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passivenovember · 3 years

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Boys on the Radio.

Harringrove April, Day Seven : Daisy Chain.

Steve has very high standards when it comes to men. Unbelievably rigid, according to Nancy; hilariously unattainable, according to Robin, and understandable, according to the one man that actually matters.

Billy tells him that the privilege of not simply “taking what you can get,” comes from equal opportunity.

The fact that Steve can sign up for Tinder, Bumble, Hinge, and HER without having to set his dating pool to only men, only brown eyes, 5′11″ or taller, himbo, must like dogs, must want nachos when drunk--means he shouldn’t have such a hard time finding someone to get coffee with, and yet.

Steve finds himself on the couch with Robin on Wednesday night, anyway. Swiping through a caste of 25+ gym rats and an inbox full of u spit or swalll-o, baby girl.

Wishing and praying for a sign, like. Something to prove he’s not deflective.

Steve clicks his tongue. Clicks out of Tinder. Clicks into Bumble. Swipes left on four guys with fifteen pack abs, Jesus Christ, searching for someone he knows will never materialize.

Steve hates his life.

He throws his phone down on the couch before picking it back up again, and. Opening Tinder once more.

“Billy gets so much dick on these stupid apps, it’s not even real.” Steve complains, after swiping through, like. Ten guys within walking distance alone. “How does he do that?”

“Easy. Billy knows his type.”

Steve considers Marcus. His chorded arms and tattooed thighs. His Incan Temple chest piece, before.

Swiping left.

“How the hell does he actually get what he’s looking for? I see these guys and, like. They seem perfect. Funny, smart, successful. Completely my type on paper, and then--”

“Just say you’re holding out for Billy and move on, Stever.” Robin’s phone dings. She dives for it, grinning and typing out a response, and like.

Steve hates her.

He scowls. “I’m not holding out for Billy.”

It doesn’t sound right, even to his own ears. Robin peeks at him over the top of her messaging app, smile going lopsided in the middle. “’S fine. He’s holding out for you, anyway.”

Steve really, really hates her.

He opens Facebook and scrolls through his feed, stopping to comment a series of heart emojis on a picture of Billy and Max hiking somewhere in White Water State Park.

Billy looks.

Like Billy.

Golden curls cropped close to his head, eyes squinting as the photographer catches him mid laugh, nose bunching up so.

Adorably.

That Steve’s heart skips a beat. That the heavens fuckin’, like. Open, and shit, to shine on a delicate daisy chain around his forehead.

Steve can’t believe he almost missed it. He spends five minutes picking the right color of heart emoji. Yellow and orange, with a sprinkle of stardust, and then. Another three deciding how many to include before closing out of Facebook entirely.

Reluctant to prove Robin right.

Steve opens Tinder and promises that when the next face pops up on his screen, he’ll lower his standards. Be more chill about the whole thing.

Actually read the bio twice and message back before deciding that no one could ever compare to--

Steve swipes left on Tyler.

Almost immediately, because. Look.

This guy is cute. Curly blonde hair and green eyes, but. Unfortunately for dude, his name is Tyler, for fucks sake.

And unfortunately for Steve he looks too much like.

Yeah.

Robin makes a noise, all, “What’s wrong with that one?” Her eyes sparkle mischievously and Steve wishes she were off getting laid or something. “Besides the fact that he’s not Billy.”

“His name’s Tyler,” Steve says. Like it should be obvious. He scrambles for something else, something tangible, before landing on; “And his teeth are too square.”

Robin stares at him. Sets her phone aside before pinching the bridge of her nose, like, “His teeth are too square.”

“Yep.”

“You’re impossible.”

Steve clicks his tongue. Clicks out of Tinder. Clicks into Bumble. Running into the same problem again.

Too pretty guys with too straight teeth and too many abs, just.

Terrible.

“Maybe I should lower my standards.” Steve says, after another you got real pretty DSLs bby, from some fuckface claiming that Sundays are for Jesus and tan lines.

Men are hopeless.

Men are terrible, Steve wishes Billy was here and not on vacation.

“Maybe.” Robin smiles down at her phone, again, cheeks going bright pink when Barb says something so fucking witty, Steve, I’m in love.

Steve frowns. “You can talk about her, dude.”

“Talk about who?” Robin sits on her hands. Swallows a smile. “Barb and I only just met. I’ve been stuck with you for years.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Robins phone dings again. She ignores it. “I don’t think your standards are the problem.”

“If you fucking--”

“Just admit that it’s only been ten years and you’re finally spreading your legs for the guy who includes a description of you in his dating profile.”

He really wishes she were out getting laid.

“Allegedly,” Steve says. Because; “I’ve never actually seen any of his dating profiles.”

Robin opens the message from Barb, grinning to herself, or. To the gods of chaos she seems to be in council with fucking always. “That’s because if you ran across one you’d swipe right.”

“Would not.”

“Would to.” Robin counters, not even bothering to look up from her phone. “Billy is exactly your type. Funny, smart, adventurous. Daddy issues. Has a thing for leather.”

“Dude--”

“Wearing leather, putting his partners in leather. Kinky but knows how to cook and clean, and how to take care of a bratty sub.” Robin puts her phone away, shrugging when Steve tosses a pillow at her. “Face it, man, he’s exactly your type. On and off paper.”

Steve wants to crawl under the couch and bury himself under the floor boards.

“I thought the whole point of online dating was to get out of your head about types and shit.”

Robin snorts, like, “No one actually believes that. We’re all just dating the same person over and over again. Making the same mistakes so we have something to complain about when our friends invite us over for wine.”

And.

She’s not wrong. She’s never wrong. Steve, just. Knows what he wants. Who he wants. Steve aches and pines and yearns for Billy Hargrove. To cuddle up next to the fifteen-pack of abs he’s been obsessing over for years, and.

Swear of this God awful dating sites for good.

But. “Barbara isn’t your type.” Steve says, like. AHA! Pointing an accusatory finger that Robin nods away.

“She’s exactly the type of girl I should be with, and exactly what I’ve wanted all along.” Robin says politely, but her eyes say fuck you I’m right.

Just like now. Like always.

Steve takes a deep, steadying breath. “Okay.”

Robin blinks at him. “Okay?”

“Yes.” Steve mutters, because he’s a team player. He can admit defeat, especially for a battle that was lost to blue eyes long, long ago.

But. He opens Bumble, shrugging sheepishly.

“One more swipe for old times sake?”

“Steve--”

“One more swipe to prove that I should be focusing my dick elsewhere.” Steve says. He feels tears burning, sharp and mean, behind the lining of his throat. “I just need a sign, like. Something to give me the courage.”

Robin watches him for a minute, and.

Must see the way he’s barely holding it together, finger tapping incessantly at the loading screen. Her phone goes off once again, breaking the tension.

Steve takes that as a yes.

He closes the app and opens it again. Bumble plays through an ad for Candy Crush and Steve finds it hilarious that happy endings come with a price tag. A thirty second video telling him what he needs, and then.

The guy on screen is perfect.

Golden skin, bright blue eyes. His bio describes a perfect boy, a perfect date, profile stocked full of personality.

