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wizardofozymandias · 3 years

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14 Days of DA Lovers, Day 6: “Take My Hand”

Written for the @14daysdalovers prompt event.

Prompt: "Take My Hand”

Pairing: Solas/Female Lavellan

Characters: Nessa Lavellan, Josephine Montilyet, Solas

Summary: Solas reassures Nessa when she feels overwhelmed at Halamshiral.

Warnings: Fantasy racism

Despite Josephine and Leliana’s best efforts, their descriptions of what to expect at the Winter Palace had fallen short of the real experience. Duke Gaspard had met Nessa practically inside the gate, oozing what he likely thought was charm, and doing his best to persuade the Inquisitor to support his bid for the throne. Thanks to Josephine’s tireless coaching, Nessa expected the conversation to feel the way it did: like a fencing match, words barely blunted for the sake of polite society, but brandished so expertly that their deadly potential was clear.

She could not have looked less like an elven servant—her scarlet and dragon bone dress armor was the furthest thing from the neutral uniforms the servants were wearing. And her vallaslin, painted over in gold, should have made her Dalish heritage plain. Still, the first noblewoman she saw entreated her to search for a lost ring, after calling her “rabbit.” Barely-lowered voices expressed their doubts that an elf could possibly be the Inquisitor, and every eye turned on her in scorn.

The pins in Nessa’s hair stabbed at her scalp, and she could feel a headache beginning at the back of her eyes. Everything seemed too bright and too noisy. She thought ruefully that all she wanted to do was hide in her room at Skyhold, but it would be days before she could do that again. It took all she had to swallow the bile of embarrassed anger, reply tactfully to the rude courtiers, and walk into the palace.

Josephine met her inside, and Nessa was more than grateful to see a friendly face. But her adviser looked worried.

“Is there trouble already?” Nessa asked her.

“Things are not bad yet. But I must remind you, Inquisitor, the way you speak to the court is a matter of life and death. It is no simple matter of etiquette and protocol. Every word, every gesture, is measured and evaluated for weakness.”

“I’ll keep my guard up,” Nessa assured her. “I promise. You and Leliana taught me well, and I won’t take your warnings lightly.”

Josephine looked at the floor. “I am sorry, Inquisitor. The court has me on edge.”

“As it should.”

Josephine sighed. “How are you faring?”

Nessa gave a longsuffering smile. “I was called at least three slurs before I walked in the door, I’m more nervous than a halla in a thunderstorm, and I think the pins in my hair are trying to bore through my skull. But apart from that, I think I’ll manage.”

Josephine didn’t laugh, but her worried expression had been replaced with a half-smile. “The pins really are horrible, aren’t they?” she said.

“They would probably make great torture devices.”

“But you look lovely, Inquisitor.”

“Thank you, Josie. Although I may scandalize all of Halamshiral with my outlandish clothing and tattoos.”

“I thought you were trying to reassure me!” Josephine lamented.

“I will do my best to mind your lessons and avoid giving offense when I speak. How they react to my appearance is another matter. Not that I’m very interested in the opinions of people who dress like one of Vivienne’s throw pillows.”

Josephine stifled a laugh. “Unfortunately for us, one of those throw pillows wishes to assassinate Empress Celene. Be careful, Inquisitor.”

Nessa nodded, took a deep breath, and walked into the vestibule. She reminded herself of the first time she attended the Arlathvhen after being declared First to her Keeper. She had been nineteen, mourning the death of her first love, and dealing with coming into her magic late. But she had borne the scrutiny of the other clans’ Keepers and even earned their respect. If she could endure that trial, surely this would be bearable.

And yet her hands were shaking.

She was glad when the Inquisition gathered for their introduction to the court. Even the Winter Palace felt safer with her friends around her. But once she was ordered to the front of the line to be announced to the court, her nerves failed her.

“I need a moment,” she told the others, then strode to a quiet corner of the vestibule. Her head was spinning from the light and the noise, not to mention the heavy cloud of perfume that hung in the air.

She felt a gentle hand on her shoulder and turned to see Solas at her side.

“Are you well, Inquisitor?” he asked.

“Well enough.”

“You are trembling,” he observed.

“It’s ridiculous, isn’t it? I’ve faced dragons, but I’m afraid to walk into a ballroom.”

“This is a different sort of challenge. But one you are well-equipped to face. You have studied hard with Josephine and Leliana. Now you must put that knowledge to use.”

“I’d rather fight my enemies with fire than flattery,” she admitted.

“Magic is a far more satisfying weapon than manipulation, but some battles can only be fought with the latter. And both may have deadly consequences, if wielded correctly.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“You know what to do, Inquisitor. Just remember to breathe.”

“I wish I didn’t have to go in alone,” she said.

“I will be right behind you. If you feel afraid crossing the ballroom, take my hand. Know that I am with you, vhenan, and I have every confidence in your ability to succeed.”

“I’d better get back,” she said.

Gaspard was waiting for her. “Is everything alright?” he wanted to know.

“Yes, your grace,” she replied. “A brief spell of faintness. It has passed now.”

The attendants opened the ballroom doors before them, and the announcements began:

“Now presenting: Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons!” There was a pause for Gaspard to proceed, allowing Nessa to take the landing.

“And accompanying him, Lady Inquisitor Lavellan!” As she had been instructed, Nessa bowed to Empress Celene, who stood watching over the event from the upper landing across the room. Once the empress had acknowledged her, Nessa proceeded down the stairs.

The announcer droned on: “Vanquisher of the rebel mages of Ferelden, crusher of the vile apostates of the Mage Underground!” What a load of nonsense.

Nessa remembered Solas’s admonishment to breathe.

Her companions’ introductions followed her own, but she was far too focused on making her away across the room without incident to notice what was said. She only noticed when Solas found his way to her side.

