#she also likes to place a considerate paw i mean hand on my arm when i'm getting too into it

[m4rs-ex3]

tdp s6 really said this one's for all the daughters out there. stay safe girlies

[critrolesideblog]

Caleb Widogast pushed his hair out of his face for the ei--nineteenth time in about as many minutes. Caleb and Essek were reading for pleasure this evening, with the aid of Comprehend Languages: Caleb the collected poems of Erdan Niemi, a famous Drow bard, and Essek, Die Waldhexe und andere Zemnische Volksmärchen. They were seated at opposite ends of one of the sofas in the tower salon, their legs in the middle not quite touching. But some time into Essek's reading, the repeated scrape of sweater against paper edge and rustle of hand in hair became too much for him to ignore.

It was a long time coming really. Essek recalled that it had been Veth who had braided back Caleb's hair for him, when they were in Aeor last. Since there was no Veth to braid it this time around, Caleb had fallen into the habit of roughly tying it back in a ponytail or bun, with varying degrees of success, depending on the amount of effort he put into it, which, lately, was middling, and tonight, none at all. There were times when the mess was charming: when Caleb shuffled into the dining room in the morning, stray locks framing his face; when he ran his hand through his hair in excitement at a new discovery; when some friendly wind caused wayward strands to brush just so against his lips. At the moment, though... Essek took a large sip of his wine and set the glass gently back on the table. "Caleb?"

"Hmm?"

Despite the response, Essek knew better than to continue right away. Caleb's head tilted up toward him slowly, but his eyes lingered on the page a moment longer. When blue finally met lilac, Essek took a  deep breath breath. "May I... braid your hair for you?"

Caleb blinked once, twice, three times, before his eyebrow and lips quirked up with a humor that was a little too insightful. "Well, if it’s bothering you..."

Essek gave a huff of laughter at being caught, before pressing his hands together in front of his lips, arranging his features into a semblance of solemnity. "It is driving me insane." Caleb laughed, as Essek hoped he would.

"I apologize if I have driven you to distraction," he replied, in a voice that sounded not remotely contrite. Essek averted his eyes and took another small sip of wine to provide an alibi for the warmth in his cheeks. "Please, by all means." Caleb pulled free the tie holding his hair in place, and with a small shake of his head, the copper strands fell down around his face and shoulders.

Essek gathered his composure, clearing his throat slightly. "Excellent -- ah, Liesl?" He said quickly, turning to the tortoiseshell cat relaxing in front of the fireplace. She opened one amber eye in response.

Liesl was Essek's right-hand cat. She had been standoffish at first, it was true, but it seemed Essek's years in politics were not wasted in the ruins of Aeor. "Liesl, would you please have Jaakko fetch me some additional hair ties and a comb?" Liesl, without raising her head from her paws, turned her gaze to the cat in question, all black and slender, whose interpretation of cleaning apparently included batting a piece of crumpled paper around the legs of a desk with incredible enthusiasm. At some unseen signal, he turned his attention to Liesl, and after a series of tail twitches, trotted off into  a nearby cat door. She turned her gaze back to Essek. "Thank you, Liesl. That will be all." She chirped at him in response and returned to her nap.

Caleb's eyes were back on his book now, but Essek did not recall anything in Niemi's works amusing enough to justify the grin on Caleb's face, which Essek now had an excuse to give due consideration. He did not think the braids that Verin favored in their youth would suite him particularly well, and they were a bit elaborate for a night in, besides. Perhaps just a variation on the Gwardanian-style braid Veth employed.

Jaakko returned in no time, the items required laid out neatly on a tray held aloft by his long tail, and, with one last small sip of wine, Essek rose from the sofa and moved to stand behind Caleb. He took a deep breath as he picked up the amber comb from the tray. There was no cause, he told himself sternly, for his heart to be racing as it was, which was, of course, a lie. He raised the comb above the copper strands. "I am going to begin now?"

"Ja, danke."

Whether the thanks was for the impending braid or the warning, Essek was not sure, but he drew the edge of the comb gently back along the scalp, carefully delineating a section of hair at the top of Caleb's head. He tied the sides and back out of the way, and if his face warmed at the brush of fingertips on neck, there was no one able to see it. He gathered up the hair closest to Caleb's face and divided it in thirds, before weaving the right third over the center and then left over center. He repeated the process, carefully gathering more strands in on the sides as he went. He was about halfway through with the braid, when Caleb leaned to the left without warning, nearly pulling the locks from his grasp.

"Pysy paikallasi!" Essek hissed, decades-old habit causing the words to spill from his lips in Undercommon, but it did not matter. Comprehend Languages was still in effect. "Mitä sinä teet?"

"I want some wine," Caleb explained, extending his arm to the side to demonstrate that the glass was just out reach.

"Did Veth allow you to move around when she braided your hair?"

"She never complained."

"Then she spoiled you terribly."

"Will you hand me the wine?"

"No," he replied sternly, gathering the strands into one hand, careful not to mix them up, and then leaning over and passing the goblet to its owner.

"You are a riot, Herr Thelyss," Caleb said dryly, but Essek caught a glimpse of a grin as he straightened.

"I am glad you think so. I have been thinking of taking my comedy show on the road when we are done here."

"You should ask Veth if she has any material you can use. Will there be a Mighty Nein discount on tickets?"

"Please, if anything, I should charge you all extra for the honor of heckling me."

Caleb gave a mock gasp. "The Nein? Heckle you? We would never."

"Ha! Tell me another one!"

Caleb's shoulders shook with quiet laughter.

Essek stopped gathering new hair into the top braid, braiding the remaining length of the locks together, and tying them off. He then shifted to the left and began the process again with a section starting at Caleb's left temple. From this vantage point, he could spy the gilded edges and precise black script of the book in Caleb hands (and what hands they were! Capable, as he knew, of both great destruction and healing. And, perhaps, from this vantage, he could also glimpse the stately sweep of his cheekbones, the curve of his nose, the strength of his jaw, but who was to say.).

"How are you enjoying the poetry so far?" He asked, affixing his eyes firmly to the task in front of him. He had not known whether Caleb enjoyed poetry, when he gifted it to him. He had doubted, though, that Caleb had much opportunity to avail himself of Kryn literature during his time in Rosohna, and Caleb had seemed delighted, even touched, by the gift. He did not seem to be making quick progress through the text, however.

"Very much so," Caleb replied after taking a sip of wine. "I imagine I am sometimes missing some nuance or cultural context -- Comprehend Languages is a bit of a blunt instrument -- but I am enjoying it even more than I thought I would. You almost made it sound dry in your description, when you gave it to me."

"Ah, no, not dry. Only, all young Drow are forced to read his works as part of our schooling, and it colors our enjoyment of it somewhat."

"I see."

"Do you have a favorite passage so far?"

Caleb did not respond right away. "Yes..." He admitted, at last, and added, "It is from the Courtship of Lael."

Essek nearly lost his grip on the braid as he fumbled the strands mid-crossing. He had forgotten the Courtship was so early in the text. "Oh?" He asked, hoping it came across as polite interest.

"Would you like to hear it?" Caleb's voice had a softer, deeper hue than usual.

"If you like."

There was quiet for a moment.

Caleb did not turn to the page -- he did not need to. He merely cleared his throat lightly, and began:

"My lover's skin is a field of stars. What bliss to wander among the heavens! Let me approach as a pilgrim from the dark. Let me worship on my knees before the holy light. Let no beacon go without a prayer from my lips."

Every opalescent freckle on Essek's skin was now a flame. He swallowed hard. "That--that was, ah ... evocative."

"Ja, I thought so too." Caleb chuckled.

Essek tied off the left braid and moved around to the opposite side. They passed the time in quiet, as Essek's dexterous hands, having found their rhythm, made quick work on the braid on the right. And if he had a new awareness of the freckles that made fiery constellations along the slope of Caleb's neck, he gave no indication.

"You know it is a good thing you are braiding my hair up, with us going deeper into the Genesis Ward tomorrow." Caleb said at last, as Essek gathered the braids and the loose strands left over in the back up into a neat ponytail, tying it off with Caleb's original tie. There was more than a little mischief in his voice. "I should hate for Devexian to see me for the first time in months with my hair a mess."

"You are a riot, Caleb Widogast," Essek drawled.

"I'm glad you think so."

.

.

.

----

Notes: Pysy paikallasi! Mitä sinä teet? -  Stay still! What are you doing?

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Moe Moe Mallekei Kyun~

In which Malleus and Cater go to a maid café, and shenanigans ensue.

... I’ve been wanting to write this for a long time.

***Warning: mild spoilers for Malleus’s PE Uniform personal story!***

Imagine this...

“Lilia-sama.”

Two bodyguards fell into line, saluting simultaneously to their vice dorm leader.

“We just finished combing through the prime gargoyle locations around campus,” Silver reported. “Unfortunately, there was no sight of Malleus-sama to be found. The accounts of the various students we interviewed also corroborate that the Young Master has not recently been spotted in the area.”

“I see. Thank you, Silver.” Lilia sighed, cupping his cheek in one hand. “Hm, this is a bit odd. Wherever could he have wandered off to this time?”

At that moment, a ping! sounded off. Lilia fished his phone out of his pocket and, with one glance at the screen, his expression softened.

“You don’t suppose some dastardly villain has… kidnapped the Young Master and is holding him for ransom, do you?!” Sebek’s eyes nearly bulged out of his skull at the thought. “If that is the case… THEN WE HAVE FAILED AS MALLEUS-SAMA’S KNIGHTS!!”

“Now, now--let’s not jump to conclusions. Even if that were true, I’m certain that Malleus would be able to easily fend off assailants on his own. Perhaps he has simply lost his way, or headed off campus to run an errand.”

“... Without warning us in advance?”

“I would have happily accompanied the Young Master wherever he went--EVEN TO THE ENDS OF TWISTED WONDERLAND ITSELF!!”

“Kufufu. Malleus is still young at heart. Let us allow him this moment of independence, just this once. He will find his way home eventually.”

“Welcome home, my masters!!”

Malleus skidded to a stop in the doorway—for beyond it laid unknown territory. The interior sported cream walls, with fairy lights, streamers, and paper flowers strung up. A number of tables and chairs, populated with people, were set against flowing white curtains.

Young ladies flitted about, balancing trays of food and drinks, cameras, and microphones. Each wore the same outfit, consisting of a frilly headdress, an apron, and a black dress with lace trim and ribbons.

And now, one of those uniformed girls extended a hand to him and a warm, welcoming smile.

Malleus frowned and turned to the orange haired young man beside him. “... Diamond. What is this strange establishment you’ve brought me to?”

“Mm? It’s a maid café,” Cater chirped, glancing up from his phone. “You said you’ve never been before, right?”

“Well, yes… However, when you invited me to join you for an outing, I did not expect this to be our destination.”

“It’ll be fine~ We’re already here, so let’s get seated!” Cater insisted cheerily, ushering the fae through the door. 

“Right this way, my masters!” The greeter giggled and led the way, eventually stopping at a vacant table set for two. As the duo slipped into their seats, she handed them menus and moistened towels. “We have a wide selection of special services and delicious dishes for your enjoyment!”

Malleus hesitantly flipped open the (very pink) menu and ran his eyes down the page of available items. Along with the expected offerings of desserts, savory foods, and beverages were odd listings: massage, ear cleaning, karaoke, game, arts and crafts, picture, spoon feeding, live song and dance...

He stared quizzically at Cater, who seemed to be taking everything in stride.

“I’ll take a plate of omurice! How about you, Malleus-kun?”

He stared back at his menu, trying to make rhyme or reason of the unique names. What in the Great Seven was a Pyon ❤ Pyon Sunshine Bar…? Or a Lucky☆Happy☆Cookie? Malleus’s brows furrowed in both concentration and confusion.

“I… I shall have the local specialty, whatever that may be,” the fae prince declared at last.

“Excellent choices! And would you like a bunny, or a kitty?”

“You hand out animals at this eating establishment? Is that not a health code violation?”

“Aaah, Malleus-kun, she doesn’t mean real rabbits and cats. Look--you’ll see when she brings them, okay?” Cater laughed awkwardly. Then, turning to the waitress, he held up his index finger. “One of each, little lady~”

“Of course!” She scribbled down a few words on her heart shaped notepad before prancing off.

“... Diamond. Are you certain this is the fabled maid café of which you spoke of?” Malleus asked, folding his arms. “I find it difficult to believe that every patron here is descended from a high class lineage. Furthermore, the servers are wearing attire entirely unlike that of a traditional household servant.”

Cater blinked once, twice—then chuckled.

“Maid cafés are like normal cafés. Anyone can go to them to play pretend and chill for a while! The difference is that the waitresses are dressed cutely and offer fun services. Singing, dancing, playing games—that kinda thing!”

“I do not understand.” Malleus swept a hand at their surroundings. “The purpose of this establishment is merely for… amusement?”

“Yup! People get tired of the daily grind sometimes, so they go to places like this to see cute stuff and just take a load off.”

“I… I see.” Malleus tucked his thumb and forefinger under his chin. “We do not have anything like your maid cafes in the Valley of Thorns.”

“You don’t? What sort of things do you do back home for fun, then?”

“I was not allowed to venture far from the palace grounds. Most of my time was spent indoors, studying spells or honing my magical abilities.”

Cater inclined his head. “Oooh, right! Because you’re a prince and all, you weren’t able to do much—but hey! Things are different now! You’ve got Cay-kun to show you a good time!”

“Ah, yes. A ‘good time’...” Malleus attempted at a smile, which came out more wary than he had intended.

“Thank you for waiting!” a girlish voice chirped—their waitress had returned, wearing a tray of food in one hand and two headbands in the other. “Here is your omurice and Nyan ✨ Nyan ✨ Kitty-chan Parfait, plus one pair of kitty ears and one pair of bunny ears!”

She handed Cater his dish—a bed of ketchup flavored fried rice, sealed by a wobbling omelet and garnished with a sprig of parsley.

“Mm! Smells delicious. Thanks a bunch~” Cater grinned, winking at his server.

The maid giggled and placed Malleus’s dessert before him, along with the headbands.

“Would you like me to draw or write something special for you on your meal, master?” she asked, gesturing to Cater’s omurice.

“Sure thing! Could you write ‘Mallekei’? Oh, and a couple of hearts would be cute, too!”

“As you wish!”

As the maid set to work, Malleus marveled at the sight of his parfait.

Colorful scoops of ice-cream, granola, and sliced fruits were layered inside of a tall glass cup. A generous crown of whipped cream and a drizzle of strawberry sauce topped it off. Sticking out from the whipped cream were two wafer triangles and dots of chocolate candies, forming a cat-like face.

How adorable.

… But not adorable enough to be spared.

“Thank you for the food.” The fae raised his spoon to demolish the poor parfait kitten—

“Stop, stop, Malleus-kun!!” Cater cried, frantically waving his arms. “N-Not yet!!”

Malleus lowered his spoon with a frown. “Food is meant to be consumed, Diamond. Is there an issue you have with my table etiquette?”

“Well—no, but…” Cater played with a lock of his orange hair and sighed. “There’s certain rituals we need to do first!”

“Rituals? Oh, my apologies. I was not aware. Please proceed with your regularly scheduled… rituals.”

“Ahaha, you’re a quick learner! First thing’s first, let’s put on our headbands!” Cater swept up the cat ears and passed them over. “Here, to match your parfait! I’ll take the rabbit.”

Malleus gingerly nestled the cat ears on his head, copying Cater’s movements. It was a bit tricky maneuvering around his horns, but somehow, he managed.

“Oh!! Those ears suit you so well!” the waitress said, glancing up from decorating the omurice. Carefully placed splotches of ketchup spelled out ‘Mallekei’, hearts and little sparkles littering the space around the boys’ combined names.

“... Do they?” Malleus doubted it.

“They do!!” Cater reassured him with a laugh. “Ne, ne, miss! Can you take our picture so my friend here can have a souvenir to take home with him?” 

“Certainly!” She replaced the bottle of ketchup and hurried off, returning shortly after with a polaroid camera. “Are you ready, my masters?”

“Ready, Malleus-kun?”

“Hmph. Of course. I will have you know that my posing abilities have improved considerably since our last encounter. Do not underestimate me.”

“Oh, that’s great! You’ve been practicing! Then… on the count of three, we nyah, okay?”

“... What is ‘nyah’?” Malleus inquired, his confidence suddenly waning.

“Eh?” A blip of surprise crossed Cater’s face. “Like, y’know… nyah!”

The influencer curled both of his hands into balls and made a pawing motion at his friend. “Now you try!”

“Like this?” Malleus mimicked him. He was more stiff—definitely not as practiced—but the general motion was still recognizable.

“Very good, master!!” the waitress gushed, raising the polaroid up. “On three?”

“1, 2, 3… Nyah!”

A flash went off, sending stars into Malleus’s vision. As he rubbed the daze out of his eyes, Cater’s voice called out to him.

“Are you okay there?”

“I am well. There is no need for your concern,” the fae insisted. “This ritual… it is more confounding that I took it to be.”

“Eeeh? It’s not meant to be hard or anything. Just relax, relax!” Cater paused before adding, “It’s part of the ritual’s requirements! You need to be nice and loose for the last step!”

“What is this last step?”

“We need to cast a magic spell to make your food taste extra tasty!” the waitress declared cheerily.

“Hoh?” A smirk found its way onto Malleus’s face. “That can easily be arranged. Allow me to do the honors.”

He put his hand before his parfait, an eerie green glow emulating from his palm. The sinister light engulfed his dish and Cater’s, sending them floating midair. Radioactive ice-cream and omurice hovered above their heads, causing both Cater and their maid to recoil in shock.

Other customers stared at the spectacle from their own tables. One man’s jaw dropped, the forkful of spaghetti bolognese in his mouth clattering onto the floor.

“You, who provides sustenance to the masses, become that which is delici—“

“H-Hold on a sec, Malleus-kun!!” Cater practically leapt over the table to seize his friend’s glowing hand. “Not that kind of spell!!”

Eyes wide with surprise, Malleus allowed his magic to settle down. The parfait and omurice gently floated back onto their table, and the maid sighed with relief.

“Is there a different spell needed for this occasion? I assure you that I am well-versed in practical magic—you need only speak its name, and I can conjure the proper…”

“No, no! It’s—“ Cater casted a look at their server and nervously chuckled. “Ne, Maid-chan~ Think you can give us a demonstration of the right spell?”

“Yes, master!” the girl, ever professional, flashed a perky grin. “Please watch carefully!!”

The maid set down her polaroid on the table. She then arched her fingers into C-like shapes, thumb extended straight. Pushing her hands together, she formed a heart and aimed it in the direction of the boy’s dishes.

“Moe moe kyuuuuuun!”

“What an odd spell. In all my years, I have never heard of such an enchantment…”

“Well, there’s a first for everything, right?” Cater flicked one of his floppy rabbit ears. “Plus, it should be no problem for the great Malleus-sama to pull off this spell, right?”

“This is child’s play,” Malleus’s laugh was like the earth itself rumbling. His lips quirked into a small smile. “You will join me in performing this sacred ritual, will you not, Diamond?”

“Of course~”

“Very well.”

They made hearts and thrust them upon their meals. And together, they uttered those three magic words.

“Moe moe kyuuuuun!!”

“Welcome back, Malleus,” Lilia greeted. The vice dorm leader nonchalantly hung from the ceiling, his raven and magenta bangs suspended midair. “Did you have fun on your outing?”

“Lilia. You knew?” Malleus slowly shut the door behind him, chasing away the cool air of the night. He spoke softly, knowing that sounds carried in the dusty hallways of Diasomnia and could disturb its residents.

“The wonders of modern technology,” Lilia trilled, expertly landing beside his young master. He brandished his phone in a gloved hand, a text message displayed on the screen.

hey hey lilia-chan! gonna steal malmal-kun for the day~ he’ll be back later, but do me a solid and keep it a secret from s&s til then, ‘kay? thnx!! (✿˶˘ ³˘)~♡

“It looks as though I have been exposed.”

“There is no shame in making new friends. In fact, I’m proud of you for expanding your horizons.” Lilia beamed. “Though what a shame it is that I was not present to grab a few pictures. Hopefully Cater fulfilled that task for me.”

The ancient fae tilted forward in his toes and peered up at his prince. “Soooo? Where did you sneak off to?”

“Fufu. Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“My. Is that any way to treat the man that kept Silver and Sebek from hunting you down?” Lilia teased, wagging a finger.

“Such loyalty,” Malleus smirked, hands on his hips, “deserves to be rewarded.”

He produced a polaroid photograph from his breast pocket and presented it with a flourish. The image, forever captured in time, was that of Malleus and Cater—the former with cat ears, the latter with bunny ears—with hands balled to resemble paws. Cater cheekily winked, while Malleus looked slightly bewildered.

The edges of the polaroid were dotted with stickers—smiley faces, flowers, and hearts. Marker had been used to scrawl on whiskers and blushes over both boys’ cheeks.

Overall, cutesy—overwhelming so.

But the Malleus and Cater in the picture were happy.

Their eyes shining like jewels.

Nyah-ing their hearts out.

[punkpresentmic]

Traitor Aizawa AU Pt. 5  — 1,  2,  3,  4

Hizashi goes into school the next day, starting his morning as usual by grabbing a cup of coffee. Nezu meets his eyes there in the teacher’s lounge, holding his gaze, nose twitching. Hizashi smiles, wishes him good morning. Nezu does the same. They go about their days. 

After school, Hizashi sets out to pick up Eri as scheduled, but she’s not in her room. A quick call to Nemuri reassures him that Eri is with Nezu; they’re having a tea party. 

Nemuri was also under the impression that she was supposed to watch Eri this afternoon, which is odd because Hizashi knows it’s the opposite—it’s his day. 

They go together. They’re greeted warmly. Nezu mentions that he wants to talk to him, so Nemuri takes Eri with a small joke about how ooh someone’s in troublleee!

Eri doesn’t like this joke.

The two gone, Nezu offers Hizashi a cup of tea, has him sit. Nezu asks the same question as before: “What do you know about Eraserhead’s motivations, Yamada?”

It’s the same answer as before: honestly, nothing. 

Nezu hums, interested. “I was reading back through Eraserhead’s resignation letter:” Hizashi’s skin prickles as he places the creased letter on the table between them. Nezu’s up to something here & he doesn’t know what. Nevertheless, Nezu continues,

“I must resign my position at UA on the grounds that I am the UA traitor. I willingly supplied the time and location of the USJ incident. Though I was not at the time aware of the connection to the League of Villains, I am guilty of continuing my arrangement after it became clear. It was my ongoing secret communication with my contact that was responsible for the Vanguard Action Squad receiving the location of the training camp, leading to the injury of several students and the kidnapping of Bakugou Katsuki. There was a failed attempt at a subsequent deal prior to the events at Kamino Ward. I maintain my arrangement with my contact and the League of Villains. I have provided evidence of my communications to remove suspicion that I am writing this against my will.”

It hurts to read, it hurts to hear, but Nezu reads through it all again anyway before tucking it away. He already knows Hizashi practically has the thing memorized, that Hizashi tore through it & the evidence over & over, his denial strong despite it, imploring that the investigators consider that Shouta wasn’t a criminal, that he must be held under some kind of duress, that he wouldn’t just do this... “His letter to you is of course more regretful, as you’ve seen.” 

There’s a standoff of sorts as they look at each other. Nezu sighs. “I’ve already expressed my concern about Eraserhead taking advantage of the connections he’s built here. Yamada, it’s clear to me you still have a… significant amount of trust remaining in our Eraserhead. I want to discuss—”

“ —That’s not fair,” Hizashi cuts in. “Nezu, that’s not fair. He’s my husband. Yes, we know what he did. & we don’t know why. Asking me not to trust that he has good reasons for—”

“—Yamada. He is the legal definition of a villain. I am not asking that you refuse to forgive him for what he’s done. I am asking that you think very… carefully about how you proceed with your own actions involving the ex-hero Eraserhead, especially when we are as of yet in the dark about his reasons.”    

A spike of adrenaline shoots through his blood. He feels caught. Is he caught? In an instant of panic he realizes he can’t lie to Nezu. But he gets a hold of himself, pushes his glasses up with a showman’s laugh. “I’m not sure what you mean, principal—do you have something else you’re not telling me?”

Nezu’s eyes sparkle. “Do you?” 

His mouth is dry. “Are you insinuating something, Principal Nezu?” 

Nezu clasps his paws on the table. “Yamada, we don’t have to do this. I can quite literally smell him on you.”

It’s like a punch to a gut. He sucks in a breath. He’s quiet for a long, long time. Finally, he takes a long drink of tea. “So you definitely knew about us way before we started telling people we were together, huh?”

“You were never particularly subtle.”

Hizashi gestures with his tea cup, sits back with his legs out in front of him. “So what now, Nezu?”

“What indeed,” Nezu sighs, taking a sip of his own tea. They sit for a long moment. “For me, this confirms Eri’s story. He wanted to take her with him?”

“He did. He said he wanted to help with her Quirk. I told him no.”

“& Eri has not reported a visit since.”

“She hasn’t been having issues since,” Hizashi points out, despite himself. “But I think he… saw reason.”

“So you are likewise confirming multiple unreported visits with Eraserhead,” Nezu notes. Hizashi winces, doesn’t deny it. “This is a major security breach, as we are being visited repeatedly by an undetected villain—whether or not this is one we trust is not the issue at hand.” 

There’s a pause. Nezu meets his eyes. “Are you willing to assist with bringing him in?” 

Hizashi saw it coming. “I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “He’s after something, Nezu. I don’t know what it is. He wouldn’t tell me.”

“But you trust his judgment,” Nezu finishes for him. ‘Despite everything,’ goes unsaid.  

Hizashi taps the side of the teacup w his wedding ring. “Through the good, the bad, & the ugly hair days, principal.”

“Even recognizing that this is a reasonable plan to bring him back, to bring justice to the situation, to return safety to UA, & potentially find out once & for all the reasoning behind Eraserhead’s actions?”

“You know I want him home. You know I want answers. You know I want these kids to be safe.” Hizashi leans forward. “But I love him. & your way won’t bring him home. It could land him in Tartarus. That’s not justice. & that doesn’t feel like assuring any safety for my students. & it can’t ensure those answers. We don’t know what he’s dealing with.” He shakes his head. “I can’t do that to him.” 

“I figured as much.” 

Hizashi stands, legs shaky. “Now if you don’t mind, principal; it’s my day with Eri.” 

“I do not think,” Nezu stops him without looking away from his tea, “that you have fully thought through the consequences of siding with a villain, Yamada. That’s not how this works.” Nezu stands too. “I called Kayama here for a reason.”

Hizashi’s heart is in his throat, pulse rising like a scream. “Don’t do this. The kid’s already lost so much.” 

“I don’t disagree.” Nezu’s tone is exhausted. “I have a duty to those at UA: to keep this school safe from villains. That is the first and foremost thought around which I must make my decisions.” 

Eri. Hizashi could throw himself under the bus here. Easily. His conduct hasn’t exactly been the shining picture of heroism lately. But he can’t do that when Eri is in the mix. Shouta’s leaving hit her so hard. He can’t let her lose anyone else. She can’t go through that again. 

& Shouta... Shouta trusted him to look after her, not to stick up for him when he made his own choices.  

Nezu sees his indecision. “Will you accept the conditions to help us if Eraserhead is given a chance?” Nezu asks. “I am not able to grant him full legal immunity, but I do have significant say about what happens at our fine school. My input on the investigation holds considerable weight. If you agree to assist us, this exchange stays between us, business can continue as normal until Eraserhead is located, & when that happens… We will do what is in our power not to treat Aizawa Shouta as a villain. We will hear his side of the story.” 

Hizashi looks away. Bait. They want to use him as bait to capture his husband. 

Nezu steps forward, unafraid. He sets a paw on Hizashi’s arm. “Yamada,” he says, “Let’s bring him home.” 

Hizashi is just in time for the tea party with Eri & Nem.

(pt. 6)

[ladybugout-au]

Luka waved to everyone as they headed off of the Liberty, Marinette flashing him a warm smile while Juleka went off to spend the day with Rose. He sighed happily, content in the fact that everyone had a good time, and seeing Marinette in particular being as happy as she was only strengthened the feeling. Ever since LadyBugOut had been made, she'd been less stressed overall, and while the only information he had on that was that she was honored to be working on such a thing, he was just glad she was doing better.

As he turned to head back below deck, he felt a familiar presence on his shoulder and looked over as best as he could. Trixx was lounging there, tail swishing with a hint of amusement.

"For how much you enjoy Marinette's company, you don't spend a lot of one-on-one time with her," he observed.

Luka blanked for a moment, finding the question odd. Giving a one-armed shrug for the sake of not jostling Trixx, he replied, "I'm happy with what we have, and Marinette likes getting the whole group together."

"Ah," Trixx hummed in thought, "so you don't like spending time alone with her?"

"I do," Luka responded, "but I want Marinette to do whatever she's comfortable with."

"So she doesn't like spending time alone with you?"

Luka raised a brow, growing suspicious of where Trixx was going with this. Still, he genuinely thought about it, walking over to sit down on a nearby instrument case to think. "I... don't know. I haven't spent time with her since..."

He trailed off, his confession to her feeling so long ago by now. It wasn't as if he'd intentionally kept his distance from her ever since, though perhaps he unconsciously felt like he'd drawn a line where he could only get so close to her without seeming like he had an ulterior motive.

"And you never asked her?" Trixx questioned.

"I wouldn't want to pressure her," Luka replied. "If she asked me, of course I'd agree, but—"

"No, no, I get it." Trixx took a moment to stretch his limbs out, then let out a breath and glanced up at Luka casually. "You want her to make all the decisions."

Luka was about to answer affirmatively when Trixx's words fully registered. While the tone had been entirely neutral, the implication was there: that he was making Marinette do all the work. He tried to come up with a proper response like it's not like that, or that's not what I mean, but he ended up saying nothing.

Trixx grinned, having clearly hoped for that reaction, then patted Luka where his paw could reach. "You're a good kid, but how's she gonna know that you like her the way you do if you don't want to show it?"

"I'm not trying to date her," Luka gently retorted.

"So?" Trixx flew up, hovering in front of Luka without leaving his relaxed pose. "There's nothing wrong with spending time with her without anyone else around. The worst she can do is say 'no,' but she can't do that if you never ask."

