#Finally able to take a sparring round off of his brother

[hazelkjt]

"You did it!"

"It was just a fluke, though. A stroke of luck." -Emmanellain "Oh, just shut up and be proud of yourself for once!" -Hazel

[chaozsilhouette]

A Revealing Performance

My rendition for the Shadow Play in @winterpower98's Swap Au.

It was supposed to be a simple thing, then it sort of spiraled into this whole deal. For the effects of the Shadow Lantern, I drew some inspiration from her Cursed Au as I never thought simply using her friends was cruel enough for the Monkey Tyrant.

It serves to show just how far Macaque has grown, but also to highlight just how monstrous he was.

_____________________________

Mei refrained from downing her bubble tea as she waited for the play to start. It had been a rough couple of weeks with Spider Queen and that creepy girl. And failing to find where Xiaotian had run off to after the misunderstanding. When Macaque sent her tickets to the local theatre, she was ashamed to think it was a trap.

Pigsy and Sandy were right. After everything that happened, she needed some serious me time. She had been too stressed.

Besides, everyone knew Macaque was a total theatre nerd. Few people knew that the star puppeteer was actually the Six-Eared Macaque himself. He would totally send her tickets from his stomping grounds as a way to unwind.

It was a shame that Tang couldn’t join them. Apparently, he finally managed to schedule a meeting with the Celestial Realm and was Taking the demon brothers to figure out a new way of sealing the Monkey Tyrant. It was also his chance to explain their little break-in during New Years. He encouraged her to have fun and if it was good, he’d join them for the next showing.

So here they were waiting for the performance to start. Although she wondered what the fake mayor was doing here. They hadn't seen him since he gave her the skeleton key. Still wasn't sure why he had it or why he gave it to her? Supposedly she was only supposed to have it for a day, but he never stopped by to pick it up.

_____________________________

Sun Wukong was a monkey of many talents, but even he had to admit Macaque was a far better storyteller and his mastery of shadows was sheer perfection. But that just made this plan all the more perfect. What better way to teach his wayward beloved’s little flower a lesson than through a trusted medium.

Obtaining a spot in the local theatre was child’s play, a little magic and they were all but begging him to take center stage. Apparently, they had been scrambling to find a new performer after their star puppeteer had to leave for a family emergency (three guesses as to who that was). And with a little glamor, a set of tickets was left at the little flower's doorstep. As far as she knew, Macaque was proud of her progress and believed she had deserved a reward for all her hard work. She was so desperate for something to go right she hardly questioned how her mentor, who was in parts unknown, managed to secure tickets for a new performer.

In his personal dressing room, Wukong delicately touched up his human disguise. Even if he was going to be hidden in his hanfu and cloak, it wouldn’t do to spoil the surprise. Applying his eye shadow with artful flair, the Monkey King took time to appreciate just how handsome he truly was no matter what form he took. Honestly, who would have thought such perfection existed?

A pulse of dark magic drew his attention to his latest partner in crime.

The Shadow Lantern gently floated before him. Its dark magic practically purring at the thought of being used. Wukong could almost laugh at his beloved’s foolishness. He was there when his darling created the lantern, when he infused his own shadows into its very foundation. Did he honestly think such a masterpiece would tolerate being left to collect dust in a cave?

Normally a magical artifact would never consider turning on its master, but after centuries of abandonment, all Wukong had to do was whisper his intentions to return Macaque to his former self to secure its loyalty. The second he first made contact, he could sense a twisted hunger writhing within and with each performance granting it the chance to feed on the life essence of the viewers…. hehe, he almost couldn’t contain himself.

Looking up at the clock, he saw it was just about time for his next performance. His clones had reported the girl’s presence along with the pig and the water demon. Strangely the one with glasses and the little matchstick was absent. No matter, he could make do with two hostages just fine.

After all, the show must go on.

_____________________________

The overhead lights dimmed, signaling the start of the play. Smoke slowly poured from beneath the floorboards, generating an air of mystery. In a flash of golden light, a tall man wearing a beautiful cloak manifested on center stage. The crowd silenced themselves at the display.

“Welcome viewers to a performance you shall never forget!” From the folds of his sleeves, an exquisite lantern floated in front of him. A mesmerizing yet familiar purple glow emanating from the center.

“Our tale tonight is one of love, companionship, and how even the strongest of bonds can be severed through the trickery of the wicked.”

In the background, the shadows twisted and grew in the lantern’s light. Carefully they formed a beautiful scene of a mountain covered in flowers and trees. Attention was gradually guided to the top, where a round stone basked in the sun.

“It all began with the birth of a King.”

The round stone broke, revealing a figure that resembled a monkey. But no, this was a monkey demon, a monkie if you would. The King journeyed down the mountain until he found a tribe of normal monkeys. The group frolicked for a while as the King established himself as the undisputed ruler of the tribe.

A large figure with an ax appeared. The monster brought down his ax upon a small collection of monkeys only to be stopped at the last second by the King. The King used his superior strength to steal the demon’s ax and used it to decapitate the intruder in a single stroke. The monkeys jumped around the King and praised his strength, but the King did not appear satisfied.

“The young King was born with great power and strength, but he sought out more to protect his people.”

The King crafted a raft and set out on a dangerous sea. The King was shown to face off against mountain gods, human warriors, and demonic sorcerers always to reign victorious but never satisfied.

“In his travels, he learned much and faced many enemies, in time his efforts were handsomely rewarded.”

The King climbed a fleet of stairs carved into a mountain to reach a humble monastery. At the top, a stern human stood, but behind him was another monkie. This one however possessed six ears.

“His quest for power led him to a Warrior of potential equaling his own. At first, neither was sure how to react to their mirror, but they quickly forged a comradery that took them far.”

The two monkies trained together, mastering new powers as they sparred.

“Their time together increased their power exponentially and as they grew stronger their feelings blossomed into something beautiful.”

The two were on a cliff overlooking the stars, slowly leaning closer to one another. Eventually, the two faced their opposite and leaned in close.

“Their fates had become intertwined. Their power was unmatched. It was then the King realized what he had been searching for all this time.”

The two shadows merged together in a complex dance until they separated into two beings once again, but not as they began. The two monkeys were now garbed in elaborate, yet practical armor and silks. The King wielded a staff and the Warrior took up a spear.

“Slowly their strength grew to where nothing could challenge them, whether in the Celestial Realm or on Earth.”

The King and Warrior were shown battling heavenly armies and powerful demons with confident smirks. Each battle resoundingly won through their combination of speed, strength, and cunning.

“But it was not enough. The King wished to ensure that he and the Warrior would be able to fight together forever and sought the power and respect needed to secure their future.”

The King took to the Heavens, where he stood before an Emperor in the most extravagant outfit, surrounded by massive guards in magical armor. The Emperor was clearly afraid as the King effortlessly toppled one guard after another, slowly approaching the throne at a steady pace.

“The King’s noble actions were viewed negatively by those who feared his ever-growing power. Eventually, a prison was crafted that could restrain the King, one that not even his beloved Warrior could destroy.”

Just before the King’s latest attack could reach the Emperor, chains wrapped around his limbs and dragged him down to Earth. With a quick flex, the chains shattered, but the King was doomed as a mountain landed on him with a seal placed at the top. The Warrior tried to pry off the seal or find some way to weaken the mountain, his acts growing more desperate with time, yet nothing worked.

“Cruelly, the King was forced to wait until he could be freed, forced to watch his precious Warrior defend their Kingdom on his own.”

With a heavy expression, the Warrior abandoned his efforts to return to the original mountain as dozens of terrifying figures surrounded the monkey inhabitants.

“Centuries passed and their love still burned strong. Soon their patience was rewarded, the King was freed but he was soon trapped in a new prison.”

A monk approached the mountain and removed the seal. The King swiftly destroyed the mountain. The monk humbly bowed to the King and offered fresh clothing and a fillet. The King garbed himself in the gifts only to collapse in agony when the monk prayed.

“Enraged the King played along until the time was right. The King and the Warrior reunited in secret and crafted a plan that would allow them to take their revenge on those that dared to separate them.”

The two monkies hugged and nuzzled each other in appreciation. A quick conversation later, the Warrior changed to resemble the King and joined the monk as the King headed into unknown lands.

“Decades later the King was ready to retrieve his love, confident in his regained strength. But when he arrived the Warrior had changed. It was as if the warrior had lost a crucial part of himself. The Warrior tried to dissuade the King from killing the monk and his companions. He even tried to convince him to give up his rage at the Celestial Realm, believing the war that would ensue wasn't worth it.”

The disguised Warrior was traveling with four colorful characters. The King dropped from the sky in front of the group, a massive crater forming around him. The Warrior regained his true form, but instead of returning to his rightful place, he blocked the King’s view of the monk.

“The King could not believe his ears. This could not be his Warrior. His love always understood his goals and knew why heaven had to pay. The King knew this change was the monk’s fault. The King moved to silence the deceiver in one quick strike only to find it blocked by the Warrior.”

The King and Warrior exchanged blows that tore mountains asunder, split the heavens, and burned down forests. The other demons following the monk tried to aid the warrior, but nothing they did seemed to slow down the King, if anything their attacks only served to further enrage him.

“The two clashed until the Warrior fled with the jailers. Time and time again they clashed, but never could the King reach the Warrior he held in his heart.”

The group fled from the battle, but time and time again the King tracked them down. The locations may have changed, but the carnage after each battle remained as world-shattering as the first. In the end, the Group managed to truly escape, and the Warrior vanished into the shadows he wielded, leaving the King alone with nothing but his memories.

“Even now the King yearns for the companionship of his beloved Warrior, knowing that at his core the Warrior craves the same.”

With the final line sending shivers down the spines of the viewers, the puppeteer vanished in a flash of light.

_____________________________

As Mei waited for her family to walk out, she couldn’t help but think about the play. It almost sounded like they were telling the tale of the Monkey King. But that was ridiculous. No one knew the Monkey King’s origins aside from minor details from the Journey to the West. Besides the narrator seemed to view the Monkey Tryant as a hero and victim. Clearly, that guy needed a reality check.

“Hello, young one.” Nearly choking on the remainder of her tea, Mei turned to see the puppeteer standing behind her with a knowing smile.

His cloak shrouding the top of his face in shadow. For a second, Mei envisioned her father Macaque. He would adore that look. Actually, didn’t she see a similar outfit in his closet on Flower Fruit Mountain? Doesn’t he wear that outfit when he’s hosting a shadow play?

Wait. How did he sneak up on her like that? Was she that out of it?

How long has she been quiet? Crap! Say something! “Oh. Ah-hello. C-can I help you with something?”

“I was about to ask the same. You do know the theatre is going to close soon right?”

“What?” Mei grabbed her phone. The digital clock flashed that it was past nine. That couldn’t be right. That meant she had been waiting for nearly an hour. But where were the others? Surely, they wouldn’t have left without telling her. Were they in trouble?

“Is everything alright?”

“Ah- yeah, everything’s fine.” It’s cool. It’s cool. She could handle this. She just needed to stay calm. “No need to worry about me. I just ah-I have a few questions about your play.”

“Yes.”

“How did you could up with the concept? I mean, no offense, but your premise could be taken the wrong way.” Maybe it was the panic over where her family had disappeared to, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being sized up.

“Hm. Have you ever heard the expression ‘History is written by the winners’?”

“Yes. It’s pretty common.” Like one of the most used sayings in the world.

“The tale was designed to show that love is one of the most cherished feelings of all and that in order to protect it, one must be willing to do anything to keep their loved ones safe. The King only wished to keep his beloved by his side, but the Warrior was misled and forced to battle against his love. That story may belong to only two, but similar tales can be experienced in anyone’s life. Tell me, can you think of a time you fought with those you cared about due to a misunderstanding?”

Without even considering it, horrible memories resurfaced. Mei arguing with MK as she tried to stop him from leaving with the newly released Monkey King. Mei forced to battle Red Son as his mind was slowly consumed by the True Fire of Samadhi. Tang lying to them about his true identity. Macaque leaving when they needed him most without saying why.

“I see you can.” The puppeteer gently guided her back into the main hall, where she took a seat on an empty bench.

“It’s nothing. I just-” She honestly didn’t know why she was pouring out her heart to stranger. Maybe she really was that exhausted. “-there’s so much going on and I’m supposed to be strong no matter what. But sometimes it hurts, just thinking about all my mistakes. Sometimes I wonder if I truly am strong. What if bringing me into this was a mistake?”

“What if it was?” That voice!

Mei turned to see Macaque garbed in a strange outfit, one that honestly reminded her of the Monkey King’s. She was confused. She had never seen him wear anything like that, he looked like the Monkey King’s twisted shadow.

And that expression! Her father Macaque had never made that face before. It looked as though he was reveling in her suffering.

“What’s the matter, little jade? Don’t worry, I won’t leave you alone.” He extended a hand slowly with the intent to cradle her face. A normal gesture he would use to comfort her, but her every instinct was screaming at her to get away.

Mei jumped to her feet and pulled out her spear, aiming it right between the imposter’s eyes. “Enough games!”

Macaque stared at the spear for a second, his fiendish expression only growing more vicious. He threw his head back with a full-bodied laugh, showing how little he thought of her threat. “Ha. Ha. Ha.”

In a flash of light, the Monkey Tyrant was standing before her, still wearing his puppeteer disguise. “Wow. About time. For a while, I was wondering if you’d ever figure out it was me.” His red and gold eyes carefully roved over her body, taking in every shake and fearful twitch. “Put down the spear, kid. We both know you’re not nearly good enough to scratch me with such a pitiful copy of the Dragon Blade.”

That may have been true, but she’d sooner make out with DBP in full view of Queen Iron Fan than leave herself completely open before this tyrant. “So the play was from your perspective. I always figured you were delusional, but this is a new low. Where is my family?” She all but growled, unknowingly her canines had slightly elongated in response to her rage.

“They never left. I’m surprised you didn’t recognize this.” The Monkey King took out the lantern, once more bathing the room in that familiar glow.

“What’s the big deal about a lantern?”

The stone monkie found her ignorance all the more entertaining. To think he hadn’t warned her of his own past.

“The big deal is that my dear warrior crafted this lantern long ago. It was his finest work and like everything he made it has multiple uses.” With a simple hand gesture, the silhouettes of Pigsy and Sandy appeared on the walls. “The Shadow Lantern can do more than enhance one’s skills in shadow magic, it can trap the bodies and souls of its targets. So long as the targets are trapped, the lantern can steal the shadows of its victims so its master can use them as a personal army until there is nothing left.”

“You expect me to believe Macaque made something so disgusting?” Even as Mei said it, she couldn’t help but recognize how similar the lantern’s magic was to her teacher’s. It was cool and soothing, but on the edge, there was an unmistakable edge of malice. “Even if he did, I doubt he made it without you whispering in his ears.”

“Oh child, you have no idea how many secrets he keeps from you. Let me share one with you.” The lantern grew brighter, and the silhouettes of her family members gained more substance as they peeled away from the walls.

Mei adjusted herself so all opponents were in her sight, but nothing could stop the sweat collecting on her forehead.

She sensed something powerful appear behind her. Jumping out of the way as a spear nearly severed her arm. She faced her new opponent. Only to almost drop her weapon.

Standing before her was another copy of Macaque only this one was even more disturbing. Its eyes burned with purple light, the shadows loving curled around it, but worst of all was the sneer filled with razor-tipped teeth.

“Did you honestly think my love was always so nice?”

[im-a-lil-simp]

Not sure whether it‘s still open or it hasn‘t updated for me yet but ndhvdd if possible, can I possibly request a Techno x Reader writing where the Reader wants to cuddle with him, but they have no Idea how to express it so they just..get extremely fidgety?:,> Preferably in a SMP like AU because c o l d = very fluff moments but I don‘t mind either way :,33

I‘m sorry for requesting Techno but he‘s such a comfort Streamer and I just aaaA-

Also you don’t have to do it, ya know, since I get if not and it‘s 100% valid aldbs

~Hira👑, who still can‘t fall asleep because I just saw a Spider qjebdb

No Harm In A Hug (Technoblade x Reader)

Okay I can get behind more smp au, I don't wanna do it all the time, but this is nice. Techno is also a comfort streamer of mine.

This was such a cute request 🥺 I hope you guys get the callback I put in there.

It had started early on in your friendship. You had been friends for around four months and you were becoming more comfortable with each other. You loved being more comfortable with each other, it meant the all the awkwardness of a new friendship had finally washed away and you guys could actually get to know each other deeper than just surface level.

You knew it was too early in the friendship to get close to him physically. I mean, he didn't outwardly show friendship normally. Only in the small things, like killing a skeleton before you had to, sniping it from miles away.

He noticed it then too, how you would fidget. It didn't mean much to him, as he passed it off as nervousness or just a general tendency to appear fidgety. He understood of course, he had adhd so who was he to really judge.

A couple of months later, you were still facing the same issue. It was more of a need to be generally close to him now, though. You found yourself wanting to hold his hand and hug him when arriving and leaving a place. And when it slipped out to one of his brothers, they assured you it would be fine. They weren't necessarily affectionate as brothers, but they knew he wouldn't mind a single bit, especially because you two were already close friends.

Once you had even found yourself reaching for his hand. You hadn't a clue where that urge came from. Your feelings for him were complicated, but you never even thought about holding his hand. All you knew is how nervous you were to touch him, you wanted to so badly.

And then the war came. Wilbur and Tommy asked him to join them in pogtopia, and he couldn't deny them and their desire to bring down Schlatt as president. There would be no time for indulging you in your quest for affection. Especially not initiating it for the first time ever.

You'd come to visit him though. You'd sit around when he'd plant potatoes, or even following him, hoping to gain the smallest understanding of what he was doing or why. They had plenty of food in pogtopia, so why did they need such a massive potato farm? You also had no idea why he love farming potatoes so much, but you still supported him, even if you didn't understand this hyperfixation of his. Those days were normally calm.

There were other calm days as well, but only for Techno. He'd ask you to spar sometimes, usually when Wilbur and Tommy were out, so there was nobody that he had been explicitly asked to train around his temporary home. Sparring wasn't intrinsically calm, but he found it calming in a specific way since it wasn't the same as being in the heat of a normal battle or war.

