#good news about this one though everything is in a few neat layers ^_^

[gottabeveggietales]

rainy day

[dragonmasterhiccup]

Danny smiled and clapped at the ‘newfound’ revelation, happy that they both had the tribes support.

Like she said, they both deserved it.

After they had finished speaking, she went over to them and congratulated them once more, hugging Hiccup and side-hugging Astrid.

After that, she went about her day as normal, with only the occasional thought of Spitelout looming in the back of her mind.

———

Danny had been more than a little excited. I mean, come on, getting to push Hiccup into the lagoon— albeit with permission— was probably going to be the highlight of her week.

On the flight there, she had flown side by side with Valka, constantly cackling while making fun of Hiccup, and how he had been acting so close with Astrid as of late. It was just so stupidly funny, she couldn’t help herself.

Once they landed, Danny unpack the few supplies she had brought with her; water jug, sketchbook, wooden comb [because post lake hair always sucked to brush out], and an old blanket that she could double as a towel, since they’d be swimming.

She smirked. “Oh it’s a fantastic day to keep a promise.”

Glancing over at Astrid, she nodded, a mischievous grin plastered on her face. “Yeah, since he was being a baby about it last time I pushed him in, we’re having a do-over.”

Finishing unpacking and petting Twilight, she turned back around to face the others. “Okay, I’m ready, so Hiccup, you have maybe thirty seconds to be ready as well before I drag your a** over the edge.”

She finished letting her hair down and taking off her boots before going over to the edge of the waterfall. “Come on!”

He and Astrid had flown next to each other, talking and chatting on the way.

Despite knowing he would be pushed into the lagoon, he was excited to get away for a day.

He'd left Eret, Fishlegs, and Gobber in charge of Berk in case anything happened, but he made sure to sort everything out before they left.

It was only a day that he'd be away, after all.

Astrid laughed, and Hiccup protested. "Need I point out that the water was cold, and I was in full armor? That day was on the breezy side, as well, you know!" It was all in good fun, though.

After he unpacked, he removed the pieces of his armour, placing the metal and leather components in a neat stack.

Removing his tunic, he folded that as well, placing it over the armor to keep it from getting too hot in the sun. He placed his shoe next to it, rolling up his pant leg halfway up his shin.

His freckled arms and shoulders were lean, with the occasional burn scars from smithing. His back had old burn scars from when he was fifteen, and there was a light, branching pattern from when he'd been struck by lightning.

His newer scars showed as well, courtesy of Magnus. There was a large new scar on his side, a smaller one on his arm, and a small arrow scar on his chest, above his tattoo.

He felt strange without all of his layers, exposed, even. Those layers of wool and leather helped him appear more sturdy, maybe even bulkier, though that might have been a far fetched term for it.

Well, the sooner he was in the water, the better.

Astrid was loosening her braids, preparing to dive in, and Valka had gone to stand over by Danny.

"You've been looking forward to this, haven't you?" Valka had the hint of a smile on her face, and a hand on her hip.

At Danny's warning, Hiccup turned in surprise. "Already? Alright, hang on, I have one thing left to do..."

Grabbing what he needed, he headed over to the edge with Danny. Sitting down, he removed the bottom portion of his prosthetic, locking a red swimming fin in its place.

Valka gave him a hand up, and he stood on his right foot, his left knee bent to avoid damaging the fin.

By then, Astrid joined as well, planning to jump in at the same time as when Hiccup was pushed.

Nodding at Danny, he took a breath.

"Okay, I'm ready."

[vxnillite]

is this hurt/comfort

maybe, but instead of a ship, it's my oc and their mother figure at work :D

i forgot how i format this stuff

Characters: Noah ©️ me, Nina Cortez ©️ @smoldoddles (the bestie ever)

Word count: 2436

set just a few days after the RDA left Pandora in the first movie when, I assume, those who stayed continued operation of Hell's Gate

Breakfast. Check.

Coffee. Check.

Daily avatar exercise. Check.

Morning routine check on the staff. Not quite.

Nina, back in her human self for now, breezed through the SciOps lab doors and made a beeline to one particular desk station. All of the owner's documents were cleanly and perfectly stacked, their pens neat in the pencil holder, but the thinnest layer of dust had made the desk its new home. Nina held the overlooking lamp and frowned when she felt it. Cold.

"Where's Noah," she asked, looking forlorn at the abandoned desk.

The scientist stationed opposite Noah looked up from her work. Usually quite cheerful, Angela answered without her signature smile to light her face up. "They haven't come in today, Dr. Cortez." She sighed heavily. "They didn't come back yesterday after lunch."

Nina recalled breakfast that morning. She'd reported to the mess hall a lot earlier than usual, but only because she woke up rather early that day. She, then, finished breakfast before the first wave of staff came in for their own, and since Noah was usually a late riser, Nina didn't expect to catch them at the mess hall. The decision to go on about her morning like usual suddenly felt like a crime, guilt and disappointment in herself crashing down on the doctor. The only relief she could afford herself at the moment was a quiet sigh.

Angela must've heard it though. "Well, it's not like we're keeping up attendance anymore, right, Doc?" She tilted her head as she cracked a half-smile. "I heard Noah fought alongside the Na'vi in the fight 3 days ago. They're probably just tired from that."

Nina thought it was a good point. She straightened herself up and said, "I'll go check on them."

"I hope they're just resting. Surely, they'd need as much of it as they can get." Angela replied. Her eyes fell on the empty desk across her before meeting Nina's gaze again. "Tell them I miss my desk neighbor, yeah?"

Nina smiled and nodded at her before turning on her heel and heading back out the door. Her route now would be short, just a few turns then down the elevator to the level below the labs where the SciOps living hubs stood, now far less occupied with just about half of the residents left. While that meant there was a shorter waiting time at the showers, the remaining staff of Hell's Gate were now at the phase of figuring out how to run the facility with less than half of its people left. As someone who was higher than most on the political hierarchy, Nina had become a supervising figure for the continuing operation of Hell's Gate, not just of the SciOps division. Part of the reason was her seniority, but another was her military experience, which made Nina the ideal person to also direct the SecOps division in the Colonel's absence. In turn, though, her schedule was almost still as packed as it was before the rebellion.

But Nina had finished her rounds on both SecOps and SciOps, and everything was more or less running perfectly. So now, Nina was going to attend to a more personal task, one that she was taking on as both Noah's senior and, more importantly, as their friend.

Nina knocked twice on the door of Noah's quarters. "Noah, it's Nina," she called out. "May I come in?"

No answer.

Fearing that history was repeating itself—this was only the 2nd time ever that Noah had disappeared from the labs—Nina pulled out a security card and tapped it on the scanner next to the door. The light changed from red to green.

That security card was such a handy tool that the security staff gave to her after her informal promotion to SecOps supervisor. Nina had used it to sneak into the pantry for a midnight snack once already. But while her use of it now was rather invasive at surface-level, Nina knew better than to let Noah lock themselves in their room to wallow and rot in self-pity, even in spite of recent events.

The last time Noah had shut the world out, it was because theirs had shattered. Now, it would seem that it was happening all over again.

But much to her surprise, then worry, Noah was not in their quarters. The bed was made but cold. It didn't seem like Noah had just gotten up and left for the showers or something. Nina surveyed the room more closely. A black oversized jacket, Kevin's, was hung over the desk chair. Noah's data pad was missing from its charging pod. Their boots were missing, too.

'Where could they be,' Nina thought worriedly. As she surveyed the room one last time, she briefly wondered if Noah had ever even been in this room since the rebellion. It seemed as such.

If that was the case, then waiting around for Noah to come back wasn't the best thing to do right now, Nina decided. So she left the room. The door somberly closed behind her. For a moment, she stood in the middle of the empty hallway in quiet thought.

While doing her rounds that morning, Nina had asked every person she could if they had seen Noah. Alas, her little investigation had been fruitless. More "I think I saw"s than "Yeah, they were here"s than she would have liked. Their own living quarters had been the last on her mental checklist, but now she was thinking they could be hiding out somewhere else. But Kevin's old room had long been occupied by a different person, so Noah couldn't have gone there. 

So maybe... it was a different soldier's room they were in.

Nina made a pitstop to the records office, where she found just one guy working on his computer. He was the only one from his department to defect.

"I'm a little busy right now," Alex hollered without looking up from the monitor. He seemed more stressed than mean, but there was a sprinkle of the latter.

Nina kept walking toward him. "Alex, I need a favor."

Alex stopped immediately. "Dr. Cortez," he stammered as he swiveled his chair in his direction, a crooked smile forced on his face, "I didn't know it was you. Um, what can I do for you?"

"Room assignments, you've got them, right?"

"Sure do."

"Great. I need Harper Zdinarsk's. SecOps."

Not a second was wasted as Alex pulled up a new window and rapidly typed the name into the search bar. When the results popped up, he read out the needed information, "Harper Zdinarsk. 129 in the SecOps wing."

"Was it ever accessed," Nina asked.

Alex scrolled down to the room access history section. He paled at what he saw. "Opened via DMT 2 days ago." His voice shook the tiniest bit as he added, "But this soldier is dead, one of the casualties from the fight."

Nina hummed. "Was her body found?"

"No, but we assumed she was dead because she wasn't with the people who went back to Earth." Alex swallowed nervously, his trembling hands glued to his desk made Nina pity the poor man. "Doc, are we being haunted?"

"Psh, of course not."

Satisfied with the information she got, Nina began walking back out of the room. Just as she had a foot out of the door, she looked back at Alex, smiling cheekily at the spooked man. "But if you hear something creepy, maybe just log that into the records~"

Nina spared herself a giggle at her own teasing before refocusing herself as she was a few paces down the hall. The SecOps living hubs were just around the corner, and as if Eywa herself had blessed Nina that day, Room 129 was just the 3rd door.

She knocked. "Noah, it's Nina. I'm coming in, okay?"

The steel door hissed open as Nina pocketed her security card. Then, once the door closed behind her, locking out the noise of Hell's Gate, she heard a voice she was sure did not belong to anyone currently in that dark, unlit room.

"Why are you filming me," Z asked, a laughter carrying her words from a distance. "Am I on the observation list today?"

Noah laughed as well, their voice louder. "Yeah, I'm filming a worrywart in her natural habitat, and she's once again worrying about if a blade of grass would strike and poison me. Oh, no," they dragged, "I got stung, ah!"

"Oh, whatever shall I do," Z replied with a playful, exaggerated eye roll. It was weird to see her not locked and loaded with her gun just dismissed to her side.

The camera wobbled as Noah groaned dramatically. "It hurts so bad, oh my god."

In a split-second, Z's carefree expression hardened and she approached Noah. The closer she got to the camera, the clearer the worry was on her features, furrowed brows, a stiff frown, but a contrasting softness in her eyes. "Hey, wait, are you serious right now?"

The camera stopped shaking and Noah responded in a monotone voice, "Nah."

Z clicked her tongue, and Noah laughed again. Nina found herself infected by the cheerfulness of the avatar behind the camera, so did Z, it seemed.

Then, the video ended.

The light was now open. Noah, the one who was sitting on the edge of Z's bed, hovered their finger over the play button. Their data pad laid on their lap, no doubt forcing them into a very uncomfortable position for their neck. Still, they were unmoving apart from the hand tautly fiddling with the hem of their oversized shirt. Stencil-printed letters on the left chest read "SecOps".

Beside them, Nina sat silently. The ache in her chest was growing close to unbearable. The sting in her eyes was demanding relief. But she kept herself together, observing Noah. Instead of the play button, their finger dragged the video track, stopping when the screen showed a clear shot of Z grinning at Noah in the video.

Silence. Unbreaking, unmoving silence as if the world itself had stopped. It would only continue if Noah pushed the play button.

They didn't.

Nina couldn't see Noah's face with all their hair covering them like a blanket, but their head never moved from its position looking directly down at the data pad. They stewed in the quiet for a few more seconds before Nina reached out with a gentle hand. When her hand had barely even grazed their back, Noah grabbed onto Nina, whose mind surged with worry as she held Noah's body, frail and trembling. Yet their hands clenched fistfuls of Nina's coat like they were holding on for dear life. The data pad slid onto the floor, but neither one cared.   

Noah crumbled into a state Nina had never seen them in before, crying their beaten, desperate heart out into her shoulder. No words were spoken, then again maybe they couldn't make it past the tears. But Nina felt all that grief, pain, brokenness. Soon enough, Noah's cries were pushing onto Nina's mind images of the people she herself had lost. Her own arms began to tremble, but her hold of Noah did not falter. Rather, she fastened her arms tighter around them and pulled them even deeper into her embrace.

"It's going to be okay, Noah," she said, her voice cracking under her own tears as she rubbed the young doctor's back while fighting back tears of her own. A sniffle escaped, though. "It's going to be okay."

More sobs. Some Noah choked on. Their tears, their mourning, their yearning. It all felt endless.

"Just let it all out."

Noah heaved. Whatever strength they had during the battle was gone. Now, they felt as fragile as a glass ball. The slightest hit would shatter them completely. But they managed a few words, "She's gone, Nina… It's all my fault…"

Nina pressed her cheek on Noah's head, caressing it gently. At that moment, with her eyes closed, she saw a familiar head of ginger hair. The grief almost knocked Nina over like a tidal wave. But she stayed strong for Noah. 

"Don't blame yourself. Please." Somehow, it felt as if she was talking to herself.

Noah shook their head, but anything they might've tried to say got caught up in their grief. Nina was all too familiar with how that felt like.

Metal clattered to the floor, interrupting the two as Noah flinched straight. They looked down at the fallen dog tags with a panic in their eyes as they reached down. But Nina saw clearly that they were not Z's tags that had fallen, and she swiped them away with her foot. Noah snapped their neck up at Nina, who shook her head.

"It's not hers."

Noah abruptly looked down on their lap, where Z's tags were, both clean as a whistle.

Then, Nina gently put her hand on Noah's. She smiled gently.

"When did you get them," she asked.

Noah answered slowly, "Before the celebration with the Omaticaya." They hung their head low. "I…snuck back out to the forest. I'm sorry."

Nina hushed their worries down. "Alex said they couldn't find Zdinarsk's…" She cleared her throat and spoke again with a firmer voice, "They couldn't find Zdinarsk."

Noah sniffled, then breathed out shakily. "I buried her." The tears started flooding their cheeks again. "I'm sorry. I didn't—I had to. I couldn't leave her there… I'm—"

"It's fine, Noah." Nina held both of their hands and squeezed them tightly. "I understand, and I promise I won't breathe a word to any soul about it."

"If Mo'at finds out—"

"We'll cross that bridge when we get there."

Nina let go of Noah, but only to put Z's tags into their hands. She, then, balled their hands into fists over the metal before raising her hands to part Noah's hair, tucking as much of it behind their ears. In the bleak overhead light, the young scientist looked like a corpse. Nina tried not to frown, but she was only really concerned.

"I'll get you something to eat, okay?"

Noah nodded weakly. Nina got up, quickly peeling from the floor the dog tags that had fallen earlier. 

Once again, Nina stepped into the noisy hallway. The tags felt like blocks of lead on her conscience. She hoped Noah didn't see who it actually was on them. Briefly, she looked down at her hand. What stared back at her were a cold, lethal demeanor and the eyes of the man who let all hell break loose mere days ago. The eyes of the man she, fretfully, loved.

[maryellencarter]

So! Being as I am spending so much more time at work lately, I'm running out of entertainment options. Specifically, I'm looking for recommendations for video games.

Relevant information:

* Switch only for now. I don't have any other console and I don't have room for my gaming laptop at my workstation. Eventually planning to buy a PS5 if there's a game you think I'd really enjoy.

* Must be fully pauseable at any point, including at any point during combat or platforming sections. Breath of the Wild handles this especially well -- press a single menu button, set aside the controller, and nothing changes in the game until I come back to it. Animal Crossing timescale, where time passes at a constant rate whether I'm in a menu or what, is acceptable only if there's no way to die while AFK. Minecraft, where you can get attacked and die while in the pause menu, is right out.

* Replayability strongly preferred. In Animal Crossing, Breath of the Wild, and Pokemon Scarlet, I'm in a basically endgame state where most of the remaining objectives are collectibles sidequests, completing X ludicrously large/grindy task, max ranking all your inventory items, etc. I don't want to have to delete my saves in order to get back to a point where I can make progress on achievable goals in a reasonable time. Sometimes I want to have those endgame saves available, but I also want to be able to create infinite character profiles on the same player profile, like in Minecraft or Mass Effect.

* If combat/dying exists, easy mode availability preferred. I don't enjoy dying over and over again figuring out how to beat a particular fight. There's a DLC shrine in Breath of the Wild where you basically die at least a few times in every section and get sent back to the beginning, so by the time you actually reach the end, you probably have a repeatable strategy for each section. I hated it.

Games I've played, in approximately alphabetical order, and how I felt about them:

* Animal Crossing New Horizons. Do enjoy: Terraforming, town design, wide variety of activities available, realtime seasons and holidays, villagers do not die or despawn unless I tell them they can leave, multitude of customizable options for almost everything. Do not enjoy: Only one island per Switch, cannot access certain items without having friends who play the same game (although that might be limited to just fruit species now?), limited options per day for just dicking around on your island, no practical use for cooking.

* Breath of the Wild. Did enjoy: Fucking gorgeous, amazing open world with good signposting of where to go, lots of customizable clothing, the voice acting is really solid in the parts where it's voiced, plenty of very practical use for cooking, can tank through the combat with sufficient armor and hearty meals even though I do not have Leet Gamer Skillz and cannot consistently flurry or parry most enemies (I flurried a stalkoblin once, which was hilariously beyond useless), the story is really neat and very layered as you piece it together, it's possible to play in the world for thousands of hours without seeing everything.

Did not enjoy: Anything about the handling of gender with the Gerudo, especially how their women's clothing is some of the worst armor in the game and doesn't even give you heat resistance unless you wear the full set, while the men's armor (which you have to buy at the kink club next to the bondage hood) is basically a necessity for desert travel. The whole Gerudo storyline is practically unplayable for me while I'm female, it's so aggressively gendered. Also do not enjoy the bottomless pits in many shrines, or the drowning animation if you run out of stamina while swimming -- this game does nothing for my phobias of either heights or drowning. Would really appreciate an easy mode, although once I bought the DLC, Majora's Mask turns most monsters peaceful (until they see me kill something), so I can focus on the open-world exploration shit.

* Dragon Age. Played the intro section of Origins as each race and gender, got fairly far in with (I think) a human warrior. Was extremely unimpressed by the way the male town elf's story is rescuing your kidnapped girlfriend but the female town elf's story is *being* the kidnapped girlfriend with a massive helping of threatened sexual violence the whole time you're fighting your way out. Also found the handling of religion boring and did not care about most of the characters. Found the reputation system very confusing. Did enjoy the section in the mystical setting -- what was it called, the "Fade"? -- where you morph into different forms in order to solve puzzles, sort of like how Lego Star Wars has you hot-swap characters to progress through certain areas. Have not tried the other Dragon Age games.

* Flight Rising (browser petsite focused on breeding and decorating dragons). Do enjoy: Dragons will not die or despawn unless I sell them or remove them from the game, thriving in-game player marketplace with a healthy and balanced economy, unlimited fairly mindless resource grinding option (for most resources) when I feel like mindless infinite grinding, turn-based combat with well-understood recommended builds. Do not enjoy: I'm basically endgame there too, the only remaining objective is one that receives ongoing updates every month so I'd never truly finish it and I'm always further behind when I wander back, only one resource grinding option exists and I'm pretty burnt out on it.

* Kirby and the Forgotten Land: Enjoyed the demo, played a few levels, discovered I don't enjoy platformers. Being very precise with button pushes and joystick control is not my skillset. I tend to flail wildly, get stuck to walls, and over-prepare massively for boss fights so that I can win without actual Gamer Skillz. Did enjoy the artstyle and music, very cheerful little game.

* Lego Star Wars: The Complete Saga (first six movies version). Did enjoy: Silly Lego artstyle, easy availability of cheats and walkthroughs so combat/progression wasn't frustrating, very strong aim assist on blasters, getting to do Star War things like tow cable an AT-AT with my snowspeeder. Did not enjoy: Vehicle combat segments (I get so carsick on the podrace especially), platforming segments requiring too much precision (I still haven't beaten Mustafar), repetitive stuff like having to tow cable *fifteen* AT-ATs to beat the snowspeeder level, the part where after I collected a certain assortment of characters I couldn't walk around the hub area without getting constantly aggro'd on by whichever characters were my enemy.

* Mass Effect trilogy/Legendary Edition: If it was available on Switch, I'd be set, but it's not. Do enjoy: Near infinite replayability with different story and teammate options, open world/galaxy exploration options (especially driving the Mako on uncharted worlds in ME1), full player character customization including gender, massive assortment of found-family characters, easy combat options, high aim assist and auto squad combat options, combat pause HUD which can be maneuvered while paused, amazing high-quality full voice acting, incredible modding community.

Did not enjoy: The almost stereotypical gamer-dev sexism on display in practically every treatment of a female character, including occasionally the player character. (On PC, I now have mods to eliminate a lot of that! I haven't been playing the PC version much though, because I was trying to stream it for some friends, and there were audio issues and I'm also struggling with the mouse sensitivity. I'm honestly considering getting a PS5 just to play Legendary Edition on my TV while at work, but that's gonna be another couple paychecks at least. Although if there are other PS5 games that sound like they'd be right up my alley, let me know, I guess?) Would not have enjoyed Virmire if I hadn't been warned in advance.

* Minecraft. Do enjoy: The infinite number and size of open worlds, obviously. The simple, distinctive artstyle. The infinite modifiability of each world. Do not enjoy: Fall damage. Drowning. If you play on Peaceful, there is no use for cooking, and you can't get certain resources such as blaze powder. (I'm too much of a klutz to play on non-Peaceful difficulties for very long.) The confusing nature of multiplayer/servers/Realms?

* Pokemon Go. Burned out around generation three or four. Did enjoy: Learning about Pokemon cultural references, the outdoor component. Did not enjoy: Inability to get most non-desert types, slow development of the assessment tools so that I eventually turned out to have put in tons of effort on Pokemon that were retroactively revealed to be pretty crappy, requirement to have a strong multi-person raiding party in order to get any of the legendaries, limited-time events, increasing requirements to buy things like raid passes in order to stay relevant, inability to beat boss battles due to type imbalance due to living in desert...

* Pokemon Let's Go Pikachu (remake of Pokemon Yellow). Did enjoy: Learning more Pokemon cultural references, especially the towns and NPCs that everyone else knows from the anime I didn't watch, catching a whole bunch of the same pokemon and then going through to consider which had the best stats. Did not enjoy: Impossible to finish Pokedex unless you trade with a local friend who has the other version (Let's Go Eevee), I was so disappointed I couldn't get a Gengar that I quit entirely.

* Pokemon Scarlet. Crashes more than any other game I've ever run on hardware it was intended for -- it doesn't crash quite as often as my first Mass Effect trilogy playthrough on an *incredibly* underpowered laptop where I had to turn off things like search indexing and the print spooler to keep it from crashing to desktop every time there was a lens flare, but that bar isn't just on the ground, it's down in the *asthenosphere* somewhere! Did enjoy: Having a large but finite collection of little critters to work on, having all of their stats be adjustable (with use of resources) so I didn't have to worry about putting too much effort in on a critter that turned out to be of poor quality, ability to get Gengar from an NPC, surprise trades are very fun, turn-based combat is easy to "pause".

Did not enjoy: The pseudo-open world? I'm really damn glad @tabbiewolfreblogs warned me about the non-scaling gym system, because I would have been terminally frustrated if I hadn't known to look up a list of what order to go in. I realize measuring other open worlds against Breath of the Wild is a high bar, but that was a weird way to handle it. I also really disliked the way the game forces me into unexpected battles at certain points and doesn't allow me to change my team before fighting, which meant I wound up in several situations where I realized right away I couldn't win but wasn't allowed to flee, so I had to just battle through and get my ass thoroughly kicked, which was very discouraging.

Also considering:

* Link's Awakening remake for Switch. I've watched a complete playthrough, it's a cute little thing, love the artstyle, but it's very... slight? I don't know that it would be worth the $50 price tag. Not sure how pauseable it is, doesn't look like it would have much replayability.

* Hyrule Warriors: Age of Calamity, a hack-and-slash (I think that's the genre name?) Breath of the Wild tie-in prequel. Tried the demo, it's pretty button-spammy and I suspect it would hit some of the same "I do not have the amount of experience holding a controller that this game expects" that platformers do, but I've also seen a playthrough and I really love the story. It also has some serious "you're expected to replay the same maps several times with different characters to grind levels and loot" that might be a good console substitute for Mass Effect 3 multiplayer, I do enjoy grinding on repeatable maps sometimes. Definitely has the amount of content that would make it more worth $50. I'm not sure if it even *has* a pause button though. And all the online guides for it assume that you're going to play in exactly the specific ways they like best, so they're like "The unequivocal best and worst characters/builds! Don't even bother with defense, just never get hit!" and so forth, which annoys the hell out of me because it's so gatekeepy and does not acknowledge that people can have different playstyles.

Anyway! That was a lot. Any recommendations of other games I might like, though?

[flawed-nymph]

okay, I just wanna answer a few of them bc theyre really sweet. Let's call it journaling

lantern - how did you meet your best friend? first impressions?

the first distinct memory i have of her is standing in a hall on first days of new school and she had those weird patches on her backpack, five of them, arranged in a circle and I asked about them, and they were the five elements from magic:the gathering game. Game which i began to love next summer when we went together to this nerdy camp. Btw i asked her about them like 50 times bc i never could remember the answer.

maple - hobby or skill you never tried but would like to?

weaving fabric, definitely, ive grown flax this summer to make this folk material called pasiak. But it does seem very complicated.

fireside - dream wardrobe?

those amazing wrap tops and dresses, both puffy, flowy and silky. And lots of linen pants and shirts

cider - food you disliked as a child but now enjoy?

That would be hard cheeses. Now i eat grana padano or parmezan on everything, be that pasta, scrambled eggs or pierogi

fog - how well you would do in a zombie apocalypse?

