#sun said something to soothe me then they showed me the art they got which with my brain looked like amalgamations of famous art works lmao

[bellalunadreams]

Okay hear me out, art thief Sun and Moon and art restorer Y/n

[babydotcom]

okay i don't know if anyone's said this before but i think hakoda and bato's relationship is really important to sokka accepting his attraction to men. this absolutely got away from me so the analysis is under the cut. i'd appreciate it if you gave this a read!

we all know sokka sees his dad as the pinnacle of Manliness, and spends so much of his childhood and teenage years trying to live up to this standard he feels hakoda has set for him (whether or not this perception is accurate). he is supposed to be a warrior, a protector, a leader. he is supposed to be strong. this is why he represses all of his negative emotions, all his grief, sadness, rage, hurt. it's why he falls madly in love with the first sweet, emotional, kind, traditionally feminine girl he's ever met that he's not related to, because yue compliments his perception of manhood. it's why suki, a woman who is all of the things he thinks a man should be, is confusing to him. suki opens his eyes a little bit, because she is an attractive girl that also embodies manhood the way sokka thinks he should.

from the beginning of book two on, we see sokka be more honest with himself about his attraction to men, even if he's not so open about it. there's the boulder, chong in the cave of two lovers, and zuko (he was flirting at the western air temple i don't care. this isn't about shipping anyway). these are men that sokka textually finds attractive, so he knows he's not straight. this doesn't fit into his perception of manhood- hakoda's love for kya was incredible, so of course sokka would ingrain heterosexuality into manhood. he never voices this same-sex attraction (i know this is nickelodeon, but you know what i mean), but it's pretty much a no-brainer that a relationship with suki, who he perceives as being man-adjacent, is something he wants so much to pursue.

from book two on, we also see sokka sort of reevaluate this manhood standard by expanding his horizons. he finally is expressing himself creatively. first is the haiku club in ba sing se-- when else have we seen him trying to impress girls by meeting them where they're at, using his words in poetry to impress them rather than performing some act of machismo? second and infinitely more importantly is in Sokka's Master. the entire episode is about sokka proving (and realizing) his worth, and to him he is only worth anything if he is a perfect man, if he is like his father. for someone training to be a swordsman, we actually see sokka do little swordfighting in comparison to how much art (which for the sake of this post we'll consider traditionally feminine) he does. he never once complains about this, but his appreciation of the arts changes over the course of his training. for his first calligraphy practice, sokka tries, sure, but he doesn't take it seriously. he mushes his face into the paper, taking the easy, and the more brash route to the end goal.

he approaches his first spar with *checks notes* fat, the same way. he tries, but fails spectacularly because he takes the brash and easy route, making the most obvious first strike against his opponent. he sucks with the sword, so far. it's only after he takes piandao's painting lesson seriously-- or as seriously as he's capable of-- that he has any sort of breakthrough in his swordfighting. his development as a swordsdman, his mastering of a masculine activity and fighting style, is dependent on his acceptance of art and emotion and creativity, of femininity. piandao's training, his emphasis on the arts, is what made sokka a great swordbender. in realizing his worth, sokka had to accept femininity into his ideal of man.

back to hakoda and bato. sokka doesn't get a lot of time with his dad before the invasion on the day of black sun, because obviously they have a war to fight. but what time he does have with hakoda is spent spiraling over his worth as a man yet again, because hakoda has shown just how much sokka has yet to grow as a leader. it's neither of their faults, but hakoda showing up sokka at the planning meeting causes a blockage in sokka's growth, just after he'd reached new heights in sokka's master. sokka's back to feeling like shit, and this is compounded by the failure of the invasion. that moment at zuko's coronation, when hakoda tells sokka that's he proud of him, after sokka had been absolutely crucial to winning the war? that's means the world to him. his Ideal his proud of him.

i imagine that during the war, hakoda and bato weren't together. hakoda was still mourning kya (and he always will be, but the wound was fresher then), and then they were fighting for their lives. so, i think when they do get together, it's not terribly long after the war. sokka seeing them start a romantic relationship is what allows him to finally embrace his attraction to men. his father, his chief, his pinnacle of manliness, can love other men and express that openly. hakoda is the Typical Father in that we don't really see him actually vulnerable other than that moment in boiling rock when he tears up at seeing sokka, so to see his father in a loving relationship again, with bato, his life long best friend, would be incredibly powerful for sokka. it finally clicks that sokka can love a man, too, and that loving a man does not make him less of one. before bakoda get together, sokka probably fears ever coming to terms with his same-sex attraction. he knows that hakoda loves him absolutely, but the nagging voice in most, if not all, queer peoples' heads still makes sokka wonder if hakoda would respect him as a man if he were in a gay relationship, regardless of how much hakoda loves him. to have that worry soothed... that's everything to him, when it comes to his sexuality and acceptance of himself.

much of sokka's arc throughout the series is about deconstructing that idea of manhood he's held onto since he was a little boy, and redefining masculinity in terms that embrace the feminine parts of him that make him such a great warrior, protector, and leader. he is loving in his protectiveness, he is soft in his strength, he is creative and artistic in his leadership. sokka's development in this regard is incomplete by the end of the series, because he's 15 and nobody is done growing up at that age, but him getting his dad back, and finding that his ideal isn't really what he thought, has him on the right track to fully embracing himself as a man whose strengths go beyond the idea that he created as a kid, and whose love goes beyond gender. i just think that's neat.

[novaiya]

The Portrait of Charles Smith - Charles x Reader

Summary: Based on this request: Can I get Charles catching the reader drawing him? I feel like it’d be so cute to see him all bashful n embarrassed that someone finds him attractive enough to make art of. 

Words: 1369

Warnings: None.

A/N: Guess who just finished the Picture of Dorian Gray and is now making it her entire personality.

Your pencil was making swift strokes on the paper as your eyes flicked between the journal on the table and your subject. You watched his arms, muscular and thick, swing down as he chopped through a log. He used the back of his hand to wipe away the sweat from his forehead, and then reached out for another log, placing it down and once again chopping through it.

You enjoyed watching Charles work, doing different tasks around the camp such as cutting logs for the firewood, fixing up the old wagon or taking care of the horses. He did all those things with grace and ease that always captivated you and that’s why you were drawing him now. The way he was swinging down the ax captured your attention, the way his muscles flexed, and you couldn’t help but get out your journal, quickly scribbling down before he finished his chore.

“Drawing him again, aren’t you?”

You almost jumped out of your chair when you heard Tilly’s voice behind you. You were so engrossed in your thoughts and your art that you didn’t hear her approach you from behind.

“Tilly,” you breathed out, your hand on your chest, “You can just sneak up on people like that.”

“Sorry,” she said with a smile that said she really wasn’t.

You tried to discreetly push your journal to the side, but Tilly was quicker, snatching it away and looking over your sketch. You tried to pry it from her hands, but her grip was solid, and if you kept fumbling with her, you were bound to bring more attention to the two of you. So instead you huffed and turned your head to the side, not wanting to see her face as she looked over your drawing of Charles.

She said your name, making you turn back towards her. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “You have to show it to him!”

“I can’t, Tilly,” you said, shaking your head. “I have put too much of myself into it.”

“What do you mean?”

“If he sees the drawing, he’ll surely understand how I feel about him.” You took the journal from Tilly’s hands and looked over the sketch that you’ve done so far. “Every line that I have drawn is like a love confession. This drawing is nothing if not a love letter to him.”

“Love letters are meant to be sent, not kept in the sender’s possession.”

“That, you might be right about,” you said, closing your journal. You looked in the direction where Charles was chopping the logs, but he was gone now. You’d have to find another opportunity to finish the portrait.

It was a few days later when an opportunity presented itself. You have just finished your chores for the day, and saw Charles by the hitching posts, tending to the horses. He was, as always, engrossed in his work, oblivious to you as you took a seat in by a tree nearby, taking out your journal and drawing him.

The shade from the tree kept you cool and safe from the sun's rays as you sat against it. With the journal in your lap and the pencil in your hands, you went to work, continuing where you left off. The portrait, at that point, was almost finished, it just needed some minor alterations with the shading and the details.

Charles was none the wiser, you thought, as you kept looking at him, memorizing every detail that made him him and transporting it onto the paper. When you told Tilly that every line that you drew was like a love confession, you weren’t exaggerating. If someone was to see the portrait, they would easily tell that it was made by someone who loved Charles. The attention to details, to every freckle, wrinkle and scar, could only be done by someone who loved the subject, loved Charles.

“Tilly was right, it is a beautiful portrait.”

Your head snapped up to where the voice came from. Charles was leaning against the tree, looking down at you, a soft smile on his lips. You could practically feel your face heat up and your heart beat wildly against your rib cage. The mix of embarrassment and surprise that flooded through your veins was so strong, you felt you were gonna faint.

You turned to look at your journal, and then at Charles, stammering and trying to think of something to say. Should you apologize? Give him the drawing? Mount one of the horses and ride out into the sunset?

In the distance, the sound of camp could be heard; a mix of chatter, arguments, and laughter. But where the two of you were, it was quiet, and Charles swore he could hear the sound of your heartbeat against your chest.

He sat down next to you so he could better look at the journal in your hands. The drawing was indeed beautiful, just like Tilly said a few days ago. She pulled him away from his chores to tell him about the portrait that you’ve been drawing, and how beautiful it was and that he should see it. He thought that she might’ve been pulling his leg. A portrait of him? Who would in their right mind spend time to draw him, of all the people, he thought. Seems that that person is you.

After a moment of silence, you mustered up the courage and said, “Do you like it?”

He chuckled and replied, “I do, but…” he trailed.

“But?”

“It’s too beautiful, and I’m anything but that.”

“The portrait doesn’t lie, Charles. I simply captured what I saw.”

Both of you were surprised at your boldness, and Charles asked, “Is this how you see me?”

Charles wasn’t the most confident man when it came to his looks. He was confident in his strength, in his intelligence and his skills, but beauty wasn’t one of them. He was okay, he thought, not the worse, but also not handsome by any standards. So to see this portrait, and see the love with which it was drawn, to see all the details that you paid attention to such as his scars, his lips, his eyes, it struck him.

After a moment of silence you replied, “It is, Charles. You’re beautiful, don’t deny it.”

Despite seeing the portrait you’ve drawn, he was still surprised to actually hear you say it. The words left him speechless, and he found himself averting his gaze, a light shade of pink already making its way to his cheeks.

The effect of your words didn’t go unnoticed by you. You reached out and placed your hand on his cheek, turning his attention back to you. How could he think he was not beautiful, you couldn’t understand. You traced a scar on his cheek with your fingers; you wondered where he got it. You took liberty, and traced his lower lip with your thumb; his lips were big and plump, and you have caught yourself way too many times thinking about how they’d feel against your own, the same thought now coming back full force.

You wetted your lips by an instinct, the act not going unnoticed by Charles who kept his eyes on you the entire time. You raised your gaze, and your eyes met. The air was thick with tension as you inched closer towards each other, more and more, until you met, your lips colliding against each other.

Your imagination couldn’t do this moment justice; it felt so much better than anything you could imagine. His lips were soft and gentle against yours, and the kiss itself was nothing if not tender and soothing. Your journal fell on the ground, forgotten, as your hands made their way to Charles’ hair, tangling your fingers in his locks and bringing him closer to you, deepening the kiss. One of his own hands was on your cheek, caressing your skin, wanting nothing more than to memorize the feeling of you.

If the two of you weren’t busy exploring each other’s mouths, you’d see, in the distance, Tilly smiling to herself, proud of her work as a cupid. You’d have to thank her later, she thought. Maybe you could draw her a portrait.

[watchyourbluesturngolden]

cats and babies

This is the first piece I’ve ever written so if anyone sees this be nice pls and thank u

There could be typos/ weird formatting, this was typed entirely on my phone

I also feel the need to say all of my medical knowledge is from Grey’s anatomy and googling things I saw on grey’s anatomy so this is probably not that accurate ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  

Word count: 6,160

Warnings: Car accidents, blood, angst (but with a v happy ending ofc bc sad endings are Not For Me), hospitals/medical stuff, again a very happy ending, I would like to emphasize the happy ending so no one gets scared away from reading this, did I mention there’s a happy ending?

"So, what'd'ya say? Chinese?"

They were deciding where to go for dinner after a long day of touring their favorite art museums. Harry and Y/N had been dating about two years now, and (cheesy as it sounds) they loved each other more and more every day. 

"Chinese sounds great," Y/N smiled, glancing over at Harry. The golden sun reflected off his curls, making him look absolutely angelic. 

He smiled, which turned into a chuckle, which turned into full blown laughter. She was confused. "What is it?" What's so hilariou- eyes on the road!!" 

"Sorry, sorry," he laughed. "Nothing, just- do you-" he breathed slowly, calming down a bit. "Do you remember the first time we had Chinese food? She blushed, laughing with him at the memory. 

Their first date had been... disastrous, to say the least. They had both been nervous, but both trying to act confident. They had decided on a nice, fancy, black tie restaurant, and Y/N was excited. When he picked her up in a limousine, she was hardly unable to contain herself.

However, their plan fell apart almost from the beginning. When they got to the place, a big red sign read "CLOSED FOR REPAIRS"

"Ooook... that's... weird," Y/N had grimaced. "What should we do now?" 

"Uh... we could... try the one a few blocks over? Yeah, that's a good place too, I know the owner. He always has a table for me. That'll work!"

Y/N hasn't quite cared about the wrench thrown into their plans. She really liked Harry so far, and she though he liked her too. So she chirped "Sure! Sounds great."

She hadn't noticed how embarrassed he looked when he opened the car door for her. He couldn't believe his luck! He was finally on a date with a girl he really liked, really wanted to impress, and the best restaurant in town closed with no notice? How could this happen? But he shook it off, climbing in after her and alerting the driver of their change of plans. 

When they got to the next place, Harry immediately got worried. It looked very crowded, and while the owner usually held a table for Harry, it didn't seem so tonight. 

He pulled out his phone.

"Hey, Luke! Yeah, I'm great! Listen, do you by any chance have a table-" He paused, and then his face fell. His voice kept its happy tone, though. "No, no problem at all, I understand. Yeah, for sure, a different night. Thank you!" He hung up, looking more than a little dejected. 

Y/N put a hand on his arm. "It's ok, I promise. I swear I didn't just agree to go out with you for the fancy food. We can go anywhere, 'Im really not upset!" 

"Agh, thank you. You're very sweet. But really, you deserve a fancy place. Only it seems everyone in the world is determined to make sure we don't get to do that," He huffed. "Maybe..." And he pulled out his phone again. He glanced at her curious face. "How do you feel about Chinese?" He asked sheepishly.

  Y/N beamed. "I love it," and there was no trace of insincerity on her face. 

"Right then, Chinese it is!" he found the closest place on his phone, telling the driver the address.

After a few minutes of eating, Y/N looked around the table for a fork. She could handle big foods, like the chicken, with the chopsticks, but definitely not the rice. 

Harry asked what she needed. She was a bit embarrassed to tell him she wasn't good enough with chopsticks to eat her rice, but he was kind about it. He helped show her how to use them without making too big of a mess. Still, she dropped half her plate on a napkin in her lap. 

At the end of their meal, Y/N burst out laughing when she picked up her napkin. Harry looked at her, confused, until she placed what was basically a full serving of rice on the table. He was also unable to contain his laughter, to which Y/N responded by throwing a few grains of rice at him. 

He threw a balled up napkin at her, and she blew a straw wrapper in his face. This escalated until she splashed what was left of her water glass on him. There was stunned silence for a moment, and Y/N thought she went too far. Then he looked at her and burst into laughter. She sighed in relief, laughing with him. "I'm sorry, that was too much," but she couldn't keep the smile off her face at the sight of the water dripping down his face.

"A little water never hurt anyone," he said, his eyes twinkling as he splashed her with his own water. 

Y/N was pulled from the happy memory of their first date when the car skidded on the ice. 

"Careful... if I'd known it was this slippery we'd have found a closer place," she said nervously.

"Nah, we've talked about this, the only good place is the one two towns over. I understand you love Minnesota and all but it is NOT the best place to find good Chinese food," he smirked.

"I will not have this Minnesota slander, not in this house. Maybe you're the issue, with your sophisticated taste and all," Y/N said, laughing at his disgruntled look. "Sophisticated? I took you for Chinese food on our first date. Nothing about that screams "sophisticated" to me." 

"Yeah, but we were dressed VERY fancy. That counts," Y/N laughed. 

"Oh really? that's what makes me sophisticated? alright then, you're right, I'm, extremely-" 

The car slid just a little too far for Y/N's liking. 

"Harry, are you sure it's safe to be driving on this? I think it's getting worse, and- look, it's starting to rain." She checked the weather on her phone. "Yeah, it's at that weird temperature where it's halfway freezing. The road will be worse on the way back." 

"I think we're ok," He reassured her. "The car has 4 wheel drive, and I'll go slow. I think the biggest danger is us not getting our Chinese food," he smiled at her. "Uh, no," Y/N said, rolling her eyes. "I'd say the biggest danger is crashing and dying in a firey car wreck." 

"Always so negative, Y/N," Harry laughed. "We're perfectly fine-" he spoke too soon, because right then the car slid again. A lot, this time. They almost slid right through a stop sign. 

Y/N clutched the armrest. 

"We're almost there, you better not kill me before I get my Chinese food, Styles. I finally know how to eat rice with chopsticks without..." She stopped halfway through her sentence because she was laughing so hard. "Without... dropping all of it on my lap." 

They dissolved into giggles, especially when Harry said, "got any more water to throw at me?" 

The car slid once more, and Y/N felt her pocket nervously. She had bought a ring for Harry. It was nothing too special, but it was the one year anniversary of the first time they had gone to an art museum together. She wanted to commemorate that with something special, so she had gone to the museum gift shop and found the perfect ring. It had a silver band, a little thinner than the rest of his, and a labradorite stone set into it. She thought it would complement his other jewelry nicely. 

She kept her hand on the little box in her pocket, careful not to make Harry suspicious. 

He wasn't looking at her, though; he was completely focused on the road. His hands gripped the wheel hard enough to turn his knuckles white. Y/N felt a little more nervous seeing this. Harry was an excellent driver, and he usually had one hand on the wheel and the other holding hers. He only gripped the wheel this tightly when he felt unsafe driving. 

Y/N looked out at the darkening sky. She was not a fan of storms, especially ones that make the roads icy. Like a true Minnesotan, she knew that under the right circumstances, a bit of rain could make it nearly impossible to drive.

A car sped past them, almost veering into their lane when it went over a particularly icy patch. 

"Harry, really, I don't know if we should keep going," Y/N said nervously.

"I know, but I'm not sure what we should do. I think it's safer to just keep going and hope the rain stops. We're about 10 minutes away, but if we turn around it's almost a 2 hour drive." 

"Yeah... you're right. It's better to just keep going. Just... go slow," Y/N said, biting the inside of her cheek. 

"Stop doing that," Harry chided in a singsong voice. 

"How can you even tell? you weren't even looking at me," Y/N laughed. 

"I know how you are when you're nervous, Y/N. Biting your cheek won't do anything but hurt." 

Y/N smiled. She had never had someone care this much about her. Someone who knew her this well, almost better than she knew herself. She was so hopelessly in love... 

She was so busy thinking about what she would say when she gave him the ring that she didn't hear the horn blaring. She looked up just in time to see the truck driving straight down the middle of the road towards them. 

She could tell instantly the driver of the truck couldn't do anything. He was sliding on the ice like they had before. Harry jerked the wheel to the right, moving the car out of the way. 

It wasn't enough.

Y/N heard a horribly loud crashing noise, and then there was nothing. 

Y/N shot straight up out of the bed she was in, gasping. Someone put their hands on her shoulders, trying to soothe her and get her to lay back down. She pushed the hands away as her vision came into focus. She was in a room filled with people and noise and 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦.

She panicked for a minute before she realized where she was. Clearly an Emergency Room. There were 4 doctors and nurses around her, checking her eyes, ears, reflexes, pulse, breathing. She threw her arms out to try and get some space. One of the nurses caught her hand, holding it in both of hers. 

"Y/N, you're alright. You're in the hospital. You were in a car accident. Do you have any pain? Whe-"

"Harry! Where's Harry?? I need to see him, I have to, I have to go-" She stuttered as she pushed the doctors away from her, trying to get up again.

  The same nurse held her back.

"Y/N, we need to make sure you're ok before you can get up. If you let us help, you'll be able to see Harry sooner. Can you lay back? Do you have any pain?"

  "No, no I'm fine, I'm ok! I need to see Harry, I need to know if he's ok! Please!" Y/N looked frantically around at the doctors, hoping one of them knew something. 

The doctor who appeared to be in charge ordered, "Someone go get an update on the guy they brought in with her. See how he's doing." 

"Thank you, thank you so much," Y/N breathed, finally laying back. 

"There we go. Do you have any pain Y/N?" The nurse asked again. 

"No, I'm totally fine. I'm- " Y/N brushed her hair out of her face. When are brought her arm down, she saw that her hand was covered in blood. "I'm bleeding!" She cried, panicking. 

"It's ok, it's not too bad," one of the doctors said, examining her head. "It looks like it'll need maybe 5 or 6 stitches. We can fix that up right away." 

Y/N closed her eyes. How had this happened? Harry moved the wheel, she knew he did. How had they crashed this badly? 

The doctor who had been sent to check on Harry came back into the room. Y/N snapped her eyes open, looking at her expectantly.

"He is stable. That's the important thing right now. However, he's been pretty badly injured. He broke his femur and clavicle. He has a small brain bleed, and he is covered in cuts from the glass. He's also pretty bruised from the airbag and seatbelt. He is intubated, because he was having some trouble breathing. He might need surgery to repair the brain bleed, but right now they're waiting and hoping it will get better on it's own." 

Y/N exhaled. "But... he's ok? I mean... he's alive?" 

The doctor smiled. "Yes. He's doing ok." 

Y/N finally allowed herself to breathe. She noticed she was crying but she didn't do anything to wipe her tears away. 

"Ok, Y/N," said the doctor stitching up her face. "I'm finished here. You need to stay here for a little while longer so we can monitor you. There is an IV in your arm to keep you hydrated. If you need anything, call for a nurse. Also, and this is important, don't get out of this bed without someone helping you. You've been through a lot today, but the adrenaline is wearing off, which might make you feel shaky. Do you need anything right now?" 

"No, I'm... I'm fine. Thank you," Y/N said, wiping her eyes. 

After he left her bed, she felt her pocket. She breathed a sigh of relief when she felt the ring still there. Then she mentally kicked herself for being worried about a silly ring when Harry was... no. She wouldn't let herself think that. Harry was 𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦. They were both alive, and they were both ok.

About an hour later, a nurse came in. After confirming that she felt totally fine, Y/N anxiously asked when she could see Harry. 

"I'm sorry, the ICU is family only," The nurse said. She really did look sorry, but this did nothing to make Y/N feel better. 

"I- I'm his wife!" Y/N said quickly, not even thinking. She most definitely was 𝘯𝘰𝘵 his wife. She wasn't even his fiancee. She slipped the ring from her pocket onto her finger, then held up her hand to the nurse. 

The nurse pretended not to notice the fact that the ring hadn't been there before, and that the ring was easily a size too big. "Oh! Then of course you can see him," She said, helping Y/N off the bed slowly. "I'll take you to his room." 

"Thank you so much," Y/N said, taking her first few steps slowly. 

"Careful- you're still attached to this IV pole," The nurse said, adjusting the tubing so it wasn't in her way. "You can hold onto it for support- yes, just like that." 

Y/N got more nervous with every step towards Harry's room. What would he look like? Would he be in pain? Would he know who she was? Would he... be mad at her? 

When she walked into his room, she almost started crying all over again. He looked, well, awful. He was covered in cuts and bruises. He had several tubes and wires connected to him, as well as a large tube taped in his mouth. He had a cast on his leg and a sling on his arm.

Y/N looked at the nurse who was taking his vitals. 

"How is he?" She asked in a small voice. 

"He's ok for now. He is stable, which is very good. He's unconscious, but we hope to see him wake up soon. You can sit with him, hold his hand, talk to him. If you need anything, just press the call button." 

She left, leaving Y/N and Harry alone. This time, she really did start crying. This was awful, and it was all her fault. She was the one who wanted to go for Chinese food. She was the one who picked today, the first wintery stormy day of the year to go for a long drive. And now.. 

"Harry... Harry I'm so sorry," Y/N said, sniffling. She held onto his hand, the one that wasn't attached to a broken collarbone.  "This is all my fault, and now you're... and I got off with nothing but a cut on my forehead, and it's not fair and I'm so sorry," She let out a sob. 

She continued on like this, crying and talking and crying some more, for a few hours, before she fell asleep in the chair next to him. She woke up around 9 the next morning with a stiff next and puffy eyes. She looked at his face, still covered in bruises, and kissed his hand. The nurse came in to check on him and told Y/N to go get some breakfast, reminding her that she couldn't care for Harry if she didn't care for herself. Y/N reluctantly agreed, going as fast as she could. The nurse had disconnected her IV sometime in the night, and she could move much faster without it. 

She got back to the room with her bagel and resumed her position in the chair right next to Harry. She talked to him as if he was awake, imagining she heard his beautiful voice responding to her. 

She had managed to keep the crying to a minimum today. She kept telling herself that if- no, 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 Harry woke up, she didn't want to look like a monster with red eyes. 

Her phone had been found by some paramedics, so she found Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone online and began to read to him. It was a little weird, but Harry loved these books, especially when he was sick.

Y/N was used to just imagining she heard his voice with her in the room, but suddenly she heard something that wasn't her. She gasped. 

"He's choking!! Nurse!!" She yelled for help, frantically pushing the call button. "Help!" 

Several nurses rushed in. One ushered Y/N back and out of the room, telling her to give them space to work. 

"What's- What's happening? What are they doing??" Y/N tried to go back in, but the nurse held her shoulders. 

"He's trying to breathe over the tube, Y/N. That's a very good sign. It means he's breathing on his own," The nurse said, trying to keep Y/N calm. 

"Does- does that mean he's waking up?" Y/N asked, not wanting to get her hopes up. 

"Not for sure, but it's a very good sign."

After a few minutes, the nurses came out of Harry's room, looking excited. "Y/N, he's awake! He's very groggy and can't speak yet, but he is definitely awake. You can go in and sit with him again if you'd like. We gave him some more medicine for the pain, so you have about 15 minutes to talk before he starts going a little..." She made a swirling motion next to her head. 

Y/N didn't care if he was high on morphine. She just cared that he was alive and awake and didn't... hate her. 

Harry was laying in the bed, looking at her with great concern in his tired eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but no noise came out. Y/N rushed over to take his hand. 

"It's ok, they said you might not be able to talk for a little while yet. It's ok, I'm here, it's ok," Y/N said, smoothing his hair. 

Harry cleared his throat, coughing. He gestured toward the water cup on his side table. 

"Oh, of course." Y/N picked up the pitcher and poured him a glass, setting it in his good hand. 

He raised the straw shakily to his lips as   Y/N watched carefully to make sure he didn't spill. She gently lifted the cup out of his hands when he held it up to her.

His small smile was enough to make Y/N cry all over again.

"Oh, Harry," She cried, holding her head in her hands. "It's all my fault. I'm so sorry this happened, I did this to you- you almost died!" 

"W-what?"

Y/N whipped her head up. "You can talk?" She said, overjoyed.

Harry coughed and spoke again. "Of course I can talk." 

His voice was rough and it sounded like it hurt everytime he spoke, but it was the most beautiful thing Y/N had ever heard. 

"What are you talking about, it's all your fault?" He rasped, looking utterly confused. "What even happened?" 

With tears leaking from her eyes, Y/N explained all she knew, which still wasn't much. Harry remembered everything as she told him, both their eyes watering as her voice shook.

"Why... why're you crying? Does your forehead hurt? I can call the nurse..." He reached for the call button.

"No, no, I'm ok," She took his hand in hers. "I'm just so sorry, because it honestly is my fault, I'm the one who wanted Chinese food and picked 𝘵𝘰𝘥𝘢𝘺 of all days to drive 2 hours away and-" 

He cut her off by raising his finger to her lips. 

"It's not your fault... it's mine. I'm the one who convinced you the only good Chinese food is so far away and I'm the one who was driving. I couldn't keep you safe..." 

Harry had never looked so sad. 

"No!" Y/N exclaimed. "Do you not see me right now? I'm absolutely fine, you did keep me safe. You swerved out of the way... wait a minute," She paused, realization hitting her. "You didn't think we could avoid the truck at all, did you? You knew it would hit us either way, but you made sure it would hit as far from me as possible." 

Harry looked down. "I figured you're more important than me, I had to do what I could."

"Harry Styles!" Y/N whisper-yelled. "If you weren't so 𝘪𝘯𝘫𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘥 I would 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘤𝘬 you right now! How could you do that? How could you put yourself in 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 like that?" 

"Oh, that's actually why I got so injured, because I knew you'd try to hit me for this," He smiled charmingly at Y/N. She just scowled. 

"Did you really expect me to just say, "oh well, guess she's a goner! bye Y/N! nice knowin' ya!" No, of course not. Of course I'd put myself in danger for you. Always." 

Y/N's lip trembled. "Why do you have to be so romantic after you do such stupid things? it makes it really hard to stay mad at you," She said, wiping her eyes. 

"Yeah, that was the goal there," He laughed. 

Then he caught sight of the ring on her finger.

"That's pretty, when did you get that?" He mock gasped. "Did you get engaged while I was in a coma?" 

“No," Y/N laughed. "It's funny actually. I bought it from the museum gift shop. I wanted to give it to you as a present, for the anniversary of the first time we went there together. I was going to give it to you over Chinese food, and it was going to be 𝘢𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 and 𝘯𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘨𝘪𝘤 and 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭." 

Harry smiled. "That's lovely of you, darling. Why... why's it on your finger though?" 

"Oh! right." Y/N sheepishly pulled the ring off her finger. "They wouldn't let me see you because I'm not family, so I threw it on and said we were married," She said, blushing furiously. "Sorry about that." 

Harry smiled. "Why are you sorry?" 

"Um... we're 𝘯𝘰𝘵 married... so... I don't know, I just thought you might think it's weird, or, something..."  Y/N finished lamely. She held the ring out to him. 

"Happy anniversary." 

"Why don't you keep it?" 

"Right, of course, you don't need a reminder of this day," Y/N slipped the ring back into her pocket, on the verge of tears because she messed up 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯.

"No, that's not... I meant, why don't you keep it... on your finger?" 

She pulled the ring out of her pocket again, looking confused. "Why?" 

Harry plucked it out of her hand, holding it up to her. "Because I want you to marry me," He said, slipping it onto her finger with the sweetest smile she had ever seen. 

Y/N smiled at him. "It's ok, Harry, you're very high on all the painkillers right now. I won't hold you to anything you say," She laughed a little. 

"I'm not... why would I be on painkiller... oh yeah," Harry grinned, looking around. "I remember why I'm high right now." 

"Riiight." 

"I might be high, but I still want to marry you," he said is a singsong voice. 

Y/N laughed. "Harry, why don't we talk about this when you're sober, ok?"

Harry pouted. "Please? Please marry me? I love you, and you're so pretty, and you're so nice to animals..." He started crying, apparently at how nice Y/N was to animals. "And... a cat! We can get a cat together!" 

"Harry, baby, don't cry, of course we can get a cat," She gently wiped the tears from his bruised face. 

"I won't stop crying until you say you'll marry me," Harry said defiantly, gripping    Y/N's arm. "Pleeeaaase?" 

"Ok, Harry, yes, I will marry you. Sure. You can stop crying now, ok?" 

"That's good, I'm glad, because you're my favorite person, and I looooove you, and you're my baaaaby..." 

At this point Harry was just singing random words, usually circling back to "baaaaby" and "looooove youuuu". 

Y/N felt happy for the first time in what felt like years, while really it had been less than 24 hours. 

Eventually, he wanted to see the ring again. Y/N held up her hand and he gasped. 

"It's so beautiful! I'll buy you a real one though, a real ring for our real wedding. Then we'll get a real house and have real babies, and a real cat," He said, with the dopiest grin Y/N had ever seen. 

"Oh? We'll have babies, huh? How many babies will we have?" 

"3," He answered quickly. "Two girls and a boy. No... 4. Two of each. That way they won't team up one of them." 

"Oh, sounds like you've thought about this a lot," Y/N laughed.

  "Every single day since we started dating, you know why?" 

"Why?" 

He motioned for her to lean closer.

  "Because I looooove you," He sang in her ear.

She pulled back, kissing his swollen cheek. 

"You're a sweetheart," She said affectionately. 

"So're you," He smiled. 

"I kind of like drugged Harry," Y/N laughed. "He's very cute." 

