#so this topic always stumped me for a while but i think i finally know where i stand with it

[derekswife87]

I’m obsessed with idea that the mc is convinced Derek rejected her and when he finds out about this, he’s just devastated.

So why and when?

Step 2: my mc (sol) says she likes him when he asks if there’s anyone. His reaction could be misconstrued as rejection but if not, he then doubles down when she once again says she likes him and he in turn, proposes this 10 year marriage pact… You with me?

So when they meet up after years and Derek recalls that moment, mc is kinda stumped. Cause what do you mean you liked me, you rejected me! Derek is flabberghasted cause he would never. I imagine it would go a lot like this:

“You clearly rejected me,” Sol insists.

“I did no such thing,” Derek shoots back, almost offended by the accusation.

How did this even happen. 1 moment, they’re on the couch playing Mario cart, reminiscing about their childhood and now, Derek is trying to gaslight her into thinking she just remembered it wrong.

“A girl never forgets her first unrequited love,” Sol pauses the game, she can already tell this isn’t a passing topic.

Derek is too nice to gaslight, which can only mean he genuinely doesn’t remember or he’s just as dense in 20s as he was in his teens. She doesn’t know which is worst.

For a moment, Sol watches as a flurry of emotions wash over his stupidly handsome face.

“There’s no way,” he finally says, tone low and serious.

Sol rolls her eyes, “I said I liked you and you said no, wait and then when I said it again, you proposed that silly marriage pact. I don’t why you thought being single at 23 was such a big deal, such a drama queen but it was pretty cute.”

“No,” Derek doesn’t laugh, “I- I- I don’t believe you.”

“We can always verify with liz, lord knows I cried to her enough,” Sol offers with no intention of following up, she’s just trying to make a point.

She’s doesn’t why she’s so intent on dying on this hill but there’s something about him rewriting a a defining moment of her life that doesn’t sit right with her. Truthfully, she was the real drama queen. That rejection all but ceased any chance of a high school romance. She didn’t really get into the dating game until college and those relationships were so brief and forgettable, she can’t even remember their names. And even then, Derek was there in her notification or on the other end of the line. So sweet and considerate, asking about her day, always knowing the right things to say at the right time.

“I made you cry?” He asks with a voice that is too small and pained to belong to him.

Gosh, his crestfallen expression makes her heart ache. It’s like the sun has been stolen from the sky, the world is dark place when Derek Suarez can’t find his smile. Sol panics, this was not her intention. She didn’t want to hurt him, just wanted him to acknowledge this sad but equally cherished moment they shared in their youth. It was no fault of his own but this is Derek she’s talking to, he’d jump through multiple hoops to shoulder the blame. Knowing all this, Sol could kick herself. She always accused liz of not being able to read the room but look at the mess she made.

“Derek, it’s been years. A whole decade,” she back peddles.

Derek ignores the sentiment,”So you did?”

“Cry, well yeah. I was 13, we were kids,” she tries to lighten the mood.

“You thought the pact was silly, you thought it was stupid,” he states rather than asks.

“No, I did not think it was stupid,” Sol has to walk the fine line of being truthful while also avoiding the capital offence of hurting a soul as pure as Derek’s, ”It’s just, you’re so nice and I thought you were just trying to be nice. You know, to make me feel better. I didn’t mean to call it silly, it was sweet. Younger me really appreciated it.”

Derek doesn’t miss a beat, his gaze fixed on her,” What about older you? What about now?”

“I see it for what it is,” Sol smiles, leaning over tap the tip of his nose,”you being a darling.”

Her finger never connects, Derek takes her by the wrist before it does.

“I meant every word,” he admits quietly as he presses her palm to his cheek.

Sol’s heart stutters, Derek’s sad green eyes steals the breath out of her lungs. He looks like kicked puppy, the sweetest most loving puppy on this earth. Sol is going to hell, this is the kinda sin that get’s you turned away from the pearly gates.

On the other hand, Did he just confess? Sol has to stop herself from jumping to conclusion. Derek just likes to be prepared, young Derek had everything from his house to his manager mapped out. A child’s whim at 13 is very different from the musing of a 23 year old man.

A moment of silence lingers before Derek hops to his feet. He looks pained, brows pinched together as he starts pacing. All Sol can do is watch. She doesn’t know what he meant by all that but that’s not important now. He looks so sullen, she’s overcome with worry. She’d do anything to fix whatever this is, she just doesn’t know how.

“Derek?” she calls out cautiously.

He responds by altering his route. Instead of pacing back and forth, he starts circling the lounge. Sol’s gaze follows him until he disappears around the couch, only to reappear around the other end.

“Derek, please, talk to me,” she pleads, ”I’m sorry I upset you.”

He disappears yet again, only this time she hears a loud thud before he returns. Panicked, Sol jumps up to find him bracing himself against the wall. Staring at his back, she slowly realises he just smacked his head against the wall.

“Derek,” she yelps as she scrambles over the sofa.

She pulls him off the wall and sure enough, there’s a tiny cut on his head and a little trickle of blood.

“Oh my god,” she tugs his head down to inspect the wound,”where’s your first aid kit?”

“Don’t apologise, it’s not your faulty -“

“And it’s not yours either. It’s no one’s fault,” Sol snaps, not letting him get another word in.

She pulls him to the bathroom, convinced she saw something in the vanity and she’s right.

“Sit,” she commands as she rifles through the kit.

“It’s just a small cut,” Derek tries to argue.

Sol turns to him in disbelief, she must look terrifying cause he instantly lowers his gaze to the checkered floor tiles. He looks so big and awkward sitting on the edge of the tub, her annoyance just melts away. Gosh, she really is a sucker when it comes to this man. These feelings might follow her to her grave.

Angling his face upwards, his gaze wavers before he closes his eyes. The fluorescent light is much too bright, it reveals the entirety of his face. She can just about count each eyelash, it’s a real struggle not to. Sighing at her own hopelessness, she tends to the cut, making sure to clean and disinfect it well.

“I,” she pauses to adopt a more neutral tone, ”I wish you weren’t so hard on yourself.”

Derek’s eyelids twitch but he doesn’t open them.

“You don’t understand,” he almost whispers.

Sol might have missed it if she wasn’t so distracted by his mouth.

“Then make me,” she tries not to sound too desperate but her quivering voice fails her.

Derek finally opens his eyes as she applies the bandaid. He looks at her with such vulnerability, Sol has to fight the urge to embrace him.

“I was supposed to have my shit together,” he tries to explain,”10 years is a long time, more than enough time for me to be something of worth.”

“Worth what?” Sol can’t help but ask.

“Everything that I wanted,” he answers, averting his gaze, ”everything I dreamed of.”

“When you were 13?” Sol asks incredulously, trying so hard not to let her frustration bubble to the surface, ”do you even still want those things?”

Derek gaze narrows, ”yes, soccer was never the dream. It was just a means to an end. I would get good, I’d prove myself and earn the life I wanted…but it didn’t work out. I sacrificed so much and I’m still no closer to my goals and I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Okay,” Sol tries to take a different approach, ”tell me about it, these unattainable goals.”

Derek immediately looks uncomfortable, he clearly wasn’t expecting that.

“Make my parents proud. I know they say they are,” he mutters.

“But you don’t believe them?” Sol wastes no time, ”okay, next goal?”

He fumbles, ”a respectable career, accolades. A home, not this but my own. I did want a car but that was never too important.”

“Okay, then what is important, tell me the important?” She presses.

“You,” he blurts out, ”winning you over was important.”

Sol draws a blank, cocking her head to side as she squints her eyes. So that was a confession, the puzzle pieces fit right in together.

“Well, there you go,” she points out happily, ”You did that years ago!”

“I don’t think you understand,” Derek drawls incredulously.

“I understand perfectly, you are the 1 who refuses to understand,” Sol has had it with him.

“I did nothing to earn you?” Derek flaps his hands,”I have nothing.”

“Oh my God, what is wrong with you!” Sol snaps, grabbing him by the shoulders to aggressively shake him, ”why won’t you listen to me.”

If this was a cartoon, her head would have exploded but that’s not how reality works. How is she supposed to get through this level of delusion.

Sol presses her forehead to his, palms sandwiching his face, “I wish you could see you the way I see you. If I could just telepathically project my view through your thick skull, then you would understand how beloved you are. You’d get how infuriating it is to just watch you drift away aimlessly when everyone is right here. We’re here for you, not because of some promise of potential or big trophy. We’re here for you as you are, as you were. It doesn’t matter cause it’s still you and as long as it’s you, we’ll be here. Believe me,”

She’s exhausted by the end of her outburst, chest heaving as she tries not to fluster at her boldness. They’re so close, too close and Derek is just staring at her, slack jawed. Maybe she went overboard. Who is she to make such demands of him.

Her worries are quickly dispelled when Derek finally cracks a smile. Sol instantly retracts, even takes a step back cause what the hell was that. He’s gonna be the death of her.

“You know,” he grins boyishly, getting to his feet,”when you act like this, I almost believe I still have a chance.”

Sol looks at him, really looks at him and it’s impossible not to see the shadow of his younger self. It takes her back to the day she first tasted heartbreak. The only thing that stung worst was the realisation that she might lose him forever, all of him and Sol so desperately wanted to hold onto a small part. Elizabeth said she was pathetic, her parents gave her a whole talk about how friends grow a part and how they too fell out contact with their closes friends shortly after leaving school. Almost as if to say this is how life works and she was no exception but Sol refused. She wasn’t her mothers or liz, her pride be damned, she’d hold on to the tiniest pieces Derek spared her. To think those pieces remained firmly in her grasp after 10 years. Maybe those pieces weren’t so minuscule after all, maybe she had carried a chunk of him with her all along and now, it was time to return.

“Derek,” she admits,”You have all the chances in the world. You just have to start taking them.”

She’s not dense, she understands what she’s saying but like always, the ball remains in his court.

Derek smiles at her with a mix of adoration and something foreign, something she’s never seen before in him, something darker. The green of his eyes are glazed over, the air surrounding them prickling with his every move he makes.

Sol wasn’t even been aware she was backing away until she can felt the basin behind her and before she knows it, she’s caged between his arms as he grips the basin’s edge. So close, too close.

Oh, how the tables have turn. Now she’s malfunctioning, her stomach threatens to swallow itself, her heartbeat thundering in her ears and when did it get so hot. Her face burns with every moment he stares down at her with that stupid look on that stupidly handsome face.

“Stop,” she stutters.

He has the nerve to chuckle,”but I’m only starting, can’t let this chance slip by, now can I?”

He doesn’t wait for a response, his lips already on hers. It’s soft, a feather light brush of his lips at first. Sol melts into him, hands on his chest as the kiss deepens. He tastes sweet and fruity, just like she imagined he would after eating all those gummies. It’s heaven and she can’t help but hum happily. It rightfully emboldens Derek, his hands now on her waist, his fingers creeping up the hem of her top. A simple brush against her lower back sends a shiver up her spine, causing her to press up against him.

All too pleased with himself, he looks positively radiant when they break apart. While, Sol isn’t too sure she didn’t just dream this up. Since when did Derek have game, this is not the baby boy she knowsg.

“Earth to Sol,” he pecks her on the nose before looking away sheepishly, “not too romantic, ey.”

Sol could swore they were amongst the clouds but when he says it like that, it’s hard to ignore the fact that they’re making out in his bathroom. It’s funny how he has his own place but they’re in here, like sneaky teenagers.

“Oh no, no more redos, Suarez. This is perfect,” she takes no chances,”you’re perfect.”

Now it’s Derek’s turn to blush and how adorable the sight is. A new memory to haunt her dreams.

“C’mon,” he takes her hand, leading her outside.

She doesn’t even ask, lord knows, she’d follow anyway. Wherever he goes, Sol wants to be there too. It’s where she belongs.

End.

Don’t worry he just takes her to his bedroom, where they cuddle and exchange embarrassing stories from that summer. Specific stories where they were quietly crushing on each other. Moments like when Derek had a little break down when the mc wore his clothes in the babysitting scene. The mc very kindly offers to recreate the moment. Hehehehe

[lovely-amora]

Moment of Truth

Astarion trusts you. He wishes to trust you and have faith after you showed him what that was. But he felt as if you weren't telling him anything about yourself..your family. So he was going to find out..one way or another.. It had been a few days since Astarion had considered his feelings for you. This situation was odd and yet even though he had gotten on your ever lasting nerve. You still cared. You cared enough to look out for him and cared enough to make sure he had blood. He couldn't even fathom WHY you were so nice to him. Why you looked at him with such..soft eyes. Why his heart twisted each time he saw you smile. .

While you were possibly the second best person in the camp (him being the first) , he knew you were hiding something. It had to be big too. The way your eyes would dart at the mention of a person's past, how you would avoid topics like it was second nature. He wished to know. He'd love you regardless but he only wished to know if he could help you like you did him.

And so he watch you. He watched as you went about your day. Practicing spells, crafting materials for the camp to use and even finding food for everyone. He found your day to day quite dull compared to what he THOUGHT he'd find. That is..until the night came.

Each night he observed you, it was the same. You'd leave the camp, sit on a stump, write in a journal and draw something, then go back to bed.

"That journal.." That was the key to figuring you out. That journal that you seemed to only use at night was the key to figuring out why you were so dismissive of yourself.

He had a plan. He waited till you slept by staying up longer than usual. He then snuck into your tent and swiped the box that contained your journal.

"She won't notice a thing." He rushed to the same stump that you would sit on just to try and emulate whatever you were doing. He then opened the box and-!

"What? Where is it?" The journal was gone.

"Looking for something?" The calm and smooth voice he had come to appreciate sounded tired and almost amused. He turns to find you with your journal in you hand. The leather cover dimly reflected the moon with its metal clasp.

"Care to explain why you've been watching me? And why you took my box?" He'd been caught red-handed. Just like when Tav caught him trying to take their blood..he was at a loss for what to do. What made his guilt worse is that you didn't even seem angry or mad. You were more disappointed.

"I-..You always put everyone else before you. You're too...dismissive of yourself! You stress about your personal issues and yet you refuse to allow anyone to help you. You refuse to even allow Tav to help you alone! I just want to understand why..! Why do you never put yourself above others?" He broke. His frustrations to your supposed stupidity and how similar you were to him in the most uncomfortable of ways.

You sat next to him on the large stump and handed him the journal. He took it from your hands and let his hand glide over the metal clasp. He looked to you but then you unlocked the journal. He opened it slowly and saw the mad scribbles on the first few pages. There was nothing even written, just scribbles of pure and genuine emotion. As he continued, the journal had words that he could read. It was as if he was watching the progression of your mental state.

Eventually, he found it..the so called secret that he'd wanted to find.

'Entry 279 - The other god's think me foolish for attempting to interact with the material plane. I disagree. I have the power to help the majority and I will use it. Ao can smite me for all I care, once I find my artifact I can finally regain my powers in the Material Plane.'

"You're a god..?" "I'm an imperfect god so Godling but yes. I can't give you my real name but I control the balance." "But why are you here!? How-?" You stop him before he says anything else.

"I'll allow you to borrow my journal. I..cannot say anything until you find things out for yourself. Just know.." You close the journal and put it in his lap to take his hands in yours. "You are valuable to me. As a godling, I'm not at liberty to indulge without finding my artifact but you matter to me." You stood up and smile at him. Astarion was conflicted with too many emotions.

There was one thing he knew. You just gave him a chance to understand you completely.

[maddonkeydidnothingwrong]

5, 18, 31 for Cordelia for the bg3 ask game :D

Wahhh thank you for asking 🧡🧡🧡

Do you remember the first humanoid enemy your Character killed? Was it the first person they've ever killed, in your opinion? Would they have been bothered by it? (5)

Hmmm I think the goblins outside the grove. Or maybe the looters in Jergal’s temple?

Yes, Cordelia is very very bothered by it. She grew up a sheltered noble in the upper city of Baldur, so while this is her first taste of freedom from her family’s captivity, it’s also her first exposure to such violence that she’s having to contribute. She definitely throws up the first time she kills someone, and it hurts her deeply when people can’t be convinced not to fight, when they force her to fight or die.

This is a lady whose magic use before the nautiloid was for pleasure and beauty. She used to play with lightning during thunderstorms. She had to learn, and learn quick, how to adapt her magic for violence, and she’s good at it. Her intuitive understanding helping her, but it’s also a bit distressing. The realities of the heroic epic journey she always dreamed of hit her like repeated slaps to the face, and she’s having to learn and adapt fast or risk drowning.

How did your Character deal with Wyll, Karlach and Mizora? (18)

Ooooo okay I’ll try to limit this to act 1.

So Cordelia is a tiefling and she’s also Wyll’s childhood best friend. So there’s history there. She doesn’t know Karlach, but when she meets her, she’s going to give her the benefit of the doubt. And given her friendship with Wyll, he’s even easier to convince that he’s been deceived about Karlach.

She’s very very worried about what he means about penance, because while she knew that he became a warlock when he left, he was very cagey about who exactly has the other side of his pact. She respected his privacy, so she never pushed, and over the years he never told her, so she put it (kinda) out of her mind. He was far away adventuring, the letters they did manage to get to each other weren’t the place to put such a heavy topic.

Does your Character have new or old phobias or superstitions that affect their story? (31)

Alright. This one stumped me for a bit, but while thinking about her upbringing I think I found a possible phobia.

So she did not have a very happy childhood. I’ll refrain from saying the entirety of her circumstance (this post is already very long), but while she is essentially trapped in a gilded cage, she does have some limited freedom.

And with limited freedom comes the ability to push back and sometimes anger her parents. Physical abuse was extremely rare, but she 100% was emotionally and psychologically abused by her parents.

If she ever displeased/angered them enough, they actually did lock her in a room, took away her things and anything she could use to spend the time. She wouldn’t even be able to go out into her balcony and enjoy the day’s weather and scenery. Windows blacked out with enchantments she couldn’t break on her own. It was a sensory deprivation intended to torture and create intense emotional and psychological distress.

This would go on for days, depending on the severity of her “misbehavior”

After a long enough time, someone would approach her door and ask if she was finally ready to apologize for doing wrong.

(Cordelia learned how to pick her battles, because she knew that she’d never win any of them, but she had to pick which ones were worth fighting, anyway)

So I imagine this would create a phobia of imprisonment. Particularly, if she’s alone and can’t get out on her own. Like actually being trapped somewhere would make her panic.

Idk how this affects in-game events, if it does, I’ll have to think some more about it.

Thanks again for the ask and for reading 🧡🧡🧡

[pickled-pear964]

The third and (not) final part of M+K

(Malachite + Katydid)

I think we left off with Katydid?

***

Cadelle shot Katydid a small glare when she yawned as Bullet Ant, her neighbor, started talking about the HiveWing throne Succession. This topic had become quite common, even among the SilkWings, in which Queen Wasp had "taken care" of it immediately.

"It's going to be one of Lady Jewel's daughters." Bullet Ant pointed out in his usual snobby demeanor.

"But they were taken away. Who knows what happened to them. It's clear the Queen doesn't want any possible threats that might take her throne." Pollen, his equally snobby wife, exclaimed as though they had been having this argument for a long time.

"I think that it will be Lady Jewel herself." Copper, a rather sweet orange HiveWing pointed out. She wasn't generally interested in politics, but she hated Queen Wasp.

In fact, Katydid quite liked her. She was only a few years younger than her mother, and had been invited because she and her mother had been long-time best friends.

Katydid found it quite strange that they were friends, since they were polar opposites.

Pollen shot her a look full of dislike, and Copper inched back, startled at Pollen's childish attitude.

Cadelle, despite Pollen insulting her best friend, pretended not to notice and hissed at Katydid.

"Come greet our guests!"

Katydid rolled her eyes and bounded over, grinning at Copper.

"This is my daughter, Katydid! She's the same age as your children." Cadelle exclaimed, talking only to Bullet Ant and Pollen, while completely ignoring the several other guests she had.

"I see." Pollen said, clearly unimpressed.

Cadelle looked irritated, but Katydid felt that was her expression most of the time, so it was hard to tell what she was actually feeling. She brushed her talons nervously.

"Well, we ought to get going then." The snobby couple stood up, and haughtily flew out of the section, leaving Katydid to wonder the reason for their behavior.

She glanced at Copper, who merely shrugged at her and followed Cadelle into the kitchen.

-4-

Leanne thought her brother was extremely stupid.

Very stupid, in fact.

He was too nervous. Too jittery. He asked *way* too many questions. He was too nice to dragons that probably hated him.

Although, despite all of that, he still got better grades than her, and was still her parent's "perfect little dragonet."

Why wasn't she the perfect little dragonet? Malachite didn't fit that role in any way possible.

So when her brother came back from school one day, and asked about where their parents had gone, Leanne was absolutely stumped.

"I think they went to...what's her name's house?" Leanne knew her name. Katydid. But she didn't like Katydid. She was always getting into trouble and always pitying those pathetic SilkWings.

And yet, once again, everyone liked her.

"Ah, yes. They went to Katydoof's house."

"Katydoof."

"I don't know, don't expect me to remember her name." Leanne rolled her eyes and went back to pretend-studying. She was actually sketching a frog, but Malachite didn't have to know that.

***

You have to wait...

AGAIN!

Anyways, goodbye :D

[sadnesslaughs]

“What do you mean, they’re trying to pursue immortality? Just....wait. Did no-one tell the humans that you can turn off death and suffering in the settings menu? Did no-one tell them about the settings menu? They must be so pissed right now.”

Alice bit into her salad sandwich, ignoring the two alien diplomats that had entered her office, treating them as if they were a regular occurrence in her life. After chewing on her last bite of bread, she carefully patted her mouth with a napkin, leaving a deep red lipstick stain on it. The two aliens nervously sat upright in their seat, ready to talk, only for Alice to continue ignoring them.

The sleek suit wearing brunette tapping away at the keys of her laptop, the reflection of her glasses showing the intricate email she was weaving before them. After hitting send, she finally glanced the alien’s way, furrowing her brows. “Yes, get to it.” She said, as if she had expected them to talk as soon as they got here.

Zil and Bratua both jolted in their seats, neither knowing the proper human customs for these types of meetings. Zil, the older of the two by two hundred years, placed a hand in the middle of his chest, right between his two hearts. “We have something to apologize for.” He said, with the deepest sincerity he could. As customary in the silver-skinned aliens tradition, he let his long neck fall, making his head slump against the carpet, even while his body remained perfectly seated.

