#did you show the slightest hint of interest and so i made it anyway? yes!

[wemultitudinous]

@hopewrought // bethany & varric // if i could write your story, i’d write more sunshine

fred dings // mary oliver // emily pettit // emily dickinson // madeline miller

[myherowritings]

Hey There, Roomie

— After being set up on a bad date with Ushijima, he insists on walking you to your doorstep. Not wanting him to know where you live, you lead him to Iwaizumi’s apartment and pretend Iwaizumi is your roommate. 

pairing: iwaizumi hajime x reader word count: 4.0k genre: college/university au, fluff warnings: mentions of drinking, language, secondhand embarrassment, suggestive comments at the end, oikawa is meddlesome, awkward but cute confessions™!!

a/n: ur bad date is with ushiwaka ok i’m sorry he’s a nice guy but i had to make it someone HDJSJS,, also this is based on real life events except my friend who lived in an apartment near me isn’t cute like iwa-chan :( LMAOOO i hope u enjoy reading!!! xx sof

「 hq masterlist 」

“I assure you, you don’t have to walk me to my apartment.”

“It’s not a bother. I insist.” 

“No, it’s fine.” Although you tried to keep a smile on your face, you were certain it looked more like you were baring your teeth at him. “Really. You don’t have to do that.”

Ushijima shrugged. “I told you, it’s no big deal.” 

Your grin turned into a grimace as you stepped outside the car and headed towards your apartment complex. You managed to grit out, “Great. Thanks.”

A friend from your class had told you they had a friend of a friend who saw an Instagram post of you and thought you were cute. After they showed you a picture of him, you said the same. Little did you know it would lead to a mess of a date set up by said friend. 

The date was at a karaage chicken place and it was filled with the most uncomfortable silences you had sat through since office hours with a professor who you were sure hated you. Ushijima was nice enough and it wasn’t the worst date ever, but the two of you just did not click. You figured it was partly your fault for agreeing to meet with him despite not having a single clue about his interests and never having talked to him once, but it was too late to undo it now. 

He was a gentleman, at least. Offered to pay, held your seat out for you, drove you to your apartment complex, and, now, was trying to walk you to your doorstep. 

The thing was, you did not want him to know where you lived. 

You didn’t get red flags or feel threatened by any means, but having a guy you went on one uncomfortable date with know your exact address wasn’t really something that sat well with you. You’ve heard enough college horror stories to be wary. But, you didn’t have the heart to tell him explicitly not to walk you home… So the only solution? 

Head to your friend’s apartment in the same complex instead.

“Do you know where you’re going?” asked Ushijima, examining you as your eyes darted around from building to building. 

You’d been to Iwaizumi’s apartment before, but that didn’t stop you from looking lost and confused in this maze of houses. And it didn’t help to have Ushijima’s semi-condescending gaze on you the whole time. The worst part was, you were almost certain he didn’t even mean to be condescending— He just was. To you, at least. It definitely rubbed you the wrong way during the date. 

“Yeah,” you laughed, walking past your apartment, “of course I know where my own apartment is.” 

Iwaizumi’s place was just a few buildings north of yours, which you were quick to remember after catching sight of your place. You briefly wondered if he would be home on a Friday night, but quickly decided it wasn’t important. It’s not like you would be entering his house anyway. In fact, if all went well, he might never even know you were outside his apartment to begin with. 

The plan was to have Ushijima drop you off at the doorstep (since he so unwaveringly insisted that he had to and it was no trouble for him to do so), tell him goodbye, fumble with your bag to “look for your keys” as he walked off, then—when he was out of sight—dash to your apartment and lock yourself in your bedroom for the remainder of the night. 

A foolproof plan. 

“Well, we’re here!” you chirped, standing outside Iwaizumi’s door labeled 237E. You whirled around to face Ushijima. “Thanks for walking me. See you around!” 

“Of course.” He nodded but made no move to leave. 

Your smile wavered. Was he waiting for you to enter your house safely? If he didn’t seem so innocent, it would’ve been incredibly creepy. 

“Err,” you drawled, ruffling through your bag. “I’m just finding my keys. You can leave now; I don’t want to keep you any longer!” 

“It’s not a problem.”

Your right eye twitched. What did he think could possibly happen in the time it took you to unlock your door and enter? While it was sweet—in a very suffocating way—it wasn’t what you wanted. After the bad date that was disappointing for the both of you, you expected him to eat his food and dip. Not see you all the way into your house despite the fact that, deep down, he’d much rather be in his own home. It was domineeringly kind.

Didn’t he understand how stressful this could be for someone? His obliviousness was overbearing, but you supposed you couldn’t blame Ushijima when you didn’t verbalize your discomfort to him. 

“Everything okay?” he asked for what felt like the fifth time that night. 

You chuckled nervously. “I guess I…can’t find my keys?” Looking at him sheepishly, you scratched the back of your head. “But, my roommates will probably be home soon! Or, they might be here now. I’ll just ring the doorbell when you leave!” 

Ushijima blinked. “Why not ring the doorbell now?” 

“R-Right,” you stammered, unsure whether you wanted to rip your hair out or cry in frustration. Maybe both would be good. “That’s smart. I can do that.” 

He looked at you expectantly. 

You winced, bringing your pointer finger to the white button of the doorbell. Before you even had the time to gather the courage to press it, the door swung open suddenly, startling you enough to let out a small yelp.

“Ah—! Iwaizumi!” you cried, eyes wide as you stared face to face with your very confused-looking friend. He glanced between you and Ushijima with a questioning expression, but you rambled on before he could say anything. “Hey there, roomie!” You batted your lashes, pleading with him to play along. “I forgot my keys again.” 

Iwaizumi’s face displayed a look of pure confusion and you were certain he must never have gotten any acting awards when he was younger. His expression became even more puzzled when you wiggled your way inside the door, standing snugly next to his side. 

After an awkward silence, you continued again, “Well, thanks for walking me Ushijima-san! And thank you for the date. Maybe I’ll see you around.” 

If he noticed anything suspicious going on, he didn’t show it. Instead he simply nodded and wished you a goodnight. 

Yup, there was definitely no chance of Ushijima wanting to ask you out on a second date. Not that you were complaining. 

You shut the door—the door to an apartment that wasn’t even your own, mind you—and let out a sigh of relief. With your eyes closed and your back resting against the wall, you momentarily forgot you were standing in the entrance of Iwaizumi’s living room. That was, until you started feeling his heavy gaze on you. 

Gulping at the intensity, you cracked your right eye open ever so slightly. “Yes?” you asked innocently.

“Yes?” repeated Iwaizumi incredulously, voice raised in exasperation. “You want to explain what just happened here?” 

You had a sudden interest in your shoes as you shuffled in place. Iwaizumi was your friend and someone you considered yourself semi-close to— Comfortable enough to hang out with regularly and talk with almost every day, but not someone that you confided in with no qualms. And definitely not someone close enough for it to be normal to show up at his place unannounced. You were much closer to his best friend, Oikawa, but that was largely due to him finding out you had a big crush on Iwaizumi a number of months ago and feeling the need to tease you endlessly. Apparently, nothing brought people together like relentless goading. 

“Another bad date,” you answered with a noncommittal tone. “A friend set me up with that guy you saw, Ushijima, and the date was so awkward.” 

He folded his arms across his chest, pulling his white t-shirt snug around his biceps. You tried not to let your eyes bug out of their sockets at the sight. “And yet you let him bring you home?” 

“I couldn’t say no! I tried dropping hints but he just didn’t get it.” You looked up, a sheepish half-smile on your face. “But I was smart enough not to bring him to my apartment. Hence why I came here. Roomie.”

Iwaizumi let out an exasperated half-chuckle, half-sigh as he motioned for you to come further inside. You slipped off your shoes at the doorway and followed him into the living room, taking a seat on the couch next to him. He rested his arm against the headrest of the sofa and you were consciously aware of his hand mere inches behind your head. 

“Are your other housemates here?” you asked, curious as to why there wasn’t the usual amount of chatter and rage gaming from inside their respective rooms. 

He shook his head. “They’re all back at their hometowns for the weekend.” 

“And poor Iwa-chan is home all alone on a Friday night instead of out partying with friends?” you teased, reaching over to pat the top of his head mockingly. 

Glaring at you for the nickname, he lightly swatted your hand away. “You’ve been spending too much time with Oikawa. His shittyness is rubbing off on you.” There was the slightest hint of amusement in his voice to let you know he was only joking. “And being home alone is better than being stuck with a bad date.”

“Ouch,” you cried, crossing one leg over the other and sticking your tongue out at him. “Yeah, sure, I would rather have been curled up in my bed than go on that date— But you didn’t have to call me out like that.” You pouted. “At least I got free food, I guess.” 

He rolled his eyes with a snort. “If you were uncomfortable, you could’ve called me to come pick you up.”

Despite his gruff voice, there was a look of concern on his face. His eyebrows were furrowed and the corners of his mouth were downturned. Iwaizumi’s offer made you feel warm in the stomach, even if you were sure he was just saying it out of courtesy.

“Or better yet,” he continued in a murmur, “don’t let your friends set you up on dates with guys you barely know, dumbass.” 

“Hey! Aren’t you and Oikawa the ones always telling me I need to go out and date more in the first place?” you said, huffing at his insult. 

They told you your college years were your prime dating years and you might regret not going out with a variety of people now. When else would you have the free time and the patience to date, anyway? That was part of the reason you agreed to blind dates and set ups, after all. If Iwaizumi was insisting you date around, that most certainly meant he didn’t reciprocate your feelings for him. Meaning, you had to get over him somehow before the hurt could kick in, even if that somehow included less than ideal fraternization. 

“I never said that,” he grumbled, shaking his head. “Why would I tell you to go on dates with other people? It was just Oikawa who said you should.” 

You blinked in confusion. “But you were there and you nodded in agreement.” 

He shifted his body to get a better look at you, a scowl on his face. “I did not. You were drunk and you probably thought my head was moving when it wasn’t.”

“Well, you were drunk too! Maybe your head was moving and you just didn’t know.” The lines between his forehead deepened and you laughed, unable to stop yourself from tapping the wrinkles with your ring finger. “Don’t think too hard; you might hurt your brain.”

“You really have been spending too much time with Shittykawa,” he said with a defeated sigh. “But whatever you think I said back then, it’s probably not what I meant. You shouldn’t date anyone unless you want to.” 

The thing was, you did want to date someone. Iwaizumi. You were just under the impression he didn’t want to date you. 

You shrugged. “What about you? Have you been dating people you don’t want to?” 

He shook his head. “No. I haven’t dated anyone recently,” he admitted, averting his gaze from you for the first time that night. “I actually...am interested in someone, though.” 

Your stomach dropped. Oh.

“But I don’t think they like me.” 

Trying not to show him the crestfallen expression on your face, you looked down at your lap. You had been mentally preparing yourself to accept that Iwaizumi didn’t have a crush on you like you had on him—you were ready to face the harsh reality—but you were not expecting him to tell you he liked someone else on top of that. That was just a double blow to your gut.

You forced out a laugh, hoping it didn’t sound too strained. “That’s silly. Of course they like you.” 

“I didn’t even tell you who it was.”

“Don’t need to,” you said diffidently, fingers toying with a loose thread on the blue sofa. “I already know. There’s no way someone wouldn’t like you back.”

Iwaizumi snorted disdainfully. “I wouldn’t be too sure about that. Them going on dates with other people and telling me about them after seems to be a solid indicator that they don’t.”

You froze, letting go of the string you accidentally pulled from the couch. Now, you wouldn’t say you were an overly optimistic person, but you still couldn’t help but think the situation he described was oddly familiar to yours. There was a large chance he was referring to someone else, but with the way you felt his smoldering gaze on your body, you wondered if maybe, just maybe, he could be talking about you. 

“Maybe they think you don’t like them so they’re going on those dates to get rid of their crush on you— But only because they thought you told them to do so! And, honestly, the dates probably aren’t helping at all on getting rid of the crush; it just makes it get even bigger and bigger as they realize they can’t like anyone the same way they like you and now they don’t know what to do,” you babbled, unable to stop the word vomit.

After processing the words that you had just uttered, you slapped your hands over your mouth to shut yourself up. That was a little more than you had originally wanted to say… Okay, a lot more. You winced. You wanted to subtly hint that you were talking about yourself, not be so obvious as to yell it out with a megaphone and have a blinking billboard pointing your way. 

Idiot, idiot, idiot.

You could only hope Iwaizumi was oblivious enough to let this whole thing go and assume that you were only speaking hypothetically. But he was smarter than that. You knew it. He may be a little dense when it came to romance, but even he couldn’t be dumb enough to misunderstand your conspicuous slip up. 

Your stomach churned as you awaited his response.

“So,” he spoke slowly, keeping his cautious regard on you, “Oikawa was right?” 

You blinked. That wasn’t the response you were expecting. But things just didn’t seem to go as planned today, you supposed. “What do you mean?”

“You do like me, then?”

“W-What? When did…” You gaped, trailing off as your throat tightened. “He told you that?” 

“A month ago, he told me he thought you might like me,” Iwaizumi admitted, a rosy red darkening the apples of his cheeks. “But that was before you started going on those crazy dates, so I figured he was wrong.” 

A cry of indignation escaped your lips as you heard the news. “Seriously?”

He nodded.

“No way!” you sputtered in disbelief. “He found out I liked you months ago— At the beginning of the school year! And then last month, Oikawa told me I should to get over you by going on a bunch of dates.” 

Your brows were furrowed and arms folded as you glared into the sky, wishing Oikawa were there so you could yell at him for making a fool of you. Iwaizumi caught your gaze with a disgruntled look of his own. 

“What on earth?” you groaned, burying your face in your palms.

“I’ll kick his ass the next time I see him,” Iwaizumi vowed.

“Please,” you muttered, a thousand thoughts racing through your mind. 

Oikawa knew you had a crush on Iwaizumi. Why would he tell him behind your back? And was Iwaizumi’s response negative? Is that why Oikawa told you to date to get over him? Trying to understand Oikawa’s thought process was enough to almost give you a headache. 

“But, wait,” said Iwaizumi quietly, effectively interrupting your train of thoughts. “Months?” 

You peeked at him through the cracks between your fingers. “Huh?”

“You said you liked me for months now? Since the start of this school year?” 

The heat rose to your cheeks in embarrassment. “T-That’s not the point—!” 

“Because I’ve liked you for a few months now too,” he interrupted before you could deny anything. Your eyes shot open as you stared straight at Iwaizumi, just now noticing the serious expression on his face. 

Was this a confession?

“Ever since that night we ditched our friends to stay inside and watch Godzilla instead of going to the party.” He shared a small, slightly sheepish smile with you as he recalled the memory. 

In the beginning of the year before classes had started but everyone had already moved into their respective apartments, Oikawa decided everyday of the week leading up to the first day of school would be a good day to get shit-faced drunk. It was fun for the first three days, but by day four you were getting worn out, and by day five, just the thought of consuming one more jello shot made you shudder. 

So when Iwaizumi—who you had then only recently realized you had a crush on—suggested you two sneak away to his empty apartment and watch some movies instead, you were more than happy to oblige. 

“I thought you looked...cute that night,” Iwaizumi managed, his voice gruff and tentative. “It was funny how you were scared by the movies even though it was hardly even horror.” He snorted at the recollection, hints of a grin playing on his face. “And I may have realized then that I had already started liking you.”

You bit the inside of your lip to keep your face from splitting into a beam. Your eyes were wide open, almost as if you were in a daze and were only dreaming the events of this night had happened. Iwaizumi shoved his hands in his sweatpants’ pockets, ducking his head to hide his delight at this situation.

“You like me too?” you asked breathlessly. There was still a tone of disbelief in your voice. 

He nodded. “Have for a while now. But I didn’t tell Oikawa about it until last month. And that’s when he said he thought you liked me back.” 

At his words, you visibly relaxed. So Oikawa didn’t blab about your crush on his best friend— Though, in all honesty, maybe if he had, you could’ve had a relationship with him sooner. You leaned your head back against the headrest of the couch with a sigh. “Then if he knew you liked me, why did he tell me to date other people that night we were all out drinking together?” 

“To piss me the fuck off.”

You laughed in surprise, not expecting Iwaizumi to sound so furious. 

“He probably wanted to get me to disagree with him, that dumbass,” he hissed, a scowl forming on his face. Even with his nose scrunched and forehead crinkled, you thought Iwaizumi was as handsome as ever.

“Maybe Oikawa thought you wouldn’t confess without his help so he wanted to push your buttons and make you jealous by seeing me date other people,” you said, chuckling at the audacity of this situation. 

Iwaizumi apparently didn’t share your amusement, since his scowl deepened. “I would’ve confessed without his unwanted help,” he grunted. But you knew he wasn’t too annoyed by his best friend. Oikawa never had any ill-intentions towards the two of you, and you both were aware of that. “I was a little jealous, though,” he admitted with flushed cheeks. “And I may have gotten a bit happier every time you told me afterwards that you didn’t like your date—especially tonight.”

You smiled shyly at him, only mildly embarrassed by the routine you two had picked up. Go on a date (usually prompted by Oikawa), wish your date was Iwaizumi the whole time, go home, message Iwaizumi about your bad date, repeat. But in today’s case, you went to him in person instead of texting. 

“But I was dreading that one night you’d message saying your date went well,” he said, hands balled up into fists and gaze downcast. “Or worse— Not message that night at all.”

Your expression turned somber as you realized that while you were casually dating around to try to get over Iwaizumi, he was there watching you go out with other people. A feeling of guilt spread through you as you bowed your head slightly, wishing you had taken the chance to tell him your feelings instead of trying to toss them aside. 

“Iwaizumi, I’m so sorry,” you said. “I didn’t even think about how it could be affecting you.” 

“Hey, it’s okay.” He placed his closed hand on the top of your head, making you look up at him. He nodded once. “You didn’t know. And Assikawa was the one pushing you to go on dates you didn’t want,” he said wryly, though his tone was more amused than bitter. “But maybe now you don’t have to keep going on those bad dates anymore.” 

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. Was he offering—?

“Y’know,” he said, “if you… If we…”

“Went on a date?” you completed, hesitant but hopeful. “With each other, I mean.”

“Yes. With each other.” He held his breath. “What do you think?”

After a beat of silence, your face split into a grin. You practically jumped off the couch in excitement, bouncing towards Iwaizumi to tackle him into a hug. He let out a surprised grunt, but caught you in his arms nonetheless.  

“I think you could’ve saved me loads of wasted nights if you had asked a month earlier!” you laughed, burrowing your face into his chest— His very strong, very muscular chest that had no business being this comfortable. “To think all this time I could’ve been going on dates with you instead of random people I end up blocking a day after?”

His right hand rested between your shoulder blades while his left was lightly cupping the back of your head. He chuckled and you felt the vibrations through his thin t-shirt. 

“We’ll have plenty of time to make up for it now,” he said, voice warm and inviting. “We can catch up on dates this whole weekend. Or just rewatch all of Godzilla again.” 

“That sounds like the perfect date weekend.” The grin on your face never left as you stayed tangled in his arms. “And your roommates aren’t back until Monday, hmm?”

He titled his head down at you to see your expression, the corner of his mouth quirked upward as he smirked. “Yup. They’ll be gone all weekend.”

You two exchanged knowing looks, causing you to wiggle your eyebrows suggestively and make him laugh. His ears turned red and when you pointed it out he got even redder. You smiled at each other as you held him even tighter. 

It didn’t matter what you two would be doing this weekend. All you cared about was getting to spend more time with Iwaizumi.

“Then we most definitely have a lot of catching up to do.” 

[yostresswritinggirl]

and, if Albedo have his own personal botanist, what about xiao have his own personal chef, or something like that? the reader working at wangshu inn as the chef or maid 👀 (this the request... If you want to make something from this absurd idea 👀👀)

Hehe I like your thought process, anon. Albedo and Xiao really just: 😏👉👉 *finger guns* 👈👈 😑 for having reader assistants in my masterlist huh.

Making this solely a personal chef/maid thing would defo make this response hella short so I added in more info and background just like I did with Albedo's, so I hope you guys end up enjoying this one too!!

It isn't an absurd idea, but I sure as hell made an absurd answer to it kek

Xiao's Devoted "Chef"

Xiao with a Reader who is not only his Personal Chef but assistant

Background (let's gooo)

The arrival of the Adepti Yaksha in Wangshu Inn was really something I've been intrigued about for a while now, but I won't make much assumptions here because his banner is coming and more info would be given to us.

Xiao had long since been residing in and spends a majority of his time in this Inn yet its owners, Verr Goldet and Huai'an, barely knows anything about the adepti or his lifestyle.

So on a sunny, quaint day like any other where calmness passes through the lands without worry, they expected the Adepti to resign himself to a moment of peace and rest too.

So color them surprised when they save the familiar silhouette of the adepti ascending to the top floor. Porcelain white skin and clear tank top glittered with fresh blood as a broken and bruised figure lays unconscious in his arms. The couple was thankful that there were no customers out and about that day, because it would be a disaster for an audience to witness such a thing. Also bad for business, but they'll hold that in at the back of their mind.

Skilled workers were quick to work with their seemingly extensive experience with such a protocol. As they tended to the victim, the Boss stayed behind to tend to and inquire with the Adepti. Yet such a conversation between them came out strained:

There were no visible wounds that require immediate medical attention but there was a look in his eyes that feels much more broken than anything they can fix. Verr's hands hover over him in an attempt to urge him to clean up his still bloodied form. His amber eyes that were usually sharp looks through a distance light-years away.

"Xiao," the woman started and the eyes snapped out of its reverie, subtly looking around to ground himself. "What happened? And are you okay?"

"Their- the parents died from a Hilichurl ambush, I was only able to save the child," his crossed arms gripped at his forearm in the realization of his utter mistake. "32 seconds."

"32 seconds?" The Mondstadtian offered a fresh set of hot towels he had taken, and he had flinched when he saw the carnage that stuck close to his skin.

"I was 32 seconds late."

Your parents were adventurers who brought you with them as big fans of traveling and nomadic lifestyle, no set home yet freely living by. You were in your younger teens and you'd clarified you had no other family to go to.

The death of your parents came as an obvious shock to your young self yet you grieved in silence and sobs, as the only person you trust hovers next to where you rest in silent contemplation.

Verr knows that look, and it was something she hasn't seen on the Adepti before. Of pure guilt and a sense of responsibility.

That night you rested surprisingly nightmare-free as your savior stands his ground next to where you rest.

Present Times

The couple had adopted you into the Inn family without a second's hesitance and you were thankful for them as you were to Xiao. You were no heavy expense or disadvantage and that made it all the more easier to adapt into your new lifestyle.

Despite no words or explanation, you were perfectly aware of the deeds your savior had done to save you and keep you alive, and with that you had sworn to serve him until the end of your time. A life for a life, equivalent exchange.

Coming into terms with being in Liyue and the Inn, your life choices were meddled with commerce and the importance of livelihood. You were young but your guilt of being under the care of such people forced you to take on any and every responsibility you can handle.

Despite your background you were expertly skilled with cooking. Your mother and father always taught you the importance of a meal for adventurers whenever you'd camped out. And your special touch on dishes that saves adventurers had drawn in many appetites.

Business boomed and the Inn wasn't just famous for being a temporary residence, but a sanctuary that offers tastes paired with the divine sense of Celestia. You became Wangshu Inn's Head Chef, with your sous-chef Smiley Yanxiao.

At times where Xiao is forced to make rounds to seize looming threats, he'd find himself picking fresh and healthy ingredients he'd find on the way back and present to you for new recipes to experiment on.

But you also pride yourself with a different title, or titles: The Adepti's Personal Chef, Tender of the Yaksha, Adepti's Devotee.

This title was emphasized by the Sigil of Permission sewn into an armband hanging by your right arm, something you proudly wear even beyond the walls of the Inn.

You found out the Adepti's favorite during your daily visit and breaks, usually done so by hanging out in the balcony with him with a brand new recipe you recently made and wanted to test out.

While he sat parallel to you, he eyed the transparent syrup and the gelatinous substance in the obvious curiousity he shows for all your new creations, silently awaiting your opinion by watching your expression: whenever you show even the slightest distaste, he'll pointedly ignore his curiousity and the dish altogether. And if you express such pride and achievement, his interest will get the better of him, if you haven't offered the dish quickly enough.

"What is this?" He'd finally ask after your delighted moans, indulging on your own creation.

"Mmm, Almond Tofu... do you wish to try it?" Without an answer he'd pick up the only spoon on the plate and tasted it himself. And just like that, he'd froze, eyes full blown in surprise and awe.

"Do you like it?" He can only hum in response as he scarfs down the plate by himself, chewing respectfully yet with a hint of vigor in every scoop. "It tastes... like dreams..." the way he looked at you, with eyes possessing such childlike wonder, you couldn't help but fall.

After that, Xiao had requested a daily plate/offering of it. It became a routine to the point that all workers heard of the favoritism and are encouraged to learn the recipe. But it's usually your dish that is served, unless special occasions calls for someone else.

There has been an influx of dormers and adventurers recently as citizens around Teyvat flock to the Liyue continent in hopes to watch the most extravagant celebration of the new year, the Lantern Rite Festival.

Your best efforts manning the kitchen together with Yanxiao took gruelling hours just to prepare for the dinner's first course even with hours of prep time available. Even both bosses had to lend some hands as your sous-chef can barely keep up with your stride. And after the dishes are finally distributed to the dining hall, you were already set in cleaning up the kitchen, and before you knew it-

"It has been an hour."

"It was a busy day, I'm sorry, Xiao." You could only muster a mumble in guilt as you kept your head down on the usual table, refusing to look at the disapproving expression he definitely wore, except he doesn't. His face has the slightest hints of worry and wonder at your deflated composure.

But his focus now was on the food he has been craving the whole day, already digging into his dessert. And you just tried your hardest not to fall asleep on the cold, wooden tabletop. Until your tummy rumbled through the silence.

A hum. "You haven't eaten?" You shake your head as you lift your head, gazing at the cute sight of your guardian tilting his head to the side in slight distaste for your lifestyle. You open your mouth to retort until you felt the cold utensil touch your bottom lip. "Here, I saved you the last bite. After this, get yourself a meal and retreat to your quarters, I don't want to hear any excuses." He softly urges a little push with the spoon so you get the hint, and you wrap your lips around it, chewing and gulping down cold dessert. He offered his favorite food, used the same spoon, and spoon fed you with it—

"Wha... don't- don't bite the spoon," you squeeze your eyes tight from the embarrassing thoughts in your head.

When people wish to have an audience with Xiao, most of the time they head to you for guidance after inquiring with Verr. They require a sigil of permission, and most of the times, your own sigil has been under fire a lot in their desperation.

An old merchant who desperately wants to hire the adepti to aid his caravan with personal security once tried to claw at your armband, but a split second after the tip of his fingers had touched the cloth, he was blown away to the nearest wall.

