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lloydskywalkers · 4 months ago

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moats and boats and waterfalls

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Post-Crystalized — after surviving apocalypse no. 2 (possibly 3, currently under debate) the ninja now face the unspeakable horrors of budgeting.

(Years late to the Crystalized party but here's part one of my seven billion fanfics about this season because there are Thoughts to be had about this one)

As it turns out, rebuilding a monastery is a whole lot more trouble than rebuilding the Bounty for the eightieth time.

And by trouble, Cole means incredibly expensive.

“Re-installing central heating costs what?!”

Kai’s horrified cry reverberates throughout the half-constructed monastery, the echo from the noticeably empty rooms only adding to insult.

Oh, what Cole would give to have his bed back.

“I guess we’ll have to use you during the winter,” Nya sighs, patting Kai on the back. “Lloyd, get ready to supercharge him.”

“Forget heating, do you know how much Wi-Fi costs?” Lloyd stares at the estimated summary like it’s personally kicked his pet. “Who even has that much money? God?”

“If god had money, he could’ve given Sensei Wu his inheritance and we’d all be loaded,” Jay mutters. “But noooo, ‘material possessions are the death of the soul’, blah blah blah, we’ll see whose soul is dead when the gas cuts out and he can’t make midnight tea anymore.”

“It does seem a bit extreme, looking at it all like this,” Zane remarks. Somewhat ironically, as he’s taken one look at the bill then wisely retreated across the room.

“Well, blowing up the entire monastery with us in it was extreme, so it figures repairs are just as bad,” Nya grumbles.

They all shift, the mood dampening at the reminder.

Lloyd opens his mouth. “I’m sor—”

“Do not,” Kai stabs a finger at him. “Even try.”

Lloyd slumps. “If I hadn’t gotten caught—”

“We all agreed to the plan, okay?” Cole says. “Also, no one knew we’d be sending you to Harumi, so the whole thing was doomed from the start.”

While he looks a bit miffed, Lloyd gives it up. Though perhaps that’s mostly in part because he desperately wants to avoid any more conversation about—

“So speaking of Harumi,” Jay starts.

Lloyd springs for the window.

Unfortunately for Lloyd, said window is currently boarded up by heavy-duty plywood, since quality window glass fell low on the list of priorities, which gives Kai plenty of time to tackle him before he can even raise his leg to kick it in.

“No!” Zane cries. “We can’t afford anymore plywood!”

“Or like, Band-Aids at bare minimum, so don’t you dare!” Nya adds.

“—overdramatic phase has gotta go, what are you, five — hey, no biting!”

Lloyd makes a muffled sound as he wrestles on the floor with Kai. Cole turns, very slowly, to glare at Jay.

“Oh come on, we were all thinking it,” Jay defends, reluctantly standing to help pry Lloyd from the floor. “Fine, hey, I promise we won’t talk about certain loser ex-princesses who are nice and cozy in their prison cells right now, okay? There, there, little gremlin, she can’t hurt you anymore—”

“I’ll bite you next,” Lloyd threatens, but he returns to his seat, wincing as Kai scuffs his hair.

“Turn Oni again, and that might be an actual threat.”

Lloyd startles terribly, staring at Kai with wide eyes. “That’s — not — I wouldn’t—”

“Kai,” Nya hisses.

“Woah, hey, no, I didn’t mean it like that!” Kai says quickly. “It’s supposed to be positive reinforcement! Easing it into a normal thing, y’know?”

Lloyd growls. “Nothing about this is a normal thing—”

“Except none of us are normal, so therefore it is,” Kai interrupts him smoothly. “Also we already loved you when you were a tiny demon, turning into a literal one is nothing. Give us some credit.”

Lloyd pulls his hood over his flaming face, thunking his head against the table. Kai pats him cheerfully on the shoulder.

“Additionally, unless we can swindle someone by selling Lloyd in his Oni form on the black market for cold cash before stealing him back, I don’t see how this helps matters.”

Zane finds himself on the receiving end of five blank stares. Lloyd, successfully having been pulled from his hood, whistles.

“I forget how evil you can be, sometimes.”

Kai gapes at him. “So that makes you feel better?”

“I mean, in terms of normalizing it—”

“Alright!” Cole slams his hands on the table, silencing them all. He glares them down. “Meeting room in five. We’re figuring out how to make this place livable if it kills us.”

There’s a brief silence, then Jay hesitantly raises his hand.

“Hey, so uh, we kinda don’t have a meeting room right now?”

Cole collapses on the table in despair.

---

Twenty minutes and one session of shoving chairs into what could have been the living room later — it’s hard to tell, with all the construction markings and plywood still up — they’ve kicked off the official first meeting of the Finish-Making-the-Monastery-Livable plan.

“Alright,” Lloyd announces, brushing his hands as he steps back from the chalkboard that may or may not have been stolen. “At the top of the list we have Wi-Fi, central air and heating, beds — huh, maybe those should go higher — running water, electricity — that one’s debatable, me and Jay can tag-team it if we get desperate — blankets-slash-pillows-slash-etcetera, stuff to cook with, actual food — y’know what, I’m putting that closer to the top—”

“So basically, we have nothing,” Cole says blankly.

Lloyd glances at the list, then to the sliver of chalk left in his hands. “Uh. Yeah.”

“Take the weaponry, sure, but all my albums?” Jay mourns. “I spent years collecting those.”

“I lost the blanket we stole from that super fancy apartment we lived in for like five minutes when Lloyd was a kid,” Kai sighs. “That thing literally made it through the apocalypse, just to bite it now.”

“Two apocalypses too many,” Nya says.

“Did the Preeminent count as an apocalypse? Like, a minor one?”

“Three apocalypses. It took three apocalypses to vaporize my closet,” Cole sinks lower in his seat. “Man, the hoodie you got me for my birthday was in there.”

“All of our photographs are lost, too.” Zane stares at his hands.

Lloyd murmurs something under his breath that sounds a lot like family pictures and figures.

The mood plummets a bit more, after that.

“Motherfu—”

“Alright, this isn’t helping,” Cole claps his hands. “We can all cry again later. Lloyd, overall mission status conclusion?”

“Well, like you said, we basically have nothing,” Lloyd sighs. “So unless Zane wants to stop chickening out and abandon his morals so we can just hack into everything and get it free, we need to find some way to pay for all this.”

“Again, I cannot hack in to rebuilding an entire cooling unit throughout the monastery, much less make the latest clothing line from Gucci materialize,” Zane says. Kai swears. “Also, that is called stealing.”

“You call it stealing, I call it a charitable donation,” Nya says. “I turned into the ocean for this city, the least they can do is cut me a check.”

“Besides, even if it is stealing, what are they gonna do, send us to jail again?” Jay scoffs.

Lloyd jabs the piece of chalk in his direction. “Don’t jinx us.”

“Too bad we wasted our chance at crime and didn’t even get rich,” Kai mutters. “All we got was Nya.”

He yelps as she punches him in the arm. “What, too soon?”

“You should be so lucky to have me,” she sniffs.

“Hey, but going on the donation thought train — do we know anyone who’s rich?” Jay asks. “Why don’t we have any rich friends?”

“Hey, you know what’s rich? That coming from the son of a billionaire.”

“Hey, you know what else got blown up? My inheritance!”

“Please, let it go,” Zane says. “We do have rich friends, I’ll remind you, we’re friends with actual monarchy. But we can’t exactly go and ask anyone else for money, since they all already helped out so much in getting the monastery rebuilt.”

There’s a moment of pensive silence. Lloyd draws a little sad face on the chalkboard next to ASK FOR DONATIONS.

“What if we just…sued Harumi,” Cole says. “Like, there’s gotta be some law that could work in our favor here.”

“I don’t think the court would go for that,” Lloyd mutters. “Since they’re all morally corrupt frauds who hate us.”

“Yeah! Down with the system!” Kai punches his fist in the air.

“Also, Harumi likely has very little in the way of money, either,” Zane says. “Considering she blew up any and all assets she might have had claim to.”

“Haha, what a loser,” Nya crows.

“What if we sued Garmadon?” Cole tries. “The courts have to hate him more than they hate us.”

Lloyd scowls, scrawling a large NO on the chalkboard. “Not worth the effort. Plus, I’m pretty sure he’s still couch-surfing at Vinny’s, which means also penniless.”

“We could sue Kalmaar,” Nya cracks her knuckles.

“Isn’t he dead?”

“Oh, yeah.” Nya looks disappointed.

“Did anyone survive that we can sue successfully?” Jay muses. “And actually get money out of?”

“Vangelis,” Cole snaps his fingers. “Wait. No, we ousted him from the throne, so he’s probably broke too.”

“Vangelis survived?”

As they dissolve into bickering over the status of enemies potentially living-or-dead, Kai squints at the chalkboard, where Lloyd is still scratching out letters despite having completely lost the room.

“We…are…fu—Lloyd!”

“Well it’s true,” Lloyd huffs, finishing off his message with a flourish. “Tada. There’s my grand plan.”

“That’s not a plan, it’s a pessimistic estimation at how things are gonna go.”

“It’s extremely rude language, is what it is! I thought we taught you better.”

Lloyd simply looks pleased with himself at having recaptured the room’s attention. It is, of course, then that Sensei Wu walks into that room. He stops, looking from where they’re all frozen in place, then to the chalkboard.

Lloyd pales.

Sensei Wu pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers and closes his eyes.

“My dearest nephew, you have three seconds to make that disappear, or I’ll be forced to—”

Lloyd springs for the chalkboard in record time, wiping frantically at his writing with the sleeve of his gi.

“People would kill for that thing, and here he’s using it as a chalkboard eraser,” Jay mutters.

It isn’t until later, when they’ve all retreated to the collective mass of blow-up mattress and borrowed blankets they’re calling a bedroom, that anyone breaches the topic again.

There’s a loud rustling as Cole turns over where he’s precariously shoved between Kai and Zane.

“…can we sue the mayor?”

There’s a noted pause of silence, only broken by the whirring of the cheap oscillating fan.

“You know,” Zane says slowly. “In terms of slander and defamation…”

An evil, sharp-toothed smile spreads across Lloyd’s face. “I like the sound of that.”

“Hey, let’s sue the new ninja, too,” Jay grins. “Can Pixal retroactively trademark our vibe?”

“You cannot sue them based on vibe appropriation.”

“Yeah, but I can sue them for impersonation.”

---

They cannot, as it turns out, sue the mayor, because legal work like that costs even more money.

They can, however, ruin his year by filing (and forging) every possible insurance claim under the sun, so they all walk out of the office a little more satisfied than before.

“I hope all your socks go missing in the laundry!” Nya yells toward the building as they hit the streets. “I hope you have a rock stuck in your shoe for the rest of your life! I hope you’re plagued with a mildly inconvenient headache every waking moment and never fully enjoy anything ever again!”

“Alright, alright, we’re getting looks,” Cole grabs her arm. “Let it go.”

“As much as I appreciate it, I am not going back to jail,” Jay shudders. “Twice was enough.”

Kai frowns. “Twice? When else did you get arrested?”

“We all did, re—” Jay cuts off, suddenly aware of the absolute daggers Nya is staring at him. “Uhhh…aw, snap, another mental breakdown, haha!”

“Is this the whole ‘we all have missing memories you guys are definitely hiding from us’ thing again? ‘Cause I swear—”

“I said I’m getting to it, it’s a really boring story anyways—”

“Didn’t you say you lost an eye—”

“Oh look, a window!”

This time, Jay is thwarted by Lloyd, who’s simply jumped out enough windows to recognize when someone’s about to try it themselves. Except Jay is aiming to jump inside a window this time, so they both go crashing into Pixal just as she joins them.

To her credit, she barely flinches. “I thought I heard clown noises nearby.”

Lloyd stares at her in such utter betrayal, the mental breakdown thing might become valid.

“Pixal,” Jay simply begs. “Please. Help your clowns scavenge our clown dinners.”

Pixel surveys them all, a fond smile tugging at her lips. “There is a nice pizza place down the block.”

The cheers she’s met with nearly succeeded at knocking her over where Jay failed.

Dinner that night comprises of actual, warm, take-out pizza, which nearly moves Cole to tears.

“Definitely changing the priorities order,” Lloyd says blissfully through a mouthful of cheese. “Food goes at the top, no questions.”

“Seconded,” Kai mumbles.

“Thirded.”

“Fourthed.”

“I cannot believe, that after everything we’ve been through, we did not qualify for the post-apocalypse discount,” Zane bites out.

“Well,” Jay says brightly. “Pixal hacked the card reader, so technically we got a hundred percent discount.”

Zane stares at her, in equally utter betrayal. “Pixal?”

She shrugs. “They can try to send me to prison. They will fail.”

---

Two days later, Skylor cements herself as everybody’s most favorite person in the entire world by not only saving them from starvation by demanding they sit their butts down in the restaurant and eat for free, but also donating six pillows and a year’s worth of shampoo.

“I know it’s not a lot, but I’m on the lookout for more,” she tells them. “I’ve asked other people to help chip in, too, so hopefully that’ll make things a little easier.”

“Skylor,” Cole nearly sobs into his new, beautiful pillow. “If Kai doesn’t marry you, I will.”

“H-hey!”

“No marriage necessary,” she snorts. “Consider keeping you all fed my way of saying thanks.”

“But you already helped out with the monastery,” Nya says, around the same time the rest of them assure her there’s no need for thanks, despite the fact that no one has the slightest desire to relinquish their food.

“Fine, then,” Skyler huffs, her cheeks turning pink. “Make me say it out loud, will you — consider it my way of showing that I care about you all. Very much.”

“Aww,” Lloyd says.

Kai makes a face somewhere between melting and heart eyes.

“I hate all of you,” she mutters.

“We love you too, Skylor,” Cole grins.

“Hate you!”

Despite her words, they all leave with six boxes of leftovers and free dessert.

This, of course, brings another slightly-pressing issue to mind.

---

They end up getting a refrigerator for a steal of a bargain, which is probably again influenced by Pixal’s criminal extremely generous activity.

Given how enthusiastic they all are about getting it installed, Kai is half-expecting there to be no work left for him at all by the time he returns from the food run.

He’s…not entirely disappointed when he walks into the kitchen, though he is rather baffled.

The room freezes as if on record-scratch. Jay is perched on top of the counters, Lloyd has a sledgehammer raised halfway in the air, and Cole is on the ground beside the refrigerator crying.

“What?” Kai asks, blankly.

“The fridge…doesn’t fit…” Cole moans into the floor.

“We didn’t leave enough space between the cabinets,” Jay informs him through a mouthful of gummy worms. “So the door can’t open.”

Kai looks at Lloyd. “So the sledgehammer is for…?”

“DIY home improvement,” he shrugs.

“Huh.” Kai glances at the cabinets. “Put some safety goggles on first, okay?”

Lloyd only gets about two swings in before Zane descends with the all wrath of the Ice Emperor and adds to the tally of times-the- Green-Ninja-almost-met-his-doom, but it’s fun while it lasts.

They were ugly cabinets, anyways.

---

While his love for his family could potentially fuel a nuclear power plant, Kai does grow tired of being the living team space heater rather quickly.

The effort of keeping his power going all night just gets annoying (and exhausting) — so by the time he’s tagged in Lloyd to use his power to keep him going, they’re up to two moody ninja short on sleep, and no one wants to deal with that.

While they’ve scrounged up a few dollar-store quality blankets, Jay takes the opportunity to highlight his accomplishments in arts-and-crafts.

“You mean your mom’s accomplishments.”

“Hey, we made it together! It counts.”

The it in question quickly gains the name “god-awful-t-shirt-blanket” simply because the blinding combination of all their cast-off shirts sewn together is impressively terrible.

“I still think this is a waste of good clothes,” Kai grumbles. “It’s not like we have outfits to spare these days, you know.”

“Do you wanna keep heating the room at night or no?” Nya threatens.

Kai quickly shuts his mouth and returns to sewing Cole’s old plaid shirt to one of Jay’s neon blue shirts that features a dolphin printed in enough colors to kill a man.

“So, what do we think?” Lloyd steps back, wiping at his forehead with his arm as he surveys their masterpiece.

Staring at the multi-colored mess they’ve patched together into a quilt, Nya announces, “It’s the ugliest blanket I’ve ever seen.”

“Harsh.”

“Hey, we did our best!”

“See if I ever sew for you again,” Lloyd huffs.

“I didn’t say that was a bad thing,” Nya quickly interjects. “It looks a little like us!”

“Are you saying we’re ugly?!”

“Nya, no, our family genes are enough to carry us through this, I promise—”

---

They’re in the middle of figuring out how to steal Wi-Fi from the government when Tox drops by, Karloff in tow.

“You really…need…to get an elevator…or something,” she pants, red-faced and sweaty as she hauls several large bags behind her.

In contrast, Karloff looks unfazed, casually toting a hideously floral-patterned sofa over his shoulder.

“Skylor mentioned you need furniture, no?” he says. “It’s not much, but you need somewhere to sit.”

“Karloff,” Jay tells him, very seriously. “This is the most beautiful sofa I’ve ever seen.”

“Haha! Karloff is right once again,” he brags to Tox.

Tox stares at Jay in flabbergasted despair.

“You can’t put that in your home,” she mutters. “You can’t. It’s a crime against eyes everywhere.”

“Well, it’s better than no sofa, and we’re literally turning down nothing these days,” Nya says cheerfully. She leans over to peer at the bags Tox has managed to drag up. “Speaking of…?”

“Oh, yeah.” Tox heaves the bags in front of her. “Skylor said you guys needed help interior decorating? So I brought a couple rugs. She also mentioned something about the ugliest blanket she’s ever seen, so we called up some of the other Elemental Masters and got like, six or seven together. They’re not exactly works of art, but they’re okay?”

Kai tears open the first bag, his eyes lighting up. “They’re beautiful,” he whispers reverently. “Hey, guys, we got blankets! Dibs on the one with a wolf.”

“Oh, no, not that one, it’s from my awful middle school phase—”

“What do you mean, dibs, I want the wolf one!”

“Oh yeah? Down to fight for it?”

“You’re on. Training ground in five.”

“Absolutely not, we are not fighting over a blanket we’ve been so generously gifted,” Zane snaps, snagging Kai and Cole by their collars.

“Yeah, we also don’t really have a training ground anymore,” Lloyd says, half-buried in a blanket embroidered with countless bug-eyed fish. “It went ka-boom.”

Nya rubs her temples. “Zane?”

“Already factored into the expenses,” he sighs.

“Oh wow, you guys weren’t kidding,” Tox says. “Do you want, uh, like a keychain? I have some mints here too I can donate…man, Karloff, help me out!”

“Does the monastery need a metal helmet?”

“We’re really not that broke,” Nya says hastily, pushing away the offered mints. “But thanks.”

“Speak for yourself.” Lloyd snags the mints, clasping his hands together in prayer at Tox before slipping back into the emerging blanket battle.

Nya sighs. “Do you guys want tea? We’ve got three whole mugs, now.”

Tox glances from the other ninja, where Jay has been successfully rolled into a blanket burrito and is in potential danger of being rolled right down the mountain, to Karloff, who’s the reason said danger is potential.

“We can spare a minute, I guess.”

The t-shirt blanket is later relegated to the living room, where it lives as a throw blanket over Karloff’s floral sofa. They unanimously decide it’s the perfect home for it, and the only real critic is Skylor, who’s almost reduced to tears the next time she visits.

---

They celebrate their achievement of having a living room by all eating dinner on Karloff’s floral-patterned couch. This comes with a good deal of kicking and squirming and the tragic loss of Kai’s fortune cookie, but they make it work.

“This is kind of depressing, though. Sitting in the dark,” Nya remarks.

A muscle in Jay’s jaw twitches. “Well, maybe if someone hadn’t melted all our candles—”

“You were the one who had the brilliant idea of trying to barbecue with them, genius!” Kai snaps.

“It was a pretty spectacular fire,” Lloyd admits. Then, hastily, “In a really cool way!”

“Perhaps a lamp should go next on the list,” Zane says. “Rather than relying on Kai as our light.”

“Hey, I’m a great light,” Kai scowls. “I’m the light of your life. I could light this place up all day!”

“Yes, and I’m sure it would end similarly to the time you nearly burned down a building under the belief that you were achieving your true potential, but were, in fact, just dehydrated.”

Kai gapes at Zane in betrayal. “You said you’d take that to the grave!”

Zane carefully laces his fingers together. “Technically, I did.”

“No you didn’t!” Jay interjects. “We never buried you, so you never had a grave! Ha!”

Zane looks affronted. “I didn’t get a grave?”

“You got a statue!” Kai quickly consoles .

“Yeah, what’d you want us to do, pick your exploded pieces out of the street for half a year then toss ‘em in the ground?”

“Oh, as if that’s any worse than being left to pour your corpse out in cups of water.”

“It wasn’t my corpse, I was still alive!”

“You were the literal ocean. Fish swam in you.”