It wasn't so calm for you. Sure, it was always nice to get a bit of practice in, you had a habit of getting rusty and he had a way of relieving it pretty easily. But the fact that you guys were so close in proximity, so close that at times you could feel each others breath reflecting off the others skin, bothered you to no end.

When he pinned you to the ground in victory, you wanted nothing more than to pull him down with you and watch the clouds for the rest of the day, rather than go round for another fight. You wanted to feel how warm he would make you from just existing next you. You were sure he'd be very warm.

He could see at that point the small twitches your hand would make towards his. He noticed when you would inch towards him, even in scenarios when you weren't being threatened by another member of the SMP or L'manburg. He wondered what was stopping you from being affectionate with him. He may not have been the type to show love that way, but it didn't mean he didn't welcome it with open arms. There was no harm in a hug.

When the war finally came, you were worried about him, as most friends would be when their best friend's life was on the line. He tried everything to assure you that Technoblade never dies, but none of his assurance helped to ease the worry in your heart. It was the day he went to war that you realized you loved him as more than your best friend.

You watched from the hills as he fought. You were on neutral grounds as far as everyone else was concerned, so you had to stay that way, no matter how much you wanted to fight next to Techno. He educated you on his plans the night before though. He didn't want you anywhere near the fight, as he knew you would already have to run if the chance to spawn the withers did arise as he thought it might.

When it was over, he found people rummaging through his base. It was to be expected to be respected so little by the people he had so-called betrayed. You knew your time with him was most likely over when he told you he'd be moving away so that he could enter retirement and be free from his violent lifestyle. It pained you knowing that your friendship would be severed in half and you would never even have the chance to dwell on your feelings for him again.

Until he asked you to run away with him. He didn't want to leave his best friend, he told you. Those words stung a little, but his intentions still excited you. He knew you remained neutral. You'd be considered part of the badlands if you had lived anywhere other than the main part of the smp. There was nothing there for you other than more war and hardships.

Maybe if you could just get him alone, spend all of your time with him, you'd finally be able to touch him. You'd finally work up the courage to take his hand in yours, or hug him in excitement, or just confess your feelings to him.

You confessed your feelings to him when you built your house together. It was so cold outside, but you worked through it anyway. It wasn't originally supposed to be your house together anyway, at least to you. You were supposed to build your own after you were done with his.

But it just kind of slipped out of you. He mentioned how well your house was coming together, and you replied about how you hoped yours would look just as good. But that confused him. He thought that you'd share it.

When you tried to explain to him that you really couldn't live in the same house as him, it confused him further. Why not? So he asked, and when you spilled out, "because then you'd find out how many feelings I have for you," you hadn't thought that your brain would not keep that little tidbit of information to itself.

And it surprised you when he walked over, crouched down, and patted your head. He wanted you to know that he felt the same. He wanted you to be as close as you had been trying to be.

Living together became something you cherished a lot, but you still didn't physically touch each other as much as you wanted to. Yea, he'd hold your hand when making a harder trek, trying to keep you going. Or he'd put his hand on yours when you sat next to the fire on a particularly cold night. But it wasn't enough, and you still couldn't bring yourself to take it farther than that.

Techno knew, but he waited for you to make a move first. You'd do it in your own time, when you were ready to. But as time moved on, he realized that that was simply not true. You were fighting yourself on it and he would have to step in.

When you walked in the door after making your way to the lake to fish for the night's dinner, his plan was already set in mind. You headed down stairs to separate the other things you fished up into chests and he took a deep breath. It wouldn't be as hard for him to do it as it was for you, but it still wasn't something you two did often.

You emerged in a comfier set of clothes and moved to sit down next to the fire. Mid-crouch, he grabbed your hand and yoinked you down to fall directly into him. You hit his chest with an 'oomph' and he wrapped his arms securely around you.

Your face flushed from his actions, rather than the sudden heat of the fire. Though, it certainly contributed. He hummed, content.

You buried your face into his chest further and gripped his shirt, this was exactly what you wanted. You finally had exactly what you were looking for and you definitely wanted more of it in the future.

Techno knew he'd have to do this a few more times before you'd do it yourself, but if that's what he had to do to make you comfortable, he'd do it every day of the week and every second of every day.

[ashasmonsters]

The Middle Prince

Male reader x Male Tiefling (Amon)

Citrus rating: Lemon

Content: Detailed wet dreams, alcohol

Words: 8k

Note: Some MLM goodness for Pride Month! This took me longer than I intended, but only because I wrote it way too long and had to break it up into parts! Expect more in this series.

The dreams started assailing you a little over a month ago. During the first week, you couldn't remember anything. You would awake in your bedchamber covered in sweat and panting as if you had just finished a sparring session. These nights, a name danced on the tip of your tongue, escaping just as you attempted to sound it out and make it real. Confused and alone you would promptly go back to sleep after flipping over your pillow. As time passed, the dreams grew both in intensity and clarity. Though still more mysterious than normal dreams, little details here and there coalesced in your waking memory: a soft touch followed by a rough one, the smell of lavender, your fingernails gliding over shallow ridges, the color of aquamarine gemstones. These dreams visited you every night without fail.

The determinations made by the court oneiromancers were limited in scope. After spending the night in the care of one such dream diviner, they found these dreams to be coming from somewhere else. The dreams were not your own, at least not fully. Beyond this, they had no more revelations. Anything more was conjecture; one stated that if magick was involved, it was either massively strong, thus able to conceal its origin, or so fleeting and ephemeral that even the oneiromancers couldn't trace it.

Your father's concern waxed but mostly waned. Perhaps if you were the eldest crown prince instead of the middle one, the answer would have been willed into existence by his command. He simply asked that the oneiromancers track your condition and report any findings to him, but no more than once each week. Though dismayed that little was being done to solve this mystery, you were used to being far from priority. Even years ago when an attempt on your life left one of your legs still and unresponsive, a leg brace allowing you to stand at public appearances was issued and the problem was declared solved. You vividly remembered the look on the assassin's face when he realized he had accidentally struck third in the line of succession rather than first. His reaction was not dissimilar from your father's when you mentioned your dreams: a mildly amused but primarily disappointed visage. The spot where the dagger had pierced your spine no longer ached but your discontent was as raw and fresh as the day the realization struck.

With the oneiromancers essentially told to only report something unquestionably threatening to your life or the family's honor, you shared very little with them. Several times you had dismissed them with little more than a hand wave. None of them ever protested. To their knowledge, no new developments within these dreams came to light. It was just another little curiosity that came with the court.

To their knowledge, anyway. In truth, there had been a quite substantial development that you withheld from them.

The night air was cool and crisp. From your bedchamber's veranda, you let the gentle sound of the garden's fountains below soothe your nerves. This had become your regular nighttime ritual; your last chance to feel relaxed and cool before waking up overheated and frantic. You enjoyed the last of it before sliding under the sheets and waiting for the dream to visit you.

This was the clearest dream to date. The scattered sensations and feelings from prior episodes came into focus: the touches came from smooth, tender hands, the smell of lavender from purple cups of herbal tea. Your fingers played over short, filed horns. That bold aquamarine color like a burning emerald belonged to a pair of eyes, their pupils narrow and catlike. The overall plot of the dream remained unknown to you. What came next, however, was new. Very new.

A pair of hands caressed your body as whatever clothing you had dissolved into the air. Your mind reeled from the realization of what was happening, yet you were relaxed all the same. Though surprised, you didn't wish for it to stop. Even as the tender hands had you at their mercy, one playfully pinching a nipple as the other reached lower in between your legs, you welcomed their touch without knowing why. You just did. It felt right. The hand between your legs started confidently stroking your shaft; making you moan. Their touch was expertly coordinated as if they knew everything about you. Not long after, the building pressure within you was too much to bear, then...

"AMON!" You cried out, the name that had eluded you all those nights finally woven from syllables into a complete utterance. You were no longer dreaming, your own hands reflexively covering your mouth in a futile attempt to take back the exclamation. In the dead of night like this, you most certainly alerted someone.

"My Prince, are you alright?" Your chief courtier, Petra, had burst through your bedchamber door. Guards with polearms at the ready had her back.

"I'm alright," you caught your breath, "it's the dream again. No cause for alarm." As usual, you bore a sheen of sweat and your heart was thundering in your ears.

"You've never called out like that before," Petra noted, not yet dropping her guard.

"I called out?" You lied, wincing as you felt something viscid and slimy on your groin under your dressing gown. Deep embarrassment came to the forefront of your mind, your face helpless to hide it. "Bring me my washbasin, please," you quickly uttered.

"At once, my Prince." Petra left the room as the guards resumed their posts. You peeled back your dressing gown to inspect the damage by moonlight. It was worse than you thought. Undoubtedly this gown would have to be thrown out. You groaned, disappointed in your own body for betraying you like this.

"Your washbasin, Prince." Petra returned and you hurriedly covered yourself up again. The moonlight was too dim, or perhaps she pretended not to see, but she was soon at your bedside without pause, brandishing a sponge and towel.

"I can do this myself," you said, taking the implements from her. She looked at you with intent to interrogate.

"Prince, if there have been changes with your dreams, you must inform the oneiromancers."

"No need," you said, eager to fully clean yourself. "You are dismissed, Petra."

Petra held her tongue. Her eyes told you she only did so because she was eager to return to bed. When she departed your bedchamber and closed the door, you finally discarded the soiled gown and did your best to cleanse yourself of your nocturnal emission. You donned a new gown and welcomed an ordinary slumber.

When morning came, so did Petra and a bevy of assistant courtiers. From the accoutrements they wielded you identified them as the "fashion corps," your nickname for the hairdressers, wardrobers, clothiers, and makeup artists whose arrival portended a formal event you were required to attend. As the squad of aesthetes communicated amongst each other, Petra drew you a bath. While the tub filled, she came to your side and took your shoulder on hers to help you hobble into the bathing chamber.

"What's the occasion, Petra?" You unfolded a privacy screen, dividing your bathing chamber in half. As you stripped and entered the balmy water, you heard Petra pull up a chair on the other side of the screen.

"The biannual alliance gala, Prince."

"The alliance gala?" You asked. Your appearance had not been required at one for quite some time. "Why me?"

"Your father has requested that the entire court attend. From what I've heard, there is quite the number of fiefdoms and baronies joining the kingdom at this one."

"Grand." You sighed and resigned yourself into the water until it met your chin. You imagined the great hall of the palace, teeming with strangers from far-off lands all speaking in such meaningless platitudes that they needed alcohol in hand to tolerate it.

"If it makes you feel any better, Prince, most of the night depends on your elder brother and your father. You have the freedom to do whatever you like once your father's opening speech is concluded," Petra said with a mild tone.

It didn't make you feel better. Your father built a kingdom that, apparently, smaller domains were scrambling to join. Your elder brother was the crown prince with hordes of suitors seeking his heart. Even your elder sister, with no direct claim to the crown, was quite sought after. Then there was you, with permission to get as drunk as you like at the gala. You seriously considered exercising that privilege.

Your ruminations were interrupted by the clatter of hammered metal and leather straps from beyond the screen.

"I've got your brace ready, Prince. Let me know when you're dry," Petra said. You reluctantly finished scrubbing and soaping yourself before heaving your body onto the lip of the bath and toweling off. Sat there, damp with dripping hair and a towel round your waist, you permitted Petra to attach the brace to you. She respectfully averted her eyes as she affixed the contraption to your immobilized leg. With it attached, you traded comfort for the ability to limp and stand unassisted.

Next came the gauntlet of clothing, hair styling, and makeup that the fashion corps employed. Even for today, which was merely a rehearsal for the true event tomorrow, they gave no mercy. They encircled you and passed you around as they worked like a knight being suited by his squires. The process was grueling. Your hair was tugged and the breeches squeezed your brace into your leg. With the freedom to choose your own clothes removed from you, there was no choice but to deal with the feeling of metal biting at your skin.

Bound in the tight, ceremonial clothing, Petra took your arm for the long walk to the great hall. It was full of palace staff and buzzing like a beehive. The ceiling, high as a cathedral's, let in beams of sunlight through its many massive windows. Tables were being arranged with the intent to give each attending guest a view of the stage: the stage where your father and elder brother would be giving their opening speeches tomorrow. The two of them were behind a podium, your brother reading a piece of parchment over your father's shoulder. Behind them towards the back of the stage was a row of ornate seats; not quite thrones but just as uncomfortable. Your elder sister met your gaze as she sat on one. She beckoned you over.

"That will be your seat for the rehearsal, Prince," Petra said.

"Rehearsal for sitting?" You quipped, walking towards your seat anyway. Resistance was futile no matter how silly this all was.

"I'll undo your hair and get you into more comfortable clothes as soon as I can, Prince," Petra said apologetically. "Bear with it. I must attend to the other staff now."

With that, Petra disappeared into the crowd of scrambling staff arranging the great hall into order. You limped to your seat, your brace clicking all the while.

"You look excellent, little brother," your sister said. She was attempting to alleviate your sour mood, but she still hadn't figured out how. Neither had you.

"I look like an idiot. And my leg is killing me," you snapped.

Your sister merely sighed and leaned back in her chair. Her hair, in a high bun, bumped the bejeweled headrest and made her curse.

"You used to love these events when you were smaller. You had perfected waving to the crowd before you learned to talk," she said.

"That was a long time ago. Things were different; I was naive, none of us had official duties, the assassination attempt hadn't happened, I wasn't bedeviled by these dreams... mother was alive." You cast your gaze downward, examining your buckled leather shoes. You heard her sigh.

"Not all change has to be bad. And to be fair, you still don't have any official duties to worry about." She placed a hand on your shoulder.

"That's a polite way of saying I'm useless." You looked up at your father and elder brother. They were discussing something about their speeches, annotating and marking the parchment before them. A small audience of pages stood in front of the stage, listening to them run through portions of their speeches. They hadn't yet paid you any heed.

"It's a blunt way of saying you're free," your sister said firmly. "Every week I'm fielding suitors from all over the world, and not one of them has proven to be anything but repulsive. I'm terrified that one day strategy and diplomacy will land me with someone like them."

Your eyes widened at her open disdain for the matters of the court.

"I'm sorry," you said, reconstructing your vision of who your sister truly was. "I had no idea you felt that way... I thought—"

"You thought I was traipsing about with handsome men from far-off lands every day?" She smirked.

"...yes." You blushed.

"Hah! I wish!" Your sister flinched at her own exclamation, then relaxed when she realized the monarch and the crown prince hadn't noticed. "But you don't have to wish for that. You're free to traipse with whomever you please."

You blushed harder. Turning away from your sister, you saw your brother and father finishing up their speech revisions. On cue, Petra emerged from the throng of staff to conclude this "rehearsal."

"Looks like Petra's coming to get you," your sister noted. "I know you'll be free to retire to your bedchambers as soon as the speeches are over, but I want you to try and enjoy yourself tomorrow night. It's what I would do if I could." She gave you one final smile before getting up from her seat.

"I will," you said, finally cracking a tiny smile in return. Petra had your arm soon after.

"Your presence is no longer required, Prince." Petra helped you up. "Shall I take you back to your chambers?"

"Yes, please," you said, giving your sister a thankful glance. She returned a similar expression as Petra whisked you away.

When you had finally returned to your chambers and changed into less constrictive clothing, you asked Petra to stay awhile to converse. Your sister's advice had forced you to re-evaluate your approach to the gala. Your priorities had shifted just as much as your notions of her personality had.

"You mentioned there were many newcomers to the kingdom? Quite a few tables were being set up in the great hall," you quizzed Petra.

"Yes, from what I've gathered, it's expected to be the largest event we've hosted all year. We're expecting guests from as far as Ankara and Nubia," she answered matter-of-factly. Perhaps she was a little proud, too.

"Are there any specific guests I should know about?" You asked with the grace of a war elephant. Courtship had crossed your mind for the first time mere minutes ago. "Anyone of high repute?"

Petra picked up on your clumsy intent immediately. She knew you too well.

"Prince, it would be quicker to list the attendees not worth approaching than those with stellar accolades. If it were me..." she drew in air through her teeth as if expecting to be reprimanded, "I would consider tomorrow's gala an excellent time to court someone."

"I'll try to take that advice to heart, Petra," you said.

"I'm pleased, Prince. Your matters are your own, but if I may speak unequivocally..."

"Speak your mind." You gave her permission. She hesitated, then sighed.

"You strike me as lonely, Prince. Ever since the Queen passed, your social life has suffered." Petra paused again, considering her words carefully. "You deserve love of that measure once more, whether from a partner or a good friend."

"Thank you," you sighed as if she had given you permission to use your heart. "I appreciate the advice, Petra."

"Of course, Prince." She glanced out the window towards the setting sun. "I recommend you retire early tonight to be invigorated tomorrow, lest the dreams strike again."

You nodded.

"They will." You avoided her eyes as you remembered what happened last time. "Have a washbasin ready. For the, erm, sweat."

"Of course, Prince," Petra said, her face remaining unmoved. You didn't bother trying to discern whether she was oblivious to last night's gown-soiling or if she merely extended you the courtesy of pretending. "I'll leave you be. Get some rest."

You watched her exit your chambers without another word, finally exhaling the breath you held. The idea of having to clean yourself up again was hardly appealing. Standing on the veranda and enjoying the cool night air was only prolonging the inevitable.

The aforementioned inevitable reared its troublesome head as soon as you surrendered to sleep. Your consciousness materialized somewhere, a location unidentifiable but still more detailed than you had ever encountered before. You glimpsed kaleidoscopic carpets, hammered brass, and vines growing freely about the place.

"Welcome back." A man's voice like sweet honey floated through the warm air.

"I missed you." The words left your mouth without you knowing them. You were merely an observer to your own actions. "Amon."

"My sweet prince." Lips on your knuckles. The smell of lavender tea. "Tea?"

"No thanks. We must keep this quick," you uttered again, breathless and surrendering to a desire that was both yours and unknown to you.

"Tut, tut. What's gotten into you, my prince? I've never seen you so impatient," the voice teased. Your head spun.