"What-," a pressure on your left shoulder pulls your other against a lean chest, protectively squeezing as a polearm materialized in front of you. You can feel the ragged vibrations of the Yaksha's unusually heavy breaths, his amber eyes sharp and dangerous, dilated like a predator.

"What gives you the idea that you had the authority to lay a hand on my assistant?" Black and teal embers conjure around you two as a dark shadow slowly creeps up from the ground. "That is their sigil of permission; I want nothing to do with you mere mortals."

If not for Verr and the other staff, things would have gone gruesome and unsightly for the business. Yes, business. Everyone disliked the guy enough to care more about the Inn than his actual well-being. When he'd come to, he was forced out of the Inn (he would have done so himself anyways as he was already traumatized).

"Sir Xiao, why did you do that?"

"He didn't have a Sigil, he was pretty much asking for it. And why have you gone formal?" You pouted at him and his only response was a quirked eyebrow. Walking over to stand behind him, you slowly wiggled your arms through the gap between his waist and slack arms, finding it easy enough with how thin his waist is as you wrapped him in a hug.

He tensed from the secretly ticklish feeling before letting down his guard in your arms. This was one of your leeway as his most devoted follower. Your constant exposure with the aid of the divine sigil has made you immune to the negative effects of Adeptal energy, enough to make him nigh worry about your safety around him anymore.

And him letting you hug him like this... let's just say it's from your mannerisms of comfort when you were still young and around him.

"Take an indefinite leave," Xiao broke the silence a few minutes after, forcing you to crane your head to the side to look at him. He meets your gaze with an amused glint. "You have no debt to pay here, you shouldn't be holed up in a place like this."

"It is true that me leaving wouldn't have majooor repercussions, but what's with the sudden idea?"

He huffs. "You're my only follower and yet you divide your attention serving temporary mortals that will pass by without remembrance. And besides," you tense at the sight of an upturn on the edge of lip, pearly whites subtly peeking, "personal does not mean sharing."

You were an adventurer at heart and it's time you indulge in that glorified life of excitement, with your guardian by your side. It was the only gift he can come up with for your undying devotion.

Holy - I had to cut this thing A LOT because I wrotE A HECKIN LOT WTF?! It's not even done in my mind, my goodness, there should be an adventuring unit here too but hhhh I got too conscious of the length sksksks I'm so sorry! P-Part 2-?

I enjoyed writing this a tad bit too much sksksks but now that the second to the last installation of this even is published, the next request should be the last one! And that means I'll have to stop the poll and start working on the requests for the 100 followers one! So if you haven't voted there, you should before it's too late!!

[get-shiggy-with-it]

Just My Type Pt. 2

Pairing: Tomura Shigaraki x Reader

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: dom/sub undertones, dom reader, subby shig, light mommy kink, anal fingering, blow jobs, smut ahead so ya know be prepared, shigs is kinda an incel but we love him anyway, 18+ MINORS DNI

Summary: Shigaraki is a full course meal that showed up on your doorstep and you are more than a little inclined to devour him whole.  

Part 1

AO3 Mirror

You liked to think you understood Tomura Shigaraki. 

Probably a bit better than he understood himself if you were being honest. 

It wasn’t that you were particularly adept at reading people, but you paid attention and he was generally a lot more obvious that he realized. You started to get the feeling your client-turned-sometimes-boss had a bit of a thing for you not too long after you started working for him. 

Mainly because he stared. 

All the time.

You weren’t certain if he was completely conscious of it, and at first you sort of assumed it was just a weird, somewhat unnerving habit. It took you all of a week to figure out, though, that his one visible eye did not seem to focus on anything other than you. 

Initially, you had been wary of him. This was a slightly more dangerous clientele than you were used to, but the rest of the League warmed up to you quickly enough. The true realization came with the little, silent fits of jealousy—nails raking down his neck and scowls so harsh they were nearly audible—whenever anyone else, usually Dabi, showed the same interest.   

And being the type of person you were, it was hard to resist pushing those newly revealed buttons just once. 

Well. 

More than a once. 

But! 

All that pressing and goading had finally culminated to this. 

Needless to say, you felt more than a little thrill when Tomura had finally taken the bait and let you drag him all the way back to shore like a fish on a hook. 

And now here he was, beached and floundering, as chilled air like ocean waves rocked against your ankles. 

So yes, you understood Tomura Shigaraki. 

He wanted you, as much as loathed to admit it. 

And you wanted him too, but not so much that you were willing to go down without a bit of a fight. 

“Are you just gonna stand there?” you asked. 

You could see the shiver your voice sent through him, like lungfuls of sweet spring air after a lifetime underground. 

“What?” he mumbled, one hand holding the clasp on his pants closed and the other reaching up to tear at his neck. 

Always so predictable. 

You hummed at the gesture and leaned back to pull the door open a bit more. “Come on, you’re letting all my heat out.” 

His eyes narrowed significantly, not so subtly flicking down to your chest before meeting your eyes—suspicion clear as the tent in his pants, but a good amount of cautiously pleasant surprise as well. 

You dipped your head down, trying to get a better look under the mop of his hair and dark hood to see the dusty rose blush creeping up his neck. His scarred and cracking skin grew pinker with every passing second. The smile on your face was impossible to hide.  

“I caught you in the window of one of the shops like six blocks in,” you said by way of explanation and waved him forward once again. “You can stand out there and freeze if you want, but something tells me you might be a little more comfortable if you came in.” 

This was a calculated game, but no one ever got anywhere without taking a few risks.  

Your stress on the last two words and the way your tongue peaked out from behind your teeth was thankfully not lost on him. 

“Fine,” Tomura swallowed once as if this really was the last thing he wanted to be doing, and you watched his throat bob as he finally shuffled over the threshold.  

You liked the way he looked here, harsh but not out of place in the domestic setting. Surrounded by the scent of crisp air and clean laundry, you breathed deeply to catch the faint hint of cheap hand soap and dust and that strange, sweet smell that always tickled your nose when he got close. Tomura took a long breath of his own when you pressed closer, the top of your leg brushing just enough at the front of his jeans to feel his dick twitch. 

Yeah, he probably thought you hadn’t noticed him lifting your coat to his face when you left for the bathroom. That you hadn’t overheard Kurogiri chewing him out for all the different bottles of detergent littering the backroom like he wasn’t scouring convenience stores to find the exact one you used. Didn’t know you knew where all those ‘lost’ gloves or elastic ties or even your socks once when you’d taken them off to dry after a storm had ended up. 

It was hard to tell with him whether those strange behaviors meant he liked you or really wanted you dead. But you’d dared to assume the former and god it felt good to be right. 

“You like to watch, don’t you?” you asked, letting the words cascade from your lips. 

“Maybe. You like to be watched, don’t you?” he rasped, clearly trying to maintain some semblance of control but your chest was brushing against him and you could hear his mouth going dry. 

You raised your brow and leaned just a fraction closer, ready to let the last of the chips fall.

“Maybe,” you mused, your lips just barely grazing his. “I don’t mind if it’s you.” 

And finally, finally you saw the little glimmer you’d been waiting for. 

Tomura Shigaraki was beginning to understand. 

You could see it in his eyes, the dawning realization. Reluctant still and forever mistrustful, but coming around. All those nights he spent observing you when he thought you weren’t looking—shrouded in smoke and keeping a safe distance—you’d never been aiming to get away. You’d never been hiding or ready to run. 

You were always trying to get closer to him. 

The way you left so soon when he sequestered himself away in his room or how you let Dabi’s hand creep just far enough up your thigh before making your escape—all of it, was just to catch his eye. 

Just playing your cards—working with the hand you were dealt.  

Tomura might have been watching you, but you had always been watching right back. Really, it was a wonder how he ever missed the way your gaze was trained on him nearly every second from the time you set foot in the bar to the ever unfortunate moment you slipped back out into the cold, lonely street. 

How many nights had you been waiting for this? 

Laying awake, thinking of the way his scarlet gaze warmed your skin like the cinnamon in Kurogiri’s nightly cocktails. You’d seen what those hands could do, watched them turn glasses and tables to ash, but that only raised the stakes. And wasn’t it so much more fun that way?

“Well,” you leaned in, tilting your head so that your mouths were centimeters away from touching, “do you want to see more?”

You were watching the levee break. Cracks forming up that skeptical and distant outer shell and letting desire leak out from every line and scar. The air was silent and heavy in the way it often is before a storm. You wondered if you’d be struck down by errant lighting before you got a chance to suck his tongue like you’d been dreaming of. 

His fist closed around your wrist, pinky poised threateningly over the skin. You let him hold you, not struggling in the slightest under his grip. Tomura could have you like that if he wanted. Could believe this was forceful, that he wasn’t giving himself away. You would gladly let him, but you had something else in mind. 

Something you were almost certain he’d enjoy more. 

All the deliciousness of the torture you planned to drown him in was completely dependent on him offering you the reigns. If he wouldn’t, well, you’d take what you could get. Encouragingly, he didn’t move further than his grip on your arm. 

Instead, he stared blankly and tugged you closer grunting under his breath, though never fully closing the distance. It took a second before your brain processed the slight pout of his bottom lip, the catch in his breath the way he subconsciously ground against your thigh. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

You’d said it before and you’d say it again: god, it felt good to be right. 

Coming to your door was his first move tonight, and now it was your turn to up the stakes. 

Grinning, you closed the small gap between your bodies and let your mouths slip against each other, filling in the cracks of his lips with your tongue. Tomura groaned when the weight of it slipped across his teeth just once before you pulled away from him altogether. 

There was barely an inch between you, but that would always be too much now. 

“You never answered me, Tomura.” Saying his name made you shiver. You wondered what it would feel like when you screamed it too. “Do you want to see more?”

“Yes,” he nodded and surged forward, knocking your teeth together and nipping sharply at your lower lip. “More, now.” 

Your grips switched, his fingers going limp around your wrist while you took hold of his and led him towards the door at the end of your hall. The soft bedroom light leaked out and illuminated the halo of baby hairs at the crown of his head. You longed to run your hands through it. By the time you got him safely inside—sat cornered on the edge of your mattress—you realized there was nothing stopping you from doing just that. 

So you did. 

Tugged his hood down and ran your fingers across his scalp, grabbing a handful and pulling firmly. The noise it earned you had goosebumps erupting down your arms. 

With his pretty face revealed, you took a moment to drink him in. The small lamp lit him from the left, leaving one side in shadow and those red eyes were so dark you could have drunk them down like expensive wine. Slowly, you lowered your lips to his scarred forehead and pressed them softly against the rough skin. 

“What would the others say, hm?” you hummed, stroking his cheek as you leaned back to look into his eyes again. “If they knew their boss was tailing around the new hire just to get a glimpse of some ass.” 

Tomura stayed resolutely silent, grumbling under his breath as he lunged forward to slip his tongue back into your mouth. Your hand in his hair tightened though and his thighs tensed below you. 

“Seems a bit desperate, huh?” 

He growled again but moved a hand to the open front of his pants, palming slowly against the growing bulge there. The swathe of light grey fabric covering his cock was already sporting a sizable stain that you were dying to taste. 

Feeling merciful, you dragged your tongue along his sharp jaw and nipped at his earlobe, “Do you really want me that bad?”

You weren’t sure what exactly was the nail in the coffin. It might have been the words themselves, or the soft, honest tone with which you whispered them, or even just the way your chest brushed against him, but that was the moment his resolve finally shattered. 

“It’s your fault,” he whimpered, hips bucking up into his own hand, “you’re the one that did this, so fix it.” 

You could only guess he was referring to the absolute rager he was sporting and the drool threatening to spill from his ragged lips. 

“Oh, you want me to make it all better?” you were having a hard time keeping it together yourself with Tomura talking like that. 

He nodded furiously and you took the opening to lick back into his mouth, tracing his teeth and biting softly on his rough bottom lip. When you pulled back, a silvery string of saliva glinted between your mouths, only breaking when you moved to roll your desk chair over and plop down on the cushions. 

Tomura’s eyes immediately drifted between your legs as you peeled off your thin shorts and spread them, propped on either arm, fingers digging absently into the meat of your thighs. 

“You didn’t get to see much before did you?” he didn’t answer but you hadn’t expected him to. “How about we start where we left off, but I want to see that pretty cock this time while you stroke it for me.” 

“Oh fuck ,” he gasped and tugged his jeans down so they pooled at his ankles. 

You smiled as he cursed. One hand still gripped his length, but you could see how thick it was from between his fingers. Long and hard and leaking so much onto his stomach where it rested. The other fisted in his hoodie, pulling it up to give you a glimpse at the lovely musculature of his torso. 

So many delicious surprises, all in one night. 

Your gaze drifted between his face and the hand slowly pumping his length. Every now and again, he’d stop to run his thumb over the tip or squeeze harshly at the base. Your hand moved too, sliding your underwear to the side and giving him a full view of just how soaked he made you. 

“Is that how you usually touch yourself?” you asked quietly, slipping two fingers down your slit and coating them in slick. 

“Yeah,” his voice was already so wrecked that you shivered at the single word. 

Your fingers found your clit, drawing languid circles over the bundle of nerves and groaning in relief. “Tell me what you think about.”

“You,” he responded simply, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

To his credit, it probably was but you wanted to hear him say it. 

“What about me?”

Your slow rhythm sped up to match Tomura’s hand now steadily jerking his dick, wet slaps and various groans emanating from both of you. 

“Your...mouth,” he mumbled, vision locked on the movement of your wrist as your fingers began to dip inside only to travel back to your clit and repeat the motion. “How it would feel on me, how wet and warm and tight your throat would be.” 

You let out a long moan of encouragement and nodded for him to continue, grinding down on your own wrist as he spoke. 

“I think about how you parade around like a whore every time you come over— shit —and how you’d look bent over the bar top,” he spat as he ran his palm over the head of his cock. 

Normally you’d have clapped back at the insult but you were distracted by the way the muscles in his stomach were twitching violently with every stroke of his hand. 

“That’s not all is it?” you asked between breaths. 

Your skin was buzzing, warmth rising to your cheeks as sweat broke out on your forehead despite the chill of the room. Tomura keyed you up in a way no one else ever had.

“No,” his eyes were redder than usual, glazed over and pricked in the corner with frustrated tears. He wanted to cum so badly, you could see it in the set of his feet on the floor, forcing his hips up but not getting quite what he craved. 

“Come on, Tomura,” you brought your other hand down to rub quickly at your clit, “tell me what you need.” 

“Touch me,” he hissed, head thrown back, exposing the graceful column of his scarred throat. “I want to feel you.” 

He was panting, head thrown back and mouth open with just his eyes cast down at you. You wanted a painting of this scene—Tomura, ruined and starving for you. Wanted it framed and hung in your foyer so it was the first thing you saw coming home. 

How could you deny such a pretty boy?

“Alright, I suppose you’ve earned it,” you sighed in mock annoyance and stood, honestly surprised he’d restrained himself from jumping you this long. Discarding your shirt elicited a series of wines as you stood completely bare for him. 

You thought for a moment about what you should do first, before settling on your knees between his legs and batting his slowly stroking hand away. Tomura stared, wide eyed and slack jawed down as you took his cock in your hands and admired him for a moment. 

He felt good in your palm, heavy with impressive girth and length. Leagues better than you had hoped for. Pretty veins ran up the sides and the gentle ridge of his tip was silky smooth as you leaned forward to run your tongue up the slit. 

The sound that left him was bone shattering—deep and low in a way that reverberated in your bones. 

You vowed to make him cry. 

Looking up through your lashes, you let your lips fall open to take Tomura into the warmth of your mouth.  

And if you thought his first moan was delicious. 

What fell from him next was a goddamn feast. 

Four fingers were fisted into your sheets, the balls of his feet tensing so his hips bucked up and forced his length deeper down your throat. You hummed around his length, drinking down the salty taste of him, and bringing your hands up to rub sweet circles into the skin of his thighs. Listening hungrily, you devoured all the little whimpers and moans and curses that spilled from Tomura. 

Objectively, you ought to have been offended by all this. That he was so desperate for you, blamed you for somehow leading him on (which you had to an extent but only because he refused to set foot into your traps). You should have felt a bit disgusted by the behavior he’d displayed, but instead you were invigorated. Spurred on by the knowledge that the man before you wanted you so deeply and obsessively, that just the sight of you drove him off the edge. 

Flicking your tongue over the sensitive tip, you doubled down your efforts. Hollowing your cheeks, you sucked hard and took his pulsing dick deeper, swallowing around it. 

“Oh god, yesyesyes—” Tomura cried out, hips twitching. 

It was on that particular backstroke you noticed the way he was grinding back into the sheets, rocking his ass just so and you really couldn’t help yourself from indulging a bit in the curiosity. 

Shifting a hand, you collected some of the spit and precum that had leaked from your mouth and coated the base of his dick, slicking your fingers. Slowly, you moved to give his balls a firm squeeze that had him whining before letting two fingers dip lower, between his cheeks to nudge the cute pink skin around his hole. 

“Fuck—” he gasped, staring down at you and letting himself fall immediately to the mattress, giving you full access to his pretty ass. “Hm, there please…” 

He trailed off, brain rotted with pleasure and unconcerned now with how desperate or needy he seemed. You thought it was a good look for him, and you gladly obliged his pleas. 

Just the slow circles you were tracing around the sensitive flesh seemed to drive him closer to the edge. You would have been shocked by how long he was lasting considering the unlikely possibility he’d had many partners in the past, but you were sure he’d had plenty of ‘practice’ on his own to get his stamina up to this level. 

Surprisingly, you were able to actually slip a finger past the tight ring of muscle down to the first knuckle. He was so tight your mind was flooded immediately with how good he’d look bent over—ass in the air and impaled on your strap. He made this delectable choked sound when you turned your wrist and slid a fraction of an inch deeper. But as you curled inside him and gave one particularly deft swallow around his aching cock, something even more unexpected tumbled past Tomura’s lust-loose lips. 

“Oh fuck, mommy —” 

As soon as the words left his mouth it snapped shut so hard you heard his teeth clacking. 

Well. 

You certainly hadn’t anticipated that, but thankfully, transporting required you to think on your feet often.

Tomura was beet red now, looking almost as surprised as you felt by what had slipped from him in the haze of lust and sweat that filled the room. You withdrew from him completely, pulling off his cock and planting both your hands on his slim waist. 

“What did you just call me?” you asked, tone dark, praying to hear it again. 

And of course you did, because Tomura was such a good boy . 

“M-mommy,” the tremor in his voice may have been due to residual shame or the fact that you’d nearly sucked his soul right out of his dick, “mommy, please.” 

And that, that lit something in you. All bets were off, any plans of a long, drawn out night of playing with your pretty boss until he begged for you was slipping quickly down the drain as you clambered off your knees and onto the bed. 

“Does my little boy need something?” you mused, slipping into the role easily and planting your knees on either side of his thin body while you brushed your nose against his cheek. 

He hadn’t touched you since you’d gotten him in your bed and while you thought it may have had something to do with the potentially deadly side effects, you really couldn’t have that. Reaching down, you guided his hand gently to your mouth and pressed a gentle kiss against the calloused knuckles. 

“Do you want mommy’s pussy?” 

That last question might have been boarding a bit on the evil end of teasing, but Tomura responded in equally bratty fashion by burying his face into your chest and reaching down to guide the tip of his dick into your dripping entrance. For once that night, you were the one gasping at the sudden stretch and quite frankly the fucking balls your boss displayed in surprise spearing you on his cock. 

Not that you minded, but damn. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you groaned as you dropped your hips to sink the rest of the way down his length. It took a bit, even as slick as you were, before he was bottoming out and letting out little poorly hidden sobs against you. 

Tomura’s feet still hung off the bed and couldn’t provide him the leverage to thrust up into you as he so clearly wanted to, but you could work well with this. Pulling back you got him to sit up, head still buried in the crook of your neck and braced your hands to start bouncing in his lap. 

His hands flew to your hips, any trepidation apparently lost in favor of marking you with crescent shaped bruises. You let your hands trail up his chest, thumbing over his flushed nipples before threading into the hair at the base of his head. Tilting his head back, you came up and dropped back down hard on his length, letting him strike that lovely spot inside you and making his face twist in pleasure. 

“Oh, good boy, “ you moaned, long and low. “Such a good boy for me, Tomura.” 

He whimpered loudly and you bounced faster, praise tumbling easily as the pressure in your gut began to build, “You look so perfect like this, pretty cock feels so good inside.”

On a whim, you gripped his hair tightly and pressed his face into your chest, leading his lips to the stiff peak of your nipple. He latched on immediately, moans muffled against you and lovely eyes rolling back in his head. 

You took it back— this was the picture you wanted immortalized from tonight. Tomura’s mouth was full of you, slick tongue curling over the bud and suckling softly only interrupted by the occasional graze of his teeth, his dick buried in you and pulsing as you rode him to your own high.  

A high that was coming sooner rather than later. 

You let your free hand slip from his shoulder to rub frantically at your clit, feeling yourself clenching tighter and tighter on his cock, strokes shifting into a more desperate grinding. The white hot pleasure grew stronger—spurred on by the image of Tomura’s pretty hair plastered with sweat to his forehead and his coarse lips grazing your skin—cresting and sending you hurtling over the edge, cumming hard on Tomura’s thick cock.  

“Oh, baby boy, yes, make mommy cum,” you shook and clenched around him, pussy in a vice grip around his length. 

He didn’t hold out long after that, biting down roughly on your chest he groaned and you felt the hot ropes of his release painting your walls. 

It was a bit of a blur after that. You recall lifting his mouth from you, revealing a deep bruise and the indents of teeth just around your nipple—a reminder that would stick with you of this quite eventful night. Residual clothing was abandoned and you’d agreed to forgo a shower in favor of pressing every available inch of skin against his under a light sheet. 

Tomura’s breathing had evened out a while ago, heart beat relaxing to an even tattoo from it’s initial pounding. His head was tucked securely under your chin, arms flung across your middle and legs tangled in a knot. 

You’d thought he was asleep until you felt his lips moving against your shoulder and heard the soft, whispered words, “Are you going to ask me to go?”

It had been so long since you’d had a ‘normal’ conversation with him that it took you awhile to recognize his casual tone from the wrecked and begging voice you’d been hearing from him all night. Something about that knowledge made your chest ache. 

“I’m not going to make you stay,” you responded simply. 

Which was all you could really think of to say, noncommittal but open. 

“But do you want me to?” 

His tone was harsh, but not in a purposeful way. The quiet rasp was a permanent feature of his voice you’d discovered and made it him sound far more severe than he usually meant to be. The question both surprised you and didn’t. You’d asked Tomura to give up control to you before, let you take the lead and see him vulnerable. Now he was asking for it back. Asking for a level playing field. 

“I would like it if you did, yes.” 

He nodded and you felt the brush of his lashes as he closed his eyes again, settling into you more than the mattress itself. You followed suit, at least for a bit, and rested your eyes to enjoy the feeling of finally not sleeping alone. Half dozing, you breathed in the scent of well earned pleasure and sweat and laundry detergent. 

Neither of you asked any more questions—you didn’t need to.  

Because you understood Tomura Shigaraki and he understood you. 

[drxwsyni]

doubts and desires︱albedo x f!reader

summary: letting go of the past is hard, but losing what you have now would be harder. leaving albedo is neither something you can do, or something you really want, it’s simply taken you a while to understand that. word count: 2k warnings: implied dubcon, stockholm syndrome, past kidnapping

Even with how Albedo had bundled you up in a hat, scarf, gloves, and coat―it still failed to ward off the chill that seemingly sucked the warmth right from your body. Yet you said nothing about it, the unwanted attention it would draw from him inevitable if you made your discomfort known. And, you were almost certain he would drag you back to the cabin if he knew how the cold was treating you.

You didn’t enjoy the biting temperatures, but you didn’t want leave. Not when it’s been so long since you descended the mountain, that you barely even remember the feeling of snowfall against your skin.

The whole situation he’s placed you in is really quite foreign―confusing.

In how he’s letting you accompany him in his research, not far from his―your home. A safe distance, so to speak. Or that’s what he said, at least.

You realized that the way he spoke of this outing, how it’d just be the two of you, and that you wouldn’t venture very far; they were words of comfort. Not said to reassure himself that things would go smoothly, but to calm the look of trepidation in your eyes from the mere suggestion of going outside.

Now, seeing Albedo’s nonchalant demeanour while he studies the petrification of a fallen tree, it puts your mind at ease. Sure, if you look closely you’ll be able to see the way his eyes flicker to your form every few seconds or so, making sure you were right where he left you, but generally the alchemist is calm.

It makes you calm, for a moment it feels like you’re able to settle down and appreciate the intricate beauty of the snow swept mountain you stand upon. Best to do so now, knowing it wouldn’t be long until he would lead you home, sheltered safely away from the danger of the mountain’s climate.

“Oh―I didn’t know you were to be researching today, Albedo sir.”

With your back turned to the newly appeared stranger behind you, the cold that had seeped into your bones no longer posed as the only thing holding you in place―it was also now an icy fear.

You watched unmoving from your spot as Albedo gave pause, a hint of contemplation flashing across his face before standing.

“Timaeus. I thought you were studying back in the city.”

The man, who you had yet to properly address, responded with a somewhat nervous laugh.

“Yes, well I was, but it led me to do my own research out in the field…”

Always in a strangely graceful manner, Albedo dusted off his pants and straightened his jacket. A look of unashamed disinterest painted his expression as Timaeus rambled on about his findings.

Truly, you don’t recall Albedo ever showing such emotions with you―a detail not necessarily heartwarming, but still reassuring in an indescribable way.

Perhaps it was due to you being so sure that he’d rid himself of you when you no longer proved useful. Which made the swirling of affection and enamour in his eyes when he gazed upon you settle your nerves, even in just the slightest.

“...which I unfortunately have yet to procure. But―ah, I’ve gotten ahead of myself again. My apologies, how is your research coming along. And...who might you be?”  

If Albedo recognized the look of severe anxiety flashing across your face, he paid no mind. Instead giving you a small, somewhat warm smile. As if to say, “Go ahead.”

The few seconds that passed were done in silence, you desperately trying to read Albedo’s face for ulterior motives, and the man behind you shuffling awkwardly in place while he waited for a response.

By some miracle, your body moved on autopilot, turning around to finally acknowledge the cause of your newfound distress. Only, you couldn’t even look him in the face.

Your mouth was dry, mind foggy and unable to think of a response that was anywhere near being coherent.

“...I―uh…”

“This is my new assistant. Please do forgive her, she’s quite shy.”

A shaky breath escaped your rigid body at the sound of Albedo’s voice, and the feeling of his hand resting gently upon the small of your back.

The blatant lie that only you and him recognized echoed inside your head.

Timaeus had no clue who you were, or what you meant to Albedo. But if he did know, you wondered what he would do.