“Ok. Apology accepted.” Alice said, about to call in her next appointment, only to stop when she saw the other alien also slump its head against the carpet. When Bratua copied Zil’s actions, her long blonde hair hit the carpet, the aliens hair slick with a blue natural oil, which was now seeping into the carpet. “HEADS OFF THE CARPET.” Alice banged her fist against the table, sending a few heart-shaped PR toys bouncing along the table.

“You don’t understand.” Bratua placed her hand between her chest, her three eyes sparkling with a sickening amount of compassion, which only added to the disdain Alice felt towards them. “We have kept a secret from you. But it wasn’t intentional. An accidental secret. We should have told you this when we passed your species months ago.”

“Ah hah,” Alice responded curtly, only for a brief flash of interest to appear on her face, those fierce hazel eyes now focused on them. “Why did you come to a CEO involved in human health? Isn’t this something you should tell the president?”

Zil waved his hand before his fellow diplomat, six fingers dangling by her, before speaking. “Because we believe this discovery is something you could put to good use. Since you have looked into it in the past.”

“Hmm…” She typed away at her keyboard, pushing back her next meeting, before closing her laptop’s lid. “I see. So, where do you live? Is it far? Do you come past earth often?” She said, her mind always thinking, like the methodic clicking of a clock hand.

The two aliens tilted their heads, stumped by the swift change in topics. Bratua, who preferred more conversational topics, jumped in. “I believe it’s a thirty-year trip. Though, with our lifespans and technology, it’s almost the equivalent of a weeklong earth journey. Since we spend most of it in sleeping pods that-“

Alice interrupted. “And do you come past Earth often?”

“No, Zil and I only do a routine check every few centuries. A diplomat’s role is to examine a planet and offer guidance wherever possible. Which is what we have been doing with our meetings. Since there are so many planets, we can’t show favoritism to one specific set of creatures.”

“We were about to leave before remembering our greatest secret, so we rushed to share it with you before we left for good.” Zil added.

Alice calculated her next words, resting her hands on her desk. “A great secret? Alright, I believe we have danced around the topic long enough. What is this great secret you wish to share with me?”

“Let me show you. I believe it will be easier that way.” Zil got to his feet before taking a small silver dagger from his pocket. The blade of the dagger buzzing with an energy source unknown to the CEO. When Zil lifted the blade, Alice went to scream, only for Zil to plunge it into his chest. Alice expected blood, news scandals, and screaming, but there was no blood. Only a small flickering box that appeared by his chest. “You can turn off pain and suffering.”

Alice didn’t see the point in questioning him. She knew this was a piece of technology that she wouldn’t be able to comprehend, and any scientific explanation the alien gave would sound like sci-fi mumbo jumbo to a human. So she nodded, waiting for him to continue.

“This device, when stabbed into the heart of a person, allows a menu to be opened. Once this menu opens, you go to the box and place your finger on it, turning the pain and suffering switch off.” He stated, pulling the dagger out of his chest, which caused the box to fade. After his demonstration, he placed the dagger before her.

“Why is there a box?” While she didn’t care to understand the science behind it, the box had her intrigued. Where did such a thing come from?

“I’m sorry, we don’t have an answer for that. Our understanding is that it’s a gift from our creator. Some higher power that lingers outside of our understanding. We don’t believe we’re in a simulation, instead we believe something far greater than we can comprehend has altered all of us. We were given this ability by our creator. Would you like to know more about them?” Bratua said, her tone full of reverence, speaking of their god. “Bratua, we are not here to preach. They have their own gods, we have ours. This could very well be a gift from their creator, too.” Zil said, not wanting to upset any humans or cause a stir over their various beliefs.

“So you really don’t know where it comes?” She said, holding the dagger, feeling how weightless the blade was. It almost felt to her as though the blade were made of air. If a human had given her it, she may have even believed it to be a holy relic that could compare to the holy grail.

“No. But we believe your scientists should be able to create their own version of this device with the resources available on your planet. It’s rather easy once you learn how to concentrate the plasma into a specific line.” Zil explained, only to notice Alice’s eyes drift away to a window, bored by his explanation. “With this, you can create immortality. No disease, no death, no nothing.” He smiled.

Alice smiled too, smoothing down her suit before placing the dagger on her table. She got to her feet and threw her arms around Zil and Bratua. “Thank you. You’ve solved one of humanity’s greatest problems. When we next see you, we will be years ahead of where we are now. We may even visit you next time.” She sweetly said, clutching the aliens tighter.

Zil and Bratua kept up their friendly appearances, even if both felt uncomfortable with the sudden contact. After two minutes of hugging, Zil broke them away. “Yes. Take care, human. I know you will use our technology well.”

“We hope to see you when we visit next time.” Bratua said, and soon they were gone, leaving the office.

Alice sat down, eyeing the dagger over. She could already feel her heart beating faster, as well as her brain telling her not to do it. What sane person would shove a dagger through their chest? Her brain screeched, though that didn’t stop her from reaching for it. Her palms sweating as she gripped the handle of the dagger, almost dropping it in her bout of nerves. She hissed out a hot breath, hands wobbling as the dagger dangled over her heart before she drove it into her chest.

Her eyes snapped shut, waiting for the pain. Instead, she found the switch before her. The hovering menu only having a single toggle, one she hastily switched off. When she did, she removed the dagger and sat it down, grabbing a pencil instead.

“Raaaa.” She made an animalistic squeal as she stabbed her hand, the first jab soft, giving her no pain. The second, slightly harder, pricking into her skin, and finally, she started violently stabbing at her hand, the pencil breaking skin, tearing away at her flesh, and still no blood came. When she finished her assault, she watched the holes in her hand fill. “THIS IS INCREDIBLE.” For the first time since her sixth birthday, she showed genuine excitement.

The CEO’s gaze turned to her window, about to throw herself out of it, only for her senses to kick in, overruling her rush of adrenaline. She could test her durability later. For now, she had business ventures to consider. “A cure for death.” She mused, picking up one of the heart toys on her desk, the ones they gave to the children who came to their events with their parents. “That’s bad for business.”

She set the dagger in her drawer, grinning as she considered the clients she could sell this immortality to. “Fellow CEOs, billionaires, prominent actors. I could give them everything they’ve ever wanted. For the right price. How lucky am I that they came to me with this? Someone else may have shared it. I’ll have to be careful though, even if I can’t die. I don’t want them to find creative ways of putting me through hell. People can be ruthless. It’s not like I have to find out how to market this right away. I have plenty of time until they return to Earth. I can take my time with this. Maybe I’ll even find a way to turn off their toggles, in case they oppose my decision.”

That thought filled her with ambition. If she played this right, she could become more than a CEO. She could become a god. All she had to do was discover its secrets before anyone else could. Cancelling her commitments for the day, she started organizing a team to research it, one who could be bribed or threatened into silence.

[misssakuramochi]

Hello ! I'd like a persona 5 matchup please :)

Personality: I'm an INTP, I'm intelligent, unbothered, calm, curious, easy-going, charismatic and stubborn.

I'm very often bored and I love to have fun, I move on from things very quickly, I love detective games (I'm basically a detective 😜), I enjoy researching topics and theories, l'm able to pick up on things very quickly.

Hobbies/interests: I'm a dancer ( I do any style of dance, contemporary, hip hop, openstyle, voguing etc), I love video games (Ace attorney, Danganronpa, Omori, Sally face, Final fantasy, Hades etc), reading, writing and I play the electric guitar.

I like philosophy, history, astronomy and Greek mythology. I like entertaining people who can make me laugh, and who I won't die of boredom being with.

I'm someone who if I feel comfortable with someone will talk their head off about all of my interests. I think you're cool 🤔 here's what I think about this philosophy concept, you like video games 🤔 here's why you should play (whatever game), you like animals 🤔 here's why I think the nurse shark is the best shark, you mentioned an apple 🤔 did you know there's 7,500, and here's why I think the red delicious is the best one.

Fun facts:

- It's very easy for me to guess plot twists in an instant and piece thing together.

- I love burgers with my whole life, I can eat at least 3-5 big burgers in one sitting.

- I love handshakes and making up little raps/rhymes

- My favorite artist is Tyler the Creator

-I'm very flexible and double jointed

- I like experiencing and learning new things

- very un organized

I don't mind be matched up with anyone

That's pretty much it, I hope you have fun writing my matchup and have a great day <3

I match you with...

FUTABA

○ Futaba is something of a mystery to new people. This catches your interest instantly. It takes a stubborn detective to crack her code, and let her get to know you. Stubborn and intuitive, you manage to do what most people cannot and get Futaba to open up to you.

○ While your easy going nature can sometimes make Fitaba worry, it more often pits her at ease. If your relaxed maybe she can believe it will be ok. You make her feel safe.

○ Futaba is super funny and has so many interests and things to talk about - it just takes some time to pull it out of her. You can go back and forth in conversarion about your favourite things for hours

○ Gamer couple extraordinaire, you have a common interest in that thay really roots your conversations. Its how you first get to get Futaba to talk to you more than a peep, and something you can either debate or agree on endlessly!

HEADCANONS

○ Futaba would never tell you but she spends hours researching fun facts about things you like to try to impress you. You like nurse sharks? Here's a cool.obscure fact about them she found. Dancing? Here's a super cool new dance she found a video of. She remembers the little things and tries to show it whenever she can in her own way.

○ Futaba is a light eater. You like the same goods though, which is your gain, as you always get to finish her burgers.

○ Detective movies become games on whi can guess the plot twist faster. Or, Futaba will show you old obscure mysteries to see if she can finally find a movie that will stump you. Movie nights are frequent.

○ I feel like you're a memey person, and so is Futaba. You have 100 inside jokes and references that only some people ever get but they make you two laugh all the time

[mochegato]

Even the Losers

Chapter 18

Chapter 1     Chapter 17

Mari waved up at Nightwing before turning toward the café.  He grinned and waved back.  No sense of embarrassment at getting caught like Red Robin had the day before.  She didn’t know enough about him to know if it was because he wasn’t hiding, Red Robin had given him a warning that she knew someone would be there, or because he had no sense of embarrassment, or most likely, a combination of all of those.

Adrien looked up and grinned too.  “What time did he take over?”

Marinette shrugged and cut through the café’s outdoor seating.  “Later than yesterday.  When did Dick leave?  It was some time after that.”

Adrien looked at him for a moment and shook his head. He looked back at Marinette before the memory of sleep deprived Marinette hit him.  He grimaced.  It was hit or miss whether she would be funny, emotional, or a danger to herself. If Batman was the same… “I really hope Batman doesn’t have a day job because with all the all-nighters he’s pulling, he would have to be a zombie at work.”

Marinette giggled at the idea.  “Can you imagine Batman with a day job?  What do you think he does?  Like, could you imagine him as a kindergarten teacher?”  Marinette’s giggles grew into full blown laughter. She finally was able to gasp out, “Batman complimenting some little kid’s rainbow and assuring them that making the entire rainbow the same color was extremely creative and beautiful.  Or trying to guess what animal they drew.”

Adrien laughed and patted her arm to get her to stop.  “Wait, wait. Batman crouching next to a toddler and explaining for the eighth time in the last three minutes that Pete the Cat is in fact a cat, not a dog before patting them on the head and walking away to scream into a nap mat.”

Marinette Laughed hard enough she almost missed the door handle.  She jumped when Adrien suddenly grabbed her arm.  She turned to him wide eyed but she immediately relaxed.  He was bouncing on the balls of his feet with excitement.  “No, no, no.  A PA to some… NO, to M. Wayne!  Batman as M. Wayne’s PA.  Oh my God, can you imagine?”

Marinette giggled and shook her head at him, pushing through the door.  Well, that would certainly explain why the bats seemed so close to the Waynes.  She spotted Duke and waved.  He jumped up and waved them over.  “Hey, Duke.  I hope you don’t mind that I brought Adrien.”

“Not at all,” Duke gave them both a hug.  He looked toward the bathroom with a smile. “Good to see you again, man.  I hope you don’t mind that Cass and I both brought someones too.”  Cass and Stephanie were walking toward them with a red headed woman in a wheelchair. Duke leaned toward them and lowered his voice so the women approaching couldn’t hear him.  “Brought is a really liberal term for what happened.  I am so sorry.  I knew we shouldn’t have mentioned meeting with you in front of Stephanie.”

“Hey Cass,” Marinette called out.  She and Adrien waved at her.  “Good to see you again, Stephanie.”

Cass waved back and nodded with a wide smile. “Marinette!” Stephanie chirped. “I’d say what a coincidence we ran into you guys here…”

“But that would be a lie,” Barbara finished for her. “Hi,” she held out her hand for them, “I’m Barbara.”

Marinette smiled and stepped forward to shake her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.  I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Well yeah we crashed,” Stephanie rolled her eyes and dropped into a seat across from Marinette.  She sent a playful glare toward Duke.  “You guys have been keeping her all to yourselves all week.  It’s our turn to hang out with her again.  Not to mention I wanted to catch up with the woman who fed the Riddler’s own balls to him for everyone to see.”

“And we wanted to see how you’re doing after it,” Barbara added with a chastising look to Stephanie.  She turned to side eye Duke.  “We tried to check with the boys but they were less than helpful.”

Marinette shrugged and leaned back slightly, not enough for anyone else in the café to notice but everyone else at the table picked up on it.  “I’m fine. It wasn’t bad.  More embarrassed he caught me in the first place.”

Stephanie waved her off.  “Please,” she scoffed.  “He had to knock out like an entire block just to get you.  That’s better than some of the bats.”

“Well, you look like you’re healing well,” Barbara nodded with a supportive smile.

Marinette smiled as naturally as she could and tried to control how much she was shifting in her seat.  She really, really hated talking about the whole thing with not only people who didn’t know she had been a superhero, but with the Waynes after that dinner, so that was two strikes against discussing this right now.

She’d been able to joke about it and moan about how contrived the whole setup with Alya and Nino.  They’d laughed all night about the audacity.  Not only had he thought he could stump her with a question about Chat Noir, he thought he would win against her in a game that relied on luck or rather bad luck not striking.  It was almost enough to make her forget the way the dinner had ended.  It was exactly what she had needed.  But she couldn’t do that here.

“Yeah,” she chuckled anxiously.  “My cheek seems to be doing well.  I’m hoping I can cover it with makeup by next week.”

“How’s your shoulder?” Duke asked motioning toward the shoulder she’d rammed into the doorframe when she was running away.

Marinette blinked at him a few times before she quirked her head to the side, her face scrunching in confusion.  “How did you know about that?”

She could see the rest of the table tense up, Adrien included but for the same reason as her, confusion on how he’d known. She had no idea why the rest were tensing up.  Duke chuckled awkwardly, sending looks over to the women at the table.  “He’s covering for me,” Barbara finally spoke up.

“Why is… what is he covering up for?” Marinette asked cautiously.

“My father is the police commissioner,” she said quietly.  “I may have snuck a look at the police report… slightly illegally… and read about your injuries.”

Marinette shook her head.  “But, I didn’t tell them about that.”

“No,” Barbara acknowledged, “but Signal did.”

Marinette nodded, trying to process that information. “Huh,” was all she managed to eke out. Her mind raced trying to figure out what to say next.  She was saved from trying to figure out how to move the conversation along by the waiter. The topic seemed to fade away naturally as everyone put in their order.

As soon as the waiter left, Duke clapped his hands with a bright smile.  “So, Steph, you said again.  I take it you guys have met before?”

“At the gala,” Adrien nodded.  “Only briefly though.  We,” he motioned between him and Stephanie, “spoke for a little bit, but Marinette only spoke with her for a few seconds.”

Stephanie grimaced at the reminder.  “Yeah… not exactly the ideal meeting.”

Marinette waved her off.  “Not your fault.  Don’t worry about it.”  She sent her a sincere smile.

“No,” Stephanie agreed.  “It’s Bruce’s.”

Cass pulled out a credit card with a wicked grin. “On Bruce.”

Barbara nodded.  “Exactly.  Therefore, this lunch is on Bruce.  Maybe we should go shopping after this too?”  She raised an eyebrow at Marinette.

Marinette giggled and shook her head.  “No, thank you.  That’s okay.  I’m good.”

Stephanie’s eyes lit up.  She leaned closer to Marinette like she was sharing a secret. “Speaking of the gala, how did you get tickets to the gala anyway?  We never figured it out.”  Barbara groaned lightly and smacked her on the shoulder.  They had just changed the subject.  Marinette probably did not want to talk about the gala, where they raved about their family and the newest member, which was not her and did not did not include her.

Instead of freezing up or withdrawing, like Barbara worried she would, Marinette started laughing.  Her eyes were sparkling with mirth.  She leaned closer to them over the table and lowered her voice. “I pimped out my friend,” she confided with a smirk.

The rest of the table froze until Adrien groaned and Stephanie and Duke started laughing loud enough to draw disapproving looks from neighboring tables.  Cass raised an eyebrow, but her lips were quirked up in amusement.  “Say that again,” Barbara prompted.

Marinette shrugged and took a sip of her drink.  “I don’t know if it counts as pimping if he did it willingly.  He was willing to do it for Max.”

“Oh my God, Marinette.”  Adrien ran his hand over his face in exasperation.

“What exactly was he willing to do?” Barbara’s voice was now less amused and more wary.

“That was the worst possible way to say it,” Adrien groaned.

“You know, maybe I don’t want to know the answer to that…” Barbara hedged.  She leaned away from Marinette cautiously.

Marinette laughed at Adrien’s frustration and bumped his shoulder with hers.  “I offered up a date with Luka Coffaine to Audrey Bourgeois’ PA in exchange for the tickets she turned down,” she explained.

There was absolute silence for a few seconds until Stephanie broke the silence.  “You know Luka Coffaine?” she yelled.  

Everyone in the café turned slowly to look at them. Marinette’s eyes widened and looked around at them.  She gave them an awkward smile and a wave before turning back to the table.  Before she could chastise Stephanie, Cass was already on top of it.  She pointed sternly around the restaurant and back at Stephanie.  Stephanie nodded guiltily.  “Yeah, yeah.  Sorry.” She turned back to Marinette excitedly. “I just…” she lowered her voice and leaned closer to Marinette.  “You know Luka Coffaine?”

Marinette rolled her eyes at her excitement.  It was always so bizarre to see people’s reaction to Luka.  It was Luka. Just Luka.  Calm, reserved, laidback Luka.  The hysteria around his name just never seemed to fit.  “Yeah, I mean, we dated for a while so… yeah.”

“You dated Luka Coffaine!” Stephanie yelled again, receiving glares from everyone at the table.  Marinette shrunk down in her chair and gave a strained, apologetic smile to the rest of the café.  Cass slapped Stephanie’s shoulder and shook her head.  Stephanie waved her off and focused back on Marinette.  “Yeah, yeah.  Discretion.  Whatever. She dated Luka freaking Coffaine,” Stephanie insisted, motioning to Marinette.

“You dated Tim Drake,” Duke pointed out.

Stephanie snorted.  “That’s just Tim.  He’s just a big dork.  She dated…”

“Yeah we got it,” Barbara cut her off.

“Really, so is Luka,” Adrien shrugged.  “Probably more so, just about music.”  Marinette cocked her head to the side in thought for a few seconds before nodding in agreement.  He really was.

“Holy shit.  Did he introduce you to his dad?”  Stephanie was bouncing in her seat at the idea and the potential for an inside scoop on Jagged Stone.

“No,” Marinette answered.  She smiled internally at the way all their faces, except for Adrien’s fell, just a bit, almost imperceptibly, as if trying to hide their disappointment.  “I already knew him.”

“You know Jagged Stone?” Stephanie yelled. Marinette cringed as she sent the other patrons another apologetic smile.

Duke leaned over closer to her so he could whisper in her ear, though his voice intentionally carried across the table. “Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this anymore.”

“No!” Stephanie screeched, before catching what she did and settling down, a mask of composure settling on her face.  “I’m fine now.  I just needed to get that out.  I’m calm.” She stared at them for a few seconds before almost lunging across the table.  Adrien deftly moved his and Marinette’s drinks before she knocked them over in her zeal.  “Please tell me more.”

Marinette’s eyes widened and she started laughing.  “You realize you’re basically a daughter to the richest man in the world.  If you wanted to meet Jagged Stone, you could.”

Cass shook her head.  “Different.”

Barbara nodded.  “She’s right it is different.  You dated his son.  That’s a different type of knowing someone.”

“So you met Luka through Jagged?” Stephanie pressed.

Marinette suddenly looked uncomfortable.  She was not really excited to talk about their family dynamic and secrets.  It was a little too close to her own and she really, really wanted to move past that, not dwell on it more.  “No… I met Luka through my friend Juleka, his sister.  We went to school together for ages.  They’re both some of my best friends.”

“And she introduced you to Jagged?” Duke asked curiously.  He could tell something was off about this based on the way Marinette responded, but he wasn’t sure what.

“No… um…” she stuttered.  “I met Jagged through a school project.  Designed some sunglasses for him and we’ve been close ever since.”  Adrien grabbed her hand and squeezed it under the table

Stephanie looked between the two of them and plastered on a bright smile.  “So what I’m hearing is you can hook us up with some tickets next time he comes into town.”

Marinette laughed lightly.  “Either one of us could, yes.”

“Or for Clara Nightengale,” Adrien added in. “She loves Marinette, too.  She wanted her in one of her videos.”

“She wanted you in it too,” Marinette reminded him.

“No,” he corrected her, “Gabriel got me into it. She just had to deal with it.  She didn’t choose me.  She chose you.  She worked to get you in the video.”

Marinette opened her mouth to refute that but snapped it shut quickly as the words resonated in her head.  She meant more because Clara chose her.  He was thrust on Clara.  But it didn’t mean he was unwanted.  She looked down at her food and took a bite, trying to cover her sudden inability to breathe.  Trying to give herself time to process.  She needed to pack that away for later when she could properly unpack that statement, deconstruct it, and then finally reconstruct it in some skewed, perverted version of the original situation.

Adrien immediately froze seeing her reaction. He opened his mouth to say something but Marinette squeezed his hand under the table before he could, a silent message they could talk about it later, when they were alone, or at least not with an audience comprised of Waynes.

“So how did you meet Mons…” she stuttered.  It felt strange to call him M. Wayne when everyone else at the table was calling him Bruce.  Should she call him Bruce too?  Like they did.  Like Dick did?  Or B, like Jason did?  “…M. Wayne?” she finally settled on.

