#percival replies

[ablique]

How about 10 14 and 22?

For any Percy ship you feel like!

I'll just do these with perciver so I don't have to think too hard :)

10. Who drives and who picks out the music?

Both drive, I just think it's dependent on their mood or who's more tired; Oliver would insist so he would drive a majority of the time though. As for the music, it would definitely be Oliver, I think most hc him as half-blood – though, it can be the same in muggle AUs, I don't think Percy listens to music often in general, maybe classical music if he does? BASICALLY I think Oliver would have more music genius than Percy would so he'd choose the music

14. Who does fashion shoes after a mall trip and who watches and compliments them?

This is an interesting one and I'll go with the unorthodox option and say that Percy would be the one to do the fashion shows but like as a joke? The way I imagine it is at least is that Oliver likes to spoil him and Percy uses the "fashion shows" as a way of repaying him because Oliver will refuse to let him pay him back with money

22. How do they apologise after arguments?

I'm gonna section this off

If Percy is at fault then I feel he'd isolate himself because he's bad at communicating his feelings but at most it would take him a few days, no more than a week to properly apologise. It's a quiet thing, he probably does it when they're about to sleep or when they're leaving for work in the morning but Oliver appreciates the sentiment anyway

If Oliver is at fault he would apologise immediately as he's realised he overstepped or said something wrong or depending on the intensity if the argument I think he would apologise a few hours later

Thanks for asking :)

[belphegor1982]

Scanlan with 17, if you feel so inclined ✨

(17. Tending to an injury/wound/illness from the Put That Guy in a Situation™ Ask Game/Prompt list)

*rubs hands* You know, it just so happens that I had an idea floating in my head and that I was able to use it for your prompt. Thought it might be a nice little 1,000-word story, maaaaybe 2,000, but instead have this 6,100 word behemoth! Thank you so much for the opportunity to write for these characters 💜 I'll post it on AO3 ASAP!

—

Friends in Low Places

“—og! Grog! Scanlan! Can you hear me?”

There’s a voice in Grog’s ear, piercing through the fog, and he makes an effort to shake the cobwebs because Pike almost sounds scared and she never does.

It works, and he realises a few things in rapid succession:

Pike is calling through the earring.

They were all fighting some big beast with lots of teeth and claws. Now they’re not. (At least Grog isn’t.)

They were in a cave, deep underground, and the fight happened right next to a really big drop. Presumably Grog is still in the cave, just… a lot lower.

And last, he’s covered in rocks and pebbles and dirt like a blanket, curled up on himself around something warm and small –

Oh, that’s another thing: Scanlan is alive, too. His breath is coming hard and fast against the middle of Grog’s chest, tickling the scar tissue there, and he’s clutching Grog so tight Grog can almost feel the sting of nails. (Grog likes to think he has really thick skin, so that’s saying something.)

“Guys, speak up if you’re okay – or at least alive,” comes another voice, sharper. Vex.

Grog feels Scanlan move around a little.

“I don’t know about ‘okay’,” he croaks, like the inside of his throat is coated in dust, same as Grog. His voice makes a weird echo in the earring. “But, uh, the other thing, I guess.”

Scanlan is one of those people who often uses more words than necessary. Grog doesn’t mind; that’s just how he is. Besides, Scanlan being tricky with words is a good thing more often than not.

Still, Grog unlocks one of his arms to touch his own earring and says, “We’re good.”

There’s an assortment of relieved noises in his ear. Instead of trying to make out what Vex, Vax, Percy and Keyleth are saying (that would take too long), he zeroes in on Pike’s voice. It shakes just a little still when she asks, “Do you think you can climb back up?”

Good question. Grog unfolds completely – realising in the process that he’s been wrapped around Scanlan, who also slowly lets go of him – and looks up.

And up.

Not that he can see all that well in the dark, even with the dull light of some of the weird worms Keyleth said are attracted to warm spots, but man, this cliff is high. And, unfortunately, way too steep to climb.

“I don’t think so,” says Scanlan, his head tilted real far back, and Grog remembers gnomes can see pretty well in the dark. “I can’t even see you guys.”

“Man, this is deep. How the hell are you still alive?” There’s wonder in Vax’s voice. Now that Grog thinks about it, yeah, that’s a good question.

They’ve been hired by a local mine owner to kill a monster that mangled and munched on some miners; nobody was sure what it was, other than pointy, dangerous, and probably hungry. After two days underground the S.H.I.T.s finally found the thingy – a big beast with long spikes on its tail and fangs that had to be worth a lot of gold each. Grog, who still had no idea what it was except ‘a future corpse’ (and didn’t really care), called it ‘the thingy’. Then, since it just wouldn’t die, apparently, not without trying to take all of them with it, he called it ‘that fucker’ as he hacked at it with his great axe, grinning all the while (gods, whaling on monsters is fun). And then none of that shit mattered, because it scuttled back and swept its tail behind in a wide arc, aiming for the spot Scanlan stood at a safe distance hitting it with magic (and hitting them with healing spells).

Grog completely stopped enjoying himself or wondering what the creature was called. Instinct took over. He bolted between the spikes and his friend and the giant tail knocked them both over the edge of a drop.

Neither of them died, so clearly it was the best decision.

“What happened to the thingy?” he asks as Scanlan opens his mouth to answer Vax’s question. That seems more of a pressing concern.

“Oh, it’s dead,” comes Keyleth’s voice, then some shuffling as Grog pictures her nudging something heavy with her foot. “Yup, very dead. Ew.”

“I’ll put a handful of fangs into the bag of holding,” says Vex, sounding like she’s not exactly looking forward to it, “so we can show them to Barandiaran and get paid. A couple of those spikes, too. Doesn’t look like they’re venomous, but they might be worth something. Oh, and Keyleth picked up your axe, Grog.”

“Hey, thanks, Keyleth.” Grog feels a little naked without his great axe, but at least he knows it’s in good hands and he’s gonna get it back soon.

Scanlan, who’s been looking a little put out that Grog cut him off, crosses his arms and looks vaguely upwards, in the direction Grog assumes the rest of their friends are.

“Yeah, that��s nice. What about us? How do we come up?”

“I’m not sure you can,” Percy remarks, sounding distracted, like he’s thinking hard. Just as Grog and Scanlan glance at each other in alarm, he continues, “So I guess we’ll have to go to you. Do you see a way out?”

“Hah, yeah sure, we… Wait.” Scanlan peers towards the back of the cavern which, to Grog, looks exactly like the sides of the cavern – utterly dark. “Hang on, I think we actually passed this way earlier on our way up. It’s not far from where we last set up camp to lunch-dinner-whatever.”

“Are you sure?”

If it was anyone else than Pike who asked, Grog is fairly sure Scanlan would have said something snarky; but Scanlan is funny about Pike. Even in the dark at a foot of a cliff, where she can’t see him, he beams like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Sure I’m sure! I dropped an apple core not far from here – pretty sure I can find it again if nothing ate it in the meantime.”

“Do not move,” says Vex, almost as sharp as when she demanded a sign of life from them. “Seriously. Stay put, we’re coming down to meet you. You’re closer to the way out anyway, we’ll be retracing our steps.”

“Sure you’re both okay?” Pike asks. “Not hurt?”

Grog smiles. As usual, he took some damage in the fight, scuffs and scrapes and things – he’s definitely gonna have new scars on his shoulder and his thigh – but he’s super tough and he heals fast. And apart from a few bruises of his own Scanlan doesn’t move like someone who’s injured.