Luka felt somewhat defensive at first, having always been of the belief that he'd go at whatever pace Marinette wanted to go, but Trixx cut in before he could say anything.

"Besides, what if she's doing the same thing and you don't know about it?"

Luka paused at that, the thought having never occurred to him. Marinette was considerate enough to do something similar with him, and even if it wasn't strictly romantic, he wouldn't have been surprised to hear that she never asked him out anywhere so as to not give him the wrong idea about her feelings. Still, regardless of how she felt about him, if both people let the other set the pace, they wouldn't get anywhere and were needlessly making the other starved for their attention.

Trixx smiled knowingly, floating closer and adding, "You can't catch prey if you don't chase them."

Immediately, Luka squinted in disgust. "Marinette is not prey."

"And that's how I know you'll treat her well," Trixx replied, his point apparently made, "and that you don't see it as a game to win. Look at it this way—" He briefly stopped to gesture to the instrument case below. "—what would you think if you were playing a duet and your partner always waited for you to start first?"

Luka didn't answer, but admitted to himself: I'd think that they didn't want to.

He supposed he may've presumed too much about what was and wasn't appropriate to ask Marinette about, simply because of what he thought was best for him to do. As much as he believed he could be on top of things, Trixx was right, and he wasn't doing Marinette any favors by deciding not to ask her out anywhere while also not telling her that he was doing so. There was a boundary he'd made that she wasn't aware of, and that wasn't fair to her.

Luka's hand twitched, then reached back and pulled out his phone. Unlocking it, he navigated to his contacts and then to his text conversation with Marinette. He hovered his thumbs over the keyboard, hesitated, then glanced up at Trixx, who seemed wholly amused at his reaction.

That was enough to get his thumbs moving.

Hey, Marinette, would you like to hang out at the park sometime? It can be whenever you want, and I'll bring my guitar if you want me to play for you.

The park seemed like the easiest place to choose for her. After all, it was right next to her house, making it convenient, and it being that close by meant it was normal enough for her not to view it as a date—

"You're thinking too much," Trixx observed with a chuckle, having flown near his shoulder again to read off the message. Luka was still getting used to someone being able to read him that well and he wasn't sure how to feel about it.

He turned off his phone's screen and set it off to the side, then took a breath and leaned back, still mulling over the situation. He wasn't egotistical enough to think that Marinette always thought about how much time she wanted to spend with him, but the possibility was there, and he wouldn't want to miss it if it was something she wanted. He might've had feelings for her, but it didn't mean he couldn't hang out with her like any other friend would, right?

Not even a minute later, his phone dinged thrice, Trixx making an idle comment about the swiftness of the reply. Luka was about to remind him that it could've been anyone, then he turned on the screen and saw that it was indeed Marinette.

Of course I'd like that! You know I like hearing you play!

Are you free tomorrow afternoon maybe? I'll bring snacks!

(I didn't mean that I'd only bring snacks if you're free tomorrow afternoon! I swear I'll bring them no matter what time we go!)

"Hm~" Trixx hummed, flying over to the phone to lay across the top of it, resting on his side while looking down at the screen. "Yeah, I see what you mean. She seems very pressured to me."

Luka barely heard the teasing, too busy grinning like a fool.

[starshine583]

New Girl on the Block (4)

(Y’all ready to read the next update??? Enjoy part four of this fic and if you’re interested, feel free to check out the mini series connected to this called the Journal Entries. It’s just little journal snippets from the two dorks that I decided to write for fun :D)

Ch.1 / Ch.3 / Ch.5

Chapter 4: Get to Know You

Marinette slipped on her white, non-flour-covered leather jacket and pushed her pigtails back so they wouldn’t be tucked into her outfit. She then smoothed out her pink dress with a smile, admiring the black flowers that she’d stitched along the bottom. This dress had been one of her stress-relieving projects, but it turned out quite well, in her opinion.

Once Papa had finished teaching her friends how to fold the dough, he put their croissants into the fridge to chill them and instructed everyone to go upstairs and wash up. Marinette dutifully took them up to her room where her personal bathroom was and taught them how to use the shower, but when she tried to lead one of them to her parent’s bathroom as well, they insisted that she take a shower there herself. 

“What kind of gentlemen would we be if we forced the ladies to wait on us?” Claude had said light-heartedly, though she could tell he meant it. Allegra’s smirk as she walked in the bathroom to take a shower first was proof of that. 

The notion had warmed Marinette’s heart, coaxing a giggle from her each time she thought about it. It might be hard to see sometimes, but Claude, Allan, and Felix truly were a considerate and chivalrous group of boys. 

Now, She’s finished her shower in her parent’s bathroom and gone back up to her bedroom, where Allegra, Claude, and Allan had been patiently waiting. Allegra was nice and clean again, wearing the long, purple shirt and black leggings that Marinette had given her, and Claude appeared to have just exited the shower, his damp hair sticking to his face and dripping across his borrowed, black and blue “O.K” shirt. Allan was still covered in flour.

Allegra smiled at Marinette from her spot on the chaise as she re-braided her long, golden blonde hair. “Thanks for the extra clothes, Mari! These are amazing.”

“Yeah!” Claude agreed enthusiastically, holding out his with a grin. “This shirt is awesome!”

Marinette glanced down to hide her blush. “I-It’s the least I could do.”

“We still appreciate it.” Allan replied.

“Oh!” Marinette said, suddenly thinking about the fact that Allan was still covered in flour. “Allan, do you want to use Maman’s shower? You don’t have to stand around waiting for Felix.”

That who she assumed was occupying the shower, anyway. The water was still running, and everyone but Felix was present. 

Allan waved a hand. “Nah, it’s fine. I’ll be getting a shower soon if Felix would hurry up.”

Marinette chuckled at Allan’s obvious call to Felix, even more so when Felix shouted back from the bathroom, “You’re the one that let me go first!”

“I didn’t know you would take a day and a half!” 

“That’s still your fault then, isn’t it?” Felix shot back.

Allan scoffed and crossed his arms, causing Marinette to offer her parent’s shower again out of guilt. She had been the one to throw flour on him, after all.

“Are you sure you don’t want to-”

The bathroom door swung open, effectively cutting Marinette off, and Felix stepped out with one hand on his hip and the other hand on the towel that was draped across his head. He shot Allan a glare, practically growling the words, “There. I’m out. Are you happy?”

“Delighted.” Allan responded sarcastically.

Marinette might have been concerned about the growing conflict had she not been focused on Felix’s outfit. Or rather, how well it suited him. The black, three-quarter-sleeved shirt that she’d given him, along with the plaid green, button-up shirt she’d provided to go underneath, clung to his waist, revealing his surprisingly slender figure. The dark grey jeans he wore in place of his dress pants didn’t fit the outfit exactly, but they worked well enough, and Marinette eagerly started taking mental notes for future adjustments.

Allan grabbed his clothes and walked into the bathroom, while Felix glared daggers at him until the bathroom door closed. 

“Woah~” Allegra crowed, easily breaking the tension. “You should wear casual outfits more often, Felix. They really suit you.”

Claude smirked. “No kidding. I swear you’ve worn the same suit for the whole two years we’ve known.”

Felix turned his glare to Claude with a scoff. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve worn plenty of suits, each one made differently.”

Allegra snorted. “That wasn’t.. That was not the point, Felix.”

Felix narrowed his eyes, the barest hint of confusion finding its way to his features, and Marinette took that opportunity to speak up.

“How’s the outfit? Does it fit alright?” She asked. Hopefully she can find the original measurements for the outfit if it does fit fine, because Felix was most likely going to become a regular customer. Maybe he wouldn’t hire her for actual commissions, but she might end up making something for him on impulse. (as you do)

Felix caught her eye, his glare slowly fading as he registered her question.

“The fabric is extremely comfortable, and the clothes fit perfectly.” He said after a moment. “You said you made these?”

She nodded. “With my sewing machine. I was thinking of putting a green paw print on the shirt too, but I haven’t gotten around to it.”

Felix hummed, idly pulling his towel from on top of his head to around his shoulders. “I see. Thank you for lending them to me.”

Marinette blinked, suddenly finding herself captivated by the way his hair fell across his face. Still being damp, various strands stuck to his forehead and cheeks, and he reached up to brush them away. This brought her attention to his face, which, for some reason, she hadn’t quite noticed before. The defined jawline, the subtle-yet-there cheek bones, the pointed nose- all of his features were sharp. Even his eyes held a silver tint to them that reminded her of steel. 

These observations dragged her to one, rather important revelation: Felix Culpa was actually a fairly handsome person.

“Marinette?” Felix said, drawing her from her thoughts. “Are you alright?”

A rush of heat swarmed her cheeks, and Marinette straightened. “W-what? I mean yes! Yeah, I’m totally fine, I.. yes.”

“Hey, speaking of clothes!” Claude piped up, graciously saving Marinette from her own awkwardness. “How’s my prince costume going?”

Marinette twirled around in her rolling chair and grabbed for her sketching notebook. A distraction was definitely something she needed right now.

“I’ve got a few different ideas, but you need to come tell which one you like best.” She explained as she flipped open the notebook.

Claude hopped up from the stray chest he’d been sitting on and practically bounced over to her seat. She let him scan each page, smiling when he started humming “Ooh’s” and “Aah’s”.

“I can only pick one?! But they’re all so good!” Claude remarked, almost exasperated.

Marinette chuckled. “Well.. I guess I can make all of them for you, but you at least need to choose which one I start on.”

Claude gasped. “You mean you’re going to make all of these for me?”

“It’s going to take a month or so to get them all done.” She warned. “But-”

Claude scooped her into a bone-crushing hug, briefly reminding her of her father. “Thank you, Mari! Thank you, thank you, thank you! You’re the best!”

Marinette laughed and gave him a light pat on the arm. “You’re welcome.”

Her smile widened as Claude eagerly grabbed the notebook and ran back to his designated chest to look through the drawing again. It was nice to see someone who was also enthusiastic about fashion. She’d gotten tired of talking to people who simply didn’t understand the hype of creating unique styles of clothing. 

“You know he’s never going to leave you alone now, right?” Felix commented next to her.

Marinette offered him a glance as she said, “I think I can live with that.”

Felix shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

She smiled at that. Felix may be striking, but that didn’t have to change anything. Lots of people were striking. And lots of people remained friends despite that.

“Oh,” Felix muttered, seeming to remember something, “Where do you want me to put my clothes? They’re still in the bathroom because of Allan, but..”

“Uhm.. I think Maman said she was going to wash them.” Marinette answered. “She wanted to try to get them clean before supper for all of you.”

“Ah, supper.” Claude cut in, heaving a jokingly wistful sigh. “I can’t wait for that. If your mom’s croissants can taste that heavenly, then her full meals must be amazing.”

He sunk against the chest for emphasis, not realizing that there was a gap between the chest and the wall. The sudden weight threw the chest off balance, and it tipped forward, causing Claude to get jerked backwards. He flailed his arms briefly and yelped before crashing to the floor. The front of the chest hit the ground as well, and the impact popped it open, scattering various objects across the floor.

“Oh, Claude!”

“Are you okay?” 

The girls rushed to his side to help him up, but Felix shot him a flat look.

“First the kitchen and now her bedroom.” He said curtly. “Should we tear up the living room next? Or perhaps the dining room has more fragile items?”

Allegra rolled her eyes. “Felix, can you at least try to be sympathetic.”

“I am being sympathetic. Marinette doesn’t have the money to replace things at the drop of a hat like we do. It’s rude to behave so recklessly in her home.”

Marinette glanced up at Felix, not sure whether to find his words sweet or offensive. “Trust me, it’s fine. This chest is old anyway.”

Felix’s frown told her that he didn’t agree on the matter, but before he could argue further, the bathroom door swung open again.

“What happened?” Allan asked, his hair still dripping wet. “I heard the crash. Is anyone hurt?”

“Only my pride.” Claude groaned in response. He was sitting up now and rubbing his head as Allegra switched between scolding and coddling.

Allan sighed with relief. “Oh, good. You can’t hurt something that’s not there.”

“Hey!”

Marinette giggled at the comment. “Allan, how is your outfit? Do I need to make any adjustments?”

Allan glanced down at his clothes. She’d given him a maroon shirt with a blue heartbeat line in the center, a black and blue shirt to go underneath, and a pair of black jeans. He didn’t appear to be wearing the second shirt, though.

“Oh, they fit great.” He said, twisted his torso a bit to get a better feel for the new clothes. “I didn’t have time to put on the second shirt, though. I heard the crash and panicked.”

Marinette offered him a smile. “That’s fine. I can just put it back in the closet.”

Allan nodded and looked down at the mess. “So Claude spilled this chest?”

“Yeah, he was being an idiot.” Allegra remarked as she picked up one of the trinkets. “You know. Nothing new.”

“Wow. can you guys lay off for two seconds?” Claude huffed. He reached forward to pick up one of the objects as well, curiosity overtaking his annoyance. “What is all of this stuff, anyway?”

Marinette glanced at the miscellaneous objects to check- she had several trunks that acted as ‘junk drawers’ -and immediately cringed when she recognized a black hat with rainbow colors stitched along the bottom.

“Oh..” It was Adrien’s gift chest. She’d almost forgotten that she had it. “They’re, um.. They’re just crafts, really.”

“Just crafts?” Claude repeated, holding up a crocheted Ladybug doll. “These are awesome!”

Marinette watched them for a moment. “...do you want them?”

The group looked up in shock, and Marinette quickly added, “Y-You don’t have to take them! I’ve just.. Uh.. they’re like junk? I mean, not junk, but this is my junk chest.. Sort of. I’ve just been meaning to get rid of them. So if you want them, you can have them.” 

Allegra frowned. “Are you sure? It looks like you put a lot of effort into these.”

Marinette nodded. “Positive. Take whatever you want.”

Although hesitant at first, the group continued to look through the gifts, and little by little, they started to take some. A smile came to Marinette’s lips as she watched the pile of Adrien junk dwindle. She had spent a lot of time on making the presents, but there was no way she’d be giving them to Adrien now. So what was the point of keeping them in her room? To serve as a mocking reminder of how blind she had been while loving him? No thanks.

By the time they were done, the chest only had half the gifts it used to, and Marinette quickly decided that she would donate the leftovers once she got the chance. 

“Thanks for the stuff, Mari!” Claude said cheerfully, his hands full of various objects.

Allegra nodded, holding a few things herself. “Yeah, you really do spoil us.”

“Which is saying something, considering we’re rich.” Allan teased, pocketing the two items that he’d decided to snatch. 

Marinette chuckled. “You’re helping me more than I am you.”

She stood up and walked to the bathroom to grab the boys’ old clothes. “I’m gonna bring these down to Maman, but feel free to look around until I get back.”

The group voiced their agreements, and Marinette climbed down the trapdoor ladder with the pile of clothes in hand, feeling like another weight had been lifted off of her shoulders.