"Drugged Harry also likes drugged Harry, he feels like he's floating." 

"Oh, so drugged Harry talks about himself in the third person?" 

"He does now!" Harry smiled at her again. "Drugged Harry is tired... he's just going to..." 

Then the monitors started beeping rapidly. Several nurses ran in, bustling around and shouting various medical terminology. Another nurse ushered Y/N out of Harry's room for the second time that day. 

"No! No, I need to stay with him! I can't-"

"Shh... it's alright. They're going to do everything they can to help him. You have to let them help him. Why don't we go to the waiting room?"

Y/N exhaled shakily. If she couldn't stay with Harry, she might as well sit instead of hovering around the corner. 

"Yes, let's go to the waiting room," She said, after a few deep breaths. 

Y/N had been sitting on the waiting room for what felt like an eternity, but a glance at her phone told her it had only been 45 minutes. 

A woman in a surgical gown approached her, and Y/N stood up quickly. "What happened?" She asked immediately.

"Unfortunately, your husband's brain bleed did not resolve itself like we had hoped. He is in surgery, and for right now he's doing well," the surgeon said, looking sympathetic. 

"Ok... why did the monitors freak out? Did his heart stop? Is he going to wake up from surgery?" 

"The monitors went off because his heart was having trouble, but they were able to resuscitate him through CPR and defibrillation. It's too soon to know if he will wake up, but the surgeon is hopeful. I will come back to update you as soon as I can."

"Ok, thank you," Y/N said, sinking back into her chair.

  She felt a pain in her chest, like real, actual pain. What would she do without Harry? How would she live with herself, knowing he died trying to save her? 

She caught a glimpse of the ring on her finger and choked back a sob. Would she tell people she was engaged? No, of course not. Harry had been completely out of his mind when he'd asked her. 

She slumped down in her chair, wanting to curl up and cry. Instead, she called her mom. Through her tears, she explained everything that happened. 

"Oh, honey," Her mom sighed. "I'm so sorry. I'm on my way. I'll be there in about 7 hours, I'm sorry it'll take so long. Do you want to stay on the phone with me?"

  "No, I can't," Y/N sniffled. "I have to call Harry's family."

  "Do you want me to do that? I wouldn't mind, they're-"

"No, mom, thank you, but I should. I- I'm going to go. Love you," Y/N said, hanging up the phone. 

Checking her phone, Y/N realized it was the middle of the night in London where Harry's family lived. She didn't think she should wait, so she called Anne without another thought. 

"Oh, Y/N, I'm so sorry. We're getting the soonest flight. We won't be there until tomorrow morning. Will you be alright alone? Is your mother coming?" 

"Yes, my mom's on her way. I'm ok, thank you," Y/N said, rubbing her eyes. 

After she hung up the phone, it set in just how exhausted she was. She had slept poorly the night before, because of the awkwardness of sleeping in a chair and because she was so, so, worried for Harry.

She drifted into a fitful sleep where she dreamed of cars crashing, rings flying around, and Harry standing just out of her reach. He was like a rainbow, the closer she got to him, the more he faded. 

She startled awake and realized there were tears on her face. She checked her phone, seeing that it had only been 3 hours.  

She saw the same woman from before approaching her, this time wearing just scrubs. 

Y/ N stood to meet her. 

"Harry is out of surgery and doing well. We were able to repair the brain bleed. His heart stopped on the table," Y/N gasped at this, "But we were able to get him back. His ribs will be very sore and possibly even broken. All that aside, he is doing well, Mrs. Styles, and you can see him now," She said, Leading Y/N to the elevator. 

Her breath trembled as they walked towards his room. 

Harry was laying in his bed, looking like a fragile child. Even though he was so much bigger than her, right now he seemed so... small. 

Y/N looked at the nurse, asking to sit with him. She nodded and explained that two of his ribs were fractured and his collarbone would hurt him a lot when he woke up. 

Y/N held his hand with a featherlight touch, unwilling to jostle him even the smallest bit. 

After about an hour of her reading to him, she felt a small movement, barely even noticeable. Was it...?

She felt another movement. This time she was sure of it. He was squeezing her hand.

"I'm here Harry, I'm right here," She soothed,  moving her chair closer to him.

  He groaned sleepily before opening his emerald eyes and looking at her.

  "Hi," he smiled, squeezing her hand again. 

"Hi," Y/N said, crying more than a little bit. 

"What... did... are you ok?" Harry's brow furrowed. He seemed to have a hundred questions, but he settled on asking how she was. 

"Yes, Harry, I'm ok. How do you feel?" 

"Hurts," he said, closing his eyes. "But if you're ok, so am I." 

Y/N kissed his hand. "I see drugged Harry is still here? The one that is 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 cute and sweet?" 

"No, he's not. This is just regular Harry. I can tell because everything 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 hurts," He said with a small grimace.

"Oh, I'll get the nurse. They'll give you something," Y/N started to get up, but Harry's grip on her hand tightened. 

"Wait," he said pulling her back to him. "Before they make me go all loopy, I just want to say-" He paused, looking at the ring on her finger. "I love you, to my fiancee. I think it counts more when I'm not high." 

"Your- your fiancee? Harry, I told you I wouldn't hold you to anything you said before. You weren't in your right mind at all, I didn't even think you'd remember saying all that." 

"Yeah, but I remember asking you to marry me and you said yes. You might not be holding me to anything I said, but I'm holding you to that," He grinned. "You really want to deny a dying man his last... dying... wish?" 

Harry flopped his good arm dramatically over his forehead, wincing at the motion. Y/N helped him slowly lower it again. 

"First of all, you're not dying. Secondly, I don't want you to go through with this because you feel obligated, or because you think I'll be upset if you aren't ready to propose. It's totally fine, I promise, but why don't we talk about this when you're feeling better?" 

"No, I feel fine," He insisted.

Y/N gave him a look. "Really? You do? Aren’t you the one who just needed help moving your arm?" 

"Irrelevant. I feel fine, like, mentally. If you don't think you're ready to be engaged to me, that's ok. But don't say no because you think I didn't mean it. I did, with every part of me. I love you, and I want you to be my wife." 

"...Really?" Y/N asked, cheeks heating up.

"Really," Harry smiled. 

"And according to drugged Harry, you want to have a cat and 4 children." 

Harry laughed, wincing immediately.

"Don't make me laugh, my chest really hurts," He said, still holding her hand. 

"Sorry, sorry, they said you have some broken ribs. Also your collarbone. Also your femur. Geez, Styles, you're kind of a mess," You laughed. 

"Yeah, really," He smiled. "But seriously, will you? Will you be my wife?" 

"Of course I will, Harry. I love you so much, of course I will," Y/N said, gently kissing his cheek. 

"Great," Harry beamed at her. "Now that we've worked that out, can you get the nurse? Drugged Harry is ready to make a comeback." 

"Oh, right, sorry," Y/N said, reaching over for the call button. 

The nurse came in, giving Harry more medicine. 

"You'll start to have some relief within a few minutes," She said, leaving them alone again.  

"One more thing Y/N," Harry said. She could already tell he was a little more relaxed. "I have to get you a ring!" 

Y/N smiled, holding up her hand. "I already have one, remember?" 

Harry waved her hand away. "No, no, a bride can't buy her own ring! What kind of... chivalrous... gentleman... would I be if I didn't buy you a beautiful ring?" 

"Ok, Harry, as soon as you get out of here, we'll go ring shopping," Y/N promised. 

"And... to the cat shelter? You said we could get a cat... a kitty, a cat, a little kitty cat..." 

Harry had started singing mumbled words about cats and love and babies. Y/N knew it was going to be a long night. Still, she had never been happier.

[noctilucid]

DannyMay Day 7: Illusion

Star slung her backpack into the grass beside the picnic table and made herself comfortable.  The spring sun was warm on her back, and weedy little wildflowers were dotting the school lawn yellow and violet.  Paulina had convinced Dash to buy her a milkshake at the Nasty Burger after school, and therefore refused to leave school grounds until she had him in tow, which meant that Star wasn't going anywhere either.  She sighed, one hand playing with the charm she'd tied to her backpack zipper.  A couple of minutes ago, she'd thought to make the most of the time by knocking out some of her math homework, but now the day seemed too nice to focus on trig.  

"So where's Dash?" she asked, looking towards the horizon and letting the intense blue of the sky soothe her eyes.  

"Some football thing," Paulina said with a wave of her hand, not looking up from her phone.  "It's nothing official.  He said it shouldn't take too long."  

Star rolled her eyes.  They'd be here a while.  

She turned sideways on the bench to people-watch the other students as they filed out of the school building.  Mikey took his usual shortcut along the fence, hopping the lowest point into someone's yard to cut off a block from his commute.  Dale was carrying a white filing box home with him; it probably was full of old AV equipment he was hoping to tune up.  Sam, Danny, and Tucker were skulking by a tree, gossiping about something.  But then someone moving against the outward trickle of traffic caught Star's eye— Kwan was coming up the sidewalk towards them leading his little sister.  He must have picked her up from her elementary school down the street.  When he saw Star watching, he waved and crossed the grass to them.  

"Hey," Kwan said in his sweet, sheepish way.  "Would you guys watch Min for me for a bit?  We're going to go practice some plays."  He gestured vaguely to the rest of the football team out on the field.  Min had one hand around her brother's fingers and the other around the strap of her Sayonara Pussycat backpack.  

Paulina looked up from her phone and beamed.  "Por supuesto, mi princesa," she crooned to Min, motioning her over to the picnic table.  "How was school today, chula?"  

Min climbed onto the bench opposite them.  "Okay."  

"Did you get to do anything fun?"  

"I had art today.  We made collages with construction paper."  

Star half-listened while Paulina made small talk, watching Kwan jog out to the field and join his friends, continuing to fiddle with the zipper on her bag.  There was a deck of cards hidden in one of the pockets.  Star had been learning a bit of slight-of-hand from one of her cousins.  She didn't think Paulina or any of the other A-listers would be particularly appreciative, so she'd kept her budding talent to herself, but entertaining a kid would be a bulletproof defense against accusations of nerdiness.  She weighed the pros and cons in her mind until she sensed the conversation starting to wind down.  

"Hey Min," she said once there was a lull.  "You want to see a magic trick?"  She fished out the cards.

"You know magic?" Paulina asked.  Star shrugged.  

"I know, like, one trick.  My cousin's big into it."  She dumped out the box into her palm and gave it a shuffle, then fanned out the cards and extended them to Min.  "You ready?" she asked.  "Pick one!"  

Min deliberated, touching several cards before finally taking one.  Star straightened the deck while Min read her card.  

"You got it memorized?" Star asked, taking the card back and placing it face down on the top of the deck.  "Now I'm going to shuffle them all together."  She split the deck in two, placing both halves on the picnic table between them.  In her periphery she saw Paulina lose interest and take back out her phone— she had lasted longer than Star had expected her to, honestly.  Star took the bottom half of the deck, split it in two again, and made a show of fumbling with them.  "Hang on, I'm not very good at this…"  One set of cards went between her pointer finger and the rest of her fingers— or it was supposed to, but her hands were a little too small for that, so she supported the cards with her ring and pinky.  The other half she held between her thumb and pointer, so the two decks sat side by side.  Then, she applied pressure to arch the cards and removed her pointer, letting the cards interlace in a smooth, one-handed shuffle.  "There we go!"  While Min watched Star's left hand, her right secreted the card off the top of the other deck and into her jacket sleeve.  She smiled to herself.  Halfway there.  

She picked up the rest of the cards and did a few more types of shuffles to keep Min's attention.  Paulina looked up from her phone and paused.  

"Star," she said suddenly, with an edge to her voice.  

"What?" Star finished her last shuffle before looking up.  

"Oh sh—"  Paulina lurched in her direction, pulling her own legs free from the table and grabbing Star by the arm.  Kwan barreled in from the field, football forgotten, and hoisted Min to his chest in the next instant, running towards the gym behind them.  Star looked up as Paulina dragged her from the table, cards slipping out of her hands, and saw a streak of neon green headed for them.  Paulina steadied her as she stumbled backwards and got her feet under her before they turned and ran for cover together.  Star's legs buckled slightly as she felt the impact behind her and heard the table they'd been sitting at crunch, but she didn't lose her footing again.  

It took them three minutes to reach the gym.  Kwan had already disappeared inside, set Min down, and came back to hold the door, ushering them and the handful of people behind them in.  

"How do we turn this thing on?" Star heard Dash's strained voice carry across the room.  The Fentons had installed two ghost shields on school grounds, one in the cafeteria, and one here.  Their service was suspiciously spotty, however.  "Where the hell is Fenturd when you need him?"  

"He went home with Jazz," Tucker said, sliding in the gym door.  "You're lucky I'm still here."  

Paulina and Star headed over to where Min was perched on the bleachers and sat on either side of her.  She was hunched in on herself, hugging her backpack to her chest.  

"It's ok, mi amor," Paulina whispered, petting Min's hair.  "Phantom will take care of it."  Min gave a little nod.  

Star put an arm around the little girl.  As she shifted, the card, forgotten in her sleeve, moved and pressed into her skin.  

"Uh, hey, Min?"  Min looked up at her.  Star flicked the card out.  "Is this your card?"  Min's mouth dropped open.  "I think the rest of the deck got incinerated.  The magic protected this one.  It's probably lucky now."  Star smiled and handed it to her.  "You should keep it."  Min nodded and tucked the card behind the backpack, close to her chest.  Paulina smiled at Star over Min's head and put a hand on Star's shoulder, letting it linger for a moment.    

Kwan came and sat on the bleacher stair in front of them.  "You ok?" he asked, looking up into his sister's face.  She nodded again.  Then the ghost shield finally sputtered and ground to life.  Kwan visibly sighed.  

"Looks like we'll be stuck here for a while," he said with a reassuring smile.  

Min turned to Star.  

"Do you know any more magic tricks?"

[ineedsleepleavemealone]

Some random headcannons

(I ship erasermic so some of these relate to that)

I guess this also needs a warning: some more mature things if you squint hard enough

Also the ships in this are: erasermic, kiribaku, tododeku, and a tiny tiny bit of momojiro (sorry if I forgot one)

~ Mic is actually kinda sad and breaks down alot when hes alone because of the stress he goes through, aizawa is the only one he will break down infront of ~ ~ Aizawa secretly loves giving mic piggyback rides. Change. My. Mind. ~ ~ Bakugo is nicest and softest when he is sleepy, and more open with his feelings when he is tired (especially to kiri, I ship them too😭✋) ~ ~ When sero cooks or cleans he will put on spanish music and dance to it. ~ ~ Dabi is kinky™️ ~ ~ Dabi will tease e v e r y o n e ~ ~ Dabi makes up stories of how he got burnt, like: Twice: so- uh how did all this go down * gesturing to scars * Dabi: oh, while sneezing Twice: but how does tha- Dabi: *sneezes and uses his fire* Twice: oH- ~ ~ When 1-a all become pro heroes, deku will wear everyone's merch ~

~ When bakugo is working out, when he does push ups he will get kirishima to lay on him for "additional weight" (we see you bakugo👀👀) ~ ~ Shoto can make snowflakes with his quirk. I. Rest. My. Case. ~ ~ shoto likes dancing in the rain or snow, well not dance just like being with deku ~ ~ Shoto will make little things out of ice and give them to deku (all might figures👀👀) ~ ~ Occasionally in the dorms everyone in 1-a has a movie night ~ ~ Ojiros tail wags when hes happy ~ ~ This is cannon because I've seen the official art, but I hc that bakugo likes animals and animals love him cause he smells like caramel and his hands are warm ~ ~ One word for aoyama. S e l f i e s ~

~ Shoto didnt know how to ride a bike so when they all moved into the dorms 1-a taught him ~ ~ When bakugo walks into the dorms common area he says stuff like "it smells like bitch in here" and "ughhh if I stay in here to long the bitchyness might affect me" ~ ~ All the girls in 1-a: sleepovers™️ but every time mineta will try to get in lmao. It. Never. Works. ~ ~ Shotos birthday present to everyone is endeavors credit card number😂he will also go clothes shopping with all the girls just because he can use endeavors credit card ~ ~ Tokoyami is actually really good at drawing and loves writing poetry ~ ~ Bakugo is the oldest in 1-a which is cannon. I feel like he would be the type to brag that he's the oldest and would use it as an excuse to do what he wants ~ ~ The dekusquad and bakusquad have groupchats ~ ~ Bakusquad play video games together and eat pizza together all the time ~ ~ The dekusquad gc consists of iida talking about homework, positive memes, and todoroki not understanding anything happening on there ~ ~ Jirou has a music playlist for every situation. Every. Situation. ~ ~ The best jeanist said bakugo couldn't learn how to style hair so katsuki "I am the best at everything" bakugo learnt how to do hair and now all the girls and kirishima go to him and make him do their hair ~ ~ Kirishima needs his hair dyed red when his roots start showing, so bakugo dyes it for him ~ ~ 1-a loves playing games like truth and dare and never have I ever when they cant sleep or are just bored ~ ~ Bakugo sleeps at 8. pm which is cannon, but still wants to be the best at whatever they are doing, so he still goes if they are playing or watching something but always. Always. Falls asleep, and he falls asleep on kiri. ~ ~ Aizawa is actually really flexible and can jump around and move literally like a cat. ~ ~ Mic: finger guns™️ and I can imagine this Mic: *does finger guns at aizawa* Aizawa: pull the trigger. ~ ~ Everyone goes into bakugos room for advice. Like jirou would go in there at 3am and just be like : yo so I'm lesbian and momo is lesbian and she said she likes me but I'm not sure if she likes me.

And even though bakugo will literally shout at them for being in his room at 3am they will still get advice😂~ ~ Kirishima is named after a mountain. Bakugos favourite activity is mountain climbing. Its cannon and ik it is I just thought I'd say that ~ ~ Shinso definitely uses his voice changer for memes. He would say things like "I'm katsuki bakugo and I'm a little bitch" with bakugos voice and "im aizawa and Im in love with a cockatoo" with aizawas voice. ~ ~ When denki is nervous random sparks of electricity come from his hands. ~ ~ If denki doesnt know how to do something he will search it up on wiki how. Change. My. Fucking. Mind. ~ ~ Shiggy genuinly doesnt know what moisturizer is ~ ~ Mic is amazing at playing any instrument ~ ~ Mic knows sign language and is fluent in alot of languages ~ ~ After toga stabs someone she mumbles things like "ughhh what a mood" "damn that one snatched my weave" and "we stan a queen" and once held up the knife like a beauty guru ~ ~ The girls constantly try to get uraraka to float m*neta into the sun ~ (yes I censored his name💀💀) ~ Tokoyami has good music taste ~ ~ The bakusquad (kaminari) tries to teach all might vine references ~ ~ Shoto l o v e s conspiracy videos ~ ~ Ojiro can purr ~ ~ Mina shares her clothes with everyone ~ ~ Shoto likes to watch the sun rise ~ ~ Omgggg I love this one. Aizawa listens to Mics radioshow when he grades papers and when he cant he will hum the music to himself ~ ~ Kaminari is memes™️ ~ ~ When mic says todorokis name he says it like the target vine (next competitor is- T T T T T T T T T TODOROKI SHOTOOOOOO *makes air horn noises*) ~ ~ The UA staff have prank wars (especially mic and literally anyone. Once poured pink cat shaped glitter on aizawa and it was 100% worth it) ~ Mic can harmonize with himself. Periodt. ~ ~ Tetsutetsu and shinso spend so much time at the 1-a dorms that one time bakugo cooked food for them too. ~

~ On that note, bakugo is obviously an amazing cook and when hes cooking for himself he will "accidentally make too much so you extras can have it" ~ ~ Shoto is literally turtlenecks™️ ~ ~ Mic literally has the worst sleep schedule like how is this man alive???? ~ ~ At night iida will run around the dorms saying goodnight to everyone and checking that they are all still in the dorms because he feels it’s his responsibility to look after everyone ~ ~ Shigirakis favourite thing to do is to just stand in the rain. He finds the rain soothing and calming to him because it’s one of the only things that he can’t destroy so it gives him peace of mind that he still human and isn’t the completely destructive monster everyone claims him to be. ~

Hope you liked them✌✌

[taetaespeaches]

Liv you know how each member has a hobby they are into? How would each member’s ladies tell them they want to do it with them? I can see Peaches straight up being like yes I’m doing this with you because I want to spend time with you. And Holly secretly watching boxing videos and then hiding it once Guk catches her. Or or Poopsie trying to prove to Jin she can indeed cook without his watch 😭 or Petal buying bracelet diy kits 🥺

Well, I thought this was so cute that I turned it into a reaction sorta thing :) the selected hobbies are- Jin: fishing, Yoongi: basketball, Hoseok: diy bracelets, Namjoon: visiting art exhibitions, Jimin: video games, Taehyung: pastels, Jungkook: boxing. Anyways, thanks for asking love, and I hope you all enjoy <3 

“Remember that when I catch a bunch of fish and you don’t.”

kim seokjin x reader genre: fluff word count: 412

SCROLLING through the article about which lures are best for catching fish in fresh water lakes, Jin’s eyebrows were pulled together in concentration. Your head was resting upon his shoulder as you read through the descriptions with him, though Jin had no idea you were paying any real attention to the laptop screen.

“Mm,” you hummed, pushing your finger against the display at one of the lures. “That one is supposed to be good if paired with the right bait,” you told him, Jin quickly turning his head to look down at you.

“How do you know that?” He asked, you giggling as you looked up at his wide-eyed expression.

“I asked my dad,” you told him. “He’s a pretty good fisherman so I asked him for some tips.” A wide smile spread across Jin’s face as he stared at you. “Actually,” you started, standing up and making your way across the room to grab the shopping bag sitting on your dresser. “I got you something.”

Jin’s eyes widened even more, if that was possible, slowly taking the bag from you as you held it out to him. Digging inside, he pulled out a couple of the several lures you bought him, a gasp leaving his lips.

“Whoah, you’re amazing,” he told you sincerely, looking up at you as you grinned. “You got so many,” he noted in surprise, you shrugging.

“I guess I’ll have to come with to test some out for you,” you grinned, Jin’s expression showing even more astonishment.

“You want to come with?” He asked you disbelievingly, though a smile began curving on his lips.

“Of course,” you giggled. “I have an interest in you, therefore, I have an interest in your hobbies, darling.”

Dropping the bag of lures, Jin reached for your hand, tugging you on top of his lap, you less than gracefully straddling him. “I’m so in love with you,” he told you with a fond grin.

Pressing a kiss to his lips, you pulled away to rest your forehead against his own. Placing your hand against the side of his face, you soothed over his cheek with your thumb. “Remember that when I catch a bunch of fish and you don’t,” you teased, Jin immediately letting out a yell of complaint as he flipped you over onto your back, hovering over you.

“You little punk,” he chuckled before kissing you deeply, about to teach you a lesson on picking on your bad fisherman boyfriend.

“Just meet me on the court, you brat.”

min yoongi x reader genre: fluff word count: 450

FOR a man who liked to call you a brat, he sure was a goddamn brat. “Min, pick up the pace, come on,” you whined.

“What are we even doing?” He asked in complaint, though he did move a little faster as you walked down the street. He was dressed in a pair of basketball shorts and an oversized t-shirt with some trainers, as per your request, you in some workout shorts and a shirt just as big as his, because, well it was his.

“Would you just quit being a baby and trust me,” you giggled, receiving a grunt from your boyfriend. Suddenly, you felt a tug on the backpack you carried. Craning your neck to look behind you, you caught Yoongi as he opened up the bag. “Yoongi, no,” you whined, just as he pulled out the basketball.

A small smile gracing his pretty face, he shot you a confused look. “Why do you have this?”

Letting out a deep sigh, you grabbed his wrist, guiding him down the street a bit more, Yoongi following behind you amused but still puzzled. Rounding the corner, you pointed at the little park down the block, which just so happened to have a fully painted basketball court.

“I was trying to surprise you,” you pouted, Yoongi looking from the court back to you.

“Oh, Kid,” he chuckled at your expression, wrapping his arm around the top of your back and pulling you into his side. Pressing a kiss to your temple, he smiled against your skin, chuckling some more. “You’re cute.”

“I want you to teach me your moves,” you told him, the man giggling even more as his shoulders shook.

“My moves?” He looked down at you with a gummy smile. “Since when?”

“Since always,” you stole the ball from him, your boyfriend shooting you a wide-eyed look. “I always want to be involved in your hobbies,” you told him, Yoongi’s gaze softening as his orbs scanned your features. “You love basketball and I love you,” you informed him as if it was obvious you would then also have an interest in basketball.

However, before he could respond with a sweet sentiment for your interest, you shoved against his chest to antagonize him. “So show me what you got,” you teased, Yoongi scoffing.

Stealing the ball back easily and dribbling as he walked toward the court he called back, “you asked for it, Kid.”

“Yeah, yeah, Grampa, don’t break a hip,” you yelled back, Yoongi shaking his head as he smiled fondly.

“Just meet me on the court, you brat,” he called out to you, both of you grinning like two idiots in love, because, well, that’s what you were. 

“You have to show me what to do though, I’m not very crafty.”

jung hoseok x reader genre: fluff word count: 472

AT the sound of your boyfriend stepping out of the shower, you checked to make sure all of your brand new beads we situated on the coffee table. You were determined to join Hoseok in his recent bracelet making hobby.

“Hobi,” you called out from your spot on the floor in front of the table, receiving a cute hum in response from across the apartment. “Will you come in here when you have a minute, please?”

There was about a three second delay before you heard Hoseok’s feet patting against the floor toward you. “What’s up, Pe-” he cut himself off upon spotting your display of beads and bracelet making materials. “What’s all this?” He asked through a bright smile, his wet hair cutely pushed off his forehead.

“I was hoping you could show me how to make those bracelets you’ve been putting together on your lives,” you grinned shyly, highlighting the materials as you scanned over them with your hands as if you were displaying them in an infomercial.

“Really?” He asked with an even bigger smile, his eyes wide and excited.

“Please?” You asked cutely, Hobi immediately doing a little hip wiggle as he clapped enthusiastically.

“I can’t believe we haven’t done this together yet,” he squealed out, hurrying toward you and plopping himself onto the floor next to you. “You really want to?” He asked, looking over your selection of beads.

“Of course,” you giggled, watching him as he looked over everything.

“Ooh,” he awed, “I like these,” he pointed to the reddish-orange opaque beads.

“Yeah?” You asked, Hobi nodding happily. “I’ll use those for yours then,” you smiled, Hoseok leaning forward and placing several kisses on your cheeks.

“You’re so cute,” he mumbled against your face before catching your lips in a few short but sweet pecks.

“I got these too,” you reached forward, grabbing the special beads you got just for you both. Holding them up for him, he inspected the two flower charms and the two sun charms. “I also have a couple hearts,” you said cutely as you looked for them on the table.

However, your search was cut short from Hoseok grabbing your face between his hands and kissing you deeply. Surprised by the action, you took a moment to react but then easily fell into the kiss, your hands holding onto his forearms.

“You’re amazing, Petal,” he smiled against your lips after finally breaking the kiss. “Thanks for putting all of this together.”

“I’ve been wanting to join you in this,” you giggled, pecking his lips. “You have to show me what to do though, I’m not very crafty.”

Pulling away, he flashed you a smile that reminded you exactly why you and all of his fans called him Sunshine. “I got you,” he said cutely, you giggling at how adorable he was.

“Why, wanna take me out on a date?“

kim namjoon x reader genre: fluff word count: 665

ONE of the perks of dating Namjoon was he was always introducing you to new artists, taking you to different exhibits. Not being super knowledgeable about topics such as art but enjoying learning, you appreciated the new experience each exhibit brought to you.

To show Namjoon how much you enjoyed tagging along as he explored different art showings, you decided to seek one out all on your own and invite him to attend it with you. The one you had selected was the Kukje Gallery’s solo exhibition of artist, Wook-kyung Choi.

Looking up from your phone, which displayed the information for the exhibition, you locked your eyes on Namjoon as he scribbled in a notebook.

“Babe, are you writing or do you have a minute?” You asked him, Namjoon’s eyes meeting yours as he shut the notebook.

“No, I was just jotting down an idea,” he gave you a close-mouthed smile. “We can talk, is everything ok?” He asked, you nodding immediately. “Come here,” he opened his arms, inviting you to sit on his lap.

Coming toward him, you seated yourself across his thighs, one of his arms wrapping around your waist as the other draped over your legs. “Do you have plans this weekend?”

“No,” he shook his head. “Why, wanna take me out on a date?” He joked with a smile, his eyes widening when you nodded.

“I do actually,” you giggled.

“Huh?” He asked cutely, surprise evident in both his expression and his tone.

“There’s an art exhibit for Wook-kyung Choi at the Kukje Gallery here in Seoul,” you told him, his eyes widening even more. “Do you know of her?”

Shaking his head, he peered down at your phone as you held it up for him. “I’ve been researching her a bit, and I really fell in love with the way she would talk about her work,” you told him as you scrolled through photos of her black and white abstract paintings. “She was always a bit of an outsider in the Korean art world. She didn’t fit in with either of the dominant styles of the 1970s, so she kind of blazed her own path and ended up changing the whole scene and introducing Abstract Expressionism to Korea,” you relayed the information, looking from the phone to your boyfriend, only to find him staring at you adoringly.

He smiled softly, you looking at him in slight embarrassment. “What?” You asked shyly.

“Nothing, keep talking,” he told you. “I really love this, I had no idea you had your own interest in art.”

“I don’t necessarily, I just know that you do,” you admitted timidly, Namjoon’s jaw dropping a bit at the confession. “I wanted to invite you to an exhibit to show you that I truly do enjoy exploring all of this art with you, and when I stumbled upon this one of Wook-kyung Choi’s work, I just kind of fell in love with her,” you explained.

Namjoon leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your jaw. “She reminds me of you and the boys,” you told him with a small giggle.

“Wait, really?” He asked in shock, you smiling at his expression as you nodded.

Looking to your phone, you scrolled until you found the part of the exhibition description that stood out to you earlier. “These two discrete but related bodies of work demonstrate the artist's strong commitment to personal expression and social commentary through brave exploration of form and content, and how she chose her own path instead of blindly following or adhering to a single artistic movement,” you read aloud to your boyfriend. “That sounds like you and your music.”

“I-” Namjoon started, stopping himself as he stared at you intently. “I love you so much I don’t even know how to put it into words right now,” he confessed, you smiling as you leaned into him, pressing your lips to his.

“I love you just as much,” you whispered into the kiss. “No words needed, babe.”

“Cool it, Park, I haven’t had my turn yet.”

park jimin x reader genre: fluff word count: 517

Jimin/Dear: playing video games. (517 words)

WALKING into your apartment, your ears were immediately met with the sounds of Jimin’s frustrated grunts. Pulling your eyebrows together, you followed the noise until you reached your bedroom, peeking inside to see him sat on your bed, propped up against your headboard staring down at his Nintendo Switch with a grimace.

“Chim,” you giggled, his eyes darting up to meet your own across the room. “What’s up, my darling?”

“Ahh,” he complained, “this game is surprisingly hard.”

“What is it?” You asked, making your way across the room, peering at the screen. “Mario?”

“Yeah, Super Mario Odyssey,” he confirmed. “Jin got it for me a while ago but I forgot about it,” he told you. Sitting down on the bed with him, you watched as he controlled Mario, running through a busy city street.

“What’s the whole idea of the game?” You asked, your eyes glued to the screen.

“Bowser is trying to marry Princess Peach by force and Mario is trying to stop him,” he mumbled jumping over and on top of a bunch of people in the game.

“Ew, the fuck?” You asked, Jimin giggling as he dropped his head onto your shoulder.

“I don’t have to play right now,” he told you, preparing to shut the console down, “I was just bored.”

“No, no, you gotta stop Bowser,” you told him, kissing the top of Jimin’s head. “The fucking perv,” you added, Jimin giggling again as he approached a lever, bouncing on it and making a reddish moon appear. “Whoah, what’s that?”

“I have to collect these moons,” he explained as he jumped back over the crowd of people, snagging his moon. A big ‘You Got A Moon’ appeared on the screen, Mario doing a spin in the air as triumphant music played, Mario finishing with a celebratory fist in the air.

“Ayyyy,” you cheered in excitement, Jimin smiling widely at your reaction. “That’s my man, bitch,” you exclaimed, Jimin giggling as he kissed your shoulder.

“You’re so cute,” he cooed, you giggling as you continued watching him play. “Are you sure you’re not bored, Dear?” He asked, lifting his head from your shoulder.

“Chim, I just want to spend time with you,” you admitted. “I’m always entertained with you,” you noted nonchalantly as you continued looking at the Switch.  When Mario stopped walking amongst the crowd of people, you slowly dragged your eyes from the screen to Jimin to find him looking at you lovingly. “What?”

