#they read together when at camp and she sings songs over the fire and manages to bribe him with blood sausages to participate

[grisailledreams]

Never Enough

Astarion stews in a little jealousy while Brynne sings at a Gortash-sponsored party. (AKA Astarynne fluff is back deal with it)

EDIT: Lmao songfic bitches! Never Enough from The Greatest Showman

Title: Never Enough Word count: ~3108 words Pairing: Astarynne (Astarion/Brynne // Astarion/OC // Astarion/Tav -- can you tell idk how we're supposed to be tagging this?) Content Warnings: Light swearing

For a moment, there, Astarion thought he and Brynne had something special. He was the first person she spoke to in the morning. The last touch she sought before bedding down. The one she embraced hardest when that desiccated skeleton man in their camp brought him back from the brink of death, or when it was Brynne being ressurected instead. And yet, every bloody time she sang a duet, it was always with someone else!

Whenever the group came short on coin or supplies, a bard could magically make gold appear with a wiggle of the fingers and a pretty tune – even in a refugee camp. More collected in the hat if she had a partner and upped the performance value, so occasionally Brynne dragged one of their companions onstage and… well, sparks flew. Every time.

She and Wyll sang a romantic duet about defying fate, complete with wizard-made miniature fireworks.

Shadowheart begrudgingly became the other half of a musical business deal.

Karlach had a fantastic time bellowing out a dramatic, pining vow with her.

Gale often got roped into a windy, free-spirited call to adventure.

It was the Wyll number that stuck in Astarion’s craw the most. His ability to provide special effects made him an attractive partner, as did his surprising ability to carry a tune while doing so. That may have had a little to do with Brynne. There was something about her playing that seemed to draw music out of people if she wanted it to; unlikely that Shadowheart knew any music that wasn’t a psalm to Shar. But Brynne and Wyll fell into their show, casting doubts and aspersions aside to promise that they could be together in spite of the world telling them that they couldn’t. They danced in one another’s arms. If Brynne hung a length of silk from a high ceiling – a trick she pulled in the Last Light – she and Wyll performed simple aerial feats to add to the music. And, at the end of the song, Wyll always moved in for a kiss. Astarion always held his breath. Brynne always stepped away and again reiterated that they couldn’t be together. In song.

Afterwards, her duet partners might have said something friendly about how fun it was, or ask with bright eyes how much they managed to rake in, but the romance of it all never brought them closer.

Did it? The jealous fire in Astarion’s belly only made him believe that Wyll looked at her a little too long for the rest of the night, a little too dreamy-eyed, juxtaposing a little too much of a fairytale damsel’s aura over Brynne’s face–

Not once did the bard ever, ever ask Astarion if he’d like to sing with her.

He didn’t. Why embarrass himself in front of so many people the way their associates did? But an invitation might have been nice.

It took last place in the list of his concerns when Gortash invited – “Read,” said Astarion as they looked at the notice, “insists.” – Brynne to play at a dinner honoring the officials of the Flaming Fists and, in the interest of not having anyone throw them all into Wyrm’s Rock, Brynne agreed. She’d been playing coy with the new Archduke every time he suggested they work together. “Avoiding a fight” without making promises she didn’t intend to keep. Gods. Yes, he understood the intention of it and yes, he would have done the same thing for slightly different reasons, but now she was forcing him to go along with her idiot plans because he knew — he knew, gods damn her! — that if he didn't, she'd wind up in Wyrm's Rock with Gortash waving his hand for a servant to dispose of her corpse and mop the blood from his shiny, marble floor. And then what was Astarion supposed to do? Go to Withers? What lesson would Brynne learn, then, about doing stupid things?

When the night arrived, Karlach, Astarion, and Jaheira dressed up as much as any of them cared to – Loudly, Nicely, and “Fuck It” in that order – and concealed the weapons they were banned from bringing on their persons. Brynne didn’t seem worried. Her creepy lyre strung with spider silk, she insisted, was all the weapon she needed when Astarion asked her about whether she wanted her bow or her rapier and where she planned to put either.

“Where could I possibly hide those in this dress?” she asked, with far too much laughter in her voice for comfort.

In fairness, she was right. The fabric, a fetchingly deep shade of green that made her pink skin glow, had been clipped, stitched, and draped in a style reminiscent of Antiquity – one that exposed most of her back, especially with her green-and-brown hair teased into a careless updo laced with gold chains. Matching metallic flowers and insects cast in a modern style pinned the fabric into fanciful sleeves that fell away at the elbow so as not to get in the way of her playing. She’d even abandoned her daywear boots – leather and scruffy and certainly not a pair to go with this ensemble – for soft, thick-soled sandals with jeweled clasps and straps that ran up to the thigh. Decidedly unsuitable for a fight if one broke out.

Astarion’s judgmental eye only went over her once before he took a knee at her feet, took his dagger sheath entirely from his belt, and strapped the sussur blade just above the topmost strap of Brynne’s sandal where she could easily reach it.

When she began to protest, Astarion dramatically sighed and cut her off. “I’ll have to make do with my rapier. Do take care not to lose that. We went through so much to have it forged.”

He kissed her and called her beautiful so she’d forget to keep arguing.

Their party walked through streets that used to be so lively at this time of day, when the sun had just gone down and lanterns lit the way. Taverns and burlesque houses that typically stayed loud and merry into the first rays of dawn largely closed their doors before midnight. Anyone who still dared be out by nightfall cast suspicious glances at the adventurers, not knowing whether they were saviours or oncoming damnation. Thank gods Astarion need not hunt nowadays. Breaking down those psychological walls would have been exhausting. As he and the rest of the group approached Wyrm’s Rock, they found one of the few places with open doors, bright lights, chatter, and the smell of food wafting from the windows: the Flaming Fist officers’ barracks.

Even at a party – especially at a party, maybe – there were guards. A tall, muscular woman in full steel plate stopped them at the door to mean-mug them into giving up whatever anti-Gortashian plot they might think to hatch. In that sickeningly sweet, gorgeously manipulative way of hers, Brynne batted her eyelashes and flashed the letter bearing the Archduke’s signature.

Once the manip decided it wasn’t a forgery, the glare softened into boredom and she flatly said, “No weapons past this point.”

“We know!” Brynne chirped. “We came prepared!” She turned around to face her team, raising her brows. “Right?”

Karlach, Jaheira, and Astarion exchanged glances amongst themselves. With a shrug, Jaheira said, “Don’t look at me. What, you think I’m senile and forgot we weren’t allowed to bring blades? And this one,” she said, jabbing her thumb to Karlach, “wouldn’t be able to hide a weapon in a smith’s forge.”

“Hey!”

And then they all whirled on Astarion.

He groaned, hung his head back, and drew his fingers through his freshly-washed and touseled hair. “I’m hurt. I’m offended. You all really think so little of me?!”

“I could pick you up by the ankle and shake it out of you,” Karlach offered.

“Ugh, fine, fine…” Astarion opened his doublet, pulled out a cheap, tiny dagger from a hidden pocket, and waved it in front of their faces before he deposited it in the manip’s waiting hand. “There. Happy?”

“Astarion!”

The disappointment in Brynne’s voice might have broken his heart if it hadn’t been all one massive pantomime.

In Brynne’s flurry of impassioned apologies to the manip and offers to leave Astarion behind, not to mention Jaheira and Karlach muttering criticisms of him under their breath, the Flaming Fist never once thought to check the rest of them to see if they were also carrying concealed blades. Clearly, they cared deeply about being present for this Gortash-sponsored event. The other option likely involved a trip to Wyrm’s Rock for defiance. Who would think that sweet, freckled, spring blossom face could lie so perfectly? Clearly, not the manip waving them through the gate.

Officers enjoyed higher pay and more authority, but it seemed their buildings were still just too small to host gatherings anywhere other than their courtyard. Wait, there were hay mannequins crushed below the stairs. Training yard. Out-of-place tablecloths decorated shabby trestle tables, set with gleaming silver tableware for the officers and attending patriars. No one too fancy. High-ranking merchants, lower nobility, people who might have been invited to Gortash’s ascension ceremony but also would have been surprised and eager by it. Dinner smelled expensive; a far cry from even the fare at the Elfsong. Serving staff made rounds through the party with trays of hors d’ouevres and crystal flutes full of sparkling wine, but a bar had been set up opposite the stage. A few invitees spared the party a glance, but once they saw Brynne and her lyre, they lost interest. The band had to set up. They wouldn’t be interesting until later. Then again, they didn’t know that Astarion was about to go mingle.

He hung back for a moment, though, so he could fix her hair. One of the curls she left loose didn’t look as nice as the one next to it. “Singing with Karlach again?” he asked, trying to sound conversational; he failed to keep out the grumble. “Or are you forcing poor old Jaheira on stage with you for once?”

“Neither.” Astarion glanced up. “No duets.” And glanced down to fix the drape of one of her sleeves. “Gortash sent an incredibly specific set list for me.”

“Dictatorial even in party music. I should be less surprised.”

“Maybe if I do a decent job for his underlings, I’ll get to play for the man, himself!” They both laughed. Neither of them wanted to be in the same room as Gortash again unless it was to slit his throat. “Alright. Don’t pickpocket anyone, okay?”

“But darling,” he purred, briefly drawing his foreknuckle over her cheekbone and the elven knots tattooed over it, “you know how your pretty music makes my fingers itch.”

Again, she giggled, rolling her eyes, but her face glowed in that odd, warm way that eladrins seemed to do when they were happy. Absolutely blinding, sometimes, like the morning after that first night they’d spent together, or the one after their little celebration with the tieflings. Luckily, she’d been sunny in his direction often enough that he could stand its light. He liked that she saw their dynamic burglary duo status as something favorable. Even cherished.

Astarion kissed the back of her hand, demure enough in his gesture so as not to cheapen her presence in front of her audience, but also to enough eyes to make sure they all knew she was taken. “Break a leg, my love,” he murmured, right before he melted into the crowd. The strings sang to him before he reached the open bar.

The wine did nothing to relax the tension in Astarion’s legs and he’d sooner chop his own foot off before he jiggled a leg the way Brynne did whenever she felt restless. He wasn’t used to a task so full of nothing. They were always trying to infiltrate, steal, expose, kill, or save someone or something, typically with mixed results, and while they could have spent half that time doing something more worthwhile, at least it felt productive when they inevitably found gold, treasure, or new equipment. None of that, here. She’d told him so. But with all those eyes glued to her, easing into the music, Astarion spied no fewer than three purses he could cut and several pieces of jewelry easily liberated. On toetips, he could probably sneak into the officer’s chambers and rummage through their things before Brynne even finished the song. He’d done beautiful work with her in the counting house like this. She could play for hours. He hadn’t met a lock he couldn’t pick.

Instead, Astarion tried to listen to the music. War songs, mostly, an anthem to Bane, and multiple numbers clearly written by Gortash, himself, praising his new elevation in status… all ridiculous. The attendees listened politely and applauded with extra strength when Gortash’s name was mentioned, but for the most part, they spoke amongst themselves. Karlach and Jaheira managed to elbow their way into a table with a wealthy old married couple who were dressed far too formally and too old-fashioned to be anything other than family or donors. By the sounds of it, they were too deaf to be offended by Karlach’s occasional loud outburst. The wife in blue velvet patted Karlach on the shoulder while her partner, Wife in Green, launched into a rambling tale that Jaheira patiently listened to… or, at least, she seemed to nod periodically.

Servants served dinner and Karlach tried to wave Astarion over to join them, but he held up a hand. Being a vampire made his already limited elven diet that much more restrictive. The only hunger he’d felt lately was for… well. He didn’t need to say it, did he?

As Brynne wrapped up another song about Gortash – Jannath’s Ecstasy – one of the Archduke’s representatives, sent to the event as his stand-in, tapped a spoon to his glass and stood up. A thin little human man with a whisker-thin mustache and a curly-tailed coat. He cleared his voice and said in a reedy voice, “A few words, from His Grace, Archduke Enver Gortash…”

Oh, the droning. Blah blah blah, dawn of a new age, blah blah blah, thin steel line. The myriads pamphlets regarding Gortash’s policy plans were bad enough. Each syllable of this speech made Astarion want to dismantle his ears piece by piece from the inside out. He caught Brynne’s eye. She grinned at him, lips pressed tightly together so she could rearrange her expression if one of the Fists realized she wasn’t drinking in every word. Jaheira and Karlach did that. One, desiring to learn more about their enemy through the words he spoke through a puppet. The other, glowing red and barely containing her fury; the patriars at their table soon fanned themselves from the heat.

 Finally, the human stepped down, bid the attendees to enjoy their meal, and flashed Brynne a signal to continue playing her set. She dipped her head with a sweet smile and dropped an inch as some kind of respectful curtsy that managed to not put her playing stance off-balance. Nothing more than background noise, no one could say that Brynne didn’t do her very best when it came to music. Even when she only had a true audience of one. Her eyes found Astarion again. That smile widened and warmed.

He couldn’t look away, not when her fingers danced over the strings and made the lyre twinkle like a starry music box.Her expression softened and Astarion knew this song was his.

“I’m trying to hold my breath. Let it stay this way. Can’t let this moment end.”

No one noticed that this wasn’t part of the preapproved set list for quite a while. Perhaps they were too invested in complimenting the food and wine selection and the Fists had long tuned her out by then. Fine. They didn’t need to. Astarion’s stomach squirmed in a more pleasant way than to which he was accustomed, letting the music caress him in the way Brynne clearly wanted to do herself. A clandestine little love note in the middle of a crowded room. A shame that it couldn’t last.

“All the shine of a thousand spotlights, all the stars we steal from the night sky will never be enough. Never be enough. Towers of gold are still too little. These hands could hold the world, but it’ll never be enough. Never be enough for me.”

 Faces began to turn to stone. Laughs throttled and broke mid-throat. The attendees who weren’t entirely pro-Gortashian rule shifted uncomfortably where they sat. The rest glared. Brynne sang, her lyrics full of greed and reaching farther beyond what was reasonable, all packaged up in the sound of a gentle ballad that grew in strength with each iteration. Karlach groaned a little and when Astarion glanced over to their table, the tiefling was rubbing her temple with a single finger and Jaheira looked ready to garrote Brynne. Astarion shook his head, smirking. They were going to get run out of town if she didn’t stop soon.

Every person in that courtyard aside from Brynne and Astarion had missed the parts that solidified her song as one of love, and Astarion greedily hoarded them for himself.

You set off a dream in me, getting louder now. Can you hear it echoing? Take my hand. Will you share this with me? ‘Cause darling, without you…

No matter how many bank vaults they flawlessly emptied, no matter how fine the wines they stole, no matter how heavy their gold purses grew, it would never be enough without Brynne at his side, hand in hand.

Who else could be his partner in crime as well as in life?

The song ended as gently as it started and through the polite, if stilted, smatter of applause, Brynne blew Astarion a kiss. A pair of Fist gauntlets escorted her off stage. She laughed, waved off their worry, tried to assure them that it wasn’t any criticism of the Archduke or his loyal patriars, but to the gate she went all the same. Astarion gestured with his head for Jaheira and Karlach to follow, pocketing his secret smile.

He grabbed Brynne’s hand before she saw him exit the courtyard. Karlach and Jaheira launched into complaints about barely being able to eat anything or get properly drunk, or how they were having such a nice conversation with those sweet old Grans. Astarion and Brynne tuned them out. She squeezed his fingers. Heat bloomed in his chest.

Brynne never sang songs to any of the others the way she did for him. And he’d never get enough of it.

[julek]

for @asweetprologue and myself <3 | read on ao3

“Eurgh,” Jaskier says as he gracelessly flops down onto his bedroll. He wipes his nose. “This is impossible.”

It’s cold season for mere mortals and humble bards, it seems. Jaskier wipes his nose again, coughing into his elbow. Being out in the wilderness doesn’t help, either — the nights are mild but there’s a soft breeze that won’t let up, making Jaskier wake up with a sore, dry throat.

“I wonder…” he mumbles to himself, pushing forward with effort to kneel onto the bedroll. He lets his arms drop, release the tension they’d been holding all day just to keep him standing upright. He brings his fingertips to his thighs and closes his eyes. “Okay, big breath…”

He inhales slowly, pushing down the sudden urge to cough with a frown on his face. He bites his lip as he tries to hold the air in for a moment, counting to five in his head, then breathing out with a heavy exhale that’s immediately followed by a coughing fit.

When he’s regained composure, he tries again. Keeping his back straight as an arrow — or what he hopes resembles it at the moment — he breathes in again, but his left nostril is blocked, the right one whistling as the air comes in. As good as I’m going to get, he thinks, and holds his breath. His ears pop.

“Gods!” He groans, his head in his hands. He sniffs miserably. “What do you want from me? What sins am I paying for?”

“I could name a few,” he hears Geralt’s voice say from the foliage. He walks out of the trees with a smirk, holding a pheasant by the neck. “What are you doing?”

Jaskier looks up at him, droopy-eyed and forlorn. “I tried to meditate. You know, like you do. Deep breaths and all— it didn’t work.”

“Hmm.” Geralt puts the pheasant aside for a moment, moving into Jaskier’s space to kneel beside him. He brings his lips to Jaskier’s forehead, the touch grounding, and says, “You don’t have a fever.”

Jaskier sighs. “But I feel like shit.”

“Mm,” Geralt says emphatically, and presses a kiss to Jaskier’s cheek before getting up. “I’m sorry.”

Jaskier watches him retrieve his knife from his bag. “Can’t you just,” he whines, his fingers making a whoosh motion, “Axii me back into health, or something?”

Geralt snorts, his blade flat against the feathers as he removes the wings. Jaskier almost feels bad for the poor thing, but the rumble in his stomach holds its ground. “That’s not how it works.”

“Fine, keep your secrets.” Jaskier flops onto his back, looking at the twinkling stars. “Just so you know, if I had the ability to do…” He frowns. “...magic thingies, I’d use them to nurse my beloved back into health. Just saying.”

“Good to know.”

Jaskier clicks his tongue. “Since you won’t be displaying your undying love for me via some sort of, of… miracle potion, dear, wake me when dinner’s ready.”

The way Geralt stays silent and doesn’t strangle him is a small display of his undying love of its own. Curled up on his bedroll, Jaskier dozes to the sound of Geralt’s knife and the crackling of the fire.

When he wakes, it’s to Geralt’s foot poking him in the side. “Jask.”

“Mmmpf?” He manages before coughing back to life. “Ugh.”

“Dinner’s ready,” Geralt says, and waits for Jaskier to stop wheezing and attempting to spit his lung out to pass him a slightly-burnt leg.

“Thanks,” Jaskier croaks, and digs in.

They eat in comfortable silence, the distant sound of a stream trickling down and cicadas singing their evening song into the sky, the simmering of water on a pot over the fire. Putting his waterskin aside, Jaskier stretches, pleased.

“Well,” he says. “That was good. Now, I think some sleep is in order.”

Geralt smiles at him like he’s withholding a secret. It’s a dangerous smile for him to wear. “Oh, what is it?” Jaskier says.

“What do you mean?” Geralt asks, all innocent and wide-eyed.

“You’ve got that conspiratorial look about you. What is it?”

Geralt says nothing, instead fetches his bedroll and rolls it out next to Jaskier’s. Before Jaskier can lay down as he’s been waiting to and before he can drag the Witcher down with him and press into his warmth, Geralt puts up his hand.

“We can’t share,” he says.

Jaskier splutters. “And why not?” He says indignantly.

Geralt gestures vaguely at his face.

Jaskier sniffs, as if to prove his point. “I cannot believe,” he says, wiping his nose, “that Geralt of Rivia, slayer of beasts and hero of humanity, won’t share his bed with me because of a runny nose!”

Geralt makes a face. “You’ll cover me in goo.”

“You’ve been covered in much worse! You can’t even get sick, you—” His voice is comically nasal as he whispers, heartbroken, “I thought you loved me.”

Geralt sits closer. “And I do,” he says. “Which is why I’m displaying my— what was it?”

“Undying love for me,” Jaskier grumbles.

“Yes, that— by offering you the oldest cold-banishing ritual there is.”

Jaskier perks up. “You are? Why didn’t you lead with that? What is it?” He scrambles to get up, starts undoing his chemise. ”Do I have to be naked? Howl at the moon? D’you need some blood? I read that—”

“None of that, Jask,” Geralt says, touching his fingers to Jaskier’s arm, settling him. “Just— wait.”

Jaskier does, curiously watching Geralt wander around their camp. He retrieves a small linen bag from his pack, upending its contents into the pot and taking it out of the fire, placing it on the ground next to it. Then, he digs up an old shirt of his, black and faded, from his bag, and hands it to Jaskier with a warm smile.

“Come here,” he says softly, motioning for Jaskier to come kneel by the fire. He does, the dirt digging in his knees, and looks up at Geralt expectantly.

Geralt unfolds his shirt with care, and wraps it around the back of Jaskier’s neck. “Drape it over your head,” he instructs gently. “With your hands, like this. Like— like a tent.”

It makes Jaskier laugh, but he does it anyway. “Okay,” he says. “I feel like a child. What next?”

He can’t see Geralt with the dark cloth covering his head, but he hears him snort. “Now, put your face over the pot— here, I’ll help you.” Geralt places a hand on his back and helps him lean over the steaming pot, arranges his shirt so that it covers the pot as well, leaving Jaskier inside a warm, humid cocoon. “Now, breathe in.”

