#i do not. know how advisable that’d be but.

[dagasinfilo]

i think i’m gonna straight up ask my psych for an adhd assessment next tuesday

[iceunhie]

JEALOUSY IS A FICKLE THING...

ft. al-haitham, ayato, wriothesley, lyney

warnings : gender neutral, jealousy, mentions of suggestive content on wriothesley's part, established relationship, you are wriothesley's spouse. erm slight dark content but it's okay it isn't implied, we need more men like them in the world

mhie's notes : i used the wheel randomizer for this i hope everyone's proud i write for anyone other than scara ijbol

al-haitham’s jealousy is muted; quiet and hardly noticeable, often non-existent unless you have the fortune of knowing him deeply enough (kaveh). make no mistake, al-haitham trusts you, he simply doesn’t trust those that make moves on you when he was clearly right there. when some bothersome person disrupts you both on a simple date, which is already a clear red warning sign, for the acting grand sage hardly has any time to spare; naturally, his reaction would be to put a complete stop to any and all the flirty remarks towards you with a flat tone.

it’s not the content of the words that make the person making a move on you leave, but the slight menacing edge to al-haitham’s voice, a sign that if they do intend to cross the line more than necessary, he won’t just be using his words.

most would back off after a simple talking-to, but in the case that person doesn’t cease their advance, you can best bet your lover is steering you away immediately. dendro archon forbid they touch you or make you uncomfortable in the slightest, though, or else al-haitham has no qualms contacting the matra or taking matters in his own hands, but this scenario hardly happens often, given his seamless ability to get to the heart of the conflict and uprooting it so that no problems arise.

he’d most likely opt to diffuse the situation by straight-up telling any admirer of yours that you were taken and most definitely not up for grabs.

“they are my lover. since you’re clearly crossing their preferred boundaries and seem ignorant of the fact, i’d advise you to stop making them feel any more uncomfortable.”

though it’s truly difficult to get al-haitham jealous due to the excellent control of his emotions, tempered by his rational thinking, the most you can see of it is how he seems to stay closer to you than usual and the simple but firm link of your fingers as you both continue on your days.

(but if you notice him putting a subtle hand on your waist as you both walk, do try not to comment on it, will you?)

for ayato… er, why have you even bothered? if one even has the nerve to flirt and court the yashiro commissioner’s own partner, then that’d make you either not inazuman, or simply an idiot. it’s no exaggeration, but a simple fact. ayato is by no means a jealous man, but he doesn’t like seeing those not worthy of you hover around you with such impure and unwelcome intentions, so he tells ayaka and thoma, but really, he just wants to call the shuumatsuban on any who dares to even look at you the wrong way.

he bides his time well, approaching your admirer with a genial smile and elegant composure and indulges in small talk, but there’s a chill in the air and the looming feeling of doom as well as his smile that seems to see through any and all actions. its terrifying, really.

it also doesn’t help that he’d be extremely touchy in these moments, seeking to link arms with you and yes, even going as far as to rest his head on your shoulder, a clear indication of exactly how close you two really are. after you introduce him as your lover, at this point, it’s likely that the person making a move on you would back off and run away immediately, for how could they even dare to compete when it’s the yashiro commissioner himself who they’re facing?

he’d gloat silently afterwards in the comfort of his own quarters though, the sight of your admirer cowering like a dog getting cornered by a wolf, ah, truly satisfying. though thoma would eventually tell him to tone down the ‘borderline evil chuckling.’

“my love, have you been well? hm? the change of topic? ah, well, as the saying goes; ‘out of sight, out of mind,’ yes? no need to think about those that’ll only bother you. now, come here, there’s a new hotpot ingredient i’d like you to try… haha, relax, it isn’t dango this time.”

another one with a terrifying reputation and terrifying influence to make even the most daring of your admirers quake in their boots. wriothesley is amused - he gets that there’s hardly any window for romance in such a dreary place like the fortress, but even going as far as to court the duke of meropide’s own spouse? really funny, honestly.

but after the initial wave of amusement, he does take this time to immediately show off his status as your husband, showing off the matching wedding rings and even having the well-deserved nerve to smile and continue on rambling about your marriage, which is clearly a very happy one, judging by the way he presses a lingering kiss to your cheek while maintaining clear eye contact towards the person.

you’d have to wrangle in your husband when you both sleep tonight though, because wriothesley has made it his personal mission for any and all those who wish to covet you to show them that you were his spouse, and no other held your heart or your affections. when morning rises the next day, you promptly leave with a very visible bruise on your neck, and an especially relaxed and happy duke at your heels. most would look away in embarrassment, including your admirers, so that’s that.

“hah, that'll show any of those who have way too much time on their hands to lay their hands off my spouse. what? too brutal? well, sweetheart, what did you expect?”

oh my god lyney. haiz this enigmatic magician… magicians are all about masterfully weaving lies and illusions in order to perform to the top standard, and it's no surprise lyney also uses such methods when dealing with any and all annoyances in your relationship. he can be perfectly fine on the outside, but he has always been good with keeping his more sinister and less than socially acceptable side in check.

in fact, chances are he’d probably charm away your admirer with his own tricks; a wink their way and honeyed suave words to ease their love-struck heart and in seconds your admirer is up and away, promising to leave.

this often gets you disgruntled and in awe of his ‘performance,’ but lyney will always stave off your complaints or questions with a rainbow rose or some other fancy trick of his up his sleeve and guide you away, person courting you forgotten. all according to plan….

in all honesty, lyney isn't as composed about it as he seems. lynette can see it at a glance after you two have separated after the encounter. it shows in the way he broods silently for some time, preferring to divert the attention of such a sore subject away and going about endlessly about what new gifts he might give you or what seat was best for viewing, read: what seat was closest to him, for that matter. her brother was truly such a pain in the neck, and lynette does thank you for making him happy, but really, at this rate, you'd drive him insane by how much sway you hold over him.

“and just a trick of the light here and-! ta-da! a rainbow rose, symbolizing just how much i do adore you, way more than any other! …so don't try to pay attention to them, okay? after all, you've already caught this magician’s eye and heart~”

he can still be pouty and extremely clingy after the encounter though, which carries on whenever he performs any of his shows, where lyney always, always makes one of his acts feature you, be it a simple guess your card trick or his favorite, the one act where he leads you to land up on stage and give him a kiss based on the card’s instructions, it's all to show just how wrong anyone else other than him would make you as elated as lyney does.

@ MHIIEEE 2023 : do not copy, repost or plagiarize my work.

btw can you tell i had fun writing for al-haitham despite the fact that i have never even been remotely interested in him in the entirety of the game

[twst-aceofhearts]

Caretaker

a/n: Riddle's expression ohmahgosh 아아..~ 너무 귀여우 진짜~ asldkfj pure fluffyyyyyy

pairings: Riddle x Yuu

words: 1595

taglist: @luxaryllis @thegoldencontracts @waterthatsmoe

It started out as a nice time! Yuu was helping out Heartslabyul’s dorm leader by taking care of the hedgehogs with him for the unbirthday party later in the afternoon.

That was until all the hedgehogs started climbing on top of Riddle. They kept chirping for an ounce of attention. 

Yuu couldn’t help but let out a few giggles, begging to laugh at the display which caused his face to start turning red. Is he angry or embarrassed…?

“This is not a funny matter!” He attempts to scold them, the hedgehogs trying to climb on top of his head.

“You’re all causing such an unnecessary commotion! Stop climbing on me this instant!” A lot of the adorable creatures continue hanging off his hair. A lot of them crawl down to his shoulders to cling onto him even harder. He ends up succumbing to the tiny beings’ hold, now glaring at Yuu with an annoyed huff.

“What do you want me to do? They keep giving me those stupidly adorable eyes everytime I try to take them off of you. I can’t resist, Riddle. They’re too cute.” Yuu sighed with a small pout.

His face becomes a tomato red, looking away while mumbling something incoherent. Yuu thought they heard a “Shut up!” in there somewhere.

“Rude,” Yuu’s feigned pout increased. “...say ‘cheese’~” A small smirk pulled at the corner of their mouth, pulling out their phone and snapping a picture of the miserable-looking dormhead. Blackmail to send to Ace and Deuce.

Riddle lets out another audible groan. “Why on earth must you take a picture of this? Delete it this instant-!” He’s still not looking at Yuu, he refuses to, completely embarrassed and flustered.

“Mmh…do you want me to delete the picture or get them off of you?”

“You’re going to make me choose?!” He turns to Yuu with a deadpan look. “Get these hedgehogs off of me! This is humiliating enough…” He glares at them, muttering something under his breath.

Yuu pocketed their phone, beginning to scoop the hedgehogs off of him, placing them back into their cage.

Riddle lets out a breath he’s been holding on for a while. He glares at Yuu and gave them a small frown. “Not a single word of this to anyone.”

Yuu gave a sheepish grin, closing the hedgehog cage and flipping the latch. “I make no promises.”

He rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. “I knew I shouldn’t have invited you to tend to the hedgehogs with me.”

“Aw come on, don’t be like that Riddle.”

“How else am I supposed to be? You took pictures of me in such a humiliating state!” Riddle huffed, completely exasperated.

“I’m not gonna do anything with it-!” Yuu paused. “...except make it my wallpaper-”

“Delete the picture,” He says sternly, narrowing his eyes. “I can always tell Trey to stop making you [insert favorite dessert]. So I would advise against keeping it.”

“No fair…”

“Just delete the photo please. I have an image to uphold,” He sighs again, looking a bit more relaxed now that the hedgehogs are away from him. Even so, he has a light blush across his face.

“...no.” Yuu pouted in defiance.

“What? What do you mean no-?” He raised an eyebrow. “Delete. The. Photo,” he growls through gritted teeth. “I don’t think you seem to understand how humiliating it is to be covered by hedgehogs of all things.

“I don’t want to…”

“Too bad,” The redhead walks over, planning to snatch Yuu’s phone from them. “Give me the phone so I can delete it myself.” He reaches his hand out for the cellular device.

Yuu, being a menace, held it over their head, using his (lack of) height to their advantage. [a/n: sry I had to ㅠㅠ]

He lets out a huff, crossing his arms. He gives them a glare, “You know I can just use magic to take the phone from you, right?”

“Yeah, but then that’d be stealing—it’d be against the school rules.”

“You took pictures of me without my permission. Isn’t that also against the rules?” He scoffs and reaches his hand out for the phone again. 

“...touche.”

Riddle sighed and rolled his eyes, “Why do insist on keeping such a horrible photo anyway…?”

“It’s not horrible. I like it—seriously, I really do.” Yuu’s tone softened, their voice dropping a murmur.

“...You’re joking, right?” The blush on his face grew, spreading across his cheeks. He looked at Yuu, trying to see if they’re being serious by the tone of their voice.

“...I just said I’m serious—”

“Well, I don’t get why you like it so much. I…I look…undignified…” Yuu could tell he thinks if Ace or someone else saw the picture, he’d never hear the end of it.

Yuu clenched their jaw and swallowed before replying, “That’s..kind of the point? Only I get to see you like that.”

“You…-huh?” His eyebrows furrow, a flustered mess simultaneously though. “W-Why would you want to be the only one to see me like that..?”

“...personal…reasons.”

“What personal res-” He pauses, putting two and two together, flushing an even brighter shade of red, almost blending in with his hair color. “Are you trying to say that me being..uh-... embarrassed…is somehow attractive to you…?”

“W-what? Psh, no…where’d you get that idea from–?” Yuu looked down, unavailingly hiding their red cheeks.

“You-” He points an accusing finger at them. “You…think…my embarrassing-...moments are cute..?” He looks like he wants to hide under a rock right about now. 

“W-well, I wouldn’t put it like that—” Yuu was equally, if not more flustered now. How the tables have not turned.

“How would you put it then?” He crosses his arms, still looking away from Yuu. 

“It’s…endearing.”

“E-endearing?” He seems to have finally composed himself, then turning to look back at Yuu. “...I’ve never heard anyone use that to describe me before…” He looked away again, a small smile on his face this time.

“There’s a first for everything,” Yuu shrugged, managing to fan the warmth out of their cheeks.

“I suppose there is,” He lets out a soft chuckle. “The day you find me adorable though, is the day I eat a tart with ingredients other than strawberries.”

“...technically strawberry tarts are made with other ingredients, you know. The crust—”

“Stop speaking,” He gave Yuu a deadpan expression, pointing a finger at them.

Yuu pouted, but they shut up anyway.

“Better,” He gave Yuu the tiniest of smiles. “I’ll…let you keep the photo. On one condition.” A soft smirk appeared on his face—the first and last they’ll ever see. 

Yuu raised an eyebrow, their eyes sparkling. “Really? What?”

He motions for Yuu to come closer. “Just come a bit closer first~”

“...you sound like you’re up to something. Who are you and what have you done to Riddle?”

“Hush, just come here,” he laughs lightly, motioning them to come closer once more. He’s blushing slightly again, his smile genuine now.

When Yuu gets over to him, he tilts their chin with one hand. He gets a little bit closer, leaving only a bit of space between them. He smiles, a bit more mischievous than before.

Yuu furrowed their eyebrows. “I knew it…you’re up to something…”

“Oh, don’t be like that. Close your eyes,” he chuckles softly, sounding more teasing than before.

“Why…?”

“No questions. Just close them,” he sighs, giving Yuu another smile. “Please?”

“...Fine. But if you collar me or something, I will be really upset.”

“Don’t worry, no collars involved,” He laughs again before bringing Yuu’s chin up to look more at him. Now that Yuu had closed their eyes, he leans in, planting a light kiss on their cheek. His lips lingered there for a few moments, before stepping away. “You can open them now.”

Yuu’s eyes fluttered open, their cheeks flushing slightly as their hand stuttered, reaching up to graze the spot where he had kissed.

“Cute,” he states it matter of factly. “Now that wasn’t so horrible, was it?”

“...what…what was that for…?”

“Isn’t it obvious? It’s payback for taking embarrassing pictures of me,” he smirks, letting out a quiet laugh. “Also because I wanted to see you all flustered,” he chuckles again, turning around to take out the hedgehogs of the cage once more. 

Yuu watched him pick up a hedgehog, a small blush on their face. They pulled out their phone, holding it in their hand hesitantly for a moment, before making up their mind.

“...Hey, Riddle. Can you look over here and smile?”

Riddle turns to Yuu, looking at them with a raised eyebrow. “What for?”

“..seflie,” They mutter, a bit shyly.

“Oh..fine, only this once,” He sighs, but he’s smiling as he walked back to Yuu. “Ready when you are,” he closes his eyes and holds the hedgehog with two hands.

The little hedgehog in his hands is snoozing away, not caring about the picture. Doesn’t matter, it still looks cute.

After Yuu took the picture, Riddle opened his eyes and looked at them. “Can I see?” He looks curious and a bit embarrassed about how it came out.

“Hold on…” Yuu muttered, switching their lockscreen to that very picture, before flipping their phone around and showing him.

He nods and looks at the picture, his eyes scan the picture before he smiles. “I look…tolerable,” He laughs lightly and moves a hand up to mess with the back of his own hair. “Well, at least you have a more…decent version of me on your phone now, don’t you?”

“Yes… I like this one a lot better.”

credit to @cafekitsune for the divider

[mariaofdoranelle]

Look at Us Now - ch. 28

Fic masterlist

Not me disappearing and coming back with angst

Warnings: you might be mad at me by the end of this chapter

Words: 3,8k

There was a lot of gross things that, as a mother, Aelin was willing to do, but gift-wrapping a peed stick for her boyfriend wasn’t one of them.

Instead, Aelin texted Rowan asking him to pick Maisie up alone. After work, she went straight to get her pregnancy confirmed with some blood work that’d be done tomorrow, then went to the mall to find a cute envelope to put the test in.

Aelin was supposed to go straight home after, but she got sidetracked by the baby stores. Sue her.

Though it was getting pretty late. So late she had to pause the onesie window-shopping because her phone started pinging with Rowan’s texts.

>> Baby

>> Working late today?

>> I’m cleaning my closet for when you decide to bring your things

>> I made soup for dinner

>> Maisie and Fleetfoot are sleeping

>> And my cock is already hard for you

>> Don’t make me miss you too much

His texts brought a smile to her lips. Torn between her promise to stop lying to him and the truth potentially ruining her plans, Aelin decided she’d just not say anything to him—only when it was time.

Her reply began with a devilish grinning emoji.

<< Or else?

<< I’ll be home soon

<< Buzzard

<< Love you

She put her phone away, not knowing the cause for the quiver in her stomach—something between morning sickness, being too in love and nausea from antidepressant withdrawal, now that she had to switch her medication to something more pregnancy-friendly.

Aelin wanted to suspend all her medication for the baby’s sake, but Dr. Blackbeak advised her against it—and was unkind enough to remind her about what happened when she last did it.

Her history with postpartum depression, the main reason she was freaking out about this pregnancy. She’d always wanted this second baby—now or later, surprise or planned—but as much as it didn’t change the outcome, it also didn’t change how anxious she felt about it.

Being a second-time mom, people would think Aelin wasn’t scared. Truth was, she was fucking terrified. Even more so than in her first pregnancy.

This wasn’t the cold rush in the pit of Aelin’s belly, making a mother-to-be wonder about how her new journey would be. This was the sheer dread of a woman who went to hell and back not a very long time ago.