Duke grimaced.  They had a cover story, but was he really going to give Bruce’s daughter the cover story?  The truth involved Batman.  But Bruce hadn’t told her about that part of their lives yet, and even if he had told her, he certainly hadn’t told Adrien.  “It’s a long story…”

Marinette smiled encouragingly at him.  “We have time.” She saw him falter and felt her own smile falter.  She took note of the way the women had frozen up as well.  God, what was she doing?  M. Wayne had said how they met.  Why was she bringing that up now?  What was she thinking?  Even if he was okay discussing that trauma, he probably didn’t want to open up about it with a stranger.  

“You don’t have to tell me,” she assured him.  “It’s… it’s fine.”  She looked around desperately for something else to talk about, a change of topic to make the conversation not so awkward.  “You graduate from school next year, right?”  Duke blinked a few times before he let out a breath and nodded.  She let out a breath as well when the rest of the table seemed to relax at her question.  “Do you have plans for after you graduate?  Are you going to take a gap year or go to university or get a job?”

“I haven’t really decided yet.  Go to Gotham University, I guess,” he shrugged.

Marinette smiled disarmingly at him.  “You don’t have to decide now.  You have time.”

The waiter interrupted Marinette’s response with their food.  They gave their thanks and started eating.  “So what have you missed the most while you’ve been here?” Barbara asked.

“My parents’ cooking definitely,” Marinette grinned as she looked at her food. It didn’t look bad, but compared to her parents’ cooking… well not much compared.  “And the atmosphere.  Gotham is…” she looked around them as she thought of an unoffensive way to end that sentence.

“Dreary as Hell,” Stephanie finished for her.  “Yeah, we know.”

“I swear you guys have more gargoyles than we do though, which is just strange to me,” Adrien added.  “We were supposed to have the market cornered on gothic architecture.”

“Oh, you still do.  We just took the most depressing, dismal, gloomy, nightmare inducing parts and ran with it,” Duke grinned.  “But I would like to see Paris sometime.  Go see the Eiffel Tower… and jump off it.”

Barbara, Stephanie, and Cass all groaned at him.  Barbara gave him a stern look and pointed a warning finger in his face. “Not during the day.”

Duke laughed at her.  “Well I’m not going to do it at night.”

“Do it at sunrise,” Marinette advised.  “Less gendarmerie around then and if you angle it correctly, you get the most gorgeous view of the sunrise.”

“Bring sunglasses if you jump that way though.  I didn’t and I saw spots for hours.  Oh, and stretch first too,” Adrien added.  “You’re going to have to parkour for quite a while to try to ditch the GN.”

The rest of the table stared at them, jaws dropped in shock.  There was absolute silence at the table except for the sounds of Marinette sipping her drink and Adrien chewing his food. “You’ve…” Duke started almost too in awe to be able to finish the sentence.  “You’ve jumped off the Eiffel Tower?”

Marinette nodded and motioned between the two of them.  “Both of us have.  Both during an akuma attack and not.  Not was much preferable to during.”

“Isn’t that illegal?” Stephanie asked slowly.  She was like 90% positive it was but during akuma attacks, who knew what was legal anymore and Hell, maybe they had days where they gave exceptions. Stranger things have happened.

Marinette speared a bit of food and pointed it at her.  “Only if you get caught.”  She popped the food in her mouth with a triumphant grin.

Barbara blinked at her a few times and shook her head because dear God, there was another one.  She was going to fit right in.  No wonder she and Duke got along so well.  Both creative, smart, kind, thrill seeking, dumbasses.  “I’m pretty sure that’s not how that works,” she deadpanned.

Adrien shrugged and took a sip of his drink.  “I don’t know.  We didn’t get arrested, so I’m pretty sure it is.”

Duke and Stephanie started laughing hysterically.  They looked over at Cass with raised eyebrows when they settled down. Cass stared intently at Marinette and Adrien for a few seconds, staring into them like she was reading their souls. Marinette and Adrien looked at each other with identical unsure looks and subconsciously leaned back at the same time, shuffling in their seats.  Cass stared at them for just a few more seconds before she nodded.

“Holy shit,” Duke muttered in awe.  “You were telling the truth.”

Marinette looked back over at Adrien for an explanation he clearly didn’t have, judging by the blank look on his face before looking back at Duke.  “Uh… yeah?”

“What just happened?” Adrien asked tentatively.

“Sorry about that,” Barbara sent them a disarming smile.  “Cass is kind of like a human lie detector.  She is exceptionally good at telling if someone is lying.  She just confirmed that you two were not.”

Marinette blinked at Barbara a few times before turning to Cass and blinking at her.  “Huh… good to know,” she nodded slowly.  Her eyes stayed on Cass but it was clear her mind was running a mile a minute behind them.  After a few seconds she spoke up again.  “Can you tell the lies people tell themselves too?”

Cass quirked her head to the side and studied Marinette for a moment and shook her head.  “Have to know.”

Marinette nodded and silently took a bite of her food. “Well, that has to come in handy,” Adrien chirped.  “Remind me to take you with me when I meet people.”

Marinette could feel eyes boring into her.  She looked back over at Cass and raised a curious eyebrow at her.  “Hero,” she finally said.

Marinette coughed for a second and looked back at her with her most convincing blank look.  “I’m sorry.  What?”

Cass nodded toward Marinette.  “Eiffel Tower.”

Marinette chuckled disarmingly and shook her head. “You think I’m a lot more honorable than I am.  You think it’s more likely that I was a hero than that I knowingly, intentionally, purposefully violated the law for fun.”  She leaned closer to Cass with a smirk.  “But I can assure you, I regularly did.”

The others at the table looked to Cass.  She quirked her head to the side and gave a small smile before nodding.  “Truth.”  Cass pointed to herself.  “Next time.”

Marinette grinned and nodded excitedly. “Absolutely.”

Duke cleared his throat.  “And Duke,” Cass added.

Marinette chuckled.  “Of course.  We can make a New Kids Club event out of it.”

“And me!” Stephanie chirped.

Barbara sighed and turned to Adrien.  “Dick said you had a job interview yesterday.  How did it go?”

Marinette beamed at Adrien as he responded. Adrien’s face lit up.  “It went well I think.  I think I’d really enjoy working there!  I met the department chair and other professors.  It looks like a really supportive department and University, very research oriented.”

“Where is it?” Duke asked between bites.

“Metropolis,” Adrien answered, his fondness he’d already developed for the city bleeding into his tone.

“Oooh, Conner lives there.  If you’re still deciding if you want to live there or if you need a tour guide, or recommendations on where to eat, he’d be more than happy to help,” Stephanie offered.

Marinette’s smile turned into a pointed smirk and Adrien groaned quietly.  “Conner, did you say?”

Stephanie looked between them, her brow furrowing in confusion.  “Yeah?”

“That wouldn’t happen to be Tim’s single friend would it?”  Her eyes never left Adrien as she asked, her smirk somehow getting even sharper.

Adrien groaned even louder when he looked over and saw Cass’ smile matched Marinette’s and Duke and Stephanie both had devious, familiar looking glints in their eyes.  This was clearly payback for all his attempts to set Marinette and Chloe up with different people.  “Why yes, yes it is.  How about that,” Duke grinned.

Cass pulled out her phone and moved her finger around the screen for a second then finally looked up with an innocent looking smile.  Adrien groaned and dropped his head into his hands.  “I’m not even in this family.  Why am I being punished?”

Barbara laughed and popped a bit of food in her mouth. “That’s funny.  You think just because there’s no paperwork, you haven’t been adopted already.  I made that mistake at first too.”

Chapter 19

Tags:

@maribat-bdbwm @jayjayspixiepop @redscarlet95 @alice-hazelwood @deathssilentapproach-blog @unoriginalmess @alyssadeliv @emotionalsupportginger @frieddonutsweets @when-no-wings-do-broomsticks @toodaloo-kangaroo @colorfulmongerpsychicranch @iloontjeboontje @wolf-for-life @maribatserver @aespades @prettylittlebutterflie @imarivers8  @ certainmuffinbagelcalzone @ritacrow-blog @unoriginalmess @demonicbusiness @kking13 @lady-bee-fechin @blur-of-colours @kittenmywaythrulife @kashlyn @loysydark @nerd-nowandforever

[s-brant]

Baby Names

(gif: @mishellejones) (SERIES MASTERLIST)

Summary: Y/N gets frustrated while putting the crib for her and JJ’s baby together and finds herself missing her dead brother more than ever.

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Fluff and minor angst.

A/N: Asks and ye shall receive, here’s a little blurb about what happens after Tokens! You don’t really have to read the other parts to enjoy this fic if you don’t want to, but I do recommend it for some backstory. This was slightly inspired by this fic by @cognacdelights, so go give her stuff a read! Let me know if you liked this. Have fun!

Y/N Routledge thought she got over her brother's death long ago.

Though you never truly "get over" losing a loved one, though there will always be a small part of you, however small, that aches for their presence again, she thought she moved past the tragedy to the best of her ability...until last week.

To say that the pregnancy was a surprise would be the understatement of the century. She and JJ were both on the same page about children when their relationship began, and that page was that neither of them wanted them yet. Sure, the idea of it in the future stirred their hearts with fond emotion, but considering that they had yet to graduate high school and barely scraped by on their own, they weren't jumping headfirst into that aspect of adulthood.

They were meticulous about safe sex. They couldn't afford another mouth to feed, she wasn't sure she could handle the emotional trauma of having an abortion, and, underneath it all, he had some reservations about being a father. It wasn't that he didn't envision a future with kids in their relationship, he did, but the topic of fatherhood always took him down a dark path within his mind.

So, she went on birth control once they started dating and they went along with no scares for the next six years as they graduated and started figuring out what the next step for their lives was going to be.

Y/N could get lost thinking about it, honestly, but she tries not to get too swept up in the minor mistake that led to this.

"You, my friend, need to stop moving around in there," she whispers down at her protruding belly with a hand cradling the heavy weight of it, "I'm trying to get your crib set up without JJ yelling at me for not asking for help, and if you don't stop kicking me, I'm not gonna get anything done."

She's sprawled out on the floor in the living room of the Chateau with her legs stretched comfortably in each direction while she hunches over to read the directions of the Ikea furniture. The sugarcoated description makes her want to hunt down the company CEO for sport, because for how "simple and easy!" the construction of it claims to be, she is at her wits end.

The last thing she needed after having her grief over John B's death reignited by their decision to name their kid after him last week was to stress herself out over something as stupid as this, but she won't quit. With how much JJ has been coddling her the further into the pregnancy she gets, she wanted to prove that she could do something for herself.

Whenever she brings in the groceries from the car and goes to lift the bag of dog kibble out of the trunk, he rushes up behind her back and scoops it out of the trunk before she dares to touch it. It always ends with her hollering after him that it's under twenty pounds, the upwards limit of the weight she's allowed to carry according to her doctor, but he refuses to hear any of it.

Inside of her, she feels a sharp sensation of something hitting her right in the ribs in response to her comment, and she groans in frustration. It's as if he did it because he knows she wants it to stop, the feisty little fucker.

"You're definitely your daddy's son, aren't you? It's already enough having one of him, the last thing I need is a JJ clone."

Their three-year-old Rottweiler rescue huffs a sigh from where he lays, frog-legging it, on the floor next to the unboxed crib pieces she can't put together to save her life. His drooping jowls produce a puddle of slobber on the her favorite carpet that is past the point of saving from his constant wear and tear. After a year of having him, she decided to stop trying to prevent him from ruining it. There’s no point.

She smiles at him as she leans forward to read through the directions for the billionth time, saying, "I actually think he'll be a lot like his uncle, but that's just me. If he isn't, I'll feel a little stupid over the name situation."

John Booker Routledge-Maybank.

Hell of a name if you ask her yourself, but for every internal struggle it reopened inside of her, she couldn't help but love it as soon as JJ casually proposed the idea on his way out of the door for work one morning.

Going on without John B has been a learning experience in every aspect. Any time she wanted to turn to him for advice or tell him something about the recent events in her life, she had to walk out back to their dying magnolia tree and sit under the shade to talk to the wind. Then, once the tree finally died and they were forced to cut it down, she took to sitting on its stump and doing it there.

It got easier as time went on, but she can't keep herself from wondering what it'd be like if he didn't die ever since she saw the results on the pregnancy test six months ago. Whenever she does something like going to her OBGYN appointments or, case in point, setting up the crib, she pictures him there.

She can see him here now, petting Bowie's shiny coat until he falls asleep with his head propped onto John B's outstretched legs. He'd be twenty-three years old by now with his life barely starting to blossom to its full potential, yet here they are. Correction, here she is, and he's off somewhere at the bottom of the ocean, already decomposed to the extent that not even his bones can be salvaged anymore.

Her chest sinks in another sigh, and she flips through page after page of the instructions with increasing aggression.

"This crib is so fucking—"

"What are you doing?"

The sound of her yelping in surprise at JJ's voice coming from the door is enough to make him laugh to himself, though his amusement is buried partway by what he's walking in on. He specifically asked her to wait for him to put the crib together, knowing damn well it wouldn't be the easy task she thought it was, but he should've known she'd do it anyway.

She looks over her shoulder with a mixture of guilt and frustration painting her features as she throws her hands up in the air and gestures vaguely to the unassembled crib. Her eyes are shining with the rapid onset of hormone-induced tears.

"I can't put this crib together 'cause the instructions aren't right, all the pieces are labeled wrong, your son won't stop kicking me, and I miss my brother so much right now," she spews the words with no pauses to breathe until the very end, when she stops short to suck down a breath as soon as she gets the last part out.

It leaves JJ standing at the entrance to the house with this stunned expression.

There's no amusement to be found anymore. Once she turned and flashed those wide, teary eyes that never fail to spark an ache in his heart at him, his tired smile vanished and his feet started moving before he could say anything to her.

The floorboards creak beneath his half-laced boots on his way across the room to her. It prompts Bowie to pop his head up from around the side of the coffee table to catch a peek of whoever it is that's approaching his emotionally distraught owner. Upon seeing JJ's familiar face, the dog relaxes back into his lounging position atop the carpet and tracks JJ’s movements until he's seated next to her.

"This is about John B?" he asks.

Her cheeks are flushed in embarrassment at her sudden outburst, and she can't bear to meet his gaze right now. Despite him being her closest friend and husband, she feels as small and vulnerable as she did six years ago when she first learned of her brother's death from Shoupe. Time might as well be shaped in the form of a never-ending circle for them, directing them back to their seventeen-year-old state of mind every time things turn sour.

Y/N finally lifts her hanging head to look over at him after another few seconds and thinks she might crumble at the look on his face. He hates watching her cry.

"I guess," she says through a sniffle, "It's about the crib too, but I've been thinking about it a lot more since we picked the name. Our baby’s gonna grow up never knowing who his uncle was..."

With that, JJ takes it as his cue to pull her closer.

He scoots up behind her and lets his chin rest on the curve bridging her neck and shoulder together as he twines his arms around her body. It's a closeness that's as natural as breathing for him, so natural that he can hardly remember the years before it became normal for them to take part in little moments of intimacy like this. The warmth of their bodies cohabitates in the blurred line distinguishing where she ends and he begins, and he feels her relax, sagging in his embrace in appreciation of his miraculous ability to make her feel better no matter how worked up she is.

One of his hands rests on the swell of her bump in an absentminded effort to calm him too. Even though he isn't consciously thinking of it, he knows that her distress must upset the baby too. The contact steadies her, keeps her grounded to the moment rather than allowing her to slip away into the current of her negative thoughts, and she clings to every word he has to say.

He says, "You and I both know that isn’t true. He's gonna grow up seeing all the pictures you have of John B and ask about him all the time. And we'll tell him all the stories"—there's a pause of contemplation as he recalls a few particularly non-PG memories of his best friend—"Well, maybe not all of them, but you know what I mean."

This draws a soft bout of laughter from deep within her chest that he feels with how her body shakes ever so slightly with it. It seems so wrong to laugh with tears in her eyes but she can't help it. Her emotions have been scattered in every direction since the pregnancy began, and it has only gotten worse the further along she gets.

"If you ever tell him about the kief incident, I'm never giving you a bl—"

His free hand smushes over her mouth before she can say the rest.

"Don't even think about finishing that sentence.”

It's said so frantically, it makes her erupt in laughter hard enough to tickle her abdomen muscles with the aching sensation of it. The vibration of it under his palm makes him drop his hand a second later with the need to hear the beautiful sound. After seeing her cry, it's a welcome shift in mood, even if it's at his expense.

Her head is thrown back on his shoulder, mouth parted into a smile with the gleeful giggling filling the room. His stomach churns with butterflies at the sight of her. Even after all these years, he has the same reaction to her laughter every time. It makes him smile to himself and watch her in quiet reverence. It makes him ache with the same inklings of longing he felt for the first time when he was much younger.

Her laughter begins to die down by the time she can draw enough breath in to murmur a soft, "Sorry, angel," to him and reach down to hold the hand he rests on her belly as consolation for her joke.

They remain this way for another few minutes, tangled up in each other's arms on the floor of the living room with Bowie snoring a few feet away, before he manages to convince her to let him be the one to set up the crib instead. It takes a good five minutes of playful back and forth before she concedes under the condition that he'll let her paint the nursery by herself when the time comes, and that's all it takes for her to abandon the task in favor of finding something to snack on in the fridge.

In her defense, the crib is actually quite difficult to put together.

JJ doesn't consider himself an expert handyman by any means, at least not with anything outside of his area of expertise as an electrician, but he likes to think he knows enough to put together a "no assembly required" Ikea crib without wanting to bang his face against the wall.

In the end, it gets finished by the two of them in the middle of the night over a box of cold leftover pizza from the previous day. It takes them two hours of struggling before they get it fully assembled and placed where they want it in the room that'll soon belong to their son.

He pretends not to notice her sneaking back in to tie John B's old bandana around the wooden railing before they go to bed.

Tag List: @gabiatthedisco, @fangirlvoice, @black-syren, @apparrio, @particularcth, @planetdemon, @idk-ijustworkhere, @krisphann, @astrydis, @k-k0129, @zarahsloves, and @stilesflannels.

[saturnsummer]

worthy.

When Sol gets a GPA of 2.02, the study group (and Joon Hwi) comes together to cheer her up. 

notes: another prompt by @thenerdywriter ! i wasn't sure if you meant it like this, but i hope you are satisfied! thank you for your prompt and your trust! i do apologise for the wait!

not much fluff or cliche romantic scenes, but just simple things that i hope when you read, remember your worth and never be defeated. you are worthy, loved and deserving to be appreciated. :) inbox always open!

for anyone who have sent prompts and asks, i thank you for your ideas! i have read through all your asks and am so excited to begin writing, but please understand if i can’t reply you as fast as i hoped! so sorry for this, i’ll try to address my inbox faster!! any mistakes or incorrect information will be taken responsible by me. enjoy!

edit: everyone, please don’t cry on this omg I’ve made 5 people comment their tears now and im terribly sorry for the tears.. I meant for this to be a light hearted story but looks like everyone is crying,, I’ll try not to make people cry now..

original prompt: where joon hwi and the rest of the gang shake some sense into her (sol a) about her self-esteem. 

words: 2787 words

Sol is downstairs at the lounge, holding a clear bottle of soju. She takes another swig from the plastic bottle, hoping that the alcohol can numb her heart like it does to her head. It burns, and she’s turning woozy, but she grumbles and takes another swig. 

2.02. She’s passed, at least. But she can’t help but feel upset. She wasn’t upset that she couldn’t score as well as Yeseul or BokGi, but upset that she’s satisfied with these low results. No one is going to hire her, even less offer an internship while looking at her track records. 

Sol worked her ass off for this exam. She nearly died, if it wasn’t for Yeseul’s reminders to eat. Even her cold stoned face roommate bothered to place bottles of water on her desk. Yet, after all this... 

“Why are you still up?” She hears Joon Hwi ask as he takes a seat next to her. She stays silent with a grim expression and turns away. Joon Hwi was the last person she wanted to see, especially when she’s in such a bad mod. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks as he catches her arm just as she’s about to chug her soju. 

“Everything.” She slurs. “You know I’m not even upset with my GPA? I’m upset of being happy with my shitty grades.” Joon Hwi sighs, attempting to grab her bottle away.

“I should have never came to study. I should have never tried to prove myself to be Dan!” She scolds louder. Sol knows she’s drunk in front of her best friend, but she can’t control herself. She doesn’t care. 

“Kang Sol...” Joon Hwi stands up, grabbing her bottle away from her. “You’re drunk. Go back.” 

“I don’t belong here, anyway.” Her slurs catch Joon Hwi in his steps. 

“I never once belonged with any of you. Being with all of you just drags you all further. I should just stop burdening you all with my questions and rot in a corner. Besides, no one would care.” She softly says, her voice filled with regret and guilt. 

Sol has always felt this way. Ever since she was young, Dan was always the star child. She got top grades while Sol got through in the middle rankings. Dan was always more popular, prettier, smarter. Sol learnt at a young age that no matter what, she would always be overshadowed by Dan. 

Thus, she learnt to be quiet. Only ask questions when she really needs to. Stick to familiar people. Only be loud when told to, and blend in in every situation. She learnt to depreciate herself, because no one appreciated her in the first place. 

Joon Hwi wants to shake her. He wants to write an entire dissertation on why Sol belongs to Hankuk. He wants to show her what he sees: a smart, caring, passionate lawyer-to-be. He wants to show her what he sees when she testified for Professor Yang in court. A confident, woman knowing her morals and rights.

“Kang Sol.” Joon Hwi says, pulling her up by her wrist. Sol pushes him away, but her touches are sloppy and weak. Sighing, Joon Hwi knows that it is useless to argue about her grades and her worth when she’s not even half conscious of what she’s doing. 

He grabs her coat lying on the couch, finding her phone and plans on calling Yeseul. But it’s past 1am, but he doesn’t want to trouble Yeseul. Sighing, he contemplates calling her roomie but reality smacks when he realises she’s home. Noticing how Sol is slowly nodding off, giving in to the fatigue, it leaves Joon Hwi not much of an option to carry her back.

Fishing the room key out from her coat, he takes special care in carrying her, sweeping his arm under her knee and lifting her slowly as to not disrupt her from falling asleep. The key card is in between his fingers as he slowly and quietly makes his way up to her dorm. He thanks the deities above that no one caught him or interrupted him. 

