#i think there must have been a nest in the trees nearby last year because there are so many this year

[laurelnose]

Coworker: Soooocks are you any good at identifying beetles D:

Me: I’m okay at it. Where beetle?

*three minutes later*

Me: *holding out 2" beetle* Oh, this is a California root borer, Prionus californicus! One of our largest native beetles. You only see them in August when they emerge to mate. This one is female, she has smooth antennae. Look at her big mandibles for digging!

Coworker: *observing mandibles from about 10 feet away* I can’t believe you just picked up a strange beetle like that.

Me: Well, she isn’t strange to me.

[hongism]

the little things - c.san

↣ pairing: san x reader; poly ot8 x reader ↣ genre: sfw, fluff, slight angst, fantasy au, witch ateez au ↣ wc: 3.3k ↣ summary: one of your favorite things to do is look at the stars with san ↣ warnings: none !

“You’re out rather early.”

You don’t turn towards the source of the voice; just hearing him speak is enough of a clue for you to know exactly who it is. Although, even if he hadn’t spoken, you’re sure you would have known from the flutter of wings that resounded before his arrival.

“The stars are prettiest right before dawn breaks,” you sigh, hugging your arms a bit tighter around your knees. Your new companion moves forward and comes to a stop beside you. He doesn’t sit down quite yet; for a while, he merely stands at your side and stares up at the same sky hanging above your heads. The time is roughly four o’clock in the morning — a late night for you and an early morning for San — but your words hold true. The glimmering stars are tucked behind fluffy and luscious clouds that seem to herald coming rain, and they shine against a midnight blue background that seems infinitely deep.

San sinks down to sit beside you at last, tossing his legs over the lip of the stone wall you’re perched on, and he sways his legs in rhythm with an unknown melody. You squeeze your knees as you press your cheek to one of them, enough to have a clear view of San’s pretty side profile against a landscape of green pine trees and shining stars.

“I thought you were out here to look at the stars,” San whispers. He glances at you out the corner of his eye. There’s no malice in his speech, just a hint of teasing, and you can’t keep your lips from quirking into a smile.

“I’m looking at you instead.”

“I should be the one looking at you, little star.” San turns his chin to face you, and his dimples flash as he grins back through the hazy moonlit night. “Our precious star,” he murmurs before reaching a hand out to trace over your forehead, slipping down to your temple then to your cheek and dragging the pads of his fingers over your skin in an unknown pattern.

“Why are you up so early?”

“Waiting for Hongjoong,” San says through a sigh. His hand retracts as quickly as it made contact, and you can’t pretend to be oblivious as to why. Things are always… harsh for San when Hongjoong is gone. It’s much worse when it’s a job like Hongjoong’s current one where the witch has to be gone for weeks at a time. Then San becomes quite volatile and hard to deal with — it only makes sense when a familiar is separate from his master for so long. Seonghwa tries to do damage control every time, tries to use techniques that normally help his own familiar Yeosang calm down, but they never work for San. Hongjoong is the only person and thing that can quell the anxieties and worries and stress that flow through San’s veins in times like these. And seeing as they are a bonded pair, it makes the connection of sharing emotional states weaker. They can’t share emotions this far apart, and that weighs heavily on San’s shoulders after being so used to sharing his heart in such a way for so long. Even if Hongjoong has a tendency to cut San off from feeling the brunt of his negative emotions, there’s still a lingering knowledge that the other is right there, just within grasp.

Not now, however.

San has gone three long weeks without even a breath of a whisper from Hongjoong.

And tonight (this morning? Today? Whatever time it may be) the witch is supposed to return. San’s nerves must be getting to him if he’s out this early because usually he would curl up in Hongjoong’s bed and await the witch there, presenting himself like a neatly wrapped present for the other to unravel with warm kisses and soft touches.

San clenches his fingers blindly around the lip of the wall.

“Tell me a story?” You inquire out of the blue. Your eyes shift to look up at the sky again. San huffs out a weak laugh.

“What kind?”

“Hm, how you and Hongjoong met?”

A risky choice, maybe, but you know how near and dear that tale is to San’s heart, and how much comfort it brings him in simply thinking of it. So it is also a very wise choice on your behalf. San’s lips twitch into the shadow of a smile.

“You’ve heard it so many times already…”

“I’ll give you something in return,” you coo, reaching out to pinch the skin around San’s elbow. He yelps like a kicked dog and offers up a deep pout that has you ready to tease him further.

“Seven kisses.”

“Seven?” You echo. Confusion slips into your tone. You can’t recall any significance to the number seven, nor can you remember whether it’s supposed to have special meaning.

“One for each time I’ve told you this story,” San murmurs, leaning forward to press a quick kiss to the tip of your nose. You scowl at the faint sensation as a laugh nearly escapes you, but you manage to bite it back enough to smile again.

“I always forgot how good a crow’s memory is.”

“Ravens remember well too, little star.”

You poke your tongue out between your lips in his direction, and San merely laughs at your expression before shifting closer to you. He loops a hand around one of yours, pulling it away from the leg you have propped up on the rock wall, then he loops his fingers through yours.

“Several hundred winters ago, this land we live in now held very different values and laws. The people were cruel and brash, only using their fists and crude weapons to handle gathering food and protecting their women and children. No one imagined there was any other way of doing things — the people knew nothing of what gentle prowess magic could offer.” San glances over at you, drawing a laugh from your lips when he makes eye contact with you. You shake your head ever so slightly.

“I didn’t mean for you to give me the version that’s in books and legends…”

San dares to giggle at that, and a moment later, he’s shifting his position so that he can rest his head against your thigh and look up at the stars like that. You have to push your other leg down to accommodate the shift, and once San is comfortably staring up at the sky with you, he begins speaking again.

“I was alone. It wasn’t something new; I was used to it at that point. Ravens don’t have the longest lifespan, and I was still a young familiar at the time. I had no owner or master. My mother’s master left our nest after she passed, leaving me with two sisters who were sick and close to death. They were too ill to shift to their human forms, so I couldn’t bring them to an apothecary or village. Ravens are seen as bad omens after all; had I brought them to a town, they would have been killed on the spot. I spent some time going between our nest and the nearest village, stealing food and medicine where I could because I couldn’t afford it. I worked some too, little odd jobs here and there, but it was a lot of delivery work. Made it easy to steal thankfully. Then… well, one day, I got too bold and tried pickpocketing a high-ranking guardsman. He was some lieutenant or something like that, I don’t remember. Too many years have passed since then. But I got caught trying to lift some coin off him in a bar, and he grabbed me by the arm and dragged me out to the streets. He was planning on killing me right then and there with no trial, but some short little witch came stalking up without a care in the world and knocked the guard on his ass. He was going on and on about how rude it is to grab random people off the street like that.”

“Of course he would,” you murmur, a bit of fondness slipping into your tone. “Don’t let him catch you calling him short though.”

“Eh, he’ll survive. In any case, when the guard tried explaining that I was trying to pickpocket him, this witch extended a hand to me and asked if I needed help. I naturally said no because I didn’t think I could trust him, then took off running. I went back to my nest in the hopes of finding my sisters and telling them to get out of the area, yet when I got there, they were already gone. It had been nearly two years since my mother passed, so they were well enough to do things on their own at that point, but they’d never up and left like that without warning. I couldn’t do anything but stay and wait for their return. We’d gathered some food and supplies, so I was able to live off of it for several months before needing to depart for more again. The entire time, not once did my sisters return. They just… disappeared into thin air. I waited every day, wondered when they would come back, and some nights I would stay awake all night flying around the area in search of them.”

“That part always breaks my heart,” you whisper. Stretching a hand down, you drag your fingers along the curve of San’s cheekbones then his jaws, torn away from the stars as you look at the familiar.

“Why? Had it not happened, I wouldn’t be here.”

“I know but…”

“But Hongjoong found me,” San continues through a smile. You huff but let him finish the story, pointedly ignoring the curling grin he sends your way. “After a few months, I started noticing magical residue near my nest. And sure enough, that little witch from before was setting up camp nearby. I did nothing at first, watched him from afar for a while, then I got brave enough to try to lift a few things from his camp. That turned out to be quite the mistake because he caught me within three seconds of setting foot into that camp. And yet… instead of threatening to kill me or harming me, the little witch simply asked if I was alone. ”Are you alone? Do you have anyone with you? A master? I feel your magical energy yet it doesn’t seem normal. You must be a familiar. Where is your master?“ When I said I had no master and was on my own, the little witch was… hm, I would say he was both confused and concerned. Said it was no good for a familiar to go without a master. Without one, I would die within a few years. He suggested that I hurry along with finding one, and I explained I had absolutely no one else in my life.”

“And after that?”

San hums to himself a bit, bringing his hands up above his head as he stares at the night sky. A delicate little smile graces his pretty lips and squeezes his dimples out, but he doesn’t speak any other words for quite some time. The next voice you hear doesn’t even belong to him.

“After that, I invited San to spend some time in my care and work an honest job for me before going on his way to finding a master.”

Hongjoong.

You twist your neck towards the source of the voice, finding the witch standing a little ways away from the wall you and San are currently seated on, and he grins through the moonlit night at you. San jolts upwards at the sound of his master. The smile that splits his lips is so broad and heartwarming that it feels too intimate to look at, even for you who shares in their love for one another. It’s different for them, and you know that, even if it’s just a different strain of the same love, it’s different nonetheless. San hops off the wall in one swift move, closing the distance between his and Hongjoong’s bodies within seconds.

“As it turns out, we were…we did quite well together. And thus, here we are,” Hongjoong says as he lets San press his nose into the curve of his neck. “I’m sorry I was gone so long. Had to make a few extra stops along the way to gather some supplies. How was he?” Hongjoong directs the words to you, watching with careful yet loving eyes as you pull yourself down from the wall as well and step closer to him and San. The familiar will be like this for a while; unmoving and unresponsive as he soaks in Hongjoong’s presence again and drowns himself in the sensation of having all those feelings doubled once more. Hongjoong will try to ease the burden as much as he can for both their sake, and you’ll do what you do best: taking care of both of them when it gets to be too overwhelming. While Seonghwa and Yeosang (who don’t go a long time without each other anyway) don’t have to deal with this type of ordeal, Hongjoong and San always do. Hongjoong thinks it has something to do with how frequent his trips are, or perhaps the lingering sensation of separation anxiety that San suffers from given his past. Either way, it makes their reunions that much more emotionally taxing and intense. Even you, who has not a drop of magical ability in your body, can feel the sheer power radiating off them both right in this moment.

“You came home at the right time. He was getting antsy,” you murmur back, reaching up to comb your fingers through the long hair at the base of San’s scalp.

“Next time I’ll leave you all with a bit more of a safety net.”

“Or you could come back sooner.”

Hongjoong nearly rolls his eyes, and you catch the way he stops himself just beforehand. The annoyance in his features is nothing serious, only something because he’s heard such words a hundred times over.

“No doubt you haven’t slept yet?” He inquires, trying his best to make his way to the door of the coven’s home. San proves to be quite the obstruction, as it seems, and Hongjoong has to hoist the slightly larger man up enough to loop his legs around the smaller’s waist. Hongjoong grunts from the added weight but manages to carry San the rest of the way with no other complaints. You trail along beside them, taking care of opening the door and grabbing Hongjoong’s satchel once inside.

“Welcome home, my sweet starlight. I see our star and bird found you before I could.” Seonghwa is the first to greet the three of you upon stepping inside. You only notice Yeosang’s sleek black cat form slinking around the hearth witch’s ankles when you’re helping Hongjoong out of his shoes.

“Mm, they were waiting outside,” Hongjoong mumbles into the chaste kiss Seonghwa delivers to his lips. Seonghwa also places a sweet kiss on the back of San’s head before Hongjoong steps around the taller man, continuing to carry San as he goes.

“Mingi fell asleep in your bed last night, so don’t be surprised if you find him there,” Seonghwa calls out over his shoulder. You stretch up to your tiptoes in front of him, half-expecting the kiss that he presses to your lips a few seconds later, but the sudden appearance of Yeosang’s human form popping up on your left is much less expected. You nearly jump out of your skin, and probably would have if not for Seonghwa placing a steadying hand on your hip.

“You haven’t slept either,” Yeosang comments, nose pushing hard against your cheek. You click your tongue against the roof of your mouth.

“No need to lecture. I’m going up with them, don’t worry.”

“I’ll come by after Jongho heads out for morning work.” Yeosang smiles a little before turning on his heel and heading back into the kitchen, no doubt where Jongho waits. Seonghwa huffs out a laugh but sends you on your way without any more conversation. You catch him slipping back into the kitchen as well just as you start climbing the stairs behind Hongjoong.

“Did San fall asleep already?” You ask after the man. You can barely see the familiar’s face from how hard he has it pressed into Hongjoong’s neck, but his eyes seem to have fallen shut at some point. He’s either basking in Hongjoong’s presence as much as he can or he’s entered a pleasant state of unconsciousness with Hongjoong’s warmth around him.

“Almost. He’s calming down some though. I’ll put him in bed with Mingi then take a bath. Care to join?”

“Such a temptress,” you snort to his back.

“I’m only joking, my dear. Keep San and Mingi company while I’m washing up for me instead? We can bathe together another day.”

“Of course darling,” you murmur, drawing a hand across his shoulders once the two of you reach his door. “Be quick though. Mingi will want some time to cuddle before he joins Jongho for yard work.”

As Seonghwa warned, Mingi is already curled up into a tight ball in the center of Hongjoong’s bed when you enter the room. It’s not hard to move his lanky limbs to the side to make room for San, and when Hongjoong eases the familiar down to the mattress, Mingi immediately takes to curling his body around the smaller man like it’s an act of pure instinct. San nuzzles into the touch, releasing a content little hum. You feel a hand brush the small of your back and jerk to look Hongjoong in the eye. Turns out, it was only a way to distract you because he captures your lips in a quick kiss that tastes a bit of honey and cinnamon. You have no time to savor the taste, however; Hongjoong pulls away just as quick and mumbles something about being quick to clean up. You bring a hand up to touch the spot where his lips just were. The smile that overtakes your face is one you can’t hold back, and now it’s your turn to be content and happy as you pull the sheets back to join Mingi and San under the covers. A large hand clamps down hard on your waist, tugging you flush against San’s chest.

“Where’s my kiss?” Mingi’s voice rises through the silence, thick and groggy from sleep. You reach around San to smack him as gently as possible on the arm.

“Go back to bed.”

“Joong home yet?”

“Mhm, he’ll be in bed in just a bit.”

“Good,” Mingi sighs. He settles back into the mattress, maintaining his hold on you around San’s body, and you twist just enough to lean over the sleeping familiar.

“Kiss,” you murmur, and Mingi rushes to meet you halfway with a cheeky grin. “Okay, now sleep. You don’t have long before you have to be up.”

It doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep wrapped up in that embrace, and even when Hongjoong does finally come to bed, he doesn’t stir you from sleep except for the barest sensation of lips against your forehead. You might hear him mutter some loving words to all three of you, perhaps lingering a little while longer on San because he knows the familiar needs that reassurance and comfort right now more than ever, but once he settles down and tucks your head against his chest, a wildly comfortable and deep sleep overcomes you.

[toh-writings]

Fortunes of Love Pt 6 (Eda x OC)

Summary: Niliana goes through a rather tiring day, just wishing she had more time to sleep.

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3  Pt 4 Pt 5 Pt 6

The market was bustling with life that day. Niliana just had to be there on the busiest day of the week at the busiest time, didn’t she? As she struggled to push her way through the throng she wondered if it wouldn’t have been better to just skip the nap and go earlier in the day even if it would have left her exhausted. Whatever, she couldn’t do anything about that now.

She heaved a sigh of relief when she finally reached her tent, the din of the crowd muffled ever so slightly by the heavy fabric of the tent walls. With a snap of her fingers, the dark was lit by the clusters of various candles scattered about. She was thankful to find that nothing had been moved or taken while she was gone. Usually, she would put up some sort of ward to keep potential thieves and troublemakers away but she hadn’t gotten the chance to do so yesterday after running into King.

It had been a very long time since she had taken the tent down. She couldn’t even remember the last time that happened. This tent had been her home for so many years now, there really had been no need, but today would be different. She really couldn’t leave it up if she wasn’t going to be around for a couple of days.

It really only took a few minutes to pack everything up, items flying about. The tent folded in on itself, blanketing everything else until it formed a single pack. Then, with a circle of light, it vanished. All that was left was her small stall, but she could leave that behind. It wasn’t exactly that important.

Unfortunately, now that the tent was gone she was surrounded on all sides by the crowd once again. She noticed that there was a small group of witchlings nearby that stared up at her in wonder. Clearly they had watched her put her tent away, amazed by the show of magic they were incapable of doing themselves. Nily gave them a shy little wave and a few of them waved back before the whole group ran off, talking and giggling amongst themselves.

She made her way to the library, avoiding as much of the crowd as possible. The library itself wasn’t nearly as busy, the silence deafening after the noise from outside.

It took her longer than she would have liked to go over the beast taming section, glancing through the different book titles. There were a few books that sounded promising. She picked those ups and gleaned through the chapter titles, but nothing seemed to quite fit Eda’s situation. After some time she decided it may be best to look in a different section. Eda was cursed, right? Then maybe she needed a book on curses instead.

By the time she finally left the library, sadly empty-handed, the sun was getting dangerously close to the horizon. She felt a bit of panic rise in her chest. Eda would be waking up soon if she hadn’t already. She took a deep breath. She was sure it would be fine. Hooty knew not to let him out and she had to trust King was smart enough not to get himself killed. Still, she rushed back as quickly as she could.

Luckily, when she got back the house hadn’t been torn apart or something.

“Hey Nily!” Hooty croaked in his annoying voice as the witch approached the front door.

“Everything okay?”

“Yep!”

Nily had opened the door before he had even answered but froze in the doorway.

The living room was empty.

She took another deep breath, shoving the panic down once more. Hooty said everything was, so she must be in the house. She just wasn’t in the living room. And she couldn’t be chasing King around or something because there was no screaming or the sound of running footsteps.

She left her staff by the door, the wooden snake curled on top suddenly springing to life and slithering up her arm to rest on her shoulders. She smiled at him, giving him a little scratch under his chin before going to search the house.

Thankfully, it didn’t take long. Eda was just such a large creature there weren’t too many places to hide. She ended up finding her in what she assumed was her room. The pair of double doors were already open, revealing the decently large room beyond filled with various shelves and boxes of stuff and a large nest against the left wall, complete with sticks and some shiny things. That’s where Eda was, laying in her nest, pitch-black eyes staring at her the moment she appeared in the doorway. A low growl filled the room, making the witch freeze in place.

The growling quickly turned into chirps of delight. She bounded out of her nest to meet the witch. She smiled, chuckling at her.

“Hey hun, what’re you up to?”

The beast cooed back. Apparently not much.

“Do you know where King is?”

Eda just blinked back at her.

“He’s probably napping somewhere, isn’t he? So much for keeping an eye on you, huh?”

She chuckled to herself and went downstairs, Eda following close behind.

---------------------------------------------

When Luz got home she didn’t burst through the door like she usually did. She was a bit more subdued. Of course, that didn’t stop her from shouting an “I’m home!” and smiling at the wonderful smells that were coming from the kitchen. She smiled a little wider when she got to the kitchen and saw everyone together. Nilly was cooking, of course, while King looked like he was trying to play with a very uninterested looking Eda at the table. She looked at the girl as she walked in, making a cute little cooing sound.

“Welcome back, hun! Did you have a good day with your friends?”

“Yeah, it was pretty good.” Luz shrugged her shoulders, sitting at the table.

King whipped his head around, narrowing his eyes at the girl critically. Luz started to sweat a bit under his gaze.

“Are you sure about that?” He asked, leaning a little closer. Luz tried not to look right at him.

“Whaaat? Yeah, of course! Why would I lie?”

Clearly, no one believed her. Even Nily was giving her a side glance that said she knew something was off. At least she didn’t bother the girl about it, unlike King.

“Did something happen?”

“No.”

“Something happened.”

“Nothing happened!”

“Something had to have happened! I know these things.”

“Clearly you don’t.”

“Yes I do! I know everything.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do!”

“Then you tell me what happened.”

“So something DID happen!”

Luz groaned in frustration, sinking into her seat and stubbornly crossing her arms, refusing to say anything else. King looked triumphant, proudly resting his hands on his hips and puffing out his chest like he just won some great battle. Nily shook her head.

“King, leave her be. If she wants to talk about she’ll talk about it. Pestering her isn’t going to help anything.”

King deflated slightly at her words, sitting back down.

“Sorry, Luz.”

She smiled at him.

“It’s okay, King. I just don’t want to talk about it.”

For a moment they just sat in awkward silence. Luz desperately looked around for something to talk about to break the quiet.

“Hey, why is Eda wearing a collar?”

That seemed to do it well enough. King blinked at Luz, then looked really hard at Eda who blinks back owlishly. It was very difficult to make out, blended almost perfectly with the feathers on her neck, but sure enough, there was a collar there. It just looked like she had some gray leather around her neck.

“It glows in the dark.” Niliana said, not even bothering to look up from her work. She was already getting the plates ready. “So I can keep an eye on her when she goes outside at night.”

“What!” Luz shouted, jumping to her feet and slamming her hands on the table, making Eda and King jump. “You’re playing with her outside? I want to do that!”

Niliana hummed, thinking it over. Of course Luz would want to spend more time with Eda, especially outside where there was more room. But going out at night did not seem like the best idea, especially for the teenager who was still growing and needed her sleep. Maybe if they went out earlier in the day.

“Not today.” She finally said, placing the plates on the table. “It’s a bit too late and I don’t want you outside when it’s dark. We can try tomorrow before dinner.”

Luz huffed but sat down. “Fine.” Of course, the frown didn’t stay on her face long. “I can’t wait! We’re going to have so much fun!”

“Hey! I want to come too!” King shouted, apparently feeling left out. “I can make her my minion of evil!”

Eda was staring at them intently and Nily noticed. Well, she wasn’t staring at the people at the table. It was more like she was staring at their plates, grumbling to herself and drooling. So, she made another plate and put it on the floor for her, too. There wouldn’t be any leftovers today, but no one really cared, especially when King and Luz just laughed and giggled at how happy it made the owl beast.

--------------------

This night was darker than yesterday. Niliana could only just make out the branches of the trees above her and the trunks surrounding her. She had to walk slowly to make sure she didn’t run into anything. Far ahead of her, in the branches, she could make out the glow of something teal, Eda moving around and jumping about, doing whatever.

It was only the second night, but Nily was already slowing down. She was still tired from last night and not getting nearly enough sleep throughout the day to make up for it. Still, she trudged on, keeping Eda within sight the best she could.

And that worked for a while. But then, well into the night when the moon was on its way down, she lost sight of her. It happened in the blink of an eye. One moment, she could make out the glow of her color bopping about ahead of her. The next, it was gone. Niliana didn’t freak out like she thought she would. She was far too tired for that. Instead, she just sighed and mounted her broom, flying above the tree canopy.

It was much brighter up here, the moon and stars lighting everything up and giving them a silver glow. But Nily didn’t really have time to admire it, she had a cursed beast to find.

She didn’t see anything above the trees, so it was unlikely she had flown away. She flew down, hovering over the canopy and gazing through the branches, searching for any sign of movement or the glow of the collar.

She had only been at it for a short while, likely less than a minute, when she heard the branches nearby start to rustle. Suddenly, a giant mass burst out. She just managed to swerve out of the way and avoid getting knocked off her staff. Well, that was one way to wake her up.

“Eda, what was that for?” she shouted, but there was no anger in her voice.

The owl beast was flying next to her. Well, flying circles around her, really, each beat of her wings nearly grazing the witch's shoulders. The beast trilled at her, a smile clear on her face.

They flew together for a while, Niliana just following Eda around. She had more than enough time now to admire her surroundings. Sure, she flew around quite a bit, often very high, but it had been a very long time since she got to do it a night. The stars were so clear and bright.

The horizon was just turning gray, dawn fast approaching, when Eda decided she wanted to go home. She walked through the woods slowly, clearly very tired. Not that Niliana was complaining. She didn’t exactly have the most energy either. So, they walked, the morning air crisp, the birds just beginning to sing. It was nice.

When they got back to the house, ignoring Hooty’s good mornings, Nily immediately collapsed onto the couch, face down in the cushions. It was not a very comfortable couch, but she was just so tired it felt like the softest couch on the Isles. Eda settled next to the couch, staring intently at the witch until she moved again. She just grabbed the blanket and dragged it over her shoulders, mumbling a good night to the owl beast before promptly falling asleep.

Eda watched her a moment longer before giving an enormous yawn and curling up as close to the couch as she could. It didn’t take her long to fall asleep, either.

When Luz and King came down later in the morning, they decided they wouldn’t bother Nily today. They let her sleep as long as she needed.

[love-and-monsters]

Sauriosapien

M sairosapien X F human, 6,429 words.

This story does not have a reader-insert because I wanted to focus a little bit more on some characters that I came up with. This involves an established relationship, some fluff, and four tiny velociraptors. Enjoy!

The sun was blazing hot in the sky, so much so that it was uncomfortably warm even in the shade. A heavy mugginess hung in the air, so much so that Grace felt like she was inhaling through a damp rag. Sweat soaked through her loose ranger clothes. Even with her sleeves and pant legs rolled up, she was still overly warm. Fortunately, the trees were closely clustered enough that the sun only peeped through in tiny patches, dappling a few small areas of the ground.

Despite being so hot that she barely wanted to move, her tiny pack of velociraptors was running around like their tails were on fire. Rococo was perched in one of the trees, chattering furiously at Boho, who had her head stuck under the roots of one of the larger trees. Minimalism was hunched behind Grace’s legs while Maximalism oscillated between chattering at her and trying to snatch one of the tiny amphibians crawling through the damp undergrowth.

“C’mon babies!” Grace called, her voice higher pitched. “We got hunting to do!” She lifted her clicker and pressed the button a few times.

Rococo hopped out of the tree and skidded to a stop in front of Grace. Boho was right behind her. Maximalism fell into line next, chittering eagerly until Minimalism crept up next to him. Grace cooed to them. “Good, good! Okay, here. Sniff this.”

She crouched until she was on their level and held out a chunk of eggshells. Rococo’s nose was there in a second, snuffling intently. The other three were less enthusiastic, but Grace made sure they all got a good sniff before she stood back up. “Okay, babies! Go hunting!”

She clicked the pointer three times in rapid succession. Rococo placed her nose to the ground. A moment later, she gave a triumphant croak and took off into the trees. Boho and Maximalism fanned out on either side of her, with Minimalism bringing up the rear.

Grace ran after them. Despite only being the size of cats, the raptors were fast. Only the rustling in the undergrowth ahead of her let her know where her pack was. They called back and forth, little piping noises that blended with the usual cacophony of the forest.

Running was easy for Grace. Her body settled into an easy rhythm, burning with exertion, but not agonizingly so. She kept up a steady pace, keeping her raptors just in her sight. They worked best when she wasn’t crowding them.

After about fifteen minutes, Boho sent up a hooting signal. The rest of the raptors peeled off, following her lead. Grace followed them, slowing her pace as she approached so she didn’t trample over anything important.

Her raptors were chittering excitedly when she came upon them. Between the four of them, barely concealed in the branches, there was a nest of off-white eggs. Grace crouched next to it, voice hushed. “Okay, come back, babies. Yes, yes, good job.” Treats were passed out to the whole team, with a special helping going to Boho. She chittered and preened, giving the rest of the raptors superior looks. Grace laughed. Their little competitions inspired them to work harder, and Boho and Rococo had a particular rivalry.

Treats dished out, Grace reached into one of her back pockets and pulled out a notebook. She jotted down her rough coordinates, the size of the nest, and the number of eggs. Donning gloves, she prodded and poked at the eggs, rotating them and checking for unusual shell weakness, cracks, or any other signs of disease. Satisfied, she returned the eggs to the nest and carefully covered them once more. She walked over to one of the nearby trees and scored the bark before applying a sandy substance made from a mixture of crushed insects. The bitter, acrid smell was sharp enough to make Grace shy away, but it wouldn’t bother the mother of the nest and it would let her raptor pack know they had already visited that area.

The nearby undergrowth rustled. Grace drew up stiff, her raptors circling around her. Rococo sniffed at the air, head twitching back and forth. Then she dropped out of her alert posture and chirped reassuringly to the others. The rest of the raptors relaxed and Grace followed their lead. They would only be this relaxed around someone they knew. So, the person coming through the trees must be-

A flash of green and pink darted out from between the trees and skidded to a stop. He stood just as upright as a human, but he balanced on large, bird-like talons. His tail swung behind him, acting as a counterbalance. A massive hot pink crest of feathers covered the last quarter of his tail and crowned his head. Fangs glinted as his mouth stretched into a smile.

“Gracie.” There was a slight rasp in his voice, a noise that traced deliciously through Grace’s head and sent tingles along the back of her neck. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“Howdy,” Grace said, tilting her hat back. “You could have just waited for me to head back to town. I’m kind of working right now.” No sooner had the words left her mouth than Rococo charged their visitor. The rest of the pack followed her, working their small, feathered wings to propel their jumps so they could attach themselves to his chest. He staggered under the unexpected weight and sank to the ground, lifting his tail awkwardly to prevent his crest from getting dirtied.

“Seems like these guys want a break,” he said. Minimalism chittered wildly from her position on his lap while Boho buried her face into his head crest. Rococo, perched on his shoulder, made an attempt to corral her subordinates that was cut off when Maximalism started snapping at her tail feathers.

“Seems more like someone’s being a distraction,” Grace said. She gave a sharp whistle. Rococo, Maximalism, and Minimalism snapped to attention and formed their line in front of her. Boho kept her face pressed into his crest until Rococo rounded back and drove her into position.

He carefully got back to his feet, brushing dirt off his clothes. “I’m surprised you’re working,” he said. There was something deliberately airy and casual in his voice. Too casual. Grace paused, taking her attention off her raptors.

“Why are you surprised?” she asked carefully. She tried to rack her brain. Was she forgetting something?

“Oh,” he sighed, scanning the trees around him. “It’s nothing major. Only that you told me last week you were going to take a day off so we could actually spend some time together.”

Ah. Shit. Grace felt her face go hot with shame. Oops. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to- I totally forgot what day it was!” She considered blaming it on her unfamiliarity with the Sauriosapien calendar, but that wouldn’t have been true- even with the standard human calendar, she was always mixing up dates and forgetting things.

He frowned. His crest was pulled tight against his head, feathers tucked in to display his irritation. That was far worse than the aggressive puff he showed off when he was really and truly pissed; this was more akin to someone saying ‘I’m not angry, I’m just disappointed.’

“Look, I really am sorry. Uh, hold on. Let me take these guys back home and get a little washed up, and maybe change into some nicer clothes and I’ll be right there.”

He shook his head. “Don’t bother. You’re already out here and in the middle of work, and these guys are already all wound up.” He gestured to Boho, who was practically twitching with the effort of staying still and in line. “I was just coming to make sure nothing happened to you.”

Grace felt her shoulders droop. “Oh. Thanks for that.” Her eyes were stinging slightly with humiliation and anger at herself. “I’m sorry you came out all this way. Maybe we can go out tomorrow?”

He shook his head. “I took off work today.” Irritation was thick in his voice again. Grace slumped her shoulders. He worked in a particularly popular boutique and getting specific days off was always difficult for him.

“Are you sure you don’t just want me to go home? I can always do this tomorrow. I’ll just let everyone out in the yard and they’ll run themselves out,” she said.

He gave a snort, his lips twitching into a half-smile. “You remember what happened the last time they were in the yard for more than an hour without supervision.”

Grace grimaced. As many times as she reinforced the fence and made it taller, the raptors found a new way to get out. The last time, Rococo and Boho had managed to dig underneath until the chicken wire had come loose and had squirmed free. Everyone but a very lonely Minimalism had been gone by the time Grace made it back, and she’d spent much of the night tramping through the forest looking for them. “Then they can go in the coop. They’ll destroy it, but I can clean it up later.”

“That’s not fair to them,” he said, and despite the situation, Grace felt her heart surge with affection. Even pissed off, even if it would benefit him not to, he cared for her raptors. “You’ve already wound them up for work. Just let them continue.”

“Are you really sure?” Grace asked. He waved a hand at her dismissively.

“I’m sure.” He gave her a smile, though it was clearly tense and tinged with sadness. “I know you have a lot of difficulty with remembering dates and things that aren’t on your schedule, but… well, I really would like to spend time with you more often than a couple evening every week. And it’s frustrating when you don’t remember these kinds of things.”

“I know. I’m really sorry. It’s not that it’s not important to me. It is! It’s just… if things aren’t part of my schedule and I don’t have reminders, then I tend to forget them.” She pulled her hat off and ran her fingers through her hair. “You know I missed my own birthday a couple years ago?”

He looked at her a little blankly. “Er… that’s important?”

Right, egg-laying people didn’t think about birthdays the same way. “Uh. It’s like forgetting your hatching day, I guess, but birthdays have more cultural significance to us.” He nodded slowly, though he didn’t seem to understand. “Days just kind of all blur together for me. Time is a flat circle and a total scam and I don’t know dates very well and I’m sorry. That’s what I’m trying to say.”

He stared, but his lips were quirking like he was trying to hold back a smile. “We’ll have to work on this in the future. I just came out to make sure that you were all right.” He turned, waving a four-fingered hand over his shoulder. “I’ll see you when you’re home from work.”

“Velly, wait!” He paused, looking over his shoulder. Grace swept her had back up onto her head and offered him an apologetic smile. “I, uh. I feel bad that you came all the way out here for nothing. Why don’t you stay a little bit?”

Vel paused. “You’re working.”

“I know. But I mean, the pack knows you pretty well. You probably won’t be much of a distraction for them.”

He tried to give her a serious look, but his lips were twitching again. “I’m pretty sure that you’re not supposed to be on a date during the work day either.”

“No one will find out. We’re in the middle of the park. You just need to head back before I go to the ranger’s center. And it’s not like you didn’t already sneak in.”

He laughed. “Well. Yes. That’s true.” His crest fluffed up, his tail swinging back and forth. “Are you going to have to take me in?”

“Hey, if you give me any trouble, I might have to cuff you,” Grace said with a grin. She didn’t miss the little shiver that moved through Vel’s crest. “Maybe I’ll just restrain you and leave you in the woods for anyone to find…”

Rococo, apparently irritated at being ignored, took that moment to nip at Grace’s boot.

“Okay, okay! Come on, let go.” She shook her boot and the raptor detached. Rococo trotted back to the others, but Grace could tell her patience wasn’t going to hold for much longer. “Like I was saying,” she continued, turning back to Vel, “I can’t trust you to leave on your own, so I guess you’re going to just have to come with me. No trying to escape or anything.”

Vel grinned. “No, ma’am.”

Grace turned back to her raptors and clicked her clicker. They all skittered back into formation, looking up at her expectantly. “All right. We found one. Go get another one!” She clicked the clicker rapidly and the raptors took a moment to snuffle at the ground before plunging into the trees. Grace took off after them, Vel following her.

The raptors pulled ahead again, stunningly fast for such little animals. Grace followed at a small distance, careful not to go at much more than a jog. She was fast, for a human, but she couldn’t maintain the speed for very long. As long as she could trace their path through the trees and hear their calls back and forth, she could track them.