They both reply in the negative. Scanlan’s answer is longer and more flowery. Pike says, “…O–kay,” a little uncertain, but it sounds more like she’s still worried rather than her usual disconcerted and/or amused response to Scanlan being Scanlan. Then, because she’s the best, she adds just for Grog, “See you soon, buddies” before the earrings go silent as they walk away and out of range.

The scratch on his thigh is smarting a little and sending tingles down his leg, so Grog makes himself comfortable on the ground while Scanlan stares up the cliff with a funny look on his face.

“That really was a hell of a drop, huh.” He looks back at Grog and smiles. “Thanks, bud. I think I would’ve looked like one of those fancy holey cheeses if you hadn’t been there.”

Grog shrugs. “I mean, it’s not a big deal.” Then, as Scanlan gets a look on his face like he disagrees and it is a big deal, “Hey, by the way, did you do somethin’? ‘Cause for a second there I thought we were gonna go splat.”

He registered sensations as they fell, other than the wind whistling in his ears and his body trying to curl into the tightest ball imaginable to protect his insides and Scanlan’s. A muffled voice against his chest, a warm tingle enveloping him, the impression that the world slowed down for a couple of heartbeats before he crashed into the ground. Either he developed powers – which he doesn’t rule out, maybe he is a secret wizard and just didn’t know it till then – or Scanlan used his own.

It’s hard to see in the mostly-dark, but he thinks Scanlan looks miffed at the ‘no big deal’ for a second before he shakes his head and grins.

“Well, yeah. I had one spell left in me and I wasn’t about to—what the hell, Grog, is that blood yours!?”

His face went from smiling to shocked in the middle of his sentence. Grog frowns and looks down.

Oh.

Yeah.

Shit.

The scratch on his leg isn’t very big, but turns out it’s a lot deeper than he thought. One of the thingy’s tail spikes must have gone deep into the meat of his thigh. It doesn’t hurt more than the kind of injury that takes care of itself with a bit of rest, so Grog honestly hasn’t noticed till now, but it’s bleeding steadily, probably has been since their fall. There would be a little puddle of blood on the ground under his knee if rivulets weren’t slowly trickling down the slow incline and around the bigger pebbles. The back of his trouser leg is warm and sticky almost down to the top of his boot.

“Huh,” says Grog, blinking down. At least that explains the pins and needles in his leg. “That’s, uh. Not. Good?”

“Not good, sure, let’s go with that.” Scanlan hurries closer and starts rummaging around Grog’s belt and trousers. Good thing Grog isn’t ticklish.

“Lookin’ for something?”

“Yeah, the bag – where is it?”

“I don’t have the bag,” says Grog, who doesn’t like that Scanlan’s usual grin disappeared. Scanlan’s always smiling. “I gave it to Keyleth, and she gave it to Percy.”

“Gave it to… Why?”

“He wanted to keep working on a ‘project’ bigger than his pepperbox. Said he needed the bag to keep the parts.”

“Okay, but you don’t happen to have a healing potion on you, do you?”

“Nah, they’re all in the bag. That’s also why I gave it to Keyleth: you lot need those potions way more than me.”

Scanlan stops frisking him and stares up at him.

“I guess, but what happens when you need one and you don’t have any on hand?”

“Then Pike heals me, gets me back up. Or Keyleth, or Vex, or you. I mean, you have magic, right?”

“Sorry, big guy,” Scanlan says slowly, “I’m beat. I don’t have anything useful left – most I can do right now is try to send a message thirty feet away or hurt somebody’s feelings, and neither works on rocks.” He searches his own pockets and adds with a grimace, “Damn, I don’t even have the fun stuff on me.”

“What fun stuff?”

“Just straps and ribbons and things.” Grog blinks; Scanlan shrugs. “You never know when you’re gonna meet somebody who’s down with a bit of bondage. But they’re all in my pack, and I put my pack in the bag of holding –”

“Why’d you do that?”

“Because it was heavy and I wanted to move quickly in case we found the thingy, or the other way around!”

That’s… a good reason, Grog muses. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that not everyone has his muscles and endurance.

Scanlan stands there for a second, his hands in his pockets, slouching slightly. He bites his lip, looks at Grog’s leg, and shrugs off the leather vest he uses as armour. Then he starts to undo the few buttons on his shirt that aren’t already undone.

“Uhh,” says Grog, baffled, “what are you doing?”

“What does it look like? I’m stripping.”

“Okay, but why? Oh, you mean you wanna, like, bang?”

Grog knows Scanlan likes having sex, a lot. Which is fair; so does Grog. Having sex is awesome. But this is Scanlan, his second best little buddy, the guy who never balks at going with him to houses of lady favours, one of the very few people he knows who never talk down to him or treat him like he’s too stupid to understand things. Grog loves him a lot, and the thought of having sex with people he loves is too weird to contemplate.

Also, while a few girls Grog had the best kind of naked fun with had dicks, he’s never been with a dude, and he has a feeling it’d be kinda weird, too.

So he sits up straighter and tries to recall the words Pike taught him in case someone was interested in him and he wasn’t.

“’Cause if you do, I am sorry,” he says, sounding out each word carefully, “you are a great person and I respect you very much, but I am not attracted to you like that.”

He must have got it right on the first try, because Scanlan chuckles as he takes off his shirt.

“You don’t know what you’re missing, buddy. Don’t worry, though, I will do my best to live with the sting of rejection.”

He eyes his shirt, then Grog’s thigh, and makes a whole-body eh gesture before walking right up to Grog. “No, my big, incredibly sexy goliath friend, I’m not trying to woo you. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’d totally be DTF if, you know, you were interested and I’d get to not be dead by the time we’re done, but that’s not why you’re getting a strip tease.”

“So?” asks Grog, still puzzled. It was warm in the part of the cave where they fought the thingy; Keyleth said it’s because of some gas that makes it smell like walking into a fart at times. But Scanlan usually gets cold way before he does. Why did he take off his clothes?

“So, while we’re waiting for the others to waltz back in and save the day…” Scanlan stops, cocks his head to the side. “By which I mostly mean Pike. She’s amazing like that. Hopefully she still has energy for some spells left – but failing that, a bag full of healing potions works, too. Anyway,” he adds, crouching in front of Grog and trying to wedge the shirt under his thigh as gingerly as he can, “while we’re waiting, you’re getting a bandage so you don’t bleed to death. Or rather the funny word Vex said that time, way back, before Pike came into the picture… You know, the thing she tied around Vax’s arm when he got stabbed bad… What was it – sounded kinky, like pourniquey, or… Tourniquet! That’s it!”

The triumphant grin turns into a grimace when he has to pull on his shirt with all his might to fasten it properly. He’s so small there’s almost not enough material to tie a really tight knot, even when Grog gives him a hand and pulls on the sleeves as hard as he dares. So Grog also keeps his right hand firmly on the wound, half at Scanlan’s insistence and half because of a dim memory from when he was really young, of seeing a fellow member of the Herd clutching a gushing wound to keep the blood inside while other people ran for a healer. His father made him watch so he’d toughen out. Grog guesses it worked.

When they’re done, Scanlan takes a step back and a satisfied look at his handiwork with his fists on his hips.

“There you go. Deluxe bandage. I’ll be taking that shirt back when you’re done with it, though. That’s imported silk from Marquet.”

Grog watches the blood slowly seep into the fabric, dark on white, and frowns.

“Scanlan?”