Tapping the key card, a standard ‘beep’, he pushes the door with his back, and takes care to get him and her into the dark room. He can barely see anything, especially since he has no hands to on the lights, but he makes out his way in the small room using the moonlight and what he can tell. 

Joon Hwi knows which side Sol sleeps, knowing from her stories that include her rolling from the bed up to the desk. By now, Sol was sleeping soundly, a slight snore escaping her. Gently, he sets her down on her bed and reaches to take her shoes off for her. Hanging up her coat that he placed on top of her whilst he was carrying her, he finally pulled the thick blanket over her.

But he didn’t leave just yet.

“I never once belonged with any of you.”

Sol’s words echoed in his head more than he thought it would. He stopped and bent down silently by her bed side, taking a few moments to wonder to himself just how and why does she feel so unworthy.

He grabs her bottle of water from her bag, before putting it next to her phone, which is on the table. Knelt on the floor, he observes the slow rise of her chest and the way her eyes flutter and nose twitch when Sol sleeps. Just how can someone like Sol think she’s any less than what he sees?

“You belong here in Hankuk. I’ll show you just why.” His whisper barely audible, as he brushes away a stray hair on her face. With that, he takes his leave and sneaks back to his dorm. (Without getting caught)

-----

The next day, after two painkillers and a big bowl of hangover soup (left mysteriously by someone at their pantry), Sol is headed to study group. She is running a few minutes early than their scheduled timing, but she’s surprised to find the group huddled in hushed whispers. 

“What are you all looking at?” Sol asks, as she sets her book at her usual corner opposite Joon Hwi. BokGi lets out a startled yelp and Yebeom clamps his mouth shut. Sol isn’t surprised to see Jiho crowded there, but is even more shocked to see Sol B crowded with them too. If it was anything, Sol B wouldn’t crowd around and discuss things, unless it concerned herself, or benefitted her grades.

“What...” Sol leans over and raises her eyebrows. Yeseul’s eyes dart nervously and she breaks into a smile. The rest of the group just shuffles back to their seats murmuring under their breath.

“Nothing, unnie! They were just discussing on what to order for lunch.” Yeseul says as she walks over to Sol and takes her bag and books from her, before setting it on the table. “Unnie, shall we get coffees?” Yeseul escorts her out of the room before Sol could react. Sol assumes that it’s due to her hangover that Yeseul is suggesting coffee, thus just following and getting a cold brew and assorted drinks for the others. 

When she returns, they distribute the drinks and start discussing on what to study. 

“Noona, do you have anything?” BokGi asks, a little too enthusiastically. Sol is taken aback and lost for words. She usually just follows whatever the rest want, since answering her questions will take hours. Joon Hwi gives a sympathetic smile. 

“How about you share with us about a recent case? Remember the one that Professor Kim liked in particular?” Joon Hwi suggests. Sol grows quiet. Her? The worst student? Sol let’s out an uncertain laugh.

“Ah, me? I rather my roomie shares. She did better than me.” Sol says, then prepares a fresh document for note taking on her laptop.

“I didn’t do well.” Sol B says quietly, her eyes emotionless as usual, leaning back into the chair. “You did the best. Go on.” Sol is stunned and just nods uncertainly. Taking out her case notes and her reports that she submitted, she nervously discusses the topic on hand. She sneaks Joon Hwi a couple of questioning stares but he only pretends to not catch her eyes.

Everyone is enthusiastic, asking questions and when Sol is stumped, they jump in to help her. They suggest ideas and Sol has never felt so energised by their energy before. She find it fishy how Joon Hwi just sits back and she can feel him smiling whenever she makes a point right or figures out a missing link.

An hour later, when they are done expanding on Sol’s case and discussing, they break for a late lunch together.  Yebeom enters the room with bags of food, as usual over ordering. As they pass out containers of jjampong and jjajamyeon, Sol’s eyes light up when she saw the only thing that mattered in the whole order: her beloved pickles, in doubled servings. 

What Sol doesn’t expect is for JiHo to dump his packet of pickles on her container of noodles. 

“JiHo-ah, why...” Sol is dumbfounded for a moment as JiHo opens his pack of noodles to stir. JiHo only pushes up his glasses. 

“You can have them, noona.” Sol is even more dumbfounded. This was the first time JiHo has called her noona. She didn’t care for the honourifics, and JiHo could call her by her full name for all she cared. But hearing those words from Seo JiHo’s mouth, just made her think everyone was utterly suspicious today.

“Okay, everyone is being weird. What is this?” Sol announces, hoping her tone came out fun, with no hints of anger. 

“Nothing! We just know you’ve been feeling stressed, so JiHo decided to give you his share of pickles, right?” BokGi quips up, as he dives into taking the sauce to pour over the tangsuyuk, before Yebeom and him argue over pouring or dipping. 

Sol, still feeling suspicious, breaks her chopsticks just as Joon Hwi picks up a pickle from her plastic saucer to put on her noodles. Her eyes dart from his chopstick to his face, but he just nods at her pickles, expressions hard to read.

Sol crunches on her pickles, but it does nothing to soothe the feeling that everyone was aware of something, but her. 

-----

The rest of the week was a puzzle piece that Sol could not fix together.

She woke up everyday to a new message by Joon Hwi, sometimes sending her funny videos, or a simple “let’s get through this together”. She woke up once to her roomie handing her breakfast and coffee. It just didn’t click in Sol’s head to see the cold Sol B hand her a sandwich and coffee.

Their group chat was undoubtedly noisy, but even more so now. Something in common was how the more chatty ones would ask Sol for advice or chat and strike noisy conversations. She was used to the chaos, but she definitely didn’t feel used to having the attention on her.

As the group had earned different internships from small and large firms, Sol was going to be left in school alone, still applying and hoping for one to come her way. Her study group knew about it, and instead continued to encourage her about it. They avoided talk on their internships, and actively tried to help Sol. While Sol was grateful, she couldn’t help but wish that they would just act normal and not worry about her.

She chose to meet them for breakfast on the day of their internships. The meal was noisy as usual as they ate their sandwiches and gimbaps. They were dressed smartly in their suits with their briefcases. Sol made a fuss over everyone looking smart on their first day.

“Hurry up and eat, you’re going to be late for your internship!” Sol scolded BokGi as he and Yebeom threw comments back and forth. Everyone was off for theirs and ready with their jackets and bags. Walking with them to the door, she couldn’t help but feel like a mom to her kids, sending them to school.

“Noona! Check your table later in the libra-” Yebeom gleefully mused before BokGi clamped his mouth shut and JiHo (with much irritation) smacked his head silently.

“What?” Sol asks, turning to Joon Hwi, who was turning redder by the second. Joon Hwi closes his eyes, the same way he does when he’s embarrassed and looks away from her.

“Listen to Yebeom and check the table.” He says, finally looking at her. “We’ll see you for dinner then.” Waving a quick goodbye, the group walked away from her towards the carpark where they separated to the bus stops or in the direction of the train station.

“O-Okay…” she mutters, still confused as she carries her books and bag to her usual table at the library. She would have went to sulk at Professor Kim’s office for a while, but she instead chose to head straight to study. Professor Kim had enough on her plate and she wasn’t ready just yet to face Professor Kim with her mood.

There, at her table, lies her stack of books.

Normal, nothing out of the ordinary. Huffing out, she slumps her bag on her table, gathering the post its on the bar above the table. Most of them were just plain comments, like how she had to stop slamming her pen into her hand (it distracted students) or move out of the library cause there aren't enough seats. Opening her book on civil code, she was ready to start drilling her head before meeting Professor Kim. 

Then she spots an envelope, hidden between the pages of the book.

Carefully, she picks it out and looks on the cream white paper, the only ink on it her name, written in neat handwriting. She could recognise Joon Hwi’s handwriting anywhere. A slight scoff escapes her lips and several students turn in annoyance. Realising that this was probably not the best place to be in, she grabs her books and bags (and the post its) and leaves the library. She heads to the empty study room, where she knows she’s be comfortable at.

Opening the flap, she slips out numerous slips of paper, varying degrees of length and sizes. Some words were neat, some were a little messy.

-----

To: Unnie <3

Sol-unnie, you know you’re smart, right? Your grades may not show that you are the best, but I know you are! Whenever I hear you discuss a case with the study group, I know you’re trying your best to memorise and improve. Don’t give up, unnie! I will support you till the end!

- Yeseul 

To: Sol-A noona

Yah, noona! You have to stop injuring yourself, okay? You gave us a really big scare the last time when you started nose bleeding in the midst of study group. Noona, don’t look at your grades anymore! If a man like me can get through law school so far pretty well, you can too! Fighting, noona! 

Noona~ you’re really talented. The fact that you scored so well during the criminal law test and managed to spot the comma just shows for amazing you are! Noona, don’t be discouraged... seeing you discouraged makes us sad too. Your favourite dongsaeng is here to help you! 

- BokGi and Yebeom 

To: Kang Sol-A

You can do it. Review your cases before classes. Get your internship.

-JiHo

To: Sol-A

Live up to your name, will you? And sleep on a regular schedule. 

- Roommate

To: Sol

Sunbae, remember me? Stop doubting yourself and trust yourself. You’re smarter than you know and fit for court. I will support you from wherever you are. I’m grateful for you, for supporting me all this time. I think Dan would be proud of you, and so will the cookie Byeol. 

Sol, you are worthy in my eyes. So stop undermining yourself. You belong in Hankuk next to me. You can’t give up now.

-Joon Hwi

-----

Sol lets a smile creep on her face as she lets a small blush rise to her face. Holding her letters to her heart, she closes her eyes, reminding herself of the past week and her friend’s efforts to cheer her on. She knew no doubt it had to be Joon Hwi who convinced everyone there to write for her despite their busy schedule. For even Sol B to help out and bother about her, it warmed her heart to have her support.

Picking her book, she pinned her hair up as she started drill into her book with a new found confidence, fuelled by her friends supporting her. But most importantly, she felt worthy. She felt loved. She felt confident. She was hopeful.

(Everyone thinks she’s worthy in their eyes, but one just thinks she’s perfect.)

[farfromharry]

The one with the party | Peter’s girl

Summary: The night of Liz Allan’s infamous house party in the suburbs

Word count - 2564

Warnings - language, slight underage drinking i guess?

━━━━━━━━━♡♥♡━━━━━━━━━

The day of Liz’s party rolled around all too quickly. Mj felt as though she needed more time to prepare, she wanted to try and look cute for Peter, ignoring your reassurances that she always looked cute. Peter wanted to desperately impress Liz, and if he was going to have to pull the Spiderman card then, so what?

Ned was ready, he’d always heard about how cool Liz’s parties were but had never been invited, him and Peter being deemed nerds that obviously no one wanted to attend their house parties. You weren’t sure how you were doing. Part of you was excited to go and spend the night having fun with your friends, all dressed up and looking cute. But the other side of you felt nervous, nervous to see Peter in such a casual setting that you hadn’t seen him in before.

Of course you’d had your group study sessions, but then the main focus was science and now, the main focus was having fun.

Things for Peter and Ned felt a lot more rushed, and that freaked Peter out a considerable amount.

As disappointing as it was, the two had never actually been to a high school party, they’d only heard about them in the halls at school, or in classes where people were meant to be working. Peter and Ned had always been seen as the nerds of Midtown, so they didn’t really get invited to anything.

You had spent the last hour on the phone listening to Mj complain about how she would have to see Peter drooling over Liz the entire time, and Liz probably gushing over Peter for introducing her to Spiderman.

“Mj I just- can’t you forget about him, just for tonight?” you begged. You wanted to spend just one night where your head wasn’t filled with thoughts of Peter Parker, and if that’s all your best friend was talking about, that’s all you were guaranteed to think about.

Mj let out a groan of frustration, flopping down on her bed with her phone still pressed to her ear.

“That’s the thing,” she whined. You could practically hear the frustration in her voice now.

“I-I can’t, he’s always on my mind and I-“ you heard her take a deep breath, letting out a sad sigh. “I’m always thinking about him.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” you whispered. You didn’t mean to intentionally say it. Hell at first you hadn’t even realised you’d said something, at least not until Mj spoke up with some questions.

“Y/N, what did you just say?” She wasn’t sure she’d heard you right, but she also thought that you didn’t mean to say that out loud, and that was confirmed by the quiet gasp she heard from your end of the phone.

You laughed nervously, trying to cover up your mistake. “N-Nothing, what do you mean?”

The girl on the other end of the phone let out an excited squeal, one that almost deafened you it was so loud.

“Y/N, do you have a crush?” she asked. Your heart was racing and you were sure that if she could see you right now she’d be able to see just how flustered you are. You hadn’t actually admitted it to anyone, and you weren’t about to start now either.

“No, I don’t know what you mean,” you teased. Even if you weren’t going to explicitly come out and say out, you presumed she took your nerves as a yes, and she wouldn’t let it go until she found out who it was. But for the sake of your friendship, you weren’t going to reveal that information anytime soon. “Anyway,” you muttered, trying to quickly change the topic so you wouldn’t further embarrass yourself.

“You aren’t getting away from this that easily, miss.”

“What time should I pick you up?” you asked, avoiding her question. Mj let out a little laugh, rolling her eyes at your childish behaviour. She threw out a time and you were quick to agree, telling her you should go so you could get ready, even if part of it was so she couldn’t interrogate you any longer.

“Love you, bye,” you rambled, quickly ending the phone call before she got another word out. You took a deep breath, letting out a groan as your head lolled back against your chair.

You decided to distract yourself by getting ready, pulling out all the stops. Mj may not know who you were trying to impress, but you certainly did, and you wanted to feel amazing.

You took a long shower, letting the hot water calm you of any nerves you had about going tonight, washing them down the drains with any other negative thoughts.

After your shower you tried to pick out some clothes, a task which should not have been so difficult. You ended up getting stumped between two options, of which you sent both to Mj.

do we go 1 or 2?

definitely 2, you’d look hot as hell ;)

You replied with a quick thank you along with a blushing emoji, slipping on the pretty dress she’d picked out. As you looked it over in the mirror you were quite happy with her pick, deciding that she definitely had good taste, well when it came to outfits that weren’t hers.

Makeup didn’t go as smooth as you planned, not when you had your best friend texting you every five minutes asking you how to do a specific part of a makeup routine. You liked that she was trying but you still couldn’t help but laugh at how utterly clueless she was.

You eventually finished, deciding you were happy and now bubbling with excitement as you searched your room for the keys to your car.

You took a few deep breaths and flattened out your dress before you finally left the house. As soon as you were in your car you were sending Mj a text to tell her you were on your way and your night of fun was finally going to begin.

»»——⍟——««

“Are you ready to party?” she cheered, startling you in your seat for a second. You rolled your eyes before you let out a quiet giggle, nodding your head enthusiastically to match her energy.

She thankfully didn’t bring up the whole ‘crush’ situation from on the phone, clearly noting how stubborn you’d been about it earlier, and there was nothing Mj hated more than trying to get information out of you when you were feeling stubborn. So for now, she’d just have to accept your secret crush and leave herself pretty much dying to know.

The ride there was filled with a happy energy you hadn’t seen from your best friend in a while. You didn’t know where it came from but it made you warm inside to see.

She was straight to the drinks in the red solo cups as soon as you stepped inside the crowded house, barely even giving Liz a greeting before she was gone, leaving an Mj shaped puff of smoke in her absence.

“Sorry about her, she’s just excited to be here.” Liz told you it wasn’t a problem, inviting you inside so you could go and find the runaway brunette.

“What was that?” you scolded, bringing up where you’d specifically told her to at least pretend to be nice to the party’s host. She shrugged her shoulders, putting up an innocent façade that you could easily see through.

Mj took her opportunity to escape the conversation when she noticed your two other friends standing awkwardly in the corner.

She pointed them out to you, the two of you laughing at the uncomfortable body language they portrayed.

“Hey losers,” she called, catching Ned and Peter’s attention. You hit her arm lightly, quietly telling her to be nice to the two, oh so clearly out of place in a party scene, boys. You flashed them both your signature kind smile, your eyes lingering on Peter as he studied the room extra nervously, like more nervous than normal.

“Are you enjoying the party?” you asked. Ned nodded rapidly, elbowing Peter in the ribs rather harshly when he rudely didn’t respond. The boy in question winced, his hand coming up to soothe the spot Ned had hit him while they had a silent conversation with their eyes.

Peter eventually flashed you a tight lipped smile, his hand still clutching his aching ribs. “Great party, yeah.”

You mentally noted that he’d dressed up, and he looked good. Not that he didn’t look good normally, but you could see the effort he’d put in tonight, even if you could still see a slither of a cute science pun shirt underneath his flannel.

“Some people are playing truth or dare, me and Y/N are gonna go play,” she explained. “Do either of you want to join?”

You’d think someone was out to get the brunette with the way Peter’s head was whipping in all directions, your heart sank when you realised he was probably searching for Liz, sending Mj a secret look.

“I-I can’t, we’re actually meeting someone here soon.” You and Mj had the exact same reaction, nodding at the two boys who were acting very suspicious, and it wasn't just their normal, painfully awkward selves.

“Spiderman, right?” Mj asked, watching as almost all colour drained from Peter’s face, leaving him a ghostly pale.

“Uh, y-yeah, he said he’d come,” he muttered, fiddling with the hem of his flannel shirt. You watched the way Peter tried to convince an unimpressed Mj that nothing suspicious was happening. Even though the girl still didn’t believe him by the time she was dragging you away from the conversation.

“Bye guys,” you whispered, sending them both a polite wave.

Once Peter was sure you were both out of earshot, he turned to Ned in a panic.

“Do you think they know, Mj seemed like she knew-“ he rambled, having to be cut off by his best friend before he got too ahead of himself.

“No one knows, calm down, I doubt Mj would figure it out,” Ned reassured, patting his friend's shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah you’re right,” he mumbled, nodding his head. Peter took another look around and spotted Liz heading straight towards them, his eyes widening. She flashed the two males a sweet smile, one that would’ve had Peter’s knees buckling if it wasn’t for the super strength.

“H-Hi Liz.” His face was decorated with a dopey smile, one that you could find cute if Liz wasn’t already feeling bad for inviting him just for Spidey.

“Hey Peter, Ned,” she greeted. “Is um, is he coming?”

Peter visually deflated, his smile dropping as the corners of his lips curled down into a rather pitiful looking frown. He nervously pulled his phone out of his back pocket, motioning to it with a subtle head now.

“Yeah, I’ll just um, check in,” he murmured. Liz nodded, sending him a small sympathetic smile as she walked away. Ned turned to his best friend with another pity smile, one that made Peter outwardly groan.

“That was sad, right, it wasn’t just me?”

“Yeah, it was pretty sad.”

Peter ran over the whole scenario in his mind again, the words ‘Liz only invited you for Spiderman’ practically screaming at him. He shouldn’t even be here right now, and he wouldn’t be if it wasn’t for Ned spilling his secret to impress Liz on his behalf.

“I should go change, cover for me?” he asked. Ned nodded, the two doing their handshake before Peter snuck out of the house.

Since the spider bite, roofs had become one of his favourite places, and with the amount of times he’d been on them without a mask covering his face, he was surprised he hadn’t gotten caught.

Peter spent the next ten or so minutes trying to psych himself up to head back inside. The boy was stuck trying different lines and different accents, practicing all the different ways he could do this, but they all sounded dumb and he was getting annoyed.

Peter jolted at the sudden deafening roar from the mysterious blast behind him, his head whipping around to stare in shock at the strange blue cloud rising up from the ground a few miles away. His heart began racing and he was torn.

Be made a fool of by not having Spiderman show up to the party, or let those weapons dealers get away again.

Meanwhile you were trying to pry a tipsy Mj off of your side. “I’ll be right back,” she groaned, trying to keep you down on the floor next to her with her death grip on your arm, drunk Mj was a nightmare.

“I’m getting a drink M, i’ll come straight back.”

She stubbornly let go of you, her pouty face following you as you left the room with an amused giggle.

The drinks were all the way in the kitchen, and it was pretty sparse in there by now, most people were either in the backyard or doing, you don’t even wanna know what, in the many guest rooms in Liz’s huge house.

You took a moment to take in the relatively quiet atmosphere, leaning against the windows of the kitchen to look out over the part of the city that was visible.

It always looked beautiful all lit up at night, no matter what kind of area you were looking from.

What you didn’t expect to see however, was a red and blue suited hero sitting on a rooftop across from the house.

Your heartbeat quickened, glancing around to see if anyone was there, which thankfully they weren’t. When you’d heard Peter telling Liz about Spiderman in gym class, you didn’t expect him to be telling the truth. Partly because it was Peter, and partly because he’d never mentioned anything to you or Mj, which was kind of annoying.

When you looked closer you noticed a brown, fluffy head of hair. He wasn’t wearing his mask. He was close enough that if you were to squint you could just make out his features and- it was Peter.

Your eyebrows furrowed, staring through the glass like a maniac as you tried to tell if your mind was just playing tricks on you, but no, that was definitely one hundred percent Peter Benjamin Parker.

Your eyes widened and your jaw dropped, your palms growing sweaty when you noticed his head turning in your direction. You didn’t know whether to stay still or run away so he didn’t see you, but your feet had apparently made up your mind when you stayed rooted to the spot.

Peter didn’t expect to meet your wide eyes through the window of Liz’s kitchen either, but honestly he probably should’ve hidden himself better. Here he was on an open rooftop in his suit, without his mask covering his face, showing his identity to anyone that noticed.

He didn’t have time to try and signal for you not to freak out before you were already running away, out of his sight. His heart pounded against his chest so hard he could hear it in his ears. He was torn, on the one hand he needed to check out what that blast was down the street, but on the other, you could be telling everyone who Spiderman was right now.

Peter was fucked.

