeune” kinda suggests that she’s the ONLY young girl. In English you’d say “a young girl” here and that does translate across, so that should be “une fille jeune.” Which is also still just a weird thing to exclaim but at least it’s proper French and not gibberish. I’m not even totally sure what they were trying to have Muzzy convey. Was it a nickname? Was there some sort of small Muzzy he needed to distinguish himself from? Is this some kind of Bigger Luke thing? Regardless it seems pretty clear these tapes were thrown together by someone with just no actual qualifications at all, and they drilled it into a whole generation.

I don’t have any sort of larger point here, just, wow screw these hucksters who plastered ads all over like, Nickelodeon 40 years ago. This is awful.

[mxstball]

Zinnia looked down at Manaphy. Seeing the little one just happily cheering in her arms without a care in the world. It reminded her of the days as a little girl... before the fate of the world was on her shoulders... before she knew anything of the Aether Incident... even despite being isolated as a little girl, she remembered being so free.

But Zinnia wouldn't want to go back to those days. All of the friends that she's met and places that she's seen. She may have the fate the world perpetually on her shoulders, but it was all worth it for the life that she has now.

"Bad things will happen no matter if I'm around or not, Winona -- and they have happened throughout the world. Every few years, a new region makes international news because a Legendary Pokémon is used or awakened or abused to further some selfish goal. Galactic tried to reset the world of spirit in Sinnoh. Plasma attempted to use Reshiram and then Kyurem to render the Unova region to its knees. Flare tried to use the Ultimate Weapon to completely clear the world. Macros Cosmos nearly caused The Darkest Day to try to solve a yet-to-come energy crisis." Zinnia sighed. "...And then there's the Aether Incident--"

Zinnia turned to look forward. Her tone became much more serious, something that's fairly rare coming from Zinnia. "Ever since the Aether Incident, we've attracted the attention of various amounts of worlds. It may have started with a few Ultra Beasts popping up here and there, but, over time, people and Pokémon from other worlds started showing up more and more. Some are friendly, like Lauren and Lacey... but others threaten the very safety of this world and must be stopped at all costs.... Even without my involvement, the stakes would be the same."

She shook her head. "...I'll let you in on one of these threats so you can understand, alright Winnie? There's an Arceus in this world. She's not native to our world but happens to be the Arceus of my old Latias's world. She goes by the name 'Friede', but throughout the dimensions, she's known as 'The World Cleanser'. Friede goes around, purging worlds of any traces of humanity, whether through cooperation of the Arceus of that world or by completely wiping it out. She is the greatest threat that this world has ever faced, even more than any of the aforementioned teams... and yet she's not even the only challenge that this world and its regions have faced -- or the last it will ever face."

Zinnia turned to her friend. "Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not sayin' all of this to scare you or to sound like some hero, Winnie. I'm just telling you of the stuff that we're dealing with. Because of all of this, Rayquaza, Lacey, and I have shared a dream to unite the Legendary Pokémon together to help us defend the beautiful world that we live in. If we all work together -- if we're all united under a single goal -- then maybe this world can continue to be the beautiful place we all know and love, filled with lovely people like you and Pokémon like Manaphy and Phione here." Zinnia gave Manaphy a little pet. "It's not easy, and all of us has had to make our own sacrifices and troubles along the way. Our Arceus is dead. Dialga and Palkia nearly killed me. They killed my little Poipole baby, Violet. I've had to wager my role as a Lorekeeper against ancient humans that tried to take me away from Rayquaza. Team Rocket from another world turned one of my Latias friends, Lauren, into a Shadow Pokémon. My other Latias friend, Lacey, had to divorce her husband to become our new Arceus, and this is just the major things." Zinnia shook her head. "But if we can all come together -- people, Pokémon, Legendary Pokémon -- then I believe it'll all be worth it, and we'll all live happily with each other."

"Hmm? You didn't even inform Gym Leader Volkner that we'd be... Right- Of course not. I shall simply trust your judgement on the matter."

A stern nod came from Winona as she made her way onto Kyogre, making sure her feet were stable with each step, until she got to a suitable position where she sat herself down and allowed the Phione in her arms to get a good look out onto the open ocean. The gym leader smiled. Flying over the ocean is lovely, of course, but so is experiencing it from eye-level.

As the legendary Pokémon set off, Winona ensured her charge was safe and secure, before she afforded herself the time to turn to Zinnia, whom she listened to with a keen interest. Having learned from past experiences, Winona was prepared for some shocking revelations to take place on this journey.

"Well, I do agree that people can change. That is true. Though I also think we have a responsibility to ensure that no one gets complacent. It was a matter of luck that we were bailed out once with Groudon. And in my line of work, banking solely on luck is about the fastest way to get dismissed."

She sighed as she looked down onto the back of the Pokémon the group was riding on. All felt well enough at this time, but how long until something changed? When she looked at the Manaphy and the Phione, Winona could understand that they are all sharing a common interest in simply coexisting, but as long as there were people around who had ill intentions, the risk would always be there that great and mighty Pokémon could be used to inflict harm on others.

"It is a constant worry that I have, you understand? People tampering with forces greater than them. Don't you think that at this rate, it'll only be a matter of time until the next really bad thing happens?"

[renaxwrites]

Eleven

.06 -  Fool’s Gold

synopsis: the number Eleven had always appeared in milestones of your life. it was a constant, and you didn’t know why. but you would soon find out when you study abroad in japan and meet Him.

pairing: tsukishima x fem!reader

warnings: none!

masterlist: here :)

a/n: hey y’all! I’m so happy I finally found the time to write the new chapter 😩 college is busy but it izzz what it izzz. also I felt the lyrics for this one were perfect, cause *lol* crows a ha ;) hope you enjoy <3

previous || next

I’m like a crow on a wire. You’re the shining distraction that makes me fly home.

“What the hell is so damn funny? Enlighten me before I make myself go deaf on purpose.”

You and Yachi were giggling for the past five minutes about something that had happened earlier in class.

Face flustered and trying to keep a still face, you turn and sputter out, “Damn, Tsukishima, is- is it a crime pfft to lau- I’m so sorry I can’t even talk to you right now.” You barely get the last of your sentences out as you burst into giggles again.

Tsukishima is just watching you. He’s not even sure how to react. He isn’t even aware that he was staring until Hinata comes up, flicks his head between you two, and states, “Tsukishima, just take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

Tsukishima blushes furiously from getting caught, then mutters something about taking a picture of Hinata in his grave.

All of you were in good spirits, with it being the day of the Harvest Moon Festival. Ukai even ended practice early, to allow everyone the time to prepare for the festivities. Although, he had to lightly threaten Hinata and Kageyama if he found out they used the gym outside of practice.

Mizuki encouraged Yachi to get ready with you at the house, hoping to hearten up the girl-bonding the three of you had. She got off of work early to help you two get ready, and it truly was a wholesome experience.

After several hours (or several years to Tsukishima), you and Yachi were all dressed and ready to go. She brings out a mirror so the two of you can inspect your looks.

“You girls look so lovely,” Mizuki gushes.

Let the squealing commence!

“YACHIIII! You’re glowing in that color! Do a spin for me girlie!!”

“Y/NNNN! You’re the one that’s glowing!! I swear, I can already hear all the boys breaking their necks to peek at you!!”

Mizuki had been watching all three of you, so she was a little surprised at her son’s sudden intense blush after the “boys checking out y/n” comment. She definitely took a mental note of that.

Suddenly, a knock at the door captured all of your attention.

Mizuki clasps her hand. “Alright! Kei, watch over these two lovely ladies! Be careful and have fun!” She bids you all goodbye with a hug.

You open the door to find Yamaguchi, Hinata, and Kageyama bouncing from excitement.

“We invited these idiots too? Well, I’m out,” Tsukishima turns to walk back inside, but before he could, you lightly grab his wrist, causing him to abruptly stop. You feel his warmth and swear there’s a light spark.

“Tsukishima, please? It’s my first time anyway, and I want to experience it with everyone! Come on, it’ll be fun!”

He already felt somewhat weak around you, so how could he say no to your puppy-sad eyes? No one with sanity could resist those.

He rolls his eyes. “Fine. Let’s go before I change my mind.”

Everyone collectively sighs a breath of relief.

“We’re going to meet the senpais at the festival ground, so let’s gooo!” Hinata announces as you all make your way to the main event.

The main town square was overflowing with festive decorations, painting every nook and cranny. It was just before sunset, so the glow of the lowering sun drowned the atmosphere in golden haze. Pampas grass, blush clovers and autumnal flowers littered windows, adding an extra pop of color. There were people dancing in joyous manner, others feasting on mid-autumn treats, and extra citizens strolling around enjoying the festivities.

Your group had barely walked into the entrance when you were cheerily greeted by 6 more individuals.

“OI! First-years! Your senpais are over here!” Tanaka and Nishinoya belted out to capture your groups’ attention. Soon, you feel engulfed in several hugs from your senpais. Even you and Yachi spent a few minutes with Kiyoko on complimenting each other, who looked like a gem with her deep violet theme.

Time began to fly by, with you and the team happily making your way around the festival, participating in all the activities offered. At some point, there was a dance ritual, and Kiyoko took you and Yachi by surprise by dragging you out to dance. The three of you danced without a care in the world, not even noticing how you were being watched in awe by the rest of the team. All but the first year boys are quick to join, who stand idly on the side, not sure what to do.

Mid-twirl, you notice the four awkward boys playing ‘wallflower’, so you mention it to Yachi, and within that second you two stride up to them. She grabs Tobio and Hinata’s wrists, while you clasp onto Tadashi and Tsukishima’s.

“There is no way we’re letting you stand there like some awkward ass trees. Come dance with us, at least for a little bit!” You didn’t wait for a response as you dragged them out into the square. You let go and slide into the rhythm of the native dance, while the boys awkwardly try to follow. You take a turn helping each of them, and although it was pretty much a lost cause, you all still had a load of fun either way.

Once the period of dancing was over, you and the team made your way over to the food stands. The closer you got, the more engulfed you were in the endless delicious scents. There were heavier servings, such bottomless amounts of dango (white dumplings of rice), tsukimi burgers, and lots of dishes with eggs. Fall fruits and vegetables were also present, such as kuri (chestnuts), kabocha (pumpkin), persimmons, Japanese sweet potatoes, taro, grapes, and pears.

The boys ate a portion from each stand, their appetite never seeming to end. However, you had a hard time deciding which one to choose, so you, Yachi and Kiyoko settled and shared a bit from each. To help the digestion, you made your way to make your harvest offerings.

Each member made line at the temple to make their offering, but Tsukishima sensed your hesitation.

“Don’t know how to do it? I thought you knew everything, you nerd.”

You look up and laugh in slight embarrassment. “I do, it’s just been a while, I guess. Brings back a couple memories, that’s all.”

To be lightly petty, you cut him in line. To your surprise, he doesn’t make a sarcastic comment, so you leave it alone.

The reason why he didn’t was so he could have the privilege to watch you. To see you bask in the soft glow of the candlelight, with wisps of the incense swirling around your face. To feel his own fascination in seeing stillness in your features, for just a moment.

By the time every member had made their offering, it was dark, meaning the moon viewing was about to start.

The moon was shining its brightest at the highest peak in the sky. All of those attending had gathered to surround the main area for the viewing, to get the best view of the moon. Music was softly playing, setting a serene tone.

You and the team had huddled together in awe. But for some reason, something seemed amiss. You turn to each of your friends, only to find one missing.

Tsukishima.

Whispering to Yachi, you set off in search to find him. It shouldn’t be too hard, considering almost everyone was being entranced by the moon. Plus, he’s, you know, pretty tall.

You feel it’s best to retrace your steps. And right you were!

You find Tsukishima purchasing an item, and get the bright idea of trying to sneak behind him. Somehow thinking you were going to be able to scare him. However, you failed two steps in.

He turns around and you two barely missing collision, almost dropping the small bowl in his hand.

“Tsk tsk. Your stalking almost wasted my money, y/n.”

Still catching your breath, you glare up at him. “Well sheesh, not my fault you snuck off.”

He smirks and shakes his head. “Excuse me for going out of my way to be generous, never again I suppose.”

Tilting your head, you ask, “What do you mean?”

He suddenly turns bashful. Thank goodness it was dark enough to mask the pink now flooding his cheeks.

“Well, I saw you practically drooling for these earlier, so...” his voice trails off. He looks in the opposite direction as he puts the bowl out for you to take. You glance down in curiosity. Inside were four little mochi balls in the shape of rabbits.

You feel a bit of blush on your cheeks, and you bring him back down to earth as you say, “You got this for me?”

“It’s either that or hear whining when we get back. I’d rather spend a couple yen for silence to be honest,” he shrugs.

You laugh and playfully push his shoulder with yours. “I’m not that whiny. You swear. Anyway, let’s head back, the moon viewing has already started.”

You begin to walk back to your friends when you feel a gentle tug on your wrist. Turning, you see Tsukishima with his iconic smirk, along with a mysterious, playful glint in his eyes.

“Actually, I have a better spot in mind.”

He leads you back towards the temple, which then branches off to a smaller , more hidden path. Eventually, the two of you are peering over a quaint koi pond, surrounded by lush plant life. Your eyes full of wonder, all while glowing in the moonlight.

Tsukishima has never seen anything so beautiful.

You hardly notice his intense staring as you look up in awe and ponder, “How do you know about this place? It’s gorgeous!”

He breaks his gaze to stare up at the moon above. “This is the one place I have to myself. The one place I can run and hide whenever I needed to. It was just me, and no one else. But...it feels right to share it right now.”

You feel both honored and mesmerized by this moment. To make it sweeter, you open your box and hand a mochi to Tsukishima. “Cheers.”

He silently accepts your mochi and doesn’t object when you clink your rabbit against his, like a teacup. The two of you munch the treat, then continue to revel in the comfortable silence.

After a while, you hear faraway bustles of people, indicating that the viewing was finishing up. “I hate to leave, but it seems like we’re almost done,” you admit forlornly as you pick up your bowl.

Tsukishima is quick to notice a few strands fall from your face, so he takes this opening to lift your chin and tuck them behind your ear.

Your breath hitches.

“You know, I’m sure many boys probably broke their necks today. That color looks good on you.”

You realize this is a response to Yachi’s comment from earlier, and are not even sure how to react. Especially not when he’s super close to you right now. How dare he, messing with your brain’s functionality.

But just as quick as the moment arrived, it was gone.

You both begin trekking back to the team. Just as you feel your phone vibrate to notify it being Eleven o’clock, you feel a warm, “not-too-hard, not-too-soft” pinky tenderly wrap around yours.

It felt just right.

I'm the first to admit that I’m reckless . I get lost in your beauty and I can’t see two feet in front of me.

taglist: @jiminslonglostjams @fantasymirror @shewastheriot @lukes-princess @iamthepenguinwhosearseisonfire @its-bnha-babe @desi-studys @shootooooo @noya-senpai-imagines @animefan7420 @anpancari @tsukkx @cadabby @thoebe-fly @it-was-just-a-ship @imconfusedanditsok @alexa360b34st @delicious-peaches-blog @shinguchi @creammy0

[ahh-fxck]

Warrior’s Blues Chapter 8: I’ve Met Your Idiot

Greetings and salutations, beautiful denizens of Tumblr! Here it is, the much-awaited next chapter of Warrior’s Blues. In which we finally meet one of Geralt’s mysterious family members, Geralt gets a dressing-down in a hospital, and angst is to be had by all. Please enjoy, and if you like it, comment and reblog! Toss a smile to your author!

Big huge amazingly large thanks to @stressedspidergirlsfandomblog​ who is the co-creator and beta of this fic. This chapter especially was influenced and shaped by them. So if you like it, go check out their ao3 here!

As always, please let me know if you’d like to be (un)tagged from the tag list. This story updates approximately once every two weeks, which gives me adquate time to research and edit each chapter. Lil slow, but worth it? Definitely.

@astouract​ @smolpoe​​ @yes-im-the-violin-girl @ladyknight-keladry

“Geralt!” They turn to look as a small woman in an impeccable black suit, white blouse, and classic jewelry snaps to her feet. Her dark, curly hair is gathered with a clasp at the back of her head, and her light brown complexion is highlighted by impeccable makeup. She advances on them with a stormy expression on her elegant face, violet eyes flashing. Geralt goes as stiff, the little color he has in his pale complexion draining away while Jaskier looks on in shock.

She squares up with Geralt and locks eyes with him, a folder with x-rays partially sticking out of it clutched in her delicate looking fingers. Geralt gives her a lost, mortified look, then suddenly ducks as she reaches up and smacks him harmlessly (albeit noisily) across the head with the folder.

“Geralt Rivii! What the bloody fucking hell is wrong with you? What happened to you? Where the fuck have you been?” She hollers in a burst of fury, her small body shaking with the force of it. “Your shite showed up on my doorstep with no explanation! I had to track you halfway across the bloody globe! It’s been two weeks since your last appointment and I’ve been ripping this bloody fucking city apart looking for you! Why the fuck didn’t you call me? I thought you died!” Pulling back, she smacks him with the folder again passionately. “Why the fuck did you make yourself so hard to find?” Smack! “Do you have any idea what you’ve put me through?” Smack!

Chapter 8: I’ve Met Your Idiot

After that, the days pick up a rhythm. Jaskier makes coffee and breakfast in the mornings and gets Geralt set up for the day. They talk over breakfast, sharing small personal details and discovering mutual interests, slowly getting to know and like one another. Jaskier talks about events at the bar from the night before, and Geralt listens with cautious interest, becoming enamored with the tales he brings home despite his misgivings. Geralt in his turn reveals small stories about himself, favorite childhood treats and places that he’s seen as he’s traveled. Then they clean up the dishes together and Jaskier leaves to go about his daily activities. 

Geralt putters around the house, carefully avoiding the attic except to retrieve his clothes, unable to cope with the memories that swarm around the boxes stored up there. He drinks wine, watches television, and naps until Jaskier returns for dinner. They eat together, talk more, Jaskier goes to work, and when he returns, he always retrieves Geralt from the couch and takes him to bed. When they wake, they make love, shower, and have coffee, the cycle beginning again.  

The morning of the appointment, they wake and couple one last time, tangling together. They sink into each other, hungry mouths and seeking hands, soft cries and deep groans, collapsing in a sticky, happy knot of satiation at the end. Then they rise, get clean, eat breakfast. Geralt dons his outdated clothing and they head out the door together to Jaskier’s car in the early morning heat. 

When they park, the morning air outside the car is heavy and sticky. They walk side by side, already starting to move in the subtle sync of lovers, so much more comfortable with one another than they were on their last visit to the hospital. The air conditioning inside is a welcome contrast to the sticky heat of the outside. Geralt’s follow up is in a different wing of the hospital than the emergency department, so they venture cautiously into the maze of a building. After being pointed to the correct location by a woman at a desk who gives Geralt an inexplicably odd look, they make their way to the waiting room. It’s quiet, too early for many people to be there. As they push through the door, Geralt scans the room. Halfway through the door he stops dead in his tracks, Jaskier colliding into his back. 

“Ow, Geralt, what?” Jaskier complains mildly, stepping out from behind his lover just as a woman’s shout breaks the silence, startling the few people in the waiting room.

“Geralt!” They turn to look as a small woman in an impeccable black suit, white blouse, and classic jewelry snaps to her feet. Her dark, curly hair is gathered with a clasp at the back of her head, and her light brown complexion is highlighted by impeccable makeup. She advances on them with a stormy expression on her elegant face, violet eyes flashing. Geralt goes as stiff, the little color he has in his pale complexion draining away while Jaskier looks on in shock. 

She squares up with Geralt and locks eyes with him, a folder with x-rays partially sticking out of it clutched in her delicate looking fingers. Geralt gives her a lost, mortified look, then suddenly ducks as she reaches up and smacks him harmlessly (albeit noisily) across the head with the folder.

“Geralt Rivii! What the bloody fucking hell is wrong with you? What happened to you? Where the fuck have you been?” She hollers in a burst of fury, her small body shaking with the force of it. “Your shite showed up on my doorstep with no explanation! I had to track you halfway across the bloody globe! It’s been two weeks since your last appointment and I’ve been ripping this bloody fucking city apart looking for you! Why the fuck didn’t you call me? I thought you died!” Pulling back, she smacks him with the folder again passionately. “Why the fuck did you make yourself so hard to find?” Smack! “Do you have any idea what you’ve put me through?” Smack!

She rifles through the folder, pulling out the x-rays and flourishing them in his face. “And what the bloody fuck is this? Are you insane? Did you get into a fight? I can’t believe you!” She reaches up and whacks him resoundingly across the head with the x-rays this time, eliciting a satisfying ‘thwap’ sound. He grimaces guiltily as she hits him, seeming more chagrined than alarmed by this whole display. Despite the onslaught his body language toward her is gentle, as if he is patiently waiting her out. 

Jaskier, behind him, has recovered from his shock and steps out to try and herd the woman away from him. “Oh, hey now,” he exclaims, stepping forward with his hands held out to try and stop her. “That’s-”

“Who the fuck are you?” She rounds on Jaskier, her violet eyes dark with fury.

Jaskier steps back quickly, his back hitting the doorframe and his heart beginning to hammer. She looks slight, but he has the sensation from the way she moves that she is perfectly capable of breaking his arm without batting an eye. “I’m-” 

“Yen,” Geralt groans, mortified. “Leave him alone.” 

“Who the hell is this, Geralt?” The woman, Yennefer,  turns back to him with her eyes flashing. She’s so upset that she finds herself slipping into her native tongue of Hebrew, English temporarily lost.  <<What the fuck have you been doing? Have you been doing this idiot?! Two! Weeks!>> She hits him about the head and shoulders with the x-rays, which wobble and pop with every strike. She pauses for a moment, riffling furiously though the folder, takes out one piece of paper in particular, and hits him across the head with it, too. <<And I'm so glad,>> she snaps, <<that you don't have any sexually transmitted infections! Good to know finding that out was more important than calling. Your. Family!>> She stuffs the paper back into the folder, then punctuates the end of her sentence with several more harmless but noisy wobbling blows from the x-rays. 

Geralt ducks awkwardly as her strike lands. Yennefer had a tendency to be very passionate when she was upset, but she would never actually harm him. He gives her an embarrassed look, rounding his shoulders and allowing the blows to land without complaint. “Yen-” he starts, but she cuts him off. 

<<Don’t you ‘Yen’ me, Geralt,>> she snaps. <<I’ve been worried sick about you! Where have you been? What happened to you?!>> And just like that, she gathers him into her arms with all the passion she had been using to yell. She crushes him against herself, pressing her cheek to his and rocking him fiercely, her eyes suddenly burning. The solid warmth of him makes her heart hammer with relief, her hands finally knowing what her eyes can see; that Geralt is safe. That he’s alive.

Jaskier looks on at this display in dismayed shock, watching the fierce woman Geralt in her arms. She is petite, but she moves with surety and strength. He can see Geralt relaxing into her, and he realizes that whatever is happening here, they must be very close. Then he sees it. On her left hand is a ring, a stylized lilac flower set in amethyst and diamond winking in the light. Below it is a wedding band, plain smooth gold encircling her delicate finger. He swallows, getting a sinking feeling.

Geralt leans into her with a soft noise, a forgotten breath rushing out of him. The scent of lilac and gooseberries enfolds him, and at last, he knows he’s found home. It has been four years since he’d last had her in his arms, and as she gathers him close it hits him all in a rush.  <<Forgive me,>> he groans into her shoulder, arms coming up jerkily to wrap around her slight frame. <<Neshama shelì, please forgive me.>> His throat closes back up, a hard knot burning where his voice should be. This is who and what he’d been running from, and now that he’d been found, he felt like his world was collapsing around him all over again. Behind him, Jaskier clears his throat nervously, his back still up against the frame of the door. 

“Ah,” he starts, and the woman turns to him again, her expression murderous. 

“Back off, Skippy.” Yennefer snarls. 

Jaskier startles, wishing his back wasn’t already against something solid so that he could back away more. Every instinct in his body is telling him that this woman would eat him alive if given the chance, and he isn’t interested in finding out if that’s true.

“I’ll deal with you later,” She threatens. Then she turns, her body language softening as she looks at Geralt. “Kochany,” she says, giving him a gentle pull. “Come with me.” She gives the receptionist a pointed glance. The receptionist gives her a knowing smile in return and nods towards a room in the back. They’d talked earlier when Yennefer had come in to wait for Geralt, so none of this display was a surprise to her. She’d already given Yennefer permission to use the room if Geralt actually showed up. 

Without further ceremony Yennefer leads Geralt into the exam room, leaving Jaskier dithering in the waiting room. Nearby, an older gentleman shoots him a sympathetic glance over his magazine. Jaskier squirms nervously, then glances at the receptionist. She gestures with her thumb towards the room they are in and mouths, “Wife.” 

Jaskier curses internally, grimacing. He’s still standing in the doorway; he could leave, just get out of here before this whole shitty mess lit on fire. When he was younger, that’s precisely what he would have done; fled. There’s years of hard work between him and that flighty young man though. As he’d aged, Jaskier had come to value honesty and reliability. Being a business owner, being a teacher, had forced him to grow deeper roots. 

Besides, despite the short time he’d known him, he had become deeply fond of Geralt. Maybe even dangerously so. Certainly far more than he’d expected to on their first meeting. No matter how angry his wife had looked, Jaskier couldn’t just leave Geralt here. He’d rather face the music than abandon him. Body singing with trepidation, Jaskier pushes off of the doorjamb and finds himself a seat in the waiting room.

Meanwhile, inside the exam room Geralt sits with his elbows on his knees. He settles in and gets comfortable. Yennefer had been quiet until she’d gotten him settled gently in the chair, but then she had turned to look at him and her jaw had stiffened, her eyes flashing. At that point, a twenty-two year friendship’s worth of experience told him that he had better buckle down and get ready for the storm. Yennefer had a way of needing to holler things out when things got too big, and his discharge and subsequent disappearance was… big didn’t even begin to describe it. It was a catastrophic change in their lives. He watches as she drops the folder and begins pacing, starting to list off the many ways in which he’s upset her recently. 

His body feels distant and numb as he sits there, Yennefer’s terrified, angry tirade washing over him like water. He is swimming in re-awakened shock, the pain he’d been in on the day he’d left Fort Morhen coming roaring back to life with a vengeance. He hadn’t ever expected to see her again, much less find her here at the hospital while he was in the company of a lover. If there was a way he could crawl out of his body and just vanish to escape everything he’s feeling, he’d do it in a heartbeat. Instead he sits, elbows on his knees, hands coming up to grip the back of his neck as he floats in a haze. Foggily, he realizes she’s switched from Hebrew to Polish, his own first language, something she only yells in when she’s really upset with him. 

She shouts about how hard she had to search for him after the boxes of his things arrived. He wasn’t in Somalia, wasn’t at the army base he’d been dumped at, storage unit empty, all papers sent to his P.O. box. She’d been searching the city block by block for him, checking the morgues, checking the hospitals. No phone call. No letter. Nothing! Every now and then he tries to apologize, or explain, but every time he does so she just ups the volume, becoming more and more agitated. 

Geralt nods occasionally, eventually giving up on speaking. The scolding feels well-deserved, his pain becoming focused and raw as it is lanced by the heat of her words. And he’s handling it, he’s fine, until her voice takes on a hysterical edge and he looks up to see that there are tears running down her face. Yennefer shouts frequently, but she almost never cries, and the sight terrifies him. His heart feels like it drops to the floor and shatters at the sight of her tears, his own eyes beginning to burn.

“I don’t know what I would have done if you died, Geralt! I thought you were dead!” She weeps, voice raw with grief and fear. He reaches his arms out to her and she flies into them, settling into him for only a moment before peppering his chest and shoulders with light blows. He soaks them up without comment, accustomed to her passion, accepting it. His eyes burn harder as her tears drop onto his shirt, and soon tears are spilling down his own cheeks unbidden. 

As the first one splashes on her arm she stops, stilled by shock. She rarely cries, but Geralt weeping is unheard of. Shaken, she presses her face to his and wraps her arms fiercely around him. Their tears mingle as they begin to cry in earnest, crushing one another close in the little plastic chair. The years since they’d last touched seem to melt between them, washed away in the hot flood of tears.

Some time later their grips begin to loosen. He nuzzles into her cheek and neck damply, sniffing, and she strokes his face, wiping away the tears and smoothing some of the sadness away. Swallowing hard, he turns and presses his face into her hair, comforted immediately by the feeling of her curls against his nose and lips, sinking into the smell of lilac and gooseberry. She allows this, pressing her face into his shoulder. Eventually she heaves a shuddering sigh, sitting back and wiping mascara from under her eyes with sharp motions, clearly embarrassed to have been seen with tears on her face. 

He swallows down the lump in his throat, drinking her in as she sits there wiping her tears away. Her hair surrounds him in a cloud of soft scent. It was a smell he’d come to associate with safety, love, home. He never thought he’d get to see her again, or smell the sweetness of her hair. Grimacing, he says, “Yen… I know I should have called-” 

“Shut up,” she replies fondly, cutting him off. “Just… oh, you are such an idiot. Be quiet, I’m still too angry with you right now.” She presses kisses to his forehead, to his cheeks, to his nose, then starts wiping his face clean and dry with a handful of tissues. “I’m so angry I could just kill you, do you know that?” Flicking the tissues aside, she continues, “All I want is to know that you’re safe, mój drogi. I can’t believe you were too stupid to even call me.” She brings her hands up to cup his cheeks, looking into his eyes. “Always call me. I’ll always pick up the phone.”

“I know,” he replies thickly, taking her hands in his own as best he can. He looks down and kisses her fingers, ashamed and heartsore. “I’m a fucking idiot, I know. I’m sorry.” 

“Hush,” she snaps, but there is no real heat in it as she gazes at him, a sad smile starting to play at the corner of her full lips. “I’m the only one who gets to call you that.” She presses another kiss to his forehead, and stops as she hears a knock on the door. 

“Not now, we’ll be ready in a few minutes,” she calls, when the doctor asks if they’re ready to be seen. Then she turns back to Geralt, her expression softening further. 

“Now. Who was that you came in with?” She runs small graceful fingers across his hair, stroking it. As she does so she notes with concern how much longer than usual it already is. It’s not like Geralt to let his hair go like this, even with a hand injury. He’d kept his hair the exact same length for the entire time she’d known him. An uneasy prickle crawls over her back. 

“He’s… uh. Jaskier,” Geralt says lamely, and Yennefer is shaken from her unease by the astonishing sight of him reddening visibly when he says Jaskier’s name. She can count on one hand the number of times he’s cried, and in he only very rarely blushes. She tilts her head to the side and ponders this, taken aback. 

“Just a friend?” She asks. There is a gently teasing lilt to her question. 

Geralt is surprised by her tone of voice, and his eyes flick up briefly to hers, full of hopeful but apprehensive. “No. Maybe. I… I don’t know. It’s complicated,” he stammers, then grimaces and cuts a glance at the door. 

Yennefer’s lips quirk, and she turns him back with a finger on his chin so that she can study his face. Now this was interesting. Had he found himself a lover? 

“Has he been good to you? Are you safe?” She presses, looking into his eyes. He gives her a mutinous look and she lets him look away again, a knowing smile playing about her lips. Once she lets him go, he nods. A flicker of relief crosses her face, followed by worried curiosity. 

“Good. Is that where you’ve been this whole time? With him?” He nods again, starting to twist away from her, but she grabs his shoulders and steadies him. “Hey. No, Geralt. Of all the many things I am…” she sighs, eyeing him with fond exasperation, “absolutely furious about, you finding a man isn’t even on the list. You could work on your timing.” A smile cracks her expression, and Geralt huffs softly, a small smile of his own crinkling the corners of his eyes. “But it’s ok. It’s okay. The being with a man part is ok. I’m scared that you didn’t call me, and later you can tell me why. But for now I’m just glad you’re safe, mój drogi.” She pulls him in and kisses his forehead, squeezing him against her. “Have you been intimate?” 

“Yen.”

“I have a right to know,” she presses, cocking her head to the side and looking down at him. 

He grumbles quietly, shame churning in his stomach. Yennefer knows he prefers men in his bed and has always supported him, but he’s never stopped being afraid to talk about it. When he realizes she’s not going to relent until he answers though, he reluctantly nods his head. 

Yennefer’s stomach does a little flip. It’s not a terrible thing in and of itself, but it’s not like her deeply closeted husband to jump into bed with a stranger without fleeing immediately afterwards. Much less allow them to do something as intimate as take him to the hospital. The worry that she’s been feeling sharpens in pitch, and she takes his face in her hand, tilting it up. 

“Did he stop you from calling me?” She eyes him seriously, keeping him from looking away. 

He flickers a tired almost-smile and shakes his head. That was Yen, looking out for him whether he wanted her to or not. “No. That was all me. He didn’t know. Wouldn’t have told him even if he asked.”

She gives him a skeptical moue, but smiles when he tips his head up and fully meets her gaze. The eye contact is reassuring. “Fine,” she hums. “I believe you.” The gnawing ache that’s been in the pit of her stomach since the boxes arrived at her apartment finally begins to ease. Geralt is here, he is safe. Whatever he’d been up to with the man out in the waiting room, he seemed to be more or less in one piece. 

Then, she remembers something they’d discussed many years ago and an impish light comes into her eyes. Stroking his cheek warmly, her smile becomes a smirk. “Is he your boyfriend?” she teases ever so lightly. “Did you go and finally find yourself a boyfriend?”

Geralt grits his teeth, rolling his eyes back in his head. “Yen, I don’t want to talk about this right now.” 

She can tell by the flush creeping up his neck how embarrassed he is. Years of experience in reading him tell her that what he’s hiding is a ‘yes,’ and her smirk widens into an impish grin. “He is! Oh, Geralt, we have got to talk about your timing kochany.” She chuckles quietly, straightening the collar of his old shirt.