The bigger concern was Vel. He was already starting to lag, even after only a minute or so of running. He was not as well-trained as Grace, nor as fit, and no sauriosapien was as good of an endurance runner as a human. He might be able to outrun her in a sprint, but the further they went, the less likely that was.

Vel looked to be on the verge of collapse by the time the raptors called out again and came to a halt at another next. Grace, slightly winded, leaned on the nearby tree. Vel hunched over, making wheezing noises like his lungs were going to come out of his mouth.

“You good?” Grace said. He gave her a thumbs-up, then sagged all the way to the ground.

“I can see why they like humans to do this job,” he said. He rested one of his hands on his chest as he panted. “I think my heart’s going to explode out of my chest.”

“Hey, humans may be better at endurance running in general, but a sauriosapien could do this job,” Grace said as she bent down to uncover the nest. “Don’t throw your whole species under the bus because you’re really out of shape.”

Maximalism had found the nest, and he was crowing over the others, holding his second treat in his mouth like a prize. Minimalism crawled up next to him, chittering anxiously until he allowed her to take a tiny nibble of the treat, then he gulped it down. Grace waved them off, checking the size and integrity of the nest.

Vel, having recovered slightly, rolled onto his side to watch her. “What exactly are you doing with that nest?”

“I told you about this the other night,” Grace said, not looking up from the nest. Vel pushed himself up into a sitting position, shifting his robes around him.

“Yeah, but I had a hard time figuring it out. I’m better when I can actually see what you’re doing.” He crept closer, though he paused a short distance away, like he was concerned that his presence would disturb the nest.

“There’s a few species of microraptors whose nests have been damaged recently. There’s some kind of disease that’s been going around and causing all sorts of problems with the shells.” She covered the nest back up and scent-marked it. “I’ve been trying to tag the number of nests there are and making sure the eggs are in good shape. If we find any nests where the eggs look weak, we’ll tag them and collect the eggs. Hopefully we’ll be able to raise them until they can hatch and be returned to the wild.”

“Oh,” Vel said. He crept a little closer. “How’s this nest doing?”

“All good. I haven’t actually seen too many bad eggs in the past couple of days I’ve been doing this. Hopefully that means that the disease hasn’t been spreading too much.” She gestured to the raptors and clicked at them. They circled up around her. “And we’re keeping our eyes peeled for any rat dens we find. If we locate those, we-”

Minimalism let out a loud peep and darted out of the circle. She plunged her narrow muzzle into a nearby bush, snapping wildly. There was a squeak, some thrashing, and Minimalism withdrew her head. A rat dangled from her jaws.

“Oh, good girl!” Grace got down on one knee. Minimalism ran over, giving up the rat in favor of another treat. “Yes, you’re a good girl! You’ve done very well!” She carefully placed the rat into a plastic bag and eased that into her pack.

“What do you do with the rats?” Vel asked. He looked mostly recovered from his mad dash, his crest perking up once more.

“Send them to a lab. They usually run some tests on them, try to do a blood panel and figure out if they’ve got any diseases they’re spreading. There’s been some concerns that the rats are actually spreading the disease that’s causing the nest weaknesses.” Grace got back to her feet, her knees cracking loudly. “Ugh, I’m like an old woman.”

“And yet, you’re still more fit than me,” Vel said. He clambered to his feet and shook his robes free of leaf litter and debris from lying on the ground. “Do we have to run again?”

Grace laughed. “I’ll see if I can slow these guys down, so we can give you a break.” She clicked at the raptors a few times. “All right, slow, babies.” Rococo chirped in confirmation, then turned and chittered at the other raptors. Satisfied her message had been conveyed, she took off, the others fanning out behind her. Grace straightened back up. “Come on.”

This time, they went at a light jog. It barely winded Grace, but Vel still struggled to keep up. At least this time, he wasn’t wheezing so alarmingly when he breathed, so Grace didn’t have to be constantly worried he was going to collapse.

Vel was at least able to keep up as they tracked down and assessed the nests. The frequent breaks they took while Grace examined the eggs seemed to be helping him keep up, but by the middle of the day, he was definitely flagging. Even Grace, with her much better stamina and training, was starting to feel the beginnings of exhaustion.

“We’ll take a break,” she said, signaling the raptors. They were starting to look fatigued as well, mouths hanging open as they panted and their feathers drawn tight against their body in an effort to calm them down. “I need to eat lunch anyway.”

Vel collapsed next to her as she spread out a mat and set down her packed lunch. “Here. I brought some dried meat with me.” She offered him a package wrapped in paper. He opened it and pulled out a jerky strip.

“Thanks.” She knew it wasn’t his favorite, but he ate it without complaint.

“I don’t have much for you,” she said, digging through the pack. “I know running around all afternoon must be making you hungry. Er, I might have a few hard-boiled eggs.”

“I don’t want to take your lunch,” Vel said as he snapped down another strip of meat. “You need to eat more than I do.”

Humans, thanks to their endothermy, needed to eat much more frequently than sauriosapiens- at least three meals a day, nearly two thousand calories, compared to the typical two-meal, thousand calorie diets of the sauriosapiens. The sauriosapiens were only selectively endothermic, with their bodies heating up with exercise and cooling down when they were inactive or sleeping. That meant their bodies could manage with far fewer calories, though after running around for a while, there was quite a large loss of energy.

“Missing one meal won’t kill me. I’ll be fine.” Grace pulled out a couple of hard-boiled eggs. They were large enough to fill her palm, much larger than the chicken eggs she’d been used to at home. She passed one to Vel, who hesitated for a moment before cracking the shell with his claws.

“Thank you.” He took a bite out of the white, eyes drifting half-shut as he tasted the rich fattiness of the yolk. A lot of food in sauriosapien culture was fixated on fattiness and oils. It was an easy way to get calorie-rich food, considering that they couldn’t taste sugar and were fairly carnivorous. Grace hadn’t eaten much in the way of refined sugar since she’d arrived, only managing to scrounge a few pieces of fruit that she grew herself. She took a piece of dried fruit from her bad and chewed idly on it.

The raptors gathered together, chittering and playing with each other. Grace watched as they tumbled around, hopping over each other, nipping at tails, and generally enjoying themselves. She could see Vel giggling at them out of the corner of her eye.

“Thank you for coming with me,” she said. Vel licked some egg yolk off his finger as he turned toward her.

“Well, we were supposed to have a date today,” he said. There was a slightly sarcastic edge to his voice. Grace ducked her head, a flush of shame touching her cheeks.

“I really am sorry about that. I’ll make it up to you,” she promised.

“I knew what I was getting into then I started dating you,” Vel said. “Remember when there was a holiday in the middle of the week and you tried to go into work anyway?”

Grace pulled her hat down over her head to hide her face. “Ugh. Please don’t remind me.”

Vel laughed into his hand. “You were messed up for the rest of the week. Kept thinking you had days off when you didn’t… and the raptors were confused too! Poor Rococo, she started yelling at you, trying to get you to go out and then you started to think maybe she was right and not you…”

Grace swatted his shoulder. “Keep teasing me and I’ll make good on my threat to tie you up.”

“Will you?” Vel asked, his voice dropping into a lower register. Grace pressed a finger to his forehead and pushed him back, causing him to break into another fit of soft giggles.

A shaft of sunlight broke through the trees and fell across Vel’s face. His green scales gleamed under the sun, glossy as ocean-smoothed glass. Grace took a moment to just take in his face. His teeth gleamed, sharp as knives, but somehow also attractive. His eyes were glistening, beautiful gold. Grace swore that when the sunlight struck them, they illuminated like a chunk of pyrite. His feathered crest twitched and flared. The motion of the feathers was always fascinating, the way they ruffled in response to his emotions. Touching them was always a wonderful experience. Feeling their slight motions against her fingers was grounding, the reassuring contact of another living being that trusted her completely.

Vel was attractive, by both human and sauriosapien standards. The human standards would be satisfied by his reasonably tall stature with smooth, lithe muscles, his flowing grace, and his fine-boned face. The sauriosapien standards were satisfied by the bright green of his scales and the brilliant pink of his head and tail crests. Not only were they an incredibly vibrant pink, but they were thick and full and expressive. Grace had seen the interested looks of other sauriosapiens when they walked through town together. Whether or not they approved of his relationship with her, she wasn’t sure. She could observe their attraction to Vel with a sort of clinical detachment, but when it came to how people viewed her, she had no idea.

“Are you still hungry?” Vel asked. She looked down. His head had migrated onto her lap somehow, and the side of his face was pressed against her middle. “I can hear your stomach growling.”

“I’ll be fine,” she said. “I know a place-” She trailed off. Huh. Maybe she could really make up for screwing up their date.

“You know a place?” Vel prompted, lifting his head. She turned her attention back to him and scratched along his crest in that just-right spot. He made a trilling noise and went nearly limp.

“Never mind. We need to get moving.” She carefully tucked any wrappers and containers back into her bag and swung it up onto her shoulders. Vel got to his feet, shaking some leaf litter from his clothes. They were in typical sauriosapien style, which meant they looked a little like a fancy hospital gown to Grace’s eyes. They were essentially robes that clipped together in the back, which gave ample space for their tail. She’d seen a few sauriosapiens try to put on human clothes before, which was always amusing. The head holes were never big enough to accommodates their stiff crests, and the pants were just a complete disaster, what with their digitigrade legs and tails.

On the other hand, humans who wore sauriosapien clothes, along with the inherent indignity of the outfits nearly always being too big, tended to have their asses hanging out through the tail hole, so it went both ways.

They started through the forest once more, this time with Grace reigning her raptors in close. A series of whistles and click signals kept them close by, though she couldn’t prevent them from running ahead at least a little bit. They jumped in and out of the undergrowth, scaling the trees on occasion and snapping at insects that settled nearby.

“Are we still looking for nests?” Vel asked. Despite the slowed pace, he was still panting a little. Going to slow was nearly maddening for Grace, but she slowed down a hair more.

“We’re going to put a pause on that for now,” she said. “There’s somewhere I want to check out first.”

“Oh,” Vel said. He fell silent, devoting most of his energy to walking. Grace focused her attention on watching the raptors jump around. Rococo snapped a bright flower from a nearby bush and bolted back to her, chittering furiously.

“Thank you,” Grace said. Rococo relinquished the flower when Grace offered her a treat in return and immediately bolted back to the others, chirping with excitement. Within moments, the other raptors were gathering up flowers and offering them to Grace. Her arms filled with the sweet-smelling blooms, the raptors chittering and hopping up and down around her.

“All right, all right, that’s enough,” Grace said. She waved her hand at them, dismissing them. They plunged back into the undergrowth to find some other game to play.

“Did you train them to do that?” Vel asked, looking at the flowers with amusement.

“No, they kind of trained themselves,” Grace said. “They know that performing certain behaviors will get them treats. If one of them sees another getting a treat for something, they’ll all repeat it until I stop giving treats. They know that when I make the cut of signal, though, no more treats are coming and they need to stop. I don’t want them completely stripping the forest of flowers to get treats.” She gathered the flowers in her arms into a bouquet. “Here.”

Vel blinked as she thrust the flowers into his arms. They were a cacophony of bright colors that complimented his brilliant pink crest. “Oh,” he said. He wasn’t able to blush, thanks to his scales, but his tail whipped back and forth so fast it knocked down a sapling. His crest flared, feathers spreading into a brightly colored crown. “Thank you.” He adjusted them to sit in the crook of his elbow. “I’ve never gotten flowers before.”

“Really? I find that hard to believe. You’ve got a lot of admirers, you know.” Not only was he handsome, but his shy, slightly submissive personality was considered the height of masculinity to sauriosapiens. Sure, males were typically expected to make the first move in relationships, performing display behaviors with their feathers and showing off for any females they were interested in, but Vel would have had enough admirers that one of them would have taken it upon themselves to ask him out.

“I don’t know about a lot,” Vel said, his crest twitching with embarrassment. “And we don’t really give flowers as gifts. Carved bones or teeth are more likely. But I know flowers are more important to humans.” He removed one of the flowers with the longest stems and turned to tuck it into Grace’s hair. His claws were sharp enough that any touch against Grace’s thin human skin was dangerous, but she’d never felt any sort of threat from him. He didn’t even cut a hair as he slid the flower into place behind her ear.

“Really important is an exaggeration. But it’s a common gift.” She carefully adjusted the flower so it wouldn’t fall out. “Here, let me.” She plucked another flower from the bouquet, picking a pale yellow one that would offset the hot pink nicely, and tucked it into his crest. He made a soft rumbling noise in his chest as her fingers trailed along the edge of his crest.

There was an irritated chirping at her feet. Grace looked down to see Rococo and Maximalism peering up at her. Boho and Minimalism were only slightly further back, also staring. Their impatient gazes made Grace realize that she and Vel had simply been staring into each other’s eyes, not moving at all.

“We should keep going,” she said. She waved her hand to the raptors. They took off into the trees. “Come on.” Without thinking, she linked her fingers through his and pulled him along after her.

Vel struggled to keep up with her still, so she was very much dragging him through the undergrowth. He clutched her hand with both of his as he panted. “Uh. Hah… Could… Gracie, could we please slow down a little?”

She slowed her steps just a bit and he stumbled into her, letting his body weight fall onto her. She bore it with only a little effort. He was almost exactly her height, but all sauriosapiens were light-boned and limber, so he weighed less than he appeared to. “Do you want me to carry you?” she teased, thought she knew he would say no. It was probably for the best. She could have lifted him for a while, but it was awkward carrying something the same size as her and she couldn’t carry something even only three-quarters of her body weight for a long time.

“No. You just gotta stop moving so fast. I feel like I’m going to have a heart attack.” Vel lay a hand over his chest as he straightened up. Once he’d managed to regain his breath, he glanced around the forest in curiosity. “Where are we?”

The trees were thicker around them, their canopies clustered close together so their leaves blocked most of the sun. The humidity of the forest was thicker, but the lack of sunlight added a little coolness to the air. Without as much sun reaching the forest floor, the undergrowth had mostly cleared. The raptors hopped around the enormous tree roots, even darting under a few particularly enormous ones that bulged up from the ground.

“We’re closer to the middle of the forest. Come this way.” Grace picked her way over a few of the larger roots. Vel followed, his hand still gripping at hers. The ground grew damp under their feet the further they went. Vel managed it a lot better than Grace did- his feet were broader, allowing him to balance well on the spongey ground. A couple of times, his grip on Grace’s arm saved her from falling face-first into the muck.

Grace picked her way over the crest of a small hill and stopped. “Okay. We’re here.”

Vel peeked over her shoulder and his breath caught. The raptors, chittering with delight, hopped down along the sloping ground in front of them until they hit the waterfront.

In the middle of a circle of trees, covered with tangled green vines, there was a crystalline spring of water. Lily-like flowers dotted the surface, adding splashes of bright color in the green.

“Oh!” Vel said. His crest flared and his tail whipped back and forth. Grace couldn’t help but smile at the look on his face. “Oh, it’s gorgeous. I’ve never seen this place before. I didn’t even know it was here.”

“Technically, we’re not supposed to be here. It’s in the restricted section of the park, because of these.” Grace crouched down and pointed toward a particularly thick patch of lilies. Under the plants there was a tiny, darting crowd of fish.

“Because of fish?” Vel said, crouching next to her. The fish were small, barely longer than the first two joints of his finger, and mostly tail. They had mostly dull coloration, except for a brilliant red splash on their backs. He reached his finger toward the water, like he was about to stroke them, then pulled back with a cautious look at Grace.

“I wouldn’t touch them,” she said. “They’re sensitive little things. And they’re not actually fish. They’re the tadpole stage of a kind of amphibian.”

“Like a frog?” Vel said.

“Sort of. A little more like salamanders, actually. They’re about this big, only as long as your hand, and they’re pretty similar in coloration to these little guys. Mostly greenish-brown, with a big splash of red on their backs. They’re pretty uncommon in the area, though. Most of the time, they lay their eggs in the rainy season, when a lot of temporary puddles form. When they fully metamorphosize, they find a damp spot and bury underground until the next rainy season, when they can find a mate and lay their eggs.” Grace indicated the circumference of the pond. “This spot’s the only place where you can consistently find them. It’s fed from an underground spring, so it’s here year-round. Every year, you can find a few tadpoles here. We use it to keep an eye on the population.”

“How come no one’s allowed to know about it?” Vel asked.

“Uh, the tadpoles get hunted a lot. See the red spot on their backs? That secretes a kind of hallucinogenic substance. It’s deadly to sauriosapiens, and to most other species here, but to mammals, it acts more like a slightly milder form of acid.” Vel gave her a bewildered look. “Uh, it’s like a euphoria-inducing drug that can give you really nice hallucinations. Humans like it a lot. There’s a big underground market for it, so smugglers try to catch the tadpoles every year. But because the nests move every year, they need to look for them. We’ve done a pretty good job so far at keeping this spot safe- as long as they can’t find a regular spot to pull the tadpoles from, their hunting shouldn’t put too much of a strain on the population.”

Vel nodded. “It’s a shame. It’s beautiful here.”

Grace nodded. “It’s one of the prettier locations. If you stay here for a while, you can usually see some animals come through to drink.” She let her hands hang at her side, pinky finger just barely brushing against Vel’s. “Thank you, by the way.”

He glanced at her. “For what?” “For forgiving me. For coming along with me on my work day. For being understanding. For letting me speak about the tadpoles. I don’t often get to discuss these things with other people.”

“Oh. You don’t need to thank me for that. I like listening to you speak. You have a very soothing voice.” Vel was quiet for a second. “Oh, and you’re welcome.”

Grace hummed and threaded her free hand through his crest. His eyes drifted shut. He leaned back against her. A soft rumble sounded through his chest, almost like a purr. Grace felt her eyes closing as well. It was beautifully warm, and if she shifted a little and dangled her feet in the water, it added a cool, soothing element. Vel shifted a little to wrap his arms around her.

And then about twelve pounds of velociraptor cannonballed itself into Grace’s stomach.

She jerked, limbs flailing involuntarily. Vel’s head, previously resting on her shoulder, shot up. The soft dirt at the edge of the pond crumbled under their sudden movements and gave way. Vel barely had time to shriek before he slid sideways into the water.

Grace, sitting on a better-structured patch of dirt, didn’t slip, but was soaked anyway by Vel’s panicked flailing. It calmed within a moment when he realized the pond was only about five feet deep and he could stand pretty easily. He shook his head, spraying water from his crest.

“Ow,” Grace said. Boho, the raptor who had launched into her stomach, blinked innocently. The three other raptors watched with the wide eyed interest of children whose sibling had just broken a prized possession.

Vel spat out a mouthful of water. “Are you all right?”

“Nothing I haven’t been through before,” Grace said, fixing Boho with her sternest stare. Boho’s crest drooped and she crept off of Grace’s lap like a scolded puppy. “Are you all right?”

“Wet,” Vel said. He braced his arms on the bank and heaved himself up. “But not harmed.” He shook himself off like a wet dog. The water cleared fairly easily from his scaly skin, but his crest and tail were saturated, as was his outfit. Grace’s clothes were similarly soaked.

“I was going to suggest that we headed back,” Grace said, “but I suppose it makes more sense to wait here until we dry off.”

Vel smiled, sharp teeth glinting. “Maybe we should get out of these wet clothes, first? It might help them dry quicker.”

Grace lifted an eyebrow, but she couldn’t help a tiny laugh. “I suppose.” She smiled at him as he stood and started to undo the straps of his clothes. “I love you.”

Vel paused in his undressing to kiss her forehead. “I love you, too.” His grin widened and became wicked. “Now strip.”

[kookie-doughs]

Y/N L/N AND THE HALFBLOODS

Percy Jackson X Reader -Y/N L/N met Percy Jackson and everything was now ruined.

CHAPTER 5: COMING TO CAMP

I woke up feeling sore all over, but what I heard and saw made no sense, so I just passed out again. I remember lying in a soft bed, being spoon-fed something that tasted like buttered popcorn, only it was pudding. A short-cropped blonde haired guy hovered over me, looking down at me. When he saw my eyes open, he asked, "How are you feeling?" I managed to croak, "What?" "Are you feeling better?" "I guess," I mumbled, "I don't... where's Percy?" Somebody knocked on the door, and the guy slowly set the pudding down. "I'll see you when you're better." He smiled. The next time I woke up, the guy was gone.

When I finally came around for good, there was nothing weird about my surroundings, except that they were nicer than I was used to. I was sitting in a deck chair on a huge porch, gazing across a meadow at green hills in the distance. The breeze smelled like strawberries. There was a blanket over my legs, a pillow behind my neck. All that was great, but my mouth felt like a scorpion had been using it for a nest. My tongue was dry and nasty and every one of my teeth hurt. On the table next to me was a tall drink. It looked like iced apple juice, with a green straw and a paper parasol stuck through a maraschino cherry. My hand was so weak I almost dropped the glass once I got my fingers around it. "You're awake," a voice said. A blonde girl was leaning against the porch railing, looking tired and done. She was wearing blue jeans, Converse hi-tops and a bright orange T-shirt that said CAMPHALF-BLOOD. "I should call the others," she said. "Where's Percy?" "He's talking with Mr. D." "Is he well?" "You've been through worse," She said with her eyebrows knitted(?). "And the first thing you ask is your friend?" "Percy, should—" "I'll tell the others." She looked at me one last time and left. I stared across the meadow. There were groves of trees, a winding stream, acres of strawberries spread out under the blue sky. The valley was surrounded by rolling hills, and the tallest one, directly in front of us, was the one with the huge pine tree on top. Even that looked beautiful in the sunlight. Without Percy's presence I was reminded of everything I lost. Everyone I care about. "Hey," A voice behind me called. "Annabeth passed by and told me you're awake. Feeling better?" "Oh, hey." I smiled weakly. "Feelin real peachy." "Luke, Luke Castellan." "Y/N L/N..." We stayed quiet for a minute. "I'm sorry for what happened. I don't exactly know what went on but..." Looking at him, I gave him a sad smile, "Thanks... I guess. Even I'm not sure what went on honestly... I don't know what's going on." "Well, I'm not exactly much of an explainer so, we just gotta wait for Chiron." "I... remember everything. From the moment the sea pulled me, to loosing my parents and dog, to bringing us here... I just... don't understand..." I suddenly felt dizzy, my vision swimming. "Don't strain yourself," Luke said. "Here." He helped me hold my glass and put the straw to my lips. I recoiled at the taste, because I was expecting apple juice. It wasn't that at all. It was (Favorite Food or F/F). Liquid F/F. And not just any F/F—my mom and dad's special F/F. Drinking it, my whole body felt warm and good, full of energy. My grief didn't go away, but I felt as if my mom and dad had just pet my head, fed me F/F the way they used to when I was small, and told me everything was going to be okay. Before I knew it, I'd drained the glass. I stared into it, sure I'd just had a warm drink, but the ice cubes hadn't even melted. "Was it good?" Luke asked. I nodded. "Are you feeling better now? "Yeah," I said. "Thanks." "That's good," he said. "That's good. I don't think you could risk drinking any more of that stuff." "What do you mean?" He took the empty glass from me, as if it were dynamite, and set it back on the table. "Y/N!" I turned to the voice and saw Grover. "Hey, Luke." "I'll take it they want her?" Grover nodded. "I'll see you later." Luke smiled and ruffled my hair, then left me with Grover. Grover watched Luke leave then turned to me, "Come on. Chiron and Mr. D are waiting." The porch wrapped all the way around the farmhouse. My legs felt wobbly, trying to walk that far. I asked him where Percy was and he said he was already there. As we came around the opposite end of the house, I caught my breath. We must've been on the north shore of Long Island, because on this side of the house, the valley marched all the way up to the water, which glittered about a mile in the distance. Between here and there, I simply couldn't process everything I was seeing. The landscape was dotted with buildings that looked like ancient Greek architecture—an open-air pavilion, an amphitheater, a circular arena—except that they all looked brand new, their white marble columns sparkling in the sun. In a nearby sandpit, a dozen high school-age kids and satyrs played volleyball. Canoes glided across a small lake. Kids in bright orange T-shirts like Grover's were chasing each other around a cluster of cabins nestled in the woods. Some shot targets at an archery range. Others rode horses down a wooded trail, and, unless I was hallucinating, some of their horses had wings. "Y/N!!" I was engulfed and tackled which almost made me fall. Percy looked at me with sad eyes, holding unto the Minotaur horn. He looked tired and sick. "Are you okay Percy?" He nodded and rested his head on my shoulder. Down at the end of the porch, two men sat across from each other at a card table. The blond-haired girl that I woke up to was leaning on the porch rail next to them. The man facing me was small, but porky. He had a red nose, big watery eyes, and curly hair so black it was almost purple. He looked like those paintings of baby angels— what do you call them, hubbubs? No, cherubs. That's it. He looked like a cherub who'd turned middle-aged in a trailer park. He wore a tiger-pattern Hawaiian shirt. "Hate to break your touching reunion but we were talking." The man said. "That's Mr. D," Grover murmured to me. "He's the camp director. Be polite. The girl, that's Annabeth Chase. She's just a camper, but she's been here longer than just about anybody. And you already know Chiron..." He pointed at the guy whose back was to me. First, I realized he was sitting in the wheelchair. Then I recognized the tweed jacket, the thinning brown hair, the scraggly beard. "Mr. Brunner!" I cried. The Latin teacher turned and smiled at me. "Ah, good, Y/N," he said. "You're awake. Percy couldn't focus since he was worried of you. He woke up an hour before you. Care for a game of pinochle?" He offered me a chair to the right of Mr. D, who looked at me with bloodshot eyes and heaved a great sigh. "Oh, I suppose I must say it. Welcome to Camp Half-Blood. There. Now, don't expect me to be glad to see you." "Uh, thanks." I turned to Percy who looked at me confusedly as well. "Annabeth?" Mr. Brunner called to the blond girl. She came forward and Mr. Brunner introduced us. "This young lady and Luke nursed you back to health, Y/N. Annabeth, my dear, why don't you go check on Percy and Y/N's bunk? We'll be putting him in cabin eleven for now." Annabeth said, "Sure, Chiron." She was probably my age, maybe same height, and a whole lot more athletic looking. With her deep tan and her curly blond hair, she was almost exactly what I thought a stereotypical California girl would look like, except her eyes ruined the image. They were startling gray, like storm clouds; pretty, but intimidating, too, as if she were analyzing the best way to take me down in a fight. She glanced at the minotaur horn in Percy's hands, then back at him. I felt a bit iffy and got closer to Percy. She turned to me and said, "You should thank Luke." Then she sprinted off down the lawn, her blond hair flying behind her. "So," Percy said, anxious to change the subject. "You, uh, work here, Mr. Brunner?". "Not Mr. Brunner," the ex—Mr. Brunner said. "I'm afraid that was a pseudonym. You may call me Chiron." "Okay." Totally confused, I looked at the director. "And Mr. D ... does that stand for something?" Mr. D stopped shuffling the cards. He looked at me like I'd just belched loudly. "Young woman, names are powerful things. You don't just go around using them for no reason." "Oh. Right. Sorry." "I must say, Percy, Y/N," Chiron-Brunner broke in, "I'm glad to see you both alive. It's been a long time since I've made a house call to a potential camper. I'd hate to think I've wasted my time. And I am quite surprise to recruit two." "House call?" "Recruit two?" "My year at Yancy Academy, to instruct you. We have satyrs at most schools, of course, keeping a lookout. But Grover alerted me as soon as he met you. He sensed you were something special, so I decided to come upstate. I convinced the other Latin teacher to ... ah, take a leave of absence. And when the mist hadn't worked on Y/N, Grover and I thought she saw through the mist." "Mist?" "It's... something." "You came to Yancy just to teach me?" Percy asked. Chiron nodded. "Honestly, I wasn't sure about you at first. We contacted your mother, let her know we were keeping an eye on you in case you were ready for Camp Half-Blood. But you still had so much to learn. Nevertheless, you made it here alive, and that's always the first test. As for Y/N..." He looked at me skeptically then to Mr. D. "You're... still scentless." "Grover," Mr. D said impatiently, "are you playing or not?" "Yes, sir!" Grover trembled as he took the fourth chair, though I didn't know why he should be so afraid of a pudgy little man in a tiger-print Hawaiian shirt. "You do know how to play pinochle?" Mr. D eyed me suspiciously. "I'm afraid not," I said. "I'm afraid not, sir," he said. "Sir," I repeated. I was liking the camp director less and less. "Well," he told me, "it is, along with gladiator fighting and Pac-Man, one of the greatest games ever invented by humans. I would expect all civilized young men to know the rules." "I'm sure the girl can learn," Chiron said. "The other kid was bad, I doubt this one can do better." "Please," Percy said pulling me closer to him, "what is this place? What am I doing here? Mr. Brun—Chiron—why would you go to Yancy Academy just to teach me?" Mr. D snorted. "I asked the same question." The camp director dealt the cards. Grover flinched every time one landed in his pile. Chiron smiled at us sympathetically. "Percy," he said. "Did your mother tell you nothing?' "She said... She told me she was afraid to send me here, even though my father had wanted her to. She said that once I was here, I probably couldn't leave. She wanted to keep me close to her." "And you?" He turned to me. "Nothing like this ever happened... Everything was normal." "Typical," Mr. D said. "That's how they usually get killed. Young lady, are you bidding or not?" "What?" I asked. He explained, impatiently, how you bid in pinochle, and so I did. "I'm afraid there's too much to tell," Chiron said. "I'm afraid our usual orientation film won't be sufficient." "Orientation film?" Percy asked. "No," Chiron decided. "Well, Percy. You know your friend Grover is a satyr. You know"—he pointed to the horn in the shoe box—"that you and Y/N have killed the Minotaur. No small feat, either, lad. What you may not know is that great powers are at work in your life. Gods—the forces you call the Greek gods—are very much alive." I stared at the others around the table. I waited for somebody to yell, Not! But all I got was Mr. D yelling, "Oh, a royal marriage. Trick! Trick!" He cackled as he tallied up his points. "Mr. D," Grover asked timidly, "if you're not going to eat it, could I have your Diet Coke can?" "Eh? Oh, all right." Grover bit a huge shard out of the empty aluminum can and chewed it mournfully. "Wait," I told Chiron. "You're telling me there's such a thing as God." "Well, now," Chiron said. "God—capital G, God. That's a different matter altogether. We shan't deal with the metaphysical." "Metaphysical? But you were just talking about—" "Ah, gods, plural, as in, great beings that control the forces of nature and human endeavors: the immortal gods of Olympus. That's a smaller matter." "Smaller?" "Yes, quite. The gods we discussed in Latin class." "Zeus," Percy said. "Hera. Apollo. You mean them." And there it was again—distant thunder on a cloudless day. "Young man," said Mr. D, "I would really be less casual about throwing those names around, if I were you." "But they're stories," Percy said. "They're—myths, to explain lightning and the seasons and stuff. They're what people believed before there was science." "Science!" Mr. D scoffed. "And tell me, Perseus Jackson"—I felt Percy flinched when he was called—"what will people think of your 'science' two thousand years from now?" Mr. D continued. "Hmm? They will call it primitive mumbo jumbo. That's what. Oh, I love mortals—they have absolutely no sense of perspective. They think they've come so-o-o far. And have they, Chiron? Look at this boy and tell me." I wasn't liking Mr. D much, but there was something about the way he called me mortal, as if... he wasn't. It was enough to put a lump in my throat, to suggest why Grover was dutifully minding his cards, chewing his soda can, and keeping his mouth shut. "Percy," Chiron said, "you may choose to believe or not, but the fact is that immortal means immortal. Can you imagine that for a moment, never dying? Never fading? Existing, just as you are, for all time?" "You mean, whether people believed in you or not," Percy said. "Exactly," Chiron agreed. "If you were a god, how would you like being called a myth, an old story to explain lightning? What if I told you, Perseus Jackson, that someday people would call you and Y/N a myth, just created to explain how children can get over losing their parents?" My heart pounded. He was trying to make us angry for some reason, but I wasn't going to let him. Gripping on Percy I said, "I wouldn't like it. But I don't believe in gods." "Oh, you'd better," Mr. D murmured. "Before one of them incinerates you." Grover said, "P-please, sir. She's just lost her family. She's in shock." "A lucky thing, too," Mr. D grumbled, playing a card. "Bad enough I'm confined to this miserable job, working with kids who don't even believe.'" He waved his hand and a goblet appeared on the table, as if the sunlight had bent, momentarily, and woven the air into glass. The goblet filled itself with red wine. My jaw dropped, but Chiron hardly looked up. "Mr. D," he warned, "your restrictions." Mr. D looked at the wine and feigned surprise. "Dear me." He looked at the sky and yelled, "Old habits! Sorry!" More thunder. Mr. D waved his hand again, and the wineglass changed into a fresh can of Diet Coke. He sighed unhappily, popped the top of the soda, and went back to his card game. Chiron winked at me. "Mr. D offended his father a while back, took a fancy to a wood nymph who had been declared off-limits." "A wood nymph," I repeated, still staring at the Diet Coke can like it was from outer space. "Yes," Mr. D confessed. "Father loves to punish me. The first time, Prohibition. Ghastly! Absolutely horrid ten years! The second time—well, she really was pretty, and I couldn't stay away—the second time, he sent me here. Half-Blood Hill. Summer camp for brats like you. 'Be a better influence,' he told me. 'Work with youths rather than tearing them down.' Ha.' Absolutely unfair." Mr. D sounded about six years old, like a pouting little kid. "And ..." Percy stammered, "your father is ..." "Di immortales, Chiron," Mr. D said. "I thought you taught this boy the basics. My father is Zeus, of course." I ran through D names from Greek mythology. Wine. The skin of a tiger. The satyrs that all seemed to work here. The way Grover cringed, as if Mr. D were his master. "You're Dionysus," I said. "The god of wine." Mr. D rolled his eyes. "What do they say, these days, Grover? Do the children say, 'Well, duh!'?" "Y-yes, Mr. D." "Then, well, duh! Y/N L/N. Did you think I was Aphrodite, perhaps?" "You're a god." "Yes, child." "A god. You." He turned to look at me straight on, and I saw a kind of purplish fire in his eyes, a hint that this whiny, plump little man was only showing me the tiniest bit of his true nature. I saw visions of grape vines choking unbelievers to death, drunken warriors insane with battle lust, sailors screaming as their hands turned to flippers, their faces elongating into dolphin snouts. I knew that if I pushed him, Mr. D would show me worse things. He would plant a disease in my brain that would leave me wearing a strait-jacket in a rubber room for the rest of my life. "Would you like to test me, child?" he said quietly. "No. No, sir." The fire died a little. He turned back to his card game. "I believe I win." "Not quite, Mr. D," Chiron said. He set down a straight, tallied the points, and said, "The game goes to me." I thought Mr. D was going to vaporize Chiron right out of his wheelchair, but he just sighed through his nose, as if he were used to being beaten by the Latin teacher. He got up, and Grover rose, too. "I'm tired," Mr. D said. "I believe I'll take a nap before the sing-along tonight. But first, Grover, we need to talk, again, about your less-than-perfect performance on this assignment." Grover's face beaded with sweat. "Y-yes, sir." Mr. D turned to me. "Cabin eleven, Percy Jackson, Y/N L/N. And mind your manners." He swept into the farmhouse, Grover following miserably. "Will Grover be okay?" Percy asked Chiron. Chiron nodded, though he looked a bit troubled. "Old Dionysus isn't really mad. He just hates his job. He's been ... ah, grounded, I guess you would say, and he can't stand waiting another century before he's allowed to go back to Olympus." "Mount Olympus," Percy said. "You're telling me there really is a palace there?" "Well now, there's Mount Olympus in Greece. And then there's the home of the gods, the convergence point of their powers, which did indeed used to be on Mount Olympus. It's still called Mount Olympus, out of respect to the old ways, but the palace moves, Percy, just as the gods do." "You mean the Greek gods are here? Like... in America?" "Well, certainly. The gods move with the heart of the West." "The what?" "Come now, Percy. What you call 'Western civilization.' Do you think it's just an abstract concept? No, it's a living force. A collective consciousness that has burned bright for thousands of years. The gods are part of it. You might even say they are the source of it, or at least, they are tied so tightly to it that they couldn't possibly fade, not unless all of Western civilization were obliterated. The fire started in Greece. Then, as you well know—or as I hope you know, since you passed my course—the heart of the fire moved to Rome, and so did the gods. Oh, different names, perhaps—Jupiter for Zeus, Venus for Aphrodite, and so on—but the same forces, the same gods." "And then they died." "Died? No. Did the West die? The gods simply moved, to Germany, to France, to Spain, for a while. Wherever the flame was brightest, the gods were there. They spent several centuries in England. All you need to do is look at the architecture. People do not forget the gods. Every place they've ruled, for the last three thousand years, you can see them in paintings, in statues, on the most important buildings. And yes, Percy, of course they are now in your United States. Look at your symbol, the eagle of Zeus. Look at the statue of Prometheus in RockefellerCenter, the Greek facades of your government buildings in Washington. I defy you to find any American city where the Olympians are not prominently displayed in multiple places. Like it or not—and believe me, plenty of people weren't very fond of Rome, either—America is now the heart of the flame. It is the great power of the West. And so Olympus is here. And we are here." It was all too much, especially the fact that I seemed to be included in Chiron's we, as if I were part of some club. "Who are you, Chiron? Who... who am I? I-Is Y/N?" Chiron smiled. He shifted his weight as if he were going to get up out of his wheelchair, but I knew that was impossible. He was paralyzed from the waist down. "Who are you?" he mused. "Well, that's the question we all want answered, isn't it? But for now, we should get you a bunk in cabin eleven. There will be new friends to meet. I believe Y/N had met one of them, Luke Castellan. And plenty of time for lessons tomorrow. Besides, there will be s'mores at the campfire tonight, and I simply adore chocolate." And then he did rise from his wheelchair. But there was something odd about the way he did it. His blanket fell away from his legs, but the legs didn't move. His waist kept getting longer, rising above his belt. At first, I thought he was wearing very long, white velvet underwear, but as he kept rising out of the chair, taller than any man, I realized that the velvet underwear wasn't underwear; it was the front of an animal, muscle and sinew under coarse white fur. And the wheelchair wasn't a chair. It was some kind of container, an enormous box on wheels, and it must've been magic, because there's no way it could've held all of him. A leg came out, long and knobby-kneed, with a huge polished hoof. Then another front leg, then hindquarters, and then the box was empty, nothing but a metal shell with a couple of fake human legs attached.. I stared at the horse who had just sprung from the wheelchair: a huge white stallion. But where its neck should be was the upper body of my Latin teacher, smoothly grafted to the horse's trunk. "What a relief," the centaur said. "I'd been cooped up in there so long, my fetlocks had fallen asleep. Now, come, Percy Jackson, Y/N L/N. Let's meet the other campers." I took Percy's hand, anxious of what is coming.