“Yes, bud.”

“Do you really think I’ll bleed to death? ‘Cause that would be a shitty way to go.”

Scanlan’s eyebrows go up, his smile goes down. He goes to sit on Grog’s left and elbows him in the side.

“What? No, Grog, come on. You’ll probably go out fighting dragons and hydras, only you’ll be so old by then people will wonder How the hell is he still alive and still so awesome? Also, who is that extremely handsome gnome bard who seems so chummy with him? Do you think they’re single? Unless you’d prefer to die peacefully in your bed, surrounded by your kids and grandkids. That might not be so bad, either.”

“Pssh, are you kidding me?” Grog scoffs. “That last one sounds lame. I prefer the other one, it’s badass. Plus I’m a dude, so it’s not like I can have kids, right?”

Scanlan scrunches up his face.

“I mean. You don’t get to, you know, grow them inside you, but you do get to help make ‘em if you want some. As far as I know that’s the fun part anyway.”

Then, as Grog nods and does his best to look knowledgeable, he gives him a funny look.

“Grog.”

“Yes?”

“You… do know how kids happen, right?”

“Obviously,” says Grog, who has little to no idea, but who’d rather get stabbed by a thingy again rather than admit it.

Scanlan shuffles forward to perch himself on Grog’s good leg, just before his knee, and squints up at him.

“Okay. Spill. Where do you think babies come from?”

“’That a trick question?” Grog scratches the back of his head and tries to dredge up relevant memories. The topic’s never been of much interest to him. “Well, sometimes ladies get big, so they go to the healer’s tent and, well, they make the babies, I guess.”

About a year after he came to live with the Trickfoots, Pop-Pop Wilhand tried to explain what that entailed exactly. His explanation was long, rambly, and full of embarrassed hemming and throat-clearing. He said something about a man and a woman loving each other very much, then segued into flowers and bees, and by the time he reached the tadpoles Grog had checked out completely. He listened politely, or rather waited for Wilhand to finish his speech so he could go outside and help Pike chop up wood. Wilhand did so with relief and the pleased look of someone having Done Their Duty, and Grog walked away wondering what the hell that was about.

Technically he could ask Pike about it, of course, but he won’t. Either she got the same talk and didn’t understand either, or she knows a lot more than him and he’d look like an idiot.

It’s always hard to read Scanlan at the best of times, but at least he’s not laughing at Grog, just staring at him like he’s expecting more.

“Uh-huh. Okay. But before that?”

Grog is sitting in a puddle of blood that isn’t even someone else’s, his thigh started throbbing while he wasn’t paying attention, and he hates feeling cornered like this. His patience has limits. He crosses his arms against his chest and says in a huff, “I don’t know, mate, that looked like none of my business, so I didn’t ask, okay? Nobody ever managed to explain that shit properly, anyway, so I figured it was magic. Just works and no one really knows how.”

Scanlan looks blank for a few seconds. Then he smiles widely, and to Grog’s relief it’s not the kind of smile that means he’s gonna say something snarky.

“It’s not magic, buddy – well, not that kind of magic, anyway. It’s just sex.”

“What?” asks Grog gruffly.

“People make kids by having sex.”

“You’re messin’ with me.”

“I’m not!” exclaims Scanlan, throwing up his hands in the air. “I promise!”

Grog pauses to think. “…Really?”

“Yep. That’s why I said helping make them was the fun part, not actually making them.”

He did say that. Grog thinks some more.

“So… a dude really can’t, like. Grow a baby.”

“If he has a vag and the right insides, sure he can.”

“Oh. Cool.”

“But you need at least two people to bump uglies for that. One of each set.”

Grog taps his finger against his chin. “So, uh. How’s that work?”

And Scanlan explains, matter-of-factly, with normal words and all sorts of expressive gestures, what goes where and how. It doesn’t sound all that complicated. Why so many people clam up and go red about it is just baffling.

But then something disturbing occurs to him.

“Scanlan?”

“Oi?”

“Do I help make a baby every time I visit a house of lady favours?”

“Nah,” says Scanlan confidently. “There’s potions and cantrips for that kind of stuff. These ladies are pros, they know what they’re doing.”

“And the ladies that aren’t pros?”

Scanlan looks thoughtful for all of two seconds. Then he waves the thought away. “Like I said, potions and cantrips. I’m sure it’s fine. If you don’t forget to pull out in time it’s all hunky dory.”

“Oh, good.”

Then he remembers he’s supposed to keep a hand on his thigh, to help the doohickey do its thing. After he presses his palm flat on the wound again, though, he lifts his hand again to glance at it real quick, and frowns.

There’s a lot of blood on and under his leg. More than before. His palm drips with it and some of it is seeping up on the back of his hand from between his fingers. The doohickey did slow down the flow, but Grog’s pretty sure that so much blood on the outside rather than the inside is a bad sign. So’s the tingling that started in his fingers and has been creeping up to his elbows in the last few minutes.

Nothing he or Scanlan can do anything about, though, so he doesn’t bring it up.

Scanlan is humming absently, still sitting on Grog’s good leg. He leans back and yawns, then mutters, “Where’d they go, by way of Wildemount? We didn’t take so long going up, right?”

Grog shrugs. Without the sun or the night sky it’s always hard to tell the passage of time, so he stopped trying. Maybe it’s night outside and his body knows it, hence the impression that the ground is leeching warmth from his bones.

“Gettin’ cold too, huh?” he asks with a jerk of his chin to Scanlan’s bare chest. Scanlan shakes his head.

“Gods, no. This place is more stuffy than the Nine Hells. Well, maybe not literally, it’s probably even hotter down there, but I’m not sure it smells worse. Like… farts and rotten eggs. Ugh.”

“Can’t be that warm if I’m getting cold,” Grog points out, lower than he means to. Wait, when did it get hard to speak at a normal volume?

And why are his eyelids so heavy all of a sudden?

Scanlan’s gaze whips up to his face then down to his leg so fast Grog has trouble following. He springs up and sits astride Grog’s other knee, close enough to press a hand on the wound, right next to Grog’s. His hand is so tiny that it immediately looks like he dunked it in blood.

“Shit,” he says in a tone so sober it sends a chill up Grog’s spine. With the other hand he touches his earring. “Guys, can you hear me? Pike? Pike, we need you here, fast, it’s… Ah, fuck.”

Nobody answers. They’re still out of range. Numbers are stupid and make no sense, but ‘five hundred feet’ suddenly sounds like a lot anyway.

Numbers are stupid; Grog isn’t. He doesn’t need to be able to count to weigh up the odds and see that they’re starting to look bad. Like, bad bad.

The shirt Scanlan used as a doohickey has gone almost completely red, for one. So has the hand he’s pressing into Grog’s thigh with so much force – for him – Grog actually feels the weight of it. Maybe Grog should worry more about the dark that’s creeping up on the edges of his vision, but at this point it feels like too much pointless effort.

“Hey!”

Scanlan snaps his fingers in his face, making him start awake.

“None of that, you’re not going anywhere. Come on, you just gotta wait for the others. They’ll be here soon. Guys? I’m serious, get your asses down here stat. Tell you what, I’m gonna keep talking till one of you replies. I’m going to annoy the shit out of you and you’ll hurry back here just to get me to shut up. How’s that sound?”

Still no answer. Scanlan throws his head back and lets out a string of very creative swears. If Grog wasn’t halfway gone he’d congratulate him.