“Ew, does that mean—”

“Finish that sentence and I will drown you where you stand—”

“You’re all in desperate need of counseling,” Pixal mutters.

“Tell me about it,” Lloyd says, leaning back on the armrest of the sofa.

Cole shakes his head. “Lost causes, all of them.”

Pixal stares at them both, expression pinched, before deciding to respect the hopelessness of lost causes.

“Hold on, I think Kai’s crying,” Lloyd moves to sit up, only to wobble, slip sideways, and go crashing to the floor gracelessly.

“Just like when I fell to my doom off the Bounty,” Cole reminisces.

Pixal’s eyes glaze over.

---

Later that evening, Pixal adds “therapy” to the list of potential expenses on the fridge door. Regretfully, it loses miserably in the debate against hot shower expenses, so it too joins the pile of repressed memories that will undoubtedly haunt them in the future.

“But hey, a hot shower can cure depression on a good day,” Cole says, and that settles that.

---

Hot showers, as it turns out, are a hard-won priority.

It’s less so after Jay, Nya, and Pixal camp out overnight near the pipeline and perform their own less-than-legal maintenance, but one of Zane’s carefully filed insurance claims actually went through the other day, so they’re taking their luck as they can.

It’s not until they get working on the bathroom itself that the true difficulty makes itself clear.

“Hey, uh,” Kai stares down at the patch of rotted floor he’s ripped up, wiping at the fog that’s spread across his safety goggles. “Is the base layer supposed to look like that?”

“Look like what?” Cole abandons the tiling he’s been placing to glance over. His face drops. “Uh-oh.”

“Is that all black mold?” Nya gags, nearly dropping her bottle of cleaning bleach.

“FSM, no wonder we’re all crazy,” Cole mutters.

“Alright,” Kai strips off his rubber gloves. “Nothing for it. Back up, guys, I’m barbecuing this baby.”

“Wait wait wait don’t—”

Ten minutes and a good deal of hacking and wheezing through teary eyes later, Cole murders Kai while they all look on.

Well, he attempts to.

“You filled the monastery with chlorine gas, you absolute moron—!”

“How was I supposed to know that would happen, I’m not a chemist—”

Nya glares ahead darkly as Lloyd gingerly treats the reddened blisters on her hands.

“None of you,” Zane says, through gritted teeth. “Are touching cleaning chemicals for a year.”

---

“Not sure I wanna know how you pulled off poisoning yourselves, but I’m kinda impressed you did a better job of it than most criminals would,” Ronin tells them, once the monastery has been successfully de-chlorinated and the bathroom tiles firmly put in place, sans black mold.

“Maybe we can hire ourselves out to them when we’re strapped for cash,” Nya sighs.

“We’re literally always strapped for cash. We’re broke.”

Ronin laughs, clapping Jay on the back. “Welcome to adulthood, kid.”

“I don’t think normal adulthood gets their home blown up on a regular basis,” Lloyd hisses.

“Fair point,” Ronin nods.

“Well, thanks for saving us all from a slow and painful death,” Cole scrubs his hands over his face. “We can pay you back sometime in the next century. Maybe.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” Ronin waves them off. “It’d be like kicking a dog when it’s down, askin’ you all to pay. Besides, I probably owe you one.”

“You sure do,” Jay glares.

“Hey, hey, I said I was sorry for the whole human sacrifice thing,” Ronin placates. “Want some good news, at least?”

“Is it actually good news?” Lloyd eyes him shrewdly.

“Lighten up, captain trust issues.” Kai barely snags Lloyd before he lands himself back in jail. “I looked into some more of those insurance claims you filed, and you actually got somethin’ out of it. I, uh, helped the bank along a bit, with the refund.”

“Bank?” Cole whispers.

“Refund?” Jay’s eyes shine.

“Yeah, got you all your checks right here,” Ronin says, tugging six neat envelopes from his jacket. “Just don’t blow ‘em all at once, okay? Haha.”

Zane looks as if he might propose to him on the spot.

“Hey, this isn’t too bad!” Kai exclaims. “We got money!”

“Guys,” Lloyd says, staring at his check. “You know we should probably pool all this together and spend it on necessities, right?”

“Yeah,” Cole sighs.

“It would be the smartest course of action,” Zane adds.

There’s a noted silence.

“Or,” Lloyd says.

---

In their defense, they spend exactly two-thirds of their checks on household items.

Whether or not these are needed household items remains a debate.

“If we’re all buying lamps for the living room, can we at least attempt to match?” Zane sighs.

“Booo, where’s your joy and whimsy?” Jay sticks out his tongue.

“That isn’t even a lamp, it’s a light-up axolotl.”

“The heck’s an axo-lot—”

“It lights up, doesn’t it? Ergo, it’s a lamp.”

“Ergo, what are you, Sensei Wu—”

“We’re never having guests over again,” Cole remarks, as Lloyd and Nya maneuver a five-foot-tall rendition of Godzilla into the shopping cart that may or may not light up.

“The monastery’s gonna look rad as heck, we’re forcing everyone to come over and look at it,” Kai corrects as he tosses a set of flame-patterned curtains into the mess.

“Absolutely not.”

“I actually might like them,” Zane muses. “They would capture the energy of our kitchen perfectly.”

Kai beams. “Flame curtains are a go!”

In the aftermath, they total around six individual blankets, five mismatching lamps and one light-up axolotl, a table that no one knows how to put together, one set of flame-patterned curtains, another hideous couch, and enough cutlery and kitchenware that no one has to eat out of Sensei Wu’s incense bowls anymore.

“Alright,” Lloyd says. “We’ve got three hours until the stores start closing. Everyone take the rest of your checks, don’t think about how much of a disaster the monastery still is, and start thinking about how valid retail therapy is.”

“Aye-aye,” Kai salutes, before immediately booking it for the clothing outlets.

---

Three hours later, Kai’s happily blown his entire check on a new wardrobe and exactly one pair of name-brand brand shoes. He’s unreasonably proud of himself for his restraint, until he catches Cole with three pairs of his own name-brand shoes, and immediately regrets being responsible.

He spots Jay going off in the N-Pop section of a music store, Nya investing in a sinfully-priced espresso machine, and Zane walking toward the clothing outlets himself with a high-quality pair of noise-cancelling headphones.

He doesn’t find Lloyd until well after he’s picked up his own clothes, already sporting an oversized hoodie he could’ve just stolen from Kai.

He’s more concerned when Lloyd proceeds to blow the last of his check at the sporting goods section of the local convenience store. Considering how long Lloyd spent looking wistfully at the candy aisle, Kai is baffled by the decision.

He’s even more baffled when Lloyd proceeds to box up his purchase for delivery instead of keeping it himself.

He’s utterly horrified when he sees who it’s addressed to.

“Are you serious?!” he asks shrilly, torn between ripping the box from Lloyd’s hands or immediately calling the mental health hotline. “You’re sending her gifts?”

“It’s not a gift, it’s — look, it’s a long story, you wouldn’t get it,” Lloyd grumbles, plastering another layer of duct tape over the box. “Just help me deliver it to Kryptarium and I’ll show you, okay?”

Kai very much does not help, because he’s not an enabler and he cares about his brother’s mental health, but he does follow Lloyd to Kryptarium Prison and lurk behind him as he eagerly watches the surveillance screens.

Harumi stares at the box before her, looking every bit as baffled as Kai is.

“Who would send me a volleyball—”

She freezes, her face going utterly blank. A muscle in her jaw twitches.

There’s a brief flash of what could be amusement, a brief expression as if she’s eaten something sour, then a fury like no other eclipses her face.

“LLOYD! I’LL KILL YOU MYSELF, YOU THINK YOU’RE HILARIOUS—”

Lloyd’s still laughing by the time they’re escorted from the premises, hard enough that Kai has to catch him when he trips at the top of the steps.

“What’d you even write on the note?” Kai finally asks, a bit in awe.

Lloyd grins. “I told her good luck getting together her villainous volleyball team in jail.”

Kai blinks. “Do I…want to know?”

“Nope!” Lloyd says airily. “But I’ve made my point.”

---

Regardless of some behaviors, the mental health hotline remains a constant idea. It simply happens to come up at inconvenient times, such as when Cole drops a dresser on his foot halfway across the courtyard.

He swears so loudly the whole monastery echoes with it.

“Oh geez, Cole, are you okay? Why’d you lift the whole thing on your own?”

“We could have helped,” Zane rushes over. “You don’t have to do it all yourself—”

“Yes I do!” Cole yells. “I’m stronger than that, I’m supposed to be stronger, I have to be stronger or you’re all going to die next time—”

He cuts off abruptly. Zane looks heartbroken. Jay—

Is suddenly busy smacking Cole upside the head.

“No, you don’t!” he snaps back, even louder. “You don’t have to do it by yourself! None of you do! Every time anyone tries to do something by themselves it all goes wrong and we lose someone, so we’re never — doing that — again!”

He seizes Cole around the arms, his wild eyes meeting Cole’s wide ones. “No one blames you for the stupid tunnel. I don’t care how strong you are. We’re all here and that’s what matters, so don’t you dare put that at risk.”

“But I—”

“No.”

“Jay, I—”

“No.”

“I—”

“No!” A manic expression overtakes Jay’s face. “No, no, no! No one’s taking the blame. No one’s isolating themselves. No. One. Is. Going. Off. Alone. You hear me?!”

The others are frozen, halfway outstretched hands caught as if suspended in ice. Kai’s expression is twisted painfully. Lloyd’s eyes are on the ground. Zane is as frozen as the metaphorical ice, and Nya looks devastated.

“No more being alone,” Jay says, the fire in his voice giving way to something wetter and considerably more sniffly. “No more. Don’t — you can’t—”

“Okay,” Cole whispers. He carefully takes Jay’s hands from his shoulders, grasping them in his own instead. “Okay. No more going at it alone. I promise.”

The monastery courtyard seems a little colder, in the silence.

“Anyone feel like circling back to the whole ‘suing Harumi’ idea?” Kai finally speaks up.

Jay gives a wet snort.

“Well, we’re probably gonna need to afford tissues,” Lloyd says. His own voice isn’t exactly dry, either.

---

The downside to sticking therapy smack at the bottom of their priorities is that they all really are, in fact, not okay.

Most of the time, they manage.

There’s a solace in being together, a comfort in having the people you trust and care for most in the world right next to you when the nightmares get bad. When Jay awakens screaming for Nya or clutching at his throat for air, Nya is already holding his hand and Cole’s holding the rest of him.

When Zane lapses into silence too long, emotions a roiling mess that leave him paralyzed, Kai is there with one-two-three’s for breathing and Lloyd is there to draw little cats with him until the world subsides again.

When Cole’s eyes shadow in training and his hits grow wild, Zane is there to pin him before he bloodies his hands and Jay is there to sing horrible off-key songs he loves until the panic ebbs.

When Nya stares at the water too-long, her eyes misty and her expression dreamy, Jay is there to hold her tight and Kai is there to talk until his voice goes hoarse and hers returns.

There are other times, though, when it’s harder.

It hits Kai this time about halfway through painting the walls of the kitchen a cheerful yellow, said paint splattered up to his elbows, courtesy of Lloyd. He glances down — to joke, to laugh, to not think—

And pauses. With the headband he’s stolen from Pixal in place, pushing back the mass of thick blond hair, Kai can just see the purple-red edges of the swollen, irritated wounds that scar Lloyd’s scalp. The twin marks are a better sight than when Kai first glimpsed them, bleeding circles that looked as if someone had drilled into Lloyd’s skull — but not by much.

“S’fine,” Lloyd mutters, catching Kai’s devastated expression. “I can’t even feel ‘em. Not really.”

“Liar,” Kai rasps. “They look awful.”

Lloyd makes a face. “Gee, thanks a lot.”

“I mean it. What if they get infected, or worse, or — have you had Sensei look at them?”

Lloyd wraps his arms around himself, avoiding Kai’s eyes. “No. I didn’t really…I did what he asked. What they both did. And then screwed the whole thing up, so it was all useless anyways, so I—”

He bites his lip, hard enough to crack the already dry skin.

“I don’t really wanna hear anyone telling me what else I’m doing wrong with myself, right now.”

Kai is angry enough to feel sick.

“That’s stupid. That’s so stupid, he should — it shouldn’t be like that, it’s — why didn’t anyone—” he shakes his head. “Why doesn’t anyone ever ask us if we wanna be — if we wanna—”

Lloyd’s hand closes around his wrist, gently tugging Kai’s own hand from where it’s clawed unconsciously at his arm, leaving ugly red stripes against his skin.

“You asked,” he says, quietly. “That meant a lot.”

Kai looks away. “Lot of good it did.”

Lloyd’s grip tightens. “It meant the world to me,” he repeats, stronger this time.

“But I couldn’t—!”

Lloyd abandons his hold on his wrist to wrap his arms around Kai entirely, holding tight. Bony and strong and familiar, Kai’s little brother to the core.

“Thank you,” he says, fervently enough that Kai can feel the ache in his voice. “Thank you for looking out for me.”

Kai’s voice is a miserable mess of fought-back tears. “I couldn’t even do anything.”

“You asked me what I wanted,” Lloyd says once again, and Kai can hear the edge of tears threatening his voice, now. “That was everything.”

Giving in, Kai drops his head into the mess of blond curls and hugs Lloyd back. Lloyd’s hair smells like blood and paint and steel and the strawberry shampoo Skylor gave them, and now it’s gonna smell like Kai’s stupid snot and tears.

“Hey, having another hug party without me is lame.”

Kai gives a wet, broken response as Nya throws her arms around them both.

“Idiots,” she murmurs, resting her head atop theirs. “I love you both, you know that?”

“Ew, gross,” Lloyd snorts wetly. “Hey Kai, Nya loves us.”

“Little jerk, who you callin’ gross? And here I thought you loved us too.”

“Well obviously I love you guys back, who’s the idiot now—”

Kai simply clutches them both and cries harder, as if holding onto them will stop himself from falling apart.

It works, in the ways that matter, though it’s always because they’re holding back even tighter.

Later that evening, Zane bathes Lloyd’s head in antiseptic and Jay forces them all to sit through the PowerPoint presentation he’s made with Nya titled “Every Super Cool Totally Good Character with Horns Ranked”. He loses them the minute he brings anime characters into it, as everyone suddenly develops incredibly passionate opinions about the rankees, but Lloyd’s laughing too hard to have his own opinion and Kai doesn’t feel like he’s drowning under inadequacy anymore — just choking to death under the weight of Jay’s elbow for daring to insult Re:Zero as an anime “since it actually has Oni in it, idiot, your opinion is trash—”

They get things back to being okay, one way or another.

---

Somewhere in the third month of renovations, they finally scrounge up six whole beds. It takes a good deal of dragging and cursing, but they finally manage to move into their own rooms, the once-empty spaces looking a little less lonely.

“Now we don’t have to all sleep together in the same room anymore,” Jay announces. There’s no small amount of celebration at that.

The celebration lasts up until sometime around three in the morning, at which point the consistent nightmares land them all right back in the pile of communal air mattresses.

“Just for like, one more night,” Kai yawns, as Lloyd curls closer beneath his arm.

“Totally, yeah,” Nya echoes, one leg spread across Jay, her arm sprawled over Kai.

“Go to sleep already, FSM’ sake,” Cole begs, before slumping over Zane.

For all Cole’s begging, he’s still the first to act when Zane suddenly lurches up from the bed, gasping for air like he’s drowning and giving them all joint heart attacks.

“—hey, hey, it’s okay, it’s just us—”

Cole’s hands hover, non-threatening, as Zane buries his face in his palms, breathing ragged. The others have begun to get up now as well, the slow kind of approach that lets Zane know exactly where each of them are.

“I despise this,” Zane spits, as his hand drags down to fist over his chest. “I hate feeling like this. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it—”

“I know,” Cole says. “I know.”

“This is why — it’s so much easier—“

“It’s okay, it’s—”

“It is not! I do not need to breathe, and yet I can’t!” Zane bursts out, frustrated and frightened. “I’m not supposed to break down like this, I do not, I do not—”

“You’re not a machine,” Cole says steadily. “You get to break down.”

“But if I—”

“You don’t,” Lloyd murmurs. “You don’t have to turn ‘em off, Zane. You’re one of the strongest people I know.”

Zane’s head lowers, his eyes shadowed. “It wouldn’t hurt,” he says, but it’s reluctant.

“Yeah, you’d never hurt, but you’d never be happy, either,” Kai says. “And that’d suck.”

“It’d suck for us, too,” Cole speaks up. “We’d have to live without your laugh. Without your sassy remarks. Without your kindness.”

“We’d live without you,” Lloyd says, quietly. “And you wouldn’t really be living, would you?”

Zane crumples, his shoulders shaking as he allows Kai to pull him close.

“If it gets too much, just come to us,” Jay says. “We’ll be more, okay? We’re pretty good at that.”

Zane gives a wet, stifled laugh.

“Don’t go, even if it’s just your emotions leaving,” Nya murmurs, her head against his. “It isn’t worth it.”

With slowing shudders, Zane lets himself relax, the warmth of their little family pressing around him. Kai is an immovable barrier at his side, save for where Lloyd’s tucked beneath his arm. Jay’s legs tangle with Lloyd and Cole’s, his hand held tightly in Nya’s.

“Leaving isn’t worth it,” Nya echoes. “Not in any lifetime.”

---

Bit by bit, the monastery comes together.

The smell of new paint gives way to a familiar scent of mixing elements and laundry soap, one that’s followed them since the first Bounty. They comb through every online shop until they find the exact brand of sheets that feel like the first apartment they ever lived in together. Thrift shops and sales and birthdays stock closets once again, new hoodies that are quickly stolen and passed back and forth. The collection of CD’s and movies rebuilds into stacks once again through shared movie nights and pirated music.

And little by little, with the consistent passage of time, photographs line the walls of the monastery once again.

A little older, a little worn, but a collection of family all the same.

---

“Except we still don’t have damn central heating—”

“Suck it up and light the fireplace, hothead.”

“No respect in this city. None at all.”

#lego ninjago #ninjago #post-crystalized #my fanfic #had to post one (1) at least #tbh this is terrifying! i forgot how to write #my fic

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dilatorywriting · 2 years ago

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Monster Mayhem: Donkeys & Dragons

Gender Neutral Reader x Malleus Draconia Word Count: 3.0k

Summary: In which your friends are idiots who think gallivanting around a haunted castle surrounded by lava is a great idea. And then there's a dragon.

ie. Or, I watched Shrek this afternoon and could not stop thinking about the memes of the Prefect being Donkey and Malleus as the Dragon.

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [EPILOGUE]

‘Treasure beyond your wildest dreams!’ Ace said.

‘Knowledge long since lost to time!’ Deuce corrected.

‘Yeah, okay, but what is it,’ you asked.

And neither of them had an answer.

Abandoned castles suspended over a sea of bubbling lava were not your preferred holiday destination. You’d told Ace this several times. You’d begged, pleaded, to please just be normal for once. But noooo. Both the snarky, ginger, bastard and the other half of his singular brain cell had apparently decided that suicide ala boiling rocks sounded like a perfectly lovely plan for your Saturday evening.

“I’m just saying,” you huffed as the rope bridge swung worryingly beneath your feet, “taverns are a thing. Faires. Market runs. Casual side quests that won’t wind up with us being flambeed alive.”

“But there’s treasure!” Ace complained, the muddled light off the lava below illuminating his pout in a way that made it look especially punchable. “I heard there’s this really awesome magical sword! Or maybe it was a shield or something—”

“Or something,” you grit out. “What if it’s a book, huh? You can’t even read.”

“We can try!” Deuce returned, a spark of that familiar determination zipping through his blue eyes.

“Or we can sell it,” Ace said, which was certainly the more likely option of the two.

One of the rickety, wooden, slats cracked beneath the low heel of your boot and tumbled down into the lava below. Maybe it hit the gurgling pool of death with a hiss, or a whump, or some other cool sound. But all you could hear was the ringing in your ears.

“Oh my god. I’m going to die.”

“I mean, maybe,” Ace shrugged. “But at least you’ll have a cool new sword propped up at your grave or something.”

You managed to make it all the way to the other side of the horrible death bridge without plummeting to your doom. Except now you were standing at the foot an equally horrifying castle. It was massive—grand on a scale that seemed entirely impossible for something constructed in the heart of a volcano. Its dozens of ebony spires clawed at the sky. The walls crawled with grey ivy and thickets of thorns so dense that you couldn’t see even the barest hint of brick beneath. It looked evil in the way that cursed tombs felt evil—eternal, and still, and oppressive. Like a creature in its own right rather than just an agglomeration of black stone.

Ace drew his sword and Deuce readied his axe. You sighed and plucked at the strings of your stupid fucking lute, and wished once more that you’d had the foresight all those moons ago to take the cushy internship position Lord Crewel had tried to offer you. But, no. You’d wanted to be an adventurer.

