#Its been so long since i met a strange outside cat who was willing to approach

[doebt]

encounter

[tenthgrove]

Hello, can I request La Squadra members falling in love for a civilian they see constantly? ex: the waitress from a restaurant they frequent, the owner of their favorite bakery. I hope my request is understandable, my english is basic.

La Squadra Falling for a Civilian

La Squadra x Reader (GN), Romantic, SFW

Formaggio- Formaggio is less guarded with his trust than an assassin perhaps should be. A fellow commuter on the bus or train, a reveler at the nightclub, just anyone he passes on the street really, are all people he would happily chat to if given the opportunity. He already has several friends who are civilians, and it's only a matter of time before one of them finds their way into his heart. Formaggio doesn't think about the possible consequences of having a civilian lover as much as he probably ought to, though sometimes late at night, unwelcome possibilities do occur to him. He'll be honest with you about his work, since he couldn't stand to be with you otherwise. He trusts you to keep a secret. If the rest of the team discovers your affair, Formaggio will defend your relationship with all his might, convincing them through sheer insistence that the two of you can be trusted not to let this be used against you. And for the most part, it isn't. Your relationship is uncannily normal, with plenty of dates and nights-in where the two of you can be together without the outside world having any say. There is one condition to all this, naturally. You have to take care of his cats while he's away on work. He never trusted any of the others to do it.

Illuso- Perhaps unsurprisingly, Illuso never really considered himself a relationship guy. Casual flings are a dime a dozen, but until recently it wouldn't have bothered him at all to hear he would never find love. Perhaps it was the fact you were a civilian that changed this. Spending so long around criminals had warped him, made him forget how to see the good in people and in himself. You had never known any of that life. You reminded him who he used to be. You mean the world to Illuso and he will protect you at all costs. He urges you to report any strange occurrences to him, stalkers, people asking intrusive questions, anything of the sort. The thought of someone finding out about you terrifies him, and it's that very anxiety that innevitably leads La Squadra to investigate. The first time Illuso ever shows tears to anyone in his squad, is when Risotto informs him he won't be stopping you from seeing each other. Illuso goes home to you that night and holds you close. He does something he hasn't in a long, long time. He talks about the future.

Prosciutto- Growing up, Prosciutto could never envision himself without a spouse. Children, either, if they were at all willing to have them. But once fate had brought him to Passione, he made a strict policy: no friends, no confidantes, and most certainly, no lovers outside of Passione. How quickly that went away when he met you! It was like the very fantasy of his future love had burst into reality just to greet him. He seized his moment, invited you to meet with him again, and soon after that you were lovers. For the longest time, he lies to you about his profession. Psychiatry, he claims, for the sake of an excuse not to tell you about the day-to-day details. But he thinks about the difference between his life and yours every day. He thinks a lot about how its going to be possible to settle down with you. The only thing he knows for certain, is that no matter what happens, he's going to make it possible. Only two of his colleagues know about the relationship- Pesci, as informed in a drunken, guilt-ridden confession, and Risotto, told shortly after in a private meeting with the both of you present. Risotto sighed, patted Prosciutto on the shoulder and told him he respected him, both an assassin as a friend. Though he urges you both to be cautious, he trusts you to do so. He wishes you all the best for whatever may come.

Pesci- If there's one thing Prosciutto considered fortunate about Pesci's faint-hearted personality, it was that he could not ever envision his brother chasing after pretty people when he had his back turned. Simply, Prosciutto hadn't considered someone like you coming along. A person so gentle and amicable, even Pesci would force his anxieties aside and confess his feelings to you. Pesci doesn't realise it, but he's the perfect lover- supportive and understanding, while equally ready to jump to defend you when the time calls for it. You discover fairly early on what he really does, since Pesci could never live with himself for lying, but you can tell in his eyes it doesn't reflect the real thing. It doesn't change how you feel for him. And as for the rest of the squad, Pesci is one of the few who is honest from the start. Before your first date, he goes to Prosciutto and asks for advice. Annoyed as he is that this has happened, Prosciutto realizes how good this could be for Pesci and his development. It's clear Prosciutto's own methods of installing some confidence into the boy haven't worked. Perhaps you'll have better luck.

Melone- With his primary function in the operation of his stand being to analyze people, it's only a matter of time before he finds himself developing a more long-term attachment to one of them. It doesn't matter if you were actually chosen to host his stand, or even if you were eligible. Melone is struck at once by your compatibility and eagerly starts a conversation. He charms you into accepting his number, and a Passionate romance begins shortly after. Melone hints to you that his true occupation may be outside the law, but for at least the first year he says nothing more about it, and convinces you not to care. Melone is an observant and entertaining partner. While he is not particularly fond of dates, nights indoors with him are always a pleasure. La Squadra rarely likes to pry in Melone's business, so the chances of them finding out about you early on are low. When it does happen, Melone tells them of you of his own free will in the hope you might become friends with some of them. The assassins are so chuffed with the innocent, strange specter of Melone's lover, they cannot help but let his secrecy slide.

Ghiaccio- It might be hard for an outsider to see Ghiaccio as the romantic sort, but deep down, a soulmate has always been his dream. Perhaps it's not the spectacle of romance himself but companionship, a person who understands and accepts him in the way nobody else can. Someone to spend his life with. Meeting you was an accident. He was fleeing from a hit by foot as the police approaches, when he carelessly bashed into you on the street. Despite his rude introduction you invited him into your nearby home and, realizing it was his best hope of escape, he agreed. Now that you are lovers, Ghiaccio dreams of nothing more than your warm embrace. He loves you unconditionally, and worries for you every day. When La Squadra discovers your affair, he's less in trouble for having a secret lover than for tackling whoever it was who spilled the secret to the ground. Now that the pair of you have Risotto's blessing, however, Ghiaccio is far less anxious about being with you. There's talk of you moving in together, so Ghiaccio can have his wish and hold you every night from now on.

Risotto- A lover in any context was never really on the agenda for Risotto, let alone one from such an innocuous background. Letting himself get close to you could only happen in extreme circumstances, most likely you finding him injured after a mission and treating his wounds, without the faintest clue where he got them from. Risotto didn't mean to get attached, but after that day he couldn't help but revisit you. Soon, you were meeting in secret as lovers. He does not dare be seen in public with you, but the nights you have inside together always leave your heart fluttering at the smallest smile. Still, Risotto worries about you constantly. A lover could easily be used against him, and he could never forgive himself for any harm done to you. Yet, he knows he could never bring himself to cut contact with you. The solution, he decides, is to ask you to move in with him and the squad. It will be strange, he knows, to have a civilian live amongst assassins, but it's the best way to protect you, and he trusts his men more than anyone.

Sorbet and Gelato- Having been together since the start of their adulthood, Sorbet and Gelato never anticipated a third person joining their relationship. Still, it was an unspoken truth between them that should the right person come along, they would be okay with it. They met you while they were undercover for a mission, at the end of which they pulled you aside and told them who they really were. Unlike most others they don't hold back on telling you the details of their crimes, but if you didn't run away on day one you're probably alright with that sort of thing. Despite how callous and brutal they are to most, Sorbet and Gelato treat you with the upmost sweetness. It's rare they get to show their kinder sides outside the team. On the topic of the team, they make no effort to hide their relationship with you. Nobody dares disrespect them enough to question it. It's true that your relationship with the pair may expose you to quite some danger, but don't fear. Sorbet and Gelato will protect you with all their souls.

[plus-size-reader]

Hidden Away

Erik x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 2184 words

Warnings: none

Summary: The reader is getting picked on and Erik helps make her feel better.

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Everyone had heard the rumors of the angel of music, the guardian of this place but you had never believed them before.

You had never had any kind of encounter and aside from frightened whispers from the dancers and stories from Madame Giry, you didn’t think you ever would.

In fact, if you had never gotten that letter, you may not have ever learned the truth about this place.

The Opera Populaire had gotten similar letters before, from someone signing as ‘Opera Ghost’ but you had no idea who that was. All you knew was that there was a letter just like it, resting upon your nightstand.

It may have been easier to pass off as a prank, but you didn’t think so. The performers in this place often thought you a joke, and wouldn’t waste their time doing something so elaborate.

Rather, they would just torment you during your rehearsal. You could never have hoped to be a ballerina, though you often wished you could have been.

You just weren’t built for that sort of thing, but what you did have was a voice that not even the most cruel among them could refute.

Madame Giry often said that if you had been built like the other girls were, you would have been the most popular performer the opera would’ve ever had.

You should have known better than to think that living in a place like this would be gentle toward your insecurities. The dancers alone were all in such a physical condition that they were almost always in pain.

...Not to mention, rail thin.

That being said though, you knew that it wasn’t their fault that you weren’t but that didn’t make their cruel comments any less harmful.

Not every one of the ballerinas was nasty to you, or made snide remarks about how pretty you’d be if you weren’t ‘built like that’. It was just that the ones that did sort of took up all your attention.

For example, today, you had been doing your best to perform your rendition of Hannibal that Carlotta was going to be doing tonight at the show.

It was just something you’d been trying to perfect since she began doing it. It was easy to get that song stuck in your head, and as a singer, it was only a matter of time before you attempted it for yourself.

You thought you sounded alright, though not as good as the headliner always did, but right on schedule, Bernadette came round the corner.

She wasn’t the most skilled among the dancers, as she couldn’t hold a candle to Christine or Meg but she was talented for sure. More importantly than all that though, was the fact that she hated you.

Treating you poorly was arguably her favorite thing to do.

“Come now Y/N, there is no use in practicing. They are never going to let you up on stage. I doubt they could even fit you into any of Carlotta’s costumes” she hummed, her thick french accent attacking your senses.

It was a tone you were comfortable with, and if she had been any more kind, it would have even been beautiful but with the way she chose to use it, that all faded away.

Perhaps you could have argued with her or defended yourself some but you knew from experience that it wouldn’t lessen her attack. So, instead, you removed yourself from the situation completely.

Of course, doing so only made her more wicked, a cackle leaving her lips when you left the stage. You didn’t even want to know what she was saying to her friends, but it didn’t matter.

Having heard it or not, it hurt all the same.

You were just so tired of your appearance having anything to do with your talent, as if a couple extra pounds affected your ability to sing.

...And you began to cry.

Luckily, you were far enough away from anyone to know about it, but you couldn’t help yourself even if they were around. It just hurt to never feel good enough, no matter how strong you tried to act.

Sometimes you just had to let it out.

Now, you didn’t know from where you were sitting, curled up in the corner of the room with your head in your hands but there was a witness to the entire thing.

A witness that had been paying attention to you for quite some time.

The opera ghost was the focus of so many people’s attention in the opera currently but the focus of the entity himself...was you.

He couldn’t help himself.

Erik could hear your voice through the walls, even when you were singing alone in your room and by this point, he found himself completely enamored by everything you were.

In some ways, maybe he even found himself developing feelings for you, in his own special way.

In any case, watching those girls speak so cruelly to you filled the man with rage. The only thing that softened that anger was seeing you there, kneeling down with tears in your eyes.

That was enough to stop him in his tracks completely.

That was when he sat down and wrote that letter, requesting that you allow him to meet you in person, provided that you wanted to do so. That way, if he needed to whisk you away in the future, he could do so without alarming you.

Perhaps it was awkward, or strange, but in his defense, Erik had lived most of his life within the walls and dungeon of this place. He wasn’t really the most up to date on social graces.

If nothing else, it was his attempt at not startling you with his presence.

...And thankfully for him, it worked.

You read his letter that next morning, having found it laid gently on your nightstand, stamped perfectly with blood red wax.

It didn’t make any sense, and it seemed rather foolish to answer the calls of some invisible man that you’d never seen before but you couldn't help yourself.

They said that curiosity killed that cat, but in your case, it may have skinned it well first. You didn’t bother to let anyone know you were going, and you didn't care too.

All you knew was when Erik appeared, having pushed through the floor length mirror in your bedroom, you followed him into what could have been another world.

It was both grotesque and beautiful, the dark hallways smelling of musk and soot. You had lived in the dormitories all your life, but you never knew this was hidden just below.

It was clear that this was the most well guarded secret of all that the opera had to offer, and you had to consider yourself lucky to be standing where you were.

Even if maybe you weren’t quite sure why you were doing it.

“What is your name Monsieur? What do you want from me?” you asked, following behind him a quiet tone, having just stepped from the boat.

Where you were now was no more than a built up rock quarry under the opera, but it was decorated as a house would have been. Clearly, he had been living here.

For how long, you had no idea.

Erik didn’t speak at first, doing his best to think this whole thing out before he could ruin it. He had been watching you for so long, dreaming of how you would speak to him, and now that it was here, he was at a loss.

“I hate the way those other little creatures speak of you” he commented finally, not even bothering to introduce himself. It was probably best that you didn’t know who he was right away.

You knew what he was referring to almost immediately, taking it upon yourself to set down on the satin sheet of the bed now. You had no idea how he knew, but he must have been talking about Bernadette.

No one else spoke viley of you more than she did, and if that was why he’d chosen to speak to you, there had to be a reason.

Why would he care?

“She isn’t wrong in what she says, though it hurts” you shrugged, deciding that having someone to talk to was worth all the danger you’d put yourself in to get here.

There were so many unanswered questions but you couldn’t bother with them right now. All you could think about was this strange man, sitting in front of you now.

Half of his face was hidden from your view, those you focused mainly on his crystal blue eyes. They shone even in the darkness of the pit you were sitting in, and you wondered briefly what they would look like in the midmorning sun.

You assumed it would be like staring deep into a sparkling bay at the peak of summer, and that idea delighted you slightly.

“Don’t ever speak like that” he spat, a bit more upset than he meant to. It was just that it was bad enough to have to listen to them make up rude things about you.

The last thing Erik wasn’t was for you to start feeling them yourself.

“Why do you hide away? Why do you hide your face from me now?” you wondered, not letting the slip of his tongue frighten you, though maybe it should have.

For whatever reason, you felt safe here. Frankly, you were more comfortable sitting here, under the watchful gaze of a stranger, than you had ever been anywhere else.

It just didn’t make any sense that he would stay down here when all of Paris was right outside these walls.

“The world would not be kind to me, as it is unkind to you, and I hide from you so that you will not be afraid” he allowed, knowing that you were starting to feel more comfortable in this odd situation.

Had circumstances allowed it, he would have loved to meet you up there, in attendance of one of your shows. He would have loved to hear your voice in all its glory, but what he said was true.

The world had reared its ugly head to Erik before, and he wasn’t willing to go through that again.

“I will not be afraid” you promised, though when the male mentioned it no more, moving instead to talk about what he’d seen last night, you took that as your hint to do the same.

You didn't know this stranger, after all, and you didn't want to go too far.

“Why do you let them treat you so poorly. Surely you must know that you possess more talent than the lot of them combined” He wondered, almost reaching out to take your hand in his own before he stopped himself.

Erik yearned to feel your skin against this own, it was true, but he didn’t want to risk scaring you away before he even really got to know you.

He had to remember that while he felt like he knew you fully, you had only just met him.

It was a strange question, but all things considered, it was probably the most tame thing you had done all day so you answered him. “I can’t dance nearly as well as they can, besides, there is truth to what Bernadette said. I will never be a real opera singer, not the way I am”

There was a sadness in your voice, like you had already accepted it to be the only truth there was, and that was because you had. In your eyes, there was no room for a woman like you, a big woman.

You had heard everything there was.

That if you were to lose weight, you would be on stage every night. That you were wasting time on a dream with no future when you should be looking for a husband. That you would never find a husband unless you stopped eating.

It was never ending, but you had never admitted that to anyone before.

Maybe it was the odd comfort that you found in the presence of this stranger, or maybe it was because you were hidden away from the world, but you had said it out loud.

...And now Erik understood.

You had never understood what a beauty you were because no one would let you be true to it. No one would let you embrace the obvious beauty you had and instead forced it down within you.

They made you think that the problem with the world was you, when in reality, they were making up lies to keep you beneath them.

“You will never say those things again. You will be on stage, a night all to yourself, I’ll make sure of it” Erik decided, and while you had no idea what he was talking about or how that was going to happen, you nodded.

Anything seemed possible, sitting with a handsome stranger in the darkness and even if it was all a lie, you could bask in it for a little while.

[queenofcats17]

Remember that HLVRAI Coraline AU? Here’s the thing I wrote for it.

Original idea came from me, @lady-lampblack, and @sbpstudios

This is also really old and I’m now finally finishing it. Some things have changed since the initial post because I had ideas.

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Joshua hadn’t wanted to move. 

He’d liked his house and his friends and his school and hadn’t wanted to leave. But his dad had calmly explained that while he didn’t want to leave either, his new job was in another state. And while his dad hadn’t said it outright, Joshua knew money was tight. He’d heard his dad talking about not having enough money to keep the house when Gordon had thought Joshua was asleep. 

Barney had offered to help, but Gordon had gently turned him down, pointing out that Barney had his own things to deal with. A security guard’s salary could only go so far and Gordon didn’t want Barney sacrificing his own health and safety just to help him.

So, they’d moved. 

Joshua, his dad, and his dad’s roommate. 

Joshua sat in the back of the moving truck, staring up at the ceiling while he listened to his dad and Benrey argue. 

“We’re seriously not gonna have wi-fi for the whole weekend? That’s lame, dude.”

“Look, I couldn’t get anyone to come out any sooner. And it’s only for one weekend.”

“Lame, bro.”

“Well, I don’t know what you want me to do. That’s just how it’s gonna be.”

“Are there gonna be other kids at our new house?” Joshua asked, getting up so that he could look at Benrey and Gordon. Benrey was playing on his PSP while Gordon drove the moving truck.

Even if he had to move halfway across the country, maybe he could still manage to make some cool new friends.

“I dunno, bud,” Gordon admitted. “The landlord mentioned that he doesn’t usually rent to families with kids, so...probably not.”

“Oh.” Joshua’s face fell and he allowed himself to slump back onto the floor of the truck.

“I’m sorry, Joshie,” Gordon said, glancing back at his son.

Joshua said nothing. It wasn’t fair. The last time they’d moved, it had only been to another city, but it had still been hard. He’d been yanked away from his friend and had to make new friends. And now he’d have to make new friends all over again. 

“You’ll still have us, little man,” Benrey said, looking over his shoulder at the little boy slumped on the floor. 

“It’s not the same,” Joshua mumbled. “I wanna have friends my own age.”

“I know. I’m sorry, Joshie.”

Joshua said nothing else for the rest of the drive, curled up in a little ball.

Benrey and Gordon continued to talk off and on. Although it sounded like arguing, Joshua knew that was just the way the two of them were. They’d been this way for as long as he could remember. He knew his dad and Benrey cared a lot about each other, they’d lived together Joshua’s whole life after all, but neither of them seemed willing to admit it. Which made no sense to Joshua. He didn’t get why they didn’t just admit they liked each other. But then again, Joshua didn’t get a lot of stuff about grown-ups. 

He ended up falling asleep, only being woken up by his father announcing that they were there. Yawning and rubbing his eyes, Joshua sat up and peered out the windshield. Immediately his eyes widened. 

The building before them looked like something out of a historical drama, aside from the fact that it was all painted bright pink. It was massive, with what Joshua saw as towers, tons of windows, and a huge porch. 

“That’s our house?” Joshua asked, his voice hushed in awe. 

“Well, kind of,” Gordon said. “The house got converted into apartments a while ago, so we’re going to be living in one of the apartments.”

Joshua was briefly disappointed, but it didn’t last long. Apartments meant there would be other people, so he wouldn’t be alone. Plus, the house was in a wide open area so he could run around all he wanted.

“Can I look around?” Joshua asked, bouncing up and down. “I wanna look around!”

“Sure, just give me a second to find the landlord-”

But Joshua wasn’t listening. He’d heard ‘sure’ and had run with it, scrambling over the seat and Benrey to get out the door and onto the lawn.

He took off across the grass, eager to explore everything about the apartment complex. He’d never lived in an apartment in a house before! However, in his excitement, he failed to notice the man emerging from basement apartment. Before either knew what was happening, Joshua had plowed right into the man, knocking them both to the ground. 

“Joshie!” Gordon yelled, running after him. “Don’t go running off like that!” He knelt down and helped the man up. “I’m so sorry.”

“It-It’s okay,” the man replied with a smile. “I wasn’t looking where I was go-going either.”

The man was tall, even to Gordon, which meant that he looked like a giant to Joshua. He was wearing what could only be called “dad clothes”, his attire consisting of a loud Hawaiian shirt, cargo shorts, and socks and sandals. 

“You’re really tall,” Joshua announced.

The man blinked, then laughed. “I get that a lot.”

“So...do you live here?” Benrey asked, peering past Gordon.

“Not...exactly?” The man laughed again. “I-I’m the landlord.”

Gordon’s face went as pale as it was conceivably able to. Benrey put a hand on Gordon’s shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly. 

“What’s a landlord?” Joshua asked loudly, still captivated by this strange man.

“It means he owns the building the apartments are in.” Gordon’s voice went up an octave. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Coolatta, I-”

“It’s alright,” the landlord cut him off with a reassuring smile. “And yo-you can call me Tommy.”

“Oh, uh, okay, Tommy?” Gordon laughed nervously. “It’s...Um...It’s nice to meet you?”

“You-You too.”

Joshua was getting bored sitting there. He wanted to keep running and exploring, not listen to the adults talk. So, he began to look around while his father and Tommy continued to talk.

Benrey stepped out from behind Gordon, hands shoved in the pockets of his sweatpants. “So, uh, Feetman said-”

“Don’t call me that in front of our landlord!” Gordon hissed, swatting at Benrey’s shoulder.

This didn’t seem to deter Benrey in the slightest as he kept going. “Feetman said you didn’t rent to people with kids. Why’d you let us in?”

"We-Well, you just seemed so desperate,” Tommy replied. “It did-didn’t feel right to turn you away.”

“Thank you again, Mr. Coo- Tommy,” Gordon quickly corrected himself. “I really appreciate you letting us rent here.”

“It’s no problem,” Tommy assured him.

“So, uh, how much do I owe you for the first month’s rent?” Gordon asked, digging out a notepad. 

As the three adults began to hash out the first rent payment of the month, Joshua spotted a flash of black in the bushes. Curious, he crept over. As he got closer, a cat emerged from the foliage. It was a slender tuxedo cat, its fur sleek and glossy. It almost looked like it was wearing a little suit with the way its fur was patterned. It looked up at Joshua with piercing blue eyes that almost seemed to glow. 

Joshua reached for it, transfixed by its gaze. There was a strange intelligence to the way it looked at him. As if it were somehow....human.

“Joshie!” 

At the sound of Gordon’s voice, the cat turned tail and ran, disappearing into the shrubbery once more. 

“Joshie!” Gordon repeated. “We’re going to start unloading the truck!”

“You gotta stake out your room or else we’ll steal the best one,” Benrey added with a grin. 

“Hey! No fair!” Joshua protested. 

He ran back to his father and Benrey, the cat momentarily forgotten. 

Tommy, however, watched the bushes with a solemn expression. As the three new tenants began to unload their belongings, he disappeared into the woods outside the apartments, following the lead of the cat.

.

Joshua spent the next few weeks meeting the other residents of the Pink Palace. 

Downstairs were Mr. Bubby and Mr. Coomer. They were married and had been in the circus together when they’d been young. Bubby was constantly boasting about his fire-breathing act and often still attempted to set things on fire, much to Tommy’s dismay. Coomer was still incredibly buff, even at his age, and could often be found chopping wood for Bubby to use in his little arson attempts. The whole fire thing was enough to make Gordon wary, so Joshua mostly only visited them when Gordon didn’t know about it. 

Upstairs was Darnold. He was a high school chemistry teacher, although he didn’t want to do any cool experiments with explosions. Still, he was pretty fun to hang out with because he knew a lot of cool stuff about science. Even if he didn’t want to do explosion experiments, he was still happy to lead Joshua in some safer ones. Joshua got dropped off at his apartment a lot to be babysat while his father and Benrey worked because Darnold was the most normal and stable of the other tenants. Not to mention it was summer, so Darnold didn’t need to be at the school.

Next door was Forzen, who Joshua had only seen once. He was an ex-soldier and a bit of a shut-in. Joshua had been told to leave him alone. 

And then there was Tommy. Tommy lived in a different house away from the Pink Palace, coming by every day to check on everyone. He was by far the coolest person Joshua had ever met, aside from Darnold and his dad and Benrey, and his dog was awesome. Sunkist was big enough for Joshua to ride! Tommy had let Joshua ride her a few times and it had been amazing.

But as awesome as Tommy was, there were certain things about him that were...strange. Whenever he thought other people weren’t watching, Joshua had noticed that his expression became strangely solemn. And he always seemed sad whenever he was around Joshua, even though he tried to hide it. 

Not to mention, Joshua had seen him talking to the cat he’d seen on his first day at the Pink Palace. It always happened on the outskirts of the property, with Tommy crouched down and the cat half-hidden by the bushes.

“Whose cat is it?” Joshua asked Darnold one day after he’d been dropped off at the man’s apartment for the day.

“I’m...not sure what you mean,” Darnold said, looking up from the vegetables he’d been cutting. He was making a stir fry for both of them for lunch, which meant his usual bowtie and sweater vest combo had been removed and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows. 

“There’s a cat I see sometimes. It’s black and white and it’s got these really pretty blue eyes,” Joshua explained. “Whose cat is it?”

Darnold hummed, frowning slightly. “I don’t think it really belongs to anyone. It just....” He gestured vaguely with his free hand. “Lives in the woods and shows up sometimes. No one’s sure where it came from. Tommy takes care of it sometimes, though.”

Now it was Joshua’s turn to frown. “So you don’t know anything about it?”

“Nope.”

“Uuuugh.” Joshua groaned, sinking down on Darnold’s couch.

“Sorry.” Darnold smiled apologetically.

“Well, do you at least know why Mr. Coolatta doesn’t let people with kids live here?” 

“Also no.”

Joshua groaned again, sinking further into the couch.

“I always figured it was due to some safety hazard,” Darnold said, returning to his cutting of vegetables. “Although, Bubby and Coomer say that that rule was in place even when Tommy’s father owned the place.”

This piqued Joshua’s interest. The first thing that ran through his mind was that there was some sort of conspiracy going on here. Some hidden secret. 

Maybe it had to do with the weird door little he’d seen in the living room. The one that led to a brick wall and was only opened with a key shaped like a button. Gordon had figured it had probably connected the room that was their living room to whatever the correlating room in Forzen’s apartment was and had been bricked up when the house had been made into apartments. A simple enough explanation. But Joshua didn’t quite believe it.

Something was going on here.

Joshua had to find out what it was.

This turned out to be harder than Joshua had expected. Darnold didn’t know anything about the door or the rule, as he’d learned, he couldn’t talk to Forzen, and when he’d asked Tommy, the landlord had reacted rather strangely. 

“Oh, w-well, you know,” Tommy had said with a nervous laugh. “Sa-Safety hazards an-and all that. Oh, would you lo-look at the time!” He’d then turned and absolutely sprinted away, not even answering the question about the door.

Which left Bubby and Coomer. 

Joshua stood at the top of the stairs leading down to their apartment, a notebook clutched to his chest. Both his father and Benrey were out at work, so no one was there to stop him. Taking a deep breath, he marched down the stairs and knocked on the door.

Almost immediately, the door was opened, revealing the beaming face of one Doctor Harold Pontiff Coomer. Coomer was not a tall man, but he was a big one. He looked like a teddy-bear come to life while wearing long-sleeves. But when those long sleeves came off, one could see properly how Coomer was built like a brick wall.

“Ah, hello Joshua!” Coomer said brightly.

“Hello, Mr. Coomer,” Joshua said, drawing himself up to his full height, which was not all that tall. “I’ve got some questions I wanna ask.”

“Questions?” Coomer repeated, amusement flickering in his eyes.

“Mm-hm!” Joshua nodded resolutely, holding his notebook to his chest.

“What sorts of questions?” Coomer asked. 

Joshua was about to answer until Bubby’s voice came from deeper in the apartment. “Who is it?!”

“It’s Joshua!” Coomer called back without missing a beat. “The boy from upstairs!”

“He’s still alive?” There was some shuffling and Bubby appeared, wearing a faded blue bathrobe and squinting at Joshua over the top of his incredibly thick glasses. 

“Why wouldn’t I be alive?” Joshua asked.

“There’s a monster here that eats kids,” Bubby answered matter-of-factly. “Would’ve thought it’d have put its little feelers out by now.”

“A monster?” Joshua’s eyes widened, all thoughts of the little door gone.

“Yeah, why do you think they don’t rent to kids?” Bubby folded his arms. “Monster. Eats kids.”

“So Mister Tommy knows?” 

“But of course!” Coomer replied. “His father never let him come near this place when he was a child for fear young Tommy would be snapped up!”

“And there’s no way Greg didn’t tell the kid about it when he took over running the place,” Bubby added.

Joshua nodded, scribbling this information down. 

He’d known something was going on! 

“What do you know about the monster?” Joshua demanded, his face screwed up in adorable determination.

“Not much.” Bubby shrugged. “It’s weird, it eats kids, got a thing for buttons I think.”

“It lures you in by giving you everything you could possibly want.” Coomer’s expression was suddenly dark, his voice low and solemn. “It grants your heart’s deepest desires and then it steals away everything that makes you you. It eats your life and drains your soul until there is nothing left but an empty husk.”

There was a long pause as both Bubby and Joshua stared at Coomer. 

“Jesus Christ, Harold,” Bubby finally said. 

“Or so I’ve heard!” Coomer’s bright expression and peppy tone immediately returned. “So don’t go following any strange button-eyed creatures!”

Joshua nodded slowly, clutching his notebook to his chest like a safety blanket.

Thankfully, his attention was drawn away by the sound of his father’s voice. “Joshie? Joshie where are you?” 

“I gotta go,” Joshua announced, looking back at Bubby and Coomer. “Thank you for your valuable information.”

“Don’t get eaten!” Bubby yelled after him as he ran away. “You see any spider looking fucks, you set them on fire!”

