#Canonically they are brothers but the chances of them meeting each other are low

[no-name-blu]

The AU names:

Ride The Cyclone AU

Gameshow Host! Wally

Broken Theatre AU

[littledovesnow]

fem!flickerman!reader x coriolanus snow

summary: basically if you were one of the 24 mentors in the 10th hunger games as well as lucky flickerman's younger sister and if you were dating coriolanus snow

a/n: shoutout to me not having a good title for this!!!!! wahoo!!!!!

word count: 2.8k

warnings: canon violence, the usual y’know?

---

“Coryo,” you gasped, locking lips with your boyfriend. “I need to be at Lucky’s soon for dinner. We can’t go any farther.”

Breaking the kiss apart, Coriolanus pecked your lips once more before sitting back on your bed, both of your chests heaving.

You smiled wickedly at him, leaning on your knees to look in the mirror if there were any visible marks, humming when you didn’t find any. “At least he won’t lecture me on protection and safe sex this time.”

Coriolanus choked on a laugh, grabbing his shirt from where it was discarded not long after you two got home from class. “Do you know why he’s inviting you and your parents for dinner?”

Shaking your head, you slipped on the outfit your mother had asked you to wear, watching Coriolanus in the mirror, smiling at him when he looked you up and down.

“He said something about a once-in-a-lifetime chance, I’m sure it’s something absurd like when he invited us all over to show us his parrot.”

“Oh, that was definitely an occasion for dinner.” Coriolanus joked. “You look beautiful.”

Accepting the compliment with a soft “thank you,” you lead Coriolanus out to the front of your family’s home, promising him you’d meet him in the morning before heading to Heavensbee Hall for the Reaping.

“See you tomorrow, Coryo. When we all celebrate the Plinth Prize.” You smiled, teasing him as he departed to the Corso.

---

You rolled your eyes as you heard your older brother trying to get his parrot to imitate your father, each of them nursing glasses of whiskey.

“What silly men, hopefully you’re the brains of the next generation.” You whispered, smiling when baby Caesar babbled as he watched his parents and grandparents gather around the table.

Handing the baby to an Avox, you took your seat next to your mother, acaross from your brother and his wife.

“So, what’s this news that you’ve invited us all over for, Lucretius?” Your mother asked, carefully cutting the steak that was prepared.

“I got the most wonderful invitation from President Ravinstill and Dr. Gaul the other day, regarding this year’s Hunger Games.” Your brother started, wicked smile on his face. “They want to try something new, something to attract more of an audience.”

“Wonderful news, son!” Your father clapped him on the back. The two of them loved being in front of an audience, so this was a dream come true for the younger male.

“They asked you to host? What are you going to do, follow them in the arena? Celebrate their deaths?” You asked, picking your jaw up from the floor.

It was no secret to your family that you weren’t the biggest supporter of the Hunger Games, so this news wasn’t something you thought should be celebrated.

“No, no.” Lucky frowned, hurt that you weren’t in support of him. “Well, frankly, I don’t quite know what they’re going to want me to do. I have some meetings this week with the President and Dr. Gaul, maybe Casca Highbottom if he’s sober enough to make them.”

Snorting, you raised your posca class to the latter half of Lucky’s statement, agreeing that your professor and founder of the Hunger Games tended to rely on morphling a little too much.

“Either way, we’ll be watching in support of you, Lucky.” Your sister-in-law smiled at her husband, causing you to take a rather large sip of the drink in your hand.

---

Coriolanus smiled at you as he met up with you on the front steps of the Academy, lending you his arm. “Good morning, love. How was your evening?”

You wasted no time in telling Coriolanus about your brother’s new resume-builder, keeping your voice low to avoid your classmates’ listening ears. The Capitol was a hive of gossip, and you hated every aspect of it.

“I can’t believe they chose the weatherman for the host.” Coriolanus shook his head, looking down at you. “What did you say when he told you?”

Knowing you weren’t the biggest fan of your family watching the Hunger Games each year, you sighed and plucked a glass of posca off of an Avox’s tray. “I just asked if he was expected to join the tributes in the arena, narrate their deaths and celebrate the winner.”

Coriolanus chuckled, gently guiding you to your classmates with a hand on the small of your back. “Come on, let’s see what Arachne is complaining about now.”

---

“Hey, listen you guys, I know there’s talk about it, but there’s no Plinth Prize today, not anymore.” Sejanus whispered to you and Coriolanus, guilt written all over his face.

“What?” Coriolanus asked, freezing at the news.

Before he could say anything else, everyone was ushered to Heavensbee Hall, top two dozen students taking seats in the front of the room.

Your hand was threaded through your boyfriend’s, thumb rubbing softly across Coriolanus’ hand, grounding him.

Dr. Gaul waltzed to the podium, icy eyes staring at each and every one of the students before she began her speech. Your mind drifted elsewhere after her mention of today being an “auspicious day.”

If there was no Plinth Prize, Coriolanus wouldn’t be able to afford University, wouldn’t be able to afford rent, meals, life. You had offered to lend him money for rent dozens of times, but both he and Tigris were too kind to accept it.

A gentle squeeze of your hand drew your attention back to the present, glancing at your boyfriend.

He was chewing on his bottom lip, listening intently as Dr. Gaul introduced Dean Highbottom, letting him announce the changes to this year’s Hunger Games.

Expecting it to be the announcement of your brother hosting, you felt the air leave your lungs when he mentioned a mentorship between the top 24 students and the 24 tributes. “The Plinth Prize will be awarded to the best mentor of the Games.”

“Well, surely the best mentor will be the one who’s tribute wins the Games, no?” Festus Creed asked.

“Victory will not be the only measurement we analyze for the Plinth Prize, Mr. Creed. You are to make spectacles out of your opponents, not victors.”

“What if I end up with a runt girl from one of the poor districts, like 8 or 12? They’re just going to die in two minutes like they did last year and the year before.”

Rolling your eyes at Arachne’s whine, you did have to admit that she had a point. Those with stronger tributes had a much greater chance to creating a spectacle out of of their tribute, thus a much greater chance at winning the Plinth Prize.

As the trumpets played and the screens were brought to life, you spared one look at Sejanus as you looked past your boyfriend.

Sejanus mouthed an apology when he caught your gaze, moving his legs to let Highbottom take a seat on the step in front of them.

You watched on the large screens as tributes were called district by district, cheers coming from your classmates as the first districts were announced.

Dean Highbottom looked back at you when he rattled off your name, announcing the male tribute from District 10 as the one you would mentor.

Coriolanus nodded once he heard your name, though you could see the nervous beads of sweat on his forehead, his name had yet to be called.

“Oh, you’ll like this Ms. Crane,” Highbottom teased, looking back at the girl. “District 12, the runt girl, she belongs to Coriolanus Snow.”

Your head whipped over to look at your boyfriend, his gaze locked on the screen as he watched the girl who would be his tribute get selected.

Turning your attention to the screen, you were mesmerized when the girl veered off the path to the stage and dropped something down the back of another, squinting as the cameras just barely focused on the snake as it slithered out of the dress and off screen.

“What is that dress, is she some sort of clown?”

Arachne’s judgements and comments were background noise, as you and Coriolanus were both watching the girl as she commanded the stage, voice picking up as she began to sing.

“You can kiss my ass!”

Laugher broke the silence of Heavensbee Hall, and Coriolanus looked at you with a smirk on his face.

His tribute had succeeded at one thing, she was certainly going to be a spectacle for the Games. ---

That evening, you had stopped at your home only for a moment to change into something more casual, before meeting Coriolanus at the steps to his apartment, the two of you walking up the dozen flights of stairs to the penthouse.

“When I’m president, I’m going to get that ladder fixed. Perhaps glass walls to see the landscape.”

You chuckled at your boyfriend’s comment, thanking him as he let you enter the home before him.

“What are you thinking for your tribute?” You asked, smiling at Tigris and the Grandma’am as they welcomed you to their home.

Coriolanus shrugged, depositing his school bag near the door. “I need her to sing again. You saw her, she’s malnourished, underfed.”

You bit your tongue as you subtly looked your boyfriend up and down. He wasn’t one to talk on being underfed.

“Well,” Tigris said, pulling a chair out at the table and sitting next to you, both of you watching Coriolanus pluck petals off of the rose in his hands. “I wouldn’t sing for you if I was her.”

You stayed silent as the cousins argued, Tigris pulling out on top when Coriolanus gave up retorting to her comments, pulling you back into his room instead.

“What are you planning, Coriolanus Snow?” You asked, knowing the look on his face all too well.

“I’m going to meet her at the Captiol station when they arrive in town.”

Gawking, you sat with your legs crossed and watched Coriolanus change into his night attire, frowning at his visible ribs. “You’re going to meet her?”

“I am, you can meet your tribute if you come with.”

At the suggestion of meeting your tribute Tanner, you reminded yourself, you could get an edge in knowing him and figuring out to how “make a spectacle” of him.

“Well, it would be unwise for you to go alone, power in numbers and all that, right?” You asked, smile on your face.

Coriolanus laughed as he joined you on the bed, pulling the ratty, patched-up comforter over the two of you.

---

You stuck close to your boyfriend as you two approached the train station, Coriolanus moving to stand between you and the tracks.

“What time did the sign say the train would get here?” You asked, not wanting to stick around in this part of the Captiol any longer than necessary.

Coriolanus, who was fiddling with the long-stemmed rose in his hand, looked at the increasing number of Peacekeepers at the edge of the platform. “My guess is pretty soon.”

You two waited for only a moment before you heard the train approaching, both wincing as the breaks squeaked awfully loud.

The Peacekeepers paid the two of you no mind as they opened doors to cars, the tributes hopping out once they were able.

Coriolanus nodded over to your tribute, and you squeezed his hand before departing.

He watched you introduce yourself to Tanner, the boy looking nervous but thankful that at least one person in the Captiol was being kind to him.

Focusing on his own tribute, Coriolanus smiled as he walked up to Lucy Gray. “Welcome to the Capitol.”

He handed her the rose, which had been your idea at breakfast, and the girl plucked a petal off and stuck it in her mouth, mentioning it “tasted like bedtime.”

“You look like you shouldn’t be here.” She said, gaze moving to you as you joined the two of them, wrapping your arms around one of Coriolanus’.

“Well, we shouldn’t be.” You smiled, introducing yourself.

The three of you couldn’t get too far into a conversion before Peacekeepers were shoving the rest of the tributes into the back of a truck.

“Let’s go with them.” You suggested, and Coriolanus shocked you by not putting up an argument. Perhaps the Plinth Prize lowered his inhibitions.

The two of you watched as the Peacekeepers went after one of the tributes who made a break for it at the rear of the truck, taking the opportunity to hop in along with the tributes.

Once the door closed, the two dozen tributes looked at you two like hungry animals.

“What’s wrong, in the wrong cage?”

Coriolanus pushed you behind him, replying that the cage they were in was delightful.

In the blink of an eye one of the tributes was up against the two of you, threatening to kill you.

“He’ll do it, too. Reaper killed a Peacekeeper back in 11.”

Your heart was in your throat, grip on Coriolanus’ uniform jacket tight as a vice, until Lucy Gray spoke up.

“You got family back home? You touch either of them and the Capitol will kill your family. Then you. Besides, blonde one is my mentor.”

At her comment, the tributes started arguing why Lucy Gray and Tanner got mentors.

Coriolanus explained that everyone did but was cut off when a back-up alarm started blaring.

The rear of the truck you were all in started dipping, and Coriolanus wrapped an arm around you and gripped on the edge of the truck, though it didn’t work too well.

Everyone tumbled out of the truck, a yelp coming out of your mouth when your knee collided with a large rock in the enclosure.

“You okay?” Coriolanus asked, dusting himself off as he stood up, worried gaze on you.

Nodding, you stood up, favoring your left knee. “Ow, maybe not 100% fine.”

Coriolanus wrapped an arm around you, taking most of your weight, and Lucy Gray frowned when she walked over to you two.

“Are y’all okay?” She asked, though her gaze was looking elsewhere.

You followed her gaze, face dropping when you saw your brother’s back turned to you, speaking into the cameras. “-in the gem of Panem? That’s an Academy rouge, no?”

Coriolanus looked down at you, knowing what was going on in your mind. “Lucy Gray,” he turned to the brunette, “would you like to meet our neighbors?”

Lucky persisted to get your attention, though when he realized who was in the zoo’s enclosure, his on-air persona faltered. “Wh-what are you two doing in there?”

You grunted as Coriolanus helped you to the edge of the enclosure, both of you introducing Lucy Gray. “Tanner, my tribute, he’s back helping his district-mate.”

“Are you okay?” Lucky asked, not listening while Lucy Gray talked to a young girl about her dress.

“I’ll be fine, Lucky. Meet Lucy Gray.”

Lucky, ever the showman, interviewed Lucy Gray, though you could see him watching you out of the corner of his eye, seeing you still leaning on your boyfriend.

Coriolanus, when asked if you two were told to hop in the enclosure, mentioned that if Lucy Gray was brave enough, you two were, as well.

“For the record, I didn’t have a choice.” Lucy Gray quipped, smile on her face.

Lucky saw the Peacekeepers approaching, nodding towards them. “Well, for the record, I think you two are about to be escorted out.”

You looked back to see the armed men approaching, eyes widening.

“Be careful with her!” Coriolanus commanded as you two were separated, the Peacekeepers not noticing your injured knee.

---

Due to your injury, you were permitted to miss the rest of the day at the Academy, with strict instructions to keep off of your leg for a couple weeks.

Coriolanus had gracefully brought your schoolwork, sitting next to you on the couch to discuss strategies for the Hunger Games.

“What in the gem of Panem was that circus act earlier?” Lucky asked, storming into his former home.

You and Coriolanus shared a look, having the same thought.

“Lucky, dear brother, they told us to make spectacles of the tributes. What better spectacle than us joining them?” You asked. “Nothing bad happened.”

Lucky looked at your face, down at your knee, and then back up. “Nothing bad?”

“Pfft, this is nothing, Lucretius. I’ll be fine in a week or so.” You waved off his worries, knowing between Coriolanus and your parents, you would heal perfectly fine.

“Now sit, tell us all about your plans to make the Hunger Games’ first host memorable.”

Lucky dropped into the seat across from the two of you, weaving tales about his plans to bring Jubilee to the Games, even though Highbottom despised the bird.

---

a/n: yuh i loved this i like writing w the reader being lucky's sister maybe perhaps a part 2 in the future!!!

[fluffytheocelot]

Hello it’s extremely late oops. Did not realize how long this thing would take (28 and a half hours apparently according to procreate lmao) but finally, here it is!

Carmen Week Day 8: La Femme Rouge

Holy crap that was a lot of characters! For day 8 I wanted to draw all the ways I've drawn/imagined Carmen over the last 5 years! There are many I didn't do for one reason or another, but it mainly boiled down to space lol. These 10 (11 including canon Carmen) are (most) of my favorites of my AUs :)

this turned out so cool im putting it in a frame when i get a chance lol

Info and solo drawings for each under the cut! it is. so long lol

as usual, i'll gladly answer asks about em :) i have plans to write a few for sure, but it's gonna be A While for them lol

Cat:

Both a Warriors AU and also just my "_____ as a cat" style!

This ones a lot less fleshed out so just bear with me lol. (ATM there might only be 2 clans, ACME and VILE, idk yet lol. idk what to name em either cos stickin "clan" on the end don't feel right XD)

In the Warriors AU, Sheeppaw grows up learning 2 contradictory versions of the Warrior Code: The true one from Shadowstalk, and the VILE version from older warriors. She gets made an apprentice a couple moons early, but is relegated only to camp duties until shes 6 moons old.

She trains alongside Cracklepaw, Tigerpaw, Molepaw, Goatpaw, and Silentpaw. At her first gathering she meets another apprentice, maybe a few moons older, from the other clan: Jewelpaw. The two hit it off and become good friends (and develop little mutual crushes). Sheeppaw also sneaks out and meets a kittypet: Player, who she also becomes very good friends with.

When her mentor, the deputy, Shadowstalk fails her on her final warrior assessment she pretty much has most of the same reaction as the show, just in the WC style.

After witnessing a murder, she hightails it out of there and encounters the newly named Crackletail. Panicked, she hastily and vaguely tells him she saw something and needs to Leave.

She makes it to Players yard and lays low for a while, and he introduces her to the neighbor cats, a sibling pair named Zack and Ivy. The four brainstorm and Sheeppaw is renamed Carmen. They know they cant let VILE keep doing what they're doing. So rogue Carmen and her kittypet friends start figuring things out from behind the scenes.

Pirate Cat:

Exactly as it says, bipedal cat world. Black Sheep was dropped off at a random orphanage in England, with a small stuffed black sheep (where she got her name). Since everybody are cats, Black Sheep isn't that atypical of a name. Sorta a mix of normal people names and cat names.

She grows up there alongside her self-appointed older brother Graham. When she's about 10-11ish she meets the princess: Julia Argent. Childhood friends to lovers letsgoo (its a recurring theme in these lol. its cute i like it).

The two eventually get together (in secret, yay homophobia and also societal status) It doesn't help that Black Sheep had a habit of getting in trouble so she could see the princess her princess.

The two get caught one night, and Black Sheep is nearly executed for "corrupting royalty", but Julia manages to talk her father down from that. Instead, she is exiled. If she ever sets foot in the kingdom after dawn, she WILL be killed this time.

Julia visits one last time, and Black Sheep promises to return someday when she finds somewhere where they can be together freely. She gives Julia her stuffed sheep to look after while she's gone, and asks her to take care of Fuega while she's gone (on one of their sneak-outs, they found a baby dragon that Julia managed to convince her dad to let her keep). Julia gives her the triangle choker. yay tearful goodbyes ;-;

Black Sheep and Graham (because no way is he letting his little sister go into exile without him) go from place to place, stealing when they need to and end up accidentally stowing away on a VILE pirate ship.

VILE pirate training to avoid death, they escape. Graham appoints the newly named Carmen Sandiego captain of their little ship, and they also pick up Zack, Ivy, and Player along the way. Carmen becomes very well known around the globe: civilians/lower class people see her as a Robin Hood hero (correct), while most royals and nobles see her as nothing but a filthy pirate (incorrect).

A few years go by when suddenly the crew gets word that the King of England is trying to marry off his daughter, who has recently come of age. Cue panicked race home + childhood lover reunion.

Daughter of Poseidon (Carmen Sandiego and the Olympians):

Percy Jackson AU! Replace Percy with Carmen, Grover with Player, Annabeth with Julia, and switch/move around some plot points and that's about it lol. I keep telling myself I'll do some scene rewrites of this one so we'll see. Includes PJO and HOO acting as prequels for Carmen Sandiego. Def wanna do dome rewrites for the canon show for this AU too lol

Dino Squad:

I'm out here combining one obscure kids show with another lol. If you haven't seen it, Dino Squad is this early 2000s animated show about these 5 teenagers that get mutated and can turn into dinosaurs, and go around stopping the bad guy from turning everything into dinosaurs. (I think the entire series may be on youtube lol. its goofy but man i loved it as a kid. i wanted dino powers so bad)

This is basically a high school au but most of Team Red has dinosaur powers. :P

In this, Dr. Bellum is experimenting with bringing dinosaurs back, but instead of just cloning them, she figures out how to mutate already-existing organisms into others.

(in the OG dino squad, the bad guy IS a dinosaur that evolved into a human--long story--and believes everything should still be dinosaurs. hes technically right, tbf, if the meteor hadn't hit they prolly still WOULD be dinosaurs. why does bellum want dinosaurs? because she's Bellum and she Can lol)

Carmen Wolfe and her twin brother Graham (they're fraternal twins. why? bc i thought it would be funny. yes he still has his accent. its my world i do what i want) are raised by Carlotta and Dexter Wolfe in Kittery Point, Maine. Carlotta is a paleontologist/biologist and Dexter is a history and geography teacher at the high school. They do know of VILE and what Bellum was working on and have been monitoring it in secret from the kids.

Carmen and Julia are those friends that met bc they were both hiding under the slide in like. Preschool and just stayed friends lol. They're the kind of best friends that will just. Show Up. usually Julia at Carmen's house because "You have better snacks" also Julia's parents just Don't Like Carmen. (Why? idk bc i said so. idk they think she's a bad influence. she's really not lol) Literally Julia has like a spot on the couch and a table setting. She's basically the third twin these three have known each other essentially their entire lives.

Zack and Ivy joined the group in middle school, when Ivy had the same class as Carmen, Julia, and Gray. Zack joined via association. (Zack and Ivy, on the other hand are not twins. again. bc its funny. each sibling pair thought the other was like them. zack and ivy thought Carmen and Gray were just normal siblings, and Carmen and Gray thought Zack and Ivy were twins. Julia had to explain to all of them it was not the case lol)

Player is Carmen's online friend that the whole group includes. they all game together and he gets ALL the public school tea. hes about the same age as Zack, so about a year-ish younger than Carmen, Gray, Ivy, and Julia.

At the end of their freshman year, Carmen and Julia start dating. Their friends and Carmen's parents know, they keep it secret from everyone else. At the end of the summer everybody (aside from Player) go to the beach for one last day of freedom before school starts. They swim through the mutant goo, and over the next few days discover their powers.

Carlotta IDs each dino: Carmen is a (large/person sized) pyroraptor, Gray is a T. rex, Julia is a troodon, and I still cant decide on Zack and Ivy's dino forms lol. Carlotta and Dexter explain the whole VILE thing and the group just kinda simultaneously goes "welp guess we're superheroes now. cool"

so yea dealing w highschool and also mutant dinosaurs and superpowers. this ones fun bc they can just be stupid kids lol

The Last Wolf:

My werewolf AU. The one that started all this mess and my love for making AUs of this show. It was my first fanfic i ever wrote, and it is very near to my heart. it's also gotten out of hand and become a franchise at this point it's ridiculous. (Seriously i've got a prequel of her parents planned and also a series of shorts set in the universe) It's gonna be a long ride, boys. Hope people still like CS by the time it's done lol

A Thief's Guide to the Zombie Apocalypse:

Zombie apocalypse AU! Talked about this one a bit for AU day, and also as of this post I have ~1k words written of the first chapter! I also have a bunch of the major plot points outlined too ;) I wouldn't expect anything soon tho lol.

She wears a wetsuit under the coat bc it's really hard to bite through, especially with rotten jaws. She's got some boots she probably scavenged or traded for, and of course: the Walkman she probably found looting some abandoned building. She collects cassettes to listen to. Gotta keep sane in the end of the world.

How is this one a literal apocalypse and its still more lighthearted than the one based on FNAF lol

Redd Wolf (Five Nights at Redd's):

FNAF AU. I've truly lost it lol. I have this one completely outlined, nothing written but a lot of things are VERY clear in my mind. This ones uh. a lot more intense than even Thief's Guide. It's FNAF. its immense violence and child death. Seriously, Carmen, Player, Gray, Ivy, Zack, and Julia all end up possessing animatronics at some point. It ends happily, but it is based off a horror thing so if that's not your thing b careful <3

its supposed to be more of a mystery that gets unraveled, but if anyone wants specifics of it u can drop an ask :) i only have animatronic designs for Carmen, Julia, and Gray so far tho. I have ideas for the others too.

This is one I wanna share with y'all at some point. its probably the shortest of the AUs I have outlined so far, so yk. maybe in this lifetime lol.

Carmen and the Age of Wonderbeasts:

Mega Jaguar Carmen. This ones more of a ~vibe~ than an actual plot but i like drawing mega jag carm :)

Plushie Dragon:

This one's not an AU, but actually based on doodles of these 2 plush dragons! Matching red/gold and blue/silver dragons named after carmen and julia lol. I'll get around to posting more drawings of em cause they're cute

the plushies <3 (they have spikes u just cant see em:

ik they look goofy i lov them anyways

Wings of Fire:

Wings of Fire AU! Carmen is a rainwing/skywing hybrid (rainwing dad, skywing mom) She can camoflauge, fly decently fast, and has a prehensile tail. She can't breathe fire or use typical venom, BUT she figures out her venom, while not face-melting by itself, IS in fact flammable. again, more of a ~vibe~ than a story and plot, but I like drawing dragons.