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[agoodgoddamnshot]

Hey, Little Songbird - Geralt/Jaskier [G]

Gif isn’t mine. 

Originally posted to my AO3 account.

The sun perches higher in the sky with each day that strolls them further into summer. Even the biting winds that would tumble down from the mountains, the last remnant of a bitter winter, are being chased away. If a breeze does blow through, it’s always warm. It doesn’t prickle his skin. As he walks along the dirt roads, the ground is firm and sure beneath his boots. He doesn’t fear of treading into a puddle or getting his feet wet and cold, unable to warm them with a fire that probably wouldn’t have started because of the howling winds.

But now, Jaskier tilts his head back and feels the sun on his face. Farmers are out in their fields tending to their animals and their crops. Green grass and fields lined with a growing harvest spread out, reaching for the horizon. Life has returned to the continent.

His lute is slung over his shoulder, swaying with how he walks. He’s like the rest of those living on this stretch of land. Sunlight warms his blood. It makes him giddy and inspired. The next town is only a few more miles of a walk. He wouldn’t have even bothered travelling a couple of weeks ago, when the roads were waterlogged and the air bitterly cold. But when the first of the daffodils started sprouting their buds along the long stretches of road, everyone knew that spring wouldn’t be far behind.

The days have been getting warmer. It’s been steady, but Jaskier knows by the middle of the year, the sun will perch and stay there for hours on end, scorching everything and everyone underneath it. It’s a fine line the world treads, trying to find a good balance between being not too cold and not too warm, for the benefit of the people living on it and off of it. Whatever forces are at play in the making of the weather seem to be doing well so far; but Jaskier has lived through some excruciating seasons.

By the time he gets to the next town, a fine sweat starts speckling along his brow. Everyone milling around seems to be the same. Men wander around in their loose linen shirts and breeches, while women cover their heads with light shawls. Market stalls line the streets with wares already stacked in front. Vendors call out to those passing through, offering small free samples of produce. Those selling silks and cloth hold out segments for people to touch. Jaskier’s pockets are light on coin; nothing a short performance in a tavern won’t fix.

People are merrier when the weather is kind. When he picks a tavern’s table to serve as a stage, when he strums the opening chords of the songs he wrote during the spring, people smile and sing along with him – or as best as they’re able to, with the tankards of ale and wine flowing. A good summer means plenty of barrels of grapes and barely.  

The summer becomes excruciating. It holds nothing over the summers of the south – not the south of this continent, but beyond the expanse of Nilfgaard. Not that Jaskier has ever been that far south, of course. Nilfgaard stretches on for leagues, and to the best of his knowledge, there are no maps of anything further south. But he imagines oceans of sand and rock.

It’s too hot to travel, so he holds up in Cidaris – with the only real problem being that he has to spend his days listening to the droning tones of one particular troubadour echo throughout the entire city. Even when he ventures out from tavern to tavern, the troubadour’s voice is always grating against his ear.

He’d rather lie down in the middle of the road and let himself wither underneath the sun.

But as he’s standing out in the middle of the street, counting coppers for a small bag of apples and considering letting the summer sun prune him, he spots a familiar sight out of the corner of his eye.

“Geralt!”

The Witcher stops mid-stride, looking towards Jaskier. His expression, outwardly, doesn’t change much. But Jaskier has known him for too long to know the little tells of an Annoyed Geralt to a Not-So-Annoyed Geralt. The Witcher is much like the rest of them; his hair pulled into a messy bun, out of his face and neck, and wearing one of the light black shirts Jaskier so often used to see him in.

Jaskier palms the coins in his hand. “What are you doing here?”

Geralt gestures vaguely to a wooden notice board fixed to the side of a nearby building. “Monsters don’t let up just because the weather is nice,” he explains simply. When he starts walking towards the board, Jaskier follows.

The last time he’d seen the Witcher was before the last of the crops were hauled in. It was what they usually did; both of them wintering in their own ways. What it was, exactly, that Geralt did, or where he went, Jaskier could never find out. When a Witcher’s most used word is not a word at all, but a grunt, one learns to stop awaiting answers to questions.

They always find each other after being parted for some time. Even with the Continent being as sprawling as it is, their roads will eventually cross one way or another. Geralt takes the offered contract, and Jaskier follows. There’s a griffin nest nearby, apparently. “I heard about that,” Jaskier hums, rolling up his shirt sleeves. Heat scalds the cobbles beneath his feet. “A few sellswords who were staying in the Red Arrow Inn went to investigate.”

Geralt hums. “Did they come back?”

Jaskier blink seems to be enough of an answer.

He finds out quickly that Geralt is just as crotchety in the summer. Maybe it’s the heat, or the swells of people insisting on packing themselves into every street and road they can find just to mingle, but Jaskier doesn’t get much in terms of conversation as he trails after the Witcher.

Not even an order to stay behind, because it’s a griffin, and those things are fierce beasts.

Jaskier does stop underneath a grand oak tree, though. The overarching branches full with lush green leaves provide a shield from the sun overhead. “I think I’ll stay here while you...do whatever it is that you do,” he waves his hand towards a nearby hill where the griffin is supposedly nesting.

Geralt looks over his shoulder and grunts. He holds out Roach’s reins. “Try not to get her killed. Or I’ll kill you.”

The mare has grown used to him. Now, she only tries to nip his fingers when he tries to lead her underneath their shelter, instead of kicking out for his shins. “Come now, you dame,” he sighs. She comes with him easily enough, recognising that standing underneath a tree’s branch, catching passing cool breezes, will be something better than facing off a griffin.

It takes Geralt almost two hours to come back to them. Roach is the first to notice him returning, pawing a hoof into the ground and nickering softly. Jaskier looks up from his lute, fingers stilling over the strings.

Jaskier’s eyes widen slightly at the sight of the Witcher returning; he carries a slight limp and a smattering of blood across his face and arms. Clutched in one of his hands, a griffin’s head swings with every footfall.

Jaskier’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out for a while. “You’re covered in blood,” he notices as soon as Geralt gets closer. The front of his black shirt is drenched.

Geralt gestures to the griffin’s head. “Most of it isn’t mine.”

“Most of it?” Jaskier narrows his eyes. Huffing a sigh, he clambers to his feet. “Come on then; we’ll get your pay and get cleaned up.”

The year trudges by. The sun doesn’t let up. When Jaskier does move between towns, he watches farmers in their fields, tossing buckets of water over their crops, trying to keep them hydrated and green. The celebrations of harvests keep going, though. And where there are celebrations, there will be Jaskier with his lute in hand. He doesn’t see much of Geralt during the rest of the summer, but he does hear whispers about the Witcher’s adventures from patrons of taverns and inns.

He had a nursemaid when he could barely reach his mother’s waist. She told him a story once, when they were out of ear-reach from his parents who probably wouldn’t have appreciated elven tails being spoken of underneath their own roof. But Jaskier always listened intently, letting his imagination run wild. His nursemaid spoke of gods who loved each other, but couldn’t be together. They found a way, of course. They always did. It wouldn’t be much of a story if they didn’t. But Jaskier remembers his nanny’s face turning serious for a brief moment; harsh summers make for harsh winters. Even when the world seems out of balance, one thing must always equal another.

So when the summer gets hotter, and the grass and trees turn yellow and threaten to catch fire, he worries that their winter will freeze the continent over completely. He doesn’t worry for himself, so much as he worries for those who live off of the land. How will people ration their crops if it withers away during the summer? How will those living outside of city walls cope in their cabins and shacks, where one strong gust could blow it away?

The transition is spent worrying. Niggling thoughts in the back of his mind flare up whenever he feels a cool breeze nip at his skin. The sun still sits in the sky. Clouds are still wisped along the blue sky. But everyone knows that winter will be upon them if they’re not careful.

Toussaint is quiet. Jaskier’s fingers pick at the strings of his lute. He’s sung his summer songs. Other bards in other towns have been left with their echoes. Oxenfurt would be the best option. A city of sturdy walls, well stocked with food and wine. The Academy would have his accommodation still held on to. All he needed to do was start his trek there; weather keeping good, that is.

But whether it’s his own time management or something else entirely, Jaskier looks out one of the tavern’s windows one day and sees a greying sky. He blinks. Not a single cloud had been seen for most of the summer. But now, he wanders over to the window, peering at the sky, it’s starting to look bleak.

“Fuck,” he says under his breath.

The trees hardly had a chance to turn red and yellow before their leaves litter the sides of roads and pile up against buildings. Shop windows, that would have been open, are now barred closed. Down every stretch of road, Jaskier is accosted by a shrill breeze of cold air. He swears sometimes it whispers to him; telling him that he needs to move. Where he needs to move to, he doesn’t know. And it never tells him. But just move.

His arms are full of bread and portions of dried beef when he spots Geralt again. The transition seems to have treated the Witcher a bit better; Jaskier notices a new cloak draped over his shoulders, with a woollen thin blanket pulled over Roach’s hindquarters. The mare’s winter coat is starting to come in, if her feathered ears and fetlocks are anything to go by.

Jaskier wanders over. “I thought you would have gone to your keep by now,” he says as soon as he’s close enough. Roach spotted him coming, the mare’s ears twitching forward at recognition.

Geralt cinches up the girth to her saddle. “I thought you would have gone to your academy by now,” he fires back, checking on some provision bags attached to the saddle.

Roach nudges Jaskier’s arms. A loaf of bread almost goes to the ground, but he manages to catch it. “Yeah, I,” he clears his throat. “The weather caught me out, unfortunately.”

It’s only then does Geralt turn to look at him. Yellow eyes drop down to the food-laden in Jaskier’s arms. “Where are you staying then, if not the academy?”

Jaskier shrugs. “Here, I guess. I don’t want to risk trying to get anywhere else.”

Geralt’s frown only deepens. Toussaint is a nice town, but it’s built for warmer weather. People don’t winter well in places like Toussaint. Especially people who can only live night-by-night in taverns and inns, which Jaskier is going to have to do—

“I’m going to Kaer Morhen,” Geralt says stiffly. “Come with me.”

Jaskier’s mouth falls open, but he’s quick to shut it. Geralt holds his gaze. “I’m...what?”

“Would you rather spend your winter here?” Geralt’s voice hardens. “Out in the cold with ravens watching from the trees, waiting for the first of the starving or sick to drop?”

And he’s seen it all before; winters were he didn’t make it to Oxenfurt on time, winters spent weathering out howling winds in shabby road-side inns and taverns. His bones shiver at the memory of it.

Something must give away his answer. Geralt hums and turns back to Roach, doing up the last of her bridle. “It will be a long walk,” he says, “but if we go now, we’ll get there before the snow starts.”

Jaskier frowns. The winds have already started to nip at his skin. All the clouds need to do is turn grey with rain, and they’ll have feet of snow in no time at all. But Jaskier nods. He knows that the keep is a province away, and a trek up the mountain. They’ll need to move before the weather turns too cruel.

It’s something he never thought about when he left to explore the world; relying on the weather to be kind to him was something he had to quickly learn.

He’s heard stories of Kaer Morhen; whether or not any of them are true, he has no idea. But none of these stories have come from Geralt, so he can only assume that they’re full of shit.

He follows the Witcher on the path back to the keep. Geralt seems to know the way as if the wind just carried him along. Not once does he look up at wooden posts point in the directions of towns and other settlements. He keeps his eyes on the horizon and just keeps walking.

When they reach the foot of the mountain, the wind starts to change. Geralt lifts his head, squinting at the dark skies above them. Roach shakes; her winter coat keeping her warm, but it’s useless against any rain or snow that will fall if the clouds continue to grow heavier and heavier.

“It’s going to rain,” Geralt says after a time. He tugs at Roach’s reins. “There’s an inn nearby.”

And the innkeep lets them have the room for nothing. He’s an old man with a weathered face and pearl white hair. When Geralt steps into the tavern, the man nods towards the staircase and goes back to polishing a tankard.

There’s a hearth in the room, already lit and laden with wooden blocks. A large bed sits in the middle of the room, woollen blankets and throws and fur pelts sitting at its foot. When his eyes fall on a bathtub with hot water already in it, Jaskier’s bones groan. “You wouldn’t mind if I...?” he trails off, gesturing to the tub.

Geralt regards him for a moment before shaking his head. He stalks off to the other side of the room, resting both sheathed swords against the wall before pulling off his cloak and the heaviest of his armour. Jaskier bites the inside of his cheek, but turns for the bath.

There’s a slight chill to the room when he gets rid of his own clothes, folding and setting them nearby while he dips his hand into the water. And he just about swallows a moan at the warmth of it. There’s a faint scent of oats and lavender, and Jaskier can’t get into the bath quick enough.

Geralt pads around the room, tossing some of the blankets on to the bed and arranging his own side. Jaskier watches him out of the corner of his eye.

This isn’t new; sharing a space. In all the summers he spends with the Witcher, he finds them sharing the same bed for the most part. Though most staying in taverns and inns will be in good spirits, and laden with coin, sometimes gold is scarce, and can only stretch so far.

But it doesn’t stop the tips of his ears from warming. This is new; sharing winter with Geralt. The thought of what the keep will be like circles his head – as does the wonderings of what the other Witchers will be like. Geralt rarely speaks about the others; but Jaskier managed to wrangle out a few names from the Witcher.

He lowers himself deeper into the tub, letting the water lap against his chin. The room is quiet, with nothing but the hissing and sparking of the hearth’s fire to break it. Even Geralt is silent, lying on the bed, head turned towards the other side of the room.

Jaskier hums.

His nursemaid’s voice, decades-old now, whispers into the shell of his ear. He can remember her words as if he were still a boy held on her lap, lulling to sleep listing to sleep with songs and stories.

The lady loved him and the kingdom they shared But without her above, not one flower would grow So the King agreed that for half of each year She would stay with him there in his world down below. But the other half, she would walk in the sun And the sun, in turn, burned twice as bright Which is where the seasons come from And with them, the cycle of the seed and the sickle And the lives of the people And the birds and their flight—

“Even your thoughts are loud, bard.” Geralt’s voice cracks through the silence. “You’re thinking about something. What is it?”

Jaskier pushes himself out of the water slightly, resting his arms on the edge of the tub. He can blame the growing blush on his cheeks on the water. “Nothing.”

Geralt grunts. “Either come out with it bard, or quieten your mind.” When Jaskier glances over to the other side of the room, he blinks as he sees Geralt lying in the bed, blankets already pulled over him.

“Did you ever hear the tale of how the seasons came to be?” Jaskier asks.

Geralt hums.

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot recently. A nursemaid told me about it,” Jaskier says. “It’s a sweet tale. There’s not many of them, particularly where folktale is concerned. But I always liked that story. Two gods being in love with each other, not wanting to be apart, and the weather suffered for it.”

The room is silent for a moment. “Did your nursemaid tell you that one of the gods tricked the other? Got the poor girl to eat food of his world, damning her to stay there for certain parts of the year?”

Jaskier clicks his tongue. “Yes, that is a version of it.” Jaskier huffs. “You’re so old that you were probably there witnessing the entire thing. What were they like, the gods? Did you know them well?”

It earns a light laugh out of the Witcher – a sound that always sends a thrum of heat through Jaskier’s veins. “Why are you thinking about stories like that?”

“The weather hasn’t been right in the last few years,” Jaskier says. “A few people in Cidaris were talking about it; saying maybe it had something to do with the gods.”

“Never took you for being superstitious.”

“I’m just noticing, that’s all.” The water is cooling and gooseflesh prickles his skin. Outside the window, he spots the sky turning black, and the moon making a valiant effort to fight through a cover of clouds. When he stands, he tries not to groan at the chill that runs over his body. Grabbing a towel, he dries off quickly. His clothes are clean, if not for the light sheen of dust from the road; something solved with a quick shake out.

By the time he pads over to the bed, slipping beneath the blankets, he fears Geralt might have fallen asleep. The Witcher is still, with even long breaths filling his chest. But the second Jaskier’s head meets the pillow, the Witcher turns on to his side to face him.

“I don’t know what’s happening with the seasons,” Geralt rumbles, “but Kaer Morhen is open to the friends of Witchers.”

Geralt doesn’t even open his eyes. Jaskier stares at him for a moment. “Are you admitting that I’m your friend?” A slow smile pulls at the corners of his lips. “Because if you are, I’m going to need you to confirm that. In a full sentence. And, if possible, could I have it in writing?”

“I don’t want to come down from the keep one spring and see you dead on the side of the road,” Geralt mutters. When he does open his eyes, Jaskier has to stop himself from inhaling too quickly at how wide the Witcher’s pupils have become. “The keep will shelter and feed you for the winter.”

Jaskier swallows. “Why?”

“Because,” Geralt sighs, eyes slipping shut again, “you’re important to me.”

And a shiver wracks through him. Not one he could blame on the cold. The burning hearth and the small mountain of blankets and furs covering the bed shelter him from the cold. But this is different. Warmth settles in his core. A smile breaks out along his face. “You’re important to me too,” he rasps, hoping that, even though the Witcher’s eyes are closed and he’s sinking further into the mattress, he can at least nod off knowing that Jaskier said what he said.

Because gods be good, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to say it ever again; not when Geralt’s glower could return at any moment.

He gets confirmation of the Witcher hearing it in a soft hum.

[twiistedgalaxies]

Genesis: Chapter 2: In Which Tetsuya Shigaraki Reconsiders his Life Choices

How two brothers can take two opposite paths. How a man can be made into a monster and how the other must pay the ultimate price to save everything he knows and loves. Or, alternatively: The origins of All for One and One for All.

Previous Chapter

A/N:  Happy Yule/Solstice to everyone who celebrates it! (This chapter is the reason for the animal death tw tag. If you want to skip that scene, go to the first page break.)

        Hisashi was standing in the abandoned, overgrown baseball field behind his high school when his father found him. It was a few months into the school year, and his brother had gone home early with a flimsy ice pack because he’d dislocated his knee when he tripped on his way to lunch. Hisashi had been missing for hours, and Testsuya Shigaraki had arrived home as the sun began to dip into the horizon only to be met with the panicked fretting of his youngest son. Thank God for phone GPS, Tetsuya had thought when he managed to locate his eldest, it would have taken hours to find him otherwise. A twig snapped under his feet as he approached, and his son’s head jerked towards him. His brown eyes were wide and glazed over, tears threatening to spill out. A splatter of red was on his cheek, and Tetsuya brows furrowed with confusion. There was a small, furry shape by Hisashi’s feet. He felt bile creep up his throat.

        “D-Dad I..” Hisashi’s voice was shaky, cracking with grief and disbelief.

        There was silence as the world seemed to hold its breath, “What happened?”

        “I don’t know what came over me I.. one minute I was petting it and the next-”

        Tetsuya wrapped his arms around his panicking son in an embrace. He snuck a look down at the broken body that lay there and felt his blood run cold. It was a house cat, “What. Did. You. Do?”

        “I killed it Dad!” His son was hysterical now, trembling violently in his grip.

        Tetsuya broke his embrace, unable to stave off the disgust from his face. “We’re cleaning this up, then you’re going home.” Hisashi opened his mouth to protest, but Tetsuya cut him off, “No excuses, your brother is worried sick about you and if you make him cry again I won’t be able to forgive you.”

        Hisashi sniffed and nodded, wiping away tears with the back of his hand.

        “Where’s your school’s cleaning supplies?”

        “I’ll go get them,” Hisashi’s voice had grown cold once more, panic in his eyes replaced with steel.

        Tetsuya was left alone in the abandoned baseball field with that... thing for much longer than he would have liked, and he found his eyes wandering to anywhere but the mangled house cat, with its ears bent back and legs twisted at odd angles, like it was praying.

        His son returned with a shovel and a change of gym clothes. Tetsuya didn’t ask nor want to know how he broke into the likely locked up school and locker rooms. The hole that they dug was three feet deep and two feet wide, and Hisashi watched him gently lower the broken body into the small grave with unfeeling eyes. Never in his life did he think he would be afraid of his own son, but he couldn’t help the chill that seeped into his bones, nor the way his heart rate sped up every time he caught Hisashi’s gaze.

        His son wiped the blood off his face with his sleeve and stepped behind a tree to change out of his now filthy clothes. Tetsuya pulled out his phone. 1 missed call. He’d unpack the clusterfuck of telling his wife what happened later, for now - Hisashi stepped out from behind the tree and peered over his shoulder - he’d have to deal with this.

        This was not the first time he had encountered his son with a dead animal crumpled into a gory heap. They had lost many family pets, often in the span of only a few months, before Tetsuya and Hana had discovered what happened to them. When Hana had seen her darling little seven year old in the nearby park, standing over a freshly made grave.

        They’d never bought a pet again. Hisashi had been promptly sent to therapy, to sort out his violent impulses and twisted expressions of love. Tetsuya thought that this tendency had died. Had disappeared. That his eldest son had been cured of his depravity. Evidently, he was wrong.

        The walk back home was silent. Tetsuya didn’t know what to say. What he could say. Hisashi didn’t seem to know either, and the cold night air only seemed to cause the distance between them to grow.

-@~*^*~@-

        Tomura was wrapped in a large, plush blanket. Around him was a nest of pillows and blankets to prop up his aching joints. He’d managed to scrounge a heating pad from the linen cabinet and wrapped it around his right knee. Even though he was able to set it back in place himself, it still hurt like crazy. He was worried when his brother hadn’t shown up after school had let out, and that anxiety grew exponentially as the hours ticked by. He’d tried calling his brother in between reading comic books and texting his new friend (he’d gotten Zach’s number the second day of school, and they’d been sending each other memes in the weeks since), only to be met with his familiar voice mail. 

        “Hello, you’ve reached Hisashi Shigaraki, I can’t come to the phone right now, please leave your message after the tone.”

        His brother’s familiar, overly formal voice did absolutely nothing to soothe his nerves. Each time he heard that monotone phrase he felt his frustration and anxiety grow alongside a steadily worsening headache.

        Tomura crawled out of bed once he heard the familiar creak of the door. Had Hisashi finally returned? He let out a hiss of pain once his feet hit the gray carpeted floor, and he reached out for a bed post to steady himself. To his annoyance, his cane had been discarded haphazardly by the door when he returned from school. He’d have to do this the stupid way, it seemed, since it was hard for him to put weight on his right leg without wanting to scream. Tomura used his arm to push himself from the bed to the dresser on the other side of the room, just barely able to catch himself on the corner before he could break his fall with his hip and add yet another colorful bruise to his collection. He leaned his weight on the nearby wall and scooped his cane up from the floor, then limped his way to the living room.

        Disappointment flooded his mind like ink to water when he saw that it was not his brother, but rather his father who had arrived at home.

        “What? No greeting?” His father said once he realized Tomura had entered the room, “I heard you took quite the fall at school today, you okay?”

        Tomura chewed on his bottom lip and shook his head, “Hisashi hasn’t come home yet.”

        Tetsuya’s brows furrowed, “He’s just a teenager, they tend to stay out late, have you tried calling him?”

        It took every shred of willpower Tomura had to keep from rolling his eyes, “I called him a bunch of times, but it keeps going straight to voicemail. I’m really worried about him, he’s never stayed out this late before!”

        “Okay, okay, calm down. I’ll call him, he won’t be able to ignore his pops after all,” Tetsuya did just that. They waited in silence for several moments before irritation fell over the man’s face like a shroud. He, too, had been sent to voicemail.

        “See what I mean?”

        “Don’t give me cheek, boy,” Tetsuya replied stiffly, though Tomura could tell the aggravation was not directed towards him, but to the situation in general.

        “I- What should we do? I tried getting a hold of his friends but they don’t know where he is! Do you think he got mugged? Kidnapped? Oh no, what if he’s in a hostage situation like the one in the capitol building last week-”

        “Tomura, take a deep breath,” after a few moments of running Tomura through breathing exercises, and Tetsuya rubbing circles into his back, his father continued, “I have a GPS tracking app installed on his phone - don’t give me that look - called Circle, I should be able to use it to find him.” Tetsuya pulled out his phone and opened the app. Tomura was annoyed to find that he was listed on there as well, though he supposed it could be helpful if he ever went missing. A photo of his brother (a school photo, taken a year ago at a chess tournament) was imposed over a map as a small icon. He was at the high school.

        Tomura’s eyes widened, “I think I know where he is.”

-@~*^*~@-

        It had happened near the end of Hisashi’s freshman year, Tomura had tagged along with his brother’s friends to the abandoned baseball field behind the school. It was a place teenagers hung out and smoked after school, since the field was obscured by overgrown eucalyptus trees. The field was empty aside from his brother’s friends by the time he and Hisashi had arrived, though Tomura could see cigarette butts on the ground, still glowing a bright orange and the air was heavy with the smell of nicotine. His heart leapt to his throat as he recognized some of the teenagers and hid behind his brother’s tall imposing form. Hisashi looked confused by his reaction, but stepped forward to greet his friends nonetheless.

        “Hey, who’s the brat you brought with you?” One of his friends, a wide set, blonde fellow in a football jersey, asked.

        Hisashi’s eyes narrowed, “My little brother, mom and dad wanted me to watch him today, we spoke about this in the group chat.”

        Tomura poked his head out from behind his brother, long hair in his face. He saw a flicker of recognition in the teenager’s eyes. Oh no.

        “That little punk is your brother, really?” the teen hopped off his perch on the rusting metal bleachers.

        Sensing the tension in the air, Hisashi moved his body to further block Tomura, his tone spoke of warning, “Excuse me, Dylan?”

        The rest of the group backed off, not wanting anything to do with the unfolding situation, but another, dark haired teenager moved to stand besides the jock. Light emitted from the teen’s fingertips. A metahuman?

        Dylan laughed, his voice all sharp edges, “Oh that’s rich, so you don’t know?!”

        Hisashi placed his hand on Tomura’s shoulder, an empty gesture of reassurance. He smiled, “And what is it, exactly, that I’m supposed to know?”

        “Well, ya see, this invalid decided to interrupt me while I was collecting my due, it was pitiful really, and I ended up with double the profit!”

        Tomura tensed, he had been walking home from school alone when he’d heard someone cry out in a nearby alleyway. He’d seen Dylan backing a young woman into the wall, knife glinting at her throat. As it turns out, intervening is futile when you’re half your attacker’s size, and he ended up getting the shit kicked out of him, the money he’d been saving for Christmas shopping stolen. His parents were quick to buy the white lies he’d spun about the confrontation when he got home, but he didn’t miss the shrewd, calculating looks his brother had shot him in the following days. Now, as he tried desperately to hide how hard he shook, he could still feel the sickening crunch of his broken nose and the familiar tear of his shoulder being ripped out of socket.

        Hisashi’s grin grew wider, somehow, and those still sitting on the bleachers inched backwards, “Really?” He took his hand off Tomura’s shoulder and stepped towards the boys, “Because I recall a discussion about who’s off limits.”

        Dylan pulled his fist back and attempted to punch Hisashi, but he dodged with ease, gripping the teen’s leg and flipping him on his ass. He blocked a kick from his other opponent and narrowly avoided a sudden beam of light.

        The boy in question looked on with wide eyes, tears blurring his vision, “Y-yes?”

        “Go home.” a stomp on Dylan’s stomach and a whimper.

        “B-but-”

        “I’m serious, go home. I’ll meet you there in a little while and we can watch your favorite movie, okay?” Hisashi looked over his shoulder, fondness and barely controlled rage fighting for dominance on his face.

        “Hey, stop ignoring me you bast-!”

        Tomura didn’t hear the rest of what he had to say as he turned tail and ran as fast as his weak legs could carry him.

        Hisashi never did return to their apartment that night, instead spending it alone in a cold holding cell. To this day Tomura could still remember the disappointment in his parents’ voices as they lectured him during his single, permitted call.

-@~*^*~@-

        Tomura was curled up on the couch cocooned in a fluffy blanket, watching Captain America: The First Avenger, when his dad and brother returned. “Why are you in gym clothes?” he blurted out without thinking. Hisashi ignored him and made a bee-line for their room, and then the shower.

        His father, however, paused by the couch, pinching the bridge of his nose, “It’s a long story.”

        “I have time.”

        “Maybe when you’re older, your brother will tell you,” Tetsuya meandered into the kitchen, and sifted through the cabinet full of pots and pans with a loud clatter.

        Tomura propped his head up on the back of the couch, “Whatcha’ making?”

        “Dinner.”

        “I mean obviously, but what’s for dinner?” he asked, his question supported by a growling stomach not suited for a boy his size.

        “Food,” Tetsuya smiled at Tomura’s childish groan of frustration, “We’re having fried rice, I don’t think your mom would appreciate us having take-out again.”

        Trying to find a topic to continue the conversation, Tomura asked, “How was work?”

        “The usual but my boss, the one who runs the flower shop, wanted me to work a double shift, I told him no. I don’t get to see you boys enough as it is,” Tetsuya hummed, “Apparently one of my coworkers had a run-in with one of those damn meta-humans and had to take the day off.”

        “A metahuman? I’ve heard about them in the news but.. I don’t really know much about them,” Tomura said, curiosity itched at him. He paused the movie so that he wouldn’t miss anything, though he’d seen it dozens of times. There was a metahuman in his class, the kid always ate alone and no one ever wanted to play with him. Tomura felt bad, but didn’t really know what he could do to help.

        Tetsuya scowled, “They’re freaks of nature, that’s what! It started with that glowing baby a few decades ago and the mutations have just gotten worse and more frequent since, some of them can’t even be called human.” 

        “Is that why there’s been so many protests and stuff?”

        A chuckle, “Yeah that’s part of it, people haven’t been doing too hot after the pandemic either. Nothing like mass evictions to make the public angry,” Tetsuya started the rice cooker and walked over to the couch to ruffle his son’s hair, “At least you and your brother are normal, that gives us less to worry about.”

        Tomura nodded, an odd feeling twisting in his guts.  

        “So what’re you watching?”

        “Captain America,” he replied, gesturing vaguely to the TV.

        “Again?” His father asked, amusement coloring his voice. Tomura flushed bright red. Before he could open his mouth to respond, the front door opened with a familiar creak.

        “I’m home!” His mother’s familiar voice called 

        Tetsuya visibly tensed, dread on his features, “Hello dear, how was work?”

        Hana placed her keys in a small dish on a table by the door and slipped off her jacket, “Oh it was just terrible! Some woman came into the salon today, she raised a massive fuss and kept asking to speak to our manager when we wouldn’t let her use an expired coupon.”

        “Was her name Karen?” Tomura quipped. Both of his parents shot him a baffled look.

        Tetsuya walked over to his wife and embraced her, placing a kiss on her soft cheek. He whispered something in her ear and she paled, giving him a nod, “I’ll talk to him about it after Tomura goes to bed.”

        Dinner later that night was terse and awkward. Something unsaid hung in the air, and Hisashi opted to slide his fried rice around his plate with his fork rather than eat. Tomura, on the other hand, shoveled his food quickly and excused himself from the table. He couldn’t stand it when his family got like this, it had happened before, a few times when he was really young, and the night after Hisashi had gotten home after the incident. He knew what it meant as he shut his bedroom door behind him and slid into bed, pulling the covers over his head. Sure enough, shouts flooded into his room from the kitchen, and Tomura found himself falling asleep to the sounds of sobbing and the front door slamming shut.

A/N:  I'm not super happy with how this chapter has turned out, I've repeatedly read it until it feels like my eyes are going to bleed so I can avoid grammar and spelling mistakes. I'll probably catch more later and have to do small edits to the chapter. I have a crackfic that should be coming out tomorrow, so keep your eyes peeled for that. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed! Next chapter was originally supposed to be part of this one but I decided to split it to keep chapter lengths consistent. Feel free to leave a comment, I love hearing feedback.

AO3

Next Chapter

[katherinewilliams221b]

For A Greater Good 2/18

Gif not mine just the text

Summary: Kate Williams, young healer and member of the Order, joins Durmstrang's staff at Dumbledore's request. Her mission? Find a Death Eater and survive long enough to tell the story. Set in 1996.