“...Ah, it’s strange we’ve never met before.”

You could tell without looking that Timaeus was studying your form. With the way his tone shifted to something a little more unsettled, a pit grew in your stomach knowing how he had picked up on your questionable nervousness.

The hand resting on your back felt a little more heavy.

Albedo showed no signs of botherment, “That’s likely because she’s not from here.”

For some ungodly reason, the less experienced alchemist took this as an opportunity. “Oh, if that’s the case then we should show her around. Sucrose could use someone like herself to―”

“Actually, we were just leaving. I’m afraid I’ve kept her out in the cold too long, and descending the mountain any further is quite a reckless task in this weather―” His head turned to look at you, no longer addressing his student, “―right?”

If Timaeus was told of what his teacher had done to you, would he help? Even if he looks up to Albedo, even if everyone does, surely they would step in.

Only, the issue remained that first you’d have to prove to them you were in danger.

...And really, you weren’t. Not anymore.

The tender bruises around your wrists and ankles had healed long ago. Your health was in near perfect condition, what with how Albedo saw to it that you never did anything to put it at risk. A single and quick glance would show that you were so pristinely taken care of, complexion shining now that you no longer spent nights sleepless from fear.

What were you to even say?

Moreso, it remained true that you didn’t quite want to say anything.

Timaeus wouldn’t believe your truth, and Albedo would likely spin the scenario so that your words weren’t reliable anyways.

It dawned on you that Albedo knew this fact well, why else would he bring you with him if he wouldn’t still be entirely in control of the situation?

A simple movement, his hand drifted to your hip and gripped it firmly, urging.

Your voice, barely a whisper met his ears.

“...Of course…”

That was all he needed, sending an impatient, yet still neutral glance towards Timaeus, the smallest hint of self-satisfaction lingering in it.

His student took the hint.

_____

“I have to say, bringing you with me was quite...productive.”

After dinner, Albedo has you keep him company in his study. You, occupied with a book in a chair across from his desk, while he goes over his findings from the day’s outing.

“Research wise, I was able to study you in a foreign situation.” He continued, conversation one-sided, “The results were to my liking…”

Although construed in his ever sophisticated manner, his words told you that you did something right. He was proud, and that notion made the swell of a strange warmth in your heart grow.

The alchemist’s gaze remained downcasted at the papers strewn about in front of him while he spoke. “...I suppose you should be rewarded for such good behaviour.”

Your eyes flitted up, the story on your lap abandoned completely.

Albedo has never spoken of such a thing, not once entertaining the idea of rewards when he saw no reason to ever extend such gratitude. Even after all this time.

He must be especially pleased, you thought.

Perhaps, enough to grant you back even a small semblance of independence...that would most certainly be your wish.

You’d long grown used to his suffocating personality, the intense interest he paid you often resulting in little to no alone time. Albedo made sure you stayed in eyeshot, and in those inevitable times he needed to leave, he made them quick, and you were to be safely tucked away in the bedroom, door locked from the outside. There wasn’t a single detail he missed, no stone left unturned when trying to improve your security.

Unfortunately for you, it left little autonomy.

Just the smallest taste of self-reliance would be fine. You’d love to cook a nice meal, like the ones you used to make. Or perhaps to pick your own outfit one morning, something more your style than the things he put together for you. Any break from his constant guidance, no matter what shape or form, you’d gladly take―

“Why don’t you go get cleaned up then, I’ll meet you upstairs soon.”

Albedo neglected to look up as he spoke, and so he missed how the glimmer of anticipation in your eyes faded away. The way your shoulders dropped slightly, the look of disappointment flashing across your features in understanding of his words.

What he had planned, it was a reward...of sorts.

An excuse, as far as you saw it.

Albedo was known for testing the limits of living beings after all, and in certain ways, such studies extended to how he treats you. It’s a win win for him―he thinks it’s a reward, since he knows he can make you feel good, and doing so just shows him all those little things he can’t learn through idle observation. What makes you squirm or shy away with innocent embarrassment―information just as important as everything else he knows about you.

It doesn’t dissuade Albedo when he finally glances up to see what his offer has done, though the sight does make him feel as though he’s deceived you.

Still, he remains unapologetic. “While you gave me some good insight on how far you’ve...adjusted, I still can’t completely trust you. This merely turned out to be a good opportunity for satisfying your other needs―nothing more.”

Flipping open a nearby textbook, Albedo conveys wordlessly, a difficult habit of his, that the conversation has ended.

You, however, have yet to heed his words. Still seated, the once flickering of hope subsiding with each passing second. Call it grief, but you were sincerely expecting a different outcome. Though, knowing Albedo, and his constant need to grow more knowledgeable, you should’ve seen this coming.

“...I’d rather not have to force your compliance tonight. So, please―” He gestured towards the door with a wave of his hand, focus trained and brows barely knitted while he skims over his readings on the desk.

Honestly speaking, you once thought Albedo was a deeply confusing man. So too was the life he’d meticulously prepared, and swiftly forced you into. Yet, looking back, things may have been more simple than you once perceived.

Your only real job is to exist and comply. And you both know you’re not going anywhere, not going to say no. Especially now, given how effortless it feels to fall into routine, going through the motions of his request and carrying yourself upstairs.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you realize it’s too late for you, what feels like an eternity spent at Albedo’s side having just about rendered your fighting spirit useless. It’s been long since replaced with what you’re coming to know as a certain fondness. You want to see the compassion in his eyes that’s sparked by your willing compliance.

It was a single, tangible goal. Not complex and unobtainable like those tasks of your past life. Attempts at obtaining those desires are futile, when today's events proved you genuinely no longer want them anymore.

It’s much easier to make Albedo proud. You don’t realize that you do it everyday, and that he’s just poor at conveying his own emotions...

Drawing yourself a bath, you wash away past doubts, settling with what your life has turned into.

Distantly, you hear Albedo make his way up the stairs and towards your bedroom. You like knowing what’s to come, which is always something you’ll have with him. You can’t say the same if you leave, and so you finally resolve that you never will.

[theworldinclines]

Title: family matters Pairing: Lan Sizhui/Lan Jingyi Excerpt:      “You’re almost like another son to him anyway,” Sizhui points out.      “So you’re the favourite child while I get tossed to the wayside?” Ao3 link

Read below the cut.

     The first time Jingyi meets Sizhui, they are each five. Zewu-Jun himself delivers the boy to lessons and asks that the children treat Sizhui with exceptional respect and consideration. That in itself isn’t anything new, as the Lans have written rules that explain why giving others kindness is one of the many keys to leading a decent life and acting as a role model to those in- and outside the sect. What was different, however, was the moment before Zewu-Jun took his leave from the students.

     He gave a downturn of his chin to the boys and the teacher, but was unable to take more than two steps before little Sizhui had grappled to his robes, arms held fast around the Sect Leader’s left leg. Jingyi has never been known for necessarily obedient behaviour, but even he had never dared such an act toward Zewu-Jun, let alone in public. To the entire room’s astonishment, the man didn’t look put out in the very least. Rather than reprimand the child, Zewu-Jun put a gentle hand to his head and guided him out into the gardens. Jingyi knew he would be scolded were he to peek at them, and did it anyway when Laoshi’s back was turned.

     Outside he saw Sizhui and Zewu-Jun, the Sect Leader in his immaculate robes bent to a knee as though they were in the cleanly confines of a hall rather than stood on a dusty path. Sizhui was staring at the ground, rubbing at his nose, and Zewu-Jun gave him a gentle chuck beneath the chin, murmuring words Jingyi couldn’t possibly hear. Sizhui’s nod prompted a smile from the Sect Leader that Jingyi, even at his young age, could tell held something more behind it.

     He was quick to be facing the front of the room by the time Sizhui was led back into the class, much more collected and prepared to learn for the day. Jingyi understands, sort of; although he hadn’t wanted to begin lessons either, it’s just what is expected of children their age in the Cloud Recesses. He’d still stomped and whined, of course, but here he sits.

     And he’s rather glad to have come once Laoshi dismisses them, because he gets to trot after Sizhui’s slow movements and say, “Hey!” He recalls in a split-second Zewu-Jun’s request that they show Sizhui respect, along with the rules, and adds quickly, “Welcome to Cloud Recesses. I haven’t seen you before.” Sizhui stares at him, uncertain. “Did you just come here? Where’d you move from?”

     Sizhui gives a helpless shrug that is interrupted by the Sect Leader’s prompt appearance by his side. Jingyi immediately dips into a polite little bow that makes Zewu-Jun smile and he returns the gesture. Jingyi grins before he can bite it down and says, “Zewu-Jun, where’s Sizhui from?”

     The Sect Leader hesitates a moment before his expression smooths into something less telling. “He is an orphan, A-Yi,” he says simply. “I trust that you will show him kindness.”

     Jingyi looks at Sizhui with slightly widened eyes, nodding vigorously. “I will!” he promises the older man. To the boy, he says, “I’ll protect you. Don’t worry.”

     For the first time, Sizhui’s lips quirk into the hint of a smile. “You don’t need to do that. I’m okay.”

     “Too late,” Jingyi says firmly. “Tell me if anyone is mean to you and I’ll deal with them.” Zewu-Jun lowers his eyes to hide his amusement and Jingyi barrels on, “Better yet, I’ll stick by your side to save the trouble. Okay?”

     Sizhui allows a little nod before Zewu-Jun murmurs that they should be heading home. The boy nods and Jingyi gives a wave, which Sizhui repays with a shy, squint-eyed smile. Jingyi beams. It may be Zewu-Jun’s request, but keeping Sizhui safe won’t be an arduous task at all, he thinks. Maybe they’ll even become good friends!

     Jingyi finds Sizhui by the rabbits. It’s his friend’s favourite spot in the Cloud Recesses and if ever there’s a time when Jingyi can’t seem to find Sizhui in the main pavilion, he knows where he’ll be. Today is no exception.

     Sizhui had disappeared just before he and Jingyi were meant to meet. They had each taken their meals as quickly as possible without appearing impolite to their families before the usual rendezvous by the rock garden’s bridge for a short break together, a daily update of all things Cloud Recesses. But when Jingyi arrived, Sizhui was nowhere to be seen and he’d known that something must have happened for his best friend to abandon him without warning.

     Seeing Sizhui now, surrounded by soft rabbits, Jingyi hopes that he’d perhaps fallen into a brief mood as he sometimes does and all is in fact well, though he’d had to come here to get away from it all. He wouldn’t fault Sizhui that. However, when he calls out for him in approach, Sizhui wipes at his face like he’s been caught, and Jingyi begins to frown.

     “A-Hui,” he says, coming to a stop beside him. Sizhui won’t look at him, gaze focused on the ground as he soothes a rabbit in his lap, and Jingyi can see that his eyes are red, cheeks tear-streaked. “A-Hui,” he repeats.

     “I’m alright,” Sizhui says. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

     “It’s been four years and you still think I care,” Jingyi replies, the slightest sarcasm in his words. “What happened?”

     “It really isn’t a big deal.”

     “So some non-issue made you come here and cry?” Jingyi deduces dryly.

     “They…” Sizhui stops.

     Jingyi sombers and can feel his frown deepening. “They who?”

     “Mingyu. And Pengfei. Rumours about where I’m from.”

     “Sizhui, what’d they do?”

     “They said…” Sizhui’s hands shake only slightly where they hold the rabbit, but it still makes Jingyi’s stomach hurt. “Just that they think I’m from that old sect that was eradicated years ago for their evil ways, and how it’s strange I’m not dead like the rest of them. A-Fei said if I’m evil it’s their duty to — ” Sizhui doesn’t complete the sentence as his voice catches, but Jingyi is already on his feet. “A-Yi!” Sizhui’s hand reaches for Jingyi’s ankle, though he’s too far to catch. “What are you doing?”

     “What’s it look like?” Jingyi demands. “I’m going to challenge them to a duel and shame them in front of the gods and the Four Families. What else?”

     “Jingyi, don’t,” Sizhui says tiredly.

     “Why not?”

     “We’ve only just begun sword-work, for one,” Sizhui quips, aiming for a joke. Jingyi crosses his arms over his chest and Sizhui sighs as he gently sets the rabbit aside to stand. “We’re barely 10,” he says. “You can’t fight another kid to the death, Jingyi.”

     “I disagree,” he mumbles.

     “Well, that’s allowed. I don’t expect us to agree on everything. But you’ll only get in trouble and I don’t want that.”

     “They said horrible things to you!” Jingyi exclaims. “And I said I’d protect you. ‘Our word is our oath,’ remember? Never break a promise. If I don’t confront them, I’m betraying one of our rules. A punishable offense, you know.”

     “Coming here to find me is enough,” Sizhui says, fond but immovable, per usual. “I’m not even crying anymore, thanks to you. I’d say you did your duty.” Jingyi grumbles his dissent, arms still crossed, but Sizhui just bumps their shoulders together as he stands by his side, twining an arm through Jingyi’s out of habit. “Let’s get back to class.”

     “They’re lucky they didn’t say that stuff in front of me,” Jingyi says while they walk. “Those brats. Don’t think I won’t do it next time.”

     “Yes, A-Yi.”

     “Don’t ‘Yes, A-Yi’ me; I mean it!”

     “Okay, A-Yi.”

     “Sizhui!” comes the expected whine.

      Because it is their shared space, another day finds the boys with the rabbits. Zewu-Jun had apparently shown it to Sizhui when he first arrived and was feeling lonely, and although Jingyi dislikes that Sizhui had felt sad, he’s happy that it had at least brought them a special hideaway that so few know about. There’s nothing like an afternoon of hideously dull lessons to remind Jingyi why he so prefers not being in class. As if he ever forgets.

     “There’s no way Laoshi Qiren isn’t trying to kill us,” Jingyi deadpans. “I swear, leaving his class I’m always sapped of both energy and will to live. Not a coincidence.”

     “You say this nearly every day.”

     “And it’s true! A slow-burn murder.”

     “I feel certain that if my Grand-Uncle was trying to kill me, there’d be more concern from my father and uncle.”

     Jingyi  makes a face and holds a rabbit up to meet her dark gaze. “What do you think? Who’s right, little one?”

     Sizhui rolls his eyes, taking the rabbit gently from Jingyi so that he can return her to the grass with her family. “She can’t talk,” he says, “but if she could, she’d agree with me.”

     “One of our numerous Sect rules is to reserve assumptions until proper evidence is drawn,” Jingyi recites, “yet here you are. What would your esteemed uncle say? Or your father, for that matter?”

     “Zewu-Jun would say it’s worth it to tease you. Baba would say… I’m right,” Sizhui concludes proudly. “Because I’m his son.”

     “Nepotism! Utter bias!”

     “You’re almost like another son to him anyway,” Sizhui points out.

     “So you’re the favourite child while I get tossed to the wayside?” Sizhui laughs at Jingyi’s affronted expression, and for that Jingyi takes his free hand where it rests across from him on the grass. “You know, that’s fine. If he already accepts me as a son, there won’t be any trouble when I request formal permission to court you.”

     Sizhui turns red and pulls his hand back to pet the rabbit, glancing around as though someone might be watching all of a sudden. “You’re silly,” he says to Jingyi.

     “We’re already going to be 15!” Jingyi pouts.

     “Why are you so interested in discussing it today?”

     Jingyi tugs a little at a few strands of grass. “Just the lesson earlier about cultivation partners.”

     Sizhui’s cheeks haven’t lost their blush but he does look pleasantly surprised as he says, “You paid attention in class after all! A-Yi!”

     “Only for today because it applied to me,” Jingyi insists. “To us, I guess.”

     Sizhui seems to remember his shyness and ducks his head. “You want me to be your cultivation partner?” he asks.

     “Don’t you want to be?”

     “I never said I didn’t!” Sizhui says quickly, seeing that Jingyi appears disheartened. He carefully reaches for his hand despite his own red face and says, “Would I spend all my time with you if I didn’t want to?”

     “Well, how should I know?” Jingyi asks, but he’s sitting up like he’s got less weight holding him down now. Back to his usual self, which is a good sign. “Some cultivation partners are platonic, you know.”

     “Rarely.”

     “A-Hui, are you questioning Laoshi Qiren?”

     “I’d prefer to avoid lashing by oar if I can avoid it, thank you.”

     “I thought you said you have nepotism on your side!”

     Sizhui shakes his head and, somehow graceful even here, stands up from the ground. “We should head back, A-Yi,” he says, brushing invisible dust from his robes. “It’s getting late now.”

     “Can’t we just stay here forever?” Jingyi asks dramatically, falling onto his back. At Sizhui’s look, he sighs and extends a hand upward for Sizhui to accept.

     Instead of allowing him to help Jingyi to his feet, Jingyi tugs Sizhui down so that he tumbles back to the ground, half against Jingyi’s side. Jingyi laughs aloud in amused delight while Sizhui’s blush returns with a vengeance.

     “Lan Jingyi!” he scolds, twisting away from him. “Shameless!”

     “You sound like your father!” Jingyi laughs again.

     Sizhui huffs and hurries to stand, putting distance between himself and Jingyi. “And if you don’t want him to give you the oar, you’d better just do as I say. Let’s go.”

     “Bossy, bossy,” Jingyi says, though he’s following Sizhui obediently for the path. He sneaks a glance to his left and can’t help but grin at Sizhui’s flushed cheeks and the way his ears have gone pink at the tips. According to Sizhui, Hanguang-Jun’s ears do the same.

     He gives a little poke to the skin of Sizhui’s ear, just to mess with him, and Sizhui huffs another breath that sounds suspiciously like, “Completely shameless!” before abandoning Jingyi altogether to hurry ahead of him.

     If Wei Wuxian had been asked as a teenager whether he could ever envision making a life for himself in the Cloud Recesses, he’d have laughed in your face. He did, actually, when Jiang Cheng made the passing joke all those years ago, assuring his brother that this place would never feel like home to someone with Wei Wuxian’s habits. Now, what’s closer to two decades ago than Wei Wuxian would like to think about, he has to admit that his younger self hadn’t been nearly open-minded enough.

     Circumstances that he couldn’t have foreseen changed his view of Cloud Reccesses, and he knows that he will be here for as long as he can be because being here means keeping his place beside his husband and son. He wouldn’t want to be anywhere else these days and the certainty of that sometimes takes him by surprise, when he considers just how different things are now but in a way that feels right, like it’s what always was meant to be.

     He feels himself smiling when he sees A-Yuan and A-Yi in the woods near the rabbits. He knows that Lan Xichen had brought A-Yuan years before when he’d been new here, sure that giving the child a piece of Lan Wangji would bring him comfort in his three-year absence. It’s still Wei Wuxian’s favourite place in the Cloud Recesses — except for the rooms he shares with Lan Zhan, of course, but that’s a given — and it makes him even happier that Lan Sizhui had found solace here as his fathers had done at his age.

     He watches from afar with a fond smile as the boys stand to be on their way home, but Wei Wuxian’s smile freezes when he can tell even from here that Sizhui is smiling sweetly with a hand in Jingyi’s, and his smile decidedly disappears when he realises their faces are far too close together. Wei Wuxian trips backward, a twig or five snapping as he does, and it must alert the boys to an outside present for when he regains his footing against the tree, they’ve fled the scene. A hand to his chest, Wei Wuxian stands there in astonishment.

     This lasts for only a moment before he is all but sprinting for the Library Pavilion where his husband is sure to be writing this early afternoon. He forces himself to slow down so as to not alarm Lan Wangji, though he comes to a sliding stop inside the doors anyhow with heaving breath.

     “What’s happened?” Lan Wangji asks, not lifting his eyes from his work. When it’s obvious that Wei Wuxian is still having trouble speaking, he looks up at him. “Wei Ying?”

     “Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says. He goes to him across the room and drops onto the floor to clutch at his husband’s arm. He stares at Wei Wuxian with the slightest concern and Wei Wuxian says, “I don’t mean to be dramatic — ”

     “Debatable,” Lan Wangji answers. “Say what you have to say.”

     “Did you know A-Yuan is — that he and Jingyi are — ”

     “They are what?”

     “I’ve just seen them with the rabbits, which is ordinary, but afterwards, Lan Zhan — ”

     “Baba? A-die?”

     Both men look for the entrance where their son has appeared, hands folded in front of him and looking for all the world their dutiful, sweet boy. Wei Wuxian’s heart stops, a feeling he’s never enjoyed, and jumps to his feet.

     “Sizhui!” he exclaims.

     “I need to speak with you both. Is this a bad time?” he asks. He’s walked in on more than one longing glance between his fathers to know when he should make himself scarce, but Wei Wuxian waves his son’s worry away like a pesky gnat.

     “Come here,” Lan Wangji invites him, and Sizhui does. He sits across from Lan Wangji, who looks up at his still-standing husband. Wei Wuxian hurriedly settles beside him and nods at Lan Sizhui in assurance.

     “I wanted to tell you on my own, before anyone else, so that you would know I’m sure of my decision,” Sizhui begins. “With your formal permission, I… I will begin publicly courting Jingyi.” Sizhui’s ears have begun to redden but he doesn’t hesitate as he goes on, “We’d like to be married.”

     The library is silent enough that a pin’s dropping would prove thunderous.

     As calm as he normally is, Lan Wangji simply asks, “How long have you known?”

     “A-die, you know he and I have been friends since almost the day I arrived here. He’s been there for me without my ever having to ask, and we… we’ve been certain of how we feel for over six years now.”

     “Six years?” Wei Wuxian blurts aloud. Lan Wangji gives him a warning side-eye and Wei Wuxian tries to remain collected. “Sizhui, if it’s been so long, why haven’t you told us until today?”

     Sizhui’s flush deepens but he forces himself to meet his father’s eyes. “Before all else, Jingyi and I are friends. We didn’t want the hassle of chaperones or rumours. I understand if our keeping this secret is upsetting, Baba.” He bows his head. “I… I’m soon to be 18, and I know we’re young. But I can’t help wanting to make the most of whatever time A-Yi and I have. You and A-die — ”

     A pause. “From what I’ve been told of your story, it has kept in my mind that I shouldn’t live with this sort of hidden feeling any longer than necessary.” Sizhui looks up at them. “Jingyi loves me, and I love him. Will you allow our marriage?”

     Wei Wuxian is crying, which he’d be embarrassed about if he cared, and he throws propriety to the wind in favour of opening his arms for his son, who gladly and in relief stands to accept the embrace. Lan Wangji is sort of smiling in a clear indication that he’s happy with these events, and Wei Wuxian leans to poke at his cheek just to tease him.

     “I’m thrilled you’ve told us,” Wei Wuxian says to Sizhui. “I assume Jingyi is informing his parents?”

     “Well, we wanted to wait until we had your blessing,” Sizhui admits. “It would be easier to tell them once we know Hanguang-Jun and the former Yiling Patriarch are on our side.”

     “You little schemers!” Wei Wuxian says, giving Sizhui’s cheek a light pinch. “Go on, then. Tell Jingyi the good news.”

     Sizhui beams and looks at Lan Wangji. His smile strengthens under his son’s eyes and he gives the slightest nod, which Sizhui knows to translate as wholehearted approval.

     He bows to his fathers and disappears from the library. Wei Wuxian falls against Lan Wangji’s arm as soon as he’s gone.

     “Ah, Lan Zhan. I rushed here to tell you about how I saw them kiss in the woods, but A-Hui beat me to it. I suppose they’d just decided at that moment to tell us, you think?”

     “Mn.”

     “If I didn’t already know Jingyi to be a good boy, I’d have to kill him.” Wei Wuxian sneaks a look at Lan Wangji, who doesn’t look amused. “No fun, Lan Zhan, no fun.” He taps a finger on the table and at Lan Wangji’s prompting expression says, “Well, I suppose they’ll be needing a chaperone now, eh? Can I volunteer to keep an eye on Jingyi? Break a leg or two?”

     “Wei Ying.”

     “Ah, Lan Zhan, I’m kidding,” Wei Wuxian says with a half-pout. “Huh. Maybe this is how Grand Master Qiren feels about me defiling the soul of his youngest nephew. I think I understand now.”

     “You did not ‘defile’ anything,” Lan Wangji says without pause.

     “My good husband.” Wei Wuxian presses a kiss to his cheek, followed by a gentle pat to the other. Although he’s smiling, it doesn’t quite reach his eyes and Lan Wangji covers Wei Wuxian’s hand carefully with his, wordlessly asking for Wei Wuxian to speak his mind.

     “It’s nothing. Only what Sizhui mentioned about our past. I don’t want to marry away our son but I… I am grateful that they don’t have to endure… all we had to endure. No mortifyingly long wait to reach their happily ever after. I’m glad for it.”

     Lan Wangji nods his agreement and brushes a kiss against his husband’s hand, making him blush. “A-Zhan!” he says with feigned astonishment. “Not in the library! Shameless.” Wei Wuxian knows he isn’t imagining the amused, pleased look on Wangji’s face, and he can’t hide his own smile at the sight. He still pulls out of Lan Wangji’s grip and says, “I don’t want to be responsible for any damage here, Gods forbid Qiren’s wrath finds me! Later?”

     “Mn. Later.”

     Wei Wuxian dimples at Lan Wangji, firing off a wink, before hightailing it for the Gods know where.

     Lan Wangji returns to his writing, but pauses as he thinks about the hour’s events. His son will be married surely within a year, perhaps have children of his own. The thoughts of a new baby to hold and Sizhui being loved so dearly bring such an unexpected wave of warmth to Lan Wangji that he decides, for today, he can put work to the side. He goes off to find his family growing, or perhaps the ‘later’ he’d been promised.

[officerjennie]

Hello can I please request hugging for a very long time as a platonic bonding prompt with any pair of witcher characters you fancy (characters from the witcher that is)

Hey so I’m feeling rather self-indulgent so I turned this into a trans!Eskel piece, with him coming out to his family and receiving nothing but love and support in return. Extended platonic hug bonding coming from Lambert.

CW: Trans!Eskel coming out to his family, brief descriptions of gender dysphoria over certain pronouns and other nouns (woman, female wolf, etc.), fears of not being accepted (but he ends up accepted anyway), Lambden mentioned (with potential relationship troubles). WC 3k+

--

Eskel had never been so nervous to see his youngest brother.

All things considered, everything had gone well so far. It had taken over a year to tell both Geralt and Vesemir - he hadn’t had the courage to tell the lot of them at the same time, the last winter coming and going without a whisper of who he really was, until he stayed behind and lingered in the keep even up until Lambert had taken his arse elsewhere.

In a lot of ways, Eskel had assumed Vesemir’s reaction would be the worst, simply because the wolf was old and Eskel had no way of knowing what the world had been like when he had been a pup. But his expression had been soft, his eyes alight with humor, and the only thing he’d said on the matter was “No female wolf after all, huh.”

Eskel had rolled his eyes, shoulders sagging with relief, leaving it at that. The lack of disappointment or flair had done well for him, and that had been one down.

