#allllll riiiight here we go!

[ladynestaarcheron]

Like Pristine Glass - Chapter Thirteen

ao3 - ff.net - masterpost

(tagging these cuties: @humanexile @skychild29 @rhysandsdarlingfeyre @candid-confetti ​ @rhysandsrightknee @missing-merlin @azriels-forgotten-shadow @books-and-cocos @sezkins79 @city-of-fae @someonemagical @dusty-lightbulb @messyhairday-me)

my eternal thanks to @thestarwhowishes for being my wonderful beta. and to you all for being my wonderful readers<3

chapter thirteen, without further ado!

---

 November 7 - 4 years after

 It’s early morning when he arrives in Velaris. He’s exhausted, having spent a long day in the Illyrian mountains after flying back from Gilameyva. It is miserable to be back in the mountains, and more miserable still to arrive in Velaris and learn that it’s not any better.

       If anything, it’s worse. Because he had expected to be happier here than in Illyria—who wouldn’t? The two barely belong in the same court, with one so picturesque and overflowing with joy and the other  a messy series of war camps, still bleeding out from the hasty stitches patched upon it after the rebellions—and he isn’t. He can’t be happy anywhere, now.

       “You’re back.”

       Cassian turns to see the surprised pleasure in Mor’s voice echoed on her face. He gives her an easy grin. “Miss me?”

       She slugs his arm lightly as she grins back. “Not particularly.” Her tone changes, more gentle. “How were they?”

       He stifles a sigh. He worries he might break down sobbing if he lets it out. “They’re… amazing.”

       “Good,” she says, rubbing her hand on his shoulder. “That’s good.”

       Cassian sits himself down in one of  the large armchairs, draping his wings over the back. “Yeah,” he says. “It’s good.”

       She curls up on one of the couches beside him. “You miss them.”

       It’s not a question, so he doesn’t answer. Just nods his head a little.

       He’s heard before, that people who don’t have children simply can’t understand. He has, privately, rolled his eyes. For he has loved before, has he not? Rhys and Az and then Mor and even Amren, and the whole Illyria and the Night Court and Feyre and then for those few months with her in the mountains, he had loved Nesta.

       This is not the same.

       He doesn’t miss them. That’s not nearly enough. But he’s never been one for words, so the slight nod is all he can give.

       “Did you ask her to bring them for Solstice?”

       He frowns slightly; he doesn’t like how she phrases it. It isn’t consciously done, he knows. Mor has no malicious intent. But he doesn’t like the implication that she is bringing them for them, the children, to be here, and not them, a family unit that is he and Nesta and the triplets, to be together.

       But he supposes she is right. If Nesta comes, it won’t be for her sake. Not for a them.

       “I did. She’ll think about it.”

       Mor’s better at hiding her frown than he is, but he can still see it in her eyes.

       “It’s her right to say no,” he defends. Which he doesn’t like. He doesn’t like it because it’s true and it might happen and also because he doesn’t want to have to defend Nesta to Mor or Rhys or Amren, or even Az sometimes. At least Feyre and Elain love her too, and they have some semblance of camaraderie with him in that.

       He doesn’t like it rather selfishly: he wants to defend his right to have his family for Solstice, but because his other family doesn’t see Nesta as part of them, he has to defend her.

       Cassian wonders, briefly, if this is how Feyre ever felt. Trapped between two realms, two families. Or maybe even Rhys.

       “I didn’t mean it wasn’t,” she says carefully. “Just… you’re their father too.”

       “It’s different.” He looks at his hands, callused and scarred. “Even if I had been with them since they were born… I still wouldn’t be with them all the time.”

       “You’re keeping them safe,” she says. “You’re keeping the world safe for them. That’s important too.”

           Sugar Valley is safe, he thinks, but he keeps it to himself. No one will mind, of course. They will be sympathetic. They’ll think he’s bitter, upset, think they can help him get past his guilt and move on.

       But he doesn’t think it ever will. And the thought of staying anonymous in a sleepy town across the sea winks at him from the dying starlight as the sun rises over the Sidra.

---

 November 21 - year after

 The cheery pastels of the clinic were not helping to improve Nesta’s mood. Nor were the mother and child, hand in hand, waiting across from her.

       The child blinked up at her from long lashes, blushing slightly when she made eye contact. She looked away in alarm as he gave her a pleased grin.

       There should be a different room for children, she thought. When people were coming for… this.

       It wasn’t that she felt guilty. She just didn’t want to think about it.

       So she counted the sugarberries painted on the walls, and before long, Dadashov called her name.

       “Good morning, Miss Archeron,” she said smoothly. “Can I offer you some tea?”

       “No. Thank you.” How could she eat anything now? With every movement of her stomach feeling like something entirely different than butterflies.

       “All right, then,” she said. “If you’d lie down, please...”

       Nesta did, fidgeting with her skirts.

       “How does the… procedure… how do you do it?”

       “Well,” Dadashov said, hooking some wired contraption around her ears, “The procedure itself is only a tonic. A bit sour. You’ll stay here for a few hours, until the worst of the cramps have past, so I can keep an eye on you, and you’ll be home by afternoon. Rest for the next day or so. Until you feel yourself again. Before that,” Dadashov continued, either completely oblivious to or respectfully ignoring Nesta’s panic at feeling herself again, “I’ll need to do a quick check to make sure everything is in order.”

       “Everything in order? With me, or…?”

       “Certain conditions in the uterus rendering this particular tonic unusable or harmful to your body are rare but not unheard of. And we’ll need to make sure the fetus is in its correct position.”

       “Where else would it be?” she wondered.

       “Let’s not worry about that now,” she said gently. “I’m going to listen in, all right? I have this sheet… if you could raise your skirts, please… thank you. This won’t hurt a bit; it’s only rather cold.”

       Nesta sucked in a breath as Dadashov placed the circle her wires are connected to on her lower stomach. Cold was an understatement.

       Dadashov was silent for a few moments as she listened to… Nesta wasn’t sure.

       “Hm,” she said quietly.

       “Everything all right?” she asked, feeling stupid.

       “Well,” she said, taking off her contraption and sitting up. “The heartbeat is irregular.”

       “Irregular?”

       “Erratic. Wild. No discernible rhythm at all, actually.”