She did not look at him, but instead reached out her hand. He clasped it firmly in his, giving a light squeeze of reassurance.

With him at her side, Nessa felt she could have faced down any number of empresses.

#14dalovers #14 days of dragon age lovers prompt events #day 6 take my hand #dragon age inquisition #my writing #fanfiction #dragon age #solavellan #solas #nessa lavellan #fantasy racism cw

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pinkatron · 3 years

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Of Winters and witches.

Dandelion slipped into the chair across from Geralt, looking harried as he placed one of the tankards of beer in front of the witcher.

“Heaven help us Geralt, I am just glad we got a room.” He bemoaned, as a roaring group of buskers had already taken up the front of the large tavern and inn’s house.

“It’s just as well.” Geralt sipped at the beer, which was actually frothy and cold. “A simple stop over, previous contract was paid well, and you made a mint off that barron and his wife. It’s a good start to the spring season, and I still haven’t shaken off the winter from my bones so a night of rest and merriment is perhaps exactly what is needed.”

Dandelion looked at him, grinning slyly.

“Merriment you say?” He arched his fingers gracefully over his beer. “Caught the eye of any charming lass?”

“Aye, a few.” Geralt murmured as his friend laughed outright. “It will be good to play the field, work the ice from my joints.”

“And johning from the sound of it, will warm you the rest of the way.” Dandelion winked salaciously, which was quite ruined by the fact that his new bonnet kept slipping. “Though I am sure you have a whole gaggle of willing women at your keep to bring you warmth in the winter months.”

Geralt frowned a little. Dandelion caught the expression as he took a large sip of his beer. He choked a little, the foam sticking in his blond mustache and making it look like sea foam awash on hay.

“Surely you have entertainments of the flesh up in that mountain hole of yours?” Dandelion looked affronted, and mildly concerned.

“Flesh a plenty, aye, but none that fit the title of inamorata.” Geralt eyed the bard waiting to see his reaction.

The bard spluttered because he had a reputation to uphold after all. He slammed his tankard down on the table, his face so rife with concern it was comical.

“Well, why ever not?” The bard’s lip seemingly was attached to his eyebrow, as both lifted in confusion and frank disbelief. “Surely a lovely little doxie would jump at the chance to have a winter’s worth of coin, bed, and a warm body to chase away the mountain chill. That sounds like it would be a whore’s dream. Paying client, no need to fear if they are or aren’t coming. Ha….”

“May be a whores dream, Dandelion,” Geralt took a sip of his beer. “But frankly, we wouldn’t bring a whore up for the same reason I don’t bring you up.”

“I choose to not follow you there.” Dandelion sniffed, and his eyes lit up as the bar maid, an older woman with plump wide hips and a belly which had seen many children, sauntered up with their order of kipper. Her breasts quite literally spilled over her bodice, and were only held in place by her chamois, which was in full view of the tavern. “I have obligations! A whole estate to catch up with and help run. I have lectures to give, and nieces and nephews to spoil on yule.”

The woman looked at Dandelion and blushed, her plump cheeks and upturned nose painting their interest upon them.

“I like to spoil people after all.” Dandelion grinned at the woman with coy turn of his lips. She tittered, as most did before turning and sending a sly wink to the bard. Geralt knew he would likely have the room to himself.

“Oven’s already been warmed, Dandelion.” Geralt took a pointed sip of his beer to hide his amusement.

“All the better.” Dandelion had flushed a little as well, though from the beer or the buxom mother, Geralt wasn’t sure. “Who in their right mind would prefer a cold oven? I for one would like to know it works, and works well, before I go trying to bake bread within it.”

He hadn’t taken his eyes off the curvy woman, who seemed to Geralt to be swaying her hips, just to keep Dandelion interested. And interested the bard was, Geralt could smell it. When Geralt looked at her, however, she looked like a criers bell, her skirts moving back and fourth to the point where the witcher was nearly surprised that he couldn’t hear the musical strike on iron. His friend’s choice in lovers was always a mystery to Geralt.

“You were saying?” Geralt kicked Dandelion’s shin under the table, and Dandelion hissed, and gave Geralt a cross look before his eyes drifted back to the nearly mocking concern.

“It was actually you who were saying.” Dandelion sniffed as Geralt grabbed a cracker and put a healthy slathering of the pickled fish onto it.

“Hmmm,” Geralt frowned. “With what has befallen my guild, it would be too great of risk to bring someone there.”

“But you pay a whore to be discreet!” Dandelion practically shouted, and a few of the patrons looked over to him annoyed at the outburst. The band too was annoyed at it, for they got louder, and cast the colorful bard baneful looks.

“All it would take, is one.” Geralt shook his head ruefully chewing at the oily fish. “One open mouth and an army of angry peasants would be against our gates.”

Dandelion looked around, and frowned. The witcher grabbed a cracker and slathered it in fish. The briny taste accompanied by the cool beer was delicious.

“Geralt, I think that is absolutely abhorrent.” He stated sniffing fitfully, once again catching the witchers eye. “I know you retreat there to rest. I can’t imagine a full winters worth of forced celibacy is something that one endures with grace. What is there to do?”

“Plenty.” Geralt raised a brow as a woman at the bar caught his eye and blushed, looking away sweetly. Dandelion looked to the bar where the women was, and then looked to Geralt, who had become distracted.

“Are you just going to sit there staring at the local color? Or are you going to elaborate?” The bard leaned back with his beer smiling knowingly.

“What is there to tell?” Geralt smiled and then tossed back his beer finishing it in a single swallow. “We sleep, we train, and we do the same thing that any man does when his home is falling apart around him.”

“You ignore it?” Dandelion leaned forward taking an innocent sip at his beer. Geralt laughed as he stood up.