Aelin took a deep breath, clutching the little onesie for dear life as if it’d steady her. She let herself sniff it because it smelled like babies, rainbows and unicorns, then blinked back a few tears because pregnancy hormones and the moodiness from antidepressant withdrawal weren’t a good combo.

Morning sickness made her dehydrated enough. The last thing Aelin needed was to cry like a baby at the mall.

When the timer went off a few days ago and Aelin saw two lines on the pregnancy test, she shrieked with joy. Her chest inflated like a balloon, overcome with the most exquisite feeling, and then memories of a tiny, breakable Maisie flooded her thoughts. That’s when her smile died down.

She remembered her daughter’s cute nursery, and how Rowan would shout at her when he visited because he was over-sanitizing everything Maisie came near, but Aelin would rather kill herself than get out of bed to pick up a broom.

She remembered dizziness and black spots in her vision because Aelin wasn’t eating as much as a nursing mother should.

She remembered wondering how well-off Maisie would be with just Rowan, and remembered toughening up and shaking these thoughts off because growing up without her own mom sucked.

She remembered not remembering Maisie’s first year like a proper mom would, because her faulty brain deemed it safer to erase it than allow Aelin to relieve it in any way.

Still, she could do this again. She would do this again.

And while Aelin had no certainty over how having a newborn baby again would look like, she knew the outcome would be better if she allowed herself to rely on Rowan.

Aelin was self-sufficient enough to not really need anyone, but she also could admit that Rowan had a skill-set that complimented hers. They made a good team. Therefore, though Aelin didn’t need him, she was ready to allow herself to.

And right now, she could really use his restorative cuddles or the meals he’d prep when she was pregnant with Maisie. Everything at the hospital cafeteria made her stomach riot, so Aelin had a bag of IV fluids for lunch, after she felt ill at the end of a 6-hour surgery. Rowan would freak the fuck out if he knew.

But then she saw a White Hawks onesie, and every worry flew out the window for a moment. It was one of the first things he bought for Maisie, and even today, he got her a new jersey every time she outgrew one.

She took one off the rack and smiled. This wasn’t the original plan, but the envelope with the beta hCG test was definitely coming with a gift attached now.

˜˜

“Again?” Sorscha, the hospital’s pharmacist, frowned at Aelin’s request.

“What do you mean, again?”

“I heard you came here asking for the same thing earlier today.”

Fucking hospital gossip.

On the way home, Aelin had to pull over and ended up retching inside one of her shopping bags—but had the time to get the onesie out before she made its bag unsalvageable—so she decided to do a quick detour back to work and surreptitiously snatch a bag of IV fluids.

It didn’t take a PhD to know that intravenous medication was more effective than tablets, and Aelin happened to have easy access to it and a medical degree to take care of herself.

But now Sorscha’s unwillingness to help was kinda ruining her plans.

The pharmacist continued, “Did you see a physician before coming here?”

Absolutely not. If Aelin told a single soul inside this hospital about her pregnancy, there was a chance someone might congratulate Rowan about it before she did it herself.

Instead, Aelin said, “I am the physician.”

“Really? You broke a bone so bad you need anti-nausea and B1?”

Aelin crossed her arms, shooting daggers at Sorscha. What was even her point here?

Still, she pressed on, “Does Captain Whitethorn know you’re here?”

“That is none of your business,” Aelin said slowly, her tone and glare hard as steel. “I came here for saline, electrolytes, glucose, vitamins and ondansetron; not relationship advice. Can I have the fluids or not?”

Sorscha’s jaw worked, her tiny frame now filled with anger. Aelin didn’t mean to be a jerk, but the woman crossed a line by mentioning her boyfriend.

“Sorry, Doc. I only take orders from physicians when they’re on call,” the pharmacist said before turning her back on Aelin and leaving her alone in the hallway.

Aelin walked about two halls and found chairs by the administrative area, and texted her resident.

<< Nox

<< Who’s on call tonight?

Thank Mala her response came fast.

>> Bas and I

>> Need anything?

<< No you’re not

<< You just pulled a 24h shift

<< Tonight you’re getting a good night’s sleep for Mr. Faliq’s carpal tunnel fix.

<< Come by Yellowlegs’ office so I can scold you in person

Aelin tucked her phone back inside her purse—she didn’t need to wait for a reply, he’d be here.

In the meantime, she self-soothed the discomfort in her throat and stomach with deep breaths while she didn’t have her IV, and thought of what the hell she’d tell Rowan when she got home, now that it was after ten and she wasn’t ready to tell him about the baby yet.

If Rowan knew that she: (1) was at the hospital because her (2) pregnancy symptoms were overlapping with the (3) antidepressant withdrawal, so she was (4) throwing up so much it was hard to keep food inside while also (5) freaking out because Baby #2 could potentially wreck years of progress Aelin has put into her mental heath ever since Maisie was born…

It was safe to say that Aelin wasn’t eager to put all cards on the table for him right now.

Rowan will find a million things to worry about, whether they’re an actual concern or not. And if she does give him something to be concerned about… nope. Not happening. Aelin needed to get at least part of her shit together before he went all dadzilla on her.

On the other hand, she needed him. Also, Rowan might freak out, but she couldn’t lie just to shield him from a problem that regarded both of them, as a couple.

But hurried footsteps announced her resident’s arrival, so Aelin tucked those problems away for her near-future self.

“Hey, Doc!” Nox shouted, running her way. “Just finished the night round. What’s up?”

“Just feeling a bit under the weather.” She waved him off before he decided to doctor her. “Nothing much. Sorscha won’t give me an IV because I’m not on call, can you get one for me?”

“Again?” He asked, mentioning her mid-surgery break earlier today. “Are you sick?”

“Not sick enough to let you fix Mr. Faliq’s wrist unsupervised, if that’s what you’re asking.”

He raised his brows and had his palms facing up and tried to clarify, “That’s not—“

“And I’m not trusting that wrist with a sleep-deprived resident.” She circled a finger in the general direction of his bloodshot eyes. “You better be looking sharp and ready at the OR tomorrow, Dr. Owen.”

He pointed at the bags under his eyes. “I think these will take a lot more than one night to fade away, Doc.”

Aelin humphed and quickly scribbled down the components she needed for her fluids. Truth was, she liked Nox. Being older than the average resident—older than her, even—he was fun company, but not a buffoon like some of her students. As an attending surgeon, she needed to give him a hard time sometimes to establish dominance, but Aelin could easily see herself befriending him once they were equals in the surgery food chain.

She handed him the note. “Would you get these at the pharmacy and find me at the observation room?”

He nodded and scanned the note. “Sure, and about tomorrow—wait. I know this. My sister would take it when she was—” Nox’s pulled down eyebrows went impossibly up as his eyes widened. He cleared his throat and schooled his face into neutrality. “But that’s none of my business, is it?”

“Good call,” Aelin said, and tilted her chin to the general direction of the pharmacy. “Now go.”

˜˜

“Are you sure you can drive like this? I don’t mind staying longer,” Nox said at the observation room, right after he didn’t let Aelin stab the IV needle into herself.

There was a 50/50 chance he was sucking up to her to get more surgeries, but it wasn’t bothering her as much as it would on a regular day.

“It’s a five-minute drive,” she reminded him. It went without saying that Aelin lived at the Air Force gated community, most doctors here did.

He hummed, still checking everything before he left. “And you’re alone with Little Bean tonight?”

“Nope.” She leaned back on the recliner chair, biting back a smile. “Papa Bean and I moved in together. Now I can be sick without worrying about Little Bean.” She wiggled her eyebrows, gloating about this newfound small luxury.

Not that she didn’t have help per se but, a year ago, Aelin would rather overdose on painkillers than ask Rowan for help.

Before she could continue conversation with Nox, a figure oddly similar to Papa Bean himself showed up in her peripheral vision.

She saw him before he saw her. Nox closed the partitions that separated her from the other patients, but not the one that faced the corridor—which allowed her to see Rowan’s back as he talked to a nurse at another part of the room.

Why on earth was he here? This wasn’t protocol. Aelin wasn’t injured in a way that made the staff make calls—hell, she wasn’t even officially a patient, she pretty much made her resident smuggle some fluids and medicated herself here.

She glared at Nox, but he looked just as confused. By the way he was coddling her, Aelin doubted he’d call Rowan behind her back. Which led to one other suspect.

When Rowan found her and his features relaxed in relief, all murderous thoughts about Sorscha vanished.

“Gods, Aelin.” He sighed, then hurried to her chair and cradled her head to his chest, ducking his face into the top of her head as if in this moment he wanted to embrace her with every inch of his body. “What happened?”

The snap of Nox’s gloves as he threw them away caught her attention before she could reply. “I should go. See you around, Doc.” He nodded at Rowan. “Captain.”

Rowan briefly thanked him for assisting Aelin, closed the last partition to give them some privacy and brought a chair closer to hers. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing much. I just felt a bit under the weather and stopped by to get some fluids. Do you remember who notified you about me being here? That’s not protocol.”

He blinked. His gaze slowly hardened until his jaw worked, and that’s how Aelin realized it was the wrong thing to say.

“A friend of Aedion’s that works here told him and asked if you’re okay, and then he called me asking if you’re okay.”

Fucking hospital gossip.

Rowan quirked a brow up and crossed his arms, waiting her to say something, which she didn’t, so he continued, “Now, imagine how I felt when I didn’t know if you’re okay or why you’re in the hospital, because you completely disappeared on me all evening—“

Aelin opened her mouth to speak, but Rowan held a finger up to signal that he wasn’t finished, in a way annoyingly similar to the one he used with Maisie. “And, after I made Aedion run to our house to watch Maisie and drove like a maniac here, imagine how I felt when I find you hanging out with your resident, right next to your phone, just not feeling in the mood to tell me you’re in the goddamn hospital?!” His voice got harsher and uneven in the end, an indicator that he was trying to keep it down given their surroundings.

Knowing her boyfriend, she could imagine very well. It wasn’t pretty but, in her defense, the hospital visit was completely unplanned and part of some news he wasn’t supposed to know yet.

Aelin nodded, her demeanor serious but not chastened. “I understand this isn’t ideal—“

“Ideal?”

A sigh. “I understand you’re pissy, then.”

“No, pissy doesn’t cover a fraction of it. The entire evening, where were you?”

“I had things to do.”

“And I suppose you’re not going to tell me until you want to?”

Aelin didn’t reply, and she was relieved when he kept quiet as well. If she was going through an inquisition, it was better to do it at home, away from prying ears. Besides, she was almost done with the IV.

As they waited to go home, Rowan’s face—along with the crossed arms and brooding aura—spoke volumes. And while she understood why he was upset with her, whatever Rowan wanted to know, he could wait until the pregnancy reveal tomorrow. Aelin was so not spilling everything now at the worst moment ever.

Baby #1 revealed in jail and Baby #2 at the ER. Mala help Baby #3 if they keep this shit up.

But then an inkling of why he might be this upset hit her, along with memories of her and Nox hanging out when he arrived. This sounds like such a silly concern.

Just like co-parenting a child with him meant dealing with millions of silly concerns that took over his days.

Shit.

Aelin wished she had the self-control to stand the weird vibe, but she didn’t. Without letting Rowan notice, she took off her own needle and disposed what was left of the fluids before she had finished it. She did take enough to get through the night, which was her goal.

Once they were in the parking lot, she broke their silence.

“I was alone—the whole time. If that’s what you’re worried about.”

Rowan cast her a sideways glance of poorly-concealed disapproval, as his steps towards the car didn’t falter. His jaw worked.

“I never doubted your fidelity, Aelin. Knowing you, I’d be less worried if that was the case—at least I’d know what the fuck you’re up to.”

Aelin reared back, his words hitting her like a blow.

“You don’t mean that.”

Rowan got inside the car without sparing her a glance, but she followed suit, undeterred. Sat on the passenger seat and decided to spill every part he needed to know at the moment without waiting for his reaction.

“I had a long day at work and needed to clear my head, so I went to the mall.” Not a lie. “Then I threw up on the way home and stopped by the hospital for some anti-nausea medication. Dr. Blackbeak changed my antidepressant, I’ll have withdrawal symptoms for the next few weeks.”

Among other causes for nausea.

“You didn’t tell me—about any of it.”

“I’m telling you now.”

“You went to Dr. Blackbeak almost two days ago, Aelin.”

Rowan’s speed wasn’t nausea-friendly, and he must be really pissed off to forget about his safety-first driving style.

“Well, you know—“

“Why did she change your medication?”

“I’m not the shrink, am I?”

His sharp turn brought a taste of bile to her throat. Shit, couldn’t he give time for her meds to work before driving this unhinged?

Rowan stopped at a red light, then rested his head against the steering wheel—more like banged his head against it, but the quick horn didn’t have many cars to disturb at this late hour.

With a heartbreaking waver to his voice that tugged at her heartstrings, he said, “I’m trying so fucking hard to be understanding, to be a better partner, to be someone you deserve, but I can’t be that to you if you won’t let me.”

Guilt. Aelin closed her eyes to take some deep breaths for her rebellious stomach, letting the raw emotion of his statement wash away the confidence about the way she acted tonight. Flashes of Rowan’s worried glances and tentative conversations about Aelin’s mood he started with her the past weeks came to mind.

It was only then that Aelin realized Rowan noticed every symptom of her pregnancy—the fatigue, mood swings, change in appetite—before she did herself. He just assumed she was having a depressive episode instead.

He saw all the signs and decided she was depressed instead of carrying his baby. The Buzzard.

Aelin never lied to him about Maisie or things she deemed important for him to know, but she did lie to him about her mental health. Repeatedly. Over the course of six years. This being the main reason that broke them apart.

Knowing this, she could see more clearly the reason behind his outburst.

Aelin slowly reached his shoulder and caressed it with her thumb. “Baby, I’m fine. You have nothing to worry about.”

Lies, lies, lies. Almost—but she wasn’t telling him whole thing now.

The light turned green and he picked up speed, to her stomach’s chagrin.

“Aelin, that’s not how ma—how a relationship works. You can’t let me know about shit like this only when it’s convenient for you, and I thought we were over this.”

Cold sweat broke on Aelin’s skin, and she felt lucky she could process what he said over the lightheadedness.

“I know, baby. And you’re the first person I go to, always. But sometimes I feel more comfortable sorting things out on my own first.”

Rowan let out a bitter chuckle. “Yeah, what’s the worst that could happen? Me freaking out because someone else told me you’re at the hospital?”

With breaths too shallow, her mouth flooded with saliva and made her jaw clench.

“Stop the car.”

“What?” Rowan asked, confused.

“Stop the car,” she repeated with no energy to shout, which he complied—too abruptly.

Aelin practically jumped off the car once it stopped and knelt on the grass of their gated community, trying to take deep breaths as her diaphragm contracted itself, preparing her for what was to come.

Her boyfriend quickly circled the car and crouched next to her. His trademark frown was frownier than ever. “What’s going on?”

“I just. Took. Nausea shit,” she managed to say, still breathless. “Could you not drive like a maniac?”

“Fuck. I’m so sorry, baby.” He held her hair. “All this from the medication withdrawal?”

Aelin couldn’t answer even if she wanted to, given her current state. A moment or two later she sat—more like slumped—on the grass, potentially ruining her jeans, feeling glad that there was a lot of dry heaving, but she didn’t throw up. Thank you, modern medicine.

She knew she had to address what Rowan said tonight, but it must be nearing midnight, Aelin had surgery first thing in the morning, and she was so incredibly tired.

An entire day’s worth of fatigue crashed down on her, just as much as her pride vanished. She didn’t bother trying to hide any of it from Rowan anymore, who watched her with hawk-like attention.

“Can we fight later?” Aelin said with a pleading look.

“Of course, baby.” Rowan scooped her up from the floor and effortlessly sat her on the passenger seat with the seatbelt on.

Aelin never thought she’d ever enjoy being coddled like this, but she’s had a rough day, and she needs her person.

Back in the driver’s seat, Rowan gave her a once-over before turning the car on, but Aelin stopped him once more. They’d get home to Aedion demanding answers, then crash and wake up to Maisie being loud in the morning and a whole day of work. Some things needed to be said first, so he doesn’t get the wrong idea.

“I just want you to know that I know that what happened was very uncool of me. I’m sorry.”

“I’ll get over it.” He gave her a watery smile. “Do you wanna talk about it just the two of us, or should I book an appointment with Yrene?”

Aelin wrinkled her nose, playfully discarding the idea of an early trip to the family therapist’s office. “Just us.”

“Whatever you need.”