       Nesta’s own heartbeat sped up, though she wasn’t sure why. What did it matter if the heartbeat wasn’t normal? It wouldn’t be beating by sundown, anyway. “What does that mean?”

       “A number of things. What I’m most concerned about right now is the natural state of your uterus. It could mean it’s shaped improperly or perhaps a growth pressing up against the fetus, preventing it from growing properly and affecting its heart rate. No cause for concern,” she said, giving Nesta a reassuring smile. “I’m calm because you are clearly healthy and if anything is amiss, I am here and we will take care of it. How is your cycle normally?”

       “Um,” Nesta said. “Normal. It’s normal, I think.”

       “Twice a year? About a week?”

       “So far,” she said.

       Dadashov smiled again, her light blue eyes twinkling. “Of course. My apologies. Until your transition, did you experience your cycle once a month?”

       She said everything so calmly, so smoothly. Transition. Like some kind of choice. Or moving up in the world. “Yes. Well. Not every month. Sometimes… but that’s normal. Sometimes human girls miss a month.” A horrible thought struck Nesta. “Is it… could it be something I did? With… a contra—”

       “Neither sex nor contraceptives could have a misshaping effect on your body, Miss Archeron,” she said firmly. “This is no one’s fault. I’m going to do a test. I’m going to be looking inside your body.”

       “Inside my body?”

       “Perhaps you’d like to close your eyes,” she said kindly. “It’s not horribly invasive, but it will feel odd. No, no, you don’t have to move. It’s a bit of magic. I put it on top of your lower abdomen.”

       On top of her… to look inside her body… “Are you going to see...” Nesta trailed off.

       “Perhaps you’d like to close your eyes,” she repeated.

       Nesta did. Dadashov moved quickly, quietly, which made it rather eerie when something suddenly settled atop her. A bit of pressure, squeezing her—odd, not painful, just like she said.

       “Ah,” Dadashov breathed out.

       What was that Nesta could hear? Was it… awe?

       “What is it?”

       Dadashov was silent for a beat. “Miss Archeron, there is nothing wrong with your body. The heartbeat was irregular because I was hearing more than one.”

       “You mean mine?”

       “No,” she said, patient. “Not yours.”

       Her heart gave a lurch. “You mean… twins?”

       “No,” Dadashov said, softer still. “I mean triplets.”

       Triplets.

       Triplets. Inside of her. Right now.

       Nesta could feel her mind shut down. “You mean three of them?” she blurted out, in the most idiotic way she possibly could, her eyes flying open.

       “I do.”

       Nesta closed her eyes again.

       “Would you like to see?” she offered quietly.

       Nesta put her hands right over where… where they were supposed to be. She sat up abruptly.

       “No,” she said. “I need to… think.”

---

 November 7 - 4 years after

 He can’t concentrate during the briefing. After being with them for so long… and then coming back here… it’s too much. He’s angry at himself; what if he misspeaks? What if he misses something? This is dangerous.

       But he can’t help it. His thoughts are elsewhere.

       Nothing had taken away from his love and devotion to this court, to his people, his legions, before. Not even Nesta.

       That’s why she had left. He never could find the balance.

       Not like Rhys and Feyre, seated next to each other, the perfect mix of professional and adoring. Strategic discussions and little touches here and there: her hair, his thigh.

       Is he even a good commander if he can’t concentrate?

       They can sense it, all of them. It’s an odd display of cautionary tact that comes up now, whenever Nesta and the children are involved.

       So Cassian’s not surprised when Rhys corners him after.

       “I’m out of practice,” he says, jerking his head in the direction of the sparring ring. “Join me?”

       So he does.

       He’s better than Rhys at hand-to-hand, and it does force him to concentrate on something else, which is… nice.

       When they’re done, half an hour later, Rhys says, “How did it go?”

       Cassian looses a breath slowly as he swirls around the water in the cup Rhys hands him. “So well,” he says, all the gratitude in the world in his voice.

       “That’s good,” he says, echoing Mor’s sentiments from earlier.

       “I need them.” He’s never said it aloud before.

       “I know.”

       “All of them. Nesta too.”

       “I know,” Rhys repeats. “That’s why I want them here.”

       Cassian snorts. “You want Nesta here?”

       “I want you here. Happy. And Feyre. Elain. She’s a part of that. And I’m certainly not suggesting we move the children back and forth.”

       Cassian pauses. “I don’t know if… Nesta… could be happy here.”

       Rhys is quiet for a minute, drinking his water. “I don’t know her very well,” he says finally, “but I think anyone could be happy here. Given the correct circumstances.” He hesitates. “Have you thought about… getting an apartment?”

       Cassian clenches his jaw.

       “You said you want her to come for Solstice. I doubt she’ll want to stay here. Or the townhouse. Or the House of Wind. Maybe you should have a place that’s just for you.”

       He does like that—that Rhys says you as if there is a them. Perhaps he understands, in a way Mor does not.

       “I wish they got along,” he says aloud.

       “Who?”

       “Nesta and Mor.”

       Rhys laughs. “Maybe Emerie can bond them.”

       He doubts it. The idea of Nesta and Mor being friends is too ludicrous to even entertain. Neither of them are particularly keen on forgiveness, and they have plenty of reasons to loathe each other. Most of which he doesn’t understand.

       “I think she’ll come,” he says.

       “You do?” Rhys wouldn’t give him false hope. And he genuinely doesn’t know the answer.

       “I do,” he says. “Mostly because Feyre thinks she will, too,” he admits. “But also… I don’t know her well, but I do know enough. I know she’s scared to fail her children.”

       It’s a chilling line, miserable to hear. Cassian doesn’t want Nesta to come because she’s scared of what will happen if she doesn’t; he wants her to want to come.

       “There’s a place I think you’ll like,” Rhys continues, either unaware of Cassian’s reaction or respectfully ignoring it. “Property just went up for sale. Four bedrooms. Nice yard. Good location.” Rhys gives him the address.

       “I’ll look at it,” he says.  Four bedrooms, he thinks.

---

 December 19 - Year of

 Despite what Nesta told Emerie before her dinner with Cassian, the past three weeks had not been fake cordial. They hadn’t even been real cordial.

       They had been… friendly.