Gods, it is a shitty way to go. Bleeding out in the dark after fighting a thingy he didn’t even get to kill. Fighting dragons and hydras when he’s really old would’ve been so much more badass.

Somehow, without meaning to and even without much breath left, the words must have passed his lips, because he could swear Scanlan turns pale.

“Stop it, okay? You’re not helping. Forget the thingy, you’re not dying now just because of… Godsdammit! Guys! Help! Pike!”

The last word sends a jolt throughout Grog’s body. Pike is kind and bright, fierce and strong; she loves drinking and fighting and helping people. She would get sad if he died, and the world isn’t right when Pike is sad. Scanlan gets it. He’s always trying to make her smile or laugh.

“Come on, buddy, please don’t – PIKE! Oh guys, thank gods, just – no, shut up, get the fuck over here now! Pike… Please…”

Scanlan’s voice cracks a little on the last word. Grog didn’t know it could do that.

The last thought that successfully takes shape in his brain is that maybe this isn’t such a shitty way to go, after all. He saved Scanlan from the thingy, and Scanlan saved them both from the fall; and sure, he’s not taking a big badass monster with him, but he’s dying with a good friend at his side. It would have been a bummer to die alone, in the ass crack of the world, with miles and miles of rock between him and the open sky.

Grog’s right hand goes slack and slides down from his thigh.

Scanlan makes a strangled noise.

“Grog, don’t you fucking dare—”

Everything stops.

* * *

“—og. Grog. Can you hear me?”

There’s a voice in Grog’s ears, piercing through the fog, and he makes an effort to shake the cobwebs because Pike definitely sounds scared and she never does.

…Wait. This feels weirdly familiar, like a dream he’s already had.

Time pauses, rewinds. Grog recalls a fight, a fall, a friend – yeah, that definitely happened. His right thigh aches dimly, and exhaustion is weighing his bones. That tracks. But also, he’s alive, which definitely doesn’t.

Plus there’s a wet nose that smells of bear nuzzling the side of his head.

Voices burst out (“Hey furball! Back off, let him breathe!” vs. “Trinket, darling, give him some space”), but as usual there’s only one Grog really pays attention to.

Sure enough, when he works his eyes open, Pike is crouching just in front of him, very pale but smiling, looking up at him with tears in her eyes. Her holy symbol is still glowing faintly from between her clenched fingers and her dark hair is falling out of her crown of braids.

“Hey, buddies,” she whispers. “Welcome back.”

Her voice quivers a little, but the small hand laid on his chest is perfectly steady. Maybe it’s the residual warmth of whatever spell she hit him with, maybe it’s just because he’s surprised and happy to find himself not dead after all, or maybe it’s because he just loves Pike a whole lot and he’s glad to see her – the last vestiges of cold leave him.

“Hi, Pike.” He frowns. “Did I die?”

She chuckles, and lets go of her pendant to wipe her nose on her sleeve.

“No. Well. Maybe just a little,” she says, still with that weird combo of big smile and wobbling voice. “You gave all of us a hell of a scare, you know.”

All of us?

Indeed, now Grog’s eyes focus farther than Pike in the light of a torch planted into the ground, there’s Keyleth, staring at him with wide eyes, shoulders trembling just a little; Vax, a look of naked relief on his face so stark it startles Grog; Vex, one hand gripping Trinket’s fur and the other grasping Grog’s good leg – whether to prop herself up or to physically make sure he’s indeed alive is anyone’s guess; Percy, both fists clenching and unclenching as though of their own accord, breathing much too deeply and carefully to be natural; and Scanlan, sat slumped near Grog, his face almost as white as his shirt was before he took it off. Blood coats both his hands past the wrists and his eyes are almost as shiny as Pike’s.

“Told you,” he says with a weak smile, “dragons and hydras. Not some random thingy in a cave that smells like farts and rotten eggs. Also –”

He holds up the bag of holding and fishes out a sparkling red bottle that he hands out to Grog.

“There you go, big guy. Bottoms up.”

The healing potion must be one of the really good ones. It goes through Grog like a trail of fire, energy fizzing to his fingers and down to his toes. He doesn’t usually need potions to heal, so it’s odd to feel flesh knitting itself up and blood rushing along his veins again. His limbs still feel weird, and he has a feeling he’s going to need some rest before he’s back to full health, but life and strength are flowing through him once more.

Turns out Scanlan was right: it takes more than a thingy to kill Grog Strongjaw.

Vex takes the empty bottle from him and the bag from Scanlan, who barely reacts, and asks, “Better now, darling?”

“Yep, all good,” Grog replies. It’s not really true, and he doesn’t miss a look from Pike that says she’s going to keep an eye on him no matter what, but it feels kinda true, and that’s enough for now. “So what now? I mean, we’re done here, right?”

“I suggest we find a safe place to camp before we head out,” says Percy, looking around as though he expects another thingy to leap out of the shadows. Which wouldn’t surprise Grog overmuch, really. This place sucks.

They all agree, and after Vax suggests they set up camp where they stopped earlier, pretty close from here, most of them leave to do just that.

To Grog’s relief, nobody fusses over him more. He’s not used to people worrying about him outside of Pike and Wilhand. It weirds him out. Vax slaps his arm with a smile and walks away, Trinket padding after him; Keyleth climbs back to her feet and pats his shoulder awkwardly, though her smile is warm and genuine; Percy gives him a nod before following her, his breathing normal again.

And Vex tightens the bag’s drawstrings and puts it in his hands.

“Grog,” she says. “Um. Listen.”

Grog listens.

“I know you can take a hit better than anyone else. It takes a lot to knock you down, like… a lot. And I know today was, well, an anomaly. But I was thinking… You should keep the bag. You know, full time.”

“Okay,” says Grog, who’s waiting to see where she’s going with it before deciding if it’s worth getting angry about. He loathes being coddled. But Vex also essentially said he was a tough motherfucker, so that makes up for it. “Why?”

“Because you’re not just tough. You’re the fastest of all of us, so if anyone needs a potion or something else from the bag in the heat of battle, you can just run and give it to them, right?”

Oh. Yeah. That’s a pretty good reason. Good thing he didn’t get angry.

“As long as you don’t forget to take one yourself when you need it, okay?” Vex adds in a softer tone. “Anyone can need first aid at some point, dear. Even a barbarian built like a brick shithouse.”

“Right.”

She looks at him intently some more, as though there’s a question in there he’s supposed to answer. When it becomes obvious that he’s said all he wanted to say, she rises, winks at him, and leaves him with Pike and Scanlan.

Vex’s winks are something else. More often than not she uses them at other people like she fires her arrows, so being on the receiving end of a nice one for a change is a treat.

“What’s that on your leg?” Pike asks Grog as they all stand up.

Grog is about to reply ‘just some blood’, but then he remembers Scanlan’s shirt is still tied around his thigh and that’s why Scanlan’s holding his leather vest instead of wearing it.

“I forgot,” he says, “I did get first aid. Scanlan made a doohickey, look.”

Pike does look at the doohickey. Then at Scanlan. Then back at the doohickey, Grog, and then Scanlan again.

Scanlan stuffs his hands into his pockets.

