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Brothers
9650 Words; Between AU, pre-canon
TW for death
AO3 ver
Gristle Junior was seven months and eleven days old on the day of his first Trollstice.
Or rather, he was seven months and eleven days old on what would have been his first Trollstice, were it not for the lack of trolls. And the day had started so well, too, anticipation electric in his veins as he bounced around his fatherâs room. He had been so ready to taste true happiness!
But the Trolls were gone, fleeing underground despite the best efforts of Chefâs underlings. Not a single Troll had been recovered, Gristle had been told, and from what little he had been able to see of the commotionâfrom the swinging shovels and pickaxes he had glimpsed in the plaza as he was being shuffled away from the actionâsupported that notion. Surely, if Trolls were being found, then surely there would be much less frustration.
But the day passed without a single Troll eaten. Gristleâs father, for who he had been named, had taken him aside to calmly explain that with no Trolls, Gristle would never be happy. Not ever. Nothing else could possibly work.
To a Bergen less than a year old, such words were absolute. And why should Gristle doubt his father? The King had lived for decades, an extent of time which felt like an eternity to Gristle Junior. Surely, if there was anyone who could know everything, it would be the King.
Gristle was seven months and eleven days old on the last chance he would ever have to know true happiness. The date clung to his mind, the damnation of eternal misery heavy in his chest. To a Bergen so young and inexperienced with the world, there could be nothing worse.
Chef was disgraced. Not a single Troll recovered, in all of that mess? Her exile was quick and loudâGristle watched from the castle door with his father as Chef was bodily thrown through the gates, shouting curses he strained to hear. With a sigh, Gristle moved to turn away from the door, prepared to ready himself for bed.
âYour Majesty!â Two Bergens hailed down his father, bowing the moment the Kingâs eyes were on them. âWe foundâŚâ The Bergen on the left had his hands cupped together oddly, perfectly concealing whatever would be inside. With a nudge from his partner, he bowed again, holding out whatever it was to the King. âWe found this at the treeâs edge.â
Gristle Junior turned back towards the door, pressing against his fatherâs legs to peer at what was so urgent it couldnât wait for daylight. The air was thick with anticipation as the Bergenâs fingers slowly parted, revealing what was delicately clasped in his hands.
It was a Troll.
Gristleâs eyes widened. His father inhaled sharply, peering down at the tiny shape curled in the palm.
The Troll stared up at them with wide eyes, curled in on itself and shaking. It was so small. How did creatures that small even exist?
The King hummed, leaning in further. Gristle Junior was quick to imitate, peering at the tiny Troll even more intently. This brought to light a detail that had been previously overlookedâa detail that seven month and eleven day old Gristle had no filter against pointing out.
âItâs gray.â Gristle said, peering down at the thing. Tiny, too. Could something so little really bring him happiness? âIs it sick?â He poked at the Troll, and it flinched back with a hiss, tail clutched in its paws.
âInedible.â Gristle Senior growled out. He turned bared teeth to the pair before them. âYour effort is appreciated.â He said, âBut thereâs no use for a Troll thatâs gone bad.â The King sighed, moving to reenter the castle. âDo as you wish with it.â He dismissed. âMy son and IâŚâ
Gristle Junior reached for the Troll. âItâs so small.â He whispered, staring down at it. Small and gray and baring blunted teeth in an approximation of a snarl⌠He looked up at the pair, eyes wide. âCan I have it?â
The Bergen holding the Troll hesitated, before tilting his hands towards Gristle. The Troll squeaked as Gristle scooped it up, voice tiny. Gristle squealed, clutching the Troll and running back inside, the rest of the world forgotten.
The Troll turned bewildered eyes up to Gristle. It trembled, shouting as Gristle turned a corner, but Gristle paid no heed to anything but the sheer novelty of his idea. His very own Troll! There was hardly much of a plan in the toddlerâs head, but a simple idea was all Gristle really needed at his age.
Gristle bounced into his bedroom, Troll in hand. He moved to set the Troll down on the deskâ
âSon!â Gristle Seniorâs voice was seldom so loudâbut when it was, it commanded attention from everyone in the area. And indeed, Gristle Junior turned his attention to his father, the Troll still squirming in his hand. âWhat are you doing?â Gristle had never heard his father at such a loss.
âKeeping it.â Gristle Junior said.
Gristle Senior walked across the room and peered down at the Troll on the desk, trapped between Gristle Juniorâs hands. âA pet is a lot of responsibility, son.â He pointed out.
âYou say the same about being Prince.â Gristle Junior responded.
Gristle Senior jolted slightly, taken aback. âThat⌠is true.â He conceded. âBut itâs a Troll.â He poked the Troll in question, sending it stumbling backwards onto the ground. âIt will just get eaten.â
âBut you said gray Trolls are inebidable!â Gristle Junior lifted the Trollâhis Troll, up with cradled hands, pressing it against his chest. âThat theyâve got no use, which means that eating them canât do anything!â
âInedible.â Gristle Senior corrected gently. He lowered down, to be closer to his sonâs eye level. âSon, be realistic. The kingdom just lost all of its Trolls. Trollstice has been a tradition for more than a century. The shock of no more Trollstices will make the people desperate.â
The Troll stared up from Gristle Juniorâs hands with wide eyes. Tiny claws too small to do any damage dug into Gristle Juniorâs hand.
Gristle Junior huffed. âBut they gotta listen to you, Daddy. Youâre the King.â The people had listened when the King declared Chef exiled; Gristle had witnessed just that less than an hour ago. âIf you say that my Troll is inedidible then nobody will eat it!â
The King sighed, tired and heavy. âYouâll need something to keep it in.â He advised. As his son cheered, he turned to the door, and made his way across the room. Once Gristle Senior reached the doorframe, he turned back to his son one more time.
âIf I wake up tomorrow and find that thing is running around the castle, I will feed it to Barnabus.â He threatened. His face immediately lightened, and he left the room with a single, cheery, âGoodnight, son!â
Gristle Junior nodded at the closed door with the utmost seriousness. He turned back to his Troll, who he set on the desk gently. âHear that?â He asked. âYou stay in here, or else.â With that, Gristle propped his face up in his hands, leaning forwards. âMy nameâs Gristle. Yours?â
The Troll crossed tiny Troll arms and glared up at him. âIâm not telling.â It said, in a voice that reminded Gristle of the mice Barnabus ate.
âThen Iâll just give you one!â Gristle chirped. âHow about⌠Trolly!â
âNo.â
Gristle frowned. âYouâre getting a name, no matter what.â He huffed, poking his Troll in the side. The Troll stumbled a bit, but remained standing. âYouâre so grumpy.â Gristle noticed. âJust like⌠a BergenâŚâ He trailed off, something approaching realization creeping up his throat.
The Troll snarled. âNot a Bergen!â It insisted, tail smacking the desk.
Gristle stared. âYouâŚâ His eyes lit up. âYou and I are gonna be best friends.â Gristle decided, poking his Troll again.
The Trollâs response was simple. Gristle yelped, yanking his hand back. The Troll fell over, rubbing at its mouth with tiny paws, and Gristle stared at the tiny teeth marks on his finger.
The Troll glared mutinously, as if daring Gristle to come within biting range again.
Gristle nodded. âYep! Best friends!â
+=+=+=+=+
Gristle Junior was nine months and two days old when he learned the Trollâs name. He had been poring through a pet care magazine, oo-ing and ah-ing over the different kinds of pets that Bergens kept. From alligator-dogs like Barnabus to even frog-crows!
He had hit the section for small pets, though none of the kinds commonly kept by Bergens were as small as a Troll. He looked over at the custom cage his father had had commissioned for his Troll, from the pod taken from the abandoned Troll Tree to the sandy substrate in the basin. As usual, his Troll was down on the substrate, pressed into the corner while it worked its way through safflower seeds.
âLook!â Gristle held the magazine right up against the cage bars, pointing at the circled bird perch. âHow does a swing sound? I bet youâd have a lot of fun with it, Trolly.â He didnât expect a responseâthe Troll rarely ever spoke back, content with glaring and darting away when Gristle reached into the cage.
Which meant it surprised him all the more when the tiny creature spoke. âBranch.â
Gristle opened his mouth to continue speakingâstopped. âWhat?â
âBranch.â The Troll repeated. âMy name is Branch.â Its eyes were locked resolutely on the sandy substrate, shoulders hunched and tail thwap-thwap-thwapping against the corner.
Gristle gasped. âOh!â Heâd never thoughtâheâBranchâ
âThatâs a weird name.â Gristle finally decided, leaning in. âAre all Trolls named like that?â He couldnât quite read well enough to digest all the books heâd found about Trolls (or that had Trolls on the covers), so his only real source of information was what former Troll-handlers Chad and Todd (or was it Todd and Chad?) could tell him, when he saw them. Which wasnât often.
Branch gave Gristle a deer in headlights look, a helpless sort of âhow-would-I-knowâ conveyed through body language alone. Paws clenched and unclenched against the seed held between them.
Gristle shrugged, and went back to the magazine. âSo,â He said, âYou never said if you wanted a swing.â
âDonât bother.â Branch huffed. âI wonât use it.â
+=+=+=+=+
Gristle Junior was five years old when his father led him into his study for the first time. The younger marveled at the book-filled shelves and neatly organized desk, at the candle holders set into the wall and the banners hanging downâthis room was his future.
âMy son,â Gristle Senior began. âWhat you will be starting today is a time-honored tradition of Bergen Royalty.â His voice had a practiced lilt, a deep timbre made of years of self-assurance. âFor no Monarch rules Bergentown aloneâit is the duty of Princes and Princesses to run the kingdom in concert with the reigning monarch.â
âWhoaaaâŚâ Gristle Junior hopped up and down to see atop the desk. âIâm a Prince!â He realized, whirling around to face his father. âSo I have to help you run!â
Gristle Senior chuffed. When he spoke, there was pride in his voice. âAnd that is exactly what you will start learning today.â He lifted his son with one arm, sitting down behind the desk and settling Gristle Junior in his lap. âNow,â He pushed a stack of books from the edge of the desk to the center. âHere are the best volumes to start withâŚâ
The lesson continued on throughout the rest of the morning. After lunch with his father, Gristle Junior returned to his room with the stack of books he had been given, ready and willing to learn. He pushed open the door, and made his way over to the desk right next to his bed.
âThereâs so many books I need to read!â Gristle lamented. âHow am I ever going to learn it all?â Heâd have to, though, to be a proper Prince of Bergentown. And he would! Bergens were tough, and royal Bergens were said to be the toughest of all! So Gristle would be the best Prince! No book could defeat someone as tough as him!
He was starting with history. But there was so much! He held out the book to Branchâs cage, showing off just how thick it wasâand it was all pre-Trollstice, too!
Branch squinted at the tome, then returned to his digging. Heâd been doing a lot of that lately. Which was weird, because Trolls were supposed to live in treesâevery book Gristle had read on them said so. But the pod in Branchâs cageâtaken directly from the Troll Tree, no less���remained just as empty as it always had. There was even dust building up along the top!
âI mean, how in the world am I ever going to remember all this?â Gristle slammed the book down on his desk, prying it open. He was glad for Branchâthe Troll was a good listener, in the five year oldâs eyes.
The Troll in question poked his head back up, ears twitching. âAre you going to read it, or are you just gonna complain?â He asked, before going back to the hole.
âRight.â Gristle turned his attention back to the book. Slowly, he began, sounding out the words as best he could.
âThe first re-cor-did history of Bergenkind dates back to⌠three⌠fow-sand years ago.â He began. âWhen Fow-ler the First wrote the⌠the first ever Law.â He continued reading, stumbling over words while Branch continued digging. Gristle let the history wash over him, entranced in the task set before him. Hours passed, and Gristle found himself being called down to dinner before he even registered that so much time had passed.
Three days later, Gristle found himself staring at a worksheet in frustration. He was supposed to fill it out without looking at his books, and he was struggling.
âUGH!â Gristle threw his head back, clutching at his hair as he seethed. âHow can I remember the name of the first Bergen to write a law but not when?!â He smacked his head against the desk, groaning in frustration. The urge to go to his shelf and pull out the relevant book itched down his spineâbut he had to hold strong! A good Prince knew how to look things up, but a great Prince could recall whatever detail was needed when it was needed.
Oh, how was Gristle ever supposed to be a great Prince?
âThe first recorded history of Bergenkind dates back to three thousand years ago.â Branch said, casually breaking the frustrated silence. âThatâs what your book said.â
Gristle looked at Branchâs cage, where the Troll was busy jotting stuff down on a scrap of paper. Gristle then looked over to the book on his shelf. Slowly, he pushed out his chair and went over to the shelf, opening the book to the first page.
âThatâsâŚâ He turned back to Branch. âYouâve got a good memory.â He said, returning the book to the shelf.
Branch muttered something that Gristle didnât quite catch. Gristle shrugged, and went back to his worksheet. Heâd have to read aloud to Branch more often, if Branch could remember stuff so well.
With a hum, Gristle continued on with the worksheet. It probably wasnât in the spirit of the challenge to have a friend who could remember a lot of words, but Gristle wasnât concerned at all with that notion.
He continued to talk to Branch as he worked, something light in his chest with the knowledge that Branch really was listening.
+=+=+=+=+
Gristle Junior was six years old, and he and Branch were having a real good row. The kind of row that, had they been proper siblings, would have only been able to be settled by some proper Bergen roughhousing, with weapons and property destruction. A real riot-causing dispute.
It was hardly their first disagreementâGristle had the faint bite scars all over his fingers to prove it. But it was certainly frustrating, born from weeks of buildup over a simple fact.
âItâs not healthy! Trolls are supposed to sing!â Gristle gestured to the book in his hand, which was way more useful than all the cookbooks heâd found. It actually went a bit into Troll health and growth, detailing all the ways and times that Trolls could become inedible. As Branch was, and had always been grayâor at least, as long as Gristle had known himâthe book in question proved very useful.
âWell I donât!â And that was the crux of the situation, the simple fact from which all of this had spawned. âAnd I never will!â Branchâs stand was resolute, unshakeable, even in the face of all of Gristleâs Princely Rage.
âBut you have to!â Gristle insisted, gesturing again to the page he had the book opened to. âTrolls that donât singâthis book isnât very nice about them!â He was fumbling, he knew, but he didnât know how else to say it. The book said that gray Trolls were to be removed from the Troll Tree and disposed of immediately. It didnât say why, and Gristle was still a childâhe didnât question the words presented as fact. As far as he could tell, a Troll that had gone gray was just⌠it wasnât right!
âYouâre supposed to be happy.â Gristle pushed. âYouâre supposed to sing, like a regular Troll.â
âNever gonna happen.â Branch insisted. âIâll stay unhappy, just you watch!â He crossed his arms with a huff, tail twitching angrily.
âThatâs not good!â Gristle responded. âYou have to get your color back eventually!â The book said nothing about whether Trolls could regain their color after losing it. But it wasnât right, for a creature so intertwined with music to never make a single note. And if the book said to get rid of gray TrollsâŚ
Gristle cared about Branch, more than he could feasibly admit. The castle staff were fine, and his father was his father, but BranchâBranch was a friend. Someone Gristle could talk to who would actually listen, no matter what it was.
The book said it wasnât healthy for a Troll to go gray. Gristle was going to be King someday, in the far distant future, and heâd be responsible for all of Bergentown. Even sooner, he would be a fully fledged Prince, responsible for helping his father with Bergentown. If Gristle couldnât even take care of one tiny troll, then what were his chances of ever being good at what he was literally meant to do?
âAnd then what?â Branch gripped the bars of his cage, rage in every inch of his body. âYouâll eat me?â
âOf course not!â Gristle could never! Branch was⌠Branch was his friend! Inedible by Royal Decree! Gristle would sooner eat Barnabus!
âYouâre lying!â Branch yelled back. âThe moment I become edible you or some other Bergen will be serving me up on a silver platter!â His tail lashed about wildly, tears bubbling up at the corners of his eyes. âBecause thatâs all Trolls are to you!â
Gristle flinched back. He⌠he refused to admit it, but Branch had a point. Trolls were the only way that Bergens could ever be happy, and they had spent generations with a holiday dedicated to that very thing. ButâŚ
âYouâre different.â Gristle insisted. Branch was his friend. âYouâre not⌠you never sing and youâre always unhappy.â He huffed. âItâs like youâre barely a Troll at all!â
This time it was Branchâs turn to flinch, tail falling flat against the ground. âMaybe youâre right.â He said quietly, turning away from the bars.
âBranch, Iââ Gristle reached out, only for his hand to fall back down when Branch glared at him.
âFine, then.â Gristle grumbled. âWeâll just be unhappy together.â Between the two of them, Branch was the only one who had even a chance to ever be happyâGristle would never get to eat a Troll with all of them gone, but Branch⌠Branch was a Troll. If anyone would ever get to be happy, it would be the creature who was quite literally made of the stuff.
âFine!â Branch sat down hard on the substrate, arms crossed and turned away from Gristle. âUnhappy together!â
It felt like a promise, like a finality.
It felt like Gristle was failing hard at this whole âtaking care of othersâ thing.
+=+=+=+=+
Gristle Junior was seven years old with a form in his hand. He stood before Branchâs cage, expanded over the years to include deeper substrate and a small climbing tree. The⌠well, it felt weird to call him a Troll, when he was nothing like Gristleâs books, but what else could he be called?
A Bergen. At least, that was what heâd be if Gristleâs idea went through.
âIâve been learning about law.â Gristle began, with no real preamble. Branch looked up from his orange slice, ears twitching, but made no comment. âAnd I found out something interesting.â He took a deep breath, and glanced at the memo in his hand. âAdoption Laws, Section Two. In the case of a non-Bergen being adopted by a Bergen or other being of Bergen citizenryâŚâ Gristle hurriedly looked at the memo again, âThey are considered, in all aspects of the law, a Bergen, with all of the rights and restrictions that such a designation entails.â He let the memo flutter down to the floor and looked down at Branch, who was staring up at him with wide eyes.
Branch clenched and unclenched his paws against the half-eaten orange slice in his lap, tail flicking behind him. â...what.â
âListen.â Gristle leaned in close, holding up the form in his other hand. âIf I adopt you, then you wouldnât be in any more danger of being eaten!â
Branch squinted. âArenât you a little young to be a parent?â He asked, orange slice seemingly forgotten in his lap. âAnd Iâm older than you.â He pointed out, somewhat bitterly.
âEw! No! Not as a son!â Gristle waved his arms wildly, then pressed the form against the bars again. âAs a brother.â He clarified. âBecause⌠youâre more of a friend than a pet,â Gristle explained, âAnd itâs not fair to keep treating you like one. A pet.â He carefully gaged Branchâs expressions, watching as his face flickered through a series of emotions. âAll youâd need to do is sign on this lineâŚâ
âIt canât be that easy.â Branch groused, tail flicking faster. âBergens donât do âeasyâ.â
âWell,â Gristle rubbed at the back of his neck, âWe would have to get approval from Dad for it to go through.â He rallied, clenching his free hand in a fist. âBut thatâs easy! I mean, he let me keep you!â
âAs a pet.â Branch stressed. He set the orange slice aside, brushing off his paws as he stood. âThatâs totally different.â
âAnd thatâs why I want to do this!â Gristle unlatched the cage door, not bothering to reach inâhe had long since learned that Branch hated being picked up unexpectedly. Better to let Branch come out of the cage on his own terms. âBecause what kind of Prince treats his friend like a pet?â
Branchâs expression fell, his shoulders hunching. His paws clenched and unclenched in the rhythmic way they often did, his tail flicking. Carefully, slowly, Branch clambered out of the cage, climbing down the flipped out door to settle on the smooth wood of the shelf. Gristle held out his hand, palm up, and Branch hopped onto it, letting himself be lifted over to the desk.
Gristle laid out the form. Heâd double-checked every word to make sure it was exactly what he needed, and all that was left was to sign it and have it approved. Gristle had already signed it, his name penned in only slightly messy ink. Penmanship win!
Branch pulled a tiny quill from his hair, hopping up to gently dab it in the inkwell on the desk. As Gristle watched, Branch kneeled down in front of his line, and carefully signed his name.
âThink thatâll be enough?â Gristle asked.
Branch hummed. âMaybeâŚâ He tucked the quill away and went back to the inkwell, hopping up and leaning so far in that for a moment Gristle feared heâd fall in. Branch kicked the side and lifted himself back and out, clambering over to the form and slapping right next to his name with his paws.
Two inky paw prints, right next to his name. âThat should do it.â Branch decided, satisfied.
Gristle nodded, offering his hand again. As Branch hopped onto his palm and clambered up Gristleâs arm to his shoulder, Gristle grabbed the form carefully, blowing a bit to make the ink dry faster.
âLetâs get this done!â Gristle declared, running off to go find his father. It wasnât the first time Branch had left Gristleâs room, nor the first time that Branch had ridden on Gristleâs shoulder. But it was the first time since the belled harness had been made that Branch had left the room without the jingle of bells signaling his every movement. Gristle realized it was weird, actually, to feel the weight on his shoulder and not hear the sound of bells heâd come to associate with that weight. But the harness was from when Branch was still a pet in everyoneâs eyesâit wouldnât do to make Branch wear it now.
And really, Branch was like a Bergen, in a lot of ways. He never sang or danced, he was disagreeableâeven the gray of his short fur was similar to the average Bergenâs dull tones. Whenever he had something to work on, be it the den heâd dug or even old worksheets Gristle tried to downsize for him, he took to working on it just like a Bergen: with a grumble and the focused spirit that allowed Bergens to create sturdy walls and buildings. And he had interesting insights, tooâBergens disliked great heights, so even the castle couldnât get very tall, but it was Branch who gave Gristle the idea to suggest subterranean expansion when the King presented the age-old issue of expansion logistics. Which was just funny, because Trolls lived in treesâyet Branch never once touched the dusty pod hanging in his cage.
Branch settled down on Gristle Juniorâs shoulder, tucked just below Gristleâs ear. Gristle found a sudden bounce in his step, a mix of anticipation and excitement in his veins. Yeah, this whole adoption thing was a great idea! Maybe even the best Gristle had ever had!
Finding the King was easyâit was just before lunch, so King Gristle Senior would be just finishing up with the final petitioners in the biweekly levee. Normally, Gristle Junior would be sitting in his own princely throne beside his father, to listen and watch and get a general idea of how a levee workedâbut he had⌠kinda skipped it, what with how eager he was to try out the adoption idea. Not that that was a major issueâGristle Junior wasnât meant to fully step into his duties as Prince until he was ten.
StillâŚ
âAh, there you are.â King Gristle Senior groused, shifting slightly in his throne. âCare to explain why you missed todayâs levee?â
Gristle Junior stopped short, nodding his head in a bow. âMy apologies, Father.â He kept his tone careful, regal, like heâd been taught. âI found something that needed attending to.â He explained, head still down.
Gristle Senior snorted. âWell, out with it, then.â He waved his hand encouragingly as his son looked up. âWhat grand idea did you come up with this time?â
Gristle Juniorâs mouth pulled back in an odd way, and he fought the strange expression off of his face. With a simple flourish, he drew out the form, holding it out towards his father. âThis.â
Gristle Senior took the form, glancing it over. His expression remained neutrâhis eyes widened, as the contents of the form properly registered. The Kingâs expression scrunched, turning thunderous, before going down to mere annoyance. He turned that annoyance upon his son, and all but sputtered out, âWhat in the name of Berg is the meaning of this?!â
âItâs an adoption form.â Gristle Junior explained, pressing his hands together. He felt Branch shift slightly on his shoulder, and he held out a palm. Branch took the offer, sliding down Gristleâs arm to stand upon his hand, small and gray and steady.
âI can⌠see that.â Gristle Senior hissed through ground teeth. âButâŚâ His expression became just as lost as the night that Gristle Junior had first met Branch. With a deep sigh, Gristle Senior looked down at his son and the Troll.
âLetting you keep a Troll as a pet is one thing,â The King began, âBut adoption? Of a Troll? Are you insane?â
Gristle Junior felt oddly gobsmacked. âIt makes sense.â He tried, unable to keep childish uncertainty from his voice. âBranch is the most unTroll Troll ever, heâs just like a Bergen and I think itâd be best if he was called as such, because then nobody would even think to eat him!â
Gristle Senior sighed, heavy and tired. âThatâs not a good enough reason.â He started. âSon, do you have any idea what would happen if that⌠thing were to become your brother?â
âItâd be a serious crime to eat him.â Gristle Junior responded easily.
Gristle Senior brought up his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, grumbling too low for Gristle Junior to make out the words. â...of all theââ With a rumbling groan, Gristle Senior regarded his son with a firmâbut not wholly uncaringâexpression. âYouâre a Prince, my son. You canât just go adopting every creature you see fit.â
âItâs just Branch.â Gristle Junior pushed back, âHeâs already close enough to a Bergen, whatâs adding the legal distinction going to do?â He shook his head. âThis will all work out, Dad, I know it. I just need you to trust me.â
âSon, be realistic.â The King groused. âIf that thing becomes your brother, then that makes it a Prince. Thereâs no way a Troll could be a Bergen Prince! Trolls are all about loud parties and sugar and silly gamesâtheyâre simply unsuited to laws and regulations and the hard work required to run a kingdom!â
Gristle Juniorâs mouth openedâto say what, he wasnât sure, but air was being forced up from his lungs and defiance was roaring in his heart, ready to burst out what would surely be a useful and clever retortâ
âI can do it.â
As one, Gristle Junior and Senior turned to look at Branch. Branch took the combined attention with hunched shoulders, his tail clasped in his paws. âYou want me to learn how to help run a kingdom? Fine. Iâll do it. Iâll learn.â He dropped his tail and crossed his arms, expression firm.
âI donât want you doing anything of the sort.â Gristle Senior growled, but Gristle Junior was already rallying.