“Something like that.” He patted Dandelion on the shoulder roughly, causing his bonnet to list, and the feather to dip down into his beer.

“Fine, fine,” The bard adjusted his bonnet and dabbed at the beer laden feather with a cloth rag that had seen better days. “Go, Geralt, you need this more then I ever could.”

The witcher didn’t bother to acknowledge him. Instead, he walked to the bar, where the girl looked up to him sweetly, and he made a soft motion with his head. Dandelion watched and sipped at his beer as the woman followed him, at a polite distance.

He was mulling over Geralt’s words, shoveling the last of the kipper and crackers into himself, when what Geralt said finally dawned on him. Flesh a plenty. Did that mean? Dandelion froze, feeling his cheeks light aflame as images unbidden flashed into his head of what a keep of only men, trapped together overwinter, would get up to. It was then, as his fantasies reached a fever pitch, that the plush matron from earlier in the conversation came back to the table.

“Seems as though a boy like you could use an experienced hand.” She grinned down at him, and Dandelion’s mouth went dry.

“My lady, with one as gorgeous as yourself, the hand could be virginal and the enjoyment would be just as sweet.” He said, and the women smiled and reached out her arm.

“I have an hour or two, before I must get back.” She grinned as Dandelion took her arm. “Lets see if we can’t put that sweet mouth of yours to use.”

It didn’t matter, as he fell into a spare room at the inn, that he suffered turgescence not because of the woman in front of him, but because of the witcher who was coaxing sweet sounds of praise from his prize somewhere in the rooms above. If the woman in front of him was as wise as he believed, then she knew full well what had just taken place, and was more then happy to take advantage.

Soon, all thoughts of witchers disappeared, as the wise woman pillowed his head softly between soft flesh, and Dandelions clever mouth proved to be sweet indeed.

#Why are there whores in kaer Morhen?#Geralt #geralt of rivia #Dandelion #Witcher book #Fanfic blurb #Fanfic #fanfition #Oh boy season 2...#Witcher netflix commentary #Netflix #witcher

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serenlyss · 5 years

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For the Sake of a Smile Chapter Two

Rating: G Relationships: terumob, shigeo&emi Chapter Summary: Teru makes some new friends and hosts an impromptu cooking lesson. Crossposted to AO3: Chapter 2

Chapter 1 // Chapter 3

"Cooking is about creating something delicious for someone else." - Ayumi Komura

---

By the time Teru’s second taxi of the day pulls up to the gates of Salt Private Academy, he’s so exhausted he can hardly keep his eyes open. The long drive to the airport and the even longer flight to make it here has sapped the life out of him, leaving him jet-lagged and a little cranky as he pays the taxi driver with the stipend the academy has lent him and unloads his single suitcase from the trunk.

Still, no amount of jet lag or noisy big city traffic can ruin the awe he feels as he finds himself standing in front of the sprawling academy campus. It’s even bigger than it had appeared on the brochures he’d been sent, dozens of buildings nestled close together to accommodate the thousands of students they house. It’s late in the afternoon, nearly dinner time, but there’s no time to stop and eat before he’s being hustled toward the dorm building where they’ve set aside a room for him. All he can do is let himself be jettisoned along, dragging his bag behind him and trying his best not to be immediately overwhelmed by the knowledge that he’ll have to memorize and navigate this campus on his own very soon.

The room they lead Teru to is, to say the least, far more than he’s sure he needs. It’s even bigger than his shared room in the orphanage had been, and this time around he won’t even be assigned a roommate (or in his case, roommates) to split the space with. His meager wardrobe will only account for half of the walk-in closet space, including his uniform and the spare he’s been issued by the school, and he knows his bookshelf is going to end up looking frightfully bare. He sets his suitcase up against the wall and only half-listens as his attendant informs him that he’ll be free to roam once his arrival has been accounted for by the main office.

After that, he’s left in silence, with a promise that he’ll receive a call on his dorm room’s phone once he has permission to tour the campus. Teru finds himself drifting, staring at the immaculately painted walls and the two matching windows against the far side of the room. He slides one open and lets the screen door behind it swing outward, letting the fresh air in from outside. From the window, he has an uninterrupted view of the forest behind the building, dotted periodically with sports fields and clubhouses. The view is gorgeous, like the lavender fields from his hometown, and he can’t help but relax against the windowpane as he takes in the scenery all around him.

After a few minutes, he sets to work unloading his suitcase, hanging his clothes in the closet and attempting to fill his shelf with the few knickknacks and books he’s brought from home. Even when his suitcase is empty the room still looks dreadfully bare, as though no one is actually living in it at all. It’ll feel more like home with time, he reminds himself, but the nervousness seeps under his skin anyway, the longing for familiarity making his skin crawl.

He receives the promised phone call not long after he’s finished unpacking and quickly slips on his shoes, thankful to be given the go-ahead to leave the too-big, too-empty room for a while. He double-checks to make sure he has his room key--it would make for a pretty terrible first impression if he gets locked out on his first day, after all--and locks his door securely behind him before heading down the dorm hall. There’s no one else out and about at this hour, most of the building’s residents probably eating dinner in the dining hall, but Teru finds himself without much of an appetite, for a change. He flicks his eyes over the map he’d gotten from his earlier escort and decides definitively that he’s going to take a tour of the school’s home ec rooms. He’s curious to see what kind of expensive kitchens such a large and well-off academy must have. The thought of it makes his fingers long to create something, anything, but he doesn’t have any food to work with here.

