#fatherson

[walloruss]

When Adrien is still thinking about the kiss and Gabriel makes a discovery 

[drgnnova]

FUN FACT: Yanqing mentions Jing Yuan at least once in all of his character stories. (15 times in total, I counted).

I love the found family troupe

[itskotka]

slippery slope

for @beetlepassing @cksecretsanta

summary: johnny and robby have very different experiences regarding snow. on a snowy tournament trip, johnny has to face his fear. if only either of them knew how to ski.

A/N: psa i haven't written for a long time (major writer's block and lack of time) but this was so fun to write! it's a little bit angsty but i hope the happy ending payout worked out well. i hope you enjoy!

If there were only one major difference between Robby Keene and his father, it would have to be their opinions on the snow. Johnny loathed it; the way it stuck to his beat-down shoes, the cold slickness, and the heaviness of it all. Robby enjoyed the chill in the air and the way it fell so quiet. Of course, it rarely snowed in California. 

Johnny, however, remembered the annual Christmas trips he endured with his mother in various wintery states. Resorts where he stayed inside while his mom drank or spent her days with his step-father, neglecting the so-called “family bonding” she planned the trips out to be. They encouraged him to go skiing (never mind that he hadn’t before) or “make friends for himself.” After years of sitting in their shitty hotel rooms, he decided this was the year he was going to go. And so he did, renting skis with his pocket change and venturing up the slopes. And because Johnny Lawrence wasn’t a wuss, he went to the black diamond. 

He didn’t remember much of the accident - mostly just that there had been one. Somewhere he turned wrong, or somewhere he went off a cliff, or somewhere he hit a tree. He wasn’t quite sure. He did remember lying in the snow with numb limbs, shivering from the cold and pain, and waiting for his mom to find him. She was coming, she had to be. The weight of the snow he was stuck in felt impossible to move from. He waited until the sky went dark and he could barely move when he realized nobody was coming. Johnny had faced death numerous times, and maybe it was the chill in the air or the stupidity of it all, but that was the one that stuck with him the most. Using everything he had left, he got to his knees and trekked down the rest of the hill at an excruciatingly slow pace. With tears in his eyes and blood on his legs, he made it.

Before he could lock himself in the bathroom (in hopes that his mom or Sid didn’t see), he was stopped by a woman in the lobby who saw the state he was in and called an ambulance. His mom was pissed, but not more than Sid was. The man held it over him ever since in detail Johnny had blocked out for so many years. The trips stopped after that year and Johnny’s hospital bills were to blame. 

Robby, on the other hand, saw the snow as peace. His mom took him on trips similar to Johnny’s whenever she was invited by a man wealthier than they could dream of. When the men found out she was bringing her kid, they started changing their minds. As a last resort, Shannon said she was simply his nanny. This lowered the pressure and shame of being a single mother, and Robby tried not to think about that too much. 

He was a quiet, introspective child. On these trips, watching the snow was the one thing that got him through. Whether inside or out, he sat and watched in wonder. Every flake was unique and he found himself creating stories for them. Many hours of his were spent fascinated by the calmness of something as simple as a frozen water drop. He found most of his peace within the fluffy, mysterious white snow he always missed when they returned. 

Johnny never wanted to revisit the cold climates, but Robby longed for it. When Daniel signed them up for a tournament in Aspen, the kids' excitement ultimately trumped Johnny’s resentment. And, because Johnny wasn’t a quitter, he followed suit. 

With the tournament committee’s help combined with Daniel’s, they ended up at an all-exclusive convention center-turned-ski-resort. Johnny had one goal for the weekend: stay inside at all costs. Daniel and the kids had other plans.

The tournament went well. They won first over all with no surprise appearances from Cobra Kai or other enemies. It felt weird, but it was almost like they were a normal dojo again. Karate wars settled (at least for now) and hearts happy. Miguel and Robby were getting along fine; Tory and Sam were fixing things. If it weren’t for his paralyzing fear, even Johnny would have been relaxed. 

On their last day, the four kids lined up in the lobby decked in winter gear. Johnny turned around from his midday drink at the bar and held his tongue at the sight. 