Canon Carmen:

She's front and center, the one that started all this.

Way back in 2019, the autism and ADHD departments in my brain came to an agreement: This show is the greatest show of all time.

It was the first fandom I actively contributed to/interacted with. (I still read fics from other fandoms before, but had never been active in a fandom) Like I mentioned with Last Wolf, I had never actually written fanfiction before, and definitely never posted it. I love writing and telling stories (and boy howdy do I have A Lot of stories rolling around my brain). between all of the AUs ive come up with, I've gotten to practice so much worldbuilding and characterization. English classes usually focused on expository stuff, with like. a brief fiction writing thing. So I've definitely gotten to stretch my creative writing muscles with this show, and hopefully I can put em to use on original projects someday <3

I fell in love with the first season, and got ridiculously excited for every new season and the interactive. (heck, i played every possible option for the interactive the day it came out, and binged every subsequent season the day they aired.)

This show has been a big part of my life the last five years, and the original show will always be special to me. It's the reason I started learning to draw people lol, I have a drawing of Carmen from 2020 that I'm still really proud of. It's hung on my bedroom wall to this day.

So thank you, Carmen Sandiego. For everything.

[the-darkestminds]

Autumn's Shadow: Chapter 6

Azriel x Eris (Azriel POV)

Summary: A covert meeting between Azriel and Eris to exchange valuable intel leaves Azriel reeling—and questioning everything he has ever felt for the Heir of Autumn. Azriel finds himself inexorably drawn to Eris, unable to resist his captivating allure. With the threat of Koschei and Beron looming ever closer, can their forbidden love endure in the face of such danger?

a/n: Pondered over this chapter for a while. I surprised myself by getting all of the editing done over the holiday weekend. Hope you enjoy! As always, this is not canon compliant. (nsfw, 18+)

Let me know if you want to be added to a tag list!

Read on AO3!

Full Chapter List

Chapter 6:

Azriel and Eris met up more than two dozen times over the following five weeks. They were limited in where they could go, due to Eris’s need for secrecy, but they made the best of it.

They explored as much of the Night Court as time would allow. They walked through the forests on the outskirts of Velaris, visited some of Azriel’s favorite spots along the rolling hills and mountains that shielded the city. They flew over the high peaks of Illyria, and Azriel had laughed at how tightly Eris had gripped him as he’d dove low over the lakes and rivers scattered across the Night Court territory. 

They spent little time discussing the threats growing beyond their borders, or those brewing within. As they explored the land they talked of Velaris, of the Autumn Court lands, of music and books and places they hoped to visit one day. Eris spoke fondly of the Lady of Autumn, and Azriel shared some stories of his own mother, how he visited her as often as he could. 

They also spoke of darker things. Eris told Azriel of his childhood and what it had been like to grow up with six brothers who were always fighting and scheming and at each other's throats. He spoke of Lucien, of the guilt he carried at how he’d been mistreated and abused—how much he hoped to repair what was broken between them. The stark honesty had Azriel sharing some of his own horrors as well. He told Eris what it had been like to grow up as his father’s bastard son. How his step brothers had tormented him for it. He told Eris the story of how he had gotten his scars and how the memories still chased him from sleep. Eris had paused at that story—had brushed a soft kiss to Azriel’s hand and squeezed it gently before letting him continue. They quickly got to know each other and soon Eris no longer looked at Azriel with distrust in his eyes. It warmed something deep inside Azriel’s chest.

Though Eris seemed content to be spending time with him, Azriel could still see the shadows that sometimes clouded his eyes. The real Eris was…volatile. His moods gave Azriel whiplash. Some days he was angry and cold. On other days he was playful and snarky and, Cauldron spare him, funny. He found Eris Vanserra to be funny. Azriel didn’t want to admit that he was slowly starting to think of Eris as one of his closest friends. He wanted Eris to feel the same. If he was being honest with himself, he wanted more than that. They didn’t have the centuries of history he had with Rhys and Cassian, but their friendship was something more, though nothing of that nature had happened since they’d met in the Steppes. Azriel didn’t know if it would again. He wasn’t sure if he should be the one to broach the subject.

The worst days were when he looked into Eris’s eyes and saw unbearable pain and despair. He didn’t know what to do when he saw that haunted look on Eris’s face, but his gut told him to leave it alone, for now. It unnerved Azriel, how much he cared. He found himself thinking about it frequently. Found himself dreaming about how he might destroy Beron for every physical and emotional wound he’d ever dealt Eris. 

Eris avoided speaking about his relationship with his father, and Azriel didn’t push. He knew there was little chance of Eris truly opening up to him about it, no matter how much Azriel wished he would. But he wanted…what? To be the one person Eris confided in? The thought was laughable, though deep down he knew it was true. All he could do was be there for him, and on the hard days Eris seemed to appreciate his quiet presence.

Thankfully, today was not one of those days, as Eris seemed to be in relatively high spirits, all things considered. He walked in front of Azriel as they picked their way through the forest along the border of Spring and the human lands. Though Tamlin hadn’t been seen in weeks, and the land seemed unnaturally still, Eris had glamoured them from view as a precaution against prying eyes and ears as they chatted quietly. 

“So you do this every year? And somehow you lost to Cassian, of all people?” Azriel had told him of their Solstice tradition, much to Eris’s amusement. The male seemed utterly bemused that Azriel and his brothers were capable of engaging in something as trivial as a snowball fight.

“It was an off year for me,” Azriel admitted with a smirk, recalling the gigantic ball of slush and ice he had sent flying directly into Rhys’s face. He’d done it at Nesta’s sly request, and had promised to aim true. Though Nesta's relationship with Rhys had improved, and was mostly civil, he knew that under different circumstances neither would have chosen the other as family. Regardless, Rhys could always use a little humbling, and Azriel was happy to provide it.

“I’m trying to imagine attempting such a thing with any of my brothers. I’d probably end up with a knife in the back, or perhaps a rock to the face,” Eris said matter-of-factly. Azriel paused, unsure if the male was joking or not. Another thing they had in common: despicable brothers. Azriel quietly tucked the information away—added those brothers to his list of people he might one day repay for the abuse they’d inflicted upon Eris. “I’m impressed you manage to refrain from doing something similar to Cassian. Perhaps next year you’ll allow me to participate,” he said innocently. Azriel rolled his eyes with a sigh. He wondered if there was something more to the hostility between Eris and Cassian. He opened his mouth to ask him directly—

Something slammed into him from behind and he went sprawling face first into the hard ground. Claws pierced his leathers and he felt the skin on his left shoulder prick with blood. A wall of fire swept up above him and the weight on his back disappeared. Azriel jumped up, unsheathing Truth Teller from his back and whirled to face whatever had attacked him. 

What he beheld made his throat go dry with fear. The creature was grotesque. Milky-white, scaled skin covered a somewhat fae-like body—a female body, he realized, as he took in its naked form. Her icy blue eyes were large and lidless as they considered Azriel and Eris with keen interest—or perhaps hunger. Where a nose should have been were two large, slitted nostrils that hissed as the thing sniffed the air and smiled, revealing black, toothless gums and a forked, blood-red tongue. Its hands ended in skin-shredding claws and its head was smooth and hairless.

Azriel and Eris circled it slowly, swords and daggers drawn. It—she—opened her mouth wider, seemingly to speak, and the strange hissing sound was no language Azriel had ever heard. He didn’t dare take his eyes off it to see if Eris thought the same. 

Azriel blinked and it lunged for Eris, claws outstretched, aiming for his throat. Azriel’s shadows speared towards it as he brought Truth Teller up—but Eris winnowed out of the way, directly behind the creature, and stabbed his dagger through its back. The thing shrieked loudly and turned, claws swiping so close to Eris’s chest that the fabric of his shirt was shredded. The beast moved with such speed that Eris and Azriel were forced to work together, ducking and slashing until they were both dripping with sweat from the effort. Eris sent a whip of white-hot flame against its torso, just as Azriel’s shadows speared its exposed back from behind, and then Azriel stepped out of a shadow and sliced Truth Teller out in a wide arc. The creature’s head tumbled to the grassy earth, its body collapsing in a heap of white limbs. A thick, creamy substance leaked from the cuts on its skin and the now-stump of its neck.

Eris and Azriel were both panting from exertion as they looked at the thing that lay dead between them. Azriel had never seen anything like it. It was no creature of the Night Court, of that much he was sure. Eris was confident it had not spawned from Autumn either. He’d report this to Rhys, let him see into his mind, and maybe he’d be able to identify it. Perhaps it had escaped from the Middle?

“You know, you really are a terrible spymaster,” Eris mused as he studied the creature at his feet. Azriel scowled in annoyance, though the male had a point. He’d been sloppy lately, and he was lucky they’d both gotten away with only a few scratches. Still, he did not appreciate the rude assessment.

“Shut up, Eris,” Azriel snapped. He was not in the mood for his bratty attitude. He looked up at Eris to tell him just that and saw a spark of humor in those amber eyes. Azriel rolled his own eyes for what felt like the tenth time in an hour and gestured to the creature. “Can you burn it?” Eris tsked, as if offended by the question, and a second later all that remained of the beast was ash and smoking grass. He hadn’t even lifted a finger to do it. Azriel raised his brows and Eris smirked at him.

“If that impresses you, you should see what I can do with my tongue.” Azriel chuckled despite himself, his cheeks reddening ever so slightly. That Eris managed to turn every conversation into some kind of crude joke was a skill he’d clearly honed over the centuries. Despite the severity of the situation, Azriel was glad for the male’s infallible snark. It was one of the only things that could draw Azriel out of his head, and though he wouldn’t admit it, he was grateful for the distraction.

The males parted ways, Azriel promising to update Eris on whatever he might learn of the creature from Rhys. Regardless of what his High Lord told him, he knew he’d find an excuse to see Eris again very soon.

***

Azriel landed in the quiet glen near Velaris and waited for Eris to arrive. He’d spent the past week hunting through Prythian for any sign of more creatures like the one that had attacked him and Eris. He’d found nothing. Rhys had cringed when he’d seen the creature in Azriel’s mind, but suspected it was some long lost monster that had escaped from the Middle. Azriel was inclined to agree. He put thoughts of the beast out of his mind for now and focused on the present. His stomach fluttered in anticipation of the plan he intended to propose for the evening.

A minute passed, and there he was. Eris’s pale skin glowed with health once more. The wounds on his back had healed quickly, though the scars remained. His red hair was a silken drape over his shoulder and his amber eyes were bright as he grinned at Azriel. Azriel stifled his sigh of relief—no shadows to be found in his eyes today. 

“I want to try something different tonight,” Azriel began. Eris raised a brow.

“I’m listening.” His eyes glinted with interest.

“Can you glamour yourself? Change your face to appear as someone else?” he asked.

“Yes. Why do you ask?” Eris replied warily.

“Do it. I want to show you the real Velaris tonight, not just the woods and mountains surrounding it.” Azriel held his breath and waited for the dismissal. It was a risk, after all. Perhaps one Eris would not deem worthy of his time, but Eris surprised him.

“Who shall I appear as?” Azriel blinked and he was no longer looking at Eris. Before him stood a female with brown hair and eyes and tanned skin. Azriel’s brows rose in surprise.

“Just alter yourself enough that no one will recognize I’m dining with the heir to the Autumn Court,” he said, amused at how convincing it looked. Another blink and Eris had changed the glamour. His hair was a light chestnut color instead of red and his amber eyes were a dark, murky brown. Even his scent was different.

“Your natural coloring is much nicer,” Azriel said, his voice low. The strange male before him blushed.

“You flatter me, Azriel,” Eris replied dryly. His voice was rougher too, not the deep, smooth tone Azriel had grown used to. 

Azriel smiled, grabbed Eris’s hand and swept them into the beating heart of the city. 

***

They spent the evening strolling through the busy streets of Velaris. The city was alive with color and movement and cheer. People shopped and dined and chatted happily and Azriel let himself get swept up in it. He took Eris through the Rainbow, showed him the Palaces and let him peruse a handful of shops selling trinkets and spelled artifacts. They dined in one of Azriel’s favorite restaurants overlooking the city. He would’ve liked to enjoy the night with Eris in the flesh, as it was jarring to glance over and see a stranger sitting before him, but if he looked closely, he could see Eris in the glint of his eyes, the smirk on his lips, the courtly arrogance he wore like a second skin.

When they were finished eating they sat in peaceful silence, content to take in the nightlife around them. Azriel watched Eris watch the city, his eyes swirling with some emotion Azriel couldn’t place. The glamour made it difficult to decipher Eris’s usual expressions, though even without it he still struggled to read the male.

“What are you thinking?” he asked. Eris didn’t look at him, though Azriel felt it as he slid a shield of hard air around them so they could speak freely without fear of being overheard. Eris leaned back in his chair and drummed his fingers on the table in front of him.

Eris waved a hand, gesturing to the twinkling city below them. “The City of Starlight.” Eris’s voice held a touch of resentment, though his face remained impassive. “The famed city for which Rhysand debased himself. I can’t help but wonder what might’ve happened if he’d used his power in those brief moments to stop her, rather than shield all of this.”

“He did it to protect us,” Azriel said sharply. His family never spoke of what Rhys had done to keep Amarantha distracted, and to hear it referred to so casually was jarring. “Don’t think he didn’t suffer for it.” And yet, Azriel had sometimes wondered the same thing, and hated himself for even thinking it. He’d been lucky, unlike so many others, that he had not been locked under that mountain. He would never stop being grateful for what Rhys had done for them. His brother had used those final seconds before his power had been stifled to hide Velaris from Amarantha. He’d tied Azriel, and Cassian and Mor and Amren, to the wards he’d erected around the city so that they were unable to leave without revealing its existence to the rest of Prythian. 

Eris nodded faintly. “I don’t doubt that. We all suffered,” he said calmly.

“Is that why you hate us all so much?” Azriel asked coldly, even as dread and shame warred within him, turning his stomach. “Because we were here, safe, while you and your Court suffered?” He’d hated himself plenty for that exact reason. He suspected Mor and Cassian had felt the same. They had all withdrawn within themselves during those years, Azriel more than any of them, and each passing day his resentment of the city, and of himself, had grown until it threatened to choke him. Velaris was his home, and yet sometime during those 50 years it had started to feel like a prison.

Eris turned back to Azriel, eyes softening slightly as he studied his face. “Perhaps I merely find you all rather insufferable with this ‘court of dreamers’ nonsense,” he said wryly. Azriel rolled his eyes, but said nothing. He needed to hear him say it—needed to know if some part of Eris truly did still hate him. Eris sighed and glanced back out over the city. “No. If anything I’m glad this place remained untouched. I wish more of Autumn had fared the same.” Eris faced him once more, his head tilting. “Is that what you’ve thought all this time?” Eris was looking at him too intently for his liking, as if he could see right through the cold mask he wore. Azriel shrugged and looked away, not wanting Eris to see the pathetic turn his thoughts had taken.

He took in the boisterous crowd around him, loud with laughter and conversation and music. While most patrons avoided his gaze, others stared at him unabashedly with varying degrees of fear and awe. He did his best to appear unassuming and aloof, though it was difficult to go unnoticed. There were very few in Velaris who didn’t know who he was. He briefly met the gaze of a young female, eyes as black as night. She stared at him intently, unblinking, enough that he felt momentarily uneasy. Had the shield dropped? But he blinked and she had already turned away.

“This conversation has gotten too morose for my liking,” Eris said, drawing Azriel’s attention once more. He was smiling again, and Azriel’s blood heated at how handsome he looked in the fading light, the sky a pink and orange painting behind him. Eris angled his head, eyes glinting with humor. “So. Is it true what they say? The bigger the wingspan the bigger the cock?” Azriel gaped at Eris, utterly shocked at the crassness and absurdity of the question. And then he burst out laughing, all thoughts of guilt and suffering chased away by the fiery male before him.

***

As their night was finally winding down, they walked back through the streets, sleepier now in some parts, only just coming alive in others. They strolled in peaceful silence and had just reached Azriel’s apartment building when he heard someone call his name in greeting. His head snapped forward, and his heart began to race as he saw Lucien Vanserra coming up the stone path before him. Eris tensed beside him, as still as a statue. 

“Lucien,” Azriel said tightly and nodded once. He and Lucien were not close, and likely never would be, but he respected the male and tried to find something to say that was both polite and would send him on his way, immediately.

Lucien glanced at Eris and his eyebrow quirked.

“Who’s your friend?” he asked innocently, though Azriel thought he saw a knowing twinkle in his russet eye. Azriel stared at Lucien blankly, and then glanced at Eris. Shit. They hadn’t planned to actually speak to anyone, let alone formulate a backstory for Eris’s glamoured identity. 

Eris replied, “Cormac. A pleasure.” The words were stiff and awkward. Lucien smiled politely. No one spoke for several seconds and Azriel cringed inwardly. Lucien cleared his throat.

“Well, you two enjoy the rest of your night. I’m sure I’ll see you again soon, Azriel,” Lucien said smoothly. He inclined his head slightly and Azriel wished him well. Just as he breezed past Eris, and they thought they were in the clear, he turned and said dryly, “You know, you remind me a lot of my oldest brother. It’s the strangest thing.” He winked, and then continued down the pathway.

Eris and Azriel exchanged bemused looks. Eris let the glamour drop as Azriel pulled him into his apartment building, and then he started laughing in earnest. His shoulders shook with the force of it and Azriel couldn’t help but join in. He’d never seen or heard Eris truly laugh before. He was exquisite. Azriel’s chest squeezed with emotion at the sight of him so unrestrained and he rubbed a hand over his heart as if to calm it. Eris was beautiful, and Azriel wasn’t sure if Eris knew it. So he told him. Eris’s laugh faded and he beamed at Azriel, eyes glowing with amusement. 

“Do you want to come up?” Azriel held his breath as he let the question hang. If Eris declined, he’d be fine. He’d had a nice night. It was one of the best he could remember in a long time. When Eris nodded, Azriel’s knees nearly wobbled in relief. He took Eris’s hand and let the shadows carry them upstairs. 

***

Eris slowly took in the room around him. The last time he had been here he’d been delirious with blood loss and pain. Now his eyes were clear as he inspected Azriel’s space, likely noting the lack of photos or personal affects. Azriel watched him. It was strange—to see someone as vibrant and powerful as Eris in such an ordinary setting. Eris was made for grand ballrooms and elegant thrones, not this small one-bedroom apartment in a sleepy, forgotten corner of Velaris.

Eris turned and sat stiffly on the edge of the large bed, gazing heatedly at Azriel. His usual swagger was gone, and Azriel realized the male was nervous. It made him feel better about the way his heart was leaping out of his chest. He approached him slowly, wings shifting restlessly. He wanted this badly. 

He decided not to let his own fear hold him back.

Azriel bent down and brushed his lips against the hard line of Eris’s jaw. He drew back and looked into those molten amber eyes—let Eris see the question in his own. He placed his hand over Eris’s heart and felt it pounding into his palm.

Eris hesitated, that guarded look still flickering in his eyes. And then he nodded slowly, and relief shuddered down Azriel’s spine. He slowly relieved Eris of his jacket and shirt, and then his shoes, and then pushed on his bare chest gently until the male laid back against the crisp white pillows on the bed. There were no snide remarks, no smirks, only the nervousness that Azriel desperately wished to wipe off his face. 

His lips brushed along the long column of Eris’s throat as he leaned over him again, both hands on either side of his hips. Azriel felt the hard knot in Eris’s throat move against his mouth as he swallowed. Could feel his pulse pounding faster. 

He pulled back slightly to scan his face again and Eris’s gaze threatened to burn him. He brushed his lips against Eris’s mouth and he opened for him instantly. Azriel’s tongue swept in and heady desire flowed through his veins like lava. He couldn’t get enough—wasn’t sure it would ever be enough—and he devoured each caress of Eris’s tongue like a male starved.

And then Azriel was trailing kisses down Eris’s chest, his stomach, as he deftly unfastened the ties of his pants, tugged them down and tossed them aside. He ran his fingers along the band of Eris’s tight briefs and the male tensed in anticipation. Azriel trailed his thumb over the hard bulge straining against the fabric and Eris’s hips jerked. 

Azriel slowly removed those, too. 

He straightened and took in the beautiful male laid bare before him. Eris’s body looked like it had been sculpted by an artist—all hard lines and perfectly chiseled muscle wrapped in creamy pale skin, though Eris had no shortage of scars. Azriel drank him in—let his eyes wander south and felt his skin burning hot as he saw the considerable evidence of Eris’s arousal. Eris flushed bright red under Azriel’s leisurely perusal of his body. He was beautiful—every scarred inch of him. Azriel’s chest tightened with emotion. He knew he was quickly falling for Eris. He had felt it happening and could do nothing to stop it. Didn’t want to stop it.

He finally dragged his gaze back up to meet Eris’s molten stare. He had never seen the male look so vulnerable, and Azriel found that he liked it. A lot. His handsome face was flushed, his full lips swollen and red. Eris had a natural grace about him that Azriel found so captivating and alluring, and so at odds with his own rigid exterior that sometimes he couldn’t believe any of this was real. That Eris had chosen him—desired him. 

Azriel wrapped his shadows around those thick thighs dusted with red hair and spread them ever so slightly so he could kneel between them. He let his lips drag along the inside of Eris’s thigh, his hips, biting and kissing the skin there softly. His shadows snaked their way up Eris’s body, caressing and teasing until the male was panting beneath him, the tip of his cock leaking as his body trembled at every touch.

Eris moaned at the first lick of Azriel’s tongue. The shadows curled at the sound and the room darkened around them. He gently trailed his tongue over the seam of his balls, tight and full. Eris shuddered, his breath coming faster. Azriel slowly licked the male from base to tip, his tongue swirling around the head of his cock. He tasted Eris on his tongue and felt his own cock stiffen further in response. 

“Az,” Eris breathed. Azriel’s wings twitched at the sound of his name whispered from those lips. He’d never heard Eris call him by his nickname. He liked it so much that he sucked the broad head into his mouth, letting his shaft slide between his lips as he swallowed him down fully. Or as much as he could swallow. Eris was huge. He added a hand to his base to squeeze what he couldn’t fit down his throat. Eris moaned again and the sound had Azriel unleashing himself. 

He worshiped Eris with his mouth. Swirled his tongue around the swollen tip and took him deep in his throat as his hand pumped in time with the movement. The male thrusted his hips subtly with each bob of Azriel’s head, as if he didn’t want to hurt him but couldn’t resist his own lust. Azriel gripped his hips with both hands and dragged him deeper. Eris groaned and let his hand fall to Azriel’s head, fingers curling tightly in his hair. Eris’s chest glistened with sweat as he lost himself in the pleasure, thrusting hard into Azriel’s mouth. And Azriel met each thrust, swallowed him down greedily. The sight of Eris so undone had Azriel nearly spilling himself into his own pants.

Eris’s movements became frantic with need, and Azriel took him deeper, moaning against the hard length of his cock. He loved the slide of all that long proud steel against his tongue, down his throat. He continued working his hand and mouth in unison as his thrusts grew more desperate. His hands fisted in Azriel’s dark hair, and the painful tug sent pleasure skittering down his spine. Azriel gave his shaft another tight squeeze and sucked his lips over the tip. The male groaned, overcome with mindless need. 

Eris’s hips bucked and he let out a guttural moan as he spilled himself down Azriel’s throat. Azriel swallowed every drop, feeling lightheaded from the heady taste of him, his own cock straining painfully against his zipper. Azriel stroked him gently as he rode out each wave of pleasure. When Eris had finally stopped shaking, Azriel kissed the glistening head of his cock softly and then stood. His eyes met Eris’s, lids heavy with contentment. There was a glazed look on his face as he reached his hand out to Azriel, to touch him, pleasure him in return, but Azriel only pulled the blanket over his naked, glistening body, kissed him softly on the lips and let the shadows sweep in and gently coax him to sleep. Only once his breathing had deepened and Azriel was sure he was fast asleep did he slide in behind Eris and curl his body around him. Eris was always warm, and Azriel liked being close to him. Soon he, too, drifted off to sleep. 