Getting rid of Adrien’s gifts was one more step towards happiness, and she couldn’t wait to keep walking.

~~~~~~

One can tell a lot about a person by their bedroom. How clean they were, whether they were sentimental, which things they found important- a bedroom could quite literally be considered a box in which someone stored their entire personality. That’s why Felix had been anticipating this part of the visit. Someone can be a master manipulator, but their room would always show their true selves. And it only took one look for Felix to know..

Marinette really loved the color pink.

Seriously, she had it everywhere. The walls, the furniture, the carpet- How was she not sick of the color by now? Felix was sick of it, and he’d only been there for about twenty minutes!

Pushing the pink thought aside, he continued poking around her room. Marinette had gone downstairs to pass his clothes off to her mother, so that gave him a bit of time to inspect the space unsupervised. Not that he was planning on doing anything scandalous. It merely gave him the opportunity of observing Marinette’s room on his own terms.

When she told him that her room was up in the attic, he’d been understandably shocked. The attic didn’t sound like a spacious place to sleep, let alone work on homework and other personal things. Seeing it now, though, Felix realized that that wasn’t the case. The attic was actually quite open. There was a desk, a closet, various chests, a bathroom, and she still had a good portion of the room empty. He wondered if that was thanks to the original size of the room or thanks to Marinette’s resourcefulness.

Her cleaning style wasn’t too bad, either. Don’t get him wrong, there were things scattered everywhere, but it was a specific type of scattered, like an organized chaos. He had a feeling that she knew where most of her necessities were. 

Felix moved to her desk, where most of the mess was focused. There were papers, sewing needles, scraps of fabric, and pencils spread across the surface. Her interest in fashion certainly shined through, as most of the papers were filled with various sketches and measurements. He found that admirable. When someone usually speaks of their ‘dream job’, they speak of it as a fantasy, one that they never intend to fully pursue, but Marinette was obviously reaching as high as she could to grasp her goal. She even had a mannequin in her room.

“Marinette’s room is so cool!” Claude exclaimed from the loft up top. “She even has a balcony!”

Felix glanced upwards, briefly setting the papers he’d been studying aside. There’s a balcony upstairs? He didn’t recall seeing a balcony on the way in.

“Claude, you have a balcony.” Allegra reminded him with an amused smile.

“Yeah, but mine only extends from the side of the building.” Claude defended. “This one’s on the roof!”

Ah, so that’s why Felix hadn’t seen it.

Allan frowned. “Really? Isn’t that a little dangerous?”

“It’s got a rail.” 

“Oh, okay. That’s fine then.”

Allegra chuckled as she brushed her hands against the hat on Marinette’s mannequin. “Marinette’s room is pretty neat, though.”

“I think it’s just Marinette who’s cool.” Allan remarked.

Allegra and Claude heartily agreed, and Felix nodded. “Cool” probably wouldn’t be the exact word that he’d use to describe her, but overall, it wasn’t far off.

“Can you believe we’ve only known her for a week?” Claude asked as he climbed down to their level. “It feels like we’ve known her forever already.”

“Yeah, but I think that’s just how she is.” Allegra smiled. “She draws you in and makes you feel like family.”

“Her parents are the same way.” Allan said. “You can really tell where she gets it from.”

“Where who gets what from?” 

Felix, along with the rest of the group, turned to the trapdoor, where Marinette was standing about halfway through. She didn’t have the clothes anymore, but she did have a tray of drinks.

“Oh, it’s nothing.” Allegra said dismissively. “What are those?”

Marinette set the tray on the ground long enough to climb through and close the trapdoor as she explained, “Maman and Papa thought you guys might be thirsty, so she sent me up with a bunch of different drinks to choose from.”

“Sweet!” Claude grinned, swiftly walking over in case she needed help. “Do you have Dr. Pepper?”

Marinette smiled and turned the tray to reveal a deep red can of soda. “Yep! I know it’s your favorite.”

“You truly are a blessing.” Claude replied, grabbing the soda off of the tray.

Marinette giggled and brought the tray forward for the rest of them to pick. Allegra chose a pepsi, while Allan snagged a coke, and Felix grabbed the slim cup of coffee that sat to the side.

He took a sip of it, enjoying the warmth of the bitter liquid. It didn’t escape his notice that Marinette had brought up all of their preferred drinks. She even got his coffee right (Black with three sugars). 

Despite how scatter-brained she could be, Marinette still paid attention to details, which was impressive. Felix didn’t know anyone else who could space out during an entire conversation, yet remember the exact type of drink everyone ordered during lunch.

“So what do you guys want to do now? We still have about half an hour before supper is finished.” Marinette asked, setting the tray aside. 

Allan shrugged. “What do you have?”

Marinette thought for a moment. “Well, we have board games, card games, Mecha Strike 3-”

“Mecha Strike 3?” Claude perked up. “Yes, please!”

Marinette laughed. “Is everyone else okay with that?”

“Sounds great.” Allan smiled.

Allegra shrugged. “I’m fine with it.” 

Felix, being satisfied with his inspection for now, sat down on the chaise. “I’ll watch.”

The rest of the group huddled around Marinette’s computer while she turned it on, and after a bit of debating, they decided on ‘winner faces next player’ and started with Allan and Claude. Felix watched the first two games, just long enough to see Marinette cream Allan, before reverting back to his studious ways. He scanned the bedroom again, hoping to catch something new, when his gaze landed on the trunk that Claude had tipped over earlier. With everyone bustling around it, Felix hadn’t gotten a chance to sift through it, but now that they were occupied with Marinette’s game..

Felix shifted in his seat and re-opened the chest. It was only half full, as opposed to its previously overflowing contents, but that didn’t bother him. There were still plenty of things inside, such as shirts, figurines, hats, and other things. He pulled out a jacket and turned it in his hands, admiring the handiwork. The hood, along with the cuffs of the sleeves and zipper were pitch black, but the rest of the jacket was a deep red, save for the black spots that littered it. “Miraculous” was written on the back in cursive as well. Was this supposed to be based off of the Parisian superhero Ladybug? Why would she want to get rid of this? At the very least, she could make a profit by selling it.

What did she use to make this? The material is so soft.. Felix thought as he unzipped the jacket. It was completely black on the inside, save for some tiny, golden lettering near the section wear the pocket would be.

“To: Adrien

From: Marinette”

Felix frowned. How strange. Why would Marinette be giving away things that she made specifically for someone else? He dug through the chest some more, this time looking for names, and what he found was shocking. 

Almost every gift had the name ‘Adrien’ on it somewhere, whether it be a card or stitching or marker. Some gifts didn’t have a name, but at that point, Felix felt it was safe to assume that everything in the chest was supposed to be for this ‘Adrien’ person. 

That begged the question, though: Who was Adrien? And why would she create so many gifts for him just to give them away?

A small card stitched on the ear of a stuffed cat gave him his answer.

“Dear Adrien, 

Happy 19th birthday! It’s officially been five years since we’ve known each other. Isn’t that crazy? Anyway, I just wanted to say happy birthday (even though I’ve already said it) and that I’m really happy we got to meet. Enjoy the cat!

With all my love, Marinette”

Felix glanced up at Marinette, who was blissfully ignorant of his findings as she defeated Claude for the second time at Mecha Strike 3. Did she intend to use all of these as birthday presents? How many gifts were in there? Did she expect this person to have the same interests twenty years from now? He couldn’t decide if this level of planning was due to over-thinking or just plain obsession. Maybe both.

“Hey, Felix!” 

Felix flinched at the sudden call of his name, weirdly feeling as if he’d been caught in the act of some crime. He looked up to see Claude waving a controller at him.

“Are you sure you don’t want to play?” The brunette asked.

“Talk to me when you have chess.” Felix replied shortly, going back to the chest. He had hoped that seeing Marinette’s room would provide more answers to her life, but it only issued more questions. Did she have this amount of gifts for all of her friends or was Adrien special? If he was special, what way would it be? Was he possibly an ex-lover? She dated him for a while, and they had a recent falling out, which was why she was getting rid of the gifts. That would make sense.

“He just wants to talk.”

Her words from last week resurfaced in his mind. The person who chased her that day was the only one she reacted bitterly towards. Was Adrien trying to get back together with her? 

Was he the reason she left her old school in the first place?

My, my Dupain-Cheng. Felix thought. Aren’t you just full of secrets?

Tag List:  @artbyknigit @athena452 @nickristus-dreamer @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @arsaem @abrx2002 @neakco @pawsitivelymiraculous @too0bsessedformyowngood @nathleigh @lusicing @officiallydarkgeek @all-mights-asscheeks @tbehartoo @woe-is-me0 @raeuberprinzessin @lazuli-11 @miss-chaos27 @trippingovermyfeet @sadpotatoondrugs @ladybug-182 @jaggedheart11 @marinahrasauce

[the-melting-world]

Strength | Side B: "The Lily"

Art by @ ligiawrites

~ In which a secretive barhand sacrifices a dream...

The Trio Appearances: Kipling | Khleo | Ozy

Arcana LI appearances: Asra | Nadia | Lucio | Valdemar

Track Origins: “The Lily” by Blanco White

Not sure if this is the right track? The full album can be found here: Strength

Khleo is Non-binary and uses she/they pronouns interchangeably

cw: language, alcohol, mild violence, blood, hostile work environment, pregnancy (*For clarification, themes of pregnancy are not connected to themes of blood or violence*)

~ 5k words

While Lucio waits outside the basement of the Chandrian Tavern Hall, he’s approached by Khleo’s familiar, Hefe. The lioness has a few questions for the former Count…

Lucio was well aware that there were certain familiars that could communicate with people aside from the humans to which they were bonded. Still, he never thought that he would be holding a conversation with a lion in the back alleys of Center City.

Hefe, as she introduced herself, had joined Lucio on top of the pile of crates, which whined considerably as she settled on her haunches.

< You smell like Death. >

Hefe spoke the last word as if she knew the Arcana personally. Lucio took one glance at the lioness’ great paws and chose not to deny it.

“You’re right,” he said thickly. He struggled to maintain eye contact with her steady, amber gaze.

< If you mean to bring my cub any harm, you can take it elsewhere. >

Lucio’s naturally blond eyebrows lifted an inch. “Do you mean Khlee?”

She nodded slowly.

He shook his head and huffed, “Death’s ties are to me and me alone. Trust me, I’m not trying to drag anyone else into it. What I have to go back to…” he thought about the dank cellar of the Lazaret and its shelves full of outdated medical instruments. He thought of pale green skin and carefully mummified horns. Lucio turned his head and shuddered. “I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.”

Hefe was silent for a moment before a purr trilled low in her throat.

< Good. >

When Lucio looked back up, the familiar was gone.

Commotion trickled in from the other side of the door. Lucio could hear members filling up what sounded like a spacious area. Greetings rang out. Equipment was dragged off of shelves and out of boxes. Whatever this club meeting was about, it sounded like there was something physical going on.

The former count waited a few more minutes before taking a deep breath, standing up, and letting himself inside.

About two dozen people were crowded around some kind of pit. The pair locked in were definitely fighting. Lucio could see over most of the heads taking up the space. He picked up on the challengers’ bare feet and how they sparred bare-knuckled. Except, they weren’t sparring. The blows were connecting. Solidly. Intentionally.

Lucio’s game was swordplay, but he had some training in hand to hand combat. He used what he could remember to try to pinpoint the style. The closest he could figure was kick-boxing, but that didn’t seem quite right. The punches looked too strange for that — too curvy. And the blocks were absorbed more by the elbows. When the opponents were locked, grasping for the back of each other’s head, no one broke it up. The lively spectators only watched while the challengers tried to climb up each other, knees first like excited apes.

“Monty. You came.”

The new presence at his elbow startled Lucio. Just like their cat, Khlee had managed to easily sneak up on him. Lucio noticed that her suspenders swung below her waist and her shirt was unbuttoned a lot lower than would be appropriate for serving customers. They didn’t seem to care.

Khlee gestured to the energetic knot of people.

“What do you think?”

Lucio glanced back at the fight and grimaced. “Is no one going to break them up?”

Khlee smiled. “Doesn’t work like that. They’re looking for the clinch. Makes it easier to lay in some knees to the more vulnerable part of the body.”

Lucio grunted like he knew what the hell they were talking about.

“And they’re okay with getting so… bloody?”

The barhand nodded. “They look forward to that too.” They looked up at Lucio and hooked their thumb over their shoulder. “Come over here and I’ll show you the basics.”

The fights went on in the background while Khlee led Lucio to a quieter spot closer to the minibar. Finally working up the courage to comment about them, Lucio waved at Khleo’s arms.

“I bet fights are over for you pretty quickly.”

Her eyes widened a bit before she realized his meaning. “I mean, sure, I throw punches, but there’s more to it than that. Speaking of arms.” She explained that he would only be allowed to block with his gauntleted arm in order to minimize injury. After that was established, she started to show him how to properly stand and defend himself.

Lucio never even agreed to fighting in the first place, but this barhand seemed to know what she was doing when it came to instruction. Sport and the physical challenge that came with it was always something that resonated with Lucio no matter the playing field. And it had been ages since he learned something new. So he swallowed his doubt for the time being and absorbed Khlee’s crash course in this unorthodox style of combat.

The way of eight limbs, she called it.

Lucio learned that the “clinch” Khlee spoke of earlier referred to the series of standing grappling techniques that he witnessed when he first walked in. Despite how important this was to combat, Lucio made it very clear that he did not want to get caught in one of those. Especially not against someone smaller and scrappier than him like Khleo, whose shorter limbs and concentrated muscle gave her all the advantage in this sport.

“What? Afraid your skin will bruise too easy?” Khlee teased right after she was done showing Lucio all the ways he could disengage himself from a sudden grapple.

Lucio, who had discarded his top layers a while ago, gently caged his alchemical arm over his abdomen and said, “Uh duh. Besides, I just ate. Forgive me if I’m not looking forward to losing my dinner all over my opponent.” Then he blushed and added sheepishly. “Thank you, by the way. For dinner.”

“Focus,” Khlee reminded him as they squared his hips and elevated his arms. They spent the next few minutes guiding him in strikes, many of which were concentrated not so much in the fists or feet, but in the elbows, knees, and shins.

“Can I be honest?” Lucio spoke up after forgetting to engage his hips on the last kick.

“Go ahead,” Khlee huffed right before punishing Lucio for his mistake with the proper form. Her shin met his ribs in a clean, controlled strike. Lucio knew that she was holding back, but he grunted all the same.

“I don’t like having to adjust to this style at all,” he whined. “Can’t I just fight the way I know how? Because really, this,” he exaggerated his hip movement and popped up his knees like he was bouncing a ball on them, “is all really stupid if you think about –”

Lucio felt his mouth pool with something gooey and hot before he tasted the iron. He doubled over shortly after his ribs started screaming at him.

“Oh. Look at that,” Khlee noted, “you just took a stupid elbow to the face and a stupid knee to the gut.”

Lucio waited before turning his head and spitting a wad of blood off to the side. “You almost made me lose a fucking tooth.”

Khlee came over and clapped him on the back. “If I wanted to do that, I would have. Now, Monty. Are you done insulting my way of fighting or is there something else you want to add?” They smirked at him in a way that appeared good natured and unoffended despite their sudden outburst of violence.

Before Lucio could answer, a handful of voices called both of their attentions towards the ring in the middle of the room.

“Khleo! Bring his green ass over here!”

“Yeah. You’ve had him long enough. We’re itching to break him in!”

The very last thing Lucio wanted was to get broken in by the scrappy-looking bunch that beckoned him over. But he also didn’t want to appear spineless in front of all of these people, so he didn’t protest as Khlee guided him to the center of the ring.

Lucio found comfort in her heavy hand resting on his shoulder as she looked out at her club members and recited a few rules. The first two were the same. Don’t talk about the damn club. A few members chuckled at that. Khlee reminded them that if someone tried to tap out, said “stop” or went limp, that meant that the fight was over. Lucio was relieved to see the members take this one more seriously. They all nodded in grave understanding.

To Lucio’s disgust, one of the rules was no shirt, no shoes. Biting back his groan, he removed his boots and handed them off to one of the members on the sidelines.

“And finally, rule number eight.” Khlee gave Lucio’s shoulder a squeeze. “My friend Monty here, it’s his first night, which means,” she dropped her hand and backed up into the throng, smiling broadly, “he has to fight.”

Many were eager to take Lucio on, but since it was his first time, he got to decide which of the volunteers he would go against. In the end, he went with someone of his similar height and build. He didn’t want the smaller fighters using their advantage against him. He only hoped that his challenger lacked about as much flexibility as he did.

After they assumed their stances and touched knuckles, the challenger said something Lucio didn’t expect.

“I want you to hit me as hard as you can.”

Lucio hesitated, but only for a moment. Then he swung quietly, but with all his might.

The rest of the fight was a bit of a blur.

Lucio forgot everything that he learned. One minute he was blocking with his elbows and keeping his opponent at a distance with well timed foot jabs and the next, his arms were flailing and he was losing all balance.

The bystanders acted as the ropes to a real boxing ring. Whenever he staggered, they pushed him back into the fight. He ate a lot of blows. Some hands. A few elbows. His head was spinning and his blood was on fire.

Sound warbled in and out of his ears like he was underwater. His eyesight was lost to the sweat. His blood ran down his neck, his chest, and made the floor slippery. Both he and his opponent lost their footing and came down hard. Then they laughed together.

Lucio knew he couldn’t fight blind on unsteady legs, so he asked them to stop. They did and many hands came to help Lucio onto his feet. He was given towels, water, and a kiss on the forehead, no doubt by his challenger.

Since Lucio’s was the last fight of the night, the crowd retired around the broken picnic table by the wall. Khleo served them up a round of bread and ale so flat and diluted, it was practically water. But no one complained.

Lucio didn’t have much to say amidst the group of companions, but they made him feel at home. A few of them asked about his arm and showed off their own prosthetics to compare.

Later, after everyone had gone, Lucio left the table covered in empty beer glasses and joined Khlee at the minibar.

“You in the mood for a real drink?” She asked, already pouring something amber and smoky into a crystal tumbler.

Lucio sighed. “Usually, I would, but I think my blood has had enough excitement for one evening.”

Khlee added a couple of ice cubes and chuckled, “No such thing.”

While she took her first sips, Lucio tested his swollen cheek with the blunted fingers of his alchemical hand.

“At first I couldn’t really understand why you all would fight hard enough to draw blood. If it was for some money or a prize, it would have made more sense to me, but…”

“But you realized that we’re all just perverted little piggies looking for punishment.” Khlee rested her empty glass on the wood.

Lucio laughed. “Yeah. That.” He shook his head. “But then I got in there and I get it now.” Listening to the patrons talk, he caught on to what they did for a living. They were the chamberlains, the couriers, the nurses, the gondoliers, the construction and sewer workers. Khlee’s club was full of the people who pulled the most weight to keep this city afloat. They were the ones who needed to let off the most steam from what Lucio could tell.

“So, Montag…” Khlee said, breaking Lucio from his line of thoughts, “Did your mother give you that name?”

Lucio raised an eyebrow.

Khlee added, “I was just thinking, why Montag? Wouldn’t it make more sense to name you Donnerstag – Thursday, after the god of thunder?”

Lucio scoffed, “Why would that make more sense?”

She started buttoning up her shirt. “Well because, you know. No offense, but everybody hates mondays.”

“Is this your strategy to keep your patrons coming back?” Lucio snapped. “By hacking their birth names to pieces?”

The barhand didn’t appear ruffled by the other’s outburst. “Just trying to make a little conversation.”

Lucio leaned back some. “Alright, then. What about your name? Von Heine. I know that village. The Heine.” It was a little hamlet nestled on the edges of the Scourgelands. Lucio’s people and Khlee’s shared the same language, but different histories. “It’s where you all dress like snaggle-tooth toddlers and spend every waking hour grinding wheat and growing yeast for your bread or your booze.”

The barhand rested her forearms on the bar, leaned on them and smiled. “Based on the stories Papa told me, that sounds about right.”

The distant look in her expression made Lucio soften his voice. “You don’t remember?”

She waved at nothing. “I’ve never been to the Heine. Only heard stories growing up. My folks found me in the coliseum when I was just a kid. They raised me.” There was some silence.

Khleo cleared her throat and straightened up a little. “As for the tracht,” She looped her suspenders back on and gave them a light snap. “You can blame the owner. He wanted the tavern to appeal to tourists. So while I might look like a toddler, remember that I can still kick your ass, Monty.”

Lucio snickered. “Noted.”

Still grinning, Khleo asked, “You got yourself a place to sleep tonight?”

Lucio looked elsewhere. “Uh. Not this time.”

Khleo pointed at the fireplace. “I know it doesn’t look like much from here, but it’s pretty cozy in the hearth. And Hefe can keep you warm.”

Lucio briefly considered the idea of sleeping in an empty fireplace with someone else’s lion for a blanket. It wouldn’t be the strangest thing that had happened to him in one evening. Once upon a time, the thought of going to sleep somewhere like that would make his skin crawl. But like many things that had seen that day, he experienced it through a new lens. He trusted Khleo.

Besides, he really, really didn’t want to sleep out in the cold street.

“Thank you.”

Before Khleo could respond, their privacy was broken by the sound of a door opening.

“Shit.”

Quick and without making any noise, Khleo hoisted herself over the minibar and dragged Lucio off of the stool. She pressed a finger to his lips when he tried to protest. One look at her dark expression told him now was not the time to argue. Lucio tried to keep his steps soft as Khleo guided him to the hearth. She gently bent him over and pushed him inside, tugging the curtains closed behind him.

Hefe growled dimly as Lucio tumbled over her. There was some awkward movement as the lioness made room for him. By the time Lucio was semi-comfortable, he tuned in to the heated conversation that already started in the basement.

“Overheard one of your idiot friends on their way out. You don’t charge admission?” The mature voice must have belonged to the person descending the stairs.

There was no answer from Khleo at first. Then she murmured almost too low for Lucio to hear, “No, but they’re welcome to leave donations.”

Lucio listened to heavy footfalls making their way to the broken picnic table.

“And you’re giving away our food?”

In a voice that suggested this wasn’t the first time they had this argument, Khleo finally spoke up.

“You never said I had to charge for entry into the club. You only said I had to pay rent, which I do. I’m never late. And that’s just bread left over from today. We can’t sell it tomorrow. I don’t see the problem if we have to throw it out anyway.”

Something pounded once on the wood, rattling the glass mugs.

“This is a place of business, Khlee. Not a gods-fucking food bank!”

“Are you done?”

“Am I…” The wood creaked. “Am I what now?”

Khleo sighed. “Nothing, Otto. We’re good. I’ll start charging for the damn bread.”

The silence that followed was tense, uncertain. Lucio longed to see what kind of looks were being exchanged between them, but he wouldn’t dare move aside the curtain. Hefe seemed to sense it too because she kept her head leveled a few inches off the ground and her ears at alert angles.

“Oh no, I think you forgot something. You definitely forgot who the fuck you’re talking to.”

Crash.

“Didn’t you?”

Crash.

It took a moment for Lucio to register the sound of glasses being flung and breaking against the minibar as well as the wall behind it.

The barhand’s voice had lost its cool indifference.

“Otto, come on. Don’t. I’ll pay for it, okay? Just put it on with the rent. You don’t have to–”

CRASH.

“Wait!”

CRASH.

Hefe lowered her ears, but she didn’t move. Lucio pressed his back against the brick in an effort to steady himself and quiet his breaths.

“Stop! Stop! Why are you doing this? I’m sorry, okay? Uncle – hold on!”

CRASH! CRASH! CRASH! CRASH!

Lucio leaned forward, but Hefe used her shoulder to shove him back.

< No. >

“Onkel, bitte.” Khleo’s voice came from somewhere low. Like she was squatting on the floor. “Tut mir Leid… . Es tut mir Leid. It won’t happen again. I promise....” She inhaled a ragged breath and whimpered as if in pain.

The man’s breath came out a little labored from all the effort. “You said you take donations?”

“… Ja.”

“Where?”

Khleo sniffled. “Unter da.”

Glass crunched and broke underfoot as the man went about his search. Eventually, he gave a contented sigh. “That should cover all this mess and the bread. Now... clean this shit up.”

More glass popped under his weight as he headed towards the stairs. The sniffles died down a few minutes after he left. Lucio sat frozen, unsure how he should proceed.

Finally, there was movement and Khleo’s voice came out dark and choked.

“Hefe… just do it.”

Khleo’s voice and the sound of Hefe’s hypnotic purr was the last thing Lucio remembered before losing himself to total darkness.

*

*

*

Basil seethed in silence while he listened to his boss get on Samira’s case yet again. This time it was about her uniform.

“Mr. Otto, I told you, the ones you gave me when I started working don’t fit me anymore.”

Otto snorted. “I missed the part where that’s my problem. Those uniforms don’t grow on trees, girl.”

The afternoon shift had just ended, so they were all tired, but still had their stations to clean. Khleo was taking her break from deliveries under a quilt in one of the empty booths. Gabe had started his delivery shift a few minutes ago. The bar was empty except for Samira, Basil and of course, their boss. Currently, he was enjoying his afternoon snack in front of his employees.

Samira shook her head and surrendered her hands. “I didn’t even know the uniforms were mandatory. Basil and Gabe never wear theirs.”

Otto swallowed a spoonful of oatmeal. “Last time I checked, you weren’t Basil or Gabe.”

Samira’s glasses started to get misty the longer she looked at her employer. She waved at Basil without looking away from Otto. “But if the uniforms are mandatory, why don’t you ever say anything to them?”

Without missing a beat, Otto punctated the air with his spoon as he explained. “They’ve put in their time here, while you… Lass, you haven’t been here but a minute.”

“Mr. Otto, I’m sorry, but this is not fair.”

It’s more than unfair, Basil wanted to add, but he bit back his tongue. He shot a glance over at Khleo’s sleeping lump, wondering if they could hear this right now.

“Fair.” Otto dragged out the word. “What about if I cut my losses with you and hire a new barmaid?” He studied his bowl as he scraped the oats off the edges in a way that set Basil’s teeth on edge. “All you do is look pretty at the front of the house. Anyone can do that, Miss Kaba.”

Samira’s garnet eyes went wide and then narrowed suddenly. Her lip trembled. “That is not all that I do.”

Finally, Otto looked up and sighed. “I don’t have time for the tears today, Samira. Here’s the key for the costumes in storage. You and Khlee are dancing tonight. Now, the waistlines on those dresses are all adjustable, so I don’t want to hear anymore excuses about your fitting issue. Understand?”

Samira looked like she had something else she wanted to say. Instead, she blinked rapidly as she took the keys from Otto and practically broke out into a run.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Basil let Otto have it. “Did you really have to give her the whole ‘you’re replaceable’ speech?”

Otto narrowed his eyes at the barhand. “I pay you to make drinks, Jebeles. Know your place.”

Basil replied, “You’re always going on about how the barmaids bring in the most customers, yet none of ours stay for more than a few months. Think you should lighten up some? Just maybe?”

Otto rolled his eyes. “If the lass doesn’t have the backbone to work here, then she should find herself another bar.” Then he grunted as he stood up and wandered over to the booth where Khleo was resting.

Otto used his foot to jostle Khleo awake. She poked her curly head out from under the quilt and scowled in her usual way.

“You’re dancing tonight,” He said without a hello. “Go get dressed.”

Basil expected Khleo to give at least a little pushback. She wasn’t a fan of wearing the dirndl unless it was for the annual beer festivals. Otherwise, she chose to perform without it. But to Basil’s surprise, Khleo set her jaw and didn’t meet Otto’s eyes as she climbed out of the booth. She rolled up her quilt, tucked it under her arm, and wordlessly headed towards the basement. After she left, Otto floated back to the bar, smiling smugly to no one in particular.

Basil wasn’t sure what he just saw, but he didn’t like it.

***

The costume chest was already opened by the time Khleo got there. She changed mostly in the dark until it was time to lace up the bodice of the dress.

Figuring Samira couldn’t be far off, she left the costumes and wandered further through the storage space.

“Mir,” Khleo called out, her voice still raspy from sleep. “Can you help me with this? You know I always forget how to…”

Khleo found her coworker off in some corner, sitting on a prop used for talent shows. She was hunched over a bit, her arms resting palms up against her thighs, almost as if she was waiting for something to fall into them.

Samira looked like she had gotten halfway with putting on her dirndl when she had given up. Even in the low light, Khleo could detect the wet shine clinging to her cheeks.

“Sorry, Khleo. I was on my way to help you, but I... kind of lost track of time.”

The sound of water rising up her throat drew Khleo closer. It wasn’t the first time they had shared a room during costume changes, so neither had much of a reaction to Samira’s state of undress. As Khleo came closer, her eyes wandered past the barhand’s bra and down to where her stomach interrupted the costume.

“Don’t laugh, but I can’t get it over my tummy.” Samira snorted, almost like it was a joke.

Khleo reached out her hand and arched a curious brow.

Samira sniffed. “It’s okay.”

The barhand took a deep breath before grazing the skin over Samira’s navel with her fingertips. She felt a flicker at first. When she pressed her entire palm against the warm bump, she felt something more.

< Ask her how long it’s been. >

“Six and half months, I think.” Samira answered when Khleo voiced Hefe’s question aloud.

Khleo withdrew her hand. “You think? You haven’t seen a doctor yet?”

Samira closed her eyes and sighed. “No, but… I haven’t had the money or the time. Have you seen where I work?” Then she opened them and glared a little at Khleo. “Plus, I’m not an idiot. I haven’t had a drink or a cigarette since I first suspected. I can take care of myself.”

“You need to see a doctor, Mir.” Khleo was pacing now. “The father?”

Samira’s face twisted as she mumbled something dark and negating.

Khleo stopped. “Right,” she sighed. There were so many other questions she wanted to ask. But when she looked at Samira, who seemed like she was already regretting trusting someone else with this information, Khleo inhaled again and approached her friend.

“What do you want to do next? If you could?”

Samira blinked, gratitude and relief filling her eyes at the question Khleo had settled on.

“I have a half sister in Nevivon. She would take me in, but she’s got kids too and she works. If I could just get to her.”

Khleo grunted in understanding. Trips across the sea were not cheap. And Samira couldn’t just stop paying rent.

While Khleo was still thinking, Samira curled on herself and whispered, “I was trying to take more shifts so I could get out of here as fast as I could, but Otto… he’s going to find out, Khlee. He’s going to figure this out and then he’s going to fire me. I know he is.”

“No he’s not,” Khleo replied calmly as she unhooked her keys from one of her inner pockets. She held out the one to her apartment. “Here. My place is in the Flooded District. Hefe will help you. Go there and wait for me.”

Samira sat up a little straighter. “What? I can’t just leave. My shift is nowhere near over.”

Khleo took Samira’s hand and pressed the key in her palm. “Don’t worry about that. Just trust me. I can explain everything tonight.”

To Khleo’s relief, Samira relaxed her hand around the key. She hesitated once more before sighing and nodding. “Okay. Let me help you tie up your dress and then I’ll go.”

As soon as Samira and Hefe were out the back door, Khleo put the next few hours out of her mind. She entered a sort of trance as she walked up the stairs and made up an excuse for Samira’s absence. Otto wasn’t happy about it, but that wouldn’t even matter after tonight.

Khleo put on a smile, danced, served, and entertained the patrons. Whenever Basil tried to get her alone and ask his questions, she dodged him with the grace of a feyling determined to remain elusive.

Otto, thankfully, went home early and left his barhands with the responsibility of closing up. Khleo pulled some favors and managed to free herself soon after her boss left. She skipped changing out of her dress and just jogged briskly through the lanterned avenues until she made it to her apartment.

When she came inside, she found Samira asleep on the couch. Hefe lay on the floor, guarding the space. Khleo avoided her familiar’s gaze as she quietly walked past the couch and down the hall. When she entered her room, she closed the door behind her and shut her eyes.

There wasn’t time to think about what she was going to do. If she gave herself even a moment, she feared she would lose her nerve.

Moments later, Khleo was back in the common room, gently helping Samira onto her feet.

“Khleo?”

Khleo hugged her. “I’m sorry it took me so long. Here.”

Samira blinked a few times and put on her glasses before accepting the glass jar that Khleo offered her. She briefly took note of the contents before asking, “What’s this?”

Khleo cleared her throat. “It’s enough to get you to Nevivon and set up with a doctor until you have the baby.”

Samira turned the jar over in her hands. “What, you just had this lying around? What was it for?”

“Please.” Khleo couldn’t look at the jar, so she locked eyes with Samira instead. “Please, Mir, just take it. Take it and go.”

Whatever Samira wanted to say, she held onto it. Then she opened her arms and held onto Khleo.

“Thank you, Khlee. I was so afraid that… just. Thank you.”

Khleo was out of words. She hugged Samira back, staring wide-eyed at the walls of peeling paint in her apartment as she nodded in understanding.

After Samira had left, Khleo noticed that Hefe had disappeared too. She had no desire to look for her. Instead, Khleo drifted back into her bedroom and came before her antique dresser like it was some kind of altar.

Soon she was on her knees, bowed before the very last drawer, where she kept the dreams of her father, her mother, and her own.

Khleo seldom opened the drawer. She knew that if she wanted to take out and admire her dreams, she would have put them back and close them inside the wood. Tonight she looked down at her dreams and they looked back at her.

A tight moan escaped the barhand as she dragged her palm up her face and dug her nails into her hairline. With her other hand, she tried to close the drawer. Like always, it was stubborn and would not bend to her.

And so Khleo fought with the drawer until it gave in. She shut up her dreams so she wouldn’t have to look at them anymore. Tears and sobs consumed her until there was nothing left but thoughts. The low and bitter kind.

[thevalleyisjolly]

Thinking about alternate character classes lately, and I’m always thinking about A Crown of Candy at any given point in time, so without further ado, for your consideration:

Wizard!Theo, except that he’s the only wizard ever with a positive Strength modifier because that would be hilarious.  Wizard!Theo, who learned more from Lazuli than anyone knew, whose magic isn’t loud or flashy but spell notes hidden in a false prayer book, a soft glow on the tips of his paws and a muttered breath as one of the princesses falls from the top of the staircase again only to land on their feet, as softly as a feather.  In this world, he’s officially the royal tutor, because there are things that Caramelinda doesn’t know, but she does know what Lazuli taught him and she knows where his loyalties lie and she knows that one day, one day the spark she can see in Ruby’s eyes will need a teacher but will more importantly need a protector.  And to the princesses, to the rest of the court, to the world, he’s a slightly gullible, rather awkward tutor who stands on ceremony far too much, and they laugh at him and his silly little sprinkle pet and isn’t he a bit of a large goon?  Even Amethar forgets, every now and then, what he’s seen Theo do on a battlefield, to a battlefield, because as awkward as his social skills may be, Theo is committed to the part and he plays it well.  In any lifetime, in any world, Theo loves his people and he’ll do what he has to for them.

Bonus subclass: School of Abjuration obviously, this squishy gummy bear has one mission, and that’s to protect people.

Rogue!Lapin, because obviously.  Rogue!Lapin, who never summoned the Sugar Plum Fairy, who smiled and charmed and lied his way from the street to the service of a minor but respectable lord, and from there up and up the social strata until he is chamberlain to House Jawbreaker.  Duke Jawbreaker doesn’t bother much with him, but Spearia Mentha takes one look at Lapin, standing too straight and tall, the accent of the common mountain folk still seeping out at his edges, his eyes sharp and clever even when bowing and murmuring obedience, and she thinks “Hmm.”  And when her sweet baby has to go to Castle Candy as hostage, a safe and willing hostage, but a hostage nonetheless, she writes to dear sister Caramelinda and asks would it be alright if she sent someone from her own household, just to keep an eye on the boy, for her peace of mind as a mother?  Liam arrives at Castle Candy, sans pig, plus one very stuffy guardian, and Lapin Cadbury looks up at the towering spires and parapets of the castle, and a small, rare smile flashes across his face for just a second.

Bonus subclass: Mastermind is really the only way to go, isn’t it?

Sorcerer!Amethar, but listen, alright, my kingdom for Sorceror!Amethar who grows up with magic as rage flowing through his veins, whose wrath manifests not as bursts of concentrated battle fury, but in wild surges of strange and powerful magic.  There is magic in the blood and bones of House Rocks, an old and willful magic.  His sisters protected him, as much as they could, but still, there are whispers, more so once the young prince becomes the grieving king with the eyes of the world on him.  People mutter about the witch king of Candia, they say that he’s levelled armies with his sorcery, that he’s bewitched the Emperor Gustavo into friendship, that he’s dangerous and brings only death and destruction.  And it hurts, it does, not because he cares what other people think, but because they aren’t all wrong.  Look at him, the Unfallen, alive when so many have died.  It hurts that he has so much power singing in his blood, and he’s the one who’s powerless, who can’t be the protector, who must be the protected.  Why him?  Why not strong Rococoa, or brilliant Lazuli, or kind Citrina, or cunning Sapphria?  Why is he alive and not them, when he is the wildcard, the dangerous one, the last person who should be king?

Bonus subclass: I mean, it’s gotta be Wild Magic, no doubt about it.

Druid!Cumulous is another story that writes itself.  Druid!Cumulous still swears the same vows of dedication and protection to Candia’s magic, Candia’s secrets, and so Candia itself rises to acknowledge that.  It isn’t the red glow of the Hungry One that surrounds him when he fights, but the bright pink of the frosting sprites, the warm chocolate of the fudge brownies, the brilliant lemon-yellow of the river dragon’s scales, the slightest tint of sugar plum purple.  All spirits are fickle and unpredictable and dangerous, but they can recognize faith and they can appreciate service and they can reward what is freely given.  The Sugar Plum Fairy considers this one for a while.  She has no little pet bunny in this world, no servant to demand wishes from.  But fairies are jealous, too jealous.  Hearts and minds and souls, of course they should be hers, wholly hers, why wouldn’t they be, and for all the vastness of her realm, all her secrets and all her magic, there is something more to Candia than what is just in her.  So she lets this one be, and lays her trap for another prize, a bigger prize…