Jaskier takes a deep breath, the sweet scent of chamomile filling his senses. His face feels warm already, the steam curling his hair at the edges. Geralt’s hand is still on his back, soothing. “The steam will help clear your airway,” he says. “Just breathe in and out until the water starts to cool down.”

Jaskier nods, but realizes Geralt can’t see him. “Okay,” he says, breathing in again. It makes him sweat, the warm steam on his face, but with every breath he takes, he can feel it work its magic. There isn’t any, he knows — it’s no different from the potions Geralt brews, the salve he uses on his wounds — but there’s something mesmerizing about watching the cut-up stems and petals dancing on the water, unintelligible shapes revealing themselves at the bottom of Geralt’s beaten-up pot.

The water cools down after a while. When Jaskier emerges from his makeshift tent, Geralt’s watching him with a tender look in his eyes, a smile curling on his lips despite himself. “How do you feel?”

Jaskier sniffs, but this time, he takes in a clean breath. “Better,” he says, handing Geralt his shirt back. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” says Geralt, and this time, when he lays on his bedroll, he beckons Jaskier close. “Sleep?”

Jaskier smiles. The chamomile made him sleepy, and he feels warm as he lays next to Geralt, entwining their legs and brushing his nose against the cold spot where his jaw meets his neck.

“Thank you for saving me,” he murmurs against Geralt’s skin.

Geralt huffs a laugh, tightening his arms around the bard. “‘S hardly a cure.”

Jaskier looks at him. Geralt’s profile is illuminated by the dying firelight, the flames casting shadows on his face. Still, his golden gaze gleams as their eyes meet.

“How’d you come up with it?” Jaskier asks quietly. “I’ve never heard of it before.”

Geralt doesn’t answer for a while, his fingers tracing lines over Jaskier’s chemise. Jaskier brushes a wayward strand of white hair from Geralt’s face. He smiles.

“My mother used to do it for me.”

Jaskier hums at the quiet admission, listening to the slow beating of Geralt’s heart. He smiles faintly, and Jaskier knows he’s not really there right now.

“There wasn’t money for healers, back then.” Geralt swallows. “But there was always chamomile.”

Jaskier squeezes his hand.

“I never liked it, in truth,” Geralt admits, quietly. “The steam was always too hot on my face. But she would… she’d sit next to me. Hold the cloth over my face.”

Jaskier thinks of Geralt’s hand at his back.

“We’d do it together.”

Breathing out, like he can finally feel the air filling his lungs, Geralt looks into Jaskier’s eyes. They’re softer, somehow, honey-gold around a pool of black. Jaskier brushes his fingers against Geralt’s cheek, leans in for a tender kiss to his jaw, missing his lips.

Geralt laughs, low and beautiful. “I can’t get sick now, you know.”

Jaskier smiles. “I know.”

[bloodycassian]

 Cauldron Damned. 

Reader x Cassian + Feyre BFF

Prompt -  bestie bestie bestie a cassian x reader fic where reader helps feyre with the cauldron - not rhys and she ya know  like rhys did and cassian basically breaks down and it’s super angsty but rhys lives so the reader gets to aswell ig tag @ bellefleurs and @ eerievixen

Her hair was a mess and painted to her neck with sweat but you still held her. Still gave and gave, until you were out of breath. Until you could feel yourself slipping. "Keep going.... You're doing so good." You panted out, trying to put a smile in your tone. She was the Mother herself, forging that cursed Cauldron back together.  Rhys was breathing heavily behind you after being knocked out by Lucien. You had given the Autumn court son a look and he had known what you needed him to do. Rhys would be snarling mad when he woke, but you knew what you had to do. To save your home, to save the entire world. Feyre was ready to risk it all, fearless and full of hope. You had to save that hope for your Court. Better you than her, better the high lady and lord survive than just an officer. You smiled at the thought of what you'd told Cassian before this final battle. Before you knew it would turn into saving the entire world from the Cauldron's vengeance.  "You better make damn sure my memorial statue looks fantastic. No priestess, though. Make sure it makes my wings stand out." You joked on the flight to the base camp. Cassian danced around death like he was it's balancing point. Like he was in tune with each and every death or life dealt. He laughed at your abruptness on the subject.  After months of skittering around each other, of trying not to stare too long or acknowledge that pull you felt towards him... It was nice to finally be alone. To let that tension ease out with a few jokes. It was too easy to be with him, like you'd known him much longer in the year of preparation for this battle.  "And you better make sure my wings are bigger than yours on that sculpture." He banked around a large cliffside and you followed, like a magnet. Like you could read his mind, you turned when he did. He rose with you, compensating for the cool mountain wind.  You rolled your eyes dramatically, flapping a bit higher than him for emphasis as you drawled out "Poor War General, his wing size matters so much to him." He shrugged, circling lower and lower with you until you were on the ground together amid a clearing. The grass was soft, covered in early morning dew. "Some say wing size dosen't matter, you know." You said with a wink, making him double over with laughter. It made you begin laughing too when he started running out of breath.  Once you had both collected yourselves, You began building a fire together. Rather, a massive bonfire that was to act as the signal to the army for where to move. His face was grim when he threw the last of the logs together. You understood why. "The Kings army will be here before us." You said, voice low. He only nodded. You kneeled in the wet grass, one knee down the other one supporting your wrist bracer. He followed you silently.  You spoke in unison, the ancient words from all the Illyrian warriors before you: "Name me God of Death today. Let us bring that name to those who do us wrong." + Feyre muttered something you couldn't hear. The darkness crept further in on you. You could see some light between your blurred vision. You could see how her hands lit up the cracks in the ancient stonework. You could feel her practically vibrating with the strain.  Your tears dribbled on to her shoulder, knowing these would be your final moments with her. Your final moments in this world. There was no better way you'd spend it than saving her. Spending those last few minutes being able to tell her how amazing she was. You felt her smile when you leaned your head against hers. Your heart ached. You whispered what you hoped were encouraging words in her ear. A rupture of sound- a crack fully mended -and your chest filled with blooming pride at your friend.  There was something crackling, ripping. You weren't sure if it was inside you or if it was the magic Feyre was performing. There was a gasp behind you and rustling, but you dared not take your concentration away from her. Away from how she leaned back into you. Dared not speak a word to distract her other than giving her those little jabs of confidence when she started to shake.  "You got it, Feyre. You can do this." You managed, before that caving feeling in your chest seemed to give in. You were breaking, you knew that much. But she wasn't done yet. Your breath leaked out from you, like you were being squeezed.  "Make it all worth it, Feyre." You managed to whisper out before you could no longer hold yourself up anymore. You laid back, your legs wrapped around her, mirroring her own. You hooked a foot on top of hers and gave her what you could from where you crumpled.  Death was easy, slow. Like a soft lullaby taking you away. You knew what lay before your body, and only hoped you were enough to get Feyre to where she could mend the rest on her own. You gave her all of your soul, all your being. She had to make it. You let the wave of that soft lullaby take you under.  + Cassian didnt think before shoving his way through the crowd into the tent. Didnt consider what he might find there, and how his heart may be ripped from him at the sight of it. The death that crept at that tent was a feeling he wouldnt forget in a thousand lifetimes.  His best friends lying unconscious on the floor before the cauldron. He went numb, still like a cold glacier. Lucien frantically shook Rhys, attempting to wake him. Cassian's head roared and he was falling to his knees at your side. He took your head in his lap, gently. As if he could still hurt you. He didn't notice he was crying until he saw the fat teardrops on your cheek. He wiped them away, leaving dirt smeared there. Another yell of anguish, and Rhys was coming to. From the sound of the yelling or from Lucien shaking him.  Azriel entered the tent then, solemn. Then his eyes widened. Those shadows darted around the room, taking each member of the court into account. The shadowmaster rushed to Feyre, checking her pulse and sighing. He noted the way your leg tangled around hers. His heart gave a painful squeeze. He saw both his brothers in agony. And he swore on his life there would be no place for the cauldron to be found again. Cassian cradled his mate's head in his lap, rocking gently. Rhys' dark power cracked the sky outside the tent once he was conscious.  Rhys rushed to Feyre, scooping her in his arms. He brushed her hair back from her face. Azriel could practically hear the mental screaming coming from both of them. The shadowmaster laid a hand on top of yours, closing his eyes and letting his tendrils of power, of those whispering shadows reach out. They circled your head, slowly like a snake.  He felt that song then, singing back with his own. The essence of your soul, dancing around your aura.  His eyes flashed open in surprise, then a manic laugh rumbled from his chest. "Rhys-" He breathed, pulling his attention away from a waking Feyre. Cassian looked up in a flash at his brothers, watching them exchange looks.  "Bring my mate back now." Cassian growled at Rhys. The tone was utterly deadly. Promises of death from the Lord of Bloodshed if his command was not answered. Azriel's eyes darted between his brothers. As if he was expecting Cassian to attack. The high lord would have been gaping at him if he hadn't experienced the same pain of almost losing a mate. He nodded, pulling himself together long enough to enter your vacant mind. Then the cauldron was humming, as he dipped a mental hand into it as well. +  Rhys' commanding voice rang out over your land of lavender and sunshine. "She will miss you." His voice was soft, but the attention it drew was still there. The meadow you laid in was softer than any silk in Velaris. More luxurious than any chair made to accompany your wings. You sighed, taking in the sweet scent before he spoke again.  "Too much, I believe. Especially when she hears about what you did to save her." He appeared at the edge of the soft meadow, the grass around him waving like the sea. You sat up, dazzled at the sight of him here. In such a bright, lovely place. His tanned face seemed to glow with the smile he held for you. "I'm tired." You said, voice groggy. You wanted to lay back down. You closed your eyes, for just a second and when you opened again he was in front of you, crouched. He held a tattooed hand out, giving you a nod. "Just come with me and you can nap all you want." His eyes sparkled. Not with that starlit power, but with tears ready to spill over.  You took that hand and closed your eyes.  + Feyre's warm hand in yours was the first thing you felt when you woke. Rhys held her in the corner atop a pelt rug beside you. The brothers leaned against each other. Rhys played with Feyre's hair as she rested. The sight of them together, him protecting her so well made your heart sing in approval. you knew she always deserved someone as good as Rhys. The fire where the Cauldron once was made the tent cozy. There were no sounds other than the soft breathing and the occasional pop of wood on the fire.   Azriel sat at the door, sword on his lap. Ready to kill if anyone dared enter. Then, you looked to the softness that cradled you. Cassian's face was covered in dirt, blood and more. He looked exhausted. Like he had been beaten, lost and beaten again. You tried a weak smile at him.  Clean rivers ran down from his eyes, revealing the dark skin underneath. "I couldn't let you get a statue without me." He said, voice trembling. You smiled the best you could and reached a hand to stroke his cheek.  "How-" You began, but he shushed you. "Just..rest for now. We can talk in the morning." He brushed a thumb over a silent tear that trickled from your eye. You nodded, and let him pull the blanket more firmly around you. Lulling you to sleep with soft humming.

[m-m-m-myysurana]

WIP Wednesday

Ok I got tagged by @blarrghe like at least 2 weeks ago to share a wip. (I’m sorryy!) I am notoriously bad at this sort of thing. So anyway it is actually Wednesday for me now and look who has a WIP to share!! 

This is a snippet which will, in some form or another, make it into my long fic, A Cage We Share eventually. But it insisted on being written right now ty! Kept me up last night until it was out on the page. First rough draft of course so be kind ;)

Neria and Zev spend an evening in the Dalish camp after resolving the conflict between the Werewolves and the elves. 

A Night to Remember, (1500 words)

It was like no performance he’d ever seen. The singer was not dressed in any elaborate costume, nor did he even hold himself above the others, instead he sat close to the fire and sang into it. There were no instruments backing him up, though he did not seem to need it, his voice rang out clear and strong. Some sang or hummed along softly, harmonies and echoed lines fading in and out around them. From the cadence and verse, it seemed to be a story. Zevran recognised the name of one of the elven gods, though he could not pick out enough words to make sense of it. Neria’s eyes sparkled in the firelight as she listened with rapt attention. 

“What does it mean?” he whispered.

Neria looked over and smiled softly before leaning in to whisper next to his ear, “It's the Charge of Andruil. My father used to sing it. I don’t know that I’ll be able to translate it with much grace, but I can try.” 

Zevran nodded, and she settled closer to him, leaning her head on his shoulder. He kept very still, as if any sudden movement might scare her off. He felt more than heard her low words as she echoed the song. Her translation was spoken, not sung, but her voice was no less beautiful for lack of a melody.

“Remember my teachings, Remember the Vir Tanadhal: The Way of Three Trees That I have given you.

“Vir Assan: the Way of the Arrow Be swift and silent; Strike true, do not waver And let not your prey suffer. That is my Way.

“Vir Bor'assan: the Way of the Bow As the sapling bends, so must you. In yielding, find resilience; In pliancy, find strength. That is my Way.”

More voices joined in, and soon it seemed the entire camp was reciting the verse. Not every voice was as strong or beautiful as the first, but together in harmony it did not matter. As the sound filled his ears, an emotion he could not name expanded in his chest, swelling until he felt it might burst right out of him. 

“Vir Adahlen: the Way of the Wood Receive the gifts of the hunt with mindfulness. Respect the sacrifice of my children Know that your passing shall nourish them in turn. That is my Way.

“I am Sister of the Moon, Mother of Hares, Lady of the Hunt: Andruil. Remember the Ways of the Hunter And I shall be with you.” *

When the man finished, and Neria had echoed the last line, there was no polite applause or bows taken as Zevran had expected. A moment's silence passed, in which Zevran felt sure everyone would hear how wildly his heart beat. Then a drum was struck behind him, and he startled, whirling round to face it. The man pounded the drum a few more times, then began a rhythm that had many quickly cheering and standing. Neria stayed where she was on the log they were sitting on, so he remained with her. She twisted around and watched, delighted, as more of them joined in, bringing out more drums, tambourines, bells and fiddles, something that looked like a lute but wasn’t quite, and instruments he had no names for. Others joined in with the voices, not singing any particular lyrics he could pick out, just adding to the ever changing melodies with their voices. People started dancing, forming circles around the fire, and soon the camp was thrumming with the music so that even his heart seemed to beat to the rhythm. 

Neria swayed her head from side to side, eyes gleaming as she clapped along. Zevran stood, grinning as he held his hand out toward her. 

“Shall we?” 

“Oh, but I haven’t danced in years!”

“Shocking! I think it's time we remedied that, don’t you?” 

Neria laughed and let him help her up. He had not even had time to release her hand before a woman had his arm and was pulling them both along toward the dancing. With little ceremony, she broke a space between two dancers who, once they realised what was happening, very happily made space for the three of them. The dancer’s movements didn’t cease once as they attempted to join the circle, and the ensuing chaos created much laughter. The woman wrapped Zevran’s arm around her shoulders and wrapped her own around the woman beside her. A taller man wrapped his arm around Neria’s shoulders and Zevran shifted his arm under her arm and around her waist. 

Zevran had danced before, many times, though it had been nothing like this. Most dances in his country were made for two people, even in groups the dancers were in pairs. And of course most of the ones he had learnt had a focus on romance and seduction. These movements were made not in any effort to appear graceful or attractive, and indeed he was neither of those things right now. He stumbled over his feet many times as he attempted to copy the steps. They seemed to constantly shift and change, he would only just begin to pick up on one set of movements before they had moved on to another. Neria laughed, stumbling nearly as much as he did. She, however, seemed to pay no attention to what her feet were doing, instead her eyes were up and her head thrown back, as if she were simply feeling the music. 

It took him a while to realise the voice closest to him was hers. He had never heard her sing before, her voice was low and soothing and sweet like honey. Something glimmered on her face, reflecting the dancing light of the fire. Tears? Once he noticed he could not tear his eyes away. This was the happiest he had ever seen her, and yet she was crying. It confused him, but he did not dare interrupt. 

Soon the circle broke apart, though the dancing did not cease. He and Neria were separated, and he was guided through a sort of weaving dance. Each person he passed linked arms with him and spun before sending him off to the next person. This continued until he was quite dizzy, laughing as hair flew out of his braids. 

Then suddenly it was Neria who was swinging with him. He knew the next part meant he had to let go, but he didn’t want to. So he held on, using their momentum to throw them out and away from the fire. Neria screamed with laughter as they whirled, spinning wildly until they were some distance from the other dancers. 

He wrapped his arm around her waist, bringing her closer as he slowed them down. When they’d finally stopped, Neria’s grin was wide and open, and both of them breathed heavily. Their noses nearly touched, and couldn’t help but remember the last time they were so close. Heat flushed through him unexpectedly, and something sparked in her eyes, a look he recognised from that night. They were out in the open, the whole clan could see them if they looked the right way, but he couldn’t care less. He dared to lean into her lips and was delighted when she responded with far more enthusiasm than he’d expected. There was a loud whoop followed by whistling and laughter, but Zevran did not want to pull away to see if it was aimed at them.  

The kiss was clumsy, all teeth and breathless laughter, but in that moment he wouldn’t have had it any other way. She pushed her hands into his mess of hair, destroying what remained of his braids, and he tugged at her waist until their bodies were flush against one another. Her foot caught on something, and she stumbled, falling against his chest. He was still so dizzy that they both went over. He caught himself before they hit the ground, and managed to lower them down, almost gently. Neria lay on his chest, wide eyed for a moment, but then she burst into a fit of laughter, rolling off of him and onto the damp leaves. He couldn’t help but join in. 

After some time their laughter faded as they focused simply on breathing again. Neria looked up at the sky, and Zevran followed her gaze. Framed by the clearing in the tall trees, clouds had parted to reveal a glimpse of the night sky. For a second he was taken back to the time he’d spent stargazing with Talisen and Rinna, out on the roof of their tiny, crumbling apartment. Those nights were always accompanied with so much cheap wine that his memories of them were hazy and faded. This night he hoped to keep clearly in his mind for as long as he lived. 

“Thank you.” Neria whispered the words so quietly, he wasn’t sure he was meant to hear them at all. 

He turned his head to look at her, watching her breath rise and fall as she stared up at the stars. A soft smile tugged on her lips, and her lashes came to rest on her cheeks as she closed her eyes, more peaceful than he had ever expected to see her. 

No, he would not let this memory fade.

*The song was adapted slightly from this codex entry about Andruil.

You can read about the beginning of Neria and Zev’s relationship here! <3

[jaskiersvalley]

Your writing is DEVASTATINGLY lovely, thank you for sharing it with us!

Catch me tearing up at this, Nonnie. You are far too lovely and kind. Have a little thank you ficlet which I hope you enjoy <3

If you haven’t played Witcher 3 or read the books, this will contain major spoilers about Ciri!

To say that Geralt wasn’t friendly could be taken as a bit of an understatement. Somehow Jaskier had either missed that memo or he straight up didn’t care, sticking around until he became part of Geralt’s everyday landscape. Then Ciri came along and Geralt stopped fighting destiny. They were in Kaedwen when another figure turned up at their camp, looking dishevelled and exhausted. Cahir had been running north, away from Nilfgaard and hoping to help protect Ciri. Not that Geralt was having any of it, he gruffly tried to warn off the interloper on their camp.

“It’s you!” Ciri exclaimed. “I see you in my dreams.”

Politely baffled, Cahir offered her a hesitant smile. “I only know you’re Emhyr's daughter and I firmly believe that under no circumstance should you fall into his hands."

Being everyone's friend, Jaskier struck up conversation with Cahir. However, Geralt couldn't help but feel like they were being fooled, given a sob story of someone who grew to resent the empire they led an army for. It was just too perfect, like something Jaskier would make up to sing a heart-warming song about to bring everyone together on a dreary night. Still, Geralt wasn't in the habit of being aggressive with humans if he could help it. But he could still make things unbearably awkward so they didn't stick around. That had always been the case (with Jaskier being the exception) so Geralt kept to his tried and tested method.

Nights were spent on the cold forest floor. While Geralt would meditate and keep guard, Jaskier curled up with Ciri under all the blankets they had in an attempt to keep warm. It was too risky to have a fire. Only, Cahir wasn't allowed to curl up with them, even as he passed over one of his own furs when he saw Ciri shivering. That night, Geralt watched as the rather strange human huddled against a tree, tucked under as many of his paltry belonging as possible to stay warm. Even more strangely, he slept as if he trusted Geralt to keep him safe for the night.

"How long will you travel with us?" Ciri asked innocently a few mornings later. She didn't seem to notice the way Cahir was flexing his hands to try and get some heat back into his fingers. Not that Geralt cared, he had seen the hand flop out from under a cloak as Cahir had turned in the night. It served him right, the fool that he was for thinking he could just travel with a Witcher and his family of choice and Destiny.

"I don't know," Cahir replied, the honesty raw in his voice.

Ciri didn't waste time, smiling at him as she declared, "You should come with us! Geralt said Kaer Morhen is big, so there will be room for you too."

Such simple, childish logic. Geralt wished Ciri hadn't opened her mouth though. Judging my the hesitant look Cahir was casting him, it was quite evident the invitation wasn't taken to heart. Until Jaskier joined in too.

"Yes, come with us! It will be nice to have another boring old human among the beefcakes of Kaer Morhen." He must have seen Cahir looking at Geralt because Jaskier scoffed out a laugh. "ignore his sour demeanour. He's just a grouch until he gets home."