Only much later would he realize it was the first time in centuries he had slept deeply enough to wake long after the sun had already risen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Next Chapter

Tag List: @unanswered-stars @futurehunt

[melrosing]

How would you imagine a Ned that grows up at Casterly Rock (Ned/Jaime truther here) to turn out?

hmmm 🤔🤔🤔 keeping all other things the same…

so assuming he’s ward to Tywin, I think Ned would feel very uncomfortable to start with and dislike a lot of the customs and culture at the Rock. I think the Arryns can be kind of pretentious but they’ve got nothing on the Lannisters, and the Starks fancy themselves very straightforward people. also the Rock is fucking ugly and probably a somewhat depressing place to be sent to. ‘only a Lannister could love the Rock’ etc

but I think young Jaime sounds like a pretty open and pleasant kid who doesn’t struggle to make friends, so I think he would welcome Ned, and Ned would grow to like him after having a chance to warm up to the place a bit. I do think young Jam could also be a bit irritating (like when he’s intrigued by someone he’s kind of a circling pest like with Brynden, I picture him the same with Arthur lol) but ultimately likeable. and I think he likes personality types like Ned’s. and Ned warmed to Robert fine, I think he’d warm to young Jaime.

assume the thing between Jaime and Cersei is still going on. can see it being a source of awkwardness if Ned ever did find out (and maybe what Jaime and/or Cersei needed at that age was a trusted peer saying ‘excuse me but what the fuck’). cue them falling out over it and managing to make up at some point.

does Jaime still join the KG with Ned on the scene?? maybe, maybe not. I like to think they’re close enough that Ned could’ve counselled him otherwise, but maybe he still does and Ned’s just like ‘you’re a fool’ and is low-key sad for him

THEN. supposing things play out the same way with Rhaegar and Lyanna, this would make things v awkward between Ned and House Lannister. House Lannister are (supposedly) a staunch Targaryen ally, but Brandon would still join forces with Robert in this AU, and Ned would no doubt want to join him in defence of their sister. Tywin’s refusing to take a side would be a source of great friction though, and Jaime would be sworn to Aerys so: oh no they are on opposing sides of the war!!

come the point of Jaime becoming Kingslayer tho…. this would be the best part of the AU imo because now Ned knows Jaime enough to know he’s not a skeevy guy - but the Tywin’s underhandedness and Jaime joining the KG for Cersei rather than anything else would have him thinking perhaps Jam is just an opportunist and I didn’t really know him?? and ALSO. he knows Jaime was there at his father and brother’s death just watching the whole time and how does that make him feel!! like what did the guy THINK as he watched this happen!!!

AND! I think Jaime would feel enormous guilt about having watched Ned’s family be slaughtered and would struggle to speak to Ned subsequently, so Ned may still be free to assume the worst!!! oh god we’re back at Ned and Jam not understanding each other despite having many things in common just like in canon

so this could fester over many years and then things play out roughly the same as canon and they meet again in AGOT and ooh tension. or we could cut things short and they manage to speak shortly after the Kingslaying and if this were a JamNed fic they get together then. I don’t know choose your own adventure but there you go

[plagues01]

Alpha! Kidd brainrot,,,

So this is an au where instead of Jimmy, the Alpha gets put into my oc, Kidd(or Agent California). In Kidd's canon, he takes Theta from North while North was asleep and escaped Project Freelancer. In this au, he's sent to Blood Gutch with Florida, and the Alpha is put in him at the request of the Counselor.

Ofc, 'Church's' memories are different. He believes he is the Director's youngest son who went into hiding because of the shame of being really low ranked. He's actually scared of Tex because he thinks he's the director's son, and Tex goes along with it.

When Shelia kills Church, it doesn't actually kill Kidd. Somehow, when Church left the body, Kidd's consciousness woke up with amnesia. He doesn't remember anything from before he woke up in Blood Gutch to the Blue Team checking on the body.

They think Kidd is a ghost, taking over the body. Kidd gets scared and runs off,, right into Sarge. Who will let him 'renounce his blue ways' and join the red team. He does, and he takes Donut's old red armor and some black spray paint to make it his own. (Mimicking his canon blue and black armor)

Fast forward to Wash coming to Blood Gutch, he freezes when he sees Kidd, but soon learns his brother has no idea who he was. He doesn't say anything, and they start to grow a bond without Wash having the guts to tell him their relation.

Carolina gets thrown into the mix and was quick to realize that Kidd didn't know who she was. She questions Wash about it, and they agreed it wasn't the right time to tell him while they were going for the Director, their father.

They never got the chance to tell him themselves. Kidd learns while frozen in place by Temple while he laughs, realizing this is how Kidd figured out HE was Agent California and all the memories the Alpha has was because of HIM. And his own siblings couldn't even tell him they were related,,

They get a moment in time together during s17. Where they talk to each other, and Carolina and Wash explain they meant no harm in not telling him. It was one thing after another, and they were then in peace and wanted things to calm down before saying anything. Then Dylan and Jax showed up. They had a lot to grow through, but they had each other now.

After s17, Kidd decides to leave the group for a while. To figure some things out, especially to figure himself out. On the way, he meets Locus again, who becomes a mentor, and they become a mercenary duo together. Mimicking the father -son relationship they have in Kidd's canon

Um,, that's a quick overview. I'll probably draw some art soon and go more into it later. Probably will have a few fics if I have time. But,,, I deeply care about this au, and if y'all have any questions, I'd love to answer them

[comingyourlugubriousness]

Rose gold and coral #4 for Yume!

Which of your OC’s friends is the most different from them? How did they become friends? Was this a friendship they fell into easily? Or one only forged through grudging respect or shared experiences?

The friend who is most different from Yume to me is Jack! They have different personalities, ways to express themselves, but similar core values. In my canon, Yume and Jack became friends out of mutual respect!

They both admire the code of honor the other has knowing that theres certain lows they won't stoop too out of ethics! (Thats not to say they don't clash at times.) I wouldn't say the friendship was "hard" to fall into per say. I think it kinda just happened. At the end of chapter 2 Jack has a respect for all the Ramshackle gang that is well earned. And at the beginning of chapter 3 both Jack and Yume bond over working hard for their studies and lightly scolding Ace, Deuce, and Grim for trying to take an easy way out (in Yume's case their a little sad they didn't just come to them for help).

I think they both also still really hold that grudge against Azul and don't like people (they don't think deserve it) trying to lead them. They are both the kinds of people who I think don't like asking for help, but understand when their not the best at something and need advice. (It's conflicting I know.)

I think Jack understands that there are different types of strengths. And that while Yume isn't physically strong they have advantages in other areas (emotional intelligence, tactical, creative ect). Some of which he knows he lacks in, in comparison.

While I think other people wouldn't see them as very close I think they both have a deep profound understanding that they can rely on one another when shit hits the fan. It's not a friendship that needs to be flaunted or overexpressed, but it is none the less more meaningful to them. Which of your OC’s friends do they feel the most lucky to have met? What difference has that person made to their life?

That's a really tricky one. And I don't think Yume could answer that easily. There's so many characters that could fit this role but at the end of the day the person who has made the most difference in their life has to be Grim!

Sure their friendship started out rocky, but at the end of everything the two grew a close bond and depend on each other. Without Grim Yume (and his brothers) would have never gotten the chance to be actual students at NRC! It's because of him that they get to participate in school life and by extension meet all their other friends and loved ones!

In Yume's mind he kinda of set all the events in motion!

[maimaiapologist]

🍙👁️💴🔧❔

TYSM for asking <3 idk if i've said it before but i'm still doing a playthrough with sal, so i'm still figuring out how tf her canon turns out. also, spoilers beware. (questions taken from here)

🍙 - Goro Takemura: When he and Sal truly get to know each other, after he drags her out of the landfill and literally saves her life, she can't help but empathize with Takemura. Both are strangers in a strange land, fish out of water who despise Night City and know that this isn't the place they're meant to be. However, his allegiance to Arasaka and insistence of still aligning with them even when Sal tells him that he has the chance of starting over and making a life outside of corporate servitude is something that ends up driving a rift between them and souring their relationship. In my canon, he ends up escaping Arasaka forces during Search and Destroy while Sal is the one who gets captured, and shit happens from there. I still haven't figured out his canon fate, but knowing who Sal ends up dating and the corporation's fate, I don't think that things go peachy for Goro. (Goro stans don't kill me pls)

👁 - Sandayu Oda: Besides a couple of snarky comments about his appearance and very impractical haircut that almost got her ass beaten, their relationship is… tense. Oda is loyal to Hanako to a T, and when some dusty nomad not only kidnaps her but also starts dating her disaster of a brother (while it's not elaborated on canon, I think Oda and Yorinobu would probably not get along very well) AND has the nerve to beat him in a fight, you can probably imagine how they feel about each other. At first, Sal is also low-key scared of him (those icy blue optics will always look uncanny to her and the mantis blades don't help), but she quickly realizes that he's just an annoying twink (her words, not mine).

💴- Hanako Arasaka: As it should be obvious, kidnapping your (future) sister-in-law doesn’t leave a good first impression (who would’ve thought?). Honestly, I still need to work on their relationship a lot, because, again, canon is still a WIP: while I don’t see Hanako as much of a rebel as her brother, Yorinobu still loves her, so I don’t feel like her fate would be the same as the other canon endings that aren’t the Devil (aka she ends up dead). But what I do know is that her icy, perfect, manicured facade lowkey scares Sal the first time they meet face-to-face and still does (she either feels like Hanako is judging her, plotting her demise, or both); but that if they ever get to know each other more deeply, they quickly get along and Sal ends up glad to have her as her in-law. Their fave pasttime is watching Real Housewives of Heywood and talking shit about the cast.

🔧- Saul Bright: Sal’s feelings towards him are… complicated. During their first meetings, she thinks he’s a stuck up asshole who wants to impose his own will on the clan, which is a big no-no to her. However, during Riders on the Storm, after she and Panam almost die trying to rescue him, Sal softens up and understands him a little bit more (after all, if Panam is willing to raid an entire Wraith camp to get him back despite their disagreements, he must mean a lot to the Aldecaldos). Sal does eventually side with Panam in her quest to royally piss off Saul get the Basilisk, but she still respects Saul even though she disagrees with him.

❔- Receiver/Sender’s Choice! (If there’s someone not on the list!): Let's talk about Claire! Two trans ladies who love cars obviously make for a long-lasting friendships despite Sal's extremely bad and dangerous driving (and Claire still wondering how the hell they even made it into the final race). After the Sampson incident, the two have a big fight where a lot of personal feelings are involved and end up not speaking to each other for a while; when Claire finally calls Sal back, Relic fuckery has gotten worse and the two don't truly reunite after the game's ending.

[victors-grave]

Oc spin wheel shipping part 3!

Hello people of tumblr and welcome to part 3 of my oc shipping spin wheel.

The rules are the same as always: I spin the wheel twice to get 2 different oc's that will be placed into a ship. I then rate the ship and give a reason why before repeating this for a total of 10 oc ships.

By the end of the spins, there should be a clear indication of which ship is the most highly rated and which one I will draw as a non Canon ship.

So far, the ships are Rosanet/Thaniea and Rog'el/Pranik, so let's see what happens next.

Let's go!

Spin ship 1: Chance and Kalen Xa-Qui

Rating: 0/10

Reason: Chance would of been in his 50's when Kalen was born and Chance's clone/brother is literally like an uncle figure to Kalen's mother so NO.

Spin ship 2: Hari Qui and Na'lona Mad'na

Rating: 2/10

Reason: I don't think the timelines exactly match up, but then again, Na'lona is an alien and has seemingly lived for many years before becoming Siela's teacher. It's also low down because I think Hari loves Elara too much to even think of another woman.

Spin ship 3: Cordea Jei’lya and Mala Oren

Rating: 2/10

Reason: Timelines kind of match up but Cordea is married happily and Mala is so devoted to her princess, I doubt she would be with anyone else. Plus, it's unlikely they would of ever met or known of each other.

Spin ship 4: Zena Xa-Qui and Sheva Ay’ven

Rating: 4/10

Reason: The age gap is a bit questionable, and the fact that Sheva has slept with Zena's Titanfather as well. But Zena did have a short encounter with Sheva's daughter, so it's not the worst, I guess. Plus, they're both over 25 when they meet.

Spin ship 5: Aeron Hesing and Thaniea Hio

Rating: 0/10

Reason: Thaniea is a lesbian and Aeron would never cross her boundaries. They're best friends but nothing more. They're more like brother and sister than anything else.

Spin ship 6: Volt and Dancers of club eternity

Rating: 3/10

Reason: Meh, could be worse but it's not the best. Guess it's realistic cause Volt is a soldier just passing through but don't like it in my opinion.

Spin ship 7: Leta Kaltis and Florena Sola

Rating: 2/10

Reason: Only a four year age gap, but the fact that Leta was 15 when Florena died at 19 just makes it weird. This ship would probably work if Florena had survived and they had gotten together a few years down the line.

Spin ship 8: Renaya Hio and Crash

Rating: 4/10

Reason: They probably would of known each other or met at least once when they were younger but Renaya would of definitely never even thought about Crash romantically. They do live on the same planet so there's a possibly of them meeting again.

Spin ship 9: Valarin Sernada and Vero Dene

Rating: 4/10

Reason: I want to hate it, but I really can't. I think Vero is way too loyal to Orsk to ever be with someone else, but it's fun for a bit. Not the worse and at least they're the same age and not related.

Spin ship 10: Soren Inei and Wye Xa-Qui

Rating: 6/10

Reason: I've technically already drawn them together as a ship before, and they're around the same age and knew each other, so it's not impossible.

Thats the end, luckily the last spin saved it!

There's a lot of interesting ones here so I might make 2 or 3 with these spins!

See you when I finally draw these!

[jingyismom]

Time for more sex-cursed Lan Wangji!

a messy, self-indulgent spree imported from twt and lightly edited

explicit, wangxian, 9k, canon divergence fix-it

mild dubcon because of the nature of sex curses (but like, they do their best to communicate around it), and cw for brief thoughts of self harm, no other warnings

This curse's origin is mysterious, perhaps politically guided. Someone is trying to throttle Gusu Lan's alliance prospects by removing Lan Wangji's stellar marriageability after Sunshot. It works, after a fashion.

Wei Wuxian is in the Burial Mounds, farming and hardening his heart as the resentment worsens his health, subsisting on memories of Lan Wangji's single visit.

Lan Wangji is at home in Gusu, pining away while they rebuild the Cloud Recesses.

One day, he begins to burn up with unexplained fever.

The healers examine him quickly and thoroughly and determine first that he's been cursed. This is not entirely shocking, but it of course angers the entire sect. Next they test for the curse's nature. It turns out to be a very classic, very coarse type of love curse.

The afflicted will burn up, losing all their sense and senses, and eventually die, if their body's “needs” are not satisfied by the one it craves most.

The healers are disgusted. Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren are outraged. But Lan Wangji becomes very calm at the news.

Before, he felt anxiety. The urgent desperation of a dying man waiting to be told how to live.

Now he is just waiting to die.

For you see, the choice between throwing himself at another human being—no matter who they may be—and meeting death with dignity, is an easy one.

Everyone else privy to this information disagrees. The argument that follows is short, but heated:

"Well, Wangji?" Lan Qiren begins once the initial furor has died down. "How do you wish to...go about this?"

Lan Wangji, over-warm and aching, looks up at him from the examination bed. Gusu Lan funeral rites are ancient and immutable. He does not understand the question.

Lan Qiren purses his lips and glances around. "We must find the person first," he prompts.

Ah. The person responsible. Yes, Lan Wangji does have business with them before he dies. He stands, only swaying slightly. "I am well enough to exact justice. Let us cast the rebound."

Lan Xichen steps forward then, and gently pushes him back to sitting. "It has been cast. However, justice can wait. Your health must come first."

Lan Wangji looks between his uncle, his brother, and the one doctor allowed to be present. Surely they would not be joking at a time like this.

"I do not understand," he says.

The three exchange a look. "Breaking the curse must be our priority," says Lan Xichen.

Lan Wangji is not sure he heard correctly. But it would be cruel to give him unfounded hope. "I was unaware there was another way."

"...There is not," says Lan Xichen, his gentleness unfailing.

Lan Wangji experiences a moment of deep confusion before the horror sets in.

"You cannot mean this," he says through his shock. "Surely you cannot mean to cast aside so many disciplines at the whim of a base villain."

"The disciplines are a guide," Lan Qiren says, hands behind his back, looking into the distance, "to ensure a life well-lived. They are not meant to inspire martyrdom."

Lan Wangji's mouth falls open. He stares at his uncle, mute with betrayal. He has never heard of any such leeway before, not in regards to disciplines of such a serious nature.

"You can understand, can't you?" Lan Xichen says. "That no rule is more important than your life.”

Lan Wangji disagrees vehemently. "I would not buy my life with such behavior."

Lan Qiren huffs in irritation. "We may perform a marriage in haste, if you wish."

Lan Wangji balks at him. That his uncle should speak so flippantly of...such a thing. It is unimaginable. And besides, forcing a marriage on Wei—on anyone in this way is surely only adding insult to heinous injury.

"I refuse," he says.

Lan Xichen exchanges a look with the doctor, and sits beside him. "Perhaps the other person should be allowed part of that choice."

Ridiculous. "There is no such person." Preventing this course of action is worth one lie, Lan Wangji reasons.

"With respect, Hanguang-jun, if that were true, the curse would not have been able to take hold," says the doctor.

The use of his title feels uncomfortably ironic from a woman who helped deliver him at birth. He glares at her. She smiles tiredly in return.

"Wangji," Lan Xichen says. His tone is beginning to grate on Lan Wangji's raw nerves. "You will at least try, won't you?"

Lan Wangji stares at him in disbelief, in anger, in righteous indignation.

"Never," he says.

A hand slaps his shoulder. "Apologies," says the doctor, and the world goes dark.

-----

Lan Wangji wakes to dark wood beams dappled by lacy sunlight, and a faint smell of char in the air. His head is heavy, his limbs full of lead. He swallows around the dry thickness in his throat.

"Water," comes a familiar voice.

With effort, Lan Wangji sits up. His stomach is roiling, his mind fogged from the coma and the curse both. The doctor, crouching beside him in the carriage, offers him a bowl of water.

He takes it, and asks, "What have you done?"

She sighs.

"My duty," she says, "with the help of your brother."

She draws back the curtain at the carriage entrance, revealing a sea of black, twisted trees and gray tumbled walls.

Lan Wangji's blood freezes in his veins. He just barely stops himself from asking how they knew.

"Why," he asks instead, a much safer question.

She considers him. "Your brother said if he was wrong, he would beg forgiveness afterward. But it couldn't hurt to have an expert in resentment and curses look at you anyway."

A stab of sick embarrassment makes Lan Wangji’s stomach clench.

Has he been so obvious? Is he such a lovesick fool that anyone with eyes can see his shame?

The doctor pats his shoulder gruffly and he flinches, expecting more needles.

"Ah he's your brother, he's bound to know things you don't want him to," she says. "Come on. Out you get."

He allows her to tug him out of the carriage and onto solid ground. The air is stifling with resentment, but he is glad to be free of his bonds. Now he can look for his chance to get away.

There are six Lan disciples flanking them. He eyes them warily, wondering what they know. When the doctor pulls him out of earshot, and pitches her voice low, he is satisfied that they have not been fully informed.

"Your family and I agreed to give you a chance first," she says. "You have 24 hours to take care of this yourself. After that, I will personally tell Wei-gongzi of your brother's message. I have been assured he will not jeopardize your well-being if fully-informed."

Lan Wangji gapes at her. He does not know what he expected to happen, but it was not this...this...mercenary attempt at...forcing...

The curse has weakened him such that he cannot fly his sword. He can hardly walk in a straight line, let alone run. He has very little recourse now that everyone in his life has gone absolutely mad. His heart is racing with the adrenaline of upheaval, of fear, of impending death.

He wrenches his arm from her grasp and stalks off of the road, into the brush. She calls after him, but he does not mean to escape. He cannot manage that alone. Instead, he sits. He takes a deep breath. He sinks into meditation.

"Hanguang-jun," she calls. She approaches, hands on her hips. She sighs. "Well, if it's like that, then there's nothing stopping me from telling him right now."

She turns, and Lan Wangji feels a lurch of helplessness, when a new voice rings clear through the fog.

"Tell what to whom?"

Lan Wangji's eyes snap open. Wei Wuxian is standing on the other side of the carriage, the child A-Yuan in his arms, eyeing the Lan delegation with suspicion. Wen Ning is with him, and the Lan disciples shift nervously just looking at him, but Wei Wuxian sets A-Yuan in his arms, and he leaps away up the mountain.

"Might I assume this little party has come for me?" Wei Wuxian goes on, twirling his flute. His eyes are shrewd and cold, similar to the way they had looked when he had first returned during the war.

At the sight of him, at the sound of his voice, the curse...reacts.

A horrid, uncomfortable shiver of need runs through Lan Wangji's body alongside his own simple relief and joy at seeing Wei Wuxian again, looking relatively well. He fights it, keeping still among the weeds, hoping against hope to go unnoticed.

"Yiling Laozu," the doctor greets him with a deep bow. "We have indeed come to humbly beg your aid."

"I see," he says. "And what will you give me in return?"

The doctor hesitates, clearly discomfited by the context Wei Wuxian is currently unaware of. "We may...discuss that. Once we have informed you of the details."

Wei Wuxian hums, considering. Cold. Detached. "And if I am disinclined to—"

He breaks off. The doctor has moved so that she and Lan Wangji are both in Wei Wuxian's line of sight. Lan Wangji closes his eyes rather than see the moment of recognition, rather than feel the weight of Wei Wuxian's eyes on him, like this.

"Lan Zhan?"

Lan Wangji clamps his jaw shut. It is a struggle not simply to crawl to him.

The renewed ice in Wei Wuxian's voice when next he speaks makes Lan Wangji aware of the warmth with which he had said his name. His curls his shaking hands into fists on his knees.

"What have you done to him?"

The doctor sighs. "We have done nothing. He has been cursed, which is why we brought him here. If you—"

"Daifu," Lan Wangji interrupts, his voice thin.

She stops speaking.

Lan Wangji opens his eyes, but does not look at Wei Wuxian, not yet. If he is careful, and uses his remaining strength correctly, he can perhaps...perhaps guide the situation. Toward escape. With Wei Wuxian's help.

He may have to lie to him. He hopes he will be forgiven, all things considered.

Lan Wangji stands slowly, carefully, considering each movement so as not to reveal the state he is in.

"I will speak with him," he says to the doctor.

She eyes him. "24 hours," she says.

He does not acknowledge this. He thinks they both know it will not come to that, though his idea differs greatly from hers. He judges, from the time they have allotted and his own weakness, that he has perhaps a day and a half, total, to wait them out. Doable, if he is careful and intelligent about it.

He can manage.

He walks over to Wei Wuxian, careful to keep two arm's lengths between them. This close is already too close: a fine, constant tremor has made a home in all of his tightly-locked muscles. He feels the moment his fever begins to rise further. The sides of his throat hurt, the interiors of his ears. He wonders if his hearing will go first, or his eyes.

"Allow me to explain," he says to him.

"Of course," Wei Wuxian answers.

He sounds strange. Cold, still. Lan Wangji wants to look at him, and almost slips, but manages to stop himself. He follows him up the hill, past the wards, through the resentment that clings to them both, now. He keeps his careful distance, following behind.

"What happened?" Wei Wuxian asks, as they walk.

"A curse," Lan Wangji says carefully. "Origin unknown. The rebound has been cast. I did not wish to burden you with this, but they are...they will not listen to reason. Wei Ying, if you would but help me, I would deal with this on my own."

"Oh?"

"I...wish to seek justice. They will not allow it. But you understand. If there is another path off the mountain, if you would show me the way past them, I could—"

Wei Wuxian stops dead, and Lan Wangji, with his eyes in the ground, runs into him. 

For a blazing, agonizing moment, he is touching Wei Wuxian, clinging to him, every element in his body sighing and crying out at once in satisfaction, in the torturous need for more.

He tears himself away, stumbling back, almost falling. Wei Wuxian reaches out as if to catch him, but falters.

"Lan Zhan, you can hardly stand," he says, alarmed, "and you want to go and fight someone?"

