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huramuna · 3 months

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banshee's lament - chapter 5.

aemond targaryen x stark ofc minor jacaerys velaryon x stark ofc masterlist prev | next

a/n: again, a little bit of a slow chapter. shera deserved some happiness and i'm giving it to her, dammit. also i lied, i dropped the chapter on monday oopsies.

wordcount: 4.5k

@huramuna-fics - follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings! no taglists right now, sorry.

content: smut, angst, fluff, disabled ofc, aemond being delulu & obsessive, major canon divergence, ofc has a service direwolf, i'm taking canon rules and putting them in a blender and taking a shot, arranged marriage, graphic depictions of violence, my terrible, terrible combat writing

story playlist

Shera’s handwriting, in all accounts, was terrible. It was crude and wispy, all blending together like a child’s scrawl. As she sat at her desk, the ink dripping onto the paper from the length of her pauses, she wondered how to sign it.

Yours,

Shera

No, that was much too personal— she… she wasn’t his.

Best,

Shera Stark

That felt formal and detached. It simply wouldn’t do.

She went through a myriad of different closing statements, wroughting her brain over like wringing out a rag. She even considered not doing it at all.

No, no— she… she wanted to. She needed to try, atleast. Sulking and crying would only do so much for her. She needed to be proactive and offer an olive branch of sorts. She settled on a simple drawing of Moongeist— or mayhaps any wolf, but the point was there. He’d know.

With the note pinned to her cut dress fabric, she snuck from her chambers, flagging down a pageboy.

“Hello,” she murmured to the young lad, who couldn’t be any older than nine or ten. “May I ask a favor of you, ser?”

“Yes ma’am… my lady,” he corrected softly, eyes wondering to Moongeist, who was sitting patiently at Shera’s feet.

“May you take this fabric and note to Prince Aemond’s chambers and leave it upon his desk?”

“The prince doesn’t like people going through his things while he’s not there, miss,” he responded, blue eyes wide. “I do not wish to be flogged.”

Shera blinked slowly. Surely Aemond didn’t have servants flogged for an indiscretion. “Has… Prince Aemond had pageboys flogged before?”

“No, miss— but I delivered him a letter while he was eating his lunch once… he had his eyepatch off on the table and I did not knock,” the young boy looked at his hands. “He said if I didn’t knock next time, he would make me clean up Vhagar’s dung with a wheelbarrow.”

What the fuck, Aemond? Shera stifled a little laugh, trying not to embarrass the boy. “How about this,” she hummed. “Would you like to pet my wolf? He’s a real direwolf, all the way from the North.”

The lad eyed Moongeist with a curious gaze. “My mumma had a shaggy dog with a curly tail when I was young. He licked my face n’ smelled horrible but he was my bestest friend,” he said, bashful. “He died a while ago— no one’s got any more pups for me to pet.”

“He’d love a pet from you, ser,” Shera continued. “Will you deliver this to Prince Aemond’s chambers? If he gets cross with you, tell me and I’ll resolve it and sic my wolf upon him. No harm will befall you.”

Shyly, the boy smiled, offering his hand to the wolf. Moongeist sniffed his hand and licked his palm, causing the boy to giggle.

Shera showed him where Moongeist liked to be scratched the most, and the pageboy was quite pleased with himself when he had the giant wolf thumping his foot on the ground like a puppy at the most perfect of scratches.

He took her note and favor and tottered off.

—

Shera knocked on Helaena’s door. “Hela?” she called softly.

A handmaid opened the door and let her in, wide eyes upon Moongeist.

The solar was lovely, decorated in blue and purple silks upon the ceiling. There were framed pinnings of various bugs upon the walls, some of them being very rare if she remembered correctly.

Upon the floor were strewn children’s toys, like wooden dragons that Helaena had when she was little, along with soldier dolls and princess dolls. Some children’s books were left open, some neatly stacked near the settee.

Shera’s eye landed on Helaena, who was bobbing a toddler on her knee on the couch. A white haired child approached her, his violet eyes wide. He was the spitting image of Aegon as a child.

“Who’s you?” he asked, not afraid to stare— like all children do.

“Shera!” Helaena exclaimed, humming as she hoisted the smaller child onto her hip. “Jaehaerys, this is your auntie Shera.”

“Auntie… Shera…” the little boy echoed. “Is she married to uncle Aemond?”

Helaena’s face blanched slightly. “No, dearest,” she hummed. “She is very close to me, like a sister. Like Jaehaera is your sister.”

“Oh,” he murmured. “She doesn’t have white hair. And she has a dog.”

“He’s a wolf, Jaehaerys,” Shera chimed in. “Has your mumma read to you about direwolves and Winter Kings yet?”

“A woof,” the smallest child chimed in, bouncing happily upon Helaena’s hip. “A woof, a woof!”

“Well, I should introduce the children. You have already met Jaehaerys,” Helaena ruffed up his white curls as he continued to stare at Shera unabashedly. “He has a twin sister, Jaehaera. Who is…” Helaena swirled around. “She is hiding behind the settee,” she whispered, leading Shera to look at the pair of violet eyes peeking over the furniture at her. “And this is my youngest, Maelor. He is two years old. The twins are five.”

“They’re gorgeous Hela,” Shera mused. “Jaehaerys looks just like Aegon, I thought I had stepped into the past when I saw him. Maelor, however,” she added, smiling at the little cherubic face of the youngest prince, who was blushing and giggling, “looks just like his mumma.”

“Come sit, lovey,” Helaena said as she put Maelor down on the floor near the toys. “Lunch should be here soon. You look darling in that shade. You look like a jeweled beetle,” she hummed, offering her hand to Shera, which she took. Hela’s palm was warm, like a toasty fire, but not sweltering. It felt akin to being swaddled with a blanket. “Can I show you some of my bugs?”

“Of course,” Shera agreed, feeling genuinely at ease. The solar was lively and lived in, surely because of the children— it felt… homely and not sterile and lifeless like some others’ chambers.

Off to the far wall, Helaena led her to a bookshelf, carved in draconic designs and various Old Valyrian sigils that she couldn’t quite parse. It was stocked from top to bottom with various books, mostly pertaining to the taxonomy and biology of insects and arachnids— but there were some familiar titles snuck in as well.

‘The Winter Kings of Yore: An Account of the North’.

“Hela— you still have this?” Shera asked, her hand thumbing over the positively ancient book, prising it from the shelf. She remembered this was one of her favorite books as a child and would request Helaena to read it when they bathed.

“Of course! I still have this one, too. ‘Tis Maelor’s favorite.” she pointed to another book, nestled next to the other tome. It was much shorter, but its hard cover was more colorful with streams of blue and purple thread embroidered into a moon and an image of a wolf.

‘Moonpuppy’. It was a children’s book, the only one Shera had brought with her to King’s Landing when she arrived at age five.

“Oh Gods,” Shera breathed, her fingertips skimming over the embroidery. It wasn’t the original binding of the book— the book was well loved into bits, to where the inner pages only remained at one point. Shera and Helaena had worked tirelessly for a whole moon trying to prise it back together. The princess embroidered the cover, trying to make it as close to the original as possible.

Opening the book, she remembered they even made a title page, inked in their silly children’s handwriting.

‘Moonpuppy, edition II. By Helaena Targaryen and Shera Stark.’

Shera wanted to cry. She sniffed, carefully going through the pages. “Helaena, how have you managed to make me cry twice now?”

“Tears of happiness, my little wolf spider,” Hela whispered. “You should read it to Maelor. You were always better at the voices than I.”

“Oh, Hela— I… I don’t know if I can,” she whispered, heat coming to her ears. “It… hurts to speak for long and I cannot project… what if he cannot hear me?”

“Even at two, he is a very good listener. He is nothing like his father in that regard.”

Shera wiped away her tears and went to sit down. “Maelor, is this your favorite book?”

“Mwoonpubby!” the toddler exclaimed, jumping to attention right away.

“Do you know all the words? It’s been quite a while since I’ve read— I may need help remembering.”

“Mumma reads it every night— can I be the pubby and you be the mwoon?”

The strength of Shera’s smile almost hurt her face. “Of course.”

She began her reading, her fingertips buzzing with elation and a strange sense of anxiety.

Once, long ago, there was a puppy.

He lived in the bitter cold and was very small, but that was okay. He had a large family to keep him warm.

His mumma and papa talked to the moon each night, encouraging him to do the same.

‘I don’t know what to say.’ said the little pup.

‘Whatever is in your heart, dearest. The moon will listen. She will always listen.’ His mumma soothed him, fiddling over his fur with her big tongue.

One day, it was very dark. Usually, at night, they had the light of the moon. But it was gone this night, smothered in fog and clouds.

The little pup whined, trudging in the snow. He was lost! He was lost and he couldn’t find his way back to his mumma.

‘Mumma! Mumma!’ he howled to the sky, to the hidden stars, to the darkened moon. ‘Moon? Moon?’

Shera cleared her throat, feeling the pinch of her nerves creeping up on her. She wanted to finish it— she had to.

There was no answer. He was alone.

He cried and cried for hours, so alone and so cold without his family to warm him. He missed his mumma so badly, he missed the moon.

‘I don’t talk to you much,’ the pup said, muzzle to the sky. ‘I don’t have much to say usually. I am sorry.’

He shuffled his paws as he huddled under a low hanging ledge, out of the snow. It was still wet and he was cold, but it was better than nothing.

He felt cold still, cold in his bones—

A light shined down upon him, finally. The moon had broken through the fog.

Her voice was so hoarse now, that nary a sound came out. Moongeist nuzzled his snout under her hand in a gesture to tell her to take it easy.

She opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t, her voice catching within the brambles of her inflamed vocal cords.

“S’okay, auntie Shewa,” Maelor said, toddling up onto the couch and snuggling up to Shera without any reservation. “I can finish it, I know all the pawrts. Mumma gets tired too sometimes… so I finish the stowy.”

He could see, he could see. ‘Oh, thank you, thank you!’ he howled and barked and yipped.

‘You should talk to me more, little pup,’ the moon cooed, bathing him in her silver light. ‘My sweet little moonpuppy.’

His pack found him quickly, all piling near him to keep him warm. He snuggled into their furs, looking up at the sky.

The moon was full that night, full and bright.

“Auntie Shewa?”

“Hm?”

“Can I pet your woof?”

Shera looked to Helaena and gave a nod.

“You have to be gentle, like with the bugs.” Helaena stepped in, saving Shera from further talking— to which she was grateful for.

“Uh huh…” Maelor mumbled, dragging his chubby little hand over Moongeist’s fur in a gentle manner so unlike a toddler. “Soft.”

Moongeist licked the boy’s head, cowlicking his white curls into one. He giggled with delight.

–

They all lunched together, Helaena insisting that they sit on the floor and eat with the children. They sat in a circle, the kids having their porridge. They each had different toppings, which felt so much like them.

Jaehaerys had cut up ham atop his, accompanied by a smattering of frizzled onions.

Jaehaera, on the other hand, had pieces of stewed pumpkin atop hers, glazed with cinnamon and maple syrup. It had some roasted pumpkin seeds atop for crunch. She had more of a sweet tooth than her brother, it seemed.

Maelor had a smaller bowl with plain porridge and melted butter– he glanced at Shera’s plate, to which her and Helaena were both eating parboiled quail eggs, dipping their toasted bread in the yolk.

“Mumma– want egg,” Maelor muttered, swirling his spoon in his porridge.

“What kind of egg, darling?” Helaena asked.

“I want what Auntie Shewa has,” he continued. “Dippy egg.”

“Maera,” Helaena called to her handmaiden. “Can you please have the cooks whip up some dippy eggs for Maelor– and mayhaps a bone for Moongeist, too?”

The thumping of a tail was heard as the wolf heard ‘bone’ and ‘Moongeist’ in the same sentence. He stayed near Shera, but also in close proximity to Maelor, who had become quite attached to the wolf very quickly. The toddler offered porridge from his spoon to him, who happily slurped up the food with a wagging tail.

Soon enough, Maelor was devouring his dippy eggs with toast. Helaena leaned forward now, tracing little circles on the plush rug they sat upon. “It was supposed to be different, you know.”

Shera blinked. “What was?”

“I was supposed to be betrothed to Jacaerys– before… Aegon,” she started, eyes glazed over and looking towards somewhere far away, somewhere not completely there. “It might have been nice. I don’t know.”

“... really? You and Jacaerys?” she raised a brow. She couldn’t imagine Alicent ever agreeing to such a thing.

“Mother wasn’t pleased. Father pushed and pushed but mother was stronger and pushed back. It was a flash in the pan, so to speak. I wish I knew where we would be now if she had agreed.”

“You would be upon Dragonstone, Hela– with… Jace’s children, presumably,” Shera cringed inwardly at the thought– that would be her some day.

Helaena wrinkled her nose at the thought, seemingly agreeing with Shera’s sentiment. “For all his faults–” she got up then, tugging Shera to her feet and leading her to the open window. “Aegon is… good with the children. When he is here. I don’t… he isn’t my husband in feeling– but he is my brother. What are we, any of us– but beholden to the mistakes of our families. All of us.”

Shera stayed silent as they sat on the windowsill together, letting Helaena talk. It seemed like something she didn’t talk about much– if ever.

“He got the worst of mother’s rage. It broke something in him. But I think there is something broken in all of us, even mother,” Helaena reached to the trellis, plucking a beetle that was hiding between two folded leaves. “All of her children are cursed in some way,” she lifted her periwinkle gaze to Shera then. “You are one of her children, too.”

“... cursed,” she echoed. Yes, that seems about right.

“Will you survive?” the princess turned the conversation then. “Upon Dragonstone?”

“I don’t know.” she answered truthfully, talking in honesty about the betrothal to someone for the first time. She tried before with Cregan, but he didn’t listen.

“You’ll have to take the reins, you know,” Helaena prattled on, staring at the beetle with her full, rapt attention. It was blue in color, gleaming like a sapphire jewel in the sunlight. “Take them and steer them. You’ll be the only one able to change it– the trees bleed, Shera– cut lip, punctured wood...”

Shera’s brow furrowed further. Helaena was known to descend into her ramblings– but something within her tingled at the words. She didn’t know what they meant, but it made her stomach churn. She felt the whoosh of air from outside the window, a cream colored blur in the edge of her vision. She didn’t hear it, only felt it and saw it, fleeting. It landed upon a spiked point of the keep, across the way from the window– but she couldn’t parse what it was. Shera blinked profusely, bringing her hands to her eyes and rubbing them. When she looked again, it was gone, mayhaps never even there.

“Hold the beetle, Shera,” Hela hummed, offering the jewel colored insect to her. “You remember how to hold them?”

“Gentle,” she responded, voice so quiet that it was hardly even a whisper. The beetle crawled eagerly onto her palm, roving around slowly.

“I need to clean up the children for naptime. Maera,” the princess called, hopping off of the window sill. She walked to the handmaiden, who was a head taller than Helaena. Her dark brown hair was braided in one long wisp, a few errant strands sticking to her forehead. She had tanned skin and dark eyes, with a curved nose. The handmaiden smiled to Helaena and they whispered to one another, clearly very familiar, before they disappeared toward the nursery.

Her surroundings blurred as she kept her attention on the beetle. It seemed so simple, so… calm, despite being in the palm of a would-be predator. The light reflected off of its blue colored carapice, the elytra buzzing ever so slightly. It wanted to stretch, the slight unfold of its wings captivating Shera. She wondered what it was like to fly– she had always refused Jacaerys when he asked her to join him atop Vermax. But if… if she were the one flying, she may not be so scared. Her shoulders rolled in tandem with the beetle, feeling a crack of her bones and the ghostly sensation of her own wings clawing out from them.

The beetle’s antenna wriggled, its little claws digging into her palm, pulling itself along. It wanted to go, it wanted to fly. Leaning towards the window, she saw the great expanse of the sky, littered now with clouds. There was a little breeze now, ruffling the gentle film of the wings as they extended– they looked and felt broken when coming from their sutures, but straightened out quickly. Crawling closer, closer to the breeze, flitting upon it. Hovering now, legs dangling ever expertly. Regarding the indoors one last time– pushing forward into the open air, flight, flight, wisping upon the breeze… was this freedom?

“Shera! Open your eyes!”

The breeze died upon her face as she turned to see Helaena at her side, a few maids behind her looking terrified– Moongeist was whining at her feet.

“Shera?” Helaena whispered now, her periwinkle eyes wide. “Are you alright?”

“... yes– um,” she glanced around nervously at the maids, who were now chittering amongst themselves.

“Thank you, ladies– you may go now. I will call the maester myself if Shera falls ill again.”

Ill? She was awake that entire time, she knew it– she was… focusing on the beetle… the beetle…

“Hela– where is the beetle?”

“The beetle…” she breathed, looking over to the table.

Shera looked to see an open lightbox, the beetle was in it. It was seized up, not moving.

“It fell. Its thorax got torn on the windowsill– I will fix it before I pin it,” the princess sighed. “The breeze was too strong.”

“Is it dead?”

“Yes.”

Shera felt cold, a chill creeping at her back. “I should… I should get some rest, I think. M-much excitement for me today, I think.”

Helaena nodded.

–

Shera laid in bed, taking her dinner in her chambers. She felt… utterly exhausted. The day had been tumultuous, even without her… disassociating spell in Helaena’s chambers.

Her fingers roved over a book– it was something that was just left in her room for decoration and no real substance. Her eye strained as she tried to focus on the words. It was already hard enough to read with only one working eye, but with the content of this book being so boring, she couldn’t parse any of it at all.

Knock, knock, knock. Three knocks rapt upon her door.

“I don’t need any tea,” she croaked out, unable to project her voice. She slipped out of her bed, adorned in her nightgown– it was fairly see-through, so she grabbed a blanket and slipped it over her head and body, snugging it close. She hated being caught without her veil on. “Please, come back in the morning.” she muttered as she opened the door, peeking her face out slightly.

“I’m afraid I cannot take no for an answer, Lady Stark,” Aemond hummed, standing before her in all his glory. He wasn’t dressed for bed– she wondered if he wore his riding and sparring leathers to bed, too. “I was tasked with delivering some… reading material to you.”

Shera perked a brow inquisitively. “Reading material?” She hadn’t requested anything specific from the library.

“Can I come in?”

Shera bit her lip. “Yes… I suppose…” she opened the door wider for him to come in as she scrambled to find a veil to wear.

“No need for that. I won’t look if it makes you uncomfortable.” he said, his tone a bit softer than usual. He had two books in his hands as he looked around the room.

“I don’t wish to make you uncomfortable,” Shera grunted, a bit indignantly. His words from the dinner still echoed in her head. Mayhaps it's a mangled mess under there. She remembered him laughing at her earlier in the day when her veil had slipped slightly. Her cheeks burned as she pulled the blanket taut around her, facing away from him.

“I’m sure I’ve seen worse,” he said flatly, putting the books down on the side table next to the chaise. “But, out of respect, I won’t look.”

She was sure he meant it as a way to soothe her worry, but she couldn’t help but feel tears start to form. Hastily, she wiped them away. “What was so important that this… delivery couldn’t wait until morn?” she glanced at him, her eyes stinging. “And why you?” she added, her punctuation of you a bit more harsh than she intended.

Aemond’s brow knit as he regarded her. He said he wouldn’t look, the liar.

She whipped in the opposite direction quickly.

“Helaena asked me to deliver you this… and I had one to give you as well. Think of it as a betrothal gift.” he muttered, beginning to walk the room as if he wasn’t an intruder. Well, she had invited him in.

Moongeist was snoozing on the bed, belly up. His legs twitched in the air as he whimpered softly from dreaming. Aemond stared at him. “This is your valiant protector? He is sleeping on the job.”

“He deserves rest— you aren’t a threat to me, Aemond. He senses that,” she replied. Not a threat physically, at least. You’re a predator to my mind.

“Hm,” he hummed, walking to the table where she still had two honey walnut cakes sitting out. “You enjoyed them, I take it?”

“What?”

“The cakes. I had a maid bring them to you this morn.”

“Oh– it was you,” she murmured, the tips of her ears flushing under the implication. “... thank you. It… helped.”

“You were… distressed– these always used to cheer you up.”

Shera let out a tentative breath. He had thought of her– and remembered her favorite sweet? And… cared enough to have them brought to her. Maybe… maybe he didn’t loathe her so. “They were… very good,” she continued, letting a smile come to her face. It felt strange to smile around Aemond after so long.

“Yes, the cook who made them still works in the kitchens,” he picked up one, taking a bite. He had liked them as well, but his favorite had always been blueberry scones. “She surprisingly hasn’t kicked the bucket yet– still working away down there, at seventy-five. Mother offered her retirement and a nice hole in the wall shack near the wharf. She refused, adamant to work until she died.” he made a noise of surprise at the taste. “Still good.”

“I’m surprised you remembered, Aemond,” she walked closer then, making sure to snatch the last one off of the plate before he decided to take it, too. She took a bite, the honey sticking to her fingers.

