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keilemlucent · 4 years

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boneless wings

(T!)

word count: ~1.6k

You’re feeling shitty and Keigo is more than willing to help you out.

just a short little thing. just tooth rotting fluff, soft keigo, very sweet, nice. nesting fic with avian hawks. enjoy a soft, feel good piece.

enjoy a feel good piece y’all ;^)

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Sometimes, you just have shitty days. It’s just a fact of living and breathing, somedays just fucking suck and it’s just how it is. You knew this. You were well aware.

And, you were having one.

The weird, gluey feeling in your chest didn’t go away, no matter what you did. You tried the kitschy self-care that those online magazines recommended. Yoga, face masks, drinking fucking water—

None of it worked, so you gave up, opting to nest in your living room. You padded it with pillows, blankets, and a few plushies. You didn’t much feel like eating, mouth dry despite the extra water you had chugged in desperation.

You resigned yourself to riding out your nastiness, ambiently watching TV with half-lidded eyes. The constant pattering of drizzling rain relaxed you, but the gray sky it brought with it was hardly welcome.

Your phone rang in the early evening, pulling you from your stupor.

You answered without checking the caller ID, “Hello?”

“Angel!” Keigo’s voice was like sunshine through the phone. “Have you eaten? I found a great street vendor that I want to take you to. You down?”

You sighed into the receiving, nestling in your blankets. You weren’t up for much moving.

“I’m sorry, Kei’,” You hated how weak your voice sounded. “I’m not feeling so hot. I think I’m staying in for the day.”

You could hear his frown through the phone, “Aww, babe! Why didn’t you tell me? I’ll bring you some soup! Maybe dumplings, if you’re feeling that.”

“No, love, it’s not that kind of sick,” You rubbed at your eyes.

Keigo had made it very clear early in your relationship that for all of the hoops and secrecy you had to jump through for him, he wanted to be more than there for you. He was insanely nice and supportive if you let him.

Especially on your shitty days, you struggled to tell him how rotten you were feeling.

“Dove,” His voice was so sweet from the phone, worming its way through your depressive haze. “You want me to come over? Snuggle you a little, order in some food you like? You know I’m here for you, (Y/N).”

You swallowed, rubbing at the wetness around your waterline, “I don’t wanna trouble you, ‘Kei, you know that.”

“Now I gotta come over, Dove. You’re never trouble. Guess I gotta show you.”

“Keigo—”

He hung up before you could argue.

Though, you did receive a text shortly after.

[heart eyes chicken wing]: i’ll be over in 30, okay?

[heart eyes chicken wing]: i’m gonna kiss u so much

[heart eyes chicken wing]: you want me to stay over? i’m the big spoon 4 u ALL NIGHT!!

[heart eyes chicken wing]: i love u so much dove!!!

You swallowed, rubbing at your tears. Sure, Keigo was a bit overbearing. He was actually pretty new to the whole ‘dating’ thing, but he really tried. And on your shitty days, it did feel better to have someone close.

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Keigo arrived a half an hour later, knocking on your balcony door.

You hauled yourself from your nest, quickly dodging to the bathroom to grab him a towel for his wings.

Padding to the door, you unlocked and slid it open, stepping aside for Keigo and only looking at the ground. You handed the towel to which he thanked you promptly. There was a bag in his hand that was dropped to the ground, a bit damp from the mist outside.

Standing next to him, you felt a little pathetic, to say the least. Standing in front of him in nothing but sweats and an oversized sweater, eyes scratchy with old tears, and a mess of unattended hair.

“Oh, baby,” Keigo’s voice was so empathetically sad, it made your own chest ache.

You finally looked up, just as Keigo cupped your face, leaning down the slightest bit to pepper your face with kisses.

“H-hey, stop that,” You stuttered, unable to stop the fluttery feeling cracking in your chest, a little ray of warmth through the rot. “You’re too nice.”

“Nope,” Keigo dropped a kiss on the tip of your nose, pulling him into you by your waist to hug you as tightly as he could. “I’m not nice enough. You deserve the world, you know.”

“So you tell me,” You mumble against his chest, locking your arms around his neck and settling against his neck for a moment.

Keigo let you rest against him, a birdlike cooing vibrating cutely from the back of his throat as he rubbed your lower back with his thumbs.

“Thanks for coming by, Kei’. I love you,” It was in a small voice, but it was something.

“I love you too.” Keigo nuzzled into the side of your head, pressing a wet kiss to your temple. “And, of course. Anytime. Also, I brought you a little treat.”

You pulled away a little, just to eye the bag he’d dropped when he’d arrived, “Dinner?”

“Hmmm, no, but we’ll get that too,” Keigo left the embrace, but slipped your palms together. “I thought it might be nice for your bad days. It’s kind of heavy, though.”

You cocked your head to the side as he passed you the bag, topped with pastel tissue paper. Pulling it away, your eyebrows rose.

Inside, was a blanket, heavy in the bag.

“It’s a weighted blanket! Rumi was talking about how helpful they are for Fuyumi when she gets anxious, and I figured it might help you too,” Keigo beamed at you as you looked in the bag.

You were very fragile that day, and small kindnesses hit a little harder than you wanted to admit.

Your arms wrapped around his neck again, blanket dropped to the ground as you hid your damp face in Keigo’s neck.

“Thank you,” You pressed into his neck as he rubbed at your sides. “A lot.”

He squeezed you, smothering your messy hair with kiss after kiss, “Of course, dove. Anything to help you out. Now, dinner? Anything. You name it.”

...

Keigo ordered in your favorite comfort food, more than happy to make the phone call to the place for delivery.

The moment he hung up, he was eyeing your ‘nest’ on the floor.

“Uh, babe, what’s all that?” He jerked his head towards the mass on the floor.

The embarrassment in your gut stung, “It’s... I guess a nest... It’s kind of dumb, I’m sorry.”

“Hey, silly,” Keigo was on you in an instant, kissing your forehead and dragging you into him. “Don’t apologize. One, it looks comfy as hell. Two, I’m bird adjacent, and the idea of you making a nest that I can now snuggle with you in makes me like, cuddle horny.”

You snorted a laugh out, the filthy feeling your gut dulling, “Nesting turns you on?”

“Like, in a cute way,” Keigo smiled down with his honeyed eyes. He dragged you over to the nest, falling into the piles of blankets and pillows. “Like, I want to wrap you up in my wings and kiss you until you fall asleep, kind of horny.”

“Ohhh, I see,” You smirk down as he cutely adjusted the softness around his feathers, a cluster of the downy ones from the base of his wings falling around the nest. “What are those doing?”

“Gotta claim it, bird stuff,” He huffed while papping his hands on a pillow. “Get down here, dove. This nest isn’t complete without you in it, you know.”

It was a little silly, Keigo’s avian doings, but it was also very endearing to see him like this. Both he and you were being particularly vulnerable, and though you felt pretty raw, it also felt nice. Very nice.

“Oh, wait!” Keigo piped up as you fell to your knees on a soft comforter.

One of his feathers shot off, then three more, bringing the new, weighted blanket over to you and Keigo’s nest. It fell into your lap.

You carefully unfurled it as Keigo idly told you about his day, knowing all too well how it was harder for you to talk when you weren’t feeling well. You appreciated the gesture, a bit of tension rolling from your shoulders as you fully unwrapped the blanket.

As you did, Keigo plopped into the perfect nest he made, wings perfectly poised behind him.

You followed his movement, scooted closer to him. Keigo wasted no time urging your back to his chest, wrapping you the two of you up in one of his wings. The warm scent of the oil he rubbed on them instantly lulled you, eye going half-lidded. Keigo giggled, watching your sleepy reaction. He knew how to get you boneless without a single touch (in more ways than one).

He stretched for the new blanket, pulling it over the two of you, sighing at its weight, “Oh, I get it now.”

The blanket weighed down on your body, thoroughly pleasantly. The pressure lulled you even more, Keigo’s heat and steady breath only adding to your increasingly lax state.

“Like it, dove?” Keigo asked, lightly laughing as he swept a bit hair from your face. He adjusted a pillow under your head, the arm thrown over your waist drifting chastely to under your sweater to rub circles on your hips.

“Mhm, it’s really nice,” You let your eyes shut. “I’m getting a little sleepy already.”

Keigo hummed, kissing the crown of your head, a happy chirp echoing his chest, “Good, I’m glad. Very glad. You rest if you need to, angel.”

You felt your eyes well with tears at his unabashed kindness. It was so earnest with him sometimes, it was overwhelming.

Turning, you pressed your front to him, nestling yourself against his neck, softening as light coos rolled from Keigo’s throat, just up against your ear.

You fell into a light, but calm sleep, happily. Keigo with his avian quirks, worn hands, and sweetest nothings, helped bear the burden of your bad day, happy to fall with you into your new nest.

(Keigo would have to convince you to make a permanent one, but with how easily you unwound and settled in this one, he didn’t think it would take much.)

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taglist: @sinclairsamess

#salem writes #drabble #ish??#u know i have the ll chapter to edit and its almost 4 am but enjoy some fluff #hawks x reader #hawks x y/n #takami keigo x reader #takami keigo x y/n #mha x reader #hawks fluff #takami keigo fluff #takami x reader #hawks x you

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veggieheist · 3 years

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Witch!AU Reylo is always a good time 🤩🙌✨🔥

More art on my Instagram✨

Story blurb down below!👇

Rated T

cn // witches , witchcraft , kidnapping , fear of assault

✨🍄✨

Kylo Ren stood in the cool shade of a tree, leaning against the wide trunk nonchalantly, ignoring the other people gathered there to take advantage of the respite from the heat. In the branches above him a mourning dove cooed, a soft sound among the chatter of people and the buzz of the cicadas.

In his hand was a piece of ashwood, small chunks carved out by the whittling knife in his other. He took care with his work, but his sharp eyes lifted every so often, focusing on the girl selling wares from her wagon across the dirt road from the tree. The heat did not seem to affect her much, her tanned skin evidence of her love for the sun.

Kylo watched her over the course of the day. She smiled at passersby, spoke matter-of-factly to those seeking tonics for ailments, laughed with a woman who seemed to enjoy telling local gossip to a new ear, and now seemed very unaffected by the flirtations of a young man.