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[inamagicalhallucination]

juni: you ever get so tired you start seeing spiders

atsushi:  me after I take 17 benadryl and start seeing the hat man

juni: the WHO

kenji, walking by: the gravity mafia person????

kyouka, also walking by: why is nakahara-san following you

dazai: wait you know chibi????

kunikida: don’t tell me the mafia is picking a fight with us again

atsushi: O-O um no-

kenji: if i take 17 benadryl will i see the gravity mafia person too

yasono: as ur doctor i have to advise you against that

kunikida: waIT WHO IS TELLING YOU TO TAKE THAT MANY DRUGS

dazai: atsushi are you encouraging ur friends to do drugs?

atsushi: wHAT? NO OF COURSE NOT

juni: WHAT DOES ANY OF THIS HAVE TO DO WITH THE HAT MAN

kunikida: IS THE MAFIA TRYING TO SELL YOU DRUGS ATSUSHI BE HONEST WITH ME

atsushi: NO IT WAS A JOKE-

dazai: wait chibi is giving you drugs-?

atsushi: no!

ranpo: atsushi if you’re getting drugs - you should sell them, that’d be smarter.

kyouka, nodding: yes we can buy a lot of delicious food

atsushi: i am NOT getting drugs

kunikida: good. im proud of you for saying no to drugs.

atsushi, tearing up: wait you are-

atsushi: wait im not being sold drugs! im not doing drugs! it was a JOKE

the agency:*loud unintelligible noise*

they end up having a drug awareness meeting btw

^^^^^^^^^^^ 

this is how i imagine conversations in the ada happen/escalate 

like theyll be talking about one thing and somehow end up somewhere else completely 

[salty-croissants]

Crumbling Walls ( Rayman x g/n reader )

I’ve been imagining this scenario very often lately , where the reader comforts Rayman after he gets basically fired from his job … I just really want him to be happy , those scenes of his always break my heart fr :,I 

I apologize for the possible ooc moments and generally not so good writing … hope this still turned out okay ! 

Details : use of gender neutral reader ;

friends to lovers ;

presence a few suggestive elements as well as mature topics such as mentions of alcohol and drugs , and occasional swearing ( if any of these make you uncomfortable not reading this is advised ! ) 

A long sigh escaped Rayman’s mouth , as he put down his sixth wine bottle … or was it the seventh … ? At this point , he couldn’t even tell anymore . 

That whole situation felt so unreal , and deep down he was hoping that maybe , just maybe , it was all just a dream , and that he was going to wake up in his bedroom and then head to work on his shows like always … 

… but he knew that wasn’t possible . Not anymore , not after what he did just a few hours ago . 

Rayman took a deep breath , getting up from the couch to grab another bottle to drown his sorrows in , when suddenly the damaged screen of his television lit the room up in a blinding white light …

< … the hell’s this ? > 

Who could be calling him at such a late hour ? 

Was it the Board of Directors ? 

Maybe they wanted to apologize to him for what had happened ? 

Unlikely … he had spoken to one of them not that long ago and the conversation hadn’t gone well , as the hole on the screen demonstrated … 

But when his blurry vision managed to make out the name of the caller , his tired eyes widened …

< Y/n ? > 

< Rayman - I’m so sorry I didn’t manage to talk to you sooner ! 

It’s been such a busy day and I just managed to find a minute to call you after work ! 

I just … wanted to know how you were doing , after … all that’s gone down tonight . > 

Hearing your voice resonating through the room made him feel … oddly at peace , as he staggered closer to the television .

You were one of the few people he truly felt at ease with : you were always so kind , with a strong opposition against any discrimination toward hybrids as well as a strong sense of justice … 

The fact that you had chosen to reach out to him despite having just finished work , simply to know how he was doing … that thought alone was enough to make Rayman’s heart skip a beat .

 < I … I don’t know … ‘m just … tired . Been difficult to deal with this , and … > 

He let out a nervous chuckle , trying to keep his trembling voice steady with no avail . 

< … I don’t even know if this CAN be fixed , y’know … ? > 

You remained silent for a moment , before saying something that Rayman really didn’t expect …

< … would you like me to come over to your place ? To keep you company … ?

I perfectly understand if you want to be alone right now , I get it , but - > 

< That’d … that’d be really great , y/n . > 

< Oh - okay , I’ll be there as soon as possible , hopefully the traffic isn’t a nightmare like always … I’ll see you soon ! > 

As the call ended , the kindness of his long time friend made a little smile appear on his exhausted face . 

You were even willing to drive all the way to his lounge , just to be there for him … Rayman could barely believe that someone so selfless and caring could actually exist . 

He sat on the couch after lazily picking up some of the bottles and junk on the floor , staring at the ceiling and just silently waiting for you to arrive …

When he heard the much anticipated knock on the door , he stumbled on the floor , doing his best to keep his balance as he got a hold of the knob and opened it : 

you were there , looking like you had been in quite a rush to get to the lounge as quickly as possible .

< Hey *sigh* Rayman … hope I didn’t keep you waiting for too long … > 

He couldn’t help but chuckle a little , as he allowed you to enter his place .

< ‘s alright , you didn’t . Sorry about the mess , by the way … I tried to clean up before you got here but … > 

< That’s okay , don’t worry about it . > 

It was the moment that you entered his place that you realized just how bad this whole thing was : judging by the wine bottles everywhere and the suspicious ( luckily still unopened ) powder on the table , it was clear that being thrown out from his beloved show had destroyed Rayman in more ways than one .

You followed him to the couch , your feet occasionally bumping into the glass bottles , and then sat next to him in silence , listening to the distant sounds of the cars wandering the busy streets below …

You weren’t quite sure of what to say , but after a moment you heard Rayman chuckle …

< Crazy , isn’t it ? Just yesterday everything was normal … just … standing there in the spotlight , discussing the news , nothing out of the norm … then one day you wake up and it’s all gone , all because you tried standing up to some asshole talking shit ‘bout your species … > 

You could see his hands tightening in a fist as he thought back about what the leader of the Niji 6 had said to him .

< You had every right to be upset , Rayman . He’s the one who went out of line , not you … I always did think Red was kind of a douchebag , not gonna lie . > 

He glanced at you , then sighed , one of his hands going through his once well kept blonde hair .

< Hm … well it’s not like that matters , anyway : he won . 

I lost the one thing , the ONE good thing I had going for me … 

I just … I got nothing now . Nothing at all . I … I am nothing . > 

Rayman wheezed , covering his face as the weight of the situation finally begun to crush him …

You stared at him with a worried expression : in all the years you two have known each other , you have never seen him so completely and utterly broken … 

< Rayman , that’s not … > 

< What ? You’re gonna tell me that there’s still something I can do ? 

Y/n , take a good look at me : I’m . A pathetic . Fucking . MESS ! 

Where do I go from here , huh ? What can I even do ?? > 

He stood up , barely able to keep his balance , and you caught his hand before he could fall on the floor … 

As your eyes met , there wasn’t a trace of pity or disgust in your gaze , and Rayman was just … confused by this . 

< I am looking at you , and I gotta tell you I see none of the things you just mentioned . Not one . > 

You helped him get back to the couch , and gently but firmly placed your hands on his shoulders .

You could feel him shaking … 

< You will always have value to me , regardless if Eden sees you as their star or not …

I know that right now it feels like everything is against you , but destroying yourself over this … > 

You glanced at the wine bottles scattered all around the lounge .

< … it’s just not worth it , Rayman . 

I’m sure we can think of something , but right now I just think that you need to get some rest : it’s the middle of the night , and you look exhausted … > 

You could feel him staring at you , and when your eyes met your heart skipped a beat as you realized just how close you were right now … 

< … we … ? > 

< Y … yeah , of course ! I know there isn’t really much I can do , but … I just wanna be there and help you out , it’s frankly the least I could do for - mm … ? > 

Before you could finish talking Rayman leaned forward , and the moment his lips met yours you froze for a few seconds before slowly closing your eyes , giving into the kiss .

You could feel his hands getting a hold of your waist , and when you caressed his hair he let out a soft groan before holding you even closer to him …

After a few minutes that felt like hours , the two of you finally pulled away , catching your breaths while staring into each other’s eyes …

< Y/n … > 

< Rayman … ? > 

He snuggled closer , placing his head against your chest while still holding you in his arms , almost like he was afraid that if he let you go you would vanish .

< Could … could you stay here tonight ? If you want to of course … 

It’s just … being with you … feels nice … you’re … nice … > 

Rayman sounded more and more tired , and it was clear that he was going to pass out from exhaustion any minute now … 

You smiled softly , giving him a kiss on the forehead before lifting him from the couch and walking upstairs to his room . 

He wasn’t the only one who needed some rest …

It had been a long day for both of you .

[dangerousduckcloud]

take my hand, i'll fly you to the stars - a superbat oneshot

Clark Kent, Daily Planet reporter, doesn't know that Bruce Wayne is Batman. Bruce Wayne, Gotham's billionaire, doesn't know that Clark Kent is Superman. So when Superman confesses he kissed Bruce Wayne in front of Batman one day, there's only one reason as to why he began acting weird with him. Batman's homophobic. or: two idiots in love that don't know how to communicate and instead make their own assumptions.

Read it also on AO3

I know I should be writing for 'Flowerbeds' but I got a bit of writer's block and I had this idea in my head for a while so I began writing a bit to get inspiration for the fic, but I got too much inspiration for this fic and so I wrote it all. Sorry.

English is not my first language.

Being a reporter comes with a lot of benefits; you are privy to information before anyone else. You uncover truths, bring down empires. You’re the voice of the people, helping to be heard those whose voice is underwater.

You fall in love.

Alright, well, maybe that last one is not exactly tied up with the job, but for Clark Kent, Daily Planet reporter, it sure felt like it. Being born out in space and raised in a Kansas farm, the possibilities of being invited to a Wayne Charity Gala were none had it not been because of his profession, although ‘invited’ might be a bit of a stretch, more like Cat Grant had gotten sick and no one else wanted to come, not even Clark, at first.

Point is, he’s here now. His tall, broad figure easily ignore by the one percent who could perceive he didn’t belong; they could sense his suit was off the rack, his glasses from the dollar store, his watch older than most people here, a gift from his Pa when he turned eighteen, a Kent heirloom that’d been passed down every generation from father to son, something he’d probably do one day.

So no, he didn’t belong here. Nevertheless, that didn’t matter, he was here to do a job, and he hoped ‘Clark Kent, clumsy Daily Planet reporter’ would strike pity in the guests to grant him and interview.

“Mr. Paul!” Clark mumbled, his pen ‘accidentally’ falling from his hands and clattering to the polished marble floor, the stifled chuckles heard with clarity thanks to his super hearing. “Do you have anything to say about the recent allegations regarding your company’s involvement in money laundering?”

Clark was a good man, he cared about the safety of the lives of beings walking on earth, be it human or animal, but he still allowed himself from time to time to see pleasure on seeing how guilty people changed their faces when confronted about their criminal activities. The mighty, haughty smile on Mr. Paul’s face fell, a sour look replacing it.

“There’s not much I can say that hasn’t been reported on the news. We discovered the person behind it all and we have left the police to handle the matter.” Generic, memorized answer that Clark was sure his PR team had advised him to learn by rote. One explanation that in reality it meant ‘I was behind it all and I already paid the right people to not do anything about it.’

“And what about the rumors it was your people doing so to avoid bankruptcy?” Had he added more force, Mr. Paul’s wine glass flute would shatter.

“It’s just that, rumors.” Mr. Paul said acerbically. “Such a brilliant mind as yours should know better than to believe what the common mouth spews. A shame, Mr. Kent, that quite an outstanding reporter as yourself has been reduced to writing gossip columns.”

“Well, that’s why I’m coming to the source. To stop the gossips.” Clark had another question ready for the man when he conveniently received a call on his phone, raising a finger to stop his next words.

“One moment, please.”

Clark was no idiot and knew that meant ‘don’t bother me anymore’ while he saw the man walk away, his hearing revealing the man was, in fact, talking to no one.

It was fine, Clark had already learnt a thing or two more about him by other attendants with a loose tongue due to the alcohol making them more talkative than usual.

He checked his watch for the umpteenth time that night; he desperately wanted to leave, and it’d only been two hours since the gala started and the main person of the night had yet to make an appearance, the only reason he still couldn’t leave, as Perry had asked him to get at least one quote from him.

Bruce Wayne, the man every reporter just could not get a serious single answer out of him, unless you were asking about his children or ‘The Gray Ghost’.

Bruce Wayne, the Prince of Gotham, labeled as the hottest man in the world by several magazines for several years now.

Clark knew about Bruce. Everyone did. However, he hadn’t had the opportunity to meet the man, no actual reason to do so, but he’d done his research; orphaned at eight, ‘disappeared’ at sixteen, came back at twenty-three, more children than braincells, according to some people.

Single. Hot.

Yes, Clark had eyes, and he recognized the man was nice to see, staying up late at night re-watching all his interviews ever given despite not having something more to learn about his businesses or recent charities work.  

Unintentionally, he did discover something else.

Bruce ‘Brucie’ Wayne was a liar.

He wasn’t as stupid as he pretended to be. Every single word that left those plump, pinkishlips was idiotic on purpose, to keep up a façade of a bimbo idiot for some reason. Business advantage, maybe?

And no, it wasn’t his slight, minimum, non-existent ‘crush’ as Lois had worded it, nor ‘all the hits to his head Bruce had gotten in all his accidents leaving him dumber every time’ theory Jimmy had concluded. No, it wasn’t anything like that.

There was a clear difference between his first interviews, his more recent ones, and all the undercover videos people had uploaded of him on social media, where he showed quite a different personality when he was with his children.

He used to be shy, withdrawn, a lot of vague answers but on point. Now he always finds a way to get into the interviewer nerves, to be obnoxious. And with his kids? Totally different. Sweet, calm. There was a recent video of him discussing with Timothy Drake about if time travel was possible, all his answers those that belonged to a scientist.

Bruce Wayne, the man who had barely stepped one foot in the ballroom and was already swarmed by potential opportunists—err, shareholders, businessmen, reporters, gorgeous, single men and women and mothers with single children that would do anything to get their daughters married off to the richest man in Gotham and, in turn, become part of that position.

All lovely people, Clark was sure.

Brucie didn’t seem to mind, though. At least, not externally. While on the outside he was all smiles, handshakes, and flirtatious jokes, his heart, Clark could hear, was beating rapidly, the tiniest crease on his temple and the way his eyes were searching for a way out.

Another point to his theory.

Clark desperately wanted to go back to his hotel room, the only good thing about this whole event. (He could totally get back home in less than a minute, but he wasn’t going to pass up on the opportunity of being pampered) but in lieu of making a beeline to where Mr. Wayne was currently being held by the arm by a beautiful blonde woman attempting to seduce him, Clarke opted to take another walk around the perimeter of the gala, keeping himself out of view.

If he wanted to get a good interview, or at least a quote, with Gotham’s most eligible bachelor, he needed to wait, not corner him like a wild animal.

Clark liked to wander and mostly hover around the food table in these kinds of events, making a bee line to the hors d'oeuvre, without fail trying to find the baked brie, glad that the staff had re-stocked them.

“I recommend the stuffed mushrooms, they’re my favourite.” Clark jumped a bit in his place, how had he managed to sneak up on him?

Clark had his breath taken away, the man was even more beautiful up close and in real life that all the pictures he’d seen of him.

“Mr. Wayne! It’s, uh—pleasure to meet you!”

“Bruce, please. Mr. Wayne was my father.”

“Bruce, then.” Clark smiled widely, enthusiastically shaking his hand until he heard a groan from the billionaire. “I—I’m so sorry, I—”

“Quite a strong hand for a reporter.”

“I… Exercise.”

“I noted.” Bruce’s gaze travelled over his body, and this time, Clark wasn’t pretending to be clumsy, he was flustered and anxious. “Now, usually I prefer to be left alone, but why is it that a Pulitzer winning journalist would prefer to hover over the food table rather than trying to interview me? Am I that uninteresting?”

“I was just— you know about me?”

“Of course, I read all about your piece on ecological alternatives to reduce carbon emissions, been a fan ever since. In fact, I implemented quite a few of your ideas on my companies.”

That was written years ago. Had he been noticed by the Bruce Wayne for that long?

“Thank you, Mr—Bruce. It’s good to know someone like yourself cares about the environment. If you let me, do you have something else to comment on the topic?”

“Well, my parents always taught me to give back to the world that helped us be where we are now. Be it the people or mother nature, and without her, we’re nothing. So, I urge people, but most importantly my most fortunate peers, to research on how we can help heal our world.”

Nothing at all like the clueless man seen on TV.

“And the charity, it’s being held due to your youngest son, right?”

“Yes! Damian is such an animal lover. He brought to my attention that there are not a lot of animal sanctuaries in Gotham and those few don’t have the support they need. So, we’re raising money and awareness to help them rebuild their buildings, to give those precious dogs and cats a proper place to live while they’re waiting to be adopted. And as well, to encourage people to adopt and not to buy. He also volunteers every weekend in one of them. Of course, he couldn’t be here today, as it’s a school night.”

Bruce’s face changed completely when asked about Damian, his eyes shone with pure love and pride, a real smile on his lips, not the kind where it seemed as it physically pained him to smile when talking to others.  

“You never answered my question, though.”

“Excuse me?”

“Why didn’t you want to interview me?”

“Oh!” How could one man hold so much power? To look at him with those blueish-grey eyes and turn him into putty? “I didn’t—I mean, I wanted to wait for the right moment. With all those people…”

“Well…” Bruce got close to him, taking a hold of his red tie and pulling him closer. “You got it. Now, why don’t we go somewhere quiet and finish this interview?”

𓆩𓆪

Life had gone back to normalcy —or as normal as it could be for an alien on Earth. But at last, he’d gone back to Metropolis.

He’d all but fucked up his chance to sleep with the most handsome man, though.