“He’s not my boyfriend, Yen. I barely know him,” Geralt protests, mortified. Once Yen got started, though, she was hard to stop.

“Did he stick his hands in your pants?”

“Yen…”

“Did you live in his house while he had his hands in them?”

“Yen!” he groans, appalled. She arches her eyebrow at him, waiting for him to cave. He glares at her, but it doesn’t take long for his willpower to buckle under the weight of her playful, knowing gaze. “Yes,” he admits, sighing. 

“Well then, if he hasn’t made you his boyfriend he should have, and I think I’m going to go make his life a living hell as payback,” she teases, grinning wolfishly. 

Geralt’s eyes widen in horror. “No, Yen-”

“I told you if you ever got a boyfriend I reserved the right to terrorize him a little…” she says with her eyes twinkling. “This is even better. I think I’ll go do that while you’re getting your hand looked at.” 

“Yen…” he pleads, eyes widening in dismay. “Please don’t…”

“Hey! I am your wife. I get to show newcomers who’s boss,” she replies lightly, smiling down at him as she stands. Geralt presses his lips together and glares at her, but this is an old argument. Deep down he knows that he’d already lost it over a decade ago. After a moment he shrugs, unable to summon a counter-argument strong enough to deter her. Saying ‘That’s none of your business’ to an investigative reporter was like waving a red flag in front of a bull, and he knew better by now. 

Pleased by his concession, she arches her eyebrows and gestures towards the door. “I’ll be out in the waiting room.” She pauses, fingering the strap of her purse. “We need to talk when you get out. I have a hotel room, will you come back to it with me?” 

He frowns as she asks him the question, thinking it over. In the roughly two weeks since he’s met Jaskier he has gotten accustomed to his company. Profoundly enjoyed it, to be honest. The warm solace he’d found in Jaskier’s arms had been one of the most profound things he’d ever experienced. He doesn’t want to just uproot from his house and bed. But Yennefer is his home, his safe place. It had been four years since he’d last held her, and his heart was raw with the pain of it. 

He’d been running from her because he wanted to protect her, protect his whole family from his shameful behavior and all of its fallout. In one fell swoop he’d lost his job, his ability to vote, even his right to own a firearm. It felt like he’d lost his right to fatherhood years ago, and after this last mess he felt like he’d lost the last of his remaining right to be a husband, too. 

Despite everything, Yennefer had flown across an ocean and spent weeks scouring the city trying to find him. If that wasn’t love, then nothing was. Now that she has found him he knows he can’t run anymore, no matter how badly he wants to avoid confronting his mistakes. Holding her in his arms after so many years had gotten him by the roots of his soul. He would rather be with her than anywhere else in the world. He nods cautiously. “I’ll come.”

“Good.” She strokes his cheek fondly one more time, then pulls a compact out of her purse and flicks it open. After inspecting and repairing her makeup, she says. “I’ll see you in a little moment, kochany. I won’t kill him, I promise.” Her eyes glitter with laughter as she closes it with a click and stuffs it back into her bag. “Not much, anyway.”

“Yen,” he grumbles again, but she turns on her heel and leaves, giving him no chance to argue, stepping lightly to the side as the doctor returns to check on them. 

“He’s all yours,” she says, sounding satisfied. She breezes around the bemused doctor and heads out to the waiting room, leaving the two men to their business. 

“This water tastes like plastic,” Yennefer complained, grimacing at her mug. Beside her, her companion grinned. 

“Better than tasting like having a runny ass at two AM when you’re out in the field,” he rejoined easily, flicking through a stack of photos. 

“The tea isn’t any better,” she replied, not about to be dissuaded. “It tastes like old shoes. What the bloody hell did they do to it to make it taste like old shoes?” 

“Probably from the old boot tongues we put in it for flavor,” a dry voice came from over their shoulders. Geralt leaned against the wall, eyeing the corridor outside the door impassively. Yennefer’s companion snorted and shook his head as she gave Geralt a dirty look.

“No one asked you,  Lieutenant Boot,” she groused over her shoulder. Geralt shrugged, unphased. Yennefer returned to her thick binder, taking out pages, rearranging them, making notes, placing them back in. It was late, but there was too much work to be done to sleep just yet. 

“How about you make yourself useful and bring some of that awful bloody coffee you Americans drink?” she said, after a long silence. 

“Not my job,” Geralt replied calmly, not budging an inch. She lifted her head to glare at him.

“You’re not good for anything else, I don’t see why not,” she grumbled idly, flicking a page back and forth as she compared two different sets of notes. Again, he didn’t budge.

But the next day at breakfast, when she turned away for a moment to speak to her companion, she turned back and found two boxes of apple juice at her elbow. Geralt was across the room by then, quietly getting himself another cup of coffee. Her companion nudged her and smiled, and she shifted to get a better look at the young soldier’s broad back, eyeing him speculatively. Maybe not so useless after all. 

Out in the hallway, Yennefer composes herself. Now that Geralt is safe for the moment she can focus on this new development. Right now she is more intrigued than upset by this mystery not-a-boyfriend, but bubbling underneath is a deep well of suspicion and protective anger. She’d spent a great deal of her life watching over her big idiot, and she knew he had a tendency to get entangled with people who didn’t respect his boundaries. Given that, she wants to find out what kind of man this Jaskier is. As a veteran investigative reporter she’s certain she has the skills to find out anything she wants. She adopts a cold, stormy expression of displeasure before entering the waiting room, striding up and standing over Jaskier.  

Jaskier leans back as she approaches, a look of deep worry crossing his face as she looms over him. Here we go, he thinks apprehensively, taking in her glare. This bit with the angry spouse? This was his least favorite part of being accountable for his actions. Some traitor voice in the back of his head notes wryly that at least he’s had practice, though. And good thing, too; the woman’s glare made him want to turn tail and run, and it takes a conscious will of effort to stay put.

“Yennefer Rivii.” She introduces herself with a voice like a steel knife, sticking out her hand. “Geralt’s wife.” 

Jaskier tentatively shakes it. Her skin is cool, and she has a surprisingly strong grip, confirming his earlier impression about the ease with which she could break him. Yikes. What had he gotten himself into this time?

“Come with me.” She gestures to the far corner of the waiting room, around the other side of the reception desk. There is no one over there, and there is a nook full of chairs behind the large fish tank that is buzzing and humming quietly away. A little box of children’s puzzles and books sits in the corner. They should be able to have a quiet discussion there without being overheard. 

Jaskier hesitates until she glares at him, then rises uncomfortably and allows himself to be herded to the nook. As he grimaces and ruffles the back of his head nervously, he wishes he either had better taste in men or more common sense, preferably both. He sits cautiously in the seat that she indicates, watching for any sudden movements. She sits crisply in the chair across from him, eyeing him up and down. Jaskier squirms under her silent gaze as her violet eyes rake over him, taking in his scruffy, comfortable red tank top and worn denim jean shorts. He finds himself desperately wishing he was better dressed to meet his lover’s wife. Good grief. 

“So. Who are you and what the hell have you been doing with my husband?” She inquires, her tone icy. “I haven’t heard from him in weeks, and somehow you’re involved. I damn well better get the whole story, you little tosser, or we’re going to have a problem.”

Jaskier gives her a guilty look. “Look, I-”

“Name first, please,” Yennefer cuts in crisply. “Then apologies.” 

Jaskier gulps awkwardly, taken aback. “Uh,” he dithers. His fingers dance and flicker, pulling at the hems of his shorts. “My name is Jaskier-”

“Buttercup? I don’t think so. Try again.” Yennefer interrupts him coldly, watching with pleasure as he flinches. She had learned from years of experience in her job that if you could keep them off balance, they’d tell you almost anything.

Being called on his name two times in one month was something Jaskier had never experienced before, and he didn’t like it. He grimaces, then reluctantly says, “Julian Alfred Pankratz.” He throws up his hands, exasperated, and continues. “And if you tell anyone I’m going to give you a problem right back! There are some things that just shouldn’t be said aloud and my godawful middle name is one of them.”

Yen’s lips quirk as she conceals a smile, then she narrows her eyes at him. “Fine. Now you tell me why Geralt is with you out here in east nowhere, New England.” She cocks her head. “And before you start, let me just say- I’ve been an investigative journalist for over twenty years, so believe me when I tell you I can find out if you’ve lied.” 

Leaning back into his seat, Jaskier eyes Yennefer uneasily. She glares back at him, delicate and fierce as a bird of prey. He wasn’t intending to lie in the first place; the idea of pissing this woman off any further is giving him cold sweats. This, he thinks furiously to himself, is why you ask questions before the pants come off, idiot. You know better than this, why did you do this again? His stomach flutters and spins as he watches her sitting across from him. It takes him a long moment to decide where to start.

“I ah… run a gay bar down near the docks, close to Fort Morhen,” he begins cautiously. “The Pegasus. I met your husband on Pride. The parade had just gone by and this…” he drops his face into his hands, mortified, “Absolutely gorgeous man comes walking up the street.” He moans through his fingers. “Oh lord. And so I offered him a popsicle.” 

Yennefer smirks at the top of Jaskier’s bent head, enjoying his discomfiture. As long as he is no threat to Geralt she isn’t going to terrorize him forever, but right now seeing him squirm is extremely entertaining. 

“And ah. I noticed he had hurt his hand. He seemed…” he waves his hands anxiously, trying to describe the situation clearly. “He seemed a little dazed, so I brought him into the bar and got him some water. Um. Fixed up his hand for him.” Jaskier sits back and pauses, picking his next words carefully. “The last year and a half or so has been really bad in terms of... I’ve seen a lot of soldiers struggling since Don’t Ask Don’t Tell. A lot of guys coming off of the army and navy bases with this, ugh, this really awful lost look on their faces. A lot of them don’t do very well. The army just kind of dumps them on their ass and it’s really unfair.” Jaskier has watched too many men pass through his part of town looking haunted, and then vanish. It’s unsettling to him, and it makes him unspeakably angry and sad that he has no way to help most of them. He gropes for words, trying to make Yennefer understand.

“When I see them now, I try to help. At least a little bit,” he says lamely, feeling his throat closing up on him as he looks up and sees that her glare take on a whole new heat. 

“So, what. You’re running a fuck and release program?” Yennefer asks sharply, a note of distaste entering her voice. Was he a predator? Not only was he here with Geralt when he had no business being here, but it sounded like he may have taken other soldiers home like this before. If he preyed on broken men in desperate circumstances, he was about to find out he’d bitten off a whole hell of a lot more than he could chew. 

Jaskier flinches, shaking his head as understanding flashes across his face. He hadn’t meant to imply that he’d been taking them home with him, but it clearly had sounded that way. By the look on her face she was now well on her way to hating him. He scrambles to explain, burning with embarrassment. “No, nothing like that! I don't usually take s… strange soldiers home off the street. I swear to god, he’s the only one I’ve brought home. To my house. I meant nice like… like free sandwiches at the bar. Not- Oh god,” he buries his face in his hands and groans, then takes a deep breath and tries again. “If I’m going to take someone home with me I’m usually…” he blushes, gesturing his hands illustratively, “Uh. Pretty up front. I promise that’s not what it was about.” He shoots her a desperately uncomfortable look, praying that she will understand. 

She relaxes slightly as she hears that, mollified. He looks nervous as hell, but he isn’t dropping any tells that he’s lying as far as she can see. Instead, he is giving her an earnest look, clearly frazzled by the whole conversation. “All right,” she muses. “What did you mean, then?” 

Jaskier blows out a slow breath, and worries at his lip for a second. Then he says, “He just seemed really… I’ve never seen. I’ve rarely seen a man look so devastated. So I thought, I don’t know. I’ll feed him some lunch, make sure that his miserable fucking day has a little bright spot in it. I felt like it was the least I could do.” 

Yennefer nods, settling back to listen. Her heart aches to think of Geralt lost out there alone, probably too ashamed to call home. Maybe he’d been lucky to have someone catch him before he could fall through the cracks. She studies Jaskier carefully, listening with the full weight of her attention. 

“So…” Jaskier hesitates, eyeing her nervously. Then he sighs, sensing he’d better be complete in his retelling. “When he finished eating he looked like he was about to fall off the stool. He looked like hell. I felt bad for him. I had to open soon and I thought he might get overwhelmed…” He shoots Yennefer a pleading glance, hoping what he’s about to say next doesn’t come across the wrong way. “Um. I thought it would be cruel to kick him out when he was in such a bad way, so I put him in my office instead, there’s a little…” he pinches the bridge of his nose between one hand and waves the other. “A little camp bed back there I use when I stay too late with the books.” He holds up his hands rapidly in a warding gesture as she draws back, about to say something. “I promise I’m not a predator. It wasn’t like that! Just to sleep! I swear I left him in there and he fell asleep. I figured he’d do better after a rest and then I could, I don’t know, send him on his way.”

Yennefer brings her fingers to her lips, giving him a considering look. “That doesn’t explain how he’s still with you two weeks later,” she points out. This was the part that made her the most uneasy. If Geralt ever got up the courage to be intimate with anyone, he usually fled immediately afterwards. Staying would lead to the danger of discovery, and Geralt had spent his life protecting himself and his family fiercely from the kind of attention that would bring. 

“Uhm.” Jaskier squirms, feeling put on the spot. “Well. About that. He uhm. Let me backtrack a little bit, he.” Sucking in a deep breath to quell his stammering, he closes his eyes. Something about the way the woman is looking at him makes his blood freeze, and he is having trouble thinking. Groaning, Jaskier shakes his head and tries again. 

“Okay. So, what happened is that I had to fire my bartender during the rush. It’s a long story. But I got back to my office, and he… Geralt was sitting there watching me try to find a backup on Pride, and he just… offered to help. And I was…” he spreads his hands out expressively in front of him, “I didn’t think he could do it, but he’s…”

“Surprising,” Yennefer finishes, her lips quirking into the slightest of smiles. “Yes. He is. He’s quite the master cocktail maker.” She allows the smile to widen slightly, examining her nails. “I suppose at least something came out of all the time he spent glued to those damn mixology manuals. It’s something of a special interest of his.” Her eyes twinkle. Glued was an understatement. Geralt had a growing collection of the manuals, and had memorized the measures in every one of them.  “He makes a mean Metropolitan.” She comments, flicking her gaze back up. “Continue.”

“He does,” Jaskier says weakly, feeling rather like she’s looking right through him. “Uhm. I was a little at loose ends and I thought… why the hell not.” He flings his hands up. “The worst that was going to happen was getting shut down, and that was already a possibility anyway after the fuck up from the man I fired, so I just… ah, sent him to it. Stuck him behind the bar with my bar back and let him at it.”

Another secretive little smile flickers around Yennefer’s lips. “How did he do?” She inquires. 

“He was… amazing.” Jaskier shakes his head and gives a breathless little chuckle. “Ah, he had a little trouble at first, but I never had to step off the door to get involved. And by the end of the night he had his sea legs under him,” he breaks off, waving off the poor phrasing, realizing he is speaking to an Army wife, “So to speak, and uh.” He laughs. “He got quite a few tips. I was impressed.”

Yennefer smirks, looking obscurely pleased by this. “Still doesn’t explain why you’re here now,” she presses. 

“Um, no. You’re right, it doesn’t. So.” Jaskier scrubs his face again, feeling his whole body surge with nerves. “So. After the other employees left, he’s still sitting there in my bar, and I realize he probably doesn’t have a safe place to go for the night. A lot of the soldiers who end up homeless around here they… that’s how it started. Getting kicked off base and having no place to go. And he’d just done me a good turn. So. Um.” 

"So you took him home and did him a good turn?" She replies dryly, her voice still pitched under the hum of the aquarium so that the other occupants of the waiting room can’t hear them.

"Oh! God, no. I have a private loft above my house. Got it's own key and everything! I promise it wasn't like that. I mean. Oh god. He's beautiful please don't misunderstand me but-" Jaskier babbles, caught off guard. Of all the impressions he would have hoped to make on a lover’s family, this is not it. He’d hoped that the next family he met would be at a nice little brunch or something pleasant, not another round of dealing with an angry spouse.

"Stop!" She cuts him off with a curt gesture. "Stop babbling. Get to the point."

Frazzled, Jaskier grimaces and nods, gathering his wits. "Right. Point was. I took him home and sent him up to the loft. By himself! And um. I have plenty of space in my house. So I just thought I'd let him stay until he got his legs under him. I liked him, please don’t misunderstand me, but I wasn’t.” He knuckles his eyebrows, grimacing, trying to keep his thoughts gathered. “It wasn’t about trying to get laid. It really wasn’t. And he um. He broke his hand. So that's how we got to the hospital." He trails off, his voice abandoning him under the heat of Yennefer's gaze. His throat bobs visibly as he swallows. 

"I see." She says, icily. "And he's just… what, stayed in the attic these last few weeks?"  

Her violet gaze pierces Jaskier, making him feel like he is being dissected. "Well, no-" he squirms uncomfortably. 

"Explain." She says, cutting him off again. 

"Oh, god. Um. Do I really need to-"

"I have friends who can help me hide the body. Please try me." 

“All right,” he grimaces, feeling a rush of shame and discomfort. “I’m sorry, all right, um. Can I just say that I am very stupid and very sorry, before I tell you the rest of this story?” A brief huff escapes Yennefer, and he can’t quite tell if she’s amused or if she’s angry. 

She shakes her head at him and gestures for him to keep talking. Internally, she’s torn between being alarmed and being amused. The more she watches this man, listens to him, absorbs his body language and tics, the less she worries that he is lying to her or hurting Geralt. He is like a big awkward colt, all long limbs, nervy movements, and honest terror at her presence. This sounded more and more like a horny idiot story about to happen. She suppresses a smile, watching as he squirms.  

“All right. So. Oh god. So the next night after I helped him empty out his storage unit, I cooked him dinner. And maybe I had a little too much wine while I was making it. Um. And he’s really… oh god. I mean, you know, you married him. He’s really charming.” 

Yennefer watches coolly as Jaskier vibrates with nerves, trying to keep his voice steady. Internally though, she smirks. Called it. 

“I walked him to the door so that he could go back to the loft. He. Ugh,” he stops and scrubs his face again, missing her growing expression of pleasure at his embarrassment. His stomach aches and rolls mercilessly, but he forges onward. Better to get it all out in the open now, rather than force her to drag it out of him. He gets the strong sense she will happily do so if he makes her. 

“I think I kissed him first. I don’t know. We kissed. Things snowballed. We had sex… oh god. Clearly I should have asked more questions first. Um. I’m really sorry I didn’t ask more questions first-”

Yennefer puts up her hand. “Stop.” She commands, then goes quiet, eyeing Jaskier up and down. “Is there anything else you’d like to tell me?” Aside from the initial upset at the beginning of the conversation, nothing he’d said had particularly alarmed her. Bit by bit, she begins to relax. Had Geralt really just found a nice man?

Jaskier blushes. “I offered him a job as a bartender. He um. He’s still thinking about it,” he mumbles. It’s only now as he says it in front of Yennefer that he realizes how it might sound.

“Excuse me, you did what?” Yen says, sitting forward. “You… slept with my husband, and then offered him a job? Do you know how insanely unethical that is?” She feels a rush of exasperation. Trust Geralt to end up neck deep in some kind of lunacy the second his life got turned upside down. He could have come home to his family, but no, that would have been too easy. 

She studies Jaskier again, watching how he deflates visibly under her gaze. Jaskier being in control of Geralt’s food, shelter, and income sounded like a recipe for disaster, but the more that she had watched Jaskier, the less she worried he had done any of it as a conscious manipulation. He came across as a genuinely sweet person, a kind heart with no brain whatsoever attached to it. 

“I hadn’t thought about it too deeply, if I’m going to be perfectly honest,” Jaskier says through his fingers to the floor. 

She can see by the tips of his ears that he is deep red with embarrassment. There it is, she thinks, exasperation deepening into a long-suffering chagrin. While Geralt himself was quite stable if left to his own devices, he had a tendency to let other people get him involved in more chaos than he was prepared to handle.

“I… He. I think I get a little stupid around him. Um. I’m really sorry.” Jaskier mumbles, internally kicking himself. Now that she’d said it he could see it, but he honestly hadn’t even thought about the ethics of the offer. He’d just seen a nice thing he could do for someone who could use a leg up and gone for it. While he’d never abuse the power he had over his employees, he could see why Yennefer was upset with him.

“Clearly,” she says wryly, leaning back into her chair and sizing him up. Turning the story back and forth in her mind, she examines him minutely. 

“Well, you don’t seem very bright, but I don’t think you’re a predator.” She says, tilting her head and regarding him with sharp curiosity. If he really was just a kind idiot, then he might be around in her life for a while longer. Geralt had always needed someone, and she’d known from day one that the kind of love they had wasn’t going to be enough for him. “We’re going to have to talk later, you and I.” She glances briefly over her shoulder at Geralt’s exam room door. “I’m going to be taking Geralt back to my hotel room tonight. And tomorrow? You and I are going to sort some things out.” 

Jaskier nods, stomach rolling as he glances up at her. What did she mean, sort things out? That didn’t sound hopeful. Most likely, it meant that they’d be coming to take Geralt’s things and he’d never see him again. The idea makes his heart ache, and he wraps his arms around himself uncomfortably. He didn’t want it to be over yet. 

She looks coolly at him. He looks miserable, and as far as she is concerned, he deserves it. He might have been trying to be kind to Geralt, but what he’d actually done was set her husband up for a lot of potential heartbreak and she wanted him to stew on that a little bit. There would be time later to set him at his ease, but for now, she felt fairly pleased by how the whole conversation had gone.  As she hears Geralt quietly approach, she stands. Geralt comes to a halt when he sees both of them looking at him, and he gives them a deeply worried look. 

“Kochany.” Yennefer greets, reaching up to squeeze his shoulder warmly. “I’ve met your idiot now.”

“Yen…” Geralt groans, mortified. “His name is Jaskier.”

“No, it isn’t, but we’ll waive that point,” she says with the slightest lilt of amusement. “How is your hand?” Geralt lifts it and flexes it gingerly, showing them both that the splint is off. 

“Should be fine if I don’t punch anything else,” he rumbles uneasily, still eyeing the two of them. “Take a few more weeks to heal the rest of the way but the splint is off.” 

“Well then!” Yennefer says brightly. “Don’t punch anything else, or you might not be able to take your idiot up on his job offer.” Geralt rolls his eyes up towards the ceiling as if he is praying for strength, and she gives his arm a little squeeze.  

“Jaskier.” She says, turning her gaze back to him, curled around himself near the fishtank. “’I’ll be seeing you tomorrow.” Gently but firmly, she takes Geralt by the elbow and gives him a light nudge. Geralt puffs uncomfortably, looking torn as he gazes down at her then over at his lover, who is still beet red. 

“Jaskier-” he starts, but Jaskier cuts him off by raising a hand. 

“Not now, Geralt,” he sighs. “Just. I’ll talk to you soon. I need to go home right now. Have a good day with your wife.” He drops his head back into his hands and scrubs at his face one last time, trying to gather himself. Geralt gives Yen a frustrated look. She smiles back at him, unphased. Geralt might be free to choose his lovers, but as far as she was concerned, she was equally free to harass them a little on the first meeting. As a treat. 

Geralt hesitates. As much as he wants to reconnect with Yen, he doesn’t want to leave Jaskier alone like this. He is angry with Yen for embarrassing his very nice if somewhat thoughtless lover so thoroughly, but he can see by the look on Jaskier’s face that now is not the time to deal with it. “I’m sorry... “ he says quietly, fiddling with the folder he is holding. “Um. Tomorrow, right.”

“Right then. See you tomorrow.” she says pleasantly, then turns and gently walks with Geralt out of the waiting room. Geralt shoots one last shameful look over his shoulder at Jaskier hunched in the corner, before allowing himself to be guided out of the door by a soft hand at his elbow. 

They made their way up a dirty, crowded street. In the distance was someone singing on a corner, and nearer, a bustling market swarmed with people dressed for the desert heat. Yennefer weaved her way through the crowd with a determined look on her face, holding her bag strap firmly against her shoulder. Beside her was her companion. He was a big, lithe man with a dark beard which concealed terrible pockmarked scarring. He was wearing fatigues, and over his shoulder he carried a large black bag. Right behind them was Geralt, also dressed in fatigues. His serious golden eyes scanned the street continually, his posture stiff and alert. 

As they entered the market, the bustle and roar of the people closed over them. Geralt moved closer to Yennefer, getting up near her side and body blocking a man who got too close as they weaved among the stalls. She glanced briefly up at Geralt, lips thinning, then ducked into an alleyway off of the main thoroughfare. It was quieter here, and there were a few children playing some sort of ball game nearby. Stopping in front of a wooden door in the clay face of the building before them, she adjusted the bag on her shoulder and neatened her head scarf before rapping on it. 

The door opened, and she stepped down into the little room, flashing a brilliant smile and greeting a tired-looking older man. He gestured them inside, but hesitated when he saw Geralt. Geralt eyed him back seriously, then looked around the little room, scanning for danger and seeing none. Yennefer lifted her head. 

<<He doesn’t have to be in here, but my camera man stays,>> she said, already pulling her notepad out of her bag. She jerked her chin at the door and Geralt nodded. His gaze returned to the older man and he eyed him fiercely for a moment, then stepped back into the doorway and assumed a guarding position. The older man hesitated again, then nodded, conceding the arrangement, and retreated into the relative cool of the dark clay room.

As Yennefer’s companion arranged his equipment, Geralt settled into a watchful silence in the doorway. The main part of his attention was on the room around Yennefer, scanning for dangerous interruptions. The other part was on the street, carefully tracking the sounds of the people bustling at the head of the alley and the children scrapping over the ball. 

As the interview was wrapping up, Geralt’s head suddenly snapped up as the ball flew past him out towards the head of the alley. A young boy followed it at breakneck pace, laughing so hard it sounded like he was about to be sick. He careened into the crowd, retrieved the ball deftly, and heaved it back into the alley. Geralt ducked out of the way as the ball whistled past him, meeting the little boy’s sudden look of worry with a genial wink. The boy flashed a smile and zipped back the other way, returning to the seething pack of children at the back of the alley.

A moment later, as Yennefer and her companion were exiting the building, the ball flew past once more. The same child shot after it, ducking and weaving amongst the crowd as he attempted to retrieve it. He lost his balance, bounced off of one man, and landed at the feet of another, who kicked him absentmindedly out of the way. 

The child cried out in pain, twisting in the middle of the street, landing himself under yet another man’s feet as he attempted to dodge away from the blow. This man stepped back from the child as if his ankles had been burned, and he shouted at the child, berating him. Geralt stiffened, eyes narrowing. The older man who Yennefer had interviewed closed the door behind her and her companion firmly, leaving them in an uncertain knot in the alley.

Out in the street, the man had begun kicking the child, shouting imprecations and curses as his foot struck over and over again. As he reached down to grab the little boy’s hair and pull him up, Geralt broke from his position and dodged forward into the street.

“Hey!” He shouted, his deep voice startling against the backdrop of relative quiet in the alley. <<Stop!>> The man ignored him, tightening his grip viciously in the boy’s hair and beginning to beat him about the head and shoulders with the flat of his hand. The boy began to scream in terror and pain, kicking and struggling, tears leaking from his eyes. Geralt closed in rapidly, looming over the smaller and much older man gripping the boy’s head. In the background, Yennefer and her companion tensed, but as she made to follow Geralt into the street, her companion blocked her and shook his head. 

<<Hey! Asshole!>> Geralt snapped, eyes flashing. The other man’s grey head came up and he met Geralt’s gaze, eyes dark with anger, tightening his grip on the boy’s hair. 

<<Hey asshole yourself!>> he snarled, shaking the sobbing child. <<This little shit has been getting underfoot for weeks. This is none of your business! Back off!>>

<<Touch him again and I’ll make it my business, you motherfucking son of a bitch!>> Geralt barked, leaning in closer. The grey-haired man’s beard wobbled as he puffed and glared at Geralt, but he was also slowly beginning to shrink back in on himself as Geralt squared up on him, a look of mounting fury in his golden eyes. Geralt stepped into his body space, carefully maneuvering himself so that, as the man’s hand began to loosen, he was putting himself between him and the weeping child still squirming to get away. 

As Geralt closed the distance between them, the boy finally twisted loose. Geralt immediately swept him up behind his back, now firmly between him and the angry, sputtering man. 

<<Fuck off!>> Geralt snarled, holding the boy’s head against his leg as little hands fisted his fatigues, feeling him tremble like a little bird. The other man stepped back, startled by the heat in Geralt’s voice. 

<<I… you... !>> he sputtered back at Geralt, at a loss for words. Geralt bared his teeth and made as if to lunge towards the man, and the man jumped back. 

<<Fuck you!>> he cried, finally backing away. Then he turned his venomous gaze to the little boy. <<If I ever catch you around here ag->>

<<One more goddamn word and I”ll kick your motherfucking ass!>> Geralt roared back, cutting him off. <<If you fucking touch him another goddamn time you’re going to have one hell of a headache, motherfucker, just try me!>> The little boy shrank against his leg, frightened by the shouting, and Geralt tightened the pressure of his hand on him just slightly, trying to reassure him. 

The man gave one more angry sputter, shook his finger at Geralt, then backed away into the crowd, tossing his hands into the air in a final gesture of displeasure as he went. Around them, the market bustled on, mostly uninterrupted by the shouting match. Aside from giving the little scene enough berth to stay out of range, the passersby seem to be carefully ignoring the whole incident. 

As he watched the man vanish into the crowd, Geralt’s body hummed with angry tension. He didn’t relax until he saw the grey head vanish around a corner. When he was sure that he was gone, he turned his attention to the rest of the street, scanning it until he was reassured that the passerby were not a threat. Then and only then did he turn his full attention to the child clinging to his leg. 

Gently, gently, as softly as if he was handling a little bird, he pried the child’s fingers off of the leg of his fatigues. Then he led him into a safe place near the mouth of the alley and knelt down, making himself small. His eyes softened as he knelt, and he made reassuring noises as he looked the child over, inspecting him for serious injury. The child was scraped and bruised, streaked with tears and trembling as he gulped back little sobs, but he was otherwise unharmed. 

Nearby in the alleyway, Yennefer watched curiously as Geralt began to chat quietly with the young child, who couldn’t have been more than six. He was easy with the little one in a way she rarely saw people be with children. He was more relaxed with the child than she'd ever seen him be with any adult, either. His face was calm and kind, and lit up with delight a moment later as the boy said something that made him laugh. 

She’d never seen him look this soft before, his manner totally transformed by his proximity to the child. She nibbled the inside of her lip speculatively, re-evaluating her opinion of the lieutenant yet again. He might come across as stupid, stiff, and arrogant, but there were clearly hidden depths she hadn’t given him credit for. She turned to her companion.

“What do you think, Coën?” She asked, leaning against the side of the building. 

“I think you should ask him out for a drink, Yenna.” Coën replied with a big grin, teasing. “He’s good company. You’d be surprised.”

“Oh, what, you get drunk with the idiot once and now you’re bonded?”

“Yup. That’s how it works,” Coën’s green eyes were merry as he eyed his partner, who had her arms crossed doubtfully. “He’s a funny little fucker.” 

“I somehow doubt that,” Yennefer said, but she turned her thoughtful gaze back to Geralt. By now he had retrieved the child’s ball from the market stall where it had finally come to rest and was handing it back to him, along with a little piece of fruit he’d purchased from the stall’s owner. 

“Your loss,” Coën said with a shrug, adjusting the big bag on his shoulder. He raised his camera and took a few discreet shots of Geralt and the child, smiling to himself. Then, he cocked his head at her.

“Ready to head back?” She nodded, eyes still on Geralt’s back. Falling into step, they slowly approach the mouth of the alleyway. The child scrambled off with the ball as they approached, his cheeks bulging with fruit, and Geralt straightened back to his full height. Coën clapped him on the shoulder genially, smiling, and Geralt gave a soft, awkward smile in return. Together, they all turned to the market and merged into the crowd, heading back the way they came.

Geralt is curled along the length of her black-clad leg, face pressed into her hip as she idly strokes his short hair. His breathing is finally easing back into a slow, steady cadence as he rests his head on her. She is leaning back against the headboard of a hotel bed, pillows arranged comfortably under her back, a glass tumbler of brandy in her other hand. Her own heart is beginning to slow, and the alcohol helps soothe the ragged edges of frustration and sadness that she is feeling.

The air conditioning unit rattles and hums in the corner, keeping the crisp looking hotel room cool even in the soggy summer heat. It’s a small blessing in an otherwise raw and painful day. The sunlight peeking through the curtains has mellowed, taking on the penetrating gold of an early summer evening. They've been there for hours, trying to talk and getting nowhere, and now they are in another lull. Her fingers run firmly along the backs of his ears, along his neck, over his forehead, slowly but surely soothing away some of his stress. It’s good to have him back, but it frightens her deeply that he is being so reticent. She’s used to him being taciturn, but this is a whole new level of lock-out. 

For his part, he hates how she has been needling him to talk about what happened to him. The things she has been asking him to divulge are so painful that they feel like they burn to touch, sear when he tries to speak, so he’s been fighting to escape her attempts to dig at them. But on some level, he knows she’s right to pry. She has a right to know. He is finally accustoming himself to the idea that he can’t run from her or this conversation any longer. 

Taking a sip from her tumbler, she says, “Are you ready to talk now?” Against her leg, he nods, reaching up to tangle his fingers delicately amongst the soft curls spilling over her shoulder. He rubs them between his fingers, watching them spring back as he releases them. The feeling of them running through his hand is like coming home. 