Telling Geralt had...well, he hadn’t had time to really plan out when to tell him. One day he’d been on the path on his own, riding by a field of rather tempting goats and kids that just begged for their little heads to be scritched - and the next he found himself saddled up next to his brother, having ran into him near the coast and decided to hunt a rather nasty little group of cockatrices together.

It had slipped out by accident, a correction at the wrong noun used to describe him. Eskel had flushed and looked away quickly, knowing the question would come and not sure if he was ready to answer it. But he did, and though the silence was deafening the arms that soon wrapped around him showed him nothing but support and comfort.

Those two had been easy, even if his nerves had been fried. As he should have come to expect by now his family had shown him nothing but support, letting it be well known that it didn’t matter what name he went by or who he was - because he was theirs, their family, and now their brother.

Lambert, though...

The day had slipped past him, his hands shaking every time he thought of seeking him out. It had been an early homecoming for the both of them, and this winter Lambert had come back alone, leaving his ‘kitty cat’ somewhere out in a fishing village for some reason he vagued out instead of explaining. A spat, no doubt; it happened every few years for them, but there was no question in his mind that they’d be fine. Two hot tempers in the same room sometimes just exploded despite their best efforts, and a bit of space and time between them would sweeten their reunion.

But it meant that Eskel was left in the keep with Vesemir, who knew, and Lambert, who didn’t. And he saw the questioning look Vesemir had sent him when Lambert obviously didn’t know, making the usual jokes that made Eskel’s stomach clench, calling him the name that made him question everything that he was and at times almost sending him mentally downwards.

It wasn’t his fault. Lambert didn’t know. But it made Eskel both want to avoid him and also go punch something, and neither of those would be good for him in the long run.

So, here he was. For the nth time already this winter, though the snow had yet to even reach their ankles outside. Standing outside of Lambert’s room, listening as the telltale sound of a sharpening stone ran across the blade of a sword on the other side, as Lambert hummed to himself like he loved to pretend he never did - and while Eskel tried desperately to get his hands to stop shaking and his heart to quit beating so quick.

He had to tell him. Needed him to know. Lambert was in a lot of ways the most loyal of the lot of them. Sure his temper got him in trouble, and yes he loved to be a little shit and make sure they all knew he was one, but there wasn’t another person better to have your back in any situation. It didn’t matter if you were in the right or wrong to Lambert if you were his family because he would fight teeth and nails for you either way.

But his temper. His bloody temper, and his trust issues. A breeze sent the curtains in the hall sussing against each other as Eskel raked a desperate hand through his own hair, thinking once again about putting this off and waiting another day, or week, or fuck, until next winter.

They all had their flaws. For many reasons, Lambert has issues with trusting others and had an inferiority complex that kicked up at the worst of times. Really, Eskel had no doubt that Lambert would accept him in the end, that he’d see him for the brother he’d always been and perhaps even manage to not make jokes about it (he never meant to be cruel but Lambert sometimes didn’t know where the line for cruelty was, and his head was thick). 

What worried him was his initial reaction. How Lambert would feel knowing he was the last to learn, even though it had not really been intentional. How he might feel to have been kept out of the know for years even if he wasn’t the only who hadn’t known - and Eskel wasn’t sure how to even explain that he himself hadn’t known for decades, only knowing that certain words made his skin crawl, that being called a woman had always made him blank and feel...outside of himself. For so long he’d not had the words to describe it and for a long time after he’d been afraid to, even to himself, even within his own mind, and his throat had constricted around the confession every time he’d thought to bring it up.

The breeze was too cold, biting at his cheeks and nose. But it helped him breathe, that fresh air, helped ground him with the feel of ice cold in his lungs. He...wasn’t sure how to do this. After doing it twice already, he still wasn’t sure, wasn’t certain. Doubts still tried to eat at his mind and heart but he knew he deserved this - he deserved to be who he was around his family, around his brothers, and there was nothing wrong with wanting to share that with them.

It was terrifying nonetheless, and he’d faced down monsters over twice his size before. Alone.

Finally, he gathered up his courage and knocked on the damn door, rapping his knuckles twice out of habit. The humming stopped instantly but the rasp of rock against steel didn’t pause, Lambert’s grouchy tone snarking out “It’s about time, thought you stand out there all damn day.”

Despite how nervous he was, Eskel rolled his eyes, taking that as the invitation it was and entering his room. He shut the door up tight behind him to keep the chill out, the warmth from the fireplace slowly spreading over his chilled cheeks, pleasant enough an atmosphere for one of the most terrifying conversations he’d ever have to have.

“Finally gonna spit it out?”

Lambert was sitting on the edge of his bed, sharpening tools and a cleaning kit spread out haphazardly across the mussed up blanket around him. His armor was tossed on the floor about him, parts polished and parts still scuffed and dirty from the road, a few of his knives and his silver sword still in their sheathes at his feet, too.

It was a little irksome, how randomly he’d decided to go about his polishing and cleaning, but Eskel really couldn’t micromanage the cleaning and upkeep of his weapons. At least he was doing it; that’s all that mattered.

“Need any help with that?” Didn’t mean he couldn’t offer. 

Lambert didn’t bite, though, a scowl showing just how unimpressed he was with Eskel’s deflection - even if it was a genuine offer. “Getting tired of you lurking out there every other day, so out with it. What do you want?” His eyes turned sharp for a second, stone pausing in its glide across the blade. “And this had better not have anything to do with the fucking cat, it’s fine, I’m fine, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Not about the fucking cat.” Eskel held up his hands in a placating manner, watching the tension instantly melt from Lambert when he did. Getting him to talk about his own issues was worse than pulling vampire teeth and he was really not in the mood for that. Not in the slightest. “I’ve got...well, my own shit to talk about.”

That caught Lambert’s interest, his face flashing in a complicated mess of emotion before it settled on something guarded. But Eskel knew him well enough to catch the hint of disbelief in his voice as he said, “Surprised you’re not waiting for Geralt then.”

Eskel shifted his weight to his right leg, actively making sure he didn’t look away. “No, this is something I’d like to discuss with you.”

“The fuck d’you think I did?”

“Not-” He was going to make a right mess of his hair at this rate, running his hands through it so much. “Not about you, Lambert, with you. Tell you something. Just...talking. If that’s alright.”

Lambert gestured towards a spare seat near Eskel with his sword, casual, as if both of them weren’t nervous now. It wasn’t like they never talked - they talked plenty, but serious conversations happened rarely if ever unless something was wrong. The last time they talked anything like this had been when Kaer Morhen had been ransacked, which had been so many years ago Eskel struggled to remember the exact amount.

He took the offered chair, slouching in it with his arms crossed and making himself as cozy as he could be. The heat from the fireplace was a bit too much for him now that the bite of winter was entirely gone; he’d always been the wolf that preferred the cold the most, or at least the one that could handle heat the least. It was one of the reasons he’d stayed here for so long to help Vesemir make the most out of the rubble and ashes, grumbling as much as the next over the snow but at least able to function in it.

The sound had returned. Scraping of stone against steel, a steady rhythm, one that helped steady Eskel’s heartbeat. It was mesmerizing in that way anything familiar and repetitive was, something that helped ground him when his mind wanted to panic with all of the ‘what ifs’ it could imagine. He was grateful for the otherwise quiet Lambert’s patience allowed them, though he knew it wouldn’t last, closing his eyes and breathing while he calmed his thoughts.

It wouldn’t be that hard. Couldn’t take that long. All he had to do was say it and it would be over with. Questions might come, hurt feelings might follow, but it would be done and they could move on. And better to do it before Lambert’s thin patience ran out on him.

“Lambert.” His mouth was a bit dry, words not coming easy to him. Eyes open now as he watched his brother’s hand glide across the flat of the blade resting in his lap, concentration written in the furrow of his brow but the twitch of his mouth told him Lambert was listening.

All he had to do was say it. That’s all. The rest would come after.

Stone against steel, grounding him. He breathed in as it ran down the blade, out as it reached the end and lifted once more. 

“I’m not a woman, Lamb.”

His eyes flicked down to the armor and weapons that lay at his brothers feet, heart picking up as it no longer had a rhythm to try and match. The fire crackled to his left, popping and hissing, one of the pieces of wood getting ready to fall in on itself any minute.

“What are you, then?”

“A man.” He licked his lips, eyes blinking faster than normal, his heart not letting him look up to see what might be on his brother’s face. What emotions might be flashing there, what response he might have, delaying it as long as possible.

“Kitty cat had a sister, you know?” Eskel’s stomach clenched at the word, his arms squeezing tighter around himself. “Not by blood, but by school, or however you’d call it - he called her sister, s’my point. I met her once when the bastard dragged me all the way down south to the coast, worst fucking decision of my life. The journey, not meeting her.”

Lambert’s deep breath is what made Eskel finally look up, seeing his brother’s face flushed, his jaw clenching in that way it always did when he was forced to deal with sticky things like delicate conversations or emotions.

“Maybe it’s not my fucking place to say it, but he told me and she knows I know it. Doubt you’ll ever meet her anyway, but she’s- ya know, not- she wasn’t always a woman? Or, she was, but didn’t live like one, dressed and talked and walked like a man.”

Oh. Eskel swallowed, sitting up a little more in his seat, some of the tension easing from his shoulders.

“So, fuck, I get it. I mean, I don’t, I don’t get it, but I understand what you’re saying.” He huffed in frustration but Eskel knew him well enough to know what at; words had never been his strong suit. “Feel free to fucking deck me if I slip up. She certainly had no problem with that.”

“Knocked some sense into you?”

That earned him a grin, Lambert finally meeting his eyes again. “Bitch knew how to fight, too. Thought I might have been in love.”

“Surprised you didn’t stay then.”

“Turned out she’s gay, so.” Lambert shrugged, giving his sword a once over before reaching for the sheath that had been laying on the bed next to him. “Guess I’d be barking up the wrong tree on that one.”

“Have to stick with your own cat then.”

The humor flickered away for a moment, Lambert scowling as he placed his now sheathed sword down next to his armor. “Yeah, well. Yeah... Might have...fucked up a little bit on that one.” Before Eskel could say anything, Lambert’s head jerked to the side, his hand coming up to scratch at the back of his neck. “Can we just- can we not talk about that? I’d rather stick to the ‘supportive, loving, dashing, best brother’ thing.”

“Right, yeah. That’s fine.”

There was a pause between them, a tinge of awkwardness in the air as they both fidgeted, not entirely sure where to go from there. The fire fizzled and popped, sending some embers out that landed on the stone floor, thankfully no where close to anything that could catch fire. It was all that spoke in the room besides the sounds of their heartbeats and breathing.

Lambert was the one who broke first, something making his leg bounce where his arm rested on it. “You didn’t think, ya know, that I wouldn’t- that I’d, I don’t fucking know, not? Support you, I mean.”

“I...” Eskel swallowed hard, thinking. “I didn’t think you wouldn’t, Lamb, but I wasn’t sure how the conversation would go. Didn’t know if you’d think I had been hiding it or not telling you on purpose.”

“Fuck, like I’d have any room to talk.” He scowled as he bit one corner of his thumb, chewing at a hangnail for a second. “When have I ever talked to any of you about feelings or whatever.”

It was true, but Eskel knew better than to take it at face value. Lambert was sensitive in a way he loved to hide and pretend he wasn’t, but they all knew him better than that. 

But there was no reason to think on all the ways the conversation could have gone poorly. It hadn’t, the air was clear between them, everything (or most everything) out in the open. But the hurt hadn’t left Lambert’s face since Aiden had been mentioned, by name or not, and that had Eskel’s chest hurting again.

What had his foolish Lamb done this time, he wondered. 

There was no way Lambert would accept any sort of comfort, but as Eskel shifted in his seat some more, not quite yet feeling the relief he’d hoped he would after their conversation was over, he had an idea as to how they might get some together.

“Feel free to say no,” he started slow, staring down at his own fingers and picking the dirt out from underneath them. “But I, well. This has been a lot for me. Talking about this. You might if we maybe...hug? For a while?”

It was probably pushing it, to take on ‘for a while’, but Eskel honestly found himself hoping Lambert said yes even for himself. 

The scoff was a bit expected, but the lack of a verbal ‘no’ was good. He looked up to find Lambert on the edge of an answer, confliction written all over his face, his hands clasped together and that one leg bouncing away as he started at nothing.

“Fine,” was the only answer he got, and Eskel took it quickly. And maybe it was pushing it a bit further when he wrapped Lambert up into his chest instead of the other way around but Lambert didn’t try to get away, tucking up under his chin and eventually relaxing into his brother’s arms the way he hadn’t since they were little and the nightmares had been too much.

He wasn’t sure how long Lambert would allow him this, would allow them both the comfort of each other, but he relaxed into it and decided to savor the physical touch as a reminder of their familial love for each other. However long Lambert would let him, he’d stay just like this, with the fire crackling on and the two brother’s embracing each other, the smell of home around them.

[bella-caecilia]

#12 – power, please? 😊

Thank you for the prompt <3 I hope you like what I made of it (I only realised when I had already finished it that Robert basically isn’t in it but it does contain little hints of Cobert so I decided to go with it anyway). This is set in s1e1. Parts of the dialogue belong to JF.

Black – Power

The sun was high up in the sky and spent its heat with all its might. The brim of her hat gave Cora some protection from the burning light but it didn’t really make up for the stuffiness that was trapped under all the layers of heavy dark garments she was wrapped in. She hurried to take the few steps to the motor that waited patiently in front of the Abbey’s stately entrance.

Cora was on her way to her mother-in-law. Even in the summer’s heat, it was better to pay the Dowager Countess a visit instead of having her over and having her inviting herself for dinner when she was already there for tea. Mama might be an ally in the whole Mary business, from the entail to finding appropriate suitors, but the amount of time Cora could bear to be in her company until her snappiness bothered her too much was still limited. So, driving by the Dower House in her heavy mourning attire was without question the way to go.

Cora settled in the backseat of the motor and gathered her skirts around her legs before Thomas closed the door and the chauffeur started the engine. Her gloved hands ran over the extent of black material. Yes, they were in mourning because of James’ and Patrick’s unexpected death but Cora thought to make the best of the obligatory dress code. Today’s attire was very obviously one of complete mourning. Her gown and coat were high-closed, all she wore on her body was pitch black even the feather on her hat, there weren’t any coquettish accessories. But she somehow liked it and she had no problem posing confidently and gracefully in it. Her daughters didn’t share her attitude towards the mourning’s dressing. Edith was fully convinced that going into full mourning like that was the least they could do but Cora didn’t think her middle daughter enjoyed wearing black. Mary didn’t hide her aversion, and Sybil didn’t protest but as the sweet little sunshine she was, black wasn’t right for her either.

Cora didn’t despise the mourning’s black as the girls did, Mary especially. There was no question in wearing it the next months, and she wasn’t counting the days until the colours could return to her daily closet. Cora even liked how she looked in black. There were striking black gowns that did perfectly well on all kinds of dinner occasions, and they pulled Robert’s gaze to her exposed shoulders, arms, and cleavage in a slightly different way than her lighter gowns did. The effect of black was strong, and sometimes it felt to Cora as if this strength was something she absorbed when Robert watched her in her black dresses. When she had been much younger, she had thought at first (and maybe it had been like this in the very first years) that black made her – or any young woman for that matter – unapproachable; if it was mourning’s black or not. Though, it sometimes managed to give the wearer a strong appearance most often it was perceived as not very welcoming. Robert also had to learn that this hadn’t had to be the case. It certainly wasn’t anymore.

Now when she wore black evening gowns, she felt less like the young inferior bride but nearly like an equal to the men with might. Her power, though, was a wholly different one than the power of these men. But she liked being a bit more at eye’s level with the gentlemen and making Robert aware of the power she had over him and in their marriage.

When her thoughts started wandering into fields less grave and too pleasurable for times of mourning, the motor neared its destination and Cora tried to shake off the memories that intensified the heat under her high-neck gown.

Clouds covered the sky and the short moment of the real summer sun was gone already as she arrived in front of the Dower House.

Cora had asked her mother-in-law for an invitation because there was a letter she had received and wanted to discuss with the older lady. The letter had excited her but because it was a rather delicate matter, she had decided to approach her ally, her partner in crime, to make a real decision about it.

As soon as she walked up the way towards the front door the Dowager’s butler opened it and greeted her as obligingly as ever. With a small nod and a smile, Cora appreciated his silent effort to take care of her coat. The quietly muttered “Milady” was less talking than a necessary addition to moving around her busily, acknowledging her presence. When Cora touched her hat a little to make sure it was still in place, the knocking sound of the cane announced Mama’s arrival.

“It is nice of you to come, my dear,” she greeted. The form of endearment towards Cora was something she had used nearly since the beginning of Robert’s and her marriage but it never had anything affectionate about it primarily. It sometimes could be a way of showing a bit of empathy but that wasn’t the norm.

The Dowager Countess was in one of her all-black gowns as well. Mourning and all that came with it was something she knew better than anyone living at the Abbey. She didn't bother how it made her look as long as everything about the gown was proper. Cora thought the black attire perhaps made her mother-in-law look even more intimidating.

Cora followed her into the sitting room. She sat down slightly sideways on the armchair the Dowager offered with a rather impatient gesture of her right hand. Cora tried to adjust her skirts a little that strained slightly in the position the seat forced her to adopt. Violet repeated the nervous shake of her hand towards the butler.

“The tea,” she muttered before sitting down as well. Cora slipped her gloved hand between the folds of her skirts and brought out the reason for her visit. She handed the letter to Mama.

“Here, this arrived yesterday with the afternoon mail. Have a look at it.”

Violet grabbed her reading glasses from the small table next to her. As she unfolded the paper, she sent a short gauging look at Cora over the rim of her small glasses. All the while Violet skimmed the letter and the butler brought the tea, Cora tried to make herself a bit more comfortable on the antique seat. She was still warm in her clothes. For a moment she thought about slipping off her gloves but she wouldn’t stay long anyway. So, she just leaned back as much as possible (more would also have been improper) and held on to the cushion at her left. She enjoyed the slightest of breezes that brushed through the curls at her neck when the butler opened the door to serve the tea.

“So, the young Duke of Crowborough is asking himself to stay.” Mama had finished reading the letter.

“And we know why,” Cora inserted instantly, opening the conversation to the topic that had defined all their latest talks.

Mama provided her with a wary expression. “You hope you know why. That is not at all the same. You realise the Duke thinks Mary’s prospects have altered.” She took off her glasses and emphasised her statement by pointing to the letter with the folded pair of glasses.

“I suppose so,” Cora admitted. She had hoped Mama wouldn’t come to the same conclusion. It would all be much easier if the Duke was interested in Mary no matter what. But Cora knew best that this wasn’t how marriage and courting worked in the English aristocracy. When would a gentleman be interested in a lady just for herself first before securing his family and estate could benefit from her? Was it really always the same? No matter how rosy she managed to have made things work with her dear husband she was aware of the brutal and heartless business of marrying off one’s children, particularly daughters. She wanted her three girls to have good prospects for the lives ahead of them and apparently this meant she had to play this game of matchmaking the best she could. She would always do the best she could for her daughters even if this meant engaging in customs of the peerage that went against her beliefs. Her girls would be dependent on husbands that could and would secure them a safe and happy future. Safety and happiness were closely tied to position according to English nobility, and Cora knew that sadly there was a kernel of truth to it in this society.

“There’s no ‘suppose’ about it,” the Dowager countered with a short shake of her head. “Of course, this is exactly the sort of opportunity that will come to Mary if we can only get things settled in her favour.” She threw another short glance at the lines on the letter before she asked, “Is Robert coming round?” with a circling gesture of her hand.

“Not yet. To him, the risk is we succeed in saving my money but not the estate. He feels he’d be betraying his duty if Downton were lost because of him,” Cora explained calmly. The matter of the entail has bothered Mama, Robert, and her continuously over the last weeks, and Cora knew it wouldn’t help anyone if it was discussed with overbearing emotions.

“Well, I’m going to write to Murray.” Violet’s answer was resolute. She had made a plan with Cora and was determined to make it happen.

“He won’t say anything different.” Cora shook her head. It seemed like there were treading water and everything that had been decided for them – for her (years ago when she had to sign this stupid contract) – was out of reach to change.

“Well, we have to start somewhere. Our duty is to Mary.”

Cora was slightly baffled at her mother-in-law’s resilience. She had never thought that there was someone who would fight more for her daughters than Cora herself. Robert was very close but as became apparent once again (and Cora didn’t hold it against him) Downton was a very high concurrence to the girls. Violet, however, had a determination as fuelled as Cora’s when it came to securing what was right for Mary.

The Dowager Countess sighed, “Well, give him a date for when Mary is out of mourning.” She handed the letter back to Cora who took it with a smile. When Mama was thinking there was still something to fight for, Cora would certainly go with it. She really hoped there were good prospects for Mary. Maybe Mama and she could really achieve something if they continued putting their abilities together for good use. Cora had never thought she would be so powerful with Mama by her side when she had been the young bride she once was. That Mama and she were such a great team ironically was only one of the nice surprises the years had brought.

“No one wants to kiss a girl in black,” Mama said slightly theatrically before they started sipping their teas. Their conversation left them both with a lot to think and so they were mostly silent while drinking the warm tea. Cora was happy Violet seemed to have no other topics she wanted to discuss. She was glad to make her way home again and think about what could still be done about Mary’s situation. Dear strong Mary who shouldn’t be restricted in all her great abilities to form a promising future herself. Things didn’t seem right that way, to rob a girl of what could very well belong to her and could assure her great conditions for her future life. It just didn’t seem fair.

Cora sighed as the door of the Dower House closed behind her not much later. The challenge Mama and she had taken on wasn’t easy but Cora was sure if there was someone at the moment who could achieve something on that score it was the ally she and Mama had formed.

She walked back to the motor. The sun still hid behind a cloud but it was warm nevertheless. Cora moved sparsely therefore and gave a short nod to the chauffeur who held the car door open for her. She had power; she knew it. Strange only that out of all Mama was the one to remind her of that.

On the slightly bumpy road back to the Abbey Cora remembered a particular thing Mama had said earlier.

No one wants to kiss a girl in black.

Even if she shouldn’t, Cora had to smile remembering Mama’s words. She knew someone who didn’t object to kissing a certain girl in black. A girl that has already been kissed in black quite a lot of times.

[trashmenofmarvel]

Branded - Chapter 51

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Discussions are had, tests are conducted, and decisions are made.

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart​ . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

AO3

You told Bucky everything, leaving nothing out. You also explained what you meant about having an “affinity” to demonic magic, because it was more than that. Much more.

From your experience in the demon realm, to your body changing and the power you could sense from the planet itself, Strange had determined that you weren’t just proficient with demon energy, it fueled your magic. Just like the Ancient One drew her power from the Dark Dimension, your powers came from the demon world.

Bucky wasn’t any happier than the first time he’d heard it, but he digested it better after hearing the details. You got the sense that in the end he wasn’t surprised, and that’s why he’d been so upset. It was everything he’d feared. Your chance of having a quiet, boring life was over, but looking back at everything, you weren’t sure you were meant for that kind of life in the first place. And it seemed that Bucky was less happy about that than you were.

Especially when your magic could potentially protect Bucky from the next Helmut Zemo. All you had to do was master an experimental ritual no one had done before.

And in the end, Bucky came around to it.

“It’s dangerous. Untested. Anything could go wrong,” Bucky said, brows furrowed. And then his face slightly softened. “But I guess all spells were like that at one point. All I ask is that we do this as safely as possible, with Strange’s supervision.”

Bucky snorted at the dubious eye you gave him.

“I may still be pissed at the guy, and I blame him for a lot of what happened, but that doesn’t mean I think he’s totally incompetent. And besides, Wong will be there, and I trust his judgement.”

So there you were, nervously waiting in Bucky’s living room for a portal to appear after he made a phone call. You were going back to the Sanctum, with Bucky this time, and together you would approach Strange again.

When you met with him in his office and once again told him the ritual you wanted to perform, Strange was no happier than the first time, either.

“You do realize it could kill you both,” he said, leaning one hip against his desk, arms folded and expression equally drawn. “Or worse.”

You didn’t have to ask what “worse” could be. You’d lived it.

“I realize there are a lot of risks,” you began slowly, not ceding ground just yet. “Which is why I won’t do it without Bucky’s consent. And I would prefer I have your approval, or at least, your supervision.”

“And if I say no, you’ll do it anyway?” Strange sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Bucky remained silent behind you, but you could sense his support and encouragement.

“Listen.” You were going to use the logical approach and hope that Strange could see it, even if he didn’t approve. “It’s only a matter of time before someone else learns about demons, about Bucky’s existence, and tries to either kill him or use him. If it’s within my power, I’m not going to let that happen.”

Strange eyed Bucky, who stood with his own arms folded and his tail flicking back and forth, and the master wizard seemed more tense as the conversation unfolded.

“There are other ways, you know, to protect yourself from being enslaved,” Strange said, this time to Bucky.

“I’m well aware,” Bucky nearly growled. “And I would trust her with my life if it came to that, but I would also rather not be beholden to magic that HYDRA forced onto me. This…”

He glanced your way, his expression softening.

“This is the closest I’ll ever have to true freedom. It’s a gift, one I won’t toss away because it’s a risk.”

“If it works, and doesn’t kill or corrupt you both, it might not be effective. Or work the way you want it to. It could make your previous pact look like a happy arrangement,” Strange muttered unhappily.

“That’s our decision to make.” Bucky stared at the wizard evenly. “And we’ve already made it.”

Strange looked between you both, studying your expressions long and hard, before he expelled a laborious breath.

“I can see that.”

“Will you help us?” You put the question to him bluntly, knowing this wasn’t the time to be timid or mince words. “We would really appreciate it. I would really appreciate it. We could do it on our own, but…”

You focused on your hands, twisted them together so they would stop fidgeting.

“This is probably the most important decision I’ve ever made, and I don’t want to screw it up. And if I do make a mistake, I want you and Wong to be there. At the very least, for damage control.”

There was a hint of a smile and a spark of something in Strange’s eyes.

“I haven’t said yes yet.” He pushed off from the desk, smoothed the collar of his cape, and said, “Come with me.”

You exchanged a confused glance with Bucky, who only gave a shrug, so you had no choice but to follow the wizard as he left his office. You weren’t expecting him to lead you to one of the large training rooms, or to open it to the Mirror Dimension. Fractals and shards formed in the air like cracked glass, and like every time you were here, you stared in wonder.

Even Bucky’s eyes widened in awe, his arms uncrossing from his chest, and you took it from his expression that he didn’t come here very often.

For a moment, you wondered if Strange was going to have you try out the ritual in this place where you could perform complicated, dangerous spells without affecting the real world.

Instead, he turned to you and said, “I want you to open a portal for me.”