“I mean,” he says just a little uncertainly, “I was tapped out of useful spells and I think that’s how you tie a tourniquet – but then again, you know, I’m a bard, if you asked me what rhymes with ‘tourniquet’ that’d be more my speed. Like, I might say ‘turning key’ but good luck fitting that in a song and it doesn’t really match the scans—”

Without warning Pike grabs him into a hug. An actual hug, so sudden Scanlan doesn’t even have time to say anything, and so tight he lets out a little breathless ooof. He goes an interesting shade of red. Although maybe that’s just because he just got crushed against chain mail.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, very quietly but so fiercely Grog has no trouble making out the words. “Just a minute more, and I wouldn’t have… He’d… Thank you.”

Well then. If Grog still had any doubt left that he really would have died down here without his best little buddies… He’s not afraid to die, as such, especially if it’s against something really badass or to protect someone he loves (which is not that many people). But he’s fucking glad he didn’t.

Scanlan looks at Pike (or rather the back of her head, mostly), looks at Grog, and, wonder of wonders, says nothing for once – just holds her back a little awkwardly, his vest dangling from his hand.

It doesn’t last long anyway. Pike lets go of him and steps back quickly, looking a little self-conscious, like she just only noticed he’s naked from the waist up. Chest hair or jewellery probably doesn’t count. And that’s funny, because she’s never like that around Grog, who rarely wears anything except his trousers, belt, and boots. Plus, now, the doohickey, which he manages to loosen but not quite untie; the knot is really tight and the congealed blood isn’t helping. So he shrugs it off for now and picks up both gnomes, setting one on each shoulder. Pike is a little heavier than Scanlan, because of the chain mail, but as usual it’s like carrying a couple of kittens.

There. Just as things should be.

“Hey, Scanlan,” he says, walking towards the others while Pike wipes her eyes and clings to his shoulder a little tighter than she usually does, “sorry your shirt got messed up.”

“It’s okay, buddy. It was for a good cause.”

“You know,” says Pike, “I think a tourniquet works better with a stick. I could teach you.”

“Well, not many sticks underground, but I suppose if needs be I can always use my—”

“Your what, Scanlan?”

“—flute! I was gonna say ‘my flute’! I am not risking the Cube just to make a dick joke, guys, come on.”

“Hey Pike, remember when Wilhand said babies come from birds and tadpoles? Turns out he was wrong.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. They actually come from people havin’ sex. Do you thinks he knows?”

“I… You know, I think you should definitely tell him next time we see him. Sounds important.”

“Pike? This Wilhand, he’s your… great-grandfather, correct?”

“Great-great-grandfather, why?”

“Oh, nothing. Hey Grog, be a pal and pass me my pack, will you, there’s a clean shirt in there. Also, tell me someone picked up my flute?”

Turns out Vax did.

Having friends, Grog reflects before they settle down around a campfire and take a flagon of ale from the bag, is indeed pretty great.

⁂

(uuughhh I'm still meh about the last sentence (it's been kicking my arse for the past two days at least) 😭 I'm waiting to see if/when my beta is available to look this over before I post it on AO3, but I will as soon as I can 💜)

EDIT oh!! I had fun with a 5e monster/NPC stat block builder and homebrewed a thingy :D Let me know if you think it's appropriate for a level 5-ish party! (ngl, I ripped the Deadly Leap feature from the bulette ^^')

What do you think? Total shit or could actually work?

[silvermun]

Did you see that Percival uses he/him pronouns in the recent Sonic Channel art?

:o???? if you mean the picture of percival at the market i think it's because they use titles on percival like 卿 which is i think for someone in high ranking so like equivalent of the 'sir' title, they also use 貴人 which is nobleman but i'm pretty sure they're kinda in a general way, but in english those terms sound more masculine so the automated translation probably just defaulted ;v; so i think it's just a translation error unfortunately

[oneknightstand-if]

@elegantunknownphantom replied to your post “If the MC were to faint in front of them from...”:

Why is Percy like this... 🤦🏻‍♀️ swear Percy is the embodiment of a damn Jester

@girlfromthecrypt reblogged your post "….Percival’s gonna jumpscare my mc with a spider fear, isn’t he???"

Honestly I can't wait to read about Percival. Dude sounds like a menace God I love this IF so much

[jemichiart]

@sodasilks Maybe? 👀

[oddthesungod]

Odd, good sir, might I ask what your opinion on Percival Fredrickstein von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III is?

he is a BITCH and I love him SO MUCH

fr tho, i can't explain it but the whole thing he's got going on with him is amazing, i love that he's edgy, i love that he's arrogant, i love that he's a goofy science kid at heart, i love his stupid ass fancy pants long name i'll never memorize, i think it's so funny that he created GUN and will be eternally stressing out over the fact that this put in motion a series of events that brought us to MAD MAX BASSURAS EDITION

i love that "de rolo" in portuguese is just "of roll" so like percy de rolo and patê de rolo are names that make me giggle a bit because it sounds dumb in portuguese

character of all time fr fr

[xfindingtrouble]

part of percy's autism involves him not regulating/catching his body's signals when it needs something. he doesn't recognize he's hungry until he gets lightheaded, he doesn't realize he's thirsty until his throat is parched, he doesn't realize he's hot until he's overheating. so on & so forth. i feel like this also translates to his feelings as well??? if he's angry he gets Totally Pissed Off, if he's happy he's foaming at the mouth with joy, regulating his mind / body is not a forte of his

[arthurtaylorlester]

Who in Malevolent?

ok ok let's go

tries to make the child laugh -> parker, kellin, bella, mr scratch, mr butcher

tries to play with the child to make them calm down -> parker, marie, kayne

give detailed instructions to the parents -> faust, larson, marie

cries with the child -> arthur, yellow, percival, probably kiy too cause imagine losing TWO body parts

ignores the child -> larson, kiy

is the reason why the child is crying -> daniel, john (idk what yall think he SUCKS with children), kayne

[guhamun]

multimuse combination meme; accepting || @nvrcmplt

⭐ I send with full love. Take all the time you need, Shi. I am at your mercy. ⭐

Jianyu and Beornræd: I love to imagine that they have a friendly rivalry with one another / have met many times in the past, especially since, though Jianyu's people ceased being full blown nomadic over time, they still have a process where some of the village leaves with the cattle to let the grass recover and then come back in another season. Them meeting several times during that and testing one another's skills. Tala....childhood...friends...-closes eyes-

Jianyu and Einri: SAME HAT AS BEOR. Except Jianyu probably disapproves of his sticky fingers and wishes Einri would find something else to do aside from 'accidentally' taking something from someone. He finds his skill with the bow to be impressive and sometimes likes having little competitions with him. Even though they probably would bump heads because Einri is...Einri...he would respect how overall skill.

Jianyu and Chenlong: Just from a glance, Jianyu would know that Chenlong is powerful, and that alone would make him want to learn more about the blade from him. I like to think that they exchanged blows in a friendly spar and then from there he was basically fascinated. Jianyu is constantly wanting to grow as a warrior and a swordmaster, so it would be interesting to explore something like this for sure!

Me rounding up all your mercenaries into my arms. I don't know a lot about them, but holding out brochures how would they like to work with the Band of Blades sometimes---

Damian and Vaclav: You already know probably how I feel about them but like Damian finds Vaclav to be so interesting (cool). First impressions for him were good stuff, so I imagine he would love to occasionally speak to Vaclav because he'd feel like they understand what it's like to be a creature shaped like a person, basically. They might be different species, but he would probably hold many things Vaclav told him in high regard due to said respect.

Damian and Aapeli: I imagine that Damian doesn't really like going to regular doctors much, and since Aapeli is a werebeast like himself, he'd feel ten times more comfortable talking to them due to their differences from humans. Probably does house calls occasionally if necessary.