━━━━━━━━━♡♥♡━━━━━━━━━

peter’s girl taglist → @sunsetholland @captainamirica @tomsirishgirlx @givebuckyhisplumsnow @lou-la-lou @slutforsr @tayyx @gog0juice @minejungwoo @creatorofthegalaxy @annathesillyfriend @paninipress @bvttercupbby

[lunaverseimagine]

Escape

Prompt:  I’ve had a rough day and honestly all I want right now is a drink and someone to cuddle with from @masterofthedarkness‘ 300 follower writing challenge! Congratulations again Val, I hope you like it <3

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Summary: You’re having a bad day and your crush seems to notice

Warnings: Mention of injury (not your own), mention of alcohol

Word count: 2k

A/n: So I had a complete brain flop writing this and forgot that Snape was not, in fact, teaching potions in the Marauders era. However, I’ve written the fic now and don’t have the energy to change it, so consider this an AU of sorts? (Putting in bold bc I keep getting comments about it)

Fic:

It started the moment you woke up. You couldn’t explain why but all you wanted to do was crawl back into bed, wrap the duvet round you, and hide from the world. It was as though your energy had been sucked out of you, leaving a shell that felt too heavy. And yet you were a good student, you couldn’t stand missing lessons, plus you didn’t want anyone worrying about you. Which is why, in spite of your body’s groaning protests, you heaved yourself out of your dorm and down to the Great Hall for breakfast. 

Your friends were talking animatedly around you, occasionally trying to get you to join in the conversation, but all you offered in response were weak smiles and one word replies. As a last resort your best fried Beth tried bringing up your crush, Sirius. The topic normally excited you, but today it was just a reminder that nothing would happen between you, and you became even more withdrawn. Luckily your friends understood - you wanted to be near them but weren’t up to their early morning gossip - so they stayed with you but didn’t try to get you to speak anymore.

As always, halfway through your meal the owls swooped into the hall, bringing newspapers, letters, and the occasional parcel. Mild surprise filled you at the sight of your own family’s owl Lolly settling in front of you. You stroked her head before gently untying the small, crumpled letter attached to her leg, and she nipped your finger affectionately. Your parents didn’t send you letters very often, and you were stumped as to what could be written inside. You took a deep breath. Only one way to find out.

Unfolding the parchment carefully revealed your mum’s scrawled handwriting. Odd. Normally your dad would write the letters; he found it calming to sit with his parchment and special quill after a long day as an auror, pondering his words for a while to make his messages as concise as possible. He said the process was therapeutic. But when you read the words inside it made sense, and you felt your stomach drop.

“Y/n, I’m sorry to tell you like this, but I thought you should know. Dad was injured at work. The healers say it’s treatable but he’ll be in St Mungo’s for a while. Hope school is going ok. Love Mum xx”

Swallowing your tears down, you let the letter fall from your hands and settle on the table. You forced your eyes to look up, away from the words, and you could’ve sworn you caught Sirius watching you from across the hall. As soon as you’d thought it, he’d already turned back to his friends, and you shook your head at yourself. So desperate that you were imagining interactions with your crush. Pathetic. You lay your hand in Lolly’s warm fur, focussing on how soft she felt between your fingers, trying to push the rest of your thoughts to the back of your mind. Breaking down in the middle of the Great Hall was the last thing you wanted to do.

Your lessons did nothing to help your mood. In transfiguration you were supposed to be turning rats into clocks. By the end of the class most students had done it perfectly, but your clock had a tail instead of an hour hand, and instead of ticking it squeaked with every passing second. You felt so deflated, the only thought that kept you going was getting back to your dorm at the end of the day and hiding in your bed. Maybe finding some firewhiskey too to dull the aching you felt when your thoughts drifted to your dad in a hospital bed. In fact, what you really wanted, the one thing that might bring you peace, was to have someone hold you. Not just someone. Sirius. But you knew as well as anyone that he wouldn’t be interested in the likes of you. You couldn’t event transfigure a rat, you’d never be good enough.

You had mixed feelings as you made your way to your last lesson of the day. After this you were free for the evening, but first you had to endure an hour of Snape’s teaching, and his judgement of you. Potions was your worst subject and Snape made a point of noticing every little thing you did wrong. Begrudgingly you approached the dungeons, the echo of your footsteps was all that filled the empty corridors. Most of the time Hogwarts felt familiar, but in times like these it felt cold and unforgiving, emphasising the loneliness that was building in your chest. Wait- why was no one else in the corridors? With a jolt you realised that you’d spent so long lost in your thoughts between lessons that you were late. Your steps sped into a run, and when you finally burst through the door to Snape’s dungeon, he stopped mid sentence to scowl at you. Everyone else turned towards you too, so many pairs of eyes drilling into you. You willed the stone floor to swallow you whole.

“I will not tolerate students showing up late to my class.” You gulped, trying to suppress your heavy-breathing as you awaited your punishment. “I’d have thought you of all people would want to be present for the whole lesson. Then you might finally brew a decent potion. Alas…” he trailed off, a thoughtful expression on his face. You felt your cheeks burn, your head hung low. “Detention. After class you will scrub everyone’s cauldrons clean. No magic allowed.” It was all you could do to nod. You felt so defeated as you stood at the table beside Beth that you almost didn’t notice the small explosion a few tables behind you. You whipped your head around, and- no, you definitely weren’t imagining it this time- Sirius winked at you as Snape stalked between the desks towards the commotion. He glared down at Sirius.

“Looks like Y/L/N won’t be alone in detention.” He sneered, and weaved his way to the front of the class without another word. Your jaw was slack and Beth nudged you with her elbow. 

“He did that on purpose!” She whisper-yelled. Your jaw was slack, not quite sure if you believed her.

“Well- well maybe it was an accident? Or he did it for fun?” Your excuses were weak even to your own ears. But why would he want to be in detention with you?

Seconds stretched into minutes as you willed the time away. Thankfully Beth was good at potions so she did most of the work, telling you which ingredients to chop and when to add them to the cauldron. Snape still found things to fault but you just tuned his voice out, feeling like you were watching the scene through a window instead of being in it yourself.

Eventually the class was dismissed, and Beth gave you a sympathetic smile and mouthed “good luck” as she left the room. When it was just you, Sirius and Snape left, he held a hand out to each of you.

“Wands.” Reluctantly you and Sirius both placed your wands in his hands, not quite meeting his eye as you did so. “I want the equipment spotless.” With that he left the room. Despite feeling as bad as you did, you couldn’t help your heartbeat quickening at the thought of being alone with Sirius.

Avoiding his eye, you crossed the room to the cupboard full of cleaning supplies, dirty cauldrons being the only thing that stood in the way of you and the relative peace of your dorm. You felt his gaze on the back of your head.

“What?” You kept your focus on the cupboard, rummaging through the supplies to find what you needed.

“Are you ok?” After a moment, you turned to face him, throwing a sponge which he caught effortlessly, without breaking eye-contact.

“I’ve been better.” You didn’t elaborate, instead getting to work scrubbing the grime off the cauldron closest to you. Sirius abandoned his sponge, coming to stand on the opposite side of your table, watching your determined face as you tried to get one particularly tough spot of dragon-bogey off the side of the cauldron. He found himself admiring the way you furrowed your brows as you concentrated, the way your tongue poked out slightly from between your lips. Those lips. You, on the other hand, were thinking about how it would take double the time to clean if Sirius didn’t do his half. Subconsciously you squeezed your sponge tighter until your knuckles turned white.

“I bet I could make you feel better.” You huffed. Sure you had feelings for Sirius, but he could still be infuriating.

“I bet you could.”

His eyes twinkled, surprised that you’d joined in with his flirting. “Oh yeah, how’s that?” His hopes were soon shattered as you replied.

“By helping me clean so we can leave this bloody dungeon.” Sirius was taken aback. You never normally snapped at people, and he was just trying to be nice. Godric, he’d got himself a detention just so you wouldn’t be alone.

“You know what? Fine.” He stormed back over to his sponge and started cleaning the cauldron furthest away from you. The two of you scrubbed in silence for a while, making decent progress on the cauldrons, but you felt guilt creeping in at the way you’d treated him. The guilt, the tiredness, the worry about your dad, all of it swirled through your thoughts in a perpetual loop until you couldn’t help it anymore. You let out a small sob, trying your best to be quiet, but in the otherwise silent room Sirius heard it perfectly. He abandoned his cauldron, rushing over to embrace you in a hug, rubbing soothing circles on your back. He had no clue what to say, but the silence didn’t bother you. It gave you a chance to work through your feelings. 

After a while you pulled away, wiping at your eyes with the sleeve of your robes. “Oh Merlin, I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for darling.” He rested his hand on your arm for a moment, waiting to see if you wanted to say anything else. When you just smiled, he returned the smile, before going back to cleaning the cauldrons. This time the silence that filled the room was comfortable, both of you lost in thought. Finally, arms aching, the two of you finished your last cauldrons, and Sirius went to Snape’s office to collect your wands. You sat on the floor outside the classroom waiting for him, picking at a loose thread on your robe. When Sirius returned he handed you your wand, and slid down the wall so he was sitting next to you. You rested your head on his shoulder, whispering into the corridor.

“Thank you.” 

Sirius wrapped an arm round your shoulders. “What for?”

“I know you got that detention on purpose. Just- thank you for being there.”

“Not a problem darling.” His fingers traced tender circles on your shoulder, and you felt yourself melting in to him. Being so close to him you thought you’d be nervous, but instead you felt peaceful. Safe. 

Sirius broke the silence. “What’s going on?” It was almost a whisper, as though he wasn’t sure whether he should’ve asked, but he couldn’t bear the thought of you suffering on your own. He needed you to know that he was there to listen.

“It’s just- it’s a bit of everything, y’know? I’ve had a rough day and honestly all I want right now is a drink and someone to cuddle with.” You laughed at how stupid that sounded, but Sirius took your hand, lacing your fingers through his.

“I’ve got some firewhisky in my room?” It came out as a question.

You turned so you were face-to-face.

“And the cuddles?”

“I’m sure I’ve got some of those to spare too.” He lifted your hand to his lips, placing a kiss on each knuckle in turn. You closed your eyes, savouring the sensation. Then he stood up, helping you off the floor after him, and your hands stayed connected the whole walk back to his common room.

End

A/N: I hope you liked it (regardless of the Snape/Sirius timeline error oopsies)! If you did feel free to give feedback or check out my other stuff, and also give Val (@masterofthedarkness) a follow if you haven’t already! <3

[poptod]

Congrats for finishing ur exams! Hope u have time for relaxing in summer :) if u take ficreqs & this is topic ur comfortable writing for I'll have an ask: Kenny having/going thru some body image issues (it came to my mind when in season 2 he was going out w/Dylan he was fussing w/his shirt & being like is it too tight etc.)

Notes: thank u!! honestly its kinda nice to b able to project my own eating disorders on a fictional character lmao. thats twisted as fuck of me. warnings: eating disorders, homophobia, the whole rundown lmao. the reader in this is kind of dumb as fuck but well-informed so do with that what you will WC: 1.4k

+

It happened over the summer.

No one else noticed, but you did. He stopped wearing his big shirts, and the smaller ones now hung over his frame in wrinkles too big for his body. His jaw strengthened, his eyes steely, and his words remained sweet, if not awkward, as ever.

You've talked to him a couple times, but never for long, and his interactions with teenagers as popular as you are are limited and uncomfortable. On his part, he doesn't really know you personally––only as a sort of monarch to a high school. This image of you leaves him stuttering as you trap him against the lockers, surrounded by the silence of a vacant school.

"Wh - what are you –"

"Quiet," you say, glancing up to meet his frantic gaze.

The heat of his stomach moving with rough breaths warms your hands, sliding up his shirt to pull away the fabric and reveal the bare skin. His ribs are showing. From experience you know they didn't use to, but you can't deny the excitement that rushes through you at the sight of his thin waist unobstructed by clothing.

"How'd you lose weight?" You ask, withdrawing your hands from his midsection while keeping him stuck between lockers and you. You had never claimed to be anything but straightforward, almost violently so.

He shifts his weight on his feet, shoulders tensing till they reach his ears.

"Why do you care? You don't even know me," he says with a glare focused on the floor beside you.

"Your name is Khaleel but everyone calls you Kenny because people are dickbags, and you're always hanging out with that Larry kid. And I know for a fact you weren't this skinny," you say, tugging the belt of his loose pants to peer down.

"Don't," he grits out, and he writhes in your grasp, attempting to escape.

Seeing his discomfort, you withdraw your hand once more, and look him in the eye.

"I've seen things like this before," you say, boring into the soul behind his own eyes. "I've been this thing before. Tell me how you did it."

"I..." he pauses, searching your expression for any give in your request, before he gives up with a sigh. "I stopped eating meals for a week."

"Why?" You ask in a much softer tone than your previous, your fingers brushing over his unsteady hands.

"I hate how I look," he admits in a broken voice, eyes tinted red as tears form on the edges. "I'm sick of being unattractive and unwanted. I just wanted to be appealing to someone, for once."

"You're wanted," you say, beginning with a much-needed assurance. "High school is absolute ass and everything that happens in it has nearly no affect on your life. You're going to grow up, and you're going to find cities full of people who want to kiss you. The effects of purposeful starvation on your body and mind are not worth this temporary conformity to the American beauty standard."

Now he just looks confused. You sigh, exasperated by kids who don't seem to get your line of thinking pertaining to society and its expectations of adults and teenagers.

"This is such a small part of your life that can be so deeply enjoyed if you do it right. Don't ruin it with this," you say, and your own voice cracks, strained by the tension stuck in your throat. "You're never going to be skinny enough for this disease. Not even if you're ten pounds."

These words––they're all birthed by what you wish someone had told you. What would've stopped you from doing this to yourself.

The tears long building round his eyes fall at last, creating streams down his cheeks that he covers up by hiding his face in his hands. He falls into you, leaning his weight on your body, and hiding his face (which is still hidden in his hands) in the crook of your neck. Knuckles of his fingers dig into the sensitive skin there, but it is no hard task to ignore it.

You wrap your arms around the boy, holding him tight to you and running your fingers through his hair. Chest to chest, hips to hips, legs nearly stepping over one another. Muffled sobs wrack his weakened shoulders.

"I know," you whisper. It's all the sound you can manage. "It's alright. I know."

"I just wanna be wanted," he chokes out, shifting to hide himself deeper in your touch.

"You already are," you say in a hum, turning to kiss his temple.

"No," he says, shaking his head. "No, no, my parents don't even want me. No one does."

"What do you mean your parents don't want you?" You ask as a deep concern settles itself within you.

He won't pull away, and as much as you want to see his expressions, you know he needs your touch more than anything in this moment.

"I haven't seen them in weeks, they won't let me back into the house. I don't know what I did wrong. I don't..." he trails off as a new burst of tears shivers throughout his body, weakening his already frail limbs.

"They kicked you out?" You ask.

"... yeah," he says, sniffing.

His hands finally leave his tear-covered face, and he wraps them around you as tight and close as he can, shifting his head to the side to truly lie on your shoulder, with his nose nudging your neck. His hands cling to the back of your shirt, nails almost digging into your back as his tears soak your shoulder.

"Adults aren't infallible," you say, your own words now muffled as your chin rests on the crest of his head. "One day they'll realize their mistake, and they'll want you more than anything."

He goes quiet for a while, still sniffling, before he says in a trembling voice, "but I want to be desired now. I don't understand why no one wants me."

"I actually know for a fact that someone in the school very much wants you," you say without hesitation. You can't be the only one who sees how sweet this guy is.

"Really?" He sniffs and pulls away, but his hands linger on your waist. "Who?"

Your mind pulls a blank before it hits you like a trainwreck––it's you. You're the one that wants him. Maybe you are the only one to see him at all, and that realization leaves you stumped. Could you so plainly tell him? Would that be taking advantage of him in his state?

Whatever, you think, still staring blankly ahead as Kenny awaits your answer. This guy needs a pick-me-up.

"It's... me," you say in your most awkward voice since middle school. You cringe inwardly. It's like you're giving him bad news.

His mouth falls open, and he stares at you like you're the only thing to look at in the whole world.

"With..." he jabs himself in the chest with his own finger as he points to himself, ".. me?"

"That is what I just said, yes," you say, nodding.

He tries to stutter out a sentence, something along the lines of why, and you hardly want to hear what he has to say. None of it is going to be true. It's all muck about him not being worth it, and as he grows more frantic, you know you have to calm him down yourself.

Your eyes shut and you lean in blindly, having memorized his face from lunches spent staring at him from a table across the room. Lips mould to his and the words fizzle out, devolving into soft whines as the tail end of his sobbing dies out, suffocated by his first kiss.

He leans into you once more, resting his unsure hands gingerly upon your shoulders. You take his wrists, never parting from his lips as you pull him nearer, till his elbows rest on your shoulders and he holds you closer than before. When his hands tangle into your hair unprompted, you hum, fall, and pin him back against the lockers.

"Hey!"

Someone is shouting at you from down the hallway. You sigh and part from him, turning with a blasé look to meet one of the teachers.

"No making out in the hallway," she scolds but says nothing more, continuing to walk into the next room.

You turn back to Kenny and he's bright red, looking horrified with himself.

"Oh my God," he whispers out as his hands shake ever so slightly.

"It's alright," you murmur, too close to him to stand anything else. You kiss his forehead before you continue, "it's not a big deal. It's alright."

You pull away, looking him in the eye as you say, "come to my house?"

He hesitates.

"I'll make you something to eat. You don't have to eat a lot," you offer.

"... yeah," he says, and nods, looking up to meet your eye. "Yeah, that sounds nice."

[i-like-plan-m]

If you're accepting prompts, how about one where people either can't lie to LWJ or he can tell when they're lying, and he inadvertently discovers a whole bunch of stuff WWX would rather he didn't (could be either WWX's low self worth, or his intense LWJ-based thirst!)

such a good prompt omg thank you [Posted to Ao3]

It was a curse, some said. A gift, according to others. The sect debated for years on the technicalities and argued their differing opinions over Lan Zhan’s head until Lan Qiren insisted the sect leave his nephew alone.

No one ever asked Lan Zhan what he thought.

He considered it neither a gift nor a curse. It was simply a part of him, the same as his golden core.

Except while a golden core was perfectly normal, Lan Zhan’s ability to detect any lie— spoken or unspoken— was less so. He heard falsehoods like music; words were notes, conversations were harmonies, and lies were the jarring wrong note that scraped harshly across his ears.

The hardest part was learning the reasons for a lie. Lan Zhan did not understand people the way his brother did, could only hear their lies and quietly disapprove. But Lan Xichen spent hours upon hours with him, testing the bounds of the skill and gently pointing out the different types of lies, and why the distinctions were important.

Sometimes, he’d said, people lie to protect themselves or others. Sometimes a lie is kinder than the truth. They were not all born of malicious intent, and he’d taught Lan Zhan how to distinguish between them. How to identify the dangerous lies, the harmful ones, and those that were best left unacknowledged out of kindness or respect.

Lan Xichen had been eternally patient, remarkably encouraging, and quietly concerned about the effect this curse would have on his little brother. Lan Zhan had seen it in his face, the nonverbal lie reading to him like a whisper every time Lan Xichen smiled to hide his worry.

His brother had never asked about the source of the curse or gift or whatever the sect considered it; Lan Zhan suspected he had his own theories, and Lan Xichen’s guesses would most certainly be better than the elders’.

But only Lan Zhan knew its origins for sure.

His mother had been lied to, once, and as a result had spent the rest of her days a prisoner in a small, lonely house. His clearest memory of his mother was her holding him close, tucking him into her lap and wrapping her arms around him in a loving, protective cocoon. It was the safest he had ever felt.

He’d been too young to recognize his mother’s sorrow for what it was at the time, the way she’d clearly known her death was approaching. But he remembered the quiet words she’d whispered to him, words of love and fear and protectiveness. The way her golden core had enveloped him, warm and steady, as she made sure her youngest son would not live in a house of lies and silence like her.

It was her greatest gift to him, and her last.

~*~

Lan Zhan knew the sound of a lie. So when a particularly irritating disciple arrived and immediately began causing trouble, Lan Zhan expected any number of lies from the boy. He was eager, even, for vindication for his own prejudice against such a disrespectful nuisance.

But Wei Ying had a way of talking that sounded like slurred notes to Lan Zhan’s highly trained ear. He was all chaos and deflection, and Lan Zhan experienced something uncomfortably like whiplash trying to keep up with the words in Wei Ying’s never-ending chatter.

It could not have been deliberate— no one outside of the Lan Sect’s elders and his own family knew of Lan Zhan’s particular skill— but nonetheless Wei Ying avoided giving straight answers, topics sliding sideways and off course with a joke, a question of his own, or some wildly inappropriate comment that made Lan Zhan too furious to focus.  

He was infuriating.

He was beautiful.

Somehow that was worse.

Lan Zhan did not bother to look over as Wei Ying bickered with his sect brother, not in any mood to deal with him or his own feelings about the biggest troublemaker he’d ever met in his life.

Wei Ying’s laugh rang over the courtyard, bright and happy as he slung an arm over Jiang Wanyin’s shoulders, ignoring the sect heir’s incensed protests. “Don’t lie, shidi, I know you love me!”

The lie sounded like a gong in Lan Zhan’s head, startling him so badly that he stumbled to an awkward stop and snapped his head around to stare at Wei Ying, who was for once paying him no attention.

His ever-present smile was in place, nothing false or fixed about it. Wei Ying wore happiness and humor like armor, and Lan Zhan wondered if anyone had ever seen past it. He hadn’t… until now.

Lies were interesting things. Sometimes entire speeches were a lie (for instance, everything that came out of Jin Guangshan’s mouth). Sometimes gestures held the lie, such as Nie Huaisang’s amiable nod of agreement whenever his older brother ordered him to go train with his saber. And sometimes the lie was only a single word.

I know you love me. The low, booming signal of Wei Ying’s lie was significant for two reasons: the timing, and the strength of the sound. The greater the lie, the louder the noise, and this one had left a painful echo in Lan Zhan’s ears from the force of it. And the timing… the lie had been marked on a single word: love.

I know you love me. But Wei Ying did not believe this, not even a little.

Lan Zhan… did not know what to do with this revelation.

By the end of class that day, during which Wei Ying had been bellowed at by Lan Qiren and handed off to Lan Zhan for yet another punishment, he still had not figured out what to do about it. He would have gone to his brother for advice, because Xichen always helped him find the right thing to do, but lately his brother had a terrible light of laughter in his eyes every time Lan Zhan mentioned Wei Ying, and he was not about to willingly subject himself to that indignity.

So he was left to his own devices. Lan Zhan stared down at his scroll, not reading a single word of it because of to Wei Ying’s indecent sprawl across a nearby desk. He was humming innocently, like Lan Zhan couldn’t see him urging a tiny paper man on a march towards Lan Zhan’s pot of ink.

“Focus on your work,” Lan Zhan said sternly, capturing the figure just before it dipped its little arms in the bowl and went on a rampage.