“I remember a lot, Shera,” he pulled out a chair and took a seat. Why was he staying?

Her heart stopped momentarily as he said her name. She buried herself further into the pastry to hide her red cheeks. “Memories are a plague,” she grumbled, pulling up her legs to her chest after she settled into the chair next to him.

“That they are, most of them are. A festering, decrepit reminder of… things best left forgotten. However,” he leaned forward then, his thumb cleaning off a drip of errant honey from the corner of her mouth. “I do remember, you were always a messy eater. Some things don’t change, do they?”

She shivered as he touched her with such… gentleness he hadn’t displayed at all since she’s been back. It was a glimpse into the boy he used to be– he was still there, deep down. She almost choked on the rest of her cake, putting it down on the plate as she quietly licked her fingers, trying to distract herself. “... no, some things don’t change.”

“The book weren’t the only reason I came– Helaena asked me to ask you if you would like to come on a picnic to the Kingswood tomorrow. With Aegon, the children, Helaena and I. She told me that… Maelor required you bring Moongeist.”

Shera stared at him for a long moment, her eyes wide and owlish. The blanket slipped from her head slightly as she leaned forward, snatching the remainder of Aemond’s honey walnut cake from his fingers. “I suppose– as long as there are more cakes,” she hummed, feeling a slightly giddy sensation tingle down her spine as she devoured the rest. “How on earth did you manage to get Aegon to agree?”

“I promised that there would be wine,” he watched, his violet eye roving her face unabashedly as she finished the pilfered sweet.

“And?”

“And… mayhaps I threatened to pay all the brothels off to not service him any longer if he did not attend.”

–

Aemond left soon after, bidding her goodnight in a very stiff and still… somewhat cold in manner. But he was trying– she could see that.

Before tucking back into bed, she looked to see the books he had left for her.

One was the copy of ‘Moonpuppy’ that she had read earlier that day.

The other, the supposed ‘gift’ from Aemond, was a well-worn, well-loved copy of the old folk hero ‘Symeon Star-Eyes’. Upon opening the cover and flitting through the pages, she saw many notes and footnotes on each page– it was Aemond’s handwriting. He had left his thoughts on each page– as she descended through the book, his handwriting changed and evolved. It started off very shaky and tenuous, but as she scanned through the end of the tome, it was confident and sophisticated. He had annotated this copy for years, his handwriting and views on the text changing with each year. Flipping back to the front, she looked at the date.

It was dated five moons after the Driftmark incident. Then, opening the back– it was dated a fortnight ago. He had written, noted, and journaled in this book for ten years.

Why did he give this to her?

120 notes · View notes

expired-applejuice · 1 year

Text

Incorrect quotes part 4

Javert: hold the fuck up!

Les Amis: *hugs Grantaire aka their fuck up*

Valjean: *shatters a window and climbs through it*

Valjean: *turns around and helps Cosette through it* Breaking and entering is wrong Cosette.

Cosette: Okay.

Combeferre, trying to get Enjolras out of bed: Don't make me get the water bucket.

Enjolras: You wouldn't.

Courfeyrac: *walking past dripping wet* Yes, he would.

Montparnasse: What if fairies were real?

Jehan: What?

Montparnasse: Faries. What if they were actually real?

Jehan: W-wait...faries aren't r-real?

Montparnasse: Of course they're not-

Jehan: "tearing up*

Montparnasse: HAHAHA TRICKED YOU FARIES ARE REAL JUST KIDDING! Please don't cry I love you

Bossuet: You know, I'm starting to regret showing you how that blender works.

Grantaire, drinking toast: Why do you say that?

Courfeyrac: ooh can I have some?

Bossuet: COURFEYRAC DID YOU EAT THE COOKIES I MADE

Courfeyrac: there was cookies?!

Bossuet: yes. And you ate them

Courfeyrac: no I didn't

Bossuet: then where are they?

Joly, walking in: *mouth full* these are some good cookies

Bahorel: I'm going to bed.

Feuilly: It's noon.

Bahorel: Time isn't real.

Enjolras: Grantaire, you risked your life to save me!

Grantaire: And I'd do it again! And perhaps a third time! But that would be it. <3

Javert: Alright. Time for a new team-building exercise. We're going to put everything we love into this box.

Montparnasse: Can I put Jehan in the box?

Javert: No.

Courfeyrac: Can I put Jehan in the box?

Javert. No.

Grantaire: Can I-

Javert: No one can put Jehan in the box!!

Enjolras: This is a terrible team-building exercise!

Grantaire: So, you like cats?

Enjolras: Yeah, I do. They're cute.

Grantaire: *slowly pushes a glass of the counter*

Enjolras: Combeferre, I told you to take out the trash.

Combeferre: Oh, right! Sorry!

Combeferre: Courfeyrac, will you go on a date with me?

Courfeyrac:

Combeferre: Okay, I'm going to get the wedding cake.

Courfeyrac: Perfect, while you do that I'll check on the ring bear.

Combeferre: ...

Combeferre: You mean ring bearER, right?

Courfeyrac: ...

Combeferre: Look me in the eyes and tell me you are not going to bring a dangerous wild animal to our wedding.

Musichetta: Isn't it amazing what friends learn from one another?

Joly: I learn a lot from Grantaire because he makes so many mistakes.

Grantaire: Why were you up yesterday until 3am?

Bahorel: How did you know I was up until 3am?

Feuilly: everyone could hear you clapping to the FRIENDS theme song every 25 minutes.

Grantaire: Whoa, you're being a little-

Combeferre, who hasn't slept in 4 days because he was studying: Truculent? Obstreperous? Recalcitrant?

Grantaire: I was gonna say "cray-cray".

Courfeyrac: You know you've made it when you see your picture up everywhere you go.

Enjolras: Courfeyrac... Those are our wanted posters.

Grantaire: The Ocean is a soup.

Combeferre:

Combeferre: Do elaborate.

Grantaire: What are needed for something to be a soup?

Combeferre: Erm... Water, salt, some form of vegetation, and personally I prefer some meat in mine.

Grantaire: *Tilts head*

Combeferre: The Ocean is a Soup.

Grantaire: The Ocean is a Soup.

Bossuet: Okay, it's obvious that you're not over this whole "Grantaire, you are incapable of believing, of thinking, of willing, of living, and of dying" thing, yet.

Grantaire: What makes you say that?

Joly: We found you in the park throwing rocks at children.

Grantaire: WHY SHOULD THEY BE HAPPY?!?

Musichetta: How did you break your leg?

Eponine: Do you see those porch stairs?

Musichetta: Yes.

Eponine: I didn't.

Grantaire: Hey Apollo? If my apartment burned down would you let me stay with you?

Enjolras: Yes of course I would!

Enjolras: Wait... Grantaire?

Enjolras: Grantaire come back!!!

Bahorel: We both look very handsome tonight.

Feuilly: You know you could have just said looked good and I would have said "So do you?"

Bahorel: ... I couldn't take that chance.

Courfeyrac: What's the word for when your hands are bisexual?

Combeferre: Do you mean ambidextrous?

Courfeyrac: I'm in love with you.

Valjean: so I have this rock, it's very beautiful. Javert gave it to me.

Fantine: I watched him throw it at you

Valjean: he's very sweet.

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underoossss · 2 years

Note

35 + 46 from the kisses prompt list with steve? i need me some hurt/comfort and ur great at writing it 🫶🏻

Hi and thank you so much for this ask! I hope you enjoy it and that is brings you comfort. Sometimes we have bad days and I feel like just being near Steve would help to calm you down🥺