       They had breakfast together, when he was there. And dinner, too. He always had dinner ready for her when she came home.

       (That was something alarming: she began to think of coming back to Cassian’s house as coming home.)

       He brought her more books to read. He didn’t speak of his brothers or her sisters. Neither did she. They talked about food. About the going-ons in the neighboring camps. About themselves.

       He still teased her, but when she snapped at him for it, she wasn’t really angry.

       She had almost forgotten they were supposed to be treading on eggshells until he reminded her.

       He said, “I need to go back to Velaris. For Solstice.”

       Her eyes flashed, but she was still staring at her book, so perhaps he didn’t see. “Oh, when is that?” she asked, in a would-be casual tone. She knew full well, and he knew she did, too.

       “Two days.”

       “Oh.”

       Perhaps the both of them were thinking… no, they were both      definitely     thinking of their last Solstice together. If they could call it that.

       Then it was Cassian’s turn to pretend. “Do you want to come along?”

       Nesta put down her book and leaned back against the couch. “No,” she said, looking up at the ceiling and locking her fingers behind her head. “I think I’ll stay here.”

       “All right,” he said evenly. He sat down beside her—a little closer than he had ever done before. “Well, I leave you then with this… to keep you company.”

       Nesta looked down at his outstretched hand.

       The chocolate bar. The one she still hadn’t touched.

       A wry sort of chuckle escaped her as she rolled her eyes at him. “Thanks,” she said as she took it from him, her fingers jolting as they brushed his.

       He grinned wickedly. “Anytime.”

       She dropped her gaze quickly. “You’re bothering me.” She took her book back.

       He laughed. “I’ll see you in a few days, Nes.”

       “Don’t call me that,” she grumbled.

       But again, it was only halfhearted.

---

 November 21 - 1 year after

 What Nesta wanted when she stumbled out of the clinic was somewhere quiet, alone, to gather her thoughts. Or scream.

       Instead she got that deer-satyr from Sugar Books, holding up a cup of something steaming.

       “Hey,” he said pleasantly. “I was just coming over to bring you this.”

       “Oh, for the love of all that is holy,” she said under her breath. Louder, to him, she said, “I really can’t right now.”

       “Just a drink,” he said, holding it out to her. “Do you like chocolate?”

       She bit her lip. She did like chocolate. She did not like feeling like she owed males something.

       “Just take it,” he encouraged. “And come on. I can show you some place nice to sit.”

       It wasn’t that she wanted to go with him. It’s that she had nowhere else.

       “I don’t know what to do,” she said, not realizing she had spoken aloud until he answered.

       “About what?”

       “I don’t...” she mumbled to herself. “I don’t think… I can’t...”

       “Woah, Nesta. Here. Sit down. Here, drink some of this.”

       It wasn’t the same. One was quiet, a bad memory, hazy. Something she could convince herself didn’t happen.

       But three? Three was so… real. Three different beings. Three different people! How could there be three people inside of her, growing and feeding off of her? All together? How small must they be, for them all to fit?

       And they all had heartbeats. Three tiny hearts, beating out of sync with each other deep inside her. Each of them with its own rhythm, its own strong pulse.

       In another life, another world, another body, three sisters had once shared a bed. What would have happened if they had shared time in the womb? All three of them, together?

       Sisters deserved beds of their own, that much she knew for sure.

       Three was too much. Too much to think about, and yet too much to have.

           Bad things come in threes. Didn’t they say that? People said that, she was sure of it.

       Maybe, she thought wildly, she could keep one. Just one. And the others… somehow…

       No. That was crazy. She couldn’t do that. Could she?

       And how would she choose?

       “I can’t do this,” she said again.

       “Nesta, please, drink this.” Zayn wrapped her fingers around the cup. “Go on, drink.”

       As the hot, berry-chocolate drink slipped down her throat, she realized three other people were going to have it, too.

       “I—I,” Nesta stammered.

       “What is it?” He sounded too eager. Was that concern?

       “I… I have to… get a house.”

---

 November 8 - 4 years after

 Rhys was right. He does like the house.

       It’s a great location. Comfortable walk from the bank of the Sidra he always sees families play. Close enough to the Rainbow that they can walk there, too. A bakery on the corner, a butcher’s just beyond, and a market a block down. And a nursery, too, just three streets away.

       It’s spacious. Big windows and less doors than there are rooms. There’s a proper dining area—Nesta’s house doesn’t really have one, just the table in the kitchen.

       Of the bedrooms, two are a bit smaller than the third, so that, he supposes, is where the children can stay while they all sleep in the same room. A nice tub in that bathroom, which is good, they’re still small enough that they bathe together…

       And he’s just pushed open the door to the master when he hears Amren say from behind him, “In the market for a family home?”

       He turns. “Are you? I thought Varian was looking romanced last I saw him. That explains it.”

       She rolls her eyes where she once might have bared her teeth. “Close to a nursery,” she says, pushing past him to stand in the room. “And you can see all the way to the park from here,” she adds,  peering through the window. “Good for if you’re staying in bed.”

       Now Cassian rolls his eyes, if only to hide the clench in his jaw.

       “Is she coming for Solstice, then?”

       Amren says it the same way she says everything: cool, detached, unbothered. But Cassian knows. “She hasn’t given me an answer yet.”

       Amren pretends to take interest in the sample decorative pillows. “What do you think she’ll say?”

       “I don’t know. Yes, I hope.”

       She puts down the pillow. “You’re too hopeful. It doesn’t help you think.”

       “You’ve not asked about her at all,” he says, sitting down on the bed.

       “I don’t think there’s anything I want to know.” She doesn’t say it with malice.

       “You don’t care?”

       “She’s alive. She’s fine.”

       “We thought she was dead.”

       “We were wrong.” She pauses. “If you had known… where she was… would you have gone?”

       “Of course,” he says immediately.

       “Why did you not go when you knew she was in Montesere?”

       He flinches. Do you even care about her? is what she’s asking. Is it only for the children?

       Every regret he has has something to do with her.

       “Why didn’t you go?”

       “I do not go now,” she says simply. “I was angry when she left. When we thought she was dead and we looked for her I was angry. And I’m angry now.”

       “She’s not the only one to blame.”

       Amren shrugs. “I can be angry at more than one person. Don’t sit on the bed like that.”