The massive double doors of the entrance swung open with an eerie groan. A pair of stern looking gargoyles stood guard as the three of you cautiously made your way into the castle. You swore you could feel their eyes following you—that you’d seen them flex jagged claws into their stone perches in an aborted attempt to dive after you.

The inside of the looming fortress was no more welcoming than out. Dark, emerald, stained glass windows lined the walls—smothering any of the warmer light from the volcano and tinting the entire hall a sickly green-grey. The stone floors and walls were elaborately carved with the faded stories of dynasties long since passed, but what had once surely been immaculate craftsmanship had shifted and cracked with age—crushing floors into tight slopes and littering already narrow walkways with heavy debris.

“We just have to find the tallest tower,” Ace hummed, swiping at a few dangling trails of thorns with the blunted edge of his blade. “And then the highest room in that.”

“The treasure is never in the highest room in the tallest tower,” you complained. “You just heard that in a drinking song once.”

“Is that true?” Deuce frowned, looking terribly betrayed.

“No way!” Ace snipped. “I told you! An old crone read my fortune in her bone dice, and she said to always check the highest room in the tallest tower! Because that’s where I’d find my greatest treasure!”

“Maybe the greatest treasure is the friends we’ve made along the way?” Deuce suggested helpfully.

“No.”

So you split off from a grouchy Ace and dejected Deuce to try and find some stairs. Every room in this stupid castle was swimming in so many shadows that you could hardly tell right from left, let alone if there were any kinds of secret doors or passageways that may lead to an equally secret tower. The chamber you’d found yourself in now was gigantic, and each tentative step you took echoed discordantly through the ashy gloom. You kicked miserably at a loose rock and it skittered off into the darkness with a dull thunk. And then something… odd, began to happen. That darkness began to move—to rise and unfurl like a great set of wings on a beast. And—oh. Oh no.

“Would you look at that,” Ace whistled under his breath, neck craned all the way back as he squinted at what was most definitely the tallest of all the towers this creepy castle had to offer. “Guess what, nonbelievers. I found the—”

“DRAGON!”

Whoosh went the great swathe of emerald fire as it exploded down the barren hallway and nipped at your heels. You dove out into the open courtyard just in time to avoid being roasted alive, and the gargantuan monster behind you let out a roar fit to shake the earth. A quick tuck-and-roll left you crouched behind a fallen pillar, and the dragon’s bright, green, glower turned on you and your garbage hiding spot with a rumbling snarl. Its rows of sharp, white, teeth closing just above your head—missing its mark by barely a hair’s width.

“Gotcha!” Deuce snarled, his armored fists dragging the dragon away by its tail. Or, well, tried to. Because the dragon was a hundred feet long at least, and your blue haired friend probably looked like nothing more than a pesky rat darting between its feet. It turned and snapped at him irritably, taking a great, big, step forward in a bid to get a firmer stance to attack. You threw yourself in the other direction to avoid being trampled.

“Go!” Ace called, charging in from the other side. “Quick!”

Because at the end of the day, they were still both your brave, tanky, warrior, friends. And you were just a very, very, squishy bard who really would not fare well against a particularly motivated goose, let alone a dragon. So you skidded through the rubble and onto your feet, and started to sprint back into the castle’s halls—hoping maybe you’d be able to find a bit more cover.

There was a great clatter, and both Ace and Deuce yelped. You looked back hurriedly to see the pair of them clutching onto the dragon’s tail for dear life as it whipped them back and forth through the ash and debris cluttering the ground. With one, final, great, sweep, the dragon pitched them into the air and sent them careening through the roof of that ‘tallest tower.’ You muttered a hasty incantation and the sparkling outlines of soft feathers danced along your fingers. You hoped you weren’t too far. You were probably too goddamn far. But you hummed frantically under your breath nonetheless and entreated your middling magic to give them a soft landing.

And then there was another wave of green hellfire raining down over your head and you turned and ran.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—

Even if you’d been a champion sprinter, there was little good it would have done you against a beast whose stride was longer than you were tall. You made it back into some hall or other, and into another cavernous room, and then you were pinned into a corner—the dragon looming over you like a vengeful wraith come to take its due.

It was gigantic. Probably the biggest creature you’d ever seen. And it was sleek—all lithe muscle and glossy rows of black scales that glittered oddly in the dull, grey, light. Its wings spread wide behind it, spanning the entirety of the vast chamber. They looked like the sort of wings that could stir up a hurricane. The curling horns atop its head seemed sharp enough to gore a man or twenty, and the purple crests lining its skull were tapered down flat in a way that reminded you a bit deliriously of a pissy cat pinning its ears back before it swatted at you.

Its lips curled back over pointed canines as it snarled at you, and you were showered in a swathe of hot sparks.

“Oh, what large teeth you have,” you squeaked, and when the dragon dipped closer to bellow into your face, your reeled back with a splutter. “I—I mean white, sparkling, teeth!” you rattled, nearly incoherent. The dragon’s snout twitched away, almost like you’d startled it. “I mean, I’m sure you hear this all the time from your food, but—wow! Just! Very lovely! Definitely the prettiest smile I’ll ever be eaten by!”

Slowly it lowered its great head, and you could see the neon glare from its narrowed eyes.

“Not that you have to eat me,” you added hurriedly, hoping to whatever Gods could hear you that your smart mouth could finally be useful for more than just talking circles around assholes in bars or weaseling your friends out of shitty contracts. “I’d very much like not to be eaten. But all the same, we did intrude in your home—and it’s definitely a very nice home—so I’d totally get it. And I guess if I did have to die today, knowing that my life would be in the hands of something so magnificent is certainly reassuring.”

The dragon seemed to preen a bit at that. You could see the sharp crests beneath its horns soften as tension bled from the beast’s posture. It ducked in close again, and this time you felt a sharp pull of air rush past your cheeks as it sniffed you. Its nostrils were the size your head—bigger even, maybe. You didn’t want to think about it, but the dry heat of its breath puffing into your face made the entire thing a bit hard to ignore.

“Did I mention what a charming home you have?” you rambled on. “Very aesthetic. The gargoyles at the gate were a lovely touch.”

The dragon made a low, warbling, noise in its throat that wasn’t quite a growl, but wasn’t particularly… reassuring, either. It made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.

It ducked away—not far, just enough to reach one of the large, carved, walls at the outskirts of the room. Its long neck slithered out before pausing pointedly over an archway. It took you a long moment to realize it was gesturing to something. Another gargoyle from the looks of things—this one almost entirely crumbled away under the strains of time. You could just barely make out the shape of its square jaw and taloned fingers.

You nodded so hard you nearly gave yourself whiplash.

“Yes! I see! Very beautiful! Such fine craftsmanship!”

The dragon cooed at you. Swear on your life and all the money in your back packet. An actual, honest to God, coo. Fuck, maybe you’d managed to charm your way out of imminent dismemberment and death after all.

It ambled closer once again, a curiosity lighting its eyes and warming those neon irises into something that was less poisonous-hell-fire and more mellow-evening-in-the-forest.

Amidst all the rippling waves of ebony scales, your eyes caught on the smallest smear of crimson. Just a touch of red—right along the spikes of its tail. Carefully, cautiously, slower than molasses, you stepped forward with your hands raised. You whispered a handful of familiar words under your breath and your palms glowed fuzzy and blue. Dragons were supposed to be inherently magical, right? So this one would certainly understand that the string of syllables you’d babbled out were good, and helpful, and not at all a provocation. The dragon was looking down at you with lidded eyes, its gaze a bit unfocused. You gulped.

“I’m sorry my friends messed with your tail,” you apologized, gingerly holding your fingers out to hover over the abrasions without actually touching. “They were just trying to protect me. If—if that makes it any better.” The minuscule wound began to knit itself back together neatly beneath the pulses of your magic. “I do tend to need a lot of protecting—I’m not much a warrior, if that wasn’t completely obvious by the everything about me—so I can’t really blame them for being a bit gung-ho about it.”

After a moment or two, the scratches had faded back into solid, matte, black and you drew back with a content hum.

“There! All fixed!” You gave your most winning smile. Please don’t eat me, your brain chanted on endless repeat. Please don’t eat me please don’t eat me please don’t eat me—

The dragon reared back and settled on its haunches with another heavy puff of sweltering breath. You could feel the heat of it prickling all the way up your arms. After a long, long, moment of silent consideration, the dragon leaned forward again and rumbled deep in its chest. When you only stood there, properly petrified, it huffed again and bumped its nose against your sternum, nearly toppling you over.

“I don’t—” you started, nervous. “I’m sorry. I don’t really get what you’re trying to say.”

With another sigh that sounded entirely too put upon, the dragon lowered its great head. The air itself seemed to grow heavy against your shoulders, and you could taste the cloying bitterness of strong magics on the back of your tongue. Black miasma oozed from beneath the dragon’s talons and melted along its scales. The caustic scent of ash and petrichor burned along your nostrils, and you had to pinch your eyes shut and cover your nose to keep from coughing. You managed to sneak a peek past your fingers just in time to watch the shadowed outline of the beast collapse. And out of that puddle of black goo emerged a man. He was tall and lithe, just as the dragon had been, with glowing green eyes that were terribly familiar. They were framed with thick, dark, lashes and sat perfectly on a face that was nearly too handsome to be human (well, it really wasn’t human you supposed, so that little tidbit probably accounted for said inhuman beauty well enough). Recognizable eyes and stature or no, the curling horns atop his head would have sealed the deal plenty well enough on their own.

He shook off the shadows twining around his ankles with a lazy twist of the hand and then turned to you with a curious little hum.

And holy fuck Mister Dragon apparently had no sense of shame, or maybe just no qualms about social niceties and practicalities, because his human self was wearing about just as many clothes as his lizard form had been.

You squeezed your eyes shut with a squeak, and then double covered them with your hands for good measure.

A chuckle rolled through the air—as dark and pleasantly rich as the finest of chocolates. And then there was a clawed finger beneath your chin, tilting your head back, and back, and back until you were at least half-way sure it would probably be safe to open your eyes again without infringing on his decency.

“You are fascinating, Child of Man,” it—he—hummed, low in his throat. His thumb dragged down to hook beneath the curve of your jaw and support the finger tucked up under your chin. “And it’s been so, very, long since I’ve been fascinated by anything.”

“Uh,” you replied, like a perfectly functional human being.

The dragon’s lips curled up over his pointed teeth—still just as sharp and white as they had been when he’d been so much bigger and scalier.

“I think I’d like to keep you,” he said with a nod to himself, as casually as one may talk about picking up extra groceries from the market.

“Uh,” you said again.

“You did mention that you needed protecting,” he continued, tapping a clawed finger against his own chin. The small smile quirking his lips twisted into something smug. “And that is certainly something at which I would excel.”

Your head was swimming.

“I—I mean. I’m honored that you—that… you—” You couldn’t even think the words, let alone get them past your brain and out of your mouth. You cleared your throat and fought to keep your eyes level with his clavicle and nowhere else. “D-Don’t you think you’re moving a bit fast?” you laughed nervously. “I mean, I’m sure my friends will probably be on their way back down soon—and—I mean, we haven’t even introduced ourselves yet. I don’t even know your name.”

He blinked, slow and serpentine.

“Oh. I suppose you wouldn’t.” He canted his head to the side, long strands of that inky black hair of his spilling across his shoulder. An amused sort of grin worked its way along his mouth. “Dragons are not keen to give out our true names so readily, but you seem like a clever one. Tell me—what do you think I’m called then, hmm?”

You glanced up quickly at the horns atop his head and couldn’t help yourself.

“Tsunotarou?”

He let out a bark of laughter that seemed to shake the walls.

“Oh,” he trilled, looking positively delighted. The hand not curled beneath your chin reached down to snag your own, and he brought your wrist up to his lips. You could feel the imprints of his canines against the soft skin there. “I’ll definitely be keeping you.”

#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #Malleus Draconia x Reader #Malleus x Reader #Malleus Draconia #Malleus x Yuu #Dragon Malleus #Monster Mayhem #My Writing #Monster Mayhem Malleus Part 1

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arkhammaid · 10 months ago

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— ˚₊‧⁺˖ THE LIGHTNING ON TRACK | THE STRATEGY CALL

fandom. formula one & mcu

about. in which the stark racing f1 team talks about the 2025 strategy and beyond

content warnings. written in 3rd person

word count. 1.4k words

notes. with this chapter i wanted to involve a bit of politics and 'realistically' explain why stark racing won't immediately win a wdc (because with the whole set up, it would be possible). f1 are politics and no matter how many drivers say cash is king, connections have sometimes more worth

"welcome, everyone. thank you for tuning in", greets tony with a big smile on his face, spreading his arms as if going in for a hug.

"as you can see, i'm not currently with any departement, i'm doing the finishing touches in my own lab back in new york... since i don't want to drag anyone here to the US for meetings, we will proceed like this until january next year."

"now, i know it will be annoying with dragging your equipement with you and it's also unsafe, since you know... data secrets bla bla- so, in the next few days, each stark racing employee will receive the so called 'tactical intelligence glasses', which you can see me wearing. it's voice activated and can only be used by the one who sets it up, which will be you!" while speaking, tony fiddles with a pencil in his hand and starts walking around in his lab, showcasting it to every viewer.

"to cut things short, you'll receive a tutorial on how to use these glasses and set them up once you receive them. if you ever lose them, don't worry, we can track them. destroying them is pretty hard, but please don't try to make it a challange... our plan is to use them not only during meetings but also during the race, to keep our data from the cameras. with netflix, paparazzi and other cameras from the news, it's easy to steal data that shouldn't be accessible."

"alright then", he ends his ramblings with a clap, "we're going over the interesting part now. let's talk strategy..."

y/n let's her father's voice wash over her, her own glasses perched on her nose and feeding her constant information. in front of her are two holograms, projected by the hologram table in the meeting room she's currently in. the standing figure of her father and the presentation he's currently rattling off, all of it in a glowing blue.

next to her sits kevin, her future teammate, exhausted from the long 24 season but still paying attention. the rest of the room is filled with their team, the race engineers and trainers- each of them having their own glasses on.

to outsiders it looks like they're clowns, but it's a common sight in stark industries. decades ahead of the general public, stark stands for the future. of course they're trying to push it to the outer world, selling hologrammic equipement to both the industry but also private customers, but it's a slow progress.

the marketing team of SI hopes with their public use of the glasses and other devices they'll attract more customers, leaving the age of apple and samsung behind and instead welcoming the age of holograms. powered by starkanium, the production of phones, tablets, computers- anything really, is much cheaper and enviroment friendly than what's currently dominating the market.

shaking her head, y/n focuses on the presentation again. of course she knows it by heart already, she helped writing it, brooding over the strategy with the team ever since the team got announced.

"... the plan is to finish between 5th-3rd on the construction championship. not higher, not lower. we don't want to place higher, because this is our testing season. we will be practically sandbagging from the beginning, not revealing our true power for 2026."

yes... the construction championship. it will bring in money, not that they would need it, but it will justify the expenses they're going to make during the season to prepare for their second one. y/n is under no illusion, if they want, they could go all out and snag at least p2, if not p1. maybe she would even get her world championship- only then for everyone to say she won because she's driving a stark machine and not because of her own skill.

it sounds arrogant, she knows. but y/n believes, no, she doesn't only believe, she knows, she is one of the best in the whole world. if she can go against her father in an iron man suit, who can be only piloted by less than ten people in the world... winning in an f1 car is nothing.

but they've already made enemies for not waiting until 2026 like audi, 'enemies', who have much more pull within the motorsport world than them, simply because they're already established. christian horner is one, followed by toto wolff, the iconic red racing team not far behind.

with they're entry, they didn't make friends on the paddock, so for their first season... they can't be too good. or else their future seasons will be ruined.

it's stupid, to think like this, to think so far ahead, to think of others, in a sport where winning is everything. but it's not. cash and connections influence everything you do, how far you succeed. they have plenty of money, but are practically poor in connections. heck, even haas is better established than them.

they won't be, not after they're done after their first season. they will show the world, what stark racing is truly made of. and y/n will prove, that a woman can win.

"-bought data packs from previous seasons, dating back a whole decade, from mercedes and aston martin. cost a pretty penny, but data is everything. not to mention, after the big leak that happend in the middle of the season, we managed to grab enough data on all teams to calculate 3523 outcomes to this season. points, standings, anything." kevin wheezes at the number, which is followed by several data sheets. he gapes at the calculations, which predict another world championship for max 2064 times. all from the data they managed to collect.

"insane, right?", y/n whispers to kevin, who turns his head to her. his wide eyes make her snicker.

"welcome to stark racing, mate. just you wait until JARVIS and FRIDAY start feeding in new numbers and information." a muttered 'holy shit' is the only answer she gets and y/n has to snicker again. toto wolff once said something about formula one being war planning... well, he should know that stark industries and it's most brilliant minds know everything about war. be it on the market, by income or an actual alien invasion.

"we want to achieve at least one win, be it in a proper race or sprint, three podiums per driver and at least two fastest laps. and it will be possible", her father continues, pointing at a hologram of their car. it spins lazily in a circle, showing off it's aeorodynamic curves.

"this car is faster than the rb19, goes on par with the rb20. we don't know the upgrades from red bull, but another year and we can pretty much predict their stats for 2026. newey is predictable, all his upgrades point towards the perfection of the car, he focuses on what to make better and not invent something completely new. and if he does, he takes ages to prove it's better than what they had before. newey is brilliant, but he's no stark." there it is again, the facts of their rivals, taken apart and put back together to summerize their data in a few simple words.

"so, our motto for this season is testing, collecting data and improving for the next season. we're sandbagging, we're restricting ourselves. so if we ever do bad... we all know we could do much better. the engineering team will send first comparisons between the SR-1 and SR-2 out next week, y/n has already tested both cars in the sim, so we will have some data to read off."

"so, with that, we're pretty much done. thank you everyone for listening, i know for some it's very early right now, so if you have to read over the spark notes- JARVIS has put a summary of the most important information together, you'll receive the mail right after this converence. thank you again and welcome to stark racing, everyone!" claps fill the room and y/n takes off her glasses. it's exhausting to play mindgames like this, to calculate the desired outcome, but it will all come together.

hopefully, with her as a world champion, with the bold stark name on her back.

taglist. @lilypadlover , @adorablezhui , @peqch-pie , @keyz-writes , @obsidianjewel , @aimixx , @themercyverse , @lem-hhn , @akiraquote , @kiiyoooo , @nichmeddar , @nothingfuninthislife , @minkyungseokie , @fionaschicken , @lyrasconstellation , @spideybv28 , @keii134 , @starssfall , @tpwkstiles, @fangirl-dot-com , @nichmeddar , @lady-laura-speaks , @nikfigueiredo , @hinamesgigantica , @brakingboundaries , @almostjollypizza , @yoremins , @raizelchrysanderoctavius , @celesteblack08 , @watermelon-sugars-things , @lighttsoutlewis , @radiantdanvers , @vellicora, @sterredem , @hiireadstuff , @jolixtreesunn , @mypage-myfandoms , @nelly187 @greeneyesandsunshine , @fulla02 , @welovediaaxx , @whyamireadingthis , @67-angelofthelordme-67 , @blueberry64857959 , @winchesterwife27 , @six-call , @skywalker1dream , @mellowarcadefun , @cherry-piee , @peterholland04 , @motorsportloverf1 , @renarots , @msbyjackal , @woozarts , @leclucklerc , @yl90

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ARKHAM MAID 2024

#f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 female driver #fem!driver #female driver #f1 x reader #f1 x female reader #kevin magnussen x reader #tony stark x reader #— ˚₊‧⁺˖ lightning on track #— ˚₊‧⁺˖ creations

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unteriors · 4 months ago

Note

do you like or dislike these houses? both? a mix?

Some of the places posted here I find horrifying. There are gradations of horror: hazardous, rubbish filled, either abandoned or still vaguely occupied houses; places that have clearly been abandoned for a long time and function as time-capsules; time-capsules that are also clearly lived-in, or have been until recently, the circumstances of which leave enough to the imagination to let it wander to dark places; or bold, unhuman interior design, unsettling enough to be conducive to fear. There are other places that don't necessarily evoke the same responses but which have their own peculiar creative qualities and which stumbling upon inspires curiosity about the world. Sometimes I see something and wonder what the people on this site would think of it. Often people will respond to one of these spaces by saying it evokes nostalgia. For me, nostalgia doesn't feel exactly like a happy emotion, though I get the impression that there's a popular conception of it as being largely positive (probably not unrelated to how heavily it's been appropriated as a marketing tool). The term originally referred to an actual sickness suffered by 17th century Swiss mercenaries, who missed the landscapes of their homeland. So there's always been a sense of loss, and physical distance between yourself and a remembered place, associated with it. And it feels to me to be connected personally with specific places and environments.