Kylo’s eyes narrowed, his hands stilling. The boy was persistent, and she was getting irritated. When the boy tried to reach for her hand, Kylo watched as she let him, pulling close enough for her to whisper something in his ear. Kylo’s skin tingled as the magic wove through the air. The boy staggered back, a dazed look on his face, and then wandered away.

A repelling spell. Kylo scoffed. Smart. But not very smart to do something like that out here, in the open, where anyone could see. The girl’s eyes darted about, looking for the alerted gaze of someone who may have noticed her act of forbidden magic, but there was only one audience member to her indiscretion, and he had his hood up, enchanted to ward off any notice. He was as if part of the shadows; unassuming and forgettable. Her eyes slid over him as expected, and Kylo smirked, returning to his whittling.

She was the reason he was stood here, sweltering in his black robes and armor. She was a witch, even though she tried to hide it behind her simple tonics and herbs. He’d been tracking her for days, and finally caught up with her here.

He was on a mission from his master to capture her, and even though he knew not what the purpose was--she was hardly trained, seeming only to be able to harness the bare minimum of power afforded to their kind--but Kylo was not going to question it.

In the shade of the tree, Kylo wiped the sweat from his brow and adjusted his position against the rough bark of the trunk. In his hands the knife moved through the wood object, its shape taking form.

It wouldn’t be difficult to snatch her. He already had a plan; all he had to do now was wait.

--O*O--

Rey finished gathering up her wares from the table she had set up outside her wagon home, bringing them up the steps to place in the cabinet designed to neatly hold them. It had been a lucrative day, so there weren’t as many going in as she had taken out, and she patted her coin purse with a smile before hiding it.

She folded the table next to bring it inside as well, setting it back up in front of the bench seat along the right wall. Her wagon was a modest home, but cozy. Her bed was along the back wall, a nest filled with blankets and pillows, an array colorful beads on hanging strings glittered from the waning sunlight coming in through a small window.

The left side wall contained more cabinets with dishware and food, jars with herbs and preserves, and a small woodfire stove. The right side wall had more cabinets still, although these ones were kept locked. Inside were books, old scrolls, and grimoires, but also some amulets and dangerous items not meant to be handled by innocent humans.

Rey couldn’t afford to be caught, so she hid them behind concealing charms and repelling spells. No one would search those cabinets because they would seem far too boring to garner any attention.

She’d already had a close call earlier in the day, when an inquisitive constable had approached her table. He’d carried a large cross hung from his neck, and a sharp look to his eyes. She’d smiled broadly at him, hoping he couldn’t see the anxiety making her sweat. It’s just the heat, she would have said if he’d asked.

“‘Tonics and tinctures,’ eh? You a witch?” He’d crudely asked, not even trying to be tactful.

“My great great grandmother was one, sir,” she answered, a lie, probably, since she didn’t know her family, “but all I have is a penchant for medicines. I have a signed letter from a priest, Christening me as a Holy Hand.”

Most people like her did that--connected themselves to a church to avoid being burned at the stake. They were less likely to be looked at with contempt if it seemed like they were doing God’s work.

Rey just needed money to get away. To go anywhere. She didn’t know what she was looking for, but so far she hadn’t found it.

The constable had looked over her letter with a critical eye, but ultimately gave it back and continued on his way with a gruff, “Don’t stay too long.”

It was a warning she would heed. She’d be on the road by first light in the morning.

Rey brought feed and water to her Clydesdale, murmuring softly to him as he munched. “On to the next town in the morning, Bibi.” Then she whispered a spell to strengthen him and climbed the steps back up into her home. Being a Clydesdale, Bibi was the only kind of horse able to pull her wooden camper by himself, but she still tried to help with whatever magic she could manage.

Rey shut the wooden door and made a simple meal of bread and vegetable soup, eating at the table silently. By the dying light from the three windows about the cabin, Rey knew it was time to draw the curtains and ready for bed. The lamps filled the small home with warm light, and she was just reaching to untie her corset when a knock came on the door.

Rey frowned, going to it. There was a latch to open a small window and see who was calling, but it was still difficult to make out the shadowy features of the hooded man standing outside.

“I’m closed for the evening,” she said. “If you need something I can help you in the morning.”

She closed the latch before the man could answer, a wave of cold gooseflesh making her shiver. The visitor was silent, and she wondered if he’d walked away after a moment of not detecting any sound. She moved to her small closet again when the door latch clicked and swung open.

Rey stood straight, alarmed, sure that she’d locked it.

“I’m closed,” she said with more conviction, the words for her repelling spell on the tip of her tongue.

The man who entered her humble dwelling had to duck to get through the small door frame, and his head nearly brushed against the roof. He was broad, dressed in black, and as he entered Rey saw the flash of red gems embedded in the hilt of his sword at his hip.

She sucked in a breath. An inquisitor? Here? Had the constable sent for one?

But no, he didn’t carry any sign of the cross, nor did he have the stench of smoke that seemed to permeate an inquisitor as if their souls were made of ash.

This man had a darkness about him, but he was no witch burner.

He removed his hood and suddenly Rey felt like her eyes could focus again. She frowned, blinking. Strange. He was handsome, with dark hair in waves to his shoulders, a large nose somehow more elegant than ugly, and piercing eyes the color of whiskey. He seemed to not care that she had already told him twice she was not open.

Rey swallowed but steeled herself. She’d warded off enough men in her life to be able to take this one on easily.

His eyes went from scanning her to roaming around her living space. She couldn’t help to feel judged, and it made her scowl.

“If you need something, I can help you in the morning,” she said, voice hard. “Please leave.”

He finally looked back at her. Somehow he seemed to fill the entire wagon up with his presence, even though he was still standing in front of the door. That it was open helped Rey feel less trapped.

“I’m looking for something,” he said, ignoring her again. “A kind of herb. Willow’s Needle.”

Rey shook her head. “Willow’s Needle is a forbidden herb, used only by witches. I’m one of the Holy Hand, I don’t do witchcraft. Here,” she found the priest's letter and held it out for him. She tried to control the shaking of her hand. “It’s signed by Father Michael from--”

There was a gust of wind from the open door, blowing the letter from her hand and extinguishing all but one lamp that hung above her bed. The door swung shut, enclosing them together.

Rey stepped back, her heart thundering. The man stood still, staring at her with dark eyes.

“Are you here to kill me?” She asked, thinking of the knives kept in the drawer by the stove. The man was closer, but Rey knew that even if she could get one it would be no match for his sword. And even then, she had a feeling this man was far deadlier than the piece of sharpened metal at his side.

“No,” he said, taking a slow step forward. He was like an encroaching black cloud, and for all the magic Rey knew she had under her fingertips, she was finding herself far too overwhelmed by his presence to think straight enough to use it.

“Don’t be afraid,” he told her quietly, within arms reach now. “I feel it too.”

“Feel what?” Rey whispered.

His lips quirked up on one side.

“Magic.”

His hands rose and Rey took an alarmed step back, gathering strength to try and throw him with a spell, but she stopped. Lights began to sparkle to life as he whispered into his cupped hands, a dazzling display of power that Rey hadn’t witnessed in years. Not since she was a child, before she was taught to keep hidden.

Her curtains were closed so one would see this forbidden show except her, but it still felt like she shouldn’t even be looking. What if someone saw? What if they accused her of it?

The man lowered his hands to show her his creation, and Rey stepped closer, entranced, warmed by the light. She gave a delighted gasp at the tiny bird made of magic nestled in his gloved palms, and she glanced up to see a much softer expression as he watched her in turn. Rey looked back at the bird, shy in the face of this nameless man’s attention. This rare male witch.

All at once it didn’t matter that he had barged into her home and frightened her. He was like her, and maybe that meant he was lonely too. Maybe he was here to find a traveling partner. Someone to be himself with.

Rey’s heart ached to be truly seen by someone who wouldn’t be afraid of her.

She’d instinctively held her arms to her chest in a shield when he’d advanced, but now one hand unclenched, wanting to show she wasn’t afraid, that she accepted his magic. The little bird chirped a twinkling song, and Rey smiled, wanting to see if it was as soft as it looked.

“Go on,” the man murmured, as if he could hear her thoughts. “You can take it.”

Rey smiled and accepted the warm illusion into her own palms. It was a very convincing mirage, one she had never been able to conjure herself. She looked up again, but the man’s face was closed again, his eyes sharp, and all at once Rey felt the illusion evaporate. As soon as the small wooden carving of a bird touched her skin, her whole body froze.

She couldn’t move. Only her eyes widened in horror at her error. Ashwood.

“It’s a paralysis charm,” he explained as her dread rose. “Carved into the wood. A simple thing, really. Any witch worth her salt would have been able to detect it.” He stepped close, all warmth gone, his cold eyes calculating as they scanned her frozen form once again.

“I don’t know why my master would want a weak vagrant like you, but I suppose you’ll have your uses.”

Rey could only whimper at the implication, and she wished she could move and fight back. But her hands had seized around the bird figurine as if in a cramp, and she knew she would not become unfrozen until it was no longer in her grasp.

The dark witch-man bent and easily picked her up into his arms, her body pliant but still out of her control. He took the few steps to her bed and settled her down in the pillows. Her eyes watched him fearfully, the worst thoughts of his intentions flitting across her mind, a desperation beginning to bloom in her breast that nearly had her whining in an attempt to beg him not to defile her.

But he actually pulled the edge of her skirts down to cover her exposed calves, and then straightened, not giving her unguarded body a second glance.

“You should try to sleep,” he told her. “Fretting won’t do you any good, and the spell won’t go away until the bird does.”

And then he turned and left, the wood creaking beneath his heavy boots, the door clicking shut behind him. Rey heard the lock latch into place, and then the sounds of heavy hoofs, and straps being moved. The wagon lurched as Bibi was attached to his leads, unfamiliar with the man doing it. Rey willed the horse to stomp him, to run away and find help for her, but she felt a wall in her mind.

Whoever this witch-man was, he was far more powerful a person than Rey had ever encountered before.

She heard boots climbing to the perch near the window by her bed, and then the flick of reins. The next time the wagon lurched, it stayed in motion, the whole cabin swaying and jostling from the unpaved road.