35: gentle stroking of cheeks while kissing

46: kisses for comfort

~~~~~~~

You know how some days can be worse than others? There are great days, good days, neutral days and bad days. Today, it was worse than a bad day. It was as if someone single handedly picked out things out of your stress dreams, shoved them in a blender and splashed you across the face with the product.

It began in the morning, when your alarm clock didn’t wake you up on time to go to work. You had to rush over your morning routine, brushed your teeth while picking out clothes —consequently spilling toothpaste on said clothes—almost fell downstairs in your hurry to get out of the house, all the while your hands shook wildly over the anxiety of facing your boss once you arrived. Such was your luck that day, that you were on inventory and closing shop duty for clocking in late at work. Which meant whatever plans you had to see your boyfriend at o’clock that afternoon flew out of the window.

You made sure to call him —and you’d be lying if you said hearing Steve’s voice didn’t make you feel better— and let him know your predicament, making plans to see each other later in the night. Whatever comfort the phone call gave you fizzled out instantly though, because to make matters worse, there were two incidents in the convenience store immediately after. The first one, a rude customer demanding a reimbursement and yelling at you when you explained the company policy to her.

“Ma’am I’m really sorry but this item was purchased two months ago.” You tried to remain calm despite all the yelling. “It can’t be returned and I can’t give you your money back after 25 days, I’m sorry.”

It seemed that this only angered the woman even more, for she started cursing at you and at everyone in the store as she left. She even went as far as to knock things off the shelves that you had to pick up and arrange again. And because you apparently got cursed to experience everything that gives you anxiety that day, people you used to go to school with walked in just as you were cleaning the mess up. They were three girls and one boy —the twin sisters Sarah and Tara, Helen who’s basically a twin wannabe, and Brad, Sarah’s boyfriend— the popular kids. They made it obvious that they were laughing and talking about you, but you ignored them, at least until they started complaining loudly about the store’s terrible service.

You had to stand up, muster up your fakest smile and breathe through you interactions with them. They had gotten lip gloss and hairspray, that you rung up, hoping that you wouldn’t have to talk to them other than to ask “credit or cash”.

“So why are you slumming it here?” Brad just had to ask after saying your name.

“Maybe Harrington’s bad luck is rubbing off on her.” Sarah said with a giggle, thought there was nothing joyous about it. It was lethal poison, fermenting the air.

You furrowed your brows in anger and looked up from the change you were counting, ready to open your mouth and send them to hell and back. But just then you manager stepped out of his office and you knew you had to pretend to be a friendly employee if you wanted to keep your job. That doesn’t mean you can threaten them over a smile.

“Easy there, Brad.” You smiled, placing the change on the counter. “You wouldn’t want to get beat up again, like you did a year ago hm?”

You hoped the reminder that Steve had already put him in his place the previous year would shut all of them up but Brad’s girlfriend seemed to bristle in annoyance next to him.

“He’s not afraid of your dumbass boyfriend anymore, loser.” Sarah pointed a pink falsie at you.

Tara and Helen laughed behind her, you could feel their eyes judging everything about you and it made you nauseous. Fake it till you make it though.

So you smiled and acted more nonchalant than you actually felt. “Don’t see how that’s true if he can’t even say it himself. But I guess his leash is too tight around his neck. Loosen it a bit won’t you? It’s making him stupider than usual.” With a nod towards the door you gave them another sweet smile. “Thank you for your purchase.”

They left with a huff, but you couldn’t calm your racing heart until long after. Not even the rearranging of the shelves helped you calm down, or focus on anything other than Sarah’s words. Why couldn’t say something better, defend Steve, instead of being so passive. Why did your boss have to make his rounds around the store just then? Loser, she had said, and while you thought that word didn’t have power over you anymore it still made you feel like shit. Like all the work you had done to get over their stupid mean looks just disappeared into thin air.

It was safe to say that you were on your breaking point by the time you were able to leave. And the last drop came in the form of a rainstorm. You had just locked up the store, and walked to your car when it started to rain heavily all of a sudden. Thick drops of cold rain poured out of the sky and drummed loudly on the rooftop of your car. You closed the door and shivered in your seat, ready to go home and change before you went to Steve’s place but your car decided not to start. You tried a total of five times, but each time the engine sputtered and died once more.

“Shit.” You murmured slouching where you sat and taking off your seatbelt. All your emotions that had pent up during the day surfaced in a second. They drowned your eyes in tears before they fell down your face and onto the fabric of your jeans. “Shit.” Your trembling hands covered your face as a few sobs escaped you. However, you knew you had to be smart about this first, and cry later.

With a worried glanced out the window, you opened the car door again and raced to the payphone —finally something good had happened and it was near your car. You inserted two quarters into the machine and dialed the all familiar number just as thunder boomed in the sky. After two rings the call connected you to your lifeline in more ways than one.

“Hello?” Steve’s voice soothed you with force, and your eyes teared up with relief.

“Stevie.” You said in a small voice, your mouth close to the phone so he could hear you over the pouring rain.

Steve’s concern was quick to take over and you could tell from his tone alone that his brows were furrowed in concentration. “Babe? Are you crying? Are you okay?”

You shook your head uselessly, and sniffled before answering. “No. My car won’t start, I’m just outside the store and it’s raining so much and—”

“I’ll be there in a second.” Steve said instantly. “Wait for me in your car okay, stay out of the rain.”

“Okay.” You whispered, feeling relieved and exhausted. “Thank you, Stevie.”

“No need to thank me baby, just hang on okay?” He told you, and you knew he was ready to run out the door. “I love you.”

“I do, more.” The line went dead after that, so you turned around and ran to your car to wait for Steve.

His car parked next to yours ten minutes later, and he slid out a second after, one of his jackets in his hand. The rain had slowed down to a slight drizzle so you wasted no time and got out of your car and ran to his arms. The sight of him made you smile even as you felt yourself crying with relief. As if reading the look in your eyes, Steve opened his arms which you gladly ran into.

“Steve.” You sighed when your arms circled his waist, soaking up his warmth, melting in his embrace.

“I’ve got you.” His arms went around your shoulders, they held you to his chest and squeezed you tightly enough to comfort you. “I’m here.”

You squeezed you eyes shut, letting yourself feel all you emotions, knowing that Steve wouldn’t judge you and would only offer support. He offered soft reassurances against your ear, his voice soothing even though you couldn’t focus on them clearly enough. “Wanna tell me what happened? This is about more than just your car isn’t it?” He asked softly.

Leaning back just enough to look into his eyes, you shook your head before you brought your gaze down to his chest. “Maybe later.” You whispered and looked up once more when his fingers tilted your chin gently.

His eyes were full of love and comfort as they gazed into yours, wanting to offer whatever comfort he could. “What can I do, to make this better?

You brought a hand up to his hair and ran your fingers through it as your heart ached with love for the man in front of you. “Can I have a kiss?” You asked almost shyly.

Steve’s smile appeared then, beautiful and comforting while his hands moved to cradle your face. “All my kisses are yours.”

The minute his lips touched yours you sighed against them; you had been complete unaware of how much you needed the physical comfort only Steve could give you. His hold on your face was a gently and grounding touch, more so when his thumbs caressed your cheeks softly. His bottom lip brushed both of yours slowly before he captured them again in a slow but meaningful kiss; as if he wished to kiss any worry or sadness away. And it was working.

The tension on your body started to leave you, and one of Steve’s hands moved to your waist to hold you against him when your body started to lean more and more towards his. He chuckled, moving to kiss along your jaw when his smile —and consequently yours too— prevented you from kissing any more.

“How about we get out of here hm?” Steve mumbled against you skin. “We can go to my place, and we’ll call tow truck to pick up your car.”

You nodded, bringing his face back to yours and pressing your foreheads together. “Thank you, baby.” You whispered. “For everything.”

He pecked your lips once more then leaned back to look into your eyes. “I’m always here for you, beautiful.” His hand squeezed your waist where it rested, “Let’s go, before it starts to rain again.”

You nodded and looked after him in wonder as he got all your things from your car and locked the doors after him. “I love you.” You said accepting his hand as he led you back to his car, beaming when he placed a kiss on it.

“I do more.” Steve winked, opening and then closing the door for you.

Once safely inside, you allowed yourself to relax, knowing for sure that all the bad things that happened during the day were behind you. You knew that with Steve things would only start to get better, and perhaps the next day wouldn’t be bad at all

Send in your requests from these prompts

masterlist

#steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington hurt/comfort

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kachimera · 8 months

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celia, arikado, leon, sara for the bingo 👁️👁️

Celia

Oh what a mess of a woman. I know it's more of a writing flaw but i adore how she switches between being a threatening villain to the most incompetent moron ever (seriously girl you fake murder Dracula's reimcarnation's crush and you expect him to not instantly murder you? Fr?). Plus depending on the source she either is legit indoctrinated in her cult's beliefs which gives her a sad facet or she has the more selfish purpose of preserving her own dark magic (and what do i say? I can make both work. I think). Plus the way it can be implied that she might have contact n even collaboration w Arikado makes it better (sorry for the ppl reading this but yes it works i swear im not insane). Go silly gal go! Play Machiavellian schemes with the literal son of the dark lord and underestimate your enemy!

Arikado

Oh boi and talking abt Arikado; the common idea of a grown up n stable Alucard finding stability after "ending" the cycle is fine and all, but the implication from his AoS n DoS behaviour that he is in a terrible mental state and unable to let go of the cycle? Beautiful. Amazing. Need me more of that. He's this beautiful mini reflection of the revenge cycle, and after living through it, with the goal of murdering his own father, for so long, and having it as his sole purpose, it has devoured him n broken him. And he now wants to take control of it with his own hands, is showing both the worst behaviour of both his father AND the Belmonts (haha SotN parallels w Richter) and might end up making matters worse :) (I blame you for indoctrinating me into the neg character arc Alu, thank u) Anyways someone force this poor moron to take vacations before he loses it

Leon

THE HIM. MY BABY BOI. I love his honor n morals and how he chooses them in the face of great suffering. His bravery and impulsiveness. How he's sassy can fall into black n white thinking. How loyal he is to those close to him and how much he cares. The balance between his own feeling n his morals. The parallels w Mathias n Sara n Rinaldo. And just hmmmgjsgkwkgd my poor boi

I can't decide if i want him to recover from the LoI events or if I want him to be consumed by his traumas and thirst for revenge but in any case he goes into the blender *puts him into a sock w stones and smacks him against the walls multiple times*

Also, salt warning here but i feel like fandom either exaggerates his neg traits and acts like Mathias descent into madness ("hello church can i abandon our very important military campaign to be at home w my best friend. He needs cuddles n emotional support that will surely fix him. No it's not gay dont worry. Thanks :)"), Sara getting sealed into the VK (which she insisted on and convinced him despite his initial refusal) n the Belmont clan's burden (he did got them into monster hunting w the whip but there's no way he knew how bad things were gonna get) were all 100% his very well informed fault; Or makes him into an idiot sunshine boi who doesn't knows what death is (he's an undefeated warrior with a who knows how large body count) can't think or lead (he maintained the company undefeated during Mathias' illness) and a perfect innocent n easy to manipulate uke for his sexy older seme (I'm not saying they canonically fucked you can perfectly interpret their relationship as 100% platonic or having something but deciding to respect their girls or etc etc. But if they did the nasty then he had to rail Mathias at least a couple of times). I admit im veeery biased and picky regarding this balance but still. He has facets i say

Sara

Yes my anger girl. Let her commit crimes. I wanna write a post abt her but to resume i love her as a symbol of destroyed innocence (ha). A sweet gal who did helped everyone and was good n nice and disliked violence only to have her life ruined in so many ways that her inner frustration blooms into a divine wrath n bloodthirst. Like i said before I adore her relationship w Leon and how they made eachother better n then worse :). Plus, the manual describes her as strong hearted! She obviously loved Leon n was happy to see him! sacrificed her life in order to not turn into a vampire and instead stop Walter from harming more innocents! She has agency and her choice was crucial not only for Mathias convoluted plan but for the whole cycle. (Ppl stop forcing the "boring 100% sweet harmless never angry gal who always got dragged around by men as an object" archetype on her challenge. Yes i used to be like that but i got gud. If i can recover so others can)

And then she had to see how Mathias betrayed her n Leon and then tried to take him, and dealt w the mess that post-canon Leon was, both together but separated, furious and crushed on the other's behalf, until his death :). AND then she had to wait hundreds of years to avenge him only to have to kill the same bastard over and over and over again. Mix in vampire corruption and you have a caring but toxic Belmont Matriarch/Whip stuck in the cycle. So yea let her have negative emotions and commit crimes (Sorry John).

#me answers #castlevania #sorry for the ppl having to deal w my inner salt 👉👈

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cartchytuns · 1 year

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hello, PLEASE elaborate on your oc story

JAJDJSHDBD well when you look at purgatory. they burn away everything attached to the soul right. that’s the story they give you in catholic school. the soul can emerge clean.

but let’s say. instead of burning. all that extra stuff was recycled. turned into energy instead. all the memories and emotions that a soul discards in purgatory are turned into energy that sustains the afterlife.

but running purgatory also costs energy. so if you have a LOT of fuckin baggage. they might want you to sort some of that out first. otherwise it’s like putting a fork in a blender it’s not gonna go

but now. if i may posit again. what if the bureaucracy of god-like beings running this whole operation. weren’t organized very well. like, there’s a hard-working lower class of grim reapers who gather up the souls of the dead and get them through purgatory, and there’s the supervisors who delegate what reapers work in what area and make sure all the energy is going where it needs to go, etc etc. it’s a flawed system and the supervisors are lazy and the reapers are overworked.

so if some energy. leaks out. and hits the world of the living. it doesn’t get treated like a major issue by the supervisors. because they don’t think it’s a problem! so what if a few souls end up a little funny because they’re getting polluted by wayward soul energy? there’s billions of souls out there, and the reapers can sort out whatever damage there is. it’s their job to prepare souls for purgatory, after all.

so let’s say you’re a soul. something weird has happened. you and your twin sister have ended up in the afterlife with no memory of your past life, and the reapers running the place have no idea what’s wrong with you. they have some idea about what works for cases like yours though, so they set you up with a little plot of land somewhere in their corner of the afterlife and let you do some good old fashioned farming… but instead of seeds, you’re planting bits of yourself and seeing what grows. what scraps of memory are left on you, little bits clinging to your soul that you can tend to and allow to flourish. small happy memories that bring you comfort. once they grow, you can go back to the reapers and show it off, talk about it, get their input. get little rewards for a job well done. basically you’re in afterlife inpatient care until you’re ready to move on.

but something’s weird. sometimes, when the two of you sleep, you find yourselves in a dark forest, full of terrible things that hurt to see and that do not want you there, with a strange guide as your only ally. you and your twin both come to remember every experience you farm up, but you never see one another despite both experiencing the exact same events. one of the reapers has mysteriously disappeared, and the loss has destabilized the community.

this is my emotional support rpgmaker game that i will never make but i have a dedicated lore bible for and love very much. i left a lot of things out for simplicity’s sake but yeah that’s my oc story!

#thank u for asking ahdhdhd i think about this whole thing every night before bed

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frogsandfries · 9 months

Text

I better get holiday pay tomorrow.

I'm exhausted today, and I took a nap. I did, however, not die of food poisoning like I thought I might (do not ask, I will not elucidate further than to say, food is expensive).

I had to reprint the Life Debt Ritual because I forgot to hit 'duplex' when I ran it through the book binder. Oh well, there is no wasted paper on this house.

Though......... I've gotta say, paper making moved to like the bottom of my list when I had to start paying for my insurance.......I was thinking I might use a fine nylon screen and a layer of cheese cloth? But really, I need some kind of tarp and a small card table for the patio. And my deckle. I want a very specific 8.5×5.5 deckle because I'm thinking about just using my recycled paper for my sketchbooks. But I have ample paper, a blender, buckets and basins.

I have to find a new credit union. The one I've been using sucks.

I'm going to finish, or try to finish, proofing Mirrors this week, before typesetting any further. I know I took a week off for DoT, and it was a good break--I tried some new typesetting stuff that I brought over to Mirrors, and spent all evening cleaning that up--but I still need to finish getting my word counts to figure out where I'm splitting the book. I just hit four hundred pages, though I'm wondering where I skipped some page numbers lol. The tricky part is, these later chapters get bigger and bigger, and the changes that I made to my formatting are a little more generous with my margins.

I also think I have some thoughts on embroidering the spine for Manacled. This whole thing kinda started with Manacled, and here I am shoulders deep in typesetting and printing--everything but getting my text blocks into covers. It's fine, I can't afford cover fabric anyway. I guess my problem is wanting to be a fancy bitch about it and use a different pattern for every cover.

I'm getting this bright yellow, cheap book cloth off Amazon for my sister and I'm putting her books in dust jackets. Eventually, one of these years, I'll probably eventually buy some fabric medium. Although, I'm terrible at painting imo.

I'm just not really sure how to decorate the book covers. A dust jacket feels kinda lazy. Isn't the point of hand-making books to put some life and personality into it? But my personality has always been very......sparse, minimal? Like, I never really doodled in my notebooks or on tests or even on the covers of my binders or notebooks. I didn't see the point. At least for Manacled, I'd like to do something shadow-box-y/3D-y for the covers and paste the summary onto the back, but what's the best adhesive for that? Yes Paste? Rubber cement? Do I still give them dust jackets for protective purposes?

All I can really do is take the covering process one book at a time--and make sure I have plenty of grey board or davey board.

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campbluelake · 1 year

Text

purification ritual || abbie || trial 4.4 || re: hibiki

The speech begins, and Abbie knows precisely where this is going. Murderers always have some sort of speech, don’t they? The ones here do, at least. Either they’re talking about how they haddddd to do it, or they’re saying how they’re sooooooooo sorry for doing it, or they’re just someone who made a terrible, terrible decision, aren’t they just pathetic? As if they didn’t just kill someone. As if someone’s life wasn’t snuffed out because of their actions.

And what was Hibiki if not the most pathetic of them all?

She doesn’t need the warning to keep her eyes away, but she continues to face out towards the forest. The sounds alone are enough to make her shiver, and she feels both hot and cold at the same time. Hell is supposed to be like that, isn’t it? Hot and cold. Or maybe she’s misremembering. Everything in her mind feels like Jello put through a blender right now. Can you blame her? She’s just, after all, learned that, yes, Leon did die just for someone’s stupid deal with some stupid demon.

“You made a deal with a demon, huh? Didn’t the stories from centuries and centuries back tell you to be wary? Read the fine print? Think these things through? If you’re unhappy with what you ended up getting, you have no one to blame but yourself. If you made a deal for only yourself without thinking things through, then that’s no one’s fault but your own, and you’ve gone and dragged Leon into your mess--you don’t get to act like you’re remorseful or regretful of what you’ve done.”

Her voice is hard as she speaks, head bowing down to almost rest on her knees that are drawn up to her chest. It’s a struggle to keep herself from falling to pieces right now, but she’s doing her best because she refuses to let this horrible, awful former(?) man get the better of her. If she doesn’t, then the temptation to stare him in the eyes and demand answers will win out over her rational thoughts of “bad idea.”

“You’re selfish. I bet that’s why the demon came to you, you know. They sensed that they could get you to agree to anything without thinking about it too hard, and, well, they were right, weren’t they? And you…He didn’t deserve any of that. He's kind. He's good. He cares so much, and he is everything you will never be, what you will never have a chance to grow into. He didn't deserve it. You do. You deserve it. Every moment of agony that he experienced is what--what you--

No. No, I hope whatever Ranger Buddy does to you is worse than anything you did to him. And I know it’ll hurt more, too, because Leon--Leon died loved. How are you dying? Huh? Pathetic, unloved, alone, and staring down eternal damnation, probably. It’s like Kyou says; even Jo’s better than you. Jo had people to call her friends in her final moments, didn’t she? But I guess you didn’t read the fine print of homicide either, did you?

I don’t need future vision to see your fate: trapped in a Hell of your own creation at the cost of cheap kicks in life. Congratulations.

Hey, hey. Any ghosts who’re listening in: did you know demons haaaaaaaaaaaaaate salt? Soooo, liiiiiiikeeeeeeeee, if you waaaaaaaaant before the execution happensssss you could get a nice, like, welcome ready for Hibiki. By getting all of the salt wherever you guys are ready to throw it like rice at a wedding! Yay, yay!!”

She claps her hands together cheerfully behind her, a forced grin on her face, but, well, hey, Hibiki killed Leon with an allergy, didn’t he?

An eye for an eye. It’s only fair. She only kinda wishes she could see it.

#ch4 #trial #abigail

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sanctificetur · 2 years

Text

INTRODUCING : CASSIAN THENARDIER.

STAT.

Nickname: Cass, Ian.

Age: thirty.

Gender: Male, with feminist connotations.

CONNECT.

Cass is the cousin to Eponine.

ANIMALS.

Wolf fledgling called Nymeria. REF: Toy 🐺. Human : Melissa Benoist. Bio tba.

QUOTE.

“He meandered through the exquisite and silent gardens, where moths were fluttering around the shining lamp flowers, as upon inspection the night before, there was no lock on his window — as when Cass thought it was locked — as he could not open it — needing it to breathe the cool air so he could sleep. But yet with a fallen tree trunk. Sneaking out and rappelling down wisteria vines wouldn’t be difficult at all, he thinks. he taps into the tree trunk with a spiel and drinks sap from tree, which tastes like the juice from green apples when he bites his mouth into it -- eidolen of the dancing eyes. The juice and white sticky filling from dumplings (check the yum cha menu) is like a new balm for healing, as he proposed this to the nurses at the warzone site.”

“he uses his metal aligned hands to climb up trees, figuring out how to make the metal slide outwards -- without pricking himself to bleed too badly -- to get a better grip on the grooves of the trees, as blood still drips down. This is why people call the woods haunted to this day. a fairytale pop-up book that keeps adding/re-arranging in the middle : Outlander : why the woods cry blood -- a folk tale series.”

“when everyone is fighting wars, i’m going to be saving it, when the world is so set on tearing itself apart, it doesn’t seem so bad to put a little of it back together.”

“if you try to be a bridge laid between them, they’ll tear you in half”

“ Quotes in Ch 8: wow tamlin is very mean like that person in addie la rue. He is a faerie hunter?? Faustian devil. Re: that song about the hunter by uh seaside window ; he has been confused of is he hunter or prey? And when is a monster a monster? When you love it. “

ELEMENT.

Isabella & Cassian/Eponine + parents. | ties into starkmatriarch tag. need to cast Iz and parents who are thenardiers.

Sansa infernal devices verse.

Infernal devices mangas.

Violet Evergarden.

A Court of Thorns and Roses.

Daughter of Smoke and Bone.

Les Miserables manga.

Detroit Evolution film.

Billy Russo, Punisher.

Educating Rita essay.

Hunger Games | Prim

THREAD. modern history.