Bonus subclass: You could honestly make a good argument for Circle of the Shepherd or Circle of the Land, although Circle of the Moon is pretty great for more combat-focused war guys druids.

Warlock!Saccharina’s life is still a tragedy, because magic was only the most obvious thing that the nuns tried to beat out of her.  Warlock!Saccharina is not born with lightning in her fingers and a storm in her heart, but she is born with a strength and a will that the nuns despise.  In this world, Saccharina looks in the window, in the mirror, and she still sees a blue woman, a kind woman with a kind face, reaching out to her, comforting her when the nuns mistreat her, telling her wondrous stories and magical secrets.  In this world, the Rocks sisters, held in a false afterlife, stage a jailbreak.  Rococoa raises herself back to the living, cold with vengeance against the man who murdered her.  Citrina hitches up her skirts and hikes off to Vegetania, prepared to visit as many dreams and instigate as many supernatural miracles as she needs in order to reform the Church.  Sapphria laughs and winks and goes off to do something mysterious and terribly complex and probably very clever.  And Lazuli?  Lazuli goes to find her eldest niece, and to help her do something about the frankly terrible situation she’s in.  She is no spirit of the dead that a small exorcism by a provincial abbess can banish, but something new, something more.  And when Saccharina finally drowns the monastery, a grim smile on her face, it is with eyes and fingers that glow a brilliant, sharp blue.

Bonus subclass: Either Great Old One or Celestial, depending on how Lazuli fights her way back to the waking world.  Reaching out to the mortal world from the afterlife?  Probably Celestial.  Something strange and mysterious that’s never happened before in all of creation, and isn’t entirely comprehensible even to her?  Great Old One.

Barbarian!Jet grows up with so much rage inside her, but a rage for others, a fire for others.  It’s a rage that goes bone-deep, born of so much love and fear, because Jet Rocks may be sheltered and immature and naive, but one thing she does know, one of the earliest things she knows, is that the world is dangerous for people like Ruby, people like Pops, the world does not like people like Ruby and Pops, and as young as she is, she’s already heard how people whisper and seen how they point at Pops when his back is turned.  And if they found out about Ruby-  It’s a different rage that drives Barbarian!Jet, not a mindless battle frenzy, but love sharpened to the keenest focus, to protect, to guard.  In this world, and in every world, Jet Rocks loves her sister above all else, and will do anything to make sure she is safe.  Her parents worry, of course.  Caramelinda looks into her daughter’s eyes, sees hard steel and the heart of sacrifice, and she weeps when she looks into the mirror and sees the same, this is not the life she wanted for her.  Amethar understands.  He knows.  He knew the minute his daughters were placed into his arms for the first time, and the instinct to protect something so precious, precious beyond measure.  He just didn’t want his daughter to understand as well, not so soon, not so young.

Bonus subclass: Path of the Ancestral Guardian, I think, because Jet’s rage is rooted in and for her family.  Also, imagine the confusion and the angst the first time Jet summons past ancestors to fight with her in battle, and none of them include her aunts because they’re too busy raising hell elsewhere.

Bard!Ruby tumbles out of the cradle with a cheerful tongue and a clever mind, and Amethar has to stop himself from calling after Sapphria, because Ruby is so much like her, so nimble on her feet, so clever with her words.  But it’s Caramelinda that sees it first, how Ruby’s leaps and cartwheels hang just a little too long in the air, how Jet brightens and sharpens too fast after just a word from her.  And it’s Theo, of course it’s Theo, who catches Ruby and Jet trying to rob the cookie jar with a spectral, definitely magic, definitely arcane hand floating in the air, where did she even learn that, he doesn’t have that spell, this is bad, this is very, very bad.  Ruby’s more careful after that, after Mom’s lecture about how dangerous it is, and Pops just standing there, looking stern, nodding along to everything that Mom’s saying, not saying a word to the contrary.  Her magic is just for Jet now, her and Jet and nobody else, and she does a very good job of pretending she doesn’t know anything else, pretending like she doesn’t feel the thrum inside of her, pretending like something isn’t singing in her blood with every leap and twirl and handstand.  

Bonus subclass: College of Valour?  It gets that combat flavouring without being as specific as College of Swords, but I’m open to suggestions.

Warlock!Liam, and he is so young, so lonely, roaming the forests around Castle Manylicks, when he finds her or maybe she finds him.  Just a sweet little fairy who knows where to find the best seeds, the ones that have a little bit of magic in them, and here’s a lonely little boy who’s so interested in what she can show him!  And then of course, this isn’t just any lonely little boy, this is the son of Duke Jawbreaker, someone royal, someone important.  I’ll be your friend, she says, coy and sweet, a nice friend, not like your brothers.  I know lots of things, secret things, magic things, that I can show you.  Come with me, do you want to see something really neat?  Her magic is almost golden, almost Bulbian, with the slightest whiff of something rich and sticky and sweet and purple, and Liam’s only glad that he has a friend now, someone who’s nice to him, who’s interested in the same things, who remembers his name and doesn’t pick on him because he likes seeds more than swords.  Lonely children don’t need to be threatened or coerced, lonely children don’t need deals with the devil.  Lonely children just need a kind voice and warm approval and someone to show them affection, and the Sugar Plum Fairy knows just how to work with that.

Bonus subclass: Gonna diverge from Lapin here and go with Archfey as the warlock/patron relationship, because Liam isn’t in a position where he has to pretend that his powers come from the Bulb, so the SPF can lean into her feyness more.

[okumuruwu]

I miss my… best friend (renga oneshot) FLUFF & WHOLESOME

After Langa’s father’s death, his life has not been… easy. However, how could it be? After losing such an important part of oneself, easy is not the word to describe each passing day. He and his mom started off kind of a new life the moment they moved to Japan where the rest of the family were. And to be honest? That big and shocking change did not make his life any worse, instead, it helped the blue haired boy to cheer up and to keep moving forward.

At first, he did not think that transferring from Canada to Japan was a good idea, but who would have told him that there he would find such an amazing family? No jokes, Langa does consider them a family. He found peace in a group of boys who skate. Funny. There are the two parental figures (who literally everyone knows they are dating… or fucking, both as well), a cool uncle who may seem intimidating at first and one… cat-little brother? Well, of course then there’s him. His best friend? Brother? Dude? Screw all that, Langa is in love with him, maybe not since they met, but probably from not much after. He had a hard time understanding he fell in love with Reki, although he accepted it right away.

Nevertheless, it did not matter anymore. He couldn’t even tell him, actually, Langa couldn’t talk with him. They both had a fight around a month ago and Reki has been ignoring him since.

“How about you give him some space?” Langa’s mom suggested this when he broke down to her. She assured him that his friend would eventually come back or at least talk it out. And she was right in some way, we all need our space sometimes, we are humans after all. Feeling is what keeps us breathing.

This way, days kept passing by as his life continued getting harder and harder.

“Hey Snow” he was greeted by Joe as he arrived where the group had decided to meet.

“Mornin’, isn’t Cherry with you?”

“Can you guys stop implying we’re dating already? It’s getting out of hand”.

Simultaneously Cherry appeared with two water bottles “What’s getting out of hand?”

“Nothing” Joe reached out his hand to get the bottle he asked for. “Thanks, babe”.

Langa looked at him in shock, making him regret his life’s choices.

“Say anything and you’ll end up eating Joe’s skateboard” The long-haired guy warned out.

“Why mine?!”

“You really think I would use Carla to hit anyone? Please, at least I’m considerated”.

Fair enough.

After Miya and Shadow got there, they all went around and skated for a bit. They met every week after the fight because Langa’s mother told them how hurt his son was. However, no matter how hard they tried nor the times they went skating, Langa didn’t seem the same.

That is why the four of them had a plan. When they stopped that day to eat something, they all reached for each other’s eyes and nodded.

“Langa,” started off Miya “we’ve got a plan”.

“Dumbass! Where the fuck did the ‘are you feeling better these days’ is?” Shadow exclaimed.

“Ignore them” Cherry sighed. “But it is true, we have come with a plan for you and Reki to make up”.

The poor boy was shocked, that was way too direct.

“We know you both aren’t doing okay” Joe continued. “I have been talking with Reki and I can assure you he does miss you too”.

“That is why we want to help!” Miya cut him off. “Okay! Let me explain”.

“No way” he was pushed by Joe. “I’m the one who had the idea”.

“Bullshit,” Cherry threw at them some fries “okay, Langa, listen carefully”.

After getting back home that day, the blue-haired boy went straight to his room and threw himself into his bed. His head was hurting. He felt grateful his friends came up with all of that just for them but, what if it does not work out? What if him and Reki are destined to be apart? His mind was filled up with tons of involuntary negative thoughts.

Even so, what was he losing if he already lost it all just by not having him in his life? Therefore, he prepared himself all the time he had left before the planned day.

Wanted or not, time didn’t stop, and the important day came by faster than expected. Although Langa was a bit scared, he went on with his friend’s plan and went to Joe’s house.

Maybe it was a bit risky, but everyone felt it was necessary. Their plan consisted of locking them both in one of Joe’s rooms and… kind of forcing them to face each other? Yes, now thinking about it they realized how dumb they are.

“I told Reki to come here around 4 p.m., so he should be here any minute now”.

Precisely, the red haired boy arrived not much after. “Joe?” he asked entering his house.

“Up here! Can you come up here for a moment? I need help”. All lies. The moment Reki entered the only room that was opened, he was trapped right behind him. “Now you guys can talk, I’m meeting with the rest of the guys so don’t worry, nobody will hear you. Bye-bye!”

“What in the world, Joe?!” Reki started knocking on the blocked door as hard as he could. He had a bad feeling about all this. And of course, that hunch became real as he turned around and saw Langa standing there grabbing both his sweater paws.

The room was immediately filled with awkwardness and a discomforting silence was the only thing that could be heard.

Reki sighed and sat on the floor with his back facing Langa. “Then I cannot do nothing more than wait for him to come back…” He tried to look tough, but the truth was that he was holding his tears back. He missed seeing his face, hearing his voice, skating with him… even laughing about nonsense or falling off their skateboards. His emotions were literally fighting in his heart: a part of himself wanted to get up and break the door somehow and never see him again and the other one desired to walk directly to his friend and hug him as if there was no tomorrow.

“Reki… I- Can we talk?” just by hearing his voice his tears started flowing down his cheeks. “I understand if you don’t want to say a word to me… probably you just want to hit me”. Yes, Langa, he wanted to hit you because now he had to sob quietly for you not to notice the warm traces his tears were leaving down on his face. “Please, can I at least apologize? Wait, you don’t have to answer, just make me sign if it’s okay with you…” The crying boy froze, he knew that if Langa continued talking, he wouldn’t be able to keep his crying silent. “Reki?” His friend was starting to worry. Slowly, Langa moved forward to Reki and touched slightly his back with his shaking hand. Now how could he hide his tears? He turned him around a little and his heart dropped into a black abyss. “Why are you crying?”

Without thinking twice, he embraced his friend as quickly as possible and brought him closer to his chest. Reki completely broke down and his crying became a waterfall.

“Reki, you cannot imagine how sorry I am. I should have listened to you. I shouldn’t have broken our promise in the first place” Langa little by little started crying as well in his shoulder. “I understand if you don’t want to continue being my friend, but I wanted to tell you one last time how important you are to me. You… you brought peace to my life when I was in war internally. Thanks to you I found happiness, a family to rely on… Reki you are the one who lights up my days”.

How can he blurt all that out and expect him to answer?! How could him with just two minutes make him forget all the madness he felt towards him?

“Langa I…”

“You don’t really have to say anything if you don’t feel like it, I really don’t want to pressure you”.

“No, Langa, really” the red haired boy pushed him away slowly and tried whipping away his still flowing tears. “I cannot let you be the only one apologizing, I also did wrong by ignoring you out of the blue… I even stopped looking at you… The truth is that I was scared you would get hurt by that dumbass, I just wanted to protect you because…” because he also found himself at ease thanks to him.

“No, no! You don’t need to apologize for that. As well, you don’t have to say anymore, I don’t want to hear it” Langa, damn, that was way harsh. “I- I mean, I don’t want to get hurt knowing what I already know”.

Reki was speechless and completely confused.

“What?”

‘Fuck it’ thought Langa. He had accepted he lost Reki before even coming here, so telling him wouldn’t change anything.

“Okay, this might be way too blunt, but it is now or never. I don’t want to end our friendship keeping secrets from you. The truth is that I have been having feelings for you for a little while ago. To be honest I don’t know when all this started, but the truth is that I really like you… a lot” a literal bomb was thrown at Reki without a single warning. He wasn’t able to process any words coming out of the Canadian boy. “I guess you aren’t really understanding a thing I’m saying…” he laughed nervously. “At first I didn’t even understand myself. However, as days went by, I got a hold of how real my feelings were. Every laugh, hug, handshake… Every memory we made together. They made me realize that I was falling for you” Langa’s cheeks started to blush a little. “And this time we have been apart, my heart made it more obvious I did fall in love with you”.

As he stopped talking, he looked at his friend and saw he started crying hard again.

“I- I didn’t mean to make you feel worse than before” he panicked. “Can- can I hug you?”

Reki threw himself into his arms making them both fall into the floor.

They both stayed quiet and let their sobs fill the room.

Reki used that time to solve the puzzle his mind was now. Could his sister be right?

“If you’re missing him that much, maybe he did matter a lot to you” she told him once they were discussing why Reki wasn’t going to class. “Plus, let me tell you, you sounded like you liked him. Have you ever thought about it?”

The truth is that Reki never imagined his love towards Langa being more than the friendly type. Nevertheless, since his sister said that, he couldn’t stop considering if it was the other way around.

“You know… now that I have told you, if you wanted to keep in touch, you can forget it. I do not want to make things more awkward”.

Reki shook his head as he sat up. “I- Well…” he touched his neck, shaking a little. “These last few days I have been thinking if I have feelings for you… I mean, romantic ones”. Now his face matched his hair color. “I- I am not sure tho!” he shook his hands in front of him. “But as you told me… Well, I guess my heart did a back flip… or an ollie to be more precise ha ha…” he facepalmed internally. “Look, what I want to say is that… Well, first, I do forgive you. And, you see, I think that if we tried dating… well, maybe I could make up my mind?”

A big smile was formed in Langa’s face as his crush was babbling out his answer. “I’m sorry Reki, really, forgive me as well for this”.

“For wha…” he was cut off by the blue haired boy rushing to his lips.

It was kind of a shock for him at the beginning, even though it only took him some seconds to kiss him back, making them both melt into each other. Admit it or not, them both were dying to do that.

After they broke the kiss to get some air, they were somehow shy to say anything.

“I don’t think I can forgive you…” the silence was broken into pieces as he literally made his heart pause for a moment. “I don’t think I can forgive you if I don’t get back what you took without asking”.

Langa smiled and Reki was the one to connect their lips this time. Now, the kiss was soft and sincere. The two boys assured one to the other without talking that they loved each other, a whole lot. Both their hearts were beating together waiting ahead of what life had planned for them, now reunited and honest between them.

[cutegirlmayra]

Paparazzi - Sonamy

Prompt:

It should have been a normal day, by all accounts.

Amy was waiting for Sonic in the Chao Garden, happily humming a tune and playing with the Chao by taking one of their pudgy, teardrop arms and spinning it up and around as though as they were both dancing.

The Chao loved it, seeming to roleplay a ball of sorts and the dashing prince trying to dance with Cinderella, as many other Chao seemed to vie over playing the parts next, tumbling over her shoulders and pawing at her hands to get her to lift them up and twirl them in pairs as well.

She giggled at their enthusiasm, “The duke, and the duchess!” She took another pair of arms and twirled them as well, these two being flying types, they gently fluttered their wings and closed their eyes, playing the roles well and then bowing to each other after she let them go and they did a figure-8 together.

“The prime minister and-” she stopped when she felt a brisk wind, and excitedly got up and turned around, “And my Sonic!”

He stood a little uneasy, but smiled as though feigning something. He was reluctant to have her hug him but didn’t protest her abrupt embrace, looking as though he really didn’t want to spoil her mood.

“Playing with the Chao again, huh?” He commented, smiling sheepishly down to one and bending his eyes as it came right up and tugged on his socks, wanting some affection too. He wiggled a finger to lightly tickle it’s head and then swirled the slight tip of his head around his finger from above before pulling up and seeing Amy’s excited expression again.

“They sure do they love pretend.” very motherly, she put her hands behind her back and looked to them, seeing them all cheering for Sonic and Amy to play as well. “I guess before our date, we could humor them, yeah?” She blinked her eyelashes towards him flirtatiously, but he again acted as though something was wrong but trying to hide it.

The two flying Chao took back to the skies and also grabbed Sonic and Amy’s fingers, lifting them up to lightly host Sonic and Amy to the top of their toes.

Amy giggled into her hand and then softly twirled, showing Sonic the game.

He sighed, but kinda awkwardly seemed to enjoy the silliness as he turned too, making the Chao cheer.

“The king and queen!” Amy sounded off, and the Chao gave an applause.

After letting go of their fingers, the two flying Chao took to each other and twirled as one, inspiring other Chao to partner up and try a silly “waltz” impersonation as well.

“So cute!” Amy cheered, her hands pressing together at their endearing whimsy. “I remember when I was that young... always dreaming of my true love~” she seemed to be referencing Sonic and he ducked his head and scratched his nose, looking away.

“I really don’t want to say this...” He admitted, but tried to toughen himself up, patting his cheeks to get himself to ‘man up’ and tell her. “But Amy, there’s something you gotta-”

“Look!” Amy pointed to a blue speed Chao, dancing with hops and jumps to a rhythm it made up, dancing with another Chao. “It acts just like you!”

“What?” Sonic was momentarily distracted, “I dance nothing like that!”

“Oh, you’re just jealous that he has better footing then you do.” Amy joked, moving up to his chest and placing her shoulders to it, “Well, if you’re so inclined, why not prove me wrong? We can go dancing for our date today!” she thought herself so sly and raced ahead towards the fountain, looking in it’s reflection to ‘spruce’ herself up before believing she was going to be swept off on another fantastic outing with her hero.

Sonic gulped, pulled at his quills, and turned away from the sight. “Aw man, get it together! You have to tell her! It’s the only way she’ll understand!” he softly gave himself his reasons through the prep-talk, but looking back at her, he felt his heart sink at how happy she was right now... and how upset she’ll be if he told her.

“Stay strong...” he repeated to himself, and walked back up to Amy. “Amy, it’s kind of important I tell you what I heard and saw the other day.” he began, lifting a foot to the fountain as it caught Amy’s attention, her head tilting and turning to look at it. She was fixing her quills, but slowly looked up to Sonic, pausing as she noticed how he hid his mouth with his hand as though in strange thought, and spoke as though trying to upfront but indirect.

She raised an eyebrow, “Right now?” She smiled then, turning playful, “Why not tell me on our date!” she lightly hopped to his side and took his arm, pulling him back towards her as he swayed with the action.

“W-wah-o!” He caught himself and looked back into her eyes again. Sighing, he placed a saddened hand to her own on his arm. “We can’t... Go on dates anymore... not like this.” His voice definitely seemed to be conflicted, and Amy’s eyes blinked to a low-riding dispute as though she couldn’t understand.

“Is it Eggman?” Amy asked, about to give her reasons why that didn’t matter but he shook his head and held up his hand from on top of her own.

“N-no, it’s not that. I...” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking away from her and down towards the ground. Instinctively though, he held the arm she was grasping like a gentlemen, crooking it for her to have a better grip of. “I saw some photos... someone took of us on our last date. It’s kinda... all over the city now.”

“Ah!” Amy’s enthusiasm skyrocketed again, her mouth opening wide into a grin. “That’s wonderful!”

“W-what!?” Sonic was amazed at her response, turning back to her a little dumbfounded.

“Hehe, what are they calling us? The cutest new couple to emerge this year!? Ohh! Did they call us the Fashion Couple of the week? Oh-oh! Maybe we’re on Celebrity’s hottest new pairs!”

Her hands flopped around like a teenage girl and Sonic just shook his head, moving since her hands weren’t spazzing while on his arm anymore and put his hands to his hips. On his face, a clear expressive groan, but no sound to follow it.

He looked a little annoyed she didn’t understand, and looked away, grumbling, “Scandal... actually.”

“...What!?” Amy had to process that a moment before flinging her hands back behind her and having her mouth drop open this time, bewildered but also shocked at the news. “How could they say that!? You won’t even let me hold your hands across the table without worrying I’ll see you blush.”

Sonic’s whole body spiked up, “I do not!” he defended, but as Amy ‘aww’d his cute reaction, he coughed into his hand and played it off. “W-we-well, regardless, seeing as I’m kinda a hotshot and you’re my friend, it’s something I’m not comfortable with and-”

“Friend?” Amy gave him a funny look and he started sweating, shaking as he saw Amy’s fiery aura rising.

He made small whimpers as though wanting to say something, unable to change from his position of ‘coughing into hand’ when Amy’s hand flexed out as though threatening to summon a hammer.

“Friend..?” she continued.

After a few more attempts to speak, Sonic finally broke out of his intimidated fear and held his ground, putting his closed-hands up to his sides to show his determination at saying what he had too. “E-either way, Amy! We can’t be seen by the public eye anymore! That means... I can’t take you on a date today.” He straightened out, more of the usual, typical hedgehog boy she was used too.

He closed his eyes and relaxed his body, his head down as though ashamed he had to break the news to her.

“Once they caught wind of it, they started saying some things that I don’t agree with it. Especially about us. I won’t bother relating all the things I heard people talking about, it’s all fake news anyway, but I worry it could hurt who we are and what we stand for... I don’t want to see you misrepresented by people who don’t understand your feelings, Amy.”

It was kind. It was considerate...

But Amy wasn’t having it.

“OOOoooOOOh!” she let out her infamous whine and summoned her hammer, turning away from Sonic and bashing it around furiously in the air. “Who do they think they are!” she shook her fist up and bent her head down, “Spreading lies about my Sonic and I, will they!? Making my man feel the need to hide his appreciation for the well-deserving woman that I am!? Aughh!!!” She took a few, powerful steps and smashed a small but decently sized rock on the ground, causing the other Chao to freak out and fly away. “I won’t forgive them! I’ll make them pay! They’ll rue the day they came between me and my Sonic!”

At her declarations, Sonic just pulled back away from the scene a bit and looked the other way. “Stop it, Amy... you’re embarrassing me and frightening the Chao...” He didn’t know how else to respond to her, but was used to her flip-floppy emotions by now. “Anyway, I’m really sorry about all this. I know you were looking forward to today, too.”

From behind Amy, her rage seemed to rise and then fall all at once, and she turned back to Sonic, her eyes showing her ranged emotions.

“Why should we let them win? You promised me a date today and who are they to say you can’t keep it!?” She puffed up her cheeks, flushing red as her anger was quickly turning her to glossy eyes... but she wouldn’t dare cry in front of Sonic.

Instead, still frustrated and fuming, she kicked the now pebbles of the remaining rock she crushed. “It’s not fair! And I won’t stand for it!” she defiantly placed a foot down as her eyebrows shook. “Whoever disrespects my man’s honest intentions disrespects me!” she was really getting riled up, and Sonic poked his head into her frame to try and wave his hands out in front of him, looking a little already defeated as he knew he couldn’t calm her down now anyway.

“Amy, Amy... it’s not that big of a deal.”

“We’ll go somewhere else then! Somewhere no cameras or rude people will follow!” she stood proudly with a fist to her hip and her pointer finger wagging in the air their new plan, but Sonic felt he was getting roped into her antics again.

He shrugged, shaking his head. “What are ya gonna do?” he seemed to realize he wasn’t going to change her mind.

“Here’s the plan!” Amy swung back to him, shaking him up and pulling him down to her level as she gave him a held wink and whispered her idea. “We’re gonna go on the run! Just you and me! We’ll make sure no one sees your adorable girlfriend getting you all flustered.” she poked and wiggled her finger into his cheek and snickered at her go-hard-go-lucky scheme, but Sonic just felt his face being pushed and squished and tried to lean out of it, unable to as he struggled by rocking back but she would pull him with her arm over his shoulders back to her side again, continuing to brew her plan further.

“B-but where do you think we can go that they won’t follow, Amy?” Sonic was still uncomfortable with the idea, but knowing nothing could stop Amy once she put her mind to it, decided the sooner he got through this date the better.

“You leave that to me!” Amy encouraged, then let him go and lightly pushed him forward, having him try and catch his balance again as he stumbled forward and looked back at her. “You’ve been all over this world and back, only now you’re telling me you can’t even think of one spot that the paparazzi can’t get us?” She looked at him skeptically, “With all their lies and tabloids trying to fancy-up our innocent romance... I can’t believe you’re not trying harder to save our marriage!” she seemed to be idolizing something and half-daydreaming, but then turning to scold Sonic as he looked at her confused.

“W-what?”

“I mean our relationship! That’s what I said.” she folded her arms, blushing and pouting to the side as Sonic scratched his head.

“Hmm...” Sighing with a bit of a grunt at her obvious fib, he just let her carry on and took her up in his arms. “Sorry to make this awkward, Amy...” He seemed sincere enough, and Amy just happily held her arms around his shoulders, like how they normally would go running together.

“Don’t you worry, Sonic The Hedgehog! Little articles like that won’t stop me from marrying you!”

Sonic cranked his head slooooowwwllly her way.

“I-I mean, um, dating you! Haha!” She nervously corrected, but he lowered his eyes to her, showing he wasn’t amused by her imaginations. “... Okay, okay! Hang out dates...” she grumbled the ‘politically correct’ terminology and Sonic smiled at her acceptance of it.

“Hang on!” satisficed that she at least understood him enough to agree to keep prying eyes out of their conduct together, he took off towards where Amy had previously designed to take them.

But while racing around, popular news-drones chased them everywhere. They tried for a picnic retreat but the drones flew up with camera flashes. Sonic dived to save Amy as she gasped and then sped off with a serious look of annoyance to find another location.

They tried the deserts, basking in the sun on beach chairs, but the drones flew speedily by and took a shot, photoshoping it and printing out a picture of them sharing a chair and acting like a spoiled hero with his woman laying beside him and an arm wrapped around him.

The two were shocked out of their chairs.

“I-I-I didn’t know they could do that!” Amy gasped, realizing they could completely fabricate their relationship. “This... this is not good...” her fingers flinched against the sides of her cheeks as her eyes shrunk at the covers of magazines spreading falsehoods about her being some... some...! 

“I’m not a trophy wife!” she bashed the drones and 10 more flew over to take pictures of her violent act. “Ah!” she cowered from the bright lights and kept swinging.

“Amy!!!” Darting from his own paparazzi drones, he dove in and grabbed her, protecting her by jumping out of the encircling camera drones and taking off.

Amy clung to him, looking back and seeing, just like printers, the drones having photoshopped Amy’s violence on Sonic, the header reading something along the lines of how she was forcing the greatest hero into submission, and how you can dominate your famous man into being your one and only.

“Ah! That’s awful!” Amy felt her chest tighten, “I would never do something like that...”

Looking back at her face, seeing how scared she was to lose face and be framed for something she wasn’t, Sonic’s righteous indignation also flared up. He scowled, wanting to say something but keeping it silently to himself.

The two tried to lose them in the bushes, but as the drones looked around, dived in and starting taking pictures of them trying to get away, showing instead that the two were ‘rendezvousing’ in the brush of nature’s finest temptations... each other.

“That is so blown out of proportion!” Amy smashed another drone and pulled out the original photo from inside it’s round body, “We look terrified!” the originally showed them pushing back to avoid the drones in the bush.

Sonic just grumbled, seeing another robot about to take a picture and jumped up to spin dash it, “Come on..!” he extended his hand, and suddenly... Amy’s imagination got away with her.

As she took his hand, him pulling her towards him, she imagined him and her running away to elope, and her jealous suitors pursuing them in raging envy.

“Oh, Sonic~” she blushed and swooned, closing her eyes as she fanaticized and had her hands up to her cheeks, the two photos flying off in the wind behind his incredible speeds. “I’ve always wanted to run away with you~”

They hid in the snow, as the drones flew by and fought the winds, one scanned a pile of two snow heaps. Deciding nothing there was interesting, took off.

Their heads popped out of the snow, Sonic having some snot dripping frozen from his nose and went to sneeze as Amy’s bundled two hands shook in fury.

“Ahhh, come on..!” Amy tiredly drained out an exhausted cry, “At first this was refreshingly new, d-d-due to them not shooting at us like Eggman’s robots of course!” she looked to make sure Sonic wasn’t accusing her of over idolizing a situation again. “Ehem, but now it’s just tiresome! Why can’t we just explode them all..?”

Sonic folded his arms, showing a disapproval. “They’ll photograph that we’re destroying the right to say as they please... or something like that.” he had a sweat drop of uncertainty fall from the side of his face. “You know how these people get, that’s why I wanted nothing to do with them.”

She realized his plea and sighed, “I give up then.” she kicked the ground and sat down beside him, getting out of the snow and leaning up against his shoulder. “Sonic... we can’t just give up... right?”

He remained silent.

“What about our relati- I mean... our friendship.” she made the fish-lips as though upset she had to call it that. “They’re insanely persistent! But... I wasn’t wrong for wanting to spend more time with you... personally having you here with him is already a dream come true! Ah... But... I can understand if you’re growing sick of me.”

She was all dreamy and suddenly, realizing he didn’t like that, went to trying to be a bit more modest.

“I get it now. I’m something that could be an embarrassment upon your image and virtues... without me, you wouldn’t have to worry about this with Tails or Knuckles... I don’t like hiding the truth, but if that’s how you feel you can still hang out with me then... then...” She lowered her head, her eyes covered in dark shadows as her shoulders bounced slightly, clearly not liking what she was saying or accepting, and having her fingers dig slightly in shakes into the snow, showing her resentment at these things.

Then... all at once... Sonic’s hand gently and without delay, reached out to place itself upon Amy’s trembling and gripping for anything solid in her life hands... quieting some fears and reassuring her, being comforting.

She looked at his hand, startled, then up with sparkling admiration into his own.

He was so calm, smiling to her.

“Forget about being tagged for property damages.” Sonic joked, getting up and stretching out, “Hmm uh, hmm uh,... If we’re gonna get these guys... hu ho, hu ho, then we better start with luring them to us first.” As he did his exercises, he then took a deep breath out and offered her his hand, winking to her. “Let’s make it a clean hit, so they can’t crop and cut anything this time.”

Her heart grew so large with love for him, she just jumped up and embraced him, littering his face with her tears. “Oh, Sonic! Sonnnnic!”

He just chuckled sheepishly at her.

Later, the drones were still looking as Amy cried out, “Oh, Sonic, I’m soooo cold!” The drones quickly turned in the direction of their voices.

Sonic and Amy were hiding behind some trees, as Amy cupped her hands around her mouth to let the sound carry, “Hold me in your arms and never let me go~”

The drones paused a second, as though not believing it.

“They’re not buying it.” Sonic whispered, before raising his voice up. “I got something better in mind!” and then swooped a leg under Amy.

“H-hey!” she cried out, as he made her trip and fall down. “Offph! Sonic! What’s the big idea!?”

With that, the drones looked flustered, sparking and fritzing out in the air as they had anime blush marks over their camera lenses. They flew over to the trees, their apertures tensing and unclosing as though to show interest when a human’s eye dilates, looking to Amy in the snow as Sonic came out of hiding and rammed one of them with his fist, crushing their face and sending them flying.

“I’ll give you a show.” Sonic smirked, turning to the others. “Now, who’s up next?”

“Batter up!” Amy got up from laying belly-first in the snow, and wacked one that was distracted by Sonic, shaking in fear as it went to attempt a picture, and was bashed away by Amy’s hammer.

“You want hot and spicy?” She turned to the next drone, “Take a quick peek at this!” She whipped up her hammer as though a boxer spinning around his arm and laid a huge grand-slam with her hammer’s hilt into the drone like a saber.

It toppled in the air a few times before finally falling down. “Ah!” Amy noticed the insignia was Eggman’s, and realized who the freelancer was that was taking pics of them. ‘Oh no!’ she looked back to Sonic, still spin-dashing some of them in multi-hits. ‘If he finds out this was Eggman trying to ruin his happiness... he’ll think he can’t ever be with me again!’ she looked uneasily towards the trashed robot. ‘It does make sense though... I can’t let Sonic know about this... Not yet, at least.’ she took her hammer out of it and bashed the logo further into the snow.

‘No wonder those creeps were saying bad things about Sonic and I’s relationship! O-or friendly hang out sessions!’ she grew furious, racing around and beating up some more. ‘Eggman is the only one who could keep up with me and Sonic’s whereabouts! He’s been sitting back and making millions on exploiting our love! I-I mean- ohhhh..!’ she stood side by side with Sonic. “Let’s let them have it!”

He could tell she was riled up, but actually liked it.

“On your count, Amy!” he joined the fun. In unison, Amy swung her hammer and Sonic jumped back to reel his fist back.

“Counter strike!” Amy saw the drone rise up to dodge Amy, but she lifted her hammer up to match the direction of where it dodged, and Sonic held nothing back to slam his fist into her hammer’s other side to launch her swing with even more force--blasting back the force of air with it--to completely obliterate the drone where only a few minor pieces were actually sprayed like darts out into the trees trunks.

Another drones turbines kick up and blast the snow away as it retreats.

Sonic charges after it, following it by scaling up a tree as Amy looks around at the bear ground.

The robots’ had Eggman faces being exposed everywhere.

Amy’s eyes shook, “Oh no... oh no, oh no, oh no!” she quickly fell to her knees and tried to pile more snow over them, spreading them out but the heat of their explosions caused the light bundles of snow she was trying to put over them to melt in a few seconds. “Stop, stop, stop!” she felt her emotions getting the better of her and hammered the drones down into the ground, but the one she was working on wouldn’t budge. Yes, it dented it’s metal in, but the ground was too solid for it to pierce below and hide itself by Amy burying it.

When Sonic flung down, Amy knew it was already too late... he was too fast to expect herself to hide anything... and wondered what horrible fate lay in store... now that he knew.

She wouldn’t look up at him.

She knew he must have seen them. There was no way to hide them.

He stood there for a long time... ‘Oh! I knew this was hopeless! Now Sonic will never go on another date with me!’

She felt the tears, but held them back. ‘No... I can’t let him see this affect me... I’ve worked too hard to let Eggman, the press,... anyone stop me from being with him!’

As she lamented, silently trying to hide her crying, Sonic walked through the bare, frozen, and solid ground.

He bent down and showed her a thumbs up, just under her vision.

“H-huh?” She looked up with tears that frosted to look like she was crying crystals, as they glittered like stars, and watched as he closed his eyes and gave her the brightest smile she had seen on him to date.

“Nice teamwork,.. Amy!” It was a light acknowledgement, but when he said her name, it was so wonderfully pleasing to her ears, so soft and full of charming reciprocation.

He needn’t say those famous words... as long as he always said her name with such flare and devotion.

It filled her with such profound hope, that it inspired her to reach out to him.

A little startled by her reaction, he couldn’t resist hugging her back, and she held him as he picked her up and carried her to warmer climates.

END.

(Based this one off of Sonic X!Sonamy a bit, can you tell? ;)b )

[missturtleduck]

The Girls of Ba Sing Se - (Sokka x f!Reader) Pt. 3

Part Two│Part Four

“The road to Ba Sing Se would be long, but at least she had the sky.”

TW: Mentions of blood

Dressing in some less formal attire, flowing pants and a comfortable top, Y/N was finally clean of Avatar soup. She shuddered, bundling her clothes into the wash basket at the end of her bed. The night sky was calmer than the evening meal had been, the serene blanket of starlight seemingly wrong compared to the chaos that had ensued. It was pleasant, at least, to be bathed in moonlight, looking up at a million tiny lights.

Serenity came crashing down as Kuai leapt up, front paws on the window. He barked with a vicious disposition, startling Y/N; Kuai was nothing but a dopey, kind dog. Following the menacing gaze of the dog outside of the slobbered-on window, she felt her eyes widen. Without slipping on her shoes, nor pinning her hair, Y/N stumbled out of her room, grasping her bō staff as she flew down the corridor, Kuai on her heels.

A half-asleep guard sat at the doorway of the house; she tapped him hard enough to startle him. “Alert the guards and Master Yu. Mistress Toph and the Avatar are in grave danger.”

Before he could respond, Y/N was already sprinting out of the doorway, the grass cold against her bare feet. Two metal cages, each containing one child, and a myriad of earthbending wrestlers stood in her way. She planted herself on the spot, rooted as unmoving as any earthbending master.

“How uncouth,” Y/N scoffed, raising her staff. “Kidnapping children? Over a money dispute? Utterly pitiful.”

“Y/N!” Toph exclaimed, grabbing at the metal bars on the cage to pull herself into view; she was okay.

Xin Fu, host of Earth Rumble V, opened his mouth to speak, but his goons beat him to it. The Hippo charged Y/N, with little consideration to the environment around them. Rather than immediately knocking her out with earthbending, he went for brute force. Interesting, she thought, as she countered his charge with swiftly placed jabs of her bō. He was massive, far bigger than her, so all she could do was counter and counter again, waiting for the right moment of weakness to strike. She furrowed her brows as he brought rocks to his mouth and began chewing, but when they began to spray like shrapnel she reacted, shielding herself with her staff.