“Ugh, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whined, flopping over the desk. “This is so boring, how can you stand it? Not even Madam Yu would make me do all this!”

Lan Zhan studied the paper man in the cage of his fingers. This was a chance to learn more, he thought, about Wei Wuxian’s life in Yunmeng. Maybe even about why he did not believe his own brother loved him.

Why do you care? This does not concern you. Lan Zhan mutinously banished the thought and set the paper man free to explore the stack of books on his desk.

Hesitantly, he asked, “Do you like Lotus Pier?”

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying laughed. “What kind of question is that?”

Lan Zhan felt the familiar surge of frustration at the deflection; he could never get a straight answer out of Wei Ying, and it was a source of much aggravation.

“You mention punishments at Lotus Pier frequently,” he said instead of pinning Wei Ying to the floor until he got a truthful answer. The image sent a flash of heat through him, and he held himself very, very still until he had control over himself again.

“Eh.” Wei Ying waved a dismissive hand. “I get in trouble everywhere, Lan Zhan, whether I mean to or not.”

Truth.

“Are you punished in similar ways?” Lan Zhan asked, looking pointedly at Wei Ying’s abandoned paper of half-copied rules.

“No one gives punishments like the Lans. Don’t worry, your sect’s reputation is still the most feared of all!”

Not true, because anyone with half a brain knew to be wary of Wen Ruohan. This lie was like a slipped finger on the string of a qin, a short, wavering note that was discordant and vaguely unsettling. An untruth, technically, but said as a joke, as a sort-of truth because both of them knew the statement wasn’t genuine and that they other knew it as well.

Lan Zhan had a headache.

He tried a different track. “You were adopted by Sect Leader Jiang?”

Wei Ying sat up, propping his elbows on his desk and studying him for a moment before grinning. “So many questions, Lan Zhan! If I didn’t know better, I’d think you want to be friends.”

It was said teasingly, and the lie was held in the latter part of the sentence— Wei Ying did not believe Lan Zhan wanted to be friends. That, combined with the frustration of yet another question avoided, made Lan Zhan say, “It seems you do not know better.”

Embarrassingly, his heart was pounding at the admission. Lan Zhan had never had a friend before, other than his brother, and he certainly did not know how to make them. But he knew that he wanted to spend time with Wei Ying more and more often, even though part of him rebelled at the thought.

It was oddly silent in the library. Lan Zhan knew his ears were flushed red with embarrassment and uncertainty, and he waited with bated breath for Wei Ying to tease him again, to deflect with another laugh or joke that kindly disguised the fact that he did not want to be Lan Zhan’s friend, that Lan Zhan was too stiff and weird and boring to be anyone’s friend.

A little nauseated, Lan Zhan lifted his eyes from his paper and gathered his courage to look at the other boy.

Wei Ying was gaping at him like a fish.

“Friends?” He finally managed. Lan Zhan dropped his eyes back to the desk and said nothing, couldn’t speak past the lump in his throat. “You don’t want to be my friend!”

His gaze flickered back towards Wei Ying. The statement was untrue, obviously, but it was a lie that Wei Ying believed to be true, so it sounded like a half-missed note on a flute. Easily corrected, quickly covered, but there nonetheless.

“Says who?” Lan Zhan asked, wondering… hoping…

Wei Ying blinked at him for a moment, visibly stumped. Ridiculously, it made Lan Zhan feel as though he’d won something. Triumph over being the one to shock Wei Ying into uncharacteristic silence for once.

As expected, it didn’t last long.

Traitorous fondness glowed in his chest as Wei Ying planted his hands on the desk and raised himself onto his knees with an indignant expression. His hair fell in disarray around his face, a half-tied red ribbon spilling over his shoulder and against rumpled robes.

“You did!” Wei Ying said, outraged. “I said we should be friends on the first night!”

He’d said a lot of things that first night, Lan Zhan thought with reluctant amusement. Lan Zhan had forgotten most of it thanks to the veil of rage that had overtaken him as he chased a beautiful boy under the moonlight.

“Hm,” Lan Zhan said, dismissive, mostly just to watch Wei Ying’s expression contort into disbelief. “Did you ask?”

Wei Ying spluttered. “Of course I asked!” He said too loudly, and then cocked his head like he’d heard the ring of the lie, too. “Oh. Huh, I guess I didn’t ask, now that I think about it.”

He looked at Lan Zhan with a gleam in his eye. Lan Zhan had only a second to think, uh oh, and then Wei Ying had vaulted over his desk to land on his knees across from him.

“Lan Zhan,” he whispered, leaning in like they were sharing secrets. Lan Zhan’s hear thundered in his ears as Wei Ying grinned conspiratorially at him and leaned in close enough that Lan Zhan could smell the floral scent of his hair oil, the tinge of chili oil that he’d smuggled into the Cloud Recesses and then at some point spilled on his sleeve. “I want to be your friend. Do you want to be friends?”

Lan Zhan savored the silence around his words— I want to be your friend, he’d said, with no single hint of a lie— and tried not to let the mischievous glint in Wei Ying’s eye distract him.

It was too late, though. The seed of mischief had taken root in Lan Zhan, which was why he said with a perfectly straight face, “Hm. I will have to think about it.”

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying squawked with indignation, and then must have caught the tiny curl of Lan Zhan’s mouth because he exploded into laughter a second later. “Were you teasing me just now? Lan Zhan, I can’t believe this.”  

Quietly pleased with himself, Lan Zhan watched as Wei Ying laughed until he ran out of air, falling onto his back with his usual exuberant expressiveness. The laughter was a joyous sound, bright and honest, and hearing it in one of his favorite places made Lan Zhan’s chest feel warm and tight.

His mother would have liked him, Lan Zhan thought wistfully. For his humor, his irrepressible love of life, his fearlessness. His heart felt too big for his chest as he listened to Wei Ying laugh, unrestrained emotion where only disciplined constraint had ever been permitted.

He would investigate Wei Ying’s beliefs about his own worth later, he decided. They were friends now, so this was allowed.

For now, though, he let the clear, ringing music of Wei Ying’s laughter fill the room. Basked in the warmth he hadn’t felt since his mother had been alive, and softened enough to smile back at Wei Ying.

[letterstomilen]

i discuss the classification of igneous petrology as you fall asleep during my lecture (PART 2) (ASMR)

Childe/Zhongli, Alternate Universe  When Childe's younger sister tells him about the volunteer at the library, he does not make the connection between that and his new favorite ASMR YouTuber, Rex Lapis.

Childe’s unfortunate love life starts at the age of eight. He, of course, did not call it “love” when he’s eight. When he was eight, he plucked a couple of weeds and sunflowers from his neighbor’s garden before he went to the park and handed them over to a classmate he doesn’t remember the name of now.

Handed over is an understatement here, seeing that she fell over from him shoving the flowers towards her chest before declaring, “Please marry me!”

In hindsight, storming over with the delicacy of an elephant with two left feet was not the best idea. But as somebody who recently discovered that watermelons could not grow out of your stomach no matter what, he was not the brightest. (Lumine now would argue that this is still the case. Unfortunately.)

She, as all eight-year kids would when faced with a loud boy that shoved you to the ground, started bawling. It didn’t help that Childe wasn’t aware of the fact that some worm wriggled in with the weeds and sunflowers he uprooted, with said worm now wiggling on the glittery, cursive ‘i’ in ‘Magical’ on her t-shirt.

This promptly resulted in her mom heading over and a long talk over dinner that night on why you should not ask girls to just marry you at your age.

“So I can ask boys then, right?”

Pleased with the loophole he discovered at age eight, Childe toothily smiled at his mom, who sighed and shook your head.

“You can’t ask anybody to marry you when you’re eight. And please don’t throw flowers at them too.”

The stolen flowers resulted in him being on his neighbor’s blacklist for the next couple of years; this in itself was fine, seeing that Childe was always a bit of a troublemaker and it was bound to happen at some point. However, the crying girl left a big impression on him even as he got older.

It did help that the older he got, the more silver-tongued he became, but this resulted in short-term relationships and a famous incident that once got dubbed ‘Tartaglia’s Shakespearean Slipup.’ (It involved a drunk retelling of Macbeth, several dumb questions, and a shirt that could never get the stain washed off of it.)

So in short, Childe’s love life is, to put it bluntly, a travesty. It has been downhill ever since he was eight years old, and nearly two decades later, he’s sure that he finally hit rock bottom.

“Tonia,” he begins, wondering how his little sister could be so cute yet so cruel at the same time, “what did you not tell Zhongli?”

“Hmm… Oh, I didn’t tell him about your obsession with his channel!” And cue the self-satisfied smile before she took another sip of his coffee.

Oh lord, she learned it from him.

“Anything else?” he presses, wondering what kind of image he has of him now — definitely not a good one. No amount of smooth talking or knowledge about petrology could save him from his past mistakes. He’s sure that Zhongli would not take kindly to the plethora of times that his insobriety has made him infamous among certain groups of people.

And he’ll admit just to himself, he was wholly unprepared for this. He couldn’t even be lulled to sleep by his voice last night — which is unfortunate because the series where he discussed the inspiration behind Tao Yuanming’s work just came out and if there’s one thing Childe likes, it’s poetry — because he couldn’t stop himself from thinking that he knew who he was.

Except not as Childe. As Tartaglia, his younger sister clarified, ever so proud of herself that she taught somebody how to say his birth name correctly, never mind that it stumped even the most persistent of professors.

“Not really! He said he likes listening to me brag about my older brother! ‘Cause he’s an only child and everything. Actually… he mentioned that you’d like to hear your stories sometime. Sweet, right?”

“My stories,” Childe echoes slowly. “The ones I told you when you were a kid? The fairytale rip-offs?”

“Yup.”

“Including the one where the kids locked the evil queen up and used her Magic Mirror to cheat on their tests?”

Admittedly, he was a bit lazy with that one. But Tonia was just eight and Childe was half-awake, trying to remember the difference between Hudibrastic and hija. So, like any good literature major with a bone to pick with their academic advisor, he decided that he’d very subtly rehash Snow White and make it all about cheating. (On tests of course.)

“Yuup. They got in trouble, right?”

They didn’t, but his mom would have his head if he said otherwise, so he smiles at her, ruffles her hair, and says with the attitude of a picture-perfect older brother, “Of course. The evil queen immediately sent them to the dungeon. So don’t cheat, okay?”

She nods, rewarding her compliance with another sip of his coffee. The library is fairly close to their apartment, as all things in Liyue are. A tightly packed city by the sea where you were sure to know everything about your neighbor and their neighbor. Which meant that the tenants next door still remembered when Childe first moved in and spent a week high on ambien, only to invest his time in writing a paper about how Snowpiercer was the sequel to Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. (When they spoke for the first time, they asked politely if he could please turn down the volume, because it was difficult to sleep when your neighbor watched the two movies consecutively with the volume all the way up at three in the morning, don’t you think?)

(The paper ended up being legible to only the most dedicated of readers anyways.)

Deciding that they’re an appropriate distance from the entrance of the library now, Tonia stops walking and drags her brother towards the benches. “Now, before I take you to meet Zhongli, I just want to ask you one thing.”

He looks at her expectantly, wondering if she’s going to ask if he remembers what Lumine said. Don’t embarrass yourself, don’t act shady, and before you do something—think ITWTWW? (A.K.A Is This What Tsaritsa Would Want? A joke that arose after a particularly hellish class last year after the professor’s attention towards Childe was a source of debate—did she hate him? Did she think of him as her son? Did he—a suggestion brought forth by Aether—remind her of annoying neighbors that’d spend all night partying? To this day, he still doesn’t know.)

“What is it?”

“Did you bring your library card?”

“Huh?”

It turns out, Childe learns five minutes later with relief that his long-forgotten library card was collecting dust in his wallet, that Zhongli has a limit on books he can check out because he’s always forgetting them. And his overdue fees are quite an impressive sum—both for a library volunteer and anybody that’s frequented a library for the past decade.

But to the library’s great relief, he’s only checking out books nobody has ever checked out in the past so by default they belong to him now. (No harm no foul—unless you’re the occasional poor individual that has to research an incredibly specific and niche topic only to find out that the book is not in the library at the moment.)

Tonia sounds immensely proud of herself as she informs him of this while they wait for him to finish help somebody find a book. Help is an understatement, Childe realizes, as he watches Zhongli talk, smiling as he ensnares the visitor in an answer to a question where “yes” or “no” would have sufficed.

It’s ridiculously cute. Really. Tonia seems used to this sight as she drags Childe closer to the two. Zhongli must’ve realized that he slipped into a tangent because he apologizes and points to the nonfiction section before opening his book once more.

“Oh… I forgot.” Tonia purses her lips the same way Lumine does as she sighs, lowering the hand that she was enthusiastically waving moments earlier.

“Hm?”

“He won’t notice us. Ah, Zhongli,” she says melodramatically while they watch him flip through pages in a book, her tone every bit the longing princess in books they poured over when she was younger. “Why can’t you see us? Isn’t my wonderful big brother enough to catch your attention?”

He’s very flattered. Really. He knows that compliment was partially influenced by letting her have a lion’s share of his drink and Lumine’s sarcasm, but he takes it in stride, squeezing her cheeks. Tonia rolls her eyes in response, and heads over to Zhongli, chatting him up quicker than Childe can respond.

“And this is my older brother,” she introduces, gesturing her hand towards Childe, who smiles brightly, hoping he looks every bit the composed person he doesn’t feel like right now.

Zhongli is just as charming in person and it doesn’t help that just the realization he’s standing right here makes Childe’s pulse race, contributing to his increasingly forced smile that he reserves for uncomfortable situations. Oblivious to that, Zhongli smiles at him—one that is ingrained in his memory from days of watching it on loop —and says, “You must be Tartaglia, right? Tonia told me a lot about you.”

Oh fuck. 

His first thought: of course she told him about him. He knew beforehand, the dread of being characterized through his sister’s dramatizations of Childe’s mistakes. It’s partially why he could only get up this morning through two cups of coffee and dunking his head in the freezer for several minutes.

But also his name— 

Childe’s torn between asking why the hell his sister told him his real name or excusing himself to go read a dictionary to cool his nerves. Even though he’s well aware most of his family calls him Tartaglia still—mainly his parents when he’s in trouble (which, to be fair, is most of the time)—most people in Liyue call him Childe for two reasons.

One, Tartaglia is a mouthful and two, after many questions about how his name was pronounced only to get it butchered on several occasions, he’s stopped. (Scaramouche, Tsaritsa, and Signora are the only ones who call him that at this point, really; but he’s convinced Scaramouche does it just to vex him.)

“Yes,” he chokes out. “That’s me. Tartaglia.”

Childe decides that if Zhongli would just say his name and nothing else, he would die happy. Which is a mortifying thought but maybe a little bit of an upgrade from falling asleep to listening him talk about rocks. Isn’t it?

“You can call him Childe,” Tonia offers. “My brother doesn’t like it when people call him Tartgalia.”

His mouth forms an ‘o’ out of realization and sheepishly says, “My deepest apologies, Childe.”

“N-no—” Childe starts, his sister’s expression burning into the back of his head. “It sounds really nice when you say it. Call me Tartaglia—anything you’d like, really.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot.” Tonia smiles mischievously, implying that she never forgot all along as she raises a finger to her chin in mock thought. “You watch his ASMR channel, don’t you?”

“You do?”

They both turn to Childe, who’s sure this is turning into an interrogation; their burning gazes, the expectant silence, and a question he’s reluctant to answer.

“Yeah. I’m a huge fan,” he confesses brightly. “My favorite series of yours is the petrology one. It felt really nostalgic.”

He never thought he’d remember high school clearly ever again, but the videos made his classes a little less lazy. And the heat of the sun on the back of his neck as he slept in class would follow, lulled to sleep by a lecture he couldn’t quite remember. But he recalled his friends’ amusement clearly when they asked how he managed to sleep nearly every class, only to get a cheeky smile as an answer.

“Is that so? May I interest you in some books then? There’s quite the collection here, although I’m not sure which would interest you the most then. Any preferences?”

Ohhh, his expectant look was so cute. But Tonia looks bored at the prospect, so he clears his throat instead.

“Actually, I came here to check out Legend of the Lone Sword so I could follow along with your newest video,” he finally says. “Could you show me where it is?”

“Hmm… We do have two copies but unfortunately both have been checked out. One has just been checked out by Xingqiu and the other… ah, it’s still at my house. We’re having difficulties with the video unfortunately because Venti said… now what did he say?” Zhongli asks himself, humming as he takes out his phone and reads out loud.

“’Find somebody that’s willing to record the video and help you set up b-c’… er, before Christ?”

“Because,” Childe clarifies.

“Thank you. ‘Because I can’t do it without laughing’,” he finishes before sighing. “Also several crying emojis followed by a wine emoji and a suggestion for me to find Diluc…? There are also several other texts that I would not be able to read out loud but that’s the gist of it. As soon as I manage to find somebody, I’ll be able to return the book so you can check it out. My apologies.”

Diluc? All Childe remembers about him is what Lumine once said about him.

‘I was convinced him and Kaeya hated each other until I found out they were siblings.” A pause. Then: ‘I’m still fairly sure they hate each other. They’re at each other’s throats a lot. Diluc more so.’

He had not considered him to be a rival in love. Granted — that’s limited information from several years ago but it’s not as if Childe knows that many people outside of his own department. But still. 

Eager to save any chance of a love life, Childe says, “Why don’t I help you record?”

“That’s a great idea! Then my brother can read the book while he stays over. Right?” Tonia presses on, smiling far too brightly for his taste as Zhongli muses, considering the possibility.

“Are you sure that wouldn’t be too much trouble?”

Childe nearly stumbles at the sight of his relief. Really, his smile isn’t good for his heart—neither is the look he gives him, as if he hung over the moon that very moment. “None at all.”

“What a relief… I’ll tell Venti immediately that I can record the ‘ASMR: Boyfriend Reads to You’ video.”

—What?

Zhongli looks up from his phone after he texts his friend and tilts his head slightly in confusion, his earring brushing against his shoulder.

He looks adorably concerned and maybe a little bit aware that he’s responsible for Childe’s reaction. “Is there something wrong?”

“N-no. Nothing. That’s great. Good. I’m excited to be your boyfriend.”

Tonia lets out a little giggle and he’s sure that there’s somebody at the library silently praying for his downfall as he hurriedly corrects himself. “For the video, of course. Should I give you my number so we can set a date?”

Not deterred by Childe’s flustered expression, Zhongli nods as he hands him his phone. Maybe this is what he expected—that’d most likely be the case if most of his prior knowledge about Childe came from Tonia, who delights in both embarrassing and complimenting her brother like there’s no tomorrow. “Of course. Please give me your number.”

So with the shame of a college student that never managed to shake off his competitive streak from high school, Childe types his number in and promises himself that this won’t happen again.

(His younger sister lords it over him anyways on the way home, a skip in her step as she recalls it.)

Childe 2:34 i got his #

Twin 1 2:35 for the video recording*

Twin 1 2:35 u also embarrassed yourself. tonia told me all about it lol

Ugh. Of course she did. Childe peeks his head into his sister’s room, hearing her recount the library incident with a few more exaggerations poking fun at what he did than he’d like. Aether must be having the time of his life, which should make them equal considering that Childe made him think that Scaramouche was the best TA ever and would be even nicer if you made him an apple pie. (He hated apples.)

Well. They’re even now, aren’t they?

Childe 2:38 ya but he didn’t notice so its ok. BTW neither of u told me he was that airheaded

Twin 1 2:38 itd be funnier that way

Childe 2:39 oh yeah it was really cute

Twin 1 2:41 didn’t need to know that. anyways u do know how to work a camera right?

Childe 2:41 yea…? who do you think takes all of tonia’s pictures

Twin 1 2:42 no i mean like actual professional cameras used to record

Hm… That was a bit of an oversight on his part, wasn’t it? He texts a quick ‘yeah’ because it couldn’t be that bad and he’ll watch several videos on how to work a camera later, won’t he? There should be three buttons max. Easy.

Not to mention he took an elective on film and he’s watched Zhongli’s videos more times than he can count at this point. So really, there’s not much to worry about. The only problem is that he needs to build up immunity.

If he looks like a “blushing maiden”—Tonia’s words, not his—every time Zhongli looks at him, wouldn’t that be trouble? It’s bad enough that he embarrassed himself in front of his twelve-year-old sister but to look like a fool in front of the same guy his sleeping schedule depends on would be debilitating in more ways than one.

Deciding that he won’t let himself lose this time around, he sends a quick text to Zhongli saying ‘Saturday at 4:00 PM, right? See you there :)’ to psyche himself up before deciding a plan of action. There must be something that’ll impress him—no, completely sweep him off his feet.

More aware than ever that he’s fitting the image of a lovestruck idiot his sister painted him as, Childe watches his phone as it pings with a single ‘OK’ and ‘I am looking forward to working with you’ trying to convince himself that his erratic heart rate and the heat rushing to his face is just a side effect of working with somebody that he greatly admires. (It is, by all accounts, infatuation — but he’ll try to ignore that for now.)

[ping-ping-ying]

ATEEZ as Yanderes! PT. 1/11

⚠️WARNING⚠️ : toxic relationships, mental, physical, and emotional abuse, mentions of death/murder, descriptive violence, kidnapping,

⚠️Disclaimer⚠️ : these are ALL FICTIONAL, and my OWN personal opinions and perceptions on the boys. Yanderes are NOT to be taken lightly or romanticized, these types of people are REAL and are/can be very dangerous. These kinds of stories are ONLY for entertainment. If you know anyone like this in real life, please get help!

HONGJOONG ⚖

Worship Yandere

"I'll do anything for you! I'll even kill for you! Please use me however you want!"

Hongjoong DEFINITELY strikes me as the worship yandere

Stalking would be highly likely

So he can know exactly what you like and don't like

Whether it be clothes, movies, your favorite historical event, it didn't natter

He took EXTREME action into knowing everything about you before he actually confronted you

When he first met you, he didn't just fall in love with your personality, but EVERYTHING about you

You didn't know but he was basically putty in your hands

Not that you would ever know

At first you were weirded out by him, due to him being so quiet, and his wandering eyes always staring at you

If you are upset, he will do ANYTHING to make you feel better

Someone at work/school made you upset?

You heard the news of that persons death the following week

You wanted a new pair of shoes that you couldn't afford?