He’s deeply ingrained in fantasies of stainless steel appliances and marble countertops when his eye is caught by another student walking down the hall, a boy that could easily be his age. He’s slightly shorter than Teru himself is, and he’s painfully dull in every conceivable way: his jeans and red hoodie are standard compared to Teru’s usual eye-catching taste, and his shoes are plain white. His black hair is styled into a bowl cut, of all things, which Teru can’t see as anything other than tragic, because he has a decent-looking face that would be well-complimented by a good haircut, in his humble opinion. His stoney, impassive expression is a little hard to parse, though. He can’t even manage to look bored, his face entirely unreadable and devoid of any significant emotion. What a weirdo, Teru thinks to himself, but before he can quietly judge the boy any further, his train of thought is interrupted by another student, a girl who comes hurrying around the corner.

“Kageyama!” she calls, clearly nervous with the way her shoulders hunch up just a little with their tenseness and how she reaches up with one hand to fidget with a strand of strawberry blond hair. In her other hand she’s holding a dessert plate with what Teru could easily describe as the saddest flan he’s ever seen sitting atop it. It’s clearly overcooked, the top of it too dark and the edges too crispy for it to be any good at all. It’s also sagging in places, losing its shape with every passing second. Teru has to resist the urge to flinch on behalf of the expressionless boy, because it’s clearly meant to be a gift and it would be incredibly rude to turn down something handmade, even if it is a disaster.

He doesn’t quite make out the words the girl uses to present her treat, but as he nears the pair he hears the boy’s muted, monotone reply. “That’s very nice of you, but I’m not really a fan of sweet things. They tend to upset my stomach,” he murmurs, his voice higher in pitch and a bit more shy than Teru had imagined it might be. He’s clearly not very good at talking to people; he doesn’t even seem to realize what the offering means, that this girl is attempting to confess her feelings in the form of something hand-made.

Teru can feel the secondhand embarrassment hitting him already, a grimace coming to his face. He feels the need to intervene, to save the girl some of the heartache and mortification that would come from such a monotonous rejection. “Don’t you think you should at least give it a try?” he speaks up, crossing the rest of the distance between himself and the unfortunate pair. “It’s rude to reject a hand-made gift from a girl, you know.”

The boy--Kageyama, as he’d been called--jumps in surprise, having apparently not noticed his presence until that moment, and turns around to face him with wide eyes. It’s the most expression he’s seen on the boy’s face thus far. “Oh, is-is it really? I didn’t realize,” he sputters, clearly thrown off by Teru’s unprompted entrance into the conversation.

The girl gawks at him. “N-No, that’s okay! If you don’t want to, it’s really fine,” she assures hurriedly, taking a step back, and as she does she trips over her own feet with a yelp. In her desperation to regain her balance, the plate falls from her hands and clatters to the floor, the sad-looking flan immediately losing its shape entirely and splattering across the plate and the tile floor beside it.

Teru flinches visibly, expecting remorse and embarrassment and maybe even tears, but instead the girl just lets her shoulders slump in vague disappointment as she stares down ruefully at the mess. “Ah, great, I guess that’s the end of that,” she states, leaning over to salvage what she can of the destroyed flan. “It was pretty gross-looking anyway, and it probably would have tasted terrible… sorry for wasting your time, Kageyama.”

“No, it’s okay,” Kageyama replies immediately, offering the girl a small, sheltered smile. “It’s a shame about your dessert, though. I’m not really sure what it was, but I’m sure it was better than you say it was.”

It’s a terrible attempt at reassurance, Teru thinks, but the girl seems placated by it nonetheless. It rubs Teru the wrong way, how easily they can pretend that what seemed to be a gift with feeling and intent put into it was meaningless. It’s wasteful to let such sentiments go unspoken, he thinks. “You should remake it and try again,” he urges, surprisingly even himself with how fervently he says it. “I’ll help you with it, too, that way it’ll be sure to turn out well.” He starts in the direction of the kitchen rooms that he knows are in the building somewhere without even waiting for an answer.

“Oh, no, it’s really fine!” the girl attempts to say, clearly confused.

Kageyama blinks at him as he heads down the hall. “Um, I don’t mean to be rude, but who are you? I don’t recognize you, what class are you from?” he asks, picking up his pace just a bit to catch up with Teru as he strides with purpose down the hall. The girl reluctantly follows behind, looking as though she’d rather be elsewhere.

Teru flashes Kageyama a charming smile, one he reserves for first impressions and persuasion, and replies, “I’m a new second year transfer student, Hanazawa Teruki. Call me Teru, all my friends do.” He’s laying it on extra thick for the sake of appearances, and he knows so, but despite this boy’s plain appearance and his startling lack of social awareness, he seems to be a decent guy overall. “I’ve been assigned to class A, whatever that means.” He waves his hand noncommittally, pausing next to an open door through which he can see clean white countertops. “Oh, is this where the kitchens are?” he asks, peeking inside.

“You’re in the special class?” The girl states in surprise, and nearly drops her plate a second time before she manages to fumble it back into a safe and secure grasp. “But that class is crazy hard to get into! You’d have to be some sort of prodigy, and even then, you have to have a recommendation from the president!”

“Ah, that means we’re in the same class,” Kageyama says at the same time, another small smile coming to his face as the three of them walk into the empty kitchen. “Oh, I guess I should introduce myself, then. I’m Kageyama Shigeo. Um, you can call me Shigeo, since you offered up your first name and all.” He adds the last part on in a slight mumble, seemingly shy.

“Shigeo it is, then,” Teru says with confidence, striding over to one of the fridges lining the far wall of the classroom and cracking it open. To his delight, it’s filled with food already, and a lot of it. He determines that it’s likely set up for both regular classes and private practice, if the time slot sign-up sheet on the door is any indicator. No one appears to be using the room for the time being, though, so he hastily removes a carton of eggs and cracks it open to take a look inside. “Well then, Shigeo, I suppose you can consider this a demonstration of my talent,” he says with a flourish, and before he lets himself make the whole thing about himself, he beckons the blond girl over. “What’s your name?” he asks kindly, setting the carton of eggs aside along with a carton of heavy cream and a half-full bag of kane sugar.