Lan Wangji draws himself up taller again, trying hard to stop his shaking. He cannot look at him. He cannot look. He is already dying, now, just from not looking. "It is my right."

"...It is..." Wei Wuxian says at length, watching him closely. "And it still will be once you're well again. Your doctors really couldn't tell what type of curse it is?"

Lan Wangji says nothing, trying to think past the way every inch of his skin feels as if it is burning clean off. The pain of it screams through him, worse than anything he has ever felt. Wei Wuxian is still speaking, but it is hard to make sense of it. When Wei Wuxian begins walking again, slowly, it is all he can do to both follow and stay away from him. This, here, now, is worse than death. If it lasts, he certainly will not be sane when the end finally comes. He lets go of any thoughts of a dignified death.

Fortunately, by the time they reach the cool dark of the cave Wei Wuxian calls home, the pain has subsided to a distant roar. Unfortunately, he hoped never to reach this point. He tries his only play again, unable to think of any new tactic.

"Please show me the way off the mountain," he says without preamble.

Wei Wuxian is quiet for a beat. "You really don't want my help that much?"

Lan Wangji is so confused by this question, and then struck by the irony of it, that he almost begins to laugh. A shivery, jittery feeling fills his chest, and he leans against the nearest solid surface. He wishes he were wearing a loose outer layer over his blue travel robes, the better to hide his shaking. He does not know how to respond.

"You haven't so much as looked at me once since you got here," Wei Wuxian goes on, digging through strange pots and objects on a table, "so I get it. But you'll have to forgive me if I disregard your objection to the kind of work I do, when it comes to your life."

"My life, my life," Lan Wangji mocks, accidentally out loud. Why is everyone suddenly so obsessed with his life? He was ready to give it freely in the war, but chance let him keep it. What difference does giving it now in the name of keeping himself clean of shame make? Why will nobody allow him this choice?

"What shame?" Wei Wuxian asks.

Lan Wangji buckles at the realization that he has said all of this out loud. He goes to the floor, to his knees.

"Nothing," he says. "The shame of not having warded off such a simple attack."

"Lan Zhan...you want to die because you didn't defend against a curse you didn't know was coming?"

Lan Wangji lapses into silence. He has said too much already. He does not know how to get out of this. He can only...he can only stay quiet. Refuse to speak or move.

"Lan Zhan...I feel like I'm missing something here. I only want to help.”

Lan Wangji grits his teeth and stares hard at the floor in front of him. He has rarely ever felt so trapped, so utterly helpless. The extended, full-body pain is dulling his mind by the moment. The hems of Wei Wuxian's robes come into view, and it takes everything in him not to fall forward into him, to plead, to beg. His breath is hitching at random intervals now, his heart tripping as it prepares to fail entirely.

There is a soft gust of air, and an odd prickling sensation across his face.

"Now let's see—oh," Wei Wuxian says. "I...oh."

Lan Wangji wilts at his stilted, awkward tone. He knows now, surely. Can see him truly.

"So that's why you want to leave, and why they won't let you. They want me to find another way to break it, to stop you from...ah."

Lan Wangji sorts through the words, trying to comprehend them.

"Sorry," Wei Wuxian goes on. "I...it's unbreakable, otherwise. A very old, airtight spell. You...will Gusu Lan start a war with me if I do just let you go...ah, handle this the old-fashioned way?"

Comprehension dawns. And with it, a way out.

Lan Wangji rushes to agree. "They—" He cuts off. Will they? If they think Wei Wuxian has willingly let him die, rather than...

He takes a breath. Another. Forces his mind past the endless litany of pleas for relief.

"Show me the way " he says, his words breathless and short, "and then tell Lan-daifu what you have done. And why. But give me time to. Get away. And you will be safe."

Wei Wuxian pauses. "How...ah. How far—how much time?"

Lan Wangji tries hard to come up with an answer for that. His progress will be slow. But he need only find a place to hide.

"Half a day," he hazards.

Wei Wuxian seems to vacillate. "Are you sure you can make it on your own?"

Lan Wangji wants to rage. To weep. To curse himself to the heavens for being so depraved toward so endlessly kind a man. His heart hurts, even as his body strains toward him.

This lie may be the worst he will ever tell.

"I will be fine,” he says.

"Alright." Wei Wuxian sounds unconvinced. "I trust you."

Lan Wangji nearly convulses, holding back a sob. How will he ever be forgiven?

He cannot think of it. Only this, only what comes next. Only keeping Wei Wuxian safe from this mess.

"Lan Zhan?"

"Mn," he manages.

"Would you look at me, now? I haven't...used any demonic cultivation on you. It's safe, I promise I won't. I just. Can't we say goodbye properly?"

Lan Wangji has not moved from the floor. He does not move. He should try. A parting gift. Just one look.

But if he is going to leave. If he is going to succeed. He cannot.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says again, frustrated now.

Lan Wangji does not look. He is so close to freedom from the horrible pull, from the way his very veins are trying to tear themselves free to wrap around Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian steps forward, and Lan Wangji's breath leaves him all at once. Suddenly, there are fingers beneath his jaw, kind but firm, tilting his chin up. He has no choice but to look.

(Inspired by this art.)

Wei Wuxian is there. Tall and strong and perfect, tiredness mixed with something bittersweet on his lovely face. Lan Wangji's entire being melts toward him, a deep, sharp tug from inside his bones, a mindless, helpless, straining need that pushes a low, wanting sound from his throat.

Wei Wuxian snatches his hand away and backs up half a step, staring at him.

"Sorry," he says, blank. Confused. "I thought it was...I didn't realize...sorry."

Lan Wangji, now that he has looked, cannot look away. He has overbalanced without Wei Wuxian's support, fallen forward onto his hands, but he cannot stop looking at him. He will look at him, and keep looking; he prays Wei Wuxian is the last thing he sees before he dies.

The most shameful part of this is that none of it is the curse twisting his thoughts. None of this is. All the curse is doing is making the way he always feels impossible to ignore.

"Wei Ying," his voice implores. He does not mean it to.

Wei Wuxian takes another step back and looks down at the bowl of powder in his hand, confused. "I was certain it was that curse," he says to himself. "If I was wrong, then maybe I could break it..."

Lan Wangji tries to scrape his composure back together. He tries. He tries. His fingers scrape on the rough stone floor. He does not reach out for him. That is something.

Wei Wuxian looks at him again, then hastily away. Lan Wangji does not ever want to know what it is he sees.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says, as Lan Wangji shakes, and shakes. "Where...where were you trying to go? I thought you...I thought you were, ah, thinking of a certain someone."

Lan Wangji's arms are weak. They are going to give out. He cannot answer him.

"I'm confused, and I...may have made a mistake," Wei Wuxian goes on, still backing away slowly, "but I just want to help. Can you tell me what was happening before, and what's happening now?"

Lan Wangji shakes his head, and the motion shatters his fragile balance. He falls, and curls tightly around himself in the dirt.

"Lan Zhan!" Wei Wuxian says, suddenly close.

Lan Wangji sees his hand reach out, then pause, and he can't stop himself from taking hold of it, just to be touching him. His body screams for it, and he gasps raggedly at the contact.

Wei Wuxian wrenches his arm free. Lan Wangji wishes he were dead.

"Fuck," Wei Wuxian mutters to himself. "I...I'm sorry. I made this so much worse, I..."

"No," Lan Wangji rasps. He cannot hear Wei Wuxian berate himself thus. His dignity has now died, and he himself will soon follow. This is all that matters. "Not your fault."

Wei Wuxian huffs, crouching beside him. "It is...at least partially my fault, at this point, I'm pretty sure. You wouldn't be...reacting. Like this. If it weren't. Is...can I...do a few more tests? To check what I got wrong, and maybe—"

"You were not wrong."

He does not mean to say it.

His need to reassure has overridden his sense, and his mind is too slow now to piece together what it will mean before it leaves his mouth. The regret once it does is instantaneous. He tries to curl himself yet smaller in the dirt.

Wei Wuxian is silent. Lan Wangji cannot stop making small, pitiful, pained sounds in the back of his throat. Everything hurts. Everything.

"I don't understand," Wei Wuxian says quietly.

Lan Wangji lies shivering on the floor, arms locked around himself to prevent any more untoward behavior. He cannot take it back. He cannot try to explain. There is nothing he could say, regardless.

"Lan Zhan...but you..."

He can hear Wei Wuxian thinking, but it only registers in the far back of his mind. The rest of his consciousness is taken up by pain, and by ruthless restraint.

"You wanted to leave to get away from me," Wei Wuxian says, finally.

Lan Wangji does not answer. He wishes he had his sword. He would use it now to end this.

Wei Wuxian begins to back away again, and Lan Wangji’s body moves without his permission. He grips the skirt of Wei Wuxian’s robes in his fist and drags himself closer, pressing his cheek to Wei Wuxian's knee.

Shameful. Wanton. The small part of himself that is still aware berates the action. But he cannot let go. He cannot move away. The only part of him that is not howling with pain is the side of his face pressed to coarse fabric.

"Lan Zhan, you…," Wei Wuxian is trying to gently pry Lan Wangji's fingers from his hem. "You wanted to leave, remember? You don't want...you don't."

"Want," Lan Wangji croaks, pressing closer. "Wanted to spare you."

"Ah, Lan Zhan...I...I'm still not sure it's that specific curse, it could...there could be other..."

"It is," Lan Wangji says, half-crawling up Wei Wuxian's leg. He wants to stop himself. It is impossible.

"Lan Zhan...you...you shouldn't—"

"Stop me," Lan Wangji pleads, nuzzling against Wei Wuxian's thigh, "Wei Ying, I can't...please. Stop me."

There is a long near-silence filled with harsh breaths, in which Lan Wangji is almost certain he imagines the light touch of fingers brushing his mussed hair back from his forehead. Then Wei Wuxian speaks.

"No," he says. "You'll die, if I do. Lan Zhan. I won't let that happen."

He touches Lan Wangji's face. Lan Wangji whimpers into him.

He knows this will break the fragile repairs they have made to their friendship. He will likely never see him again, at least not on good terms. The thought makes him feel ill. He should protest. Refuse. Flee. He can do exactly none of these things. He reaches for Wei Wuxian's wrist, to hold his hand to his face, but Wei Wuxian flinches away.

"You can't...Lan Zhan. I'm going to help you," he says, "but you have to...you can't...you can't touch me."

Lan Wangji feels another tight clench of shame. He nods against his leg. He understands: he knows any small part of this is too much to ask, let alone bearing his unwelcome, curse-fevered grasping.

"Okay," says Wei Wuxian. He slides his fingers beneath Lan Wangji’s chin again, tipping his face up.

He looks so uncertain. So beautiful in the dim light. Lan Wangji wants to weep with it.

"Lan Zhan, I know it doesn't count for much like this, but you have to tell me. You have to tell me what you need."

Lan Wangji turns his head, pressing his face between Wei Wuxian's thigh and stomach, trying to reach into him, to feel more of him, to stop hurting just enough to think. It does not work.

"You," he breathes, into the scent of earth, and stringent soap, and Wei Wuxian.

A harsh, uneven breath ghosts across his hair, and Wei Wuxian's hands grip his shoulders. He thinks he is about to be pushed away again, but instead Wei Wuxian pulls him up, pulls him close, folds him into his embrace.

Lan Wangji sobs into his shoulder, trying at once to get closer and to hold himself apart, instinct demanding, even now, that he try to conceal his obvious, disgraceful hardness. His muscles quake under the strain of doing both and neither, and Wei Wuxian smooths one hand down his back, pressing him close, pressing them flush. Lan Wangji chokes back a shocked sound.

"Shh," Wei Wuxian soothes. "It's alright."

It is not alright. It is the end of the thing Lan Wangji holds most dear.

But he does not have it in him to argue. He is shifting against him, his overheated body begging for touch, indeed for ravishment. He is mindless with it. The pain is not subsiding but slipping sideways into something more, something different, something necessary.

He is on his knees on hard stone, breathlessly held in the arms of his beloved. He has dreamt this: sweetly, hazily, with and without hope. But never like this. Never sick with remorse, with need, dying and demanding and defiling. His deepest desire twisted into a nightmare.

He whimpers again, his lips finding the soft coolness of Wei Wuxian's throat. Wei Wuxian jerks away again, and Lan Wangji fists his hands tighter at his sides, trying, trying not to overstep again.

"I—sorry," he gasps out. He will never be able to apologize enough. But he will try.

"Don't apologize," says Wei Wuxian. "I—"

He cuts himself off. Lan Wangji does not have enough sense to wonder why. In the same moment, one of his thighs gives under the strain, and he falls against him heavily. They tip over, to the floor, and he reaches out on instinct to brace them both. When he is again conscious of himself, Wei Wuxian is lying on top of him, breathing hard, both of Lan Wangji's wrists pinned to the floor in one hand. Lan Wangji arches against him inadvertently, and turns his face into his own bicep.

"Sorry, I...so sorry," he pants, his hips flexing, searching for friction. "I have...no control...”

"I know," Wei Wuxian says, "I know, I shouldn't have..." he swallows hard. "I'm going to keep you like this. Can I?"

Lan Wangji nods frantically, his eyes shut tight. He does not care. Anything that he can do to make this any less invasive for Wei Wuxian, he will do.

Wei Wuxian pulls away then, his hold still firm on Lan Wangji's wrists. Lan Wangji squeezes his eyes shut and tries to stop moving, to stop searching for touch, to stop making such a disgusting spectacle of himself, but to no avail. What feels like centuries later, he hears the telltale sounds of talisman activation. He is too far gone in his pain to look up, to see what they are. He simply lies there, pinned and writhing, his breath catching in his throat. The sounds it makes are small, pitiful, desperate.

Just like him.

Eventually, Wei Wuxian leans back over him, a considering look in his eye. His hand hovers at Lan Wangjis belt.

"I—should I..."

"Yes," pleads Lan Wangji.

He needs Wei Wuxian's skin on his skin. He does not know how discerning the curse is about what happens now, but it feels as if he will die without it. Wei Wuxian takes what looks like a fortifying breath and unties the belt. Lan Wangji, unable to help, instead hinders the process with his ceaseless movement. But Wei Wuxian manages it with deft hands, and immediately unties each layer of robes in quick succession until Lan Wangji’s chest and stomach are bare.

The cool air of the cave does not soothe his burning. It burns like ice instead. Lan Wangji shivers, an ugly whine escaping him.

"What," Wei Wuxian asks, pausing, "what is it?"

Lan Wangji shakes his head. He will bear it. He will not make demands.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says, "you need to talk to me, I...I don't want to make this even worse, or, or draw it out longer."

Something small and dark crumples in Lan Wangji's chest. He does not want that either. He will need to speak. To ask.

"Hurts," he says, rough and thick.

"Where?"

"...Not...not touching me."

Wei Wuxian makes a distressed noise and lays both his palms flat over Lan Wangji's ribs. Lan Wangji groans, pressing up into them.

"Please," he whispers, helpless. "Please."

"Oh, Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian murmurs, something sad like regret. He leans closer and slides one hand down. Lan Wangji shudders under him. "I'm just going to..."

Lan Wangji nods again, holding his breath to stop the whines from escaping the back of his throat.

Wei Wuxian unties Lan Wangji's trousers and slips his hand inside. Clever fingers wrap hesitantly around him, and he bucks up into them with an obscene moan. It is minor relief from the most consuming pain he has ever felt, and it is simultaneously the most intense pleasure he has ever experienced. All of these sensations, coexisting in his fallible human body, feel likely to rip him apart.

"Wei Ying," he moans again, when Wei Wuxian moves his hand.

He gasps for air, his body twisting into it, his whole being searching for Wei Wuxian. He makes another piteous sound, the torment of it all overwhelming. Wei Wuxian leans down against him then, his own robes open, pressing them skin to skin.

Lan Wangji sobs. It is something. It is something. The pain abates somewhat, and he sighs, turning toward him, his mouth brushing Wei Wuxian's hair. He has the wherewithal now to fight the urge to kiss his head properly, his face, anything he can reach. He holds himself still beneath him instead. And Wei Wuxian touches him, and touches him. The incomprehensible pleasure builds, and builds, until Lan Wangji cannot breathe. But it does not break.

Something almost like soft lips brushes his throat.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says into his ear, "this, is this...will this be enough?"

The pleasure is just another kind of pain, now. Lan Wangji shakes his head as sweat rolls off of him, as he tries and fails to get enough air to speak.

Wei Wuxian clears his throat. "What, then?"

Lan Wangji's body knows what it needs. But he does not want to tell.

"Come on, Lan Zhan, after all this? Don't get shy on me now."

He misses the joking tone he is aiming for, but the pure, unmistakable Wei Wuxian-ness of the tease sends a surge of genuine desire through Lan Wangji. He wraps his legs around Wei Wuxian's hips and pulls him down. Wei Wuxian breathes in sharply.

"You just...you want...but only..."

"Please," says Lan Wangji, barely voiced. "In—" he cannot say it. "Please."

"Ah," Wei Wuxian whispers, into his skin. "If—are you sure?"

Lan Wangji whines. He wishes he were not so very sure. He wishes he were not asking Wei Wuxian to do something so intimate, so extreme. He wishes Wei Wuxian had let him die before it ever came to this.

"Alright Lan Zhan, just hold—hold on," he says, and is gone.

Lan Wangji clamps his mouth shut on a scream as the agony slams back into him, worse even than before.

Not soon enough, Wei Wuxian returns to divest him of his boots, socks and trousers. Lan Wangji fights him without meaning to, trying to keep his knees curled up to his chest, trying to minimize the hurt. Wei Wuxian is briskly patient, handling him with aching care he does not deserve.

And then he is upon him, chest and stomach, hips and thighs, smooth and hard and exquisite. Lan Wangji almost forgets the pain in the rush of gratitude, of solace. Their robes trail off them both, gathering dust as they move together in halting fits and starts.

"Don't let me hurt you, Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian grits out, a strong hand lifting one of Lan Wangji's thighs by the back of the knee.

It is nonsense. He could not hurt Lan Wangji any more than this. And Lan Wangji could not stop him now if he did.

But the kindness. Even in this. Tears prick at Lan Wangji's eyes. He will miss him. He will miss all of Wei Wuxian with all of himself. He will never stop missing him. He will never move past this regret as long as he lives. How could he? Every breath he draws will be by the grace of Wei Wuxian.

Suddenly there is slick pressure against him, against his most private of places, and he gasps, loud and wretched. Wei Wuxian exhales, uneven and deep, and pushes in, in, in. Slowly. So slowly. Lan Wangji bites down hard on his lip to keep from begging for it. His arms are pinned, as are his hips, Wei Wuxian holding him steady, holding him still. Lan Wangji loses all sense. There is only the weight of Wei Wuxian, the full, stinging press of him, the searing pain, the devastating euphoria of being this close, and yet so very far in every way that counts.

Ages pass before Wei Wuxian is fully seated inside him. By then Lan Wangji's breaths are wet and shallow; scraping, desolate things. He does not know any longer what hurts and what feels good. It is all one and the same. He only knows he needs more, in some primal, wordless way.

He asks with the arch of his back, the squeeze of his thighs. He tries, somehow, to keep quiet, but fails more often than not.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says tightly, "try to relax, I'm going to move. Tell me if it...if it's right."

Lan Wangji manages a loose nod, though he barely understands.

And Wei Wuxian moves. He rolls his hips against him, shifting inside of him, and Lan Wangji groans. Each deep, short thrust pushes air from his lungs, and he lacks the strength to catch it again. It is beyond pleasure. It is ecstatic. To have Wei Wuxian around him, inside him, panting above him. A deep, villainous part of him wants it never to end. The rest of him howls for release.

He is dripping now, steadily, onto his own stomach. He can feel it pooling on his belly, unpleasantly cool. He whimpers between desperate, panting breaths, beyond words.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says, breath shivering across Lan Wangji's collarbone, "I can't...can't keep this up, you feel too—" his breath catches, and he pauses. "I'm going to finish. You need to come."

Dimly, distantly, the idea that Wei Wuxian should derive pleasure from this, no matter how perfunctory, gives Lan Wangji a perverse sort of satisfaction. It snuffs out like a candle at the nebulous thought that perhaps in another world, they could have had this for real.

In this world, the fact remains that this has gone on far too long. But Lan Wangji can do nothing about it. He meets Wei Wuxian's thrusts, leans into the pleasure, tries to gain the momentum to go over the edge. He should be able to. It should be easy. He has been so hard for so long, has been given more now than in his absolute wildest and wettest of dreams, and yet he hovers, scant inches away.

Wei Wuxian loses patience, his head dropping to Lan Wangji's shoulder. He grunts softly and fists Lan Wangji's wet cock, quick and merciless. Lan Wangji cries out, shuddering violently with the extended, expansive stimulation, worked both inside and out, helplessly, utterly unmade by Wei Wuxian's touch.

And still he does not crest. He is sobbing steadily now, ugly and jagged, and Wei Wuxian kisses his shoulder, his throat, his cheek.

"Were we wrong?" He asks, breathless. "Lan Zhan please, tell—show me, I...I can't...you...I can't lose you. Lan Zhan?"

Exhausted, Lan Wangji turns his tearstained face toward him, blindly seeking. Perhaps they were all wrong. Perhaps he will die now, like this. And perhaps it is selfish of him, but having heard those words, he finds his regret to be less than it should be. Everything, everything hurts. But Wei Wuxian will miss him, too. Of course he will. They are zhiji. This, miraculously, will not erase that. It is more than he deserves. Wei Wuxian has always been more than he deserves.

Lan Wangji heaves, and writhes, and cries.

Wei Wuxian kisses him. Soft, gloriously cool lips on his.

An odd, fleeting, hollow feeling.

The dam breaks. The pain goes suddenly quiet. Roaring to fullness in its absence is the killing swell of such a long-delayed climax. It is possible that he calls Wei Wuxian's name. It is impossible to know.

The world, again, goes dark.

-----

Lan Wangji wakes to gray light and distant birdsong. A sharp edge is digging into his shoulder. He shifts, then goes still at the deep ache in his entire body.

He remembers.

"Hanguang-jun should drink this," says a brisk voice to his right.

Wen Qing sits there, watching him. His heart skips a beat and he looks down. But he is fully clothed once more.

Her smile is wry as she holds a cup out to him. Laboriously, he sits up to take it. It is bitter, but familiar. A restorative. He thanks her formally.

She shakes her head. "No need.” She turns to go.

"Wen-guniang," Lan Wangji says. She pauses. "How long has it been gone?"

She turns to stare at him. He knows she knows what he means.

"How? When?"

She looks away. "You'll have to ask him."

The pang of loss he felt upon waking with Wei Wuxian gone speaks for him. "Will he let me?"

 He lies on the slab of rock that serves as Wei Wuxian's bed for too long. It is difficult to tell the passage of time in the Burial Mounds, but it seems slightly brighter than it had...before. He reasons that it could well be the next morning. He wonders if Wei Wuxian slept beside him, then tosses the thought away as gross indulgence. He wonders instead, as he has many times since his last visit, if Wei Wuxian sleeps at all.

First, his excuse to tarry is meditation. He works at it, simultaneously restoring his drained core and healing himself, until the discomfort fades from his every movement to just a specific few.

Once that is done, he has no reason to be idle. But the voice in his head, Wei Wuxian's blisteringly cold one that had called him his proper name all those months ago, keeps him in place. He hears it saying all manner of things in response to seeing him now.

"What more could you possibly want of me?" Wei Wuxian sneers in his mind. And he would be right to do so.

But Lan Wangji does not intend to ask anything of him ever again.

And there is the other thing. The fact that his robes should be uncomfortable, filthy, but they have been cleaned, dried, and arranged back onto his body properly. Comfortably. Almost as if—

He dares not imagine. But at the very least it does not speak of utter contempt.

So he rises. He follows the path Wen Qing told him of. And he does something foolish. He hopes.

After no short while of walking, he comes to a slightly darker, more silent corner of deadened forest. He rounds a bend and sees Wei Wuxian crouched a little ways off, and then hears high, lilting notes as if through water. The energies are strange here, and Wei Wuxian is speaking to with them in their own language.

Lan Wangji approaches until he sees Wei Wuxian go still. He says nothing. Wei Wuxian drops his flute from his lips.