       “Like what?”

       “Longing. Yearning. Pathetic.”

       “I’m not yearning.”

       “You are. It doesn’t flatter you. Nesta will come.”

       “How do you know that?” She sounds so certain, so matter-of-fact and cavalier.

       She gestures to him. “It’s not one-sided.”

       Cassian moves his eyes out towards the window, feeling very out his element. “She has a life of her own.”

       “I know about her bookstore. That doesn’t matter.”

       “It matters.”

       She waves a hand. “Not in the grand scheme of things. Nesta Archeron is very much herself. She doesn’t change. She decides on things before she knows she wants them. And she doesn’t change her mind.”

       Amren leaves him alone with his thoughts. She’s simplifying things, he knows, but he desperately hopes the core of it is right.

       She had asked him why he didn’t go. He waits in masochistic anticipation for the day Nesta asks him that as well. Why he had not followed up on her letters, vague and frustrating as they were.

       There’s nothing he can really do about it now. Except maybe make an offer on the house.

---

Chapter Fourteen

[mypoisonedvine]

I Never Danced Until I Met You- Chapter 2

[Chapter 1]

Taglist: @a-banana-for-your-thoughts @saint-hardy @sophiasescape  @letscici @itsametaphorbriansblog @wackiekebab @tinyybiceps (idk it won’t let me tag you properly ugh)

Word Count: 4.1k (and it’s allllll banter lol)

Rating: still T……….. for now

You were already on horseback when he approached you in the courtyard. “Where’s my horse?” he asked as he saw you.

“You can walk beside mine,” you suggested.

“Oh no, I get enough of that with Geralt,” he protested, already climbing up onto your saddle, “I’m sharing with you.”

Before you could stop him, he was sitting behind you, his form enveloping yours.  You swallowed dryly.

“I bet this is what you wanted all along,” he postulated in a provocative tone, speaking quietly since he was already so close to your ear.  He smelled of soap and leather.

“There were no spare horses in the stable,” you replied, and though you were telling the truth your voice came out a little shaky.

“Riiiight.” You couldn’t see his face but you assumed he was winking or smirking or something.

Instead of continuing to defend yourself, you shook the reigns, prompting your horse to begin trotting towards the gates.

“To the east are the training fields,” you explained as you motioned in their direction, “where my troops prepare for battle.  To the west, the furthest wing of the castle.”

“Where are your quarters?” he asked suddenly. 

“I’d nearly forgotten how forward you are,” you replied with an eyeroll that he couldn’t see.

“I couldn’t forget how lovely you are,” he waxed poetically, “but regardless, I was just making conversation.”

“Some conversation,” you scoffed.

“You doubt my honour?” he asked with surprise (and a hint of sarcasm).  You tried not to laugh, but it didn’t work.

“If you must know, my quarters are just outside the Queen’s.  I am expected to come to her aid first in case of an emergency,” you explained.

“Not much privacy there, I’d imagine.” 

“I’ve no need for it,” you replied with a touch of surprise.  You hadn’t even really considered that aspect.

“Sounds like a boring life,” he mumbled

“To you, I’m sure,” you responded, “but I live a life of integrity, which I have found demands little privacy to be conducted.”

“I think integrity is something people think they have until they’re challenged,” Jaskier philosophised.

You didn’t respond right away, and he suddenly seemed very proud of himself. “Ah, left speechless by my incredible accuracy?” he teased.

“The idiocy of your statement was so severe, I required a moment of silence to process it,” you replied coolly.

“I know why you’re so hell-bent on antagonizing me, you know,” he said, his voice getting quieter.

“What’s that?” you pressed.

He leaned in closer to your ear, his breath tickling against your skin.

“You have to convince yourself you hate me, because you lead the sort of life where you can’t develop those pesky ‘feelings’ you’ve managed to avoid all this time,” he posited, “and the only emotion you’ve ever been allowed to have is anger.  So you’re angry with me in lieu of being attracted to me, which- hate to break it to you- isn’t a choice.”

You swallowed dryly, thankful he couldn’t see your facial expression in that moment as it would’ve surely given you away.

You scoffed weakly, realizing a moment of silence wouldn’t do you any favors.

“Men like you always have some ridiculous story to explain how every woman who isn’t interested is secretly weak in the knees for them,” you deflected.

“Then tell me it isn’t true,” he offered.  “Just say I’m totally wrong, and I’ll believe you.”

You almost considered confessing that he was entirely accurate- more right about the situation than even you had been up until that moment.  But then you remembered this was your life and not a fantastical story, that you were a knight and not a duchess, that he would leave the castle in a few days and have his choice of the women of the world (so long as they were of comparable social standing) and you would be forever tied to your duties.

“It isn’t true,” you lied confidently, “you’re totally wrong.”

He was quiet for a moment.

“Nah, I still don’t believe you,” he pshawed.

“What?  You said you would!” 

“I thought I would, but now that you’ve said it, I’m sure more than ever that it’s true.”

You sighed, kicking the horse gently to keep up its pace as you continued trotting through the castle grounds.

“It’s not true,” you repeated after an awkward silence.

“I know, I know, you’re a cold heartless warrior whose only business is breaking bones,“ he sarcastically agreed.

“Is that what you think warfare is?” you snorted.

“I just wonder how many hearts you’ve broken,” he continued, ignoring your question.

“None,” you responded, looking south towards the mountains and appreciating their beauty even having seen them every day.

“Preposterous,” Jaskier scoffed.

“I’ve never had a suitor, or secret admirer or anything of the sort,” you shrugged.

“How could you know if you had had a secret admirer?  Wouldn’t it be, you know, secret?”

“I just know,” you frowned. “No one acts like they have any interest in me.”

“Maybe they’re just very subtle about it,” he considered.

“Subtle?  I didn’t think that word was in your vocabulary,” you mocked.

“It used to be,” he smiled, “but my affections for you are too strong to be suppressed.”

“How many women do you say that to?” you asked deridingly. 

“How many women are knights?” he returned.

“Just me,” you sighed.

“Just you,” he repeated, his tone sounding more thoughtful and serious suddenly.  

You pondered that briefly but thankfully the silence was broken as your horse took you over the crest of the hill, overlooking the entire city.  You heard him gasp a bit as he looked out, and you lifted yourself off the saddle and onto the ground.