âHe can! Branch is smart, Dad, heâs where I got the idea for underground expansions from! He remembers all the stuff I read, and he listens, and heâd make a good Prince!â All of his reasons were true and provenâwhich meant a lot, for seven year old Gristle Junior.
âPreposterous!â Gristle Senior beganâ
âIf you think itâs so preposterous,â Branchâs voice cut through the room like alligator-dog teeth through mice. âThen why not bet on it?â
Those three words echoed in the sudden silence of the room, bouncing off the vaulted ceiling and tangling up in the eaves. If there was one thing Gristle Junior knew his father could not resist, it was a wager.
Indeed, Gristle Seniorâs face had turned contemplative, his hands steepled before him. âA bet, you say?â Something like satisfaction slithered its way onto his face. âHmm, I think I see what you mean. A trial period, of sorts, is that it? To find out if you could even come close to being a Prince?â
Branch nodded.
âYeah!â Gristle Junior agreed. âIf Branch can prove himself then you have to let the adoption go through!â
Gristle Senior snorted. âSure, fine.â He waved his hand dismissively, before turning his attention to Branch. âBut when that little creature fails to keep up the pace, Iâm burning that form and youâre going to put any wild ideas of adopting Trolls out of your head for good.â He glared down at the pair, lips curled in a derisive snarl.
âYou have three weeks.â Gristle Senior declared. âBetter get started.â
+=+=+=+=+
Gristle Junior was seven years old when he became a brother.
The wager had been⌠not as hard as Gristle expected. Branch had thrown himself into the challenge with a fervor that was only seen with master artisans undergoing hefty commissions. It had taken a lot of work, in those three weeks, but at the end of it allâ
The cage had to be redone, renovated into a proper bedroom. The castle staff found itself expanded by twoâBernice and Groth, who had been hired to aid in the fiddly and sometimes frustrating art of turning tiny, Troll-sized writings into something that could be read by the average Bergen. Branch needed new clothes, and a proper bed, and a shelf for all of the Troll-sized copies heâd made and was making of the various books on Law and history and regulations, and had to attend meals and levees and lessons with Gristle, andâ
It was so much. Gristle had known, when he had drafted that first attempt at an adoption form in the castle library, that things would changeâbut he had never quite imagined the sheer scope of it all. Suddenly, his brother was accompanying him everywhere, riding on Gristleâs shoulder or flinging himself through the halls with his hair. Gristle had heard some of the staff discussing pathways for Branch, where heâd be safe from being stepped onâ
There was so much.
ButâŚ
Gristle had never had a brother. He had had a friend, in Branch, but it had taken so long for them to really get there. And now, despite how it had felt like the world was ending on that fateful failed Trollstice, all those years agoâ
Gristle couldnât imagine that day going any other way. He didnât want to imagine a world in which he never met Branch, who was surely a Bergen in Troll skin. Branch was his friendâno, his brother.
âHey, Branch?â Gristle rolled over and looked at the shelf that Branchâs things currently resided on, at the cage hurriedly covered with a sheet in an approximation of a proper room with real privacy. Late at night, in his unlit room, it barely looked like a cage at all. âDo you ever think about the day we met?â
Branchâs voice filtered down from the shelf. âNot really.â He admitted. âWhy should I?â There was something oddly bitter in his voice. âItâs the day I was left behind. Again.â
Gristle Junior wasnât sure how to unpack that. Or if he ever should. âI wonât leave you behind.â He promised, ââCause brothers stick together.â It felt like such a simple truth, to the seven year old Bergen.
There was silence from the shelf. It stretched on, almost uncomfortably so, feeding into the static of the darkness filling the room.
Gristle huffed. âYou really are just like a Bergen.â He commented, âAlways miserable.â He chuffed, something light in his chest that he didnât fully register. âAnd thatâs why you know weâll always stick together.â He said, staring up at the darkness clinging to the ceiling.
âUnhappy together, then.â There was something soft in Branchâs voiceâhe must have been tired after such a long day.
Gristle sighed. Unhappy together. It sounded like a promise, like a finality.
It sounded like he was finally getting the hang of this whole âtaking care of peopleâ thing.
+=+=+=+=+
Gristle Junior was ten years old when he was properly crowned Prince.
The day had been rife with tradition, from a breakfast banquet stocked with imported delicacies to the event itself out in the plaza. The old Troll Tree, withered from its abandonment, stood tall in the center of the space, dominating the whole scene no matter how Gristle Junior tried to look at it.
He fiddled with the clasp on his capeâhis Princely cape, paired with his new crown to signify the change in status. The festivities werenât exactly celebratoryâthe whole ceremony amounted to more of a town meeting, but with the best catering the royal kitchens could provide. Bergens of all kinds wandered about the plaza, taking advantage of the free food while Gristle JuniorâPrince Gristle Junior watched on from his fatherâs side.
Branchâno, it was Prince Branch, nowâstood to Gristleâs side, on a small platform made entirely for the occasion. His own blue cape and silver crown had to be custom-made, instead of passed down, but neither of the brothers were bothered by that fact.
âI still donât understand how Glixry managed such tiny details.â Gristle commented, focusing in on the silver metal of Branchâs crown. âIt even has tiny metal leaves!â
Branch reached up, touching the edges delicately. âIt feels so weird.â He decided. âBut⌠not bad.â
âOf course not! Youâre a Prince now!â Gristle assured him. âStand tall and proud, like a proper Bergen.â Gristle commanded, repeating the words he had heard so many times.
âYeahâŚâ Branch let his paws fall back to his sides, almost hidden under the edges of his capeâbut Gristle didnât miss the way they clenched and unclenched repeatedly.
Branch was older than Gristle, true. But the fact remained that he had started learning later, so it had been decided to crown them both when Gristle came of age, and not a moment sooner. So here they were, brothers crowned together, all of Bergentown around them.
There would be so many more responsibilities, nowâPrinces helped the reigning monarch run the kingdom, after all. Theyâd still have to learn as they went, butâ
Gristle breathed in deeply. The Bergensâhis peopleâthey were all miserable. But they were hardworking and honest, and Gristle would do his best to be the Prince they deserved.
Gristle turned to look back at his brother, who was fiddling with his own cape clasp. Glixry had repurposed one of the bells from Branchâs old harness for the clasp, and even now it still faintly rung as Branch slowly paced around his little platform.
There was an odd expression on Branchâs face, satisfaction and an oddly melancholy contemplation firming his brow. Gristle huffed, snapping his little-big brother from whatever thoughts he was lost in. Gristle offered his hand, and Branch rolled his eyes before hopping onto Gristleâs palm.
As Gristle lifted his brother high above his head, something proud surged in his chest, light and electric in his veins. His face twitched in that odd way it sometimes did, but Gristle ignored the feeling in favor of looking out over his people once more.
He was going to be the best Prince Bergentown had ever seen! He and his brother both!
+=+=+=+=+
Gristle Junior was eleven years old when Branch finally pupated.
His book on Troll growth said that Trolls pupated when they were twelve or thirteen. It also went on about how Trolls were utterly inedible in this state, wrapped in their cocoons as their bodies changed and matured.
That Branchâs pupation had come late according to the books was worrying. That it had come at all was a stark reminder of the fact that, for all of his Bergen-like traits, Branch was in some small way still a Troll.
Gristle peered at the dark gray hair cocoon for the umpteenth time. None of his books said anything about whether Trolls could still hear in there, or even what really happened to them outside of âmaturationââall the book really cared to go over was how to identify a pupation cocoon, and that they couldnât be eaten.
âEven if you canât hear me,â Gristle began, settling back down with an interesting book heâd foundâsome kind of romance novel where none of the characters actually got together in the end. Heâd heard the librarian going on about how it was a contemplative piece about the nature of connections, so heâd picked it up to go through. âBut if you canât then Iâll just read this book to you all over again when youâre out.â
The cocoon gave no discernible response. Gristle decided that that was fine, and began to read. He made it through a chapter and a half before being summoned for dinner with his father, and he gave the cocoon one final glance as he left the room.
âI see your⌠brother isnât joining us again tonight.â Gristle Senior commented, as the first course was brought out.
âI told you, Dad, heâs pupating.â Gristle Junior huffed, licking sticky roe off of his fingers.
âYes,â Gristle Senior nodded. âTrolls do do that, Iâve heard.â He went silent as the second course arrived, digging in with royal fervor. A few moments later, and he spoke again. âHopefully this whole thing doesnât set him too far back.â He commented airily, dabbing at his face with a napkin.
Gristle Junior scowled over his plate as a servant exchanged it for the bowl of soup acting as the third course. âBranch always keeps up.â He asserted. âAnd we won that bet fair and square, so you canât go back on your end no matter what.â He sipped from his spoon with a pointedly royal slurp.
âAnd I have no intentions of backing out.â Gristle Senior slurped just a little harder. âIâm just curious.â And with that, the conversation was over.
Gristle stared down at his soup. Branch would keep up. He would. He always did.
+=+=+=+=+
Gristle was eleven years old, and he was getting concerned.
Nineteen days. The books said that Trolls only pupated for a week, tops. But it had been nineteen days since Branch had disappeared into the spun cocoon, eyes glassy and unfocused. Nineteen days of a silent cocoon.
Gristle had long since finished that first romance novel, and the book on fence safety regulations, and was almost halfway into a book on the history of anchovy farming. And the cocoon still remained!
The worry was starting to affect his Princely duties, too. Maybe it was because he was used to working alongside Branch, and the absence was getting to him, but there was no denying it: Gristle was concerned. But what if trying to crack the cocoon open early ruined everything? What if he was supposed to crack it open, and heâd missed the deadline? What if being gray really was bad, and BranchâŚ
Gristle didnât want to think about it. He really, really didnât.
The sun had long gone down when Gristle finally put his books away and retired to his bed. He glanced at the cocoon one last time before extinguishing the lights, worry like a rock in his gut.
The night passed. The sun rose again, creeping into Gristleâs bedroom through the window until it smacked against his eyes. With a groan, the eleven year old sat up, shading his eyes with a hand. He glared at the offending celestial body. âEvery day.â He muttered. âEvery day, you do this.â He was about to continueâ
âAre you yelling at the sun again? Really?â
Gristle yelped, jolting hard enough to fall off of his bed entirely. He flailed wildly, scrambling to clamber back to his feet, frenetic energy in every inch of his suddenly-impossibly-awkward limbs.
âBranch!â Gristle leaned up against the shelf, examining the shredded remains of the cocoon through the door of his brotherâs room. His little-big brother stood beside it, already having pulled on some pants. âYouâre okay! You were in there for really long!â
Branch shrugged, walking over to his wardrobe. âWell, Iâm here, so you can quit your whining.â There was a fondness in his voice that had Gristle rolling his eyes.
âYour tailâs still gone.â Gristle noticed. A lump settled in his gut, hard and heavy. âBranchâŚâ
Branch turned around, twisting to look and confirm Gristleâs words. âEh.â He shrugged, and turned his attention back to his wardrobe. ââS not like it matters.â He decided, picking out a shirt to wear under his cape. âBergens arenât supposed to have tails anyway.â
Gristle winced. It was true, Bergens were taillessâbut if they had tails, they certainly wouldnâtâ
Gristle shook his head. He didnât want to think about that. âSooo,â He started, as Branch was securing the belled clasp of his cape. âHow do you feel?â
Branch carefully placed his crown back upon his head, then walked in a small circle. âI donât know, stronger?â He tried, holding his paws out in front of himself and examining them. âI think my balance is better, actually.â He noted. As if to illustrate the point, he did a twirl, his cape flaring slightly with the motion. âMy face feels kinda⌠hm.â Branch pressed at his jaw with his paws, before shrugging it off. âWhatever. Are you gonna get ready, or am I doing all your work for you today?â
âOh!â Gristle whipped back around, running for his own wardrobe. âRight!â As he shrugged on his own cape, clicking the clasp into place, he turned back to glance at the shelf holding his brotherâs room.
Gristle sighed, all of his worries abated. Why would he ever worry? His family was just fine, and would be for a long, long time.
+=+=+=+=+
Gristle Junior was thirteen years old when he finally had to admit it.
Heâd always hoped heâd get his fatherâs height, that heâd be able to stand as tall as the average Bergen in his adult years. But it had become clear that he would always be half average height, always doomed to needing steps to get onto the taller chairs.
It wasnât the end of the world; Bergens could come in a range of shapes and sizes. That Gristle was so short wasnât that big of an issue.
But Berg, did it feel like it! Gristle had spent his whole life looking up to his fatherâmetaphorically and literally! And he was probably going to be stuck looking up forever!
âWhat are you moping about now?â And there was Gristleâs little-big brother, padding along one of the many paths set into the castle walls. The masons and carpenters had done good work with those pathsâwhen Branch wasnât running along them, they looked like simple wall decoration. It was real classy.
âIâm never gonna be tall.â Gristle grumbled, allowing himself a moment to lean against the wall in despair. Then he remembered who he was talking to, and hurriedly pulled away, flailing his hands as he tried to recover. âI meanânot that being short is a bad thingââ
âOkay, Iâm gonna stop you right there.â Branch groused, holding out a paw. âBecause from where Iâm standing, you are not short.â He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms in front of him.
âI am, though.â Gristle lamented. âMost Bergens are twice my size. I mean, just look at Dad!â
Branch rolled his eyes. âAt least youâre not Troll-sized.â He hopped down from the path along the wall to land atop Gristleâs head, just next to the crown. âGotta count your blessings there.â
âI dunno,â Gristle started, swiping at his brother as the tiny Bergen pattered about on his head and ruffled his hair, âMaybe being Troll-sized would be nice. I could ride Barnabus around the halls with you.â He didnât fully mean itâbeing the size of a Troll in a castle made for Bergens constantly forced Branch to find workarounds to even the simplest of things. But if anyone could manage it, itâd be Branch.
And Gristle had to admit: the idea of being able to ride on an alligator-dog, even one as old as Barnabus, was really cool. But Gristle was too big for that, and too big for his old trikesâall while being too small in so many other ways. It was like he was caught between, stuck at a size that would annoy him forever.
Branch dodged away from Gristleâs hand easily, chuffing when Gristle accidentally sent his own crown flying down the hall. Gristle growled, running after it, shaking his head in an attempt to throw Branch off. But his brother held on easily, always infuriatingly good at roughhousing despite his size.
It just wasnât fair.
But, as Gristle replaced his crown on his head, and as Branch slid down to settle on Gristleâs shoulder, Gristle brushed away the annoyance.
It wasnât the end of the world. Not by a long shot.
+=+=+=+=+
Gristle Junior was fifteen years old when the unthinkable happened.
His father, King Gristle Senior, who had always been an unshakeable force, strong and proud in a kingdom full of strong and proud Bergensâ
Gristle Junior couldnât believe it. It couldnât be true. It justâit wasnât supposed to happen like this!
But there was nothing that could be done. His father had fallen ill three months ago, and, despite every effort from every doctor in Bergentown, despite all of the Kingâs strengthâ
Gristle Junior was fifteen years old when his father passed from illness, gone overnight like a snuffed candle flame. Gristle Junior was fifteen years old when the title of King passed onto him, far too soonâhe should have remained a Prince until he was a proper adult, until he was married with children who would become the Princes and Princesses that would help him run the kingdomâ
Gristle Junior was fifteen years old when his world shattered for the second time. The funeral was held out in the plaza, barely a week after his fatherâs passing. The same plaza as Gristleâs first and final Trollstice, as his and Branchâs official crowning as Princes. It felt as though every major life-changing event in Gristleâs life happened here, the caged tree looming over it all like a shadow.
It still⌠it just couldnât be possible. His father couldnât just be⌠gone.
Gristle returned to the castle in a daze. Some distant part of him knew that he would have no choice but to take up his fatherâs crown, and soon, butâ
The rest of him was sinking slowly, the grief thick in his throat and veins and head. The fog was all-consuming, pulling Gristle into depths of unhappiness heâd never thought possible.
Gristle had believed his first and last Trollstice, the day where he lost any chance to ever be happy, would be the worst day of his life. Oh, how wrong he was.
Gristle didnât know how long he laid like that, staring up at the ceiling of his room without seeing anything at all. It was as though the world around him had well and truly shattered, and now the pieces had all fallen away out of his reach. Gristle floated on the nothing for what felt like an eternity and now time at all, the mire in his head growing thicker with every passing second.
âHey.â
Gristle rolled over on his bed, pressing his face into the comforter to block out the rest of the world.
âHey.â
What was the point? Gristle was never supposed to be King at fifteen. Heâd probably mess it up, bungle the whole thing, and then all of Bergentown would be just as dead as his father.
âHey!â
Gristle groaned, shoving his face into the comforter. He didnât have the time or patience for this, his whole world was falling apart, why couldnât he have a good cry about it in peaceâ
Something small landed inches away from Gristleâs head. He didnât even need to look to know who it wasâonly his little-big brother could land so lightly.
âHey, idiot.â Branch pushed at Gristleâs chin, lifting the Bergenâs head off the bed by a few inches. âChin up.â He demanded, baring his teeth.
Gristle forced his head back down onto the comforter. âLeave me alone.â He growled.
âMm, nope.â Branch declared, moving around to pull at Gristleâs ear. âYouâve been in here long enough,â he sniffed, âAnd you need a shower. Câmon.â He pulled, and Gristle had to put effort into staying in place.
âNo.â Gristle grumbled. âJust let me rot.â Every inch of his body ached with the grief clinging to his bones, and the very thought of getting up and doing anything made him want to vomit. The whole world made him want to vomit.
âCanât let you,â Branch said, his voice edging into genuine worry. âCâmon, at least eat something?â He tugged at Gristleâs ear again, darting away as Gristle irritably swiped at him.
âI said,â Gristle pushed himself up ever so slightly, just so he could look Branch in the eye, âleave me alone!â
Branch shook his head, paws clenching and unclenching. âYouâve been alone.â He said. âI canât leave you. Brothers stick together.â There was something heavy in his words, some deeper meaning than a childhood promise.
âAnd how are you supposed to help?â Gristle asked, sitting up fully. âWhat could you possibly do to make this better?â
âNot let you smell like a rotting carcass, for one.â Branch snarked. His expression immediately softened. âYou need to take better care of yourself.â He urged. âLetting yourself rot only makes it hurt worse. Please.â
âAnd what would you know?â Gristle accused. âYou and Dad barely even liked each other!â
âYou think I donât know what grief feels like?â Branch spread his arms wide, tears beginning to bubble up in his eyes. âMy Grandmother was eaten on Trollstice before you were even born! DONâT YOU DARE TELL ME I DONâT KNOW WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO GRIEVE!â
Gristle flinched back. All of his vitriol drained as Branch panted. âYouâŚâ Branch never talked about that, about those four years heâd spent in the Troll Tree. Gristleâs throat tightened as a wave of emotion hit him anew, his eyes beginning to sting.
âIt hurts.â He sobbed, for lack of anything better to say.
Branchâs anger melted away. âI know.â He said, sitting down. âIt hurts, and you want so badly to just curl into a ball and wish the world awayââ
âBut you have to pick yourself back up.â Gristle finished. âBecause people are counting on you.â
âBecause nobody else will.â Branch added softly.
Gristle sobbed, breathy and uneven. âI miss him so much, Branch.â
Branch nodded. âI know.â
âIâm not ready to be King!â Gristleâs face was wet, now, hot and sticky with snot and tears.
Branch nodded again. âI know.â
Gristle sobbed again, his whole body shaking with the motion. He opened his mouth, but no words came.
âItâs not okay,â Branch offered into the silence, scooting forwards, âAnd thatâs okay.â
âIt hurts.â Gristle whispered.
Branch nodded. No more words came, and Gristle continued to cry. All of his misery poured out, raw and real and painful, and Branch remained right in front of him the entire time. When Gristle finally ran out of tears to cry, he flopped back down onto the bed, and two paws pressed against his cheek.
The silence stretched.
Slowly, Gristle breathed. In, and out. His chest was still strung taut and raw, his face was cold and sticky, and his throat stung from the effort of crying so much. He had never felt so low. He knew the grief was far from over.
As Gristle breathed, Branch clambered up onto his chest. He kneeled down, and held out a paw.
âUnhappy together.â Branch offered. âShit sucks, but it sucks less when we work together.â
Gristle inhaled, his breath choppy and uneven. âUnhappy together.â He agreed, offering his finger for Branch to shake. He sobbed again, and Branch wrapped his arms around as much of Gristleâs hand as he could manage.
Gristle Junior was fifteen years old when his father died. And it sucked, and hurt, and Gristle wasnât sure heâd ever really stop grieving.
But, at the very least, he wasnât alone. It wasnât much, but that simple fact helped.
+=+=+=+=+
Gristle Junior was twenty years old when Chef returned.
The day started as any other, really. Wake up, get cleaned and dressed, find his brother already awake and poring over details from the latest construction updates in the new quarter. Have breakfast, Branch darting about to steal off of his plate as he stole from Branchâs, like proper brothers would do. Go through the castle halls greeting everyone, Branch walking along the various small walkways lining the walls and arching up across hallways like tiny bridges. Prepare for the biweekly levee in the throne room.
It was as the final petitioner was leaving that it happened. A Bergen that Gristle only vaguely recognized emerged from behind a potted plant, swishing her cloak ominously as she all but marched towards the throne.
And then Gristle recognized her. The chefâs hat, the lavender tint, the wicked gleam in her eyes. He glanced to the throne beside his, and anxiety germinated in his chest at the sight of Branch still as a statue, eyes wide and locked onto Chef.
âWere you behind that plant the whole time?â Gristle asked, for lack of anything else to say. He realized immediately how stupid that soundedâbut Branch made no comment on it, which was so unlike him that Gristleâs uncertainty ratcheted up another notch.
Chef grinned as she reached for the zipper on her fannypack. Slowly, she opened it, and a sweet harmony emerged from within.
Gristle gasped, the rest of the world forgotten. If Branch had any reaction, Gristle didnât notice it, too entranced with the sight before him.
For in Chefâs fannypack was a handful of Trolls, bright and colorful and singing.
This⌠this could change everything.
Noâthis would change everything. For all of Bergentown! Finally, Gristle Junior could live up to his title, could be the King that brought happiness back to his people!
If he had bothered to look back at the thrones, he would have seen Chef glaring daggers into his back.
More importantly, he would have seen the look of utter uncertainty on Branchâs face.
#dreamworks trolls#gristle junior#branch trolls#king gristle jr#zaz writes#between au#death#themes of dehumanization (depersonization?)#WHY. WHY IS THIS SO L O N G#9K WORDS?????#N I N E T H O U S A N D W O R D S ??????????#anyway. here's the between au for anyone who was wondering#i wish this was smaller and easier to digest#but i jsut. kept adding scenes#EVEN AS I REMOVED THE TAIL SCENE AND SKIMPED OVER THE ADOPTION AND DIDN'T WRITE ANY SCENES BETWEEN GRISTLE SR'S DEATH AND CHEF SHOWING UP#anyway. branch is four years older than gristle (jr) in my mind#and also trolls are like bugs to me. hence the pupation#i have fish in a birdcage playing on loop rn and i think my brain is melting#it's a good song for this au tho ngl
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the place me and my roommate were supposed to move into today was so disgusting and uninhabitable we just took our stuff and left and now we're gonna be staying at airbnbs and hotels until further notice/until we can find a new place hopefully quickly...........im in my homeless drifter era y'all!!!đđso if im not as active then thats why LMFAO
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#bro was literally trying to rent us a silent hill apartment#we already paid first and last too which was 2700k and he said hes not gonna refund us EVEN THO WE DIDNT EVEN MOVE IN!!#like first month i get BUT NOT EVEN THE SECOND MONTH?? all landlords go to hell#looking back at the og listing like.....yeah i can see why he never took pics of the outside......literally looks like a landfillđ#we're SO LUCKY that uhaul allowed us to keep our things stored with them bc if they insisted on our shit still being dropped off#we woulda been so screwed/forced to move in and then would have had to hire ANOTHER uhaul to move back OUT lol#AND I HATE MOVING the idea of unloading all of our stuff just to pack it again literally makes me wanna perish#but even tho i may be a homeless drifter rn that wont stop me from also working on my oneshot between searching for placesđ#the oneshot has a smut scene at the beginning LMAO and smut takes me forever to write so id been putting it off#but now that im over that hump (pun intended) i think ill be faster now brrrrrrrrrrr 9k words so far#its probs gonna be like 40k LMFAO maybe longer... idek#but also ill be hella busy trying to find a home so LMFAO who knows...chat im so fucking TIREDDDDDđ§ââď¸đ§ââď¸#my moms trying to see if she can fight him and get our money back but it aint lookin good bros#if i randomly open commissions then youll also know why LMAO
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three sword style
Or, Lloyd and his evolving relationship with what it means to choose a weapon, as supervised by Kai. listen I know Wu technically gives them all their new weapons in season 11 according to some random book referenced in the ninjago wiki (or at least Lloydâs sword) but you know who ACTUALLY has a degree in making weapons and canonically has made a golden sword SO. My canon now. (also spot the brain rot I infected myself with in the title)Â
Lloyd grows up in a world of weaponry and at the speed of light.Â
There are worse ways to grow up, maybe. There are also better ones â one where kids get to grow up instead blasting into teenager-hood in the span of seconds â but Lloyd doesnât like to complain about where heâs ended up.Â
Second to the speed of light thing, though, the weapons part is pretty big.Â
Weapons determine the single biggest turning point in his life, after all. Itâs the Golden Weapons that make him the Green Ninja, a title thatâs a lot more important than Lloydâs ever been. Itâs also that particular title that makes Lloyd the weapon, so thatâs fun. Ninjagoâs prophesied emergency failsafe, the Green Ninja â thatâs him.Â
On a nicer note, itâs the Fangblade that gets him a big brother, and proves that thereâs someone out there who cares about Lloyd over some stupid weapon, so hah.Â
Getting back to the point, thoughâ
Weapons. Lloydâs been making do without one, and heâs been making pretty good do, thank you very much. Heâs got his power, and heâs got himself. Thatâs all the weapon Lloyd needs.Â
But no one else seems to agree, and since ninety percent of the time whatever prophecy-of-doom crops up this month involves cursed weaponry of some sort, they all figure itâs a good a reason as any to stick Lloyd with a reliable weapon.Â
And while wielding all the elements is one thing, wielding every kind of weapon at once would be kind of difficult, even for his dad.Â
So Lloyd finally gets an actual, for-real, decision that he gets to make all by himself.Â
Itâs a monumentous occasion â and yes, that is a word, Nya, Lloyd knows some stuff â so if Lloyd was smart heâd treasure it and take his time.Â
With that in mind, it takes all of thirty seconds for Lloyd to choose. This is only mildly insulting to some parties.Â
âFine, sure, go with the most basic pick in the world,â Jay scoffs. âSwords. Boring.â
âSounds like youâre just jealous,â Kai shoots back.