With my extensive knowledge ive acquired while watching every zombie movie and series in existence, I'd say pretty good.

orchard - what one thing you would like to happen this autumn?

well, I've just applied for this very pleasant job, and it's autumn already, so I'd like to get it maybe?

bonfire - describe your dream house

So, a flat in some old townhouse, with big windows and high ceiling. Maybe a little rusty and not-so-freshly-renovated. With wooden floors and furniture. And lots of plants. Cold lighting. And a floor-to-ceiling mirror somewhere.

maize - weirdest encounter you had with a stranger in a street?

so i was like 14yo, walking near my home (which is a very save neighbourhood), middle of the day. And then those two men start calling me from further in front of me. I kinda ignored them and steered a little to the side. But they approached. And one of them started asking if i wanted 100zl (which I'd say would be like 50$ kinda vibes). And I'm thinking " they're probably a little mental. I'll just ignore them and turn more ". But then they stepped directly in front of me and been like "come on, I've just earned all that money, and would like to share with the world. Just smile and it's yours". And ig i must have smiled through al that confusion bc that man literally gave me that money and said good day and went away?? And that was a lot of money for me then.

quilt - how do you like your coffee and tea?

At home i usually drink very strong coffee from express, with half a teaspoon of honey and a lot of cold milk. And at coffeehouse i usually order latte or mocha. And I like tea in a lot of forms. Black, green, jasmine. Also cold tea, after all day of standing in a kettle. I've even drank those weird english tea with milk, but like, nothing spectacular, and then the tea needs to be super strong.

pumpkin - do you think that humans are inherently good or bad?

Objectively, cosmologicaly, i think that we are entirely egotistical. But irl we act inherently good. Bc like evolutionary the best we are with other people.

moonlit - are you messy or neat person?

definitely messy. Altho i like cleaning some stuff. Like kitchen counters, and when there's this thin layer of stone on bathroom things. And until recently i though it was common experience, but apparently my friend has it exactly opposite and she hates those but instead likes vaccuming, which i hate the most??

flannel - have you ever gone on a bad date?

yes, it was with my friend's friend. So no ideally. And we weren't doing anything particularly, i remember only eating kebab at his favourite kebab place. And it was mid. And he was from entirely different world, we had literally no common topics. And I remember that we were in busses for a weirdly long time? especially that we didn't go anywhere interesting?

ghost - is there someone that you miss having in your life?

my friend that we still try to connect sometimes but it's usually random and every half a year. Especially that for 9 years we went together to school and then we were together going to painting lessons together, and then were regularly meeting for drawing sessions. And I miss her and i miss doing art with her. Especially that now she's a graphic, after art school and i almost stopped doing art.

autumnal asks

lantern - how did you meet your best friend? What were your first impressions of each other?

frost - if you could give some advice to your younger self, what would you say?

maple - is there a hobby / skill that you’ve always wanted to try but never did?

harvest - what fictional character do you most identify with? Why?

fireside - if you had your dream wardrobe, what would it look like?

cider - a food that you disliked as a child but now enjoy?

amber - share an unpopular opinion that you may have.

fog - how well do you think you’d do in a zombie apocalypse scenario?

jack-o-lantern - if you could look like any celebrity, who would you choose?

spice - have you ever encountered a house that you believed to be haunted?

orchard - share one thing that you’d like to happen this autumn.

crow - which school subject do you wish you had an aptitude for?

bonfire - describe your dream house.

cinnamon - if you had to live in a time period different than the present, which would you choose and where?

cobweb - (if you’ve graduated) do you miss high school?

cranberry - what’s one physical feature that you get complimented on?

maize - share the weirdest encounter you’ve had with a stranger on the street.

quilt - how do you take your tea (or coffee)?

pumpkin - do you think that humans are inherently good or bad?

moonlit - are you a neat or messy person? Is your room / house orderly?

flannel - have you ever gone on a bad date? 

cocoa - if you could have any type of hair, what colour and cut would you have?

ghost - is there someone that you miss having in your life?

[stitchings-blog]

Making Your First Quilt? Here Are the Quilting Accessories That You Need  

Quilting is a fun, rewarding, and creative craft that allows you to bring fabric to life, one stitch at a time. If you’re new to it, though, you might be wondering: “What exactly do I need to get started?” There’s a plethora of quilting accessories available for purchase out there, which can make things plenty confusing. To make your first quilt, though, you only need a few basics. This guide will enumerate which ones you should consider buying first:

The Basics: Sewing Machine or Hand Stitching?

Before we get into the accessories, let’s first cover the foundation. Are you planning to quilt by hand or with a sewing machine?

Quilting by hand is traditional, and it can be a very soothing process. However, most modern quilters now prefer to use a sewing machine to save time.

If you’re just starting, a basic sewing machine with a straight stitch will do the job. Once you’re comfortable, you can explore more advanced features.

Must-Have Quilting Accessories

1. Rotary Cutter

A rotary cutter is one of the first quilting tools that you might want to consider investing in. It’s a nifty gadget that works like a pizza cutter for fabric, slicing through it with ease. It features a sharp, circular blade that ensures precise and smooth cuts, especially when paired with a cutting mat (more on this later!).

A 45 mm rotary cutter is the most versatile option for beginners. It can handle a wide variety of fabrics!

2. Cutting Mat

While cutting fabric, you’ll need something to protect your surfaces with. This is where cutting mats come into play. A self-healing cutting mat doesn’t just keep your table safe – it also prevents your rotary cutter from becoming dull.

When shopping for a cutting mat, look for one with gridlines. This will help you measure and cut fabric accurately. Cutting mats come in different sizes, but a medium-sized one – around 18 to 24 inches – is perfect for quilters that are just starting out.

3. Quilting Rulers

Quilting rulers are one of the most important tools for ensuring straight lines and accurate measurements when making a quilt. They are typically made from clear acrylic, which allows you to see the fabric underneath. This transparency, along with the rulers' gridlines and angles, makes cutting fabric into neat shapes a breeze.

If you’re just getting started, a  6” x 24” ruler is an excellent all-purpose tool. It may also be a good idea to purchase smaller square rulers such as a 6.5” x 6.5” for cutting quilt blocks. As you advance, you can move on to specialty rulers such as triangle or hexagon rulers that will help you create more intricate designs.

4. Pins and Clips

You’ll need a way to hold your fabric together while you sew, and that’s where pins and clips come in handy. Standard quilting pins are longer and sturdier than regular sewing pins, which makes them ideal for holding multiple layers of fabric. You can also use quilting clips, especially when working with thick layers like batting. These hold everything securely without leaving holes in your fabric.

Purchase Your Quilting Must-Haves on Premier Stitching!

Premier Stitching is your one-stop online destination for all of your sewing and quilt making needs! They carry a wide selection of all of the items mentioned above from some of the most well-known and reputable manufacturers in the business. Visit the Premier Stitching website now to purchase your quilting essentials!

For more information about Quilt Frames and Quilting Accessories please visit:- Premier Stitching DBA Sew Vac City

[dashawfrostart]

This Week In "Time & Again" #7: And The Wheels Keep Turning

Hallöchen! �� Took me a little more time to come back with a new blog post - but here I am, delivering you a new tiny wall of text to read, just as originally intended 😁

Christmas is steadily on its way, and the life is exploding with events, big and small, good and not quite - but mostly good ones; and the jolly festive music is playing all around, and as a certain somebody plays one truly mesmerizing and entertaining Christmas Doom mod in the evenings - of course, with Christmas music in it, too - the work on "Time & Again" goes on and quite well (can't complain; Lothar can't complain either). All's good. In fact, I have only about 3 pages left to finish up The Lineart Stage, although some little parts here and there were skipped previously. But I doubt it it's gonna take me considerable amount of time to make everything 100% complete and to wrap it up (no, not the presents - tis the season, I know, but I meant a different kind of wrapping... y-yeah 😅).

Since time is a valuable resource - which is exactly what one of my absolutely favourite characters in the entire "Time & Again" series once said (hey dear readers, can you guess who I'm talking about?) - I think, for the first time in my life, this once, I'll make a new post very short. Gotta go back to nannying me kids, after all (ah, life of an artistic parent is hard 😫). Don't wanna waste a lot of time distracting myself, especially during this hectic end of the season. Also, I still got my eggnog to drink. It's on my list of important things to eat/drink. So yup, time is sure valuable!

I was gonna make a special post about the procedures and peculiarities of how I create page templates for "Time & Again" using Inkscape and Krita to create a functional and convenient workspace for myself. But I'll save that for another day, because writing a logically structured and sophisticated post about such a technical topic will require some mental effort. And since currently my mind is preoccupied mainly with blue jays, eggnog, laundry, und Spätzle, this topic might be a tad too exhausting for me to take on right now. So I'll just spam with a few cute panels portraying Lothar - to keep y'all happy 😁

We already talked about Lothar's disgusting habits earlier, we did. However, cigarette smoke dreamily twirling upwards in the air is something that I really enjoy drawing often outside the outlined boundaries of the comic panels. As you can see on the screenshot above, Lothario is super excited about something in front of him and he absolutely does not notice that the cigarette is sticking out from the panel. And you know? I like that. What you will often see in my graphic novel for sure - and especially in Chapter 5 I'm working on right now, because holy effing ****, is Lothar a heavy smoker! 😱 - I use the smoke outside and sometimes across a few panels, sometimes intertwining the lines and arranging them in such a way that they create a neat effect of interconnection. It's not only about smoke/aromatics though; I really enjoy drawing hair sticking out from the frames, too. I must admit - your dear creator hasn't read a lot of comics in her life, but you'll have to put up with me 😎 - I do not see this happening in a lot of comics or mangas. Or perhaps I'm just attempting to read the wrong ones all the time 🤪

Here's another one peculiarity I really grew really fond of within the last few years. Whenever I draw limbs on the background that are directly behind the limbs on the foreground, I just fill the background one with diagonal strokes. Of course, I do it by hand every time. I did have an idea to automate this and just fill the areas I need with the predefined strokes/crosshatch - luckily, Krita has an amazing function to add a fill layer with a wide variety of parameters of choice. But for such a simple task as illustrated above, I just do it manually all the time. Also, it looks natural and with a slight degree of imperfection - that's just what I need! And pistols... ugh. Pistols take a certain talent to draw well, too 😁

And this... Honestly, why am I even showing this one to you?.. 🤔 Probably because I really like Lothar's face on this picture. Once coloured, it won't disappoint you.

Welp, that's probably enough for a very short post in between sessions of creation and life undertakings.

Aaah, no! Just one more thing - a little but extremely funny animated gif before I go offline to create more stuff! Here you are! 🤣

See you next time! Take care! Don't forget to drink some eggnog. 👋

[fanmoose12]

catch me if you can

Сharacters: Hange Zoe, Levi, Erwin Smith, Kenny Ackerman

Genres: Mystery / Romance

Summary: The Ackerman duo. Just the mention of this name filled Hange with so many feelings. Mostly, when she reread the files of their cases over and over, until her eyes watered, she felt pricking annoyance. Sometimes, when she stared at the dead bodies of those scarce unfortunates who stumbled upon their crimes, she was filled with hatred and a pushing need for revenge. Hange couldn’t deny, however, there were times when she marveled at the impudence of their crimes. And, when she was investigating the Ackerman’s cases and saw just how meticulously planned they all were, she couldn’t help but feel something close to fascination.No one knew who they were. No one had seen their faces, no one knew their true names. Almost everyone knew of their crimes.Hange was determined to unravel every last one of their secrets. She will put an end to their crimes and then she will get the elusive Ackermans behind bars.

Chapter 8/?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Hange hated it.

She hated it all – the today’s cold early morning, the yesterday’s long, sleepless night, the shitty, overpriced coffee from the airport cafe. She hated the weather that was too cold not to wear a coat and a scarf, but now made her sweat in all the layers of clothing. She hated the uncomfortable chair she was sitting at, hated waiting for so long just to see the needed flight appear on screen. She hated her new case and the sense of urgency it brought along. She hated that she had to work with him to find that missing young girl.

And more than all of that, she hated that sleazy bastard, that Ackerman.

She hated that morning in the hospital, when she found a note and recognized that it was written by the same hand that used to mock her every failure. Everything clicked right there and then, and Hange hated that she felt sad about it. Not angry, not betrayed, but sad. She was hurt, she was miserable, so much so that she actually shed a few tears, feeling like she lost someone she never actually had.

She should have known better, should have not let that happen. She shouldn’t have trusted him, not after just a couple of dates, after a few silly jokes and endearing gestures. But Ackerman, that damned thief, managed to sneak through all of her defenses, he made her think that there was something there, some connection between them. Perhaps, even something special.

Then everything turned out to be a lie, and it left her broken, wondering what she did wrong, when did she become so naive. She threw herself into her work, finding a short respite in it. For long two months that seemed more like a few days, she almost felt at piece, almost managed to convince herself – and everyone else – that she ceased thinking about Ackermans, their case and the man who might or might not even be called Levi. And now she had to work with him.

Hange hated her job sometimes.

She also hated her heart most of the time, especially right now, when it squeezed painfully at the sight of Ackerman’s dark, sullen and so unfairly handsome face.

Despite the large crowd and long corridor that separated them, their eyes still met each other.

Her treacherous heart skipped another beat.

Hange gripped the paper coffee cup as tight as it allowed, forcing herself to school her expression in something more appropriate – cold, detached. Not so heartbroken.

At least, Ackerman had the decency to look ashamed. He lowered his gaze as soon as he saw her, and it gave Hange the time to look over his entire form.

He changed. Ever so slightly, but still noticeable enough for Hange’s keen eyes.

He was more tanned now, not nearly as sickly pale as he was before. The circles under his eyes didn’t disappear though, and so didn’t his stiff posture. There was another change, however - a small cut on his left cheek. It sparked a quick flash of anger for the person responsible. Hange hated herself for that, too.

She shouldn’t care about that, shouldn’t wonder about the person who hurt Levi, shouldn’t wish to hurt them back. These feelings, they irritated Hange. Unfortunately, she couldn’t make them disappear.

“It’s just you here?” Ackerman approached her slowly, his hand gripping the strap of his travelling bag just as tightly as Hange held her coffee cup. She stood up too, straightening to her full height. Ackerman stopped, just a few steps away from her. “I thought you would bring the entire police department to arrest me.”

Hange scoffed, rolling her eyes. “You’re not that important.”

And there was also that tiny little thing about her not actually having the power to arrest him. Technically, the Ackermans’ case was closed. Technically, Hange had no definitive piece of evidence that she could have used to lock him up.

Technically, Ackerman wasn’t even supposed to be here. And neither was she.

Back at the precinct, no one actually knew about that venture of hers. And they wouldn’t find out about it, not if Hange did everything right.

There were lots of reasons why Hange had to keep Ackerman’s involvement a secret. There was this thing about him being a notorious criminal who escaped justice, but more importantly, there was this little thing about her going on a date with the said criminal. Hange knew that Erwin knew about Levi and his true identity, he never told her that specifically, but when Hange demanded to take her off Ackerman’s case, he didn’t even bat an eye. He also didn’t ask a single question. The absence of his reaction made her wonder just how much he actually knew, and for how long he had that knowledge. Had he known since the beginning? Had he kept quiet just to see where it would lead? And whether she would realize the truth or not?

Hange didn’t have the guts to ask Erwin about that directly, didn’t wish to open that can of worms right now, preferred that it would stay closed for good. They both ignored that mistake of hers, both didn’t dare to bring up Levi or her previous case. And Hange would have liked for it to stay this way forever.

But if Erwin found out that Hange made Ackerman come out of hiding, so he would help her to find the missing Krista Lenz, well… Erwin probably wouldn’t chew her head off, but he definitely would give her a strict, and extremely long verbal reprimanding.

And he would take her off the case, and that… well, Hange already had a case she failed at spectacularly, she didn’t wish for that to become a pattern.

She also wished to find Krista Lenz and save her from whatever peril she found herself in. Hange didn’t know her, had only seen the photos, but that bright smile and those kind blue eyes kept pushing her forward, gave her a reason to not just solve the case, but bring that girl home.

And if she had to work with the damned Ackerman to achieve it, so be it.

“We have a lot of work ahead of us,” she promptly turned away from him, starting a brisk pace and heading to the exit of the airport. She hoped the Ackerman would follow. He did, surprisingly obedient. “Let’s eat before we start.”

***

The diner was nice.

Small but cozy, the interior was made up entirely of combination of blue and white. The tables were clean and adorned with neat, soft tablecloth, the booth he was sitting at was spacious and comfortable, the food was delicious and tea was made just as he liked it, even the music didn’t bother him, a pleasant, quiet melody was playing, adding to the atmosphere.

The diner was nice. His company, however, was not. Levi never thought that someone could eat breakfast so angrily. But every time his and Hange’s gazes met, he was quick to look away, her icy cold stare practically boring into his soul.

Thankfully, while Hange was busy devouring her omelet, she didn’t glance at him even once. She had mentioned that she was starving, and, knowing her work etiquette and seeing that her cheekbones became slightly more pronounced, Levi was inclined to think that her backhanded remark wasn’t just a figure of speech.

Watching her eat made Levi wonder what would happen if he ordered her a desert. Would Hange punch him or simply annihilate him with her glare?

Honestly, Levi was surprised she hadn’t punched him the moment she had seen him in the airport. He was also immensely surprised that he was having breakfast in a diner and not on his way to the prison.

During the phone call, Hange said that she wasn’t going to arrest him, but still, he would have liked to ask more about it. However, breaching that subject with Hange looking so furious didn’t seem like a great idea. He was walking on a thin ice as it was.

But even so, the tense silence was swiftly becoming unbearable, and Levi raked his brain for a topic of conversation, something safe and unassuming, the kind of talk that wouldn’t earn him a kick to his face.

“So how did you find me?”

Not the best way to start, Levi realized that as soon as the question tumbled out of his mouth. He cringed, thinking if he should just take his words back. But it was already too late.

Hange put the fork down and looked at him. With her eyebrows furrowed like that, she looked too much like her Captain, that annoying Erwin Smith. She wasn’t nearly as annoying, though. And, in Levi’s humble opinion, she was much handsomer than her mentor.

“It wasn’t that hard,” Hange said, as she wiped her mouth with a napkin. Some gravy remained at the side of her lips, but Levi wasn’t sure if he should point that out. He would have liked to wipe it out himself, he remembered doing exactly that during one of their dates, which felt like it had happened a lifetime ago. He would have liked to repeat that simple gesture. Then again, Hange probably wouldn’t have liked if he did that. “I guessed that you left the city on the night when…” something in her expression shifted, her face became less guarded. But Hange blinked and it was gone, the same stone mask returning. She cleared her throat and continued, “when we spoke for the last time. Since I knew when you left, it was only a matter of looking at the camera recording from the airport and finding which flight you took. Then I requested some security viewings from the city you were hiding at, and… here you are.”

Hange made it sound so simple, Levi almost believed that it actually was. Her exhausted face told another story, though. Levi could only imagine how long it took her to find him. She must be at her wit’s end, if she went through all of this just to get his help.

“What do you need me for then?”

Hange reached to her bag, opening and rummaging through it. When she was finished, she took out the case file and handed it to him.

“This is Krista Lenz, a college student who had disappeared a week ago,” Levi opened the case file, young blonde girl with impossibly bright eyes stared at him from the first page. “Do you recognize her?”

Levi looked at the photo for another second, just to be sure. But the girl on the photo stirred nothing in him. No vague memory, no sort of recollection. The name didn’t sound familiar, and if he had ever met the girl, it could only be in passing, as both of them, perhaps, walked beside each other on the same sidewalk. But that was the extent of it. Whoever this girl was, Levi did not know her.

He said the very thing to Hange, as he closed and pushed the case file back to her.

Hange pushed it back to him. “Well, too bad that you don’t know her. Because your uncle is the one who kidnapped her.”

Levi was very grateful for his extreme talent at keeping his face straight, because mentally his jaw was somewhere near the fucking floor. Externally, however, he didn’t let a single muscle on his face twitch.

With more self-restraint that he thought was capable of, he lifted an eyebrow, and asked, “I beg your pardon?”

“You’ve heard me,” Hange opened the case file for him and flicked through a couple of pages. “We searched Krista’s room and found a few letters, written by some Kenny the Reaper. Sounds familiar to you?”

More familiar than Hange thought. Of course, Levi knew Kenny the Reaper, back when he was a brat, his uncle used to tell tales of the Reaper, scary, blood-curling stories about the tall man in a long dusty black coat, who lived across the tracks. Kenny said the man’s hands were constantly covered in red and he always smelled of metal and copper. Kenny said the Reaper would come and take him, if Levi continued acting like a pathetic, whiny brat. Stories about the Reaper used to terrify the shit out of him, especially during the nights, when Kenny turned off the lights and storm was raging outside.

After his mother died, and Levi was spending his days in bed, crying himself to sleep, the stories about Kenny the Reaper reached their peak.

Kenny the Reaper would whisk you away at night if you don’t eat the soup, Kenny the Reaper would stand above your bed during the night if you don’t go to sleep, Kenny the Reaper would bath you in your own blood, if you don’t change your dirty clothes, Kenny the Reaper would come and eat your heart in front of you, if you don’t stop crying.

During those horrible, grief-filled days, only the fear of Kenny the Reaper was able to stop Levi from wallowing in his own misery.

Kenny wasn’t the best parent, wasn’t truly made for it, but, surprisingly, some of his methods, as cruel as they were, actually worked on Levi.

But he stopped with the silly stories once Levi became a teenager and they ceased having an effect on him.

Then why did Kenny the Reaper return? Why did he write letters to a young girl, who had disappeared? Could it really be that his uncle was the culprit?

Levi looked down at the case file, where a picture of the Reaper’s note was attached. All doubts disappeared from his mind. It was Kenny’s handwriting, the same messy, barely incomprehensible scribblings. But how did they appear inside the missing girl’s room? And why did Kenny write them in the first place?

He looked at note more closely, squinting to read it.

I have something you might want to look at it, little Missy. Come to the tracks tonight, or Kenny the Ripper will take you away by force.

Levi stared at the note for another moment, struggling to comprehend. It looked like… utter gibberish.

“So?” Hange lifted the cup to her lips, watching him over its rim. “Was my hunch correct? Is it really your uncle’s doing?”

It was just a hunch, but Hange had him located and brought back into the city simply to check if she was right? Either she was that confident in her theory, or… she was that desperate.

“It’s his handwriting,” he told her. “This note was definitely written by him.”

But did Kenny kidnap some girl? Levi didn’t know if that was possible. Why would his uncle even do that? What shitty trouble was he involved in this time? What was going on in the city during the two months that he was away? What Kenny was up to during that time? What was he up to right now?

It seemed like Levi certainly had missed a lot. He had to catch up to it all, and quickly. Perhaps, Hange would be able to help him.

“I don’t think Kenny had taken that girl,” Levi wasn’t sure if his uncle was even capable of that. Sure, he did some nasty things, but always for a reason. And what possible reason could he have to kidnap a young girl? “Did you receive a ransom after her disappearance?”

“No. There is utter silence after Krista went missing. I thought about your uncle only because I’ve remembered you mentioning that his name was Kenny. Decided this theory was worth pursuing.”

Levi didn’t even know he said it, but Hange remembered it? This small detail probably shouldn’t have made him feel so warm inside.

She’s a detective, it’s her job to pick up and remember stuff, he told himself. His heart refused to listen.

“I’m willing to help you find him,” he said to Hange, shaking his head to get rid of useless thoughts. He had a more pressing matter right now. For example, why the fuck his uncle decided to kidnap someone. Finding an answer to this question was his priority. Levi just had to remember that.

“Oh,” Hange waved her hand dismissively. “You don’t really have a choice in that. I need you to help me, Ackerman. And since your apartment was abandoned a little over a week ago, just as Krista went missing, I think it’s a good place to start our investigation.”

Hange knew where his apartment was located? This was hardly surprising, considering that she managed to find him in another city, but still… Her detective skills were brilliant.

Hange waved over the waitress, asking for a bill. As soon as she paid, she stood up. Levi quickly followed her suit.

“My apartment is on the other side of town,” he began, as he fell into step with Hange. “Aren’t you afraid I’m going to escape?”

“Want me to handcuff you, Ackerman? Didn’t know you were so kinky,” surprisingly, Hange grinned. But the merry expression didn’t stay for long. The serious detective face returned almost immediately. “If you really think about escaping, my advice to you – don’t. I found you in another city on the other side of the world. How long do you think it would take me to find you here?”

Well, point was certainly taken. No more jokes and attempts at flirting. Hange was definitely not in the mood for this. Levi would have liked to blame it on her case, but he wasn’t that naïve and he was never that good at fooling himself. Hange hated him now, and there was nothing surprising about it. He knew it was going to come to this. He thought he was prepared.

But the bitter taste in his mouth, the giant, crushing weight in his chest – that he wasn’t ready for.

“It’ll be easier to get to my apartment by the subway,” he said, swallowing down the lump in his throat. “Come on, I’ll lead the way.”

He wanted Hange to throw some stupid joke or a lame one-liner, say at least something. Instead, she followed after him without a single word.

Levi's disappointment was unmeasurable.

***

Hange didn’t know how exactly she pictured the apartment of two notorious thieves to look like, but she certainly didn’t expect the Ackermans’ den to look so… normal.

No secret traps, no hidden treasures, no weaponry hanging on the wall, there was nothing that could even hint at the possibility that the two men that were living there were criminals.

The apartment was relatively small, with only two bedrooms and a kitchen. It also wasn’t as spartan as Hange would have imagined it to be. There were pictures – but not photos – hanging on the walls, house plants that stood on windowsills, a bookshelf filled with books, curtains that fluttered from the wind coming from the open windows.

All of it was so mundane and cozy… Hange didn’t quite know what to make of it.

However, she had to admit, she was not only surprised, but a little disappointed too. She didn’t know what to expect from Ackermans’ apartment, but she had her ideas of what Levi’s apartment would look like. She pictured a neat, pristine place with spotless floors and shining cutlery.

But in reality, the sink was overflowing with dirty dishes, the kitchen was filled with empty pizza boxes and bottles of beer, clothes were lying in the piles on the floor, dust was flying in the air.

Did the great clean freak Levi really live there? Or was that side of Levi’s persona just another lie?