You squinted at him. Wong had purposefully left that lesson to the side, probably because nothing happened every time you equipped a sling ring, but you weren’t sure what Strange was getting at.

“You brought me to the Mirror Dimension, to form… a portal. Isn’t this a bit overkill?”

“Considering how your last fully formed portal breached the demon realm, no. This is not ‘overkill.’” Strange even said the word in air quotes, the smug bastard. Unfortunately, he also had a point.

“So, what?” You gestured at the fragments around you. “I’m able to summon a portal and you’ll let me perform the ritual?”

“I’m not going to sanction an untrained sorcerer with permission to perform experimental magic.”

“Right, because you’re such a stickler for rules and definitely didn’t open unauthorized portals into the library at the Kamar-Taj sanctum.”

Bucky snorted and smirked. Strange narrowed his eyes.

“Which is why I understand the reason these rules are in place. You’ve yet to form a portal, but once you have, you’ll have graduated into a fully-fledged sorcerer.” He paused and slightly tilted his head. “Be glad you’re not learning the way I learned, otherwise I would drop you on top of Mount Everest and leave you there.”

Bucky gave a bark of laughter this time.

“I knew it,” he said, grinning. “I knew that rumor was true.”

“Yes, well.” Strange huffed. “The Ancient One was a much gentler teacher with you than she was with me.”

“Or maybe I was the better student.” Bucky smirked even wider.

Before Strange could retort, which he was absolutely going to do from the offended expression on his face, you held out your arms between them.

“Can we play ‘Mom loved me more’ another time?”

“I wasn’t—“

“That is hardly—“

You rolled your eyes and turned away. As entertaining as this was, there was only one way to get them to shut up once they got started.

You lifted your arms in the correct starting position and tugged at the now-familiar font of power within you, forming the shape of the portal in your mind. You moved your other hand in a circular motion, and with a fiery rip you could almost feel, the air cracked and caught fire in the same movement as your hand.

An orange portal hovered before you, showing a circular view of the Manhattan skyline as seen from the rooftop.

You exhaled and looked over your shoulder.

“There. You happy?”

They both stared at you, unblinking, but Strange’s expression was the most stunned. You didn’t know why until he drew his hand out of his pocket. Within his palm was a sling ring.

Your sling ring.

You slowly glanced back to the portal, at your hands that were plain and ringless, and you closed the portal with a startled movement.

“Well,” Strange said when he’d found his voice again, “That’s certainly… interesting.”

“How did she do that?” Bucky took a step forward, as if he wanted to reach out and touch you, but he held back. You wished he hadn’t; Strange’s reaction was concerning, as were his next words.

“I haven’t the slightest idea.”

“Well… Does it at least mean it’s possible I can do the ritual?”

Strange adjusted his collar and cleared his throat, his expression still a mixture of confusion and worry.

“Among other things.”

You and Bucky glanced at each other. What the hell did that mean?

“What does that mean?” you repeated aloud, following Strange out of the Mirror Dimension as he closed it behind all three of you. “Does it mean I’m ready?”

“It means you’re closer to being ready,” the sorcerer said over his shoulder as he walked ahead. “There’s still much to do.”

Next Chapter

[sonnetthebard]

On Losing One’s Head

Or, in other words, my entry to @shipwreckedcomedy‘s fanfiction contest. I have had a really fun time reading the works of Washington Irving to prep for this, and it’s only made me more excited for this series. Even though I know in a modern adaptation it may be changed I’m sticking to a lot of the facts that Irving gives us about the Headless Horseman. Thank you to everyone on here who gave me ideas/ inspiration/ let me rant to you for a bit while I figured this out. It took a bit longer than I had anticipated, but I’m really happy with it. This is probably so far from canon, but I got a prompt from the wonderful ‘S’ anon on here and I had to write it. Enjoy!

Genre: Comedy/ Fluff/ Mystery/ A Pinch of Angst

Words: 4249

TL;DR: Ichabod Crane tries to unravel a bit of the Headless Horseman’s past in order to try and figure out where his head might be. 

TW: Minor bullying, Mentions of war, mentions of PTSD, mentions of decapitation

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Ichabod Crane navigated the hallways of the school, eyes trained on his feet. He normally wouldn’t allow himself to walk with such a closed posture- it exposed him for how nervous he was (which was, contrary to popular belief, a more recent development in his personality). This town had put him a bit on edge. This town and his roommate, who was as inexplicable as he was persistent, and happened to be the reason he was allowing himself to walk with such a closed posture. He had a series of questions to ask his roommate at the forefront of his mind, and he’d spent a majority of the day figuring out how to word them so that he didn’t sound completely heartless. He didn’t want anything or anyone distracting him, because the talk he was about to have was very important- well, he thought it was anyways. It was important to him. His roommate seemed like a good person, and he really did want to help him (though it seemed like his roommate was doing more ‘helping’ at the moment than Ichabod was). 

Ichabod’s roommate was, of course, the infamous Headless Horseman. It had certainly made his life interesting- especially given that he was only just settling into this new town and his new position. He was just navigating his new life, and now on top of that, he was also trying to find his friend’s head. So far, no luck on that front. He hadn’t had a lot of luck on many fronts. It didn’t seem like his colleagues were particularly fond of him- especially not Douffe Martling or Brom Bones and his cronies. He wasn’t quite sure what it was with Martling other than perhaps a naturally uptight attitude, but he could at least venture a guess on why Brom Bones didn’t like him. It seemed they both had their eyes set on the same woman- which was another front on which Ichabod had not been very lucky. Katrina Van Tassel, the woman his heart had decided to set on, did not seem to reciprocate his affections in the slightest. Mind you Ichabod also found her incredibly hard to read. She was confident and smart, and one could interpret nearly everything she did as flirtatious. But you also got the overwhelming sense when interacting with her that she was not flirting in the slightest. 

Ichabod needed to stop distracting himself, he thought, as pleasant of a distraction as Kat was. He was on a roll. He was trying to get back to his room in a timely matter because (and I cannot emphasize this enough) this conversation was important. It was also a conversation that his friend would prefer to keep confidential, so he needed to get back to his room and have it before anyone could decide to tag along. He wasn’t the only person in Sleepy Hollow who wanted to help the Headless Horseman find his head. In fact, he had many supporters. But this particular conversation was delicate. Ichabod intended to ask how precisely his new friend had come about losing his head. Ichabod believed that perhaps even though this head wasn’t the Horseman’s original one, it may be able to help with some of his memories- physical memories, that was. It would likely be a hard conversation, Ichabod considered. Losing one’s head seemed like it would be traumatic. Remembering that feeling wouldn’t be pleasant for his friend. He would eventually need to share the necessary details with those who were intent on helping him and his friend, but perhaps the Horseman might feel slightly more comfortable having the initial conversation privately where he could express his emotions without judgement- if, of course, he had any. It was more of a precaution. 

Ichabod found himself so consumed in his thoughts that he neglected to notice a foot extended in front of him. He was looking at his feet. He really should have seen it. But he was in a state not uncommon to him where the world within his head had taken precedence over the world outside of it. Ichabod tumbled to the ground with a thud, and it was not long until a roaring chorus of laughter resounded above him. He did not even need to look up to know precisely who he had encountered and what had happened. He did the courtesy of looking up anyways- though it was probably only feeding their egos to see the embarrassment flush on his face. As Ichabod had suspected, the figures of Brom Bones and his three usual companions Tripp, Cal and Blair loomed above him, their bodies racking with every laugh. Ichabod sighed, fixing his glasses and trying not to pay them much mind. The more upset he got with them and their shenanigans, the more satisfied they would be with their results (which meant that they’d be inclined to throw something else his way). He stood, brushing himself off and starting back on his way. Before he could get very far, though, he felt a strong grip on his arm pulling him back. Even once he had stopped walking, it didn’t let go. It seemed Brom wasn’t through terrorizing him yet. 

“Where are you going?” The strapping Brom Bones smirked. It was a smirk Ichabod was all too familiar with, and one that he had very much hoped he wouldn’t be seeing. Brom was holding him up intentionally. He knew Ichabod didn’t want to be there. “You look like you’re in a hurry.”

“Well-” Ichabod started before being cut off.

“You going to try to pick up Katrina?” Tripp teased, pouting and cooing mockingly at the mention of the woman Ichabod had taken a liking took. He sighed as all four men found amusement in that and erupting into laughter again. 

“What? No!” Ichabod blushed.

“Ichabod and Kat, sitting in a tree! K-I-S-S-I-N-” Cal and Blair cooed before Brom raised a hand to signal for them to stop. 

“That’s enough, guys.” Brom told them, trying not to show how much that bothered him. There was only just a hint of jealousy in his tone, but it was enough for the boys to know they’d gone too far. He seemed to size up Ichabod again, before letting go of Ichabod’s arm. Ichabod sighed in relief, thinking that he was finally free... until Brom wrapped an arm around him in a seemingly friendly gesture, putting on his smug smirk again. Ichabod seized up a bit. He was not too fond of physical contact at the best of times, but especially not from Brom Bones. It took everything in him not to scowl. “So if you’re not going to see Kat... what’s the rush getting out of here?”

 “I’m going to have a talk with the Horseman.” Ichabod told him plainly, hoping that was enough to get him out of this. Whatever Brom Bones had against Ichabod, the feeling was entirely mutual.  

“But don’t you, like, live with him?” Cal pointed out. 

“You could literally talk to him any time.” Tripp nodded. 

“Yes, but I’ve spent all day planning this conversation.” Ichabod sighed. There were very few people Ichabod knew who would understand his situation, and these men were most certainly not among them. “I have to do it soon before I forget what I was going to say.”

“It’s just a conversation, man!” Tripp laughed. 

“It’s not just any conversation.” Ichabod told him, getting an idea. “It’s about his head.”

“You’re still on that, are you?” Brom rolled his eyes, letting him go. He knew he didn’t need to hold Ichabod there anymore. Not only did Blair, Tripp and Cal have him surrounded, but... now Ichabod felt socially obligated to stay. Brom Bones was a lot smarter than he let on (at least socially). Most bullies were. 

“Well... yes. I’d like to help him find it.” Ichabod shrugged. 

“Don’t get your hopes up.” Brom warned him in what Ichabod might almost consider to be a genuine tone. He hand a hand through his hair subconsciously, and Blair reached forward once he was done to fix a strand that had fallen in Brom’s face. Brom gave him a clap on the back as a silent ‘thank you’. Ichabod had always found those four men to be strangely close. “Listen, bud... he’s been missing his head a long time.”

“Since before we were born.” Blair added. 

“It’s not like you’re just going to waltz in and find it.” Brom sighed. “This head probably isn’t going to know anything.”

“We don’t know that.” Ichabod countered. “We’ve finally got people taking the search for his head seriously, and I think we’re making good progress!”

“Right... you keep telling yourself that.” Brom rolled his eyes. “Alright, guys, let him go.”

“But you said-” Tripp furrowed his brows. 

“He’s doing enough damage himself.” Brom sighed. The boys cleared a path for Ichabod, and he meekly started to walk away. He felt oddly embarrassed, or ashamed, about what he was doing. He tried to shake it off, but Brom had successfully gotten under his skin and he knew it. Brom chuckled, almost gloating. “Have fun, dork!”

“Thank you?” Ichabod tried, unsure as to how he was supposed to respond to that. 

Ichabod made his way out of the school (but not without a cold glare from Douffe). Perhaps what Brom Bones had said had some merit. His headless friend had been missing his head for a long time. Did Ichabod really think things were magically going to go better this time around? He wasn’t even dealing with the original head. He couldn’t expect to find anything new. But then again... Ichabod himself had also posed a good point. They did seem to be making progress. And how were they supposed to know if his head could ever be found until they tried? No, Brom was wrong. Brom was wrong a lot of the time, but especially about this. He walked down the streets of the town, head down but significantly more aware of his surroundings. He’d learned his lesson- at least for now. His room was within walking distance from the school. In this town, just about everything was within walking distance. He exchanged nods of acknowledgement with a few people on the street, a smile or two. Luckily, he was running into people who knew better than to bother him when he was like this. People like Judy, Rip Jr., Verla, or Matilda. Verla and Matilda probably didn’t want to talk to him anyway. But Judy had given him a nice smile, and it had raised his spirits. It’s funny how small things could do that. 

“Ichabod!” A light voice called out from behind him. Ichabod pivoted, recognizing it instantly. For anyone else, Ichabod would have simply waved, continuing on his way. But this wasn’t anyone. This was Katrina. Ichabod smiled softly upon finding that he was right. It was a dopey sort of grin commonly found in people when they saw the person that brightened their lives. “You’re out early!”

“School ended half an hour ago.” Ichabod furrowed his brows, confused by her implication. 

“Oh, I know.” Kat clarified. “You usually stay a bit longer, though.”

“Oh.” Ichabod nodded. And that was when it hit him: he had absolutely no idea how to respond to that. He’d always been a little socially awkward- especially when he was under as much pressure as he was with Kat. He bit his lip, trying to think of what to say next. Luckily, Kat took care of that for him. 

“Any particular reason you’re out so soon?” Kat asked, finally catching up with him. She kept walking as if silently asking him to walk with her, or maybe telling him it was okay for him to continue on his way. That she would follow. Either way, it was a great comfort to Ichabod.

“I thought of a few questions to ask the Horseman.” Ichabod told her. 

“What kinds of questions?” Kat asked. Ichabod could tell she wasn’t teasing him. She was genuinely interested. But there was also an air of amusement to her that was undeniable, and admittedly rather attractive to Ichabod. It made him feel like she genuinely enjoyed his company. A light blush covered his cheeks.

“Well... I was hoping to ask him about how exactly he lost his head.” Ichabod admitted. “See if maybe his history might be able to help us figure out where to look in the present.”

“That’s a really good idea! Maybe this head will know!” Kat hummed in agreement. “I’ve always wondered about what happened... People say he was a Hessian soldier. You know, during the revolution.”

“Yes, I’m familiar with the concept of Hessian soldiers.” Ichabod hummed. “German regiments for hire, if you will, employed by the British to fight in the Revolutionary War. Do you really think he’s a Hessian?”

“That’s what the lore says.” Kat shrugged, smirking. 

“All the more reason for me to talk to him about this alone.” Ichabod decided. He blushed again, not having meant to think aloud like that. “Sorry, I-”

“No, it’s okay. You’re right.” Kat assured him. “He’s probably not going to want a lot of people around if you’re talking about... you know, war. It should be just you and him.”

“I’m glad you understand.” Ichabod sighed softly in relief. 

“I don’t like to talk about war anyways.” Kat admitted. “I don’t... I mean...”

“I understand.” Ichabod hummed sympathetically. No one liked talking about war. But on top of that, he knew Kat was very against slaughter of any kind. “Have you thought about how to approach it if he has... you know, PTSD?” Kat asked. “It’s pretty common in soldiers, even if this isn’t his original head.”

“I... haven’t.” Ichabod admitted. “I did work out how to ask the in a way that I think will be the least upsetting or offensive.”

“That’s a good first step.” Kat encouraged him. “Just... respect his boundaries. Give him the space and time he needs to answer- if he can answer. Don’t pressure him if he can’t.”

“Right.” Ichabod nodded, taking mental note of those things. “Thank you, Kat.”

“No problem.” Kat smiled softly. It was smiles like those that made appearances in Ichabod’s dreams as he rested his head. She had, Ichabod thought, the most beautiful smile in the world. It was so kind. They approached the inn, and Kat sighed. “Well, this is your stop.”

“It is...” Ichabod chuckled semi-nervously. He stopped, shifting his weight awkwardly on his feet. She had him so nervous that he couldn’t quite stand still. 

“Good luck, Ichabod.” Kat smirked. Ichabod blushed. It seemed that nearly everything Katrina did, intentional or not, made him blush. 

“Thank you!” Ichabod called after her, watching for a few moments as she continued down the street. 

Ichabod sighed, imagining very briefly what their family would look like. He imagined they would be a very handsome family (though the children would get their looks from their mother- he was of the opinion that he was a bit homely). He snapped himself out of it before he could go too far down that rabbit hole. He wondered for a moment if it was weird that he was already thinking that way about a woman he hadn’t even worked up the nerve to ask out. It likely was. But his heart tended pine after things and his mind did no helping, running wild with even the smallest of fantasies. When he was a child, a teacher once told him that his appetite for the fanciful was unsurpassable. He was now rather more a man of reason than he was then, where he was willing to believe just about everything he heard. But his mind did still run wild with whims about more everyday pleasures. Rational joys, like love, romance, and food. Mostly food, until Katrina came along. For a man his size, he had a surprising appetite...

“Hey, Ichabod!” Someone called. Ichabod snapped his head, looking for where it was coming from. Oh. It was Judy again. He waved. “Do you need me to call Lucretia to get you a new key?”

“What?” Ichabod blinked. 

“You’ve been standing there for a while.” Judy pointed out. “Did you lose your key?”

“Oh...” Ichabod blushed. He pulled out his keys, holding them up. “I’m fine!”

“Okay! Just wanted to be sure!” Judy chuckled, going back to her own business.

“Thank you!” Ichabod called after her. It was lovely that she cared. He quickly and carefully opened the door to his room. He saw his friend the horseman busy at work taking a tray of what appeared to be either muffins or cupcakes out of a microwave oven he’d been gifted by the family of one of his students. The room smelled wonderful. “Hello...”

“Oh, hey Ichabod!” The Horseman turned, his- or, rather, her (for now)- hair splaying out behind her in a fan-like motion. She gave him a brief smile before busying herself with her work again. Ichabod liked this head on the Horseman. “I hope you don’t mind, but while you were out I thought you might be hungry when you got home, so... I made some carrot cake muffins.”

“I don’t mind at all.” Ichabod sighed contentedly. So long as she didn’t burn the room down, he had no objections to food. 

“We just have to let those sit for a bit.” The Horseman muttered, removing the last of the muffins from the pan. “There! I’ve got a cream cheese icing in the fridge for when they cool if you want.”

“Lovely.” Ichabod chuckled. 

“How was your day at school?” The Horseman asked. 

“Good.” Ichabod told her, sighing and taking a seat on his bed. The mention of school had reminded him of why he had left school so promptly in the first place. She seemed to be in such a good mood... he hated to ruin it. “Would you... I have a few questions.”

“Oh... sure.” The Horseman shrugged, sitting down on the small chaise in the corner of the room. “What is it?”

“I... know this isn’t your body.” Ichabod bit his lip. “But... do you remember anything about it?”

“I... don’t know. I think, a bit.” The Horseman considered. 

“Do you think you might remember how you lost it?” Ichabod asked carefully. Well, that wasn’t what he’d planned on saying. He winced. “Your head, I mean. Do you remember how...”

“I... can try to.” The Horseman offered. "I don't know what I'll be able to get, though... I don't have the eyes, ears or mind of the original body"

“You could still find something.” Ichabod reasoned. 

“Just give me a moment.” The Horseman nodded, sighing. She closed her eyes for a moment, head in her hands. 

Ichabod gave her space and silence to think. Each new head the Horseman donned seemed to unveil a bit more about his personality. He hadn’t thought to ask about any memories before because it didn’t seem entirely logical to assume that any head other than his own would hold them. But... he’d gotten the idea at school today that maybe the body had a few memories of its own. Like a physical memory. It was silly. And it might lead to nothing. But the chance that it might amount to something was too much for Ichabod to pass us. He was a man of science. And with science comes experimentation. It’s how humanity evolves and grows. This was an experiment that might prove fruitless but was still necessary. Because like many experiments, you can never be certain of what you’re going to find until you conduct it. After a moment, the Horseman raised her head and opened her eyes. 

“Anything?” Ichabod asked cautiously. 

“Not much.” The Horseman shook her head. 

“Not much is better than nothing.” Ichabod blinked, pleasantly surprised. “What did you remember?”

“Well... I don’t have anything visual or auditory... because like I said, those are kind of gone...” The Horseman warned him. “But I can remember... I think the body was fighting. I mean, obviously it was on horseback. That’s how it got its name. But... I think it was holding a gun of some sort. Maybe a musket?”

“Interesting... so perhaps you were a soldier...” Ichabod hypothesized. “Anything else?” 

“Well... you’re not gonna like this.” The Horseman chuckled nervously. She clearly didn’t like it either. “I don’t think this body’s head was cut off.”

“What?” Ichabod blinked. 

“From what I got, it felt more like the head was ripped off. Or blown off. I’m kinda leaning towards it being blown off...” The Horseman winced. 

“With a gun?” Ichabod asked cautiously. 

“I’m thinking something a bit bigger than a bullet.” The Horseman shook her head. “I don’t know what, though.”

“Well, a cannonball would be too big...” Ichabod thought aloud. 

“You know what, I don’t think it would.” The Horseman snapped her fingers. An almost cartoonish ‘lightbulb moment' look graced her features. 

“A cannonball?” Ichabod gulped. 

Well... she was right. he didn’t like that. Because if his friend had lost his head to a cannonball, the odds of it being in good shape were slim. He certainly hoped that this Headless Helper, as he’d named her, was wrong. That maybe the head had been cut clean off. Or that if it hadn’t, it was at least in usable shape. Mind you, he realized, his friend was certainly not around by any natural means, and it was wrong to assume that his head would have been preserved by any natural means either. This entire situation was unlike anything Ichabod had ever been through. It was terrifying... and absolutely thrilling. Ichabod had always imagined himself playing hero, and though these circumstances were odd ones, he was finally living that reality in a way. But back to the matter at hand... perhaps he now had more clues to his Headless friend’s identity.

“I’m sorry...” The Horseman winced. “I know that’s probably not what you wanted to hear.”

“Actually, it really helps. Very useful information.” Ichabod assured her. “This is the closest we’ve gotten to finding out who the Horseman is. Thank you.”

“I’m just happy I could help.” The Horseman smiled shyly. 

“Are you okay?” Ichabod asked carefully. 

“I think so.” The Horseman shrugged. “I just... I feel bad for this guy. What he went through sucks.”

“Yes it does.” Ichabod hummed sympathetically. 

“I mean, I guess it was a quick death.” The Horseman reasoned. “I just... wow.”

“I’m sorry for-” Ichabod started. 

“No. Don’t be. I really want this guy to find his head.”  The Horseman cut him off. “I’m fine.”

“As long as you’re sure.” Ichabod nodded, not wanting to push. There was a moment of silence between them. “You know, it’s okay not to be.”

“What?” The Horseman blinked, confused. 

“It’s okay not to be fine.” Ichabod told her. “And if you’re not, or you need anything... I’m here.”

“Thank you.” The Horseman sighed. There was another moment of silence. Ichabod didn’t know what else to say. "I think the muffins have probably cooled enough for us to try. Want one?”

“I would love one.” Ichabod nodded getting up, walking to his desk, and pulling out his notebook. 

And so Ichabod Crane took some rather detailed notes on his findings, however scarce, and his new hypotheses about where they might find his friend’s head. While he did this, he snacked on one (or two, or three) of the Headless Helper’s muffins- which were exceptional. Especially for the grade of the oven they’d been baked in. This head had a knack for knowing precisely what Ichabod needed and providing it to him. The other heads he’d encountered... not so much. It was a finicky business working with his headless friend because with every new head he changed fairly drastically- almost as if he were an entirely different person. What a mess Ichabod had gotten himself wrapped up in... Truly, he’d only come to Sleepy Hollow to teach science. Teaching was his passion, and he was very much enjoying his job in Sleepy Hollow. But his mind had always wandered towards the inexplicable, and that was a term that more than aptly described his friend the Horseman. 

In a sense, Ichabod felt that maybe that had been the true reason he was drawn to this little town. That perhaps a higher purpose did exist in his life than simply to teach. He had always thought teaching was his calling, but perhaps it was simply a step on the journey that was meant to be his life. Or a vessel, he supposed, for it was teaching that had brought him to where he was. Whatever the case may be, Ichabod knew that what he was doing in helping the Horseman felt right. He wasn’t usually a man to trust pure gut instinct, but this was different. This felt like the start of something. Ichabod hoped that it was a good something. He would hate to be on the wrong side of history. The Headless Horseman had been a beloved legend for so long, and Ichabod felt it in his bones that he was now building onto that legend. That was a scary prospect. Because if he made a wrong move, all that he was building could crumble as quickly and as easily as a Jenga tower and leave him buried under the weight of his failure, the villain of a story he had never intended to be written into. 

[notanacousticsetcal]

begin again - calum hood

summary - based off of the song “begin again” by taylor swift. because i adore her and her songs are basically perfectly condensed little stories. so here’s what i think of when i hear that song.

mood board

warnings - hints at prior emotional and physical abuse, some emotional abuse flashbacks. toxic relationship.

word count - 1.9k

a/n - i’m not sure how I feel about it. I think I like it. please enjoy!! i love doing these song-based stories though I think they’re so fun to write so ill probably do more if you guys like it? highly highly recommend listening to the song first. or after if you want but definitely listen to it, its so good.

Took a deep breath in the mirror. He didn't like it when I wore high heels, but I do. Turned the lock and put my headphones on. He always said he didn't get this song but I do, I do.

You straightened your dress in the mirror, sucking in an anxious breath, and applied a thin layer of lip gloss. You glanced down at your heels pushing away his voice in your head. The voice that controlled you for so long. You checked the time, 6:14pm. With that, you grabbed your bag and pulled out your keys, locking the apartment door behind you. A foreign feeling washed over you as you walked down the hall. One that felt a little bit like confidence. You hadn’t felt that in a long time. It was quickly replaced by nerves at the prospect of what would be happening in 15 minutes, but you did your best to suppress them, the constant feeling of not being good enough entering your mind once again. 

It was a beautiful day. The sun was still shining though it was getting nearer to the horizon, there wasn’t a cloud in sight. It was a warm 80 degrees. 

He would say it's too hot. He would ask to stay inside. You, however, wanted to enjoy it. And that’s what matters, you reminded yourself. 

You put your headphones on as you walked along the cement sidewalk and shuffled your playlist. A song you used to love started playing softly into your ear and your finger itched to change it. You almost pressed skip, but stopped yourself. What was it he always said?

“I don’t get this song. The lyrics are kind of silly, don’t you think?” He grabs your hand and gives you that little smile he always did. The empty one that made you feel small.

“Yeah, you’re right. I’ll change it.” You reach up and change the station, falling back into the passenger seat and resting your head against the window, not knowing exactly why you felt so sad. 

He knew how much you loved that song. 

You shook yourself out of your thoughts and tucked your phone away, letting the old song play out. It sparked some of those old feelings in you. The ones you had before you met him. Those feelings of contentment and comfort. Happiness.

“I get this song,” you whispered softly to yourself.

Walked in expecting you'd be late, but you got here early and you stand and wave. I walk to you. You pull my chair out and help me in and you don't know how nice that is, but I do.