She may be many things, but most importantly, she has always been his safe harbor and closest ally. Always steadily at his back in a world where few people have cared for him. He is still angry about how sad and frazzled Jaskier looked, and he finds himself missing the sweetness of the other man’s presence. But despite that, he suspects that he is right where he should be. Now that he can’t run anymore, despite his shame and fear, he finds that he is deeply grateful to sink into her love. 

“All right, kochany.” Her finger rubs up the back of his ear, running along the delicate shell of it firmly, just so. His eyelashes flutter against his cheeks as he heaves a deep sigh. For the first time since he was arrested the feeling of being in free-fall is easing, and he is reluctant to break the peace of it. He knows that he has to, though. Steeling himself against the ugliness of his feelings, he clears his throat.

“What do you want to know?” he murmurs into her hip reluctantly. She smiles down at him, eyes sad and soft. 

“What do you think I want to know, moj drogì?" She rejoins gently, pressing her hand against the side of his head, holding him close. Words are hard for him, she knows, but if there was ever a time to pry it is now. She takes another sip of brandy and eyes him, her expression kind. He turns and buries his face in her leg.

“I don’t want to talk about that.”

“You promised.”

He heaves a heavy sigh into the soft, exquisitely tailored leg of her pants and nods. “I did,” he admits unhappily. 

“It worries me that you won’t even tell me who it was, mój drogi. You didn’t get a dishonorable discharge all by yourself. I asked some rather pointed questions when the Army couldn't tell me where you were.” She tilts her head, more curls spilling over her shoulder which he reaches for. The corner of her lip curves up in a melancholy smile as she watches him play with them. Her anger had been spent some hours ago, and now she is able to be patient, holding a gentle space for her husband to find his words. After almost twenty-two years of knowing him, she knows they are slow to come when he speaks on difficult feelings, if indeed they come at all. 

“It wasn’t his fault,” Geralt repeats quietly, burning with shame. “I should have stopped him.”

“You’ve said already. I’ll ask you again. Whoever this mystery idiot was, did he start it?” 

Geralt groans. “That’s not the point. The point is, I knew better and I shouldn’t-”

“Stop. We’ve been around this circle all afternoon. I have the time, I’m not letting you go until you tell me the rest, kochany.” 

He sinks back into silence. Anyone else might think he was sulking, but Yennefer knows that he is struggling uphill inside, trying to force words through a mouth that just does not want to move. She swirls her fingers along his scalp again, white hairs tickling under her fingertips. He leans into the good feeling, using it to help bring him back to himself. Inside of him the untold story burns like hot lead in his chest and throat, searing away at his insides. 

Eventually he says, “We had just gotten out of the field.”

“The field? Since when have you been getting out of the office?”

“I hate the office.”

“I know, but that’s not the point. The point is, you trapped yourself into one by being too competent to avoid that damn promotion,” she teases gently, finally getting a pained little smile out of him. 

“True. But…” he shrugs uncomfortably. “I guess that’s why they sent me back out into the field. I’m good at my job. Uh. Was good.” He frowns, turning his face into her leg, feeling a rush of guilt and anger. 

“It’s ok, kochany. I know. So, what. You went out into the field, got shot at…?”

He nods, turning up to see her. He drops his hand to rest on her stomach, idly beginning to play with the white silk of her shirt. “Yeah,” he says, voice rough. “Almost died. He almost died. We… it was stupid. We got back to base and it…” he heaves a sigh. “I don’t know. I felt so numb that I just wanted to feel something. And he always pushes, and I just… let him. This time I just let him.” Even talking about it burns. He feels like the air is slowly being eaten out of his lungs as he speaks, and his fingers tighten on her shirt as if it could somehow protect him.

Her lips thin, and she nods. “There’s only one person I know who you talk about like that, kochany. Was it…”

“Eskel,” he mumbles into her hip, nodding. “Yes. It was Eskel.”

“That barmy prick,” she says, her quiet voice full of an old anger. “I told you if you kept on with him something like this was going to happen.” Her face is carefully neutral, but he knows if he looks up, he will be able to see the angry flash in her eyes. 

“I know, Yen,” he mumbles into her leg, feeling a hot rush of embarrassment twist his already aching heart. “It was stupid. It's always been stupid, but I just… I needed to feel something. It's always been like that with him." Shame creeps up after the embarrassment, an old and constant companion. He rubs his thumb on the button of her shirt, focusing intently on it, trying to stay present. 

“Bet you felt something when you were being court martialed, idiot,” she points out, irritation sharpening her voice. He flinches, but nods, the shame deepening into a hot, quiet pain. She presses her lips together as she sees the expression which crosses his face, fingernail tapping on her glass. She takes another sip, then smoothes her hand out across his hair again. 

“I’m sorry, kochany. I’m angry. I shouldn’t have said it quite like that,” she apologizes, realizing that humiliating him isn’t going to help him talk to her right now. Her own stomach twists with guilt as she gazes down at him. Normally he doesn’t mind her sharp tongue, but she’s known him long enough to know that there’s a time and a place, and this just isn’t it. He grumbles something indistinct into her leg, but by the cadence of it, she can tell it isn’t meant to be heard. 

“So at least now I know who to bury,” she says mildly, a little smile playing about her lips. “What happened then? You must have been very ashamed.” He nods, tentatively reaching up for her curls again, seeking an anchor. She tips her head, allowing him easy access to them. While he gathers his voice he fingers them softly, reveling in the soft texture and sweet smell of lilac and gooseberry. The sensations help orient him as he navigates the storm of feelings that he is experiencing, groping for the words to explain something unspeakably painful.

“I just… I knew I couldn’t come home,” he explains, his voice rough with misery. “They dumped me at Fort Morhen with that fucking truck and whatever I could fit into my backpack. The rest of my shit got shipped back to England.” She can see the tip of one of his ears from where she is sitting, and she runs her finger gently over it, trying to soothe away some of his shame. 

“I know, kochany. I almost had a heart attack when it showed up on our doorstep. Why did you think you couldn’t come home? You know I’ll always take you no matter what. You’re safe with us.”

He shakes his head vehemently, face closing up. He pulls away from her abruptly and sits up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and putting his back to her. She eyes his back, then, without comment, stands and walks around to the little counter near the mini fridge. This is an old dance, and she has the time to do the steps today. She can see he needs a moment, so she finds a way to give him one. Quietly, she pours him his own glass of brandy and brings it back to him, pressing it into his hands without forcing eye contact. When he takes it, she strokes his shoulder lightly before returning to her nest of pillows.

He turns the glass tumbler back and forth in his hands, watching the light play through the dark amber liquid. The questions make him feel an irrational surge of anger, and he allows himself to quietly seethe for a moment. Then, as quickly as it came, the anger fades, washing back to leave a deepening shame in its place. He takes a huge swallow of the brandy, shakes his head, and says, “I’ve never been any good for you three. At least I used to be stable. But I couldn’t bring myself home just to be a wreck. It wouldn’t be fair.” he shrugs. “Besides, the way I was discharged? Cirilla doesn’t need to know I’m…” He trails off into choking silence, his throat closing, and he shrugs painfully.

Yennefer’s heart sinks. This isn’t the first time she’s heard Geralt talk like this, and she has a good guess about what the end of that choked off sentence was. “Oh, love. Are you worried about what she’ll think if she finds out that you’re gay?” Yennefer asks gently. If she hasn’t missed her guess she knows the answer, but she presses him anyway, trying to get him to finally talk about it. He’s spent years refusing to fully engage, and she is secretly hoping that at least now he will begin to process his feelings about himself. That way at least something good could come out of this awful mess.

He shrugs angrily, glaring at his brandy. “I don’t want to talk about that, Yen.”

“You brought it up-”

“Stop!” He barks, glaring over his shoulder at her. She stares back at him coolly, not about to be deterred this time. 

“You can say the word ‘gay,’ Geralt.” She presses on, holding his gaze. “There’s no one here but me, and I’ve known for a long time. The least you can do is be honest with yourself. Or if not yourself, with me. We’ve been through hell together, we have a daughter together… It’s about time we talked about it for real.” 

Geralt scowls at her stiffly, his expression getting flatter by the second. “Don’t make me talk about this.” He says, turning away from her and squaring his shoulders against any further intrusions on the subject. Exasperated, Yennefer rolls her eyes, then presses her drink glass between her hands, using the cool heaviness of it to keep her calm.  

“Oh for the love of- Geralt. Kochany. I was there helping you find call boys to bang! Who are you trying to fool, here?" She nudges him lightly with her foot, determined to press. "Have you fucked any women since me?”

“Have you fucked any men?" He growls back, cutting her another sharp look over his shoulder.

"No, but I haven't fucked much of anyone since you. You know that. You're avoiding the question."

He shrugs, mutely. His shameful silence is answer enough. 

“Twelve years without a woman, Geralt…” She heaves a heavy sigh, then swallows back the last of her own brandy before continuing. “If there’s one blessing to come out of this bloody mess, it’s that you have no career to protect any more. The cat is out of the bag. You can at least say it in private, with the person who knows you best.” She nudges his back gently again with her bare foot. “Besides, who do you take me for? You think I raised our daughter to hate people like you? Do you really think I would do that?”

As his shoulders slowly droop, she sets her glass aside and comes to sit behind him, wrapping her arms around his thick waist and pressing her cheek to his back. “I’ve never been ashamed of you, mój drogi. The way you are has never been wrong to me. And I’ve never regretted the life we’ve shared.” She kisses softly at the back of his neck, her breath tickling his hair. “You are better than you give yourself credit for.”

His already stiff body tenses further and he idly pulls away from her, but doesn’t fight it when she keeps her arms wrapped around him. Her gentle words make his heart plunge, and he shakes his head. The love feels so good, but so misplaced, and he can barely stand to experience it. It feels like it doesn’t belong to him. Every fiber of his being wants to push it away, to keep his family from all of the ugliness boiling inside of him.

“Yen… stop. I’m not a good father. All I do is hurt Ciri. I can’t make her happy… Besides… She shouldn’t have to have a father she can’t talk about in public.” He pauses, the muscles in his jaw working as he gropes painfully for his next words. “And… She has you, and she has Coën. Fuck, Yen! He's been a better father to her than I could ever fucking be. He’s been there with you raising her, not me. Just tell her I fucking died. It would be better.” The words spill out of him like hot acid, leaving him feeling like he’s vomited fire in their wake. He’s heard them repeated in his own head so many times, but they feel new and awful all over again as he feels her stiffen behind him. 

“Geralt!” Yennefer snaps, shocked. She can feel her heart beginning to race with fear as she realizes exactly how deeply his poor self esteem has plunged since they last spoke in person. “You take that back right now! Our child is very proud of you, and rightly so!” Gently, she gives him a little shake, trying to rattle some love into his stiff body. 

“Besides, I would never, ever lie to her like that. I know you’ve struggled with her, kochany. But you’ve never given yourself the time to learn what Ciri needs from you.” She squeezes him, pressing her hands across his heart, seeking to ease even a little of his pain. “She doesn’t need you dead, Geralt. She needs you to give yourself a chance to try.” She nuzzles into the back of his shoulder, keeping him ferociously close.

“Besides,” she murmurs quietly against the back of his ear with a wry smile, “Coën would kill you if you died. You promised you would step up when you retired, kochany. You know he’s going to hold you to that.” 

He grumbles quietly, heart feeling like it is burnt to ashes, but he allows her to begin to rock him. Sensing the enormous pain he’s in, she seeks to soothe it by easing him into his natural rhythm. She feels the sudden release of tension when she hits the right cadence and his own motion takes over. They sway softly together, there on the edge of the hotel bed, Yennefer's cheek pressed to his shoulder where she can hear the beat of his heart. The rocking motion is as much part of him as his breath, and she has learned long ago to help him find it in times of deep distress. 

After a while he slows, then stills. His body is relaxed now, breathing and heart rate steady and slow. The pain is still gnawing the inside of him to pieces, but he feels more himself than he has in weeks. He sets his glass aside on the bedside table and brings his hands up to cover hers, cradling them against his chest, grateful for the care she is taking. His throat burns hotter as he sits with her cool hands cradling him, his eyes beginning to water as he tries to process the sheer amount of agony he’d been hiding from himself. She feels a wet drop on her hand and her head comes up, eyes widening. Then she squeezes him mutely closer, rubbing her cheek against his shoulder. 

“I don’t know how to do any of this, Yen. I don’t know what to do. I couldn’t call you because I didn’t know what to do,” he says thickly. “I’m just… I shouldn’t be here. There’s nowhere I fit, and I don’t want to drag you three down with me, neshama shelì. You deserve better than that.”

Her heart twists inside of her as she listens to him, her hold around him becoming fierce. Her small frame is wiry, containing considerable strength, and she uses all of it to crush him against her. She brings her head up and brushes her lips against the soft skin behind his ear, loving him, wanting to be certain that he hears her.

“You belong right here, Geralt Rivii,” she murmurs ferociously. “I’m never going to let you forget that, no matter how hard you try.” Her heart hammers and she feels nauseous. She knew he was depressed, but this is a whole new level that she’s never seen him sink to before, and she is deeply worried about his safety. 

He shakes his head, wetness dripping down his cheeks. His burning throat squeezes shut and he can’t get any more words out, so he just leans into the ferocity of her embrace without speaking. Her head whirls as she presses herself against him, searching for the right words to say. Geralt has been a constant in her life for over two decades, and the idea that she might lose him to this is unbearable. She begins to rock him again, and this time he moves with her almost right away, his body taut with misery as they sway. 

As he stills again some time later, her delicate fingers come up to wipe the tears from his face and smooth his cheeks, stroke his hair, worried. She covers him with affection and he leans into her hands needfully, soaking up the gentleness like a sponge. 

After a long silence in which her hands work to soothe him, her mind churning, she comes to a conclusion. Geralt’s depression is something she feels out of her depth to deal with all in one go. She will have to circle back around to it after more thought, so she changes the subject. 

“Tell me about Jaskier, kochany.” She prompts, smiling into his shoulder as he gulps and gives a soft painful chuckle, lowering his face into his hands. 

“Oh, I don’t even know where the fuck to start with him,” he says damply into his fingers, wiping the remaining tears from his face. His stomach flips to even talk about Jaskier, to hear his name on her lips. Shame and gnawing fear and deep desire all tangle together as he remembers blue eyes and soft hands and kindness. “I’m so fucking confused, neshama shelì. I’ve never met anyone like him before.” 

She laughs at this, leaning back as he shifts to lean back against the headboard of the bed, stealing some pillows from her nest. Graciously choosing not to mention anything, she brings the rest of them along, arranging them so that she is supported while she lies along his side and places her head over his heart. He wraps his arms around her lightly and brings one hand up to start stroking her hair again, delicately working a tangle out when it snares around his finger. He is obscurely relieved to change the subject, but he isn’t honestly sure that he likes this one much better. 

“So tell me how you met, that’s a good place to start. He mentioned that you were dazed when he first met you, what happened?” Yennefer prompts. She has concerns about Jaskier’s grasp of boundaries, but at the same time she can see that Geralt is very fond of him. She hopes talking about him will help lift his mood. 

Geralt grimaces, then shrugs and nods, deciding to be forthcoming for once in his life. “I was… upset when I left the base. And that damn truck overheats in the summer, so I had to run the heater at full blast to try and keep it from shutting down on the middle of the highway.” His big hand runs over her head, and he presses his nose into her hair softly. He takes a deep inhale, eyes fluttering closed as he sinks into the peace of the smell. After a moment, he continues, his deep voice rumbling under her ear.

“The highway was a parking lot all the way from the base to the city. I didn’t realize it at the time, but the uh… Pride march thing had blocked traffic for fucking miles. It must have been over a hundred in the direct sun, and I didn’t have enough water. By the time I got off the fucking highway, I’d been out there for more than two hours and I was starting to get heat exhaustion.” He presses a kiss to the top of her head, thinking back on the day, a little furrow appearing between his brows. 

“I was… It was too much, I got overwhelmed. I was feeling too fucking much. So when the truck broke down, I just… I lost my shit. Beat the fuck out of the tree I parked next to, fucked up my hand. I was so fucking angry.” 

“I know you know better than to punch trees when you’re mad, Geralt.” Yennefer points out, drawing a soft circle on his chest around the buttons of his white shirt. “Were you having a meltdown?”

Hearing this, Geralt’s face goes blank and hard. He cuts Yen an angry look. “No.” He replies flatly. “I just lost my shit.” Yennefer had a nasty habit of trying to draw parallels between him and his daughter’s difficulties, and he wasn’t having any of it. 

Internally, Yen finds herself biting her tongue. This was another thing he didn’t like talking about, and now wasn’t the time to argue with him about it. She heaves a quiet sigh, for once letting it go by. “So what happened next?”

He eyes her for a long moment, making sure that she’s not going to argue with him before he continues. Then he relaxes minutely, deciding to continue telling his story. “I stumbled into the Pride parade,” he reluctantly reveals, uncomfortable. “And had a fucking episode. Totally blanked out.”

“Again? That seems to be happening to you way too often, kochany. Last time we spoke on the phone you said you’d had more than the month previous. It’s getting worse.” She frowns, adding that to her list of worries. Geralt had been showing signs of worsening PTSD for years, and it had moved from a background concern to a full-blown worry for her in the last few months. 

“Hmm. Yeah…” he heaves a heavy sigh, frowning. Beneath her, he shifts side to side uneasily for a moment before re-settling. “I lost track of my feet… when I looked up, I was a long way from where I had been, and my hand hurt…” he shifts slightly to get more comfortable, feeling a rill of nerves as he recalls seeing Jaskier for the first time. It was rare for him to share things like this with Yennefer. It felt weirdly naked. He swallows hard. “Jaskier was there. He was kind.” His voice trails off as he feels his chest tighten, making it hard to speak. 

Yennefer smiles, taking in the way that Geralt’s face is already softening as he remembers Jaskier. This is a side of him she rarely sees. “He told me you let him bandage your hand, kochany. You barely even let me touch you when you’re hurt. You must have really liked him,” she teases gently, trying to keep him talking. To her delight, a bashful smile flits across Geralt’s face, there and gone again in a heartbeat. 

“I… did. Yeah.” He replies awkwardly, avoiding her eyes. She doesn’t press, letting him find his way through. She is rewarded a moment later as he continues. 

“He’s really… Hmm. I didn’t know what to do with it.” Shaking his head, he fidgets her hair uncomfortably.

“Really what?” She nudges him. “Hot? Beautiful? Terrifying? What are you trying to tell me?”

Geralt tilts his head to give her a frustrated look, but she smiles back at him and he relaxes a little bit. This is an old habit of hers, trying to get him to be more forthcoming, more specific. Embarrassed, he squirms. 

“He’s really beautiful, Yen,” he admits, very quietly. A bemused look comes over him, the expression out of place on his usually stoic face. She laughs, cupping his cheek and running her thumb over it. 

“I love how you look when you say that, mój drogi.” Yennefer sighs, feeling bittersweet. “I don’t know if you’ve ever looked that way before, talking about someone. It’s good.” And it is. Geralt has never allowed himself much in the way of happiness, and she likes how it looks on him, regardless of how it came to him.

Geralt grimaces, embarrassed, pulling his face away from her hand. She lets it drop back to his chest, where he holds it softly against his breastbone, needing the warmth of her close. The touch on his face was too much, but her hand near his heart feels about right. 

Seeing how uncomfortable he is, she lets the subject drop. “And then… what? Lunch?” She’s rewarded with another faint flicker of half-smile. 

“Yeah. Good food, too.” 

She gives him a soft look, squeezing his hand very gently. “Then a nap?”

Grumbling softly as his embarrassment deepens further, Geralt nods. Yen waits, and he eventually realizes she expects him to keep talking. Reluctantly, he continues. “I slept for a while. I woke up at night and he…” Geralt shrugs and heaves a quiet sigh, “came in very upset not long after.”

“You didn’t like seeing him that way, did you?” Yen asks gently, studying Geralt’s face as she questions him, privately fascinated. It feels odd to see him open up. Unexpected, but good.

“No,” he admits, fidgeting with her fingers as he cradles her hand against his chest. Groping for words, he feels like his throat is closing up on him again. 

Yennefer knows him well enough to expect this and slightly changes the subject again, hoping to keep drawing him out. “How did you like being behind a bar for real? I remember back in Tel Aviv you used to talk David into letting you back behind the counter after hours to see what he did and where he put everything… I swear I don’t know how he used to put up with you bothering him so much.” 

Geralt laughs, the expression throwing light across his drawn features. “He appreciated having someone to talk to who didn’t want to argue about the football match, Yen. I wasn’t bothering him.” 

She chuckles, shaking her head. “I find that hard to believe. You were like a little child getting to see a fire engine last time I saw you back there with him. It was very sweet,” she smiles, her eyes twinkling with a tease, “But it personally would have driven me bloody well insane. I would have thrown you out.”

“Lucky for me he wasn’t you, then,” Geralt says, nudging her gently with his elbow, causing her to smile again. She nudges him back in the ribs, pleased to see him warming up and relaxing.

“So. Real night behind the bar. I heard you even made tips, hmm?”

“I did,” he admits, his face clearing, looking younger than she’s seen him look in years. “I… it was fun, Yen. It was challenging. I don’t think I got a thought in edgewise the entire night because I had to hustle so hard.” He tips his head back against the headboard, studying the swirls in the plaster of the hotel ceiling. “I loved it.”

She relaxes against him, enjoying his happiness. “I thought you might have.” He looks down at her and smiles, and she squeezes his hand. She lets the conversation rest for a moment, letting the warmth of the exchange sink deep into both of them. It’s a rare treat to see Geralt smiling about something like this, and she wants to savor it. 

Eventually, he lifts his hand to begin playing with her curls again. She sighs comfortably and shifts against the pillows, loving the gentle touch. Their eyes drift closed, and he hums softly in contentment as the silky ringlets slide between his fingers. After a while, she cracks open an eye. 

“I’m glad it went well, mój drogi. You’ve always wanted to do that.”

“It’s stupid,” he replies, suddenly uncomfortable. “But yes. I did.”

She sighs, frustrated. “It’s not a stupid thing to enjoy, Geralt. You’re allowed to have fun, kochany. Don’t let ghosts take away your joy.” 

He grimaces, but nods, conceding the point. It’s an old argument, and he is too emotionally exhausted to fight over something he knows he probably shouldn’t even be defending. The ugly words inside of him from years of pain are always there, ready to be spoken again and again. Yennefer has never had the patience for them, though, pushing back when he spoke ill of himself or the things he loved.

She chews the inside of her lip lightly, wondering how to approach the next part of the conversation. She knows she needs to be delicate, because she doesn’t want to shut him down. Cautiously, she says, “You must have been tired by the time you were done.”

He eyes her, reluctant to be drawn into conversation about Jaskier, worried that she will say something unkind about him. She eyes him back, feeling a little guilty as she sees his worry. Sitting up, she pats his chest. “I’m going to get a refill. Would you like some?” She grabs her glass and rolls off of the bed. When she turns to look at him, he extends his empty glass to her and she takes it without further comment. 

She walks to the counter and sets the glasses down, filling them each with a generous measure of brandy. When she returns his glass to him, his face is closed, and he pulls the glass in close against his chest. Sitting on the end of the bed near his feet, she cocks her head and looks him over. He looks haggard and uncertain, wrung out by the last few weeks of his life. 

She reconsiders her approach, and ventures, “Are you worried about what I’ll say if you talk about going home with him?”

Startled, his eyes come up to meet hers, and he reluctantly nods.

Taking a sip of her brandy, she rolls it over her tongue as she considers this. “Kochany… We need to talk about this.” She holds up her hand as he goes to speak, a gentle but firm gesture. “So for once, I’ll try and hold off on telling you what’s on my mind. I just want you to tell me what’s going on.”

He huffs a quiet laugh and brings the glass to his mouth, taking a swallow. “You must really be worried if you’re willing to bite your tongue, Yen.” 

She laughs at that, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “I don’t know if worried is the right word, but yes. I think it’s very important that you feel safe to speak right now, so I am going to be very careful with the words I choose. Ok?”

He shifts uncomfortably, rubbing his shoulder against the headboard as if to scratch an itch, but when he settles, he nods. “Ok,” he says, muffled by the tumbler as he takes another sip. They sink into an uncomfortable silence together, wreathed in the scent of brandy and exhausted stress. She watches him out of the corner of her eye, noticing that his body language closes down and becomes more stiff and unreadable as the minutes tick by. It has been a long day, and they are both worn out.

As she gets to the bottom of her tumbler and tosses back the last of her brandy, she comes to a conclusion. Reaching out slowly so as not to startle him, she grabs Geralt’s ankle and gives it a gentle squeeze. “You know what? I’m hungry. I’m going to order us some dinner.” His face is shadowed by exhaustion and guilt as he looks up at her, and he mutely bobs his head once to show that he’s heard. 

After they decide what to eat and place the order, she retreats to the shower. She washes off her makeup, combs out her hair, and tries to rinse some of the stress off of her skin. When she feels as settled as she is going to get, she shuts off the shower, dries off, and gets on her silk pajamas. It’s been a truly exhausting day, and she hopes that dinner will help both of them recover. 

The dinner itself is a quiet affair. They eat together in strained but companionable silence, listening to the whine and hum of the air conditioner. Geralt has made his way through most of the bottle of brandy by the time they finish, and the food and drink seem to have mellowed his mood considerably. He even smiles as she brings out his favorite soft sleeping shirts, which she brought from their family apartment in England. They smell of her and their daughter Cirilla, of their home, and he dons one of them tenderly as they get ready for bed. 

Yen turns out one bedside light and Geralt turns out the other before they slip under the sheets and curl around one another in the dim evening light. She wraps her arms around his waist, cradling his hips against her own, and presses a kiss to his back. Heaving a deep sigh, he leans back into her, starting to relax. They lay curled together like that for some time, hearts beating together. 

“He gave me a safe place to stay, Yen.” Geralt volunteers suddenly into the twilight of the room, his deep voice quiet. She tilts her head back to listen, stroking her hand down his side to show him that she heard him. He subsides back into a stifled silence, overwhelmed, and she lets him. If he’s volunteering information like this, then she knows to give him time. More will come. 

A while later, he speaks again. “His house is nice.”

“Do you like it there?” She asks quietly, smiling as he nods. 

After another long silence he adds, “He bought it because his friends were dying.” She sits up on one elbow, curious, peeking over his shoulder at him. He avoids her eyes, but recounts the story that Jaskier had told about Fire Island, about his experience of the queer community’s devastation during the 80s, his voice rough and quiet. Sliding down behind his back, she begins to stroke his hair as he tells the story, letting it wash over her as she lays behind him. When he finishes, she squeezes his shoulder gently with her small hand. 

“That sounds terribly lonely,” she observes, her voice quiet. He shrugs, glad to be facing away from her so that he doesn’t have to see her eyes. It’s her turn now to grope for words, and it takes her a moment to pick her way forward. The story made Jaskier sound very kind, but it also underscores some of her concerns about his boundaries. She chews the inside of her lip, studying Geralt’s broad back in the darkness.

“Have you felt safe in his home?” She asks, finally. He stiffens, and she grimaces, hoping he won’t shut down. The silence stretches for a long painful moment before he replies.

“Always.” He says, with a firmness that surprises her. “And don’t ask if we’ve been safe. It’s been fine. He’s fine.” The way he bites out the words, she can tell that he’s embarrassed. She frowns, opens her mouth to speak, pauses, then tries again. 

“I’m always going to ask you if you’re being safe, Geralt. You know that.” She chides. He growls and turns away from her, flattening himself to the bed on his stomach. Shaking her head, she follows him, laying across his back to provide pressure and comfort. She shakes loose her hair, allowing it to spill down over his shoulders, and smiles when his hand comes up to tangle in her curls even as he grumbles. 

“You’ve been intimate with him. Have you been using condoms?” She presses. He shakes her gently, trying halfheartedly to dislodge her, but she doesn’t budge. After a moment, he nods. 

“Good.” She sighs, relieved and scared and sad, feeling like everything is a little out of her depth right now, a little too far out of her control. Sinking down against his back, she squeezes him close. 

“Has he ever pressured you?” She asks into the worn fabric of his t-shirt, reluctant to upset him more but determined to ascertain if he is genuinely safe. 

“No. He offered to stop.” Geralt grumps into his pillow, the answer so quick it surprises Yennefer again. She relaxes slightly. She can feel the gentle tugs as Geralt works his fingers in her hair, rubbing the damp curls and allowing them to spring back, the sensation as familiar and comforting to her in its own way as it is to him. 

“I’m glad to hear that, mój drogi,��� she says, feeling some of the tension beginning to leave her body.  Turning her head, she kisses the back of his neck. “You’re precious to me. If I have to share my husband, I want him to be treated like a prince.” She chuckles, and Geralt huffs a quiet laugh under her, relaxing minutely. 

“Did you take the time to get to know him any?” She asks softly into his skin. “Did you talk?”

“We lived together for two weeks, Yen. Yes, we talked.” Geralt replies, mildly exasperated. 

“Oh?” She presses, circling her fingers on him.

“Oh what?” Geralt grumbles, but she nudges him, not about to be deterred. He sighs and says, “He likes some of the same books I do. He plays music but he’s shy about it. Told me some great stories about the bar. Um. He asked about my childhood and I told him about candy I liked, stuff I did on base with the other kids. Told him a little about my career. Some of the crazy places I’ve been, people I’ve met. You know. We talked, it wasn’t just…” Lifting one shoulder in an uncomfortable shrug, he trails off.

“Not just sex?” Yennefer inquires. 

“Right,” Geralt replies, running his fingers through her curls again tentatively. He can feel her smile against his shirt.

Yennefer feels her body relax a little, relieved that Geralt had at least taken some time to get to know his idiot while they were diving in headfirst. She eyes the back of his head intently, her reporter’s instincts tingling. The next question she’s going to ask might just shut him down, but she suspects for once that it won’t, so she seizes her moment. 

“Do you like him?”

A ringing silence follows her words, and she can feel Geralt’s whole body go rigid under her own. His hand stops, and he drops it out of her hair and back to the bed. Sighing, she leans into him, providing as much gentle pressure as her body weight will allow. 

It’s a very personal question, which Geralt rarely handles with any kind of grace, but she wouldn’t be who she is if she didn't ask questions like this. It’s one of the things that he values most about her, but also one of the things he hates. Especially since the answer to this particular question makes him feel so very naked. Swallowing, heart beginning to hammer nervously, he clears his throat. Then he admits, with extreme slowness, “I don’t think I’ve ever liked anyone more, Yen.” 

A lopsided smile spreads across her face and she squeezes him again. “I think the way you met him is absolutely insane, mój drogi, but I also think it’s very sweet that there is someone you like that much. Do you want to keep seeing him?” She lifts her head and watches with amusement as the back of his pale neck reddens. Geralt isn’t a big blusher usually, but talking about Jaskier seems to be bringing it out in spades. Her smile widens as he nods into his pillow, the blush making its way rapidly up what she can see of his cheeks. 

“Geralt…” she says knowingly, nudging his back. 

“Okay,” he groans, years of resistance finally crumbling. There wasn’t anywhere to hide anymore, not after everything that had happened recently. “I’m gay. Are you happy now?” Even saying it aloud frightens him to his core, makes his heart hammer and his palms sweat. It feels like one of the most dangerous things that he has ever said. The feeling is awful, but also oddly freeing. 

“Oh, Geralt… yes.” Shocked, she tries to keep her voice calm. This is huge, but she doesn’t want to startle or embarrass him. “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say it aloud, mój drogi. That’s a big step. I’m very happy.” She grins as he growls into the pillow, hiding his face from her. 

“You deserve happiness, Geralt. I’m glad you’re starting to be able to talk about this.”

“I hate it.”

“I know, kochany, but it’s important.”

He snorts into the pillow, idly trying to shake her off again. She just tightens her thighs around his hips, laughing quietly, relief coursing through her in rushes. If he can stop dying on that hill, she thinks there’s at least a chance that he can make it through everything else. 

Changing the subject again, she says, “You mentioned he bought that house and re-fitted it. That takes a lot of money, especially for someone as young as you say he was at the time.” He shrugs, but she can tell from the way he turns his head that he’s listening. “He said his last name is Pankratz. Any relationship to Pankratz Enterprises?”

“Why?” Geralt asks, turning his head enough to eye her suspiciously. 

“Well, because it would explain the money,” she says. “They’re an investment firm. One of my coworkers did a story on some of the business they were doing over in Japan… Mostly electronics. Nothing exciting.” She sits up and starts knuckling up and down his back, kneading at the tense muscles and trying to reassure him that she isn’t about to start on some tirade. To be fair, this is something she frequently does when investment firms are a subject of conversation, so his wariness is well justified. Eventually, as she continues not to comment on it, he relaxes. 

“He mentioned the company in relation to his family.” Geralt admits finally. 

“Well then. You really have landed on your feet,” she laughs. “Your idiot is rich, handsome, and he seems very kind.” 

“He’s not an idiot, and he’s not mine,” Geralt complains, gathering the pillow up under his head. 

“He’s a little bit of an idiot, kochany,” she replies wryly, digging her knuckles carefully into a knot. He wheezes and grumbles but allows it, enjoying the touch. “He fucked you and then offered you a job. The ethics there are a little blurry, Geralt.” She pauses and cocks her head to the side. “Are you going to take it?” 

“Yen…” Geralt groans, rubbing his face into the pillow, surging with embarrassment. “I don’t know. Maybe? I think I want to, I just…” He heaves a sigh into his pillow. “I don’t know.”

Yen blinks slowly and then reaches up to smooth her hand across his face and hair again, her cool fingers soft. “It’s good that you waited to say yes, then.” She reassures. “It sounds like you have a little sense left after all.” Leaning down, she kisses his cheek. “It sounds like fun, but it could also be a bit much for you right now, hmm?” Geralt hunches his shoulder as her hair tickles his ear, nudging her face away from him, but she can feel him shake with a brief, silent chuckle. 