The trek to Kaer Morhen was slow and several times Geralt wondered whether he could guide then in a way that meant he could keep Ciri on Roach, a hand on Jaskier and if, by some mishap, Cahir slipped, they could all say it was an accident. However, Geralt had a moral code that was better than that, as much as he cursed himself for it. But they made it to Kaer Morhen as a quartet. Introductions were made swiftly and Geralt showed everyone to rooms. Jaskier would share with him, Ciri would be near by. However, he led Cahir to a further part of the old keep and opened the door to room that was still functional but it was definitely not, by any definition, nice. To Geralt, the further Cahir was from him and his family, the better.

"This is your room."

He didn't expect the large eyed awe and gratitude.

"You sure? I thought you'd put me in a communal room."

There were no communal rooms but Geralt didn't want to say that. Instead, he shrugged. "This room is yours now."

It wasn't like it had much, a lumpy, straw filled mattress, a rickety chest of drawers and a fireplace. Not much more would fit in there really. Yet Cahir seemed almost overwhelmed by it.

Everything Geralt tried to do to make Cahir less eager to stick around seemed to backfire. The pass was still open and Geralt hoped Cahir would try to go back to his masters and perish along the way. One less threat to Ciri that way. However, Cahir eagerly took to kitchen duties, saying he wanted to earn his keep. He also willingly joined in with training, even sharing some of Nilfgaard's fighting styles and dirty tricks with the others.

All of Geralt's pushing had an interesting side effect. While Cahir tried to give him space while living up to expectations, he got closer to the other Witchers. Especially, Lambert and Eskel. However, like with most things not in his immediate interest, Geralt decided to stick his head in the sand about it. It didn't concern him so it wasn't his problem.

He was making his last rounds of the keep, something he didn't feel the need to do quite so often anymore. However, a soft, very human snuffle from the stall next to Roach had him suspicious. Silently peering into the stall, Geralt's eyebrows rose to see Cahir under his cloak, curled into some straw.

"Something wrong with your room?"

The words startled Cahir and he jerked, staring wide eyed at Geralt. There was straw stuck in his hair.

"Sorry. No. The room you gave me is very nice and really generous of you." That should have been an absolute lie but Cahir didn't seem to be anything but honest. So Geralt stayed quiet and allowed him to fill the awkwardly lengthening silence. "It was so quiet, I'm not used to it. The army is noisy, even when it sleeps. And I missed the stars. It's been years since I've spent more than a couple of nights indoors at a time."

Life on the road was something Geralt could understand. But it sounded like maybe Cahir had been without creature comforts for a lot longer than a Witcher. At least Geralt had a home to return to. With Nilfgaard's aggressive spread, he could easily imagine Cahir being at the forefront of that. That realisation didn't sit well with Geralt, it gnawed away at him for some reason. So he did the only thing he was capable of, he grunted and left.

However, the next day he mentioned the encounter to Eskel, hoping that he or Lambert would have a better solution. They did, but not the way Geralt had hoped. He was the one to much out the stables that week. Mostly confident that the others had sorted his little problem, Geralt didn't think much of the noise he was making. At least, not until he walked past what should have been an empty stall. Twin sets of amber eyes glared at him from within. More straw had been piled into the stall, a few more throws and furs brought in too and Cahir was nestled between two Witchers, sleeping more soundly than Geralt had seen him before.

That should have been the worst of it but, that night, Geralt found his partner missing from their shared bed. Assuming Jaskier was singing to Ciri, he crept closer, puzzled by the silence. Her room was empty too. There weren't many places they could have gone, so Geralt headed down to the kitchen, determinedly not panicking. A Witcher didn't panic, especially not in his own home. He only encountered Vesemir who looked over him once.

"Ah, you're here. Take this to the others." Geralt was handed a tray of six steaming mugs. Vesemir was holding a seventh. At the hesitation in Geralt's posture, he rolled his eyes. "Take that to the stables."

Something akin to dread curled in Geralt's chest as he approached the stables. He hadn't been good to Cahir, so he wasn't likely to be welcomed into the group. So he'd just put the tray down and make a hasty retreat.

"Drinks!" Jaskier declared with a cheer and the others in the stall all seemed to brighten too. It looked quite cosy in an odd way. Ciri was between Jaskier and Eskel but she wormed her way out to grab a drink, eyes closed as the steam wafted over her face.

"You have the best ideas, thanks," she declared.

One by one, Geralt handed out the drinks until one more was left on the tray. Everyone stared at him until Cahir took pity.

"We have room for one more if you'd like to join."

Hesitant, Geralt settled down and let out an "oof" as Jaskier snuggled in on one side and Ciri vigorously claimed his other. It was nice, a little odd but not as alienating as Geralt had feared. Though Cahir's words had been a little bit of a lie, as Geralt found out the following year. There wasn't room for just one more. Because, against all odds, they managed to somehow squeeze in a Cat Witcher that Lambert had dragged home too.

[juliandev0rak]

Into The Wild  

Chapter 5: Honeysuckle

✧ Into The Wild Series ✧ playlist ✧

Words: 3023

At the beginning of the summer Asra and Willa did a tarot reading, just for fun and mostly as an excuse for Willa to show off the cards she’d designed and painted herself. It had been a simple one card pull to symbolize the theme of the summer, and she’d pulled the star— symbolizing hope, faith, and rebirth. She hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but now, looking back at the last few weeks of summer, Willa has realized just how correct that prediction was.

She can’t remember the last time she was this happy and excited for the future. The last few years have been hard on her own, and joining the staff of Camp Vesuvia had been a last-ditch effort to fix things, to make something of herself, to find a place to belong. And as her tarot deck had predicted, she’d done all of those things. Though there was no way the cards could have predicted Muriel, or how much Willa has grown to like him in just a few short weeks.

After the movie night, specifically after the cuddling in the dark and goodbye cheek kisses, she’d been afraid he would disappear. But Muriel had kept his promise to be around more, and they’ve spent the last few days almost entirely together. He’s joined her at meals, sat with her every night at the campfire, and even helped her with work. volunteering in the arts and crafts cabin when his own work was slow.

And Willa had been just as eager to see him, she’d even followed him around on a patrol one evening. It should have been scary to be in the forest after dark like that, but she’d never had so much fun in her life holding the flashlight and listening to Muriel tell stories about his work to pass the time. That’s another change, he actually talks to her now. And whether it’s due to her persistent encouragement finally wearing him down or the tentative trust they’ve built up over a few weeks of friendship, Willa is very glad for the change.

In all of the busy days of work and evenings spent sitting close together by the fire, time has moved fast. Only one week remains before the end of the summer. Only one week remains until Willa has to drive back down the mountain and back to whatever remains of her solitary life in the city. She supposes she’ll have to look for a new job, and that she’ll simply have to forget about how wonderful things have been here at Camp Vesuvia.

Willa doesn’t want to think about forgetting Muriel yet, the thought hurts too much to consider though the deadline for accepting it grows ever nearer.

With only seven days left till the end of camp, it’s time for the culminating event of the summer— the annual talent show. It’s all the campers have been able to talk about for days, and most camp activities have been halted to allow them to practice their talents. Willa had been asked to judge, but she decided to leave that job to Asra and Julian. They’ve been bickering all day about the criteria used to find a winner and what “defines talent”. The winners will get prize money, a trophy, and most importantly— the glory of winning Camp Vesuvia’s talent show.

The air is full of excitement, and as Willa enters the amphitheater she can’t help but be swept up in the festive mood. Lucio has been busy with the decorations, he’s got an eye for dramatic decor and somehow managed to turn the outdoor stage into a real theater experience. There are lights strung through the trees, a red curtain creating a backstage area, and he even managed to convince the kitchen staff to bring out the popcorn machine.

As the campers file in, Willa takes her seat in the back, making sure to save the seat next to her for Muriel. When she saw him earlier in the day he’d promised to be there even though “talent shows aren’t his thing”, as he’d told her in no uncertain terms. Nadia takes to the stage to start the show and Willa searches the crowd, not spotting Muriel anywhere. Portia waves Willa over to sit with her and Asra, but she shakes her head. She’ll wait a little longer for him.

The first act goes up, one of the older campers sings a Taylor Swift song. She’s actually really good and Willa gives her a standing ovation when she finishes. The camper gets a ten from Julian and an eight from Asra which causes a squabble between the judges which Nadia has to break up. The judges are almost better entertainment than the show itself, and by the time the second competitor takes the stage Willa’s nearly forgotten the empty seat next to her. But sometime in the middle of the next act Muriel arrives, silently taking the open seat.

“Sorry I’m late,” Muriel says.

Willa scooches over to make more room for him on the bench, giving him a smile in greeting. “I’m glad you made it.”

“What did I miss?”

“The first camper sang a cover of ‘You Belong With Me’, and then Julian and Asra fought over the scores. Someone needs to take those score cards away from them before a physical fight breaks out,” Willa laughs, eyeing the judges warily.

The corner of Muriel’s mouth quirks up in amusement. “Sounds like them.”

The next act features a bunch of card tricks involving audience participation. “Is this your card?” the boy asks, holding up the King of Hearts for another camper to inspect. It turns out that it wasn’t the right card, and the judges give out a measly 5 and 3 as scores.

Willa sneaks a glance at Muriel as the judges deliberate and finds him already looking at her. Instead of looking away they both stare for a minute, only breaking eye contact when applause signals the next act taking the stage. Willa clears her throat, hoping the moment of staring wasn’t as awkward as she fears it was.

“Did you ever compete in a talent show?” Muriel asks, his voice pulling her out of her thoughts. He keeps his volume at a polite whisper so as not to disturb the performance.

“I was homeschooled so I didn't have much of a chance, but my brothers and I would put on our own talent shows,” Willa whispers back. “We used to charge our parents a dollar to watch the show.”

“What was your talent?”

“Singing, I wanted to be on Broadway when I was a kid. As I got older I realized I’m not that great of an actor,” Willa says, smiling at the memory of her younger self tap dancing her way across the barn.

“I think you’d be good at it.” Muriel sounds earnest, as if he really means the compliment.

“Thanks, but I think you’ll have to hear me sing first before you make that judgement,” Willa laughs.

“I’d like to hear you sing.”

Willa blushes at the comment, ducking her chin into her scarf to hide her face. “Maybe someday.”

“But I’m not going to karaoke.”

“That’s ok, it’s a bit much even for me,” she says, trying to keep her tone even as he continues to look directly at her.

A strong breeze moves through the trees around them and Muriel suppresses a shiver, his shoulder bumping hers. Willa wonders again why he doesn't bundle up in more clothing, maybe the cold doesn’t bother him like it bothers her. The thought reminds her of the present she made him and Willa turns to him excitedly.“I brought you something.”

“Huh?”

Willa reaches into her tote bag, digging past her water bottle and various scrunchies and nearly-empty packs of gum. Finally she locates the gift and pulls it out for Muriel to see. “I made you a scarf!’’

“You… made this?” Muriel takes the green knit scarf out of her hands, inspecting the repeating pattern with interest. “Why?”

“I wanted to! It gets cold here at night. I know you have to patrol outside a lot and I thought you might like something to keep you warm.” Willa reaches for the scarf again and he lets her take it. “May I?”

Muriel inclines his head slightly and allows her to wrap the scarf around his neck. When he lifts his head he’s smiling and Willa exhales in relief. He likes it.

The talent show goes on, though Willa and Muriel admittedly don’t pay much attention to it. There are musical acts, dancing, and every sort of talent in between and though Asra and Julian continue to bicker a little, as the night continues they seem to get it together. They manage to at least avoid breaking out the score cards as weapons.

With only a few acts remaining the tensions are high, and the crowd has only gotten louder. Willa looks over at Muriel and notices how uncomfortable he looks at the increased volume and chaos. He seems like he wants to leave, and Willa can’t blame him, it is a bit much. Since she’s not technically on duty tonight, and she wants to spend more time with him, Willa concocts a new plan for the evening.

“Would you like to go get some cocoa? The kitchen should still be open,” she suggests.

Muriel looks up, eyes wide in relief. “That’d be nice.”

“Let’s go then! I need a snack.” Willa grabs his hand on the pretense of pulling him up from his seat, but he doesn’t pull his hand away once he’s up. As they leave the amphitheater his fingers weave through hers and he holds her hand more tightly.

“Are we allowed to be in here this late?” Muriel asks as they enter the kitchen building. It’s warm and brightly lit, a nice reprieve from the dark path they’d had to navigate to walk here.

Willa crosses over to the cabinet where mugs are stored, reaching up on her tiptoes to grab two mugs. “Wellll… not technically, but I’m friends with the kitchen staff so it’s fine!”

“I don’t want you to get in trouble.” Muriel stands by the door, uncertainty clouding his expression.

“Muriel it’s fine, I promise. Come here and help me measure the cocoa,” she beckons him over, holding a spoon out for him to take. They make their cocoa, stirring warm milk and chocolate powder together until it's smooth.

Willa holds her mug up to her nose, inhaling the chocolate scent. “Do you want marshmallows?”

“Only if they aren’t burnt to a crisp. Maybe I should handle them,” Muriel laughs, and Willa turns to him with a surprised grin.

“Wait, was that a joke?”

“I can be funny.” He plops two marshmallows into his mug and puts three in Willa’s.

“Thanks.” Willa holds her mug up, clinking it against Muriel’s in cheers.

They sip their cocoa in silence, enjoying the quiet after a night of too much noise. Out of the corner of her eyes Willa notices Muriel watching her and she wonders if he’ll say something or if she should first. He beats her to it, setting his mug down on the counter before he turns to face her more fully.

“What will you do after this summer?” he asks.

Of course he would bring up the one topic she most wants to avoid. “I’m not quite sure, I guess I’ll move back to the city and start looking for another job,” Willa sighs. 

“So you’re leaving.”

Willa takes a sip of her cocoa, trying to decipher his tone as she thinks of a response. He sounds almost sad, and she can’t imagine it’s on her behalf. “I think I have to, I can’t stay here with no campers around, I wouldn’t have a job.”

Muriel’s hair falls into his face, leaving half of it in shadow, but Willa can still see him frown. “Why are you spending time with me, why aren’t you out there with your friends?”

“You are my friend and I like spending time with you, I like you,” she says. “We’ve been over this.”

“Why do you give me things? I don’t ever give you anything in return,” Muriel looks frustrated now and Willa fights the urge to reach out and take his hand. She gives him his space, keeping her hands firmly planted on her mug.

“You give me plenty, Muriel. I know this will sound cheesy but your friendship is a gift, being around you is the best part of my day,” Willa explains. “You don’t have to give me anything.”

Muriel still looks frustrated and confused, and Willa sighs in defeat. She’s leaving in a week, it’s now or never. If Muriel isn’t getting the picture she’ll just have to draw him a new one. Though part of her wants to just bury these emotions and not risk ruining things, she's never been one to shy away from her feelings. Even if he doesn’t feel the same way as her it’s only fair that he knows how she feels.

Before she can overthink it any more Willa blurts out, “The truth is Muriel, I like you.”

He tilts his head to the side in confusion. “You already said that?”

“No, I like you, as in romantically,” Willa pauses. Muriel stares at her blankly as if he doesn’t understand her words, but now that she’s started talking it’s hard to stop.

“I’ve liked you for weeks now, actually, ever since that night when you taught me how to roast marshmallows. And I know summer’s ending soon so I feel like I have to tell you now or I’ll never get a chance and I know I’ll regret it forever if I don’t. I don’t want to be an old lady still thinking about that crush I had in my twenties that went nowhere because I was too afraid to tell him so uh, here I am telling you…” Willa trails off, wondering if Muriel might need medical attention, he looks very pale.

“You like me?” he repeats.

“I do,” Willa nods.

Muriel continues to stare at her in silence and Willa doesn’t know what to say. Finally, the tension breaks and Muriel grabs his jacket off of the coat rack by the door. “I should go.” Before she can process what he’s said Muriel opens the door, practically running outside.

“Muriel, wait!” Willa stands in the doorway calling after him, but he doesn't turn. She briefly considers going after him but that might only make things worse.

Instead, she takes a seat on the doorstep, feeling like she wants to disappear into the dirt. For a second, tears well up behind her eyes but she blinks them away, feeling silly for caring so much. He’d run away. She’d told him she liked him and he’d left, there could be no clearer sign of rejection.

“Well, that went well didn’t it,” Willa mutters sarcastically, using her sleeve to wipe at her damp eyes. “I need to go clean something.”

She heads back into the kitchen, trying to ignore the well of emotions she feels as she washes the mug Muriel had been holding only minutes ago. She watches the cocoa wash down the drain, feeling like her own life might be headed in that direction. 

Her tarot reading from the beginning of the summer feels like a sick joke now, she should’ve pulled the tower instead, that would be a more accurate depiction of the summer. At least she’s leaving soon, Muriel won’t have to worry about bumping into her anymore. And she won’t have to see him, she won’t have to walk around camp being reminded of him and how she’d ruined things.

After a few minutes of listlessly scrubbing already clean kitchen counters, Willa takes a seat on the doorstep again. The sudden sound of footsteps approaching startles her and she turns towards the path, wondering if perhaps Muriel has come back after all. She’s surprised, and a little disappointed, to find Nadia instead.

The camp director gives her a soft smile in greeting and gestures to the step, “Is there room for one more?”

“Of course.” Willa scoots over to make room for her.

Nadia looks at Willa with a raised eyebrow, taking in her tear-stained face and red eyes. “I saw Muriel on the way here, he looked quite disturbed.”

“That’s my fault, I scared him off.”  Willa fiddles with the edges of her scarf as she speaks, picking at a loose thread.

“I’ve known Muriel for many years now, and while he is a very capable, kind person he does not always know how to react to people. Especially not pretty girls,” Nadia smiles, nudging Willa with her shoulder. 

Willa tries to laugh, though the sound comes out as more of a weak sniffle. “How did you know I liked him?”

Nadia laughs, “Oh Willa, the whole camp knows.”

“Of course they do,” Willa shakes her head in dismay. “Well clearly Muriel doesn’t feel the same way, he ran away from me after I told him.”

“As I said, he doesn’t always know how to react. Give him some space, give him some time,” Nadia counsels. Willa would normally agree but she has no more time, she can’t be patient.

“I’m out of time, Nadia. Camp is over in a week,” Willa frowns. “And I think it’s pretty clear that he doesn’t like me.”

“He likes you,” Nadia states, her tone the no-nonsense matter of fact one she uses when directing campers. “I’m certain of that.”

Willa stares down at the dirt, wondering how Nadia could possibly be certain of that. “Even if he does like me there’s no point, it doesn’t matter if I'm leaving.”

“Where’s that eternal optimist who stepped into my office at the beginning of the summer?” Nadia asks, putting a comforting hand on Willa’s shoulder to draw her attention. “Would it change anything if I told you that you don’t have to leave Camp Vesuvia?”

“What?”

“Would you like to stay?”

✧

[lykegenia]

Trust, But Verify

Convinced that Unit Bravo isn't everything they seem to be, Detective Leah Kingston decides to return to the warehouse that she knows plays some part in the mystery of Wayhaven's first murder in years, this time with Tina as backup. But sometimes, what is said on patrol doesn't stay on patrol, which isn't great when the subject of conversation is a certain new arrival with a dazzling smile and warm brown eyes.

Read on AO3

--

The air in the office holds a studied silence, from the members of Unit Bravo who have arranged themselves around the room like they’re on a photoshoot, and from me ignoring them so I can finish updating the board with information about the case. There’s precious little to go on so far. Adam called it a waste of time, but working as a teammeans everybody needs to be on the same page, and now I can feel a certain amount of spite creeping into the thoroughness of my notes.

I can’t afford to let it. Getting bull-headed means things get missed.

“What information can you give me about the other victims?” I ask.

“Nothing that will help us here.”

Nate passes a guilty glance between me and his glowering leader, but all it does is get me even angrier. Folding my arms, I turn to Adam, temper finally frayed enough to let my professional veneer slip.

“Did my mother send you to sabotage my case?” I demand. I shouldn’t, but today has not been a good day.

Adam glares. Somehow, the silence in the room deepens.

“I’m only asking because so far you seem to be trying your hardest to seem incompetent and uncaring about the fact that a woman has been murdered. If you can’t show even basic respect for that then you can get the hell out of my office and not come back.”

“Detective…”

“Are you here to help or not?” I’ve dealt with Saturday night drunks and middle managers angry at getting parking tickets – hell, I’ve had to face the mayor’s bluster more than once – and though Adam looks like he knows more ways to break someone’s bones than any of those guys, I’m willing to bet he’s on a much shorter leash.

Finally, the muscles working in that square jaw unclench just enough for him to loose a strained breath through his teeth. “We’re at your disposal.”

“Glad to hear it.” My shoulders relax a little. “The better we work together, the faster we’ll solve this, and unfortunately all the legwork has to come first.”

Nate steps forward, visibly relieved that we haven’t come to blows. “What do you want us to do?”

“We need to trace the victim’s last steps,” I say. Coming up with a plan gives me something to focus on. “Bank records, phone records, CCTV. If we can find out where and when she met the killer, hopefully we can follow the thread back to them. Someone should ask Verda if there’s any way to track down the equipment the killer needed for the transfusion, too,” I add.

“Anything else?” Mason drawls from his corner. He’s started on another cigarette.