A single rock deflected, knocking him on the head. The Hippo, despite his size and strength, looked like a child for a moment, eyes watering as he had been outsmarted. Y/N grinned, and then instantly regretted grinning; his entire face flushed a vengeful red and he charged her once more. A quick slide to the ground and she was behind him, leaping onto his back and pulling her staff tight over his throat. Face scrunched up with effort, Y/N needed only a few moments more to incapacitate him. But he was quicker.

Dirt did not taste great, Y/N realised, as the Hippo flipped her face first onto the grass, freeing himself from her hold. As he moved to finish her off, Kuai stepped over her, snarling at the earthbender. Spitting blood onto the ground, she gently pulled the dog towards her, not wanting to risk his life.

“Hippo!” Xin Fu looked more annoyed than mad, as if she had been a distraction. “You idiot! Get the cages and go!”

He looked between Y/N and his boss. Mouth full of blood and arms strained in effort of keeping Kuai back, she prayed to the spirits that he decided to do as he was told, despite that meaning Toph’s life for hers.

She didn’t know when they left, not really. Kuai whined for what seemed to be hours, curled up on her bare feet, preventing any chance of catching the cold in her lungs. Pinned into the grass under her bō staff was a scroll, likely left as a ransom note. Y/N kicked herself mentally. She knew how to beat them all, but she couldn’t expose herself like that. Resigned to a weapon and the strength of her body, she needed to learn – to adapt.

“Y/N!”

Y/N turned her head to be met with Poppy, knelt down in the grass, status be damned. Tenderly, she dabbed the blood off of her mouth with a handkerchief, and she didn’t even mind the coddling. With as much respect as she could muster, Y/N moved away from the matriarch, stumbling to her feet – and putting her hand out to prevent anyone from helping her. She bowed as low as she could before her ribs ached with the effort. Her eyes didn’t leave the ground.

“Sir, I have failed you, and your household,” Y/N said, her tone solemn as she addressed Lao. “I sincerely apologise, and I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”

“Get up, Y/N, or you’ll only hurt yourself more.”

It took more effort to stop her jaw going slack than it did rising from her bow. 

“Yes, sir.”

Lao looked at her, eyes sincere. “You did more for my daughter just now than any of my guards. You owe us nothing.”

Nodding, tears pricked her eyes. They were from the pain. That’s what she told herself.

“Whoever took Aang and Toph left this note,” The boy, Sokka, said, handing the scroll to Katara and the staff it was pinned under to Y/N.

“’If you want to see your daughter again, bring five hundred gold pieces to the arena.’ It’s signed by Xin Fu and The Boulder.”

“I can’t believe it,” Sokka muttered, taking the scroll back to examine in. “I have The Boulder’s autograph!”

Dumbfounded, Y/N stared at him, having taken Poppy’s handkerchief and nursing her split lip. He had sunk to his knees in dramatic fashion, clutching the scroll to his chest. “I really hope you’re kidding.”

He smiled, suddenly quite sheepish, but nevertheless pocketing the scroll. The comic relief, Y/N realised. There had to be one in a group, though she was wondering, bemused, whether the flying lemur was the true holder of that role. 

The healer of the group, Katara, approached her, bending water towards her in a tendril, almost an extension of her arm. “Keep still.”

Y/N did as she was told. There was something about Katara that let Y/N know that she wouldn’t get away with not doing as she was told. The girl, no matter how young, reminded her of her mother. Sure, the girl had skin darker than her mother’s and had blue eyes rather than the brown she also possessed, but it was her demeanour and kind face that seemed overly maternal. It was unlike Poppy, who was too much of a lady to also act as a mother to Toph, only having moments of motherly love, but something new that she hadn’t experienced since her mother sent her away to be with the Beifongs three years ago.

The water from the pouch hooked on the side of her hip was brought up to her mouth in a bubble. It was soothing, distracting from the bizarre sensation of her lip healing, the wound closing, scabbing over, and disappearing as if it had never happened. Pulling away, the water no longer glowed with the soft blue light, but was tinged with the coppery red of her blood. Regardless, Y/N felt better than ever, not only her lip healed but the dizziness and shock of being flipped dissipating.

“Thank you,” Y/N grinned, fingers brushing tenderly over her lips, as if searching for the imaginary scar that should’ve been there if not for Katara’s healing skills. “I hope we won’t need your healing skills anytime soon.”

Her lips quirked into a gracious smile, small but still there. “Well, you’ll have me and Sokka this time- “

“Yeah!” He interjected, putting his hands on his hips and a grin on his face. “I am the best warrior from my village after all.”

Lao cleared his throat. Breaking the conversation between the teenagers. “Myself and Master Yu will also be accompanying.”

“Sir, I don’t think- “

“She is my daughter, Y/N,” Lao said, cutting her off sharply. “You cannot stop me.”

With that, the five of them set off, Y/N leaving Kuai with Poppy as they left; she would not risk the life of their dog, rather risking herself over him. The adults followed the teens to where the tournaments were taking place, reliant on Master Yu to open up the arena for them. It struck Y/N how the night now seemed far less serene, but more menacing. The dark was all consuming, the moon vanishing behind the clouds, and Y/N wished someone would spark a flame and illuminate their path.

The arena was far dingier looking than Y/N had realised when she had first ventured in there. Maybe it was just her heart pounding in her chest, so hard she could hear it in her ears, that made her so much more susceptible to her surroundings. A laugh, however, bubbled to her throat as she heard Toph inside.

“Why don’t you come up here, so I can smack that grin off your face?”

Lao leaned forward, as if to run into the ring, only stopped by Y/N’s staff. “Toph!”

“Here’s your money,” Sokka called out to the kidnappers, chucking the bag of gold onto the ground. “Now let them go.”

Master Yu, frown on his face, pushed the bag across the ground, the tremors shifting it to the middle of the arena. Xin Fu gestured vaguely, picking up the bag and immediately surveying its contents. A great groan of metal filled the tense silence as Toph’s cage was lowered from its place suspended high into the air. As she stepped out the cage, Toph made her way to them, grasping onto Y/N’s arm.

“Thank you,” She whispered, not two words that were often heard out of her mouth. “I didn’t realise my etiquette teacher could kick butt.”

Y/N felt herself grow a little soft. “No, but your friend can.”

All of the wrestlers suddenly came to their boss’ side as Y/N realised something; they weren’t letting the Avatar go. She furrowed her brows, watching as Lao tugged his daughter away. They were so ready to leave him – Aang, supposed saviour of the world. The pleading of Katara filled her ears as she watched the Beifongs leave, Toph’s hand still out as if expecting her to come with them. Yes, she was loyal to the Beifongs – to her friend – but she couldn’t just leave the Avatar to be handed over to Ozai. It was wrong.

“Toph,” She said finally, silencing everyone in the arena. “Help them.”

Lao span on his heels. “Y/N, you are overstepping now. My daughter is helpless! She is delicate- “

“Toph, please. You can help them.”

“How dare you. How dare you insult my daughter in this way. You make a mockery of her blindness, her disability- “

“Toph, help a friend.”

“She cannot help you!”

The silence that permeated the air was thick, almost choking Y/N as she stood her ground; she was the helpless one, not Toph. They had stopped walking now, and she could see Toph considering, stood silently, clutching the hand of her seething father. A beaming grin came to her face as she watched the girl rip her hand away, her face steely.

“Yes, I can.”

Moving to the middle of the ring, she brushed Y/N’s arm as she passed – a friendly gesture. Even as they all moved to assist her, to beat the baddies, Toph stopped everyone with just a move of her hands and a few words. Finally, Y/N thought. Finally, her father would see the power she possessed. Toph Beifong was more than a doll, more than a lady of society. She was the most powerful earthbender they had ever seen.

In fluid motions, pillars of stone raised from the ground, sending her opponents flying. The ground bent to her will like clay; waves of rock flowed under her command, washing away the men as easily as a tide on the shore. One by one, they fell like cards, knocked over by a breeze.

“She is the greatest earthbender I have ever seen,” Master Yu gasped, echoing everyone’s thoughts.

As the arena quietened, Lao turned to Y/N. “You are no longer welcome in our home. You will have your belongings sent to your mother, but you are never to return to our home.”

Barking out an astonished laugh, Y/N stared at him. He was serious. Staff in hand, she bowed sarcastically. Not looking at him again, she walked to where Toph stood, her proud victory soured by her father. The hug the earthbender enveloped her in was so tight, almost knocking the air out of her lungs.

“Good for you,” Y/N whispered to no one but her, ruffling her hair out of its formal hairstyle.

The night sky. It all came back to that for Y/N it seemed. With only her staff and the clothes on her back, she began to walk the only way she could. The road to Ba Sing Se would be long, but at least she had the sky. From the clouds, the moon appeared in all its beauty. It seemed to bless her with its soft light, brightening the path ahead as if granting her luck on her journey. At least she had the sky and its beautiful moon.

As the winds picked up, it became more bitter. She was alone now, she reasoned with herself, as she pulled out her palm. Atop it glowed a single flame, a subdued orange illuminating her face. It granted her more warmth than her breath alone.

“Y/N!”

She extinguished the flame. Looking around, she saw no one.

“Up here!”

The moon was now blocked out by the sight of a flying bison. Astonished, Y/N’s eyes were transfixed on the sky. “Toph?”

She cackled, leaning over the side of the creature, the wind brushing her face in a way she had probably never experienced. “This is a kidnapping!”

Slowly, the creature lowered itself to the point she could leap on. Slipping backwards slightly, she nearly took a stumble, only to yanked forwards by two strong arms into an equally strong chest. Toph laughed again at the sound of the commotion, punching Y/N’s arm as she scooted backwards from Sokka.

Maybe the moon had indeed blessed her journey.

TAGLIST: @lunariasilver​

[platypanthewriter]

Rebirth

Day 8 prompt off the Harringrove April list, Rebirth.  After season 3, Max tries to save Billy, any way she can.

Max didn’t mean to go into the Upside-Down with Eleven, but she was half asleep, and her nightmares were so vivid, after Billy—afterwards—that she grabbed for Eleven’s hand, and then they were both running.

They ran and ran, their feet and hearts pounding, as Max wiped her eyes and hissed, “Where are we going,” and Eleven shook her head, squeezing Max’s hand.

“I don’t know,” she whispered back, her eyes wide, somehow visible in the darkness.

Then Max saw Billy, and her heart nearly thudded right out of her chest—walking, alive, and she screamed his name and fell towards him, and...out.

 She awoke, sweating and panting, and stumbled out of her room to stick her head under the kitchen faucet, only to thud into Billy’s chest, warm and solid, in the hallway.  She let out a shaky gasp, and he clapped a hand over her mouth.

“What gives, shitbird,” he hissed, lowering his hand, with a glance down the hall towards his father’s door.

“How are you here,” she rasped out, pinching his arm hard, and he swore, glaring at her.

“The fuck does that mean,” he growled back, and she grabbed his arm and drug him back to her room.  “Whaddaya want, Max,” he snarled, under his breath, but he came, and she shoved him back on the bed, then paced back and forth, thinking.

“I gotta go, shitbird,” he whispered, checking her clock.  “I need to get some crap togeth—”

“Stay there,” she told him, grabbing his arm again, and he looked weirded out, but he sat back down.  “Wha—you—you’re okay,” she breathed, trying to fill her lungs, but they shuddered, like a baby’s, and her eyes stung like she was gonna cry.  

“What the fuck,” he whispered, his eyes narrowed, and suddenly she registered how chilly it was in her bedroom.  

“Why is it cold,” she blurted out, staring around and wondering, as her vision started to blur with tears, whether she was still somehow in the Upside-Down.  “It’s August, it’s hot as Satan’s asscrack here, why is it cold—” 

“Max, it’s June,” he hissed, grabbing her shoulders, and shaking her, just a little.  “What the hell—did you have a nightmare—”

“...It’s June,” she whispered, and then repeated, jubilantly, “Billy!  It’s June!”

“I know,” he told her, raising his eyebrows as she grabbed at his hand, squeezing it.

“It’s June, and you’re still alive,” she sobbed, leaning into his shoulder, and he stayed perfectly still, frowning down at her like she’d lost her mind.  “Sorry,” she giggled, panting, and squeezing his hand again.  “You’re such a fucking shithead.  I missed you.”

“I don’t know what the fuck kinda sick joke this is,” Billy muttered, shaking her off, and looking a little shaken himself.  “I gotta go.”

“Okay, yeah,” Max said, clearing her throat and nodding.  “Yeah.  Fuck.  Who even wants you, right?” she asked, but she still reached out and clutched at the sleeve of his shirt, and her lungs still made a weird noise.

 This time, she swore, things would go different—and they did.  By the time July rolled around, she knew to be suspicious.  She followed him after work, to Heather’s house, and saw him kill.

 And then she banged on Eleven’s door.

 This time, she started following him sooner, climbing right in the car with him, and he was furious, but also consented to take her to movies, and out for ice cream, when she told him he was the only brother she had, and she was making the most of it.  Remembering him bleeding out on the floor under the dome was enough, usually, to get her after him again—and he’d watch her face, and take her down to where the river flood runoff management was dried out for the summer, and they’d skate in the pipes.  

 It was worse that time, when he died, because she’d never liked him before.  Loved him, sure, growing up in a house with Neil—they’d always been like the Allies against the Axis of Evil, she’d thought once, writing a paper about WWII—they warred between themselves, but united against fascism.  Watching him die was crushing in a different way this time, knowing they’d watched shitty sci-fi movies together, sneaking out after Neil went to bed to munch down sleeves of crackers, since popcorn was too loud.

 She banged on Eleven’s door, wiping her eyes.  “How far do you need to go back?” Eleven asked, immediately, and Max hugged her, shaking her head, and shrugging.  She fought back tears, and made an awful wet sniffling noise into Eleven’s shoulder.

“We’ll figure it out,” Eleven told her seriously, taking her hand.

 Making friends with Billy hadn’t been the answer, so she made lists—people he talked to, places he went.  The time she crashed his interview at the pool, he was furious, but he started acting like a freak three whole weeks later than usual, so the time after that, she followed him every damn day.  

It was Karen Wheeler, she finally realized.  At some point, he’d talk to Karen Wheeler, agree to meet her at a motel—Max gagged like a cat the first time she figured it out—and he’d run into the Mindflayer.  He wouldn’t talk about Karen Wheeler—not that Max really wanted to—but it made it hard to warn him.  

Even if Max interrupted every time, eventually, Billy ran into Karen Wheeler alone.  

 Max set him up on dates.  She found Steve Harrington and grilled him on people that might date her brother, and he stared, and he and Robin laughed at her, until she promised to climb in their windows at night with pliers, and steal their teeth.  Steve was more forthcoming after that, writing a list of names with his other hand over his mouth, and Max stalked around Billy’s room as he got ready, straightening his jacket.  She packed him off with flowers.

The Mindflayer still got him.

 Max cried on Eleven’s bed, punching her pillow, and Eleven sat with her arms crossed, thinking.  “We could cut his dick off,” she suggested, and Max choked, laughing.  

“He doesn’t care who it is,” she sighed.  “Even if he goes on the dates, he’s a slut, he’ll always go with Karen Wheeler—”

“We could tell Nancy,” El suggested, steepling her fingers.  “I could tell Mike.”

Max considered, then sighed.  “I don’t think getting his dick shot off would help, either.”

 The only other guy Max knew was Steve, so they went back.  “How do I keep my brother from wanting to fuck Nancy’s mom,” she asked bluntly, and Steve stumbled, vanishing behind the ice cream cabinet with a loud smack noise and then scrambling back up to glare at them through the glass.

“He what now,” asked Robin, and Max explained, again, that she was from the future.  Billy never believed her—it ruined their friendship, usually, because he was so suspicious when she was nice to him anyway—but Steve nearly always did, nodding like it somehow made sense.

“So he’ll die if he tries to fuck Nancy’s mom,” he said, crossing his arms, and narrowing his eyes.

“I mean, so worth it, though,” said Robin, pushing herself up to sit on the counter with a sigh.  “If you need somebody else to go seduce Nancy’s mom—”

“I could tell him I heard she has herpes,” Steve offered, and Max was desperate enough to give it a go.  She brought Billy down to the mall—they always ended up sitting somewhere they could look into the ice cream place anyway, so Steve could see they were there.  He was totally natural—as natural as anyone could be, walking out and handing their nemesis free ice cream they hadn’t ordered, and saying something like “So I heard Mrs. Wheeler’s been spreading the ol’ herpes.”

Billy stared at him, holding the ice cream, and then at Max.  

“...if you don’t want that, I do,” she said, trying not to laugh, or cry, because if Steve’s plan didn’t work, she didn’t know what to try next.

“...what’s going on,” he asked, flatly.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said, reaching for the ice cream cone, and he bit half of it off and chewed it at her defiantly, his mouth open.  

“Why is Steve Harrington talking to me,” Billy asked, which seemed the less important question, given what he’d said, but Billy looked serious.  “Did you—did you bribe him?  The fuck is going on, Max?!  Why would he—ever—” he paused for emphasis, and she realized his ears were turning red, “—ever ever talk to me, Max Mayfield.  Tell me what the fuck is going on, or I will force this ice cream—”

“I just told him you were lurking around Karen Wheeler,” Max blurted, out of self-preservation, and he glowered at her, but relinquished the remaining ice cream.  It was strawberry.  “He said you should know something.”

“He wanted me to know that?” Billy hissed, glancing in at Steve, who was frowning back.  “D’you think it’s true, or—”

“He’s worried,” Max told him, which was technically true—both in the sense that Steve wanted to help Max, and wanted to keep Billy’s manwhoring paws off his ex’s mother.

“Why the fuck would he be worried,” Billy hissed, leaning closer, and glancing into the ice cream shop again.  Robin had joined Steve in leaning on the counter, their heads together as they watched Max and Billy.  Billy’s cheeks started turning pink too.  “Does he ask about me?!” he whispered, lowering his voice, and kind of slurring, like he was afraid if he moved his lips, Steve would see.

“Why do you care?!” Max hissed back, feeling like the message had been lost, after the considerable trouble of getting it delivered.  “You gonna stop hitting on her?!”

“Who?” Billy asked, pulling his stare back off of Steve Harrington, and frowning at Max.  “Oh.  Why does he care who I fuck?”

“...it’s a public service announcement,” Max told him, woodenly.  “With complimentary ice cream.”

“D’you think if I keep hitting on her, he’ll come beat me up?” Billy asked, his smirk widening into a grin, and Max groaned into her hands.  

“I think he’ll—” she began, and then registered the way Billy was watching Steve Harrington.  It was the way he watched the half-naked cavemen in awful sci-fi time travel movies, the  time they’d been friends—only after Neil had gone to bed, only if Billy was half asleep—but she remembered it.  

 She banged on El’s door again, even though Billy was still alive, even though he’d been so quiet on the drive back from the mall.  

“I need to go back earlier,” Max told her.  “I have to keep him from beating Steve up.  I, uh..I think it’ll help.”

“Because he’ll know about the Mindflayer,” El nodded, smacking her fist in the flat of her other hand like Max was a genius, and Max bit her lips together, and nodded.  

“...that, yeah,” she said, hoping it worked, hoping Steve didn’t hit Billy with the nailbat, and Billy didn’t get eaten by demodogs.  She stepped out of the Upside-Down the afternoon she’d snuck out with Lucas, and instead of running, she circled back to Billy’s window.  She watched Neil yell at him, gritting her teeth, and then when Billy flattened himself against the wall, she hissed, “Lucas!” and he helped her up, frowning in bewilderment, as she clambered in Billy’s window, panting and gasping, “No!  No, sorry, Billy, you don’t have to cover for me—I’m sorry—”

Billy and Neil both stared at her, but Neil left him alone, and came over, so angry his jaw and hands were shaking.  

“There you are!” Susan said, with false brightness.  “He was just trying to be a good brother!”

“He’s teaching her to be a liar,” Neil hissed, and Max shook her head, but Billy made the mistake of opening his mouth again, and Neil spun on him.  “You aren’t going anywhere,” he said softly.  “We need to have a talk.”

Billy bared his teeth, and Susan tried to beckon Max away, but she wasn’t watching her brother die again.  “You weren’t here to ask,” she told Neil, trying to make her eyes big and soft, like Will’s, “—so he said I could go if I was back soon!  I hurried.  Dustin’s mom lost her cat—”

She ignored the weirded-out glare Billy shot her, watching Neil’s face—and finally it worked, and her mom touched his shoulder.  

“They’re getting along,” Susan whispered, sounding thrilled.  “W-want to go—watch your show?  I’ll make popcorn.”

The door thudded closed after them, and Billy turned to scowl at Max.  “The fuck was that,” he hissed.

“I need your help,” she told him, and he snorted a laugh, elbowing by her to pout at himself in the mirror.  “You already made me late,” he told her, and she gritted her teeth, and played the last card she could think of.

“Steve Harrington needs your help,” she hissed.  “Please.  Billy.  Come on.”  He stilled the way he had at the mall, glaring suspiciously at her, and she grabbed his jacket, and hauled him towards the window.  

“The fuck would Harrington want,” he asked, barely audibly, with a glance at the door.  “If this is a fucking joke I will cave your skull in and dry it out to eat cereal—”

“It’s not, I swear,” she whispered back.  “Please.”

 He drove she and Lucas to the Byers, and Steve came out with his bat, looking wary.  “I brought Billy to help,” Max yelled, half-falling out of the car door in her anxiety, but Lucas helped her up, still with the disbelieving glower.  She squeezed his hand.  “He’s here to help!” she yelled at Steve, who raised his eyebrows.

Billy rolled his shoulders, glancing from Max to Steve with the beginning of a snarl, but Steve held his hand out.  

“Thanks,” he said, earnestly, and Billy stared at his face.  “I’ve got a ton of little shitheads in there, and the sheriff left me alone here—”

“You’re not alone,” Dustin yelled from the window.

“Completely by myself with these rug rats,” Steve told Billy, and Billy snorted a laugh.  Once inside, Steve handed Billy another baseball bat—nail-less—and he stared, so Steve and Dustin showed him the demodog in the fridge.  

 The next week, Steve drove by, Billy sauntered out and got in his car, and Max began to relax for the first time in...she shook her head and wondered, leaning her head in her arms, whether she got younger as she travelled back through the Upside-Down, or if she kept trying, maybe she’d end up fifty years old, just from reliving the summer of 1985 over and over for decades.  

For a while, things seemed to get better—Billy was hanging around Steve, and then right when he got the pool job, right when it mattered, they had a fight, or something, and Billy fucking tried to meet Karen Wheeler, and got flayed.  

Before she went over to Eleven’s, Max screamed, “This is all your fault, I hate you,” into the living room at Neil and her mom, and then ran out of the house.  They followed—not fast enough, yelling after her—but she didn’t stop.

 The next time, she got Billy a few hours sooner—she wanted to make sure he made friends with Steve, and after they fought the demodogs off in the junkyard, Billy couldn’t stop asking questions, and Steve threw an arm around his shoulders.  Max watched them.  She was exhausted—not so much from lack of sleep, but from lack of hope, because every change she made, she thought this time.  Surely.

This time, it was kind of weird.  Billy was weird—he’d pull Steve down alleys, not to fight, Max discovered, the first time she sprinted after them, just...talk, softly, apparently?  Steve started showing up and climbing in his window at night—Max stared at the connecting wall, horrified by his choices, because she’d seen Billy toss a cigarette, miss his ashtray, and pour old flat beer on his desk to put out the smoldering, crumpled homework and dirty socks.  She’d seen it that very afternoon.  

Billy brought her along for ice cream, sometimes, and she tried not to watch as he leaned across the case to lick the sample spoon into his mouth while it was still in Steve’s hand.

Then Steve started getting along with Robin, and Max saw the problem.  What was worse, she saw the solution, and she had to set her jaw and play matchmaker.  Not having to watch her brother be skewered saving Eleven would be worth it, she told herself, as she listened to him describe the perfect globes of Steve’s ass.  She remembered sitting in Billy’s empty room after the EMTs zipped him into the body bag, and it warmed her enough to suffer through his angst over Steve’s tan.  She’d made friends with him again, and he knocked on her door late at night after dates with Steve, a phrase she never thought she’d imagine, to tell her where they’d gone—with a pause for Billy to grin vaguely—and describe things Steve had said.  

Max listened, watching her brother happy, and alive, and the next time Karen Wheeler showed up at the pool, Billy had his lips fastened under Steve’s jaw around the side of the building.  

 The Mindflayer finally got a city inspector that went out to the Steelworks, in September, but Max remained vigilant even after Christmas, when she and Eleven could go and rent a movie, instead of travelling back in time, and Billy was always there, leaning across the counter to tease Steve Harrington, and renting porn.

The other Harringrove April prompts I’ve done

[wreathedinscales]

"Wangji."

Golden eyes open in catlike slits. Were it not for his size, his jade white scales would be lost under the sleeping rabbits snuggled around him. Here, nestled in his hoard, Lan Xichen's brother is his most content, and Lan Xichen hates to interrupt him.

But Uncle is right. This conversation has to happen today. So Lan Xichen approaches with a peaceable smile on his face, letting his limbs elongate into a mirror image of the dragon, almost identical to the legendary Lan An: pale antlers sprouting like small trees from a sky blue mane that stretches along his spine to a feather-soft fur tail. The noticeable difference is Lan Xichen has whiskers, two flowing tendrils on the sides of his snout. Wangji is not yet old enough to grow his.

"A disciple is being punished for insulting your breeding," Lan Xichen rumbles, putting one paw over the other. "This is the fifth proposal you have refused this week, Wangji. The elders are getting worried you will never accept a harness."

Slowly, Wangji blinks his eyes all the way open. "Didn't like them."

Lan Xichen tries not to laugh at the childish petulance in his voice. "Why not?"

Wangji doesn't answer.

A black rabbit, the only one in the bunch, hops onto his snout. Wangji looks especially pleased.

...ah.

"Wangji," Lan Xichen says cautiously, "do you have someone specific in mind?"

Wangji looks back at him.

Lan Xichen sighs. "You know I only want you to be happy. But you must know that is impossible."

"I would not be the first Lan to be without a harness."

Lan Xichen opens his mouth, then closes it, lets his tension speak for him. While they are descended from the skies, the Lan bloodline has been diluted. They are not the divine creatures of old. Human riders, empathetic bonds, allow them to keep their human hearts. What Wangji is suggesting is unfathomable to his family: relinquishing balance, an existence driven completely by instinct. Everything a Lan abhors.

Wangji averts his eyes. But he does not back down.

Lan Xichen sighs. In a rare moment, his agitation becomes apparent in the mist coiling from his jaws. He nudges his brother's snout and leaves the back hill.

The Burial Mounds seethe at Lan Xichen's approach. Lan Xichen resists the urge to seethe back. He's ridden the sword instead of scale, thinking perhaps Wei Wuxian will be more amenable to a human's approach. Most people are, except Nie Mingjue, but Mingjue has always been different. Or maybe Lan Xichen is biased.

Nevertheless, his rider has no knowledge of Lan Xichen's visit. Uncle does not even know; his nephew only told him he was going to look elsewhere for candidates for Wangji. Which is not a lie.

The wards ripple red. Lan Xichen sends a harmless breath of energy, the equivalent of knocking politely on a door. Then he waits, taking in the...scenery.

He tries to be positive. Before the war and heresy, Wei Wuxian showed himself to be clever and righteous. He had been an enormous help in the war, despite his methods. Something in him has broken Wangji's silence, and Wangji is a Lan: he does not love lightly.

Wei Wuxian is also stubborn, rash, and practices unorthodoxy. Also, he is harboring Wens in the Burial Mounds. Lan Xichen can't help thinking he's utterly unworthy of Wangji.

Lan Xichen takes a deep breath, then grimaces. The Burial Mounds is choked with resentful death and rotting flesh. But he will stick to his purpose.

"Sect Leader Lan."

Wei Wuxian is a skeleton in worn clothes, twirling his dizi with deliberate carelessness. His smile is sharp and cautious.

"Has Lan Zhan finally given up?" he asks.

Lan Xichen smiles back. "On the contrary. I wish to speak with you, Young Master Wei, if you have a moment."

Wei Wuxian tilts his head. "You've never been here. Would you like a tour while we talk?"

"I'm afraid it is a sensitive subject."

Wei Wuxian's fingers twitch around Chenqing.

"Young Master Wei," Lan Xichen says, "I mean you and your charges no harm." After a moment's consideration, he says, "It is about Wangji."

Wei Wuxian starts. Suddenly, he is speaking rapidly: "Is he alright? Did something happen?"

"May we talk?" Lan Xichen repeats.

Wei Wuxian's lips purse. He waves his hand, and the barrier falls.

"Follow me."

This is not an army.

This is an old woman patting the Ghost General's head as he helps her lift a bag of radishes. This is an old man crowing about his latest attempt at wine. This is a young child, a child, running to wrap around Wei Wuxian's leg.

The crowd turns and falls quiet. Lan Xichen cannot attempt to hide his antlers or tail, much less his pristine clothes. He nods and smiles as kindly as he can, bidding a polite greeting.

Wen Qing emerges from the throng. She salutes stiffly. "Sect Leader Lan."

Wei Wuxian swings the child into his arms. "A-Yuan, go back to Granny."

A-Yuan instead grins at Lan Xichen and yells, "Rich-gege!"

Wei Wuxian laughs. "No, no, this is his big brother. He came to talk." He's looking at Wen Qing as he says this. "We won't be long."

Wen Qing's eyes flick between them. At length, she holds out a hand and says, "A-Yuan."

A-Yuan pouts but allows Wei Wuxian to put him down. "Bye, Big Brother!"

Lan Xichen waves. "Wonderful to meet you, A-Yuan."

Wei Wuxian resumes walking with more urgency in his step. Beyond the quaint settlement is a cave. Wei Wuxian throws a few talismans around the entrance and demands without preamble, "What's wrong with Lan Zhan?"

Lan Xichen explains the situation despite his spinning thoughts. A-Yuan's face has been burned there, igniting a wildfire that makes his tail twitch like a hatchling's. Somehow he manages to sound steady throughout.

"The consequences," he adds, "are not well-known."

Wei Wuxian has somehow grown more pale. "Then why have you told me?" He attempts to smirk. "Is it because you know I have nobody to tell?"

Lan Xichen keeps his smile fixed to his face. "I tell you because Wangji will take no one but you."

For some reason this surprises Wei Wuxian. For some reason, he cries, "But Lan Zhan hates me!"

Lan Xichen stares.

And stares.

Wei Wuxian's nose twitches. "Don't look at me like that. You and Lan Zhan are too much alike."

It's been years since anyone's said that about Lan Xichen and his brother. But if that were true, Wei Wuxian wouldn't be gaping like a dead chicken.

"How..." Lan Xichen pauses and attempts to word this properly. In the end, he can only say, "Please explain."

Wei Wuxian blinks. "I mean, he's made his opinion about my cultivation clear. He keeps telling me to come back to Gusu and everything!"

"...I see."

This is an utter lie. Lan Xichen has not outright lied in years.

Wei Wuxian shakes his head. "Besides, what would I do as a rider? I..." he swallows. For a moment, his expression darkens. "No. It's impossible."

Lan Xichen looks at him. Looks around the cave. Thinks of the child outside. He makes the executive decision to open his rider-bond and say, I need help.

While Mingjue implodes in his skull, Lan Xichen says, "I believe there has been a slight misunderstanding."

Wei Wuxian raises an eyebrow. "You think?"

"...several misunderstandings."

Wei Wuxian scoffs and crosses his arms. "So what would you have me do? I'm not saying I believe you about Lan Zhan's feelings," spirits above, he can't be serious, "but am I supposed to write him a letter? I'm not going to Gusu, if I haven't made that clear."

Lan Xichen answers Mingjue's barrage of questions while replying, "What would be your decision?"

"What? Sect Leader Lan, I can't possibly accept!" Lan Xichen's stomach drops. "The cultivation world will skin him alive, for one! And I can't leave the Wens alone!"

"Disregarding all of that," Lan Xichen says, "What would be your answer?"

Wei Wuxian's brow furrows. "Disre..." He laughs. "Forgive me, Sect Leader Lan, but did you hit your head on your way here?"

"Wei Wuxian."

The cave vibrates. Shadows curl around Wei Wuxian, ready to defend.

Lan Xichen closes his eyes until he can smile again. "If none of that existed. Would you accept?"

Wei Wuxian falters. The shadows disperse, leaving him small and sad. It reminds Lan Xichen painfully of how young he is despite his deeds.

"Lan Zhan is too good," Wei Wuxian murmurs, "Too good." He huffs with a pained smile. "If the world was magically better, and he asked me, I could never say no."

Mingjue, now informed of the situation, has Baxia-sharp focus. The cutting edges are comforting.

"Young Master Wei," Lan Xichen says, "I will return soon."

Nie Mingjue despises the Wens. He has made that abundantly clear. But he is also a good man. A man who will not, in good conscience, look at the people in the Burial Mounds and stand aside.

A baffled Wei Wuxian is roped into giving that tour.

Lan Xichen thinks he owes Jiang Wanyin an apology. The man had tried so hard to protect his brother, but no one had helped him, not even Wei Wuxian.

Afterwards, the three of them stand in the cave and Nie Mingjue considers Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian considers him in turn, shoulders slightly curled, ready to defend himself and the Wens.

The moment Lan Xichen pictures him being spoiled by his brother is when he knows the decision is made.

"Alright," Mingjue bellows, "let's gather the sects."

Wei Wuxian's says, "Huh?"

Since Wei Wuxian is so leery about Gusu, the conference takes place in Qinghe. Wangji is the first to arrive, sailing on the wind.

Wei Wuxian watches him land in open awe. No, he's smitten. Oh dear.

"Wei Ying" is of course the first thing Wangji says with human lips.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian replies, "Your brother said some weird things."

Wangji's pupils turn to slits. "Brother?"

Lan Xichen puts his hands behind his back. "You have a preference."

Wangji's expression doesn't change, but he can't hide his sorrow from Lan Xichen. "He has already refused."

"Eh?" Wei Wuxian cries, "What do you mean?"

Wangji looks like a scolded hatchling and Lan Xichen's talons twitch in his fingers. "You will not come to Gusu."

"Wh...you...what?"

Nie Mingjue is very amused. Lan Xichen internally chides him. It does not work.

"I thought you were going to punish me!" Wei Wuxian says.

Wangji's eyes widen. "Would never punish Wei Ying."

"But! You don't like me?"

Nie Mingjue snorts.

Wangji sends him a glare before responding. "I never said that." His ears turn red. "Like Wei Ying."

Wei Wuxian is red as well, only it's his entire face. "Lan Zhan?"

Wangji's tail flicks. "I do. I...I want." His throat bobs. "I want your harness."

Wei Wuxian chokes. "That...that sounds...why did you say it like that? No, just." He hides his head in his hands. "Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan."

Wangji averts his eyes. "But you have refused me. Brother had no right to bother you."

"Bother? I? No!" Wei Wuxian groans. "Lan Zhan, you are the best person in the world. Who wouldn't like you?"

Silence. Wangji's mouth hangs open. It's hilarious and Lan Xichen refuses to laugh. In his mind, Mingjue cackles for him.

"Okay," Wei Wuxian says, slightly muffled by his fingers, "Okay. Stop. Back up." He drops his hands and points to Wangji. "You, Lan Zhan, Lan Wangji, Hanguang-Jun." Points to himself. "Wants me to be your rider. Because you like me."

Wangji's ears are almost purple. "Mn." Quieter, he adds, "Very much."

Wei Wuxian gapes at him. "Holy fuck."

He runs into Wangji's arms.

"Holy fuck!" he cries again, "Lan Zhan! Holy fuck!"

Wangji's eyes are shining. "Mn."

Wei Wuxian buries his face in his shoulder. "Maybe one day, when all this dies down, we can..."

He pulls back with an aggrieved noise. "No. No, wait. I...ah, Lan Zhan, don't look like that! It's just. There's...it's just that...ah, hell."

He grasps Wangji's wrists. Wangji reciprocates.

Wangji pales.

Says, "Wei Ying."

Wei Wuxian yanks his face towards him and whispers rapidly in his ear. Lan Xichen's senses can pick it up despite his best efforts at giving them privacy: "So you see, Lan Zhan, it can't work, I'm sorry, but it—"

And Lan Xichen could have gone his whole life without knowing what his brother looks like shoving his tongue down someone's throat.

"Wangji."

Golden eyes open in catlike slits.

Lan Xichen smiles. "A-Yao just gave me the news. Not even Jin Guangshan could dispute what's in front of him. When he wakes, please tell Young Master Wei that the Wens may stay in Gusu."

It's been weeks of sleepless nights and restraint. Wei Wuxian hadn't wanted the Wens anywhere near the conference, but "Granny" and "Uncle Four" convinced him to let at least them, Wen Qing and Wen Qionglin to go. In the meantime, the Wens were given space in the Unclean Realm under Nie Mingjue's watch.

Wangji, for reasons undisclosed to even Lan Xichen, has stopped saying anything against Wei Wuxian's cultivation. He still does not seem pleased with it, but when asked, he expounds on Wei Wuxian's virtue and sense of justice until the other person is forced to give up asking him.

For his part, Wei Wuxian puts on the Yiling Patriarch ferocity until Lan Xichen asks about A-Yuan. At first, Wei Wuxian had been visibly thrown by the question. Then he started talking like a proud father. When he mentioned how smart A-Yuan is for a toddler, many cultivators shifted in their seats.

A-Yuan did make a brief appearance in the proceedings, with Wei Wuxian and the gathered Wens watching like hawks and Wangji in scales. A-Yuan had screamed at the sight of the Jins.

To the surprise of absolutely no one, Jiang Wanyin is quick to join Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue. Well, Wei Wuxian is surprised, but Lan Xichen has lost his trust in Wei Wuxian's basic emotional awareness.

So it comes to this: Wei Wuxian sleeping soundly, holding Wangji's tail with all four limbs, A-Yuan snuggled in Wangji's mane. Wangji has promised Wei Wuxian a flight. Lan Xichen wonders at Wei Wuxian's crying as he listened. Soon, they will be among Wangji's hoard of rabbits.

("He hoards what? But he didn't have any when I gave him those two!"

"...excuse me?")

Wangji is not just content. He is happy. Another smile for Lan Xichen's own hoard.

"I will."

[constantlytiredghost]

5 Times Martin picked up Gerry and 1 Time Gerry picked up Martin

Gerry always had been taller than Jon. Ignoring that one time when Jon was thirteen and hit a growth spurt that made him exactly one inch taller than Gerry for like a month, Gerry might have had a small crisis during that time but that was beside the point. Fact was that as a general rule, Gerry was taller than Jon. Stronger too, for that matter.

So it just happened that Gerry was the one who picked up Jon and carried him around and that was fine. Gerry loved carrying Jon around. Jon was small and light and bony and holding him was like picking up a particularly stubborn kitten, eager to pretend it didn’t want affection only to melt into it after a moment.

This also meant that Gerry was absolutely not and in no way prepared to get picked up himself like ever. How should he? The last time it happened was when his dad had been alive so somewhere before he had turned eight and that had been a while ago. His mother well… and Gertrude, Agnes and Emma weren’t really the type for it. Maybe Agnes but she had never tried. Jon had tried, mostly out of spite but he had only managed to topple them both over. 

And now there was Martin.

From a logical standpoint, Gerry had been aware that Martin would most likely be able to pick him. He was tall, even taller than Gerry and there was a strength in him that he usually hid behind shy smiles and gentle gestures but was apparent in the way he simply lifted up one of the heavy creates in the library completely unbothered by its weight. 

So on a rational level, Gerry knew but that didn’t make him any more prepared for when it happened.