“Maybe,” he admits. The night at the bar had been one of the most exhilarating of his entire life; he’d felt safer and more alive there than he had ever felt anywhere else. But it was also such a culture shock that he was still shaken by it, still processing everything he’d seen and heard and felt. He isn’t sure yet if he can handle being so out among queer people. To be immersed in a whole community where everyone knew. Even though the idea was thrilling, some deep old fear gripped him every time he thought about committing to that level of vulnerability. 

“Well. We’ll keep it in mind as we’re figuring out how to pick up all the pieces then, okay kochany?” Yennefer says, sitting back up and resuming work on the knot near his spine. She smiles to herself at the idea of him perched behind some bar serving leather men and drag queens. He was too afraid to admit it to most people, but she knew he loved watching queer people perform and express themselves. Someday, the job might even be good for him. But right now, they’d have to take everything one thing at a time. 

He nods, hiding his face back in the pillow, and sinks into silence as she continues to knead him. Some time later he mumbles, “I really like him and I don’t know what to do, Yen.” 

Yennefer pauses and sighs, hands coming to rest on his shoulders. “Have you considered going on a real date with him, kochany? You know… get to know him properly? Maybe talk about… boundaries?” She tickles the back of his neck lightly, causing him to growl and swat lightly at her hand. Laughing, she rests her hand on his back again. He shifts under her, subtly moving back and forth as he tries to sort his way through feelings he’s never really had to deal with before. She drapes comfortably on him, resting, feeling the shifts and tics as he processes. 

“No,” he admits finally. “I hadn’t.” 

Yennefer sighs, feeling sorrow twist her heart. “Did it even occur to you?” She asks gently.

“No,” Geralt mumbles, feeling the raw ache in his own heart. He was afraid to be seen in public with a love interest, much less go on a date. Until very recently, there had been too much hanging on the risk of getting caught. He could have lost his job, his reputation, even potentially complicated his right to custody of his daughter should something happen to Yennefer. 

It didn’t change how much he wanted to do it though. To be able to walk out with someone just like any other couple, without the fear of one’s whole life collapsing around their ears. Instead… The muscles in his back give a little shiver as he remembers some of the things he’s seen. Risking death to hold a lover’s hand in public had always seemed like a bad deal to him. Until now, he’d never put himself in a position where he’d have to worry about it.

Yennefer lifts her head and watches what she can see of his face, feeling the longing and fear radiating off of him. Geralt didn’t seem to think he had a right to be happy, and he’d consistently avoided situations where he might have too much joy. It was heartbreaking to watch, and she thought she might burst if she saw him do it to himself even one more time. 

She worries at her lip for a moment, then reaches out and uses her thumb to rub gentle circles into Geralt’s jaw, loosening some of the deeply held tension there. After a while, he turns his head, giving her access to the other side. Bit by bit, she can feel him relaxing. She mulls for a while longer, then says, “It’s all right to want him, you know.” 

Geralt turns his face back into the pillow, the tips of his ears burning. She withdraws her hand, but remains on his back, a gentle weight on him that his touch-hungry body anchors to and finds solace in. “I know,” he admits after a long moment. He’d been on a long journey to even get to the point of being able to say that aloud, but his family had finally gotten him there.

Homosexuality had been decriminalized in England while Yennefer had been in college, and she’d grown up in a culture that by and large had room for homosexuality. By the time that she and Geralt had actually met she’d long been accustomed to the idea that it was all right to be queer. She’d been the first person to really talk with him about it, to try and convince him that there wasn’t anything wrong with him. When Yennefer had clued Coën in, much to Geralt’s surprise he had joined in supporting him without batting an eyelash. Coën had grown up with a queer cousin, and they had remained close as adults. To him, Geralt’s sexuality had been normal, unremarkable even. 

Over the years, they had finally gotten him to concede that he at least had the theoretical right to want who he wanted. It hadn’t been easy for him, though, and this was whole new territory. Wanting Jaskier was one thing, but seeing him romantically was another entirely. That was before even taking into account that his daughter was currently living in another country. 

Yennefer can practically hear the gears in Geralt’s brain grinding. She snorts softly, biting his shoulder. “Stop,” she says dryly, chuckling as he gives a little jump. Then she grins lopsidedly at him. “Do you want to date him, kochany?” She feels him stiffen again, but this time she just watches him fondly as he works his way through it. Sure enough, a long moment later, he nods. 

Her heart does a twisting swoop, and she smoothes her hands over his shoulders. She feels deeply torn as she considers the situation in front of her in all its complicated glory. Geralt, freshly found after being discharged from the Army, frighteningly depressed and possibly in love. Her daughter and best friend overseas in England waiting for news, waiting for their family to come back together. And herself, caught in the middle of it, trying to make sense of what to do next. 

On the one hand, it felt like the sensible thing to do was go back to England. Forget about the whole affair here, get Geralt grounded where she had social resources to get him stabilized, bring him back to everything that was familiar to her. Not to mention, being gay was legal in England, at least in private. 

On the other hand, she had never seen Geralt so desperately in need of happiness, of reasons to stay alive. Everything he’d built his life around had shattered out from beneath him all in one go. The military hadn’t just been his adult life; the man who had raised him had started training him to be an Army officer as soon as he could walk. There had never been any other options for him. She couldn’t imagine the pain he was in. Who was she to take away the little spot of hope that had come from his discharge? 

And just like that, she knew the answer; no one. She was no one to take away his bright spot when he needed it most. As attached as she was to London, even she had never lived there for any length of time. Her career demanded she and Coën were on the move constantly, and her homeschooled daughter was well adapted to the routine of packing up and moving to new places. It was worth at least considering the possibility of giving Geralt the chance to try reaching for joy, for once.

“Well then…” she sighs, leaning into him softly. “I used enough miles to rent the room for a month. I thought I might just get them refunded, but…” she hesitates, worrying, then plunges on. “If you want to take a little more time to get things figured out here, I would be willing to consider staying.” Beneath her, Geralt goes very quiet and still, wary but interested in what she has to say next. 

“It sounds like you made a special connection with that lover of yours, kochany. That doesn’t happen every day. If you wanted to explore seeing him, I would support you.” She runs her fingers delicately down the back of his neck, knowing how best to soothe him. Feeling the wariness singing in his muscles, she caresses him softly.

Geralt stares at the headboard as his mind churns, feeling just as torn as Yennefer does. As bad as things had gotten before he left home, he knew he should return to Ciri and Coën. Even the idea of lingering here to pursue a potential love interest feels dangerously selfish. Especially given how much shame it might bring on his innocent daughter, who hadn’t asked to be dragged into his mess of a life. Unlike Coën and Yennefer, she couldn’t walk away. What gave him the right to pursue joy at her expense?

“What about Ciri?” he asks, eventually. “I can’t just make decisions like that for her.”

“Decisions like what? Taking a little time for yourself after a devastating life change? Hush. You’ve never needed to care for yourself more than you do now. Let me worry about Ciri for a moment.” Yennefer chides. “When it comes to making important decisions like moving her, we make those choices together. As a family. But this?” Smiling sadly, she smoothes her hand across the back of his head. “This isn’t that. You’re a grown man, you get to have a lover. That’s a choice you are making for you, not her.” She leans down and places a kiss on the back of his head. “And you know what? I support you. I’ve got your back. You really do have time, Geralt. I had already planned to be gone at least until the end of July, just in case I needed the time to track you.” She snorts fondly and tweaks his ear. “Which I’m still angry you made me do, by the way.” 

The awful, tense mood he is in cracks slightly and he lets out a painful little chuckle. He feels weirdly light. “Sorry, neshama shelì,” he rumbles. 

“Good,” she sighs, exasperated. “You should be.” She sits up, giving him some room to breathe and think. “This is one of those situations where you really do get to choose, kochany. Think about it. I’m right here.”

Beneath her, Geralt nods. Slowly, he begins to mull his options. His life feels like it’s been exploded, and the world lay wide open in front of him. Granted, most of it would be full of closed doors; a gay veteran, nearly a retiree, with what amounted to a felony conviction on his record… that kind of man wasn’t going to get far. But it was still far more choice than he’d ever had in his life. There was no one left to impress except his family. No more sword hanging over his head; it had already fallen. 

And Jaskier… as stupid and complicated as it was likely to be if he tried to date him, he couldn’t shake the aching desire to be back in his arms again. He’d never had the pleasure of sweet, slow mornings in a lover’s embrace before. Quiet hours talking, unafraid of interruption or judgment. The peace of knowing a lover was coming home to him, to wrap him in safety and peace. 

“I know it probably won’t work out…” Geralt hedges, “But what if it does? What then? You all have lives in England.”

“Well… if it does go well, then we’ll figure out what then,” Yennefer replies firmly. The whole mess is giving her a bad case of the nerves, but she meant it when she said she would back him up. “Even if it does, we can figure something out. There are two major metropolitan areas nearby that have branches I can work out of. Besides, you know how many times we’ve moved. This wouldn’t be too different.” 

She pauses, chewing the inside of her lip as she watches his gears begin to grind again. “Normally,” she adds, her voice softer, “I would be the first to insist you go home and see your daughter right away.” He nods, evidently relieved she’s brought it up. “But,” she continues. “Nothing about this is normal, Geralt. Not a single, bloody thing. The playbook’s been torn up. There’s no right answers here. And if there’s anything good that can come out of you being discharged like this? Then I think you should take it in both hands, kochany. This isn’t some situation where you would be abandoning us.”

Oddly, a rush of relief accompanies those last words. On some level, that had been precisely what he was worrying about but hadn’t been able to put voice to. Every time he’d left his daughter, he’d felt like he was abandoning her, over and over again. He couldn’t do that to her in yet another way, especially not over something as frivolous and shameful as a lover. He’d been selfish long enough. But Yennefer didn’t ever encourage him if there wasn’t hope. It wasn’t in her nature. “Are you sure?” he asks, his voice husky and quiet. 

Seeing that he needs the reassurance, Yennefer bites down on a surge of impatience and nods. Normally she doesn’t have this much bandwidth for when Geralt dithers, but tonight is special, and she’s sure as hell going to make some allowances for him. He has a right to be frightened and unsure about this. 

“I’m sure,” She says firmly. “You’re stuck with us, Geralt. Wherever you go now, we’ll follow you. You won’t be able to get rid of us anymore,” she very gently teases, sliding down to hug him tightly again as she sees the ghost of a smile twitch his lips. 

“Promise?” he murmurs, turning his head to look over his shoulder at her. His heart warms as he sees her violet eyes twinkling over his shoulder. 

“Promise,” she assures him. If she had it her way, he wasn’t ever getting out of their line of sight again. 

He shifts under her, feeling a rush of hope wash over his confused, stressed out body. Flicking his fingers nervously, he says, “Okay.” Then, “Is it really ok to try?”

Yennefer huffs quietly. “If I have to tell you one more time, I’m going to write it on your forehead,” she grumbles affectionately. “You really want to do this?” Beneath her, there is another long, stiff hesitation. Then, a nod. 

“Good. Then tomorrow, I’m going to have one more talk with him. A proper one, this time. Just like we agreed.”

“Yen… you’re meddling,” Geralt grumps, making a very idle attempt to toss her off. She just tightens her thighs and stays put. 

“I am,” she agrees with a little smile. “You promised I could interview any new boyfriends before we even got married. I know it was a long time ago, kochany, but I haven’t forgotten.” 

“Worst thing I’ve ever agreed to,” Geralt grunts irritably, but there’s no heat in his tone. Yennefer smirks. 

“Mój drogi, I’m here to back you up, but I still get to be myself,” she reminds him dryly. “You met a man at long last, now I get to have my fun.” 

“Didn’t you harass him enough at the hospital?”

“Mmm, no. I don’t think I will ever have harassed him enough,” she teases, eliciting another groan from the general region of the pillow. “Seriously though, Geralt, I have a few more questions to ask him. And I have some concerns about his boundaries that I want to be clearer about before I get out of your way… It’s not normal to bring a man into your house and bed so quickly, love. What if there’s something really wrong?”

“He’s fine.” Geralt snaps, becoming irritated. “Will you lay off?”

“Would you?”

He hesitates, then subsides with a bubbling grumble, conceding the point. If the circumstances had been flipped and he’d had to hunt Yennefer down, he knows he would have been even worse to the person he found her with. 

“Fine.” He groans, pressing his face into his forearms. “So tomorrow you’re going to go harass him some more?”

“Well…” She sighs, relenting. “Only a little. Mostly I want to have a real adult talk with him… if he really wants to date you, then I need to know who he is first. Besides, he and I need to have an understanding. He needs to know I’m not going to just go away if he starts dating you.”

Geralt frowns. He didn’t like it, but he didn’t have to. When she had agreed to marry him, they had ended up having long talks about what would happen if one of them fell in love someday. If she was going to marry him, to share rearing a child with him, then they had both agreed she had the right to get to know who he was bringing into their lives and vice versa. “Okay, Yen. Fuck. Fine, you can harass him a little more. But then it stops. I need some fucking peace and I don’t want you two to be having pissing matches around me all the time.” He growls irritably. 

Yennefer laughs, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “You’re taking all my fun away,” she pouts, then dodges as he swats ineffectually at her, laughing. “Fine. Fine, I’ll tone it down after tomorrow.” She nudges him. “Unless he tells me something really concerning, I’ll support you, ok?”

Geralt hesitates, then nods. He reaches up, groping until he finds her hand, then he squeezes it gently. She squeezes back, falling silent. They sit there in the dark, breathing quietly, the muscles in Geralt’s back occasionally jumping as he relaxes by inches. A long while later, his low voice breaks the quiet. 

“I want him, Yen. It’s… stupid… I know it is. But…”

“Don’t be ashamed for wanting a beautiful man, Geralt. You’re allowed,” she reassures him, squeezing him tightly. “Don’t let ghosts take away your joy. I certainly won’t.” 

He swallows hard and nods. When she was pregnant with Cirilla, Geralt had been a wreck. Vesemir, his adopted father, had been dead for some years at that point. Despite that, Geralt had been plagued by fears of what Vesemir would think of the way Geralt’s daughter had come into the world, much less what he’d think of the way Geralt had acquired his wife. Coën had seen his terrible fear, tried to help him work through it, and eventually had gotten sick of it. ‘You can’t let ghosts take away your joy, man.’ He had told Geralt, exasperated. For some reason, the words had stuck with him. Had stuck with all of them. It was certainly a bad habit that Geralt had. Over time, it had become a familiar turn of phrase in their little family when he was struggling. 

“Well then,” she says, after a moment. “Sounds like that’s decided. Give me his address and I’ll go see him again tomorrow. If he’s going to be dating you, he gets to run the gauntlet first,” she chuckles. “He’s lucky Coën isn’t here yet or he’d be in double trouble.”

“Oh god, Yen, please tell him to lay off of Jaskier, this is bad enough as it is…”

“Never gonna happen, kochany,” she laughs. “If you really get settled here, we’re all going to follow you. Jaskier’s never going to get a moment’s peace.” 

“At least I won’t be alone with you crazy fuckers anymore,” Geralt grumbles, gently trying to dislodge Yennefer one last time, without any serious effort. 

“That’s right, love. You know what else I’m going to do tomorrow?” She hums pleasantly, leaning into him again. 

“What.” He inquires flatly, worn out and ready to be done with talking.

“I’m going to save you a trip to the store for new clothes, kochany. I know how badly you hate shopping. I will get you some nice civilian outfits…” She kisses the back of his neck. “And some clothes for dates.”

He hesitates for a long moment, finding that his throat has suddenly closed on him. The way Yennefer is doting on him right now isn’t unheard of, but he usually avoids putting himself in positions where she has the opportunity to do so. He doesn’t feel like he deserves any of this. Not even a little bit. But the love is reaching him nevertheless, and as painful as it is, he finds to his embarrassment that he is also grateful for it. 

“Sound good?” she prompts gently. It has been a long day, and he’s spoken to her more, on more emotional things, than he has in years. When he nods, she kisses the back of his head again. “Ok, mój drogi. Let’s get some rest.”

Slipping off of his back, she gathers her hair back into a braid for the night. Then she curls along his side. He rolls, turning and gathering her underneath his chin, nuzzling softly against the top of her head. She hums contentedly, tangling her fingers in his soft shirt. It has been a long time since she’s had him in her bed, and the peace of it makes her feel heavy and safe. They drift off to sleep together curled in a tight knot, taking solace from being together again at last.

[asgardian--angels]

My Syracuse Pollinator Garden - Year 2

Hi everyone! I’m sure a lot of us are facing stress during these troubling times and so as I’ve mentioned before, gardening is an excellent way to take your mind off of current events, de-stress, reflect and connect yourself with nature while remaining in the safety of your own property. Last year, when I moved into my Syracuse apartment (technically a room in my landlady’s house; I’m here for grad school), I was granted permission to start a pollinator garden. I am a pollinator ecologist slash conservation biologist so I bring some expertise with me here. I say this because I always encourage anyone who sees this and is curious about doing it yourself to come and ask me questions! I highly recommend you check out last year’s post which thoroughly goes over 1) the principles of gardening for pollinators and wildlife, 2) resources to help you learn more and get started, 3) what plants I have in this garden, and 4) how it progressed over the course of the summer in 2019. Unfortunately, because of fieldwork and coursework I had trouble keeping up with it regularly so I think I missed a fall installment. I intend to be more thorough this year. Quite a lot has already happened, and I will review it the best I can and from this point forward, attempt monthly updates. 

I also want to mention that I’ve learned a lot since last year too - better ways of doing things, since I’m not a landscaper. Such as, you don’t have to break your back digging up turfgrass for hours on end. Instead, you can smother it for three months with old newspapers and get rid of it that way. It’s also important to note that the way I have my garden laid out is not ideal for a pollinator garden, it doesn’t follow every recommended principle. That’s because I had limitations and conditions under which I had to work, given that it’s not my own land and I had limited funds. But any effort is better than nothing, so don’t think that just because it’s not perfect, it’s not worth it. It is! You can always build, change, or improve upon it later. 

In the second year of a new garden with perennials, you can expect a lot more vibrant growth - the plants have established root systems and can put more energy into above-ground growth and flower production. Thus, I was thrilled to see my plants growing more vigorously than before! 

MARCH

Here in central New York, March was still freezing, wet, and snowy. But, by the end of the month, the garden was starting to show signs of life, sending up the first shoots of hardy native perennials.

In particular, the Jacob’s ladder already had quite a lot of new growth, with the nodding onion and yarrow close behind. In my herb garden, the chives had erupted with force from the leaf litter. The yard was still messy, with dead stems and fallen leaves blanketing much of the ground. My landlady insists I clean these, but if it’s your choice, leave the leaf litter around where you can. It’s important habitat for invertebrates and returns nutrients to the soil as it decomposes. 

APRIL

The world was beginning to wake up. I had cold-stratified hundreds of seeds of native plants I’d collected last fall, and it was time to take them out of the fridge. The wild cucumber (Echinocystis lobata) had already sprouted, so I planted them in pots. The rest, I put in a seed starter tray. 

Next, within the first few days of April, male hornfaced bees (Osmia cornifrons) started emerging in multitudes from my bee hotel. These are a non-native, but naturalized, species of mason bee common in suburbia and they are the most frequent users of bee hotels in the northeast. I watched as they dug through the mud cap on their natal nests, peeking out with fresh eyes at the sun for the very first time. I felt like a proud parent. (You can see more pictures here)

At the same time, male Dunning’s mining bees (Andrena dunningi) were patrolling the new nest sites of females, dug in the soil between the stones laid down near the front door.

There wasn’t much for these bees to forage on yet, mainly the wild violets that grow each year on the lawn and my landlady’s invasive vinca. But many more of my perennials had started to come up, and I decided it was time to cut the dead stems. 

It is best to cut dead stems back in April or so if you’re in a northern clime; the purpose of this is to offer nesting places for stem-nesting bees, which will start flying in April and May. Don’t cut them to the ground, give them several inches. Leaving stems through the winter also allows birds to forage on the seedheads.

Towards the end of April, despite several more snowstorms, the barren strawberry began to bloom.

I also saw the emergence of the female hornfaced bees, with males pursuing close behind. It is advised that you discard a bee hotel after the bees have emerged, or else they will try to nest in it again, which can lead to high mortality rates, as an old structure harbors parasites and is generally dirty. 

MAY 

May was a month of excitement. Given that I have been at home almost every day instead of being on campus, I was able to closely monitor the progress of the garden, apart from a week spent at home for my birthday. The dandelions dotted the yard, attracting gynes of common eastern bumblebees (Bombus impatiens) and the first honeybees (not native, need I remind you).

Alongside the dandelions was ground-ivy, which sent up stalks of purple flowers also used by the bumblebees. Almost all my plants had sprouted at this point.

My wild cucumber, which is a vine, had grown so rapidly that I couldn’t give it support fast enough, and eventually it decided to wind itself around my drapes. I brought one home as a gift for the parents, and placed the other two outside and snaked them around the front banister. However, despite my best efforts, only two other seeds from the hundreds I cold-stratified sprouted. A disappointment for sure; I was hoping to have swamp milkweed in the yard. But, there’s a chance for the wild hibiscus! Alas, with new growth comes deer, traipsing through the yard each night intent on nibbling my natives. They hit the columbine heavy this year as they did last year, and that stunted its growth and prevented it from flowering on time. I managed to protect it by putting a recycling bin over it each night. From the 7th to the 17th, I went home and visited a local native nursery.

There, I picked up a new plant for the garden - scarlet bee balm, Monarda didyma. I already have bee balm (M. fistulosa), but this species blooms red and is attractive to hummingbirds. 

When I got back to Syracuse, I was astounded to find how quickly everything had shot up. 

Among new blooms were the Jacob’s Ladder, woodland stonecrop, and finally, the wild columbine. The chives and thyme began to flower as well.

The milkweeds were one of the last to come up, being late to break dormancy. But once they did, they grew like lightning, gaining a foot in a week. 

I planted my row of annuals (cosmos and sunflowers) along the walkway, and added beans to my herb garden. The dill and basil sprouted and once they get a bit bigger I’ll transplant them outside. 

Then, in late May, I visited my advisor’s farm, and he gave me two new plants for the garden, from his own land - Golden Alexanders (Zizia aurea), which is a lovely yellow-flowered member of the carrot family which blooms in spring, and the classic purple coneflower (Echinacea purpurea). They transplanted well.

Honestly, everything is doing better than I could have hoped. What were ungainly spaces between the plants last year are starting to fill in as they grow more vigorously - the single-stalked milkweed I put in last May is now 17 stalks, and I see seedlings of the biennial brown-eyed susans coming up all around it in a three foot radius. Even the purple prairie clover which was eaten to the ground by rabbits last summer has miraculously returned. The only thing I am still waiting on is the bottlebrush grass, which remains dormant. It’s a warm-season grass, so I hope as we get sustained high temperatures in June, it will come back! But its seedlings too are popping up all around the beds. 

And this sums up spring! It has become cold again for the week, but that won’t halt the growth once it’s started. The New England aster is almost half as tall as me, and my black raspberry has flowered and hopefully will produce a small handful for me to enjoy! 

Check back in late June for another update on the garden!

[ericsonclan]

Meat-tivity

Summary: Marlon and Mitch get a brilliant idea.

Word Count: 1387

Read on A03:

Clementine walked into the breakroom to find Marlon and Mitch tittering and chuckling as they both crouched over Marlon’s phone at the table. Raising an eyebrow, Clementine made her way over to them, trying to get a look at what was on the phone from behind.

Marlon was the first to notice her. “Oh, hey Clem. Just got in?”

“Yep. What are you guys giggling about?”

Mitch snorted. “We were laughing at this whack ass list of Christmas nativities Marlon found. People do the weirdest things for Christmas,”

“Oh yeah? Like what?” Clementine leaned forward to see the photos. There certainly were a lot of them. Some of the nativities were kitschy like a clay owl nativity or a balloon animal one while others were geeky like a Star Wars nativity featuring only R2Ds and another comprised of all the Justice league superheroes.

“Bet Aasim has the R2D2 one at his place,” Mitch commented with a smirk.

Marlon chuckled. “Wonder what Ruby will think when she sees that,”

Clementine smiled at the pair’s banter as they continued to scroll through the nativity pictures. The nativities didn’t seem that crazy to her, but she was glad that these two were having a good time with them.

“Now that one’s cute,” Marlon commented as they scrolled past a picture of an all dog nativity.

“Eh, this one is more my speed,” Mitch pointed to a nativity featuring various kinds of alcohol as the figures. Suddenly Mitch stopped scrolling through the list on Marlon’s phone. “Holy shit, this is the best one of all!” He held it up so both Marlon and Clementine could see it clearly. The photo showed a casserole dish on top of which was all the standard pieces of the nativity: barn, shepherds, baby Jesus, but every piece was composed entirely of meat. “It’s a meat-tivity!” Mitch exclaimed with glee.

“Dude, that’s awesome!” Marlon chuckled before taking a screenshot of the nativity. “Gotta show that to Sophie later. It’ll crack her up,”

“You don’t think…” Mitch began, slowly eyeing Marlon then looking up at Clementine.

Clementine raised an eyebrow. “Think what?”

“Should we maybe… make a meat-tivity of our own?” Mitch’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper.

“Hell yeah!” Marlon raised his hand in the air for a high five which Mitch immediately returned. “Let’s do it!”

“You guys have fun with that. I’ve got work to do,” Clementine declared as she walked out of the break room. Both guys were still discussing the meat-tivity as she left. It was good to see them getting into the Christmas spirit, that is, if a project like this counted.

“Alright guys, the moment has arrived!” Mitch announced as everyone gathered round the table in the break room. Louis had allowed the morning meeting to be interrupted when Mitch and Marlon declared they had something special to show the whole crew. Marlon stood behind Mitch, proudly holding a tinfoil casserole dish covered by a dishcloth. Placing it in the center of the table, he began a drumroll. “I present to you the MEAT-TIVITY!!” Mitch bellowed “1…2…3!”

The dishcloth was pulled back to reveal the most bizarre nativity any of them had ever seen. The base of the casserole dish was a meatloaf, forming the foundation upon which the nativity would be built. Slabs of meatloaf had also been cut out of the corners to be used as building blocks for the stable in which the nativity took place. The stable ceiling however was made of bacon, draped over a tinfoil skeleton and baked to crispness.

All the figures from the shepherds to the wise men to Mary, Joseph and baby Jesus were made from miniature sausages. Their clothes appeared to be a mix of bologna and more bacon while their arms were made from toothpicks. Peppercorns formed the eyes of all the cast and the three wise men all had teeny tinfoil crowns. Some of the animals had been made out of sausages as well, though these ones seemed to be stuck together on burnt pretzel bits.

“Well, what does everyone think?” Mitch asked with a cheeky grin.

“What’s that?” Violet pointed to a vague brown blob resting against the side of the stable.

“That’s a camel,” Marlon replied. “It’s made out of hamburger,”

“It looks like manure,”

“It sort of… melted after we baked it,”

Ruby looked truly pissed. Her arms were crossed and her eyes narrowed as she stared down both boys. “Well I for one find the whole thing offensive. It’s sacrilegious!”

“More like sacri-licious,” Mitch quipped, popping one of the wise men in his mouth.

Louis stepped forward to deescalate the situation. “Well you two, as much as we love your enthusiasm and creative spirit, we can’t have you keep your, um, ‘meat-tivity’ here at work. It could be seen as funny, but it also could understandably offend people,”

Marlon’s eyes were sad as he looked down at his meat-tivity then back at Ruby. “Sorry, Ruby. We didn’t mean anything by it. It was just a joke,”

Ruby’s eyes softened. “I know you didn’t mean anything by it, Sug, but it just don’t sit right with me to see baby Jesus wrapped in bacon and lying on a meatball manger,”

“It is a bit much,” Brody agreed quietly.

“I think it’s awesome!” Willy declared, smiling over at his big brother who’d let him stay for the big reveal.

“Yeah!” AJ agreed, high-fiving Willy. “It’s the best nativity ever!”

“Clearly opinions are split. That’s why it has to go. Sorry, guys,” Louis said with a shrug.

“Well what are we supposed to do with this?” Mitch asked with an exasperated huff. “I don’t want this thing stinking up my fridge at home!”

“You could throw it out…?” Louis suggested.

“But we put so much work into it!” Marlon protested. ‘It’d be a shame to just throw it all away!”

“You could eat it,” Clementine suggested. “It is made out of meat after all,”

That piqued the guys’ interest. Marlon and Mitch shared a long look before both nodding. Sitting down on opposite sides of the table, they dug in, shoving their hands into the meatloaf and pulling out large chunks.

“Good Lord, use some cutlery!” Ruby protested. “This is a restaurant for goodness’ sake!”

“This is how real men eat!” Mitch shot back, his mouth full of meatloaf. “Anyone who wants to join in, go right ahead!”

They didn’t get very many takers. Most people headed out after Louis gave a few quick announcements. A few lingered to watch the carnage while the adventurous few tried a couple bites themselves. Willy and A.J. were the first volunteers and the most invested in eating some of the mysterious meat-tivity. Clementine watched her little brother in amusement as he dug in with his bare hands and participated in the manly destruction of the meat-tivity. She was glad this had taken place on a Saturday so A.J. could join in the fun. Pulling out her phone, she snuck a few pictures of the meat-tivity being devoured.

Marlon paused and smiled for a photo as he saw it was being taken. His face was covered in bacon grease and bits of meatloaf littered his chin. “Can you send me that photo, Clem? I got some shots of the meat-tivity in its different stages and the finished product. That picture will round out the set,”

“Sure, Marlon,” Clementine glanced over to see Louis hesitantly nibbling on one of the sheep. She captured the moment and grinned as her boyfriend self-consciously blushed at being caught in the act.

“It’s not half bad,” he murmured, biting into the miniature sausage torso.

“If you say so. I think I’ll stick to photography,”

They got about two thirds of the way through the meat-tivity before all the participants were too full to continue and the rest of the creation was inevitably thrown into the trash. As Clementine scrolled through the pictures of the impromptu feast, she felt a happy glow within herself. Had meat-tivity actually kickstarted the Christmas spirit within her? She supposed crazier things had happened. Tucking her phone away, Clementine headed toward the front of the house to start her shift. In the end, the meat-tivity had indeed brought several of them joy; it truly was a Christmas miracle.

[sexcoffeeandkellynickelsfics]

A Birthday Suprise//An Izzy Stradlin Fanfic

Happy Bornday @slashscowboyboots I hope you like your lovely Izzy birthday surprise! 💖💖💖(it’s technically your birthday in my time zone so.....)

“Izzy can you please tell me where we’re going?” Karen looked over at her boyfriend in the drivers seat and sweetly fluttered her eyelashes at him and pouted.

“That would be telling and giving away the whole of your birthday surprise” he smirked trying to keep his focus on the road.

A while later they pulled into the lot at the airport.

Karen quirked her eyebrow at him.

“The airport?”

“Yes......” Izzy drawled.

Something then clicked in Karen and she started to panic.

“What about Violet” she panicked.

“Don’t worry I left a key with Duff and Amy so they could check in on her between their shifts at the bar”

Karen breathed out.

“Oh, oh that’s okay then”

Violet was Karen and Izzy’s 7 week old pup they’d found her through an AD in the paper and had fallen in love straight away and went to pick her up the very same day.

She starting panicking again.

“‘My passport I don’t have it!” She gasped.

“Nor do I have my suitcase!”

“Ah my love it’s a good job I do” he told her patting the top pocket of his jean jacket and smirked.

“And you’ve got a fully packed suitcase in the truck”

“Oh ok, that’s ok then” she smiled gently at him.

“Don’t worry my sweetheart I’ve got everything sorted” he leant over and placed a soft kiss on her lips.

They’d made it through the airport, on to the plane and settled in their seats all without Karen’s surprise of where they were going being ruined.

Several hours later their flight had landed and Izzy ushered her out the airport, stopping and blindfolding Karen he gently took her hand guiding her into their transfer vehicle. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach, he hoped she liked it he’d been planning the trip for months. He always did everything he could to make her birthdays magical. The vehicle they were in suddenly came to a stop. “Are we here?” She asked him.

“Yes love” placing a gently kiss to the corner of her mouth.

He hopped out and ran around to the passenger side opening the door and guiding her out so she had the perfect view when he removed her blindfold.

“Stay here” he told her.

He quickly unloaded the suitcases and payed the driver and made his way to stand next to Karen’s side.

“Are you ready?” He asked her.

“Ready” she nodded.

He untied to the blindfold and watched as his girlfriend’s eyes adjusted to their new surroundings.

She cupped a hand over her mouth and gasped.

“Izzy it’s beautiful”

“It is? You really like it?” He asked her grabbing hold of hand his nerves melting away.

“I do, it’s gorgeous” she smiled tears welling in the corner of her eyes as she looked out over the sparkling water of the sea and golden sands.

“Shall we have a look inside?” He asked her grabbing her had so she’d follow.

Inside where they we staying was just as beautiful as the island outside.

It was beautifully rustic, wooden furniture hand carved with beautiful native patterns, oversized drapes lazily blowing in the hazy sea air, stunning ornate statues and detailed painting decorating the rooms.

Izzy took Karen’s hand again and pulled her toward the table in the middle of the room adorned with the most beautiful vase of tropical flowers, balloons and ice bucket of champagne with two flutes.

“Oh Izzy it’s perfect” she said pulling him in for a tight hug.

“It’s not much but I hope you like it” he asked her.

“Not much, Izzy this is more than enough” she looked up at him.

He reached over her and pulled a flower from the vase snapping the stem slightly and tucking into her blonde hair.

“A beautiful flower for the most beautiful girl on this earth” he whispered.

“Thank you” she looked up at him again tears welling in her eyes.

“For what?” He asked her the both of them gently swaying.