I grew up in a city that has a weird compulsion to demolish and rebuild itself every 30-40 years. I also moved around a lot as a kid, and a lot of the places I remember vividly have quietly disappeared at various points. Second-hand cars were less reliable when I grew up, and I spent a lot of time with my parents on public transport and walking through the city. There was a stalled construction site, which was basically a massive hole in the ground that had been left to rot and develop its own ecosystem, which became known as the Westralia Swamp. Walking over it in an enclosed catwalk was probably my first experience of something that approaches the subject of this blog.

Less hellish but more personally affecting were the disappearances of places I spent a lot of time in when I was young, like Raine Square, which was flattened at some point and replaced with a multi-storey glass mall. One of the areas I grew up in was a roughly 80% public housing estate built in the sixties, most of which has been demolished and replaced with unaffordable duplexes. I haven't been able to find many photos of what it used to look like, so in consequence the only visual record I have are my own vague memories. Which is a roundabout way of getting at my own responses to the images I find and post here, or maybe my own motivation and compulsion to go looking for them.

#anon feedback

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m1ckeyb3rry · 10 months ago

Text

── THE GLASS PRINCESS // SIX

Series Synopsis: You wake up in a strange room with no memories, broken glass at your bedside, and a prince named Zuko as your only chance at figuring out who you really are.

Chapter Synopsis: Two separate encounters with two different Firebenders yield revelations of the sort you are unprepared to face.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Zuko x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 8.4k

Content Warnings: complicated relationships (strangers to friends to lovers to enemies to strangers to lovers to enemies to lovers), amnesia, alternate universe, lots of secrets and lying and mystery

A/N: i have been writing like crazy recently AHAHA but anyways apologies in advance to anyone expecting anything different from this 😫

“I’m so sad that the break is over. It wasn’t nearly long enough,” Jia-Li said as the two of you returned to your room for the first time since you had left it for Ember Island.

“Our beds look a lot smaller in comparison to the ones on Ember Island,” you said. Jia-Li snorted.

“That’s for sure. And did the room shrink while we were gone?” she said.

“It definitely looks like it,” you said. “At least we don’t have class until tomorrow.”

“Do you think Ty Lee is back yet?” she said. “We should go to the market. It’ll be fun.”

“I should probably do some reading so that I’m ready for tomorrow,” you said.

“Don’t be a spoilsport! I doubt you forgot anything in the short time we were gone, seriously. You’ll be okay if you skip out on reading for one day and come enjoy yourself with the rest of us,” Jia-Li said.

You gave the stack of books on your desk a longing look before nodding firmly, knowing Jia-Li was right, and furthermore that Ty Lee would agree with her. It was just as important for you to socialize as it was for you to study hard, and going to the market wasn’t so time-consuming that it would leave you unable to do anything for the rest of the day.

“Alright, but only if you don’t complain about me reading tonight,” you said. “The book I’m on currently is really interesting.”

“What’s it about?” Jia-Li said.

“The history of Ba Sing Se,” you said. “Since I was found there, I thought that learning more about it might spark some memories in me. All things considered, it’s not as boring as one might expect. The chapter I’m about to start is on the royal family and the construction of the palace.”

“To be honest, I don’t see how you find that so fascinating, but if that’s what you like, then who am I to stop you? Sure, you can leave the candle burning a bit longer in order to finish your chapter if we get back too late,” she said.

“Thanks,” you said. “You are the best roommate ever.”

“You flatter me,” she said. “Open up, Ty Lee!”

“What if Kaho is the one at the door?” you said, grabbing her hand to stop her from continuing to bang on it. Jia-Li huffed at you.

“She’s not going to be back until the evening. Don’t you remember how much she was bragging about having to stay late to submit her official reports from the meeting and all of that?” she said. You let go of her hand, for you did remember that. Once freed, Jia-Li continued to knock.

“Coming!” a muffled voice said, and then the door was swinging open to reveal Ty Lee, who was standing on her hands for some reason. “Ursa! Jia-Li! What are you guys doing here?”

“We wanted to ask you if you would come to the market with us,” you said, twisting your neck so that she would come into proper perspective. To your chagrin, it did nothing but make you dizzy, so you gave up and decided to just look down on her upside-down visage.

“Sure!” she said, rocking herself onto her feet and standing properly. “How were your breaks?”

“They were good,” Jia-Li said. “Very relaxing, but way too short.”

“We did see you at one point,” you reminded her. Ty Lee giggled.

“Right, at that stupid party! I heard you guys ended up partaking in the festivities, if you’re catching my meaning,” she said.

“Yes, that’s right,” you said. Jia-Li grinned, flames dancing in her palm before she curled her fist and extinguished them.

“It was fun,” she said. “You were on to something, Ty Lee. It was exactly what we needed.”

“Jia-Li’s brother was not happy with us when he found out,” you said. “But it’s fine. He’ll make up with her, I’m sure, and as for me…it’s fine if we never speak again.”

“Onto the next,” Jia-Li said. “It’s alright. You win some, you lose some.”

“Exactly,” you agreed. “What about you? What were you up to when you weren’t on Ember Island?”

“Strategizing with Azula, mostly,” Ty Lee said. “You know, she killed the Avatar around when Zuko took over Ba Sing Se.”

“Really?” you said. Ty Lee nodded.

“Yup, I saw it myself! He was about to go all glowy-white-eyes on her, and she just shot him with lightning before he could,” she said.

Killing an Avatar as a normal person was unheard of, and Princess Azula wasn’t even a master yet. She was clearly a prodigy, but you knew from Ty Lee that she was still training, though her training was so advanced that it was theoretically impossible for normal Firebenders such as Jia-Li and even Kaho to accomplish. The fact that she had done something as legendary as defeating an Avatar without full mastery of her element spoke to her skill and talents, and you swore then and there to never get on her bad side.

“That’s insane,” Jia-Li said. “I always knew she was on another level from the rest of us, but I didn’t realize until now just how large that skill gap was.”

“Mhm, but for some reason, she’s gotten to be crazy paranoid recently. She’s convinced that he’s not really dead, and she’s been losing sleep over it,” Ty Lee said. “It’s tainting her victory, and she’s been meeting with Mai and I nonstop on what we should do in case he proves to be alive.”

“It’s better to be prepared than not,” you said. “Though she probably doesn’t have much to worry about. If the Avatar was alive, he probably would’ve made himself known, don’t you think? I doubt it would be easy for an Airbender to hide himself, especially not one as powerful as the Avatar surely is.”

“That’s what I’ve been telling her, but she’s still worried,” Ty Lee said. “So my break was mostly work, except for that one weekend on Ember Island.”

“That’s a shame,” Jia-Li said.

“Next break, I’m going to sleep the entire time,” Ty Lee vowed. “Every day I’m at the school serves as a reminder of why I dropped out in the first place, and I need my body and aura to recover from this kind of environment.”

“I always forget you did that,” you said.

“Why’d you come back?” Jia-Li said. “It’s obvious you hate it here, and you have a place in the palace already, so it’s not as though you’re going to climb the ranks socially by attending.”

“Simple! I’m here to keep an eye on Ursa!” Ty Lee said. “Not that she needs it, but Prince Zuko asked me to come along and help her acclimate to the environment of the academy, since we weren’t sure if she’d be able to handle it or not.”

“That’s a lot more logical than you suddenly developing a passion for the scholarly pursuits, which is what I had previously thought was the reasoning,” Jia-Li said.

“I don’t think I’ll ever develop that,” Ty Lee said, wrinkling her nose. “I’ll leave the academic stuff to Ursa.”

“Me, too,” Jia-Li said.

“Hey, come on, guys. Reading is fun,” you said, though it was obviously unconvincing, as both of them made faces at you. “Or not, I guess.”

“Let’s stop talking about school, please,” Ty Lee said. “It’s bad enough that we have classes tomorrow. We don’t need to ruin our free time by thinking about them now, too!”

“It’s not a problem for me,” Jia-Li said. “Maybe Ursa will have some difficulty, though.”

“Shut up! No, I won’t!” you said. “You won’t hear me speaking about school for the rest of the outing.”

“Does that include whenever you drop your random little factoids to explain whatever’s going on at any given time?” Jia-Li said.

“Hopefully not,” Ty Lee said. “I’d be way too confused without her narrating everything.”

“True,” Jia-Li said. “Okay, you can talk about those, but no more explicit mentions of the academy. Or of reading. Or of other things along those lines.”

“I already agreed!” you said. “Honestly, you guys have such a low opinion of me. Anyways, do either of you have anything specific to get at the market, or are we just wandering around?”

“Maybe I’ll get a new hair ribbon, but I’m not particularly attached to the idea, so I’m alright no matter where we go,” Jia-Li said.

“I don’t have anything I need, so we can go look at the hair ribbon stalls if you want, Jia-Li,” Ty Lee said.

“It’s the same for me,” you said. “Besides, it’s not like I really have money to spend, which means I’ll just admire the different shops, so I have no particular preference for where we go. Lead the way, Jia-Li; you’d know the market best, anyways.”

“Ty Lee probably knows it pretty well, too,” Jia-Li said.

“Nope, I ran away to join the circus, remember? I haven’t been here for a while! Even when I came back to the palace, I was always with Azula and Mai, and they’re not really the type to enjoy walking around the market, so it’s been a bit,” Ty Lee said.

“Then it really is up to me,” Jia-Li said, straightening her shoulders and nodding firmly. “Follow me, girls!”

You and Ty Lee marched after Jia-Li as she strode towards a stall decorated with hair ribbons of every shade. Some were patterned the way Kaho’s was, whereas others were solid-colored, like the one Jia-Li tended to wear. All of them were beautiful, richly made and finely dyed, and you could not help running your fingers over a few of them in appreciation.

“What do you think of this one?” Jia-Li said, holding up a red ribbon that had white flowers embroidered on it. “The one I have right now is so plain.”

“It’s very nice,” you said.

“I like it!” Ty Lee said. “You should get it.”

“Do you think so? Let’s see. How much is this for?” Jia-Li said. As she began to argue with the merchant about the price, you found yourself wandering off, observing the hustle and bustle of the marketplace, the different vendors and their goods, the mothers with their little children rifling through their purses full of gold coins, the serious soldiers standing at attention in uniform — and the not so serious ones with their helmets off and tucked under their arms as they talked to each other. Though the market was so large in scale, it was more like a collection of small, intimate snapshots of domesticity than a grand, epic portrait woven together out of perfectly conjoined parts.

There were so many different stories happening at once. People cried and laughed and argued and bantered on these streets. They lived their lives, unknowing of what would happen to them next or what those at their sides were going through. It was one of those mundane sort of miracles, the sort that were so commonplace that nobody would find them miraculous unless they stepped back and thought about them for a moment.

“Did you hear the news?” someone said to you. You tilted your head at the woman, who had her hand held in front of her mouth politely. “Apparently, there’s a prisoner on the loose!”

“What? In the capital?” you said. She nodded.

“Word has it that he deserted the army during the fall of Ba Sing Se and was promptly captured by Prince Zuko, who sent him to prison. But now he’s escaped! It’s all so frightening,” she said. “Be careful. You’re a student at the academy, aren’t you? My daughter is in her first year there, so I recognized the uniform. You should hurry back to the campus — it’s much safer there.”

“Thank you for the warning,” you said. “I hope you stay safe as well, madam.”

It had been an odd encounter, but for some reason, it wasn’t the random nature of the conversation that made you uneasy. Such things happened at markets, and especially because you apparently went to school with her daughter, it made sense that she had approached you. No, it was the story itself that you were worried about.

The History Mistress had never mentioned anyone deserting the army, besides the former General Iroh. That meant that this escaped prisoner, whoever they were, must’ve been some foot soldier so unimportant that they were not even worthy of the simplest sentence in your lectures, but that begot another question — how had a simple foot soldier escaped a Fire Nation prison?

The haggard man in front of you walked with a limp, and the exposed skin that you could see was littered with scars. Unlike what you would’ve assumed, though, the scars were clearly not from burns. They were cuts, deep lacerations that stood out red and furious against his arms, his neck, his ankles and even his face.

He must’ve been in a terrible battle, but for some reason, no one paid him any mind. The crowds parted around him before melting back together, like he had never been there in the first place. It was only you that followed, you who was entranced, matching his every step with your own. There was some burning desire in you that needed to follow him. You couldn’t place it, couldn’t understand its origin or any part of its existence, but you just knew you had to fulfill it. So you went after the man, growing steadily closer and closer until you could hear what he was muttering to himself.

“Gave everything…fought for that damn prince…what does it get me? Going to kill that girl. Going to kill that girl. What does it get me? Gave everything for that damn prince. Going to kill her. I have to kill her,” he said, over and over, repeating the same phrases on loop.

“Excuse me, sir, but are you alright?” you said when the two of you reached a dead end and the man stood still, facing the wall, continuing to say the same breathless things.

“I knew it,” he said. “I knew someone was following me. We Soldiers of Agni, we know these things.”

“Soldiers of Agni?” you said. The man still did not turn around, pressing his hands against the stone wall and resting his forehead against it. “They’re all dead, sir. They fell during the invasion of Ba Sing Se.”

“And don’t I know it!” the man said. “We gave everything for that prince, and what did it lead us to? Death! Death, you foolish girl, all of my comrades are dead! I’m the only one who survived that wench’s onslaught, but instead of being treated as the hero I am, I was renounced as a traitor. Prince Zuko took my status as a Soldier of Agni away, and he threw me in some dungeon to rot. Tell me how that��s fair!”

“I think you’re confused, sir,” you said, stepping away from him, questioning your own instincts for landing you into this situation. Because this was definitely the prisoner that the woman had been talking about, and since that was the case, you were almost certainly in danger. “Prince Zuko would never do something like that. He is a kind and just person. He even saved me!”

He spun around. “He saved — you!”

Before you knew it, there was a blast of fire heading directly for you. You barely leapt out of the way and readied yourself to fight, but even if the prisoner was telling the truth and he really had once been a Soldier of Agni, his reflexes and musculature had faded during his time locked away. No matter how much he tried, nothing but wisps of smoke escaped his hands, and he shouted in fury before rushing at you.

“What are you doing?” you said as you began to run as well.

“I’m going to kill you!” he said, his voice breaking as he did so. “You took everything from me, so I’m going to kill you!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about!” you said in distress. “I’m just a student at the Royal Fire Academy! I haven’t taken anything from anyone!”

“Is that where you are now, you sly witch?” he spat. “It wasn’t enough for you to destroy us all? You have to infiltrate our nation, too? Get out of here, scum!”

“What are you saying?” you said.

“My comrades are dead because of you,” he said. “I’m in prison because of you. I have to — I have to get justice. If that Agni-damned Prince Zuko really did save you, if he really is just letting you walk around and pretend to be one of us, then the Fire Nation is doomed. I have to do what I must for my country! In the name of Fire Lord Ozai, I will kill you, once and for all!”

“Huh?” you said. “I was a prisoner in Ba Sing Se! I don’t have the faintest clue how I could’ve killed your comrades.”

“That’s rich, coming from you. You don’t have to lie in front of me. I was there, wench. I know what you really are,” he said.

“And what might that be?” you said, skidding to a stop before you crashed into a wall and turning to face him, getting into the hand-to-hand combat stance that you had been trained to adopt at the academy.

“The—” Before he could finish, his eyes widened, and then he was falling over. It was Ty Lee; she had jabbed her fingers into his pressure points in a quick but familiar succession, and now she was standing over him, disapproval etched on her face.

“Ursa! There you are!” Jia-Li said, rounding the corner and almost tripping over the fallen man. “Who is that?”

“He’s an escaped prisoner,” you said. “He claimed he used to be one of the Soldiers of Agni.”

“I thought they were all dead, though?” Jia-Li said.

“They are,” Ty Lee said. “He must’ve been rambling about nothing.”

“Definitely,” Jia-Li said. “What Soldier of Agni would just faint like that for no reason?”

“It wasn’t exactly for no reason. I used my chi-blocking to take him out!” Ty Lee said.

“Chi-blocking?” Jia-Li said as the man groaned, beginning to wake up.

“It’s a pretty useful skill,” Ty Lee said. “All sorts of applications. It can temporarily take away bending, incapacitate people, and more! It’s the way for nonbenders like me to level the playing field and stand a chance even against the strongest of benders.”

“That’s why you aren’t afraid of Kaho!” Jia-Li said.

“Yup!” Ty Lee said.

“Who are you girls?” the man said groggily, pushing himself to his feet.

“I thought you knew who I was?” you said. “You said so yourself!”

“How would he know who you are?” Jia-Li said.

“No idea, but he seemed pretty sure just a second ago,” you said.

“For some reason, I think I do,” the man said. “But I don’t know how or why. There’s just a blank spot in my memories. I can’t — I can’t remember anything.”

“That’s strange,” Jia-Li said.

“He must’ve hit his head when he fell,” Ty Lee said.

“Right,” you said, though when she stooped over to pick the man up and bring him to the nearby soldiers, you narrowed your eyes at her.

You knew that chi-blocking sequence. You knew it well, because Ty Lee had used it on you before, still used it on you even now. You had never questioned it much, never found any merit in doing so. Ty Lee was infamous for being an airhead, so you had always put the strange ritual down as another one of her oddities. But what if it wasn’t? There was no way that the man had hit his head hard enough to forget everything so quickly, especially not when he had been so confident only seconds prior.

The more likely scenario was that Ty Lee had somehow blocked his memories when she had blocked his chi. It made the most sense, but if that really was the case, then what motive did she have to do the same for you? It was uncomfortable thinking about it, but you couldn’t stop the question from reverberating around your mind for the rest of the day.

Was Ty Lee the reason you didn’t remember anything?

That night, when Jia-Li was asleep and you were getting ready to settle in bed yourself, there was a knock on your door. Quickly blowing out the candle and making sure that the door was locked, you leapt into your bed and pulled the covers over your head, squeezing your eyes shut and pretending to be fast asleep.

“Ursa?” It was Ty Lee. “Are you awake?”

You knew what she was there for. It was about the time for her to — if your assumption was correct — block your chi, and possibly your memories. You had never protested, and you didn’t want her to grow suspicious of you in case that led to her taking even more drastic measures, but you also knew you had to avoid her for the time being if you ever wanted to remember who you were.

Just for a couple of days. You only had to stay away from her for a couple of days, and if nothing changed, then you would return to her side and act as if you both were friends once more.

“Are you and Ty Lee fighting?” Jia-Li said the next morning. You were currently suffering from a massive migraine, massaging your temples as you tried to block the light from hitting your eyes, but you managed to shake your head in the negative.

“No, we’re not,” you said. “Why?”

“You didn’t talk to her all morning, and you sat next to me instead of her, the way you usually do. I think she was a little sad about it,” Jia-Li said.

“I just have a really bad headache,” you said.

“Do you need to go to the infirmary?” Jia-Li said. “If you can’t handle class, I’ll tell the Etiquette Mistress. You’re already her favorite pupil, so she shouldn’t mind.”

“No, I’ll go,” you said, knowing that it was of the utmost importance that you didn’t go anywhere alone. It would be an opportunity for Ty Lee to chi-block you again, one you did not need to create, not if you wanted your experiment to be successful. “I’m sure I’ll get over it with something to drink.”

Yet, despite the cups upon cups of water you chugged, it didn’t do anything to dissipate your headache. It was like there was someone pushing on your brow, crushing your head together, the heaviness seeping down behind your eyes and into your jaw. You thought you might be close to implosion, but there was never a moment of relief. The pressure just kept mounting and mounting until you really did wish for someone to take a hammer to your skull and break it open so that you could finally be freed from the pain.

“Ursa, Jia-Li,” Kaho said as you entered the classroom, her voice filled with venom. “I can’t believe you’re daring to show your faces today.”

“Why wouldn’t we?” you said, far too preoccupied with your migraine to temper your irritation with your usual politeness. “We’re students at the academy, the same as you, Kaho.”

“I thought you might be ashamed of yourself after your performance during the break, at Ember Island,” she said.

“What performance?” you said.

“You destroyed my house!” she said. “I know you all did. You and that group of losers from the beach, whoever they were. My brother told me all about it.”

“Your brother’s the biggest fool I’ve ever met,” you said. “Followed closely by Ruon-Jian. Neither of them recognized the prince and princess even when they were right in front of them.”

“Don’t call my brother a fool,” she said.

“It must be a familial trait,” you continued.

“Ursa, what are you doing?” Jia-Li said.

“I have way too much of a headache to deal with her squealing right now,” you said harshly. “Chan is an idiot and we helped destroy her house. It’s true, but it matters little to me, and I wish she’d just go and wallow in her misery somewhere far from where I am!”

“You’re playing with fire,” Jia-Li fretted. “Quite literally.”

“Can you just leave me alone for once, Kaho?” you said.

“You think you’re so much better than me, don’t you?” Kaho said. “You’ve taken my spot as the top student, and you’re favored by Prince Zuko, so you believe that makes you my superior. But there’s one thing that you’ll never have.”

“And what might that be? An insufferable attitude, or a particularly hideous—” you were cut off by Jia-Li slapping her hand over your mouth.