They’d gone back to Clark’s hotel room, as it was just two blocks away from the building where the gala was held. He felt as giddy as a teenage boy getting his first kiss, hands sweating and looking into every reflection he could to check he was presentable.

Bruce didn’t wait a second until they closed the door to start kissing him, touching him everywhere. Clark had held his face between his hands, feeling the strong, but soft skin under his fingers, the small nips and cuts that littered his face.

It wasn’t until Bruce had unlatched his belt and had almost pulled Clark’s pants down that he asked him to stop, anxiety pooling in the pit of his stomach and hands cold.

“Is everything alright?”

Clark nodded, looking everywhere but him. “Yeah, yes. I just… I don’t know how I’m feeling with being just a one-night stand.”

Bruce stood quiet, still halfway getting down on his knees and Clark’s zipper on his hands.

“I understand.” He stood up, looking up to meet Clark’s eyes, placing a quick, soft kiss on his lips. “Unfortunately, I can’t assure you this could become a regular thing. I’m sorry.” He fixed his opened shirt before leaving. “I’m… Well, if you ever need an interview, or help with anything, I won’t say no to you.”

And with that, he left.

And now Clark was chiding himself for letting him go.

Hero life had also taken an extremely rare break, with little to no serious attacks, only an attempted robbery here and there.

“In more recent news, Gotham’s billionaire, Bruce Wayne, was held for ransom two nights ago.” The T.V droned out, catching Clark’s attention from the game of Scrabble he was playing with Flash. Like all nights for the past weeks, the night watch at the Watchtower had been long and dull. Don’t get him wrong, he was glad there wasn’t truly a need for them, but they still had to stay the whole night just in case. “When questioned after his rescue, the man had this to say:”

“Oh, this was real? I really thought they were pretty bad strippers.” The image on screen showed a dirty, bloodied Bruce. A lip split open, with messy hair and shirt halfway unbuttoned, his tie loose. “So that’s why they taped me up after ten minutes. I guess it wasn’t a kink thing.” That explained the reddened area around his mouth.

A very tired and embarrassed man in a chauffeur outfit asked to have no more questions, helping Bruce get in the back of a limousine.

Was it simply a game for him to appear so dense in front of the cameras?

In front of him, Flash chuckled. “Can you believe someone like him owns half of a city?”

“He’s not that bad.” Clark said, arranging the letters on his tile rack to see if he could form a word with his remaining letters. “He’s a nice guy.”

A truly nice guy that didn’t pushed Clark when he told him he didn’t want to be used for pleasure.

On the computer behind him, the click-clack of the keyboard stopped momentarily. Taking advantage of the slow, calm nights, Batman had thought it best to update the Watchtower’s security system, bringing along with him Robin, the one you would rarely see without an energy drink. Apparently, the kid was a real prodigy with computers, maybe even more so than Batman.

“Wait, so you know him?” Flash asked, hand halfway through placing a tile on the board.

“I’ve… Met him. Once. He, uh…”

“Oh, Sups, there’s a child present!” Flash chuckled, looking at where Robin was sitting. “Our Sups has a crush! It’s his pretty face, isn’t it? Can’t be his brains.”

Next to the computer, Batman put down his coffee mug with more force than necessary, his super hearing catching on a low, muffled chuckle from Robin.

“I… No.” He sighed, placing I and R on the board to spell ‘Liar’. “It doesn’t matter, does it? Guy’s already being kidnapped every other day; he wouldn’t be able to leave his house for the rest of his life if somehow word spreads that he’s dating Superman.”

Flash nodded, playing the word ‘soul’. He was unusually quiet for the guy who always had something to say, especially if it came to the love lives of everyone in the League. “Cape life’s not easy, is it?”

His sombre demeanour made Clark feel he wasn’t talking specifically about his situation.

𓆩𓆪

Bruce knew, knew chaos was bubbling in his son’s mind, sure to ensure as soon as they got home. Tim had been suspiciously quiet all the way home from the zeta tube location to the Batcave, a leg going up and down repeatedly, and he knew it wasn’t from the energy drinks he so desperately wanted him to give up drinking.

“Don’t say anything.” He grumbled as they entered the cave, the dark tunnel giving way to the lights from the cave.

“Say what about what?” He turned to give him the bat-glare as Dick had once so eloquently named it, but his only response was a meek smile, hand reaching for the door’s handle, waiting for Bruce to unlock it.

He couldn’t really hold him here the rest of his life, could he?

With a sigh, he unlocked the door, and Tim hurried out of the car and up the stairs leading to the manor, not caring about Alfred’s ‘no capes inside the house’ rule. “DICK, YOU WON’T BELIEVE THIS.” Was all he heard before the clock closed.

There goes Bruce’s peace.

Making use of the few remaining moments of tranquillity, he sat on the batcomputer, his cowl removed and hanging behind him.

So, Superman had interacted with him in his civilian identity. Both of them.

Problem is, when? How? Everyone had agreed that they would reveal their identities when they were ready, and Bruce had agreed not to investigate them, as they knew he so easily could. And he’d kept his promise.

Kind of.

He knew it would be a total break of their trust in him, but he also knew this kind of information could be necessary in the, hopefully not probable, case any of them ever went rogue.

Thus, he’d written a code, with Tim’s help, to analyse every bit of information online and compile possible candidates on who was who. Information heavily encrypted and hidden.

Surely this is something he’s allowed to do? It involves him, after all.

Opening the file for Superman, he scrolled past the names of people that were a likely fit for Superman’s physique and related events. There were quite a few, but the stats always showed a probability below sixty percent, besides, those were names he didn’t recognize ever talking to. All except one.

Clark Kent.

His file had a ninety-eight percentage of being Superman.

He was adopted by a couple in Smallville, Kansas, moving to Metropolis… Right around the time Superman was seen for the first time in the city, not to mention there had been strange sightings and unexplainable situations both in Smallville and around him in general before that.

When Bruce inspected more on his adoption, he was met with an unsuccessful result, as there hadn’t been any records of him before the Kents adopted him, as if he didn’t exist for the first few months of his live.

And the adoption agency had only handled one adoption before going ‘bankrupt’ just weeks after opening. His.

God.

He almost slept with Superman.

The man he has been dreaming with ever since he met him.

When the echoes of hurried steps reached his ears, he closed the file, heart beating frantically with this new information, yet he had a stoic face. His oldest son rushing to his side, with Tim behind him. “Superman what?”

“Irrelevant.” Bruce said as he stood up, taking off his gauntlets.

“B, you have to date him, can you imagine how cool it would be to have Superman as your dad?”

“What about Batman being yours?”

“No offense, B.” Tim’s voice reached his ears. “But you’re just a regular guy with enough money to buy this.” He gestured with his thumb to the screen behind him, leaning on the desk of the computer.

“Yeah! And Superman is Superman!”

“Hng.”

“Oh, you know we love you.” Dick said, hugging him and not letting him move, something that made his senses spike when he heard Tim on the computer. “But you’re our favourite after Superman.”

“And Wonder Woman.” Jason’s voice was rarely heard these days in the cave, surprising both Bruce and Dick.

“And Wonder Woman.” Dick nodded, his chin resting on Bruce’s shoulder.

“So why are we dissing Bruce?”

“Superman has a crush on Brucie.” Tim replied, fingers still pressing the keys on the keyboard, Jason’s laugh resonated through the whole cave, only once cutting when they heard a grasp from Tim. “The reporter?”

They all turned to see what he just discovered, Clark’s file on display for them, the picture of him with a cute smile taking a quarter of the screen, the blinking ‘98% MATCH’ going off and on.

Shit.

𓆩𓆪

“KENT!” Perry’s shout shook the building, and years of working for the man had taught him it was a terrible idea to have the man call out for you a second time, rushing to his office and closing the door behind him, standing in front of his desk. “Pack your bags, you’re going to Gotham, again.”

“What for? I can’t, Perry, I’m still working on my investigative piece—”

“You can do it later. You’re going to another Wayne Gala; the man loves to throw his goddamn parties…”

“And why can’t Cat do it?”

“Wayne asked specifically for you. And the man owns the newspaper, so we can’t exactly say no to him.”

He… Had? Had he been thinking of their past encounter? Why would he ask for him specifically?

No, maybe it was because Clark was focused on his job and wrote worth-reading  articles, as the official account of the Wayne family had shared his reportage of the past gala on their social media.

Surely, it was simply that.

He was once again waiting for the horde of guests to stop hogging Bruce’s attention before trying to interview him. He didn’t worry, he had promised he would give him an interview if he asked.

But the bewildered and flustered look Bruce gave him when he noticed him didn’t make him feel all that confident.

So today, he was eating a stuffed mushroom, savouring the melted cheese and toppings inside it while he waited.

It seemed this time, Bruce had opted for the company of two of his children, his oldest, Richard Grayson, and his third oldest, Tim Drake.

“You think we should?” Clark heard one of them say, he didn’t need to use his super hearing, as they’d also decided to favour the food over the people, and the kids weren’t talking particularly low.

“B’s getting lonely, and I can only handle so many ‘father-son’ days when Damian’s not around.” The youngest one groaned.

So, Bruce’s sons were playing matchmaker, that was genuinely nice and cute of them.

Except when he sensed them behind him. “Excuse me. Are you Clark Kent?” It was the youngest one who’d approached him, the poor kid had more bags under his eyes than a Christmas tree, his face looking a second away from falling asleep in the middle of the Gala. Just what could be so dire to keep a billionaire kid staying up all night?

It couldn’t be parties, Clark was sure. Unlike their parent, none of the Wayne kids had taken to be the life of parties —excluding, of course, Damian Wayne for the moment—, they rarely were seen in one if it wasn’t hosted by Bruce.

There actually wasn’t much about Timothy Drake online besides what he wanted there to be; son of the deceased Jack and Janet Drake, taken by Bruce, suspected to be Wayne Enterprises next CEO, despite barely being able to drive.

“That’s me, what can I do for you?”

“We want you to interview our dad.” Said Dick Grayson, —or ‘Gotham’s sweetheart’ as most gossip magazines liked to call him— standing behind Timothy. There were more things online about him than his younger brother. From his earlier research for the first gala; Richard Grayson was son of the world renown acrobats John and Mary Grayson, who had, sadly passed away in an ‘accident’ at the circus, taken shortly after by Bruce. The kid was a prodigy in gymnastics, always outshining everyone in every school competition he went to in his youth, although why he never made it a career out of it and go to the Olympics was a mystery to everyone. “You know, you’re the only honest reporter who won’t twist his words.”

The way they both smiled and shared a look was unsettling, the kids knew how to be creepy if they wanted to. There was something in the twinkle of their eyes that only spoke of mischief. Clark might not be a top-notch detective as Batman, but he still had learned to tell when people weren’t being sincere.

He wouldn’t be opposed to the idea, he was here to do that, after all, but he needed to know the reason as to why they were personally asking him to interview him. However, the sound of glass shattering and screams put him on alert. “Oh, great. Not another one.” Timothy mumbled. Were Gothamites plainly this desensitized about criminals taking in hostages?

He was looking for an exit to change into his suit when the cold end of a gun’s barrel was pressed to his back. “To the centre, now!” Clark complied, if only to not risk his identity or risk the chance of the man accidentally shooting one of the kids. Kids that were much calmer than they should be.

He’s never coming back to Gotham.

The trio moved to the centre of the ballroom, where every attendant was huddled in a circle. “Everything of value in the bag!” Another man shout, holding a dirty, ragged brown bag in a hand, and a semi-automatic gun in the other.

Clark tripped, or at least, he made it seem like that, to take the opportunity to slide behind all the hostages, for the outside eye, it seemed he did that to cover himself in case things went awry, but in truth, it was so he could make his disappearance easier and change from Clark Kent to Superman.

There were only four armed men inside, and another outside sitting in a car, the getaway, Clark assumed. He couldn’t see much else with his x-ray vision, just that the car had the trunk open, waiting to be filled with the spoils of the night.

Thing is, they weren’t taking that much stuff to require the extra space, so what could be the actual reason? Kidnapping, maybe?

But who?

“I love playing rough, don’t get me wrong.” Of course it had to be him. “But even I think this is a bit overkill.”

“Shut up.” The man holding Bruce by the scruff said, pushing him to the floor and letting the end of his gun crush his hand. Bruce’s howl of pain mingled with the cry of Timothy, ready to get up and run to help his father, only being stopped by Richard, who held him by his shoulders and sitting him down again, talking in hushed whispers. It was the only reaction the kid had shown so far tonight.

They’d already taken Bruce outside, leaving only the guy who was still collecting money and jewellery, walking backwards towards the exit, gun pointed at the attendants. The split second he turned to leave was his mistake, colliding with a body as strong as steel. Clark had taken that millisecond to change into his suit and get behind the man, swiftly taking his gun and pulverizing it in his hand. “I don’t think you were invited to this party.”

Clark didn’t need to use much strength to knock out the assailant, a simple hit with his index finger was enough.

The rumble of an engine let Clark know the rest of them didn’t bother to wait for their partner, clearly already having secured what they wanted, and the things in the bag were just a bonus.

The getaway car, had, of course, not made it very far before Clark stood in front, crashing into him. The back going up in the air for a second before falling, and he rushed to hold it and gently drop it lest he hurts Bruce even more.

Clark made sure the delinquents were unconscious before opening the car’s trunk. “Are you alright, Mr. Wayne?”

Despite looking a bit green and having a broken finger, he didn’t seem to have any other serious injury… Not recent, at least. All his bones hand been broken in several places, several times, some not fully healed correctly. Just in what kind of situations was this man getting in?

He, in turn, was oblivious to the revelation he’d just had, awestruck, and eyes wide. Bruce accepted the hand Clark had lend him to get off the trunk, careful not to put too much pressure on his broken finger. “Superman.” He whispered. “I… I’m fine. Just a broken finger. I’ve had worse.”

“No doubt.” Clark mumbled. Wayne looked at him curiously, as he hadn’t heard him completely, but shook his head after a second, his dazzling smile back in place.

“How can I pay back the man who saved me?”

“It’s not necessary, Mr. Wayne. I’m glad to be of help. Please, let me take you to a hospital so that you can get treated.”

“No need, I’m sure the ambulance will be here soon.” And true, Clark could hear the siren a couple kilometres away getting closer to them. “Besides, my sons will worry if they don’t see me, but…” he placed is good hand on Clark’s shoulders, standing on his tiptoes to reach him and place a gently, warm kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, superman.”

𓆩𓆪

Batman hates him. There’s no other way to put it.

It’s not hard to make the man broody and angry, Clark thinks, he just never expected it would be because he’s disgusted by his choice in romantic partners.

He’s never said it outright, but he shows it in the way he’s began to distance himself from the man every time they are together in a mission or in a meeting debriefing. If his hands happen to slightly touch his or any other part of his suit, Batman pulls away as if he was burned.

And the man was always cold, talking only if needed, but Clark could see that he was getting even colder with him, his words clipped as if it offended him to talk to him.

He never thought Batman would be homophobic.

He was conflicted. He didn’t want to get into his companions’ personal matters and preferences, but this was something he couldn’t simply ignore, as it was something he considered was wrong of him.

But he also didn’t know how to approach him.

He was distressed. Even though they didn’t know each other names, he had still considered Batman a reliable ally —how ironic—, and to discover the man who claims to fight for justice and peace it’s in truth a hater with prejudices… Well, it was a lot to take in.

But now it made sense. He’d seen Batman work with the Red Hood a few times, and he knew he was a part of the ‘bat-family’ due to the red bat symbol embedded in his chest. He’d also seen how cold Batman was with him unlike the others, like Nightwing, or Robin, or Batgirl.

He also knew Red Hood was involved in some kind of a romantic mess with Arsenal, as Green Arrow once told him in passing.

“I’m surprised Batman hasn’t threatened you already.” Flash mentioned so casually as if he were talking about the weather. “Or has he?”

“What?” Clark turned to see him, his cape slightly billowing. “Why would he do that?”

“Because you slept with his boyfriend?”

Clark had to rewire his brain for a second. “What did you say?”

“Oh, come on!” Flash gestured with his hands, bits of granola flying around from the bar he was eating. “It’s common knowledge those two are dating, how do you think Spooky gets all his toys?”

It would explain why Batman has suddenly turned so hostile against him.

But it doesn’t explain why he’s also cold and hostile with the other guy who’s also dating a man. And he didn’t want to believe sweet Bruce would cheat like that. At least, he didn’t seem the type the other night.

But then why Bruce would still flirt so carelessly if he was dating him? Could it be to throw off all those rumours about them? Because it would explain why he’s getting kidnapped so frequently.

But even behind closed doors, he still wanted to sleep with him.

This is all a mess.

He’s a mess.

He should go to the one person that could have the answers.

Even though he’d decided to never come back to this city if he could help it, he still found himself taking a bus towards Gotham city. It would be way easier to get there flying than having to spend an hour and a half in an uncomfortable bus seat, but if he wanted to do this, he would need to be laying low as much as possible to avoid detection from the bat.

It didn’t take long to find the man he was looking for, he simply had to keep an open ear for any kind of gunshots he could hear, as he knew the vigilante wasn’t opposed to using guns. Clark was concerned about the number of gunshots he heard in one night in different parts of the city.

“Red Hood.” Clark said before the man could get on his bike and drive away.