Kyojuro and Junpei: With Junpei being an older slayer, though disgraced whose name is no longer uttered by anyone in the corp, I imagine that Kyojuro would defer to his wisdom in concerns to certain sword techniques and quickest way to deal with certain demons. The reason for the other's disgrace wouldn't really be within Kyojuro's scope to ask as he would still see them as one who had taken up the blade and still fought demons.

Kyojuro and any of the hakkenden guardians: I don't know why, but the thought of one of the hakkenden guardians choosing him to look after just has me -chef kiss- Kinda like in Okami when they were with others, but would return to that Satomi household the moment they were summoned by whoever held the ability to call them.

Kyojuro and Jiyuna: I like the thought of Jiyuna looking in on Kyojuro sometimes after he saved him from that cage. Then they just become close from there from constant meetings.

Nagayoshi and Olu: I feel in my very soul that Naga would like Olu. I don't know why but this calls to me. He has such a fiery temperament, but I also feel like Olu can pretty much reel him in whenever that happens.

Arash and Vuir (fantasy verse-ish perhaps!): Arash wandering into Vuir's territory when he's hunting for his village thinking that he heard the calls of a bird, but instead, he's met with a dragon. They hit it off pretty well, primarily because Arash is just so damn chill 99.99% of the time and doesn't flee upon being discovered, but talks to Vuir instead.

Arash and Tyler: They would get along so well fdsffsfsd. He and Tyler are the most chill people and I can see them hitting it off right from the beginning as a result of this. Probably occasionally goes to his shop because he really likes scented candles and likes putting them around his Master's home. 1000% knows that Tyler is a witch since he can feel it.

Tomoe and Yatagarsu: As one who guides others, I imagine her encountering them a great deal when she was alive, but when she's summoned, still sees them. She is very respectful to them...even though...they are sometimes embarrassing and are nothing like the stories she heard in concerns to their mannerisms.

Tomoe and Weisheng: Her coming to visit every now and then for blade upkeep -- wishes that he would stop drinking all the time. Probably also cleans up his residence when he passes out because she can't stand how messy things gets.

Atha and any of your undead people: ANY. ANY OF THEM. It's his duty to aid the dead in moving on, and equally his duty to deal with necromancy of any kind. Though at the same time, he would be interested in learning more about the 'why' of this undead army as he also attempts to help spirits pass on in the area like he believes they should.

[jaskierswolf]

Percy

*cracks fingers*

Percival Fredrickstein Von Mussel Klossowski de Rolo III... I fucking love him.

I went into watching TLOVM thinking I would kind of casually enjoy it. Up until that point I had really enjoyed D&D. It makes me anxious to play and I kept convincing myself I was letting the party down if I rolled badly. I never watched Critical Role because the episode are hella long and there is so much content, so I thought it would not be able to hold my focus, but the animated format seemed a lot more accessible to me.

Enter one Percival de Rolo.

I was sure when I heard about the characters that Scanlan would be my love. He's a bard and I'm a known whore for bards. And yet it was the pretty boy with the gun that caught my attention. The Briarwoods arch was fucking phenomenal and the character development in the first series alone was fricking amazing. Every time Percy put down the mask I was so fucking hyped. He was cool. He was angry. He was dangerously hot.

But I was not hyperfixated. No... apparently I was perfectly normal until S.2 came out and Hot dangerous Percy became goofy, nerdy and yet still hot Percy... with the added bonus of me now loving Vax equally as much. And now I'm in rare pair hell and I love them both so much god damn it. I'm going to be cosplaying Percy in October for MCM london.

Rating 100000/10 - He's the current main blorbo so he gets to be top with Jaskier. Unless he prefers to bottom. No judgement here.

Headcanon: Percy messed around on the fishing boats prior to VM but it was all casual sex. It wasn't until the twins that he first understood the meaning of bisexual crisis. It's something that him and Kiki bond over when they are in his workshop together.

[emmavakarian-theirin]

just finished the second last episode of witcher season 3 and man freya allan's acting AND HER SINGING???

[obaewankenope]

For WIP Wednesday, could you work on ST Part 12… whatever I name it lol please?

I'm gonna have to give it a title one day... aren't I xD

Snippet:

Beside him, Newt set to work filling out his own parchment work, the magizoologist ironically having more of it to fill out since his had to be done in triplicate while Percy’s only had to be done once. Somehow, though, the magizoologist seemed to be flying through the work while Percy was still filling out the sections on next of kin. “You cannot possibly write that fast,” Percy finally said, staring at Newt and catching the magizoologist’s gaze when he looked up.

WIP Wednesday | Askbox

[universestreasures]

@crimsonkaiser​ (Here have some lore)

“Toshiki...My sweet, sweet, Toshiki...I’m...I’m sorry...” 

The apology goes unspoken as the prince gazes over his sleeping companion, resting yet again from another judgement at the hands of the Liberators. Just how many times has Toshiki gone through such agony at the hands of Ahmes’ own people? At this point, he’s lost track, but the number itself wasn’t important. What was important was the fact such punishments happened and had continued to happen ever since the two met; a fact that had brought and still brings the prince to tears...

Just...Just how much more can Toshiki endure? Sure, he was a strong human, stronger than any human the vampire has ever met, but...he was still a human. That meant he was fragile, like one of the many marble or glass sculptors that decorated the palace. He was a precious person to Ahmes, one he never ever wanted to see broken and beaten like he was.

Toshiki had scars, cuts, bruises, burn marks, and other such blemishes that have stained his once perfect skin. His injures had got so bad to the point where he’s almost lost the ability to feel in some areas, like the palms of his hands Ahmes was gently rubbing at this moment. He couldn’t help but feel guilty. After all, the suffering of the human was all his own fault, for those in power sought to punish Toshiki in the place of the fragile prince...

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair! Why did this have to happen? Why did a human as kind and loving as Toshiki continue to be subjected to such torment?!

Such questions plagued the prince’s mind over the years, with him coming to the same answer every time. It was the same answers no doubt the others in his life, from Percival to his father to the elders, have also come to. It was the very thing that in the minds of everyone has held back the prince from realizing his true potential.

His refusal to feed from humans.

At the beginning, everyone assumed the prince had just been a stubborn child about this, his refusal to drink being something he’d grow out of eventually. Children were, after all, commonly picky eaters. It’s why only the best humans they could find were offered to the prince in his coming-of-age ceremony, Toshiki being among the offerings. But when the prince refused to feed even after being given a blood servant and such a stance not changing over the years, that’s when everyone realized he was doing it by some apparent fondness for humans, something he shared in common with the late queen. 

The majority of vampires hated humans, some for understandable reasons and others unjustifiable ones like some sense of superiority. Such feelings had led Ahmes’ ancestors to lead the vampires to rise above the humans, creating the dark world they all lived in now that the prince was powerless to change. After all, what could he do about it in his current position?

Despite being a prince, Ahmes held no real power. It was a title in name only, for he never got any sort of input on any decisions for himself or anyone else. The most he was allowed to do was attend lessons, but those had stopped considering his health worsened. These days all he could do was sit around his bed chambers, or maybe be allowed to take a walk with one of his retainers to the palace garden or library, and on the rare chance, a meeting with his father and the elders. Other than those few instances, he was stuck in his room, stuck with his thoughts that continued to plague him.