“You aren’t going to join us on the slopes?” Daniel mocked, piling on thick layers of gear. 

Johnny grimaced. “No, you guys go ahead. I’ve got a headache.” It wasn’t entirely a lie. Leading up to the trip, he felt his head throb every time he thought of it. 

Daniel threw him a skeptical look. “If you say so, John.” The group started for the doors, but Robby hung back.

“You sure, Dad?” he asked. 

Johnny waved him off. “Yeah, probably gonna go lay down or something. I’m fine.” 

“Okay,” Robby agreed. “Just checking.” He ran to catch up to them, heading towards the girls. Johnny took one last swig of his drink and watched them go, preparing for a long, peaceful nap. A twinge of guilt pulled at his chest as they walked through the fresh fallen snow. Putting it off as heart burn, he turned to the hallway and to his room. 

When Johnny woke up to someone trying to knock down his door, the daylight was long gone. He groaned, hoping whoever it was would go away. He was less than a day away from being back in sunny California. He could be a Scrooge if he wanted to. 

“Johnny!” The knocking continued; Daniel’s muffled voice cussing him out through the thin hotel walls. Johnny rolled his eyes and lifted the covers. With his eyes half-shut, he opened the door.

“Larusso, this better be important.” He slowly adjusted his eyes to the light, finally revealing Daniel’s worried expression. His stomach lurched. “What is it?” His voice shook, sobering.

Daniel sighed, seemingly out of breath. “It started snowing and… ah, God, we got separated and…”

“And?” 

“We can’t find Robby.” And just like that, Johnny’s last sense of peace vanished. 

“Holy shit,” he whispered. 

“I’m sorry, John.”

“Holy shit.”

“He’s a smart kid.”

“I gotta go.” Johnny pushed past Daniel, starting for the doors.

Daniel called after him. “Jacket? Boots?” He stopped, turned around, and to his surprise, Daniel already was holding what he needed. He threw them on, softly muttering a thanks, and headed outside.

A blast of cold hit him immediately. Flurries started spiraling around him and he could picture himself stumbling down the hill in similar conditions. Daniel was right - Robby was a smart kid. However, that also meant he would have been back already if he was okay. Johnny considered puking, barely a few feet from the door he came out of. Go, he urged himself. He had no clue where he was going or what his plan was. All he knew was that he had to go find his kid, and he at least had luck with that in the past. Johnny eyed the towering ski hills. “Alright bud, where the hell would you be?” he whispered to the wind. With snow in his eyes and a chill in his heart, he began trudging up the hill. 

Every second reminded him of his past. It seemed to be a recurring theme in his life that he wished he could escape. Before Kreese took ahold of his life, when he was supposed to “enjoy his youth,” he was stuck injured and alone. He could imagine Robby, lost and hurt, too, and somehow that hurt worse.

He was making progress, despite tripping over his feet and cursing at the cold for freezing his ass off. He was halfway up the tallest hill after what felt like forever when he realized one thing he could do.

On the very rare occasion that Johnny saw his son in his youth, they often played hide and seek. Johnny, being the deadbeat (probably still drunk from the night before) father, would get lazy, creating a whistle in true ‘marco polo’ fashion. He had absolutely no idea if Robby remembered it, let alone how he thought of it himself, but anything was worth a shot. He let out a low whistle. Once, then twice. No response, and Johnny thought for sure he was an idiot for trying. After attempting once more, Johnny fell back into the snow and sat. 

Then, a whistle of wind. Once, then twice. Johnny recognized that sound: picturing a little kid in a soccer jersey and round glasses. He scrambled to get to his feet, repeating his first call. Call and response. Call and response. Johnny followed the sound, trudging towards the woods when he spotted a familiar navy blue jacket. He flung himself on the ground next to him, trying not to think too much about how cold it was or how long he was lying like this.

“Dad?” Robby’s voice trembled in a soft tone. 

“I’m right here, Robby.” Johnny brought his gloved hand to the back of Robby’s helmet and started to analyze the situation. His bad knee was bent backwards and tangled with a tree limb. A familiar streak of red traced the snow around his head, and Johnny felt his head rush with panic. 