Rey had no idea where she was being taken, or by whom, but she knew if she was going to survive this kidnapping she was going to have to use all of her wits she could muster.

Anything less and she was sure to succumb to whatever dark agenda awaited her at the end of this journey.

✨🍄✨

#reylo #star wars #witch #witch au #witchcraft #rey #kylo ren #kylo x rey #witch!rey #witch!kylo #fanfic #fanfiction #my art #Reylo art

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chibinightowl · 3 years

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Spectre of the Past

There was a post over the weekend that had some panels from the Contagion storyline where Tim had the Clench. This little nugget was inspired by that.

Dick made his way down the long corridor in the family wing of the manor, carrying a tray prepared by Alfred. Ahead of him, he could already hear the loud, painful cough coming from his destination.

Tim’s bedroom.

Each cough might as well be a punch in his gut, bringing with it a memory of another time Tim was sick. Of a time when he still had a spleen, but a virulent contagion with no known cure tore apart his immune system and left him bleeding from the eyes as his body was wracked by fever.

Opening the door, the image of a younger Tim briefly superimposed itself over the figure lying prone on the bed before Dick shook away the ghosts from the past.

“Hey, Timbo,” he said, forcing a cheerful tone he didn’t quite feel. “Got some goodies for you from Alfred.”

Tim cracked open a bleary eye. “Is it a tranquilizer?” he croaked. “I think I’d like one of those instead.”

Dick set the tray down carefully on the desk. The space he’d cleared earlier for the first one was still there, a clear sign that the often overworked bird hadn’t left his nest. “Nah, Leslie doesn’t love you that much. But I do have a wonderful horse pill for you to swallow after you have some of Alfred’s soup.”

“Joy.” Tim scrunched his face like a kid, but he allowed Dick to help him sit upright, aided by a mountain of pillows.

“Think you can feed yourself?” Dick asked, wiping back Tim’s sweat-soaked bangs from his forehead. A shower was definitely in order too. It would give Alfred time to sneak in and change the bedding. The old butler was chafing at being told he couldn’t go near Tim until after his young charge had been on antibiotics for at least twenty-four hours.

“Do I look that pathetic?”

“You really want me to answer that?” Dick tried and succeeded at a real grin this time.

Tim snickered, which had him doubling over in pain as coughs wracked his body. With his fists clenched tight and eyes squeezed shut, the similarities to the Clench were enough to force Dick to turn away. Blinking hard, he chanted it’s not the same over and over until a hand touched his shoulder.

“Dick?” Tim’s voice sounded even worse than before. “You okay?”

Giving himself a shake, Dick looked back on his little brother. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

Tim gave him a small smile. “I don’t have the Clench, Dick.”

Even with a fever and bronchitis, there was no pulling a fast one over on him. This was what happened in a family full of highly-trained detectives.

Dick let out a weak chuckle. “My little trip down memory lane that obvious?”

“Yeah, but only because Bruce snuck in here earlier when he thought I was asleep and snuck a blood sample.” Tim shook his head with no small amount of amusement.

This was how Bruce showed he cared, along with being the one person who’d sit up with them at all hours of the day or night until he himself passed out. Since there were no signs of him lurking around, Dick could only assume he was ensconced in his lab down in the cave.

Clearing his throat, Tim continued. “If it helps, I promise to let you know if I feel worse than I do now. I don’t ever want to go through that again.” His face took on a haunted cast and Dick pulled him into a loose hug.

Looks like he wasn’t the only one getting lost in his head.

“Okay.” He pressed a kiss to the top of Tim’s head. “Let’s get some soup down your throat then so you can swallow that pill. And after, you get to take a shower.”

“Oh, boy, really?” Tim’s face lit up with mock excitement.

“Yes, really. And if you’re good, I’ll call Jason later and have him bring you some of that spicy pho you like so much.”

Tim snorted, then coughed and reached for the tissue box. “Shoulda started with that.”

#chibinightowl writes #Dick Grayson #Tim Drake #Batfamily

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ninbayphua-moyan · 3 years

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Where The Harvest Moon Is Brightest

Sweat trickled down my back as I lugged my suitcase behind me along the five-foot ways of Penang. A sense of Saturday afternoon languidness hangs in the balmy air like a soft, heavy blanket, lulling you to sleep. A gentle breeze fleets through the walkway, pleasantly cool against the slight stickiness of my skin. I paused and took a deep breath, head tilted back with eyes closed, listening to the faint rustling of palm leaves. The air was steeped with the fresh, earthy petrichor of a recent shower, and tinged with undertones of the alluringly sweet scent of frangipanis.

Loud giggles. Shrieks of laughter. Opening my eyes, I turned towards the sound and saw a group of children playing a game of ‘The Eagle Catches The Chicks’ on the street. They dodged and ran with unabashedly childish grins plastered onto their mud smeared faces, eyes twinkling with youthful glee and carelessness. I smiled. It wasn’t that long ago when I too was a little rascal playing on these very streets without a care in the world. I remember the days when the neighbourhood kids and I would play in the streets until our mothers called us in for dinner. Oh, the adventures we had! Climbing up trees; playing in the rain; racing the roti man down the street as he rides by on his bicycle. Ah yes……the roti man……how we used to wait for him to make his rounds each evening after school……The tinkling sound of the metal cup-like object being struck with an iron rod signalling his arrival…our short legs running, shouting ‘roti!’ until he stopped by the side of the road…the chaos that ensues as we crowded around him like hungry chicks waiting to be fed, coins held tight in our sweaty little palms……

Then, I heard it. The familiar ‘Ting! Ting! Ting!’ of the roti man echoing down the street, as if summoned by my reminiscence of it. The children had heard it too. They ran towards the roti man shouting ‘roti!’, their game abandoned without a second thought. Instinctively, I started running as well, fumbling around my pockets looking for loose change to pay for the bread. I joined the little gathering crowd just as the roti man was getting off his bicycle. A tantalising aroma of freshly baked breads and buns wafted out the minute he undid the catch on the little glass framed doors of the meat-safe seated behind his bike. I couldn’t help but groan internally at the heavenly sight and smell. I watched as he slathered the savoury margarine and rich kaya onto thick slices of roti benggali, mouth watering uncontrollably. After a few minutes, he handed me a big bag of the bread to me and I dropped the money into his outstretched palm. He flashed me a quick grin before returning his attention to the next customer.

Making my way back to the five-foot way, I stuck my hand into the plastic bag and brought out a piece of warm roti banggali. Biting into the bread, I felt my tongue melting. The crispy, golden crust and soft white crumb of the bread served as a fragrant base, a sacred chapel where the buttery saltiness of the margarine and the rich, creamy sweetness of the kaya sang, each in their unique tune before harmonizing into a heavenly choir and melding into one savoury mouthful of bread. Before I knew it, I had already finished a third of what I’d bought. Realising that I wouldn’t have any left by the time I reached my destination if I continued eating, I quickly knotted up the bag and hurried along.

Ten minutes later, I came to a stop in front of a shophouse at the end of the five-foot way. A large ebony plaque hung regally above the doorway, my family name engraved upon it in golden Chinese characters. U-shaped terracotta tiles covered the roof and three full length louvred windows lined the upper floor of the two-story building. The pillars were adorned with painted, three-dimensional decorative plaster of beautifully crafted flowers. Majestic peonies and tender lotuses blooming, their elaborate and delicate carved petals unfurling elegantly. Majolica tiles lined the dado façade on the lower quarter of the walls, adding yet another splash of colour to the otherwise, dull and plain exterior. The carved timber ventilated doors stood wide open, each of its panel depicting legendary creatures of ancient Chinese folklore. The exquisitely detailed carvings of phoenixes never ceased to amaze me, even after all this time. Perching nobly on golden branches, their wings were spread wide as if to take off at any second as I gazed, entranced. Then, as the late afternoon sun shines upon their gilded bodies, it was as if those carved mystical beauties were suddenly brought to life. Their once dull sheen now aglow in brilliant shades of scarlet, orange and gold, almost as if they would burst into flames at any moment, just like in the myths of old, and be reborn from the ashes.

The sound of fluttering wings and clear melodic chirruping snapped me out of my daze. Looking up, I saw a family of swallows roosting in their nest at the corner of the roof. Ah…it was that time of the year again wasn’t it…the swallows always left the nest as the harvest moon approached. I remember how excited I used to get when they came to roost in the spring and how sad I would be when they’d left as autumn drew near. A-Poh[1] would always pick the nest once the swallows had flown, clean it and turn it into a bowl bird nest soup. She always told me it was good for the skin as well as health but I was never sure how true these claims were.

Peeking my head through the door, I announced my arrival home out of sheer force of habit. There was a loud clanging and scuffling from the kitchen as I heard a delighted shout. I had barely stepped across the threshold into the house before I was pulled into a tight bear hug by A-Poh, immediately enveloped by the familiar scent of incense and rice powder. She was strong despite her age and sometimes I couldn’t help but wonder if all her stories about bird nest soup were true. Pulling out of the hug, she gave me a quick look over and pinched my cheeks, complaining that I’ve lost weight again even though I hadn’t. I tried protesting but she shushed me with a fond pat on the cheeks and shouted for A-Gong[2] who instantly came wobbling out of the ground floor bedroom, a large toothless grin on his wrinkled face. He wrapped me into a warm hug whilst A-Poh hurried off into the kitchen, determined to stuff me up with food before anyone could stop her. I shook my head in resignation whilst A-Gong just laughed and ruffled my hair, amused.

Pouring some pu-erh tea into two clay teacups, A-Gong motioned for me to sit down, asking about my time abroad. As we sipped on the earthy fragrance of the pu-erh, I told him about my time in the UK; about its miserably wet weather; its tasteless food; its strange customs; and how much I had missed home whilst I was away. Upon hearing that comment, he chuckled heartily, a knowing look in his eyes. He too had left the comforts at home at a young age, sailing the seas to unknown lands to avoid the war. When I asked if he ever missed Hainan and his childhood home, he would always smile a little wistfully but would then shake his head saying home for him was where my A-Poh, a content look upon his wisen face. Even after all this time, they were still as in love with one another as they were back then, just like the butterfly lovers from Chinese folklore.