“Keep saying things like that and I’ll be so flattered I won’t want to keep playing this game,” he told you flirtily, you giggling as you leaned forward to kiss him softly.

“Cool it, Park, I haven’t had my turn yet,” you told him, pulling the Switch from his hands. “Now tell me what to do.”

Chuckling at you, he pressed a series of kisses to your cheek before stepping into game instructor role, pulling up his sleeves and pretending to crack his neck as he played up his acting bit.

If he kept being so adorable, you wouldn’t want to keep playing the game either.

“Couple goals or whatever.”

kim taehyung x reader genre: fluff word count: 483

WATCHING your boyfriend drag the blue color across the drawing pad, you tilted your head mesmerized.

“Are those hard to work with?” You asked, Taehyung humming in thought as he stayed focused on the pastel drawing.

“Not really,” he said, you nodding though he wasn’t looking at you.

You were sitting a few feet away from him in his studio, both of you only dressed in your underwear, having just been intimate on that very floor a mere fifteen minutes ago. It started with you simply visiting your boyfriend in his quaint little art studio, and turned into him taking you shortly after your arrival, unable to keep his hands off you.

When he eventually returned to his pastels, you sat and watched him curiously. Crawling toward him, you sat yourself next to him, his innocent and stunning orbs looking at you with a softness only you could conjure from him.

“Can I have a piece of paper?” You asked, Taehyung’s eyes widening.

“You want to draw with me?” He questioned, you nodding.

“It’s actually why I came here,” you giggled. “Though the sex was great as always,” you added, “truly, you never disappoint.” Taehyung chuckled lowly, running his finger along your thigh, some of the pastel transferring from his digit to your leg. “Turns out your interests are my interests now,” you rolled your eyes jokingly. “Couple goals or whatever,” you added, Taehyung laughing cutely.  

“Hang on,” he told you, setting the drawing pad on the floor and standing up. You watched as his long-toned legs crossed the room, turning around with a new drawing pad in his hands. “You can have your own pad, Peaches,” he grinned, handing it to you.

Gasping, you looked down at the object. “One of my very own?” You asked, Taehyung giggling as he bent over to leave a kiss to your forehead.

“You can have as many as you want,” he told you. “How long have you been wanting to draw with me?” He asked, you shrugging as you set your gaze on him as he took a seat next to you.

“For a while, I guess. I love watching you work, so I guess you kind of inspired me to try,” you told him with a small smile. “You always make me want to do new things, and this is something we can do together.”

Pointing your attention back to the art materials, Taehyung watched as you studied the colors. “Should I just,” you grabbed the light green, “dive in with this and see what happens?” You asked, looking up at Tae when you received no answer.

“I love you,” he told you, you smiling at the sudden statement.

“And I love you, Dearest,” you replied, scrunching your nose as he continued to stare. “Hurry up and kiss me, dude,” you demanded, Tae giggling as he leaned forward, pressing his lips to yours eagerly.

“What the hell are you doing watching boxing videos?”

jeon jungkook x reader genre: fluff word count: 635

WITH your ear buds in, you didn’t hear your apartment door open, much less Jungkook’s footsteps as he approached you from behind. You were stood in your kitchen, your left foot forward and knees slightly bent as you watched the video on how to throw a left hook.

“Pop the elbow, turn the foot,” you mumbled to yourself, a smile spreading across Jungkook’s face as he watched you in utter amusement. “Thumb up,” you barely spoke as you watched the video, mimicking the movement being shown.

However, you realized your solo boxing lesson had been interrupted when you caught a glimpse of Jungkook in the laptop screen and recognized his giggle overtop the instructor’s voice. Reacting quickly, you slammed the laptop closed and spun around to face your crinkly-eyed boyfriend as he was nearly bent over in laughter.

“I hate you so much right now,” you spoke in mortification, watching as he didn’t even attempt to gather his composure. “Oh my god, this is so embarrassing,” you whined.

Finally calming his laughter to just light giggles, he reached out for you, taking your hand in his. “Why are you embarrassed, baby? Your form is great,” he teased, you pulling your hand from his and shoving his chest as you held back a laugh.

“You’re so mean,” you groaned as he quickly stepped toward you, wrapping you up in a hug, you burying your face in his chest.

“Can I just ask you one thing?” He asked, you groaning at the request. “What the hell are you doing watching boxing videos?”

Sighing against his t-shirt, he giggled again. “I wanted to learn some stuff so I could box with you some time,” you admitted timidly, Jungkook immediately pulling you from his frame just slightly so he could look at you, you meeting his gaze.

“You want to box with me?” He asked in surprise, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Well, I did,” you giggled. “Now I just kind of want to crawl in a hole and die.” Jungkook laughed at the comment before cooing at you.

“You’re so cute, you know, you could have just told me you wanted to come with,” he told you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I could teach you better than these fools,” he pointed at the closed laptop.

Giggling, you raised your eyebrows at him. “Jealous?” You teased, Jungkook scoffing. “I just wanted to know some stuff before I asked to tag along so that I wasn’t slowing you down during your workout,” you told him quietly, Jungkook shooting you a look of disbelief.

“That’s silly, teaching you would be the best part,” he assured you. Giving him a questioning expression, he grinned mischievously. “Turn around,” he told you before spinning you around, his hands landing on your hips, your back pressed to his chest.

Sliding his hand down your thigh, he tapped the side of it. “Bring this leg back,” he told you, you following his directions. “And now bend just slightly,” he led you, his hands gently soothing across your body, a little too sensually for a boxing lesson.

“See, this is why I can’t learn from you,” you noted, Jungkook chuckling next to your ear.

“Why is that, Baby?” He whispered, you scoffing in response.

“Because I have zero desire to learn how to throw a left hook now,” you whined, Jungkook laughing as he pressed a kiss to the side of your neck.

“We can’t do anything, I swear,” he giggled against your skin, you laughing as you reached back to thread your fingers into his hair.

“Are you complaining?” You asked, looking to your side to meet his gaze.

“Definitely not,” he said just before pressing his lips to yours, immediately deepening it as you turned in his arms.

[pengychan]

[Coco] Nuestra Iglesia, Pt 25

Title: Nuestra Iglesia Summary: Fake Priest AU. In the midst of the Mexican Revolution, Santa Cecilia is still a relatively safe place; all a young orphan named Miguel has to worry about is how to get novices Héctor and Imelda to switch their religious vows for wedding vows before it’s too late. He’s not having much success until he finds an unlikely ally in their new parish priest, who just arrived from out of town. Fine, so Padre Ernesto is a really odd priest. He’s probably not even a real priest, and the army-issued pistol he carries is more than slightly worrying. But he agrees that Héctor and Imelda would be wasted on religious life, and Miguel will take all the help he can get. It’s either the best idea he’s ever had, or the worst. Characters: Miguel Rivera, Ernesto de la Cruz, Héctor Rivera, Imelda Rivera, Chicharrón, Óscar and Felipe Rivera, OCs. Imector. Rating: T

[All chapters up are tagged as ‘fake priest au’ on my blog.]

A/N: Revenge is a dish best served cold, as long as poison is not in the equation. Art is by @lunaescribe​ and @swanpit​​

***

“What in God’s name did he put in that wine?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know! You spoke with him, he must have told you--”

“Lower your voice!” Héctor hissed, and he had the audacity to smack a hand over his mouth. “He only told me not to drink the wine, and to tell you not to either. That’s all I know!”

Gustavo scowled, and slapped off his hand. “Ugh, whatever. I don’t care.” He grabbed the reins of his horse, and turned to the other men who’d been taken from Santa Cecilia. They all looked varying degrees of terrified and confused all rolled into one and there sure would be a lot of questions concerning ‘Padre’ Ernesto that Héctor had better give answers to, but at the moment - in the midst of absolute chaos, with about half the soldiers collapsed, another good chunk not looking to great themselves and those not looking pale as death trying to help their comrades in any way they could - they had other priorities.

The main of which was getting out of there.

“Everyone get a horse, we’ll make a run for it. Doubt they’ll notice, let alone give chase. Help is coming, but getting out of the way would be wise,” he said, and sure enough, all men got on top of a horse. Except one, of course.

One idiot who tried to turn and run on foot in the opposite direction, toward the grove where the commander had dragged the man Gustavo had believed their parish priest. Before he could go far, however, Gustavo grabbed his arm. God, it was like trying to look after a child who wanted to find out the hard way why one shouldn’t get into the pen of an angry bull. 

“Chorizo, that everyone includes yo--”

“I can’t leave him behind,” Héctor cut him off. He turned back to him with a look that was somehow both defiant and apologetic, but that most of all made Gustavo want to kick his teeth in. As in, made him want him to kick his teeth in more than usual. “I have to help him.”

“You don’t have to do anything, he was a Federale and--”

“He came to help us!” he snapped. That was not something Gustavo could argue against, which somehow made him ever angrier at the bastard who’d managed to fool him for months on end. So much for just being an eccentric young priest. 

“He’s probably already dead.”

“You don’t know that.”

A groan. “If you want to go and try, be my guest. But you’ll do it on your own, you hear me?” he said. Héctor drew in a deep breath, and with a stronger pull managed to get his arm free. 

“If I don’t make it back--”

“You couldn’t shoot your own foot if you tried, of course you won’t make it--”

“Tell Imelda I love her.”

Jesus Christ. Gustavo slapped a hand on his forehead and groaned again, wishing really hard he was exactly the cabrón everyone claimed he was so he could just shrug, wish him good luck, and ride off to safety with the others. Unfortunately, he was only approximately seventy percent the cabrón everyone thought he was. In the end, he turned to the others.

“Ride back the way we came, fast. Don’t turn back. If you meet men on the way, tell them what is happening.”

“But we don’t know what is--”

“Federales drank a bad batch of wine, tummies hurt, come take them out,” Gustavo snapped, and smacked the rump of Francisco’s horse. It took off, and the others followed. As expected a few yells rose up for them to stop, drowned out in the cries of terror of men writhing in pain on the ground; a shot rang out, hitting no one. Gustavo turned with a scowl.

“Fine. Let’s go save the imposter before I kill you for this,” he grumbled, and when the idiota smiled at him with that stupid golden tooth he had to really fight the urge to knock it out.

***

“I told you I’d make sure everyone would know exactly what you are, didn’t I?”

De la Cruz didn’t reply, but that didn’t matter. His cries before he seemingly ran out of voice had been better music to his ears than any of his singing back when they were in the same battalion; the wheezing sound he made now, as his bloodied chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, was more of enough for him. 

Santiago smiled, and finally stood to admire his handiwork. Blood was everywhere on de la Cruz’s chest; the letters he’d carved on his skin didn’t show as clearly as he would have liked and the traitor’s eyes were falling shut as he tethered on the edge of unconsciousness, but that was nothing a good splash of water wouldn’t fix. Santiago took a bottle from the saddle of his horse, and threw water across de la Cruz’s face and chest. 

“Ah…!”

He recoiled and seemed to choke on it a moment, pulled back onto awareness; much of the blood washed out, and the letters showed stark and clear for a few moments before more blood welled up. But even as it began dripping into the dirt again, the word remained clearly visible and that was all that mattered.

JUDAS

“Now you can never hide again,” Santiago sneered, knowing full well Ernesto de la Cruz would not live to see the sun set that day, let alone get a chance to try hiding. But it was a soothing thought, knowing that anyone walking by his hanging body would get to read the reason why right there on his chest. 

“I have sinned, he said, for I have betrayed innocent blood,” Santiago quoted, cleaning the blade of his knife before he put it back at his belt. A long time since he’d even stepped in a church, he still remembered much of the scriptures. “So Judas threw the money into the temple and left. Then he went away and hanged himself.” 

A pause, and his lips twisted in something resembling a smile. He could taste something bitter at the back of his throat. “Maybe even Judas was above you, after all. You never regretted a thing, did you? You would have never ended your own pathetic life. You had to be dragged out of hiding, kicking and screaming, to be given the punishment you know you deserve.”

De la Cruz groaned and tried to move, or maybe to speak, but in the end all he could do was turn his head to the side and heave, skin clammy and ashen gray, hair sticking to his forehead. Some bile spewed forth into the dirt, and it seemed to take the last of his strength; even when Santiago kicked his side, he barely reacted. 

“What is it? No more begging?” Santiago taunted, and crouched down to put the noose around his neck. There was a weak attempt at shifting away, easily ignored. He tightened the noose, glanced up to make sure the rope went over a branch solid enough to hold his weight, and stood. “No more crying? No more--”

“Uuugh…!”

The sound of someone else groaning and then throwing up caused Santiago to trail off, and he rolled his eyes. Was a little blood enough to make the delicate damsels he was leading grow faint? 

“If you can’t handle this, I suggest you--” Santiago began, turning, but paused when he realized it wasn’t just one of the three men with him at the grove who looked sick.

All of them were pale, one still heaving, the other two clearly struggling to maintain composure. The one who’d just tied up the end of the hanging rope to the horse was holding onto the saddle with one hand and doubling over, holding onto his stomach; another staggered as though drunk, and leaned against a tree before slumping to the ground.

“What are you-- Rojas! Stand up, damn you!”

“Commander, I… I…” he tried to speak, but his voice broke and he doubled over, both hands over his stomach. A few meters away, again came the harsh sound of retching. When Santiago turned again, blood running cold, all three men were either on the ground or kneeling over. Something was wrong, he realized, horribly wrong. 

“What the-- what’s happening!” He demanded to know, walking up to one of them. The wind picked up and as though to answer more sounds reached him, beyond the grove, back on the path where he’d left the rest of his men. There were yells, the whinnying of scared horses, a noise that sounded horribly like a grown man wailing.

“You damned us!” Rojas choked out at his feet, eyes squeezed shut and terror in every word. “You shot a priest and God punished us!”

For just a moment, Santiago believed it. He stepped back, an unknown terror seizing his heart, mind full of the tales of divine punishment he’d heard as a boy, of plagues and fire and brimstone. Everything around him seemed to go still and cold, as though the blistering hot sun above the grove had ceased giving warmth. 

“In God’s name,” the gringo had cried out. “For your own soul, if not for their lives!”

And he’d shot him. He had taken out his pistol and shot him, and now… now…!

Rojas writhed on the ground, and something spurted from his mouth. Santiago was terror-stricken enough to think it was blood at first, that his men were dying as they spat out their own blood - but by then, he had seen too many men bleed out for the illusion to last long. After a few moments he realized what Rojas was spewing forth was not blood at all. It was… it was...

Wine.

He saw it now, with the mind’s eye, the scene he’d come across earlier: his men standing around a fake priest, all of them drinking from casks of wine. Red wine. Mass wine. 

Blood of the covenant. This damn bastard. 

With a cry of fury, Santiago turned his back to Rojas and stormed back to where Ernesto de la Cruz lay, chest bleeding and arms tied behind his back, noose still around his neck… and features twisted in a grin that confirmed all of Santiago’s suspicions. He crouched by him, pulling him up by his hair and shaking him savagely. 

“You! What did you put in that wine!” he screamed. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!”

De la Cruz’s eyes found his own, and the despicable grin widened. His chest shuddered while he let out a sound that was hardly recognizable as a laugh, or any sort of sound a human being should be able to make. “Whatever… it took,” he gasped out, and he had the audacity to laugh again. “Todo modo... para buscar... la voluntad divina.”

“I’LL GIVE YOU DIVINE WILL!” 

With another cry of anger, Santiago slammed the traitor back down against the ground and went to the horse. The raspy laughter still rang out, mocking him, but he would silence it and he’d silence it now. Santiago grabbed the horse’s reins, and pulled hard to get it to move. The beast moved, the rope grew taut, and Ernesto de la Cruz’s laugh was finally silenced. 

In the distance shots rang out, but Santiago Hernández was beyond caring for anything other than the choking noises that now left Alberto’s murderer.

Let them die. Let us all die, as long as I take him down with me. 

He stopped the horse, turned, and watched with a widening smile as Ernesto de la Cruz writhed and choked, hanging by his neck a few feet above the ground. His eyes bulged, his face quickly growing red while he kicked uselessly and strained against his bounds in a doomed struggle for survival. It was horrifying, a slow and painful death. It was perfect. 

I told you I’d avenge you, Beto, Santiago thought, and stood there to watch, faintly wishing he had something to drink as he enjoyed revenge which had been served very, very cold.

***

“Hold the horses, something is-- stop! Everyone, stop!”

Imelda pulled back the reins, causing her horse - who had probably not run so much since the day her father had absolutely forbidden the twins to ride him - to skid to a halt, nearly bumping into José’s horse right ahead. A few paces ahead one of the women, the one who'd allowed Imelda to join, had stopped with a hand held up. 

“Luciana, what is--” José began, only to be silenced by a wave of her hand. 

“Listen.”

They did listen, and after a few moments Imelda heard it over her own rushing blood - distant cries and, coming closer, the beating of horse hooves. Someone was coming. 

What’s going on?

As one, the men and women around her pulled up their rifles and pistols and took aim towards the bend on the road ahead. Imelda did the same, grip tight on the pistol and holding onto the reins with her other hand. Sweat dripped down her brow, into her eyes. The cries remained distant, but the sound of galloping horses drew closer. 

Then several horses come over the bend at breakneck speed, ridden by men in uniform. The first man to appear saw them and cried out, pulling hard on the reins and causing the horse to rear up on its hind legs. The cap fell off his head, Imelda caught a glimpse of his face, and the finger on the trigger went slack. 

The baker.

“Wait! Don’t shoot!” Imelda cried out, lowering the pistol and kicking the flanks of her horse, coming in front of José and Luciana. “I know them! They were taken from Santa Cecilia!”

As José blinked, more horses came into view and skidded to a halt. Voices rose up, frantic. 

“Don’t shoot!”

“We’re not enemies!”

“We got away!”

“Gustavo sent us this--”

“It’s hell back there--”

José lifted an arm to get his comrades to lower their rifles, and Imelda quickly scanned the group. She recognized all of them, they were from Santa Cecilia all right, all twenty-eight of them. Two, however, were missing: Gustavo… and Héctor. 

Fear gripping her heart, Imelda opened her mouth to speak - but José spoke first, kicking his horse’s flanks to get closer to the terrified men. “What-- all right, all right, one at a time. Gustavo sent you? Where is he? What happened?”

“Padre Ernesto-- I mean, we think he’s a Padre--”

“-- not so sure anymore--”

“-- came over with wine, offered it to all soldiers--”

“-- told us not to drink and we didn’t--”

“Did any of you listen to me when I said to speak one at a time?” José lamented, and most of them fell quiet. Only one spoke again.

“Now they’re all sick - if not all, most of them - I think some have died, I am not sure. It was chaos, the screams… It was like the plagues. I think-- I think Padre Ernesto poisoned them.”

“... A priest poisoned them?” José turned back to look at Imelda, baffled. “First you, and now… what is going on with the clergy in your village?”

Ah, that was going to be… a long story to tell. Imelda opted to cut it short, for now. “Ernesto must have gone after them with the holy wine - he clearly did something with it. Francisco-- Francisco, look at me. Where’s Héctor?”

The young man looked back at her, pale as ash. He was a couple of years older than her, and yet looked so much younger now. “He… he and Gustavo stayed behind, he wanted to help Padre-- I mean-- Ernesto. The commander, he was hellbent on seeing him dead. He recognized him, and took him away to hang him. He-- wait, was it him he was looking for in Santa Cecilia?”

Something clenched in the pit of Imelda’s stomach; once again, the knowledge she may have avoided all this by speaking out and handing them Ernesto wouldn’t leave her mind. It was a sense of guilt she would have to deal with, but later. Now, she had to get to Héctor.

And maybe also save that other idiot who thought he could take on Federales with sweet words and poisoned wine. 

But he was not entirely wrong. The men are ill. Vulnerable. We have an advantage now.

When Imelda looked up to meet Luciana’s gaze, she could tell she’d come to the same conclusion. “... We will discuss this later. Their advantage was in numbers and now that they’re sick, it’s gone. We can take them head-on,” she said, and turned to the still shaken men. “How far are they?”

“No more than three miles. Just down the path at the bottom of the hill, they stopped in the middle.”

“A stupid place to stop. Any guards at the back?”

“No. It’s chaos, that’s how we got away.”

“Very well. You can go home. If any of you feel able to join us in this, do so. But lose the jacket, we wouldn’t want to shoot you down by mistake.”

As several of them did tear off the jacket, ready to follow them back, Luciana turned to Imelda again. “That’s your novio still there, right?”

“... Sí.”

“Then focus on finding him. We’ll take on anyone who fights back and find Gustavo. The idiota still owes me money,” she added, and kicked the horse’s flanks. “Onward!”

The group galloped forward once again, ten more men added to its ranks. Imelda spurred the horse, and this time she found herself galloping by José’s side. He turned to look at her as they rode on.

“Hey, do we get an invite to your wedding? I’ll invite you to mine!” he yelled. Despite everything, Imelda found it in herself to laugh. It helped to think of it, that there would be a wedding, and guests to entertain. She would bring Héctor home, and they would have all that, and a lifetime to either celebrate or regret it, tales to tell their children. 

She smiled. “You’ll all be guests of honor.”

***

“I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I absolutely do mean that.”

Héctor decided not to carry on the whispered argument, and they kept moving slowly through the grove, low behind shrubs, following the sound of groans. The hands holding the rifle were sweaty, which didn’t work miracles on his already shaky grip. He let go with one hand to wipe it against his jacket, and almost dropped the rifle altogether when he heard a scream.

“I’LL GIVE YOU DIVINE WILL!”

Gustavo recoiled as well, rifle raised as he tried, without much success, to look like he was all that good with firearms. Héctor may have even found it funny - maybe we’ll be the ones to shoot Ernesto in the ass after all - if not for the noises that followed moments later, nowhere as loud as the scream but bone-chilling all the same. 

The unmistakable noise of someone being choked.

They’re hanging him. They’re doing it. 

“They wouldn’t give me a quick death,” he had told him once, and he had been right. It was horrifying but maybe, if he made it on time, it was a blessing in disguise. He could stop it. 

Héctor ignored Gustavo’s whisper to wait and just began running, holding tightly onto the rifle, following the increasingly weak sounds of a man whose consciousness was fading fast. His heart pounded, and he prayed he wouldn’t be too late.

Please don’t die. Hang in ther-- agh, I mean-- hold on. Don’t die. Please.

The choking noises had almost died down by the time he finally reached the clearing, Gustavo having fallen behind. Ernesto was there, hanging from the tree and convulsing in his death throes. Blood dripped from his bare chest, but that wasn’t the most horrifying thing; what would never leave Héctor’s nightmares was his purplish face, the way his mouth opened as he strained for air, the bloodshot eyes. 

Dimly, Héctor was aware of the presence of the commander standing by and watching, of three other men groaning in pain on the ground, but none of it registered. All he knew was that Ernesto had seconds left to live if he didn’t act immediately, and so he did. 

Héctor lifted the rifle, took aim for the branch Ernesto was hanging from, and pulled the trigger.

***

“Drop the weapons or drop dead!”

“Never!”

“Bad call.” Luciana’s reply was followed by a bang, and the man who’d tried to stand up and lift his rifle did, as a matter of fact, drop dead. As did several other men who tried to draw weapons, taken by surprise by their arrival as they tried to tend to their ill comrades. 

Imelda hadn’t been so naive to imagine epic battles with fair play, of course. Often vastly outgunned, revolutionaries couldn’t afford the luxury of being chivalrous; even so, had those men not terrorized her village only hours earlier and taken Héctor - and tried to take her brother, and Miguel - she may have felt some measure of guilt for the attack, which struck them as they were mostly defenseless. Francisco had been right: it was chaos there.

But she was there for Héctor, and it made overlooking the death around them so very easy. 

“There is no mercy in war,” Ernesto had said. “They die or you do. Until you forget you’re looking at humans.”

She didn’t quite understand, then. She did now, in the midst of a battle, ears full of screams and gunshots and galloping horses raising clouds of dust. If the idiot was still alive, she’d have to tell him as much - that he’d been right. Annoying, that.

More shots were fired as the men still able to stand and hold a rifle left their wounded and ill comrades on the ground and began to retreat towards a rocky formation, clearly aiming to hide behind it and keep shooting. Imelda slowed her horse before it stepped on the body of a groaning soldier, heard a bullet whizzing right past her head, and looked ahead to see a soldier lifting his rifle, aiming it at José as he rode to intercept some men before they could recover ammunition from a cart. Imelda didn’t stop to think: she lifted Ernesto’s pistol, her pistol now, and fired, the kickback violent enough to hurt her shoulder.

She had aimed for the head, truth be told, and the bullet hit the man’s calf, but it was enough to make him drop his rifle and fall to the ground, so she counted it as a success. She looked around, scanning every man in uniform she saw for a sign of Héctor, but he wasn’t anywhere within sight. Where had he gone? He had stayed to help Ernesto, so… where was Ernesto?

The commander, he was hellbent on seeing him dead. Took him away to hang him.

And to hang someone… well. You need a tree. Imelda turned; right by there was a smaller path, leading to a grove of trees. And just as she turned, a gunshot rang out in the distance.

A flock of frightened birds took flight against the setting sun, and she knew where to go.

***

BANG

As the kickback caused Héctor to stumble back, the noise ringing in his ears, his mind registered two things. 

The first was that he’d entirely missed the branch he had aimed for; the second was that he must have hit the rope instead in a stroke of sheer blind luck which he would forever pass off as skill, because the rope was severed and Ernesto’s twitching body fell heavily to the ground. 

The third was that he was in deep shit, because Commander Hernández immediately turned to see him and he was much, much better than him at using a gun - not that it took much. That, and he was even more unhinged than ever before. 

“YOU!” 

Mierda.

Héctor ducked behind a tree just on time before a shot rang out, taking out bits of bark inches away from his head. The horse let out a loud frightened neigh and galloped away, dragging the severed rope with it. That would have been an excellent moment to run, but Ernesto was still there, unconscious, and--

“I should have known you were harboring this traitor! Once I’m done with you both I’ll burn your village to the ground!”

Héctor clenched his jaw, and dared glance around the tree, ready to duck back. The commander was turning, rifle up, aiming it at Ernesto’s still form. Even now, knowing an armed man was on him, he was hellbent on killing Ernesto like it was a more important goal than his own survival. 

Oh no you don’t.

Héctor lifted his rifle again, braced himself, and fired another shot. It missed Hernández entirely because of course it did, but it seemed enough to make him rethink the strategy of pointing his firearm at an unconscious man rather than on a much more pressing threat. He fired back, but Héctor was already hidden behind another tree and he heard him cursing before he also took cover. 

Maybe Héctor wouldn’t be able to hit him, let alone incapacitate him, but at least he could keep him in a stand-off and away from Ernesto until help came. And by help he meant Gustavo. God, where was he? How far behind had he fallen while Héctor ran on… much longer legs? He couldn’t be that far. If only he could hold Hernández’s attention long eno--

BANG

Another shot rang out, much too close, sending bark flying off the tree right next to the one Héctor was crouched behind. All right, so Commander Hérnandez had a fairly good idea of where he was hidden. Time to move and make some more noise while he was at it, just to keep him busy. 

Héctor drew in a deep breath and darted behind another tree, shooting blindly in the process. Two shots were fired back, and a bullet hit the ground just inches from where he’d been standing a second earlier, but he managed to get cover unscathed, heart beating wildly in his throat. He gripped the rifle tightly, drenched in sweat, and crawled behind some shrubbery. 

He looked over at the clearing through the branches, hoping to catch a glimpse of Hernández, but he could only see three unconscious soldiers… and Ernesto, still motionless on the ground where he’d fallen.

No good, no good, he could shoot him any moment--

And he tried, sure enough. Something that had looked like a branch moved from behind a tree, and it was once again pointed at Ernesto. Héctor lifted his rifle, heart hammering in his chest, and shot again. The bullet hit the tree instead of the barrel of the rifle, but it was enough to make the man recoil and lower his weapon. With a cry, Héctor pulled the trigger again.

CLICK

Ah. Mierda.

As Héctor fumbled to grab the spare bullets, Commander Hernández made a horrible sound that may have, with some imagination, passed off as laughter. 

“Oh, out of bullets, are we? Didn’t make sure it was fully loaded, did we?” he called out, his voice more unhinged with each word, and he stepped into view, rifle up and aimed at Ernesto. Well, that was it. No time to wait for Gustavo any longer. 

With no other choice, Héctor did the only thing he could think of doing: he ran out of his hiding spot screaming like a man possessed, brandishing the rifle like a club, and brought it down with all his might.

“You bast--!” Santiago Hernández moved at the last second and the blow did not land on his arm as intended, but it did hit the barrel of his own rifle; when the shot rang out - how many times has he shot, how many has he left? - the bullet hit the dirt, several feet away from Ernesto’s head. Héctor let out a cry of victory, feeling elated for just one moment.

Then the butt of the rifle hit him in the face, and he fell back on the ground. Blood filled his mouth along with something small and hard - the golden tooth, dislodged by the blow - and Héctor’s vision swam. The commander stood above him. He’d shoot him, he knew, any second now he’d point the rifle at him and pull the trigger and--

BANG

“Agh!”

“This will teach you to run off like that, idiot! Should have let him shoot your stupid head off!”

Gustavo’s voice was rarely a welcomed sound to Héctor’s ears, but it sure was now - even sweeter than the cry of pain that left Hernández, and that of his rifle falling to the ground. As he grabbed that rifle and forced himself to stand again, pointing it at the soldier’s crumpled form, Héctor couldn’t help but think his voice had sounded almost angelic, really. Not that he planned on telling him as much. 

As it turned out, he would never get the chance to either way.

***

Gunshots and cries were a clear indication that not all was well in the grove, but what really told Imelda she was heading in the right direction was seeing a terrified horse bursting out of it, dragging a severed rope behind it. 

The commander, he was hellbent on seeing him dead. Took him away to hang him.

Maybe she wasn’t too late after all, but if the shots were anything to go by she didn’t have much time either. Imelda gripped the pistol more tightly and spurred the horse into going faster, down the path and into the grove, trampling bushes and pressing forward amidst trees, heart beating somewhere in her throat. 

It was not the most discreet way for her to go into whatever awaited, and it made her a much easier and obvious target - she was well aware of that - but there was no time to waste. Too much was at stake; Héctor’s life, their future. She couldn’t afford to be too late. 

More shots rang out and then another sound came, carried by the wind - the most unhinged laughter Imelda had ever heard in her life. It made the hair on her arms stand, but what truly made her blood run cold was the cry that followed. Héctor’s cry. 

As another gunshot tore through the air, Imelda spurred her horse into a full gallop, heading straight ahead and ready to trample everything on her path.

Whatever it takes, was all she could think, and the grip on Ernesto’s pistol tightened.

“You know, I could kiss you.”

“Do me a favor and never say that again. I would like to keep my lunch down.” Gustavo snorted, rifle still pointed at the groaning man on the ground. He was curled forward, blood seeping through his sleeve. “Don’t move if you want to live,” Gustavo added, and tilted his head to his left. “Go check if the fake priest over there is still breathing. You and him both have a lot of explaining to do, you know.”

Héctor didn’t need to be told twice. He rushed to Ernesto’s side, put down the rifle, and went to shake his shoulder. 

“Ernesto-- amigo, you hear me? It’s all right, it’s over, come on…” He turned him on his back, horrified by the mess of blood on his chest but relieved to see it rise and fall in shallow, wheezing breaths; the noose had loosened, but not quite enough. Héctor loosened it the rest of the way, and pulled it over his head before resting it back on the ground. God, it had been a close call, but now… now he got him. He would be all right. “There-- better, no? Breathe, come on. Just keep breathing. We’ll get you help. Just hang-- I mean, hold on--”

“Mier--”

BANG

Héctor turned, heart leaping in his throat, just on time to see Gustavo being falling back, the rifle falling from his hands. He opened his mouth to cry out, but no sound left him; he watched, petrified, as commander Hernandéz stood - his wounded arm hanging limply at his side, and holding a pistol in his other hand.

The pistol, oh God, how did we forget he had one--

The second he turned the pistol on them Héctor knew that trying to grab the rifle would doom both him and Ernesto. Instead he lifted his arms, shielding Ernesto with his body. “Please,” he managed. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Ah, but I do.” The man bared his teeth in a smile that looked so much more like a snarl. “That man is a murderer, and I promised Alberto he would be avenged. Get out of the way, and I may even let you take your other friend to safety.”

Behind him, Gustavo groaned. He tried to lift himself on his elbows, but immediately fell back in the dirt. “Liar,” he gasped out, voice full of venom. Hernández barely glanced over at him, then looked back at Héctor, who hadn’t moved. He didn’t think he could move even if he wanted to, frozen on the spot between predator and prey. Deaf to everything but Ernesto’s laboured breathing and his own thundering heart, he failed to hear something else - a quickly approaching horse. 