Expect to have a whole closet filled with new shoes

No matter what you do, HE WILL NEVER hurt you

Like- ever

You could betray him, from the point of no return and he'd still worship you

Hongjoong doesn't care if you don't love him, he will still aim to please you at all times

He doesn't like killing people, he will only kill if they seem like a threat to you or your happiness

Doesn't realize he's being too clingy and possessive

But you say nothing in fear of hurting him

Hongjoong isn't that big of a softie once you get to know him

His cute, shy, and introvert persona would fade gradually over time

It was actually unnoticeable since the shift in character was cleverly planned out

Eventually you caught him in the act of beating up one of your friends because he was jealous that you were spending more time with them than with him

You called off your relationship immediately

He wouldn't fight you on the matter

But that won't stop him from secretly buying you things or taking care of your "problems"

SEONGHWA ⚖

Sadistic Yandere

"It hurts? That's your fault! Next time learn your lesson and stop looking at other men!"

I know exactly what you're thinking

"WOULDN'T THIS BE SAN?!"

I have thought about it, and to me Seonghwa strikes me as this type of Yandere the most

Seonghwa was also HIGHLY intelligent

He knew EXACTLY how to make you fall for him

It didn't matter how long it took

You were going to be his

Made sure to be your typical Wattpad fan fiction boy, whether you wanted him to be that "bad boy" or "good boy"

In the end he decided to try the good boy persona

When he met you, everything had to be perfect

He rehearsed lines ahead of time, and practiced until he had the courage to face you

It was at a summer carnival event, he helped you win a prize at the strength game

From the moment you looked into his eyes, you were putty in his hands

After almost a year of knowing each other, and a couple months of dating, things were going great

That was, until you decided to hang out with your old friends from high school

You invited Seonghwa to be your date to the gathering, and it was hell for him

The way you completely disobeyed his unspoken rules of talking to other men that wasnt him

The final straw that made him break his character was when it was time to leave and you have your male friend a big hug while giving him that smile that makes Seonghwas heart melt

When you got home he grabbed and dragged you to the bedroom

"Seonghwa what are you-"

SLAPPED YOU DEAD ACROSS YOUR FACE AND DID NOT GIVE TWO FUCKS

"WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!"

*SLAP*

"STOP IT WHAT-"

He smacked you a couple more times before he pushed you on the bed and decided you needed a lesson

Would torture you, sexually or plain physically

Don't scream or beg, it only fuels his drive to punish you

Will not stop until HE beileves you learned your lesson

YUNHO ⚖

Self-Harm Yandere

"Hey... look at me... look at me... look, there's so much blood coming out..."

Through your relationship, Yunho was pretty normal

Until you accidentally forgot to give him his goodnight kiss and hug

It was ONE night, because you were so exhausted from working/school and you passed out on the couch

In his mind, that one mistake told him that you didn't love him anymore

This Yandere has two sub units

One where they start harming themselves in private, and the second one, harming themselves openly

Yunho started off doing it privately

He planned this strategically

When you noticed cuts and bruises on his wrist the next day, you questioned him frantically

To which he nonchalantly explained that he hurt himself at the gym

But you weren't an idoit

You KNEW these particular kinds of injuries were caused by self harming

But you didn't press the issue because you assumed it was a sensitive topic for him, and didn't want to trigger him

Yunho began to lose trust in you

He was scared you would end up leaving him one day

All because of that ONE night

Even though after that one night, the normal goodnight kisses and hugs continued

But to Yunho it wasn't the same

So when you came home one day later in the evening, you and Yunho got into an argument

A very HEATED argument

It ended up with you saying his WORST FEAR

"If you don't stop this right now, we are over !"

That's when he snapped

"You're breaking up with me?!"

"If you don't stop acting like a selfish jackass then yes!"

Honey that's all he needed to hear to send him into a frenzy

He started punching himself in the face, to the point where his mouth started bleeding

"YUNHO WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! STOP IT!"

He ignored you and then grabbed a sharp knife from the kitchen and sliced all over his arms, legs, torso, and face

You began to cry, and fear for your life

You backed up and was about to dial 911 when he yelled out,

"YOU CAN'T LEAVE ME! I'LL KILL MYSELF! DO YOU HEAR ME?! I'LL DO IT RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU!"

You acted quickly and raced over to him cautiously trying to get him to stop

"Yunho baby I'm not leaving you!"

"LIAR!"

"Honey I didn't mean what I said! We were arguing and I just said something cruel but please know that I won't leave you ever! I love you."

"YOU PROMISE?!"

"I promise now stop hurting yourself please!"

Yunho did what you asked and then started to break down and cry

You engulfed him in a big hug and whispered sweet nothings into his ear

All the while, Yunho smirked, and smiled wickedly while crying

His plan worked

There was no way you were ever going to leave him now

Or so he thought........

YEOSANG ⚖

Stalker Yandere

"Do you ever get the feeling you're being watched?"

Yeosang is a man who likes to live off the radar

No one really seems him or acknowledges his existence unless he makes himself known

So stalking you everyday was no problem

You were oblivious to the fact he stalked you day and night

But that doesn't mean you didn't have any strange feelings

For the past three years you always had this sense of uneasiness

You didn't know how to explain it exactly

But you felt that you were always on the defense

Ready for something unexpected to happen to you

And not in a good way

Whenever you confessed these feelings, people would laugh and say that you're paranoid

And yes you were paranoid, because your psyche never lies, it's there for a reason

"I'm serious! Maybe I'm being stalked or something."

"Who would want to stalk you? You don't do anything."

A brutal attack, but the statement was true nonetheless

But that never set your psyche at ease

And the most fucked up thing about your whole "paranoia" was that Yeosang was in your life

He was your neighbor

And the two of you were quite acquainted

Granted Yeosang didn't exactly LIVE in that house down the street, but you'd never know

He would take run around the neighborhood for exercise and would stop to talk to you if he saw you

He played the role of the normal neighbor a little TOO well

Stalking Yanderes CAN be violent, but Yeosang wasn't

It would ruin his ability to stalk you in peace

He never hurt your, or the people around you

One day he told you a riddle that had you stumped completely

You loved when he told you riddles because it was like a little traditional thing whenever you two say each other

"Everyone has it, but no one can lose it."

This riddle had you stumped for days, and you didn't want to cheat by looking it up online

So by magic chance two days later, at night when you were laying in bed in the dark trying to sleep, the answer hit you

Instead of getting giddy with excitement that you fianlly figured out his riddles like you usually did, it made you feel, puzzled

The way his voice sounded as he told you the riddle

The smile that was staining his face as he did, had your psyche going crazy

You needed to calm yourself, because it was just a riddle, nothing more, and nothing less

So you drifted off into sleep and mumbled the words,

"A shadow."

SAN ⚖

Training Yandere

"Say you love me... SAY IT, SAY THAT YOU LOVE ME! SAY IT!"

This is why I didn't label San as the sadistic Yandere

Even though he could have easily slipped into that category

But not with this one chile

Unlike the Sadistic Yandere, San doesn't like causing you pain, it hurts him deeply to see you in pain

A lot of Atinys (myself included) are so used to San being labeled as "the demon" or "possessed" when it comes to his stage presence or when it comes to NSFW AUs

But you need to remember that San is actually a bubbly, clingy little cupcake off stage

So that's why I stuck him with the Training Yandere

But you need to be trained, so he has no choice but to hurt you

He easily kidnapped you after breaking into your home and drugging your food.

You didn't know who San was, never saw him a day in your life

But San was convinced that you'd known each other for years

(I can also sense a tiny bit of the Delusional Yandere in this one, but like I said A TINY bit)

In the basement you were, chained to a chair like an animal

He came skipping down the stairs happily and had a plate of food for you

"Now you can eat if you say the magic words."

"Please?"

San chuckled at your response

In normal situations yes that is the magic word, but San said "words" not "word".

"No that's not it."

"Well then what it is?"

"You know what it is silly."

The confused look on your face made San beileve you were lying, and that you were just being a brat

He hated brats

"Alright I see you're still going with this-"

He brought out his bag filled with torture equipment

And that's when you lost all sense of reality

You kept telling yourself that you were dreaming

It was the only logical explanation for this situation

"Awe don't cry, just say the magic words and you can be free of your restraints."

"....."

"The magic words are "I love you".

"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?! I DON'T LOVE YOU! I DON'T EVEN KNOW YOU!

(Y/N why couldn't you just play along tsk tsk)

"Oh boy, I was hoping we wouldn't have to do this."

The first tool he got out was a hammer, a big, hammer

And he released one of your hands only to hold it down on the table next to him

"You have ten fingers, let's see if you can say the words before we get to ten."

He aimed for your pointer finger and slammed the hammer down on it with all his might

"One."

You screamed bloody murder as you felt the pain shoot through your body

But you still didn't say anything

He slammed the hammer on your middle finger

"Two."

You still didn't say anything, how could you with all the pain you're in

The next finger

"Three."

No response

The next finger

"Four."

No response

San was getting frustrated, but didn't show it

He eventually broke all ten of your fingers, and was amazed at your strength of not giving in

But that's just the more violent he had to be

Next on the list, was your face

He slapped and punched you repeatedly, blood getting everywhere and your vision becoming blurry

But you STILL didn't give in

San had enough

He grabbed a knife from his bag and held it at your feet

This was also the final straw for you

You can live with broken fingers, but not feet

"SAN! I- I LOVE YOU!"

"What?"

"I'm sorry for being a brat, please forgive me! I love you!"

"Oh darling! I knew it!"

Of course you were lying, but he didn't know that

[likecastle]

In which Jaskier cuts Geralt’s hair

Well, folks, I was inspired by Geralt’s slightly wavier wig in the new S2 promo photos to write a story in which Geralt finally gets some proper haircare and it brings out his natural curl pattern. This somehow turned into 7,000 words of Geralt musing about his own terrible self-image and Jaskier tenderly negotiating a haircut.

Credit for Geralt’s 3-in-1 shower products goes to @exrayspex​, with my thanks for their enthusiasm about this exceedingly soft concept!  

I’d like to put this up on AO3 at some point, but the title has me stumped, so if anyone has a suggestion, please let me know.

“When are you going to let me cut your hair?”

Geralt snorts, incredulous. “I’m not.”

Jaskier fixes Geralt with a pleading look. The streaks of peacock blue Jaskier recently added to his hair really bring out the color of his eyes—all the better to beguile him with. “Come on, Geralt, don’t you trust me?”

“No,” Geralt says, trying without much luck to keep his attention on the TV screen. Suddenly he has to fight the urge to tuck a stray strand of his hair behind his ear.

“It would look so nice if you just took proper care of it,” Jaskier wheedles.

“It doesn’t need to look nice.” Geralt can feel his shoulders creeping up towards his ears, and he wishes Jaskier would look at something else besides him. “It’s just hair.”

“But—”

Geralt jabs the remote in the direction of the TV. “Are you going to let me watch this or do you want to go home?”

“Fine, you grouch,” Jaskier says, returning his attention to the screen.

It must not hold Jaskier’s interest, though, because he can feel Jaskier’s gaze returning to him periodically throughout the rest of the film—which in itself isn’t all that unusual, since Jaskier watches even movies he really likes with one eye on his phone. Except that when Geralt meets his gaze, Jaskier’s looking at him with a wistful, almost sad expression. Geralt doesn’t let himself wonder what might be on his mind.

Later, Jaskier yawns wide and says he’d better be going if he doesn’t want to fall asleep at the wheel on the way home. It’s just a dramatic excuse not to help clean up, Geralt knows, but he can’t help smiling at the way Jaskier rubs at his eyes, smudging the faded remnants of his eyeliner. Geralt walks him to the door, and for a moment Jaskier just stands there on the porch, looking at Geralt thoughtfully.

When his hand reaches up, Geralt freezes. He thinks for a moment that Jaskier’s about to cup his cheek and drawn him down—but he just takes a strand of frizzy hair that’s come loose from Geralt’s ponytail and twists it around a finger.

“I thought so,” Jaskier says, with a private little smile.

Geralt’s sure Jaskier must be able to hear the way his breath’s gotten jammed up in his chest. “Thought—?”

“Nothing.” Jaskier digs his hands into the pockets of his jacket and starts down the front steps. “G’night, Geralt.”

As Geralt tidies away their takeout containers and empty beer bottles, his mind keeps wandering back to Jaskier’s offer. He knows Jaskier’s just trying to be nice—or trying to fix him, the way he tried to “liven up” Geralt’s wardrobe early in their friendship and tried to set him up on dates after he split up with Yen last year. But the options he tries to push on Geralt—the overpriced bomber jacket Jaskier bought him that’s still sitting at the back of his closet, the gorgeous chestnut-haired nurse Jaskier introduced him to—always seem to reflect more about Jaskier’s idea of Geralt than they do about Geralt himself.

Because the thing is, he’s not brash and stylish like Jaskier, who’s all eccentric colors combinations and flashing rings that accentuate his expressive hands. Jaskier knows how to construct an outfit that tells the world exactly who he is at any given moment, from his ever-evolving hairstyles to his painstakingly-sourced vintage clothes. Geralt, on the other hand, is just—nothing, an absence of style. His idea of a good outfit is one he can forget he’s wearing, one that will make everyone else forget him when he’s wearing it. His relationship to his appearance is as estranged as his relationship to his ex-wife. Being in his body, making use of it when he’s lifting weights or hammering a nail or swinging Ciri up in his arms—that makes sense to him. But thinking about his body is the opposite of that. He doesn’t like being looked at, even by himself. He avoids the mirror on his medicine cabinet as much as he can and starts feeling close and queasy if he so much as looks at himself in a dressing room mirror.

Before he goes to bed that night, he shakes his hair out from his ponytail and makes himself take a long, hard look in the mirror. All he sees is the sallow, tired-eyed face of a man who can hardly remember how to smile anymore, a face scarred from carelessness and creased from years of worry. His dull white hair, which Jaskier had twisted so carefully around his finger, is somehow greasy and dried out at the same time, limp around his face but bristly at the ends. He can’t find any sign of the potential Jaskier seems to think is there. He suspects it was never there in the first place—a mirage visible only to well-intentioned flatterers like Jaskier—and he feels foolish for looking.

No, Geralt decides, he’s not going to let Jaskier cut his hair, or do anything else to him. Better not to bother at all.

*

The next time the topic of Geralt’s hair comes up, he’s brought Ciri into Jaskier’s salon for an emergency haircut. Ordinarily, Yennefer handles things like haircuts and clothes shopping, but Saturday night, Ciri emerged from the bathroom with the front her hair lopped off somewhere around her eyebrows and a dawning expression of anxious regret on her face. Geralt had reassured her that everything would be OK, while texting Jaskier frantically for help and silently panicking about what Yen was going to say when she came to pick Ciri up on Sunday night. Thankfully, Jaskier was able to squeeze Ciri into his schedule this afternoon, and he promised to fix Ciri up.

So now Geralt is sitting awkwardly in the waiting area, hunched on a squeaky vinyl-upholstered chair. He’s been to Jaskier’s salon plenty of times—to meet him for lunch or a post-shift drink, to drop off something he left at the house or to give him a ride home—but he rarely does more than stand uneasily just inside the door. The relentless pop music and the echoing acoustics never fail to overwhelm him, as does the muddle of scents—clouds of different hair products and the pervasive smell of something sharp like ammonia. The abundance of mirrors unnerves him, too. Nobody can possibly need to see so many views of their own reflection, can they? Between the curious patrons peering at him in the mirrors and passersby staring in through the plate glass storefront, Geralt feels like he’s on display. And to make matters worse, he keeps catching glimpses of his reflection, his own hunted expression looking back at him from unexpected angles.

Ciri, at least, is having a great time, chatting happily with Jaskier as he snips away at her hair. The last time Geralt took Ciri for a haircut, it was at one of those children’s salons where the chairs looked like toy cars, and now here she is, sitting beside grown women almost like she’s one of them. It scares him, sometimes, to think of her growing up—more than sometimes. There are so many ways the world can fail her, and he can only do so much to protect her. There’s going to come a time when she’s going to get into some kind of trouble he won’t be able to bail her out of, and he’s not sure what he’s going to do with himself when that day comes. But for now, at least he can pay Jaskier to fix her disastrous home-brew haircut.

“What d’you think, Dad?” Ciri calls, and he looks up to see Jaskier removing her cape with a flourish. When he turns Ciri’s chair around to face him, Geralt’s heart catches in his throat. How grown up she looks, he thinks, but what really makes his chest ache is how much she’s coming into herself—becoming someone with her own unique taste in clothes and books and music, who won’t compromise about the bullshit dress codes at school and is brave enough to try something new even if the results are atrocious. He doesn’t know where she gets it.

“You like it?” he asks, not trusting himself to say something that won’t embarrass her.

“Yeah, I guess,” she says with a shrug, and hops down from the chair.

“We could do yours next, Geralt,” Jaskier offers, sweeping up the little blonde fragments of Ciri’s hair from the floor around his station.

“Ooh, yeah!” Ciri grins up at him. “I bet Jaskier would give you a really cool haircut.”

“I’m sure he would,” Geralt says mildly. He doesn’t want to quash Ciri’s enthusiasm or impart his own discomfort to her. It’s one of the things that keeps him up at night, the fear that he’ll pass down all his insecurities. He tries so hard to keep that shit buttoned up, to shield her from his own shortcomings—and he knows it’s inevitable that he’s just going to mess her up in other ways, but he wants to do better for her, has to do better. “Maybe some other time.”

“So you’ll consider it!” Jaskier says triumphantly, coming over to tell the receptionist the total for Ciri’s cut.

Geralt notices Ciri looking at herself in the big mirror behind the front desk, fussing self-consciously with her new fringe. Jaskier must notice, too, because he gives Ciri a big hug and says, “You look great, kiddo. Right, Geralt?”

“Definitely,” Geralt says, surrendering his credit card to the receptionist to pay a frankly staggering amount. He tips a hundred percent.

*

“You should take him up on it,” Yennefer says that evening when Geralt concludes the story of Ciri’s haircut by telling her about Jaskier’s offer to cut Geralt’s hair.

Geralt blinks in surprise. “Really?”

She glances back to where Ciri is waiting for her in the car. “Jaskier did a good job. She and I are going to have a serious conversation later about when to ask for permission and when to ask for forgiveness, but I have to admit it suits her.”

“It does,” Geralt agrees. He realizes he doesn’t know what it would be like, to feel his appearance suited him. He’s never tried, really, to make his exterior reflect his interior, wouldn’t even know where to begin.

“Besides,” Yennefer says, gesturing to his haphazard ponytail, “you really do need to start taking better care of yourself, now that I’m not around to make sure you’re presentable anymore.”

Geralt’s eyebrows shoot up, a smile twitching his lips. “Is that what you were doing? Looking after me?”

Yennefer lifts one hand to tug a lock of his hair, the gesture so similar to Jaskier’s that it makes him shiver, for some reason. “No, but somebody ought to.”

He ducks his head, hoping to hide the ache that washes through him—a longing for something they both wanted but never quite managed to find together. “If you keep Ciri waiting much longer, she’s gonna make a break for it.”

“She would, too,” Yennefer says affectionately. “Take care of yourself, Geralt.” She surprises him by brushing a kiss against his cheek, then turns to go.

Geralt waits until Yennefer’s car is out of sight before he goes inside. As he loads the dinner dishes into the dishwasher, he thinks again about Jaskier’s offer. He’s never been good at asking for things, let alone holding on them once he has them, but it’s been especially hard since he and Yennefer split—even the littlest things feel like they require an effort it’s not worth making. It’s so easy to tell himself he doesn’t need anything—a fancy haircut, a new jacket, a reassuring glance, a gentle touch. But sometimes, maybe, it’s enough to want them.

Wiping soapy water off his hands, Geralt pulls his phone from his pocket and texts Jaskier. Does your offer to cut my hair still stand? Only if you’ve got time.

OMG YES!!! comes the immediate reply. I can be there in 20. Then, a moment later, Jaskier amends, Shit wait make that 40 need to run to get some supplies

Geralt huffs out a laugh. Have to get up early tomorrow. This weekend?

All booked up this weekend but I’m off on Tues so I can come over to your place in the pm if that works for you

He’d hoped to give himself a few days to cancel, just in case he changes his mind, and in this respect Tuesday’s almost no better than forty minutes from now. But he does like the idea of doing this at home, instead of in the salon. He types out OK and hits send before he can think better of it.

Don’t chicken out before then

No promises, Geralt answers.

Jaskier responds with a string of emoji that Geralt finds completely inscrutable, but which make him smile nonetheless.

*

Jaskier arrives on Tuesday evening with a six-pack of cold beer and bag crammed full of supplies.

“I thought you were going to cut my hair, not outlast a siege,” Geralt says, trying to ignore the way his stomach twists with nerves over this impending ordeal. He should have cancelled. He should never have said yes to this ridiculous idea.

“Oh, none of this would be remotely useful in warfare,” Jaskier replies. Then, contemplatively, he says, “Well, maybe some of it. But first, I thought we could have a drink.”

“So you can cut my hair drunk?” Geralt asks.

Jaskier rolls his eyes and brushes past Geralt into the kitchen, dumping his bag into an empty chair at the table. “So you can relax a little for once. And so we can talk.”

Geralt feels the knot of anxiety in his stomach tighten even further. “What is there to talk about? It’s just a haircut.”

Jaskier lets out a long-suffering sigh as he rummages around in Geralt’s cutlery drawer in search of a bottle opener. “Geralt, have you not listened to a single word I’ve said about my job?” He pops off the caps of two bottles of beer and hands one to Geralt. “No, don’t answer that, I know you haven’t.”

Geralt takes a sullen sip of his beer, but he doesn’t dispute the accusation.

With a nod of his head, Jaskier gestures for Geralt to follow him into the living room, and flops down on what Geralt has come to think of as his side of the couch. Geralt sits at the other end, turned to face him. “You need to know what you want going into this, or you won’t get good results.” Jaskier fixes him with a gaze that makes Geralt take another swallow of his beer. “Have you ever given any thought to what you like, or don’t like, about your hair?”

“Not . . . really,” Geralt mumbles, wondering how angry Jaskier would be if he called this whole thing off now.

“Well,” Jaskier says patiently, “why do you keep your hair long? I always assumed it was because you liked how it looked, but I’m realizing now I’ve never asked about it.”