Skateboarding and surfing on the coast. Tattoos and leather jackets. Metallica concerts and.

A boy in a flower crown.

Billy describes his perfect boy as brown eyed beauty, 5′11″ or taller, preschool teacher. Must like dogs. Must want nachos when drunk--

And when Steve finally, finally swipes right: It’s a match.

#harringrove #harringrove april #day seven #daisy chain #this is a conversation inspired by the evening I had hanging with my roommate #we both have incredibly high standards #anyway #hope you enjoy!

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gods-no-longer-tread-here · 3 years

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This is a somft thing I wrote because my platonic scoundrel @roseforthethorns was feeling sad. Ily bby

(3k+ words, Family Gossip, Geralt being good with kids, something akin to a binding..... just fluffypuffy stuff)

“You are an absolute darling, Geralt!”

“Hmph,” he grunted, and tucked the honeysuckles into the circlet before placing it carefully on Jaskier’s head. “You need to be pretty for the party,” the Witcher said firmly.

Jaskier beamed at him, eyes shining with affection. “That I do, my dear,” he said, adjusting the flower circlet to be at a jauntier angle. “Oh, do you like the ring, by the way?”

Geralt nodded, raising his hand. It was a lovely ring, but rather cheap. Bronze band, yellow agate cabochon, and tiny pearls. It was well-used, though. Jaskier grabbed his hand, squeezed gently, then skipped to the door. “Come on, then!”

Geralt was expecting the stares. He was not expecting so many nobles to glide up to him, give a nervous greeting, and then inquire about his relationship with Count Julian. Geralt was too baffled to answer with anything other than, “He’s my bard.”

One sharp-eyed old lady with an ivory cane showed up at Geralt’s elbow, and poked his middle with her cane. “Hmm. Too skinny,” she declared, while Geralt fought the urge to splutter. “How do you expect to take care of little Julie when you can’t keep yourself fed?”

“We’ve been getting along just fine for fifteen years,” Geralt retorted.

The old lady sniffed in disapproval. “Of course you would say that, you’re a man. Both of you need plumping up.” She smacked his middle with her cane and added, “Be careful with that ring, boy. It’s precious.”

Geralt grunted, hands automatically coming together so he could touch the ring again. The old lady nodded and walked away.

Jaskier had said this would just be a short jaunt to say hello to his cousin and leave--but said cousin was a queen, and asked him to stay for the whole evening. Of course, Jaskier agreed. And now Geralt was leaning on a wall sipping honey wine and feeling superfluous. There was nothing to do here. He should be hunting, gathering coin for their journey, not letting nobles stare at him.

A man in a military uniform approached him, and Geralt tensed, narrowing his eyes. He didn’t think he was going to be taken away; the soldier was alone, and Geralt came with Jaskier.

The soldier stopped, bowed, and said, “Greetings, Witcher. I’m Captain Yetzii, of the Palace Guard.”

“Geralt,” Geralt said.

The captain nodded, his heavy mustache and eyebrows hiding most of his expression, but the wariness and aggression in his scent and posture waning. “I suspected as much,” he said. “Not many people hover in corners watching Count de Lettenhove with such a worried expression.” The captain’s mustache twitched and the corners of his eyes crinkled, and Geralt was hit by the realization that, though this man was human and had red-brown hair and was as lean as a youth, he bore a striking resemblance to Vesemir. Even his scent had a familiar tang.

Geralt frowned and answered the captain, “He gets into trouble more frequently than we Witchers. If I don’t watch him he’ll do something stupid and end up wearing a casket of wine as trousers.”

“He’s already done that,” the captain said. “On his twentieth birthday, he and some of the troops got so drunk that they started a contest of what they could wear that was within uniform regulations. I don’t know how, but they all ended up agreeing that a wine casket and some sheafs of straw was within the rules.”

Something stirred in Geralt’s memory, and then jumped to the forefront: a few years ago, when he and Jaskier met again in spring, and got so drunk that--Geralt’s mouth twitched, but his voice was dry as he told the captain, “I know exactly how. I once witnessed him convince a king that he had created a dashing outfit out of moonlight and fresh air, then encouraged the king to wear it while giving a speech to the commoners. The fool actually believed him and stepped onto the platform before the crowd naked.”

The captain snorted, his posture relaxing further. “We heard of that, but no one knew it was M’lord Julian. Have you ever caught him dueling? He’s never been good at it, but by the gods, he tries. Especially when he was younger; whenever he visited, the Guard had to follow him when he went on a quest to seduce every barmaid in the city, because it was inevitable that he would end up trying to duel some poor citizen.”

Geralt’s mouth twitched again, visibly this time. “I can believe it.”

Somehow, swapping stories about Jaskier’s ineptitude with fighting rolled right into passive fighter roles; Geralt admitted that he’d rather be bitten by a manticore than pose as a bodyguard, and Captain Yetzii commiserated, saying that he had much preferred being in his village’s guard and patrolling the county to being a stationary captain. This led into how to prepare for long journeys far from humanity, and then a mild argument about horses. Geralt was offended by Yetzii’s insistence that horses should be bred for their lines, instead of for their traits; Yetzii was skeptical of the fact that the size of a horse’s heart was the defining factor of its speed, arguing that lungs and bone-structure were more important.

A noble boy, perhaps sixteen, drifted over and began asking questions that seemed to boil down to, “My tutor said that’s wrong.” Both Geralt and Yetzii immediately dropped the argument to speak to the boy seriously about how to choose, care for, and ride a good horse. A young lady of about thirteen took up a position close to the three of them, straining her ears to hear them while pretending not to.

It wasn’t long before Geralt and Yetzii had accumulated most of the attendants below the age of twenty, and were answering their questions about fighting, hunting, and survival. Yetzii was polite and deferential; Geralt spoke bluntly. So many curious faces, so many wide eyes--it felt like he was talking to his Witcher brothers.

Somehow, that didn’t hurt.

“I wish I could hunt trolls,” sighed a boy with lanky limbs.

Geralt frowned and said, “You’ve got the bones for it. Heavy laundry every other day, laps, and wrestling will get you started.”

The group went silent, gaping at him. Geralt stared back, then looked up to find Jaskier. He really had forgotten these children were nobles. He needed to get out of there.

“Do you think I could hunt trolls?” a young woman asked, her eyes bright with hope.

“You’re tall enough for it,” Geralt replied cautiously. “You’re almost done growing, but I don’t see why you wouldn’t be able to.”

The young woman beamed at him, and Geralt felt very uncomfortable.

“Mr. Pankratz, sir,” piped up a pudgy child with a cloud of golden curls for hair, “I don’t think I’ll ever be tall. Could I still fight monsters?”

Geralt nodded. “Yes. Other warriors in training may tell you not to, but they don’t know your limits,” he said. It was so peculiar. He felt like… like he was saying Vesemir’s words in his own voice. He looked at all of the children, and added, “Any of you can be warriors. And warriors don’t always hunt monsters in dark places.” Something Vesemir had told him when he was small popped into his head, and he said it aloud, not quite seeing the children: “Sometimes Witchers kill. Sometimes Witchers talk. It doesn’t matter if you do one or the other more: you’re still a Witcher.”