Cass likes eating light caramel Tim-Tams with steamed cloud rice.

goes to Parramatta phoenix with Eponine and parents when not busy. likes eating the seasonal ‘middle child’ dumpling with transparent stickiness -- gibbous moon lemon pink meat.

Cass sings this to Eponine, as a serenaded apology for his absence.

Eponine (Ayami Nakajo) suffered love or hate with her parents -- he doesn’t know how deep the pain is. Maybe reference relation with Iz and our parents here. uh example? dad hitting eponine’s porcelain doll; doll must have name because they’re a person too : doll name is Ceridwen because Eponine is friends with Ceri in real life. (REF: that blonde BJD doll -- separate aesthetic ; cassian ic. ) functions: REF - blender documentation. doll then seeks revenge on dad. just eponine talking about it and trying to explain to iz and iz thought it was terrible. another thing would be iz trying to be the faraway bridge of healing between us & parents but hard because communication confusion ; the quote, that deathless quote. and then iz forgot about it.

He has been scared of becoming someone like billy russo, entirely, like with his dry bleeding skinned hands from strenuous soldier training at the battle of waterloo (pg. 180 les miserables manga : marius mention thenardiers.) he has perhaps also being called in to help in actual battles, as a young recruit.

he had to have part of his hand aligned with metal fillings. like i had light transparent holes on the tooths near my removed wisdom teeth & they said to use dental floss so hole doesn’t get bigger : overall toothbrush/paste clean & floss of mouth. the metal aligns with pattern of his palm lines, of above and below -- light transparency glinting in surface -- for cleaning between braces or bridges. so the way he has to take care of it, so it doesn’t get infected would be to use floss of either string or an interdental brush covered with toothpaste because he doesn’t know where the dentist got the special floss paste aligned string from. he wears strawberry lip balm, as he likes the taste, but also to moisture his dry lips. and thety said&& worries from his plethora of which skin cream will be good for my skin — that if the issue is not solved — he would need to have his hand of reddening deformity creeping up to his arm amputated — to have a metal hand like violet evergarden — supported by Eponine saying — “omg, Cass your hands/arms!” — i think maybe just partially metal to be more realistically fiction suspension of disbelief/belief (sp?)

that remind me, I need to start putting Sorbelene, white cream to soothe the tortured flesh on my hands during the day more regularly. And not stay too long in the hot water steam / shower in general and uses timer but it’s still hard to find time limit bc Mum/Eponine say you spend too long in shower still (fiction edit para later).

He is a soldier to some cause (RE: Purple Hearts soldier) so he cannot always hang out with thenardiers relatives. and the contrasts of before and after. He is quiet brave, in the usual meanderings of life, not when he thinks he’s under constant threat of war (RE: Wilfred Owen’s poems and others).

And is incorporating his usual quiet wallflower to calmly include others in his circle like in that bee picture. can i climb trees? no, i am not spider monkey.

And he is curious to know what the rune engravings are, as he was probably taught witches were bad. a black cloth (a pattern with a bee on it), the rune white and black stone bags, a light pink casting bowl, brown book with purple flowers/green stems, star symbol in circle -- spooky thread ic stuff. Cass vibes with this arrangement somehow for some reason, and wears the nirvana shirt. He has slender fingers of pianist, with black painted long nails, his ‘claws,’ yet a lightly applied shine of deep pink (the same colour as this profile decoration).

Well he typically plays piano — yet frisbee playing is less restrictive : as it allows him to have more freedom. yet! frisbee playing is like a bee flying into his face : good or bad? uh has the bee ever stung him? well, a wasp has stung me many times before but when i was unaware. yet! there was one time i tried to wave the wasp away and i felt it sting me. yet he is training to shield and return the frisbee throw. oh wait! i think that was actually a mosquito same thing. oh also when a bee is near, do not make too sudden movements, because it could perceive you as a threat and sting. like bee near me during outside wedding for isabella and tamlin at that ranch place/ and me scared but tried not to move -- act natural as nature.

He has maybe metal bee earrings like in aesthetic linked tag. jem wanting to consume yin fen to keep him as burning bright as star. ++ the educating Rita essay about her thinking she bipolar.

he relates to the song, monsoon tokio hotel, like when he hurried outside in the hailstorm trudging through the muddy grass, to hastily rescue clothes from clothesline, slinging clothes over his shoulder, including Eponine’s clothes, some random clothes fall to ground, as he tries to tears them all off the line onto his shoulders all at once, and they go muddy -- she annoyed at how drenched/wrinkled clothes became as she feels like they resemble rags, so together in the dilapidated walls of their house, they iron the clothes, and get a clothes basket with more depth. This hurry demeanour ties into his phantom automated stance of previous life of soldier training.

VISUALISER. cassian ic. Hueningkai. Basic gif-site maker for specific YouTube clip scenes. the art of the girl in the woods with blood running down/blindfolded.

#cassian ic.#intro.#writing.

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justsomegalwhoshere · 3 years

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Daddy’s Small Hero

Note: I’m back with another dad Bakugou fic bitches 😎 this time it’s Baku with an absolute chonk of a baby. Again, this entire thing was inspired by @hanji-is-life and the people who sent the amazing asks there. I can’t stop, they’re so good 😩 also idk how fast a baby’s development is. My little sister was a baby but that’s was 11 years ago- Criticism is welcome as always.

Warnings: cursing cuz bakugou, but just fluff overall. Not prof read

‘Had to go to the hospital quickly for an appointment! Katsumi and Sakura are at school already. Take Katsuo with you to the agency please!

-Y/N <3’

Bakugou sighed as he put down the note and headed to the living room where his son was. He woke up and was surprised to see you weren’t there in bed with him, and was only even more surprised he saw his son was awake in his playpen doing his thing. After finding the note tacked on the fridge however, he understood the situation.

Bakugou looked into the playpen and smiled. His son Katsuo. He looked exactly like his dad, ash blonde hair, red eyes, and an absolute monster of a baby. It’s not that he cried a lot, in fact he hardly cried at all. He was just extremely chunky. He was in 6 month clothes at 3 months old. He was a chunky baby, a chubby tummy and rolls on his arms and legs. Hell, he even had rolls for knees! He was currently in toddler clothes at 10 months old and was trying to shove his fat fist in his mouth. He took notice of his dad and started making grabby hands up at him.

Bakugou chuckled. “Hey squirt, ready to start the day?” His son gurgled.

Bakugou lifted his son up with a soft grunt. “Jesus, did you grow overnight? You get heavier every day.” His baby slapped a drool covered hand on bakugou’s cheek. “..I deserved that.”

After strapping on the baby carrier and putting Katsuo in front of chest, he began making breakfast. Starting with Katsuo’s. Sure, it was time consuming making breakfast for his infant son, but he refused to let him eat that processed shit from the store. Bakugou placed a strawberry and a banana on the counter. He wasn’t sure why he did this, but he let his son choose what fruit he wanted in his breakfast. He read somewhere it was good for development. “K, choose one brat,” he said softly. Katsuo stared before grabbing at the strawberry. “Good choice,” Bakugou responded before dropping a few strawberries in the blender and starting his breakfast. The entire time, he stirred up conversation with Katsuo.

“So what did you dream about last night?”

“Da!”

“You fought Endeavour himself and won?”

“Ba-da-ba!”

“No shit, what did you do after?”

“Baaab.”

“Nice. I’ll make note of that the next time I train then.”

…

After a quick breakfast and a diaper change, Katsuki made his way to the agency, baby bag in hand. It should be ok to take Katsuo today. All he had was paperwork and an interview. Katsuki didn’t want just ANYONE working for him. He needed to make sure those who were hired were reliable people. Bakugou stopped in front of the building and addressed his son in the harness, “this is where daddy works. He runs his own agency. Isn’t that cool?” Katsuo blew a little raspberry.

Almost all eyes were on Bakugou as he entered the building. They went from neutral to confused seeing a drooly baby harnessed on the pro hero’s chest, and even more confused seeing a baby bag in hand.

Ignoring all the prying eyes, Bakugou approached Kirishima, who also was gawking at the baby in the harness.

“What? It’s not a fucking alien, get a hold of yourself.” Kirishima’s eyes snapped back up and looked at Bakugou. He put a hand behind his head sheepishly. “Sorry, I’m just not used to seeing you with your son that often.”

“Hah!? Are you calling me a terrible dad?” Bakugou questioned as his eyebrows furrowed more.

“No! Just drop it, look the candidate for receptionist is already with the interviewer. Just make it quick, ok? And don’t send them running away in tears!” Kirishima called out as Bakugou grunted and walked towards his office. Bakugou stopped in front of his office door and addressed his son once again,

“This is daddy’s office. You excited to step inside?”

“Aa!”

“Well, today I am too.” Bakugou opened the door and saw some interviewer extra behind his desk and a female sitting across from it.

“Ah, you’re here Mr. Bakugou! Please, take a seat!” The interviewer chirped. Bakugou sat down in a chair on the side of the desk and unclasped the harness. He set Katsuo on a sitting position on the desk and dumped some toys there for his son. Katsuo took a chunky plastic block and immediately began to chew on it.

The female blinked. “Umm… is the baby staying here the entire time?”

Bakugou growled lowly. “He has a fucking name. It’s Katsuo. And yes, he is. That a fucking problem?”

“N-no, im sorry sir,” she replied as Katsuo cooed.

“Let’s get this started. What’s your name?” Bakugou said, calming down.

The female cleared her throat. “Akane, sir.”

The interview went along fairly smoothly, Akane answered the questions well and seemed reliable enough to work here, Bakugou noted as he played a bit with Katsuo. Still, Bakugou needed more convincing. He didn’t need another receptionist crying into his coffee cup in the mornings. The more the interview progressed, the more impatient Bakugou became.

“Can we hurry this shit up? It’s almost tummy time for Katsuo!” Bakugou barked. Both Akane and the interviewer jumped at the sudden outburst.

“Sorry Dynamight sir, just one more question and we’ll be done here.”

Bakugou huffed and put Katsuo on his lap, who was trying to shove the block in Bakugou’s face. He chuckled. “Stop that shit, that’s fucking gross, wasn’t it in your mouth?” Katsuo gurgled in response, still shoving the drool covered block in his dad’s face. Akane was distracted at this display. Dynamight, the number 2 pro hero, softening for someone? She didn’t think it was possible. Bakugou looked back up, scowling as he realized no one was talking. “The fuck are you looking at?” He growled at Akane.

Akane yelped and cleared her throat. “N-nothing! Just- just looking around” she said hurriedly as she straightened herself.

Bakugou squinted his eyes and looked down at his son. “What do you think of her, Katsuo?”

Katsuo was currently transfixed on shoving two chubby fingers in his own mouth. Once he finally did babble again, he slapped his thighs while bouncing up and down, making “da” sounds over and over. Akane thought the display was cute before Bakugou spoke up again.

“My son says you’re a terrible liar and that you’re on thin fucking ice.”

Akane shivered a bit. She was going to be here a while longer, wasn’t she?

…

A few more exchanges like that back and forth (Katsuo cooing and bakugou interpreting as a a threat), the interview finally ended.

Akane slumped on the wall outside the door and slowly sat herself down. God, that went terribly! She kept getting distracted by the baby! There was no way she was getting this job! She blew it-

Her thoughts were interrupted by a high pitched laugh. Akane registered it was coming from the office. Silently, she got up and peered through the door, which was slightly ajar.

Bakugou was blowing raspberries on his baby’s stomach while Katsuo laughed hysterically. Akane stood there dumbfounded. She never thought Bakugou was the fatherly type. Bakugou kept doing this and laughed along with the baby until he put them down in a sitting position. “Alright brat, it’s tummy time,” he grumbled as he spread a blanket on the desk and laid his son down on the blanket, back facing the ceiling. His son thrashed his limbs around a bit before calming down. Bakugou chuckled and pulled a couple toys out of his bag and settled them around Katsuo. His son tried moving around to grab the toys, cooing all the while.

Akane left before she was noticed. She was confused by this secret side of Bakugou.

…

Despite her doubtful thoughts earlier, Akane managed to land the job as the receptionist at Bakugou’s agency. She liked talking to the people she met everyday, and even met his wife a couple times.

Akane was typing away and noticed someone approaching from the corner of her eye.

“Hello, Mrs. Bakugou! How are you?”

You looked at Akane and smiled, carrying your son. “I’m just fine, thank you! I’m just wondering where Katsuki is!”

“Right here,” a gruff voice responded. Both females turned around and saw the hero approaching both of them.

You gave your husband a kiss and handed him Katsuo and a box wrapped in cloth.

“You forgot your lunch again, I’m starting to believe you’re doing it on purpose” you scolded.

Bakugou laughed and pecked your cheek. “I might start doing it intentionally if I get to see my beautiful wife and son more often at work.”

Akane observed this exchange before Katsuo turned his head towards her, looking at her with wide red eyes and made grabby hands that Bakugou paid no kind to. Akane, however, shivered and turned back towards the computer, typing more feverishly. Those red eyes that looked exactly like his father’s creeped her out ever since that interview. Sure, Katsuo was adorable, but what came out of his mouth was scary.

#bakugou #mha x reader #dad bakugou #fluff #domestic dad bakugou #domestic bakugou #not really but still #chubby baby #mha #bakugou is a little shit #but we love him #idk how to tag help

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huramuna · 3 months

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banshee's lament - chapter 4.

aemond targaryen x stark ofc minor jacaerys velaryon x stark ofc masterlist prev | next

a/n: this chapter might be a bit slower. it's building some things up and i wanted to brush up on my combat writing. it's a bit scuffed but i hope you enjoy! aemond is kind of feral in this chapter.

wordcount: 4.2k

@huramuna-fics - follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings! no taglists right now, sorry.

story playlist

‘Little wolf spider’ Helaena had called her. She remembered Helaena’s incessant facts about them specifically– why, of all things, did she remember that? She remembered Helaena citing that they were excellent hunters with superb eyesight. They did not spin webs, most being wanderers without permanent homes.

It almost made her want to laugh. It truly described her well, didn’t it? Besides the eyesight part… and the hunting part– she was indeed, a little wolf spider– doomed to be alone and not able to make her own home, a rolling stone amongst the waves that threatened to drown her.

After the betrothal announcement dinner and subsequent breakdown of Shera, she stayed in her chambers for a few days, not feeling well enough to socialize, nor see the faces of people that would’ve heard her crying. Cregan visited a few times, bringing her a meal or two and forcing her to bathe– it was agitating her to be forced to do something she loved, something she wished to do alone.

He, thankfully, had maids do the actual washing part– but this still annoyed Shera to bits. She hated being touched, being fretted over by them as they looked upon her like she was lesser, like she wasn’t capable of doing things herself. She felt suffocated in a place that usually brought her peace, simpering tiny whines as they pulled at her hair.

I can do it, I can do it– just let me do it!

She wanted to scream and claw their wandering eyes out, then go and kick Cregan in the balls– this was his fault, his fault–

Finally, the maids left and she felt like a freshly plucked duck, ready to be roasted over the fire. Her skin was red and pink, emanating heat that she could almost see, steam roiling over her overwrought skin.

Moongeist whined at the closed washroom door– they had locked him out, the absolute fiends. She wrapped in a robe, pinning her hair up with a whale bone pin and opened the door.

“Come here, lovey,” she cooed, voice broken and hoarse still. “They locked you out– my poor bubby.” Shera pat his head, descending onto her knees. She was still weak from the emotional turmoil she’d gone through, bleeding into her physical state, but she would need to be bed bound before she would ever forsake Moongeist proper scratches. Her hands glided through his black fur and she pressed her face to him, taking in his familiar scent.

Everyone said he smelled like a dog, but that was simply untrue. He smelled… clean, he smelled like wolf– which was much different than smelling like dog. It was primal and heady, deep and warm like fir trees and pine nettles and all the things that were so synonymous with him. She scratched behind his ears and his leg thumped on the ground.

Cregan returned to her chamber, a plate of something sweet smelling in his hand. He put it down on the dining table. “Are you feeling better today?”

Shera’s mouth pursed into a thin line as she got back to her feet— with Moongeist’s assistance— and meandered to the table. “Define better.” she murmured, inspecting the plate. It was piled high with her favorite treat; sticky honey walnut cakes. Her mouth filled with saliva instantly and her brow raised to Cregan. Perhaps her brother was more considerate than she thought.

“Better as in you’d be able to walk the Keep— Jacaerys and I are going to be skirmishing in the training yard at noon.”

She all but scowled as she pilfered one of the pastries, biting into it without much decorum. It was a messy dessert, designed to be eaten with a fork and knife— but damn that, she would be sticky faced like a honey drunk bear if she pleased! She melded into the flavors, the nostalgia of it tampering her mood. “… I suppose I could watch.”

“He asked for you, you know.”

Shera’s brow raised. ‘He’ could mean a lot of people. “Who?”

“Jacaerys. He asked if you were alright and wished his condolences for your… illness.”

“Is that what we are saying it is now? An illness?” she muttered, taking another bite of the cake. Yes, how diminishing it felt to pass off her fragility of mind as an illness. Of course— how else could it be put? She was surprised that it wasn’t being spread as a ‘malady of woman’, or some other pompous innocuous name for whatever was really wrong with her.

“What would you call it then?”

She made a noncommittal noise and continued eating. After finishing, she let out a sigh. “Thank you for the cakes, Cregan.”

“I didn’t bring them— they were at your chamber door when I came back.”

She tilted her head. “They were just… there?”

“I didn’t even know you liked honey walnut cakes, Shera.”

She clenched her jaw, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “I’ll be at the yard at noon. I need to get ready, if you please.” she said, the nicest way of putting it. Leave, brother. You’re annoying.

–

Dressed in a lighter garment than usual, she descended the steps carefully. A light blue tulle train flowed behind her, rippling and waving in the breeze like the white capped crests upon the Blackwater. It was different from her normal style of muted, monotone colors— mayhaps it was a way to uplift herself.

It was a lovely blue and green hue, embroidered with filigree patterns. The sleeves were long, accompanied by a sweeping circular decolletage, exposing her soft collarbone and the faintest swell of breast. She had felt so confident leaving her chambers— she even went with a shorter veil than usual, the lace falling just past her jaw.

Walking down the hall, Moongeist nosed her hand to his head, as if to remind her of something. She felt… exposed. A bit too much for her liking. Her fingers glided over her wolf’s soft fur… and she remembered, swiftly turning around to grab her fur stole from her room. “Thank you for reminding me, sweet boy,” she hummed, snuggling into the comforting, familiar fur.

Descending down to the training yard, she fanned herself with an errant hand. Even with less layers than usual and lighter colors, she was still broiling under the sun. Moongeist panted near her, tongue lolled out in silent agreement.

“A parasol might do you well, my lady,” a bored voice drawled. “Your pale complexion does you wonders, but I wonder if you still flay in the sun like as a child.”

“Aegon,” Shera recognized the lazy, tired voice of the eldest child of Alicent. He had been one of her companions back in the day, but also one of her greatest foes– before the incident of course. “I’m surprised to see you outside. I’ve heard you’re solely a creature of the dark now.”

“I am full of surprises, dear Shera,” he caught up to her, looping their arms together all too readily. He had a dopey smile on his face, but it didn’t match the pure exhaustion in his eyes. Dark bags fell under those violet orbs like a dreary storm. “I happen to be coming back from… such nightly activities.”

Moongeist let out a growl as he touched her, but Shera silenced him. She didn’t believe that she had any reason to fear Aegon and thought him almost as pathetic as she. “Very well.”

“I heard about… the dinner. I’m glad I slipped out when I did, I knew it’d be a shit show,” he was fiddling with his rings on his free arm, all while stringing her along to the training yard. “Curious how Aemond said you were a bashed up mess under that veil of yours, and yet– he is challenging your betrothed and your brother to a duel?”

“How do you know that?”

“I have my ways– eyes and ears everywhere.”

“Helaena told you, didn’t she?”

“... mm. Maybe– even so, I don’t think it’s wholly terrible under there, is it?” he peered at her, a single hand lifting her veil to peek underneath.

She promptly slapped his hand away and wrenched herself from his grasp, followed by Moongeist giving a warning snap to the air. “Don’t you have somewhere to be? Sleeping off your night, mayhaps?”

“Well– yes,” Aegon backed up, putting his hands in the air in surrender. “I just wanted to catch up. Is that so terrible?”

“Yes.”

He patted down imaginary dust from his doublet, twisting his rings again as they reached the landing to the training yard observation deck. He leaned his head to look out and survey it for a moment before a devilish smirk perked at his mouth once more. “You are going to wish that it was me talking to you soon enough, Shera. Have fun, zokla.” Wolf.

Shera watched him jaunt off with an air of confusion, turning to walk onto the rampart. She saw Jacaerys there already with Cregan, talking and laughing with… Rhaena and Baela. Daemon was there, too, stalking in the background.

Fuck.

She took a deep breath, glancing to the dirt grounds where Aemond was sparring with Criston.

Cregan’s voice echoed in her mind. They’re not your friends, not anymore. She pulled her stole closer to herself, walking forward. I don’t have any friends here. Except for Helaena, it seemed. Steeling her nerves, she made her way to the small congregation. “Brother, Jacaerys,” she greeted first, dipping her head. Cregan seemed jovial and in good spirits– he always was around Jacaerys and vice versa. “Lady Baela, Lady Rhaena.” she spoke then, trying to keep her quivering voice even. They hadn’t spoken since Baela had slashed her eye and attempted to kill her. Shera took in her appearance best she could– she had grown up, as they all had, but especially resembled her mother, Laena. Shera remembers seeing Laena’s portraits in Driftmark– and her statuesque coffin depiction before she was pushed into the sea.

“Shera,” Jacaerys grinned, taking her hand– which she did not offer him– and kissed it. So gallant, so princely. It made her want to vomit. “It’s a lovely day today, isn’t it?”

Yes, it’s a lovely day, stifling hot in the hells. “... it could do with a breeze, mayhaps. But yes, quite nice.” she responded coolly.

“‘Tis my turn to spar Aemond next– apparently he has been here since the crack of dawn with Criston. Do you think he’s getting exhausted yet, my lady?” Jace asked, guiding Shera to her seat and handing her a fan. At least he noticed that she was positively broiling.

She leaned and looked over the rampart to the skirmishing ring, where Aemond kept up his pace. “Since dawn, you say?” she asked, raising a brow as she fanned herself.

Aemond was using a shortsword, which seemed to be his weapon of choice against all others. Ser Criston was wielding a morningstar with spiked barbs around it. Her lone eye was entranced on the prince’s movements as he danced around his teacher, footwork impeccable as if he were simply floating across the dirt, whipping up hardly any dust in his wake. Shera wished she was a bit closer so she could see it better, but his movements didn’t seem to be exhausted in the slightest– he was like grebe skimming over the water, in his element.

Criston raised his morningstar, twirling it before making his advance to the prince, to which Aemond did not move. Move, Aemond. Move! What are you doing? Shera clenched her fist in her lap and leaned forward even farther to try and parse exactly what Aemond’s plan was– certainly not to face a morningstar head on with a simple shortsword? She held her breath as he was within bludgeoning range of the flail, the chains clinking as Criston didn’t waiver– it was like they were in a real fight. Was he about to kill Aemond?

She rose to her feet quickly, startled by what she thought was about to be a murder– only to watch Aemond roll deftly out of the way as the kingsguard’s weapon stuck into the dirt, lodged a few inches in by the heft of his lunge. This was a clear opportunity for Aemond, one he calculated so carefully. He stuck the tip of his shortsword through the links of the flail, keeping it pinned to the ground and hovered a dagger at Ser Cole’s neck with his other hand.

“I yield, my prince.” Criston huffed, bowing his head.

“Very good,” Aemond grinned– but it wasn’t a grin of joy, this seemed to be a recurring theme with Aemond– he smiled but it was nothing of mirth. It was simply a reflex, like a snake opening its jaws to stretch its fangs, one might think it was laughing. “Who’s next?”

Shera realized the kerfuffle she’d made, her hand white knuckled against her chest as she stared at Aemond in abject horror, still not getting past the fact that she had been deathly worried about Aemond– even after the horrible things he had said. If Ser Cole’s flail had met the prince’s head, she would’ve jumped the rampart with Moongeist and mauled that sordid Kingsguard without a second thought.