"Are you well?" He asks without rising or turning.

"I am."

Wei Wuxian nods. "Your people are waiting for you."

It is a dismissal. Lan Wangji recognizes this. But he will impose just a little bit longer.

"Your core," he says. Wei Wuxian stands abruptly, still facing away, gripping Chenqing. "Can it be replaced?"

Wei Wuxian whirls to face him, anger and fear warring with the questions on his face.

Lan Wangji has other questions, too. But they do not matter. He is intelligent enough to piece together the cold, empty space where Wei Wuxian's core should be, the tired guilt on Wen Qing's face, and...

"Your scar," he says, dropping his gaze to the scorched earth.

He should not know of it. But he does, now, and he also owes a greater debt than he can ever repay. Wei Wuxian does not respond. How dearly Lan Wangji wants to see his expression. But he will not infringe on any more of his privacy.

The wind howls. He waits.

"You won't tell anybody," Wei Wuxian says uncertainly.

Lan Wangji stiffens. "I will not."

"Nobody told you?"

"Nobody.”

Wei Wuxian pauses, momentarily satisfied.

"You're not going to ask how? Or when?"

Lan Wangji would like to. He would like to know everything of Wei Wuxian, even his sorrow, his pain. But he is not entitled to those things. There is only one point that matters.

"Can it be replaced? Can the procedure be reversed?"

Wei Wuxian sighs. Lan Wangji can tell he does not wish to speak of this.

"So single-minded, Lan Zhan," he scolds, then shakes his head. "The chance of success would be small; the chance of finding a donor, much smaller."

But this is all Lan Wangji hoped to hear. It is enough. He goes to his knees, arms circled in front of his chest.

"Allow me," he says.

"Lan Zhan!" Wei Wuxian darts forward, trying to pull Lan Wangji up from the ground. Eventually he gives up and goes to his knees in front of him, pushing at his arms. "Lan Zhan, stop this," he says, panicked. "Don't be stupid, stop—Lan Zhan, you can't be serious."

"Please allow me," Lan Wangji repeats, eyes downcast.

"Stop this!" Wei Wuxian shouts. "It can't be done, and I wouldn't take it from you anyway!"

Lan Wangji flinches bodily. He had not considered...but yes. Everything in him is sullied. He bends at the waist, bowing further.

"Apologies for the offense," he says, then snaps his mouth shut. His voice is too obviously strained.

"Lan Zhan?" Wei Wuxian says, still alarmed.

Lan Wangji needs to leave. He has already overstayed. But he...he has not tried hard enough.

"This debt is too great to repay in one lifetime," he says. "Please inform this one of what he may do to begin."

Wei Wuxian sags, dragging one of Lan Wangji's wrists with him. "Lan Zhan, there is no debt between us."

Lan Wangji only just stops himself from glancing up. He does not understand.

"I owe you my life and more," he says. "You took great pains to save me, even as the situation proved me unworthy of it. I owe—"

"You owe me nothing," Wei Wuxian insists, shaking Lan Wangji's arm. "There were no great pains. Nobody is unworthy. Well...you aren't."

Lan Wangji opens his mouth to protest, but Wei Wuxian speaks over him.

"People have...desires, Lan Zhan. There's nothing unworthy about it."

"But you—"

"Stop," he says. He sounds so, so tired. "If you hadn't been...dying. If we—" He stops. "Just keep my secret," he says, and lets go of his wrist. "And live well."

Lan Wangji closes his eyes. The thought of going back to his home, his life, after this, had not yet occurred to him. It sinks him from his knees to the ground. How can he do this? How can he leave him this way?

"Wei Ying," he pleads. "I must...I must do something. I cannot...I..."

"Why, Lan Zhan?" Wei Wuxian asks, not unkindly. "You have responsibilities. People to protect, just like me. Live well, and count things even between us. Why not?"

Lan Wangji’s chest caves in. He does not make the sound clawing up his throat.

"You...truly, you must know why," he says. "After... you must know. I would not leave you in need. I could not."

"Ah, Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says sadly. He shuffles forward. Lan Wangji startles at the feel of fingertips on his cheek. "You're too good. But all I need is," he huffs, "political asylum for me and 40 friends? It's not your burden."

Suddenly yet slowly, like the first burst of sunrise, an idea reveals itself on the horizon of Lan Wangji’s mind. It is unorthodox. And likely unwelcome. But it is all he has.

"My uncle made a suggestion," he says. "When my affliction became known. It is true that he did not know what it would mean, but I would hold him to it. If it is not...hateful, to you."

"I don't know what you mean," Wei Wuxian says warily.

Lan Wangji steels himself. "You are perceived as the head of a sect. A proper alliance could protect your people, and Gusu Lan is in need of hands for rebuilding. The person who cast this curse upon me has given the perfect excuse, and made themselves scapegoat. If you would...I would not ask anything of you, if you agreed. It would be a marriage in name only, as you wish it."

Wei Wuxian's silence turns to spluttering. "M—Lan Zh—marriage?? What—how—"

"If the idea is odious, I will not mention it again. But as I said. My uncle suggested it. And under the circumstances, he cannot refuse."

"Your—he—Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan, look at me. Look at me, please."

Lan Wangji looks at him. His eyes are wide. Disbelieving. Concerned.

"Your uncle would qi deviate if you even hinted at such a thing," he says. "Gusu Lan is in a precarious enough position, you don't need...I have nothing to offer in return." He pats his lower stomach, empty of spiritual energy, emphatically. “Nothing. Don't be ridiculous."

"It is not ridiculous," Lan Wangji argues, certain now that he is right. "You can offer more protection for us, and we can offer legitimacy. The person who cast this curse can be seen to have forced our hands. Has—has forced our hands."

He stops himself. He should not push this. Wei Wuxian is looking at him as if he does not know him.

"You don't want to marry me, Lan Zhan."

This gives Lan Wangji pause. It is a confusing objection, to say the least. He stares, trying to comprehend. He clears his throat. Takes a breath.

"If you are under the impression..." he stops. Drops his eyes once more. "...that the...impetus of the curse. Is the whole of the way I—”

"Demonic cultivation," Wei Wuxian interrupts. "It would be unhealthy. For you. And your elders! They wouldn't let me, not if I were...attached to your sect. To you.”

A fair concern, and one Lan Wangji has been turning over in his own mind as well. "Is this your only objection?"

Wei Wuxian casts about. "Ah..."

Lan Wangji takes one last plunge. "The elders can be reasoned with, compromises can be made. I am not concerned for my health: being near you could never be harmful to me." He hears himself, then, and amends, "Though you need not. Be near me. That is not a condition."

"You would defend this?" Wei Wuxian asks, bemused.

"Defend what?"

"My cultivation path. You..."

Lan Wangji resists a sigh. "I understand the reason, now. And I believe...if you did not object. We could work toward making it safe, without stripping you of what your hard work has created."

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says. He reaches out, then stops.

Lan Wangji stares at his hand, hovering between them. His heart is beating so hard he can feel it in his eyes, in his tongue.

"Wei Ying."

"You would let me, though?"

His tone is gently mocking. His head is cocked to the side, the edge of a smile playing across his lips. It knocks the breath from Lan Wangji's chest.

"Let you?" He asks, dazed.

"Be near you."

Lan Wangji's heart stops. It is a moment before he can respond.

"I would. Always."

Wei Wuxian takes his hand, and sighs. "You don't owe me this," he says again.

"I do," Lan Wangji counters, off-kilter. "I owe you. And I want to. I would want to, even if—"

He loosens his tight grip on Wei Wuxian's hand. He is saying too much, taking too much, being too much. He settles himself. Finds the words that matter.

"It would be a thing happily given, with no strings attached, should you wish it."

Wei Wuxian laughs strangely. "Lan Zhan, you really..." He shakes his head. "I'd marry you in an instant, you know," says.

Lan Wangji's neck hurts from the speed with which he looks up at him. Hope, warm and liquid, blooms through his limbs.

"But I can't make this decision on my own," Wei Wuxian goes on. "It's not just my life. We have to talk it over with everyone."

"Yes," Lan Wangji says, surprised, and eager now that he sees the possibility of success. Of doing something of use.

"Alright," says Wei Wuxian, a smile hidden in the corner of his mouth. "I can't promise...but it...it could work."

"It will," Lan Wangji says, certain that the strength of his conviction alone will carry them through if need be.

He feels strange and dreamlike, confused but heartened by the turn in this conversation. That Wei Wuxian can stand the sight of him, let alone wish to ally with him personally, seems too wonderful to be true. Another Wei Wuxian hallmark.

"But Lan Zhan, no more talk of strings," Wei Wuxian says.

Lan Wangji sobers and nods. It is unseemly. Of course their understanding must be a tacit one, now.

But his hand is suddenly in both of Wei Wuxian's.

"You need to stop feeling guilty," Wei Wuxian says, looking down at it. "If I were your husband...if I were. We could try all that again, but without the impending doom. We could try it again any way we like, any time—all the time—and we'd—"

"Wei Ying," Lan Wangji interrupts, strangled. His heart is in his throat. He cannot comprehend what he is hearing. His ears, his face, are on fire.

Wei Wuxian smiles down at their hands, one part shy, one part mischief. "I think we could get really good at it, if we had the chance, don't you?"

Lan Wangji stares at him. "You..."

"Mn," says Wei Wuxian, meeting his eyes.

He shines so bright, even without any core to speak of. He takes Lan Wangji's breath away.

"I take it back," Wei Wuxian says, his voice suddenly urgent. "I like strings. Mine is that if this happens, I want to be your real husband. In name, in practice, in bed, and in your heart. Because you would be, in mine."

Lan Wangji's voice sticks in his throat. He feels...he feels unreal. He does not know what to do, to say. Perhaps they never broke the curse at all and he has simply gone mad. But Wei Wuxian's fingers stroking his palm, the root-knotted dirt beneath his shins, are real. He sways, unbalanced.

Wei Wuxian reaches out. Catches him. Folds him into his arms for a second time. Lan Wangji's breath shudders out of him.

He is on his knees, breathlessly held in the arms of his beloved. He has dreamt this many ways. But never has it been so real, so full of hope. He wraps his arms around Wei Wuxian in turn, buries his face in his shoulder.

Wei Wuxian huffs. "Jiang Cheng is going to be so angry."

Lan Wangji comes back down to earth. It is true he had not thought of this. He makes to pull away. "How should—"

Wei Wuxian clutches him tighter. "I don't care," he says, "I don't care, we can manage him." He pauses, then speaks more softly. "Maybe...I could see shijie's wedding after all. Or—no. It's too soon, I—"

"Yes," says Lan Wangji. "You will. We will go together."

Wei Wuxian takes a deep breath, and lets it out into Lan Wangji's hair.

"Together," he says.

It takes several serious, and at times uncomfortable, discussions, but in the end, Gusu Lan’s Second Jade is indeed thoroughly removed from the marriage pool of the great sects. The curse caster is found and punished. And everybody else lives happily ever after.

The end.

-----

(Thank you for coming on this wildly self-indulgent journey, I hope you enjoyed it. If you’d like to read some actually nicely-polished, fleshed-out fics by me—including another sex-cursed LWJ—check out my AO3.)

[breadqueen95]

I Hope You’re Okay - Bucky Barnes

Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

wc: 8.2k (go off i guess)

summary: Bucky is filled with doubt and confusion after the events of Endgame. He breaks up with Y/n, reacting badly to his instinct to isolate himself. She’s more than a little confused; they’d fallen in love in Wakanda. What had changed? Months later, Sam is the only connection they still have. Set during the events of TFATWS, can Sam get his idiot friends to finally get over themselves and admit how much they still need each other? Based on “hope ur ok” by Olivia Rodrigo.

content warnings: physical affection. break ups. language. canon violence. murder. mental illness. trauma. mentions of major character deaths from endgame. endgame and tfatws spoilers. guns.

a/n: omg this one’s a doozy. I totally thought this was only gonna be 3k or so, 8k later and I’m shocked. This was a really fun one to write, though! Endgame and TFATWS spoilers galore, my babies. not proof read so expect a mistake or two. it’s 3am so i just don’t have it in me lmao

***

“I don’t understand,” you’d whispered, “I…I thought we were fine.”

Bucky sighed, his breath trembling as he exhaled. He ran his hand down his tired face, fingers lingering over his eyes to try and hide the tears that threatened to spill over. But you knew him. You knew him better than anyone, even Steve Rogers. This was harder for him that he was letting on.

So why was this happening?

“I honestly don’t get it either,” Bucky huskily murmured, keeping his voice low to avoid showing the cracks that wanted to break his words apart. “But…god, please don’t make this harder.”

You scoffed, fighting the urge to roll your eyes, biting out, “I’m not exactly trying to be difficult here, Bucky. I’m trying to understand. We were fine. We were in Wakanda, and we were fucking perfect. Then we fight in a space war, we lose, turn to dust for five years, then we came back. So much has changed around us, but that doesn’t mean we—”

“Of course it means we’ve changed!” He burst out. This time he couldn’t keep the frustration from his tone. “Everything has fucking changed. The Avengers are over. Everyone’s gone. Tony’s dead. Natasha is dead. Steve decided to hide out in the past rather than stay with us. So yeah, everything has changed!” Bucky’s chest heaved with emotion. It was overwhelming after years of having these very human reactions smothered, and…he didn’t know how to handle it. He just wanted for this interaction to be over.

“So what?” You hissed, “So we suffer through unimaginable tragedy and you decide you don’t love me anymore? We got a second chance, Bucky. Did Wakanda mean nothing to you?”

“That’s not fair. You know it meant everything to me.”

“Then why the fuck are you breaking up with me?” You asked loudly, voice rising with anger and desperation. You’d lost so much…Tony and Natasha were family. They’d sacrificed themselves to save everyone, which knowing them, was the way they would’ve wanted to go out. That didn’t make it any easier…Tony left behind a wife and a little girl who loved him beyond all words. Natasha, who had been the hidden glue for the team for years, never got the appreciation she so deserved. She wouldn’t be able to see her found family find their footing again after so much suffering.

Then there was Steve. Steve had been your best friend, the brother you’d never had. You believed in him. You loved him. He introduced you to Bucky, asked you to stay with him in Wakanda as Shuri worked to reverse HYDRA’s horrendous work.

During those quiet and simple 2 years, you and Bucky had fallen in love. You thought your loneliness was over…that you’d found the person you were going to spend the rest of your life with.

Then Thanos happened. Steve abandoned you. He abandoned Bucky.

Now Bucky was abandoning you.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky whispered, finally meeting your eyes, “I don’t…I wish I could explain it. But I can’t.”

The finality in his words hit you like a train. He had decided. Nothing you said, no amount of begging or questioning, would change his mind.

He was done with you. For whatever reason…he was done.

“Okay,” you whispered, “okay, Bucky.” Sobs built in your chest, trying to force their way out. The accompanying breakdown was imminent. You felt the last bit of your sanity crumbling. It was time to leave, get yourself away from this hurt. Protect yourself.

You went to him, standing on your tiptoes to give him one last lingering kiss to his jawline. His breath shuttered as your lips met his skin. You didn’t know it, but that almost broke him. Bucky wanted to fall to his knees, beg for forgiveness. Beg you to stay.

But he didn’t.

That had been months ago, just a few days after Tony Stark’s funeral. The last memory you had of Bucky Barnes was him curling in on himself, burying his face in his hands as you turned and left the hotel room you’d been staying in together. You hadn’t seen him or spoken to him since.

Not that you hadn’t tried.

Bucky had broken your heart, but that hadn’t stopped you from loving him or wanting the best for him. He’d been through so much, way too much. Now that the dust had settled, he would be surrounded by infinite quiet moments. You knew Bucky. You knew his mind would be constantly spinning, reliving everything awful that had happened to him. Especially with nothing going on. There weren’t any battles to fight, no space wars to end. Nothing but his own mind.

Quite frankly, you were worried.

Sam was the only person from the team you’d been able to stay in touch with. He tried to check in with Bucky whenever he could, but he was back in Louisiana with his family. His family needed him, there was a lot going on down there. Buck lived in New York City, so it wasn’t as if Sam could just drop by on a whim to check on him in person. He had to settle for calling him whenever he could. Bucky hated cell phones…he was stupid and stubborn and old fashioned that way. Sam told you Bucky would talk occasionally, but for the most part he was shutting him out. Ignoring his calls and text messages.

As far as you knew, you were the only one who lived in the same city as him. New York City had been your home long before Bucky Barnes and breaking up with him wasn’t going to force you out. As far as you knew, he was still living out in Brooklyn. You’d moved yourself over to Manhattan, trying to lose yourself in the roar of the city and the tall skyscrapers. Pepper had given you a job with the NYC branch of Stark Industries. It was a little outside of your wheelhouse, but you were able to do some important work helping the world readjust to life post-Snap. It kept you busy.

In every single one of your weekly check-ins with Sam, he begged you to go out to Brooklyn and see Bucky. Just to check on him, see if he was okay. Give you both peace of mind, he always said.

Every time you said no.

That didn’t mean you didn’t think about Bucky. You thought about him every minute of every day. No matter how busy you kept yourself, he invaded every thought you had. After you’d gotten together in Wakanda, you and Bucky talked all the time about what a normal life together would be like once you could go home. Now that you were finally living a life of relative normalcy, those conversations replayed in your head endlessly.  

“Where would you want to live?” You’d asked one night, his arms holding you tightly to his chest.

“I’d love to live in Brooklyn again,” he’d mused, “relearn the city. Show you all the places I remember from when I was growing up.” Bucky traced his fingers across your jawline to your chin, finally tilting your face to look at him, then whispered, “I’d want you with me. I want to wake up to you every day, fall asleep holding you every night.”

“You do?” Your voice was shaking with tenuous hope. Not many people wanted to stay around in your life for too long. Almost everyone left you – dead or of their own volition. Even the family you’d thought you’d found with the Avengers had collapsed, leaving you questioning the point of building any lasting relationships.

“Yes,” Bucky had murmured, leaning down to capture your lips with his own. With his mouth still touching yours, he whispered, “I can’t imagine anything better.”

That conversation was so damn vivid in your mind every time you thought about it. That didn’t help the pain that always came with it, which always felt like someone sliding a dagger into your heart with each word that echoed in your memory.

Bucky was good with knives, so you guessed it was only fitting.

“Sam,” you groaned, “you need to quit asking me. I’m not going to see Bucky.”

“C’mon, Y/n. He’s struggling, you know he is. I think seeing you would really help him.”

“The last time I saw him he was breaking up with me. So no, I don’t think it would. He made it very clear that he didn’t want me around anymore.”

“Y/n—”

“Don’t ‘y/n’ me. You know I’m right.”

“He asks about you.”

“…no he doesn’t. You just want me to go.” Even with the way you forced your voice into careless dismissal, your heart thundered against your ribcage. “Besides, I thought he wasn’t talking to you.”

“Not as much as I’d like, but he’ll talk every now and then,” Sam replied. “Of course it’s never about him or how he’s doing. For the few minutes I’ve got him on, Bucky only ever asks questions about you.”

You didn’t want to believe him. Believing him only made your hurt and confusion worse. But Sam was one of the most genuine people you knew. It was why he and Steve had been so close. Knowing how you felt about Bucky, knowing how utterly heartbroken you still were months later, he would never lie to you about that.

“Oh,” you said, breathless. “What…what does he ask?”

“If you’re okay. Where you ended up. Those kinds of things.”

“What do you tell him?”

“I tell him he needs to get his head out of his ass and call you himself,” Sam shot back, laughter evident in his smooth voice. “I assume he hasn’t.”

“No,” you answered, voice having gone quiet as your feelings raged within, “he hasn’t.”

He sighed, and you could picture him clearly in that moment. Sam had always rubbed his forehead when he was stressed or worried, always paired with a deep sigh like the one he gave off just now. You wanted to take a load off of his stress, you really did. But he was asking you for the one thing you couldn’t give.

���Will you at least call him?”

“Sam—”

“I know, I’m asking a lot here. Bucky hurt you, and trust me, as soon as I see him next I’m kicking his ass for it.” You giggled, picturing it so easily. “Just…will you do this? For me?”

“Fine,” you grumbled, “but you so owe me.”

“I’ll buy you all the pizza you want next time I’m in town, how’s that?”

“Perfect,” you laughed, then the sound faded away as you remembered. “Are you still giving up the shield tomorrow?”

“Yeah, yeah I am,” Sam answered, sounding tired. “Look, I…I know you and Steve were close. I know this must be hard for you.”

“It is,” you admitted, “but Steve gave that shield to you. Only you know what’s right. I trust you.”

***

Sam had texted you Bucky’s phone number right after your conversation this afternoon. What you should’ve done was call right away, get this big and scary thing that wasn’t actually big or scary at all over with.

So, in true Y/n fashion, you avoided it. You stared at your phone for the rest of the afternoon, then well into the evening. Once the clock passed 6:30pm, you’d forced yourself to pick it up and open the text message with his number. Then you stared at it for another thirty minutes, hands shaking as your fingers hovered over the screen.

But this was Sam. The one friend you had left was asking you for help. You had to do this.

Heart thundering in your ears, you finally pressed the highlighted number, then selected ‘call’ from the options listed. You pressed the phone to your ear, vision tunneling dangerously until the only thing that existed for you was the ringing as the call tried to get through.

It rang. And rang. And rang some more.

Finally, after a few more times, the call went to voicemail. Bucky hadn’t answered. You knew deep down that you hadn’t truly expected him to answer, but…it was like that dagger that stabbed you every time you thought about him twisted just a little more.

As the prompt kept going for the voicemail, you decided on a whim to leave one. You hadn’t really planned to, but after everything he’d made you go through, you wanted him to know that someone else cared. That someone else was worried. And, well…

You missed him.

Right after the beep sounded, you tried to level out your voice, and said, “Hi, Bucky. It’s Y/n. I, uh…I know we haven’t talked for a while, but…Sam’s been worried about you, you know. He’s asked me to check on you so many times I lost count. So, uh, this is me just…checking on you.” You paused, wrinkling your brow at how lame you sounded. What the fuck was that? “If you need anything, just…I don’t know, call me on this number. Bye.”

Hanging up, you threw yourself down on your bed in frustration and sheer embarrassment. Months had gone by without seeing or talking to Bucky, and the first time he hears your voice, you just had to say, ‘this is me checking on you’. Why couldn’t you just get it together for one goddamn second? Your stomach churned as you imagined him listening to that voicemail. It churned even worse as you pictured him deleting it, wanting nothing to do with you.

And you knew he would.

***

Bucky’s phone beeped next to him, jerking him out of his thoughts.

Looking around, he realized that his small apartment had grown dark as he sat. He hadn’t even noticed. The blue light from the television lit the space in an eerie glow, the colors he was still getting used to way too bright against his eyes. Stretching, he realized just how stiff his muscles had gotten from sitting in the same position for way too long.

Picking up his phone, he saw that he had one missed call and a new voicemail.

From Y/n.

He nearly dropped the phone is surprise. Bucky had saved her new contact information months ago, right after Sam had sent it over. He had started asking Bucky to call her around that time, sending over her number to try and give him a little push. He’d saved it, fully intending on calling, he just…hadn’t. Sam told him all the time how worried he was about her. She never talked to anyone, buried herself in work, and…

She was hurting. Sam never failed to remind him just how much Bucky had hurt her.

That was why he hadn’t called. How could he force himself into her life again? Surprise her with a phone call one day out of the blue after what he did to her?

That, and he was scared. Absolutely terrified of opening that self-inflicted wound all over again.

Hand shaking, Bucky pressed the button to start the voicemail and held it up to his ear. Her voice, still his favorite sound, echoed in his ear as she spoke.

“Hi, Bucky. It’s Y/n. I, uh…I know we haven’t talked for a while, but…Sam’s been worried about you, you know. He’s asked me to check on you so many times I lost count. So, uh, this is me just…checking on you. If you need anything, just…I don’t know, call me on this number. Bye.”

Bucky kept the phone against his ear even after the message ended. Then he hastily pulled the phone away, restarted the message, and pressed it against his ear even harder than before. Her voice sounded as beautiful as ever, causing his heart and mind go into absolute overdrive. Bucky had spent the past few months without her trying so hard not to feel anything, and the few words she’d spoken ripped those walls down almost immediately. Listening to her say his name was overwhelming. He’d spent so long trying to forget how it sounded that he didn’t realize how much he missed it.