“Nate very kindly said you’d all go and check out the Farris warehouse later. We think it might be the murder site.” I don’t miss the look Adam shoots across the room, but it’s not important. “Be careful when you do, when I was there yesterday I ran into some unsavoury characters.”

“Really?” Felix asks, grinning. “If we see them I’m sure we could take them.”

Nate rolls his eyes and Adam grinds his teeth again, and neither of them are doing anything to soothe the off vibes I’ve been getting all morning.

“Glad to hear it,” I reply, turning to grab my coat off the peg. “While you’re on that, there’s something else I want to chase up.”

“What something else?” Adam asks, his eyes narrowing as if he can hear the uneasy tick of my pulse.

I shrug, already half out the door. “I’ll let you know if it pans out.”

“One of us should go with you.”

“Thanks for the offer, but Tina and I will be fine – Tina! Fieldtrip!”

She looks up from the papers on her desk and gestures to the steaming mug in her hand. “But I just –”

“Now. We can stop off at Haley’s later.”

There’s a pause as she glances behind me, assessing, no doubt lining up a bunch of questions to ask me as soon as we’re out of earshot. “Sure thing, Detective.” She pulls on coat and scarf and sidles closer. “Day one and the power’s already gone to your head, I see.”

I stifle a smile and turn back to Unit Bravo, who are all leaning around the door of my office in various attitudes of surprise. “I almost forgot, while I’m out I’d be grateful if you could add the information on the other victims to the board. It should help.”

“We’ll see to it,” Nate promises when his colleague only flexes his biceps in response.

“I appreciate it.”

I’m almost to the door when I catch Felix sigh and mutter I don’t think she likes us very much, but I straighten my shoulders and step into the already darkening winter day, not allowing the prickle of guilt to take hold. They’re not here for me to like them, they’re here for a job – and I need to figure out what that job really is.

--

Tina shoots me a dubious look as I pull up outside the Farris warehouse and cut the engine. There’s still some light left, though the thick growth of trees crowds most of it out, and aside from a few harsh alarm calls from birds flitting between the trunks, the place is lifeless. Silent. The moon watches us from just above the top branches, hanging in the sky like a spider in the corner of its web.

“You changed your mind about letting Unit Boyband have this one?” she asks.

I reach behind me for my flashlight and check the safety on my gun is locked before kicking open the door. “There’s something not adding up about them, and I want to know what it is. Nate practically contorted himself trying to think of reasons for me to stay away.”

“And so here we are.” She sighs and follows. “Just like the good old days. As your friend, I think you’re being a bit paranoid.”

“Shady government agencies bring that out in me.”

“Just as long as you’re not expecting to split up in there.”

I toss her a grin. “Not even for a Scooby Snack?” I chuckle at her flat look. “Don’t worry, after those guys put that dent in Nessie last night, I’m not taking chances.”

With a wary look around, she unholsters her own gun and takes position on my left. “That dent looks like it was made with a sledgehammer.”

“Yup.”

We fall silent as we cross the threshold, crumbs of rubble cracking under our boots. The wind blows in from behind us, rustling the ivy reclaiming the walls, distorting sound, but unless someone is keeping very still, there’s nobody else here.

“Sooooo… it’s ‘Nate’ is it?” Tina ventures as we climb the stairs to the first floor. The artistic endeavours of Wayhaven’s teenagers scroll the walls, the empty cans and bottles from last summer’s illicit parties still scattered in the far corners.

“That’s what he asked me to call him,” I reply carefully. “It’s what the rest of them call him too.”

“Uh-huh.” She peers down at something. “Cigarette butt.”

“Recent?” I catch a shadow to my left, but when I chase it with my flashlight, it turns out just to be pigeons again, scattering for some reason of their own.

“There’s still ash on it, so I’d say so.”

“Bag it.”

While she kneels and starts the usual procedure for getting evidence into one of the bags we both carry with us, I pace the rest of the floor, peering around rusted heavy machinery and into the dustier corners in case of footprints. With so many people passing through, though, it’s unlikely we’ll find enough to connect anything to the murder – at least not anything that would stick in court.

“You have seen him eyeing you up though, right?”

“What?” I glance over, startled by the suddenness of Tina’s voice. “Who?”

Her tut would have made any disapproving grandma proud. “Nate.”

“Tina, I met him this morning.” One last glance around. “This floor’s clear.”

“So?”

“So when has he even had an opportunity to ‘eye me up’?”

“Oh, that’s right,” she sing-songs, “you were too busy doing your best to make the grumpy one quake in his combat boots, but I see everything. His mouth was hanging open and everything. And that was after your cosy little trip down to the morgue. I’m telling you, babe, you have a shot.”

We go one at a time down the stairs, which means she can’t see me roll my eyes, but as we turn to take our first proper look at the ground floor, the idea wiggles in to distract my better judgement. Nate has certainly made a better first impression than most of his team, but that’s not exactly hard, and his face looks like one that’s used to smiling, to smoothing ruffled feathers. If I maybe noticed the warmth of his hand when I shook it earlier, or caught the faint scent of whatever aftershave he uses when we were walking down to see Verda, then it’s still not something to lose my head over. It’s not something that matters.

“As your friend, I’m duty-bound to say that I think you’re delusional,” I say, deliberately light.

“Over here.”

Tina’s flashlight rounds on the transient’s camp I found yesterday, a loose pile of tattered blankets and a few rusted oil drums converted into fire barrels, only now with more light, there seems to be little evidence of recent occupation. No trash, no scuff marks beyond what could be explained by the passage of my own feet and the strangers who ran into me, and no odour of an unwashed body.

And yet…

Still crouched, I glance at the walls, try to imagine them blurred as I hold up my phone screen with the photos copied from Janet Greenland’s. She had known she was going to die, with enough advance warning to try and leave some kind of message, and then hidden them where her killer would be unlikely to look.

Tina breaks the concentrated silence. “What’s so delusional about someone finding you attractive?” It helps, the distraction from the grisly reason we’re here.

“Nothing in particular,” I reply. “People have wanted to sleep with me before. It’s just not something that would work.”

“Why not?”

I stand and walk slowly, still with my phone up in front of me. “One, this is a temporary assignment. Once we catch the killer, Unit Bravo will be whisked away to somewhere far more exotic than Wayhaven with far more interesting people.” I stop. “Two, he’s technically a colleague, which is never something that ends well. And three…”

The last of Janet Greenland’s photos line up with the view ahead of me, minus the difference in our height.

“Three?” Tina presses.

“I’m not interested.” It’s a ready answer, but she scoffs all the same.

“Oh come on, you mean you don’t think he’s sexy as hell?”

From somewhere behind us, there’s a loud crash as a piece of masonry collapses. We wheel, ready for something to come at us, but after a long moment, nothing else moves. Probably a rat, or a piece of the ceiling that was ready to go anyway. Even so, Tina keeps her back to mine as I return to my snooping.

“That’s not a no,” she wheedles after a few more minutes of silence.

“He’s –” The right description eludes me for a moment. “He’s good-looking. He seems nice, for what it’s worth. But that doesn’t mean he’d stay, and it doesn’t mean he’d be interested in anything… beyond casual. I have more worthwhile uses for my time than trying to guess a stranger’s motives for noticing me.” The bitterness isn’t something I meant to slip out, but thankfully there’s no comment on it. Tina knows enough about the fiasco with Bobby to leave that particular sleeping Rottweiler lie.

Besides, I’ve found where Janet stumbled into the warehouse – or tried to get out. By one of the broken windows some of the stones have tumbled and turned the mossy sides underneath, and a few threads of material are snagged on the jagged edge of the glass that are the same colour as the jacket she was wearing. There’s just enough light left to photograph it, but without any evidence of the killer or any kind of struggle, there isn’t much else to be done. Wayhaven doesn’t have the resources to dust an entire warehouse for prints.

“I remember being told at the academy that we should try to collect all the evidence we can,” Tina says, when I make no move to reach for a bag.

“That’s what I’m doing,” I reply. “Sometimes it doesn’t all look the same, that’s all.”

She eyes me with a frown, though the corner of her mouth is fighting a smile. “What did I tell you? Paranoid.”

--

Sitting in the Facility cafeteria barely a week later, a plate of unappetising mince and mashed potato in front of me, it’s hard to believe how much a life can change. Hunting for petty clues, looking through bank records and phone calls as if any of it would have turned up anything useful – not even the vindication of knowing I was right about my mother’s team does much to lessen the lurch the world has taken since learning that the man I was hunting is not only a vampire, but that he’s hunting me, too. The thought puts me off eating. Or maybe it’s the tests, or just that the food itself isn’t very good.

I’m in the middle of drawing a passable mixed media landscape with my fork when a shadow falls across my plate. Nate smiles at me, genuine if somewhat nervous, one hand holding a mug of tea and the other on the back of the chair opposite mine.

“May I sit?” he asks.

I’ve barely seen him since the first night I was here, between all the debriefings and the sessions with the scientists, and even those brief glimpses have been accidental, moments of stumbling into each other in the corridors of Unit Bravo’s section of the Facility. To have him seek me out, in a place that reeks of leftovers, stirs an unfamiliar flutter behind my ribs that turns into a smile to answer his.

“Please do.” I gesture, and his smile grows wider, and I cast about for something that will avoid me floundering in awkward silence. “I didn’t think I’d see you here – not because you don’t need to eat!” I add hastily. “The smell of stale coffee is almost too much for me with just human senses.”

He doesn’t seem too offended, and just shrugs. “I like the ambience. People here are just being people, no matter what species.” As he speaks his eyes cast over the nearly empty room, and the pockets of agents and supernaturals at other tables buried in conversation. A person could visit a thousand parallel universes and a cafeteria would look the same in every one.

“The more things change…” I mutter, following the line of his gaze.

A smile touches his lips. “You have no idea.”

I really don’t. Not compared with someone who’s lived so long and seen so much. In the pause that follows, I turn my attention back to my plate, and the interrupted tree I was trying to capture in the foreground with an overcooked slice of carrot.

“You’re quite the artist – I mean it!” he adds, holding up his hands at the sharp glance I throw his way.

“This is the part where you say you met some famous painter or other, isn’t it?” I grumble, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“Van Gogh did sell me a painting once – not one of his own, I’m afraid.”

If I didn’t know better, I’d say the statement was meant to impress me, and that the sip he takes of his tea is more to hide a smirk than because he’s thirsty. Still, his eyes grow serious as he taps the mug back on the table, and the measured way he looks me over makes me want to twist my fingers in my lap.

“What?”

“You seem to be handling the revelation of all this rather well,” he replies, muted, with a flicker of a softer smile. “We should have trusted you with it sooner.”

For a moment I don’t answer, both startled by the admission and caught up in an echo of the resentment that’s characterised so much of my time with Unit Bravo so far. It’s not a comfortable feeling, not now I know the reason behind the secrecy, but the morning after my second visit to the warehouse is still fresh in my mind, Adam’s flat ‘no’ when I asked if they’d found anything, and the way Nate glared at the floor, arms folded and shaking his head in tacit disagreement as the others waited for my reaction, as if they knew I wouldn’t believe them.

“I’ll admit, ‘new co-workers are secretly vampires hunting down a vampire serial killer who’s picked me as his next target’ wouldn’t have been my first guess for what was going on,” I try with a shrug. “I assume it’s not something everyone responds well to.”

“Most people who find out don’t have to deal with the serial killer part.”

Sometimes, in the face of such absurdity, you just have to laugh. Nate seems pleased that I haven’t run screaming, amusement warming the sympathetic way his gaze lingers.

“Actually, I wanted to thank you,” I say, after another moment of silence.

“For what?”

I shrug. “For wanting to tell me – trying to tell me, even though you had orders. Not everyone would do that.” My mother springs to mind as a prime example.

“It was clear you were going to find out anyway. You’re pretty incredible that way.” His gaze on mine is heavy, soft and intense but tinged with regret as well, and he looks away. “But after you went to the warehouse, it was also clear you didn’t trust us. It’s not a great combination for trying to keep someone safe.”

“How did you know I was at the warehouse?”

“I, uh…” He clears his throat, not meeting my eye. “I followed you. One of us had to, just in case Murphy came back.”

He seems… embarrassed more than anything, as if following me was somehow something more shameful than lying to my face, and it’s not what I expect. And then I remember my conversation with Tina while we hunted through the ruined building. Damn. My fork sets against the edge of my plate with a faint clink.

“You were in the warehouse – when I was in the warehouse,” I check, just in case there’s no real reason for the sudden flood of heat into my face.

“I was.”

“And you heard everything me and Tina were saying with your hypersenses, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t exactly need –” He stops, smiles an apology. “Yes, I heard everything.”

I roll my lips together, chasing something to say. My fingertips drum on the table. “There’s no chance you could just… forget all of that, is there?”

And now the smile curls into something smoother, sleek like a cat. And guess who’s the canary.

“I would rather not.” He purrs it, and my insides squirm. “But since we’re on the subject of… things you said, I feel the same way. About matters of the heart. They’re too precious to be treated casually.”

I stare. There’s more in the words than I really want to acknowledge, certainly more than I can respond to in the middle of a public place full of creatures I thought were myths for most of my life. His brown eyes search my face, patient, until I can’t stand it anymore and drop my gaze to the table, and he covers by taking another sip of his tea.

“That’s an elegant way to put it,” I manage, after what feels like an eternity. He’ll still be leaving once we’ve caught Murphy, and now that we’ve got a solid set of leads on him, that won’t be long at all.

“I hoped you would think so.”

“It must be hard to have any kind of relationship with… all of this.” I wave my hand around the room. “The secrecy and the travelling, I mean.”

His head tilts, the smile returns. “You don’t think it’s the vampire thing that would put people off?”

“No.” I don’t miss the way his mouth twitches upwards at that. “Vampires have become fashionable in the last few years, so I hear. Even if you don’t sparkle.”

“I’d hope my wit does, at least.”

I can’t help it, I break into a laugh at that. It’s so easy to feel comfortable around him, to want to be closer and spend hours just talking. When I knew he was lying, it was an easier feeling to ignore.

“You could always find another vampire,” I point out. “That would solve it if you thought it was a problem.”

It confuses him. His brows furrow as if it was something he hadn’t considered, as if the conversation has taken a turn he didn’t expect, and I use the distraction to look at the clock, high on the wall where clocks always are in cafeterias.

“I need to go. It’s stab-Leah-with-needles o’clock.”

“So soon?” he asks.

It’s not entirely untrue, but I’ll have to walk slowly not to be early, because god forbid they think I’m eager for more tests. My heart skips a little, and he can probably tell, but this whole conversation has veered far too close to gates I locked a long time ago, and do not want open again. I shrug.

“The sooner I get through everything they can think up, the sooner I can go back to catching Murphy.”

“The sooner this whole case is finished.” He watches me, the unspoken half of the sentence left hanging.

“The sooner Wayhaven is safe again.”

In the end, that’s what matters. I can’t lose sight of it.

[nubianamy]

35k, PG, Finn/Sam, pre-slash, pre-canon, camp, series, drama

from chapter 3

Every time Finn and Sam were around the campfire after that, Finn encouraged him to sing. Sometimes it was with Aggie’s borrowed guitar, and sometimes it was just him, without any accompaniment. Sam had a strong, melodic voice, and it didn’t really need the guitar, but Finn noticed he was louder and more confident when he was strumming along, and that was great to witness.

One evening, after most of the guys had gone back to their cabins and Finn and Sam were there tending the dying fire, Sam turned to him curiously. “How come you never sing by yourself? I mean, I would play anything you wanted to sing.”

“I don’t sing,” Finn shook his head perhaps a little too quickly, “that’s kind of the rule me and Puck have. Like, he’s the front man for the band, and I get to do the harmonies and stuff when we mess around.”

Sam seemed to accept that at face value, which suited Finn just fine, even if it involved throwing Puck under the bus with the implication that Puck had decided on the rule. When really, it was because whenever Finn had taken lead vocals, he’d managed to almost put the beater through the kick drum, he got so tense.

“The thing is, I can barely hear you when I’m singing,” Sam said, poking the fire with a long stick. “I’m kind of loud in my own ears, if you know what I mean. But what I can hear sounds really good.”

He smiled over his shoulder at Finn, not teasing, not waiting for Finn to say something, just because that was how Sam was. Being next to him, watching him smile like that, gave Finn courage. He took a deep breath. “I, uh… I used to sing all the time, when I was a kid. My mom had all these cassette tapes, and we’d play and sing in the kitchen and in the car. And she dated this guy, Darren. He always said I should be a singer when I grew up.”

“Sounds like he was really supportive.” Sam turned so he was facing Finn, digging the stick into the ground so he could lean against it, “What about your mom? Did she... not like it?” He quickly added, “I just... you don’t sing anymore, so I assume someone convinced you not to, or something.”

“Nobody,” Finn said, shrugging. “I mean, nobody in particular. You know how guys are. It just stopped being cool to do stuff like that. Like playing video games or reading comics. Me and Puck, we still do those things together, but… we don’t tell anybody? That would kind of be the death of our popularity, and Quinn, she thinks that’s really important.”

Sam nodded slowly, and in the darkness and the firelight it was hard to read much of his expression, “I guess people don’t do a lot of things they want to do. But, everyone here likes the singing. And I definitely do, and I like comic books and video games, so you already know I’m super lame.” He reached forward to nudge Finn’s knee with his fingers as Finn chuckled. “If you ever wanted to try with me, that’d be cool.”

“Try singing? I mean, we’ve done that lots.” Finn gave him a nervous smile. “Maybe if nobody else was around, I would. If it was just us.”

Sam looked down at the log they were sitting on for a long moment before he looked back and smiled, “I mean, Sean’s always sneaking over to the cheerleading camp, right? You come and get me when you’re ready, and I’m happy to listen.”

It didn’t happen that night, or the night after that, but Finn thought about Sam’s suggestion a lot, maybe more than he should have. It was running through his mind pretty much all the time when he wasn’t focusing on something else. Which, unfortunately, seemed to be during a lot of the practices.

“Hudson! Are you planning on running at any point this morning!” Coach Tyler yelled, and Finn picked up the pace as he quickly as he could until he was next to Sean again.

“Look, dude,” Sean looked around and gave Finn a pointed look, “You need to focus.”

“I’m trying—”

“No, your mind’s somewhere else,” Sean reached over and tapped the side of his head with the back of his hand. “Listen, I get it. You’re not finding this challenging. But the QB boat has sailed, and you need to be giving this your all, okay? Now... What can I do to get your mind off whatever it’s on, and back on these plays? Because we’ve got our second game coming up, and if Lucas loses to Sam’s team? He’s gonna be fucking insufferable.”

“Seriously, it’s nothing. It’s just something between me and Sam.” Finn shook his head, “We haven’t had time to really work it out—”

“Great. Me and Aggie are gonna go smoke weed in another cabin tonight. So, you and Sam can pick a room and hash this all out, before I lose my patience with you, dweeb.”

Finn watched as Sean moved away and was about to move himself when there was a hand on his shoulder, stopping him dead. He winced, expecting to see Coach Tyler, but instead Lucas was looking at him with a very neutral expression. “You’re interested in being QB?”

“Kind of?” Finn tried to settle under Lucas’s gaze. He’d been friendly enough to him, but then he’d turn around and be terrible to Aggie. Finn didn’t trust him. “I mean, yeah, I’m interested, but… that’s your position, right? Yours and Sam’s?”

“It’s like saying the circus belongs to the ringmaster and the accordion-playing monkey,” Lucas rolled his eyes, and looked Finn up and down, “I’m not going to be playing next year, and I kind of like the idea of passing this on to someone. I mean, you’ve got shitty taste in friends, but...” He shrugged. “I’ll find you when I’m ready, Hudson.”

Finn watched him walk away, feeling much the same as he had when Darren told him he should be a singer. Seriously, if I had your voice, my group would still exist. Keep it up. He felt a shiver. It didn’t matter in that moment if Sam wanted to be QB or not. He pictured himself on the field, in the center of the team, calling the plays, catching the hike, passing the ball for the touchdown. It actually felt possible.

Maybe that was why, when Sam asked him at dinner, “So are we singing tonight by the fire?” Finn shook his head.

“Aggie and Sean are busy,” he said. “We can be alone in the cabin.”

“Oh.” Sam seemed to hesitate, causing the line of people waiting for food behind him to stop for a moment, before he quickly took a step forward again. “Yeah. Okay. Uh, your room or mine?”

“Whatever. Except our room has that chair with no arms. It might be easier for you to play guitar sitting there, instead of on the bed?”

“Isn’t that chair really uncomfortable?” Sam said, walking straight past the salad bar without stopping. “I mean, I’m fine with either. The chair sounds great. Just, if you want the bed instead, I can make that work.”

It turned out the evening was drizzly, anyway, so Finn didn’t feel so bad keeping Sam all to himself. Back in their cabin, however, Sam seemed restless, moving from one thing to another. Finn tried to give him space.

“You know, I think I’m going to go for a run,” Sam told him finally.

Finn raised an eyebrow as Sam stripped off his t-shirt. “In the rain?”

“Just a short one. It’ll make it easier for me to focus.” He backed toward the door in his undershirt. “I won’t be long.”

“You’re gonna get wet.” Finn said, but before he could try his argument for why Sam should sit down before he lost his nerve, Sam had vanished out of the door, his glasses abandoned on the side table. Finn stood by the door, watching Sam’s legs carry him around the lake trail until he was out of sight. Then he went through the bathroom into his and Sean’s room, dug his phone out of his jacket pocket, and dialed Puck’s number.