"I need my energy," you gasped, something warm and wet lapping at your member. "For tomorrow." The ministrations paused.

"Of course. Tomorrow will be very special indeed." The tongue on your shaft resumed, making you squirm. You reached out into the nothingness, your fingers grasping at frayed carpet tassels. Your other hand reached in between your legs and found a head of hair. You grasped a smooth horn that curved neatly behind an ear. It bobbed up and down at a tantalizing pace.

"Amon, I... I shouldn't..."

"Shouldn't what?" Another pause in the pleasure. You caught your breath. Those eyes again, burning into yours with the hue of warm ocean waters. "Say no to me, my prince. I implore you to try."

Caught in the stare you were helpless. You quivered with need, your manhood twitching and drooling. Only a high whine left your lips.

"Thought so."

You shot up in bed, crying out and spasming. Once more you had spilled yourself into your gown, your entire body slick with sweat. As a small victory, your cries remained nondescript rather than referential to this "Amon." In the dream, you had felt a sweet warmth in your breast each time you spoke to him and even warmer when he responded. In your waking memory, this name was empty. There was no connection and no feeling of belonging. If you hadn't heard your own voice leave your mouth in the dream, you would have had no way of knowing those experiences were your own. Your dreaming memory and conscious recollection were severed, at odds with one another. What did he mean when he said tomorrow would be special? Did he know about the gala? You didn't know how much you knew.

"The washbasin, Prince," Petra uttered as she carried it into your chambers. She stowed it at your bedside. "Shall I leave you like before?"

"Yes, please... but would it trouble you to return afterward?"

"Not at all, Prince. I'll return at your word." She slipped out of the room. You took the opportunity to cleanse yourself of the evidence before permitting Petra to return.

“Petra, would it be possible to acquire a guest list for the gala?” You asked.

“Possible, yes. However, it will be quite long without any qualifiers. As I mentioned previously, this is one of the largest events of the year.”

You considered simply asking her if the name Amon was among the attendees, but Petra would likely alert the oneiromancers and in turn, your father. You doubted anything would happen at all if she did, but this was a matter you wanted to confront on your own. Like all other decisions made for you at your father’s behest, your own interests would unquestionably be cast aside if he decided to involve himself.

“I’d like to know the first names of all the male guests scheduled to attend,” you said. Petra raised an eyebrow.

“That doesn’t narrow it down much, Prince,” Petra answered. The sweet, honeyed voice from your dream remained in your mind. It was the voice of a young man, one likely of your age.

“Only the male guests around my age, then,” you specified. Petra raised her other eyebrow, making her expression one of surprise rather than skepticism.

“Ah. That kind of list. I see...” Your cheeks burned; though you didn’t know where this inquiry would take you, you also felt the conclusion Petra came to was not wholly inaccurate. “Shall I make,  erm, other arrangements as well?”

“Arrangements?” you asked. It was Petra’s turn to blush.

“The standard things... extra pillows, oils, skins—”

“Yes, of course, Petra,” you cut her off, not wishing for her to extend the list of amenities any further. Searching for a suitor was a favorable charade. If nothing else, if this search for the mysterious Amon proved fruitless, then you would at least have the means, motive, and opportunity to bed somebody... if you had the audacity. The look on Petra's face said she didn't think so.

"I’ll have the list and the... goods brought in before sun-up,” Petra said. “Is there anything else you need?”

“No, Petra, that will suffice.”

“Good. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Morning arrived and so did Petra's promises; the chief courtier herself was nowhere to be found, but a neatly transcribed list of names and a box tied with a bow sat atop a chaise lounge when you awoke. You already knew what waited inside the box, so you went for the list. Though only containing the names of guests that fit your qualifiers, the parchment was both long and double-sided. Your eyes began to tire just as they fell across what you were looking for:

Amon II - Eparch of Nobatian Lower Makuria and Alodia

You were puzzled. Makuria and Elodia were names you hadn't heard since you were tutored. Even your father's kingdom with its diplomats venturing far and wide rarely mentioned them. You only knew they were small kingdoms far away from this one. There was not one but two oceans between here and there, they spoke a language no tutor in the palace taught, and both titles of "Nobatian" and "Eparch" were unknown to you.

Then the fashion corps arrived. You dropped the parchment and pondered the new information as they manhandled you into the appearance they had crafted for you yesterday. Perhaps due to more practiced hands or being lost in your thoughts, the process seemed to go much faster than previously. You almost didn't believe it when they told you they were finished, but the shifted sun and your appearance in the mirror confirmed that the gala would soon begin. Your hair was fashioned into an unnatural shape, your face was dusted with powder, and your clothes were so form-fitting that you appeared sewn into them. The bulge of the leg brace through your breeches peeked out at the ankle; the leggings were so tight that your overcoat preserved more of your modesty than they did.

With Petra absent and likely scrambling to put last-minute touches on the gala, you walked to the great hall with the assistance of the fashion corps, who likewise made hasty repairs to your appearance as your gait jostled things out of place. When you arrived, the great hall was even busier than at the rehearsal. It seemed there was a member of palace staff for each seat at every table, all of them fastidiously arranging cutlery, plates, decorative vases, placemats, and myriad other things you didn't know the names for.

“Little brother!” You turned your head and spotted your elder sister within a parade of her own fashion corps regiment. She waved at you from one of the great hall’s entrances.

“Sister,” you responded with a nod, your own cavalcade parting to allow her approach.

“Have you given tonight any consideration?” She asked.

“Yes, actually...”

“You’re not going to retreat to your chambers?”

“...not immediately,” you said, noncommittal.

“I’m glad.” She smiled gently. “I’ll likely be busy most of the night, though if you’d like me to send anyone your way, let me know. Who’s on your list?”

“My list?” you sputtered. “Petra told you?”

“Petra? Goodness, no,” she chuckled. “I just figured you’d have one. It’s standard practice for these sorts of things; I’ve a list as well. So... who’s on yours?”

You lowered your head and examined your shoes.

“Well... it’s quite long.”

“How scandalous!” she gasped exaggeratedly.

“I’m just casting a wide net is all! I don’t intend to bed every single male my age!” Your cheeks burned again. You considered dropping the charade if it meant this level of humiliation.

“I expected my mild little brother to have a rebellious phase eventually, but this...” she said, ignoring your cries.

"Sister, please," you pleaded. The tone of your voice convinced her to return to normal. She extended a hand to ruffle your hair but stopped herself when your fashion corps hairstylist glared at her.

"Apologies, little brother. I had to jest a little," she smiled at you, this time without intent to tease. "They're going to start letting in the guests soon. We should take our seats."

You nodded and followed her to the stage. The fashion corps fell away from you and went to help elsewhere. You sat in your uncomfortable pseudo-throne and waited, eventually joined by your other siblings save for your eldest brother. They greeted you as they took position at your side, but there was very little to talk about. This was the first time you had seen them in a while.

Then came the guests: the table-setters had cleared out some minutes before the floodgates burst and more staff escorted groups of people to their tables. The cathedral-like great hall was full in mere moments. Sorted by table, there was a sea of people in colorful finery all conversing amongst themselves and giving you and your siblings the occasional glance. You tried to pick out Amon from the crowd but quickly realized half-remembered fragments from your dreams wouldn't be enough to pick him from a sea of hundreds. Even finding his name on the list took a considerable amount of time.

Then the hall fell silent, or something close to it. A lively conversation between hundreds of people dropped to hushed whispers. Your father and brother had entered the hall and begun their walk to the podium, silencing the crowd with nothing but their appearance. When your father reached the podium, he extended both arms palms up and the previously subdued crowd erupted into cheers. If not for the applause, he would have heard you groan. Your sister said nothing, only giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

When the speeches started you practically willed your ears shut. Perhaps you would have built a tolerance to them if you had appeared at more of these events, but you couldn't bear to listen to your father and elder brother boast of their achievements to a sea of complacent, nodding heads. It was like a reminder that within the kingdom your father built, you served your purpose by distracting that assassin some years ago and now outlived your usefulness. At this gala, you were decoration only a few ranks higher than a potted plant.

You thanked any and all higher powers when the speeches were over. Father and his crown prince had left the stage to begin their targeted commingling with VIPs, prompting you and your siblings to stand from your seats. They all dispersed before you could look to them to follow their lead. When you stumbled off the stage and distanced yourself from it by leaning against the wall as you walked, hardly any attention came your way. Thankfully, the attention you did receive was from Petra.

"Prince, are you alright? You look troubled," she said, sidling up to you.

"What do I do, Petra?" you asked, intimidated by the sheer size of the room and the attendees within it. Each table was like its own little kingdom with strangers you didn't know and faux-pas to stumble over.

"See how each table has an empty chair or two?" She pointed to the tables nearest you, one full of scaly Sāmm-abraṣ emissaries and another with human diplomats bearing the flag of Bavaria. You nodded. "All the guests are expected to stay seated while dinner is served. They won't get up to dance and drink until the meal is concluded. Right now, only people from the host kingdom— like you, me, your siblings, and other members of the court— will be walking around."

"So I just sit at whichever table and introduce myself?"

"If you even need to. The fact you're walking will show them you're hosting. They'll pay you proper respect without you saying anything at all."

"Hm," you mused. That sounded like a lot of work, especially since you weren't aiming to meander. Finding Amon would be immeasurably more difficult once the crowd was disorganized and inebriated, though, so now was your best chance.

"I've a copy of your list, Prince. Shall I help you navigate it?" Petra asked, holding up parchment.

"Yes, let's," you said. The lengthy document threatened to touch the floor. "Let's begin alphabetically."

"Alphabetically, Prince?"

"By first name."

"Of course, Prince. That means we should visit Aariyeh, Sardar of Anatolia, followed by Abdul II, Knez of Smederevo—"

"Any Eparchs on that list?" You winced at your own forwardness. The charade was wearing dangerously thin.

"...Eparchs?"

"I'm in an Eparch mood at the moment," you explained weakly. Petra looked at you as if checking for signs of illness.

"I see. There's one: Amon II of Nobatian Lower Makuria and Alodia."

"He sounds splendid. Take me to him."

Petra, either from exasperation, deference, or both, folded up the list and took your arm without another word. She led you through the clusters of gala attendees. You could feel every one of their eyes watching you as you caught their attention. Just as the scrutiny was starting to become too much, your eyes found a target of their own. A warm shiver ran through your spine, a sensation the French would call déjà rêvé: a dream made real.

His verdigris eyes locked onto yours. They peered at you from behind short, white curls of shiny hair. His skin reminded you of the bluebells in the gardens, and his pert, curled horns were a shade darker. He flashed something between a grin and a smirk at you, revealing pearlescent teeth with canines that could be mistaken for fangs.

Amon was breathtaking and he knew it.

If your arm wasn't in Petra's grasp already, you never would have made it to the chair. She struggled a bit as she plopped you into it, your leg brace protesting with clicks and creaks. The other tieflings at the table, all varying shades of azure, stopped what they were doing to acknowledge your arrival. You gave them a weak nod while you regained your composure.

"Greetings, delegation from Lower Makuria and Elodia. I'd like to introduce you to our Middle Prince," Petra said from over your shoulder, upon which she planted a firm hand. She squeezed hard.

"I'm pleased to meet you all," you managed to get out. Your audience of tieflings nodded and muttered.

"As am I, Middle Prince." Amon set his cutlery down and rested his chin on interlaced fingers. His voice was high and carried a boyish, scheming air; you envisioned him stealing lumps of sugar from a pantry. "I didn't think my kingdom warranted such a visit. What brings you to my little exclave of Nobatia?"

"A whim."

"How quaint," he said, still smirking. His gaze shifted as he eyed his all-tiefling entourage. The intent was to communicate something, though you didn't know what.

"I am the middle prince, after all. I've few obligations. None, actually," you said.

"Hm," Amon said, looking decidedly amused. "We may have more in common than we thought." His retinue nodded along with his observation.

"Surely you are a busy man? You are Eparch of not one, but two territories."

"Do you know what the title 'Eparch' entails, Middle Prince?" Amon said, more as a targeted quip than an actual question.

"I... am not familiar, I admit," you ceded.

"An Eparch is a figurehead. Makuria and Alodia have long been ruled by invaders and rebels, respectively. I'm kept in a symbolic position to preserve what's left of Nobatian culture," Amon sighed. "In fact, I was sent here in place of the true rulers since they thought it so unlikely that you would have anything important to say to us. Anything other than absorbing us into your hegemony, of course."

You averted your gaze. He clearly was not happy with his status, and while his discontent wasn't targeted at you, it hovered about him like a cloud. He picked at the remainder of his meal while the cloud dissipated and you plucked a topic from the clearing air.

"How was your journey here? You've come a long way," you said.

"It was pleasant enough. Your trains and... horseless carriages are quite impressive," Amon said, pausing. "What's your name for them again?"

"Automobiles," you answered.

"Yes, automobiles." He rolled the word in his mouth as if tasting wine. "Though you have such a fine river and only use it for cargo. A felucca would have made my journey quite enjoyable."

"A felucca?"

"Ah, it's my turn to inform you." Amon smiled. "A felucca is a sailboat we use on the Nile. It's built for comfort, with carpets instead of hardwood decks. Some even come with a kitchen, and it's unheard of to sail without finishing a pot of tea."

"It sounds lovely," you said. "Lavender tea, I hope."

Amon raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, my favorite," he looked amused. "How did you know?"

"A whim," you answered. "The same one that brought me over to your table."

"I see." His eyes locked with yours for a lengthy pause. His retinue shifted in their seats at the uncomfortable silence. He was thinking hard about something, but the subject of his thoughts remained unknown to you. If he truly shared the dreams with you, surely you must have gotten the point across by now?

"It was lovely chatting with you, Middle Prince." He broke the silence and straightened his posture. "But I would hate to keep you when you have other guests to see."

"I really don't—"

"Nonsense, my prince," he interrupted, "go on and mingle. Perhaps, if we're lucky, our paths will cross when the festivities begin in earnest."

You couldn't believe your eyes. Did he wink at you?

"Of course..." you said, slowly realizing he was scheming. "Enjoy the gala." He locked eyes with you again.

"Oh, we will."

You had resumed hovering with Petra on the edges of the great hall. More staff had filed in to take away dirty dishes and the remains of the guests' meals. The dance floor had been opened, the musicians were in position, and staff bearing silver trays readied drinks for the merry and hors d'oeuvres for the peckish.

"How was your visit with the Eparch?" Petra asked.

"Enlightening," you answered cryptically. The need for secrecy hadn't passed, but now you were unsure of what charade to uphold. You only knew Amon was in on it as well.

"I trust that means it went well?"

"Yes, I think so." You scanned the crowd of attendees, which had now gotten up from their seats and begun to mix and intermingle. Amon disappeared like an ace into a shuffled deck. Petra flashed you an impatient expression.

"Prince, do you want me to help you get with him or not?" She said with folded arms.

"Petra!" You gasped. "You're rather forward."

"It's quite literally my job to make sure you end up with him if you wish it, Prince," she assumed a stern tone as if you refused your vegetables. "Give me a yes or no."

You stewed under her gaze. It seemed the pressure and time-sensitive nature of the gala had started to affect her as well, though for different reasons to you.

"Yes." You muttered. She didn't ask for confirmation, instead slipping away into the crowd with nothing more than a nod. Was this part of the charade, still? You had no idea what Amon even wanted, or frankly, what you wanted from tonight.

The musicians started and the small groups that had formed on the edge of the dance floor produced couplets of dancers. They were eager to begin the waltz, a somewhat contentious dance that had only recently come into popularity.  You hadn't been practiced in it, instead learning of court dances like the cotillion. As you watched it take place, the dancers seemed awfully close. They were practically pressed against one another!

While you tried to discern the intricacies of this new style of dance before you, that familiar azure face peeked at you from the crowd. Amon smiled and raised his drink in your direction. It was a small gesture but you were helpless to do anything other than join him. Before you knew it, you were at his side in the sea of people and some sort of libation had been thrust into your hand.

"You know, I'm starting to grow partial to this stuff," Amon said, sipping on a duplicate of the drink you held.

"I was under the impression your faith disallowed the consumption of alcohol," you said, watching him finish the glass.

"An easy mistake to make." He handed off the glass to a roving staff member. "Modern Makurians and Alodians don't drink. Nobatians like me do. It's one of the holdovers of my dead culture."

You looked at the glass in hand; it was a clear, cold drink with a slice of lime. As you expected, the taste was bitter and unwelcoming.

"You like gin?" You asked, one taste enough to identify it.

"As I said, it's starting to grow on me," Amon chuckled. "It's not good enough to stop me from missing home, but it'll get me through the night."

"Speaking of home..." you started, looking around. You were unable to spot any other blue-skinned tieflings in the crowd. "where has your retinue gone?"

"I told them to enjoy themselves. As my courtiers, that means they're likely hovering by the exit, waiting to escort me out of here when I leave."

"They seem like a serious bunch."

"They're overprotective," Amon hissed. "As I said, my culture is long dead. They see it as dying. They think they can save it by putting me in a glass case for future generations to study."

"You've given up on Nobatia?"

"Pah! Of course I have!" He deftly procured another drink from a passing waiter. "Nothing will bring the old country back. Nobatia is a minuscule region; I can say with certainty I'm the youngest one left. When I'm old and infirm, Makuria and Alodia will reject the idea of a royal family entirely and I'll finally be allowed to be forgotten."

"That's quite a bleak outlook, Eparch," you gently chided. "Perhaps in war, things would be on a fixed course, but matters of diplomacy are more malleable."

"Perhaps," Amon said, sipping his gin. "But that's enough about me. I'd like to know more about you."

His eyes looked into yours as if he would magick the information he wanted straight out of you. No incantations were uttered, though, and you took a pragmatic sip of gin to fill the pause.

"What would you like to know?" You said.

"I'd like to know about this 'whimsy' you have," Amon probed. "To be frank, my prince, I expected to be out the door by now. Instead, I'm here, conversing with you. It doesn't make sense."

You finished your gin. This was as good a time as any to explain yourself.

"What do you know of oneiromancy?" The question left your lips and slapped Amon across the face. He chuckled.

"The school of magick so vague and unmeasurable it's not even officially recognized?"