“What does that mean?” asked the lanky boy.

“It means…” Geralt frowned, trying to put his words into order. “It means, no matter what your fighting looks like--whether you kill monsters or negotiate with kings--you’re still a warrior. We fight with what we have. A sword, a pen, medicine, knowledge; none of these are more important than the others. It’s what you use them for that matters.”

There was a moment of silence in the little group. All eyes were fixed on him, including Yetzii. He tried to think of how to escape, but before he could, Jaskier appeared, beaming and bubbling. Geralt had never felt such relief as he turned to Jaskier, who told those assembled, “Hello, everyone! Very sorry to interrupt, but the queen wishes to meet Geralt. We’ll be staying a few days, you’ll have plenty of time to talk to him.” Jaskier winked at Geralt with an evil smile; Geralt rolled his eyes, but followed his bard willingly.

“Their parents are annoyed,” Jaskier murmured teasingly as they approached the royal dais. “You’re far too interesting for them.”

Geralt snorted. “If they actually taught their little ones useful skills instead of drilling them on how to blow their noses, they wouldn’t be interested,” he muttered, and smiled just a little when Jaskier laughed. He liked Jaskier’s laugh. When did it go from painful to pleasant?

The queen, Jaskier’s cousin, was just as beautiful as him, but not nearly as theatrical. Her eyes were blue, but more washed-out. One of her ladies-in-waiting had lined her eyes with coal, but it was not nearly as neat and delicate as Jaskier’s. Her hair was a sandy blond, well-maintained and shining like gold, but Jaskier’s hair was shinier.

He bowed without giving anything away on his face.

“Queen Chrysanthemum, may I introduce Witcher Geralt,” Jaskier intoned gravely. Geralt shot him an annoyed look. Jaskier never made it easy to greet royalty. “He’s my friend.”

Geralt bowed again and muttered, “An honor to meet you, your Majesty.”

Queen Chrysanthemum smiled prettily. “The honor is mine, Witcher Geralt,” she replied. Then her eyes twinkled and her smile turned crafty. “We were all wondering what kind of man Julian would settle on,” she teased.

Geralt tensed, but it was embarrassment, not anger. He was used to this.

Apparently, Jaskier was not.

He turned red as a tomato, and spluttered a bit before objecting weakly, “I haven’t settled on anyone! When I do, you’ll know, because she will be the most beautiful woman the world has ever seen!” He avoided Geralt’s eyes firmly, even though all the Witcher did was raise an eyebrow and repress a teasing insult. How odd.

The queen snickered. “Yes, yes, I understand, Julian.” She turned to the matronly noblewoman sitting beside her and flicked her fingers subtly; the woman rose, curtseyed, and walked away, joining a circle of other noblewomen. Geralt’s stomach dropped as Queen Chrysanthemum smiled at him again and said, “Sit with me a moment, Witcher.”

Geralt did so, stiffly. For some reason, Jaskier seemed reluctant to leave, but also reluctant to sit. He shifted his weight, fiddled with his cuffs, bit his lip, and then nodded sharply, before turning and marching to one of the refreshment tables. Geralt shook his head. Jaskier was always very odd around his family.

“You don’t seem surprised by him,” the queen remarked, beckoning with her fan for a servant to bring them drinks.

“I’ve known him nearly fifteen years,” Geralt replied. “If he wanted to surprise me, he’d stop singing.”

That startled a laugh out of her, as she accepted a glass of wine from the servant. Geralt followed suit, but did not drink from it. He’d already had too much ale; his tongue was loose and his mind was too relaxed.

“Tell me, how did you meet?” she inquired. “I know Julian, his penchant for dramatics is devastating. Did you really defeat Filivandrel?”

“With words, yes,” Geralt answered, feeling that pinch of irritation again. That fucking song. He hated it. “There was no dramatic battle. Still, humans have no need to fear him anymore.”

Queen Chrysanthemum nodded sagely. “I thought as much. Julian has never once had the courage to face a fight willingly.” She must have seen Geralt’s confusion, because she smiled and explained, “He hated hunting rabbits, for the gods’ sakes. Anything scarier than a bee, he ran away from. We used to laugh about it.”

Geralt remembered the times when Jaskier had thrown himself into a fight to help him, had acted as bait or a distraction even in near-certain death situations, had stared down a griffin and run it through with Geralt’s own sword. Jaskier had never run away. Jaskier wasn’t courageous, but he was braver than any other human--if foolishness counted as bravery. Geralt ran his thumb over the hem of his “fashionable” surcoat; the money used to purchase the fabric, tailoring, and embroidery had come from Jaskier talking down an enraged nagani, negotiating with good will and good humour until she laughed and agreed to his terms.

Why would anyone think Jaskier had no courage?

“He’s changed,” Geralt murmured, instead of snapping at her for being so condescending.

“Pankratzes never change,” Chrysanthemum replied dismissively. “I’m a Pankratz too, and I haven’t changed one bit since I married. His parents and siblings conform to tradition so easily you’d think they were actors. You can ask a Pankratz any question and know exactly what he’ll answer with.”

“Hmm,” Geralt said.

“At least he gave you the ring,” Chrysanthemum said, nodding at Geralt’s hand. “So many women he could have married, even at his age, but never one could wear that.”

Geralt frowned again. ‘His age’? Jaskier was barely thirty-six. That wasn’t an old age. “It’s a nice ring,” he allowed, because he could not imagine arguing that Jaskier was available for marriage.

Chrysanthemum smirked and answered, “Yes, it is. It’s been in the family since the Conjunction.”

Geralt almost told her that was impossible, a ring that old would be completely destroyed, surely. He looked at it, perfectly fitted to his sausage-sized fingers, and wondered why Jaskier would give him a family ring. “Hmm,” he said again, making a mental note to ask Jaskier about it. Then he decided to change the subject. “Which side of the family are you related to Jaskier on?”

A sly smile preceded her answer. “His mother was my first cousin,” she explained. “She was amazingly beautiful, and men from every social class asked her to marry them. She chose our third cousin twice removed, instead. Probably because she’s always loved the sea more than people.”

Geralt hummed encouragingly. The queen took the hint, and continued. “She was an odd one before she had Julian. Always singing at feasts and dancing at fetes. When I was small, I thought she was the most magical person in the world. Her mere presence could make one smile. Mother told me it was strange--that her own father was one of the Seelie court.”

“Should you be saying this in public?” Geralt cut in, glancing around sharply. There were five people close enough that he knew they could hear the queen, and eight more who probably could if they tried. Jaskier was near the back of the hall, laughing with some servants.

Chrysanthemum scoffed. “Everyone knows the stories. That’s probably why he’s so strange, too. Do you know, he refuses to claim the title of Count unless he’s visiting me?”

“Can’t imagine why,” Geralt muttered, and drank his wine.

Soon, the king announced that his dear wife was tired, and they should all go to their beds. Geralt stood, bowed to the royal couple, and made his way to Jaskier.