She blinked, letting out a breath. Where did that come from? She was usually so well versed in her moods, as tumultuous as they could be. But this rage had snuck up on her, her blood boiling slightly. She glanced to her side, Moongeist was up and raring to go, as if sharing her sentiment.

Aemond wiped sweat from his forehead, finally looking to the ramparts. Their eyes met once again and he smirked. Smirked. It wasn’t a reflexive, mirthless smirk either. It was taunting, pompous. “Lady Shera,” he drawled, dislodging his sword from the ground and twirled it with ease, like it was an attachment of his own body. “You are dressed… brightly today.” he walked to the edge of the ring, looking directly up at her.

Shera looked behind her for a moment– the rest of the party was occupied with talking with one another. She pressed her arms on the wall and leaned down. “I am. You are not.”

“When have I ever been?”

“You used to like green.”

“Hm,” he snorted, wiping some errant dirt from his face. “If I were in a tourney, would you cast down your favor to me?”

“I thought you didn’t care for tournaments, my prince.”

“I don’t.” he responded coolly, his eye trained on her so intensely. He was looking at something– did she have something on her face?

She realized quickly the air coming up from under her veil, the shorter one she wore today, and her angle. She was looking… down at him, and the veil stayed in place. He could see her face. He was looking at her, studying her like a book. Shera let out a soft sheepish noise, pushing back from the rampart and sitting back at her seat.

She heard him laugh as he walked away to stow his weapon on the rack and pick another. He was laughing at her– surely because he thought her ugly. Wilting into herself, she adjusted her veil so that she might not have any more mishaps.

“Jacaerys, I believe it’s your turn,” she murmured, fanning herself again, then fanning Moongeist.

“Ah, very good. Wish me luck, my lady.”

“Good luck, Jacaerys.” she hummed. I do wish you don’t get your brains splattered in the pit by Aemond. I am not getting up again.

Cregan clasped Jace on the shoulder with such ferocity he almost knocked the prince over, walking down to the pit with him. Shera rolled her eyes and leaned back in her seat.

“So, Lady Stark,” Baela hummed, pulling her seat up next to Shera. Uncomfortably close. “Cregan is your brother, yes?”

“Yes, my lady.” she responded, trying not to sound annoyed.

“Forgive me– you two don’t look much alike, so I was just making sure.”

You cannot even see my face, how do you know we do not look alike? The last time you saw my face, you mauled it. “Cregan takes after our father more than I. I am more like our mother– or so I’ve been told. I’ve not met her.” she fiddled with her fur stole to ease her growing irritation. Add mother issues to the list of things I have wrong with me. Shera’s mother died shortly after her birth– all she knew is that she had copper hair. Their father had put away portraits and any semblance of her existence after– and never remarried.

Baela carefully sidestepped the issue of Shera’s mother, keeping her pressed about Cregan. “My stepmother says that mayhaps after you and Jacaerys are wed, she will propose a betrothal between Cregan and I.”

Oh, of course. Let’s have Winterfell all but indebted to dragons. “I hadn’t heard. Have you been North, my lady?”

“No– but I imagine it cannot be any harsher than the roiling tides of Driftmark.”

Fuck you. “Having been both places– they are very different, Lady Baela,” Shera knew she was being short and not doing well in containing her agitation at this whole situation, being in proximity to her would-be murderer. “The North is harsher than any tide and is not the best climate for everyone. I do not think dragons fair well in the North,” she paused to breathe, her pace of speaking beginning to burn her throat. She was fueled by disconcertment and barely contained anger alone. “... that is what I have heard. Vermax loathes the snow.”

“Well,” Baela kept a smile on her face. “Cregan is handsome, don’t you think?”

“I cannot say, my lady. I don’t really see him in such a manner— I am not a Targaryen, after all.” Shera said back, finally regaining some control in her voice.

She heard Daemon laugh behind her. She fought the urge to turn around and sneer, focusing on the melee happening in the pit. It was well on its way and Jacaerys was… faring. She didn’t know how he was faring, but he wasn’t knocked out yet.

Aemond was circling him like a wolf upon prey– a totally different technique than what he had done with Criston. He had let Criston come to him, rather than facing him head on. It was almost sickly how he was playing with him before the slaughter. There was a dangerous glint in Aemond’s eye that only Shera seemed to catch– did he mean to kill Jace? She remembered a similar glint in his eye when he raised the rock to Jacaerys’ head in the tunnels under Driftmark–

Aemond surged forward and steel met steel, their swords clashing together. Jace had chosen a shortsword as well, parrying his opponent’s thrust– barely. He knocked the white-haired prince back slightly, catching his breath.

Once again, that sickly smile spread across Aemond’s face. “Tired already, Jacaerys? We’ve barely begun!” he continued his walk around his nephew, twirling his sword.

“Hardly, uncle. All you’ve done is dance around me. How about an actual fight, ey?” Jace quipped back.

Shera had to give him credit where it was due. Jace was brazen. Taunting an already unhinged Aemond and being mayhaps a bit stupid– but brazen nonetheless.

“A swordsman knows how to pick his fights and when to wait, doesn’t he?” Aemond’s eye flicked to the ramparts where Daemon was still looming. “Has your stepfather not taught you that?”

“You’re both talking a bit too much for my liking,” Cregan grunted, his hand itching on his own sword, which he had already unsheathed. It was the Stark’s ancestral weapon, a huge greatsword aptly called Ice. Cregan handled it with ease– Shera wouldn’t even be able to lift it. “Go on, Jacaerys.”

“Go on, Jacaerys,” Aemond taunted in a similar tone, his hackles raised. He looked slightly manic in the moment. “Let's see what your stepfather has taught you– if anything. I thought you were supposed to be strong.”

Jacaerys raged forward, spurred by his rising anger. Their swords clashed again with such force that sparks flew from the metal. Aemond thwarted him off, pushing him backwards into the dirt, shrugging his shoulders.

Despite being pushed down, Jace still got up, coming at Aemond again and again, each slash more sloppy than the last, but fueled with spite. His uncle continued to parry him, to push him, to sweep him aside with ease– it was a game to him.

“Keep your attacks focused, Jacaerys,” Cregan commanded. “He’s getting tired, I can see it.”

“I can go all day, Stark!” Aemond barked, his violet eye pierced solely on Cregan now as he thwarted Jacaerys’ heavy-handed blows without even looking at him. “Let’s make a wager, shall we? If your… pup here wins, I’ll personally pay for you and your troops to have a trip to the Silk Street– the best brothel. If I win– I get to take your sister for a ride on my dragon.”

Ah, fuck. Cregan’s hackles rose and he shoved off his fur cape. “Don’t talk about my sister, you beast,” the vein in Cregan’s neck throbbed and Shera knew it would come to blows between the Warden of the North and the One-Eyed prince. “You wouldn’t know a real fight if it hit you in the face.”

“Oh, please– now give me a moment so I can pummel your little pup into the ground and show your sister a real dra–” Aemond’s voice was cut off as Cregan punched him squarely in the face, right in his nose. Blood dripped from his nostrils and he then raised his sword to Cregan. “Fine.”

Their bodies tensed and Jacaerys saw the opportunity to walk away, thoroughly exhausted and not wanting to get in between the two of them.

They were about to clash swords once more in a very real manner and Shera stood up from her chair hastily, opening her mouth to say something– but she was cut off.

“Aemond!” an authoritative voice called from the rampart. It was Otto Hightower, hand of the King– and Aemond’s grandsire. “Forgo your petty spar and meet me in the Tower of the Hand. Promptly.”

The mania in Aemond’s eyes and aura faded, snuffing it out once more– just like his rage at the dinner. “Of course. Good fight, Jacaerys,” he nodded his head to his nephew, then looked to Cregan. “Stark.” he uttered before spitting blood onto the dirt, wiping his bleeding nose with the back of his hand. He didn’t even look at Shera as he ascended the steps and followed his grandsire.

“I notice you did not greet me, Lady Stark,” Daemon hummed as he loomed behind her. “Am I not worthy of your respect?”

“... you were quite far away, Prince Daemon. I simply cannot project my voice that far, forgive me.” she droned, blinking profusely at the turn of events.

“My nephew said he would’ve taken you on a ride upon his dragon– care to enlighten me what that might mean?” he continued, tapping ringed fingers on the stone barrier.

“I presume he would take me on a ride on Vhagar,” she muttered, edging away from Daemon. “He would find it hard to get me upon his beast, even if he won the bet.”

“I’m sure he would. Your brother has a temper when it comes to you, it seems?”

“All men have tempers when it comes to women in their lives, do they not?”

“That’s true.”

“I don’t imagine you would wish your daughter,” she cleared her throat, eyes looking to Baela, who was speaking to Jacaerys off to the side. “To be absconded to the North. Nor do I imagine you’re entirely pleased at the prospect of more Andal blood tainting your line.”

“An apt observation, wolf. Though, I am not sure the North is meant for northerners, either. Some people just do not belong anywhere, it seems.”

Fuck off, old man. “I wish you a good day, prince Daemon.” Shera whispered, bowing her head, careful of her veil placement. She could feel his gaze on her, leering at her, trying to figure out what was beneath.

“Cregan– I am going to lunch with Helaena,” Shera tried to call down, but her voice didn’t project. He was caught up talking very animatedly to Jacaerys and Baela– Rhaena was off to the side, not saying much.

Shera let out an errant puff of agitation and left the training yard. She stopped at her chambers before going to Helaena’s– she took off the errant piece of flowing fabric from her outfit and put it on the desk.

–

Aemond returned to his chambers hours later after being thoroughly chewed out by his grandsire for ‘behavior unbecoming of a prince’. Is this how it felt to be Aegon?

His nose ached and he was sure that northern beast had broken it. It mattered not, it will mend. Most things do in time.

He began to unlace his jerkin as he noticed a piece of cerulean fabric on his desk, pinned with a note.

My favor, for you.

There was no signature to whom had written it, only a crude drawing of a wolf. He rolled his eye, picking up the fabric. It was soft between his calloused fingers and smelled heavily of lavender and rosemary. It smelled of her– he could absorb it even with his broken nose.

A tiny smile perked at his lips for a moment. ‘Twas a real one.

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douxie-casperan · 3 years

Text

Rise of the Titans and the assassination Hisirdoux Casperan’s character development

I’ve been ranting so much since Wednesday morning that I finally condensed by thoughts of WHY this one subject keeps setting me off namely the utterly diabolical way they handled Douxie and Archie’s relationship in Rise of the Titans and how it wasn’t just enough to hit him with the nerf bat.

Please note I’m at the point where I literally cannot tell the difference between Aaron headcanons, Teny headcanons and my own they are all mixed together in the blender that does funky things. I also apologise for typo/weird wording it’s half 1 in the morning and I’d rather sleep than edit.

If asked to sum up Hisirdoux Casperan there are certainly several things that come to mind:

Sees the value in people as a whole and will find do anything if there is a chance of help someone out

Prefers tactics that disable/banish rather than kill an enemy yet willing and able to pull the trigger if circumstances become forced

While not academically inclined he is very capable of thinking on his feet and outside the box calling back to his time on the streets where a split-second decision making is the difference between being caught and not

Terrible at planning he’ll be in there figuring it out as he goes along which is what makes the previous point so vital to literally how he goes through life

A natural charmer that would let him talk his way out of trouble 9/10 providing a perfect cover for his distrustful nature and reluctance to be touched by random people

Very down to earth, humble and never one to brag unless outright sassing someone

Will bang out some hot tunes at the drop of a hat, his love of music has never wavered once since he caught the bug despite instrument hopping ironically becoming a jack of all trades much like his magic style

The earliest memories he can recall are him as a young boy lost in the woods where he was for an unknown amount of time before his soon to be familiar finds him amongst the roots covered in dirt and drying tears, there is nothing before that. Unbeknownst to him is the colour of his magic matches the blue of a lost mother’s eyes and the song that haunts his nightmares as much as fire could well be hers though there is no way to be sure. From that moment on Archibald, shortened to Archie, would become his entire world and their friendship only becoming closer during the years they prowled Camelot together trying to keep themselves in one piece until the fateful day Douxie tricks the wrong person leading him straight into the path of the famous wizard Merlin Ambrosius.

It's no real secret that Merlin is a very closed off person who keeps his emotions as well guarded as his secrets, prefers the style of negative reinforcement over positive encouragement and is a very strict perfectionist in his. At this point in his life he can be very easily described as a disaster that is genuinely doing his best with every little mistake held of his head and his future self when brought back to that time period is belittled by Lancelot (Errand boy) and Arthur (Boy) too meaning it’s hardly a wonder his confidence was very fragile revelling in the times where he could do things without being told off for it. With Morgana largely ignoring him too (Though personally I like to think as he got older she’d occasionally take an interest until the blistering arguments with their master started to talk over daily life) a certain disguised dragon would have remained a lifeline and give that physical affection he craved much like being told he’d done well never seemed able to earn.

With Killahead he’d lose that home and family he made leaving just the two of them behind struggling to figure out their place in the world that had abandoned them.

There wouldn’t have been the words for it back then but the way he had been treated prior was outright abusive instilling very bad habits into Douxie yet by irony he was always willing to give people the benefit of the doubt and help those in trouble without thinking earning a reputation as the Shepard of Fire. He refused to become like him seeking to be better, perhaps not as a wizard (Even though he was learning new charms and spells along the way) but certainly as a person. Despite everything he suffers through or witnesses in the intervening years, the loss of friends and kindling of far newer ones he never loses his good heart

That said is it any wonder that after rightfully sassing Merlin for resurfacing, ignoring his existence despite being in the same town and only visiting him to run a finding errand that all the confidence he’d managed to build completely from scratch after Camelot wavered causing him to fall back solely into trying impressing his old Master who was acting like his humble apprentice must have coasted the past few centuries who himself fell back into old habits of belittling? It’s only when Merlin started to truly listen and acknowledge that this was not the same Moppet he once knew after Excalibur was fixed that their relationship finally started to become more like equals. After the defeat of Janus the changeling that broke into the castle he touched Douxie’s shoulder with a genuine smile and for a second he simply didn’t know what to do because the old man never did this before his brain kicked into gear and realised he’d finally earned that one thing he’d been so desperate for his entire life: That in Merlin’s eyes he could be more than a failure who only caused problems for the closest thing to a father figure he’d ever had, never solved them.

A staff will be earned, history would be set back on trap by banishing Morgana tag teaming with Archie because they know one another inside and out, as promised he’d get the kids back to the present but soon after things would go badly wrong. They’d lose Jim and because of his very nature he’d make a gamble to try and get him back because that life is worth trying for just for in a moment of surprising selflessness Merlin would be sacrificed to save him. The only constant in his life apart from Archie would apologise, openly express pride and how the greatest thing he’d ever done was saving this orphan, call him son for the first and final time before turning into ash in his arms. There would be no time to grieve for things will barrel into the crescendo of Douxie sacrificing his own life to buy everyone time to escape because if they did that everything he’d ever done would be worth it with one last whispered goodbye.

(Zoe sees him fall, so does Archie – His heart would break if he was conscious just like theirs does when his body crumples into the ground)

On the very fringes of the Light Realm he is gifted one more conversation with Merlin in a truly heart-breaking sequence (THANKS TENY) where they can just talk without any fear of consequence or politics and just be completely honest. Douxie is allowed to stand equal to Merlin, to have the hug he’d needed since he was a child and be allowed to simply let go of every pretense and cry his heart out because this can never happen again. He’s allowed to say goodbye to both his master and Morgana who had both shaped so very much of his life but like the painting he’d always remained firmly in the long shadows of until that moment.

When Hisirdoux Casperan finally leaves Wizards if we just accidently deliberately put the shawarma back in along with checking in with Zoe before departure, it is with having learned to live during his wandering years but this is the point of true freedom because he can finally escape into his own light with Archie by his side to keep Nari out of the hands of those that would see the world harmed. It won’t be easy but it feels possible somehow even with the knowledge everything is simply running on borrowed time.

Then Rise of the Titans happens.

At first everything is genuinely fine! No more running, they engineer a solution shut the Order’s magic down to make them a lot less dangerous and potentially at least incapacitate them until they can come up with a longer-term solution but all the best laid plans and all that. Douxie’s quick thinking stops the train from crushing any of the people below and it’s a very him style move to switch places with Nari to stall for time because for some reason the plot disabled Claire from portaling her or any of the threatened people/heroes to safety. He openly sasses the Order despite knowing the consequences will be bad for him because once again he’s managed to trick them, buy time that at the other end isn’t even slightly utilised until he’s forced back into his own body in excruciating pain. Archie immediately mobs him with comfort just as he has done every single time the wizard is distressed or collapsed with exhaustion without thinking because that is what their bond is like, incredibly close and far more than the Soul Bond mark that connects them together. They’re very alike in that regard, you have to earn the right to touch while equally knowing exactly what form the other needs the most in that precise moment in a way very few others could.

Bar the moment of figuring out that an illusion is in place to hide where the Order is opening the Genesis Seals and the brief insistence on reconnecting with Nari somehow Douxie manages to forget everything that makes him who he is after this point choosing to stand in the background being very no thoughts head empty or can only use the most basic spells of his youthful days not the seasoned master wizard he should be. Nomura is treated like an innocent slip rather than an outright death he did absolutely nothing to prevent (Not to mention the stupid daytime thing) nor seems to care particularly about afterwards yet with Nari’s he’s allowed to openly grieve in a gorgeously animated visual showing how he’d failed to keep her safe despite everything. He did nothing to help here either mind despite allowing himself to be tortured in the same piece of media to keep her safe, just watched another loss happen right in front of his eyes in his conga long line of them.

Then there’s Archie, oh god then there was Archie.

The dragon who even here he’d been shown to have an incredibly close bond with him decides you know what sod that tell him goodbye I’m going to make a joke about having a kingdom now dad and me are trapped in here forever. Douxie on his part looked sad for all of three seconds saying that he hoped he’s happy like it's a pet that wandered out into the world one day and never came back instead of a lifelong companion that has been there for as long as he can remember. He was now completely alone in the world since Zoe was also written out entirely and because every bit of his background had been forgotten about it somehow meant nothing. This wasn’t “I know you miss him, I know you need to grieve but you are running out of time” moment like things had been with Charlie, this was “cool shapeshifting dragon cat is now stuck in a plot hole that’s a shame” with zero pay off or any of the genuine reaction that should have been there or hell even trying to Ohana him back that very second because it never should have happened in the first place. Then even this wasn’t enough somehow, they managed to de-power Douxie even further into uselessness bar the (Admittedly nifty!) sticky feet stunt, the one who fought Skrael and Bellroc to a stalemate was shunted aside with barely a thought and his head would somehow get even emptier.

The one person who knew the danger of time magic the most stood by and said nothing.

The one person who would suffer the most by a reset because the lynchpin to his issues would be asleep if you got it wrong and should have drilled it into Jim’s head the best time to aim for stood by and said nothing.

The one person who had just suffered the loss of his familiar, best friend and only family along with the almost sister like Nari stood by and said nothing.

Then to add further insult to injury the caption when Douxie and Archie is shown says Some go their entire lives living an existence of quiet desperation because every drop of his character growth, his ability to finally start addressing his trauma instilled back in the 12th century, the staff he longed for was instead openly mocked by going “Aww he got his cat friend back how nice!” Everything he’d rightfully earned and had now would be unable to progress until certain criteria are met because it hinges entirely on the Trollhunter going to Merlin’s tomb and there’s only so much your support network of two (One if she’s written out) can do, the root of the majority of his issues all stem from one man.

And this folks is why I’ve been going on multiple rants about Douxie in particular, everyone was hit with the out of character bat to some degree in this film but when they came for him they didn’t just stop after they took his legs out because they wanted him to suffer from something he’s never had any control over to begin with all over again. Abuse survivors deserve better, these characters deserve better and we as viewers deserve far far better writing than we were forced to endure.

#Ooc - Behind the curtains #Rise of the Titans #Rise of the Titans spoilers #RotT Spoilers #RoT spoilers #Wizards #Tales of Arcadia #ToAWizards #Hisirdoux Casperan #Douxie Casperan

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dandelion-wings · 2 years

Text

My at-work entertainment for the last week or so has been bashing together a crossover fusion AU between Genshin Impact and Sekirei, a terrible fanservice-y sci-fi harem battle royale manga that I cannot in good conscience recommend to anyone, but which has a specific “the fighty people can kiss certain other people to get stronger in exchange for forming a permanent master/subordinate bond” mechanic that lives perpetually rent-free in my brain. Which is the main part I stole for this fic, in which I put both magic systems in a blender specifically in order to make Jean kiss all the Mondstadt characters I have entertained pairing her with (except Rosaria, because as soon as I started thinking about putting characters in the Sekirei paradigm I realized that Rosaria is 100% Barbara’s Sekirei, so Jean unfortunately doesn’t get to kiss her here).

Fair warning that a) the Ashikabi-Sekirei system is basically soulmating (including a “you have a destined person” element, though it’s not definitive) and b) there are inherent consent issues that come with a soulbonding system that can be done against one party’s will, though that doesn’t happen in the main relationships. ...Also c) in the midst of my attempts to condense an explanation I have realized that the blendering process turned it into something suspiciously similar to a/b/o, so I’m just going to. leave this here and go now.

---

Winging Diluc is a destiny fulfilled, a hot blaze of satisfaction in her breast that has as much to do with the innate *rightness* of their actions as it does with his lips on hers, or the wings of blazing flame that spread out behind him.

Jean had realized she was an Ashikabi in the midst of realizing she was his Ashikabi, so it only seems right. The first part was no surprise; most Gunnhildrs have been, through the ages. Her mother raises her to respect Sekirei, to uphold Mondstadt's principles of freedom, and so she doesn't press, when Diluc's Vision appears when they're both adolescents and it becomes clear what form of power he's been given and what kind she's bound for in turn. But every time their gazes meet after that she feels a spark of warmth, a determined tugging, and from the way his cheeks go red she knows he feels it just as strongly.

If she feels another, vaguer tug now and then, pulling outward, so faint that she can't tell if it's to the west or north, Jean disregards it. Every Sekirei has a destined Ashikabi, and the converse is true, sometimes many times over for Ashikabi who can hold more than one person in their heart--but the principle developed in Mondstadt, held by the Gunnhildrs and taught so strictly by her mother, is that even in the face of destiny, one should be allowed to *choose*. If that's true for Sekirei, it should be true for her, too. She doesn't want to leave Mondstadt, not even for a destined love. Diluc is here, and enough. And even if he doesn't choose her, Mondstadt is enough for her, must be enough for her, on its own.

Besides, Diluc does choose her. He waits, as she waits, as both his father and her mother make them wait, through the first confusing muddle of puberty. They're supposed to wait longer, she knows, preferably until they're adults, until they're mature enough that the adults think them able to make their own choices. But then he's made captain at fourteen, asks for her as his lieutenant, and, in the bouyant glory of the post-ceremony celebration his father is hosting, he grabs her hand and hauls her out onto a balcony and spins her around so that he's facing her, eyes bright almost to glowing.