“Fucking Kenny,” Ackerman mumbled under his breath, his scowl as fierce as ever. “I was gone for two months and he already turned into a pig.”

Oh. So that wasn’t part of an act? Hange was actually relieved to hear it. Enough to chuckle and say, “The obsession with cleanliness doesn’t run in the family?”

Ackerman turned from glaring at the dark stain on the kitchen table to look at her. His mouth twitched, as their eyes met. “Kenny is just a horrible exception.”

And there it was. For no longer than a single moment, but something had ignited, some sort of connection, recognition deep within her, the feeling of belonging. It was the same feeling she had whenever she was with Levi before.

But it wasn’t Levi, she reminded herself strictly. It wasn’t Levi, the awkward, endearing man she stumbled upon one evening. It was Ackerman, a thief who consciously played with her feelings, who lied to her and fooled her into believing he was someone else.

But Hange knew who he was now. She wouldn’t let him fool her anymore.

She looked away from him, her expression turning sourer. Possibly sensing her foul mood, Ackerman turned away too, his frown deepening.

“What exactly you expect to find here?” he asked. “I thought you guys had already searched our house.”

“No. I didn’t want to bother with getting a search warrant.”

She didn’t want to, and she couldn’t. If she came to Erwin, asking for a search warrant for the Ackermans’ apartment, because she suspected that one of Ackermans was involved in her new case, Erwin would call off the case right that instant. He’d say that she was too emotionally compromised, that she couldn’t think straight and had an unhealthy obsession with Ackermans’ case.

Erwin wouldn’t have listened to her theory, wouldn’t have let her continue working. And Hange couldn’t let go of this case, couldn't allow someone from Nile’s team to start searching for the missing Krista Lenz. After all, there was a reason why Erwin gave that case specifically to her. She was driven, endlessly dedicated to her work, Erwin knew she wouldn’t stop before Krista Lenz was found and safely returned to her old life.

And Hange couldn’t let Krista’s safety be compromised, because of some search warrant she didn’t even need. She came here with the owner of the apartment, right? Technically, she got inside without breaking any laws. Except she was working with a criminal, but then again, no one could prove that Ackerman was a criminal. Hange would have to work on that after she brought Krista home.

“So what is it that you hope to find here?” Ackerman repeated his question. “I doubt your missing girl is hidden inside my closet.”

Hange rolled her eyes at the obvious sarcasm. Ackerman didn’t believe her, but she didn’t really need him to. He could believe that his uncle was innocent, that it was some big misunderstanding or whatever lie he created for himself. She didn’t need Ackerman to share her suspicions, she just needed him to help her find Kenny Ackerman.

That was the primary and only reason for his involvement.

“Let’s start with his room then,” Hange said. “Even if Krista isn’t there, perhaps, we’ll be able to find something of use anyway.”

“Well, you’re the boss here,” Ackerman scoffed.

With hands shoved deep into his pockets, Ackerman led her out of the kitchen and into a short hallway. As they walked, they passed a room that had a slightly ajar door. Curious, Hange popped her head inside. In contrast to the rest of the house, that room was tidy. It didn’t take a detective to realize that it was Levi’s room. On a wardrobe beside the bed, there was a blue shirt hanging. Hange recognize it as the same shirt Levi wore to their so-called first date. The shirt was nice, she remembered thinking that it brought Levi’s eyes.

Hange wanted to rip it into pieces.

She kicked the door closed with her foot, ignoring Ackerman’s wide-eyed stare. “Let’s just get it over with,” she grumbled, beyond frustrated.

Thankfully, Ackerman didn’t comment and silently led her to his uncle’s room.

Inside, it was even messier than in the rest of the apartment. Papers were scattered around, empty glasses and plates were littering the floor, the bed was unmade, the blanket and pillow missing from it. The state of the room was even worse than the mess inside Hange’s apartment, even during her bad days. It was dark too, the heavy brown curtains blocking the sunlight from outside entirely.

Honestly, it looked a little too creepy for Hange’s taste. Like the room of a madman. A madman who had kidnapped a young girl. A madman, who without hesitation had killed an innocent man and had almost killed her. Hange felt a shiver ran through her spine at that thought.

“Are you sure that your guys didn’t search the house?” Ackerman’s gruff voice brought her to the present.

“You think that someone broke in?”

“Possibly,” Ackerman nodded. “Either someone broke in, or Kenny just lost his mind.”

“And which one is more probable?”

Ackerman shrugged. “I’d say fifty-fifty.”

“Cool,” she rubbed her temples, feeling a migraine coming. “Amazing. Just awesome.” So she wasn’t only looking for a cruel criminal, but apparently he could be crazy as well. And she thought this case couldn’t get any worse. “Let’s start looking for clues then. Before your uncle arrives and decapitates me or something.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ackerman chided. “He won’t decapitate you. Just slash your throat.”

His dry delivery and his deadpan face made it hard for Hange to understand whether he was joking or not. She hoped he was. She liked her throat, and didn’t want it to be slashed.

“I’ll take the left part of the room,” she announced to Ackerman, immediately getting to work. The sooner they finish here, the lesser were chances of having her throat slashed. Probably.

As Hange kneeled on the floor, looking through papers scattered there, she couldn’t help but look around the room. And as she took a good look at it, she couldn’t help but wonder…

“Why are you doing this?” she asked Ackerman.

He threw her a dark look. “By this you mean…”

“Why do you keep doing this?” she gestured around, “Stealing things, being criminals. You have enough as it is. Why not start doing honest work?”

“We’re stealing from rich assholes. You can hardly call it a crime.”

“Oh, I get it now,” Hange rolled her eyes. “Once a thief forever a thief, right?”

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” Ackerman said curtly.

“And why not? Because I’m a cop?”

“Because you’re a cop, dressed in a coat that no cop should be able to afford.”

Affronted, Hange scowled at him. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“That you grew up rich. That you don’t know what poverty or need is. That you have no idea that sometimes,” his eyes flashed, a deep-seated anger coming to surface. Hange wondered if all of it was directed on her alone. “Honest work isn’t enough.”

Logically, Hange knew it was her cue to back away. But she was riled up already, she was exhausted and frustrated. She was also annoyed that Ackerman had figured her out so easily. So instead of shutting up like she should have to, she kept challenging him. “And when exactly honest work isn’t enough?”

“When your mother dies because you can’t pay her medical bills.”

Ackerman spoke quietly, calmly. His tone wasn’t angry or accusing. He didn’t even sound hurt. But Hange felt like the most disgusting piece of shit. Shame cursed through her, as she struggled to find her words, to apologize or— do something rathan than stare helplessly at him.

“Let’s get back to work,” he said, ending the heavy silence.

Hange nodded numbly, scooping a bunch of papers in her hands. She briefly glanced at them, but nothing seemed to hold any importance. There were some bills, checks, half-finished plans, written so messily Hange could barely decipher most of the words. There was nothing that could link Kenny Ackerman to the disappearance of Krista Lenz. Still, Hange persisted, forcing her thoughts to focus on the case, and not on the argument that had transpired moments ago.

It seemed stupid, ridiculous, she was so angry with Ackerman, but now she felt ashamed of her careless words. She was ashamed of being so naïve, so privileged. She knew she was lucky, luckier than most to be born in a wealthy family and have access to everything she needed or wanted. Not everyone was as fortunate as her, and some of people ended up just as Ackermans – driven to the life of crime by poverty and desperation. After all, most of the criminals didn’t choose this way of living, but Hange had forgotten about that. She let her single-minded determination cloud her perception and abandon her principals and initial reason for joining the force.

So fixed on catching criminals, she had forgotten that she wanted to help people, including those, who were lost or didn’t know better.

Hange felt the need to apologize to Ackerman. He was an asshole in his own right, but her cruelty and prejudice was uncalled for. She was better than this. At least, she hoped so.

So lost in her own thoughts, Hange missed the moment when Ackerman had moved from his kneeling position on the floor. Now he stood next to a long desk, gazing at it skeptically.

“If there is something worthy in this pile of shit, it’s gotta be here,” he explained to the confused Hange.

Still sitting on a floor, she watched how Ackerman opened the lowest drawer of the desk, throwing everything that was inside on the floor. More papers fell out. Once the drawer was empty, Ackerman pressed on something inside and revealed a hidden bottom drawer.

A secret compartment! Hange jumped to his side.

He was already shifting through the documents he found inside, his face as bored as ever. “Shit, I think there is nothing important her—”

“Wait!” Hange yelled, yanking a photo from between his fingers. Her eyes wide and mouth open, she stared at it. She knew that face, that face was staring accusingly at her for a whole week now, pushing Hange to find its owner. Linked to that photo was a birth certificate, and it bewildered Hange even more.

“What is it?” Ackerman rose on tiptoes, looking over her shoulder. “Did you find something?”

“I guess I did,” Hange slowly nodded, her eyes still glued to the photo and the document. “It appears we’ve been wrong. We aren’t looking for Krista Lenz. We’re searching for Historia.”

[sunriseverse]

Prompt: “I don’t think my mistake was in loving you,” Hermann clarified. “I think my mistake was in saying it.” Newt shook his head, stared at the floor. “I just didn’t know.” “I know you didn’t. And…” he took in a breath. “And maybe I’ve ruined everything. But I’d rather ruin everything with the truth than ruin myself living a lie.” “You haven’t ruined anything,” Newt corrected him. “You think you ruined everything?”

this one got a little out of hand, but i hope you enjoy it! (also sorry for how long it’s been since i’ve filled a prompt—hopefully i’ll be able to start getting to them again with some semblance of regularity)

As far as jobs go, being attached to the Archive Corps isn’t where Newt had expected he’d end up as, if you’d asked him as an Initiate. He probably would have spouted off some long-winded, pitch-undulating, explanation about how he was going to be the best padawan and then the very best guardian, exploring the galaxy and meeting new people and discovering things, a blue lightsaber at his hip and maybe a best friend to go with him.

But, like most things, life is unpredictable. He hit thirteen, shit happened, and rather than getting apprenticed to Master Lightcap like he’d been hoping, he wound up working on a research team for a recently discovered collection of Sith documents, and learned that he actually likes research, and now here he is: one of the few Senior Researchers left in the temple while the others, who have more combat training than him, get dispatched into the field to try and combat the Sith.

He shifts in his seat, peering at the screen. The letters swim before his eyes, and he sighs, peering surreptitiously around before engaging the text to speech program.

“We believe the Empire may be deploying a new bioweapon,” the program drones. “We’ve been tracking—”

“ Newton, ” hisses an all too familiar voice, “I can’t concentrate with that awful thing running.”

Newt rolls his eyes, tipping his chair back so that he can see around the sides of the dividing wall around the holoterminal, though he already knows what he’ll see: Hermann, glaring at him from his tiny desk on the other side of the small lab they’ve claimed as their own.

Aaand yep, there it is: his fingers are poised over the keyboard, his expression enough to kill, lilac leku twitching in annoyance. His headpiece, made of a dark, finely knit material, sits primly above his forehead, wrapping around the base of his leku, just as perfectly kempt as the rest of his clothing. Not for the first time, Newt wonders how many layers the man actually has on him—there’s three that he can see, but who knows how many he’s hiding. Newt, by contrast, usually wears just a tunic and pants, and sometimes his belt, though that’s partially because, as a nautolan, he feels better when his skin can breathe.

“— ton, ” Hermann snaps, neat High Coruscanti accent straining at the edges with irritation, and Newt realises he hasn’t been paying attention to what the other’s been saying for...a bit. Oops. “At least use headphones,” he says. “I can’t very well try and advise on military reconnaissance data when that thing’s running.”

It’s an argument they’ve had every day for the past three years in some variation, but neither of them are very good at coming to agreements, so for the thousandth time, Newt says, “Yeah, well, that would be a great plan, Herms, except unlike you, I don’t have ears. ” He’s pretty sure, at this point, that these arguments are just because Hermann’s frustrated that he hasn’t gotten anywhere in his analysis of Imperial movements in months— hells, the only reason Newt keeps rising to the bait is that he’s also frustrated and hasn’t gotten anywhere in his own research in months, and when your job is trying to figure out what sort of fun new bioweapon the Sith alchemists are coming up with this year, not making any progress is a little bit stressful.

Hermann’s face darkens into a deep lavender, eyes narrowing, and it shouldn’t be cute, but Newt’s always had shit taste, so it kinda is. “And I’ve told you a thousand times that you need to submit a requisition form for proper equipment,” he says.

“Sure, if all of my requests weren’t automatically thrown into the trash because someone spent an entire year sending them endless letters of complaint and now they just have a spam filter on for messages from the holoterminals in this room—”

“You can’t even throw something intangible in the trash, ” Hermann snipes back.

“ Force, ” Newt says, “you’re so annoying. I absolutely get why the others left.”

That’s a low blow, and he knows it. Hermann’s leku twitch in offence and hurt, curling up on themselves as if in an attempt to get away from him, and Newt opens his mouth to apologise, because he didn’t mean to say that , but Hermann’s huffing, “I’m done,” and rising out of his chair, cane in hand, and making for the door.

Unfortunately, that’s exactly when a warning alarm wails, and the building shakes. Newt, chair only on two legs, goes sprawling to the ground with a yelp. Hermann manages not to, but that’s only because he lunges for a wall and slowly slides down to the floor.

The shaking subsides, and Newt pushes himself off the ground into his knees, and opens his mouth, only to be cut off when something crashes to the ground outside. Instinctively, he covers his head, headtails curling up on themselves in an attempt to shield themselves from the perceived danger. From underneath the closed door, a plume of dust rises. The ceiling above them groans menacingly.

“Hey, uh, what the kriff? ” Newt says. “We’re in the basement levels—that definitely shouldn’t be happening, right?”

“No,” Hermann says, grimly, “it should not. In fact—” But that’s as far as he gets, because a moment later, a chunk of the ceiling drops right on top of Newt. Letting out a strangled yell, he lands flat on his back, head and chest radiating pain. “Newton!” Hermann shouts. “Are you alright?”

“Uh...I don’t know,” Newt admits, peering down. There’s a large sheet of rock pinning him to the floor, thankfully not in him, but he thinks a few ribs might have broken on impact. And his head hurts like crazy. His left hand is free, so he tentatively reaches up—and hisses when the touch makes the pain worse, pulling his hand back to see it coated in blood. “Well, shit,” he says faintly.

“Not exactly reassuring!” Hermann calls, sounding slightly hysterical, and a moment later, he rises enough so that Newt can see him over the giant slab of stone pinning him to the ground. He hurries over to Newt’s side, eyes widening. “Your...three of your headtails have been severed,” he says.

Newt grimaces. He’s pretty sure the only reason he hasn’t passed out from the pain is because of the shock. “That’s not great,” he says, feebly.

“ Not really! ” Hermann says, definitely hysterical now. “Damnit! Damnit, I should have seen this! I knew I was missing something!”

“Not to question your genius,” Newt says, “but somehow I doubt even you would have been able to predict them attacking the fucking temple. I mean, that’s, like, a really fucking bold thing to do. I wouldn’t do that.”

“Well, you’re not a Sith,” Hermann snaps, peering at the debris as if trying to figure out how to get around it. “Don’t—just stay there, Newton, I’ll be over there in a minute and then we can do something about your wounds.”

“Not going anywhere anytime soon,” Newt quips weakly. He thinks he hears Hermann let out a strained laugh , so the bloodloss must be pretty advanced. A few more minutes pass, marked only by the fact that he can see the numbers on the chrono set into the wall changing. Finally, a familiar set of dark grey robes comes into view—upside down, which makes Newt giggle. Hermann gets closer, and then kneels down, taking off his obi , Newt has to be hallucinating because this is how a lot of his fantasies start. Well, minus the whole ‘trapped under a slab of rock and rapidly losing blood’ bit. “You know,” he slurs as he watches Hermann tear the cloth into strips, “I never thought I’d see you in anything less than ten layers.”

Hermann gently lifts what must be what remains of one of the severed headtails, wrapping a strip of cloth around it, and Newt hisses slightly at the pain. “I only wear nine on average,” he tells Newt distractedly.

Newt laughs, the sound a bit wheezing—right, broken ribs, possibly punctured lung—and says, “You know that’s still like five too many, right?”

“Ryloth is a warm planet,” Hermann retorts. “We can’t all be adapted to the frigid depths of the sea.” It doesn’t sound heated, though, and he’s finished wrapping the last of the stumps, and he presses a hand to Newt’s cheek. His cheeks are pale.

Newt puts a clumsy hand over Hermann’s, relishing the touch. “Sorry...for saying that shit,” he says. “I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t...mean it.”

“You rarely think,” Hermann says, sounding a little desperate. “Don’t you dare pass out, Newton.”

Newt gives a noncommittal rumble. “Make sure your next labmate isn’t shitty to you. Tell ‘em...I’ll haunt them from the grave...if they are. And…’s nice, that you’re...here with me...now.”

“ Newton Geiszler, don’t you dare say that to me,” Hermann hisses. “You aren’t allowed to say things like that when you’re bleeding out in front of me. ” He sounds—panicked. Newt can’t see him properly, blackness encroaching on his vision. He pats Hermann’s hand.

“I know...you’re...allergic to...emotions,” he wheezes, “but...I can’t...die...with you...thinking I...hate you.”

“I’m not—I’m not allergic to emotion! ” Hermann protests. His fingers have started to dig into Newt’s cheek, but Newt’s in too much pain already to wince. “I just—Force damnit, Newton, I love you so much it’s hard to say anything!”

“Huh,” Newt says, and passes out.

He wakes up without expecting to. The pain is gone—actually, nearly all sensation is gone, past a sort of weird floatiness that means they’ve given him the good stuff. He’s gotten into enough accidents to know the difference, much to Hermann’s chagrin.

Wait—Hermann. Newt squints, trying to corral his eyeballs into cooperating and looking in the same direction. It takes him a few tries, but once he manages it, he sweeps his gaze around the room, taking everything in. Soft lighting to lessen the likelihood of sensory overload? Check. An IV line going down from a bag of blue-tinted fluid to the crook of his arm? Check. A kriffing massive amount of bacta wraps, tinted green, against the blue of his chest? Check. Hermann Gottlieb, passed out in the singular chair in the corner? Check.

Newt clears his throat, and tries to say, “Hey, Hermann,” but it comes out more like a garbled set of unintelligible sounds. It does have the intended effect, though, because Hermann shifts in his seat, eyes blinking open.

“Newton!” he exclaims, sounding relieved. “You’re awake!” A curl of nervousness seeps into his tone on the second bit, and his fingers start playing with the hem of his robe’s sleeve, an action that Newt knows by now is unconscious.

“Is something...wrong?” he asks tentatively.

Hermann starts, looking caught-out. “No, no, nothing you need to worry about in your state,” he says.

Newt frowns at him. “Okay, don’t give me that bullshit,” he says, raising a hand in an attempt to wag a finger at Hermann. It doesn’t really work, because he can’t feel his limbs enough for fine motor control to be working, so he drops his hand back onto the bed. “We’ve had arguments when I was in worse shape,” he says, instead, “remember that time—?”

“With the Zhell Virus, yes, I remember, ” Hermann says. “The fact that your life has been threatened enough times that you’ve started using the circumstances surrounding them to demarcate which one—”

“Herms,” Newt says, because he knows that’ll get him to stop his attempts at derailing, “just tell me what’s wrong.”

Surprisingly, rather than try and argue more, Hermann just mutters, “I made a mistake.”

“You made a...” Newt squints at him, trying to remember what he could possibly have done recently that would count as a mistake, and the only thing he comes up with is—“ Loving me? ” he says, slightly disbelieving. “Okay, look, I get that I can be kinda awful sometimes, and not generally most peoples’ first choice for the object of their affections, but—”

“I don’t think my mistake was in loving you,” Hermann clarifies, sounding kind of miserable. “I think my mistake was in saying it.”

Newt stares at the floor, shaking his head. Thinks about all the times he’s said something that would have made Hermann think it was a mistake to admit loving him, and comes up with an embarrassing number. “I just didn’t know,” he says, weakly. It’s a banthashit excuse, and he knows it.

“I know you didn’t. And...” He takes a breath. “I’m...glad I said it, in a way. Maybe I’ve ruined everything, but...I’d rather ruin everything with the truth than ruin myself with a lie.”

And that implies a lot of things, most of which Newt is too drug-addled to be comfortable touching. “You haven’t ruined anything,” Newt corrects, instead. “You think you’ve ruined everything?”

Hermann lets out a dry laugh. “Forgive me for making an assumption based on years worth of data,” he says, and, yep, Newt deserves that one.

He leans his head back against the pillow, pressing his eyes together, and then opens them to look at Hermann. “Okay, I’m gonna be straight with you,” he says, “well, not, like, straight -straight, but—anyway, look. I think we should have the conversation we’ve been tiptoeing around, but not, like, right now? Because I’m waaaay too pumped full of drugs to say what I should be saying. Sorry. But, uh, I can definitely assure you you haven’t ruined anything. In case it wasn’t clear from earlier, I, like, care about you a lot, romantically.”

“And you call me allergic to emotions?” Hermann mutters, making Newt snort.

“Shut up and hold my hand,” he says. “So I can, like, emotionally support you. And don’t give me that shit about ‘Jedi don’t do PDA’, because we’ve both seen the, uh, less than platonic kisses between Archivist Baral’see and her girlfriend.”

“I was going to say that if anyone needs emotional support, it’s the man who lost three appendages,” Hermann says, but he does link their hands together, and even smiles a little about it.

“This is great,” Newt mutters happily, “but I think I’m gonna pass out again. G’night, Hermann.”

“Get some rest,” Hermann says, sounding amused, and the last thing Newt’s aware of before the darkness claims him is Hermann squeezing his hand.

[j-pankratz]

Stuck in the Middle with You

A gift for the lovely @chubbykatsudon for the Novigrad Gift Exchange 2021!

Geraskefer, minor Lamden. 16507 Words. Can also be read here on ao3! Rated M for an abundance of cursing and deeply suggestive flirting! Tags for a small amount of canon typical violence, & a very big dog (Roach, my love)! Other tags include: Oh My God The Were Neighbors, Enemies to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, Idiots to Lovers, We're Really Running The Gamut Here, Going viral on TikTok, The best lease of all fucking time, apple juice, and ever changing groupchat names.

x

“A year! A full year. Two! THREE!”

“Hmm.” Geralt muttered. In one hand above his head, he dangled the dead-though-still-writhing remains of a drowner. He’d stabbed it in the spine— nerve damage, unfortunate stuff. At his feet, the groveling man who’d gotten him into this mess in the first place. About 75% of the people he had to rescue from monsters, he found, were the rich sticking their noses places they oughtn’t, out of pure arrogance. This one, a landlord, apparently, had decided to wander off drunkenly from a party and go poking about the river.

He whimpered. “I— I’ll throw in maintenance! Please, Witcher, I—”

“Do you allow pets,” he asked dryly, “I need a place for Roach.” He gestured with his head to Roach, who was watching the thrashing drowner body with interest.

“Ah, no, we don’t—” Geralt dug his thumb into a wound in the deceased drowner’s neck, causing it to hiss and send out spittle. The kneeling landlord cried in fear.

“Yes! Yes! Fine, we can accept your dog, please, please Witcher I can’t die, I—”

“Deal,” Geralt said, and thrust his sword through the drowner once more, severing its head from its body. The man yelped as blood and assorted monster bits sprayed out. Geralt dropped the remnants of its head and neck to the ground, landing with a sickening splat, and the man wailed again.

“When’s move in?”

——

Move-in, as it turned out, was a week and a half later, the first of the month. It was a good apartment, better than he’d have ever rented for himself— a quiet street, an elevator, laundry in the basement, and a doorman half the time. Geralt had a view of the city from his bedroom and of the tree-lined street below from his brightly and naturally lit living room, while the second bedroom had a view of the apartment’s courtyard. The kitchen was a good size, though he didn’t cook much, and it had a dishwasher, which was worth its weight in gold. There was a corner shop at the end of the block, and a few restaurants, coffee shops, and bars within walking distance. Eskel and Coën would love visiting, at least, and if he got a decent enough couch and tv, Lambert would too. Not that they’d have much opportunity to visit, but he could have his dreams, few and minor as they were.

It was on the 8th floor, which was high enough to feel safe. There were only four apartments to a floor, which helped. Ultimately, he figured, nobody would really suspect a Witcher to live in a regular apartment building. And if anyone came after him, well, he’d deal with that then. With Ciri away at school, he would have less to stress about. He’d be subtle, wouldn’t tell people in the building he was a Witcher, wouldn’t talk much to anyone, would hope they wouldn’t notice his eyes. He’d wear sunglasses. It would be fine! This apartment was probably the second most favorable payment he’d ever had from a contract—the first of course, being Ciri— he wasn’t about to turn it down, or regret taking it.

Even when he was stuck in the elevator with, quite possibly, the most annoying man on earth.

Geralt was taking the last of his suitcases upstairs, which was really Roach’s suitcase, and a box of his cooking supplies— an embarrassingly small number of pots, pans, bowls, plates, and utensils. Just as the door was closing—

“WAIT! Hold that, hold that, if you’d please, fuck!”

A man with brown hair came barreling toward the elevator, just barely sticking his expensive looking brown leather shoe in the doors before they closed. They slid open with a soft ding, and the man, out of breath, tumbled inside.

He was tall, with a mop of brown hair and egregiously bright teal pants, a slightly lighter blue dress shirt tucked in to match. He heaved against the elevator walls, breathing heavily and eventually sinking down to a crouch to catch his breath.

“Good save,” Geralt said.

“Thank you,” the man said between gasps. “You saved my life.”

“I didn’t do anything."

The man waved his hand at the buttons. “Button. Button. You. Press. You pressed the— you know.”

“No I didn’t.”

The man paused, his breathing slowly going back to normal. “You didn’t—” He looked up at Geralt, his eyes a brilliant, piercing blue. He was frowning. “What do you mean you didn’t? You didn’t press the button?”

“Nope.”

The man came to standing, and Geralt found that the man wasn’t just tall, he was nearly Geralt’s height. “You mean to tell me, you see a man running for the elevator, screaming for you to hold the door, and instead you just— just stand there and watch?”