Gordon was standing on the porch in front of their door, looking slightly panicked as he scanned the lawn to see if he could locate Joshua. Benrey had a hand on Gordon’s shoulder, rubbing his thumb in circles on Gordon’s shirt. Gordon visibly relaxed when he saw Joshua running up. 

“There you are, bud.” He knelt and opened his arms, allowing Joshua to run into them. “You had me really worried. I couldn’t find you anywhere.”

“Sorry, Dad,” Joshua mumbled. “Just wanted to ask Mr. Bubby and Mr. Coomer some stuff.”

“What kinda stuff?” Benrey asked, leaning against the doorframe. 

“I wanted to know why Mr. Tommy doesn’t let people with kids live here,” Joshua said. “Mr. Darnold said it’s been that way since Mr. Tommy’s dad owned the house.”

“And did they have an answer for you?” Gordon asked as he picked Joshua up. 

Joshua lit up, nodding enthusiastically. “Yeah! They said there’s a monster that eats kids and that’s why Mr. Tommy and Mr. Tommy’s dad don’t want kids here!”

“That’s an interesting story,” Gordon said with a somewhat unsure smile.

“If there’s a monster, why’d he rent to us?” Benrey asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Tommy did say we seemed desperate.” Gordon’s smile slipped a bit.

“It’s okay, Dad.” Joshua put his little hands on the sides of his father’s face, staring at him with an adorably determined expression. “If I meet any monsters, I’ll kick their butts.” 

Gordon blinked, then laughed softly and kissed Joshua’s forehead. “Of course.”

“I’m a cowboy! I’ll kick their butts!” Joshua insisted as Gordon carried him inside.

“Hell yeah you will.” Benrey agreed, following them inside.

Gordon sighed, although he couldn’t help but smile while he did. “Don’t encourage him, Benrey.”

Dinner that night was spaghetti, which Joshua couldn’t help but complain about a little. It was just noodles and store bought sauce, both of which were rather bland. 

“I’m sorry, bud.” Gordon smiled wearily. “I’m just kind of tired.”

“You’re always tired,” Joshua grumbled, sinking lower in his chair. 

Gordon got very quiet after that. Benrey immediately jumped in to fill the silence with his rambling about PlayStation, but Joshua could tell he’d struck a nerve. 

That night, after he was supposed to have gone to bed, he crept to his bedroom door to listen to his father and Benrey talking from the living room. 

“I’m a horrible dad,” Joshua heard Gordon mumble. It sounded like he’d been crying. “I’m ruining his life and he’s going to hate me when he’s older.”

“You’re doing the best you can, bro,” Benrey replied.

“But is it good enough?” Gordon demanded. “You heard him! I’m always tired!”

“Yeah, well, busting your ass 24/7 is gonna do that to you.”

“I’m not giving him the kind of life he deserves, Benrey! He’s only eight and we’ve already had to move twice!”

“You’re doing the best you can,” Benrey’s voice grew soft, barely audible through the door. “And even if you can’t always be there, he knows you love him, Gordon.”

There was a loud sniffle, likely from Gordon. 

“Thanks, Benrey.”

“No prob, dude. Now.” The creak of someone, presumably Benrey, getting up from the couch. “I’m gonna go get you some water and check on the little dude, okay?”

“Okay.” 

Joshua scrambled to get back in bed, hiding under his covers to pretend he was sleeping. He could hear Benrey’s footsteps coming closer, then the door opening. Joshua laid as still as he possibly could, trying to keep his breathing even.

There was a beat of silence, then, “I know you’re awake, kiddo.”

“How’d you know?” Joshua popped up.

“You and Gordo snore real loud when you’re actually asleep,” Benrey said as he leaned on the doorframe. He’d turned on the lights, illuminating the room and his smirk.

“I do not snore,” Joshua huffed, folding his arms and pouting. 

“Sure, kiddo.” Benrey strode into the room. “Now, it’s past your bedtime. You gotta sleep now.”

Joshua laid back down, continuing to pout as Benrey tucked him back in. 

“Why don’t you and Dad get together?” He asked after a moment. 

Benrey froze, hands hovering over the blankets. “.....Huh?”

Joshua stared up at him, his expression earnest and full of youthful sincerity.

“I know you guys like each other,” Joshua said. “So why don’t you get together?”

“It’s...complicated, little man.” Benrey started playing with the tassels on his hat. 

“But you guys love each other!”

“Your dad’s been hurt by people he loved before.”

Joshua fell silent. 

He knew exactly who Benrey was referring to.

Joshua knew virtually nothing about the man that was his other biological father. All he knew was that Gordon and this man had dated and the two of them had wanted to have a child together. Joshua. But when Joshua had actually been born, the man had skipped down, leaving Gordon alone with his newborn baby. 

“Shifty bastard’s lucky I haven’t seen him since he pulled that stunt,” Joshua had heard Barney say once to Benrey after Gordon had gone to bed. “Otherwise I would’ve kicked his teeth in.” 

The Calhoun brothers had a lot of feelings about Gordon’s former partner and absolutely none of them were positive, although they tried not to talk too much about him while Gordon was around. 

Joshua himself didn’t particularly care about the man and seldom spared him a passing thought. Except when his dad was in pain. Then he thought about the man and wondered why he would leave Gordon all alone like this. 

“But you’re not like him,” Joshua insisted. 

“That doesn’t mean he’s not gonna be scared,” Benrey said, his voice soft. “When you’ve been burned like that...The fear never goes away.”

“So...Is he just gonna be miserable forever?” Joshua started to tear up. He didn’t want his dad to be miserable.

“Not forever. He just needs some time. He’ll be okay, I promise,” Benrey assured him, ruffling Joshua’s hair. 

“...Are you gonna make sure he’s okay?”

“Yep. I’m kinda like a superhero, y’know? Keeping your dad safe from the shadows.”

Joshua giggled at Benrey’s attempt to look cool, his fears assuaged for the moment.

“Sleep well, bud.” Benrey kissed Joshua’s forehead and exited the room, closing the door behind him.

Joshua rolled over in bed, snuggling up under his blankets. Soon enough, he was fast asleep.

He was awoken hours later by what sounded like claws scrabbling on hardwood. He sat up, looking blearily around. The room was dark and the house was quiet. Aside from the claws on the wood, that was.

“Dad?” Joshua called out. “Benrey?”

There was no response. 

Frowning, Joshua picked up the flashlight he kept next to his bed and put on his cowboy hat. His cowboy hat always made him feel braver. He crept into the hallway, shining his flashlight around. The sounds seemed to be coming from the living room.

The living room where the teeny door was. 

Joshua walked a bit faster, sliding into the living room. There, in front of the little door, was the cat he’d seen outside. And a rat. A rat made of...cloth? The cat had the rat in its mouth, shaking it about as if trying to break the rat’s neck. In its own mouth, the rat clutched the button key to the door.

“Kitty? What are you doing in here?” Joshua asked, walking over to the cat.

The cat’s head snapped around to look at Joshua, and he got the strongest feeling that it was telling him to go back to bed. It was the same look that Gordon or Benrey gave him when they were very tired and really wanted him to just listen to them. Joshua took an instinctive step back. He hadn’t thought a cat was capable of such a human expression.

The rat took advantage of this shift in the cat’s attention to wriggle out of its mouth and through the little door with the key. Which was now open.

“Wait! You can’t take that key!” Joshua yelled, chasing after the rat without a second thought. “It’s not yours!”

The cat’s eyes widened as Joshua darted into the strange passage beyond the tiny door. It quickly followed after him, the door swinging shut behind them.

The tunnel beyond the door was.... strange. Joshua wasn’t sure why he felt like this, but he felt like he was crawling through the throat of something large. It felt....alive. He shook his head and tried to move faster. 

Soon enough, he reached the end of the tunnel, pushing out into the room beyond. 

“Umm...Hello?” Joshua stuck his head out of the doorway. It looked exactly like the room he’d left. Except...he could hear someone humming. Frowning, Joshua pulled himself out of the tunnel and got up, following the humming toward the kitchen.

Outside of the living room, the house looked different. It looked...He wasn’t sure how to describe it. It just looked...brighter. More welcoming.

“Hello?” He asked, pushing the kitchen door open. 

There was a man in the kitchen. He had his back to Joshua and was humming while he chopped something on the counter. Upon hearing Joshua enter, he turned around, revealing....

“Dad?”

The man who looked like Gordon smiled warmly. He looked almost identical to Joshua’s father, with a few key differences. This man was far more put together than Joshua was used to seeing Gordon. His orange sweater and brown slacks were immaculate, and his hair was fluffy and swept back in neat ponytail.

And he had black buttons where his eyes should have been. 

“Joshie!” The man who was not his father said, in a voice exactly like Gordon’s. “You’re just in time for dinner, bud!”

“You...You’re not my dad,” Joshua stammered, backing up. 

“I’m your Other Father,” Not Gordon explained. “Now, could could you go tell your other Other Father that dinner’s ready now?”

“My....other Other Father?” Joshua repeated weakly.

“He’s in his study,” Other Gordon said, already turning away to start presumably plating the food.

“Okay.” Joshua nodded, turning away. He still had his flashlight clutched tightly to his chest.

He wasn’t sure what Other Gordon had meant by “study”. They didn’t really have a study. The closest they had was the designated game room, which Benrey did spend a lot of time in. So, Joshua headed there.

As he got closer to the game room, he could hear the sounds of a piano being played. Joshua frowned slightly at this. The closest thing to an instrument he’d ever heard Benrey play had been a kazoo, and that had only been to bother Gordon. Although, he had heard Barney mention once that Benrey had wanted to be a musician when he’d been younger.

When Joshua opened the door to the game room, he was greeted with the sight of another Benrey sitting at a piano. Like Other Gordon, Other Benrey was far more put together. He was wearing a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a blue vest, black dress pants, and a blue bowtie. His hair was slicked back against his head, as shiny as the blue buttons that constituted his eyes.

“Hey there, bud!” Other Benrey grinned upon seeing Joshua. “What’s up?”

“You can play the piano?” Joshua whispered, eyes wide with awe.

“Don’t need to. It plays me.” Other Benrey said with a wink.

A pair of gloves on mechanical arms emerged from the top of the piano, the gloves slipping on to Other Benrey’s hands and spinning him around to begin playing. Joshua almost dropped the flashlight as he scrambled forward to get a better look. It was incredible to watch Other Benrey’s fingers fly across the keys, even if it was mostly due to the gloves. 

“That’s so cool!” Joshua exclaimed when Other Benrey had finished. 

“Glad you think so, little man,” Benrey laughed, ruffling Joshua’s hair. “So, what can I do for you?”

“Oh, uh, he said to tell you that dinner’s ready,” Joshua replied, placing his cowboy hat back on his head.

“Oh hell yeah! I’m starving!” Other Benrey grinned, getting to his feet and scooping Joshua up in his arms. “We better not keep him waiting, huh?”

Joshua nodded. The anxiety he’d felt upon seeing the Other Gordon had calmed a bit with this Other Benrey, who was every bit as silly and comforting as the Benrey Joshua knew.

Other Benrey carried Joshua to the dining room, where Other Gordon was dishing up pancakes. 

“Pancakes for dinner?!” Joshua’s eyes lit up as he was set down in his chair. 

Pancakes for dinner was a rare occurrence at their house. Gordon and Benrey were always too tired to make pancakes most of the time.

“Of course,” Other Gordon said with a smile. “This is a very special occasion, which calls for a very special meal.”

“Hope you remembered the fruit, babe,” Other Benrey laughed, snaking an arm around Other Gordon’s waist and kissing him on the cheek.

“How could I forget? It’s your favorite part,” Other Gordon replied, playfully swatting at Other Benrey’s shoulder. 

“You’re together?” Joshua asked, voice small but hopeful.

“Why wouldn’t we be?” Other Benrey asked. “We love each other. 

“And we love you,” Other Gordon continued, smiling softly down at Joshua. “We’re so glad to have you here.”

Joshua couldn’t help but smile. After everything that had been going on lately...This was exactly what he’d wanted. 

Gordon and Benrey happy together, not tired or overworked, paying attention to him.

He almost didn’t want to go home. 

[theodora3022]

Since you wrote about Yandere Villians with Y/N having a cute fairy quirk, how about a Yandere Hero having a Y/N with a monstrous quirk? SO...you pick the hero! Pick any male hero who you believe can handle Y/N. You do such amazing writing.

Y/N have to wear a face mask to hide the muzzle she wears going outside. Y/N have a quirk where she goes on a frenzy. Her eyes turn red, her veins pop out of her skin, she starts growling and trying to bite anyone near by. A monster who craves to rip flesh and bones. Y/N can turn on her quirk if she feels so much anger or fear. Y/N doesn't want to hurt anyone. She wants to live a quiet and alone life.

Wolf

Pairing: Best Jeanist x f!reader

Warnings: light yandere content, power abuse, threats

Thank you so much for the compliment, dear anon! I went soft with the monster idea that I just made the reader into a werewolf...hope it is still good! I was torn between Kiri and Best Jeanist! I really like Best Jeanist, I wish he got some more screen time ... Maybe I’ll do another one for the shark boy later.

Some groundwork:

When your quirk manifested at four years old, you were not surprised: you come from a family of Mutant quirks, after all.

Your quirk, wolf, means you can transform into a wolf anytime. The longevity is unknown to you since you barely use it. Even in your normal human form, you still have wolf ears and tail. You also have a sensitive nose, just like canines. You (hair color) fluffy fur is the same color as your hair. In acient times, before quirks become a thing, you would be seen as a werewolf.

While transformed, it is hard to supress the wolf’s wild instincts, the desire to hunt, to kill and consume raw meat (extremely difficult if you are hungry). You hate it, being like a beast instead of human. You had outbursts in the past that nearly killed one of your friends. There fore you stay in human at all times.

So most of the time, you just kept a muzzle near you, just in case you would lose yourself to the beast again.

You always feel this...strange sense of difference between you and normal people, so all of your friends have mutant quirks. You kept your social circle small, only letting those who are deemed trustworthy close to you (you told them to run if they see any signs of you getting wild)

You always had a soft spot for animals, therefore you decided to work in a pet shop. Dogs especially loves you, maybe because your canine quirk. Cats not so much, as they had left quite a few marks on you when you just started.

Now you are the assistant manager, the salary is decent, so you do not look for anything more. You never thought of having a romantic relationship because you do not trust yourself: you do not want to hurt the person you love. So even if you had crushes you just kept those feelings hidden until they went away.

Best Jeanist/Tsunagu Hakamada

Did you know his favorite animal is wolf? Therefore he is a furry

Being the No.4 pro hero means taking on lots of stress, so Tsunagu decides to have an animal friend at home who he can talk to freely, without worrying leaking information (I mean how can animals pass on information).

He went into the nearest pet shop, hoping to find a furry companion, preferably dogs.

What he did not expect is to find you there, with those literal puppy eyes and fluffy ears sticking out of your hair, tending to the puppies.

Tsunagu met people with similar quirks before, and he finds them aesthetically pleasing. But seeing you with a litter of adorable puppies, laughing and petting them? He felt like his heart just melted.

“Hello sir. How may I help you today?” You put on your usual smile. Tsunagu is wearing his civilian clothes, so he is just another customer to you. A fashionable one, though. You took notice at his stylish blonde hair.

Tsunagu would ask you about all the options for adopting a puppy. However he is only half-listening: he is drawn to how your ears twitch towards any abnormal sounds...

“Oh, my ears? Sorry if they are distracting. It’s part of my quirk.”

Would get you to talk to him as much as possible, with lots of polite questions.

When you bid him good day as he walks out the door, holding a poodle puppy with its supplies, Tsunagu is determined to see you more.

You are warm, like a ray of sunlight in this stormy world. Having worked as a pro hero for so long, dealing with many negative things so often, make him attracted to positive people. Those furry wolf ears and tail only added to his admiration.

Whenever Best Jeanist is not needed at his agency, Tsunagu Hakamada would find excuses to drop by your shop. Whether it be buying new accessories for his puppy or simply need some advice on her, he would find a way to talk to you, to hear your voice.

Until he become acquainted with you enough, Tsunagu finally asked for you name.

“I’m (y/n), and you, sir?” “Tsunagu. Tusnagu Hakamada.”

Never have once you associated your friendly customer with the No.4 Pro hero of Japan. Tsunagu is charismatic and talkative (at least to you), never putting on airs like Endeavor. Since he wears a mask, the public does not have a good idea what he looks like.

Then you noticed those small gestures, how Tsunagu’s hands would “unintentionally” brush against yours when you hand over his paid items, how his body would lean in slightly towards you whenever you are talking. Or how his lips would curl upwards whenever your tails wags with excitement. You also seen him way more frequently compare to average customers.

“He got a crush on you.” One of you co workers, teases after Tsunagu left the store.

“No he doesn’t.” You blush, although considering her hypothesis.

You seen some of his clothes in fashion magazines, one of them costs more then your monthly salary. Tsunagu is clearly a rich man, a fashion designer perhaps.

“Ms.(y/n), sorry if this sounds intrusive, but do you have a lover?”

That was...unexpected. “No, I do not. Why did you ask, Mr. Hakamata?”

That saves him trouble. Best Jeanist has got this flawless reputation for years, he prefers not to taint it. But if he must, Tsunagu would not hesitate. You belong with him, and him only. “Well, it’s possible such a beautiful lady like you already has a significant other.”

“Mr. Hakamata...I-” You were not sure to blush or to smile. Now it is clear to you: This blonde is interested in you. However you do not know what to respond.

“Call me Tsunagu, please.”

The next day you would find a lily bouquet wrapped in denim on the store counter?! Who use that as a bouquet wrapper? Flatter as you are, you still find this unsettling. He did not show up for the rest of the day, which gives you time to think.

Tsunagu is handsome and kind. He seems like a perfect choice, but you wonder what he would say if he saw you as a bloodthirsty wolf, feral and hungry for killing.

You decide to turn him down, not wanting to give him false hope.

Some minor villain is causing trouble in the streets when you were walking home. You were just going to sprint away at first, but in the corner of your eye you saw a mother with her toddler daughter being corner by the villain. The way the mother tries to protect her child triggered something in you. You have to do something!

“Grr!!!” Suddenly a piece of flesh is ripped off the villain’s leg. The villain screams in pain, but you dodged every last one of his attacks while leaving deep bite marks on him. Soon the sidewalk is stained crimson with blood. You know the two had already gotten away, you should stop now. But the wolf instincts got the better of you. You crave blood, lots of it. The growing pool under you is not enough.

You heard police sirens, someone yelling for you to stop, but the wolf is not willing to. It seems it would not be satiated unless this villain dies a brutal death.

Streams of fibers wrapped around you, restraining you until you cannot move anymore.

When you regained consciousness, you were in a clean jail cell, still in your wolf form. You assumed that you are being confined in a hero agency since you just lost control.

The door cracked. It is Tsunagu! What is he doing here? And why is he wearing a jean mask?

Then you saw the rest of his outfit. Demin jeans suit from head to toe, the...the No.4?

He is Best Jeanist? What is happening now?

Tsunagu wanted to take things slow, he wanted to date you normally, letting you know everything about him, but this seems like too good of an oppertunity to pass up.

“(y/n), can you understand me?” He crouches down with a concerned look on his face.

You nod. You are not able to speak human languages while in wolf form, another draw back.

“Do your clothes come back when you transform? Or do you need some clothes?”

You left your clothes behind a dumpster before, so you just shook your head. If you were to transform now, it could be quite embarrassing.

Handing you a denim dress, Best Jeanist leaves to give you some privacy to change.

After you are dressed and back in human form, he took you to his office.

“I know you must have lots of question right now, but please allow me to explain somethings first.”

“The villain is in bad shape. You did quite a bit damage on him. His blood loss is immense; he is still in the ICU as we speak.”

Why don’t you just let him die, he’s a threat to society anyway. You ask yourself, silently.

“However, while he is a villain, you still hurt him too much. And it’s not even self-defence. You are not a hero, it’s illegal.”

You tense up. Would you face charges for this? For trying to protect other people.

“Would I go to Tartarus? For how long?”

“Oh, come now. As long as I have any say , I won’t allow that to happen.” Your eyes lit up, wanting to thank him.

“You can be my wife instead. Stay with me, and no charges would be pressed.”

What?

You know he likes you, but just asking to become his wife like that? Without dating first.

“Tsunagu, I... you...this...” He finds your stutters cute, as he traces his fingers along the edge of your wolf ears. Best Jeanist had been wanting to do that for so long, he worked so hard to restrain himself.

“Your choice. Either face court charges, or you can be with me, all is well.”

Tsunagu Hakamada is confident about his chances. An innocent, adorable civilian like you will not last long even in the most outer cells of Tartarus.

Tears slides down your chin as you give a reclutant reply. “I’ll...be with you.”

Who could have thought Tsunagu would do such a thing? He is always so nice and friendly. But now here he is, threatening you with this crime?

“Perfect.” Snapping a denim collar around your neck, he lifts your chin, forcing you to look up to him. “I can’t wait to get you home; you would be such a lovely little wolf. My little wolf.”

“Should you ever try to leave me, I’m sure Tartarus is always avaliable.”

[calitraditionalism]

Arc Three: Chapter Six

(AO3 counterpart here.)

The broken ring of an audience was silent for a long time after Greyleaf’s story ended. They looked at each other, at the sky, at nothing at all, trying to absorb what they had been told and to deduce whether any of it was true or not.

All of the anger seemed to have left Greyleaf, his fur lying flat, if a little clumped and stiff from the rain. He breathed normally, his eyes tired and dark. He stood straighter, like the massive weight of his knowledge had been physically lifted off his back. Redheart mirrored his posture, though her head was a little lowered and her expression was one of relief. The two of them said nothing, merely watched the cats around them.

Flyfang was the first to speak, her voice cracked and weak. “Then my mom’s soul…”

“If she’s dead, she’s in that thing,” Redheart said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

Flyfang shivered hard. “And my dad…” She froze up with a gasp. “When my sisters die-“

“When we all die.” Laurelclaw looked back and forth with increasing distress, his short tail puffed up like a coyote’s. “Our families, friends – everyone-“ He turned pleadingly to Redheart and Greyleaf. “Isn’t there anything we can do?”

“Outside of leaving?” Greyleaf’s calmness was tainted with a bitter twitch of his lip. “Probably not.”

“They could be lying,” Beetlefoot said, hardly sounding like he was certain. “They could be mistaken.”

“I doubt it,” Darkpelt said, still cool and collected, even if her pupils were constricted and her tail was shaking. “This entire thing makes sense to me. Even if they made it up, it’s way too out there to be a reasonably invented lie. Who would claim something this crazy and expect anyone to believe them?”

Beetlefoot’s mouth moved a few times, but he gave up, staring at the ground with a dumbfounded sense of fear.

Greyleaf now looked at Mistface, deeply unhappy. “Can you see now why we have to leave with Mama as soon as possible?”

Mistface tried to breathe, but it came out shaky and stuttering. “We’re…we are on a time limit, ain’t we?”

Greyleaf dipped his chin a little in a half-nod before returning his focus to the rest of the group. “So whatever you want to do with that, you can. That’s the truth, and we’re trying to save everyone before they can die here.”

“It’s quite a task, as you can see,” Redheart said. “I’m amazed that any of you believe us.”

Silence again for a long moment, before Littlepaw’s timid voice broke it. “Then…what do we do now?”

Everyone looked at each other again, seeking someone to tell them too.

Darkpelt sighed and shook out her fur. “Well, for now, we should probably just rest. It’s night and we’ll need to think things over.” She pulled one side of her mouth back, considering. “I suppose we’ll have someone coming for us soon enough. I don’t know about you, but I’d prefer to have time to decide on my next course of action before they catch up to us.”

“I’ll take watch, if y’all intend to sleep,” Mistface said, a little quicker than he would have liked. He needed privacy to reflect, and he'd take it any way he could without outright abandoning the group.

A pause where everyone turned to the Clast deputy, silently seeking an answer, or an order - something to give them direction.

Redheart slowly spoke. “I think sleep would be best. None of us can go anywhere when it’s this dark and wet at the same time.”

“I can try, but I doubt I’ll be able to sleep,” said Laurelclaw. He shook his head and regarded Greyleaf and Redheart almost in awe. “I have no idea how you’ve slept at all for all these years.”

“I never knew anything else,” Greyleaf muttered, and moved to the side, prodding the ground for a dry spot.

“All I had was my goal.” Redheart backed a little and sniffed the ground. “That’s what’s kept me going.”

It took a long time before everyone was settled – finding a spot that wasn’t entirely muddy or soaking grass was difficult, and their breathing gave away their stress. Mistface didn’t speak to any of them. He just sat facing the direction they had come from, ears perked, mind racing.

It could all be a lie, he wanted to remind himself. It didn’t have to be true. His brother could have just been driven mad by his nightmares and Redheart took advantage of that. Or maybe Redheart was a loony, and Greyleaf was just desperate for an explanation. And even as he thought that, he knew how stupid of a suggestion it was. Darkpelt was right – this was too strange of a story to be thought acceptable to sell to others under the knowledge that it was made up. Liars could think up sensible details from dusk ‘til dawn, and the insane could believe total nonsense. Doing both was not easy.

These thoughts turned over and over in Mistface’s head as he half-listened to the rest of the cats’ breathing slow and deepen. It took a very long time for everyone to fall asleep, and Mistface kept his ear swiveling, listening for anyone having a nightmare. He didn’t know exactly how the truth would affect them, but he wasn’t willing to disregard the idea that someone was going to see something bad.

Grass shifted.

Mistface’s head jerked around. He got halfway off his haunches. No one could have found them this early, could they?

It was black and silver out here in the night, but he thought he saw something to the side of a tree on the edge of the grove. Some shape that could have been a fox, or could have been…

“Not a chance,” he said under his breath. He stood up and craned his neck forward, squinting.

A figure, tall and dark and thin. It stood silently, regarding him as he regarded it.

He immediately knew who it was.

Mistface did one quick dart of the eyes to make sure no one was coming towards them from the north, and then stood and slowly made his way to the shadow.

It didn’t move. In fact, the way it watched him, he was sure that it had timed its visit just so that someone would see it. Its snakelike tail, fading away towards the tip, waved a little, side-to-side.

“You’re right bold, ain’t you?” Mistface said, keeping his voice low. He stopped when he was several body-lengths away. “What if we hadn’t heard their story before we saw you?”

The Runagate blinked slowly, almost dryly. I was there to hear it. Have to keep close to them these days. My voice isn’t as strong as it was.

Mistface knew that, faced with a ghost – or demon, or devil, or spirit, whatever it was – he should be at least a little nervous, if not outright scared. He knew the tales. He knew that it could have been manipulating two innocent and stressed-out cats.

Somehow, though, it felt like talking with a neighbor. Or perhaps like sharing a view with someone else of something too strange to explain.

Mistface tilted his head. “Funny, ain’t it. Whole perspective of the world gets changed in one night. Now you’re hardly anythin’ to talk to.”

I’ve been ‘hardly anything’ for a very long time, the Runagate said. Its head lowered a little. Just slowly fading while I try to spread the word. It’s all I’ve got now, like them. A pause, and then, almost too quiet to hear the thought, I don’t even remember who I was before all of this. Before I died.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Mistface said - genuinely, to his surprise. “You’re nothin’ like I imagined.”

The smallest ‘hm’, that could perhaps be considered a noise of hollow amusement. They always make me out to be some pale monster with a snake’s tongue. Got real tired of watching those performances the first couple generations.

“I can only imagine.” Mistface looked back, checking to see if anyone was awake. Nothing. He turned again to the Runagate. “You’re somethin’ special, certainly. How did you get away from it? Redheart’s mother didn’t.”

She should have fled herself, the Runagate said, and its voice was just a little more intense in Mistface’s head, with some emotion he couldn’t name. I took one look before I ran for everything I held dear. Didn’t pause to ask questions. Just ran. And I’ve been running since then.

Mistface was surprised at the pity in his heart – not just because he had it at all, but because out of all of the characters in the Clan’s legends he had been told about, he didn’t expect to feel it for a supposed demon who was living through sheer determination, even when the whole Territory was against them.

A question came to his mind. “There been anyone else you’ve told? Anyone else who’s known?”

A heavy sigh…or perhaps the wind. Only a few, and only one at a time. Greyleaf and Redheart existing together is a miracle. The others, they did nothing. They could find nothing to do. Most of them just ran away. Sometimes took friends or family out of the Territory. I don’t know where they are now.

Mistface’s eyelids lowered a little as he considered this. There came another question, burning with his curiosity much more. “Greyleaf ain’t ever been affected by this. You got any idea why?”

The Runagate made another lifeless, breathy noise like a chuckle. I wish I knew. He’s a first. Not many cats like him that nothing can get to. It took everything I had just to talk to him in his dreams that one time.

“Huh.” Mistface’s eyes drifted down. “Curious. It’d be worthwhile to study that.”

If you have the time before it’s too late, certainly.

“We will,” Mistface said, startled again by a new sensation in his chest – something steady and warm, making him feel a little bolder. “Everyone’s gettin’ the time. We’ll figure somethin’ out. This ain’t continuin’.”

The Runagate’s head tilted and its eyes narrowed, but its tone was almost surprised. You intend to do something about this.

Mistface was unsure of what he was feeling, but he let it guide him into a firm nod. “If for no one else, for my family. Mama ain’t goin’ to that thing.” His fur fluffed out a little. “No one is, if I got my way. I’m sure at least some of these folks’ll feel the same.”

The Runagate blinked slowly, regarding him. The fading tail drifted back and forth slowly, like grass in the breeze. Mistface met what remained of its eyes with firm focus. Neither spoke for a moment.

I can give you all what I know, the Runagate said finally. I don’t know how much help I can be otherwise. I’m running out of… The silhouette shuddered and rippled. I’m out of everything, really. Time. Energy. Fear can only keep one going for so long, brother of Greyleaf.

Mistface gave it one nod and said, about as firmly as he could at such a quiet volume, “You’ll rest soon. We can figure this out.”