“She doesn’t know what she’s saying,” Jia-Li apologized. “The migraine is making her delirious.”

Kaho ignored her, staring directly at you, the anger which she was so well-known for blazing to life in her irises. It was the same way she had glared at you after defeating that one underclassman in an Agni Kai. It was the same way she glared at you every time you corrected her in class or got a better result than her on an exam. It was the same way she glared at you whenever you received a letter from Prince Zuko while in the dining hall.

She hated you. You had known this for some time, but you had never understood it until that moment. Kaho despised everything you were, but more than that, she despised that she was jealous of you. She was used to everything going her way, and yet, here you were, a girl who had no memories and no background and no bloodline, taking without difficulty everything that was once hers.

It should never have been yours. To Kaho, you were nobody, a girl from rubble who stole everything from the rightfully deserving. And now here you were, insulting her in front of everyone, clearly rising above the place she had designated for you in her mind. It was an offense of the highest order, and in that instant, you came to the conclusion that you would not escape unpunished. Kaho would no longer allow you to walk over her without retaliation.

“Firebending,” Kaho said. “That’s what I have, and I will always, always be your better, because you can’t even bend.”

“Maybe not,” you said, swallowing and then deciding that if you were already doomed, you might as well have the last word. “It makes it more embarrassing for you, though, doesn’t it? That a nonbender has beat you so thoroughly in everything else? That you can only cling to your bending to maintain your sense of superiority?”

“That’s it,” Kaho said. “You know what I’m going to say, don’t you?”

“You’ve really done it now, Ursa,” Jia-Li groaned. “Don’t even think of asking me to be your proxy. I don’t have a death wish.”

“I do,” you said. “And I’ll save you the trouble. I challenge you to an Agni Kai, Kaho.”

If an Agni Kai was declared, classes were suspended so that the school could watch. Though they were so brutal in nature, they were actually encouraged by the administration, as they served to weed out the weaker students, leaving behind only the strongest, the best of the best.

At present, the field where you and Kaho were going to fight was utterly cleared, though staff and students alike gathered on the edges to watch the event. It had been anticipated for some time, this clash between the two top students of the academy, even if one of them couldn’t Firebend.

“You’re seriously not even calling a proxy?” Jia-Li said.

“Who would I call?” you said, rolling your shoulders. “She’s beaten every girl at this academy already, and I’m not about to beg the prince to save me.”

“Let go of your pride for once and do exactly that!” Jia-Li said. “You couldn’t even take me in a fight, so you can just forget about facing Kaho.”

“Actually, she can manage,” Ty Lee said grimly. You didn’t know where she had come from, but there she stood, her face set, her posture stiff. “Ursa. I don’t know why he said it, but for some reason, Zuko seemed to think that you were strong. Stronger than the rest of us, in fact.”

“He told me as much,” you said. “I don’t know why he said it, either, but for some reason, I don’t think he was lying. At least, he seemed to really believe it, which means there must be some thought behind it all.”

“It doesn’t matter if you’re a prodigy with weapons on par with Master Piandao himself!” Jia-Li said. “Against someone like Kaho, you either need to be a bender or have unusual skills the way Ty Lee does. Can you claim either of those things?”

“I don’t know, Jia-Li,” you said. “I don’t think so. Yet I have to do this all the same. She’s gone unchecked for far too long.”

“And you’ll be the one to check her?” Jia-Li said, throwing her hands up in the air. “I wish you had just gone to the infirmary like I had told you to!”

“Let’s go, Jia-Li,” Ty Lee said. “It’s time. Good luck, Ursa.”

Another pang. You forced yourself to smile through the pain, not wanting to show weakness right when you were about to get into a fight. Ty Lee smiled back, though Jia-Li did not muster the same energy, wailing despondently about how she was going to lose another roommate as Ty Lee dragged her off the field.

“This is your last chance, Ursa,” Kaho said. “If you fall to your knees and grovel, if you accept your place in this world, and if you renounce your ties with the royal family, then I will spare you.”

“I cannot do either of those things,” you said. “And you cannot ask me to.”

“I will not be gentle,” Kaho warned. “I was kind in my last Agni Kai, so perhaps you think that you will get off in a similarly unharmed way. If that is the case, then I want you to know that you are wrong. I will burn my victory into your skin so deeply that you can never look into the mirror without being reminded of the day you angered the wrong person.”

“My head is already full of pain, nearly to the bursting,” you said. “What is one more wound? Do your worst, Kaho. Even if I lose today, I will still have won in the end.”

“And how is that?” Kaho said. You grinned at her.

“Because I’ve shown everyone else at this academy exactly the sort of person you are,” you said. “You can’t beat a nonbender at anything else, so you have to challenge them to an Agni Kai in order to cling to the last threads of your former glory. You’re really very pathetic, and no matter how thoroughly you burn me, you can’t change that.”

“Did no one ever teach you to hold your tongue?” Kaho said, taking a deep breath, fire flickering at her fingertips.

“Certainly, at some point, someone must have,” you said. “But I shouldn’t know when or who or what the purpose of the lesson was. Don’t you recall that I have no memories?”

No one could say that Kaho wasn’t talented. The way she used her Firebending was like an extension of herself, as brutal and efficient as her clinical personality. It wasn’t that she was incredibly powerful — she just did not waste even a drop of energy, focusing her entire being into her forms, which were done with a clear accuracy that was difficult to dodge.

She punched a lick of fire at you, deadly hot, the air shimmering in the aftermath of it as it dissipated into nothingness, barely avoiding singing the edges of your clothes. You employed every trick you had learnt, for the longer you could draw out the fight, the worse it looked for her.

It was a game that you could not win. It was a game you were destined to lose, but — and maybe this was your past knowledge speaking — you had to play along. The outcome was determined, but you still had to play.

“Why did you come here?” Kaho screamed, her careful control slipping the more times she missed burning you. It was like her words drove a knife through your head, and the only reason your faltering was not a fatal blunder was because she, too, was growing more and more errant in her strikes. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“You’re the one trying to immolate me!” you said, sweat pouring from your brow, your shirt sticking to your collarbones and your pants clinging to your legs. “Why don’t you raise that question to yourself?”

“You!” she said. “Why are you speaking so elegantly? Are you mocking me?”

“Of all the things, you choose to criticize my manner of speaking? Your sense of prioritization is as horrid as your personality,” you said.

More fire. This time, the hem of your shirt did catch alight, but you put it out before it could reach your skin, so it didn’t count as a first burn. It did, however, mean two things: you were getting tired, and Kaho was losing even more of her composure.

“You came here,” she said. “I was alright before! But you came here and decided that everything I had was yours. My place in society, my standing in the school…the happy ending I was born to inherit has all gone to you!”

“Happy ending?” you said. “Do you think I care about something as superficial and fantastical as that? I don’t even have a beginning! Have you ever taken a second thought about your hatred? You can choose the direction of your life, Kaho. Whether happy or sad or anything in between, you know who you are. I do not have such a luxury. You resent my friendship with the prince, but if I do not have him, I have nothing left of my past! I helped destroy your house, yes, but at least you have a house — and it was only one of many. I don’t even have a shack in the woods to call my own!”

“Exactly,” Kaho said. “You should be begging on the streets, yet you are here. But no longer. No longer will I allow you to exist beside me, as if we are equals.”

Your eyes widened as her words sank in. This wasn’t just an Agni Kai anymore. She would not stop once she burnt you. It didn’t matter how completely; you had been wagering that you could eventually heal from whatever she inflicted on you. But, according to Kaho, she was not planning on you ever healing. She was planning on you dying.

Without Kaho’s fire, the air was almost cold. Goosebumps raised on your bare arms, though whether it was from chill or fright, you were not sure. Kaho was incredibly still, her eyes closed as she inhaled deeply, centering herself, drawing strength from the core of her bending — her breath. Everyone else was silent, though you thought you could hear someone, perhaps Jia-Li, repeating a prayer to Agni frantically, begging him to protect you from Kaho’s wrath.

You did no such thing. There was a voice in your head, whispering past the pain, telling you that Agni was not your god. You could not pray to him. You could not pray to a lord of destruction. You could not pray to the deity who had ruined your home.

You did not question this voice, though by all rights it was contrary to the little you knew of yourself. You were a Fire Nation soldier. Agni had not ruined your home, he had saved it. He was the one whose banner you had fought under. He was the one whose name you had been tortured in. He was your patron.

No. He was not. He was Kaho’s. He was Zuko’s. He was Jia-Li’s. But you were not a Firebender. You were something else. What? It was inexplicable, but your bones resonated with that truth as the effects of Ty Lee’s continuous chi-blocking began to crumble, your headache finally alleviating as you had your first breakthrough.

Kaho opened her eyes, and then fire gathered in her palms. You stood your ground this time, rooting yourself into the dirt of the field, and as a wave of fire rolled towards you, destroying everything in its path, you cringed back and screwed your eyelids together but refused to move. This time, you would not move.

Right when the blistering temperature got to be too much, it was cut off, asphyxiated before its source could reach you. Then Kaho was hurling insults at you, calling you a mongrel, a filthy half-breed, a daughter of mud. You cracked your eyes open, wondering why she did not attack you once more, why she had ceased her assault at the instant before she would have won for certain.

There was a large wall of stone erected before you, shielding you from Kaho, impenetrable by even the hottest of fires, which certainly she did not possess. That wall had not been there before, and the names which Kaho was calling you suddenly made sense — because you had created the wall. It was yours.

You were an Earthbender.

Within seconds, every single person that had borne witness to the Agni Kai was slumped over on the ground, including Kaho herself. Ty Lee used her momentum to flip over the wall, dropping to her feet before you and crossing her arms.

“You knew,” you said. “The entire time, you knew.”

“No,” she said. “Not exactly.”

“You’re the one who’s been blocking my memories, though,” you said. “Right? You would block my chi so that I couldn’t remember my past or use my Earthbending.”

“That’s right,” she said, bowing her head. She seemed apologetic, but nothing resembling pity filled you. The only emotion you could muster was disgust.

“Why?” you said. “What could have convinced you to do something like that? I thought we were friends, Ty Lee. Was that all a lie? Were you only staying close to me so that you could keep suppressing my memories?”

“No!” she said. “That was the reason at first, but I like spending time with you, Ursa. You really are one of my friends.”

She reached out as if to embrace you, but you took a step backwards so that she could not. She pulled back as if you had wounded her.

“My name isn’t Ursa, is it?” you said. “Who am I really, Ty Lee? Tell me the truth.”

“I have no idea,” she said. “He didn’t tell me anything about you. He just said it was for the best if you didn’t remember anything. I was so afraid the whole time, I thought Azula might be angry if she found out, but he was always so kind to me when I was younger that I thought I owed him at least this one favor…”

“Who?” you said. “Who is he? Who demanded you keep my memories from me?”

She gave you a miserable look. “Zuko.”

“That liar,” you said. It wasn’t just anger for the specific betrayal; there was some old rage quivering in you. You hated him. You hated him. You couldn’t say why, but you hated him. The ground shook, and Ty Lee glanced around nervously, but you paid her no mind. “He lied to me! He pretended like he cared, but the whole time, he was the one who did it! It’s his fault that I’m like this!”

“Don’t be angry,” Ty Lee pleaded. “I’m sure he had a reason. Just talk to him, and I’m sure he’ll explain!”

“Explain?” you said. “I don’t want to hear his explanations. I want him to pay for what he did!”

Another stake driven into your mind. It was your chi, you presumed, chipping away at the place where your memories were stored. There was still nothing concrete, but a sense of claustrophobia was creeping over you. You weren’t supposed to be here. You were supposed to be somewhere else. You were supposed to be doing something, but Zuko — Zuko had snatched you away from that fate.

“Ursa,” Ty Lee said.

“Stop calling me that,” you said. “It’s not who I am.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know what else to call you,” she said, clearly near tears. “Please calm down for a little bit. I blocked everyone’s chi in time; no one will remember this happened, so take the moment to settle and think things over. There’s no rush.”

“You can’t just do that,” you said. “You can’t keep blocking people’s memories at whim. They’re not yours to play with like that. Anyways, won’t they remember again? Are you really going to go around once a week and block everyone’s chi?”

“I was quick enough, and it was a small enough memory, that just one time will be sufficient,” she said. “No one will know what you’ve done, and I promise I won’t block your memories again if you stay.”

“I can’t trust you,” you said, straining with all your might to drive the stone wall back into the ground. “I’m sorry, but I really can’t.”

Dust flew up everywhere, but once it cleared, the field looked placid and undisturbed — barring, of course, the scorch marks left in the wake of Kaho’s attacks.

“What are you going to do now?” she said.

“I’m going to my room,” you said. “You can go ahead and tell Zuko I can Earthbend again. I’m sure you’ve been keeping him updated this entire time, so I won’t stop you.”

“He’ll want to come visit you,” Ty Lee said. And, because you did not want her to get in trouble, because despite what she had done there was still fondness for her buried deep within you, you only sighed and then nodded.

“Then he’ll do just that, I’d expect,” you said. “Goodbye, Ty Lee.”

You weren’t sure if she knew what you meant by the farewell. Maybe she did. For her own sake, you hoped she did not, or at least that she pretended that that was the case. She had in the end only been a tool of Zuko’s, so though you did not forgive her, you did not hate her, either.

Perhaps by a stroke of good fortune or perhaps by design, Jia-Li did not return to the room before dinner. This allowed you to collect your meager possessions, shoving them in the bag you had brought with you to Ember Island. Changing out of your uniform, you bit your lip before placing it in the trash. It was beyond salvaging, and besides, your time as Ursa was over. Now, you had to leave behind the life that the prince had created for you and figure out who you were, what your own life was like.

Fastening a cloak over your shoulders and tossing the hood up over your head to further disguise yourself, you slunk through the dormitory, staying in the shadows and hiding whenever people passed. In that manner, you managed to escape detection, reaching the academy’s aviary before anyone noticed you.

“Bian,” you whispered to your messenger hawk. She was instantly awake, cocking her head at you. You shook your own at her in the negative. “I don’t have a letter for you. There’s no one left for me to write to. I just wanted to tell you something: I’m leaving.”

Even if Bian had once been meant to be Prince Zuko’s, you had difficulty thinking of her as anything but yours. She was your friend, yourhawk, and though she was of the Fire Nation, of your time as Ursa, you could not let her go without saying farewell first, the way you would with the rest of it.

“I can’t tell anyone else,” you said. “It’ll just put them in danger. I can’t even say bye to Jia-Li. She’ll think I just ran away for no reason, and she was too loyal of a friend to deserve that, but I cannot implicate her in my defection from the academy. She’ll be the first they question, and I don’t know that she’ll lie convincingly enough to escape suspicion. So, then, when she says she has no idea where I’ve gone, she has to be telling the truth.”

Bian cooed at you; well, maybe calling the throaty sound cooing was being generous, but there was no other way to describe it, and the sentiment was the same. She was trying, in her own way, to comfort you, and you extended your arms to her perch so that you could rub the soft, tiny feathers of her cheeks.

“Thank you for being my hawk,” you said. “Be good for whoever owns you next — unless it is the prince, in which case I give you full permission to bite his fingers whenever he tries to give you letters.”

With that, you turned around, your hands dropping to your sides as you walked, then ran out of the aviary. If you turned around, you would cry. If you turned around, you might not ever be able to leave, so you sprinted until you reached the stables where the various animals belonging to the academy were kept.

Passing by the sleeping dragon moose and the corral of komodo rhinos, you ducked into the stall of one of the mongoose lizards. Throwing its saddle on, you patted it on the forehead.

“I’m sorry,” you said, swinging on and kicking it forwards. “I promise you can go home once you get me out of the capital.”

The mongoose lizard was fast, but more than that, it was stealthy and could traverse many kinds of terrain. Scuttling through the campus, it climbed the walls at your direction, though it was obviously unsure, as it had been trained not to leave the academy, even when given the opportunity.

Looking up, you saw a shadow cover the moon briefly, and you furrowed your brow as the dark shape came hurtling down towards you. The mongoose lizard continued to dash through the streets of the capital, and you used your hands to shield your face from the incoming projectile.

You needn’t have. At the last moment, it flared its wings, landing gently on your shoulder, careful not to dig its talons into your flesh despite the subsequent loss of balance.

“Bian?” you said. She nipped your shirt collar like she was chiding you for daring to leave without her. You laughed in relief, scratching her crest. “Oh, my dear Bian. I should never have tried to go without you. Thank you for finding me.”

She hopped off your shoulder, sitting on the pommel of the saddle, surveying the terrain with the regal bearing of a figurehead. With her at your side, you weren’t quite as lonely, and though it was selfish of you, you were glad that she had made such a choice, that she loved you enough to follow you away from the comfort of the aviary.

You traveled for a while at top speed, but once the mongoose lizard began to show signs of fatigue, you reined it to a stop. Whistling for Bian, you slid off of the beast. It made a clicking noise at you, and you smiled at it.

“Thank you,” you said. “You have done your job well. You may go back now.”

Without hesitation, the mongoose lizard spun and headed in the same direction it had come from. You didn’t wait, either; the palace certainly had methods to track you, so it would be a folly for you to stay in the same place for too long.

When the search began depended on Jia-Li. If she reported your disappearance immediately, then you were in trouble, but you sensed she would not. You had a habit of coming back to the room later than her, so she’d likely not realize you were gone at all until she woke up and saw your bed had remained undisturbed the entire night.

That left you with a window of time in which you could eat and sleep. After that, you had to walk to the nearest village and appropriate a new mount that could get you even farther from the academy and the capital and Prince Zuko’s grasp.

“It’s just so strange,” you said to Bian as you made a small fire using kindling, the way you had been taught in the academy. “If I’m an Earthbender instead of a former Fire Nation soldier, then there really is no explanation for any of it. Why did he abduct me? Why did he order my memories to be subdued? What significance did I hold?”

If she knew anything about the heart or mind of her former master, she did not reveal it. Rummaging around in your bag for the bit of food you had scrounged up while packing, you chewed on it pensively before pulling out the book you had been reading.

Opening to the page you had left off on, you promised to only finish the chapter on the royal family before you went to sleep. Maybe it was foolish to sacrifice any of the precious little rest you could get, but you longed for something to soothe your mind, and you thought that reading, as a familiar habit, might accomplish that goal.

The last ruler of the Earth Kingdom was the 52nd Earth King, born Kuei. He is famous only for his ineptitude. Ascending the throne at the age of four, he was a puppet monarch for much of his life, until the day he was deposed of by Prince Zuko and the Fire Nation forces.

For some strange reason, there was a lump in your throat reading about the 52nd Earth King, as if he was someone that you greatly missed. But that was not even the oddest thing — it was the next passage that made you truly gasp. Memories upon memories poured in as you read and reread the paragraph, which was more of a footnote than anything.

The 52nd Earth King also had a younger sister, though no one ever saw her. A nonbender like the king, Princess Y/N remained shut away in the palace her entire life, reputedly for her own protection. Because of her fragile and essentially invisible status, her own subjects mockingly referred to her as the Glass Princess.

She, along with her brother, was killed during the fall of Ba Sing Se.

#zuko x reader #zuko x y/n #zuko x you #zuko #avatar the last airbender #atla #reader insert #canon au #the glass princess #m1ckeyb3rry writes

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little-miss-dilf-lover · 8 months ago

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Hey just wondering if you still write for tangerine? If you do I was hoping you’d write one about tangerine having to most sweetest and kindest wife and everyone always wondering how could she marry a big grump like him? Like tangerine is on a job and he’s due back in a few days and these men have been sent to kidnap his wife and she sees them infront of her house and goes out asking if they are lost and invites them inside for some tea and makes them lunch and they end up leaving without her because of how sweet she was and tangerine comes back recognising the men leaving the house and his wife waving goodbye to them lol if that makes sense thank you

yes bb, still write for him. this is such a cute and funny idea!! thank you for requesting, hope you like it💌 reader is very mother in this

ROSE-TINTED VIEW.

tangerine x fem!reader — fluff

word count. 702

Some people see the worst in others, but not you. You often view the world and those around you through a pair of rose-tinted glasses, only ever seeing the good in everything. Some may call you unrealistic, but you wouldn't call it that - you liked to think of it as optimism. It's something needed within the world, especially to your pessimistic counterpart of a husband.

You were having a home day, chilling and lounging around the house, waiting for Tangerine's return from work when you see a few construction workers appear on your driveway. That wasn't who they were, but you'd never know that.

You see them lingering for a few minutes before you head to the front door and open it. "You guys alright?" you ask, stepping outside and onto the porch. "You lost?"

"No, we're good. Thanks," one of them speaks, exchanging looks with the others.

"Just waiting for our tool van," another adds, slapping his 'co-worker' when he began to whisper.

"Do you want to wait inside? It's going to rain soon, you'll catch a cold," you question, looking up at the sky - gesturing to the approaching grey clouds.