Hernández didn’t look up, either. “A poor choice,” he scoffed, and Héctor closed his eyes. 

I’m so sorry, Imelda. Miguel--!

For the final time that day a gunshot tore through the air, echoing into Héctor’s head. He kept his eyes shut and waited to feel the pain, wondering how bad it would be, how hot it would burn and for how long. And he waited. And waited.

And still there was nothing. 

Slowly, he opened his eyes to meet the gaze of Commander Santiago Hernández. He staggered back and stared at him, eyes widened as if wondering how come they had both come to be there. He let the pistol drop, all strength gone from his hand, and looked down. 

Across his chest blood was seeping through the uniform, spreading fast. He opened his mouth, tried to speak - but a gurgle was all he managed before his eyes rolled back and he fell heavily, dead before his body even hit the ground. 

“... I had aimed for the groin.”

Héctor turned slowly. Behind him - above him, atop a horse - was Imelda. Her head uncovered, her robes gone, a pistol in hand. A vision from Heaven, and for a moment he wondered if he was dead after all. He smiled breathlessly. That sure was a lovely way to be welcomed in the afterlife. “Te amo,” he told her. 

She stared at him for a moment, then smiled back. “I sure hope you do. I hear that helps in a marriage.”

“So-- will you marry me?”

“Of course I will.”

A short distance away Gustavo managed to make a noise that sounded a lot like ‘bleagh’, and it was enough to snap Héctor’s mind back to reality. He lifted his head, alarmed. “Gustavo! Imelda, he needs--”

“I’ll check on him. You make sure the other idiot doesn’t die.” Imelda climbed off the horse, practical as always now that the moment had passed. She ran past the commander’s corpse straight at Gustavo, and Héctor focused on Ernesto again. He still breathed, and that… that was good, surely. It had to be good, he told himself, brushing some hair off his forehead.

Imelda, however, did not have good news. Héctor could tell as much the moment she called out for him, her voice somber. He turned to see she was cupping the back of Gustavo’s head; he was ashen pale, eyes rolling back, blood all over the front of his uniform.

And despite everything, he still spoke. “If you let-- Chicharrón bury me, I swear to God-- he’ll do a shit job just to spite me.”

Imelda looked down at him, something akin to a small smile on her lips. “You need not worry. Chicharrón hasn’t actually dug a grave in years.”

“Heh. I-- knew it. The cabrón-- should have got him-- fired,” Gustavo gasped, and dropped his head against her hand again with a groan. Imelda turned to Héctor. 

“The final rites,” she said. “He needs it now.”

Oh. A weight in his stomach, Héctor left Ernesto to rest and stood. It felt surreal, like it couldn’t possibly be happening and he was watching an event from someone else’s life through a foggy glass. “I… I don’t think I can. I am not priest, I--”

“You are the closest that there is to one right now. It will have to do.”

She was right: as soon as Héctor approached he could tell that the wound to Gustavo’s stomach was devastating, and he was fading fast. Too fast. He wouldn’t live long enough to see a real priest. They had never been friends, quite the contrary, but something clenched painfully in Héctor’s chest as he approached. He’d never wanted such a thing to happen.

He knelt by the dying man, trying to ignore a bizarre urge to apologize if the attempt at befriending him as kids had hit a nerve, if he had done or said something wrong, if he had never tried to extend the olive branch again. All along, he’d been their link to the revolutionaries, and now he’d saved his life too. He deserved better than dying in the dirt. 

“There is no mercy in war,” Ernesto had said. “They die or you do.”

But he could extend mercy now, at least; without even anointing oil, it was all he had to give. So he rested a hand on Gustavo’s forehead, and began murmuring the prayers required. With a rattling breath, Gustavo opened his eyes and looked up at him. 

“Now you’re… really trying… to piss me off, Chorizo,” he managed, and it took the last of his strength. His head fell back again, his gaze grew dull, and his chest rose in yet another breath before stilling, just as Héctor whispered the last amen. 

It was over. Héctor let out a long breath, feeling entirely emptied out. Imelda laid a hand on his shoulder, a warm and welcome weight. He reached up to cover it with his own.

“... Maybe we’ll tell others he had something slightly better to say as his last words,” he said. 

She squeezed his shoulder, closing Gustavo’s eyes with her other hand. “Yes. Let’s do that,” she agreed. They knelt a few more moments before standing, and tending to the living.

Away from the grove, the battle was over.

***

“What in God’s name is this mess!”

Well, that was not an encouraging thing to hear, but then again doctor Sanchéz wasn’t new to outbursts, and it wasn’t every day he had two severely wounded men carried at his doorstep. The gringo had been at death’s door - still was, lying unconscious only a few feet away - and Ernesto was in no better shape. 

Sofía’s eyes wandered over the congealed blood, the deep cuts on his chest, the dark bruise around his neck, the ashen color of his skin, his utter stillness as he remained unconscious. She remained outwardly calm, but something within her trembled. 

Idiota. What have you done?

Of course, at that point she knew the answer; word travelled fast as soon as the first few men returned galloping into the village. Between that and the fact Chicharrón had confirmed their stock of rat poison had disappeared along with the wine, Sofía knew exactly what he had done. She may have admired the sheer guts of it, and the fact it had helped win the battle, if not for the detail it had turned out so horribly wrong for him.

That, and even if he pulled through the game was up and the village knew, or at least guessed, he was no priest at all. Coming up for a convincing explanation was going to be a bitch and a half, but she’d think about it later. One problem at a time. 

“... Well, doctor, surely there must be something you can do,” she said, and Sanchéz groaned, rubbing his forehead.

“I’ll clean the wounds, stitch the worst and wrap them up,” he muttered. “But he lost a lot of blood and Hell knows for how long he was left hanging by the neck. There is nothing I can do about that. Either he wakes up or he doesn’t. If you ask me, he doesn't have many more chances than the gringo does.” 

“We’ll be praying for them. We already lost a member of our parish today,” Sofía said quietly. 

Sanchéz would have normally snorted at such a comment, but this time he sighed. He looked tired, too, and gestured for his assistant to bring over the alcohol and a small basin of warm water. “... I’ll do what I can. You may want to come up with some sort of story to tell, if not the village, at least outsiders. In case anyone comes asking. And we’re going to need at least one real priest alive, for Gustavo’s funeral.”

“Our… friends know one who will come over from San Luz to do it. No questions asked.”

“... That’s good. You may go, sister. We’ll try our best here.”

Sofía nodded and, with one last glance at Ernesto - try to pull through, you idiot, you and the stupid gringo both because God knows you deserve each other - she took her leave, stepping out of Sanchéz’s home and into the street. The bell was once again ringing to a death knell, announcing the death of their parish's sexton. 

Just as she stepped past the threshold, with doctor Sanchéz’s attention entirely on Ernesto, Father John Johnsons shifted imperceptibly and almost, almost opened his eyes.

***

“Padre Raúl will be here within a couple of days for the funeral - three at most, I swear. Us too, it’s the least we could do.”

“Wouldn’t you prefer to stay for a few nights?”

Grabbing the reins of his horse, José smiled. “Tempting, but we have all those Federales to keep an eye on. They’re still writhing about, but they’ll live. Whatever was in that wine couldn’t be nearly enough to kill so many men.” 

Héctor swallowed before speaking, thinking back of Alejandro, of other men who so clearly were not in the army by their own free will. “... What will you do with them?”

“They’ll get a chance to join us. A lot of them do - Gabriel was one.” José shrugged, and grabbed the reins of his horse. They were standing in the churchyard, Imelda holding tightly on Héctor’s hand. “If not, well. We have someplace where they can be locked up for a time. Between us, I got word from the north and I think Huerta’s days are numbered. Once he falls, the Federal Army itself is sure to follo--”

“HÉCTOR! IMELDA!”

A loud, wonderfully familiar voice cut José off, and Héctor turned just on time to catch Miguel in his arms. He was a shrimp of a kid, but he almost knocked him over. “Hola, chamaco. How--”

“Why did you do it!” Miguel cried out, face pressed against his stomach. His shoulders shook, and he began sobbing. “Stupid, stupid, stupid…!”

“Miguel…” Héctor began, not quite knowing what to say next. In the end he needed say nothing at all: Imelda crouched down to hold onto Miguel as well and he clung back, a hand grasping her blouse.

They kept holding onto one another for a very, very long time.

***

[Back]

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[belettewrites]

Listen to the melody

In which Jaskier finds a puppy, immediately adopts him, and Geralt becomes the “dad didn’t want a dog//dad and the dog” meme. Oh, and some self-esteem issues from a certain white-haired witcher that lead to some hurt until they finally talk to each other. 

cw: the dog gets hurt but I promise he’s fine.

Around 8k words, link to AO3 here!

And a big thank you to @potatofu-art for giving the dog his name! Go check their blog, you won’t regret it (no seriously, do it, trust me)

Geralt and Jaskier had met again when the cold breeze had been replaced by a warmer one, when trees were starting to wear bright green leaves again and fields were blooming with small and fragile flowers.

A few months had past, spring leaving in favor of a warm summer, and they had not parted ways yet. It was something that they usually did, because sometimes Jaskier needed to go to a bardic competition that took place where Geralt would never be able to find a contract, or because Jaskier was requested to play somewhere Geralt would never be able to follow. It wasn’t really parting ways, actually it was more Jaskier leaving, but Geralt told himself that it was something he was fine with. The bard did find him again after, or Geralt did, and they would start traveling together again, Jaskier sharing gossips that Geralt pretended to care about.

He was… fond of Jaskier, and that was why when the bard stopped following the path that would lead straight to the village they had planned to spend the night in, Geralt stopped to wait for him.

The sun hadn’t set yet and wouldn’t for at least an hour, but cicadas were already singing around them, the luminosity dim even though night hadn’t fallen yet. They were just at the edge of the town, and so they had time.

Geralt turned around to see what Jaskier was doing; surely the bard had found a flower that he deemed worth picking, and- 

Jaskier wasn’t on the road anymore. He had jumped in the ditch by the side of the road, and was currently cooing at something. Now that Geralt thought of it, he could hear two heartbeats in that ditch.

“Jaskier?”

He didn’t draw his sword – there was no need – but readied himself for whatever he would find. He walked closer to the ditch, trusting Roach not to run away; the mare snorted but didn’t move.

“I’m fine, don’t worry, it’s just – can you hold him for me while I get out of here?”

Geralt looked down. The ditch was quite deep, Jaskier would no doubt stain his doublet to get out of it, as he had his boots when he had jumped in it: a layer of mud covered the bottom of the ditch. But that was not the part that interested Geralt at the moment; not, what made him pause was what Jaskier was currently cradling to his chest – a puppy.

It was not a small one; his legs, covered in mud as the rest of his fur, showed that he would grow into a big dog, the kind that kept herds of sheep in the mountains – not the kind that was left alone in a ditch by the side of the road.

“Geralt?” Jaskier asked, his tone impatient, and Geralt reached out without thinking about it, taking the puppy in his hands.

It squirmed a little but let itself be carried. Geralt put it on the ground next to him, and helped Jaskier to get out of the ditch.

“Thank you, dear,” Jaskier smiled, before his attention returned to the dog. He squatted down to take it in his arms. “The poor thing wasn’t even making a noise,” he said, his smile turning sad, “and he’s shaking. He must have been in here for hours – why would anyone do that?”

Geralt looked at the puppy. His long brown and black fur was in a poor state, hairs matted together by the mud.

“He’s missing a leg,” he stated, and Jaskier frowned.

“And?”

“And people don’t want dogs with only three legs,” Geralt shrugged. It was stupid, but humans often were.

Jaskier’s eyes somehow got even sadder, and Geralt felt helpless. He didn’t want Jaskier to be sad, but there wasn’t anything that he could do to make humans stop being prejudiced against things that weren’t how they expected them to be.

Then determination shone in Jaskier’s eyes and Geralt suddenly felt afraid of what he would say next.

“We’re keeping Butterscotch.”

“We are not keeping him- you gave him a name?”

Jaskier scratched the dog behind his ears, and the puppy closed his eyes.

“Well it’s not as if anyone was going to,” the bard replied, and Geralt suddenly felt extremely tired. “Besides, I found him. I get to name him.”

“We can’t keep him,” Geralt said again, because it was something that Jaskier needed to understand.

“But he’s helpless,” Jaskier almost pouted, “and you said it yourself: people won’t want him. I am not going to leave him here all alone, ready to be eaten by wolves.”

There weren’t any wolves in the area, but Geralt decided against saying it. And of course they wouldn’t abandon him like that.

“His previous humans didn’t want him,” he said instead, “we can find him another family.”

The puppy yawned, which was the most noise he had made since they had found him, and tried to lick Jaskier’s chin. The bard smiled at him, a fond thing, and Geralt suddenly couldn’t tell Jaskier that a young dog wouldn’t survive on the path for long and that they couldn’t exactly afford to feed a puppy on top of their needs.

“No,” Jaskier said, still holding the puppy in his arms. Fuck, but he was cute. The dog – Butterscotch – tried to lick him again, and Jaskier laughed.

Fuck.

They were now doing what he had no choice but to call puppy eyes at him.

This was a bad idea. There were so many reasons why this was a bad idea – a dog would need care and attention, and Jaskier’s life was chaotic enough as it was. And of course, dogs didn’t exactly like Geralt. Neither did other pets; cats avoided him like the plague. He didn’t want an animal to be near him all the time – that would cause it distress, and Geralt knew that Jaskier would choose to leave sooner than he usually did.

But one important thing that Geralt couldn’t push aside was that what he wanted most was Jaskier to be happy, be it by his side or on his own.

“He can stay,” he finally conceded, trying not to let it show that at this point there was nothing he would be able to refuse Jaskier. “For now,” he warned pointlessly, acutely aware that the dog would be with him on the path until Jaskier decided that he had had enough of following a witcher around.

He turned away, warmed up by the smile that was currently lighting up Jaskier’s face. He tried to hold onto that happiness when the thought that Jaskier would leave inevitably came. They started walking again, Geralt leading, Jaskier right next to him.

“We’re going to have so many adventures together,” the bard said to the dog that he was still holding in his arms, “and we’ll have a fantastic time. But for now, Butterscotch, let’s go back to the inn and get you a bath. I’m sorry to tell you, you poor thing, but you absolutely need it.”

***

Traveling with a dog wasn’t that much different. Butterscotch was a silent one, never barking at birds or other dogs, which was a relief; the last thing Geralt needed was a small animal broadcasting their location to every single monster around. Even if Butterscotch wasn’t exactly small anymore.

They had found another town and had decided to stay there; Jaskier had performed at the tavern, earning a fair amount of coin, and they had retired for the night when his set had been over.

Geralt was already under the covers, watching with half-opened eyes as Jaskier was getting ready to go to bed. His boots were already by the bed, his doublet folded nicely on the table. 

Butterscotch put his front leg on the bed, near Geralt’s face, and currently sniffed him. His whiskers were tickling Geralt’s nose, and he glared at the dog, who – tried to lick Geralt’s face. The witcher resisted the urge of hiding himself behind the cover.

"He's not sleeping on the bed,” he warned.

“Of course he is sleeping on the bed, we'll need the extra heat. And he's adorable, Geralt, how can you say no?”

The so-called adorable dog was currently making puppy eyes at Geralt, as if he had understood what was going on and was trying to convince him too.

“Because he'll get fur everywhere, and my pants and armor are already covered in them.”

Because that sounded petulant, he added.

“The inn will charge us double.”

Jaskier sighed, but Geralt knew he had to win this one. If he didn’t, then the dog would just take a bad habit, and they would end up regretting it when he would be fully grown. The puppy was already bigger than when Jaskier had got him and it seemed that he was not going to stop. He looked like a shepherd dog, and Geralt wondered how the fuck he had ended up in the small town in which they had found him.

In which Jaskier had found him. Butterscotch was Jaskier’s dog, not theirs.

“But he’ll get cold, and lonely, and he’ll think I don’t love him-”

“Jaskier,” Geralt interrupted his friend before it turned into a proper lamentation and it was too late, “the d- Butterscotch loves you already, he follows you everywhere. He won’t mind sleeping on the ground, especially since dogs like him are used to sleeping outside.”

“You’re- you’re right. And we’re right here, it’s not as if he’ll miss us!”

It’s not as if he’ll miss you, Geralt thought. I don’t think he cares much about me.

It was already a miracle that the dog could stand being near him. They usually ran the other way, but this one was surely soothed by Jaskier’s calming presence, always here to talk to him or pet him, or even carry him – Geralt had told Jaskier that he would regret it when the dog would be older, but the other man had ignored him.

“Hear that, Butterscotch? No sleeping on the bed for you. But you’ll be fine, you’ll see.”

He heard Jaskier whispering to the dog for a few minutes, and let himself smile, knowing that the other man would never see it. It was nice to see Jaskier so happy; Geralt had given him some coins so he would be able to buy a brush for the puppy, and the way Jaskier had smiled still haunted him.

He heard more than he saw Jaskier slipping under the cover, yawning.

“Goodnight, Geralt,” he whispered, and Geralt hummed his reply.

He discovered in the morning that Butterscotch had slept on his bag, successfully shedding fur everywhere. Jaskier had gone downstairs to get them breakfast, so he allowed himself to say to the dog:

“You’re a menace, little one.”

Butterscotch wagged its tail and nudged Geralt’s hand. Well. You couldn’t win them all.

***

The wind was howling outside, the sky was getting darker, and people were hurrying to get inside before the night fully settled. However, Geralt and Jaskier were too busy arguing to notice that.

“I’m telling you, Jaskier, you have to stay here for this one. It’s too dangerous.”

They had been arguing – calmly discussing – for a good ten minutes about Geralt’s next hunt; the witcher didn’t want Jaskier to come with him because it was too dangerous, while the bard absolutely wanted to come because it would “make a great song”. Geralt tended to disagree – he couldn’t exactly see the appeal of songs describing him fighting against monsters.

Plus, the fight would take place in a forest, at night, so it wasn’t very likely that Jaskier would be able to see anything, and extremely likely that Geralt would have to end up running for his bard’s life, because the other man was too busy taking notes to notice his surroundings. Though the night would prevent him from taking any notes, as would the rain that the dark clouds were announcing. There really was no point for Jaskier to come with him.

“Well what I am telling you is that-”

Butterscotch whined, effectively interrupting Jaskier in whatever he was going to reply.

They both looked down at the dog who was laying at their feet, his ears back on his head. Jaskier squatted down to take him in his arms.

“You’re going to regret that when he’ll be older,” Geralt warned, as he did every time Jaskier went to hold the puppy. Jaskier was strong, but not strong enough to hold the eighty pounds that the puppy would one day weigh. Somehow, Geralt knew that he was going to have to hold the dog when he would want to, and the thought itself was enough to tire him.

“We’ll see,” Jaskier replied like he did every time. “He doesn’t like when we’re fighting,” he added, showing the puppy to Geralt, who barely resisted the urge to pet him. Butterscotch’s ears had perked up now that Jaskier was holding him, and he and the bard made quite an adorable sight, not that Geralt was ever going to say that out loud.

It didn’t seem like Jaskier was going to change his mind soon, if the way he was frowning was a good indication of it. If the wind, the rain threatening to fall, and his possible demise weren’t enough to deter Jaskier from following him, it was time to change tactics. Jaskier might be the bard between the two of them but Geralt too knew how to wield words, though he didn’t choose to do it often.

“We can’t let him here,” he said, shoulders open as a proof of sincerity. Because he did mean it.

“I’m sorry?”

“Butterscotch. You can’t leave him here all alone. He’s still… young, it’s too dangerous.”

Jaskier raised an eyebrow at Geralt, who felt like he needed to go on if he wanted Jaskier to actually yield.

“He might get injured, I won’t be able to defend the both of you.”

And between you and him, I would choose you. Even if you’d hate me for not saving your dog.

Jaskier’s face seemed to fall, but he nodded, reaffirming his hold on the dog.

“You’re- yes, it would be safer for him.”

“For you,” Geralt insisted, because it was something that he needed to say. Butterscotch was a means to an end here, a way for him to make Jaskier stay in their room instead of running to his doom. And if it meant protecting the puppy, well. It was as they said, with the birds and the stone.

Geralt clumsily patted Jaskier on the shoulder before turning around to check if he had all he needed. It was easier than to see how his friend was looking now, his eyes too sad for Geralt’s liking. But it was something that he would do again – Jaskier’s safety was more important to him than what the bard actually thought about him.

He glanced at his things, quickly scanning what was in his bag: potions, a shirt that Jaskier had insisted had to be there, the stick that Butterscotch had given to him – wait.

He took the stick out of his bag, deciding against throwing it away, not because it was something that Butterscotch had given to him, but because… because. He could feel his swords against his back, their light weight a reassurance that everything was going to be okay – that even if he didn’t make it for a reason or another, Jaskier and Butterscotch would be safe here.

“I’ll go now,” he said to Jaskier, who had put the puppy back on the ground and was currently taking his lute out of its case. “Don’t wait for me.”

“Be careful, dear,” Jaskier replied, barely taking his eyes away from his lute.

Butterscotch tried to follow Geralt as he walked towards the door, and the witcher had to quickly close it to prevent the dog from escaping. He heard a whine coming from inside the room and Jaskier’s soothing voice who tried to calm him.

Shaking his head, Geralt walked downstairs, ignoring the way hearing how sad the puppy was made his heart clench.

Jaskier was reading when Geralt came back, thankfully uninjured, though damp because of the rain that had finally started to fall. The bard was already under the covers, his lute safe in its case, papers safely tucked away in his bag. A single candle was lighting the room, and Geralt was left once again to wonder about Jaskier’s powers. Could he see in the dark? Maybe that was why he had wanted to come with him despite the night.

“You’re back,” Jaskier smiled at him, not closing his book. “Do you need help with anything?”

“No,” Geralt grunted, putting his bag and swords down. He had already cleaned them, knowing that Jaskier would already be in bed and not wanting to disturb him.

He started to unbuckle his armor, only to stop dead in his tracks when he saw what was currently sleeping on his side of the bed.

“Is Butterscotch-”

“Sleeping on the bed? Yes, I think he is. He’s cute, isn’t he?”

Geralt sighed.

“I thought we had agreed not to let him sleep on the bed.”

“I know it’s going to teach him terrible habits, but you were away and he was looking so sad-”

“It’s unsanitary,” Geralt said, finally getting out of his armor. Quickly changing into a new shirt – one that wasn’t full of fur –, he woke the dog up by petting his head. “Hey,” he murmured, trying not to think too much about why he was so gentle with him, “get off the bed.”

Butterscotch slowly stood up, stretching and yawning, but finally jumped off the bed in one smooth motion. He immediately went near Geralt’s bag, curled up into a ball, and promptly fell back asleep.

“Hmm.”

“See? He listens, he’s well-educated,” Jaskier said, closing his book and putting it away.

“He was afraid of what I might do to him,” Geralt retorted while getting under the cover. “I don’t think that counts as listening.”

Jaskier blinked a few times, his face growing serious.

“Butterscotch isn’t afraid of you, Geralt.”

“He obeys me because he sees me as a predator. He’s afraid.”

“Is that- Geralt, that couldn’t be further from the truth. Didn’t you hear him when you left? He was sad because you were leaving without him.”

“You’re disillusioned, bard,” Geralt snarled before blowing out the candle. To think that a dog – that anyone, really – would miss him when he was gone was beyond stupid.

Jaskier stayed silent, the only sound in the room the deep breaths of the dog.

“Goodnight, Geralt,” he finally said, his voice small.

Geralt didn’t reply, too busy hating himself to notice how Jaskier’s breaths became more irregular, how the air suddenly smelled like salt instead of them.

Butterscotch kept on sleeping, undisturbed.

***

Geralt hadn’t known how to apologize about that incident so he didn’t, and they kept on moving across the continent for a few weeks, Butterscotch still proudly walking beside them, following Jaskier or staying near Roach who, the traitor, seemed to like the dog just find, never minding when he walked near her.

Jaskier hadn’t mentioned the incident either, so Geralt simply thought that it had been forgotten. He hadn’t made any other remarks after that, and Jaskier hadn’t tried to pretend that the dog loved them both equally when they both knew it was a lie.

It didn’t stop Geralt from thinking back about that night and the day that had followed, how Jaskier had talked but not really talked, how it had seemed more like a defense mechanism than a true desire to share every thought that came across his mind.

Butterscotch hadn’t been allowed to sleep on the bed again after that night though he kept on trying, and Geralt was left to wonder how exactly the presence of a dog had changed their dynamics so much. Or maybe, he thought as he watched Jaskier braiding a flower into Roach’s mane, maybe it didn’t change them as much as it revealed that they had already changed. Jaskier was getting older, and though it didn’t show, Geralt knew that the time for him to finally settle down somewhere would come.

He had mentioned the coast, once, how he would have liked to go there when he would be older, and Geralt knew that it was only a matter of time before Jaskier would leave him, taking Butterscotch and all the happiness in Geralt’s life with him.

But it was not something Geralt had control over; still, he couldn’t help but think about it, about when Jaskier would eventually leave, when he would be all alone on the path once again. He had forgotten how it was to truly be alone. Even when he and Jaskier got separated during the year, he knew they would find each other again. But to know that Jaskier wouldn’t be waiting for him anymore would change the colors of the path from bright and lively to dull.

It was difficult not to think about it right now. They were sleeping outside, in the woods, because the weather was nice and they were too far away from any villages anyway. They had set camp early and the night had just fallen on them. Jaskier and Butterscotch had left for a walk, as they always did on evenings, and Geralt had stayed behind, as he always – no. That was not true. He should stop thinking like that.

He added another log to the fire, and sighed. He could hear them still, Jaskier walking on twigs and Butterscotch running around, but he felt… lonely. Which was ridiculous. He never used to feel like that before.

They were coming back, just in time to eat the rabbits that Geralt had been cooking. He had made sure to add spices to Jaskier’s part.

Butterscotch ran straight to him, his lack of a front leg not deterring him. He stopped right by him, and Geralt petted his head. The dog had surely smelled the rabbits, which would explain why he was letting Geralt pet him. Or maybe – but no. Dogs didn’t like him.

“He whines when you’re not here, you know,” Jaskier said as he sat down next to Geralt. “Which was cute when he was small, but now – I swear, he’s always silent when you’re near but when you’re gone? Gods, the only way to soothe him is to give him one of your shirts.”

That would explain why he kept on having dog hair on his stuff even when they had been safely packed away in his bag.

"Hmm," he replied, trying to ignore the way the dog wagged his tail as he pet him. It meant nothing.

He stopped petting Butterscotch to take the rabbits out of the fire, and the dog nudged his arm.

“He didn’t like how you stopped petting him,” Jaskier remarked, an amused smile on his lips that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Hmm,” Geralt said, but resumed his previous task. Butterscotch sat down and put his head on Geralt’s tight, who tried his best to refrain the wave of affection that overtook him. Maybe – maybe the dog trusted him, after all. Maybe Jaskier had been right, the other night, when –

He quickly glanced at his friend, who looked the other way when their eyes met. Great.

Geralt hated it, hated the way they were right now – but he couldn’t say anything. It was too late. He should have apologized right after his outburst. But Jaskier had acted as if everything was fine the next morning and it had been too easy to follow his lead, to not think about what he had said, how it might have hurt him.

“We should eat,” he said, if only to break the silence. “And maybe – you must have a song or two, for after,” he added hesitantly.

Jaskier’s face cleared up, a sparkle of mischief lighting up in his eyes. It made Geralt want to smile.

Instead, what he did was take his share of the food and eat it slowly, giving as discreetly as possible pieces of it to the dog that hadn’t left his side. If Jaskier saw him, he didn’t say anything; he was talking about the latest gossip in a court whose name Geralt had forgotten.

Listening to his laugh as he recounted the misfortune of some nobles made it a bit easier to forget that this, that them being together and sharing a meal, was not something that was meant to last. Jaskier played soft tunes that Butterscotch fell asleep to, laying down at Geralt’s side, and Geralt closed his eyes. He never wanted the moment to end.

***

The day had been nice; the weather had been kind to them, the sun warming the streets of the town they had decided to stay in because Geralt had taken a contract there and because the inn looked “just perfect for me to perform in, Geralt”. So they had rented a room, Jaskier had given the innkeeper his word that the big fluffy dog that was with them wouldn’t hurt anyone and would keep silent, and they had spent the rest of the day preparing for their respective evening activities.

The fight wasn’t one Geralt was worried about, and it went without much problems. Jaskier and Butterscotch had stayed behind, as they did most of the time now, and Geralt had tried not to think about it too much. Because that was what he had wanted, right? But he couldn’t help but feel as if it were a sign of Jaskier’s soon departure, a proof that Jaskier wasn’t interested in staying with him anymore. It scared him, and the fact that it scared him scared him even more.

He managed to refrain from sighing wearily as he opened the door. He was ready to eat whatever was left of supper and to go to bed, because hopefully his dreams wouldn’t be plagued by thoughts of Jaskier and Butterscotch leaving him.

“Geralt!”

His name, said with so much angst and worry, made Geralt almost drop everything he had been carrying – namely, his swords and his bag of potions. Eyes wide open, suddenly perfectly awake, he all but ran to Jaskier, worried out of his mind. The last time he had seen him, Jaskier had been working at the table of the room, happily humming, the dog laying at his feet, playing with one of Geralt's shirts.

Now Jaskier was standing beside the door, eyes full of tears, while Butterscotch was nowhere to be seen.

“Jaskier, breathe,” he said, as gently as he could manage. “What's going on?”

Jaskier grasped Geralt's arm, his grip almost painful.

“I- it's Butterscotch. He's- he's not doing well, I brought him to the town's apothecary and they said to come back with payment, but I don't think I have enough coins and I don't even know if he'll be okay and-”

Geralt put his bag down and gathered his friend into his arms – to ground him.

“-and I don't usually panic but you were late and- oh, Geralt, what if something happens to him?”

That was exactly why Geralt hadn't wanted the dog to stay with them. Not because he was a liability and another way to waste coin – but because this exact situation could happen. Because loving a being as fragile as Butterscotch was the best way to end up hurt. He tried not to think about Roach, and the Roach that had been there before.

That also was why he had tried his best not to attach himself to Jaskier. Because the bard would die one day, and it was easier not to have friends than to have to face the pain of losing them. Though that line of thought had been cut short when Jaskier had casually said that he couldn't exactly die, and though Geralt didn't exactly know how that particular thing had happened, he couldn't say that he didn't like it. Now the only thing that would stop him from being with Jaskier – as a friend − was the bard deciding that Geralt wasn't worth his time and affection anymore, which would hurt too, but Geralt comforted himself by thinking that at least Jaskier would be alive.

“I have money,” he said at last, not knowing how to comfort Jaskier who was crying in his arms. “We should go there, and listen to what they say.”

He had no idea what had happened to their dog, but it must have been bad if Jaskier was in such a state. The bard loved so freely, it was sometimes worrying.

“Yes,” Jaskier nodded, “Yes. Do you think- do you think we should bring him his shirt?” he added tentatively, sniffing.

“I don't know when my shirt became his, but yes,” Geralt tried to joke just to make Jaskier smile, to bring back the spark in his blue eyes.

It worked, somehow, Jaskier smiling thinly, eyes still brimmed with red. How long had he been crying, alone?

“Come on, Jask. No need to stay here when they need us there. I have enough money, take the shirt, and we'll see how our dog is doing. I'm sure he'll be fine.”

Jaskier nodded, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Yes, you're right, yes, I- I'll tell you what happened on the way.”

They left the room without looking back, and Geralt, worried about Jaskier and about the dog that had somehow forged a way into his heart, let Jaskier take his hand. He needed the comfort, Geralt thought, and it wasn't hurting anyone. And there was nothing that he could really refuse Jaskier – the mere presence of Butterscotch into their life was proof of that.

Their brown and black dog was in a poor state, his breaths laborious and his eyes glassy.

“I gave him something against the pain”, the apothecary explained, “but it's going to take a few more days until he'll be fine again.”

Geralt felt Jaskier squeeze his hand.

“But he is?” the bard asked, his voice hoarse, “Going to be fine, I mean.”

The apothecary smiled.

“Yes, worry not,” they assured. “Make sure he doesn't eat anything like this again, though.”

As Jaskier had explained to Geralt on the way to the edge of the village where the shop was, he had taken Butterscotch outside for a walk right before the night had fallen, because he had planned to spend the evening playing for the townsfolk and the day was just too beautiful to resist a short stroll.