“You spoke to her for a while,” Jaskier said as soon as they were in earshot of each other. “What were you talking about?”

Geralt shrugged. “Gossip,” he grunted. When he heard Jaskier’s heart speed up, Geralt shook his head. “I didn’t find it important.”

Jaskier beamed at him. “Oh, well, if that’s the case,” he said, and changed the subject. “Chryssie told me that we can have the Celadon Suite. You’ll love it, Geralt, there is not a single corner that isn’t brightly lit and everything is so soft--”

Geralt listened to Jaskier’s chatter, focused more on his voice than his words, as they walked surely down a hall to the guest suites. A Seelie grandfather… no, not for Jaskier. The Seelie court were kind, mischievous, and tended to stay in Skellige. The ones he’d met had all said they preferred their own monsters over the main Continent’s, thank you very much.

The Celadon Suite was, frankly, much too green for Geralt’s taste; but it looked well against Jaskier’s teal-trimmed dusky blue outfit. There was a small receiving room with a dining table and two seating areas; the bedrooms, large and lush and leaden with silence; one bathing room tiled with white marble, the bathtub large enough for Geralt and his brothers to lounge in; and a small balcony off of the bigger bedroom. Geralt chose the smaller one immediately.

“Oh! Oh, Geralt!”

The Witcher turned, and Jaskier grabbed his arm. He’d taken off the circlet, and unbuttoned his doublet, but Geralt’s nostrils flared as he caught a scent that was not as carefree as Jaskier’s appearance.

“We should eat and drink water before sleeping,” Jaskier said, faking a smile. “Don’t want to throw up at breakfast!”

Geralt nodded, reluctantly, and followed Jaskier to the dining table.

They were both silent for a moment, looking at each other. Geralt relaxed slightly, taking in Jaskier’s familiar face, his reassuringly broad shoulders, the little curls of hair over his ears and his collarbone. This was Jaskier. His bard. His traveling companion. There was no need to be on high alert with him.

“Geralt,” Jaskier whispered, “What did she tell you?”

Geralt tapped his finger on the table for a moment, sorting his words. “She told me the ring you gave me is very old, and has always been in your family. She told me you were a coward when you were young. She said Pankratzes never change. And she implied that your grandfather on your mother’s side was of the Seelie Court. I don’t believe those last three for a moment. But I would like to know more about this ring.” Geralt set his hand on the table, palm down, and they both looked at the ring.

It was so small. A simple bronze band, a piece of agate, and six little pearls. Not that interesting. But it felt like... like being brought into Jaskier’s family, if only for a day or so. Having something so steeped in history pressed against his skin at all times felt like he was being asked to join that history.

But he was a Witcher, and human families were not for him.

Jaskier shrugged. “Mother said it would fit the hand of the person it was meant to,” he said, softly. “I don’t really remember the rest of her explanation. I was… lonely. So I decided it must mean that it would fit my very best friend.” He lifted his gaze to Geralt’s, and smiled. A real smile, one full of affection and happiness, so warm and enveloping that Geralt felt uncomfortable. “And it does! So you can’t say you aren’t my friend, because obviously you are!”

Geralt opened his mouth to deny it, then huffed in frustration and shook his head. Jaskier reached out and tucked his fingers between Geralt’s, interlocking their hands like cogs in a machine. The corner of Geralt’s mouth twitched. It always amused him that their hands were the same lengths, but Geralt’s was blockier, meant for work, and Jaskier’s hand was perfectly shaped to play any instrument. It was also interesting how Geralt’s wax-pale skin contrasted with Jaskier’s peachy hue, tanned ever so slightly.

He just liked looking at their hands.

Jaskier hummed a bar from a new song he was writing, and carefully wiggled his hand so that he could slide it under Geralt’s fingers, joining their hands. The Witcher didn’t mind. It felt nice, oddly.

“I… might have drunk too much,” he muttered, but he couldn’t look away from the tiny valley formed by their fingers.

“Mm, me, too,” Jaskier murmured.

They sat in silence for even longer, watching the light from the lamps cast warm flickers on their clasped hands. It was so calm.

Idly, Geralt picked up Jaskier’s wilting flower circlet and draped it over their hands. Jaskier smiled.

“I’ll be yours, and you’ll be mine,” the bard whispered.

“Hmm. Friends and comrades,” the Witcher murmured back. “Joined in battle.”

“Bound by time.”

“Forever yours--”

“--Forever mine.”

Geralt’s medallion might have stirred, but probably not.

Jaskier pushed their hands upwards, so that their palms touched. “This isn’t for anyone else to know,” he whispered.

Geralt squeezed his hand back. “No,” he breathed. “This is ours.”

#Geraskier #Geraskier fic #The Witcher #soft geraskier

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bakugou-tm · 5 years

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Bakugou with a T H I C C but also shy s/o, she always covers her body but one-day she wears jeans or somethings and bakugou is like "where did this thickness come from"???

I love this request and I will gladly fulfill it for you

Rating: Slightly suggestive themes at the very end, because how could I not, but mostly fluff and soft bby Katsuki

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Bakugou was never one to care about the way his soulmate looked. That’s one of the many things you loved about him.

This wasn’t to say he wasn’t an ass man, because he was total ass man, or that seeing womanly curves didn’t excite him in the slightest. It’s just he always had been attracted to the personality before the looks, which was surprising with his rather blunt personality.

But that is, after all, how the two of you got together. New to the school your third year, attention grew on you quickly when people noticed you wore a large sweater that fell just above the hem of your skirt to hide your body away from wavering eyes.

After being bullied in elementary school, you had finally had enough. Though, that didn’t mean you didn’t still have those emotional scars attached to you.

Luckily enough, your new classmates were more than welcoming and accepted you even for your odd look. Slowly but surely, people began to grow accustom to your baggy clothing, especially a certain ash blond.

Initially your shy, reserved attitude annoyed him to no end. Bakugou had no patience with those who could even try to defend themselves.

But after being paired up with a project, Bakugou was forced to know your true story and how you had built up these walls around you ever since elementary school.

It was that day that Bakugou realized: He was going to do everything in his power to protect you.

And he did just that.

In good time he grew the balls, Kirishima totally set it up tho, to ask you out to which you happily said yes to. Now after dating for a few months, Bakugou was proud to see you come out of your shell and watch you turn into the bright and bubbly girl you were before you had been harassed in your early years.

The only thing that didn’t change was your baggy attire, but at this point Bakugou didn’t seem to mind. He wasn’t one to judge what others wore, and as long as you were comfortable and happy he couldn’t give a flying shit.

But oh would that change the day he found out what exactly was hiding underneath all those horrendous articles.

Standing before the mirror in your boyfriend’s bathroom, you let out a sigh as you eyed your figure one last time in the spunky outfit.

Today the girls wanted to go out in the city, explore a few shops and get some pictures for the start of summer. While the plans sounded great, you weren’t expecting all of your friends to rally behind your new outfit change.

“C’mon (L/n)-chan, pretty please wear this!” Mina exclaimed with big puppy dog eyes as she gestured to the outfit Momo held in her hands.