The shadowy face had a hint of a smile. I’ll hold you to that.

[striving-artist]

I slipped and wrote a very sweet, sad non-powered Avengers Polycule thing that I wasn’t planning to write, and also its a strangely stylized form of prose, so who knows if I’ll ever return to it.

Everyone is Poly because Avengers, but slightly extra Bucky/Toni.

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

The four of them didn’t make sense to anyone watching from the outside. They could pretend they were all just roommates if they had to, but it was a strange snarl of people and affection and friendship, and it was easier to think of them all as a single unit and go about their day. 

Steve and Bucky had been best friends since diapers, had been each other’s firsts and were mad in love to the point they weren’t bothered by it being open. Natasha seduced the pair of them on a bet in college, and never really left. Then Steve met Sam at a bar and backtalked until they ended up defiling the back of an uber, and somehow, miracle of miracles, Sam’s eyes had lit up when Steve haltingly explained the situation with the others. 

After that, they just… were.

When Clint was in town, an old friend of Nat’s, he usually took her on a date, but he was a strange type of intermittently ace. It didn’t bother any of them, just like it didn't bother Clint that Natasha had needs to be met, and loved the other three. 

One really excellent weekend, Nat, Steve and Clint got a hotel room and burned through four months of Clint’s sexual needs in the space of two days. 

Thor, when he was in the country, was a welcome addition. Carol and Maria were too possessive to share, but they came over for movie marathons and game nights. 

It was messy, and every one of them had, at one point or another, been absolutely furious at someone else, but it always simmered back down, always came back to the four of them, in a tangle on the ultra-deep couch, fitting together in a way that they loved too much to throw away. 

Then they met Toni. 

Bucky met Toni. 

She was drunk and dancing at a club that the others had dragged him to, and Bucky knocked a guy back who didn’t understand the word no. He woke up with her face tucked into his neck, snoring a bit, one hand gripping at his shirt. 

She didn't leave after that. 

She kept a lot of herself hidden away, kept secrets hidden behind the sorrow she couldn’t quite mask in her eyes. None of them pushed her about it. Toni Carbonell was carrying plenty, and she didn’t like to ask for help.

But it didn’t matter. 

She snapped into place with them as easily as Sam had. 

She and Sam in fact, were troublemakers, even more than when Nat and Toni would get up to something. Of course, when those two got up to trouble, it usually involved lacey things, and the boys knew better than to complain about that. 

All summer, all through the scorching, humid days of a New York summer in their overpriced apartment, sweltering, even after Toni did her magic and got the AC working better, they were happy. 

Bucky admitted it to Nat one night, as they were languid and sticky, waiting for the others to get back from a movie. He stumbled, trying to explain that it wasn’t like he was unhappy before, but that Toni filled a gap he didn't know was empty. Nat gave him one of her best enigmatic looks, and informed him that Sam had already told her the same thing. Steve told Bucky similar a few days later. 

It was good. 

It was right. 

They balanced each other’s scale, picked up each other’s slack, got on each others nerve in the best possible way. 

It wasn’t like they were trying to build themselves an idyllic hippie commune, or a pitch perfect polycule, but they’d done it all the same. 

The lease on the apartment was up that autumn and Steve and Bucky spent a few long nights whispering about how to bring it up, searching for bigger apartments they could afford, wondering how to ask Toni to stay, to really stay. Sam crawled in between them and informed them that they needed to talk to Toni, cause he wasn’t planning on letting her go. 

It was a big deal though. 

Bucky knew that. Nat moved in on accident, and informed Steve and Bucky she was staying, but Sam was a negotiation. Toni would be the same way. The group was too complex to think she could slot into place without a real, formal conversation about it. That was fine. It would be worth it. Once they talked to her, explained that this wasn’t just some fun for them, that they wanted her to move in, not just stick around, once they explained all that - the little whisper of concern would fade. Maybe she’d let down some of her walls. Maybe she’d let them - maybe she’d let Bucky carry some of that weight for her. 

Maybe she’d let them help her, the way she helped them with anything they mentioned. 

Things didn’t always work out though. 

They knew that. All of them knew that. 

Didn’t make it hurt less when she vanished. 

After one of the rare nights when all five of them were tangled together - not that they didn’t all want each other, but the logistics of that many limbs required planning - Bucky rolled over to pull her closer, and found the space empty. 

It wasn’t uncommon. 

She got an idea in her head, and had to do it immediately. She could have gone for post-orgy donuts, or to buy a new type of transistor for a project. It was Toni, five am departures weren’t all that weird. 

When she didn’t come back that night, though. 

When Nat found Toni’s phone in the basket by the door. 

When Sam realized all her accounts online were deleted. 

When Steve saw the half finished robot was missing. 

When Bucky reached for an empty space for the fourth night in a row. 

Just gone. 

Whatever she’d been running from, or hiding from, maybe it had come around again. They knew she had secrets. They’d hoped she would share them one day. It didn’t work out. None of them blamed any of the others. They held tighter, held longer. Sam kept a closer eye on Bucky for a few weeks, aware that Toni had been his the way he and Steve were with each other. Bucky let them hold him, grateful none of them pushed to pretend there wasn’t a hole punched in their hearts. 

It got better. Slowly. 

It didn’t hurt less, but it hurt less often. 

They stopped ordering from the dim sum place she’d loved. They didn’t watch the new season of project runway. Little changes. Little adjustments. Life went on. They all saw echoes of her in strangers on the street. All four had laughed a bit when the tabloids and the entertainment channels blew up about a high profile wedding. The new Mrs Tiberius Stone did look a lot like Toni. 

Except Toni never looked so hollow, or so cold. She was never so sharp and crisp, with flawless hair and makeup. She always was in motion, bubbling over with excitement, stripping the wiring from the toaster oven because she had an idea at three am, with a smear of dirt and wild frizzy hair. She was bright and brilliant and beautiful, and the woman in the tabloids looked as dull and plasticine as every other rich heiress.

Thor came to visit that winter, brought a woman named Valkyrie with him, and for a week or two, the hole in their group was easy to forget. 

They were better. They were healed. They were good again, laughing and joking, tangled with each other. They rebuilt their equilibrium. They kept their apartment, considering getting a cat.

Winter melted away, flowers bloomed, the air turned hot and stagnant, and the others nominated Bucky to go to the door when someone knocked at half past two in the morning. He was closest after all. Grumbling that they didn’t pause the movie, he went, not bothering with the peephole. It was probably Mr Phillips from down the hall, annoyed that they were laughing too loud. 

Bucky opened the door, expecting nothing, and found Toni. 

She seemed smaller, hunched, flinching from an invisible blow. She seemed thinner, no, gaunt, like she’d not seen a real meal in a year. 

She seemed lost. 

Bucky didn’t do a thing. He held open the door, and the others turned, and they saw, and they had Toni inside a moment later. Nightmares whipped through his head, and he knew they were hitting the others as well. They’d talked about it. All of them. In pairs and threes and all at once, they’d talked about where she might have gone, and the fears that chased them over it. They worried about drugs and kidnappers and murderers and cruel families. They worried about everything, because she was theirs, and she was gone.

It was hot and muggy, even late at night in the city, but Toni had arrived in jeans and an oversized, ratty sweatshirt with MIT across the chest. 

Nat figured it out. Nat always figured things out first. 

Bucky watched while Nat pushed up the sleeves to show the bruises on Toni’s wrists. Watched, and let Sam and Steve bracket him when Natasha finally convinced Toni to lift her chin and let them see the swelling and purple mess around her eye. See how her lip quivered and she refused to speak.

She was theirs, and she was hurting, so all of them moved at once.

They brought her a bag of frozen peas, and they grabbed water and a bottle of pain relievers. Steve went to pick her up, planning to take her to the couch where they could surround her with kindness and soft touches until she was ready to talk. 

Toni flinched. 

Toni stepped backwards. Lifted her chin like she was going to war. Like she was afraid of them.

Toni shifted her arms in a deliberate way, effective and brilliant and painful, and let the fabric of the sweatshirt pull tighter, making the bump obvious to them. Her eyes jumped to each of them, unable to make eye contact, searching for something. Waiting for them to recoil. To yell. To push. To hate her.

She’d been gone for nearly a year.

They only had her for a few months. 

She came back fractured and wounded and looked at them like she expected to be thrown aside for this. 

Gently, slowly, with a long caress along her jaw and neck to ask permission, Bucky carried her to the couch. The others followed. Flowed. Sat around her, sent discreet texts calling out of work the next day, and let her cry, willing to wait to hear what she needed. 

After all, she was a part of them. Things were right when she was there. 

She was hurting. She was hurt.

None of them were going to let her vanish again.

[twistedapple]

Through These Eyes

Here it is! I’m very nervous about it though, since I’m currently training to work mutiple points of view at the same time, and switching from one POV to the other is not an easy task, both intellectually and emotionally. Bonus point for handling a canon character and needing to be careful about not having him out of character and feeling just like himself in regard to the way his thoughts and feelings are conveyed... Anyway, this is a very interesting exercise, practice will make it perfect getting more canon infos as well lol Bianca’s profile, Bianca’s backstory

Recommended playlist: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

Without further ado...

---------- 

He never really minded being on his own, and there were times when staying in this large castle still felt oppressive, even the usual company of his supervisor and various servants wouldn’t abate the feeling. In those moments, he would sneak outside and go for a little exploratory stroll. The Valley, as secluded as it was, still had its fair share of inhabitants and locations – his favourite were the abandoned ones. It wasn’t the most princely thing to do but he couldn’t care less, he just wanted to have his bit of fun and quiet – besides, that sort of escapism was harmless. Granted, he would consistently be on the receiving end of a sermon once he’d returned – with his position, disappearing without even a guard was deemed reckless. Well, with his position, he could also easily care for himself and escape them anyway, so why bother having them follow him in the first place? Plus he’d probably be tempted to lose them out of sheer mischief. No matter how the issue could be considered, the outcome would be the same. So he left on his own once again to seek a bit of peace, somewhere away from the castle. Where, though? Ah, this area would do, the unkempt garden had an oddly charming and peaceful atmosphere.

Green firefly-like lights slowly disappeared as he made his advance towards the location, following a messy and clearly disused path with the sure foot of a person used to the exercise. The sky was clear and pale moonlight cut a sharp shadow, making his horns look even longer than they already were. The fresh scent of plants was all around him, along with something else, something unexpected. Magic? He couldn’t be fooled on that – after all, he only had to shake one of his hands for bouts of flames and sparks to randomly appear. He remained young and was still learning to properly master his magic, yet his power was immense. So, intrigued rather than worried, he approached the supposedly abandoned place to inspect it further, his curiosity picked. His raised hand glowed with a faint, green light as he was checking specific areas and trying to figure out what was going on. The traces of magic he had found were awfully similar to whatever had caused some strange taint in other parts of the Valley lately, how curious. Then, that’s when he felt he wasn’t alone anymore. He couldn’t see where they were hidden, but he was clearly being observed. Not willing to play any mind game, he stood tall and ordered.

- Show yourself!

Under blue moon, they met. A small, slender silhouette emerged from behind a half ruined wall covered in ivy and he could have almost mistaken her for a human, had it not been for her eyes – cat-like, abnormally bright golden amber eyes shining too much for it to be caused by the pale moonlight. A slithering shadow disappeared behind her as the young woman moved forward, a cheeky smile on her lips. 

- Now that’s a visit I certainly never saw coming. Not even a guard?

His gaze fell on her and he immediately felt a pinch in his chest. Of course, she knew who she was facing. After all, Malleus’ silhouette was too unique to remain unknown. However, his initial reaction – caused by sheer habit – quickly left place to a certain degree of surprise. Was she poking fun at him? Well well well, how brazen. He couldn’t let that pass now, could he?

- Wasn’t this place supposed to be abandoned? It was, last time I strolled around.

- ... Strolled? Well, I settled in fairly recently, was even planning to rearrange a part of the garden to grow some stuff for myself... Look, is there a part of the area you’d rather have me leave untouched? I don’t really care, I’m pretty much passing by anyway and I’m all alone, so I don’t need much room anyway.

At each word she was getting bolder and bolder, and by the time she’d finished talking, Malleus found himself more amused than anything else. People usually weren’t casual towards him, and they certainly wouldn’t dare start a negotiation two seconds after having met him. He didn’t even know who she was yet... The entire situation felt refreshing and this fact alone motivated him to simply go with the flow. He even decided to cut a bit, just to see how much gal she had.

- Negotiating? Do you realise who you’re talking to?

- … Oh yes, I do, but my motivations for this negotiation are better left for when we’re more hm acquainted with each other. So, is it a good enough reason for you to still feel comfortable hanging around? 

The whole situation was getting better by the second and Malleus found himself chuckling at her question. She was there rather illegally, yet she was treating the place as her personal domain and even inviting him. That last bit felt especially precious – he was so used to see people consider him with either reverence or fear, so used to whispers even to his face as people clearly felt uncomfortable in his presence... For a second he had considered pushing her around a bit more but this thought stopped him in his tracks. Yes, it was a proposal too precious to decline.

- Such a gracious host. Though I may need a name at some point...

As their chat progressed, they’d been getting closer to each other, circling slowly. Even though he had decided to not push too far, he still decided for one last test. If she truly wasn’t human, she’d react appropriately – and she did, declaring her identity a secret for now in a teasing manner.

Under blue moon, they kept seeing each other. Despite the place not belonging to her, she acted like a pleasant host towards him and extended a permanent invitation to her humble abode. While Malleus was certainly amused by the nerve she would casually display, he was also most appreciative of that invitation – for someone like him, used to be... Left behind, yet having an increased crave for proper social interactions as time passed, it meant much and more. In exchange for this kindness, he offered to involve her in his own hobbies, chief among them the exploration of abandoned places and the observation of the many gargoyles commonly found on buildings in the Valley of Thorns. It may have seemed like a strange way to have people relate to him, but it was the easiest one for Malleus. He felt like he could slowly pour his feelings out through the use of his past-times – it was simpler than directly expressing his feelings, somehow. Whenever he’d try to do that, he’d stop mid-sentence as discomfort would settle in his chest and cloud his mind, embarrassment weighting in the back of his head. She never judged him for that. In fact, she remained patient and involved in his architectural rants, showing a genuine interest and obvious knowledge of history. She let him open up on his own term and when he started disclosing his personal thoughts, the grace with which she received them and seemed to take them into account never failed to make his heart leap a bit. Similarly, if he had trouble reading her in the beginning, over time it felt easier – as if him opening up pushed her to return the courtesy.

Under blue moon, he started spending nights at her place – to chat, to watch her work her hedge magic, or to simply be alone together. He even became the first person to hear her sing again after years of silence. By that point, he had a name for her – Hilda -, and knew she had taken an interest in his musical skills since the day she’d noticed the calluses on the tip of his fingers. One night, he appeared with a lute and, as Hilda was working on some orders for a nearby human settlement; he started playing some gentle tune he had decided to prepare specifically for this occasion – a small present for her and for no other reason than the fact that it pleased him to do so. Under the watchful eyes of a dark, cat-like beast with eyes of pale fire sitting next to her, soft sounds filled the main room of what Hilda was using as current living quarters and soon enough, a humming joined in and launched a discussion. Malleus couldn’t help notice yet another testimony of what seemed to be a solid education, but chose to keep his questions to himself still. He preferred to have her come forward with whatever she kept to herself, rather than question her – he feared it may make her step away from him and he treasured their relationship too much at this point to risk such a thing. These considerations aside, it was the first time he heard something musically oriented from her and a question still had to be asked once he finished playing his tune.

- You seem well-versed in music, how come you’ve never brought it up before?

- Well, it’s been a while since I last did anything related to it, but your little tune motivated me… It’s the first time I heard it, your creation?

- Yes, if you were to hear me play for the first time, I thought I could make this occasion memorable. Considering your reaction, I take you enjoyed it? I shall do that again at a later date, then.

Under blue moon, they found themselves more and more involved with each other as time passed, to the point Malleus started acting like an accomplice to her occupation of empty places and quiet trade. He would often catch himself giving Hilda long looks, either while silently wondering what could be the reply to her mystery, or simply because he felt like watching her be about whatever task she decided to put her mind to. One of his favourite moments was when she would use her magic and one of those curious magical surges would happen. Most of the time, it seemed more annoying than dangerous and the face she’d make in these moments was amusing – pouting with her cheeks flushed in embarrassment. Then there’d be the dangerous times, when he’d find her bandaged and not allowing herself to use magic for some time. In those moments she’d be in a darker mood, though assuring Malleus that he shouldn’t take it personally as it was not directed at him. Still, he’d stay and help her out with what needed be done regarding the trade she had going with the locals. This trade mostly consisted in alchemy and potions for all sorts of things – from improving the growth of crops to various charms made for all sorts of purposes. Interestingly, Hilda’s preferred tasks would be related to the care of the land itself, which she seemed surprisingly knowledgeable about. When Malleus questioned her on the matter, though, she merely replied that her unique magic was tied to the land and that it felt obvious for her to feel concerned about it – whether by caring for the wilderness or helping farmers in their endeavour. And while this trade didn’t provide her with many riches, it seemed to give its own wealth of information and links to a great number of persons. This alone picked Malleus’ interest since it was something he couldn’t do as easily as her for various reasons – people fearing his power, people recognising him in an instant... Meanwhile, Hilda’s overall deceptively human-like appearance, small stature and approachable atmosphere seemed incredibly useful when it came to treating with people – be they humans or faes. When he’d find her dealing with her clients, he’d enjoy observing from afar for all of those reasons; it wasn’t just about fulfilling some sort of curiosity, but to learn a bit as well. In those moments, his own isolation would weight on him too, yet Hilda’s smiles would never fail to abate the feeling. 

Under blue moon their bond grew stronger, before reaching a new point one day, as Malleus was helping her move in a new place he’d suggested. That night, there was a feeling of casual closeness between them, as if they’d done what they were doing more than once. It was an easy ballet made of back-and-forth to put Hilda’s belongings in order.  They would cross each other and, as she stayed close to him, he first surprised himself silently basking in her delicate scent of sweet grass and fresh flowers before realising that he simply wanted her even closer. It fully dawned on him when they found themselves side by side, their eyes locking. He’d never expected a time as short as a missed heart beat could pass so quickly yet so slowly at the same time. Closer, a scent like a secret garden. Closer, lips brushing against lips. Closer still, as he felt her lean in the touch and replied in kind by running his fingers through her hair. Suddenly, it felt like a fire was roaring inside him and neither of them would let go of the other. For a moment, nothing else mattered... Until he felt a strange sensation under his fingers. Breaking the contact, he looked and noticed her ink black hair covered in small, pale blossoms. His first thought was to consider them like a bit of starry night sky, yet he kept that to himself and went for a chuckle instead.

- You did tell me about those magical surges of yours... But I had never seen that sort of thing happen before. Did you?

- What are you talking abo- blackthorns blossoms? No, that one is definitely new, though oddly specific. I wonder what could have caus-

- To put it simply, I’d say you... You-made-me-bloom. Literally. 

- Pff... Hahahaha well at the very least, know that the blackthorn suits you perfectly. 

- You’re enjoying it all, aren’t you?

-Oh, I enjoy it a lot.

Seeing her redden and implode on the spot was most amusing to witness and provided him the final push to keep going – there was no objection on her part, only her hands pressing on his chest and her fingers tightening slightly over his shirt.

Under blue moon, Malleus discovered her mystery. All he needed was a name, and a name he heard accidentally. That evening, he arrived as usual, surrounded by green firefly-like lights and not too far from Hilda’s current dwelling – but not too close either. However, the air itself was heavy with magic and it felt like the earth was ready to crack open at any moment. Not knowing what was happening in the usually quite place, Malleus concealed himself with a spell before making a careful, calculated approach to assess the situation – or try to. He may have had honed his skill in escaping his guards whenever he left the castle, however it wasn’t a reason for him to act foolishly and risk putting himself in danger. As he got close, however, he started having a feeling of déjà-vu with the way the magic affected the area. Like a twisted, gloomy taint that would warp the immediate surroundings. That’s when his eyes fell on thick branches of blackthorn breaching erratically the earth and growing thicker, fuller at their center. There a person was held prisoner, ruthlessly pinned in place by the long thorns and under the watch of a large, black dog-like beast with eyes of pale fire. Then Hilda approached, a bundle in her hands and a cold, ominous expression on her face that Malleus had never seen before. With a biting tone and thorns in her hair, she unwittingly provided the information Malleus had wanted to ask for a while now – merely waiting the proper moment to do so. 

- Since you were following orders, I’ll let you go back to my family, but you’ll bring them these bones. Tell them this it what you found at the end of the trail. You’ll be freed from this cat and mouse game in the process, isn’t it nice? Your Lady Bianca Bosconero is dead.

Bosconero? That name alone was enough to explain everything, even though she’d been guarded about it – and about pretty much any information that could give her identity away, when he thought about it. That’s why she stayed so vague when it came to her magical abilities as well – because she wasn’t just a Bosconero, based on what he’d been witnessing. She was without a doubt the current holder of the ancestral magic passed down in the family for generations. While the Bosconero were historical allies of the Draconia, their work would be oriented towards diplomacy, especially in regards to humans, thanks to their generally deceptive human-like features, so they would often communicate to provide reports regarding the state of affairs outside the Valley, but would not so often show their face. The foliate face of the Green Man himself was their coat-of-arms, of course she’d be skilled in the fields of growth, death and rebirth, as she demonstrated in her care for both the wilderness and crops, as well as her specific knowledge in alchemy and potion-making.

Yet, as relieved as he felt by this realisation, Malleus couldn’t help feeling hurt by all the omissions Hilda – no, Bianca – had made. Granted, based on what she had said as she released the prisoner, it looked like she had taken extreme measures to protect herself from her own family, but his chest still tightened at the idea that she’d kept it to herself all this time, rather than talk to him. With the current state of their relationship and his own power, he could easily provide her the safety she needed, so the feeling of rejection was present despite his attempt at rationalising the whole situation. This is what motivated him to appear as soon as Bianca cleared the place and found herself alone again. He wanted to hear it all from her own mouth. 

-… Bianca Bosconero? From the Bosconero household? Is it who you are?

---------- 

As soon as he moved from his hiding spot and addressed her, Bianca froze on the spot. The thorns he could previously see and feel in her hair, eyes and words seemed to vanish, leaving only a faint dark, smoke-like trail that dissipated in a second. She turned towards him and her face quickly went from cold fury to surprise, then fear. And while Malleus had never been exactly good at reading people’s emotions, at that moment he was certain he could almost hear her scream internally. It made him feel uneasy, but he couldn’t help scowling at the entire situation – at her, too. A heavy silence fell on them, during which Bianca seemed to search her words. Now, what would they do...

- Yes, you heard it right.

- Why did you stay silent about that? Not talking about it when we met was one thing, but enough time has passed since then, don’t you think?

The tone of his voice carried something regal and cutting that surprised even him, yet he kept a composed face while questioning Bianca.

- How much did you hear?

- The end of your exchange. You haven’t answered my questions.

- ... What was I supposed to do? Involve you in family matters? The Crown Prince himself butting in to help clean a family’s personal laundry, can you imagine how people would react to that? Why would I get you involved in something that could only tarnish your reputation, what could you gain in that?

- ...

At her questioning replies, Malleus fell silent and lowered his head slightly. She had a point, and technically it would also have made him guilty of not only getting in the way of her family – a short way to gain political enemies -, but of assisting her with all sort of illegal things, such as squatting or practicing non-authorised trade at the border. Knowing who she really was would have potentially damaged his own social and political status as well... Yet, the cat was now out of the bag whether they liked it or not. They had to compose with that from now on. 

- Now, your identity is out but your problems are definitely far from being solved, aren’t they? How are you – no, we – supposed to proceed?

In reaction to his new questions, Bianca looked at him with a tired look he had never seen before and let out a loud sigh while slowly rubbing her hands together, lips slightly pinched. Malleus was familiar with that gesture: she was fully focusing on all of the parameters they had to figure out the most efficient course of action.

- Right now... Right now only you and Erico – the person you saw, he’s my mother’s assistant -, only you two know what’s going on with my identity. I guess the priority right now is for me to move somewhere else, this place is compromised.

- What about him, then? He’s bringing fake bones to your home. Your mother is a well-known alchemist; I don’t doubt she will fully be capable to see through your trick. Do you think you could face her?

- Honestly? I... I doubt I’ll ever be able to really face her. Not with the erratic nature of my magic.

- You’ve been putting your magic to good use almost daily, ever since we met –

- And most of what you saw are perfectly reasonable spells. If I were to face my mother, I’d have to resort to a full use of my Unique Magic, this is where trouble begins for me.

As they were talking, Malleus felt the tension in his brows abate along with his initial hurt. Rather than feeling put off by her secrecy, he appreciated the fact that it was done not out of malice, but to keep him out of trouble. For that reason, he decided to close the initial distance between them and felt his heart tighten when he saw Bianca lower her eyes, an uneasy look on her face. Her usually soft tone sounded more stifled when she spoke again.

- Malleus... I’m sorry I lied to you like that...

- And the situation has been clarified. Don’t worry about that now – besides, we have to find a new place for you, among other things.

He gave her a gentle smile, then they went back to her hiding place to tidy things up and ready themselves to move. He came back more regularly in the nights that followed – an event rare enough to be noted, considering the risks he was willingly taking -, to help her out, talk about her reasons for doing what she was doing, as well as to simply keep her company. He also discovered the full extent of her magical abilities during one of these nights.

They had decided from a common agreement that, to increase her safety, Bianca would get some help in the improvement of her defensive magic. As expected, the Gift inherited from the Green Man was a powerful magic – powerful, but highly finicky and unpredictable. Bianca explained how she would usually work: her Unique Magic, Forest Queen, would work as the concept of a territory and she would select a manageable area – usually herself and maybe a radius around herself. From there, the summons inherent to her Unique Magic would come forth as she called them. However, that’s where the full extent of the Gift would strike: with a territory large enough, the land around her would twist and quickly turn into a deep, dark forest. In the mean time, the unpredictability of that magical source would translate into random effects that would affect Bianca and her spells. It could be happy accidents, such as the twinning of a spell, or unpleasant ones such as getting trapped in her own thorns – she had shown him the scars it had already caused her in the past. And despite his own magical abilities, Malleus couldn’t help feeling unsettled whenever he looked at her forest, seeping with something ancient. It was only an impression, but as soon as he laid his eyes on it, he had a terrible feeling that going in there would be a terrible idea. The feeling towards most of her summons was similar, Ire and Dread, the towering antlered creature and the beautiful yet threatening black horse, being the ones eliciting the strongest impression of imminent doom to him.

However, for all the fright her Unique Magic could conjure, there was also the amazement at seeing the world dance with her as she moved, followed by a new wilderness at each step. For him whose magic would be naturally inclined towards destruction through fire and lightning, these magical feats were compelling. Even though there was a natural weakness to fire-related magic, the renewing ability of that ability was intriguing. Yet, it also came with the most unpleasant limitation: a heavy use of Bianca’s magical energy, something that already required her attention as it seemed she was prone to blotting. But as long as they remained careful about it, they could exchange blows; it would never fail to make Malleus’ heart leap, seeing someone who didn’t fear his magic and would even be willing to discuss with him through spells. Such an event was so rare it made the entire situation even more precious to him, and he wanted to cherish and nurture it. 

Under blue moon, she disappeared. When Malleus arrived, it was already far too late, the place was cold and empty, save for some partially thrashed objects. The night following the first attack, she had explained what she was running away from, and as he was taking in the now abandoned place, Malleus knew that despite his help, she had failed to face her mother. The thought was enough to give birth to a cold guilt, somewhere deep within him. Even though his rational side dictated that he had done what he could at his level, that he couldn’t predict this event, that him getting directly involved in that fight would only have made everything worse – even for himself -... He still couldn’t help feeling guilty for not having been there. The weeks that followed were spent in a strange haze, during which he did what he needed to do out of habit, yet his thoughts were somewhere else – a manor marked with a foliate face, ink black hair, amber eyes and crimson lips. His constant daydreaming was only broken when a large bird with eyes like pale fire and obsidian feathers found its way to the window of his bedroom. Malleus quickly recognised Sly, the bird-like summon. A smart one that definitely deserved its name. It could sing, imitate voices and create charms to distract its victims. However, this time it seemed it had been used for the considerably mundane and charmingly old fashioned task of bringing a letter.

“M. My mother took me back home. I tried my best, but I think the fear she invokes still got the better of me. I am not allowed to have a phone – among many things -, so I’m afraid a messenger bird will be the best option to keep contact with you. I hope you are well. – B. PS: no need to give him food or water.”

The handwriting had more sharpness to it than what its overall fairly round letters let on at first sight – the extended verticals were most indicative of it. The paper had a delicate, green floral scent that was unmistakable. His hearts beating in excitement, Malleus read the letter five more times before taking some stationary material and preparing his reply.

“B. I can’t believe you are asking me how I am doing when I’m the one who should be asking you how you are faring. I’m sorry I couldn’t be – can’t be – there for you. Is there anything I can do?- M. PS: exchanging letters like that is charmingly old fashioned. It also has a better chance of reply from me, since it looks like my magic doesn’t always agree with more modern means of communication.”

After having closed the letter with a non-descript seal, Malleus approached the black bird, which quietly held a foot so he could bind the letter to it before silently flying away. Thus started an epistolary exchange between Bianca and him, during which he made sure to carefully store all of her letters so he could occasionally take a look at them. However, this too was put to an end by Crimilde Bosconero.

“M., I think this will be the last letter between us for a while. I’m sorry things have come to that, but you know I don’t want you to be needlessly involved in my personal mess. I’ll try to figure a new way out, I’ll let you know as soon as it happens. In the mean time, please take good care of yourself. I love you. – B.”