“Emi,” the girl replies, eyeing the ingredients with thinly-veiled reluctance. She casts Kageyama--or Shigeo, as he prefers to be called--a quick glance. He’s watching Teru with interest, keeping a respectful distance but leaning forward against the counter to watch. In a quiet voice, she adds, “Look, I’m no chef or anything like that. I made that flan in my home ec class, but I kinda suck at cooking. I only gave it to Kageyama because my friends dared me to, so this really isn’t necessary,” she insists, a hint of embarrassment creeping into her voice.

Teru quirks a brow at Emi, but doesn’t pause as he pulls down a round mixing bowl and whisk after a bit of searching through the cabinets. “Is that so? That’s a shame, flan really is easy to make once you know the proportions,” he says, sliding the bowl to her. He takes on a more authoritarian tone, the kind he uses with Tome back home when he’s attempting to teach her a new recipe. “Flan gets harder with more egg and softer with more milk,” he explains, rifling around in a low cabinet in search of something to set the flan in. “The sugar gives it that sweet taste, but if you use too much of it, your flan won’t be able to hold its shape, which is what happened to the one you dropped. The perfect flan consistency comes from one part egg, one part sugar, and three parts milk. Give it a shot.” He gestures to the empty bowl as he continues to search.

“Wow, Teruki, you really know a lot about this, huh?” Shigeo comments. He’s drawn up a stool from another table to the counter across from Emi and is listening intently as Emi starts to measure ingredients into the bowl with a hint of uncertainty.

Teru straightens back up again with a flip of his hair, allowing himself to feel a flash of pride at the compliment. “Of course. I’ve been cooking since I was just a kid,” he replies. In his hands he holds three identical white teacups that he’d managed to procure from the many cabinets that line the walls. He sets them down alongside three matching teaspoons. “We’ll put the flan mix into these when it’s ready. They won’t conduct heat when we warm them over the stove, plus they’re cute, don’t you think?” He grins at this, peering over at Emi’s bowl.

“Oh, that does sound cute,” Emi says as she glances over at the teacups, some of her previous reluctance fading and being replaced with bits of excitement and anticipation. She’s busy beating the ingredients into a thick paste, the mixture taking on a very pale yellow hue from the beaten egg yolks. Teru gives an appreciative nod, then dips a spoon into it and tastes the mixture for good measure.

“Hmm, add one more egg, and it’ll be perfect,” he commands, and moves to turn on the stove. He sets a shallow pot on top of the burner to warm and then moves to help Emi pour the mixture into the teacups. “Normally I’d make some sort of caramel sauce to go on top, but that part takes a lot longer. For beginners, a bit of whipped cream on top can make for a nice decoration and an extra bit of sweetness,” he explains, carefully setting the three teacups inside the pot and covering it with a glass top. “We’ll run the heat high, then turn it down after about three minutes,” he says, glancing down at his watch.

Teru feels significantly more relaxed in the kitchen than he had before, alone in his empty room, and he lets himself lean against the counter as the flan heats and is then taken off the burner to chill in the fridge. He swaps random stories and get-to-know-you questions with Emi and Shigeo while they wait, and learns a few little facts about his new friend, like the fact that he has a little brother attending his first year of high school and that they both live with their parents, since their house is close to the academy and the dorms are more expensive than they’re worth. His timer goes off before he knows it, signalling that the flan is ready to eat.

He and Emi fetch the teacups from the fridge and bring them back to the counter. Teru passes one to Shigeo, then turns to Emi, who’s staring down at her cup in wonder. “Woah, it actually looks pretty good,” she says, poking at the surface of it with her spoon and breaking its smooth top.

Teru offers her a smile. “You did all the hard work, I just gave you a few tips,” he points out, moving to take a bite of his own flan. He hums thoughtfully, then adds, “It turned out well! A successful batch, I say. Shigeo, what do you think?” He turns to look at the dark-haired boy expectantly, and Emi does as well, looking more hopeful than Teru had thought she would.

Shigeo dips the little teaspoon into his teacup and then brings the spoon to his mouth to taste the dessert, blinking in surprise. “It’s not as sweet as I thought it would be,” he says, going to take another bite. “It’s good. You two make a good team.” He smiles at them, and his smile is small but sweet and makes his eyes crinkle just a little at their corners.

Emi seems pleased to have someone enjoy her cooking, and she sits a little straighter in her seat as the three of them huddle around the end of the counter. They don’t even notice how late the hour has gotten until a group of university students show up for their night class and they’re forced to leave the kitchen.

Emi walks with them to the building’s entrance, then breaks off of the group to head back to her dorm with a friendly wave. “My house is down the hill from the boys’ dorm, I’ll walk with you,” Shigeo offers in that kind, quiet voice, and Teru is quick to agree. They make pleasant small talk on the way back to the dorm, and Shigeo declares halfway back that it’s time for him to part ways and head in another direction, toward his own house.

“Have a good night, Shigeo,” Teru says in farewell. “I’ll see you tomorrow in class.”

Shigeo offers a little nod in response to this, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder. “Yes, see you tomorrow,” he echoes, and turns to continue down the street.

Teru completes the walk in silence, but he’s starting to feel more confident about coming to a new place and attending a new school. If the rest of his new classmates are as kind as Emi and Shigeo are, he’s certain he’ll have no trouble adjusting. It’s this thought that keeps his chin up as he goes back to his big, quiet, empty room and lays down on his bed. The quiet is unnerving, his body too used to sleeping in a room with several other inhabitants, but for now, he can push that lingering homesickness away and focus on tomorrow.