Halfway through our conversation, he suddenly stood up as if he had just remembered something. Giving me a wink, he disappeared out the door. I grinned, knowing exactly where he was headed off to. As I sat by the round wooden table in the living room, I gaze absentmindedly at the sparrows fleeting about A-Gong’s potted plants. The afternoon sunlight was streaming in through the lightwell, brightening the otherwise dimly lit interior. I remember still how my siblings and I would play hide-and-seek in the interior courtyard amongst those potted plants. Ah, those really were the days……

Shifting my gaze, my eyes were immediately drawn to the majolica tile floor. Its kaleidoscope of bright colours a stark contrast against the plain wooden and rattan furniture. Come to think about it, those mosaic pattered tiles were probably what triggered my interest in art in the first place…oh, the afternoons I’d spend on those cool, smooth floor drawing and trying to mimic their intricate patterns and colours…..

I was brought out of my reminiscence when a bowl of steaming hot pork dumplings was placed before me. Ahh…A-Poh’s pork dumplings. How I’ve missed it while I was away! Eagerly, I picked up the chopsticks and took a bite, my mouth immediately exploding with flavour. The saltiness of the pork meat marinated with soy sauce and sesame oil, the refreshingly sweet spring onions contrasting the meat’s saltiness, the delicately wrapped flour encapsulating it all, the slight bitterness of the herbal broth…this was my definition of heaven. Seeing me happily wolfing down the dumplings, she smiled and returned to the kitchen.

I was only halfway through my bowl of dumplings when the intense aroma of spices and chili came wafting out of the kitchen, making my mouth water. There wasn’t a need to look. I already knew what it was A-Poh was preparing. And sure enough, she came tottering out of the kitchen a few minutes later with two big bowls of hokkien-mee. Taking a seat next to me and we both dug in. I took a big slurp of soup and my tongue was instantly set on fire, the spices clashing as they performed a tango on my tongue. I had forgotten how potent the chili at home were. My lips were turning a numbing red within seconds but that didn’t stop me from downing down the entire bowl of noodles. After all, no self-respecting child of Penang would ever be caught dead bested by a bowl of spicy hokkien-mee. A-Poh chuckled as she watched me switching comically between fanning my tongue and slurping down the spicy soup.

Just then, A-Gong came walking in through the front door and I squealed in delight. He grinned, handing me the little plastic bag in his hands before sitting down. Like a child who was just given her Christmas present early, I happily started munching on the packet of ais kacang. The frozen sweetness of the shaved ice instantly cooled my burning mouth and I quickly took a few more mouthful. Content, I glanced at my grandparents and started noticing things that had previously escaped my attention. A-Poh’s once salt-and-pepper hair was now silvery white and her hands seemed more worn and wrinkled than I last remembered. The wrinkles on A-Gong’s face seemed deeper now and his hands, especially the one with a missing finger, shook a little more than they used to whenever he held something. Since when had they aged so much?

Realising that I had stopped eating, A-Gong pushed the plate of pandan cake closer to me, urging me to eat. Now, I was never much of a sweet tooth but I was particularly fond of this green coloured sponge cake that just melted in your mouth like a piece of cloud. The mild, aromatic sweetness of pandan and the light, fluffy texture of a chiffon cake, a beautiful fusion between European cake-making techniques and locally grown ingredients.

As I continued munching on the cake, I couldn’t help but smile, having realized how beautifully diverse my hometown was. Just like the pandan cake, it was a place where cultures of the East and West collided and coexisted in harmony. Yes…this little culture cocktail of an island was what I called home and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

NOTES:

[1] ‘A-Poh’ means ‘grandmother’ in Hainanese

[2] ‘A-Gong’ means ‘grandfather’ in Hainanese

[3] ‘Where The Harvest Moon Shines Brightest’ is a play on 月到中秋分外明，每逢佳节倍思亲 meaning the moon is brightest in mid-autumn; homesickness multiplies during each festival

Author's Notes:

Back with Part 4 also known as the final part of the short story slash prose pieces from uni series (this was the earliest piece I wrote in first year lol). The story takes place a year and a half after Part 3. A-Yun has finally graduated uni and has now gone home. All is well ends well. Yes I am aware that there is a slight glitch and A-Gong shouldn’t exist at this point but I wrote it before I wrote everything else so we’re bringing him back to life OuO Anyways, I hope you enjoyed reading Part 4~

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Since exams are over and graded and I've officially graduated, I can finally post my work online without having to worry about Turnitin picking it up as plagiarism because apparently you aren't allowed to plagiarise yourself according to university which is absolutely ridiculous but I'm not the one making the rules here so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Also, please don't reupload my works without permission.

#ninbayphua 墨彦 #prose #short story #constructive critisms are always welcomed #please don't repost without permission

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seb-owns-these-tatas · 4 years

Text

Witcher Of The Night (Chapter 5)

THIS IS MODERN ERA READER WHO WOKE UP IN THE DIMENSION OF THE WITCHER.

WITCHER OF THE NIGHT MASTERLIST

CHAPTER 4.1

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: Cirilla and Geralt has gotten into a big fight. Thus, leading to you learning more about witchers and having a soft spot for his child of surprise.

Warnings: Angsty? Kinda? Cirilla's having an emotional breakdown. Geralt being one stern dad and kinda mean? Jaskier being talkative in the wrong times. You being confused at everything. Boner references? HAHAHAHAH.

Words: 5,600+

A/N: You're going to kind of hate Geralt on the next chapter. I can tell. Hehehe? Or maybe noooot? Next chapter will be interesting for me! I think? Heehee! There’s going to be plot hints as well on the next chapter! THANK YOUUUUUU!

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE!

Disclaimer: PNG's used in edits are not mine even the GIF's too. However, the edits and oneshots are definitely from moi. Characters, places and said monsters aren't from moi as well.

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

Seeing the satisfaction of people smiling and humming to the food you cook was a great feeling for a person who loved cooking. Gratification would be an understatement for the feeling you were having as you've watched Ciri and Jaskier munch down on the viands you've poured your heart with.

As per usual, Geralt was only humming in satisfaction after all of his and Jaskier's attempt on making edible food. Sometimes it isn't, sometimes it is. But, most of the time; it was inedible to be eaten.

Ciri was moaning out her extreme satisfaction. Vigorously devouring the Fried Chicken like she had beeb famished for at least a year. Crumbs of the breading scattered all over her mouth and face as she scratched her forehead with the back of her soiled hand.

"How's the chicken, Ciri?"

Dishes clanging and food were being munched in the background. You swallowed your food first before asking the princess.

"Better than ever," she incoherently mumbled. Mouth filled with food as she slightly coughed from not chewing it well as she swallowed.

The bard seemed to have accepted the fact that Kolby was sitting on the far end of the kitchen, eyes twinkling for food to be thrown to him. Though, he was still being ignored by Jaskier as if he weren't in the room; probably just stingy and disturbed for his presence, "This soup is delightful!"

Jaskier waved the bone of his chicken in the air like a flag. Turning his head to look at Geralt who was silently eating his food with an apathetic expression of his that was normal for the man. "Geralt," the bard called out for the latter. "Hmm," the witcher tiredly hummed in response, "We need some ale! Please tell me you've bought one when we've last visited the marketplace,"

You've bit the tendons of your chicken. Kolby has caught your attention as he was staring out of hunger. Again. You've reached out for the grapes that sat in front of you and grabbed onto half the stem before snapping it. Throwing the fruit towards the Hirikka as it caught it with his adorable paws.

"Moop!" Kolby answered as a thank you. A very weird, high pitch sound that disturbed you at first when you heard his voice but slowly and surely getting the hang of hearing it when he was happy, sad, guilty or anything he feels.

"I've finished it all," Geralt mumbled after a second of swallowing his food.

"Oh, you drunkard!"

You've snapped your head at the bard, lower lip jutting out as you were deep in your thoughts. Your head turning as you studied your unfinished chicken.

"I can make one," you blurted out loud to Jaskier's interest, "I've studied culinary enough to make my own wine and beer or ale in this old time,"

His lips formed in an 'O' shape, entirely elated at the skills you've opted. A grin as wide as the Cheshire cat when he'd shook his head out of stupefaction.

"I am certainly wrong in calling you a rat," he gave you a boyish smile before looking at the ceilings; acting like he was talking to God, "You are one of the gods sent from above, Y/N!"

The witcher stopped chewing halfway to give you his attention before he carry on with his devouring and eyed the bard who was mischievously grinning at the bear of a man.

"Geralt here has his ears clapping because you know how to make ale," he gestured to Geralt with a newly taken chicken in the middle of the wooden table, "---now, we can seldomly visit the inns for our brotherly whereabouts or the brothels for your midnight pleasure with your whores---" the devious bard was cut off when Geralt breathed in deep and scolded him with a monotonous pitch. "Jaskier,"

Jaskier winked back at him, now moitioning for what was hidden below his pants; a hasty ridicule sent, "Don't want me stating the stiff of a bird howling out of its nest or your twig-n-berries because Y/N here has mentioned that she knows how to make ale!"

Jaskier was unaware of his hands that was flat on the table. With his fingers widely flattened and having spaces in between. He was utterly frightened when Geralt has brutally stabbed in between the spaces of it with a bread knife he never used; leaving Jaskier stammering like he'd been castrated.

"Ge--Geralt!"

You've gave them a double-take, blinking from Geralt's hostlity and his patience snapping out of a sudden. He was glaring at the bard but Jaskier was already swallowing his saliva and disgustingly coughing out bits of chicken and soup; leaving bits to spill on the sides of his mouth as he shockingly stared at the knife close to his fingers.

"Are they always slitting each other's throats?" you thought out loud, continuing your indulgement. The question sent to the Ashen princess.

"I'm afraid so," Cirilla shrugged as a matter of fact; ignoring Geralt's patience suddenly snapping; like it was their normal.

Cirilla has studied your clothes as you sat and ate silently. The both of you ignoring Jaskier's complaints about how Geralt was close to stabbing his fingers that give people; out of this world epics. It was the fingers that holds a lute which can change the witcher's name and the world. The bard continued raving out as Geralt resumed eating silently with Jaskier bombarding his peace.