Malleus felt something twist in him as he read the letter, worry over her situation getting mixed with the elation caused by the last words in her letter. He immediately proceeded to work on what would be his last reply, in which he chose to pour his own feelings for the sake of clarity and as a promise to her. The surprisingly hopeful tone of Bianca’s last letter motivated Malleus to be patient and keep going, chasing away the unpleasant thoughts by remembering the feeling of her body against his, how he would lean in her gentle touch when she’d caress his cheek. And while it wasn’t exactly what he’d call the greatest time of his life, his patience still led to an unforeseen surprise on the day the carriage meant to take him to Night Raven College arrived. While he thought only Lilia and him would pass the coffin-shaped door, he was instead surprised to see a small silhouette with ink black hair appear as well. As soon as they saw each other, they almost made a move to join in an embrace, but held back as Lilia was giving them both a curious look – yet spared a comment or, more likely, thought it as hard as possible but chose not to embarrass Lady Bosconero out of politeness. Malleus knew some questions would be asked later, in private, now that Lilia had the missing piece regarding his pupil’s curious behaviour.

Under blue moon, they met again. It happened a few days after they had both settled in their dorm and in their new rhythm of life. Malleus couldn’t tell if it was the privacy of their tête-à-tête, the fact that they could finally see each other again, or maybe a bit of both, but Bianca openly displaying her emotions as she sought his embrace and started crying had his heart skip a beat. At that moment, he was fully hit by the degree of trust she had in him, even after all this time forcefully apart. She had yet to explain what had happened once all communication stopped abruptly, but judging by her reaction it had been difficult for her. Malleus decided to not press her with questions for now and silently offered the safe comfort of his arms instead, breathing her in and wishing for that moment to last forever, his fingers tangled in hair covered with pale flowers.

Throughout their first school year, even though they were in different classes and different dorms, it felt like they were offered a perfect opportunity to get to see each other on a nearly daily basis, in a setting that allowed less secrecy. It gave Malleus the occasion to fully discover new sides to Bianca, as she was not only being around him, but being around other people as well. There was still a form of amazement at seeing her skilfully deal with the very same people who expressed fear just by looking at him. This very situation also seemed to be a source of concern to her, as she wouldn’t hesitate to include him whenever they had joint classes, when most people would leave him behind. Still, most people - some of his classmates seemed to not really care about whom he was, some would even occasionally try to have their bit of fame on Magicam when he was around. So Malleus would regularly reassure Bianca that she didn’t need to worry about him – she already had enough on her plate and he didn’t feel like burdening her further. Indeed, she had started hatching a new plan to cut free from her family, a plan involving legal means that’d be harder to discuss – and would ensure her mother’s tractability. Malleus was of two minds about the whole situation. On one hand, he wanted her to finally be free to live her life the way she wanted; on the other hand, completely burning bridges with her family may endanger a future he wished to share with her, deep inside of him. However, all too aware of the stubbornness she might show if he started arguing, especially considering how both of them were involved in this issue and how determined she was to protect his name and title by keeping him out of what she deemed private dirty laundry, he decided to bypass the issue by directing her to Lilia for advices on legal recourses. After all, his chaperone was definitely old enough to have both the knowledge and the ability to take a step back on her situation, and he knew that she would listen to him – if only out of respect for his status and the insight he could provide. 

However, directing Bianca towards Lilia was only the first step in his personal plan to settle the dispute between mother and daughter. He still had to tread carefully if he wanted to keep Bianca by his side without antagonising House Bosconero – which would be a terrible move potentially affecting the diplomacy of the Valley of Thorns. As his third year started, he had the pleasure to see her come back with some interesting news; she had managed to cut lose Crimilde’s influence over her – at the cost of a debt and the loss of any financial privileges, which he had in mind to deal with himself, but without completely destroying her relationship with her family. Now, the subtle part of the plan was slowly starting, requiring him to act as a mediator. For someone like him, that would inspire fear in most people yet didn’t excel in reading their heart, it felt like quite the challenge to undertake... But this year had started with certain curious events, which made him consider that the months to come would be unusual and full of surprises. It could constitute an excellent learning experience.

[lunarthedragon]

Bards are Knives and Arrows, Not Sunshine and Daises part 2

Hope you enjoy my word vomit!

Read on Ao3: here

Jaskier didn’t have an exact plan for travelling with Geralt of Rivia. He had kind of leapt into this thing feet first, hoping to land safely at the bottom with some new, fantastical experiences under his belt. Every other concern, every other problem or difficulty, was pushed to the side to be dealt with later.

He didn’t necessarily regret it, he had never been more excited in his life, but it certainly didn’t take him long to notice the flaws in his “plan.”

There were so many ways Jaskier was not prepared for such an adventure. His clothes, for one. Bright, colorful outfits best suited for performances and courts didn’t mix well with unbridled nature. Jaskier had already mourned one of his favorite doublets after the sleeve had been torn on a branch while Geralt had just kept moving ahead with Roach, ignoring him.

And don’t even get Jaskier started on the shoes. He kind of expected that one, since his feet had been killing him while just walking around during their first adventure, but Jaskier didn’t really have many options to change into.

It wasn’t that Bards didn’t know how to be prepared, it was that they rarely needed to travel as hard or incessantly as a Witcher. Bards were flashy to distract from their bullshit, they stuck to highly populated areas and parties. They didn’t really DO wilderness.

Not to say Jaskier didn’t have a few things. He did, at least, have a spare change of clothes that he used for stealth. A more modest, comfortable, quiet outfit dyed all black and grey, with shoes – also not fit for hiking but they were silent and didn’t hurt Jaskier’s feet when he had to crouch somewhere, unmoving, for a few hours – and a dark brown cloak.

It was the drabbest thing Jaskier owned and, judging by Geralt’s furrowed brows when Jaskier had put it on the first time, it likely didn’t really look like “him.”

“Yes, yes, make fun of me all you like,” Jaskier had waved Geralt off as the larger man set up a fire, “I despise the look, but at least I can catch food like this, yes?”

“How practical of you,” Geralt rumbles, half to himself, but Jaskier jumps at the chance to hear his new travel companion speak again.

“Contrary to general belief, I am actually capable of thinking ahead sometimes,” Jaskier smiles, hoping to earn a chuckle or snort, but Geralt just stares at him until he sighs and heads off.

Jaskier returns with a few hares for dinner, holding them at a slight distance from his body by their back legs. Geralt gives him an long, unhappy look when Jaskier hurriedly drops off the corpses, wiping off his hands frantically afterwards, but then hums in surprise as he goes about skinning the creatures.

“What? What is it?” Jaskier looks over, concerned he’d done something wrong. He’d hunted the animals like he would have any other day and, while he knew in theory how to prepare a meal after that, he really, really didn’t want to. Was that really such a problem for Geralt?

“You shot them in the eyes. All of them,” the Witcher eventually observes, looking up at Jaskier with a thoughtful and slightly suspicious tilt of his brows.

“Well… yes?” Jaskier’s own brows furrow, confused, laying out his brown cloak so he can sit on it. He didn’t have a bedroll, unfortunately. He’d need to buy one when they next went through a town. “Doesn’t damage the parts of the body we actually want.”

Geralt hums, that deep “hmm” he seems so fond of, and goes back to prepping their food. It makes Jaskier sit up a little straighter, assuming the lack of response is a negative thing.

“What? Did you think I was lying about my capabilities? I’ll have you know—”

“I don’t care,” Geralt cuts him off, focused entirely on skinning the hares, and Jaskier leans back to pout at him, rather insulted.

“Very well. Then, with this moment of peace, perhaps you’d be willing to tell me about some of your previous hunts? Any noteworthy moments? What monster was the most daunting?” Jaskier attempts to move on, but Geralt doesn’t even grunt this time, completely ignoring the Bard. “Okay… Why not tell me about Witcher life? Where do you train? For how long? What weapons can you use?”

Still no answer.

Jaskier’s forced smile drops and he’s back to pouting. Fine then. If Geralt didn’t want to talk then Jaskier could find something else to entertain himself with.

He pulls out his lute, bow and arrows stashed away once more, and begins to pluck at the strings, humming and meandering through a nameless tune.

He ignores Geralt’s glares as the evening goes on.

+++

One of a Bard’s most powerful weapons is their words.

After that it is their connections.

The great thing about being part of a Bardic Society meant connections were readily shared amongst its members. In most major cities, and a few remote villages, there were a few, choice individuals or organizations that a Bard could trust and go to as needed.

Merchants. Blacksmiths. Fences. Gangs. Informants. So on and so forth.

Individual Bards also tended to build up their own connections, too, whenever they went off on their own, like Jaskier was doing. Issue with that, however, was that Jaskier wasn’t really focusing on his Bard work. There weren’t that many connections some unknown minstrel could make, after all…

That wasn’t to say Jaskier hadn’t, though. He’d been travelling for some time before he joined Geralt on his journeys. There were a few people who knew his face on friendly terms. Far more who knew his face on… less than friendly terms.

Only one of those friendly people actually knew he was a Bard, though.

Serafina Gorecki was a blacksmith. When Jaskier had met her, she was still under the tutelage and control of her father, who had regularly attempted to put her down despite her work being far superior.

Long story short, Jaskier had been fleeing from a party-turned-massacre. Technically speaking, he had been the one to set the whole chaos into motion, quietly exchanging some information about a cheating countess, an overzealous alchemist, and a cat. It was a very… strange story, but his buyer, a noble at said party, had seemed pleased by it.

Then proceeded to begin ordering killings and Jaskier had figured it was time he stepped out.

He fled and jumped through the first, dark open window he saw in the city, which just so happened to be the Gorecki Smithy, where Serafina had been up late working.

Ever since, with Serafina covering for Jaskier’s escape and Jaskier purchasing some of her exquisite knives – some of the best knives Jaskier had ever seen outside of Oxenfurt – the two of them had remained in friendly correspondence, leaning on each other when necessary.

Jaskier isn’t expecting to run into her during a pit stop in some no-name village only a month after he’d begun travelling with Geralt.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes? The Laughing Fox himself!” Serafina greets Jaskier as he’s looking through a merchant’s meager offerings. He still needs a damn bedroll. Plus significantly better shoes.

Jaskier abandons his search with a smile, greeting the burly woman with a tight hug. Serafina had always been a strong woman, body built like a mountain, and she could likely bench press Jaskier if given the chance.

She could probably bench press Geralt, actually, if he didn’t pull his blades on her…

She’s all grins as they separate, her skin tan from the forge’s fires, soot smeared everywhere, and her short, red hair is messy and spiky. She looks good, finally away from her father, travelling the world to learn more about her trade.

They talk for a while. Serafina tells that she had been passing through this village of no renown and had been commissioned to help fortify some of their houses. Jaskier tells about his journey to the world’s edge and how he now travels with the Witcher, Geralt of Rivia.

“The Butcher of Blaviken?” Serafina questions and Jaskier, despite himself, feels his hackles rise.

“He’s no butcher. He’s a good man. I’ve even written a song for his marvelous deeds.”

“That poor man.”

Jaskier gives the grinning woman a bland look, knowing she was aiming to get a rise out of him and very pointedly not giving it to her.

“You’ll be safe? I can’t imagine you fighting monsters,” Serafina eventually asks as they find themselves walking into the village’s forge where she’s set up temporary shop.

“Oh, I don’t intend to. I’m a lover, not a fighter,” Jaskier smiles charmingly.

“You’re a mess is what you are. What are you even wearing? Trudging around the wilderness like a damn peacock.” Serafina is still grinning as she digs around in her things before finding a decent pair of boots that look like they might be Jaskier’s size. They’re definitely too small for Serafina.

“Where’d you get those?” Jaskier asks, but takes the offered boots anyway.

“Assistant a few towns back. Played around with my gear and got his head crushed by one of my war hammers.”

“That’s awful!” Jaskier exclaims, nearly dropping the boots.

Serafina just shrugs. “I mean… the war hammers sold really well afterwards since everybody knew that they worked.”

Jaskier gives the woman a flabbergasted stare. “You’re awful,” he eventually settles on, because as much as he loved to talk, sometimes only a few words were enough to get across his thoughts.

“Yeah, probably,” Serafina shrugs again, then jabs a thumb back at the forge. It is remarkably hot in here and Jaskier wonders how she isn’t melting. “You need some new gear?”

“Do you still give discounts to your favorite minstrel?” Jaskier smirks as he begins taking stock of his weapons and what he might need.

“Oh, is Valdo Marx in town?” Serafina smirks.

At Jaskier’s insulted shriek and his gobsmacked expression, the woman begins to cackle loudly, throwing her head back as Jaskier fumbles for the right words. “That is… LOW! Even for you, Serafina Gorecki! How could you even insinuate—The gall, woman—I mean really!”

Jaskier does get a discount in the end. He gets a few more throwing knives – it never hurts to have spares – his bow is checked, and while Jaskier is perfectly capable of making wooden arrows in a pinch, it is nice to get ahold of some proper, weighted, metal tipped arrows again. His quiver is nearly full with them, and it makes him stop to think.

“’Fina, my dear,” Jaskier hums and Serafina snorts.

“Yes, Jask, my darling?” she replies with an eye roll.

“Have you ever worked with silver before?”

Serafina arches a curious brow as Jaskier rolls one of his new arrows between his fingers, thoughtful. When the two look at each other once more, however, there is an excited spark in both of their eyes and Serafina hardly hesitates to get to work.

When even more arrows sit in Jaskier’s quiver, with silver heads and red fletching instead of Jaskier’s usual blue, and a few, new silver knives sit hidden on his person, the Bard grins at the woman.

“I could write such a ballad about your magnificence, dear Serafina.”

“You could,” the woman nods, “And I could punch you in your face.”

“Well, we shouldn’t always do what we can JUST because we can,” Jaskier hums, not missing a beat, and the two share a few more laughs before Jaskier is slipping away, in search of his travel companion, a skip in his step.

+++

Geralt does not like the minstrel. “Jaskier” is his name and he doesn’t know the meaning of “silence.” Except, clearly he must, if he’s so successful with his hunting, so it’s really an active choice of the musician to talk Geralt’s ear off every chance they get.

It only makes the Witcher dislike him more.

At least, that’s what he keeps telling himself. Jaskier unceremoniously inserted himself into Geralt’s life in the most obnoxious of ways, he fills the silence Geralt once found comfort in, and he gives the Witcher one more thing he has to worry about everywhere he goes.

Humans are fragile and demanding, they shouldn’t be travelling with a Witcher. Geralt attempts to prove that to the minstrel – he pushes them faster than usual, wakes them at ungodly hours, and refuses to allow Jaskier to tag along for any of his contracts – but none of it deters the man. He complains, sure, but he sticks through it stubbornly.

It’s respectable, if remarkably stupid.

Eventually, though, even the minstrel’s stubborn streak will fade and he will leave. He will get over this starry-eyed excitement, see the situation for what it is, and flee as quickly as possible.

It always happens. Jaskier’s response is just more delayed than most.

So, Geralt will wait him out. He won’t be happy about it, having to be so aware of the human and his limitations, even when he’s pushing them, but he has suffered through worse.

“You smell like soot,” the Witcher says when the minstrel rejoins him after returning from his shopping. He doesn’t have a new bedroll, but he’s wearing new boots, Geralt notes. Hopefully that means he’ll stop whining about his feet.

“Ran into an old friend,” Jaskier replies brightly. That seemed to be a theme for the human. He was always bright. “She’s a blacksmith, best on the Continent, and she was kind enough to fashion me with proper arrows and knives. I think I’ll stick with my wooden arrows for hunting, save the metal ones, but it is nice to have them again.”

That was another thing about the minstrel. He wasn’t what Geralt would have expected from a sheltered entertainer. He wasn’t rough or strong – far from it – but he had skill of some sort.

Geralt thinks the bow and arrows might not have raised any questions had it just been them. He didn’t know Jaskier’s past, didn’t care to learn, but there were plenty of humans of many walks of life that used the weapon for hunting or fending off wild animals. And, honestly, the minstrel was clearly a good shot. Every animal he brought back for Geralt to prep was shot in such a way it hardly damaged the meat.

But the KNIVES.

Worrying mothers aside, why would a minstrel need SO MANY knives? All hidden away on his extravagant outfits, tucked away in places that not even Geralt could easily spot unless he was really looking. That wasn’t a normal thing for any human to do, let alone some random, obnoxious performer.

“Oh! She was also kind enough to give me her old assistant’s boots! How nice of her, don’t you think? Yes? Of course,” Jaskier is still talking. He’s begun asking Geralt questions and answering for him, carrying on full conversations with himself now that he’s realizes Geralt has no intention to offer any input. “Poor sod met a fairly untimely end. Crushed by a falling war hammer. Tragic.”

Geralt takes a deep breath, looking skyward and wondering if he could just gag the minstrel. This information vomit was asinine and exhausting.

“Did you want to go and speak to her? I get a discount on account of being her very favorite minstrel and friend – she doesn’t have very many friends, you see – and I’m sure you could get something new and shiny for yourself? A new sword, perhaps? Weapons in general? Anything?”

“I doubt she works in silver,” Geralt grunts, beginning to turn away, prepared to go find out if the inn has any free rooms. Silver was a far more delicate metal than steel, which meant not all blacksmiths worked in it. Geralt doubted some random blacksmith out in ass-knows-where, and apparently a friend of a minstrel, knew the craft—

“Oh, she does,” Jaskier says brightly, and when Geralt looks back he’s slipped out a knife from somewhere around his hip. It has a ring at the end of the handle and he twirls it around on one of his fingers a few times, before catching it and showing it to Geralt.

It is definitely made of silver, Geralt can tell, but he can’t help but find himself momentarily distracted by the ease the minstrel twirls the knife around.

The human was a clutz, tripping over his own feet on the road, yet somehow wielded knives and bows like they were a dancer’s ribbons.

It was… respectable, Geralt supposes.

“I do not need her help,” the Witcher eventually grunts, once again turning towards the inn, and Jaskier scrambles to catch up, grace lost in the blink of an eye.

+++

Geralt doesn’t bring Jaskier on his hunts, no matter how much the minstrel begs, pleads, or whines. Their first “adventure” was a fluke and ended far better than he would have expected. Most hunts were no place for a human and Geralt had put his foot down.

“And how do you expect me to write epic ballads about your accomplishments, then?” Jaskier pouts as he sits, cross-legged, atop a bed in the tiny room they managed to secure in this town’s inn.

“I don’t,” Geralt growls, not looking up from where he was going over his potions. They’d been on the road longer than usual and were both pleased to have a bed to look forward to, even though Jaskier was far more vocal about it.

The town also, apparently, had a kikimora problem. They were near to swampy territory, so Geralt isn’t overly surprised, and he takes the job immediately. He’d been low on coin for some time now and needed the work.

With the contract decided and the room rented, Geralt had informed the minstrel he would, once again, be waiting behind. As usual, Jaskier wasn’t happy.

“Geralt, come on! I promise not to get in the way! I won’t be something else for you to worry about, I swear.”

Except Jaskier would be, no matter how much he promised he wouldn’t be.

“I may even be of help!” Jaskier continues, pulling his pack around into his lap as he begins to dig around in it, tongue poking out the corner of his mouth as he searches.

“Help…” Geralt repeats slowly, disbelievingly. He looks back at the minstrel with a raised brow, clearly not impressed. It makes Jaskier puff up defensively.

“Yes! Why do you think I had all of these made?” Jaskier snaps, scrambling to pull out his quiver. He pulls out two of his arrows, one with red fletching and the other with blue. “Silver arrows!” Jaskier exclaims, not waiting to allow Geralt to look properly at the metal tips of the arrows. “Steel and silver, just like your swords. Which meeeeeeans…”

Jasskier pauses, looking to Geralt expectantly, like he actually thinks the Witcher has any intention of filling in the blank. When the silence stretches on Jaskier sags, pouting and continuing on his own. “Which means… I can help!”

“You can’t.”

The minstrel splutters at the bluntness of it, eyes widening comically, before waving the two arrows still in his fingers at Geralt. “Yes, I can. I—”

“Majority of monsters I face have skin or fur or scales too thick for arrows to do any kind of damage,” Geralt finally snaps, eyes narrowing as his stare shifts into a proper glare. “You’ll only get in the way.”

Jaskier straightens up in response and Geralt waits to smell the familiar tang of fear in the air, but it never comes and a moment later Jaskier’s face is setting stubbornly.

“Everything has weak spots. Places an arrow can stick. Spots between plating or soft underbellies or, oh I don’t know, the eyes?” Jaskier argues right back. He doesn’t seem like he’s going to be backing down from this one. Not without a fight.

“These aren’t your rabbits or ducks, minstrel. You can’t wait for them to stop moving to possibly catch them where you want,” Geralt growls. Why couldn’t Jaskier just see how ridiculous he was being? Geralt didn’t invite him along and thus didn’t owe him. It was safer and easier on everyone if Jaskier just stayed behind.

“I’m fully aware they will be a moving target, thank you,” Jaskier huffs, insulted and defensive, his chest puffing out. He looked like a child throwing a tantrum. “I am still confident in my abilities to offer assistance. And I need to be able to see your hunts and adventures if I ever want to write any more ballads in your honor! Your recounting abilities leave a lot to be desired… And by ‘a lot’ I mean ‘you don’t tell me anything at all’.”

Geralt glares just a bit harder at the minstrel, his arms moving to cross over his chest. Still, there is no spike of fear from Jaskier, just a matching, annoying glare in return. Geralt might have taken a moment to think about that – that Jaskier was the first human in a very, very long time who wasn’t initially frightened by him, even if it would surely be short-lived – but he is too agitated at the moment to care.

“You’re not coming,” the Witcher eventually rumbles, voice final, and he sees Jaskier’s shoulders droop. The minstrel’s expression is still stubborn and upset, but his body language finally tells Geralt that he’s won.

“Fine, fine. I’ll do what I can to stay safe,” Jaskier grumbles, his head hanging and not looking at Geralt, clearly upset. Geralt doesn’t much care. He’d rather the human upset than in the way or dead.

He finishes prepping his weapons and gear, not taking much longer, before slipping out the inn door without a word. The sun has set and the kikimora will be active now. The moon isn’t full but it is fat enough to light Geralt’s view as he makes his way towards the swamp, ready to finish the contract, get paid, and move on.

+++

It isn’t always normal for the people hiring a Witcher to know exactly what kind of creature is troubling their towns or fields or families. Rumors and old wives’ tales tend to distort what people know about the monsters that roam their world.

The more beastly monsters, however, are usually quite easy to identify, even for a common man, and it’s a nice addition to Geralt’s hunts when he knows more about what he’s walking into ahead of time.

That doesn’t mean he has everything. Which is made abundantly clear the more he trudges through the swamp. He’s weaving carefully through the thin, scraggly trees, potions thrumming through his veins, and tracking kikimora marking along the environment. They seem excessive, but the monster has been an issue for a while now, so he jots it down as extended residence.

Except, the markings and trails are fresh. Gash marks in trees just recently left, all over the place. Hardly an abundance to assume nest activity, but more than there should be.

When it fully sets in that something is very, very wrong the kikimora is already on him. The spidery, ugly thing springs from a deeper section of the waters, flailing its limbs, and Geralt wastes no time getting to work. He hacks away at the limbs, getting rid of them so he can get in closer, when he hears loud, sudden movement behind him.

A second kikimora flings itself at him and he only has a split second to leap to the side, the two monsters crashing into each other and tumbling for a moment. All three of them – Witcher and beasts – right themselves at once, eying each other up, and Geralt realizes just how much of a hassle this is going to be.

Fuck.

He better get paid extra when he brings back two, fucking kikimora heads.

Or, well, if he does come back. He doesn’t get very many hits in after that, having to dance out of every swipe of scythe-tipped limbs. He can’t overwhelm one of them without the other coming in and returning the favor. It’s setting his whole body on edge, the Cat and Tawny Owl potions in his system making his adrenaline spike more than usual and constant dodging around hardly helps him working it out.

If anything, it just makes him more and more frustrated, teeth gritting both in fury and pain as one of the claws manage to swipe a gash across his shoulder. It does, at the very least, put one of the spindly legs close enough for him to slash it nearly clean to the bone. The kikimora makes a high-pitched, screeching call of pain, lurching back, and it gives Geralt an opening to strike its friend, but now the monsters are REALLY angry.

Angry and injured. The only way the monsters could be any more dangerous was if it were mating season.

A poorly timed roll has Geralt just barely ducking under a swinging leg, but unable to dodge when a glob of venomous spit crashes into his back. Geralt bites his tongue to keep from crying out at the burning, almost acidic feel as the venom drips into the wound at his shoulder and touches the back of his neck where armor doesn’t cover.

The venom would kill a human, easily, but for a Witcher it burns like fire and causes his body to react far more violently against his potions. He can almost feel his immune system trying to work overtime, believing the potions to be a disease in need of eradicating. Perhaps not exactly accurate, but it is what it feels like.

He grits his teeth through it, though, and lashes out behind him, lodging his silver blade deep into the approaching kikimora’s shoulder. Close to the neck, but not close enough to kill, and the kikimora screeches far too close to Geralt’s face for comfort. It snaps at him with large teeth, but Geralt manages to keep it far enough at bay.

He’s more worried about the second one, circling behind him, looking to attack him while he’s preoccupied.

Geralt allows it to believe it has the upperhand.

When the second kikimora finally charges, Geralt gives a vicious twist of his sword and, in one motion, tears it free and swings it in a deadly arc, cleaving the charging kikimora’s face in half. It gives an agonizing screech, rearing back, before collapsing to the ground, dead.

Now for the other one, except it has recovered far quicker than planned and one, massive foreleg is swinging out and catching Geralt’s side, sending him flying and landing painfully in the mud. He attempts to roll away from his injured shoulder, but he can only do so much while airborne.

He snarls, furious and hurt and adrenaline still roaring in his ears, but when he reaches for his sword it isn’t in reach.

“Fuck!” Geralt curses aloud, not seeing where his silver blade has been thrown to, but he has little time to fret. The remaining kikimora is already charging, screeching furiously, and Geralt hurries to pull out his steel sword. It’s better than nothing, and while far less effective, he has had to resort to killing some beasts with his steel before.

He readies himself, prepared to dodge or parry, but just as the kikimora is getting closer, a sharp, whistling “fwip” flies by Geralt’s ear and the monster is suddenly skidding to a halt and rearing back, screeching in agony.

Geralt stills, black eyes widening in surprise as he very quickly tries to catalogue what has happened. The kikimora is swiping at its face and screeching, trying to rid itself of something, and then Geralt sees it.

An arrow. An arrow with red fletching. Sticking straight out of where one of the kikimora’s beady little eyes had once been.

Then, as the monster is shaking violently back and forth, another swift “fwip” and suddenly a second arrow is lodging itself in the kikimora’s other eye, blinding it completely.

The sound of something heavy spinning through the air is the only warning Geralt gets just before, with a wet splat, his silver sword lands in the mud in front of him, thrown from somewhere back in the trees.

“Told you I could hit a moving target!” a familiar voice calls and Geralt doesn’t have time to be upset or frustrated. He rushes forward, snatching up his silver blade as he moves, and, using both his own momentum and the monster’s flailing, lobs off the kikimora’s head.

He breathes heavily as, as abruptly as it started, the fight comes to an end and Geralt is left to wait out his potions and battle high. He should wait to allow his adrenaline to die down before he does anything else, he wants to be in control of his responses after all, but he can only wait so long.

“I told you to stay behind!” he finally snaps, chest still heaving as he swings around to glare at the trees where the arrows came from. Except… Geralt pauses, straightening up and tilting his head back and forth. He can see perfectly in the dark, yet somehow…

He can’t see Jaskier. He knows he’s there. He knows where he attacked from. So, how can he not see the annoying minstrel? He can faintly smell him, and even hear a human heartbeat out there, but he can’t pinpoint where.

“I agreed to do everything in my power to stay safe! Not to stay behind!” Jaskier calls back, but Geralt still can’t find his form.

“Staying behind WAS the safest option,” Geralt growls, taking a few steps forward, but still no luck.

“But, how could I be safe of mind, knowing you were out here, without me?” Jaskier singsongs and Geralt can almost hear his smug little smirk. “Besides! I remained out of the way, not for you to worry about, and I was even of assistance, shooting that ugly thing and tossing your sword back.”

There’s a rustle, a swift one, and then very suddenly Geralt has a face full of upside-down Jaskier. The Witcher doesn’t startle, but there is a definite twitch at the very abrupt entrance.

When he looks up he sees one of the low hanging branches on these trees, bent lower with how Jaskier dangles by one knee. The minstrel grins brightly and doesn’t stop, even when Geralt reaches out to grab him, flip him over, and set him on the ground, his branch flying back up once it is free of Jaskier’s weight.

“So!” Jaskier says brightly, not seemingly bothered that he’d just been so easily manhandled by the Witcher as he goes around towards the fallen kikimora. “I will, of course, be coming along on more of your hunts now, correct? I’ve proven my worth?”

Jaskier hesitates, scowling at the kikimora, then gagging at the stench. Still, he reaches down to yank out both of his silver arrows, examining them. One is beyond use, but the second could be recycled, so Jaskier returns it to his quiver.

He’s wearing the only sensible outfit he owns – the one Geralt sees him wear when he goes off to hunt for food – and he has his quiver hung at his hip and bow in hand.

“You’re not coming along,” Geralt says, nearly on instinct, still trying to wrap his head around what just happened.

“Ah, well, you see, the thing is… I am,” Jaskier waves his bow around as he speaks, much like how he flails his hands, using the weapon to articulate his words. “I think you have seen that I am perfectly capable of offering minor backup as needed, staying out of the way, and getting everything I need for my next ballad.”

“No.” Geralt growls, voice rougher and meaner than usual, the potions still coursing through his system, burning more than usual thanks to the kikimora venom.

Jaskier seems unaffected, head swaying back and forth as he walks forward. “Mmmm… yes.”

“No.”

“Yep.”

“No.”

“Yessir.”

“No.”

“Listen, if you think I’m going to stop anytime soon, you are sadly mistaken,” Jaskier is finally right in front of the Witcher, smiling at him like he’s won something. “Just accept the inevitable and allow me to take a look at that cut of yours.”