Pairing: Charlie Weasley x ofc

Masterlist

[Part 1]

--

Dear Charlie,                            7 Jan ‘96

I arrived yesterday in one piece. I wanted to write just as soon as I got here, but you can’t owl anytime you want. They have a strict and very controlled system, and they are very protective of their owls. You can use the owlery as many times as you want during Sundays.

The headmistress considered giving me a little more freedom in that regard, but I don’t want to tempt luck and make people ask why I have privileges.

I will stick to their rules and only send letters on Sundays, and with their owls. Please do NOT send Whiskey here, and warn your family not to use Errol either, I don’t think they could survive the weather here and Durmstrang won’t like my using foreign owls.

She assured me that the letters arrive within the day, so that’s good. They have a training program for the owls, but I saw them, and they are bigger than usual. Maybe a cross-species with a magical creature?

I am trying to convince the headmaster to let me use her fireplace from time to time to talk to you. I was told that this school uses spells to keep the place warm and protected from the snow, and they don’t use the fireplaces. Ever. I will have to be very careful, and I’m still trying to figure out how to be discreet.

They obliviate you when you arrive. They say it’s because they don’t want the school to be found, so I expect to be obliviated after my return.

They gave me a language potion! I can’t wrap my mind around the fact that I will be able to talk to anyone. Can you imagine that? The possibilities? I would investigate how that magic works right now if I had time. Can you do me a favour? In the tower next to our house, where I work, I have a small blackboard with some notes. Can you write something in the lines of “translator charms” or similar? Just so I remember.

Tomorrow I will start as a healer. You wouldn’t believe how big is the hospital wing! The headmistress, professor Rhode, told me it is common that students experiment by themselves and they have this room fully equipped for patients. Not even St Mungo’s have this quality. I wish I wasn’t in these circumstances, so I could explore the place with more detail.

I know what I have to do if you know what I mean, but I still have to put everything in order and figure out how exactly I’m going to face the task. I have no idea where to start, and I will be anchored in the hospital wing, so I won’t have much freedom.

Oh! I have a bedroom to myself on the top floor of the castle, and the views are breath-taking. You would love this place: the grounds, the mountains, the forest, and the lakes! I can see a ship from here, the one you told me they used to get to the Three Wizard Tournament last year, I believe.

Things are going to be calm for now, classes start again in less than a week so there’s not going to be not much to tell the next days.

I’m going to have lunch now and then get a map of the castle to be able to move around here.

Love,

K

 With a kiss to the envelope, she handed the letter to the owl that hopped in circles in front of her. He chirped with excitement at his new quest and accepted the message before lifting into the air.

Kate leaned on the rail at the top of the owlery and admired the mountains. Her uniform was suited to the cold weather and let her enjoy the views.

The owl flapped its wings and disappeared through the low clouds that painted the horizon. She remembered Hogwarts and its owlery; how she used to spend many afternoons watching the sunset while the owls were still asleep. Even the not so pleasant smell of it had become something so familiar that she missed it when it wasn’t there. Kate’s smile vanished at the thought. There were too many things she wished that were there, but weren’t.

The whistling of an eagle caught her attention. She tried to focus on the bird, but it was flying in circles above the forest. She turned around and looked for an owl that wasn’t sleeping; she didn’t want to scare the poor thing.

She chose a horned owl that seemed curious about her movements and placed her hand in front of its beak to let it recognise her.

“Thank you, Professor McGonagall,” She drew her wand out and murmured “Strigiforma.”

A pair of opera glasses appeared in the owl’s place and she hurried to catch them before returning to the rail.

It wasn’t an eagle; it was a hawk. Kate didn’t know much about birds or their behaviour, but flying in circles above a certain spot didn’t seem very usual. Perhaps there was a prey in the forest, for it seemed riveted by the trees.

On its way back towards the owlery, the hawk seemed to advert Kate’s presence in the tower.

Faster than her eyes could register, the bird flew straight into Kate’s direction, only to change its course in the last second, passing over the roof.

Still confused with the events, Kate set the glasses on a nest nearby and turned them into its original form.

The owl scoffed indignantly and turned around to avoid her.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t hurt you, did I?” She rounded the nest and offered her hand as a peace offer. The owl looked at it and then away, keeping its head as high as possible.

“I will bring you some treats as compensation, I promise.”

--

Durmstrang Castle looked no smaller than Hogwarts from the inside. Kate managed to get to the library with great difficulty and had to suffer the taunts of some students when she asked for directions.

The library was a circular room, one of the towers, and was probably four stories high. Long tables occupied the centre of the room and each floor, visible from below, had small study areas.

Elegant chandeliers illuminated the place, but judging by the size of the windows, it would not receive much natural light throughout the day. This did not seem to bother the few people who were there. Perhaps they were used to the shadows, Kate thought.

Her attention was drawn to the golden, well-kept staircase upholstered with a red carpet that went up to the different floors with it. Just behind it, partially hidden behind black curtains, an empty table held the weight of more books than it should. It looks like my desk; she thought with a half a smile.

As she approached, she read the plaque propped up on one tower of books.

“If that book is not your thing, try to give the bell a ring.”

She scanned the place until she found a tiny bell hanging from the edge of the desk. With her index finger and thumb, she caught the string and hit it against the metal. Not hearing any noise, she tried again.

From the top of the tower, a bat hanging from one of the giant chandeliers broke loose from its resting place and plummeted to where Kate was standing. Flapping a couple more times, it flew over her head, causing her to jump. As it reached the desk, the bat changed shape, and a man dressed in an elegant black robe appeared.

“I heard you the first time.” He said with smiling eyes. “You don’t look like a student.”

“I am a new healer. Maybe you can help me, I’m looking for a map of the castle.” Kate looked at his face and could not help but feel a little envious; his skin seemed to glow, he had not a single wrinkle and his features were refined, almost translucent, as if made of glass. At first glance, it seemed that he was much older than Kate, but on closer examination of his features, it might have not been the case.

“Of course, I can help you. It’s my job.” A cloud of black dust appeared before her, and again the bat shot up. Kate followed its path up the first floor until it was out of sight.

After a minute, in which Kate shifted in her place several times, the sound of chains alerted her. She turned to the desk to find the librarian looking at her again. Her surprise must have been palpable, because the man snorted with amusement.

“Castles are particularly good at hiding secrets. Here, that’s for you.”

With a bow, he extended his arm and offered her a scroll. Kate went to accept it but held back before doing so.

“Am I allowed to borrow material?”

“I trust you will return it.” Kate nodded and accepted the scroll.

“I will. And thank you...”

“Corentin. At your service.” He said in a French accent before he turned into a bat one last time and flew to the lamp.

--

Kate went around every corner, every corridor and every room she could. She was able to recognise many of the places Astrid Rhode had shown her, and she discovered many more.

After a while, she entered what appeared to be a trophy room. Multiple shelves of medals and cups adorned the walls. Quidditch, duelling, and arts. It was clear that Durmstrang had taught many powerful and skilled wizards and witches.

At the end of the hall, a gigantic painting that occupied practically the entire wall showed a portrait of a woman. It stood still, unlike many of the paintings that decorated the corridors. Still, Kate felt as if her eyes followed every movement.

“Nerida Vulchanova.” She read on the plaque “Architect and founder of the Durmstrang Institute.”

“Remarkable woman, Vulchanova,” said a voice behind her back.

A woman with a complexion as dark as her robes and a shaved head observed her from an armchair in the shadows. When she stood up, Kate recognised her from the documents Astrid Rhode had given her.

“Mer Yankelevich. You may call me Mer.” She reached out her hand and Kate accepted it, trying her best to pretend she didn’t know her. “I teach charms. Haven’t seen you around here before...”

“Kate. I’m a new healer.”

She didn’t seem to care what Kate could say to her. She immediately turned her gaze to Nerida’s painting.

“Did you know that this castle could not stand without magic?” She made a dramatic pause that Kate found extremely unnecessary. She focused on the teacher’s mind and found arrogance and a strong feeling of superiority. She was gloating over her knowledge.

“The castle was built in the 13th century, and you can tell by its style and the size of its walls However, it has a peculiarity that no other building has. It can be seen right here in this room. Can you guess what it is?”

Kate watched as the long earrings Yankelevich was wearing seemed to wriggle with the question and a strange feeling invaded her body. She turned around, inspecting the room more closely.

Before she could make any comment, the teacher decided to speed up the conversation.

“Sometimes the things we are looking for are right in front of our eyes.” She went to the large windows behind Kate and leaned against the sill.

“When a wall is thick and low, it’s harder to knock down than a tall, thin one. Durmstrang Castle is only four stories high, and the walls are extremely thick, as you may have noticed. Their task is to support the castle.”

She touched the glass a couple of times with her razor-sharp long nails and smirked at Kate’s expression at the sound.

“It looks like it’s made of water.”

“That’s because none of the castle windows are made of glass. Nerida Vulchanova knew perfectly well that you can’t put windows in walls that support the entire weight of the vaults.”

Kate’s stomach jumped at the words. While she knew that her brother’s memories will always accompany her until the day she died, sometimes a word or a person could trigger the darkest parts of her mind. She had learnt to control it, and slowly but surely those memories hurt less than the day before.

Yankelevich reached for the handle and opened the window, letting in the cold wind of January.

“If these windows were made of glass and not magic, all the walls and ceilings would fall down. Fascinating, isn’t it? They are also soundproof.”

“Incredible, yes. Are you interested in architecture?”

“More than teaching, perhaps. I’m passionate about finding hidden places.”

“I’m sure Durmstrang is full of them.”

“What are you doing here, anyway?” The teacher walked to Kate again, her back to the portrait. “I mean, here, in the trophy room.”

Kate raised the map and was about to explain how she explored the castle afternoon, when sounds of a fight alerted them. They looked at each other and hurried to the door.

“Say that again! Say that again!” a boy, probably in his third or fourth year, shouted while he pushed another student backwards.

“Your Dad deserved it! You are just a bunch of blood traitors! You and your stupid family!”

Everything happened so fast, it looked like someone had pressed a switch and from one second to another, both students were on the floor trying to punch and kick each other.

Kate’s eyes widened at the sentence. She was left frozen in place, unable to react fast enough to the situation.

She saw how they managed to get up, but they were still fighting. Some other students came to enjoy the show and the corridor rapidly filled itself with deafening screams of encouragement.

Kate stumbled as she was being pushed further away from the wrestling.

The map slipped from her hand in the commotion and she struggled to get on her knees to find it. From the corner of her eye, she saw how something fled from somewhere among the crowd. A book?

“What the...” Kate murmured when huge black clouds covered the ceiling of the hallway.

Sounds of a storm right above their heads made everyone stay motionless in their spots.

“What, in Vulchanov’s name, is happening here?” Headmaster Rhode’s voice sounded as if she was holding a megaphone. However, her hands were raised, controlling the rumble and lightning of the storm.

With a wave, the clouds dissipated as well as the students that opened a path for her to walk.

Kate noticed the blood in one of the boys’ nose and tried to reach them, pushing aside the curious souls that didn’t want to miss Astrid Rhode’s fury.

“What do you think you are doing? Fighting like a pair of water demons instead of duelling like civilised young wizards. I’ll throw you myself in the lake if that’s what you want?”

A pair of ‘No, professor.’ bounced against the walls and echoed in the tense stillness of the place.

“Let me see the nose,” Kate ordered. After a quick examination, she drew her wand out before saying “Episkey”

The cracking noise made more than one student hiss.

“Now everyone out of here. I don’t want to see you. Prepare everything for the new term that’s starting in a few days. Go.”

The corridor cleared, and Kate noticed the book that rested on the floor. Before she could grab it, Mer Yankelevich bent down and took hold of it.

“Advanced guide for curse-breaking.” she read “Someone’s been inquisitive these holidays. I’m going to return this to Corentin, now.” she added, laughing.

Astrid nodded first at the teacher and then at Kate, adding a hidden meaning unknown for Yankelevich.

She couldn’t identify what Rhode was trying to tell her until the headmaster’s gaze shifted almost imperceptibly towards Mer Yankelevich’s back. Kate inhaled and crouched, pretending to tie more securely the shoelaces of her boots.

When the charms teacher rounded the corner, Kate darted after her, trying to jog, avoiding touching the heel to the ground.

She pressed her back against the wall, turned her head slightly to spy to the other side and observed how Yankelevich opened a door to another corridor instead of heading to the library’s direction.

Kate spent the rest of the afternoon considering Mer Yankelevich a procrastinator or a liar, inclining herself for the latter.

[Part 3]

[shewhowillnotbenamed1]

Reflections

This is part 1 of the request. (Sorry it’s long. Even part 1 is long…) It got away from me and consumed me entirely. Naturally… and I wanted to try something a little different. 

@ravenfan1242​ I hope you enjoy :)

Raven slipped her thick white cloak off her face. She uncurled as she stretched out her petite form. She had awakened from an unplanned nap mere moments ago to find the sun had set. Just behind the treetops of the forest. The birds must have flown off to roost, as they were no longer chirping. The deer and squirrels had gone on to their herds and drays respectively. The rabbits to their nests. Raven knew it was time for her to take her cue from the animals to do the same.

She turned her petite body over in the warm grass, gathering her book into her cloth drawstring bag. Raven paused to point her nose upward. Towards the heavens. To observe. The inevitable handoff. The foreordained ball of fire’s descent from the sky. The sun acquiesced to the moon. And after the twilight, the fireflies awoke and made their existence known. The illumination of stars and shifting bioluminescent fire began lighting up a path for her.

As Raven walked, she was lulled into a ruminative state by the familiar sounds of the forest at night. Crickets chirped and owls hooted. Frogs croaked in the babbling water of the nearby creek. And small creatures rustled along in their bushes. Raven gazed up, as the moist grass grazed her ankles. She was distracted once more by the sky above. She often studied the heavens, the stars and the alignments of the planets. They had been hinting that something was to happen in her life. In this year of life, an event of great change would occur. She liked to think she was adequately prepared to face whatever it was head-on. She had armed herself with her wits and her knowledge. Raven hadn’t lasted this long on her own without being clever and resourceful.

But, it seemed that perhaps she had spent so much time anticipating what was to come. She didn’t realize it may have already. And was headed right toward her. Quite literally - in the outline of a blurry shape in the not too distant fog.

And it was nearing her steadily each passing second.

Whatever it was it had begun moving with intention. It couldn’t be good - whatever it was. Raven gathered her resolve and sunk to the forest floor. She crawled away quickly, clutching her hooded cloak. She slipped the hood over her head and tucked in her overgrown purple hair. Raven’s lip trembled as she watched it get closer. Raven had never seen a creature of that size or stature. Her body curved expertly around tree roots and bent over fallen branches as she slipped away. It was moving faster than she could silently slither along. It had probably noticed her and was trying to draw her out of hiding. As Raven backed into the base of a tree, she began to wonder if this was the stars had seen coming for her. Her undoing.

And maybe this creature was it.

Raven heard a nearby branch snap under the creature’s weight. That sounded really close. She turned her body. Crouching low as she glanced at the grass a few feet away, to see the size of its paws. At the very least she could assess which manner of animal or beast she was contending with.

But was it a creature at all?

Those… didn’t look quite like paws. They looked almost like… shoes. Boots - to be exact.

Scanning upward, she could make out a tall figure. And it was staring right at her. With intelligent and curious eyes. Human eyes.

It was…

A man. A real, man.

By heavens…

A strangled noise escaped her throat.

In all her time on Earth, she had not once met a man. And yet, here this one was, and he was standing right before her. Raven had read all about them. People. Men and women. She was aware of their existence, but as far as she knew, they hadn’t been made aware of hers. Unless…

Was he… here to hurt her?

He certainly didn’t appear to be dangerous. He looked rather harmless. Almost gentle. There was just something about his countenance she longed to trust. Her suspicious gaze softened as she took him in. The man had beautiful, azure eyes with thick, dark lashes. Luscious looking locks of inky black. And she couldn’t fail to notice his sculpted form under his clothing. Once more, Raven took in the tights and cape fastened like a cloak. Raven shyly fingered for own cloak.

It was oh so wrong of her, but instantly, Raven decided, she really liked looking at him. At this man. He was fascinating.

Rather prepossessing. Extremely so.

Raven silently observed him as he silently observed her.

His lips parted. Still watching her, some emotion lighting up his eyes. Astonishment… Perhaps because he had stumbled upon a girl in the forest. And intrigue…? He slowly bent his legs. Inch by inch, he dropped low to the ground, until his stance was mirroring her. Now they nearly were eye-to-eye. Mere inches apart.

Raven scooted to the other side of the beech tree. Putting a wooden barrier in between them. “It’s… alright…” A deep, kindly voice whispered. “I won’t hurt you.” Raising up an empty palm in assurance. “Hi…” He murmured, trying to approach her yet again.

In seconds, Raven repossessed control of her faculties. Realizing what was happening. This was the result of her allowing this dalliance to proceed for far too long. “You…” He froze in his tracks when she spoke. She must have sounded a great deal braver than she felt. “You are a human, are you not?”

He blinked several times. “Why, yes. I am a human… But -”

“You can’t be here.” She added under her breath, “And certainly not at this time of night.”

“Pardon me, Miss… I fail to see what my species has to do with my presence in this forest.” By his tone, he sounded like he found this whole affair rather amusing. By far more amusing than a human that had just encountered her should be. Raven, feeling the weight of his searching stare, realized that her hood had fallen, she drew it up over her face. “Unless… You’re not… human. Are you?” He inquired. By his tone it was clear he had figured her out. The astronomical twilight alone hadn��t obscured her features.

He knew she wasn’t.

“Oh…” Raven’s eyes grew fearful. The bit of braveness gone, when the reality had set in. “You really shouldn’t - have come.” She rose to her feet and drew back.

Tan fingers slipped through his jet black locks. He was kneeling before her. “I… must extend my sincerest apologies, fair maiden…” He got to his feet. “Surely you didn’t think I insinuated that there was anything wrong with your being different than I.” The man was smiling sheepishly at her. “We are both different are to one another.” The man looked somehow pleased that he had come across her.

He simply didn’t know any better.

“Well, I suppose that is true…” Raven began to say, she could see the logic in his words. But then, she remembered. Since he wasn’t going to leave, then she would have to. “But really, I must go - I need to go…” She turned on her heel. “Good evening.”

“Go?” He stumbled closer to her clumsily in his haste. “You don’t have to go.” The man sounded flabbergasted. “We’ve only met. I would like to talk - if that is alright.”

She shook her head slowly. “You don’t understand. I can’t talk to you… At all.” Raven had to insist upon this. “I need to leave - and you should as well.”

“No, wait. Please don’t go…” He implored her, the bright blue begging her. “Surely, there is nothing wrong with us - talking…?”

But Raven couldn’t stay. She shouldn’t be around him. And she shouldn’t be talking to him anymore than she already had. “You don’t understand. Please -” She started to flee, but not quickly enough. Something happened. Something unprecedented. A hand reached out for her. As if he were trying to make her stay. His fingertip grazed her wrist. Her chakra stone flashed red. “Ahh!” She grabbed her throbbing head, stopping dead in her tracks.

“Extraordinary…” The man gasped at her. “I knew it… That something would happen on this day…” He breathed in wonder.

What did that mean?

—————-

“P-please, sir, you need to go - now.” Her head bowed low as the pale maiden tried to breathe properly. Raven clutched the nearest tree trunk for support.

“Not a chance, fair maiden.” The man started. Rather valiantly. “You are hurt and I am a gentleman. There is no manner in which I can abandon you.”

“You are not hearing me… T-that has not ever happened… It’s not safe -” She gripped the tree, turning her body away from him. “No - don’t!” She squeezed her eyes shut in alarm. Opening them when she felt heat on her body.

He placed a couple of fingers on her forehead above her chakra, and below. Checking to see if she was alright. “Christ… you are quite warm.” She tensed up at the sensation of his skin on hers. No man had ever touched her before today. Let alone twice. “And…really - soft…” He added to himself under his breath. Then, he eased her gently. “It’s alright, I’ve got you… I think I saw a stream ahead.”

He took her hand, being sure to take her arm - and just her arm - as he guided her down the tiny leaf and rock-lined creek that fed into the nearby stream. His warmth was almost…comforting. It was strange. “Here, please, sit down.” Raven lowered herself down onto the grass, trying to keep her body steady. “You need to drink.”

The pale girl nodded and motioned to the bag that slid out from under her cloak. He widened the drawstring and fished around, before he pulled out a worn, wooden cup. He bent low toward the surface of the water to skim it, before he handed it to her.

They sat in silence for a moment as she gathered her bearing, calmed her mind, and drank the water. When she finished a cup, he refilled it for her. And handed it off. Over and over this continued. Until she paused to speak. Her chakra stone now slightly cooler. But unbeknownst to her, the stone had changed from its usual blackberry color to a blackened blood red.

“Thank you.” Raven managed. The man nodded and smiled. “You are… a gentleman.” Raven touched her forehead, feeling much more like her usual self. Aside from the fact that she was in the company of a human. And what about that human? He had actually helped her. “So… you could tell… Just by looking? What - I am…?” She stared down, wiping residual droplets off her lips.

“It’s obvious…” The man in tights gestured to her body clad in the white cloak.

Raven shook her head. “It is so obvious to you and yet you didn’t run from me? Like I told you to?” She asked. All of a sudden very annoyed with him for being so foolish. To put himself in danger over her.

He rose a black brow. “Run from you? No. I would never run from you…” The man sounded like he couldn’t believe she would suggest such a thing. But this was hardly trivial. “Did you expect me to simply leave you there to wallow?” He seemed upset by this.

“Yes!” The pale girl cried. That was what she wanted him to do. Why couldn’t he understand? “You certainly should have. Are all human beings this stubborn?”

The man looked aghast, as if the prospect of abandoning a lady was so improper, it would wrinkle his tights. But then, he gave her a little crooked smile. His eyes twinkling. “You forest dwelling creatures think you’re so scary to humans. Clearly that’s a myth… I mean you, for one, are hardly frightening.” The purple eyes looked confused. Was he playing with her? “So are you a kind of fairy or - or perhaps a nymph?”

She almost snorted at the absurdity of that question. Why, he had to be joking! “Why - would you think that…?” Raven couldn’t even finish that sentence.

Preposterous.

“Because, maiden, though you are petite, you don’t exactly have the ears one pictures on an elf.” The man’s face was matter-of-fact as he pointed to her ears, as if it were obvious.

Raven covered her pink ears self-consciously. “I didn’t suppose I had elfish features. Though my features are quite different.” She retorted.

“Your features are quite different indeed.”

“Indeed,” Raven sighed. On this matter, she had to agree. “I’m sure that the sight of being like myself was a bit of a shock. It must have been rather jarring for a human.” After she said this, Raven groaned internally. Feeling rather foolish. But of course to a man so stately, it had to have been a surprise. She half considered slipping her hood further over her face.

“Surprising, yes. Jarring? Hardly.” He scoffed. “Quite the opposite. I didn’t think that there could be a woman alive so…” He smiled and paused like he couldn’t believe he had to vocalize this. That he was a little embarrassed to tell her something he seemed to find obvious. And so he whispered it to her. “Enchanting…” Raven gaped at him. He looked her straight in the eye, his tone heartbreaking in its softness. “Beautiful.”

Raven’s heart wrenched. The effect that this man had on her. Her chest twisted and chafed at the earnestness and desperation of his voice. And because of the truth she knew.

What a lie.

She wasn’t enchanting. Not by any means. She wasn’t a fairy or an elf. Not even close.

But he looked as though he really believed what he was saying.

Out of all the creatures he had stumbled upon in the forest, why her? She was the last one any unassuming human should have encountered. She was the deadliest one.

Of all.

—————-

“Me…?” Raven swallowed. “You think that I’m -” She couldn’t bring herself to repeat his words.

The handsome stranger’s eyes traced her form appreciatively. “Why, yes. Of course you… I don’t see any other maidens in this forest. And none with great glowing gems on their foreheads either. I have been awfully rude, haven’t I? Not introducing myself… What is your name, nymph?”

Nymph… She wasn’t a -

“Raven. And yourself, kind sir?” He really was convinced that she was some harmless creature that tended to the forest. But why hadn’t she corrected him?

“I am Dick. I am very pleased to meet you, Nymph Raven.” He reached for her hand, and grasped it, and then… pressed his lips to it. His eyes never once breaking her gaze.

What in the…?

“Oh - ” She fell backwards in surprise. Her hand ripped from his grasp. Her face was much warmer than her forehead had been before. And her heart was pounding out of control. What was happening to her today? Was she losing it? Or was this what the stars had predicted?

“S-sorry. Force of habit…” Dick apologized. Even through her apprehension, she noticed he did that a lot. Making apologies. “My mannerisms are very…human.”

“Why, of course they are… I wasn’t expecting -” Raven cleared her throat, deciding at that moment to change the subject. “Do you live around here? The forest doesn’t often get visitors and certainly not around these parts.”

“Oh, in the village, do you mean?” Dick asked. Raven nodded quickly. Agreeing though she had never been. “Something like that, yes. It’s quite nice… It gets rather routine and predictable every now and again. There’s no one there as interesting as you…” He too cleared his throat. And then, took her cue to breach a different subject. “Do all of your kind look like you, Nymph Raven?” Dick smiled.

This man was so trusting. And so unassuming. Thinking that she posed no threat.

“N-no.” It was the truth after all.

“I figured not.” He smiled at her again. Stretching back in the grass. She stared at his long legs and strong body splayed out in front of the stream.

Raven nervously twirled a long lock of purple around her slender fingers. Something she didn’t often do. “I mean - I wouldn’t know. I’m the only one like me around here…”

“Oh… I see.” Dick’s tone shifted. It sounded sad. “That must be rather… lonely for you, Fair Raven.”

And she felt a mixture of sadness along with many other things. But she could admit it, as this was just her life. Her path. The way it had to be. “Sometimes. But it’s better this way.”

Dick didn’t believe her. “Being alone is better? Surely, it can't be.” He kept sliding closer to her and she did her best to subtly inch away whenever she could. Even though he seemed keen on placing himself in danger she, however, wasn’t particularly keen. “Maybe you’d never met anyone worth having around…”

“I’ve never really thought about it,” the pale maiden admitted. “Though I’ve been alone for so long…” She turned, whispering. “How am I to know of anything else…?”

“Everyone needs someone. Everyone needs… a friend.”

Such a simplistic view. But so honest.

Honesty and openness.

She could use some of that in her life. And she could use -

“A friend…?” Raven murmured. Wondering again if she had heard him correctly. “I’ve never…had a friend.” But why would he want her to be his friend? “I don’t even know what a real friendship entails.” Not outside her books or her poems and novels. And not one between something like herself and… a man.

“If you would like to work up to that title… For now we could call ourselves acquaintances. O-or companions.” He sounded positively eager at the prospect. But friendship was something more than she could ever give him or anyone.

She had to discourage it. Raven paused, listening to the sounds of the stream before them.

“Companionship - that’s a very human trait, wouldn’t you find, Sir - Dick?” She tilted her head. Narrowing the intensely purple gaze.

“No. It’s not solely a human trait, Nymph Raven.” Dick insisted. His own eyes surprisingly serious. “Every being on earth needs some form of it.”

“But, I’d never considered myself one for it…” Raven countered.

“Until our meeting, you mean?” He just wasn’t going to let this go. His ideas of friendship. A friendship with her.

“Though until today, I’d never even met a human before…” Raven reminded him. And it was a very fair point.

“Really? How am I doing for my kind?” He had pivoted in a way she had not foreseen - once again.

“Whatever do you mean, Dick?” Raven asked innocently.

The blue eyes peered curiously at her. “Am I… what you expected?”

“You are only human I ever met. I had no expectations,” Raven replied flatly. “I assure you that, Dick.”

“Oh, Fair Nymph… I doubt that very much. If I am to leave your forest tonight, you must leave me with something.” He grinned, sounding eager all over again. She found she didn’t mind the sound. Of Dick’s elation.

“Well alright…” Raven realized that perhaps she could play along after all. Just a smidgen. After all, she had never done this before. “You smell better… than one would expect from a human.”

Dick threw his head back, bellowing out full, hearty laughter. It was a lovely sound, she had to admit. It filled her with indescribable mirth like she’d never known. She closed her eyes to memorize the sound. This was the only time she would get to indulge in something so rich. “Scent aside… Does the lady have anything else to say about me?” He tapped his cheek playfully. Cocky grin creeping onto his countenance.

The low rumble of his voice… The piercing stare. There were words for it, and the way it made her feel, that came to mind. Ones she didn’t normally use.

Inviting.

Seductive.

Thrilling.

It made the petite maiden question everything she thought she knew. About humans. About herself. Whether they should interact. Under her cloak, Raven placed a hand on her chest. The feelings from his words. How he had selflessly helped her. Raven had never known that a man could make her feel such strong emotions. She had read tales of such, but not seen it in her own story. Not once had she thought that it would grace the pages. Now she knew.

Maybe it could.

She stared at herself echoed in his bright blue eyes. She wanted to believe in this dream right now. On this night. The kind smile made her want to believe. “You’re… interesting.”

She received an echo from him. “Interesting…”

With dancing fingers, he skimmed the surface of the stream. Next to him, Raven watched her reflection wavering in the ripples. The ripples grew bigger and bigger until they expanded the opposite ends of the stream. Then, Dick… gazing upon her water-bound reflection, stroked its cheek. She saw her the image of her own purple eyes growing bigger and bigger. And she clamored to feel her own face as a flush appeared on it.

How she had considered allowing him to touch her true face in such a fashion.

She was so aghast that she barely registered his words. “Interesting enough to… have around… possibly?” Dick slowly stood. And then, he bowed to her. He gave her a stunning smile. “May we meet again, Fair Raven.” And at last, Dick slipped off into the night, hopefully in the direction of that mysterious village, where his friends and companions lay at rest in their beds.

“Impossibly…” She whispered, her gaze unfocused. The hand he had kissed touching the warmth on cheeks. She closed her eyes, shelving any notion that this could ever be.

“Goodbye, Dick.”

[johnny-and-dora]

hold me in this wild, wild world

for @meepmorpperaltiago, who asked for “engagement” and “forbidden love au with a happy ending” as part of the @b99fandomevents summer 2019 fic exchange! i hope you like it!

"It takes every ounce of willpower he has left not to kiss her like it’s their last night on earth. Despite the odds, he refuses to kiss her like he’s saying goodbye."

or, a forbidden love/royalty/fairytale au in which jake comes up with an alternative solution to amy being forced into an arranged marriage with the most boring man in the seven kingdoms. read on ao3

-

He’s late, as usual.

Jake’s foray into the forest for their secret meetings can usually be best described as a leisurely amble – tonight, it’s forgone for a sort of jog as he hurries along the narrow dirt path he knows like the back of his hand, ignoring his embarrassing shortness of breath and the sharp stitch in his side.

It’s strange, the light feeling in his chest – he can’t tell exactly what’s causing it. It’s probably eagerness to finally be alone with Amy after weeks of having to watch her politely but reluctantly spend most of her precious free time in the company of the most boring man in the seven kingdoms. It could be something more akin to dread at the ominous urgency of her message, evident even in Rosa’s deadpan delivery, telling him to get to their clearing as soon as he could.

Above all, he thinks it’s desire – this endless, empty yearning he’s been carrying around with him like an anchor, a powerful heavy longing to hear her melodic laughter or hold her close or even just to have anything more than an apologetic grimace and a tiny soft smile in his direction when she can be sure no-one is looking to get him through the day.

He thought it would be less painful seeing her with Teddy secure in the knowledge that she wasn’t interested – she’d spent most of their last meeting, a stolen moment behind the stables, reassuring Jake that he had absolutely nothing to worry about. It had helped, for a while, but he couldn’t help the ugly jealousy twisting his insides up in knots whenever the prince so much as respectfully shook her hand.

He quickly waves off any more invasive thoughts of Teddy and quickens his pace - whatever this light feeling is, it’s a powerful motivator, and it’s not long before he can hear the trusted babble of the brook which tells him he’s not far from their clearing.

She’s waiting for him, of course – her back is turned and it’s the perfect opportunity to sneak up on her, except he’s too busy being mesmerised by the gentle curl of her shiny dark hair, the way it elegantly cascades down her back. Amy only wears it down here, for him; a flicker of warmth starts to glow in his chest and for the first time all week he feels himself finally relax.

She’s illuminated by the hues of the golden hour, liquid dusk pouring through the trees. A soft halo of light encompasses her almost completely – it’s as if, just for a moment, the forest can appreciate how heavenly she always appears to him. If he feels a thousand times lighter here, he can’t imagine what it must be like for her – how sacred this time they can steal away together is, away from rules and responsibilities and everyone.

He’s escaping throwing away mouldy bread and blowing off work to play card games with Charles – she’s escaping a remarkable life of activism, royal politics, charity work and fancy banquets that he has to cater for. Jake still can’t quite believe after all this time that he’s somehow lucky enough to know her, let alone be with her.

Neither of them care particularly for the crown; here, with him, Amy can be truly herself. She’s pretty awesome as a princess, but as a person she is truly, absolutely radiant in every way he can think of. He clears his throat, soft with unadulterated affection – there are no facades here, no formalities, and he craves her gentle smile more than he ever has before.

The broken, pained look on her tear stained face as she turns towards him practically turns him to ice.

He’s by her side at an instant – she buries her sobs into his chest as he instinctively wraps his arms around her, panic flooding his entire body. He hurries to ask her what’s wrong - she shakes her head so violent he quickly switches to whispering soothing words of comfort, trying to guide her breathing. It only pulls her deeper into hysteria, so instead he strokes her hair and lets her cry herself out.

When she finally looks up at him, he notices two small stray braids in her hair and moves to gently brush them out, affection overpowering everything else. Her eyes are these dark, intense pools that he’d get completely lost in if she’d look at him for more than a second at a time - She moves out of his embrace only to produce some fancy embroidered silk handkerchief from a pocket and dry her tears, averting his gaze as if embarrassed of her outburst.

(He wants nothing more than to tell her that she’s the most beautiful woman in the world even when she has snot dripping from her nose, but he senses now might not be the right time.)

“S-sorry.” She hiccups, taking slow deep breaths; for the first time he notices that she’s trembling and instantly shrugs off his cloak, draping it around her without another word. It’s comically oversized; in another lifetime he would have laughed, but now it’s an effort to even speak with the fear clawing up his insides.

“Ames, what’s wrong? What happened?” She bites her lip, looking down at her clasped hands – her nails, usually pristinely manicured as per professional convention, have been bitten half to death. Something is very, very wrong.

“It’s…It’s Teddy.” She finally manages to croak, and he fears the worst, clenching his fists – something dark and angry must flicker across his face because her eyes widen and she’s quick to elaborate. “Nothing, nothing like that, he’s barely touched me the whole time he’s been here, I thought he got the message but he-“

She takes another shuddering, ragged breath, attempting to compose herself. The light feeling has vanished completely, only to be replaced with heavy, sinking dread as he fears the worst.

“He’s going to propose to me tomorrow morning.” She says, so quietly and so small he can barely hear. “And…and my parents say I have to accept. For the future of the kingdom.”

His stomach drops, and Jake just sinks.