It went to voicemail once, but the second time Finn called, it clicked to life. “You have the worst timing, Hudson. I’m in the middle of something.” Puck sounded annoyed, but there was the sound of music playing softly in the background so he couldn’t be too busy, “Or, I mean, I’m about to be getting into something.”

“Dude, you could have let it go to—uh.” He laughed sheepishly. “Sorry. I’ll be quick. What’s a song you and I sing together that’s really good? I mean, really, really good. One that shows off a little.”

“How about...” Puck trailed off, and there was a noise in the background that sounded almost like a groan.

Let's talk about sex, baby Let's talk about you and me Let's talk about all the good things And the bad things that may be

“Not that,” Finn protested. “Dude, I’m not trying to get in anybody’s pants. What the hell. I’m talking good singing.”

“Why’re you singing to someone if you don’t want to get in their pants?” Puck scoffed. “Can I offer...”

Come out Virginia, don't let 'em wait You Catholic girls start much too late Aw but sooner or later it comes down to faith Oh I might as well be the one

Finn flung himself onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling. “No, no, Billy Joel is your range, not mine. Something higher.”

“So much for being quick about it. Sounds like the rumors about you aren’t exactly accurate.” He could hear a scuffling noise, and shushing and snorts of muffled laughter.

“Dude, who’s there with you?” Finn said suspiciously.

“Oh, this big, handsome, burly right guard. Yeah, we’re going at it pretty hot and heavy right now.” Puck sounded almost bored. “And, oh, yeah, there’s Mr. Ryerson coming through the door.”

“You really know how to make everything gross,” Finn said, grinning. “Okay, well, if you can’t think of anything, I’m going to have to default to Journey.”

“Do that Steve Perry single, the one from Straight Talk.” Puck hummed the chorus, and Finn sat up. “Can I hang up on you now, or do you have more stupid questions?”

“No, I think I’m good. Have fun… whatever you’re doing.”

“Looks like I might be doing some singing, actually.” Puck sounded amused. He added, to whoever was there, “You’re serious? Right now?”

Finn laughed. “I’m out of here. Whoever she is, good luck.”

He had to look up the lyrics to the song on his phone, not because he hadn’t sung it eight thousand times, but because he was sure he had been singing some of them wrong for years. Somehow it seemed important to get the lyrics right when he was singing for somebody else. Not that he was singing to Sam, or anything like that.

Actually, now that he was reading the lyrics, Finn decided he might want to have second thoughts about singing this particular song. It wasn’t because it was a love song, but it was kind of sad, and not exactly upbeat. But it was too late to call Puck back, and he wasn’t going to pick something else now.

There was the sound of footsteps on the stairs outside, and Finn sat up on the bed quickly, his phone almost bouncing on the mattress as it slipped from his hand. He had begun to swing his legs off, but the door opened with a very loud noise, and Sam stepped in, shaking out his hair.

“Paul wanted us to know that the hose for the sprinkler system is working again,” he said dryly, barely looking as he pulled at his undershirt that was soaked to his skin. “It came off and sprayed me, but he, very heroically...” he trailed off, his eyes finally falling on Finn who was resting back on his hands, his legs splayed wide. “Uh... are you... waiting for someone?”

“Me? No.” Finn straightened up, trying to figure out what to do with his hands. He rose to his feet, tripping over his shoes a little. “Who would I be… um. Can I get you, like, a towel or something?”

“I should get to the bathroom,” Sam gestured but his shoes squelched as he took a step, and Finn quickly shook his head.

“No way, you need to lose the shirt at least, man, before you get sick. You can borrow one of mine until you go next door.” He grabbed one of his big, comfy McKinley High athletics shirts from his drawer and held it out. “Just—sit there and take off your shoes. I’ll get you that towel.”

He ducked into the bathroom. The towels on the rack both smelled like feet, so he rummaged in the shelf above the sink until he found a clean one. It was a worn towel from Six Flags, the one with the picture of the roller coaster on it.

Finn brought it back into his room where Sam was sitting on the floor in a puddle, his soaking-wet undershirt in a pile next to one of his shoes. He was struggling to get the other one off. When Finn snickered, he shot him an exasperated look.

“It’s really hard to untie wet shoelaces,” he protested.

“Hey, I’m not saying anything,” Finn held up his hands with a grin.

He exchanged Sam’s wet undershirt for the dry towel, then took the shirt into the bathroom to drip dry. He couldn’t help but pause in the doorway, though, and glance back at Sam, who was contorting himself trying to get a better angle on the lace, until his foot was nearly over his head, as he got more and more frustrated.

“Here.” Finn knelt on the floor next to him, gesturing for Sam to put his foot back on the floor. “You’re just making it hard for yourself. Let me.”

Sam looked very unsure about this, but he let Finn tug at the heel of his shoe until it finally slid off his foot with a sloppy sound. It made them both snicker. When Finn presented him with the shoe, like it was a priceless gift, Sam laughed harder.

“Thanks.” Sam rolled his eyes. “For the towel, too. It’s been a pretty crappy evening so far. Maybe... I should just turn in.”

“You think it’s going to get any better if Aggie gets home and sees you’re asleep?” Finn joked lightly, “I bet he’d put your hand in warm water just on principle. Come on, why don’t we just... hang out. I’ve got this dumb book I’m supposed to read for my classes next year, I’m sure you could do some sketching or something, right?”

That made Sam brighten a little. “Yeah, that sounds pretty good.”

It didn’t take long for the two of them to get comfortable, but the separate beds felt like way too far away to Finn’s mind. He pulled the blanket off the bed, and made himself a little half-nest on the ground, his back to the drawers. Sam spread out on the mattress, not physically, but between the sketchpad, a small pile of comic books, and the guitar resting against the headboard, there wasn’t a lot of space there.

The book was very boring, but listening to the sound of Sam’s pencil skritching away on the paper was strangely relaxing.

It wasn’t until the third time that he lifted his hand to his nose, and Sam hummed in a mildly negative way, that he turned to look. Sam finished with a line, and then looked back towards Finn and froze. Finn offered a small smile, “You doing all right?”

“Yeah, I was just...” Sam glanced at the sketchbook on his lap and then back to Finn. “Art, you know?”

“Are you drawing me?” Finn couldn’t help but ask, his chest feeling strangely warm. Sam looked mildly horrified, but after a beat he slowly nodded. “Can I see?” Finn continued, and that got a sharp negative. Finn tilted his head. “Why not?”

“Because... it’s embarrassing.” Sam shrugged, “And private. And you were supposed to sing, and you didn’t, so I’m holding my art ransom.”

“Oh, yeah?” Finn felt his smile broaden. “Does that mean you would show me if I sang something?”

Sam glanced back at the sketchbook and then back to him, “It’s honestly not that good. I mean, I really want to hear you sing, but I don’t want you to be disappointed if you’re expecting the Mona Lisa or something.”

“Dude,” Finn said softly. “There is literally no way I would be disappointed by you, Sam. Ever.”

Read the rest of chapter 3 | Read the whole story on AO3

[fandomsilhouette]

fan the flames and face the fire (all these sparks make me a liar)

Some glass is crystal clear, with all the world behind it to behold. This glass sends color ricocheting off the walls, brings light where there was none and makes the world look brighter, more valuable than it was before. It makes the world look worth exploring, worth loving. Worth being vulnerable for. 

They’re both glass. Just glass, right? 

Felix was used to the feeling of eyes on his skin like judgement, like insects or shame crawling up his spine. It was easy to ignore; years of practice made shedding stares like shedding a coat after stepping indoors. 

Hanging out with Marinette made his nerves tingle, every curious glance like a spark waiting to set him alight. He itched, squirmed under the attention, didn’t know how she could bear it so poignantly. It took him two months to ask. By the time she responded, head tilted cutely, bangs falling into her eyes, he wished he’d never even thought of the question. 

“What stares?” 

She didn’t even notice! Marinette had spent her whole life existing in a circle everyone wished they could be a part of, for good or for evil, curious and conniving and hopeful and horrible and everything in between, and she had no idea. Being in the middle of a hurricane that he had spent five years caught in the winds of was surreal. It was like floating on the same clouds that had left him drenched and drowned for so long. 

Marinette handed out pieces of herself so casually, as if this information wasn’t unbelievably precious, as if they were scraps of paper like notes dropped onto his desk instead of gifts of gold he hoarded like a dragon, as if  Felix didn’t desperately want to make up for the last five years of distance. I like to sew, she mentioned, I want to be a fashion designer. Do you want to see my sketches? Baking is stress relief for me, she explained when her parents dropped off the mini cinnamon buns she’d made in the shape of little cats. I don’t like to bring them to school myself though because I’m either confident or clumsy, and I haven’t figured out how to choose yet. She brought him notes when he was sick, because catching up when Chloe got me wrongfully suspended was so hard, and even when it was overturned the teachers didn’t offer much time for recovery. She was astonishingly good at science and never learned how to subtract; she liked to quilt and cross stitch but she knew how to bind her own books too, because reading on the screen gave her a headache. 

Felix learned all of these things like they didn’t matter, like the way that she hummed off key under her breath and the way that she swung her arms in time to his footsteps when they walked together wasn’t important, wasn’t as essential to Felix’s life as his own breath, his own heart. 

Felix grew up without friends. By choice, by necessity, by whatever he chose to label it: but now he was here, and he wanted everything. This being friends thing was so… was so intense, with the way his heart pounded in his chest and his words disappeared with one glance of her playful blue eyes. Felix had never felt so flustered in his life, like he was always a step behind her, like every time he managed to catch up she disarmed and sent him reeling long enough to race forward again. 

Felix had spent so long learning how to be a good boy, a mature boy. A young adult confident in his skin. Being around Marinette meant learning how to be messy, wild and spiraling out of his body, taking up space and throwing words against a wall to see what sticks. 

Marinette made him feel like it was okay to do that. 

Marinette made him feel like he was good when he did. 

It’ll be the first year they’ll take the bus to camp together, really together, the way they should’ve at age seven. Felix is bouncing in his seat, clenching his fists over air when he can’t find anything to grab, to hold onto or tear at. He’s clutching at the windowsill waiting for her signature ponytail to bounce into sight. 

She does, and his pulse races. Her tank top stretches over her shoulders, rides up against her stomach, and Felix nearly topples out of his seat. She’s here!!

Immediately, two campers rush to grab her wrists, already pulling at her. Felix remembers them from last year, so scared to be away from home for the first time, and it looks like they remember her well. Another child is crying quietly, and Marinette makes her way over, kneels until she’s at their level. 

“Hey there, little bird!” She tugs at their t-shirt, hanging loosely off of their shoulder. A cartoon bird is ironed onto the pocket, and Marinette pokes at it gently. The child hiccups a laugh through tears, and Marinette scoops them up into the air. “Gonna fly away from me, little bird?” They laugh and kick until Marinette pulls them into her chest, where they bury their face into her neck. 

“No!! I’m gonna stay here with you!!!” Suddenly shy, they peek up at her. “If… if that’s okay?” 

“Well gosh! I can’t imagine being anywhere else.” When Marinette winks, Felix sees their shoulders relax, draining of tension. They snuggle into her, and he knows she’ll be spending the bus ride in the back with the youngest campers. Something like disappointment and pride curls up in his stomach, a cat making its home by the hearth. 

Marinette waves at him as she passes and another camper, nine years old and too hyper for their own good, throws themselves at Felix. He catches them, and grins at Marinette. His smile is crooked and the child is already yanking Felix’s shirt out of place. 

She takes a picture, and Felix grins harder. 

Being at camp as the eldest campers is a wildly new experience. Nino has taken over the guitar laying haphazardly by the fire pit, and there are always camp songs drifting across the fields now. His wrist is decorated with friendship bracelets from all the kids he sings with. Felix and Marinette have matching ones and Nino likes to tease Felix about them being the only pop of color on his otherwise grey palette. Being friends with Nino is new and thrilling too, inside jokes and playful ribbing that makes Felix grin. Marinette has admitted she likes watching the two of them interact, and Felix makes an effort to do it more often just for that. He spends time with Nino even when she’s not there, though, and it’s nice to have another friend, no matter how much it doesn’t feel the same as being friends with Marinette. 

Camp looks the same and different now. There are so many people they already know, who are still finding all the best spots in the forest to hide in, the best trees to climb to see all the way out to the waterfalls just ahead of camp, the best foods from the great hall and the best ways to roast marshmallows over a campfire to get that perfect char, that melted inside. 

Every now and then, Marinette smirks at a particularly perfect marshmallow and then glances at Felix. He refuses to ask until almost six weeks later, she adds a little shimmy of her shoulders and an eyebrow wiggle, and then he folds like a bad hand at poker. 

“Okay, fine, what is it?!”

“...they’re like youuu!” She does it again, and this time her shimmy leans her into his space. Felix holds himself still and hopes the light of the fire covers his blush. 

“How?!” 

“Grumpy on the outside and melted in the middle!!” Her voice is sing-songing and Felix refuses to acknowledge exactly how melty being around her makes him feel. 

“...you’re just as melty, okay.” His voice is gruff and he’s worried as soon as he says it that she doesn’t want his friendship in that same consuming kind of way, that she’ll laugh and prove him wrong. Instead, she stays quiet for a long moment that sends Felix into a whole new kind of panic and then responds, almost too quiet to be heard over the crackling of the fire. 

“...I really am.” 

Felix is suddenly overwhelmed with the way that she says it, like there are so many levels to what she’s saying that he can��t possibly burrow through them all. 

“I-- Marinette, I’m so lu-- lucky to be your friend. I know that I could’ve had yo-- uh, could’ve been your friend years ago, and it’s my fau-- my fault, but I have you now and I’m… lucky, thank you.” 

“...I’ve never heard you stutter like that.” 

Shame flushes through his body. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so-- I’m sorry, Marinette, I’ll stop.”

“I kind of like it.” She isn’t looking at him. Her voice cuts through to his heart anyways. It pulls at him, yanks his response out of him before he has a chance to grab it back, pull it into himself and tear it apart. 

“Why?!” 

“I like it when you fall apart like that. I feel like… I feel like I get to know you more than the polished perfect boy you used to pretend to be, like I get to see the way you think as it happens. It makes me feel trusted, and I just… I really value that, Felix. I know how special it is.” She watches the campfire spit flames at her marshmallow and turns it idly, following the glittering trail of sparks across the skyline, then peeks at him between her bangs. 

“I know how special you are. I’m pretty lucky, too.” 

[the-awkward-outlaw]

Hi! I love your works and I was wondering if you could write something about a new "lost soul" saved by the gang and trying hard to fit in. A reserved female reader who secretly develops feelings for Arthur, knowing well he has no interest in getting involved with anybody. A good ol' heart-wrenching, I-will-pine-from-a-distance-and-suffer-in-silence kind of unrequited love. Ending is up to you (but maybe it's a happy one

This one turned out sweet. Arthur’s the biggest softy. That said, FLUFF AHEAD!

Masterlist

Read on AO3

You look around nervously, not sure you’re entirely in the right place. Everything’s changed so quickly, it’s hard to process. Sure, you’ve heard endless tales of gangs and outlaws, living wild and free, but you never knew the gritty details about any of it. Now here you are, living it. 

You ended up here with the Van der Linde gang because your life has a funny habit of putting you in the wrong place at the wrong time. You’d been on the train two days ago, and it got robbed by a gang. As they were busy killing the engineer and the conductor and going through everyone’s possessions, a man you’ve come to know to be named as Arthur rode by and killed the bastards. You sank to your knees in fright, afraid you’d be killed too. 

As you sobbed into the grass, your hero dismounted and comforted you. When you explained that you had no home, nowhere to go and nothing to return to, Arthur offered you to come with him. You accepted, of course, you just found yourself incapable of saying no. He put you on the back of his horse and rode down south of Blackwater and into a small hideout called Thieves Landing. 

You’ve never been here before, your parents told you as a child to avoid the place as though it had the plague. Everyone south of the Upper Montana knew it was where criminals hid and because of its layout, it was hard for the law to take. 

It was here that Arthur told you his gang was hiding out in and that you were welcome to stay until you got your life sorted. An older woman named Grimshaw immediately jumped on you and started barking orders, despite you being completely dumbfounded and confused. 

It’s been two days since you were brought in, but you’re not entirely convinced you’re fitting in all that well. The gang’s big with at least twenty members. All of them, even the women, have a track record. The only one who’s as innocent is a child named Jack, but the rest have done something to earn them at least a few days in jail, but most have earned even the noose should they ever get caught. 

It’s not a comforting idea exactly, but already you can see how tight-knit they all are. There’s a sense of family here, the likes of which you’ve never had the fortune of experiencing. While in the day, Grimshaw barks and even nips, at night she turns pleasant, making sure everyone gets a plate to eat and singing songs around the campfires. 

She’s not the only one to let down their hair at night. Most of everyone does, telling stories about things that have happened or singing songs. You especially liked it last night when a young man named Javier sat down and played his guitar, singing in Spanish. Being from down south yourself, you were used to hearing his native tongue though you understood none of the words. It was still pleasant to hear. 

“So, how’s you adjustin’?” asks the young girl next to you as you scrub at a shirt in the wash bin with a rather stubborn spot that doesn’t want to come out. She’s got brown hair and she’s wearing a faded purple dress with a rather pretty necklace. 

“I… I think I’m okay. But… Mary-Beth, isn’t it?” you say. She nods. “Can I be honest with you?” She nods again. “I really don’t fit in here. Not because you’re criminals and I’m not, it’s just… I have nothing to offer anyone. I don’t know how to steal, shoot a gun. Hell, I can barely ride a horse.” 

“And that’s okay,” Mary-Beth says with a small smile. “You can learn how to do those things. I’m more than happy helpin’ ya, and I bet the other gals will too.” 

“Not only that, but we can always use another girl,” Grimshaw snarls, stomping over to you both. “Now get to work, both of ya!” She marches away to go bully Tilly. 

“Don’t worry about Ms. Grimshaw,” Mary-Beth says when the woman’s out of earshot. “She likes to act tough, and sometimes she can be a little too forceful, but she does care.”

“That’s to be debated,” says Karen, walking over with a repeater in her hand. She must have just finished with guard duty. “That ol’ bat wouldn’t give a damn if we was all on fire, long as we’re workin’.” 

Mary-Beth gives a little giggle, but Karen walks off to go and talk with a red-haired man. Because Thieves Landing is so large, you’re still learning the names of the members of the gang. You’ve kept your ears open though, wanting to learn about these people, see how the other side of society works. 

Growing up, you never had many friends, always being very shy. At school, you were bullied a lot for reasons you couldn’t understand. Your parents tried to help you but there was little they could do aside from pulling you out of the school and teaching you themselves. They didn’t know much about math or science though, so they taught you what they knew: how to ranch and garden. 

When you were about ten, your father got sick and died. A few weeks later, your mother, who had contracted his illness, died too. You ended up at your uncle’s house, but he was such an abusive, angry drunk you just left one day when you were 15. You’ve been on your own since, jumping from one job to the next. You were between them when you were on that train a couple days back, when Arthur found you. 

As you sit and work, you smile as you think of your father. He used to tell you many stories, but your favorites were those about gunslingers and outlaws. Something about them seemed romantic and fantastical, the way they represented the idea of freedom, of never being tied down. You never thought you would be incorporated into a gang of them as an adult. 

A few hours later and you hear the somewhat familiar voice of the camp cook Pearson shouting that dinner’s ready. You sigh in relief, knowing that dinner signals the end of the day’s work and you can relax. The past two nights you’ve spent alone on your bedroll, being too shy to mingle, but as you stoop to collect your stew, you wonder if you can muster the courage to change that. 

Several of the gang has gathered around a large campfire to talk over dinner. There’s an empty seat, but it’s right next to Arthur Morgan. Sure, he’s the man who brought you here, but you feel especially unimportant next to him. He’s a big guy, much taller than yourself, broad, handsome. The girls told you he’s got a very rough exterior but secretly harbors a heart of gold. However, it wasn’t until you found out he holds some of the greatest weight in camp that made you shy around him. 

A hand pats you on the back, making you jump a little. Turning, you see Grimshaw. 

“Go on, have a seat, dear. You’ve earned it.” 

Unable to say no to her, you walk over and take a hesitant seat next to Arthur, hunching down a little. He doesn’t seem to notice as he’s listening to a man named Hosea tell a story about how he’d nearly been busted for robbing a house during a wake but how he’d managed to act his way out of being caught. It’s a rather funny story and as the others laugh appreciatively, you feel yourself relaxing. That is until Hosea’s story ends and he asks you a pointed question. 

“How are you settling in, miss?” 

You hate being brought out in the spotlight like this and it doesn’t help that Arthur, sitting so close, turns to look at you, his expression neutral. 

“Oh, I’m… I’m doing okay, thank you. Mary-Beth said she can teach me how to rob people, so I’m hoping I won’t be so useless to you anymore soon.” 

“No one’s complaining about you being useless,” says a man named John, sharpening his knife on a whetstone. “When you start bein’ as useless as Uncle, then we’ll have a problem.” 

“Hey, I work!” complains the man in question. 

“Really? When was the last time you lifted a finger ‘round here, ol’ man?” Arthur challenges. The group happily begins to bicker, but you’re grateful as it’s pulled their attention off of you. 