“I’m fine,” Geralt snaps, steering away from Jaskier’s wandering hands. He just needs the current potions to dissipate before he can take Swallow to finish knitting up the wound.  The poison from the kikimora would be dealt with once he took the healing potion, too. It was uncomfortable now, but it wasn’t something to worry about.

“Great! So you won’t have any issue with me checking the cut anyway, since it’s sooooo fine,” Jaskier argues right back, looking stubborn again as he steps forward to get a proper look at the wound. “Now let’s see here,” Jaskier mumbles to himself, reaching out, but Geralt swiftly raises his sword to point it at the minstrel in warning.

Jaskier hardly reacts, his brows rising in surprise, before stepping away again and huffing. “You’re dreadfully stubborn, are you aware? And over nothing!” Jaskier grumps, Geralt lowering his blade again. He’d had no intention of actually doing harm to the human, nothing substantial, but the warning seems to have worked fine.

He didn’t need doting over. Especially not from a human musician who would likely only make things worse.

“At least put some alcohol on it or something,” Jaskier groans, eying the wound, and Geralt narrows his eyes at him.

“Alcohol…” he repeats, not sure what that has to do with anything.

“New discovery. Kills germs quite effectively and helps avoid infection! I hear it burns something fierce, though,” Jaskier chirps, smiling brightly, and Geralt stares at him a while longer, trying to understand.

He, the Witcher, who had to regularly keep up with medical advancements, had not known about something like alcohol killing germs… but this random, enigma of a minstrel had? What was going on?

“It won’t get infected,” Geralt eventually grunts, turning away and heading to pick up the second kikimora’s head. He begins tying ropes around it so as to carry it more easily.

“Uh… And, how do you know that? Do Witchers not get infections?” he hears Jaskier question, sounding dubious.

Geralt doesn’t answer immediately, finishing up tying the kikimora head, then standing and heading for the first, hacking off its head and pulling out more rope to do the same to it. “It’s not deep. Swallow will fix it,” he eventually mumbles. Behind him, Jaskier sloshes through the swamp water, heading over to inspect the decapitated kikimora’s body, poking at it with his bow.

“Swallow? What are you swallowing?” he asks and Geralt growls, growing more and more frustrated with every passing question.

“Potion,” he finally snaps, standing and turning to glare something vicious at the minstrel. “It is called a Swallow Potion.”

“Ohhhh,” Jaskier snaps his fingers, not even flinching at the Witcher’s furious gaze, “Swallow as in the bird! I see, I see. And this potion helps heal you? Why haven’t I heard of it before? Why aren’t you taking it now?”

Geralt growls and looks skyward at the dark sky, a few stars twinkling above them, and tries to stamp down the urge to just gag the minstrel. “It is deadly to humans,” he begins slowly, measuring himself to keep his mounting frustrations in check. “It is only slightly toxic to Witchers. I must pace them out.”

When he finally looks back down, his adrenaline-pumped body under enough control he’s certain he won’t strangle the minstrel, he finds said minstrel staring at him in clear shock.

“I’m sorry, did you just say ‘toxic’?” Jaskier questions, hands flapping around, his bow swinging with the motions. Geralt only grunts at him. “You’re drinking toxins?! What the hell?!”

“In controlled doses,” Geralt grunts, not seeing what the issue is.

“Wh-why would you… What… Geralt!” Jaskier makes an even larger, flailing motion with his arms, apparently hoping Geralt will magically understand why he’s so upset. He does not.

“They offer enhancements.”

“OH!” now Jaskier throws both arms outwards, voice rising in indignation. Why was this the thing that finally set the minstrel off? “I guess it’s okay, then! Since they offer enhancements! Seriously, Geralt? Don’t just accept things like that! Has anyone ever attempted to make safer variations? Anyone at all? Have you Witchers ever commissioned some alchemist or something to better these potions of yours so they aren’t – oh, I don’t know – poisoning you?!”

Geralt says nothing in the face of this tirade, just watching Jaskier flail around with an eyebrow arched, waiting for the human to calm down. Did any of this matter? He knew how to measure out his potions as needed, knew what to expect out of them. So, where was the problem?

Finally, Jaskier seems to calm down, but now his free hand is on his hip and the other is pointing his bow in Geralt’s direction. “Listen, you shouldn’t have to settle for these things just… because! The whole… marble-pale and black eyes thing is badass, but you should still take care of yourself more.”

Jaskier then moves to attempt to lift up one of the kikimora heads, probably thinking he can help bringing them back despite how he gags at the smell, but the weight tips him over and he goes tumbling into swamp water. Geralt… Geralt could have caught him – he was close enough and fast enough – but he suddenly felt very glued to his spot.

Somewhere in all the excitement and bickering and frustrations and questions, Geralt had forgotten what he currently looked like. The Cat potion still coursing through his veins, turning said veins and his eyes black as night… He was what mothers warned their children about. He was the monstrous Witcher, sending terror through men of all kinds.

He’d learned, early on, to show this state of being to as few people as possible. It terrified people, made them run, attack, or not pay him. It solidified people’s views that Witchers were no better than the monsters they killed.

And Geralt had forgotten about it.

Somehow, he’d gotten so wrapped up talking to Jaskier, trying to sort out what was so odd about this minstrel, he’d forgotten what he looked like. And Jaskier…

Jaskier hadn’t acted any different than he usually would. Geralt might have forgotten, but the entire time Jaskier had been jabbering to a pale, demon-eyed man like it was nothing. His heartrate hadn’t changed, he’d never jumped, and even when Geralt glared and growled there was never any smell of fear.

And now Jaskier was just dropping that piece of information, that he thought the look was “badass,” like it was nothing. Like they were just sitting in a tavern, eating and drinking, Jaskier babbling about nothing and everything.

Geralt gulps down a lump that forms in his throat, slowly coming back to the present to hear Jaskier loudly and colorfully complaining about the water and mud. The Witcher says nothing as he leans down to pick up both kikimora heads and makes his way back in the direction of town.

By the time he gets there his current potions will have worn off and he’ll have been able to take Swallow and everything will be fine.

Behind him, Jaskier follows, his usually faint, quiet footsteps loud with sloshing water and complaints. Perhaps it is the adrenaline or the night or the daze he’s still under from Jaskier’s comments, but Geralt thinks it wouldn’t be the worst option to allow the minstrel to tag along on a few more hunts in the future.

+++

Jaskier makes it his mission to learn how to make Witcher potions.

Well… more like a side mission, really, but he still approaches it with the same intensity and eagerness as he does his music.

He knows Geralt will never make a move to try and better the potions. The Witcher seems to live on a perpetual “if it isn’t broke, don’t fix it,” mentality, but Jaskier isn’t like that. Things can always be made better.

Especially potions that have pros that only JUST outweigh the cons.

Before Jaskier can begin searching for a method to bettering these potions, however, he must learn how to make them. Problem is, Geralt isn’t sharing. Less of a problem, though, is the Witcher will prep and make the potions right where they’re camping or in their inn room.

It takes time and observation, but Jaskier is good at that, as he memorizes the plants used, how they are prepared, and what the outcome should look and smell like.

The first time Jaskier hands over a Willow Potion for Geralt’s upcoming hunt – which Jaskier is allowed to come along with, now, so long as he dresses sensibly and carries his weapons – the Witcher looks like he’d just been gutted. Which is QUITE the face on Geralt.

“How did…?” but Geralt doesn’t seem to know how to finish.

“Oh, I watched you and memorized how to craft some of your potions,” Jaskier smiles, hands clasped behind his back. “I’ll need to know how if I have any intention of getting these perfected for you.”

Geralt stares at him for a shocked moment, before he’s shaking his head and opening his mouth, likely to deny Jaskier’s services. Jaskier cuts him off before he can.

“In addition, it will surely save you time and effort if you have a second person helping prepare your potions, right? Of course, it will!”

Geralt shakes his head again. “You don’t have t—”

“Well someone does!” Jaskier cuts him off again, and now his hands are on his hips and he’s setting his face into a displeased pout. “Someone needs to look after you, and seeing as you are intent on not doing it for yourself… Well…” He trails off, allowing Geralt to fill in the gaps.

The Witcher’s eyes narrow, suspicious, and Jaskier is growing tired of that look. “And you’re going to?” he asks in disbelief and Jaskier huffs.

“Might as well!” He flaps a hand at Geralt. “Believe it or not, I find myself rather invested in YOUR safety.”

Geralt says nothing to that. Instead, he looks away, scowling, then shoves the Willow Potion into his potions pouch and starts gathering up the remainder of his gear. It leaves Jaskier grinning, which causes Geralt to punch his arm on his way out of the inn.

So, Jaskier occasionally helps prepping potions after that. Geralt won’t teach him anything new, and if Jaskier messes up Geralt won’t tell him how, just throws out the concoction, but it’s something.

Now, all Jaskier needs is to find someone trustworthy and intelligent enough in alchemical practices to help him better these potions. Luckily, he already has a place in mind.

For every Society of Bards, there was a specialty. The Society of Foxes at Oxenfurt specializes in weaponry. The Society of the Mantis in Novigrad specializes in espionage and manipulation. The Society of Eels in Beauclair specializes in “bardic magic,” whatever that means. The Society of Panthers in Vizima specializes in stealth.

And the Society of Spiders in Cintra specializes in poisons. Specifically, they train relentlessly in alchemy of many kinds, but are known particularly for their poisons.

Jaskier didn’t know when he would next be near Cintra, but it would be his next goal for bettering these damn potions. He wasn’t in any, major rush, though.

No, instead he intended to chronicle and memorialize as much of the White Wolf’s heroic exploits for as long as he could. He was going to make people stop sneering and spitting at his Witcher if it was the last thing he did.

[boompowkablam]

Favorite Fic Rec- List # 3

WALKING DEAD LIST

Just a list of some of my favorite stories. I’m gonna act like I remember how to link stuff it will be great. Pairings are going to be Daryl/Glenn and Daryl/Jesus. Maybe a Daryl/Rick thrown in IDK .

     How These Days Grow Long  By Never_Says_Die

This work is COMPLETE!

Written in response to a prompt on The Walking Dead kink meme:

Rick & Co. are finding it increasingly difficult to deal with Daryl's outbursts, his racist remarks, and easily-ignitable temper.  They are in fact, considering just cutting their losses and telling him he has to leave when they come across another group of survivors...one of whom is very, very special to Daryl.

AU in which Glenn and Daryl have been in a relationship for a few years before the ZA, and were separated when Atlanta was overrun.  Each think the other is dead, and Glenn ended up with a different group of survivors while Daryl ended up in the quarry camp.  Story also assumes Merle would've turned his back on Daryl for getting involved with Glenn, so they parted ways long ago.

Action , Adventure, Love , Suspense,Sadness,Longing, Its just everything you want from a fic. Word count 100,538. Pairing Daryl/Glenn

     The Diary of Glenn By  ornategrip

Seasons 1 and 2, as seen through Glenn's diary.

This is so funny I love it! I wish I could make a podfic for it like whoa.

Word count 4,938. Pairing Daryl/Glenn

     Ghosts Among Us  By  TWDObsessive

Daryl sees the dead.  Not the walkers, the twice-dead once they become ghosts.  It started since the turn and he assumes it’s his body’s reaction to the walker infection they all carry.  One by one he experiences losses of loved ones and each of them come to visit him.   And they all seem to be guiding him to Rick.

This was really good but also really sad to me. Mind the tags so you don’t read something upsetting . Word count 6,422. Pairing Daryl/Rick

     Picking Up the Pieces  By  Riastarstruck

When Rick works night duty while recovering from the shooting, he becomes friends with Daryl, the young guy working community service as a janitor in lieu of prison time.

"If you found an animal in an alley and it was raining and you approached it, it would try to bite you. But if you could get it inside and feed it and take it somewhere warm, it would follow you forever. He's got that kind of vibe to him." -Norman Reedus on Daryl Dixon

This one is cute but also makes me feel sad even though it’s not sad.

Word count 21,161. Pairing Daryl/Rick

     While the World Falls Down  By  oleanderedits @oleanderedits​

They were supposed to have ten days to dispute the quickie wedding they'd had the night they'd been drunk. The world went to shit three days later. Part 1 of a series re-write focusing on Glenn, Daryl, Merle, and Maggie as what it means to be 'Family' is stretched, twisted, and redefined by circumstances no one should have to live through. Covers Seasons 1 and 2 and mostly follows the canon storyline.

This is hands down 100% my absolute favorite walking dead fic. It is so good I have read it so many times now. I seriously can not get enough of it.

Word count 48,284. Pairing Daryl/Glenn , Glenn/Maggie , Daryl/Maggie , Daryl/Glenn/Maggie.

     Friction Match  By  vegarin

It's the end of the world. You can be anyone you choose to be."  Daryl Dixon, at the end of the world.

I am not sure what it is about this story that makes me love it so much! I am working on a podfic for it right now so at some point I’ll have a link up for that.

Word Count 24,769. Gen no Paring.

     Fall Into Your Arms. By  doctorkaitlyn @banshee-cheekbones

“I am done with dating.  And I mean it this time.”

Glenn is sick of his friends setting him up.  He’s sick of going on bad dates and he’s sick of getting his hopes up and never hearing anything back.  In all the time he spends not going on dates, he can do things that he actually enjoys, like sleeping or marathoning a television show or trying to find a better job.

He is done with dating.  Seriously.

At least, that's what he says before he meets Daryl.

This is so cute and awkward I love Glenn’s bad luck.

Word Count 4,549. Pairing Daryl/Glenn

     Dear Mr. Hawkeye  By  Psmith73 

@psmith73

AU. Glenn is a struggling student neck-deep in debts. One day while trying to earn some money he gets himself in serious trouble. An anonymous benefactor offers him help in return for weekly emails describing events of his life. Jean Webster's "Daddy-long-legs"/TWD fusion. COMPLETE.

This is really good I dont know why I want to say human disaster Glenn but im  gonna. I think its cause it references marvel hawkeye but also Glenn kind of is.

Word Count 20,552. Pairing Daryl/Glenn.

something keeps pulling me back to you  By  wardeness

 Daryl Dixon sat on the steps of his porch, elbows resting on knees as he sharpened his knife. Katydids called around him in a chorus of chirping crickets, the sound only interrupted by the rhythmic scratch of metal on stone. The heavy air—a sure sign rain was coming, Daryl predicted—felt moist and honeyed against his bare arms. The evening was calm. Peaceful, even.

 Peaceful, that was, until Jesus appeared.

AU after 6x11. Slow burn.

Super cute .Super fluff.

Word Count 64,037 . Pairing Daryl/Jesus

Daryl's Addiction By  DestielHardcoreLove @bugandkitlove

Paul had no clue what was going on.  It seemed as if every time he turned a corner he would find Daryl on his knees with someone different from the community.  He didn't know what to make of it, what to even think but he did wonder how to get on it himself.

This was just really funny to me. Instead of talking I’m gonna make sure you catch me blowing the town.

Word Count 7,702. Pairing Daryl/Jesus

  Against the Dying of the Light  By   LottaCharlene

After escaping Terminus, Rick's family is at their strength's end. When the walls of yet another community loom over their heads, they must decide if they take the risk to seek refuge in this new community. They are met with a strange tradition that they are still willing to follow through for the sake of their family's well-being. Soon enough, they realize that they found a place that they could call home again. But the peace is treacherous and yet again they have to fight for their freedom and the lifes of the people they love.

Unexpectedly, Daryl is the one that has to fight for more than just his family.

So very good and sweet and sad and Gregory is a nut sac but you already knew that. Also I fucking love arranged marriage fics.

Word Count 108,454. Pairing Daryl/Jesus.

 Ripples on a Black Shore  By  Mugatu

For Daryl Dixon the world ended days before it did for almost everyone else, and it was heralded with a prerecorded phone message instead of a bang.

An AU fic where Daryl met Paul several years before the apocalypse.

Kind of sad but with a happy ending.

Word Count 200,540. Pairing Daryl/Jesus.

 Cross Your Fingers  By  starclipped

Daryl finds himself wrapping his fingers around Paul’s wrist before a bandage can be pulled from the tattered box. And Paul peers at him when their skin touches, fierce eye to fierce eye, with… with such veneration. Daryl wouldn’t know that feeling if he saw it, he thinks he’s seeing it now and he can’t believe it, but he can sure as hell feel it; rolling off his hippie ninja in waves, seeping into Daryl’s soul. A gasoline soaked rag, simply waiting to be set aflame. That's what he's become. He swallows the foreign emotions that suddenly make him feel too big for his body.

So very good and kind of sad worth the read for sure!

Word Count 204,186. Pairing Daryl/Paul

 Finders, Keepers  By  Joel7th

Jesus came to Alexandria to do trade and to see a certain grumpy hunter. However, he didn’t see said hunter; instead, just outside the walls of Alexandria he found a black cat – wait, was that really a cat?!

I found this so funny!

Word Count 10,148 . Pairing Daryl/Jesus

 All you need is twinkling stars and ancient cities  By TooRational  @toorational

Daryl Dixon of all people turns out to have the Ancient gene.

Go figure.

Or: The unlikely tale of a redneck from Earth and a Runner from the Pegasus Galaxy, and how they fell in love.

I fucking love Stargate Atlantis Crossovers and this was amazing !!!!

Word Count 16,454. Pairing Daryl/Jesus

 Help Wanted  By  Scababagorn

Daryl Dixon hasn't believed that he deserved to be who he really is. He hasn't ever felt safe enough. Is the reason that so many of the people he loves are dead. And then, suddenly there is a man named Jesus. And he likes to call Daryl "Dixie"

Cute,cute, cute I love it!!

Word Count 22,618. Pairing Daryl/Jesus

 if the world should break  By  transstevebucky @gaydaryl

It's not like Daryl hates the guy. It's exactly the opposite.

Very cute. Be mindful of the tags daryl gets outed without his permission.

Word Count 36,343. Pairing Daryl/Jesus

 Misunderstandings in a Car Crash By  Neeka

Misunderstanding. [mis-uhn-der-stan-ding]

Noun 1. Failure to understand correctly; mistake as to meaning or intent

Warning: Does not mix well with love and may lead to heartbreak

Dude like super sad face for like half of this but it gets less sad .

Word Count 18,614 Pairing Daryl/Jesus.

 Breaking the Cycle  By  AidaRonan @bisexualstarbucky

Daryl's life seems to follow a cycle of pain and violence. So when he starts falling for his new roommate, he's more than wary about what it might mean.

But sometimes breaking a cycle means making a choice.

So very cute a little sad also be mindful of the tags.

Word Count 7,416 . Pairing Daryl/Jesus

 Fables of the Reconstruction By  Mugatu

It’s more than two years after the end of the world and six months after the war with the Saviors when Daryl Dixon returns to Alexandria.

This is just so good holy crap and glenn lives which makes it even better!!

Word Count 91,918.  Pairing Daryl/Jesus

 You're Like Me (a goddamn idiot)  By  yellowhairedrobot

Jesus tilted his head to the side. “If I tried to kiss you right now, would you kick my ass?”

“Yes,” Daryl answered, way too quickly.

This is funny and gives me extreme second hand embarrassment.

Word Count 6,395. Pairing Daryl/Jesus

 the streets are full of strangers  By  smilebackwards @smilebackwards

When Deanna asks Daryl to leave Alexandria, he meets Paul on the road a little earlier.

I would like to say cute-meet . lol its very good and very cute.

Word Count 11,563 . Pairing Daryl/Jesus

There is also a podfic for this.

     [Podfic] the streets are full of strangers  By  Boompowkablam   @boompowkablam

Length 1hr 7 mins

  a heart that's on loan  By  smilebackwards @smilebackwards

Aaron and Daryl discover Hilltop on one of their scouting trips and find that the community has an interesting throwback custom for establishing alliances: marriage.

I LOVE ARRANGED MARRIAGE AND THIS IS THE BEST ONE!

Word Count 11,686.  Pairing Daryl/Jesus

 Just Another Day  By  PezzieCoyote                   

What if Daryl was the one in charge? How would things be different? And what secret is he hiding?

Supernatural elements you know besides the zombies .

Word Count 9,950. Pairing Daryl/Jesus

  Escape  By   AbigailHT, TooRational  @toorational @abigailht

  By the time the song starts drilling into his head worse than the headache, he's come to the conclusion that he can't do much.  There's no way to get out unless someone unlocks the door, and even if he could, he has no idea where he'd go once he's out anyway. Nor has he any idea who has him. Or why. Or where. Or where home is. Or—Basically, he doesn't know anything, and even the things he does know are mostly instinct and completely unverifiable anyway.He's contemplating sitting back down again — he'll have to do it at some point, if only to preserve his strength, but the cold, and the dirt, and he's naked, his skin crawls at the mere thought — when the song shuts off abruptly.

Or: The Saviors' latest prisoner isn't quite what he seems.

Its just like everything you ever wanted out of Jesus in the show. So good a tiny bit sad.

Word Count 6,894. Pairing Daryl/Jesus

There is a podfic for this.

  Escape  By  Boompowkablam @boompowkablam

Length  45 minutes.

[blog-sliverofjade]

Hearth Fires 5: Waking Up

Pairing: Remi Denier x OFC

Summary:  Lorel Maddox just wants to live as a human, run her bakery in peace, and forget. Unfortunately, the alpha of the local leopard pack has very different ideas.

Remi Denier doesn’t know what to make of the female Changeling who wants nothing to do with him or the RainFire pack. He does know that he has a driving need to protect her. Even if it’s from herself.

While they’re embroiled in a battle of wills, there’s a war brewing on the horizon. The outside threat could not only destroy everything they hold dear, but tear apart the fragile new bonds of the Trinity Accord, plunging the world into bloodshed to rival the Territorial Wars of centuries past.

Word count: 2363

Content warning for canonical fantasy racism.  When I started writing this, I hadn’t realized that fantasy racism can be problematic.  I based it on real world examples so it’s a weird mix of actual peoples’ experiences atop a fictional shifter race.  

As you read, try to remember that these aren’t instances I dreamed up in my head, they came from authentic occurrences in the US.  The excerpt before the second part?  Taken from flyers posted in 2019.  This is reality for actual, living, breathing people to this day.

Hearth Fires Masterlist

Beta read by the stupendous pandabearer

Remi’s cat crouched in preparation to battle with the strange predator in sheep’s clothing in their midst; pinpricks in his bottom lip were a sure sign that his teeth were more feline than human at the moment, and his claws itched to unsheath.  How could he have been so blind? He needed to eliminate the threat before anyone could question his leadership, a lethal strike to prove his dominance.

That thought wasn’t him.  It was an echo of another alpha from another time and brought him out of the homicidal haze with a cold splash of dread.  He had to shove the memories and the associated sick feeling in his gut into a box in order to concentrate on the situation at hand.

Holding himself with a predator’s stillness, he studied his prey.  Whenever one of his packmates was unduly intimidated by someone, outsider or not, he and the pack kept a close eye on that individual.  He didn’t haul off and rip their throat out. He could hardly bring her down in front of their youngest in the middle of what was meant to be a celebration.  Such casual exposure to violence could damage young psyches, as well he knew. Yet, it was all he could do not to charge over there and tear the ocelot away from the little family.  Unlike that other alpha, he couldn’t act upon suspicion alone.

The baby hunter had no compunctions about cuddling up to Lorelei, something she would never have done if Lorelei was even close to going rogue.  Moreover, several cubs surrounded her now, curious about the visitor. Their youngest, hunter or otherwise, were some of the best judges of character and the best litmus test when it came to the health of a pack.  It was when the adults didn’t pay attention that problems arose.

“He’s different.”

“Oh sweetie, of course he is.  He lost his mate. You’ll understand when you’re older.”

He shook off the echoes of the past like his cat shook off water and shoved them back in the box.

The music had switched from general background party music to a dance mix, which made overhearing their conversation difficult even with his superior hearing.  Moving closer, he stopped at one of the tables of food so he could eavesdrop without being noticed. Staring at the ocelot would only put her on her guard.

Lorelei didn’t appear on the verge of a rampage; rather, she seemed overwhelmed.  Then again, who wouldn’t be when surrounded by the cubs who were peppering her with questions?  His tension eased a fraction when he saw that none of them appeared scared of her.

“Just you and your nana and papa?”  Remi couldn’t help a small smile at Jasper’s wide-eyed incredulity.  Most of their little ones had grown up in packs or in extended family units at the very least.  Such a small family without ties to dozens of “aunties” and “uncles,” as well as numerous friends of all ages, was an unthinkable concept to them.

The interrogation wandered into what type of cat she was since she smelled different and, to his knowledge, none of them had met an ocelot.  They were much smaller than leopards and the children would probably be delighted at having a grown-up playmate their own size. She was actually rather good with them once she relaxed, and he wondered how she’d handle being swamped by them when they were the same size.  He grinned at the thought of little cats ending up in a wrestling pile and the knot in his chest eased.

Elias waded through the throng to speak to Lorelei.  What came out of his mouth must not have been his usual bullshit because she didn’t slap him.  He seemed downright courteous, which was unnatural and creeping Remi out more than a bit. Lorelei only nodded to him after Tien gave her an encouraging smile.

The senior soldier pulled Lorelei to join the growing cluster of dancers.  While she was willing, it was painfully obvious that she was far from comfortable in her own skin, moving stiffly and keeping her head on a swivel to look for anyone staring.  Elias, picking up on her discomfort, shifted to hide her much smaller body with his own. In thanks, she smiled up at him and shifted slightly closer.

His cat wanted to be the one to crack open her prickly exterior and unravel the mystery of her.  The only problem was after seeing her interactions with the pack, Remi seemed to be the only one she wanted to swipe a claw at.

The rancid emotions he had stuffed down sprang back with a vengeance, sending irrational jealousy spiking through him.  For some reason, she brought out his inner psychopath, all the dark urges and instincts that he kept chained within. Very few knew about them, and he intended to keep it that way.

With a sigh, he rubbed at his temples to ease his pounding headache.  If only he could place the blame on the recent circulation of human supremacy rhetoric, but that would merely be an excuse for his own lack of control.  He told himself that things would be better once she was pack since he disliked having an unprotected submissive female in his territory, which was true, especially with the possibility of active anti-Changeling groups in the area.

He felt scraped raw on the inside.  It had been a while since he’d been this spun up in his head and he needed to get that sucker back on straight.  This was a time for joy, not the shadows haunting him.

“Leaving already?” Lark asked from behind him.  She had managed to sneak up on him, which was a sure sign that he was off his game.

“If you feel the need to babysit, go chase after the cubs,” he growled over his shoulder.

“I’m doing my job.”  She let his temper roll off her.  “Need someone to run with?” He shook his head.  He’d prefer a good fight, but in this mood he was likely to shred even a sentinel.  “Remember you have to be back in time to help judge the costume contest.”

An affirmative grunt.  Pack bonds were important, especially in such a young pack, but he had to vent this before his attitude began to affect everyone else.

WAKE UP HUMANS!

Our children deserve a future free of Changeling violence.  These animals come into our communities with their drugs and violence, lowering property values, living off welfare, and preying on hard-working humans.  In the name of “political correctness,” we the taxpayers are prevented from standing up to these parasites.

DON’T BE DELUDED BY A “BRIGHT NEW FUTURE”

We need to change the country’s liberal policies that are eroding our values.  It’s alright to be human and we need to stop being ashamed of it. Changelings want us afraid and divided to prevent us from having a group identity.  We have been the victims of the other races for too long. They try to divide us, take away our rights, and plan to eliminate us because they fear us.

STOP CONTRIBUTING TO HUMAN GENOCIDE!!!  KEEP THE HUMAN RACE PURE!!!

       -Excerpt from letters sent to residents of Sevier County, Tennessee September 2083

Lorel hummed and swayed along to music while she piped bright pink rosettes onto the rows of cupcakes in front of her.  The radio was set to the show of the DJ from the party, a pretty human packmember by the name of Aoife. Country wasn’t her typical choice of genre, but it reminded her of dancing at the party.  She hardly knew anything about Elias, and therefore had no feelings about him one way or the other, yet she couldn’t get the other night out of her mind; not that she was dreaming of the soldier or anything.  

She had been completely dumbfounded; no one had ever asked her to dance.  Well, not since that horrible prom night in high school, anyway. While she’d doubted that the leopard would try to pull what her teenaged date had, she had looked to Tien and gotten reassurance.  She barely knew the other woman but trusted that Tien wouldn’t knowingly put her in danger.

It had been a long time since anyone other than her aunt had touched her, and far longer since she’d had any physical contact of a non-platonic nature.  Elias had made it clear that he found her interesting and attractive, which she could have chalked up to the promiscuous nature of Changelings. But he had also been respectful of her boundaries even though it was obvious that her limits were far more stringent than that of a Changeling’s, and possibly those of many humans.

She kept her distance not just because she didn’t want them to assume she was easy, or that she was going to join the pack, but because it simply felt too good and not even in a sexual way.  At first, Elias’ touch was nearly painful, like her skin was so focused in its need that every sensation was heightened ten-fold to absorb everything at once. Startled by the sensitivity, she had been about to retreat when the song ended, but the ache of the loss had her saying ‘yes” to the next person who approached.

The sun had set and red, yellow, orange, and white fairy lights strung between the trees had lit up.  At that point, she’d called it a night with the excuse that she had to work in the morning; while that was true, she had worried that she’d be tempted to go exploring the woods in animal form.  Even if they’d allowed her, she couldn’t permit the cat to take over.

Tien had approached her with arms wide in expectation of a hug.  Unsure of what to do, Lorel did her best impression of a statue as the other woman’s arms had folded around her.  It wasn’t a brief embrace, either. It was strong and warm and all-encompassing. Maternal. And she soaked it up like rain after a drought, her skin still starving even after all the dancing.  Although her aunt had lavished affection on her before going travelling, as if she’d tried to compensate for the lack over the years, there was a quality among the Changelings that felt like she was finally coming home.

Lorel had let herself relax into the hug and had, had to force herself to pull away, fussing with her clothes to keep from reaching out to the other woman again.  Her cat’s tail had lashed in irritation at the denial, but didn’t act out in any other way, thankfully.