The first time it happened was in the kitchen. Martin had been cooking and Gerry was mainly lurking around, trying to snatch some smaller pieces whenever Martin wasn’t looking.

“Gerry, stop that.” Martin chided, swatting halfheartedly at Gerry’s fingers with the wooden spatula. Gerry stuck out his tongue in response.

“What if I don’t?” he asked with a grin. Martin gave him a look of consideration before stepping closer looming over Gerry. He wrapped his arms around Gerry’s middle and effortlessly lifted him up. Gerry barely had the time to process before he got deposited on the kitchen counter.

“Stay there,” Martin said, tapping lightly against the side of Gerry’s thigh. “Or I’ll have to ban you from the kitchen. Gerry only nodded dumbfounded, unable to form any words.

“Good.” Martin said, pecking Gerry on the nose before he returned to making cookies.

Jon in the meantime looked up from reading his book at the kitchen table to give Gerry an amused but knowing look.

The next time it happened actually had a more practical reason, namely a giant gash in Gerry’s left leg. He had managed to stumble into the library and turn human just before crashing, startling both Jon and Martin.

“Heeey.” he greeted them with a wry smirk, that was half trying to hide his pain and half trying to reassure them that he was okay.

They were both at his side in a heartbeat.

“That looks bad.” Martin said after accessing the damage with a frown and Gerry only shrugged.

“Can you walk?” Jon asked with furrowed brows.

“Sure, just give me a second.” Gerry muttered, bracing himself for the pain that was about to come.

“Yeah, no,” Martin said, already shoving his arms under Gerry to pick him up. “don’t think you should put any weight on that.”

Gerry only made a soft surprised sound when the ground vanished underneath him. He still hadn’t got used to the prospect of being carried.

“I’m fine.”, he protested but there was no heat behind it.

“Sure,” Martin said. “But I’m still not letting you walk.”

“I-, You-, Ugh-” Gerry only huffed before he let himself relax into Martins hold, his head flopping against Martin’s shoulder as Martin brought him to the kitchen to patch him up.

The third occasion was even more of a shock than the first two had been. Martin picking him up while he was human was surprising but at least something that could’ve been expected. That Martin was able to lift up his beast form was both surprising and very unexpected.

He was laying in what was essentially their living room, head resting on his paws and eyes closed while he took up as much space as possible. Jon had long since given up on moving him and simply used him as a footrest. Martin on the other hadn’t reached that point yet.

He nudged Gerry’s side lightly. “Ger” he sighed. “Come on, can’t you just move a bit instead of blocking everything?” Martin asked.

Gerry opened a few of his eyes, slowly blinking at Martin before closing them again with a huff. He probably could move, but he really wasn’t in the mood for it.

“Oh, you know what. Fine.” Martin muttered, but instead of giving up like Gerry assumed would, he wriggled his arms underneath Gerry.

“Up you go.” Gerry managed to let out a confused whine when Martin heaved him up, all of his eyes were suddenly wide open. His beast form was even bigger than his usual form, so he just couldn’t comprehend how this had happened. The fact that his way of thinking turned more simple during his transformation didn’t help either.

He turned his head to stare at Jon who had started laughing loudly.

“I’ve never seen a beast looking so confused.” he snickered.

“Well, there’s a first for everything.” Martin huffed, letting Gerry down a foot next to where he had been originally. “And you don’t give me that look, you could’ve moved yourself.” 

Gerry huffed in response, but after a moment when Martin had settled down, he padded over squeezing in between them to lay himself half over Martin and his head into Jon’s lap. “Oh so now you want cuddles?” Martin asked amused, but Jon’s hand was already buried in Gerry’s fur scratching along his scalp. Martin sighed. “Don’t encourage him.” he said, but his own hands already had found their own way into the dark fur. The fourth barely registered at first due to the fact that Gerry was half asleep. Since he was young, he had the habit of sleeping in the weirdest places. Not because he didn’t like beds or because book stacks were overly comfortable, but simply because sometimes the nearest halfway flat surface was enough.

Since Jon couldn’t exactly carry him to bed and wasn’t always able to wake him up, it meant that occasionally Gerry did sleep then and there right through the night only to wake up with horrible cricks in his neck and a lot of regrets.

This time he didn’t.

This time two arms wrapped around him and picked him up, jostling him back into well not exactly consciousness but at least more awake, which didn’t mean that Gerry was able to be coherent anyway. So “ngh?” was the only response he could make, his fluttering lightly, blinking up at Martin. A low chuckle was the reply before Martin actually answered. “Shhhh,” he said softly. “just keep sleeping. I’m just bringing you to bed.”

Gerry hummed and let his eyes fall shut again.

He could feel being placed on the mattress and how Jon wriggled closer to press a kiss to his cheek, by the time Martin pressed against his back, arms wrapped around him he was already back asleep a smile on his face.

The fifth time had Gerry pressed against a bookshelf, Martin’s lips hot again his neck. His hands tight around Gerry’s hips keeping him in place. Gerry couldn’t remember the last time someone had been able to pin him so easily and he certainly wasn’t complaining.

Neither was he complaining when Martin’s hands wandered lower, wrapping around his thighs lifting him up.

Gerry’s legs instantly wrapped around Martin’s hips and his grip around Martin’s neck tightened. He could feel Martin’s smile against his neck before teeth scraped along his skin teasingly. Not a bite but hinting at one.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing there?” 

Gerry looked over to Jon who had interrupted them and was now giving them an unamused look.

“What do you think we’re doing?” Gerry asked a bit breathless.

“Not. In. Front. Of. My. Books.”

“Jon, there are books everywhere.” Gerry whined making Martin laugh while Jon just shot him another unamused look.

“Don't worry, Jon. We’ll leave.” Martin chuckled, stepping back from the shelf, Gerry still wrapped around him.

“We do?” Gerry asked. 

“Well you don't have much of a choice do you?” Martin returned.

Gerry hummed in agreement and maybe he didn’t mind not having a choice. The first time Gerry picked up Martin was after he returned after he had been gone for about a week. He found both Jon and Martin in the kitchen, a kettle sitting on the stove presumably tea stepping in it. Martin already shot him a glance and he pressed a finger to his lip as he sneaked up on Jon before grabbing him to pick him up and whirl him around, resulting in an affronted squeak. Gerry laughed and pressed a kiss to Jon’s cheek. 

“I’m back.” he chuckled.

“I can see that.” Jon huffed and swatted him lightly against his arm, but the smile on his face showed clearly that he was just as happy that he was back as Gerry was himself. “Now let me down.” 

“Fine, fine.” Gerry relented and set Jon back on the floor.

“Welcome back.” Martin said amused now that Gerry clearly wasn’t trying to be quiet anymore.

“Yeah, it’s good to be back.” Gerry said with a crooked grin before stepping closer to Martin, wrapping his arms around him to lift him just like he had Jon. Martin made a startled sound that was frankly adorable and it made Gerry chuckle.

“Geez, Gerry, let me down. I’m too heavy for that.” Martin protested but Gerry only laughed. 

“You’re most definitely not.” he disagreed, spinning on the spot to prove a point.

Martin sighed but relaxed a bit.

“Don’t complain if you hurt your back.” he mumbled.

“Would be totally worth it.” Gerry said, grinning up at Martin.

“Wanna let me down anyway?” Martin asked.

Gerry hummed and gave Martin a considering look.

“Only if I get a kiss.”

Martin snorted. “Sure.”

“Perfect.” Gerry said with a grin, lowering Martin on the floor before he leaned up to steal a kiss.

“You seem very happy.” Jon pointed out from behind them, holding out two cups of tea for them.

“I am,” Gerry said with a smile.

“You two just make me very happy.”

“You’re a sap.” Jon pointed out, pushing on his tiptoes to press a kiss against Gerry’s jaw.

“You love me anyway.”

“We do.” Martin agreed.

.

.

.

.

.

.

@everythingisstardust

[mopeytropey]

a beer buds series: chapter 5

newest update available below the cut and on AO3 here :) those of you anticipating more of gay disaster!Lexa should be pleased ... 

Timeline: takes place between chapters 4 and 5 of 'apu' after Clarke attempts to host a dinner party only to have Lexa arrive as her only guest

Beer: Sunday Paper IMPERIAL STOUT WITH COFFEE

The smoothness of this beer belies it’s 9.9% ABV. Fresh roasted coffee nose leads into a smooth and rich roasted dark chocolate and coffee flavor with hints of dried black cherries.

ABV 9.9%

Sunday Paper Imperial Stout: Exhibit A (Framingham, MA)

Lexa has settled into the worn comfort of Lincoln’s sofa for all of six minutes before a large, curious ball of grey fur is sitting beside her. The cat blinks up at her with its owlish eyes the color of rust, and Lexa smiles while rubbing behind its ears.

“I still can’t believe you’ve named your cat after my father.”

“Come on! Tell me she doesn’t look exactly like Gus!” Lincoln shouts from the nearby kitchen.

The cat begins to purr at Lexa’s doting touch, and she thinks it enhances the resemblance even further. A docile temperament hidden beneath the imposing stature of her father. Uniform grey coloring gives way to a wide swath of darker fur beneath the cat’s chin, cascading down its chest like an unkempt beard. Lexa smiles again. Gus the cat has a bulky frame but is gentle and affectionate. She thinks the comparison is entirely apt.

“She’s bigger than when I was here last,” Lexa observes as Lincoln enters the room carrying two glasses of dark beer with heavy foam.

“She eats like a horse,” he laughs, setting a drink in front of Lexa before collapsing onto the other end of his couch. “Plus, I’m fairly certain Octavia is spoiling her with extra treats. Cheers, buddy.”

Gus abandons her immediately for the comfort of Lincoln’s lap while Lexa retrieves her glass.

She reaches down the short expanse of sofa cushions to clink her glass against Lincoln’s. “How drunk am I going to be after this one?”

“Imperial stout. 9.9%,” Lincoln smiles. “But, I’ve got lasagna and garlic bread in the oven to compensate.”

“So I’ll be hungover and doubling my running route tomorrow. Thanks a lot.”

“What are friends for?” Lincoln beams. “Hey! We should do 1A down to the island and back—weather is supposed to be super mild tomorrow and I’m done with my meetings by 4:00.”

The route past Clarke’s house.

The new information of Clarke’s residence is like a hot coal buried deep in Lexa’s stomach. The architecture. The pungent smell of the marshes. Seeing Clarke backdropped by her own surroundings had completed so much of the picture Lexa has been composing for months. Everything about the house, and Clarke in it, made sense—from the colors of her open kitchen to the art hung on the walls to the spiral staircase that Clarke practically forbade Lexa to ascend.

She swallows, wondering if the blush she feels on her cheeks will show in the low light of Lincoln’s living room. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

“So, how was it on Tuesday? Sorry we bailed.”

Not for the first time, Lexa wonders if Lincoln has somehow infiltrated her inner thoughts based on the timeliness of his ask. The inquiry does nothing to lessen her blush, but Lexa hides further embarrassment behind a large sip of stout.

“You mean showing up for a dinner party to find you’re the only guest in attendance? Not awkward at all, that’s for sure.”

Gus seems to vacillate between the two of them for a moment, finally curling against Lexa’s leg and pushing her paws into Lexa’s thigh when she sinks her hand into thick, soft fur. The sound of Gus’s purring is amplified by Lincoln’s quiet apartment, and Lexa begins to relax with its perpetual hum.

“Yeah, but it’s Clarke,” Lincoln laughs. “I’m sure you guys had fun without us anyway.”

Lexa can’t decide if he’s really so oblivious or playing dumb for her sake, but she looks at him like he’s sprouted a second, immaculately shaved head anyway. She is tempted to recount every movement, and look, and smile, and gesture that she was forced to endure in Clarke’s company that made her feel, in fact, incredibly awkward. And, unsure. Anxious. Elated. Questioning every decision she’d ever made in her life to that point.

But, sure: fun is more succinct.  

“We had a nice time.” Lexa smiles into her beer, remembering. “I think I talked a lot.”

“I’m sorry—what?” Lincoln further mocks her by cupping a hand around his ear as if to hear her more clearly.

“You’re such an ass. Why do I even hang out with you?”

“I’ve been grandfathered in,” Lincoln shrugs.

“When we were out on the boat, Clarke shared some things with me—personal things—and it felt like it was time to reciprocate.”

“Her dad?” Lincoln asks in a far more cautious tone. Lexa nods, taking another sip of the dense, dark beer. “The way the girls talk about him, he sounds incredible. A great guy to have lost so soon. O says the Griffins practically raised her. She really loved Jake.”

“I think Clarke’s connection with him was quite strong.”

Lincoln slowly nods through a heavy sigh. “So, how much of the backlog did you offer up in return? How far back into the Brooklyn archives did chatty Lexa venture?”

He’s broken the mood, and Lexa gives him a grateful smile. “Quite a bit, actually. I was also sort of high at the time.” Lincoln almost chokes on a sip of beer as Lexa shrugs. “But, I’m glad I told her. It felt good to talk about it.”

“Yeah.” Lincoln’s dark eyes have taken on a distant quality, and Lexa suspects he may be thinking of Octavia. Perhaps he’s thinking of all the parts of his dark history that he’s been able to share with someone as strong and resilient and unwavering as her. For someone as reticent as Lincoln, it must feel like infinite relief to give that part of himself to someone else. “We beat some shit odds, didn’t we?” he finally says.

Lexa exhales a humorless laugh. “Understatement.”

It had been a childhood of survival for them both. Anya too. But then they found each other, and it started to feel less harrowing, less isolating and alone. Even when they lost track of one another—transported from one family to another, in different boroughs, different schools—Anya taught them to rely on a network of trusted contacts. Information from other kids in the system became the string that kept them tied together.

And then, during that frightening summer when Lexa was thirteen and Anya disappeared, lost to another state—shipped halfway across the country—Lexa wouldn’t let them rest until she and Lincoln found her. It would be another eight months before Anya landed back on New York City asphalt and Lexa could breathe steadily again.  

A timer sounding off in the kitchen breaks the atmosphere again, and Lincoln sets his beer down to briskly stand from the couch. “I’m gonna check on the lasagna. You good on beer?”

Lexa eyes him, incredulous. “I’ll be drinking this same beer in an hour. Quit trying to get me drunk.” Her phone buzzes while Lincoln exits, his laughter trailing after him.

Clarke’s name on her phone screen has Lexa shifting around on the couch, setting down her beer and resting her elbows on her knees. That now familiar coil of excitement swirls in her stomach as she opens the message.

Clarke Griffin (6:07PM): new artist featured at the coffee shop has some amazing photography of NY

Clarke Griffin (6:07PM): red hook, I think?

Lexa gives in to the tug at her lips, the way Clarke’s innocuous observation blooms warmth in her chest because of its casual consideration.

Clarke had been thinking of her.

She more often tries to suppress the way her mind wants to calculate just how much Clarke thinks of her. But tonight, she allows it. Even a momentary concession has Lexa biting at her lips to keep her smile from spreading.

(6:08PM): Clarke, please tell me you are not drinking coffee at six pm.

Clarke Griffin (6:08PM): Ok. Lexa, I am not drinking coffee at 6pm.

Lexa is readying her next reply, gently chastising Clarke for her irresponsible caffeine intake for what is likely the hundredth time, when Lincoln’s voice announces his return to the room.

“What’s Costia up to tonight?”

A lurch in her chest has Lexa nearly dropping her phone onto the floor. Mention of Costia while staring at an innocent message from Clarke is like a head-on collision in her brain. She blinks, closing her phone all together and setting it carefully on the table beside her beer.

It shouldn’t feel like an irritant, like vinegar in an open wound, but Lincoln asking after Costia grates the skin at the back of her neck.

Lexa works to remain calm, grinds her jaw, and goes for vague nonchalance. “Boston. Working late.”

“Damn, that sucks. Again?” Lincoln returns to the sofa and stretches his arm along the back cushions. Gus had since wandered off during Lexa’s less-than-scandalous text exchange about photography, but she returns to nuzzle at Lincoln’s calves.

“Par for the course,” Lexa exhales, willing herself to ease the raised hackles she feels along her spine.

Lincoln’s tone is sympathetic. “It’s been happening a lot lately, huh?”

After another sip of beer, Lexa turns into the couch, folding one leg beneath the other. “I’ve lost track, honestly.”

“We don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to, but I have a lot of questions.”

Lexa runs her fingers through her hair and stares at the drink held in her right hand. She doesn’t like to think about all the ins and outs and what-ifs of her current relationship, let alone voice her wandering thoughts aloud. But, Lincoln is a good friend—more than that, he is an integral part of her found family. She finishes the last quarter of her pint in two or three gulps.

“I’m probably going to require more beer.”

Lincoln smiles kindly, patting her kneecap before taking the empty glass and standing once again. “More of the same? Or do you want to try something else?”

Lexa stops herself from asking for an entire bottle of whiskey. “What else do you have?”

“Come have a look,” Lincoln offers.

She follows him into a petite kitchen, further dwarfed by Lincoln’s immense stature.

“It smells amazing in here.”

“Should be ready in the next half hour or so,” Lincoln tells her as he swings open the fridge door. There is a low shelf stocked entirely with various cans of beer. “Pick your poison.”

Lexa squats onto her haunches to examine a few of the labels, in the end deciding on an IPA she remembers seeing on the taps at Dockside.

“That’s a good one. Octavia is obsessed with it,” Lincoln tells her as he opens his cabinets for a fresh glass and snaps the tab on the beer can for her. He hands over the new glass of beer before rinsing the can and tossing it into a squat recycling bin beside his trash can.

Lexa rests the small of her back against the edge of his kitchen counters and enjoys her first sip while Gus winds around her ankles and flicks her bushy tail.

“Octavia has good taste.”

“Tell me something I didn’t already know,” Lincoln smirks.

Lexa shakes her head in mock astonishment. “Legitimately. Such an ass.”

His smile transforms to something more genuine as Lincoln props his weight against the counter opposite. “She’s a complete workaholic—never stops thinking about the job, reading up on new techniques, emerging brewers, hop varietals. All of it. The success of that bar is her life. She lives and breathes it, and it shows.”

“But she—” Lexa adjusts the fit of her plaid button down, swallows her uncertainties with another sip of beer, and forces herself to engage in a conversation she has long since ignored. “You two still spend a lot of time together?”

“I think the fact that our mutual interests and careers virtually overlap sort of helps. But, yeah, I think regardless of that, we would still make time for each other.”

Lexa can only nod in response, returning to her beer in lieu of anything profound to say in turn.

“Are you guys able to spend any time together at this point? Costia’s schedule seems heinous.”

“We are. Here and there,” Lexa shrugs. “We went to see an exhibit at the MFA last weekend, which was nice.” Lexa frowns at the floor. “None of this is her fault. She tries.”

“There’s not always someone at fault when things stop working,” Lincoln says, not unkindly.

It doesn’t stop Lexa from grinding her jaw on instinct.

“I moved here for her. If we were to—I don’t even know what I would do if that happened.”

“Lex, you told me months ago that you were moving here to sort things out—not just with Costia, but with yourself, too.”

Lexa nods again and answers softly. “I know.”

“Let me ask you this: if Costia’s schedule were different, if she were able to do what she loved in school while also making more time for you and her, would it make you want to hang out any less with, you know, other people?”

Not so oblivious then.

He doesn’t have to say her name explicitly—the knowing look they share speaks volumes. Lexa looks away and licks her lips, stalling a response as her pulse quickens.

“I don’t know if—”

Her half-formed response is interrupted by Lincoln’s phone ringing on the counter beside him. He grins as he picks up the call.

“Speak of the devil. Hey, Clarke.”

Lexa sips her beer helplessly, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as her mind races. He’s answered the call on speaker, and Lexa braces for the distinct rasp of Clarke’s voice.

“Hey, it’s me,” Octavia answers, her voice sharp and distinct in it’s own way, and Lexa relaxes by a fraction.

“Oh! Hey, it’s you. Why are you calling from Clarke’s phone?”

“I can’t fucking find mine. Have you seen it at yours?”

“Uh, no,” Lincoln answers, nevertheless casting his eyes around the kitchen surfaces for any sign of it. “I can look around for it though.”

“We’re actually parked outside—”

“Hi, Lincoln!”

Clarke’s voice pipes through at a distance—as if Octavia hasn’t put the call on speaker but Clarke wanted to be included anyway. Lexa tenses in an instant.

“—on our way to Abby’s for dinner. Do you mind if I run up for a sec?”

“No, of course not. Come on up.”

“Are you sure? I’m not trying to interrupt your bro date with Lexa.”

“Hi, Lexa!”

“Clarke, is it possible for you to have any chill for longer than ninety seconds?” Octavia snaps.

A short and hushed squabble ensues over the next several seconds, likely within the confines of Clarke’s car. Lincoln shares a smile with Lexa across the small expanse of his kitchen as her stomach jumps with nervous energy.

“I’ll be up in a second,” Octavia grumbles.

She’s at the front door a moment later, and Lexa lingers by the kitchen doorway while Lincoln greets her with a brief kiss.

“Hey, Lexa.”

“Hi.” Lexa offers a half wave.

“I’ll be out of here so quickly, I swear.”

“Don’t worry about it. Do you want help looking?”

“Nah, I’m good. Clarke wants to talk to you anyway.”

This jolts Lexa to a standstill where she had begun to move slowly towards the sofa with Gus at her heels.

“Oh, she—I uh,” Lexa swallows down a fresh set of nerves that Octavia doesn’t seem to notice.

“Babe, can you check the back deck while I look in your bedroom? I was out there this morning for a little while, and I might have left it on one of the chairs.”

“Sure,” Lincoln answers, his arm still slung around Octavia’s waist as he leans down to kiss the top of her head.

They’re both gone from the room in another instant, leaving Lexa standing awkwardly between the front door and the couch where Gus has perched herself atop the back cushions. Lexa hesitates for long seconds, adjusting the rolled sleeves of her shirt while gnawing her lip as the decision to stay or go to Clarke flits irritatingly against her conscience.

Gus observes her solemnly, and she swears it’s the same look her own father pinned on her during that summer she turned sixteen and formed an unwavering desperation to impress Nathalie Rivera, who Lexa did not, irrefutably, have a crush on. Even going so far as to bribe Lincoln into teaching her the Spanish he’d picked up from his new foster mom. Lexa’s determination to get her attention could not be deterred, but she was not romantically interested in any way, Anya’s accusational taunts be damned.  

“Don’t give me that look,” Lexa tells the cat as she rests her beer on Lincoln’s coffee table, slips into her shoes, and heads for the door.  

She practically sprints (without logical cause) down the flight of interior stairs to the main door, which opens onto a front walk, at the end of which sits Clarke’s silver car. Lexa manages to calm her breathing enough by the time she reaches the driver’s side of the car that she’s not visibly out-of-breath, but her lungs feel constricted nonetheless.

“Hey!” Clarke beams as she slips from the driver’s seat when she notices Lexa approaching.

“Hi.”

Lexa forces her mouth closed to keep from audibly stuttering. Clarke is often dressed at Dockside in an expansive wardrobe that feels like a personal attack on Lexa’s wellbeing. But, something about seeing Clarke in jeans and a warm sweater, looking casually elegant for a dinner with her mother, has Lexa stumbling over basic conversation skills like she hasn’t in years.

“You’re, um, you guys have—” she clears her throat, completely ineffectually, and Clarke very poorly hides her amusement.

“We’re on our way to my mom’s. Raven just got this major promotion so we’re celebrating by letting her cook us dinner.”

Lexa places her hands into her front pockets and smiles at Clarke as if her whole body doesn’t feel like a brittle, shaken leaf.

“You maintain very bizarre friendships.”

“That’s an interesting take coming from one of my best friends.”

“I didn’t know what I was getting into,” Lexa smirks. “Clearly.”

Clarke looks away with a laugh and leans against the side of her car to cross her arms along her stomach. The gold of her necklace pendant glints in the streetlamp above them. She nods towards the house at Lexa’s back when her laughter has subsided.

“Sorry we crashed.” Clarke’s face scrunches prettily with guilt, and Lexa makes the wise decision to avert her eyes with a shrug.

“It’s totally fine. Unavoidable emergency, right?”

“Or, they just devised a pathetic excuse to makeout for a few minutes.”

“Right,” Lexa laughs. She cranes her neck to look back at the house. “Maybe I shouldn’t have left them alone.”

“At this rate, they could be grabbing a quickie.”

It’s now Lexa who is twisting her mouth at Clarke’s overt sexual reference, hiding embarrassment behind disgust. “Clarke, ew.”

It only serves to make Clarke laugh again, and Lexa is forced to look away a second time.

“So what’s up? Did you need something? Or, did you just really miss me?”

“What?” Lexa must look horror-stricken because Clarke is sputtering more laughter. “No, I’m just—Octavia said you wanted to see me.”

Smooth. Very smooth.

“I didn’t—” Clarke starts to protest, looking a little unnerved herself before rolling her eyes. “She’s an ass.”

The familiar insult makes Lexa laugh, and Clarke smiles in kind. “She’s well matched then.”

“Lincoln? An ass?” Clarke looks scandalized. “No!”

Lexa shakes her head with a long sigh. “You have no idea.”

A charged moment between them stretches taut, as it so often does, and Lexa is reminded of all the other moments that have preceded it.

Tuesday night spent salvaging a failed dinner party.

A blissful day on the water in Clarke’s boat.

Coffee along the harbor.

Aimless walks about town. Lingering goodbyes.

And, countless other instances in which Lexa must fight this same impulse. She’s not at liberty to admit to such wants, let alone act on them, but the thought of kissing Clarke persists behind a veneer of practiced composure.

Sometimes Lexa thinks that if Clarke were to lean in, make the decision for them both, she would let her.

Clarke is too good a person to make such advances; even hoping for such an outcome is wildly unfair, and Lexa hates herself a little bit for it.

She wears a regretful smile that she presumes Clarke has come to recognize—the way it is reflected back to her as Lexa sighs. “So, I guess I’m going to head back up. Lincoln has promised me twice my weight in carbs.”

“Ooh!” Clarke’s eyes light up as they so often do at the mention of food. “What’s on the menu?”

“Lasagna.” The answer comes from over Lexa’s shoulder, and she turns to see Octavia ambling down the front walk with a small plate and a mouthful of pasta. “And, it’s so, fucking good.”

“Aren’t you two on your way to dinner?”

Octavia shrugs, “Appetizer.”

“I hope you know you’re sharing that with me,” Clarke tells her as Octavia rounds the car and opens the passenger door.

“You’ll have to pry the fork from my cold, dead fingers.”

Clarke scoffs, opening her own door. “As if cutlery has ever stopped me from stealing food off your plate.”

“I’ll see you guys later,” Lexa smiles, taking one or two backwards steps towards the house.

“Later, dude,” Octavia answers before closing herself into the car.

Clarke smiles warmly, her eyes softening even as Lexa creates more distance between them. “Bye.”

Lexa can feel the warmth of Clarke’s gaze at the base of her stomach, swirling lazily. “Bye.”

She ascends Lincoln’s stairs briskly, determined to figure out her emotional baggage sooner rather than later and finally get her life together.

:::

[amazingmsme]

A Bard’s Broken Heart

AN: This is yet another 10k+ post mountain fic about Jaskier. I have a bit of a problem, but I promise it’s good! Jaskier’s sad and fed up so he sings! The songs in this fic are Fair by the Amazing Devil, I've No More Fucks to Give by Thomas Benjamin Wild, Farewell Wanderlust by the Amazing Devil, and No Worries by Robert Hallow.

Jaskier's ears were ringing, his mouth slightly agape as he stared in horror at the man he once thought was his best friend, who he had loved, but who clearly didn't love him.

"If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands."  The words were the harshest that have ever been thrown his way. His voice was a deep and angry growl that sent a chill up his spine, and not the good kind. It took him a moment to gather himself enough to speak, and he couldn't be more grateful that Geralt had turned his back to him. If he had to look at him he knew he would burst into tears.

"Right. Uh... Right then... I'll- I'll go get the rest of the story from the others..." He knew he wouldn't. "See you around Geralt." Except he hoped he wouldn't. He could go the rest of his life without seeing this bastard and it would be fine by him. Except he'll miss him... fuck everything hurts so damn much.

He turns and slowly makes his way down the mountain. Why is it that whenever your sad, you're slow? He wanted nothing more than to be as far away from the mountain as possible, and yet his feet drug in the dirt. He finally made it to the lower level of the camps where everyone left their horses, and that's when he saw her.

A sob caught in his throat as he realized he would never get to see her again after this...

He trudged over to Roach, her ears perked towards him as she tossed her head. Hot tears streamed down his face and a trail of snot dripped from his nose. He reached up with his handkerchief to blow. She gave a concerned whinny, gently bumping his shoulder with her head to comfort him. He only cried louder. He wrapped his arms around her neck and cried the hardest he had since he began his walk. Gods, he could barley breathe.

"Goodbye girl. I'm gonna miss you so much." He pulled back, and Roach nickered in distress, pressing into him more. Jaskier stroked her muzzle as he spoke around sobs. "I have to leave, and I'm afraid I won't be coming back." She snorted, as if questioning him.

"I know, I don't want to either. But you know how Geralt is, and he made it clear he never liked me." Call him crazy, but he swears she shook her head. He sighed, "It's true I'm afraid. I'd tell you what he said, but it hurts too much to repeat. So I guess this is goodbye," he sniffled, pulling out an apple he had been saving, just for her. He gave her one last, tight hug and a few pets before turning and going.

Roach pulled on her tether, trying to follow him. The farther he walked, the more distressed she became.

Why was Jaskier leaving them? Why was he so sad? What did Geralt do? Surely this isn't the last time she'll see him, she had really grown to love him, almost as much as she loved Geralt.

Jaskier's crying increased tenfold as he heard Roach's neighs of distress. She pawed at the ground, throwing her head back as she brayed. Jaskier didn't dare look back. He didn't need his heart broken a second time today... Truly he would die.

It was well past nightfall when he made it to the closest town near the base of the mountain. He knew if he camped on the mountain it would only increase his chances of seeing Geralt or Yennefer, and that was the farthest thing from what he needed.

It was barely past midnight when he stumbled into the inn's tavern, weary and weak. He sat at the bar and ordered the first of many drinks. He needed to forget. He needed to be numb. Someone noticed his lute case and came up demanding a song. He looked at them with bloodshot eyes and answered in a broken voice, "I'm not working right now, sorry. I've had a rough day." But they were insistent and even more drunk than he was.

They grabbed him by the collar, lifting him off of his stool. The barmaid eyed them wearily, unsure of what to do.

"I said, play us a fucking song."

"Are you perhaps deaf? I'm not playing anything, I simply wish to have a few drinks and a bite to eat before I retire for the night," he clarified, shoving the man off.

"I ain't deaf! Now if you know what's good for you, you'll play a fucking song or else!"

Jaskier was done. There was nothing left to fight for, he just felt empty. Nothing mattered anymore. "Oh so maybe you're just stupid then. My mistake." He stood to go to his room only to be shoved back down in his seat. Before he could do anything, his head was slammed into the bar. He burst to life, ready to unleash all of his hurt onto this man who picked the wrong fight.

This is what Jaskier needed. A good adrenaline rush! He craved to feel bone crack under his fists, to have blood on his hands, both from this poor sucker and his own cracked knuckles. Only some bastard came and stole that away, delivering a swift punch to the side of the head, knocking him out. The barmaid had ran and gotten the owner, and the assailant was thrown outside. Jaskier huffed. Seemed he can't even have the pleasure of getting the shit beat out of him. It would sure feel a hell of a lot better than what he was currently feeling. And it would've been a nice distraction.

The man sat down next to him, and Jaskier refused to look up. He just took a few large gulps from his tankard before speaking.

"I would've handled it you know."

"I don't doubt it, but you look like you've had a rough day."

Jaskier snorted into his glass. "You have no idea," he muttered. He glanced to the side, taking him in. He was tall, maybe even taller than Geralt. Shit, no, don't think about him. You can't let this stranger see you cry. He allowed himself to turn his head more, studying him. He had dark hair, just past his ears and ended near the nape of his neck. His face was handsome, even if he had a huge scar running down his right side and caused his lip to curl, almost in a sneer. And how could he possibly miss those striking gold eyes.

Jaskier winced, finishing off his drink and gesturing for another.

"No offense but the last thing I need is to be saved, especially by some witcher,"  he was decently drunk, his words slurring but he managed to get just the right amount of discontent in his voice. The witcher held up his hands in mock surrender.

"Never said you did." He was just about to leave, but a strange part of Jaskier wanted him to stay. Maybe so he could tell him everything he wishes he could tell Geralt now.

"Y-you know, you aren't so great-" he started. The man tilted his head in curiosity, settling back into his chair to listen. "With your stupid potions and swords. I mean yeah you guys are strong but there's plenty of strong folk out there. And FUCK all that "witchers don't feel" bullshit, I know it's a damn lie!" He pointed an accusatory finger at him. The witcher only smirked and put his hand back on the table.

"I mean who the hell do you think you're fooling? Yourselves. I mean you guys are so emotionally constipated you can't even bring yourself to call someone a friend after they've been traveling with you for two fucking decades! And not once in that time did I hear a thank you Jaskier, you're not as useless as I once thought Jaskier. No, it's always you're such a fucking nuisance, and you ruined my whole life." He deflated after his little rant, hunching over his drink in shame. The witcher held out his hand.

"Eskel," he greeted formally. Jaskier took it in a loose handshake, not having the energy to put effort in it.

"Jaskier," he mumbled.

"So, emotionally constipated, huh? Pretty grumpy from the sounds of it too," he pondered aloud. Jaskier looked at him, puzzled. "And let you travel with him for 20 years. Take in the consideration that fine gentleman demanding you sing for him... you were with Geralt," he concluded.

"You're good."

"So, what the hell did my dumbass brother do now?"

"What didn't he do would be a better question. I can't believe I stayed with him after all this time. I should've never started singing his praises," he lamented.

Eskel shrugged, "You sure did help the rest of us out. Thanks for that." Jaskier stared at him with wide, hopeful eyes. Tears barely held back.

"Y-you're welcome."

"Look, Geralt's an idiot, especially with his feelings. But what I know is his bark can be a hell of a lot worse than his bite. He probably didn't mean whatever it was he said," he tried to comfort him. Jaskier shook his head.

"You weren't there. In all the time we've been together I've never seen him so angry. And it was all directed at me. You wanna know what that bastard whoreson said to me?" Eskel nodded. He was very curious.

"First he snapped and blamed me for all his life troubles, simply because I was there. Then he said, he said..." he trailed off, a lump in his throat preventing his speech.

"Hey, it's okay. You don't have to tell me if you want."

"No, no I need to. Need to get this off my chest, share the burden, you know?" He took a shakeup breath to brace himself. "If life could give me one blessing... i-it would b-be to take you o-off my hands," he barely managed to say. He couldn't hold it back any longer and the tears began to flow once more. He turned away from Eskel.

He was shocked to say the least.

"Wow... Geralt you really fucked up," he said in disbelief.

"I never want to see him again," Jaskier spat out.

"I don't blame you."

"But... is it wrong that I also do? Want to see him?" he asked. Eskel shook his head.

"Not at all. Like you said, you traveled together for 20 years. Hard not to get attached to someone during all that time."

"Not hard for Geralt apparently," he snarled. Eskel placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Fuck him."

For the first time that day, Jaskier gave a small, albeit sad smile. "Yeah, fuck him." They clinked their mugs together, chugging the rest of their drinks. Eskel ordered two more.

"You've had a shit day, let me pay for it," he insisted.

"Thank you," Jaskier said. "Not just for the round, but for everything. For listening."

Eskel shrugged, "What can I say? You're fun to listen to, even if you're sad as hell right now. Bet you're a hell of a guy when you're not all torn up like this."

Jaskier was floored. Maybe because it was the most genuine compliment he's ever received, or maybe because it was a witcher who said it. Or maybe because Geralt had never said anything half as nice to him.

He put a hand over his heart, "Wow, that's- that's the nicest thing a witcher's ever said to me." He was only half joking. Many drinks later, and they were both sufficiently drunk. Jaskier leaned against him, resting his head on his shoulder. It had been... years, decades even, since someone touched Eskel like this. No traces of fear, hatred or disgust on his scent. He wasn't paid to hold him like this. He just simply treated him as though he were normal. It made his head spin, and not just from the amble amount of ale he had.

"I can't believe I lo-hic-loved him," he slurred, interrupted by a hiccup. Eskel's eyes widened at the confession. "I'm just a ssstupid, hopeless romantic who fell in love with someone who- who can't even admit, at the very least! That they like me!"

He patted his back in a mimic of comfort. "Hey, uh- I'm sure you're not those things. Romantic yes. But stupid and hopeless? I don't think so." Jaskier reached a hand up to pat his cheek, his scarred cheek, in thanks.

"Oh you poor stupid witcher. If I am anything it is stupid and hopeless." Eskel rolled his eyes.

"You said loved, as in past tense."

Jaskier sighed, sitting up on his own. Eskel almost felt sad. "Yes well, it's hard to love someone after they say something like that. But I already miss him. Yearn to see and touch him again. But I can't let that happen."

"Why not?" Eskel tilted his head in curiosity.

"Because I'm weak," he said, his voice so small. So utterly broken. "I'm weak for him. I already know that if I even catch a glimpse of him I'll come crawling back, begging for forgiveness." His voice was wet and heavy now.

"You're not the one who should be begging for forgiveness."

"You see, my brain knows that, but my heart tells me to try and get him back. I feel, torn. Why do I still want him even after he shoved me away in the worst way possible?" His eyes glistened with unshed tears as he looked to Eskel for an answer.

"Uuuh, look kid, if you're looking for a real answer, I don't have one. I may understand feelings better than Geralt, but they're still a mystery to me," he admitted.

"Yes, I suppose so.

Eskel was staring into his mug when he spoke. "Winter will be here before you know it. Normally we all head to the keep and wait out the bad months. I'll probably see Geralt, want me to, I don't know, pass on a message? Teach him a lesson?" he asked. It wouldn't be the first time he beat him up, and he always had fun doing so. And Lambert always liked to watch.

Jaskier snorted. "I don't know. Make him feel guilty though, if you can. Tell him he blew it."

Eskel nodded solemnly. "I can do that. Anywhere specific you're planning on going?" he questioned. Jaskier eyed him suspiciously.

"Depends. Do you plan to tell Geralt where I ran off to?" he asks. Eskel shrugged.

"Depends on how sorry I think he is," he answered truthfully. Jaskier didn't really like that answer but at least it was honest. "I won't tell him if he hasn't learned his lesson. You have my word."

Jaskier hums. "I don't really know where I'll go from here. Wherever I feel like going, I suppose. I might go back to Oxenfurt and teach for the winter." Eskel nodded.

"Right, well. I'll be on the lookout for you. Stay safe." He clapped him on the back as he rose from his seat, heading out of the tavern doors and into the night. Jaskier went up to the room he rented and cried himself to sleep.