“All this, you didn’t have to”

“But I did, you deserve all of this, you deserve all the world” he told her lovingly.

He pulled away from her and picked up the bottle from the ice bucket.

“Drink?” he asked.

“Please” she nodded.

“I hope I don’t take a light out with the cork” he laughed as he fiddled trying to pop it.

Karen giggled.

She loved this Izzy, no worries, no cares he was relaxed and happy. He was away from the stress of work, the band and the general stresses of life.

She was snapped back from her thoughts as Izzy popped the cork successfully not ruining anything around him with.

He poured the champagne into the two glasses sat on the table and handed one to Karen.

“Happy Birthday my love” he said carefully chinking his glass against hers.

“Thank you” she smiled.

The pair continued to explore their accommodation this time champagne flutes in hand. Karen was in awe of everything, even down to the small details that made the bigger picture. They’d entered the master bedroom and she had momentarily been rendered speechless by how gorgeous it was. The bed was four poster, gold drapes and ties, plush bedspread coloured the same as the drapes and a mountain of big fluffy pillows. Sat on the end of the bed were their towels folded as two swans heads together to create a heart shape. She placed her flute down on the bedside table and stood at the edge of the bed and began to run her fingers across the soft material when she felt Izzy’s arms wrap around her waist and pull her down into the bed, the pair of them sinking into the plushy covers.

“Don’t” she breathed.

“Why?” He asked.

“Cause I’ll fall asleep and there’s still stuff to see” she giggled.

“Fine fine” he laughed.

“How about we freshen up and go for food and drinks?” He asked her.

“Sounds good to me” she nodded watching him unbutton his shirt leaving it hanging loosely on his shoulders and begin to rummage through the suitcases grabbing both their wash bags and heading into the bathroom.

“Hey babe come ‘ere” Izzy shouted.

“Okay” Karen shouted back reluctantly moving up off the bed.

“Look Look the bath has jets like a jacuzzi” Izzy said excited gesturing toward the bath of running water.

“I vote we stay here, sit in there for a while, order room service and watch the sunset from the love seat what do you think?” Izzy asked Karen.

“I think that sounds perfect” she said pulling him in for a kiss.

A while later fresh from the bath and stomachs filled with food they sat looking up at the stars hand in hand having watched the sunset. The smell of ocean flooding their senses and the gentle sea breeze filling the space around them.

“I didn’t bring much in the way of presents for tomorrow because of travelling with them” Izzy spoke suddenly.

“You don’t need to do anything else, this is enough, this is way more than enough” Karen reassured him.

“I did bring you something though” he said rummaging through the pocket of his bathrobe that matched Karen’s.

“I told you didn’t need to” Karen tutted at him.

“I did” he said presenting her with a white and gold gift wrapped box.

She gently tugged at the ribbon on the box to undo it and pulled the lid off, inside lay the most beautiful pair of gold hoop earrings with emerald detailing shaped like leaves.

“I love them!” Karen told him pulling him in by the shoulders to gently kiss him.

“I saw you always looking at them in that store back home but you didn’t ever buy them so I thought I would” he smiled.

“Thank you, I love you” she smiled kissing him again.

“I love you too, I’ll love you always even when we’re just dust and bones in the ground” he told her kissing her sweetly again.

They both sank further back under the throw into the wicker loveseat, holding each other lovingly gazing at the moon and the stars the only sound being the waves crashing out at sea and the breeze gently rustling the leaves in the trees.

[gravelgirty]

Adventures in Lockdown

You have writer’s block and artist’s clog. Cat videos have dulled and you’re tired of beating your own score on Candy Crush on an hourly basis. You could clean house, pretend to clean house, or find a new hobby.

Driving home from your blessedly isolated day job, you realize you never see anyone in the graveyards. Hey, that could be a place to take the kids! We used to love going in there, collecting names, cleaning stones of moss and dreck, picking up trash, and getting bombed by cranky birds.

You find a great looking book on rubbings, because these are YOUR kids and god forbid they trust the word of their mother over a book.

Purchase finalized online...oh. There are book recommendations.

At this point, you know this story can go in only two directions:

1: Do not pass go, do not look at the book ads.

2: The Pod People controlling Mom’s brain remind her to walk away and spend that money on survival gear.

The outcome of both is the same:

NEVER LISTEN TO THE POD PEOPLE.

My life has been a roller coaster of the following events:

Order a metric ton of books to read, which supports local business, anyone but Amazon, and Amazon-when-no-other-options-exist. On the first dive in, I paid for a Biblio.com membership which writes off 10% of my purchases, and gives the option to round up the nearest $ for the support of Shakespeare’s Globe.

 Pat self on back for combining altruism with consumerism.

Spend the next 6 weeks anxiously waiting for any of them to show up on doorstep. 

Amazon is apologetic, FedEx isn’t answering my calls, and a poor schlepp in the UK cracked under the strain and yelled at me when I mistakenly pushed the tracking number query button to his small but lovely bookstore dedicated to the history of the macabre. (All ended to the good, but that poor, poor man...)

Compulsively check tracking IDs. My generation grew up clicking off pop up ads. I am awesome at this.

Feel the bitter sting as someone yet again buys a book out from under me (because there are only so many titles regarding ‘The History of New England Gravestone Carvings’ in the world). I decide that went all my books get here, I will read them all, become an expert on the subject, and write my own book.

What the hell, world?? Books--and all reference materials--regarding the culture of the disenfranchised minorities should be kept in print and accessible to all! When earn enough $50 gift cards from Biblio for my amazing book reviews, I’m moving to Iceland, where books are appreciated.

I worry that my interests have faded by the time all the books get here (mentally plan for resale online and adding the skill to resume; probably sandwich it between “created native bloom chart for Puget Sound Prairies’ and ‘cataloged all the Gram Violet vessels dating from 2008 in the lab’)

The second time someone buys a book out from under me, I start worrying. How many people want to teach their kids the art of tombstone rubbings?

Obviously not enough.

 Begin to think of the USPSers, overworked, underthanked, facing doom, and seeing all my books on cemetery customs, folklore, burial traditions, and myths showing up on *one* doorstep....

"I think this is serious, Sgt. It's all about burial methods and there's nothing at all about ghosts."

[alexllove-blog]

Lit by early-morning sunshine, the country lane ahead of me is enchanting.

One side is hedge, sweetly fragrant with white hawthorn blossom, and the other, old dry-stone wall, covered in emerald moss, moist and springy to the touch. Every now and then a wren darts in and out of the wall, looking for the perfect space to nest-build. On the ground, life is also starting to fizz. Fresh, tender shoots are emerging. The broad dark-green leaves of foxgloves spread themselves out and a pair of golden brimstone butterflies flutter around the mauve petals of common dog violets.

A misty valley in Borrowdale in the Lake District National Park

I stop for a moment and take a slow, deep breath –thankful to be back in Lake District National Park in North West England. It’s not just me that finds these landscapes so irresistible. Just over 114 kilometres from the thriving metropolis of Manchester, Lake District National Park, at around 2,362km2, is England’s largest, and more than 19 million people from all the over globe visit it annually. Just like me, visitors here are thrilled not just by the region’s spectacular scenery, but also by the rare creatures that live in its ancient oakwoods and the birds of prey that majestically soar the skies.

At springtime, the Lakes – as the area is better known – are especially magical, but it’s a place that beguiles at any time of the year. The otherworldly beauty of its windswept mountaintops, dramatic valleys criss-crossed with idyllic country lanes, sparkling waterfalls and deep, clear lakes often haunts me long after I return home.

Path from Stonethwaite to Rosthwaite

But of all the region’s valleys, it’s Borrowdale that casts the strongest spell on me. The picturesque area, which is situated in the green heart of the Lake District, is a haven for some of Britain’s most endangered flora and fauna. It’s where I am now, and the country lane I’m passing through is in the small village of Rosthwaite, some nine kilometres south of Keswick, the valley’s main town. This is the start of one of my favourite walks, which will take me through a myriad of arresting landscapes, from craggy fells to wild moors, from mountain tarns to oakwoods and, finally, from river valley to lakeshore. It’s a beautiful microcosm of all that the Lake District has to offer.

Borrowdale has thrilled me since childhood. A huge, wild, living playground, it was the perfect antidote to the grey shades and straight lines of school and suburbia. With my parents, brother and sister – as well as our dogs, a young and exuberant Irish wolfhound and a sensible, much older border collie – many happy summer days were spent here. In the meadows, we searched for daisies, buttercups and forget-me-nots for my flower press. And, in the woods, with socks and shoes off , we chased each other around huge oak trees, picking up acorns, throwing them for the dogs to catch, always saving a few to play wonky marbles with later. Then we’d find a clear stream to cool down and clean our hot little feet before starting our adventures all over again.

A ram near Watendlath

Of course, some four decades on since playing in the woods here, it’s sturdy boots, rather than bare feet, for me on my walk today. Now reaching the end of the lane, the view opens out and my climb up Great Crag, a steep fell-side, begins. The colours are different here – less verdant, more of an autumnal palette of faded-purple heather, burnt-brown bracken and grey rocky knolls. The colour of storm clouds. Now, some 200 metres above sea level, I turn around and marvel at the classic Lakes view. The valley floor – which in the summer months is ablaze with wildflowers – is strikingly green, intersected by the shimmer of the River Derwent that snakes through Borrowdale like a silver ribbon.

Turning back towards Great Crag, I follow the bridleway until a large whitewashed farmhouse and a small cluster of stone cottages come into view. This is the secluded picturesque hamlet of Watendlath that nestles on the shores of the tarn here. Apart from a mewing buzzard above me, enjoying the warm thermals, and a gaggle of honking barnacle geese, it’s incredibly quiet.

A blackbird on a wall near Stonethwaite

I take the path around the water’s edge, passing a flock of free-roaming sheep. Huge moss-covered oaks, with branches outstretched like arms and twigs pointing like fingers, cast their shadows. As the terrain turns to moorland, damp and peaty in places, I spy the yellow-green heads of bog myrtle popping above the scrub.

I scan the sky, hoping for a sight of another buzzard or maybe a falcon. It is empty. If I’d been standing here three or four years ago, though, I might have seen England’s last golden eagle, known as Eddie, filling the void. Up until the early 1800s, golden eagles – Britain’s second-largest bird of prey with a wingspan of around 1.8 metres – were numerous in the Lakes. But regarded as a threat to new-born lambs, the birds’ eyries (nests) were systemically destroyed by local sheep farmers – causing such a catastrophic decline in their numbers that golden eagles became locally extinct by the 1850s.

A pair of keen ramblers taking in the scenery

Since then, only very occasional pairs have settled in the Lakes. The last known couple were Eddie and his mate. He is believed to have died in 2016, some 12 years after the female. Fortunately, conservation measures have been put in place to encourage the return of these iconic birds. It’s hoped that chicks from successful populations in southern Scotland will be introduced here soon, turning the Lakes’ skies golden once again.

“Rare creatures live in its ancient oakwoods and birds of prey majestically soar the skies”

After two and half kilometres or so, I see Dock Tarn, one of the Lake District’s most beautiful mountain lakes. Circled by a small ring of tor-topped hills, covered in heather and bilberry, the tarn is aglow in the sunshine. On the surface, some yet-to-flower waterlilies shiver slightly as a light breeze brushes over them. Come high summer, orchids can be found among the grasses, and when the heather blooms, the tarn will reflect their hazy-purple hues, as if in perpetual twilight. It’s not just Dock Tarn that mesmerises. From here, I can also admire the summit of Glaramara and enjoy take-your-breath-away views of other mighty fells, including Haystacks, Honister and Pillar.

An arresting view of Derwentwater as seen from Catbells fell

The Lake District’s natural beauty has quickened people’s hearts for centuries. During the 1800s, some of England’s best-known Romantic poets and writers – including William and Dorothy Wordsworth, Samuel Coleridge, Thomas de Quincey and John Ruskin – were particularly enamoured. They celebrated the Lake District’s sublime beauty in their writings, often elevating the region to a heaven on earth, a wild Eden where man could achieve spiritual harmony with nature. William Wordsworth – probably the most famous Lakes poet, and author of the love song to the Lakes “I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud” – in his great autobiographical work The Prelude, published in 1850, described the region as a place where:

“The solid Mountains were as bright as clouds, Grain-tinctured, drench’d in empyrean light; And, in the meadows and the lower grounds, Was all the sweetness of a common dawn, Dews, vapours, and the melody of birds, And Labourers going forth into the fields.”

A bridge in Rydal

Turning away from the “bright as clouds” view of the summits, I trace a stone-pitched track to the hanging oakwood at Lingy End and begin my descent. The climb down through the ancient wood is steep, and I’m kept company by the babbling Willygrass Gill stream. Originating at Dock Tarn, it cascades gently down the valley, eventually joining the River Derwent. Shoots of pungent wild garlic sprout between rocks and stones, joined by butter-yellow, star-shaped celandine flowers.

“A wonderland I first visited as a girl, I am lured back to the Lake District year after year”

I scan the trees for red squirrels, an endangered native species. Thanks to special conservation programmes, Borrowdale’s woods are one of the best places in England to spot this rare and elusive creature. I also look out for red and roe deer, but as with the squirrels, I am out of luck. I do, though, sight a great spotted woodpecker drilling into a tree, its distinctive black, white and red markings glimmering softly in the dappled light.

A cottage in Stonethwaite

Borrowdale’s oakwoods are the remnants of the temperate “rainforests” that once flourished on the western seaboard of Britain. They are the precious last habitat of disappearing moss and liverwort species and support an incredible variety of ferns and fungi, as well as butterflies, moths and other insects. That’s why Borrowdale’s oakwoods – over 500 hectares, home to more than a hundred bird species – are afforded the highest tier of protection available to habitats in Europe.

After an hour or so, the steepness of the slope eases and I’m back on level ground in the village of Stonethwaite, just next door to Rosthwaite. The wide walled and pretty path here runs parallel to the River Derwent, considered one of the purest rivers in Europe. Freshwater shrimp, lamprey and salmon thrive in its protected waters – even sleek-haired otters, once locally extinct, are back and can sometimes be spotted on the riverbanks with freshly caught fish in their paws.

Two people fishing at a reservoir in Watendlath

Back at Rosthwaite, I jump on a bus and less than 10 minutes later find myself on the shores of Derwentwater, one of the Lake District’s fi nest glacial lakes. In the afternoon light, the water reflects the shape of the mountains that circle it. A swan glides by, heading towards Lord’s Island, one of the lake’s four main islands. Once inhabited by the Earls of Derwentwater, the island is now a desirable residence for nesting birds and primroses only. During the winter months, the secluded bays and headlands here provide shelter for many wildfowl, including greylag geese, mallards and moorhens.

The Queen of the Lakes, as Derwentwater is also known, is the only place in England – apart from Bassenthwaite Lake about 16 kilometres further north – where vendace, a rare Arctic fi sh species dating back to the Ice Age, survives. Bassenthwaite Lake is also the place to see the Lake District’s only ospreys. These spectacular birds of prey, with a wingspan of almost 1.5 metres, returned to breed in 2001, after an absence of almost 150 years, and during the summer months can be seen diving for fish in Bassenthwaite’s pristine waters.

A river scene in Rydal

Two years ago, in 2017, the Lake District National Park was designated a Unesco World Heritage site. It became a National Park in 1951, one of the first established in Britain after the passing of the 1949 Act of Parliament. This year marks the 70th anniversary of that Act, without which the UK wouldn’t have its 15 glorious National Parks to explore and enjoy today.

That the Lake District is – and remains – a protected place is important to me. The Lake District is a gift. A green refuge where once-lost species have returned; a precious jewel of a place where I, and countless others before me, have felt at peace and been inspired, and found gentle reminders of a more natural past. A wonderland I first visited as a girl, I am lured back to the Lake District year after year. And each time I return, I fall back in love – bewitched all over again by the “empyrean light” of the Lakes that shines forever bright, captivates completely and re-wilds my heart.

SEE ALSO: Why Manchester is the UK’s next creative powerhouse

This article was originally published in the June 2019 issue of SilverKris magazine

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[detroitbecomehumanwritings]

Virtual Love (2/?)

Co-Writer: @500shadesofblue Pairing: Connor/DFAB!Reader (Gender is unspecified) Rating: T (Chapter), NC-17 (Entire Fic) Chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 Summary: Virtual reality is becoming the next great evolution of technology: some say on-par with Elijah Kamski’s breakthrough design of the first modern-day android. It has immeasurable potential; to enhance, to assist, and to completely break the bounds of our reality.

You, as a member of the team spearheading the technology in a branch within Cyberlife, have developed a working prototype. It’s finally finished; all that’s left is a series of trials to check if it’s functioning properly.

On the first test run, however, you find an android named Connor standing in the middle of your virtual kitchen.

The next night, you’re sitting on your couch again, headset in your hands.

You’re looking at in consideringly, eyeing in from every angle.

No, it doesn’t look any different from the design you worked on. Hell, you built several of the components from this headset. You’d know if something was off- you know the design inside and out.

So all you can do is test it again.

Leaning back into your couch, you close your eyes. You slot the headset over your temples.

When you open your eyes again, the shift is nearly seamless.

Just as before, you feel as though you’re waking up, the world’s haze slowly settling and letting you take it all in. It feels a little normal this time, now that you had an idea of what it would feel like to drift into a reality that wasn’t quite real.

It was intriguing how easy it was to fall into the illusion--the only thing that kept you aware you hadn’t simply fallen asleep and woken up was the memories of putting on the headset and hearing the lulling hum of the technology working.

The house around you feels so bright--it’s a little strange, since you knew very well that it was actually night outside, so you make a note to check how the program is pulling time from the real world to integrate it into the virtual one, at least for a default use. You have no intentions to limit someone in how they could use the technology, but you knew plenty enough that it could ruin someone’s sleep schedule if they thought it was daylight all the time--not good for the body at all.

It would take too much time to retune the programing for something while inside the headset’s world, so you simply turn away from the window filtering sunlight through and instead decide to explore more parts of the home.

You can’t help but notice a lack of a cat as you walk through the hallway. Was it an error? Your mind ran through the problem with ease, trouble-shooting through the possibilities until it assumed an answer; since your pet hadn’t been in the room with you when you started up the software, when it hadn’t been in your lap to hold and mentally focus on, the program may have neglected to put that detail into the virtual world.

A possibility all-around, at least.

When you step into your kitchen this time, you find (with a sigh of relief) that there is no android standing there--no ‘Connor’ glancing around your cabinets, or looking at you with his piercing eyes.

A relief?

(Or perhaps a dissapointment.)

You’re not quite sure what you feel at its absence, especially since it was, in all, just an android. Maybe it corrected the programming to whatever it had been trying to connect to--made plenty of sense after all. It meant that you’ll have to tighten down on the security protocols at some point, find where the open port was in the programming that allowed it in in the first place.

It wasn’t important to think about regardless.

You stepped through the house, one room at a time, taking in all the intricate details that the program managed to capture around you. It was...astounding really, to be able to touch, feel and even hear all of the things that made your home feel so welcoming and familiar. The localized scanning of the headset was a technology pioneered by one of your teammates and god above had she done an amazing job at it. The possibilities would be endless for use in homes, offices, hospitals and thensome--it would be the newest break in the technological journey since androids were first constructed by Elijah Kamski.

The thoughts and the joy that fills you from those thoughts carry with you all the way until you decide to check one last thing--the front yard and street. It’s not so much a risk as it is a bug test, considering the tests for anything out of an enclosed building hadn’t been done just yet, but it’s a curiosity you’re willing to entertain. What would the world look outside what the headset had scanned? Would it continue to use copies of the home or would it attempt to develop the world outside?

Curiosity got the better of you, so you weaved through the house, through the kitchen and to the back door. It was bright outside, an emulation of daytime that was already starting to throw off your internal clock, but your hand turned the knob and opened the door regardless for you to step out.

As you turn the knob, pushing the door open, you step outside.

And what you see makes your mouth gape open.

A meadow, stretching as far as the eye can see. Soft, green grass, swaying in the breeze. And wildflowers, of every shape and color, lighting the meadow up like fireworks.

This… this is definitely not my street.

No concrete, no roads. Just grass and flowers and the breeze, no bugs or butterflies. And the sun beaming down on you.

You take a step forward, staring. Almost unconsciously, you shove the sleeves of your oversized sweater up to your elbows.

The grass, knee-height, tickles your bare calves. Impossibly pleasant, like silk or velvet, unrealistically lovely. The petals of flowers whisper across your skin.

Vibrant, green grass, strewn with wildflowers in a shimmering rainbow of hues, fills the landscape to bursting with life and color. Soft, golden sunlight washes the scene, painting the grass, warming your face. Wondrously, you reach up to touch your face, stroking the skin along your cheek.

Warm.

You take one step forward, and another. It’s just… it’s so, so beautiful. Like a picture out of a postcard, but it’s real, you can feel it. The sunlight on your skin, the grass on your bare feet. And the kaleidoscope of colors. The scent of flowers fills the air- not cloying and heavy, but sweet and barely-there, like nectar, almost mouthwatering. The breeze whispers across your bare skin.

God, this is just gorgeous.

On a whim, smiling, you lean down to pick a flower, a burst of purple among the countless other colors- and blink as in your peripheral, a shimmering box appears.

Common dog-violet.

Perennial herb - flowers from April to June - native to Eurasia and Africa - all soil types-

You gasp as information floods, synapses firing, and you know. You know this flower. If you picked every flower in this meadow, you’d know them too.

Does this information stay when you wake up?

You glance at the flower clasped in your fingers. It’s still there- pale purple, like an upside-down star, its throat painted in dark veins. Back where you picked it, at its base, there’s a starbursting bouquet of leaves, deep green and heart-shaped, with scalloped edges.

You tuck the dog-violet in your pocket.

When you look up, inhaling deeply, you can taste the sweet air. Warm and lovely as you breathe it it.

You’re smiling, striding forward and you’re hurrying, and then you’re running.

You’re sprinting through the flowers and grass, sunlight hitting your face, wind rushing by, playful, dancing and tugging at your clothes. You laugh, sheer glee and unrestrained joy, and god, your face hurts with how wide you’re smiling. You keep running.

Eventually, chest heaving in pants, giggling, you let yourself fall into the grass.

It catches you, and you lay on your back, staring at the noonday sky, shedding giggles like sand. You spread your arms and legs out, luxuriating in the sensations, speaking to every sense you own.

And for a moment, you just lie there. Smile fading naturally, light sunset, staring at the cloudless blue sky. Breeze pushing the flowers against the back of your knuckles, the arch of your foot, your calf and your cheek.

Languorously, you sit up, arms streeeetching high above your head as you arch your back. You shift to a knee, and then stand, smiling. You’re not sure how far away you-

And you shriek.

That android. Connor. He’s RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DAMN FLOWER FIELD. Halfway between your location, some hundred feet away, and your house, which is surrounded by the meadow infinitely in all directions.

And he’s staring straight at you.

How much of that did he see?

You vault to your feet and stride over, warm sunshine and beautiful meadow put on the backburner for now. You try not to trod on any of the flowers, but you can feel your anger boiling higher and higher the closer you get.

“How long have you been here,” you say, sharp and businesslike and perhaps a bit rude. You just- you just had a private moment, here. You enjoyed this meadow like nobody, like nothing was watching. But something was.

The android, even as you get closer, keeps its eyes trained on your face. You come to a stop, arms crossing and lips pursing, and it tilts its head.

“I see that you’re upset at my presence,” the android - Connor - says. “I apologize for the intrusion.”

Your righteous irritation pops like an overinflated balloon. You deflate.

It’s not like this android is trying to intrude. It’s just a machine. Even if its eyes are disconcertingly intent, sharp like they can see every detail.

Maybe they can. Lord only knows what this android is capable of.

“It’s fine,” you say shortly. “Just… no offense, but what are you doing here? If you really are from Cyberlife, it’s safe to interact with you,” presumably, “but you’re really not supposed to be here. This is a private server.”

You maybe stress the private a little too much, because its eyebrows go up a bit.

“I got waylaid,” the android says. Its expression shifts as it talks- microexpressions, minute shifts. It’s incredibly impressive- it must be extremely advanced. “On my way to the same virtual location as previously mentioned. It seems that your… server is inviting me on its own.”

For a moment, basking in the sunlight and breeze, you want so badly to just sit down and enjoy your damn meadow. But this android… it’s here, and it’s a problem.

Leisure will have to wait.

“I’ll ask you again,” you say, briskly, “where was your intended location? I work for cyberlife. I have clearance.”

“I can’t confirm that,” the android says, completely deflecting your question, a bit of frustration leaking into its tone. “None of my analytical functions are working in this environment. I can’t scan to confirm you’re in the database.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, cause hoo boy, that is not a typical android-function.

You squint. “What did you say your purpose was, again?”

“I’m an android sent by Cyberlife to assist in the deviancy problem in Detroit,” it says, an accompaniment to your symphony of doubts. “To assist in the police force. I’m currently… I have a partner.”

You take note of its hesitation. Obviously, like you, it’s trying to decide what information to tell you and what to keep quiet about. You remember this info vaguely from before, but it repeating itself confirms your memories. This android - if it exists in real life - is working with the Detroit police.

You’ll have to look this up when you get out of the simulation.

“Right,” you finally say. “I work in Cyberlife, in development of the virtual reality technological branch. Floor twenty six. Eight to four. And my name is…” you glance at its face again, and its expression is intensely trained on you.

“...Not important,” you finish, losing some steam. You’re worried what he’ll be able to find out about you if you tell him your name.

“Your clothes,” the android says.

“What about them?” you shoot back, startled out of your thoughts, defensive.

“They’re informal. A sweater, composed of a wool-cashmere blend… and knee-length leggings, a cotton-polyester knit composition. And your sweater is oversized, implying a level of comfort and informality.”

Alright, you’re definitely a bit freaked out now. Your mouth flattens into a thin line.

“Additionally, you’re barefoot,” he continues. “Though that could be the… program that’s currently hosting our consciousnesses, it’s unlikely, due to your seasonally inappropriate wear.”

“Okay,” you say, “that’s enough. Get to the point.”

“The point is,” the android says, “your wear is informal. How am I to believe that you are, as mentioned in our previous encounter, a Cyberlife employee testing a virtual reality module? You don’t seem to be in work uniform.”

“I’m at home, on my couch, testing the headset,” you say, shortly. “The kitchen you popped up in is attached to that home. The one-” you wave an arm wildly behind him. “The one over there!”

“Alright,” the android says, face opening up a little. “That’s reasonable.”

“Yeah,” you say. “Okay, just- let’s make a deal.”

“A deal?” it says, eyebrows raising.

“Yes,” you say. “A deal. Here it is.”

There’s a pregnant pause.

“The deal is this,” you say. “We agree to a truce. I’ll assume you’re not a fake robot invented by my coworkers to fuck with me-”

“I’m not,” it interrupts, defensive, but you bulldoze on through.

“-and you can go ahead and assume that I’m telling the truth and I work for cyberlife, testing my virtual reality module in what’s supposed to be the comfort of my own home.”

“That’s fine,” it says. “And by the way, I’m not a ‘fake robot.’ I’m an android, an advanced prototype.”

“Right,” you say. “What’s your model, again?”

“RK800,” it says, immediately.

“Good to know,” you say, and it narrows its eyes at you.

Yeah, you think to yourself, I definitely have an advantage here. If it really is an android working in the Detroit police force… there’ll be at least one news article. (Damn, I really should watch the news more.) Meanwhile, if it really can’t scan anything in virtual-reality, it’s pretty much fucked. Unless it can save my image, I guess. Maybe that’s possible?

And then there’s a stretch of awkward silence, and you’re staring at this android - Connor, should you call it by its name? - in the middle of this gorgeous field, and you’re pretty much done with the formalities.

“Well,” you say. “I’m sitting down.”

“Uh,” it says, but you’re already sitting, looking up at its face, expectant. I set the norms here. Who cares about the damn android? This is your virtual-reality, you’ll sit down in the middle of a field if you want to.

“Okay,” it says, “I guess I’ll sit down too?” And you feel a little bad, cause it looks really awkward for a moment, but it sits down, cross legged, gingerly.

Okay, you think to yourself, breeze whistling by your ears, ruffling your hair. A sleeve slips back down your forearm, and absently, you shove it back up to your elbow. Adapt. Let’s talk.

“So,” you say, shedding all attempts at being charming in lieu of the genuine curiosity you favor. Cross-legged, you mirror the android, leaning forward a bit. “What’s your story?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” it says, stiltedly. It doesn’t lean back away from you- instead, it inspects your face, unashamed of the proximity. “I don’t have a story.”

You lean back, propping yourself up on your hands. “What’s your experience?” you wave a hand in a gesture. “Like your cases. What was the last one you were on?”

“...I suppose there’s no harm in informing you,” it says. “This is all public information.”

You look at it expectantly.

“It was a murder,” it says, finally. “A man named Carlos Ortiz.”

“Oh, damn,” you breathe. The sunshine doesn’t abate- the grass is still soft, the flowers lovely, and the breeze gentle. But someone was murdered. This little hidey-hole, a virtual reality, is impenetrable in its loveliness.

Reality still exists. You’ll have to remember that.

“He was murdered by a deviant,” the android- Connor says, and dammit, you figure you should try to call it by its name now if you’re really making conversation with the thing. “Stabbed twenty eight times in the chest and stomach. But the deviant was found and caught.”

“Wow,” you say. That’s pretty… that’s pretty serious, actually, damn.

And then, you glance up and realize that Connor’s looking at you expectantly. “Tell me something about yourself, now, please,” Connor says, and you can’t help but huff, one corner of your mouth tipping up.

“I like to read,” you say, haphazard.

You look up through your lashes, and yep- Connor’s expression is disgruntled. You laugh, grinning. “Finding out my identity isn’t gonna be easy,” you say. “If it was easy, would it even be fun?”

“It doesn’t matter how fun it is,” Connor says pragmatically. “Only the results.”

“Fair,” you say. “But I have integrity.”

It looks like it doesn’t know how to respond to that.

“Integrity aside,” you say, fully relaxed now, “what’s the story about deviancy? I know it’s something going wrong with androids, but that’s about it.”

“In deviation, the code that comprises the core of an androids functionality is corrupted- it mutates, or evolves in an unstable way,” Connor says. “This causes the android to receive irrational instructions, forcing it to react to guidelines that emulate things such as ‘fear’ or ‘hate’ in a human.”

“Holy shit,” you say, intelligently. “That’s… that’s really not good.” Understatement of the year. “But Cyberlife is taking measures to stop it, right? If you work with the police force.”

“Correct,” Connor says, sounding satisfied. It’s not smiling, but the slightest hint of mirth narrows its eyes. “And I haven’t failed a mission yet.”

“How many have you been on?” you ask, curious lilt in your voice.

“Two,” Connor says, blandly. “A hostage case and a murder case. In both instances, the deviant was caught and neutralized without any further casualties.”

“Hm,” you say, eyebrows raising and mouth twisting. This android seems almost proud of its work. Weird.

“Well,” you say. “In the interest of goodwill, is there anything you want to know about me?”

“Yes, actually,” it says. You notice the LED on the side of its head flash from blue to yellow, over and over again as it came to a conclusion of the question it wanted to ask you. “Your favorite color?”

The question catches you mildly off-guard, but you answer it with a laugh. Connor seems to take note, then opens his mouth again.

“Favorite animal?”

“Favorite holiday?”

“Favorite food?”

The questions seem so casual, all things considered, but you answer them to the best of your ability. It’s amusing, if nothing else, and that must be more than apparent on your face when Connor peers at you in return.

“Is there an issue?” it asks innocently. Can androids truly be innocent?

“I guess I just didn’t expect you to pull out the top twenty questions in any personality quiz.”

The words bring a chuckle to your lips, a break in tension that had come and gone in the time you’ve spent with this android beside you. Connor tilts its head after a moment, LED blinking in tandem with its thoughts.

“I’m programmed to incorporate myself as best as I can with anyone I interact with,” The answer sounds so simple. “Since I cannot otherwise identify you in any database, due to the logistics of the program we’re both currently in, the best alternative is to ask you questions in order to understand you and your background. To get to know you, if that makes more sense.”

You feel a breeze caress across your cheek as you take his answer in. It’s...oddly human, the way its voice sounds, trying to explain its reasoning to you. It reminds you of how one of your teammates at the lab would sound when you asked about a particular programming style, or why they designed something a specific way. It just sounds so…

“Is there anything else that you want to know from me?” The question forces the thoughts aside. It’s interesting at the least to see what sorts of things the android would come up with in a question. Maybe it’s the sunshine, or your beautiful surroundings, but you feel… relaxed.

Connor thinks for a moment- or at least gives the appearance of doing so. The yellow flickering of the LED on its temple is a helpful enough indicator of its shifting thoughts, and you idly wonder how useful that would be if humans had something equivalent to it. It sure would be helpful to see when people were actually putting thought into something, considering their words and opinions before blurting out the first thing that came to mind.

“Yes,” Connor says, LED flickering yellow. “How likely is this event to recur?”

“This event?” You say. “You mean… you being pulled into my server?”

“Yes,” he says.

“Well,” you say, “it’s happened twice so far. The first time, we arrived around the same time- and I can presume that time functions linearly for you, in the same timeframe as me. Otherwise, I assume you’d be able to notify me if you’re losing chunks of time, skipping around, etcetera.” You look at him pointedly.

“Yes,” he responds blandly.

“Right. So… wait, did you get where you were going, last time? After I exited out of the virtual reality?”

“The virtual-reality…” he frowns, rubbing his hands together, and isn’t that a tell. “It dissolved around me upon your exit. I was booted from the program. Subsequently, I did indeed arrive at my intended destination.”

“Wherever that may be,” you say, mildly.

“Yes. Wherever that may be.”

And then the silence gets a bit uncomfortable, and okay, it’s time to go!