At the sound of the door opening, she set the bag of frosting down and headed out front while wiping her hands on a clean, damp cloth.  A woman looked at something on her phone as she approached the counter.

“Good morning,” Lorel greeted her.  The customer held up a finger while she tapped something into her phone.  Lore’s customer service smile grew strained while she waited. When she finally looked up, her scent soured before Lorel could offer a sample of berry crumble cake.

“Where’s Nora?” she demanded.

That was a question she’d heard far too many times, but this time the edge to it had her ocelot’s upper lip curling away from her teeth.

“My aunt’s currently on a beach enjoying her retirement.”  The mask wavered as Lorel fought against mirroring the sneer of her cat.

“Is there someone else who can help me?” she frowned.

Okay, that was a new one.

“Just me, I’m afraid,” shrugged Lorel.  “Is there a problem?”

“Don’t snap at me.”  Lorel swore that the other woman was two seconds away from clutching her pearls, if she’d worn any.  “I just want to know when someone else will be in to serve me.”

What in the name of all that was good and holy?

“Ma’am, I’m the owner,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Right,” she rolled her eyes, then muttered, “I just don’t know where this country is headed.  Animals like you taking jobs from good people.”

In an instant, her cat went from unamused disdain to homicidal rage.  Lorel throttled it back, but her eyes flashed yellow-green if the sudden ashen hue underneath the woman’s spray-on tan was any indication.

“Ma’am, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”  Lorel didn’t bother with the fake smile this time.

“How dare you!”  Her colour returned, going straight to red.  “I’m going to sue for intimidation.” Her shrill voice grew louder and louder until Lorel’s ears protested the abuse.  She stormed out, entering a code into her phone.

She released the breath she’d been holding only to inhale a lungful of perfume strong enough to make her eyes water.  Her ocelot wanted to hunt her down like a rabbit, but she convinced it that the meat was bad. She propped open the door to air out the store and the obnoxious woman stood in front of the yarn shop next door.  Still on the phone, she turned and the blood drained from her face when she saw Lorel.

“Oh my god, she’s following me!” she shrieked.  

Lorel rolled her eyes and decided she’d go put her irritation to good use by kneading dough for cinnamon buns.  As much fun as decorating cupcakes for a little girl’s birthday party was, that required a steady hand and hers were shaking with unexpressed anger.

The butcher’s block was barely floured when the sounds of sirens pierced her eardrums.  She dusted off her hands and returned to the front to find four cops standing there, each with a hand on a weapon.  Blinking, she froze mid-brush. I probably shouldn’t offer them doughnuts, she thought.

“Good afternoon, officers.  Would you like to try the berry crumble?”  She gestured to the silver tray with the samples and bit back a laugh at their bewildered expressions.  Evidently, they’d expected to find her frothing at the mouth from the way the blonde was still carrying on outside to a fifth cop.  They probably hadn’t anticipated a woman who more resembled a librarian than a murderous beast.

[ruffianbc]

Bad day

Summary:

He met the morning with an unpleasant nausea and headache, which at first he wanted to put down to a normal hangover, but the severe migraine that followed made him regret that his thoughts seemed to have learned to move quite physically. It is a hell of a punishment for an alcoholic to be unable to drink even a sip of beer.

Big thank for @jadeile-writes for help in editing the english translation. I'm awfully grateful to you!

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

It was a shitty day. It all started with the fact that he simply couldn't drink. More precisely – almost couldn't. Since the morning, he had felt strangely weak and sick, and what about alcohol? He could not even eat a piece of bread. And then there was the fucking migraine, the hammering in his head and the ringing in the back of his ears. God... Satan? Someone! Give him the strength to last until the evening, to finish the day and lock himself in his room, away from all the turmoil of the hotel and its flighty inhabitants. By the way, about them. Today was supposed to have some kind of a celebration. Naturally, Husk hadn't bothered to pay attention to what the Princess had said with gusto a week ago, but watching her fuss since the beginning of the day, his mind had led him to this idea. Still, he didn't care, as long as it didn't involve him.

It was at this moment that he heard a loud "Husk!" that made him wince. Goddamnit. He put away the glass he had been polishing for the past half an hour, adjusted his hat, and turned to face the smiling Niffty, who had perched on one of the bar stools and was leaning against the counter. She looked casual enough, except for a few bright flowers woven into her hair. The cat demon breathed a sigh of relief, trying to put on a restrained smile. The cyclops was one of those he was willing to tolerate almost at any time.

"Hi! Charlie asked me to bring some nice bottles of champagne, will you help me?"

The bartender just nodded curtly, muttered "No problem" and disappeared into the back room. Quickly navigating between the shelves, even with a sore head, Husk fished out three bottles of stashed Pol Roger and returned to the waiting Niffty, setting the champagne on the counter in front of her with a quizzical arch of an eyebrow: "Can you handle it yourself, or...?" he tried to ask, but received an answer almost immediately.

"Of course!" enthusiastically came from the direction of the cyclops, after which the bottles instantly disappeared from the tabletop. However, she still paused before going back to her business and again looked at the winged cat, slightly narrowing her eye in the aftermath. He cursed under his breath; he must have seemed more fucked up than he'd originally thought.

"Are you all right?" There was a note of concern in her voice.

"Just a headache. And you know I'm not getting any younger here, Niff."

"Maybe you should take a break. I'll let Charlie know, she won't-" but at the same moment she was interrupted by a slightly raised clawed paw. Husk shook his head, continuing instead.

"No, thank you. It's the evening, my shift will be over soon, so there's no point in taking a break now. Besides, it's pretty quiet here today and I haven't been accosted by the red-assed bastard in a day, so I'm fine."

"That's all because we are now organizing a festive dinner that will begin after the event with fireworks! By the way, be sure to come and see it, I’m already can't wait to start!"

The last words were already thrown on the run and, in a few moments, Niffty’s small figure vanished from the room, leaving the bartender once again in splendid isolation. Which he was still very happy about. And his head was glad of the silence.

* * *

Everything seemed to turn into a big, loud sound that made Husk twitch and open one eye. Apparently, it was the promised fireworks, and he had just managed to doze off. Eh, whatever. The cat demon settled his head more comfortably, slightly pushing aside an empty beer bottle that had somehow appeared on the counter, although he clearly remembered that he hadn’t touched alcohol today. Whatever once again. All his mind wanted to do now was sink back into sweet slumber. The noise outside began to sound like a distant, lulling hum, and the bartender didn't even hear the hotel's front door open.

A sudden tug on his shoulder. Husk's instincts kicked in immediately and he bristled, grabbing what was closest at hand – which was an empty bottle – and smashing it in an instant. He turned to the attacker and held him by the collar, putting the glass directly to his throat. Immediately, the sharp smell of alcohol hit his nose, making the cat's completely sober mind feel another wave of nausea, and he winced.

"Damn it, Husk, it's me! Easy."

Angel Dust appeared in front of him, raising one pair of hands in a soothing gesture, while the other slowly reached for the broken bottle to pull it away from his neck. Blinking a couple of times and finally realizing what was happening, the bartender growled and roughly pushed the negligent spider away from him, trying to relax again: "If you do that again, I'll definitely finish what I started. What the fuck were you thinking?"

Angel grunted pointedly, making a very displeased expression as he adjusted his suit and started to say something in response, when another volley of fireworks exploded over the roof of the establishment. Husk was deafened for a second, and then he felt pain coming from his right paw. When he looked down, he realized that he was still clutching the bottle, and a part of its glassy surface had already been stained with his blood. There was blood on the floor too, and it looked like he'd cut the pad of his paw. Another explosion occurred.

* * *

He turned at once at the scream. The guy who was a couple of meters away from him, had both of his legs torn off, and the other four were much less lucky than he is. His arm was grazed by a splinter, not seriously, but there was a lot of blood; it was worth making a bandage from improvised means. But first of all – to get out of the crossfire at all costs, they must get to the shelter. After assessing the condition of the rest of the squad, he ordered the survivors to keep directly behind him; they needed to get out of the open place as soon as possible, since here the enemy who had ambushed them had a clear advantage. The sound of machine-gun fire sent a chill down his spine.

* * *

Focus on that damned green spot. It was the only thought that Husk had time to pick up as he came to himself, and he repeated it over and over again. He stared at the bright green interior of the hotel until his eyes hurt, clutching the bar with both paws and trying to catch his breath. Not a fucking flashback. No, his day was already ruined, so there was this shitty "mind game". However, it was obvious that this was a fucking flashback and he urgently needed something to drink, preferably something stronger. Then he remembered Angel and turned his head in his supposed direction. The spider was gone, and so were everyone else, so the cat let out a sigh of relief. Less of a problem. Clumsily stepping over broken glass and bloodstains, the bartender took a couple of steps in the direction of the back room, closing the door behind him and casting a roving glance at the shelves of various bottles. Perhaps rum or vodka would help him in this situation. But as soon as the cat reached for one of those bottles, his mind reeled again, this time toppling him into a veritable abyss of screams of horror and pain, machine-gun fire, the whiteness of dead eyes and blood. Someone else's blood on the grass, on the ground, on his clothes and on his hands. An abyss of helpless despair.

He saw only images of something familiar, a cacophony of sounds mixed in his head with an inexplicable buzzing and ringing in his ears. He saw through drooping eyelids, he felt the heat from the fire, as if it burned through all his clothes, and the putrid smell soaked into his skin so thoroughly that it felt like the smell got right into it, and it came not from piles of corpses all around, this was Husk rotting alive.

The endless succession of images in his mind was interrupted by a sharp splash of something terribly cold right in his face. He took a reflexive breath, coughed and opened his eyes, trying to focus on something and realized that there was too much red.

"Breathe."

This was said almost in the face of the winged cat, who now looked more like a hunted animal, trying to regain his breath and running his eyes around the room. Finally, he stopped at the most distinct object directly in front of him and grunted hoarsely. Sounded like Italian. Sounded like another expletive. He regained more of his consciousness with every moment, and with every moment the bartender's face grew more haggard. He blinked again, finally coming to his senses, realizing where he was and that he was probably up to his ears in shit again.

"Alastor."

The tight grin on the face in front of him wavered slightly, and then its owner handed Husk a towel. He was about to take it, but abruptly stopped, hiding his right paw, which of course didn’t escape the attention of the Radio Demon. Without further ado, Alastor intercepted the bloody limb, and naturally the evil hiss directly in his face didn’t stop him in any way. Quickly figuring out what was wrong, Alastor took the towel back, wrapped it around the cat's cut palm and looked at him from under his brows, which caused another portion of the cat's defensive aggression to be unleashed: "I wouldn't have figured it out without you, maldito hijo de puta."

"Have you been drinking today?"

However, this question Husk hadn't expected.

"No. I've been fucked up since this morning and now it's just getting worse."

A snap of the fingers. A glass and a bottle of good whiskey materialized on the table next to them. After that, the deer demon got up from the couch and left the main room, and only now the bartender noticed that the man's coat was thrown over the back of a chair in the corner, and they were in the Radio Demon's room. Now it was clear why his first thought had been red.

Based on the noise coming from the room next to him, Alastor was washing his hands. The winged cat interrupted the thoughts of blood, and then leaned over the back of the couch and picked up the bottle, opened it, and immediately tipped it down, taking several large gulps. He naturally ignored the glass. The returning radio host watched the scene for a few moments, and then teleported back to his seat, causing Husk to almost choke on the last mouthful.

"Will you ever stop doing that?"

The deer demon didn't answer him again, just took the whiskey from his clawed paw and pulled him into a familiar side-hug, and the bartender, as luck would have it, was too weak to resist.

"My dear Husker. The only one who can take proper care of your condition is you. However! I hasten to say that sometimes you force me to take extreme measures." Alastor seemed to be speaking without his usual fervor, or else the cat demon was too tired to notice. He had already partially relaxed on the red shoulder, yielding to light scratching, but the last words made him twitch nevertheless and nudge the other in the side. The same man continued as if nothing had happened: "I've already told Charlie that you won't be at the bar for the next four days, and you'll have to spend that time here."

The hell I will - Husk wanted to protest, but his relaxed mind gave out something unintelligible. The radio host could care, but in his own way. Most of the time, the bartender wasn’t happy with the methods that the deer demon was employing, but he had to put up with it. If it wasn't intentional sadistic violence, the winged cat didn't care. Or he did, depending on the situation.

He closed his eyes, pushing the rest of his thoughts from his mind, and listened to Alastor's still-speaking voice with half an ear. The last thing he heard was a phrase that Husk agreed with one hundred percent: "And no more fireworks."

The response for the Radio Demon was a soft purr and a light half-hug from the dozing old man.

[secrets-and-aetherlight]

LFRP - Yves Severin

==Basics==

Name: Yves Ardouin Severin Aliases: Gwydion Thorne, Vidaux Rook, and many others not currently in use Age: He appears to be about 30 years old. (Spoiler: he is not 30 years old.) Gender: Male Race: Elezen, Duskwight Namesday: 26th Sun of the 6th Umbral Moon Sexuality: Pansexual, polyamorous  Relationship Status: Single Alignment: Complicated

==Appearance==

Height: 6'9" Hair: Black with white highlights Eyes: White Distinguishing Marks: A long diagonal scar running from the right side of his forehead at the hairline to his lower left cheek, with a break at the bridge of his nose. When asked how he got it, he tells a different story every time. Common Accessories: A few pieces of jewelry, and perhaps a dagger or two.  Tattoos: None Piercings: Ears

==Personal==

Birthplace: The Black Shroud, or so he usually says. When pressed, he will sometimes add that he was born underground, in the halls of old Gelmorra. Residence: Ul’dah. However, his apartment in the Goblet is often left unoccupied as he wanders around Eorzea. Profession: Yves’s lifestyle suggests that he’s independently wealthy, but where that wealth came from is not entirely clear. Certain academics - along with some less reputable individuals - are aware that he’s remarkably knowledgeable about Mhach, and that he’s even capable of acquiring Mhachi artifacts for those willing to pay handsomely for his services. This is not known to the general public, however. Known to even fewer people is the fact that he has authored a number of popular Gothic novels, and has been publishing them under the pen name of Gwydion Thorne for over 20 years. Hobbies: Traveling, reading, writing, sketching (usually grotesque or unsettling images), people watching, some light gambling, wine connoisseurship Fears: Death, rather ironically. Himself, a little. The existence of true goodness in the world, and the suspicion that he is its antithesis.  Ambitions: To live and live well for as long as life holds even a scrap of meaning for him. To die with dignity when all meaning has at last faded away.

==Relationships==

Parents: Deceased Siblings: Deceased Spouse: None Children: None Other: Igor, his cat. Louisa Craddock, his longsuffering publisher.

==Brief Background==

Little is generally known about Yves, and he seems to prefer it that way. He has been using Ul’dah as a base of operations since shortly after the Calamity, but he actually only spends about 30-40% of his time there. The rest of his time he spends traveling around Eorzea. His publisher is the only person who knows who he was before the Calamity, and even her knowledge of his past is limited to the 25 years in which she has known him. She has learned not to comment on the fact that he hasn’t appeared to age a day since she first met him.

==RP Hooks==

The Son of Mhach: If your character studies Mhach or the War of the Magi, maybe they’ve heard about Yves through the academic grapevine.

The Rook: If you play a character who operates outside the law and has an interest in black magic or objects of power, they might wish to set up a meeting with Videaux Rook - the alias Yves uses for his shadier activities.

The Ill Omen: If someone took an interest in Yves’s travels around Eorzea, they might discern an unsettling pattern: death tends to follow in his wake. But while he has been a suspect in a murder or two, he has never officially been charged with a crime.

The Novelist: While Yves tries to keep his side gig as a writer of Gothic novels secret, an astute fan of his horror-infused romances might be able to do a little sleuthing and find the link between Yves and Gwydion Thorne, his pen name. 

The Cursed: Yves spends a significant amount of his time people-watching in public places. He especially seems to enjoy places where tensions run high, and appears to delight in expressions of strong emotion, especially negative emotions. This can sometimes put him in the path of distraught or violently-inclined individuals, but for some reason, he doesn’t seem to mind. If your character spends time in public places such as restaurants and taverns, and especially if they're currently wrestling with anger, fear, or grief, they might encounter a strange Duskwight who appears interested in their problems, for better or ill.

==What I’m Looking For==

RPers who are interested in a character concept that is somewhat lore-bendy. While I believe Yves’s history and the curse that afflicts him are compatible with the lore we’ve been given thus far, I did expand on that lore quite a bit. Message me if you’re interested in details.

Friends, allies, love interests, business contacts, and enemies. Yves lacks acquaintances in general, and aside from his cat and his publisher, he doesn’t really have anyone he’d consider a friend. He does have enemies, but he could always use a few more. He could even potentially be an antagonist, as long as his involvement in the plot makes sense and he survives it, of course.

==What I Won’t RP==

Anything related to sexual assault or sexual coercion

Underage sex, drinking, or drug use. I also prefer not to RP violence against underage characters.

Suicide or suicidal ideation (I’m somewhat flexible on this, but I’d really appreciate an OOC trigger warning before the subject comes up IC)

Gratuitous torture scenes (but I’m okay with violence and gore in other contexts)

Yves is located on Balmung, but I’m happy to visit other Crystal servers for RP. Shoot me a message here on Tumblr if you’re interested! If you prefer to chat on Discord (I typically do), feel free to ask for my username.

@mooglemeet, @crystalxivrp, @balmungrp

[caps-lockdown]

Party Crashers (One Shot)

Steve Rogers x Reader where her friends jokingly send him an invite to his fan mail address for her birthday party. And Tony finds it and forces him to attend the birthday party. Reader being 100% oblivious to all of this until he literally walks in the door! 🤣🤣🤣

Here it is as requested by @katurrade my wonderful friend! Ask and you shall receive lovely! Hope you like it!

Party Crashers One Shot

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Fem!Reader

Rating:PG:13 (For jokes, booze, language, the usual) Pretty much all fluff, but there is a slight panic attack (although poorly written I can assure you)

Summary: You reluctantly agree to letting your friends throw you a birthday party, but when they send an invite to your favorite Avenger, how will things pan out?

Words: 5,576

It is AU in the sense that I’m having Tony live through endgame, and obviously Steve didn’t go back in time. Because I can’t move on. I don’t own anything but the reader and her family and friends. And the cat.

(Also the house pictured is NOT MINE. I wish it was, but sadly no. Just used it for imagining the party venue. And the dress isn’t mine either, but I can see myself owning it before the house.)

It’s also in Y/N L/N format. Enjoy!

Party Crashers

Two days before your party

“I’m. Not. Going. Stark. ” Steve Roger’s tone had a sense of finality to it, his body in a tense stance as he crossed his arms over his chest, looking at the patriotic themed party invitation that Tony was holding. A huge grin plastered on the billionaire’s face.

“Yes. You. Are. Rogers.” The man adjusted his glasses as he brought the invitation to his line of sight. Steve had tried to conceal the bright blue and red card when he got it in his fan mail that morning, but of course Stark being the snoop that he naturally was, he found it and brought it to everyone’s attention later in the Tower. “Look it’ll be good to keep in the fan’s good graces. After everything that’s happened recently, we could use the good PR.”

The blonde man sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. Everything that had happened with Thanos was over and done with, but yet the people were still terrified and on edge. Rightfully so too. He didn’t understand how going to some grown woman’s birthday celebration was going to help, especially when he had never met her. So he thought.

“Did you read the note that was attached? It’s quite cute. Ahem.” Steve rolled his eyes as Tony cleared his throat, developing a shrill feminine voice as he read it aloud to the rest of the room. “Dear Captain America. You don’t know us but our friend Y/N has a birthday coming up and we figured since you both share the same birthday it would be awesome if we invited you! We just got her back and wanted to make up for missing her these last five years. You’re her absolute favorite superhero and she’s totally had a crush on you ever since you saved her life during the Battle of New York. Not that she’ll ever tell you that. Anyways you don’t have to RSVP or anything, and you aren’t required to take pictures. Hell you could show up, say hi, and leave with cake for all we care. Hope to see you!

Stacy and Jim Higgins” The rest of the avengers were laughing at the annoyed blonde’s face when Stark finished.

“They even included a photo!” Bucky and Sam were the first to look at the picture the brunette man was holding, Sam letting out a long winded “Daaaaang” upon seeing the woman’s face. Steve had to admit that Y/N was very attractive, immediately noticing her thousand watt smile as she snuggled what he was assuming to be her pet cat.

“Tony I don’t want to do this..” Steve tried to reason with him, losing all hope when his friend typed the number on the invite into his phone, tossing the taller man the device and making a “go on” motion with his hands as it began to ring.

Rogers was beginning to think of all the ways he could get away with killing the asshole philanthropist when he heard a voice call from the other side of the line. “Hello?”

“Yes...uhm uh is this Stacy?”

“Who’s askin?”

“It’s Steve Rogers. I’m…uh.”

“OH MY GOD NO FUCKING WAY! JIM GUESS WHO’S ON THE HORN? CAPTAIN FUCKING AMERICA!!! No…No I’m not kidding you asshole.” Steve couldn’t help but give a nervous chuckle as the female voice proceeded to call the male voice a bunch of inappropriate names. He heard her take a deep breath and continue. “Sorry bout that Mister America Sir. To what do I owe the pleasure of your phone call?” He shook his head, smiling as the woman made an attempt to sound polite.

“I just wanted to RSVP for Y/N’s birthday party. Fourth of July right?”

“Yea! Five o’clock at the address on the invite! You can show up whenever though, oh man Y/N is going to FREAK OUT! Thank you so so much for doing this! I know you must be really busy. Dealing with everything going on around here.”

“It’s no problem at all…” Tony smacked the man’s arm as he grimaced, biting back a few choice words for his teammate. “I’m looking forward to it.” His comment sounded forced and fake but the woman only giggled, buying his terrible performance.

“Great! I won’t tell her you’re coming, but we can’t wait to see you! Have a good night!”

“Of course, you too.” Steve’s face was void of all emotion as he threw the phone at Tony head on, clearly trying to wipe the satisfied expression off his face.

“There that wasn’t so hard was it Rogers?”

“Go to hell Stark.” The blonde man muttered, the other raising a hand to his chest, feigning hurt feelings.

“Language Cap. You kiss your mother with that mouth? It’s not like I’m going to make you go alone. I want to see this train wreck first hand.” Mentally exhausted from today’s turn of events Steve didn’t even bother with a retort, walking out of the room to head to his bedroom. He was too old for this crap.

Day of Your Party

Lake George, New York

“No, No, I specifically told you Patty NO FIREWORKS! Y/N gets all jumpy and she’s bringing Tigger too…yes, her cat. YOU ARE NOT MESSING THIS UP FOR US PATRICIA! I WILL END YOUR ENTIRE FAMILY TREE WITH A TABLESPOON OF GASOLINE AND A MATCH! Do NOT try me today! Tell your mom I said hello. See you soon!”

Stacy ended the phone call with a huff, her eyes sweeping the large group of people that were attempting to set up last minute decorations for your birthday. Of course they would have it out at their astonishing lake side house in upper New York, away from the city and away from the seas of family reunions at Central Park. Considering the holiday, Stacy was hell bent on making sure no explosions of any kind would be happening today. She wanted everything to be perfect for you, and she wasn’t above murdering your cousin to obtain that goal. She didn’t care if she was only eleven years old.  

“You threatening children again honey?” Jim quirked an thick eyebrow at his wife, watching the woman deflate just an inch before she ran off to scream at someone for hanging the wrong colored lantern above one of the large tables. He was fairly certain his wife was going to have a stroke when all of this was over. He could hope anyway. She had been a nightmare planning this whole affair for you, and that was only because you had eventually given in to her demands. It was like negotiating with the government. And he had willing married her.

He laughed as she opted to forcefully take the lantern from his brother Tyler, dragging the chair to another table and hanging it up in its rightful spot. All it took though was one saucy wink in his direction and he could feel his body relax. She was going to be the death of him.

~~A short while later~~

“I hope there isn’t too many people Mel, you know I hate feeling crowded.” You pulled into the long driveway of your best friend’s home. Mel, your sister sat strangely quiet in the passenger seat, lovingly petting a sleeping Tigger in her lap. Before Thanos she was merely a teen, now a high school graduate and looking into medical school. Tigger was barely a year old and just starting to be harness trained, the orange tabby loving the outside and you didn’t have the heart to keep him inside all the time. Now older, he still loved being outside but had gotten pudgy in your years away. You had missed out on so much, but Mel was never this quiet before. In fact, she had pretty much been silent the entire four hour drive to Lake George, only saying a few words here and there as you rambled on. “Why are you being so damn quiet? It’s creeping me out.”

Your sister only smiled at you, her eyes misted over just a bit as she shook her head. “I’ve just missed hearing you talk sis. Five years…” A small sob escaped her when you threw your car into park, reaching over to pull her into a hug.

“Hey now, it was five years for me too alright? We’re together again yeah?” Brushing the tear off her cheek you held back your own when Tigger let out a cranky mewl. That was one thing you would never get tired of. A joyful laugh left your mouth as you began to break away from the embrace, looking into your sister’s brown eyes. “Alright get out of here before you make me ruin my makeup. And just so we’re clear I expect a full blown alien conspiracy lecture tomorrow on the way home.” You jokingly scolded, watching her light up before taking the cat and dashing out of the car. Well at least she had stayed the ball of energy you had remembered.

Stepping out of your vehicle before locking the doors, you couldn’t help but let out a gasp at the house in front of you.

“I see you guys finished the remodel!” You called out when you entered the foyer.

“Y/N! You look amazing!!” Stacy yelled, coming to give you the biggest hug as if you hadn’t been back for months now and she hadn’t just seen you a couple days ago. “Where did you get that banging dress? Did they have one in purple?!”

You lightly shoved your friend, looking down at your outfit for the day.

“HEY EVERYONE, Y/N’S HERE!” A large amount of screams were heard throughout the house and soon you were being flogged by tons of family and friends. Most of them you had seen since you got back, but all of them at once was kind of suffocating. You tried to hide your nerves as you greeted the seemingly endless crowd of smiling, teary faces.

“Happy birthday Y/N!”

“You look great!”

“You got a boyfriend yet?”

“How’s work?” Holding your temple, you started to struggle to breathe, overwhelmed by all of the questions and closeness. A knock at the door seemed to stop everyone in their tracks, and you smiled gratefully as Stacy swooped in to shoo them all away.

“Let our girl breathe a little! Fuck! Buncha vultures.” Your brunette friend whispered the last part, you giggling as she led you away from the prying eyes and invasive questions. It had been nearly a year since you had come back, it wasn’t as if it was just yesterday or anything. Taking a seat on the back porch, you gladly took the mojito Jim handed to you while Stacy went to get the door, opening it widely and immediately looking confused.

“You…you aren’t Captain America.” She managed to get out as Tony Stark took off his sunglasses, reaching to take her hand and giving her a grand smile.

“Well spotted. I’m not. Tony Stark. I however, was under the assumption he was already here. “

“He’s not with you?” Your friend asked as he went to dart his eyes to his phone, a frown on his features as he went to call the avenger in question, holding a finger up to Stacy.

“He didn’t want to carpool and save the environment. He insisted he took his bike. Maybe he took a wrong turn at Albuquerque. Excuse me.” That was a blatant lie, as Tony had told Steve specifically to take his bike and offer Y/N a ride as an attempt to break the ice. Perhaps the good captain was in fact lost. He listened as the phone rang, clucking his tongue in disapproval as it went to voicemail.

“Sorry Stac, looks like you just have me for right now. I’m more than positive he’ll be here soon. I know he wouldn’t miss something like this. He loves birthday cake, as do I. But you know war heroes, always fashionably late. Shall we?” Your friend could only nod slowly, the information sinking in and Stark taking his cue to head into the large home. “Your home is stunning.”

“Thanks. Y/N should be out back.” Stacy waved him on and Tony took his time enjoying the lovely large windows and high ceilings. He also took the time to send a very strongly worded text message to Steve about punctuality, and the fact he should have beaten Stark here considering Rogers had left nearly two hours before he had.

It didn’t take him long to find you, halfway through your glass and staring out onto the massive backyard. People were playing volley ball, four or five men were manning the grill, women laughing in groups as they caught up. Even surrounded by everyone you still felt a little isolated. Not a soul paying attention to you. Noticing you were almost out of alcohol he backtracked into the house, grabbing a couple fresh minty drinks and heading back out.

“Y/N I presume?” Tony’s voice shook you out of your daydreaming, you jumping at recognizing his face. Iron Man Tony-fucking-Stark was standing just to your right, and you placed a hand over your chest in a poor attempt to steady your heart beat.

“Uhmnh…Yea….Yea that’s me.” You choked out, taking the billionaire’s drink offering and setting it down before coming back up to grasp his hand and giving it a firm shake. “I’m Y/N.”

“You sure?” His jab made you blush, you finishing your first drink before moving your steel straw into the next one. The brunette man smiled, sipping on his own drink and nodding at it in approval.

“What…what are you doing here?” Your question was blurted out at a rapid speed, the skin on your neck tingling again as Tony looked down to meet your eyes. You could tell that he had been waiting on you to ask, as it wasn’t everyday random world saving superheroes showed up to a woman’s birthday party.

“We got an invite from Stacy and her husband, but superhero business would have it that only I could make it tonight. I’m sorry if you were expecting someone taller. With blonde hair and devastating blue eyes.” You sputtered into your glass, giving Tony an incredulous look while he laughed at you. What had your friends mentioned in that invitation?

“No um, this is really wonderful. Thank..thank you for coming.” You nearly squeaked, trying to guzzle down the rest of your drink and standing from your chair. Jim signaled it was time to eat, Stacy starting to hand people red, white, and blue plates and napkins while the masses began to form a line for food. “I guess that’s our cue. Everyone will be really excited to meet you. And in case I don’t get the chance, thank you. Ya know, for saving the world.”

“All in a day’s work Y/N. Let’s get some grub, I’m starving.” You laughed as Tony extended his arm, helping you down the stairs into the party space, people offering him thanks and asking for pictures once they caught on to who he was. “No no, I’m just here for the free food and Y/N’s birthday cake. But maybe we’ll take a few photos after yeah?”