It’s not like they weren’t expecting this – deep down, he’s been dreading since he first kissed her, fearing that this kind of happiness can’t last, knowing that they can’t sneak around for forever. As he’s fallen deeper and deeper in love with Amy, it has become harder and harder to just compartmentalise, to forget, to keep moving forward without fear of what’s in their future. To wonder, heart heavy, if they could ever have one.

He just expected it to happen so soon – in his heart, he’s always naively believed that they still had time, that they never would have to acknowledge the possibility that they might be it for one another and all the terrifying consequences that might bring.

The Santiago royal family has a reputation to uphold, and Jake’s pretty sure that he doesn’t quite fit the image that they’re going for. He’s always been sure that Amy’s fairy-tale happily ever after isn’t designed to have him in it; but knowing that and having to accept that are two very different things. Expecting this doesn’t make it any less like having his heart physically ripped out of his chest.

Nothing could have prepared him for falling in love with the smartest, most determined and most caring woman he’s ever known. Nothing could have prepared him for this kind of pain, ice cold and burning, apocalyptic heartbreak crashing down all at once.

Worst of all, nothing could have ever prepared him for the overwhelming anguish of seeing the same pain reflected back on Amy’s face.

“I won’t do it. They can throw me out or lock me up, I don’t care, I won’t-“

“-Ames, we always knew this could happen-“

“So? That doesn’t make this stupid patriarchal bullshit tradition any less fucked up!” Her anger startles both him and a few nearby nesting birds – he notes a flash of regret in her eyes before her face hardens into a picture of determination.

“I love you. Not Teddy, not anyone else they can set me up with no matter how many troops they’ve commanded or banquets they’ve organised. You. I’m not going to...I could never…” Her lip trembles and he wraps her up in his arms again, desperately trying to remain calm for her sake when all he wants to do is disappear into the forest with her and never come back again.

He’s quiet, for a long time; all that surrounds them is the steady, boundless flow of the nearby stream, crickets chirping at their feet, and the muffled sound of occasional shuddering sobs, slowly petering out as the sun begins to set, revealing muted hues of pink and orange.

Rarely has he ever been rendered speechless – as they find themselves sat together on the mossy ground, resting against the oldest tree in the clearing, hands almost defiantly intertwined, he can’t even begin to vocalise all the things he wants to say. He just wants her.

“Run away with me?”

“Amy…” He tries to be gentle but he just sounds tired, somehow a thousand years older – he feels like the slightest push might crumble him into dust. She places both of her hands in his and he squeezes them on instinct, never wanting to let go.

“I’m serious. Please, I’m not going to just leave you, I can’t…” She trails off again, a fresh wave of tears threatening to consume her. It strikes fear into his heart more than anything else - he’s never seen her like this. He’s comforted her before – he’s found himself paralysed by her searching gaze many times before, but he’s never once found this kind of hollow desperation there.

She’s always calm, always composed in the face of a crisis, the poster child for what a leader should be. Her determination, her fierceness, her outright stubbornness comes as naturally to her as breathing – more than that, they’re some of the endless reasons why (despite his best efforts) he couldn’t help but fall in love with her. Water is wet, the sky is blue, and Amy never runs away from anything.

It occurs to him that, maybe for the first time, she doesn’t know what to do – she’s as lost and hopeless as he is, and that only breaks his heart further.

“I gathered up as much old jewellery and coins as I could find in my room.” Amy takes a weighty velvet pouch from her pocket, shaking it to prompt a jingle as if he needs some kind of proof. “It’s not much, but it’ll be enough to get us over the border. If we left tonight we could be halfway there before anyone even notices I’m gone.” She’s misread his silence for uncertainty, for lack of faith in her - he sighs, long and hard, forces his eyes shut as if to visualise the right words in his mind.

The truth is, he’s thought about them running away together more often than he’d like to openly admit. The prospect of a normal, simple life far away from everything keeping them apart has proved too tempting not to indulge in at least once in a while, more than ever lately since Teddy arrived and they’ve had to be more careful than ever.

He’s got nothing to lose, really – sure, he’d miss his mom, and Charles, probably Rosa, but they could send letters, maybe even visit after a few months. He could bake and Amy could write and they could have a peaceful, idyllic happily ever after they can design for themselves. The truth is, he’d be willing to give up everything he has now for Amy in a heartbeat.

He just can’t let her do the same for him.

“Amy Santiago, I would run away with you anytime, anyplace – but not today.”

“Why not?” Her brows are furrowed so severely fear strikes his heart again for an entirely different reason, but he presses on, allowing a second of regret that they’re not halfway to the border right now before it swallows him up completely.

“Ames, I love you but I can’t let you throw away your entire life just for me – I’m not worth it, I can’t ask you to leave everything behind-“

“- But I don’t care about the royalty-“

“I know, I know. I was talking about your family – your brothers, your parents, Rosa…” She softens a little at that and he takes the opportunity to take her hand and squeeze it. “It’s more than that - you’re a natural leader, Amy. You love what you do and you’re incredible at doing it. You’re too kind and good and brilliant to not do what you do, to not help everyone you can.”

He half expects her to yell at him, throw the bag in his face, storm off into the night – instead, she smiles. It’s small, desperately sad, but it’s something. She reaches up to cup his face and presses a long, languid kiss to his lips – it takes every ounce of willpower he has left not to kiss her like it’s their last night on earth. Despite the odds, he refuses to kiss her like he’s saying goodbye.

“I don’t deserve you.” She says, so softly he can barely hear. He shakes his head – it’s something he’s said to her many, many times before. She’s never once accepted it, and he’s not about to start.

“You deserve the world, Ames. And we both know you’d be terrible at a normal life. No big important galas to organise or constitutions to update? You’d be bored to death by the end of the week.” She exhales a shaky laugh and he nudges her playfully, trying to regain some sense of balance despite his entire universe being shifted off its axis.

For a brief moment, no more tears will fall, no more anger or sense of cosmic injustice seems to coarse through his veins; instead there’s only peace as she nestles into his shoulder and he presses a kiss to the top of her head. It could be minutes, hours, maybe centuries before either of them move again; he’s not sure. All he knows is that whatever time they have left together is far too short.

“So, what do we do now?”

“Watch the sunset and make out and then I’ll go get super drunk and set all the horses from Teddy’s carriage free as an epic revenge prank?” He’s only half joking. “What do you think we should do?”

“I don’t know. If I had more time, I could try and find a loophole, or organise a protest, get a petition together to abolish this stupid tradition once and for all, but…“ She presses her lips together, suddenly lost in thought. He can’t help but feel an almost cruel, blinding twist of affection at the thought of finding someone who’s willing to stage a nationwide protest just to be with him.

For the first time all evening, the tiniest spark of hope begins to flicker and glow.

He’s been thinking about their future a lot, lately; while most of his nightmares feed and grow on his fear on them being forced apart, there’s one other daydream that he’s been having more than ever. He’s had his grandmother’s ring tucked safely away for a long time now. And he’s never really believed in magic, but he thinks if there was any time and place for a tiny miracle then it would probably be here, in this clearing, with her.

He takes a deep breath.

“I…might have an idea.”

“What is it?” She sits up straight and gazes at him attentively as if she’s ready to take notes; he loves her with every fibre of his being.

“You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, okay? Because this…you deserve to have a choice, Ames, and I don’t want you to think I’m doing this just because I don’t want you to be with him, it’s because I really want to and actually I’ve been thinking about it for a while now even though I know it’s still pretty early, that’s why I didn’t want to say-“

“Spit it out, Peralta.” She cuts his nervous ramblings short, and all the exasperated affection in her voice feels like coming home.

“Right, yeah, okay. Uh, Teddy’s proposing tomorrow morning, right?”

“Yes?”

“So…so what if I, uh, proposed first?” He can’t help the grin that slowly blossoms across his face, even as the momentum of the idea hits them both full force. “Beat him to it, y’know. Can’t marry him if you’re already engaged to someone else, right?” He laughs nervously, already feeling an obscene amount of adrenaline pumping through his body.

She’s silent, obviously stunned – a thick cloud of panic and self-doubt starts to overwhelm him and he instantly starts to backtrack. “Sorry, it’s probably a stupid idea, and like I said it’s absolutely your choice, 100%, but I really love you and-“

“Okay.” She says it slowly, all strong piercing gaze that slowly but surely turns to a warm smile and he thinks his soul might have actually left his body for a second because holy shit, okay, he’s actually going to do this instead of just daydreaming about it whenever he decorates a wedding cake or practising with his grandmother’s ring in the bath.

“Okay?” He asks, surprised by the complete disbelief in his voice; in his searching gaze, he finds the first real hope he’s had all day reflected in her eyes.

“Yeah. Yes! That…that actually could work.” Colour has returned to her face for the first time all evening - her smile is as bright as the sun now, brighter and livelier and so overwhelmingly beautiful. She reigns herself in after a second, however, concern washing over her face, as calm and considerate and Amy as ever.

“But…everyone would know. Are you sure you want that? I can’t ask you to give up your life either…”

“I don’t care.” He grins earnestly, then actually takes a second to think about it. “I mean…obviously, it’s going to be weird. And I know that it’s a huge change, but…” He takes her hand. “I can’t lose you. And I don’t want to sneak around anymore.”

“Neither do I.” Her eyes are crinkled with soft joy

“Okay then. Let’s, uh, get engaged!” He springs up on his feet, enthusiastically pulling her up with him with very little grace. They share a bout of half hysterical, blissful laughter as he gets down on one knee, still holding both her hands in his.

“I, uh, don’t have a ring on me.” He realises, slightly sheepish as her laugh continues to float like bubbles into the summer sunset sky.

“What would you do without me, huh?” She shakes her head, eyes still sparkling with amusement as she quickly drops his hands, digging through her velvet pouch until she finds an ornate gold ring that’s probably worth at least a full year of his salary.

He feels a second of sharp, hot embarrassment, familiar fears of inadequacy that is instantly dulled by the proud beam on her face as she places it into his palm. Of course she’s more prepared for this than he is – which sparks another idea.

“Wait…how about you do this?”

“Are you asking me to propose to you?” She raises an eyebrow, but he holds his ground.

“…Maybe.” He shrugs. “Screw stupid patriarchal bullshit tradition, right?”

The smile on her face is so wide he’s worried it might split her face in two; Jake silently vows there and then to dedicate the rest of his days to doing whatever he can to earn that smile from her.

“Definitely. Yes. Okay, um, let me think of what I want to say first.” He gives her back the ring and studies her fondly as she loses herself deep in thought – he can tell that she’s just itching for her notebook and quill to at least structure an outline first, and it just lights him up inside.

She is so consistent, and he doesn’t have the heart to tell her that she doesn’t really need to say anything at all. He already knows what his answer will be.

“Okay. I’m ready.” She shrugs off his cloak and kneels down opposite him – it’s dizzying. He’s still not sure that this isn’t one big fever dream, but if there’s even the slightest chance that joy like this is real, he’s willing to take it.

“I love you.” She begins; so soft and sincere and already perfect. “I love how you’ve always seen me for me, and not who I’m supposed to be. I love how you always remind me what actually matters. I love how you’ve shown me how to have a life outside of the one that’s always been designed for me.”

She takes a steading, shaky breath; he thinks I love you I love you I love you over and over and over again.

“You have this incredibly kind, good, wonderful heart. You love openly and unashamedly, and I want to love you that same way for the rest of my life, if that’s okay with you.”

He laughs, and it’s shaky too; he can actually feel all the emotion welling up inside of him like it’s all physically lodged in his throat. “It definitely is.”

“Cool.” She beams through tears; this time, her eyes never once leave his. “I want you and no-one else. This has always been my choice to make, and I choose you. Will you marry me?”

He kisses her intently then, unable to hold himself back any longer; he pulls her as close as he can, spinning her around, and it’s joy, the light feeling in his chest – pure unadulterated ecstasy that seems to crackle in the air around them, overwhelming wonder that this kind of happiness can last.

“Is that a yes?” She breathes as they finally break apart, eyes still shut, foreheads still pressed together. Even the rolling waves of the ocean would part for them, now, he’s sure of it. In this moment, the seven kingdoms would crumble and fall before they could be forced apart again.

“God, yes.” He says, kissing her again; the stars are watching fondly by now, and they’ll allow this tiny miracle, give their blessing to the ring that is comically far too small for Jake’s finger and yet also somehow completely perfect. He murmurs it against her lips, then into the top of her head as they hold each other, again and again and again until the word loses all meaning altogether.

He’s late home that night, too – but the light feeling in his chest never falters.

***

She’s late. It worries him.

Only by a minute or two, not long enough to justify sounding the castle alarms or bursting dramatically into her chambers. Barely enough to even be worried, and yet still enough to get him pacing frantically up and down the corridor outside the library – Amy’s favourite spot in the entire castle.

It has the most beautiful view of the lake and the forest beyond it; amongst a maelstrom of other feelings, he has a yearning to just drop everything and run out there now.  The only thing keeping him anchored to castle grounds is the deep rooted  fear of Amy herself probably executing him herself if he didn’t show up to this dinner.

(She’s been planning every intricate detail of this event for weeks; all he has to do is wear this ridiculous fancy outfit and not embarrass himself in front of her entire family. Easier said than done, especially as most of said family don’t exactly approve of their engagement.)

It’s love for Amy too, of course, that’s always kept him anchored; it’s why the familiar click-clack of her heels on the old wooden floor coming ever closer elicits such a fresh breath of relief.

“Hey, you wanted to see me?” She says, or at least that’s what he thinks she’s says; when he finally lays eyes on her Jake is slightly too busy being overwhelmed at the glowing presence before him to process anything else. He realises his mouth is hanging open a few seconds too late and promptly closes it, finding a quiet delight in the unmistakable blush on her cheeks.

“Oh, wow. You look beautiful.” She does; her ballgown is an sophisticated shade of dark red that compliments her perfectly, her skirt almost creating the illusion of floating as it wafts behind her. She’s all soft, practically lit up, the epitome of poise and grace – best of all, her hair, usually formally tied back in tight, complicated braids, falls loose in perfect curls that elegantly frame her face.

She looks like an oil painting, a masterpiece flawlessly sculpted and come to life - he is the luckiest man on earth.

“Thank you.” She smiles, shyly at first, before her grin broadens to mirror his own. “You look beautiful too.”

“Thanks.” He pulls a face, tugs at the stiff, almost suffocating collar of his fancy velvet cloak. “Kinda feels like I’m playing dress up.”

The brief respite of being completely mesmerised by his fiancée is quickly over; as if she can sense his shift in mood Amy steps closer to him, placing a comforting hand over his heart which he instinctively holds close.

“What did you want to talk to me about?”

He clenches his free fist, anxiety running white hot. “I feel like…it’s stupid.” He wants to run away more than ever, but her searching expression tells him she won’t let this go.

“What if I use the wrong fork?” He finally blurts, brain running wild with the conspiracy theory that this engagement dinner is really just a golden shining opportunity for Amy’s family to poke and prod at everything that’s ever made him feel not good enough for her.

She furrows her brow in confusion; he sighs, running his hand through his hair and then instantly worrying that he’s messed that up too. “What if I don’t use the fancy napkins correctly or I stain this fancy outfit or I don’t address the guests with their correct titles or-“

“- Jake –“

“- I just…don’t wanna mess this up. I don’t want your family to hate me more than they already do, and I know it doesn’t matter because the only thing that matters is what you think but…I just want to be…” He sighs again, frustration making his words dense and unusually heavy – this is a burden he’s been carrying around for a long time. “I just want to be good enough.”

“Jake.” She says again, more firmly than last time – when he forces himself to meet her gaze, there is already infinite comfort in her reassuring smile.

“You know why I’ve put so much effort into this stupid dinner?” He shakes his head. “It’s because I want to give my family the opportunity to see just how amazing you are.”

“You’re not going to mess this up – even if you do, you said it yourself. It doesn’t matter.” She pauses for emphasis, gently squeezing his hand. “Whatever happens, I’m going to be beside you the whole time. My family are going to have to accept that sooner or later, whether they approve or not.”

Her eyes glitter with familiar unshakeable determination and he feels his heart swell with gratitude. Water is wet, the sky is blue and Amy loves him. It doesn’t matter if he’s never sure of anything else again – that one certainty is more than enough to silence the doubts roaring in his chest.

“You’re amazing.” His tone is nothing but reverent; she blushes again.

“So are you. And half of my brothers already love you anyway. Manny’s practically desperate for your autograph.” They share a warm smile; for a second, he indulges in their own little bubble of happiness, letting the rest of the world fall away. He can’t wait to be married to her.

“Oh, wait.” He smacks his palm against his forehead, eyes wide. “I nearly forgot – uh, hold on a second.” He fumbles with the clasp of his cloak, undoing it to hastily reach for the ring he has safely tucked away in the breast pocket. He produces it with a theatrical flourish, and her eyes light up.

“Is that-“

“-My grandmother’s, yeah.” He grins brightly before gently slipping it on to her finger. She holds her hand up to the light to admire it properly; he’s sure it’s tiny glinting diamond barely compares to what she’s used to, but he hopes the sentimental value gives it more weight.

“I know it’s small, but-“

“It’s beautiful.” She says earnestly, quelling his fears yet again. “I love it. Thank you.” She cups his jaw and kisses him softly – the cool metal against his skin makes him smile against her lips, a twin to the ornate gold ring hanging around his neck.

“She would have really loved you.” He says, sincere; she quietly glows with pride and they share  another smile, this one rudely interrupted by the chiming of the clock tower outside. Amy’s eyes widen and she gives him an apologetic grimace, groaning in frustration.

“Oh no, I have to meet with the Ambassador about those new trading routes…”

“It’s fine.” He says, then laughs when she still looks concerned, waving her off. “Go! I’ll still be here when you get back, I promise.” No matter how much he loves the forest, he has no desire to escape there now that he’s found something so much more liberating.

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” She frowns, glancing at the clock again - for once his certainty refuses to waver.

“Of course I will. I’ve got you.”

“You’re so cheesy.”

“See you at eight.” He salutes playfully; she rolls her eyes and kisses him quick before striding off to go save the world.

As he watches her go, no ache of longing or yearning follows - he smiles to himself before heading down to the kitchen to see what samples of tonight’s feast he can persuade Charles to give him. It’s freeing, the ring around his neck - he doesn’t need to worry about what’s in their future or when the next precious second they can steal away together will be.  

They’ve got all the time in the world.

[pb1138]

Beautiful Beyond Words

Zevran x my warden Missella Surana. 

Fluff, mostly. Has an injury depiction. And a tango. Missella thinks about how beautiful Zevran is, and how that beauty has been to his advantage. (This story was WHOLLY inspired by this post.   I mean, just look at it. Look at how fucking beautiful this is.) 

He’s just so… pretty. Even when they’re meant to be focusing on something, even in the middle of battle, she’ll catch a glance of him and just… melt.

If you were to ask her why she’d spared his life, Missella might’ve said something like, “He’s a trained assassin. He fights well.” But no. For not the first time, she suspects, Zevran Arainai lives because of his beauty.

She looked down upon the last of her attackers and sighed. “What a mess,” she grumbled. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a few specks of brilliant red settled starkly in her white hair and groaned. “Great!” Spinning on her heel to return to her companions, she threw her hands up in exasperation. “I’m going to need another bath.”

Alistair looked as if he were going to make some witty or semi-flirtatious joke, but with a quick glower from her, he thought better of it.

“Hey, their leader’s still kickin’.”

Missella and Alistair moved towards Oghren’s voice and were joined by Leliana, her purse noticeably fatter against her hip. Alistair stepped protectively by Missella’s side, his hand upon his sword. “What should we do with him?”

It would make sense to kill him. Obviously, this hadn’t been just a robbery gone wrong. This had been intentional, directed specifically at them, but… Looking down at him, down at his face, she had to swallow and suppress the urge to shiver. The way the sun was shining down through the trees, it illuminated his strong jawline, made his hair glow like sunlight against the waves of Lake Calenhad on a warm summer day. Clearing her throat, she shook her head and gestured vaguely down at him. “Just uh. Just tie him up.” Silently, she prayed the others could not hear the way her voice wavered just the tiniest bit, but she did not let it do so again. “We need answers. This wasn’t a chance meeting, I just know it.”

And as Oghren and Leliana set about taking rope from the nearby carts, she avoided the confused and almost accusatory look that Alistair was giving her. He had obviously not totally bought her semi-lie, but if he suspected the reason she stayed her hand was simply because the attacker was inordinately beautiful, she could not say. “Call for me when he wakes,” she muttered before setting off to find water to clean herself up.

Everything about him exudes beauty and sex. His hands, calloused through years of fighting and hard work, still move with the fluid ease and gentility of a painter, his long fingers nimble and gentle. His shoulders, scarred from endless fights, flexes and rolls and bends in such a prominent way that it is as though he’d been chiseled from a block of marble, strong and steady and stunning. His thighs, thick with a lifetime of muscle, still carry him as though he were a dancer, fast and fleeting and fluid. Even his voice in the most stressful of situations is still as beautiful as if Andraste were speaking through him.

It had been hard to keep her hands away from him at first, the offer having of course been made. Zevran is nothing if not a flirt, but she’d not trusted him, not then. Though the touch of a man had long since become a memory for her, and though she could think of having met no more singularly attractive person in her entire life, Missella would not submit to his charms only to be murdered as she slept naked beside him. But Maker did he make it difficult to say no.

It had been the most hellish of days when Missella learned she could trust this Antivan god, the most hard-hitting and devastating of any of their trials.

The day weighed heavily upon her shoulders. She was tired to the bone, every inch of her aching, but what hurt the worst was her heart. So many of her friends, her family, nearly every person she’d known for over 10 years of her life. Dead. Or worse.

She thought back to Cullen’s broken cries, the crazed way he looked at them, the spiteful way he spoke to her. Though they’d not been lovers, his crush upon her had been flattering (and a source of great amusement to both her and her friend Alena.) Given time, though, Missella could’ve considered it, could’ve seen him as someone she might carry a relationship with. But now? The look in his eye, the pure and utter fear… Even if he were to somehow recover from this ordeal, he would forever be changed, and her heart ached for that. He’d been such a sweet thing, so fresh in the world that just a glance from her could bring a blush to his cheeks. That man was gone, now. Gone, too, all but about 20 mages, many of them children.

She stared down at her hands, could still see the blood upon them, and for not the first time that day, she felt the tears stinging at her eyes. She’d killed so many of them herself. Her friends, people she’d spoke to every day, people she shared her life with. And she’d killed them.

So lost was she in her lamentations that she did not hear the footsteps softly approaching. She jumped as a weight settled over her shoulder, and as she turned to look, a lump rose in her throat. Zevran was settling beside her upon the log, his honey eyes focused on the flames. The blanket he had set upon her shoulders was soft and warm, and only when she pulled it tighter about her did she realize she’d been shivering. They said nothing for a long while, just sitting in companionable silence, and she thought back to the Fade, to their dreams. Alistair’s sister, his pure happiness to be with her, it made her heart ache knowing that he’d never be able to have that now that they know the type of person Goldanna was. Wynne’s nightmare, weeping over the corpses of her students, her friends, and it was one Missella suspected she will share in the future. And Zevran’s. Casting a glance at him, at his supple skin glowing like amber in the firelight, at his honey eyes half hidden by his wheat-colored hair, she had to wonder how much he has endured, how much worse the reality was from what she’d seen in his dreams.

Alistair walked past and dropped a log in the fire, startling her out of her thoughts, but thankfully he left as quickly as he’d come. She could feel Zevran’s warmth against her thigh, and without thinking, she scooted a little closer to him so that they were almost touching. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, smooth like velvet, and filled with concern. “What happened was…” He shook his head slightly and looked down at his hands. “I am sorry, Warden. I… I cannot imagine how you must feel.”

“Missella,” she whispered.

His head turned towards her, his eyes searching her face. “Perdón?”

She cleared her throat, the tears trapped in her eyes finally spilling out. “Please. Missella. It’s… It’s all I have left.” Her voice cracked with the final word, and her fists clenched tight enough that she could feel her nails cut her palm.

After a long moment, he slowly and carefully reached over and placed his hand over both of hers. “Missella,” he repeated gently.

And his touch that burns like fire was the final straw, the last drop of water against the dam, and her tears came hot and thick. Without thinking, she turned into him, pushed her way into his arms. Once his surprise had passed, his arms wrapped tightly around her, his cheek resting upon her head.

And it was there, wrapped in his arms so strong and warm, that somewhere betwixt her sobs, Missella decided that this man is one whom she can trust unconditionally.

Still, even with her acceptance that Zevran would not harm her, she put him off, denied his advances. Wynne had spoken with her, tried to make her see that she is a Warden now, one of the only two remaining Wardens in all of Ferelden, and that her duties should come first. It is painful advice, but advice that Missella took to heart, thankfully before anything had formed between Zevran and her. Though Missella is good at keeping emotional distances when necessary, she had had a feeling that Zevran was… different from her former lovers. No, that’s not right. She’s different now. The Missella from the Circle was just a child, young and stupid and impressionable. The three people whom she’d bedded before in her life had been purely out of physical urgency, just means to a pleasurable end, and the day after it was done, everyone was back to business as usual. Only one of the three had been a repeated instance, but even then it was still just sex, nothing more. She’d not even really liked the girl, not on any personal sort of level, just thought her pretty and skilled.

But Zevran. Missella can feel it, can feel her impending doom. She looks at him too often, sighs too frequently to herself when he does something particularly endearing or attractive. She does not look at him and think only about how good it must feel to have him between her thighs, how many uses he can find for his nimble fingers, how delicious his ethereal face must look in the thralls of ecstasy, how his silky smooth voice must sound as he whispers her name into her ear from behind. No, these are not the only things she ponders. She also wonders what it must feel like to fall asleep nested in his arms, to hold his hand on a leisurely stroll through the marketplace, feel his soft tresses slip between her fingers as she braids his hair back out of his face.

These are the thoughts that frighten her, that make her want to keep her distance. But Maker is it difficult. He’s so charming and lovely in all that he does. The other day, she observed as he poured himself tea and realized a smile had taken hold of her face. Everything he does, from lacing up his boots to cutting his food to striking down enemies, he does it with so much grace and beauty that it distracts her. Like a moth to a flame, she is drawn to him at camp every night, just to talk and nothing more. She likes to hear of his life, of everything he has accomplished. His stories make her wonder how her life might’ve been different if she’d not been born a mage, if she’d perhaps been born Dalish or even just into an alienage. Would she have flourished without the restraints of the Circle walls? Or would she have fallen prey to the inherent racism that runs rampant throughout the world?

So enchanting are his tales that she recalls them in the village of Haven, when she finds a pair of unusually pungent leather boots, she recalls his fondness of the smell of leather and offers them to him. He is pleased, and she blushes when he immediately drops to the ground to strip his current boots off and replace them with her gift. Even in the depths of the forest, his tales echo strongly enough that when she comes across a pair of gloves with strange embroidery upon them, she offers them to him. Dalish, she thinks, and he’s nearly overtaken with emotion. At these, he pulls her into a tight hug and kisses her cheek in thanks, and it’s all she can think about for the next three days, the softness of his lips against her skin.

It is not until a month later, nearly six months to the day that Zevran had joined their merry band of misfits, that she finally says yes to him.

Injured. Of all the stupid, asinine, completely avoidable states of being to be in, she finds herself injured. To make it more insulting, it’s not even a bad injury, just a persistent one. In all her years at the Circle, she’d been lauded for her healing abilities, but even with her spells and poultices and even with Wynne’s attempt at help, the wound would not close. They both of them decided it must have been made with some sort of enchantment they could not perceive, but Wynne suggested that their abilities may have prevented it from spreading.

Whatever the rate, Missella could not make the trip back to Redcliffe from Haven at anything even close to an acceptable rate. With no wagons traveling upon this road and no wayward adventurers with horses to bargain for, Missella had come to a decision: Alistair would travel ahead with the ashes and everyone except Shale and Zevran. At his refusal, she’d glowered at him, put on her sternest voice, and hissed, “Alistair Theirin you put me in charge here so you will do as I say. Arl Eamon’s health is far more important than this stupid leg. Now do as I say and hop to it.”

Grumbling, he listened, and their company set off ahead of them, ashes in hand, and Missella and her own smaller group trudged along at a snail’s pace. It took them nearly an entire extra week, even after Shale had gotten frustrated and insisted on carrying her when she could not continue. Though, in truth, she did not mind the company. She and Shale had become good friends these past few weeks, and of course Zevran’s company is and always has been far from unpleasant. In the three weeks it took to return to Redcliffe, Missella was hesitant to say their friendship had grown. Every night he helped tend her wound, washed her leg and bound it with fresh bandages, always with delicate, sweeping touches and dashing smiles that made her heart flutter. Several times upon this journey he suggested “sharing” a tent, “Purely to save the trouble of setting both up, of course. Practicality is key, my dear Warden,” he’d purr at her.

Saying no to these (very respectful) advances was growing increasingly difficult. The final time, she’d nearly given up, might’ve if Shale hadn’t come clambering through the underbrush, two large water foul in hand and a rather proud and triumphant grin plastered on their stony face.

Their return to Redcliffe was met rather unexpectedly. There was a carriage sat just outside the city along the road, a bored looking human slumped against it, looking to be dozed off. As he heard their approach, he tipped his broad hat up then clambered to his feet. “It’s you! The Warden! Oh, I’d just about given up.”

Zevran moved to stand in front of her, his arm stretched protectively across her. “And who might you be, my friend?” Missella tried not to let this gesture make her heart flutter, but it most definitely did.

The man blinked in surprise then smiled genuinely and took his hat off. “Errol, ser. Lord Eamon has sent me to wait by the roadside every day for your arrival at Ser Alistair’s behest.”

Missella chuckled slightly and gently set her hand against Zevran’s arm. “It’s one man, Zev. I dare say we’ll survive if it’s a trap.”

He looked as though he wanted to give some witty retort, but it was washed away with a sweeping and concerned glance over her body, his eyes lingering upon her leg which had bled through the wrappings. He seemed to be weighing the risks in his mind, and she understood. A kidnapping would not be without the realm of possibilities, and given her inability to run away, perhaps his caution was beneficial. He turned his gaze to the hills of the city, back to her, then back at the human. He relented, dropping his arm. “You’re the boss, Boss.”

She chuckled and hobbled her way over to the cart and let Zevran help her up. Errol looked at Shale, opened his mouth a few times, nervously wrung his hat in his hands. “Oh, relax,” Shale grumbled. “I’ll walk.”

Missella smiled gently at her friend reached over to pat their shoulder. “Sorry, Shale.”

Shale’s gaze softened as they looked back upon her, but they tuttered and just pushed on ahead. Errol scrambled to take his seat at the head of the wagon. Missella, for the millionth time that day, reached her hand over her wound and tried once again to heal it in vain. She could feel Zevran’s eyes upon her, could almost sense his concern though he kept it to himself. If she were to look at him now, she might cave, let him see her exhaustion and pain and melt into his arms. So, she stared at the road drifting away as the cart moved and forced herself to think of anything but the way Zevran’s eyes kept flicking over to her.

Alistair and Wynne were waiting in the courtyard of Redcliffe Castle when the cart pulled up, and Missella couldn’t help but smile at their concern. Zevran was quick to hop out of the cart, and he and Alistair came to help her down to the ground. Wynne moved over and put her hand on her shoulder, a healing spell flooding through her body but doing nothing except slightly alleviating her pain. “We were beginning to worry,” she said.

Missella gave a playful scoff and put her hand to her chest. “What, that I’d come to my senses and run off? Nah, you lot won’t be rid of me that easily,” she teased.

Wynne rolled her eyes but Alistair beamed from ear to ear as he took Missella’s packs from her and settled them upon his back. “See, Wynne, what’d I tell you? Like a barnacle, she is.”

Missella snorted and gently patted Wynne’s hand away. Her mood turning serious, she gestured towards the castle and started limping towards the stairs, using her staff as a walking stick. “How fairs Eamon?”

Alistair beamed brilliantly, and Missella couldn’t help the warm tickle of affection that pulled her lips into a gentle smile. “He’s fully recovered. The ravens have been flying in and out of here like crazy taking the news with them. He’s anxious to meet you,” he adds with a teasing smile.

Missella nodded more to herself than anything. “Good. I’m glad the ashes helped.” She began climbing the stairs, but it was evident to them all how deeply painful it was, her leg unwilling to hold her weight after the fifth. Just when she was about to growl in frustration, her legs were swept out from under her and, with a squeal, she was lifted easily into a pair of strong arms and held against a warm chest. Blushing furiously, she looked up at Zevran and stammered. “I-Hey! L-Let me down!”

Zevran just tuttered and adjusted her weight before he began climbing the stairs. “So I can let you injure yourself further and spend the next three hours trying to climb these stairs? I think not.” Though his tone was exasperated, he held a soft smile on his lips.

With a huff, Missella looked over his shoulder towards Alistair for help, but the blasted man was just smirking at her. Thankfully—and a little ruefully—her discomfort did not have to last long before Zevran had reached the top of the stairs and gently lowered her back to the ground. Leaning against her staff, she righted her skirts and glowered at him before mumbling a quiet, “Thanks.”

Zevran gave her a smirk that made her heart flutter and a warmth stir in the pit of her stomach before he ever so gently brushed his hand along her arm, leaving electricity in his wake. “It is always a pleasure to hold such a lovely woman in my arms,” he purred, his accent purposefully thick.

Maker’s breath. She swallowed hard and pushed on, hoping she wasn’t blushing as deeply as she thought (she was.) Zevran moved to hold the doors for her, and Alistair moved to take lead. A gaggle of servants stood ready to take their packs from them, and she thanked each of them with a warm smile. Alistair escorted her to the main hall where the Lady Isolde stood beside an older man with a grey beard, and standing in front of them was—“First Enchanter?” Missella’s face broke out in an almost painful grin, and in her excitement she moved to rush to his side but hissed as her leg denied her. Zevran was beside her side in an instant, offering her his arm to lean against, which she reluctantly took.

First Enchanter Irving turned at her voice and smiled gently. “I wish I could say you are looking well, my child, but it is not in my nature to lie.”

Zevran helped her over towards the humans as Alistair moved towards the man now standing near Isolde. Irving took her into his arms in a warm hug before pulling back at arm’s length to look her over. “It pleases me endlessly to see you mostly still in one piece, my dear.”

She smiled up at him, her ears lifting in response to his affection. Irving had ever been like a father to her, as much as he could’ve been in the Circle. She’d been worried about him since they’d liberated the Circle, worried what the Templars might’ve done to him for ‘letting’ the uprising happen, but he seemed well enough. Older, worn down by the loss of so many of his charges, but well enough. “Me, too, ser,” she breathed.

Alistair cleared his throat and gestured from the other man towards her. “My Lord Eamon, may I present my fellow Grey Warden, Missella Surana.”

Missella stepped back from Irving and pressed her fist to her chest, bowing her head in greeting. “Lord Eamon, I’m pleased to see you’ve recovered.”

“No thanks to you, I’ve heard.” As she lifted her head to look back up at him, she found herself taken into a firm hug, and she squeaked in response. His voice wavered a little as he said, “Thank you. If not for you, my son would still be… Thank you.”

She smiled awkwardly and tucked her hair behind her ear as he stepped back from her, his hands resting upon her shoulders affectionately. “It was my pleasure, my lord,” she said nervously.