"It seems you know the same as most," you said. "Oneiromancy is real. At least, real enough to give me the same dream night after night."

"I see..." Amon was mulling something over.

"In each one of these dreams, though my waking memory is hazy, I remember one thing they all had in common." You took a deep breath. "You."

"We should discuss this in private," Amon interjected, gently brushing your hand against his. You had been so caught up with telling Amon that you forgot you were in the middle of a crowded gala. Concern crept into the corners of his face. "Do you have a place we can go?"

You nodded and grasped his hand in earnest. The spot you took him to was one of the many balconies that overlooked the palace gardens. The sun had set fully at this point, and waltz music lazily floated out of the great hall. A few revelers who had over-indulged caught the fresh air in the hedges below. You and Amon rested on the cool marble balustrade, momentarily admiring the mingling of crickets, music, distant conversation, and the night air.

"I've been having the dreams as well. All of them involving you in some... capacity. I wasn't sure it was you at first. The dreams were so vague..." Amon kept his gaze fixed on the gardens below.

"Were the dreams... um, did you wake up... well..." you stammered. He looked at you knowingly.

"Yes, a few times," Amon answered. He didn't seem nearly as embarrassed as you. "You suspect oneiromancy is at play?"

"The court oneiromancers determined the dreams are being intentionally created. They're not a coincidence."

"Court oneiromancers?" Amon nearly spat out his drink. "My, you do have everything in this kingdom."

"Yes, we have court oneiromancers, but your surprise is beside the point." You had finally found the mysterious Amon, and you didn't want to waste any time on tangents. "Surely you're just as curious as I? Do you know anything about these dreams?" Amon drained the remainder of his gin in response.

"When I was a child..." He paused and shook his head. "When I was a child, my mother told me folk tales. The standard stuff: damsels in distress, slaying horrific beasts, that sort of thing. But she also told me tales of lovers who met in dreams. She said that was how she and father met."

"Something tells me you don't believe in that."

"When I grew too old for fairy tales, I saw it as her way of helping me keep hope that the one would be out there. With Nobatia falling and no suitors left..." he trailed off, setting his empty glass on the balustrade.

"So what if she's right?"

"That's a rather large 'if,' my prince. She was the only one that believed in that stuff... Aside from an uncle who would tell more dreamers-to-lovers tales, but only after drinking too much boukha, and always with a sarcastic tongue. They're just that: tales."

You felt Amon's cloud of discontent precipitate once more. His words were scathing, but not towards you; they spoke to a painful past and familiarity with disappointment. He saw something hopeful, happy, and promising, then cast it down in order to never feel the pain of losing it. You rarely had such clear insights about people, but with Amon it was different. It was as if you had known him for a long time and learned the language spoken by his brow, posture, and eyes. You knew what you had to do.

"Amon," you sighed, placing a hand on his, "even fairy tales originate from some truth, even if only a little. Don't be afraid to entertain the notion that your mother might be right."

You tried to look him in the eyes, but he cast his gaze down to the gardens below. His quick tongue failed him and silence ensued. His hand had reluctantly surrendered itself to your grasp, resting warm and limp.

"Look at me," You commanded with a firmer tone than expected. Reluctantly, he swiveled towards you and his aquamarine eyes found their way to yours. "Think about what you truly want. Don't be afraid to take it."

He swallowed. After a pause of a few heartbeats, his free hand grasped the back of your head, entwined his fingers in your hair, and pressed your lips to his. Your hand that held his grasped even tighter. The two of you were entwined in your own scandalous waltz. You could feel his hunger just as clearly as you felt his discontent when he parted your lips with his tongue. You reciprocated, catching fleeting impressions of his sharp teeth. He tasted like gin and figs. Short, passionate gasps and moans escaped the two of you and joined the chorus of crickets. You pulled away only to catch your breath.

"Amon," you gasped, his name sweet on your tongue. He looked at you with a bewildered expression and flushed navy cheeks. Neither of you could believe what just happened, yet surprise gave way to familiarity. Kissing Amon made your heart race but your shoulders relax. Being breathless and panting in his embrace was as recognizable to you as Petra's morning wake-up calls, or the smell of the gardens, or the feeling of your bedchamber floor on your bare feet. Déjà rêvé.

"I..." Amon sighed, "I shouldn't. I've had too much gin. I've been foolish." He released you from his arms and took several steps backward. Your jaw hung agape as he jogged inside and disappeared from view. Too shocked to try to catch him, you remained outside and alone on the balcony with only the sound of crickets and distant strings to keep you company. Just as silently and perceptively as a cat, Petra crept from the doorway a short while later.

"I saw Amon run away and came to check on you." She looked at your expression and reciprocated with a downtrodden look of her own. "Are you okay?"

"I don't know. Probably not." You sighed and buried your face in your elbows until all you could see was the balustrade. You sensed Petra take a few steps towards you.

"What happened?" She asked delicately.

"We kissed, passionately. Then he said he was foolish and ran away," you mumbled into your self-embracing arms. Petra rested a hand on your shoulder.

"Some people just can't handle the fast pace and the pressure at galas like this. I'm sure it wasn't personal."

"I know..." you sighed. To Petra, your attempts at flirting simply failed to land. She didn't see the dreams. She didn't see the look in his eyes. She didn't hear the fear of hope in his voice. There were not enough hours in the night to explain to her the true extent of your sorrows.

"There's always tomorrow, Prince."

"Tomorrow?"

"Tonight is only for the Gala," Petra explained, her tender tone turning slightly optimistic, "anyone attending will be staying at least until tomorrow night for the treaty signing."

"So Amon is still here, then?" you asked, finally pulling your forehead from its resting place on your folded arms.

"He was likely running to the guest wing of the palace, where all the other dignitaries will be. If you truly wish to meet with him again, breakfast tomorrow morning would be an excellent opportunity."

You considered things for a moment. If Amon were to stay one more night, then that was one more dream to share. Tonight, you and Amon would spring awake in bed at the same time after another shared dream, but he would be only a few corridors away.

"Petra, get me an oneiromancer." You commanded.

"An oneiromancer? At this time of night? They're probably attending the gala with the rest of the court."

"Petra, this is important," you said. "I haven't exactly been forthcoming about everything in these recent days, and I'm sorry for that... but I need an oneiromancer before I sleep tonight. If you can do this for me, I promise to explain everything soon."

Petra looked at you silently, deciding whether or not to press you for details now rather than later contingent on your promise. She chose the former, nodding and silently fast-walking inside.

Alone once more on the balcony, you leaned on the balustrade and studied the stars. The moon's halo of illuminated night sky was the same color as Amon's lips. With any luck, you'd be seeing them again soon in tonight's dream.

[teletraan-meets-jarvis]

A Girl Like You

AO3 Link

Pairing: Little bit of Wolffe x fem!Jedi Reader

Summary: You end up having a lightsaber sparring match with Anakin and the clones watch on from the sidelines. Wolffe admires the view.

Warnings: 13+, Wolffe eyeing up the reader.

Word Count: 2k

Author's Notes: This is my first attempt at writing some sort of battle scene, I hope I pulled it off alright. This is mostly a fic about the Dathomiri/Mandalorian reader in order to help me practice writing battles, but I have thrown in Wolffe being cheeky because I couldn't resist. Any feedback is always appreciated, as are reblogs! Fic is below the cutoff, thanks very much for reading x

You’re not entirely sure how you got yourself into this situation. You’d been sitting among a few members of your battalion, the 104th, along with General Skywalker, Commander Tano, the usual suspects from the 501st and a few of the Coruscant Guard commanders, getting yourselves ready to head out for a night out among the lower levels of Coruscant. While you’d been waiting for the last few stragglers to get some fresh armour on before heading out, Anakin had somehow dragged you into some pissing contest about lightsaber designs and which were the most effective in combat. You carried a double bladed weapon, and Anakin had been poking you about how ineffective he’d found them to be in battle. You know he was just trying to get a rise out of you and you hated that it worked.

So that’s how you ended up here, with the challenge of a sparring match presented to you by Anakin. He wanted to test his theory as to what weapon was superior in battle.

“Loser buys the first round at 79’s for everyone” The General suggested. You looked around, there must be at least twenty of you heading out tonight, would your credits even cover that?

“You’re on.” Guess you could always get a few waters and lie to the men. Fox could probably do with a slow start to the drinking anyways.

The three Jedis present used the force to clear some tables out the way, creating a space for the fight. Ahsoka outlined some rules before the event began, which were; no force use on each other, no dirty tricks and please don’t actually hurt each other. Should the latter happen, at least they had Kix there ready to fix them up, even if he was supposed to be off duty.

Once the space was cleared, you got up from your spot amongst the Wolfpack who were hyping you up like you were some pay-per-view sports person about to head into the ring. The 501st boys were cheering for Anakin as Rex gave him a pep talk before sending him off into their makeshift battle arena.

The two of you took your spots opposite each other. You were both still wearing your usual battle clothes, just clean alternatives. Anakin’s fresh, dark coloured robes were neatly wrapped around him, his growing hair hanging just above his eyes as he readied himself for the fight.

You yourself were in a form fitting grey and white jumpsuit which flared slightly at the leg. The sleeves were short, showing off the grey Dathomiri markings on your arms which were dotted across your fair Mandalorian skin. Your whole ensemble was finished off with a single, battle-worn shoulder piece which carried the Wolfpack insignia. Your short blonde hair was in it’s signature half up, half down look, keeping it out of your way.

You both readied yourselves and your eyes met. You could feel the confidence radiating off of him and you knew exactly why. Despite being the same age as Anakin, you were still a Padawan under Master Plo. However, from your Master’s recent suggestions, that wouldn’t be the case for long.

You took a moment to calm yourself. Remembering your training, you let the audience disappear until it was just the two of you. You opened your eyes and readied your lightsaber. You took the handle and held it out in front of you, the space for the two blades coming out either side of your grip. You clicked the weapon on and it buzzed to life. Two green blades in perfect unison. You twirled the weapon around your fingers, pulling it to your side as you got into your initial stance. Leaning back on your right bent leg, your left outstretched in front of you, one half of your weapon inches away from the right side of your head, ready to go.

Anakin had done the same and with some flare, had gotten into his stance. You were both ready.

“After you, Skyguy” and with that, Anakin took the first lunge. You brought your lightsaber up just below your chin, holding it sideways to block his straight swipe down across your head. Your faces inches apart before you both pushed off of each other and started stalking around in a circle, waiting for who would make the next move.

An unspoken understanding in the air between you both, the knowledge that you could push each other to your limits, in a way the Jedi wouldn’t normally encourage in training. The thought sent a slight thrill through your body, you always went into every battle with utmost control, always trying to be a model Commander. You always had to prove to the council that you weren’t a threat, that you could the resist the dark side that came so naturally to your kind. But right now, for the first time, you could really let loose and trial your power with Anakin as you knew he’d be doing the exact same.

The tension in the room was thick, the focused stares between the Jedi entrancing everyone present as they danced around one another.

You both rushed to the centre of the space, sabres clashing right in front of your faces. A cyan glow lit up your features, both sporting wicked grins. The power you both held evident among the spectators. You thought you heard a few gasps from the crowd, but all your focus was directed at the Knight in front of you. His feral smirk held as he spoke from behind the clash of your weapons. “Don’t get too flustered now, I know I look great under blue light”

“Don’t flatter yourself, General” You chuckled as you pushed off each other. Stalking once more.

When you clashed again, it was all a blur. Hit after hit. He was relentless. Your weapons created a bright light show as you kept up with Anakin’s offensive. He pushed you further back, the wall behind you growing closer. You blocked his next hit and took a moment to plan. He was getting confident, too confident. You could use that to your advantage.

You ducked below his next swing and went for his legs, causing him to do a backflip back to the centre. Finally, some breathing room. Now it was your turn to go on the offensive. You charged forward and restarted the fast pace. Delivering blow after blow to Anakin’s defence. Your double blades keeping him on his toes as you made sure to never favour one side of your weapon.

You were both high from the strength you put on display, you don’t remember the last time you let loose like this. You were both sweating slightly, grinning at the enjoyment of such a challenging fight. One strike from Anakin had you swinging your lightsaber over you shoulder to guard your back, as you blocked a particularly dirty move from the General. From the sidelines, you heard Ahsoka reprimanding her Master and reminding him that this was only a sparring match. You raised your eyebrow at the General who just shrugged, still sporting a confident smirk on his face. It was on.

—————

The clones were mesmerised. Of course they’d seen their Jedis fight hundreds of times in battle, but they never had the time to just watch and appreciate. The pair were so different, where Anakin was like a controlled tornado, skill and strength on the brink of being unleashed. Your approach was measured, plotting, more like a slow song building up. Every move you made was calculated, as if you were playing a game of chess.

Wolffe couldn’t help but appreciate the view as you lunged an attack at Anakin. You and Wolffe had been fighting alongside each other for years now but he’d never really seen you like this. Your orange eyes sharp, body tense, feet light as you danced with Anakin. Green and blue clashing. Your moves so smooth and flowing into one another yet contrasted by displays of dangerous power, reminding him of the waters back on Kamino. You looked incredible and he couldn’t help getting pulled into the atmosphere, cheering alongside the rest of his brothers. There was a new feeling in his chest as he watched you battle. Their Jedi. His Jedi.

He continued to stare as the fight raged on. He bloomed with pride when his eyes found your Wolfpack insignia on your shoulder, which perfectly matched your battalion colour-scheme outfit. Speaking of, his eyes couldn’t help themselves as they drifted along your body, finding all the places where that jumpsuit hugged your small curves just right. The way your toned arms strained as you swung your weapon. The way your skin markings lead beneath the v-neckline you’d left at the front of your jumpsuit from the zipper, teasing almost. You were a vision. Maker get ahold of yourself. He shook his head, as if it would clear the racy thoughts from his mind. It didn’t.

Back at the event, there were lulls and peaks in the fight, moments where you were studying each other and others where your lightsabers were in near constant contact as you fought to keep up with the other’s moves.

“You’ve got this General, take her down” Jesse shouted from his position in the sidelines.

“Commander, kick his ass!” Boost piped up in your support.

———————

The crowd getting involved seemed to spur Anakin on further, your next clash resulted in him being able to swing your lightsaber from your grasp. Kriff. Suddenly you felt the tell-tale heat radiating off his weapon onto your throat, only a few millimetres separating them. The 501st were cheering in support of their General while Anakin looked over to his adoring fans, soaking up the praise. You just smirked from your defenceless position.

“You shouldn’t get so cocky, General” you stated casually, pulling him out of his moment.

“What?” Before he could react, you knocked his weapon away from your chin as your right leg hooked around the back of his and sent him sprawling onto his back. You used the force to grab his weapon as you went to kneel on his chest, his own lightsaber now readied towards his throat.

The crowd watched on in shock for a few seconds before the Wolfpack jumped out their seats and started cheering. You’d officially just defeated The Chosen One in a sparring match.

You chuckled at their reactions and Anakin’s pout before helping the General up. You returned his weapon and watched as he stalked back over to his battalion, his pride in tatters. Looking over at your own squad, Comet and Boost were winding up Jesse and Fives over how their Jedi was superior.

As you made your way back over the 104th troopers jumped on you chanting “Wolfpack! Wolfpack! Wolfpack!” some of them even started howling. You just laughed and pushed them off you.

“You’re such dorks” you chuckled, ruffling Sinker’s hair as he walked back to his seat.

“I believe you dropped this sir” Wolffe came over and extended your weapon out to you. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to retrieve your weapon from wherever it’d be thrown in a fight.

“Thank you, Commander” you said with a smile. You were both standing slightly away from the others who were still teasing the 501st, with help from Commander Thorn. Wolffe had a strange look on his face, like he was contemplating something.

“You looked good out there” he piped up, his usual bravado replaced with something more unsure. However, his walls were back up before you could tell what it was.

“You telling me I look good, Wolffe?” You teased, hoping to wind him up a little bit.

“Maybe I am” he replied with a smirk, his eyes giving you a once over boldly in front of you. You blushed at the sudden attention. Well this was new.

“You two Commanders done flirting or can we go now? There’s a free round waiting for us!” Ahsoka shouted from across the way.

You and Wolffe looked at each other for a moment longer before you chuckled and nodded your head in the direction of the exit. “We should head off”.

As you walked side by side with the clone Commander, you thought back to the way he looked at you. There was something in his eyes, admiration, maybe even want? You couldn’t tell, but you definitely wanted to find out. Maybe a few drinks would loosen him up enough to see what was going on in that handsome head of his.

Back to Masterlist

[pillage-and-lute]

The Courting Ways of Wolves

This is Geralt struggling heavily with emotions. He’s a little dumb but he’s got the spirit. Fluff. Geraskier, platonic Yennalt and Yennskier with a healthy side order of Geralt’s brothers and Good Mom! Yennefer, who deserves all the nice things.

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Epilogue

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After the mountain, and finding Ciri, and tracking down Jaskier and Yennefer both, and dragging them up to Kaer Morhen, Geralt had looked forward to a nice, relaxing winter. His brothers and Vesemir would train Ciri, Yennefer, with whom he had come to an entirely platonic understanding, would recover from Sodden, and he had Jaskier back.

His apology had been poor, and he knew it, but Geralt had rescued him from the clutches of Nilfgaard and had bought him new lute strings and a notebook to boot. 

The strains of Her Sweet Kiss drifted through Kaer Morhen regularly, because his whole family, and yes, Ciri and Yennefer included, kept requesting that damn song. He hated it, Jaskier’s voice broke singing it and his scent was still sad, although less so than it had been the first few times Geralt had heard it.

Amazingly, the sadness had disappeared for the most part after one time, when Jaskier played the song after dinner, Yennefer had looked up from her book and said, cool as an icicle,

“For Melitele’s sake you melodramatic bastard, I’m not dating Geralt and I never want to again.” 

And now everyone seemed to want to hear it. Kaer Morhen’s training had not included music or poetry comprehension, so he was unsure why everyone kept looking at him oddly whenever the song was played. As far as he could tell, it was just another tragic love song. When Ciri started requesting Her Sweet Kiss after supper, and eyeing him while it played, he gave in. He cornered Eskel, the most book smart of the wolves beside Vesemir, who he suspected would be just a bit too acerbic, and asked him what was up. 