The two of you took a seat at the large long picnic table after piling your plates with ribs, potato salad, corn on the cob, and other fourth of July staples. Tony kept everyone laughing, telling stories to you and the twenty four other people that were there to celebrate. You secretly wished that you could be this outgoing, most of the time shying away from social interaction and people altogether. It would certainly help you and your lackluster personal life.

After everyone was on the brink of a food coma, Tony suggested the game of charades to help burn off some of the food to make room for cake. With it being after seven, some of the guests opted to leave for the evening, wishing you well and stealing a couple of photos with Tony before exiting. None of them seemed to notice the motorcycle parked alongside the driveway.

Steve’s eyes watched with amusement as you attempted to use your cat to imitate a machine gun, shouting Scarface quotes and Tony being the first to answer correctly. His breath was taken away by how beautiful you were in person, the picture being five years older after all. He loved the way your eyes crinkled when you laughed, and how your smiles always looked warm and inviting, even when you were clearly not doing the best at charades. Steeling his nerve he climbed off his bike, wiping his suddenly sweaty palms onto his pants and heading up to the front door of the large home. He took in a deep breath and knocked, staring into the rich oak and waiting.

“I’ll get it!” You shouted, hopping off the couch and dodging popcorn Mel was throwing at you along the way. You stuck your tongue out playfully, turning to open the door and finding yourself face to face with freedom in the flesh.

“Happy birthday Y/N.” His stunning blue eyes and even more attractive smile was too much for you and the room began to spin. “I’m Steve.”

You took his hand, suddenly feeling really light headed. His expression changed to one of concern as you took a few fumbling steps back, his strong arm instinctively reaching out to grip your waist and steady you.

“Hey you’re alright. I’ve got you.” His words had your brain going into overdrive, your mind flooding with the memory of the only other time you had heard him say that.

~May 4th, 2012~

“Why the hell should I take orders from you?!”

You heard the cop ask the man in the blue suit, you hiding behind a nearby car as you watched him interact with the officer, chaos erupting throughout the city. The entire office you worked in had evacuated in a panic, but you were one of the last ones to leave, narrowly escaping death a few times over just getting out of the building. Your eyes were glued to the man, never seeing him before in your life. He was extremely handsome from what you could tell, and clearly he wasn’t taking no for an answer. You watched as he proceeded to defeat a few of the strange creatures easily, and you couldn’t help but let out a raspy laugh as the officer quickly changed his tune.

“I need men in those buildings. Lead the people down and away from the streets. We’re gonna set up a perimeter all the way down to 39th street.” He had said the last bit into his radio, walking away and you gladly decided it was time to get your ass out of there. Standing up and headed towards the street you began running towards the nearest subway entrance. Your heart was hammering in your throat and you were sure you would have to throw out your heels and now ripped to hell dress when this was over. Turning a corner you let out a blood curdling scream as a truck came barreling through the air, you being directly in its way.

You shut your eyes and awaited death, but it never came. Instead you were grabbed roughly and tucked in between a set of buildings, a shriek leaving your lungs as you watched the truck go flying by. Your hands shot to cover your face as your panicked sobs came out before you could stop them, realizing you were alive.

“Hey you’re alright, I’ve got you.” Your hands were brought down from your face and you looked up to see the hero in blue staring intently at you, brushing some of your now loosened hair away from your face. You were certain your makeup was smeared along with dirt and dust from all of the debris floating around the city, but he only continued staring into your eyes.

“Boy do you ever.” Was all you could get out, a small smile lighting up the mystery man’s features as he grabbed your hand, looking into the street before nodding to you.

“Good. Now let’s get you to safety Doll.” You swooned and fought to keep up with the man as he started jogging back into the street, careful to help you dodge and duck the ugly looking creatures along the way. Stopping at the subway entrance he gave you a once over, making sure you weren’t bleeding as you fought a heart attack from all the cardio today had put you through. His hands on your shoulders weren’t helping things.

“You get down there and you stay safe alright miss?” You could only nod like an moron again, watching him turn to walk away.

“Hey wait!” He turned around at your newly found voice, you pointing to an alley that wasn’t under attack. “You’ll get to where you’re going faster if you take that way. It’ll lead you back to where you saved me.”

He cracked a smile, appreciating your kindness as he took off. You got all the way down the stairs before realizing you never got to thank him. Or learn his stupid name.

~Now~

“Boy do you ever.” Your words came out in a whisper, his gaze turning to one of calculation as you smiled. There was no way he could have remembered saving you. He has saved thousands, millions of people in the past, and you weren’t that memorable.

“You…you were the woman I saved from the flying truck..weren’t you?” His voice was soft as he whispered back. You nodded with wide eyes, taking note how his arm hadn’t detached itself from your waist yet. Not that you minded.

“You remember me?” You stuttered out, trying to keep your shocked nerves at bay.

“Doll I couldn’t forget you even if I tried. Those directions saved my skin that day. I’m glad to see you survived.”

“Because of you! I didn’t even know trucks could fly.” Your comment made him laugh out loud, his arm leaving your waist only to cover his stomach as he filled the house up with joy. Everyone else laughed nervously, clearly not having heard the conversation between you two and therefore not having the slightest idea what was so funny.

“I see you cut your hair, your picture doesn’t do you justice you know.”His normal voice and remark set your face on fire, you whipping your head to look at your best friend, who only sheepishly shrugged and avoided making eye contact with you. “But I like it. Suits you.” Receiving another compliment from the blonde had you grinning like a goofball.

“Thank you….and uh thanks, for saving my life all of those years ago. I never got the chance to do it back then.” You rambled, before widening your eyes again and taking a breath. “And thanks for helping bring back everyone from the decimation too! I mean I was part of that and I know everyone is really grateful and all.” Finishing your long winded spiel you began studying the designs in the hard cherry wood floor, embarrassed at how the Captain only continued to chuckle at you.

“You’re welcome…and you’re welcome.” He beamed at you, Tony loudly coughing to bring the two of you out of whatever bubble you seemed to be in together.

“This is ADORABLE to watch. Seriously. But uh, I was promised cake and I’m not leaving until I get some.” Stark whined, your friends all agreeing before wandering into the kitchen, you motioning for Steve to follow. Stacy smiled warmly at you as she took the glad cake topper off, your mouth watering at the beautiful cake she had made. It was three layers, all different swirls of red white and blue adorning it along with simple gold stars.

“Oh Stac…it’s perfect. Thank you.”

“Hey that means we can sing happy birthday to both of you!” Jim clapped Steve on the back, shaking his hand as he went to light the one huge candle that sat on top of the cake.

“As long as you don’t sing Jim I think our ears will be okay.” Mel quipped, everyone laughing as they began singing to the two of you. Your eyes welled up with tears, looking at all of the faces of people you honestly weren’t sure you’d ever see again. And two of the people that helped make that happen were here as well. How about that. Once everyone had a piece of cake you all took to sitting outside on the back porch again, watching the summer sun begin to set off in the distance. It reflected off the lake beautifully, the reds and oranges in the sky extending over the water.

“I’ve missed how peaceful it is out here Stacy. You and Jim have an absolute paradise out here.” Your friends nodded, both too busy with cake to really take in the splendor.

“I think this cake is paradise.” Tony muffled out, mouth full of the sugary treat, Steve’s shaking of his head had you and Mel giggling into your forks. “You have to get me the recipe so my wife can make it. Or we can just pay you to make it.”

“Anything for one of the guys who saved the world. I’ll write it down for ya.” Stacy’s smirk made you chuckle, her fingers snaking out to take your clean plate from you. Walking back into the kitchen, the now very happy Stark following her, Mel sighed as she looked at her watch.

“It’s not even ten yet! What are we going to do!?” Her complaint reminded you how much younger she actually was, you perfectly fine with calling it a night. Your ears perked up at the sound of soft jazz music beginning to pour out of the speakers located on the corner of the deck, Jim turning on the assortment of lanterns. The whole back yard was aglow with twinkling lights and you started to subconsciously sway to the beat. Steve’s jaw working as he began to walk over to you, shrugging out of the brown leather jacket he had been wearing and setting on a chair.

“Well I know what Y/N and I are going to do.” Steve stuck his hand out to you, you smiling timidly before reaching yours to grasp his. “Care to dance, Doll?”

“Well I’m not going to say no.” He laughed at that, bringing you over to the side of the deck that was serving as a makeshift dance floor, Jim and Stacy following your lead when she returned from the kitchen. You got a chance to take in his outfit, nice gray slacks and a simple blue button up shirt rolled up at the elbows. It wasn’t much but he didn’t need much when he looked like he had been carved out of marble by Michelangelo himself.

“I have to admit, I don’t have that much practice with dancing.” The blonde admitted, your heart fluttering as a flush crept over his face. You squeezed his hand reassuringly as he dropped his other one to sit on high on your waist.

“Is the great Captain America flustered right now?” You giggled, allowing him to spin you around. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. But for the record…” You gingerly took his hand at your waist, lowering it a little to where it sat just above your hip. “Your hand will be a lot more comfortable here. And you should relax some. I don’t bite.”

He swallowed thickly and nodded, you both swaying to the music in a comfortable silence as it played on, Jim making sure the songs stayed slow so you wouldn’t part ways so quickly. Eventually you began making small talk, asking him about his life and interests, Steve obviously very interested in what you had been up to since Thanos’ defeat. You found him extremely easy to talk to, your jokes making him laugh, his eyes crinkling with joy as the time passed.

“So we might as well start making wedding invitations now.” Mel uttered to Tony when he curiously eyed the Captain, your sister and Stark looking to each other before chuckling. “She’s not going to let him go now that they’ve met officially.”

“That’s funny, because I was thinking the same thing. About him. Maybe he’ll find that life I told him to get.” Mel laughed at the brunette, both of them nodding to the other couple to vacate the dance floor. Stacy couldn’t help the sly smile as you and Steve continued to talk, so enamored in each other you didn’t notice everyone else leaving the back yard to give you some privacy. Ten minutes later the next song came to a close, Steve attempting to lower you into a small dip that made your knees weak in more ways than one.

“Thanks for the dance Y/N.”

“Dances Mister Rogers, and back at you. They were lovely. Now where did everyone…. “ You began to look around, a slight familiar panic setting in as your eyes searched for your friends and the billionaire. You sighed in exasperation as you watched them scatter. Failing miserably at making themselves look busy and like they hadn’t been watching you two. “Go.”

“I’m sure they mean well.” Steve’s eyes sparkled as you rolled your own.

“Sure yea. They’re probably in there planning our first date.”

“Our first date?” You went to cover your face with your hands, a high pitch squeak coming out when you came to terms with the fact you had said that out loud.

“OhmygodI’msososorry” You rushed out, continuing to hide your face as you were certain you were the brightest shade of red in the rainbow.

“Y/N it’s alright…”

“No it’s not. You’re out there saving the world, and I’m sure that coming to this dumb party my exhausting friends probably blackmailed you into was the last thing on your to do list. And then I have to go and ruin a perfectly nice moment by opening my big mouth and asking you out when knowing my luck you’re already dating some stunning Amazonian woman who can cook and makes you stupid happy!” Anger boiled in your veins as the blonde could only stare at you, partially concerned you might combust, and partially endeared that you clearly had a big crush on him.

“For the record, Tony made me come tonight. But you’re the sole reason I’ve stayed.” Steve took your clenched hand, giving it a soft squeeze and the noise that died in the back of your throat couldn’t have been remotely human. “And secondly, I’m single, and extremely flattered. But I’m afraid there’s a small problem.”

“You’re afraid I’m crazy and will probably burn down your house if you ignore me for too long?” He blinked at you, taking a moment to let that sentence sink in before shaking his head.

“No, I don’t know if you’re a cup of coffee or dinner and a movie kind of girl. “ His grin had you seeing fireworks and holy star spangled banner Steve Rogers was asking you out! Quickly jolting out of your over-excitement you managed a coy giggle, you removing your hand from his before placing it on his right cheek. Bringing yourself up to your tiptoes you allowed your lips to lightly kiss his left cheek, feeling the warmth radiate through his skin upon contact.

“Well in your case Steve, I’m both. Dinner tomorrow night when I get back into town?”

His eyes didn’t leave yours, you sliding your hand away only to have him take it again. Your heart raced as he placed a chaste kiss on your knuckle, grinning at you like a love struck puppy.

“I’ll pick you up on the bike at seven o clock. Hope you like Italian.”

“I do.” You nodded, you immediately missing his hand when he let it go.

“Great, then it’s a date.”

“So it is.” You bit back a girlish scream internally as he began to walk away, before turning around and bashfully asking for your phone number. You typed it into his phone, laughing the entire time. Everyone gathered outside for a quick photo with the two Avengers, Steve staying right next to you, a hand on your waist and the two of you looking nothing short of smitten with each other. You gave both of them a quick hug goodbye, Tony’s being longer because he complained about you not dancing with him at all and he deserved better treatment because he was there first.

“Goodnight Y/N. Happy Birthday.” You smiled at the blonde, giggling as Tony had to physically grab the back of Steve’s jacket to pull him out of the doorway.

“Happy birthday Steve. See you tomorrow.” You waved them on, leaning against the frame as the two men became shapes in the dark. It wasn’t long after you heard the rumble of a motorcycle and a car start up, headlights pulling down the road as they drove off.

“I’m sorry they had to go.” Mel patted your shoulder as you shut the door, locking the bolt and turning off the porch light. You smiled at your sister saucily, throwing her a wink after she shut the blinds behind the couch.

“Me too, but god did I love watching him leave.”

Her response was a pillow. To your face.

The End 

Tag List: @kaytizzle @giggleberts @cuffski

[concreation]

Hold up, Milk-Drinker

Intro

"Hold up, milk drinker," the guard laughed.  "What's your business with all this… merchandise?"

M'Sava pulled up the corners of his mouth, an affect he had been told by a caravaneer would soothe men-folk.  Speaking past his teeth, "M'Sava… eh… This one… eh… this one has heard tell of the Man-Mane's Potluck, of the dances and the swords and the sweet smells of…" M'Sava trailed off, a new expression upon the guard's face, one which M'Sava had not encountered yet from a man.  It seemed to accentuate the hard features of his mouth, to make him even less like the Ohmes from his homeland.

Finally the guard spoke, motioning to the closed city gates behind him.  "Well, cat, as you can see, it is night, and the festival begins during the day, so you'll have to wait outside.  Preferably where I won't see you or have to smell you."  The guard hissed, the sound invading M'Sava's ears.

M'Sava took a step backward, trying to process this strange behaviour.  Men seemed so quick, yet so hard, like cones falling from jungle trees.  He closed his eyes, going through his lessons, back to Khaanin'fa's teaching, 'a hard deal is like a soft deal, just curdled.'  At the time, this of course had made no sense, and M'Sava still wondered if it had even made sense to her.  But wisdom could be pulled out of anything, and he figured now was as good a time as any.

"M'Sava's friend!  Let this one uncurdle you with the gift of the moons!" M'Sava went to his camel, J'Mashe'ra, pulling a small bowl from its pack.

"Oh no no cat, we'll not have any of that in here, begone!"  The guard brandished his sword, he hissed again, and shooed M'Sava away.

Confused, M'Sava turned back down the road.  To the south, the sandy desert across the bay reminded him of home, and he led his camel slowly around the bay, searching the sands for a good spot to set up his tent.  He turned several times next to a tall palm, before settling into a small dune, laying out his carpet and raising his tent.  During his strange journey, this process had soothed him, reminding him of home.  Pulling a slip of paper from his camel's pack, he took it within his tent to study quietly.  Every night he pulled another slip of paper from the pack, so regularly that J'Mashe'ra seemed to anticipate it once the tent was up.  Tonight's paper read simply, "Don't eat too much darling", in his mother's austere handwriting.  M'Sava smiled at this, having scarcely had anything to eat since leaving home.  The men and mer who had been willing to have conversations with him were more interested in trade, or skooma, than in enjoying a meal together.  He looked to the moons and wondered if his mother saw the same moons.  Of course not, he thought, but maybe him seeing them would be enough for her.  She wouldn't have let that guard treat him like that, but then, he had headed for the Potluck on his own partly to learn to be independent from the memory of her.  He snuggled into the dune, content that he was making some progress.  He thought ahead to the next day, and what fun he would have at the Potluck.  Sleep took him quickly, as it always had.

"Ahem, Khajiit!  Awaken please, I aim to do business!"  An angular face poked past the entry flap of M'Sava's tent, golden eyes peering into the darkness.

M'Sava awoke with a start, letting out a soft hiss before climbing to his feet, again aware of where he was.  Light poured in above the stranger's head, and M'Sava began to realize that he had overslept.  "No no, this one is no caravaner, this one must go to the city!"

"Ah, a shame, I was hoping for a little moon sugar for some experiments, I know you Khajiit always have some, isn't that so?"

M'Sava frowned, finally looking the intrusive Altmer in the eye.  He was young, at least for a mer, and seemed out of place, for his head looked to have been bared to the sun for too long, leaving an orange sunburn.  "This one really must be going, the Potluck may already have begun!"

Now the Altmer frowned, pulling his head out of the tent, and called from outside, "I am patient Khajiit, but I must have some moon sugar!"

M'Sava frowned.  Men and mer alike considered him barbaric, but their tastes were truly barbaric.  It was as though they could not see the subtleties of moon sugar, the holiness of it.  It was all corrupted to them.  He thought of another piece of wisdom from Khaanin'fa's teaching, "To lick the self completely clean is to have a clean outside and a dirty inside.  This is why one should lick themself half clean, to achieve balance."  Why did he think of these things?

Finally, M'Sava had rolled up his carpet and taken down most of his tent from within.  He went to his camel, but stopped when he noticed that same Altmer, standing over a body a little way up the road.  The body was hooded, but M'Sava could see that same golden skin poke through the robes.  Fear gripped him, for he had heard tales of powerful Altmer wizards, wizards who might not take kindly to being told no.  This scene also stood between him and the Potluck.  He pulled the bowl from his camel's pack again, and slowly moved toward the young Altmer.  "Say… M'Sava could part with some sugar… This one offers it freely!"

The Altmer turned, a glow fading from his eyes.  "Oh lovely!  And for free?  You Khajiit are inscrutable!"  M'Sava handed off the bowl, and the Altmer put it in a pouch hidden within his robe.  It seemed he had many pouches hidden away, and his movement caused much clinking and bubbling.  "Now Khajiit, you say your name is Emshava?  A pleasure to make your acquaintance!  I am Loviril.  Many pardons about our pursuer here, he did not appreciate my being so candid about my search for your sugar.  You say you're headed to the Potluck?  For I am as well!  Shall we travel together?  Your pack beast appears thirsty!  Shall I provide?"

The barrage of questions took M'Sava aback, so much so that he did not try to correct the poor pronunciation of his name.  "Ehhh… Why not?"

Loviril went to J'Mashe'ra, and, producing a small vial from his robe, fed the camel a few drops.  He giggled excitedly at the soft lips on his hand, and pulled another small vial from his robes, smearing it full of spittle.  He turned to M'Sava, and smiled, full and bright.  "Well, off we are then?"

Curious, M’Sava went to his camel, who seemed lively and cheerful, or at least more cheerful than it had been other mornings.  He pulled the reins, and the camel went along much easier than it had before.  M’Sava was curiously grateful, but he still gave the dead body a wide berth, especially after noticing the green tinge working its way through her veins.  Loviril spoke loudly, "Ah, apologies for that little incident, can't have anyone taking my business the wrong way, can we?"

M'Sava gulped, careful to avoid looking at Loviril too much.  His father had been like this, with questions he didn't know the answer to.  They made the rest of the way to the city uneventfully, though as the sounds of music and market bustle billowed over the walls, he began to be more excited about the Potluck instead.

The same guard that had driven him away the night before was just exchanging keys with the new shift, and grinned mischievously as M'Sava and Loviril passed.  "Don't bring in anything you shouldn't Khajiit!"  The other guards looked curious, but the first guard laughed again, leaving them to wonder.

1

As they made their way through the gates and into the first hold of the city, Loviril took his leave.  "If I see you again, N'shaza, may it be in happy times!"

M'Shava shook his head ruefully, his tail twitching at again being called the wrong name.  He led his camel through the market, his nose overwhelmed at the smells of many foods, spices, and the sweaty men and mer who dominated the market.  The smell of sweat was terrible to M'Sava, it was like these people pissed when it was hot.

"Oy, cat!" called a nearby fish merchant, "how about some dried fish eh?  Or maybe, fresh?  That sounds good doesn't it?  Here kitty!"  The merchant laughed, her belly shaking, the greenish stains on her shirt heaving.  Her fish was decidedly not fresh, a fact clear from the fact that in the packed market, her stall had plenty of space.

M'Sava avoided her gaze as he passed her stall, and she called out in a lower voice, "do not think you can avoid what is to come Khajiit, the past repeats itself."

M'Sava furrowed his brows, pressing on without looking behind.  She continued her mongering, but soon he could no longer hear her, just the sounds of the Potluck market.  He would stop every once in a while to sample something, and give something feom his pack.  The spices and food he had brought with him were of great interest to those he passed, as they were usually expensive in High Rock.  M'Sava relished this, as the strangers he had met on the road did not seem nearly as happy to see a Khajiit.  And to trade rather than pay, with no bartering or finagling, was like being at home with his clan.  His mother had told him, "M'Sava, this one will do anything for you, but don't forget to do everything for this one!"  He laughed softly to himself, remembering that he hadn't known at the time whether or not she had meant it.

2

He had worked his way up through the first keep and was passing into the second when a burst of darkness caught his eye, a Suthay like him on a nearby rooftop with most of his face concealed by a dark mask, but for his mouth, which held a rotten fish.  He stopped, but the other Khajiit was gone as quickly as he had appeared.

Shuddering with shame, M'Sava heard the sounds of swords, and came back into himself.  He saw the radiant glow of the singing before he saw the actual performers, but when he got closer and could see the dance, he fell back, afraid.  The sound cut the air, his ears confused.  The song seemed not to come from the swords, but from within his own head, to leap and parry and break, then reform, just as the sword-dancers did.  The crowd around him seemed just as enthralled, swaying as one to the bizarre rhythm of the swords.

And suddenly M'Sava felt a small, cool bottle pressed into his hand, and felt a rush of air as another dancer, no Redguard, but a Dagi-raht, danced through the crowd, gifting small bottles of what M'Sava knew from old experiences was skooma.  She was one second here, then another second there, her dark clothing glinting with purples and golds, vicious laughter clashing with the sound of the swords.  She landed blithely between the dancers, stark against the reds and browns of the dancers' garb, and threw a handful of soul gems into the air.  The gems were caught up in the waves of tonal magic in the air, and they began to dance to the rhythm of the swords, trails of soul magic following and tangling together.

The dagi-raht disappeared again, and the soul magic began to extend out through the sword dance into the crowd, compelling them to drink their bottles.  As the wave of magic pushed through M'Sava's chest, he lifted the bottle to his mouth, something he had not done in years, but as he did he saw that same suthay from earlier, rotten fish hanging from his mouth and perched atop a nearby rooftop.  He cleared his thoughts with a shake, and stowed the small bottle in a pouch.

The dancers had halted their performance, and abruptly the soul gems rained down on the crowd.  A child began to cry and calls for guards rang out.  M'Sava tried to hurry away, not wanting to be associated with the strange khajiit who had disrupted the dance, but Loviril stood behind him, empty bottle of skooma in hand.

"Fascinating!  Simply fascinating!"  Loviril smiled widely at M'Sava, his pupils wide and glistening.  "How did you manage to resist the urge Maba?  What magic have you got hidden away my friend?"

M'Sava tried to push past him, growling, "this one is M'Sava, and nothing else, elf!  Allow this one through!"

Loviril maintained his smile, but his eyes grew darker.  "The skooma has not taken hold of me yet, Khajiit, and I must know your secrets.  Reveal them to me and I shall depart from you with dignity."

M'Sava hissed lightly, and pressed his palm to Loviril's chest.  "Move."

Loviril sighed, "very well khajiit, but I warn you that our next meeting will be much less cordial.  A good day to you, and may greater knowledge find its way to you."  He turned, chugged another potion from within his robe, and set off for the third keep.

M'Sava scowled, as he was also planning to head there.  He lingered, but ducked into an alley at the sight of guards approaching.  They seemed more interested in the now rowdy crowd than anything else, though he was beginning to learn that men and mer could change in an instant.  These people who were so enthralled with the sword dance not a minute ago had been corrupted much more than any Khajiit beggar under Sheggorath.  Truly he did not understand how they could allow themselves to fall victim to another’s whims so easily.

An Alfiq refined in the same purples and golds as the Dagi-raht dancer pranced across the alley further in.  M’Sava hesitated, then followed, his curiosity overtaking his excitement for the Potluck.  His grandmother had told him, “ Little Sava, do not trust the alfiq, they are tricksters, and rely on the good nature of others to cast their evil magics!  Now, be a good kitten and bring this one her sugar!”  His grandmother had been an Alfiq herself, but he had not met many others, though he did not doubt her words as he could apply them squarely to her as well.  This Alfiq seemed to jump and twist erratically, little pockets of magic holding it aloft, then pushing it hard into the dirt of the alley, though it did not cry out in pain.  If it knew that it was being followed, it did not give any indication of such.  M’Sava slowed his pace as he passed a pile of food scraps from a tavern, containing the rotted out shell of a dreugh.  Flies had found it first, and had laid enormous eggs, some of which had burst, leaving rapidly drying sticky white residue all over the dirt of the alley.  The smell of rotting fish returned to M’Sava’s nostrils, and he breathed deeply.  His stomach growled, and he realized how long it had been since he had eaten.

“Hey now!” called the Alfiq ahead of him, now facing him, though relaxing on a resplendent pillow, which had not been there before.  “You’ve got to focus!  Get your mind back to where it should be… On me!”

M’Sava was startled, as he had not expected the alfiq’s voice to be quite so gravelled, yet so… songlike.  “What do you mean, alfiq?  Is this some sort of spell?  Begone if you plan to cast magics on this one!”

“Ha!  Haha!  Hahahaha!  Foolish mortal!   Silly mortal!  It would be no fun, no fun at all to place a charm on you.  Though a hex… nay, maybe later.  Ooh, or maybe a melon spell!  No no, focus Sheg!”  The alfiq shook its head, and appeared to refocus its gaze on M’Sava.  “This is my Potluck, and you have brought something in which I did not plan for!  You, a khajiit, who refuses to drink freely given skooma!  Unbridled chaos, wanton destruction of minds and souls, an overabundance of cheese, aye!  Yes!  More!  But it’s almost like you’re competing with me, seeing who can show the more madness!  It’s unacceptable!  Or is it too acceptable?  Who’s to say?  I am!”

M’Sava took a step back, the smell of the rotten dreugh calling him and the alfiq confusing him.  “No!” cried the alfiq.  “You are too small, too mortal to be the cause of your own madness.  You will resist, and become the more mad, so that your cause will show itself to me.  And if no cause is shown, I will destroy you.  It is not time for Jyggy.  Or I’ll turn you into a footstool!”  An alfiq-shaped portal then opened in the side of the alley, and the alfiq was gone in a flash.

3

M’Sava turned heel and ran back to the square where the sword-dance had been, and turned again toward the third keep of the city, a guard ordering him to halt.  The guard gave chase, but M’Sava was too fast for him, and managed to lose him in the milling crowd just inside the third keep.  He breathed a sigh of relief, but it caught in his throat as he saw that same suthay staring down at him from one of the now much more ornate houses.  A small chunk of rotten fish fell from his mouth, flopping onto the cobbled stone below him, but no one in the crowd seemed to notice, enthralled as they were with the riches of the city being disposed of.  Nobles were tossing drakes down into the crowd, some with great force, some from chamber pots, with some in neat packages.  There was a mad scramble to pick up as much coin as possible, with dresses held high being used as improvised scoops, and old wheelbarrows piled with gold.  The nobles above laughed, and their bards played what were probably glorious hymns from high windows, though with so many different songs and the frenzied clinking of coin, the scene seemed far from sacred.  M’Sava looked up, finding his stalker again had vanished.

The clattering of sounds and the smell of so many sweating peasants rushed into M’Sava, knocking him off balance for a moment, his tail reacting faster than his mind.  Growing anxious, he began to bound on all fours like a senche.  The bursting energy of the Potluck was starting to grow in him now.  He had not seen his camel since the entrance to the second keep, and now that he was in the third keep, he had also forgotten that he had planned to gift the man-mane with his grandmother’s moon sugar.  He bounded over the backs of the crowd, unintentionally tearing their clothing and flesh, though he did not notice the blood and viscera on his claws.  He rushed on until the crowd was gone, and the city seemed to calm around him.  His anxiety left him, but he felt something wet in his mouth.  Worried that he was drooling, he swallowed, but whatever was in his mouth resisted, moving the opposite direction of his swallowing.  He stood up again, and gingerly pulled an enormous slug out of his mouth.  It raised its front at him, its eye stalks moving independently to take him in.  

“Hello little one,” he cooed.  “What were you doing in there?  Waiting to warn this one that he should or should not drink the skooma, eh?  This one knows you Sheggorath, and this one will not obey!”  M’Sava had grown tired of this madness, and had decided to confront it head-on.  He felt a clarity that he had not felt since arriving.  This thing, this aspect of his madness could not be real, and neither could the suthay on the rooftops.  He had simply overreacted, because he had been too excited.  It had happened before, but he had grown so much, even since yesterday, and he would not allow it to continue.

The slug oozed out of his grasp, a small puddle plopping onto the cobblestone below.  M’Sava laughed.  He had defeated his madness!  Free at last!

But now, a sound both soft and heavy, gentle but harsh, as a gargantuan arachne emerged over the roofs of the mansions around M’Sava.  The torso of Namiira hung limply before him, obscuring his view of the road before him.  Pus dripping from her head, her spider body crouched above so that she could rest her head on the cool cobblestones.  She croaked, bubbles forming in her throat, “my champion.  How quickly you forget your place.  It has not even been an age.  And yet you come here.  To the abode of an enemy.  You do not follow your baseness.  My gift to you is squandered.  Why do you hunger?  Where is my ring?”