~~~~

Geralt realized his mistake, and shame washed over him. His anger at Jaskier had been misplaced, and he didn't deserve his harsh words. But it was so easy to blame him instead of taking the fault as his own. As he walked down the mountain alone, he began to feel worse and worse about what he said to Jaskier. He always had good intentions, even if things didn't always work out. He was pure at heart and tried his best. Geralt should've tried harder. He needed to find him and apologize. And hopefully it wasn't too late for Jaskier to take him back.

When he made it down to Roach, she seemed less than pleased with him. As she saw him approach in the distance, she snorted angrily and tossed her head, looking away from him. It didn't take long to figure out why. The closer he got to her, the more he could smell Jaskier. His scent was all over her, mingling with salty tears and bitter sorrow. Geralt frowned to himself, knowing he was the reason Jaskier had left in tears.

Roach didn't meet his eyes, even when he tried talking to her. He stroked her mane apologetically, but still received the cold shoulder. He sighed.

"I promise, I'll make things right with him." She whinnied as if to say, "You better."

At least that had been his plans. But the bard was surprisingly hard to track. The trail had gone cold by the time he had made it to the small town at the base of the mountain. This would have to wait. He was running low on coin and needed to find jobs.

~~~~

Jaskier had no idea where he was going. He drifted with the wind, a truly lost spirit unsure where he would turn up next. He supposed he could continue on the path, drifting from town to town like he normally did. However, that increased his chances of running into Geralt... He could head to the coast alone, but that would just remind him more of his rejection. It was too early to head back to Oxenfurt, summer only just around the corner. Hm, the road it was, he supposed.

He sat on the forest floor, idly strumming his lute. He needed new music. Something to help sort out the mess inside his brain.

"Damnit Jaskier! Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it's you, shoveling it?"

"Well, that's not fair-"

Fair. Nothing in this word was fair. He inhaled deeply, breathing with the grass and sighing with the trees. He began plucking a few chords, testing the waters of a new song.

"It's what my heart just yearns to say, In ways that can't be said. It's what my rotting bones will sing When the rest of me is dead."

His fingers gained more confidence, strumming more clearly as he continued.

"It's what's engraved upon my heart, In letters deeply worn. Today I somehow understand the reason I was born."

Images of Geralt flash before his eyes. A dazzling bright smile, so rarely seen. A voice that could be so gentle when he tried to be. Soft golden eyes, warmer than sunshine and sweeter than honey. His hair was surprisingly soft for everything that happened to it. Maybe monster guts are a sort of conditioner.

But he also remembers his lips curling in hatred. Evil words spat his direction, ending 20 years worth of friendship. Well, friendship on Jaskier's part.

He thought of Yennefer, and everything she took from them both. Things had been relatively fine until that fucking djinn. But... maybe Geralt did care after all, at least a tiny bit. He had seemed so desperate to find someone to save him... But of course he could never compete with Yennefer. She was powerful as all hell with the beauty and grace to match. She knew the control that kind of thing had over others, and used it to her advantage. He couldn't really blame her. He probably would've fallen at her heels had she not been so utterly terrifying. They were perfect for each other, he thought sadly. She was a heartless witch in search of something she may never have and he was a clueless witcher who cared very little about anything else and denied the fact he had any sort of emotions. They are timeless beings, similar to himself. Oh if only Geralt knew... maybe he wouldn't have been so quick to choose her.

"Cos outwardly he says I try so hard to make you laugh at me. And she, she does, She laughs as though she not heard the joke ten thousand times before. And he adores her, He watches her get dressed as though she's hurtling through time. Oh darling please be mine."

That was a good verse. Most people will assume it's about some lost love, a fair maiden who was swept off her feet by another man. Well, that was half true. A few more verses, then he reached the chorus. He let some of his magic seep into his words, having filled his heart and overflowing from his mouth. He didn't know what good it would do, but it felt right on his tongue.

Elven magic was a bit different than the kind that mages typically used. It drew its power from the earth, and in return the magic would breathe life back in the world. He remembers his grandmother's lectures that he had brushed off at the time. You have to pull from your core, whatever that meant. He hadn't tried in years, and when he had, he could never tell a difference.

"It's not fair, It's not fair how much I love you. It's not fair, Cos you make me laugh when I'm actually Really fucking cross at you for something. And he'll say- Oh how, oh how unreasonable. How unreasonably in love I am, with everything you do. I'll spend my days so close to you cos if I'm Standing here, maybe everyone will think I'm alright."

The words felt hot in his mouth, tasting like a sweet smoke. He didn't notice how the life around him teemed, seemingly growing towards him. He had always had an affinity towards nature, as most elves do. In this moment, the whole forest grieved with him. As he continued to sing, a doe and fawn wandered into the clearing. A small fox raised its head from where it was bedded down. He debuted his newest song at the next tavern he stopped at.

It was late, and the patrons that were left were tired and very inebriated. He had played some upbeat crowd pleasers and now, all their excess energy was spent. They were bound to be much more accepting of a slow song by now. He pulled up his stool and sat down, adjusting his lute as he did so.

"Alright, one last song. It's a new one I've been working on, so I hope you enjoy it." His eyes locked on a table full of young, good looking women. "This is for anyone out there with a broken heart." And just like he knew they would, they swooned.

The song was very well received; as he traveled the continent, so did his song. Followed by another and another.

His latest was an upbeat jaunty little tune, that left courtrooms and taverns alike in stitches. It was one everyone, no matter who you were, could relate to. He even thought it was more popular than Fishmonger's Daughter, which was saying something.

He stood in the ballroom of some palace in Vizima. It was the Duke's birthday, so of course they had requested only the best bard in the continent to come and play. And with flattery like that, how could he refuse? All around him beautiful people talked and ate, flitting about the room. He was pulled from group to group, engaging in both thrilling and dull conversation. He grabbed his lute from where he had set it aside, strumming the strings a bit to gain the room's attention. With everyone staring at him, he smiled, wide and dazzling.

His fingers set to work, playing the bouncy tune as he bobbed up and down. The crowd erupted in cheers upon the recognition of the song.

"I've tried, tried, tried, and I've tried even more. I've cried, cried, cried, and I can't recall what for. I've pressed, I've pushed, I've yelled, I've begged, In hopes of some success. But the inevitable fact is that it never will impress!"

He jumped into the chorus, spinning around the room as everyone danced and clapped along.

"I've no more fucks to give My fucks have runeth dry I've tried to go fuck shopping but there's no fucks left to buy! I've no more fucks to give Though more fucks I've tried to get I'm over my fuck budget, and I'm now in fucking debt!"

Laughter and cheers rang through the air. Men and women hooked arms and twirled around in circles before changing partners. Skirts twirled across the floor and feet stomped in time to the beat.

When Jaskier had written the song, he didn't expect it to grow so popular. He had been so fed up with life. So unequivocally done with his very existence. Of course he was still upset with Geralt. He never knew if he would ever really get over that. And Yennefer's utter bitchiness any time they were in the same vicinity fueled his fire. His talk with Eskel stood out in his mind, and the thought of possibly seeing Geralt both thrilled and terrified him. Oh how he hoped the bastard was sorry. Lately all of his love endeavors ended in either failure or nothing more than a one night stand. And overall he just felt like anything he tried backfired. He was tired, hopeless, and fed up. All of this swirled in his mind until it was just too much. He scribbled down the very first thing his angry hornets nest of a brain could spit out, and this was the result. It was cathartic, and he had sure got a kick out of it. He played it in a seedy tavern as a joke, but they absolutely loved it. Begged him to play it again and again until his fingers bled. Now wherever he went, it was a sure thing that he would have to play that song.

Not that he was complaining though. It was a hell of a lot better than when he was forced to sing Toss A Coin.

He finished with a flourish, holding out the last note and strumming the lute strings a bit faster, a gesture of finality. Everyone roared with applause and cheers, coin and even a few flowers tossed his way. Hm, they looked strangely similar to the bouquets acting as table center pieces... Regardless, he reveled in the praise all the same. Even went as far as to catch a flower in mid air- with his teeth. The cheers grew louder at that, and he shot a wink towards the crowd.

He was stolen away from his glory by a countess who dragged him to a quieter corner of the room.

"Your musical skills are most impressive," she complimented, taking a sip from her goblet. "Though I'm sure you're used to hearing that by now," she teased gently. Jaskier chuckled.

"Oddly enough, I don't hear it too often. But I suppose I don't need to, I'm quite aware of my talents," he said, testing the waters. She raised a brow, seemingly intrigued.

"Oh? And what are your other talents?"

"I am a professor at Oxenfurt. Many of my students graduate with honors. And of course you're aware of my musical skills," he said, plucking at his lute, making her giggle. "But I must say most of my other talents are only shared in closed quarters." He licked his lips, awaiting her response. She flushed beautifully, adverting her eyes as she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

"Well, I must say. As forward as that was I am most intrigued." She opened her fan, wafting air over her face. She couldn't seem to help the smile on her face as she pulled on his arm, leading him down a corridor and into an empty bedroom. After an hour and a half of pure bliss they returned to the party, satisfied and smitten, if just the slightest bit disheveled. This time, he was pulled away by a viscount.

"I'm glad you could make it Julian!" Jaskier didn't bother correcting him. After all, it was what the man had first known him as, and he supposed he was too old to learn anything different.

"I am too. This is quite the party," he said, taking a drink.

"So, where's your witcher?"

Jaskier nearly choked, sputtering his drink and coughing slightly. The man patted his back to help.

"Come again?" he asked, hoping he was just hearing things.

"The witcher you always sing about. He usually accompanies you to these things, does he not?" Great, just when he was doing better, just when he was starting to forget and began enjoying himself, he was reminded of what would never be again. His heart clenched in his chest and his stomach turned in knots. A lump caught in his throat. He struggled to speak around it, to act like everything was fine.

"He's on the path on his own at the moment. But when I see him again I will be sure to give him your regards," he said with a fake charming smile. Oh he'll send his regards. He'll send them right up Geralt's ass where they belong. He excused himself, going off to find a bathroom. He tried to stop himself, but hot tears flowed from his eyes, and he did what he could to keep his makeup from running. In the end he had to do a quick touch up, but when he returned to sing once more, he looked fresh as a daisy.

~~~~

Months go by, with no possible leads on where Jaskier, or his child surprise, could be. Just songs sung in taverns that he's heard the bard sing too many times before. But oh what he wouldn't give to hear that voice right now.

The bard at the inn he was currently at wasn't terrible, but they just weren't him. He had a voice unlike any other, and though he had never admitted it aloud, he really did like it. Why he never told Jaskier was beyond him. Maybe he thought by distancing himself, he wouldn't get too attached. Maybe at first, he really did hate his singing. Or maybe he was just afraid to acknowledge his own feelings. Witchers didn't really do compliments. After all, most of the affection he showed his brothers was through insults. It's one of the only ways he knows how to show he cares. But Jaskier didn't know that. He probably just thinks he hates everything about him. All because the one time Geralt should've kept his mouth shut, he erupted like a volcano. Hot, angry, and destructive.

The song they sang was one he hadn't heard before, but it sounded undeniably Jaskier. Everything from the chord progression, the range, the tune, the excessive swearing, to the hilariously relatable lyrics, just screamed Jaskier. He didn't need to ask who wrote it. He knew.

Winter was drawing near. It was time to make the yearly trip to the keep. Geralt had hoped that by this time he would've found Jaskier and made up. Wished for him to stay the winter with him and meet his brothers. Oh well. There was always next year he supposed.

The journey was just as harsh and bitter as he remembered it always being. But when he arrived at Kaer Morhen, he had three happy faces waiting for him. After the exchange of bear hugs and hair ruffles, Vesemir left them to chat amongst themselves. He couldn't help but notice that Eskel had been giving him the stink eye ever since he had gotten there. They were currently in a large den area, seated close to a fireplace.

"Okay I'll bite, why the fuck are you glaring at me like I just kicked Lil Bleater?" he asked, none too kindly. Lambert shifted in his seat, settling in for the show. He looked to Eskel, eagerly waiting for his response.

"Hm. I assumed you'd know," Eskel said in an even tone. Lambert's head snapped over to Geralt, ready to hear what he had to say.

"What the hell did I do to you?" he asked. Lambert nodded.

"Yes, please tell. I'm dying to know."

Eskel met Geralt's eyes with harsh judgement. "It's nothing that you did to me." Oh this was positively juicy. And Lambert was eating it up.

"The hell's that supposed to mean?" Geralt snapped. Eskel just shook his head.

"Nothing. Just means you blew it."

"Blew what?" he asked. He was tired of beating around the bush. Eskel just shrugged, infuriatingly.

"If you can't figure it out, you're an even bigger idiot than I pegged you for." Okay that was it.

Geralt slammed his fist down on the table. "Damnit I'm sick of your cryptic ass bullshit! What the hell are you talking about?" Eskel's face finally showed a hint of emotion. His scar curled lip quirked up in a smirk that could only mean trouble. And a playful malice danced behind his eyes.

"A little lark told me," he began, noticing how stiff Geralt became. "All about your little mountain breakup." All of a sudden Geralt surged forth, gripping Eskel by the collar and shoved him against the nearest wall. Lambert stood to get a better view of the action.

"You saw Jaskier and didn't tell me?" he growled. Eskel shrugged with a cocky smile.