You stumbled into the small cafe and began to scan the room for an available small table. You were shocked to see the brunette already occupying a table near the window. Your favorite spot. He had a book out, but you couldn’t read the cover. 

Not wanting to disturb him, you walked up hesitantly, prepared to wait awkwardly until he happened to glance upwards, but he noticed you right away, closing his book and shoving it in his bag. 

“Hey,” he said as he stood up. A smile quickly took over his adorable features. 

“Hi.” You glanced down shyly, and his smile only grew. Before you could move, he reached around behind you and tugged your chair out from its position under the table and gestured for you to take a seat. You stared at him, embarrassingly dumbfounded, before quickly taking the seat and muttering a quick, “thank you.” 

A small, unfamiliar feeling began to grow in your stomach, replacing the pesky nerves from earlier. 

You didn’t know what it meant, but you knew you liked it. 

And you throw your head back laughing like a little kid. I think it's strange that you think I'm funny 'cause he never did. I've been spending the last eight months thinking all love ever does is break and burn and end.

“And so I ran out of the room, completely covered from head to toe in flour and practically broke down my mom’s door begging for help. She forbade me from baking ever again and I can’t say I blame her.” You smiled proudly as you watched Calum throw his head back and let out the cutest chuckle at your stupid childhood story. 

“That’s fucking hilarious. You’re really funny, you know that?” He looked at you in admiration, the most genuine of smiles on his face. Not a hint of the emotion you used to see in his face when he looked at you. One of apparent disdain and resentment. For what, you didn’t know.

You blushed a deep shade of red. 

“You really think so?” Your intonation says the questions rhetorical, but you genuinely wondered. 

“We hid behind a shower curtain at Kohl’s and won the entire game.” You finish the story up and the entire table erupts in laughter. 

“Max, you never said your girlfriend was such a blast, you should bring her around more often,” one of his friends says from across the table. Max laughs a hollow laugh but you don’t think anyone else picks up on it but you. You’ve gotten pretty good at reading him.

“She’s great, isn’t she?” He grabs your hand. It's a compliment so why does it sound like a threat?

The table continues with their conversation and Max’s jaw sets, his grip on your hand tightening,

“Are you trying to make me look bad?” He whispers. 

You lean back in your chair, dumbfounded at his ridiculous comment. “What are you talking about, Max?”

“Stop trying to show me up, these are my fucking friends,” he spits. He looks angrier than you’ve ever seen him, his face tinted red. You glance around the table to see if anyone else is noticing this. They aren’t.

“I’m not trying to show you up. I’m sorry.” You feel so small. 

“Just shut up, alright? I just want to spend time with my friends without you ruining everything for me.” With that, he turns away, leaving you to hold back your tears.

You didn’t know it, but from that moment on, you would find it hard to talk in group settings. Or to anyone at all. Because whatever he said, you believed. 

And you didn’t want to ruin everything. 

“Hey, you alright?” Calum asked, reaching out his hand gingerly to touch your shoulder. 

You jumped slightly, partially because you were daydreaming and partially because of the jolt of electricity his touch sent up your arm. “I’m sorry, did I scare you, love?” He laughed and you blushed at the pet name.

“Sorry, sorry, I have no idea why I do that sometimes. I’m so sorry.” You repeatedly apologized, growing increasingly flustered. You shook your head in an attempt to brush away the unpleasant memories that plagued your mind.

“Hey, hey,” he reached out and grazed his fingers against your arm again in reassurance and butterflies practically exploded in your stomach, that gut feeling you couldn't identify earlier growing stronger with every passing moment. “You don’t have to apologize. I was just wondering where you went, is all. I’m curious to know what goes on in that pretty head of yours.” Here comes the millionth blush, you thought as you ducked your head down, a cheesy grin on your face. 

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

But on a Wednesday in a café I watched it begin again. 

You said you never met one girl who had as many James Taylor records as you, but I do. We tell stories and you don't know why I'm coming off a little shy, but I do.

“Do you like music?” He asked, resting his chin in his palm, all his attention on you. Something you weren’t used to. It made a pink flush wash over your cheeks.

You weren’t aware at the time, but Calum found it incredibly endearing.

“I love music.”

“What kind of stuff do you listen to?”

“Honestly, I mean it when I say I’ll listen to anything, but I think I most enjoy alternative. All the different sub categories. Indie, Folk, Punk, Rock, you name it, I’ve probably tried it. I think I like how all-encompassing it is. What about you?” Talking that much made you clam up a little bit, worried you’d seem annoying. He didn’t seem the slightest bit bothered, though, as his fingers began to drum softly on the wood of the cafe table, his other hand stroking his chin in thought. 

“I think I’m the same way. I think all genres have some creative element to offer and what I love most about music is the fact that there are so many different kinds.” 

You smiled to yourself, running your finger around the rim of your coffee cup.

“What’re you smiling about?” He teased.

“I just like your passion. That's all.” His expression turned bashful and he gently kicked at your feet under the table. 

Calum wondered about you. About how you would freeze up or disregard compliments. About how you remained hesitant to share your interests. About your unwillingness to really let him in. About your passive nature. He wondered about how you flinched at his touch. That hurt his heart. He felt the urge to make sure you felt safe with him.

Most importantly, he wondered who would’ve ever tried to hurt someone as gentle as you.

And we walk down the block to my car and I almost brought him up but you start to talk about the movies that your family watches every single Christmas and I would talk about that and for the first time what's past is past.

“You told him you were from France?” Calum struggled to get the sentence out as he was laughing hysterically. 

“Yes,” your hands went to cover your face in embarrassment as you let out a pained groan. “I even faked a French accent and everything but ended up getting a detention anyway.”

Calum continued to cry laughing at your story from your formative years. “You were a little rule breaker back then, huh?”

You laughed and kicked a few pebbles on the sidewalk. The breeze had picked up slightly as a storm threatened the skyline. Involuntarily, a shiver traveled up your spine. “I guess I was. No idea how I turned out like the grandma I am.”

He glanced over at you running your hands up and down your arms to ease the goosebumps and immediately started pulling off his leather jacket. You, of course, protested but he insisted and draped the heavy piece of clothing softly over your shoulders, rubbing them affectionately. 

“Thank you,” you said, softly, kicking a few more pebbles on the sidewalk as you made your way to the parking garage. 

The jacket smelled expensive and woodsy and you felt yourself cuddling into it, the scent feeling so welcoming already.

Calum felt giddy at the sight. You were blissfully unaware. 

A comfortable silence filled the evening air and you felt yourself wanting to talk about him. To tell Calum why you don’t let people in. Why he broke you. Calum chuckled to himself and your train of thought dissipated immediately. His laugh practically made you forget your name.

“Have you ever seen A Christmas Story?” 

You smiled warmly. “Of course. I love that movie.” And you felt in that moment, a piece of you slipped away. A piece of you that was never really yours… rather, who you were told to be. That happiness sucking, all consuming, toxic piece of you that left you exhausted and resentful. You decided you didn’t want it anymore. You didn’t need him anymore. You never did, you just didn’t know it.

You were you. And that was enough. More than enough. And it felt so fucking good to start to realize it.

That cool evening on that quiet sidewalk next to that cozy cafe with that smiley brown eyed boy was the night you watched it begin again.

[lesmond-sycamore]

Scavenger Hunts

Words: 1971

ao3 link Summary:  Ivor, Harper, Jack, and Nurm have been given scavenger hunt lists by Petra and Jesse, but why? Notes: LOOK I KNOW IT'S PAST 12 AM BUT IT'S TECHNICALLY 10 PM PACIFIC TIME. I HAD WORK. Anyways, enjoy!

“You know, I’m starting to get tired of this wild fox chase.” Jack groaned as he fumbled with the piece of paper that would lead him to a “secret prize, in three weeks (which was, of course, today) only” as stated by Petra in her correspondence a few weeks prior. Nurm hummed lazily in response as he continued to mark locations on his map, unaffected by the stress of figuring out the answers to the clues to the scavenger hunt Petra had created for the two. Jack sighed, “I know, I know, but it’s been months since the last time we’ve seen her, Nurmie. I’m just- I don’t know. I know I shouldn’t be worried about her, but you how I am. I miss her, we haven’t gotten to see her all day because of this stupid scavenger hunt, and I have no clue when’s the next time she’ll be in town, an-” Nurm grumbled at Jack, indicating that he needed to just calm down for a second. Jack sighed once again to calm down his nerves. He might’ve been overreacting a bit.

Jack glanced at the pumpkin and enderpearl he had already gathered. “I just don’t see the point of this. Petra’s never done anything like this before. Why today? Do you think they found something while they were out adventuring and wanted to create hype to impress us?” Jack paused, then smiled fondly at the thought. “Doesn’t she know we’re already proud of her?”

Nurm hummed in agreement, Of course she does. She might just want to shake things up, although I will say that today-, Nurm trailed off. Jack stared at his husband for a moment, waiting for him to continue, but when he went back to studying his map of Beacontown, Jack realized he had no intention of picking up where he left off. Was today special?

=========================================================================

“Ivor, seriously? You haven’t seen Jesse in months and you’re going to go dressed like you robbed a zombie villager?” Haper asked a very, very frantic Ivor who was currently wearing nothing but a (well-loved) bathrobe and hopping on one leg as he struggled to put on his shoe.

Ivor finished putting on his shoe and glanced down to his attire. “What? Both of you have already seen me in my underwear! I don’t think my bathrobe’s going to kill them considering how everything… and everyone… that’s already tried has failed. Including me. Twice.”

“Still. We have to go into town to do this… scavenger hunt? What’s that all about?” Harper asked, pulling a quill out from behind her ear in preparation, studying the list in front of her. “What the heck is a ‘block of a cheated deal?’ Does that mean anything to you?” she asked as she scrunched her face in confusion.

Ivor hummed in concentration as he collected his potions (you could never be too careful) as he mulled over the question. He planted a quick peck on Harper’s cheek as he began to walk towards the door. “I think I have an idea of what that means,” he stated with a wink as he made his way out the door, ready to solve the puzzle he had been presented.

“But you apparently still have no idea how to dress. Change into something decent if you’re going to been perceived by strangers, love,” Harper punctuated with a face palm, failing to hide the smile creeping on her lips.

=========================================================================

“Looks like we’ve got most of the items, Nurmie. I hate to say it, but I think I’m actually pretty good at this. Looks like my adventurer’s intuition still runs in my veins. That or I’m still plain awesome,” Jack boasted as they made their back to Jack and Nurm’s Adventure Emporium to have a quick break and focus on the last item on the list, items in hand. “Although… I still don’t know what we’re supposed to do with all of these things.” Jack glanced over each item: an enderpearl, a stack of snowballs, a few baked potatoes, a sponge, a couple of pieces of zombie flesh, and a pumpkin. He hoped the quantities didn’t matter too much, because he lost all of his enderpearls when his shop was ransacked during Romeo’s reign in Beacontown and the price of a stack was not cheap.

Nurm rolled his eyes at his husband’s gloating. Jack playfully nudged the cartographer in the arm and scoffed in fake offense. Jack continued to walk and study the items he was currently carrying until he realized that the villager’s footsteps had ceased. Jack turned his head to look at Nurm with confusion at the random stop, until Nurm spoke. Jack, is that…? The villager gestured in front of them and tilted his head. Jack followed his gaze to find… Ivor and Harper outside the Adventure Emporium. What were they doing here?

=========================================================================

“Ivor! Harper! Hey!” someone shouted to the couple. The two spun around to find… Jack and Nurm! Perfect timing! The retired adventurer jogged up to the two and shook their hands in greeting.

“Jack, it’s been forever!” Ivor exclaimed. “How’s Petra? I know she and Jesse are supposed to be in town today.”

Jack sighed and shook his head. “We haven’t seen her at all today. She gave us this list of items that we’ve had to find, but we’re confused on what the last one means. How’s Jesse?” “I’m afraid we’re in a similar situation ourselves,” Harper stated plainly. “We’re almost done, though. It’s weird, all of these items are so… seemingly unrelated. Do you think they have any connection?” She nodded down at her own items: a block of redstone, an assortment of stained glass, an iron axe, a block of lapis, a few fireworks, and some soul sand. “We had to solve a bunch of crazy riddles to find the items we were looking for.”

“Sounds exactly like we were doing,” Jack stated as he showed the other couple his own items. “Did Jesse put you up to this?”

Ivor studied the items in Jack’s hands for a moment and then flicked his eyes up to meet Jack’s. “Yes, that’s correct. I’m assuming Petra did the same to you?”

“Correct you are, my friend.” Jack answered. He put the items back in his inventory before gesturing to the two of them and then to the building. “I see that you’re standing outside our shop. Is there something you need?” he inquired.

Harper spoke up. “There is, actually. I’m not well-versed in anything non-mesa related, and Ivor thinks the final clue has something to do with adventuring. Do you know what item the clue ‘the big finale let you soar’ is hinting at?”

Jack grinned. “I think I have an idea.”

=========================================================================

“I appreciate your help very much, Jack,” Harper thanked the retired adventurer as he handed her the second-to-last item on her and Ivor’s list: the elytra Jesse used to fly to the tower from the Admin episode.

“It's no problem. Now if only Petra could tell us what our last clue means. Nurm and I have been trying for the past few hours to crack it, to no avail,” Jack admitted with a defeated tone.

“What is it? We might be able to help. Actually, we've been scratching our darn heads at our own final clue. I don't have the slightest idea what ‘where it all began’ could be in reference to.”

“Ours is similar. ‘The first unhelping hand?’”

Ivor crossed his arms and closed his eyes in thought, lightly tapping his foot and humming. Nurm did the same, and slightly bit his lip. Harper chose to unconsciously chew on her quill, resulting in her gagging slightly when she got a mouthful of feather instead of the wood of her normal pencil and blushing, hoping no one else saw her do it. Jack opted to spread both lists and all items out on a nearby table and study them intently.

After a few minutes of silence, Nurm chirped and all eyes fell on him. Jack listened intently to what he had to say. Jack, think about our adventure all those months ago and look at the items we've gotten so far. Do you see a coincidence?

Jack glanced at the items and the lists. “Yeah... yeah! The sponge for the Sea Temple, the snowballs for the Icy Palace of Doom, the zombie flesh for the Sunshine institute, I think the pumpkin is for the golems everywhere, the enderpearl for the giant enderman, and the potatoes for that stupid password! Ugh, I cannot believe it took me this long to realize what they had in common. Harper, Ivor, are your items similar?”

Ivor dashed over to the table “Why yes! Of course! How could I have been so blind? These items line up perfectly with the many adventure I had with Jesse! Could this mean...?” Everyone watches Ivor study he and Harper’s list in anticipation. “I think I know what ‘where it all began’ is! The ender dragon egg! Without that, I would have never created the Witherstorm, and Jesse would've never saved the world and I would’ve never gone on those many adventures!”

“And I would still be in Crown Mesa, trying to avoid being chipped,” Harper commented with a sad tone in her voice.

Ivor nodded. “And I would’ve never…” he trailed off, eyes finding the floor the most interesting place to look at at the moment.

Jack gave an acknowledging grunt and closed his eyes “In that case, do you think that ‘unhelping hand’ could be the Ad- Romeo’s gauntlet Jesse found that made them and Petra seek us out in the first place?” Nurm nodded in agreement. Jack opened his eyes and grinned. “Well, I think we all know where those two items are.”

Everyone looked between each other and then spoke in unison. “The Order Hall.”

=========================================================================

“What happened to all the darn lights in this place? I thought this place was supposed to be ninety-percent windows? I’m not going crazy, right?... right?” Harper asked as the group walked inside the Order Hall, treading carefully in the unusual darkness that was only broken by the light cast through the open door.

“It’s been a while since we’ve been here, Harper. Radar was left in charge after Jesse took off too seek out adventure with Petra and that llama. Maybe the man just has… peculiar taste. I did build my lab inside the Farlands myself, you know,” Ivor commented.

The group continued to trudge quietly through the Order Hall, careful not to trip over anything or anyone. After a few steps, the group heard a click, and Ivor, Harper, and Jack each drew their swords they carried for protection. Jack spoke up in a whisper “Quickly, get behind me” and the rest followed the instruction as best they could.

Everyone tensed, their breaths held, frantically glancing around the room, searching for any signs of life. It felt like an eternity, but only a few seconds after the click, the sounds of retracting pistons could be heard all around the four. Jack shuffled, preparing himself for any potential attacks, survival instincts kicking in action, ready to do what it took to protect his friends and husband, he-

The pistons finished retracting, leaving the Order Hall basked in the evening sky’s light. All four members of the group blinked at the brightness, adjusting their eyes. Once they could see again, their sight was filled with a few things: Jesse holding the ender dragon’s egg, Petra holding the Sea Temple gauntlet, a giant table full of food between the two New Order members, and Lluna in an (admittedly adorable) chef hat behind the table. Ivor, Harper, Jack, and Nurm stood in stunned confusion, until Petra and Jesse broke the silence with giant grins on their faces.

“Happy Father’s Day!”

[hannibard]

I recently got second hole earrings and it inspired me to write this!

Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier

Read on ao3

“Do I really have to do this?” Geralt asked as he got inside his ex-girlfriends car.

“Yes.” Yennefer answered without looking at him before turning the engine on and exiting the parking.

“Hm. Can’t I just buy you a meal instead?”

“No.”

“What about one of those unicorn dildos you wanted?”

“Tempting but still no.”

Geralt sighed and raised his hand to run it through his hair before remembering that it’s up in a bun and doing so would ruin it, so he placed it back on his lap instead.

Yennefer rolled her eyes.

“Can you maybe chill a bit? You’re the one who bet that you could eat 80 hotdogs in a row without puking and you agreed that if you lost you’d get your ears pierced.” She said, hitting him lightly on the shoulder. “A deal’s a deal, you can’t just back out now.”

Geralt let out a frustrated grunt. “In my defense I was wasted at the time, but I know.”

“Then stop being a little bitch. What are you even worried about anyways? Don’t tell me you’re scared. It doesn’t hurt much, you’re barely gonna feel it.” 

“Fuck no Yenn. I don’t mind a bit of pain, you know that.”

Yennefer turned to wink at him. “That I do.”

They were both silent for a moment as they reminisce some of the better parts of their previous romantic entanglement.

Yennefer cleared her throat and asked again. “Then what’s the fucking problem?”

“I just… I’m not sure how earrings would look on me.”

Yennefer hummed and Geralt chuckled softly. “That’s my line.”

Yennefer laughed but then turned serious. “…I personally think they’d look very sexy on you and fit with your general rocker/bordering on too much leather vibe but if you really don’t want to do this then I can find another equally torturous way for you to settle this bet but without any permanent changes to your appearance.”

Geralt was somewhat shocked to see her yield this easily but he probably shouldn’t have been. He knew how good of a person she was underneath her cold exterior and he also knew that even though things didn’t work out between them she still cared a great deal about him, the same way he still cared about her. It’s the reason they became such good friends after their inevitable separation, and she would never push him to do something outside of his boundaries. 

He smiled softly even though she can’t see it with her eyes on the road.

 “It’s fine. I made a promise and I intend to keep it.”

 …

 They arrived at the piercing/tattoo parlor soon after, Yennefer telling Geralt about a new sushi restaurant she and her girlfriend, Renfri, went to last weekend as they enter the building. They walked up to the counter where a clerk with shoulder-length curly chestnut hair was waiting to assist them. “Hello and welcome to ‘Yellow Lotus Body Art’, my name’s Triss. Do you have an appointment?”

Yennefer nodded.

Triss smiled politely. “Great, could you please give me a name?”

“Geralt Rivia.” 

“Oh, for the ear piercings right? Please wait a moment while I go check if Jaskier’s ready.” She said before disappearing behind a door.

Geralt side-eyed his friend. “You made the appointment in my name?”

“You’re the one requesting their services so isn’t it natural?”

Geralt was about to reply with something snarky when suddenly the backdoor opened and the most attractive guy Geralt had ever laid eyes on walked out.

 He was a little bit younger than him, maybe in his mid-twenties and he had short brown hair in a teen Justin Bieber type hairstyle, that while long out of fashion looked really good on him and gorgeous cornflower blue eyes that seemed to look right into his soul. 

He was wearing an oversized dress shirt with wide pink and white stripes which was messily tucked into his skinny ripped jeans that were folded at the bottom. Several of the buttons at the top of the shirt were left unbuttoned, revealing pale skin covered with a thick patch of chest hair that made Geralt’s mouth go dry.

For shoes he was sporting a pair of brown leather oxford boots that were short enough to show his ridiculous SpongeBob patterned socks. He had various jewelry on, such as a black choker and a simple silver necklace around his neck, rings on his fingers and also several piercings on his ears as well as his nose, eyebrows and one single silver stud on his chin and his arms and collarbone were covered in tattoos depicting yellow flowers (buttercups maybe? Geralt wasn’t sure), music notes and many other random designs. Last but not least, wrapped around his wrist was a bracelet with the bisexual flag on which Geralt was especially happy to see and it made his heart soar with hope.

The man looked at both Yennefer and Geralt up and down with a glint in his eye and grinned widely. “Hello there! I’m Julian but everyone calls me Jaskier. I do both piercings and tattoos here and I’m very happy to make your acquaintance.” He clapped his hands together. “So! Which one of you is Geralt?”

The pair gave him a dry look, or at least Yennefer did because Geralt’s was closer to smitten more than anything else.

“What? I didn’t want to make any assumptions.” Jaskier said sheepishly and bit his lower lip. Geralt’s eyes were immediately drawn to the gesture.

Yennefer leaned on the counter and nodded towards her ex with a roll of her eyes. “It’s him.”

“Perfect! Please follow me.” Jaskier said and led them down a hallway and inside a room. There was a tattoo chair in the middle and the younger man motioned for Geralt to sit on it.

“Triss mentioned that it’s your first time getting a piercing correct?” Jaskier asked while putting on some plastic gloves.

“Yeah.” Geralt answered and avoided eye contact trying to not stare at the guy too much, something which was proving to be quite hard.

Jaskier sighed and looked up dreamily. 

“I remember when I first had my ears pierced.” He said and started taking various small packages out from a drawer and arranging them neatly in a surgical stand next to Geralt’s chair.

“I was in middle school and the guy I liked at the time had earrings so I asked him where he got them just to start a conversation and he told me and then offered to come with me if I ever wanted to try it out so of course I said yes and after I did it I became obsessed with piercings so here I am today.”

Yennefer snorted from the doorway where she was standing with her arms crossed. “Wait, so you basically just did it for some guy?” she asked in a judgmental tone which Geralt was confused about since she literally brought him here for an even stupider reason.

Jaskier just chuckled unoffended. “Not just some guy! I lost my virginity to him not long after.” He said and started opening the packages and taking various metal tools out of them. “And I’d blame it on the fact that I was a teenager at the time but even now when I fall in love it’s always fast.” He turned and winked at Geralt. “And hard.”

Geralt’s eyes widened and he blushed. He cleared his throat trying to feign nonchalance “Hm. That doesn’t really sound fun honestly.”

Jaskier made a thoughtful sound. “Sometimes it is and other times it isn’t I guess. Depends on how the other party will respond.”

He seemed to want to say more on the subject, but he was done with the preparations and he had no reason to stall. “Before we start, I must inform you that all the tools I’m gonna use have been sterilized and sealed in those packages you saw earlier to avoid infection so you don’t have to worry about that.”

He picked up a marker and came close to Geralt to mark the place where the holes on his ears would be made. Once he was done he held a mirror in front of his client. “Is this ok?”

The older man just nodded and Jaskier put the mirror back.

 “Have you thought about what sort of earrings you’d like?”

Geralt had in fact not thought about this at all. “Not really.” He answered honestly.

“Whoa seriously? How do you even come to a place like this without deciding that first?”

“…I lost a bet.” Geralt grumbled while Yennefer laughed.

“Well I’ll have your friend here tell me all about it while you go back to the counter and choose something with Triss. Come on now, off you go!” Jaskier said and kicked him out of the room.

Geralt was worried that his newfound crush was more interested in his ex-girlfriend than him so he wasn’t really paying attention to what Triss was saying, basically letting her pick the first thing she suggested before hurriedly making his way back to the room.

As he got closer, he could hear Jaskier’s beautiful laugh and he quickened his pacing. He was about to open the door when the question the tattoo artist asked Yennefer stopped him dead in his tracks.

“So are you guys together or…?”

“No no, we’re just friends currently. Tried the whole relationship thing out long ago and it didn’t work out. Though I must inform you that I’m dating someone else at the moment but Geralt’s single if you wanna shoot your shot.” 

“I just might.” Jaskier was saying as Geralt re-entered the room. 

Two pair of eyes looked back at him and the piercer shot him a charming smile. “Welcome back big guy! Come here and show me what you’ve chosen.”

Geralt handed him the earrings and sat back down. 

“Black studs huh? Not a bad choice for your first time.” He said and picked up something that looked like scissors, leaning over Geralt.

“You ready?” he asked and Geralt took a deep breath which was the wrong thing to do because his lungs filled with Jaskier’s scent and it was intoxicating. If he had to use words to describe it he’d say it was a pleasant mix of lavender and something citrusy with a hint of sweat coming through as well. 

His heart started beating faster and he looked at Yennefer all panicked. She just raised an eyebrow in return. “What? Need me to hold your hand or something?” 

Geralt growled and looked back at Jaskier. “Just get it over with.”

Jaskier shrugged and got to work. It stung a bit, but it didn’t bother Geralt in the slightest. He actually barely noticed it with Jaskier’s close proximity and the sound of his gentle humming as he worked being all he could thing about.

After he was done, Jaskier picked up a few cotton swabs and poured some sort of clear liquid over them before using them to wipe at Geralt’s ears.

“All done!” He said after stepping back to admire his work. He gave Geralt the mirror from previously to look at the earrings himself as Yennefer came over as well.

Geralt was pleasantly surprised to note that he really liked what he saw. They were very noticeable with his hair being white and all but they didn’t make him look any less masculine as he secretly feared. Plus, they fit quite nicely with his all-black outfit that consisted of black jeans, black combat boots, a black t-shirt and a black leather jacket.

Yennefer whistled appreciatively. “I don’t know about you but I love them.”

Geralt shook his head. “No no, I feel the same way. Thanks for convincing me to do this.” He turned to Jaskier who was smiling back at him. “And thank you for everything.” 

“Just doing my job.” He said in a sing song voice and turned around, bending down to rummage through one of the lower drawers and giving Geralt a very nice view of his ass. His shirt rode up as well, making the tramp stamp of a dragonfly he had tattooed on his lower back visible and Geralt felt himself getting hotter by the second.

Yennefer noticed him looking and smirked but didn’t comment.

Jaskier stood back up and handed him a piece of paper and a small card. He pointed at the paper. “This one has instructions on what to do after you go home, though the gist of it is clean the holes with a cotton swab drenched in saline solution two to three times every day for 2 months and then you’d be able to take those earrings off and try on others.”