Geralt lifted his box a bit. “Got my hands full.”

“You have elbows! Two of them, might I add!” the man cut in before Geralt could lift the suitcase tucked into the crook of one arm. Instead, he shrugged.

“More fun to watch you run.”

“More fun to— I cannot believe this,” the man said, looking up at the floor numbers. The elevator continued to rise, and he suddenly groaned. “Ah, fuck, we’ve missed my floor,” he said, fumbling over to the buttons. Geralt frowned.

“We’re only on the fifth floor.” He watched the man press the button for the second floor. “You ran to the elevator… to go to the second floor?”

“I don’t like stairs!” he complained; Geralt could tell he’d had to give this explanation many times before.

“You like running more than stairs?”

“I would run toward convenience any day.”

“Mmm,” Geralt hummed softly.

They stood in silence for a moment. “Sorry, who are you? New neighbor, then?”

“Yep.”

“Do you have a name, or must I call you Mildly Rude Elevator Man? You wouldn’t be the first to earn a title from me. I don’t even know the woman’s name who lives in the Penthouse so now she’s just Penthouse Lady. But surely you have a name?”

Geralt smiled. “8b.”

“Oh, hilarious, 8b, alright, then I’m 2d. Lovely to meet you, 8b,” he said as the doors slid open to the 8th floor. “Do you need some help with those?”

“No,” Geralt said, and maneuvered himself out of the elevator carefully.

“Alright, fine then, if you say so, but I’m very helpful, actually, when I need to be. I have two hands, you know.”

“I’m sure,” Geralt grunted and approached his door. Fishing in his pocket for his keys for a moment, he found himself turned to the man in the elevator— 2d— and watched as his eyes grew wide as they fell on Geralt’s medallion, just as the elevator dinged and the doors began to slide closed. Well. Fuck.

“Wait— is that—” 2d’s eyes grew wide, and then a grin split across his face. “You’re a Witcher, aren’t you! Wait!” but the doors had already met, and the elevator began its descent.

Okay, so, subtlety gone, and given how chatty 2d had been, he figured it was only a matter of time before the entire building knew. That was the price for a free 3-year lease in a building far above his price range at the best of times, he supposed.

There was no way this would be worth it.

——

There were three days of peace, before 2d came knocking.

It was mid-afternoon, and in the living room the sunlight streamed through his new windows onto the small amount of furniture he’d arranged so far. Roach’s bed, his orange couch, a small tv, a chair, a barstool, a bookcase. Everything else was either still in boxes or simply not purchased yet— he’d never had need for it. He didn’t even know what to do with an apartment he could enjoy spending time in. The morning had been spent sitting on the couch, letting his coffee go cold as he looked around and tried to figure out what to do with this place he might actually be able to relax in. Until, of course, the knocking began.

He tried to ignore it, but 2d was persistent. After the 5th set of knocks, Geralt groggily rose from his chair, coffee in hand, and opened the door.

“Good morning! Hi, ah, hope you’re alright, settling in well?”

“What do you want.”

“Oh, glad to see you’re in a good mood,” 2d replied easily. His outfit was just as bright today, his pants a vibrant green with a mango pattern on them, his shirt a matching orange, with yellow cuffs, and a… oh, gods above, a guitar case strapped to his back, the leather strap running across his chest, hugging him closely. His clothes fit remarkably well, Geralt noticed, and then tried to promptly un-notice. But it was hard. 2d’s eyes looked especially blue today, which was bullshit. Geralt raised an eyebrow and hoped he wasn’t being obvious about anything, though it wasn’t as if Witchers let their faces be easily readable.

“Listen. You’re a Witcher. Very neat, very cool, I could smell the heroics and heartbreak on you in that elevator, I’m getting whiffs of it even now—”

“That’s sweat. Or coffee.”

“Well, okay, it’s not, but okay. My point here is, you have stories. And I write stories. Well, I write songs. Music. Poetry, art, etcetera. And I’m good, I promise I’m fairly decently good—”

“Was that you on Sunday singing the song about the… rabbit? And the moon?” He didn’t remember it well, but whoever was singing had definitely mentioned worms, as well.

“The… oh! Yes! Ah,” he cleared his throat and began. “But have you heard the story of the rabbit in the moon? Or the cow that hopped the planets while straddling a spoon? Right? Yes, love that one, it’s a fun one to sing at bars. Great warm-up song. Cosmo Sheldrake! Gotta love them, strange bastards. I should record that for TikTok, now that I think of it.”

“Sure.” The man’s singing voice was… light, airy, with something like a faint rasp in there, but he dipped down low into his register another was a whole new layer of sound there as well. It sounded like him, but it was somehow completely different than what Geralt would have expected the man’s singing voice to be like. “Cows don’t do that, though. And the references to beasts in your other songs were just as unrealistic. You shouldn’t be confusing people, monsters are serious business. Someone could get hurt.”

“Perfect!” 2d cried excitedly. “See! You know these things. I would like to learn these things. Think of it as educating the public, and helping out your great new friend Jaskier. Which, hello, I’m Jaskier. You’re Geralt, right? Of Rivia?”

Geralt shifted on his feet. It shouldn’t have surprised him. There were only so many witchers, let alone ones with long white hair and a wolf medallion. Damn internet. “And if I am?”

Jaskier’s wide grin turned sly. “Then I know for a fact you have stories.”

The witcher sighed. Well. He’d bore this man with his bad storytelling, and he’d get bored, and he’d leave. In the meantime, Geralt would get to look at 2d’s well-fitting clothes and shoulders that looked terrifically broad. It could be worse. There was a long pause.

“Fine. This once. But I’m not your friend.”

“Brilliant! Beautiful, fantastic,” Jaskier was saying, and slipped past Geralt and in to the apartment.

And then Roach barreled in.

“OH, HOLY FUCK!” Jaskier screamed in surprise, as the great Dane barked, getting right up to Jaskier before Geralt quieted her with a quick command. She plopped down at Jaskier’s feet obediently, and stared up at him with big, watery brown eyes. Jaskier’s hands were raised high above his head, and when he spoke, it came out as a raspy whisper.

“I did not know you had a dog. Have you always had this dog? Whose dog is this, this is your dog? How have I missed this. What’s his name?”

“Her name is Roach.”

“Her names Roach,” he repeated in the same horse whisper. “Why have you named your dog after an insect.”

“Can’t get rid of her,” Geralt replied, though he knew that made it sound like he didn’t absolutely adore her. The name had been a joke, and it had stuck, simple as that.

“Oh. Lovely. Okay. Will she eat me? She won’t eat me, right? This is a good dog, a good dog with manners?”

“She won’t eat you. Unless I tell her to.”

“Stop that!! Oh, stop that, oh my gods. Okay. Okay. Hello puppy. Nice, non-murdering puppy. Not a puppy. Good… large dog. Good large girl. You’re nice, aren’t you. You won’t kill me at all, not even a little bit.” He slowly let one hand come down to his side, and Roach surged forward to lick it. Jaskier yanked his hand back up and shut his eyes tightly.

“Okay. Maybe I should come back. At another time when I am more prepared for your non-murdering, not at all monstrous 4-foot tall dog.”

“She’s more like 2 1/2 feet tall.” Geralt cocked his head to the side. “Maybe three.”

“Fuck. Gods. Okay. Okay. Another day then! But definitely. I will want to hear these stories. Okay?”

“Sure,” Geralt agreed. This was more entertainment than he had expected today. He held back laughs, smiling while Jaskier’s eyes were still shut tightly. “Another day, then.”

“Okay. I’m backing out now, he said, and slowly began to do so, not turning away from Roach. She came to standing, and he jumped back at the sound of her nails against the tile floor of the kitchen, eyes still squeezed shut. “OKAY, OH, NO, okay doggie, no following me. No following. Thank you. Okay. I will. See you soon. Okay? Okay.”

And then Jaskier was out the door, and running down the stairwell. Geralt closed the door behind him, and turned to see Roach looking at him, her head cocked. He laughed, and bent down to pet her.

——

It took just over 24 hours for 2d— no, no, Jaskier— to come knocking once more. This time, Geralt answered the door more quickly; best to either get this over with, or get some more laughs out of it while he could. Behind the door stood Jaskier, mildly nervous looking, already glancing over Geralt’s shoulder into the apartment.

It was either a blessing or a curse that Jaskier’s outfit was not nearly as tight-fitting today, though the strap of his guitar case still cut close to his figure against his lavender sweater. In his arms, he held a variety of brand-new-looking dog toys; kongs and bones and pull-ropes and even some balls.

“Hi! Ah, this time, I’ve come prepared! With distractions and assurances your Roach will not eat me. If you’d still be available for relaying some stories?”

“…You bought her toys?”

“Ah…. maybe a bit? Well, yes, I certainly don’t have a dog, I just did some searching for what kind of things abnormally large dogs might enjoy and picked some up on a walk this morning. Nothing big.” Geralt looked again at the pile in Jaskier’s arms. He’d… bought toys. For Roach. Who he’d just met the day previously, and had scared him silly.

The more time he spent around Jaskier, the less he understood about the man.

Geralt took a step back and gave a whistle, and soon Roach was trotting in from his bedroom. He could smell the tension off Jaskier, and put a hand on his shoulder to calm him. “Try to relax. She’ll know if you’re stressed.”

“Right. No stress, just a dog who could swallow me whole. That’s fine, this is fine.”

“Put your hand out low, so she can sniff.”

After a bit of hesitation, Jaskier took a deep breath and did as he was told. “Friendly, Roach,” Geralt said as she sniffed loudly around Jaskier’s hand. And a moment later, she was licking his hand, sobering all over it. Jaskier laughed nervously, a light and airy sound Geralt found himself enjoying a bit too much. His smile was radiant, the relief in his broad shoulders palpable. He carefully moved his hand to give her a scratch on the cheek, and Roach leaned into it, pressing up against him, her tag wagging a mile a minute.

“Feel better?”

“Hmm? Oh! Yes, yes,” Jaskier said, pulling his attention away from Roach. “I’m really not usually scared of dogs. She’s just… very large, and was unexpected. But you’re a good girl, aren’t you? You’re not nearly as scary as you look! Just like your owner, isn’t that right.”

Geralt frowned. He knew he was frightening, there was no sense in denying it. He had frightened nearly every human he came across, at least in some small way. But even since Jaskier had realized he was a witcher, Geralt hadn’t smelled fear on him. Only just now, when he’d met Roach.

Again, he understood Jaskier less than before.

Geralt stepped back wordlessly and allowed Jaskier to step further into the apartment. He pulled out one of the balls tucked into the pile of toys in his arm and threw it further into the living room, and Roach excitedly ran after it, plopping down to chew on it next to her well-loved gray bed.

Jaskier followed, moving through the room like the breeze, before sitting on the couch, kicking his shoes off, and shoving his feet between the cushions.

“So! Where should we begin! Tales of your early days, your first forays with beasts? Your most recent victories? Epic quests?”

Geralt stared at Jaskier, an eye twitching. “Don’t— what are you doing?”

“Well, I figured we’d be here a while, might as well get comfortable!”

“On a stranger’s couch. A witcher’s couch.”

“On my new, good friend Geralt-The-Witcher’s couch! We’re hardly neighbors, we’re strangers! Wait, no, sorry, hardly strangers, we’re— where are you going?”

Geralt had turned and walked to his bedroom. He quietly shut the door behind him, walked to his bed, grabbed a pillow, and screamed into it. He was good at controlling his emotions. He barely had them, after all, that’s what they said about witchers. But this man, this self-proclaimed friend was driving him to madness, and it had only been four days in the building. He briefly considered moving, abandoning the apartment entirely, giving it to someone else. Or perhaps throwing this Jaskier out the window. But none of those were worth the time, or the inevitable paperwork. He could kick Jaskier out, but he’d come back, he knew he would.

It was best to just be boring. Just be boring, refuse to tell the good stories, and tell the boring ones he did have, badly. Jaskier would get tired of it, take what he got, and discover there was nothing interesting or worth telling about witches. Who would want to hear songs about him, anyway? Humans, in large part, still thought witchers were monsters. It had gotten better the past few decades, but… not much.

He took a deep breath and pulled the over-worn pillow away from his face. Time to just get it over with, he supposed. Another deep breath and he returned to the living room, where Jaskier had pulled out a pad of paper, several pens, his guitar, a small bag of what looked to be popcorn, and three notebooks that looked completely filled already. Jaskier whipped around to see him and gave a big, toothy smile.

He was doing this, Geralt thought, just to get the writer out of his hair. No more, no less. It had absolutely nothing to do with anything else.

“Geralt! I am perfectly ready, and if you can’t think of where to start I have dozens of questions for you. Hundreds, really, so don’t worry about it at all! Sit down, sit down.”

“This is my house,” Geralt said, grabbing the only other chair and sitting a ways from Jaskier, “I should be inviting you to take a seat.”

“Well, that might be the case if you were an experienced host, but I get the feeling it’s not really your forte. Alright, ready to begin?”

“Did you notice how I didn’t invite you to take a seat?”

“I did, actually! Again, I can tell you’re not a natural at the hosting thing. Not to worry, I’m plenty comfortable now.” There was a glint in his eye that told Geralt he knew exactly what he was doing.

Geralt sighed, and fought off the thought that Jaskier was very, very lucky he was pretty.

A few hours later, Jaskier had gathered up his things, ready to head out. “Don’t worry, Geralt, you were plenty helpful. And our next session we will absolutely get to some… even more interesting stories, I’m sure we’ve only just barely scratched the surface.”

“What.”

Geralt had been as boring as he could possibly manage, giving only the barest of details. Jaskier had still seemed intrigued, still prodded. His eyes had been full of life and wonder at the smallest details, he’d taken fervent notes, he’d looked like an oil painting when the sun had begun to set and cast him in vibrant golds, showing off the warmth in his cheeks and the well-hidden but sharp lines of his body. This had nearly killed Geralt. And now Jaskier wanted to do it again?!

“Yes, of course, I’ll need to do some writing and then come back to you for more— really, I think I should just accompany you on your next contract, I think I’d get much more out of it— not to say you didn’t do wonderfully, dear, but I can hardly imagine that anything compares to the real thing.”

“No. Too dangerous.”

“I can keep out of the way!” Jaskier said, hefting the guitar case onto his back.

“You can’t, you won’t it wouldn’t matter if you could. No.”

“Oh, I’ll wear you down.” Geralt was deeply afraid that this was correct. “Gods, I should probably eat. What time is it? It’s not Thursday, is it? Is it Tuesday? Oh, I wonder if Posada’s is doing their wings night tonight. You’ve had them, right?” Geralt stared back blankly. “Geralt. Ohhhhh, Geralt, you cannot tell me you haven’t had Posada’s wings yet.” Geralt raised a single eyebrow.

“I’ve been here four days.”

“And what have you eaten!”

“…Food?” The real answer was anything that took less than 15 minutes to prepare, cook, and eat, but he wasn’t about to say that, was he? That’s not a thing you say to people.

“Ohhh, no, Geralt. No no no.” Jaskier shrugged off his Guitar case and whipped out his phone. “No, this is my treat. Oh fuck, it’s Thurs—no, nope, sorry, saw the T and got worried. It is in fact Tuesday, and it’s 7pm so we’re in the clear; we are in fact doing Posada’s wings deal. This is half the reason rent on this place is worth it— not that you have to worry about that. I mean, neither do I but, whatever. Sit down, I’ll order now. Wait, no, you get the plates, I’ll order, okay.”

Geralt stared blankly at Jaskier as he bustled through the apartment, around the unopened boxes and suitcases, the few pieces of furniture, all while on his phone, ordering takeout for the both of them. He seemed to be a natural at almost everything— except talking, somehow, which didn’t give Geralt much hope for his lyricism. But he flowed through the apartment like water, the lilt of his voice carried through the air like honeysuckle on a breeze.

(If you asked Geralt how Jaskier had managed to stay at his apartment from 1 in the afternoon until 10:30 in the evening, Geralt wouldn’t be able to tell you. It involved some toys for Roach, some terrible storytelling, and a wing deal that seemed like it should be financially devastating for Posada’s. And if you asked him at what point Jaskier had started feeling like, well, maybe one of the better things in his life, he would deny it was so early as a mere few days after they met.

He’d be lying, but he likely wouldn’t quite realize that.)

——

Contracts weren’t especially plentiful in the early spring like they had been in years past, but the ones that did crop up were often fairly big. Such was the one Geralt happened to find on a walk with Roach, a week later on a billboard outside the largest park in the city.

A Griffin’s nest. He could probably relocate them, if he had help. He didn’t like killing monsters when he could avoid it— and griffins weren’t horribly dangerous when left well enough alone. It wasn’t their fault society had branched outwards, into their natural habitats. They shouldn’t have to pay for the mistakes of humans.

Besides, he understood monsters more than people, half the time.

So, he reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, snapped a picture of the flyer. The chat was used so infrequently that he didn’t even bother to scroll for it, he just typed in the names with one hand, the other busy wrapped Roach’s leash. Slowly, the names appeared. ESKEL, LAMBERT, COËN.

He sends the picture with a short message; ‘Anyone in, or am I doing this myself’ before tucking the phone back in his pocket. Geralt had learned years ago to keep his phone on Do Not Disturb when on walks with Roach; it was his quiet time. If he didn’t have his walks with Roach, he would lose his mind. When he arrived back at the building, he checked the phone in the elevator.

24 Messages from GETTING LIT WITH CITY WITCHERS

Coën – Just now

I don’t think that’s how flamethrowers work??

And before he could even open up the messages, another notification popped up as he stepped out of the elevator;

25 Messages from GETTING LIT WITH CITY WITCHERS

Lambert – Just now

Fine ruin my dreams fuck

He smirked and put it away to let himself and Roach into the apartment. A turn of the key and he let go of the leash, Roach pushing the door open and bolting for the couch, rolling all over the orange cushions. Before Geralt stepped in, he heard the sound of music fluttering up from the second floor; this time, Jaskier was writing a new song, getting stuck on different chords and changing his idea on the words every few seconds. The stop and go nature of it should have bothered him, having to hear someone all the way from the second floor should bother him (why did Jaskier insist on having the windows constantly opened??) but instead, he found it… pleasant.

That could not possibly be good.

——

When the four returned back from the contract, they were bruised, had splinters in truly unspeakable places, and were covered in grime. But, four griffin eggs successfully relocated, a mother griffin tolerant of her new home, and a decent paycheck to split amongst the four of them. Roach, dirtiest of all of them, ran into the apartment first and rolled around on the cool tile of the kitchen. At least it wasn’t on the couch, Geralt supposed, as he led in his fellow witchers. His apartment had been the closest when they’d returned to the city, and he’d agreed to let them all crash.

“Geralt holy fuck,” Lambert said, sounding incredulous as he began to shed his armor. “This is ridiculous! I know you saved the landlord, but shirts, did you show him a good time too?! This is unbelievable.”

“Damn, Geralt. You did good,” Eskel agreed with a pat on his younger brother’s back.

“It’s really nice. You could use some… decoration, though,” Coën added. “Just, you know. Anything on the walls. Pictures, posters, something.”

“I just moved in. Do you guys want coffee?”

The three groaned, and Lambert flopped on the couch, sufficiently de-armored. “I want to sleep for a hundred years, Geralt. No I don’t want fucking coffee.”

“Suit yourself,” he said, and put up a pot.

“It’s 11pm,” Coën said blankly. “Do Wolves not sleep? Is this a thing? I thought it was only Cats who didn’t sleep.”

Lambert shifted carefully onto his side. His next words were said almost in rote, as though he’d heard someone else say them a thousand times before. “Cats sleep pretty soundly, they just don’t do it at night. They have better things to do."

Coën shrugged and headed for the bathroom, but Eskel and Geralt sent each other a look. Eskel’s eyes squinted a bit, and they slowly turned to look at Lambert, motionless on the couch. There was a long moment of silence, as they just stared at the youngest wolf.

“Where’d you learn that one, lil Lamb?” Eskel asked carefully. Geralt caught a whiff of anxiety emanating off his younger brother for a moment.

“What? Oh. Uh, yeah, I met a Cat. So what?” He turned to look at his brothers, and he frowned. “Hey! So what?! You have something to say?! I can make friends!”

“You get this defensive about all your friends?”

“Geralt I will throw your couch out the fucking window, I swear to God.”

“What’s your new pal’s name?” Eskel asked. “This buddy of yours. Your chum.”

“I fucking hate you both!” Lambert shouted, and buried his face in a pillow.

With the coffee done, Geralt poured himself a mug and sat down at the kitchen bar, watching Lambert toss around on the couch. Eskel settled into one of Geralt’s only other chairs, and sat back.

“Are you gonna tell us about him?”

“…I need to be fucked up for that,” Lambert muttered. Geralt gave a gesture with his head to Eskel, who rose and opened a cabinet in the closet to reveal two bottles of White Gull. Eskel barked a laugh.

Lambert groaned and let his head fall back against the cushion once more. “Fucking hate you guys. Give me one of those.”

x

This was not the first time the halls were muddy.

Over the past two and a half weeks, the floor of the lobby had often been tracked with mud. She had tried to ignore this. The annoying musician, (her mortal enemy on the second floor), had been particularly stuck on some new song that was both uninspired and going nowhere. She had tried to ignore this, as well. She’d ignored Jane on the fourth floor’s delivery fiasco, and the fact that Eiman from floor 6’s fire alarm had gone off in the middle of some careful brewing she’d been doing. She had even tried to ignore the barks of a large dog from the new tenant in what was supposed to be a strictly no-dog apartment building.

(It wasn’t that she cared about the rules, she couldn’t give a shit about rules. She just hated them being broken when it inconvenienced her.)

What she could not ignore, however, what had pushed her decidedly past her breaking point, was what sounded like a heard of grown men who had trampled through the lobby, made their way up the stairs, undoubtedly coating it with mud, and were now somewhere several floors below her, all the windows thrown open, one of them lamenting about some man who he was infatuated with.

It wasn’t even good gossip. It had stopped being good gossip an hour ago, when he’d become so drunk he’d just started repeating the same things about this man— Adam, or Adrien, or Aiden, or something like that— over and over and over again.

And they were doing all of this past quiet hours. Did she have insulated, noise cancelling windows, yes. Did she herself enjoy a good night in with friends, or even a party, sometimes past quiet hours? Of course. Had she occasionally made a mess in the lobby? Possibly.

But she’d cleaned up, taken responsibility, and not made it everyone else’s problem at 2am on a Wednesday night when she’d very much like to have the windows open for a fucking breeze.

This, Yennefer thought, was not what she paid rent on a Penthouse for.

She groaned, checked her phone, and turned her bedside light on with a wave of her hand. Hadn’t anyone told these poor bastards about the witch who lived in the Penthouse? She stared at the hour again; it was 2:06am. Did she want to deal with this now? Or did she want to save raining down unholy terror for a reasonable hour, and instead capitalize on time differences.

It wasn’t a difficult decision. She pressed a few buttons, and her video chat call began to ring. A few moments later, a smiling but confused looking Anica lit up her phone, adjusting her tortoiseshell glasses.

“Yennefer! It’s lovely to hear from you but… what time is it there?”

She groaned. “2am. Don’t remind me. New neighbors suck. Tell me something fun you’re working on.”

Anica smiled. “Oh, if you want something fun, you’ve come at exactly the right moment. This week Sabrina’s here, and we’re working on a warding charm against fungi in gardens— I figure we could likely scale it up to fields, but I want to have things worked out just right before we move on….”

Yennefer smiled as her friend went on, and tried not to wince every time she heard a faint wail come from several floors beneath her.

x

“And— he sucks. Like, he’s fucking. Sly, and cocky and shit. Where does he get off being all—” 3 hours after he had begun, the deeply drunken Lambert was still talking, gesturing wildly in front of them. “—You know?! It’s no v’y thoughtful.” He drifted into silence once more, while Coën, Eskel, and Geralt just nodded. Most of what that had gathered was that Lambert’s overwhelming crush on this mysterious Cat Witcher, Aiden, had hit him like a truck a year or so back and he still hadn’t made a move. Which meant he was serious about this one.

Coën opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again. There wasn’t much to say— Lambert was a goner. He hadn’t quite fallen asleep yet, so far as Geralt could tell from the rise and fall of his chest, but he was getting there. Eskel slowly began to stand up and collect the empty bottle of White Gull they’d finished. Suddenly, Lambert’s eyes flew open, and he careened forward, arms waving wildly. “AND HIS HAIR?! I fucking hate him! He’s awful. He’s so fucking hot and I hate everything. He sucks. How do I get him to sleep with me?!”

Eskel sat down again with a sigh.

x

“Wait. Geralt, you went on a contract without me?! After I specifically asked to go?! Geralt!” Jaskier huffed, his tub of sesame chicken nearly spilling. The nature documentary in front of them hummed along, though neither payed it much mind. They never did, really.

“Griffin nests are too dangerous,” Geralt said around a bite of noodles. Jaskier’s presence in his life could be described with many negative adjectives, but he had to admit, he was better fed when the musician was around. “Besides, that was two weeks ago now. You’re behind.”

“All the more offensive that I’m just hearing about it now!”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “You going to come watch me deal with these Wyverns, or not?” He might as well just let Jaskier tag along for something small. Maybe he wouldn’t be a disaster, and then he’d stop pestering Geralt for stories he didn’t want to tell, much less be broadcast to the entire world. Unfortunately, he was beginning to admit to himself that he rather enjoyed Jaskier’s company, but that was all the more reason to cut him out of his life, wasn’t it? He was too big of a liability.

Jaskier had started helping to brighten up Geralt’s apartment, both figuratively and literally. There were now some framed pictures on the wall, as well bright takeout menus (“At least it’s something, Geralt, you need color in your life!”) and even a plant hanging by the window, which was thankfully fake. When Jaskier was around, everything seemed to fit well enough.

When he wasn’t though, the living room was discordant, this wall decor was now big and bold in places and nothing matched, and very few things were things he’d pick out himself. When he saw it in the mornings, he often sighed and shook his head, and tried not to think about it too much, or who had put it there.

He tried really quite hard not to think about Jaskier very much at all, but he was over nearly every day now. It was hard not to.