“I - I don’t know what happened. I just… couldn’t get up,” Robby explained under his breath. As much as Johnny wanted to assure him that everything was fine, another twinge of guilt-striken panic hit him and he couldn’t breathe. His grip loosened behind Robby’s head as he began to shake. “Are.. are you okay?” He tried opening his mouth to respond, but no sound came out. “Hey, I’m fine,” he whispered. “I’ll be fine. It’s just snow.”

Suddenly, he could feel the weight crushing his legs all those years ago and his numb body and mind. The hope, the distrust, the shame. It all came rushing back as he looked down at his son.

“I’m… sorry,” he managed. 

“What? Why would you be sorry?” Once again, he couldn’t bring himself to answer. “You found me anyway,” Robby continued. And then it struck Johnny: his mom never came, but he did. He would never receive a great parent award, but it had to prove something… right?

“Yeah… yeah, you’re right,” he breathed out. “Let’s get you out of here.” Focusing his energy back onto Robby, he began lifting the branches and piles of snow away from his legs. He grabbed the bad leg gently and shifted it toward himself. Robby barely flinched. “Don’t worry, it’ll hurt later. The cold numbs it real good,” Johnny explained nonchalantly. 

Robby scrunched up his face. “How would you know? I thought you’ve never even seen snow.” 

Johnny sighed heavily. It was better to explain now than never. “I have, unfortunately. Ma used to bring me places like this and my dumbass went skiing without knowing how. I had an accident and… it was pathetic.”

“Wait, what?”

“Broken legs, concussions, some stitches. Ma and Sid were pissed when I got sent out in an ambulance. Not that Sid couldn’t afford it, that selfish asshole.” Johnny looked back down at Robby, who wore an expression he couldn’t describe. 

“What? Is that why… why you were blanking out?” He nodded and Robby considered this. “Did they not look for you?” 

“Uh… no. They didn’t. I had to find a way out myself.” Just like he did his entire life. 

“I’m sorry, I can’t believe that. For whatever it’s worth, I’m glad you came for me. I mean, I could barely step foot into the school after everything with Miguel. I can’t imagine coming back like this.” A small smile formed on Johnny’s lips. Maybe he could turn things around for himself. He didn’t have to stay stuck in his past. He finally had a relationship with his kid, his karate enemy, and had people in his life who actually cared about him. This was new, and it was different.

“Thank you, Robby.”

“Now… can you get me up?” He laughed, and Johnny hoped that he would remember this moment after the delirium faded. He obliged, of course, and helped him. Holding him upright, they began the trek down the hill very cautiously. Dislocated knee or not, if Johnny could do it, Robby could, too. 

“I’m shocked you remembered that whistle,” Robby commented, his teeth chattering between phrases. 

“I didn’t even think you would. You know, you’re way stronger than me, kid,” Johnny remarked. 

“If you say so.”

“What do you say we plan a ski trip next winter?” he joked. 

“I’d say I hope you’re kidding.”

“We can break ourselves together this time.” The pair laughed, swaying in the thick snow and leaning over each other. And Johnny realized, as they staggered down the hill, that maybe the snow wasn’t too bad. Maybe Robby had it right all this time: with snow could come peace.

[winters-mistress]

Injury

Geralt was exhausted. Purely, undoubtedly, utterly exhausted. His eyes burn with the lack of rest, his whole body shuddering each time he blinks. By the gods, he wants to close his eyes, but if he does, he might not see her wake up, he might be dead to the world and she may need him.

No, his resolve strengthens, he cannot rest until she wakes.

It had started as a simple day, one the sake as any other. Wake, run a cold flannel down his face, guzzle down a bowl of porridge that bubbles at the fireplace, before pulling his cloak on to watch Ciri on the pendulum.

Lambert had accompanied him, which wasn't unusual at all. Vesemir had wanted the youngest Witcher to have a taste of training, as both Geralt and Eskel had overseen the pups for a few months before they left for the path. Lambert, however, had not. He had been eager to leave the moment Rennes had deemed him worthy of it, free from the horrors and the ghosts of Kaer Morhen. And by the time he was mature enough to be considered, it was too late, the sacking had obliterated all the poor pups who had the unfortunate fate of being in the halls at the time.