He then pointed at the card. “And this is the warranty for the black studs.” He said and took the gloves off, throwing them in a trash can.

“If you somehow happen to lose them, come by and we’ll just redo the process ok?” 

“Yes.” Geralt answered and cursed himself for his bad social skills. How does he keep the conversation going?

“Oh, and I also think I should give you my personal number, y’know, just in case something happens.” Jaskier added and looked up at him expectantly.

Geralt was quick to take the chance that was given to him. “I’d like that.”

Jaskier beamed at him relieved. He took back the paper and quickly scribbled his number down before handing it to him. “Have a nice day Geralt. And Yennefer too.”

“I’m honored you remembered me. Come on Geralt, let’s go pay.” Geralt smiled and gave Jaskier a small wave as he was dragged outside by his ex.

“Goodbye Jaskier.”

[eryiss]

Ship: Freed x Laxus

Rating: Mature [Blackmail]

Prompt: Masters

Summary: Magnolia House was an odd place. Owned by the reclusive madman Dreyar, and run by his supposed lover Freed, getting an invitation was seen as a death sentence. So when the letter arrived at Lucy's door after months of anonymous blackmail, she felt her life was over. How wrong she was.

Notes: This is the seventh submission for Fraxus Week 2021, hope you enjoy it. Check out @fuckyeahfraxus to see lots of other Fraxus content.

Links: Event Masterlist ||| Archive of Our Own, Fanfiction

The Masters Of Magnolia House

Year: 1835

Location: Athens, Greece

When you lived in the upper classes, there were certain unwritten rules that you needed to follow, particularly when you were a lady. You were expected to keep your emotions to yourself, nobody wanted a hysterical woman. You were to flirt with a man to keep his favour, if acting stupid got you there then you did that. You were to do as you're told and keep the equilibrium; sometimes leaving the room was better anyway. Men probably had rules that they had to follow, but Lucy didn't care to learn them. They would hardly help her.

But one rule, unwritten and without explanation, was true for men, women, and children. If you get an invitation to Magnolia House, you attend.

Master Dreyar was a reclusive lord, who had removed himself from polite society and crossed the sea to live on the continent. The stories of his person were ride-ranged and never complimentary. Some claimed him to be a prolific blackmailer, who could bring countries to their knees should the mood strike him. Others called him mad, with manners that could change with the wind and a temper that made him strike first and not apologise.

When the lord had left England, the gentry had held a collective sigh of relief.

That was until the first letter arrived.

Stories were wide spread and perhaps exaggerated. A young lord, known for drunken behaviour and general disrespect to the elders of the country, was invited to stay at Magnolia House in Athens for a week. His declined the request, apparently sending another letter claiming that 'the rule of Dreyar is over' and a multitude of suggestions on what the lord should do to himself; none of them kind. Within a month, a newspaper local to the lord's home had mysteriously gotten wind of the letter sent, as well as written testimonies from barmaids, shop clerks, housemaids and the youngest daughter of a nearby respectable home all showing a pattern of aggressive and forceful behaviour. The scandal was quick to take root, and spread like flames across oil. The lord's reputation was rightfully ruined, and a president was set.

The rule of Dreyar was not over, simply redefined. If Lord Dreyar sent you a letter, you took the trip or suffered the consequences.

Lucy had gotten such a letter, and as such was terrified.

For months, other letters had been arriving at her home. At first they were vague, requesting favours of her father with the hinted suggestions that her life would be in ruins if the orders not followed. She ignored them, but they kept coming. Each time, they were less subtle and more overt with what would happen. Lucy's… affair with the daughter of her father's valet – Cana Alberona– would be made public. And then when the threats became more personal, more vicious, the other letter came. A letter demanding Lucy's presence in Greece for the last two weeks of July. Dread had overtaken her, and she was slightly ashamed to admit she cried that night in her lover's arms, but now her head was held high and her spine straight. She would hold her dignity throughout this if nothing else.

As she approached the front door to the austere, white stoned house, it opened, and a man walked through it. He was tall, had long flowing hair that rested below his waist, and wore a suit Lucy expected to be uncomfortable given the heat. He walked to her with a professional smile, footsteps long and confident.

"Miss Heartfilia, I presume," The man spoke with an accent not quite English, but not quite Greek either. "May I take your bags?"

"Oh, yes, thank you," Lucy spoke a little higher than she normally would, and put on the slightest show of struggling to hand them to him, so he could feel better about himself when he lifted them. She would do this with dignity, yes, but she would not be ashamed of trying to find some solace in the situation. If someone was on her side, that was at least something.

"Thank you ma'am," The man said as he took the bags and turned to the door. "If you'd like to follow me, I can show you to your room."

"Thank you, very much," She smiled, and batted her eyelids.

The man seemed more patient than flattered in his responding smile, and Lucy could guess why. The man was handsome, and no doubt had women fawning over him; all the more reason to flirt, Lucy thought. It was better to flirt with a man uninterested than to not flirt with a man who expected it and would act with anger and a raised hand if he didn't get what he wanted. When he started to walk to the house, Lucy followed in step and kept pace, looking at the admittedly beautiful building that would be her home for two weeks.

"During your stay here, if there's anything you need assistance with, I'll be happy to oblige as best I can," The man spoke again, and Lucy glanced to see him looking forward with a polite smile. "My name is Freed Justine. I am the master of the home."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Lucy said on instinct, then confusedly she continued. "I thought Lord Dreyar was the master of the house."

"He is," Freed nodded. "Perhaps I was misleading, the terminology for my job doesn't exists in polite society. I am the master of this house in the same way a butler is the master of their house. I control what happens, to suit the Master Dreyar's needs. I am his mouthpiece to the staff when needs be, when the master is unavailable or unwilling to make a decision about day-to-day goings on then I will speak in his place, and, as you can tell, I am the personal representative for the house, hence why I'm greeting you today."

"That sounds like a lot of work," Lucy said, blinking as the shadow of the house hit her. "I must admit, I can't quite see how that differs from a butler."

"There are more aspects to my job. I also act as the master's valet, a job with which I take great pride," Freed's smile grew a little, Lucy noticed. "But I suppose the greatest difference between a butler and what I consider myself to do if obedience. A butler follows his master's word to the letter, unquestioningly and without complaint. I do anything but."

"Oh," Lucy said, not entirely sure what to say to that. "That's… agreeable to Master Dreyar?"

"Agreeable? No, not agreeable," Freed laughed a little. "But he's long since stopped trying to argue the matter with me. He knows when I'm right."

Lucy saw no further road for the conversation, though her interest was piqued. Lord Dreyar was someone she knew more by reputation rather than by interaction, and she had made the man into this monolithic beast who would tear others down for his own amusement. That seemed to be what all of England thought of the man, and yet a member of his staff claimed he was accepting of criticism and would amend his ways. Even if untrue – which it probably was – Lucy would have expected anyone working for the Lord Dreyar she believed in would be scared to death of making such a comment. If nothing else, this would be an eye-opening fortnight.

The inside of the building was as beautiful as the outside. It had many large windows that let in the sun, plants were strewn in pots with calculated haphazardness, and it seemed like a conscious rejection of Englishness. It was rather beautiful.

Freed walked to the grand staircase and climbed it, and Lucy kept pace with him, resisting the urge to look around and sate her curiosity about Greek culture. There would be enough time for that during the next two weeks, and she was still making her first impression with the supposed master of the house. If Freed were as close to Master Dreyar as he suggested, the mouthpiece aspects of their relationship may work both ways. Freed might be greeting the guests to get a good sense of them on his master's behalf.

Within a few minutes, Lucy was escorted to what would be her room for the next two weeks. Freed placed her bags beside the bed, and two maids seemed to appear out of nowhere to unpack them. Before her clothing could be seen, Freed stepped out and stood beside the door; perhaps as not to see her underthing's. Lucy joined him, rather than getting under the maids' feet.

"I might need to rely on you to show me around," Lucy laughed falsely. "It's something of a maze."

Freed paused for a moment, and Lucy wondered if she'd made a mistake.

"Miss Heartfilia, if I may speak candidly, you needn't do that here," Freed spoke, the professionally rigid tone slipping a little. "Many people come to Greece to get away from the confines of England. Be that the confines of the people, the culture, or even simply the weather. I suggest you take the chance to shake off the restraints of English culture."

"I'm sorry, I'm not quite sure what you mean."

"It probably won't shock you to know we've looked into you," Freed smiled. "And in our research, we found you to be an incredibly intelligent woman. Well read, intuitive, and quick to solve a puzzle. You're not in England, you're in Greece. For two weeks. It's a grace period for you. For these two weeks, you're an unknown person living with a madman. Prioritize yourself how you wish, not how society wishes."

Was this a test? It felt like a means to an end, not an offer. "I'm still not sure what you mean, Mister Justine."

"You may be whoever you wish to be while you're here, Miss Heartfilia. Batting your eyelids and acting the naïve darling to flatter me isn't as important as it would be at home. If you wish to be intelligent and advertise your intellectual superiority, then do so," Freed smiled, stepping from the door and walking across the hall. "In the spirit of that, you will have free reign to use this room however you wish."

He opened the door, revealing what Lucy could only describe as a library. It was hardly larger than a bedroom, but with high shelves of dust-less books covering almost all the space. A small table and cushioned chair sat by a window, and a teapot and teacup were placed atop it. It was idyllic, with the sun hitting it.

"Goodness," Lucy breathed as she walked inside. "The Lord of the house must enjoy reading. I wouldn't like to intrude on his private space."

"You wouldn't be, he hardly uses the place," Freed said, standing by the door. "These are mainly for me, but I'm happy to share them with you. I've read them all twice over; I should perhaps insist on him buying me something new."

"Are you sure this is okay?" Lucy asked, eyes looking over the spines of books she wanted to attack. "I'm a guest here."

"I chose the room allocations, I put you here so the books would be at your convenience," Freed assured here. "They're yours for your time here."

Lucy found herself inclined to argue the point further, but bit her tongue. This house was already a completely different place to what she had been expecting, as was the Lord's reputation. She had been thrown to the mouth of a beast she could not understand, and she expected her life to be ruined by the end of it all. If she was going to be offered a library of books that she'd never be able to read at home as a consolation prize, then she would damned well make the most of it.

But of course, that could wait. She had eyed three particular books that she would read first – two in English, one in French – and could probably finish them within the first two days. She turned to Freed and smiled.

"Thank you, Mister Justine."

"It's a pleasure, Miss Heartfilia," Freed smiled, though it dropped a little. "I feel it only fair to warn you, we've another guest who will be arriving next week. He's not got the most stellar reputation, I must say."

"Oh?" Lucy asked.

"He'll most likely behave while he's here – he's known to be snivelly, you see – but only to those he sees as his better. To people he sees as inferior, he can be insipid. That includes, unfortunately, every woman but the Queen herself."

"I've met men like that," Lucy admitted.

"I'm sure you have," Freed sighed. "He's rather a dog backed into a corner right now, so he may be unpredictable. If I can offer you advice, don't be alone with him. He won't touch you, but he'd dangerous in other ways."

"Then why is he here?" Lucy asked, wondering if Freed would be offended. He apparently wasn't, so perhaps his request that she not act like the fool was genuine.

"You've heard the stories of this house," Freed smirked a little. "This is where the cruel and untouchable meet their fate. He's here to be brought to heel."

"And what am I here for?" Lucy asked, meeting Freed's eye. Freed smiled.

"I can hardly tell you that," Freed said, voice going professional again. "Think on what I've said. This is an opportunity to put your best foot forward, don't squander it."

"I intend not to."

"I'm delighted," Freed smiled. "I hope you enjoy your stay, Miss Heartfilia."

Freed turned and was walking away, and Lucy could only watch, not entirely sure what to think of the house, the man, or the lord he served.

---

Meeting Lord Dreyar came the next morning, and in the most unexpected of places. The first day in Greece had been spent mainly alone, as Freed had informed Lucy that the Lord had been called away for the day and wouldn't be seen until the late hours of the night. Most of the day had been spent in the library, though she had ventured into the nearby town square and taken supper at a restaurant; she got a thrill at the fact she hadn't even asked if a meal had been prepared in the house for her, and instead had just went.

In the morning, Freed had woken her at the time she'd wanted, given her time to ready herself for the day with less makeup and more comfortable clothes, and had then asked her to accompany him to the kitchen. She had done so unquestioningly, though the oddness of the request did strike her.

When they'd entered, the Lord Dreyar had been sitting at a small table, eating eggs.

Lucy had been blind sighted, and immediately decided that this was some sort of ambush. Lord Dreyar was an odd man, but he was rich, and the rich never entered the kitchen. He should have spoken to Freed, and Freed would speak to the cooking staff on his behalf. He shouldn't be eating while surrounded by cooks. The Lord was there because it was the last place Lucy would expect her to be, and this would wrongfoot her.

"Master Dreyar," Freed said in greeting, getting the attention of the man. "Your guest is here to take breakfast with you."

"Of course," The man spoke, voice a low grumble. "Please, Miss, take a seat. Freed, your excused."

"Yes, Master," Freed nodded, then he removed himself from the room.

Lucy looked around for a moment. She was slightly shamefaced to admit that she hadn't spent much time in kitchens in her life, and there was something of a spectacle to be in one. There were so many devices scattered around, all for different purposes that she couldn't guess. And the three cooks – two women and a man – scuttled from counter to counter, preparing food with a level of proficiency that Lucy found awe-inspiring. She felt like she could watch them for hours, but a quick glance towards the Lord refocused her attention.

The Lord was younger than she expected, though just as intimidating. He was incredibly tall, incredibly broad and had an impassively mean expression. The scar across his face gave Lucy pause, as did the peaking line of ink that slid up his collarbone. Hardly befitting an English gentleman. She quickly took a seat at the table before she could anger the man.

They sat in silence for a moment, the Lord eating his breakfast and Lucy waiting for hers to be brought to her. Lucy was waiting for him to speak, as a Lord must always speak before a Lady, but no conversation came. It was only when she forced herself to remember Freed's words that she spoke.

"I've never eaten in a kitchen before," She spoke without wavering in her tone. "Is it a Greek custom?"

"It is in this house," The Lord shrugged. "Don't know about the other houses, don't really go to other people's houses if I can avoid it, certainly not for breakfast. But in this house, I always prefer eating in the kitchen."

"Right," Lucy said hesitantly. "May I ask why?"

"You may," The lord shrugged, but said nothing more. He took a bite from his plate, chewed, swallowed, and looked to Lucy again. "Will you?"

"Will I what?"

"Ask me why."

"Oh, that," Lucy frowned. She had asked him; he was being obtuse. "Why do you eat in here, my lord?"

"Blurs the line between my position and there's," He nodded to the staff. "England likes to keep the rich and the regular split, I don't. This is a little way for me to keep everything a little more balanced," He smirked then. "And there's also the fact I know damn well the way I take my eggs is the best way for them to be prepared. Guests aren't as brave about complaining about that when the chefs in the room holding a knife."

He had a slightly manic grin when he said that, and Lucy found herself amused rather than scared. It was an attitude she couldn't have in this place, not when it was likely that the man sitting across from her was the blackmailer. Although, what would the great and powerful Lord Dreyar need from her father of all people?

"That's quite the reason," Lucy said, and the Lord nodded.

They sat in silence again, and Lucy watched as the Lord ate. It was… interesting. A gentleman worth his salt would have been trained from birth how to eat with precision and class. They wouldn't scarf down eggs, then drag a chunk of bread over the plate, cover it in the remaining sauce and then bite into it like a street child.

The Lord didn't seem to care that he was being watched, and raised a glass of orange juice which he finished in a single upturn. Lucy was half disgusted half fascinated, and was quickly coming to understand why the Lord had left England. Everything he'd done since Lucy had entered the room would leave him shunned and outcasted from the polite society of England; no wonder he was quick to leave it.

Around her, the chef's seemed to be cooking her meal, and she found her eyes wandering towards them. Their movements were quick and fluid, and Lucy wondered if she could ever learn to do that. She might have to if Lord Dreyar was going to do what she thought he would.

"Why am I here, Lord Dreyar?" She asked, and the Lord stopped eating for a moment.

"You're here for two weeks, you'll figure it out by the end of it," Was all the Lord said, but Lucy didn't want to finish the conversation there, so he pushed.

"I'd rather know now."

"Sure you would, but that ain't how this house works," The man grinned at her again, and Lucy didn't know if it was amused or malicious. "Two weeks, and it's all over. I'm sure you can wait that long."

Lucy didn't think she could, but she felt no reason to argue the point. She needed the Lord in her favour, and not annoying him would do wonders to help that.

Before she could think of a conversation to bring up, one of the three chefs in the room placed a plate of eggs – prepared as an omelette, placed on toasted bread, garnished with parsley and salt - and a set of simple, inelegant cutlery was put beside the plate. It was hardly how she would have had her breakfast if she'd been given the choice, but an omelette done well could be nice. The glass of juice she had been given was at least fresh and vibrant looking. She picked up the cutlery and cut a small piece of the omelette out for herself. As she brought it to her lips, the Lord spoke again.

"How do you have your eggs?" He asked, apropos of nothing.

"Excuse me?"

"Your eggs, how would you have them if you'd been given the choice," The Lord pushed.

"I thought that you had the art of eggs perfected?" Lucy asked, deciding that a light, joking tone was best to get out of the oddness of the situation. "Why wouldn't I want to try them if that's true."

"Because they've got garlic in them, and you're allergic," The Lord smirked a little, and Lucy halted, dropped the fork, and left the chair, looking at the plate of food that she was, indeed, very allergic to. Laxus kept up the expression as he spoke. "If you ate that, you could've died."

"Yes, I could have," Lucy uttered, anger flashing though her.

"And all because you didn't wanna argue with me," The Lord said, reaching over, taking the fork Lucy had dropped, and ate the egg impaled on it. "See, that's what England does to women. Puts them in fancy dresses and tells 'em to look pretty. Makes 'em impassive and quiet, tells them to shut up because they're weak and don't have anything interesting to say. That's all they get, and even the strong ones eventually start believing it all. Fucking country."

"What's the point of this?" Lucy demanded, still looking at the eggs.

"The point is, you can push back against things sometimes," The Lord sighed. "Everything you did before you became fifteen showed you as a fighter. Then you grew up, your father saw you as a way to expand his empire through marriage, and you became docile," The blonde smirked a little. "But fuck him. Be a fighter, push back against bullshit, and take yer damn eggs how you want 'em."

Oh. That was not at all what Lucy had expected, and she couldn't quite think of what to say to the advice. It was good advice, not entirely practical given her situation in life, but the urge to fight back against English constraints had never really left her. Still, had nearly killing her been necessary for proving his point.

She hadn't smelt the garlic though. Normally her nose was rather good when garlic was involved.

"Was there really garlic?" She asked, and the Lord smirked.

"You think I'm the type of man who'd risk poisoning someone to make a statement?" The lord quirked an eyebrow, and Lucy didn't answer. That made the man laugh. "Call me Laxus from now on, you've earned it," He then looked to one of his chefs. "Get the woman what she wants."

Lucy then smiled, sat back at the table once the plate was taken away, and looked to the waiting chef. "Two poached eggs. With salmon."

---

Four nights into her stay, a ridiculous urge for a glass of milk struck Lucy in the middle of the night. For a few minutes she tried to fight it – she was a grown woman for heaven's sake, not a child with no impulse control – but forcing herself to think of other things just made it worse. Perhaps it was Greece's fault; the heat was making cold drinks seem more refreshing and therefore more appealing.

She tried to make as little noise as she could, the landing of the building's upper floor creaking slightly as she walked down the hallway. She winced a little as the stairs cut through the silence, but she continued on, walking to the kitchen. She quickly found the larder where the milk was stored, poured herself a glass, and began her walk back to her bedroom, hoping she would be quieter.

Apparently, it was a baseless hope, because each creak and squeak was louder than it had been before.

It almost didn't matter, but when she was quietly walking down the hallway and she stood on a particularly loud floor panel, the door to Laxus' office opened, and Freed walked out. He was wearing his usual suit, looking as well put together as always though with slightly heavy breathing and the smallest of flushes on his cheeks. They looked at one another for a moment, Freed closing the office door behind him so the only light illuminating them both was the candle that Lucy was holding. Freed spoke first.

"Miss Heartfilia," He was gentle in his tone, quiet for the time of night. "You're up rather late."

"I was having trouble sleeping; getting accustomed to the new environment I suppose. My throat became dry and, well," She raised her milk in explanation. Freed nodded. "You seem rather awake too, what time do you sleep?"

"Normally, I'd be asleep by now, but Master Dreyar is keeping me up," Freed explained, smile bordering on a smirk. "He's, well, he's a little tied up at the moment. Work gets on top of him, you see, and the stresses sometimes can be overwhelming. I do what I can to keep him sane."

"You really do whatever it is you can to help him, don't you,?" Lucy laughed.

"I take great pleasure in my duties," Freed said enigmatically. "You should get to sleep, Miss Heartfilia. I believe that the lord plans to take you to a nearby village tomorrow, you'll need to be well rested."

"Of course," Lucy agreed. "Goodnight Freed."

"Goodnight Miss Heartfilia," Freed responded.

Lucy walked back to her bedroom, still trying not to be loud as not to distract Laxus from whatever work he was doing. As she climbed into her bed and nestled herself into the covers, she found herself wondering what Freed's odd smiles and slight state of disrepair meant. Were this any other house, she might have believed that Freed was sneaking into Laxus' study to do something illegal – it wasn't unheard of for butlers to turn on their masters – but Magnolia House was different. Freed seemed devoted to his master, and that devotion might go both ways. She didn't think for a second that Freed would betray the man.

Eventually, she would have to leave this house, and she had to wonder if she would understand what the hell was going on in the place. She hoped so; she loved nothing more than a puzzle and everything about this place raised more questions than they answered.

Maybe the other guest would have the answers when he came.

---

"We'll be taking dinner in the dining room today, Miss Heartfilia."

Lucy turned to look at Freed, who had approached her as she walked to the kitchen. She halted slightly; it had been a week since she had arrived at the house and her meals had always been taken in the kitchen, or outside of the house somewhere. She honestly hadn't been sure if the house had a dining room. It would have been in keeping of the week for Laxus to have taken the dining room and replaced it with a horse's stable or something equally absurd.

She followed Freed towards the dining room, deciding not to ask why. Both Freed and Laxus seemed to enjoy giving non-answers to anything she would ask, and ass such she'd given up trying. It was best to just allow herself to be swept up in everything.

The dining room itself was a small place, sparsely decorated but pleasant. Plants bordered the room but didn't encroach on the table itself, and despite being perhaps the most formal room in the house that Lucy had seen, it made every dining room in England seem stuffy in comparison. She walked inside, allowing Freed to pull out a seat for her and taking it. Only when she looked up did she see that not only was Laxus sitting at the table, but another man, someone who Lucy had known very well for most of her life.

Jiemma Orland.

Another member of the aristocracy, their paths had crossed many times. During the dances she'd been forced to attend in her childhood, Lucy had often found his daughter Minerva and they'd spent nights playing and laughing. He had always scared Lucy when she was young – he seemed nasty, vindictive even – and she'd avoided her when she could. It had been years since they'd seen each other, but that chill still ran down her spine.

He must have been Laxus' other guest. Was it a coincidence?

"Lucy," Laxus greeted, sitting at the head of the table. "This is Mister Orland; I believe that you-"

"Lord Orland," Jiemma corrected, and Lucy saw Laxus narrow his eyes slightly. "Not mister."

"Right. As I was saying," Laxus spoke again with a growl. "The great and respectable Lord, Mister Orland, is the guest that I was telling you about. I think you might have met him a few times in your past, your circles seemed to have intertwined."

"They have," Lucy agreed, forcing her fake smile on again. Her cheeks hurt; she hadn't smiled like that for the week she'd been there. "Hello Lord Orland, it's a pleasure to see you again."

"And you, ma'am," Jiemma responded, not even trying to sound polite. He turned towards Laxus, face a scowl. "As I was saying, I hardly see why you want me here, Lord Dreyar. This is quite the imposition."

"I'm glad," Laxus grinned. "And you do know why you're here, I think. But that's for the end of the week, so try not to torture yourself about it now," The grin turned a little nasty for only a moment, but the normal smile returned when he looked back to Lucy. "How's your day been? Freed informed me that the two of you decided to visit the Parthenon toady. Was it what you expected it to be?"

"It was beautiful," Lucy smiled a little. "Freed's very knowledgeable about its history, and quite the storyteller too. I hope you don't mind that I took him away from the house for the day."

"Of course not," Laxus smiled. "What sort of a man would I be if I couldn't survive a day without my manservant. Hardly a man at all."

Laxus looked directly towards Jiemma when he said that, and the older man tensed, and his face became thunderous. He made a wave of his hand and a well-dressed man who Lucy vaguely remembered seeing around Jiemma's house when she'd visited Minerva nodded and left. Lucy was almost certain that he was Jiemma's manservant. She laughed a little too loud, and quickly schooled herself. Jiemma turned his glare to her, but Laxus spoke before he could say anything.

"The city really is a sight to behold this time of year. The tourists can make it a little crowded, but the history seeps through either way," Laxus said, and a plate was placed in front of him. "I typically leave the summer months without having guests so I can better enjoy myself. The two of you should feel quite honoured."

"Hardly," Jiemma muttered almost imperceptibly, but both Lucy and Laxus seemed to have heard him.

"Speak up, man," Laxus demanded, looking into his eyes without wavering. "How can your words be respected if you're not standing with them, but hiding behind them?"

"You don't think I stand by my words?" Jiemma snapped, and Lucy halted slightly, not wanting to make her presence known. She had been aware that Jiemma could be a bully, but never witnessed it. Laxus didn't seem bothered.

"I don't," Laxus grinned. "And I think you should be cordial to your host, no?"

"Cordial. You of all people wish to speak to me about how to act in polite society," Jiemma was shouting, and his anger seemed to come so abruptly that Lucy felt knocked down by it. Freed had mentioned that Jiemma was backed into a corner, of course, but this level of anger bubbling up without much provocation was disconcerting. "You, a man who leaves society for your… your perversions, have the gall to say anything. And not only speak down to others, but to demand the presence of others at your home half way across the world. To hold half the respectable country to ransom for your sick enjoyment. And yet you speak to me of cordiality, Mister Dreyar."

"It's Lord Dreyar, actually," Laxus corrected, grinning.

Jiemma looked ready to storm to Laxus and strike him, and Lucy found herself grabbing the side of the table just for distraction. Laxus and Jiemma were having an argument with their eyes only, Laxus all but goading Jiemma to do anything that might give him cause to attack. Lucy didn't know what to do. Passive aggressive dinners were one thing, but openly yelling was unheard of.