If Geralt had also finally bought himself a sturdy bedframe, bedside tables, and good sheets for himself, well, that had nothing to do with Jaskier at all. It’s not like Jaskier would ever see it, after all.

“Fine,” Jaskier replied after some internal debate, “But I want to see griffins, someday.”

“Mmm. Look them up, if you’re so keen on seeing one.”

“It’s not the same! Do you think it’s the same?! Ugh.”

“So, you’re coming?”

“Of course I’m coming! What sort of question is that? When do we leave? What should I bring? Ooo, what do I wear?!”

Geralt sighed deeply. “Don’t wear anything baggy, or bright, or anything that will make much sound. Don’t bring anything. Your phone, but only for if you get lost. Do NOT get lost. We leave here tomorrow at 5am.”

Jaskier choked on a piece of chicken. “Five a— Geralt, we cannot possibly leave here at 5am. Why! God, the things I do for music. How non-vibrant do my clothes have to be? Does a sort of forest-y green work? Do I have to wear camouflage? Please say no. You’re already severely limiting my wardrobe options, please don’t also make me commit fashion crimes.”

“Jaskier, you’re not going anywhere where you have to… impress people. You’re watching me catch, tag, and release a wyvern outside the city. That’s it.”

“I think the Wyverns deserve a good outfit! Besides, this is my first hunt! Our first big outing! I want to mark the occasion, but you and your rules prevent me. Frankly, I’m hurt.”

“Would you rather get eaten?”

“At least I’d leave a handsome corpse!” Geralt chuckled, and took a swig of beer as Jaskier swallowed thickly and continued. “But, ah, no, I’d really prefer to avoid death and injury as much as possible. Really. Truly. Not a masochist. Which surprises some people, weirdly. Do I give off a vibe? Geralt, do I give off vibes? I don’t give off any vibes, right?”

The biggest benefit of having Jaskier around, Geralt found, was that he could tease to his heart’s content, and Jaskier wouldn’t realize until Geralt had gotten a good laugh out of it.

Geralt nodded. “I can see that. There are definitely vibes.”

Jaskier gaped, and then stuttered in response. “I—you—no! That’s—there is no way—how—and what do—what’s—abs—there—I—you—that is not—!”

If Geralt could fight off his smirk a little longer, he’d get to watch Jaskier fumble for at least another minute… and it would take his mind off of trying not to picture Jaskier on his bed, pale skin and dark chest hair fully revealed, arching his back while Geralt indulged him in some fictional, masochistic tendencies. No, couldn’t think about that. Not realistic, anyway.

And then the image flipped, now with Jaskier above him, gazing down lovingly, raking his nails against Geralt’s exposed chest…

“I—the—Geralt! I thought we were friends!!”

Geralt shook it off. Not realistic.

——

The contract was supposed to be for the removal of a particularly pesky wyvern, who’d made a habit of sleeping on the top of a high rise on the other side of town, occasionally swooping down on unsuspecting residents on their balconies. Recently, it’d nabbed a little girl’s doll, which shouldn’t have tugged on his heartstrings, but after Ciri had come into his life, all bets were off. So, a nasty wyvern, somewhere it shouldn’t, who needed to be returned to a suitable habitat and tagged for tracking purposes. It had happened before, there was nothing suspicious about the contract.

Unfortunately, things were rarely so cut and dry in Geralt’s world.

It was 7 o’clock before Geralt and Jaskier finally dragged themselves back to their building; muddy, grimy and tracking it all through the lobby. Geralt’s chest was somehow still sore from being thwacked by a steel baseball bat. The contract had been a sham, and he and Jaskier had been… detained, Geralt would say, kidnapped being too strong a word, by some idiots who wanted to prove they could best a witcher. He’d hoped they’d mostly left violent displays of superiority back a few decades ago, but humans never failed to live up to the worst of themselves, he thought bitterly.

If they woke up from their concussions, hanging upside down from some pipes in the basement they’d chosen for their assault, Geralt was fairly sure they wouldn’t bother with witchers again.

“So, this was a less dangerous one, mm?” Jaskier asked groggily as they piled into the elevator. “Wanna come to mine? I feel like I’m five minutes from sleep.”

Geralt shrugged. He hadn’t actually seen Jaskier’s apartment. Not that he wanted to, of course. Jaskier mashed his finger into the button for the second floor, swaying on his feet. He slumped against one of the walls and let his eyes fall closed, and Geralt found it hard not to stare. His dark green shirt was ripped, exposing some pale skin and shallow cuts and bruises he’d received. His pants were filthy, and his face was still covered in grime, while bits of his hair stuck out at odd angles. Small prices to pay for making it out alive.

In fact, Jaskier had put up much more of a fight than he’d been expecting. He wasn’t a trained fighter by any means but he’d made himself more than useful. Geralt might not have made it out without his quick thinking—a phone flashlight to the eyes of their assailants, a kick to the back of the knee of another, biting the wrist of a third when it shot past his face, as he had lunged for Geralt. Jaskier had been damn near feral. Adrenaline, Geralt supposed. Hell of a drug.

Witchers felt adrenaline too, though it was different. Similar enough, though, that he was sure his overwhelming fear of seeing Jaskier hurt, how he’d screamed at their captors to let Jaskier go, how he’d been a second away from ending them in retaliation before he’d realized how far he’d gone, yes, he was sure that all of that was nothing more than adrenaline. Even if it had only kicked in when he realized Jaskier was in danger, rather than just himself, rather than when they’d spat obscenities at him. It had been when Jaskier had spat at them, called them bastards, and earned a kick in the stomach for it.

The elevator was silent as the doors slid shut.

“Do people always look at you like that?”

“You mean with a dagger in their hands?”

Jaskier frowned, chin still tipped toward the sky, arms folded close to his chest, eye lazily shut.

“No. I figure you wouldn’t have brought me, if that happened very often. But they were so…” he shook his head. “They were fucking hateful. They were monsters.”

Geralt huffed a laugh. “Monsters chasing a monster.”

“No, you’re not. Hey. Geralt. No, you’re not.” Jaskier had opened his eyes and waited Geralt to meet them. The witcher looked away as the doors slid open. “You’re not a fucking monster, I don’t care what they say. I know you by now.”

“Just open the door.”

Jaskier sighed and shuffled over to his door, opening it after a bit of a fumble with the keys.

The layout of his apartment was different, Geralt noticed—the front door let out into the living room, not the kitchen, and his bathroom was on the left, not the right. It seemed like there was only one bedroom, and his main window looked out over the cityscape. But it was, predictably, the décor that stood out the most.

Jaskier had lined his ceiling molding with little lights, and as they entered, they flicked on, drifting smoothly between all colors of the rainbow. The place itself was messy, notebooks strewn about everywhere, cords coming out of various outlets without rhyme or reason, cups and plates scattered about. Geralt spotted what he thought might have been pants in one corner, but he chose not to look so hard. Jaskier flicked on the light switch, and Geralt could see how bright and colorful Jaskier had made his home—it worked somehow, though it seemed as though if a single piece were removed it would look wrong, somehow.

His instruments all looked remarkably well-kept, though. They hung on the wall in specialized mounts; two guitars, a violin, some other string instruments Geralt didn’t recognize. There was a small black case maybe holding a wind instrument sitting next to a rather impressive-looking keyboard, and the table where they sat was the only tidy area in the apartment, so far as he could see. Of course, he hadn’t seen Jaskier’s bedroom. Yet. Not that he would want to, of course. Or ever have cause to.

Jaskier plopped down on a vibrant green velvet chair and waved one hand at the room, the other covering his eyes. “Sorry for the mess. You can sit anywhere. Oh, wait, there’s cider in the fridge, would you mind? Second shelf. And don’t laugh at me for drinking cider.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I know it’s too sweet. I get it. But if you drink beer or wine every night it gets boring. And if I ever grew bored of alcohol, I’d be devastated.”

“Won’t disagree with you,” Geralt muttered as he returned to the living room with a 6-pack. He sat down on the couch and opened the bottles, handing one to Jaskier. They drank in silence, and Geralt tried to get comfortable on the overly plush blue couch.

“Sorry you got dragged in—”

“No, no, stop that. I asked to come. Specifically. You had no way of knowing. Besides, I’d rather be with you to deal with that, instead of you… oh, disappearing to your apartment for days and not answering me.”

Mm. He’d done that, once or twice. Maybe three times. “Sorry.”

“Geralt. It’s fine. It’s their fault. You did nothing wrong, you were just trying to help.”

“Mm.”

They drank in silence for a bit. The cider was, in fact, too sweet, but it suited Jaskier. Geralt find he didn’t mind it much as he should have. He tried not to think of kissing it off his lips.

Jaskier gave a snort in the silence. Geralt looked over and raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry, it’s just—got any other enemies I should know about?”

Geralt smiled and leaned back. “Mm. A few. Lot of humans.”

“Right, just, in general. Alright, so just ‘most humans’, got it. Next?”

“Monsters. Don’t know why, they just don’t like me.”

Jaskier laughed. “How unfair of them! They ought to give you a chance. Anyone else?”

“Mmm… some other witchers. None from my school, though. Definitely some mages.”

“Oh, fuck mages,” Jaskier said.

“Don’t fuck mages,” Geralt teased, “It won’t end well.”

“Ugh. Trust me, I know.”

Geralt raised his eyebrows until Jaskier looked at him and groaned. “Don’t look at me like that. I’ve only done it a few times, and I’ve sworn off them.” He finished his cider and reached for another.

“Do you have any enemies I should know about, Jaskier?”

“Valdo fucking Marx,” Jaskier spat immediately, kicking his legs up on the table. “Garbage. Absolute garbage. Stole my work at Oxenfurt. Deeply fucked up man. I want him dead. Not in a, ‘I’d hire someone to kill him’ way, but in a, ‘if he died in an untimely and horrific way tomorrow, I would spend the weekend celebrating’ way. Shouldn’t say untimely. His death will absolutely timely, whenever it comes. Really, maybe untimely because it’ll be late. Hmph.”

Geralt nodded, kicking his feet up as well. “Anyone else?”

“Mmm, no. Oh! Well, Penthouse Lady, or as I like to call her, The Bitch of the 13th Floor. She’s a mage, you know.”

Geralt stared at Jaskier. “Oh, no, no, don’t think like that. That is decidedly not one of the mages I was speaking about. No, Penthouse Lady is just… I mean, gorgeous, but evil. Extremely, wickedly beautiful, which should be a crime. She will take your clothes out of the washing machine, wet, just because you’ve left them there a bit too long. A minute. 35 seconds, minutes, whatever, really. And if you break one of the building rules and catch her in a bad mood, she will eviscerate you. She’s made people move out before, out of pure terror.”

“But not you?”

“No! No, I’m not leaving. She’s can’t make me. We’ve been mortal enemies for years now, that’s a commitment.”

Geralt laughed. “How do you afford to live here, anyway? You haven’t got a job.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier said, lowering his cider with a smile, “How dare you. You have no idea. I could be employed. I could have several jobs, you don’t know.”

“Jaskier, I met you at 3pm on a Monday. You come over at all hours of the day. You are rarely doing anything one could describe as ‘work’.”

“Alright, alright, I get it. It’s a… parents thing. And grandparents. Whole family, really. Ever been to Lettenhove?” Geralt thought a bit, and then nodded—it had been awhile. “Yep. That’s us. Earls and whatnot. Technically, I’m a viscount, but I prefer the title ‘Family Disappointment’. More accurate.”

Geralt pushed Jaskier’s foot with his own. “Stop that.”

“No, it’s not—it’s not a bad thing, to disappoint those people. You know? If I’m disappointing them, I’m doing something right. Besides, they keep throwing money at me in hopes that it’ll change something. Which, you know. I’ll take it.” They sat quietly for a moment. “I have been published, to be fair. And I do go out to sing at bars on Thursdays and Saturdays. I have some followers on Spotify, TikTok and what have you. I’m not nothing. It’s just not up to their standards. ‘S why I have a pen name in the first place.”

“Jaskier?” Geralt asked, and his friend nodded. “It’s a good name.”

“Why thank you.” There was quiet for a moment. “You know what they named me? Julian Alfred Pankratz. What a name. That’s the thing, with them, and their traditions—I’ve got two other people’s names, and none of my own. ‘S why I picked one for myself.”

“Mm,” Geralt said softly. Jaskier hadn’t ever said much about himself, now that he thought of it. Might as well take the plunge. “Don’t know what my surname was. Just have Geralt. Witchers are left to their schools and made to pick their own names. Picked Rivia out of a hat, essentially.”

Jaskier looked at him oddly, before raising his bottle. “To families that don’t know what they’re missing,” he said softly, and Geralt clinked their bottles together, the sound short and sweet.

——

A few hours and ciders later, Jaskier had slipped asleep, chest rising and falling gently. It hadn’t been a hard call for Geralt to make; he’d slipped Jaskier’s shoes off and carried him to his bedroom, laying him down on the bed, maneuvering him under the sheets. The bedroom was subtler than his living room—a cream color, beautiful loose paintings and sketches on the walls of flowers, hung up with tape, and dozens of pictures; some framed, some loose polaroids hanging on strings, all of friends and places he must have travelled. His oval mirror had sticky notes around the edges—what looked like scraps of songs, chord progressions, passwords, dates to remember, and a small note of encouragement to himself— ‘Keep Going!!’

Geralt smiled, found an unused sticky note, and grabbed a pen. When he was done, he smiled to himself, and put it just below the ‘Keep Going’ note.

After leaving a glass of water on his bedside table, Geralt slipped out of Jaskier’s apartment taking the elevator up. When the doors slid closed, he took out his phone.

4 Messages from CITY WITCHERS GETTING LAMBERT A DATE (ES….)

Lambert – 48 minutes ago

God, this shit should NOT be so hard.

To: CITY WITCHERS GETTING LAMBERT A DATE (ESKEL, LAMBERT, COËN)

Message: yeah, I feel you

He slipped it away, and hoped nobody would question it in the morning.

x

Yennefer stretched, sun hitting her eyes, and sucked in a lungful of the breeze coming through the window. It was… nice. Pleasant.

Boring.

She took out her phone.

To: Aretuza Takes Novigrad

Message: Who wants to go clubbing this weekend. I’m bored. Also Sabrina I know you’re 200 miles away w Anica don’t be snarky

She rose and began to stretch, sparing only a glance when her phone dinged.

Aretuza Takes Novigrad

Sabrina – Just Now

Sure count me in. I’d love that. Woohoo

She rolled her eyes and smiled, ignoring that her friend should absolutely still be asleep, given the time difference.

Aretuza Takes Novigrad

Coral Lytta– Just Now

I’m down for a barhop at least but only if we’re coordinating outfits I’m begging you I don’t want a repeat of last month!!

Yennefer finished her stretches and flicked her hand to start the coffee pot in the kitchen. She needed a change of pace. Things had gotten too predictable. Maybe she’d take someone home, that would be fun. She checked her phone again.

Aretuza Takes Novigrad

Fringilla – 7 minutes ago

Why is anyone awake??? Go back to sleep

To: Aretuza Takes Novigrad

Message: Frin it’s 7am. This is a normal hour.

Aretuza Takes Novigrad

Fringilla – Just Now

Not on my day off it’s not

She sighed. Okay, maybe they wouldn’t end up clubbing, not given everyone’s moods this week. But at least she’d get out of the apartment, and maybe get someone else into bed.

x

9:37am

Thursday, March 12th

2 Messages from Jaskier

Just now

Oh, and the note, I’m just seeing this now. “Reminder: Don’t Fuck Mages.” Thanks, Geralt, what would I do without you? My witcher in… slightly muddy armor, last I checked. ;)

7 Messages from CITY WITCHERS GETTING LAMBERT A DATE

Eskel – 19 minutes ago

“YEAH I FEEL YOU??” GERALT????? (sent with Echo)

NEWS

New Novigrad Times – 2 hours ago

Three men suspected of breaking and entering, larceny, and assault found suspended upside-down in a residential downtown building. This story is will be updated as new information is revealed.

14 more notifications

x

The next afternoon, he heard it while on a walk with Roach, and tried to brush it off. A voice sounding suspiciously like Jaskier’s was emanating from some teenager’s cell phone. “Oh Valley of Plenty, Oh-” the voice sang, before he tuned it out. It was deeply unlikely it was Jaskier. Something in seeing him asleep a few nights before must have poisoned Geralt’s brain.

He heard snatches of it, though, everywhere he went.

Toss a—

They came after me , with masterful—

Brings you to mourn—

That’s my epic tale—

It drove him mad, but he shook it off every time. What was the likelihood of it being Jaskier, anyway?

It’s in the lobby, where he realized. The doorman, Sonny, was swiping through his phone as Geralt checked his mailbox. When he turned back around—

With Geralt of Rivia, along came this song…

Geralt grimaced. “Fuck.”

When he returned to his apartment, he found a sticky note waiting on the door for him.

If you track mud into this building one more

time, I will make you kneel and fix it yourself.

All the best, ~Penthouse.

x

Aretuza Takes Novigrad

Coral Lytta – 17 minutes ago

Yen! Isn’t this your ~enemy~??? That guy from the second floor who takes like 3 hours with laundry?? http://vm.tiktok…

——

Jaskier -- 15 minutes ago

So. I may have gone viral,

——

To: Aretuza Takes Novigrad

Message: How the hell does this have 700 thousand likes already? It was only posted today

——

Jaskier -- 5 minutes ago

This is a good thing though, right??? Is this the wrong time to invite you to see me perform tomorrow night

Ciri -- Just Now

Hey uh??? Dad??? I think someone wrote a song about you???

——

Anica -- Just Now

Yennefer, I am so so sorry, but I already have it stuck in my head. I’ve only watched it twice now I swear

——

8 Messages from CITY WITCHERS GETTING LAMBERT (AND GERALT) DATES

Lambert – 1 minute ago

Literally how the fuck does this happen to you

Jaskier -- Just Now

Hey that rhymed!!

x

Jaskier had told him not to stress about what to wear, that he could just ‘sit in the corner and brood’ and that ‘nobody would recognize him’, but nothing about this felt like a good idea to Geralt. Is this what having friends was? Going to places he didn’t want to be, at times he didn’t want to be there, just to make someone else happy? It was terrible, and frankly, he wanted a refund.

Geralt slipped into the bar a few hours before Jaskier was slated to go on—just to get a booth decently near the stage where nobody would bother him. He didn’t care about seeing Jaskier warm up. He was on stage, tuning his instrument that wasn’t quite a guitar—either a mandolin or a lute, Geralt thought. He was listening for something, adjusting things, getting a feel of the space. His brows were furrowed and he looked to be deep in thought. Not wanting to bother him, Geralt bought whatever was on tap (some earthy beer he would tolerate for the evening) and slipped into a booth near the stage, far enough out of the light so that he wouldn’t be noticed easily by people.

He sat, watching Jaskier, letting his eyes wander down his teal and red ensemble. The pants were a tight fit, but the shirt was airy, unbuttoned a bit more than might be decent, and Geralt found himself mentally unbuttoning more, and more, and more, until his eyes flashed up and made contact with Jaskier’s.

The musician lit up like the sun, a wide beaming smile, and he quickly hopped down from the stage. “Geralt! You made it! And early, too! Oh, I’m so glad. Okay, I’m 3rd up, so you will have to sit through some other people, but not too many. I’ll join you when I’m done! You’ll enjoy it. Well, I don’t think you’ll love it, but you’ll probably tolerate it for your dear dear friend, who is slowly but surely making you famous. Right? Okay!”

“You’ll be fine,” Geralt said. He knew Jaskier’s nervous energy speeches by now.

“What? Oh.” Some tension in Jaskier’s shoulders loosened. “Thank you. I just haven’t been on a stage since suddenly so many people know my face. I did post about this, but I don’t think very many people will come. Maybe I shouldn’t have? I dunno. Still navigating fame! Alright, I should get back. I’ll see you soon!”

x

“I’m making an executive decision,” Fringilla said, turning on her heel. They’d been walking for 45 minutes, trying to decide on a bar. “We’re going here. We are too damn old to be spending half the night walking around.”

“Fine,” Yennefer relented, taking Coral’s arm, “but if it sucks we’re going out again tomorrow and it’s my pick.”

The three entered the bar, a dimly lit place, mostly wooden and already fairly active with people bustling about, a stage in the back looking ready for a musician.

“Oh, I love live music, yes! You get us a table near the stage and I’ll get the drinks,” Coral said; “Dry Martini and a Whiskey Sour?”

“You know us so well,” Fringilla said, and she and Yennefer left to find a table. They ended up at a booth egregiously close to the stage, in Yennefer’s opinion. They got comfortable, settling in for the night, most likely. Until one of them found someone to go home with, at least.

When Yennefer looked up, it was to a tidal wave of people entering.

It wasn’t to say the place wasn’t busy before, but soon she could barely see the bar, as giddy looking patrons took up tables and booths, and eventually, just whatever standing room they could find. Coral managed to cut through the crowd, levitating the three drinks, looking frazzled. “When did all these people get here?!”

“No idea,” Fringilla said, reaching for her Whiskey Sour, “but I’m glad we’ll at least be able to see.”

“Mm,” Yennefer agreed, grabbing her Martini, raking her eyes over the crown. Options, she thought. It was always so good to have options.

“Any idea who’s performing tonight?” Coral asked. “I couldn’t find a poster or anything that said—probably someone good, for all these people to be here”

“No idea,” Yennefer replied absentmindedly. It’s not like it mattered. She couldn’t imagine herself giving much of a shit about who was on stage, anyway.

x

The first performer was fine. Geralt thought they were a little boring, but they weren’t who he was there to see, anyway. Yennefer couldn’t be bothered, staring instead at a handsome young woman in a low-cut satin dress. When she finally made eye contact, though, she gave a friendly, decidedly not flirtatious smile, and Yennefer moved on.

The second performer, a kind of musical comedian, was pretty good. She capitalized off of the energy in the room, which Geralt had to admit was palpable. As soon as people had flooded in, he’d made a point to look intimidating—much as it had prevented people from sitting at his booth, it hadn’t stopped them from buzzing around the bar, and he realized they must be there for Jaskier. It put a pit in his stomach, but also made something in his chest whizz around in joy. Ah, fuck.

And then, up was Jaskier. The announcer welcomed him on stage, and Jaskier bounced on, to the warmest welcome thus far.

“Gooooood evening everyone, lovely to see you all. And I do mean all. How many people are here? There are at least…” he counted for a moment. “At least 12. Possibly more.” He got a laugh, and winked at someone in the middle of the audience as he sat down on a stool in front of the mic.

“I cannot fucking believe this,” Yennefer groaned quietly. Fringilla patted her on the back. “There, there. Maybe he’ll be terrible.”

Jaskier hummed softly, warming up his voice. No, Yennefer though, he wouldn’t be terrible, because unfortunately, he was quite fucking good.

His first song was another one that had also blown up after his sudden viral-ness of the past week, an original he’d told Geralt he’d written in university, and never stopped being proud of. Geralt smiled into his second drink of the night, enjoying watching Jaskier get comfortable on the stage.

His second song finished to applause and cheers, and Jaskier got up to bow, pushing the stool far behind him with his foot. Yennefer put a fist in her hair. Unfortunately, her mortal enemy was fucking magnetic.

“Freak him out, like you said you do,” Coral whispered to her. Yennefer frowned, but nodded soon after. At least she could make this fun for herself.

Jaskier grabbed the mic and moved it off to the side of the stage, throwing some smiles to people who had their phone out, before stopping and speaking into it when the crowd had quieted a bit.

“Hey,” Jaskier said gently, his voice commanding the bar, as he looked out into the crowd. He found Geralt’s face, and beamed at him, before turning back to the sea of people. “Is uh… is anyone here on TikTok?” The crowd cheered and he launched into Toss a Coin, forgoing the stool entirely, choosing to dance around the stage.

To Geralt’s complete mortification, at the top of the first chorus Jaskier suddenly pointed to him. “Toss a coin to your witcher, Oh valley of plenty, oh!”

By the third chorus, Geralt had been sufficiently pummeled with coins, bills, and what looked like a gift card to a café, when Jaskier tipped back his head to the other side of the stage. Yennefer was sitting back, arms folded, a single eyebrow raised, flanked by Fringilla and Coral on either side, looking expectant of the musician, mimicking their friend’s pose. Yennefer thought she was fighting off her smirk, but it was hard to say. Her eyes met his, and for a brief, brief moment his smile faltered, before he let out a cackle, continuing to play. The audience ate out of his hand, and he seemed to grow more and more at ease, preening at the attention.

“It was worth a shot,” Fringilla said with a huff of laughter and a shake of her head, returning to her glass. “He’s really got something, hate to admit.”

When the song finished, he took a deep bow to riotous applause and caught a coin someone threw to him, tucking it in his pocket.

Behind him, a witcher and a mage made eye contact for the first time; gold met violet, and the air between them seemed to electrify.

“I think we’re on our own for tonight, Coral,” Fringilla said with eyebrows raised, watching her friend stare across the room, and Coral giggled in response. Yennefer made a point to use a fraction of her chaos to stir her martini from afar, so this man knew what he might be getting into.

“Thank you, thank you all. I think we have time for one more quick song. And I do hope you’ll give our next artist after the break the same amount of attention, as a personal favor to me,” Jaskier said, getting some laughs, and tuned his instrument for a moment before speaking again. “You’ve been a dream. Really, truly, thank you. I fully expect this kind of turn out every week, though, so cancel all your other Saturday night plans for the next, oh, 7 to 8 years.”

A smattering of laughter again from the audience, and then Jaskier was starting Fishmonger's Daughter, a song Geralt had deemed dirty enough to ignore the lyrics of. He looked away from the woman, clearly a mage, across the stage from him—she was gorgeous, long black hair and bright violet eyes. She was flanked by two other women in similar deep velvet dresses—the first a rosy pink, the third a midnight blue, while the woman’s he’d locked eyes with was pitch black, matching a choker around her neck. She tilted her head to expose more soft tan skin, examining him from afar as she stirred her drink with magic, graceful and languid.

Do not fuck mages. Do not fuck mages. Do not fuck mages.