Even with his strong, visceral reaction to hearing her talking to him again, she sounded…not great. Tired. Nervous. Out of patience. That could’ve just been because she was talking to him, to be fair. But he knew her. During those two years they spent together in Wakanda, he’d learned everything there was to know about her. They’d bared their souls to each other. All Bucky had needed to know Y/n wasn’t doing well were those few stilted sentences.

But…maybe he couldn’t say that anymore. He grimaced. It wasn’t fair of him to say he knew her. A few months shouldn’t be considered a huge chunk of time, especially to a 106-year-old man, but it felt like ages. So much could have changed since the last time he saw her. After the shit he pulled, Y/n probably had changed.

He wanted to call her back. More than anything. Even as he made to push the button that would dial her number, he paused right before he pressed it.

What the fuck gave him the right to call her? She said it herself; Sam had been asking her to talk to him for months. Guess she just finally got worn down enough to do it, just say she did it so she could shut him up for a bit. Hadn’t Sam been badgering him about doing the same thing? Knowing him, he thought if he could just get them to talk, they’d make up. Bucky knew it wasn’t that simple.

Bucky loved her. He didn’t know much in this strange new world he’d woken up to, but he was sure of that much. But he hadn’t ended things because he fell out of love. Anyone who knew Y/n knew falling out of love with her simply wasn’t possible. He ended things to protect her. From him.

Peace wasn’t something he was used to, especially once the Wakandans had helped him iron out his head. All he knew was that one minute, he was living a life of happiness with Y/n. Then he was fighting a goddamn space war. Then…they woke up apparently five years later, then fought another one. Natasha had already been dead when they’d come back. Bucky had watched Tony sacrifice himself on the battlefield to save the universe. Never getting to apologize to him…that was one of his greatest regrets.

Everything after had felt like blow after blow. The world had already been strange when he woke up the first time. It was even stranger after coming back with half the population. Then, his best friend, the man he considered his brother, decided the people he’d chosen as his family weren’t good enough for him. He left, went back, and lived the life he thought he’d always meant to.

Bucky knew that after everything Steve had been through, everything he’d sacrificed, he deserved to make that decision. He deserved to choose himself, and he had. That didn’t make it any easier. That didn’t make him any less bitter about the whole thing. It didn’t make the resentment that had slowly been simmering away in his gut these past few months disappear.

He was scared. He felt alone. He felt angry. After spending so long going from one fight to the next, Bucky hadn’t had a whole lot of time to process everything that had happened. Then there was Y/n, whispering sweet assurances in his ear. Holding him after his nightmares had woken them both up again. Putting aside her own grief at losing so many people she loved to hold his fraying edges together.

So he did the only thing he thought he could. He ended things. Bucky had convinced himself that it would be better. He could go off and get his shit together, and she could move on. Focus on herself. Find someone who deserved her. Someone who wasn’t a hundred-year-old mess.

As soon as the door had shut behind her, Bucky regretted it. He wished he hadn’t done it. To this day, he wished with his entire being he’d gone after her. Taken it all back. But he hadn’t, and he couldn’t change that. It didn’t help that he was trying to make amends for the countless crimes he’d been forced to commit. He couldn’t drag her down in that.

Sam had told him she was in New York City still – Manhattan, he’d said. The number of times he had to convince himself not to go over to her place and beg her to take him back was more than he’d care to admit. Even more so when considering the times he’d almost called her, if only just to hear her voice. Bucky missed her so, so much.

Bucky set the phone down. He couldn’t call her, not tonight. Not like this. He was heading out with Sam on a mission in a few days, somewhere in Europe connected to the Flag Smashers. He’d give him an earful first, though. First about giving up the shield, which he wholeheartedly thought was a huge mistake. Then about trying to work both sides of the field to fix his and Y/n’s relationship. Then…

Then maybe he’d ask for his advice. On how to handle this.

***

You’d watched them announce John Walker as the ‘New Captain America’ a few days later. The man might have the same blonde hair and blue eyes that Steve did. He might wear the same colors. He might even hold the shield you knew so well. That didn’t change the fact that he looked like the biggest fucking slimeball you’d ever seen.

Gritting your teeth, you watched as this stranger held the shield aloft to a cheering crowd. How could they do this? Who in their right mind thought this was the right call? Sam was the only one who could do that; Steve had chosen him. And he’d wanted the moniker to be his alone, the shield celebrated as a symbol of his legacy in his exhibit.

Bucky had never called you back. Sam hadn’t either, only giving you a thumbs up when you told him you’d tried to call but got no answer. You knew he was heading out on a mission today, and that Bucky was probably with him. Even without access to their phones, they’d know what had just happened. If you had guessed right, and you usually did, the government probably hadn’t warned Sam about their decision, let alone asked him if it was okay.

Fingers trembling with barely suppressed rage, you opened Sam’s contact info and called. Being on a mission, you knew he wouldn’t answer, so you’d have to settle for leaving a message. He couldn’t change it, and he was probably just as mad as you were but being a former member of the Avengers meant John Walker would contact you. He’d want you to follow him. Of course you’d say ‘fuck no’, but you wanted Sam’s opinion on this.

Right as the beep sounded, you launched right into your spiel, saying, “Look, I know this wasn’t your choice. I know you’re probably furious and you have every right to be. Just…as soon as you can, let me know how you want me to respond. They’ll come asking. Take care of yourself, talk to you soon.” Even as you hung up, you still felt uncertainty and anger chipping away at you. Steve had definitely not accounted for this when he’d given Sam the shield. You hadn’t, either. But who else could you call? Who else could you ask?

…Bucky. You could call Bucky.

All the other emotions you were drowning in forced out any possible shame as you called your ex for the second time in a few days. That familiar beep sounded, and you spoke without thinking.

“Hey, it’s me. I know you don’t want to talk to me, and that’s fine, but go easy on Sam, okay? I know you’re probably mad, but still. And as soon as you hear this, let me know how you’re going to handle this Walker guy. I’m not sure what to do. Even if it’s just a text message. And just…take care of yourself, okay?”

He never called back. Neither did Sam.

A couple weeks later, right as you opened the news on your laptop one evening, the headline made your stomach drop.

CAPTAIN AMERICA KILLS CITIZEN WITH SHIELD OVERSEAS IN BLOODY SCENE

WHAT. THE. FUCK??????

Opening the article as quickly as you could, you scanned the article for information. For unknown reasons, John Walker had chased down a suspected Flag Smasher and nearly decapitated him with the shield, murdering him in front of a watching crowd. Instead of, you know, bringing him in like a REASONABLE PERSON. He’d fled the scene soon after and had yet to be found.

Checking the timestamp on the article, you saw that this had only happened within the past few hours. The article didn’t include the video due to its extremely violent nature. You didn’t want to see it. You had no desire to watch that brutal of a murder. But you had to know. That, and according to your sources, Sam and Bucky had also been tracking the Flag Smashers before going off the grid. You worried about them endlessly, even more so knowing this had happened. What if they’d been hurt?

A quick search on YouTube found the video. Eyes wide with horror, you watched the bloody scene unfurl on the cobblestone street. John Walker wasn’t just incompetent, he was unhinged. It made to slightly relieved he hadn’t tried to contact you to get your support. At first, your ego was a little stung by the very obvious snub. But having to deal with someone like this? You wanted no part in that.

The video ended, and all you could do was stare at your laptop. The frame was paused right where the video ended, a self-righteous Walker staring the crowd down, as if daring someone call him out on the murder he’d just committed. Then, a familiar vibranium arm off to the side caught your attention. Shifting your focus, you saw Bucky. Not too far away was Sam.

Breath catching in your throat, you hastily zoomed in. The quality was shit, but they both looked like they were okay for the most part. They seemed a little beaten up, but they were upright at least. That was something. Their faces betrayed all the emotions you now felt: shock, horror, and unmistakable rage. Bucky’s jaw looked like it was clenched, and his hands were curled into fists at his side.

You couldn’t help but let your gaze linger on Bucky’s face. You hadn’t seen him since that day in the hotel room. He looked…different. Good. His long hair had now been cropped short, sticking out in every direction. You smiled a little in spite of yourself. He still had a penchant for stubbly cheeks and leather, which was a strange kind of comfort.

Knowing these two idiots as well as you did, you knew they’d charge right after Walker. They’d try to bring him in, get that shield away from him before he caused any more damage. That was just who they were. No getting around it.

That didn’t stop you from picking up your phone and calling Bucky.

“Bucky, it’s me. I just saw the video of Walker, and holy fuck that was messed up. I know Sam, and I know you. I’m not sure what happened after that, but…stay safe, okay? Don’t do anything too stupid. Tell Sam the same thing.”

After you hung up, you didn’t even try to call Sam. They were there together, there wasn’t really a point. Even in the hours after, you couldn’t find it in yourself to be anxious and feel shame about calling Bucky and leaving another message.

All you knew was that you wanted to hear his voice.

***

“Hand me the wrench, would you?” Sam asked.

Bucky wordlessly handed him the tool he needed, then continued working on his own task. As the sun rose higher in the sky above the water, Sam and Bucky worked quietly on the Wilson family boat. There was a lot that needed to be done, but Bucky was more than happy to help out after Sam had let him crash at his place.

He’d gotten back in the United States a couple of days ago, feeling strangely…at peace. He had held a gun to Zemo’s head in Sokovia and hadn’t killed him, hadn’t given in to the world’s expectations of the Winter Soldier. The man he had been forced to be for so long. That had never been the plan in the first place, but even so, it had been cathartic in a way. The Dora Milaje had Zemo and were taking him to the Raft, where he would hopefully spend the rest of his days. After everything the man had done, all the pain he had caused, it was a relief to be away from him.

Thankfully following through on his request, Ayo had left a particularly important package with him. One he brought to Sam, for whenever he was ready. Based on everything they’d been through, everything they’d talked about…he knew that time was coming. It was up to him now when that would be.

As soon as his plane touched down in New York, he’d wanted to go see Y/n. His phone with her information had been smashed to pieces when he’d (very stupidly) jumped from a plane without a parachute. Bucky had known his body would be fine, and the one chute on the plane had been defective. He just hadn’t considered the weirdly fragile piece of technology in his pocket. The only way he’d been able to contact Ayo was through the phone he kept on specifically to contact people in Wakanda. It had been made by them for that reason so the calls couldn’t be tracked, which of course explained why it was practically indestructible.

As his connecting flight to Louisiana soared above the city skyline, he wished with his entire being he was going to see her. All he wanted was to see her face, stare into those eyes he loved so much, and beg for her forgiveness. Beg for another chance. Beg her to listen when he promised he still loved her, and that he never stopped.

But the suit couldn’t exactly go on to Louisiana without him. He hated it, but Y/n would have to wait.

“You need to call her,” Sam said.

“What?” Bucky asked, having completely been oblivious to the world around him until Sam had said something.

“You need to call Y/n.”

“I don’t have my phone,” he grumbled in response, looking down at the tool in his hands.

“You can use mine, I’m good at sharing.”

“Sam…”

“Uh uh. Don’t use that tone with me, Barnes. She deserves to hear from you. Damn it, this has gone on long enough, don’t you think? You’re both miserable without each other, so do something about it!”

“I’m already planning on it!”

Sam’s eyes widened in surprise and he physically recoiled in shock.

“Uh…sitting on my boat isn’t gonna help you with that, Buck.”

“After this Flag Smasher business is done,” he sighed, “I’m gonna go see her. The things I need to say, apologize for…I can’t do that over the phone.”

“Bucky,” Sam said, “it could take Karli weeks before she makes her move. Weeks. You really wanna wait that long? Make her wait?”

“I have to see this through. Once I do, I…I don’t know. I feel like I’ll have figured something out, somehow.”

“This isn’t going to erase what you did.”

“I know that. I do. But I need to do this my way. But I promise, I’m going to do everything I can to make it up to her. She’ll probably want nothing to do with me, but I have to try.”

Sam smiled at him in that knowing way of his, then said, “She misses you. I know she does.”

***

It took him until the day of the GRC vote to figure out how to recover old voicemails.

Once he’d replaced his phone, he went weeks without knowing that Y/n had tried to call him more than that one time. That she’d left him two messages and he hadn’t even known.

He’d had to go to Verizon in person to get it figured out. Once they’d helped him, he waited until he was back in his apartment to listen.

Her tone had changed from the first to the second. She was short and to the point, but there was no tiredness in her voice. Only trusting him to help her decide how to handle Walker. Wanting to know what he planned on doing.

The third showed the biggest change. His fist clenched reflexively upon hearing the outrage and anxiety in her voice as she reacted to the violence in Latvia, his first instinct to always protect her. What followed was…pleasant surprise. She wanted him to stay safe. Wanted him to not do anything stupid. Y/n hadn’t even bothered calling Sam, just asked Bucky to convey the message. She’d chosen to call him.

All this change, and he hadn’t even spoken to her yet. It gave him hope that…well, maybe she’d listen. Maybe there was a chance.

Sam was already on his way here. If they managed to stop Karli and the Flag Smashers, if they managed to protect the city and get out alive, her place was his first stop.

***

Another few weeks had passed without hearing from Bucky.

Sam had called you about two weeks after the Latvia incident. He let you rush out all your panicked worries and scolding before assuring you that he and Bucky were just fine. They were laying low and were back stateside, waiting for the Flag Smashers to act. Somehow, Sam was sure they would try to pull off something huge in the coming weeks. They just weren’t sure where or when. In the meantime, they were going to wait. Plan. Train.

You hadn’t bothered him with your worries and insecurities about Bucky. From what he’d told you, they’d gone through a lot. Sam was going through a kind of personal reckoning of his own as he grappled with being a black man carrying that shield. He’d learned even more about the very nefarious past surrounding the serum in the United States and had told you about Isaiah Bradley. All you did was support him as best you could, and then offered your help for whatever was to come. You weren’t sure if he’d take you up on that, but he seemed comforted by it in any case.

In was a balmy spring night in the city. You’d been holed up in what used to be the Avengers Tower, now having resumed the mantle of Stark Tower. The GRC were holding a massive vote tonight on what they were going to do about caring for blip refugees, and the Stark Relief Foundation had to be ready for whatever they decided. Lost in your work, you hadn’t even known anything was amiss until one of your colleagues rushed into the room.

“Y/n, turn on the news. The Flag Smashers attacked the GRC meeting.”

“What?” You’d asked, disbelief and uncertainty flooding every sense.

She switched on the television in the conference room you’d been working in, and there it was. Live footage was being streamed from just a few blocks away. Your heart leapt in your throat as you saw panicked masses streaming from the building, their faces illuminated by the flashing red and blue lights of surrounding first responders.

“I have to go,” you breathed, whirling on your heels.

“What? You can’t go down there, it’s not safe!”

“I used to be an Avenger. I can’t not fight.”

“But—”

Her words were cut off as the door swung shut behind you. You’d given back your weapons when you’d taken this job. Hung up your tactical suit, now collecting dust in your closet. You were dangerously out of shape, finding solace and distraction in your work instead of honing your body.

You regretted it now.

Police officers had already surrounded the building. As you tried to force your way past them, they held up their arms to stop you.

“We’ve sealed the building for your protection, ma’am. Please return inside.”

“No, you don’t understand. I’ve helped during these kinds of attacks before, it used to be my job—”

“That’s all well and fine, but we have it under control.”

“You’re not hearing me, I can help—”

“We’re under direct orders to keep everyone in the building.”

Damn them. As mad as you were, you knew they had a point. It was a well-known fact that the Stark Relief Foundation worked directly with the GRC to try and provide relief. It didn’t matter that you actively tried to sway them toward helping people rather than go with their avoidance tactics; mere association made this building and everyone in it a target.

“Okay,” you sighed, giving in, “just keep us updated. Call me directly.”

You handed them your business card, and the officer widened his eyes as he saw your very recognizable name.

“Wait, are you—”

Yet another person’s words were cut off by your impatience, heading right back inside and up to your office.

***

You’d spent the night glued to the news along with the rest of your floor.

The pops of gunfire and the roar of explosions echoed off the buildings, the sound carrying up to your conference room on the 32nd floor. Every sound mocked you. You used to be the first to charge into the fight, fighting with everything you had to protect your team and anyone who happened to be in the line of fire. Watching and waiting was a new kind of awful.

It didn’t help knowing Bucky and Sam were down there on the front lines. You’d cheered with everyone else as Sam first appeared on camera sporting a new suit and holding the shield you loved so much. He’d accepted the heavy mantle of Captain America. Tears of joy streamed down your face as you watched him, the news cameras tracking his efforts as he flew around the city.

As much as Bucky tried to hide in the shadows, the news had captured him often enough throughout the night as well. Searing panic had captured you in a chokehold as he utilized his vibranium arm and super strength to wrench open the door of a burning van, saving everyone trapped inside. Pride didn’t even begin to describe what you felt as you saw someone shaking his hand, thanking him. If the Bucky you’d first met all those years ago could see this…he would never believe it.

You’d stepped away at that point, needing a moment. Needing the time to say something you should’ve said a long time ago.

Ducking into your private office, you quickly shut the door behind you and pulled out your phone. Bucky hadn’t returned your calls for a reason, you knew that. You knew he was busy saving the city, being the hero he was always meant to be. But you had to leave one last message.

“Bucky, it’s Y/n,” you started quietly right as the beep sounded, “I know you don’t wanna talk to me, and it’s okay. I understand. I’ll stop calling after this. I just wanted you to know…”

Your words choked off as tears spilled over your lashes, and you took a shuddering breath, trying to collect yourself.

“I…I want you to know how proud I am of you. How proud I am to know you. You had the courage to unlearn every hateful thing they forced into that beautiful, amazing heart of yours, and it makes me happier than I can say knowing you’re becoming the hero you were always meant to be.”

A sob forced its way from your lungs, and you fought to keep yourself under just enough control to finish what you called to say.

“I hope you’re happier, today. I don’t know anyone who deserves happiness more than you do. I miss you so, so much. I just…I hope you’re okay. If I never see you or hear from you again, I want you to know how much I love you. I never stopped.”

That last confession, the one about you loving him, that had been unplanned. It slipped out, but you couldn’t say you regretted it. Unplanned or not, it was true. It had been true this entire time you’d been apart.

***

The mission had been a success.

According to most, anyway. And for the most part, it had been. The Flag Smashers had been stopped. Sam had made an impassioned speech to the most powerful people in the world, saying everything they’d needed to have heard a long time ago. It had been the most formidable thing Bucky had ever seen. He was so proud to know Sam, to fight alongside him.

Karli had been the only casualty. Sharon had killed her, thinking she would’ve killed Sam if she hadn’t. Despite everything Karli had done, Bucky couldn’t help but feel unbound regret and sadness over her loss. She was just a kid, at the end of the day. A kid who had been through too much and was trying to make people listen the only way she knew how. If the GRC had just listened to people in the first place, maybe this wouldn’t have happened.

As Sam spoke to grateful New Yorkers who wanted a word with their new Captain America, Bucky pulled out his phone to check the time.

One new message. From Y/n.

Probably to chew him out for having extra police presence near Stark Tower. It had made sense strategically, but Bucky admittedly had selfish reasons for wanting that building sealed. Knowing Y/n, she would’ve charged right out into the streets to fight and help in any way she could. But he also knew from what Sam had told him that she hadn’t picked up a weapon in months. Hadn’t worked out in ages. If she went up against an enhanced Flag Smasher, they’d tear her to pieces. That couldn’t happen.

Trying to slow his racing heart, he held the phone to his ear.

“Bucky, it’s Y/n. I know you don’t wanna talk to me, and it’s okay. I understand. I’ll stop calling after this. I just wanted you to know… I…I want you to know how proud I am of you. How proud I am to know you. You had the courage to unlearn every hateful thing they forced into that beautiful, amazing heart of yours, and it makes me happier than I can say knowing you’re becoming the hero you were always meant to be. I hope you’re happier, today. I don’t know anyone who deserves happiness more than you do. I miss you so, so much. I just…I hope you’re okay. If I never see you or hear from you again, I want you to know how much I love you. I never stopped.”

He kept the phone pressed to his ear long after it ended. Tears were filling his tired eyes, slipping in unchecked streams down his grimy face. Bucky’s mouth, so used to scowling and grimacing, split into an earth-shattering grin. His heart soared.

Y/n was proud of him. She missed him. She loved him.

“Uh…what’s with the face?”

Sam’s bemused features materialized in front of him.

“How far is Y/n’s building from here?”

“What?” Sam asked, completely caught off guard. “It’s almost 3am, man. She’s asleep.”

“I don’t care, I need to go see her right now—”

“Whatever emotional epiphany you just had, you’re not gonna go bother that girl until you’ve had some damn sleep—”

“She loves me. Y/n still loves me,” Bucky interjected, giddiness making his voice jump around as he held up his phone, “she left me a message and told me.”

“Well fuck, that changes things.”

Sam texted Bucky her address as he sprinted off in the direction he’d pointed to, the exact building and apartment number coming in as he went. It was only a few blocks from where he’d started, and it took him no time at all to get there. Punching in the building code that Sam had given him, he didn’t slow down as he sped through the lobby to the elevators. He pressed the button for the 21st floor repeatedly until the doors opened, allowing him to hurtle inside.

Before he knew it, he was standing in front of her apartment. 2114. He didn’t even stop to think about it and was soon knocking harshly at her door. He flinched a little after he’d done it, hoping he didn’t scare her.

The door creaked open, revealing a very tired Y/n in wrinkled work clothes. Her y/e/c eyes went wide with shock, mouth falling open into a started ‘o’.

“I love you too,” Bucky panted, “I never stopped. I’m an idiot, and I’m so sorry for hurting you, I just—”

His words were cut off as Y/n cupped the back of his neck and pulled him in, kissing him softly. It was quick, barely even a peck really. She pulled back and looked at him, uncertainty swimming in her gaze.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” she gasped, “I can’t believe I did that—”

It was Bucky’s turn to cut her off. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her flush against him before kissing her back. He tried to pour all the passion, affection, and love he hadn’t been able to show her during these lonely months. He tried to explain without words how much he regretted the choice he’d made, and how he never planned on letting her go again.

Her hands, always seeming so small to him, reached up and tangled in his hair, slightly scratching at his scalp. He groaned aloud at the sensation, chills erupting over his body at the pleasure her touch gave him. Leaning back, she pulled him with her until they were over the threshold of her apartment. Bucky kicked the door shut behind him, effectively shutting out the rest of the world.

Just her and him. How it was always supposed to be.

Breaking the kiss for a moment, Bucky leaned his forehead against hers. He ran his hands over every part of her he could reach; her back, her hips, the back of her neck, up into her hair. He finally ended his trail as he cupped her face in his hands, caressing her cheeks with his thumbs. Y/n reached up and covered his hands with her own, rubbing the backs of them with her thumbs.

“I’m so sorry,” Bucky whispered, “I was so fucking stupid.”

“Yeah, you were,” she murmured, but her eyes held nothing but love as she looked at him.

“I know there’s a lot to talk about, and a lot to move past. The only thing I know is,” he took a breath, “is that I want to be with you. I want to give this another shot.”

“Bucky, you broke my heart,” she whispered, and his own nearly tore in two at the sight, knowing he caused that pain.

“I’ll never stop being sorry for that.”

“I know,” she nodded, “none of this is fixed overnight, but I meant what I said. Every word. I love you, and I want to be with you.”

“I love you,” he choked out, overwhelmed by her and everything that had happened tonight. He pressed another kiss to her lips, and he found he wanted to do this for as long as she’d have him. The rest of their lives, if she wanted. He knew he did.

She smiled at him, and he realized in that moment just how much he missed that smile.

“Go shower, superhero,” she smirked, “I know you’ve had a long night, but I intend to fall asleep with your arms around me. Can’t let you in my clean sheets with you all grimy, though.”

“That sounds incredible and all, sweetheart,” he laughed, “but I don’t have any clothes here.”

“Yeah, you do,” she replied shyly.

“Uh, no I don’t.”