Since the dog didn't need a leash, Jaskier had let him wander around, keeping an eye on him but not worried. Nothing bad had happened, but right as they were going back into their room, Butterscotch had eaten something that had been left right in front of their door, and had started whining soon after. Jaskier had dropped everything to run to the town’s apothecary, Butterscotch in his arms, worried out of his mind and not even thinking about who could have done it.

It made Geralt's blood boil with rage. He could understand people being prejudiced against him, not liking him and fearing him. But to think that someone had willingly tried to poison his dog – it made him feel furious and guilty. What if they had decided to hurt Jaskier instead? 

“We brought him something,” Jaskier said, taking out the black shirt that was covered in fur, “Can he have it?”

The apothecary sent a knowing look Geralt's way but smiled at them. Jaskier hadn't let Geralt's hand go.

“Of course. I can keep him here for a few days, if that's alright with you.”

Geralt could feel Jaskier's hesitation, though he didn't know what caused it.

“I have coin”, Geralt told them, and he felt Jaskier relax next to him. “It's not going to be a problem. Please just... make sure he doesn't suffer too much?”

Jaskier squeezed his hand again, and Geralt squeezed back to let him know that everything was going to be alright.

“I will,” they promised, “He's lucky to have people as loving as you two are.”

“He's... good,” Geralt said, not really knowing how to answer that. He glanced at Jaskier, only to find that the bard was already looking at him.

“Thank you for taking care of him so late in the evening,” Jaskier yawned, and oh, right, it was well into the night at this point. Geralt hadn't even realized. “We'll be on our way,” Jaskier added, and Geralt took it as his cue to give the apothecary the amount of money they had asked for. “Thank you for taking care of Butterscotch, we'll be back tomorrow to visit him.”

They bid their goodbyes and walked back to their room. Jaskier was silent on their way back to the inn, which was weird but understandable; he seemed to be thinking about something, his scent betraying his sadness and his anxiousness. And if Jaskier's hand found Geralt's again, well, neither of them was going to comment on that.

***

“It's weird, not having to tell him not to climb on the bed,” Geralt remarked a little while later, as they were both trying to sleep, candles blown out a few minutes ago.

When Jaskier didn't reply, he opened his eyes to look at him. Jaskier avoided his eyes, and Geralt frowned.

“I'm worried about him too,” he said, “but they said he was going to be okay. You should try to sleep, Jaskier. It won’t change anything if you stay awake.”

Jaskier sighed, a sigh so sad and so full of anguish that hearing it made Geralt's chest hurt.

“I know, it's just- you aren't going to leave him here, right? After he's well again? Because I know we're both just liabilities to you,” Jaskier went on without caring about Geralt's stunned silence, “But this was my fault and he shouldn't be punished like this – because between you and him I don't know which one I would be able to choose, because choosing you would mean losing him and I think I would hate you for that, but choosing him would mean losing you and I- I can't afford to lose you, Geralt.”

To say that Geralt didn't know what to fucking say would be an understatement; he went for the thing he was the most familiar with.

“What?”

Jaskier sat up and so did he. He cast Igni absentmindedly, thinking that it was a conversation for which they needed to see each other clearly and not in the darkness of an unlit room. It was a mistake, though, because seeing Jaskier's desperate look in the light made Geralt feel... he didn't know what the feeling was, but it was not a good one.

“I mean,” he tried again, “Why the fuck would I leave him here? He's our- I mean, your dog, and you love him, why would I- I would never do that, Jaskier, I-”

A thought occurred to him.

“Wait, what do you mean you're both liabilities?”

“What I mean,” Jaskier said, “and don't you dare deny it, is that I know I don't bring much to you, and that Butterscotch at best amuses you sometimes. And-”

“I love him, Jask,” Geralt interrupted. And I love you, he didn't add.

“Oh,” Jaskier replied, clearly not expecting such an answer. “Well, that's-”

“And you’re not liabilities,” Geralt went on, because that was something that he needed to say, that he apparently should have said sooner if Jaskier was able to say it with so much confidence.

“Geralt, you need to feed him, I’m useless in a fight, and I mostly make you end in problems which you would have been able to stay away from if you had been alone.”

That was… true. Not that Geralt cared.

“Jaskier, you don’t- I was alone. And you decided to be my – friend,” he managed to say, trying not to show how much it scared him to say it out loud, lest Jaskier denied it, “and I don’t mind paying for your dog, or for our food, it’s- it’s how I can take care of you. So. I don’t mind.”

He was the one trying to avoid Jaskier’s gaze, now. The mutations made sure he wasn’t able to blush, but boy did he feel like he was. Eyes cast to the side, he tried to say the last thing he had on his mind, because it felt like it mattered.

“And I- I’m happy that you’re here. On the path with me, I mean. And you’ll be welcome for as long as you want. But you don’t have to feel- obliged to stay,” he choked out, because now that it had been said, Jaskier would surely leave, no matter what he had told before. Geralt thought of the coast, of a blue-eyed man laughing on a beach, throwing a stick for his dog to fetch. “I know you’ll want to leave, and when that time comes I’ll make sure to bring you to safety, not because I don’t think you couldn’t handle yourself but because I know I- I know I would want to- to travel with you one last time.”

Silence fell on the room, but not the right kind of silence. It was not a comforting one, not the kind of soothing silence that seemed to wrap you in a hug, the kind that felt like balm gently applied to a burn; no, it was an burning one, a silence so loud that it hurt, and Geralt found that it was hard for him to breathe. He had said his piece, and now Jaskier knew.

The flame flickered and shadows danced around them, and he found himself wishing that it had been a windy night, because at least that sound would have filled the silence that was suffocating him. Geralt was still waiting for Jaskier to reply something, anything, to yell at him or to let out a relieved smile that would mean Yes, finally, I am free, but Jaskier’s face was completely blank and Geralt didn’t know what that meant.

“Or- or if you don’t want that,” he scrambled to say, suddenly understanding why Jaskier was always talking to fill the silence, “I wouldn’t accompany you, I don’t want you to-”

“Is that why you’ve been so odd lately?” Jaskier interrupted him, frowning, his blue eyes clear despite the low luminosity. “Because you think I want to leave?”

“Yes,” Geralt admitted, not daring to speak too much when Jaskier was finally saying something – and wasn’t that ironic.

“Geralt,” Jaskier started, and the seriousness in his voice almost made Geralt shiver of anxiousness, “the only reason I would leave would be if I wasn’t wanted anymore. Which, if I’m being honest” he added, lips stretched in a bitter smile, “was what I was thinking was happening.”

Jaskier closed his eyes, and to Geralt’s horror he saw tears making their way down his face. He ached to tenderly wipe them out, but knew he couldn’t.

“Jaskier-” he said, suddenly desperate to get the words out, to make this right, to make them right again, “about the other night- when I snapped at you because you said that Butterscotch liked me- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

His friend sighed. It was a tired sigh, a weary one.

“That’s the thing, Geralt – you never mean it,” he smiled, but his smile was as happy as his sigh had been. “But whether you mean it or not, your words, the very few of them that I’m blessed enough to hear – they hurt.”

Geralt could only stare helplessly as Jaskier went on, tears still streaming down his face.

“You are my most precious friend, Geralt, and that’s why I have- why I didn’t say anything. Because you mean well, you’re a good person, and just being around you makes me – it makes me happy, Geralt, to be able to care for you, to give you the few things I have, because with you everything is just – better. And in the end,” he added, wiping out his tears with the back of his hand, “in the end the way I feel when I’m near you is worth the pain your words put me through. You are worth – everything, Geralt of Rivia.”

How had they arrived here? How, after years spent traveling together, could Geralt have been so blind about how he made Jaskier feel?

To learn that he had caused so much anguish and pain to the person he loved the most was making Geralt ache. His first reaction was to dismiss what Jaskier had just said about him, but that was part of the problem, wasn’t it? 

“I-,” Geralt tried, tried to be honest and to show more than just aggression for once, “I don’t think of myself that way, so it’s difficult for me to- to think that anyone would. Especially-” he gulped, fighting to get the words out because it felt like if he didn’t, he would lose Jaskier for good, “Especially someone as- as- perfect as you. And it was easier to just dismiss it and push you away than to think about how much – how much I care about you. Because caring about people is – dangerous. Gives them power over you, gives your enemies something to use against you.”

Jaskier was looking at him, hands on his tights; he wasn’t crying anymore, but tears were threatening to fall once again. Geralt hopped, prayed, that it wasn’t because he was hurting him again.

“But you have to know that-,” he started, then stopped because he didn’t know how to say it. “I- I don’t know how to tell you,” he finally admitted. “It’s- like- despite how dangerous it is, I- I let myself care about you, and I- I don’t regret it. I will never regret it, Jaskier, because you are – a blessing. You are a beautiful, perfect thing that my hands don’t know how to touch without breaking it.”

He ached to reach out, to take one the hand that he had been holding earlier.

“So it’s- it’s easier to-”

He had no choice but to say it, hadn’t he? He couldn’t lie to Jaskier anymore, he wouldn’t lie to Jaskier anymore – though was it a lie, to keep the truth silent? He was being a coward and he knew it, but being Jaskier’s friend was better than to confess and to lose his warmth entirely. Though he had been a bad friend to the bard, and – well.

“It was easier to act as if it meant nothing than to admit that I love you,” he mumbled rapidly, afraid that his courage would fail him.

Now that the truth was out in the air, he didn’t dare to glance at Jaskier. What would the look on his face be? Disgust? Pity? Or, somehow worse, just a blank look, synonym of the doom of their already fragile relationship?

“Geralt,” Jaskier breathed out, and his voice sounded teary but the sadness from earlier had disappeared. “Is that how you’re thinking? That love is a – liability? That loving me is a liability?”

“That’s how I used to think,” Geralt corrected him, “before I realized that I was wrong. And that’s why – that’s why Butterscotch scares me. Because he’s young, but he will die, and I know that it’ll hurt and-”

“Darling,” Jaskier interrupted, moving on the bed to be sitting next to Geralt, their tights pressed together. Geralt could hear his heartbeat, knew that the other man was nervous, but the closeness felt like acceptance and maybe, maybe, requited love. A hand found his, and Geralt squeezed it without thinking. “Geralt,” Jaskier sighed, “Why do you focus so much on what is going to happen? It prevents you from enjoying life, darling. Butterscotch will die one day, yes, and I know that it will bring me pain, that it will hurt us both. But is that all that you’re thinking about when you see him playing in the dirt? When he sleeps soundly next to you? When you hear a song, darling, do you think about its last notes or do you listen to its melody?”

“I-”

“I’d be a hypocrite,” Jaskier’s voice dropped lower as if he was sharing a secret, “if I didn’t admit that when we meet up in spring, I can’t help but think about the day we’ll go on our separate ways, because it might be the last time I’ll see you. But then I- I force myself not to think about it, because at least six months of the year will be spent next to you, next to the man I love, and-”

“You love me?” Geralt interrupted him, turning his head to look at Jaskier. His red-rimmed blue eyes had never looked more beautiful.

“Of course I do, Geralt, how could I not?”

Jaskier dropped his head on Geralt's shoulder. Geralt didn’t know where their conversation was going, didn’t understand what had just happened – he had been this close to losing Jaskier, had felt the bard closing off, and now they were next to one another, Jaskier’s hair tickling his cheek.

“So that means I- you- forgive me?”

Jaskier stayed silent, but didn’t draw away.

“Yes,” he finally replied, and Geralt frowned slightly.

“I’m not sure I deserve your forgiveness,” he started, squeezing Jaskier’s hand when he felt that the other man was about to say something, “but I will do my best to deserve it. I will – I will be more careful with you, Julek,” he swore.

They stayed silent for a bit, but this time Geralt didn’t feel as though he couldn’t breathe. The room around them felt more welcoming, the orange light from the candle warmer than it had been earlier.

“What does that mean for us?” Jaskier asked, and he sounded – hesitant, but hopeful. It was a question easy for Geralt to answer, because he had always been better at acts than at words.

“It means that we’ll stay as long as Butterscotch needs us to, and then we’ll go on with our travels. Maybe we’ll stay near the coast, there are always villages that are in need of witchers there. Butterscotch will go play in the water and I’ll complain when he’ll shake himself, but I’ll give him treats when you won’t be looking.”

A pause, then.

“But he still won’t be allowed to sleep on the bed.”

Jaskier snorted, and Geralt felt relieved beyond measure.

“For now, though,” Geralt added, “I think we should sleep. I did just come back from a hunt, after all, and it is quite late in the night.”

“My poor, dear witcher,” Jaskier smiled, and Geralt tried not to let it show how much it pleased him to be called Jaskier’s until he remembered that actually showing how he felt was important, “you must be exhausted. No kiss for you, then, only resting.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow at Jaskier who was looking at him, mirth lighting up his eyes.

“I’m not that tired,” he objected, and Jaskier chuckled.

“Aren’t you? Then I guess I could be convinced to kiss you goodnight.”

Their kiss wasn’t mind-blowing. It just – was. Jaskier’s cheeks were still damp from his crying and their kiss tasted a bit like salt and the angle was weird, but Jaskier sighed in his mouth, a happy sigh, and Geralt found out that he couldn’t wait to do that for the rest of their lives.

Soon they would leave this place and travel, and Geralt would get more injuries and Jaskier would write more songs; but he tried not to think about it, and found it not so difficult to focus on the moment when Jaskier kissed him again.

It was a short kiss, a chaste one; it was a promise for more to come, for sunny days spent in laughter and gloomy evenings spent next to each other, for arguments and reconciliations, and for a life in each other’s company. Just him, Jaskier, and their dog – and Roach. 

[jaskiersvalley]

thoughts on a centaur au? Jask is a Buck and Geralt is probably one of those Draft horses! maybe when jask goes to Kaer Morhen they are fascinated with Jasks' antlers and Lambert hangs shit on them like Lil'Bleater or bowls

This ask made me do some happy wiggles of excitement because centaurs!! I adore your idea of Lambert hanging things on Jaskier’s antlers and we’ll get there, but first, I think a bit of tension is needed :D

The forest was overrun with men who hunted indiscriminately. Jaskier had been avoiding them y climbing higher and higher up the mountain he had always been warned away from. But he figured that nothing the mountain hid could be worse than what the humans were doing. At least, he thought that while it was daylight and he had energy. Now thought, it was dark, getting cold and Jaskier was hungry. He hadn’t had the chance to grab provisions as he had fled, an arrow glancing off his side, leaving a sluggishly bleeding gouge. Around him, the trees had stopped being large and welcoming with the sun peeking through them. Instead, they loomed menacingly, hiding any number of evil threats.

Exhausted, Jaskier couldn’t go on any longer. He found a small clearing next to the path, haphazardly gathered up a few armfuls of leaves for a makeshift nest and curled up as small as he could, hoping none of the howling creatures would stumble upon him. Sleep, no matter how tired he was, didn’t come easy. Every small snap of twig had Jaskier flinching, trying to listen out for anything prowling closer. Heart fluttering in his chest, Jaskier tried to calm himself yet he didn’t dare even hum to soothe his worries.

He was so caught up in calming his heart and stopping his trembling, Jaskier missed the soft fall of heavy hooves.

“You sure have strayed far from your patch, little buck,” a deep voice all but growled and Jaskier was up, legs buckling nervously as he looked up at the new arrival. He was big, taller and broader than Jaskier. “What brings you to our territory?”

Our?! Jaskier’s breath hitched as he twisted and saw that two more similarly built centaurs had materialised from between the trees. He was surrounded, outnumbered and outclassed. If he had been less exhausted and not injured, Jaskier might have been able to outrun them but, in his current state, he couldn’t even slip past them in all likelihood.

“I was hoping for a quiet, peaceful night in relative safety,” he managed to spit back, wit and tongue still as sharp as ever even if his body wasn’t.

Eyes glinted in the dark, positively predatory. Worse, moonlight filtered through the trees and Jaskier caught sight of scars littering torsos and faces. There was nothing friendly or reassuring about the new arrivals. What Jaskier didn’t expect was a low rumble of laughter.

“You won’t find that here.” And Jaskier didn’t think he could have heard anything less friendly. He braced to make a break for it, willing to risk his all because the only other option was to stay put and die.

“Stop being mean, Lambert,” the one behind Jaskier sounded amused and a lot closer than he was a minute ago. Jaskier whirled around, head tipped down to at least look like his antlers could do some damage if he was pushed. “Relax, little buck, we mean no harm. Could smell your blood and merely came to investigate.”

A hand merrily smacked Jaskier’s rump and he bucked, kicking out and skittering away, colliding into a firm chest with a squeak.

“That was mean, Lambert,” the chest rumbled under Jaskier as hands helped right him. “Go check the traps and pick up our bundles. We’re done for tonight and heading back. Eskel, take the rear.”

The one who was evidently called Eskel grumbled something under his breath about them not being bleeding hearted softies but he still moved as told, offering Jaskier a small half smile.

“Apologies about our herd. Brutish but well meaning. Come back to our home, we’ll tend to your wounds and you’ll be free to go whenever you want. We’ll even give you some food for whatever journey it is you’re obviously embarked on.”

Options were slim pickings and Jaskier could either go with them or run. He was too tired to run though so he allowed himself to be led up the mountain. The path was difficult, he delicately stepped over larger cracks and holes in the ground that the others seemingly avoided naturally, like it was a habit of theirs.

Sooner than expected, they were outside a giant, sprawling keep. Parts of it were crumbling away but a good portion of it appeared to be well maintained.

“Welcome to Kaer Morhen,” the leader said, opening the doors.

“Geralt, what is the meaning of this?” Another large centaur asked, standing opposite the open door. In the flickering light of torches, Jaskier could see they were all draft horses but heavily scarred as if, rather than working in haulage, they fought for their keep.

“A stray. Found him just before the Forktail’s Pass.” Turning to Jaskier, Geralt smiled. “This is Vesemir.”

Vesemir looked about as welcoming as a pit filled with hungry wolves and when Jaskier was ushered past him, he tried to give the old and grizzly centaur a wide berth.

“Let’s have a look at your side then I’ll show you to bedroom.” Geralt said, ushering Jaskier into a room that looked like an infirmary. “Though Eskel’s usually better at healing.”

“Damn right I am,” a voice joined them and Eskel walked in. He should have looked so much more frightening in the light, what with scars marring his face and arms. Yet all Jaskier could see was someone who had a lot of pain in his past.

His side was gently prodded, cleaned and a light bandage was wrapped around it. All while Eskel was doing that, Geralt was silent in a corner and occasionally staring at Jaskier. Or rather, his antlers.

The bedroom Jaskier was shown to was basic but functional. Most importantly, is had a lock on the inside. Though what it would achieve was a mystery when any of the inhabitants of the old keep could probably very easily kick through the wood of the door. It didn’t stop Jaskier feeling a little better as he slid the lock into place. Exhausted, he pulled the knitted throws and pelts into a nest and curled up, leaning against the rest, pulling it away from the wall a little to make room for his antlers.

In the morning, Jaskier was disoriented and still tired. His stomach was actually hurting with hunger so, fighting down the worry, he opened the bedroom door and did his best to strut towards the sound of quiet murmurs and the smell of food. All chatter came to an abrupt stop as Jaskier all but pranced in. His rescuers were still terrifying but at least Jaskier didn’t think they were going to slaughter him immediately. At least, the pelts he’d slept on were all predator ones.

“Good morning my handsome heroes,” Jaskier forced a smile. Eyes followed his every step but nobody moved until Geralt cleared his throat.

“Help yourself to food.”

Permission granted, Jaskier helped himself, piling a plate high with food and trotting to the table. He could pretend this was normal, that he belonged, was one of the giants who lived here. Four sets of eyes were trained on him as he ate and he ignored them in favour of taking a bite and lauding the chef with a happy moan.

His hosts never stopped looking at him, sneaking glances even when they tried to get back to their own meal. Plates empty, it was Geralt who offered him a small smile.

“Shall I show you round?”

If Jaskier hadn’t had antlers, he was certain Geralt would have offered him an arm to guide him. However, too close, Jaskier had to turn his head so he didn’t take Geralt’s eyes out. They had stopped in the courtyard when Geralt finally mustered up some courage.

“May I?” His hands were raised towards Jaskier, reaching for his antlers.

“Of course!” Jaskier even dipped his head to allow it, appreciating how gentle and soft Geralt had been on their impromptu tour. “I shed them once a year. Probably due to do it in a few weeks.”

A wicked smirk split Geralt’s lips wide. “I have an idea.”

There was a general fascination with Jaskier’s antlers amongst the others. While Geralt asked for permission to touch them, Eskel only looked at them surreptitiously. Lambert, on the other hand, was on a mission to be secretive and mischievous. The first time Jaskier ended up with a sausage on his antlers, he thought he’d had a mishap at breakfast and thought nothing of it.

However, the incidents kept up. There was a paper chain, carefully crafted that was draped to span his antlers after Jaskier woke from a nap. For the rest of the day, he proudly wore it, suspecting Lambert was the culprit behind the draping. Though the crafting of the chain was much more the kind of thing Eskel would do. It became a game after that, Jaskier noticed. While the others worked tirelessly to keep their keep and surrounding lands safe and their gardens free of pests, they needed some downtime. Which was where Jaskier seemed to fill a hole in their lives. Singing and bringing a splash of colour and art into their lives, Jaskier was reluctant to leave. Especially when Geralt invited him to late evening walks through Vesemir’s rose garden. It was all incredibly sweet.

As sweet as it was, Jaskier was a bit outraged when he woke up to see Lambert hightailing it out of the room and half the kitchen hung on his antlers, clanging bad enough to make Jaskier jump which only dislodged more pots, adding to the noise.

His antlers had been itching for a few days and Jaskier longed to find a good tree to rub against. Instead, he got to ask Geralt to rub the bases for him.

“Payback is going to be so sweet,” Geralt rumbled and Jaskier nodded. The antlers were a little loose. All he needed was something a little heavier on them and they’d likely fall. “I’ll encourage him.”

Sure enough, when Jaskier was pretending to snooze the next afternoon, Lambert appeared with Eskel’s prized goat. It was a sweet, placid thing, Jaskier quite liked Li’l Bleater. He watched as Lambert approached and hefted the goat up. The weight of a happy goat settled on Jaskier’s antlers and there was a small snicker from Lambert. Eskel rounded the corner and he froze at the sight. Which was the exact moment there was a crack and one of the antler fell.

Lambert caught Li’l Bleater before he could fall but there was horror on his face as he watched Jaskier’s antler on the floor.

“Oh fuck. Oh fucking fuckity fuck.” Lambert backed away and even Eskel looked too stunned to do anything.

Pretending to wake up, Jaskier shuffled around and froze when he so obviously caught sight of his antler. Raising a hand, he patted where the antler had been and, with his best acting skills, looked up at Lambert with devastation in his eyes.

“What have you done to me?”

There was a shriek and Lambert crashed into Eskel as he tried to run away. They stumbled, legs tangling and Vesemir came running to see what the upheaval was.

Jaskier was already doubled over laughing and, from the other side of the room, he could hear Geralt hooting.

“I broke the buck!” Lambert cried. “I broke him.”

Vesemir took one look at the scene, stomped over to cuff Lambert on the back of the head and turned to give Jaskier the same treatment.

“Idiots. The lot of you.” However, his eyes strayed to the antler on the floor. “You got use for that?”

“It’s yours, parental figure of the herd,” Jaskier leaned down to pick the antler up and offered it to Vesemir.

“You’ll do,” Vesemir snorted and took the antler, much more gently than Jaskier had expected. “You know your way round already. Stay as long as your heart desires. And maybe ask Geralt about his heart too.”

He gracefully ignored the snickering comment from Lambert about getting the old breeding block out. Though Eskel did cuff him on the back of the head for good measure. Jaskier had never felt more at home or more accepted. He decided he could easily spend several seasons at Kaer Morhen, seeing if it could truly become the home he’d craved all his life.

[prose-for-hire]

Clueless

Pairing: Angel x reader

Request: As I said, Spike will always be my favorite, but every now and then you gotta mix it up. 😅 So here comes my Angel request! 😀 The scoobies find out he has a human girlfriend. And when they meet you they get the impression that you have no idea of the supernatural. So they try to subtly prod if you're aware of what Angel is. You on the other hand are enjoying to play with them. Pretending to be clueless as hell even though you're well aware. 😂 Thank you Darling! 💞

Requested by: @kind-wolf​

A/N: I really enjoyed this one !! Reader is older than the Scoobies and works in the school library. The timescale is reaaally made up. Giles left to open the Magic Box while the Scoobies are still in high school.

[Also i know the gif has nothing to do with anything but it makes me giggle every time so I had to use it !!]

You were the new School librarian. Giles had left to open the Magic Box but still always managed to be in your library when you turned around. The excuse at the moment was that his personal collection had been left behind, but you new there was something more going on. You had a boyfriend that told you of the real side of Sunnydale.

His name was Angel. You had met him after dark, a shining ember amongst all of the despair. He was kind to you and you had kept running into each other until he decided it must be fate. So he asked you on a date. It was the Bronze and you both stuck out like a sore thumb – him for his dark clothing and because you were both slightly older than the regular clientele. You and Angel had been going steady for a while now. He was heavy into courting and doing everything properly. He wanted to keep you happy and ensure you felt safe with him at all times.

He called you his sunshine. You were the one thing that made his un-life worth living. The brightness in the centuries of black. The fiery flame of passion that could never be put out. You were his light. A kind of salvation he didn’t know he needed. All of his guilt. The doubt. The brooding about whether he was enough for you, for the world. For any of it. You filled in these cracks with light. With love and the most important thing: hope.

He knew that he needed to limit the amount of people that knew about you together to a minimum. You hadn’t understood why at first, but one evening when you had been wrapped around each other in bed, he confided in you. His relationships were not destined to last. Literally. He told you everything, almost reducing the both of you to an emotional mess. You laid there, underneath the sheets as you both recounted the worst moments of your lives. The secrets, the fears. Everything.

“Are you embarrassed about dating a human? Is it frowned upon in vampire… culture?” You asked, half embarrassed and half fascinated. He shook his head as you were still speaking, clasping a hand to yours and brought it to his unbeating heart.

“I, uh, just want this for us. You’re too special to me, y/n. I don’t want anyone else to ruin it. I love you more than you can imagine”

“You love me?” You ask, eyes shining with emotion. He nodded, pulling you into him as you told him how much you loved him back. Your voice muffled as you rested in the crook of his neck. He held you to him so delicately as if he was scared that you would break. That if he didn’t hold tight enough, you would disappear into nothing.

The Scoobies had caught glimpses of you around school and sometimes after school when you popped into the magic Box to ask to speak with Giles. Just to ask for tips on your new job in the library (and to check if he had stolen any of the dusty occult books you had started to lock away in case he was snooping again). You didn’t really know the Scoobies, you just recognised their faces from around school and now obviously you had heard the lowdown from Angel. But you weren’t so familiar that you could tell which one the slayer was if you were asked to pick her out of a line up.

One afternoon after you called your goodbyes to Giles and nodded at the teenagers on your way out of the store, talk quickly turned to you. Anya, Xander, Willow, Buffy and Cordelia were all whispering before the door had even closed properly behind you. The Scoobies loved to gossip. And each of them had their own titbit of information that they had heard from someone who had heard from someone else about you. Even Giles had become involved in the discussion as he had started to become aware you were making his life difficult and

“I heard they mastered kung-fu judo which is the most lethal form of martial arts”

“Apparently they were fired from their last school for literally throwing students out for talking too loud in the library”

“Well, they’re apparently an undercover agent planted by the CIA to monitor the supernatural”

“I heard that one – but they’re FBI, not CIA”

The piece of information they found most interesting was that you were human. Despite being the coolest librarian like, ever. Most of the librarians the student body had come across were positively fossils, most recent librarians not included. Suspected kung fu martial arts hybrid training aside, you didn’t have any supernatural powers to speak of. As far as anyone was aware. So, this became the most interesting thing about you, until Cordelia told all.

“They’re totally sleeping with Angel!” Cordelia said, as everyone looked extremely interested in this news, “I saw him open a door for them as if they were in some period drama! Way over the top but their eyes said everything! They’re having sex”

“You can’t tell that from a look”

“You can!” Anya insisted as Cordelia nodded along.

“Yeah, I can tell from hot librarian and the salty goodness that is Angel” Cordelia replied matter-of-factly.

“Do you think they know he’s-” Xander mimed fangs and held his hands up to imitate a vampire, “They can’t know. Why would anyone want to do that with Angel?” Xander insisted as the women of the room, and Giles, stayed silent. He looked around looking for some support for his statement but got nothing.

But now the fact was, they were concerned that Angel hadn’t told you about himself. The vampirism. The soul. The curse. So, the meddling kids decided it was their duty to make sure that they were acquainted with you and made sure you knew who Angel really was. Which was exactly what Angel presumed was going to happen. They were convinced that they were worried about how clueless you obviously were, but also it was their duty is seemed to get involved in other people’s personal lives.

This had been the plan, but it appeared that you were a very busy. You never stayed long hours after the school day ended like Giles used to. Nobody could follow you home because you always sped off in a shiny car. Plus, you often wore headphones in the corridors so you didn’t have to talk to the students.

It had been a while after their plans to befriend you and they had almost given up seeing you in your private time. They wanted to make sure the rumours weren’t true. That Angel wasn’t taking advantage of some clueless human.

Unfortunately, the whole gang stumble into you both while they’re on patrol. On date night. their eyes widen, it looks so normal. You’re both sat in the restaurant in the window seat and they all just stopped and very obviously stared. As if you were zoo animals. They noticed that Angel had ordered human food and had been moving it around the plate a little for appearances. This confirmed it. they decided they needed to save you. Who knew what horrible bad luck would befall you if you kept dating a vampire. 

Angel looked a little embarrassed when he sensed being watched and looked up to see none other than the people he had wanted to keep this from. Buffy had scowled at him, shaking her head. She wasn’t impressed that he would do this. Especially if you didn’t know – it wasn’t fair she decided. You noticed his look but didn’t comment until the group had walked past with their wooden stakes badly concealed under their jackets.

After your meal, you walk back together (he always insists on walking you to your car) and you softly ask why he was embarrassed. You wondered if it was because you were a librarian. You tell him you know people don’t think it’s a great job, but you really enjoy it.

“They just don’t think us being together is a great idea” He said and you nodded along. You understood. There was a history there. The Slayer obviously is the only one that makes and breaks the rules.

“Well lets introduce them to me properly?” You offer, trying to soothe him. Reduce the fretting. He had wanted just one thing. One good thing that was yours and his. “I know they’ve been trying to talk to me all week. I’ll make some lemonade and you can invite them over” You offer. He nodded, curling an arm around you as you walk together both in thought.

It had been a week and the day was finally here. You were meeting the... friends? Weird kind-of family? Annoying brats that were always under both of your feet? 

Angel had gone out to pick up some blood from the butchers before it closed now that the sun was down. This left you hosting solo for the moment. You showed them to Angel’s living room and started to offer them lemonade and snacks. They start dropping hints instantly to try and gauge whether you know about Slayers or vampires. For some reason, you decide to play dumb.

“Have you, uh, ever seen Angel’s teeth up close?” Willow asked, barely above a whisper.

“Yes, we do kiss if that’s what you’re asking sweetie. Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll have your first kiss soon” You smiled at her mock-sympathetically as you turned to the rest of the room.

“What about, ah, those specialist books I told you about, y/n? Have you read them as of late?” Giles questioned, his hint much craftier than the younger members of the group. The books had been vampire history and very specifically passages were highlighted about Angels past.

“Oh yes, Angel said he would give me the overview - he’s read them before” You smile as Giles shook his head and started to clean his glasses. This wasn’t a lie, Angel had told you instead of reading through that book he would tell you anything that yo uwanted to ask. Every gruesome detail if that was what you needed. But you had told him you cared for the person you knew now instead. “Isn’t he just the perfect man?” You continue, smiling dreamily (which if you’re honest isn’t even an act). 

“Man isn’t the word I’d use” Xander muttered and Buffy had to elbow him to make him be quiet. You frowned, but they didn’t realise that you had caught onto what they were doing. Angel entered and the room quietened. He nodded at everyone but came straight to sit beside you.

You sat comfortably, leaning against Angel as chatter started to warm up a little again. After a while, there was a bit of doubt from some in the room whether meddling was the right thing to do or not. You appeared friendly and you definitely cared about Angel. And he definitely cared for you. His eye was always on you and he had kissed your forehead more than once when he thought the others were wrapped up in conversation.

“Do you like Halloween? What about vam-” Cordelia was cut off as she yelped and scowled as someone had stepped on her toes to get her to be quiet. Especially after he had already said something himself that could have made things obvious. You and Angel shared a look and then a shrug as conversation started up again.