He sat back in his chair, and suddenly realized that Jaskier’s set had ended; his friend was bowing, and then disappeared off the stage in favor of the announcer. The bar was buzzing, people milling around, and then Jaskier, blue eyes gleaming, cheeks flushed, smile stretched from ear to ear, was sitting in front of him.

“Geralt! Was it good? Give me your thoughts.”

“Not bad,” Geralt said with a smile, and a pat on his friend’s shoulder. Was it too much? He gave it a small squeeze, and something small in Jaskier’s face changed. He looked up and down Geralt’s face, and suddenly the witcher realized how close they were, that Jaskier was licking his lips, that he hadn’t taken his hand off his shoulder, that the world had disappeared around them. His gaze dropped for a moment to Jaskier’s lips. He could smell arousal, and excitement, and happiness, but he was in a bar, there was too much to take in, no way to know for sure it was coming from Jaskier. He held his breath, and met Jaskier’s eyes again.

His phone rang.

They kept staring.

Another ring, and someone tapped on Jaskier’s shoulder.

“I should—you get that, Geralt, I’ll be a moment, just ah, have to say hello to the adoring public, I’ll be back!”

Geralt let his witcher-slow heartbeat a few more times, dazed, before looking down at his phone to see Lambert was calling. He answered, putting a finger in his other ear.

“Geralt!” Lambert hissed. Geralt could barely hear him over the noise of the bar. “Geralt! Have you seen the group chat?!”

“No. Speak louder, I can barely hear you.”

“I can’t! He’s in my apartment, Geralt! What the fuck do I do! He brought booze! He looks fucking fancy!”

Geralt frowned. “Are you on a date?”

“Not that I’m fucking aware of!”

Geralt frowned deeper. “It sounds like you’re on a date.”

“We can’t be on a date! He just asked if I wanted to do dinner! That’s not a date!”

“It can be. Clearly is. Just—take him out somewhere.”

“Fucking WHERE, Geralt!”

“Don’t you have a sushi place around the corner? Do that. Or somewhere else. Doesn’t matter, just wear something decent and go.”

“How the fuck—” Lambert was asking when Geralt hung up. He looked at his phone screen—98 unread messages from the clowns. He shook his head and looked up—Jaskier was peacocking around the bar, flirting with everyone who seemed receptive. He was a natural, winding his way through the crowd, making them all feel special. Someone was buying him a drink, and it looked like he was already part of the way through another. He delighted over everyone, taking selfies, accepting compliments, giving them in return to appreciative and giddy smiles.

That was how Jaskier was, Geralt thought. With everyone. Little moments didn’t necessarily mean anything.

He turned back to look at the sorceress across from him. Her companions had left her, disappearing into the crowd for more drinks, perhaps. She was playing with something on her table, and glanced up to see him staring. She smirked, picked up the small object, and began to levitate it over to him.

Geralt watched as through the crowd, over the stage, the object floated over to him.

When it finally arrived at his table, Geralt watched as a small coin was dropped neatly in front of him, giving a small clink.

He smirked. It was a parlor trick, and barely that, for a mage. But it was intriguing. She was intriguing. And Jaskier was busy being fawned over by fans, so it’s not as though Geralt would be missed. He stood and waded his way through the masses, towering over many of the other patrons, before finally making it to his destination. He held up the coin.

The woman smiled up at him, sly, and spoke before he did. “No need to thank me, just doing as the song requested. Are you so often followed around by… loyal bards?”

He laughed. He hadn’t heard someone use ‘bard’ in decades. “Not until recently. To who do I owe the pleasure?”

“Whom, I think,” she quipped, and offered her hand. “Yennefer.”

“Geralt,” he said, and she laughed as he sat down across from her.

“Yes, I’ve heard as much. The White Wolf. Quite the title.”

“I didn’t pick it myself, I assure you.”

“You don’t seem to mind it all that much.”

“… I suppose not. Better than some of the other titles I haven’t picked.”

“Do you have many of those?”

“Plenty. Couldn’t tell you what most of them were, though. Hard to hear when you’re dodging enemies.”

She titled her head slightly and sat back to let her gaze drag over him. “So, none from lovers, then?”

He smiled again. “Cheeky.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Take it however you’d like.”

“You’re not much for flattering yourself, are you, Geralt.”

“That’s what I’ve got my bard for.”

She laughed, a light thing that he knew would be echoing around his chest for days. She leaned back in, looking around conspiratorially. He leaned in a touch as well, their faces only inches from each other now. “Tell me, Geralt. Are you as noble and chivalrous as that song made you out to be?”

“It flatters me. But I do my best for… those in need.”

“And if I were in need, you would do something for me?”

“I might be able to do that.”

“Well then.” She leaned in to whisper in his ear. “I would be entirely grateful, Geralt… if you get me some apple juice.” He leaned back in confusion, while she pressed the coin he still held further into his hand. “This should cover it.”

When he leaned away, she wore an unmistakably coquettish smile, biting back a laugh. He smiled despite himself, brows furrowed as he looked down at the coin, and back at her, before letting out a small laugh himself.

“Alright. One apple juice, fair mage. I will do my best.”

“Take care on your dangerous voyage!” She called after him, as he slipped into the crowd. She whipped out her phone; the break would be lasting another 15 or so minutes, just enough to play a game on her phone. Whether or not Geralt made it back to his table in time for the next set was none of her concern. Besides, he’d somehow befriended her most recent mortal enemy, so anything that happened tonight would have to be a one-time thing. If anything happened, of course, but Yennefer was not in the habit of letting a good time pass her by.

Things were perfectly right in her world, as she waited for her phone to load, until suddenly someone dressed in frankly garish teal and red was standing before her. She didn’t look up from her phone.

“Ahem?”

She continued looking at her phone. The damn thing wouldn’t load.

“You know, it’s very rude to keep your most reviled enemy waiting.”

It still wouldn’t fucking load. She groaned and put it down. “What do you want, Jaskier?” Her neighbor, grinning widely and holding two glasses of punchy looking drinks, sat down across from her. “No one else hesitated to applaud my wonderful performance except… for you. Come on. You must have some review for me. Three words or less.”

She raised an eyebrow and looked at him for a moment. “I don’t buy it.”

He frowned. “No, that’s four. What don’t you buy?”

“The song. You expect me to believe you willingly put yourself within 10 miles of danger? You already complain that the second floor is too dangerous for you.”

“It is dangerous, and I sleep there, so it’s different. Really, it did happen, you could ask Geralt. Actually, gods, no, don’t ask Geralt. Don’t talk to him, actually. You’d hate each other, definitely, best stay away.”

“Oh dear. Someone’s already jealous.”

“I am not—!” he squeaked, before leaning in. “I am not jealous, I just don’t need you and your…” he waved a hand at her, “your face-ness scaring him off!”

“My face?”

“Yes! It’s full of… secrets. And… plots. Evil plots!”

“Right. Do you know what your face is full of?”

“Charm? Charisma? An air of mystery?”

She swiftly grabbed one of his drinks and splashed it in his face, while he gaped. She swiped a finger across his cheek and tasted it. “Mmm, no… something fruity. Strawberry?”

“Raspberry,” he corrected. His face dripped. “I had that coming, a bit.”

“Oh, absolutely.” She waved a hand, and the drink was gone—his face, shirt, the table all now dry. “Don’t take that as a kindness. I just don’t want to pay for your dry cleaning.”

“Of course,” he replied, touching his now dry face. “And I don’t want any more battles with you in the laundry genre, if I can help it.” Despite herself, she laughed.

“Ah, I see there is a brain behind those blue eyes after all.”

“You just like seeing me covered in liquid and at your mercy.”

“Maybe,” she admitted.

He sat back in the booth. “You know, if you weren’t utterly terrifying, I could write songs about you as well. I’m sure you’ve got stories. We could make some together.”

“I am the story.”

“See, that’s good! Have you considered abandoning magic and the position of ‘very sexy, very scary witch’, and instead working towards of ‘very sexy, very charming poet’? At least then we’d be competitors in the same field. Same playing ground! Same weapons, which is to say, absolutely no weapons.”

“Mm. And have you considered abandoning your current title of ‘unfortunately charming, unfortunately talented, deeply annoying musician’ and opting instead for ‘very quiet, mildly charming eye candy’? It would suit you more.”

“The day I stop talking is the day I run out of breath.”

“I look forward to it.”

“Dear Ms. Penthouse, I’m sure you’ll be the one to bring it about.”

“Wouldn’t you love to be so lucky. Besides, haven’t you got a wolf in shining armor to protect you?” Just then, a sound went over the loudspeakers. 5 minutes until the end of the break, then.

“Well, much as I’d love to continue this lovely and for me, a frankly sexually confusing chat, I must grab my drinks before our next musicians are on.”

“Take care, then. I’d hate to see you die without getting to be a part of it,” she said, giving him a pat on the arm, her hand lingering as he looked at her for a moment, licking his lips and then hurrying off.

It was only moments before Geralt returned.

“One apple juice,” he said, setting a tall glass in front of her with a straw. Yennefer smiled and pulled it closer to her, taking a sip. “Is it to your liking, fair mage?”

It was quite good, actually. “Acceptable. Thank you, dear witcher, for your services.”

“Any others you’d like to request of me?”

“Mmm… give me the evening to think of one.”

“I can’t promise I’ll be here forever.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m sure I’ll think of something. You just go… sit in the corner and brood.”

He laughed. “You’re not the first one to say that to me tonight.”

“Mm, so you’re completing quests for others? Should I be worried?” She snuck a glance toward the crowd, and Geralt followed her eyes to land on Jaskier, fliting between people, drinking something that this time looked icy and blue. “Just a friend, I hope?”

Geralt turned to look back at her. His face had too many things subtly happening for her to read it well, and after only a moment Fringilla and Coral had returned, beginning to slip into the booth.

“Will you be joining us?” Fringilla asked, but Geralt shook his head.

“I’ve been told to go brood,” he replied, and made his way back to his booth.

——

Geralt did, in his defense, make an attempt to listen to the other performers. Jaskier spent the evening continuing to flirt around the room, hands lingering on him, his own hands gently caressing shoulders and arms. Geralt could tell already he’d be going home alone that night. Well, not alone. Yennefer and he had been sharing glances as the night progressed, and he was fairly certain he knew where that was heading.

He just wouldn’t be going home with Jaskier, who would himself undoubtedly be going home with some fan or other patron. He had his pick of the room, for the most part. Which was good. Geralt knew he sought the praise, the fame. Besides, Jaskier and he had only planned to spend the late night catching up on their weekly nature documentary.

Another man paid for Jaskier’s next drink, a fizzy concoction, and Geralt felt himself give the tiniest hint of a growl.

Eventually, Yennefer’s companions slipped out, and he returned to her booth.

“Do you have a quest for me, then?”

“Mmm. How about, protect me here, until it’s time to leave, and then walk me back to my apartment?”

Geralt nodded. “That, I can do.”

The night pushed onward. After a few performers more, Geralt looked around in between sets and realized he’d lost track of Jaskier entirely. It would be unlike him to not give a heads-up before going home with somebody. Geralt frowned and checked his phone. A few dozen messages from Eskel and Coën, and; one missed call from Jaskier. Shit. He took a deep breath—he could smell his friend in the air, but not quite which direction it came from, not with so many people. Yennefer gave him a look.

“What’s wrong?”

“Missed a call. Hold on.” He pressed the redial and held it to his ear. It rang three times before it picked up. “Jaskier?”

“Mmm. Ger. Ger’lt. Do you wanna go home? With me.”

“You want me to take you home?” He shot an apologetic look at Yennefer.

“Come home with me.”

“Okay, Jaskier. Where are you?”

“Outside.”

“Alright. Be there soon.” Geralt hung up and began to slide out of the booth. “Sorry. He’s had a big night.”

“I could tag along,” Yennefer offered. “And then you’ll have doubly earned your rewards tonight.”

“I—sure, sure,” and they were off, navigating around the bar and out the door. “He doesn’t live that far away,” Geralt began to explain.

“Oh, I know.” Geralt shot her a questioning look as they exited the front door.

——

Jaskier was right there, leaning against the wall. His head ached—he’d had possibly more to drink in this night than he had for the past two weeks combined. It had all caught up with him, and he’d found himself outside, taking deep breaths of fresh air, clutching his lute bag to his chest.

He’d flirted around all night, but nothing, nobody had been worth his time. How was he supposed to focus on anyone when Geralt was right there? Not that he was interested, of course. But he’d come out, he’d come early, just to see Jaskier perform. Well, to be fair, his hit song, (he had one of those now!) was about Geralt, so that was probably why he came. But he wanted to pretend it was just for him. That Geralt had wanted to see Jaskier perform. He was miles out of Jaskier’s league, but oh, could he could absolutely dream some very, very sexy dreams.

And then his mortal enemy had been there, and wasn’t that a treat. She’d looked gorgeous. It was unfair. His building was full of beautiful people, all who only tolerated him, were abysmally out of his league, or would eat him for breakfast, if they had the chance. At least fighting with her gave him the excuse to look at her, talk to her. She’d splashed a drink in his face and he’d needed to slip away to the bathroom when they’d finished talking, just to calm himself down. That was unfair. Don’t fuck mages, he reminded himself. Not that she ever would. He’d had at least 6 more drinks after that, just to push the thought away.

He’d thought he’d been doing a bit better, the past few minutes. But clearly, he wasn’t, as he must have been hallucinating.

Before him stood Geralt (gorgeous, fascinating, generous, kind, warm-hearted Geralt), looking a bit dazed himself, as well as The Bitch of the 13th Floor (intriguing, deadly, witty, beautiful). So, his sexual fantasy that he had not until that moment realized existed.

“Oh dear. I’m worse than I thought.”

“Jaskier, what’s wrong?”

“Too much to drink. Now I’m hallucinating.”

Geralt frowned. “What do you see?”

Jaskier pointed to the woman in front of him and then shut his eyes tightly. “Unless… unless it’s a magic thing.”

“No—Jaskier, this is Yennefer. Yennefer, Jaskier.”

Jaskier’s eyes flew open. “You know this woman? Of course you know this woman. So you do have a name!”

“Of course I have a name.”

“I don’t know, maybe mages don’t all have names.”

“You two know each other?”

Jaskier smiled loosely. “That’s my mortal enemy.”

“This is not Valdo Marx.”

“No! Penthouse Lady. Second one.”

“Oh. The Bitch of the 13th Floor.”

“Glad to know I hold a reputation in your circles, Jaskier,” she said lightly. “Though I’m a touch offended I’m only number 2.”

He frowned, and reached out for her arm, and held it lightly, then did the same with Geralt.

“Oh fuck. You are both here.”

“Right. Let’s get you back home.” Carefully, Geralt lifted Jaskier’s arm over his shoulders, and the three began to walk, Yennefer on his other side. They went to walk before he stopped, pulling Jaskier’s arm off him, and bent down.

“What are you--?”

“Your shoe strap is undone,” Geralt explained, before flashing a grin up at her. “I suppose this isn’t what you meant when you told me to kneel.”

“As I recall, I haven’t asked you to do that yet. I was saving it for the bedroom.”

Geralt finished with her shoe and then rose up, and they began walking. “The sticky note. ‘I will make you kneel and fix it yourself’?”

“…You’re the new tenant?! You’re the muddy bastard?!”

“Wait, you two were going to have sex?!” Jaskier whined.

“Let’s not jump to any conclusions.”

“I thought it was ‘Don’t fuck mages’, not ‘Don’t fuck mages unless they’re really hot, then that’s the exception’!”

“I can’t believe this,” Yennefer said. Her world fell apart and clicked into place all at once as they crossed the street. “Oh my god.”

“Did you not know?”

“Of course I didn’t know! You didn’t say how you knew him!”

“Well, there it is,” Geralt sighed. “And Jaskier, don’t just to conclusions, I wouldn’t presume that of her. All I did was buy her apple juice.”

“Now what kind of metaphor is that!”

“The kind that isn’t a metaphor at all.”

“Jaskier, if you say a single word about my apple juice—”

“I’m not saying anything about apple juice! It’s a noble beverage! But your apple juice leads to some implications!”

“And what if it does!” “Well! Well!” Jaskier flustered. “Well! We were going to watch our nature documentary tonight!”

“No we weren’t,” Geralt grumbled.

Jaskier looked at him, hurt. “What?”

“We weren’t going to watch the documentary, Jaskier. You were going to find someone to go home with.”

“I did find someone to go home with!” He said, bumping his hip into Geralt.

“I don’t count,” Geralt muttered, as they finally made it into the building.

“Why don’t you count?”

“Because, Jaskier, you weren’t planning to sleep with me.”

“Says who!”

“Let’s just go to mine,” Yennefer said as they stepped in the elevator. “I don’t want to try and navigate his apartment in the dark. I’m sure it’s a wreck.”

“It’s fine, actually,” Jaskier muttered. “Geralt I know we wouldn’t have slept together, you have standards, but—”

“Well, more like because he was planning on sleeping with me, thank you very much.”

“Watch out, Lady of the Penthouse, or I’ll… write a song about you.”

“Who said I was planning or not planning on sleeping with anyone?”

“You did!”

“I haven’t said anything.”

“That’s the point!”

“So, you two… aren’t sleeping together?”

“What’s your point?!” Geralt demanded, oblivious to Yennefer’s question.

“Well, that’s how you know someone doesn’t want to sleep with you! One of the many ways. They don’t say they do! You’ve made it clear we’re just… you know. Pals.”

“I never said that!”

“That’s what I’m saying!”

“Jaskier, for once in your life, would you say something with some sense?!” “I said, ‘come home with me’! How much more clear do I have to be than ‘I’d rather spend the night with you’?! Actually, frankly, with both of you, this is nice. Loud, but nice. I can’t believe I’m saying this about my sworn nemesis.”

“Now, hold on—”

“Everybody shut up!” Yennefer said, loud enough that the boys shut their mouths. “No more speaking. We will be at my apartment soon. I will be going into my kitchen to get you,” she pointed at Jaskier, “something to ensure you don’t get sick all over the elevator.”

“I’m—I’m feeling a lot better, really,” he said. She made a shushing motion against his lips, and she could feel his hot breath, could sense his heartbeat race faster, watched his cheeks flush. Interesting.

“By the time I’m back, I want you two sorted.” The doors dinged, and they emerged on a landing in front of an intricate white door, which Yennefer opened with a wave of her hand. “I’ll be back in a moment. Just… let me know who Geralt will be kneeling for,” she said, and then walked into the kitchen, heels snapping against the tile.

She looked at her cabinets, opening one and retrieving the bottle she wanted. Well. They’d need more than a few seconds, surely. She placed it carefully on the counter and listened.

“I…” Geralt was saying. “Um.”

“I didn’t… Geralt. I’m sorry. I don’t want to… ruin things.”

“You’re not ruining anything.”

“You’ve hardly shown interest, I know you’re not…”

“I’m bad at these things. Talking. You know that.”

“Okay, then…” Jaskier trailed off, and took a big breath. “Then show me.”

“Show you?”

“What you mean. Or… what you don’t mean. I don’t know. But if there’s… Geralt, if there’s something, anything about me that you want, in that way, I am asking you to show me. It’s fine if not. But… I’m here, I want it, if you do. I mean, I want it either way, really. Have for a bit.”

“…You’re drunk.”

“I won’t be, once Yennefer gets that… thing. And it’ll be the same. I promise.

“I don’t want you regretting anything.”

“How could I regret you? Show me, Geralt. Please.”

“…Show you."

“Yes, yes, please, Geralt. Pl—”

And there was silence. Or, there was the sound of mouths sliding against each other, soft, deep moans reverberating in their chests. She let them have the moment, and then Jaskier gave a soft whine, and she smiled. That was her cue.

She clicked into the foyer, bottle held aloft.

“A gift,” she said, and the two staggered apart, “for my nemesis. Purely because his white wolf brought me apple juice, let it be known. And thank you for the show. Both at the bar and here.” Jaskier stepped toward her and took the bottle.

“I must warn you,” she said, “it tastes like goat piss.” Jaskier popped the cork, and chugged the bottle before making a face.

“How long does it take to— oh, fuck—”

“Pretty instantaneous,” Yennefer said as he grabbed her shoulder to support himself. Geralt came up behind him.

“The room stopped spinning. I didn’t even realize it was spinning,” he frowned. He shook his head for a moment, turned back to Geralt, and grabbed his neck, pulling them to meet in a firm kiss. “See? Meant it.”

“Maybe I need some of that too,” Geralt muttered. “Things are spinning.”

“As much as I enjoy playing cupid,” Yennefer said, taking back the bottle, “it seems as though I’ve been a bit removed from the equation, so you two had best be off, I suppose.”

“Someday, you’ll be won over by my charms,” Jaskier said with a kiss to her knuckles. “But if you two had… plans… I could always wait a night. Unless you’d like both of us in your bed,” he half-joked to her.

“I don’t know how this is happening to me,” Geralt muttered.

“Oh, be careful what you wish for, Jaskier,” she hummed, “you might just get it.”

“Does this mean I’ve won you over?”

“It means I don’t let a good night pass me by.”

“Oh, so you think I’ll be good, you admit that.”

“It means I’m open to you proving me wrong. But I saw you play. You can make good use of those hands. Geralt?”

Geralt was leaning against the wall, staring into the middle distance, looking lost. “I just. A lot has happened. I thought you hated each other?”

“I told you she was gorgeous, I don’t just say things.”

“You do very much just say things.”

“Well, then, someone’s going to have to shut me up.”

Yennefer tilted his head back to face her and pulled him down into a kiss—languid and slow, as one of his arms grabbed her waist and pulled her upwards and to him, just enough that she was standing on tip toe. She ran her hands up his chest, coming to rest around his neck, playing with his hair. He finally pulled away, just to kiss a line down one side of her jaw, sucking a small mark onto her neck.

She looked back at Geralt, still a bit dazed but with a fire behind his eyes. “Well,” she said, detaching herself from Jaskier. “Will you be joining?”

Rather than answer, Geralt took a few steps forward toward her. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her—gentle and almost pleading. They fit together so easily, he thought. He hadn’t ever fit with someone like he had with two people tonight. How had he earned this? How had he made it to this point in his life?

Jaskier was suddenly behind him, kissing his back, running one hand up his chest, the other against Yennefer’s hand, which had reached his shoulder. He couldn’t have all this, could he?

“You think so loudly, Geralt,” Yennefer teased him.

“It’s true,” Jaskier agreed. “Even I hear it, darling.”

“Okay. Then… take me somewhere I don’t have to think.”

Yennefer smiled, took his hand in hers, and Jaskier’s in her other. “I’m glad your place was the bedroom,” Jaskier whispered, “Because honestly, mine would probably be the zoo.”

Yennefer pinched his hand, “Ow! But am I wrong?! You don’t need your brain for the zoo!” and led them on.

x

8:24am

Sunday, April 3rd

16 Messages from Aretuza Takes Novigrad

Coral Lytta — 9 hours ago

okay, thanks for letting us know, yen!!! have fun!!

Fringilla – 9 hours ago

Wait, I’m sorry, were the two people you just went home with the witcher and the musician? The guy you hate?

Sabrina — 9 hours ago

What on earth is happening

Fringilla – 9 hours ago

She didn’t specify which two guys she went home with, but I’m pretty sure I just saw them all leave together.

Sabrina — 8 hours ago

I can’t believe drama is happening without me

Coral Lytta — 7 hours ago

its not drama drama is frin getting the number of someone with a green hair when she specifically said she’d sworn off of green hair for at least a year

Sabrina — 7 hours ago

omfg

Fringilla – 6 hours ago

Coral!! Where are you, I’m not letting you get away with this! They’re cute! You can’t shame me.

Coral Lytta — 5 hours ago

update everyone we got a car home and frin has been texting green hair (jesu) the whole way home if youre reading this its too late for me it was nice knowing u

Sabrina – 3 hours ago

Loving this. Just blew up half a field with Anica. She says hi

Sabrina – 2 hours ago

Hey yen I am seeing this mystery enemy of yours on tiktok people filmed his set

Sabrina – 2 hours ago

He’s hot good job

Sabrina – 2 hours ago

But why is he playing a fucking lute

Coral Lytta – 1 hour ago

morning all yennefer please send pics of ur hot date(s)

Fringilla – 15 minutes ago

Are we not addressing that Sabrina and Anica blew up a field?!

Sabrina — Just Now

Lol

8:24am

Sunday, April 3rd

167 Messages from CITY WITCHERS GETTING LAMBERT (AND GERALT) DATES… Showing 16

Lambert – 10 hours ago

Okay I made him laugh and now I’m in the bathroom what the fuck now??

Eskel – 10 hours ago

Pay for the bill, leave a good tip for that waiter for saving your ass, and then ask him if he wants to go back to yours. You’ve done this before, Lamb.

Coën – 10 hours ago

He’s been flirting with you all night, you’ll be fine.

Lambert – 10 hours ago

Fuck Okay If you never hear from me again it’s because I died of embarrassment

Lambert – 10 hours ago

Bye forever

Eskel – 9 hours ago

Drama queen. Hey Geralt how’s it going?

Coën – 9 hours ago

He’s in it too deep. He probably watched that guy play live and just died.

Lambert – 6 hours ago

Sex is so awesome

Eskel – 6 hours ago

Congrats bro. I’m sleeping now.

Lambert – 6 hours ago

Don’t you wanna hear about how great sex is

Eskel – 6 hours ago

I know it’s great, Lambert. I’ve had sex before

Lambert – 6 hours ago

Are we sure are we super sure you had sex cause like I just had GREAT sex possibly the best

Coën – 6 hours ago

It is two in the morning. I am begging you to shut up

Lambert – 6 hours ago

Put us on silent so I can talk about how great sex is

Lambert – 6 hours ago

Ha beat you to this one Geralt bet you didn’t have sex with someone hot tonight. HA

Lambert – 6 hours ago

Okay gotta go round two bye

8:24am

Sunday, April 3rd

Geralt – 10 hours ago

You coming back to the table?

Geralt – 10 hours ago

If I’m gone when you get back let me know when you get home

Geralt – 10 hours ago

You did really good, Jaskier. I’m proud of you

TikTok – 2 hours ago

You have 25,634 new followers!