As the days pass, you begin to hear people in the gang beginning to talk about a big score. A member named Micah came in to bring the idea of a big river boat to the gang’s leader Dutch. From what you can make of Dutch, he’s a clever, calculating man who cares deeply for his family. Mary-Beth and Tilly told you how he and Hosea took both Arthur and John in as their sons despite not being much older themselves. They formed this gang together and it’s stayed strong. 

Ever since Micah brought in the potential job, the gang’s been humming with excitement. It seems to be a very big score and will need a lot of help for it to work. You’d like to volunteer, to contribute something, but you know you’re utterly useless right now. Mary-Beth’s only begun to explain the basics of robbing to you. However, this job sounds like it’s to come with a guaranteed gunfight. 

The day for the heist arrives and pretty much every man in the gang goes to do it. A few hours later, they return to Thieves Landing bearing bad news. Somehow the law knew the boat was going to be hit and they met the gang with fierce opposition. Poor Jenny, whom you’d just started to get to know, was shot and so was Davey and John. Dutch and Hosea start shouting for everyone to get packed up as the Pinkertons are in pursuit. 

Days go by and Thieves Landing is far behind you and the others. The gang has moved north, still trying to shake the Pinkertons off. Jenny passed away two days ago, but no one has been able to bury her as a massive snowstorm moved in shortly after she passed. 

Moral is at an all-time low, yours included. You wouldn’t dream of leaving though, these people have become your close friends and even border on something like a family. Grimshaw tries to encourage everyone to stay positive, but it’s clear she doesn’t feel it much either. 

Night falls once again as the wagon train goes along a narrow pass, the horses trudging through the thick snow. The weather has stayed horrible for days, dumping the white powder in great heaps. The Pinkertons haven’t been seen in the past two days. Perhaps this means the gang can finally find somewhere to hide. Dutch sent Arthur out a few hours ago to scout, along with John and Micah. 

Arthur returns just as Abigail makes note that Davey is nearly dead. He reports that he found a place to shelter and guides the train there. It’s a small town named Colter according to a small sign by the main trail. The gang moves into the largest building but Abigail says Davey’s passed. Soon after, Dutch and Arthur go out to find what else might be around and they end up bringing back a heartbroken woman named Sadie. 

Two days go by and the weather’s hardly let up. You stand outside in the freezing, snowy morning. You just need a break from the others for a while. Even though you enjoy most of them, being cooped up in such tight quarters for so long has worn you out. However, you’re already shivering from the cold under all your layers. 

“You doin’ okay? Ya look half frozen,” a voice says from behind. You turn and see Arthur, wrapped up in his big blue coat, his face hidden beneath his hat. 

“Yeah. Yeah, just need a break. Been a tough few days.” 

“It sure has.” Suddenly a fierce blast of wind whistles down the path and Arthur wraps an arm around you as though to protect you from it. As you lack a hat and your head’s covered only by a thin blanket, you bury your head into his chest. He lets you though, but as soon as the wind dies a little you pull away from him, your face red. You blame it on the cold wind. 

However, something changes with your view of Arthur. Sure, you’ve seen him comforting most people in the gang and he’s known for being caring and gentle, interested in all movements in the gang. But you were never a receiver of that care until now. You try denying your feelings, saying you’ve just been isolated for too long. 

Nearly a week goes by and you’ve tried keeping distance between yourself and Arthur, believing your feelings will cool down with the space. The weather finally breaks and Hosea suggests camping in a new place he knows in the Heartlands. The gang is moved into action finally and the wagon train moves down to it. 

It’s a great relief to finally be surrounded by trees and green rather than white and feel the warm sun instead of cold wind. The new camp spot, Horseshoe Overlook, is beautiful. Immediately you’re set to work by Grimshaw, but when night falls, you’re allowed to rest. 

You stand on the edge of camp near the cliff, overlooking the river and the canyon. This place is beautiful. You’ve rarely seen this much moving water, being from the desert. Arthur walks over with two bowls of stew. 

“Here, noticed you ain’t eaten yet.” He hands you one and you thank him. 

The two of you stand together, eating without speaking for a few moments. 

“So, now you been with us a while and seen us at our best and worst,” Arthur says, “what you thinkin’ of doing?” 

“How do you mean?” 

“I mean what you plan on doin’? You gonna stay or you thinkin’ of movin’ on? No one would blame you if you decided to leave.” 

“Do you… want me to leave?” you say with a pang. 

“No. No, far from it. I think you could easily find a place among us. Seems like you already have too. Pretty much everyone here likes ya.” 

You blush a little and look away. “I think I wanna stay. I like it here.” 

He smiles a little, his blue eyes shining. You feel a surge of desire to hug him, your heart beating a bit faster. “Well, good. Like I said, think you’ll fit in easy.” 

He takes your empty plate and heads off, leaving you alone. You turn and watch him, wanting nothing more than to be with him. Part of you wishes he’d come back to you, but he heads off to sit next to John and Hosea at the campfire. You turn back to watch the sunset, trying to push him out of your mind. It won’t do you any favors.

The next morning, you’re sitting with the other girls doing chores. Mary-Beth turns to you. “So, saw you blushing when Arthur said good mornin’ to you.” She gives you a sly look. 

“I… I thought I had to sneeze right when he spoke to me,” you lie. 

“It’s okay if you like him,” she says consolingly. “To be honest, I think we all developed a little thing for him in the beginning. I did anyways.” 

“I’d be lyin’ if I said I didn’t,” Tilly says. “But, do yourself a favor, Y/N. Move on from him. I ain’t sayin’ that out of selfishness or cruelty, but Arthur’s unavailable.” 

“I didn’t know he had someone,” you say sadly. 

“Well, he doesn’t anymore, but he can’t seem to move on from her,” Mary-Beth explains. 

As if on queue, Arthur walks out of his tent, reading a letter. Susan walks up to him and they exchange words. You hear the name Mary and Susan tells him she never liked her. He says something to her and then heads out. 

“And there he goes, off to see her,” Karen says sourly. “She barely has to say his name and he’ll move mountains to see her.” 

Your heart sinks even further. You’d just begun to accept the fact that you have some strong feelings for Arthur, but this is a harsh blow. If he’s still attached to this woman, it means he’s definitely not interested in you. It’d be best if you give him up. 

Night comes and Arthur’s returned. Once again, he brings you a plate of food as you stand near the cliff. A long silence passes between the two of you, your mind heavy. 

“You okay? Awful quiet,” he says. 

“I’m doin’ just fine, Arthur, thank you though,” you say somewhat coldly. You mentally make a note to be a little nicer. It’s not his fault you’ve got a crush on him. 

“You sure? If ya need to talk, I’m always willin’ to listen. I want ya to be happy.” 

God, why does he have to be so sweet yet so unavailable? It’s incredibly frustrating. You turn to him. 

“Well, maybe you can help. Have you ever had real strong feelings for someone? Someone you couldn’t be with because you know they’d never want to be with you, and because they’re hung up on someone else?”

He gives you a curious look. “Who you talkin’ about?” His face falls a bit. “It’s John, ain’t it? You got a thing for him, don’t ya?”

Is that envy in his eyes? “J-John? No, Arthur, I don’t have a thing for John. Sure he’s nice and funny, but he’s not my type. Plus I think Abigail would murder anyone who tried anything with him.” 

His face lightens up a bit. “I think you’re right there. Well, I don’t know much about relationships. Pretty useless, in fact.” 

You smile up at him. “Well, thought I’d ask.” 

“Who is this person?” he asks. “Anyone I know?” 

“Definitely. He’s… someone in this gang, but like I said, he’s emotionally unavailable. Besides, I wouldn’t stand a chance with him.” 

“Ah, don’t sell yourself short.” He sighs a little. “Well, maybe you just need to walk up to this feller, tell him exactly how you feel.” 

“Okay. Arthur, I like you.” 

“Exactly. Just like that.” He smiles. “See? It ain’t so hard.” 

“No, Arthur, you’re not listening to me,” you say, your face beat red. “I said I like you.” 

He blinks and straightens up a bit. He looks shocked. Or maybe that’s anger. Fear stings your stomach and you take a step back. 

“I… I’m sorry. I was… just practicing.” You turn to walk away, deciding never to be alone with Arthur again. You can’t blame him for being angry either. You wouldn’t like you if you were him. 

“Y/N, wait.” His hand’s on your shoulders. “Did you mean it?” 

You look down at your feet. “I’m sorry, Arthur. I didn’t choose to like you, and I’m sorry for it. Not because you’re not a good man,” you say hastily at the look on his face. “What I meant is I’m sorry for… me.” 

His eyes soften considerably. “Please don’t apologize. Especially for you bein’ yourself. Can I tell you a secret?” He leans in a little and whispers, “I’ve liked ya since that day up in Colter.” 

You blush even deeper. “Me too.” 

His arms suddenly slide around you, hot and gentle. Your hands are on his shoulders and he leans down, placing his lips on yours. Something flutters in your chest. It’s like a bird is trapped inside, fighting to get out. They’re slightly chapped, but the moment his lips touch yours, the bird settles and gives a satisfied purr. You lean into the kiss, sighing a little. 

“Bout time you two finally did somethin’,” Hosea says, walking past. He gives you both a sly smile. “Dutch and I been gettin’ tired of seeing you two gettin’ all dovey eyed when the other wasn’t looking.” 

You laugh and put your forehead onto Arthur’s chest, trying to hide your face as Arthur laughs. 

“Sorry, Hosea.” 

“Nah, you two kids have fun.” He walks off, chuckling a bit. Arthur looks down at you and smiles. 

“You wanna go somewhere a little more private? Try that kiss where we won’t be spied on?” 

You bite your lip and smile, nodding. Arthur takes your hand and leads you off into the trees. You pin him to a tree and kiss him hard, pressing your body on his. His arms slide up your back and wind into your hair. As the kiss deepens, you wonder where else this night will go. 

[bellarkestitchdelena]

Prompts im filling

Sea Mechanic Burden Of Truth AU

Publication Date: May 10th-20th

Raven is a lawyer, a prodigy of Abby Griffin, the most prolific lawyer on the east coast. She's sent to a small town in south Carolina to represent an oil company who is being sued for operations runoff that is apparently getting kids sick. She thinks it'll be an open and shut case, but then she meets Luna, the lawyer representing the other side. Her opposing counsel is brilliant and beautiful and keeps Raven on her toes in a way noone else has, and the more time they spend together in and out of the courtroom, the more raven realizes she's on the wrong side of this fight. Will she have the courage to go against her boss and mentor, the only mother figure she ever had? More over, will she have the courage to tell Luna how she feels about her?

Roarke CIA Prompt

Publication Date: tbd

Clarke joins the CIA to escape her own life by becoming someone else. She made it through the farm with top marks and a promising career ahead of her. Except the cover shes been assigned is to infiltrate Azgeda industries as part of a joint mission with the KGB. And her new "husband" is the biggest (and hottest) asshole she's ever met in her life.

Brolarke Accidental Courting Au

Publication Date: tbd

Bellamy and Clarke messed up. How were they supposed to know that gifting roan a fur blanket and a book was considered a courting gift? And how were they supposed to know that Roan giving them gifts meant they were engaged and now expected to marry? Can they navigate their own tentative friendship that they were slowly fixing and their own engagement to Roan individually and together?

Octabriel Pirates au

Publication Date : tbd

Falling inlove with a crewmate can be messy, but it doesnt stop Captain Octavia from falling inlove with her first mate ships doctor Gabriel Santiago. But when news of treasure reaches them Octavia sets her site on it despite Octavias reluctance. Can the two lovers find common ground or is this the end of their story?

Bellarke and Murven Ashes and Fire Au

Publication Date: tbd

As if living through an apocalypse isn't enough, Clarke finds out that the radiation cloud that swept the planet- that she and only about 10% of the population managed to survive- has left her with the power to manipulate fire. Luckily for her shes not the only one. She doesn't know how they found her but shes never been more grateful.

Bellamy, Raven, Murphy and Octavia find Clarke hiding out in an old house that she accidentally set on fire. They take her in and teach her how to control her powers. They tell her of the new destruction that they've found and the new dangers out there. It seems that everyone that survived has a mutation that allows them to manipulate and element and not everyone is using them just to survive.

While Clarke gets along with Raven, Murphy and Octavia, She and Bellamy butt heads, until they don't.

Raven and Murphy have known eachother for their whole lives and its a will they wont they situation- until the apocalypse and then their was no time for love. Or is there?

Bellarke Taylor Swift Lover Prompt

Publication Date: tbd

A modern au based on the song that's fluffy

Bellarke Falling For teacher prompt

Publication Date: tbd

Bellamy doesn't dance. But when Octavia begs to dance with her at her wedding he doesn't have the heart to say no. So he asks maid of honor Clarke Griffin to teach him how to dance. But what is supposed to be simply ballroom lessons turns into something more

Bellarke Her Song Prompt

Publication Date: tbd

Bellamy has always heard this voice calling and singing to him from the ocean. He has always only had one idea in mind, to sail over the horizon and find her. Unfortunately, unable to afford a ship and crew, the only choice for him is to become a pirate. Ten years later and the voice has tuned down until he almost forgets why he started sailing in the first place. However, one day after a bad attack that leaves his ship in bad shape and sends him overboard in the middle of the storm, the voice calls to him once again to save him.

Bellarke Man or Monster Prompt

Publication Date: tbd

Clarke lost her best friend in a tragic accident a few days ago. With her odd skill as a doctor, she does the only thing she can do and bring him back Frankenstein style. She stitches him back together using electric shock and a few spells from her spell book. By a miracle or mostly not he comes back but is he still him "clarke why would you do this?" "I couldn't live without you."

Memori A Mystery To Solve prompt

Publication Date :tbd

Murphy and Emori are freshman at Sanctum University and they are partnered for their first lit project. They're in the back corners kf the library (Emori actually working and Murphy perusing the old forgotten books) But then he pulls out of the shelf and it opens a secret room. In it appears to be an abandoned workstation of someone who was trying to solve a mystery. As Murphy and Emori read through the old Journals of Clarke Griffin as she outlines her attempts to find a long lost family heirloom that belonged to her father.

Murphy ofcourse wants to. Finish what clarke started and find it to sell it so he can make a fortune. Emori gets caught up in the forbidden romance outlined in her journals. And as they get closer to unraveling the mystery, they also find themselves getting closer to eachother

Bellarke a place for them prompt

Publication Date: tbd

Clarke and Bellamy finds a map at the "art supply store" that has a random place circled. They decide to check it out because it could mean more supplies, but its about a weeks trek there and back. While they may start the trip as unwanted allies, by the second day they realize they work really well together. Its like a natural fall in sync when away from prying eyes and expectations of camp. They make to what was once obviously a small city, now abandoned. But there they find a place that could potentially be there own. And with no grounders around, they realize this could be the break they've been looking for

An Affair That Led Him To Her Ch. 2

Publication Date: tbd

We get a look into Clarkes Pregnancy and into her new marriage

You Were Right Ch.2

Publication Date: tbd

Clarkes side, her reunion with Madi, her forgiving Bellamy and we time jump to after Transcendence

Midnight At The Dropship Chapter 2

Publication Date:tbd

Clarkes dad comes to the office, and Clarke and murphy become a pretend couple and murphys ex pops by

[havenoffandoms]

Hi! A little idea for your requests, if you don’t mind. A Jaskier x Geralt : Jaskier feels finally brave enough to confess his undying love to Geralt but each time he tries, something gets in the way. Yennefer and Ciri support him and even try to help (successfully or not). Fun and fluff please !!! I hope you find the idea interesting~ 🌟

Okay, sooooo I may have got slightly carried away with this idea and I won’t apologise for it. Your idea really inspired me and I think it’s the cutest thing. Jaskier and Geralt are just two idiots in love in this one. There is the slighest bit of angst at the end, but the rest is fun and fluff as you wanted it. I hope I did your request justice. 

Thanks for your ask! Hope you enjoy the read xx

Warning: teeny tiny bit of angst, fluff, mild swearing, smutty references, and mild canon typical violence

1.

Jaskier was known for many things across the Continent – his ballads, his poetry, his many, many conquests that often got him into trouble (and inspired many, many ballads) – but his bravery was certainly not one of them. The bard was painfully aware of this fact, and he thought that joining Geralt on his adventures would somehow remedy this, but he had been wrong. Nonetheless, after nearly twenty years of pining and admiring the Witcher from a distance, Jaskier had decided to tell Geralt how he truly felt about him. No matter the outcome, Jaskier would tell Geralt and finally get this secret off his chest. He needed to know if Geralt felt the same way and he was ready to face the possibility that Geralt only liked him as a friend. Geralt may live for several centuries, but Jaskier did not have nearly as much time left in this life and had to make the most of the time that he had left. Even if it meant spending that time getting over Geralt…

Jaskier had a plan. He would tell Geralt over dinner, the nicest dinner they could afford, which at present consisted of stale bread, meagre pieces of cheese and some fruit that had seen better days but would do just fine. The location would be wherever Geralt decided to stop for the night on their way to Kaer Morhen. They would likely set camp at the edge of the woods (moonlit dinner, anyone?) and probably start a fire for warmth – that classed as romantic, right? Jaskier knew he could not overthink this too much. He did not have the luxury of waiting until they reached a town with a half-decent inn that offered nice (and most importantly cheap) food. He would have to work with what he had, and at the minute all that mattered was that Geralt knew how Jaskier truly felt about him.

They stopped at the edge of the woods, as Jaskier had anticipated, with the added bonus of the mountain range in the distance backdropping their campsite. The bard noticed the white peaks as the sun set just behind the mountains, casting large shadows over the plains that stretched from their current location all the way to the foot of the mountain range. The surroundings looked nothing short of picturesque – not that Geralt, the big oaf, would notice it! He was too busy unsaddling Roach, gathering sticks for the campfire and gathering his dirty clothes from his back before tossing them on the muddy ground for Jaskier to deal with in the morning, as was usually the case. When the bard’s stomach began rumbling loudly, Geralt finally looked up and his amber eyes rested on his travel companion. He looked irritated, as per usual, but there was something else reflected in his cat-like eyes. Concern, perhaps?

“Here,” Geralt said, his voice gruff and raspy and sending shivers down Jaskier’s spine, “eat this.”

Jaskier barely managed to catch the piece of hard bread with his hands. He watched in a panic as Geralt strapped his swords onto his back and readied himself to leave.

“Wha- where are you going, Geralt?”

“Hunt. We need meat to last us the next couple of days on the road,” the witcher answered without looking at him.

“But… when will you be back?” Jaskier asked, trying not to sound as needy as he felt.

“When I’ve caught something, bard,” Geralt huffed before taking off into the woods without as much as a glance over his shoulder. Jaskier was speechless for a while even after Geralt had disappeared into the dark woods.

Son of a bitch!

***

“I think the best way to Geralt’s heart is through Roach,” Ciri told Jaskier over dinner one night. The young heir to Cintra and the bard had both hit it right off when they had met. Ciri enjoyed his ballads and his poetry, and Jaskier loved teaching her about the history of the Continent, algebra and even taught her one or two songs on his lute. The girl was a natural and he felt it would be a shame to let this talent go to waste. Of course the sword training with Geralt and magic lessons with Yennefer were a lot more glamorous, and Jaskier could not hope to compete with that. Yet, Ciri enjoyed the distraction nonetheless and often used her free time to visit Jaskier. She was like the little sister Jaskier had always wanted but never had.

“I don’t see how that’s helpful…,” Jaskier admitted after a minute of considering Ciri’s words.

“Geralt loves Roach. He has a special bond with her, and I think he trusts her instincts about people more than his own. I think if he were to see you bonding with Roach, he would considerably soften around you.”

Jaskier had to admit he had never thought of that before, but it did not sound like the worst idea. The following day, he decided to follow Ciri’s advice and headed to the stables early in the morning to be sure to beat Geralt to the chase. When he arrived near Roach’s stall he noticed that the mare’s ears perked up when she saw him coming. Jaskier made soft clicking noises as he brought his hand to pet her long head. The mare let out a happy snort as she nudged against his hand demanding more pets.

“Hey girl, how are you doing? I know it’s usually Geralt who takes care of you, but today I thought I’d come and say hi myself. You’re awfully more friendly than what Geralt makes you out to be, you know. I always thought the reason I couldn’t ride you was because you’re a temperamental little thing.”

Jaskier chuckled as Roach shook her head and huffed indignantly. The bard looked around the stables and spotted a bucket with brushes, hoof picks and mane combs. Blankets and leading rope hung inside the stall Roach was residing in, right next to her saddle. Jaskier went to grab the bucket and returned to the stall, opening the door gently as to not spook the mare. He entered Roach’s personal space and fished a body brush out of the bucket. He began brushing Roach’s coat, making sure to scrub the sand and dust out of her coarse hair as best as he could. His ministrations seemed to relax the horse judging by her steady heartbeats that Jaskier could feel through her ribcage as he slid his hand along her strong body.

“You know, I never realised how big you actually are, girl. You’re a beautiful girl, aren’t you? And so sweet, too. Your coat is so silky. Geralt takes really good care of you,” Jaskier mused as he worked one side of Roach’s body.