“He’s in love with you.”

“He’s not.”

“You’re an idiot,” Eskel said. “And a stubborn one to boot. He didn’t like Yennefer when you two were sleeping together, but they’re the friends now, right?”

“They’re not,” Geralt said, brow wrinkling. This was treading much too far into the realm of human emotions, which Geralt had never been good at, but they snarked at each other all the time still and bickered like children. Eskel rolled his eyes. 

“They are, its just sparring, but with words not swords. You see?” 

That made sense, words were Jaskier’s weapon, and Yennefer’s too, to some extent, and they did both seem to revel in creative insults.

“They’re friends,” Eskel said. “Now that Jaskier isn’t jealous anymore. Do you see where I’m going with this?” He could apparently tell from Geralt’s expression that, no, he did not know where Eskel was going with this. 

“Her Sweet Kiss is about Yennefer, who Jaskier thinks you love, and it’s about you, who Jaskier loves, and it’s about him, when he says ‘I’ as in “I am weak, my love’. My love is you, do you understand?”

It was dawning slowly in Geralt’s mind that he had definitely missed this, rather spectacularly, because now it was very, very obvious. He was glad he hadn’t gone to Vesemir, who would probably have given him a cuff ‘round the ear for being stupid, and it would have been deserved. 

Eskel, always so much better at reading emotions said, “Ah, you’ve got it, good. Now, what are you going to do about it.”

“I don’t know.” 

Eskel rolled his eyes so hard that Geralt hoped he detached a retina. “Of course you don’t.” His voice softened. Eskel had always been the one Geralt turned to for emotions. He knew Geralt didn’t get them, but wanted to understand and tried so hard that it hurt. Apart from a fair amount of good-natured ribbing, he always helped Geralt with the trickier bits of the human (or mutant) heart.

“Let’s start small, do you love the bard?”

That wasn’t small. That was a very, very big question, but Eskel had settled back in his chair and looked prepared to wait for Geralt to figure out the answer.

Did he love the bard? Geralt didn’t have anything to compare it to except Eskel and Lambert, and it certainly wasn’t like that. Except sometimes it was, like Eskel, Jaskier helped Geralt with reading when his head flipped the letters all around. Like Lambert, Jaskier fought anyone who insulted Geralt. But those were the actions of someone who loved Geralt, that was how Geralt could know (or could have known, if he’d been paying better attention) that Jaskier loved him. But how to know if Geralt loved Jaskier, not as a friend, but like a ballad, like the ‘my love’ in the song. But Geralt did love Jaskier like a ballad, because the songs always compared some lady to a bunch of other things. Geralt did that. He saw bright silks in a market and thought of Jaskier, if there were buttercups on the side of the road he thought of Jaskier, he heard a lute and thought of Jaskier, washed his hair and thought of Jaskier. Everything in his life made him think of Jaskier. 

And it wasn’t like seeing a goat headbut a farmer and thinking of Eskel and his goat from hell. It was also not the same as using a bomb and thinking of Lambert. Those were everyday things, as commonplace as thinking of Vesemir’s training. 

“I love him.”

“Yes,” Eskel said, “You really, really do. Now you just have to court him.” He sat back as if satisfied with a job well done. 

“Right, and how do I do that?” 

Eskel looked stumped. “I don’t know,” he said. Courting wasn’t part of the Kaer Morhen curriculum. 

“Do we ask Lambert?” Geralt asked, feeling a little panicky because now that he realized he loved the bard he wasn’t about to not court him.

“Of course not, he’s the least romantic bastard in existence,” Eskel said, rubbing a thumb over the scarred part of his lip.

“Not true, he reads romance novels,” Geralt said, proud to introduce this new and frankly hilarious bit of information.

“No.” Eskel’s eyes were wide.

“I found it in his pack last week, when I was looking for a sharpening stone, it had a picture of a lady in a torn dress and a shirtless man almost kissing, and the title said Tortured Hearts.”

“You’re pulling my leg.”

“I’m not,” Geralt said huffily, “I read a bit of a page too and it mentioned a lot of throbbing.”

Eskel cackled and, over come with mirth, fell from his chair. That set off Geralt and they both howled with laughter, wiping a few stray tears from their eyes when they heard the door creak open. 

It was Lambert.

That set Eskel off again, which made Geralt laugh too, and Lambert just stared at them. 

“Did you two get into the vodka again?”

“No,” Eskel said, righting himself in his chair, “We were just discussing your reading habits.”

Lambert turned pale, then pink, then pursed his lips and turned up his nose haughtily. “Shows what you two know about literature. It’s a fine way to pass the time.” His cheeks were still a bit pink.

“All jokes aside,” Geralt said, when he’d stopped snorting, “I need to know how to court the bard.”

“Ah, finally pulled your head from your arse then?”

“It was me that did the pulling,” Eskel said. Lambert sprawled onto the couch next to Geralt. 

“Of course you did,” he said. “What you gotta do,” he paused. “No that’ll never work.” Geralt scowled at him.

“No really,” Lambert said, “It’d never work.”

“Try me.”

“Lambert, c’mon, we’re really stumped,” said Eskel.

“Well...”

“Yes?” said Geralt, leaning towards him a little. 

“In the books the man always writes her a poem, to proclaim his love, you know? Or failing that he writes her a letter, all curly writing, maybe some pressed flowers.”

“Oh,” said Geralt.

“Oh,” said Eskel. “Yeah you’re right that’s really not gonna work.”

“Jaskier’s all courtly,” Geralt said. “So I should do it, you know, courtly.”

“Ciri’s royalty,” Lambert said. “She might know, and Yennefer spends a bunch of time with nobles. They could help.”

“You said his family’s kind of old fashioned,” said Eskel. “Vesemir’s really old too, so he can help.

And that was how everyone in Kaer Morhen, except Jaskier, who had been distracted by Vesemir showing him a room with a nice echo, met in the library to begin plan Court the Bard. Eskel was scribbling ideas onto a sheet of parchment. 

“You should kiss his hand,” Ciri said. “And say please and thank you.” She thought of her grandparents. “And tell him how beautiful he looks when he’s covered in blood.”

“Kill things for him,” Lambert chipped in. “Show’s him how big and strong you are, makes him feel safe.” A few curious eyes turned to him. He shifted uncomfortably. “One of the books was about a hunter and and a dairy maid. He killed a bear for her.”

“Always ask before you hold his hand or kiss him,” Vesemir said, seemingly unfazed by Lamberts reading habits. No reason he should be, Geralt thought, we all know he has a stack of romance novels by his bed. “Take it slow, Geralt, be patient, and put in the work, he was patient for twenty years, repay it now.”

Yennefer spoke up. “You don’t have to stop being sarcastic with him, he likes it, but compliment him too. Tell him how much you like his music. He likes music, so you like music because it makes him happy, understood?”

Geralt nodded.

“Good,” she said. “And dance with him. He’d like that. Also get him flowers.”

“Not just flowers, get him stuff,” Eskel said.

“I bought him lute strings and a notebook,” Geralt said.

Ciri wrinkled her nose. “Yeah but those were apology gifts, these are courting gifts.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Not much,” Yennefer said, “Lute strings and notebooks are good because they’re useful and they show that you know what he needs, but courting gifts should also be more...” she waved a hand vaguely, purple sparks twirling about her fingers.

“Romantic,” Eskel said.

“Pretty,” Ciri said firmly.

“They should be able to show you can provide for him,” Vesemir cut in.

At the end the list was short and confusing, but at least they had a plan. In the spring Ciri would go learn about magic with Yennefer, and Geralt’s heart swelled at the way they both glowed with excitement at the prospect. Geralt would then be back on the path alone with Jaskier and he could court him. 

The list said, in Eskel’s simple, neat hand, Number One, kiss his hand. Number Two, use manners. Number Three, compliment him (his music, his features, how he looks after a battle?) Number Four, kill things and bring them to him. Number Five, bring him gifts that aren’t dead things. There was an asterisk by number five and it said, gifts should be useful, romantic, pretty, and provide for him.

It wasn’t much, but it was a plan. 

That night at dinner Jaskier wondered why everyone kept looking at him and Geralt. He figured he had stew on his face, there was some in Geralt’s hair. Geralt wondered why Jaskier kept swiping his face with a napkin and why Ciri kept pointedly running fingers through her hair. 

He couldn’t figure out all of human emotions, but he was going to defeat courting, once and for all.

[anna-pixie]

padawan -> obi-wan kenobi {part three}

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

hello!! i have written and rewritten this part a lot, and i still can’t decide whether i am completely happy with it, so honest feedback is encouraged!! ty all so much for your love on the last part, i hope you enjoy <3

summary: you and obi-wan head out on another mission, but something has got him in an awful mood (lmk if you guys figure out what his mood is about before the next part!!)

pairings: obi-wan kenobi x reader

warnings: mentions of sex

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

“Y/N, when you said you were serious about your training I expected I would see you there on time each morning.” The familiar lilt of Obi-Wan’s voice jerks you up from your incredibly deep sleep. You wipe away the drool from the corner of your mouth and gaze around your room with bleary eyes. 

There’s nobody there. 

Then a knock sounds from your door and you realise that your Master is too respectful to just barge into your room without permission. 

“Come in, Master.”

You hear the hiss of your door sliding open and smile sheepishly as your favourite bearded face peers around into the unhomely expanse of your room. Unlike the Jedi Masters, padawans weren’t encouraged to decorate their rooms. That’s a privilege earnt through time and experience. You’re thankful that you went to bed wearing a large jumper last night, though as you stretch the material exposes your stomach ever so slightly. 

“I broke my datapad yesterday…” You trail off, knowing that this is the third one you’ve gone through this year, “I didn’t have anything to set an alarm on.” An innocent smile graces your lips as Obi-Wan sighs, sitting next to you on your unmade sheets as he returns it with his own wry grin. 

“Whatever am I going to do with you, Padawan?” You know your Master well enough by now to be able to tell what he is feeling by the tone of his incredibly expressive voice, and thankfully right now he doesn’t seem too annoyed by your lack of care for your datapad. However, you also know that you’re treading on very thin ice, that you’re going to have to start putting a lot more effort in unless you want him to give up on you like everyone else has. 

It’s been a few weeks since you met Ahsoka which gave you the motivation you needed to get back on track. To say it’s been a hard few weeks would be an understatement. You’re up every morning before the light, fighting and learning and meditating with Obi-Wan. The two of you spend a lot of time together alone in the mornings and evenings when most other people in the temple have already retired to bed, but a lot of your time in the day is shared by Anakin - he thinks it is a great idea to train you and Ahsoka together. 

Now that was a kick in the teeth. 

You like Ahsoka, you really do, but it’s so humiliating to be trained alongside someone so much younger than you. Especially in front of the man you’re head over heels in love with. And, as another cherry on top of the cake of your shit life, the senate has been quiet as of late, which means Padme has plenty of free time to come and oversee your training sessions. Keeping an eye on the Jedi Temple, she says, but everyone sees the smiles exchanged between her and her Jedi. It makes you feel queasy. 

How are you supposed to focus on training when your biggest distraction is hanging in front of you everyday?

You have to give it to Obi-Wan, he tries his best to steer you away from the pain caused by seeing Anakin and Padme together. He stands directly in your eyeline when he knows they are near each other, so that you can’t see anything except his smiling face. When Anakin suggests lunch with Ahsoka and Padme, Obi-Wan regretfully informs him of the non-existent prior engagements the two of you have with a sneaky smile your way. 

With all the hardship of the past few weeks, you’re happy with how close it has brought you and your Master. 

“Can we just leave it for today, Master? Please.” You flop back down onto your bed, your eyes remaining on Obi-Wan as you send him your best pleading, doe-eyed look. 

“Sadly, we’ve been called away to war so I’m afraid that isn’t an option. It seems as though this is going to be a long operation. We’re first needed in Umbara, it seems as though General Krell has been executed by the clones. After that we go straight to Mandalore.”

“The clones executed a Jedi General?” Your voice is high as you stand up, heading over to your small closet and quickly rifling through your clothes to find something that would hold up for a few days. 

“It appears that he was a Separitast sympathiser. He turned two clone units against each other, forced them to kill their own.”

Your eyes are wide as Obi-Wan continues to explain the situation awaiting the two of you on Umbara, and your heart clenches as you think about what the Clones must have been gonig through during their time there. You know attachments are forbidden as a Jedi, but you can’t help the close relationships you have formed with some of the soldiers. Captain Rex is like a brother to you. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

An hour later, you’re holding onto the bar above you as your ship takes off in the direction of Umbara, Obi-Wan looking more jittery than you’ve ever seen him as he paces around next to you. 

“You okay, Master? You seem shaken up.”

“I’m fine, young one.” He dismisses you with a shake of your head, “Come with me, we may as well get some training in whilst we’re enroute.” He doesn’t say anything else, just turns away and heads out of the bridge with not so much as a glance back to make sure you’re following him.

What on Alderaan is going on with him?

His mood doesn’t let up during training, you’ve never seen him come at you so relentlessly. If it wasn’t for the fact that they knew you so well, the passing clones would probably assume that the two of you were fighting to the death in your training room. 

A cry escapes your mouth as he knocks the saber from your hand, as it clatters to the ground and rolls somewhere you don’t bother to look for, you expect him to stop. However his saber remains active, and he seems to be in a trance of sorts as he swings for you once more, only stopped from making contact with a part of your body when you swing your leg out from beneath you, causing the two of you to fall to the ground with a low grunt from him. His saber falls from his grasp in the same way yours did, and you work on figuring out how to calm him down as his body cages yours into the ground. 

The only noise in the room is the sound of you both breathing heavily, and when your eyes finally look up and meet his again you almost feel as though he has used the force to steal your breath away from you. His blue eyes capture yours, not letting up as his gaze seems to only darken the longer the two of you lay there. 

You can’t help but be reminded of a similar situation you found yourself in with Anakin a while ago, the two of you ended up tangled on the ground after a round of playful sparring. It was all heavy breathing and dark looks and you remember that all you could think was how much you had wanted him to kiss you in that moment.

So why, Maker tell, do you have the exact same feeling now? You thought that your crush on Obi-Wan had been a silly, fleeting thing back when you first began training under him. You didn’t think it would return with a vengeance, your mind silently asking him to lean down further as you struggle to pull your eyes away from his own. When you and Anakin has been in this same situation, you had hoped that he was going to kiss you, so it was humiliating when he finally tore his gaze from yours and pulled himself away from you with an awkward cough. 

You think that Obi-Wan will do the same. Of course he will, he’s the most rule abiding Jedi you’ve ever met. 

That’s why, when you feel his lips being placed softly on yours, you think you’re just hallucinating. It takes your mind a moment to catch up to what is actually occurring, your eyes fluttering shut as he pulls away and then presses his lips to yours with more fervour once he realises that you aren’t going to push him away. 

The hand that almost struck you with his saber minutes before reaches up, holding onto your jaw whilst the other keeps him steady on top of you. He breathes heavily as he kisses you, your breath minging as you savour the feeling. This isn’t your first kiss, you had snuck out to the clubs of Coruscant before and kissed random boys before, but this was different. This was your first kiss since you had fallen in love with Anakin. All those nights you had spent dreaming, hoping, praying that he would be the next person you kiss. Yet here you are, your lips moving feverishly against your Master’s as you thread one of your hands into the long hair at the nape of his neck. 

You must stay like that, basking in the feeling of each other for a good few minutes before a loud bang from the corridor snaps you both out of the spell you had fallen under. Obi-Wan quickly gets up, sticking out his hand to locate his saber, unable to look you in the eye as you slowly rise from your position. Your mouth tingles and your eyes are wide as you stare at the side of Obi-Wan’s head. 

He smooths his hand over his beard and mumbles a quick, “That shouldn’t have happened. I’m sorry, Padawan.” before leaving the room hastily. You flinch at the way he says the word Padawan, like he is reminding you both that what you just did was not only forbidden but also extremely morally wrong. You’ve never been one to care about such trivialities, but Obi-Wan is definitely a fair bit older than you, to say the least. 

As you catch your breath and find your lightsaber, you think to yourself that it’s good that you were interrupted, because if you weren’t then you might’ve been found by a soldier who would’ve reported what he saw back to the council. You ignore the part of you that wishes you would have continued, that thinks of how well your lips worked together and how at home you felt with his body on top of yours. And most of all, you ignore the part of you that wonders if him kissing you had anything to do with his sudden mood change since departing for the trip.

The rest of the journey is slow and quiet, you take some time to meditate and gather your thoughts, knowing you’re in no state to be dealing with anything important right now. A soldier offers you something to eat but you have to decline, with the way your stomach is turning you know you won’t be able to stomach any food. 

Obi-Wan seems to have retired to somewhere quiet on the ship, you don’t see him until you touch down on Umbara. The capital has been captured now, and that is where you will spend the night before heading to Mandalore, however you must first deal with the execution of General Krell at a nearby facility that was taken by the clones. 

You walk silently alongside your Master, an awkward tension in the air that is an extreme change from your usual playful banter and general good moods. As you approach Captain Rex and his troopers, he shoots you an inquisitive look, which you quickly brush off with a whisper that you’ll talk to him later. 

The situation is resolved quickly, you and your Master both know you can take Rex’s word for the events that transpired, and you make sure Krell’s body is properly taken care of. 

“We’ve only got one spare speeder on us, General, so Y/N will have to ride with one of the boys.” Are Captain Rex’s departing words before his gunship takes off towards the capital, leaving you, Obi-Wan and a few more troopers to travel back via speeder. 

“You can ride with me, Y/N.” A clone who is about to depart shouts over to you, though your attempt to walk in his direction is thwarted by a sudden, harsh grip on your forearm. You turn quickly, shocked to see Obi-Wan shake his head, gesturing over to his own speeder instead. 

“She’ll ride with me.” 

The trooper offers no argument, simply saluting the two of you before speeding off towards the capital with a trail of dust in his wake. 