"Y/N?" The pretty child called out of curiosity, "---You need clothes!" she continued with a point to your clothing. Her nose scrunching in distaste, "---Proper clothes and not ginormous clothes from Geralt,"

From the mention of his name, the man himself glanced at your direction and scooped the last drop of his soup; eyeing you both in wonder.

"We need to visit Babeth again! I want to buy Y/N a dress," Cirilla gave her best pleading eyes. The meaning of her words have another meaning as well. She probably also wanted to play with some teens she could meet out in the marketplace or if she could play with her best friend named 'Ethelia' whenever they had their weekly visit.

You responded rather hurriedly, shaking your head as you've finished your last piece of chicken; chewing the skin as you left it for your last bite to thoroughly satiate the taste, "Oh, you don't have to because I don't like dresses---"

The princess pouted before you, currently dismayed by your response, "But, you can't leave the house with just Geralt's under-Tunic! People will be looking at you strangely! Very out of the ordinary compared to the women wearing thick, warm dresses," she explained with that puppy eyes she'd been an expert in.

Cirilla was drinking her soup from the rim of the bowl in haste before dropping it with a thud. She leaned her elbows on the table, her eyes twinkling with hope as she gave Geralt the look that gets him to always say yes; all the darn time.

He didn't hate it with Cirilla. The Witcher hated it whenever it was you because he didn't think he would ever get to not say no to another person like a child with puppy eyes. What was even worse was that you weren't even a child and you were having your way that he'd even agreed on having a Hirikka in his home just like a pet.

Perhaps, he was actually short of a marble.

"Can we go to the marketplace and visit Babeth please, Geralt? You've earned enough coins to build this small house! I wanna buy Y/N clothes to wear and make her feel comfortable," she exclaimed eagerly like a child wanting for a field trip.

Geralt gave her a languid blink before studying you who sat beside Cirilla. You've given him a smile when your eyes connected; feeling all tingly on the inside. That overwhelming warmth that makes your face feel mellow with tingly insides.

The Witcher only hummed with an impassive appearance. Last time, they've gotten the chance to visit the marketplace; Jaskier was drunk and had to bed a seller in exchange for a tunic he wanted or maybe he'd just wanted her after letting a man who he had his eyes on and is as youthful as him; run away with a knight who had been drinking back in the tavern. He was probably frustrated and glum after what has happened.

Albreda was beautiful and as sexy as a fox. So, it was also a win-win situation for the bard despite of how he lost to a knight from the castle of Kaedwan. In comparison, what can his lute even do to a sword?

The young princess notice Geralt's neutral response. Never knowing if it was a yes or a big no. She puffed out a breath; slipping her fingers under her thighs as she sat on her chair when she'd hollered for the bard's attention, making him snap out of his prattles, "Jaskier, please tell Geralt that Y/N needs a set of normal clothes for her to wear!"

You smiled; completely unnerving as you wanted to repeal from the offer at hand. Jaskier gave out a hum and a quick nod was simultaneously sent when he did as he dropped the empty bone on his plate with a loud cling. "Alright, alright. I'll give a quarter of coins for Y/N,"

"See! Jaskier approves!"

The quiet witcher bluntly spoke with a rasp after he drank his water; glowering as he drank from his cup, "He doesn't even have the coins to buy his own tunic,"

Jaskier looked at him; faking the offence. Geralt gave him a shrug of his shoulders and a cocky slant of his head from the reaction.

The bard ignored the reiteration; which was a first time for everything and leaned forward on his chair, folding his arms as it rested on the table. Remembering an offer brought to him by one of the villagers back in Durriken's Tavern, "---I've heard the villagers asking for a witcher's help again,"

Jaskier clicked his tongue as he pondered, the crease of his forehead growing deeper in thought, "---Preferrably the butcher of Blaviken," pause. "The first hunt that they wanted was a Bloedzuiger, this was offered by Babeth herself because her husband has seen one in the swamps," he gestured with his index finger pointing on the ceiling like an 'you know' gesture.

Thus, the bard gestured with an 'a-okay' sign with his fingers like he was pertaining to coins as he explained further, "---Second is an Echinops with a lot more coins involved, considering the stories; it is said that its difficult to slay because it can only be seen in places where crimes have been committed or the graves of the dead. But, this was offered near Vizima. Thoroughly far. We have yet to travel,"

You had no idea what they were saying. Your narrowed eyes says so as you stared at them both. A what? you thought inside your head. A bulldozer? Itchynuts? What is it that Geralt does in his everyday life? Does he really slaughter beasts as a job like it was normal in their world?

You were completely an embodiment of curiosity and bafflement. There was a lot of knowledge that has entered your brain since that night but it seems like it wasn't enough. You needed more idea as to what was running in their world. Sad to say, the monsters were even running freely for Geralt who seemed to be needed for a kill.

Cirilla had a frown twisting her face. She'd exhaled; loud enough for the three of you to look at her as she called out for the man who sat across from her. "Geralt," and the witcher only gave a hum as a response. He knew what she was going to say and Jaskier's timing was the worst thing in the world that could happen.

"You're going? Again? I thought you were going to leave the beasts alone when you've realized that people are more evil instead?"

The latter couldn't help but give Jaskier the nastiest scowl he could offer. If anything, he wanted to throw Jaskier in a lake full of bathing Hirikkas to scare the shit out of him.

Geralt sat back on his chair as it creaked, his golden eyes complimenting his chalky white hair that fell on his shoulders in a dazzling way ever. He shook his head to her disdain, "I can't let people be killed by these beasts," his jaw clenched as a frown was etching to grow on his face, "They need my help,"

The blue eyed child was sending daggers to the witcher and you watched them both share scowls at each other from the sudden plan that uncoiled from the moment Jaskier opened his damn mouth.

"I thought you didn't want anyone needing you?" Cirilla simmered as a matter of fact as she crossed her arms.

Geralt could hear the parsimonous tone she'd kept up, making him seeth and his teeth grit as he sent another one of his tight scowls, "Then, why are you here?"

Cirilla loudly huffed to herself, snapping her gaze away from the latter. He sighed a big one, shaking his head again from the argument that is happening. "You're just worried, Princess." he nonchalantly uttered as he blinked and looked away, sounding so tired from everything.

"Of course, I am!" Cirilla suddenly fumed, voice turning a pitch higher than she intended to.

Jaskier raised his hand up after a minute of pure silence. Except for the loud sighs that both parties have been emitting. The bard cleared his throat for emphasis and both snapped their heads to look at him.

"Besides, he'd never stopped, Princess Cirilla," The man who has started the fight, declared like it would help the situation. But, no. It definitely just worsened and it made Geralt send him laser through his eyes.

A continuous set of rapid blinking happened to you at the words spoken by Jaskier himself. An inquisitive look needing quick answers given to the child sat beside you. "Y-You're a princess? Like a real princess? It's not just an endearment or something?"

"Cirilla is the princess of Cintra," the bard commented, answering your question in haste. You swallowed a lump in your throat, fingers scratching your temple when you wondered how it was possible. It is, in their kingdom and according to their time line, their era would be filled with royal empires or a hierarchy of the royal kingdom, "You mean, a kingdom? A huge kingdom? Like the daughter of a president?"

Nobody answered you at that. With Cirilla still glaring at Geralt and Jaskier looking at you weirdly by what you were blabbering about; trying so deeply to understand you.

Thus, it was as if all clouds started form; a sight of the princess breaking as it could be seen through the windows of her soul. You've took a glimpse of her and that tiny quiver of her lips and cheeks signified a little girl who was terrified of a future that was meant for her, "Why must you lie to me, Geralt?" she whispered, voice breaking as she swallowed and fought back the tears.

Your heart fell for the girl who seemed to be in an emotional battle with herself. It was like you see yourself in her. The fear that consumes her as if she had been all alone, scared and with nobody to ask for help.

She was a broken child. Emotionally.

At the sight of her tear-threatening face. Geralt gritted his teeth, whisper cusses to himself as he saw how he'd upsetted her again and so, his voice tried to soften; be a little more considerate from where she was coming from, "I had to, Princess. You wouldn't have let me go day by day if you knew where I was going," he paused, crossing his sturdy arms as he reasoned, "---besides, where was I getting food every day for us when I don't get to slaughter beasts?"

Cirilla's expression died down a little bit, her heart thumping out of her chest as she tried to dig in to her memories. There was riches under her bed back in Cintra, she remembered. "Grandmother has left gold under my bed, located in a big, brown, treasure box---"

Geralt immediately cut her off, gruffly but calmly spilling the beans for the tenth time for his whole life, "Nilfgaard has already looted the whole castle," his voice sounded stern as he uttered with no remorse; constantly reminding the princess of the truth and letting her understand, "---When I told you there was no going back, I wasn't lying."

You've tried to hold her hand that was tightly fisted across the table, yet you were too slow as she instantaneously stood on her chair with a tight-fitting frown on her face, "We leave tomorrow morning," Geralt declared as he watched her storm out the kitchen slash dining. The door being shut closed; loud enough for the trees to shake as the witcher seemed unfazed by her tantrums and sadness, "I'll give the princess what she wants, in repayment for my mistakes,"

After the accidental argument that Jaskier has made, it was already night time when both parties didn't seem to want nor have the plan to talk to each other like what they always do.

Geralt was out and nowhere to be found, with his horse as you've checked. A sudden want to ask him what happened and what it was about for you to be less of an idiot around the house and Jaskier finally regretting his mouth that ran with no thinking. The princess stayed in her chambers for seven hours already. There was no clock, but you've guessed by the evening twilight. Still, no response from the princess after an hour of convincing her it was time to eat dinner with a dessert of steamed chocolate cake you've managed to make through scrapes that you've specially created for her.

Both you and Jaskier were in front of her door, knocking repeatedly as the bard tried to woo her out of her bed. "Princess Cirilla?" he professed with a tone close enough to be considered as singing.

Seconds later, you've heard a faint yell from beneath the covers, "Leave me alone, Bard!"

The both of you sighed from her stubborness. They were both pretty obstinate; Geralt and Cirilla. You massaged your temples, eyeing the bard who had his ears flat against the door, trying to listen what was happening behind it. "Why is she mad?" it was a soft whisper that could only get Jaskier to hear. The bard shrugged, blinking back at you.