“Great view, isn’t it?” you commented as you looked out over the cobbled streets and thatched roofs and smoking chimneys.

“Lovely,” he observed, following you onto the grass and taking in the scenery.

“You’ve probably seen more extravagant places in your travels,” you hedged.

“Perhaps, but extravagance isn’t all there is to life,” he explained as he sat down on a rock.  “I can appreciate the simple beauty of a quiet town.  It must have been nice growing up here.”

You took a seat on the ground nearby, as sitting next to him on the rock would require getting closer than you were ready for.

“It wasn’t this nice when I was growing up here, actually,” you recalled. “War-torn, crime-ridden…”

“What changed?” he asked.

“New management,” you smirked, motioning behind you to the castle.

“She seems like a good leader,” he considered.

“She’s incredible.  She turned this nation around, truly.”

“Well, I’m sure she didn’t do it by herself,” he assumed.  You gave him a quizzical look. “Someone had to enforce the new laws, clean up the streets,” he clarified.

“Oh, well, yes, the cavalry did some policing; nowadays we have constables for that,” you remembered.

“You make even more sense as a copper than a knight,” he chuckled.

“How’s that?”

“You’re laying down the law with me every five minutes and you ask why I think you’d make a good police officer?” he scoffed in reply.  

“I don’t usually need to be so uptight,” you defended, “it’s the criminal in you that brings out the cop in me.”

“Me, a criminal?  Look at this innocent face,” he pouted.  “If anything, I’m the victim: I’ve recently had my heart stolen.”

“I’ll give you one thing, you’re persistent,” you groaned.

“I didn’t say it was you,” he noted.  Your head whipped around to look at him, and he started to chuckle.

“Relax, love, of course it’s you,” he reassured as you felt your cheeks flush. “You’re not as stoic as you think.”

After several moments passed in reverent silence, something you weren’t sure before was possible with someone as talkative as Jaskier around, you decided that sitting quietly let your mind wander further than you wanted it to go.

“How’s your archery?” you inquired suddenly, standing up and dusting the grass off of your trousers.

“Haven’t held a bow since I was eleven,” he answered, following suit by getting up off the rock, “so I’m sure it’s spectacular.”

“Frankly I’m more of a swordsman myself, so I can’t promise to be the greatest teacher you’ve ever had, but maybe you’d enjoy a refresher course,” you offered.

“You’re too kind,” he replied, jumping back on the saddle. “I promise to be a worse student than you are a teacher.”

~

“Elbow up,” you instructed.  His elbow did go up, but then it shot out to the side, throwing off his entire posture again.  You used two fingers to push it back into place.

“Realign your shoulders,” you added, “your back keeps slipping forward.”

“That’s because this posture is rather uncomfortable!” he whined.

“Yes, well, hitting your target will ease the pain.”

“Not for the target,” he mumbled as he readjusted his position.

You stood beside his bow and made little adjustments, moving his hands and back where they needed to be for accuracy.

It wasn’t until he looked at you that you realized the bow created a sort of barrier which prevented you from realizing how close to him you were standing.  If he faced you, which he just had, your faces would be just centimetres apart.  You used your hands to move his face back to facing downrange.

“Take the shot,” you encouraged quietly, and he did, the arrow zooming past both of your faces as it whipped the air with its feathers.

You watched the arrow hit just west of the bullseye, and Jaskier turned to you with a smile, relaxing the bow.  You stepped back so you wouldn’t be standing so close anymore.

“Hey, not so bad!” he observed.

“Quite excellent, actually,” you corrected.

“You’re a better teacher than you let on.”

“No, I fixed your positioning but that shot was all you,” you explained, “most people flinch when the arrow fires, which makes it impossible to keep steady.  You were fearless.”

“Fearless?  That’s not something I get called often,” he replied in shock.

“You asked a knight on duty to dance.  Clearly you have no fear of death,” you smirked.  He chuckled, pulling another arrow from the quiver.

“Speaking of death, think I can make a bullseye this time?” he asked as he prepared his shot.

“I’d be surprised.”

“Would you be impressed?” he asked with that tone that made you nervous for what he would do next.

“I… suppose,” you responded hesitantly.

“I just know there are stories about knights performing physical tasks to win the affections of princesses and whatnot,” he remembered, “and I wondered if I could win a knight’s affections by hitting a perfect bullseye.”

“Affections aren’t won, they’re earned,” you replied sternly.

“Earned?” he repeated, relaxing the bow and looking at you again. “Then, there is some way to get you to fall for me.”

“I didn’t mean it quite that way,” you corrected.

“So then there’s no way for me to get through?” he asked.

“Yes, exactly,” you frowned, getting more frustrated.

“That doesn’t make any sense!” he protested.

“It makes perfect sense to those of us who can accept the fact that you and I will never be anything more than acquaintances.”

“If they’re not won, and they’re not earned, then they’re just random.  Just the unstoppable will of destiny.  You didn’t strike me as the type to believe that sort of thing,” he explained.

You thought about that for a moment, not realizing before how quickly your logic on love could fall apart.

“Destiny, if it’s real, wills for me to be alone,” you scowled.

“Just because you’ve been alone so far, doesn’t mean you need to be alone forever,” he replied, his voice gentler and softer than before.

“Maybe I want to be alone,” you suggested.

He smiled, facing back downrange and pulling the bowstring back.

“And yet, here we are,” he whispered as he let go and made the shot.  You watched with a dumbfounded expression as the arrow landed right in the center: a perfect bullseye.

You looked back to him and almost wanted to hide your shock, but it wouldn’t have worked anyways.

“How did you make that shot?!” you asked, entirely flabbergasted.

He relaxed the bow, looking back to you with that effortless confidence you envied so much.

“Must have been the will of Destiny,” he shrugged.

~

You were almost ready to go to the main hall for dinner, needing only to brush your hair a bit after a long day outside.  The Queen had requested you join the staff and guests for dinner off-duty, even though you normally ate alone when you weren’t expected to attend as the Royal Protector.  She had actually recommended that you wear a dress but truthfully you didn’t even own one.

Being ready early, you snuck into the kitchen to get a glimpse of what they’d be serving that night.  You knew it would be quail because you’d see a servant going to the coop just a few hours ago, but what you were curious about, as always, was dessert.