TikTok – 1 hour ago

You hit 2.3 million views! Click here to see what people are saying…

Spotify – 15 minutes ago

You have 5,785 new followers and 806,216 new listens on Toss a Coin EP

Maybe: Yennefer – 5 minutes ago

It's Yennefer, send me that selfie of all of us you took, I wanna freak out my group chat

Geralt, Maybe: Yennefer

Maybe: Yennefer – 4 minutes ago

I can’t believe I’m the one doing this, but I guess we need a group chat.

To: Geralt, Maybe: Yennefer

Message: 1 image

Here’s the selfie for you both!! Use it wisely ;)

A Sorceress, A Witcher, and a Handsome Bard Walk into a Bar…

Yennefer – 3 minutes ago

Geralt get me apple juice while you’re up

A Sorceress, A Witcher, and a Handsome Bard Walk into a Bar…

Yennefer – 2 minutes ago

Jaskier, this chat name, you cannot be serious

A Sorceress, A Witcher, and a Handsome Bard Walk into a Bar…

Geralt – Just now

Haha

A Sorceress, A Witcher, and a Handsome Bard Walk into a Bar…

Geralt – Just now

:)

[sweetpickolwarrior]

The Three Times You Didn’t Want Them To Hear You, The One Time You Did (Part 3)

Established fic

Small!Brown!Female!Reader

Not too apparent but just letting you know in case.

Fic summary: You have been travelling with geralt and Jaskier for quite some time, you had always been told that your voice would take you places before you had no choice but to abandon your previous life. You still loved it though. This fic explores the times you let go and let yourself sing. We also explore your backstory and the developing relationship with your older and protective companions :)

PART 1 HERE PART 2 HERE

Chapter summary: Bit of a filler chapter, the wait was more so to plan out the rest of the story clearly. Y/N wants to repay geralt for his kindness and show Jaskier that she does not hate him, but has trouble with words and such. Further apologies for the wait... enjoy!

The fact that you had not been sober enough to truly appreciate the room that Geralt had decided to treat you with left you with a pang of guilt, but a wavering reluctance to bring up anything about that night lest he unnecessarily recall the sound of your voice. You don’t suppose he cared much, as far as you could pick out from that night, it wasn't something that mattered very much to him… but then why the room? The situation slightly baffled you. You much preferred going from contract to contract, tavern to tavern, losing yourself in the endeavours of your companions. You roamed the streets of this new, unusually pleasant town, the bustle of the morning bubbling through. Your mind turned to the small sack you had swaddled at the very bottom of your pack buried beneath your myriad of gatherings from your travels. A small, worn leather sack with a drawstring through the top, wrapped in an old sock that had outlived its original duty a few winters ago sat almost full, the weight of the coin inside at most an apple or two. You had kept it for emergencies, a few loaves of bread and some meat if rations had become sparse, a promise payment for a healer or mage, should one or more of you fall incapacitated while coin was low, an emergency room should the cold threaten to settle in someones bones too cosily, and should you feel the need to express gratitude to a generous but stoic witcher, apparently.

You wandered past a bakers stall, sweet pastries dusted with sugar beckoned, small honey dipped loaves with specks of lavender peeking through the golden slopes glinted in the morning light, puffy buns that had been baked with a clever twist in the top to result in a soft swirl sat in a neat row identical to the sweet fresh bread Jaskier had pressed into your palm earlier. You cringed at the thought of leaving so abruptly and didn't like all this coaxing going on, and hoped he would drop the subject so you could shove the topic down your tunic and carry on your simple shenanigans with the bard.