“Boy scout.” The robotic voice from the helmet’s modulator reached him. He leaned on his bike, his arms crossed. “What brings the man of tomorrow to our lovely, green city?”

He ignored the sarcasm, walking closer to him. “We need to talk.”

“About…?”

“I know about you and Arsenal.”

It was hard to gauge a reaction out of him with the helmet on. The man kept quiet for several seconds.

“And that concerns you, because…?”

“I… First, I want to say that it’s alright. And if you ever feel that you’re not safe, you can always count on me if you need help.” Clark was able to hear the small ‘what the fuck’ coming out of the helmet. “I don’t know what the extent of your relationship with Batman is, if he’s your father or just a mentor, but whatever it is, you shouldn’t have to be shunned for being yourself.”

“Look, man, I appreciate the feelings and whatever. But I must know, what the fuck you’re talking ‘bout?”

“I… I thought Batman was mistreating you because you’re dating a man?”

“What?” The robotic voice was high pitched, a low chuckle coming out. “You think B’s homophobic?”

“He’s not?”

“Of course not. Hell, me dating Arsenal is probably the only thing he’s approved of me ever since I came back.”

Clark wasn’t sure what he meant for ‘came back’, but it wasn’t something of importance right now.

“But then… Oh, so the rumours are true?” He couldn’t help but feel even more disappointed, because that also meant that Bruce had tried to sleep with him even though he’s dating someone else, and he’s also gotten on the bad side of Batman. His voice had gotten small at the end, clearing his throat to hide that fact.

“What rumours?”

“Batman’s dating Bruce Wayne.”

This time, Hood’s boisterous laughter was heard through the whole alley, having to place his hands on his knees for support.

“You’re on your own, boy scout.”

𓆩𓆪

Several weeks had gone by since the gala fiasco, and Bruce had already been kidnapped twice, his lucky star —or as lucky as it could be—, had helped him leave unscathed just a couple hours later.

Of course, Clark would only find out about this when the news would report it in the evening news, as he hadn’t been in Gotham again since the night he met with Red Hood.

“Batman.” Clark greeted him when he saw the man walking into the Observation Deck. Tonight, they were both going to be alone for the night watch.

He hadn’t seen the vigilante in a while, as the man was ever busy with all the criminals running rampant in Gotham since they escaped the asylum a couple of weeks ago.  He and Wonder Woman had offered help, of course, but being the stubborn bat that he was, he never accepted, despising the presence of other supers in his city.

Which was the topic he wanted to talk about.

“Superman.”

“I’m sure you’ve heard of me being in Gotham a month ago. I know you don’t like it when we step foot in your city, but I… I was visiting some friends, and happened to hear the screaming, I couldn’t just sit by and do nothing. I hope you understand.”

The man had continued walking to the computer, ready for a night of sitting down in front of the screen until sunrise, waiting for an attack to happen, and not once acknowledged the kryptonian, besides the slight twitch on his fingers, not visible for the human sight, but enough for him.

“Don’t let it happen again.”

With a sigh, Clark sat on the air with his legs crossed, hovering a meter over the floor, looking at the Earth through the windows surrounding the deck.

An hour had turned into two, then into three, all spent in complete silence.

“I apologize for my comment the other day.” Clark settled on talking about the elephant in the room rather than continue like this. “I didn’t know you two were…”

“What are you talking about?”

He was going to make him say it, didn’t he?

“You, and Bruce. I didn’t know you two were a thing. And you don’t have to worry about me, I won’t get in the way of you two.”

“We’re not… You’re wrong.”

“Am I?” Clark stood, walking towards the bat, his voice louder than it should. “Because then I don’t know why you’ve been acting so cold towards me, even more than usual. If you hate me because I kissed the man you’re dating or if you hate me because you’re a bigoted idiot, then please, let me know and stop with these childish attitudes.”

He waited one, two, three seconds and the man had barely even tried to face him, although he’d stopped tipping in the computer, but he didn’t say anything. “Figures.” Clark scoffed, turning around and ready to leave the deck to stay the night in any other part of the watchtower.

“Clark.” It wasn’t just that Batman talked that made him stop, but the fact that he used his civilian name.

And when he turned, he certainly wasn’t expecting to see the man without his cowl.

“Bruce?”

“I don’t hate you.” The man who spoke wasn’t Batman, nor it was Brucie. It was simply… Bruce, the real man that probably few people got to meet, probably just his family. “Quite the opposite.”

Taking long strides, Bat—Bruce walked until he was so close to him, they could almost melt into each other, placing his hands on his cheeks. He didn’t need to stand on his tiptoes this time, as the suit added him quite a few centimeters more. “Totally the opposite.”

And then, he kissed him.

[yanderederee]

Nerd’n’ShiningArmor

April2nd, 2004

Before… › here! › next! › …

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✦

Ryoko teasingly asked her son, “why did I just get a phone call from the nearby vet asking for you to pick up a cat?”

Busted-

Keisuke never technically asked if he could keep the cat, but after a little sob story about how you cried over the poor kitten’s broken form, Ryoko found herself bending backwards.

She owed you a lot for all your help, after all. Caring for a disabled kitten wouldn’t be the end of the world.

Keisuke went to inform you of Sango’s release as soon as he could. It’d be easier if he could afford a flip phone or something, but face to face was better.

Just before he reached the front door, he realized.

..he forgot his damn glasses. He backtracked to his room, pulling the hair tie from his wrist and twirling it around his hair to pull back most of it. He wasn’t as picky as he used to be when it came to how slicked back he kept his ponytail, leaving behind a few bang pieces to hide his ears.

Baji slid the frames up his nose, and made his way out the door for the second time.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✦

He first came to your house four weeks ago.

In those four weeks, he’d walked you home once a week. He tried doing so more often, worried about who might be lurking in the shadows these days. And while it wasn’t his place to force his hospitality, you seemed adamant that he shouldn’t walk you home most days.

You were hiding something, and by the looks of it, the source was your home.

You get especially defensive when he brought up your parents.

He didn’t press about it, but even as time passed and he began warming up to your company, his concerns began to fester.

But he took his mom’s advise when he went to her for it: don’t pry. You helped him more than enough already, the least he could do was give you space and patiently wait for you to confide in him, if you ever so chose to do so.

Baji was trying to be patient.

There was an unsettling feeling pooling in his stomach when he finally found his way in front of your house.

Was there normally a car parked on the side of your house?

Baji paused. No, your house was definitely more occupied now than it’s ever been. Yet, it felt… haunted. Why was he getting nervous? He could turn around and not even deal with it. Pick up Sango by himself and tell you the next time you run into eachother. That’d be smarter.

So why?

His legs were moving on their own, and a simmering feeling of worry started to steep in his chest.

Why was he angry?

Why was he rushing to the door?

Suddenly, a memory of your fave came to mind. That’s why, he concluded.

That distant, far away look you sported at every mention of your parents.

He couldn’t accurately explain it, but knowing you were home with your parents put a weird, instinctively bad feeling.

Turning on ‘the boy-next-door type charm’, Baji’s hardened resolve knocked on the door before an actual game plan was thought out.

When the door opened, it was your form that greeted him, to his surprise. You were dressed a little different, and the way you moved was forced with more grace. But it was you, and he couldn’t take his eyes off you.

“K-Keisuke?” You gasped, starring into his glasses with a shocked expression. You closed the door a little bit, trying to hide a nervous flicking gaze back and forth before looking at him like nothing happened.

“What’s up?” You asked.

Every single word died in his throat. Gaping like a fool, he simply repeated the words he was supposed to say. “The clinic. They just called, said Sango’s free to go home. So,” he unintentionally swept his gaze over what little he could see in your house.

On Mondays, you’d invite him inside the house, if nothing more than to offer snacks or study late. The atmosphere of the house felt much different than it had in the past.

You seemed to grow progressively nervous, feet fiddling together.

Was it your father? Or your mother too? Trying to recall, he’s baffled to realize he didn’t know a single thing about your family.

You’ve never had the opportunity to own a pet before, as your parents are “allergic”. And, that they work Late. He knew when you spoke truth or lie, you were no good at hiding it.

For which reason are you nervous, right now?

Was it due to how your parents would react?

“T-that’s great..! Um, r-right now isn’t a great time,” you tried to whisper something to him, tiptoeing to inch closer and he helped your endeavor by leaning closer. “My parents aren’t in a good m-“ you tried, but the door swung open quickly, and you gasped as you were pulled in sturdily.

A man just about Keisuke’s height came into view, glaring behind the reflect of his glasses. “Who are you?” He asked quickly, quickly.

Keisuke felt himself need to respond quickly, all else meaning death.

“Baji Keisuke.”

“Why are you here?”

“I-I had a question. Y/n helps tutor me.”

“Why not text her?”

“I don’t have a phone, sir.”

S I R ? He’s never used that for any old geezer.

“Hm.” Your father narrows again, at you.

“How does he know where we live?” He asked you, in a much quieter decibel, but with all the same strict quick force.

“He’ll walk me home on nights I feel unsafe,” you lied.

“Why were you out at night? You’re always indoors by 7pm, isn’t that right?”

“Y-yes, m-most .. most days. I.. may have overlooked the time, some days.” You admitted while staring at the ground firmly.

“Typical.” Your dad rolled his eyes. “Thank you for being mindful of my daughter’s inconveniences. Please refrain from coming here again, though.”

“I’m very strict on curfew. What with all these biker gangs revving their engines at ungodly hours.” Your father looked Baji up and down dramatically.

He had never been more thankful to wear his school clothes. Baji tucked his canines back and talked a little more gently.

“That prescription seems awfully high for a man your age.” Your dad spoke with a definite air, yet stood at the door prepared for any feedback.

Baji faltered out, “I-I used to read a lot. In the dark. Messed up my sight really bad. By reading a lot. In the dark.”

You wanted to giggle at how lamecute of an excuse it was, but you held it back with professionalism. Baji noticed this. And smiled just a little bit.

“You seem like an okay kid, Baji. Now, if you’ll excuse-” before your father had the chance to close the door, Baji stiffly stuck his foot out.

Your father was not a fan of this.

The air surrounding them seemed to thicken.

“S-sorry, wait, I mean.. I still, needed to ask my question.” He shoveled out under sweat.

“… right, go on than.” Your father nodded and opened the door just wide enough and stepped back just enough for you to peek past.

Baji was stunned. He didn’t actually have a question.

“M-my mother has offered to treat.. you to dinner, as apprentice, for my better scores.”

Trying to Talking smart was hard.

The three of you were quiet. You couldn’t reply without your Father’s say, and your father was not saying anything.

“..D-dad, I’ve met with Ms. Baji a few times now, t-to deliver fruit gift bags as our family’s thankful gesture. She’s very kind.” You added to the statement, careful to hide your glint of excitement.

“She’ll decline. Your shirt is absolutely covered in cat hair. Fix that. Goodnight.” You father said coldly, before closing the door gently.

Both you and Baji were baffled at the encounter.

The only choice you had was to accept that for what it was, and talk about it later.

But Baji really really just wanted to swing the door open and give that high and mighty punk ass dad of your a clean uppercut. Alas, he held back. Especially once he caught glimpse of your waving figure in the closest visible window.

He smiled at your frazzled expression. He walked over quickly and quietly. You opened the window just an inch.

“I’m sorry about him. My dad works late a lot, but he’s always home on Fridays. He’s very picky with the people I associate, is all.”

“About Sango… I-I can.. figure out how manage, later …” your whisper dies low, and Keisuke nods.

“Don’t worry about it, mom said we could keep Sango. Told her bout how we found her and she cried buckets,” he chuckled affectionately. “Come visit her anytime you want, or to study… whatever.”

His last sentence caught you a little off guard, as you caught a sliver of his affectionate gaze, Behind the plastic rims.

“A-anyway, I’ll see you later.” Baji straighten up his glasses, and gave dramatic robotic like wave.

Like a lovesick puppy, you rested your cheek on your hand, watching him walk away at brisk pacing. Your Nerd is Shining Armor. ♡

Well, I was going to add more to this, but I think this is cute as is, and I’m getting into Angsty writing now so~ ❀

[milflewis]

1k. nigelio. sewis. a glimpse at a what if conversation at a what if silverstone grand prix 2023 ft. nigel mansell being a Gossip

“Nigel.”

Lewis pauses when he opens the door, faltering. It takes a lot to surprise Lewis Hamilton, Nigel knows. And even more to make him show it. He smiles.

“Hello, Lewis.”

“Uh.” Lewis looks past him and then back at his face before shrugging, a grin coming easy. He always did have a face made for smiling. “Hey, man. I heard you were around this weekend. How’s things?”

“Ah, alright. Your race engineer – Bono, yeah? – said that you weren’t scheduled to be out on track for a while. Thought I’d drop by for a minute. Have a chat.”

Lewis raises his eyebrows, tilting his head to the side. Nigel stands very still. After a long breath, Lewis steps back. He opens the door wider, arm stretching out behind him. “Sit wherever. You want a drink?”

“No, I’m okay. Thanks.”

Lewis’s motorhome is acres nicer than any of theirs back in the day, though that can be said for any of the new digs of the drivers nowadays. It’s tidy enough – no empty water bottles lying around, a racesuit thrown half folded over a massage table, a heavy looking shimmery jacket hanging off the back of the door. Cluttered but not dirty. Lived in. Nigel sits down on the couch. There is dog hair on the cushion.

The cross on Lewis’s smooth back stretches and relaxes as he pulls on his fireproofs. His waist is ridiculously tiny. The arms of his racesuit hang low on his hips.

All this pampering he does, Niki had said to him years ago, fond. For fun! He had sounded exasperated and, strangely, proud. Him and James would’ve been insufferable. Not a minute of peace – cut your hair like this, Niki. Grow it out like this, Niki. Why don’t you use conditioner or whatever, Niki.

Lewis sits down on the small chair opposite him, legs falling open at the knees. He’s barefoot. His nails are painted a familiar shade of green. Something in Nigel’s chest hurts.

“I’ve been talking to Sebastian,” Nigel says without any preamble. Lewis barely even blinks.

“I’d guessed,” he replies dryly, and Nigel wonders, not for the first time, how much exactly Lewis notices about what’s going on around the paddock.

“I think you should strike,” Nigel says instead, leaving that question for another day. “Sebastian agrees. He says it might be better if he’s the one to talk to Fernando.”

Lewis’s mouth quirks up at the corner, smile lines winking. He hums quietly. He does not ask why Sebastian isn’t here to tell him himself, or giving him a call. Nigel still isn’t really sure what’s going on there either. Niki was never much help, for all that he loved gossip, and Keke has been firmly staying out of Lewis’s business the past few years, especially when it involves Sebastian, because: “Do you want me to hate my son, Nige? Do you want me to hate you? This is what will happen if I have to listen to any of shit again.”

“Better if you get Jenson to follow up after.” Lewis doesn’t look away from him. “Fernando doesn’t like being told what to do. Jenson knows how to chill him out.”

Nigel isn’t touching that with a ten-foot pole.

Lewis watches him. “We do have Charles to play the piano.”

Nigel laughs. “You do.” The sound feels like it gets caught on a hook in the underside of his stomach. “I’ve heard you play too.”

Lewis scruches up his nose. It is interesting, Nigel thinks, the things that Lewis let’s himself be modest over and what he doesn’t.“Only a little.”

“A piano is a good distraction,” Nigel advises. “You’ll need to get rid of people’s phones. Or at least, have only one person keep them on hand.”

Lewis smiles wryly. “That’d be fun.”

“Probably.”

Lewis reaches down by the side of his seat and straightens up with a pair of thin white socks in hand. He unrolls them and pulls them on, foot by foot. Right. Then left.

Nigel isn’t sure what the right thing to do here is. Does he tell Sebastian that Lewis is, painting his toenails a colour that is strikingly like the Aston Martin green, or does he stay out of it?

Keke would tell him to stay out of it.

“I’ve been thinking of it too,” he says, leaning back. “Of saying no. Making a stand. Things are – things are getting messy.”

“They’ve been messy for a while,” Nigel offers. Lewis doesn’t take it. He only shrugs, slipping his feet into his boots.

Nigel wonders if he and Sebastian talk about that year. He isn’t sure what to hope for.

Lewis tucks his hands under his armpits as he sits back and waits for Nigel to continue. Nigel has said all he came here to say – or at least, all he knows for sure he can say. He looks rather tired. Weary. He should take a long hot bath. Nigel thinks about telling him.

“A piano is a good idea,” he starts. Or tries to. It’s not quite what he intended to say. Lewis’s shoulders relax minutely. Nigel hadn’t realised he was tense.

He looks at Nigel like he knows Nigel knows what he wants to ask.

“Sebastian will agree, I think,” Nigel tries again. He bites at his cheek. He’s too old for this. He doesn’t know how to talk like this anymore.

He thinks of Elio’s smile. He thinks of the swoop of his g’s and his y’s in his data notes that he’d swap with Nigel when they were both at Lotus. He thinks of the only proper way to cook spaghetti bolognese that Elio never got around to showing him. He thinks of how he is nearly fairly sure Sebastian hasn’t called Lewis once since last year. He thinks of Sebastian turning qualifying off in the background of their call a few weeks ago after Lewis had done his run.