#mob psycho 100 #mp100 #terumob #hanazawa teruki #kageyama shigeo #emi #emi mp100 #mp100 fanfic #fanfiction #serendipitousfics

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angstymarshmallow · 7 years

Text

Being Together is Enough Part 1 - Zig x MC Fanfic

Being Together is Enough Part 1 - Zig x MC Freshman Fanfiction.

[Tiny Note: A little something I’ve been working on. I’m a big fan of Zig so I suppose it isn’t a surprise that I was writing about him again LOL. Erm, originally it was supposed to be just a one-shot, but then I got carried away and decided to write more (¬‿¬) as per usual whenever I write about anything. So here’s part 1; more of an introduction for part 2 the really good stuff. Thoughts? Criticisms? Likes and dislikes? All are welcomed here!]

[Summary: Falling for someone has never been easy and it’s terrifying when it’s a new experience, especially when that person happens to be your local barista. Are Zig and MC finally ready to take their relationship to the next level?]

She walked as briskly as she could muster across Hartfeld’s massive campus. Disgruntled after a long week of class presentations and studying had left her with the self-satisfaction that only students felt after getting through a particularly coarse week. She was looking forward to taking it easy with the upcoming weekend now in sight.

A list of unwanted chores waited at home. There was laundry she’d forgotten to finish, it was her turn to clean the bathroom, and a paper that she had to look over before handing it in the following week. These were all things that should be at the forefront of her mind. But all that could wait, because right now all she wanted to do was peel off her dress and soak her tired feet into the tub. It wasn’t often that she found herself so worn out, but when she did it took a lot to of effort to keep herself from falling asleep on her feet.

Between classes, working on her novel and spending more time outside of home; she was probably spreading herself thin. Already she could feel her eyes dropping a little and was fortunate enough that her dorm was a short walk away.

She pursed her lips as her thoughts drifted towards him. And if she was being honest with herself, he was probably the biggest reason why she hadn’t much time for anything else. A whole month of sporadic dates, bumping into each other across Hartfeld and catching quick drinks before his shift started were all factors that she considered. No matter the time, if he proposed a night out or early morning breakfast – she accepted in a heartbeat.

Maybe she was in way over her head. Maybe they should slow it down. Or maybe this was what she’d always been missing. She’d dated guys before but never anything like this. Never anyone that she thought of so much, and ended up wondering if he thought about her as much in return.

She wanted to blame him, curse him for being so irresistible but there was more to it than that. Whenever they were in the same space, whenever they were alone – she couldn’t explain it. The closest thing that came to mind was magic. Time didn’t seem to exist anymore and hours had always felt like minutes. Their easy-going conversations and companionable moments of silence made her feel as if they were the only two people in the world.

Just thinking about him caused her mouth to twitch before stretching into a smile and sent her heart racing a little faster. She touched her cheeks briefly, feeling quiet surprise at the heat she felt there. She couldn’t think about him without being reminded of all the times they’ve slept together. Sweaty bodies tangled within sheets or her back pressed up against some wall whenever they didn’t have the patience for privacy, their desperate hands seeking to sink into each other in an attempt to find a quick release of all the tension between them.

She bit her bottom lip, suddenly overwhelmed with a desire to see him. This was how it usually started; with one of them wanting to see the other until someone eventually cave in. It was like a little game of cat and mouse to see who could hold out the longest before surrounding entirely at the whim of the other person. Prior to the last time they spent the night together, she vowed that she wouldn’t be the first time to cave in this time. In fact, she was secretly keeping scores; two for two and wanting to break their tie meant keeping away from him since Wednesday.

Trying to push those thoughts aside, she entered the dorm with a small smile to greet her suitemates.

Abbie and Tyler were on the couch, binge watching The Sword and the Flame. She remembered being dimly reminded that they called dibs on their space all week in preparation for the third season premiere. Sitting cross-legged beside them was Zack, his eyes fixated on his phone. There were two box of pizzas on the coffee table.

The other half of her roommates were nowhere in sight.

“Hey guys, what’s up?” She tried to keep the exhaustion out of her tone. She wanted to keep this short and friendly, considering she hadn’t seen much of them lately. “How far are you into season two?” She asked, jerking her chin towards the television set.

Abbie dragged her eyes away from it first. Something remarkable must have been happening on screen because it captivated Tyler’s focus. He didn’t acknowledge her greeting. “Kenna’s gathering her army at Stormholt – last minute preparations, and talking with everyone before the big season finale.”

Few seconds later, Tyler finally managed to divert his attention long enough to nod, enthusiasm evident as his eyes beamed at her with apparent excitement. “It’s leading up to one of the greatest scenes in fantasy history.” He proclaimed.

“You know for people that have already seen this whole show – you’re both acting as if it’s your first time.” She was amused by how much they adored it. She was a fan herself of the show herself, but never could re-watch an entire series.

“What can I say? We’re hardcore fans.” Tyler replied, shrugging.

“Besides, we’re trying not to ruin Zack’s experience.” Abbie said sneaking a glance at him. She reached for the remote and paused the show.

At the sound of his name, Zack glanced up from his phone. He blinked at the rest of his friends in dismay. “Hmm? Did I miss something?”

Abbie rolled her eyes, “Only most of the episode.” Abbie grumbled. Her suitemates knew she wasn’t one to hold back on her thoughts when it came to her friends.

Tyler elbowed her in an attempt to reprimand her short fuse. This happened a lot when they binge watched with Abbie.

“You’d miss less if you were paying attention.” Abbie insisted, folding her arms.

“Oh no, don’t you dare try to make me feel guilty!” Zack wagged his eyebrows at her. “You’re using me as an excuse to re-watch the show.” He tried to appear wounded but she could hear the unmistakable teasing in his tone.