"If I'm to be a captain at this age, and not fail my men, I need to be stronger," he says, reaching out to take her other hand and clutch both tight. "Can I- will you help me? With that?"

"Of course," Jean says, caught in a whirl of excitement and anxiety, half of her anticipating what he must want to ask and half of her afraid that she's wrong, that she's hoping too much and might humiliate herself by stating her expectations. She chooses her words carefully to avoid that latter. "I'm your lieutenant now, aren't I? I'll give you all the support I can."

Diluc hesitates, his smile dimming, and he, too, speaks carefully in reply. "I know that, but that's not what I meant. I meant- I want to be able to use my norito. Father keeps reminding me that being my Ashikabi isn't a promise of anything else, but I know it's still a lot to ask, so if you don't want to-"

"I do," Jean blurts out over him, leaning forward, almost falling into him with how eager she is. He's warm in the cold air of the night, with the faint piney scent of the awful cologne he's taken to using that in this moment is almost charming. She presses close to him, enough that he lets go of her hands to grab her shoulders, to steady her. Their lips are inches apart, and it's only with an effort of will that she holds herself back. "Though- Mother keeps reminding me it's permanent. That I can take other Sekirei, but you can't have another Ashikabi. Are you sure? I don't want to trap you with me forever."

"Jean, I don't think you could trap me if you tried," Diluc says, grinning at her, and then leans in those last few inches.

Their lips touch. Diluc's are hot, blazing against her own, almost a brand against her mouth. Her first kiss, Jean finds herself thinking, faintly dazed, and she wonders why nothing's happening. Then Diluc's tongue brushes over her closed lips and she realizes, blushing hot, both why nothing is and that it can't be *his* first kiss, though he's clumsy enough when she opens her mouth that maybe it's his second. But that doesn't matter, because suddenly the shadows of the balcony behind him are ablaze with light, his wings spreading wide, flickering, their glow brightening until she feels like she's standing in the heart of a fire.

It doesn't frighten her, though, not with Diluc's arms hot around her waist, his warmth pressed so gently against her. This fire won't burn her, not ever.

***

There's no draw at all between Jean and Kaeya, but she's the first person he shows, nonetheless, after Diluc leaves Mondstadt and rips both of their hearts in two. Perhaps that's why, because no one else could understand the bitterness of it, this god-given revelation of an inner power that she knows Kaeya would gladly trade away to have his family back, alive and home and whole. It's not the reason he gives her, of course.

"I don't really understand this business the way you and- the way you do," he says, dangling the Vision in front of her a moment more and then folding his hand around it, sliding it into his pocket as if he can hide the chill she feels through his sleeve when she puts a hand on his arm. "It wasn't my legacy. Or wasn't supposed to be. So I'm not sure what I am."

"It does run more in some families than others, but anyone can be a Sekirei or Ashikabi. The power dwells in most people of Teyvat, to be unleashed by the gods as they choose," Jean tells him, all her mother's childhood lessons flooding to the fore. "Ashikabi Visions often give them support powers, and Sekirei usually have more aggressive abilities, but that's not a hard and fast rule. It still ultimately comes down to the person, and to the Vision, whatever ancestry may have come to the fore."

She bites down on more rote words, dry explanations that surely he'd gotten from his father already just so that he could understand Diluc. That's not what he's asking for. He wants something subtler, a determination that has more to do with familiarity and instinct than lessons on ancestral influences and theology. She may not have her mother's long experience, but she knows Kaeya well. She looks with worry at the wry half-smile that reaches his eye but she knows is false nonetheless, the dark half-moon under his eye and the pallor of his skin that match her own, that has as much to do with grief as with exhaustion. Diluc might be gone, but she can still feel his emotions, has been feeling the grief turn to rage burn away into hopeless grief again, a seemingly endless cycle, since the moment his father fell before him. Kaeya must feel much the same.

Under that is a humming knowledge, stronger when she touches him, that even without any pull between them, if she pressed her lips to his, or if they cut their palms and touched them together in one of the older styles, or- or exchanged fluid in any other way... then he would be hers, belong to her, fall under her command and under her protection. What good her protection is. She couldn't protect Diluc, and he was already hers.

"Sekirei," she says, raising her hand from his skin, because it suddenly doesn't feel safe to touch him. To have *both* their pain echoing through her right now could be disabling. And while she would endure it if he asked, surely there's someone for whom he's destined, and should have the right to find and choose or deny if he so wishes without Jean's interference.

"Ah," Kaeya says, his gaze going distant. The chuckle that follows is almost painful to hear, low and bitter. "No matter what, I'm always going to be serving someone, aren't I?"

Jean opens her mouth to protest--Sekirei don't have to serve their Ashikabi in Monstadt, there are laws and protections in place, and she and Diluc have more than demonstrated how carefully the balance of power can be managed--then closes it again. Kaeya spent his first ten years elsewhere, and while she knows very little about that, she knows that not every place in Teyvat is the same way, and that the lessons learned in childhood have shaped his worldview in ways that neither she nor Diluc can ever truly understand. Which gives her even less reason to make any suggestions about his choices.

"If you don't want to be winged, Sekirei have gone their whole life without that," she points out. "All it means is that you won't be able to use your norito. And if anyone ever tries to tell you that's worth something you don't want, or is-" things do happen, she knows, even in Mondstadt, and she feels more aware than usual that a Sekirei *can* be winged against their will "-is forceful about it, you can come to me. You should be free to make your own choices."

Kaeya looks at her strangely for a moment, unreadable behind his false smile. Then he nods. His smile changes, a little less wry, a little more honest, and Jean, for the first time since Diluc's fear had spiked unexpectedly through her in the middle of a rainy May morning, summons a smile back.

***

"This is unjust," Jean says, stiff and vibrating with anger. It's a struggle to keep it from her face, to speak levelly and reasonably, but she has long practice maintaining her composure, and her outrage remains beneath the surface. "Eula Lawrence has passed every one of the trials, and sworn her dedication to our oaths. To refuse her now because of her family line is simply prejudice."

"There is also the matter of her declaration that she is infiltrating the Knights to cause our downfall," Inspector Eroch points out. "If you expect us to take her at her word regarding her oaths, should we not then take her at her word regarding her intent?"

It's a reasonable question. Jean doesn't know how to explain what she reads into Eula's words, the bone-deep certainty that she, like Jean, feels constrained to justify her every action in the framework of her own clan's philosophies, whether or not they truly align. The feel is of an unfunny in-joke that only the two of them are placed to understand; the only other person who might have is gone, long gone, his emotional tumult fading from her heart so slowly that Jean can't tell whether Diluc is shutting her out or if his own heart is hardening and going dull. And knowing more now of his father and his family, she can't be sure if even he would ever have sensed the bitter humor that underlies some of Eula's most dramatic statements.

"If she swears the oaths to become a full Knight of Favonius, they will not *allow* her to carry out that supposed intent. I believe that she will hold those oaths above her blood. Grand Master Varka trusts my judgement in this area."

"Of course you believe that of her, Captain Gunnhildr. Everyone here knows it's what you would do in such a situation," Inspector Eroch says, and the words and tone are both complimentary, but there's a glint in his eye that makes her obscurely, inexplicably certain that he's laughing at her. "The Grand Master's faith in you is deserved, but I fear it may be overflowing unfairly onto her. Now, if there were some way to guarantee her loyalty, it would be a different matter. Perhaps if she were to accept a knight as an Ashikabi-"

"That is *coercion*," Jean snaps, letting her voice go harsh, just enough of her anger leaking out to give it the force to speak over him. "Which is unworthy of the Ordo."

"Regardless, that is the only condition under which I would consider her admission," the Inspector says, in tones of mild regret, and stands. Which means the interview is over.

She almost doesn't want to tell Eula. But she had made a promise, and she walks to Windrise that afternoon with a heavy heart, unsure how to pass on the content of the interview without making the Inspector's condition sound like an ultimatum. The most politic wording is still escaping her when she reaches that point, and it tumbles out of her instead, an embarrassingly jumbled explanation likely made only more confusion by the righteous anger that, here at Windrise where she's always let her feelings free, she can't help but let show.

"An irritatingly unreasonable condition," Eula says, offering Jean a cup of berry-and-mint punch that, from the crushed remains of wolfhook berries and mint leaves crisping by her fire, she must have brewed herself. And not long ago, at that, but of course with her Vision's touch, it's already pleasantly cool. "I can't say I think much of the Knights' dedication to this supposed ethos of freedom, if he feels free to make it."

"I know," Jean sighs, and sips deeply of the punch, enjoying the sweet chill burst of it on her tongue. "This is lovely, Eula, as always. The Inspector has always been a bit questionable in that way, but the Grand Master is a little too easy-going about these things... and he picks up the Grand Master's slack, which is necessary," she reluctantly admits.

A small smile curves Eula's mouth at the compliment to her cooking, reserved but quite real. It's always a pleasure to see, those moments when she finds it worth cracking the reserve she seems to wear as a shield against the scorn of Mondstadt's people. Jean smiles back.

"It seems as if this Inspector could use to be supplanted by a more mindful individual," Eula says, her gaze going sharp. "I would have assumed such a post would always go to a Gunnhildr. You may be my ancestral enemy, but I would still be forced to take vengeance on anyone who questioned your honor."

Jean, her cheeks warming at the sideways compliment, bites her tongue hard on an assurance that the Inspector *is* due to be supplanted. She trusts Eula more than anyone else does, but that doesn't mean she can share her operation with someone uninvolved. However hopeless Kaeya accuses her of being at spycraft, she knows that much. No matter how much she wants to assure Eula that it's only a matter of time before Inspector Eroch will no longer be an obstacle. Even once that time comes, there's no assurance that other obstacles won't arise.

"I'm grateful for your confidence in me," she says instead, meeting Eula's eyes against the urge to duck her head and hide her blush. "I will do my best to live up to it."

Eula smiles at her again, just for a moment, that small pleased expression that always feels a little like Jean is getting a glimpse of something secret. Then it takes on a conspiratorial air.

"As to the matter of choosing an Ashikabi, my clan plans to make arrangements for me when I am done pursuing what they consider my hopeless folly. I wouldn't mind subverting those plans. There's no chance of them aligning with my destiny, after all--Lawrences don't give in to the whims of the stars, they carve their own fates out according to their own intentions." Eula says that last in the haughty tone she always assumes when quoting someone else's dictats or assumptions. "In which case, I would rather carve out my own intentions than theirs."

"Then you should do so," Jean assures her, resting her half-full cup on her knee to give Eula her full attention. "That *is* your right as a citizen of Mondstadt, whatever pressures anyone else may wish to exert. I know it must be difficult for you, given your circumstances, but if there's anyone you wish to approach, or if you want help finding the Ashikabi you are destined for, I'll give you my full support. As well as continuing to advocate with you for the Ordo, I should say."

"Your support is exactly what I need," Eula says. She sets her own drink aside and leans forward. "The person I want to approach is right here. I can't think of any better way to prove myself to Mondstadt. And it would satisfy the Inspector's conditions, too, though I'd intended to ask you anyway."

Frozen in place by her regard, Jean stares back at her, searching for any sign of humor in her tone or face. But there's none at all; Eula is as serious and sincere as she was the first time she placed herself to encounter Jean here at Windrise and challenge her, or as she was the day Jean brought the Grand Master here so that Eula could ask him herself to become an apprentice knight. This isn't some secret joke. She's asking this seriously.

"If your intent is to defy your clan...." Jean trails off there, because she can't finish that with a refusal. She understands all too well how heavily the shadow of such a legacy can fall upon one, though she and Eula have chosen opposite approaches to their clans' standards. Jean *wants* to support Eula in breaking free of her family's grip, and, if it is possible, in changing the meaning people attach to the name Lawrence. She would want to do the same if it was the Gunnhildrs who had so besmirched their own name, after fall.

"I can have more than one intention, and carry all of them out at once. That's simple strategy," Eula says with some scorn. She leans in closer, but pauses before she's actually in Jean's space, giving her room to pull back and retreat. The scorn dissolves away as she adds, with a haughtiness that is more obviously than usual a shield, "I will either have the best Ashikabi in Mondstadt, or none at all."

Jean swallows hard and studies Eula's face, the proud jut of her chin, the sharp line of her jaw, the firm line of her mouth countered by the faint tremor of uncertainty around the corners of her eyes. This is a daring request on her part, one that must have been terribly difficult for her to make with all the expectations dragging on her in counterbalance. Crystalflies flutter in Jean's stomach as she looks at those violet eyes, the determination in them. She licks her lips and leans in to press them to Eula's in silent assent. Eula kisses fiercely, as if this is yet another battle, as if Jean is her glorious conquest.

A cold wind rushes around them both as Eula's wings flare out behind her, white and faintly gleaming, a lattice of lace-like delicacy. Like snowflakes, Jean thinks, pulling back to look at them. But strong despite their delicacy, like Eula is strong, standing firm against the sunlight and the wind, refusing to melt, growing only stronger under pressure.

***

The tugging in Jean's chest never goes away, even as the last faint impressions of Diluc's emotions fade from her awareness. It's been more than a year now, long enough for him to make such distance that even their bond can't stretch so far. That's what she comforts herself with--that it's physical distance, and not emotional, that divides their hearts. It helps, when they clean out Eroch's office, to find Diluc's Vision there in a locked drawer in his desk. She tells herself that it surely contributes to the lack.

Her own Vision comes to her almost prosiacally--no dramatic moment, no confrontation, only a quiet meditation at Windrise and a sudden weight in her hand as the wind grows wild. Its lesser power is made for controlling the battlefield, but the greater, already unlocked to her by dint having winged her own Sekirei, is for healing, and Jean is grateful for that in so many ways. Grateful that she can so aid her troops, grateful that she can rely on it herself and safely take on more danger therefore. Grateful that she is more, as a Knight, than the knife she'd started thinking of herself as, forced to carve out bits of the Ordo like a surgeon in order to save the whole.

She devotes herself to caring for what she can, to stepping into the role of Master of Knights and picking up the Grand Master's slack, to filling long-empty positions and flushing out the remaining traitors hidden in the Ordo's ranks. Eula proves herself so ably as captain of the Reconaissance Company that only the most bitter detractors still claim she has the rank because she's Jean's Sekirei, and Kaeya is so useful that Grand Master Varka names her his adjutant, which proves a useful way to keep him, too, safely under her protection. Some of the other officers are Ashikabi, too, and the events of Eroch's expulsion leave Jean with a shivery uncertain feeling down her spine when they eye him, in place of her once-solid certainty that no one in the Ordo would so blatantly break Mondstadt's laws.

But those who might they hunt down and root out, one by one, and Jean's worries are gradually replaced by a new certainty in their new officers, the ones she's chosen herself, with Eula's silent approbation in the back of her head and Kaeya's tiny nod confirming every one. She's proud of them, and almost as disappointed as the Grand Master when one likely candidate flatly turns down the position, insisting that she wishes to be Ordo Librarian and no more. Jean isn't sure why she likes her so much when she'd only met her once, but as much as Nymph disagrees, she'd thought Ms. Minci was perfect.

It's not until she's watching Lisa duel with Nymph that she realizes the tightness in her chest is more than disappointment, or than breathlessness at seeing someone so lovely and so clearly in her element putting her power on display. Or Eula's own similarly breathless feeling echoed back to her; Eula has more reserve than Diluc did, once upon a time, but when their emotions align Jean can feel them most clearly, and they seem to align here. But there's something more than that, something like a tugging feeling, like she's being pulled towards the woman, something that makes her take three steps towards her instead of the one she'd intended when Lisa calls a halt to the fight and steps away.

"I agree that Field Officer Nymph has shown herself off well in this match," she says, at least keeping the breathless admiration from her voice, spine straight, shoulders back, chin up but smiling, because formality doesn't mean she can't be welcoming. "But so have you. The Ordo will be pleased to have you as our librarian, Ms. Minci."

"Call me Lisa, my dear." There's a sparkle in her eyes as she smiles at Jean, warm and pleased and knowing. She must feel the tug too, she *has* to. "I look forward to working closely together."

Jean fumbles out a polite answer, hot and flustered and grateful for Eula's sudden cold presence behind her to cool down her blush. Being destined to be Sekirei and Ashikabi doesn't mean that a pair is destined for anything else, she reminds herself, even if it often goes that way, and even if Lisa is stunningly beautiful. In fact, that's more reason not to press. In Mondstadt, destiny isn't a dictate; everyone is free to make their own choices. She has to give Lisa space for that no matter how her heart pulls.

And for all the promising warmth of that introduction, Lisa, it seems, has chosen not to bow to destiny. It reminds Jean a bit of Kaeya's wariness, the way she smiles and demurs and stands a little bit away from any Ashikabi, or puts Eula or another bonded Sekerei between them if they press too close. But it's not quite the same. Kaeya doesn't hide his abilities, uses his Vision as a tool the same as his sword or his horse. Lisa seems downright reluctant to employ her power, despite how it crackles unbidden from her skin, and any deliberate usage is a display of just how powerful she is, just how sharply she can sting when provoked. She handles her Vision like a double-edged blade, like she expects it to cut her every time.

It behooves Jean to prove that she can command her own heart, and so she does, is careful never to press, never to stand too closely, never to ask Lisa to use her Vision unless Lisa offers first. She intrudes on the library only after asking permission, and invites Lisa to her office only when she has Eula or some other Sekirei knight to act as a potential buffer should Lisa want the space. Which Lisa wants less and less, as the months go by, until she's the one inviting Jean to tea alone together even when Eula is out in the field.

Their conversations wander everywhere, from knightly work to Lisa's projects to the library to books they've read to all the various subjects that books can hold. Jean feels like she can talk to Lisa about anything, and refuses to compare her delighted, interested attention to the way Diluc used to listen to her, silent and rapt. It's a pleasure just to be in her company. Jean starts to feel something swelling in her heart beside the tug and recognizes it all too well: it's the same way she feels when she walks into her office and finds that Kaeya has done all her paperwork for her and left a bouquet of calla lilies atop her empty desk, or Eula says something dramatically subversive and then tilts her head and smiles to invite Jean into the joke. And just as she does at those times, she shutters it away before Eula can sense it, because it isn't fair to them.

She's rewarded for her forbearance, at any rate. Lisa begins to touch her, a hand on her arm for support on rough ground or on her back when Jean is too tired to hide it, and to sit ever closer to her at the tea-table, and even to put Jean between herself and other Ashikabi when she's weary of handling them herself. Every time she sees Jean she smiles, no matter how serious the situation or how irritated or exhausted she is. Jean could bask in that smile forever, and tells herself that she needs nothing else.

***

Grand Master Varka goes halfway up Dragonspine after a particularly troublesome gang of bandits and comes back with a look of grim satisfaction and a single survivor. Jean is among the few to be told that she was paroled, not rescued, and it worries Jean a little that she's sent to the Church. But all reports suggest that the new novice is, if exasperating to the sisters, disinclined to waste her second chance. Barbara is safe.

Having her sister on her mind makes it more of a surprise, not less, when her father sends her a polite note asking that she speak to Barbara Ashikabi-to-Ashikabi. As neither Sekirei nor Ashikabi, he says, he's not qualified to counsel her on this topic. Jean writes back in vague agreement first, and nearly has to follow up with a letter almost two weeks later apologizing that she can't--but she mentions her frustration at being unable to free the time up to Kaeya and finds her schedule for the next day abruptly cleared. Lisa descends on her when she tries to check in at the Ordo that morning just in case something's come up and banishes her with a sternness that Jean is too taken aback by to protest.

She considers offering to take Barbara to Good Hunter to talk, then considers the subject and invites her to Windrise, instead. Barbara skips all the way there, joy so poorly contained that Jean feels a guilty regret at her long delay. As they settle in at the roots of the great tree, though, anxiety seems to overtake her, and she worries at her skirt until it's hopelessly wrinkled as Jean sets out a picnic lunch.

"How are thinks at the Cathedral?" Jean asks her, trying for a delicate approach.

"Everything's going well," Barbara says, too quickly. "I've been helping out in the infirmary, and training some of the newer novices on the basics. They're good students! Mostly."

"Mostly?"

"Our newest novice...." Barbara trails off, shifts uncomfortably, and then bursts out with, "How do you know the difference between being destined for someone and having a crush? I know you and Sir Diluc were destined for each other, so you know what that feels like, right?"

"Yes, we were," Jean says. She waits for the weight in her chest, but finds herself able to breathe easily. Only now does she realize that it hasn't hurt for months. "Though I did have a bit of a crush on him for at least part of that time. They're difficult feelings to disentangle."

"Oh." Barbara sighs. "I've had crushes before, but this is the first Sekirei. So I don't know if it's different because of the person, or because I'm older, or because it's a destined connection. I don't want to act weird around them, but if we really are destined, isn't that important?"

Jean considers her words carefully before she answers. She can feel the parallels there, clear and obvious, with her feelings for Lisa. The solution is the same, really, regardless of the nature of the connection, because the central problems are also the same.

"Whether you're destined to be together or not, what's important is treating them normally, and respecting the choices they make around you. If it is a crush, and they're an unattached Sekirei, there's no point in pursuing it until they have an Ashikabi, whether they choose you or someone else. There's no safe way for us to... to be intimate with a Sekirei who hasn't formed a bond yet." Jean's face goes hot at bringing such a thing up with her sister, but it's important to be sure that she knows.

"I know *that*," Barbara squeaks, just as red.

"I'm told there are people for whom a relationship doesn't have to be intimate to be satisfying, but that's quite rare," Jean says, and moves on quickly before she has to explain something she doesn't entirely herself understand. "That's beside the point. Being destined for each other doesn't mean you *have* to be their Ashikabi, only that you would work well together if you were. So it's best to simply treat them as a friend, and let anything else that happens occur naturally. You don't want to pressure them into anything, do you?"

"No." Barbara's voice is small. "But what if she- what if they're doing the same thing? Waiting to see what *I* want? They're a reserved person, and I don't want them to think I don't like them...."

That's a good question. One Jean hasn't bothered to ask herself. She thinks of Lisa's little touches, her warm smiles, how close she sidles up when they're taking tea alone. Are they both holding back? Both waiting? And yet, a misstep could undo all the progress she's made. And any Barbara might have made, as well, because Jean knows of only one unattached Sekirei woman in the Church. She doesn't know Rosaria well, but her situation is surely even pricklier than whatever makes Lisa so reluctant to show what she is.

"A small gesture wouldn't hurt," Jean concedes. "Something that doesn't create any obligation. You've been practicing your singing, haven't you? Could you compose them a song?"