He had been good with Ciri, all things considered. A little prickly at first, but Ciri had thrown a rock at him when he had insulted her a little too far. After that, and the spitfirey attitude to her training -to keep getting up each and every time she fell down- Lambert had warmed to her.

What does Lamb think now? Geralt wonders. Is he guilt ridden and drunk? Pissy and ignorant? Or is he skittish and bristle, thinking the white wolf himself would leap out and throttle him?

It was an accident, it had to be. Had his brother simply mistimed when to unleash the dangling sack for Geralt's child to dodge? He had never done it before, but it can't have been purposeful. Ciri and Lamb got along, he never would have hurt her on purpose. If he had, Geralt didn't know his brother at all, but he was confident he did. The witchers code, a shared history, a shared sacrifice, bound by brotherhood and unified by their profession.

But the fact remained the same, the sack had hit the blindfolded girl, her body crumbling instantly, smacking the wooden beam with her head, and collapsing against a pile of rocks when she finally slipped down, neither witcher quick enough to catch her.

She was supposed to dodge, she's dodged a thousand times. Lambert was supposed to be in sync, he'd been in sync a thousand times. Geralt was supposed to catch her, why wasn't he -the strongest, twice mutated witcher- quick enough to catch the falling body of his girl?

Ciri's golden hair was marred by blood. Even if her eyes weren't shut by unconsciousness, then the left was strewn shut by a marred, deep bruise. He can't see her forehead, it's bound in bandages to support the wound at the back of her head.

She's still breathing, though. He can hear it, see it. Her lungs fill slowly with hair, exhaling after a beat, and that for one, is normal and gentle and regular.

Geralt himself had picked her up from her impact zone, his left arm's skin and sleeve is still crumbly from where her blood had dried. Cradled like a babe, the two witchers ran back to the keep, hollering for Vesemir and Eskel, Coën bringing up the rear when they set her in the long since abandoned infirmary.

She's human, she shouldn't have survived an impact like that, he knows, but he watches her inhale and exhale. She's still here, still with him. Still strong and unbelievable and mighty and mysterious and a thousand other words Geralt doesn't have the time to think of.

Is it her magic? The thing she's alluded to many times, is that keeping her alive? Or was it some miracle, an act of the gods to cushion her head from the three large blows that would have taken out another without question?

It doesn't matter how she's here, all that matters is that she is here. Geralt leans foreward and takes her hand, small and soft, pushing bloody matted hair from her face.

"You'll be okay," he whispers. They've done all they can, closed and disinfected the wound, change the bandages a few times every day, drip milk and broth down her throat to keep her sustained. It's all a waiting game now. Either she will wake, or she will not.

"It's like an echo." A voice says.

Geralt jumps.

"What?" The white wolf turns, seeing the oldest witcher in the doorway.

"You look like I did, waiting for you and your brothers to wake after your grasses." He says. Geralt winces, never one to wish to remember those days.

He supposes he must do. A large, white haired man sitting over the bed of an injured pup, who's fate is in the hands of the gods now.

"Any change?"

"Not a thing. She doesn't even toss or turn with nightmare, she's just-" his voice trails, licking his lips as he watches the girl once more.

Vesemir walks over and presses a hand to Ciri's cheek.

"No fever, no infection." He nods. "That's good."

"Yeah." Geralt sighs, leaning back in his chair, listening as it croaks underneath his weight.

"Rest, wolf." Vesemir whispers, his hand finding his middle son's hair.

Geralt knows it's Axii, but before he can fight it, his body betrays him, sinking into the chair.

"Rest, son." He says. "I will wake you if she does."

And the grand, grey wolf of Kaer Morhen takes up vigil, watching his son and his granddaughter rest.

[fixquotes]

"When a father gives to his son, both laugh; when a son gives to his father, both cry"

- William Shakespeare

[won221]

Father son goals ✨✨

[tskchimera]

kigurumi

[gracehahawhat]

i recognize that the times when i delve into fanfiction are times when i desperately need a break from reality

why think abt life when I’ve got my blorbos