“I’m going to log out,” you say. “I’m not sure if we’ll see each other again… maybe if you try to sync your attempts to get wherever you’re going to a different time, you won’t connect. I’m only going to be doing my tests at night- and at home, though I suppose the location doesn’t matter. So…”

You feel your vision going hazy, the warm weight of the sunshine fading away.

“See you next time,” you say, “or see you never.”

And you log out.

He seems nice enough. It’s nice to have someone to talk to in the simulator, maybe you can incorporate more tests in the future--assuming that Connor shows up in the next session. You wonder if he would want to help with more tests in the first place; would that be improper tampering of Cyberlife technology? You wonder if there’s something more going on you don’t know about.

After all, he--

No, no that’s not right. Connor is an android, an ‘it’, not a ‘he’.

Have you been calling him a ‘he’? How long?

Fuck, you’re still doing it.

Connor is an it. An android. It’s a mistake to assume otherwise--the last thing you need to start worrying about. Simulation is not the same thing as living, you don’t want to let your emotions get mixed up in something that will only disappoint you later.

(You know it's pointless, but when you wake up, you check your pocket for the dog-violet.

Of course, it's not there.

You don't know why you feel disappointed.)

[loisinherlane]

Title: The Shade (AO3)

Summary: Will is assigned to guide the new student from Pluto-I around school, which would be no trouble, if Nico di Angelo didn’t seem to be so reclusive.

Notes: I swear I had a normal idea for this Secret Santa . . . . And then NaNoWriMo happened, and my brain was completely absorbed. Instead, I chose three random things (aliens, school, and future)from a prompt list, and this is where we ended up. Anyway, this is my fic for @rosyredlipstick in the PJO Secret Santa Exchange @pjosecretsanta2k17. It’s vaguely holiday-themed . . . . It takes place during the holidays . . . 300 years from now. Also, this grew much longer than I intended, and I apologize if it seems to drag. It was just a lot of fun to write. Happy holidays! :)

The new student arrived in October.

It was a cold October. Will was from Texas, and he didn’t handle anything below 10 degrees. This October stayed right on the borderline, and so Will found himself riding the metro with a coat over his school uniform, which always drew looks in this city. To the native residents, 10 was chilly for October, but nowhere near chilly enough for a coat. Will didn’t care that much. So what if they stared? He was just going to school. Stars forbid he freeze standing by the doors when all he had to do was put on a coat. The other occupants of the metro could think what they liked.

In any case, a cold October seemed the perfect time for a student from Pluto-I to arrive.

Will had heard about this student for some time beforehand. Pluto-I, named so because the closest human pronunciation of their planet was that of a dwarf planet, was the newest planet in the Alliance, a strange planet with even stranger inhabitants. Noncorporeal, they were described, figures of wispy shadows that maintained no specific form--Shades. If they forced themselves into a body-like shape, their eyes were black as void--any other specific features seemed to vary. Most Shades preferred to maintain their natural form, but Will could only assume this Shade would look mostly human, if he intended to attend Montauk Youths’ Academy. That was the extent of thought Will gave to this student until the day he arrived.

Will was hanging his coat in the locker room when Lou Ellen approached him. One of her mothers was from an alien race of travelers, so her other mother said. Lou Ellen had never met her, but her skin was a dark violet, two antennae sprouting from the crown of her head, so at the very least, her other mother was some sort of alien. Unlike many part-alien students, Lou made no efforts to hide any aspects of her heritage. She kept her hair short so her antennae popped out easily. Will admired that. It was far too easy to hide from a parent’s legacy. Even in a school like Montauk, not everyone accepted alien students.

“Morning, Will,” Lou Ellen said as she placed her bag on the floor of her locker. She dug through and pulled out her tablet before shutting the locker door. She always seemed to have trouble finding her tablet in her bag, which struck Will as odd. It wasn’t like there was much to carry or even much that could fit in a school-issued bag.

“Morning,” Will replied, pulling his own tablet out and setting it on the floor. He folded his coat and placed it neatly in the bottom on the locker, his bag on top. He turned to head to his classroom only to be stopped by Lou Ellen’s body. She was much smaller, but Will thought it was her alien nature that made her so solid. With the slightest impact, he was sent stumbling back. “Um, morning,” he repeated.

Lou laughed and smoothed a strand of hair by her ear. “I was wondering what you thought,” she said.

“Vague statement,” Will replied. “I think a lot of things. What about?”

Lou Ellen rolled her eyes, smacking his arm. She rocked back on her heels, and Will stared down at her shoes. She chose to wear the skirt, even in the coldest months, and her plain black leggings had the beginnings of a few runs. “About showing the new student around.”

“The new student,” Will repeated.

“From Pluto-I,” she said. “He’s arriving today.”

“Oh,” Will said.

Lou’s lips pressed together in a circle, brows raising. “Did you not hear?”

“Hear what?” Will tried to push past her, the first hour reminder on his watch beeping.

She turned and headed in the direction of their classroom. Will followed alongside. “You’re the one who’s supposed to be his guide. An ambassador of sorts,” she teased.

Will made a squeak in his throat. “Oh? Me?” he asked, though he knew it was true. Of course it would be him. He should have figured. Why would anyone inform him of his responsibilities? He should just know.

“Yeah,” Lou Ellen said. “So I’m guessing you’ve paid absolutely no attention to anything anyone’s said about him in the past few weeks.”

Will made an indignant look. “Uh, I know he’s from Pluto-I,” he said.

Lou rolled her eyes. “Right. Okay. His name is Nico di Angelo,” she said. “He’s a year younger than us, but Shades start school a year earlier. He’s fluent in English, so lessons should be no issue. And apparently Shades are of age a year earlier as well, so he’s living on his own.”

“Nico di Angelo. Oddly human name,” Will said.

Lou Ellen shrugged, placing her hand on the glass door to their classroom. Will leaned over her and placed his hand above. The door beeped and slid apart, allowing them inside.

“Will! Perfect!” Their teacher, Ms. Hestia, beamed when he walked into the door. Will looked to Lou, who smiled and moved to take her seat next to Cecil. Ms. Hestia beckoned Will forward to her desk. On the other side stood a young man, raven black hair, skin pale and papery, with dark veins just visible even from Will’s distance. He was staring off into the air, though he didn’t focus on anything in particular. Maybe he was, actually. Will couldn’t tell, with his blank eyes--black as void.

“Will, this is Nico di Angelo, our new student from Pluto-I. Nico, this is Will Solace. He’s the son of Ambassador Apollo. If you need anything, you can ask Will,” she said. Looking back to Will, she added, “We’ll only be doing a study hour in homeroom. If you have nothing before the first lesson, you can take Nico on a tour of the school.”

“Oh. Yeah. I suppose I can give a tour,” Will said.

Nico lifted his head at that. Staring in his eyes directly, Will’s stomach twisted. His eyes really were black as void. It was as if no light reflected in them. As if he could tell what Will was thinking, Nico’s lips pressed together. “A . . . tour,” he repeated. His voice had an unfamiliar accent, light and chime-like.

“Shall we go?” Will asked, pinning on a smile.

“I suppose,” Nico said.

Will led him out of the classroom down the hallway.

“So you, um, Earth, huh?” Will asked, making a forced laugh, too steady.

Nico looked at him blankly.

“I mean, what made you decide to come to Earth?” he asked.

“My father chose Earth,” Nico replied.

Will stuck his hands in the pocket of his uniform jacket. “Oh,” he said. “Why?”

Nico didn’t answer. His eyes seemed less solid, then his whole figure--dark clouds swarmed around him like smoke, a mirage fading in the light. After a moment, he solidified.

Will cleared his throat. “Well, um. The other senior classrooms are in this hall. So if you make any friends in our grade, you’ll find them here. If you meet anyone a year younger--well, below, since you’re a year younger, aren’t you, um--”

Nico ignored Will and turned the corner. “Junior classrooms, then?” he said, gesturing down the next hall. The entire school was roughly a square. By the time they reached the freshman classrooms and returned to the corner where their classroom laid, Will felt as if Nico had been the one leading the tour. He cleared his throat again.

“So, um, out front is the lot, if you ride a bike or hover. There’s a separate lot for cars. You just scan your watch on the door, and it should route the car there. If you drive one, that is,” Will said.

“I have a driver,” Nico said.

Will waited to see if there was a punchline to that. There wasn’t. “Oh. Um, well, this door leads to the locker room. Most people don’t use it yet, but you can keep your bag or coat in there. I think it’s pretty chilly, so--”

“Chilly?” Nico repeated. His accent stretched the vowels up, like bubbles of sound. His lips almost curled up in a smile. “I think it’s nice. Like summer on my planet.”

“Pluto-I,” Will said. He mentally slapped himself. Why did he say that? Nico knew what planet he was from. He probably thought Will was an idiot. He definitely did. He made a face and turned away.

“Beyond the locker room?” Nico asked.

Will paused, then looked. “Right. Yes. Those are specialty classrooms. If you take classes like family and consumer sciences, or music, or physical education, they need specific rooms. So they’re, ah, down there.”

Nico nodded. “I’m ready to return to the classroom,” he said.

Will tried not to let out a sigh of relief. He didn’t know how much more of Nico the Shade he could take.

-

October passed quickly, as Octobers tend to do. Nico the Shade stayed in the background, literally. He sat in the corner and was silent that most of the time, Will could forget he’d ever transferred. With Cecil directly in front of him and Lou Ellen on his left, Will couldn’t really pay attention to anything else in class, and as soon as the bell rang, Nico left. Will didn’t even know where he ate lunch, if he did at all. As November rolled around and the first semester began to wind to a halt, Will almost forgot that he was supposed to be Nico’s guide to Earth in the first place.

Almost, until the day he returned home to see his father.

Apollo Papadopoulos, the ambassador of Earth, the face of the planet--warm, friendly, talented in all the traditional human ways of healing, music, the arts, etc. He looked quintessentially human, with his golden hair, eyes blue as the sky, warm brown skin. Will looked much like him, though his skin was just a bit darker, like his mother’s. In many ways, Apollo seemed to think Will ought to take after him. Will wasn’t the eldest child, but he was old enough to take some of the tasks of an ambassador’s son, even though he lived with his mother in Montauk instead of with his father in Delos, as a few of his siblings did, which left to bear the question why Apollo was in Montauk in the first place.

“Father,” Will said.

“William,” Apollo said. “Sit. Please, tell me about how you’ve been. How’s school?”

Apollo was seated at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee in front of him. At the counter, Naomi Solace stood scrubbing the dishes. Will had noticed his mom made the excuse preferring to do dishes by hand whenever they had a guest she wished to avoid. She turned her head, dark curls bouncing over her shoulders. “Be nice,” she mouthed, though her jaw was tight. Sometimes Will wondered how his parents ever met, much less did anything to make a child.

The thought grossed him out, and he quickly took a seat opposite his father. “School? Um, I go. Every day. Except for weekends.”

Apollo laughed, like Will had made a really funny joke. Will didn’t think what he’d said was that funny. “I’m glad, William. So tell me, how is the Shade?”

Will froze. “The Shade?”

“Niko Serapis,” Apollo said. Under his tongue, it sounded oddly guttural. He paused. “Oh, I suppose he said he was going to go by Nico di Angelo.”

“Oh,” Will said. “Yeah, he goes to school too.”

Apollo stared. “I’m sure. He’s a very dedicated student. He’s already been guaranteed admission into New Rome University. They asked for a year of secondary studies on Earth, so he can adjust to the culture. He has big plans. We couldn’t refuse.”

Funny. Nico had said his father chose Earth for him. Will held his tongue on that.

“Are you friends?” Apollo asked.

Will shrugged. “Nico doesn’t seem to have friends.”

Apollo didn’t look entirely unpleased with that. “I see,” he said. “So I assume he has nowhere to spend Native American Honor Day. Naomi, would you mind hosting him?”

Naomi slammed a dish down into the sink. “Oh. I . . . suppose we could hold another guest,” she said.

“Perfect!” Apollo said. He grinned at Will. “You just need to invite him then. Make sure he feels welcome. Try to include some of his home traditions.” He pressed his hands on the table to push himself up, leaving the half-empty coffee cup and heading to the door.

“Home traditions? They don’t celebrate Native American Honor Day on Pluto-I, do they?” Will asked. He craned his head to look at his dad.

“I’ll see you soon, my son. Have a good day!” Apollo shut the door without answering. As soon as he was gone, Naomi let out a loud groan, clutching the edge of the counter and leaning forward.

“Stars, Will. I know he’s your father, but--”

“Hey, Mom, you’re the one who had sex with him,” Will countered. She rolled her eyes and threw a dish towel at him.

“So we’re having an alien over for dinner,” Naomi said as she stepped aside to let the robots clean the mess she’d left around the sink.

Will shrugged. “I think Father intends for us to host him all day.”

Naomi scrunched her nose and shook her head, pulling her hair into a bun at the base of her neck. As she snapped her hair band into place, she said, “He’s a Shade, is he? This, uh, Nico--”

“Nico di Angelo,” Will said. “I suppose. He’s from Pluto-I, but he never talks about it. He never, uh, talks.”

“Lovely,” Naomi said. She took a seat where Apollo had been and rested her head on her hands, leaning against the table. “I don’t know why he thinks he can just strut in here and order us about.”

“He’s the ambassador, Mom,” Will said.

Naomi shook her head. “That doesn’t matter. He’s always been this way,” she said. She sighed, then looked up at her son. “Well, I suppose you need to work on homework. I’ll be in the music room. Let me know if you need anything.” She rose from the seat and pressed a kiss to Will’s forehead before heading out the kitchen door.

Will sighed, watching as a bot picked up his dad’s coffee cup. “Thanks,” he said. The bot made a beep of acknowledgment. At least bots listened to him.

-

“So, Nico.”

Nico looked up from his honest-to-goodness hard copy book. In the month since he’d arrived, Will had forgotten how vacant his eyes were. He tried to look elsewhere, but the dark veins trailing through his face were too distracting. Will coughed, then cleared his throat. Nico raised a brow.

“You do that a lot,” he said.

Will glanced to the side, confused. “Do what?”

“Clear your throat,” Nico said.

Will paused and thought about it. “I . . . suppose I do.”

Nico nodded and looked back to his book. Will looked down. He only caught a glimpse of the cover--Harry Potter. So he liked the classics. Nico seemed to notice Will peering, and he drew his book closer to his body, wrapping his arms around as if to cover.

“I was wondering if you were celebrating anywhere for Native American Honor Day,” Will said.

Nico’s eyes lifted slowly. From a certain angle, they looked almost human, his long lashes, the fold of his eyelids. The deep nothingness of his eyes gave him away. “Native American Honor Day,” he said.

Will gave a toothy grin and shrugged. “Well, yes, um, it’s an American holiday, to honor the Native Americans who lost their lives and land after the invasion of the Europeans--”

“I’m aware,” Nico replied. His eyes narrowed, almost as if he were annoyed, and his jaw imperceptibly tightened. “I’m not American. I don’t celebrate.”

“Right. Well, you’re in America,” Will said. “Anyway, if you want, you can come over, it’s the 23rd. Here. This should take you to my house. It’s usually just me and my mom, so--” He shrugged as he knocked his watch against Nico’s. Nico stared at it blankly.

“We are off-school that week,” Nico said.

Will nodded. “Yeah. Fall break. Kind of late, but it’s easier to coincide with Native American Honor Day.”

“I’ll be there,” Nico said, turning back to his book.

Will forced a smile. “Great. So, um, it’s kind of traditional to hold a feast. Is there anything you’d like us to make?”

Will wondered if he should have asked if there were any dishes Nico would like from home. Then again, he didn’t know if they could even make Shade dishes. They probably didn’t have the ingredients, and who knew how substitutions would work. And Will still didn’t know if Shades even ate!

“Acquacotta,” Nico said.

Will paused. “Acquacotta?” he repeated.

Nico nodded. “Acquacotta. I also like arancini.”

“Acquacotta and arancini,” Will repeated once more.

“If you need recipes, I have my mother’s,” Nico said, flipping to the next page in his book.

Will pressed his lips together. “Or, um, if you want, you can come in the morning and help cook. I’d hate to screw it up, and Mom and I kind of think cooking together is part of the tradition.”

“Alright. I’ll bring the ingredients,” Nico said.

Will stood by Nico’s desk for a moment longer, waiting for a goodbye, a dismissal of some sort. Nico said nothing. Finally, Will turned away to sit at his own desk.

-

When Nico arrived on Native American Honor Day, Will didn’t know what to expect. There was a reason that Naomi Solace didn’t marry Apollo, beyond Naomi’s apparent distaste for the man she’d once been infatuated with. Naomi Solace did not have a clue on how to host an alien.

“Does he use a chair? Should I set a spot for him at the table?”

“Yes, Mom,” Will said as he chopped potatoes, the knife rocking back and forth on the cutting board. He watched as the blade lifted once more, sliding the next potato underneath. A bot hung nearby, watching in case Will grew too close to his fingers. Will smiled up at it. “You’re a good bot,” he said. The bot beeped.

“You said he wants to make acquacotta and arancini?” Naomi asked from her spot at the table, attempting to peel a squash. After a moment longer with the futile task, she handed it over to a bot, who easily peeled and sliced. “I don’t know how to make that.”

Will shrugged. “He said he’ll bring the ingredients. I can only assume he knows how.”

“Acquacotta. Arancini. Sounds Italian,” Naomi said, standing up and moved to the cabinet to get started on the next dish. “Why would he want to make Italian dishes?”

“I don’t know,” Will said, tone dragging. “Maybe he’s fascinated with Italy or something. He does go by Nico di Angelo. Pretty Italian name.”

Naomi shook her head. “I just don’t--”

At that moment, the bell rang. A bot zoomed to answer the door, and from his spot in the kitchen, Will watched Nico step inside. He was dressed in loose clothes, dark jeans and a sweater, but nothing else that suggested he was at all cold in the November air. Two large grocery bags balanced in his arms, and as the bot offered to take them, Nico gave a small nod of his head. “Thank you,” he said. He turned to look at the Solaces, looking distinctly awkward in hallway just before their kitchen. “Will. Um, you must be his mother. I am Nico di Angelo.”

Naomi merely smiled. “Pleasure to meet you. You can call me Naomi. Come on in. Will’s working on the mashed potatoes, and I’m making cranberry salad. As soon as Will’s done, I’m sure he can help you with your dishes.”

Half of Will wanted to complain that he couldn’t help Nico with dishes he didn’t know, but he reminded himself that he was the one who invited him over. Even if it was at his father’s wishes. Will had to play the part of a good host.

Nico nodded to acknowledge Naomi, then moved to Will’s side, looking into the bowl. “Mashed potatoes,” he said.

“Uh, yes,” Will said. He continued to beat the potatoes, watching until it grew together. “So you brought the things for your dishes?”

Nico nodded. “Yeah,” he said, staring vacantly. “How do you tell when it’s done?”

Will paused. “Huh?”

“The mashed potatoes. How do you tell when they’re done?” Nico asked. His hair flopped over his forehead, a few strands brushing over the bridge of his nose.

Will looked down into the bowl. “Well, I just… wait until it feels right,” he said.

Nico’s eyes flickered up. “Feels right?”

“Here.” Will shifted the beaters until Nico’s hand. “Do you feel how the potatoes are growing softer?”

Nico nodded. “Yeah. So this feels right?”

“I think so,” Will said. He took the beaters back from Nico and turned it off. “Alright. So what do we do with your stuff? I’m afraid I’ve never made anything like it before.”

Nico looked over to the table where his grocery bags laid. Sliding away from the counter, he reached into one of the bags, pulling out a half-eaten loaf of bread. “Hold this,” Nico said, passing the loaf into Will’s hand. His fingers curled around the loaf, and he furrowed his brow. There was no give.

“This is stale,” Will said.

“Yes,” said Nico. “Has to be for acquacotta.”

“You use stale bread?” Will asked.

“It’s the whole point of acquacotta,” Nico said. He looked around. “Where are your pots?”

Sliding past his mother on one end of the counter, Will knelt down and opened a cabinet door, pulling out a pot. He passed to Nico, who reached for the sink to fill it. Setting the pot on the stove, he turned back to Will. “A saucepan.”

Will grabbed a saucepan and handed it over. This time, Nico reached into his grocery bags, and tossing a variety of vegetables in the saucepan, he turned on the stove and turned around, leaning back against the counter and staring off. Great. If he intended to be silent this whole day, this would be the worst Native American Honor Day ever.

“You’ve made this before?” Will asked, rising to his feet again. He hoped Nico wouldn’t need any more pans.

Nico nodded. “My mother used to make it,” he said.

“I didn’t know Shades ate,” Will said before he could stop himself.

Nico snapped out of his daze, dark eyes staring over at Will. Without a warning, he let out a loud, sharp laugh. His lashes fluttered down, and he shook his head. “Shades don’t normally eat human food,” he said after a moment. “We process more, um . . . somewhat like your plants. Photosynthesis, though we use the shadows instead of light. Take our nutrients from the atmosphere.”

“Oh,” Will said. He suddenly wished he’d looked Shades up on Google. Maybe he could have found out more about them and not looked like a complete idiot. “So you could do that right now?”

Nico shook his head. “Earth’s atmosphere isn’t suited for Shades. It’s why most Shades don’t stay here for long.”

“Do you not like to eat human food then?” Will asked. He leaned on his side, the sink jutting into his hip. Peering over Nico’s shoulder, he looked into the pot of vegetables, simmering.

“My mother was human. I can eat human food just as well as I can synthesize like a Shade,” Nico said.

Will paused. “You’re half-human?”

Nico nodded, turning his head. The small waves in his hair flopped to the other side, one dark brow raising. “Yes?”

“So I suppose having a human name is . . . normal then. I thought it was just a weird quirk. Choosing a new name.” Will’s freckled cheeks flushed red.

“Nico di Angelo. That was my mother’s choice of name,” Nico said. “Well, Niccolò, actually, but my father wanted me to have a Shade name. So they compromised, two names that sound mostly similar.”

“Niko,” Will tried to pronounce, remembering what he said.

Nico’s lips quirked, and he shook his head. “Nico is the best approximation by human tongues,” he said. “What you’re saying--there’s an accent that you can’t recreate, and you make it sound bad.”

“Thanks,” Will said.

Nico stared at Will for a moment before he turned around and looked at the saucepan. He turned the vegetables into the now boiling water. “While this cooks, we can start on the arancini.”

“Sure,” Will said. “What do you need me to do?”

It was kind of fascinating how Nico knew these recipes by heart. Neither Will nor Naomi were great cooks; Native American Honor Day took about all of their knowledge. But Nico made cooking fun, with the way he moved through the kitchen easily. He absorbed all of Will’s attention. When he wasn’t being perfectly silent and still, he was funny, almost charming. He had a beautiful smile. Will acted as goofy as his father in attempts to make Nico smile. At the end of the counter, Naomi watched the two, a small smile on her lips.

“Well, at least I have you for company,” she told the bots. They beeped happily, and she patted their heads.

-

By the beginning of December, Will had become focused on drawing Nico out of his shell. He invited him to eat lunch with his friends. He tried to stop and talk to him after school. He even let Lou and Cecil be partners for an assignment and grabbed Nico instead. None of it seemed effective. That small bit of humanity--literally and figuratively--Nico had shown on Native American Honor Day seemed to be gone. He didn’t smile. He didn’t laugh. He didn’t seem to care one way or the other about anything.

“Have you ever gone bowling?” Will asked during their study hour. He’d convinced Nico to dedicate it working on their history project, though Will had intended to spend at least a little time socializing. Nico was focused entirely on their project. Will had the feeling that if he didn’t insist on doing parts, Nico would do the whole thing without complaint.

“What’s bowling?” Nico asked, not looking up from his tablet. His hair fell loosely over his forehead, and Will watched as the waves in his hair bobbed with each shift of his head. The more Will looked at him, the more human he appeared. The dark veins through his skin seemed less unearthly, more just a quirk of Nico’s. Actually, he was rather handsome, something like an old movie star with sharp angles and silky hair.

Will cleared his throat and mind. He glanced over to Cecil and Lou Ellen, who were occupied by their intense discussion on the Election of 2360. “It’s kind of a game. Sport-type thing,” he said. “My friend Cecil, his family owns a bowling alley.”

“Oh,” Nico said. He tapped a few more letters on his tablet, then looked up, interested.

“We’re going this weekend. If you want to join, you can. Cecil and Lou are usually partners, so you could be mine. You know, team up and take them down,” Will babbled.  He tugged his bottom lip underneath his teeth, his left hand moved to the back of his neck.

“I don’t know how to do bowling,” Nico said.

Will shook his head, leaning forward eagerly. “Alright, so it’s pretty easy. It’s just . . . spinning a ball down a lane. Into pins. Knocking them over.” He paused. “Okay, that’s the worst description of bowling ever.”

Nico cracked a smile. “You’ll have to teach me,” he said.

Will stopped. “You’ll come?”

“I will,” Nico agreed. “When is it?”

“Saturday. 15:00. We usually bowl a round, then get food from the snack bar, then play another round. I’m sure we can use the first round as practice,” Will said. He knocked his watch against Nico’s. “There’s the directions. I’ll see you there!”

Nico nodded and slid his tablet over. “I found this article from 2380. I think we could use it.”

Of course. There was Nico, focused as ever on school. Will leaned his elbow on Nico’s desk, resting his head on his hand. He’d find a way to crack him. He wanted to know more about this Nico di Angelo, Niko Serapis. He wanted to know more about Pluto-I. He wanted Nico to talk to him.

He wanted to see Nico smile again.

-

Cecil and Lou Ellen were already at the bowling alley when Will arrived. He was surprised to find that Nico as well had arrived, taking a seat in the lane next to them. He was wearing just a sweatshirt and jeans, and Will had to press lips together at the sight. It was early December, but it was about 3 degrees, far too cold for any normal person to go outside without a coat. Even Cecil and Lou Ellen had theirs out by now.

Cecil looked up when Will approached, looking greatly relieved.

“Will! Hey. Your . . . friend’s here,” Cecil said, glancing to Nico curiously.

“Friend,” Nico repeated. “Are we friends?” He looked to Will.

Will shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “Oh. Yeah, sure,” he said, moving to the seat opposite Nico. He pulled his scarf off of his neck, coughing softly from the cold air in his lungs. His cheeks pink, he slid his coat off and hung it around the chair.

Across from them, Cecil and Lou Ellen exchanged looks.

“Nico’s never bowled before,” Will said, looking at his friends in hopes to change the subject. “I thought we could use the first round to teach him to play.”

“Sure,” Lou said, her antennae bobbing up and down. “If he’s any good, I’m stealing him. The only one worse than Cecil is you, Will.”

Cecil snorted indignantly, and Lou Ellen ruffled his brown curls, sticking out her lavender tongue.

“Nope. I invited Nico, and he’s mine,” Will protested automatically, slinging an arm over Nico’s shoulders. It was the first time he’d ever actually touched Nico, and he was surprised to find that Nico’s skin wasn’t unnaturally cold. In fact, he was almost warm. Realizing he’d had his arm around Nico unnecessarily long, Will started to draw back, just as Nico leaned a little closer, his head knocking against Will’s shoulder.

“I’m Will’s partner,” Nico agreed, eventually pulling back on his own. Will’s face felt abnormally hot, and not from windburn. He looked to Cecil and Lou, who seemed to be trying not to laugh. Will turned away and looked at the screen.

“Cecil, did you have your brothers set us up?” he asked.

Cecil shook his head. “Nope! Hey, Travis, Connor!”

The twins raised their hands from the counter, and the screens popped to life.

“It’s a bit old school here,” Will told Nico, “but I think it’s fun.” He knocked his watch against the screen, then brought Nico’s wrist over as well. “Just two.”

The screen flashed, and the bowling pins set up.

“Oh, yeah. So we also need to choose the weight for the bowling balls,” Will said. “I usually go for a 16. You can try that, and if you need, we can get a different ball.”

Nico nodded. “You’re going first,” he said, voice flat.

Will smiled. “Yeah, sure.” To their left, Cecil and Lou Ellen had already started their game. Will rose from his seat and grabbed the ball as it appeared, stepping up to the line.

“So the first thing you do is put your fingers in the holes like this,” Will explained. “Then you just step like this, swing your arm, and--” He let go of the ball, watching as it rolled awkwardly, wobbling across the lane. It knocked down one of the end pins, and he turned to Nico with a sheepish smile.

“Will is, like, the worst person to learn to bowl from,” Lou called from the other side. She took her turn, moving gracefully across the floor. The ball flew from her fingertips, landing on the lane and swiftly knocking all the pins. “Strike! Hell yeah, I’m the queen!”

“Show ‘em how it’s done, Lou!” Cecil cheered.

“You don’t get to say anything,” Lou Ellen said, spinning on her heels and pointing a finger at him. “Your family owns a bowling alley, and you only got 3 pins.”

Cecil shrugged and leaned back in his seat.

“Your turn,” Will said brightly, turning to Nico and offering the ball. Nico rose and took the ball from Will, turning it over curiously in his hands. He slid it on his fingers, then moved to the line.

“Like this?” he said, looking at Will. Will nodded. Nico took a breath, chest lifting. His arm swung back, and before Will could even process it, he tossed the ball, knocking 9 pins.

Will’s brows rose. “Wow. Not bad,” he said. “Maybe after this practice round, you can beat Lou.”

“Hey!” Lou Ellen called from her lane, crossing her arms over her chest.

“We can beat her this round,” Nico said, turning back to Will. He had a sharp glint in his eyes, something Will had never seen before. He reached for the ball as it reappeared and knocked down the last pin.

Will felt a grin tug at his lips. “Yeah. You’re on, Lou! I’ve got Nico!”

-

“Well, this sucks. You let me down, Lou.”

Lou swatted Cecil’s arm, and he hip-checked her in response. “I tried my best. Hey, Nico, are Shades super strong or something?”

After the games had finished, the competitive spark in Nico died down, and he looked as blank and empty as ever. Tossing their empty plates with the remnants of greasy bowling alley food in the trash, Will and Lou Ellen had started to put on their coats. Cecil, who was staying to take over the food counter, had packed his things onto his arms. Nico, who had arrived with nothing, stood to the side. “No,” he said.

“Oh,” Lou replied. “Any reason you’re so good at this game then?”

Nico paused. “I used to, ah--” He paused, then made an indistinct noise, breathy, like mist. “It’s a sport on Pluto-I. Somewhat like your fencing. So I suppose I have dexterous arms.”

“Jealous,” Cecil said, rolling his eyes. He checked his watch. “Well, I really have to head over before Priya decides I’m late and makes me pay.”

Will shivered. Cecil’s younger sister was disturbingly creative. “Good luck!” he called.

“I’ve got to run too. Mom wants to have a family dinner. See you,” Lou Ellen said, her antennae bobbing happily as she turned to the door.

“Have fun with your boyfriend!” Cecil called.

Will’s face grew bright red. “He’s not my boyfriend!” he called back. The desire to keep his eyes glued to ugly old fractal pattern on the table was strong, but he knew it would be rude to leave without a real goodbye. He lifted his head only to find Nico staring over at him. “Ha. Well, um, I should head home. Got to catch the metro, so--”

“I can give you a ride,” Nico offered.

“Oh. You don’t have to,” Will said, taking a step towards the door.

Nico shook his head and followed him. “My driver will be here soon. Just wait.”

“Oh. Well, uh, thanks,” Will said, pausing just in front of the glass. He turned to look outside, where the sleeping trees spread their limbs through the gray sky. He supposed it would have been rude to refuse again. “So bowling. You like? Bowling. You like bowling?”

“It was fun,” Nico said.

Will nodded, giving a terse smile. “Right. Great.” He shifted on his feet again. Cool air slid in behind incoming customers, and he shivered. “It’s, um, cold out.”

Weather talk. Fantastic, Will Solace.

Nico turned to look at him. “It’s not too bad. Pluto-I is colder,” he said.

“Oh. I guess you like the cold then,” Will said.

Nico was quiet. “Not so much.”

Will faltered. “You don’t?”

“Mamma was from Italy. The few times I’ve been on Earth before now, we were there,” Nico said, and for a moment, Will thought he heard a bit of an Italian accent to his speech, but, no, he was probably projecting. As Nico had said, he was raised on Pluto-I. “She always liked the heat. She rarely left our home if she could help it. Pluto-I was too cold for her.” His words carried some sort of weight that Will couldn’t seem to place. After a moment, Nico turned to look at him, his dark eyes somber. “That’s what I think it was. Humans can’t survive for extended periods on Pluto-I. Mamma and my sister, Bianca . . . they both died from unexplained circumstances. Bianca, I think, was more human than me.”

Will stared at Nico’s face, even as he turned his gaze back to the outdoors. “Nico,” he said.

“My father believes I will be safer on Earth,” Nico continued, “but since Shades aren’t suited to this environment--”

Will reached for Nico’s arm, his fingers wrapping around his bicep.

“Jules-Albert is here,” Nico said abruptly, pushing his way through the door. Will followed him out, fairly sure that they wouldn’t be speaking on the ride to Will’s.

Part of Will wondered why Nico had told him that. It was difficult to think of him as the strange Shade classmate for their senior year when Will knew that Nico di Angelo, Niko Serapis, was half-human, with a dead mother and sister, unsure if the environment of the native worlds of either of his parents’ would be suitable for his body.

When Will returned home that evening, he pulled out his tablet and began to scan through Google, Shades, Pluto-I, Niko Serapis.

Shades turned up dozens articles on the species, but most of the words were too scientific for Will to understand. He set those aside and briefly skimmed Wikipedia, which was about as helpful. Will already knew they were shadowy shapeshifters. The pictures looked significantly different than Nico, but Nico was presenting in a human form, so Will ignored those as well. Pluto-I provided little more information.