"Oh, I'm not nearly good enough to compose yet," Barbara says, but she sits up and looks thoughtful. "She's said my voice isn't terrible, though...."

"I'm sure you can think of something that would serve," Jean says. "And if you need more ideas, you can ask me, and I'll try to think of them."

"Would you? I'm sure you would think of some good ideas!" Barbara beams at her.

Jean smiles back. "Now, while we're out here, Sara did prepare quite a picnic for us. It would be a shame to let her hard work go to waste."

"Mhmm!"

As they dig into the food, a gentle breeze winds through branches of the tree above, the rustle of the leaves against the trickle of the brook behind it almost making up a song. Jean listens to Barbara hum absently along and lets herself luxuriate in the rare pleasure of an afternoon with her sister. She should do this more often, though she knows as she thinks it that this was a rare chance, and life will interfere again. As Barbara chatters about life at the Church, and Jean answers with a few of her own more appropriate work anecdotes, the thought of Lisa's smile lingers in the back of her mind.

***

Eula is out on assignment during their next teatime, as she so often is these days. Jean can feel the quiet hum of her presence in the back of her mind, though, emotions cloaked in reserve the knowledge that she's healthy and alive still a constant reassurance. It's more comforting than perhaps it should be as she sits down across from Lisa and asks her about her day.

The conversation wanders, as it always does, and Jean tries to subtly steer it. She doesn't want to say what she has to say out of the blue. At last, as they sip the last cups of the pot, it turns to Visions and all the baggage they carry.

"You don't like to use yours," Jean says, careful to keep her voice gentle, to avoid any implication that it might be an accusation. "Is that because you don't want people to know you're a Sekirei?"

"I'll admit that can be tiring at times, though Mondstadt is much more bearable than I'm used to when it comes to inappropriate Ashikabi." Lisa smiles warmly at Jean, as if she's complimenting her as much as the city. "I'm surprised more Sekirei don't flock here for that reason alone. But that's not my only reason. Have you ever wondered why the gods give Visions to some people with Sekirei and Ashikabi potential, and not to others?"

"Because their passion is strong enough to catch the god's attention," Jean answers, confused by the question.

"But can we be certain of that? Sir Kaeya asked me an interesting question once, when I discussed it with him. He asked me, if most people in Teyvat have Sekirei or Ashikabi ancestry, whether we should think about it as select people's power being unlocked, or as most people's power being sealed away. There is faint evidence, far back in the historic record, of people speaking of Sekirei and Ashikabi possessing elemental power without mentioning Visions." Lisa takes a sip of tea; Jean, unsure where she's going but unwilling to interrupt, watches the delicate sweep of her eyelashes as she closes her eyes to savor the flavor, then opens them again. "But no matter what perspective you take, having a Vision makes you beholden to the gods. If they choose to call up that debt, I doubt how little I use my power would make any difference, but I'm hesitant to exert my power without knowing the cost."

Jean considers that. It's not how she's ever thought of Visions, or of the gods--but the archon of Mondstadt is very different from those of other lands, and much freer with his people. "Then I will continue not to ask you to use it," she promises, because in the end, it's not why Lisa is reluctant that matters, it's that Jean respects that reluctance.

"Don't worry, my dear. If there's anyone worth exerting my power for, it's you." Lisa smiles over the rim of her teacup. Her eyes sparkle with a mischevious warmth that summons a return smile from Jean, responding to the fond affection in that gaze. "You could almost convince me to start developing it again?"

All of Jean's intended words stick in her throat. "I- almost?"

"Well." Lisa sets her cup down carefully in front of her. She's still smiling, but she's watching Jean's face carefully, a faintly guarded look replacing the sparkle in her eyes. "It would depend on how you ask."

Setting her cup down, too, Jean takes a deep breath. "What if- if my intent wasn't for you to develop your power? Or simply that, though it would be a side-effect."

Lisa meets her eyes, the smile even fainter, studying her with hooded eyes as if Jean is an experimental potion she's waiting to see prove out. "My dear, are you asking to kiss me?"

"Yes." Suddenly feeling the weight of the word, the distinction from another, equally important one, Jean licks her lips--Lisa watches that, she can't help but notice--and adds, "And I would wish to whether you were a Sekirei or not. But I don't want to wing you against your will."

"So several people have assured me." Lisa props her chin on her palm and smiles again, leaning forward in a way that makes Jean even more aware than usual of the low cut of her bodice. "The difference between that and using my Vision, is that the cost of a kiss is obvious. And if it's for a kiss from you, my dear, it's worth paying."

Jean feels faintly dizzy. She's suddenly intensely aware of Lisa's perfume, a sweet heavy rose scent that seems to be wafting anew through the room, though surely it's weaker now than it was at the beginning of their tea. "Then, may I?"

Smile deepening, Lisa leans even further forward, close enough that Jean could lean in to meet her. "You may."

Taking that invitation, Jean closes the distance. Her hands are sweaty on her thighs, but she feels almost cold as she presses her lips against Lisa's. Static crackles between them. Lisa's lips are warm--she's used to Eula's, the rare times they've fought together and Eula's asked her for a boost, and as she hasn't kissed anyone else for years now, Lisa's warmth is even more striking in comparison. Then she opens her mouth to Jean, and she's so soft and warm and welcoming that Jean sighs and nearly falls into her.

Her wings are are Electro-violet as they flare into existence behind her, unfurling like the petals of a rose. They have a petal-pattern to them, too, curves stacked upon each other in such soft-looking layers such that Jean almost wants to reach out to touch them, even though she knows her hand will go right through. They glow with a light of their own. Jean closes her eyes against that light and leans deeper into the kiss, into the warmth of the woman in front of her, setting the power Lisa doesn't care to indulge aside.

***

Lisa settles into the back of her mind alongside Eula, a comforting hum when she's calm or preoccupied, spiking sharp and almost painful in her rare bursts of anger or indignation, buzzing brightly in joy. Jean finds herself working to cultivate that joy. As she does so, she thinks of the occasional leakage of Eula's happiness, cool and bracing like a brisk wind on a chill spring morning, and begins to think of little ways to bring that, too, to the fore. Lisa sparks now and then with a jealousy that worries Jean up until the first time they fight together, an unexpected Abyss Order incursion in Wolvendom that sends Lisa hurrying to protect her student and Jean racing after her and Eula sprinting to aid them both.

The elemental energy flowing between them, spread out further and faster by Jean's Swirl, is far more powerful than any Superconduct Jean has seen before. She's commanding the battle, mediating their powers, but she feels like a conduit for an synchronity deeper than mere words of command, an instinctive sense they all share that feels like they're one person in three skins. That interchange seems to settle something between her Sekirei that Jean, for all that she has both their bonds, isn't granted access to.

The next time they're able to take tea together, Lisa and Eula smile conspiratorially at each other and then sweep Jean off for an afternoon walk as soon as the empty cups are cleared away. Her protests fall on deaf ears; when they return that evening to her high-piled desk, Kaeya is already lounging there with her chair tilted back on two legs the way he knows she hates, sorting out her paperwork by secrecy and priority. He and Eula and Lisa tackle everything they have the expertise and clearance to touch without even asking for Jean's leave. Since the gesture is kind, she can't even be upset.

It becomes their ritual when Eula is free, and sometimes Kaeya and Lisa pull it on their own when she isn't. Jean has to admit that it clears up time in the evenings, time that Lisa is happy to monopolize--time, when Eula is there, that Lisa drags their Reconaissance Captain into more and more. Dinners that were supposed to be dates should feel awkward with a third person along, but Jean can only be happy with both her Sekirei beside her.

Dinners that were still dates, she only realizes some six months into their strategy, when Lisa pulls Jean into a shameless kiss right in front of Eula and then, when Jean breaks away, red-faced and blinking away the afterimages of Lisa's wings, murmurs, "Oh, did you want to give Eula a turn, my dear?"

"I don't- I mean- I'm sorry," Jean blurts, turning to Eula. She's watching Jean with that familiar put-on haughtiness, the shield she almost never uses around Jean anymore. "Lisa was just teasing."

Lisa tucks her chin over Jean's shoulder. "You're lucky you're so cute when you're being this oblivious," she purrs into Jean's ear. "You do a very good job of keeping your feelings about Eula hidden from her, and a disappointingly good job of keeping your feelings about me hidden from me, when you don't think it's appropriate. But you aren't quite as careful about concealing your thoughts about each of us from the other."

Jean can feel the tips of her ears burning. She must be fully crimson.

"If you would rather deny your feelings for a Lawrence, just this once, I won't take vengeance." Eula's voice is very stiff, and while Jean can only feel a cold, muted hardness from her, a deliberate attempt to hide her own feelings, her eyes are bright and fierce with something Jean has the horrible feeling could be tears, if Eula's self-control wasn't so intense. "You have your own clan's reputation to attend to."

"That's not...." From what Lisa had said, it's not as if Jean can deny her feelings. She takes a deep breath, steadying as a fresh breeze rushes into her lungs, and draws herself up straight. "I didn't want to impose. I know that I was a strategic choice for you. If things had been different, it would have been Amber, wouldn't it?"

A Sekirei's power only manifests when their Vision comes to them, but many Ashikabi are like Jean, aware as soon as their destined Sekirei awakens and the draw of fate begins. She can't be *certain* that Amber knew until her Vision came into her hand, but Jean had felt Eula's stab of regret when Amber had come bursting joyously into headquarters to show it to them, and the accompanying lack of surprise. It had been Eula she had rushed to first, and there had been a flicker of disappointment beneath her joy.

"It is beneath the honor of the Lawrence clan to permit a common Ashikabi to command a noble Sekirei," Eula says, cold and precise, without even the imitation sneer that would turn that obvious quotation into a joke. Her words send a chill down Jean's spine. "The clan has employed assassins before to spare the Lawrence name such embarrassment. However else they may feel about the Gunnhildrs, you *are* noble, and not at such risk."

"That doesn't mean you and Amber can't- I wouldn't stop you. Once she's older," Jean corrects herself. "Simply because we're Sekirei and Ashikabi doesn't mean we have to have the same relationship as I and Lisa."

"Exactly." Eula smiles at her, the small secret smile, the shared in-joke. "I would have been for Amber what that sister of the church is to your sister. If that would have changed in time, there is still time for it to happen, is there not? But right now she is a child, and you are a beautiful, honorable woman whom I think very fondly of. And I may be cold, but whatever may be said of me, I am not frigid."

"Ah." Jean looks at her, pale and proud and beautiful, trusting her enough to share the joke, still the faint wary haughtiness in her eyes. Lisa is right behind her, arms around her waist, chin on her shoulder, buzzing in the back of her mind with encouragement. "Eula, would you- may I kiss you?"

Eula's shoulders relax, and she steps forward. "I suppose I'll permit it," she says loftily, leaning in.

As her wings appear behind her they reflect the light of Lisa's, fading, blue-white traced with violet. Later, in bed, they intermesh, Eula's insubstantial latticework like a skewed frame for Lisa's layered petals, as they confer quietly together over Jean's head. Jean lets them conspire, yet again, basking in Eula's cool sparkle of pleasure and Lisa's satisfied buzz.

***

Kaeya is pulling away, and Jean doesn't know how to fix it, or even whether she should. He still wanders into her office to help with her paperwork on date nights, and he's still at her side whenever she happens to accompany the cavalry into an engagement, but he never leaves bouquets on her desk anymore, and the only place she sees him is at work. He smiles and jokes with her and slides further and further out of her reach, hiding behind that smile and that laugh and the captaincy she'd been so proud of him for earning. She hears about his drinking off-duty and doesn't know if she should worry about it or not, if it's a deception in service of the clandestine reports that still land on her desk or if it's a sign of him shutting down.

It started somewhere in the past year, wound about with her first kiss with Lisa and their dates with Eula, but it didn't turn from slow creep to abrupt slide until the first time his secret reports included a rumor that the Dawn Winery was preparing for its master's return. Jean can make a thousand guesses about how that relates, exactly, but she can't be certain of any of them. All she can be certain of is that Kaeya isn't going to tell her.

Then a Fatui delegation is in Mondstadt, and Diluc back so soon after that he seems almost on their heels, throwing the Dawn Winery's doors open for a reception. Jean is too busy helping ready the Ordo for the Grand Master's expedition to attend, or so Kaeya suggests when he offers to go in her stead. She accepts the offer, and the excuse, and wonders if he knows that she still can't feel Diluc--not just his emotions, but Diluc himself, not even the sense that he's alive that she can still feel from Eula and Lisa when they're asleep--or if he has his own agenda. If it's the latter, she'll leave him to it.

Which she has to do, and keep doing, as one problem stacks upon another. Amber comes to them leading a traumatized young Sekirei with such eager protectiveness that Jean wants to blush for her, and Kaeya lies and deflects and leaves her behind with an utterly unreassuring wink, abandoning Jean to handle the diplomacy and wish she knew what he was up to. There's fire in the city and a battle on the cliff and so much cleanup left, when it's all done, that Jean is reminded of the days after Eroch. At least this time there's no rot within, only without.

In the midst of that she doesn't notice exactly when her bond with Diluc returns. Some time between breakfast and dinner, because she works straight through lunch, and while Lisa makes her sit down for tea in late afternoon, Lisa is the only thing she's paying attention to. Dinner she has alone in her office well after most of the day shift has left, and she's sitting there in the quiet, watching the candles on her desk flicker in some subtle draft, when she feels something else flicker within. A ground-down exhaustion so deep that it's almost an ache, but punctuated with a dull satisfaction like flexing a sore muscle after a spar.

Neither Lisa nor Eula have that flickering undertone to their emotions, nor the sense of ashy grit that pervades Jean's awareness when she focuses upon those thoughts. There's something oddly familiar to it. Her fork hangs in the air, a flake of fish slowly sliding off it, as she tries to place that familiarity. When she realizes, it's as much a sting as a relief. Diluc used to be a roaring blaze in her mind, joy and anger equally fierce. This is less than just a lessened connection due to distance and time; the very tenor of his thoughts, the way he sees the world, has changed. She wonders if he can sense her in return. It's not reflected in his own feelings if he can.

But it's a relief, still, to know he's alive. Jean wipes grease from the unfortunate paper her dropped forkful had landed on and goes back to her meal. She does wonder why it returned now, what changed. She'd spent so long assigning his absence in the back of her mind to his disconnect with his Vision that she'd only considered getting it back in the context of returning his Vision, but the Grand Master had asked her to hold off on that, so it can't be-

Jean pauses, sets her fork down, and unfastens her keys from her belt. She has more on her ring than anyone but Grand Master Varka, and even the ones that only he's supposed to hold, she knows where he keeps the secret duplicates. But there are copies of her office keys and her desk keys hidden away in Lisa's office, and others carried by one other knight. So it's no surprise at all, when she unlocks the desk drawer where she's kept Diluc's Vision all these years, to find it gone.

There's still work to do, but Jean sets the remains of her fish atop the remains of her paperwork and heads down the hall to the one other room on this corridor with a light still showing under the door. She knocks before she enters, but doesn't wait for Kaeya to get the door; if they're the only two working, he won't bother to lock her out. He looks up from his desk and smiles at her, a momentary flash of real affection buried immediately behind lazy insouciance.

She opens her mouth with a scolding on the tip of her tongue, but somehow, what comes out is, "Thank you."

"Not that it isn't nice to be appreciated, but what are you thanking me for?"

"I can feel Diluc again." Jean closes the door behind herself and goes over. Her thought is to sit, but he doesn't have a spare chair in here, and she's nowhere near tired enough to lean on his desk, so she ends up standing beside it, not quite hovering over him. "You gave him his Vision back, didn't you? And I can feel him. Not as strongly as before, but I can tell that he's alive, and I'll know if something urgent happens."

"Such an accusation," Kaeya says lightly, kicking his chair back onto two legs and leaning back in the exact way that she hates. Jean tenses against the urge to tip it back upright. He's never *actually* unbalanced enough to fall backward and crack his skull open, as far as she knows, but she's always waiting for it.

He's right, though. Jean will actually have to scold him if he incriminates himself. She sighs and smiles at him, a genuine smile to counter his false one. "I withdraw it. However it happened, I'll simply be grateful. Perhaps it was the will of the Anemo Archon."

"Anemo does like you," Kaeya says, half-serious. He studies her in silence for a moment, and then his gaze flicks away, back to his desk. Staring at the hourglass on the corner like it's the most fascinating thing in the world, he says quietly, all the humor gone from his voice, "What happens next? You know he won't come back to the Ordo."

"No." That's obvious enough. Jean closes her eyes and sits with that for a moment, breathing through the ache in her chest at having to acknowledge it. "I can't, and don't, have any expectations of him. He ought to be free to follow his own path, whether or not I agree with it. I doubt he wants to rekindle our connection any further while he holds such a grudge against the Knights. If I can restore us in his eyes, then perhaps something will come of it. If it doesn't, though, knowing that he's well will be enough."

Kaeya gives a little hum that could be agreement or could be acknowledgement, then looks up at her again, still smiling. "So long as you're happy, my future Acting Grand Master."

"'Happy' may not be possible, in this situation. But I'm content with current developments."

"Fair enough."

Jean studies him back, the guarded smile, the tension hidden beneath his casual slouch. His elbows are hooked loosely over the back of his chair, but the foot that isn't tucked around the leg of his desk to hold him upright is flat on the ground. He's ready to spring up and into action the moment it's called for. The moment, Jean knows without any false arrogance, that she calls. Among other triggers.

"Are *you* happy?" she asks him, softly, to see if the mask will slip.

Only a faint widening of his eye, and then the smile curves more deeply, more amused. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know." Jean takes a deep breath and leans in, looking down at him, trying to let her concern show so he'll know how serious slhe is. "But I know something is amiss. If it's anything I've done, or there is anything you wish me to do, please tell me. You are my best friend, Kaeya. And I miss you."

His eye has gone wide again, and the false smile, at long last, fades away. After several beats of silence in which Jean goes colder and colder, afraid she's pushed too, he asks out of the blue, "If an Ashikabi dies, their Sekirei all die with them, isn't that so?"

"Yes." Kaeya should know that, should remember from the end of that affair with Eroch--the Inspector only alive now, imprisoned someplace in the remote western reaches of Liyue through a deal with the Tianqian that they're still paying off, because of the hostages he took to save his own hide. They had come so close to unintentional murder in his arrest that she still wakes in a cold sweat now and then.

"So once Grand Master Varka leaves, between you and the people you've winged, it would pratically cripple Mondstadt if someone knifed you in the back." Kaeya is calmly thoughtful, as if this is somehow a rational next step in their conversation, as if he's not talking about her death and those of half the people she most loves.

"I wouldn't say that," Jean protests. "There will still be you, and Hertha and Albedo, and everyone at the Church. Not to mention the populace. Mondstadt is stronger than a few individuals."

"Mmm. I think you underestimate how much of that strength leans on Gunnhildr shoulders, you know. And Ragnvindr wealth, but since Diluc is your Sekirei, you're perfectly placed for a fall." Kaeya's mouth twists in another smile, at least halfway real this time, unexpectedly warm and fond. Jean's stomach flips over as she recognizes, no doubt years late, the tenor of that warmth. "I don't think I want to be on that survivor list."

He reaches up and wraps a hand around the back of her neck, gently enough that if she wanted she could pull away. Then he tugs, drawing her face further down, almost to his own, close enough that she can feel the cold breath from his parted lips on her own. He pauses there and raises an eyebrow.

"It would be nice to know now if I'm going to get electrocuted for this," he says. He raises his hand from the back of her neck, giving her room to pull away.

"Not on my watch," Jean assures him, and brings her mouth down on his.

Kaeya arches up into her, hand coming up again to press her down with more force this time against his mouth. He nips at her lips, huffs a snort through his nose at her protesting noise, then shifts to deepen the kiss, his other hand coming up to clutch her shoulder. His wings spread out behind him, sharp knife-blades of white ice arrayed like feathers, a deadly-looking display.

Then the foot bracing him against his desk slips, and the chair falls backwards, just as Jean has always expected it to do. He yelps, his hands clutching tight on her shoulder and neck, and Jean grabs his elbows and yanks him up to keep from going down with him, and they tumble backward together, Jean landing on her ass and Kaeya landing in her lap.

His chuckle is as audible in her head as without. Jean focuses on that, on getting a feel for him, the new shape in her thoughts. There's a sense of cold water racing downstream, dark things vaguely felt in it under a screening layer of ice. She carefully turns her attention away from what he surely doesn't want her to see. His amusement is safer, chill and sharp-edged as the illusion of his wings, but less likely to hurt.

"I hadn't expected that strong a connection," Kaeya murmurs, sounding vaguely dazed. He steadies himself on her shoulders and, still straddling her lap, leans forward to rest his forehead against hers. "Good. That's extra insurance. Now, where were we?"

***

Jean is careful not to draw upon their bond when she goes to Diluc for help with the Stormterror issue. He'll step forward for Mondstadt's sake however she asks him, so it would only be cruelty to apply that extra leverage. He holds himself a little apart throughout each stage of the plan, addressing their fortuitous traveler more than he does her. Jean carefully ignores the ashy ache in the back of her head and, in case he might feel it in answer, suppresses any hurt.

At the end they're standing before Dvalin, or rather dashing around him, dodging his attacks as Venti aims arrow after arrow at the remaining clot of poisonous blood upon his back. Diluc swings his blade again and again, flame running down the length, but Jean realizes eventually that he's putting forth no more strength than that.

In a brief pause as Dvalin lifts off, Jean carefully positions herself and whispers her norito, surrounding them and the traveler and Venti with a swirl of dandelion-scented breeze. Then, as the pause stretches on, she looks to Diluc.

"I'm not sure why you're not using your norito," she says, regretting that she has to say this before Venti and the traveler but hoping he'll understand the need. "But it would be a great help to us here."

Diluc flashes her a glance, his face twisted with frustration. "I can't," he snaps. "I've been too long separate from my Vision, and that- there was other interference. It's as if I'm unwinged again, though I can tell I'm not."

Jean swallows. This is an unfair place to ask, but there is unfair and then there is dead, which she very much does not want any of them to be, and which they may be soon. "Would it help if I redid your winging?"

"I don't know." Diluc draws himself up and takes a half-step towards her. His gaze is sharp and searching, as fierce as that of his hawk. "It might, but I would not ask you to do that uselessly."

Would not ask- Jean is starting to recognize a pattern. She sighs, then lowers her sword and drops her focus on the healing wind, stepping in and turning to close the distance with him. He's taller than her now, if by barely an inch or so, and she has to turn her face up towards his. He leans down to meet her, his gaze still hawk-like and intent.

"Is this really the time?!" Paimon shrieks from the dubious safety of the distant air, barely audible over the rumbling roar of Dvalin coming around for another run.

But there's heat all around Jean, the insubstantial fire of Diluc's wings flaring out behind him. As Dvalin barrels down on them, Diluc breaks away from her, spins about with his flaming claymore raised, and hurls a phoenix forth to meet him. Bird slams into dragon in a great flare of flame, and Dvalin, his guard burnt away, drops onto the platform, neck limp, forelegs barely holding him on. The traveler springs up onto his neck.