You excused yourself to make more lemonade after three more not-so-subtle-hints about your man’s true identity and Angel followed you. Meanwhile, they were whispering about how clueless you appeared and how familiar you both were in front of them – as if you were going to hide that you were in a committed relationship. You knew this as Angel was telling you everything that they said, between light kisses he was pressing against your neck. From your position pressed between his body and the kitchen counter you were grinning as you rested a hand against his side and used the other to lock your hand with his. He hummed softly, only able to get through this strange indirect interrogation was that he knew he always had you.

When you returned and offered everyone refills, one of them asked while you were pouring, “Does, uh, Angel like garlic bread?”

“You might have to ask him on that one, we’re still getting to know each other” you smile sweetly before catching Angel’s eye. He raised his eyes at you but didn’t say anything to ruin the fun. In fact, he had a glint in his eye too. This was the reason he loved you, you turned even a potentially serious situation with the Slayer into something that you could make fun.

 “Uh, have you ever seen Angel in the light?” the questioning continued.

“Have you seen his face? He’s beautiful in any lighting” You smiled sweetly, looking over at him again. He shook his head at you and you knew he’d be blushing if he had any circulation.

“Yeah but- in the daylight?”

“No, he has a sun allergy, isn’t that right sweetie?” You smiled around the room at their horrified faces. They knew it! They knew Angel had been lying, they just needed to find a way to break the news to you. Or warn him away from you.

When asked about his (and your) sleeping habits, you replied, “Some nights he’s dead to the world” You smile, “He sleeps really deep, sometimes I have to check on him – it looks like he isn’t breathing” You have to stifle a laugh at this one as Angel snorts out loud. It was awkwardly covered by a cough and he had to leave the room to hide his laughter.

He was happy with you, the only sunshine he wasn’t allergic to apparently. He was so happy in this relationship he was often worried that Angelus was only around the corner. You caught him stuck in his head, worrying about the what-ifs but you always offered your comfort any way you could. He was glad of you being there for him. Willow and Giles had been talking of working on a way to lift the curse, or at least make it so that it wasn’t so simple for him to change back into Angelus. That was the last thing any of them needed.

The evening started to darken further and conversation had started to lull. You were trying to think of a way to politely hint yourself that maybe it was time for them to go (your hints a lot more subtle and well-practiced than theirs). But before you had chance to open your mouth, you were interrupted, “Demons. Thoughts?” Anya asked bluntly. Nobody cut in this time, they wanted to hear your response now they suspected Angel was lying.

“The ones that creep in late at night when you’re trying to sleep? I try and just ignore them, or get a book to read if I really can’t sleep” You say smiling as you knew Angel had heard that one too when some plates clattered in the other room. You knew him inside out and, although rare, when something like this tickled him it really made him smile. You just wished he had been in the room so you could see his expression. His face lightened when he smiled and you told him all the time his smile was your favourite feature of his. He would also probably be shaking his head at you, trying to discourage you from getting into too much trouble with them.

Angel returned to the room and you couldn’t help yourself. You stood up and instantly closed the space between you. You looped your arms around his neck and kissed him softly on the lips. It was only a lingering peck, nothing too scandalous as these were students at your job. You always missed him when he wasn’t close by. You felt like a lovestruck teenager when he was around and admittedly, so did he. Giles saw the way you both looked at each other. Moved around each other, anticipating  and saw how real it was. It was the same he had with Jenny. He couldn’t let the rest of the group ruin this kind of love. It was rare and he wouldn’t wish it on anyone to lose it (not even the man with the face that tore his from him).

Giles shook his head as Buffy was about to shout something to break you both apart. Something about demons and vampires. About Angel and evil. His apparent lying. To try and warn you. She closed her mouth, rolling her eyes.

 “We need to go patrol- uh, not patrolling, just – walking. At night” She muttered instead, taking her jacket and giving Angel a hard stare.

“Make sure you watch out for vampires. There’s a couple extra stakes in the weapon’s closet if you’d like to take them” You smile sweetly, “You can never be too careful, some bite” you teased before kissing Angel on the cheek and reluctantly moving from his arms which were loosely looped around your waist still. You started walking over to clear the coffee table from the glasses everyone had used when they visited. Leaving the others wide-eyed and eventually laughing at the way you had kept up the pretence so well.

[dontmindmyshadowhunting]

Am I forgotten ? (KitTy Fan Fic)

KitTy fan fic based on Kit and Ty’s flower cards (art by Cassandra Jean), to celebrate the release of Ty’s latest flower card. I alternate between Kit and Ty’s POV.

If you prefer reading it on AO3 or if you have missed the previous chapters, Link is here. AO3 Link - Am I forgotten? 

Following Chapter is Chapter 5 - Blinded by the Sun

*****

Tiberius had never understood the concept of nightclubs. Of sharing loud music, like cacophony in his ears. Of sharing breath and body odors in the same crowded space. Of physical contact with mere strangers. No matter how large the room, he felt like he was trapped. Like he couldn’t breathe. Like all his senses were challenged, driven to the brink of explosion.

Tiberius clutched his pendant, his fingers reflexively stroking the heron shape in a soothing gesture he had made a habit of whenever he was confronted with stressful situations such as this one.

He had been in such a hurry that he had left the Institute without his headphones. This had been a terrible mistake. And Ty did not make mistakes. His mind never faltered, never betrayed him. Except, this was not entirely true. It only took one look into a pair of blue eyes for his mind to come tumbling down like a house of cards, as if hit by a storm, leaving a jumbled mess of incoherent thoughts.

He wasn’t going to be able to go through with it. He had to get out of here, and come back in through a back door. Not the best plan if you tried to remain inconspicuous. But this was a matter of life and death. He couldn’t stay one minute longer in this noisy, giant tin can.

He was moving towards the general direction of the exit, trying to find a clear path through the throng of strangers, when a hand gripped his shoulder. He fought the urge to take the hand off. Literally. To cut it off.

“Not so fast, Dark and Brooding” said a girly voice. Tiberius turned to look at his assailant. He could see under the glamour that she was a blue-haired Faerie. He knew enough about Faeries to know which kind. A mermaid.

“Oh my, but you are gorgeous,” she said, her eyes widening, before zeroing in on the Runes partially visible under his shirt. “I have always wanted to do it with a Shadowhunter… and you, my dear, appear to be one of their finest specimens.”

“Sorry, not interested,” Ty answered in a clipped tone. Although his gaze was directed at her collarbone, his posture must have sent a warning, because she withdrew her hand as if she had been burnt. 

He was about to move past her, doing his best to avoid physical contact, when he caught the change of expression in her face. She looked stunned, as if she had just seen the sun rising in the dark windowless room, her lips parting in awe. But she was not looking at him. Her gaze was directed at something - someone? - behind his left shoulder. Ty tensed and spun.

Kit was standing there, a grin showing white perfect teeth plastered on his face, his blond hair elegantly tousled as if he had just gotten out of bed looking like other people did after three hours at the hairdressing salon.

Actually, he looked like the Angel himself had decided to shrink to human size to walk upon the earth for one single night of debauchery. His thin white shirt did nothing to hide his muscular torso, and the broadness of his shoulders was barely concealed under a tanned leather jacket. He looked as if he owned the place. As if he could snap his fingers and get anyone to do his bidding. As if he knew he could but did not care. He looked dangerous.

And he was all Ty could see, as if he - not unlike the Faerie - had been blinded by the sun. There was only him. It was as if the crowd had vanished, as if the music had been turned off. 

Except, Ty’s heart had started playing staccato inside his chest.

****

It had not been difficult to find Ty among the crowd. Not only was he one of the tallest figures in the room, he stood out. Even as packed with Downworlders as this club was. It was as if a fairy tale character had lost his way in the modern world. Kit almost expected Sleeping Beauty or Snow White to come strolling around in the room, looking for him. The artificial lights gave his pale white skin an eerie glow, making him look even more surreal. 

As soon as Kit saw him across the room, he fought the urge to fight his way through to get to him as fast as he could. Even from a distance, he could see from Ty’s stance that he was in pain.  

Upon seeing him, Ty’s eyes widened in surprise, but he didn’t acknowledge him otherwise. He seemed to be in a state of shock. Well, you weren’t expecting me, were you?

“Sorry, I am late,” Kit said, resting his hand casually on Ty’s shoulder. Ty leaned into his touch and relaxed infinitesimally. “Difficult to find a cab in Manhattan these days.” 

The Faerie who had appeared to be talking to Ty was joined by two of her friends and the three of them were giggling and staring at Kit, as if he were a movie star who had just shown up at the club after his Premiere. Good. Focus on me. Ty doesn’t want that kind of attention.

“Evening, ladies,” he said in his most pleasant voice. “Have you been enjoying yourselves so far?”

One of the Faeries batted her eyelashes at him. “It has just turned into a very interesting evening.”

“Happy to be of service,” Kit said. He executed what he hoped was an elegant bow. It must have been, seeing how his fangirls had turned hysterical. Well, he had learnt from the best.

He mouthed a silence thanks to Jem, then turned to Ty, whispering urgently in his ear. “So, who are we planning to kill tonight?”

“Not kill. Interrogate. A Faerie. I will recognize him as soon as I see him. Two, maybe three bodyguards.” Ty jerked his head towards the far end of the room. “He will probably be spending most of the evening in one of the private rooms in the VIP section.”

Kit’s mind was racing. All his training had led to this moment. Adrenaline was coursing through his veins, and he was beginning to sense the thrill of the fight. Now was his chance to show Ty just how much he had changed from the harmless mundane to the skilled Shadowhunter. But first things first. He needed a plan.

He turned to the puzzled faces of the three Faeries who hadn’t moved from their position during his whispered exchange with Ty.

“Apologies, fair ones,” Kit said. “We’d love to stay and chat but my friend and I had a long night. We are heading home. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

He pulled Ty away from the Faeries’ disappointed faces, to a more secluded corner of the club, with a direct view of the double doors leading to the private section of the club. He started racking his brain for a plan.

“Should we use the ladies as bait?” He asked after a moment. “We could go back and find them. We would make sure, of course, that no harm comes to them.”

Ty shot him a puzzled look before realization dawned on him.

“No,” he replied. “ From what I hear, he has a preference for….” He cleared his throat. “Men.” 

Kit paused to consider this new information. As he did, he noticed that Ty was searching his face, his eyes moving restlessly, as if he was looking for something there. What are you looking for, Ty?

“Ty,” Kit said after a moment. “Do you remember when Mark had to pretend he was in a relationship with Kieran? Do you think you could play the part of... my boyfriend tonight?” 

He hoped Ty hadn’t noticed the way his voice had risen to a high pitch when he uttered the word “boyfriend”.

Kit understood his mistake a second too late. Ty stiffened and a wave of pure panic crossed his delicate features. His hands were shaking as he grasped the heron-shaped pendant tied around his neck. My gift to him, Kit realized with a jolt. Trusting his instincts, Kit caught Ty in his arms, squeezing hard, and started stroking his shoulders, his back, applying as much pressure as he could. Ty heaved a sigh of relief and relaxed under Kit’s touch, nuzzling his face against Kit’s neck. Kit was able to breathe easily again. He had made the right call.

“Ty- Ty, I am sorry,” he said. “It was just an idea I had. A stupid idea. I will come up with another plan.”

“No, Kit,” Ty said in a quavering voice, muffled against Kit’s shoulder. “I want to help you. Except that… I don’t know how... How to act. How to play a part. I wouldn’t know what to do. Tell me what I need to do.”

“Nothing, Ty. I am not asking you to do anything. I will do the talking. You just need to… come along. I just wanted to warn you in case I touched you in… inappropriate ways.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“That’s alright,” Ty said, in a clearer voice. “You didn’t have to ask. You can touch me anywhere you want to. I don’t mind if it’s you.” I don’t mind if it’s you. Butterflies were fluttering inside Kit’s chest and around his stomach.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got you, Ty. I’ve got you...” 

It was Kit’s own way of speaking the words he couldn’t say. I love you, Ty. I love you.

Too soon, he released Ty from his embrace, took his hand and, together, they moved towards the far end of the room.

*****

Tagging @arangiajoan @nenyx @naerysthelonesome​ @adoravel-fenomeno @unorganisedbookshelf @blindbandit1515 @whyhastgodfarsakenme @noah-herondale-lightwood @georgiaherondale @nicotheangel17 @joonjxne @that-dreamer-girl-m @mariiaarranz @writeforjordelia @shadowfae1878 @majollica-blog @mferraz ​@darkkitai @justanothermultifandomgirl @kitty-appreciation-week @gabtapia

and anyone who wants of course

[lululawrence]

Wordplay 5.0 Reflections

I dunno what else to call it lmao it doesn't sound right to call this a meme, but whatever it is, here we are! lol @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed came up with these questions after @wordplayfics wrapped up last year and I love them so i'm gonna use them for this year as well.

I'm going to start out with listing the prompts and linking the fics i wrote for each one for everyone's reference, though I'll be linking them again through the answers as well. I'm also putting all the questions and answers beneath a read more because, as usual, I rambled lmao Alright! Here we go!

Struggle: I Said It Wrong, But I Meant It Right Reduce: I Love This Feeling (But I Hate This Part) Divide: He Carries The Key Rise: Thou, Sun, Art Half As Happy Sketch: I Heard You Talking

How did you come up with your ideas for the fics? Can you take us through your process after first receiving the prompt?

I don't know that I have a set way I come up with my fic ideas for Wordplay. It all depends on the prompt and what fic ideas I've got on my "to write list" that might fit that prompt. If nothing on my to write list fits or can be tweaked for a prompt, then I just go through my prompts tag until something strikes me for it, or I just ruminate on the different ways the word can be used and see if something comes up.

So, when I did the random word generator for the first prompt and "struggle" was the word that came up, I immediately thought of "struggle bus". lolllll and when I went looking through my to write list, I saw the girl Payneshaw fic I wanted to write and I was like omgggggg Nick ABSOLUTELY is riding the struggle bus the ENTIRE FUCKING TIME and I knew that was my fic for the week. lmaoooo and there you have it.

What is your favorite fic you wrote for Wordplay this year?

oooohhhh this one is HARD AND MEAN lmaoooo i forgot this was a question asked. okay legitimately i cannot choose a favorite because i'm actually stupidly proud and happy with all of the fics i wrote this year.

If you’ve participated in previous years of Wordplay, what has been your favorite prompt from all years you participated in?

WELP. as the creator of this challenge, i've participated in all 5 years which means there've been 25 prompts i've written. lolllll and honestly i think my favorite prompt is STILL from the first year. it was "bloodsucker". like, how great of a prompt is that???

What was the shortest fic you wrote this year? The longest?

the shortest one this year was... I Said It Wrong, But I Meant It Right at 4381 words.

the longest one was... I Heard You Talking at 10580 words.

What fic of yours surprised you?

i think all of them surprised me in some way. that's part of the joy of writing fics, isn't it? lollll but i think the one that surprised me the most was Thou, Sun, Art Half As Happy. it was a last minute change (i'll elaborate in the answer to the next question haha) and it was a VERY different direction than i had planned. it was all based off of a photo i saw on tumblr, and there was no prompt with the photo. i got to just take in the basic idea of the sticker being placed on a bridge overlooking the city and what might make that spot a good kissing spot.

now, as an ace who doesn't actually ENJOY kissing, i... didn't think about the fact that i would be writing a lot of it. lollll i actually have a super hard time writing kisses and trying to make them varied while also relaying the emotional intimacy of the moment, and then add on top of that the fact that once i started writing the fic, both harry and louis let me know pretty much as soon as words started getting written that they were both genderqueer and that worked differently for each of them, so harry would use they/them pronouns and louis would use he/him still, it just made things more interesting. and the way the fic developed??? like, i had a very vague idea of what would happen in the fic. so the way it actually came about all surprised me.

long answer short, from the very start, this fic surprised me and i was just along for the ride. it was a BLAST and i sure do love it, even if it does have the second lowest hits of all the fics i wrote this year haha

Were there any prompts you struggled to find an idea for?

STRUGGLED HAHAHA sorry. just funny since struggle was a prompt this year. ANYWAY. the prompt i had the hardest time with was defo rise. i've had this fic idea ever since greg james tweeted with shawn mendes months ago about how shawn basically forgot his interview with greg on the breakfast show, so greg had to last minute wing a LOT OF AIR TIME AND SHOW CONTENT and he did a great job, but it brought about some funny content... anyway. that made me wanna write a triad a/b/o fic where greg is louis and harry's beta. rise was going to be used in a lot of different ways through the fic, as well. because breakfast show requires greg to rise from bed early, he gets a rise out of harry and louis with his behavior and overt flirtations with shawn, they have to rise above their jealousy, etc etc etc. i was VERY EXCITED.

except i only had three days i was able to write every week this summer, and those were really really difficult to get. if i wanted to write on tuesday or thursday, i was often curling up with my laptop in a dark room with some caffeine and candles burning to soothe me after the insanity that is my life atm, and write for as long as i could before my brain stopped functioning, which was often only around 30 min. but see, that particularly week was the worst part of my son's 18 month sleep regression, which meant instead of him sleeping and letting me write, i was driving him around or trying to rock him back to sleep or letting him play in an attempt to tire him out etc etc etc and by friday morning i had to admit to myself there was no way i could write that a/b/o fic in my one guaranteed evening to write every week (saturday, btw). so i was suddenly left with around 36 hours to find a new fic idea and develop it enough to be able to write it in one evening.

as i said in the answer to the first question, i usually go to my prompts tag to see what might inspire me with this prompt word in mind, but for this one that wasn't the first place i went. i tried looking at more definitions even though i'd done that earlier and nothing was inspiring me. so i then spoke to several friends and was still having a hard time finding any ideas that felt like something i would enjoy writing and could do so quickly.

by saturday morning, knowing i had less than 12 hours to figure out what i was writing so i could actually WRITE IT in only like 2-3 hours of writing time, i finally sat down and scrolled through my prompts tag. once i did, i saw the photo for the "good kissing spot", and i immediately thought of sunrise. so i ran with it. but i wanted to make it stylinshaw, so how would i work that in, etc etc etc. it was just very fast and very difficult trying to figure out how i would structure it so it could be a fun meet cute kind of fic, but also work into them actually building a meaningful connection etc and... well. it was a lot. haha so yeah, it was just a hard time overall that week, but i'm super proud of it in the end.

Were there any prompts you had an idea for but ended up writing something different? If so, what made you choose to change what you wrote? Do you think you’ll ever write your original idea at a later date?

HA okay well i already answered most of this above, but for the last part of this question, yes i will absolutely write my original idea at a later date. the whole reason i decided not to do it wasn't because i couldn't turn it into a fic that could be written in that one writing session, but because i had hopes for what that fic would be, and i didn't want to shorten and condense it enough to do that. i didn't want to have to lessen the dreams i have for that fic in my head, so i decided i would just put it back on my to write list and save it for later. who knows when, but that fic will absolutely get written.

What do you think was the most difficult as well as the easiest part about the Wordplay Challenge?

most difficult was 100% finding the time to write. that was insanely hard for me all summer, but by the time wordplay was going, things at home had ramped up to being very overwhelming regarding the demands on me and my time, and what i had been doing to carve out some time for myself and writing wasn't working anymore, so i had to adjust even more with the understanding that i was working on a really strict timeline too. so yeah. just finding the time was absolutely the hardest part for me.

easiest part was the actual writing. these fics really flowed from me, outside of the pack fic, that one was actually pretty difficult to make sure i was getting the dynamics exactly the way i wanted to have them turn out, but even with that aspect, it still was like it flowed from me most of the time. these fics really just took over and i was along for the ride. it was a blast.

If you participate again next year, is there anything you’ll do differently? If so, what?

lmao well assuming people still want wordplay to happen again, i'll run it again and very likely will take part. so... with the difficulty i had in finding any time to do anything this summer, i was actually ridiculously stressed when it came to the writing part, but also the modding aspect of it. so i am not sure that i'll run it during the summer again next year. i might have it go during the early fall once school is back in session so i at least have only one child at home instead of three to battle lol so that's one thing i'll hopefully be doing differently.

as for the writing aspect, i don't think so actually. i've done 5 years of this, and i'm having fun with it. haha if i ever find a fic idea i think could work for it, i would consider doing a series for it next year, but it all depends on if there's something i'd like to write that could work for that kind of set up with this challenge.

if you made it this far, thank you for reading!!! xxx

[pillarmenarevoregods]

Ask: Macro/Micro Vore Pillar Men and Joseph Joestar

First off, I am so so SO sorry for how long this took. Both real life responsibilities and the double standards I hold myself to about creating “quality content” meant my answer to this prompt sat in a half-finished state for a long time. I figure I should just post what I have now and hope it’s sufficient. 

@delcaty007​ (JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure, Macro/Micro Vore, Multiple Pred Scenarios, M/M, Non-fatal, Unwilling, Fearplay, Mentions of Digestion)

I had several ideas for this, and kind of debated which ones were worth fleshing out (or at least what I’d have the time/motivation for). This might not be fully fleshed out stories, but I hope it’s cool still.

I’m writing this in a premise of post-Battle Tendency, through some means, the Pillar Men come back to seek revenge: Kars is brought back from space, Esidisi and Wamuu are revived, and Santana is out of the Speedwagon vaults. BUT they are 30 feet tall and have no idea why/how that happened. They also find many of their abilities missing, BUT also can be in the sun! Yay! And then they find out the hard way that they can’t digest anything. Joseph’s gonna be stuck in a couple different belly jails.

I decided to write these in the order that Joseph fought the Pillar Men in canon. These can technically be independent scenarios of each other, or you can imagine it as the pillar men taking turns sending Joseph down the hatch if you want. I hope you enjoy!

Santana

He sure remembers how annoying that little primitive named Joseph Joestar was to him, and he’s going to find out what happened to him

He quickly learns about the events that transpired with his fellow Pillar Men and knows Joseph is alive

He actually wanted to seek out that Major Von Stroheim asshole first, because of well… I wouldn’t blame him. However he finds out Stroheim died and well, a little disappointing, at least there’s still JoJo to seek out

Once he locates him, Santana literally plunges his hand into the roof of Joseph’s home and grabs him

Joseph attempts to hamon him, but is shocked that… it no longer affects the pillar man. And how did he even get this large?

Santana smirks, considering it dumb for JoJo to even try using hamon when he’s literally outside in the daylight, unharmed.

Deep booming chuckle, “You idiot primitive…” and he starts squeezing Joseph in his hand, thinking it’ll be satisfying to feel his bones snap.

THEN his stomach gurgles and he has a better idea

Without another word, he quickly pops Joseph in his mouth, tilts his head back and swallows him faster than Joseph can process what just happened.

Joseph goes down Santana’s throat in shock, thrashing, trying to climb his way back up, but the muscles of Santana’s esophagus are no match and pull him down to his doom.

Joseph lands on what seems to be trees, brush, and random animals (still alive). It seems like Santana tried swallowing a LOT of different things

Somewhat to his relief, Joseph notices that nothing has really digested.

Santana, on the other hand, can’t care less about what’s happening inside his stomach. He has that annoying JoJo right where he belonged. The weight in his stomach and the occasional minor sting of attempted hamon only tickled a bit. 

Joseph wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, and Santana likewise said nothing when meeting back up with the other Pillar Men.

The first thought on their minds was to find Joseph too, and Santana had to press his tongue in his cheek at knowing that he simultaneously got to stick it to Kars by eating his “mortal enemy” before he could.  

Esidisi

He remembers how he died, and while on one hand respects Joseph for winning against him, isn’t going to pass up the opportunity to get his own revenge

Finds Joseph out on a solo boating trip (convenient, right?) and all Joseph can see is some massive force swimming in the water rushing towards him

Esidisi rises up like a colossal beast, picking Joseph’s boat out of the water

“JoooJooo, it’s been a while, huh? What, like 10 years?” Esidisi makes sure to smile wide and show off his sharp teeth, bringing the small boat in his hand closer to his face.

Joseph probably pisses himself (let’s be real), screaming “OH MY GOD” or “HOLY SHIT,” which is music to Esidisi’s ears, causing him to belt out laughing.

“Didn’t think you’d see me again, didya?!” Joseph doesn’t even have a response, he’s just thrashing and yelling at this point

“You remember our conversation about the Art of War, yeah? Well I hope you do. Sun Tzu told me one more bit of advice that has truly been the most beneficial to me...”

He lifts Joseph up above his face, “’Keep your friends close, your enemies even closer.’” before dropping Joseph in his open mouth.

Esidisi hums in appreciation as Joseph flails on his tongue before jerking his head back and giving a thorough swallow to send him down.

He places his hand over his stomach, relishing in the sensation of pounding helplessly at his stomach walls, and feeling confident that he can go back to Kars to report that JoJo has been “taken care of.”

After a long while of walking and swimming through the ocean, he notices Joseph was still active inside him. He would have started digesting by now, right?

Esidisi figures all that physical motion may be disrupting digestion, so he finds a coast to sit on and waits it out, occasionally making small remarks to the man inside him

Gets frustrated and cries eventually because why won’t he digest?? Esidisi at first accepted that there were caveats to being alive again and being able to see the Sun finally, but come on

He already couldn’t use his blood vessels, couldn’t absorb the only advantage he had was being giant and still being able to contort his body, and now he can’t even digest someone he’s eaten?

Joseph meanwhile is yelling and pounding on the stomach walls, trying to hamon his way out. Esidisi is very pleased to see that the hamon is ineffective inside him, in fact it just tickles a bit.

The little pounding and yelling and screams eventually become annoying, though. Esidisi has some important pondering he needs to do on what his new life is now, and the squirming noisy human in his stomach keeps distracting him.

He sits down somewhere to ponder whether the trade-offs are worth it, has to tell Joseph, “Shut up and let me think!”

Wamuu

When Wamuu “woke back up” and noticed his masters had, too, one of his first thoughts was strangely where Joseph Joestar was currently.

He wondered whether Kars had succeeded in killing him and taking ascended as the Ultimate Being.

However, when he saw Lord Kars, also made giant by whatever spell or curse has brought them all back to life and made them 30 feet tall, Wamuu could quickly assume by the tantrum he was throwing that Joseph had also defeated him in some way.

While Wamuu didn’t exactly WANT Joseph to defeat himself or Lord Kars, he still believed in a fair fight and that a winner should be able to keep their victory.

Hearing Kars and Esidisi plot together to find Joseph and enact revenge on him (hell, even Santana is making comments about finding “that annoying JoJo”), Wamuu realizes if he wants to ensure his opponent could keep his honor, he’ll have to find the Joestar before the other Pillar Men did.

While locating him, Wamuu picks up and swallows a bunch of humans (he’s a nervous eater, he needs to snack under pressure you know?)

After several hours of the humans still pounding and yelling inside of his stomach, he realizes something was off… they should have been digesting by now, yet they’re still alive and active

Wamuu thinks it’s only fair to spit them up and let them go. He’s a little embarrassed and tactfully apologizes to these humans, “I did not expect for you to still be alive. Please forgive me, if I had known you weren’t going to digest I wouldn’t have swallowed you in the first place.” Thanks good guy Wamuu, very reassuring.   

When he does find Joseph (on a camping trip in the middle of the woods, alone…), he kneels down in a clearing just as Joseph is about to approach that area.

Boy is he surprised to see a giant man kneeling in the normally empty field, especially a man he killed 10 years ago… but giant

“JoJo, we meet again.” Queue the “OH! MY! GODDD!” and trying to runaway classic Joseph Joestar style

Wamuu picks him up like an ant between his fingers and brings him closer to his face.

“I am doing this for your own good, JoJo.” and he opened his mouth wide, held a squirming yelling little Joseph over his mouth and dropped him in, tossed his head back and swallowed.

Unfortunately Wamuu forgot to tell Joseph that he wasn’t going to die,  only places his hand unconsciously over his stomach, kneading his thumb into the area Joseph is pounding at 

When meeting with his Masters (who were unsuccessful at finding Joseph… gee I wonder why) still has his hand over his belly, trying to sooth the commotion inside.

Kars even asks if Wamuu is ill, to which Wamuu responds with “I ate something that isn’t agreeing with me.” Well, he’s not wrong

He will have to let Joseph out… eventually. But right now he just wants to keep him safe and hidden. When that will be? No one knows - especially not Wamuu or Joseph....

Kars

Oh, this man is NOT happy. All that time in space, going slowly insane? Yeah, he has it in for Joseph Joestar.

Just shortly after he stops thinking, he finds himself rapidly pulled back to Earth and suddenly much larger than he remembers being before.

It takes him a bit to gain all his thoughts back, but of course he’s elated once he realizes his companions are back as well.

After rejoicing the return of Esidisi and Wamuu (maybe at least a little happy to see Santana again, as well), he went about pursuing his new important goal

Joseph Joestar needed to feel the fear and despair he himself felt while drifting through space. He decided he wouldn’t kill him… yet.

He needed to see Joseph suffer the same way he had, killing him too quickly would just end that fun.

Kars wanted to take Joseph down in the most humiliating way - it’s only fair after being defeated in front of his enemies in such a humiliating way.

Joseph happened to be at his work office, doing business as usual in his life free of being a hamon warrior

Therefore, it was absolutely unexpected when a giant hand plunges through the glass pane window, grabs Joseph off-guard and holds him tightly in front of the face of the man in his nightmares.

In fact, he seriously just thinks he’s dreaming. Joseph covers his eyes and yells, “I’m dreaming! This is a dream! I’m going to wake up now in three, two, one…..”

Kars waits a beat for dramatic effect before hissing “Zero.” He licks his lips, being able to sense the pure dread and terror of his prey. Oh, it’s making him absolutely giddy

“I want you to know what it feels like, JoJo… To have all your hopes and dreams unfairly stolen from you.” Kars raises him high above his head, and watches the little man squirm. He’s definitely finding this cathartic.

“I drifted through space, not knowing if I’d ever escape that torture. All of my accomplishments going to waste, because of you! I believe it’s only fair, JoJo, that I give you a taste of what I experienced.”

Without much effort, he casually tosses Joseph high up in the air (but not too hard, because he doesn’t want Joseph to actually go into space

As Joseph falls back down from the sky, Kars waits with his mouth wide open and snaps his jaw shut once the screaming man lands in his mouth.

He doesn’t wait long before swallowing, while focusing on ever little sensation of his enemy wriggle down his throat. Finally, he’s conquered the Sun AND Joseph Joestar.

Even after several hours and realizing his stomach wasn’t digesting his prey, Kars accepted that it was poetic justice in a way that Joseph would remain alive, trapped for an indefinite amount of time in his stomach, just like he had been trapped in space

[lifeofkaze]

An Art of Balance #26

Orion Amari x MC

Word Count: ~ 3.100

_________________________________________

Chapter 26: The Right Path

After dropping Lizzie off at the Transfiguration classroom, Orion had found Murphy in their Common Room. In a stark contrast to the days leading up to their match, the circular room was pleasantly silent. The older students were nursing their hangovers while most of the younger ones were outside soaking in the sunshine.

Orion and Murphy had retreated to one of the reading nooks recessed in the masonry. A scroll of parchment lay in front of each of them and both had their brows furrowed in concentration as they tried to transfigure them into quills without using the proper incantation out loud.

Nonverbal spells usually weren’t a problem for Orion, the main thing required being a strong focus. But today the transfiguration didn’t work, no matter how often he repeated the words in his mind.

It was no use, he knew his head was elsewhere; all the events of last night swirled around his centre in a vortex that was tugging at his concentration. Neither could he blank out the exhilaration that had coursed through him as he and Lizzie finally had kissed, nor could he ignore the sorrow he had felt as he had tried to soothe her through her bitter tears. Seeing her fall apart in front of him had cut through his heart, but he couldn’t deny the sting of disappointment as he thought about Rowan’s accusations as well.

He knew he shouldn’t have kissed her again and he hadn’t meant to, but his mind seemed to lose control of his body whenever she was near. With the way she had been looking up at him, equal parts hopeful and scared, his wish to hold her close had become overwhelming. It had been hard letting go of her, but he stood by what he had told her; if she didn’t solve the conflict between her and Rowan and put her mind to ease, any connection between them would be overshadowed by the loss of their friendship.

McNully let out a small cry of triumph as his parchment finally changed its shape. It still looked a little bit too yellow and too brittle to pass for a proper quill, but contrary to Orion, he had at least managed to pull the transfiguration off.

His friend laid his wand aside and inspected his feather. “Do you want to tell me what’s bothering you?” he asked nonchalantly.

“What lets you think I’m bothered?”

Murphy glanced at his non transfigured scroll. “You’re usually much better at nonverbal spells than I am.”

Orion raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you have any numbers backing your observation?”

“Don’t offend me, of course I have,” Murphy shook his head indignantly. “I just don’t think it’s the time for statistics now.” Ignoring Orion’s sceptical look, he put his wand away. “It’s about Lizzie, isn’t it?”