Geralt takes another sip of his beer and tries to think of answer that’s not Because I do. He’s worn it long since high school, when it was primarily something to hide behind. It felt like a kind of fuck-you, an off-putting choice to keep people from looking too closely at him—and to help him forget about other people, too. “It’s easier,” he says finally. “Don’t have to get it cut every few weeks, and I can keep it out of my face.”

“OK, that’s good to know.” The calm, encouraging tone Jaskier’s taking should feel condescending, but Geralt finds he doesn’t mind—or maybe it’s just the beer starting to relax him a little.

“You don’t always tie it back, though, do you?” Jaskier goes on.

Geralt shakes his head. “When I’m working, yeah, but the rest of the time . . .” He shrugs. It depends—on who he’s around, how comfortable he feels with them, hell, how hard the wind is blowing. Sometimes he can’t stand the feeling of it in face, and sometimes the pressure of the hair elastic at the base of his skull is enough to make him want to rip it out.

“Can I . . . ?” Jaskier gestures to Geralt’s hair, and Geralt inclines his head. It’s inevitable that Jaskier will have to touch him if they’re going to go through with this, so there’s no point in being shy about it. Jaskier scoots forward on the couch, and Geralt holds very still, letting him reach back and undo the tie holding his hair back. A sheet of frizzy white strands spills around his bowed head, almost obscuring Jaskier from view.

He can feel Jaskier, though, running his fingers through his hair. The touch makes Geralt’s scalp tingle and a shiver runs through him that he tries and fails to suppress.

“OK?” Jaskier asks, and Geralt nods.

“You’ve never told me when you went grey.” Jaskier’s voice is hushed, almost as if he’s afraid of startling him. He continues to card his hand through Geralt’s hair—with professional curiosity, Geralt realizes, but the touch is so gentle it also feels like a reassurance. Geralt closes his eyes, grateful to be shielded from Jaskier’s view.

“Started in high school,” he says. It’s been a long time since he thought about how, when those first thick streaks of white were coming into his dark hair, kids at school would call him skunk and Cruella de Vil, shit he knew better than to respond to but that just made him even more self-conscious. It occurs to him now that most of his memories of being looked at—really noticed—are colored by other people’s derision for things he can’t help. “It was all like this by the time I was twenty-one, twenty-two. Someone told me once it’s genetic, but . . .” He shrugs again. He’s got no one to ask about a family history of premature graying, no photos of distant relatives to compare himself to.

Gentle fingers tuck his hair back behind one ear, and Geralt looks up to see Jaskier smiling at him. “I would pay good money to see pictures of you in high school. I bet you were so surly.”

“You wouldn’t have liked me,” Geralt says “I was insufferable.” Miserable and ungrateful and roiling with self-righteous anger all the time, hardly able to string a civil sentence together.

Jaskier rewards him with a snort of disbelieving laughter. “You’re insufferable now and I like you just fine.”

This is true, Geralt thinks. His anger has banked down somewhat since those days, but he’s no less difficult to be around, and Jaskier’s never seemed to mind his rough edges. If he’s being honest, he wouldn’t have been able to appreciate Jaskier in those day. His constant talking and absurd jokes would have grated on Geralt’s nerves, back then. They did when he first met Jaskier, in fact. He tried, for a long time, to keep his distance, sure that there was nothing he and Jaskier could possibly have to say to each other. But Jaskier kept turning up, kept surprising him, kept being kind to him for no damn reason. Geralt’s glad he did.

“So,” Jaskier says, pushing the conversation back in his desired direction, as he always does, “what I’m hearing is, you like wearing your hair long?”

Geralt considers, taking another swallow of his beer. Liking doesn’t figure into his thinking much, but it’s not just out of habit that he keeps it this way. “Yeah.”

Jaskier’s nod is solemn. “Anything you don’t like about it?”

Again, Geralt has to give this serious thought. “There are, uh . . .” He gestures to the wiry flyaways that tend to form around his head by the end of the day. They tend to tickle his face unpleasantly as he works, which is irritating when he doesn’t hand a hand free to brush them away.

“Yeah, it’s a little dry,” Jaskier says. “But we can fix that up.” Geralt knows exactly how soft Jaskier’s hair is, and he can’t imagine his own ragged hair could ever come close. “Anything else?”

Geralt shrugs.

“OK,” Jaskier says, “enough with the interrogation. I think I’ve got everything I need.”

Jaskier gets up and retrieves another beer—not for himself, but for Geralt. Jaskier’s fingers brush his as he hands over the bottle, and it gives him the same little shiver that he felt when Jaskier was combing through his hair. “D’you want me to tell you what I’m thinking, or just surprise you?”

Geralt’s gut instinct is to make Jaskier tell him what he’s got in mind, so that he has the option to veto it and put this whole thing to a stop. But he thinks of Jaskier’s teasing question the first time they talked about this—Don’t you trust me?—and how he’d said no when the answer is really yes. So he takes a deep pull of his beer and says, “Surprise me.”

The look of glee on Jaskier’s face is worth the knot of dread that immediately forms in Geralt’s stomach. He takes another drinks and reminds himself that it’s just hair. It’ll grow back.

“You’re not gonna regret it, I promise,” Jaskier says, and then his warm hands are urging Geralt up and off the couch.

It takes them a while to get everything situated to Jaskier’s liking—the bathroom is too cramped to accommodate a chair, so Jaskier has Geralt drag one into the kitchen, covering the floor in newspapers to catch the stray clippings. Then Jaskier sends Geralt to wash his hair while he sets up the rest of his supplies. When Geralt comes back downstairs, his hair soaking into his t-shirt, there is a truly staggering array of equipment spread out on the counter, Jaskier’s own little traveling apothecary kit, with everything from dangerously sharp scissors to brightly-colored bottles of product to some kind of instrument that looks like a bowl full of dull spikes, which Jaskier says attaches to his hair dryer.

“Rule number one,” Jaskier says, grabbing the towel out of Geralt’s hands. “No more regular towels on your hair. Your hair deserves to be treated with care.” Geralt snorts, but the towel he hands Geralt is pleasantly soft, with finer knap that’s soft as fleece in his hands. “And don’t rub at it,” Jaskier scolds. He steps closer, wrapping his hands around Geralt’s to guide him, his hand moving in a gentle squeezing motion. “That’s good,” he says, and Geralt feels his cheeks flush.

Once Geralt’s hair is toweled dry, Jaskier maneuvers him into the chair, and combs out his hair with a wide-toothed comb. Jaskier is exceedingly careful not to yank on the knots, but even so the gentle tug sets his skin tangling. Geralt knows his scalp is sensitive—he can remember fighting back tears while Vesemir struggled to brush out his unruly hair as a kid—but it’s never felt like this before. Of course, that might have something to do with the fact that ordinarily, when he finally breaks down and subjects himself to a trim, he just asks Eskel do come over and cut it with the kitchen scissors. Even with someone he trusts as profoundly as he does Eskel, it’s still an uncomfortable ordeal that makes him unaccountably tense. But this isn’t painful, or unnerving at all. It’s . . . nice, embarrassingly so. He can’t help wondering what it would feel like if Jaskier were to drag his nails along his scalp—and then he has to force himself not to think about it, because even the thought of the sensation sends a shudder through him.

Thankfully, Jaskier is busy fiddling with his phone, and a moment later he puts on a playlist he likes to call Geralt’s Sad Dad Rock mix. Geralt appreciates the background noise—familiar songs he can tune out if he wants to, quiet enough that the music’s not intrusive.

“OK,” Jaskier says, snapping a cape around Geralt’s throat. His hand comes to rest on Geralt’s shoulder and he leans in to speak almost directly into Geralt’s ear. “Ready?”

Geralt suppresses another chill and says, “As I’ll ever be.”

Jaskier gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze and gets to work. Geralt’s grateful for the lack of mirrors, because it means he doesn’t have to see what Jaskier’s doing, but at the same time it leaves him without much to go on—just the touch of the comb, Jaskier’s hands carefully repositioning his head, his fingers pulling this or that lock of hair taut to snip at them with the scissors. Eventually, Geralt closes his eyes and lets Jaskier’s voice wash over him. Jaskier often accuses Geralt of not listening to him when he talks, but in truth it’s easy to get lost in the lilting cadence of his speech, like hearing a song but not its lyrics.

“. . . and the thing is,” Jaskier’s saying, though Geralt lost the thread of his rambling long ago, “the more you do it, the better your results will be. You just have to help them along . . .”

He can see why Jaskier’s clients like him so much, how nice it is to fall into the pattern of someone else’s words, especially when that someone has as nice a voice as Jaskier. He’s often grateful for Jaskier’s conversation, which fills silences Geralt didn’t even realize were empty until he came along.

When Jaskier says, “OK, you’re all done,” Geralt is surprised by how quickly the time has passed. “We can just leave it at that and just let it air dry, or . . .” Even though he can’t see Jaskier, he can picture the hopeful expression on his face.

“What?” Geralt asks, twisting around in the chair to look Jaskier in the eye.

Jaskier bites his bottom lip, looking almost nervous. “Or I could show you how to style it. If you wanted. Nothing over the top, I promise.”

Geralt thinks it over. On the one hand, there’s no way he’ll ever bother repeating anything Jaskier shows him how to do, but on the other hand, he wouldn’t mind having Jaskier’s hands on him a little longer. “All right.”

“Really?” Jaskier’s eyes go wide. “Nope, never mind, I’m not gonna second-guess this. No take-backs! You’re committed now.”

Which is how Geralt finds himself being hustled back upstairs and into the bathroom. Jaskier pulls back the shower curtain and is about to start issuing instructions when he lets out a squawk and staggers backward.

Geralt looks around in alarm, expecting to see a giant spider in the tub. It’s only belatedly that he realizes he’s thrown an arm out in front of Jaskier, as if that will protect him from whatever nonexistent threat he was reacting to. “What?”

“Geralt, for shame!” Jaskier exclaims, pointing to the bottle of 3-in-1 shampoo/conditioner/body wash on the edge of the tub. “Is that yours?” He says it with all the breathless horror of someone discovering a murder weapon.

“Uh . . .” Geralt has the distinct feeling he should try to deny it, but there’s no point in trying to pretend. “Yes?”

And then Jaskier is laughing, but it’s warm with delight, not mocking or cruel. In fact, he looks up at Geralt with such fondness that Geralt almost can’t bear it. “Oh, you poor man,” Jaskier says between gusts of laughter. “No wonder your hair is so dry!”

“. . . It’s efficient,” Geralt mutters in a half-hearted attempt to defend himself.

“It’s like washing your hair with dish soap. But don’t worry,” he adds, pressing a hand to Geralt’s chest, “I’ll get you sorted out and then your hair will be so soft it’ll be completely irresistible.”

“Hmm,” Geralt says dubiously, but Jaskier just grins at him.

“OK, this next part is going to be a little awkward. Ordinarily you’d do it by yourself in the shower, but I’m gonna take a wild guess and say you’d rather not jump in the shower with me right now.”

Geralt very much does not acknowledge the wave of heat that rolls through him at the thought.  “Probably wouldn’t fit, anyway.”

“Eh, I’ve made it work in smaller spaces than this,” Jaskier says, with such casual confidence that Geralt’s mouth goes dry. “But luckily, you’ve got one of those detachable showerheads, so we should be just fine. Might be easier, though, if you, uh, take off your shirt off.”

Geralt’s already come this far, and, besides, it’s not like Jaskier hasn’t seen him without his shirt on before. As Geralt strips off his shirt, Jaskier puts a towel down on the floor and beckons him to kneel down at the edge the tub. He’s careful to get the water to a comfortable temperature before he puts a warm hand on Geralt’s bare back, guiding him to lean over, his head bowed.

The routine Jaskier directs him through is more complicated than Geralt could ever have anticipated. There’s a thick, dark purple shampoo that Jaskier instructs him to use only once a week—he has another shampoo he’ll give Geralt to use at other times, but really, Jaskier insists, he should only be washing his hair a couple of times a week, anyway. Jaskier shows him how to rub the shampoo into his scalp only and let the water draw it down through the rest of his hair. The pressure of the spray on his scalp makes his skin tingle, as does the press of Jaskier’s body against his side. When Geralt doesn’t apply the conditioner to Jaskier’s liking, he adjusts Geralt’s hands with his own, smoothing their joined fingers through Geralt’s slippery hair. And when it comes time to rinse the conditioner out, he shows Geralt how to cup the water in his palms and press it into the wet mass of his hair.

“You’re doing great,” Jaskier tells him, and Geralt is grateful his face is hidden behind ropes of his wet hair.

Finally, Jaskier pronounces himself satisfied and turns off the water. Now that they’re done the task of washing his hair, Geralt’s awkwardly aware of his chest dripping with water in the cool air of the bathroom—and of Jaskier standing less than an arm’s length away from him.

Jaskier, on the other hand, is nothing but professional, rubbing a series of products into his hands and then smoothing them over Geralt’s hair. After each application, he gathers Geralt’s hair in his hands and presses it up toward Geralt’s scalp, just like they did with the water. It’s a bizarre motion, like nothing Geralt’s ever seen before, but it seems to be having the desired effect, because the strands of hair hanging down in front of his face are slowly forming into thick coils, and Jaskier keeps making little satisfied humming sounds with each new application. Jaskier finishes by wrapping Geralt’s hair up in another one of those extra soft towels.

“And now we wait,” he says, hopping up onto the sink.

Geralt pulls his shirt on again, careful not to disturb the towel on his head, and he might be wrong but he thinks that he catches a little disappointed frown cross Jaskier’s face, but it’s gone before he can be sure.

“Thanks for indulging me,” Jaskier says. “I know you don’t really like this kind of stuff, but I’m having a great time.”

“It’s not as bad as I thought it would be,” Geralt replies. But that sounds worse than it did in his head, and he hastens to add, “I mean—it’s nice—when it’s you.”

Jaskier’s smile is something Geralt can’t quite get to the bottom of—fond and wry and maybe a little sad, too. “Well, I’ve been dying to do this pretty much since the moment I met you, so, you know, thanks for that.”

It’s strange to think Jaskier has been harboring private aspirations where Geralt is concerned. But then Jaskier’s always been full of surprises when it comes to him—immune to his ill temper, amused by his rudeness, tenacious enough to bully his way past his silences. He’s never understood what Jaskier sees in him, and he often feels he offers a poor reward for the hard work Jaskier puts in to being his friend. Because it’s not easy, Geralt knows. Plenty of people have decided Geralt was too difficult to get to know, or too prickly to stick with. Even Yennefer, who’s loved him better than he could possibly deserve, struggled to make inroads against Geralt’s defenses. It never seemed to matter how much he loved Yennefer, he could never bring himself to relax around her. He was always on tenterhooks, waiting for the other shoe to drop—until, in time, it did, a sort of self-fulfilling prophecy. He can’t blame Yennefer ending things. She wants things he doesn’t know how to give. He couldn’t figure out how to change himself into the sort of person she deserved.

“D’you want another beer?” Jaskier asks, nudging Geralt’s knee with his bare foot.

He wouldn’t mind another drink, but he’s loathe to puncture the peaceful little moment that’s grown up between them. “Let’s just stay here.”

Jaskier nods, and a moment later Fleetwood Mac comes on over Jaskier’s phone speakers—one of the only bands they can agree on—and Jaskier treats him to an inspired rendition of “Dreams,” his voice turned otherworldly by the chill acoustics of the bathroom tiles. Geralt watches Jaskier dance on his perch on the edge of the sink and wonders, with an ache in his chest, what it would be like to be so uninhibited, so comfortable in his own skin. He can’t imagine it, but sometimes he feels like he’s maybe just a half-step closer to knowing when he’s around Jaskier.

When the song fades out, Jaskier hops down from the counter and says, “OK, time for the last step.”

Jaskier sticks that torture device attachment onto his hair dryer and lets Geralt’s hair down from the towel. Jaskier lets him stay seated, and starts drying his hair. He doesn’t pull Geralt’s hair taut with a brush, as Geralt has seen Yennefer do when styling her own hair. Instead, he gathers it up a section of hair in that little torture device accessory and holds the dryer still, letting the air work around the strands. Geralt closes his eyes against the noise and sensation of the air against his scalp. It lasts a long time, Geralt bracing his arms on his thighs as Jaskier moves the hair dryer around his head. The noise of the dryer makes conversation difficult, and Geralt feels strangely distant from Jaskier all of a sudden, even though he’s standing so close Geralt could press his face to the soft flesh of his stomach if he wanted to. He knots his hands together between his knees to keep himself from just reaching out and pulling Jaskier close.

When Jaskier finally switches off the hair dryer, the silence it leaves feels big. It’s probably just the heat from the hair dyer, but Geralt feels flushed and a little rubbed raw.

“All right,” Jaskier says, fixing him with a considering look. “Let me just . . .” He reaches out and grips Geralt’s hair in both hands. He doesn’t so much tug as gently crush the strands, but the pressure is enough to make Geralt’s mouth fall open, and he doesn’t exactly make a noise but something happens in his chest like his lungs kickstarting. Jaskier glances down at him with an inquisitive smile. “Sorry, too hard?”

It’s all Geralt can do to shake his head.

“All done,” Jaskier says. When he lets go, Geralt immediately misses the touch. “Wanna take a look?”

Geralt stands up and turns to regard himself in the mirror. To say he doesn’t recognize himself would be an overstatement, but the sight of his reflection is a surprise. The cut doesn’t seem all that different in terms of length, but the ragged edges are gone. The dingy white of his hair has turned a gleaming silver, and it hangs around his face not in its usual lank tangle, but in softly curling waves. It’s almost . . . pretty, a word he’s never associated with himself in his entire life. The new brightness of his hair makes his face seem clearer, more open somehow, and the gentle curls offset the hard lines of his face in a way that make his features look almost delicate, or in any case less roughly hewn than usual. He reaches up to touch it, and to his amazement, it’s just as soft as Jaskier promised it would be. Maybe not as soft as Jaskier’s own hair, but much nicer than he can remember it ever feeling before.

“You like it?” Jaskier asks, and in the mirror, Geralt can see he’s looking at him with a hopeful expression. It makes something twist in his stomach—longing, and at the same time a rejection of what he wants, the certainty that he can’t possibly hang onto anything nice for long enough to enjoy it.

“You know I’ll never go to all this trouble,” he says, gruffly, and immediately regrets it when he sees Jaskier’s smile slip from his face.

“No, I know,” Jaskier says, and starts packing up his supplies. “I just wanted to try it. I’ll still leave you all the products, just in case you change your mind, or—”

“Jaskier.” Geralt swallows hard, and puts a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder. “I—”

Jaskier looks at him with such a searching expression that Geralt hardly knows how to look at him. He’s never known someone who’s so much all the time, expansive and loud and demanding and generous and so goddamn bright.

“What I should have said,” Geralt says, against the tension threatening to stop his throat, “is that I wouldn’t have tried this if it weren’t for you. It’s . . .” He’s not sure how to answer Jaskier’s question. Does he like it? He looks so unlike himself that he honestly doesn’t know what to make of it. He can’t tell if it suits him or not, because he still isn’t sure what that would mean. But he likes the idea that Jaskier’s uncovered this version of him, that this might be how Jaskier sees him in his mind’s eye. “I’m glad we tried it. Thank you.”

“I am, too,” Jaskier says, quietly. “Even if you never do it again, I’m glad you trusted me enough to try. And for the record?” The twist of his lips is almost pained, but it’s a smile all the same. “You look fucking gorgeous.”

Geralt ducks his head, his shoulders inching up. “Jaskier . . .”

“No, I’m serious, Geralt.” Jaskier sounds annoyed, almost angry, all of a sudden. “I know you don’t care about superficial stuff—”

“That’s not—”

“—but take it from someone who spends a lot of time looking at people and doing my best to make them look as good as I possibly can: you’re objectively really fucking good-looking.” Jaskier lets out a harsh, reckless laugh. “And if you don’t care about my professional opinion, I also happen to think you’re the most attractive person I’ve ever met in my entire life, so there’s that.”

“I—”

Now that Jaskier’s started talking, he can’t seem to stop. “You’re the most incredible person I know, Geralt,” he says, in a breathless rush, “and I’m not talking just about your looks—although you are genuinely so ridiculously handsome that it’s really not fair. You’re kind for no reason and incredibly devoted and, OK, sort of a dick sometimes, but also so goddamn careful with other people and so fucking hard on yourself, and I just—I wish you could see yourself the way I do. I wish I could show you, even for just a second, because—”

“You did,” Geralt says. Jaskier stares at him, stunned into silence, and Geralt takes the opportunity to continue. “You do. Not just tonight.” He’s breathing hard, and he tries not to think about how dangerous this feels, like standing up on the top of a tall ladder or walking the line of a roof that might collapse under him at any moment. “When I’m with you, I feel like I could be that person you see in me, maybe. I just . . . don’t know how.”

Jaskier laughs again—softer this time. “You dummy,” he says, “you already are. You’ve just got to believe it.”

“Oh, is that all,” Geralt says.

“Yeah, no big deal,” Jaskier says, waving one hand dismissively. “You’ve got me to convince you, after all.”

“Oh, yeah?” Geralt can’t help the smile spreading across his face, despite the shivery feeling still simmering under his skin. “How’re you gonna do that?”

“Well . . .” Jaskier takes a step towards him, and then another, settling his hands lightly on Geralt’s hips. “I’d probably start a little like this . . .”

The first touch of Jaskier’s lips on his is like a breath of clean air after a storm, and Geralt can feel something that’s been knotted tight inside him for a long time unfurling itself. It doesn’t feel dangerous anymore, that buzz under his skin transmuting into a golden glow. He knows it’s not as simple as it feels—he can’t expect Jaskier to change him with a single kiss—but for the first time in a long while, something feels purely, unequivocally good, and he wants more of it.

In time, Jaskier’s hands creep up Geralt’s sides to his back, even as Geralt’s own hands drift down past Jaskier’s waist. When Jaskier’s hands slip into his hair, Geralt wrenches himself free with a shiver. “You’re going to undo all your hard work,” he says, teasingly.

“D’you really care?” Jaskier asks, and scratches his nails along Geralt’s scalp, wringing a whine from deep in Geralt’s chest that should be embarrassing but isn’t.  

“Not really,” Geralt gasps, his whole body pressing closer against Jaskier’s. “You can always do it again.”

Jaskier’s smile is wide as he bends to kiss him again. “That’s what I thought.”