"Because," his sentence was vague, igniting a tight-lipped lour from you; totally unsatisfied by the information that was said.

He'd look at you with a faultless glint of his eyes, wondering what you were waiting for as he said his explainations as to why Cirilla was mad at the witcher. The bard sighed when you've continued to look at him lackadaisically and so he decided it was best to give a proper answer, "Geralt's been the...only one protecting her," he dubiously and quietly whispered, not giving away all the information yet.

Your frown grew tighter, cocking your head as you pondered, "---From what?"

"The people who want her as dead as a door nail," Jaskier stepped away from the door, his voice turning lower if that was even possible for Cirilla not to hear.

Shock was evident in your features. The details sounding like a bellicose. It was difficult to comprehend that somebody wanted to kill a kid who doesn't cause any harm. Or that was what you thought from what you've observed since the day you were with them. She seemed normal and harmless.

"I don't understand?" you trailed off and shake your head in a perplexed manner, "---Isn't she his child? It's obvious that he would protect her with all his life. Besides, where's the...mom?"

The mother. You were sure Cirilla was Geralt's child based on how protective he was with her. He acts like a father towards the princess. Was his wife the queen? you thought and tried to think of how the family tree works.

The bard narrowed his eyes at you; crossing his arms and leaning his shoulder on Cirilla's door with that smirk appearing on his face, "She isn't his child. She's his child of surprise,"

Your face warped into pure confusion, feeling the back of your head twitch because of how muddlesome it sounded, "Nani?! (What?!)"

From how weirder their facts get, the more you didn't even know that your words become incoherent. Jaskier eyed you like you've evolved into a Hirikka and gave you a shrug, asking you 'what?' with that weirdest expression he could create.

Your lips twitched into a small smile before it fell; realizing what he meant, "So, an illegitimate child? Where's the mom?"

The idea of continuously asking where her mother is; gave another meaning for the bard and even to yourself as well. You wanted to cringe so hard as your mouth couldn't stop itself from the utterance of your interest and the cat would be killed if Jaskier would've told you that there was actually a mom and they were a happy family.

You didn't know why your heart was feeling that way. Very intrigued by the witcher's life and not just from his marriage status but by how he or they lived in an era like this.

An era full of singularities compared to your dimension. The question is, how will you live if you couldn't get home as soon as possible? With dragons, beasts, vampires, mages or sorceress freely walking around their dimension would be your end.

Jaskier groaned to himself, his eyes rolling from your naivety and being blind over the fact that the child already has no progenitrix. "THERE'S NO MOTHER!" he whisper-yelled with another groan as he held his forehead because of how he was trying his hardest not to spit any more details that could get you in danger, "---I'm starting to think that you just want to know if Geralt has a missus or not!"

You opened your mouth and eventually dropped it like a gold fish. The grin on Jaskier's face tells he was happy to have seen you taken a bit of karma from the commotion you've brought since the tamed Hirikka came. As you've seen the perversity in his eyes, you were sure you wanted to defend yourself from being misunderstood. That is, if you really didn't meant that.

"I'm--I'm not!" a simple stumble over your own words was enough for Jaskier's grin to grow bigger. The bard loudly chuckled to his felicity at your little crush for the witcher. His guesses were correct then. Well, it always does. Damsels, maidens, princesses and even sorceresses had an eye for his beast-slaughtering friend. Even he so, could prove that Geralt was a handsome, dashing witcher despite of his quiet and grumpy attitude at times.

It definitely adds that 'oohmph' effect for Geralt Of Rivia.

"To answer your undying curiosity, He doesn't have a consort or a lover, understand?!" Jaskier tried to heartened. You crossed your arms like a snob and a fierce glare. The latter's laugh died down as he held onto his stomach, "Besides, It's...kind of knackering to explain,"

The latter gave you a shrug, mouth jutting in a pout with a raised brow, "If you wanna be mother hen to the child, then go ahead. She already had her tantrums last month and it didn't end well for me," he cocked his head to the side and stared out of nowhere then suddenly shaking his head to erase the thoughts when he added, "---I had a bruise on the forehead because she threw a block of wood at Geralt and it bounced on me,"

Jaskier moved away from the door, patting his clothes in attempt to dust away the dirt that didn't seem to be seen. He was actually brushing off the negativity that was happening, "Just...don't make her scream or annoy her any less,"

His warning made you question in interest, "What? Why?"

"You'll die," Jaskier was quick to answer like it was nothing. He grabbed onto his lute that rested upon a wall and inserted the hoop around his shoulders. You watched him strum, "You're joking,"

"A bard makes epics! Not jokes!" he gave you a once over with that smile of his, before ambling away from you and towards the door out of the house. Kolby was crouched on the side as he eyed the bard with curiosity. "Well, seldom, I do...or maybe all the time?" was the only words he mutter before leaving the house and probably plan on giving you both the time alone; believing that you could simmer Cirilla's anger rather than him.

You've exhaled an exasperated breath, staring at the Hirikka who was guiltlessly eyeing you with no animosity.

With one swift turn of your heel, you were face to face towards the door to her room, "Cirilla?" you softly knocked; knowing that she'd heard Jaskier leave. So, it was better because she seemed to not like him knocking on her door, "---Kolby wants to play, would you like to play with us?"

A loud, squeaky sound echoed around the house made by the Hirikka himself as he heard his name from your lips. Thus, you've heard the lock to her door being pulled, alarming you that it was already unlocked and so, you've gently pushed the door open; a quarter of your foot already in her room, "Can I..come in?" you hesitatingly asked. No answer was given so maybe that was a yes.

You stood in the middle of her room. It was plain and definitely dull. All dirt-brown with white sheets like it wasn't a teenager who was resting in her chambers. The room needed a woman's touch and creativity. If you'll last longer in their dimension, then there was no problem because you could help her make her room more cozy and sweet.

She was covered in sheets, obviously not wanting visitors as she was curled away from the door. A typical reaction of a child who was upset about things.

You slowly sat on her bed, making Cirilla turn till she was facing the bulbless ceiling with the sheets covering her face. Only a candle on her bed side table was the only thing giving you light as the day was already night, "What's the matter?"

A harsh breath was heard under the covers; puffing out frustratingly, "Geralt lied to me," she glumly whispered like a secret was being told. You shifted on the bed and laid your back on the bed post, "About?"

Cirilla took a peek under her covers and there you saw those pretty blue eyes gazing back at you with sadness, "---Slaying beasts. Again. I thought he stopped,"

You've crossed your legs like a pretzel; giving her a soft smile and faze of your eyes that could comfort her, "But, isn't that what he always do?" pause.

People have been saying that like it was his job. It was like he was born for that kind of thing; killing beasts and what if's. Thus, you respect it especially that you didn't live in their world and you don't have the right to judge people for what they do to survive with life.

"He is a witcher," you added softly, trying to sound reasonable and for her anger to pass.

Arguments lead to disappointments. Hence, it always only leaves people upset and for their hearts to turn gloomy. You were never a fan of it, as fights just makes you want to cry. As per usual. Growing up sensitive was a pain in the ass because sometimes; with just one loud retort or yell could get you sobbing like a child because you were hurt.

No wonder Cirilla was wailing beneath the covers. There were hints of redness amongst the sea of her eyes and you wouldn't notice it when you didn't have stared.

The princess of Cintra hurriedly sat on her bed, making you slightly bounce at the action. You watch her forehead crease a lot more than it ever does, her eyes now fixated on the candle on her bed side table, watching how the flames sway their bodies like they were dancing under the moonlight, "Witchers encounter all types of beasts. Poisonous, lethal or the uttermost dangerous creatures you can ever meet,"

"You're worried he'd die in a battle," you stated the obvious and nodded in understanding.

Cirilla snapped out from staring at the candle for far too long, giving you a once over as she weakly spoke, "You've never seen him in a real fight," she stated as a matter of fact. You clicked your tongue as you thoroughly tried to remember, "He'd kill an Alghoul?"

At long last, the princess gave a smile as she acknowledged your non-existent ideas about what a real witcher is, "That's just a novice type of beast, Y/N." pause. "---Geralt has encountered more than that. Dragons, werewolves, sirens, archgriffins and more. You name it, he can slaughter them all," Cirilla stated with that certain confidence she had for the only person protecting her through it all.

After a second of cogitating; she'd voiced out, "---Even people, Y/N. If he protects you, he protects you with all his life. He eliminates every beast that cause detriment to villages, if he is given a favor. That's what witchers are painfully trained for; to terminate beasts that inhabits our world,"

Only a shut of your mouth was given to the princess. Your smile falling as you continued to listen like a behaved school girl, and so she raved on to your further knowledge, "---He doesn't care what happens to him. Geralt is not any normal human you may know. He may appear like it, but no. He is disliked by a lot of people. Though, Some are not due to Jaskier's notable epics about him. Thanks to the annoying bard," she snorted after giving gratitude to Jaskier and his poems.

Her smile grew as she tried to lighten up the mood of the topic; even noticing how you were frowning beside her bed. She proceeded to give utter details about the man you've never have thought would experience that kind of future for him, "---He lives longer than any other human, has supernatural abilities and is trained to kill these beasts. He's a mutated human,"

Your mind was shook, heart feeling blue because of the backstory of what he is. There was actually an explanation as to why he was quiet most of the time; only uttering words when he wants to then his mood changes like a woman who has a period for two years straight. He rarely smiles, but when he does; it was as if the world was having multiple rainbows all at once whenever it happens.

He had a nightmare of a childhood probably.

You swallowed the tight knot forming your throat, still grasping at the new information like it wasn't real; that everything wasn't. Especially the way how your heart was left in somber when you should think about how you would go home and not about his past.

Your mind was in a mess. Only you could shut your mouth after hearing those news. You wanted to ask if those supernatural abilities consist of what Superman has and try to lighten up the mood; but you couldn't utter out a word and felt depressing because you've suddenly pop out of nowhere and added to Geralt's problems.

Cirilla secretly inspected your reactions and you were frowning. A new sight for her to see as she was used to seeing you smile all the time: that happy-go-lucky aura you had drawn her into liking you as a member of the house just like Jaskier; or a family which Jaskier earned the spot.