You notice that Obi-Wan still hasn’t directly addressed you since the incident on the ship, so you stay quiet whilst climbing onto the speeder, waiting for him to say something. A squeak leaves your mouth when you’re pushed forward, Obi-Wan’s large body enveloping you from behind as he reaches past you to grab hold of the handles, and you’re off before you can even think about what is going on.

“We need to talk when we get back.”

Are the first words spoken to you, and the last, because he quickly falls silent. Though, you can’t help the warmth that spreads through you when his chin rests on your shoulder, his beard scratching your cheek oh so slightly. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Dinner in Umbara is a quick affair, you scoff down what you can, not talking as much as usual due to your preoccupied mind. Obi-Wan disappeared after you both briefed Master Windu who is still back at the temple, and you wonder if he is off meditating somewhere, trying to reconcile for the ‘mistake’ that the two of you made. 

You’ve been fighting your own inner turmoil about the situation since it happened earlier that day. Once you finish your food, you retire back to the uncomfortable bed in a tiny room at the top of the large building, assuming that Obi-Wan has decided to forgo the conversation and ignore you altogether. 

As you lie on the hard metal, your mind wanders over the past few months. You wonder how Anakin would react if he knew you and Obi-Wan had kissed. Would he be angry? Jealous? Happy? Deep down you know you would want him to be jealous, you would want him to be angry at the thought of any other man having you in the way that he wants you. 

But he doesn’t want you in that way, you remind yourself. Does Obi-Wan even want you in that way? You know he is a well revered man, and nobody can deny how good looking he is. If he really was looking for a romantic, or even just sexual, connection he could probably find that anywhere - why would he get that from plain old you?

A pang of sadness hits your gut as you think about him regretting the kiss, returning to Coruscant and finding another girl that he would rather betray the Jedi code in order to be with. And with wide eyes and a whisper of ‘oh no’, you realise that this is exactly how you felt when your feelings for Anakin started growing stronger. Just what did that kiss stir within you, surely your years old feelings for your Master haven’t suddenly resurfaced, right?

A knock on your door startles you, that deep in thought you hadn’t heard anyone approaching your rather isolated room. 

“Y/N?” It’s Obi-Wan. 

“You can come in, it’s open.

He slides the door open, his actions sheepish and small and not at all like the overly confident man he usually is. It pains you to see him like this, stumbling and second guessing everything he does. 

“You shouldn’t leave your door unlocked when you’re not on Coruscant, anything could wander in.”

“Sorry, Master.” You’ve shuffled to the edge of the bed now, Obi-Wan sitting beside you, mirroring the exact position you were in when he woke you up this morning. Before everything turned into a mess. 

“I… I’m so sorry, Padawan. I abused my position as your Master and I never should’ve even thought about doing something like that with you. Especially after you confided in me about your feelings for Anakin, I don’t want you to think that I’m taking advantage of your vulnerability.” His voice is so shaky that you barely recognise it, and a wave of sadness hits you when you realise that he must’ve been carrying this burden of guilt around with him all day. 

“Obi-Wan, it’s fine. You didn’t force yourself on me, I was completely on board when it happened, in fact I quite enjoyed it. I know it was wrong, against the code or whatever, but I won’t tell anybody. Please don’t feel guilty.” You make sure he keeps his eyes on you, a delicate touch on his cheek to keep him faced your way. A sigh emits from his mouth and your heart swells in your chest when he leans his head into your hand, seeking your comfort. 

“I’m tired, Y/N. This war, I’m beginning to feel it’s toll.”

“There’s no shame in admitting you need a break, Master, but it’s not just tiredness that is eating at you right now. I know you, there’s something else going on. You can tell me. Is it something to do with Umbara, Mandalore, anything?”

“Thank you for your concern, Padawan, I’m quite alright.”

“Don’t do that, Obi-Wan.” Your voice wavers this time, “Don’t use that title as a way to brush me off. Yes, I’m your Padawan, but I hope that by now I’m also your friend.”

“Jedi aren’t supposed to have friends, Y/N.”

You scoff, removing your hand from his face as you turn away from him, not wanting to look at him as he lies to you. 

“I was always jealous of him, you know.” He speaks again, after a few minutes of slightly uncomfortable silence. 

“Of who?”

“Anakin.”

You turn back, your interest peaked as he looks at you. You swallow, a blush coating your cheeks as you note that his eyes are as dark as they were before. Before he kissed you. 

“What reason could you possibly have had for being jealous of him? Oh, Maker, don’t tell me you’re in love with Senator Amidala.”

He chuckles, “No, little one, I was jealous of him because he always seemed to have your attention when he cared so little for you. I wanted you to look at me the way you looked at him.”

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

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[biaswreckingfics]

No Limits: Part 7

Author: biaswreckingfics

Genre: Mafia AU - Warnings? Everything that goes on in a mafia au

Word Count: 5.3k

Previous Chapter

It had only been a couple of days since Baekhyun turned you down, and yet it had already taken its toll on you. Not only were you lonely, but you were distracted, and your training was suffering because of it. Jongin was irritated, Jongdae was annoyed, Yixing was patient, but you knew you had to get it together. This is why when Jongin offered to do an extra session with you, you jumped on the opportunity.

So far, your day was pretty decent... until it wasn't. Jongin had come to your room a little early, and the two of you were heading down to the training room when you heard it.

Giggling.

Coming from Baekhyun's room.

A sick feeling blooms in your stomach at the grating sound, and you want to run and hide when Baekhyun's door suddenly opens, but your feet are rooted to the carpet.

Two girls, wearing scantily clad clothing, come out of his room with him trailing closely behind. You couldn't pull your eyes away from the trainwreck as you watch the girls rub their hands all over his chest and arms.

The giggling continues, and you have to pull your eyes away from the sight. It's only a second later when Jongin speaks up from next to you, causing Baekhyun to finally notice your presence.

When Baekhyun meets your stare, a panicked look enters his gaze, and that's when you feel the hope in you die. Any energy you once had escapes you and the sickness you felt turns into full-blown nausea.

You don't even realize you're shaking until Jongin quietly says your name in a concerned voice, semi snapping you out of the destroyed feeling your body was falling into.

He didn't have to be so cruel. He didn't have to bring those girls here and drive the point that the two of you couldn't be together home. You couldn't believe that Baekhyun had it in him to do something like this. Not him. Not to you.

Before you know what you're doing, your feet are moving at a rapid pace and you're slipping in between the wall and the three people who managed to break your heart in seconds. You could hear Baekhyun calling out to you, hear the desperation in his voice, but you ignore it. You ignore his footsteps as he attempts to come after you and ignore the relief you feel when you hear Jongin physically stop him from doing that.

You keep running and don't stop until you reach the training room and collapse on the blue mat. You try to focus on your erratic breathing and repeat the mantra "I am not going to fucking cry right now" over and over until you feel yourself calm down.

A few minutes later, Jongin busts into the training room and immediately tries to talk to you about what he had just witnessed. He takes in your overwhelmed state before kneeling next to you on the mat.

"Are you okay?" He asks, his bewildered gaze searching yours.

You push yourself up into a sitting position, instead of the near fetal position you were in, and say, "I'm fine."

"Bullshit. What the hell just happened?"

Jongin knew you had some type of feelings for Baekhyun, but you had never told him the extent of those feelings or that Baekhyun had dumped you before the two of you even got together, so you could only imagine what he was thinking right now.

"I don't want to talk about it." You mumble as you stand up, but Jongin stands right up with you, not willing to let it go just yet.

"Oh, we're definitely going to talk about it. You just lost your shit, and I need to know why."

"Jongin, please! I can't talk about it right now. I just want to train. I need to train."

He searches your face in frustration, his expression telling you he still wanted to have this conversation, before sighing and shaking his head. "Fine. I'll let it go for now, but don't think we won't be revisiting this topic. Just let me know if I need to kill Baekhyun."

"I'll get back to you on that." You walk into the center of the room and drop into a sparring position. "Now, let's go."

After about a half an hour of Jongin absolutely kicking your ass over and over again, and much to your frustration, he refuses to continue.

"You're getting worse."

"It's not... that bad. I just need to train more. Come on, let's go another round."

Jongin shakes his head as he stares at one of the empty walls. A part of you wished you were telepathic so you could know whatever it was he was thinking.

"I have to tell your brother." He finally says.

Panic floods through your system as you think about what the consequences would be for you messing up again. "No! He doesn't need to know. It's just a temporary setback. I'll be back to normal soon."

"He has to know you're distracted before he allows you to do something dangerous."

"Jongin, please. Don't tell him yet." You plead, realizing you weren't above begging.

"If something happens to you, Junmyeon will fucking kill me. You get that, don't you? You have to be prepared at all times, and right now, I wouldn't trust you to be out there with any of us. You're a liability in this state, and you know I wouldn't be telling you about this if I didn't give a fuck about you."

Your heart drops into your stomach at his words, but you knew he was telling the truth. You were distracted, to say the least, and you didn't want any of them to suffer the consequences for your mistakes.

A couple of hours later, you're sitting across from your brother in his office. You had only been in here a couple of times, but every time you were in here, you felt like you were in trouble at some fancy-ass boarding school.

The mahogany wood of the desk and bookshelves gleamed like they were polished daily. There was a tall plant sitting on the floor by the window, and you knew there was no way your brother watered it. You were sitting on a deep green, velvet chair that you would definitely not describe as comfortable, while your brother sat in a leather chair behind his desk. A pile of paper and envelopes sat off to the corner of his desk, and it was obvious that he was going through them before you came in.

A sigh escaped his mouth, and you could feel the disappointment harbored inside of it.

"Jongin says you can't complete your combat training at the moment. That you're not focused and not ready." He pauses and studies your face waiting to see if you'll take the bait or not. When you stay silent, he purses his lips and continues. "Care to comment?"

"He's right," you regretfully admit. "I'm too distracted."

Your brother tries to hide his surprise at your blatant response. "Why would that be?"

You look down at your hands in your lap to avoid his gaze. There were a lot of things you would talk to Junmyeon about, but you didn't want Baekhyun to be one of them. Instead, you attempt to come up with a list of things that could explain your sudden distraction, but it didn't feel fair to try to put the blame on someone or something else. Plus, you didn't really feel like lying to your brother about stupid shit.

"What's going on with you and Baekhyun?"

You automatically go to answer but then freeze when his question registers in your head. You snap your gaze up to him and croak out, "what?"

How and when did he figure out there was something between Baekhyun and you?

He snorts at your lost look. "Do you think I became a leader because of my obliviousness?"

You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

"With the way he left that meeting earlier this week where we discussed the possibility of you dying, and the way the two of you have been moping around the house the past couple of days, clearly something is going on. Is he the reason you're distracted?"

Your eyes fall back down onto your lap as you try to figure out how you want to answer his question. The answer was an obvious yes, but what would happen when you admitted that? How could you explain to your brother that you wanted to be with one of his men? How could you prove that you wouldn't be distracted when you already were? You couldn't.

A tear slides down your cheek without notice. The only thing that made you realize you were suddenly crying was Junmyeon sitting up in his seat at the sight of them.

You angrily wipe the tears as you say, "I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm crying."

"You're frustrated..." He says understandingly before a look of decisiveness crosses his features. "Come on. Lay it on me."

You look up at him with an awkward and confused expression on your face, which causes him to roll his eyes.

"I'm your brother. Let me at least act like one for once."

A part of you wanted to tell him everything. You wanted to get it all off your chest and get a new perspective on the situation. You also craved that sibling bond that was stolen from you when you were younger. You wanted to be able to look at your older brother and tell him about everything under the sun, but you didn't really know how...

You search his gaze, and he nods like he's telling you it's alright to talk to him, so you do.

You tell him everything. About you and Baekhyun's friendship. About your feelings for him. About his rejection and the reasons behind it. What you saw in the hallway earlier that day. All of it. It felt like a weight had been lifted from your chest.

As you spoke, you watched the emotions flit across Junmyeon's face, even though he tried to hide it. You could see the anger and sorrow he felt towards Baekhyun and the pity and disappointment he felt towards you.

He sighs as he takes it all in. "You need to learn to push it all aside and focus on your task at hand, or it's going to cost you your life. I can't have you out in the field if you're going to be distracted because of something stupid Baekhyun does."

"I know... and I'll work on it. I won't let myself be distracted from my main goal anymore. I'm going to focus on the Baem and how to destroy them. Everything else comes after that."

Your brother stares at you for what felt like minutes before saying "okay".

You nod and then glance out the window to your side as your brother gets back to going through his mountain of papers. A few minutes of silence go by before you hear your brother sigh.

"If you're going to sit there, you might as well make yourself useful." He says while pushing a part of the pile over to you.

You stare at it like you've never seen paper before in your life. "I don't know what I'm supposed to look for or what I'm even looking at."

"Time to learn, sis. Consider it part of your training."

With a sigh, you grab from the pile and open up the envelope. Papers with number come out, and it all looks like confusing mumbo jumbo to you. Your brother shows you all the different shipping papers, inventory records, and other basic bookkeeping things you could come across, and for the next 30 minutes, you mindlessly make your way through the pile.

You reach one of the last remaining envelopes on your side of the desk and tear it open. Inside, you notice a different kind of paper than all the other ones you've been seeing, and you pull it out and open it curiously.

The first thing you notice is that it's a map. Black and white lines marking the streets all over the city and neighboring cities crisscrossed over the paper. Colored arrows were drawn along them with times marked out, and random symbols were hastily marked by multiple buildings. No other words were written on the map, and you stared at it with confusion.

"What should I do with a map?"

Your brother looks over in confusion before shrugging. "It must've got mixed in accidentally. Just put it to the side for now."

You look back down at it and run your fingers over it. Weird, you think, before moving it to the side. As you set it down, a string of numbers in the corner catches your attention, causing you to pick it back up and study it some more.

You could only identify some of the symbols. One was clearly a gun, the other a symbol for money, but why would this be with the shipment papers? The arrows were marked on the streets in a distinctive pattern and the times wrote next to them clearly meant something.

You run your hand over the numbers in the corner of the page and mumble the 1485 out loud without realizing it. You also don't notice the sudden stiffness of Junmyeon as the number comes out of your mouth. Then, it finally dawns on you what you're looking at.

"Junmyeon..."

Junmyeon's POV

The second he heard the number 1485 leave your lips, Junmyeon knew something was up. He knew that you didn't know those numbers and that there was no way they would be on anything in that pile. Very select few people even knew what those numbers were.

When he hears his name whispered from your lips a second later, he jumps up from his seat and makes his way around his desk, almost taking out a lamp he had on the corner. His eyes meet your wide ones only for a second as he takes the map from your hands.

He quickly took in the symbols and arrows that marked the map and knew, right away, that it wasn't EXO related. This neighborhood wasn't controlled by them. It was the Baem's.

Why would someone send him this? Why give EXO so much critical information on the Baem? Was it a trap? His eyes trail down to the bottom where the 1485 was marked. There was no way this was the Baem. Not with those numbers on the bottom... but what did it mean? Could it have been from the one member they've been waiting for? Was Sehun behind this?

He didn't want to get his hopes up, and he certainly didn't want to get the member's hopes up, but he needed to tell them about this. With this information... they could take down the Baem for good.

"Meeting. 10 minutes." He calls back to you as he rushes out of his office.

Once all the members are sitting in the boardroom, Junmyeon tries to school his face into a blank state. He didn't want to show his eagerness and excitement to them, in case this turned out to be a waste of time.

"First, let me preface this by saying that if one more person walks out in the middle of a meeting, I will fucking shoot you. No matter how mad or upset you get, you do not walk away from family."

He aims his comment at Chanyeol, but it stood for all of them. He was tired of being blatantly disrespected by his most trusted men.

"I'm pretty sure family doesn't shoot each other either." Chanyeol snipes back.

"If you walk away from us, then you're not really family, and you don't belong here."

He fixes his stare on Chanyeol as he speaks and knows his expression conveys that he is waiting for Chanyeol to say something. Chanyeol meets his stare for a moment, debating before he looks away.

"Now," Junmyeon picks up the envelope with the folded map from the table and waves it in the air. "Does anyone know where this envelope came from today?"

The men who dealt with any paperwork today lean forward to look over the envelope and see if they recognize it. He got a few head shakes before he got his answer.

"That was in the auto shop shipment," Jongdae answers him.

Junmyeon scrunches his brows in confusion. Wasn't Baekhyun taking care of that? He glances over at the man in question and quickly takes in his messy appearance and tired eyes. He mentally sighs at the sight. Clearly, Baekhyun was just as unfocused and distressed as you were, and he was going to have to do something about it. Junmyeon shakes away the thought and looks back at Jongdae.

"Is this the auto shop that we control in the dead zone?"

"Yeah. The owner gave the shipment to me personally. Why?"

"He didn't say anything at all?" Junmyeon questions him.

Jongdae thinks for a second but then shakes his head. "No, but he was acting strange. He seemed fidgety like he was worried about something. I made a mental note to dig around later."

"Well, here's the reason why." He says as he unfolds the map and slides it to the center of the table.

Everyone stands up to get a closer look, except for Chanyeol, who stays seated in boredom. The overall consensus is confusion before realization slowly took over each face. That realization gave way to amazement as they all began excitedly discussing what this could mean.

"We need to go check out the P.O. box." Jongin instantly says.

"What P.O. box?" Junmyeon hears you quietly ask. He glances over in your direction and notices how distant you are from the rest of the men, or maybe just from Baekhyun.

"That's what the 1485 is. It's our P.O. box for passing along information. Only a few people outside of this room know about it." Minseok fills you in.

Yixing turns to Junmyeon and asks, "Do you think it's Sehun?"

At the mention of Sehun's name, Chanyeol stands up from his seat and heads toward the door.

"Chanyeol." Junmyeon growls.

Chanyeol turns around tiredly, the fight completely gone from his face, startling not only Junmyeon but everyone else. Chanyeol looked dead inside like nothing mattered anymore. What was even worse was that... he seemed completely sober. Chanyeol looked like a dead man walking, and fear chased away the anger Junmyeon felt. They needed to get through to him and fast because they were about to lose him.

"What? Are you going to shoot me, Junmyeon? Go ahead. I don't care."

Junmyeon opens his mouth to speak, but Chanyeol interrupts him.