“Yes, you do. I didn’t have it in me to get rid of some of your clothes, so they’ve been living at the bottom of my drawer. Still clean and everything.”

She giggled as he grabbed her face in his hands and kissed every inch of it he could reach, punctuating every single kiss with an ‘I love you’.

After a quick shower, he’d pulled on some boxers of his that she’d admitted to sleeping in once or twice. Bucky practically fell into bed, pulling her into him instantly. Burying his face in her hair, he felt at peace for the first in forever.

Bucky fell asleep that night with the love of his life in his arms, finally his again.

She was proud of him. She loved him. He was okay, all because he had her. Somehow he knew he always would.

***

[drwcn]

follow up to [post] exploring the crack au if lwj was a girl 

〒▽〒 ps im not trying to erase canon lwj representation, not at all, wangxian is mm in all my other fics, this is just stupid fun

in a ceteris paribus situation aka all other things staying equal: 

1) Lan Wangji 100% still has a resting bitch face, which probably would get her a couple of “Lan-er-guniang 美若天仙 (beautiful as an immortal/goddess) but would benefit from smiling more” comments but nobody is that desperate to die yet so, she’s spared. But damn... imagine the sheer number of thirsty boys who’d try to secure a marriage with LWJ. None of them is good enough for Wangji as far as Lan Xichen is concerned. Okay - maybe in Lan Xichen’s opinion, Nie Mingjue is good enough, but he couldn’t be less interested. I see her as I see Huaisang, Xichen please. 

2) Everything interaction between Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian in Wei Wuxian’s first life is now 500% more scandalous. 

Exhibit A) Their first meeting at the gates; Jiang Cheng immediately felt his spidey senses tingling.  —“You’d sooner have immortals flying out of your ass than get with someone like her. The second jade of Gusu? The pearl in old man Lan’s eyes? C’mon.”  —“Shut up, A-Cheng.” —“Uh-huh.”  —“Also, she’s not that pretty. Her brother Zewu-jun is much better. There’s a reason he’s ranked first.” WWX is still a disaster bi.  — “LMAO, you? Zewu-jun? Please.” 

Exhibit B) Just because LWJ is a girl does not mean WWX grew more brain cells. 

WWX, straight up to Lan Qiren’s face, “Lan-meimei and I - we’re zhiji.” (he means it like we’re kindred spirits, peas of a pod, etc)  LWJ: *does not deny* Lan Xichen: ⚆_⚆ Lan Qiren: ಠ╭╮ಠ

Exhibit C) Lan Wangji getting drunk the first time. Wei Wuxian knew he crossed a line the minute he invited Lan-er-guniang for a drink. Really, WWX, even for you, this is inappropriate. When Lan Wangji fell face first onto the table, Wei Wuxian knew, he fucked up. “Hey....hey...Lan....Lan...-er-guniang,” He poked her. “Don’t...don’t sleep here! You can’t sleep here! If your Uncle finds out or if Jiang-shushu finds out...they’ll skin me alive and then...and then they’ll make me marry you! I don’t want to marry you; you don’t talk and I’m too young!” 

WWX, being a dipshit, “Hey Lan Zhan, call me Wei-gege.”  LWJ, drunk as fuck, “Wei..gege.”  WWX *((( heart )))* ??? 

Exhibit D) The Cold Pond. Okay, so I don’t think Zewu-jun would sabotage his sister’s virtue by sending a stupid teenage boy her way while she’s bathing, but doesn’t mean Su She is above all that. Wei “I didn’t see anything I swear!” Wuxian. Lan “I will gouge out your eyes.” Wangji. Somehow they still end up in the cave. Maybe WWX got in the water after LWJ got out and got sucked into the vortex and LWJ heard the commotion, turned around, saw WWX had disappeared. “Wei Ying?!” A panicked LWJ jumps back into the pond, “Stop fooling around, come out!” 

Jiang Cheng and Wen Qing 👀👀 when LWJ and WWX fall out of the cave together. Also the fact that Lan-er-guniang and Wei-gongzi went missing, together, for two days. Who knows what could’ve happened. I mean anything really. I mean... that’s gotta stir the pot a little were it not for the Yin Iron stealing everyone’s attention away from this bit of juicy scandal. 

Oh the whole story... so much to work with, so little time. 

3) Because Lan Wangji is a girl, now suddenly there’s a high ranking member of the Lan Clan who can host the girls at Cloud Recesses. I mean, Mianmian, Jiang Yanli, Wen Qing, Lan Wangji - SISTERLY FRIENDSHIP. Other than Mianmian, none of the girls are really talkers which suits Lan Wangji perfectly. Even Mianmian’s chatter is endearing.

4) Lan Wangji is absolutely still a powerhouse during the Sunshot Campaign. The inherent aesthetics of fem!lwj telling the Wen goons to “kneel” - no one will deprive me of this.  Also she will still cut off your arm if you cross her - Xue Yang and Jin Guangyao ya better watch out still. 

I am TORN between two options: Lan Wangji tol and kickass or Lan Wangji smol and kickass. On one hand, the aesthetics of willowy elf-like LWJ, on the other hand, 5′2′’ of whoop ass who can and will throw an unconscious wwx over her shoulder firewoman-style and toll him to safety.  

And amongst other things: 

A) Lan Wangji still becomes Chief Cultivator, because excuse me who else is left to clean up this mess? Jiang “Short-fuse” Wanyin? Nie “I won’t do what I’m not intended to do” Huaisang? Jin “13 year-old” Ling? Or Sect Leader Yao?  Technically, being a woman means that she was never Lan Xichen’s heir, but at the end of it, it’s not like Gusu Lan is left with a lot of choices.  Just the poetic justice of Gusu Lan pleading for Lan Wangji to come back when she fully intends to 隐居山野 (retreat into the mountains) with the resurrected WWX.

Lan Wangji being Chief Cultivator would echo Lan Yi’s tenure and rectify the fact that Gusu Lan’s only female head of family “failed”. Lan Yi had to face a mountain of prejudice because she was woman; someone has to say “up yours” to that. A woman as not only the sect master of Gusu Lan but the Chief Cultivator? Love that for Gusu Lans. (⌐■_■) ☞ ☞

B) Because of ~ sexism ~ I wonder if Lan Wangji would get titled “Hanguang” at all even after the Sunshot Campaign. Even Lan Yi, the SL Lan of her time didn’t have a title. Chances are LWJ won’t either. (Note: Violet Spider is not a title, it’s a moniker). So — say after the way Lan Wangji is still just “Lan-er-guniang”, and she does not obtain the title “Han Guang” until after she leaves Cloud Recesses and become rogue. (srsly how did they come up with these titles in canon, did gusu lan just look at 21 year old lwj and be like yah he’s lord light bearer *cue trevor noah stand up joke* why do you call yourself “great” britain? isn’t that a bit presumptuous? shouldn’t you go around doing good things and then let other people come to the conclusion: oh britain look how great you are? same logic with lwj.) 

Lan Wangji, a Jade of Gusu or a nameless rogue, still goes where trouble is, helping those who need it. After laying low for a year or two to heal, Lan Wangji began night hunting. Donned neck to ankle in white silk and tulle, and a weimao (wide brimmed veil hat) obscuring her face, she became known to the people as Hanguang Sanren, the lightbearing wanderer. Gusu’s highest power probably has some idea who she is - or at least they can guess - but the vast majority of people don’t. 

C) Lan Sizhui raised by rogue Lan Wangji as his mum would be different. Still cultured, respectful, but definitely with an air of keeping others at arm’s length. 

For instance, grown-up Sizhui running interference and saving a cohort of gentry disciples on joint hunts.

Jingyi: 这人谁呀？Who is this guy? Zizhen: 多谢兄台搭救之恩，小可看您眼生，敢问兄台尊姓大名，何门何派，改日当登门拜访. Many thanks for saving us. I don’t believe we’ve met, pray tell what is your name and sect, so we may visit at a later time to thank you for tonight. Sizhui: 在下无门无姓 ，单名思追 。举手之劳不足挂齿 ，怎敢劳烦各位名门子弟答谢。My name is Sizhui, belonging to no family and to no sect. As for tonight - I only did what anyone would; it bears no mentioning and requires no thanks. Jin Ling: 你这人，看你工力不凡，想和你交个朋友，可你怎么遮遮掩掩的。Hey you, we see you’re a talented cultivator and want to make your acquaintance. Why are you so dodge-y? Zizhen：金陵 — Jing Ling - Sizhui: 若是有缘，还会相见。告辞。If it’s fated, we will meet again. Farewell.  

Later:  Jingyi: 思。追。 思追谁？Si. Zhui. To recollect and long for whom?  Sizhui: 母亲的一位故人. Someone from Mother’s past.  Jingyi: 你父亲？...Your father?  Sizhui: 我不知。I don’t know. 

I thought about how cute it would be if sizhui and jin ling knew each other but guys...Jiang Cheng literally thinks he killed Sizhui’s biological father. Like he literally thinks he orphaned Sizhui before Sizhui is even born. And Lan Wangji would never accept anything from Jiang Wanyin, not that it would stop Jiang Wanyin from trying. 

A package of books here, a new robe for Sizhui there. Lan Wangji doesn’t know how Jiang Cheng keeps finding her. She and Sizhui are nomadic.  

D) The inevitable conversation after wwx is revived. 

You know what would be funnier than Jiang Cheng thinking Sizhui is a wangxian baby is if Lan Qiren thinks Sizhui is a wangxian baby. 

[alj4890]

I have ask my lovely fanfic write! What if we get Liams POV when Drake and Riley are star gazing at Lythikos. It never really says what Liam was doing when all of this was happening. And we know his room has the best view so how could he not see Drake and Riley laying in the snow? I wonder how he feels knowing he can’t be the one she’s with.

You know, it would have been great if Liam, in canon, had a chance to ask about what MC did when out with Drake, Maxwell, or Hana. As incredibly sweet as he is, he had to have suffered with twinges of doubt and jealousy. I would have loved for him to mention Drake and the MC becoming nearly inseparable at Lythikos, especially after Drake being a jerk in the previous chapters. Here's my take on Liam's POV during that scene.

@gkittylove99 @krsnlove @kingliam2019 @texaskitten30 @yourmajesty09 @mom2000aggie @ofpixelsandscribbles @twinkleallnight @lodberg  @amandablink @neotericthemis  @mm2305 @sfb123 @iufilms

Masterlist

One Night in Lythikos

It had taken a while to finally break free of Olivia, but Liam managed to end her tour of her home by pleading exhaustion. He hated to do that to one of his oldest friends, but she was starting to act like their relationship was more than what it was. He didn't know how to gently break it to her that his own feelings remained unchanged since first meeting her at the age of six.

How could he possibly feel anything more for any of the ladies when a certain American continued to steal his heart?

Liam leaned against his bedroom door after bidding Olivia goodnight. He wished he could have returned downstairs to see Riley once more. Their few minutes of ice skating had not been anywhere near enough the amount of time he needed with her. His lips quirked into a fond smile as he thought of the glimpses he had seen of her with Drake snow skiing. Asking his best friend to look out for her had been the best idea he had ever had.

If he couldn't be with her all the time, at least he could rest easy in knowing she would be cared for by Drake and Maxwell. He couldn't think of anyone better for support and encouragement.

Maybe Hana. That particular lady had surprised him with her genuine sweetness. He was relieved that she was not a suitor who chased after him. After their cronut trip in the capital, he knew that Hana was nothing more than a friend and viewed him as such. He had no doubt that once he chose Riley that she would be a part of their close circle of friends. She had the ability, like Maxwell, to bolster their moods with kindness and a willingness to be of service.

He was thrilled that she and Riley had each other to help them through their first foray into Cordonian society. He had known most of his suitors his entire life and he sadly knew how catty and insulting some of them could be. Court life could be cut throat amongst the nobles. They rarely did anything without expecting something in return. Hana and Riley were both breaths of fresh air in his world. They were nice and thoughtful simply because it was who they were. He hoped once this was over that neither of them became jaded.

After stoking the fire in his fireplace, he poured himself a much needed drink, slipped his overcoat on, and stepped outside.

He walked past the hot tub and stood looking out over the snowy wilderness of Olivia's home. The quiet peacefulness reminded him how hectic his life had become these past few months. He missed his old life and the ease of being a spare to the heir.

He had never envied Leo's place in the royal line. All the expectations and pressures his brother had been under had worried Liam. So much of it was caused by Leo's rebellious nature, yet he knew his older sibling desired to do the right thing for Cordonia. He had tried to encourage him and help guide him towards what was needed from their future king. He had no idea that his efforts would be the central reason behind Leo's abdication.

Somehow, Leo had seen the king Liam could be before anyone else. It was perhaps the greatest compliment his brother had ever given him. Their late night walk though the capital had been eye opening. Once Leo placed the notion of Liam taking the crown in his mind, it felt right. It felt like he had finally found his purpose in this world of theirs. It felt like his destiny.

And now, as he stood there looking over this icy part of his kingdom, he felt the next part of his destiny seem to crystallize.

Riley.

Their meeting in New York followed by Maxwell seeing that the two were meant for something more than a chance encounter pointed at how special she truly was to Liam. Just the thought of her made him smile. The happiness he felt grow with every single moment spent near her was an unexpected delight that life had given him. It was as if she was his reward for not shirking his duty to his country and family.

Liam took a long sip as snowflakes began to fall around him. Flipping his collar up when a brisk breeze blew, he decided to go back inside for the night. He took one last look at the majestic mountains and took a step back. Movement in the valley caused him to pause.

His eyes narrowed as he tried to make out who was down there.

That's Drake.

He shook his head at his friend roaming the countryside without a coat on. Something must have happened to make him leave the manor without it. The man had always been a stickler with making certain one has the proper essentials when outside.

There was only one thing that Liam could think of to drive Drake into rushing out. He must have had a fight with a noble. Given the animosity between his friend and a certain duchess, he knew who had made the freezing temperatures more preferable to her hospitality.

"Drake! Wait!"

Liam froze at the sound of that particular voice. He immediately saw the woman he was unable to stop thinking of run through the snow.

"What are you doing out here, Brooks?"

What is she doing out here? More importantly, why is she chasing Drake?

"I wanted to see if you were okay." Riley replied.

Liam could tell just by Drake's posture that he was shocked. No one else in their lives had ever run after him to see what upset him.

Drake rubbed the back of his neck while speaking in too low of a tone for Liam to hear. The prince found himself leaning out over his balcony's railing, hoping to find out what they were saying.

His eyes widened when Drake pushed Riley down into the snow.

"Hey!" She yelled. "What was that--"

Drake fell back beside her.

Very close beside her.

"Yes, m'lady?"

Since when did Drake ever purposefully use m'lady?

"Drake, this is gorgeous!" Riley exclaimed.

What is gorgeous? What is going on?!

"There's nothing like a meteor shower, especially up here at this altitude."

Liam looked up and saw what they did. He had forgotten how often Drake and Savannah would chart and plan camping trips around these astronomical events. It had become a special time for the siblings once their father died.

And now he is sharing this with Riley.

An unusual feeling crept over Liam as he watched the two lay with their heads close together, pointing up at night sky. A bitterness intertwined with a growing anger that Drake got to do something like this with her. Something romantic.

If anyone should be enjoying this with Riley, it should be me! I'm the one she came here for! I'm the one who longs to simply see her smile. Drake has been cruel about her becoming a suitor. Why is he now being so nice? He got to spend the entire day with her while I was stuck with Olivia. Don't I deserve some part of Riley's time away from the court?

Liam couldn't believe his own thoughts and feelings. He had never been jealous of anyone before. Drake was more than just his best friend, he was family. Yet in this moment, Liam thought he could have easily banished him from the kingdom.

Guilt began to take over his frustration.

Why would I begrudge my best friend receiving kindness for once at court? No one gives him a chance or even an ounce of the respect he deserves. Riley has the ability to cut right through a person's outer appearance and see their true self. How could I selfishly wish to have that all to myself? I want the two people I care about the most to be friends. Don't I?

He watched as Drake stood up then reached to help Riley off the ground.

Is it my imagination or is he holding on to her hand a little too long?

Liam's eyes narrowed as they walked side by side back to the manor. At one point, Riley stumbled causing Drake to reach out and take her hand again.

"Can't have you hurting yourself out here." Drake told her. "The last thing I need is your death on my hands."

Riley's laughter drifted up to Liam.

"I think Bertrand might even be upset if that happened."

"Which is why we are going inside. Dealing with one Beaumont is hard enough." Drake added.

Is he...teasing her?

Liam lost sight of them as the pair headed for the front door.

He turned and headed back into his room, tossing back the rest of his scotch. Once inside, he tore his coat off and went to the fireplace. Bracing his hands on the mantle, he dropped his head forward while dealing with the new emotions flooding through him.

He needed to spend time with Riley. Not only for the sake of seeing what type of queen she would be, but he simply needed her. His mind went through possible activities they could do over these next few days.

Whatever I do, it has to be more romantic than what Drake did tonight.

That thought made his head jerk up. He stared at his reflection in the mirror above the mantle. Had he become a jealous man? Had Riley awakened this unknown part to his personality? Was he going to be petty enough to try and outdo what was most likely an innocent activity Drake had allowed her to take part in?

He honestly did not want to answer any of those questions. He doubted he would enjoy learning what kind of man he truly was.

He rubbed his hands over his face and turned back toward the balcony doors. His eyes fell upon the hot tub outside.

"I'll invite her to share that with me." He said softly.

Plans to do so and how to enhance the romance it presented began to form in his mind.

Liam knew he shouldn't feel this way, but he was bound and determined to make a memory for Riley be one of the two of them sharing an unforgettable romantic moment.

[stiltonbasket]

Stilton, I was the anon who said that Wangxian getting together before Nightless City would make canon events extra heartbreaking and now I know just how 💔💔💔💔 the Qiongqi Dao ambush became 😭. For a less angsty prompt, something from Wangxian's happy year at the Burial Mounds with A-Yuan

(brief note: this verse is entirely prompt-based, so please send in more prompts/reblog for more updates!)

Cloud Recesses, Gusu Lan to Yiling City

(care of Master Xie Yanling, addressed to Lan Wangji)

Didi,

   To address the problem you mentioned in your last letter, I think Wei-gongzi might have better luck with a Lan-made spirit-trapping pouch to cleanse your crops of resentment. Such mild resentful energy may not respond to Cleansing, and he mentioned that larger spirits keep answering whenever he uses Chenqing, so I think your only solution may be to pick out the resentment piece by piece. However, I know nothing about resentful cultivation, so you need not feel obliged to try it if Wei-gongzi does not agree, but I have enclosed a package of spirit-trapping pouches just in case. If you have no use for them, they can always be sold, or you can save them for night-hunts in the future.

  Please inform Young Master Wei that a delivery of twelve white-jade figurines will be coming with the next trader, and he will recommend a jeweler in the next town whom you can sell them to. I regret to say that we still do not have enough silver to spare, but I have nearly half of my future bridewealth left, and there is no better use for it than to aid my brother and my future brother-in-law. Write to me at once if you need anything, and give my best to Xiao-Yuan!

  All my love,

     Xichen.

Lan Wangji finishes his brother’s letter with a soft smile on his face, taking out the silk spirit-trapping pouches to show to A-Yuan before putting them back into their box. He has not been back to the Cloud Recesses in over six months, though he warned no one of his departure before he left; he came to see Wei Ying and bring him news of his sister’s engagement, and then he ended up staying the night before Wei Ying asked him to live at his side, and be with him always.

It was never a choice, in the end. Lan Wangji would have chosen Wei Ying over his own fated zhiyin, even before his soulmate died on that horrible day in Heijian, so choosing Wei Ying over his sect and his family takes only a split second.

Together, the two of them have transformed the Burial Mounds into a home. Lan Wangji is no stranger to hard labor, and Wei Ying’s stubborn resolve could outstrip Shufu’s even at its weakest, so they went to work together and wrangled the resentment-ridden forest into a line of neat potato fields, chopping down the trees for firewood and long sections of log for houses. Not long after that, the Wens were all able to go to their own warm homes every night, and dine on large bowlfuls of rice and potatoes and turnips every day.

And what the Burial Mounds could not provide, they have ample money to pay for--because Lan Wangji sold his silver hairpiece in the village, and turned out all his emergency funds so that A-Yuan could keep his little stomach full of all the rich beef and vegetable stew a baby of two could want. During his last monthly check-up, Wen Qing was so pleased with his progress that she actually praised Wei Ying for it, and Wei Ying himself is growing strong and golden-skinned in the fields, so that he can wrestle with Lan Wangji in the evenings for A-Yuan’s entertainment and push the market wagon alone instead of relying on Wen Ning.

I am happier here than I ever was in the Cloud Recesses, Lan Wangji thinks, blushing like one of Sishu’s ripe tomatoes as Wei Ying breezes by with a shovel and kisses the top of his head. You have given me the world, my heart, and you said you had nothing to give!

“Oh?” Wei Ying teases, making Lan Wangji blush even harder at the realization that he said that last aloud. “When did I say I had nothing to give, hmm? Who was it that combed your hair and cooked spicy porridge for you last night?”

“It was you, my heart,” Lan Wangji acknowledges, folding his brother’s letter back into its envelope. “And if I were not a cultivator, I would have spent the morning having runs in the latrine.”

Wei Wuxian throws his head back and laughs. “But Lan Zhan, A-Yuan ate it too! And he was fine, wasn’t he?”

“I ate his share for him.”

Wei Ying pouts at this, and continues to pout until Lan Wangji kisses him a few times to make him smile. “What did Zewu-jun say?” he wonders, trying to catch his breath when Lan Wangji pulls away for a moment. “Is he well? What about Lan-xiansheng?”

“They must both be doing well, or Xiongzhang would have told me,” Lan Wangji assures him. “But he suggested the use of spirit-pouches to make the lotus seeds safe to eat. Shall we try it tomorrow?”

“Aiyah, I can’t believe I didn’t think of it!” Wei Ying cries, striking his fist with his palm. “We can’t get the traces of resentment in the crops to listen without holding everything else back, so we’ll have to clear the plots one at a time.”

Suddenly, he frowns and glances at Lan Wangji’s belt. “I don’t know if one pouch will be enough, though,” he mutters. “How old is yours, xingan? They have a ten-year lifetime, don’t they?”

“Three years, I think. But Brother sent a box of new ones, so we should have plenty to experiment with.”

“A-Yuan wants!” their son complains, plucking at Lan Wangji’s long skirts before reaching up for Wei Ying in a silent plea to be carried. “Give pouch, please?”

“You can have a pouch when you’re older,” Wei Ying tells him. “For now, A-Yuan should listen to Xian-gege and go take a nap. It’s too hot for little radishes to be out without a hat.”

Wen Yuan sulks all the way to the Demon-slaughtering cave, and then through the lullaby that Wei Ying hums to him, but he falls asleep without a fuss just as Lan Wangji gets up and puts away his qin.

“Lan Zhan?” his beloved asks, drawing a light blanket over A-Yuan’s shoulders. “Can I ask you something?”

“Hm?”

“You wrote A-Yuan’s lullaby, didn’t you?” Wei Ying is watching him through half-lidded eyes, whirling his dizi between his fingers, and Lan Wangji freezes in shame at the implication. “It’s a love song.”

It takes all the strength in his body to nod and keep fastening Wangji back into its case as if nothing were the matter. “En.”

“It’s a love song for me.”

His voice is rougher now, he thinks.

“Yes.”

“You sang it to me in the Xuanwu’s cave,” Wei Ying murmurs. “It was mine back then, too. But Lan Zhan, your soulmate--before the war, she must have still been--”

“My zhiyin was alive then,” Lan Wangji says heavily. “And I mourn them still. But the song was named Wangxian from the moment of its birth, and I wrote it not long after you left the Cloud Recesses. My betrayal will forever be the greatest shame of my life, but I chose you even then, and I do not regret it.”

Wei Ying begins to tremble. “What would you have done if you had the chance to meet her?”

“Loved you anyway,” he whispers. “What could I have done, if not that?”

It was you from the beginning, he wants to say. Wei Ying, it’s always been you.