Entering through one of the staff corridors, you breathed in the wonderful smells of bread and spices.  It was hot in the kitchen, almost too hot to be comfortable, but it was worth it when you saw an abandoned tart laying on a countertop.  It looked to have burned a bit on one side, meaning it was probably abandoned without plans to be served.  The good news?  The unburnt half was up for grabs.

You made sure that no one was too close before you grabbed a ladle and went to town.  It was sort of shameful, but at least you didn’t use your hands!

“Hey, you’ll spoil your appetite!” A kitchen maid scolded.

“What’s an appetite for if not stolen desserts?” you defended, your words muffled by the food in your mouth.

“A kitchen’s not for eating,” she frowned, “take your quarry outside, at least.”

You made a face of displeasure as you grabbed the tart and carried it into the hall.  You heard a few sounds of people moving towards the hall where dinner was set to begin shortly, but figured you could find an alcove of relative privacy.

You weren’t even properly surprised when Jaskier appeared, at this point you expected him to show up at your most embarrassing moments.  And you didn’t have the energy to stop eating over it, either.

“You do have a wild side,” he observed as you scooped tart into your mouth unceremoniously.

“Who said I didn’t?”

“Oh, I always knew it, don’t get me wrong,” he winked, “just didn’t know I’d be seeing it so soon.”

“Is it everything you dreamed?” you asked sarcastically.

“More jam than I imagined,” he replied with a quirked brow.

You shuddered to consider what he had imagined as your “wild side.”  Somewhere between a good and a bad shudder… and up until now you hadn’t realized there were good shudders.

“I have a soft spot- just the one- for dewberries,” you explained.

“Rest of you’s steel?”

“Of course,” you confirmed, “any other fruit, I’m impenetrable.”

You regretted that choice of words.  You looked at his face to see if he caught it, but his expression was hard to read.  Definitely not creepy or conniving or anything of that nature; soft, maybe even thoughtful.  Sad but not like sad sad… okay, you weren’t great at emotions.

You were just about to look away, thinking you’d been looking at him too long, but then you started to wonder how bad it would be if you just let yourself look at him.  What’s the harm in that?  You let your gaze scan his body, something you had simultaneously longed to do and dreaded the idea of.  His outfit was more practical than you expected, less glitz and glam and perhaps more traditionally-masculine… though still plenty scandalous in its own ways.  His chest hair peeked out from his collar, not that it had to be very low for that to happen, but it was plenty low anyhow.  He had traded in his doublet for a tunic, more traditional in your kingdom, which was fortunately and unfortunately much tighter.  You’d seen men in a variety of states of undress before, you used to sleep in the barracks after all, so there were surely no surprises under there.  And yet, you felt so tempted to see more.  You knew he was pretty strong from his archery, but you wondered if he was strong enough to-

You caught yourself going down a dangerous path and stopped while you still could.  Your eyes shot back up to his, which were looking at you with darkness, hunger.  He didn’t say anything and yet his face already said it all.

“Want some?” you offered nervously, holding a spoonful of tart out to him.

You had expected him to grab the spoon but instead he lightly touched your hand, guiding you to feed him.  It was oddly intimate, his touch so delicate and electrifying that it almost tickled.  His eyes stayed on yours as his lips wrapped around the silver spoon, pulling his head back to get the food off of the utensil.  A little of the filling got onto his bottom lip, and you watched, enraptured, as his tongue darted out to lick it off.  

“What do you think?” you asked, your voice much shakier than you preferred, as you set the tart down on the nearby credenza.

“Delicious,” he answered softly, his eyes piercing right through you.

You heard more people moving through the nearby halls and realized dinner must be starting any moment.

“Still hungry?” you asked, intending it to be an offer to go to the dining hall.

“Ravenous,” he replied in a low voice, low enough for the bass of it to seem to shake right through you.

He stepped forward, bringing you much closer together.  It was terrifying and yet so wonderful.  Instinctively you reached up to push him away, but then as you did you regretted it, so you ended up just wrapping your hands around his arms without actually holding him back.  He returned, placing his hands on your triceps which was an oddly personal part of your body.

Right as you realized you had no idea what to do next, Geralt appeared from around the corner.

You jumped back, sort of an instinct when caught in an intimate moment.  Maybe it wasn’t that intimate, but by your standards it was rather scandalous.

“Am I interrupting something?” Geralt asked in a way that seemed perchance a bit mocking.  Before you could answer, he looked at the credenza and made a face of confusion.

“What’s the pie for?” he grimaced.

“Consumption?” you offered.  What else would it be for?

“Right,” he affirmed. “‘Finger in every pie,’ as they say.”

“…Huh?“ 

"Dandelion has a lot of fingers in a lot of pies, that’s all.”

You didn’t know how to react to that, even how to interpret it.  He walked away, and you gave Jaskier a confused look as you followed.

Dinner was delicious, but you were too distracted to properly appreciate it.  Not distracted by good conversation, certainly- the dukes harassing Geralt for details about the day’s hunt was not intriguing- but by your own thoughts.  Jaskier made you so angry, so confused, made your heart race and your head hurt and your stomach all loopy and nervous.  He still felt like a stranger to you in many ways, though talking to him had more in common with a conversation with an old friend than an acquaintance- not that you knew all that much about what it was like to have old friends.  You weren’t sure if it was normal to feel jealous when you saw your old friends chatting up other women.  He was making some duchess laugh like she’d never heard a joke before- even the servant girls thought he was charming.  It took you a while to realize that it was the cause of your feeling sick, not something wrong with the food.

Just after the final course was served, you figured it not too early to excuse yourself.  You stood, hoping to make a quick and mostly unnoticed exit, but Jaskier stood as soon as you did.  You stopped, expecting him to say something, but he didn’t.

“Are you also retiring?” you asked him, confused.

“Men are obliged to stand when a lady enters or exits a room,” he said, like it was obvious.  And you were suddenly surprised it wasn’t obvious.  The table had been obeying that etiquette for the other women who had entered when dinner began.

“Oh, yes,” you agreed nervously.

Jaskier looked around the table, seeming a bit frustrated.

“Am I wrong?” he asked rhetorically.

The men at the table stood, begrudgingly, even Geralt.