"I don't care about any of this anymore."

"How could you not care?" Junmyeon tries to keep the pleading from his voice as he speaks. "This is information on the Baem with our P.O. box code on it. What if it's Sehun?"

"It's not." Chanyeol dejectedly replies.

Minseok makes his way around the giant wood table towards Chanyeol. "How do you know? This could be proof that Sehun is with the Baem."

Chanyeol lets out a soft snort. "You think Sehun would willingly be working with them? That they would just hand over this type of information to share with us? What about the more likely scenario? That they tortured the information out of him. That this is more than likely a trap for us to walk into. I told you if Sehun was still alive, he wouldn't leave some hidden message in a P.O. box. He'd come back to us. Not to mention, Jongdae just said the owner was being shady. Who's to say he didn't double-cross us and take up with the Baem instead?"

Junmyeon took in his words and realized everything he said was scarily accurate, and the others knew it as well. The odds that this was probably a trap set up by the Baem were astronomically high. The likelihood that Sehun was still alive was slim-to-none, and the chance he was sending them a message was even less, but still, Junmyeon had to have hope. He couldn't lose two men in one year.

"There's only one way to find out. Tomorrow, Jongin and Baekhyun will go to the auto shop and have a talk with the owner. You need to find out if he's crossed us and switched sides, and find out who gave him that map. Jongdae, I need you to start checking out all of those marked places on the map to see if any of them are accurate. Minseok, you and Y/N are going to check out the P.O. box and see if someone left any hidden treasures. I want you to bring your unit with you as well, in case Chanyeol is right, and this is a trap."

You look at him with startled eyes. "Me?"

"Yes, you. Not only will the fresh air clear your head, but this is your chance to prove you've learned something from these goons."

Y/N's POV - The next day

"Are you ready?" Minseok asks you over the dull sound of the radio.

You were anxious, nervous, and a little excited, but were you ready? Would you be able to fight your way out of a situation if necessary? Would you be able to back up Minseok if his unit didn't get to him in time? If this was all a trap and you were about to be taken down by the Baem, were you prepared?

"The longer I think about it, the less prepared I feel."

Minseok hums in acknowledgment. "That's the nerves. You're starting to psych yourself out."

You nod and glance out the window, taking in the outskirts of the city you were approaching. The beautiful skyline made it seem like you were transported to a new world, and soon the hustle and bustle of city life came into view causing your anxiety to spike. When was the last time you had been around so many people?

Your eyes dart around, taking in the daily lives of strangers. The mother hurriedly pushing her child in a stroller, the men in business suits talking into their Bluetooth's, the teenagers laughing with their groups of friends... it all felt so foreign to you.

"I trust you, you know that, right?" Minseok randomly says, causing you to turn and look at him.

"What?"

"If we're about to walk into an ambush, I trust you to have my back."

His words make the tension you were feeling melt away. "Thanks, Minseok."

"It also helps that my entire unit is stationed all over the city in case we need backup." He jokes while pulling over into a parking spot in the street.

You take a glance at the tall buildings that surrounded you but have no idea what you're looking for. "Where are we?"

"We're a couple of blocks away from the post office. I thought it'd be better if we didn't drive straight into an ambush." He unbuckles his seatbelt and throws open the door to get out as he talks.

You scramble to undo your belt and do the same before catching up with him on the sidewalk. The two of you are silent and lost in your thoughts as you make your way to the post office, but once Minseok slows down at the corner of a building, you go on high alert.

You watch Minseok as he puts what you've learned in training into use. You see him scoping out the area, searching for signals or clues that this could be any type of trap. Notice how he identifies each person in the area and mentally marks them as suspicious or a nonthreat.

"You should be the one doing this. Not me." He whispers, looking over his shoulder at you.

"But you're so good at it." You whisper back. "Besides, your unit already swept the city and said there was nothing out of the ordinary."

Minseok looks at you in disbelief, and you offer him a sheepish smile. "I know, I know. Always check for yourself, regardless of who tells you it's safe."

He shakes his head at you before deciding everything is okay and casually walks around the corner towards the post office. You follow on his heels, eager to see what's in the box. Could it really be Sehun sending a message? Is he really alive and okay?

As the two of you enter the building, your nerves reach a new high. You quietly follow Minseok to a row of numbered boxes built into the wall and hold your breath as he punches in the code to unlock the P.O. box. As soon as the box unlocks, he takes a breath to prepare himself, and then he pulls open the door. The two of you stare into the box in confusion.

"It's empty," Minseok says, before reaching inside and patting around like maybe there was something invisible in there. His shoulders slump after a moment, and he looks back at you. "Why send us here for nothing?"

A thousand horrifying thoughts fill your head, and it seems Minseok isn't far behind. The odds that this was a trap just skyrocketed. What if you're fucked the second you walk out of the building? What if this was a ploy to get some people out of the house, so the Baem could attack at home? Had Chanyeol been right?

The sound of a phone ringing caught your attention, and you look over at Minseok to see his phone in his hand as he called someone. Seconds later, you hear your brother's voice sounding perfectly normal.

"What's up?"

"Everything's okay there?" Minseok cautiously asks.

It's quiet for a couple of seconds before Junmyeon replies. "...Yes. Why?"

Both of you let out a relieved breath at his answer. "The box is empty."

Junmyeon takes a deep breath. "We're okay here, but you should know, Jongin and Baekhyun are on their way back. The owner of the auto shop apparently went out of town last night."

"That doesn't bode well." Minseok and you share a look at the awfully convenient timing.

"No. It does not, so you two need to be extra careful. It's starting to seem like it wasn't who we wanted it to be..."

His reference to Sehun made your heart hurt. You had all been silently hoping it was him behind the map...

"We're going to hang around here for a while and see if anything changes," Minseok responds. "Maybe... whoever it was hasn't gotten here yet."

The thought had occurred to you that maybe whoever left the message on the map hadn't had the chance to get there yet... or maybe even worse... they had been found out.

"Alright... just, please... be cautious, and don't let anything happen to my sister, Min."

"I got her. Don't worry."

Once Minseok finishes up the call, the two of you head back toward the car. The waiting process was long and boring, and you felt your annoyance rise to a level 10. You didn't think of yourself as an impatient person, but you were already so on edge, and the stakes were way too high.

Just before you thought you were going to lose your mind, Minseok declares he's going back to the post office. You open your door to follow him, but he turns to you and waves you off.

"I think you should just stay here and wait. I have a bad feeling that the P.O. box is going to be empty again, and I don't know who it is that's messing with us... but I'd rather you be away from the area, in case this is about to go south."

You feel disappointment clawing at you as you shake your head at him. "But I'm supposed to be out there with you... I can help you with whatever happens."

"I know you can, but my unit is already in the area, and they are way more prepared to deal with this type of situation... Plus, this way, you can be my getaway driver if I need it." He flashes you a smile to soften the blow, but you couldn't help but feel like he didn't fully trust you to have his back as he had claimed earlier.

As you watch him make his way back down the street, you sink back into your seat and settle in to people watch. Their 9-to-5 lives seemed so mundane to you, and you couldn't help but wonder... Would you have ever been able to lead that kind of life? Would you have been able to work an office job or be a stay at home mother? The idea sounded ludicrous to you. That just wasn't your path in this life.

Your attention is dragged to a couple who held hands as they walked down the sidewalk. Could that be you one day? Could you freely walk with your significant other and laugh like you didn't have a care in the world?

You stared at them as they disappeared around the corner, lost in thought. It wasn't until you saw a familiar head that you were thrown back into reality. Disappearing around the same corner as the couple was a tall, thin man with jet black hair that closely resembled the person you had all been searching for. In fact, you would bet your fucking life that you had just saw Oh Sehun in the flesh.

You throw open your door and almost tumble out of the vehicle in a rush. Not even bothering to shut the door, you take off toward the corner, hoping to not lose sight of him. By the time you had gotten around the corner, you spot his long legs toward the end of the block, and you groan, knowing you're going to have to run to reach him in time.

You sprint towards the end of the block but fail to notice him glance over his shoulder as he rounds the corner. Your only thought is that Sehun is literally within reaching distance, and you needed to get to him as soon as possible. Not bothering to slow down once you reach the corner, you run smack dab into the male in question. You almost trip over your feet in surprise and look up at him with wide eyes. Had he been waiting for you?

You take in his blank stare, and the suspicion etched on his face, but before you can open your mouth to speak, his hand shoots out, and he grabs your neck tightly. Fear and confusion ring loud in your head as you reach to pull his hand off of you, but his grip grows tighter.

"Who are you?" He growls out.

You try to draw in a breath to answer, but he suddenly slams your body up against the brick wall of a building you were standing next to, effectively knocking any air you had left from your body.

"Why are you following me?" He grinds out as he brings his face closer to yours, but never loosening his group to allow you to answer.

Your mind falls into a panicked frenzy as you desperately claw at his hands in an attempt to break free. What the fuck was happening?! Why was Sehun trying to strangle the life from you, and why was he asking you who you were?!

Pleading with your eyes, you mentally scream for him to stop, but the expression on his face remains blank. He looked like he had no knowledge of who you were... like you were a complete stranger to him.

"Sehun..." You manage to gasp out, feeling yourself grow weaker from the effort.

Black spots begin taking over your peripheral vision, and you meet his dead stare for what seems like the last time.

You never thought Oh Sehun would be the one to kill you.

Tagging: @knjkitten @kpopserene @multifandombxxch @tashaxvamp @kpop---scenarios @bhyunni @chanyeolismybaby @flaming-laboob @taetaeeyong @lilbitoflyssa @misstressporkchoppp @hoseok-wang @spiltkpop @isha454 @depuis2mille @marovekian1 @ladylynae @abby8451 @lynniev @insta1010 @sawadabegum @avxngxrrogxrs @equesasprokishi @imstuckinafictionaluniverse @layisanangel @mongryong-the-corgi @overthelamebowz @lizbether01 @thatanonymousgirl-as14 @nothingbutadeadesceane @kim-ji-hyeons-world @suhappysuho @futuremrspcy @lovebuginlove @skylions-den @precious-seungwooya @softysuho @kuppyjiminie @blushinyouth​ @bat-shark-repellant @vickylamore @heartshapedenchiladas @cardtak​ @tanithrea​ @wooya1224

[charkyzombicorn]

Obnoctios big red sneakers come to a stop at an entrance to an alleyway, the scent of blood from this direction is so strong he can taste it on the tip of his tongue.

Iida is panicking. For some reason, the second the hero killer got a taste of his blood, the teen dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes. He was staring at the very eyes that have seen the life drain out of people, the eyes that stared at his older brother. "You fake heroes make me sick! Did you even look in te direction of the man that's nearly bled out?" Tenya barely moved his eyes to see the downed hero before he was faced with the business end of a Katana.

"Are you ready to die here?" A voice that was too young to be Stain's echoed through the alley, and Tenya tried and failed to see the source. He was ready to say yes, that he would die if it meant revenge for his brother, but Iida's were always known for their smarts and he knew dying would only bring his brother more grief. He saw Stair retract his blade slightly, looking for the disembodied voice.

"I need an answer, Ingenium." The hero name sparked something in Iida. That was right, he was Ingenium, not his brother, not his father, him. "No." It was said quietly, the teen trying to stuff down his desperation and fear without much success.

Suddenly Stain was off of him, jumping in and out of his view and seemed to be keeping up with a figure with no distingushable features. "What's your blood type, Ingenium?" The mysterious figure asked sweetly as if they weren't bouncing from wall to wall avoiding knives.

The blue haired boy blinked before stuttering out "A". Stain seemed to stutter as fell at the odd line of questioning. "Well, I can't well leave you alive if you know how my quirk works!" And he returned with new vigor, but not yet landing a scratch. "You were paralyzed around two minutes ago, so you should be able to get up in another four."

The figure seemed to be almost enjoying this, their tone light as a child's and still hiding his face from both Ikda and Stain. Four minutes passed quickly with Tenya trying desperately to move. He got to his feet shakily, and only then did he notice that the new person was only dodging, not even making an attempt to attack. A knife was thrown his way too fast for him to dodge, but his surprise partner didn't seem to mind catching the blade with his bare hand.

When the grey blur of a man was stopped, Tenya noticed how short he was, and saw tufts of green hair sticking out of his grey hoodie. Stain was panting like he had just run 5 marathons, which, with all the wall bouncing Tenya could see, he pretty much did. The small boy was only slightly out of breath, little pants not changing his demeanor at all. A trickle of blood came of the hand still holding the knife by the sharp blade. "Oops," Iida could see the side of a grin. "That's no good." And really it was the exact opposite of a good time for Iida Tenya to be staring at a boy lick his own blood off his hand and feel any of the feelings that stir to life in his still adrenaline-highed mind.

A dark blue meets a bright green, round eyes focused intently on Iida. "This is your fight, is it not?" And with that, he started walking toward the native-themed hero. Stain had finally collected his bearings and had his blades ready as he followed the boy with his eyes, paying the Iida second son no mind.

Tenya ran at him, kicking in his jets and trying to kick as hard as he could. Stain barely dodged, getting a small burn on his waist from the kid's engines. They sparred back and forth for a few minutes while the mysterious boy used his own hoodie to patch up the wounds. Tenya became victorious, knocking the villain into unconsiousness via faceplant 2 inches into the pavement. The teen was out of breath, and everything was sore.

Tenya's eyes shifted to the moving figure and saw a whole head of green instead of a few tufts. The boy was wearing a white t-shirt that hugged his arms, and damn was there a lot to hug, Tenya saw the boy tear up the grey sweater he once wore into strips. "Who are you?" The hero-in-training asked, cautiously walking toward him.

The green head paused for a moment. "Deku." He flinched at the obvious insult as the boy helped the hero to his feet. "Listen." The boy's voice was serious and directed to Native. "I was the only one here tonight. That boy saved your life, if you tattle it could ruin his. I was here and he was not." The voice was almost haunting, and Native nodded. "Thank you both." He said, pain obvious in his voice as 'Deku' led hin onto the sidewalk where he could be found.

When the other teen walked back into the alleyway, the moon shone just right on his freckled face that Tenya froze. "That was stupid, hero." 'Deku' commented. Ioda stiffened, prepared to defend himself when the freckled teen continued. "If that stunt was for your brother, you would have worried more about your reputation. You wanted to do that, make a villain bleed, beat them until the stooped moving, didn't you?" Blue eye browns pinched together. Of course he did it for his brother, why else would he nearly--

Tenya remembered his reaction hearing that his brother might not make it through the night. He nearly got himself killed tonight, he wasn't thinking about Tensei, he was thinking about revenge.

He changed the subject. "I've never seen you before, are you in the hero course?" Green eyes shone with amusement as he giggled, the voice sweet like hunny to Tenya's ears, with a touch of spice that intrigued the engine hero. "I'm not, in fact, I'm a villain." Tenya laughed at that, but Deku had stopped.

"You're not serious?" Tenya felt slightly uncomfortable, but Deku only gave a smile that most definitely didnt belong on a villain. "Yep, I'm a proud villain." Tenya shifted backward, suddenly not liking the conversation at all.

"You're a villain?" He couldn't keep the disdain out of his voice. "No, you helped Native, you helped me, why would you say that?" Deku sighed. "Wow, no wonder Stain got his panties in a twist with your whole presence. You probably see all villains as evil burglars in striped and lite devils with horns, don't you? You think heroes are always the good guys and the good guys always win, so when the previous Ingenium lost so bad, you wanted to be that big good guy to save the day, didn't you?" He didnt wait for an answer.

"You've put yourself in a box, Iida-san, and that's not how life works. For example, me. I'm considered a villain, I break laws, I've hurt people in ways you can't even imagine, because all of those people were quirkist to an extreme. I'm a villain because the laws let a boy with a big bank account and a powerful quirk beat a quirkless kid until their suggestion to swan dive off the roof was something that was honestly considered. The laws let people like Endeavor, who has a kill count in the thousands, 'protect' us, while he takes away people's homes and families." Tenya had gone pale at that point. "Heroes are people, Villains are people. Tenya, you seem like a fan of rules but what you did here could get you kicked out of your chance to be a hero." The big was pressing, his words fast and impactful.

Tenya had never questioned being a hero before, not since the day he was born into a hero family. It was always what he was suppost to do, the sky is blue, the grass is green, Tenya will follow his family's footsteps. But now, standing in a dim alley, Deku turning to leave, Tenya thought that no, the laws were not enforced hard and unbiased. But they should be, rules are rules and that's something that Tenya has always appreciated.

Before he could fully think it out, his hand was on the other teen's shoulder. "Wait." Suddenly his brashness had him blushing and his glasses fogging. "I-Is there any way I can help? I mean, in regards to your cause..."

Unseen to anyone, a knowing smirk curled at Izuku's lip, it was quickly replaced with an eager smile like a small child. "You'd really do that, Iida-san?"

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Hokan’yc

A RESOL’NARE FLASHBACK ONE SHOT

A/N: This is long overdue and something I started working on WEEKS ago when @darkmist111 asked a question regarding Din and Navina’s former relationships. I mentioned a girl named Aashi that Din fell for when he was still a teenaged mando learning how to become a warrior and decided that I needed to tell their story so we know what happened and why he’s flying solo now. This is CHOCK-FULL  of my personal thoughts on what training in the covert would be like so forgive me if my HCs contradict canon and please enjoy some young mandos in love. 

*this story will regularly be using words in Mando’a. for a good list of references click here.*

Warning: violence, death, injury- they are Mandalorians you guys, This is the Way and all that jazz. 

Word Count: 6k

--  --  --  --  

He noticed right away. 

The others did, too. They always did. It was an increasingly rare occurrence as they got older. The youngest in the covert were far more used to the sudden appearance of a new student among their numbers. Whether they’d been born a member of The Tribe or taken in as a foundling like he had, all children began combat training after their 8th birthday, so the addition of a new face- or more accurately an unfamiliar helmet- in class was anticipated, expected. But by the time they’d advanced through mid level and into the final years of their required training, newcomers were few and far between. 

And they stood out. Hushed whispers of buyca circulated through the room, heads tilting in the direction of the only helmet not decorated with dings and dents. 