Right behind comes Jean, and Diluc behind her, while Venti shoots frantic arrow after arrow from the platform below. Even as she raises her blade for a swing, she can feel Diluc's determination echoing her own, still gritty and ashy but hot and intense in a way it hasn't been in five long years. He's back with her again, her lost Sekirei. Just as Eula is, a chill snow-sparkle in the middle of reconaissance on the Fatui in Dragonspine, and Lisa, a staticky buzz of irritation on the edges of some furor in Mondstadt, and Kaeya, a cold sharp blade of vicious joy as he carves his way through enemies somewhere Jean probably doesn't want to know.

All safe and alive and *hers*. Jean will let the traveler have credit for this battle. Having them all in her heart again is triumph enough.

#fic bits #i don't know what to tag this au and i definitely don't want to tag all the relationships so we'll leave this with #someone please give jean a nap #genshin impact #this is completely unedited fyi #because if i edited it i'd have to take it seriously and the secondary source cannot take this #i just... wanted kissing... that's really all #jean's harem #sekirei impact

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joheunsaram · 3 years

Text

To Make A Power Couple - 02 (knj)

Chapter 2 - Pizza and Life Chats

THIS IS A REPOST SINCE I LOST ACCESS TO MY OLD ACCOUNT. PLEASE FOLLOW THIS BLOG FOR UPDATES ON THIS SERIES.

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Summary- Namjoon and Y/N go on their first date, and Namjoon is whipped.

word count- 5k

pairing- idol!namjoon x ceo!reader

rating- pg13 for now

genre- series, fluff, eventual smut, strangers2lovers

warnings- mentions of hangovers and panic attacks, tooth-rottingly fluffy

a.n- okay here’s the second part! I wrote this up fairly quickly (don’t expect this to be the norm!). This part I wanted to kind of address the stress of overworking as a young adult (GUILTY 🙋🏻‍♀️) so sorry if it gets a little serious at parts. I also wanted to switch it up so it’s from Namjoon’s perspective. I hope you enjoy it. SOFT JOON BEING A BIG OLD SOFTY.

Feedback much appreciated! 💕

taglist - @beach-bitch-bitch-beach, @sassyuniversitytacopeanut

Namjoon woke up startled as his phone alarm rang. He was groggy and his splitting headache made him nauseous. “I’m never going to drink again”, he mumbled. He groaned as he got off the couch he had crashed on the night before, trying not to trip over Taehyung who seemed to be dozing happily on the floor as he made his way to his room. He hadn’t stayed at the dorms in a while, preferring the quiet solitary of his own apartment nowadays, and with his hangover in full swing he felt like he was walking through a stranger’s house.

Last month was hell. He had procrastinated on his songs and none of the vocal guides were even halfway done before the due date. Every time he tried to finish a song a new one would pop up in his head and he would start on that, leading to a hard drive full of files labelled “finish soon” and “draft”, and a notebook full of scratched out scribbles. It was like his brain had decided to abandon him, deciding it had had enough of his perpetual melancholy. He had felt drained and burnt out, a husk with no creative juices left. Luckily, Yoongi and a few of the producers had taken pity on his stressed out state and lent a hand so he had been able to finish the bare minimum three days ago - before the label pressured him further. He was never more grateful for a small break.

In all honesty, he needed a way to jumpstart his brain, and get out of the routine of home, practice, meetings, studio, home. Sometimes, he almost wished he didn’t have the success he had so he could go out and let loose a little - a club, a party, anything. But the last time he went somewhere like that he got swarmed and the police had to be involved. He couldn’t risk that, not after the trouble Big Hit went to threaten media outlets a year and a half ago, when he was caught with what they called a hickey, but was actually a stress rash.

As he brushed his teeth today, however, he smiled at the mirror. Last month may have been terrible, but last night was one of the best he’d had in the past year.

When he had heard Bang PD’s team talk about how they were attending the charity gala as he met them for notes on his songs, he was intrigued. He had read about this non-profit in the paper before. They seemed to be helping bridge the gap between people through communication and that spoke to him. So much so that he had scrolled through their website multiple times, reading testimonials and almost memorizing the mission statement. They wanted to help kids learn English for free so they could communicate globally. He really liked the idea. It was hard for him to learn the language as a kid and he knew that the only reason he became as fluent as he is from the tutors his parents paid for and his obsession with American television and music. Although he didn’t need the tutoring anymore, he did enjoy talking to the in-house tutor at the company, John, from time to time and improving his skills. The fact that this company wanted to add a John to every school in Korea starting from the rural areas, made Namjoon want to meet the man behind the movement. Little did he know, he’d be meeting the girl who’d shift his idea of the ideal.

He had never been more glad to have convinced his company to let him and the boys attend an event. He had initially suggested it as a way to break the mundane before their comeback practices started and network while supporting a cause he liked. Two days ago, he wouldn’t have guessed it would have been an actual fun night leading to him nursing a headache.

He spent the next hour reliving last night as he showered and caught up on the news. He also read the messages he sent last night over a hundred times and had butterflies each time. Wasn’t he too old for butterflies? He wanted to message you again but every time he tried, he ended up overthinking it. Everything sounded forced or cheesy, and it was worse than any writer’s block. He threw his phone on the bed in frustration watching it bounce and land on the floor, before he grabbed it and pocketed it. Hopping around to get rid of his nerves, he decided to take a break from rereading the thread he already had memorized and check in with everyone. If his hangover was this bad he couldn’t imagine theirs.

Making his way back to the living room he found Taehyung now sitting on the floor, sleep still very evident on his features as he yawned and groaned. On the couch next to him sat Yoongi, holding an iced americano and staring into space. The rest were missing but he could hear a blender annoyingly whizzing in the kitchen.

“How’re you guys feeling this morning?” He asked as he sat across from Yoongi.

“This is why I don’t drink. Why did no one stop me?” Taehyung whined as he rose from the floor to leave, massaging his head.

“We tried. You were very excited to try all the disgustingly sweet drinks the hot bartender was making for you.” Yoongi replied with a sigh. “How was your date, Namjoon? You glad I forced you to go to the bar to talk to her?” he snickered, sipping his coffee before exhaling loudly in contentment.

“Honestly, I owe you big time. She was… amazing. I don’t think I’ve talked to someone that comfortably in a while” Namjoon sighed wistfully.

“I’ll add cupid to my resume,” he deadpanned. “Is she tolerating you for another date?”

“Yeah. We’re getting dinner on Tuesday, but I want to message her now. Argh!” He ran his hands over his face in frustration. “What do I even say? ‘Hi I’m the guy who was too scared to kiss you all night so you had to do it for him, what’s your favourite colour?’” Namjoon was annoyed at himself. It’s bad enough that he was having writer’s block in his music, did he have to have it for something as simple as texting too? This was ridiculous!

“Or you could just ask her how’s her hangover today. Jeez! Do I have to draft each of your messages? Stop being a dumbass and text the person you like.” Yoongi scoffed, clearly over Namjoon’s sudden and uncharacteristic insecurities.

Namjoon gave a resigned sigh as he reached for his phone and wrote out exactly what Yoongi suggested. Hey, he was his hyung for a reason - he had a full 6 months of life experience on him.

Namjoon: Hey! Hope your hangover is not too bad today.

As soon as the message was sent, he started getting nervous. Tapping his foot incessantly while he stared at his phone, willing it to buzz, annoying Yoongi enough to leave him alone on the couch in the process.

Y/N: Hi to you too! I actually don’t get hangovers so I’m doing great lol. What about you?

Namjoon: What do you mean you don’t get hangovers?

Y/N: I don’t know. Can’t get dehydrated if you’re always dehydrated!

Namjoon: That… makes no sense. Do I need to start reminding you to drink water?

Y/N: Only if you’re better than this app on my phone…

Namjoon: I can guarantee you I’m better than any app on this planet.

Y/N: Wow. Big claims! We’ll have to put it to the test I suppose.

Y/N: You never told me how you’re feeling. Oh and how’s Taehyung? Is he okay?

Namjoon: He’s doing fine. Made a pact to never drink again and if i’m being honest, I’m going to join him. I am shocked that your head is not exploding as well.

The messages continued easily after that, filled with updates of each other’s activities, playful flirting and even photos of dinner. By the time Monday rolled around, you had been messaging each other constantly, with no end to the conversation in sight and the only long pauses being when you were both asleep or working. It seemed like you would never run out things to talk about. Namjoon hadn’t messaged someone this frequently since he got out of his last relationship. It felt nice to relay his mundane day to day events to someone and he found himself excited to hear about your mundane, like how you decided to mix two different types of bad coffee blends to make a shockingly worse one. He was surprised again at how fast he felt comfortable around you. It was even starting to scare him a little - he only knew you for three days and it felt like he had known you forever! What was this weird spell you had on him?

The conversation Monday, however, was fairly sparse, and Namjoon was eager to set up plans for the next day, so that night he decided to call you.

After the first three rings, he was overthinking his decision. Maybe it was too soon to call? Maybe you didn’t like talking on the phone? What if it went to voicemail? Would he have to leave a message? What would he say? His inner monologue was quickly halted at the sound of your voice.

“Hello, this is Y/N” you sounded distant, almost too formal. He felt nervous.

“Hi… uh… this is Namjoon. Is this a bad time?”

“Oh Namjoon! Sorry I didn’t check who called when I picked up!” Relief washed over him at the change of your tone. “Sorry one sec can you hold on.” he heard you say as your voice got mumbled. He waited while he heard you talk to someone about proposals and deadlines. Were you still at work? He checked his watch - it was 10 pm. He didn’t know whether to be impressed by your work ethic or worried that you were overworking.

“Hi sorry about that! How are you?” He relaxed at your airy tone and smiled.

“I’m good. Are you still at work?”

“Yeah it’s only like 7 so it’s no big deal. I usually leave around 8” Were you serious?

“Y/N… It’s 10:04…” He was shocked at how nonchalant you sounded, and suddenly he had his answer - he was worried, not impressed. He had known you for three days and already you were setting his caretaker alarm off. He wanted to scold you for being careless and overworking, like he’s used to doing for the boys, but he knew it was too soon. He doesn’t even know why he’s feeling that way all of a sudden and tried to suppress his protective instincts.

“No it’s not! It’s…” He could hear your voice going further away as he imagined you moving the phone in front of you to check the time. “Oh shit you’re right. What the hell? Okay sorry I’m gonna put you on hold again.” Before he could say anything he heard your voice again, distant again but loud. “Oh my god. Guys, it’s 10pm. Go home! Why did nobody tell me? No it doesn’t matter we can do that tomorrow. Please go home. Pack up now! You too Siwon, don’t worry I’ll go home after I get off the phone. See you!” He smiled at the sternness of your tone - it reminded him of a teacher dismissing class.

“Sorry about that. I didn’t realize I overworked my team. Had to send the troops home” you laughed and Namjoon felt his heart flutter.

“I don’t wanna keep you from going home. I can call you back once you get there,” he offered. He felt bad that you were staying in an empty office on his account.

“Oh don’t worry about it. It was a lie to get Siwon off my back. I’m probably gonna be here till like 1 or something. I still have to get this done” you said matter-of-factly, like it was the most normal thing in the world. He knew that tone fairly well, having used it multiple times himself when he locked himself in his studio, running on nothing but coffee and energy bars.

“Okay I know we’ve only just met and we have our first date tomorrow, but do you want some company?” He asked before he could stop himself. The line was silent for a bit, and he felt self conscious, scared that he had overstepped and driven you away. Before he could check his phone to see if you had hung up you spoke.

“It’d be pretty boring for you to watch me just type away. Are you sure? It’s pretty late.” He was sure his cheeks would hurt from how wide he smiled.

“It’s not a problem at all. I was going to work tonight too.” He wasn’t. “We can just work together. I’ll bring food. Did you eat yet?” his words tumbled over each other.

“How very college of you.” He could hear you giggling on the line. “Now that I think about it - I’m starving.”

“Okay text me the address, I’ll be there soon.”

He had never been this excited to pretend to work.

He spotted you as he walked through the doors of the 13th floor, pepperoni pizza in hand. You were sitting at a long desk near the middle of the room. He was surprised as he expected you in an office, but he found you typing away at your desktop. Your hair was tied up in a bun and you were dressed in an oversized beige t-shirt, eyebrows furrowed head bopping to the hip hop track playing through the speakers. You seemed to be in your own little world. He felt like he was spying on you as he leaned against the door watching but he also liked seeing how you acted when you thought no one was watching. He was about to announce his presence when the track changed to a Childish Gambino one and you whooped and started to rap along.

You were now fully head banging and rapping the verse at the top of your lungs. He would be impressed by your fairly good amateur skills if he didn’t find the entire scene so endearing. His heart was doing somersaults as he watched you now fully engrossed in the song, typing forgotten as you got up and started to pretend you were on stage, an imaginary mic in your hand asking haters if they “eatin’ though”. You looked so adorable that he couldn’t help but squeal a little “cute!”

That’s when you saw him, eyes wide. He felt a little bad when he saw how embarrassed you looked, immediately stopping and slapping a hand to your mouth before bursting out in nervous laughter. He could write a whole album with that laugh. Oh he was so whipped, he thought to himself as he made his way to you.

“You know you’re not half bad!” He exclaimed as he set the pizza on the table, pulling a chair next to yours and settling down.

“Do you think your fake compliments will save you from the fact that you were spying on me?” you asked, crossing your hands across your chest, pretending to scowl but failing to do so.

“First, real compliment. Second, would pizza save me?” He opened the box and proudly smiled, loving the way your eyes lit up as you reached for a slice.

“Yes it will!” you exclaimed as you took your first bite, lightly moaning at the taste. “But erase that memory from your brain please.”

“Nope. Never. It was the cutest thing I’ve ever seen and I’m going to save it forever” he said as he also started on his slice. You pouted up at him, cheeks puffed and it took all the self-control he had to not kiss it off your face. He hadn’t felt this way in so long, it was like you were his first crush. Trying to control his pulse, he asked “What are you working on so late?”

“Oh I have a proposal due for a meeting tomorrow at noon and I’m only halfway through it,” you frowned wistfully at the screen as if willing it to type on its own.

“Can I help?” He asked, knowing fully well that he couldn’t. He just had an overwhelming urge to make that frown disappear.

“You being here is help enough,” you smiled sincerely as you looked at him and he felt his heart explode, a blush creeping on his cheeks as he smiled bashfully. “What are you working on?”

“I have a few songs I have to finish the lyrics for. Been procrastinating” he rubbed the back of his neck as he pulled out the notebook from his back pocket.

“Can I help?” you echoed his question to which he echoed your response grinning. He wasn’t lying though. Even though he had planned to not really work, as the night progressed he found the change from his usual writing spot inspiring. Sitting next to you, the sound of the keyboard clicking was soothing leading to words pouring out of him. He filled pages as he stole glances at you concentrating on your proposal, tongue peeking from between your lips, still bobbing to the music which was now playing from your airpods instead of the speakers. He smiled at the sight, before focusing on his notebook.

After about an hour or so of hard work, he finished three songs that he had allotted himself the whole week to do. This was the most productive hour he had all month. Antsy for a break, he looked over at you and found you staring at him, a hand under your chin. As he met your gaze you smiled.

“You’re really hot when you concentrate. Has anyone ever told you that?” you commented. He was taken aback by your remark, heart fluttering at your smirking face. Not missing his chance and spurred on by the comment, he scooted closer in one sweep till your knees touched and you were face to face.

“You’re one to talk. I couldn’t stop looking at you this past hour.” Gazing into your eyes, he was amused to see your smirk disappear as it was now your turn to be shocked. He reached out and tucked a stray hair behind your ear letting his hand linger, enjoying the way you sighed as he did. “Can I make good on my promise now?” He whispered, his face centimeters away, looking at your lips. The way you bit your lower lip made him want to take you there and then. The desk looked big enough. Hell, even if it wasn’t he could make it work.

“Promise?” you whispered as he watched your eyes flutter to his lips.

“To kiss you first…” Too impatient to wait for your answer, he brought his lips to yours, relishing how soft they felt under his own. He was thrilled at you returning the kiss, deepening it as you grabbed the collar of his shirt to bring him closer just like you did after the party. He was beginning to think this was your signature move, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t immensely turn him on. He moved his hand cupping your face to rest on your neck and he could feel your heartbeat mimicking his. He put his other hand around your waist pulling you closer, wanting to be as close to you as he could get. He traced his tongue over your lips, his head cloudy with endorphins as you opened your mouth inviting him in. He had never tasted something so euphoric, his tongue exploring yours in a rush.

He could feel you pushing forward as he leaned back and allowed you to straddle his lap, your legs on either side of the chair. As soon as you were on his lap, he pulled you closer, both arms around on your hips, your chest flushed with his. He kissed the side of your mouth as he made his way down your jaw to your neck. You smelt like vanilla mixed with a fresh flower garden, and he was sure this smell was better than any drug in the world. He could hear your breathy moans as he sucked where your neck met your collarbone, licking to soothe it before moving further. He wanted to taste all of you. Your hands were in his hair and each tug made him groan into you, making him harder. He could kiss you like this forever. He wanted to save this moment so he could come back to it and relive it. He traced his hands up and down your sides, moving under your shirt but remaining on your waist, enjoying the feel of your soft skin.

“Namjoon… Namjoon… slow down” he heard you say breathlessly as he felt a slight push. He looked up at you, your eyes half lidded and lusty as you grabbed his face and brought it to yours. You were sending him mixed signals, but he didn’t care as long as he could keep kissing you.

“We have to slow down or I’m going to want to fuck you right here.” You whined as you both came back up for air, but you kissed him again nevertheless. Hearing you say that made him want to do anything in his power to make that happen.

“I don’t mind, baby,” he said against your lips, kissing you with urgency, biting your lower lip and pulling it gently to elicit another moan from you. To his disappointment, you seemed to have better self-control than him as you pushed him back, both of you panting as you struggled to catch your breath. He moved his hand back to your hips tracing little circles, feeling comforted by you smoothing his hair you had pulled earlier.

“There are cameras here. I’d rather not make a sex tape on our first date.” You giggled as you pointed to the black sphere in the corner of the room. He had never hated the obsession buildings had for security more, but the crudeness of your comment made him laugh. He had almost forgotten this was your first date, it felt like he had kissed you a thousand times before. You tasted like the relief of an awning in the middle of a summer downpour.

“I think we need to cool down,” you say as you climb off of his lap. “Let’s go.”

He followed you as you led him to the little kitchenette near the end of the room, unable to resist the urge to wrap his hands around your waist in a back hug. He knew he was being too clingy for a first date, but the way you giggled and put your hands over his gave him assurance.

“Lemonade, coke, or water,” you asked as you peered into the fridge.

“You.” He smirked kissing your neck, feeling bold off of the high from your makeout session.

“Joon!” you pretended to sound scandalized as you turned in his arms, smiling warmly. The nickname made his heart swell. It added a familiarity that he didn’t know he missed from you.

“You haven’t called me Joon before. I like it” he smiled as he pecked your lips.

“Hey! We are cooling down! No kissing! Now pick” you chided and Namjoon couldn’t help but wonder if you were this assertive in bed too, a million scenarios playing in his head. Okay, you were right, he needed to cool down.

“I’ll just have water, thanks,” he said as he grabbed the bottle you passed him, opening and gulping half of it. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was for something other than you. You both made your way to the tables, sitting across from each other.

“So did you finish your proposal?” He asked trying to cool himself but failing as he noticed you running the cold water bottle against your neck, the beads of condensation dripping on your shirt. He cleared his throat as he tried to focus his attention on your eyes, a mantra of stay focused playing in his head.

“Yes! Finally! It’s perfect.” you smiled proudly and somehow he felt a wave of pride too. “What about you? Made any progress?”

“Actually yes. I kind of finished my entire week’s writing in that one hour” he was still amazed by his own progress.

“Okay, Mr Overachiever” you joked and he chuckled.

“To be honest, I didn’t think I’d be able to write anything, but I don’t know your presence is kind of soothing. It helped me focus.” Watching your smile grow wide, he continued, “I’ve been having pretty severe burnout this past month and it has just been hard to put down my thoughts, even non-lyrical ones.” He fidgeted with the water bottle as he looked at it, avoiding eye contact.

He didn’t know why he was telling you this. He recalled when he told you about his struggles as a leader during your first conversation. Somehow being around you led him to vomit out his feelings. It was… unlike him. Namjoon was usually not this honest on dates, or relationships, as much as he would hate to admit it. That’s the reason he broke off his last one. He felt bad lying to her about a busy schedule when he just wanted to be alone. She would have understood, she was kind and thoughtful, but it just felt easier to lie and not put the effort in to explain his thoughts. Even when they broke up, he lied and told her that it was because he couldn’t handle being in a relationship at the moment, when in reality things had cooled off a while ago and he felt guilty as his feelings faded.

He felt your hand reach out and grab one of his, intertwining your fingers. He felt comforted by the gesture as you rubbed your thumb across him before you spoke two words that warmed his heart. “I understand.”

“You know it’s hard to work at full speed all the time. It’s okay to not be at a hundred all the time. The valleys feed the peaks” you continued. It was a simple remark, but it sounded surprisingly poetic to him. He hadn’t felt this understood outside of the boys for a long time. It was refreshing. It was terrifying. He resisted his natural urge to run and hide.

“Are you speaking from experience?” he asked, needing to divert the attention away from his own vulnerabilities.

“Yeah. I had it pretty tough a couple of years ago. Too much pressure from myself, too many expectations. Led to too many vices and panic attacks” you shrugged as you continued and he squeezed your hand to comfort you. “It creeps up from time to time but my therapist and I have it handled” He looked at you in awe. You hadn’t given him a throwaway answer or switched the limelight back at him. You wasted no time in being as vulnerable as him, if not more. He knew at that moment that regardless of where this thing went, he wanted you to know you better.

“Thank you for being honest.” He brought your hand to his lips and kissed it gently. It was an intimate gesture but he wanted you to know how much he appreciated your words - how much he appreciated you - in that moment. You both sat in comfortable silence for a little while, playing with each other’s hands that were still intertwined, till one of you yawned loudly causing the other to giggle. With the weight of the conversation lifting, you both fell back into playful banter as you decided to pack up and call it a night.

“Do you want me to walk you to your car?” Namjoon asked, wanting to drag the night on longer despite it already being almost 2 am.

“Don’t judge me but I actually don’t know how to drive. I was just going to cab back.” he saw you giggle bashfully as you pulled your backpack over your shoulders.

“Oh, no judgment here! Me neither” he laughed. Why does everyone think it is such a big deal to not drive? It’s better for the environment! “Do you want to take one together? I don’t really want you to ride alone this late.” He rubbed the back of his neck, hoping he didn’t come off as if he was trying to dictate what you did.

“I’d really like that,” you said as you walked towards the elevators. He held your hand as you both got on, liking the way you moved closer to him at that.

In the cab you both sat closer than necessary, his arm wrapped around you as you both made plans for your scheduled date later that day, trying not to doze off. When the cab stopped all too soon at your apartment, he kissed you gently as he told you how much he enjoyed your company.

That night laying in bed, his heart felt full as he read your goodnight message. He was sure of it now. He really wanted you in his life.

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