“Of course I do,” a deep voice interrupted Jaskier’s actions and made him jump out of his skin, “Roach works hard when we’re on the road hunting monsters. The very least I can do is make sure she’s as comfortable as possible.” Geralt stared at Jaskier with a half-smile on his lips, his eyes soft as he watched the bard pamper Roach. Jaskier was not used to that kind of expression on the witcher’s face. The last time he had seen such kindness in Geralt’s eyes had been at princess Pavetta’s engagement festivities right after the witcher had saved him from yet another cuckold husband’s ire.

“I… I didn’t hear you come in,” Jaskier said, returning his attention to Roach and willing his racing heart to calm down. Geralt grabbed a second body brush from the bucket and got working on Roach’s coat as well. The mare let out a pleased snort at having both men take care of her.

“You were so lost in your own world that a troll choir could have burst into the stables and would’ve escaped your notice,” Geralt jested, making Jaskier stop in his tracks.

“My, my, Geralt, was this a joke? Who knew witchers have a sense of humour?”

“She likes you, you know?” Geralt commented, ignoring Jaskier’s sarcastic comment. The bard blushed at those words, and he was unsure how to respond.

“I like her, too. Despite her grumpy owner, she’s a surprisingly tame horse.”

“Hm… maybe it’s a blessing that she can’t hear your incessant singing,” Geralt teased, but his tone was light which told Jaskier that he was looking for a reaction. The bard was certainly not going to rise to the bait.

“My incessant singing is probably a nice change from the monosyllabic grunts she hears on a daily basis.”

Well, he tried not to rise at least. Jaskier dropped the brush in the bucket and retrieved the hoof pick. He kept a hand on Roach’s flank and allowed it to travel to her rump and down her leg to make her aware of where he was going. He pulled her leg up between his thighs and began picking out the dirt from between her hooves. Now was the time or never to tell Geralt how he felt about him, while they were both alone in the deserted stables and where no one could witness his humiliation if Geralt rejected him. Pull yourself together, Jask.

Deep breath in – 1, 2, 3 – and deep breath out. Go.

Just as Jaskier opened his mouth, he noticed Roach’s tail rise slightly out of the corner of his eyes. The movement distracted him long enough to momentarily forget about his intentions and before he had time to react, he felt a heavy weight land on the back of his head. Next thing he knew the stall was filled by loud and rich laughter and the stench of horse shit which had just landed on Jaskier. The bard stood frozen in place, unable to move and not wanting to believe what had just happened to him.

On the other hand, Geralt’s laughter was a sound that Jaskier wished he could bottle up and keep forever.

“Hardy-har-har… really funny, Geralt,” Jaskier mumbled under his breath as he stepped away from the mare and glared at the witcher, who was wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Sorry, it’s just…,” Geralt could not even finish his sentence before he was assaulted by another fit of giggles that brought fresh tears to his amber eyes. Well, Jaskier could definitely not tell him now… that would just look plain stupid.

“Yeah, I get it. Well, don’t just stand there! Help me!” Jaskier urged the witcher, who could barely contain his hilarity.

“Oh Jaskier… I haven’t laughed like this in a long time.”

Somehow, those words brought Jaskier joy despite the overwhelming humiliation he felt.

***

3.

“Yennefer, pleaaaaase,” Jaskier pleaded the sorceress, dragging out the vowels as much as he could and ignoring the irritated eye-roll.

“Oh fine, whatever it takes to get you to finally shut up about Geralt and let me get back to my work!” Yennefer snapped at him, slamming her book shut with enough force to make the entire desk rattle in protest. Jaskier smiled brightly at her.

“You have no idea how much this means to me, Yen. My other attempts have failed dramatically.”

“So I have heard,” Yennefer said, a nasty smile appearing on her lips, “the smell of horseshit will follow you for the next months I can sense it.”

“Geralt told you, huh?” Jaskier guessed, feeling embarrassed at his expense all over again. Yennefer nodded, biting back the laughter that threatened to push past her lips.

“He told me and Ciri, and Ciri then told me what you had planned that day. I must admit that I felt slightly bad for you. So I’ll help you just because I’m sick of you and Geralt beating around the bush like blushing maidens who are too shy to tell her crush how she feels.”

“Wait, what do you mean Geralt and me... do you think that... he likes me back?” 

Jaskier was concerned that if Yennefer rolled her eyes any harder they would stay stuck like this forever. 

“Yes, dummy. Geralt is head over heels with you, how have you never noticed this before?”

“But... I...,” Jaskier was not too sure where he was going with this sentence, but as it seemed Yennefer was in no mood to wait any longer than necessary.

"If we’re going to do this, you need to do this my way, understood?”

Jaskier had a funny feeling that he would come to regret trusting Yennefer, but what other choice did he have?

“What have you got in mind?” he asked her, insecurity lacing his tone.

“Let’s just say we’ll have to hit where it hurts…,” she told him mysteriously, her smile growing more wicked and not exactly filling Jaskier with confidence.

***

Geralt grinded his teeth at the sight of Jaskier and Lambert in such close proximity. Vesemir had insisted that everyone stay several nights longer at Kaer Morhen and enjoy a feast together to celebrate the witchers returning to their former keep. There was plenty of food and ale to please everyone, and while Geralt thought he would take the opportunity to get drunk and finally admit his feelings to Jaskier, he had certainly not anticipated this turn of events. Ciri was sitting next to him but seemed blissfully unaware of his current emotional state. Why would Jaskier cosy up to Lambert of all people? His jokes were not funny, he had bad breath, not to mention a bad habit of drinking himself into an aggressive mood and physically Lambert had not much going for him either in Geralt’s humble and perfectly objective opinion. So why, oh gods why, was Jaskier looking at him like Lambert had plucked the moon from the sky?

“Aren’t they sweet together?” Yennefer cooed in his ear, only infuriating him further. Geralt barely managed a grunt as he brought his tankard of ale to his lips, took a large swig and all but slammed it back on the table, causing every dish in the vicinity to rattle. Ciri shot Geralt a quizzical side glance, which the witcher ignored.

“Why do I have a feeling that you did something shifty, Yen?” Geralt asked her, his voice barely above a growl as he watched Lambert pull Jaskier onto his lap. The sorceress merely shook her head.

“I don’t know Geralt, but I have to say it’s not your best quality.”

“Is Jaskier snogging Lambert?” Ciri asked, incredulity lacing her tone. Geralt felt every fibre in his body vibrate with anger and his blood boiled in his veins as he watched Lambert’s hand wander over Jaskier’s body like he somehow owned the bard.

Lambert had no fucking right to touch his bard.

Lambert would soon regret his decision to paw Jaskier like he was nothing but a common whore.

“Hey Vesemir,” Geralt was not acknowledging Vesemir but he knew that he had his mentor’s attention nonetheless, “have you ever heard of a witcher developing abilities to fly after undergoing the trials?”

Geralt noticed Yennefer, Ciri and Vesemir eye each other questioningly out of the corner of his eyes. The older witcher looked as puzzled as the rest of them.

“I have never come across such a case, Geralt. Why the interest?”

“Just making sure Lambert won’t survive a fall from my bedroom window,” Geralt announced as he rose from his chair and headed towards where Lambert and Jaskier were sitting. He ignored Vesemir and Yennefer’s protests, his eyes locked on Lambert who seemed to pale when he saw Geralt approach.

“Geralt, to what do I owe the…”

“Knock if off Lambert,” Geralt snapped at him, his anger only amplified by the fact that Lambert still had his arm wrapped around Jaskier, “Jaskier, how about you join me and the others over there…”

Although he had phrased it as a question, Geralt had definitely meant this as an order… something Jaskier picked up on and did not appreciate judging by the indignant expression on his face.

“I like it here, thank you very much.”

Those, as it turned out, had been the wrong words to use. Geralt had to actively calm down his nerves so he would not pummel Lambert to the ground and wipe off that cocky smile off his face.

“You heard the bard, Geralt. So piss off and go huff somewhere else.”

“There’s something I would much rather do,” Geralt said before landing a punch to Lambert’s face.

***

“What was that all about, you big brute?” Jaskier yelled at Geralt as soon as he found the witcher standing on the balcony of his room, brooding by himself as per usual. Geralt did not reply; in fact, he did not even seem to acknowledge Jaskier’s presence, which infuriated the bard to no end. Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s arm and pulled on it with enough force that it attracted Geralt’s attention. The witcher groaned in warning, but at this point Jaskier did not care if he was punched in the stomach. He needed answers.

“I could ask you the same question, bard,” Geralt snapped, his voice low and menacing. His amber eyes narrowed as Jaskier stood toe to toe with him, not showing any willingness to back down.

“I’m allowed to snog whomever I please. You aren’t my father and don’t get to tell me what to do, Geralt!”

This had all gone terribly wrong. Yennefer had suggested making Geralt jealous by flirting with Lamber, and at the time Jaskier thought it was a brilliant idea. He never thought that Geralt would act out like this. Much less give him orders like he had a say in Jaskier’s life and actions.

“I will tell you what to do when it means keeping you safe!” Geralt hissed back at Jaskier, and despite their barely noticeable height difference it felt like the witcher was towering over Jaskier.

“Keep me safe from what? Lambert is your friend, not a vampire or werewolf that you’re hunting. You know what, this was all a terrible idea, I should never have listened to Yennefer and her stupid ideas.” Jaskier did not wait for Geralt’s reply and meant to storm out of the room, but a large hand wrapped around his wrist and pulled him back.

“What do you mean by that?” Geralt demanded to know, but Jaskier was done talking.

“Let go of me, Geralt!”

“Lambert may be my friend, but I know what he’s like. I’ve seen it before. There’s been times where I partnered with him on hunts when we were younger. I saw the way he sweet-talked to women, promised them the world and took them to bed. You… you deserve better than this, Jaskier.”

Geralt’s words caused Jaskier to pause. It did not make sense. Since when did Geralt care who Jaskier went to bed with? And more importantly, since when did he care how these encounters left him feeling?

“This was all Yennefer’s idea. I was never interested in Lambert. I just… wanted to make you jealous,” Jaskier finally admitted, his voice small. He felt like a child who was being scolded. He braced himself for Geralt’s rejection.

“Why did you and Yen want to make me jealous?”

“Because I was sick and tired of seeing you two pining for each other and both being too cowardly to do anything about it,” Yennefer’s voice interrupted their little conversation. Jaskier and Geralt both looked up and saw Yennefer and Ciri standing at the door, wearing the same unimpressed expressions on their faces.

“Yen, stay out of this,” Geralt growled under his breath, but the sorceress merely smiled patronisingly at the witcher.

“Oh Geralt, I am in way too deep at this point. Either you two admit that you have feelings for each other, or I swear to the gods I will not be held responsible for my actions.”

Jaskier gulped audibly at Yennefer’s words, and as soon as Geralt felt his anxiety he pulled the bard closer to him. Geralt positioned himself before Jaskier so he was shielding the bard from Yennefer’s attacks. Yennefer and Ciri cast each other knowing looks at the witcher’s actions.

“I believe my work here is done. Geralt, don’t mess this up.”

With these final words Yennefer and Ciri disappeared leaving Geralt and Jaskier alone. The witcher kept his back turned to the bard, almost as if unwilling to face him now that his dirty little secret was out. Jaskier, on the other hand, could not have felt happier if he tried. Yennefer had been right. Geralt liked him back and that was why he had reacted the way he had upon seeing Lambert and Jaskier together.

“Oh Geralt…,” Jaskier whispered, running his hands along the broad shoulders and down the thick arms, pulling a shudder from the witcher, “and here I was worried that you would reject me.”

Geralt finally turned around at those words and hesitantly placed his hands on Jaskier’s hips, his eyes scanning Jaskier’s face nervously. Without any words being spoken, the witcher leaned closer and placed the softest kiss on the bard’s lips.

That was all the reassurance Jaskier needed as he returned the kiss. Safe to say they would not be leaving Geralt’s room any time soon.

[bytheangell]

Getaway Car

Flufftober Day 29: Cars (Read on AO3)

Maia can remember the last time she felt the urge to just run the way she does now - it was the night she first turned, scared and alone and overwhelmed.

She may not be alone now, she hasn’t been since Luke took her in, but she’s plenty overwhelmed.

Leading a pack under normal circumstances would be more than enough pressure for Maia, but rebuilding a back is a lot. It’s too much.

She manages to hold herself together the best she can, which must be better than she thinks because no one seems to suspect she’s one more question she doesn’t have the answer to away from snapping…. No one other than Simon.

Maia catches the little things here and there that Simon’s been doing - offering to grab her food, asking if she’s alright even if she lies through her teeth in response, even asking after some of the issues she’s been pressing with the Council when he’s with Alec and the others.

Today she barely has the energy to exist let alone fake any amount of cheer, so when Simon asks her how she’s doing she shrugs and manages what she hopes is a convincing deflection of “I’m managing.”

Simon’s face immediately turns serious, his brows pinching together in concern, a frown replacing the smile of his friendly greeting. “What do you need me to do?” he asks.

It’s such a simple, harmless question, but it feels just as overwhelming to answer as all the others on her plate right now.

“I need to get away,” Maia says instinctively. If there’s anyone she can safely vent to it’s Simon. “I just… I just need a break. Honestly, if I had a car, and I guess technically a valid license, I would’ve been long gone by now.”

She feels guilty just admitting it, like she’s letting down everyone relying on her - Luke, the pack, Alec, Simon… herself.

“Good thing you know someone with both a license and a car. Well, a van, but still,” Simon points out. “Consider me your personal getaway car, let’s go.”

Maia could laugh at how simple he makes it sound, and she does, the laugh only making Simon frown more.

“I can’t. There’s too much to do,” she reminds him.

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned since I joined the Shadow World, it’s that there’s always too much to do. Someone can cover for a day or two. We’re getting out of town,” Simon presses.

Maia hesitates. She doesn’t have any meetings she physically needs to be here for until Thursday… theoretically, she could…

“I can see you overthinking this,” Simon cuts off her thoughts. “You deserve a break, Maia. The wolves will survive one day without you.”

They will. She knows they will, but still…

“I can’t afford a trip right now,” she excuses. She’s put all her funds into the pack and into building Taki’s. “Maybe next month.”

“Who needs money?” Simon asks. “We can… go camping. Or I can ask Luke if we can go up to the farmhouse for a night or two.”

The idea sounds nice, actually, and no matter how hard she tries she can’t think of any other valid excuses to say no.

“Okay. Ask Luke - I think I need my escape to include a proper bed, not a forest floor,” she suggests.

Simon does, and a few minutes later he’s hanging up the phone with a grin on his face and a timeframe for them to throw an overnight bag together and go pick up the keys to the farmhouse upstate.

Bat agrees to watch over the pack stuff for a day and thanks Simon profusely for getting her to agree to a day off, something Bat’s been trying to do lately as well.

It’s perfect. They drive with the windows down, singing to songs on the radio at the top of their lungs, laughing and sharing ridiculous stories after making a strict ‘No Business Talk’ rule.

The fall is starting to shift to winter with a bit of a bite to the crisp late November air. They spend a lot of time walking around the property, with Simon telling stories of the times he and Clary would spend here during their childhood summers growing up, and Simon takes her to a favorite local diner for dinner before they retire for a movie. It turns out her ‘proper bed’ request from earlier wasn’t necessary, since they both fall asleep curled against each other on the sofa.

Maia feels more refreshed than she imagined possible when they return to the city - and with a clearer head and a calmer mind, she actually feels capable of tackling the onslaught of work ahead of her.

The next time she feels like she needs a break, Simon's there again, this time with two train tickets for a snowy mountain getaway (because, to quote Simon, “we will absolutely die if I try to drive this van in actual snow up a mountain). Neither of them knows how to ski but Simon convinces her to try snow tubing, which is equal parts fun and terrifying, complete with warm cocoa by the fire after she overturns and faceplants into the freezing cold snow.

There’s a moment where Simon shifts closer to her and their conversations falls quiet. She thinks just maybe he’s going to kiss her - but then he leans away again. Maia bites down on her lower lip as she considers her next words carefully.

“You know,” she starts. “I don’t regret the way we ended things. It’s what I needed, back then, but-” she hesitates. “But I think maybe we deserve a second chance.”

It’s a gamble, and she can only hope that if he doesn’t agree it doesn’t ruin the friendship they’ve kept going through it all.

“That isn’t why I’m doing this,” Simon tells her. “You don’t owe me anything more for being a good friend.”

It’s so like Simon too, even as she’s the one making the suggestion, check in on her own feelings and motivations, to be the one reassuring her. She wonders why she ever let him go in the first place, honestly, because he’s damn near perfect as far as (potential) boyfriends are concerned.

“I know,” she says. “And I don’t feel like I owe you anything. I know you’re only doing this because you’re a good person, and a great friend, and you don’t expect anything in return. I’m not- that isn’t why I’m saying it. I’ve been thinking about it for a little while now. I mean, we ended things on good terms, right? And we were good together. It wasn’t the right time for me, but now…” Maia trails off, wondering if she’s totally off-base here.

When she looks back up from where her gaze drifted down towards her hands while she spoke, she sees Simon grinning that wide, contagious grin of his that wrinkles the skin along his cheeks.

“We were, weren’t we?” Simon echoes back. And this time he does lean in, giving her plenty of time to reconsider, not that she’s going to. She meets him halfway and as their lips touch again she melts into it, into the calming, grounding presence of Simon, and it feels like coming home.

[diamondcamefromhell]

Jaskier x fem!painter s/o

I had my first ever request but I managed to DELETE IT, lol, but I did read it, so I will try to rephrase it.

Request (by @dominique-draws ): A headcanon or imagine of Jaskier and painter s/o where she captures their adventures and victories in paintings while Jaskier does so in ballads, need for Jaskier fluff  (i AM so sorry I messed up your request, I feel so bad, hope you like it anyways xx)

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count: 1,426

I always loved to paint, ever since I was little. At first it was just mud one some old parchment, but I grew, and so did my talent. There was something about capturing a moment forever, my hand creating art before my very own eyes.

I remember when I felt creatively exhausted, just sipping ale, paint on my dress and my hands – tired of it all. Then the most wonderful voice filled the bar, waking the little kid inside of me, as creative juices began to flow. I pulled out paper then and there and began to draw the bard, with his companion Witcher.

The latter, seemed annoyed and the very existence of the bard, while the singer kept prancing around, singing ballad after ballad. I captured it all, beautifully, in a couple of panels. The bard eventually noticed me eyeing him and approached me, complimenting my ability to draw. I complimented his voice.

The rest was history. I joined their travels, and soon after, mine and bards hearts also came together in beautiful melody, the most perfect painting you could ever see.

Travelling with the Witcher, however, is dangerous, but Jaskier, as I learnt his name, made all of the days fun and full of light. He would capture the fights and the victories in songs, I would finish the picture with my paintings. We worked great together, making the continent love the Witcher.

Right now, Geralt has killed yet another kikimora, and Jaskier was trying to twist the tale just enough to make it interesting for a ballad. I started at the Witcher who was petting his beautiful horse, Roach, who was carrying kikimoras corpse, or what was left of it. We were camping. Fire was making all of their shadows look like monsters.

I picked up the paper.

“I need to capture this.” I say mostly for myself, but Jaskier hears it, his eyes landing on me. A smile curls his lips.

“Make sure to get my pretty side.” He winks at me and I giggle.

“Always.” I mutter, as Geralt grunts. “Don’t worry Geralt, I will make sure Roach looks as beautiful as she is.”

“You’re amazing.” The bard lands next to me. He loves to look at me when I draw. I pull out some charcoal and begin sketching. Geralt also sits down near the fire, staring directly at it. I capture that too, the blood on his hands and the brooding look. “He always broods in your paintings.”

“Well he always broods, not just in my drawings Jask.” I point out, not taking my eyes away from the sketch.

“Even when we are victorious, Geralt never seems to be happy.” Witcher hmm’s at that, and I smile, staring a new panel on the parchment.

“Fine, I will try to make him look happy.” I say, entertaining the idea to Jaskier, who pulls out his lute and plays a soft tune.

“Oh angry angry Witcher, will he ever smile // the joy he brings to world, rests heavy on his heart // oh dearest dearest Geralt, show the world your light // sad little witcher, please begin to smile “ Jaskier stops, waiting for Geralt to react but to no avail. The bard sighs, wrapping one of his hands around me. “I tried, Y/N, I tried!”

“Careful, I’m drawing.” I say, as I shift so I am more comfortable in his arms. Jaskier smirks, looking down.

“Oh dear.” He gasps and I finally lift my eyes from the drawing to look at the lovely bard beside me. He looks surprised. “This may be the most horrifying thing I have ever seen, my love.”

“Thanks.” I say, bitterly, but he rips the paper out of my hands, springing to feet and rushing to Geralt, who takes one glance at my sketch.

“Maybe you should never smile, Geralt.” Jaskier pulls the drawing from Witchers face, closely examining it. “You look scary.”

“Fuck off, bard.” Geralt grunts, pushing him away, as he rushes back to me. Only then he notices the look on my face.

“Oh, sorry my lovely Y/N.” He hands me the parchment. “It’s not your skill I am criticizing, it’s Geralt.”

“Fuck off bard.” I imitate Geralt and I swear for a moment I see him smirk. I gasp, turning the parchment over clinging to my charcoal. Automatically, my hand knows what to do.

“Well if you both dislike me so much, why do you always seem worried when I get hurt!” Jaskiers voice reaches me, and I smile, immediately adding annoyed bard next to Geralt.

Capturing the big victories, like the dragon fight, is always fun and challenging. It makes history, leaves a trace of all of us after we’re gone. The songs and the drawings impress people, make them feel like they were there, but my favourite are moments like this.