“That’s better,” Jaskier sighed.

“I’m retiring for the evening, thank you,” you said with a quick bow as you rushed for the doors.  

You almost expected him to chase after you, just because he seemed to follow you everywhere.  Instead you didn’t see him until much later when he knocked on your door.

“You found my quarters,” you observed.

“I wanted to apologize, if you felt scrutinized at dinner,” he explained. “I didn’t think I would draw any undue attention to you.  I just… assumed everyone else would stand, I suppose.”

“No one here thinks of me as a woman,” you replied with a sigh. “You’d do well to remember that.”

“Do you think of yourself as a woman?” he pressed.

“I-” you began, but then stopped as you realized that you really weren’t sure how to answer.  You didn’t even really think of yourself at all, generally.  Since meeting Jaskier, you certainly thought of yourself as a woman a lot more than you used to.

“You don’t really have that luxury, do you?” he prompted solemnly.

You nodded.

“You deserve to be treated better,” he announced.

“I tell my troops not to use words like ‘deserve.’  They don’t really mean anything.”

Jaskier crossed his arms, seemingly unsatisfied with your philosophy.  “It means that it would only be fair if you were given the same respect you give to others.” 

“‘Fair’ doesn’t mean anything either,” you smirked.

“What about ‘love’?  What does that mean?” he asked, his tone more serious.

“Doesn’t mean what you think it means,” you scoffed.  Maybe you were being too combative, but you didn’t like that he was throwing ‘love’ around and you really didn’t like how your heart skipped a beat when he said it.

“And what’s that?  Please, enlighten me,” he requested sarcastically.  You frowned.

“This might blow your mind, but ‘love’ isn’t something that happens overnight, let alone at first sight,” you explained.

“Just because I’m a romantic doesn’t mean I’m an idiot,” he deflected.  

“Just because I’m practical doesn’t mean my life is devoid of meaning or something,” you countered.

“Just because you’ve been burned before doesn’t mean you should give up on ever being happy!” he shouted.

You didn’t even really mean to slap him, it just sort of happened.  You didn’t even hit him nearly as hard as you know you could have, thankfully.

“I’m happy the way things are!  I’m happy being alone!” you asserted, slamming the door in his face.

You turned and held your face in your hands, fighting back tears.  You couldn’t remember the last time you got so angry, or the last time you’d cried.  You hated that he was always following you around and you hated that he was always saying some stupid thing like he talked in poems and you hated that he was always right, that he saw right through you.  Had it always been this obvious?  Had everyone else in the whole nation figured out that you actually weren’t happy, and just never thought to mention it?  Or, had no one else ever cared enough to notice?

Ashamed of having punished him for doing everything right, you opened your door and hoped you could still catch him as he was heading back to his room and apologize.  Instead you found him still standing there, in the same place, waiting patiently.  You jumped, wiping your tears.

“You’re still here?” you asked in surprise.

“I’m still here,” he assured.  It felt like a promise, like something important.

“Do you want me to go?” he asked, but you knew he knew the answer, and he just wanted to hear you say it.  You decided to afford him this one little gift, just this once.

“No,” you answered, “I don’t want you to go.”

He looked at you expectantly.

“Please stay,” you requested.

“All right,” he agreed, and stepped into your room.

[next chapter]

[sinfulwonders]

👀(btw i rly love ur wips theyre so lovely)

Eee thank you so so much! That makes me so happy! :3

This WIP is a fake date scenario that I failed to finish for a prompt. (sorry person who asked for it, but here it is super late in all of it’s partially completed glory. >_

Fake Date

Shuichi Saihara had a problem.

He had lied. He had lied to his best friends in the entire world and he was too much of a coward to back out of the lie at this point. So here he was, outside of Kokichi Ouma’s door, about to ask the ultimate supreme leader a favor that would surely lead to Shuichi owing him for a long long time.

But it would be worth it, Shuichi reasoned as he knocked on the door. Almost immediately it swung open.

“Oh wow, Mister Ultimate Detective’s knocking at my door? What, did you finally pin me for all those pesky crimes I’ve managed to get away with?” Kokichi smirked as he leaned against the frame, “Well I gotta say, I’m innocent! I would ­­never break the law, honest!"

Shuichi sighed, already regretting his decision, “Ah. No. It’s nothing like that…although I think we should come back to that conversation at a later time… But I…” Shuichi felt the words escape him.

“Eh?” Kokichi’s eyes and smile widened, “Ooooh what is it? Did my beloved come to confess his love to me after allllll this time?”

“No it’s not that either!” Shuichi shouted as he flushed red. He then lowered his voice to a whisper, “Can I come inside to talk to you?”

Kokichi moved away from the doorway with a wink, beckoning Shuichi inside, “Anything for you, Shuichi!”

Once inside, Kokichi bellyflopped on the bed, his chin resting on his hands as he listened like an excited child.

Shuichi, on the other hand, nervously twiddled his thumbs as he tried to prepare an eloquent way to word his request, “I’ll…just say it. Would you…well…pretend to be my date?”

“Huh?” Kokichi’s face contorted and head tilted in genuine shock, “Your date?”

Shuichi sighed, “Okay…so here’s the thing. Kaede and Kaito keep setting me up with all of their friends, which don’t get me wrong, is nice and all, but I’m kind of… sick of it. So, yesterday when they mentioned a friend of theirs that they wanted me to meet, I kind of said I was seeing someone…”

Kokichi’s expression was now blank, but he motioned for Shuichi to continue.

“So now I’ve been roped into a triple date with Kaito and Maki, Kaede and Rantaro, and me and my mystery partner…”

Kokichi blinked a couple times, “Why are you asking me?”

Shuichi sighed, “You’re the best liar, Kokichi. You’ll be able to make it believable. I know it’s a pain, but…just pretend to be my date. I’ll…do anything. Please.”

Kokichi immediately broke back into a smirk, “Oh I see… so what you’re saying is that you’ll owe me! Well I gotta say you practically begging me is a real turn off. So I think I’ll decline!”

Shuichi’s face fell and he hung his head, “I…see, well if that’s the case then-”

“Neeheehee! That was a lie of course! I can’t see my beloved looking so depressed and desperate like that without helping him! Gimme the deets, Shumai, and I’ll be there!”