Lord Eamon beamed down at her. With a gentle squeeze, he looked over at Zevran who was hovering nearby. “You two must be exhausted. Please, rest. I’ll order food and drink to be delivered to your rooms immediately.” With that, he nodded pointily at a servant who scurried off to do his bidding and released Missella. “If you’re feeling up to it later, we intend to host a feast here in the castle, to thank you for all you’ve done for my family and my city.”

She blushed slightly but nodded. “I look forward to it, ser.”

Irving put his hand upon her arm and smiled down at her in a paternal way that crinkled at his eyes. “I will be with you shortly to see what we can do about your leg, hmm?”

Missella nearly sighed at the prospect of being patched up at last. She nodded eagerly. “Maker, yes, please.”

He chuckled gently and dropped his hand from her arm. Alistair moved to show them the way to their chambers. He paused nervously outside a door and rubbed the back of his neck. “The rooms are… er… Well, they’re on the second floor.”

Missella pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed in exasperation. “Of course they are.” She shoved her staff into Alistair’s hands and looked pointedly at Zevran who was grinning far too smugly for her liking. “Shall we, then?”

With the same ease as before, he swept her into his arms, but this time she didn’t squeak. Rather, she put her arm about his shoulders to help leverage her weight against him, and Alistair pushed on ahead. Rather than set her down at the head of the stairs like she’d expected, he just hefted her higher in his arms and gave her a dazzling smile that her breath hitch, and for a moment she forgot why she was irked. Alistair opened the door to one room and gestured inside. “This is you, Missella. Zevran, you’re across the hall.”

Zevran grinned lazily as he carried Missella over towards the bed. “I do so love being near the lovelier of the two wardens.”

Missella rolled her eyes to hide her blush as he set her ever so gently upon her bed, and it did not escape her notice how his fingers drew along her arm. Alistair cleared his throat and leaned her staff against the bed, giving Zevran a look as he did. “There’s um, there’s a water basin just over there if you want to wash up. I’ll come by later, see how you’re feeling, alright?”

She smiled up at Alistair and patted his arm. “Alright. Thank you, Alistair.”

After a blush dusted his cheeks, he cleared his throat and stepped out of the room. Zevran gave her a sly grin and purred, “You don’t want help washing up, do you?”

Missella snorted and waved him off. “No, I don’t. Go on now, leave me be.”

He pouted as he walked backwards out of the room. “The beautiful ones are always the cruelest.”

Once she was alone, she let out a deep sigh and patted her cheeks willing her blush away. She washed herself and put on a clean dress she found in the dresser, then laid down to get in a nap. There was a knock on her door not much later, but she got enough sleep to feel a little refreshed. Calling out a quick, “Come in,” she pushed herself to her feet and leaned against a bedpost, smoothing out her dress.

Irving stepped into the room then and cast a cursory glance about. With a gentle smile, he nodded at her. “You’re looking much better, my child.”

She chuckled and gestured for him to come in further. “If this looks better, I shudder to think how bad I looked before.”

He just gave her a smile and dragged a chair over to the bed. “Let’s take a look at that leg, hmm?” With a nod, she settled on the edge of the bed as he sat down, and she placed her leg in his lap. He tsked as he observed the wound. “You always did like to go above and beyond, didn’t you?” he grumbled.

“Well, how else was I supposed to keep you on your toes?”

He chuckled at that as magic began to flow from his hands, the familiarity of it bringing a touch of nostalgia to her, comforted her like when she’d fallen down the stairs and broken her ankle, like when she’d taken seriously ill after eating a piece of shellfish, like the hug he gave her just before she was taken away by Duncan. She thought back to her life in the Circle, to how relatively happy she’d been. To think, if she’d never told Irving about Jowan’s plan, she wouldn’t have been made to help him, wouldn’t have been sent away. Maybe, if she’d been there, she might’ve been able to stop Uldred… If Alena and Anders hadn’t taken their chance to escape the same time Jowan was, Alena’s penchant for sniffing out secrets and gossip might’ve given them the advantage they needed, might’ve prevented so much unnecessary death, might’ve saved her home.

Irving looked up at her and sighed gently, halting in his movements. “It does not do well to dwell on the past, my dear.” He reached up and brushed away a tear she didn’t know had fallen. “Our paths in life are as rivers. We can alter the way, but eventually they all lead to sea.”

Missella sniffled and rubbed her eyes. “I know, I know.” She took his hand in hers and sighed. “Things were much simpler a year ago, weren’t they?”

Irving nodded in agreement and gently eased his hand back so he could get back to healing her. “It does seem like only yesterday you were brought to my office for the first time.” Though he kept his face free of emotions, his voice wavered just the tiniest bit. He shook his head, indicating the end of the conversation, and sighed. “This is one stubborn enchantment, my dear,” he grumbled.

“Mm,” she hummed. After a moment of silence, she looked up at him and tilted her head. “Why are you here, Irving? In Redcliffe, I mean.”

“Oh, Eamon asked me to come. He’ll be assisting in the repairs at Kinloch. And that boy, Alistair, he said you would need a healer.” He smiled gently. “I’m glad that he’s still taking care of you.”

“Me, too. I don’t know where I’d be without him. Without any of them, really.”

His wise eyes searched hers for a minute. “And that elf? The one upon whose arm you were leaning?”

She must’ve blushed because he grew a smirk. “I—I have no idea to what you are referring, First Enchanter,” she mumbled weakly.

His shoulders shook with gentle laughter, and the upswing in his mood made his magic tickle a little. “My dear girl, I am nearly 100 years old. I know infatuation when I see it. And you always have been and still remain a terrible liar.”

She swallowed thickly, turned her head to avoid the risk of her blush deepening. “Nothing can happen anyways. Even Wynne agrees.”

At that, Irving’s smirk melted off his face and his brows knit together. “And why ever not?”

“Because my duty is to end this Blight by whatever means necessary. If I were to become involved with Zevran, if feelings were to form…” She sighed and rubbed her eyes. “If it came down to it, Irving, if I had to choose between saving a man I love and ending the Blight… No.” She shook her head, her conviction renewed. “I cannot allow it.”

The magic from Irving’s hands receded, and he lightly slapped the freshly healed skin of her leg, making her hiss and draw it back. “Have I taught you nothing, child?”

“Ser?”

“In all our time together, did I never once import upon you the strength of love and affection?” He was huffy, now, leaning back in his chair to look at her. “Love is not nor has it ever been a weakness, child. Quite the contrary, out in the real world, love can be a great source of strength. Denying yourself happiness won’t make you any more or less strong when it comes to the end, and when your own life hangs in such precarious balance, are you really satisfied not taking every chance you have at joy?”

Missella blinked then and looked down at her hands as she pondered his words. “But… Wynne—”

Irving sighed. “Wynne and I are dear friends, and I admire her a great deal, but ever has she been staunch and rigid in her beliefs that we mages have duties beyond ourselves. And though there can be some truth to that idea, but it is not for everyone.” He reached over and clasped her hand between both of his, his tired eyes crinkling with a smile. “My dear Missella. Now that you’re no longer under my care, I can admit that I’ve considered you a daughter for many years now.” Ever so gently, he patted her hand and looked down at it. “And like any father, I want to see you happy. This path you’ve been sent down is a difficult one. You should take any chance you can to find joy.”

The tears that had been building in her eyes as he spoke spilled over. “I… Thank you, Irving.” She clasped her hand over his and squeezed it earnestly.

He stood, then, and sighed. “It is time for me to leave you, my child.”

With a trembling sigh of her own, she nodded and rose to her feet as well. The pain in her leg had almost entirely gone, just a dull ache left in its place. “I understand. Have a safe journey back, and thank you again. For everything.”

He left her then, and with another sigh, she plopped back down on her bed and rolled over Irving’s words in her mind. At some point, she drifted off back to sleep, and when the knock on the door woke her up again, the sun was beginning to set through the window. Alistair stepped into the room and knocked once more on the door. “Missella, are you awake?”

She lifted her hand and yawned. “Mm.”

He chuckled slightly and stepped closer but stopped a respectful distance away. “How’s your leg?”

“Much better. Oh, and, thank you, Al. For sending for Irving. It… It was nice to see him again.”

“Of course, Missella. Hey, the feast is about to begin. Are you feeling up to coming down?”

“Mm. Give me a minute to get presentable.” She heaved herself off the bed and limped about the room, washing her face and maneuvering her hair into a passable braid. Once she was done, she turned to Alistair and gestured at herself. “Is this good enough? I don’t know how fancy to be.”

He gave her a warm, eye-twinkling smile and nodded. “You’re always a vision, Missella.”

She snorted and pulled her staff to her side to lean on it. “And you’re full of shit, Alistair.” With a softer smile, she nodded towards the door. “Let’s go, then. I’m starving.”

They made their way down to the first floor carefully. Though Missella’s leg was healed on the surface, the pain had begun to creep back a bit. She insisted on taking the stairs on her own, grumbling something about being an “independent woman,” and she nearly cheered when she hit the bottom. As they pushed through the door into the hallway, they were met with the sound of music drifting lazily through the air, and a ball of excitement began to grow in Missella’s gut. She’d never been to a feast before, and from the sounds of laughter, she dared to say it sounded rather like a party. Not far down the hall, Shale stood, staring at a potted plant as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. Missella grinned and hobbled a little faster over to her friend. “Shale! You’re here!”

Shale looked indignantly down at her. “As if I had anywhere better to be?”

Missella just smiled and patted their forearm. “I’m glad to see you, too. Are you going to come into the feast?”

“To what end? To watch 50 flesh sacks stuff their holes? No, thank you.”

Missella rolled her eyes and patted their arm again before turning back to join Alistair who was paused just outside the doors. He gently took her arm and lowered his voice. “Um. I suppose I should warn you. Eamon is probably going to uh… make quite a few toasts to you.”

She blinked. “Me? Why?”

He just stared at her a moment and shook his head. “Maker, Missella. Because of all you’ve done, not just for him but for Ferelden.”

She snorted. “But that wasn’t just me. It was all of us.”

“Oh, please. We’d be nothing without you. You know that.” He silenced her with an upheld hand. “Just. Be prepared, alright? It might get a little embarrassing.”

“After the past few months, embarrassing sounds like a fresh breath of air.”

Alistair just sighed, nodded, and opened the door for her.

As soon as she stepped into the grand room—which had been decked from head to toe with decorations and candles, each table filled with townspeople, many of whom she recognized—the band stopped playing and all eyes were on her. She faltered a moment but straightened up and smiled graciously around the room. Eamon rose from his seat and crossed around the table to greet her in the middle of the room, both his hands clasped over hers. “You are feeling better, I hope?”

She smiled and nodded. “Yes, ser.”

He beamed from ear to ear. “Wonderful, wonderful.” Glancing around the room, he cleared his throat and announced, “Friends, may I present our guest of honor, the woman who saved not just my own life, but the lives of my family, and the lives of nearly everyone in this room.”

Applause exploded around the room, and a servant appeared at Eamon’s side, carrying a serving plate with wine goblets upon it. Eamon handed one to Missella, then Alistair, then turned on his heel in one rotation about the room. The whole room rose to its feet, and quieted down enough for Eamon to call, “For the Warden!”

The townsfolk echoed his call, bringing a blush to Missella’s cheeks, but she met the raised glass with her own and drank deeply from it. Eamon ushered her over to the long table where many of her friends were seated. She nodded towards Isolde and Bann Teagan before smiling at her friends. She reached her chair, and just as she moved to reach for it, a hand brushed hers aside, and Zevran’s grinning face tilted into her view. “Please, my dear, allow me,” he purred.

She had to remember how to breathe, he looked so dashing. He was dressed in a puffy white shirt tucked into tight black pants. Through the fabric of his shirt, she could see the outline of his tattoos, and she had to force herself not to stare, but his face was washed clean and refreshed with sleep, and he’d washed his hair and pulled it back into a soft ponytail. Clearing her throat, she mumbled a soft, “Thank you,” and settled into the chair, and the hall sat down with her. The music began again, and conversation began to flow freely as Zevran settled into the chair on the other side of Alistair.

The food was incredible and plentiful. She felt a bit guilty that she ate as little as she did, but the past few weeks on the road hadn’t afforded her the opportunity to stretch her stomach much. Though, by the time she finished, the doors to the great hall had been opened, and the band had moved out there for people to stand and talk. Some, she’d noticed, had taken this as an opportunity to dance. Wynne had eventually asked Alistair to “indulge an old woman” and practically hauled him off by his ear to join her upon the dance floor, which left the chair between Missella and Zevran empty. To make matters worse, Eamon and Teagan were engaged in some fairly intense discussion concerning topics about which Missella knew nothing, so she tried to distract herself by people watching. She recognized some of these people from the last time she was in Redcliffe, during the attack. The blacksmith and his daughter sat at a far table, and once they locked eyes, they raised a glass to her which rose a blush along her cheeks, and she smiled in recognition. Murdock and Tomas were sat at another table, their own heads butted together in what looked like a rather frustrating discussion, and here and there she’d recognize someone else. Idly, she wondered about her friend Alena, if she would know anyone here tonight, and the thought of her and her unknown demise drew a shadow over Missella’s heart. It must have shown upon her face, too, because there was a heavy sigh as a body settled into the seat next to hers, and a familiar tan hand moved to refill her wine glass. “You know,” Zevran drawled, “For attending a banquet in your honor, you certainly do not seem to be enjoying yourself.”

Missella swallowed hard and brought the glass to her lips for an excuse to think of something to say. Unfortunately, this was her fourth glass of wine since coming downstairs, and her mind was beginning to swim. “I’m just, uh… Tired.” Maker, Missella, really? Tired? That’s the best you can do? she hissed to herself.

Zevran chuckled, and she could feel his amber eyes searching her face. “Come now, my dear warden, of all the lies you’ve ever told, that is by far the worst.”

She sighed and rested her elbow upon the table, her chin in her hand as she looked over to him. Thankfully for the wine, her cheeks were not able to darken anymore, because he looked otherworldly beautiful. He sat mirrored her, his chin in his hand as well, and he was looking upon her with what was at first a sly expression, but upon second glance she could see the softness of his eyes, the wide, open expression in his brow that did not exactly match the smirk he wore. She must’ve been staring too long because his smirk only grew wider, and she forced herself to avert her eyes. “Fine, fine. Honestly, I’m just…” She sighed again. “Seeing Irving brought back a lot of feelings.”

“Oh.” His voice was reservedly surprised, the tone of it bringing her to look back at him. The smirk had fallen from his lips, and his brow had knit together just a smidge in concern. A soft hand touched her shoulder, the thumb brushing a piece of hair back. “Are you alright?”

For all her efforts, she could not hide the way tears welled in her eyes, but just as he opened his mouth to say something else, she nodded, pushing the sudden rush of emotions back down. “I will be.” It was the truth, at least. Whatever was causing this bout of emotion would soon pass, replaced with the impending severity of the Blight. But, for now, she hesitated to speak anymore of the present beyond the faintest of truths: “Between seeing Irving and being here in Redcliffe, I’m mostly worried about my friend Alena.”

“The one who you helped escape?”

She nodded in affirmation, mildly touched he’d remembered. It had been months now since she’d told him the tale of how she’d been made to help Jowan escape and as a consequence helped Anders and their friend Alena escape. The girl was spunky and sly, but she had never been an overly talented mage, and even with Anders to protect her, Missella doubted her ability to survive in this harsh world. But, Missella could feel Zevran’s eyes upon her, so she shook thoughts of her naïve friend from her mind and turned a gentle smile towards her dashing rogue companion. “I apologize. I hardly doubt the shadows of my mind weigh heavily upon you.”

Zevran quirked a brow at that and frowned. His hand slipped from her shoulder to grip hers, the moment his skin touching hers sending a shock through her arm though she kept her face from showing it. “My dear Warden,” he started, his words careful and formulated. “In these past few months, I have felt a connection form between us, no? I consider you a dear and beloved friend. And all that weighs heavily on your mind also weighs on me.”

She had to turn her head to hide the quick misting of tears that once again crossed her eyes. She disguised the movement by taking a sip of wine, but when she looked back at him, she knew he wasn’t fooled. Clearing her throat, she squeezed his hand and smiled. “Thank you, Zevran. That means… It means a lot.”

The grin he sent her way was nothing short of dazzling. His teeth even glinted in the light, for Andraste’s sake. He brought her hand to his lips and placed a soft kiss to her knuckles, his eyes never leaving hers before his ear twitched. “Ahh, listen! That is an Antivan dance! Please, my friend, won’t you join me?”

Missella blinked owlishly and stammered for a reply, struggling to think of even a single reason to say no when Irving’s words drifted back to mind. “I… Yes. Yes, Zevran, I think that sounds marvelous.”

Any surprise that Zevran felt, he kept coolly under wraps as he stood, her hand in his. She could feel more than a few pairs of eyes on them as he swept her into the next room, letting her lean on him in place of her staff. A handful of dancers saw them enter and scooted off to the side to watch as Zevran guided Missella to the center of the room, and the band stopped playing when Zevran waved a hand to them. He swung her easily into his arm, her hand clasped in his which he held up and out. Though Missella had had no occasion to learn to dance either in the Circle or out in the real world, the faith she had in Zevran’s worldly abilities allowed her to keep an easy smile on her face, not even a hint of fear for what was to come in her mind. Zevran nodded over her head to the band and flashed her another brilliant grin as the music started up again and he took his place offset to her right a bit.

Missella has always been able to pride herself on at least one fact:  she is a fast learner. Particularly fast, if the material is something of interest and the teacher attractive. Another fact about Missella is that she has often been described as “graceful.” These are her two saving graces in this moment.

The dance began slowly. Zevran helps her, not just with his hand firm against the small of her back which helped steady her and hold her off her bad leg, but in that he muttered a soft, “One, two, three, one two three,” to help her catch the time signature of the dance as he guided her back for two measures, his feet bouncing instead of moving on the second beat of each measure, and her limp was all but forgotten in the way he moved her. Then, he dragged her easily into a turn on the third three, the movement catching Missella by surprise. He chuckled at her soft squeak. Casually, he leaned them to the side for a beat before spinning them to face the opposite direction. With perhaps more drama than necessary, he toed them three steps down, in time with the beat, his golden eyes never leaving hers. She squealed when, on the second three, his leg found its way under her knee and knocked it from under her while he pressed forward on the hand holding hers. She was caught easily by the hand on her back, not actually having dropped far at all, and she couldn’t help but giggle. He let her dangle there for half a beat before languidly pulling her back up to him, his leg still between hers. He used this new position to walk around her, pivoting her on one foot so that she was spinning, his face close enough that she could feel his heat.

“Zevran,” she breathed.

“Yes, mi amor?” he whispered back, pivoting on his own foot to step across her and back again.

She wanted to tell him how she felt, to let him know that his flirtations had not gone unnoticed, that she wanted desperately to reciprocate them, to ask him to kiss her, but her courage was not strong enough. She cast her eyes about the room for something else to say instead, and only managed a weak, “Everyone is staring.” And it was true, at least. They were now the only couple still dancing, everyone else moving to the side to watch. Even a few people from the dining room had come to watch from the doorway.

It was evident from the tone of his chuckle that he did not believe that was what she wanted to say, but he did not ask her true intentions. Instead, he just leaned his head closer, enough that his breath tickled her ear when he whispered, “Then let us give them something to look at, no?”

Before she could ask him what he meant, she was thrust away from him, held only by his hand as he stretched away from her. In her daze, she caught sight of Alistair whose face was set hard with jealousy. As quickly as she’d been spun away, Zevran tugged her hand and pulled her back into him, his arm held around her possessively as he cast a pointed look in Alistair’s direction, one that admittedly send a warm shiver down Missella’s spine. Over the next measure, Zevran dragged Missella away from Zevran and raised their hands over her head to spin her in place, slowly, walking around her as if to show her off to the room and claim her as his all at once. The song was coming to an end; she could hear it in the cadences with which the phrases were ending. Zevran stopped her on a third beat and stepped in to hold her, repeating the very first set of steps he made when the song began, the music following his steps to slow until, like before, he swept her leg from under her and caught her in a dip, this one far lower, and she could feel his breath ghosting across her chest.

Applause broke out across the room, and Zevran pulled her back to standing, a breathless, knee-wobbling grin stretched across his face. Perhaps she was light-headed, the wine and the dancing making her dizzy, or perhaps it was the thrill of the moment, but she could take it no longer. In one smooth movement, her arm hooked behind his neck, and she stretched on her toes to press her lips against his. In the blink of an eye, Zevran tensed in surprise, untensed, and pulled her closer to him, his hand moving to hold her cheek delicately, as if she were made of glass. As she breathed in the smell of him, tasted him, felt him in her arms, she knew she’d been a fool to deny him as long as she had. She broke the kiss and laid her forehead against his shoulder, panting. “Ask me again, Zevran.”

It took him a moment, but once he did, he placed a teasing nip to the point of her ear and moved his mouth to whisper just loud enough for her to hear, “Would you like to come to bed with me?”

She nearly moaned, her entire resolve dashed out the window. “Yes. Maker, Zevran, yes,” she whined, and to pontificate her impatience, she nipped the open skin beneath his collar.

With a flourish befitting only Zevran Arainai, he swept her up into his arms and beamed down at her, undoubtedly flexing around her. “My wish is your command, mi amor.” And Missella could not bring herself to be embarrassed when she realized the entire castle was still watching as Zevran carried her to the stairs to the second floor.

“Mi amor?”

Missella blinks, startled out of her reverie. “Mm?” she says, rubbing her face as if to brush her exhaustion away.

“Where did you go?”

The teasing tone in his voice piques her curiosity. She turns to look at him, and for hardly the first time, she is stricken breathless at the sight of him. He rests against a log, a leg drawn up towards his chest, his elbow rested upon that, a hand resting in his hair. His shirt hangs open and loose about his arms, the hint of a tattoo visible along his ribs. His hair is braided back on one side, so she can see the piercings in his ears, and his entire silhouette is illuminated by the warmth of the fire, the glow reflected in his inviting and contemplative eyes. Swallowing, she mirrors his pose and throws a lazy grin his way.

And for hardly the first time, Missella finds herself too lost in admiration to think of what to say. He’s just so… pretty. One might almost say that Zevran Arainai is beautiful beyond words.

[love-and-monsters]

Harpy Rescue

M monster X F reader, 7,143 words

You wash up on an island after a shipwreck. The harpy natives take you in and you find companionship with a certain healer who’s been caring for you. 

I stared blankly at the sky above me. I was lying back on a beach. The tide was coming in underneath me. The salt water stung at the raw scrapes on my back.

It was struggle to breathe. My lungs spasmed and heaved with every breath. All my energy went into keeping my lungs heaving.

It was ironic. The only person who survived the shipwreck was the one who would die anyway.

None of my limbs would move. I knew I wasn’t paralyzed, if only because that would have dulled sensation and I could feel every scrape and bruise over the surface of my body. I just couldn’t move under my own power.

 It took all my energy to keep breathing. It hurt just to breathe. My lungs stuttered over the air, threatening to stop altogether every time. Even with all my effort going into it, I still felt faintly dizzy from lack of air.

There were birds, enormous birds, circling overhead. Carrion birds, probably. They could see me lying on the beach and probably assumed they were getting a nice lunch.

The water was getting higher. It was a race, I thought morbidly. Would the water drown me before the birds managed to eat my entrails?

They were coming down more rapidly now. They were huge. Perhaps I would get lucky and they would fight one another for long enough that the waves would come in. I would take drowning over being torn apart hungry birds.

The tide was coming in faster. I could feel it lapping around my ears. A particularly strong wave made me sputter and I spent nearly a minute coughing and gasping. It was harder than ever to breathe. Perhaps drowning wouldn’t be substantially more pleasant than being eaten alive.

One of the birds plunged into a dive, spurring the others to follow. They drifted out of my sight and no matter how far I rolled my eyes back, I couldn’t see them. Great. I just had to wait in anticipation.

There was a crunching behind me, the sound of something approaching. Another wave struck me and I choked, coughing on the water. Black spots popped in front of my eyes and I felt my entire body heave, water trickling from my mouth.

A hand caught my shoulder. With a heave, I was dragged out of the shallow water and up onto the firmer beach. Tilting my head back, I managed to catch sight of my rescuers.

They hadn’t been birds, I realized. They had just looked like birds from a distance. My rescuers were a group of concerned-looking harpies.

If I had any sense of dramatic timing, I likely would have passed out then. It would have made the situation much less awkward, at least. But I remained stubbornly awake, staring up at the small throng of harpies.

Their heads and torsos were humanoid, but they seemed to have a combination between arms and wings. Their arms were feathered and there was a split at the wrists between hands and the final joint of the wing. Their legs were scaled and ended in large, heavy talons. All of them had deeply tanned skin and dark brown hair and feathers.

They spoke to one another for a moment, in a language I couldn’t understand. Then, the one that had dragged me up the beach bent over and hauled me into his arms.

The group headed off the beach and into the tropical jungle beyond. It was getting harder and harder to remain conscious. I faded in and out, struggling to keep my consciousness together. The blackouts grew longer and longer and the tightening pain in my chest was growing sharper. Breathing was almost painfully difficult.

Another bit of irony for me. I had been saved from drowning only for my condition to kill me right away.

The last thing I was aware of was the man carrying me speaking rapidly before I was deposited on solid ground with a jolt.

When I opened my eyes again, there was a ceiling above me. It was thatched, and there were several bundles of herbs hanging from the rafters. The pain of my body had eased, and though my chest burned, it had loosened significantly. After a few breaths, I had gained enough energy to sit up.

“Here.” Someone to my right pushed a bowl into my hands. It was full of a strong-smelling liquid that made my nose run and my sinuses clear almost instantly. “It’ll help with your breathing.”

The person next to me was the same man who had carried me off the beach. I hadn’t gotten the best look at him, but he had the same golden-brown feathers and his long, braided hair was done up in the same style. I dipped my head and took a few swallows from the bowl.

It burned worse than any whiskey I’d ever tried. I sputtered, eyes watering, but the tension in my chest did fade. The bands that had always restricted my breathing loosened ever so slightly and I gulped air gratefully.

The man outstretched his hands and took the bowl back. I sputtered a few more times before my breathing calmed. “What is that?”

“An old remedy for chest trouble. It’s steeped out of different herbs.” As he set the bowl on a nearby table, I realized something.

“You speak English?” I asked.

“Some. My aunt met with travelers many years ago. She taught me. Just in case.” He leaned back in his seat, stretching his legs out in front of him. Something behind him shifted and I noticed his tail, made of the same brown feathers as his wings. “You must have inhaled a lot of salt water. Your breathing was bad.” He tapped his chest demonstratively. “You were wheezing.”

“It does that anyway. But the almost drowning didn’t help.” I pushed yourself up in bed. “Where am I?”

“Healer’s house,” he said. “In Namori Village. You were brought here by the storm, yes?”

“Not on purpose,” I said. “I was sailing to Larmark. They have a good hospital there. I was going for an examination.” I rubbed at my chest. “I don’t suppose you have any ships heading in that direction?”

“We are not a sailing people,” the man said with an apologetic smile. I slouched back into the bed. I wasn’t as upset about it as I should have been. The treatment was supposed to find a way to cure my condition. Without it, I could be beset by a sudden bought of chest tightness that could kill me at any moment. It had nearly done so several times in my childhood. But I had lived my life with it so far. I was just back where I’d started.

“She’s up!” I looked up to see an older woman harpy leaning over me. “Thought I told you to call for me, boy.” The male harpy ducked his head, looking properly ashamed. “Took quite a beating from that storm. Lucky you made it to shore.” She flicked her wings. “We saw the ship go down last night. Didn’t expect anyone would survive. You’re lucky we noticed you.”

“There’s something wrong with her chest,” the male harpy said. “She wheezes.”

“Noticed that.” The woman looked me over. Her eyes were a piercing yellow. “Thought it was from the seawater. It’s usually like that?”

“Yes. Since I was a child. I had some sort of illness that damaged it. I wouldn’t worry about it too much. I’ve never allowed it to bother me.” I’m sure my voice would have been much more reassuring, but my chest contracted in a cough and I heaved a few times.

“Perhaps you should let it bother you more. Give her more of that infusion, Nor. And recheck her ribs, just to be safe.”

“Yes, Aunt Aerath,” Nor said. She turned on her heels and strode off. We were in a back room, I noticed, small and full of warm light. Nor turned back to me. “Sit up. Drink.” I sipped more of the brew he’d given me while he prodded at my ribs. It was a little ticklish and I had to work not to squirm.

“Your ribs are fine,” Nor said eventually. “But your chest is weak.”

“Well, nothing I didn’t already know.” I rolled over, ignoring the sharp pains that came to me. “Can I move around?”

Nor nodded and I got up. He hovered close by as I shuffled around. I’d been stripped down to my shift, which would have been embarrassing if both of them hadn’t been wearing something similar. They both seemed to be wearing something like togas, though Nor’s skirt was long enough to trail on the ground. Both their outfits were a deep navy blue.

There was a partially ajar door and I stepped through it, onto the forest floor outside. The trees were enormous, towering over everything. Up in the branches, harpies darted back and forth, flitting between the branches. I could see nest-like houses nestled in the crooks of the trees.

“We’re on the ground,” I said. Nor nodded.

“Healers live on the ground. In case flightless ones come to us,” he explained.

 “Ah. That’s sensible.” I stared up, looking into the trees with some interest. At least if I was going to be staying there for a while, it was a beautiful, fascinating place.

Nor took me back inside and fed me a chunk of meat along with a few fruits. I needed to heat the meat over the fire for a little longer- apparently harpies liked their meat fairly rare. Aerath returned after that and forced a few more herbal brews down my throat, which she said would help with the pain.

“I expect I’ll be here for a while,” I said as I handed one of her cups back to her. My mouth tasted like I’d licked the underside of a stone. The brews were unpleasant at best, though I could already feel a numbness creeping into my injuries.

“Humans come by only rarely,” Aerath said. “And there isn’t much of a pattern. Our species is not water faring and we can’t fly to the next mainland. Ocean flight is not easy.”

“Which is a taciturn way of saying I am stuck here.”

“No more than us,” Nor said.

“Be kind. She has lost her home,” Aerath said sternly. I shrugged, leaning back in bed.

“It’s not as awful as you may think. I was sailing to a hospital, you see. It was likely I would spend the rest of my life there, which, even with all that care, may not have been very long.” I shrugged. “At least this place is better for the soul.”

Nor turned his head and spoke to his aunt rapidly in his own language. She frowned, but responded in the same way. I ignored the pair of them and moved back to bed. Despite not having been awake for very long, I was already exhausted. My chest stuttered as I tried to lie flat on my back and I paused for a moment, wheezing.

Nor darted over and adjusted my pillow behind me. “Better?”

“Yes, thank you.” Nor nodded, then slipped out of the room. Aerath lingered for a moment, looking at me.

“We’ll be upstairs if you require us. If you can’t walk, knock heavy things over until we come for you.” With that, she exited the room. The door closed behind her and I slumped back into the pillow, eyes closing.

I slept fitfully, especially after the pain medication wore off. By the time Nor brought breakfast, I was already up and walking around. There were several journals with detailed drawings of plants in them. I couldn’t read the writing, but I could see what the plants were and I spent some time matching them to the herbs hanging around the room.

“Quite an interesting journal,” I told Nor as he sat down to eat with me. “Did your aunt write it?”

He shook his head. “She is…” He struggled with the word for a moment. “Practical? A… practice? She remembers by senses, not words. But I need reminders.”

“You’re quite good at drawing,” I said. “I kept similar journals, though they sank with the ship.” He looked at me with clear surprise. “I had little else to do. I could rarely go out, so I spent much time in the gardens, drawing and remarking upon the plants. These remind me of my own journals.”

“When I am collecting herbs, I enjoy drawing them. Seeing nature. It is soothing.” He seemed to grow more excited, then composed himself. “I could show you garden, if you’d like?”

“I would,” I said. He grinned, then hopped to his taloned feet as his aunt entered the room.

I did not end up seeing the garden that day, principally because I spent much of it in bed. Nor stopped by every now and then, sometimes with food, more often with a new bundle of plants to tie up and hang from the ceiling. He seemed to go into a sort of trance when he was sorting the herbs, a sort of peaceful state.

It took a few days before I was approved to walk into town. “Don’t stress yourself too much. You’re still recovering,” Aerath said.

“I’ll keep an eye on her,” Nor said. He fluttered his wings at his aunt, shooing her away. “We’ll be fine.”

Being without wings earned me a great deal of stares. I was viewed with some general suspicion, as far as I could tell. I was allowed to stay because there seemed to be a consensus that throwing me into the wilderness would absolutely kill me, and they had decided not to be that cruel. Not wanting me to die, however, did not necessarily mean that I was accepted by the community. Having Nor with me seemed to help, at least somewhat. He was at least well respected, and being in his presence absorbed you into his aura of decency.

The village seemed to have been built into the enormous trees of the forest. Several houses had been formed out of several trees carefully grown together through cultivation, and the living pavilion, formed out of ten trees carefully coaxed into growing around each other, was the great centerpiece of the town.

Getting to see the town as a group also drew your eye to the cultural similarities between them. A majority of adults had short hair, while children seemed to exclusively have long hair. There didn’t seem to be a clear age delineation between them. Based on appearances, Nor was older than a few of those with short hair, though no one under a certain age had their hair cut.

“Is there a reason for the hair styling?” I asked. “You wear your hair long, but most adults seem to keep theirs short.”

“Oh,” Nor said, with a tiny, dismissive flick of his feathers. “They are… erm. I am not certain of the word. Paired?”

“Married,” I guessed, and Nor’s expression brightened.

“Yes. Married. Part of the ceremony includes cutting hair. Most couples keep their hair short, to show they are with someone. Long hair can be difficult to fly with. To keep your hair short means you have someone who makes it easy to fly.” He frowned for a moment. “It is a pun in my language. It does not work as well in yours.”

“I think I get it,” I said. “But your aunt is unmarried and her hair is short.”

“She is…” There was a long pause. Nor seemed to be struggling to think of the proper words. “Bound to work? Committed to healing? Something along those lines, I believe. She is joined to her job as one is bound to a lover.”

I frowned. “Healers are like nuns, then?”

Nor frowned too. “Like… nones? Healers are not nothing.”

“No, like nuns. It’s spelled differently.” Nor looked entirely blank. I suspected he couldn’t write English. “Nuns are people who take vows not to marry so they can become closer to God, as I understand it. Healers do something similar.”

Nor still seemed confused. “Not all healers. Only Aunt Aerath.” He reached up and touched the long braid that was coiled on the back of his head. “I have… not decided.”

“Well, you’ve got time.” We were quite close to the healing house again, but I paused and leaned against a tree. My chest was squeezing again and I needed a break. “I never planned on marrying, really.”

“Why not?” Nor asked.

“I didn’t expect to live terribly long,” I said frankly. “I have spent much of my life expecting to die from a sudden attack. And then my parents suggested that I go to a hospital for treatment, and it’s rare to marry once you end up in those sort of places.” I smoothed my new robes idly. “I never expected to have a husband  who would be okay with his wife dropping dead at any moment.”

Nor fluttered his wings. “You are not going to die,” he said. 

“It’s all right. I’m content with it. I have been this way all my life. I value every moment now. It’s nothing new to me.” Nor still looked discomfited, so I patted his shoulder reassuringly. “Truly, I’m fine. We should head back now.”