Biting at your lower lip nervously, you shyly looked down as you felt your heart beat begin to pick up just a bit faster.

“I..I don’t know... and how could I possibly accept this Momo, it must have costed so much!”

A few girls scoffed at this, Momo even rolling her eyes as they knew full and well Momo and her family weren’t ones to worry about the cost of something.

“Really (L/n) it’s not a big deal, these were in my closet from a few years ago and I never even touched them, they’re better off going to you than some dumpster.”

You hated that you knew she was right, and you hated that you had no more excuses to throw out as your friends expectantly looked at you.

“We know it can be scary (L/n) trust me, I understand.” Jirou said with a caring smile as she placed a hand on your shoulder, “But you can trust us, we know you’ll look good in this and it’ll be much more comfortable to wear in the hot summer sun right?”

She did have a good point. Nodding slowly you grabbed the clothes from Momo, all of the girls squeeling in success as they hugged you tightly.

“We promise you (L/n), you’re going to love your new look!” Hagakure exclaimed, Ochako nodding quickly beside her.

“Annnd if you do like the outfit, we can shop more while we’re out and pick out a few others outfits you’ll like!”

New outfits? For some reason, that made your heart flutter just a bit. But not in a nervous way, in an excited way. She was right.. they were right! It’s time for you to dress the way you’ve always wanted to dress ever since you were little!

‘Now was not the time, definitely not the time.’ You thought to yourself as you gripped at the edges of Bakugou’s bathroom counter.

How were you going to walk out in public like this? With all of those eyes watching! Would they make fun of your muscular thighs? Or your larger bottom? Just the thought of looming glances all on you made you feel like you were going to vomit.

Gritting your teeth, you slowly looked up to your reflection one last time. Even with these negative thoughts poisoning your mind, you had to admit you did kind of look... good.

The pastel blue spaghetti strapped blouse accented your collarbone and toned arms from training, and you admired the softness of it. Plus the V-neck style allowed you to wear a few of your favorite necklaces, one of them given to you by Bakugou a few months ago for Christmas.

The silky blouse tucked in nicely with the dark wash high waisted jeans, the pockets on the back accenting the curvature of your backside and hugging all the right curves that you were able to pull off. Thanks to the high wasted aspect, the ankles of the jeans came up just enough for you to put on your favorite high top converse to bring the look all together.

With your hair tied up in a delicate bun, with the exception of a few hairs coming out, you couldn’t help but smile softly. For once in so many years you felt... beautiful.

Narrowing your (e/c) eyes sharply, you inhaled sharply before grabbing your bag and nodding your head confidently.

“I got this! I can do this.”

And so you did. You stomped out of your boyfriend’s bathroom with an unknown swagger and confidence you never knew you had.

Glancing towards Bakugou’s bed, you noticed his back turned to you as he was searching for something in his closet. Smiling softly at the cute backside of his wild blond tufts, you moved to his desk and double checked your bag to make sure you had everything with you.

“I’m heading out to go meet with the girls downstairs Katsuki, I’ll see you later tonight okay?”

Bakugou slightly jumped at the sound of your voice. Though he would never admit it, you were so good at sneaking up on people. The worst part was, you never even meant to do it.

This time was no exception, the ash blond mumbling a few profanities that went over your head as he searched for another game controller for Kirishima when he was to come over after you left.

Once his eyes finally landed on the controller he snatched it with an annoyed grunt before grabbing his water bottle from the metal shelf and closing his doors.

“Yeah yeah, don’t have a shitty time I guess and don’t get fucking killed, you hear me?” Bakugou spoke, uncapping his water to take a quick swig of it while he turned around to head towards your form, only for his entire body to freeze.

You.. you.. what were you wearing? Actually scratch that, who were you? Where did you get that body from?

Is this seriously what you’ve been hiding from him all these months?! An ass that looked like it had been sculpted from the gods, a (your figure) so perfectly sculpted it practically made him dizzy, beautiful smooth thighs that filled the jeans up just right. From head to toe you looked stunning... like a fucking angel!

Bakugou hadn’t even noticed he had paused halfway through swallowing his water until he bursted into obnoxious coughs, his face growing red as he coughed up the stubborn liquid before his eyes fell back on you once more.

At the sound of his outburst you quickly spun around, your (e/c) eyes widened with concerned as you saw your boyfriend red faced with a wild look in his eye.

“K..Katsuki are you alright?” You questioned softly, as you began to walk over to him until you heard a low growl vibrate past his lips.

Oh.

That’s why his face was so red. That’s what the downright animalistic look in his eyes was. You were so worried about what other people thought, you hadn’t even begun to realize that this was your boyfriend’s first time seeing you without baggy clothing.

“The fuck is this (F/n)?” Bakugou hissed lowly, his vermillion eyes hooded behind his ash blond bangs as he loomed over to you slowly.

You couldn’t bare look into his eyes, your own falling to the ground as you felt all the confidence seep from your body and to the floor.

“I..I.. the girls wanted me t..to wear something different...” You mumbled softly, feeling warm tears bring at the rim of your eyes, “I just thought...”

“You thought what, (F/n)?”

What were you even thinking. Why did you think dressing normally would be any different now? Nobody wanted to see your hideous body the way it was, not even your boyfriend. It would just be best if you hid it all from the world so you didn’t lose everybody you loved.

“I...” Was all you managed to whimper, your eyes squeezing shut to avoid any tears from seeping down your cheeks.

“You seriously fucking thought it was okay to hide this masterpiece from me all this time?”

At this you froze, eyes slowly opening at his comment. So he wasn’t.. disappointed?

Peering up slowly at your boyfriend through delicate lashes, you locked your gaze with his firm vermillion one, not even being able to help your lower lip from jutting out due to your overwhelming emotions,

“H..Huh?”

Bakugou’s intense gaze froze in the moment along with you, his face softening in confusion when he saw the thick layer of tears threatening to spill from your beautiful orbs.

“Wait (F/n), what the hell is wrong?” Bakugou spoke in a gruff, but soft tone as he quickly pulled you into his arms.

Biting at your lip, you let out a soft sniffle before embracing him back tightly.

“Y..You looked at me with such disgust, I thought t..that you didn’t like the way I looked and... and I didn’t want to lose you because of it.”

There was no getting around the immense dread and guilt Bakugou felt after hearing your confession, his eyes squeezing shut as he muttered ‘damn it’ under his breath.

Of course his shocked reaction probably looked like that to you, why wouldn’t it? He totally disregarded your past and how insecure you’ve been.

“No (L/n) that’s not it at all, n’ I’m an asshole for not expressing that,” Bakugou spoke into your hair as he placed a soft kiss on your head before pulling back to look you in the eye, “I was just shocked... all these months I’ve fucking fallen for you and I never even knew how beautiful my girlfriend was.. inside and out.”

Those words were enough to let those fat tears stream down your cheeks, ignoring the long work of makeup you applied to your face.

“K..Katsuki...” You whimpered with a large smile, one that made Bakugou swell with pride.