âJealous of swords? Please. I just thought Lloyd was a little more creative than that.â
âI like swords,â Lloyd says, at a loss.Â
âJay is only relieved that no one will one-up his nunchuck expertise, now,â Zane smiles.Â
Jay sputters indignantly. âNo oneâs one-upping me, Iâm the best there is!âÂ
âUh-huh,â Cole shakes his head. âWell, if thatâs what Lloyd wants, thatâs the end of it.â His mouth quirks. âMeans more training time for Kai, anyways.âÂ
âMore training to be better than you,â Kai retorts.Â
âLike the rest of you, Lloyd will continue to work toward mastering at least the basics of any weapon,â Sensei Wu sighs. âA ninja confined to one weapon aloneââ
âIs a dead ninja,â Jay nods.
Sensei Wu cuts his eyes at him. âThat is not how I was going to finish.â
âThe point stands though, right?â
âThe point,â Sensei Wu pinches the bridge of his nose. âIs that while Lloyd will continue to train with all of you, focusing on swordsmanship will become the priority. So yes, in a way. More training for Kai.â
Lloyd rubs the back of his neck. âSorryâŚ?â
âWhy are you sorry?â Kai beams, more proud than smug. âI finally get an official katana apprentice. Weâre gonna be awesome.â
And that alone, Lloyd thinks, makes it worth all the complaining.Â
âGreat,â Jay throws his arms up. âNow weâre stuck with two slice âem dice âem ninjas.â
âOh, câmon,â Cole says. âItâs Kai, how dangerous can he be.â
âI resent that,â Kai says. âJust because you beat me once or twiceââ
âTry thirteen times, and counting.â
ââit does not mean Iâm not as dangerous as you,â Kai narrows his eyes.Â
âOh yeah? Wanna prove it?â
âBring it on, rock man.â
âNot in the kitchen, for FSMâs sakeââ
Whether or not Cole beats him (which he does, pretty badly, because Cole is kinda terrifying like that) Lloyd knows that to some degree, Kai is dangerous. Very dangerous, with or without his swords.
Itâs hard to think of Kai like that, though. When Lloyd thinks of Kai, he thinks of warm arms wrapped tight around him in the Fire Temple. Thinks of the first hugs heâs gotten from someone other than his father that felt like home. Thinks of protection â thinks safe. Thinks family.Â
Heâs wanted to be like Kai for a while, now. So yeah. Itâs an easy choice.Â
Plus, swords are way cool.
______
Kai starts training him in Darethâs dojo. It takes about a week for them to get banished to the roof of their apartment, which is mostly Lloydâs fault â but Kaiâs the one supposed to be teaching him, so he can take the blame this time.Â
âŚwell, maybe Lloydâs the one who keeps losing his grip on the katana, but thatâs not quite his fault, either. Â
Kai is better than basically any swordsman on this side of Ninjago in years, if not all Ninjago. Lloyd knows this because Uncle Wu told him so, and because Kai wipes the floor with him the first, second, and twenty-ninth time they spar.
âThe point is to keep your grip on the katana, you know,â Kai says, as Lloyd retrieves his sword from where it went flying (again). âWhat kind of hold it that supposed to be, butterfingers deluxe?â
âYou said not to grip it too tight,â Lloyd complains.Â
Kai rolls his eyes. âYeah, âcause you had it in a death hold. I didnât say, âlet go and let it flyâ.â
âI didnât let it fly, you knocked it out of my hand!â
âAha, so youâre admitting I won. Again.â
âN-no!â Lloyd protests. âIâm just warming up. Iâll show you this time.âÂ
But as Kai takes his stance again, his own katana held with a kind of grace Lloyd has zero idea how to ever accomplish, Lloyd thinks he might be a bit of a lost cause.Â
Itâs difficult, because every time he goes to swing his sword, his power thrums in his blood, in his hands, always ready to lash out. Itâs quickly become a habit, to start every fight slinging green blasts around. Lloydâs already grown fond of the little bell-like sounds his power makes, the steady pulse as bright green builds in his palms.Â
Lloyd is the Green Ninja, after all. His power is what makes him, well, him. Heâs his own best weapon â heâs the one the prophecy needs to make things right.
Kai keeps putting weapons in his hands, anyways.Â
Training katanas, mostly. He got to hold the Sword of Fire once, before his dad took it. It was beautiful â Lloyd kinda gets why Kaiâs so up in arms about it getting stolen.
That and the whole donât-give-Garmadon-the-Golden-Weapons thing.
Kai seems confused that Lloyd remembers it, which is weird because the Golden Weapons are kind of a big deal, but Lloyd decides to chalk it up to all the other weirdness in his life.Â
The first true katana Kai ever gives Lloyd isâŚnot quite as cool as the Sword of Fire, and definitely not as beautiful, but in a way that Lloyd likes.Â
âWeâre kinda short on weapons,â Kai admits, rubbing the back of his neck. âAnd I donât exactly have access to smithing equipment right now, which means youâre stuck with one of my old ones. Sorry.â
âWhy are you sorry?â Lloyd adjusts his hands around the hilt, taking an experimental swing. âThis is a great sword!â
âYeah, okay, liar â and donât swing it around like that, you look like youâre waving a pool noodle.âÂ
Kai grabs his hands, forcing Lloydâs arms to hold steady.
âLike this, okay?â Kai says. âWeâre gonna start by practicing single movements.âÂ
âAw,â Lloyd visibly wilts. âMore katas? I thought I was gonna get to learn some cool moves.â
âThis is a cool move. If youâre good, you finish things in one hit,â Kai says. âOne strike, and the fightâs over.â
âLike a headshot,â Lloyd nods.
âNo,â Kai rolls his eyes. âThis is not a video game. This is a real sword, and youâre going to learn to use it right.â
âAnd then we can do the cool moves?â
Kai narrows his eyes. âDo your katas or Iâm firing you.â
Lloyd sticks his tongue out at him. âYou canât fire me. Iâm the Green Ninja.â
âYeah? Iâll demote you to Green Washer-of-Dishes for the rest of the month.â
âNo! You canât, Nya and I have a deal!âÂ
Jokes aside, Lloyd is sure to remind Kai, as he scrubs dishes and Kai dries them, that he does take training seriously.
He takes all his training seriously. Itâs kind of his only job.Â
Lloyd practices hits until his knuckles split and scab, masters high kicks with shins colored violent blues and purples, forms green starbursts in his hands until his fingers crack and bleed.Â
When his palms blister from the sword hilt on top of it all, Kai makes him hold still until heâs wrapped the first-aid bandage around his hands at least five times, then shoves his old gloves on him when he starts to form calluses.
He wants to argue that he doesnât need them, but Lloyd still wears the gloves everyday and tucks them away each night, storing them with the other few, treasured things heâs been gifted.
______
The longer he trains with swords, the more Lloyd gains calluses and nicked fingers and perpetually smells a little like cloves.Â
That last part Lloyd enjoys, though heâll never admit it. Heâs not about to go and tell people he enjoys cleaning stuff, no thanks.Â
But thereâs something nice about helping Kai take care of the katanas, in a relaxing sort of way. The wood-smoke tang of cloves smells like home, which Lloyd treasures, because home isnât something heâs very used to.Â
Treasures is probably an understatement. Lloyd latches onto it like heâs starving. Part of itâs because this is something he gets to have with Kai, all by himself. Heâs never had something like that before, either â a special thing thatâs shared just with him.Â
Well, maybe besides the green gi, but the Green Ninja is something that belongs to everyone. Whatever Lloyd does when he puts the green gi on is everyoneâs business, since it determines the fate of the world or something like that, and it doesnât really even feel like his. Not yet, at least.Â
But sitting cross-legged in the weapons room while Kai teaches him how to clean katanas without damaging them â that belongs to Lloyd.Â
He learns a lot with it too, because Kai always starts rambling about ten minutes in â not the confident, cocky way he does sometimes in front of everyone else, but in an honest way that Lloyd isnât entirely sure he even means to be.Â
âânot the best oil, but it works when youâre in a pinch. Sâwhat my parents left behind, at the shop, so itâs good enough.â
Lloyd looks up at him, curious. He keeps quiet â Kai and Nya donât talk much about their parents, if at all. Lloyd gets it, of course, but it makes the little tidbits they share valuable.Â
âI donât remember a lot about my parents,â Kai continues. âBut I remember some things. About my dad. He was a great smith, I know that much. Could make about anything. Swords were his favorite, though.âÂ
Uncle Wuâs candlelight casts Kaiâs eyes with a glow that makes it seem like heâs on fire himself, flickering and fading. He looks very far away, all of the sudden, and Lloyd has the urge to grab for his arm and make him stay here.Â
âGuess I latched onto that,â Kai smiles ruefully, and heâs back again. âNever could reach his level, but I learned how to make an okay sword.â
Lloyd chews on his lip. He knows all about latching on to your parents â wanting to be great at the things they are.
That maybe, if youâre good enough, theyâll be proud enough to come back.Â
He doesnât think thatâs a happy thing to say, though, so he tells Kai instead, âI think your swords are great.â
Kaiâs lips quirk. âUh-huh. Then you better treat them like it.â
âI do,â Lloyd protests. He gestures at the katana across his lap. âSee? I did it perfect this time.â
Kai nods his head at a spot Lloyd noticeably missed. He flushes.
âAlmost perfect.â
âPractice, young student,â Kai says, in a gravely voice thatâs probably supposed to sound like Uncle Wu. âA thousand hours of practice for you.â
âUgh,â Lloyd groans. âAll I do is practice. Practice practice practice, and then Iâm still not enouââ
He cuts off. Oops. Maybe Kaiâs honestly is a little too contagious.Â
Kai goes quiet, hands stilling on the katana. Thereâs a deep furrow between his eyes as he stares at Lloyd, in a way that makes him feel a little like a bug under a microscope. Or that Kai can see right through him, which is bad, because all Lloydâs got in him is a bunch of tangled thoughts and worries and nothing an actual ninja should have.Â
âYou know,â he says, carefully. âWe probably need to stock up on the good oil. Iâm kinda running low.â
Lloyd knows darn well Kai has enough choji oil to get them through an apocalypse.Â
âYeah?â
âYeah,â Kai nods. âIf we go now, we can probably hit the convenience store, too. Get a sugar boost beforeââ
âIâm in!â Lloyd shoots to his feet before he can stop himself, any protests forgotten. Training has included a healthy diet lately, so Lloyd doesnât collapse and pass out because his bloodâs eighty percent sugar â Zaneâs words, not his.Â
If he needs to get his blood sugar up, why canât he just eat sugar all the time? It makes no sense.Â
âDo not tell the others,â Kai hisses, as they make their way into the city. âEspecially Cole, if you donât wanna lose your sweets before you can take a bite. Weâre just getting polish for katanas, as far as you know.â
âI know nothing,â Lloyd says obediently. âHey, do you think we could use olive oil on the katanas?â
Kaiâs stare could heat iron. âIâll kill you.âÂ
âIt was a joke! A joke, heh.â
______
For all that Lloydâs life revolves around training to defeat anyone and everyone, the guys are still weirdly protective. Over anyone and everyone, including Lloyd himself.Â
âCâmon, I can handle the cool attacks,â Lloyd complains, as Kai drags him into place.
âTheyâre not cool â okay, theyâre kinda cool â but thatâs not what weâre learning now,â Kai sighs. âYouâre learning Aikido. Well, a form of it, technically. Itâs focused on defending yourself, but in a way that lessens the chances of injuring your attacker.â Â
Lloyd frowns. âIsnât that counterintoo â counterintuitive?â
âBig words today,â Kai mutters. He shakes his head. âAnd itâs counterproductive, by the way, but â no, because now that weâre training, half your attackers are us, and Iâd like to leave practice with my arms intact.â
Lloyd grins. âSo youâre admitting Iâm better than you.âÂ
âDonât put words in my mouth,â Kai says pointedly.
âDonât need to. Youâve already admitted defeat.â
âAnd, bratââ Lloyd yelps as Kai digs his knuckles into his hair. âDefending yourself is incredibly important.â
As they settle back into position, Kai pauses, a muscle in his jaw working. He looks as if heâs having an internal argument with himself, before finally sighing.Â
âThe thing about any weapon, but especially swords,â he says, correcting Lloydâs grip on the katana. âIs that they can be used a lot of ways. But the one thing you never, ever want to forgetââ
And Kaiâs tone grows serious, his jaw tensing again. âIs that they can kill.â
Lloyd looks down, to the sharp edges of the blade. It suddenly feels a bit heavier, and the room just a bit darker.Â
âThe way weâre training you, the way we were trained, we donât always â we try to avoid it.â Kaiâs voice wavers, and for a moment, Lloyd remembers that Kai isnât all that much older than he is.Â
Well, now, especially.Â
âBut sometimes, itâsâŚyou donât reallyâŚwell.â He lets out a breath. âThis is a sword. It can take a life really quick, if you arenât careful. And sometimes, you donât get the choice to be careful or not.â
Lloyd swallows. He hasnât thought about it much â hasnât wanted to, but it lives in his mind like a terrible itch he canât get rid of.Â
Heâs no stranger to the idea of killing someone. Darkleyâs was blunt as it was cold. But as a ninja, itâs suddenly realer than it ever was in school.Â
As the Green Ninja, with his destiny drawn out in front of him, itâs pretty much unavoidable.Â
Heâs going to kill his father, or heâs going to die.Â
Kaiâs hands grab tight around his shoulders. âWeâre gonna do everything we can to make sure you donât end up in that situation, okay?â He gives Lloyd a small, strained smile. âDonât ever feel like you have to change who you are, just âcause youâre a ninja now.â
How do you know who I am, Lloyd wants to ask. How do you know Iâm not a murderer? How do you know Iâm not awful?Â
Kaiâs eyes are impossibly kind and far, far too knowing.Â
âBut,â and his tone grows serious again. âIf itâs your life or theirs.âÂ
Lloyd feels a bit like the oxygenâs been sucked out of the room.Â
âPromise me. You have to promise â you will always, always choose your own.âÂ
Lloyd stares back. Kai gives him a little shake.
âYou promise me?â
Finally, as if moved by puppet strings, Lloyd nods.Â
âI promise,â he rasps.Â
Kai looks relieved, but itâs not quite in a happy way. âAs long as you come back alive, thatâs what matters. I donât care what else happens â you come back alive, and weâre good.âÂ
âOkay,â Lloyd says. His eyes feel wet. Itâs strange, someone caring so much about something like that. Â
âWhich is why,â Kai says, finally stepping back as his tone lightens. âYouâre gonna nail that block this time. Or Iâm making you polish every weapon in the dojo again.â
âOh, no,â Lloyd stares at him in horror. âIâve been practicing that stupid move for hours!â
âAnd youâll be cleaning weapons for hours if you donât get it.âÂ
âYou suck,â Lloyd grumbles. âWorst teacher of all time.âÂ
âUh-huh,â Kai claps him on the back, and Lloyd lets out his own sigh of relief at the lightened atmosphere. âYouâre the one that picked swords, buddy.â
______
Kaiâs a hypocrite, though, and Lloyd could hate him for it, because as they slide down the snowy mountain-side, Lloydâs body clashing against his family in ways heâd never, ever let it if he had control, he has to watch as Kai â again â chooses a life other than his own.Â
Because Kai doesnât have the experience Morro does, but heâs better with a sword, heâs better than anyone Lloyd knows, and he loses. And Lloydâs arm drags the Sword of Sanctuary up and Kai is a stupid, stupid, stupid hypocriteâ
Lloydâs angry enough that tearing control back from Morro is easy.Â
He knows a thing or two about swords himself, and Morroâs holding it wrong, anyways.Â
______
Training had already taken a hit after they lose Zane, for obvious reasons. Everything had taken a hit after they lost Zane, and between the tournament and Morro and everything else Lloydâs pointedly ignoring, itâs suddenly been ages since heâs had a proper sword lesson.Â
Kai decides to make up for it by finally teaching him the fun stuff.Â
âDonât â call it that in front of Cole,â Kai grunts over the loud screech of metal on metal. His knee bends, just the slightest tellâ
Lloyd falls back, dancing away from Kaiâs returning strike. He knows now, just how dangerous Kai can be â heâd like to forget it, but itâd be doing him a disservice.Â
Besides, Lloydâs had his body dragged left and right over Ninjago, used as the worst kind of weapon to hurt the people he loves, and they still trust him. Being on the dangerous end of Chenâs stupid staff is nothing to being on the dangerous end of a katana Kaiâs made himself, and Lloydâs determined to hold onto the faith heâs had since that day in the volcano.Â
Kai wonât hurt him.Â
Heâll kick his ass in training, though, so Lloyd had better get back with the show.Â
He retaliates with a feint to the right â too obvious for Kai, but enough to steal his attention for Lloyd to land a high kick to his side.
âWatch that,â Kai scolds, forced two steps backs.Â
âWhy?â Lloyd grins over the edge of Kaiâs blade as he catches his blow dead-on. âScared Iâm gonna beat you too soon?â
Kai snorts. âYou arenât beating me at all, shortstackââ
âNot shortââ
âAnd,â Kaiâs katana moves so fast Lloyd barely manages to dodge, rolling into a somersault before surging back up to meet his backstrike. âYouâre advertising your weak point.â
Lloyd frowns. âSânot a weak point.â
Kaiâs katana flashes â Lloyd moves right just before he realizes itâs a feint, cursing himself â then the hilt of his katana is smacking hard against a bone in his right ankle.Â
Thereâs a hot flash of pain as his body completely betrays him, his ankle buckling and sending him stumbling with a yelp.
Kaiâs expression isnât gloating, at least. On the downside, he has that sad kind of look that usually means heâs feeling guilty.Â
âItâs not usually that bad,â he tries, even as his cheeks flare hot.Â
âIt doesnât matter,â Kai shakes his head. âYou need to protect that. Make sure no one knows itâs a weak point but you. Putting it in reach of your opponent is a bad way to do that.âÂ
Lloyd grits his teeth, but he knows Kaiâs right. Heâll never regret pushing himself the way he did, clambering up the tower steps on a broken ankle. The fate of Ninjago was a lot heavier on his shoulders than any thoughts of consequences.Â
It still sucks, that itâll never heal quite right.Â
But it isnât like heâs the only one with an old wound turned weak spot, he reminds himself, as he wraps his aching ankle once again. Jayâs got zig-zagging lightning scars all down his arms that ache during heavy rain. Nya can only rotate her arm so far before her shoulder goes numb, a souvenir from a broken arm. Coleâs the worst, maybe, with how heâs strained himself lifting impossibly heavy weights, fractured fingers and broken bones that throb in the cold.Â
Kaiâs got his own share of weaknesses, though he works hard to hide them. Lloydâs managed to pick out most â some of them heâs helped treat himself.
He doesnât like to think about those times, though.
âSo Iâve got an idea for a move,â Kai grins at him, once Lloydâs ankle is stable. âItâs gonna take some timing, but since I donât have a weak spot there â youâre gonna run and launch.â
Lloyd tilts his head. âLaunch off your right ankle?â
âNo,â Kai rolls his eyes. âIâm gonna go down for a handspring. When my legs are low, youâre gonna jump on, so when I shoot upââ
âOoh, I go flying,â Lloyd concludes.Â
âExactly.âÂ
âLetâs do it! Iâm gonna look so coolââ
âOkay, but weâre gonna look stupid as it gets if we donât get the â timing, timing!âÂ
It takes about five tries to get it right. Thatâs all they agree on admitting to â the less said about the forgotten sixth and seventh tries, the better.Â
But on try eight, Lloyd finally feels his left and right foot connect with Kaiâs just as he hits the lowest point of the handspring â and this time, he remembers to bend his own knees and launch up, and with a sudden weightlessness, heâs flying.Â
âSlash, slash, donât forget to slash!â
 Years of training are the only reason Lloydâs able to get his arms to obey him fast enough, the wind-up pulling on his shoulders before he sweeps the katana down, slashing outâ
âYes!â Kaiâs cheer abruptly turns to a yelp as he loses his balance, crumpling to the floor. Lloydâs already sprawled across the training mats, since landing was a whole lot harder than heâd planned for â but the training dummy is cut in half. One perfect hit.Â
âNow, if we can just manage that in an actual fight, weâll look awesome,â Kai grins.
Lloyd glances at him. âAre you gonna fall flat on your face then, too?â
Red stains his cheeks. âNo,â Kai sputters. âThat was â you didnât see that.â
âUh-huh,â Lloyd snorts. He tilts his head, considering the unfortunate training dummy. âYâknow, I bet I can manage a flip in there,â he mutters.Â
Kai shrugs. âYeah, probably.â He lips quirk up. âItâd look pretty cool. Yâknow what, letâs go for it. I wanna see the look on Jayâs face when you flip down on him during sparring.â
______
It takes Kai all of ten minutes into the next fight to start regretting that one.Â
âGot a runner!â Jay calls, as one of the thugs theyâve been rounding up breaks loose from where Zaneâs kindly explaining the terms of surrender and Coleâs standing with his lava punch ready to show them what happens if they donât agree.Â
âI got âim!â Lloyd calls, darting after the masked man.Â
He tugs his katana free from its sheathe, mind already racing. The time spent on his own, guarding his own back, gave Lloyd the rare opportunity to learn things in ways the guys probably wouldâve had his head for.
With the lessons Kaiâs drilled into him, the steady form of swordsmanship driven into his nerves, Lloydâs found a creativity in tweaking things to match his style.Â
So when the thug sprints past a number of abandoned boxes, scrabbling as he narrowly avoids stumbling on the concrete, Lloydâs already got the perfect move in mind.Â
Step, step, jump â tuck in tight, so thereâs enough momentum to rotate at least twice â and bam, itâs like a wind-up toy. The more spins he gets in, the harder his landing is, disarming the guy with a perfect slash while kicking his teeth in.Â
Neat and effective, in Lloydâs opinion.
Sadly, his opinion is not shared.Â
Kai sputters. âWhat was that?â
âCool as heck, thatâs what it was,â Lloyd grins.Â
Kai is supremely unimpressed. âWhat did I say about wasting movements?â
Lloyd shuffles. âDonâtâŚdo it?â
âThen why, exactly, did you feel the need to flip three â not one but three â times before striking?â
âBecause,â Lloyd says. âIt was cool. As heck.â
Kai pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers. Lloyd valiantly bites back any comments about him taking after Sensei Wu.Â
âThereâs a difference between adding your own flare,â he finally says. âAnd squandering your energy like a spinning top.â
âSquandering â spinning topââ Lloyd sputters. âHey, I got the guy just fine, didnât I? I didnât squander anything.â
âAnd whatâre you gonna do if someone wises up and snipes you mid-flip?â
âWhoâs gonna snipe me, there are no snipers around, dummyââ
âThere could be, hypothetically!â
âHypothetically, please. Youâre just jealous âcause you can only do two flipsââ
âI can do sixteen if I want, Iâm just smarterââ
Despite his arguments, Lloyd does resolve to try for restraint. Unfortunately, Lloydâs also got the memory of a goldfish, so Kai should really know better.Â
He just canât help it. The next time they clash with a run-of-the-mill villain whoâs stealing secret plans for bombs or whatever ridiculous thing it is that week, Lloyd finds himself on one building with the criminal on the next.Â
The solution is obvious. Kai doesnât agree.Â
âFIVE FLIPS?! THAT WAS A THREE-FOOT DISTANCE!â
Lloyd carefully places the now-unconscious criminal on the rooftop, stands back up, and wisely back-flips the heck outta there.Â
______
As his sword movements grow more complicated and the green power take a near-constant presence in his veins, the gentle pulse of energy as familiar as a friend, Lloyd grows stronger, too.
This kickstarts an entirely new problem, because Lloyd canât go five steps without ruining something, it seems.Â
In his defense, he doesnât start breaking swords at a criminal rate until after Morro, so Lloydâs gonna blame it all on him.
He stares blankly at the katana in his hands â or the remains of it, to be exact. Half the blade is somewhere across the street, where it went skidding after Lloydâs final hit snapped it clean in two.Â
Kai stares just as blankly when Lloyd wordlessly offers the pieces up.Â
âOkay,â he finally says. âMaybe I went wrong with the balance, or something? This was probably just a fluke.â
He turns it over, frowning. âWouldnât hurt to reinforce the next one, I guessâŚâ
Reinforcements or not, it takes the third shattered sword for Kai to wise on.Â
âIâm so sorry,â Lloyd warbles tearfully, the remains of Kaiâs careful metalwork cradled in his arms. âI donât know what happened, I was just swinging it, and it went â it wentââ
âIt went in six different directions, apparently,â Kai mutters.Â
Lloyd slumps. âIt was only four this time,â he mutters.Â
âI guess this is what we get for training you as well as we did,â Kai says. âCole and his super strength, Iâll never be free of it.â
âDidnât he beat you by tripping you flat on your face?â
âI donât wanna hear it from you, oh cruel destroyer of my swords,â Kai scowls.Â
âI didnât mean to!â Lloyd protests. âI tried really hard this time, but the last guy had this giant bat, and I thought I could cut it in half, but I swung so hard I screwed up my strike and wentâŚin sixâŚdifferent directionsâŚâ
Kai scrubs a hand over his face. He glances at Lloyd, eyes searching.Â
âBut you beat him?â
âDuh,â Lloyd says. The faith people have in him.