Shuichi beamed as he pulled the surprised supreme leader into a quick hug, “Thank you so much Kokichi! And seriously, I will owe you. I just…thank you!”

After providing the details and plan, Shuichi raced out the door smiling.

 -------

Kokichi waved goodbye, immediately sinking to the ground as the door closed. He leaned against the door, head resting on his bent knees.

I finally get to go on a date with Shumai…and it’s a lie. How…poetic. Is karma real? Because if so they’re a bitch.

It made sense that his first and possibly only date with the detective he’d been pining after for so long, would be fake. It made sense that Shuichi would ask him, as the navy haired detective was a logical guy and asking a liar to help with a lie made the most logical sense. If Shuichi had known the extent of Kokichi’s feelings, he never would have asked him, because Kokichi’s beloved detective just wasn’t that type of person. He just wasn’t that cruel.

But fate is, I guess.

 --------

Shuichi pulled the olive turtleneck sweater over his head, the casual comfort of wool strange compared to his usual stiff uniform for school and his internship at the detective’s agency. He couldn’t help but feel nervous, which was understandable given the circumstances, but his nervousness felt uncomfortably similar to first date jitters.

Calm down, Shuichi. This isn’t real. Kokichi doesn’t like you like that anyway.

Shuichi shook his head.

So stop overthinking!

He glanced at the mirror, fixing his hair, (except for the one piece that insisted on standing straight up) and then made his way to the meeting place.

Kokichi was the first thing Shuichi saw as he entered the pumpkin patch, and he couldn’t help but allow his breath to hitch for a moment. He had never really seen Kokichi in casual clothes, but as the boy sat on the hay bale, his bright pink oversized hoodie clashing in all the right ways with his light blue leggings, he had never looked more stunning. He turned his head, noticing the detective openly staring his way, and his face broke into a large grin. He jumped off the bale of hay, sauntering over, his usually unruly plum colored hair tied back into a loose ponytail. As he neared the detective, Shuichi noticed his hair was pinned by several bright pink and yellow bobby pins. Kokichi was picturesque and the absolute definition of colorful, and Shuichi knew he just had to tell him how absolutely gorgeous he looked.

“Your clothes… They’re… nice…” Shuichi mumbled as his face flushed crimson, mentally punching himself for his utter lack of eloquence. He decided staring at the ground was his best course of action now.

Kokichi just giggled in return, “Aww is my date too embarrassed to look at me? Well you can’t go getting all shy now, Shumai! Not if you wanna sell the lie!”

Oh yeah. This isn’t a real date.

Shuichi cringed at how fast he was able to forget his purpose for being here. He forced himself to look the supreme leader in the eyes, “S-sorry. You’re right, Kokichi.”

“Now c’mon Mister Detective!” Kokichi lilted as he curled an arm through Shuichi’s, “Your friends think you’ve been dating the mystery person for a while now riiiight?”

Shuichi tensed at the physical contact. “Y-yes, I told Kaede we’ve been on a few dates.”

“Well then you have to relax a little bit, Shumai! You can’t be so nervous or else they’ll get suspicious. So c’mon, just calm down, okay?”

Shuichi nodded and forced himself to relax into the touch a little bit. Kokichi grinned at his progress.

“There you go! You’re doing great. Now let’s just have fun, okey dokey?”

Shuichi was surprised at how soothing and reassuring the talk with Kokichi had been, “T-thanks Kokichi. That was really nice of you.”

Kokichi snickered at the compliment, “Well of course! Supreme leaders have to be really great at peptalks! How else do you think we get our lowly subordinates to do all of our dirty work?”

Shuichi sighed at that, rolling his eyes at the still laughing leader.

And just like that a sweet moment was ruined. I don’t know what I expected. Well at least I don’t feel nervous anymore.

“Shuichi!” A feminine voice called out and Shuichi was instantly stiff again.

“Kaede…” Shuichi muttered to himself as the two turned around.

Kaede, Rantaro, Kaito, and Maki waved smiling, but the smiles seemed to falter as they realized who Shuichi’s date was.

“Hey…guys,” Shuichi said sheepishly.

“Uh hey sidekick! So… this is the guy you’ve been dating?” Kaito wondered aloud as Maki glared behind him. Rantaro and Kaede whispered something to one another and grinned at the two standing before them.

“Y-yep…” Shuichi murmured, “Sorry for not telling you.”

Maki continued to glare as she bluntly asked, “Why.”

“Huh?”

“Why on earth would you date that gremlin?” Maki gritted her teeth.

“Aww is Maki-roll jealous? Are you secretly in love with me?” Kokichi cackled as Kaito held Maki back.

[tandembicycles]

imagine Nami finally retiring from Piracy a looooong time from now and marrying Vivi and they adopt a child who becomes the next heir to the Alabasta throne and everything is all good and pure and wonderful

That child would be so spunky and loving and oh my goodness I love them... I now have a picture of this child and I’m very!!! 

I don’t know whether they’d adopt them from Alabasta, or perhaps Nami finds a lost child along her travels and that’s what gets her to retire (similar to Bellemere!), but this child would be so adorable and lovely but also so kickass and spunky lmao Vivi would teach them to be patient when necessary whereas Nami would teach them to let loose when also necessary. 

They’d be interested in the stars and constellations due to Alabasta’s beautiful night sky, and they’d learn a lot from Nami about the sky’s weather patterns, while also learning themselves how to navigate via the stars (this child is going to be a born explorer, I think... they’ll love their country as much as Vivi but will leave home for some time to adventure).  

They’d be cute with their shaggy, dark red hair and freckles, and both Nami and Vivi would love to stroke their hair, soothingly, and tell them stories before bed time. Absolutely none of them would be made up, they’d be real stories from either Vivi meeting other countries’ leaders and their tense negotiations, or Nami’s travels with the Strawhats (the kid loves to hear about all their Uncles and Aunt!). And Nami and Vivi will tell them how beautiful they are every day and how much they love them.They think their kid is so dorky and adorable when they insist on staying up and mapping out the constellations, and every time either Vivi or Nami, or both, will say something like “why look up at the sky when we have beautiful stars riiiight here~” as they start to kiss allllll the freckles on the kid’s face and everyone just devolves into a huge fit of laughter.