One calloused thumb swiped across both of your cheeks, a quick ‘tch’ escaping your boyfriend’s lips before he looked away with a blush, “Quit your fucking crying you sappy girl, you’re so damn dramatic.

Giggling softly you pressed a sweet kiss on Bakugou’s cheek, before grabbing your bag, “Thank you Katsuki, I love you.”

At those words, the ash blond couldn’t help but lay his eyes back on your own. A rush of heat flowed through his body, and he couldn’t even help the wild grin that came across his lips, to which he quickly pulled you in for a hug so you couldn’t see his emotions get the better of him.

“Love you too shitty girl...” Bakugou muttered with the role of his eyes before a sly smirk came across his lips.

Now that you were feeling better... there was no way on earth he was letting you get away with not only making him flustered but also daring to show yourself in such a delightful outfit.

Calloused palms traveled down your back, unnoticed by you until you felt the large hands grasp at the curvature of your cheeks, giving your bottom a nice squeeze causing a squeak of surprise to come out of you.

“Now you better come back home soon enough, it’s bad enough you’re going to be out in public with so many shitty extras looking at what’s mine.” Bakugou purred into your ear, his teeth just grazing the edge causing shivers to travel down your spine,

“So hurry fucking back, you know sure as hell I’m going to need to have my way with your sexy ass now shitty girl.”

#bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou #bakugou #bakugou x reader #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #shy reader #this was pretty fun to write #reader thicki like nicki >o<

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stclla · 3 years

Text

hello loves! my name is bri and i’m so excited to get the chance to write with all of your beautiful muses ♡ i just turned 24 (ew), my pronouns are she/her, and my timezone is est (luckily i live about an hour outside of nyc, and plan to move there permanently in 2021 yay !!!)

tbh it’s been at least a year since my last rp group and i’m a little rusty, so pls feel free to share your tips and lmk how i’m doing :) my writing style is pretty flexible and i match length, pov, etc. and now !! a little bit of info about my beautiful chaotic bby stella:

ABOUT.

estelle “stella” celestine evans was spotted in the fashion district adorning gucci ankle boots , with some airpod pros on . they’re most likely listening to heat waves by glass animals . you may know them as @stella or as that sydney sweeney lookalike . their twenty-second birthday just passed . while living in the upper east side , they’ve gained a bit of a reputation . they’re known to be reckless but on the other hand warmhearted . wonder if they’ll be the next person to hit the headlines .

BASIC INFO.

Full Name: Estelle Celestine Evans

Nickname(s): Stella

Age: 22

Date of Birth: August 4, 1998

Sun Sign: Leo

Moon Sign: Cancer

Rising Sign: Scorpio

Hometown: Beverly Hills, CA

Current Location: Upper East Side, NY

Gender: Cis female

Pronouns: She/her

Orientation: Pansexual

Political Affiliation: Liberal

Occupation: Supermodel, socialite, influencer

Career Highlights: Victoria’s Secret Angel, high fashion runways, print & editorial work, music video appearances, photography, art direction

Goals/Passions: Photography, art direction, fashion design, makeup, social media

Career Claim: Gigi Hadid

BIOGRAPHY.

When your mom’s a legendary supermodel and your dad is a smooth talking Hollywood talent agent, it’s safe to say that you were probably born with a silver spoon in your mouth. But don’t you dare say that shit to Stella Evans. Although she definitely enjoyed the finer things in life growing up and was practically gifted a spot in wealthy elite by her parents, Stella likes to believe that she did it all herself. And underneath it all - the glitz and the glam and the money and the flashing lights - maybe she actually did.

While this blonde haired, blue eyed beauty might be the spitting image of her mother with a few (okay, a lot) more extra curves, Stella tries to distance herself from her family heritage as much as possible. It started in kindergarten when she renamed herself. After all, being named after the notorious Estelle Evans doesn’t make you a lot of friends when you’re five. It makes you the subject of ridicule from your peers, and makes your teachers treat you as if you were the one posing topless in Italian Vogue. And when your mother made you model for a big Baby Guess modeling campaign at the age of 2, kids tended to talk. So she became Stella. Just Stella.

From then on, she did everything she could to separate herself from her parents. If her parents said to stay in, she went out. If they told her to get good grades, she failed her classes in retaliation. Their attention was all consuming, especially her mother’s. After the once popular cover girl had retired, she turned all of her attention to her daughter. Stella’s modeling work had been paused at the suggestion of her talent agent father, Arthur Evans. He wanted her to focus on school and get an education so she could take over the talent agency one day. But when Estelle and Arthur divorced when Stella was 10 years old, all bets were off.

Her mother hopped from loveless marriage to loveless marriage, dragging Stella along for the ride. Her father moved to the Upper East Side, vowing to see her at Christmas each year, while Stella jetted around the world against her will. 6th and 7th grade in Sweden, 8th grade in London, 9th and 10th grade in Paris. It was a long and lonely adolescence, but Stella filled it with booze, bars, and boys and girls to keep her company. Partying was her only escape. And she was damn good at escaping.

She had her first real relationship when she was 16. He was an older French financier who was content to spoil her rotten and show her a good time. Perhaps too good a time. Stella was introduced to the things that would become her vices - namely, drugs and alcohol. Her mother proved to be overbearing but oblivious. She would do things like criticize her daughter’s makeup, clothing, and body, but be completely unaware that Stella was doing things like snorting coke to get thinner. She’d call her trashy for going out to clubs, then look the other way when Stella would wear a short mini skirt when leaving for “study sessions” at the library. With Stella’s clever wit and electric charisma, it really was too easy. The drugs combined with the alcohol made her feel better because she didn’t really feel anything at all. Plus, if her parents hated partying, then Stella would learn to love it.

Shit hit the fan when Stella was arrested in France. Something about being an accomplice to international drug smuggling and being under the influence of a controlled substance - whatever. 16 year old Stella got off with a slap on the wrist due to her connections, promising to move back to New York with her dad until she was 18 and legal. The Upper East Side was her new home, and weirdly enough, she actually kind of liked it. It was easier to start over in New York, where no one cared about her washed up mother. But they did care about money, wealth, and excess, which Stella was more than an expert in, whether she liked it or not. This made her presence in the New York social scene almost magnetic. People would flock to her, drawn in by her ethereal beauty, effortless charm, and “fuck it all” party girl attitude.

Attention was a dangerous drug for a girl like Stella, who had spent her whole life freeing herself from her mother’s tarnished legacy. And when she had finally done it, had finally succeeded in making people call her “Stella Evans” instead of “Baby Estelle”, it made her wild with reckless abandon. All her new friends and lovers wanted to buy her shots and make her feel good any way she wanted, and it was only polite for Stella to let them do it.

The next few years were filled with exclusive clubs, raucous spring breaks, glamorous yacht parties, champagne kisses with boys and girls, social media notoriety, and juicy headlines that cemented her status as an it-girl. Her modeling career resumed with a promise to her father that she would go to college at the same time. Armed with a golden reputation, endless connections, and natural charisma and talent, Stella began to walk all the major runways and was in talks to appear in Sports Illustrated and Victoria’s Secret. Unlike her mother, she proved that she had both high fashion attitude and sex appeal. Stella was unstoppable.