âAnd you didnât get hit yourself?â
Lloyd shakes his head. âNot a scratch.â Itâs not even a lie this time.
âThen I guess it was a noble sacrifice,â Kai sighs. âI can live with that.â
The katanaâs sad remnants join the equally sad â and steadily growing â pile of scrap metal made by Lloydâs awful sword skills. They have a pretty fun time melting it all down though, watching the metal bubble as Kai starts drafting the next run of layered steel heâll shape into a katana.Â
âIâm gonna be a master katana maker at this rate,â he huffs, wiping at his forehead. Lloyd, whoâs hanging over the forge to watch the different colors the liquid metal makes, taps lazily at his knee with his foot. The forge flares brighter as Kaiâs fire does, and he mumbles a distracted thanks.Â
âA master hothead,â Lloyd says. Kai rolls his eyes. âIf I ever figure out how to be a master swordsman, maybe you can take a break and figure out how to make other weapons.â
âHey, Iâm great at making other weapons.â
âYeah, like âblock of metalâ and âtriangle of metalâ and âweird rectangle of metalâ, andââ
âYouâre gonna get a stick for next battle if you keep that up,â Kai growls, but his lips are twitching.
âHypotenuse of metal,â Lloyd whispers.
âThe heck, thatâs not even a shapeââÂ
The forge grows steadily hotter as Kai works, bright sparks popping and steam hissing up in little curling wisps. It doesnât bother Lloyd too much â ever since that day in the volcano, the press of heat is more like a second skin. Heâs nowhere near as durable as Kai, of course, who could probably hop in the forge and come out with only a sunburn, but itâs enough to feel cozy instead of sweaty and dizzy.Â
âYâknow, you donât have to use a sword,â Kai says hesitantly, as he inspects a hammer. âThere are a lot of other weapons that would fit your style. If you ever wanna try out a spear like Nya, that might suit you pretty well.â
âNo!â Lloyd says sharply. Biting his tongue, he amends, âIâve already been training with swords for forever. I donât wanna change my whole style for something else.â
Kai eyes him shrewdly, but his lips finally twitch up in amusement. âIf you say so,â he says. âBut I swear, break my sword again and you will get a stick for your next weapon. Or chopsticks. A butter knifeââ
______
Lloyd gets a new sword, of course. And another one. He might grouse and complain, but Kai doesnât truly get angry about the swords. He does, however, get very angry over Lloydâs total idiocy with what happens to said shattered swords.Â
His first mistake is the usual one â Lloyd swings a bit too hard at a sloppy angle and thereâs a high-pitched screech as the sword dies a sad death, splitting in two.Â
Lloyd stares blankly at the now much-shorter katana in his hands, which is his second mistake. The delay costs him, and he scrambles to duck the thiefâs vicious punch, their own sword having been knocked away in the scuffle. Their boot comes up, swinging for his head, and Lloyd springs back, landing palms-first on the floor and launching himself out of range.Â
He also, unthinking, drops the broken katana â mistake number three.Â
His fourth mistake is the worst one possible, because Lloyd brings his hand up to block what heâs sure will be another punch, only to get slashed by the jagged end of the katana he just dropped.
A sharp, burning pain explodes across his hand, and Lloyd stifles a shriek.Â
Stupid, stupid, stupid move.Â
The thief comes in for round two, Lloydâs own snapped katana glinting in the fluorescent building lights, and Lloyd freezes. It occurs to him that he should probably just go ahead and hit the thief with an burst of green, but thatâs also when Kai mows them down with a viciousness that reminds Lloyd â Kai always goes easy on him in training.Â
âI had him handled,â he still protests, after the thiefâs been hauled off to prison (or the hospital, possibly).
Kai ignores him, sheathing his katana and storming his way.Â
He grabs Lloydâs hand before he can protest, pulling back the torn fabric of his glove and slapping his own hood against the gash on his hand to stem the bleeding.Â
âWhat did I say,â Kai says angrily.Â
Lloyd flinches at the stinging pain in his hand, and tries to glare back.Â
Kaiâs having none of it. âYour sword is supposed to take the hits,â he snaps. âNot you!âÂ
âIt did take the hit,â Lloyd finally throws back. âI just broke it, and â I was fine!â
âYou handâs bleeding all over my hood, that is not fine!â
âThen take your hood off and it wonât get blood on it!â
âMy hood isnât what Iâm worried about!â
By the time Zaneâs stitched Lloydâs hand up, wincing barely kept at a minimum, Kaiâs cooled down.
Somewhat.Â
âIt was an accident, okay?â Lloyd says, for the billionth time. âI didnât realize he had a weapon. I wasnât trying to sacrifice my hand, or whatever.â
âOh yeah? âCause that sounds a lot like something youâd do.â
âComing from you, thatâs somewhat hypocritical,â Zane murmurs.Â
Lloyd snickers. Kai turns to Zane in utter betrayal.Â
Of course, this means that Lloydâs next lesson is how to treat sword wounds in emergency situations, in painstaking and excruciating detail. His hand stings every time he grasps the katana handle for solid week, though, so Lloyd takes equally careful notes.
______
Lloyd goes and breaks another three katanas after that. At this point, he kinda thinks Kai should just give up and let him go into battle weapon-less again. You donât need weapons to do Spinjitzu. The green power wonât break, and Lloyd certainly wonât split into six pieces.
(He hopes.)
Kai keeps putting swords in his hands anyways.Â
Lloyd could always just say no â heâs supposed to be leader or something, he can make his own decisions.
But he thinks of sparring sessions and smelling like cloves every other evening, thinks of the tiny dragons Kai still takes the time to carve into his katana handles, and throwing all that away would feel as great as sawing off his own arm.Â
So he picks the katana up, does his stupid katas, and promises to do better this time.
That doesnât magically fix things, of course.Â
âHow,â Kai says blankly, staring at the katana that now lies in a record eight pieces.Â
âUm.â Lloyd twists his fingers together. âI definitely didnât use it to prop open a door like you said never to do.â
Kai gives him a smile that shows exactly all of his teeth.Â
âYou have five seconds to run.â
______
All that training on treating sword wounds pays off. Possibly more than learning how to fight with a sword in the first place, when Kai drops in the middle of battle with a wicked slash across his lower thigh.Â
âOf all the â stupid, embarrassingââ
âShut up,â Lloyd says tightly. Heâs already focusing half his energy on not throwing up at the amount of blood soaking between his fingers where theyâre pressed tightly over Kaiâs leg. âStop moving, I gotta see if it â if it hit an artery.â
âIt better not have,â Kai pants, wincing as Lloyd presses down harder. âIf it hit an artery Iâm screwed.â
âShut up.âÂ
Lloydâs heartbeat is a thunderstorm in his ears, panic welling up in his throat as Kaiâs blood swims in his vision.Â
âHey, hey,â Kaiâs hand falters, then clasps Lloydâs own. âMâgonna be fine. Takes a lot more than a stupid leg wound to take me out.âÂ
âThatâd be so lame,â Lloyd breathes, somewhat hysterically. Heâs torn his own belt off for a tourniquet, which is step one, he thinks â hood can go around the actual wound, and if he steals Kaiâs belt, then he can double reinforce itâÂ
âI can always cauterize,â Kai says shakily, sounding like heâd rather do anything else in the world. âItâll be â move!â
Lloyd manages to roll them both out of the way as the assassin who nailed Kai comes in to finish the job, sword scraping sparks across the rooftop. Lloyd flashes a furious glare over his shoulder, mind racing as he holds himself in front of Kai.Â
âHere.â The familiar hilt of Kaiâs katana slaps against Lloydâs open hand â the other is quick to follow suit. âRemember, double wielding â better for defense.â
Lloyd nods on instinct. He adjusts his grip on both swords, the blood on his fingers making the hilts tacky and sticky. Itâs going to be a pain to clean later, a vague part of his mind notes.Â
Of course Lloyd remembers dual wielding. It is better for defending, but you lose power on striking and reach â he can deal with that. Kai does.Â
And itâs exactly what he needs, right now. The assassin wonât even get close to Kai.
One spin, then another. The katanasâ weight is familiar, balanced in the slightly-weird way Lloyd likes best, the way Kai makes all his swords. He finds his footing, finds the stance, and moves.
When Kai fights, he fights like the first flash of flame from a match strike â quick and bursting, fast enough it all but blinds the enemy.Â
When Lloyd fights, it feels like dancing â slower to start, picking steps deliberately, building to that bursting strike faster and faster.Â
It only takes one strike, after all. And Lloydâs got two swords.Â
Silver flashes across the rooftop, a piercing screech as one of his katana meets the assassinâs broader blade, forcing it backâ
The assassin drops with a cry before falling silent, the shattered pieces of a katana scattered around him.Â
âSaw thatâŚone coming,â Kai moans.Â
Still breathing heavily, Lloyd tries not to cringe.
âIâm so sorry,â he repeats, after Kaiâs securely in a hospital bed and enduring Nyaâs forty-five minute lecture about the many ways your arteries can kill you.Â
Kai waves his hand, slightly cross-eyed and loopy from medication. âYâknow what? I wanted a new sword anyways. You saved me, soâŚskip the lecture and weâll call it square?â
Lloyd lets a small smirk crawl up his face.Â
âYou know, I feel like thereâs something very important you should keep in mind, about your weapons taking the hit, instead of youââÂ
âWhen I get out of here, youâre toast.â
______
âI think I know where Iâm going wrong,â Kai says.Â
Heâs spent the weekend with his father, the two of them either shut up in the forge or buzzing and forth about blacksmithing. It leaves Lloyd feeling a little weird â some mix between happy for Kai and achingly jealous, which then leaves him mostly just sad, which sucks. Lloyd sucks â itâs terrible to feel that way. Everyone was happy when Lloyd got both his parents back after that first battle, and even if heâs lost that â the least he can do is be happy for Kai and Nya.Â
It ends up working out pretty great in the end, because Kai looks a little like heâs unraveled the mysteries of the universe right now.Â
Half his right eyebrow is also scorched off, but Lloyd decides not to mention it for now. Itâll be funny to see the look on his face, when he notices.Â
âI was talking with my dad, whoâs got a lot more experience with this stuff, and he suggested something,â Kai continues. He fiddles with whatever heâs got hidden behind his back, and Lloyd has to stifle the urge to dart around him and see.Â
âNo more katana,â Kai says. âYouâre good with âem, but I think we need a change-up.â
âYou mean good at breaking them,â Lloyd mutters.
âIf the sword breaks on you, itâs my fault,â Kai says. âIâm not exactly the worldâs best blacksmith. Yâknow, you should really think about getting someone else toââ
âNo.â Lloyd bites his tongue immediately, aware of how bratty he sounds.Â
And selfish. Itâs not like Kai has tons of time to just make Lloyd swords all the time.Â
As if reading his thoughts, Kai scuffs his hair. âStop that. I like making swords.â The small edge of a smile pulls at his lips. âI worked pretty hard to become a blacksmith. So it feels kinda good, that someone appreciates the work for once.â
He shakes his head. âAnyways! Meet your new battle buddy. This is called a dao sword.âÂ
Lloyd stares at the curved, silvery blade Kaiâs handed to him. Itâs thicker than the katana heâs used to, the blade growing broader at the end before tapering off.Â
âHistorically, itâs better suited for quick slashing, but itâs fairly versatile,â Kai continues.Â
Lloyd carefully lifts the sword, his eyes widening just a bit.Â
âAnd heavier,â Kai grins. âWhich means itâs gonna be at least a little more difficult for you to shatter.â
His hands fit easily around the handle â thereâs plenty of room for a two-handed grip, and enough balance if he wants to switch back to one.Â
âThe guardâs a bit better with protection, and itâs got this tassel here you can wrap around your hand â yeah, like that â to help keep it steady. Or just look fancy.â
Stepping back, Lloyd adjust his hold. Normally heâd do something silly, or needlessly complicated, just to make Kai roll his eyes, but something about this one feels heavier â he doesnât want to mess it up. He takes a single, experimental swing instead.Â
âOh,â Lloyd blinks. âItâs sharp.â
âIâd hope so. What do you think I am, a half-rate blacksmith â donât answer that, by the way.â
Lloyd simply grins, taking a few more swings. It is heavier than the katana heâs used to, broader and chunkier â but it feels at home in his hands.Â
âItâs incredible,â Lloyd says, turning back to Kai. âThank you.â
Kai colors, just a bit. âYou donât have to lie.â
âIâm not lying! I love it. Itâs perfect.â
âWell, as long as it holds up, thatâs good enough for me,â Kai says, rubbing the back of his head. âWanna give it a test drive?â
âYeah,â Lloyd says. âI bet I can do even more flips with it.â
âAnd stab yourself in the leg in the process, but sure, go ahead, squander my giftââ
______
Lloydâs careful, more so than ever, with the dao sword. When they all split across Ninjago, Lloyd clings to the piece of his family and tries to remember Kaiâs instructions, making sure his hands are firmly wrapped and his right ankle always stays low.Â
So when it breaks on the river with Harumi, Lloyd wants to cry.
He wants to cry for a lot of other reasons, but it still hurts â another thing he cares for that Harumiâs managed to break so easily. It hurts that they all work so hard, time and again, and it always ends up shattering around them anyways. Hurts that they pour themselves out for this city again and again and itâs still not enough.Â
(Hurts that heâs never, ever going to outrun that worthless little kid in the snow.)
He learns, later â heâs got much more to lose to her than just a sword.Â
It hurts all the same.
But the swordâs broken and Lloydâs on a one-way collision course with his father, and itâs much too late to turn back now.Â
Lloyd enters Kryptarium Prison with nothing but himself and his power. It was enough the first time, itâs got to be enough this one as well.Â
Lloyd was enough the first time â if he isnât enough nowâ
If he isnâtâ
______
He isnât.
He throws himself against his father and shatters his heart with every hit. Then the rest of him goes and shatters too, ribs cracking and skin splitting as heâs battered through walls and bruised against stone. His power sparks and screams as it tries to save him, pushed to its limits.
A part of Lloyd finds it funny â he canât even keep his power together. He wonders if heâll snap into six pieces and fly everywhere, just like Kaiâs poor katanas, with nothing left but broken pieces of Lloyd to melt down for scrap.Â
Kai doesnât find it funny in the slightest. Not the muffled voice Lloyd hears breaking as his family tries to put him back together, not the filthy embrace Lloyd gets when itâs finally over, not the multiple hour-long lectures Lloydâs forced to sit through even three months out.Â
âI donât care how many swords you break,â he hisses, giving Lloyd a shake thatâs forceful enough his teeth almost rattle. âI donât care if you shatter a thousand. Theyâre supposed to protect you. Youâre supposed to choose yourself. Donât you ever, ever, put yourself out there to break again.âÂ
Lloyd mustâve broken a hundred promises by now. He canât seem to do anything right, truly â not being the Green Ninja, not being a good brother, not being Garmadonâs son.
But, as he nods and makes another promise, he can try.Â
For Kai, heâll try.Â
______
Things are different, after his father, but itâs the same way things are always different after their family escapes by the skin of their teeth. Each new threat leaves another lingering wound, but Lloyd likes to think it stitches them closer in the aftermath.Â
With everyoneâs attention so laser-focused on Lloyd after everything, it makes it easier for him to spot the othersâ bad days.Â
It only takes him five minutes to track down Kai this time. Lloyd carefully lowers himself cross-legged next to him on the floor, katana laid across his lap.
Kai tenses, as if preparing for another speech.Â
Please. Lloydâs methods are way sneakier â and better â these days.Â
âSo,â he starts, as he dips the edge of a rag in Kaiâs choji oil. âI was patrolling today, and I saw like, a demon cat, I think? I mean, it was definitely a cat. It looked kind of like the one Zane used to feed when we lived at the apartment, all stripey and stuff. I was gonna try and pet it, âcause patrol was pretty boring and what was I supposed to do, ignore it? So I did the whole pspsps thing, and it was not a fan â and I swear, it hissed at me, and it looked just like my dad. When he's all Oni, yâknow? Which is rude, cats are supposed to be comforting, not traumaticââ
Lloydâs rambling grows more and more nonsensical as he goes, jumping from topic to topic as he works on the katana. He can feel the tension seeping out of Kai where he sits beside him though, bit by bit until Kaiâs finally leaning against his shoulder.Â
âMissed a spot,â he speaks up suddenly, his voice only cracking a little.
Lloyd squints at the sword. âWhere?â
Kai taps a bandaged finger on the blade.Â
âOh,â Lloyd blinks. He adjusts the rag. âThanks.â
 Kai speaks up again, after a minute, âYouâve gotten good at this.â
âHad a good teacher.â
Thereâs a faint snort. âDebatable.â
âWith who?â Lloyd says. âIâm your number one sword student. And your only one. I win automatically.âÂ
âThe others use swords. Sometimes.â
âYeah, and Jay still whines every time the super special weapon-of-the-week to defeat evil ends up being a sword again,â Lloyd says.Â
âSâcause Jayâs better with nunchucks. Totally different concept.â
âBut he isnât better with a sword.â
âDefinitely not better than me.â
âIâm your best student,â Lloyd says. âJay canât be better than me. Thatâs illegal.â
âIf the Green Ninja declares it,â Kai says, but thereâs an edge of laughter in his voice, a thawing out of the numb blankness heâd worn earlier. He slumps, just a bit heavier, against Lloyd.
âWanna talk about it?â
âNot really,â Kai mutters.Â
ââKay.â Lloyd turns the sword over, squinting at his reflection. âSometime, though?â
âIf you can manage not to break anymore katanas before I finish your new weapon, maybe.â
âYou guys wonât even let me out to fight,â Lloyd grouses. âItâs not as if Iâll have a chance to.â
Kai makes a huffing noise. âMaybe if youâd sit still long enough to healââ
âI donât wanna hear it from you,â Lloyd scowls. âLook, I know I messed up with â with her, butââ
âThatâs not what this is about,â Kai says sharply. âItâs about you being okay.â
Normally, Lloyd would protest. Should protest â he doesnât deserve to get off that easy. But Kaiâs gone tense again, so he lets it go, just this once.Â
âSorry,â he murmurs anyways.Â
âNo, donât. Youâre doinâ good,â Kai sighs, and he sounds so very, very tired. âJustâŚtake it easy, okay? âTil I get your sword done.âÂ
âSorry for breaking the old one, too,â Lloyd says. âI really did try to keep it safe.âÂ
âIâll make you a hundred swords,â Kai says. âA thousand, if I have to. Just keep using them, okay? Swords are your weapon.â
Like Lloydâs ever going to forget that, at this point.
______
Itâs only after the Oni are more a memory and Lloyd has been subjected to an unholy amount of recuperation that Kai allows him to even see the sword heâs made this time.
Itâs well worth the wait, though.
âItâs gold,â Lloyd murmurs, reverently holding the new dao blade.Â
âYeah, well,â Kai shrugs, a little bashful. âI thought you should match us, at some point.â
Lloyd has to try very hard not to pretend that doesnât make a small, lingering part of him want to tear up.
âIs this jade?â he says instead, carefully tracing a finger over the single panel of green that decorates the blade.Â
âTechnically itâs jadeite, and no, you donât wanna know where I got it,â Kai corrects.Â
âI donât care,â Lloyd says. âI love it. Itâs the best sword ever. I â thank you, so muchââ
âOkay, okay, thatâs enough,â Kai says quickly. âYouâre welcome, or whatever, just â youâll use it, right?â
Lloyd gives him a long, flat look.Â
âYouâll have to pry it from my cold, dead hands.â
âYou are not allowed to joke about thatâ!â
______
The golden dao sword never breaks.Â
It takes Lloyd several fights with it to stop holding back, but once he realizes this sword wonât shatter to pieces in his hands, he lets himself get creative.
And the sword holds, again and again.Â
Against Aspheeraâs burning soldiers, against the bitter chill of the Never Realm, against the Skull Sorcererâs monsters in the depths of Shintaro, against the heavy weight of water and cold crystal â the dao blade holds.
Kai tells him itâs because Lloydâs finally learned how to stop using his weapon as a glorified baseball bat. Lloyd thinks itâs because Kai knows blacksmithing for ninja better than anyone else in the world.
His powers grow, too â along with his options, which heâd really have preferred to justâŚavoid.Â
Real fun that it wasnât the many years of pent-up anger issues, but crippling traumatic grief, thatâs the key to unlocking his shapeshifting abilities. Hilarious.Â
It still stings, a bit, that no one ever bothered to tell him he was walking around with the blood of two mythical beings just chilling in his veins, Wouldâve been nice to know, maybe, before he got stuck having a whole crisis about it smack in the middle of another world-ending crisis.Â
Oni, dragon, Green Ninja. Like he needs another title.
In the end, it doesnât matter much what he thinks. Everyone moves on and Lloyd is a multi-bred freak of nature, or something.Â
His father thinks he should hone his Oni powers. Sensei Wu thinks he should listen to his father but also remember his dragon side. His mother thinks he should read the eight-hundred page historical brick of a book about all known history of the Oni and the dragon. He doesnât have a clue what his great-grandparents think of him, except that a family reunion would be world-ending levels of terrible.Â
Lloyd, whoâs grown attached to looking like himself and happens to like being human, keeps reaching for his dao blade first.Â
Swordsmanship is something heâs proud of. Heâs worked hard for it, through blisters and bruises and blood. Itâs something that belongs to him and Kai, something shared and freely given. Something passed onto him, something taught and earned, something treasured.
Lloyd doesnât have a lot of things like that, so he treasures it all the more himself.Â
Treasures the humanity of his family, and how lucky he is to be part of that.
Treasures the things heâs learned from them like family heirlooms heâs never had.
Treasures the fact that theyâre thereâ
Treasures theâ
______
The monastery is so quiet, Lloydâs starting to understand how people lose their minds.
Not really. He hasnât started talking to himself yet, so thatâs a good sign, right? It doesnât count, if youâre yelling for other people. Doesnât count if youâre screaming curses at your stupid grandfather who let your whole world split apart and tore away the only people that were yours.Â
âIt doesnât count,â he whispers to the sword in his lap.Â
Lloyd stares dully at his reflection in the dao sword, marred by the splotchy wear and ugly chipping at the bladeâs edges. Itâs in miserable shape, worn down and neglected.
A lot like himself, maybe.Â
He shudders, drawing in a breath. Sulking wonât sharpen swords. And when Kai gets back â which he will â heâll be so disappointed that Lloydâs gone and treated his sword like dirt.Â
The smell of choji oil makes his eyes sting, but the familiar sound the rag makes across the blade soothes it.Â
Heâs glad he took the time to sharpen it up, too, when he visits the city. More than glad when he finds himself atop the train, his missing hood leaving him distinctly uncomfortable as he prepares to fight.Â
Lloydâs hands have warped and twisted, burst in purple and grown claws sharp enough to slice. If he can make them his own again, after that, he can make them hold steady now.Â
The handle of the dao blade is worn and familiar, the fraying tassel the same bright green where it brushes the back of his hands, and Kaiâs voice yells in his head as loud as ever as he swings it onceâ
One flip this time, he decides. One flip, one strike.
Swords are his weapon, after all. Itâs important for him to remember that. Â
And even if he doesnâtâ
______
Lloydâs grown up in a world of weapons, and far faster than he probably should.Â
But with every sword swing, every familiar callous carved into his hand, Kaiâs there to remind him that his sword is the weapon.
And Lloyd, power or no power, is just Lloyd.Â
#ninjago#lloyd garmadon#kai smith#my fic#am still insane about them!!#this is like 80 percent headcanon but it's canon to ME#also its like 9k words im so sorry if it crashes ur browser
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Enough Caffeine to Kill an Elephant
Masterpost
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All Stories
Part 1 - How To Survive A Meeting Part 2 - How To End Up Where You Don't Want To Be Part 3 - How To Make New Friends Part 4 - How To Be A Younger Sibling Part 5 - How To Avoid A Bunch of Teenagers Part 6 - How To Avoid Answering Questions Part 7 - How Not To Get A Coffee Recipe Part 8 - How To Upset A Magic User
Side Story - Adventures in Gotham Side Story - Phantom's Coffee Side Story - Tim's Deep Dive Constantine's PowerPoint
Enough Caffeine to Kill an Elephant (26571 words) by Cheshire_the_Grinning_Cat Chapters: 21/? Fandom: Danny Phantom, Justice League - All Media Types, Justice League Dark (2017) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: John Constantine & Danny Fenton, Billy Batson & Danny Fenton, Tim Drake & Danny Fenton, Danny Fenton & Justice League (DCU), Danny Fenton & Justice League Dark Members, Batfamily Members (DCU) & Danny Fenton, Batfamily Members & Gotham City Characters: Danny Fenton, Red Robin - Character, John Constantine, Billy Batson, Shazam, Justice League Dark Members, House Of Mysteries, Lady Gotham (Danny Phantom and DCU), Batman, Nightwing, Justice League (DCU), Teen Titans (DCU), Members of the Team (Young Justice), Deadman, Infinite Realms (Danny Phantom) - Character Additional Tags: Not Phantom Planet Compliant (Danny Phantom), Ghost King Danny Fenton, Danny Fenton Meets the Justice League (DCU), Kinda, Established Relationship, Danny isn't a kid but everyone keeps acting like he is, John did not sign up to be a father, Oops, Crack Treated Seriously, where did this plot come from?, IT WAS AN ACCIDENT, no beta we die like danny Series: Part 1 of Tumblr Saw It First Summary: Phantom didn't mean for Red Robin to drink from his cup, but it did and everything sorta spiraled from there. He's not even an official member of any Justice League affiliated team! So why is he being called upon so much? Not to mention the fact that all of the heroes now think they can parent him because he died at fourteen. Like, thanks for the concern, but it's unwanted and a pain. Please stop. Resigned to his fate, Danny does his best to keep the heroes from finding out anything about him. On the way, he makes a friend, accidently gets adopted, and nearly let's an interdimensional war start. Red Robin asks too many questions, Nightwing's just a guy, Constantine needs a drink, and Danny needs a break. Also, what's this about Nocturne?