The men whisper amongst themselves, nudging each other with small laughs. "If you don't mind," the first speaks, nodding his 'co-workers' along.

"No, not at all. Come on in," you wave the men over, opening the door wider so they'd all fit past. You close the door behind them and notice the heavy fall of rain. "Just missed it," you chuckle, walking past them and into the kitchen. "Was about to put the kettle on. What can I get you? Teas? Coffees?"

The men exchange a few more glances - a quizzical raise of the brows upon your amiable questions. "Four teas, please, love," one of them speaks.

"I'll put milk and sugar on the table, and you can help yourselves," you gesture to the middle of the dining table in which they all sat around.

You head back into the kitchen, preparing and making cups of tea, grabbing a couple of packs of biscuits to take through. You place the mugs in front of them all - adding milk, sugar and cookies in the centre. The men thank you, smiling courteously at you.

"Can I get you guys something to eat, something fresh? Sandwiches? Oh, I bought a baguette this morning from the market— well, it's actually for my husband, but he won't mind. It'll go lovely with some deli meats. We actually have some in, all fresh from down the road," you offer, heading back into the kitchen. "You know what, I'll just make a big spread, and you can all help yourselves— anything that doesn't get eaten, you can take home."

You make a start on the sandwiches, creating a few different types for them all to graze on - taking in some extra cereal bars, fruits and bags of crisps. You make a sandwich for yourself and pull a chair to sit at the head of the table, talking casually with the strangers at your table.

After a while, the rain began to calm, and the men gathered their things to leave. You handed them small tinfoil parcels with extra food before waving them off, watching them move past Tan's car that was driving up the driveway.

"Who're they?" Tangerine asks as he steps out of his car, staring the van down until it's out of view.

"I don't know, some construction workers," you shrug, opening your arms to him - silently welcoming him home. "Good day?" you ask, pressing a kiss into his cheek.

He hums, seemingly distracted from the dark logoless van. "Did you?" he asks, draping an arm over your shoulder as you walk inside - side hugging you.

"Yes, very good, thanks. Went to the farmer's market this morning— got some pastries, oh and some jams. You'll love them," you smile, wrapping an arm around the middle of his back. "You hungry?" you ask, placing your spare hand over his tummy.

"A little," he softly chuckles, silently admiring your sweetness.

You press another kiss into his cheek, soothing over his dishevelled hair. "You go shower, I'll whip you up something."

psa, don't invite strangers into your home

#tangerine #tangerine x reader #tangerine bullet train #tangerine fluff

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bullet-prooflove · 9 months ago

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Something Else: Bode Leone x Reader (NSFW)

Tagging: @jeysbae @cloveroctobers @dizzybee03 @a-porcelain-gir1 @missy203 @floydsglasses @@alixw22x @shelbygeek @muligatorrr @jaybae @yousigned-upforthis @kmc1989 @brenobikenobi @mini-bee-bee @timmybradford @zippeylay @rhilee91 @switchbladeclub @itzkiarabxtches @girlinwounderland @choppedgalaxynerd @drunkangels @freecreationpost @stefani-topaz @chlo-lo14

One of Bode’s favourite things about being out on parole is the upgrade in shower facilities.

In prison you get ten minutes in the company with at least one other person, you try not to look but it’s incidental. The water was always freezing cold or scalding, there’s no in between. It was different at fire camp, you get fifteen minutes to yourself but the water pressure was shitty and the temperature tepid at best.

At home with you he gets as much hot water as he wants for as long as he wants, and baths…

They are a game changer after a hard day working construction or volunteering with Cal Fire.

Another thing he enjoys is the aromatherapy aspect. He’s used to relying on the shit they have in commissary and then what Cap was able to source from the General Store. It was always nameless, scentless, rough on his skin.

When he comes across the Wild & Sage stall at the Farmer’s Market he’s overwhelmed, he’s always liked the idea of natural products he’s just never been able to try them due to his legal predicament.

“I don’t know what to choose.” He says softly to you, his fingertips trailing over the silver reuseable containers. “There’s so many…”

“That’s what samples are for.” You say quietly, taking his hand in yours. You dab your fingers into the moisturising cream before spreading it across the back of his hand. He raises it to his nose inhaling it and that scent, the woodsy overtone, it makes everything feel a little lighter. His skin feels softer, less tight, less dry.

He spends over thirty minutes in front of that stall, talking with the vendor, trying all the samples. He works out what he likes, what he doesn’t like. He ends up spending a small fortune on toiletries, something he’s never done in his life.

“It’s nice to see you investing in yourself.” You tell him, when you come back from the florist with a bouquet of sunflowers tucked into the crook of your arm.

He smiles when the bathroom door clicks open, he sees your shape beyond the frosted glass, hears the sound of your clothes falling onto the tiles. This is the other thing he likes, the company.

“Hi.” He murmurs as you step underneath the stream of water with him.

“Hi.” You say, your fingers threading through his damp hair as you press against him.

“God you feel good.” He whispers against your lips, your fingers wrap around his cock and he inhales sharply because the sensation of your hand working him over, it’s bliss.

“But this is better right?” You tease, your thumb tracing over the tip of his cock.

He moans into your mouth because you, you have magic hands. He’ll never get tired of the way you touch him, the light brush of your fingertips, the steady intense pressure of your palm. The ecstasy, it builds in the base of his spine, searing through his synapses as you stroke him a little faster, a little harder. His breathing becomes ragged, his kisses messy, he’s right there at the edge of the precipice when your pussy envelops him.

He can’t think, he can’t breathe, all he can do revel in the sensation of that tight wet heat as it grips him.

“Baby.” He drawls as you clench around the tip of his dick. “Fuck baby, fuck!”

He comes so fucking hard that he sees stars, his release spilling into you. When he pulls out, it coats the head of his cock. You grasp his shaft, smearing his spent all over your pussy and he almost loses it all over again. You kill him with this shit, he swears to God, you do.

“You are something else you know that?” He murmurs, his forehead coming to rest coming to rest upon yours. “Truly you are.”

Love Bode? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#bode leone #bode leone x reader #bode leone x you #bode donovan #bode donovan x reader #bode donovan x you #fire country #max thieriot

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the-lonelybarricade · 1 month ago

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Queen of Thieves - Chapter 8

Summary: A fulfillment of this kinkmeme prompt. Or; A Canon AU where half fae, con-artist Feyre makes an ill placed bet.

Happy birthday to our darling Rhys!! I got him everything he wanted 😏

CW: Smut, Mild dubcon/CNC elements, mind control, and other dubious, wicked things

Read on AO3・QoT Masterlist ・Previous Chapter

Feyre was eleven years old the first time she was desperate enough to steal.

Like any ordinary child, she'd been taught that stealing under any circumstance was wrong. Her father was a merchant, which meant that thieves posed a direct threat to his livelihood, particularly when piracy was so common along the trade routes to the continent.

He'd built his legacy, the Prince of Merchants, on his willingness to sail those trade routes, navigating pirate-ridden seas because the higher risk equated to higher reward.

But a name wasn't won through gambling alone. Any merchant with a rookie crew could luck their way to the continent and back. What made him the best—the Prince—was his expertise in the art of bargaining. He was renowned for having deals so detailed, so craftily constructed, they needed to be written and signed in advance of each journey.

Feyre had been present for a few of those meetings, watching as ink bled from paper to skin. Sometimes, she'd even been present for the aftermath, listening to crewmen grumble about underhanded terms.

I am a man of my word, Father once said, rolling a contract over his desk and stabbing a finger to its contents. And my word was stated plainly. Do not impute your failure to read the terms on my good name. I am no liar, and I am certainly no thief.

He always used that word like it was filthy.

Feyre once mirrored that belief.

As a child, she would delight in sitting atop storage crates on the docks, monitoring the gangways as her father's crew unloaded cargo from his ship. If there were any wayward thieves, she was determined to catch them.

After all, Father didn't trust the folk along the docks. He barely trusted his own crew.

They don't have any passion for the exploration or the trade, he once grumbled. All they want is a bed and a meal.

Feyre remembered being shocked to hear that some people didn't have those things. Until that point, she'd always relied on having her basic needs met, and then some.

What's so bad about that?

When all a person cares about is surviving, it means they're willing to blur lines. They'll cheat, lie, and steal if it helps them get ahead.

Father shook his head like those three things were truly abominable. Little did he know that one day, Feyre would become a master of all three.

But she started with mastering one.

Two years after her father's vessel sank on the route to Bharat, Feyre's mother had fallen ill. Humans had weak constitutions, and grief could take a heavy toll. So could debt—of which, they'd learned the famed Prince of Merchants had many.

So Mother sold the house, then the jewels, then, eventually, her own body.

It was barely enough.

By the time she was too ill to work, there was nothing left to get by. No silver candlesticks or golden rings they could pawn at the market for medicine.

When Feyre wandered into the apothecary's shop, her intentions had been pure. If she knew the price of the medicine, then perhaps she and her sisters could find a way to scratch together the amount needed. They could scrub floors, or pull weeds in someone's garden, or maybe Elain could use her big brown eyes to draw sympathy begging in the streets.

The shop was lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves on every wall, filled to the brim with glass vials of varying colors and consistencies. Each sported a white label Feyre couldn't discern, though she was happy to pick out the colors that she found most interesting: a flask of swirling violet flecked with silver granules, another of bright, bubbling pink, and one which she swore housed a slithering creature.

"Can I help you?" The apothecary asked.

She sounded concerned, which any adult rightly would be at the sight of Feyre's tattered clothes.

It sparked hope that Feyre could appeal to the elderly female's empathy. That was all she'd been trying to do when she stared into the apothecary's eyes. Please help me, she thought. I know you want to help me.

The female's concern was so potent that Feyre could feel it, a rope tethering two strangers, built on kindness, on compassion. Her mind was as wide open as her heart.

Feyre didn't know she was digging into it until she felt something give. Like fingers clawing into wet sand.

I need a cure for a human fever, Feyre said.

She thought she said it out loud. She must have, because the apothecary started moving toward the shelf on the back wall.

Acting troupes occasionally put on puppet shows in the market squares near The Rainbow. Feyre felt like she was watching one of those shows as the female jerked open a drawer, her movements erratic. Unnatural. Like she was being controlled by an inexperienced puppeteer.

But the oddity was forgotten the second the woman produced a vial of shimmering liquid and handed it to Feyre without a word of the price. Her eyes were unnervingly vacant as Feyre took the vial, thanked the apothecary, and fled back to her mother.

She didn't realize until years later what happened; she didn't realize that was the moment she'd become a thief.

Daemati magic came in many different forms.

Suspended in the space between the High Lord of the Night Court's foyer and study, it took the shape of madness and indulgence.

Over the years, Feyre had progressed from accidentally breaking into people's minds into doing so with intention. It was a gradual process, one she likened to painting. A child used their fingers, but an artist used a brush.

And she was learning her mental bowstring was as rudimentary as finger painting to Rhysand.

Last time, he'd shown her brutal talons that allowed him to play ventriloquist, and she'd thought that was the extent of it. Pure, unyielding power.

But of course, it could be soft, too. Gentle, like a feather's touch ghosting over her mind. Almost… ticklish. Playful.

Like the fingers landing on her bare stomach. He splayed them out carefully, the way one might handle ruptured glass. They might have both been holding their breath as the challenge became real.

Their eyes met, waiting for the other to fracture. This was a ridiculous, dangerous game; they both knew it.

He was lowering himself to his knees before her, for Cauldron's sake. The most powerful male in Prythian bowing like a supplicant. It all seemed so backward to her.

But those strong, capable hands spread wider, undeterred by the constraints of social hierarchy. What did a High Lord care, when he could simply rewrite the rules with his fingertips? He stretched them until his palms landed flat, scalding her on either side of her abdomen. She tried not to focus on how long his fingers were, spanning over the curve of her waist while the tips of his forefingers skimmed her ribs.

"This," Rhys breathed, tracing one of his thumbs along the golden chain adorning her midriff, "was an excellent wardrobe choice."

"You can thank one of the mountain nymphs in the Palace of Thread and Jewels," Feyre said. As if this were a perfectly normal conversation. "She sold it to me."

"I'll make note of that," Rhys murmured, still toying with that gods-damned chain. Feyre fought the urge to squirm. "I owe her my heartfelt gratitude."

"I bought it with your money," she added.

Rhys shut his eyes. She watched him take a deep breath, and she couldn't tell if that knowledge irritated or excited him. When those violet eyes flashed open, bright and burning with hunger, Feyre thought she had her answer.

"Then it was arguably the best money I've ever spent."

"Arguably?"

It was meant to come off as teasing, but with his fingers drifting up her stomach, everything was coming out a little bit strained. And maybe… a little hurt. Not that it mattered if the High Lord regretted spending his money on her.

When Rhysand laughed, his breath danced over her skin, as light a caress as his presence at her mental shields.

"I would claim it with more conviction, but you weren't here for the ass-chewing I received from my second."

"Your—" she broke off with a little gasp as Rhysand's hands slid upwards, dipping beneath the golden band that cinched her top over her breasts. She adjusted her grip on the rope, holding tighter. "Your second in command?"

"Amren," he supplied. "She's a vicious firedrake trapped in a tiny female's body."

"Amren," Feyre echoed, squeezing her eyes tight as those curious fingers began running along the beads hanging beneath her breasts. They made a soft, metallic tink as they swung and collided with each other. "Amren like… like from the children's stories?

Nesta used to tease her with cautionary tales of the bloodthirsty Amren, who lurked in the shadows and sucked on the bones of naughty children. It wasn't the first she'd heard of Rhysand being in cohorts with Amren, but she'd always assumed it was figurative. The way a Priestess was associated with the Mother.

"She doesn't devour misbehaving children, if that's what you're wondering." Rhysand paused, drawing back for a moment with a horrifyingly considerate expression. "Anymore," he clarified.

"Anymore?" Feyre squeaked.

"There's no need to be afraid, Feyre." He grinned, leaning in closer. "Unless, of course, you've been misbehaving. Is there something you'd like to confess?"

Cauldron boil her. Feyre couldn't tell if he was being serious.

"Last I checked, stealing and gambling aren't exactly the traits of a priestess."

"It's a good thing Amren isn't the Mother, then. I think she would find those things amusing," Rhys said, a curious warmth to his voice. One she might even dare to label as affection. "In fact, I think she'd be quite impressed with you."

Feyre repeated, incredulous, "With me?"

"I certainly am."

And before she could digest that statement, Rhys circled a hand to the small of her back, untying the golden band that kept the fabric over her breast secured. It dropped to the floor in a clatter of beading, marking the descent of Feyre's resolve.

Her arms were starting to tremble, and she was grateful she could blame it on the exertion of holding them up. She shifted uncomfortably, trying to focus on the stinging in her palms from how tightly she gripped the rope. It was far better to focus on her chafing skin than the kiss of cool air against the underside of her breasts.

There was nothing preventing Rhys from slipping his hands beneath the newly loosened fabric and discovering her hardened nipples—not that they weren't already visible, peeking through the thin layer of fabric.

Rhys drew back to observe her, holding his advance for the moment.

"Are you getting nervous, Feyre?" The lapping presence at her mind became a little pushier, more of a prod than a stroke. "Your shield's still holding up nicely."

"Because I'm not nervous," she insisted.

"No?" Rhys leaned in, pressing the tip of his regal nose just beneath her navel. "Is that something else I smell, then?"

"Is it the stench of your own ego?"

"So sharp with me," he chided, momentarily abandoning his conquest near the top of her ribs to guide his nose lower, down to her hip bone, then across the low dip of her skirt. "What will it take to make you soft? Is it just a matter of finding the right spot to stroke?"

Feyre snorted. "I don't think soft is what appeals to you, High Lord."

"Oh?" His eyes flickered up to hers, only briefly, before he resumed his slow exploration. "What is it you think appeals to me?"

Feyre didn't answer. She didn't know how—not once he found the knot that kept her skirt in place. He bit into it, tugging with his teeth despite having two perfectly good hands placed just below her breasts.

Feyre nearly let go. She considered it, at least, as she watched Rhys unravel the knot with his mouth. She had time to stop it from plummeting to the ground in a waterfall of blue cloth. But she didn't.

As it pooled at her feet, Rhys drew away again, taking her in with riveted interest. With her hands occupied, there was nothing she could use to hide from his stare, though she twitched with the urge. She felt like a creature trapped in a frame, laid bare under his assessment.

It wasn't the clothes, or lack thereof. Though, he looked delighted to discover the pair of lacy underthings she'd selected that morning. It wasn't the lust, either. Not when she felt it in equal measure, and had walked into this house fully intending to slate their shared desire.

No, what caught her off guard. What stripped her raw, worse than the rope squeezed between her fingers, was the way that smug smile faded into something… something Feyre didn't know how to name.

His eyes captivated her. Blazing and intent, no different from the moment they met. She couldn't look away from them—and she wanted to, if only to glance over her shoulder and ensure the Mother hadn't materialized behind her back. That was the only way Feyre could have explained the awe creeping over his expression.

His fingers flexed at their place over her ribs, as though restraining the urge to drag them lower.

"You," he said, answering the question she couldn't. On his knees, in that voice… It sounded oddly like a prayer. "I want you however you come, Feyre. Soft or sharp, you're equally exquisite."

Her heart was beating in her throat. "What if I only know sharp?"

"Then be as sharp as you want with me." He was leaning towards her again, less as if driven by hunger and more as if he simply couldn't resist. Like she was the puppeteer, pulling him forward. "Cut me, make me bleed. Just—don't make me stop."

Feyre didn't plan on it. That rope was her lifeline, and she held tight as Rhys dived back against her stomach, his mouth open this time, tasting and nipping at her skin. There would be marks there tomorrow. A trail of love bites across her hips, just beneath the golden chain he seemed so obsessed with.

When she tried to wriggle away, growing impatient, Rhys slid his hands to her hips, locking her in place.

"Stay still for me." She found his orders lost some of their impact when muffled into her stomach. "I told you I intend to taste every inch."

It was a shame she couldn't dive her hands into his hair. If she could, she would have taken hold and pushed his mouth where she actually wanted him—needed him.

"Rhys."

His name was half gasp, half complaint.

"You know." He slid his tongue around the curve of her navel, before mouthing his way to the valley of her breasts. His hands followed in a slow, scraping caress. "I don't think I've ever heard you call me that before."

"Would you—" Feyre's breath hitched as he brushed the back of his knuckles against one of her nipples. "Prefer to be called High Lord?"

That seemed to amuse him. "My bedmates aren't usually so formal."

"What do you prefer then? Master? Milord? Your Great Exaltedness?"

Rhys hummed dismissively. "If you can say that many words, then I'm not doing my job right."

"Well, I've been speaking this whole time. So what does that tell you about how you're doing?"

Feyre knew she was in trouble when Rhys stilled. She didn't know why she always felt the need to provoke him. Maybe it was because she still couldn't figure out why he tolerated it.

This was the same male who threatened to cut off someone's tongue for speaking too casually in his presence. The same male who slaughtered one of his captains without blinking. He had a reputation for ruthlessness, and she'd witnessed firsthand how he'd earned it.

And yet, he always seemed to hold back the breadth of his cruelty around her.

Even now, as he thumbed at her nipple through the loose fabric over her chest, he exuded patience. Musing, "Have you ever tried Illyian tea?"

Tea? Not following where he was going with the question, Feyre answered with a hesitant, "No?"

"It's cold in the Illyrian Mountains," Rhys said, emphasizing his point by ducking to blow a gust of cold breath over her collarbone. Feyre shivered. "The tea keeps us warm, and doubles as treatment for the wounded. It's strong stuff. The kind that burns down your throat and will land you on your ass after too many cups."

"What's your point?"

"You don't savor Illyrian tea. You down it as quickly as possible and wait for the warming to start."

"Okay?"

"I spent most of my youth in the Illyrian Mountains," Rhys went on. "And the first time I attended a High Lord's summit with my father, he smacked me upside the head when I tried to down a thimble of Day Court Mead. He told me I looked barbaric. Day Court Mead is one of the finest wines in Prythian, you see. You're meant to sip it, holding the flavors on your tongue."

"So I'm the mead, then," Feyre said, guessing where he was going with the analogy. "Am I supposed to be flattered that you're comparing me to a drink?"

Rhys didn't answer immediately. He only grinned to himself, before pulling away and rising from his knees. An unsettling response—almost as unsettling as his cryptic, "Stay here."

Then he headed back into the dining room. Feyre leaned through the doorway as best she could to follow what he was up to, but from her vantage point, all she could see was the end of the dining table and the abandoned chairs. She didn't dare let go of the rope to inspect any further.

It could be a trick, after all.

"I swear to the Cauldron, Rhysand, if you intend to leave me hanging from the doorway for the rest of the bargain—"

"You'll what, exactly?" He asked, sauntering back into view with a bottle in his hands, his face the picture of smug amusement.