She noted your silence as a go signal for her to rant more, "---He's the only person who takes care of me. After all of my family who has died from the war,"

The war? a question popped inside your head and you've lately realized that it was said out loud for the princess to hear.

She dubiously nodded to your question, biting the insides of her cheeks as she opened herself like a book to you, "Cintra...it has been our kingdom," her voice faltered, growing softer and weaker; the topic appearing to be sensitive for the princess, yet she still continued with her big girl panties, "---Nilfgaard is a kingdom you don't want to encounter; especially the elves. They're still hunting us down,"

They were still being hunted. You wanted to say out loud but decided to keep your mouth shut for the sake of her because she sounded like she wanted to cry again.

Thus, her voice began to grow smaller. Cautious that she might be heard by anyone. She pulled her legs to her chest and slipped her arms under her thighs. Chin falling on her sheet-covered knees. A visible pout obvious to be seen and she appeared vulnerable, "---I'm scared because if Geralt dies, then there's no hope for me. Then, I'll be left...all alone, again." Cirilla's voice cracked, swallowing the cries and never letting it out as it has already been poured for the last seven hours.

Hence, her next words coming off as a whisper instead; like a child telling secrets to her teddy bear, "---with no one, Y/N. Because I have no other family except for Geralt and Jaskier. I don't want to be alone,"

The way she's said it broke your heart. She was just an abandoned child who was slapped with a harsh future for her. You couldn't help but feel more saddened especially when she'd pulled herself more to shape herself into a tighter ball.

You studied her form, a sincere smile traveling up your face as you don't try to let your emotions get to you better than she does. With open arms; you've offered, "Come here," Cirilla gave you a once over; hesitant of your actions, "You think you can give me a hug?"

Thus, the princess of Cintra knew that was all she needed. A genuine hug from a woman's touch that could get her temporarily forgetting the fears and trauma that has been ruining her mentality and continuously.

"A beautiful destiny is always masked with an unbearable truth and thus waiting for a price to pay,"

FEEDBACKS ARE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED! PLEASE DOOOOO! IT’LL MEAN SO MUCH TO ME!

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bastionbabble · 3 years

Text

Mushroom and Jinna Soup (The Kid, Zulf, 1816 words, worksafe)

The Kid squeezed Zulf's shoulder and returned to his peeling. Zulf wished for sleep like every star there ever was, but it wouldn’t come. There was the fever, yes, but a question shifted beneath the surface and begged to be let out.

"Kid, tell me… how does a Cael man know how to make mushroom and jinna soup? I don't think I've met a Cael who knew what jinna even was."

Zulf is sick, and the Kid helps; they have a conversation.

(my @supergiantsecretsanta gift for @tealeafraven hope you enjoy!)

(ao3 link)

A heat prickled at Zulf’s skin and threatened to swallow him whole. In the dark of his tent, strange things swam before his eyes, blotches of darkness outlined in colors never before witnessed. How very strange. He tried to move his blanket, tried to feel the cool night air to dampen the fire that burned across him, but his arms simply wouldn't move. Any will he had was turned to droplets, leaving him immobilized, a river stopped up with a dam. He tried to open his mouth to call for help, but no sound came. Just a breath of dust, flittering into the night on bats' wings. The world around him swayed like the sea and he swayed with it, drifting in and out of sleep until the brightness of morning shot through the tent and brightened his eyes.

“Zia,” Zulf finally managed to say, his voice a crackling croak. “I don't feel well.”

Zia groaned her awakeness and sat up. They shared a tent and each had a bedroll not far from the other. She shambled over to him and regarded him with bleary eyes.

“What's wrong?”

“I feel…” What does he feel? Something burning and sizzling, a fire sprouting into the wind. Hot, yes, and a lot of other things. But speaking anymore seemed too much, and the words fizzled in his throat.

“Let me check your forehead.” Zia pressed her hand to Zulf's forehead, then quickly withdrew it. “You're burning up! Don't go anywhere, I'm getting Kid.”

Going anywhere seemed unlikely at best. Zulf closed his eyes and that same swaying motion rocked him back and forth, back and forth, until he was almost lulled to sleep. But the tent flap opened and the light burst in once more.

“Zulf? Zia said you got a fever. You feeling alright?”

“Oh, Kid,” Zulf sighed. “Everything is… swimming. It's so heavy.”

The Kid sighed. "Zia, grab some pillows. I'm takin' him to the kitchen."

He came over to Zulf and leaned over to lift him, then paused. "Can I lift you? Won't hurt you, promise."

Zulf had never once feared that the Kid would hurt him. But that's too much to say, and instead Zulf settled on a nod. The Kid slipped his arms beneath Zulf and picked him up with all gentleness a mother cat would her kitten.

"Gonna be alright, alright? I'll take care of you."

Zulf wanted to thank him, but words seemed too heavy. Instead he closed his eyes and listened to the steady beat of the Kid’s heart. Ba bump, ba bump, ba bump. His heart must be larger than everyone else's-- there was so much to it, to him. It must be twice as large, just to hold it to bravery every day in worlds untouched by man and hold it in love every day on this little island they've made. What does Zulf’s heart sound like? Zia’s? Even Rucks’? What a strange thing the heart is.

The Kid carried Zulf down into the kitchen, a place of darkened coolness lit only by the dwindling fire in the oven. He laid Zulf on a pile of pillows put by Zia with a tenderness that made Zulf ache.

"Try an' get some sleep," the Kid said, before grabbing wood by the fire and feeding it into the barely burning flame. "Gonna work on some soup."

"What kind of soup?" Zulf asked, in a voice that mirrored the sway of his body.

"Mushroom and Jinna. Used to make it for my mama."

"With green kepper?"

“‘Course. Can't have mushroom and jinna soup without the green kepper."

Mushroom and jinna soup was a soup made commonly in the Southeastern part of the Tazal Terminals, the poorest section of the whole area. Jinna was a starchy but relatively tasteless root, but cheap and absorbed the salty flavor of the clear broth well. Kepper was a thin and leathery pepper that grew in great bushes wherever given the chance, and ranged from the pleasant spice of the green kepper to the sweating sting of the black.

"Do you have black keppers? I haven't… I don't remember the last time I had one."

"Think you're a little too sick for a black kepper," the Kid said. The fire in the stove burned brightly and prickled sweat across Zulf’s skin. "But once you're better, I got a few."

Zulf squirmed around in his blankets. He tried to move his arm to wipe the sweat from his forehead, but his body was too light to lift his heavy arm. "Kid," he said, with a voice steeped in more weakness than he cared to show, "I'm too warm. Please, move my blanket for me."

"Gotta sweat the fever out," the Kid said, and then disappeared out of Zulf's line of sight and deeper into the kitchen.

There was the clattering of pots and pans and a softly whistled song, something tinged with all the pain and love of nostalgia. Zulf watched the fire crackle and dance, the one point of brightness in the dim room. Sleep sauntered over and suggested closed eyes and a sweet peace, but the breaking heat that swelled beneath his eyes broke and sprang into a chill that shuddered his body in every place. Zulf curled as best he could, but that chill crackled into his every movement.

"Kid," Zulf breathed. "I need… I'm so cold."

The Kid’s whistling stopped. He had been standing at the counter and peeling jinna, but placed it down at Zulf's words.

"Fever's breakin', that's a good sign," the Kid said. He crouched down next to Zulf. "Ya want me to move you closer to the fire?"

"Please."

The Kid picked Zulf up and held Zulf close to his body, cradling Zulf as if he was a baby bird that fell out of a nest. He kicked the pillow pile over towards the fire, then laid Zulf back on it.

"This better?"

Shivers still trickled through Zulf's body, but the heat unbroke his shattered bones. "Thank you," Zulf murmured.

"Kid, tell me… how does a Cael man know how to make mushroom and jinna soup? I don't think I've met a Cael who knew what jinna even was."

The Kid shrugged, that practiced rise and fall of his shoulders. "Mama taught me how. Made it for me when I was sick, then I made it for her when she was. Just that."

Zulf closed his eyes and tried to remain tethered to the world. There were other ways to learn information; the Kid was dear, but sometimes he needed to be backed into a corner. "The missionary lived in a room in an Acobian temple. We lived there, together, up until the end. There was a big black kepper bush next to it. But when I was still young…" Zulf took a breath to steady himself. There was so much energy lost in talking. "There were two girls who lived nearby. They challenged me to a black kepper eating contest."

The Kid snorted. “S’pose that didn't go too good."

Zulf managed a laugh, almost. "It was not my best idea. These girls were twins; Yomiko and Zereva. Lovely girls. They had white hair. It's rare, but some Ura have it. Just like yours."

The Kid stopped his peeling. "Don't gotta be Ura to have white hair."

Zulf tried to sit up but his body remained stone. The Kid was big, bulky, with that bronzy skin so common among Caels. But that white, white hair of his…

"Your mother was Ura, wasn't she?"

There was a tight silence, a thin red line, and something like fear washed over Zulf and stuck in the crevices. The Kid resumed peeling the jinna.

"…Daddy said he didn't want to raise no half-breed. Mama used to say I looked just like him. Looked like a Cael man but got that white Ura hair." The Kid shrugged, but there was a tension in the rise and fall of his shoulders. "S'pose you ain't the only one who knows huh?"

"I imagine Rucks must, at least. Why didn't you tell us?"

"Didn't see a point. Ain't no reason to bring it up." The Kid finished his peeling and started on cutting the jinna into strips, the rhythmic chop, chop, chop rocking Zulf back and forth. "Don't need anyone else to throw me away."

Zulf forced himself into a sitting position with a deep groan. "Kid," he started, his whole world swaying, "my birth parents were Ura but I was raised more by the missionary than anyone else. I live both as Cael and Ura; I'm as much Cael as you are and as much Ura as you are. Blood will never stop us from loving you."

The Kid stopped his chopping and set down his knife. He sorted his words and moved them around in his mouth. Zulf fought the exhaustion of sitting up but soon collapsed back into the pillows. The world swam as it had, as if it had always done so and Zulf was just now realizing it did.