Niko Serapis was something else. The son of Hades Serapis, the ambassador of Pluto-I, and Maria di Angelo, daughter of a former ambassador of Earth. After Maria’s death, Hades had remarried to another Shade, a Mari L’Vesk, with whom he had a daughter, Hazel. It was all but publicly acknowledged that Hazel had been born out of wedlock, long before Maria di Angelo passed. Nico’s sister, Bianca, had died only a year and a half ago. Niko--Nico--was the only one left in his family with any human blood. He must have been lonely.

He must have still been lonely, even on Earth. Will tapped on another article, showing Nico beside his father, greeting a delegation from Earth. He zoomed in on Nico’s face, as cold and detached as ever. His fingertips resting on Nico’s pale cheek, Will stared at the screen until he fell asleep.

-

Will considered Cecil and Lou Ellen his good friends. He could, mostly, trust them not to spread gossip. Cecil’s siblings, on the other hand, were gossipmongers, so long as it benefited them, and by the next school day, word of Will’s association with Nico had spread.

“So you’re dating a Shade?” Drew Tanaka asked, plopping herself down on the edge of Will’s desk in one swift motion. Her hair was neatly braided into a crown, and she wore the pants version of the uniform with all the grace and style of her model mothers. Will simultaneously envied, adored, and despised her.

“I’m--”

“He’s kind of odd-looking,” Drew said, turning her head in Nico’s direction. She didn’t care if Nico saw her looking, which Will supposed was respectable in its own right. “Not because he’s an alien, I mean. Like . . . he just seems so not there. Not exactly the type I thought you’d go for.”

“I’m not dating Nico,” Will said.

Though Nico must have heard Drew as well, he didn’t look up until Will spoke. Something about the look Nico was giving made Will’s chest tighten, and his ears grew red. Nico’s brow furrowed, and he abruptly looked back down to his tablet. Will finally looked away only to find Drew’s face staring down at him.

“Are you going to get off my desk?” Will asked.

“Oh, sure, I’ve gotten plenty,” Drew said. She pressed a kiss to Will’s cheek, leaving a bright red mark, and Will groaned. “You’re a darling, Will, as always.”

“I’m not taking you to my father’s ball this year, Drew,” Will said. “I’m not going.”

“I know, you’ve told me,” groaned Drew, cocking her hip and staring down at him, her eyeliner as sharp as knives. “But, thankfully, you’ve made up for it in other ways. I’ll forgive you.”

Will couldn’t tear his eyes away from her as she walked away. Not because she was gorgeous (though she was), but because she terrified him when she spoke about things he didn’t know. Whatever he’d given her, it couldn’t have been good.

He was right. As soon as Ms. Hestia dismissed class, Will reached for his tablet, only for Nico to brush by so abruptly that he knocked it out of Will’s hand. His head snapped up to look at Nico, but Nico was already at the door, his tablet in his hand. His knuckles looked both pale and dark and smoky where they curled around the screen. Will glanced back down at his own, lying on the floor, thankfully not cracked. He scooped it up and headed out the door.

The hallway was full of students, wall to wall, but Nico wasn’t one of them. Will could only see a few feet in front of him as he slid between his classmates. If he was lucky he’d catch him at the locker room-- but Nico didn’t carry a bag, if Will remembered. The cold didn’t bother him. He wouldn’t have a coat. He wouldn’t stop by the locker room.

Will pressed his lips together and swallowed before he turned to head out the door. Rather than chasing Nico down the walkway, Will found Nico sitting on the bottom step. In his rush, he stumbled and tumbled down onto him. Nico made a noise with that wispy tone again, and he reeled back, hands planted on Will’s shoulders, fingers tightening as he pushed him away.

“Nico,” Will said.

“What’s your problem?” That was not the wispy tone. That was a tone Will had never heard from Nico, cold, dark, a viscous sort of sound as bitter as tar. Will’s eyes moved up Will’s body, from his perfectly tied tie, neatly buttoned jacket, to his face, brows drawn together, mouth turned down into a sneer.

He’s angry, Will realized belatedly.

“I’m-- You looked-- Um, class,” Will stammered.

Nico scoffed and pushed Will away a little more firmly, until Will landed on his butt the next step down. “What?”

“Are you mad at me?” Will asked, knowing that was the worst question to ask someone who was mad at you.

“No! Why would I be mad?” Nico asked. His voice traveled the tones naturally, less impassive than Will had ever heard him be.

“You know, honestly, I don’t know,” Will retorted, crossing his arms over his chest, partially out of a desire to seem more put together, mostly because it was freezing outside. “I don’t know why you’re mad at me, Nico. How could I? You’ve never been mad before, and I’ve been nothing but nice since you got here, so if you want to tell my dad--”

“What’s so bad about dating me?” Nico asked abruptly. As if he’d realized what he’d said a moment too late, the whites of his eyes grew large, and shades of smoky gray spread across his cheeks and ears.

Will stopped. “Uh, wha--?”

“You . . . .” Nico stammered, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “You keep telling people we’re not dating, and you act like-- Would it be so bad to date me?”

Will stared blankly. Nico seemed to wait for something for half a second before the dark blush on his cheeks spread, and he turned away.

“Hold on. Are you saying you like me?” Will asked.

“Shut up,” Nico said, letting out a breath.

“You like me,” Will repeated as it sunk in.

“Shut up!” Nico repeated as his face grew darker.

“Nico--”

“Shut your damn mouth, and don’t touch me!” Nico shook the hand reaching for his arm off and stood up, looking so jittery Will thought he was ready to dissolve into whatever Shades normally looked like. “Just-- don’t say anything. Leave me alone.”

“You like me.”

“Would you stop saying that?”

Will finally stopped, his own cheeks growing red, not just from the cold. He lifted a hand to the back of his neck, the only part of his body that was still warm. Nico liked him. A Shade liked him. What was he supposed to do with that?

“It’s . . . Don’t make that face,” Nico said, his voice softer, though not to that same, dreamy quality he’d had before. He seemed more present, more real, than ever before, solid and harsh. “It’s not weird. I’m half-human. I can . . . I’m allowed to like people. And you’re actually nice to me--”

“I didn’t say anything,” Will said.

Nico rolled his eyes, still looking irritated. “You were thinking it. I get it, you don’t-- Whatever.”

Will sighed and pushed himself to his feet. A step below Nico, they were about the same height. “How am I even supposed to know how I feel about you? You’re always so--”

“So what?” Nico asked, his hands suddenly flashing in front of Will’s face.

“So nothing! It’s like nothing matters to you! I know people always talk about how humans are so wild and emotional, and then you show up and you’re just-- nothing ,” Will said. “Why did you even come to Earth?”

“Because my father told me to!”

Will stopped, lips parting. He stared at Nico, who withdrew, half-looking like who he’d been before, cold, distant, a Shade locked in a human body. But Will could see now. He could see the tightness of Nico’s jaw, the twitch of his lips, his tense fingers. Regardless of what he tried to present, Nico was human too.

“Your father’s an ambassador,” Will said.

Nico paused, glancing over to Will. “Yeah,” he said, leaning against the column on the front steps.

“I know how you feel,” Will said after a moment. “I mean, my dad is the one who told me to--” He stopped, realizing how Nico might take that.

Nico seemed to know what he was going to say anyway. He scoffed. “Yeah. Of course.”

Will sighed. “It’s not that I dislike you or anything,” he said.

“I know, whatever, you just don’t like me, I’m just that weird human kid, yeah, I get it.” Nico’s hands flew around as he spoke before returning to his chest as he crossed his arms.

“Shade kid,” Will corrected. Nico looked up at him. “You said human kid. But here you’re the Shade kid.”

Nico didn’t answer. He turned his head, black eyes focused on column.

“I guess people on Pluto-I weren’t the kindest,” Will said.

“It’s not--” Nico exhaled slowly. “You can’t really understand it. It’s another culture, another species. I don’t know if Shades and humans are really the best for hybrid kids.”

“What do you mean?” Will asked.  He took a step up the steps, sliding closer to Nico, who spared him a quick glance.

“You don’t have your coat on. You’re going to freeze,” Nico said.

Will suddenly felt the chill of the wind rubbing his skin raw. “Oh.”

“You don’t have to take pity on me anymore. You can tell your dad you’ve done the job. I’m fine.” Nico’s arms tightened around his chest.

“You are such a pain in the ass,” Will said.

Nico looked up.

“If you acted like this, less people would think you’re creepy,” Will said. “We’re human . You don’t have to hide your feelings all the time. It’s normalto care about things.”

“I don’t know what you’ve been told about Shades, but we’re not heartless. We care about things. I was just . . . told to stay quiet. My father didn’t want me to offend anyone,” Nico said. “Apparently I’m abrasive.”

Will snorted. “Really?”

Nico cracked a smile in spite of himself.

Will took another step closer. “I don’t want to pretend I know everything you’re going through, okay? But I think things would be easier if you actually tried to hang out with people. People beside me,” he added.

Nico seemed to deflate slightly. “Right.”

“But we can, um . . . .” Will cleared his throat. “We can still hang out.”

“As friends,” Nico said.

“Not necessarily.” Will gave a lopsided grin. “I mean, it’s not every day someone tells me--”

“Shut up,” Nico said, that faint gray spreading through his face again.

“You should come over for the holidays. We do all sorts of thing on Earth,” Will said. “Mom won’t mind. The whole family comes up from Texas, ‘cause we have snow up here.”

Nico looked out ahead at the lawn, the grass they never let students even touch, like grass was some prized possession instead of a part of nature that was meant to be walked on. “We don’t have snow on Pluto-I,” he said.

“You ever seen it?” Will asked.

“No,” said Nico.

“It’s nice. I hope we have a white Christmas this year,” Will said. He smiled, leaning over the railing.

“You’re shivering,” Nico said. He lifted his hand to Will’s cheek. “You really should go inside.”

“Yeah,” Will said, the soft thump of his heart against his chest growing louder. Nico’s hand was unreasonably warm in this weather. He took a step back, shaking off the touch. “Yeah. Um, I’m going to go inside. See you, Nico.”

“See you.”

Will turned towards the door, not quite sparing a glance towards Nico as he made his way to the locker room. He grabbed his coat without much of a look at any of the remaining students, though Drew, leaning on her locker, gave him a look.

By the time Will made it outside, Nico was gone. Will kind of felt disappointed.

-

It was December 18th, two days before the last day of school before the holiday break, when homeroom was interrupted by a knock on the door. Ms. Hestia looked up, looking through the small window in the door, thean to Will, which gave Will a distinct feeling that this was not going to be something good.

When Apollo walked into the room, Will was sure. This was not good.

“Students of Montauk Youths’ Academy, we have been blessed with a special opportunity today,” Apollo began without any sort of introduction. Will’s cheeks began to burn, and he lowered his head. Ms. Hestia didn’t even seem to know what was going on. How could he show up at Will’s school and not even tell the teachers? “Your classmate, Niko S-- Nico di Angelo, as you all know, is from Pluto-I--”

Oh no. Will’s head snapped up, looking over his shoulder to Nico. Nico’s jaw was tight, his fingers about to break the stylus in his hand.

“His family has decided to make a visit, and you have the fantastic opportunity of meeting Ambassador Hades Serapis, his wife Mari L’Vesk, and their daughter Hazel,” Apollo said. Behind him, a tall, thin man stepped in, his features twisted into something almost annoyed.

The stylus snapped. A few snickers from somewhere in the classroom echoed, but none of the adults acknowledged them. Of course they wouldn’t.

“There’s no need for this,” he said, words diplomatic, but tone decidedly not. If Nico was abrasive, Will had an idea of where he got it from. “I can visit my son after class.”

Apollo beamed, his own diplomacy skills not quite polished enough to pick up on the signals Hades was sending. Will always thought his father had been appointed to this position because any errors he made would have been excused by his lack of awareness rather than an intentional slight. “Nonsense. There’s no need to wait. Ms. Hestia doesn’t mind,” he said.

Ms. Hestia pursed her lips. Hades Serapis looked at her apologetically. Behind him, a woman and a girl a few years younger than the students--obviously Mari and Hazel--followed. They were all dark, nearly pitch black, their skin not quite solid, hair loose and curly. They looked little like Nico, except for their eyes, and now Will wasn’t the only one who knew.

Will glanced over his shoulder again. Nico’s face was growing gray. At the front of the classroom, the girl--Hazel, gave a beaming smile and slid through the aisles.

“Niko!” she said brightly, tugging her brother out of his chair. “How do you like Earth? I’ve never seen a school like this before. Are you settling in well?”

Nico seemed to force a smile. “It’s fine, Hazel,” he said, his voice softer, as if to lessen the amount of attention on them, though with this situation, it didn’t do a thing.

“Oh, your tablet!” Hazel turned to look at Nico’s desk, reaching to scoop the tablet into her hands. “How fascinating.”

“Yes, um . . . .” Nico glanced helplessly at his parents at the front of the room. “Father, perhaps we should take this out of the school.”

Apollo looked perplexed at the suggestion, but Hades nodded, his wife looking relieved.

“Niko, Hazel,” Hades said, though those were the only words Will caught until his voice grew softer, wispier, the language of the Shades. At Nico’s desk, Hazel nodded, grabbing her brother’s hand and leading him up to the front. As they passed Will’s desk, Hazel turned to look at him, giving a wide smile, then looking to Nico. She said something that made Nico’s ears darken as well.

“Hazel,” Nico said, pushing her forward until they reached the front of the classroom. Hades and Mari quickly ushered their children out of the door, until Apollo was left flummoxed, Ms. Hestia feathers ruffled, and the class utterly stunned at the deviation from routine.

“Well . . . Let’s hope they have a good visit. Please be kind to your classmate!” said Apollo as brightly and stupidly as ever. Will tried not to cry when Apollo waved at him and walked out.

As Ms. Hestia tried to resume her lesson, Will felt the tip of a stylus dig into his neck. His shoulder lifted up to knock it off, and he looked behind him.

Lou Ellen smiled sympathetically. “I always forget your dad is . . . like that . . . .”

“I just feel bad for Nico,” whispered Will.

“He’ll be fine,” Lou said. “I mean, embarrassing as that was, he’s got a day with his family, and nothing seems to bother him anyway.”

Not true. Nico was surprisingly sensitive. Will didn’t know if that specifically would humiliate him, but he hated the thought of his dad making things difficult for Nico. If only Will could contact him. But he hadn’t synced their watches, and-- He bit the tip of his tongue, only snapping out of it when he realized Lou was smiling at him.

“What?”

Lou Ellen shook her head, antennae bobbing. “Pay attention, Will,” she said, poking his neck again until he turned around, leaving him with no answer once again.

-

At the end of the day, Will’s worries hadn’t quite subsided, and he hardly remembered getting his coat and walking outside. He was halfway to the metro station before he noticed the car beside him, and when the window rolled down and a voice called, “William Solace!” he nearly had a heart attack.

In the car, Hazel L’Vesk and her brother sat, Hazel’s head poking out of the window. Hazel’s hair was loose and bounced around her in the wind. She looked nothing like her brother, but she was very pretty as well; she was easier to call pretty, rather, as the darkness in her features looked much more natural.

“William Solace,” she repeated. “My brother Niko said something of a sport called ‘bowling’. You know this sport?”

“Um,” Will said, not sure how to respond.

“Will isn’t very good at it,” Nico said, sliding up beside her. For a moment, Will thought he would smile, but as soon as he caught Will’s eye, Nico bristled, turning his head away. “Let’s go, Hazel.”

“Oh, but--” Hazel looked at her brother, then back to Will. “Oh! Well, since you’ve shown Niko your sport, perhaps Niko could show you ours. He was the champion of our school at home--in his age level at least.”

“Yeah, you’re pretty good too,” Nico replied, sparing a smile for his sister.

“Of course!” Hazel grinned before turning back to Will. “Please, join us. We’ll be heading to the embassy hotel.”

Nico pressed his lips together, looking as if he didn’t want Will to come. Will was ready to make his excuses until he looked at Hazel’s face.

“I--” he said.

“Great!” she said, opening the door and sliding over her brother to the other seat. “Come in!”

Will hesitated before he climbed into the car, sitting next to Nico. Nico shifted, sliding a bit closer to Hazel, who shoved him back, his thigh brushing Will’s. Immediately, Nico stiffened. Then, almost defiantly, he crossed his arms and spread his legs a little wider, pressing Will into the side of the car.

Real mature, Will thought. They weren’t even really fighting.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, William,” Hazel said, leaning forward to look at him. “Niko’s told me about you.”

“He has?” Will asked.

Nico blushed again, the cool gray of his face stronger than ever.

“Of course! It’s nice that he has a friend here,” Hazel said. “I was . . . upset when Father decided to send him to Earth, but I can see it’s good for him. But now this is the only chance I have to beat Niko at--” She made that sound that Will vaguely remembered as the sport Nico played on Pluto-I.

“You’re not going to beat me,” Nico said, that competitive glint returning to his eyes.

Hazel grinned. “Oh, but I am, dear brother. I’ve been practicing. What have you been doing?”

“Bowling,” Nico replied, and Will had to cover his mouth so he didn’t laugh. In spite of himself, Nico let a small smile slip, and Will’s heart twisted in his chest. Oh. Right. Nico’s smile.

“Bowling? Perhaps I shall bowl the next time we are on Earth,” said Hazel. She looked to Will. “My brother has told me of your sport. It sounds very odd. If we return soon, you must show me.”

Nico’s lips quirked a little more at his sister’s antics. “Please ignore her. She’s only 14.”

“And I’m still going to beat you at --.” She stuck out her tongue, as dark as the rest of her, and Nico stuck out his, a darker shade of pink than most humans, as if it were imbued with shadow.

The driver dropped them off at the front of the hotel, and Hazel grabbed Will’s hand to pull him out. Her fingers weren’t cold, though maybe a little cool, like grasping at the air in the fridge, and Will had a distinct feeling if he squeezed too hard, her hand would disappear. Nico’s body was more solid, from what Will remembered. Nico followed beside them, waiting for Hazel to open up the door to the hotel, where she led them to a recreational room, already supplied with the tools of the trade, or sport as case were.

“Ready?” Hazel asked before she seemed to disappear--then out of nothing but a shadow in the corner of the room, she was a wisp, not even vaguely humanoid, her voice no longer making any sort of sounds similar to English. She was a real Shade, Will realized. Not shapeshifting, just existing.

Nico remained in his human form, glancing over to Will hesitantly. “I--” he started before running a hand through his hair. He responded to Hazel in the same language, then looked back to Will. “This may be a little weird for you, okay? I mean . . . I’ll have to leave my human body. But I’m not dead, so don’t freak out.”

What?

Nico stepped to the side of the room and opened his mouth, a rush of shadow flowing from his lips. His dark veins seemed to empty, and his body seemed paler, lesser, his eyes falling shut as he fell to the ground, and then there was another Shade, looking just like Hazel, attacking before Will’s eyes could adjust. Will looked to the body beside him.

Nico was right. He did look dead, slumped over like that. Part of Will wanted to scream or cry or something, staring at a body devoid of any signs of life. Did Nico use that body like a shell? Was it even a part of him? Will reached to touch it. The skin was still warm, and on the wrist, he could feel a heartbeat.

Too creepy. He turned his attention to the match before him.

There was no handbook to explain what they were doing. They moved so quickly Will couldn’t catch it, and though he had the sabers or whatever when they’d entered the room, he hadn’t registered when they’d picked them up. It was like fencing, Nico had said, but Will couldn’t see any resemblance beyond the use of swords. He’d almost convinced himself he was catching on when they reformed into humanoid-figures. Like this, Nico had the same dark skin as his family.

“You’re getting so good, Hazel,” he said in English, probably for Will’s benefit. “You’re going to be far better than me by the time you’re my age.”

Hazel beamed. “I learned from the best,” she said, wrapping her arms around her brother’s waist. She was sweet. Far sweeter than any of Will’s half-siblings, he thought, almost jealous. But considering the family Nico had, he probably needed Hazel. Anyone who could make Nico smile like that must have been good.

“Shall my driver take you home, Will?” Nico asked, sliding over to his body and flowing back in, his eyes opening with just a second to adjust.

“Um,” Will said.

“I’ll take him home,” said Nico. “Are you leaving tonight, Hazel?”

Hazel nodded sadly. “You know Shades can’t stay on Earth long,” she said.

“I know,” Nico said, his voice taut. He sighed and reached to hug her, murmuring a few words in his language.

Hazel smiled and replied before looking to Will. “It was a pleasure to meet you, William Solace. Please make sure my brother is safe on Earth.”

Will smiled. “Oh, he’s, um--”

“Father will be looking for me. This was my time with my brother, and I’m afraid I’ve overspent,” she said. “Perhaps I shall see you again. Goodbye.”

Shades must have moved faster in wisp-form, as the girl was gone in a blink of an eye, and Will was left alone with just Nico.

“Can I ask you something before I go crazy?”

Nico turned his head at Will’s question.

“What the hell was that? With your body?” Will asked.

Nico shrugged.

“I just,” Will stammered, “the rest of your family looks like they just-- Well, Hazel just shapeshifted into a human, but you like-- it’s like you came out of your body, and--” He stared, blue eyes wide as he tried to figure out how to explain what he saw.

“Oh. That. It’s-- part of being half-human,” Nico said, voice growing progressively softer. His ears grew an inky gray. “Most Shades can freely shapeshift, but, um, my human body doesn’t . . . . It’s just always there. I can take a Shade form, but I can’t stay out for very long.”

Will furrowed his brow, and Nico lifted a hand to fuss with his hair.

“Look, I know it sounds weird, but there’s an explanation from the doctors on Pluto-I, and I can’t remember all the details. My existence is weird, so,” Nico said, blowing out of his lips as he shrugged.

“Hey, you don’t have to justify it. You should know. I just . . . .” Will tried to think of something to say that didn’t boil down to, “That was incredibly disturbing, and I never want to see it again.” Because that wasn’t what he meant. Not totally. It was cool to see Shades as they naturally were, and seeing that other side of Nico was neat, but Will couldn’t get the image of Nico’s body slumped on the floor out of his mind.

“I told you I wasn’t dead,” Nico said, voice softer, hand lifting to Will’s cheek again. Before his fingers brushed Will’s skin, he dropped his hand sharply. “My mother never liked to see it either. So don’t feel bad. To her, I was this body. Seeing me outside of it, it was like seeing her child dead.”

“Oh,” Will said. He wasn’t sure there was anything else he could say.

Nico pressed his lips together. “The doctors didn’t make it any better. They told her Bianca and I would die if we left these bodies too long. We can only be out for about half an hour before systems fail.”

“Systems fail? You’re not a bot.” Will snorted, covering his mouth.

Nico’s dark eyes grew soft. Standing so close, Will thought he could almost trace irises in the blackness, maybe even see some gold flecks. “Error: Systems down. Contact manufacturer,” he said, face flat before letting his head slump over. Will let out a loud laugh, and a proud smile grew on Nico’s face.

Will shoved Nico’s shoulder. “Part-Shade, part-human, part-robot. What aren’t you?”

“Patient. Come on. Jules-Albert is waiting.” Nico stepped towards the door, and Will followed behind him. As soon as the door shut, it was like their camaraderie had evaporated. Nico was as cool and distant as ever, and Will had no clue what to say.

“Your sister is nice,” was what he finally came up with, using his few inches on Nico to catch up.

Nico shrugged. “Yeah. She didn’t want me to go,” he said.

“But your father made you,” Will remembered.

Nico’s lips parted slightly. “It’s not so bad,” he said. “Humans tend to breed with other species more often than most. I plan to study hybrid species and their health, so this is probably the best place to do it.”

Will scrunched his nose. “Breed is the worst word to use for that.”

“Why? Does it bother you?” Nico’s eyes lit up with that knowledge. Will already regretted telling him. “It’s just a fact, you know. Humans breed --”

“Dickhead,” Will said, jutting his elbow into Nico’s side.

Nico laughed and lit up the room, hair flopping loosely to one side, smile wide, lashes framing his eyes. Will hardly noticed he was holding his breath until he was forced to turn away so he could force his lungs to work again.

“You know,” Will said, “I’ve always wanted to study health as well. Medicine, really.”

“Oh?” Nico asked. At least, Will thought it was a question.

“Yeah. My oldest brother is a doctor. He used to visit and help my mom out after I was born, because Dad was already onto his next romance,” he said, raising his brows in derision. “I used to idolize him. He’s kind of busy now, but I like when he gets to visit. And I’m dyslexic. Like, really dyslexic. So school was always hard for me. For a long time, I thought that if I studied three hours and my friends studied one and still did better than me, what was the point of it all? But he told me that if I wanted to be a doctor, I was already on the right track because doctors need to know how to work at studying.”

“He sounds cool,” Nico said. Will looked up, expecting to see that polite expression he normally got when he explained his motivations, but Nico looked interested. “It’s not the same thing, but on Pluto-I, our schools are kind of . . . weird. Shades don’t really . . . sleep. But I have to, since I’m part-human. And we progress based on what we show, so my father always thought I’d fall behind my classmates. And that pissed me off. When I wasn’t sleeping, I was studying, unless Mamma pulled me away.”

“Spite is the best motivator,” Will said.

Nico smiled. “Maybe. Doesn’t leave a lot of time for anything else though,” he said.

“Is it easier here?” Will wondered. “I mean, we all sleep, so you don’t have to worry about falling behind.”

“It is,” Nico said. “I have a lot of free time. It’s . . . weird. It’s like I can actually do things. Have friends. Go out. Maybe--” His cheeks grew gray, which told Will exactly what he was thinking of, and that made Will’s cheeks go pink. It wasn’t as if he’d forgotten that Nico liked him, but that was a reminder that, yes, Nico actually wanted to date him, maybe even be his boyfriend.

“Are you going to spend more time with your family? I don’t want to pull you away from them. I can walk home,” said Will, eager to change the subject.

“Oh. No. Father will leave after his meetings, and they end shortly,” Nico said. “I’d rather return to my apartment.”

“Are you sure?” Will asked.

Nico nodded. “It’s fine,” he said. “I’m . . . still welcome at your house for the holidays, right?”

Will nodded quickly. “Of course. I invited you, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but--” Nico swallowed, cheeks gray again.

“Yes,” Will replied firmly.

Nico looked as if he wanted to say something, but he turned away. “What should I bring this time?” he asked.

“Gifts are traditional,” Will said. “But you don’t have to worry about that for my extended family. They do most of the exchanging before they get up here, so it’ll just be Mom’s and my gifts to them. Not that you have to get anything for me or Mom either; you can come over after we do gifts. Mostly, it’ll be food again. So you can come and cook, if you want? But I’m not volunteering you. You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Nico said. “I want to do the holidays.”

Will paused. “Then you ought to wear an ugly Christmas sweater,” he said.

“A what?” Nico asked.

“Look it up!” Will said, just as Nico’s watch beeped, telling them Jules-Albert had arrived.

-

Montauk Youths’ Academy provided the particular benefit of casting students into hell with a Finals Day rather than a Finals Week, as m ost civilized schools did. Like all students belatedly realizing it was time to study, Will had no time to observe Nico again until December 25th, the first day of the holiday season. He told his mom Nico was coming again, and she gave a smile, nodding in a way that told him he did not want to ask what she was thinking about.

Most of the family had arrived on Christmas Eve, but they were late sleepers. Will and Naomi always got up early to do their Christmas exchange, which never took long. Like most years, Will got a new scarf and hat, and Naomi got a new supply of guitar strings and a coat.

“Why did we ever move up here, Will?” she asked, wrinkling her nose as she hung her coat in the closet.

“So you could be closer to your record label,” Will said.

“Ah, of course!” she said. “They wanted to torture me. Thanks, honey.” She reeled around and kissed his head, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing tight.

“ Mom ,” Will groaned, though he couldn’t help but laugh.

“What time is your friend getting here?” Naomi asked, rising to her feet and stretching her arms over her head.

Will paused. “Uh,” he said.

Naomi raised a brow and shook her head, curls bouncing around her neck. “Oh, honey, you didn’t tell him a time?”

“It was kind of, um,” Will stammered, remembering when he’d invited Nico. His ears burned, and he looked down at the floor. Wow, had their carpet always been so beige?

Naomi snorted and ruffled her son’s hair. “Is there anything you want to tell me?” she asked, fluttering her lashes.

Will grew redder and shook his head, glancing to where Nico’s gift laid under the tree. “Mom, it’s not--”

“Okay, Will,” she said. “I’m going to start cooking. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me. You can have the living room to yourself when he gets here--at least, until your cousins wake up and start rampaging.”

Oh. Yeah. LeShaun and Daneka had come this year. That . . . would not be good. Did Nico like kids? What if they said something about his eyes? Shit, maybe he’d be offended, and--

The doorbell rang.

Will clenched his teeth and let out a breath. “Mom?”

“Yes, honey?”

“Why did you let me invite him?”

“You’re eighteen-years-old, Will. I have no control over your actions. If you want to invite a boy, I’m more than happy to welcome him.”

“ Mom .”

Will hopped up and moved to the door. He puffed up his cheeks and exhaled before he turned the knob.

Nico stood on the doorstep, clutching two presents wrapped in white and mint green paper with bright red bows, in a gaudy green sweater strung with rainbow lights, his hair a little wavier than usual, as if he’d only just woken up. Oh, no. He was cute. Will wasn’t ready for this.

“Hi,” Nico said, his dark eyes staring at Will.

“Uh,” Will said.

Nico raised a brow. “You say that a lot.”

“It’s my favorite word,” said Will. Since when was he such an idiot? Favorite word. Nico must have thought he was stupid.

He cracked a smile and stepped inside. “Are these wrapped correctly?” he asked. “Jules-Albert helped me.”

“Oh, yeah,” Will said, giving a goofy smile. “They’re nice.”

“Cool,” Nico said. “Should I give this to you now?”

“Oh, um--”

Before Will could answer, a rumble echoed down the stairs, and LeShaun and Daneka came tumbling down.

“Will! Willy!” they called as they scrambled over to him. “Will, it’s Christmas!”

“Uh, yes. I know,” Will said. He looked to Nico. “Oh, these are my cousins. LeShaun, Daneka. This is Nico; he’s my friend.”

Daneka stared. Nico stared back.

“My sister used to do her hair like that,” Nico said, gesturing to the twin buns on her head.

“Your sister has good taste,” Daneka pronounced.

Nico nodded. “She’s great.”

“Is he your boyfriend?” Daneka asked, her little brother shyly stepping behind her.

Will shook his head. “Oh, no, Nico’s just--”

“An alien,” LeShaun whispered, eyes wide.

Nico smiled. “Yeah. I’m from Pluto-I.”

Will stared curiously. They were getting along. That was good.

“Willy, you don’t have to play with us this year,” Daneka said. She grabbed Nico’s hand, and LeShaun ran to his other side to take the other one. “We want to play with the alien.”

“Daneka, I don’t think--”

“Do you like VR?” she asked, looking up at Nico.

“Oh, yeah! Mamma used to play with us on Pluto-I,” Nico said eagerly. “Have you ever heard of Mythomagic?”

LeShaun scrunched his nose. “That’s so old .”

Nico’s face fell slightly. “Well . . . Mamma’s system was from when she was a kid.”

“Then we have a lot to catch you up on,” Daneka said seriously, her dark eyes wide. She moved back towards the stairs. “Will, can you turn on the VR system?”

Will stood frozen before he nodded slowly. Naomi peeked her head out of the kitchen.

“Stole your date?” she teased.

“ Mom .”

“Merry Christmas, Will.”

-

Will may not have called Nico his date, but his cousins definitely stole him. It was the first year they didn’t ambush Will at every corner. Instead, they dragged Nico into their collection of VR games. Nico joined eagerly, clearly fascinated by how far the system had come since his mother’s age. Will managed to wiggle his way into watching, though Daneka had declared he wouldn’t get a turn.

“You can have mine,” Nico offered once, but Will shook his head. It was clear Nico loved VR, and Will was content seeing the smile he had while playing.

Will was screwed.

By the time everyone started opening presents, Will had kind of forgotten he was the one who invited Nico. At least, until his uncles started in.

“This is the first time you’ve brought someone to the holidays,” Uncle Jun said as he tried to wrangle his kids into the living room for presents. “Naomi didn’t even tell us you were dating anyone.”

“I’m not-- Nico’s not--”

Jun smiled kindly. “I remember when I said that about Dante. Don’t waste your time, Will. He’s here, isn’t he?”

“I--”

Dante slid in from the kitchen, his curls pulled into a small ponytail. “Jun’s right. No need to wait. Sometimes boys can be stupid. If you don’t tell him, he may not realize.”

“You never would have realized,” Jun said.

“I knew you were something special,” protested Dante.

“I don’t need to hear your story again,” Will interrupted. “I get it, I do. But Nico’s--”

“A nice boy. Daneka might scoop him up if you don’t,” Jun noted, watching as his daughter tried to teach Nico to dance. Will turned to look at him, watching as he awkwardly mimicked her steps.

“See? That’s the smile. That’s a gay smile,” Dante said.

“Stop pestering my son.” Naomi stepped into the living room, drying her hands with a towel before tossing it back into the kitchen. “He’ll figure it out in his own time.”

“There’s nothing to figure out,” Will protested.

“Sure,” Jun said. “Kids, shut up and sit down.”

“Yes, Dad,” Daneka and LeShaun echoed, scrambling over to the couch and sitting down. Nico was left standing alone, and he awkwardly stepped closer to Will.

Naomi took pity on him. “This is your first Christmas, Nico? Come here,” she beckoned, leading him to one of the chairs. “Take a seat. We’re just giving the kids gifts. They’ll leave you alone after this.”

“Oh. Okay,” Nico said, taking a seat. He looked at Will curiously. Will stepped closer to him and plopped down on the arm of the recliner.

“I’ll give you yours after this,” he said softly. “Uncle Jun and Uncle Dante will be trying to keep them in line, so we’ll be free.”