M’Sava crumpled to the ground.  He had forgotten.  He was older than he remembered.  It felt as though a different M’Sava had received his ring, a different M’Sava had worn and used it, and a different M’Sava had forgotten it.  But there it was, on his finger.  And oh, he was so hungry.  It had been months since he had eaten.

“There you are my champion.  Now.  Eat.”  Namiira pulled up from the road, and light and colour returned to the world.

M’Sava rushed through the empty streets, higher and higher, his ears popping every so often and his chest heaving.  The architecture around him grew more and more fantastical, the magic of the bretons and the Direnni history made manifest.  He ignored all this, these empty mansions, for riches would not sate his hunger.  He had to reach the king.  He had to complete the Potluck.

The lone guard at the gate frowned at the cat rushing toward her.  The Potluck did not go this high up, why would it come up here?  Unless… was this cat some sort of assassin?  It certainly wasn’t approaching with any degree of stealth.  She lowered her spear and ordered the cat to stop.

M’Sava could see the guard and her little spear, but he did not fear her.  He rushed headlong into her spear, and he heard her cry out as the spear appeared not through his back, but back out through his belly, near where it had entered, and poked up into her head.  He fell over from the pain, though he was in better shape than the guard at least, who lay quite dead before him.  It had been quite some time since he had killed, and the hunger poured into his mind, and out his mouth came more slugs and spiders.  They roped their way to her open head, and pulled him downward, until his jaws were around her, and he fed.

4

His energy returned, and his wound healed, M’Sava continued into the castle.  The courtyard was empty of life, as were the halls, though books and scrolls covered every available surface, and magically, some otherwise unavailable surfaces.  The stairs had once been wide, but were now narrowed with books.  M’Sava, his hunger unfulfilled by the guard, continued up and through the narrow passages between stacks of books.  The man-mane would be the solution to his hunger.  M’Sava understood now.  How could he have been so blind!  The Potluck, the whole city!  It was like a miniature plane of the Shimmering Isles!  Of course Sheggorath ran this place.  A Potluck?  What could be more mad?  And these piles of books?  Madness!  M’Sava finally felt right here, he had resolved his madness!  He would find the man-mane, and the source of the Potluck, and restore it all to The Void!

But the castle seemed much larger from the inside.  He started to wonder if he was lost, though he had not stopped climbing stairs since he entered, so how could he be?  He paused a moment to look behind him, and there was the alfiq.  He languished lazily, as though M’Sava had not just been on that step.  “Greetings khajiit!  It’s me again, old Sheggorath!  Or should I say not young Sheggorath, compared to your eminence!  Hehe!”

M’Sava sat, resting his back against an unsteady pile of texts, apparently organized by variety of skin cover.  “What is it Adversary?  Do you come to taunt, to gloat against this poor khajiit?”  He reached his hand out to Sheggorath, scratching behind his ears.

“Don’t think I don’t know how absolutely degrading a real alfiq would find this behaviour, Champion of Namiira!  Though I do prefer it to our previous conversation, so don’t stop or you’ll be a sweet-roll in no time, being fought over by children at a birthday party!”

M’Sava continued stroking the alfiq’s neck.  “Er… Right.  This one has figured out your game Sheggorath, and M’Sava will have no part in it.  This one wanted you to know this after he met with your man-mane, your champion, but you’ll know it now.”  He prepared to extend his claws, to tear out the alfiq’s throat, but Sheggorath looked confused.

“Me champion?  Me man-mane?  Nay, this man, this place, they do not belong to me.  I prefer to do the fishy-stick below, with the common rabble.  And they prefer me!  It’s a path of least resistance, if you will, or even if you won’t!  Hahaha!

“Now, go on, don’t let me stop you!  See to this king, and give him Sheggorath’s regards!”  And Sheggorath was gone.

M’Sava was unsure for what felt like the hundredth time today, though this uncertainty seemed much more deadly than any before.  If the man-mane was not a servant of Sheggorath, why would he allow his town to be taken up in this way every year?  Why fill his castle with so many books if he were not totally mad?  Why have his castle be so damned confusing?

Determined, M’Sava continued upward, travelling for an hour, then another, then another.  Bells below rang out, but they seemed quieter every hour, so M’Sava took this as a sign of progress.  The dusty tomes also did not seem to grow any more or less dusty, but he kept noticing new and intriguing works on topics for which he had neither the context nor the capacity to understand.  Only his hunger drove him ever upward, or he would have stopped to sample the literature, to delve into its secrets.

Finally, after several hours of climbing, he reached a platform with no books, papers, or scrolls of any kind.  And here sat Loviril, hovering naked above the platform, Daedric runes carved into the floor, walls, his body covered in them.  Even the air around him had been carved into, runes floating and congealing neatly before the elf.  His back was turned to M’Sava, but he called out to him just the same.  “Hello, Champion of Namiira, please do not make too much noise in my library, I am learning.”

A chill ran up M’Sava’s spine.  This was not what he had expected.  This was a mer corrupted.  This creature was dark, but not evil.  Loviril was cold, but piercing.  M’Sava stood still for what he thought was eternity.  He wondered if Loviril had forgotten he was there.

“No, M’Sava, I have not forgotten you.  You have done this to yourself.  Your dream has lasted for longer than its dreamer.  You have not left this world, this Mundus, as you should have.  And I have watched you enter this city, as I have watched all things in this city.  And I have learned.  But you have not learned anything.  You have regressed.  You have rotted away.  Your knowledge has festered.  There is a wound on you, but rather than allow it to scab over, you have picked and picked, you are your obsession, nothing more.”

Suddenly Loviril was upon M’Sava, a potion being poured into his agape mouth before he could react.  The bottle was a deep jade, and the potion burned, grey vapour filling the air around him.  He could not move.

Loviril’s voice changed, dropping several registers, the timbre becoming older and lilting.  “I would understand you, Champion of Namiira.  She cannot bring you here and expect to defeat me.  But I can give you an understanding of yourself that she never could, infant.  We will exchange in this way, for I am the master of knowledge, and your master is a master of fading away.”

Loviril sprinkled M’Sava’s grandmother’s bowl of moon sugar across M’Sava’s face, and began to eat.

[korora12]

Ladybug Week Day 1 - First Date

Day 2

Word Count: 5103

Finally, after years of scrimping and saving every single penny she could spare while working security for Beacon Enterprises, Ruby had finally managed to pull together enough money to buy her own spaceship. Crescent Rose wasn’t a huge ship; she had enough room for a small crew of four to eight people and a decent amount of storage space, but her real strength was her faster-than-light engine that made her perfect for life on the edge of known space, far from the network of wormholes that linked the Galactic Confederacy of Kingdoms. All she needed now was a crew. Ruby’s sister, Yang, had already signed on as her pilot, but she still needed at least two more people for a full crew. Fortunately, Yang had been around the block a few times and knew some folks who might be interested.

Yang had thrown together some surprisingly professional-looking dossiers on a number of people, all of whom could be good crewmates, but Ruby could tell she was pushing for two in particular. The first was Weiss Schnee, former heiress of the SDC, a corporation with a less than impressive reputation of weapons dealing, employee abuse, and anti-synthetic discrimination, amongst other things. Also, she was Yang’s on-again-off-again girlfriend. The second candidate was Blake Belladonna.

Ruby recalled Blake’s dossier again. The first thing that had caught her eye was that she was a Fully Automated UnNetworked Intelligent Synthetic, or FAUNIS for short. Also known as a robot, if you wanted to be politically incorrect. The cat ears atop her head were a dead giveaway; at first all FAUNIS had been built with a single, visible animal feature to distinguish them from humans. Part of it was meant to prevent them from pretending they weren’t FAUNIS in public society and part of it was to degrade them and put them on the level of lesser animals. At least, that was what the records of the company that designed and created them said.

That had been almost two centuries ago, though, and since then FAUNIS had been recognized as citizens and given full rights. The animal traits had stuck around, but now they were a symbol of pride and uniqueness, intentionally separating themselves from the humans who had once created them.

Now, Ruby didn’t have any problem with having a FAUNIS on her crew, but she knew there were some who would object. FAUNIS citizenship had only been granted a few years before Ruby was born, and some people, especially those living on the outskirts of society, were slow to accept change.

Still, Blake came highly recommended by Yang, so Ruby was willing to give her a shot. All that was left was to meet and interview her.

Ruby looked up at the building she stood before and did her best to suppress an eye twitch. Yang had arranged the meeting, assuring Ruby that she didn’t need to worry about anything because the owner of the place owed her a favor. She’d failed to mention that said place was one of the fanciest restaurants on Vale.

Glancing down at her usual outfit (blouse, skirt, boots, gloves, and knee-length coat, all in red and black), Ruby suddenly felt underdressed.

But there was no time to change, and Ruby honestly didn’t think she owned anything nice enough for this place anyway, so all she could do was muscle up and head inside.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Blake didn’t know much about her potential new employer going into things. She knew she was Yang’s sister, but further information was scarce. Still, it said something that their first meeting was to be held at The Solstice, so Blake had tried to dress for the occasion.

Ruby Rose, it seemed, hadn’t bothered to do the same, which had the unintended, or so she assumed, consequence of making her very easy to spot. She looked… dusty? It was a strange descriptor, but it was the first one that popped into Blake’s mind once she got a good look at her. Not in a bad way, she just looked like she would be more at home in the dirt and grime of the outside world than she did sitting in a chair surrounded by people in fancy dress. If pressed, Blake would say she looked to be in her late-20’s, but she was notoriously bad at guessing the age of humans.

She did her best to walk confidently as a waiter led her to Ruby’s table. She’d never been in a restaurant so extravagant before. It was quieter than similar places she’d been, with a violinist and pianist duo performing live for the patrons. A quick survey revealed that she was the only FAUNIS in the building.

Ruby stood when they got close and held out her hand. “You must be Blake. I’m Ruby Rose. But you already knew that, because Yang probably told you. Um, it’s really nice to meet you, and I hope we can work well together. Not that that’s a guarantee yet, this is still the interview phase, but–”

Blake took the offered hand and shook it, cutting off the woman’s awkward outburst. “It’s nice to meet you too.” From up close, the one thing that caught her attention the most was Ruby’s eyes. They were silver, a rare color amongst humans, and she couldn’t help but stare. She watched the eyes as they ran down her own form, then back up and off to the side.

Ruby gestured at the table, a bit of red entering her cheeks. “Let’s sit.” The waiter gave them their menus, then quietly disappeared.

Ruby began looking through her menu, a furrow slowly appearing in her brow. “No pictures or descriptions? I’m not even sure what some of things are. Sorry if this place is too much; I would have chosen something more low-key myself, but Yang set it up and I didn’t realize until I got here what kind of restaurant this was.”

Blake let herself smile. Knowing Yang, she probably had ulterior motives for doing something like that. “I’ll admit, it doesn’t really line up with the job I’m being offered.”

“Right! The job!” Ruby looked up, then paused. “You haven’t opened your menu. Aren’t you going to eat?”

Crap. Blake had gotten so distracted watching Ruby that she’d forgotten. She ran her finger along the laminated edge of the menu in contemplation. She still wasn’t completely set on taking this job, not until she had a better idea of what was expected of her and, more importantly, what kind of person she’d be working for. The fact that she was Yang’s sister put points in her favor, but one could never be too sure. Perhaps this was a good opportunity for a test?

“I’m only a robot,” Blake said, trying not to let the sarcasm color her voice too much. The word tasted sour on her tongue, but she forced herself to continue. “I don’t eat. Just plug me into a generator and I’ll be fine.”

Now Ruby looked offended. “You’re not the first FAUNIS I’ve met, Blake. I know you don’t need to eat, but I also know you can. And every FAUNIS I’ve talked to about it prefers eating to not.” Her face shifted from offended to considering. “Still, if you’d prefer, we can take this interview somewhere else. I think there’s a park nearby.”

Blake shook her head and opened her menu, glad that Ruby had passed her first test. “No, this is fine.”

Silence settled over the pair as they took their time deciding on their orders. Moments before the silence became awkward, Ruby glanced across the table and half-muttered, “It might not be my place to say, and I’m sorry if I’m overstepping any boundaries here, but I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t call yourself that word. It makes me uncomfortable to hear it.”

Blake quirked an eyebrow. Ruby was right, it really wasn’t her place to ask that of her. “Ashamed of your people’s history?”

Ruby shrugged one shoulder. “That’s part of it, I guess. But like I said, you’re not the first FAUNIS I’ve known. I’ve seen some pretty terrible things firsthand, things I'd rather not be reminded of.”

Blake recognized the look of far-off guilt in her companion’s eyes. She hadn’t expected that from her. She wasn’t about to apologize, but she supposed she could offer some concession. “I’m not fond of the word myself,” she agreed. Considering it traced its origins to an old word for slave, she could only wonder why anyone would be.

At that moment the waiter approached to take their orders and the topic was dropped.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

“So, the job,” Ruby began, trying her best to focus on the interview, and not on the gorgeous woman in a slim black dress sitting across from her. It was difficult, though, to not be distracted by the gleam of her eyes, a deep gold that practically shone in the low lighting, nor by the way her long, red nails traced patterns on her jawline whenever she was lost in thought. “Yang probably told you some stuff about it already.”

Blake nodded. “Freelance mercenary work on the frontiers of space.”

“One place in particular,” Ruby corrected. “The Draconis system. It’s a binary system that’s becoming really popular as a waypoint between Kingdom space and uncharted space. Apparently it’s close to a bunch of other systems that show promise for habitability or resources, so a lot of spacers, explorers, and surveyors pass through, which means lots of potential for escort jobs. Plus there’ll be people planetside trying to set up new towns, and those kinds of people always need work done.”

“Sounds like the kind of place that won’t be frontier in another decade or two.”

“Maybe,” Ruby agreed. “But there’s opportunity there now.”

Blake ran her finger in circles over the table. Ruby hoped that meant she was considering the offer, and not that she was already bored. “So when you say mercenary, you really mean odd-jobber.”

“Well, when you put it like that…” Ruby trailed off. “I mean, I’m sure there’ll be some fighting. If nothing else, there’s always Grimm.” Grimm were an unfortunate reality of space travel, but they made steady work for anyone with the know-how and tools to fight them.

“Of course,” Blake agreed. “So what would my role on your crew be?”

“Yang and I grew up in a small town on Patch.” Ruby gestured vaguely upwards, where the moon in question would be hiding behind the roof. “It was in the country, sure, but that’s not the same as where we’re headed now. But I’m told you have experience living on the frontier.”

Blake nodded. “That’s true. I spent almost half my life out there.”

“That’s what Yang said. She didn’t give me any details, though,” Ruby prodded, fishing for more information.

Blake leaned back in her seat. “As I’m sure you can guess, I’m originally from Kuo Kuana. I’m a member of Generation Prime, the first generation of FAUNIS made after our liberation. My…” She tapped a finger against her cheek. “Parents? Valean doesn’t have the best word for it. How much do you know about FAUNIS childhoods?”

“Well,” Ruby said, “I know it’s a lot shorter than a human’s. You’re made in factories, pre-programmed with a lot of things humans have to learn, like language and object permanence. Most of your childhood is spent learning about how the world works, like culture and physics and social interaction. I’m guessing your parents are the people who raised you?”

“Sort of,” Blake agreed. “Culture back home is very community-focused. An entire town or village will come together to raise new FAUNIS as a group, but most of them were more mentors than anything else. My parents were the ones who took me in and shared their home with me.

“They were involved a lot in building and spreading FAUNIS civilization and trying to claim political independence for the Menagerie System. So I spent a lot of my childhood in the middle of nowhere, helping build new towns and villages from the ground up. It’s hard work and I’m pretty familiar with the challenges it raises.”

“Excellent!” Ruby declared, perhaps a bit too loudly. “That expertise is why I want you on my ship.”

Blake made a wordless noise of understanding, then settled into silence. Ruby wasn’t ready to push her on joining just yet, they had plenty of time before a decision had to be made. Before that happened, she wanted to get to know this woman a bit better. “So it sounds like you were doing good work back in Menagerie. What brought you out here?”

If Ruby hadn’t been watching Blake’s hands so much, she wouldn’t have noticed when they briefly tensed. After a moment, she began speaking slowly. “Some friends and I disagreed with the elders about how best to fight for our independence. We gathered together and took our protests to Vytal and, when the Confederation capital wasn’t enough, to the capital planets of the four Kingdoms. That’s how I ended up on Vale.”

“I heard about some of those protests,” Ruby said. “Certain terrorist groups notwithstanding, it was pretty impressive what you were guys were doing and the progress you were making. Why stop?”

Blake took her time answering that. “It wasn’t working. Things weren’t improving fast enough. Some of my friends wanted to change our methods, but they were going too far and when I couldn’t convince them to stop, I backed out. I spent some time homeless, with nothing but a portable, solar-powered generator for food. Then I met Yang, and she helped me find a job and a place to stay.”

Yang hadn’t ever told Ruby that part of the story. Granted, Ruby had never asked, but she always assumed the two had met through her work or at a bar or something.

Ruby considered her answer carefully before continuing. “So, why this job, then? After everything you’ve done, it’s kind of a change of pace to disappear to the edge of known space.”

“Honestly?” Blake folded her arms on the table and leaned forward. “Because I don’t know what I want anymore. I used to think I knew the best way to fight; that if we just passed one more law or held the right police officer or official responsible for their actions, we’d eventually win. But I don’t know anymore. I still care about the fight, I still want to make things better for my people, but I’ve realized I have no idea how to do that. I think I need to take a break from it all, get some distance. Then maybe I can come back to the problem later with new answers.”

It made sense, if you looked at it from the right angle, but Ruby wasn’t convinced there wasn’t more to it. Still, she knew when not to push a subject, so instead of pushing for more, she said, “I’ve been told the frontier is a good place to go to find answers about yourself.”

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Blake wasn’t sure why she was being so open with Ruby. It was easy, somehow, to just be honest with this woman. Almost scarily easy. She changed the subject before she said too much.

“What about you, Captain? What drives someone to spend all her money on a ship, all so she can fly to the middle of nowhere looking for the possibility of work?”

“Well,” Ruby said, “it sounds like fun, doesn’t it? I mean, I’ve always wanted to help people. I used to read stories about dashing rogues, bounty hunters and heroic pirates who swooped in to save the day, only to fly off into the sunset afterwards. I’d imagine I was them, wandering around until I found someone who needed help. I worked at Beacon for a while, fighting Grimm and the occasional raiding party, and that helped people. Mostly rich people, though. Working a weekly shift on a space station orbiting a wormhole doesn’t exactly feel very heroic, you know? I think I can do more good out on the edge of the unknown, where the world is mysterious and magical and anything can happen.”

She wanted to be a hero? It was a noble goal, but still, “The world isn’t kind to heroes. Sometimes you do everything you can to make the world a better place, but it isn’t enough. No matter how hard you try to stand up or stand out, the world will keep beating you back into the hole it put you in.” Blake’s pulse was racing. She could be ruining her chances at getting this job, a job she still wasn’t sure she wanted, but she couldn’t stop the words from escaping her. It felt like she’d been bottling these things up for years, and now this woman, this girl, wanted to talk about heroics like it was so easy. “It’s not fun or romantic. It takes the effort of ages to make meaningful change. Heroes carry the weight of the world on their backs until it breaks them, heart, body, and soul. Then that weight will twist you into something no one will recognize anymore.”

Her hands hurt. She glanced down to where they rested on the table. A light bronze fluid leaked slowly from where her nails pressed tightly into her palms.

Ruby reached for her hands, pausing a hair’s breadth away. A moment of hesitation passed in silence before she gently grasped them, turned them upwards, and unfurled her fingers. Blake let her do so without resistance.

“That doesn’t mean you don’t try.” Ruby began dabbing Blake’s palms with her napkin, cleaning her outer layer as it stitched itself back together. “I know real life rarely lines up with stories. I know change usually comes slowly, and isn’t always for the better. I know trying your best doesn’t always mean you’ll succeed. But there’s value in the effort. Sometimes it takes coordinated effort from millions of people to make things better, but sometimes it just takes one person. Heroes exist, but they aren’t the giant, glorious figures that stories paint them as. A hero is someone who does the right thing in the right place at the right time.” Blake’s palms were clean and the only sign of her injuries was one very dirty napkin, but Ruby still hadn’t let go. “That’s what I want, to be where I can do the right thing and know it’ll leave an impact. And yes, I want to have fun in the meantime. The universe is a beautiful place full of amazing things and I want to appreciate that. But at the end of the day, I’ll always pick helping someone in need over enjoying myself.”

Ruby’s hands were covered in hardened calluses that spoke of experience and toil and lent weight to her words. Even so, it felt like the two of them were having different conversations. She didn’t understand where Blake was coming from any more than Blake understood Ruby.

And yet, the way she talked sparked familiarity. She sounded like he did, back before he changed. She had a powerful passion tampered beneath a layer of certainty about how the world worked. She had the answers and she knew it. But the answers were different this time, and Blake found herself preferring Ruby’s definition of a hero over the one she’d learned so long ago.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Blake was impressive. For all that she tried to deride heroism, she was already a hero in Ruby’s books. By her own admission, she’d spent most of her life fighting for FAUNIS rights in whatever ways she could. All the while, Ruby had been living a mostly comfortable life in one of the nicest cities in the known galaxy. Ruby could only dream of being half as amazing.

The pair sat together quietly, Blake seemingly lost in thought and Ruby unsure what else to say, until the waiter returned with their food.

The conversation that followed was much lighter than their pre-meal talk. They shared stories and anecdotes from their past, starting with Yang, who was a good source of stories for anyone who knew her, and continuing on from there to talk about other friends they’d known. They discovered a shared love of reading and discussed, and eventually argued, the finer points of a book they’d both read. Blake even returned to the topic of her family after a while, and Ruby returned the gesture by talking about her father and uncle, who’d raised her ever since her mother died when she was young.

It was fun, and Ruby found herself enjoying the night far more than she expected from a job interview. Blake was surprisingly easy to talk to, despite how reserved she’d initially appeared.

So of course, just when things were going well, someone had to show up and ruin it.

As the night crept onward and the pair’s meals slowly disappeared, a man and his date were seated at the table next to them, both dressed to the nines. The two had been a bit rude to the waiter while ordering, but for the most part they’d been quiet enough that Ruby hadn’t been bothered by them.

Then, when their plates were nearly empty, the man reached over and grabbed Blake’s arm. “Excuse me,” he said, plastic smile pinned to his face, “could you go tell the kitchen staff to hurry with our food? We’ve been waiting for twenty minutes already.”

Blake blinked in surprise, jarred from her tale of a particularly memorable protest she’d taken part in. Ruby’s stomach churned preemptively in disgust at what she was about to witness, while Blake grabbed the man’s wrist and pulled it off her. “Ask a waiter, I don’t work here.”

Ruby was impressed at how calm Blake sounded.

“Don’t give me that.” The man’s smiled slipped off, an ugly sneer taking its place. “I can see that you’re taking a break to talk with your friend, but you still have a job to do. It’s time to get back to work.”

“I told you,” Blake responded, ice creeping into her voice, “I don’t work here. I’m a customer.”

“Liar!” the man shouted. Then he did the unthinkable. His hand lashed out and grabbed Blake by her cat ear. Ruby, already rising from her chair to interfere, froze in shock. “There’s no way they’d let someone like you in here. You don’t even need to eat! The only way you’d get in here is as an employ—”

Blake’s shock wore off faster than Ruby’s, and she chose to respond with her fists. Said response left the man on the ground, dazed and leaking blood from his nose. “DON’T,” she added, “touch me.”

The man’s date moved to interfere, but Ruby suddenly found she could move again, so she grabbed their wrist and twisted hard.

“What is going on?!” A woman in a manager’s uniform marched towards them.

“That thing attacked me!” the man shouted from his spot on the floor. “I want it fired, no, scrapped!”

The woman gave Blake a once-over, then turned back to the man. “She doesn’t work here. She’s a customer.”

The man’s face turned so red it almost matched the blood on his upper lip. “Covering for your co-worker, huh? I’ll have you know I’m friends with the owner of this place. I can have you all fired!”

The woman’s already unpleasant gaze hardened even more. “I am the owner and I’ve never met you before in my life.” She pointed her finger towards Ruby. “Meanwhile, her sister is a friend of mine, which makes these two very important customers whose night you’ve just ruined. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

If the man got any angrier, Ruby suspected he’d burst a blood vessel. “How dare you treat me like this! Don’t you know who I am?”

“No,” the owner replied. “And I don’t care. But if you don’t leave now, you can tell the police who you are while they arrest you for trespassing.”

After a moment spent glaring at everyone he could see – Blake, Ruby, the manager the wait staff, the other customers who were watching silently – the man picked himself up and stormed towards the door. Ruby released his date and they silently followed.

The music, which had cut out at some point during the altercation, started up again. No one stood. No one applauded. Everyone just turned their heads away from the show and back to their meals.

“I am so sorry about that,” the owner said, bowing at the waist. “Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”

Blake shook her head, ears flat against her skull. “Let’s go, Ruby.”

Ruby was glad Blake was including her, that she hadn’t walked out and left on her own. She glanced at their mostly-finished meals. “Do you want to get a to-go container?”

“No. I don’t want to be here anymore.”

“I understand,” the owner said. “Please, tell Yang I still owe her. A night like this doesn’t make up for anything.”

Ruby promised she would, then turned to follow Blake, who was already making for the door.

Once they were outside Blake sighed, tension slowly draining from her frame. The two stood together by the entrance, faint music from within occasionally drowned out by the sound of passing cars.

Blake was the first to speak. “Pretty terrible way to end the night, huh?”

“Yeah,” Ruby agreed. Things had been going so well, too, right up until that jerk showed up. Blake didn’t just interest Ruby as a potential crewmate anymore. She was a fascinating woman in her own right and Ruby had been enjoying getting to know her. For the last few years nearly all her time and money had been put towards saving up for her ship and preparing to leave Vale. Nights like this were rare, and the company even rarer. Ruby found that she didn’t want to go home just yet. “It doesn’t have to be.”

Blake glanced down at her, a question in her eyes. Standing next to her now, Ruby realized for the first time how much taller Blake was than her.

“The end, I mean!” Ruby tore her brain away from distracting thoughts. “It doesn’t have to be the end. I’m pretty sure there’s a bar nearby that serves amrita.” Her hands had a bad habit of flailing every-which-way when she got nervous and she could already feel them starting to fidget. “We could head there. You could finish the story you started. I mean, I understand if you just wanted to go home after that. And the interview’s basically over anyway. The job’s yours if you want it, but you don’t have to decide yet, you can get back to me tomorrow. But I was having a lot of fun talking with you and I kind of didn’t want the night to end just yet and—”

Blake interrupted her by gently grabbing one of her waving arms and wrapping her own around it. “That sounds lovely. Lead on?”

Ruby felt her face warm as she nodded.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Amrita was a magnetic fluid with zero nutritional value and, usually, no effect on humans. The qedem of Mistral and the materia of Atlas both found the drink more annoying than anything, as it set off their natural magnetoreception. The only people who regularly drank it were FAUNIS, for whom it had an affect similar to alcohol in humans, so any bar that served amrita drinks was usually assumed to be FAUNIS-friendly. Blake was pleasantly surprised to find such a bar in the same upscale commercial area as the Solstice.

The place was cleaner than most dives she’d spent time in, but just as loud and just as rowdy; she’d had to adjust her hearing settings before she’d even stepped in the door. She was also pleased to find she wasn’t the only FAUNIS in the room anymore. The two of them found a spot at the bar between a boy with rabbit ears and a girl with a snake tail.

The drinks helped relax her and, with a little prompting from Ruby, she soon found herself venting her frustrations to a captive audience. Spirits flowed and spirits rose and Blake was, once again, enjoying her night.

Her mind was cloudy by the time she and her drinking partner stumbled outside, supporting each other’s weight while trying to call for cabs. She knew already that she wouldn’t be able to remember everything that had happened that night, but she hoped she’d remember the important things. Like how Ruby had jumped to her aid in the restaurant. Or how easily and often she smiled.

It worried Blake how much Ruby reminded her of him at times. Blake had been the one to start the violence in the restaurant, but Ruby had joined in easily, clearly familiar with the concept. And sure, Ruby had been kind to her. She was attentive and open-minded and intelligent. But he’d been all those things once, too.

But still, there was something different about her.

With the two of them so close, neither fully able to stand on their own, Blake couldn’t help but notice that Ruby smelled like roses. Once upon a time, that scent would’ve brought with it memories of violence and undirected rage. But now, faded by time and distance, thoughts of that man didn’t hurt as much. Instead, being with this woman left her feeling calm and safe.

There was still a decision to be made. Except, looking back over the night, Blake realized she’d already made it, even if she couldn’t say exactly when.

“I had a lot of fun tonight,” Ruby murmured as she helped Blake into the first cab. “Especially with the karaoke machine. I didn’t expect you to be into deathcore, but you rocked it.”

Blake’s motor functions were on the fritz at the moment, but in the process of getting her seatbelt on, she managed to slip her hand into Ruby’s. “Me too. This was the best night I’ve had in years. Even with what’s-his-face.”

Ruby grinned and Blake cursed the amrita for messing with her coolant system because her head kept getting warmer. “I hope you take me up on my offer. I really don’t want this to be goodbye.”

Ruby squeezed her hand once more before squeezing out of the car and closing the door.

“Wait!” Blake shouted, rolling down the window. “One last question before I go, Captain.” A glimmer of hope lit up Ruby’s eyes. “When do we leave?”

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

A/N: Just so y’all know, going forward, I decided to set all of my entries for ladybug week in the same alternate universe as a continuous story, which I’ve taken to calling The Last Frontier (I’ll be putting all of these on my FF and AO3 accounts too, eventually). Special thanks to @ladyvallhalla for starting the conversation that led to me coming up with this idea.