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đđŠđŚđ¤đŹđŽđ˘đľđŚ â đđŞđŻđ¨ đ đśđ˘đŻ
đđ˘đŻđĽđ°đŽ: Honkai Star Rail
đđ˘đŞđłđŞđŻđ¨: Jing Yuan + Reader
đđ˘đľđŞđŻđ¨: NSFWÂ
đđ°đłđĽ đđ°đśđŻđľ: 9,818
đđśđŽđŽđ˘đłđş: And as you stood there, confused and fuming and utterly scarlet in the face, you decided to do something stupid. Like, really, cosmically stupid. But really, you couldnât think of anything to do at that moment besides that terribly stupid thing.
Without saying anything, you crossed to his side of the desk, leaning to grab at the front of his clothing and yanking him up to meet your mouth in a kiss, effectively shutting him up and showing just how comfortable you were.Â
You had a headache.
Youâd had it since you woke up that morning, persisting even after you downed a couple of painkillers, and even still after your first cup of strong tea. And finally, to your chagrin, it only grew worse as you walked to work. Maybe it was fate. Maybe it was simple dumb luck. Things like this always seemed to happen to you right before you had something important to do.Â
For the umpteenth time, you rubbed at your throbbing temples. On a normal day, youâd call in sick and spend the day at home, and the General wouldnât mind. He was good like that. But today, you couldnât afford to bail. Incidents like the Sanctus Medicus debacle came with a lot of red tape, even after all the heavy lifting and clashing of blades was finished. Incident reports, statements, casualty reports, and more bureaucratic nonsense that was of no help to the bereaved families of the fallen Cloud Knights. It was a web of all sorts of complicated, and if you werenât careful, it was easy to get lost in the nearly endless amount of work to be done, especially as an advisor to the General of the Cloud Knights.
But you had an idea. It had come to you when you were combing through the incident reports; brought about by the footnote left by Jing Yuan regarding those very stragglers of the cult-like group. A solution to capture the remaining disciples of the Sanctus Medicus. Your notes on that were tucked away in the folder in your arms, all ready to be passed off to the General.Â
Head still throbbing, you gave your identification to the guards at the door and pushed into the meeting room, taking your seat near the Generalâs chair. He had yet to arrive, but that was fine with you. It gave you time to review what you were going to say. You placed your folder on the table in front of you, scanning through the lines of text, typed up the night previous, and accompanied by your own notes in the margins. It wasnât a complicated plan, not as much as you were making it out to be in your own head. It was simple enough, but you were confident it could work.Â
The General trusted you. Your strategies had worked before, and youâd been instrumental in helping orchestrate successful battle formations, not to mention that you were responsible for the plan that had stopped a string of robberies in the Central Starskiff Haven, something youâd actually received an award for. You knew Jing Yuan would back you up to the other upper echelons of the Cloud Knights, as he had in the past.Â
It wasnât long before people began to file into the room, and low chatter began as the pain in your head settled behind your eyes, but gradually began to lessen. You thanked the Aeons for that. You also thanked the Aeons that Fu Xuan was the one who called the meeting to order, recounting facts you already knew from the incident report, so you didnât actually have to follow what she was saying. Tea was passed out, and you took a slow sip of the liquid. It smelled distinctly herbal, and was undoubtedly picked by the General himself. He always had good taste in teas.Â
âAnd that brings me to my next point,â Fu Xuan said, âwhat are we to do about the remaining members of the Sanctus Medicus who remain in hiding?â
You let yourself prepare what you were going to say, letting a few other people toss ideas around before you raised your hand. When you did, the Master Divinerâs gaze shifted to you, and she nodded, signaling you to speak. Jing Yuan shifted in his seat beside you, leaning on his closed fist, amber eyes expectant. All eyes were on you.
âYes, what is it?â The Diviner asked.Â
âI have a proposal,â you said, and Fu Xuan nodded meaningfully.
âThen letâs hear it.â
Gathering your thoughts, you rose to your feet with a sigh.Â
âIn the incident report, transcripts were recorded of the firsthand accounts given by the passengers of the Astral Express. Please, if you will, turn to page nine, where Mr Welt Yangâs statement is attached.â
A rustling of paper followed, and once it had quieted, you picked up where you left off.Â
âIf you see, written in line twelve, Mr Yang recounts an interaction with a captured member of the group. The defeat of Phantylia the Undying was more than likely enough to send the doubters away, but if Mr Yangâs statement is to be believed, even despite their defeat, some of these people still hold a strong degree of loyalty for the Abundance. Which makes them all the more dangerous.â
âI see,â Jing Yuan interjected, clearly interested, âyouâre saying that what we have left are the fanatics. The ones most likely to cause problems, yes?â
You nodded. âYes, correct. I propose we send an agent to infiltrate them. Gather information, cut them off at the root.â
âIâm afraid we tried that,â Qingzu said, âand while we did garner some important information, it was ultimately a failure. Dan Shu escaped, and things ended up escalating to the current level.â
âYes,â you said, âIâm well aware of that. That was something I advised you on, Miss Qingzu. You approached me for help, if you recall.â
Qingzu folded her hands in her lap, sitting back in her chair. âI do. Your point being?â
âMy point being,â you said, âI learned that I needed to reflect on what went wrong, and so I have. And, as it stands, the situation is more dire than it was before. These people have proven themselves to be dangerous, and it is paramountââ
âThey were dangerous before,â Qingzu said, âand, it was paramount before. They have always been enemies of the Hunt. If we try to infiltrate again, donât you think theyâd be suspicious?â
âI thought of that,â you said, âwhich is why I propose we use an ex-member. We have a number of them on record, arrested after the incident, who express resentment towards the group. The Disciples of the Sanctus Medicus bear many strong resemblances to an insular cult, and it would be incredibly useful to have an agent who already knows the ins and outs of such an organization. Weâve done what we can with the information gathered from interrogation, but the fact remains that these fanatics are still out there. We need to utterly destroy whatever is left, and this is the most efficient way to do so.â
âInteresting,â Fu Xuan said, âbut there is always the chance of betrayal. How do you account for that?â
You made a rueful face. âCan it not be argued that there is always a chance of betrayal? Though, you could always see the outcome for yourself, Master Diviner. Your divinations are never wrong.â
âWhat you suggest is reckless,â Qingzu said, âif this ex-member has any sort of loyalty at all left over, it puts us at risk.â
âI accounted for that,â you said, âI propose thatââ
âIt is simply too risky,â she said, âthank you for your input, though.â
Annoyance flared in your veins, and you tried hard not to let it show on your face. You knew Qingzu well enough to know that she wasnât shutting you down out of malice, she was simply thinking about efficiency. But she hadnât let you finish.Â
âWait,â you said, âI said, I accounted for that. If youâll allow meââ
âAllow me to be clear,â Qingzu said, âyou acknowledge the risks, yes?â
You paused. âOf course, but I said that Iââ
âYou acknowledge that if we take this gamble and it fails, it could put the Cloud Knights at risk, correct? If our infiltrator switches sides, weâll be left wide open. They will have information about us, the acquisition of which might lead to even bigger problems. Do you acknowledge this?â
Discontent and anger peppered across your thoughts as you shifted where you stood, your words stuck in your throat. You glanced down to where Jing Yuan sat beside you, to take in the expectant, almost nonchalant expression on his face. His eyes met your own, briefly, meaningfully, before he fixed his gaze on Qingzu.Â
âWell?â Qingzu said, âdo you, or do you not?â
âYes, I do,â you said, âand that is why we would send that agent in with one of our own. Say this agent is someone new, a recruit for the cause. It would minimize suspicion, and give us some wiggle room if things were to go south. We have one of our own keeping them in line.â
âI see,â Jung Yuan said, âplease, elaborate. How would we orchestrate this? How would we pick the candidates for this operation?â
âGeneral,â Qingzu said, âyou know that this isââ
But he held up a hand, silencing her. âLet the woman speak. I can see you are interested in what she has to say as well, Lady Fu Xuan.â
âCorrect,â Fu Xuan said, âthe idea is intriguing, and could very well lead to the eradication of the Disciples of the Sanctus Medicus. But Lady Qingzuâs worry is not unfounded. If the plan is found out, our agents would likely be killed, and we would be left with bereaved families and nothing to show for the loss. If you can assuage both her fears, and my own, then I believe that your strategy is plausible.â
Ah. And youâd been doing so well before. But the second Fu Xuan fixed you with that look, expecting something great, you could feel your confidence draining out through the soles of your shoes. She seemed to have that effect on everyone, though. Despite her small stature, she could be incredibly intimidating. Regardless, you took a deep breath. You could do this.Â
âWell,â you said, âI believe that no strategy is without risks. Of course, weâd need to make sure these agents are well briefed and prepared for the operation, so there is little room left for error. Weâd need to be careful in our selection process, and I propose that you assist in overseeing this portion of the plan, Master Diviner. That way, you can see for yourself who will be involved and how it will be done. Does that assuage your worry?â
That was a weak answer and you knew it, but you hadnât accounted for Fu Xuan picking your idea apart like she was. So when her eyes narrowed, you knew she wasnât satisfied.
âAnd how exactly will we prepare these operatives?â
You bit your lip. This was the kind of thing, the fine moving parts, that was what you thought about after presenting the actual idea. That did well enough for when you were working with Jing Yuan, and when you presented strategies to others like you were now, heâd often back you up, or at least say something to help you. You looked at him sidelong, and he looked back, as calm and collected as ever. A small, almost bemused smile tugged at his lips, a challenge in his eyes.Â
âDo you have an answer for me?â Fu Xuan said, canting her head, expectant, âif you donât, I am sure the General has something to add.â
âI do,â you said, âI have an answer.â
Fu Xuan shifted in her chair. From her expression, you were beginning to figure that your time was up. âBe that as it may, Iâd like to hear what the General is thinking. If youâre really confident in your strategy, send me a draft of it and I will review it in full. Thank you.â
You sank down into your chair again, trying not to let your embarrassment show on your face. Jing Yuan proposed an idea similar to yours, but involving sneakier tactics, such as tailing known members of the group and such. Fu Xuan seemed much more complimentary of that than she had of yours, clearly satisfied by the lower risk factor.
But you knew yours would work. It would get more answers, and it could spell the demise of what remained of the Disciples of the Sanctus Medicus.Â
After the meeting drew itself to a close, you gathered your things, ready to go to the Seat of Divine Foresight to draft up the proposal Fu Xuan asked for. You just hoped sheâd actually listen this time. It was as you were circling around the table to go to the door that you heard Jing Yuan call your name, prompting you to turn around, eyebrows raised.
âWalk with me back to the Seat, alright?â
You sighed inwardly. âYes, General. I was already on my way there.â
âAh,â he said, smiling, âthen it works in both of our favors, doesnât it?â
He held the door for you as you left the room, and you thanked him politely as he retook his place beside you. You had to walk quickly, the General was a tall man, and his stride was much longer than yours was. It always made you a little breathless, walking alongside him, but then again, most things did when it came to him.
âMy idea could work,â you said, and you saw Jing Yuan smile again, thoughtfully.
âYes,â he said, âit could. Iâm confident it could. It was a well thought out plan, as your plans always are.â
You blinked, not expecting the praise, especially not after heâd stayed quiet during the meeting.Â
âHuh?â
A soft laugh. âYou werenât finished talking when the Master Diviner cut you off, were you? Lady Fu Xuan is⌠an intense woman. But she is more open to the ideas of others than youâd expect her to be. She just prefers when a person speaks up about what theyâre really thinking.â
You frowned. âSo youâre saying you support my plan?â
Jing Yuan pushed open the doors to the Seat of Divine Foresight as you rounded upon them, and as you entered, he gestured for those inside to leave the room, which they did, leaving the two of you alone.Â
âOf course I support your plan,â he said, âyou know Iâve always respected your inputs, theyâve served me and the Luofu well in the past. But you lack conviction.â
You let his words settle as the two of you crossed the room, making your way to the desk, where you set down the folder you were still carrying.
âHow do I lack conviction?â You asked, âI believe firmly in my own ability. I am good at what I do, and you know that, else you wouldnât have picked me as your advisor. In all the time weâve worked together, when have I ever lacked conviction in anything Iâve done?â
âThat isnât what I mean,â Jing Yuan said, âI mean in your own ideas. You clearly had more to say to the Master Diviner, but when she stopped you, that was the end of it. You clearly had it thought out, as demonstrated when Miss Qingzu brought up her concerns, but you didnât fight for it.â
He had a point, but you werenât about to admit that. You chewed your lip, eyes flicking to where the folder youâd just set down was laying.Â
âWhat are you getting at?â You asked, finally, âthat I need to be more confident? I know that. I didnât account for⌠several things. I suppose I should have.â
Jing Yuan laughed; a lovely, low sound. âLady Fu Xuan is something few people can really account for. Sheâs confident to nearly a fault in her abilities of divination, but even she cannot see every angle of a matter by herself. So she tends to pick apart things that would ordinarily require a bit of a gamble. Experience breeds caution, something that rings especially true with someone like the Master Diviner.â
You snorted. âA little warning would have been nice.â
Another laugh. âMy apologies. But really, I was interested in seeing how youâd rise to the challenge. You had a good idea, as I knew you would, and I wanted to see you fight for it.â
Something uncomfortable twisted in your gut, and you turned away from him, studying a spot on the floor.Â
âWell, Iâm sorry for disappointing you.â
âDisappointing me? Nonsense. You merely need an extra push. Now, would you care for a game of chess?â
You turned back, looking at him quizzically. âChess? General, I donât think now is the time.â
He smiled playfully. âThereâs always time for a game of chess. Now, Iâve received this exquisite set, a gift from the Nameless on the Astral Express. I was told it was bought in a city called Belobog. Iâm very eager to break it in. As we play, we can discuss further.â
Exasperated, you pulled a chair up to the desk, sinking down into it as Jing Yuan set up the board. The set really was lovely, you noted. It was made of carved wood, the pieces and board both showing fine craftsmanship and detail. You turned over the rook in your hands, admiring the way the wood shone gently under the light.Â
Jing Yuan chose white, as he usually did when the two of you played chess, and you chose black. He moved first, setting one of his pawns two spaces out from where it was originally, and you followed his example.Â
âChess is much like life, no?âÂ
You watched his hands, intent, as he moved his pawn forward once more.Â
âIn some instances,â you said, âstrategy is certainly something the two have in common. Or the fact that both require you to think outside the box, especially when figuring out said strategies.â
A good-natured chuckle as you moved a second pawn further, freeing your knight. Jing Yuan moved his own pawn ever closer, but he hadnât moved any of his more powerful pieces. You narrowed your eyes, trying to figure out what he was planning.Â
âThereâs that sharp intellect I know so well,â Jing Yuan said, âbut youâre missing one thing.â
Leaning forward, you rested your elbow against the desk, propping your chin on your folded hand.Â
âAnd what would that be?â
A smile, playful and knowing. His eyes sparked with mirth. âYou know very well what I mean.â
It was your turn to smile, maybe playing a little dumb. âI assure you, I donât.â
âLet me give you a hint, then,â the General said, eyes fixed on your hands, watching as you shifted your knight out and onto the board, towards his closest pawn, âpurpose, focus, planning. All are vital for a successful gambit, am I right?â
You watched as he moved his pawn again. This was surely a trap, for the rook waiting beyond the pawn, poised to take your knight after the pawn was captured. But you doubted Jing Yuan would do something so obvious. You moved your knight away, clearing it from danger. You needed to back up the piece with another one.Â
You supposed he was right. Purpose, focus, planning. But there was also sacrifice. Any good plan required gambles, and that rang true on the chessboard as well. You moved your pawn closer to Jing Yuanâs, near ready to capture the piece. Two could play at that game. You could make sacrifices, too.
âYes,â you said, âbut the Master Diviner doesnât seem to understand it the same way we do. She doesnât want to take risks.â
Amusement sparked in his golden eyes, electrifying as the air around you. You twisted your fingers around the top of your pawn, adjusting it more squarely into its spot.Â
âShe is a careful woman. She wants everything to be accounted for. You believe in this strategy, yes? That it could work?â
You nodded, a smile tugging at your lips. âNaturally.â
âThen make her believe that. A firm belief in one's self commands a room. Make her see that you will handle whatever unexpected circumstances befall us.â
âOh?â You said, heart thrumming in your chest, âme, alone? Iâm just one person, General. Wonât you be helping me?â
His smile broadened, turning into a lazy grin, and when he spoke, he echoed your words from before.Â
âNaturally.â
That stupid smile sent butterflies into your stomach, their wingbeats gale force strength as they battered against your lungs. It was always like this with him, something unspoken hanging in the air between you, undisturbed by years of friendship, but ever present. So you did what you always did when it reared its ugly head. You stepped aside to leave it ample room to fester.Â
âI should be going,â you said, rising from your seat, âweâll have to finish our game later. I need to finish writing the details I left out for the Master Diviner.â
âYou will remain here.â
You blinked. He didnât say it with any sort of authority, as if he was simply discussing the weather. But the firmness in his eyes told you that it wasnât up for discussion.Â
âExcuse me?â You said, voice much weaker than youâd have liked.Â
âYou heard me well. I have more to say, if thatâs alright with you. Sit. Itâs your turn.â
And so you sat.
âReally, itâs just the two of us,â Jing Yuan said, âwe can speak with candor. If itâs all the same to you, Iâd like to discuss the details you did not get to share earlier. Leave nothing out.â
You narrowed your eyes, absently moving your pawn. âFu Xuan is already backing your strategy, not mine. My conviction in my plan does not change, but if you were this confident in what I had already, why didnât you speak up?â
âYou know why,â Jing Yuan said, âI wanted you to fight for it. Weâre only talking in circles, my dear. How will we guarantee the safety of our agents in this operation?â
Your answer was automatic, despite the rush the diminutive sent through your already electrified system.
âThere is no definitive way to ensure that nothing goes wrong aside from preventative measures and ample training,â you said, voice as steady as you could keep it, âany way you slice it, itâs always going to be a bit of a gamble. What Iâm suggesting is an infiltration. That kind of operation is unpredictable. You know that. In order to avoid problems, we have to be ready for anything.â
A smile. The rook took your pawn, but you expected that. Without blinking, you took the rook with your knight. Jing Yuanâs eyes flashed with excitement, a contagious grin spreading across his face.
âExcellent answer. But tell me, how will we be ready for anything if we donât even know what that could be?â
You shrugged. âThereâs no perfect way to be ready for absolutely everything. Weâll just have to try and account for what is most likely to happen if things go awry.â
âAnd the unlikely?â
You knew he was testing you, trying to get under your skin. You looked up at his face and away from the chessboard, the nonchalance in his expression utterly infuriating. You tried your best to remain just as nonplussed.
âI mentioned training, didnât I?â You said, âwe have to trust the operatives will know what to do in the unexpected.â
His smile broadened. âExcellent. See, if you were able to say to her what you just said to me, then weâd be getting somewhere.â
You twisted in your seat. âWhat makes you so sure of that?â
Another easy smile. âAm I wrong to trust the judgment of a trusted friend and advisor, especially when sheâs yet to steer me wrong? I value your opinion. You know that.â
âI do,â you said, âand I value yours as well.â
âIâm hardly worthy of such an honor, Iâm sure,â Jing Yuan replied, his smile growing, eyes warm.
For some reason, his words sent those aforementioned butterflies present in your stomach shooting through your bloodstream in an intoxicating rush. Shit. Those feelings were back, the complicated ones you tried to run away from earlier. The way he was smiling at you wasnât helping in the slightest, and mortifyingly, you could feel your cheeks heating up. Why was that of all things flustering you like this?Â
Aeons, you had to get out of there. You cleared your throat, expelling any improper or amorous thoughts about your superior from your mind as you straightened in your chair.Â
âI really should be going, General,â you said, voice a little louder than youâd have liked, âif youâll excuse me, Iââ
âIs something the matter, _____?â
You blinked, staring at him.
You should have said something intelligent, or something to assuage his worries, but instead, all you managed was; âwhat?â
You cleared your throat for the second time, smoothing down the fabric of your uniform.Â
âLet me rephrase,â you said, âwhat do you mean? What would make you think something was the matter?â
Jing Yuan leaned back in his chair, almost lazily, eyes remaining fixed on you as he did so.Â
âWell,â he said, âyou keep trying to excuse yourself, to start. Additionally, your face is very red. Do you feel ill?â
You latched onto that. âI woke up with a headache this morning,â you said, âIâve been all out of sorts since then, Iâm afraid.â
A soft hum, then an understanding nod. âI see,â Jing Yuan said, do you have any other symptoms?â
You shook your head. âJust a headache.â
That was a total lie, your headache had diminished to nothing more than an annoyance during the meeting, and had vanished altogether in the time you had been talking with Jing Yuan. But he didnât have to know that. He didnât have to know that situations like this always made you need to excuse yourself to rethink your entire working relationship with him, or that you often thought about how lovely he looked when he smiled.Â
But then, he was leaning across the table, hand outstretched, and he was pressing his palm to your forehead, the skin cool against your own. It did nothing to calm your racing heart, nor the incandescent blush on your face. The butterflies in your stomach were doing an entire floor routine at this point.Â
âYou do not appear to have a fever,â he said, as he pulled back, âbut your face is still very flushed. Are you too warm?â
You tugged at the high collar of your uniform, fingers absently catching on one of the buttons.Â
âI suppose it is a little warm in here.â
Another lie. You were actually a little bit cold. Another thing he didnât have to know. YOu had to change the subject, and fast.Â
âWhy is it that you value my input so muchââ
âAre you embarrassed?â
The question came so suddenly it stunned you for a moment.Â
âWhat would I be embarrassed about?â You finally managed.
âI value your opinion,â he said, âI believe that is what I said that set you out of sorts, yes? The fact that I value your input flusters you? Do you fear that that is all I value? I assure you, I not only treasure your ideas, but your presence as well. You need not feel uncomfortable here, I very much enjoy your company.â
This was not going the way you envisioned at all. You were a professional for Aeonsâ sake. You straightened yourself, rising from your chair, just to put some distance between the two of you, just to catch your breath. What was he doing? It almost felt likeâŚ
âYouâre teasing me,â you said finally.
You turned when he laughed, your expression a mix of emotions, but he was as cool and collected as ever. It almost made you want to slap him. Or kiss him, Aeons forbid. You shoved that thought to the deepest corner of your mind.
âI was concerned at first,â he said, âthough I realized after I felt your forehead that you were not ill. I apologize for my behavior, but Iâm afraid I just couldnât help myself.â
You felt like you were going to burst into flames. âSoâ what you said, aboutâ huh?â
Another laugh. âI meant every word of that. Come now, lying about such things would be unbecoming. Please, would you sit with me some more? I would very much like to finish our game.â
âNo,â you said, âthe game can wait. Do you not take me seriously?â
He looked briefly surprised before he answered.
âI take you very seriously, I assure you. I cannot see why you would think I wouldnât. I apologize if I led you to think otherwise.â
You narrowed your eyes. âThen why tease me?â
âI admit,â he said, âI found your reactions to be⌠endearing. I did not mean to offend you.â
Your heart sputtered under the new load that had been put upon it like a backfiring starskiff. Youâd only ever seen hints of this before, in offhanded compliments and veiled praises, but the General had never been so overt before. Hell, youâd always been certain you were imagining it. But that single revelation brought you to a realization.Â
âYou werenât just teasing me,â you said, âyou were flirting with me.â
The smile grew, and you could have sworn your heart was beating in your ears. He canted his head, regarding you with a playful gaze as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on the desk in front of him.
âAnd what if I was?â
You coughed, trying to clear your head as confusing emotions swam laps in your bloodstream. Damn him, making you feel like this. Did he not even realize the impropriety of all of this? Did he just not care? How stupid and blind had you been not to realize this was happening?Â
âIf you were,â you said, carefully, âthen what does that mean, exactly?â
âYouâre a smart womanâ he rebuffed, âyou know what it means.âÂ
Your brain wasnât catching up with what he was saying as quickly as you wanted it to, which infuriated you. He was staring at you, waiting for you to say anything at all, and you turned to face him when he said your name.Â
Damn it. Damn him. Damn everything. The way he was looking at you, like you put the stars in the sky, it made you feel like every cell in your body was screaming. All these years of pining for someone you thought was so unattainable was an arms reach away all along, and that not only made you feel silly, it made you feel a certain degree of strange, misdirected anger.
And as you stood there, confused and fuming and utterly scarlet in the face, you decided to do something stupid. Like, really, cosmically stupid. But really, you couldnât think of anything to do at that moment besides that terribly stupid thing.Â
âOf course,â he said, mild panic in his voice, âif youâre uncomfortable with this, it will never be spoken of againââ
Without saying anything, you crossed to his side of the desk, leaning to grab at the front of his clothing and yanking him up to meet your mouth in a kiss, effectively shutting him up and showing just how comfortable you were.Â
He made a sound of surprise when your mouths met, a sound that snapped you from whatever impulsive haze that had settled over your brain. You were about to yank yourself back and apologize until you were unable to do so anymore, but then his hands found your shoulders, holding you in place, and your own fell from his clothing to catch his cheeks in your palms.
He was much taller than you, something especially evident as he rose to his full height, forcing you to stand on your tip-toes, arms slinging around his neck. His own wound around your waist, as not to let you slip away, his body quickly pulled flush against your own.Â
He tasted of herbal tea and almond cookies, warm against your mouth as he deepened the kiss. It was all-consuming and passionate, and you felt Jing Yuan pull back for a mere moment, just once, before diving back in, his teeth grazing your lower lip, sending sparks dancing down your spine. Your actions were rapidly growing frenzied, almost fierce, and you could feel yourself moving, your backside making contact with the desk behind you.