“I don’t know if it was love,” Nigel lies despite himself. He has always been very English unfortunately. “Or – at least – that kind of love. We were friends. Very good friends. One of my best, I must say. You notice – when they’re there. And when they aren’t. It’s better – when they are.” He pauses, grimacing. He doesn’t speak on his championship. On how winning tasted faintly like losing.

“Sorry for the poetry,” he laughs and it only rings out slightly hollow. Lewis smiles at him, the lines around his eyes soft. He reminds Nigel of Elio for a quick breathless moment. That same kind brutality.

“Sounds like love to me,” Lewis says, quiet.

Nigel thinks of Lewis’s career. Of whose name is beside him in the history books. Of the Lewis-shaped pauses in Sebastian’s calls to chat that were not there before his retirement. Of how Lewis doesn’t say his name much anymore. Of the look on Sebastian’s face in that one photo from Monaco.

He wants to shake them both, suddenly viciously full of anger. His fingers feel like they’re full of fizzy drink, prickling away at the under-bed of his nails.

They’re so terribly, awfully — enviously — young.

Lewis looks back at him, face calm like a lake. It doesn’t feel like a dare. It doesn’t quite feel like it isn’t one.

He should learn how to ask, Nigel remembers overhearing Aryton complaining about Michael. Just fucking ask for what he wants. Being told no is not dying.

The irony, as it was wont to with Ayrton, was lost on him.

Nigel breathes.

“Yes,” Nigel allows himself – and Lewis. “I guess it is.”

[find-the-path]

Inklings Challenge 2024! My first story idea also went north out of the farthest sight so this is what we're going with. All dialogue (technically) so a lot of what I meant to put in is slightly off-screen. I think I do want to continue this though. @inklings-challenge

You asked for a tale and you’ll get one, don’t worry. Quiet now, this one’s true. There were once three brothers who lived in a bright kingdom down south. They were all moderately happy.

The eldest and most skilled with a sword longed for adventure in the north, where the kingdom used to stretch long ago. His gift was far-sight. On cloudy days he looked out east, south, west, north, and told stories of distant peoples to entertain his younger brothers.

The middle brother was the most practical of the three. His gift was swimming, as glad and airless as a fish. The whole family discovered that when he was three and the river was swollen, after much panic. His dream was to join the fleet of ships that patrolled the kingdom’s southern seas.

“---But he joined the pirates instead, and reformed the island blockade!”

What’s all this about pirates, all of a sudden? The royal navy fights the pirates, son, they don’t join them. That’d be counter-productive. Don’t interrupt the story.

The youngest, the quickest, hadn’t yet decided what he wanted to do. He had time, for his own gift had not yet become apparent.

In due time the eldest brother came of age and went off to seek his fortune. Northward, of course, as he’d always wanted. The lands were wide and empty to the north, save for small towns full of insular people and stretches of jagged mountains that the royal geologist had a personal grudge against.

He went past those mountains. Past the brown hills he found beyond them. Looking north, he saw clouds of mist obscuring the furthest stretched of his sight. In the company of a band of scouts he passed out of knowledge of homeland and family, and ceased to be heard of.

Years passed. The younger two brothers grew up and left the house, seeking their fortune afar. Rumors of war in the north grew louder. The king called his council to advise him on the matter, but what they discussed was not known in the kingdom, and the youngest brother chafed at the ignorance. The north had always held a mystery for him--- that of his brother’s death. They all assumed he was dead by now: a fairly intelligent assessment.

At last ten winters were gone by and the youngest brother was as grown as he was ever going to be. He decided he would go north himself, to discover what had the royal advisers in such disagreement, and also a hint of what had happened to the eldest.

He set out in autumn---

“But Papa, the middle brother! Did he go sailing? Did he fight the pirates?”

I don’t know if he ever went sailing, son. I suppose he might’ve found pirates but that’s not what this story is about yet.

“It’s your story, how can you not know?”

Yes, it’s my story, and it’s still being told. Shh and let me finish.

Just north of the capital the youngest brother found a caravan under attack, and helped fight off the mercenaries in return for information and dinner. He tracked the men who hired the bandits to a research town on the edge of the great forest, where he heard tell of a dragon set up in the mountains blocking his path. I can’t see the dragon, which mean it probably can’t see us, but there’s enough sources to look credible enough.

He’s trying to go around it now. If he gets across the moor--- and if that dragon doesn’t see him--- he might make it.

“But you said nobody’s got over the wall for ten years!”

Not since I did it, no. But my brothers... they’re another kind of stubborn. Your uncle’s coming, lad, and when he does we’ll be ready.

[ladywaffles]

Icemav + 12 for the minific please!

thank you! i hope you enjoy, darling <3

[references to a trip to the emergency room incoming]

things you said when you thought i was asleep

Maverick is running himself ragged.

It’s two in the morning after the emergency room trip from hell, and Maverick looks like shit.

It’s not a matter of opinion, either. Ice has seen every one of Mav’s cuts, scrapes, and ill-advised haircuts since Reagan was president. He suffered through the mustache phase of 1997, the buzz cut of 2002, and the first attempt at a dye job to hide the gray hairs Maverick denied having in 2008.

Maverick has never looked worse than he does right now, and it’s because of him.

The nurses told him after the 11 p.m. shift change that Maverick has barely left his side. They had to shuffle him out when visiting hours ended, but he’d be back bright and early with a bag of bagels for the nurses’ station at eight the next morning. It’s only because he finally woke up that they let him stay the night.

They’re not young men anymore, and Maverick can’t keep doing this to himself. He’s half-slumped on Ice’s hospital bed, his face mushed into Ice’s right thigh, holding on tight to his hand like he believes if he lets go for even a second, Ice will slip right through his fingers and melt away like cotton candy in the ocean.

“I love you so much,” Ice says, running a hand through Mav’s oily hair. It sticks straight up, a testament to how long it’s been since Mav had a proper shower. It should gross him out, but it only makes his heart ache a little bit more. “I love you so much, more than anything, Maverick Mitchell,” he whispers.

It still hurts to talk; the EMTs hadn’t exactly been thinking of comfort so much as survival when they intubated him on the floor of his living room. He hopes that it wasn’t too messy; he’d hate for the memory to still be there, waiting for Mav every time he walked through the front door of their house while he was in the hospital.

“I would marry you in a heartbeat, if you’d give me the chance. I don’t want to let this go. If you asked me,” Ice says, the words catching in his throat. He shouldn’t say them, but he does anyway. “If you asked me,” he starts again, “I’d leave the Navy. Be a teacher somewhere, maybe, or a consultant. I could take Charlie Blackwood’s old job, maybe. That’d be something, wouldn’t it?” he smiles. “But I just want you, Mav. You can’t keep doing this to yourself. You gotta take care of you, for me. I don’t know how to be without you. It’s been more than half my life I’ve had you at my side, don’t leave me now.”

He squeezes Mav’s hand and tries to relax into his bed. He’s almost all the way asleep when Mav responds in a sleep-raspy voice.

“You don’t leave me either, Ice. Wingmen, you promised.”

Yeah, Ice thinks to himself. That sounds like a good deal.

send me a pairing and a number!

[avirxy]

Mary crawls along the edge of the pickup truck, back pressed against the dirt stained tire. She picked this party specifically, it’s wild and erratic, with plenty of people.

To her right she can see Darci and Jim, moving in the shadows, but it’s her job to sink the hook.

She peers through the cab window hesitantly to gauge, he’s sitting on the outskirts of the bonfire, swirling his plastic cup like he’s contemplating everything all at once.

He’s alone, all alone and most party goers are inside the house this late, the throbbing bass loudly proving that.

Mary figured it’s as good as time as any, rounding the truck.

“Hey,”

He looks up.

“Will you help me get this cooler in the truck?”

She motions at one of the sidelong ones set by the beer pong tables. It’s probably empty, but he won’t get the chance to pick it up.

“Oh, I mean yeah,” He sets his cup down in the dirt and rises, wiping his hands on his jeans.

It’s a shame he’s nice, Mary bites the inside of her cheek.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you before,” He comments, squinting at her confused.

Just a few more steps, he’ll be close enough, the branches overhead shudder.

“I’m sorry.” Mary apologizes just as a heavy, stone hand knocks against the back of his head, the guy instantly crumples. Jim slings him over his shoulder carefully.

“Let’s go,” Darci whispers.

They have what they need, why linger?

His troll form casts large, wispy shadows along the trees. Mary knows he’s not the one they need to fear though.

Toby’s waiting on the porch of the old farmhouse they’ve taken refuge in, arms folded over his chest, it’s easier to do this out of town, keeps things quiet.

“You got one?”

“What’s it look like?” Mary snarks in return, trying to fight off the creeping sense of bile climbing up her throat.

It’s cold, and dark, and creepy inside the abandoned house but none of those things really bother her anymore.

Darci’s hand wraps around her arm, squeezing it for support. The guy’s started to wake up after their trek through the woods, shifting in Jim’s iron grip.

“You can put him down,” Mary jerks her thumb at the door, “there’s no way he could outrun all of us.”

Jim does just that, gentle compared to his menacing appearance.

“Well..let’s just do it,”

Toby opens the basement door slowly, tediously slow in Mary’s opinion. An awful, chilling feeling rushes up the stairs, like a draft, but so, so much worse.

He turns back, swallowing tightly.

“It’s your turn,”

The ritual they performed was supposed to be a joke. It’d been a stupid game, to call upon the Eldritch Queen, as they’d sat corralled in a circle on Darci’s living room floor.

It’d messed them all up in different ways, but what was in the basement was by far the worst punishment. It’s not her friend..it can’t be. But why are they still doing this then? Jim is forthright with the clinging fact, he’s not giving up.

She almost feels bad for the guy, as she hauls him up on his feet, he’s trembling like a leaf in her grasp, pulse racing through his skin.

“I—I don’t know what this is, but I..I didn’t do anything, I don’t have much cash—you can have my wallet.”

“Breathe slowly,” Mary advises, even though she knows it won’t do him any good, “show no signs of fear.”

Fear only makes her play with her prey, the rush of the hunt.

Mary shoves him down the rickety stairs roughly with no warning, watching him roll and collapse as he hits the bottom, she was hoping it’d knock him unconscious, that’d be a lesser way.

Darci’s already turned her head away, unable to bare witness, Toby has too, hand still shakily grasping the door handle.

Jim wears a mix of horrified and sympathetic, hands clenched at his sides. He’s still watching though.

Mary can’t find it in herself to look away anymore, she feels compelled to watch, to see what her stupid, foolish suggestion that night so long ago had wrought.

As he rises to his knees, clawing at the ground, clearly disoriented, his hazel eyes snap up to meet hers, these noiseless shapes above.

“Please,” The guy begins to beg, his foot hitting the first step loosely and that’s as far as he gets. A ghoulish, blackened hand tearing his gravity out from under him.

His body slams back into the cement, ripping the air from his lungs, unable to make a sound at first.

She never goes for them, not even after it’s over, maybe that’s why Mary naively hangs onto the sliver of a possibility, the barest, gut churning amount.

That her friend is still in there, somewhere, deep down.

Even after she closes the basement door, locks it tight and the screams begin in earnest.

[dkniade]

Offering to Cook Food and Seeing Your Reaction

ITTO, ALBEDO, ZHONGLI, KAEYA

(Not intended to be reader inserts but you can think of them that way.)

.

Experiment Notes

To get a feel for how Itto talks in English dub and try an informal speaking style

To properly appreciate food and incorporate a character’s setting to their dish

To convey key character traits in a short mundane scenario within a small word count

To imply what the other interlocutor said by the character’s reaction and change in topic in the next lines

Content Notes: Albedo’s part shows him being people-pleasing and having difficulty accepting compliments. Zhongli’s part briefly touches on grief and implied character deaths.

ITTO: Cooking Food

You hungry, buddy? Snacks are great but with that sorta growl— Hah! You’re gonna need something more. Well, you’re in luck~ Arataki “Number One Gourmet” Itto knows a whole menu’s worth of dishes by heart. Fried, sauced, pan-seared, you name it!

ITTO: Dish-Tasting

Tastes good, yeah? Heh, when you’ve got a gang to feed, y’learn to whip up bites that’d keep ya full. ‘Course, they come back askin’ for seconds! I know, I know, don’t be shy~ Get in line. I’ll whip up ten more batches! Hahahaha!

-----

Man, your tummy’s growling—

--

I know it tastes amazing.

‘Course it’s good! That’s all these years of cookin’ for the gang! That’s right!

.

ITTO

good at cooking snack food for the gang (think 小摊 or 夜宵 sorta food)

Easy to make stuff that are oily and deep fried, going all ham in sauce 

huge ego, lighthearted, cares for Arataki gang

It’s quite surface ‘cause that’s what I got from his Voiceline profile

ALBEDO: Cooking Food

You’re hungry? I suppose I’ve carelessly let time slip by indeed… Very well, I’ll prepare some Sunshine Sprat. I imagine you’ll need a larger serving than me with your constant travels. Still, I hope it satisfies your hunger.

ALBEDO: Dish-Tasting

How is it? It may seem simple, but this dish requires slow cooking over low-heat for the butter to melt into the fish completely. I removed the bones and applied seasoning, but it may still be a bit bland for you. …Ah, it’s delicious? Yes, the ingredients are fresh from lakes at the bottom of the mountain. …My cooking skill? The combination of ingredients to create reactions is not unlike alchemy, after all. In any case, is the serving size okay? I don’t have a big appetite, so— …I— Traveler… Erm, excuse my reaction to… Thank you. I’m happy to hear that…

----

You’re hungry, you say? 

If I may ask, do you prefer Mondstadtian snacks or a full dish? …

----

Though seemingly simple, this dish requires

I made sure to remove the bones as they might be unpleasant for you,

…Ah, really? I’m glad it satisfies your hunger, then.

…Ah, it’s delicious? Yes, the combination of ingredients to create reactions is not unlike alchemy.

Because of my skill? It’s nothing.

If you need more— It was the perfect size?

.

ALBEDO

Good at making Sunshine Sprats and knows some Mondstadt snacks Klee likes

Quality and elegance over size in cooking

Takes great care in cooking and making sure the one eating is satisfied 

(wait, he’s asking a lot of questions, this feels a little extreme, ah but it’s taking care of his friend, so he wants to know despite his lack of experience)

Too worried about others’ reactions and living up to their standards 

Explains compliments away by linking cooking to alchemy, but eventually takes compliment for himself 

This last part was hard to word

ZHONGLI: Cooking Food

The art of cuisine takes patience and skill, so the preparation cannot be rushed. This soup requires a certain technique and seasoning, but its ingredients are minimal so it will only take six hours to prepare… Although, I’ve been advised to prepare it beforehand so you do not suffer from hunger for so long. Please wait for an hour for the last few ingredients to be fully cooked…

ZHONGLI: Dish-Tasting

At times like this, I look back on memories I’ve shared with my companions. Years pass, yet still I wish to taste wine while sailing away from the harbour… Would you like some? …No, that’s all that I ask for. Being able to share mundane moments with you is what makes them memorable. Even osmanthus flowers are more beautiful in your presence.

----

First, one ought to source the fresh bamboo shoots

When preparing dishes, one must have patience 

I’d like you to wait a little longer.

----

The simple act of sharing a 

Years pass, yet still wine tastes the same…

.

ZHONGLI

Good at making Slow-Cooked Bamboo Shoot Soup

High quality ingredients, dish has a refined taste that’s complex but not very strong 

extra patient, doesn’t mind that something takes 6+ hours to prepare, explains origin of every ingredient 

Reminisces on times past and sharing mundane memories with friends 

It explores the meaning of the line in the Chinese some more. Here’s a Twitter thread that analyzes the line from the context of the original Chinese poem and also in Zhongli’s setting

Man the bit about sailing across the harbour and drinking wine only makes more sense in Chinese…  It’s so bittersweet…

KAEYA: Cooking Food

Oh? Well, you’re in luck. I happen to know a few dishes that pair nicely with wine. …What? You don’t drink? Such a shame that I can’t share this joy with you! Still, I assure you these will be delectable even with apple cider.

KAEYA: Dish-Tasting

What? Surprised that I know how to make ham samples with olives and cooked fish? Hehe, don’t you know Cider Lake provides many ingredients for bar dishes? Of course I can make them anytime I want, but it’s more fun seeing you enjoy them~ Eating with good buddies tops even the best of wine, wouldn’t you say?

-----

Well, I’d say we deserve a break after all this work today. 

Such a shame that you can’t enjoy the full experience with me!

Well, I assure you these ones will satisfy you even with apple cider.

KAEYA

good at cooking 下酒菜 (like fried vegetables and fish) 

(German ham samples, olives, and cooked fish) 

Always knows the best alcohol to pair with the dish

Teases, lazy about work, but confident in his cooking skills while praising the taste of wine

Puts emphasis on praising the Traveler’s presence

Drops a line about how it always tastes better with friends around 

The line between explicitly complimenting the Traveler and implying his loneliness is so damn thin

I am flattered writing this 

.

.

.

[arece]

hiiii i'm officially requesting something with reader and Akira, please give me that sweet sweet wlw love, i'll accept literally anything, although i do think it would be interesting if it started out more enemies-ish to lovers, because Cain said he'd keep an eye on reader, right?? and then in the movie Akira told John either he'd kill Cain or she would, sooooo i think that gives way to something interesting idk just an idea

also idk about you but i'd be down for poly icon reader, like, between her, Nobody, and Akira, two thirds are still officially part of the underworld, who cares about conforming to monogamy when they could die any day. but maybe that's just me though

i loved the story so much!!! can't wait for any more snippets in this au!