It was Wei Ying when he tried to force his way past Lan Wangji at the gates of the Cloud Recesses, and Wei Ying when he put a volume of longyang into a book of Lan An’s poetry, and Wei Ying even when Lan Wangji’s soulbond was singing with his zhiyin’s happiness. For no matter how wrong it might have been, and how uncouth, and how much of a betrayal, Lan Wangji has never wanted another; and if he ever met his soulmate, he would never have been able to love her as he loves his chosen beloved.

Suddenly, he realizes that Wei Ying is crying, and then he buries his face in Lan Wangji’s neck and sobs.

“I thought it was only me,” he gasps. “All this time, I’ve been in mourning--but wearing this sash feels like a lie when I’m with you, and I didn’t dare take it off, but--”

“Then take it off,” Lan Wangji urges, with his own eyes full of tears. “None here will judge you, Wei Ying, least of all me!”

And then Wei Ying kisses him for what feels like hours, until the sun is low in the sky and Wen Ning comes calling after them for dinner--and then Lan Wangji takes Wei Ying in his arms and kisses him in return, for they are wholly each other’s now, and Lan Wangji will never leave him again until the end of their days.

[kjack89]

Belle Épitaphe

Because this post has lived rent-free in my head for the past six years :’)

Happy Barricade Day, y’all!

ExR, canon compliant(ish) soulmate AU.

As was not uncommon, Enjolras’s parents hosted a party for him when he turned sixteen. Not quite a debut into society, it was instead an opportunity to gather and to wait for the words that would appear on his skin, just as they did on all upon reaching one’s sixteenth birthday.

The words would indicate his soulmark: the last words that his soulmate would ever speak to him.

It was an old tradition, the gathering for the words, dating back as long as any could imagine. But where once an entire village might gather to pray for good words, for words that revealed a name, or clue, of his soulmate’s identity, now it was more a formality to see if his parents need wait for a specific person to marry him off to, or if easier arrangements could be made. Now, instead of praying for a name, his parents – and more than a few young ladies from surrounding houses – hoped for vague words that could be uttered by anyone.

Enjolras hated every minute of it, dressing in uncomfortable, fancy clothing and pretending to make polite smalltalk with all of his parents’ friends. But most of all, he hated the very idea that some words that appeared on his skin might bind him to someone without his – or their – consent.

No matter how unlikely their meeting one day might be.

So he alone did not celebrate when he felt the words sear against his wrist; he alone did not hold his breath as he twisted his arm around to see the words that stood out starkly against his pale skin.

“Do you permit it?” his father read aloud for the assembled crowd, and his mother let out a small, delighted gasp.

“Such romantic words,” she told Enjolras, holding onto his other arm with both hands. “Think of what kind, loving wife will utter those words at the end of your long life.”

There was nothing Enjolras would rather imagine less.

And as he glared down at the words that had appeared on his arm, he vowed silently that he would never allow any to get so close to him as to say those words in any kind of final parting.

----------

It was, bluntly speaking, an easy vow to make and a far easier one to keep than Enjolras had at first anticipated, in no small part because he escaped from his parents before they could force him into anything resembling a courtship. Once he was in Paris, once he was surrounded by like-minded youths, he felt no need to give literally any thought whatsoever to soulmates, to soulmarks, or to the last words fate had destined someone to speak to him.

It had long since fallen out of fashion to endeavor to search for one’s soulmate, so it was not something of which most young men spoke, save in – gently or otherwise – mocking the lovelorn among them. How many times had Courfeyrac sighed and made an excuse for his errant roommate, telling them, “You really must forgive Marius; he is looking for his soulmate, after all”? 

It was something to roll one’s eyes at, if the subject even came up at all.

And around Enjolras, whose sole concern could be best summed by those three words liberté, égalité, and fraternité, it very rarely came up.

He may well have gone to his grave without ever giving it another thought, were it not for a casual utterance by someone he knew not at all.

When the barricades arose, Enjolras was filled with conviction, even more so than what usually filled him, conviction and righteousness enough to displace what little patience he had for things not associated with the Cause for which he had pledged his life, and very likely his death.

Which was perhaps why his temper soured so quickly upon hearing the latest of Grantaire’s many drunken soliloquies. Usually he could block them out, or ignore them as he tended to more important things, but standing on the crest of the barricade, facing down what was to come, he could not find it in himself to ignore it, or Grantaire.

“Grantaire,” he shouted, “go get rid of the fumes of your wine somewhere else than here. This is the place for enthusiasm, not for drunkenness. Don’t disgrace the barricade!”

Had he known what effect his words would have on the man, he might’ve tried shouting at him sooner. Immediately, Grantaire sobered, something Enjolras couldn’t quite read softening his expression. “Let me sleep here,” Grantaire said, almost gently, and Enjolras shook his head, already turning away.

“Go and sleep somewhere else.”

But Grantaire did not turn away, and something in his voice kept Enjolras rooted to the spot where he stood. “Let me sleep here—until I die.”

Anger welled in Enjolras’s chest as he stared balefully at Grantaire. When so many would doubtlessly lose their lives in service of freedom...what right did Grantaire have to use death as a bargaining chip, there of all places?

“Grantaire, you are incapable of believing, of thinking, of willing, of living, and of dying.”

He knew the words were harsh even as he was speaking them, a cold pronouncement of Grantaire’s character. But if Grantaire seemed affected by them, his expression did not show it. Only his tone seemed affected as he told Enjolras, his voice low, “You will see.”

He mumbled something more, something incoherent, but Enjolras was saved from having to decipher what else the man might possibly have said to him, but Bahorel shouting, “Here’s the street in its low-necked dress! How well it looks!”

And then Enjolras’s returned to the barricade and directing the efforts of the newest recruits who had arrived just as the rain stopped. They were a motley assortment of troops, but still Enjolras called each comrade as he gave out instructions.

As he paused near two men arranging a table on its side against the barricade, he could not help but overhear a snippet of their conversation. “I am confident we will survive this,” one said with a grunt as he shouldered the table into place. “After all, my wife did not utter the words marked on me before I left this eve.”

“Strange,” his companion said. “Your wife said the words marked on me when I left her this eve.”

The first man guffawed and shoved his companion with the camaraderie many of their number shared, their jokes about bedding each other’s wife continuing as they headed in the opposite direction, and Enjolras just shook his head before returning to the task at hand.

That should have been the end of it, an offhand joke shared between brothers at arms, but instead, the thought of the last words he might speak or hear stuck with Enjolras, even as the barricade was completed, even as they lost Prouvaire, even as they discovered the spy among them.

He endeavored to put it out of mind, and succeeded in ignoring it until they finally all settled in for the night. Then and only then did the thought begin to twist, low in his stomach. Especially when he thought of what he had said to Grantaire.

To say that Grantaire vexed him was a vast understatement; Grantaire vexed, irritated, confounded, and infuriated him. And yet for all his drunken ramblings and professions of belief in nothing, for his interruptions and distractions, for the way he had offered once to black Enjolras’s boots and for his failure to complete the one task Enjolras had ever deigned to assign him, Enjolras had never once been able to bring himself to send him away.

Not until that night.

And now, as he tried to get what little sleep he could in the shadow of the barricade as they waited for what battle was to come, he felt something like guilt seep through him.

He had not meant it, what he had said to Grantaire, and he knew better than most that the chance of them both surviving the barricade was not high. As much as he had never wished to care about the last words he said to any, the thought that those were the last words Grantaire might ever hear from him was unbearable.

After everything, he owed Grantaire a better farewell than that.

Mind made up, Enjolras stood to return to the Corinthe. The motion woke Combeferre, who had settled nearby. “Enjolras?” Combeferre asked quietly. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Enjolras assured him. “There is simply something that I must do.”

He could not quite make out Combeferre’s expression in the darkness, but he knew him well enough to guess what look he might wear. “The best thing for any of our number right now is sleep,” Combeferre said. “And to let those already asleep continue so undisturbed.”

“And if the last words I said to you were in anger, would you sleep undisturbed?”

There was a challenge in Enjolras’s voice, but Combeferre did not rise to it. “Had I drunk that much wine, I imagine so,” he returned instead. “There is but one thing Grantaire would wish to hear from you, and as you cannot offer that, it is best to let him sleep.”

“Perhaps,” Enjolras said. “But still I must try.”

If Combeferre made any further argument, Enjolras did not linger to hear it, instead slipping into the Corinthe and making his way to where Grantaire still lay with his head against the wooden table, fast asleep. Despite what Enjolras had said to him, his expression looked almost serene in the dim light, and Enjolras hesitated for a moment before shaking his shoulder. “Grantaire,” he said, his whisper sounding overly-loud as it pierced the silence. “Grantaire, wake up.”

Grantaire’s eyes blinked open, and he stared, unfocused, at Enjolras for a moment before his vision cleared enough to recognize the man half-kneeling beside him.

Then, to Enjolras’s surprise, his eyes widened in horror. “No!” he half-shouted, scrambling backwards from Enjolras and almost falling out of his seat. “No, no, please—”

“Grantaire—” Enjolras started, concerned, but Grantaire shook his head wildly.

“Do not speak to me, I beg of you,” he pleaded, and Enjolras frowned.

“I must,” he said firmly, and Grantaire let out what sounded almost like a whimper, covering his face with his hands. “Grantaire, please, you must let me say this. The words I last spoke to you – I would not have my last words to you be in anger.”

Grantaire lowered his hands, looking at once very sad and very tired. “But you must,” he said, sounding more sober than Enjolras had ever heard him. “Those words were the best gift you have ever given me.”

Enjolras’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What are you—” he started, breaking off when Grantaire turned suddenly, and yanked his shirt up to show Enjolras his back. “Grantaire, what—”

Again he broke off, but this time not in confusion. He broke off in recognition, seeing the words he had spoken reflected back at him from where they were marked on Grantaire’s skin. Almost without meaning to, he raised his hand to trace with trembling fingers the words he had shouted earlier. “Grantaire,” he whispered, though he knew not what to say after that.

Grantaire flinched, just slightly, at the sound of his name, and Enjolras pulled his hand away as if he had been scalded. “So,” Grantaire said, lowering his shirt after the silence that stretched between them had turned uncomfortable. “Now you see.”

Enjolras shook his head slowly. “I do,” he said, “but I also do not. Those are my words, but they are not the last that I will have spoken to you.”

“Apparently not,” Grantaire said. “Though how I wish that they were.”

“What do you—” For the third time in as many minutes, Enjolras broke off as realization hit him. “Because if they had been, I would be your soulmate.”

Grantaire couldn’t seem to meet his eyes. “Long have I imagined what it would be like to hear those words,” he murmured, so quietly that Enjolras could barely hear him. “What might my soulmate be like, to have such harsh words be the last spoken to me? But then I met you, and I knew, if there was any from whom I could hear those words fall off his lips and have them be sweeter than any confession of love…”

He trailed off, and Enjolras bowed his head, his chest feeling tight. He could not pretend that he had been fully unaware of the way Grantaire looked at him, or spoke to him, but to have it confirmed like this was more than he thought he could bear. Especially now, with those words between them and so little time left. “So when I said them earlier…”

“I knew that if I were to die, it would be worth it to know that you were my soulmate.”

Grantaire delivered the words evenly, even as Enjolras looked away. “I am sorry,” he said finally. “For what I said, and for all I have said after if I have ruined what peace you found.”

“May I ask one thing of you?”

Enjolras glanced over at him. “If it is again to black my boots…”

Grantaire barked a laugh. “No,” he said. “I wish to know what words are marked on your skin.”

Enjolras hand flew almost immediately to the words on the inside of his arm, and he rubbed them subconsciously. “I am not certain what good it would do now,” he hedged. 

“Perhaps none. But that does not change the fact that I wish to know.”

Enjolras hesitated before bowing his head in acquiescence and rolling his shirtsleeve up until the words were revealed, as dark and imposing as they had been when first they had appeared so many years before. He thrust his arm toward Grantaire, who bent his head to read the words silently to himself. Then he straightened and met Enjolras’s eyes. “I have seen the problem.”

Enjolras frowned, rolling his shirtsleeve down again. “What problem?”

Grantaire nodded toward his arm. “I’ve once asked you for permission to do anything.”

Enjolras laughed, a sharp, surprised sound. “I suppose not,” he agreed.

“And I doubt that even now I shall suddenly start.”

“Again, I suppose not.” Enjolras hesitated. “I have never given much thought to my soulmate, even to the idea in general. What good is a soulmate found only at death? My concern is with the rights of the living. Including the right to never find their soulmate if they do not wish.”

Grantaire’s eyes flew to his. “I would never dream—” he started, but Enjolras shook his head.

“I know,” he said softly. “And yet, there is a part of me that now hopes that I will not go to my death without hearing you say those words.”

He would never know what possessed him to say it – undoubtedly, the same instinct that had driven him to wake Grantaire in the first place, the same instinct that had stopped him from removing Grantaire from their meetings all these years, the same instinct that drew them together when they were the last two in the Musain late at night. It was that same instinct that made him painfully aware how close they were even then, and how little effort it would take to close that space and press his lips against Grantaire’s.

But he was saved from that instinct by Grantaire saying, quietly, “I am sorry.”

Enjolras blinked, confused by the apology. “What for?”

“That I will never speak those words.”

“Even if I were your soulmate, I don’t think I could ever bring myself to.” Grantaire gave Enjolras a small, sad smile, and the breath seemed to catch in Enjolras’s throat. “To utter the words that would sever us...if those are the last words that I am to speak to you, then I would rather be struck dumb than speak our last.”

This time, when Enjolras again felt the instinct to close the space between them, he did not fight it, leaning in to kiss Grantaire. Grantaire was frozen for a brief moment before melting against Enjolras, curling one hand in Enjolras’s shirt and pulling him even closer. Enjolras reached up to cup Grantaire’s cheek, kissing him desperately, the weight of the moment leaving him wishing he could stretch the kiss into infinity.

But all too soon, he knew he had to pull away, to end the moment, because he knew Grantaire would never have been able to bring himself to. “I love you,” Grantaire told him, his hand still balled in Enjolras’s shirt, and Enjolras covered his hand with his own, squeezing his hand gently.

“I know.”

“Will you do one more thing for me?” Enjolras did not answer, just looked at Grantaire expectantly, and Grantaire swallowed, hard, before asking, a little hoarsely, “Will you say them again to me?”

Enjolras knew instantly that he meant the words he had spoken earlier, the ones written on Grantaire’s skin. “Grantaire—” he started, the name sticking in his throat.

“Please.”

Enjolras released Grantaire’s hand. “I cannot,” he said softly. “They were needlessly cruel then, and unspeakably so now.”

Grantaire just lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Perhaps,” he said. “And yet, I am asking you to.”

Enjolras tilted his head, trying to read Grantaire’s expression. “Why?”

“Because hearing you speak those words again…I will go to my death with a smile. It is all I have ever wanted, to hear those words from you. And I beg of you the chance to hear them again.”

Again, Enjolras’s chest felt unbearably tight. “Grantaire—”

“I have been resigned to my fate for longer than you could ever know,” Grantaire told him, though there was no resignation in his expression. Just something as close to hope as Enjolras had ever seen there. “Will you not do me this last kindness?”

“Grantaire—”

Grantaire’s expression did not flicker. “One way or another, I die with this barricade. So I beg of you, let me die in peace knowing, for however brief, that you were mine.”

For the third time, Enjolras said his name, but this time, it was not to deny him. “Grantaire—” He could barely speak around the lump in his throat, but he knew he must. He owed Grantaire this much. “You are incapable of believing—” Grantaire’s eyelids fluttered closed and Enjolras could not help himself, reaching out to again touch Grantaire’s cheek, his fingers so pale against the flushed skin. “—of thinking, of willing, of living—” His voice broke, and Grantaire opened his eyes and reached up to lay his hand over Enjolras’s, turning his head to press a kiss, featherlight, against Enjolras’s palm. “—of dying.” 

They stayed like that for a long moment until Grantaire let go of Enjolras’s hand. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Now go. And if the Lord is kind, I will see when I wake.”

Enjolras bowed his head and swallowed, hard, before nodding, just once, and retreating from the Corinthe without speaking another word.

It was done.

And he had a battle to prepare for, one he hoped would make him forget how much, in that moment, he wished to hear Grantaire say the words marked on his own skin.

----------

It was fitting, in a twisted sort of way, that Enjolras found himself back there, not even twelve hours later, backed into a corner with the barrels of twelve guns aimed at him. 

They had offered to bandage his eyes, but Enjolras wished to stare down his death with what defiance he had remaining. He lifted his chin as the sergeant repeated his order, “Take aim!”

But then, another voice shouted from beyond them, a voice that Enjolras knew, a voice he had resigned himself to never hearing again: “Long live the Republic! I am one of them.”

There were no words that Enjolras could muster as Grantaire crossed the room to stand next to him, but he did not need any. 

His words to Grantaire would be his last. For whatever peace it might bring both of them.

“Finish up both at one blow,” Grantaire said to the sergeant before turning to Enjolras.

As their eyes met, Enjolras understood, finally. Romantic, his mother had called the words on his arm, because she had envisioned them said by a doting spouse at the end of a long life. But she could never have imagined how much more beautiful they would be when spoken by someone he had not realized until too late was the one person who could ever have been his soulmate, the one with whom he would die in service of the idea of freedom for all men.

“Do you permit it?” Grantaire asked. The first, last and only time Grantaire had ever asked his permission. The only time he had ever needed to.

And Enjolras wordlessly pressed his hand with a smile.

[davids-cartoon-corkboard]

Here’s the final part of the “Raph is a system” theory compilation post! It’s the last of what I can scrape up from canon; while I still have ideas on how it might loop back into character interactions and plot and so on, they’re much more speculative in nature. (Part 1 is here) (Part 2 is here) (You’re reading Part 3)

---

"Red” is the alter with the least screen time, so it took a while for me to connect the dots on when and why he formed.

His shadowed face, the dramatic background music when he speaks, and his seriousness are reminiscent of the “brooding on rooftops in the rain while gloomily staring off into the distance” thing that Raphs throughout the franchise will do sometimes. That’s easy to poke fun at on a superficial level because most of us look back on our edgy phases with self-deprecation, but it’s a lot less funny in the context of the life he lives. Being a normal human teenager in normal human society is a fucking nightmare; being a mutant teenager who has no idea what to expect in terms of development or lifespan, only five people he can safely interact with ever, and a very limited future hiding from everyone else for as long as he lives has got to be just awful.

RR’s few lines in “Pizza Puffs” tell us a lot. “It’s the only way they’ll learn” and “this is for their own good” suggest that he formed when the turtles started exploring more of the sewers and going aboveground, and Being The Leader became more of a responsibility. A thousand new ways for them to get in trouble meant a thousand new ways Raph would have to bail them out, and that got old fast- especially since they didn’t have April’s knowledge to help them in the beginning. I doubt they met her the very first time they left the sewers. The wiki says April knew the boys for five years as of “Mystic Mayhem”, so they would have been nearly eight at the time, perhaps the mental equivalent of a ten- or eleven-year-old human.

A while back I sifted through all the eps with Raph in them in the vague hopes that “Pizza Puffs” wasn’t the only episode featuring RR... and lo and behold, I found something! The shadowed face and dramatic background music are also present in “Minotaur Maze”!

“I can’t do it. I got no mystic mojo. I’m useless.”

“Hey, that’s not true, brother. You just gotta believe in yourself, and know this: If I die in this maze, I will haunt you for the rest of your life.”

(I know that’s only two data points, but y’all canonically cannot scoff at me.) RR shows up when HR is no longer able to tolerate the bullshit at hand. “I’m not going to baby you Leo, get your shit together before your ego kills us all” was a reasonable response to nearly being shish-kebab’d.

“Pizza Puffs”, on the other hand... LDM pulled through in the end, but that RR got HR to stay behind added an unnecessary level of risk. Getting his brothers to learn a lesson should have waited until after the giant mutant cannibal had been dealt with and they were no longer poisoned.

This hands-off “figure it out on your own” approach probably came from Splinter. I swear to Pizza Supreme In The Sky I’m not trying to shit-talk him, but his lack of involvement with his sons was a major flaw. Before all that character development he was terrible at things like “emotional support” and “life lessons”, leaving Raph without the blueprints to deal with a lot of problems. HR would respond by rushing in and figuring things out as he went, but sometimes RR would have to say “No, we’re maxed out and can’t deal with this, we’ve gotta step back”. As we’ve seen in other iterations, when Raph is maxed out and doesn’t step back...

...he goes too far. Plenty of folks have commented on how rarely the Rise turtles smack each other around compared to other versions; it’s telling that RR spoke up just a moment after HR smacked Mikey in “Pizza Puffs”.

Raph is much bigger and stronger than his brothers this time around, meaning such an outburst would have a much higher risk of Genuine Grievous Injury. And while his size and strength also mean a measure of gentleness has been baked into him since day one, there would still be times HR would feel himself boiling over and RR would head off somewhere quiet for fear of the above situation; which was potentially alluded to in “Hot Soup: The Game”.

“You went out on your own when you were his age.”

The context of “Man vs. Sewer” suggests Raph isn’t going to go off on his own without very good reason- such as cooling down before he does something he regrets. That this detail shows up in Casey’s debut episode suggests it is how they will properly meet and bond, since befriending Casey and doing vigilante shit with him is what usually gives Raph a way to blow off steam while having someone nearby to keep him in check. But that probably won’t happen until partway through season 3, since I doubt we can cram the rest of Casey’s redemption arc into the movie alongside the invasion and time travel trauma shenanigans and leader drama. So in the meantime RR will continue to brood on rooftops in bad weather and listen to Ephemerality songs and monologue to himself because he knows nobody’s going to hear him over the incessant background noise that makes up the cities above and below.

I was a bit stumped about how that meeting would take place- the events of the finale (and possibly also the movie) would no doubt have both the human and yokai populations on high alert, making it dangerous for RR to slip away for some peace and quiet. But the events of the finale also gave us some insight on Raph’s powers; he has a way to leave without actually leaving!

Hardlight Clone Jutsu, baby!

So whenever HR finds himself in a particularly sour mood, a wisp of power winds its way up through the open-air portion of the lair and forms into a clone aboveground. HR doesn’t have to leave for a while to cool down before coming back and dealing with the situation calmly, because RR is already on a rooftop somewhere dissipating those bad feelings by listening to the rain and/or yeeting trash cans.

But mutants can’t freely walk the streets of New York, and the Hidden City Police probably still have it out for Raph. And someone, hero or villain, will eventually realize that Raph has a gloomy stray clone running around and ask questions that can’t be answered without cracking open the can of worms that is This Whole Situation. RR needs to get creative. That we’ve seen clones have both full color and the basic red/white palette suggests their color could be altered in other ways; and that the holo-form grew extra arms in the lair fight vs. the Shredder suggests their shape could also be changed further.

So what will he choose to look like, if not his body?

Obviously he’ll use a red and black color palette because it slaps, leaning more towards black since I compared him to Batman back in Part 1. A low-detail design makes it hard to identify him, giving onlookers the impression that they just couldn't see him well in the dark. Mentally filing down his spikes and decreasing the curve of his shell are easy enough, but it takes him a while to figure out five fingers instead of three, and there’s not much he can do about his voice other than lowering the pitch so he just opts to not talk much within earshot of others. A cape further disguises his silhouette and again, it slaps. The impression of a mask means he doesn’t need a face and it lets peoples’ assumptions work for him. Humans are more likely to think he’s human than a Very Human-Shaped Mutant, and yokai come in so many shapes as is that he could be anything from a witch to a dehydrated googlyschmootz.

(You know how it is with franchises. Old patterns repeating in new ways.)

New York City never sleeps, and I doubt the Hidden City does either. He’ll run into Casey eventually, but in the interim he stumbles across and intervenes in some attempted purse-snatchings and kidnappings and the like. Most of the would-be victims use his arrival as their chance to escape, but one of them is too frozen with fear to move until their attackers are chased off into the dark. He escorts them home, and it’s only once they’re at their doorstep that they work up the courage to ask him who he is.

It’s... a difficult question, in more ways than one. “Raph” is out of the question. “Red” isn’t quite right, and neither is “Angel”- they’re a tad too identifying still, and the R.A.P.H. thing was HR’s idea anyway. So he shrugs, and melts away into the shadows.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m Nobody.”