"I'm telling you now, aren't I? And it's not like he was eager to see you. And from the sounds of it I'm shocked you'd want to see him either. Geralt's eyes widened in shock, his grip loosening ever so slightly. "If life could give me one blessing-"

He smacked a hand over his mouth, slamming his head against the stone just a little harder than necessary. Eskel didn't fight back, only raised his eyebrows. Behind them, Lambert let out a low whistle.

"So you finally fucked up the one good thing in your life? Can't say I'm surprised," he mused. Geralt whipped his head around to look over his shoulder.

"You want to be next?" Lambert held his hands up in mock surrender.

Eskel reached up and slid Geralt's hand from his mouth so he could speak. "He was pretty torn up when I found him." Geralt looked to the ground in shame. "Pissed as all hell, sad fucker too. You really did a number on him." Geralt's eyes were full of regret.

"I should've never said those things to him." He let Eskel go, arms hanging limp at his sides. The heavily scarred witcher crossed his arms.

"Yeah no shit. You really need to do better."

"I know. He was my best friend," he admitted. Eskel's expression softened.

"Why didn't you ever tell him that? He made it sound like you only ever insulted him."

Geralt sighed. "I wasn't as nice as I should've been. Any time I tried I just. Froze and said some stupid shit."

Lambert clapped him on the back. "Oh Geralt, you always do that." A ghost of a smile flashed on his face as he brushed off his hand.

"What was it that made you throw two decades worth of friendship down the drain?" Eskel questioned. Geralt sighed even deeper.

"The dragon hunt was long and tiring. Too many people wanting to kill the dragon, protecting it was harder than I thought. Yen and I fought. I told her about the last wish I made with the djinn and... she didn't take it well. Needless to say we're through. And then- Jaskier was right there and he was talking like he always does, and I. I lashed out. I just felt like hurting someone the way I was just hurt."

Eskel rolled his eyes. "You're a fucking moron. Just because you don't know how the hell to handle your emotions doesn't mean you get to take it out on other people. Especially those who had nothing to do with it."

Geralt wholeheartedly agreed. "I know. I just want him back."

"You better hope you know how to make this right."

"I tried looking for him, but his trail went cold. I need to apologize. I need him to know that I never meant those things, and that he's my friend," he said, sounding defeated. He took a few steps back, collapsing in a chair.

Eskel eyed him, a funny look on his face.

"What?"

"You sure he's only just a friend?"

"Of course he is! What else would he be?" he asked, brows furrowed. Eskel smirked, pacing the room in an aloof sort of way.

"I don't mean to go around telling secrets that aren't mind, but knowing you you'll never figure it out on your own." Geralt growled as Lambert snickered. Eskel cut them both off. "But it seemed like a lot more than just friendship, at least on your bard's end."

Geralt perked up, leaning forward in his chair. "Wait really?"

Lambert nudged him. "Careful, you almost sound excited. Don't tell me my big brother has a crush," he teased, locking him in a headlock. Geralt easily threw him over his shoulder, making him flip over his lap before landing on the hard ground.

"Shut the hell up, this is serious."

"Oooo you do have a crush!" his teasing increased tenfold. He wrapped an arm around his ankle, shaking his leg slightly. Geralt moved so the sole of his boot pressed against his cheek, effectively keeping him pinned.

"Ah! Hey let me up!" Geralt rolled his eyes and lifted his foot, setting him free. He turned his attention to Eskel.

"What makes you think that?"

"Aside from... everything about him?"

"Eskel get to the fucking point!"

"He was broken hearted, easy as that... And he, uh, told me himself," he said, looking away. For some reason he felt a sting of guilt. He wasn't betraying Jaskier, not really, but it felt like something the bard should tell him himself. But on the other hand, Jaskier said to make the clueless bastard feel bad, and he knew if this were a fight, that would be the final blow.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and buried his face behind his hands and let out a low, suffering groan. "He probably never wants to see me again."

"With a face like that, who could blame him?" Lambert joked from his spot on the floor. Eskel kicked him semi gently and shook his head at the youngest wolf. He then turned his attention to Geralt.

"Well don't get me wrong, he was very upset. But it had just happened, so he might've cooled off by now. And even then he was conflicted about whether or not he wanted to see you. I say give it a shot," he encouraged. Geralt rolled his eyes.

"But how will I find him again? I mean, where do I even start?"

"Well he's a bard ain't he?" Lambert said, finally sitting up. "Just follow his songs."

Eskel's face scrunched up in confusion. "The hell does that mean?"

"No, no Lambert has a point. If he's been performing then chances are other bards will be singing his songs in places he's recently been. Then I can follow the trail from there," he said.

"See? I have good ideas!" Lambert stuck his tongue out at Eskel, who rolled his eyes. He reached out and grabbed his tongue, pulling on it. Lambert's eyes bugged out and he made a strangled noise before biting his hand. Eskel recoiled and snarled at him in warning.

Geralt paid them no mind, instead thinking of how he would win back his bard.

~~~~

When the months turned cold, Jaskier tucked his tail and holed up in Oxenfurt. After a life on the road, teaching just wasn't as thrilling as it used to be. He still loved these kids, saw their blooming potential. But he also saw too much of himself reflected in those faces, with their wide hopeful eyes and innocent naïvety. They idolized him. He achieved what so many could only dream of, had seen amazingly horrific beasts and lead a life of wonder and adventure. But that was over. At least he could relive those glory days vicariously through his songs...

Winter came and went. His students were all talented and lovely people, and he earned the title of the fun, hot professor. And while he might would have hooked up with a student or two when he was younger, the thought no longer appealed to him. His heart and mind were elsewhere.

As the snow began to melt, he set off. He had bought a nice and sturdy steed for his journey ahead, being tired of traveling on foot and finally acquiring enough coin for one. Bruno was a beautiful smokey gray with a white mane and tale. He didn't seem to mind his singing or his rants, and offered the occasional neigh in response. Jaskier suddenly understood why Geralt talked to Roach as if she were human.

During his time at Oxenfurt, he was productive and debuted a few new songs. Now as spring fast approached, he was ready to share them with the rest of the world. He was currently in some small village not too far from the academy, a mere pit stop on a long journey.

After performing a particularly successful set, he sat at the bar to wet his whistle in preparation for the rest of the night. He only glanced at the body that sat down next to him, going back to his drink.

"Nice songs, they all yours?"

Jaskier swallowed and nodded. "Yes, I normally only play my songs. They're quite popular and people expect it. But if I get a request by someone else I won't turn it down. Why, you want me to sing something?" he answered, turning to look at him. He was quite handsome if he said so himself.

"No I can never remember the songs or how they go." Jaskier hummed into his glass in lieu of a real answer. "So uh, what was that last one called again?"

"Her Sweet Kiss," Jaskier said, lip curling in saddened amusement.

"Oh yeah, I remember. What's it about?" he tried.

"Just a... an old relationship that didn't quite turn out."

"Sorry to hear that mate. If you don't mind me asking, what happened." Jaskier snorted and shook his head, staring at his reflection in the liquid.

"Let's just say they didn't choose me." The man shifted in his seat.

"I'm Lambert by the way."

"Jaskier, pleased to meet you," though his voice didn't sound all too enthused. Lambert licked his lips.

"My brother's looking for you." Jaskier's head snapped over to look at him. Really look at him. He had a scar over his eye, short brown hair, two scary looking swords strapped to his back, and a wolf medallion hanging on his chest. Another witcher. He didn't know whether to be grateful or disappointed that it wasn't Geralt.

He decided to play dumb. After all, maybe he didn't know. "Eskel?" he asked in feigned confusion.

Lambert rolled his eyes. "No dumb ass. The other one." Jaskier tilted his head.

"I'm sorry, but how do you expect me to know who your brother is when I've only just met you?" he asked. Lambert snorted and folded his arms.

"Well you know Eskel. Geralt was right, you really are a smug lil smart ass."

"That's funny, a second ago I was a dumb ass."

"Hey I'm not afraid to hit you," he threatened.

"Nor am I," Jaskier countered. Lambert wore a shocked half grin, eyebrows raised.

"Huh. Okay then."

"So what, did Geralt send you? Am I too close within his vicinity that I'm fucking up his destiny yet again?" he asked bitterly. Lambert looked him up and down, judging his next words before he spoke.

"No, I found you all on my own thank you very much. Though I bet he'll be pissed that I also found you before he did," he mused. This seemed to peak the bard's interest as he turned to face him. Lambert leaned in to say more. "He's looking for you ya know."

"So you said. Why though?" he asked. Lambert shrugged.

"Wants to apologize I guess. Make things right," he said. Jaskier just looked... lost. Then his face morphed into one of amusement as he doubled over, letting out a stream of shrill, slightly manic laughs.

He wiped away a few tears as he spoke. "The day that man apologizes is the day he dies. He's much too prideful and stupid to do such a thing."

Lambert rolled his eyes. "I know he is, but he also really seems to care about you."

Jaskier snorted. "Funny. Normally when someone cares about you they don't blame you for all their life's problems and tell you to get fucked," he spat out.

"Look, I get he may be a stubborn horse's ass, but he really is sorry."

"Thanks but I'll believe it when I hear it from him. If you'll excuse me I need to get back to work." He pushed off from the bar, walking back to his stool and lute. Lambert leaned back in his seat, allowing himself to listen to the music. As he drank himself into a stupor, tales of heartbreak and anguish washed over him. But there was also a deep seeded sense of longing, a yearning so strong it almost hurt Lambert to listen to. But it was there that he saw a glimmer of hope for his brother to win him back.

~~~~

Things never went as planned. For some reason, destiny liked to fuck with Geralt as much as it possibly could. It seemed as though he was finding everyone except the man he was trying so desperately to find. The first to come to him was his child surprise, who he had also been searching for and had been given the most importance in his mind. Good, one thing crossed off the list. He knew they were bound together, so they would find their way to each other eventually, but with the fall of Cintra he much preferred sooner rather than later.

She was kind, but also had a fierce bite to her personality that reminded Geralt of her grandmother. He could feel the untapped potential of her magic sizzling beneath her skin and sparked under his touch. She was curious and talkative in a way that emphasized the hole that Jaskier had left behind.

And then, much to his chagrin, they met up with Yennefer during the middle of a contract. It would be hard to miss the way she stared at Ciri, with a want so strong and a hint of jealousy that Geralt had been gifted what she could only dream of having. Even with his knowledge of magic, he would need someone with stronger abilities to help train the princess. And as much as he had regretted it, he was now thankful that he had tied his and Yennefer's fates. She seemed to be more forgiving now, but made it obvious that whatever romance might have been blooming was now long dead. He was okay with that. He was just glad to have her back in his life. They were good friends, and as a witcher, that was hard to find.

It was dangerous to travel with Ciri, what with the state of the continent. Nilfgaard was on the prowl for the lion cub of Cintra, and would stop at nothing to try and hunt her down. They were still a long ways from the witcher's keep. Only then would she be truly safe to begin her training properly. They had cut her hair to just below her chin to change her appearance enough so she wasn't instantly recognizable. Geralt gave her a thick black cloak to further hide her face. Her old blue cloak was just as much of a dead giveaway as her hair. But no one paid much mind to a veiled child at the side of a famed witcher.

They knew better than to call her by her name, at least in public. Instead they would call her Ella or Ellie, Yennefer claiming that it suited her. Ciri didn't seem to mind. They had been traveling nonstop for a week and were completely exhausted and starving for a real meal. A bath wouldn't hurt either. They came to the inn in search of some much needed rest for the journey ahead. Warm light spilled from the windows and into the darkness outside, a welcome sight. Music and excited chatter met their ears as they approached, greeting them as Geralt held the door open for them.

Avoiding as much attention as they could, they slipped into a booth in the far corner. Ciri sat on the inner seat near the wall, Geralt's large frame mostly shielding her from view. Yennefer sat across from them.

Geralt was tired and worn, otherwise he would've instantly recognized the voice drifting through the air.

"I'm the hardest goodbye that you'll ever have to say-" the last note drug on and scooped continuously into the next word, earning a couple of impressed cheers.

"You don't know it yet, but I'm the Cupid of things That you just don't get, that you struggled to say." The music continued in the background as a waitress took their orders. Once she moved out of their way, Ciri gasped.

"Oh my gods, that's Jaskier!" she said in excitement. Yennefer calmly turned her head to the side while Geralt whipped around, eyes frantically searching for the bard. There he was, swaying to the music as his fingers plucked and thrummed the strings. "I have to say hi!"

"But like rubbing wine stains into rugs, it's my curse. To try and make it right, but by trying make it worse."

Geralt was about to speak, but Yennefer beat him to it. "Ah ah ah, I don't think that's a good idea," she warned.

Ciri shook her head adamantly. "No, he's a good friend! He played at all of my birthdays and our banquets! Believe me, we can trust him." When they both stared at her dumbfounded, she continued. "I get it if you're a bit star struck, I mean he's the best musician on the whole continent."

Yenn snorted. "Who told you that? Him?" Ciri jumped to his defense, but Geralt was too preoccupied to know what she said. His eyes were glued to Jaskier.

Jaskier's voice was raw with emotion as he sang. Deep and guttural around certain words, sensual and alluring with others.

"I'm the heartbreak that aches far too much to be shunned. All those letters unsent and that garden ungrown. I'm the captain of courage that you've eternally lacked. I'm the Jesus of wishing to Christ he'll come back."

Jaskier looked up at just the right moment, at just the right spot to lock eyes with Geralt. He froze for barely a second. Geralt could hear him swallow thickly before he continued, as though unfazed. His eyes never breaking their gaze.

"Because farewell wanderlust, you've been oh, so kind." His voice was so soft, so tender as he sang the words. Then ramped up in intensity as he continued, finally tearing his eyes away.

"After he finishes this song I'm going to go talk to him," Ciri said with a finality that can't be challenged. Geralt only just now caught up with the conversation.

"No. I will." Yennefer was doing a poor job of hiding her amusement. He shot her a glare. Ciri looked at him with an incredulous look.

"I'm practically like family to him, I get to go first," she left no room to argue. Geralt stared at her in slight shock. "You can wait your turn."

"Hm." He would do as she said, but that didn't mean he was happy about it. But at least it gave him time to gather his thoughts and try to form a proper apology. He looked up to see Jaskier's eyes burn holes through him, an angry bitterness woven into his words.

"I'm the tales that the guests will applaud and believe. I'm the child that you just didn't have time to conceive. I promise you I'm not broken! I promise you there's more! More to come, more to reach for, more to hurl at the door."

Ciri leaned forward in her seat to see better. "This must be a new song. It's kinda sad, I wonder who it's about." Yennefer shot Geralt a knowing, accusatory look. He finished, holding the last note of the song for as long as the chord faded out. Everyone burst into applause, tossing coin his way. He made a beeline for the bar, taking the route farthest from them and maintaining that distance. When Geralt didn't move to let her out, too entranced, Ciri crawled underneath the table and made her way to her old friend.

Jaskier leaned against the bar, his head in one hand, a tankard of ale in another. "Melitele's tits I'm too sober for this," he muttered to himself.

"Jaskier!" Before he could turn around he was bombarded by a small figure and enveloped in a hug.

"Wha- hi hello," he said in confusion, tentatively wrapping his arms around her.

"Jaskier, it's me!" she said, and tilted her hood back to reveal her face to him. His eyes widened and mouth dropped in shock. He smiled down at her, scooping her up in his arms and spun her around.

"Gods I was so worried about you! When I heard about what happened I couldn't stop thinking about you! I'm so glad you're okay," he said, smothering her with love and affection that she soaked up like a sponge.

"Come on, I want you to meet someone," she said, tugging on his arm. He pulled it back reluctantly.

"Ah, I'm afraid I'm not quite ready yet," he said, tossing a nervous glance Geralt's way.

"It's okay, he's nice," Ciri assured him. He chuckled.

"Maybe to you."

"What?"

"Well I really should get back to work. I'll talk more after I'm done, I promise," he called as he made his way back to his instrument. Ciri stood there, dumbfounded as she made her way back to the table.

"That was weird," she said sitting down at the table. Geralt tensed.

"Why? What did he say?" he asked, slightly too eager to be considered normal, especially for him. Ciri looked at him quizzically, picking up on the strangeness of it all.

"Um, well at first he was thrilled to see me, then I mention introducing him to you both and he suddenly starts walking away saying he has to work," she said, trailing off.

"Don't take it personal, like you said, he's very popular. People want to hear him sing," Geralt tried to comfort her in the knowledge. She sighs, placing her elbow on the table and resting her chin in her palm.

"I know but he seemed. I don't know, weird? Off? Definitely not like himself," she noted. Yennefer smirked, and looked Geralt up and down. He tilted his head, furrowing his brows and fixing her with a warning look. He was barely holding back a growl. If she said anything...

"You sure it has nothing to do with how you dumped him on the dragon hunt?" she said slyly, smirking with a dangerously arched brow.

"Yennefer!" he snarled her name. He wanted to move past that, he had apologized to her, now he needed to do the same for Jaskier. And now Ciri was glaring at him with real heat behind her eyes.

"Geralt, what's she talking about?" Despite the fire that burned behind her eyes, her voice sounded ice cold. Okay she was definitely spending too much time with Yennefer.

"Nothing of your concern," he said firmly, glaring daggers at Yennefer for telling. The child had no reason to know.

"It is if you hurt Jaskier!"

"I didn't-" he started only to be interrupted again.

"Not physically," Yennefer said slyly, taking a drink. Geralt sighed in defeat.

"Yes I did, okay? But I regret it, and I need to make it right," he said matter of factly. Ciri's expression softened. She reached out and held his hand.

"It's okay, I'm sure he'll forgive you. But just so you know, he's a sucker for grand gestures," she said with a wink. The tavern had erupted with chatter and song requests. Jaskier seems to have finally settled on one. His fingers worked fast upon his instrument.

"Don't think You're mighty cos I said so. It's fine you've got no time to make it home."

Jaskier's voice was deep and smooth, just like Geralt remembered. He caught Jaskier staring his way before the man turned his gaze away as quickly as he noticed.

"And every question's a creeping doubt. I wanna stop the pain, but I don't wanna freak you out. Oh horror the house is shaking, Take it easy. 1, 2, 3, No worries no, no not from me."

Geralt was entranced. As he listened to him, dozens of memories flashed before his eyes. Visions filled with happiness, laughter, fear, singing, anger, screaming... Some of the best memories Geralt has, especially in recent years, are shared with Jaskier. He longed for those times. He wanted nothing more than to wake to blue eyes and a blinding smile. Jaskier moved to the chorus, still beautiful and slower than some of his other songs, but still peppy and upbeat. Most of the tavern's patrons seem to be affiliated with the tune enough to confidently sing along.

"One life to trade away, No use in keeping much I say. Your heart's not mine to weigh. And I'll have words with fate. This earth is burned but I'll sing rain."

Geralt liked this song. As he sat there listening he wondered how he composed it. How many different words bounced around inside his mind before settling on the right ones? How many scratches and scribbles marked in his notebook? He used to have the privilege of knowing, but had never truly appreciated what he had until it was gone. He would never make such a mistake again.

He sang a few more songs, running on requests and ale. But the hour grew later and more patrons retired to their rooms. Jaskier could only put it off for so long, but as long as one other table was there, he would play. The people that did fill the chairs were getting tired, not as eager to hear loud and upbeat music. When a young man requested he play his song Fair, he faltered.

"Uh, perhaps you'd prefer a different song," he tried, casting a nervous glance in Geralt's direction. The song was not only about him, but Yennefer as well, and he wasn't too keen on playing it with both of them here, let alone one.

"Please? It's my birthday and that's my favorite song," he said, batting his lashes prettily. Jaskier sighed, "Well then, how could I say no to that? C'mere," he gestured with a single finger. His eyes darted towards Geralt's table. He was staring at him intently. Good, he wanted him to see this. Jaskier pulled the man closer by his collar and planted a kiss upon his cheek. In that moment they locked eyes. Geralt's burned with regret and jealousy. Jaskier's were smug and a little scared, with the smallest hint of rage.

"Um Geralt? Your mug's leaking," Ciri pointed out. Geralt immediately let go of his grip, realizing too late he had been clenching his fist a little too tightly around his tankard. He wiped up the spill and called the waitress for another.

The boy was flustered and blushing, touching his cheek with delighted awe as he watched Jaskier play his song.

"She promises to fight them all when it all becomes too much. And he, he curses at the world for Leaving him behind and he's falling out of touch. And she is stronger than he's ever been he knows. And she brushes her hand through His hair, he's got so much fucking hair."

Jaskier is glaring at him, Geralt knows it. He dips his head down, unable to meet the gaze. However, he still feels the heat of his stare burn holes through his back. Ciri watched curiously.

"And he holds her close just to keep the world at bay. And when they're sure no-one can hear them. She'll turn to him to say, she'll turn to him and say-"

Yennefer listened with her head tilted, taking Jaskier in fully. He had been broken, barely hanging on and searching for a new purpose. He had been lost, found, and lost again. The strange fuzzy feeling of magic that had fizzled so faintly within him buzzed with a bit more certainty, even if he wasn't aware of it himself. After all, she hadn't known what lie beneath her skin until Tissaia forced her to unlock her potential.

"It's not fair, It's not fair how much I love you. It's not fair, Cos you make me laugh when I'm actually Really fucking cross at you for something. And he'll say, Oh how oh how unreasonable. How unreasonably in love I am with everything you do. I'll spend my days so close to you cos if I'm Standing here maybe everyone will think I'm alright."

It's funny, she thought. He used to be scared of her, or maybe intimidated was a better word. Threatened. They had been competing for the same thing after all. Well for what it's worth, he can have it.

"I've seen enough he says I know exactly what I want. And it's this life that we've created, Inundated with the fated thought of you. And if you asked me to, if you asked me I would lose it all Like petals in a storm, cos darling I was born."

How dare they come to him like this? What are they now, some happy little family? Geralt gave her the child she always wanted, surely she'd never leave him now. He can only imagine the disgustingly amazing sex they probably have when Ciri wonders off. Did they find him so they could rub it in his face, or was it a complete accident? Was this the princess's idea? Did they seek him out for help? So many questions whirled through his head as he finished the song. He figured it was time to get some answers. He bid what was left of his audience goodnight before making his way to the table.

Yennefer wore a judging, knowing look as she watched him come closer. Geralt still looked to be in a state of shock, and, was that jealousy on his face? Jaskier liked to have thought he could read witchers, especially his witcher, extremely well. He had only kissed the boy to distract himself, to show Geralt he was just fine without him. That he could move on. But both Eskel and Lambert had seemed insistent that Geralt was regretful of his actions, so perhaps he did care. He smirked at the thought. He would make this as difficult as he could then. If he really did want him, he'd have to earn him back. Walking towards them with a renewed swagger he hadn't felt in months, he threw his arms open.

"Darling, I'm so sorry about earlier. Let me give you a proper greeting," he said as Ciri barreled into his arms. She tucked her head against his chest, grinning from ear to ear as she squeezed the breath from his lungs. Ah, so she'd been training.

She let him go, suddenly feeling the tension in the air. She faltered for a moment before speaking. "Um, Jaskier this is Yenn. And I uh, I think you know Geralt?" she said with such timidness it was more of a question than a statement. Jaskier put on his fakest smile, the one Geralt knew was fake.

"Why yes love, we do. Geralt, care to explain?" he asked and cocked his head. Geralt huffed out a breath of annoyance, with a possible hint of amusement. Jaskier's heart ached.

"Why don't you sit down first?" he asked and motioned them over with his hand. Before he knew what was happening, Ciri rushed past him and slammed herself in the seat next to Yennefer, thus forcing him to sit next to Geralt. He crossed his arms and popped out his hip.

"I will only sit next to the child," he said sternly. He didn't know what they were calling her now, but he knew better than to use her real name. Geralt rolled his eyes.

"Jaskier don't be ridiculous, sit down," he said. His eye looked almost pleading, his pupils swelled up like a begging cat. It was utterly adorable. He nearly wanted to do what he said. It seemed so tempting... But no. He wouldn't let him win.

He placed his hands on his hips and raised an eyebrow, turning his nose up the slightest bit. He even went as far as to look him up and down with a smirk, "Make me."

Before he could think better of it, Geralt reached out and grabbed a hold of his wrist, yanking him down to the seat. Jaskier was caught off guard and stumbled, falling right into Geralt's lap. They both stared, flustered as their eyes met. Ciri snickered from behind her hand, and even Yennefer gave a small chuckle. They both gathered themselves and Jaskier scrambled out of his lap and in the seat next to him. Jaskier still looked a bit dazed. Geralt leaned closer to him. He didn't pull away.

"Made you," he said, and when Jaskier turned to look at him, he looked so damn smug and cocky. That bastard.

Jaskier brushed himself off and cleared his throat. "Okay then. Uh where was I? Oh um-you were just about to tell her how we know each other," he said, clearly flustered. He was looking anywhere but to his right.

"He's my bard. And my best friend." Jaskier's head jerked upon hearing those words.

"Sure as hell didn't show it much," he argued. Geralt sighed heavily.

"I know, and I should've never treated you that way. I'm sorry for the mountain, and the djinn, and only ever letting you ride Roach if you were hurt, and every time I was cruel or harsh with you. I'm more sorry than I've ever been." His words dripped with truth, forged after hours of regret and meditation. These words were carefully formatted and hand picked just for him. If Jaskier had been standing, his knees would've buckled. He let out a strangled squeak. Geralt continued.

"It was wrong then, and it's wrong now, so I, uh, understand if you're still mad." This time it was Jaskier's turn to hum in lieu of words. "But I want you to know you're my best friend and it won't happen again. I promise," he swore. There was so much emotion swirling in those golden irises. Jaskier believed everything he said.

He took a breath to steady himself before he spoke. "Okay. I accept your apology," he said. He didn't dare say more for fear of revealing his hand. Geralt didn't hint at stronger feelings for him than just friendship, so neither would he. He was content with this, had always been content with this. He could still have his witcher and the life on the road that he missed dearly. He just had to bury the burning love in his chest. But he was used to that. What he wasn't used to was Yennefer's unwavering presence. He wasn't looking forward to it. The way she loved to jab and mock him, flaunting her relationship with Geralt in his face. She was always devilishly smart and cunning, much like a raven. They didn't get along well, or perhaps they did. It was almost like a game between them, to see who can ruffle the most feathers.

But the smirk she wore wasn't smug or triumphant like she won something. It was something softer, more akin to fondness, a sort of teasing glimmer in her eyes. She knew something he didn't. That wasn't new. Geralt was avoiding his direct gaze. He was tired of the stretching silence and spoke.

"I'm assuming it's an accident that you happened upon me. Or was it intentional?" he ventured to ask. Geralt blinked.

"Yes and no? I mean, I was looking for you, but I didn't expect to find you here. We're on our way to the Keep," he explained. Jaskier leaned back in the booth, an amused, surprised expression on his face. His arms were folded over his chest and his lips quirked up in a smirk.

"Huh, he wasn't lying." Geralt narrowed his eyes.

"Who?"

"Lambert. He said you were looking for me. Didn't believe him at the time, but I guess he proved me wrong," he said, chuckling. Geralt's jaw dropped as he stared at him. Ciri giggled and Yennefer watched on in amusement.

"Lam- fucking Lambert found you before I did? How long ago was this?" he asked. Now Jaskier was the one squinting at him.

"Only a few months, maybe three at the most." His smirk grew.

"Damnit, how many witchers have you met since I saw you?" Geralt wasn't the best at expressing his emotions, they all knew that, but he was even worse at hiding them when they fought to rise up. Geralt was jealous and Jaskier was drinking it up.

"Ah, so I suppose Eskel had his little chat with you." His eyes sparkled with mischief as he turned to look at Geralt. He could feel the heat radiating from his body, his nostrils flared out. He looked utterly delicious. Jaskier slipped on a charming smile. "Good. You know, I think he was my favorite. Charming, nice, and extremely handsome-"

"Jaskier, can I talk with you?" he cut him off, voice a deep growl. A pleasant chill ran up his spine. Oh he liked jealous Geralt.

"You already are darling," he said, voice sugary sweet. He's gotten underneath his skin already. That didn't take long. Geralt rolled his eyes.

"I meant somewhere private." He stared at him, hoping he wouldn't have to explain himself. Jaskier made an O with his mouth and slid from his seat, allowing Geralt to follow him. The larger man lead him outside and around the corner of the tavern, close to the stables.

"Oh is Roach here? I've missed her terribly, you wouldn't believe-" Before he knew what was going on, he was slammed against the wall with Geralt's body pressed against his. He promptly shut up, a blush creeping up his cheeks.

"W-well I certainly can't say I haven't imagined this," he breathed out in an airy chuckle.

"Come with us," Geralt said.

Jaskier was shocked to say the least. "What?"

"Come with us. To Kaer Morhen. Ciri likes you, and right now we need to keep her safe. A-and you're a professor, and you're smart- she's gonna need a teacher." Jaskier deflated.

"Is that all?" he asked, trying to mask the disappointment in his voice.

"No." Jaskier jerked his head to look at him. Geralt moved his arm from where it was leaning against the wall to caress Jaskier's cheek. He shivered. "I want you to come with us. I missed you Jaskier. And I know I'm not- I'm not good with this. Emotions, and talking about what I want. But I'm trying and-" he looked at him, pupils wide and eyes pleading. "I want you."

"Fuck Geralt, you don't know how long I've wanted to hear that." Geralt surged forth, planting a surprisingly sweet kiss against Jaskier's lips. Jaskier pulled him closer, deepening the kiss. He didn't want to be able to breathe, he was hungry for this and wouldn't waste another second. Their teeth clanged and clashed as their tongues danced together as one. When Jaskier was satisfyingly breathless, they pulled apart, still held in each other's embrace.

"I want you too." These words sparked another passionate make out. Then Jaskier pulled away, remembering, "Wait, but I thought- you and Yenn-"

"Just friends." Jaskier couldn't help the smile that broke out on his face. He grew himself at Geralt, who easily caught him. He wrapped his legs around his waist, carding his fingers through his hair. He surged forth and caught his lips in another kiss. Geralt spoke around his lips.

"I don't have to worry about you and Eskel, do I?" Jaskier chuckled.

"I like it when you're possessive," he said, thrusting his hips forward. Geralt growled as he dove in for another heated kiss. And just like that, Jaskier's torn heart began to mend.