Nor plied me with the strange, spicy concoction for my chest when we returned home. I drank the lot of it, at his insistence. It did seem to help. There was something about the warmth of it that relaxed my lungs and brought air in easier.

As my recovery finalized, I began to look for ways to serve my new community. It was not something terribly easy. I could not fly, or truly do any sort of intense physical activity, which limited my options. Sewing and weaving, actions that had often been suggested to me, held no more interest for me in the village than they had in my own home. Trying to manipulate tiny threads that tangled at the slightest glance was infuriating, and my frustration often ended in chest-heaving coughing fits. I tried to go back to writing my journals, examining nature and writing about it, but there seemed to be little actual use for it.

Eventually, I began tagging along with Nor when he went to collect herbs in the forest. He’d been going out more and more often, looking for new plants and writing furiously in his notebooks. I could read them more easily now, having spent a few weeks immersed in a crash course of his language.

“Just make sure you watch out for snakes,” Nor said as we trekked through the thick foliage.

“Look out for what?” I said. I was at the awkward stage of learning a language where I knew most common words, but words that were used infrequently were still lost.

“Snakes? Er. <Snakes!>” Nor said in English.

“Snakes,” I repeated. “Are there a lot of them?” I looked cautiously at the ground.

“No. Not a lot. But there are some venomous ones that bite if you step on them.” Unsettled, I lifted up the hem of my robe, peering cautiously at the leaf litter. The clothes harpies wore were not well-designed for people without tails or wings. I had needed to do some rudimentary tailoring to fix it into something I could walk around in. Shoes had been another problem entirely, mostly because harpies had tough, scaled feet and wore no shoes. I had eventually just decided to layer several thick fabrics together and essentially tied them to my feet. They were neither comfortable nor easy to wear, but they were practical and had stopped your soles from being shredded.

We made our way slowly through the woods. I ended up holding onto Nor’s arm wing for much of it. Never having worked out for long periods of time had left me fairly uncoordinated and leaning on Nor made it much easier for me to move about.

“Look. Norell,” he said, picking up a bunch of sharp-smelling, pink flowered herbs from the ground. “My namesake.”

“What are they used for?” I asked.

“Chest conditions, actually. They’re a big part of the infusion I’ve been giving you.” Nor had been giving me a regular doses of that infusion. Taking some in the morning seemed to loosen my chest for the rest of the day. “I’ve been trying to make a stronger infusion, so we’ll need a lot of it.”

“Are you predicting a spike in chest conditions?” I asked. Winter was on its way, and apparently, due to their large, powerful lungs, harpies were quite susceptible to issues like pneumonia and bronchitis. But that seemed to be counterbalanced by the fact that winter was mild on the island, more of a tepidly cool wet season than a proper snowy winter.

Nor shifted on the ground. His wings twitched a little. It was hard to tell, thanks to his deeply brown skin, but I thought I could see a hint of red creeping into his cheeks. “It’s for you, actually.”

I lifted my brows. “For me?”

“It’s been helping you recently,” Nor said, a little defensively. “I thought that a stronger infusion would help even more.” He frowned critically at the plants. “I want to get it as concentrated as possible. But there’s not enough in the gardens right now, so I need more.” He straightened up, tucking a bundle of plants away into his bag. “Also, infusions will keep a little better than the herbs themselves, so I can keep them for longer. You’ll need some when the growing season ends.”

“You’ll need some for others as well,” I said. “Keep some in reserve.”

“If you need it, you need it,” Nor said. “I’d rather give herbs to someone who definitely needs them than reserve some in case someone else might need them.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to fully heal someone who can be fully healed than to keep giving supplements to someone who will always be sick?” I said. Nor’s feathers bristled, shifting in agitation.

“All people deserve healing. Whether or not their condition is curable. I want you to be well.” His tone was so severe that I could do nothing but stare at him. After a moment, he seemed to realize what he’d said and he broke eye contact, staring at the ground. “We should, ah. Head back.”

He started trekking through the woods rapidly. Harpies were notably better at balance on uneven terrain, thanks to their long, gripping talons. I struggled to keep up with him.

We were getting quite close to the village when I felt the unfortunately familiar seizing sensation in my chest. I stopped dead, enormously regretting my walking speed that had left me a little breathless. It was growing harder by the moment to inhale.

Nor paused, realized I was no longer with him, and hurried back to my side. “Are you okay?” he asked. One of his hands moved along my back, kneading my tightening muscles. “Breathe. Breathe!” If I had the air for it, I would have informed him I was trying, and was well aware that I needed to be breathing. Unfortunately, all my energy was going into not allowing my body to suffocate me.

Nor abruptly decided that simply telling me to breathe was ineffective and changed tact. “Hold on!” This turned out to be quite literal because he seized me around the waist and hefted me against his chest.

It was impossible for a harpy to fly while carrying something, because their arms and wings were one and the same, but I could have been fooled considering how fast Nor was moving. He plunged through the forest as fast as the wind. I would have been more impressed if I wasn’t struggling to breathe at the moment. As it was, I was aware that we were moving at quite a speed.

Nor was back in the healing house within minutes. I was unceremoniously dumped on the bed and Nor darted off, rummaging through a cabinet with a noise of wood rattling and glass clinking.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he said. He knelt next to me, turning my head toward him. “You just need to drink this. Okay?”

I tried to inhale enough to speak and it stuck in my chest, sparking a coughing fit. Nor looked panicked and thrust the little bottle he was holding into my mouth. I sputtered, but some of the liquid spilled down my throat. There was a mild tingling and my chest loosened.

With my breathing abruptly eased, I could keep taking small sips from the bottle. The tightness loosened with every swallow. Nor slumped next to the bed, wings sagging with relief. I put down the bottle, still coughing, but breathing easier.

“Are you okay?” Nor asked. I nodded.

“You can move quick,” I said. My voice was raspy and a little strangled. I swallowed, trying to fully clear my throat.

“I was worried,” he said. “You should try carrying a bottle of this with you from now on.” He walked over to the cabinet and fetched a small bottle full of the infusion. “If you’re going to be going out more often, you’ll want something to prevent more attacks.”

I took the bottle. “That’s a good idea.” I set it down onto the table next to the bed. “Are you inviting me on more herb gathering missions, then?”

A slightly shy smile crept up Nor’s face. “If you’d like to come. You’ve been pretty good at spotting plants. And you’ve been pretty good in the gardens lately.”

“I was never really able to do a lot of gardening before,” I said. “So, I tended to overfocus on the little minute details, like soil quality and the amount of water you give the plants.”

“You’ve improved the garden a lot,” Nor said. “Oh, which reminds me. Hold on.”

He stood up and trotted over to the cabinet again. After looking through it for a few moments, he pulled out a small notebook and walked back over. “Here,” he said, presenting it to me. It looked like the notebooks he used for his own notes, a smooth black cover and soft, slightly off-white pages. “I haven’t taken many notes on the gardening aspects of herbs. I just… haven’t been very good at it. But I thought you could start taking notes on how you care for the plants. It might be useful.”

I took the notebook from his hands. Our fingers brushed as I did so. His skin was warm and calloused, the sort of skin that only came around after long, hard work. The notebook was heavy in my hands, strangely dense for such a small item. “Thank you,” I said. “I would love to do that.”

Nor stood, shifting on his talons. “Good. Um. You should probably get some rest. I’ll be back in a bit.” He hurried out of the room. I watched him go until his tail had completely vanished around the doorway.

Working in the garden only brought me closer to Nor. We spent time together every day, either going out to gather herbs or helping him with the garden. He was enthusiastic to learn and good company even when we weren’t talking about plants.

His ease with me spread to the rest of the village. By the time winter was over, I had been completely accepted as a part of the community. To them, I was not as much an outsider human as a strange, wingless harpy. Even Aerath trusted me enough to allow me to learn how to make herbal remedies, while Nor took on more of her duties, like diagnosing illnesses and dressing wounds.

During early spring, when the rains began to ease, a change set in around the village. There was a new current of excitement, the younger adults spending more time showing off and engaging in stunts. Even Nor, who had been fairly even tempered in the time I’d known him, seemed to get caught up in the excitement.

It was during my usual work in the garden that I noticed the changes were not confined to emotional. There was a physical change too. Nor’s tail feathers, usually a deep golden-brown, had taken on a rusty color. The color only brightened over the next week, going from a dull, sort of reddish orange to a bright crimson. The colors showed up on the male population of the rest of the village as well, to varying degrees. Some, especially the younger males, never got past a reddish orange, while others got to the same brilliant crimson hue as Nor’s.

While it garnered some sort of notice and people seemed pleased about it, no one was talking about what it actually meant. It clearly meant something, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on why it was so important.

Eventually, after some time of trying to figure out what it meant on my own, I broke down and decided to ask Nor. “Your tail changed color,” I said as we headed back into the house from the garden.

“You noticed,” Nor said. His tone was utterly unreadable.

“Well, it’s a bit hard to miss. It’s a very bright color.” Nor’s unreadable expression shifted into one of clear embarrassment. “Is it something I shouldn’t mention? It seems to signal something, but I wasn’t sure what it was-”

“No, no. I mean, I guess I should have expected you to ask about it. You’re not a harpy, so you never would have been told.” He set the herbs he’d collected down on the table and turned to me, giving me his full attention. “It’s almost spring, which means that we’re approaching our mating season.”

I felt sort of stupid for not hitting upon that idea earlier. Of course. The red was to attract a mate. Was commenting on it some kind of social faux pas? As I tried to come up with that to say next, Nor continued. “We’ll have a mating ceremony soon, with the other local villages. It’s a big event, so everyone’s getting rather excited about it.”

“A… mating ceremony?” I repeated. How carnal were we talking? Was I going to have to make myself scarce for… how long did the mating ceremony last, anyway?

“It’s not as bad as you’re thinking,” Nor added hurriedly. “It’s more of a competition? Or a show, really. It lasts about a week, and the first six days are more of a festival than anything. Lots of feasting, games, shows. It’s more about getting to know the other villages and the people from them. It’s quite fun. The festival ends with the mating ceremony. It used to be a more literal interpretation of that, a long time ago. But now it’s really more of a show. Men fly around and show off, but it’s less to attract a mate and more to show off to someone you already have an attraction to. Or to get someone to ask you out, sometimes. It’s more for the fun of it and the tradition.”

“It sounds interesting,” I said.

“It should start in a couple of weeks. That’s the peak of the season,” Nor said. “I can show you around a bit, if you’d like.”

“Sure. If you’re not going to be too busy trying to find a soulmate,” I said, nudging him playfully in the side. He shrugged, glancing away.

“I’ve never actually participated all that much in it,” he said. “I’ve been kind of focused on my studies with my aunt. I spent most of my time at the last few festivals working with the other healers.”

“You should get out more, then. I can help your aunt out, if you want. Then you can go off and see the sights.”

“I already told you I’d show you around,” Nor protested. “And it’ll be your first festival.”

“Look, at least get a little time to yourself,” I said. “I can help out, you know.”

“We’ll see,” Nor said, which was as close to agreeing as I thought he was going to get.

The weeks passed slowly, with excitement ramping up as the festival got closer. I could almost feel the tension buzzing in the air, getting ready to overflow. By the time it had arrived, I was almost swept up in the rising excitement.

The fairground for the festival was a large clearing in the center of the island. It had an impressive view of the sky, and the ground was almost entirely covered in tents and attractions. Nor and I were toward the edge of the grounds, in a sort of makeshift medical tent. “We probably won’t be called on for a little bit,” he said once we’d finished setting everything up. “I can show you around.”

“Sure,” I agreed. Nor trotted off, and I followed after, looking around the festival with interest.

Most of it seemed like the sort of festivals I’d seen once or twice when I’d been young. Ever since my chest troubles had set in fully, I’d rarely gone far from my house. It looked mostly like a very fancy market. People showed off their most interesting wares, their most brightly colored or intricately designed trinkets. There were several people slightly younger than Nor picking up things that I assumed were for potential sweethearts. There were also several games, most of them for children, but a few clearly styled for adults. The food was the usual hearty fare that I’d seen at other festivals, enormously delicious and decadent.

“And this all lasts a whole week?” I asked as we made our way back to the healer’s tent. We had gotten sidetracked a few times- there were several musical performances and talent shows, and even a few classes that I’d been interested in taking.

“Well, the first and last days are the biggest ones. But yes, the whole week. For the most part.”

“Then you can take a day or two off and enjoy all this, can’t you?” I said. Nor hesitated for a moment. “I can handle things at the tent. Why don’t you take tomorrow off? It’ll be good for you to get a break.”

Nor hesitated. “I’ll have to ask my aunt.”

“I’ll make sure she says yes,” I said. “You deserve it. Especially after having to take care of me for so long.”

Nor shrugged and mumbled something about it not being a big deal. I laughed clapping him on the shoulder.

“Just take some time off. Okay?”

He agreed, finally, and we returned to the tent. There were a few injuries, of course, mostly young people trying to show off for their potential lovers, but nothing we were overwhelmed with. It took only a bit of persuading for Aerath to give Nor the next day off.

Nor went out only after making sure I kept my infusion on me. “Just be careful,” he said.

“I’m always careful,” I told him. “Now, go. And stop worrying so much.” He made a face, but left for the rest of the fairgrounds, leaving me with Aerath and the other healers.

I only spotted him a few times during the day. He seemed to have attracted a small group of friends by noon. It seemed he could get along well with others, as long as he managed to get out. Well, I reflected, he was a sweetheart. It wasn’t hard to believe that he was able to get along with others.

I’d been breathing relatively easy for so long that I hadn’t really been expecting another attack. So, when the bout of tightness came on with no warning, I was so shocked I couldn’t think of what to do for several panicked moments.

My wheezing attracted Aerath’s attention. She grabbed my shoulder and shoved me down onto a cot. I fumbled for the infusion, and Aerath helped me unstopper it and press it to my lips.

The infusion helped, but my chest still felt tight. I could draw in air, but it wasn’t enough. Black spots started to pop in front of my vision. My chest screamed with pain. I was dying. That thought sat clear and calm in my brain, rising above all the panic like foam over a tide. I’d known it was going to happen. I’d hoped it would take longer. But at least… at least the last few months of my life had been nice. My mind drifted to Nor. Hopefully he wouldn’t blame himself. He didn’t deserve that. He’d been wonderful.

Nor’s face was suddenly over mine. I blinked up at him. Ha. A nice hallucination before everything ended.

“Breathe!” Distantly, I could feel a hand on my chest, another at my mouth. Something sharp and bitter flowed past my lips and I choked, sputtering. My chest loosened abruptly and I sucked in a great breath, coughing and choking.

Nor, who I was gradually realizing was actually there and not just a hallucination, rolled me onto my side. Some of the solution drained from my mouth as I coughed it up. Nor rubbed my back vigorously, prompting another round of coughing.

Gradually, the tightness eased to just a faint raspiness and a raw pain. I sat up as Nor sank into a seat, weak with relief. “I thought you were going to die,” he said faintly.

“I did too.” My voice was gravely and everything felt raw. “The infusion wasn’t working. What did you use?”

“It was experimental,” Nor said a little sheepishly. “I’ve been trying to make it stronger, something that works better.”

“Thank goodness it did,” I said. I got slowly off the cot where I’d collapsed. Nor stood as well, staying close by like he was preparing to catch me.

“Maybe we should fine somewhere to rest,” Nor said. “The attack probably took it out of you.”

Despite your protests, Nor followed you back home and insisted on staying with you. “Just in case,” he kept repeating.

Nor kept near my side for the next few days, even when I tried to gently push him to spend time elsewhere and enjoy the event. The only times he seemed willing to leave was when I was going with him, at which point he took great enthusiasm in showing me around the various games and events that were being held. Being near him allowed even me to make some new friends- those who would have been unsettled by the sight of some strange, wingless creature seemed reassured enough by Nor’s friendly presence to approach.

Despite his insistence on sticking with me, I did convince him to take another day off for the last day of the festival. It was the day of the mating ceremony, and, given that Nor was of proper age, possibly even a little old, to participate in it, I wanted to give him time to do so.

The showing started at noon sharp, when the sun was at its zenith. Most of the people flying were male, though a few women had painted their tails red and were flying as well. A few would take off at a time and move in carefully coordinated dances. Some were conservative and simple, others were aggressive and risk-taking. Eventually, they would land back in the throng of people staring at the sky. Some of them landed and slipped off with a single partner. Others landed and seemed to attract a group, each of the admirers vying for attention.

After about an hour, I meandered off to the bank of a nearby river. Watching harpies fly was interesting, but it did get old after a while and I was getting a crick in my neck from looking up.

I had only been soaking my feet in the river for a few minutes when Nor walked up to me and sat down next to me. “Wondered where you’d gone,” he said. “Doing all right?”

“Fine. You don’t need to be so worried.”

Nor dipped his talons into the water. “Mm. I guess. But I do anyway.”

“I wish you wouldn’t,” I said. “You spent half of the festival trailing after me like I would collapse the instant you took your eyes off me. And now you’re missing out on the flight ceremony.”

It was hard to tell with his deeply tanned skin, but I thought Nor went a little pink. “I wasn’t really planning to fly anyway,” he said.

“No one caught your eye?” I asked. There was a long pause. “Nor?”

“Not as such,” he said. “I mean… Sort of.”

“And you’ve been spending all your time trying to look after me instead of enjoying the festival with her,” I said. “You know, I don’t need you to hover around me. You don’t need to feel guilty if anything happens to me. I’ve known I’m probably not going to live that long.”

Nor’s expression twisted a little bit. “I’ve been trying to fix that. I think I’ve got a concoction right. If you take it daily, it should help you-”

“Okay, okay,” I said. “Hey. You don’t need to spend all your time on me, you know? You can have a life. You’re not responsible for me.”

“It’s not about that,” Nor said. “I wasn’t worried about you. Well, not just that. I…” He stopped for a moment. “I wanted to spend time with you.”

Oh. That created a runny sensation in my chest, like my heart flipped over. “You wanted to-”

“Don’t be that surprised. I haven’t really been subtle about it,” Nor said. “Yes. I like being around you. Why did you think I kept inviting you to do stuff with me and stayed with you instead of going to the festival?”

“I thought you just wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to suffocate in your absence,” I said.

“A little bit. But mostly because I like you,” he said. He peered into my face, a tentative smile on his lips. “You don’t seem upset?”

“I’m not,” I said. “I’m pleased, actually.”

“Really?” Nor’s face was quite close to mine. His lips were parted. I could feel the soft warmth of his breath.

“Really.” Our lips were quite close to touching. Just before making contact, Nor seemed to stall, hesitation overcoming desire. I smiled and leaned in, pressing our lips together in a gentle moment of contact.

Neither of us had much experience kissing, so it was a bit clumsy and we clacked teeth more than once. Still, when we broke apart, I felt breathless in the most positive way I’d ever experienced.

“We should go back,” Nor said, still staring at me. “I… I think I want to participate in the ceremony after all.”

I smiled. “I’ll be watching.”

[goodlucktai]

Protective Joxter?

this got…..so much longer than i was expecting…………..so it is in 2 parts. have some father + son bonding between 2 people who have no idea how to be a father and a son :)

all you gotta do’s knock on my door (1 of 2)

the moominspairing: the joxter & snufkin word count: 2048read on ao3

(next chapter)

x

There is company just beyond the light of his campfire; Snufkin has a certain sense for these things, lifting night-eyes to scan the woods around him. Everything is gray in the daybreak, hard to make out, but he still finds what he’s looking for.

“I know you’ve been following me since I left town,” Snufkin says mildly. He stirs the pot of stew with a patient hand. “There’s plenty here for the both of us if you’d like to join me.”

After a moment, someone drops down from a nearby tree. He pads over the leaves and forest litter without making a sound and settles down an arm’s length away from where Snufkin is sitting. His legs are folded up, arms draped over his knees, as if he absolutely needs to be in position to nap at a moment’s notice.

Snufkin smiles. His usual reaction to this particular creature is fond amusement, and tonight is no different.

“Hi, Dad.”

The Joxter tilts his head, blinking slowly. In the low light of pre-dawn, his eyes are very dark; or it could be his round pupils, swallowing up all the blue.

“H’llo, Snufkin,” he says, voice a lazy stretch, like taffy left out in the sun. “You don’t mind the company?”

They’re two of the same, and Snufkin knows his father would leave without ire or hurt feelings if Snufkin asked him to. As it is, though, “Not at all. I won’t be alone for much longer anyway. Spring is here, and it’s only two more days to Moominvalley.”

It’s unnecessary to point out, because the Joxter is probably familiar with the way himself by now. Since meeting Snufkin there two years ago, an adolescent son he had never known about, the Joxter has made it a point to spend at least summers in the valley. It’s common ground for them both, an easy place to navigate newfound family or peel away for time alone or time with friends.

Sometimes the Joxter leaves early, too restless to sit still, and Snufkin doesn’t begrudge him that. They always cross paths again on the road at some point, or in some faraway city or unmapped village, so there’s never any true need for goodbyes.

Snufkin is beginning to think his father is keeping loose tabs on him. This early morning is a perfect example. He just can’t think of why, when they both know Snufkin is self-sufficient, and has been since he was very small.

“Three days,” contests the Joxter, chin sinking down to rest on his knees. “You don’t sleep enough.”

Snufkin ignores the remark comfortably, passing him a bowl of the finished stew. His father gets most of the meat in his serving, and Snufkin most of the vegetables, and they’re both content as they tuck into the warm meal.

The peace lasts for about three minutes after that, and then a sudden frantic voice from overhead has Snufkin jumping in surprise.

“You there! Little snufkin! Won’t you help me?”

“Oh, dear,” Snufkin says, setting his food aside and climbing to his feet. There’s a bluebird swooping in frantic circles above his camp, and it can hardly calm down long enough to land on the arm he offers as a perch. “Slow down, my friend. What’s the trouble?”

“A snake came in the night and tried to eat my nestlings,” the bird cries. “My neighbors helped drive it away, but it upset the nest, and now my babies will fall!”

Alarmed, Snufkin skirts the fire and starts to run, without pausing even to grab his hat. “Lead me to it, and I’ll do my best to help.”

The bird takes flight and stays low, eye-level. The Joxter is keeping pace beside Snufkin on silent feet, curious and watchful.

“I forget that you can speak to birds,” the Joxter says. Birds avoid him, as do most small creatures, because he’s as much a predator as a snake in a nest. He knows better than to eat any of Snufkin’s companions, and generally has stopped offering to bring food to Snufkin’s campfire unless it’s fish. “How is it that you learned? It all sounds like chatter to me.”

Snufkin keeps his eyes on the bluebird so he doesn’t lose sight of it, even as he explains, “When I was young, there was no one else to talk to but the birds in the trees. After a while their music began to sound like language. It helps that I’m a good listener, I suppose.”

The Joxter doesn’t say anything after that, and it’s only moments later that they reach the bluebird’s tree. A quick glance doesn’t reveal any nests in precarious positions, so it must be on a higher bough. Snufkin spares a moment to wish he had had time to pull his smock on over his undershirt, because his arms will surely get scratched on the way up.

“I should do it,” his father says suddenly. “I’m the better climber.”

“They’re frightened enough as it is without you prowling around their babies,” Snufkin retorts, and eyes the lowest branch, which is still well above his head. His father has more than a foot of height on him, which lends itself to a handy solution, and he turns to wave the taller creature over. “Give me a boost, please. And then wait for me down here so you don’t send anyone into a fresh panic.”

Grumbling under his breath, the Joxter hoists Snufkin up enough that he can grab the branch and pull himself the rest of the way into the tree. Snufkin calls down his thanks, and the bluebird lands on his knee.

“This way,” it says, “not much farther! Oh, hurry!”

Snufkin follows it up easily, thanking all the warm afternoons he and his friends spent playing in the trees around the valley, because the experience certainly helps. His grip slips a few times, and once a branch bends beneath his weight, but he makes it to the nest without incident.

Right away, Snufkin can see the danger. The small bunch of branches the nest was safely built into are broken, the skirmish with the snake causing what was stable to lean hazardously to the side. The little ones inside have picked up on the bigger birds’ distress and their shrill cries work straight through Snufkin’s heart.

“Alright,” he says softly, “there’s no need to fear. I’ve got you.”

He works the nest into the cup of his palms and holds it carefully. The bluebird directs him to a new place for it, a hollow in the trunk that a squirrel helpfully surrendered, and Snufkin can only breathe easily again once the little nestlings are squared away inside.

“Thank you!” half a dozen birds seem to say at once, coming to perch on his arms or the branches around him. The mother bird adds, “To think what might have happened if I hadn’t found you— !”

Pleased with the positive outcome, Snufkin says, “Don’t think of might haves. You and your nestlings are safe and that’s all that matters. I’m happy I could help.”

He leans back to make room for yet another perching bird, shifting his footing as it flutters by, and something snaps beneath his boot. He realizes with a second to spare that he’s about to fall, and then there’s no time to grab hold of anything before the birds are shrieking in alarm, and gravity is snatching hold of his shirt and tugging him backwards, and Snufkin’s mind is blank with fear—

But he doesn’t hit the ground. He lands much sooner than that, against something much softer.  

Snufkin blinks, reorienting himself, and finds himself halfway down the tree, tucked securely between his father’s arm and chest.

“Ah,” the smaller snufkin says, more relieved than anything. “Thank you.”

The Joxter picks his way down carefully. His dark fur is raised, tail like a bottle brush, and his claws are caught in Snufkin’s shirt. He doesn’t let go until the ground is firm beneath their feet, and even then it takes him a long moment to decide to set Snufkin down.

“Next time,” the Joxter says slowly, “I am climbing. I would rather scare the little birds than watch you break your bones.”

Snufkin has to work not to roll his eyes. He’s a little hardier than that. It wouldn’t have been the first time he fell from a tree, and it surely won’t be the last. Not as long as there are little birds who need favors.

The Joxter seems to sense the repressed eye-roll and his own eyes narrow. The pupils in them are slitted now; Snufkin doesn’t think he’s seen them like that since the day they met, the day Moominpappa introduced them to each other and the Joxter startled so badly he dropped one of Moominmamma’s best teacups.

“A twenty foot fall is not nothing.” The Joxter’s quiet tone has taken a sharp turn. “If I hadn’t caught you—“

“But you did,” Snufkin says, his own hackles rising. These might haves again, and right after he told the bluebird not to think of them! “And I said thank you. There is nothing else to talk about.”

“We could talk about risking your life for an animal. A bluebird,” the Joxter says in distaste, “one of a hundred thousand bluebirds. What’s next? Will you help an injured creep cross the river? Save a squirrel kit from a landslide?”

An argument, Snufkin realizes, his stomach turning sour. He has witnessed the uncomfortable scene a dozen times before in a dozen places, a child and their parent screaming at each other in marketplaces or city squares.

The Joxter is taller than him, bigger, sharp where the Mymble’s blood made Snufkin soft. His voice is usually low and unobtrusive, a storyteller’s voice, but it sounds so different in anger. Snufkin wonders what it will sound like when he is shouting the way those other parents shouted, and a very cold feeling slides around inside him.

But Snufkin never learned how to back down. The orphanage matron tried to teach him but those lessons didn’t stick. Whether it’s park keepers, or the traveler who came through the valley last year and thought it was okay to call Sniff simple, or his own father, Snufkin stands his ground.

“There could be a hundred thousand snufkins just like me,” he shoots back. “Better snufkins, even, who can play more than just guitar and harmonica, who have never been invisible and never gotten lost and never fallen out of a tree. What makes me worth so much more than that bird?”

The Joxter surges a sudden step forward, and all of Snufkin’s courage deserts him. He ducks his head, missing his hat dearly, and braces himself for furious hands.

They don’t come. He opens his eyes.

His father is crouched in front of him, hands in his lap, eyes round and hurt. The anger, if it was ever anger, is gone. When he reaches out, Snufkin is ready for it this time, and he doesn’t move away. 

The Joxter’s dark paw lands very lightly on Snufkin’s auburn hair. It’s a gentle touch, and then it’s gone. The Joxter pulls back and straightens up and does a tidy disappearing act into the trees. Snufkin loses sight of him within moments.

It’s just Snufkin and the worried birds and the rising sun. Their comfortable breakfast feels like it happened a year ago.

He wraps his arms around his middle and stares at the ground. He doesn’t like arguments, for all that he can be contrary and difficult when his principles are fringed upon, when his personal boundaries are broken. Pulling up fences and signposts is one thing, but fighting with words? Just talking with words can sometimes be too much, let alone fighting with them. There is a reason he tends toward silence and solitude.

“If I didn’t have birds to talk to, I wouldn’t have anyone,” he murmurs miserably. “I’d drive them all away. All except dear Moomintroll.”

The name is like a balm, and Snufkin lifts his head to the north. Two days— less than, if he pushes himself— and he could see Moomin again. The one person whose welcome he’s never had to doubt.

Snufkin rushes back to the camp to pack his things. If he’s hoping to run into his father there, he’s sorely disappointed. But that’s only if.

[thiswasinevitableid]

indruck - complaining to bartender and going on a date

Full Prompt: “you’ve been complaining to me about your relationship woes for the last few months and decide that we should go on a date so I can tell you everything you do wrong (spoiler: it’s the best date I’ve ever been on)“

There’s a thunk on the wooden bar behind Indrid. Indrid knows who it is by the groan of frustration.

“Rough day, Duck?”

“Day was fine. Last night sucked.”

“Your date didn’t go well, I take it?” Indrid turns and slides Duck a beer, the same one he orders every night he’s here.

“When does it ever? God, ‘Drid, that makes ten bad dates in a month. And fifteen the month before that.”

“Any sense what killed this one?” He cleans glasses as he listens (Duck is only one of four people in the bar, he can spare some time to listen to his favorite regular).

“Dunno. Maybe I talked about trees too much? Or maybe the saw the trans flag pin on my jacket? Fuck it, maybe it’s just me. Wish I knew what I was doin’ wrong.”

Indrid hums thoughtfully, because he can’t think of anything to say. Duck is easy to talk to, funny, decent. The soft parts of his body make him look like he’d be excellent to cuddle, and the muscles in his arms suggest the right amount of strength to pin Indrid to a bed.

Indrid has thought about that. More than once. But he has a strict rule about flirting with clients at work. Besides, if Duck was interested in him that way, he would have said so by now in order to try and avoid another doomed date.

“Maybe you could get some feedback, perhaps from a dating advice blog or something. That way you could know if there’s something to do differently.”

“Yeah, feedback.” Duck sips his beer, then slams his hand on the bar excitedly, “Drid, you’re a fuckin’ genius!”

“Oh?”

“You should come with me on test date! Y’know, so you can see what I’m doin’ and tell me how I can improve. You got good taste, you’ll know if I’m fuckin’ somethin up.”

Indrid arches an eyebrow and the “taste” comment; he’s wearing a white tank top and jeans and his hair has been charitably called a rats-nest.

“C’mon, help a fella out?” Duck looks at him hopefully and he cannot say no to those mismatched puppy-dog eyes.

“I’d be happy to help. I’m free Friday, Jake picked up some of my shifts to make some extra money. My friend Barclay owns the Chicago Diner two blocks down, we should go there.”

“Ain’t that the place that’s all vegan stuff?”

“Vegan and also some of the best food in the city. And it’s got the best drinks in town.”

“Alright, I’m trustin’ you to not lead me astray.”

“I shall do my best.” Indrid grins, “would you like to meet there, here, somewhere else?”

“D’you live nearby?”

“About eight blocks from the diner. Why?”

Duck looks down, mumbles something.

“I didn’t quite catch that.”

“I’d like to, uh, to pick you up. Try to do that with dates who don’t live way out in the fuckin’ burbs.”

“I forget you’re a well-mannered southern boy sometimes.” He teases, stops when he notices Duck starting to blush, “and yes, I’d be more than happy to meet at my place and walk.”

“Great” Duck sighs with relief, “where and when time am I meetin’ you?”

——————————————

Indrid checks his reflection in the bathroom mirror; he doesn’t look half-bad, hair somewhat combed and and actual t-shirt in place of his usual tank-top. He pulls on his long black sweater, the one he looks best in. And then bundles himself in two more jackets and a scarf because of course it’s snowing in March.

He steps out of the entry hallway just as Duck approaches the front door. He’s in a puffy down jacket, hat pulled over his ears and the crooked smile he gives Indrid is the best thing he’s seen all day.

He offers Indrid his arm, “Shall we?”

They don’t talk much on the way to the diner, the roar of traffic and the desire to not let cold air down their lungs making conversation tricky. Once inside, the server leads them to farthest booth, the air warm and smelling of oil and spice, and they can finally unbundle themselves. Indrid orders spiked hot cocoa, and Duck has his usual beer.

“So, how was wo- what are you doing?” Indrid cocks his head as Duck takes a small notebook and a pen from the breast pocket of his shirt.

“Takin notes. That way if I do somethin’ wrong or that you think is hurtin’ my chances of a second date, I can write it down rather than tryin to remember it all later.”

“Hmm, clever, but why don’t you let me take the notes, that way you can focus on acting like this is a normal date.”

“Good call.” Duck slides the pen and paper over. They stare at each other for a beat.

“So, uh, you go any plans for the weekend?”

“Work, mostly. I thought about going to the park to draw, but not with this weather. Goodness I hate the cold.”

“Shit, how’d you end up here then?”

“It’s just where I landed, I suppose. I lived a very nomadic live when I was younger. What about you, any exciting plans?”

“Nah, might do a bit of housekeepin, maybe work on a new model ship” he winces, as if admitting that was a mistake.

“I’m impressed, I could never focus on one task long enough to complete something like that.”

“Oh, uh, thanks. Most fellas think it’s an old man hobby.” Duck scratches the back of his neck nervously, clearly caught off guard by Indrid’s complement.

“It is, but there’s nothing wrong with that if it’s something you enjoy. How’d you get started with it?”

“My grandad used to have me help with his. Dropped out of the habit of doin’ it when I hit my teen years, and then one day…”

——————————-

Alright, it’s not one of the better dates Indrid’s been on.

It’s the best.

Duck is the same as he is when they chat at the bar; charming, funny, tells a mean (albeit a bit winding) anecdote. Indrid’s mind generally flips and flits a thousand directions at once, but with Duck in front of him he finds there’s only one thing he wants to focus on.

They’ve finished dinner and are waiting on dessert when Duck laughs at something Indrid says and brushes his toe against the skinnier mans leg under the table. Indrid tries to keep his face neutral (Duck is just showing him how he does things during dates, and soft, flirtatious touches must be part of that and Indrid cannot, cannot read into it), but Duck clearly spies something crossing it. Because he repeats the motion, slower this time, talking casually as if nothing is happening. The touches become more frequent after that, hand brushing Indrid’s own on the table or staying a moment longer than normal on his arm when  emphasizing a point. Indrid returns them, let’s his gaze linger on Ducks eyes or lips and makes sure Duck notices him doing so.

Eventually they have to leave the warmth of the restaurant and head back into the bitter spring wind. Duck once again offers his arm and Indrid takes it, nestling as close as he can to the larger man while still allowing them both to walk.

“Can we, uh, debrief?” Duck asks as they get back to Indrid’s apartment.

“Only if we do it inside, come along.” He fumbles the key into the lock (blasted gloves) and leads Duck to his place on the top floor (he loves the view and the fact that heat rises).

“Do want anything to drink while we talk? Coffee, tea, I think I still have some nog.”