Remaining primarily in his room, the only safe haven for himself and Toshiki, was a good thing. However, at the same time he can’t help but see the place as a prison for the two of them. Being cooped up in this room wasn’t living. Being cooped up inside this room wasn’t changing anything. All being in here does is make him long to be outside of it, to long for a place he and Toshiki can truly be...free.

Freedom was something Ahmes often talked about wanting for himself and Toshiki, free to do whatever he’d like and not be constricted by his duties, his health, or his father. It was a sentiment he is sure Junos shares too, considering how often he left his post to go and cause mischief with the prince and those associated with him. But for people like them, such a thing was not easily obtained. Two sons of some of the most powerful vampires had less freedom than even the poor peasants in the many vamperic villages scattered through the region. 

Some would call such a fact ironic. Others would call it the cruel hand dealt to them by fate. Regardless of the interpretation, it was the one thing the prince wanted more than anything, but...as things stands, such a thing was out of his reach. Ahmes can see it in his mind, those blissful times he ever so wanted, as far away as he was from the stars that shone in the darkness of the night. 

No matter what he did, he’d never get close to reaching those shining lights in the sky. Just like no matter what he did, he’ll never be able to be free with Toshiki as he wanted. Such foolish dreams had been blinding him this whole time, and only just now does he finally realize it as reality truly sank in as he gazed upon the injured Toshiki, the one who got hurt and will continue to get hurt for his sake until the day he dies...

Ahmes instantly drops to his knees at the side of the human then, water forming in his eyes as his head rests on the side of the couch. He felt...so stupid, so stupid for clinging to a childish dream he’s known since the start would never happen. Why did...Why did he get his hopes up? Get...Toshiki’s hopes up? Ahmes suspects part of why Toshiki always was able to get up, to stand again and again after each punishment, was so he could one day be free with the prince like they always wanted. It’s what made sense to him, even if he is unaware as to how wrong he is for thinking that way.

What he should have been doing all this time was think of a more obtainable goal, something he could manage to do. Freeing himself and Toshiki together was impossible. Ahmes knows that now. However, what if he could free...one of them? That...That seemed much more doable, especially considering the person he wanted to free was...not himself.

Ahmes knew of the potential his position had. He might not have much power now as a prince, but...if he became King then...then things would be different. As King, Ahmes would have the power to release Toshiki from his bonds, to allow him to roam the world once again and prevent any vampire from doing further harm. He could also do the same for the other captured humans too, for no one was to disobey the word of the vampire king.

He could...He could change things...He could change things if he did the thing he always had been trying to avoid. Ahmes didn’t like to have power over others. In reality, he wished he was born a peasant, a normal person with a normal life. He...He never asked for this. He never wanted this, and now he must make the best out of the hand he was dealt for the sake of the person he cared about most.

Even at the cost of himself.

“I need...I need to get stronger...Stronger for you...Strong enough to...to finally save you...from this cursed life you’ve lived because of me...I promise...I promise to do it, Toshiki. I promise you I’ll set you free...no matter the cost...Just...Just hang on a little longer...” 

He makes the vow in silence, sealing it with a kiss on the burnt palm of the human. Ahmes knows going on the path to being a king wasn’t going to be easy, especially considering his health. He’d need to start feeding on his retainers more regularly, Ahmes standing up to go and summon both Ashlei and Percival for a feeding, no doubt the largest feeding he has ever had in order to start to get the strength he requires.  

If the path to being king led to Toshiki’s freedom, to Toshiki’s happiness, to the end of Toshiki’s suffering, then he’d endure whatever he must to reach the end of it. He will hold off on drinking from a human as long as he can, for his desire to not hurt them still is dominant in his mind. He will do what he can to survive on vampire blood, to become strong without drinking from a human.

However, if the day does come where he will need to go against his morals and commit the biggest sin in order to free Toshiki, then...then who knows what he will do. For that was up to him to decide, to decide whether fully becoming a monster to save Toshiki from the monsters was worth it...

[incandescentia]

❝So, Sir Killian, where you are from, you are a knight?❞ Percival was naturally intrigued by this information, if only because he had never met a knight from another plane of existence before. Everyone he knew in this building, well, the majority were those whose stories he knew. ❝What made you desire to be one? All knights have their reason for picking up a weapon and fighting for the sake of their kingdom, so I cannot help but be intrigued to know what your reason was.❞

‘Sir’, huh?

That was a title that he had not been using for such a long time — one that he’d nearly forgotten if there were no other knights or other people associated with similar titles present around him.

Once he knew of who he was currently speaking to, he would return the same courtesy with a proper conduct. “That’s right, Sir Percival. I am a knight just like you, or… was.” Unlike him, he wasn’t clad in a proper armor, but he figured that other parties might simply recognize his origins through the all-encompassing knowledge given by the grail. “Why do I want to be a knight, you ask? …Well. I could say that it might be simply in the bloodline.” His father was one, his grandfather was one, his great-grandfather was one, && his ancestors were also one. Even his mother was once a part of an elite fighting force of a rare pedigree in her homeland — maybe being a natural born fighter was really in their blood, after all. “I thought that being a knight was one way of life, with my fate already woven to become one for the sake of justice like my predecessors… though sometimes, the reality proved otherwise as an obstacle. Sir Percival, you probably understand what I mean, right?”

That was what he initially thought of by taking the oath of knighthood, swearing an eternal fealty towards the rulers of his country && to the Holy See… but even those oaths can easily be betrayed by the same people who took the oath && those he swore fealty to. In the end, those life changing ceremonies could mean nothing to those who ultimately did not share the same view as he did. “…but even so, I wanted to be a knight because I truly want to believe in justice and it has always been our duty to protect the weak, even if we have to test our loyalties for it. Though I may not wield the title anymore, I still abide to the oath that we take as a knight.”

@guhamun ( percival )

[flovverworks]

(touches ground) something happened here

[neferaskingdom]

♡ Not a Golfer, Just a Guy in Love | CL16

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader [Face Claim: None]

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Summary: Charles has no business on a golf course, but he’s willing to lose every ball (and his dignity) if it means getting her attention

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

check out my other works: Masterlist

Carlos leaned back in his chair, idly spinning a golf ball between his fingers as he glanced at you with a grin. “Alright, hermana, tomorrow morning? New golf course, 9 AM sharp?”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Carlos, we both know you’ll show up at least fifteen minutes late.”

“Not this time!” he declared. “This course is legendary. Plus, you need the practice.”

“Oh, so now I’m the one who needs practice?” You shot him a look, raising an eyebrow. “Last time, I recall someone missing the hole five times in a row.”

Lando snickered from across the table, catching the end of the conversation. “Five times, Carlos? At this rate, maybe I should join to show you both how it’s done.”

Carlos threw him a mock glare. “Fine, come along, then. Just don’t cry when I show you up.”

“Sure thing, mate,” Lando replied, folding his arms with a smirk.

Charles, sitting nearby and pretending to read a magazine, couldn’t help but eavesdrop. He tried to keep his cool, but every time you were around, it was a little harder than he’d like to admit. And now here you were, laughing and planning a whole day with Carlos and Lando.

He cleared his throat, stepping over as casually as he could manage. “Hey, so… golf tomorrow, huh?”

Carlos looked up, surprised. “Yep. Why?”

“I was just, uh, thinking,” Charles replied, trying to keep his voice steady. “Maybe I could join you guys.”

Carlos exchanged a glance with Lando, one eyebrow raised. “You? play golf?”

“Yes, I want to play golf,” Charles said, trying to sound like he wasn’t feeling a bit defensive.