♤ a/n: This request had me absolutely losing it. For now I just kept it Akira and reader, BUT if you were to request the poly separately I'd check it out *hint hint*! other works here

♤ warnings: John Wick violence, swears, reader finding it hot when a woman tries to kill her

⋯♤⋯♧⋯♢⋯

It hadn’t been long after John’s death for Caine to stay true to his word and visit you. You avoided Winston for a bit, deciding to stay on your own for a while. You were sure that if any reminders of John were to appear you’d lose it. You wondered if there would ever be a point where it didn't ache so much.

How funny it was for someone who was in your life for such a short amount of time managed to have such an impact.

Perhaps you were a bit lonely but you had Dog. You welcomed Caine into your apartment, albeit a bit weary, unknowing of his parting assurance he made John. You didn’t blame him for what happened, he did the same thing as John. They were both not only willing to kill, but to die for their daughters.

He confessed to you that he was anxious to meet his daughter, that it had been so long since he’d last seen her he feared that she wouldn’t forgive him, would not want to know him. You advised him to take it slowly.

Suggesting that eventually he should tell her the truth. He immediately protested but you cut him off, “if you hide this from her she’ll be able to tell, she’ll never trust you.” He sighed, removing his glasses for a moment to rub a hand over his face.

“I don’t want her involved with the underground world, that was the whole point of me doing what I did.” You held your breath, trying really hard to not think of him. It wasn’t the time. “Speaking of it cautiously won’t drag her into it, if anything it’d be best to warn her, to give her a full chance to decide herself if it’s worth the risk of knowing you.”

Perhaps it was cruel, but it was the truth. A truth Caine needed to hear telling by the saddened yet understanding look on his face. “I can come if you think that’d help.” He slightly nodded, the barest hints of hesitation showing. Looks like you’re going back to France. Great.

-

“Is that her?” You saw a pretty young girl, your age if not slightly younger, playing the violin on the streets. She was really good, the beautiful melody entrancing a crowd of people. Caine was transfixed, distracted by the idea he was about to meet his daughter again.

You however, were still on guard. That’s how you noticed the fast approaching figure of a woman, switchblade held tightly in her hand. As she passed by aiming for Caine’s side, you gripped her by her wrist, slowly pulling her close in a way that wouldn’t capture the attention of the people on the crowded street.

Caine didn’t seem surprised and that was enough for you to infer this was the Akira he told you about, the one he said was only a matter of time before she showed to seek revenge for her father. “Go,” you told Caine, holding on despite her trying to get you to let go.

He stayed back for a minute before making his way over to his daughter, bouquet in hand. “Don’t make the same mistake as my father.” The warning seemed to fly right past her, instead her interest stook to your confession.

“John Wick’s daughter? Heard he died, one less person on my list.” You ignored her attempt to anger you, still trying to reason with her. “You’d make another girl suffer our pain?” You both were two sides of the same coin; one starving for the revenge of her father, the other having no one to blame as everyone at fault already died.

“She doesn’t know him.” You twisted her by her arm, pulling her back to your chest, forcing her to watch as Caine hugged his daughter tightly. “Choose to reenact your revenge plot another day, he’s meeting his daughter now.”

A passer-by caught your eye, staring at you two suspiciously. You rested your head on her shoulder in an attempt to make your back hug seem more casual, “people are looking.” Your hand still held onto her wrist with the blade.

“Everything he touched died, it’s a miracle he didn’t take you down with him.” That hit a sore spot, nearly having you see red. You twisted her wrist before she could even think about doing anything except hissing in slight pain.

Now you held her knife threateningly at her side, “knives are kinda my thing, just thought you should know next time for a fair fight.” You pulled away, walking slightly backwards. “This isn’t over,” she seethed.

“It is for now,” you confirmed. You're pretty sure you made yourself a new enemy, a fun one at that. You made your way over to Caine and his daughter, kindly introducing yourself and helping him explain what he’s been doing for the last few years.

-

Caine’s daughter was weary understandably, but also extremely understanding. She was beyond lovely and invited you and Caine to stay with her for a while. You had tried to resist, not wanting to intrude on their re-bonding time but she had insisted. How could someone ever say no to her, you’d never understand.

You took walks often, an excuse to allow the two some privacy. It was on one of those walks that you were dragged by your hoodie into the back alley. Pushed up against a wall with a knife held up to your neck. “I’m starting to think you got a thing for me.”

Akira pushed the blade further against your neck, nicking just below the spade scar on the side of your neck. She looked at it curiously before stepping back slightly, “why do you keep getting in my way? I warned your father, he kills him or I will.”

You casually pushed her hand down, sliding out of the alley and continuing your walk with her trailing after you. “Technically my dad tried, duels are a tricky thing.” She didn’t find that funny, tossing the knife at you, missing your head by an inch.

You pulled it from the brick wall it landed in, admiring the craftsmanship before pocketing it with the murmur of, “finders keepers.” Akira’s frustration grew at your casual attitude, once again shoving you against a wall.

Your head slightly knocked against it and you winced, “your dad didn’t want you to kill him. So, are you really doing this for him or yourself?” Akira looked away, you could tell it was her attempt to look strong, avoiding showing her emotions. “He’s dead.”

You softly grabbed her hand, “they both are. Revenge is what brought us here in the first place, don’t force another person into this life out of grief.” She sniffed, squeezing your hand before roughly pulling away.

“Him living is on you, if I come to regret it you will be the one to pay.” You watched as she stepped back, the knife she stole back from you in her hand. You couldn’t help but grow fond of her for that. “I’ll count on it. You can visit me for other reasons too, though.”

She scoffed but you saw the smile she tried to fight back appear on her face. She was a dangerous killer, one who would happily add you to her long trail of taken lives. A woman after your own heart.

⋯♤⋯♧⋯♢⋯

taglist: @khaleesihavilliard @ihatemyselfmorethanmydepression @scarletmeii @romanreignsluver1 @tamnight @hesvoid34 @wi1steria @not-a-big-slay @howlerwolfmax @mizzy-pop @sarapaprikas-blog @angrykitsune01

[ragingstillness]

Ok so I just finished the episodes and by a cruel twist of fate I once again have to work in the morning so here’s my quick thoughts:

Calypso’s bday was clearly a pride celebration and I love that for them

I actually picked up on it surprisingly fast, like literally when Frenchie left the galley to go prepare for the party

Izzy’s voice is of course always tops, we knew Con could sing but man he really belted it this episode

Ned Low is a dick and deserved what he got

I now stan Hellcat Maggie

Not surprised murder turns Stede on, frankly it was smtg I was always expecting

While their previous two kisses have been sweet and romantic I was happy to see one with some passion

Izzy, Jim, and Wee John in drag mean everything to me

Poor Roach, he seemed to be enjoying his torture

Wish we’d seen whatever torture there was that “turned Izzy on” lol

Can confirm, people who play violin are assholes (source: I am a violinist) /jk

Ngl the episode felt a tiny bit rushed idk if that was just me

Ricky’s a dick and his speech immediately made me think of a gay priest who is denying himself and condemning homosexuality (for which specific priest, just take your pick there are a lot of them)

As much as I like Ed trying to encourage Stede not to “kill in cold blood” I think that ship has totally sailed on both their parts. Even if you don’t claim Stede’s killing of the Badmintons as “cold blood” he did totally set that ship of French aristocrats on fire

I like that the show’s acknowledging that jumping right into sex especially after trauma is not necessarily a good idea no matter how much some part of my shipper heart is like ugh why are they fighting again let them be happy

The second episode in particular Stede spends kind of acting like a dick and knowing Djenks and his team this is on purpose but it’s still unpleasant to watch

I feel like Stede’s fallen into the trap of now that he’s back with Ed he thinks everything is going to be fine and he’s turned Ed into this idealized figure again and is ignoring the actual things that Ed says

That being said, I do agree with him that Ed is being a coward by running off to become a fisherman as if he wasn’t a bloodthirsty pirate who still hasn’t made up for his actions to the crew.

Ed becoming a fisherman is clearly a “I was happy fishing for the first time in a long time I want to hold onto that feeling” decision

Essentially both Ed and Stede are running from their faults and pasts and I think they need to talk it out

Ed seems to be trying to say to Stede that he wants to have time to love himself before falling headlong into a relationship but he missed the mark a bit

Izzy briefly plays Lucius’ role in congratulating them on sleeping together and giving Stede advise

It fits him like an over large suit but I understand they needed a character to fill that role and Lucius has his own plotline now

I do think Izzy is being remarkably calm and that might not last, he’s probably bottling it up

Has the Jim/Olu/Archie polycule expanded to include Zheng? I’m so confused by it all. I don’t disapprove in any way I just feel like some of the relationships in that square are qpps and some are romantic and I can’t really nail down which is which

Fang and Roach bonding I kind of ship them a little

The Paper-azzi hysterical

Jackie’s new outfit: yes queen

The Swede’s new look: bitchin’

I feel like most of the cast have gotten hotter over the season. Shows what a few modifications in costuming can do (note, I said in costuming not in body or face or anything I’m not shaming anyone)

At one point I straight up thought Izzy was a ghost the way he kept popping up near Stede and Ed and giving commentary, idk if that was intentional

Izzy is still dealing with his alcoholism and I’m glad they didn’t pretend that’d be solved in a few days

RIP Ed’s leathers, you were hot

I knew there was smtg up with those clocks but I thought there was some sort of secret message in them not that they’d explode. That might be just because I considered it an anachronism. The earliest I can find evidence of a time bomb with a little googling is 1776 but that may be wrong

Who was firing on the republic? Was it Ricky or did the bombs somehow set off the canons on Zheng’s ships?

Stede deserved the beat down he got he was being a misogynistic dick

Also, it’s about time Stede detached from Ed long enough to realize that he hasn’t spent enough quality time with his crew to get them to stay with him when there are other options

Not surprised Ed didn’t kill Ned Low but a little surprised Izzy didn’t, as Izzy’s canonically killed everyone Ed couldn’t

Izzy mentioning how Ed shot him when he told him he loved him and Stede responding as if he’d heard that before I would have loved to see that scene

In general these two episodes felt a little rushed but idk if I’m perceiving that correctly I’m too tired

[bookwyrminspiration]

For prompts “ hey, i know it’s really late, but... i didn’t know who else to call. “ or “how did you even get sick? you look ugly. come here.” as Kenric and Oralie?

Guess who's back at the dialogue prompts! It's me. This ask is rather old, so I don't know if you're still around, but if you are: I hope you enjoy, as they were quite sweet to write <3

ill-advised indulgences <- ao3 link

warnings: mild sickness

word count: 5.1k

Councillor Oralie didn’t enjoy midnight hails under the best of circumstances, and mere hours--if that--away from finishing a project that’d been bothering her for weeks was many things, but it was not the best of circumstances.

“Yes?” she sighed, unable to completely hide her irritation and knowing it was absolutely unprofessional of her; she hadn’t even bothered to look at the screen. The others would have her back in etiquette trainings without hesitation if they caught her like this.

“Hey, I know it’s really late, but... I didn’t know who else to call.”

She straightened in spite of herself, furious at the blush she felt spreading across her cheeks. But even stronger than the heat was the confusion.

“Kenric?”

“Forgotten me already, Ora?”

When she looked to the screen, she couldn’t see a hint of his soft, elegant features--not even an awkward corner angle.

Only stars, twinkling bright across her screen as she held it close in her palm.

“Why are you hailing? Is something wrong?” What was he even doing up in the middle of the night? He should be long asleep by now--just as she should’ve been, but she ignored that.

Something rustled, and his voice followed--low, like a sigh. “No, nothing’s wrong. Don’t worry your pretty head about it. I just…need a hand, and you’re less likely to be upset with me than any of the others for disturbing you so late. Or at least I thought you would be--that was quite a cold greeting.” He tried for light, but something in his voice strained and it fell flat.

“I’m sorry--you caught me in the middle of something; it was rude of me. What do you need help with?” The sleeve of her dress had slipped, and she pushed it back up her arm to have something to do, then tucked a straying ringlet back behind her ear. She couldn’t remember if she’d looked in a mirror that morning, and she wasn’t willing to admit to herself why she suddenly cared.

“Can you come to Siren Rock?” he asked, and she blinked.

“What are you doing at Siren Rock? Your Universe homework? If you’ve forgotten it, I think it’s a little too late to make it up.” She couldn’t help the laugh in her throat and smile on her lips, because it was such a ridiculous place for a councillor to be. People only went to Siren Rock for mediocre stargazing, or to appease their Mentors with proof they could passably bottle starlight.

Her laugh cut off as he answered, “Yes, actually.” He sounded amused.

“You’ve lost me,” she admitted. And yet she found herself trying to remember where she’d set her pathfinder; surely it was somewhere amid all these papers.

Still not showing his face, he explained. “It’s part of a…classified assignment. I was supposed to be working on it myself, bottling quintessence, but the quantity is more than I can manage. I can’t see straight enough to even guess where the right stars are anymore.”

“You’re bottling quintessence?” There it was, on the floor next to her desk; she must’ve bumped it off and hadn’t noticed amid the rest of the mess she’d made.

“From Phosforien and Marquiseire, yes. Can you help? It’s alright if you can’t, I’ll ask one of the others.”

“No!” The word burst out with more force than she intended, and she had to clear her throat before continuing. “I’ve already set my pathfinder. Do I need to bring anything, or is it just me you need?”

“Just you, Ora.” Then he added, “Make sure to bring a warm cloak, I don’t want you to get cold.”

“I’ll be right there,” she promised, ending the hail and turning from her project with a small pang of regret. She’d built such momentum, but it’d been doomed the moment she answered the hail. She could never say no to Kenric.

Except when it came to the one topic neither of them dared breath a word about.

~

The chill slipped around the edges of her thick rose cloak as Oralie glittered into the dark of Siren Rock, the uneven earth illuminated by the silvered moonlight creeping across it, the waves pulsing against the cliff’s edge and filling the air with salt.

It didn’t take her long to find Kenric, who lay back against the hard ground with his eyes closed. A stellarscope lay forgotten beside him, alongside a case of quintessence, almost full of bright bottles.

Unnerved, she moved to the other side of him; that much quintessence simply sitting there? Kenric was oh so careful, but the substance was too unpredictable to ever be safe.

And yet here she was.

“Kenric?” she asked, uncertain. He hadn’t moved, even though she certainly hadn’t been quiet.

The hand on his chest twitched, and his bright eyes found hers.

They looked…tired.

“Ora,” he answered, and it was as if a mask descended over him. Gone were the lines and exhaustion, now he smiled gently up as her, pushing to a sitting position. “Don’t worry over me--I see that crease in your brow. I was only resting my head to try and ease the blurriness.”

His smile widened, that crooked one that always made her heart beat twice as fast, but she didn’t believe him. “Did it work?”

He shook his head. “You’re all smudges--which is a shame. You have a lovely face.”

Now that it wasn’t through an imparter, there was definitely something wrong with his voice. Too thick? Too deep? Too worn?

And then she remembered she was supposed to say something back. “How many bottles do you have left?”

Something crossed his face she couldn’t identify, and she wanted to reach out to brush skin and feel exactly what it was. But she didn’t, and Kenric sat up straighter, entirely unaware of how his hair stuck out at the back from his repose as he turned to count.

“Four more--can you handle that?”

In spite of her concern, she scowled as indignation sparked. “Of course I can handle four bottles. I’m not fragile.”

“Of course you can,” Kenric agreed, running a hand through the copper of his hair--he wasn’t wearing his circlet, she realized. And he didn’t have a cape--didn’t he feel the cold? She could even through the thick fabric of her cape.

In the silence that fell, she stepped around him to pick the stellarscope up from where he’d left it; his hand reached toward it a moment later, as though he was going to get it for her, but had moved too slowly, and practically flinched away as he nearly bumped her arm.

Awkwardly retracting his hand, he blinked up at her. They were level, but only as she bent down; he’d stayed on the ground since she’d arrived, and it couldn’t be comfortable. She could see the flecks of green in the blue of his eyes, the lashes framing them as the red of his hair fell over his brow, the creases around his eyes, and the stars reflected in his pupils.

She realized she’d frozen looking at them, and heat bloomed deep in her chest.

“Phosforien and Marquiseire, correct?” She grabbed the accompanying bottling gloves, donning them as she straightened, hoping the slight distance would clear her head, that the chill of the night would wash away the flush she could feel spreading against her will.

It didn’t. If anything, the few feet between them intensified the charge as she stood over him reciting all the reasons she shouldn’t and couldn’t.

Kenric needed a moment as well, and his breath came heavy as he nodded. “Two of each, please.”

Oralie nodded, re-tucking that same stray ringlet back as she searched the sky; she’d called up her memories of the unmapped stars as she’d grabbed her cape, wanting to be prepared--if they could even be called her memories, since they’d been implanted in her head by a mind much sharper than hers when she’d accepted her circlet.

With careful precision she searched through the stellarscope, checking thrice she’d calibrated correctly before flicking the switch and filling the bottle she’d loaded.