Until she wasn’t. After a night of drinking and an ill-timed bet that she could parallel park her date’s Range Rover (despite the fact that Stella didn’t have a license to speak of), the police charged her with a DUI. This time, she didn’t get off so easy. Her father pulled as many strings as possible to keep her image clean in the press, but word got out anyway. Fucking instagram.

Faced with the threat of losing her big modeling campaigns, Stella agreed to clean up her image. Think rehab, charity work, inspirational interviews. The whole shebang. And it worked - kind of. It’s hard to navigate a world filled with temptation, but Stella doesn’t know how to survive without the glitz and glamour of the wealthy world. She dropped out of college against her dad’s wishes, officially surrendering herself to the New York social scene. Rich girls have more fun, anyway. But sometimes she hates it and wants to be “normal”. Even so, she knows that she never will be and embraces the beautiful chaos that her life of excess brings to her.

As far as rich kids go, Stella is almost down-to-earth. Kind of. She likes to think that she is, but she’s also the kind of girl who would never be caught dead on the subway. Or a taxi. Black cars and private jets only, please. Underneath it all, Stella wants (and frankly, needs) real connections in her life. People who genuinely care about her and have her best interests at heart are extremely rare, so when Stella lets someone get close to her, they’re with her for life. Her reckless, carefree attitude can definitely get her into trouble, so she can be a handful.

But one of her shining traits is that she doesn’t judge, at least not as openly and viciously as her peers. Stella’s life of wealth and status is definitely ingrained in her, but she is also openminded and accepting. Her friends don’t need to be old money. They just need to be real. You can catch her being the talk of the town in her native Upper East Side, but also vibing with the up and comers in Tribeca. Below the layers of superficiality and obsession with the finer things in life, this supermodel has a heart of gold. But don’t fuck with her. Stella is dangerous and defiant when she wants to be, and nothing can get in the way of her getting what she wants. Even if what she wants could destroy her one day.

*** her bio is still a wip and i’m working on some inspo for wanted connections, but definitely lmk if you have any questions or think stella would be a good fit for connections with your muses !

#wealthyhq:intro #i'm sorry if this is a MESS omg #so happy to meet all of you !!!

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secret-engima · 4 years

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(Sobs) kid!Noctis is like—the shit. He is the cutest goddammit shit ever. And do you know what that makes me want??? What if—NOX came back younger than noctis??? hUH? WHAT ABOUT THAT? (slaps table) trauma on the double on teeny tiny Boi with his Uncle Disaster that carts him around the wild, or Tiny Boi scrambling onto Hammerhead, wrapped in bandages with a huge ass sword on his back, covered in scars and marks, scowling and flinching at evERYTHING. (SLAPS TABLE( GIVE ME ANGST. (I need help.)

oohhhhh oHHHHHHHHH

WHY WOULD YOU Do ThIS tO ME-

-Ardyn would be freaking out so hard okay. SO HARD. Not only is he not dead, but Nox is like- THREE (because if Imma do this imma do it FOR SERIOUS) and that means his body and mind physically CAN’T hold that much memory yet, so Nox’s memories are basically on dream-state lockdown and while he is WAYYY more mature than a three year old Nox is now mentally an ACTUAL KID.

-HOW DO YOU TAKE CARE OF AN ACTUAL KID.

-Also Nox told him that Regis never looked at another woman after marrying Aulea, including after she died, so HOW DOES HE EXPLAIN NOX’S EXISTENCE IF CAUGHT.

-Ends up going on a rampage through Niflheim, blowing up ALL the labs, killing Besithia, binding Titus to him, not out of any plan but out of sheer PANIC because the only thing he can think of is to pretend that Nox is a CLONE and that means he has to remove any evidence/witnesses to the fact that Niflheim never got their hands on enough genetic material to try cloning an LC.

-Also saves 8 yr old Noctis from the Marilith by total accident about a month after time-traveling, he was just wandering around freaking out over having a three year old nephew to care for (who trusts him implicitly, who needs food and water and shelter on a regular basis which means schedules which mean Ardyn has to relearn the concept of TIME PRONTO) when he heard the Marilith and saw the burning car and instinctively noped his way in.

-Regis arrives in time to feel BURNING magic coating the air in red crystalline shards as a stranger in a hat and with an odd harness of some kind tied to his back tears the Marilith with an armiger. Regis sputters, Ardyn whirls around and Regis catches a glimpse of burning gold eyes and a TODDLER in a makeshift harness on the man’s front before the man warps away, leaving Noctis scared but unharmed because Ardyn got there before the Marilith could touch him.

-Regis’s keeps his composure only because his son needs him desperately but internally he’s screaming W H A T.

-Ardyn the Disaster Uncle is actually ... probably not discovered by Cid? While a frantic search begins for the mystery LC (Ardyn), I’m actually picturing like- Axis finding him and his first instinct is STAB CHANCELLOR but then there’s ... there’s a tiny kid there. And there’s burning LC magic as Ardyn snarls protectively over the boy, threatening to bind Axis to him out of defense until little Nox goes “Uncle, NO!” and Axis’s brain kicks over into both gratitude that he wasn’t enslaved and sympathetic dad mode.

-Axis grudgingly helps Ardyn settle down somewhere hidden after Ardyn gives his cover story (illegitimate LC, discovered that Niflheim was CLONING HIS RELATIVES and has since defected with the only surviving clone kiddo), probably Hunter HQ, which means Porrima takes one (1) looks at this panicking, flailing disaster uncle and takes him under her wing.

-Ardyn could just about worship the ground Porrima walks on for that. GUIDANCE FOR THE REARING OF SMOL NEPHEW. BLESS.

-Ardyn ends up adopted into the Arra Clan because it’s impossible to hate this messed up disaster human who is trying SO HARD to take care of his tiny human. Nox ends up adopted too, obviously, and he gets along splendidly with Axis’s kids, who are actually all about his age.

-Side note- Nox doesn’t have Quiet Days in this AU, he has Sick Days. Days where his magic gets out of control and swells under his skin and Nox collapses into a feverish mess that Dreams of his past or the KoL’s memories and all Ardyn can do is sing lullabies and stand in an ice cold shower with Nox in his arms to help bring down the fever that comes from having Too Much Magic packed in a tiny body (Nox will eventually grow out of Sick Days and they’ll turn into Quiet Days as his memories click back into place and his body/brain can handle that much magic but for now...)

-The Glaives are told by Axis about his new adoption and they are an Awkward Panic because THIS IS THE GUY THE KING IS FRANTICALLY SEARCHING FOR. BUT HE’S ALSO GALAHDIAN FAM NOW. WE CAN’T TURN HIM IN. BUT WE HAVE TO. GFDHGFD.

-In the end they don’t have to, because Cor stops by Meldacio to check on one of his Hunter contacts and comes face to face with a teeny Nox, who is now like- 5 years old. Cor, who is Noctis’s Godfather, INTIMATELY KNOWS bby Noctis’s face mentally goes BBY LC and starts to reach out to touch him when a voice snarls “Don’t touch my Nephew.” And the air grows thick with angry magic.