Lando let out a small laugh. “Didn’t you once call golf ‘slow torture’?”

“That was a joke,” Charles shot back. “I’m serious. I want to come.”

Carlos looked skeptical. “Right… I mean, you’re welcome, but don’t blame us if it doesn’t go well.”

Charles shrugged, keeping his face neutral. “I’ll be fine.”

The next morning, Charles showed up at the course looking like he’d just stepped out of a golf magazine—crisp polo, checkered pants, even a visor.

Lando barely stifled a laugh. “Who let you dress for the occasion?”

Charles ignored him, glancing over at you. You shot him a smile, making the whole get-up feel somewhat worth it. “I, uh, thought I’d try to look the part.”

Carlos shook his head, trying to hide a grin. “Alright, Lord Percival, let’s see if you can play the part too.”

Charles rolled his shoulders, looking toward the first hole with as much focus as he could muster. He approached the tee, adjusted his grip, tried to channel every golf tip he’d seen on youtube last night—and took the shot.

The ball barely moved, skittering a few feet in front of him.

Lando’s laugh echoed through the course. “Great form, mate. Maybe take a little less ‘concentration’ next time?”

Carlos clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh.

Charles clenched his jaw, trying to maintain what little dignity he had left. “It was just the first shot,” he muttered. “Just warming up.”

The next hole wasn’t any better. Charles lined up the shot with as much precision as possible, determined not to make a fool of himself this time.

He swung with a bit too much force—the ball shot out in the wrong direction, rocketing just past Carlos, who ducked, wide-eyed.

Carlos straightened up, hands on his hips as he shot Charles a look. “Are you trying to kill me, or is this your idea of revenge for something?”

Charles cringed, face flushed. “That one… got away from me.”

Lando was practically doubled over, wiping tears from his eyes. “A little? That ball was gunning for Carlos’s head!”

You, meanwhile, gave Charles an encouraging smile. “Hey, at least you’re putting a lot of power into it.”

Charles managed a small, sheepish smile. “Right. Just need to aim better.”

By the third hole, Charles was already looking worse for wear. Sand stuck to his pants, his hair was a mess from the visor, and he’d lost count of how many near-misses he’d had.

Carlos nudged Lando, grinning. “Maybe we should get him a map, just so he can find the right direction.”

“Or a helmet for the rest of us,” Lando added, smirking.

Charles let out a low groan, feeling more than a little defeated. “You two are hilarious,” he muttered, pulling his visor off and running a hand through his hair.

You gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Hey, you’re doing fine. Just… maybe think about where you want the ball to go before you swing.”

“Trust me, I am,” he muttered, his voice barely audible. But the look you gave him was enough to pull a half-smile from him. He was feeling like an absolute disaster out here, but somehow, your encouragement made it all seem less embarrassing.

On the final hole, Charles finally managed to get a decent shot in… except that it went straight for the trees, ricocheted off a branch, and landed almost exactly where it had started.

Carlos was in tears. “Charles, Lord Percival, please stop. I don’t think I can handle any more of this.”

Lando patted Carlos on the back, barely holding back his laughter. “Maybe golf really is slow torture for him.”

Charles sighed, looking down at the golf club in defeat. He glanced over at you, feeling thoroughly embarrassed.

But you just grinned, nudging his arm. “You know what, I think i've had enough golf for one day”

He looked at you, blinking. “Wait, really?”

You nodded, looking at Carlos and Lando, who were now fully engrossed in trash-talking each other’s swings. “Yep. And since they’re busy, maybe we should… escape?”

His expression brightened. “Escape?”

“Yeah,” you replied, shooting him a playful look. “We could go get ice cream or something and leave them to their nonsense.”

Charles chuckled, offering you his arm. “Now that sounds like something I can actually do.”

You and Charles settled on a bench a little away from the green, watching Carlos and Lando trying to one-up each other’s swings. The peacefulness of the ice cream break was a much-needed relief after Charles’s disastrous attempt at playing, and the two of you chuckled quietly as Carlos threw his arms up dramatically over a missed shot.

After a few moments, you glanced at Charles, breaking the silence. “So, be honest… why’d you really want to come today?”

He looked startled, caught in the middle of a spoonful. “What—me?” he stammered, almost dropping his ice cream. “I mean… golf looked… fun?”

You raised an eyebrow, an amused smile tugging at your lips. “Golf looked fun?”

“Okay,” he admitted, letting out a nervous laugh. “Maybe it’s not exactly my thing.”

“Not exactly?” you teased. “Charles, I’m pretty sure you nearly took Carlos out on the second hole. It’s okay to say you’re not a golf person. especially since in all the years I've known you I’ve never seen you voluntarily pick up a golf club before today”

He blushed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, well… it’s more than just that.”

“Oh?” You tilted your head, waiting for him to go on.

Charles seemed to wrestle with himself, glancing away and then back at you, his cheeks a little pinker. “It’s just… I always see you out here with Carlos and thought, maybe if I… tagged along, we’d get to… you know… hang out a bit.”

You stared at him, surprised. “You… wanted to come just to spend time with me?”

He gave a small, almost embarrassed smile, nodding. “Yeah. Kind of.”

A blush crept over your cheeks. You looked down at your ice cream, trying not to grin too obviously. “You didn’t have to put yourself through this just for that, you know,” you said softly, glancing back at him.

Charles fumbled, looking even more awkward. “I didn’t know what else to do… You’re always out here with Carlos. And, I don’t know, I thought maybe… if I didn’t make a complete fool of myself, you’d… notice.”

You laughed softly, heart fluttering a bit at the admission. “Trust me, I noticed.” You paused, gathering your thoughts. “But honestly… I’m only here because Carlos insists. He’d drag me out here even if I showed up in pajamas.”

He looked at you, surprised. “Wait—you don’t even like golf?”

You shook your head, grinning. “Not at all. But he acts like I’ll be abandoning him if I say no.”

Charles blinked, looking a bit stunned. “So you’re telling me I didn’t have to go through all of… this?” He gestured to the course in mock agony, earning a laugh from you.

“Not even a little bit,” you said, nudging him. “If I’d known you wanted to hang out, we could’ve done something… less painful.”

He let out a sigh, putting his head in his hands with a dramatic groan. “Great. So I’ve made a total fool of myself and I didn’t even have to.”

You giggled, gently patting his shoulder. “You’re not a fool. Just… maybe a bit misguided.” You took a breath, glancing at him shyly. “But… it’s kind of sweet that you went through all this just to spend time together.”

He looked at you with a mix of hope and nerves. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You felt your heart pound a little faster, fighting the urge to look away. “I mean, it’s… actually really cute.”

Charles seemed to brighten, his smile turning a bit bashful. “I’m glad you think so. Because, well… I was actually kind of hoping… maybe we could do something else? Just the two of us?”

Your heart flipped, and you felt yourself flush. “Like… a date?”

Charles swallowed, his face a deep shade of pink, but he met your gaze. “Yeah. A date.”

A smile spread across your face, and you nudged him gently. “I’d like that.”

He grinned, looking so relieved you couldn’t help but laugh. “Just promise it won’t involve golf?” he asked, giving you a playful, hopeful look.

“Deal,” you replied, grinning. “Maybe next time, we can do something we’re both good at.”

As you both sat there, sharing quiet laughs and stealing glances at each other, Carlos and Lando’s loud arguing over putts became just background noise. For the first time all day, Charles felt like maybe things were going exactly the way they were supposed to.

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