lemmie
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Varka tips his head. "What's with the flowers?" he asks. "Got a secret admirer?"
"No," Flins tells him. Another step forward, he holds them out. "They're for you."
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In which Flins tries to court Varka, and Varka takes way too long to realize it.Bookmarked by lemmie
25 Mar 2026
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Grimmjow, and everything bubbling under the surface, and everything that comes after.
Bookmarked by lemmie
17 Mar 2026
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"Do you have work for me, or are you simply gawking like the rest?"
Work. Monsters to be vanquished or demons to fight. One doesn't hire a witcher unless they're desperate.
Phainon shivers. "Not work," he says, watching the witcher blink, breathe, study him. From his mannerisms alone, he reminds Phainon of a half-tamed animal. Alert, keenly aware of everything. They say witchers can smell fear. What, then, does he smell on Phainon? "But I have another request."
"Speak, then."
He inhales, swipes his tongue over his lips to taste the rainwater on them. "When you set off," Phainon says, "take me with you."
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Mydei just wants to fight monsters, collect his paycheck, and move on to the next miserable village and the next miserable client with something to slay. Phainon would do anything it takes to grow stronger and escape his past, even follow a witcher around. Neither of them was ever meant to fall in love.Bookmarked by lemmie
13 Mar 2026
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“Why do they throw flowers?”
“They’re well-wishes,” Phainon answers. “Crocuses are for new beginnings, cyclamen are for love, colchicum for fidelity. They’re blessing the marriage.”
Mydei’s hand shifts a little lower, warm fingers circling Phainon’s wrist. “Your traditions are terribly sentimental.”
“Romantic,” Phainon corrects. “Just call them romantic.”
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To save his people, Mydei strikes a deal. Aid in exchange for two things: the coreflame of Strife and his hand in marriage.Series
- Part 1 of to the end of this journey
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- English
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Bookmarked by lemmie
10 Mar 2026
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Mydei rolls his eyes toward Phainon, tugging on his shoulder. “Lean into me,” he says, ignoring the red flush staining Phainon’s cheeks.
“Sorry.” Phainon adjusts himself, obeying once again. “I just—I didn’t think you’d—”
Mydei narrows his eyes. “It’s just a photoshoot,” he says, as much for Phainon as for himself, because this is the thing of dreams. Of nightmares. Being this close to Phainon, pressed into him, breathing in natural scent of him, is almost too much. “Relax, Deliverer, or you’ll strain something, and then you won’t be able to spar with me tomorrow.”
Phainon and Mydei help Castorice with a photoshoot.
Bookmarked by lemmie
14 Feb 2026