"... Think I should tell the others?" the Kid finally said, a carefulness to his words, as if he was testing a step on an icy lake to see if the ice would hold.

"You don't have to tell anyone anything you don't want to," Zulf responded, his eyes fluttering open and shut, sleep gliding over him and calling his name. "Just… we'll always love you, every part of you, and no heritage can ever change that."

"...Thanks, Zulf," the Kid said, and there was a weightlessness in his voice that Zulf had rarely heard. How much the Kid carried on those big shoulders of his.

But sleep was too close and the swimming works rocked him to sleep. This did not go unnoticed;

"Get some sleep. I'll wake you up when the soup's done."

"Thank you, Kid," Zulf murmured. "And… do you have Okimoki powder? I want it extra salty." A pause. "Please."

The Kid laughed. "Extra salty, just for you."

The Kid said more, but it was lost to Zulf. He floated away to sleep, and found a pleasantness there he had long forgot.

Mushroom and Jinna Soup

Serves 4

1 Lbs Jinna Root

6 Bolle Mushrooms, destemmed

2 Green Keppers, with seeds

2-4 Tbs Okimoki Powder

4 Cups of Water

Peel Jinna and chop into matchsticks. Destem Bolle Mushrooms and slice into strips. Half and slice Green Keppers into crescents, keeping the seeds. Boil water and Okimoki Powder until Okimoki is dissolved. Add Jinna, then cook until half-soft. Add Bolle Mushrooms and Green Keppers and cook until soft. Serve hot.

#bastion #bastion (game)#bastion game #sggsecretsanta20 #zulf #the kid

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justjessame · 3 years

Text

Sins of the Father: Chapter 5

The next time I woke up it was to voices that were doing a tremendous job of mimicking the worst case of stage whispering I’d ever had the misfortune of overhearing. Groaning, and rolling over from where I’d had my face pressed into my pillow, clearly having tried to blind out the brightness of the sunlight - I once more found myself trying to blink open my heavy lidded eyes.

“If the two of you are trying to NOT wake me,” I muttered, feeling slightly vindicated when the sounds ceased. “You’re failing miserably.” I managed to fight past the lead lining that my eyelids had grown overnight and the brilliance of the sunlight glowing through my curtains. A couple more moments fighting against my bed linens and my own limbs and I’d managed to get myself sitting up against my headboard.

Dad and Danny were watching me with rapt amusement, silent as they waited for me to situate myself. “I came looking for you little brother,” Dad finally spoke, deeming me ready for information now that I had both eyes more or less open. “And I was trying to convince him to go down and get breakfast -”

“But YOU promised that we’d spend the day together, Esme,” Danny butted in with the Roper spirit stubbornness. I bit my lip when my gaze met Dad’s over his towhead. “And that should include breakfast.” He crossed his arms over his chest and I was struck by how like our father he was growing.

Clearing my throat free of the cobwebs of sleep, I shook off a sigh. “If you’ll give me time to dress and do something with what I can only imagine is a birds’ nest of curls, I’ll meet you downstairs for breakfast and then we’ll start our day.” I countered, and Danny started to agree, but of course Dad had to remind me of my newest family chore.

“Esmeralda, I think you might have forgotten our guest -” His eyes narrowed and I knew he wanted me to take care of my duties alone, but honestly this hero of Danny’s hadn’t shown any likelihood of saying or asking anything untoward while we were alone. Why would having the object that caused his convalescence in the room while I took care of him be problematic?

“I haven’t,” I argued, my eyebrow arching to remind him that Danny was still very present. “Danny can come along so I can show him how easy it is to change the bandages, in case I’m indisposed.” Danny’s nose crinkled in distaste which shocked me, given how he felt about this man.

“You want me to come with you while you rip off his bloody stuff?” I nodded and he shook his head. “No thanks. Couldn’t Jed do it?”

“No, Jed can’t do it.” Dad told him. “Who changes YOUR bandages when you rush headlong into madness? Or Corky’s or Frisky’s or -” Danny sighed. “Esme knows what she’s doing, and so she’ll do it. If you insist on spending the day with your sister, then -”

“Fine,” Danny’s excitement was draining at the idea of a full day of being with me now. “Does it take long?”

I chuckled. “Not too long, but I will take him lunch as well. And I make sure he eats it.” Another long suffering sigh. “Maybe for lunch you could do something else?”

“What?” He stared at me in a clear challenge. I thought about it for a bit and then smiled.

“Pick a movie for us to go to tonight.” His eyes widened. “Just you and me. And we’ll have dinner out as well. How does that sound?”

“Well the two of you and -” I rolled my eyes and Danny laughed. Dad would never allow us to go completely alone, but it didn’t matter. I’d made my little brother happy again. And that was all that mattered.

Breakfast was followed by a day that most people wouldn’t think was all that special, but what Danny missed. We spent part of it watching some of the shows he wanted to show me, and he promised me, while he watched me preparing the bandage portion of the tray for our guest, that he’d be looking for the BEST movie for our night out.

“I know you will,” smiling down at him, I went back to adding the things I’d looked up online that would give some comfort to Mr. Quince’s ribs - at least that’s what the websites I’d found had assured me.

“Will you dress up?” I glanced up to see Danny studying me and waited to see where he was going with this new tangent. “We never got to celebrate your graduation -” My stomach flipped at the thought of their celebration without me and what it had led to, but his mind wasn’t on that, it was on happier things - our night out. “So you’ll dress up, won’t you?”

Swallowing past the lump that had formed at the thought of what COULD have happened if Mr. Quince hadn’t stepped up and saved him from disaster, I hoped he wouldn’t notice my hands shaking as I kept adding my supplies to the tray. “Of course I’ll dress up if you want me to.” Anything he wanted me to do, I’d do. He could celebrate my return, and I’d celebrate the fact that he wasn’t - no, I wouldn’t do that, focus on the here and now, Esme, I reminded myself. You’re a Roper.

Lunch wasn’t soup today. And Mr. Quince didn’t try to argue against my aid in getting him sitting up, nor when I insisted on helping him with his meal. We put off changing the bandages until after, since I’d done it just the day earlier and I couldn’t see any blood peaking out. Taking my spot beside him on the bed, I started cutting up his food and he chuckled under his breath.

“Is there something you’d like to say?” Not looking up, my lips were twitching at the corners as I fought against a grin.

“I dare not,” he murmured, as I picked up the first bite and moved it toward his mouth. “Lest you attempt the airplane in the hangar.” My smile grew as his own flashed, before he took the food I offered him.

Once his lunch was finished, I asked him if he’d rather I start with his face or his ribs and he looked startled.

“I did some research and found that we had some salve on hand that might give you some relief along with a bit of wrapping, if you’d like?” He gave a small nod and started to pull at his shirt, but I stopped him. “Give me a moment to get everything ready, then I’ll help you again.” Fussing a bit with the tray, I moved what I needed to where it would be within easier reach and then with his help, we got his shirt over his head and out of the way. Pressing gently, I watched his face for signs of distress. “You have to tell me which parts are the most tender -” he sighed and so did I. “If you don’t, then the salve won’t be of much use.”

Giving in wasn’t something he did willingly or simply, but he weighed the wisdom of what I was saying and finally pointed out the places that hurt the worst. Picking up the pot of gooey medicine, I opened it and warned him that it wasn’t very pleasant smelling before sitting beside him again so I could reach him. Coating my fingertips with the sticky substance, I leaned closer, and applied the cream in gentle circular motion over the darkened skin that even battered I could tell was corded with muscle.

He tried to stay still and silent, but there were hisses and rippling across his abdomen that he couldn’t hide. The warmth of his skin working with the salve, I hoped, to soothe the pain and discomfort he’d earned when he saved Danny. Once I felt confident I’d gotten him covered, I put the container back on the tray and picked up the elastic wrap bandage and helped him lean forward again so I could wrap him up.

“I read that this will help -” I told him what I’d learned during my online search and he listened while I wrapped my arms around him and worked, our bodies close enough so I could feel his breath flutter my hair. “There,” I pulled back and smiled up at him, since we were still very close. “Isn’t that better?”

“It’s different,” he sounded conflicted, unsure. Which was strange since we’d only known one another for a few hours and in such an odd context anyway. “I - I should put my shirt back on.”

“Right,” I blinked, confused about how I’d gotten off track for those few beats. “Let me -” But we both reached for the white cotton at the same time and our hands linked, different from when he’d stopped me during my last visit, this felt intimate and - I pulled away as if I’d been burned. “Sorry. I - Do you need me to help?”

“I think I can manage,” we were still close, his breath fanning my face now and I had to swallow to try to fight a dryness that wasn’t there before. “Does my other bandage need to be changed as well?”

A glance down, which I’m sure made me look slightly cross-eyed, told me no - it could wait. I shook my head. “I think it’s fine for now.” My eyes flickered back to his and found him waiting for me. “I should go.”

“I’m sure you have,” his gaze flickered down, was he looking at my lips? “A great deal of plans now that you’re home.”

Plans? Did I? Danny. Right. That pulled me free from the bed, the gaze, his warmth. “Yes. I do.” He flinched, as if I’d slapped him. How odd. He pulled his shirt on as I stood up and started gathering the tray together. “Danny and I are going to the movies tonight.” When his head broke free of the fabric of his shirt, his gaze met mine and I bit my lip. “Hot date with my little brother.”

“That sounds fun,” he offered, less strained and more natural - but how would I know what was natural for this stranger? “You seem close?”

Ah, there it is, the questions. “We are,” I agreed. Anyone would tell him as much. “I made him a promise when I went away to university.” He waited, listening as if I were about to tell him a wondrous secret. “If he didn’t throw tantrums or give Dad and everyone too much trouble while I was away, and during my breaks when I’d have to go back, then when I finished I’d come home forever.”

“Forever’s a long time.” My smile grew. “He’s a good kid.”

“Danny’s -” I sighed. “Danny and I know each other better than anyone else in the world. And that’s all that matters to me.”

“He’s a lucky boy.”

“I’m the lucky one.” I gathered up the tray and bid him a good day. And I could have swore that he said something about hoping that I really was the lucky one.

#jonathan pine x oc #the night manager #slow burn #Richard Roper #eventual smut

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