The other three went just as smoothly, the only sound her roaring pulse as she worked; Kenric sat behind her--he’d asked if she’d minded, as he didn’t want to stand too soon and undo all the progress he’d made re-orienting himself; of course she hadn’t minded.

She tried her damndest not to squirm, even though she swore she could feel his eyes tearing bits and pieces of her away and draining her very essence.

Blinking away a heady flash of light with the final bottle of quintessence, she carefully placed all four into Kenric’s compartmentalized satchel alongside the other ten. Each divided section was thoroughly padded to keep the bottles from bumping together and increasing the risk of explosion.

As she crouched, resolutely not looking at him, her cape shifted. A cold breeze coiled around her and she shuddered, goosebumps raising on her arms as it washed over her so thoroughly it left her senses entirely blank.

And with it, her focus sharpened.

She’d been trying so hard not to be aware of him, she’d missed the signs--even though she’d known the moment he called something was wrong.

It wasn’t his eyes on her back she’d felt creeping and draining--or at least not entirely.

“You’re unwell,” she said, turning her head to look at him. And suddenly it was obvious--the shadows beneath his eyes and the flat line of his mouth, the heavy breaths and low voice, the fact the most he’d moved was to sit up when she’d arrived.

How he’d needed her to complete his starlight bottling, already entirely unable to see when there’d been hardly a dozen in the bag.

She could see him forming the defense in his mind, and sure enough, “It’s just a headache, Ora. A long day and intense starbottling. I appreciate your concern, but don’t worry your pretty head about it..”

Oralie scowled back. “Don’t patronize me. I can feel it, even from here.” She eyed the space between them.

She was a talented Empath--but she was valuable for her stellar interpreting abilities upon contact, not for being able to take readings without it.

If she could feel the bone deep weariness through the air…

“When will you learn you can’t lie to an empath?” she asked, shaking her head. And a sort of recklessness surged through her. “How did you even get sick? You look ugly. Come here.”

She lowered herself near him, the cold rock startling even through her clothes as she unfastened her cloak.

“Ora, you don’t--”

“You’ve lost your mind if you think I’m going to let you sit there in the cold when you’re sick.” She shrugged off the cloak, and Kenric only mildly protested as she wrapped it tight around his neck--if she’d needed any more proof that he wasn’t himself, that was it.

The thick gradient pink fabric shimmered under the moonlight, embroidered with roses and lilies and entirely at odds with Kenric’s simple color-blocked attire. But he sagged ever so slightly beneath it anyways, reaching up to clasp it tighter around his neck as her warmth seeped into him.

He looked to her then, and raised a brow. “Did you say I looked ugly? Is it really that bad?”

And even though it was the middle of the night and goosebumps had started to erupt on her arm, and his discomforted exhaustion pulled at her very core, she flushed.

“I didn’t--”

He laughed, and it made obvious the thick crackle in his throat. “Relax, Ora. I’m only teasing. I know I’ve looked better.” He sat forward off his hand to rub it over his eyes, grimacing.

She wanted to argue for some reason, but…he wasn’t wrong.

A faint gleam of sweat had broken across his brow, and his fingers trembled where they held the cloak close at his neck.

“I’m taking you home,” she told him, making up her mind right there. He furrowed his brow, so she continued. “You have your quintessence--surely whatever it’s for can wait at least until morning, if not for a day or two for you to recover. I insist--I don’t want you handling anything potentially disastrously explosive when you can hardly see straight!”

Kenric shook his head slowly as she retrieved her pathfinder from her pocket, gloves making her fingers slip before she removed them as she began to adjust it for the coordinates she knew better than any other.

“That’s kind of you, Ora, but it’s unnecessary.” He began to unfasten the cloak, but she stopped him by pushing the satchel of quintessence into his lap alongside the stellarscope and gloves. He tried again. “I’ll manage, and you have better things to do than worry about me.”

“You don’t know that,” she shot back, successfully clicking the pathfinder into place and reaching for him; she made sure to touch only fabric, but even so the feeling of his sickness washed over her. “Concentrate--I don’t want to lose you.”

“Ora--” he began, but shut off and did as she asked as she held the crystal to the light, casting a beam over them to draw them away; she’d done it that way so he wouldn’t have a choice--either concentrate and go with her, or get drawn into the light for eternity.

Not that she would’ve ever let that happen to him; her concentration had been wrapped around him even tighter than around herself.

From the intent way he stared at her, brow furrowed, as they reappeared, for a moment she wondered if he’d been doing the same thing. The fool.

“Thank you for being so cooperative,” she told him, and he laughed again, softer.

Kenric began pushing to his feet, and despite the nausea and headache that’d pounded through her when she was only touching the cloak, she reached to help him in spite of herself.

She flinched when their hands touched, and he must’ve noticed, for he pulled away quick once he was steady as he could be.

He looked around at the castles towering over them, the arranged rocks that made up his front yard; they’d materialized on the path towards his door.

“You’re adorably stubborn,” he remarked as she turned to lead the way; she had no worries about him not following now. What else was he going to do? Walk away from her?

Sure enough, his footsteps followed behind as she opened his door--but they fell heavy and shuffling, and he was attempting to hide a grimace when she turned back to look at him. And then they stopped, and she peered over her shoulder to see him still at the bottom of the steps, staring at them.

It took a moment before she figured out the problem. “Oh, you’re ridiculous.”

She didn’t allow herself time to cringe away or hesitate as she alighted down the steps and linked her arm with his, taking some of his weight.

“Ora, you should go home,” he tried, but she wasn’t hearing it.

“You can hardly stand and you want me to leave you alone?” she hissed, jaw tight against the malaise flooding her. A cacophony of hurts and aches bruising inside her ribs, pressing foul heat against her heart, throbbing in her fingertips. She refused to let it win. “I thought you were supposed to be smart.”

“Never, when it comes to you.” The words were like a sigh as he let them slip and leaned against her, giving in.

She decided not to try and decipher what that meant as she led him inside and was faced with where, exactly, to put him.

The stairs would be unwise with his trembling even though his bedroom was up there, so she turned instead towards his greeting room.

The plush cushions were where he’d meet guests and visitors from the population, if he wasn’t always so busy with such random errands--what on earth could he need so much quintessence for?

She deposited him on the cushions, guilty at the relief it was to no longer feel his symptoms as she pulled away to seek out remedies. She was almost entirely out of the room before realizing she’d forgotten an important step

“Have you taken anything already?” she asked, all business as the most ludicrous pang had her wanting to touch him again. To feel his flushed heat, even as dizziness washed through her.

Kenric took a moment to reply, and when she looked back over at him he’d hunched; his fingers pinched the bridge of his nose tight, brow crunched intensely and mouth a thin, pale line.

He started and straightened as he realized she was still there, still watching.

As though he’d been allowing himself a moment of weakness, one she wasn’t meant to see.

“Ah…no,” he admitted, and had the wisdom to look sheepish, so she didn’t say anything as she turned away again to allow him his reprieve.

He thanked her politely upon her return, leaning back against the couch and more composed as he downed the few elixirs she’d brought. Simple things, but hopefully enough to tide him over until she could convince him to see a physician.

But she knew trying now would be fruitless, and she didn’t want to waste his energy when he clearly had so little--he may have been able to fool the others, but he was most assuredly not fooling her.

She’d watched him too closely for too many centuries.

And she realized with a start as he cleared his throat that she was doing it again.

“I’ll make you some tea,” she offered, searching for the first possible thing she could think of to break the silence.

Kenric had taken off her cloak now that they were inside, and shook his head again. “Truly, Ora. I’m fine--you’ve done more than enough tonight. Don’t let me bother you any longer and go home--you need to rest.”

It took her a moment to respond, but only because she almost couldn’t believe what she’d heard. “You’re telling me to rest?” she scoffed, folding her arms over her chest.

He tried again. “I know you always want to help--”

“Then shut up and let me.”

“I--”

“No!” she cut him off. “When you hail me in the middle of the night for help, you don’t get to suddenly take that back! You should’ve known I’d realize you were sick when you decided to hail me--that one’s on you. Now I’m going to get you a cup of tea, because it’s cold out and your voice sounds horrendous, if you’re done complaining that I’m doing what you asked.”

“That’s not fair, Ora,” he protested, moving as if to get up.

“No, it’s not,” she agreed. “And don’t even think about moving.”

She fumed silently as she turned on her heel, that damned ringlet falling into her face again as she made for his kitchen. She was never looking for a fight with him, but he always managed to poke and prod and rile her up in the most mundane of ways.

She took a few calming breaths as she set the water to heat, and it was starting to work--until she heard footsteps from the greeting room.

Indignant again, she rounded the corner back to him, ready to scold him.

He beat her to it, pausing in the hall with a hand on the wall. “I’m only going for a shower--unless that’s not allowed?” He raised a brow as he said it, a challenging look of amusement on his pallid face.

It brought her up short, and she blanked for a moment. “Of--of course that’s allowed. I’ll just...I’ll be down here,” she finished inelegantly as those green-flecked eyes teased hers.

“If you insist--I do love your company,” he said, maddeningly, as he continued to the stairs; the elixirs must’ve been taking effect, for he seemed to manage without too much trouble.

And then she flushed as he disappeared from sight, realizing she’d been staring at him again.

The night must’ve been getting to her.

The momentum of her now long-forgotten project had pushed her through, and then the rush of Kenric’s hail and the chill of Siren Rock.

But now, warm and unhurried in Kenric’s home, lethargy began to tug at her.

Water turned on overhead, and she had to fight a tingling feeling along her skin as she realized he was, right that moment, undressed just a flight above her.

Shocked by the direction of her own thoughts, she shoved them away and returned to the kitchen, deciding she could use a cup of her own to reorient herself.

She’d just tentatively taken a first sip, hoping it’d cooled enough not to burn her tongue, when Kenric had walked back in.

Stilling, she watched the water drip from the spikes of freshly washed hair, his skin now soft and dewy instead of damp and sweaty--though his color had only marginally improved. Still too wan, still lined, bags under his eyes even more prominent under the kitchen’s crystal lights than the moon’s soft glow.

His clothes stuck to his skin and bunched slightly, and relief flooded her as she saw the simple house attire; he wasn’t planning on leaving again.

Unless he was going to try and get rid of her before he changed and went out…

“Like what you see?” he teased as he took the other cup of tea still beside her on the counter, the one she’d prepared for him.

Her face heated as she scowled, and she tucked that stray ringlet away again. “You really should lie down--you’re exhausted. I can see it in how you move.”

His smile lessened, and he sighed before he took a sip. “You truly won’t let this go, will you?”

She blinked. “What do you mean?”

He leaned against the counter beside her, and something flickered through the malaise electric in the air between them--too quick for her to pick it up, but enough to have her on alert.

Turning, he searched her face, and she may as well have been laid bare for how much she was certain he saw. “I mean, Oralie, that you don’t need to stay. You’ve done more than enough for me already--you always do. But it’s late, and you must be exhausted. I can manage myself--I’ll listen to you, and I’ll take the night off. And I’ll even talk to Elwin in the morning. I’ve disturbed you enough for one evening.”

His voice remained low, his eyes still on hers, making it difficult to understand what he was saying.

And then it registered. She straightened, stiff. “I see I’ve overimposed myself. My apologies for not realizing--I won’t keep you from…whatever it is you need to keep from me any longer.”

She set the half-empty mug down that she’d forgotten she’d been holding, and turned away, ignoring the ache in her throat.

“That’s not--” Kenric started, but she cut him off.

“Then what is it, Kenric?” The defeated words burned, dangerously close to everything they weren’t allowed to talk about as she ached. “You say one thing and mean a million other and expect me to be able to parse it out? You say you want my help, and then send me away at the first opportunity. I find you barely able to see on the ground, and you worry if I can handle four bottles. What do you want?”

Silence fell for a heavy moment in the wake of her outburst, swallowing heavily; she was still looking at the door.

“Oralie,” he said, and she knew he was asking her to turn.

She didn’t.

“Oralie,” a plea. “Look at me.”

She wouldn’t.

And then footsteps, and he walked in front of her frozen pose.

Despite herself, she looked to him as he stopped in front of her, his hands reaching.

He hesitated a moment away from her hands, the open skin, but then he moved. Gentle over the fabric, he placed them over her arms, holding his breath as she flinched.

The elixirs had dulled the worst of it, but he wouldn’t be better without time.

“I’m sorry,” he began, quiet, earnest. “I didn’t mean it that way--I never meant to upset you. You can feel I’m telling the truth.” He was. “You’re too good to me, Oralie, you know? You’re so kind, and genuine, and helpful. I don’t want to take advantage of that--I’ll be alright, so I don’t want you wasting your goodness on me when you could be putting it into so many better things.”

“You asked me for help,” she reminded him, voice just as quiet.

“I did.”

“Then why are you trying so hard to push me away?”

She’d fought with him on practically every account since he hailed--even though he’d hailed her. Knowing she was capable and still trying to protect her, knowing he was unwell and unable and yet still trying to do whatever he could alone.

It was enough mixed signals, and it was late enough she could hardly bear their usual dance.

Her next question ached against her tongue. “Do you want me to go? Truly.”

Kenric’s eyes, which had been searching her face this whole time, fell closed. Pained.

He drew a breath, water still dripping from his damp hair, and confessed.

“No.”

The truth of the words rang through her where he still held her. And with it, all her anger drained, leaving only desolate longing she didn’t want to think about.

His fingers tightened around her arms, and he repeated it with a shake in his voice. “No, I quite like it when you stay.”

She knew how close they were pushing to things they shouldn’t talk about, and yet still she reached a hand to rest on his outstretched arm, bracing for the feelings.

She let them wash past her, passing her by without picking them up.

She shouldn’t, couldn’t.

She wanted to.

“No one would blame you for wanting company in your condition.” Her voice felt too light as she created the lifeline, an offer, an impossibility. Something they shouldn’t allow themselves, but that she longed for. Desperately.

And he wanted it too, so much it stole her breath.

“Of course they wouldn’t,” he agreed, slowly, the two of them watching themselves walk over the edge of a cliff they’d never return from. “I might do something unwise, after all.”

She could see it happening, knew this was her last chance to stop this mistake.

And yet she said, “We wouldn’t want that, of course.”

All there was left to do was enjoy the fall, before they hit the ground.

His hands loosened around her, slipping slightly as he exhaled, the weight of what they hadn’t said settling. Permanent.

And as her heart pounded, she damned them further.

She reached a hand out, tracing her fingers along his cheek and furrowing her brow at the heat. “I meant it when I said you should rest.”

And it was as if they both decided to never say a word about what they’d chosen for this night, the indulgence never to be acknowledged again.

“You always know best,” he agreed, leaning into it. His eyes fell closed and his brow softened, and they stood a moment longer.

“Come,” she said, fingertips light as she gently pulled. “Let’s get you settled.”

He followed as she led him up the stairs, past the still-steamy bathroom and to the living quarters she’d only been in a few times before.

They both winced when she snapped the lights on, and she quickly dimmed them.

Kenric’s sheepish embarrassment washed through her as she took in the state of the place; he’d been trying and not quite succeeding for years at keeping his personal space and his work space separate, and scrolls cluttered a significant portion of every surface available.

The bedspread was rumpled and bunched, left from however he’d rolled out of bed that morning--and he quite possibly had rolled, given that even stronger than the embarrassment was the mounting exhaustion.

She had no clue how he’d been able to push himself through the day.

She paid no attention to the mess as she drew them in further--she tried her best not to look at anything, not wanting to know.

Kenric said nothing as she let go of him, moving to the windows and propping them slightly.

Chill air slipped over her skin, a welcome relief from the staleness the walls had captured.

Without her prompting, Kenric had laid down--atop the covers, but laying down nonetheless. The bed seemed to swallow everything but the fevered brightness of his eyes as he watched her, but even as she watched, his eyelids started to flutter.

For some reason, it made her aware of how lopsided and frazzled her quick bun had become, so she reached up to untangle the tie and set it loose.

Kenric made a small noise, almost a hum. He lifted his hand then, an invitation.

Her heart stopped in her chest, and something in her screamed at them to stop, reminded her of just how much they weren’t allowed to want this.

But she took it anyway, and lowered herself to sit on his bed.

He was nearly asleep already, the poor thing. But still he whispered, “Thank you, Ora.”

She didn’t ask what he was referring to.

And as his eyes closed, she could’ve sworn they flickered to her lips, and a wave of…something, pulsed where they still touched. Too abstract and encompassing even for her to translate.

So she didn’t let herself try, dreading when they’d hit the ground.

She just let his hand hold hers, and watched his breathing settle as he stopped fighting himself.

And in that moment, she’d never been further from him.

Sitting on his bed, watching the lines of his face smooth and feeling the peace settling through him where they touched. Alone together with cool night air filling her lungs, everything she could not have prickled in the back of her mind.

The pillow was wet from his hair, and she wanted--oh, how she wanted--to trace the edge of his jaw, the line of his registry pendant over the smooth skin of his neck, to press her hand to his chest and feel his heartbeat. Reminding her over and over with its rhythm that he was alive, alive, alive.

But she couldn’t.

She wouldn’t do that to him--or to herself. To the countless people who needed her kindness to challenge the others’ fear and haste.

So she didn’t move, only breathed.

And tried to absorb every moment of this foolish, beautiful indulgence before it was gone.