You knew this was moving fast, but you couldnât even begin to care, not when you ran your hands through his hair, drawing a soft gasp from his lips, feather soft against your own, and especially not when his hands shifted to brace on the desk, effectively caging you in. Kissing him was intense , and almost completely overwhelming. The scent of him engulfed you; orange blossom and sandalwood, as well as something earthy and herbal and him. Â
He was the first one to pull back, face tinged pink as he caught his breath, eyes hooded as he watched you through lashes the color of moonlight. Aeons, he was pretty. Too pretty for his own good. Your eyes fixed to his mouth, watching as his tongue darted out, running briefly over his unfairly full lower lip.Â
âI see the matter of your comfort isnât a concern.â
You could only shake your head.
He smiled, and you felt your heartbeat flutter in your chest.Â
âIf itâs all the same to you,â he said, tucking a lock of your hair behind your ear, âIâd like to do that again.â
You answered him by pulling him into another kiss.Â
You could feel his hands on your waist, warm even through the fabric of your uniform. Gooseflesh raised on your skin as he paused, dangerously close to your hips, and your own hands laced into his hair, your fingers combing through thick, silver locks. The action drew a soft, low sound that made your blood sing with energy. It was embarrassing how quickly he got you like this, so pliable and willing, but as he nibbled at your lower lip, any thoughts of embarrassment were ejected from your mind.
His tongue slid along the seam of your lips, and you parted them, allowing him to press it against your own. Your fingers tangled into his hair, catching at the tie that held it back, and you flirted with the idea of undoing it before he was tugging you backward, away from the desk and onto the bench behind him, gathering you into his lap. The buzz of excitement took its place beneath your skin, and you shifted forward, bumping your hips against his.Â
You could feel his hands trailing down your body, catching in the bend of your waist, and you wanted so badly to shift down, pressing your bodies flush together, just to see what he would do. Fuck, heâd pulled you into his lap, and the provocativity of such an action only put you more out of sorts than you already were.
Breathless, you broke the kiss, meeting his hooded gaze with your own as you rolled your hips down, and oh, the way his eyes fluttered closed, the way his grip grew tighter on your body, it sent any remaining rational thought you had right out the nearest window. Â
You squeezed your thighs around his hips as you pressed yourself down again, and his jaw tightened, fingers pressing into your flesh through the fabric of your uniform. His gaze was dark as he regarded you, amber eyes sweeping across your body, seemingly hungry for what he was seeing. It thrilled you more than you thought it would. Overwhelmed, you dove forward to catch his mouth in another kiss, and he sighed into you, his lips moving languidly against your, almost indulgent as he pressed closer.
He pulled back suddenly, forehead against yours, breath heavy, and you tried to move to catch his mouth with yours again. He allowed you the impulse for a few frenzied seconds before he moved away, and for a horrible moment, you thought youâd done something wrong.
âIs this alright?â He asked, and the way his voice had deepened to a baritone rumble sent your head off into space, âyou and I both know the direction this is taking us.â
You did. If you continued at this pace, you knew exactly what would happen. Anyone with common sense would know. This was something out of a dirty fantasy, something youâd shamefully thought of on lonely nights, something out of one of those silly erotic web novels you found yourself reading on boring days off. It was exciting and sexy, and you didnât want it to stop. Here he was, the object of your pining, of your recently thought to be unrequited affections, asking what you wanted at that moment. Who were you to refuse?
âYes,â you said, after youâd found your own voice, high and breathy in contrast to his, âIâm okay with this. I want this.â
A soft hum, and you felt your heart jump into your throat as his head dipped, mouth dragging along the bit of your throat left exposed by your uniform. You couldnât help but gasp, almost embarrassed at your own sensitivity.Â
âAeons, youâre lovely,â he breathed, enraptured, âI am left in awe every day I see you.â
You felt your face warm, your voice lost as he peppered kisses along your jaw. His hands slid down your body to find your thighs, calloused palms pressing against the skin, left exposed by the shorts attached to your uniform. He used the grip to tug you closer, firmly pressing your pelvis against his, an action that caused both of you to gasp aloud.Â
He held you in place as he rolled his hips, slow and easy, the friction making you gasp. He was already halfway hard, evident through his trousers, and the thought that youâd been the one to make him that way made intoxicating arousal flood into your bloodstream.Â
His fingers caught the buttons at your collar, fumbling to push them through the buttonholes. Once that was done, you reached to the front of your waist to unfasten your belt, which was holding the top of your uniform in place. After it was loose, you slipped the garments from your body, discarding them to the floor.
You barely had time to think before Jing Yuan was exploring the newly exposed parts of you, his mouth latching onto the bend of your shoulder, the column of your throat, the underside of your chin. His hands, warm and calloused against your naked waist, made you shudder, breath leaving your lips in a shaky sigh as his tongue passed over your pulse point.Â
You had trouble finding exactly where his armor ended and he began, but you eventually found the buckles necessary to unfasten the thick plating from his body. He helped you with this endeavor, eventually shedding his wrist guards and shirt, as well as the armor at his waist, leaving him bare chested beneath you.Â
He was built powerfully, like the Aeons themselves had sculpted him by hand. Muscles rippled under the flat press of your palm, his perfect pale skin only marred by the threads of countless battle scars. Broad, strong shoulders and arms, a well-built chest, all tapering off into a trim waist. You ran your fingers down his body, feeling his muscles tense, quivering, breath catching as your thumb caught the jut of his hip bone, settling into the groove of muscle at his navel.Â
His gaze was riveted to your hand as you explored his body, only dropping away when your mouth attached to his neck, teeth grazing his collarbone, making him sigh with shuddering breath. Your fingers mapped their way across his scars, and you absently wondered what the cause of each one was. You kissed the one closest to you, a thick, pale stripe of skin cutting across his left shoulder, ending just above his pectoral. You felt his nose press into your hair, and for a moment, you simply rested your cheek against his shoulder in a little bubble of intimacy that settled so perfectly into your comfort zone that you almost had trouble breaking away.Â
âYouâre beautiful,â you said, softly, and you heard him chuckle, the sound like a roll of thunder beneath your ear.Â
âOh, my darling,â he whispered, âthat word is reserved for you.â
He drew you close and into another fierce kiss, stealing your breath from your lungs, and you could feel his hands on your back as he unfastened your bra, pushing the straps down your shoulders. You took the bra off the rest of the way, dropping it behind you as you rolled your hips against him, an action that caused him to grip at your body, and oh , you could feel him, hardness pressing neatly against your clothed cunt. Teeth clicked together as he rocked his hips, holding you against him, the friction drawing a soft, breathy moan.Â
His palm slid along your body, cupping your breast, and when his thumb swiped over your nipple, you let out an embarrassingly loud gasp, burying your face in the crook of his neck as he squeezed the nipple between two fingers. You were so unexpectedly sensitive, just from this alone, a fact that would have embarrassed you if your head wasnât so full of clouds and fluff and other emptiness, drunk on his touch.
His mouth found your pulse point again, tracing down to your collarbone, then to the valley of your breasts, and your back bowed as his hand smoothed along your spine to rest between your shoulder blades, breath and body shuddering as his lips passed over a nipple. His breath was hot as it misted over your skin, and when his lips finally caught a nipple between them, you let your head fall back, gasping and breathless.Â
Jing Yuanâs tongue passed over the sensitive flesh, rolling your nipple beneath it, and he caught your opposite breast in his free hand, gently squeezing, making you whine, soft and low. The pleasure of it all felt like fire beneath your skin, burning you from the inside out, but not one part of you cared, not when he was touching you like that.Â
You pushed yourself against him harder, because feeling him through clothing was rapidly becoming not nearly enough, a sentiment he clearly shared from the way you felt him groan against your skin.
âCan I touch you?â He rasped, and you nodded quickly, shifting to unfasten the tie holding your shorts closed, briefly standing to slip them off, as well as your panties, before you were moving back into his lap, completely bare.Â
âYouâre incredible,â he rumbled, âa goddess. I hope you know that. I am a very lucky man.â
His hand pressed against your hip, making your shift back, and your face flushed in embarrassment as he took in your naked form, gaze famished and punch drunk in love as it roved over you.Â
âI want to touch you, too,â you said, and he simply smiled.
âIâm yours to do with as you please.â
His hand slipped from your hip to your thigh, and you shifted your hips back, allowing him room to maneuver as he pressed a broad palm to the apex of your thighs, causing you to gasp, hips unconsciously pressing down. His middle finger ran along the length of your entrance, aided by the soak of your arousal, slow as he pleased, leaving your head full of fog. You pressed your hips down against his hand, lip catching between your teeth as he picked up his pace, free hand gripping your hip to still you as one finger slowly sunk inside of you.
He began to move at an agonizingly slow pace, and you moaned lowly as his finger curled inside of you, hitting a spot that made stars burst across your vision. He touched you in a way that stole your breath from your lungs, and when he added another finger, his name slipped from your lips, soft and pleading.
You reached forward to fumble with the front of his trousers, managing to unsnap and unzip them after a few seconds. He hissed between his teeth as you pushed his underwear down, pulling him free, and shit, you werenât sure what youâd been expecting, but it hadnât been this. Jing Yuan wasnât a small man, so you supposed this shouldnât have come as a shock, but he was big. He was thick, and long enough to make you nervous, and when you reached forward and wrapped your hand around him, your fingers barely even met. Â
His breath hitched sharply when you touched him, and you felt him twitch against your palm, throbbing. When his fingers curled inside of you, you squeezed him, making him cry out. You touched him in slow, even strokes as your hips ground down on his hand, and when his thumb found your clit, you picked up the pace.Â
His head fell against the back of the bench as you squeezed his tip, circling your thumb around him, making him groan, low and long, hips bucking into your touch. He was leaking precum, and you used it to aid in your motions, smearing it around the head of his dick, making his own motions falter for a moment.
You wanted him so badly at that moment, as you watched his pretty face twist with pleasure, with need. You could feel your climax building, winding tighter under your skin, driving a high, breathless wine from between your gritted teeth as you ground your hips down harder. When he sped up his pace to aid you, your hips jumped, heartbeat pounding in your ears, and you were grinding down on his hand like a bitch in heat.Â
You really werenât going to last, not when he knew exactly where to touch you, fingers practiced and sure, and fuck, you felt like you were melting into him, fingers slipping from his cock to grip at his shoulders, your ability to focus rapidly draining away.Â
Your head dropped back in pleasure as he worked you even closer to your high, allowing him room to latch his mouth onto your throat, surely leaving marks as his teeth dragged against your skin, but you hardly had the wherewithal to even begin to care about that, not as your thoughts and senses devolved into complete delirium.Â
With a final press of his thumb, you tumbled over the edge with a broken cry, nails digging into Jing Yuanâs skin as you came. He worked you through it with whispered filth and an unfaltering pace, making you sob with rapture, squirming helplessly as he worked you into overstimulation, dangerously close to a second climax before he pulled away.
You collapsed, boneless and panting against his chest, and he drew you close, mouth hot as it molded to yours, and as you shifted forward, you could feel him, pressed against your bare stomach.Â
The friction made him groan, hands on your hips, blunt nails digging into your skin, but you needed more, and you knew he wouldnât protest giving you just that.Â
âHow do you want me?â Jing Yuan rasped, âdo you want to be on top? It may be more comfortable for you to adjust that way. Iâm afraid I donât have protection, though. That does not tend to be something I keep here in my office.â
âIâm on birth control,â you said, âit will be okay.â
After a moment of consideration, you shifted forward to press yourself against him, an action that earned a breathless groan. He felt hot against you, almost searing, and as you slowly rolled your hips, you felt his grip grow tighter, almost impatient. A spike of arousal shot through you as his jaw tightened, his restraint clearly being tested by your teasing.Â
Slowly, you began to sink down. You were met with some resistance, even just the tip was a stretch, and you had to pause for a moment, just to catch your breath, which was escaping your lips in quick bursts.Â
âRelax,â he urged, voice low; tone taught and fraying, âbreathe. You can take it.â
A quick nod as you tried to do as he said, resting your forehead against his shoulder. You pushed down further, drawing a hushed groan, his hands slipping from your hips to your waist, gently urging you downwards. It took another few moments of adjusting before you were able to take all of him, and you sat there for a few moments, breathless and stuffed completely full.Â
His head lolled back against the bench, expression stricken and lips parted, and you pulled him into a kiss, which he returned with vigor. You stayed still as you adjusted to the size, something that clearly wasnât helping with keeping his restraint in place, evident from the way he was gripping your body, tight enough to bruise.Â
Just to test the waters, you shifted forward in a slow, easy grind, and he groaned, long and low and aching. You whined into his mouth, toes curling as you rolled your hips again, just to hear that wonderful sound again.Â
His hands drifted back to your hips, squeezing as you moved again, this time lifting yourself halfway up, only to take him again, and he was surely leaving bruises, absolutely holding back, especially as you thrust back down again.
âTight,â he whispered, âitâsâ fuckâ itâs so tight.â
That did it for you. You put your hands on his shoulders as you picked up the pace, forcing the breath from your own lungs, rendering him speechless as he watched you, eyes fixed to where the two of you were connected, watching his thick cock disappear inside of you.Â
The stretch of him made you feel like your mind had emptied itself out, and you let out a thin, breathy moan as his hips bucked up, stuffing you full as your nails dug into his shoulders. You yanked him into a messy kiss, hands lacing into his hair, and he growled against your mouth, a sound that sent shockwaves down your spine.Â
Another tug at his hair, and you were moving, your back suddenly against the desk, chess pieces scattering around you as he rucked your legs up, pulling them against his hips as he pressed close. You cried out, the new angle making the tip of his cock rub just right against spots inside of you that you didnât even know existed.Â
You lifted your hips from the desk to meet him, propping yourself up on bent elbows as he leaned over you to join your lips to his. The pace he set was slow, but the strong impact of each thrust made it impossible for you to think , or to even speak as his hands slid along your thighs to the bend of your knees, holding you in place for him as he fucked you.Â
The kiss was broken, and he rested his forehead against yours, just for a spell, before he was drawing back a little, hips pressing forward, and one of his hands was moving between your bodies, clit under his thumb, forcing you to tighten around him, forcing broken gasps from both of you.Â
âDeeper,â you found yourself blurting, and he chuckled darkly against your skin.
âIf thatâs what pleases you.â
Your head fell back in bliss as he changed the angle, the speed picking up as well, and you could do nothing else but gasp his name, sprawling back over the desk as he reduced you to a mess, beginning to wind tighter once more, thighs trembling in his grip.
You were still sensitive from your last climax, something he was undoubtedly aware of as he touched you in all the right places, as his mouth found your breast, tongue passing over your nipple and making your back arch into his touch. It was too much, but also not nearly enough, something that was as oxymoronic as it was maddening.Â
Your hands scrambled across the smooth surface of the desk before finally curling around the edge, nails digging into the wood, and you watched Jing Yuan above you with hazy eyes; watched the way his face twisted and pinched in bliss. He was thick and heavy and hot inside of you, and you were not going to last, not like this, not when he was whispering filth and praises and fucking you so deep that you could barely tell where he started and you ended.Â
The pressure of his thumb on your clit picked up, and you squirmed in his hold, the back of your head knocking against the surface of the desk underneath it, your eyes squeezing closed, the delirious, desperate feeling that comes before a climax bleeding into your system, threading its way through you, leaving you utterly helpless to its pull.Â
You were barely aware of what you were even saying, but you knew his name was on your lips, and you were so close that you could hardly take it, but he wasnât slowing down, not even as you bucked and squirmed and shook under his touch.Â
The edge came quicker than youâd have pleased, and your back bowed up as you came undone, trying and failing to stray quiet as your high washed over you with tidal wave force. You were throbbing around him, squeezing him tight, and you could hear him growling in pleasure, feel him twitch inside of you, only driving you higher as your eyes rolled back behind closed lids, lips parted, cheeks flushed pink.Â
But he wasnât letting up, not even as you squirmed with overstimulation, clamping a hand over your mouth to try and quiet yourself, barely able to handle the continued stimulation. The stretch of him inside of you and the feel of his thumb on your clit was making you feel like you were losing yourself, and if he knew that, he was only encouraging it.Â
You wanted him to cum, to feel him lose himself too, to see it on his face as he spilled himself inside of you, just as drunk on bliss as you were. You locked your ankles together behind his body, pushing him deeper, and you got the privilege of listening to him groan.
Your second climax knocked the wind out of you, and it was only then that he was pulling his hand away, fucking you through the aftershocks of the climax, but the base of his cock was rubbing against your oversensitive clit, prolonging your high, and building you towards another one.Â
His hand found your hip, holding you down as his pace picked up to something almost punishing as he chased his own climax, and you found yourself scrambling forward to grab onto him, kissing him hard and deep, hips moving with his and making him moan into your mouth, grip tightening on your body as he pushed you back onto your back, one hand flattening on your lower stomach to hold you down as he thrust all the way in, staying close as he rolled his hips in slow, deep rocks that made you feel like you were burning alive, but you could do no more than lay there and take it as he worked you into another dizzying climax.
It hit you with a force that made you scream, forcing you to clamp a hand over your mouth, the tears that had caught in your lashes leaking down your cheeks, and his thrusts were growing uneven, breath unsteady. You felt him shudder, hips twitching, sending jolts of almost painful pleasure through your spent body, making you whine.Â
With a low, unrestrained moan, he was thrusting deep as he could go, and you could feel him trembling , grip iron tight on your body as he spilled inside of you, and you pulled him down into a fierce kiss, bucking your hips to work him through his climax. He moaned against your mouth, gasping your name when you deliberately squeezed around him, breaking the kiss to sink his teeth into your shoulder to muffle his unrestrained cries.
You felt him begin to soften inside of you, though he remained close, arms wrapped around your body as you gasped for breath. It was with almost palpable reluctance that he pulled out, and after gathering you into his arms, he was falling back to sit on the bench behind him, chest heaving, eyes closed.
A few moments passed of just laying together before he was moving for a drawer in his desk, and you realized he was reaching for a package of tissues, which he used to wipe your thighs clean, depositing the tissue in the trash can tucked beneath the desk. You grabbed your panties from the floor, tugging them back on before settling beside him once again.
âI didnât picture that happening for the first time here,â he said, after a few moments of comfortable silence, âthough I canât say Iâm complaining.â
Despite everything, you felt your cheeks warm. It was definitely comical that you were blushing at that of all things after heâd just fucked your brains out, but you supposed it couldnât be helped.
âWhere did you picture it?â You asked, settling closer to him, smiling as he wrapped his arms around your body.
âPreferably my bedroom,â he said, âor yours. I wanted to at least take you out first. Call me old fashioned, but Iâm quite fond of the act of courtship.â
You smiled. âWe can still do that.â
A chuckle. âYes. Youâre quite right.â
For as long as possible (and until you started to get cold), the two of you sat curled up together on the bench before Jing Yuan suggested getting dressed, which didnât sound like a bad idea. But it wasnât until you tried to stand that you realized that might be a problem.Â
âThis is your fault,â you said, as he helped you put your shorts back on, and he smiled, as calm as ever.
âAnd Iâd do it again.â
That, you werenât ashamed to say, made you blush. From the smirk on his face, that was exactly his intention. You shot him a glare, but it was short lived when he pressed a kiss to your forehead, offering you a hand to help you up.
Your legs were still wobbly, but with his support, you were able to stand.Â
âWell, love,â he said, âsince weâre doing things in reverse order, how about lunch? We can take the rest of the day off, go back to my home?â
You leaned closer to him, lacing your fingers tight with his. âIâd like that.â
He kissed you, slow and gentle, before he led you from the Seat of Divine Foresight, leaving the mess of forgotten chess pieces scattered across the floor, chatting happily about what restaurants he thought youâd like.Â
You never did finish that game.
Though, of course, there would be others in the future.Â
#jing yuan#fanfiction#my writing#fem!reader#fanfic#smut#female reader#jing yuan x reader#jing yuan x you#jing yuan hsr#jing yuan smut#jing yuan x y/n#n.sfw#this is pure fuckery#this is so lONG#9K WORDS#WHAT#cross posted on ao3#I did not plagiarize myself#The amounts of chess metaphors in this? Nuts#donât let this flop#this was a birthday gift for my friend#Ehe happy birthday#honkai star rail#honkai#hsr x reader#hsr jing yuan#x reader#reader insert
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So I may have been reading some Lamplight AU fics by @liloinkoink lately and kinda became obsessed-
So here you go some Paladin Martyn doodles for now :]
(I still need to try out some colour schemes for him and maybe change a few things, then we can go full fanart mode)
#trafficblr#inthelittlewood#renthedog#<- I mean he's here I guess#renchantyn#lamplight au#I literally read 9k words in one sitting#that's how good torchlight was#but my favourite for now is heliography ch2#they are silly guys I love them#blame lew
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Childhood Friends Au: Jason
there's something burning in the empty room inside my head fill it up with doubt let it in, let it spread
When Jason gets Tim's text in the groupchat, he ignores it. And then a short series of buzzes distract him from a drug bust. It hasn't even been that long since he reconciled with the family, with Bruce. He thinks that perhaps he should have left it sooner.
He glances at it momentarily when the buzzing stops and he doesn't need to knock out more guys. He sees Tim's question dedicated towards him, and his response is instant, his thumbs flying over in response.
He doesn't care, he's trying to patrol.
(He does not have Danny's number in this phone, it's new. A model from this year rather than one from four years ago. He wants that old phone back. He hasn't even looked at their old letters yet.)
(Jason bets that they've been packed away in storage with the rest of his things. He doesn't want to visit the manor, but maybe he should. Just to find those letters again. He's not sure if he's allowed to.)
And then Tim says its Danny, and Jason flies up to the past texts to find the photo before he can think. And then there is Danny staring right at him again, with the same old smile on his face that he always aimed at people. Lopsided, Danny's favorite kind of smile.
Something old, something new. He's got piercings, and his eyes are as blue as they've ever been. He has an undercut, it looks self-done. It looks good. He looks tired.
Danny's good at hiding things from people, it comes with the purchase of being a street kid. But Jason can't have someone else's back without knowing the ins and outs of the person in question. Jason knows when Danny is tired, and Danny knows when he is too.
Before his death, whenever Danny came over he never missed a beat in telling Jason that he looked like shit. Were Bruce's fancy rich-people, cloud-made mattresses too soft for him? He can find him a moth-eaten street mat for him if he needs it. It'd be like the good old days.
(Jason wishes he could have told him he was Robin, but it wouldn't be safe.)
Jason had to see him with his own eyes, had to confirm with his own eyes just how much Danny had changed. It's just his luck -- if he has any left -- that he arrives to Bruce's dumb gala just as Danny steps out onto their once-shared, west-end balcony.
He drops down, something heavy in his throat, before he can properly think it through. Danny looks up before his feet even touch the ground, like he knew he was there. Jason wonders if he did. There is a cigarette in Danny's mouth. Something old. And something flashes in his eyes that Jason cannot place. Danny looks tense.
Jason feels like he's made a mistake.
In the end, watching Danny walk away feels a lot like Jason is losing something -- or is he missing something? Is it both? He wants to reach out, grab Danny's arm, but his feet are glued to the balcony floor. There are so many things he wants to say, but his tongue has glued itself to the roof of his mouth. Something has crawled into his mouth and died.
So much has been said with so little words. He wants to spin Danny around and ask him so many questions.
What do you mean you spoke to my ghost?
What do you mean I told you the Joker killed me?
What else have I told you?
The Fentons were right?
What happened while I was gone?
Why are you scarred? Where did those come from?
(He is not blind. He saw those silver lightning scars etched into his best friend's skin, saw that it disappeared under his sleeves. Danny did not have those the last time Jason saw him, the last time he was alive.)
(The sight of it makes him alight with murderous intent. He wants to take his best friend by the front of his shirt and shake him -- who did this to you? Who did it? Tell him, he will fix it.)
(But he can't. He doesn't. Doing that means revealing who he is. It means telling his best friend that he has been alive for the last five years and he did not tell him. It would mean telling his best friend that he did not want him to know.)
You're going to kill the Joker for me?
What have I missed?
What do I not know?
You look so tired.
But before he can even get his mouth to move, Danny is gone back inside. The door swinging open, music once muffled now blaring out for only a few seconds before Danny is slipped back inside.
And Jason is left on the balcony, alone, with more questions than he thought he would have. He stares at the broken cigarette on the ground, it feels like a metaphor for something. Jason can't figure out for his second life what it is.
Maybe it's not a metaphor at all, maybe the curtains are sometimes just blue. Maybe sometimes your best friend just tells a vigilante that he is going to murder someone; that he is going to avenge his best friend with his bare hands and feel no remorse for it.
It is what Jason wants Bruce to do, wants someone who loves him to do. But he's not sure if its something he wants Danny to do. Not when he has been living a normal life -- or as normal as it could be -- without hide nor tail knowledge of what Jason used to do, or what he does now.
What have I missed?
Danny. He's missed Danny. He didn't look into Amity Park out of fear of what he'll find; of what he might do. But now Jason thinks he might have to.
Danny has talked to his ghost. Danny is going to kill for him. He has that look in his eyes that Jason knows so familiar; the one where he needs Jason to play distractor while he stole something from the corner store. The one where he looks a kid five years his senior in the eyes and kicks him in the dick because he cornered him and Jason, itching for a fight.
There's a look so familiar in his eyes; the one of a boy that's set his mind to something and he is going to do it. He can't call it the eyes of a cornered animal, because Danny has never been cornered, not when he's been with Jason. He calls it the eyes of a boy about to do something he will never regret.
He watches him leave with the Vlad Masters guy. He hides atop the roof and eavesdrops. The paparazzi have since left now that it was much later in the night; they are not the bigger fish, even if they sometimes parade it to be.