-Cor looks up and sees 1. Chancellor of Niflheim who has been missing for two years. 2. Blood red armiger swirling around ex-Chancellor’s body like bristling fur on a mama cat. 3. every Galahdian in the HQ has gone deadly still and is watching Cor with Murder in their eyes. For the first time in possibly ever, Cor feels like he could die in the next .05 seconds if he does the wrong thing. Steps back and raises his hands placatingly, inwardly panics when Nox fearlessly ambles up to him and latches onto his pant leg with a soft word that sounds like it might be is name or might be “Coeurl”.

-After much tense standoff and agitation from Ardyn, Ardyn agrees, grudgingly, to come to the Citadel to meet with Regis on the condition that his nephew is not taken away from him.

-Cor takes them back to the Citadel, everyone picture Regis’s face when he gets word from a servant that Cor is waiting in a private sitting room with guests and Regis comes in and sees the red-haired man from that night two years ago, the one with magic simmering warningly under his skin (Ardyn sees no reason to hide it at this point after all).

-Then Regis hears a sniffle-sob and his eyes drop do the-

-Child.

-Black haired blue eyed child that looks like a thinner, not as well cared for Noctis at age 5.

-The child who reaches out with his magic and fearlessly tangles it with Regis’s in a way that knocks the wind out of him as the little boy tilts his head and hesitantly says, “...Dad?”

-Regis rocks back as if slapped and has to lean against Clarus. Cor looks apologetic at least as he explains that he ... well, he found Mors illegitimate child and .... another.

-And Regis- Regis KNOWS that he has no son other than Noctis. He has not touched a woman since Aulea died and Noctis is TEN and this boy is even younger so he can’t- that can’t be-

-But Nox knows his father, even if his memories are locked in a sort of protective dream state that lets him know things like “Ardyn is Safe Uncle” and “Cor is Friend” and so Nox REACHES for him, wiggles against Ardyn’s tight grip and bursts into tears because Dad-dad-that’s-dad-he-WANTS-HIS-DAD-

-And suddenly Regis is across the room, gingerly taking the child from a reluctant Ardyn’s arms and pressing his face into the child’s (his child’s HIS BOY HIS SON-) hair and murmuring soothing nothings as the boy sobs and sobs and sobs and his magic (so MUCH magic it inwardly staggers Regis) tangles around Regis’s in relief-grief-relief-joy-love-love-love that Regis cannot fathom the origin of.

-Regis looks up slowly, dazedly at the half-brother he only glimpsed that night the man saved Noctis from the Marilith, the man who is the missing Nif Chancellor and the man grimaces at the wild-eyed question he can see in Regis’s eyes.

-“I care not for myself or what they did to me,” Ardyn murmurs softly and all Regis’s red flags go up (a half-sibling caught by Niflheim, a man who wears layers of long sleeved clothes and who’s cheeks are still a bit too hollow despite Porrima’s best efforts), “but when I found him, I could not stay. I could not let them have him.”

-Regis presses a kiss instinctively on the child’s hair as the boy snuggles into his neck and hiccups softly, “How...? I haven’t... not since Aulea...”

-Ardyn shrugs and keeps his eyes on his nephew, looking like he’s itching to snatch the boy back, his magic brushing against Regis’s by accident as it coils protectively around the little princeling, “That has never stopped them. All they needed was an adequate blood sample.”

-And Regis-

-Regis thinks of the little blond baby Cor brought home ten years ago, Cor’s expression of disgust and horror as he spoke of tanks upon tanks of people, all infected with the Scourge and unsalvageable save this tiny baby. Regis thinks of medical science and artificial fertilization and DNA and how Niflheim would do ANYTHING to have Lucis Caelum blood in their grasp, especially if Ardyn either refused or was incapable of having children. He thinks of all those things and looks at Ardyn’s grim, haggard expression and he-

-He breathes very carefully as he clutches the little boy closer, towering RAGE warring with gut-wrenching horror, “They-. Are there-?”

-Ardyn shook his head and gently ran his hand through downy black hair, “He is the only one. I destroyed all the facilities I could before they had the chance to do more.”

-And Regis needs to sit down. He needs to sit down with this tiny child in his arms and a half-brother that eyes Regis like he might bite and Regis- Regis wants to CRY but he can’t afford it, not now, so instead he cautiously reaches out and brushes magic with Ardyn (feels the instinctive, visceral flinch it causes the other man and backs off) and rasps hoarsely, “What ... what is his name?”

-Ardyn’s lips twitch sheepishly, “Our thoughts were not much different when it came to naming little Lucis Caelums I’m afraid. His name is Nox.”

-Regis breathes the name like a prayer and looks down at the boy already dozing off in his arms, totally, completely trusting the STRANGER that is holding him, magic already nestled against Regis’s (so MUCH, an unhealthy amount, and what had Niflheim DONE to make this tiny boy already so powerful in magic?) and pulsing a steady heartbeat of love-contentment-relief-trust. He looks back up at the man who should be an enemy but was instead family, who had saved Noctis from the Marilith and had saved this second son Regis had not known existed from fates worse than death and he asks, “Will you... would you do me the honor of staying? The both of you? Please?”

-And Ardyn gives in, because he cannot bear to separate Nox from his father now, not when Nox is radiating such contentment and happiness.

-Much later, probably days actually, after guest suites are prepared (and a snarling overprotective Ardyn gets his way of having Nox share his suite) and medical exams are taken (and Regis RAGES his way across a training room when he sees the pictures and reports of both his newest son and his half-brother, of the newest son’s many scars and his half-brother’s even worse scars and BRAND), Noctis is informed of new relatives and insists on going to see them.

-Noctis stares down at little Nox, who tilts his head curiously as he hides behind Ardyn’s leg, and Noctis’s heart MELTS. Nox is the same age as Iris, and Noctis can feel magic cautiously poking his, and every switch in Noctis’s head goes MINE. MY LITTLE BROTHER NOW. And Ardyn could laugh himself sick if he wouldn’t have to explain why.

-Also everyone picture Ignis. Ignis who already has mothering instincts out the wazzoo. Ignis who loves Noctis to no end and now there’s a TINIER VERSION and that tiny version looks at him and goes “Iggy?” so hopefully and plaintively that Ignis is just- he’s gone. Goodbye.

-Iris gets to be Nox’s Shield. They are two of a kind as they grow up together and its great.

-Regis freaks out so hard the first Sick Day Nox has in the Citadel, and Ardyn looks so EXHAUSTED when he explains that this is normal and why it happens (too much magic in too small a body, he’ll grow out of it someday) and then Regis is so ANGRY over whoever made Nox too magical to be healthy.

-Ardyn and Regis brother bond over raising Nox.

-Gladio is just- “my brat bby brother now. MINE.”

-Prompto is still found early and adopted by Cor thanks to Ardyn, Prompto. ADORES. bby Nox. The Power of Cute compels you.

#SE asks #oliverslewty asks #Secret Engima Rambles #Nox verse #Little Nox verse

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