Tyler grimaced, feeling the heavy burden that guilt carried while Abbie quickly tried to deflect. “True, we’d have probably watched it anyway,” Abbie gestured in between them, “But we wouldn’t have as much fun.” A gleeful expression crossed her face, “– seeing your reactions to all the best moments on the show – like Dom training his fire magic with Sei, or Kenna’s time with the monks during the first season.”

“Or the episode when Kenna charmed those mercenaries and spared Severin’s life.” Tyler added.

“Not to mention all the heartwarming moments between Kenna and Gabriel.” She muttered from beside them. Those were some of her favorite moments.

Abbie nodded in agreement. “We wanted to watch it with you so that you could experience everything firsthand. Plus, your reactions so far have been pretty hilarious.”

Zack flushed, “That was only one time! I thought Dom was gonna to die while he was in the spirit world.”

“We didn’t. We never lose faith in him.” Tyler said before exchanging high-fives with his girlfriend.

“What was it that Chris said? A couple that ships together stays together?” She teased, shaking her head ruefully and watching them laugh at the reminder.

“Anyway, it’s basically one of the greatest shows in TV history – especially when Kenna’s in her element kicking ass.” She thumped her fist.

“Or the moments when Dom uses his awesome fire magic.” Tyler interrupted, not wanting them to forget just how cool his powers were.

“Or the moments when Val’s unintentionally hilarious.” She added, earning her a look from Abbie. She hadn’t meant to interrupt Abbie’s rant but she knew she had to stick up for her favorite characters. “Basically, there’s a lot of good reasons why – plus you’re almost at the end!”

Zack rubbed his chin. “Well when you put it that way…” He trailed off.

Abbie’s expression softened when her eyes drifted towards Zack. “And you looked a little down lately; we figured this would be a fun pick-me-up.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.” Zack said with a light smile, sounding sincere. “I’m glad you guys are always so supportive.” He glanced at his phone again as Abbie and Tyler snuggled closer before un-pausing the show.

A second later, Zack’s phone began ringing. “Ah, it’s Brandon guys – ”

“Go, go –” Abbie made shooing gestures with her hands. “We understand.”

After shooting them an apologetic smile, Zack disappeared down the hall. They heard his door close as Abbie paused the episode again. “We should probably wait.” Abbie mumbled, sharing a mutual look of agony with Tyler. “Just until he gets back.”

“But this is sucha good scene.” Tyler whimpered. He tried to keep the objection out of his voice as he reached for slice of pizza.

Abbie leaned forward and took a bite from of his before sighing. “I know how you feel.” She kissed his cheek and squeezed his hand affectionately. “But it’ll be worth the wait once we see Kenna riding into battle with Dom in all his dragon glory.”

Tyler murmured something low under his breath, earning a laugh from Abbie.

“On that note, I think I’ll leave you guys to it.” She still had her own set of work to do after all, and even though it was Friday – it was better to have a head start on them instead of letting them pile up. “I should probably get started on the bathroom.” She could barely suppress the urge to yawn after those words trailed from her mouth.

Abbie seemed to have noticed. “This week was pretty tough for all of us.” Giving her a sympathetic smile, Abbie added. “You could always put off all the stuff you need to until tomorrow. We don’t mind.”

She shook her head. “It’s my night to do it. What’s the point of having a schedule if we don’t follow it?” She didn’t wait for a response and stole a slice of pizza from the box on the table. She ignored their protests before strolling down the hall, her feet half dragging behind her.

Not long after changing and scrubbing the bathroom tub, she found herself sinking down to the floor. Her earlier exuberance at getting a head start was nearly lost and she wondered dimly how she was going to get through the rest of the weekend. She took comfort in pressing her back against the tub’s cool porcelain steel as she took a moment to catch her breath.

The sound of knocking from the door made her glance up. Taking a few seconds to steel herself, she stood before poking her head out and met Abbie’s careful expression. “Hey Abbie, I’m just about done here.”

“That’s not why I came in to bug you.” Abbie cleared her throat. “I’m actually just letting you know that Zig showed up at our door.”

“Oh?” She couldn’t hide the surprise inside her voice. “Did he just get here?”

“Yeah, he said he tried your cell but you weren’t answering.” Abbie said, frowning. “I told him you were busy but he didn’t budge - said he wanted to ‘whisk you away’.”

“Oh right, I left my phone back here this morning.” She laughed shortly. She felt an unmistakable amount of pleasure at the idea of him missing her. Two days had never felt so long and although she didn’t want to admit it; she missed him too. “Uh, sure – just tell him to give me a second.”

She thought about her own tousled blonde hair, the fact that there were probably stains underneath her fingernails and dusts across her overalls from kneeling on the floor. She wasn’t the slightest bit prepared. But none of that seemed to matter as she quickly edged past Abbie to get to her room. It didn’t seem to matter because the mere thought of him waiting for her evenloped her stomach in tiny of indubitable burrerflies.

And frankly, the rest of the world could wait a little longer.

#mc x zig #suitemates bonding #tf3 #the freshman #zig x mc #choices fanfiction #choices fandom #zack #abbie #tyler #zig #playchoices #pixelberry #kenna rys #dominic hunter #sei #the crown and the flame

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prosciuttoe · 7 years

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bellarke + you’ve got a date tonight and you asked for advice on what to wear but I’m so in love with you and damn you look good in the outfit I picked out for you (you're the best btw!!!)

As Bellamy’s best friend, Clarke will willingly admit that she’s not entirely immune to his charms. He’s a decent conversationalist, once he puts his mind to it, and she knows a lot of people who are into the whole brooding, history-nerd vibe, especially when coupled with arms the size of tree trunks. There’s also the part where he’s kind of stupidly attractive, but she mostly tries not to dwell on that.