"I thought I told you to make nice." Vlad Masters scowls as he walks to the other side of the sleek black limousine. "To not embarrass me."
Jason frowns at the way he talks. His fingers itch, and something old lurches in his chest: the same old protectiveness that he used to feel whenever he and Danny were about to get into a fight. And then, later, when they would stand inside Bruce's galas with people who couldn't care less if they breathed or died.
Danny scowls right back at him, all venom and bite, and leans against the side of the car. "I did make nice -- as nice as I could when you dragged me here."
Vlad Master rolls his eyes, huffing. Jason's frown only deepens. It's not easy to make Danny do anything he doesn't want to. His sister has tried, so have his parents, as well as his teachers. But Danny is wild and so is Jason. Rebellion and disobedience -- no, independence -- cut into them from the streets like its broken glass.
Jason doesn't remember Danny ever mentioning knowing a Vlad Masters. They must have met after Jason died, then. He doesn't like him. He's the same as all the other socialites in that party. There is a greed in his eyes that Jason knows rots down to the core of him.
"I thought you would enjoy being here, little badger." Masters tries, and his tone makes Jason ruffle. As does the nickname. Danny's scowl only ever deepens, his fingers curling to dig nails into his palms. He looks at Masters like he wants him to burst into flames. "You are friends of the Waynes, I thought you would like the little reunion."
"Whether I did or didn't is none of your business." Danny says. The door clicks open on Masters' side, as if they remembered that they were on the street rather than in the car. Masters climbs into the back, and Danny opens the door. He only reaches in though, and pulls out a old hoodie.
Danny pulls it over his head, and his vest and button-down are hidden underneath it. "Don't wait up you old fruitloop, there's someone here I need to see." And he slams the door shut with more force than necessary.
(Jason makes a mental note to look into Vlad Masters. Who is he to Danny. How did they meet? There is an old animosity between each other that Jason has never seen before. Not even when they were on the streets. Not to this extent.)
Jason's heart seizes up. Danny's reminder early surges to the front of his mind. Right. That's right. He's going to go see him. Jason. He is going to lay flowers on his grave. He remembers that Jason likes zinnias. There are no florists open this late at night, Jason thinks.
He follows Danny from the rooftops. Danny sticks close to the buildings, slipping in and out of shadows. Jason wants to know where he learned how to do that. Where did he learn how to move without a sound?
Five years is a long time to be away from someone, Jason thinks. Something that fills him with dread. Five years is a long, long time. He's afraid that it's been too long. Will he still know Danny like he used to, if he asks? And if he doesn't?
More, more, more. More questions than answers. More things that Jason doesn't know about someone he used know to like the back of his hand. It scares him, and he hates it.
(There is scarring on Danny's hand that Jason has never seen before. Maybe that's the metaphor he was missing before. Maybe there are still more.)
Danny moves like a ghost down Gotham's streets, his hands shoved into his pockets without a care in the world. It is confusing. It is concerning. It is proof that more things have changed than Jason likes.
Danny somehow finds a florist open at this time of night, and buys a bouquet. And like he told the Red Hood, he buys zinnias. Reds and yellows. For a moment, Jason thinks that Danny knows. He wonders if he does.
What would he have told him, if he was a ghost? He told him that the Joker killed him. Maybe that means he told Danny he was Robin too, like he always wanted to. But couldn't, because it wasn't safe, and it wasn't just his secret to tell?
Why has nothing changed, now that he was alive again?
"Did you know," Danny starts, when he sits down at Jason's grave with flowers slipping gently from his fingers, before the tombstone below. Jason is as close as he can without being seen, hiding like a ghost. "That red zinnias mean stead beating of a heart?" He smiles sardonically, "You picked quite the flower, Jay."
(There is an echoing in his ears, Danny's voice faint in the back of his mind. Ghosts can hear you when you speak to their grave, did you know? Jason can hear him better than he should.)
Jason knows the irony. Perhaps it's got double the meaning now, now that he's alive again. Danny doesn't know that though, sitting before his grave with flowers that symbolize a beating heart. Between the two of them, Jason thinks that the only heart here is Danny.
(Between the two of them, the only heart here is one that's made between the two of them.)
"Yellow zinnias," Danny continues, resting his chin in his hand, "mean daily remembrance." His smile tilts on the axis of his mouth, a wrinkle between his brows. He looks pained. Hurt. There is no comment made. Like it doesn't need to be said.
Jason thinks he can hear it anyways, and his heart twists like someone took it and twisted it like a rag, trying to drain the dirty water out of the cloth. He hurts.
I miss you. Is what he hears. Is what Danny doesn't say. Is what Jason knows he's thinking anyways.
I am right here. Is what Jason wants to say, but doesn't. He is right here. But his feet are grave-bound to the floor, and a part of him feels like he's clawing out his own grave again. But the dirt falling is endless and merciless. He can't get free.
He bites his tongue, a lump in his throat. Shame wells in his heart and Jason wants to shrink away from this. His feet are grave-bound to the floor.
"I'm sorry for not visiting sooner." Danny says, hand dropping out of his chin to pick at the ends of his sleeves. His smile fades into a frown. His voice wobbles. "I'm sorry, I don't have an excuse. I should have."
Please don't be. Jason thinks. He doesn't think he can be upset about it, not when Danny is laying yellow flowers on his grave that mean remembrance. i think of you daily. Not when Danny was going to kill the Joker for him.
Jason still doesn't know what to think of that. He still isn't sure if it's real or not.
"I went to one of Bruce's galas today." Danny says, and Jason knows. He saw him there. Danny smiles weakly. "I know, right? First time in five years. Vlad dragged me along, you remember him right?"
No, I don't. Jason thinks, and he feels a flutter of anxiety. A sense of impending doom. A choking dread. What else have I missed? He thinks again. Why doesn't he remember? Danny told him about Vlad, but it can only be from when he was a ghost. How long was he a ghost before he was revived? How often did he and Danny speak?
Jason doesn't like not knowing things, he doesn't like not knowing things about himself.
It would be so easy, a little voice whispers, to reveal himself now. To step forward and take his helmet off. To tell Danny that he was alive. To demand answers that only Danny could know.
But then what? When Danny inevitably asks his own questions? About how long Jason's been alive? Why he was dressed the way he was? Why he didn't say anything earlier, on the balcony?
(But he did say it earlier, when he offered Danny the cigarette and silently asked him for his thoughts.)
Jason is afraid of what Danny might think of him, if he tells him what he's done. About the blood on his hands and the bridges he's burned. What if telling him is just more gasoline on another bridge, with Danny holding the match? He stays silent. Fear is a powerful motivator. It's a powerful deterrent, too.
"The asshole blackmailed me into coming." Danny says, drawing his knees up to his chest. He looks disinterested. Annoyed, actually. Like what he is saying isn't sending alarm bells through Jason's mind. Like what he's saying doesn't concern him. "It's really dumb, actually."
He sighs, long and tired. There is grief etched into every line and pore in his face. "I could have handled it without even needing to come to the gala, I've done it before." He mutters when his eyes open. His fingers brush against the petals of the bouquet.
(And that only sends more alarm bells ringing in Jason's mind. Red lights blaring. Distress fills the cavity of his lungs. What has he missed?)
"I only agreed because I missed you," Danny says, "and Bruce. He invited me to come over sometime soon, to catch up. I agreed and I'm not sure why I did."
Jason didn't know that.
Danny continues talking. Jason listens in dutifully. He feels like a stranger imposing on his own grave. It's ridiculous. It makes sense. He feels like he should slink away and let Danny talk to his grave in peace. He cannot bring himself to move.
If he closes his eyes, he can pretend that he's sitting in front of him, like it's the good old days and they're back in Jason's room in the manor. Staying up late and trading stories back and forth. Sneaking out to the balcony and climbing onto rooftops theyâre not supposed to go on.Â
Jazz is getting her psychology degree. Him and Sam had a big fight a few years ago, but theyâre better now. Tucker wants to start his own tech business.Â
And on and on Danny goes, rambling about every little thing he can think of in the last five years since they last talked. He jumps back and forth between topics, when he remembers something he cuts to it. And then jumps back off to the next thought passing through his mind.
"I don't know what I want to do." Danny says, finally, after he exhausts every other topic to talk about. "I wanted to be an astronaut, but now I'm not so sure." His knees draw up to his chin, and he looks so sad. He looks nineteen. Small despite his size.
Were they really just nineteen, verging on twenty? Jason feels older among his years. Fourteen feels so far away.
Danny breathes in slowly, it's a sound that trembles. From where he stands, Jason sees Danny's eyes film over with tears. He makes a choked out sound that sounds like a terrible mix of a laugh and a sob.
"Where did you go?" He whispers. He tries to smile, and it is this pained, awful thing that drops within a second. Fingers clutch at his legs, diggings wrinkles into the fabric. "I know you're still here. Where did you go?"
There is no answer. Guilt is an animal with claws, and it burrows into Jason's heart to make itself home between the tendons. Tears slide from Danny's eyes down his cheeks. He still cries for him, five years later. Five years after. Jason feels worse.
"I haven't stopped looking for you." Danny continues, his voice cracks, and the words run over Jason's ears like water sliding off a duck's back. He doesn't hear it at first -- no, he doesn't understand it at first. And then when he does, he plunges his hands into the waters of his mind to drudge it back up.
You're looking for me? Do you know I'm alive?
It's another question to Jason's never-ending list.
"You might as well tell me where you are now." He smiles again; tries to. It wobbles, lips pulling back to show teeth as more tears spill over and carve red marks down Danny's face. "Or I'll find Cujo and sick him on you. He's gettin' real good at tracking things you know."
Jason doesn't know who Cujo is. But it sounds like a dog. He knows Danny's always wanted one, but their apartments would never allow it. It's not like his parents could afford one either.
There is a silence that hangs over them, with only the sound of the city around them. Danny seems to tremble more and more as each second passes, until finally a bubble pops. His smile drops, and so do his knees that were pressed into his chest.
He doesn't say a thing, not with words anyways. He hunches over and hugs himself with nails that dig into his elbows, failing to stifle a years' old grief. Jason wants to flee, lest he breaks his word to himself and steps out to console and dry Danny's falling tears. It feels like a betrayal unto himself to only stand there and watch him drown in his grief.
Guilt is a thing with claws, and Jason leaves the cemetery with hatred eating his tongue. Danny deserves the privacy that a ghost cannot give him. Jason may no longer be a ghost, but he is still the next best thing. either way I'm left holding onto the shovel and rope digging in the dirt finding bones, finding ghosts
#dp x dc#dp x dc crossover#dpxdc#danny fenton is not the ghost king#dpxdc crossover#childhood friends au#dead on main#really thought long and hard about whether or not danny should kill the joker in this update#but that feels too soon#i feel like a few more things would need to be established before the Joker's inevitable end#so this is not half as long as the first part but this also only addresses the immediate aftermath of Red Hood's meeting with Danny#rather than spanning over multiple years building up Jason and Danny's relationship and jason's death and danny's return to gotham#word count: 3k#i'm a little disappointed i wanted to get to 9k like before but i think Jason's pov deserves a little more attention on its own#im still unsure of whether or not i should have added more or not
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Porcelain Steve - Part 6
Part OneđŚPart TwođŚPart ThreeđŚPart FourđŚPart FiveđŚPart SixđŚPart SevenđŚPart EightđŚPart Nine
Even though he's expecting company, Eddie still jumps and yelps when his front door flies open without so much as a knock, revealing Dustin and Will.
"I know I said to let yourselves in, but a warning knock would have been nice," Eddie shoots them a glare, not bothering to stand from the couch where he'd been pretending to watch whatever terrible daytime movie was playing.
"Sorry," Will apologizes sheepishly while Dustin just laughs.
"Which of your moms dropped you off? If it's Claudia, I'm filing a complaint about how you were raised."
"Har har," Dustin says, swinging his backpack off and knelling down to unzip and dig into it. "We biked here."
"Lucky you, then. The complaint will wait."
Dustin wrestles a blanket from his backpack. Unwrapping it reveals Steve, hair rumpled but otherwise unharmed. "Alright. Delivered safely. We gotta go meet El and Mike now but we'll see you on Saturday, right?"
Eddie sets Steve on the couch, angled towards the TV. "Yeah. I get the feeling if I don't show for the barbeque that Joyce will show up here and drag me there by my ear."
"She would," Will confirms with an easy shrug. The boys turn to leave before Will exclaims, "Oh! Almost forgot!" before digging into his pocket for something, turning around to give it to Eddie.
"What?"
"El and Steve spoke again. He had a lot of things to say. I spent a good portion of the last three days writing down everything as El repeated it to me. This is your letter," he says, having successfully pulled out what looked to be a folded piece of paper out of his pocket.
"Oh," Eddie takes it, and realizes it's not just one folded piece of paper, but three. "Wow."
"Seems you are Steve's second favorite," Dustin grins at him from the doorway.
"You are first, I assume?"
"No. Robin is. She got five pages."
That tracks, actually. Eddie's not surprised Robin got the most pages.
Soon enough, the boys are off and Eddie returns to the couch, pulling his legs up to sit crisscross. "Alright, Stevie, let's see what you have to say."
He unfolds the pages completely and is met with Will's now familiar penmanship scrawled across the sheets of wide rule paper that has clearly been ripped from a composition notebook. He's seen Will's handwriting plenty over this last year, quickly scribbling notes during DnD sessions and on the little item cards Will makes himself to hand out when he DMs.
Will's handwriting isn't always the neatest, but this looks like Will took time, wanted his writing to be legible. Flipping through the papers he sees it is two pages, front and back, of a letter, and the third page is a list of questions in a different, neater handwriting. He gets the feeling that Will probably didn't paraphrase anything. How many people got letters? How much of Will and El's time was devoted to doing just this?
Eddie feels emotional over this, misty-eyed and a lump in his throat, and he hasn't even read the damn letter yet.
"Shit, Stevie, do you even realize how loved you are?" Eddie asks out loud, turning to look at Porcelain Steve like he might answer him this time. Blank hazel eyes stare forward. Eddie shakes his head, to clear away his thoughts, and gets to reading. Not out loud, because he doesn't want Steve to hear how wet his voice will sound.
Eddie,
I guess the first thing I want to say is thank you. I was kind of freaking out when I first woke up like this. It was calming, that day on the lawn, after Robin and Nancy found me. You were so chill and just chatted my ear off like you would have if I were, like, there. I mean, there there and not like, doll-there, if you get what I mean.
Shit, man, being stuck like this would have been a hell of a lot worse without you, I'm certain. Everyone's been great, of course, and, like, no offense meant, Will and El, but you act most normal. Helps me feel, well, I don't know how, exactly. Describing emotions is not something I'm like, good at. Robin's great, too, but she catastrophizes, you know? And since I can't speak back, she can get herself pretty worked up about this and I hate that. Hate that I can't do anything to help her.
Shit. This isn't your issue. Don't include that. No, wait, do. Sorry, El. (It is here, off in the margin, that Will has added 'I wrote everything word for word. Enjoy the asides to El and me.) Hanging out with you helps her, I think. She seems less anxious on days we spend with you. So, I guess, I also want to thank you for that. For being there for Robin when I can't.
Eddie has to pause there because he had no idea. Robin has been a grounding force for him this whole time. He had no idea he was doing the same for her. She never said, or let on... well, that was probably her goal and now Steve's spilled the beans.
This is getting easier to say, even if I still don't know how to feel about the other two people who are going to be privy to everything said, or I guess from your end, written here. (Here, Will has transcribed a conversation they seemed to have had in the middle of writing this up.) Oh. He means us. - El Yes. Don't worry Steve, we'll do our best to forget everything you've said once it's written down. - Will Steve laughed and says thanks. - El I appreciate that but- well, being honest there's some things I want to say but I don't want anyone else to hear. Those conversations are better left face to face, anyway. So, uhh, what else did I want to say?
Oh! Yeah, I told Robin she could drive around the Bimmer, so she can have a car while I'm- so she doesn't have to bike everywhere but knowing her she probably won't take me up on that offer. Maybe you can talk her into it? Or, maybe she'll be willing to drive your van around and you can take the bimmer.
"Jesus, Stevie, can't you just be okay with existing?" Eddie says it under his breath and tenses instantly. For a moment, he forgot that Steve was right there on the couch with him, could hear him. Now he has to explain himself because Steve's already heard, and without the context of how Eddie really means those words, they can sound judgmental. "Shit. Sorry. I just read the part about your car and, dude, you just don't know how to not try and be helpful, huh? I bet it's destroying you on the inside that you can't do anything. But Steve, you gotta know, we don't care about you because you're useful."
Steve, of course, can't reply, so Eddie goes back to the letter.
Uh, what else was there? Oh! Yeah! I don't get migraines here. Or, in this body? Or, whatever it is. I haven't had one since this happened. Also, no hearing issues. Though I find myself wishing to be completely deaf sometimes. I get that Max can listen to Kate Bush for a week straight, but I'd like a little variety. God, what I wouldn't give to listen to the Top 40 again. Don't say anything, Munson. I can already see your judgmental face at my music taste. Unlike you, I have the ability to like multiple types of music. The Top 40 AND that one song from, uhh, shit. Might not have migraines or hearing issues at the moment, but the memory is still as it was. Which means it is shit. That one song by that metal band where their name sounds like it's metal? You know who I mean. (In the margin, Will has just written five little question marks in a row ?????)
"The band you were thinking of, it's Metallica," Eddie says.
Not important. But, uh, the reason for telling you this. I was hoping you might smuggle me to a show the next time your band plays at the Hideout? Last time I tried to go it was too loud and gave me a migraine, you remember, but I think that I could listen to your whole show like this. We might as well take advantage of the perks of this shit situation, right? So, uh, I wouldn't mind if you did that. Or, like, had Robin or someone else bring me. Whichever.
Actually, wait, I lied, I do care which way. I've already had them pen down Robin's letter, so you'll have to pass this on, but I want Robin to take me. So, I can also watch the show, not just listen. That was the part I liked most, when I went last time, before I had to leave. Wait. Scratch that. Ask Argyle. Other than you, he seems like the only person willing to be caught holding me in public, mostly because I don't think he even knows how to be embarrassed. Jesus that was such a weird sentence to say. Holding me in public. Such a weird thing to experience, too.
Uh, anyway, I think that's it for now. Thanks for everything, Eddie.
"I think you're handling this loss of bodily autonomy rather well, Steve. This letter is a lot more positive than the one I would have written if our roles were reversed," Eddie says with a sigh. He can't help but wonder what Steve would have said in this letter if it hadn't had to be filtered through two teenagers first.
He looks to the last page, the list of questions, and is surprised to see that, mixed in with questions about which sports team is winning (he is not going to watch Sportsball for Steve. There has to be a line drawn somewhere and this is it. He will ask Wayne about it later and hate the glee he sees in his uncle's eyes because now he's going to have to pretend to like sports for the unforeseeable future) and for honest updates about their friends are questions about Eddie's campaign that he's rambled on about since Steve can't escape. Steve wants spoilers, wants to know what Eddie has planned.
Steve has actually been listening. He'd been operating on the assumption Steve just tunes him out when he gets going, unable to stop his brain to mouth filter when it comes to talking about Dungeons and Dragons and his current campaign.
"I'm at your list of questions now. I can't answer anything about sports, and don't think I'm unaware of how you asked me and not Lucas. I see what you are doing and I'm not going to fall for it. So, your first non-sportsball question here; How is Dustin doing, really? Well, that's a whole thing but overall, okay."
#steddie#my fic#porcelain steve#having steve write letters to everyone was sparked by jonathans even tho the wonder twins dont admit that#it was a passing comment when he walked in on Will explaining the difference between sorcerer and warlock to El and Porcelain Steve#just a quick 'i wonder what steve would have to say about this if he could talk'#and will and el were like! yes! what WOULD he say? El talk to him#and it evolved from there#also its not said because how would Eddie know? but the list of questions in different handwriting is Joyce's#to avoid campaign spoilers for Willâ el asked joyce to write that part#they go through all the questions but im not writing those#this was mostly to get a little bit of Steve in here#feels weird to write a steddie fic where steve hasnt even spoken until 9k+ words into the fic#especially since i am NOT a slow burn personâ not that i count this as slow burn#how do you define slow burn? does this count? help a girl out and let me know
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new thiam 5+1 things fic that I've been writing nonstop for two days đŤśđŤśđŤś
the link
#i impulsively started it when i was drunk#and then it turned into 9k words of babbling#teen wolf#thiam#thiam fanfic
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currently 6,118 words into nurlse prt 3. gojo just got here. there's been two climaxes and one and a half public sex scenes. child endangerment is rampant and i am out of ways to describe people standing in doorways. so far everything is proceeding as planned but i will remain cautious.
#so far we're looking at a 7.5 to 9k word count#and i apologize deeply for that#i want to be so concise but something about these sad bisexual men just make me so emotional#alas#personal
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struggling sooo bad with writing this dragon smut! like that's the only thing i'm stuck on--- do i morph it? do ya'll want it to stay its true size. ya'll his peen is gonna tear the reader apart, do i make one peen smaller than the other so it fits? or do i just make him smaller? you guys i have 9k words of pure plot, and i'm almost done--- HOW DOES HE FUCK THE READER THO?!
#writeblr#writers on tumblr#monster fucker#monster x human#literally help me#i have 9k words full of plot#but i'm struggling with writing this dragon smut#all suggestions will be taken seriously#you said figure it out myself?#makes sense
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Dottore really loves to give you thigh kisses. Along with your neck, it has to be his other favorite area to tease you with his lips (and his teeth, of course.) At least, you can usually see them coming when he begins to move down to rub his cheek against your soft thigh. It's not even a sexual thing, he just finds himself enjoying nipping the sensitive area. You don't mind the marks he leaves there, because at least other people can't see them for once.
Doing something else and you have the audacity to ignore him? Thigh bites and squeezes until you get embarrassed enough to pay attention. Cuddling and you don't have any space left for some more marks on your neck? Your thighs get attacked next. Finally taking a much-needed nap on your lap? When he wakes up, he continues to take his break by marking your thigh. Telling him about your day? Gentle and lazy thigh kisses to help you destress as you pat his fluffy hair. Really good times.
#smooches talks#dottore love notes <3#im focusing on writing the dottore fic so hard rn. its 9k words now.#collapses and dies#532 days no dottore content#collapses and dies pt 2
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short 3: operation mousetrap
table of contents ao3
Nightwingâs eyes glazed over the case file he had already memorized as they made their way to the scene of their mission. Superboy fidgeted in the seat next to him, untempered. It had taken Nightwing and Robin (mostly Nightwing), and Mâgaan almost the whole pre-mission briefing to convince Superboy to not just fly there, and actually take the bio-ship with them. He could empathize though. When Young Justice had first formed unofficially on their unsanctioned mission to CADMUS to, eventually, break Superboy out of his cloning pod the Justice League along with the bandit of misfits the Young Justice team was at the time had done everything they could and expended every resource to track and shut down anymore similar projects. Unfortunately and fortunately, Konner had been the only one to be stable enough to survive outside of the cloning pod, and since CADMUS had been permanently shut down there would be no more cloning projects (from them at least). Â
Or so they thought.Â
A mission that the Teen Titans were on almost a month ago had given them a tip off that there were still more CADMUS research operations happening. According to the files and research they had gathered, which, granted, wasn't as much as they would've liked, it seemed like there was something about this specific branch that had been different than the ones they had been tracking down after finding Konner. That had been the explanation to why they were only finding out about them now, years after they had thought theyâd seen the last of them. Batman wasn't happy to be blindsided like that. And neither were they. Konner, naturally, had taken it the worst. Practically begged to be on the mission even though itâs not his usual modus operandi. Nightwing suspected that he felt some kind of responsibility to see it through, which as illogical as it may be, he understood where Konner was coming from. Â
So here they were, Nightwing (Since Batman couldn't oversee it himself), Superboy (As previously stated), Robin (Teen Titan representative of choice) and Miss Martian headed towards the new CADMUS location in an intense silence. The mission was sanctioned as a recon mission, the objective was to not to be seen so they could bug their systems and find out just how much of CADMUS they had overlooked. Hence the two bats and a martian that could go intangible. Cyborg was on standby at the Watchtower in case his expertise was required, Robin could put him through. CADMUS dabbled in a lot more than just clones, so the team was surely in for a surprise.Â
Nightwing was confident it was nothing they couldnât handle.Â
They kept in the shadows, Miss Martian connecting them telepathically as they split up. She headed off with Robin to the main control room, Nightwing stuck with Superboy as they got eyes on whatever was afoot here. Superboy easily fell into Nightwingâs lead, leaving minimal traces of their presence.Â
âWeâre clear.â Robin informed them that he and Miss Martian had successfully reached the control room, âIâm tapping into the mainframe; downloading and in process.âÂ
âWere you seen?â Nightwing asked back, hotwiring the security panel for one of the doors marked Authorized Access Only (that translates to âyou should probably check this outâ in vigilante speak).Â
âNegative.â Miss Martian echoed back.Â
âIt tell you what we're up for?â Superboy asked, as the door silently opened. Nightwing stopped him from entering so he could scan the area for laser, boobie (heh) traps and other such sensors. All clear.