Where you can see true Geralt, not the mighty Witcher, but one who cares about his friends deeply, even if he tries not to show it. The Geralt who can crack a smile when he thinks we can’t see, the one who may be silent, but joins in on our conversation with his snarky comments. Not the great scary monster hunter I pain and Jaskier sings about, but Geralt of Rivia, the good friend.

And Jask too, when he gets annoyed and pretends to be upset at us. Or the way he interacts with Geralt, so unapologetically jumping to Witchers face, making fun of him. At the same time, insecure about his music. Throwing his ideas to the sky, seeing where they land. Geralt and I have heard many ballads that the world will never be blessed enough to listen to or sing, simply because they didn’t land.

And me, happy and content in this weird company. Safe, and happy.

You can’t capture moments like this with a lute and a good rhyme, trust me, Jaskier has tried. They don’t catch on, nobody wants to hear about three friends sitting by the fire. Drawings like these also get less praise and attention. Nobody cares about the hero when he rests.

That’s why I love moments like this, they are, and always will be, just ours.

I finish the drawing, putting my charcoal on the ground next to me. Jaskier stops whining and peaks over my shoulder to look too.

“This, Y/N, is a masterpiece.” He always compliments my work, but this time I can say it’s coming from a heart. He kneels to me, pulling me closer, kissing both of my cheeks. “You are the most amazing woman this continent was blessed with.”

“This would never exist if it weren’t for you.” I smile, pulling back. I lift myself to my feet. “Or you, Geralt.”

“Hmm.” I hand him the drawing as his eyes scan it. I see his lips curl up just a little. Jaskier hugs me, also looking at the drawing, smile beaming on his face. “This isn’t bad.”

“A compliment from a Witcher?” Jask steps back, throwing his hands in the air. “You say my singing is fillingless pie!”

“Hmm.” Geralt hands me the painting, looking at Jaskier. “Don’t sing to Y/N, she might leave.”

Jaskier gasps and I laugh. As he defends his singing, I look at the drawing in my hands, that even Geralt liked. It’s so simple, him, by the fire, with a smirk on his face, Jaskier, visibly annoyed behind him, throwing his hands in the air. The beloved Roach, just staring at these two idiots, and me, sitting on a log, laughing.

I roll it up, knowing I will treasure it forever. I go to grab Jaskiers hand, immediately calming him down.

“Come on, buttercup, you know he didn’t mean it.” I say and I can practically feel Jask melt in my hands. He loves his nickname.

“I’m just playing with you.” He grins, letting go of my hand rushing to his lute.

No matter how much he loves me, I feel like he loves his lute more. I sigh and sit next to Geralt, as bard begins to entertain us with another one of his creations. I can already tell this one will only stay between the three of us, but I enjoy it. Even Geralt doesn’t ‘angry grunt’ at it.

“This one was for us.” Jaskier winks at me. “Not for the world.”

“Just like my drawing.” I point out and the bard beams.

Roach neighs, as if to agree, and Witcher let’s out one of his kinder hmms. This moment seems perfect.

But kikimoras body kinda stinks.

[hquirks]

hello !!! omg yalls admin names are so CUTE it makes me hungry it’s currently 1am where im at 🤤 anyways if the boys at karasuno were youtubers instead, what kind of videos do u think theyd post? discussion is OPEN

Hi anon!! We’re glad you like our admin names !! We were pretty hungry when we made them hehe. Also thank you for this ask and for being our first anon!! We had a lot of fun doing this!! We were laughing so much while we were facetiming as we did it!! So thank you again and much love! Hope you enjoy!! ❤️ - Noodle ✨, BananaMilk 🐯, and Frice 🌊

Karasuno as YouTubers AU

School: Karasuno

Genre: Headcanons, fluff, crack

Warnings: one mention of alcohol

HINATA SHOYO & KAGEYAMA TOBIO

Hinata definitely dragged Kageyama to make this channel

He only agreed if they did things they both could do

So, they have a whole Volleyball 101 series like how to receive, block, set, etc. They also help teach like volleyball fundamentals and strategies!

They also do exercise and stretch tutorials

Kags would have a series of good and healthy food while Hinata would vlog about his days which mostly are about playing volleyball and biking lol PLUS interview his friends especially during training camps like Kenma and Bokuto.

They do lives sometimes but they always end up fighting/bickering somehow and it becomes popular content 

SUGAWARA KOUSHI

Actual DIY king!!

He has a DIY channel for pen pals, bookmarks, socks, candles, slime, etc.

He will even do the really weird life hacks to see if they work or not

Very soft and pastel with a sprinkle of chaos because it is Sugawara 

Vibes of those angry home cafe videos like one minute he’s making really cute cakes but another minute he’s punching the air and pouring chocolate all over his hand

His videos are popular not only because he’s so sweet and friendly (and chaotic) but also because he’s so pretty (has many girls and guys in the comments like “are you single uwu”)

SAWAMURA DAICHI

You know that dad on YouTube with the “how to…”? That’s Daichi

Examples of the videos are like “How to fix your tire” or “How to manage your finances” 

He also loves to tell about his life and just gives advice like “What it means to be responsible” or “Tips for proper and open communication”

Also has “funnier” bits like “How I managed 11 demons (10 children + 1 vice-captain)” 

(it’s 30 mins and most of the time it’s actually just chaotic bits of volleyball practice from their school and even when they are at the Japan camp)

(also the boys from the schools (read: Bokuto and Kuroo) take the camera at one point and just bombards the video)

NISHINOYA YUU & TANAKA RYUUNOSUKE

We all know they have a joint acct!! Their channel is like Korean Englishmen/Jolly

They love to vlog whether it's about school, their trips, volleyball practice, just anything!!

They also love to do all the challenges and trends

Their most viewed video is of them trying do the fire noodle challenge bc they almost DIED eating it 

(they chugged a whole bottle of milk between themselves and even went to the store to buy more and bathed themselves in it)

TSUKISHIMA KEI & YAMAGUCHI TADASHI

Their channel is like Buzzfeed Unsolved/The Watchers !!

Yama is Ryan and Tsukki is Shane. Chaos and debates obviously happen. 

Would collaborate with Tanka and Noya or the other first years to go to a local haunted house place together and record their reactions/experiences. Buzzfeed unsolved way. 

Separate sections: tsukki makes a playlist of music and yamaguchi local food restaurant reviews(think Worth It). 

Reaction videos to music videos (it’s fun to watch them because tsukki usually maintains his cool stance and yamaguchi is completely honest with his feelings. Tsukki mostly criticises and analyzes musical technicalities, but sometimes when he’s amazed you can see his eyes widen. 

YACHI HITOKA

Her channel is mostly drawing tutorials + speed painting!!

Also does Adobe product tutorials, very technical but also cutesy aesthetic like she has a her own character (that’s a baby chick) at the corner of her videos

Vlogs where she live records her drawing + sometimes rants about the torture of rendering 3D animation

She actually vlogged the one time she spent 28 hours at the library trying to render a video that was 1 minute and 30 seconds long...

She does some baking videos and sometimes does collab with Asahi’s channel!! Because of their height differences, the top of Asahi’s head is often cut off from the screen 

Kiyoko makes frequent appearances at Yachi’s channel and everyone loves when she comes on

SHIMIZU KIYOKO

She would have an ASMR channel that mostly focuses on her hands and the objects she’s using

She doesn’t like showing her face or having anything attached to her so no one ever knows it’s her (she’s uncomfy with all the attention vs. when she’s on Yachi’s channel where the attention is shared)

But she becomes like one of the top ASMR channels bc her vibes are really soft and also super aesthetic

Also, SOUND QUALITY !!! exquisite !!! best crunches, taps, scratches, etc. 

Her most popular ASMR video is the one where she roleplays as a witch

NARITA KAZUHITO & KINOSHITA HISAHI

They have an anime/Marvel channel together!

Top 10 Anime Betrayals, Top 10 Anime Deaths, Best 2020 Anime Shows, Could this character beat Goku discussion/debate, etc. You name it. They have it. 

They do reaction videos to anime shows/movies/marvel trailers. 

Civil War Debate: Who Was Right (a lot of differing opinions so its LONG), All Marvel movies Ranked, Funniest moments in Marvel compilations, etc. 

Their most popular video is when they made a funny video pretending to be BNHA heroes and have quirks. They invited the other 2nd years as well and it was a MESS but they had fun making it and editing it with bad effects and all.

ENNOSHITA CHIKARA

Of course our choir boy has a singing channel (covers, original songs, collaborations, etc.)

Plays guitar and sometimes posts acapella videos

He does youtube live with his fans and talks about his day, what he is working on, his favorite songs/musicals, etc. He answers their questions too!! 

Ennoshita does a collaboration series with Takeda sensei (our musical lover) reacting and discussing music videos/songs. Very knowledgeable and calming vibes

He does it with the Karasuno team too and those become his most popular videos because they are SOOO chaotic and funny. Complete opposite of when he does a collab with Takeda sensei

AZUMANE ASAHI

Mainly a cooking channel that specializes in easy recipes!!

He also does a miniature food series.You would think he would have a hard time but he is very adept with small instruments.

Bakes sometimes due to Yachi’s influence, loves to bake bread from scratch.

Fashion tips : “How to layer clothes,” “How to find your aesthetic”, “How to do monochrome looks right”, etc. 

He did a makeover series on the Karasuno team where he diagnoses and dresses them up from head to toe

One of his popular series is “How to cook/bake without a recipe” and the Karasuno group are invited to do it in teams! It is pure entertainment lol.

BONUS~

Coach Ukai and Takeda sensei make frequent appearances in Daichi’s channel / Hinata & Kageyama’s channel

Takeda sensei also goes food hunting with Yamaguchi sometimes and will leave reviews for the restaurant drinks (alcohol

[bogariel-frogariel]

The Bad Kids Visit Middle Earth Part 3

Find it on ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25263157/chapters/61828594

Adaine missed the trees.

 That was rather ironic for a High Elf, especially her type of High Elf, the Moon Elves, who had abandoned their routes many millennia ago in favour of the pursuit of mastering magic in its purest form. (She wouldn't even get into the debate on just what was magic's purest form; some would say the instinctive interaction that most wood elves had with the world around them was more natural than the clinical scholarly view).

 However, ever since the end of Spring Break last year, Sandra Lynn had been spending more time with her, teaching Adaine how to commune with trees and plants. It did not come as naturally to her as her divination magic but Adaine enjoyed it.

It had felt good to get back to her ancient routes through practicing nature magic and the archery lessons that the wood elf had been giving her and Fig over the last ten months or so.

 She hadn't known she was taking so much comfort in the tress' cheerful chatter until it was gone, and she was surrounded by only open plains and cold mountains.

 She held back a depressed sigh as she perched on top of one of the rocky outcrops that they'd decided to camp near.

 Off to one side, Boromir was currently trying to teach Merry and Pippin the basics of sword fighting whilst Gimli and Aragorn watched on in amusement. (Adaine still didn't know why they'd taken clearly inexperienced people with neither magic nor fighting backgrounds on such an important quest but then again, they'd brought Gilear along on their quest to destroy the bloody Nightmare King)

 Sam was starting to piece together some sticks to make a fire and was taking inventory of the food, obviously trying to decide what to cook for the night, whilst Frodo huddled closer to him, staring into the distance with the lost look in the eyes that the hobbit sometimes adopted. Gorgug, obviously having seen that, and knowing that the halfling liked it when others spoke quietly near him, decided to sit near both of them with Kristen as she gently quizzed him on Elvish. They'd all been working to teach it to him over the last few years and he was almost fluent now; confident enough to start learning Dwarvish with Adaine.

 She should probably ask Riz to pull the book on learning Dwarvish runes out of his pack (a transmuted form of his briefcase). Adaine wondered, briefly, if she could ask Gimli for help, for the languages between their worlds seemed to mirror each other, if Elvish and Common could be used as basis. However, she quickly dismissed the idea. The dwarf had spent most of the last night eyeing her with just as much suspicion and hatred that he looked upon Legolas with. Of course, she didn't approve of Legolas' needless insults and snide goading, which he managed to convey in only a handful of words, but she was rather fed up with it. She hadn't even talked to the dwarf!

 Speaking of the elf, he was, as usual, standing away from the party, eyes on the horizon, scanning for threats whilst Gandalf, the wizard, leaned against a rock, smoking as he scowled at nothing. Adaine pulled Boggy out of his pouch, which sat on the opposite side of her Pouch of Useful Things, setting him on her shoulder as she riffled around her pockets for her notebook to start scribbling about the next spell she was trying to craft. She was trying to make one for Rhaezella, a demigod Archmage whom she'd gotten rather close to over the last few months since the ball that her sister had held in Fallinel.

 Adaine hadn't crafted a healing spell before, but she would be damned if she didn't manage to. She suspected she would be having a lot of time to think on this trip.

 However, before she could get very far into it, Fabian strode up to the bottom of the rocky outcrop she had perched herself on top of.

 "Adaine," he called up to her. "I think we should take a leaf out of Boromir's book and do some training."

 Adaine didn't particularly want to make herself look like a fool in front these men, but Fabian must have read her reluctance because he gestured to where Riz and Fig had already unsheathed their swords.

 "Come on, you wouldn't want to miss a training session that the others took part in. And, besides, I think it will amuse Sam and Frodo."

 Adaine frowned, narrowing her eyes at Fabian. He knew exactly how to manipulate her and she didn't appreciate it, which only made her want to jump down more just to make him regret it.

 He knew that she hated missing out, and that she worried about both the most important of their company; the Ringbearer, as well as Sam, who was obviously desperately trying to cheer him up but becoming more and more discouraged when it wasn't working. However, she was unsure of exactly how to cheer them up. Adaine may have been appointed the Bad Kids' unofficial spokesperson for this trip, since she was the best at formal diplomatic speech, but it didn't mean she was good at saying the right thing to comfort someone.

 She jumped down from her perch, only wobbling slightly on the landing, but she knew Fabian wouldn't tell anyone. Over the past year, as she reached her physical majority, her body had developed a lot, and she felt less awkward with her limbs, gaining much of the elven grace that she'd been so lacking previously. She was almost indistinguishable from older elves now and it was difficult to tell just how young she was, as she had grown out of her gangly limbs into the lithe gracefulness that was characteristic of all of that immortal race.

 But that didn't stop her from falling flat on her ass and making an idiot of herself far too often for her liking.

 -----

 Fabian suppressed a sharp grin as he and Adaine walked over to the small section of clear, flat land near where Sam, Frodo, Gorgug and Kristen had settled.

 The human who wasn't the leader of the Fellowship - Boromir - was doing his own beginners lesson over in a larger space. The two humans, the elf and the dwarf were obviously experienced and advanced warriors, and Fabian would have gladly asked them for a spar, or some pointers, if he thought they would be willing to humour them.

 Aragorn was troubled enough with co-leading the Fellowship alongside Gandalf - seeing the worry that lined his shoulders made Fabian glad that the Bad Kids decided that there wouldn't be a leader among them. Boromir was preoccupied with the halflings, and, besides, was wary of all of them, which was fair, since they'd all barely spoken to each other.

 Fabian had conversed a bit with the hobbits throughout the day, but mostly, he'd spent the time messaging the Bad Kids. An eight hour walk seemed easy when he spent the whole time verbally sparring with his best friends.

 As for the elf? Well he seemed to be permanently placed on sentry duty, and was, besides, clearly quite nervous around not just the Bad Kids but the whole party. Fabian didn't want to push Legolas into doing something he didn't want to. If there was something he'd learnt about being Adaine and Kristen's friend, it was respecting boundaries and backing off when someone needed distance. The only time he really talked to anyone other than Aragorn or Gandalf, was when he was arguing with Gimli.

 Now, Fabian would have asked the dwarf for some combat tips, but he'd spent almost as much time glaring at him and Adaine as he did glowering at Legolas. He'd heard him muttering some very uncharitable things about elves under his breath whenever they did something, so Fabian didn't really think any approach from himself was going to lead to anything but a fight. And, they were really trying to avoid that, which was why Adaine was doing all the talking, since she was really the best at being polite out of all of them.

 So, they were stuck sparring with themselves, not that that was really a bad outcome. He'd started teaching Adaine swordplay as soon as they got back from Spring Break. They'd both agreed it was rather essential since her Arcane Focus was now the Sword of Sight. Fig and Riz occasionally joined them, though Fig's Barbarian electives and Riz's Rogue classes already taught them weapon handling, so they didn't need as many lessons. Really, it was good that the two girls had decided to train with swords, because they might be in positions numerous times on this quest where they wouldn't be able to use magic to defend themselves.

 This world seemed strangely conservative about that stuff.

 As Fabian rolled his shoulders, he glimpsed Adaine's glower and held back a wince.

 "Remember, no magic," he reminded her, eyeing her twitching fingers suspiciously.

 Adaine scowled at him and flounced over to Gorgug, before gently depositing Boggy in his lap, next to where Fig had lent her bast against his thigh. Fabian noted with approval that neither of the girls had taken off their bows and quivers as Adaine aggressively unsheathed her sword. Fabian held back a smirk. He was dying for a good fight, and a riled up Adaine was truly a formidable opponent, no matter the playing field.

 "You and I are going first, Seacaster," she claimed, twirling her sword before she held it in a two-hand grip. "And no Bard skills."

 Fabian nodded and unsheathed Fandrangor. The sword was thicker than his old rapier had been and lighter than (but just as sturdy as) the Sword of the Seacaster was. It had taken some getting used to, but Fabian found he quite enjoyed using it as his primary weapon. It really was a masterfully made sword, what with the elven magic and all. His grandfather may not be all there, but he was still a highly competent crafter.

 He gave a mocking half bow which had Adaine lunging forward, slashing at him in an attack that Fabian easily blocked. She followed it up with a few more attacks, which were all rebuffed, until Fabian managed to riposte, forcing her to retreat or lose her sword.

 "You're not thinking, Adaine," Fabian informed her in a sing-song voice specifically designed to make her blood boil.

 Adaine narrowed her eyes but didn't rush forward and attack, instead she took half a step back and braced herself in a defensive position. Fabian grinned at her, and took the bait, surging forwards. Adaine successfully batted his attack away, and instead of pulling back, like Fabian thought she would, she turned into the blow, elbowing Fabian in the gut, hard enough to knock the breath out of him, but not hard enough to stop him from catching her wrist as swung her sword for the final blow.

 He twisted the sword out of her hand, ducking his head out of the way of another elbow, before he could level his sword at her, Adaine kicked his legs out from under him. However, Fabian managed to catch her on the way down, bringing them both to a floor in a messy tussle that eventually ended with Fabian pining Adaine, holding his sword close to her throat, but not at it.

 They were both breathing hard, as Fabian quickly got up and off her, offering his hand to help her up. Adaine scowled but took it, and she was grinning along with him by the time they were both on their feet, summoning the Sword of Sight to her hands as she nodded respectfully at him.

 Fabian smiled encouragingly, "You're getting really good, Adaine."

 "Yeah," Fig cheered quietly. "Go Adaine. You're going to be the most badass Oracle in history."

 Adaine grinned and was about to respond, but was distracted, her head snapping sharply to the side.

 Used to trusting her superior elven senses, Fabian looked to where her attention was focused, seeing a growing black clowd on the horizon.

 "Those are birds," Adaine murmured in confusion and Fabian furrowed his eyebrows.

 And then both Aragorn and Legolas were shouting, calling for all of them to hide. There was a flurry of activity, Adaine and Gorgug lunging towards the two hobbits closest to them, whilst Fig cast a spell to put the fire out and scatter the logs around. Fabian looked around wildly, grabbing what he could of their gear before he dove under one of the rocky outcrops, huddling beside Riz under the shadows whilst the Rogue tracked those birds with his gun which was glamoured to look like a crossbow.

 He only emerged from the shadows when Aragorn announced that it was safe, brushing himself off.

 After about a minute, Aragorn whipped his head around the clearing, searching wildly.

 "Frodo!" he called, voice panicked. "Frodo!"

 "It's fine," Adaine answered, appearing out of thin air in the middle of camp with the halfling (and the most important in their party) next to her.

 Aragorn rushed towards him. "Did you use the ring?"

 Frodo shook his head wildly. "No! I would not do it again, not after last time.

 "Then what dark power was that?" Aragorn questioned, his hand going to his sword.

 Adaine frowned. "That was me. I just cast a spell. Sorry I didn't dispel it right away, I was making sure that they were gone."

 Aragorn stared at her for a few seconds, stepping away as he stared at her with wide eyes.

 "So this is the nature of the assistance that the gods sent?" Boromir, asked, his hand straying to his sword, even as his voice was filled with awe.

 "Yes," Fig said, stepping forward. "They sent spellcasters and fighters, just what you need ."

 She levelled a hard stare at the man with Riz standing just behind her, gun in his hands.

 Boromir only held her gaze for a few seconds before he backed down. "It seems you will be useful after all."

 Kristen grinned. "You haven't even seen us in a fight yet."

 The adults in the party backed down, though the they still cast furtive glances around at them. The wizard, however, looked between Kristen and Adaine with a critical sought of respect, and the hobbits all grinned at them, with Frodo smiling up at Adaine genuinely, thanking her warmly.

 Well, they'd had worse interactions.

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I am having too much fun with this. Next chapter: we’re on the mountain. How are you liking this?