You strolled through, eyes on the dry dirt of the worn path through the centre, ladies walking with shawls wrapped tight around their shoulders gave you curt, tight-lipped greeting smiles as you passed through looking thoroughly disheveled. You had given up on dresses, petticoats, stockings and other such extraneous garments when tripping up on hems or sweating through layers upon layers had become more trouble than your chagrin had been worth. A tunic and breeches were sported now, along with unkempt, thick jet black hair. You tended to forget what a sight you would be to normal folks, constantly surrounded by the bard in his gaudy and intricate clothing (you still didn't know how he survived on the path) and a burly witcher clad almost always in armour and under that, similar garments to yourself. you supposed the three of you stuck out like an arrow between the eyes. Your mind flashed to what your mother may have said should she see you like this. It confused you for a moment, these memories suddenly deciding they were welcome in your conscious thoughts over the past few days. you stuffed the sudden pang of guilt and shame back into oblivion as your hands moved to your tangled mop, carding roughly through so you may find some semblance of being put together.

~~~~~~~~~~~

You tried hard not to cast your eyes down to your fingers, out of practice as they were. You tried to feel the sections, pick up more as you went, comb through soft with your fingers lest the ends get tangled, keep hold of the ribbon. Roach was being very patient with you. The fire warmed your back as you sat on your knees, tending to a horse who had decided to sit for you. You didn't know much of equine tendencies, but had heard that horses do not sit save for when it was going to rain. Your mind moved to days where your little troop had no choice but to trudge through hail, rain and thunder. She did not object and kept on wonderfully through these times and was rewarded with kisses and slips of dried fruit from you later on.

She had decided to understand what coaxing her to the floor with a brushing, soft words and rubs on her neck had meant that night and folded her legs, coming down with an impressive and somehow graceful thud. You supposed you couldn't know everything about everything and the clearest answer was that she’s just a very good girl. You relaxed as your fingers fell into a rhythm - right strand, left strand, ribbon, taking care to adjust the material so the nicer side was showing. “Expensive.” Geralt stated simply from behind. He was checking through his own pack, counting off vials of witcher potions and such. “Yes, well - an extra room must have cost.. and the food I didn’t touch” you focused on your hands, knowing Geralt was probably trying to avoid eye contact, too. After hearing a somewhat soft “hmm”, your attention returned to your fingers, having now grown a mind of their own. Roach’s auburn mane turned a dark coal in your minds eye, her soft huffs to small complaints of tugging too hard “hush now, or it won’t look nice” you barely whispered as her head jerked, it was an impossible task to try tie the hair of any child into a neat row, your sisters no exception. Your breath slowed as your mothers lullaby sat in between your lips, you tried to grasp the first note of the soft song.

Sisters? Here?

Your knees were cold and sore, kneeling on the ground so long, knobs of grass settling aches into your muscles; your hair unkempt and hastily scraped back, with a small leather tie, bumps hilling over your scalp that you had no care of. Your hands were dirty, grubby from foraging scraps of dry wood to keep warm through the night. Calloused from the past few years of plucking the string of your bow with arrows that reminded you with every swift hit that death was something permanent, immediate, inescapable. These hands were not the same ones that softly put braids in your sisters’ hair. These calluses were not the same ones that came from making music.

The first note of that bloody lullaby froze on your toungue.Best to stop trying to live in the past. Not that you were, trying that is. You wanted nothing more than those memories to keep sitting in the little box in your mind where they were meant to be. Happy, silent, unbothering. Instead they kept feeling the need to rise up, to pester you and drag you away, remind you that those days would never come back, that your whole life had vanished.

Well, this was your life now and different as it was, you needed to live in it. You pushed away the offending memories for the second time that day, focusing on finishing Roach’s mane.

Impeccable timing as always, Jaskier came strolling through after having washed everyone’s clothes in a nearby stream, no doubt a vein of the river you had found yourself in those few days ago. “Honestly, why do I bother? They're bound by fate to stink of ash and dirt anyway- I know! I could write a shanty about the smoked Witcher’s shirt - a real pub sway! Sometimes he smells of heroics and adventure! The whiff of a lady’s perfume often, but will always return to the ash of a trusty campfire” he leaned to put the folded pile down neatly. You were in awe of how these thoughts came running from your musical friend, you were convinced that he could write a song about watching clothes dry and still make it magnificent.

Ah. Exactly.

A dramatic gasp came from the bard, no doubt with a soft hand upon his chest. Your fingers tensed as you pat roach and tried to seem as nonchalant as possible.

"Now! Which one of you has been able to tie a bow so pretty all this time?”

You had laced the ribbon, as careful as you could to not disturb the strings, behind where they were pulled taut to the tuning pegs of Jaskier's lute, taking care that the tails would not brush against the front or impair his hands while playing. The ribbon you had bought was a soft lavender colour, embroidered with a deep violet, floral and feathery motifs weaving through the sleek fabric. You turned to see Jaskier caressing the fine fabric “I shall have to have an outfit made to go with this! Oh what a look that could be for the bardic competition this autumn! Simply revolutionary, a great stride forward in musical fashion! Bows woven through lutes, gods-” a theatrical palm to the forehead “How had I not thought of this before- and Roach! Oh! Exquisite, Y/N,” it seemed he had finally clocked onto the fact that this was your doing, both you and Geralt huffing amusedly as he was practically flying with excitement “I daresay Roach could be a fine show horse! Beautifully healthy and muscular, a shining coat, those deep glistening eyes- “She’s not a show horse” Geralt grumbled "I said could or rather might've been, had the twines of fate been wound a little looser.." You chuckled softly as your trusty bard rambled on into the night about how he knew a thing or two about show horses (being one in a past life, most likely) and you prepared your bedroll, smoothed it out with your hands and checked how close your damp clothes were to drying. When you reflected on Jaskier's words, you thought about how the warm and bitter smell of ash and smoke and fire made from Witcher magic was comforting to you. As you settled, you tried to smell other things, maybe someday you could smell half as well as a witcher if you trained hard enough. Ash, smoke.. the small burnt remnants of a meagre fish dinner, the distinctly horsey smell of Roach, the faintest traces of lavender lingering in your hair. You supposed you could try to hone in your hearing, too. You got comfortable, wriggling a little further in, catching a glimpse of the fine ribbon you had bought before closing your eyes...it was nice to see the splashes of the bright colour woven through your little group. You could first hear Jaskier mumbling on, the scratch of his quill onto the notebook he carried, the pops and snaps of the fire, the wind breathing contentedly through the leaves above, the last clinks of Geralt's potion bottles, then the slight crunch of careful steps in leather boots, his hands patting roach and hushed, almost inaudible whispers of him calling Roach his "pretty girl".

A/N : Hello, dears! I hope you've all been well and taking care of yourselves - I know it has been a tremendous wait. i've been planning the rest of the story out (i'm rly annoyingly particular about it) and lots of things have been a bit crazy the past two months. I hope this chapter isnt dissapointing given the wait but get ready for big angst, hurt/comfort and further progression of the story and characters in the next two chapters. I feel this filler was needed to transition into the next part of the story. I might change the description some as this story is not only about the fact that Y/N can sing, but also focuses on the way that changes her relationship with the boys.

More on the interactions of this night for the boys' POV in the next chapter probably x

I'm hoping the story is well fleshed out and flowing, and that its clear that singing is a great comfort and big part of Y/N's character. I hope its easy to immerse yourself and such. Again, its such a pleasure to receive likes and comments, and i'm very grateful to anyone who has read so far... be ready for great developments! As always, constructive criticism is welcome xxx Thanks gang!

Also yall thank my lil sister for helping me write this, she doesnt have an tumblr account so I cant tag her or anything but she super cool and rambling to her rly helps me organise my writing.

stay blessed!

tagged people:

@ladylizzieofdarbyshire i cannot find @sihxm i did try xxx

[ramblingkat]

Fic: Stars

This was encouraged by the UraIchi discord server. Basic concept: Everyone is born with a tail. If you live long enough, you get more. If you find your “soul mate” you get a new color on your tail. 

Here, Yoruichi noticed the new color on Kisuke’s tail. He had happily been oblivious. And has no idea who’s reiatsu matches that new color of fur on his tail.

Fandom: Bleach

Characters: Urahara Kisuke, Shihoin Yoruichi, Ishida Ryuken, Kurosaki Masaki, Kurosaki Isshin, and Kurosaki Ichigo

***

“You have gold in your fur.”

Yoruichi’s voice, deep and raspy, was a familiar one, and he knew she’d been sitting behind him for a bit, so Kisuke didn’t jump. Though he did pause, a cup of tea against his lips. Then he lowered it again, turning some to look over his shoulder at his friend. 

She was crouched next to his tail, eyes focused on the tip. Kisuke didn't actually look at his tail all that much, with it being out of his direct line of sight. Oh, he made sure it was brushed and neat enough, but it was just another limb. As long as it worked as he wanted, he never thought about it too much. 

Now he flicked it up, bringing the tip up closer since that was where Yoruichi had been focused. 

This was the only tail on display, as humans rarely lived long enough to gain a second tail, let alone a third as Kisuke had. The other two were hidden, as they had been for almost a century of hiding in the special gigai he had created. The only one on display was the same ashy blond as his hair, a sleek fox tail that had gotten him quite a few appreciative looks. And more than a few people asking for blessings. 

Apparently, pale fox tails were a sign of favor. Not something he had expected when he had first come to the living world. 

Shinji had laughed at him, the man’s golden lion tail lashing lazily behind him. Kisuke had asked how it felt to only have to deal with one rope instead of the multitude that the older captain usually had. That had lead to a spar, and gotten Shinji distracted. 

Now, however, Kisuke saw that there were fine golden hairs growing at the end of his tail. They didn’t stand out a great deal, not yet. But they were definitely golden. A distinct change from the pale fur they grew in. 

Yoruichi’s reiatsu, as muted as it was, radiated delight. Kisuke was feeling a bit stunned himself. 

“But,” he protested, voice distant in his own ears, “I haven’t met anyone new. Not for long enough to have our energies to click enough to bond.” 

There was a flat-out chortle from Yoruichi, and she rose up onto her back legs, resting her paws against the back of his shoulder. That let her get a better look at his tail. “You found someone to soul bond to and didn’t say anything.” She sounded highly amused and no small amount of pleased. “What have you been up to?”

Kisuke snorted. “Plotting and planning. The usual.” He flicked his tail against her face, then let it relax again. “I wonder who this is. I don’t know of anyone I’ve seen recently that has that color of reiatsu.”

He reached over and poked Yoruichi’s nose as she opened her mouth. “And don’t start on SoiFon. Right shade, very much wrong person.” He smiled faintly. “She’d murder me if we ever created some sort of spiritual bond.” Kisuke paused. “Though the way she hates me would definitely qualify. But the timing is wrong.”

“She doesn’t hate you,” Yoruichi protested. Ignoring Kisuke’s amused, yet unimpressed, expression, the cat continued. “She’s just prickly about my honor.”

Kisuke snorted again, hand moving to rub his friend’s ears. “Very prickly,” he said drily. “If she could make me vanish, she would definitely do so.” He shook his head. “In any case, SoiFon’s disdain for me is not the topic here. I honestly have no idea why I would have golden fur coming in now. Everyone I interact with now are the same people I have interacted with for years. I doubt any of them have changed that much.”

“Something to figure out later,” Yoruichi agreed. “It’s not like your crimson isn’t a distinct shade.” She licked a foot, quiet for a moment. “Though now that I am here, how are things with Isshin and Masaki?”

Still absently petting her, Kisuke smiled faintly. “Going well. From everything that Ishida-san and I can tell, the baby is healthy and growing well. They are likely to have a mix of Isshin-san and Masaki-san talents.” Kisuke considered it a moment. “I believe, once the baby is born, they’ll take the hollow with them. That will be vital for their stability. They are so in balance at the moment that the loss of one aspect will likely prove lethal in the long run.” He considered that as fingers moving softly over dark fur. “Something I have impressed upon the parents to be. The hollow is sealed and will continue to be until we break it at some point, but the power it holds is present. So the baby will be…impressive.”

There was a snort from Yoruichi. “Maybe it’s the baby,” she teased, though there had not been any documented cases of soul bonding with an unborn child. “You do the impossible regularly enough. Why not do it again?”

Kisuke tweaked her ear, hand blurring as he dodged the slash of her claws. “I doubt even baby Kurosaki is developed enough to have a proper reiatsu signature yet,” he said easily. “While they have a strong presence already, it’s…malleable. Though I do hope that you’ll be in town when the time for the birth gets close.” He wrinkled his nose. “I am already noticing an uptick of smaller hollows. Masaki-san has been attracting quite a bit of attention from the wrong quarters. I think when it is time for baby Kurosaki to be born, they will lure in hollows for miles around. We’ll need to set up a protective line around them and deal with the swarm that is likely to descend on us at that level of power energy.”

A nod from Yoruichi. “Just contact me when it gets close to time. Though I don’t know if I’ll go too far.” Her tone went light and teasing. “After all, I have to find out who your mysterious suitor to be is. Only you could get a soul bond and not notice.”

That got her a sigh and a shrug. “It wasn’t like it was that big a deal,” he protested, giving his friend an over-exaggerated pout. “And I’ve been busy.”

Yoruichi perked up. “I have to talk to Tessai,” she warbled out, as close to singing as she got. Dodging Kisuke’s grab, the cat ran into the house, yowling out the name of their other friend, and Kisuke sighed.

Collecting his tea, he focused on that. No need to think about Tessai-san’s matchmaking urges now. He’d be dealing with them soon enough.

***

The stars looked amazing, and Kisuke found himself panting as he watched them decorate the night sky.

They weren’t as bright here as they were in soul society, but there was a great deal more progression in the living world, so bright it dimmed even the night sky.

Though all of his senses felt dimmed. The Kurosaki baby had come into the world, and he was grateful that Ishida had a charm that he and Masaki had put on the baby. It would allow more of the child’s reiatsu to release over the next year or so. Slow enough that they shouldn’t have a repeat of tonight. 

He was exhausted, and he was sure that Yoruichi was the same whenever she was at. 

The Visored had taken the outer layer of the patrol. Kisuke and Yoruichi had focused on the blocks around the roof of the hospital that the baby was being born in. And outside of all of it, Hachigen and Tessai had been working on keeping all of this under wraps. While he knew Aizen had an idea where they might be, they did not need the baby’s explosion of power to attract his eye. 

He was pretty sure they had dealt with every hollow from miles around, all attracted to the initial spike of power that the baby would have screamed out with their first breath.

That was something he needed to check on well. 

Pushing himself upright, Kisuke glanced around. It only took a moment to spot Yoruichi, leaning against an air conditioning unit a few roofs over. Waving to catch her attention, he waited until she nodded back, then he let himself drop over the side of the roof.

Ishida had given him a room number, and Kisuke had already scouted out where it was in the hospital. So it only took a moment to wrap a hint of reiatsu under his feet to slow and then stop his fall. He pulled a phone out and texted the man, making sure he was able to come in.

The curtains shoved apart, and Ishida was scowling at him. The man opened the window. “Get in here,” he muttered. “The sooner you make sure the boy is all right, the sooner you can leave.”

Kisuke smiled. “A boy? I am sure that Kurosaki-san is thrilled.”

“Isshin is being an idiot over it, and Masaki is pleased to have a healthy baby.” 

He shifted aside, letting Kisuke step through and land lightly on the floor, geta making only a small clicking as they hit the ground. Then Ishida continued. “They named him Ichigo. I assume you dealt with any outside trouble.”

Kisuke grimaced a bit. “After this, I think we’re all going to go find out beds now that the charm you have put into place has muted his strength. The area should be hollow free for a few months.”

A sigh. “That’s good,” the white haired Quincy said. “Hopefully they’ll be gone for even longer than that.”

Kisuke considered that. “If you like, I can set up patrol when your own child is born.” It was an honest offer, as he knew that the man’s wife had taken poorly to pregnancy. She was happy to be pregnant, but every time Kisuke saw her around, she looked exhausted and drained.

Ishida tensed, then made himself relax. “We’ll discuss that later,” he said, which made Kisuke smile to himself. That wasn’t a no, and it was nice to see how devoted the man was to his wife. He was as bad as Isshin was, if quieter about it. 

But he only nodded in response, quietly following as he was lead to the bed. 

There was Masaki, who was watching them, though Kisuke could see she was ready to go to sleep. Beside the bed was Isshin, whose tail was wagging back and forth like mad. And beside him, placed where both he and Masaki could reach, was a tiny little being. 

There was a tuft of dark hair, though he could already see strands of a paler color in it. Kisuke wondered if baby Kurosaki… Ichigo, his name was Ichigo, would have his mother’s hair? 

He was wrapped firmly in a warm blanket, swaddled quite tightly. Though he managed to get a foot and a puffy little tail out of the confines already. Kisuke smiled faintly, tucking the fluffy grey tail and the foot back into the blanket. “Already a trouble maker,” he murmured to the child, and then rested his hand on Ichigo’s chest. Closing his eyes, he focused, threading his reiatsu gently to make sure everything was still balanced. 

This was something he’d been doing since Isshin had come to tell him that Masaki was pregnant, in a near panic. There had been two pregnancies before this one, and neither had gotten far. The third time was the charm, and the balance of energies settled in ways to keep the boy from coming to harm. 

Everything still felt good, and he opened his eyes with a smile. 

“Congratulations,” he said, smiling at them. He knew they had been heartbroken the previous times, and having Ichigo here, all red-faced and scowling, had to be such a relief. 

“Masaki-san?” he asked, offering her his hand. She rested her fingers against his palm, and he did his own scan of her energies. 

Once he was done, he gave her hand a light squeeze and let go. “It’s as I thought. The hollow passed on to Ichigo, but the seal on it seems to be intact. Though he’s definitely strong enough to see spirits without much help.”

He smiled at the new parents. “You should have an easier time of things if you decide to give him any siblings without the hollow energies causing such distress on your own.” That was to Masaki, who looked relieved. He knew she had taken the failed pregnancies hard, but this should help her feel better about any future attempts. 

Moving away from the bed, Kisuke absently sealed Benihime back into a cane, nodding at each of them. “Now that everything seems to have settled both outside and in here, I’m off. Let me know if you have any other concerns that I might be able to help calm.” 

He went to perch on the sill of the window, then threw a grin back at them. “And, as always, come visit the shop and pick up a few items. I always have a wide range of stock for your purchasing pleasure.”

Ishida shoved him out the window with a snort. 

Kisuke laughed as he caught himself, and took off into the night. Time to find everyone and let them know that they could do whatever. The situation was done, and it was time for a well-deserved rest.

Besides, now that Ichigo was actually born, Kisuke had potential plans to adjust.

[ink-the-artist]

Its a lot harder to do with traditional art but I'd love to see progress shots of your colored pencil stuff its so neat

I wanted to wait until I had progress shots to show before answering this and I took some as soon as I was starting a new colored pencil illustration, which was the Pepto Bismol one I just posted. Gonna put a keep reading cut here bc this’ll probably be a bit of a long post lol. 

I don’t have any kind of strict process I always follow, I just do whatever works best for each specific drawing, so I kind of just took a pic whenever I finished anything that felt like it could be it’s own “step.” Also keep in mind I worked on this during different days, different times of day, and different locations, so the lighting will be pretty different throughout the pics here which will affect how the colors look and the overall quality of the photos, I did the best I could with the changing lighting.

First step is the graphite sketch. Since I’m focusing on the colored pencil part of the process I didn’t document the process of sketching, just the final outcome

I go over the sketch with a colored pencil, I usually use a lighter color so that the lines you’ll see in the next step are lighter and not going to be noticeable when the drawing is all done, and I’ll go with a color that would be found in the illustration so that it doesn’t look unnatural wherever it may show through (I chose pink because, Pepto Bismol)

then I go over the whole thing with an eraser, only the graphite erases completely while the colored pencil stays, even though it dulls a bit. This is so I can still have a sort of outline to color in without having to worry about graphite mixing with the lighter color pencil colors and muddying everything up (it also just cleans up the sketch a lot which makes everything easier to work with)

then I start putting some of the colors down while also adding some basic detail that I’ll color and shade along later. I also go over the lines again just to make sure everything is shaped correctly, but I’m using the base colors of whatever the object is because I don’t actually want things to have outlines later on

I’m kind of mapping out the colors now as well as shadows

(also I finally found a use for this super bright neon pink colored pencil I have lol)

I’m basically just continuously layering on more color and detail, making sure to go light to dark. I mostly work on everything evenly rather than meticulously finishing one area after another but I was a bit more meticulous with the pepto bismol tablets just because they were the most detailed part of the illustration

I pretty much color the borzoi last because it’s the one white thing in this image and I want it to sort of “reflect” all the colors that will be around it and you can see I’m still adding new colors to the background as I go along

adding some green, Im basically trying to get a black without using black by layering opposing (is that the right word?) colors over each other, it makes it so that the black still looks like a natural part of the image because it’s made up of the colors in it, and it gradients toward the foreground better. I’m also doing the same for the nose and lips of the borzoi

finally putting some more color down on the borzoi, both giving it a base color and making the shading more defined

added the pepto splash before I layer any more color on the background. Also in just about every step here I’m continuously touching up the pepto bismol tablets, maybe a bit too obsessively

adding more colors from the background to the borzoi as well as shading it some more

adding more green (and some dark blue) to the background and floor to darken it some more, and again to the borzoi

I blend some of the lighter areas with orange-yellow, dunno if this is a real technique I just like the kind of glow effect it has and I do it a lot in my drawings (basically layering light colors over dark ones and sort of pressing harder with the strokes to blend/smooth everything together while giving it an almost glowing undertone of that light color)

still layering colors to darken everything up

Only at the very end I use a white colored pencil, I haven’t used it at all so far. I give the borzoi it’s fur texture + its whiskers, basically using the same method as earlier when I blended the yellow into darker colors by pressing harder with the strokes, here the strokes are just fur-shaped. I also add some highlights to the metal bowls, the splash of pepto bismol, and the nose and mouth of the borzoi with white colored pencil and a tiiiiny bit of white gel pen (a really tiny bit, basically a few little dots here and there)

oh and I added the “Pepto Bismol” writing to the pepto bismol tablets (or as close to writing as I could get)

also at some point in this step a mysterious black line appeared on the drawing that I couldn’t get rid of :( but its ok I just removed it in photoshop later lol

then I just take as good a pic as I can and touch it up in photoshop, this is for getting rid of flaws like that weird black line as well as to make the photo resemble what the drawing looks like irl as closely as possible, I’ll usually have the drawing next to me so I can reference it while editing the photo to make sure it looks like the real thing. 

also in this step I usually crop the image both to hide the messy edges and to give it a better composition.

you can see how different all these pics look from each other (in terms of lighting and quality) let alone from the final piece, which is why the editing step is important lol

hope this is helpful!

[a-purple-lizard]

Hello lovely! I know ur still working on part two of the smutty raiden story but can I request a short fluffy one shot of Raiden making sushi with his wife who’s a total cinnamon roll 🤗

Thank uuuu🙏🏼

Sushi at the sky temple

Raiden x Fem wife reader

Oh goodness! I’ve been writing too much angst, the fluff- it’s putting life into my soul! Goodness! The tooth rotting fluff!

Raiden groaned slightly in his sleep, arm stretching to his right, searching for a warm body to no avail. He grunted at the lack of contact. “Raiden.” An excited whisper sounded in his ear. “Wake up darling.” The god groaned, rolling on his side. A frustrated huff sounded above him as he was suddenly pushed out of his semi conscious state by a weight on his chest.

Opening his glowing eyes, he could see the source of his slumbers interruption. His beloved wife, S/o sat on his chest, thighs pinning his arms to his sides. She smiled down as him before dipping her head down and painting gentle butterfly kisses over his face. The thunder god smiled and closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling.

With one last light kiss on the tip of his nose, she sat up and allowed him to open his eyes. “Is there a reason for this awakening, s/o?”

She smiled down at him, sliding off of his body to stand next to the bed, “Yes, come with me, I have a surprise for you.”

Standing up, he started to take off his silk pajamas as s/o grabbed his robes, laying them out on the dresser as she grabbed the thunder gods armor plating from its stand. Raiden quickly slipped into his robes, turning as a/o approached with his metal plating. The god attached the arm plates as his wife strapped on the chest and back plate. After a few more adjustments and layers, the god was fully dressed and ready. Well almost.

His silver hair was in tangles from his restless slumber. S/o ran her hand through the silky substance before grabbing a brush nearbye and gesturing for him to follow her.

The two made their way down to the next floor of the sky temple, Raiden didn’t worry about anybody seeing his messy appearance since the top three floors of the sky temple were forbidden to the monks and they were not expecting any visitors.

His beloved finally halted at the food preparation area, her smile bright. Raiden scanned the surface of the table, two wooden bowls of rice sat side by side, behinde them was a large sushi bowl decorated in carvings of Sakura trees. A small glass pitcher of amber liquid rested in the countertop next to a large wooden spoon.

“I’ve been really wanting some sushi recently, I mentioned it to Kung Lao last time he visited, and he surprised me the other day with the items needed to make it.” She gently grabbed his hands, leading him over to a spot wheee he could easily access all the items. “I thought we could do it together! Make it fun?”

The god felt his neutral expression shift to a smile at the woman’s offer. After all, not even a god could resist that hopeful look in her eyes. “Where do we start?”

The light of her smile was enough to shame the sun as she stood beside him, brush still in hand. “I’ll fix your hair while you prepare the rice, I’ll instruct you.” She explained, stroking the object through his hair. “First, pour those two bowls of sushi rice into that big wooden sushi bowl.”

Raiden could feel the heat radiate off of the rice as he gently let it fall into the sushi bowl, she must had just made it. S/o hummed behinde him, “okay, now grab that glass of seasoned rice vinegar and pour it on the rice.”

Turning around to grab the glass pitcher, he was ambushed with a kiss on his cheek. He managed to playfully nuzzle her hair in retaliation before returning to the task at hand and guiding the glass over the sushi bowl and pouring it onto the rice. A playful tug at his hair told him what when to stop. “I’m almost done, now grab that flat wooden spoon and break up the rice.”

Glowing eyes, slid over to the wooden spoons location, next to where the glass pitcher once was. He turned once again to obtain the object, smiling as he saw movement from the corner of his eye. He quickly turned his head as S/o’s lips landed on his. She squealed in delight, allowing their lips to press together for a moment before she returned to her task, smiling at the brush as she did so.

With the spoon in his hand, the god broke apart the vinegar soaked rice, a smile still on his face. S/o ran her fingers through his silky locks, a hum of approval sounding from her throat. As she walked over to the table in the next room she yelled over her shoulder, “oh, make sure you’re folding the rice over itself.”

She returned shortly after, the brush no where to be found. She nodded in approval at the sushi bowl. Opening a drawer, she pulled out a bladed fan that Raiden recognized at Kitanas. He sent her a questioning look as s/o started to fan the rice. “What? She left it here! Plus I’m going to give it back to her! I just keep forgetting...” she smiled sheepishly at her work.

The two stood side by side, repeating the process over and over until the glass pitcher of vinegar was empty. S/o took charge, placing a sheet of silk over the bowl before disappearing behinde Raiden, returning with sheets of nori. “Lay these out Raiden, make sure to put the shiny sides face down, oh and put them on those wooden mats I have piled up over there.” She instructed before disappearing again.

Doing as he was told, he lay out each sheet in an orderly fashion on the counter, carefully aligning them with the wooden Mats, His wife returned, a wooden basket filled with cut up herbs and vegetables as well as a bowl filled with water. “Here, wet your hands.” She placed the bowl down. Raiden dipped his hands in, shaking off the excess water.

“Why did I do that?” He asked as s/o placed the vegetables in a neat row. She smiled at him, leaning forward to kiss his eyelid.

“So the rice doesn’t stick.” She explained briefly, “now get a bit of rice for each sheet and press it down to cover the sheet, leave an inch of nori paper open though, it’s for later!”

Softly, he pressed the rice on each sheet into the requested position, as soon as the last grain was put in place, he felt lips place themselves on the back of his neck. “Thank you, love. Now go wash your hands, I’ll take over.”

S/o slid in front of him, placing the herbs and vegetables in a neat line in the center of the rice covered paper. Walking over to the sink, Raiden pressed down the leaver, showering his slightly sticky hands in water before pouring liquid out of a small red bottle nearbye into his hands.

When he turned around, he found that each sheet had a row of filling on top. S/o was currently folding a mat over, rolling the paper along with it. She tucked the mat in at a certain point, squeezing the mat before undoing it, revealing a loose roll underneath. She then flipped it over, using the mat to shape the roll.

When she noticed raidens gaze, she smiled warmly at him, “do you think you can do the other ones? I can start the cutting!”

He chuckled at her cheerful smile, walking over to the remaining rolls and mimicking her movements. As he did that, s/o grabbed a knife from the drawer and delicately pressed it down at multiple points in the roll, cutting it evenly. She religiously swiped a silk cloth over it after each cut.

Finally, they were finished. Raiden handed his wife a glass platter. She smiled and gave him a thankful look as she started to neatly placed each sushi roll. “Here, I know I had some soy sauce saved in that cabinet.” She gestured to a cubby above raidens head. Ye thunder hod opened it, finding only a few small bottles, “it’s the one next to the pink one.”

Grabbing the desired bottle, he handed it to s/o who had just finished her work. She nodded before placing it on the counter and leaning down, opening the cabinets below her. Raiden turned away, grabbing the supply’s that needed cleaning and taking them over to the sink. As he washed, s/o took out three bowls and a few more unnamed bottles.

She placed each bowl on the platter, spreading them out and filling them with soy sauce. Taking the unmarked bottles, she drizzled different sauces on the rolls. S/o screwed the bottles shut, walking around the food preparation area, putting each back in their place. Raiden had finished up with cleaning the supplies and started to put each item away.

S/o quickly dashed over to help. After everything was put away, Raiden grabbed the platter and headed to the table, his wide staying behinde to grab two pairs of chopsticks.

She handed a pair to Raiden as the two sat down side my side. S/o leaned on her husband as they both tried one. The woman anxiously grabbed at her clothes, waiting for the gods response.

Raiden didn’t eat food, well not anymore. When he was still new to existence, he tried many kinds of food, experiencing as mush as he could. As time went on, the god started to lose interest since eating gave him no benefit other then the temperal pleasure on his tongue.

His expression morphed into a satisfied one as he finished his last bite. S/o smiled and let out a small squeal, earning a playful nuzzle from the god.

The two lovers stayed there, side by side, tasting their creation as s/o went on and on about different things they could try. Raiden just smiled, enjoying watching the adorable passion rush throughout her face.

[sailtoafarawayland]

Living a Life (1/2)

Summary: Sometimes the things we see ourselves in most clearly aren’t made from glass, and sometimes death is not the ending we think it is, but a pause of breath that gives life to a new beginning.   

Rating: T for now

AO3 - FF

Chapter 1

Emma didn't really know why she did it, why she stopped at all.

The sidewalks were an icy mess, like the city didn't even care that they were staring a lawsuit in the face, and the clean, shoveled pathway through the cemetery  was just too tempting to pass up. She was exhausted after a day spent at the precinct with her latest collar – some sort of mix up with the payment, or the filing, or whatever nonsense it was this time – and she just wanted to get home.

She didn't like the thought of using the cemetery as a shortcut, but the thought of being out of work for two weeks while she recovered from a sprained ankle was even worse.

Maybe it was because she walked past so many other gravestones that had been recently dusted of snow, the past few days of New England weather not accumulating on top of them, brushed away by the hands of loved ones. Maybe it was because she saw the wreaths leftover from Christmas dotting the quiet cemetery, bright orbs of red peeking through snow sprinkled like icing sugar across them.

But she stopped in front of a gravestone that seemed lonelier than the rest, slightly removed from the path and resting beneath one of the many bare trees, days of hardened snow and ice frozen to its surface.

Looking at it – neglected, ignored – she wondered if that's what her grave would look like when she died.

She should probably get cremated.

She should probably just leave. She had no business here, staring at some stranger's grave like the person lying below it cared about anything – cared that no one had stopped to sweep off the snow, but she didn't.

Instead, she stepped off the clean, salted path and crunched through layers of icy snow, deeper than she had thought. She could feel it crumbling over the tops of her low boots, icy pebbles melting and trickling down her heel. Well, she was stuck for it now.

She crouched down in front of the gravestone, and raising one gloved hand, she began brushing the frozen chunks of snow from its shoulders. Removing the dusting of windblown ice from the engraved front proved to be more work than she had anticipated, but after a few minutes she had most of it cleared, the rest would just have to melt on its own. Her hard work rewarded, she finally took the time to read the face of the stone.

She hadn't been to any funerals in her life, but she knew enough that the brevity of what she saw surprised her.

Liam Jones, 1977 – 2011

Her breath left her body, a chill wind stirring her hair and leaving her feeling somehow exposed, like she was doing something she shouldn't be - peering through the window of someone’s life only to find it was an empty house, abandoned. She had expected an old gravestone, someone with no family left to come sit by them and wipe away the snow.

She hadn't been expecting this.

He was young, not much older than her, and since it was only February, it hadn't even been that long since he'd passed. She glanced at the frozen ground she was squatting above and moved hastily to the side, wondering if there was some kind of graveyard etiquette. There must be. Don't stand in front of the graves where people are...resting, she guessed. She wasn't really sure. She'd never had a family, a grave to visit.

She probably should be thankful for that, less heartache.

Snow removed, job done, she stuck her hand back in her pocket and headed down the path. She wouldn't be back again. He wasn't her family, whoever she was, and she wanted to leave the nagging fear that one day that might be her in the cemetery where it belonged.

Weeks passed and she told herself when she headed down the cemetery path again that it was because another big storm had just blown through Boston, and for some reason known only to the city, they never cleared or salted the sidewalks in this neighborhood.    

But she didn't try to stop herself when she reached his grave again, this time the name Liam Jones clearly visible, a thick blanket of fresh snow cushioning the top. She walked between the first row of graves and to the side of his, taking care not to step where she assumes he's buried. It seemed like the right way to go about it, even if there aren't any rules. She probably should've googled it, but she hadn't planned on coming back.

She really hadn't.

Instead of questioning it too much, she brushed the snow away with her sleeve and tossed a few stray, fallen twigs back to the ground. It wasn't until after she'd thrown them that she thought to make sure she hadn't dropped them onto another resting place – littering on dead people was most definitely poor graveyard etiquette.

When she stopped in spring, she told herself it was just to enjoy the blossoms on the cherry trees that blanket that portion of the cemetery, knowing it was a lie. She knew because she'd bothered to look up cemetery etiquette online, and yes, it was a thing. She was also mildly curious to see if anyone had been to visit him now that the weather was nicer, if she would even be able to tell.  

There were a few graves she'd passed that had small flowers gracing their shoulders, and others with ornate vases built into the stone, colorful blooms filling them. She brushed a scattering of cherry blossoms from the top of Liam's grave and wondered again at the emptiness of it. He must not have had anyone, because if he had, surely they would have written something other than just the year of his birth and death.

Was he a father, a brother? Was he a son? Was he alone, as she was?

“Who were you?” she asked, but no one answered.

The next time she passed through, the cherry trees had long since lost their blooms, and she swept the sickly sweet smelling remains of them from his grave, bending down to tug out the stray clumps of tall grass where the granite sat, immovable. It seemed pretty obvious no one else was visiting, and that not even the groundskeeper had enough hours in the day to really keep everything neat.

They'd had enough dry days that she didn't have to crouch to visit, and found herself sitting back onto the grass between his gravestone and the next.

“Is this...weird?” she asked, glancing around to make sure no one was listening to her talk to a dead person she didn't even know. “I'm sorry no one comes here but me.”

Suddenly she felt self-conscious, the whole situation settling heavily around her, the overpowering perfume of dying flowers clinging to her skin. What the hell was wrong with her that the only connection she'd allow herself was with some stranger's gravestone? Angry with herself, she jumped up and hurried back down the path towards home. She was out of the cemetery and an entire block away when she finally remembered the daisies in her bag. Reaching in, she brushed the crumpled edges of the petals and sighed.

There was another visitor a few graves down when she returned, but they clearly knew enough to not eyeball her or say anything when she walked back over to Liam's grave – mildly flustered – and gently placed the rumpled cluster of flowers on the ledge in front of his name. She brushed her hands roughly on her leather sleeves and left as quickly as she came.

The next time it was a lot easier to talk to him, even if she knew he wasn't listening, and he certainly couldn't talk back. The daisies hadn't lasted very long, so she tossed them and said she'd bring more next time, although she realized she may need to leave something other than flowers. Work had been slow lately, and she wasn't stopping at the precinct all that often to drop off skips – and she couldn't just make a special trip once a week to refresh his flowers.

That would be crazy.

She didn't even know him.

So when her fingers ran across the smooth ridges of the seashell on her windowsill at home, she put it in her pocket.

Spring faded into the suffocating heat of summer, the grass parched and brittle beneath her feet as she crouched next to Liam's grave, brushing away the small ant hills that had formed in the sandy soil with a vengeance she didn't know she had in her for the tiny creatures.

“You know,” she said, and the words hurt before they even left her mouth, “you might be the only person I've got to talk to. How pathetic is that?”

She worked around the back of the grave, tugging up stray weeds she'd missed the last time.

“I brought you something other than flowers. Maybe you weren't even a flower guy, when you were around. I'm not much of a flower girl, I don't think. I've never really had anyone to buy them for me though. There was Neal...but he...well, let's just say he didn't leave me with any good memories, let alone flowers. Is there anyone who has good memories of you? I wish I knew some. It would be nice to know who you were, not just sit here guessing.”

The cemetery was empty, and that's when Emma felt most at ease, most like she could just say what was on her mind without having to worry about anyone listening, or whether they think she's crazy.

She laid the scraggly bunch of weeds at the side of the grave, reminding herself to take it out to the trash can when she leaves.

“Here,” she shrugged, pulling the seashell from her pocket and placing it on the ledge where she last left flowers.

It was a spiral shell, small, but perfect and white with a soft, amber colored center.

“I don't know if you really like seashells either, but...I picked that up a few years ago down at the beach. In the summer, it's always full of families and couples, so I don't go much, but sometimes when it's a little grey and stormy...it's just the most peaceful place to sit and think.”

She didn't say the rest of what she was thinking aloud – that seeing the happy couples and the parents with their kids just made her stomach clench, that all she could think of was how that was never something her mom wanted to go with her.

– was never something she got the chance to do.

That feels like too much to unload, even on a dead guy.

“It's pretty peaceful here too,” she sighed.

Summer relented and fall crept into the city, the once green leaves crisping and drifting to the ground. Despite getting a payday, she was leaving the precinct in a pretty shitty mood. Her skip had almost given her the slip, and she was going to be nursing a bruised shoulder from where she tumbled in an alley trying to keep up with him. By the time she stepped through the archway of the cemetery, the sun had already set, the streetlamps casting cold halos across the damp ground. She heard them before she saw them, and it took her a few seconds to realize they'd gathered just off the path next to Liam's grave.

“Hey!” she snapped, immediately angered by what she was seeing. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Christ, relax, lady,” one of the kids drawled, taking a swig from his beer and clinking it against the gravestone next to Liam's.

Emma didn't know who it belonged to, but it was always well cared for, and she was furious. There were four kids, teenagers, and they'd stomped all over the damp ground in front of the graves, clearly not caring that they were drinking and walking all over someone's remains.

“Look, kid, you and your buddies have about ten seconds to take your crap and get the hell out of here. I just left the precinct, and I've got Chief Humbert on speed dial – ” They didn't need to know how untrue that was, that, in fact, the guy gave her the creeps “ – so I suggest you take your party somewhere else.”

A few eye rolls and snarky comments later and they'd cleared out, leaving Emma feeling both pleased and worried for herself. She plopped down next to Liam's grave, wincing as her palm hit a piece of broken glass.

“Little shits,” she hissed, pulling the chunk of glass from her hand and setting it aside. It was too dark to find all the pieces. “What the hell am I doing?”

She leaned forward and straightened the seashell that was still resting on the stone, glad it had survived Boston's vagrant youths for this long. Wet leaves stuck to the front and sides of the grave, and she pulled off a few that hid his name.

“That's going to be me one day,” she muttered, eyeing the paltry engraving once more. “Emma Swan, time stamp. I'll be lucky if anyone comes to chase delinquents away from my grave.”

Everything was wet and cold, the smell of decomposing leaves rich in the air, and while fall made most people think of pumpkins and Thanksgiving, warm cups of coffee on cold walks – right now she could only think about how dark and cold and oppressively heavy it must be six feet under.

The next time she visited, she left a little fist-sized pumpkin she'd picked up at the bodega. She'd thought about carving it, what with Halloween around the corner, but that was never something she'd done before, and if she messed it up, she'd have nothing.

It didn't take long for the pumpkin to turn into a Thanksgiving feast for the city's squirrels, barely more than a rind left behind like something someone had tossed into the garbage, and she felt bad. She should have come back sooner.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, removing the half-frozen leftovers and pulling the few stray weeds with enough gumption to grow in later November. “Looks like you had quite a bit of furry company while I was gone. If I were a normal person, I'd be home sharing a Thanksgiving meal with my family, or friends – but I don't have either of those, so here I am, talking to you. Happy Thanksgiving, Liam.”

It wasn't long after the first snow hit Boston, and Emma was reminded of that first time she visited the cemetery and wondered who Liam Jones had been, why no one stopped to visit his grave. She could have googled him, but if she was being honest with herself – which she was really trying to be better about these days – she didn't really want to know if he had family that couldn't be bothered to visit. If she didn't know, she couldn't be angry with them for no reason, since she had no right to be.

She didn't know Liam Jones.

She had no right to bear a grudge for him.

As Christmas approached, Emma saw more people visiting, sometimes with family, and other times alone, leaving little battery powered tea lights and wreaths to warm the cold stone. When she saw the bouquet of poinsettias at the bodega, she didn't feel the least bit strange as she placed it on the counter. There aren't any Christmas decorations in her apartment, but she felt like Liam should have something to show that at least one person was thinking about him on the first Christmas he was missing.  

The air was bitter and cold as she made the trek though from her neighborhood to the cemetery, but she didn't mind. When she reached Liam's grave, there was a soft blanket of fresh snow atop it, and she brushed it gently to the ground.

“You know, I really should thank you,” she said quietly, glad for the peace and solitude that hung around her. It made it easier to say the words. “I felt like maybe I was doing something nice for you, remembering you in the way I would want someone to think about me, just so that I wasn't completely forgotten, but I feel like coming here...shit, it'll be a year in a couple months. I think I figured something out. I don't want to be alone, Liam. I know I can't guarantee that I won't be alone one day in the ground, with no one left to care, but...I don't want to feel that way now. I've always kept people at a distance, too afraid to get hurt again, but I'm tired of being alone. I want a life, I want to live it...”

There was no answer, but she hadn't been expecting one.

Instead she leaned down and brushed the snow off the little ledge that still held her seashell, frozen to the stone, and gently placed the poinsettias beside it. She reached out and traced her finger along the carved edge of his name before turning to leave, glancing up at the blue sky between the bare branches of the cherry tree.

“If you're, uh, listening anywhere, well, thanks for everything, Liam. Merry Christmas.”

~ * ~ * ~

When Killian woke, it felt like he was being dragged from the bottom of the sea, every force on earth weighing him down still not enough to keep his blissful, dark peace from being disturbed.

Once the light hit him, it wasn't like in the movies. He didn't wake up groggy, or wondering where he was, confused about the machines beeping around him and the tubes connected to his body.

No, he knew exactly where he was and what led him here, and he wanted nothing more than to sink back down to that darkness that was so complete and starving it devoured every thought before he could think it. He wanted to close his eyes and fall back into that oblivion that had been his only respite from the flashes of memory, the pull of voices.

He didn't want to have to remember the sound that steel makes when it cracks and groans, the way the dock shook beneath their feet as the freighter slid into the crane, the sheer force of it toppling the massive tower of heavy steel as easily as if it were nothing more than a house of cards. He wanted to forget running for his brother, watching the mass of cables and metal come down over them – screaming, screaming his name and trying to reach him, unable to move, unable to breathe...

“Can you hear me? My name is Dr. Whale.”

The voice was leaning over him, his mouth moving, more words floating around him. Killian didn't understand why they wouldn't just leave him alone – he tried to roll onto his side, ignoring the the objections from the doctor, and that's when he felt it – a pain that burned up his arm and into his brain, as if his hand had been crushed by his movement. He jerked his arm, trying to understand what he'd done, why it hurt so badly – and then he saw it.

The bandages, the stump, the strangely shortened arm that most definitely used to have a hand at the end of it – except now there was nothing, and it couldn't possibly be his arm he was looking at, his hand that was missing, because he could feel it. The agony was so real it eclipsed everything else – the pain in his ribs and elsewhere vanishing as he thrashed and tore out lines and catheters.

There were hands on him, holding him – voices shouting, someone screaming. He was screaming, but it was so far away, a sea of darkness rising between him and the place where his hand wasn't, cradling and dragging him back down to that deep oblivion where there was nothing.

Nothing at all.  

Tagging: @justanother-unluckysoul @kmom0f4 @the-darkdragonfly @teamhook @zaharadessert @xarandomdreamx @jrob64 @wefoundloveunderthelight @tiganasummertree @pirateprincessofpizza @lfh1226-linda @alexa-fangirl-forever @alifeofdreams @superchocovian @donteattheappleshook @hollyethecurious @caught-in-the-filter @snowbellewells @itsfabianadocarmo

[slutforwings]

books i read in july and what i thot of them because im in a silly goofy mood and want to make a post like this

the song of achilles - madeline miller (historical fiction)

retelling of the myth of achilles, from patroclus' (his normal dudebro absolutely no romance there - some historians) perspective. some banger lines balanced out by godawful ones (once you start counting how many times feet are mentioned you never really stop + skin is once described as 'the color of freshly pressed olives' which is just green). the story is, yknow, beautiful and aching. i did really enjoy it, worth the read!

this is going to hurt - adam kay (non-fiction)

diaries of a junior doctor (who no longer practices medicine), with funny as well as heartbreaking anecdotes on life as a doctor. fucking hilarious at times, then you turn the page and you read the saddest thing. i absolutely devoured this book, its a really cool insight into the medical world! 10/10 have already decided m gonna reread

a short history of nearly everything - bill bryson (non-fiction)

what the title says! its basically an 'introduction' to all of science (air quotes bc its like 500 pages) written in a way that makes it both easy and fun to read as someone who studies literature and hasnt had a science course in 4 years. imo best read along with a pencil so you can underline and comment etc. wonderful book, learned a lot and had a great time

opposite of always - justin a. reynolds (romance, YA, coming of age idk)

high school senior gets together with the girl of his dreams. and then she dies. but no fear! its groundhog day week months and he wakes up right when he met her again. can he save her? while this book is sweet and well written and lovely message and all that.... it made me realise 'ah. im officially too old to relate to high schoolers'. so there's that.

haven't they grown - sophie hannah (mystery)

the protagonist parks in front of the house of her old childhood best friend who she hasnt seen in 12 years. just having a looksee. oh there she is, getting out of the car with her kids! hold the fuck up. those kids look exactly the same age as 12 years ago... a book with layers upon layers of lies and mystery, i recommend saving it for a time that you have the entire day to read, you just wanna know So bad. the protagonist's daughter (and her husband to some degree) help her to figure it out and it's neat :)

wendy, darling - a.c. wise (fantasy)

what if peter pan and neverland wasnt really the dream it seemed? what if wendy got institutionalised for still believing in it? what if, years later, she has a daughter. and what if, one night, peter pan comes for her daughter. a really cool reimagining, really goes hard on the 'peter is a kid forever and ever and has insane powers to shape neverland so maybe thats not a good idea!' i really loved it, its a great book about growing up even though you dont want to etc. also incredibly expressive writing, i could picture perfectly what was being described. quite eerie a lot of the time but im a fan of that

the dreamers - karen thompson walker (sci-fi?)

there's a girl at a college that won't wake up anymore. she's just peacefully sleeping but nothing can rouse her. after a few days, she passes away. weird but alright! ah shit it was contagious and now the whole town is falling asleep. they all seem to be dreaming so vividly though, what could it be about? odd writing style, but in a good way. something else yknow. really eerie vibes, but unmatched by the way your skin crawls when you check the date it was published and it was before the pandemic. uncomfortable similarities! its about the way a community might come together (or not) in crisis times and also about the differences between waking and dreams. fun!

the midnight library - matt haig (philosphical fiction)

it starts with nora taking an overdose. except she wakes up in the midnight library, a place between life and death. there she can try other routes her life could have taken if she'd done things differently. a really nice book about depression and finding the will to live again by looking at yourself with a new perspective. although i loved one of his other books (how to stop time) more, this was also a very good read