It had taken McNully a good amount of prying and guessing to get last night’s story out of his friend. Given Murphy’s chattiness, Orion had initially wanted to keep it to himself, but Murphy just knew him too well. It was only after filling him in that Orion had noticed how relieved he was to have someone to share his thoughts with; talking about it with Murphy made it feel more real and less like a dream, both the good and the bad.

McNully took Orion’s silence as a sign to go on. “Don’t worry about her,” he smiled encouragingly, “she and Rowan will be fine.”

“I hope so,” Orion sighed, “Lizzie has fallen off balance; I have never seen her so disconcerted before. I’m worried about her.”

Murphy’s eyes dropped to the table as he spun the feather between his fingers. “The rumours going around at the moment won’t help either.”

When Orion didn’t respond, he looked up sharply to find a hint of confusion on his friend’s face. “Don’t tell me you haven’t heard?” he asked in an astounded voice. “It’s the talk of the school; I have heard five different versions of the story so far.”

“What story, McNully?” Orion asked, but even though his voice was patient, he could feel his shoulders tense.

Very uncharacteristic for him, Murphy seemed to struggle to find the words he was looking for. Not finding a proper way to nicely phrase what he was about to say, he answered only hesitantly. “The common theme seems to be Lizzie screwing with Charlie Weasley and… well you, I suppose, at the same time,” he finished meekly.

Seeing Orion’s expression darken considerably, he quickly added, “Which is nonsense of course; we both know Lizzie would never do something like that.”

As much as Orion wanted to believe him, he found a tiny flicker of doubt tugging at his faith in Lizzie; he had known her for so long and had always believed her to be a person that wore her heart on her sleeve; instead, she had tangled herself in a web of lies that were falling back on her now. He had been honest when he had told her that he didn’t hold it against her; but he couldn’t help the thought that maybe he didn’t know her as well has he had thought.

As if on cue, the sneering voice of Everett cut through the silent atmosphere of the room; he and a few of his friends had just entered the Common Room. He held his head even higher than usual and a smug grin was plastered onto his face. He was talking loudly to his companions as he made a point of walking past Murphy and Orion.

“From what I’ve heard, Jameson’s had a fling with Weasley for over a year now; apparently they hooked up at his home over the Christmas break.” He let out a menacing laugh. “But I’m not surprised, to be honest, I always thought she was a rather loose one.”

“Watch your mouth, Everett,” Murphy cut him off angrily. “These rumours are absolutely baseless; the chances of them being true are so low, they’re not even worth calculating.”

Everett turned towards them, his eyes looking down at Murphy condescendingly. “Is that so?” His smile grew even wider, the complacency positively dripping from his words. “Well big news, McNully, I heard it from her best friend myself.”

Before he had a chance to stop himself, Orion’s head went up at his words and his jaw locked. The motion was only minuscule, but Everett had noticed it all the same.

“Her little prefect friend was bitching to Penny Haywood this morning on their way to breakfast. She seemed pretty sure they have something going and Jameson’s been lying straight to their faces the whole time, kept the whole thing her dirty little secret. Just shows what kind of person she really is.”

His attention turned to Orion; he was sizing him up gloatingly. “If you ask me, kind of pathetic someone like our Captain fell for her.”

Murphy was bristling up but Orion silenced him by putting a hand on his shoulder. The calm expression he held Everett’s gaze with was a stark contrast to the anger boiling under his skin. His whole philosophy was against fighting another person, let alone a member of his own team, but much to his surprise, he felt the tips of his fingers twitching with suppressed rage and the sudden desire to wipe the smug grin off Everett’s face.

Everett’s confident smile started to waver as Orion’s gaze bored into his; he may have looked composed but there was a cold fire burning in his eyes that made Everett flinch subconsciously.

“I understand the frustration of being rejected where others are not may run deep,” he answered coolly, “but be careful; spreading rumours is playing with fire.” His eyes grew harder and he raised his chin. “Take care not to burn yourself.”

Everett held his gaze for a moment longer before he dropped his eyes with a derisive snort. He motioned his friends to follow him and stalked over to the other side of the Common Room, as far away from Murphy and Orion as possible.

Murphy watched with a scowl as the group shooed a few first-years off a sofa. “Do you think what he said is true?” he asked silently without looking at Orion.

“No,” Orion answered brusquely, sounding much more determined than he felt, however. “I don’t think we could have been so wrong about her after all these years of knowing her. And even if there was some truth to it, it would be unfair to judge without having heard both sides of the story.”

Murphy opened his mouth to say something but Orion shook his head. “I don’t want to discuss this any further right now. Whatever may have happened between Lizzie and Charlie in the past is in the past; what matters is the present and at present, I’m feeling unsettled.”

He got up and cracked his head from side to side; the muscles in his neck had tensed considerably since this morning. “If you need me, you know where to find me.”

*

Orion didn’t know for how long he had been balancing; he had lost track of time in the process of turning his focus on his inside. He opened his eyes for a moment; judging by the light of the sun, it was probably way past lunchtime, but he didn’t care too much about a missed meal right now.

All of his concentration was needed to stay upright on his broomstick, that was hovering a good deal above the Quidditch stands. He was thankful for the peace his meditation exercise was giving him. All his thoughts were focused on his steady breathing and his muscles balancing his body in the air, leaving no room for distraction.

He was facing the pitch, his back turned to the rows of wooden seats beneath him, so when he heard a familiar voice calling his name, he couldn’t help but jump a little from being broken out of his concentration so suddenly.

It took him a moment to secure his footing again before he abandoned his standing position and sat down on the handle of his broom. Looking down, he could see Lizzie sitting on the middle row of the stands, her feet resting on the seat in front of her. He had no idea how long she had been there already and he felt his lips curve into a smile as he flew down to meet her.

She stood up as he landed and looked up at him; Orion had never really noticed how big the height difference between them was. As the beating of his heart sped up, he took a deep breath to not lose the calm state of mind he had acquired over the last few hours so quickly. But he couldn’t help it, Lizzie’s presence alone was enough to brighten his mood considerably, all thoughts about focus and balance forgotten.

“It seems like you almost knocked me off balance, Chaser,” he greeted her with an affectionate smile.

Lizzie, however, didn’t smile back at him. She didn’t answer him either; she was simply watching him, her expression stern, the look in her eyes unusually sad. She crossed her arms in front of her chest and held her elbows as if she was hugging herself.

Orion felt the smile fade from his face and his brow furrowed in concern. “What’s wrong?”

She evaded his eyes and turned her head, looking out over the sunbathed pitch. If possible, she looked even paler than this morning.

“I followed your advice, Captain,” she finally said quietly with a bleak voice. “I talked to Rowan.”

“What did she say? Were you able to settle your differences?”

Lizzie hugged herself tighter. “Yes.”

She turned her head from the pitch to face him again, a humourless smile tugging at her lips that didn’t reach her eyes; if anything, it made her look sadder than before.

“She gave me a choice.”

Now it was Orion’s turn to remain silent. He fought the urge reach out to comfort Lizzie when she couldn’t hold his gaze any longer, eyes dropping to the ground again as she struggled to continue. The warmth he had felt moments before was starting to subside, leaving him cold and tense in anticipation of her next words.

“Rowan is willing to forgive me and give our friendship another chance; under one condition,” Lizzie raised her eyes to meet his again and there was no need for her to continue; Orion knew what she was about to say.

“I have to choose between her and you.”

The silence following her words was deafening. Both of them were standing on the wooden stands of the Quidditch pitch, facing each other without a word as the hot rays of the sun burned down on them.

After what felt like an eternity, Orion loosened his grip on the handle of his broomstick, that he had subconsciously gripped tighter, and inclined his head.

“I think I know where your choice fell,” he finally managed to answer.

He could see Lizzie was fighting back her tears as she quickly looked away and pressed her lips together, her chest rapidly rising and falling from trying not to cry. The wish to hold her was so strong it almost physically hurt him, but Orion didn’t move; he couldn’t.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice close to breaking. She extended her hand as if to touch him, but stopped halfway, her hand dropping down to the wooden railing.

“Don’t be sorry,” Orion heard himself say; despite of what it meant for him, for them, he couldn’t stand seeing her so devastated. “Rowan is your oldest friend and your bond is worth preserving.”

He laid a hand on her shoulder, careful not to scare her as he felt her muscles tense beneath his touch. The desire to embrace her grew close to overwhelming but instead he focused on his words.

“While I understand that she is hurt, it is not fair to demand such a decision from you. Do you want me to talk to her?” he added after a moment, knowing full well that she wouldn’t hide behind his back from the effects of her own doings.

And sure enough, Lizzie quickly shook her head. “I don’t need you to fight my battles,” she answered with a trembling voice, but he could hear the hard resolve behind it. “I caused this mess and I have to face the consequences.”

“But this doesn’t only concern you,” Orion responded quietly. He saw Lizzie’s determination waver in the way her brow slightly creased and her lips parted to say something, but instead, she averted her eyes.

“Don’t make me question my decision,” her voice had a desperate tinge to it as she added a quiet, “please.”

“Then I will understand and respect your choice.” He ran his thumb over her shoulder, hoping to give her at least some sort of reassurance.

“No matter how much your decision pains you, if you follow the path your heart is showing you, you are sure to go into the right direction.” He offered her another smile but he knew the sadness that was darkening her eyes was mirrored on his own face.

Lizzie opened her mouth to say something again but stopped herself at the last second.

“Thank you for understanding,” she whispered instead.

She reached up and covered his hand with hers. She tilted her head so she could press her cheek against it for one last moment before gently brushing it off. Without looking at him again, she turned around and vanished into the shadows of the staircase.

Orion stared after her for a moment, still feeling the touch of her cheek against his hand before he sat down on the wooden seats, restlessly raking his fingers through his hair. He let himself fall onto his back, watching the clouds above roll by.

When he was balancing, his goal was to clear his thoughts and empty his mind. Right now, he had no thoughts as well, but the silence inside his head wasn’t peaceful, it was crushing; he felt anything but balanced.

*

Lizzie barely made it into the cool darkness of the tower before the tears started welling up in her eyes. She bit them back a few moments longer until she was absolutely sure Orion wasn’t following her. She didn’t expect him to; he had always respected the boundaries she’d set. But she knew full well, if he made the unlikely decision go after her, her resolve would crumble into nothingness.

When she had reached the last landing of the stairs, she sank down onto the topmost step and hugged her knees, burying her face in her arms as the tears finally started falling. She tried not to sob, so no one would hear her and the effort took her breath away, shaking her whole frame violently as she dug her nails into her thighs. The physical pain gave her something to cling to as she struggled to regain her composure.

She repeated the words she had told herself ever since she had made her decision in her mind over and over again, like a steady mantra in the chaos of her thoughts. She had done the right thing, made the right choice; she had been a bad friend for far too long.

She had known Orion would understand and accept her decision, but she wished he hadn’t. She wished he had challenged her, called her out for running, told her they would find a way and give her the excuse she so desperately needed to allow her to be with him regardless.

But instead, he had followed her wish and let her go; the way he had looked at her as she had brushed his hand off her shoulder had been so sad and yet so caring at the same time, it made Lizzie’s stomach twist with regret, the guilt she felt increasing beyond measure.

His words were still ringing in her ear and made a bitter smile appear on her face. ‘If you follow the path your heart is showing you, you are sure to go into the right direction.’

But if she was on the right path, then why did it hurt so much?

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

To Travel Through the World and Not Be Alone (Good Omens Fic)

Last week I asked for some more fluffy prompts, and @sparkkeyper​ suggested Crowley getting flustered and turning into a snake. Well, it looks like I’ve used up all my “Short Fic” mojo for the time being, as the result was over 10k and is available on AO3.

I really, really tried to make this one light and silly, but my brain does not operate that way, and so...a somewhat emotional deconstruction of the trope I guess?

--

Aziraphale stepped out from the dubious shelter of a sharply angled rock, shaking the last of the rain from his wings. Since leaving Eden the weather had certainly become much more variable. Days so hot his skin ached, nights that left him shaking with cold, a dryness that got into his mouth and eyes, and then – quite unexpectedly – more rain! Not as much as the first time, of course, but unpleasant enough.

The demon, Crawly, had been walking by his side, as he generally did, nattering on about the way sand moved in the wind and something about camel noses, but he trailed off as the rain began to fall. Aziraphale had lifted his wing to offer a bit of protection, until he noticed the rock in the distance, just tall enough for two man-shaped beings to crouch behind. Perfect, he’d thought and quickly gave Crawly’s hand a tug, intending to lead him over. Instead, the demon had all but run from him, vanishing into the night without another word.

Odd, that.

Stretching his arms in the bright morning sunlight, Aziraphale took a deep breath. Lovely, really, the slightly moist smell of the air after a rain. He suspected it would be even more pleasant once they found a place a bit more like the Garden itself – lush and green, rather than this endless expanse of sand, stone, and stunted trees.

He could see the humans up ahead, packing up their camp. The shelter they’d found had been no better, and Aziraphale hoped the cold and the damp hadn’t done any harm to the Woman or the child she carried within her. Quite a lot was riding on that yet-unborn human. There was still a chance the whole of humanity could end, now, here, in the blink of an eye. But the Man put a hand on the Woman’s shoulder, and she smiled, shaking her head, and helped him pick up their supplies.

As they moved out, Aziraphale began to follow after, but stumbled as some sort of black shadow twisted away into the brush, moving too quickly for him to make out. His body helpfully supplied a massive dose of adrenaline, which sent Aziraphale’s heart racing.

Steady on, he warned himself. It would take some getting used to, these human instincts, but there was no reason he couldn’t control himself. He was, after all, an angel. Aziraphale forced his breath back into a steady rhythm, expelled the unneeded chemicals from his system. That was better. He squinted at the line of dried-out bushes, then tilted back his head to scan the sky, but whatever had cast the shadow seemed long gone.

Well. Probably nothing important.

Already, the humans were fading into the distance, but it wouldn’t be difficult to keep up. Day by day, the Woman grew larger about the middle, and their pace slowed. The real danger was not accidentally overtaking them, or stumbling across them at rest and revealing themselves.

Both he and Crawly had received orders to observe the humans until their child was born. Not to protect, or disrupt, or involve themselves in any way – simply to observe. As for how to deal with each other – they’d been given no instruction whatsoever.

And so, for the past week, they’d passed their days traveling together, trailing behind the humans unseen. Aziraphale had expected it to be a time of silent contemplation, but Crawly had apparently never heard of such a thing. He constantly pestered Aziraphale with questions, tried to make conversation about topics that, if not technically forbidden, were certainly better left alone. He crouched sometimes, digging around in the sand, never saying what he was looking for. It was an annoyance, but whenever he was out of sight, Aziraphale found himself worrying. What is he getting up to now? And when will he be back?

He found he didn’t like being alone. Which was absurd – he was an angel – a Guardian. Being alone for long stretches of time was part of his job description, his very being. And yet, in the same way his body was programmed to overreact to every shadow, it also needed to have other bodies around, to see them, hear them, possibly even to touch them. Unfortunately, until the Woman delivered her child and Aziraphale was allowed to reveal himself to the humans, his only option was the strange demon who talked too much and wandered off without warning.

Just as Aziraphale was certain he would lose sight of the humans – and was making up his mind to leave without the demon, and let him find his own way – Crawly materialized, stepping out from behind a sand dune and shuffling over to Aziraphale.

“It’s about time,” the angel said in a low voice, ignoring the unwelcome wave of relief. “I hope you’re not planning to leave me waiting for you like this all the time. And where, precisely, did you go?”

“Not far.” Crawly shrugged, not meeting Aziraphale’s eyes. “Anyway. You don’t have to wait for me.”

“You’re planning something, aren’t you? We agreed not to interfere until the child’s birth – these humans been through enough, Crawly, and they don’t need you—”

“Sssss’not that.” His lips twisted as if he’d eaten something sour, then pressed flat again. “Didn’t go anywhere near them. Promise.”

Aziraphale wasn’t sure he believed that, but up ahead the humans had already vanished into the heat-hazy distance, apart from the flare of the flaming sword and a long line of dark footprints. “If you say so. Keep up now, Crawly, there’s a good fellow.”

--

After two more weeks, their path began to run alongside a stony ridge. The base of it was cool, a little damp, and small flowers grew there, shielded from the sun. The humans had paused up ahead, and so Aziraphale stood watching them, grateful for a chance to rest in the shade.

Crawly, on the other hand, was causing some sort of trouble again.

“Look at these!” He tugged at one of the plants. “Have you ever seen anything like them?”

Aziraphale glanced down. Tiny flowers, just a speck of white or red on a thick stem growing out of a mass of green, low but thick. “We had much larger ones in the Garden,” Aziraphale commented. The humans were gathering rocks, it seemed, tapping them against the exposed stone of the ridge.

“Yeah, but look!” He’d been going on like this all day, digging at plants, collecting funny stones, running over to show each to Aziraphale, as proudly as if the demon had created them himself. It didn’t seem to be harmful or wicked behavior, but Aziraphale couldn’t decide what to make of it. “No water, no sunlight, barely even any soil to root in. You wouldn’t think anything could grow here. But they—oops.”

“You killed it, didn’t you?”

“No, just – look I pulled off the flower. The rest is fine.” Crawly wandered over just as the humans seemed to finish their task. The Man took the Woman’s hand – how odd, to walk like that, yet it didn’t seem to slow them down – and together they headed eastwards. Aziraphale stepped out of the shadow of the wall, and bumped directly into the demon. Crawly skittered back, clearly struggling with his own adrenaline, though Aziraphale had mastered that particular unwanted reaction ages ago.

“Terribly sorry,” the angel said, brushing his hands down his robe. Crawly’s dirt-smeared arms had left a mark, but he found he repeated the action more times than necessary. “But, please, Crawly – learn to pay attention to where you stand.” Another brush of his hands. It was soothing, in a way.

“I meant to be standing there.” The demon scowled. “I was going to show you…here.” He thrust the flower towards Aziraphale.

It was a bit unusual. Formed into a little cup, petals strangely thick to store the rare water of the desert. A sturdy little plant, a survivor, but beautiful in its own way. He plucked it from Crawly’s fingers, in order to study it from every angle. Their fingers brushed each other in passing, and Aziraphale found he was rather more aware of the contact than justified for such a minor thing. “It’s…quite nice, I suppose.”

“Good.” Crawly stepped back, fingers twisting in his robe. “Um. You can have that.”

“I see. And…what am I meant to do with it?”

Crawly shrugged. “Whatever you want. Just thought, you know. Flowers. Very angelic. Let’s go.”

He hurried along the ridge while Aziraphale looked at the flower again, fighting back a smile. Did it look better after their now, after their brief exchange of words? He found himself admiring the way the petals faded from dark to light.

“Oi! Angel!” His head jerked up. Crawly had stopped at the same spot where the humans had paused. “Come look at this!”

Tucking the flower into his sleeve, Aziraphale quickly stepped beside him, glancing over to see what the fuss was about.

“Oh, that is…” but words escaped him. Somehow, the humans had made marks in red and yellow, white and black across the stone. Not just marks, shapes.

Aziraphale could see two rough, humanoid figures standing hand-in-hand, one holding a brilliant yellow line. The sun illuminated the rock ahead of the figures, and cast a deep shadow behind. Other, simpler marks indicated parts of their journey – a hint of storm clouds, the line of the Garden Wall, a lion, crouched, ready to pounce.

“I think…” Aziraphale’s gaze traced it, east to west. “I believe this is what they call art.”

“Huh. Thought it was gonna be, y’know. Fancier.”

“Well, they’re just starting out. I’m sure we’ll see improvements soon.”

“Right.” Crawly was digging around in the dirt again, and stood quickly with a lump of charcoal. “Just need to make a few adjustments.” He rubbed the dark, crumbling stone against the ridge, making a black streak some distance behind the two figures.

“Crawly! What are you – you can’t – that isn’t allowed!”

“Oh, what, now it’s forbidden to make marks with rocks? Heaven is nothing but stupid rules these days.”

“No – yes – you’re distorting something the humans created!”

“I’m making it more accurate.” He stepped back, studying the newest figure. Thin and black, legs splayed in a funny way, arms spread by its sides. “That’s me, following behind. Hand me some red ochre, gotta do my hair, too.”

“This is, without a doubt – we’re supposed to be observers, not – not making ourselves part of the – what are you doing?”

Fingers now coated in ground-up lime, Crawly was dabbing another figure onto the stone. Brilliant white, and with a bit more care taken to the limbs, this one stood close beside the black one.

“Adding you, of course. Little me can’t be up there alone.” He glanced at the two human figures, then rubbed at his own one last time, extending the white figure’s arm to end…just where the black’s did.

Hand-in-hand.

“What do you think?” Crawly asked, rolling his neck as if he’d just finished some strenuous task.

“It’s…” Aziraphale stepped closer. “I mean, you really shouldn’t…” His mind raced, trying to think of any response that would be even remotely appropriate. This was a…a gross breach of protocol, surely, and Aziraphale had to…put his foot down, make it clear such things were not acceptable.

Instead, rather without his direction, his hand drifted over to clasp the demon’s.

Once again, it seemed the work gained more beauty the longer he looked at it. And Aziraphale found he was very aware of Crawly’s hand, just as he had been of his fingers. Crawly squeezed his hand, an uncertain, welcoming gesture, and Aziraphale felt a strange tingle, a rush of warmth roiling up his arm, filling his head. He squeezed back—

“Sorry. Gotta.” Crawly dropped his hand and bolted away, back up the path they had just walked down.

“Don’t be ridiculous, that isn’t even—!”

Vanished.

Aziraphale waited a long moment, wondering if he would return. It gave him ample time to study the wall, the little flower. His own hand.

Then, with a sigh, he followed after the humans alone.

When Crawly returned, just before sunset, he didn’t mention running off. Or the art. Or the flower that Aziraphale had carefully set aside on a rock where he had stopped to rest.

Probably best to forget it all, then.

--

More weeks passed, enough that Aziraphale lost count, and the humans came to a river.

Not perfectly clear-blue water running merrily over rocks and under sweeping trees, as they’d had in Eden, but a large brownish affair making its way between steep banks covered in reeds. There were some trees, larger than the ones in the desert, and fruits hung from them for the humans to gather. It was painstaking work, as they grew too high, or over thorny patches. Some fruits were too ripe, others not quite ready. The Woman was also in no state to be climbing trees, so the Man did most of the work, tossing fruits down for her to catch.

“I know we said not to interfere,” Aziraphale said, rubbing his palms together. Another habit that seemed ingrained in the body, but it seemed to help his worries. Perhaps he’d keep it. “But surely it wouldn’t hurt to – to lend a hand, would it?”

“Wuzzat?”

The angel turned, ready to repeat the question, until he saw something that put the humans out of his mind entirely. Crawly had tied his robe up around his knees and was walking along in the river.

“What on earth are you doing, you – you strange creature?”

“It’s hot,” the demon griped, scooping up some water to pour over his head. More of it got on his robes than anywhere else.

“Well, now you’ll be hot and covered with dripping wet clothing, does that really sound more appealing?”

“Don’t know, haven’t tried it.” Crawly reached into the water again, drenching his sleeves. He frowned as they emerged. “No, that’s…heavier. Not very comfortable. But…a little less hot.” He squeezed his sleeve, water dripping back into the river. “Could take the clothing off entirely,” he mused. “That might work.”

“Now you’re being absurd. It isn’t allowed!”

“It isn’t?”

“No! There are – Crawly there are rules.”

“Only for the humans. And look, they’re not wearing nearly as much as I am.” He tugged at his dripping garment again. “I can wrap some leaves around my bottom if that will make you feel better.”

“It’s not about making me feel better! It’s – it’s the principle of the thing. You and I should be setting a good example for the humans, not…not…” He waved helplessly as Crawly arched his back to dip his hair into the water.

“This is a good example! Problem solving! Using the available resources to make yourself more comfortable. If the humans bothered to look back and see us, they might learn a lot.” He flipped his hair forward, spraying droplets everywhere. “You wanna join me?”

“Certainly not.” Aziraphale rubbed his hand at the back of his neck, where itchy sweat was beginning to accumulate. “We have more important things to worry about right now, like—” He glanced back to where the Man lowered himself from the tree, seemingly entirely unharmed. The Woman smiled and handed him a piece of fruit, which he accepted gratefully.

“You know the humans are fine without you.”

That, surprisingly, hurt. Aziraphale found, more and more lately, he had a strong desire to join the humans. To walk beside them, to hear what they said, to laugh when they laughed. When he watched them walk away together, he felt…oddly empty.

An emptiness that vanished when he turned back to Crawly. Much as the demon grated on his nerves, Aziraphale found he enjoyed his company. When he spotted Crawly crouching in the shade of a tree, long fingers scratching at the ground, or scrambling up a ridge of stone to see what was on the top – there was always a bubble of anticipation, an eagerness to see what he’d found, to see that shining excitement in his eyes.

He felt it now, as Crawly waded deeper into the water to investigate a log floating in the current.

“I mean, m’not saying you should give up or anything, but…you can’t spend every day worrying about them. They’ll be fine.”

“Of course I spend every day worrying. I’m a Guardian, it’s my nature to want to help and protect those around me.”

“Ohhhh, is that why you’re always nagging me? Or is it because—”

Without warning, the log split into an enormous, tooth-filled jaw, lunging forward to snap at Crawly. With a yelp, the demon tumbled backwards, kicking water at the revealed crocodile, scrambling back towards the shore.

Aziraphale rushed forward, colliding with Crawly, wrapping one arm firmly over his chest to pull him back to safety; the other hand he flapped at the snapping creature. “Shoo!” he called and, just to be safe, put a note of angelic command in his voice: “WE ARE OF NO INTEREST TO YOU.”

The crocodile snapped its jaws one more time before turning away, lowering itself again to float downriver.

“Well,” Aziraphale said, trying to settle his mind. The adrenaline had flooded him again, but this time it had helped, giving him the speed he needed to react. Perhaps these instincts could be useful, if properly regulated. Unlike Crawly, who still clutched at Aziraphale’s arm, heart racing so that the angel could feel it. He pressed Crawly back a little more firmly against his own chest. “I hope you’ve, ah, learned your lesson.” He wasn’t sure what lesson exactly they should take from this, but he needed to continue his policy of blanket disapproval of all demonic nonsense.

“That thing—” Crawly started, but his voice pinched off, too tight to speak.

“That thing could have bitten your leg off,” Aziraphale chided, brushing Crawly’s torso with his free hand, making sure everything was intact. “I’m not sure if I can heal a demon at all, and I certainly can’t regrow limbs. You must learn to be more careful, my dear fellow.”

His eyes met Crawly’s enormous golden ones, and a heat rose in Aziraphale’s face that had nothing to do with the sun and the desert.

“I, uh…” Crawly very nearly blinked. He tilted his head back a little further and his breath brushed across Aziraphale’s cheek in a startling way.

“Yes. Well.” Aziraphale let him go, though his arms seemed slow to obey.

Immediately, Crawly scrambled away, jumping into the thickest part of the reeds.

“Oh, for goodness sake, Crawly! Is it too much to ask that you comport yourself with a little…” But when he looked along the riverbank, there was no sign of the demon.

Aziraphale took a good long while to search – until the humans had finished their mid-morning meal and begun walking again – but all he managed to find was the usual wildlife: rodents, reptiles, a few birds.

“Typical,” Aziraphale muttered. Such strange behavior had become increasingly common as they traveled, and the angel had learned by now that if Crawly didn’t want to be found, he wouldn’t be. Best to just keep walking while the demon got over today’s mood; Crawly always managed to catch up in the end.

Sure enough, well after sunset, a dark-robed figure slunk over to the spot Aziraphale had chosen to rest in. “Angel,” he mumbled in greeting.

“And where were you this time?” He felt another wave of relief, but sternly reminded himself not to encourage the demon. “Honestly, I half thought some river creature had devoured you, and it would serve you right for – for disturbing it…”

Crawly didn’t say anything, merely dropped onto the ground and stared at the light of the humans’ fire, far ahead. Not even a glance at Aziraphale.

When the silence had drawn on too long, Aziraphale lowered himself to sit beside Crawly. “I…am glad you’re unhurt, you know.”

“Shut up.”

He didn’t know what to make of that, so they sat in silence for the rest of the night.

--

“Aha!” Crawly crowed, leaping from one rock to the next, pale skin flashing in the sunlight. “I knew this was going to be better!”

“I’m sure it is,” Aziraphale said as neutrally as possible, trying to keep his eyes on the path ahead.

“You can’t even imagine! I feel so much lighter! I can finally move!” He dropped into the river with a splash, Aziraphale turning quickly to make sure Crawly was unharmed. But, no, he stood in the shallows, tossing water all over his bare skin. “This is…Angel, you have to try this!”

“And why, precisely, would I want to do that?”

“I told you, it feels good. Washes off the sweat and – I dunno. Like the heat can’t touch you through the water. Just come down, I’ll show you.”

“Crawly, get out of there. I’m not about to see you be devoured by wildlife again.”

“It’s ffffine.” But he hopped out, dashing up the path to a fruit tree. Before Aziraphale could say anything, he’d pulled himself up onto the lowest branch.

“Crawly! No, get down, you’ll break your neck and…and…”

“Why do you worry so much?” He pulled himself higher and higher, vanishing among the leaves. “I’m a demon, I’m not going to fall unless I want to.”

“I’ve told you, I’m a Guardian, it’s my nature—”

But surely Crawly couldn’t hear him all the way up there. A head emerged from the crown of the tree, gazing out into the distance as the wind stirred his bright red hair, sending streamers in every direction. He glanced down at Aziraphale and waved and, quite at a loss, the angel waved back.

He almost wanted to join Crawly. Not with the nakedness, though his robes were getting to be something of a burden, ending each day heavy with dust and sweat. But it seemed peaceful up there, cooler. And ever since the incident with the crocodile, Aziraphale had been feeling a strange urge, to be near the demon, to touch him, to ensure that he was safe.

Perhaps it was related to the instinct that compelled him towards proximity to the humans. That made sense; lacking options, his mind was trying to reach out for the only other being available. Though that didn’t really explain the strength of the urge, or why it seemed to grow daily as they spent more time together.

Crawly’s head disappeared. Branches rustled, leaves falling along the riverbank, and suddenly he dropped onto the lowest branch, grinning like he had a secret. “Look, I know you’re hot, Angel. Just admit it.”

“Certainly not! I am perfectly content as I am,” Aziraphale lied, trying to subtly flap the collar of his robes to let in a little air. “Perhaps it is your…Fallen nature, but I am completely immune to the effects of the environment.”

“Are you? Here, catch.” Something flew towards Aziraphale’s head, and his hands barely snapped up in time to grab the oddly shaped, greenish fruit. “I think that’s a pear,” Crawly continued. “Also, pretty sure it’s ripe.”

Golden eyes sparkling with excitement, he grabbed the branch with two hands and leaned back a little with an eager smile.

Aziraphale studied the fruit, turning it over in his hands. Well. No point in being rude, was there? He raised it to his lips and took a bite.

The inside was soft, but not too soft, with an oddly gritty texture. More importantly, it flooded his tongue with a mildly flavored liquid, sweet and refreshing. He’d gotten so used to his mouth being dry, Aziraphale had stopped thinking about the discomfort, but this – this was exactly what he needed. He eagerly took a few more bites.

“Oh,” he finally said, glancing up at Crawly, who still watched from his perch. “This is absolutely marvelous.” He wiped the juice from his chin and smiled.

Crawly grinned back, swinging his legs with a bit too much excitement, but it was an infectious excitement, bubbling up in Aziraphale’s chest with every bite.

Until, suddenly, Crawly’s expression fell, as did he, dropping from the tree to scramble about on all fours, racing back the way they’d come. “Don’t wait for me,” he called when he managed to get his feet under him, and by the time Aziraphale had even turned around, he had vanished again.

Well. At least it was quieter now. Aziraphale took another bite of his pear and continued his walk.

He was, by this point, getting used to Crawly’s unexplained disappearances. He never arrived later than the following dawn, and sure enough he caught up just as the humans were settling down to sleep. Once again, he didn’t say much or even look at Aziraphale, merely crouched on the ground, watching the distant firelight.

The next morning, however, was a different story.

“Ow! Stop that, it hurts.”

“Well, I do apologize, but I need to know what’s wrong!” Aziraphale rubbed his finger again across Crawly’s now bright-red skin, peppered here and there with some truly nasty looking blisters. It was extremely hot to the touch.

“Sssstop!” Crawly tried to wriggle away, but he was firmly trapped: Aziraphale sat on his back, legs pinning the demon’s hips in place, one hand lightly on his shoulder, but ready to press it flat into the dirt if required.

“If you don’t stop moving around, I’m not going to be able to help you.”