“It ain’t gone bad yet?”

“No.” He lies.

Duck pats the couch next to him and Indrid sits down.

“So, how’d I do. Can I see the notes?”

Indrid hands him the notebook, trying to think of a response to the inevitable question.

“Wait, you didn’t write anythi’n?”

He shakes his head.

“No, I didn’t.”

Duck looks confused, even hurt.

“It’s not because I didn’t want to help you, Duck. It’s because I couldn’t find anything to write. I haven’t enjoyed myself this much on a date in years. I don’t know what’s happening with the other guys you’ve gone out with, but what I do know is that I wish it had been me instead of them on every one of those dates, just so I could have spent more time with you.”

Duck considers him for a moment, worrying his lower lip.

“There’s on thing I ain’t shown you. Ain’t done it on all the dates, just a few that seemed promisin’. Can I try it on you?”

“Of course.” Indrid nods, leans forward to better hear whatever Duck says next.

Duck leans forward too, and tentatively presses his lips against Indrids. Indrid gasps, then kisses him back, bumps their noses together when Duck pulls away for a breath before diving back in. Duck makes a low, pleased sound and Indrid can’t help it, brings his hands into that dark hair as strong, warm fingers grip his hips.

“‘Drid.” He whispers against his mouth, a prayer and a plea and that does it, Indrid needs to be closer, tries to climb into his lap just as Duck tries to adjust on the couch, sending them tipping backwards.  He lands on Duck with an soft “oof”, breaking the kiss to laugh against as shoulder as the other man giggles against his cheek.

“That, uh, that ain’t happened any of the other times.” He strokes the strands of pale hair back behind Indrids ears, “guess I hadn’t found the right person to try it on.”

“Guess not.” Indrid kisses his neck once, playfully.

“Can I take you out again?”

Indrid raises up on his elbow, speechless for a moment at the sight of the happy, handsome man beneath him. But then he remembers he ought to answer the question.

“Nothing would make me happier.”

[iihappydaysii]

title: eudaimonia 

rated: e (tags and warnings on ao3)

jamie/john

summary: To protect baby William, Jamie and Lord John run away with the child to raise him—in the year 2020. The more time they spend together in this new and unusual world, the harder it is for both of them to ignore their growing and changing feelings for one another.

chapter one 

. . .

Lord John Grey’s heart had gotten him into trouble more than once or twice in his life. It was, as both his mother and his brother, Hal, oft reminded him, his greatest weakness. Never had that notion been so self-evident as it were tonight with John on the run, having absconded with a Scottish prisoner and—what was legally speaking—the son of an Earl.

Despite it occurring in hushed tones under a shroud of darkness, it had all happened so fast. The scene had unfolded before him like the smoke, blood and gunshot of battle.

“I need your help, please,” Jamie had said, with an air of desperation John had yet to hear come from the man. Even at Ardsmuir, even under threat of torture... There is nothing you can do to me that has not already been done.

John wished he could say it took actually took Jamie’s additional explanation and plea. If he were honest, it had not. As soon as Jamie Fraser was stood on his doorstep, looking so much like he needed John, he was finished. He’d have cut the world down and laid it at the Scot’s feet had he’d asked for it.

Instead, Jamie had asked for this. Help hiding his son. His son, Jamie’s, not the Earl’s. Neither the family nor the Earl wanted the bastard son of a Jacobite. With the boy’s mother dead and now the Earl, there was nothing to stop the Lord and Lady. Jamie had overheard them whispering of a plan to drown the child and be done with it.

So, now, Jamie had once again found himself at odds with the law and with the crown. He’d be hunted not only for the child he’d taken, but for the Earl he’d murdered. Jamie must have grown accustomed to being a fugitive with all the experience he’d had in the field. Yet, this was all new to Lord John Grey.

“The bairn won’t stop crying.” Jamie stepped over a moss-grown boulder, bringing John from his thoughts back to their current predicament.

“I believe that’s what they do,” John replied, through heavy breaths. They’d been walking for miles now, in God knows what direction.

“He’s hungry. He’s never fed.”

John looked at Jamie, who was looking back at him, like maybe he had answers. He hadn’t. Well, at least, he hadn’t any grand plan to rescue them all from this disaster.

“We should a least give the baby water,” John said. “I think I heard a stream nearby.” Adults, at least, could last longer without food than water. A little water seemed better than nothing, though far from ideal.

With the baby still wailing, they slid down a muddy hill in their boots and stumbled forward toward a blue brook streaming its way over dull rocks washed in moonlight.

“How can we…?” Jamie voiced.

John dug his teeth into his bottom lip as he thought. He wasn’t sure what had prompted him, but he knelt down by the brook and dipped his finger into the cool water. “Bring the baby here, Jamie. Please.”

A few moments later, Jamie knelt down beside John. Now the moonlight was cascading over his reddish mane. In another time and place, it would’ve been serene, seeing Jamie looking like that, natural, as if he’d grown out of the ground like a tree root.

Unsure if it was even a good idea, John pressed a wet finger to the babe’s small lips. It took a moment, but then he started to suckle. Both he and Jamie remained silent, watching, as the boy went on. When the babe whimpered and pulled away, John returned his finger to the water and repeated the process.

“The water’s an improvement, but he will need to eat soon.”

“Aye. There may be a farm somewhere along the way. We could take some milk from one of the cows or goats.”

John stood from where he’d been crouched by the river. Every muscle in his body ached. He could barely remember ever being this tired, though he knew it always felt like that when you’d reached this point of exhaustion. “We keep walking then, until we find something.”

Jamie nodded, but then frowned. “It won’t sustain him for long. Back in Scotland, I’ve seen what happens to wee bairns when their mothers didn’t produce milk and there was no woman to take her place. Most didn’t last long on sheep’s milk.”

John wished there were words of comfort to give this man, who’d stirred up the parts of his heart he’d long believed dead. This man who’d lost too much, who did not deserve to lose anything else. John wanted to reach out and offer him the comfort of his touch, but it wouldn’t be a comfort to Jamie. It hurt to know that no matter how deep John’s feelings ran that his arms could not give Jamie even a taste of the peace he so richly deserved.

“I’m so sorry, Jamie. We can go back. Where Lady Dunsany can find him a suitable wet nurse. I know that will mean consequences for us both, but the child—”

“No! I’ll not take him back there where at best he’ll be unwanted and at worst, he’ll end up dead. I can’t. I…” Jamie’s voice trailed off and long pause followed before he spoke again. “Do you trust me?”

“I… yes. Of course.”

“Hold the bairn for me.”

Jamie carefully laid his child in John arms and the babe squirmed up against John’s chest as if to seek out his warmth. It made a small smile flicker across his face. This child was so impossibly small, with the tiniest fingers he’d ever seen.

Jamie pulled out a knife and stomped over to the nearest tree. Muttering strange words under his breath, Jamie began to carve runes of some kind into the bark of the tree.

“What are you doing?” John whispered, a sudden shiver rolling up his spine. It was unsettling enough out here in the dark woods, and Jamie’s sudden strange behavior only made it worse.

“Quiet,” Jamie demanded harshly, before returning to his whispered language that could’ve been mistaken for Gaelic, but John was somehow certain it wasn’t. At least, not exactly.

He kept on and on, then finally Jamie threw his knife down. “Goddammit. Of course... I was a fool to even try.”

It was unclear what Jamie had been intending to do, but whatever it was, it had not seemed to work.

John asked quietly, “Jamie… what were you—“

“Is the bairn asleep?” His voice was soft like goose-down but sad too.

John looked down at the bundle in his arms. The baby’s eyes were shut, his bottom lip fluttering from breaths. John nodded.

“Then, we sleep for a few hours and when he wakes, we go in search of a goat.”

“But Jamie—“

“If you want to leave…” There was a bite to his words, but then Jamie let out a breath and the softness in his voice returned, “I shouldn’t have asked for your help. It was unfair of me to put you in this position.”

John shut his eyes and swallowed. Maybe he should take Jamie up on his offer. Leave and try to salvage what little may be left of his reputation—he’d clawed his way tooth and nail back from exile before—but the baby was just sleeping so soundly, tucked into the turn of his elbow.

“You’re right. Let’s rest here,” John said.

Together, they worked to kick up a nest of leaves, dry and soft enough to lay down in. It was cold out, the temperature dropping steadily and the air was lapping up against their skin with a bitter mist. They could set a fire, for the warmth, but they were both wanted men. Those that were looking for them could be drawn in by the smoke.

Jamie laid down in their constructed nest and John stood there, cradling the babe and staring down at him.

“What’re ye waiting for’?” Jamie grumbled.

Those words broke John of his reverie and he nestled down on the ground beside Jamie. It wasn’t easy, with the baby in his arms, but he managed to lie on his back, with Jamie on his side, looking in his direction.

Taking in a shaky breath, John laid the baby comfortably against his chest. He looked so small and perfect, this minuscule fragment of Jamie Fraser, so helpless, but with no idea that all he had in the world were two troubled... criminals with only the faintest idea of how keep him alive.

“I can take him, if ye would like,” Jamie said.

“I don’t mind,” John replied. “It could wake him and it might be best not to.”

Jamie nodded, a small, tired smile growing on his face before sweeping away.

As they laid there in the dark with nothing to hear but the bugs and their soft breaths, John just held the babe closer, nestling his face against the top of the bundle, until the world winked out around him.

“Rise and shine, sleepyheads!”

The sound of a woman’s voice roused John from his sleep. It took him a bleary moment to realize again where he was. In the woods. With Jamie and his baby. On the run.

“Jamie.” It was the woman’s voice again, which he only now noticed was flat, a bit harsh. An accent unlike any he’d heard. And this woman was calling Jamie by his real name, not the false identity he’d been using at Helwater. “I swear to God.”

“What? What!” Jamie popped up beside John. “Zoe. You’re here” Jamie stood up. “I dinna think the summoning had worked.”

Summoning? That’s what Jamie had been doing last night. John sat up now too, eyes slowly clearing from sleep. The baby breathed warmly against his neck.

“Jesus Christ, Jamie. Did you kidnap a British officer?”

Kidnap?

“No. No, of course not.”

“What ‘of course not’?!” Zoe—odd name—replied. “That sounds exactly like something you would do.”

“Aye, but I dinna. He is here of his own free will.”

Zoe appraised John, like she was taking him in and asking him a question all at the same time. And it was only in this moment that John realized how she was dressed. Tight, blue trousers constructed of an unknown material and an odd, soft-looking black shirt with the words “Star Wars” somehow printed across them. John had never seen anything remotely like it in his life.

John nodded, though, because he was—somehow—here of his own free will.

“Is that a—?” Zoe’s eyes grew wide. “Holy shit. Where the hell did you get a baby?”

“He’s mine,” Jamie replied. “It’s a long story though, and we don’t have time. He hasn’t eaten.”

“Where’s his mom?”

Jamie looked down. “She’s dead. Her husband and parents, they don’t want the child. Her husband tried to kill the baby, so I… stopped him.”

“Stopped him?”

“He’s dead too.”

Zoe linked her fingers together and placed her hands atop her head as she let out a breath. “Christ, Fraser. You really do manage to fuck up your whole life a god-awful lot, you know that?”

It was not only this woman’s accent and her dress that left John confused. It was the way she spoke English, recognizable but with a host of incomprehensible words and phrases thrown in.

“Can ye help us?” Jamie asked.

Zoe dropped her hands. “How long ago was the baby born?”

“Twenty-four hours at least,” John finally spoke up.

Zoe nodded. “Shit. The poor thing.” She walked up to John and knelt down in front of him, looking down at the baby’s face. He’d just opened his bright blue eyes. “No need to worry now, sport. Aunt Zoe’s here to clean up of your daddy’s mess. She’s gotten very good at it.” She stood back up and pulled a bundle of twine out of her pocket.

“Stand up,” she ordered, then pointed at John. “Is this one coming? What’s your name, anyway?”

“Lord John Grey,” he replied.

“A Lord, Jamie? For Christsake.”

“Coming where?” John replied.

Jamie spoke up, “Zoe, you cannot honestly mean to—”

“I do,” she interrupted. “You two geniuses are on the run. Probably good candidates for a hanging, at least you Jamie. I’m not sure how complicit that extra from the off-broadway cast of Hamilton is in all your bullshit, but—”

“I don’t entirely ken your meaning,” Jamie said. “But John attacked and wounded several of the men trying to apprehend me.”

“I can’t go back,” John said, hit by a sudden sinking feeling.

“Well, alright then, buckle-up buttercup.” With that, Zoe took the string and tied it around her wrist with a knot, then she attached the string to Jamie’s wrist, placing a blue gemstone in his hand. Then, she ran the twine behind his back before tying it to the other. She took John’s wrist, placed a gemstone in his hand, and did the same with the twine, connecting Jamie to John.

“What’s the meaning of this?” John asked, his heart pounding unexpectedly.

Zoe ignored him, but Jamie replied, “You can stay here. You may be able to explain yourself.”

Explain that I attacked my fellow Englishmen for the sake of a Scottish prisoner and his illegitimate child? It wouldn’t do.

With a sigh, John adjusted the boy to be in his other hand, then held his untied wrist out to Zoe. She tied the twine on, then tucked another gemstone into the baby’s wrappings. She finished connecting the twine onto her own wrist, completing a circle.

Zoe looked at John. “Hold the baby tight, alright?”

He nodded and swallowed, looking to Jamie for reassurance. He felt he should’ve passed the child onto his father, but for some reason he didn’t want to let go. Jamie nodded back at him.

Zoe’s voice shifted, leaving English behind for the same strange dialect Jamie had been muttering last night, though the words were spoken with a strong assurance. It was clear whatever this language was she was fluent in it, where Jamie had simply memorized the tones.

A twig lifted from the earth untouched and begin to scratch runes into the circle of dirt between them. He was speechless. He was not the type to believe in magic, but how could he ignore the witness of his own eyes. As the scene carried on before him, the runes began to light as embers and the world started to fade like soot being washed off his hands. All he could do was cling tight to Jamie’s child and pray his loss of sense wouldn’t put the baby in jeopardy.

And, then, as if he’d never been in those cold woods at all, John was warm all over and he, and Zoe, and the child and Jamie—thank God— stood in a place unlike any he’d ever seen before.

[deliciousscaloppine]

Unclean Realm

I said I was going to write some nieyao, but my hand slipped and wrote some xiyao instead. It’s in Meng Yao’s pov, when he got kicked out of Qinghe, how he met Lan Xichen, and what he did to save him. You can find all the other ficlets from the same cycle here- though they are in Huaisang’s pov.

He had always expected this moment. The moment he leaves Unclean Realm for good. In fact it was an inevitable, fated thing waiting to happen for years. If anything he was lucky it had lasted this long. He takes his time walking away, and not just because there's a stab wound somewhere in his chest. It's that secretly he waits for someone to call him back, inconceivable as that is.

 When no one comes, he begins walking faster. There are a lot of men that actively disliked him. Without Mingjue's protection they might come after him and Meng Yao is not ready to die yet. He makes it deep into the woodland. His first stop is going to be the workshop of a silversmith that is nearby. He will trade his silver hair piece for some old clothes and a bag of rice. 

He could get a better price for it at a jeweler in some city, but maybe he has been declared a fugitive and it could give him away. At least with the silversmith, out here in the country, he can always claim he was robbed and that's the only thing he could hide from the robbers.

He doesn't head there immediately. It would be best to arrive closer at midnight. This way his story could be more convincing. As night falls, he makes a small fire and waits. Inevitably he starts thinking about Nie Mingjue. He really did drive him away. He didn't kill him, or put him in a cell. He even let him leave like this with a wound untreated. He really just said “Go die somewhere else out of my sight”. 

Nothing of the things they did, the things that made him happy really mattered. And why should they, really? It's not like he didn't know these comforts were utterly meaningless. If he fell like that for Nie Mingjue, then his mother's life had really taught him nothing. 

At that thought he laughs. Hadn't his mother always placed her love and trust to man who couldn't care less? Didn't he just do the same? He remembers his father crashing the pearl button in his hands, like the cheap, meaningless thing it was. And then he recalls the many men who had visited his mother. When she got sick, who concerned himself with her health?

When she died who attended her funeral? If it hadn't been for him, her son, she would have died completely alone. Completely uncared for. His mother had been fortunate in her misfortune to have him at least, to care and love her. And now without her, how meaningless it all was. He thought living at the Unclean Realm with Nie Mingjue was finally something. But it had all been as frivolous and passing as a summer dream, much like the affairs of his mother.

“See, mother, I am really just like you.“ he smiles.

His wound hurts at these thoughts. It has swollen and opened up painfully. And then he remembers it was because Nie Mingjue kicked him there. And then he had the nerve to say he would spare him because Meng Yao had saved his life. Well, if he doesn't seek treatment soon, maybe he won't even survive the night. So he stands up and makes it uphill, where the workshop is. He is quite sad to have to distress the silversmith's household, but they are kind, common people.

They take him in and feed him, they give him medicine and clothes. The next day the silversmith examines the silver hair piece, admiring the intricate work. Meng Yao has to spend some time to convince him to melt it down. “It is an unfortunate object” he has to remind him. “I wore it and I got robbed, you should melt it down.”

They let him stay for a few days, to recover his strength. He has the time to wash and mend his clothes. At the next town he could sell the silk to some merchant. There is enough material to make something new out of it, and he needs the silver pieces to travel. Perhaps he is going to go to Gusu, to see if it really burned down. Such a thing seems so unreal to him. How could a mountainous stonghold fall like that? Is Lan Xichen Zewu Jun really out in the run?

                                                        .......

The Wen are progressing steadily through the land, could it be that they will win this war? And now Xue Yang is out, supposedly he has already made his way out to Lanling. Meng Yao had made the same journey some years ago with that pearl button and he got kicked down the stairs of Carp Tower. Xue Yang will go bearing the fabled final piece of the Yin Iron. Surely his welcome will be a warm one. Perhaps warm enough to make his return as well possible.

But he won't go there yet. He must give Xue Yang some time.

Walking through the land helps keep his mind clear. He enjoys that clarity that comes from walking. If he were to stand still he would probably die. Every night when he lies down to rest his mind flies back to Nie Mingjue, as if his thoughts are a bird and Nie Minjue is its nest. It does not surprise him that he misses him. He had gone to great lengths to keep him pleased all these years. And he had been happy too. But not happy enough to regret his actions. 

How wrought Mingjue had been with the captain's death! Meng Yao had never been as important as that man and he knew it. After all the captain had parents. Parents who had expectations. Parents who would seek justice for that child. Meng Yao had no one. To Nie Mingjue he was infinitely more dispensable than the man who bullied and harassed him. Their lives did not even have equal value. 

The funny thing is he always thought it would be the captain to drive him out one day. He spoke against him so publicly and so many times. Everyday felt like it would be his last. That's the day the army revolts and asks Mingjue to send me away, he thought. Nie Mingjue really never said anything to him. Meng Yao had to smile and accept the insults and try harder to do better.

He had to look at Mingjue's face everyday and smile to him and think of something extraordinary  to say or do, just to convince him that he had a place by his side. Everyday he thought this is the day I am not enough anymore. It's not like affection like this is not fickle. But in the end, the captain managed to drive him away. At least he paid for it with his death. A small pleasure.

When he arrives at Gusu, he is somewhat surprised by the destruction. The Wen really decimated the place. And now there are rumors about another massacre at Yunmeg. Their army is everywhere, always on the move, seeking for something that by now should be safe at Lanling. No one will suspect the Jin Clan for such a fine betrayal.

The devastation, however, breaks his heart. Cloud Recesses had been the most refined place he had ever been. It really seemed these rules they followed had some real meaning. 

He asks around seeking to learn the fate of the disciples. “They must all be dead” he hears people say. “And now the same at Yunmeg too. They even kill children.” Meng Yao refuses to believe they are all dead. If they are then the next calamity will hit Qinghe. He can't bear the thought of that even if he was driven out. Surely some must live. Zewu Jun at least survives.

Now that he is here, he can start looking. And it doesn't take long. Famous people are always easy to find. A handsome man defended a small village up a mountain path, he killed quite a few soldiers and had a jade flute with him. He wants to tell these people to stop spreading rumors. If the spies of the Wen hear them they will surely send someone important to decimate the place. And then Zewu Jun who has moved on won't be there to defend them. But it's not really his business so he moves on seeking the man with the jade flute.

You would think he'd make a better effort at hiding, but no. He moves visibly, making use of his connections in the region to stay here and there and replenish his strength. And that's how he is ambushed in a beautiful mansion- after all its residents are massacred. He puts quite the fight, the low level officials of the Wen are not even his match, but when the fight is over, Zichen does not move on. In fact he just stands there among the bodies seemingly thinking if there is a point in fleeing anymore. That's when Meng Yao has to appear.

His hands are trembling from the weight of the book he carries with him. It must be so difficult trying to protect something so meaningless in a war. So he takes it from his hands. He takes the sword too. 

“Lord Mingjue sent me to find you.” he lies and Xichen suddenly seems relieved. 

As if now someone else can take over. He leads them away, back to the decimated towns and villages of Gusu. “We'll head to Lanling” he says. “If we go through the burned towns and villages no one will notice us among the refugees. There you will meet with my father. If anyone could persuade him to rise against the Wen it's you. Lanling is probably the only place with enough wealth to support an army made from the other Clans.”

Lan Xichen is too stunned from his ordeal to offer his ideas. He listens silently, nodding his head. “That is the best course of action” he says.

They spend all the night fleeing. And come morning they rest at another smoking residence. In the light of day, these pilaged places look dreadful. And that's why no one will look for them here. He cooks rice in the courtyard from the dying embers of the place, letting Xichen rest by the fire. It's different killing people, it must be much harder for him than say kill a ghost. One has to think where it all went wrong, has to remember the faces and wonder what it means when he no longer can.

Rummaging through the ruins he finds a chest, a little burned at the edges, but it has some clothes inside. The hidden gold and jewels seem to have been taken by the soldiers who looted the place. All that's left is smashed porcelain and burnt books. This is a depressing place. But he gets to work. He digs a hole by the burnt plum tree to hide Xichen's treasures, the sword and the flute.

“We need to be less conspicuous” he advises. “We'll surely come across the Wen. Their army is everywhere.”

Then he takes the book, and with some effort, he removes the hard cover. Xichen watches, his eyes betraying some pain, but not once does he object. Meng Yao then wraps the pages tightly in some silk and hides the little parcel in his bag of rice. He doesn't need to look at Xichen's face to know he thinks that's brilliant. Then he offers Xichen the clothes he has found.

As Xichen dresses, he makes bandages from his fine clothes, to cover his face and arms. He makes some effort to soil them with soot and grime. If their circumstance was not so dire, he would laugh that the Clan Leader and he are playing such a game. It's funny to disguise as something you are not.

“This way you do not have to speak, and if I tell them you are sick with some disease they will be too afraid to come near you. Let me do all the talking. It's for the best.”

It's Xichen's idea that he should also have a walking stick, and maybe a hat with a veil. Meng Yao takes the silver piece from his head, and also the Lan ribbon. 

He has become so bold, he forgot to even ask. It must be so peculiar for a man of his stature to have a servant handle him like that. But Meng Yao also served Nie Mingjue. He made sure his belt was properly buckled, and his hairpiece secured. It's not that Nie Mingjue couldn't do these things for himself, it was that he liked being handled. Maybe Xichen is the same.

He folds the ribbon carefully, tying it between its ends. “If they search us it's best if they find it on me” he says and hides it by his breast. “But we'll have to find someone to melt this” he says holding the silver piece. “We'll need a lot of silver to go to Lanling. If anyone recognizes us, we'll have to bribe them to live.”

                                                        .....

Xichen doesn't speak often. His eloquence has dried from the brief brush he had with atrocity. In fact having someone lead him around, wash his clothes and cook his food was an unexpected respite from the burden of living. Meng Yao can't help but recall how pleasant it was living at Qinghe by Mingjue's side, when he didn't have to be a servant anymore. When others washed his clothes and made his food and all he had to do was be simply brilliant.

It brings to mind that time he traveled with Huaisang. Poor Huaisang at Qinghe, who always asked for more than Meng Yao could give. There were quite a few times when he could close his eyes and imagine that he had a brother. A little, defenseless brother that relied on Meng Yao to live. He can't tell Xichen this, but when he took from him Bieling and Shuoyue, he did it so that his life would be in his hands alone. It would shock Xichen to his core to know that his mind works this way.

That day in Cloud Recesses when they had smiled at each other, seems such a foreign feeling now. He asked himself many times from Gusu to Qinghe why had he smiled? Maybe the thought of being loved still had some meaning back then. 

Then maybe this is what this journey is. A respite from meaning. Drifting along a stranger again, doing things only family does. Maybe that's how he can keep on living. By pretending day and night to be something he is not. Sometimes he really looks at the reflection of his face on the water and thinks “I do not know this person.”

Well, just as he holds Xichen's life in his hands, maybe that's how Xichen holds the memory of his personhood. Maybe at the end of the journey Meng Yao can wring it out of his hands and back into himself. These thoughts make him smile a lot. Xichen says he has a pleasant face. 

“I feel safe with you” he whispers sometimes by the fire, as if making some meaningful confession.

“I will get you to Lanling, Clan leader Lan.” is his reply.

Xichen has more words the following days. Mostly of disbelief. “Why did you beg that shopkeeper to let you wash dishes? Didn't we have enough money to spare for a meal?”

These words bring even more smiles to his face. Xichen has never lived in the real world.

“And where did a sick man and his young brother find this much money?” he asks. “Anyone would think we are disguised lords hiding from the Wen. And maybe some would show sympathy, but others would betray us. They might send bandits after us, or kill us in our sleep. It's best to keep the money for transportation.”

Xichen admires these thoughts. They seem to him as precious as the commandments of the Lan. Perhaps a venerated opposite to them. Lie, cheat, gamble and pretend. 

Such a thought excites him so much that the next day when they happen upon a camp of the Wen he begs some of the soldiers there to let him wash their clothes for some of the game they hunted. Xichen must be so shocked with his audacity. There is one in particular who laughs at them, even strays as close to Xichen.

“My brother's disease is contagious” he says. “He is so very ugly. If you touch him you will become as ugly as him.”

The other soldiers laugh, but no one takes him up on his offer. So he gets on his hands and knees and begs with his forehead on the dust of the road.

“Please” he says. “We are so weak. I'll even carry water and cook for you.”

A man kicks him then. He kicks him hard on his shoulder. But Meng Yao does not waver. “Please” he says again, until one group calls them. They are sitting around a fire, oiling their swords- the swords they must have run through several people. They bring their clothes, they hand him their bamboo canisters. They look tired, they look exhausted, as if they too are fighting a war they do not understand.

“Can my brother sit by the fire? If you do not touch him, you will not get hurt by his disease” he says.

He can see it in their eyes that they are kind-hearted. They nod silently yes. Xichen later will admit his surprise.

 “Those people were with the Wen, but they treated us well.” 

How can he tell him that common people are just like that. Sure they can be petty and cruel like all the world is, but most times they are more generous and more kind than the mightiest lords.

They spend all day together. He brings them water, and twigs for the cooking fire, and he washes their clothes by the river, while the sun sets. A couple of them even wander close to him.

“You are so very handsome” they tell him. “How old are you?”

Meng Yao smiles. It's been a while since he has paid a meal with sexual favors. It seems so funny to him now to be asked such a thing.

“You and your brother can spend the night at our tent.” one of them offers. “It's warmer inside.”

Meng Yao smiles silently imagining what new shocks the Clan Leader of the Lan is discovering right now. The soldiers loiter on, looking at him, smiling. They have handsome faces. If the river was not so very cold they would have taken off their clothes and jumped in it just to get to him. He smiles back, shifting his eyes to better regard them. Really handsome faces.

“We do not have to spend the night here” Xichen says when they are gone. He sounds like he is struggling to speak.

“Why not? They will give us breakfast in the morning.”

There is something alluring about Xichen's sudden silence. Like he is pondering the logic of it. Or maybe it's a secret thrill. After all he has never lived in the real world. No one had told him how perfectly commonplace prostitution was.

“When you smile like that-” he says. “They must think you like them.”

“I don't” Meng Yao says. “But they will give us breakfast.”

“You've more than paid for it with all the clothes you've washed.”

Meng Yao has to sit by his side. The breeze is so very cold, and he is drenched in cold water. He would like to be warm. He would really like to be warm.

“You don't have to come by and see. I will come get you when it's over.” he hears himself say.

And after that night, he thinks he has traumatized Xichen enough. Even though he can't stop himself from smiling at the thought. When they make fire by the shore of a river- a boat will pick them up in the morning- Xichen finally takes off his disguise and breathes in the night air. He seems so very bewildered. Like as if he is at the end of his endurance. Meng Yao could go on forever like this.

“You even had to do things like that.” he mumbles at some point. Possibly referring to his past. 

Meng Yao has to admit falling back into being a servant was a strange comfort. And last night when he was kissed and fondled like something precious, it had put him in a great mood. No more torture for Xichen, he had thought. Tomorrow we land on Lanling. What can he really tell him when he is so sad. That nothing hurts? At least not anymore? The fire by their feet is pleasant.

“When my mother died” he starts “she left some jewellery behind. So I could sell it and survive without her. But the jewellery was worthless. Or at least that's what the shopkeeper told me, because I was young and naive. I had nothing when I arrived at my father's palace. And I was starving so much. I looked at the splendor of Carp Tower and looked at myself, tired and penniless and immediately knew I would not be accepted. But I was so hungry. I thought maybe they would give me some money and tell me to be on my way, or treat me to some food. I thought a servant would take pity in me.”

Xichen does not reply. He gazes silently at the flame.

“When I left Carp Tower, after having seen how my father lived, after having been thrown down his stairs, I feared the Jin more than I feared others. Even if they mistreated me or were cruel to me, it didn't matter, because they were not my family. Doing a thing like that was no longer scary if it meant I would live just one more day in the world. That's what's unfair. Having to eat everyday, needing clothes everyday. But life was not difficult, you can even find agreeable people to do that sort of thing for you. So do not think on it like some great humiliation, Clan Leader Lan.”

“A-Yao” Xichen says. It has such softness inside it. Meng Yao would like to find it in himself to shed a tear or two. Instead he looks on at a lighted horizon, the splendid capital of Lanling.

“When all of this is over. If I could, I would like to help the Lan Clan rebuild Gusu.” he says. “Gusu is such a splendid place. Dignified and elegant. The world should make it its example. I don't really have any funds, but I remember the place. I remember it exactly. I could tell you the distances between two stone lanterns, and the height of a door frame. In fact when I close my eyes, I often see it in my mind.”

Xichen smiles. It seems he too can see it in his mind. The road from Caiyi town, up the mountain, throught the main gate, into the sprawl of its magnificent gardens. 

When the boatman arrives, putting an end to their ruminations, he takes most of their silver. Xichen finally understands how a simple thing like crossing the river can be a matter of life and death.

When they finally land, Meng Yao craves a bath. A long luxurious warm bath. But even before that they really need to wash if they are to find a proper inn to take them in. Stripping to his waist he washes at the bank of the river. The water is so cold, it makes something inside him stir. I am still human, he thinks.

“A-Yao” he hears Xichen say with some worry. He has noticed the scar from the wound on his chest. “Was there a battle at Qinghe? Did you get wounded there?” he asks with so much concern.

Meng Yao is so exhausted. He can't really keep up the lie.

“Actually, Lord Mingjue didn't send me to you. I killed a man at Qinghe and I was driven out and exiled. This is my atonement.” he says gesturing to the river, as if it somehow represents the journey. “I thought if I could save a life, I could somehow make up for the one I took.”

Xichen is in awe. Meng Yao can't really describe it as anything else. As if the truth has explained to him something vital about the way life goes. Meng Yao likes that expression, like thousands of veils have been shredded and it's just him and this other person alone in the world. Like two ghosts that see each other even in a thick mist.

I do not regret killing that man, he wants to say, but maybe Xichen can't handle this much truth. Maybe it's better for him to think that the humiliations he endured were somehow vital to this atonement.

“That is why, when you see Lord Mingjue, you must not tell him who it was that saved you.”

“Why not? You did a noble thing, Meng Yao.”

“He will not understand it. Anyway, this was my atonement for the man I killed, not for the trust I betrayed. I will have to find some other way to amend that.”

He wonders for a moment if he means the things he has said. The way Xichen looks at him, he wants it too. He wants to mean every word, to be the kind of person that has some internal purpose, that's not just drifting through life, with each tragedy serving as an anchor.

When they arrive at the gates of the capital, Meng Yao finally gives back to Xichen the book and his ribbon. He does not expect Xichen's hands to clasp his own- as if they too were precious treasures of the Lan.

“Don't leave. Come with me to the tower. When I tell them what you did, your family will reward you.”

Meng Yao remembers Xue Yang. Maybe now it's not the best time to return to his ancenstral home. Not because his plan could backfire, but maybe because he wants to remain the person Xichen would like him to be. He sees Xichen's hands, tenderly holding his own, his face brimming with emotion. How wonderful would it be if this impression he has now could last forever.

“I will wait for you at the gate. You go and tell them what needs to be done. If they see me with you, they will not want to help you. I am an unfortunate person and they are superstitious.”

“I will tell them what you did.” he insists and Meng Yao smiles.

“They did not want me when I was a child with no one in the world, they are not going to take back a criminal burdened with murder, ousted from Qinghe.” he whispers. “Zewu Jun, you are not being realistic. I implore you to not tell them anything. If people who don't like me know I am here, they might even try to kill me.”

It's another shock to Xichen that a show of kindness can lead to death, but it is something he can wrap his mind around. So he takes his things with meaningful glances and leaves, heading to the looming Carp Tower in the distance. Zewu Jun is a famous person, even in these simple clothes, he will not be turned away. 

And Meng Yao would really appreciate a warm bath and a sip of wine, maybe he could offer to wash dishes for it, or do other kinds of favors. He smiles at the thought of that and wanders into the city.

When the night falls and he lies with his back at the wall of the city, all he can think about is Nie Mingjue again. Like a bell resounding in the vast silence of his mind. Nie Mingjue. Nie Mingjue. Nie Mingjue. On his throne at Qinghe. Brokenhearted and lonely. The night is not at all cold and the shadows of the trees play against his face. His wound hurts, like it has not healed inside. Meng Yao finds it so difficult to understand how at some point he could be held like something precious and then be kicked down like the vilest thing.

But he is here now, waiting still through the night as the moon climbs the sky. And Xichen is at the golden comfort of his father's palace, probably still imploring and arguing. What an honest man! He really didn't say anything to anyone about who brought him here. Meng Yao has to wonder at himself why he is still expecting someone to call him back.

But even if Xichen kept his silence, aren't they curious at Carp Tower? Was it such a small feat to bring the most famous fugitive of Gusu, all the way to Lanling, through the enemy's camps? Maybe the Wen are really going to win this war.

Author's note:

I had this whole second part about Meng Yao going to the Wen really believing they will win the war, and being the one who strategizes the taking over of Unclean Realm, and originally feeding the other clans information to lure Mingjue in a trap and leave them without a general, and only marginally switching to the other side because Xichen realizes who is behind the correspondence and thinks it's Meng Yao atoning for betraying Mingjue's trust and trying to contact him etc. But I am not going to write it because Meng Yao's mind is full of angst. So please imagine it.