"You'll owe me anything by the end of this," Feyre reminded him. "If you decide to be cruel, I'll endure it. And then I'll ensure it's repaid in full."

"Such a feisty creature you are." The words sounded gratingly affectionate, the way one would speak to a kitten batting at their leg. "And, pray tell, how will I be repaid if I decide to be kind? Might I expect more warmth from you?"

Feyre narrowed her eyes at the bottle in his hand. "What's that?"

He displayed it proudly before her. "Day Court mead, of course."

That was where he lost her. And it made Feyre nervous, seeing his large hands braced around the bottle, watching as he drew his thumb suggestively around the rim of the cork…

Her voice wobbled a bit as she asked, "W-what are you planning to do with it?"

All it needed was a small push of his thumb and then—pop.

"I want you to try it," Rhysand said, closing the distance between them.

His fingers lodged under her chin, burning where they touched. She was burning in so many places, now. Her hands, raw from the rope. Her chin, warm from his touch. Her cunt, aching with need. And her cheeks, embarrassed from it all.

"Be good for me." Rhys tilted her chin up, until her eyes were level with the sight of her trembling arms, growing white and numb, but still holding fast.

When he raised the bottle, he dragged his thumb across her lower lip, prompting with a single, firm, "Open."

Feyre parted her lips, allowing him to pour the mead into her mouth.

The first drop was like sunlight. Honeycomb drenched sunlight. Sweet, but not like sugar. Sugar was sharp, quick, and over too soon. This was slow, like a sun-warmed nap in a swaying field, rich and indulgent. The longer she tasted, the more depth she discovered, luring her in, somersaulting her towards a golden abyss.

"Don't swallow," Rhys whispered, his voice wending around her, coupled by strokes of dark tendrils that forced her awareness to return to her other senses. On her tongue, a drop had become a flood, filling her mouth until it pooled, then overflowed, streaming down her chin, her neck, her breasts.

She could already feel the sugar sticking to her, but her focus was on remembering to breathe through her nose, trying desperately not to choke while Rhys continued pouring, his other hand cradling her skull as he murmured, "That's it, Feyre. Good girl."

Eventually, the bottle ran dry.

"Not yet," Rhysand said. "You're meant to hold it on your tongue, remember?"

Feyre's throat bobbed uncomfortably. That was another place she was beginning to burn.

"Stay still," he coaxed, leaning in. Their eyes met as his lips fell over hers. Those damn, discerning eyes that saw everything, including the desire she was trying so hard to fight.

He saw it, and smiled, all wicked and taunting. His tongue flicked across her lower lip, tasting the wine. But he didn't stop there.

His fingers curled in her hair, urging her head upright so the mead could flow from her open mouth to his. It wasn't clean by any means. Honeyed wine spilled from the seam of their lips, dripping onto her skin and his clothes, making a mess of them both. She swallowed what was left—it was the only way she could kiss him back, and Rhys didn't seem to have any complaints.

With a groan, he dashed the empty bottle to the floor, bearing no mind to the resulting crash and scattering fragments. He seemed to have much more pressing concerns, which involved scooping Feyre against him to deepen the kiss. His tongue traced her lower lip again, and she opened her mouth, inviting him to taste at the source.

His tongue swept in, tasting of honey, and she wanted so badly to let go of the rope so she could hold him there, to suck at his tongue and bite at his lips. Rhys was in full control, positioning her just as he wanted so he could taste.

Feyre hissed when he pulled away to lick a trail of mead from her chin.

A rasping chuckle was her response. "I've made a mess, Feyre. It's my duty to clean it up."

A hand fisted in her hair and tugged, angling her neck back so he had full license to lick the column of her throat.

Feyre was panting, squirming against his hold and furious that he would stop kissing her. "Rhys—"

"What happened to Your Great Exaltedness?"

He kept her arrested in that position, taking his time to suck and nip at her skin, then pull away with an audible pop. Over and over, he ignored her groans of frustration, creating a path of red welts that were soon interrupted by her sullied top.

"Oh dear, this has been ruined, hasn't it?" He didn't sound the least bit concerned as he ripped at it, casting the garment away as if it were mere cobwebs. "Don't worry, I'll get you a replacement."

And then the heat of his mouth surrounded one of her breasts, his tongue circling her nipple. Feyre gasped, bucking into the air. This was going to be impossible if she didn't have something to ground her, something to—

Rhys, as if sensing what she needed, wedged his thigh between her legs. The pressure against her clit relieved some of the ache, but introduced the new, humiliating urge to drive her hips forward.

She bit her lip, determined to resist.

"Is this what you needed, Feyre?" Rhys coaxed, palming her hip to create the movement for her. She fought a whimper as her clit ground against his hard muscle. "Does that feel better?"

She refused to answer him. But she also didn't stop moving her hips when he let go.

"That's it," he murmured, returning his attention to her breasts. One was cradled in his palm, while the other endured the countless lashes from his tongue, teasing her so mercilessly that she thought she might die if she didn't touch him.

When his teeth clamped down, Feyre screamed, driving her hips against his thigh harder. Her head was beginning to spin, a mixture of exhaustion and pleasure and pain.

As she writhed against him, Feyre started plotting all the ways she would get her revenge once her hands were free. Maybe she'd fish another bottle of mead from his cellar and sip it from his abs. Maybe she'd tie him up and ride his face until he couldn't breathe.

Maybe she'd—

My, don't you have the most delicious thoughts about me.

Feyre froze. Rhysand's mouth was still latched to her breast. Those words hadn't come from his mouth. Which meant that voice…

It was in her mind.

You should pay more attention to your mental shields, Feyre. A lesser male could walk right in and decide to take you up on those filthy thoughts of yours.

Feyre's fingers flexed with the urge to lash out in front of her, as if she could physically push him out. What are you doing?

Did you forget? This was a daemati exercise. And it looks like your shield dropped as soon as you started enjoying yourself.

A familiar sensation crept over her—awareness, like a cold breath cascading down her spine, that her body was yielding to a foreign presence. Her veins became a latticework of strings, and she felt his talons pluck at them, transforming her into a marionette of his will.

Now, now, he tutted. Don't stop on my account, Feyre.

Captive in her own mind, Feyre could do nothing to prevent her hips from rolling forward. Her head tipped back, and without restraint over her body, there was nothing to smother the moan rising in her throat.

There you are, Feyre. Give in to it.

He was everywhere, physical and otherwise. His magic swarmed through the crack in her mental shields, blanketing her mind in a fog of endless starlight. She treaded through it the same way she'd learned how to swim, thrashing and kicking blindly in an attempt to reach the surface. But that assumed there was a surface, an ending to the vastness of power that twined and twisted around her.

Rhys clicked his tongue. Must you always fight me?

Outside their minds, she felt cool air sting her puckered nipple, exacerbated by the saliva glinting there, and the trail of it that led to Rhysand's cat-like grin. She watched him lick his lips as he admired his work: From her flushed skin, covered in love bites and rivulets of golden wine, to her trembling arms, waning in strength. Finally, his attention dipped to his thigh, where the fabric of his trousers had become damp from each consecutive pass of Feyre's hips.

He took a deep, pointed inhale. You can admit you want this. There's no sense hiding what we both already know.

I want—even her mental voice sounded shaky—the money and the favor. Not you.

Immune to her lies, her body continued helplessly rubbing against him. Her breathing quickened as that pressure began to build, winding hot and tight.

Why not me, Feyre? Rhys pushed, almost taunting. He could feel she was close to the edge. Is it because it frightens you?

Because it's not real!

That's not the game we're playing right now.

His tongue snaked along her throat, licking away more of the mead.

Inside, she was grappling against his hold. They thrashed and rolled through the darkness, her claws scraping his, pushing and pulling, ebbing and flowing until they were a tangled mass of magic, so deeply intertwined that Feyre lost all sense of where she ended and he began.

Meanwhile, Rhysand held her, enveloped her, worshiped her with his mouth and hands and talons, and she thought it wouldn't be the worst thing to surrender to this.

Why was she holding herself back?

This is all just a distraction, she reasoned. It doesn't mean anything

Do you want it to mean something, Feyre?

Feyre wanted to scream. Though, from frustration or pleasure she wasn't certain. Everything was becoming muddled, colors bleeding together like water over paint. There wasn't room in her mind to think, and outside her body was being driven to a pinnacle that she couldn't hold back.

Get out of my head!

Rhysand's voice was full of faux sympathy. If it's too much for you, darling, then let go of the rope.

Fuck you.

Oh, I intend to. His voice was starting to sound a little breathless, too. A large hand palmed her backside, moving her faster against him. She watched through half-lidded eyes as his head tipped back with a low, guttural sound. Fuck. Feyre—

The world fractured. Erupted, like dropping into the ocean and feeling the water rush past. She delved deep into that darkness, feeling her own magic rupture and scatter into stars, washing her soul against the shore of his, their very essence seeping through the cracks of the other, becoming a tapestry of magic threaded so tightly she could feel it pulling in her chest.

Feyre let go of the rope.

She didn't know she still had enough control over her body to do so, not until she was already moving, threading her arms behind his neck to crash her mouth to his. It wasn't gentle. He didn't deserve gentle.

Bed, she demanded.

Rhys obeyed without question, not breaking their kiss as darkness folded and unspooled around them, depositing Rhys on his back atop his bed. Feyre straddled him, clawing at his clothes with shaking, rope-burned hands.

Until Rhys caught both wrists, bringing them to his lips one at a time to kiss away the raw flesh.

There's no rush, he soothed, running his thumb across her newly healed palms. We'll have an extra six hours together, after all.

For that comment alone, Feyre tore straight through his jacket and undershirt, coming away with strips of cloth. The High Lord didn't seem to mourn his clothes in the least. She would have taken more time to admire him, to admire the tattoos that she discovered on his chest and shoulders, so strikingly similar to her own.

Except, he was staring up at her, raw delight on his face. So feral—

Shut up.

I'll need to subtract that from your—

I said. Feyre crawled up his body, tearing off her soaked underthings. Shut. Up.

Unfortunately, sitting on a male's face was only an effective silencing technique when that male wasn't a daemati.

What a pretty view, Rhys purred, craning his neck before she'd even finished lowering herself down. The second she was steady, her hands balanced on the headboard, he hooked his arms around her thighs to bring her closer. Here I thought you planned to punish me.

Congratulations, you've proved you can run your mouth. Do you actually know how to use it?

Rhys arched a brow. Even Feyre couldn't believe her own boldness. One of these days, she was going to overstep and find herself on the receiving end of that boundless power, and it wouldn't be teasing and caressing her the way it was doing now.

Don't be so certain. I like that you're not afraid of me.

The purr in his voice heated her blood, nearly as much as that first, filthy kiss he pressed against her cunt. He went slow, using the broad flat of his tongue to part her folds in a long path ending at her clit. That was where he focused his attention, sucking and lashing while he kept her hostage in his grip.

But if you're going to mouth off, he continued without faltering in his expert torture. Be prepared for the consequences.

This, Feyre gasped, doesn't feel like a consequence.

Yet, he said smugly. I have all night with you. And I intend to 'put my mouth to use' until I've had my fill.

She knew he was bluffing. Feyre could count on her hand the number of males who had put their heads between her thighs, and all of them disengaged after a few minutes into the act.

With a growl, Rhys redoubled his efforts. A word to the wise when fucking a daemati: try not to think of other males unless you want them dead.

Jealous?

Insufferably. He nuzzled his face lower, dragging his tongue to her entrance. Do you still remember their names?

No. Even if she did, she wouldn't have told him. On the chance that he wasn't joking when he said they'd end up dead.

Good.

His tongue slid inside her, and the headboard creaked from how tightly Feyre clutched to it, convinced she would topple over when his fingers slid between her legs to supplement his tongue, rubbing tight, delicious circles. Her hips bucked, her climax shattering through her at incredible speed, causing light to dot her vision.

Rhys didn't slow his movements, continuing to lick and stroke her as he crooned, There's only one name you need to remember.

They were still mind-to-mind, completely entangled. Paired with her mind-numbing pleasure, it made the task of searching through her memory rather tedious. It was like trying to navigate a familiar place in the dark, she knew the information was somewhere around here…

Cassian? She said, recalling the name she'd heard from the rumor mill with a great deal of effort.

Rhys growled. Very funny.

Her thighs, clamped tightly around his head, were beginning to twitch as he worked her towards another rapidly approaching edge. Feyre didn't think she could survive this all night.

Wh-what was it you said? If I can say this many words, then you must not be doing a very good—

Those hands at her thighs grabbed her roughly, pushing her off his face and flipping her onto her back in a single, fluid movement. Feyre yelped as one of those hands grabbed her throat, pinning her to the mattress.

You can't help yourself, can you, Feyre?

Not any more than you!

An exasperated laugh rasped out of him, making her think she had just proved his point.

What happened to having your mouth on me all night? She challenged.

I'm thinking I need to tire you out first. Get you a little more… subdued.

He withdrew his hand, then his body entirely. Feyre's mouth went dry as she watched him unbutton his trousers, finally freeing his erection. He had no right to be as big as he was. To be as beautiful and powerful and arrogant as he was and to still have a cock like that…

Feyre hated him a little bit for it. Hated how difficult it would be to walk away from him by the end of this.

Rhys sauntered forward, expression as satisfied as it ought to be with a cock like that swinging between his legs and unfiltered access to each of the filthy thoughts she was having about it.

There'll be time for more play later, he said, pressing a knee into the bed.

He crawled over to her, and she watched his eyes fall over her naked body, parted in invitation for his. The hunger on his face curbed into something softer, something she didn't know what to do with.

You're beautiful, he murmured, seconds before his mouth found hers in a deep, open kiss. He tasted of honey wine and her own arousal, an unexpectedly pleasant combination. The most beautiful thing I've ever seen. It struck me the moment I first saw you.

His bare skin was so warm against her own, each contact point jolting her with a feeling of rightness. They slotted so perfectly together, his cock nudging at her entrance as she wrapped her legs around his waist, their tongues moving together and their fingers locking so that there wasn't a single part of their bodies and souls that wasn't entwined as Rhys pushed himself in.

Then paused.

Feyre fought a snarl.

Tell me you want this, he said. Forget about the bargain. Tell me this is about more than the money.

I want this. Feyre pulled at him, clashing their noses together from how fiercely she clutched at his face. She pushed her heels into his muscular backside, trying to urge his hips deeper. I want you, Rhys.

He groaned, pushing his hips forward.

The stretch of him was exquisite. Feyre had never felt anything quite like it—the decadent pleasure made sharper by the slight burn as he pushed in further, slowly, ensuring she felt every inch, every delicious place they were joined.

But that was just one layer of the overlapping sensations. There was also the cradle of his body, surrounding her in warmth. The soft lips against her neck, panting sweet, reverent breaths of, Feyre—oh, Feyre.

And then their minds. One seamless, blended entity of magic, of starlight. She could feel him everywhere, no piece of her soul untouched, but she could see all of him, too. Like gazing upon the very fabric of his life, woven from the moment he was born—maybe even before then.

If she plucked at one of the threads, she wondered what she'd find. A memory? A vital fragment of his being?

She wouldn't dare, not when she could feel him staring back so… openly. Like he wouldn't stop her if she tried. It was vulnerable in a way she didn't know how to honor. In a way that made her wary.

You are… Feyre trailed off, failing to find a word that articulated what she saw, what she felt.

Perfect.

That snapped Feyre out of her awe. She blinked, refocusing on her physical body, where he was shaking as he held himself still, letting her adjust and…

And just staring at her. His lips parted open, mouthing a word she couldn't make out as his wild eyes darted over her, studying every detail.

Adequate, Feyre said, narrowing her eyes at him. I was going to go with 'adequate'.

For a moment, Rhys said nothing, his brows pinching together in confusion. And then he seemed to snap out of it, barking a laugh that echoed through the starry cavern of their minds.

I was talking about you, smartass. He leaned down, licking a stripe up her throat that sent ripples of pleasure down her spine. But allow me to demonstrate just how 'adequate' I can be.

He withdrew his hips, just slightly, then plunged them forward, grinding deep as Feyre clawed at his back, panting.

Rhys let out a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through his chest. In their minds, it became a clap of thunder, his magic roiling, surrounding her in zapping, crackling power. Her hair stood on end, her pulse quickening from the thrill, like standing at sea during a storm.

She dug her nails harder, certain she was peeling back skin, and he snarled in encouragement, withdrawing and snapping his hips. Again.

I've thought about this, he rasped, punctuating his words with another hard thrust. Every damn day since our last bargain, Feyre.

He drove into her harder, relentless. Grunting, I haven't been able to get your scent out of my nose.

I haven't been able to get you out of my gods damned mind.

Those words rippled through the space between their minds, echoing his confession. Feyre rolled her hips up, begging him to go harder, faster. Trying to say, in her own way, that she couldn't stop thinking about him, either.

I thought—

His teeth grazed over her pulse, making it jump. Her breath hitched.

Go on, he said, voice molten velvet.

I thought I was supposed to be the one practicing my shields. But it's your mind that can't keep me out.

His laugh was rich, warming her bones. If you think I'm the one with all the power here, Feyre, you are mistaken.

Then, as if to disprove that very statement, he let go. Every restraint, every glamour, every attempt he made to act the average fae—it all disappeared in that moment.

Great, membranous wings unfurled behind his back, blanketing them in the scent of citrus and sea salt. With a splintering crack, his magic untethered, spilling darkness into the room.

Without her sight, it became impossible to differentiate between the mental and physical worlds. As if they existed in a liminal space between, where slapping skin became the thunderous collision of souls, crashing and merging together.

Feyre was certain she was screaming. She thought, distantly, he might have been too. Somewhere, her mortal body clenched around him, hot and fever-bright.

She heard her name, over and over, Feyre, Feyre, Feyre—

And then he shattered, too, shooting every star out of orbit, his magic flooding over her in wave upon wave. She should have been frightened, surrounded by so much unyielding power, but it felt oddly peaceful. Like diving into the sea from her dreams.

She floated through that presence, Rhys buried inside her, both of them panting.

When he withdrew, so did the magic.

It was too bright. Feyre cringed, burying her face into his heaving chest, not caring the least that he was covered in sweat and shaking. They both were.

When she finally pulled away, blinking into the light, she found a pair of stunned violet eyes blinking back. For the first time since meeting him, he looked dumbstruck, mouth opening and closing like he was floundering for words. Like maybe all daemati sex didn't feel that… world ending.

For a long moment, they only stared, catching their breath.

Feyre took the time to reconstruct her mental walls, finding it oddly empty inside her mind without his presence.

Meanwhile, Rhys rubbed a hand down his face, then his chest, feeling absently at his ribs. She wondered if she'd accidentally hit him there when everything went dark.

She felt a bit battered herself. Sticky and sweaty and sore in far too many places. Tomorrow he'd probably take pleasure in laying her out to count each of his bite marks.

"Was that adequate enough for you?" Rhys asked, finally breaking the silence.

Smug bastard.

Feyre shrugged. "You're the High Lord who's supposedly so difficult to please. You tell me."

He smirked. "Lay back, Feyre."

Her mouth popped open. Surely he wasn't serious.

"Already?"

Rhys crawled toward her, wedging his massive body between her thighs. "I told you I wouldn't stop until I've had my fill." He flashed her a wicked smile as he lowered his mouth to her cunt, licking at their shared spend like it was a delicacy.

And I'm not nearly close to finished with you.

At some point, they did stop fucking long enough to eat and bathe—just barely.

Rhysand was ravenous. And Feyre didn't know what had gotten into her, but she was, too. They couldn't stop. Even long after they were exhausted, they kept touching and kissing until they collapsed completely tangled in each other.

Feyre had gotten maybe an hour of sleep, if that, when she woke up to pee.

She took her time on the way back to bed, marveling first at the sleeping form of the most powerful High Lord. He didn't look nearly so intimidating when he was naked and snoring, the blankets strewn haphazardly over his muscular legs.

If she had the time, she would have liked to draw him like this. No one else in the world got to see this version of him.

Except the other females he bedded.

That… was a sobering thought. The reminder that this wasn't some sacred, meaningful tryst. He was paying to fuck her, no different from any other whore in the upscale pleasure house she heard he frequented often.

With burning cheeks, Feyre turned away from his sleeping form, refocusing on why she was here to begin with.

His personal bedroom was larger than the one she'd stayed in last time, though only slightly. He had a worktable, scattered with paperwork and curious trinkets. Star charts and models of planets and books upon books of topics she couldn't discern.

That was another scalding reminder of how far apart their worlds were.

She was really only good at one thing.

Feyre tiptoed to his bedside table, silently pulling the drawer open to inspect its contents. More books, a pair of reading glasses, a velvet box, and a dark crown that she assumed had wound up in here after a late night at some formal gathering.

She imagined Rhys winnowing directly to his bedroom, flinging the crown into the bedside drawer, and collapsing atop the mattress.

It couldn't be easy, this life.

Feyre lifted the crown, measuring its weight in her hands, before she indulged the childlike impulse to place it on her head.