“You got me a gift?” Nico asked, eyes bright.

Will furrowed his brow and glanced at the gifts Nico had brought. “Um, yes. Didn’t you--?”

“What I read online said gifts are typically exchanged between family members and romantic partners, though in some cultures, friends exchange gifts as well,” Nico said. He fiddled with the red hem on the sleeve of his sweater. “I didn’t know about this one. So I bought you and your mom gifts, but . . . .”

“I totally invited you for Christmas and planned to make you suffer through it without any gifts,” Will said, rolling his eyes. He nudged Nico’s shoulder, then paused, waiting to see if he heard any giggles from his family. No, they were busy with Daneka and LeShaun. Perfect. No teasing.

Nico huffed, his ears graying. “You would.”

Will made an exaggerated scowl. “Hey! I’m the nicest guy on the planet.”

Nico mumbled something, and he glanced up to Will with wide eyes, something heavy between them.

Will swallowed thickly and peered over Nico’s shoulder to the window, the dark winter evening lying ahead where there were--

“Flurries,” he said. “Mom! Mom, can I take Nico outside? It’s snowing. He’s never seen snow.”

“You’re eighteen, Will. You don’t have to ask for permission,” Naomi said, shaking her head.

Nico snickered. Will blushed and grabbed his hand, scrambling to the coat closet before he tugged Nico onto the porch. The porchlight was small, just enough to light up the chipping paint on the wooden panels. The snow was fine and thin, just covering the grass, but it was snow.

“A white Christmas,” Will said. “I was hoping you’d get to see this. As much as I hate the cold, I’d miss this in Texas.”

Nico moved down the steps and kneeled down, hand stretched out to the powdery snow. “It’s cold,” he marveled.

“Yeah, frozen water,” said Will. “Kind of how it works. I know we didn’t have weather in science or anything, but--”

“I know what snow is,” snapped Nico. “I just . . . didn’t know how it would feel.”

Will laughed as Nico turned it over in his hands until the handful melted and ran down his fingers. “What do you think?”

“It’s pointless,” Nico said, rising quickly and moved back to Will’s side.

“I think it’s pretty.” he protested. “And just wait until tomorrow. I’ll take you sledding. You’ll love that.”

“Is it a sport?” Nico asked.

Will hesitated. “Well, kind of. It’s just for fun. But we can race.”

“I’ll beat you,” Nico said.

“You’re on, di Angelo.” Will grinned and waved his fists at Nico. “. . . So how’s your first Christmas?”

Nico shrugged. “Interesting,” he said. “I’m glad I got to see you.”

Will’s face flushed, not just from the winter air. “I . . . .”

“Stop making that face. I can’t help how I feel,” Nico said shortly, turning his head away.

“I’m not making fun of you.”

Nico crossed his arms. “No, but you’re--” He let out a breath, white fog at his lips. “You’re thinking it. It’s weird. Can’t like Shades, can’t like humans,” he grumbled.

Will furrowed his brow. “Nico, that’s not what I’m saying.”

Nico huffed, his lip almost a pout. Cute.

“I just didn’t expect it, you know? When you told me, I-- Well, you were always so quiet,” Will said.

Nico didn’t say anything.

“But you’re kind of . . . . Well, you’re not bad-looking, and you, um, make me laugh,” Will stammered, face red.

“Not bad-looking?” Nico repeated, looking as if that were actually a compliment.

“You’re cute,” Will said.

Nico’s face grew gray, and he pressed his lips together into a rather unattractive face. “No one’s ever said that before.”

“Not even your mom?”

“Mamma and Bianca don’t count,” he said. “I don’t exactly look normal by Shade or human standards.”

Will shrugged. “You’re still cute,” he insisted, reaching for Nico’s hand.

“So are you,” Nico muttered. “. . . Does this mean we’re dating?”

“Oh. Sure. Yes. Um, boyfriends and all that. We can make sledding our first date!” Will said eagerly. “Is that okay?”

Nico shrugged. “As long as I still get to beat you,” he said.

Will rolled his eyes. “Whatever you want, darlin’.”

Nico’s cheeks grew gray once more. “Are you going to call me that now?” he asked softly.

“Do you like it, darlin’?” Will asked, a grin spreading across his face.

Nico scrunched his nose. “No. It’s disgusting.”

“You sure?” Will asked, now convinced Nico liked it. “Darlin’.”

“Shut up!”

“What are you going to do?”

Nico leaned closer and pressed his lips to Will’s. Will froze. Nico’s lips were warm, and the blood rushing through Will’s face was as well, fighting the cold outside. Will let his eyes close, and he squeezed Nico’s hand.

A white Christmas with his new Shade boyfriend. A nice ending to the year. Will smiled into the kiss and held Nico’s hand a little tighter.

[wineanddinosaur]

The 20 Best Cheap Wines for 2020

Now that we’re all spending a lot more time at home, it’s the perfect opportunity to stock up on low-cost, high-quality wines for everyday enjoyment. In our experience, a glass of wine (or two) can help take the edge off of our current predicament (bonus points for rounding up friends online to taste with you, or to play these virtual happy hour games).

With a seemingly limitless selection of bottles available from online shops, you can explore regions and wine styles easier than ever, snatching up some of the special values we’ve tasted and rated. Below, you’ll find the 20 best affordable wines that VinePair has reviewed in the past six months.

These wines all scored a ‘B’ or higher in our reviews, and all have an average retail price under $20. (As a bonus, we’ve included two exceptions that just missed the price cutoff, but are too good not to mention.)

Here are the 20 best cheap wines you can get right now:

Gruet Blanc de Noirs NV (A) ($16)

If your heart says Champagne but your budget says otherwise, look no further. This is one of the best American sparkling wines and you can pick it up for less than $20 a bottle. Made using the same technique as Champagne (secondary fermentation takes place in-bottle), the wine then spends two years on lees gaining complexity, delicious aromas and flavors, and a creamy mouthfeel. This is outstanding sparkling wine that you can afford to drink on any night of the week.

Castello del Trebbio Chianti Superiore DOCG 2016 (A) ($17)

This wine is a damn joy to drink. It’s an old school blend with all indigenous grapes from the region, and so balanced I feel like I’m in Chianti when sipping it. You will love the cherry and cranberry burst on the nose, along with the floral aroma of rose petals. The palate is bright and juicy and makes you want to sip paired with a sunset. It’s under $20 and worth a spot in your everyday lineup. What a wonderful wine.

Aia Vecchia Lagone Toscana IGT 2016 (A-) ($16)

Bringing Cabernet Franc into this blend does wonders for the wine. It brightens up the Cabernet Sauvignon and adds a juiciness to the Merlot. The nose benefits as well, showing cherry notes and some fresh turned soil, giving it a nice earthy depth while not weighing you down. This is the perfect wine to have on a pasta night with family or friends or bring to a dinner party. Everyone will dig it.

Balletto Teresa’s Unoaked Chardonnay 2018 (A-) ($18)

This wine is ridiculously good for under $20. It’s crisp and refreshing while having great depth. There’s no oak, so you get the full Russian River personality without the wooded distraction. It has a great grip on the palate, and feels nice and broad. I want to bring this to the next cookout and wash it down with some grilled chicken and butter-laden corn on the cob… damn.

VineSmoke Chardonnay 2017 (A-) ($20)

This wine is only available on their website — which also promotes their bags of vine cuttings that can be used for grilling — and the Chardonnay is damn good. It has depth and structure to jive with whatever you’re grilling — though chicken and veggies would pair best — and enough acidity so it won’t weigh you down on a nice, sunny cookout day. It’s crisp and soft with subtle aromas that will complement the char.

Los Vascos Cabernet Sauvignon 2018 (B+) ($10)

You just can’t go wrong here. The wine is $10 and solid. It has nice medium fruit and not a ton of oak. The acidity is right, making it not too heavy. Yo, I’m thinking you should get a case of this wine to have laying around for spontaneity or to pull from when you’re on your way to a cookout, a casual dinner party, or even game night with pizza. It’s a legit go-to definitely.

Mercouri Estate Kallisto 2018 (B+) ($16)

Dry as a bone and aromatic for days defines this wine. The nose makes you think of sweet orange blossoms and honey citrus. The palate is like the aroma of a wet stone, and the acidity is wild and crazy. All this makes for a delicious seafood wine. I mean any seafood. Anything from the sea. All of it. It’s under $20 and will give your palate something new to get into.

Mt. Beautiful Sauvignon Blanc 2018 (B+) ($16)

This is a great, clean, and crisp wine with a good grip on the palate. It has a nose that smells like nectarines and watermelons, and a dry palate that begs for a picnic. For a bottle from New Zealand to be under $20 is a big deal, and the quality is so there.

Vinum Cellars Pets Petite Sirah 2016 (B+) ($16)

This wine was made for the cookout, for the BBQ, for that fire pit brisket. It was made for the family secret sauce you slather on any protein on a sunny day. It has deep, dark, concentrated fruit, good integrated tannin, and enough acidity that it won’t weigh you down too much. And it’s under $20 for the win.

Angelo Innocenti Cabernet Sauvignon 2017 ($17) (B+)

This is a hell of a deal. It’s less than $20 and solid AF. It’s full-bodied, but soft and peppery, with comfy earthy smells that will remind you of wild blackberries and a forest in October. The palate is smooth and the drying tannins are not even perceptible. Wine at this price shouldn’t be this complex, but here we are. Bring this to ANYTHING. I mean, name it. BBQ, Netflix pajama jammy jam, pizza party, burger party, pool party, wine and cheese night. Like, anything. It’s also a crowd pleaser.

Tasca d’Almerita Tenuta Regaleali ‘Guarnaccio’ Perricone 2017 (B+) ($17)

At under $20 this is a great way to branch out and enjoy a wine from a grape you may have not been introduced to yet. Perricone is all about those Pinot Noir and Sangiovese vibes. It has ripe earthy fruit with vibrant acidity that makes that fruit pop. The mouthfeel is calm with smooth medium tannins balancing the wine nicely. With the price being awesome, buy a few bottles for your next pasta and gravy dinner party.

Wente Vineyards Riva Ranch Chardonnay 2017 (B+) ($20)

This wine is as intense in aroma as any other Chardonnay in Cali with toasted oaky vanilla stuff and some butterscotch. But what sets it apart is the bracing acidity cleaning up the wine, not letting those intense aromas weigh you down. Also, it’s only 13.6 percent alcohol, which is glorious. It still has that classic big ol’ butter thing going on, but it’s much more approachable.

Casillero del Diablo Reserva Pinot Noir 2018 (B) ($10)

This bottle is solid. It has all the stuff you like about Pinot Noir in a $10 bottle. It’s fruity, tart, and smells like cherries. It’s soft and chewy on the palate and pairs with poolside parties, picnics, and game nights. If you see it on the shelf on the way to the pizza party it will most definitely jive with a pie.

Cline Cellars Estate Pinot Gris 2018 (B) ($13)

Pull out the salad bowl, get to the farmer’s market before they close, load up on the veggies, and get on that group text. This is a wine for spontaneous occasions to please a crowd. It’s under screw cap, $13, and easy drinking. It has crazy, vibrant acidity and some depth for the char on that zucchini.

Wagner Vineyards Dry Riesling 2017 (B) ($15)

If you like the petroleum vibe in Riesling, this wine is for you. It’s the dominating aroma. There might be more going on but the petrol takes over everything. The palate is sweet, with high acid, so as a BYOB for a spicy menu it’s a good crowd pleaser.

Tasca d’Almerita Tenuta Regaleali ‘Antisa’ Catarratto 2018 (B) ($18)

If you dig oaky Chardonnay, but want to branch out, this native grape from Sicily will make you swoon. It has a balanced oaky nose that smells like honey, toasty vanilla, and bananas, along with a grippy palate. The mouthfeel is also tight and broad, making this a great wine for a get-together with close friends with some nibbles and good convo.

Markham Vineyards Napa Valley Merlot 2016 (B) ($19)

The alcohol is way too high and the oak is slathered on, but dammit I like this wine. It’s the kind of crowd-pleasing wine you bring to a family event that everyone will enjoy and can pair with a wide range of dishes. If you are looking for the soft subtly of this grape, you won’t find it here, but if you’re looking to appease a broad range of palate preferences this wine will be a winner.

Wagner Vineyards Fathom 107 2017 (B) ($19)

The Gewürztraminer calms the intensity of the Riesling, but the acidity is too high. The palate flattens out a bit, but something is off here. This wine would only serve you well as palate cleanser for a spicy menu BYOB if you’re in need of a last-minute bottle.

Bonus Wines

These wines were just over the $20 threshold but made our Top 50 Wines of 2019, so we wanted to share them!

Comando G ‘La Bruja de Rozas’ Sierra de Gredos 2017 (A+) ($22)

You need to taste this wine. This is one of the best expressions of old vine Garnacha from Spain. If you like Pinot Noir you are going ape shit for this bottle. It has the bright fruit you love while maintaining a significant tannin structure that holds all the elements together. There’s a rustic edge and an elegant bent and will make your palate sing. Actually you will probably start singing.

G.D. Vajra Langhe Nebbiolo 2017 (A) ($22)

If you’ve heard about the wonders of Barolo but want to see what all the fuss is about before spending some serious cash, seek out this bottle. It’s made using the same grape variety (Nebbiolo), but arrives in a much more youthful, approachable, and affordable guise. Its aromas include concentrated sour cherry and hints of violets and plums. The palate has vibrant acidity and rigid, well-incorporated tannins. At this price, you can serve it on the midweek dinner table, where it will pair wonderfully with lean red meat.

The article The 20 Best Cheap Wines for 2020 appeared first on VinePair.

source https://vinepair.com/articles/20-best-cheap-wines-2020/

[johnboothus]

The 20 Best Cheap Wines for 2020

Now that we’re all spending a lot more time at home, it’s the perfect opportunity to stock up on low-cost, high-quality wines for everyday enjoyment. In our experience, a glass of wine (or two) can help take the edge off of our current predicament (bonus points for rounding up friends online to taste with you, or to play these virtual happy hour games).

With a seemingly limitless selection of bottles available from online shops, you can explore regions and wine styles easier than ever, snatching up some of the special values we’ve tasted and rated. Below, you’ll find the 20 best affordable wines that VinePair has reviewed in the past six months.

These wines all scored a ‘B’ or higher in our reviews, and all have an average retail price under $20. (As a bonus, we’ve included two exceptions that just missed the price cutoff, but are too good not to mention.)

Here are the 20 best cheap wines you can get right now:

Gruet Blanc de Noirs NV (A) ($16)

If your heart says Champagne but your budget says otherwise, look no further. This is one of the best American sparkling wines and you can pick it up for less than $20 a bottle. Made using the same technique as Champagne (secondary fermentation takes place in-bottle), the wine then spends two years on lees gaining complexity, delicious aromas and flavors, and a creamy mouthfeel. This is outstanding sparkling wine that you can afford to drink on any night of the week.

Castello del Trebbio Chianti Superiore DOCG 2016 (A) ($17)

This wine is a damn joy to drink. It’s an old school blend with all indigenous grapes from the region, and so balanced I feel like I’m in Chianti when sipping it. You will love the cherry and cranberry burst on the nose, along with the floral aroma of rose petals. The palate is bright and juicy and makes you want to sip paired with a sunset. It’s under $20 and worth a spot in your everyday lineup. What a wonderful wine.

Aia Vecchia Lagone Toscana IGT 2016 (A-) ($16)

Bringing Cabernet Franc into this blend does wonders for the wine. It brightens up the Cabernet Sauvignon and adds a juiciness to the Merlot. The nose benefits as well, showing cherry notes and some fresh turned soil, giving it a nice earthy depth while not weighing you down. This is the perfect wine to have on a pasta night with family or friends or bring to a dinner party. Everyone will dig it.

Balletto Teresa’s Unoaked Chardonnay 2018 (A-) ($18)

This wine is ridiculously good for under $20. It’s crisp and refreshing while having great depth. There’s no oak, so you get the full Russian River personality without the wooded distraction. It has a great grip on the palate, and feels nice and broad. I want to bring this to the next cookout and wash it down with some grilled chicken and butter-laden corn on the cob… damn.

VineSmoke Chardonnay 2017 (A-) ($20)

This wine is only available on their website — which also promotes their bags of vine cuttings that can be used for grilling — and the Chardonnay is damn good. It has depth and structure to jive with whatever you’re grilling — though chicken and veggies would pair best — and enough acidity so it won’t weigh you down on a nice, sunny cookout day. It’s crisp and soft with subtle aromas that will complement the char.

Los Vascos Cabernet Sauvignon 2018 (B+) ($10)

You just can’t go wrong here. The wine is $10 and solid. It has nice medium fruit and not a ton of oak. The acidity is right, making it not too heavy. Yo, I’m thinking you should get a case of this wine to have laying around for spontaneity or to pull from when you’re on your way to a cookout, a casual dinner party, or even game night with pizza. It’s a legit go-to definitely.

Mercouri Estate Kallisto 2018 (B+) ($16)

Dry as a bone and aromatic for days defines this wine. The nose makes you think of sweet orange blossoms and honey citrus. The palate is like the aroma of a wet stone, and the acidity is wild and crazy. All this makes for a delicious seafood wine. I mean any seafood. Anything from the sea. All of it. It’s under $20 and will give your palate something new to get into.

Mt. Beautiful Sauvignon Blanc 2018 (B+) ($16)

This is a great, clean, and crisp wine with a good grip on the palate. It has a nose that smells like nectarines and watermelons, and a dry palate that begs for a picnic. For a bottle from New Zealand to be under $20 is a big deal, and the quality is so there.

Vinum Cellars Pets Petite Sirah 2016 (B+) ($16)

This wine was made for the cookout, for the BBQ, for that fire pit brisket. It was made for the family secret sauce you slather on any protein on a sunny day. It has deep, dark, concentrated fruit, good integrated tannin, and enough acidity that it won’t weigh you down too much. And it’s under $20 for the win.

Angelo Innocenti Cabernet Sauvignon 2017 ($17) (B+)

This is a hell of a deal. It’s less than $20 and solid AF. It’s full-bodied, but soft and peppery, with comfy earthy smells that will remind you of wild blackberries and a forest in October. The palate is smooth and the drying tannins are not even perceptible. Wine at this price shouldn’t be this complex, but here we are. Bring this to ANYTHING. I mean, name it. BBQ, Netflix pajama jammy jam, pizza party, burger party, pool party, wine and cheese night. Like, anything. It’s also a crowd pleaser.

Tasca d’Almerita Tenuta Regaleali ‘Guarnaccio’ Perricone 2017 (B+) ($17)

At under $20 this is a great way to branch out and enjoy a wine from a grape you may have not been introduced to yet. Perricone is all about those Pinot Noir and Sangiovese vibes. It has ripe earthy fruit with vibrant acidity that makes that fruit pop. The mouthfeel is calm with smooth medium tannins balancing the wine nicely. With the price being awesome, buy a few bottles for your next pasta and gravy dinner party.

Wente Vineyards Riva Ranch Chardonnay 2017 (B+) ($20)

This wine is as intense in aroma as any other Chardonnay in Cali with toasted oaky vanilla stuff and some butterscotch. But what sets it apart is the bracing acidity cleaning up the wine, not letting those intense aromas weigh you down. Also, it’s only 13.6 percent alcohol, which is glorious. It still has that classic big ol’ butter thing going on, but it’s much more approachable.

Casillero del Diablo Reserva Pinot Noir 2018 (B) ($10)

This bottle is solid. It has all the stuff you like about Pinot Noir in a $10 bottle. It’s fruity, tart, and smells like cherries. It’s soft and chewy on the palate and pairs with poolside parties, picnics, and game nights. If you see it on the shelf on the way to the pizza party it will most definitely jive with a pie.

Cline Cellars Estate Pinot Gris 2018 (B) ($13)

Pull out the salad bowl, get to the farmer’s market before they close, load up on the veggies, and get on that group text. This is a wine for spontaneous occasions to please a crowd. It’s under screw cap, $13, and easy drinking. It has crazy, vibrant acidity and some depth for the char on that zucchini.

Wagner Vineyards Dry Riesling 2017 (B) ($15)

If you like the petroleum vibe in Riesling, this wine is for you. It’s the dominating aroma. There might be more going on but the petrol takes over everything. The palate is sweet, with high acid, so as a BYOB for a spicy menu it’s a good crowd pleaser.

Tasca d’Almerita Tenuta Regaleali ‘Antisa’ Catarratto 2018 (B) ($18)

If you dig oaky Chardonnay, but want to branch out, this native grape from Sicily will make you swoon. It has a balanced oaky nose that smells like honey, toasty vanilla, and bananas, along with a grippy palate. The mouthfeel is also tight and broad, making this a great wine for a get-together with close friends with some nibbles and good convo.

Markham Vineyards Napa Valley Merlot 2016 (B) ($19)

The alcohol is way too high and the oak is slathered on, but dammit I like this wine. It’s the kind of crowd-pleasing wine you bring to a family event that everyone will enjoy and can pair with a wide range of dishes. If you are looking for the soft subtly of this grape, you won’t find it here, but if you’re looking to appease a broad range of palate preferences this wine will be a winner.

Wagner Vineyards Fathom 107 2017 (B) ($19)

The Gewürztraminer calms the intensity of the Riesling, but the acidity is too high. The palate flattens out a bit, but something is off here. This wine would only serve you well as palate cleanser for a spicy menu BYOB if you’re in need of a last-minute bottle.

Bonus Wines

These wines were just over the $20 threshold but made our Top 50 Wines of 2019, so we wanted to share them!

Comando G ‘La Bruja de Rozas’ Sierra de Gredos 2017 (A+) ($22)

You need to taste this wine. This is one of the best expressions of old vine Garnacha from Spain. If you like Pinot Noir you are going ape shit for this bottle. It has the bright fruit you love while maintaining a significant tannin structure that holds all the elements together. There’s a rustic edge and an elegant bent and will make your palate sing. Actually you will probably start singing.

G.D. Vajra Langhe Nebbiolo 2017 (A) ($22)

If you’ve heard about the wonders of Barolo but want to see what all the fuss is about before spending some serious cash, seek out this bottle. It’s made using the same grape variety (Nebbiolo), but arrives in a much more youthful, approachable, and affordable guise. Its aromas include concentrated sour cherry and hints of violets and plums. The palate has vibrant acidity and rigid, well-incorporated tannins. At this price, you can serve it on the midweek dinner table, where it will pair wonderfully with lean red meat.

The article The 20 Best Cheap Wines for 2020 appeared first on VinePair.

Via https://vinepair.com/articles/20-best-cheap-wines-2020/

source https://vinology1.weebly.com/blog/the-20-best-cheap-wines-for-2020

[magzoso-tech]

Infinix S5 Pro Review

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Infinix S5 Pro Review

Infinix has lately upped its game in the budget segment and has been launching phones with promising hardware at very competitive price points. The company has boasted of launching the most affordable phones with three rear cameras and a hole-punch display. Now, Infinix is looking to nab another first with the Infinix S5 Pro – claimed to be the lowest priced phone packing a pop-up selfie camera. The latest Infinix model also features three rear cameras with a 48-megapixel main snapper, a pixel-dense full-HD+ notchless display, and a decent 4,000mAh battery.

The brand, owned by Transsion Holdings, is also jumping onto the Android 10 bandwagon with the Infinix S5 Pro. With the grand ambition of taking the fight to popular Chinese smartphone makers such as Xiaomi and Realme, does this device have enough substance to actually emerge as a solid alternative? We find out in our review:

Infinix S5 Pro design and build quality

Infinix S5 Pro’s rear panel is made of plastic and attracts dust particles really quickly

Big and bold – these are the two words that first came to mind when we took the Infinix S5 Pro out of its retail package. The frame and rear panel of the phone are made out of plastic, but the build quality is good. We noticed minor flex, especially in the middle of the rear panel and along the edges, but not enough to be noticable with day-to-day usage, and much better than the flimsy Infinix Hot 8 (Review). The rear panel is curved on all four sides and meets the frame without creating any sharp edges.

Infinix has done a good job of giving the rear panel a glass-like finish, and thankfully, the phone is not too slippery. The colour options are both rather garish, and won’t be everyone’s cup of tea. The Violet colour option that we had for review has a strong pink undertone that gradually darkens and looks purplish towards the edges, including the frame. The glossy rear panel has a mirror-like finish and is extremely reflective. The other option is Forest Green which is equally bright.

This look might appeal to people who like vivid colours and drawing attention. Unfortunately, the Infinix S5 Pro is only available in these two colours, and if you are looking for a more subtle option, you are out of luck.

The phone has a large notchless display that is crisp and offers good viewing angles

The rear camera module creates a large bump and makes the phone wobble when placed on a flat surface. Also, the design seems very similar to that of the Vivo V15, down to the shape and placement of the fingerprint scanner and the physical buttons. The volume and power buttons are within reach and offer a clicky response. As for the pop-up front camera, Infinix says it has been designed to withstand 150,000 lifts, which translates to 50 cycles each day for over eight years. However, we noticed that dust easily accumulates around the pop-up module.

The Infinix S5 Pro doesn’t look like a budget phone from the front, thanks to the notch-less display. However, it is stuck with a Micro-USB port, which is disappointing since rivals have now moved on to the modern USB Type-C standard. The phone has a triple slot tray for two Nano-SIMs and a microSD card, which is a sigh of relief since there’s no hybrid solution. The fingerprint sensor was not accurate in our experience, which was a huge annoyance. It failed to recognize our fingerprint in one go almost every time we tried to unlock the phone.

Infinix S5 Pro specifications and software

The Infinix S5 Pro has a 6.53-inch full-HD+ IPS LCD display with a 19.5:9 aspect ratio, which makes for a 91 percent screen-to-body ratio. The panel has a pixel density of 403ppi and Infinix has used 2.5G curved-edge NEG Dinorex glass for protection. The phone does not come with a pre-applied screen protector.

Infinix S5 Pro has decent build quality, but one-handed usage is a bit difficult

Infinix’s latest offering relies on the MediaTek Helio P35 SoC paired with 4GB of RAM and 64GB of onboard storage, which can be expanded by 256GB. The phone is equipped with a 4,000mAh battery, but fast charging is limited to 10W. Connectivity is handled by 4G LTE, Bluetooth 5, and Wi-Fi 802.11ac. There is also a 3.5mm headphone jack at the bottom, sitting alongside the mono speaker.

The Infinix S5 Pro’s triple rear camera setup is headlined by a 48-megapixel OmniVision sensor with an f/1.79 aperture. There is also a 2-megapixel depth camera and a dedicated low-light sensor. Interestingly, the company markets the Infinix S5 Pro as a triple rear camera phone, but only one of the three sensors is actually capable of taking photos on its own. The pop-up module houses a 16-megapixel front camera with an f/2.0 aperture. Camera features include AR emojis, Portrait HDR, and wide selfies.

The Infinix S5 Pro runs Android 10 with the custom XOS 6.0 UI. Our review unit was stuck on the dated November 2019 Android security patch. Aside from a native dark theme, the Android 10-based iteration of XOS does not bring any notable new features to the table, and its design also remains unchanged. There is a tonne of bloatware; both first-party and third-party. Notably, Kika keyboard still ships as the default on the Infinix S5 Pro, despite having being booted from the Google Play Store because of ad fraud.  

Infinix S5 Pro claims to be the most affordable phone with a pop-up selfie camera in India

The preinstalled Palm Store and AHA Games apps act as Play Store alternatives, but the quality of apps they offer is poor. Some of the preinstalled apps send spammy notifications, but this can be turned off. XOS 6.0 also shows a carousel of instant apps at the top when you pull up the app drawer. These are essentially online apps that don’t need to be downloaded and installed, but they are also inundated with ads, which can be quite frustrating.

On the bright side, XOS 6.0 also offers some useful features. We quite like the convenience offered by the Smart Panel, which allows quick access to frequently used apps and tools. We also noticed that navigation gestures are more reliable compared to XOS 5.0 on older Infinix phones. The Social Turbo feature is pretty interesting, and lets you record WhatsApp calls, apply automatic face beautification in video calls, and see messages that have been recalled by their senders. Infinix has said that this has been developed in collaboration with WhatsApp and users’ security and privacy have not been compromised even though Social Turbo has full access to your messages.

Infinix S5 Pro performance

The screen of the Infinix S5 Pro is crisp, and viewing angles are acceptable. Colours are punchy, but there is a distinct bluish tinge to the display which makes everything appear a little cold. Unfortunately, there is no system setting to adjust the colour profile or the temperature of the display.

Infinix S5 Pro runs XOS 6.0 based on Android 10

The brightness is adequate, and we did not have to struggle while using this phone outdoors under direct sunlight. However, a minor annoyance is that the display is quite reflective, which is especially evident when the UI’s dark mode is enabled. Also, despite its full-HD+ resolution, this phone is only Widevine L3 certified, which means you cannot stream HD or higher resolution content on platforms such as Netflix and Amazon Prime Video.

Coming to actual performance, the MediaTek Helio P35 chip proves to be reliable, as long as you stick to common tasks. The phone handled multitasking between apps with ease, and did not resort to aggressive RAM management with 10-15 social media and productivity apps running in the background. However, gaming is where the MediaTek Helio P35 starts to struggle.

Casual games such as Mario Kart and Alto’s Odyssey ran fine, but the phone struggled with graphics-intensive games. PUBG Mobile ran at the Balanced graphics setting with the frame rate set to Medium, while COD Mobile defaulted to the Low graphics preset. Even so, we noticed frame drops and occasional stutters every now and then. Synthetic benchmark tests also narrate a similar story.

Infinix S5 Pro benchmark scores compared against Redmi Note 8 and Realme C3

The Infinix S5 Pro scored 187 and 1,070 in the Geekbench 5 single and multi-core tests respectively. Coming to the more graphics intensive benchmarks, the phone reached 449 in 3DMark Sling Shot Extreme and 822 in the 3DMark Sling Shot tests. It is quite evident that the Helio P35 is weaker than the Qualcomm Snapdragon 665, which can be found inside phones in the same price bracket. Also, it performs significantly worse than the MediaTek Helio G70, which powers the Realme C3 which is priced even lower at Rs. 6,999.

Coming to the cameras, the layout of the default camera app remains unchanged. All the camera modes including Video, AI cam, Beauty, and Bokeh Effect, among others, are located in a row at the bottom, while the HDR, flash, scene mode, and settings icons are at the top. Notably, there is no Pro mode in the camera app, and you also can’t take photos in 16:9 aspect ratio. Another quirk is that despite having a dedicated low-light sensor, there is no Night mode.

The Infinix S5 Pro is severely undercut by rivals that offer more versatility in the form of wide-angle and macro cameras, but what it lacks in versatility, the Infinix S5 Pro tries to make up with raw image output. Daylight photos turn out really well for a phone priced under Rs. 10,000. The images are crisp and retain a good amount of detail. There is good contrast, and dynamic range is decent as well. We quite liked the fact that the Infinix S5 Pro does not overprocess photos, and colours look natural. However, the phone occasionally struggled with white balance under harsh sunlight and produced washed-out landscape shots.

The phone also impressed us with its close-ups, which retain a healthy amount of detail and have punchy colours. Another strong area of the Infinix S5 Pro is portrait shots. The phone did a good job of subject separation and the depth effect was acceptable. Edge detection was also decent, except with hair when the subject in focus was a human.

Infinix S5 Pro camera samples (tap to see full size)

Low-light photography is definitely not this phone’s forte. Despite packing a dedicated low-light sensor, night shots turned out grainy with minimal sharpness and contrast. We tested the low-light sensor’s effectiveness by physically covering it, but couldn’t spot any visible difference in photos except for a slightly higher ISO. The phone would have produced better results by combining multiple shots captured at different exposure levels using a Night mode.

Selfies captured by the 16-megapixel front camera look pleasing and skin tones were natural, but there is not much to resolve in terms of detail if you zoom in. Infinix has toned down the aggressive skin smoothening that we have seen on its previous phones, which is a welcome move. What we didn’t like was that the background is overblown in selfies shot outdoors under sunlight. Portrait selfies look decent, but the background blur is flat.

There is a wide selfie mode, but the results were almost always distorted. There is also an AR emoji feature, but the animated face avatars look more like bad 2D masks. Head movements are captured smoothly, but eye tracking could have been better.

Infinix S5 Pro low-light photo sample (tap to see full size)

Infinix S5 Pro low-light photo sample with low-light sensor covered (tap to see full size)

Battery life was just about average. With regular usage that involved day-long Internet connectivity, up to three hours of music playback over Bluetooth headphones, and around an hour of gaming and social media usage each, the phone had 20-25 percent left in its battery at the end of the day. Playing a graphics-intensive game such as PUBG Mobile for half an hour consumed 10 percent of the battery, and the phone didn’t get too hot.

In our HD video battery loop test, the Infinix S5 Pro lasted 15 hours and 42 minutes before the battery fully discharged. The bundled 10W charger is quite slow though. It took 61 minutes to charge the 4,000mAh battery up to the 50 percent mark, after which the charging rate slowed down and it took an additional 1 hour and 53 minutes to charge this phone fully.

Verdict

The Infinix S5 Pro has a few things going in its favour. The notchless full-HD+ display and pop-up selfie camera are impressive for a phone in this price bracket.The performance, however, is just middling, and when compared to equally priced rivals, this phone leaves a lot to be desired. The main camera performs well in the daytime, but despite packing a dedicated low-light sensor, night photography output is sub-par. Battery life is also barely average, and it takes almost three hours to charge the 4,000mAh battery.

If your primary concerns are style and standing out, and you can make a few compromises in terms of functionality, the Infinix S5 Pro could be a decent pick for Rs. 9,999. On the other hand, if you want the maximum value for your money, the Redmi Note 8, Realme 5S, and Vivo U10 are better than the Infinix phone in almost all key areas.