Still, it definitely comes as a surprise when he tells her that he has a date tonight.

“Like,” she pauses, scrambling for the words, “as in, romantically?”

He shoots her a withering look at that. “You know, you don’t have to sound so surprised.”

“I’m not!” she argues, wincing at the almost defensive lilt to her voice. “It just… caught me off guard, I guess. I thought you said you weren’t looking for anything after Gina.”

“I’m not,” he echoes, rolling his eyes. “Octavia set me up on this date with her colleague. I was planning on cancelling, but,” he shrugs, frowning as he surveys the crumpled shirts scattered on the bed before him, “she texted me a few hours back, and I don’t know. She seems pretty cool.”

She blinks, has to swallow to regain some moisture back in her throat. Somehow, the thought of Bellamy actually going on a date with someone else makes her feel prickly and uncomfortable all over, like being dunked into freezing cold water in the middle of the night. “Oh. Okay. So, who is she?”

“Echo. I have no idea what she does yet, but she works with Octavia.”

“Echo?” she asks, snorting. “As in, Echo and Narcissus? Bell, you shouldn’t go out with someone just because they’re named after one of the characters from your favorite book.”

That pulls a scowl out of him, and he reaches over to swat at her with one of his abandoned shirts while she twists away, shrieking with laughter. “I’m glad you think my love life is a joke, Clarke.”

“It will be if you go out with someone called Echo.”

His frown only deepens at that, brows furrowing together quizzically. “Are you— okay, seriously. What’s the problem here?”

“Nothing,” she huffs, yanking at a stray thread hanging off his bedspread. “Everything’s fine, okay?” Then, jumping to her feet, she strides over to his closet, “In fact, I’ll even help you with your outfit.”

“What an honor.” He deadpans, pinching at the skin of her hip playfully while she scours through the possible options. “Hey. Try and make me look good, yeah?”

“Why don’t you ask me for something actually achievable, Bell.”

(That earns her another sharp pinch to her elbow, and she retaliates by flicking at his forehead.)

Honestly, there’s a small (spiteful) part of her that’s tempted to dress him in something mildly unflattering, really, but she tamps it down in favor of being a good friend. Even though, yeah, it does sting a little to see him all decked up in one of her favorite ensembles for someone else. She wrestles the hair gel away from him and picks out a cologne before darting out to let him get dressed, trying valiantly to ignore the growing, sickening feeling in her gut.

“So,” she goes, raising her voice slightly to be heard through the closed door, “what’s she like?”

A muffled thump sounds through the wood, followed by a violent curse on his part. “What?”

“Echo,” she calls out, working to keep her voice conversational. It’s a challenge, considering how just the mention of her name makes her mouth fill with something foul and acrid-tasting. (Jealousy, a voice in her head not so helpfully supplies. She shoves it aside.) “Tell me about her.”

“I don’t know,” he says, distracted. “Does it matter?”

Scoffing, she lets her head fall back against the door. “Uh, yes? Look, if this is going to become a thing, I need to know about her so I can brace myself for when I meet her. And like, have a handy list of conversational topics or something.”

“It’s one date, Clarke.”

“I know it’s been awhile since you’ve dated, but those tend to be a prelude to relationships,” she retorts, scrubbing a hand through her hair frustratedly; voice rising despite her best attempts at nonchalance, “So, yeah. She might turn out to be your girlfriend, and I’d think I’ll like to be prepared for when that happens!”

Her outburst is met with silence, long enough for her to start feeling antsy.

Then, suddenly, “Clarke?”

She can’t help it, she jumps at that, banging her shin against the door frame. “What?”

“Are you—” a sharp intake of breath, as if bracing himself to say the words— “are you jealous?”

No, she wants to snap, the answer instinctive. It feels wrong to lie to him, though, especially about something on this kind of magnitude. Clarke closes her eyes instead, sighs, feeling all the fight and anger from before her bleed out of her. “A little,” she admits, wringing her fingers. “But I have a perfectly good—”

The door jerks open at that, making her squeak as she nearly tumbles into his room.

“Sorry,” Bellamy says hastily, meeting her gaze as he drops into a crouch. “But I just— I need to get that right. You’re jealous about me going out with someone else?”

“Yes!” she snaps, pushing up on her elbows. “Look, I was trying to explain, but—”

He kisses her then, long and sweeping and possessive, making her sigh into his mouth before she tangles her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer. It’s every secret fantasy that she’s never let herself voice, every fleeting thought she quashed whenever she thought of him in a romantic context; a finally and a oh, all at once.

His lips are swollen, when he finally pulls away. “God,” Bellamy laughs, pressing his forehead against hers, his hair rustling against her cheek when he shakes at his head ruefully, “you know I hated every single one of your exes, right?”

“The feeling’s mutual,” she breathes out, stroking at the skin of his jaw, dipping down to rest it against his thumping pulse. “I mean, except Gina. I still hated her. But it was really hard to base it on anything other than she’s dating the guy I’m in love with.”

“I have slideshows worth of content on why I hated every single one of your exes. Half-an-hour long, each.”

Laughing, she smacks at his chest lightly, biting at the inside of her cheek to taper her smile when he catches at them, pressing a kiss against her fingers. “Fine, you win. And I’m sorry, for springing it on you like that.”

(His gaze softens at that, immeasurably fond in a way that she’s never quite seen before. Well, maybe once or twice, really, but only when it’s been with her. The thought of it fills her with a strange, absolute sort of triumph.)

“You’ll make it up to me,” he tells her, grinning, as he leans down to kiss her again.

(She does. Multiple times, in fact.)

#the number of times I mention echo in this is minimal because a pure mention of her makes me wanna throw up #sorry #bffnet #bellarke fanfiction #bellarke #ems writes #prompts #thelightreflects #asks

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