“You aren’t – this is torture, that’s what it is. Bloody sadistic angel!”

“It would appear you have burns covering every inch of your skin. How on earth does that even happen? What were you getting up to yesterday?”

“Nothing! Just – you saw. Walking around. Wanted some space’s all.”

“That’s all?”

“Ngk. Might have. Stretched out on a rock to bask for a bit at noon. Felt good.”

Aziraphale sat, considering the boiled red of Crawly’s back and his own slightly pink hands, the itch at the back of his neck. He’d been working on a hypothesis, and this would seem to be his first clear bit of proof.

“Crawly, I believe you’ve been burnt by the sun.”

“Didn’t go to the sun,” Crawly grumbled.

“This is no laughing matter. I understand burns can cause permanent damage to humans.” He brushed his fingers down Crawly’s spine, carefully avoiding the blisters, but even that was enough to send the demon squirming. “Does this hurt?”

“Yes it hurts! What have I been saying? Are you even listening?”

“I am,” Aziraphale assured him, looking for any spot that was still mostly pale. “How about this?” He pressed fingers into the side of Crawly’s ribs, just under the armpit.

“Ssssssss…not as bad, but yes.” At least he’d stopped struggling, but still Crawly’s fingers curled into the dirt, scraping deeply in the brown clay.

“If I’m right, the burn is the worst in areas that received the most exposure to the sun, and only light or incidental in areas that were shaded or protected.” There weren’t many of those. Crawly was a very thorough basker.

“Wait, really?” He started to twist around to look at Aziraphale, then cringed and looked forward again. “You think human skin can be burned just from being out in the heat?”

“Perhaps. I’m still gathering evidence.”

“Well, the humans aren’t getting burned!”

Aziraphale bit back another remark about Crawly’s Fallen nature. That wouldn’t be helpful here. “I’m not quite sure why that is,” he admitted. “But my own burns are very minor, perhaps theirs are the same. Certainly, they keep to the shade as much as possible, particularly in the hottest part of the day. Meanwhile, you are the first one to spend half the day lying naked in direct sunlight.”

“Not half the day.” Crawly whimpered a little as Aziraphale pressed his shoulders down one more time. “Seems a major design flaw, you ask me,” he grumbled.

“Hush, now.” Aziraphale lifted his hands and rubbed them together, summoning just a thin line of celestial power. “This may sting a little.”

“What? What are you doing now? Everything stings!” Another squirm as Crawly tried to pull free, but there was very little chance of that.

“I’m going to heal you, if you can hold still, you ridiculous thing.”

“Heal me?” Crawly went still and stiff. “Why?”

“Why? Because you’re in pain. What other reason do I need?” He reached a finger towards the worst burn, then hesitated. Could he dilute his power even further? “What did you think I was doing back here?”

“Dunno. Thought you were just…curious. Or wanted to learn for the humans.”

Taking a deep breath, Aziraphale traced his finger across Crawly’s shoulders. It left behind a trail of bright white, which rippled out several finger-widths in every direction, a wave of healing that left behind unburnt skin. He sighed in relief. “Well…there was that, too, but I thought I’d made it clear by now, I have no interest in seeing you come to harm. Even if it is harm by your own doing,” he added, so that Crawly could be sure he wasn’t entirely off the hook for his choices.

“So…you’ll…heal all of it? Entirely? No…leaving scars so I learn my lesson?”

“Crawly! How could you even think such a thing?” He pushed his fingers to the healed skin. It was a bit darker, browner than before, with a smattering of darker spots. “Does this hurt? Or here?”

“No…it’s…it’s good.” He lay his head on the ground, seeming subdued.

“Wonderful. This shouldn’t take too long.”

Down by the river’s edge, the humans finished picking up their woven mats and bundles of food. “They’re getting away,” Crawly muttered as they wandered down the river.

“We’ll catch up,” Aziraphale assured him, carefully applying just a touch of healing along his spine.

“You’re not worried? Thought it was your job.”

He glanced up, taking another look at the Woman, her blossoming belly, the Man helping her step over a patch of rough earth. He did feel an emptiness, a need to follow them, but it felt less important, less urgent, than the task in front of him. He smoothed away a particularly horrid patch of burn, and Crawly murmured with relief, a relief Aziraphale felt in his own chest.

What was this? The human need for proximity, an instinct he still couldn’t control? His own Guardian nature, perhaps, leading him to want to protect the being nearest to him?

Both of these, yes. And something more. Something that made him wish to see Crawly running across the riverbank, carefree and smiling again.

“Why did you disappear so suddenly anyway?” Aziraphale asked, carefully working on Crawly’s arm.

“Nrrrg. Just…wanted to be alone. Don’t you want to be alone sometimes?”

“Well…yes, but…” But I’d thought we were having a good time.

“Aaaaah, s’not fair!”

Aziraphale moved to kneel beside the demon, and Crawly rolled over, sitting up so he could watch Aziraphale heal his legs. “I used to handle actual stars, you know. In my bare hands! Now look, I can’t even stand in the light of one without…this.” He gestured to his still-burned front.

“You were fine for many days, Crawly. You just have to be careful.” The bottoms of his feet were fine, at least. Perhaps the thicker skin had helped protect them. “And, I think, keep your robes on. They seem to block the burning aspect of sunlight.”

“But I don’t want to be careful.” Aziraphale released his foot and Crawly crossed his legs tightly so the angel could start on his chest. “I want to explore. Experience things, everything, now while I can.”

“What do you mean, while you can? The world is going to be here for a good long while, regardless of what happens to the humans.”

“Mmmmph.” His shoulders hunched forward from something unrelated to the pain, and Crawly looked away. “Not supposed to tell you.”

“Ah.” His thumb ran across Crawly’s throat. “Then don’t.”

“I’m not…actually supposed to do anything when the child is born. Just, watch the humans, learn what I can, and then back to Hell until they decide what to do with me.” He shrugged, still not looking at the angel.

“Oh.” Aziraphale’s fingers moved slowly across Crawly’s chest.

“Guess I surprised them all, with everything in the Garden. Don’t know what to do now, right? Your side has a Plan. My side needs information, to figure out what to do. So they gave me until the humans have their child, then I go back, tell them everything. Maybe...maybe they’ll send me back to Earth. Maybe they’ll send someone else. Maybe it’ll all get locked up in bureaucracy and they won’t make a decision until everything comes burning down.”

“I see.” Somehow, Aziraphale had assumed they had the same orders.

While the humans were banished from Eden, no Word had come down whether they were to be considered entirely lost. The Archangels had determined that, regardless of the status of the Man and the Woman, it was possible their child had not been completely corrupted. So Aziraphale was to assist in raising the young human, and any others that came along, asserting as much Heavenly influence as possible.

He’d thought Hell would want the same, that he and Crawly would be working…not together, but in parallel. A Guardian and a Troublemaker, guiding the little souls.

“Is that why...you’re always running around...investigating everything? Gathering information for your side?” He kept his fingers as steady as possible, tracing across Crawly’s stomach.

“Nah. Hell barely cares about the humans, you think they want to know about...flowers, and rocks, and little ducks? The way ants follow each other in lines that go on forever? No one gives a shit. I just - I want to see it all. So...I have something to remember when I’m down there again.”

“I see.” Aziraphale wished he had something more to say.

“Except I can’t do everything! Stupid…things…getting in the way. Stopping me from…what I want to do.”

“Well, your time is limited, it’s true.” Careful strokes under the eyes, sending a ripple of healing across his cheeks. That long nose was absolutely covered in tiny darker dots. “But…I don’t think this should stop you from experiencing everything you can.”

“Everything?”

Aziraphale ran his thumb across Crawly’s chin. It wasn’t necessary – all the burns were gone – but he found he couldn’t stop himself. Each touch made him feel…jittery. Electrified.

It was like the human bodies were made for contact, fingertips picking up invisible details, the bristle of little hairs, the flex of muscles at the edge of the mouth. Look, how perfectly his hand slotted on the side of Crawly’s face, cupping his jaw and cheek, thumb moving across the sharp cheekbone.

“Hnnnnngh.” Crawly shoved him back – not hard, but enough to give the demon room to scramble to his feet. “I’ll catch up.”

And once again, he vanished.

Sighing, Aziraphale called in the general direction he’d run off to, “Just make sure you don’t lie about in the sun again, I can’t be doing this every day.”

--

Seasons changed – hotter, cooler, wetter, drier. Aziraphale hadn’t yet learned how to mark the passage of time, but Crawly explained it had been almost half a year, then explained what a year was, then tried to explain how he could tell from the stars, then gave up.

The demon’s newly-browned skin seemed more resistant to the sun, but he still sometimes burned himself if he wasn’t careful. He took to wearing his robes again, but with sleeves pushed up past his elbows. Every few days he slunk back to Aziraphale for a fresh round of healing, staring determinedly at the ground between them while the angel cradled his hands and gently rubbed the burn off his forearms, the back of his neck, his cheeks. Afterwards, he usually scurried off to sit against a nearby tree.

The humans moved more slowly now, not just because the Woman’s child was nearly ready to arrive. Sometimes they would stay in one place for days at a time, experimenting with creating shelters for themselves out of leaves or reeds or branches. When they did move, it was only over short distances, trying a little closer to the trees, then a little farther from the river’s edge.

Aziraphale found he had a great deal more time now, and not much of an idea what to do with it.

He tried keeping closer to Crawly. To keep an eye on the demon, yes, but also because…it felt right. It made the hollowness he felt vanish for a little while, particularly whenever he saw that look in his golden eyes, the burning passion that was woven into every disrespectful question, every ill-advised endeavor. It was unlike anything Aziraphale had ever seen before. More and more, he found he could hardly look away.

He felt he needed to do more. When Aziraphale found a new and interesting type of berry, he wanted to share with Crawly, find out what he thought. When he greeted the demon on returning to their resting spot, he wanted to straighten his robes, his hair, rub a bit of dirt off his cheek. When they sat, he wanted to move closer, until their fingers brushed, until the warmth of another body tickled down his side.

And yet, any time he indulged one of these whims, the need for more only grew stronger.

Disgraceful, really. Maddening. If this was some sort of human instinct, perhaps he should return to Heaven and have the body adjusted. He could ignore the body’s need for sleep, for food, for almost anything else - there was no reason this one instinct should be so much more powerful than the rest, unless something was wrong.

Besides, his actions tended to send Crawly scampering off again, vanishing for most of the day.

It was very hard not to follow.

--

After the half-moon set, Aziraphale had very little to do apart from watching the banked fire in the distance and waiting for the sun to rise. Crawly wasn’t talking, for once, lying on his back nearby, either studying the stars or drifting off to sleep.

Aziraphale thought he saw some movement in the human camp, shadows at the edge of their shelter. They sometimes woke before dawn, but rarely did much apart from hold each other and talk in soft voices. Seeing it always made Aziraphale’s arms itch in a strange way. But there seemed to be too much movement this time.

“Crawly. Crawly!”

“Whaaaaa?” He shifted in his awkward, ungraceful sprawl but didn’t turn his eyes away from the stars.

“Can you see anything?”

“Mmmmh?”

“The humans!” It was Aziraphale’s angelic instincts this time, his Guardian mind telling him something was wrong, that he was needed. “Something is going on over there, but I can’t quite make it out.”

Slowly, too slowly, Crawly rolled onto his side and glanced at the shadowy figures. “S’fine. Just moving those reed mats around.” He slumped back, wriggling around again. “You think those things are comfortable?”

“They’ve been using them every night, so I imagine they are.” Aziraphale kept his eyes on the distant figures, even though Crawly seemed to have lost interest already.

“Cuz this ground. S’really starting to make my back hurt.” He arched his spine, stretching. “Another design flaw, you ask me. S’like this body isn’t even made to be bipedal. Hurts if you walk too much, hurts to sit, hurts to lay on the ground.”

“My back doesn’t hurt,” Aziraphale lied piously. “Perhaps you’re just using it wrong. I’m fairly certain you’re not supposed to just…fling your limbs all over like that. Not to mention the way you walk.”

“What’s wrong with the way I walk?”

“Nothing,” Aziraphale said, a little too quickly, pressing his lips together. Lately, Crawly had been trying to swagger, but he hadn’t quite gotten it down yet. It was more a meandering progression of flailing limbs, an embarrassment to watch, and Aziraphale always had an almost overwhelming urge to pull Crawly against him and tell him to stand still.

“S’right. Nothing wrong with that.” Crawly turned back to the stars again, deep in thought.

A flare of light drew Aziraphale’s attention, but it was just the Man building up the fire a bit, crouching outside the shelter. Unusual, he supposed, but everyone got restless sometimes. Seeing the flames reflected off the Man’s dark skin, Aziraphale felt himself relax. He wasn’t needed here, a thought that was both soothing and slightly disappointing.

A few more pokes at the fire, and the Man picked up another woven mat and carried it back inside.

Aziraphale could just make out the shadowy shape of the Man offering the mat to the Woman, shifting her onto it to lay more comfortably. Once again, Aziraphale felt that itch in his arms, that ache in his chest for a warmth that had nothing to do with fire. He was often alone, in the Garden, in Heaven – but only now, wandering the world, did it have a physical effect on him. Aziraphale wondered how much longer he could bear it.

He glanced over at Crawly, and for some reason remembered a pear offered on a hot day. It wasn’t wrong to give his body the refreshment it needed. Even if the offer was made by a demon. Surely, surely if his body had a comparable need for contact, there was no harm…

Aziraphale made a decision and rose to his feet.

“Here, this should make you more comfortable.” Crawly twisted around, and Aziraphale smiled a little at the shocked expression that crossed his face. The angel shook out the mat he’d miracled up, making it snap in the wind. It was modeled after the ones the humans used, but better; Aziraphale had a little insight into materials they hadn’t yet found in the world, ones that would be a bit softer, provide a little more support.

“Angel, what are you—?”

“You’ve complained enough for one night, haven’t you? I know how to take a hint.” One more shake and the mat stretched across the ground. “Go on. See if this makes your back feel any better.” He crouched on the ground beside it and smiled encouragingly.

“Look…s’not that bad. I was just. Making conversation.” Crawly rolled onto his side, but still eyed the mat as if it might turn into a crocodile.

“Fine. Let’s make conversation. I’ve designed a new sleeping mat and would like your opinion.” He pressed his hand against it, showing how the mat compressed slightly. “Do you think the one is enough? Sometimes the humans pile a few together, but that might not provide much advantage. Come, now, I want to know your thoughts.”

Crawly’s eyes finally flicked up to look into Aziraphale’s face, then shot back down to stare at the mat again. “It’s, ah…” Crawly ran one finger along the soft surface. “It’s big enough for two.”

“Is it?”

Aziraphale doubted his tone sounded as casual as he meant it. Already the heat was rising in his face. It was, of course, a foolish idea. And painfully obvious. But these human bodies were not designed to go for half a year with only minimal physical contact. He craved it, like he craved food, rest, a comfortable seat, and he just…very much needed to feel…closeness.

He’d thought he could resist it. He was supposed to be stronger than this.

“You don’t sleep.”

“You do.” He’d seen how the humans slept, the Man pressed against the Woman’s back, arm across her protectively. He thought about it at night, and sometimes during the day. There was no reason Aziraphale should want that, no reason he should have any desire to protect a demon, and yet…he did.

“I nap. During the day. When it’s hot.”

“There must be a reason they sleep at night.” Aziraphale leaned forward, pressing his hands on the mat. It was more than just a physical need. He wanted to see Crawly smile. Wanted to feel him slowly relax inside the circle of his arms, trusting and content. He wanted to whisper secrets in the darkness, like the humans did. They had no need to whisper, there was no one to overhear, and yet they did, and Aziraphale wanted to know why. “Let’s find out. You’re the curious one.” Hands a little closer, until they almost touched Crawly’s. “You told me you want to experience everything.”

“Tempting me?” Crawly didn’t smile. He looked tense, almost panicked. Aziraphale lifted a hand to reach towards him, and the demon flinched. “I…I can’t.”

Aziraphale’s stomach plummeted, a wave of shock, of disappointment, of shame. “Crawly…”

No. He wouldn’t argue. What more was there to say? This was his foolishness, Crawly had rejected it. There was no need to drag things out. “Of course.” A wave of his fingers, and the offending mat was gone. “Don’t know what I was thinking.”

Crawly still looked away, past the human encampment, away across the endless expanses of desert.

“I…didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable,” Aziraphale said. No wonder Crawly always fled from him. He needed to learn…boundaries. Needed to learn control. His fingers had already reached out to tuck a lock of hair behind Crawly’s ear, but Aziraphale forced them to stop, hovering in the empty night. “It was never my intention to—”

Crawly grabbed his hand and, fast as anything, pressed his lips to the knuckles. Then, just as suddenly, he surged to his feet and started walking away.

“Wait!” He hadn’t let go of Aziraphale’s hand, and the angel pulled him back, so sharply Crawly nearly fell. “Don’t just – we need to talk about this, Crawly! What I’m feeling – I don’t understand it, but – if you feel it too—”

“I don’t, I don’t know what you’re…let me go!”

“Crawly, please!” Aziraphale still knelt in the dirt, clinging to the demon’s hand in confused desperation. “Yes, these – these human emotions are confusing and intense, but we can’t just ignore them. It was foolish of me to try and act on them, but—”

“Don’t talk to me about human emotions, Angel, you have no idea—”

“Then tell me!” Aziraphale squeezed his hand, wishing Crawly would look at him. “Regardless of – of everything else, Crawly, I want to help. I care about you!”

The words seemed to echo through the empty plain, across the river, up to the stars above.

It really was that simple wasn’t it? Human emotions and Guardian instincts and everything else aside, Aziraphale had simply come to…care about his enemy.

“You—!” Golden eyes turned back, wide with shock. “You said – But I’m—”

Crawly jerked his hand free, stumbled back two steps, and fell.

Except that what landed on the ground was not a red-haired, pale-skinned demon, but an enormous black serpent with a red belly.

“…Crawly?”

The serpent stared at him a moment, then shot out across the desert.

“No, get back here!” Aziraphale ran after him, fast as he could go, but the black shadow moved too quickly. “Crawly, wait!” Already he was vanishing into the night. “Crawly, please! Let me help you!”

But the serpent had vanished, as Crawly always did.

Aziraphale found his legs were shaking, trembling, until he could hardly stand. Even tugging his sleeves and smoothing his robes was not enough to set things right. He stumbled across the brown sand to sit on a rock, trying to make sense of it all.

Two puzzles presented themselves: What had he just seen? And what had he just said?

I care about you. And not in a…Guardian Angel way, aloofly wishing to ensure his charge’s safety. This was something different, something not at all of Heaven. He thought of the way the humans took care of each other, as equals. Not just providing safety, but happiness, and taking it from the other in turn. There was a gentleness in their actions, hiding a deep burning passion that would quite possibly consume an angel. He certainly didn’t feel that for Crawly, but…could he? Was this how it started?

What he felt just now was worry. He knew Crawly had come to Earth as a serpent, of course, had seen that with his own eyes. He didn’t think the transformation had harmed Crawly, but…it wasn’t supposed to happen. His shift to a human form was supposed to be permanent.

And the way Crawly had transformed…the suddenness…his distress beforehand…it hadn’t seemed entirely voluntary.

As he sat there thinking, one long streamer of shadow detached itself from the night and slid closer, coiling itself by his feet.

“Crawly?” Familiar golden eyes reflected the light of the stars as the serpent’s head rose. “Can you still understand me?”

Slowly, the serpent – Crawly – nodded, then tilted his head to the side. Yes, but not well, Aziraphale guessed. That made sense; this form didn’t have ears, and demonic senses could overcome only so much.

“Are you hurt?” Crawly shook his head. “Can you…change back?” Another shake, and he looked up at the stars, slowly progressing across the sky. Not yet.

“Why…” Too many questions, buzzing around Aziraphale’s mind. Crawly was the one who knew how to handle questions. Where to even begin? “Why did you run away?”

“Sssssshame.” It was hard to make out the word in the hiss.

“Shame? But why would you feel…” Aziraphale slid off his rock, kneeling next to Crawly. “There’s…you don’t have to be ashamed.” The serpent pulled back, coiling into himself, tucking his head somewhere along his body until everything appeared to be a black knot of night.

“No, listen. I’m the one who should be ashamed.” Aziraphale reached a hand towards the cool black scales, but stopped just shy of them. “I…I have behaved reprehensibly. Saying…all manner of things. Touching you when you didn’t want to be touched. And my actions tonight…no. It was my choice to – to indulge, to explore these new emotions, but I never should have attempted anything without seeing if you felt the same. Crawly, I never wanted to upset you…”

As he spoke, the narrow head emerged from the coils and shook, indicating a negative.

“No? Am I…wrong about something?”

A nod, but Crawly wouldn’t meet his eyes.  Something worse, perhaps? “Can you…tell me what’s bothering you?”

“Ssssss.” This time he could decipher nothing.

“That…let’s try another way.” Once again, Aziraphale stretched out a hand. Crawly pulled back his head, looking at it uncertainly until Aziraphale lowered it back to the ground. “Sorry. You don’t want to be touched, do you?”

A nod, followed by a complicated ripple down fifteen feet of serpent that might have been a shrug.

“Alright. Let’s see…did this happen all those times you ran off?” A nod. “And…do you have any control over it? Changing to this form, I mean.” A shake. “What about changing back?” A head tilt and another rippling shrug. What did that mean? Some control? He wasn’t certain if he had control?

Well, that wasn’t important right now.

“Do you know what…causes this?” Nod, again not meeting Aziraphale’s eyes. “Can you tell me?”

“Sssssssss.” A defeated head shake.

“Well…I know it was usually when we were talking, or when I…reached out or…” He swallowed. “It’s my fault?” Of course it was. It was so blindingly obvious. Foolish Principality, invading Crawly’s space again and again, driving him away, forcing him to change form.

But Crawly shook his head frantically. “Sssssss.” This one sounded frustrated. “Ffffffff. Fffffeeeel.”

“Feel?”

“Ffffeeeel. Hhhhhhaby.”

“Feel happy? Feel…Crawly, are you telling me you – you change into this form every time you feel happy?” A nod, this one eager. “But you’re always happy! Or most of the time. Not tonight, though, you were very sullen and…”

But Crawly shook his head again. “Hhhhhhhaby.”

“You were happy?” Nod. “That…I came over with that mat and…?” Nod. “And that I said I…care about you?” Nod, and his snout moved a little closer to Aziraphale’s face.

“So, you change when you’re happy. Very happy, I assume.” Nod. “And…I’m the one who…?” Another nod, this one looking more embarrassed.

Aziraphale lowered his gaze, feeling strangely pleased that he could have this…incomprehensible effect on another being. Oh, it wasn’t something to be proud of, but it made that warmth surge inside, to think that of all the things that made Crawly happy...

“Ah. But. Um. Why change? You said it wasn’t because you wanted to.” Head shake. “Then why?”

“Sssssss.” Crawly drooped. Whatever it was, he couldn’t explain it in this form.

“Never mind then.” Aziraphale stood up again, dusting off his robes. “Ah. How long to change back? You’re usually gone for hours.” A nod. “Oh.” Aziraphale glanced over his shoulder, back towards the human encampment. Surely…they would be fine on their own…for one night. “Should I stay with you?”

“Ssssssssssss.” The serpent pulled back into his coils again, but, after a long pause, emerged to nod slightly.

Aziraphale smiled, settling back onto the rock. “It’s my pleasure, dear fellow. What can I do to make you more comfortable?”

“Ssssss.” Crawly reached forward and rested his head on Aziraphale’s knee. “Ssssss?”

“Oh.” Serpents were, after all, much simpler creatures than humans. A human body needed many things to be happy, physically, mentally, and emotionally, as Aziraphale was rapidly learning. But a snake only desired heat. “Yes. Of course.”

Crawly darted forward, twisting himself up Aziraphale, wrapping around his stomach, his chest, his shoulders, tail twisting down around one leg, head coming to rest by his cheek. Aziraphale managed to get one arm free, the other pinned against his ribs. A squeeze went through Crawly’s body, gentle and brief, as he settled into place. “Ffffffffffine?”

“Yes, this…this is perfectly fine.” He scratched one finger carefully on the back of Crawly’s head. The serpent leaned into it, then shook free to tuck his head under Aziraphale’s chin. Another brief ripple of a squeeze, before bit by bit Crawly drifted off to sleep.

“Have pleasant dreams,” Aziraphale said, fingers stroking the black scales wrapped around his belly.

It wasn’t what he’d imagined. And yet, Aziraphale did spend the night with Crawly pressed tightly against him. He did provide his companion with comfort and safety.

Not at all how he’d thought it would happen, but Aziraphale was still radiantly happy.

--

“Itsssssstupid,” Crawly muttered, still lisping a little after his change back.

“I’ll be the judge of that. Just tell me.”

Crawly had awoken just as the stars had begun to fade, quickly twisting free of Aziraphale to transform back into his usual shape. He’d explained, somewhat embarrassed, that sleeping usually helped him change back quicker, and that sometimes he even woke up back in his humanoid form. This had presented Azirapahle with a very interesting mental image that he didn’t have time to indulge just now.

Crawly walked beside him, golden eyes darting in the pre-dawn light, reading Aziraphale in an instant before turning to stare at the ground again. “It isssss.” Crawly clenched his jaw and continued more carefully. “Sspent too long in the sserpent body. All that time in Hell. But. Ssnakes don’t…have emotions. Not like human bodies. Sso…I get…overwhelmed. And I can’t hold my shhhape anymore.”

“I see.” Aziraphale carefully studied Crawly out of the corner of his eye, almost afraid to look at him straight on. “And all those times you ran away?”

“I can ssort of…feel it coming. I have a little time to get away, but there’ss nothing I can do to sstop it.” He swallowed, seeming angry with his own mouth. “Stop it.”

“But why would you need to get away?”

“Ngh. I mean. You’re the enemy, I’m not supposed to…” Aziraphale couldn’t hide his pained expression fast enough, as Crawly’s eyes flicked over again. “And…it’s embarrassing. Don’t want to be that snake anymore. This is me now. This body.” He took a breath. “I…didn’t want you to think less of me. Because I can’t control myself.”

“I would never!” Aziraphale stopped walking entirely, but managed to fight down the urge to grab Crawly’s shoulders. “My dear fellow, we’re both learning to control ourselves here. You might be struggling with it physically, but I assure you…” He thought back over the choices he’d made since leaving the Wall. Things he’d said, ways he’d reached out and pulled back with almost no warning. Blaming it on urges and instincts, but he could have resisted if he’d wanted to, could have spoken about his feelings, could have done many things that were better, wiser, kinder. “I thought there was…something between us. Some understanding. But I was completely unaware of your struggles the whole time. I have been abominably selfish.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself.” Crawly watched his toe trace lines in the dirt. “I think this…whatever it is, that makes you act the way you do and makes me so…mind-numbingly giddy I can’t keep my shape…I mean. It’s meant for the humans. We’re the first angel and demon to feel it. Of course it isn’t easy.”

“But…you do feel it, too?”

“Think so, yeah.”

Aziraphale tried to fight back the smile, but there was no stopping it. He turned away, preserving at least a little dignity. “So…what do we do about it?”

“Dunno.” Then, softer, “I want to touch you. Your hands, your face. I’d only...you know…but I want to.”

“I as well. It’s…I’m resisting but…it seems to grow harder every day.” He smoothed his hands down his robe. “Do you suppose it will always be this way? Between us? With every being we spend enough time around?”

“I hope not. It wouldn’t feel as…important if it were common. And it’s…distracting. I miss just talking.”

“As do I.” Aziraphale turned back in time to see Crawly’s smile. “I suppose…if it’s a question of the human-shaped corporation, you could always have it adjusted. Remove the troublesome emotions.”

“No!” The vehemence of Crawly’s voice startled him. “Aziraphale, that’s the last thing I want. I told you before, I want to – to experience everything this world has, including stupid human emotions. I don’t need them taken away I need…I need to build up a tolerance.” He nodded, staring ahead. “That’s it. A little at a time until…until…”

“Until you can feel whatever you want. Without…repercussions.”

“Nh. Don’t know how I’ll pull it off but..yeah. It, ah…” Another quick glance. “What about you? Probably help with your angelic duties if you didn’t have to worry about…all this.”

“It probably would.” They started walking again, slowly, side by side. “But I think…I think I would also like to experience all this world has to offer. And I can learn to control myself.”

They continued in silence for a little while, each lost in his thoughts.

“Do you think it will take much longer?” Aziraphale asked, twisting his fingers.

“You definitely need to learn patience, Angel.” Crawly grinned. “Yeah. Um. Remember when I tried to explain what a year was? Probably lots of those.”

“Ah. Is there…anything I can do to help?”

“Ngk. Well. You—”

A high-pitched scream echoed from the camp ahead, long and drawn out.

“The humans!”

They both took off at a run.

--

In the end, despite half a year of careful observation, Aziraphale and Crawly did very little. By the time they arrived it was nearly over; by the time they’d finished awkwardly re-introducing themselves – and convincing the Man not to skewer them on a flaming sword in a blind panic – there wasn’t much to be done except provide encouragement.

The Child was born, a healthy young boy who shouted quite indignantly at the inconvenience of it all.

The human race had truly begun.

Much later, as the Man and Woman rested, Aziraphale held the tiny baby in his arms. The boy had settled down somewhat, now that he was wrapped tightly and warm, and looked in danger of falling asleep in the angel’s arms.

“How does it feel?” Crawly asked, sitting at the edge of the camp.

“Oh, I can’t – it’s incredible, Crawly. I know he’s just a little thing but – I can feel it, his presence, his potential. Everything he can be, good and bad, and it’s just—” The baby opened his mouth in a wide yawn. “…It’s adorable.”

“You’re pathetic,” Crawly said, but with a smile, rising to stand closer, peering over Aziraphale’s shoulder at the Child. “So? Everything there? I know you spent about an eternity counting fingers and toes. Didn’t think it took that long to get to twenty.”

“They’re just the most precious little things! Look – look at his ears.”

“I’m looking.” One hand stretched out uncertainly, tracing along the Child’s cheek. The baby turned his head immediately, searching, sucking on the fingers he found. “Look at that. Not even a day old, searching for food, trying to survive. They just…they just keep going, huh?”

“I suppose so.” Holding the Child filled an emptiness in Aziraphale he hadn’t known was there, not the strange magnetism that drew him to Crawly, but that deep desire for connection, the need to walk with the humans, to be known. Accepted. Though it wasn’t all that different, he reflected. Two sides of the same…two-sided object. A need to not be alone. “Do you want to hold him?”

“Angel…” Crawly’s hand drifted back to the Child’s head, resting on the nest of dark downy curls. “Aziraphale. I really don’t think I can.”

He turned around, and was surprised to see tears in Crawly’s eyes.

“Sssstupid, huh? Child’s got nothing to do with me. But…” He turned abruptly and walked away from the camp.

“Crawly, wait!”

“Nope. This was it, Angel. Just on Earth until the kid was born.” He turned back and shrugged, arms spread wide.

“That doesn’t mean you have to go now.”

“I can feel them calling already. In here.” He tapped the side of his head. “Longer I wait, more likely they’ll send someone to get me, and that’ll just be...messy. And what am I supposed to do now, anyway? Sit here and watch you...carry him around...wishing I could...” He bit his lip. “What would be the point?”

“But…but I thought…”

“Yeah, I thought, too. But what can we do?” Crawly looked down at the ground, rubbing a hand across his forehead. “Look. Take care of them, alright? They don’t need your help. They’re smart. But…be kind. S’what you’re best at.”

“But…” Aziraphale looked down at the future of humanity in his arms. “Is that enough?”

“It’s everything.” Crawly stiffened, clenched his fists. “Shit.”

“What? What’s wrong?” Aziraphale took a step forward, and immediately the Child started fussing, sensing his anxiety.

“Well. Guess it’s not just happinessssss.” He swallowed hard, clearly fighting something. “Look. Angel.” Crawly walked back to hover beside Aziraphale again. “I – I really liked working with you. I hope…If I get another chanccccce…” He shook his head, then leaned in and pressed his lips to Aziraphale’s cheek.

It spread across his face, a warmth, a blush, a smile, blooming like a flower.

Aziraphale turned his head, catching Crawly’s lips with his own. He’d seen the humans do this from afar, and he’d wondered why, but now…

Now he knew.

Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, Crawly was gone, and a large black snake slithered away, fast as a shadow.

The Child started to cry. Aziraphale rocked him, bounced him a little. “No, dear, don’t worry. We’ll see him again.” The taste of Crawly was still on his lips, new and intriguing. “Nothing ends today. This is the beginning of our story.”

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Thank you for reading! If that ending wasn’t satisfying enough, I recommend the fic Snuddles (Snake Cuddles) as a very distant epilogue.