âSystems scanning. Will update. Over.â Robin said curtly, likely busy getting past the security without ringing any alarms.Â
âHeading into an access point. Still clear. Over.â Nightwing reported, as their communication line went quiet but the light buzz the connection gave still echoed in his scalp.Â
The lack of guards was concerning to say the least. The building wasnât abandoned, there were still people going about. But they had all been in lab coats doing things that people that wore lab coats in shady underground operations did, not security going around securing the place. Even the access point hadnât had any sensors that hotwiring couldnât dismantle. Nightwing knew enough about CADMAS operations to know that this wasnât how CADMUS operated. Knowing better than to hope for the best he told Superboy to keep his guard up, trusting Robin to come to the same conclusion as him.Â
They surveyed the access point. They had managed to get pretty deep into the building so there was sure to be something juicy in here. Weapons of mass destruction, an unnamed virus that could kill on impact, neo-Armegedon. All in previous case files stored under CADMUS along with superhero cloning. Nightwing was relatively certain he wouldnât be finding any more cloning attempts, which had been the core of what they had been searching for during the first CADMUS eradication operations. Looked into all the big pharmas connects and everything. Crazy how far a name like âWayneâ could take you.Â
So imagine Nightwingâs surprise when Superboy calls him over while heâs snooping through the on hand files in the large room to see what all the freaky green bio-substance in the rows and rows of mason jars were supposed to be for and he sees an all to familiar pod. A pod that might even be referred to as a cloning pod. There was a kid inside, male, estimated age 7-10. It was always hard to tell ages with clones. Skin tone was hard to tell in the green of the liquid he was basking in, but it looked tan - melatonin tan, kid probably never got a lick of Vitamin D in his life. His hair was white in some parts and black in others, kinda like a zebra. Or was dalmatian a better reference? His umbilical cord was still attached- or something that served as one, if he were to guess. Nightwing couldnât see where it led to as it disappeared into the ceiling.Â
âWe gotta get him out.â Superboy said through clenched teeth. Nightwing couldnât imagine the memories going through his head. His hand went for the control panel before Nightwing stopped him.Â
Superboy looked like he wanted to put up a fight so Nightwing was quick to explain, âWe donât know if heâs stable enough to not be in there. If you open it, or wake him or whatever- you could kill him. You need to think about this objectively, Superboy.â The anger didnât dissipate but Nightwing trusted the nod of understanding he received and released his arm. âClones donât usually have an umbilical cord.â Nightwing noted, âThey mustâve tried a new recipe.â Tuning back into Miss Martian's mental link, âRob. You find anything yet?âÂ
âThe informationâs coded, Cyborg and I are working on it. But all Iâve found so far is not looking good.â There was a beat of silence, and Nightwingâs chest twisted in anticipation. âThey have a project Grayson.âÂ
âWhat?â Nightwing âAre you sure itâs not just a coincidence.â Superboyâs eyes snapped to Nightwing who turned to look at the boy in the cloning tube and wondered if his eyes would be blue when (if) he opened them. The memory of his own parents telling him the trails of his birth flashed in his head. His mother couldnât conceive, so theyâd found a doctor to help. Heâd been a test-tube baby. At Least until he was old enough to be in a womb. He knew how it worked. And he knew that both his parents had to get harvested for it. Considering who they were dealing with, it wasnât impossible their samples werenât stolen.Â
âCodename: P40-N10; Attempt 16: Project Grayson.â Robin recited âThatâs all I got so far.âÂ
âRobin, we're getting company.â Miss Martian's voice said, alarmed.Â
With a curse Robin ended the conversation. If they found Red Robin and Miss Martian then it wouldnât be long until guards came by their alley either. Quickly Nightwing tapped the computer screen that most likely connected to the kidâs suspension chamber. Superboy made himself useful looking through the paper trail stored in the shelves, since he could read faster than the average human. Robin was right about the coded information, trying to bypass whatever software they were using a pinprick he hadnât been expecting poked through Nightwingâs glove drawing only a drop of blood.Â
That canât be good.
The computer screen shifted to the loading sign, force-freezing any other on going processing for whatever just popped up. Instinctively, Nightwing backed up from the screen, bracing for some kind of explosion or attack to come from somewhere. But the screen finished loading and a present icon popped up, deceptively colorful. Despite not touching the mouse, the cursor moved to the icon with an exaggerated click and the present opened with a light fanfare of digital confetti.Â
Operation MouseTrap: Activated.Â
Nightwing didnât know what that meant, but it couldnât be good. Before he could process what course of action he should take- optimally a self-extraction, theyâd been sniffed- the glass dome encasing the kid retracts with a loud sound and the substance is drained only just fast enough to not spill over the glass.Â
They had been expecting them.Â
MouseTrap. They were mice.Â
Crap. Crap. Crap.Â
âRob, MM. We need to leave. Now.â Nightwing ordered urgently. Superboy was on his feet, catching the kid from hitting the floor with a speed Nightwing couldnât match.Â
âI got him. We need to cut the wire.â Superboy said, checking the boy for a pulse. Approaching them quickly, Nightwing sliced through the umbilical cord with a batarang.Â
âWhatâs the situation?â Robin asked,Â
âWeâve got them handled on our end.â Miss Martian reported.Â
âWeâve been set-up. Iâll explain later. We need to go.â Nightwing snapped, just as the overhead alarms started blaring. He shouldâve seen this coming a mile away. Â
Superboy picked the boy up. âPulse is there, but barley. He needs medical attention, fast.â He used his jacket to cover the boy, holding him to his chest as he made his way to the door they had come in from.Â
âItâs too risky to take him with us. They wanted us to find him, there had to have been a reason.â Nightwing stepped in his path, staying aware of potentially being approached from behind. The containers he had been looking into earlier were forgotten in their corner of the room.Â
âSo what?â Superboy asked venomously, âWe leave him here? âCause he's dangerous?â A took a threatening step closer, âA threat?â Cloning projects were always a sensitive topic for all the Supers, Konner specifically. Reasons obvious.Â
Nightwing sighed, âNo.â He looked at the child and he couldnât help but notice the similarities. Both with himself(phenotypically) and with Konner(in every other way). âNo, we canât leave him here. But we canât go into this headfirst.â There was a volley of footsteps approaching.Â
âNightwing. Superboy. ETA?â Robin asked through the link.Â
âWe could take him to Mt. Justice?â Superboy tried to offer. âTitanâs Tower?âÂ
âMt. Justice is a secure location, we shouldnât risk them being able to track the kid. Weâd be risking everyone that stays there.â Nightwing explained, he could hear footsteps approaching. There was a crowd of them. âAnd the tower wouldnât have the proper equipment to monitor or take care of him, medically.â The option of the Bat Cave filtered through Nightwing's mind, but he didnât offer.
âGuys.â Miss Martian, called. âDo you copy?â
âWatchtowerâs the safest bet, then.â Superboy pressed, âItâs crawling with heroes. Batman will be there. And Superman. Whatâs the worst one kid can do?â A lot. But Konner wouldnât take that answer. Nightwing caught the kidâs hand twitch from under Superboyâs leather jacket.Â
âNightwing. Superboy.â Robin called again, urgency in his tone. âDo you copy?âÂ
âWhy canât our recons never actually be recons?â Nightwing sighed dramatically reaching for his batons as the door opened to reveal a folly of security guards. If they were meant to get in and get the kid, then they would sure as hell leave with him. Batmanâs lecture be damned.Â
âA few friends dropped by. Weâll catch you in five.â Nightwing finally responded, âGet the medkits ready, we have a stowaway.âÂ
Superboy let out a breath and his shoulderâs visibly relaxed, as he pulled the kid closer in his arms. He looked tiny next to Superboy's wide shoulders. Even if he was 7 he was small for it. Nightwing didnât have much time to take in the kid, locked into a fight he couldâve taken in his formative Robin days, with a Super as back up. The two hurried down the corridor they had entered from, not bothering to take to the shadows when the loud red buzzer and alarms had exposed them. With Superboyâs enhanced strength the boy in his hands barely caused a dent in their escape plans. Though he was so small and skinny, Nightwing was confident their roles couldâve been reversed with minimal disadvantage.
The bioship took off the second the two landed both feet on board. Robin took one look at the heap of a child in Superboyâs arms and domino shifted in what Nightwing knew to be a questioning eyebrow.Â
âHeading back to Mt. Justice.â M'gann said as they steadied in the sky. Â
âDrop us off at the Watchtower on your way.â Dick called, following behind Konner to where Tim had set up their makeshift Medbay.Â
âBâs gonna flip.â Tim said approaching the stretcher the ship formed for them, as Konner laid the kid down gingerly. Dick shrugged, watching the monitors Tim hooked the kid up to. They were low, but they were steady. âHe looks like you.â Tim commented again, stepping back to examine his work.Â
His hair had strips of white in that Dick never had the displeasure of dealing with, but Dick had never been in a cloning pod and he couldnât be sure if the white hair was a genetic thing or a side effect of whatever the green stuff was. He shouldâve gotten a sample of the vials when he had a chance. Have something to show for himself at the lecture he was no doubtably going to have to sit through with B. His skin wasnât as tan as Dickâs but Dick spent excess hours in the sun and the kid got his umbilical cord cut only minutes ago. He had a dust of freckles, like Dick did. His nose bridge had a crick in it like Dickâs momâs in the pictures, but Dickâs nose didnât have one. His jaw was slim and angled like Dickâs had been before he hit puberty, and his skin was clear of any of the acne Dick had fought hard and long in his middle-teens. His shoulderâs didnât have the muscles Dick had been trained into since before he could remember, making his entire body slimmer and smaller than Dickâs had been at that age.Â
It was like looking into a funhouse mirror of himself.
---
âNightwing.â Batman called in a tone that Dick had become, unfortunately, very used to over the years. âExplain.âÂ
âWe were reconn-ing, like planned. Found the kid, alarms went off. It was no longer a recon.â He slumped into the empty chair with the Big Blueâs emblem etched into the leather of it. A bored look on his face to hopefully deter the length of the incoming lecture.Â
âYou were team leader and as team leader you should know better than to not notice things. Clues that arenât there are tells as much as clues that are there, and you led your team-â The lecture was cut off by a color-clad man Nightwing hadnât had the pleasure of knowing the name of, his hurried eyes filtering between the duo and landing pointedly on Nightwing, hesitant to say anything in the presence of The Almighty Batman. But Nightwing knew. There was only one reason anyone would be looking for him right now.Â
âThe kidâs-â
âAwake. Yeah, I got it.â Nightwing said pushing past him and hurrying in the direction of the Medbay Konner had refused to leave. Batman was on his tail, never one to leave a child vulnerable or unattended, regardless of the potential threat levels. Or maybe it was because he was a threat.Â
Nightwing entered before Batman, but he could feel him falter at the sight of the kid that sat in the bed with a posture Alfred had taken years to instill in Dick. His hair was still a patchwork of black and white, Dick wondered if he was wrong to think there was more white than there had been before. But as he stepped through the door, large blue eyes locked with Dickâs own. His Father had blue eyes. And his mother had a hooked nose. Heâd seen the pictures. Heâs memorized them. The slim jaw, the large eyes, and the lush lips. He looked like Dick, but not identical.Â
âHe just woke up.â Konner told Dick quietly, but still loud enough for the kid to hear. Dick took off his domino, Batman left his on. The only people in the room were the three of them, the kid, and the doctor who was looking after him. The kid eyed them all wearily nonetheless.Â
âHi,â Dick started with a smile, making sure to keep his hands in view and move them slowly, âIâm Richard Grayson, most people call me Dick.â He wondered if the joke would make him laugh or cringe. The kid just watched him and gave no reaction. Dick cleared his throat and continued, âI was one of the people that helped you get out of your pod.â he informed him. Still no reaction, but he could tell the kid was listening.Â
Batman stepped to speak, âDo you know who you are?â A clear question, classic Bat.Â
âP-four-zero-dash-N-ten.â He recited in almost a robotic way. When Konner had been broken out of his pod, he had memories, an objective.Â
âWhat he means is do you have a name?â Dick said even though he knew thatâs not what Batman had meant.Â
âProject Grayson. Attempt 16, variation B-7.â He said in the same tone. His eyes moved fast and widely and he took in Dick and Batmanâs reactions. Without prompt he continued, âSubject A-1 of operation MouseTrap. To be released from confinement under circumstances of acceptance of preliminary requirements.âÂ
There was a beat of silence, âWhat are the preliminary requirements?â Batman asked his voice hesitant in the way that Batman never hesitated.Â
âRequirement 1: Suitable requirements of sustainability. Requirement 2: Overridden entry granted,â When Nightwing hotwired the security to get in, âRequirement 3: DNA match Richard Grayson.âÂ
âWhat do you know about Richard Grayson?â Batman questioned again. The doctor stepped closer to the kid, but waited for Batmanâs question to be answered.Â
âRichard Grayson, son of Mary Grayson and John Grayson. Recognized as the Flying Graysons, a well known international circus act. Orphaned at age 8, adopted by Bruce Wayne at age 8. First notable appearance as Robin estimated age 9. First notable Nightwing appearance estimated age 19 to 20. Noted weapon of choice: dual escrima sticks. Proficient in martial arts, with emphasis in aerial maneuvers. Threat level: 9.â He paused again, eyes not leaving the whites of Batmanâs cowl. âDo you require more details?âÂ
âNo.â He said quietly. He took a small step back as silent permission for the doctor to go ahead.Â
The kidâs eyes went to the doctor, taking in the lab coat before the doctor herself. âIâm going to draw some blood for testing. Is that okay?â The doctor displayed the empty syringe in her hands, not bringing the potential threat closer. The kid eyed the medical device.Â
âUnderstood.â He offered up his still bare forearm. The doctor seemed hesitant at that, but proceeded regardless. The boyâs features that had stayed a daring still during the entire not-really-a-conversation-probably-more-of-an-interrogation, made the light twitch of his left eye as the syringe penetrated his skin only more apparent.Â
Dick considered the interaction they had so far. The kid was definitely a kid. Presumably human considered the resemblance they seemed to share, but you could never be too sure with CADMUS. The tests would prove that once the results were back. But he seemed sentient, picking up on (the lack of) social cues and trying to correct (in his perspective) the mistakes he had made. He reacted to pain, maybe not in the way most kids would, but he wasnât most kids. He had blood, so he wasnât a cyborg. There was probably some brainwashing they needed to tap into, but nothing the League hadnât dealt with before.Â
The doctor asked him whether he preferred a Superman bandaid or Wonder Woman. His head tilted to the side just a bit, as he examined both bandaids. Then stared at the doctor in silence. The doctor retreated to grab one of the boring brown ones they gave you when you werenât allowed to have choices anymore. Konner watched the whole interaction from the corner of the room.Â
When Dick moved in wide steps, the kid watched him carefully with more curiosity than fight. He brought Konner close, but not so much that they were crowding the boy. They still didnât know what he was capable of, and this would be the worst way to find out. âThis is Konner.â Dick gave his shoulder a dramatic clap that he knew wouldnât hurt the man, âHeâs from CADMUS too, long story.â Curiosity took the better of him, âDo you know about project KR?â The kid tilted his head the way he had done with the doctor, which Dick took to mean he was confused and decided not to press the topic, âWell, anyway. Konner here can help you out with anything we canât. Isnât that right, Kon?â Dick spoke animatedly, pointedly being overly friendly in his demure with Konner.Â
Konner gave a nervous nod. Given the fight heâd put up to make sure they brought the kid with them, he was being awfully shy.Â
The kid looked between them, expression calculating. âKonner.â He echoed Dickâs cadence at the name, but it sounded strange in the monotone. Then he seemed to take a moment to process the name, eyebrows bunching up. He turned to Dick head tilted again. Dick was starting to find it quite endearing. âKonner here.â He echoed Dickâs voice again, but Dick gave him the space to try to find his next words that were brewing on his face, âKon?â It had the slightest tilt of a question. Â
âKon is a nickname.â Konner was quick to explain, his voice was gentle and placating in the way Supermanâs often was. âMy real name is Kon-el, but most people call me Konner, and my friends call me Kon.âÂ
âKon is a nickname.â The kid repeated, looking point blank into Konnerâs eyes. Then he turned to Dick, âMost people call me Dick.â He repeated Dickâs introduction from before.Â
Dick gave him a large grin, âYeah, Dick is a nickname, too. People only call me Richard if theyâre mad at me. You picked that up pretty quick kid. Youâre a smart one arenât âcha.âÂ
âPretty quick.â He echoed.Â
âDo you want to pick out some clothes?â Konner asked. They kept a reserve of all sizes in the room across from the MedBay, they came in handy and also reminded people that Batman designed this place because who else would think to have a gift-shop themed store in the middle of space.Â
âPick out? Some clothes.â
âOh yeah, we got a bunch.â Dick nods.
Surprisingly it was Batman that spoke up next, âWould you like to go see?âÂ
âYouâre a smart one arenât âcha.â He says in the same praising manner Dick had, the musculature of his face still steady. Konner hid his laughter much better than Dick, who doubled over in hysterics. Batman didnât laugh, he never did, but there was a wisp of a smile on his face and that was as close to a cackle you could get out of the cowl.
Dick decided to save the Nightwing merchandise indoctrination for when the kid knew how to say no and mean it. Theyâd gone through and shown him a handful of options that were his size, because there were a lot of options. In the end heâd picked a hoodie with patchwork of Wonder Womanâs logo on it, that he wore over an equally vibrant Green Lantern t-shirt, and bright red Flash pajama pants. A lot of color, not that Dickâs original Robin costume had been much better in that aspect. The kid could use a bit of color in his life after whatever insanity heâd been put through.Â
Dick saw the way Batmanâs eyes trailed after the kidâs every movement, and hands ready to pick out wherever his eyes landed on. Heâd definitely be seeing more of the kid. Pulling the clothes on to replace the hospital gown, the kid looked at himself in the mirror, pulling at the clothes that were still a little big on him and examining them under the gaze of the mirror. When he was satisfied with the ensemble, he turned back to them.Â
Dickâs phone buzzed with a text.Â
Timbers: Updates?
Itâd probably be best if Dick called him to explain. Which heâd have to do later. âAre you hungry, buddy?âÂ
The kid looked at him curiously, head dipping to the side. The oversized hoodie only added to the look. âI like macânâcheese. Do you want to try that?âÂ
âPretty quick.â He said, in what Dick would deduce to be a yes.Â
âThereâs going to be a lot of people there.â Batman explained, voice slow and enunciated, âWe can bring you the macânâcheese or you can come with us to get it.â
The Watchtower wasnât too crowded today, most of the heroes with other bases were there, but even todayâs small number might be overwhelming for the kid. âLot of people there.â he echoed, wide eyes looking up to meet the Caped Crusaderâs.Â
âTheyâre other heroes. Like Wonder Woman,â Konner pointed to his hoodie, âGreen Lantern,â the shirt peeked out from under the hoodie, âand Flash.âÂ
âSuperman. Aquman. And this is the Martian Manhunter.â The kid quoted from their quick explanation earlier.Â
Dick nodded, âYeah like them, and theyâre our friends so theyâre not going to hurt you. But they might not be there because uh-â Dick hesitated about what he should say, âtheyâre at work.â he settled.Â
After a lot of consideration the kid seemed willing to head to the cafeteria, and they picked a seat in the corner where they could see the whole room but be out of the way enough so the kid didnât get spooked. Batman and Konner took the kid to pick out which of the meals he thought looked most appetizing while Dick called Tim.Â
The phone rang a few times, âHow screwed are you?â Tim said in lue of a greeting.Â
Dick laughed, âYou should come by and meet your new brother.âÂ
âWhat! Itâs been like four hours?âÂ
âHeâs known him for like thirty minutes.â Dick watched as Batman and Konner did their best at explaining what each of the foods were.Â
âSeriously?â Tim exclaimed before sighing, âKid got a name?âÂ
âWeâre working on it.âÂ
âIs he gonna stay at the Manor?âÂ
âProbably not for a while. What did you find on him?â
Another sigh, more frustrated. âItâs taking a while. But I should have it done in an hour.âÂ
âPersonal delivery?âÂ
âIâll see what I can do.â A pause, some of the other heroâs gave the kid curious looks. But fortunately no one approached since Batman was his shadow. âYou know who he is, yet?â Tim meant in relation to Dick. Because there was some relation, people donât just look alike. Not the way they did.Â
Brother. Son. Duplicate. Dick hadnât really given himself the chance to think about it. Like really think about it. He has a family, sure, Bruce, Alfred, Barbra, Jason and Tim. But he had a family. The ones who told him Romani folktales and helped him feed the circus animals even though they werenât allowed. He was the last of the Graysons, but that could only happen if there had been Graysons before. And there had been. Until they had fallen from grace, and the show light stopped shining upon them. But there was another Grayson now, in whatever way he had been made, and whoever he was supposed to be. Dick wasnât the last Grayson anymore, and he hoped he would never have to be again. âWe did some tests. They havenât come back yet.âÂ
âHm. Iâll stop by when I can.âÂ
ââKay. Toodles.â Dick could hear him snort at that before the line disconnected.Â
When Dick finally made it to the table, the kid looked up at him. He put a singular cheesy gnocchi in his mouth that took him a few tries to get on the end of his fork. The kid tried for another bite, hair flopping around as he tried to work the fork. Batman watched him as he managed to fill his fork with more than he would be able to fit in his mouth, then toppled and fell into the bowl. Confused, he tried again. This time Batman took the fork from him demonstrating how to use the utensil with a silent patience, and handed it back to the boy loaded with a bite.Â
Flash, ever the conversationalist, caught sight of them and made his way to the table. âCool pants, kid.â he commented jovially sitting in the empty space next to Konner.Â
The kid looked down at his pants, cheese smeared around his mouth that Dick could tell Batman was seriously contemplating whipping. But neither of them were ready to push the kidâs boundaries yet, if he even had any. The kid examined the Flash emblem that patterned his pants, then up at the matching and much more meticulously designed on the speedsterâs chest. His eyes went wide with recognition, but his face didnât move to smile. The kid pointed to Flashâs chest, âCool pants, kid!â He exclaimed excitement was easily laced into the Flashâs cadence of speech.Â
âHey! Thatâs what I said!â Flash was easy to laugh, despite the whisper of confusion in his eyes.
The cheer Flash displayed was matched easily, âHey! Thatâs what I said!â There was a laugh in his voice like he was trying to say a joke that reached his eyes but not his cheeks. âAnd Flash!â he exclaimed.Â
âThat's right, Iâm the Flash.â He gave a quick lap around the table to show off his speed, both the kidâs and Dickâs hair tousled in the show.Â
âPretty quick.â Danny cheered.Â
âIâd like to think so.â Flash puffed his chest out, a prideful smile on his face. Dick rolled his eyes. Speedsters.Â
âYou should eat your food before it gets cold.â Konner nudged the kid gently. Reminded of the earlier mystery of the fork and mac'n'cheese, his attention was quickly diverted.Â
âKinda young for the family business, donât you think, Batsy?â Flash questioned, âHe didnât even earn his colors yet.â Flash alluded to the Robin suit.Â
âHeâll be staying at the Watchtower for a period.â Batman said, and whatever other additional explanation he was about to give was forgotten when the kid placed his forkless hand on the table to aim at the pasta from overhead, like heâd been doing earlier. Except unlike all the other times, his hand went straight through the hard material of the table, causing him to topple over. A surprised gasp escaped him.Â
Flash caught his head before it hit anything, the otherâs on their feet. âOh, dear.â Flash commented lightly, trying to disperse any tension the kid may have had. Like all the other times, he didnât cry or seem alarmed in any way. He tried to pull his hand out but it seemed stuck, and he turned to Dick for an explanation. Not that Dick had one to give. He wasnât a meta, untapped or otherwise. His parentâs weren't either. And even if the tests hadnât come back Dick had had his suspicions of who the kid was supposed to be to him. And meta didnât fit anywhere into the bill.Â
âCan you get him out?â Batman asked Flash, when it was clear the kid didnât know how to. It took him a while to phase his hand out, and it was obvious he didnât like the idea of using the speed force on the kid, but they didnât have that many options. The kid, to his credit, seemed only mildly put off by the experience and went back to his goal of finishing his macânâcheese. The same couldnât be said for the rest of them.Â
Batman gave Dick a look. âTim says he should be done in an hour. Stop by if he can.â Batman didnât look pleased, but there wasnât much else for him to do.Â
âAre you ok?â Konner asked, trying for a gentle hand on his shoulder. The kid didn���t protest.Â
âPretty quick.â He said pointing his fork to Flash, as a final comment.
me: has a prompt idea me: i can write a short little exerpt abt this lol. it' be fun. maybe like 2k?? me four days later pulls put this monstrosity:
for your convince I only have the "original amount" i was planning. the rest will be on ao3
#danny and dick#dick grayson#danny phantom#dpxdc#tim!robin#young justice#young justice show#justice league#justice leauge unlimited#bruce wayne#batman#the kid is obviously danny#the actual thing ended up be like 9k words so...#i actually have a problem#lmaoo#i couldn't decide if i wanted him to be a clone of dick or be the âsonâ of dick and kori#but plot had other plans#and neither of those things happened#that aside#bruce saw kid#kid looked like dick when dick was itty bitty#that's bruce's kid now#not that dick is any better#kid has sus background and that only makes them want him more
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Summary: When he arrived in Hisui, he had nothing. Not even a name. He was given the name Nobori. Years later, he finds the name Ingo. Who is he?
It's MY turn to give Ingo identity issues! Also happy two year anniversary to me posting fic!
#submas#warden ingo#subway boss ingo#also went nuts in the authors note but i got a lot to say about this fic#the only reason its a oneshot is cuz i couldnt figure out how to break it into chapters in a way i like it#so here we are 9k words later#also making it my longest oneshot#and sixth longest published work apparently#this being said *looks at my wips* that could v easily change#anyways#hope you enjoy!
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sometimes i just have to pause writing to place my hand over my mouth aghast at the shit i've put down;
âWhat is it, baby?â he coos, âDick so good itâs got you in love?â
im banging my head against the wall
#rowarnings#an actual line from this konig fic......which is at.....8.6k words btw#wait no i just checked again#its 9k#FUCK
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Me: Ughhhhh I have no motivation to write, I can't do it, I don't want to heeeeelp
Me: *finally sits my ass down to write*
Me, 6 hours and 9k words later: well. Um. How.
#true story#and the chapter keeps on growing what the actual heck#one moment it was 9k and then it got to 9.3#i swear i just added two words i have no idea how that happened#good omens#fanfiction#writing#writers#writers on tumblr#ao3#fanfic#itsscottiesstark writes#itsscottiesstark posts
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