It couldn't be hard, either. Better than starving. Better than whoring yourself to survive.

She rose from his bedside table, searching for a mirror to admire how she looked in a crown, but a hand at her wrist stopped her.

Rhys was reclined across his bed, wings splayed beneath him, a lazy smile stretched across his lips.

"Find something you like?"

Panic seized her chest, squeezing like a fist as she scrambled to think of an excuse. "I—"

His eyes darkened. "Come back to bed."

"Rhys, I'm—"

"Keep the crown on," he said, tugging at her wrist with urgency.

She followed his pull, uncharacteristically pliant as he positioned her thighs over his face, groaning, "Gods, look at you," as he dived his mouth between her legs.

The final six hours of their bargain passed much the same.

There wasn't any noticeable shift to the way Rhys touched her, still slow and indolent, like he had all the time in the world.

It was nearly dusk and they were still in bed, still kissing though too exhausted to do much else. Even so, his kiss was gentle and thorough and maddening.

Feyre missed it when he pulled away.

"Your bargain's fulfilled," he said, breathing heavy. "I can take you home now."

It was a bad sign that it was dread coursing through her instead of relief.

Rather than untangle her alarming mix of feelings, Feyre fisted her hands in his hair, urging his mouth back to hers. Just one more kiss. To remember him by.

Rhys made a low, pleased sound in the back of his throat. He returned the kiss open-mouthed, cradling the back of her head to bring her closer. When she felt him harden against her thigh, they both groaned.

Rhys withdrew again, something achingly hopeful in his expression. "There's nothing preventing you from staying," he added. "If you want to."

That was what scared her—that fact that she wanted to.

Feyre kissed him again. Kissing him was easier than answering. Only, Rhys seemed to take kissing as an answer. He shifted closer, wrapping his wing around them so that she was cocooned in his heat, his scent, his touch.

And as the kissing grew more fervid, she didn't stop him from flipping her onto her stomach. He used his knees to wedge her thighs apart, spreading her open as those strong hands found her hips, urging them up, up, up.

She buried her face in the mattress, already clutching tightly to the sheets in anticipation of that first, perfect thrust.

They were interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Rhysand." The voice was female—crisp and edged, entirely undaunted by the High Lord's responding snarl. "You're late."

"Leave us."

It was a direct, uncompromising order, and yet the knocking came again. Louder.

"We are not rescheduling this meeting again. I'm sure your playmate can survive without your cock for an hour."

Feyre was still pressed into the mattress, gaping at him over her shoulder at the way the female was speaking to him. At the way Rhysand was letting her speak to him.

And more so that he listened, turning to Feyre with an apologetic wince. "I need to go. But you can stay here." He paused, hesitating for a moment before adding, "I'd like for you to stay. I'll be back within the hour."

A cough on the other side caused him to blow out a long breath.

"Maybe two hours."

Feyre nodded, slumping into the mattress. Rhys pressed an apologetic kiss into a notch at the top of her spine, then the next. The next. He nearly made it to her ass before the door rattled with an irritated thump.

With a long-suffering sigh, Rhys lifted himself from Feyre's body. It was no easier than trying to lift a boat from the sea; they both felt heavier once they were separated.

"Rest," Rhysand said. "You'll need it when I'm back."

After less than an hour of sleep, the stack of pillows at the headboard was practically calling her name. Feyre made a show of nuzzling into them, wrapping the blankets around her as a surrogate for Rhysand's warmth.

She felt him staring at her. Heard the soft little hmph he made in the back of his throat. A pleased sound, like he enjoyed the sight of her nestled in his bed.

Then, with a wave of his hands, he was dressed, closing the door behind him. She heard him speak to the female on the other side, their voices too muffled to discern, but she could tell he was grumbling about something.

Feyre listened intently as those voices faded down the hall. She waited until she was certain they were gone.

Quietly, she crawled to the edge of the mattress and opened the bedside drawer. The crown had been tossed to the floor some time in the night, but the rest of the objects were still there.

Including that velvet box.

Feyre reached for it, parting it open with her fingers to confirm its contents.

From there, it took all of five minutes to slip on her clothes and bolt out of the town house without looking back.

#god I hope this lives up to the expectations #Queen of Thieves #Feysand #Feysand fic #Feysand fanfic #Feysand fanfiction #Feyre x Rhys #Rhys x Feyre #Feyre x Rhysand #Rhysand x Feyre #QOT

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lalachat · 1 year ago

Text

"And there you were..."

Author's note: WITERLLY WHAT THE HECK GUYS!!! You have made my heart so full! Almost 100 notes in under 24 hours😭❤️ yall gon make me cry! I am truly and utterly grateful that y'all are liking it so far! I'm a little insecure with my writing, but it's only because i'm so new. I am open to any kind of advice you can give me or constructive criticism that will help make this fic better for you readers. With practice comes improvement!! Also, look i'm evolving with my tumbler knowledge and added dividers, a tag list, and a masterlist that i hope works! Look at me go😭🤧 ANYWHOOOO... are y'all ready for this one?? I fully planned on posting this next week but i'm too freaking excited! Eheheheh writing this had me giggling and kicking my feet! Enjoy my loves<3

Summary: You and Lucien decided to leave Rita's after discovering your mates kissing each other. With no reason to stay, Lucien offers you the comfort of his home and a glass of your favorite wine to help decompress the stress of both your mates. How could you say no?

This is for all my Lucien girlies❤️

Warnings: usage of profanity, sexual tension growing between Lucien and y/n, some fluff bc why not, sharing a bed, potential grammar and spelling issues

Word Count: around 3,350

Chapter 2: "Scream my name..."

As you and Lucien walked out of Rita’s, neither of you had noticed two pairs of eyes lingering watching you both leave after they heard Rhys’ commotion questioning Mor into oblivion about what the hell was going on. Mor had almost smirked at the fact that all it took was for you and Lucien to leave together to make Az and Elain both glance at y’alls receding figures. If it weren't for Rhysand in her face, she well would have. Even as Rhys is trying to get her to talk, she could not wait to tell you the plan had worked! Even if it was just a glance, it was still something! Small progress is still progress, right? Oh, she wishes she could have Feyre paint their reactions to you two leaving because it was priceless. Maybe Mor would and give it to you for solstice? But for now, she has a very upset cousin to deal with.

You and Lucien stopped at a local market to grab snacks and your favorite wine for your impromptu evening at his apartment. As you walk out of the market towards his place, Lucien can’t help but to ask about Azriel.

“So... The shadowsinger is your mate huh?” Lucien asks while tucking his hands in his front pockets glancing to your face as he asked you his question.

“Yeah... When I first met Az, it was when Rhys had offered me a room to stay in for a night. Rhys and I had quite literally run into each other a moment prior. I was traveling through the night court and was so distracted by the beauty that I ended up running right into Rhysand. I had knocked his freshly bought paint that he was planning to give Feyre all over us. I felt so bad that I kept offering to pay him for the cost of the paint along with his clothes, but he kindly refused. I had no mental shields back then, so he easily saw I was a nomadic traveler that had no place to stay or wash up. He offered me a room in his home for a night and a training over mental shields as payment, and I kindly accepted. I hadn't had a nice place to stay in such a long time. But, little did I know it would not be my peace and that my mate lived in the home I was about to stay at.” you said as you walked in tandem with Lucien down the streets towards his apartment.

“Always so generous that high lord. And, I assume you know who my mate is then?”

“That he is. And yes, I do. If you don’t mind me asking, why doesn’t she want the bond?”

“The same reason your mate doesn’t see yours... She’s too busy being enamored by him to try and pursue or explore things with me.” He finds a rock on the pavement to kick along as you two walk. Lucien kicks it towards you.

“At least she knows you’re her mate.” you shrug, kick the rock back, and Lucien chuckles.

“You have a point, and Azriel would know if you would just tell him.”

“Yeah, but would it change anything between us? Probably not. It would most likely end up like you and Elain if I told him...” Lucien stops and goes silent for a moment. “No offense of course!”

“None taken. How did we even end up in this mess? You and I both having mates who do not reciprocate any kind of feelings toward us because they like each other is almost ironic.” He laughs at this situation you are both in.

“You know now that you're saying it out loud, it is quite ridiculous.” You giggle. For a moment you had completely forgotten about Azriel and Elain. Lucien once again, being so alluring that you forgotten what you had just seen at Rita’s.

Lucien glances at you and finally takes in your appearance. Your cheeks start to turn rosy at the sight of his eyes trailing over your body. Your dress still leaving little imagination for Lucien. Your body grows hot from the sudden attention.

“He’s absolutely dumb as rocks for not looking at you tonight, because you look ravishing.” and gives you a playful wink.

“Lucien you're just saying that to make me feel better.”

“Y/n I kid you not, I truly mean it. You are one of the most beautiful females I have ever seen!”

“Thank you Lucien, that means so much more to me than you will ever know,” as you look into his eyes and smile at him. He stares at you, smiles and dips his head to say you're welcome before continuing.

“Almost there, it is right around this corner.”

“Perfect, because I am freezing and in dire of more alcohol. I am too sober for all this emotional shit,” you say as Lucien laughs at your comment and you both turn the corner.

“And we're here! Home sweet home!”

You walk into his apartment and your senses are engulfed by the smell of cinnamon sticks, crisp apples, cedarwood, and roasted chestnuts. It felt like home. Everything in his apartment felt so warm and welcoming. You sat down the groceries you had gotten on the center table near the living room couch, and slowly took in his décor. You were surprised everything looked so coordinated. His apartment was filled with warm colors like reds, oranges, and yellows. It reminded you of your brief stay in the autumn court. You wondered if that’s why Lucien decorated it this way. Maybe he had found a sense of belonging in those colors. While you were taking in his apartment, you hadn’t noticed him grabbing you a change of clothes to wear along with a warm woolly blanket.

“Here, these are for you to change into, and this is for you when you get cold later because I know you,” Lucien handed you the clothes and sat the blanket down on the couch. “The bathroom is through the hall on your left! Let me know if you need anything.”

“Okay, thank you!”

You started walking to the bathroom, the floor creaking beneath your feet as you opened the door. You stepped inside and quietly shut the door. You could hear Lucien in the kitchen popping the bottle of wine and pouring you both glasses, but what you forgot to realize is how you were going to take this dress off. After Mor’s last minute dress change, you had to call Nuala and Cerridwen to help you into it. You had not thought about how you were going to get it off. You slightly began to panic. “It’s okay... you can do this. It’s just a dress, can't be that hard right?” You tried to maneuver your arms into reaching the back of your dress but to no avail, Mor had to pick the most complicated thing you have ever seen. She was right though, this dress did look hot as fuck on you. You struggled a few times more before huffing and giving up. So, you had to do what you had to do...

“LUCIEN, I NEED HELP!” You could practically hear him sprinting down the hall to get to you in the bathroom. Without thinking he pushes the door wide open.

“WHAT IS IT? Are you alright?” His face scans you for any kind of injuries but finds none. The only thing he finds is you still in that damn dress that drove him crazy. “Why are you not in the clothes I gave you?”

“First of all, I could have been indecent. Didn’t your mother ever teach you to knock! Secondly, you see, as a male you would not understand this predicament, but I cannot get my dress off by myself. I need help unfortunately... I swear this is all Mor’s fault!”

Cauldron boil him... “So, you mean to tell me, you screamed my name to help you with your dress because you cannot do it yourself?”

“Yes...” you can hear Lucien sigh.

“There are much better ways to scream my name y/n and you know that but for the sake that you are quite literally stuck in that dress, I’ll help you. Turn around.” Your face turns hot at his comment, and you swat at his arm.

“LUCIEN! This is not funny!” he can't help but chuckle at your flustered state.

“Okay, okay, you being stuck in a dress is not funny. Got it! Now stop being stubborn and turn around so I can help.”

“No, wait! You have to close your eyes!”

“Y/n, how am I supposed to help you with your dress if I cannot see? Besides you act like I haven't seen you naked.” Again, your face betrays you as your cheeks turn bright red at the thought. You huff.

“Fine, okay you can keep your eyes open but no funny business Mr. Vanserra. I am watching you!” Lucien chuckles at how flustered he had made you and he is living for it.

You slowly turn your back to him and lock eyes with him through the bathroom mirror. Lucien takes the back of his knuckles and traces them delicately down the skin of your spine, almost like if you were made of glass and that you'd break at the slightest touch. His hand radiates so much warmth you must stop yourself from letting out a couple of sighs. The entire time he does this his eyes do not leave from yours through the mirror. His hand finally reaches the back of your dress, and he looks away to start undoing the claps. Thank the mother because his stare was driving you crazy. Each clasp he undoes, he makes sure to take his sweet time on. He doesn't miss the way your skin crawls with goosebumps at the slightest touch of his hands against your back. Gods, you had missed his fiery touch. It had felt like forever since he last touched you.

You slowly felt the dress getting heavier with each clasp undone. You could tell Lucien was near the end when your dress had almost slipped off your chest threatening to expose your naked breasts to him. Luckily, Lucien was too preoccupied to have noticed you trying to regather it back up for coverage. You couldn’t help but to selfishly think about turning around to look at him as your dress falls to the floor. Heat slowly began to warm your lower abdomen. You had to clench your thighs together in hope of Lucien not catching your growing scent of arousal. What would Lucien do to you if you did that? Would he pin you against the sink and truly make you scream his name? Gods you wished. Just then you caught a whiff of your scent. Damn your mind and body for betraying you! You were so worried about Lucien this whole time, when you should've been worrying about yourself. However, you decide that this is probably not the time to be thinking about such lewd things after what happened with Az.

As he was on the last clasp, Lucien couldn’t help catching your lingering scent in the air. You were going to be the death of him. He kisses the newly exposed skin of your back as his scent starts to slightly change and mix in with yours. Your head fell back as your eyes closed in anticipation. His eyes had wandered back to the mirror to see your eyes shut reeling in his touch as he peppered kisses up and down your spine. He marveled at this moment for a brief second before unclasping the last clasp of your dress. Your eyes met his as the last clasp was undone, and you let your dress pool to the floor as a test of restraint. For you or him, you didn’t know which. He held you gaze for a moment, never looking away from your eyes, before ghosting his lips on the nape of your neck.

“All done...” he whispered as he slowly turned around, shut the door, and walked away back to the kitchen. Cruel wicked male.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and tried to recompose yourself. Gods would drinking more wine be safe anymore after what just happened? You sighed and you picked your dress up off the floor and folded it as nicely as you could. You grabbed the clothes Lucien had given you to change into and started putting them on. Immediately you are swallowed by the musk of Lucien's clothes. It is almost overwhelming if it weren’t for the fact that you loved the smell of the autumn court male.

You laughed at yourself in the mirror as you looked and saw his t hanging so loose on you, it was practically a dress. But let's be honest, you loved it. You slowly opened the bathroom door and made your way out with your former dress folded nicely in your hands. You sat your dress down on the table and turned towards Lucien with a smile.

“So... how do I look?” and give him a twirl. Lucien looks at you and smiles. Gods, you looked even better in his clothes than in that dress but he wasn’t about to give in that easily.

“Like a little boy.” Lucien said with a playful gleam in his eyes.

“YOU TAKE THAT BACK RIGHT NOW!” as you shake a finger at his face. He laughs.

“Fine... You look like a very cute little boy!” he says grinning from ear to ear loving the effects his teasing was having on you tonight. You instead stick out your tongue and give him that all too well known finger gesture. He is practically hurled over in laughter, but you just huff and plop yourself on his couch.

“Be useful and get this “cute little boy” more wine! I'm definitely too sober now.” He laughs again and it warms your chest. You cant help but to grin back.

“Are you sure you can drink wine? You look a little young to be drinking such adult drinks” as he grabs the wine glasses along with the bottle for refills later.

“LUCIEN, I WILL STRANGLE YOU IF I HEAR ONE MORE LITTLE BOY JOKE!”

“Okay, okay. Here’s your wine doll.” He hands you your glass with a smile, “You actually look even more beautiful now that you’re in my clothes.” As he sends you a wink before sipping some of his wine.

“Thank you...” you smile as you take a sip from your own glass.

“So, other than your mate being an enigma to you, what else has happened since I saw you last?” you both get comfy on the couch and sip on your wine.

You had failed to realize how long you and Lucien were apart. You told him about your travels through all the different courts, and he told you about his part in the war along with how he became a part of the night court. You both sat there and exchanged every story you could possibly think of, trying to catch up on every moment you missed together. Soon the stories turn into giggling. Neither of you could hold it together as one of you would say something slurred and the other could cry out in laughter. It was the wine-speaking now, but neither of you had minded. You both had forgotten what it was like to be in each other's presence. It was nice to rekindle old flames with your friend, but you had to be careful. Recatching old feelings would not be good for you with this whole Azriel situation. You looked out the corner of your eye to see Lucien trying to fight off a yawn.

“Oh, don't tell me my lil fox boy has grown tired of me?” as you slightly pinch his cheeks. He grins as he sees you also fighting off your own tiredness.

“Mmmm seems like my yawns are contagious then, because I could’ve sworn I saw you do one just now.” he raises an eyebrow at you.

“Okay, maybe I did. All this catching up and wine drinking has made me sleepy.” You decide to grab the blanket Lucien sat on the couch for you earlier this evening.

“I don’t blame you... Now if you excuse me, I am going to go change into something more comfortable, these clothes are killing me, and then we will call it a night.” he says as he sticks a finger in his collared shirt to loosen the neck and walks off still in the clothes he wore at Rita’s. You chuckle at his figure walking down the hallway to what you would assume to be his room. You don’t know how long he was in there, but you couldn’t wait any longer. Your eyes were too heavy, and you were too drunk to stop your movements down the hallway towards where Lucien disappeared. You find the door he dipped into and see it is cracked a smidge. You decide to knock, unlike Lucien earlier.

“Hey Lu? Can I come in?” No answer. “Lucien I’m really tired and I don’t know where you want me to sleep...” you slowly push the door open but put too much weight on it and tumble forward into his room. Unlike your knocking, Lucien heard you tumble and was at your side to catch you in a heartbeat. You let out a laugh. “Oh, I'm too drunk for this shit... I'm sorry, I only came here too-” you look up to see him in gray sweat pants, hair loose, and no shirt. Mother blessed this man too much! Oh fuck. Get me out of here.

“Y/n, you were saying something?” He looks down at you with mischief in his eyes knowing you couldn’t keep yours off his bare chest and gray sweatpants. Your eyes blink rapidly, and you shake your head trying to get that image out your mind but its seared its way in.

“Oh yes. I was just- um, why did I- OH! Where do you want me to sleep? I’m like minutes away from passing out on the damn floor!” Lucien laughs.

“You can sleep in here, and I can stay on the couch for tonight. Is that alright?”

“This is your bed and home Lucien. I can't let you sleep on the couch as I take your bed... it just feels wrong. I'll take the couch and you can keep your bed for tonight.” you say as you turn around to head back into the living room before you feel Lucien's hand around your waist stopping you.

“Y/n I swear to the mother, do not be stubborn and take the damn bed please. It’s too late for this, I promise you it’s okay! I insist.”

“I guess old habits never die. Always trying to get me in your bed Lu.” you smirk as you crawl in and wrap up in his silk auburn sheets. You thought his house and clothes smelled nice, but his sheets, his sheets were heavenly. You almost fell asleep then and there because it was so calming. Lucien walks over to you and kisses you on the forehead.

“Goodnight doll, I am truly sorry for your mates behavior tonight. Sleep well...” He turns around, turns out the lights, and is about to walk out the door but hesitates as he hears you say--

“Lucien wait-”

“Yes?”

“We’re both adults here, right?”

“Well one of us looks like a little boy, but yes. Why?” Lucien replied. You rolled your eyes at his playful remark from earlier.

“Adults can share a bed, and nothing has to happen.”

“Y/n are you saying you want me to sleep next to you?”

“Yes, I am. I don’t want to sleep alone tonight.” you sigh.

“Always so persuasive... scoot over.” You open the sheets and scoot over in the bed to make room for Lucien. You feel the bed dip down as he crawls in. You both lay there for a moment reeling in that you two are sharing a bed again. The only difference is now the lingering heartbreak you both feel from your mates. You turn around to face Lucien and ask-

“Can I lay on your chest?” He doesn’t verbally respond but wraps his hands around your waist and softly pulls you closer to him. You lay your head on his chest, listening to his heart beat, and look up at his face. You tuck a couple of stray hairs that had fallen in his face and tuck them behind his ears and say, “Thank you for tonight, Lucien. Elain is so lucky to have you, she just doesn’t know it yet.”

“Thank you doll, neither does Azriel. Now let's get some much needed rest. Goodnight,” said Lucien.

“Goodnight Lu,” as you rest your hand on his bare chest next to your head and you feel Lucien's arms tighten around you. You can't help but to feel so at peace in his presence, and neither can he, as you both fell asleep holding each other all night.

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