Freed walked into the room holding a plate of light food, and placed it in front of Lucy. She looked to him for reprieve, and he smiled at her handsomely. It was a comfort, and she whispered low enough only for him to hear.

"What's happening between them?"

"Mister Orland's character is being tested," Freed whispered equally quietly, adjusting the plate so to elongate his time near her. "Everyone who comes here undergoes a test of some time. They can get rather explosive, as you can see."

"I wasn't tested," Lucy frowned.

"Not in a way that you noticed, no," Freed smiled again, taking a bottle of wine from a cooler and filling Lucy's glass with it. "If the two of them start to overwhelm you, feel free to dismiss yourself and say you need to powder your nose or something of the like. Laxus won't be offended, and I suspect Mister Orland won't care for you either way."

"Thank you," Lucy whispered, smile a little weak as she wondered what her 'test' had been.

"Of course, though I recommend you see it through to the end," Freed suggested as he placed the wine back into the cooler. "You might regret it if you don't."

Freed was out of the room within a moment, and Lucy was left floundering as to what that meant. The letters she'd received hit her again, and dread filled through her as she remembered all the stories she'd heard from people who had been to this house. This was the house where reputations were ruined, and lives were upended. She had become complacent, but this had been the reminder she needed to know that this house wasn't safe.

Maybe Freed's words had been a threat, or maybe they'd been a warning. Either way, Lucy needed to be careful in this place, and not allow herself to make a mistake.

---

"Why the hell are you here?"

Three days into the second week of her visit, Jiemma hissed the words as he stormed into Lucy's room. He was swaying slightly on his feet, face flushed from alcohol and jaw tight and rigid. Lucy shot up, covering herself with her sheets on instinct as the man thrashed into her bedroom. She looked at him frozen for a moment before she regained her senses and spoke.

"I was invited by Lord Dreyar," She answered, blinking away the remains of sleep.

"He is not a Lord," Jiemma shouted, and Lucy had to flinch back when he stormed to her bed. "He left England and left his title with it! He had no right to call himself that name. Has no right to act like he has power. Like he's too good to be English but still has influence over us. He can't."

"Mister Orland-"

"I am a fucking Lord!" Jiemma roared. "I am a Lord of the realm, woman. Respect me!"

"Lord Orland, I don't know why I have been called here but you need to leave my bedroom this instant," Lucy said firmly, trying not to let her voice waver as he took another step closer. He was a large and brutish man, and drunk out of his mind. "This is most improper and if Laxus or Freed are woken up then I expect they'll not be please."

"You need to leave now," Jiemma demanded. "Get out of this damnable house this instant. It's manageable without you, so leave. Get out of here and don't show your face. Then we can sort this out."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Lucy stammered slightly.

"You need to get the hell away from me and leave my daughter alone," Jiemma growled, lurching forward, and grabbing hold of the sheets Lucy held to her chest. "You're all the same, looking for your next-"

"Mister Orland," A curt voice cut him off, and Lucy looked to see Freed standing at the door, well dressed despite the time of night. Lucy felt safer with him there, and Freed quickly stormed into the room with barely restrained anger. "It is three in the morning, and you are in bedroom of an unmarried woman who clearly does not want you there. There is no justification for such actions, and I won't give you the time to attempt it. You're to return to your room and repent for your actions immediately."

"What," Jiemma turned to Freed and walked into his space. Lucy tried to recover her breath, eyes a little wide. Was Jiemma going to hit Freed? He looked as though he was. "You think you can order me? A houseboy? Not even a man, neither of you are, not with what you do together."

"Return to your bed, Mister Orland," Freed repeated sternly. "If you don't, I'll have no choice but to leave you to the streets tonight, and let me tell you that the authorities here have perfected the art of dealing with an English drunkard and they do so with great enthusiasm."

"Make me," Jiemma taunted, leaning forward, and breathing right into Freed's face. Lucy could only guess how horrid a smell that would be.

Freed placed a hand on Jiemma's shoulder, probably to guide him back to his bedroom. Jiemma immediately shrugged Freed off him, taking a stumbling step back and looking to Freed like he was dirt. Freed kept the man's gaze without blinking, and Lucy watched in panic, not knowing what else to do because Jiemma was angry and drunk.

"Return to your room," Freed spoke firmly. "Or I will do just that."

Jiemma scoffed, but stumbled past Freed while barging his shoulder against Freed's. The door was slammed behind them both, leaving Freed alone with Lucy. She watched as Freed untensed himself, either out of relief or because of dwindling adrenaline. Lucy quickly reached for the candle that lay on the counter, striking a match and lighting it to replace the light lost from the hallway. Freed was looking at her with professional concern when his face was lit again, the moment of anger gone and his impassive looks back again.

"Are you okay, Miss Heartfilia?" He asked, voice calm again. "He didn't touch you, did he?"

"No, just scared me," She admitted, looking down slightly. "Are you okay?"

"Perfectly fine, Miss," Freed dismissed the question without giving a moment to think. "If you'd prefer it, we have a smaller bedroom for you to sleep in for tonight. If you can give me a few moments to make the bed for you, it might be a better fit. It's closer to Lord Dreyar's room and has a bolt on the door, for your safety."

"That won't be necessary," Lucy answered, even if she was tempted. "Those men are all the same. Drunkards like acting strong, but they're not. He'll be stewing about how you stood up against him. He won't bother me again."

"If you insist," Freed nodded. "If you change your mind, just call for me and I'll have the bed ready for you."

"Thank you, Freed," Lucy smiled a little, relaxing as she placed the candle back onto her bedside table. "I must say, you don't seem to ever sleep. This is the second time in as many weeks that you've been ready for an issue in the night."

"It's my job, Miss," Freed dismissed. "I must say, I did expect that Mister Orland might come back in a drunken state and do something regrettable. I thought it would be against Master Dreyar, given their antagonism, but he seemed to focus on you. I'm terribly sorry it took me so long to come to you."

"Don't worry," Lucy assured him. "He just scared me, nothing more."

"As you say," Freed agreed. "I'll leave you to sleep. Master Dreyar might wish to speak with you both tomorrow morning after this. I'll wake up if he does."

"Thank you," Lucy smiled. "Goodnight Freed."

"Goodnight Miss Heartfilia."

---

"So, I think it's time we all have a talk."

Laxus was the first to speak, breaking the silence that had befallen the small office. He was sat behind his large desk in a leather chair, with Freed standing beside him and to his right: they looked every part like the Lord of the House and his ever-present shadow. Lucy was sat at the other side of the desk in one of the smaller chairs provided, nervously fiddling with the lap of her dress, and occasionally glancing towards Jiemma, who sat at her side in another of the chairs.

After the interruption the night before, her sleep had been uneven and broken. She had been half tempted to take Freed's offer for the other room, but by the time the decision had been made it was nearly four, and that wouldn't be fair on the man. She'd instead jammed the door with a chair and done her best to rest.

When she'd been told Lord Dreyar wished to speak with her, she had been happy to oblige. She was less happy when she saw Jiemma sitting there as well.

"I need to leave," Jiemma said in retort. "I don't understand why you dragged me here in the first place. After the way your houseboy spoke to me last night I don't see why I should suffer the indignity of being here a moment more."

"Rather eloquent, aren't you?" Laxus posed the question with a smile. "Not quite as eloquent when you're drunk though, are you? I heard what you were saying last night. I suspect that half the city did the way you were yelling. Hardly behaviour that befits a lord, I don't think."

"What are you implying?" Jiemma demanded.

"That you should shut your mouth because I have something to say," Laxus grinned a nasty grin. "Can you agree to that?"

"I've a hotel booked for the rest of my stay," Jiemma said firmly. "I intend to be there within the hour."

"This won't take too long," Laxus assured him. He looked towards Freed for a moment, who walked to one of the sets of cupboards lining the walls to the room. Lucy followed the man's actions, but turned back to Laxus when he spoke again. "You've both been asking why you were invited here. I don't doubt you both know the reputation that this house has; particularly that I invite people here because I have a problem with them. That's true."

Lucy found her breath caught in her throat. She had known this would happen, of course she did, but had expected it to take place on the last day of the trip. Maybe that was the intention, but Jiemma's activities the night before had pushed them into action.

She was just going to have to deal with it. That's all she could do.

"I believe that this might be enough of an explanation as to why you're both here," Laxus continued, taking a single piece of paper from Freed and placing it on the table. Lucy went to look at it, but Jiemma snatched it away. Laxus didn't seem bothered, and allowed Jiemma to look at it for a moment. "You seeing my point, Mister Orland?" Jiemma didn't react, his grasp on the paper tensing. "You've known from the moment you saw Miss Heartfilia, didn't you, so no need to hoard the letter. Hand it to Lucy, please."

Jiemma looked like he was going to argue, but did as he was told indignantly. Lucy looked down to see a handwritten letter, and frowned. It was apparently Jiemma's response to Laxus' request for his visit. A polite but curt letter than didn't seem important.

It took Lucy a few moments to see the significance, and bile rose in her throat when she did.

The handwriting. It was the same handwriting as the letters she'd been getting threatening to expose her relationship with Cana. Jiemma had been the one doing it.

"You?" She asked, voice quiet. "You're the person who's been harassing me?"

"You're sick, all of you," Jiemma growled, standing up and looming over Lucy. Panic gave way to anger, and she felt her blood rushing throughout her body as she looked at the man who caused her so many sleepless nights. "Queers, perverts. You couldn't even be trusted to do a simple thing, to speak to your father and tell him to sign a damn contract. No, instead you turn to that bastard," He turned to Laxus, who was stone-faced now. "You all work together don't you, it's disgusting. I should have never let my daughter near you!"

Months of fear and anger and looking over her shoulder seemed to strike Lucy at once. This man – this power-hungry brute who drank too much and held his lordship above all else – had been the one to torture her for months. That… that…

Without thinking, she picked up a decorative crystal from Laxus' desk that seemed to be keeping his papers in order. She brought it up and slammed it hard against the man's head. He yelled in pain, and Lucy saw blood spurt from where a jagged edge slashed at his forehead. He staggered back, and she did it again because it had felt good, and it had felt deserved. This man had hurt her, she deserved to hurt him.

He stumbled, and Lucy watched as he crumpled to the ground. She dropped the crystal and began to kick him, leaning on the desk so she could slam her shoe into the man's stomach again and again. It felt good, and she didn't recognise a cathartic scream parting her throat as she did it.

Freed pulled her away after ten or so kicks, and Laxus looked ready to intervene further if Freed needed it. Lucy let it happen, panting as tears she didn't know had fallen fell down her cheeks. The man who had been the tormenter of her life for months was in front of her, crumpled on the floor, struggling to get up, couching and spluttering and bleeding. He was pathetic and yet he had caused so much strife for her.

"What the hell is the point of this?" Jiemma coughed, leaning on the desk to stand up again. "Just to insult me. To have the bitch attack me. I'll have everyone know about you and that barmaid within a week's time. Your life is over."

"No it isn't," Laxus said firmly, and Jiemma glared towards him.

"You can't stop me."

"I can, actually, but I don't need to," Laxus smirked. "You see, if you do it – and you won't – then nobody's going to believe you. I don't waste my time, you understand. The moment we met I knew you were exactly the type of man I thought you'd be. Aggressive, cruel, without restraint nor respect. You think the fact that you've got a lordship to your name gives you permission to take anyone down if it's advantageous to you. So, the moment we finished eating, I sent the word to England to have your true self exposed."

"What does that mean?"

"It means what I said, Mister Orland," Laxus laughed. "Every nasty side of you will be the focus of gossip for weeks to come. Your bullying attitudes towards your staff, to women in general actually. Your failure as a businessman and how you need to blackmail people. I was particular with the latter piece of gossip, not to give names as to whom you've blackmailed. Because there's been a lot of people who you've threatened, and they'll all be happy to back up the gossip if they think it's them being spoken about."

"It won't be believed," Jiemma growled, looking towards Laxus with a glare.

"It will. You throw enough shit at a wall and some sticks," Laxus' glare became particularly nasty at that. "Especially when people want so much to hate you. That's the problem with being cruel; people don't forget it. They'll jump at the chance to hurt you. They have, and it won't end."

Panic flushed over Jiemma's face, and he flushed red with anger. "I'll still tell everyone about her."

"Doesn't matter if you do, nobody's going to believe you," Laxus laughed, sitting back down. Lucy watched with fear, because Jiemma was panicked and angry and would do anything. People would believe him; he was still a lord. "I sent a letter to some of my friends back home, explaining what happened last night. With a few amendments, of course. The respectable and kind Miss Heartfilia, only daughter of the Heartfilia family, politely refused your unwanted advances. You, in a drunken haze, stormed into her room in the dead of night to do who knows what to her. You wouldn't leave her room, were acting aggressive. It took a member of my household staff to drag you away. That's akin to a pot of gold to the gossips of our country, and it will spread like wildfire," Laxus leant back in his chair, smirk nasty and wide. "You saying anything about Lucy will be the words of a stilted, embarrassed old man who got turned down by a young woman who could do better. Who would take anything you say seriously?"

"You… you demon," Jiemma yelled, and Lauxs actually laughed at him. "I should have you thrashed on the streets. You liar. Slanderer! No wonder you left the country, no man like you could exist in a land of honest men."

"Honest men who blackmail women? Who beat them and seclude their children from the world," Lucy snapped, because she felt safe now. Jiemma turned to her, but she didn't cower. "You're not an honest man. You're a parasite."

"Where's this voice come from, girl?"

"It's come from people like you treating me like some doll they can play with to suit their whims," Lucy yelled, and didn't miss when Laxus moved the paperweight out of reach. "I hope you can never show your face in England again, you bastard!"

"How dare you," Jiemma growled and walked towards Lucy. Freed stepped forward, holding a letter opener that caused the man to halt. "What kind of a place is this?"

"A place you should leave," Laxus answered, standing up again and opening the study door. "Freed, escort the man out of the house please."

"No," Jiemma argued, but Freed approached him, holding the knife up and brandishing it. "I won't go."

"You will," Laxus dismissed him. Freed took the old man by the shoulder and pushed him forward with a jerk. Jiemma growled, but when the knife was pushed further into his back, he allowed himself to be pushed. Freed halted when he was at the door, forcing Jiemma to look towards Laxus. "If you do say anything about Miss Heartfilia, and I find out about it, I'll make sure you regret it. Do you understand me?"

"You've already slandered me, what else could you do," Jiemma snarled. "Bitch's affair will be all over the country by August."

"The people I employ will slander, as you put it, the aristocracy for a very small amount of money," Laxus taunted. "What d'you think they'll be willing to do if I offer them something more substantial."

Lucy watched as the knife was pushed further into Jiemma's back, and the man hissed as he was pushed forward again. Lucy only watched as the man who had been her tormenter was marched away, hopefully for good.

---

"How did you know?" Lucy asked Freed as he sat opposite her at the patio. "What he was doing, I mean?"

"Miss Cana Alberona contacted Master Dreyar around a month ago," Freed explained, pouring them both a cup of tea as the evening sun began to set. Lucy took the cup that was offered to her with a confused frown. "She and Laxus used to drink together when he lived in England, I believe. She asked for his assistance in dealing with the problem of your letters. Laxus took some time to discover who was to blame, eventually found a letter with handwriting matching the letter Cana sent to him as an example, and decided that he would settle things himself."

"Cana did it?" Lucy exclaimed, frowning. "Why wouldn't she have told me?"

"I suspect she didn't want you involved if it could be helped. Given Laxus' reputation being somewhat unpalatable, him acting on your behalf could have been unnerving," Freed smiled as he drank his own tea. "Laxus however thought you might want closure, which was partly why he invited you here in the first place."

"Partly?"

"Laxus cares very strongly for the people he loves, and Cana is one such person," Freed looked somewhat wistful about his employer. "He wanted to make sure you're a good enough person for her. He's somewhat cynical about members of polite society, as you can expect, so he wished to see you for himself," He laughed a little. "Why he couldn't trust my judgment on you I don't know, he's rather headstrong, but he's given you his approval."

"He has?"

"He has," Freed parroted. "The first breakfast you shared together was enough for him to be sure of your character. No doubt he'll offer you a permanent room here, should you like to visit with Miss Alberona. The Greek are much more accepting of a relationship such as yours."

"How do you know that?"

"Laxus and I have been seen together multiple times," Freed shrugged, and Lucy turned towards him with shock. "It's why we chose to live here. Much less fuss."

"You and the lord? You're in a relationship."

"Of course," Freed nodded, smiling.

And that, it seemed, was that.

[isayoldbean]

okay there seems to be a degree of interest so here you go. the intro to an au i was gonna write before my anxiety meds murdered my writer brain. uhh for reference this fic is set in 2017, with their ages being the same as they would be in canon at that point (so like... 28ish i think?)

---

Setsuna had several regrets right now.

She wasn't sure what they were exactly, since she couldn't remember anything after the fifth drink, but she knew that whatever she had done, she had regretted it.

Actually scratch that, that fifth drink was definitely on the regret list. Drinks one through four weren't looking like such a great idea, either.

Everything hurt.

Am I... am I dead...?

No, that couldn't be it. She didn't have any first-hand experience with death, but she was reasonably sure it wouldn't involve quite this much pain. Even for somebody like her.

A bus, maybe. I got hit by a bus.

Possibly. But in that case she'd most likely be in the hospital. She didn't hear anything to make her think that was the case, though. Might as well just open her eyes and take a look.

Except as soon as she dragged her eyes open white hot glare like the sun radiating off the concrete in August, burning through her eyes and leaving charred husks behind in their sockets--okay, so no doing that for a while.

At least she got enough of a glimpse of her bedroom before she was overwhelemed to know that she made it home last night and had not, in fact, been hit by a bus. So there was that.

Ugh, I want to die, she thought, sinking further into her pillow. Work is going to be hell today.

Oh. Right. Work.

She should probably call in and let them know she'd be late today.

Except her body was just so heavy. It was almost like there was some external weight pressing down on her from above, pinning her in place. She couldn't move so far as an inch without something groaning in protest. Perhaps that was to be expected, since until a few moments ago it had seemed perfectly reasonable that she might have spent part of her evening wedged underneath 30 tons of public transport. And besides, she could barely remember her name right now, let alone what she might have done with her phone last night.

She sagged back into bed and the weight pressed down on her even more, filling her with warmth and soothing her malaise, even if just the slightest bit.

Surely it couldn't hurt to rest for just a few more minutes...

---

She had no idea how long she'd been out, but at least her head seemed a little clearer.

The pain was still excruciating, of course, but it had mercifully lowered itself to the point that she could tolerate it now. The strange pressure still persisted, but she supposed that would pass with a little more time, too.

Maybe now she would have the clarity to piece together what had happened last night.

She knew everything had started when Tsukuyomi showed up. Most things did, after all.

Honestly, she still didn't even know how Tsukuyomi had known they would be there. She certainly hadn't told her about it, and knowing how the others felt about her, she was sure none of them had either. And yet somehow the nuisance had figured it out, and suddenly there she was, gluing herself to Setsuna's side and not taking any hints that she was making her feel uncomfortable as hell. And that's when Setsuna had started drinking in earnest. The last thing she remembered was finally managing to peel herself away from Tsukuyomi's iron grip and letting everybody know she was going out to get some fresh air.

Not that there was really such a thing as fresh air on the Vegas Strip. But hey, she was drunk at the time.

Was she ever.

And now she was paying for it.

God, are there really people who do this all the time? For fun?

She didn't know if that was impressive or just sad.

Well, either way, that wasn't really the issue.  The issue was that she had a killer hangover, and several hours of her life were apparently completely missing, and probably since she was at her house in her own bed she couldn't have done anything too terrible, but that didn't really eliminate all that much in the grand scheme of things and what if she got some really embarrassing tattoos or wound up appearing naked in some video that would go viral and her bare ass was going to be plastered all over the six o'clock news and oh god--

--Stop it. Take a deep breath, just like your therapist taught you. Okay. Now think it through logically. Tatsumiya probably knew exactly what she had gotten up to last night--she was weirdly prescient when it came to Setsuna's behavior, somehow. She was probably sleeping in the next room, so all she had to do was get up and ask her. And if for some reason they hadn't gone home together, her number was on speed dial. That would more than likely settle it. If not, then she could panic again--but Tatsumiya would be there to walk her through it, so she wouldn't risk spiralling quite so much.

But before any of that--none of this would be an issue if she didn't get a glass of water right now, because if she didn't then Tatsumiya would be discovering her dessicated remains in about five minutes.

She attempted to roll out of bed, but that strange heavy feeling held her in place yet again. She frowned. Seriously, what?

Maybe if she sat up, instead...

It was decidedly difficult, but she was at least making headway, even if her muscles were groaning in protest every step of the way.

Until it registered that the protesting she heard was most definitely not coming from her muscles. In fact, it wasn't coming from her at all.

--Oh.

Oh shit...!

Please don't be what I think it is--

With agonizing slowness, she traced a path down from the ceiling, to the wall, to the end of the bed, to the covers bunched at her waist, to--

--there, draped over the left side of her body, so obvious in its existence that she could only stare in disbelief that she had only just noticed it, was the smooth expanse of a girl's back.

She suddenly felt unbearably cold. Then unbearably hot. All of the blood in her body pulsed through her system at once--one single time, then twice, then a third time. Then it didn't seem to move at all for such a long period of time that Setsuna had decided that she was probably dead. Yes, her soul had leapt from her body, and she simply hadn't yet had time to process that she had died. A strange way to go and not at all how she'd pictured it happening, but if she was honest with herself, death from mortification was probably exactly the sort of thing she should have expected all along.

Only as soon as she had accepted that her life had ended, adrenaline reared its ugly head and sent her blood fizzing back through her body with such force that it practically knocked her out of bed.

That was when the ugly little gremlin known as panic sunk its teeth into her hindbrain.

Fight or flight engaged itself.

Flight won.

"SHIT SHIT SHIT--" She kicked and thrashed her way towards the edge of the bed, not really sure what she was doing or where she was trying to go, other than as far away from the naked woman in her bed as possible. Depth perception was a thing of the past, as was the concept of distance, and soon Setsuna felt herself lurch and become weightless as she slipped over the side of the bed and went sprawling into a heap on the floor.

The shock of the impact jarred a little bit of awareness back into her, and she stared back up at where she had just been with wide, disbelieving eyes.

There was a naked girl up there. In her bed.

All of the beds in the city of Las Vegas, and a naked girl wound up in hers.

This... wasn't something that should happen to somebody like her. No, this was firmly in the category of Things That Happen To Other People, And Probably Only Ever In Movies. Movies she'd never watched, at that. What was she supposed to do in this kind of situation, anyway?! She didn't know the protocol.

Oh man I'm so fucked.

Rustling sheets and incoherent mumbling refocused her attention away from her burgeoning anxiety attack and back to the reality that she was currently sharing space with another person. That she was about to have to interact with. While hungover and scared out of her mind.

We've been over this already. Stop. Take a deep breath.

If the shuffling noise she heard was any indication, the girl was moving closer to the edge of the bed. Closer to coming face to face with her. The moment of truth.

Take a deep--

A head poked over the side of the bed and peered down at her with soft, warm brown eyes, bleary from sleep and confusion.

Setsuna forgot about the breathing thing.

"Um. Hi," the girl said, a hesitant, sheepish smile creeping over her face in spite of the circumstances.

Then Setsuna forgot about everything else, too.

She was... really pretty.

Wow, I am extremely fucked.

[firelxdykatara]

I would love to hear your thoughts/headcanons for bi Katara! Bi Zuko I get because *Will Smith poses at Jet* but I can't remember her having any interactions with girls (at least in AtLA) that could be read as romantic/sexual. Not that that's a prerequisite, I'm really just curious to hear what sold you on it.

I’ll be honest, a huge portion of it is ‘I’m bi, and I love Katara, and as she is my favorite character I get to decide her energy is bi af and I’m valid’. Another big part is ‘these assholes have made “homophobic katara” such a popular and widespread headcanon that if I have to drown it out with a million and one KATARA IS UNAPOLOGETICALLY BI, SHE LOVES GIRLS AND SHE LOVES BOYS AND SHE NEVER THOUGHT IT WAS THE SLIGHTEST BIT STRANGE posts then I fucking will’, particularly in light of the fact that I absolutely despise how a couple straight men decided to inject institutionalized homophobia into a fantasy world where there was absolutely no need for it, and where there’d been no real hint at it before the sequel series comics where it was revealed, so I reject it whole-heartedly (along with most of the comics tbh) and everyone is queer bc I make the rules and I fucking said so.

But also?

That sentence could easily be written like this: “I can’t remember her having any interactions with girls her age who weren’t a) her brother’s love interests, or b) trying to injure/kill her.” Because she really doesn’t. And even if you expand that to include Toph (who, while younger, is the same age as Aang, Katara’s canon love interest), well, Toph likewise had a crush on Katara’s brother.

Katara gets singled out as the Token Straight, while Toph and Suki get to be queer in fandom, despite the fact that neither of them had any interactions with other girls that could be read as romantic either (which, again, is an issue with the show itself--it’s great that there are multiple amazing female characters, but the lack of interaction between them is a little telling; the only real female friendship we have an example of other than Toph and Katara is the snarl of abusive dynamics between Azula, Mai, and Ty Lee, none of whom get any real narrative focus other than Azula at certain points, because they aren’t main characters--meanwhile there are multiple friendships between male characters to choose from just amongst the gaang), and it’s hard to look at that and not see elements of racialized misogyny, particularly given the fandom’s clear disdain for katara during this recent renaissance. Why is the darkest-skinned girl the one the fandom comes down on, often derisively, as the Token Straight, and also the Token Homophobe? Why is Katara the one that fandom decided to hate for how often she mentions her mom, the source of her greatest trauma (and yes, Katara’s trauma here is worse than Sokka’s--he may have lost his mom too, but a) he didn’t see her dead body, nor was he saddled with the guilt of not having gotten back fast enough to save her, or the additional hit Katara took when she had it confirmed that her mom died to protect her, and b) he had Katara there to step up and take their mom’s place as family caretaker, a luxury Katara did not have), when Zuko is over there mentioning his honor even more often and fandom loves him for it, because even the jokes about it are affectionate?

Anyway, I kind of went off on a tangent here, but the bottom line is--Katara is bi because I said so. She just has that energy, a disaster bisexual on the opposite end of the disaster bi spectrum from Zuko. She looks at a pretty girl and thinks she wants to dance with her until their hearts are racing so fast she feels like she might explode, and then she looks at a pretty boy and thinks his lips seem like they must be soft and warm and his smirk makes her toes curl, and when she realizes she’s attracted to someone she goes bright red in the face and even the softest brush of their hand against hers makes her blood pound in her ears and she gets distracted every time their eyes meet and everyone else just knows, especially Toph who can always tell when her heart is racing.

Katara is a bi disaster and I love that for her, and I will never budge on this headcanon. Anyone who disagrees with me is simply wrong and that is that.