The Instructor’s gloved hands came together in two thunderous claps to signal the start of the day’s training, the chatter in the dimly lit sparring hall dissipating as the upper level class fell in line for drills. There were no assigned rankings, the students simply using height order to determine who stood where, the tallest in the last of four rows. Third row had been his designation for years, never quite the largest or most formidable in the room. But the new addition had crowded the second row by one, the overflow meaning that he would need to step back. 

Fourth row, finally, thanks to the shiny buyca. 

He was welcomed to the ranks of the teenaged giants with a rough elbow from Hast, the blunt jab to the ribs serving both as a kind of jovial congratulations for moving up in the world as well as a reminder that he was still the smallest of the giants. Before he could return the gesture with a thump or smack of his own though, the Instructor's booming voice silenced both of the boys’ grunts and laughter. 

“Hast! Djarin!” He flinched behind his visor and knew the broad shouldered hulk beside him did, too. Though he didn’t need to, both of them already aware of what they were in for, the Instructor pointed at the front of the room, indicating that they should join him there. “Looks like you’ve volunteered to be my demonstration assistants for today’s technique.” Dank farrik. 

As he and his friend reached the front of the hall, feeling the stares of the rest of the class and knowing that under their helmets they were all biting the insides of their cheeks to keep from laughing at the misfortune the two had found themselves in, he prepared himself for a rough three hours. They’d worked on a single combat series that started with a sweep from the standing position and progressed to the ground, working on maintaining control during a fight before ending in a leg attack that when applied at full force was developed to disable the knee joint completely. Both volunteers had taken fall after fall, their limbs manipulated over and over as the Instructor demonstrated and the students got their practice in. While they were only applying light pressure as they torqued and twisted and pulled on the two volunteers’ legs, the two were left sore and aching from the repetition of the series. 

If the reps and demonstrations weren’t enough, the half hour of sparring rounds afterwards certainly was. 

Despite the over-torqued joints, fatigued muscles and sore spots from tight grips and unexpectedly harsh contact with the ground, he held his own for the first four rounds grappling almost as he did at full capacity. Vizsla was twice his size and always got the best of him, though still no more than usual. Hast had it just as rough as he did that day, so neither of them completed a submission during their round. He managed to sweep and submit Gralin, which was actually an improvement on their last match up, and he and Kevaz had each pulled off a submission within the allotted time of the round. Trying to control his breathing in the quick respite allowed between friendly simulated warfare, he hoped that there was still some herbal salve left in the jar back in his quarters. I’m going to need it.

His final round turned out to be the one that did him in. And it was against her- the buyca. 

He, like all Mandalorians, knew that it didn’t matter if a warrior was male or female, large or small. It didn’t matter if they were quick or strong. What mattered was how well they could use the attributes and skills that they did have to defeat their opponent. He, like all Mandalorians, knew that underestimating your enemy before the fight begins is the first step in losing that fight. That’s not what he did with her, though the outcome was still the same. 

The last thing he noticed as he squared off facing the newcomer, was the fact that even though she had also just finished three hours of drills and four rounds prior to that one, her helmet was still completely undented. It wasn’t even smudged. Has she even hit the ground? Mere seconds into the round he was on his back and he didn’t know how he’d gotten there, but she hadn’t let up, taking full advantage of his disorientation and finishing a very basic but extremely efficient shoulder attack. The rest of the round had been more of the same, though he was able to at least fend off any more completed submissions. By the time the Instructor called for the end of the day’s training, he was spent. But she seemed only mildly inconvenienced from the hours of physical exertion they had all just endured. 

He decided right away that he had to learn what she knew. 

Able to walk with far more ease than he could at the moment though, she was out of the sparring hall and heading towards the system of tunnels leading to the living quarters. Sighing, he waved off Hast and Vizsla’s attempts to get his attention, and gritting his teeth, hobbled as quickly as he could after her. “Hey,” he huffed, raising one hand in her direction even though she was facing the other way.

She slowed her pace to allow him to gain some ground, though she didn’t turn or stop. “Hey,” she responded almost questioningly, tone a mixture of uncertainty and amusement.

“I… you fight well.” He clenched his eyes shut and dropped his chin. You fight well? Di'kut.

That did make her stop, but only until he was immediately to her left, starting up again once he had a fair chance at keeping stride with her. Releasing a breath that sounded like a laugh, she nodded. “I know I do, but thanks.” 

“I meant… your technique. It’s-” He tried to recall how she’d upended him so quickly, where she’d made her grips, the placement of her weight, but it was a blur. He shook his head. “I’ve never seen it. Not even in class.” So how do you know it? That was what he wanted to ask. How does a foundling know how to fight like that?

As though in answer to his unasked questions, she turned her head to face him. “We learned differently on Concordia.” 

He blinked, the mention of Mandalore’s moon stopping him in his tracks. What? Of course it made sense now that she wasn’t new to Mandalorian culture. On the contrary, she’d been more heavily steeped in it than any of them. But I thought… Oh. It clicked then, that the buyca wasn’t that at all, not if she was raised on Concordia. 

“When things… when we had to leave, my family came here.” She gestured at the walls of the tunnel they were walking through. “Dantooine is the only Mandalorian covert they knew of, so we joined our brothers and sisters here.” Turning back in the direction that they were walking, she nodded. “This is the Way.” 

There was pain and heaviness in those words as she spoke them, but he knew that was true no matter who they came from. “This is the Way,” he responded. 

She cleared her throat. “Right. So now that you know I’m no foundling, you don’t have to feel so bad for what happened back there.” She jabbed a thumb backwards towards the sparring hall. 

He tried to shake his head but a sudden pinching sensation shot down his neck in protest so he aborted the motion. “No, that’s not what I-” 

“No?” She stopped near the split of the tunnel where one branch led to the mess hall and the healing wing and the other to the collection of carved out spaces each occupied by Mandalorian families. He stopped as well, thankful for the chance to rest. She crossed her arms over her chest and stuck one hip out. “Then what did you chase me down for exactly?”

“I told you.” He was slightly confused by her question. “The technique that you used against me. I’ve never seen it before.” 

She regarded him silently for a beat. “No, you haven’t.�� She began walking again. “That was pretty clear from how quickly I had you down.” The smirk, or what he imagined might be one, was back in her voice. 

He followed, trying and failing to hide the slight limp the day’s training had left him with. “Well can you-“ He stopped short to avoid crashing into her as she spun around again , the unexpected shift in his weight causing him to wince behind his visor. 

Hands on her hips, she tilted her head, the dim light from one of the torches hitting the still undented, unmarred surface of her helmet at an angle that threw light around the dark hall. “Can I what?” 

“Can you teach it to me?” 

A small snort of laughter came from her, shoulders bouncing as she shook her head. “Didn’t you take enough of a beating for one day?” 

He shrugged. “The Instructor says we don’t learn if we don’t lose. This is the Way.” 

Mandalorians were taught not to fear or resent loss. Not in life and not on the battlefield. Though victory was the goal of every Mando’ade who engaged in combat, in sparring, losing was viewed as an equally valued outcome. Every loss came with the opportunity to learn. To adapt. Each opponent is a teacher and the true winner is the one who leaves the training hall with more knowledge and sharper skills than those they came in with. He was only trying to adhere to what he’d been taught, only trying to become the best warrior that he could be. 

She nodded slowly, the motion giving over to a head shake instead as she let out a burst of air. “This is the Way.” She agreed, taking a step towards him. “But,” she placed her hand on his shoulder and he was glad she couldn’t see the slight wince the light contact forced across his face. “No.” 

He cocked his head to the side, taken aback, the jerky motion sending a sharp pang of soreness through his neck and down his left flank. Damn that- but he ignored the twinge and focused on her refusal.  “Why not?” 

He knew that she was new to their covert, but the unspoken rule in the training hall was that all trainees had something to teach each other. It had to have been like that on Concordia, too.  It was more than a rule, it was a responsibility, a duty to ensure that every member of the fighting corps was as well prepared as they could be. It was important to learn not only to trust but to depend on each other in battle, in the field. They were training to join the ranks of the elite within the corps, which meant that being anything shy of lethal would be considered unprepared. I know she’s new but she-

“Because,” she laughed, the lilting sound making him snap his attention to her hidden face. “It’s Djarin, right?” He confirmed with a nod. “Well, Djarin, I can’t teach it to you now, because you’re already in rough shape and I don’t want to explain to the Instructor next class why his best training dummy is all torn to shreds.” She was teasing, he could tell, her hand still on his shoulder as she gave it a light squeeze, and despite only having known her for a few hours during which she and the rest of the trainees had taken turns trying to rip him and Hast limb from limb under the Instructor’s tutelage, he thought she might be smiling. “But,” she went on. “I’ll give you a few days to heal up and then,” she nodded and dropped her hand from his body. “Then I’ll teach it to you.” 

--  --  --  --  --  

A few days later, the two of them agreed to meet in the sparring hall on a rare day off from drills, the sound of his body hitting the ground echoing in the nearly empty space each time she swept him. His grunts, every time she planted her foot on his hip filled the room, the clatter of his helmet scraping against the stone beneath him as she dragged him down and extended the leg she had planted to flip him over her head, the sound of their gloved palms smacking together as she offered him a hand back to his feet after a particularly harsh sweep. But each time she sent him off his balance, he picked up another detail of the technique, piecing them all together to understand the motion. 

He could feel the bruises forming each time he hit the ground, and he knew that later that night when he got undressed to wash up, just like the day he’d met her, his hip and the side of his thigh would be covered in purple-blue splotches. Planting his hand firmly behind him, he let out a breath and pushed himself back to his feet. “One more.” His eyebrows came together in concentration beneath his helmet. “I think I have it now.” 

She tilted her head, arms crossed over her chest. “You don’t quit, I’ll give you that.” 

“No,” he shook his head. “No, I don’t.” 

On the next try, he got the jump on her, accurately making his grips and bracing the sole of his boot in the crease of her hip. Dropping his weight in a sacrifice style throw, he extended his leg like she’d shown him, finally getting the timing right to send her flipping over his head and onto her back. Following her momentum and keeping his grips, he rolled backwards over his shoulder to come up in a mounted controlled position. That was it. I- She coughed out a wheeze, the air clearly knocked from her lungs. Oh, dank farrik I- 

But before he could concern himself with whether or not he’d inadvertently hurt her, she grabbed his ankle, trapped one of his arms and with a bump of her hips, rolled them both over to reverse the position so she had the upper hand once more. “Nice work, Djarin.” She released his arm and ankle and stood. “But don’t forget to maintain control once you have it.” 

She was right. He knew that. The Instructor had been drilling it into his and all of their heads since they were eight years old. If he caught me losing control that fast he’d make me regret it. He sighed. “Right.” 

“That was,” he looked up at her as he got to his feet. “That was really good, though. Do it again.” 

--  --  --  --  -- 

By the end of the month he was hitting the move against Kevaz and Gralin during live rounds. He’d also learned the buyca’s clan name was Zurn, and that she was an excellent training partner for him. In two on two drills, they teamed up against Hast and Vizsla, their individual attributes complementing each other’s well. Their extra time spent drilling together had allowed them to develop good non-verbal communication skills, and they learned to read each other well. 

By the end of the year even the Instructor had noticed, and he recommended that the pair complete their final stage of the elite training program together. It was customary for recruits to team up for the last tests of their abilities as the missions that would determine whether or not Mandalorians were worthy and capable of the duties that they would be expected to perform. Protecting the Tribe. Striking first against known enemies. Reconnaissance. Responding immediately to threats. They were responsibilities that the man who raised him had taken upon his shoulders- a deeper level of the Creed that was sworn by all Mandalorians. This is the Way.  

His buir had given his life in that line of duty only a few years prior, when the young Mandalorian was thirteen and had just finished his mandatory training. He had mourned in the moment, as was appropriate, but he, like all in his Tribe knew that his father was not gone. He had joined the Manda and would always be a part of the collective soul that each Mando’ade shared. His choice to follow those footsteps was a choice he made to honor the man. Had he not been a member of the elite fighting corp, he would not have been there to rescue the scared boy in the bunker, and that scared boy in the bunker might not have made it out. 

That boy was no longer a boy nor was he scared. He and Zurn accepted the recommendation, and one year and two months to the day that they had first met, the two of them were sent out on their first overnight mission: staking out a rebel base on the planet that had been attracting a lot of traffic to Dantooine. The covert’s main goal was staying safe, secret and hidden from the Empire. But the increase of rebel activity wouldn’t go unnoticed for long, and the Tribe needed a clearer picture as to what they were facing, and if they needed to consider relocating the covert. He’d heard whispers that Nevarro, another planet in the Outer Rim, was the selected backup, but he, like everyone who heard those rumors, hoped that that’s all they would stay.  

They were camped out behind a large outcropping of rock, completely concealed from view of the base in the dark of the night. They had spent the day charting a lay of the area and choosing a position that would keep them hidden until the morning, when they could hopefully get an idea of the goings on at the rebel encampment. He leaned against the cool rock, chin tilted upwards. The fire had burned down to just the embers, still providing enough warmth to get them to sunrise, but dim enough now to see the night sky and everything in it with no interference from the flames. Once he finished his training and had a real helmet, he would be able to change the filter on the visor to block out any amount of light he wanted. But for now he had to wait. 

And he had been waiting. The last time I saw the sky at night I was- 

He froze, a sudden weight falling into his right hand where it lay open on the dry ground. That’s… His eyes widened as he registered what it was, her fingers curling into his palm. She isn’t...

He was still wearing his gloves, but she had taken hers off to warm her hands by the fire. She hadn’t put them back on. He could feel the difference even through the worn leather, and it caught him completely off guard.

 “Six,” he blurted, immediately cursing himself the second the syllable was out. 

But instead of laughing or teasing him, the way she always had in sparring, he felt her grip tighten as she moved closer. “Six what?” 

I… what do I say? Should I- He tilted his head down, watching his fingers close around hers as though they were acting of their own volition. Dank farrik, why did I just- 

“Djarin?” He snapped his attention back up to see that she had turned, resting the side of her helmet against the boulder so she could look at him as she spoke. “You said six.” He sighed and nodded. I did. “Six what?” 

He wasn’t sure if anyone aside from his buir knew this fact about him, the man gone and this fact with him. Why would anyone care? It doesn’t matter. But instead of ignoring the non contextual number slipping out, she had asked him what it meant. Which meant that it mattered to her. He realized in that moment that there was no one else he felt comfortable enough around to let his guard down and enjoy the stars or think about how long it’s been since he’d seen them. It was only because he trusted her that he had allowed his mind to wander into memories, that he was relaxed enough to even make the slip and say something he hadn’t meant to. He realized that he actually wanted to tell her. It shouldn’t matter but it… it does. 

His right hand was still occupied with hers, so he pointed with his left at the endless, swirling silver pricks of light poking through the thick velvety blue black sky. “Ca'tra.” She followed his direction and trained her gaze upwards. “I haven’t seen the stars since I was six.” 

Dropping his arm back into his lap, he felt her thumb swipe across the top of his glove. She was still touching only fabric, her thumbnail snagging on a loose stitch near the opening. But she was so close to making skin to skin contact that if he so much as sneezed she would leave her thumbprint on his pulse point. If that happened she’d feel it racing. 

“Me’ven?” She whispered her disbelief, swiveling her head over to look at him. Yes, really.

None of the children ever left the covert at night. It was dangerous, they were told, because outside the halls of their underground home, there were people who would capture them, hunt them simply for being what they are- Mandalorians. That was one of the many reasons that their education revolved so heavily around weapons and combat; so they would be ready to defend themselves and others when, not if, they needed to. She and her family had come to the covert later on in her training, and things had been different where she was from, so she had no real frame of reference for what it was like to give up the stars, grow up without them. For the ones born here, they don’t… they don’t even know what they’re missing. 

He took a breath, readying himself to explain. Before he could, the fire cracked as the flames found a pocket of moisture or an unlucky beetle in the wood, spitting a few red hot embers towards the pair of trainees. Without thinking, he pulled her out of the way and nearly on top of himself, one of her legs falling between his knees. He heard her surprised gasp as she caught herself, reaching for his shoulder to prevent their foreheads from colliding. His left arm curved  awkwardly around her shoulders as he moved them both further from the fire and out of range of any more stray embers.

As he shifted, her fingers did too, sliding from his shoulder to his neck- to the narrow sliver of his throat that was visible between his collar and his helmet. To the place where his blood ran quick and hot beneath his skin at how close they were. He swallowed, knowing she would feel the movement of his muscles beneath her touch, unable to help the way he had reacted. 

He still had her hand in his, was still holding her closer than he’d ever held anyone. Say something. “Sorry, I… the fire was-“

“Djarin?” She hadn’t taken her hand away, her fingers curling around to the back of his neck. 

“Y-Yeah?” He cursed himself for the waver in his voice. Another reason to look forward to the helmet he’d receive upon the completion of his training was the modulator in the speaker component. It served multiple purposes. To further disguise a Mandalorian’s identity by modifying their voice, yes, but also to cover any vocal slips of emotion or signs of weakness. Though if he was being honest with himself he wasn’t even sure if the device would be enough to hide the effect she was having on him. 

It didn’t matter though. Nothing did as she slipped her fingers into the wavy curls that stuck out from beneath his helmet at the base of his skull and he thought that every last star in the galaxy could burst, the entire sky exploding at once, and it wouldn’t take his attention from that feeling. 

She… she’s… His mind was working as hard to form a thought as his lungs were to keep his breathing even. Both were failing. 

“I’m glad you got to see the sky tonight.” She made no move to get off of him, and he tried to stay as still as the stone they’d been leaning against, unwilling to allow his own anxious movement to be the thing that chased her away yet unsure of what to do next. 

He gave a small nod, keeping space between them so he wouldn’t knock her helmet with his own. “Yeah,” he let out a careful breath, trying not to let it shake as her light touch continued to ignite his skin. “Me too.” 

Her fingers spread wide against the back of his neck, pinky dipping daringly under his collar, and suddenly he felt himself tighten the arm he had around her, his hand curving over her shoulder. This… if she doesn’t want this she’ll- He focused on the horizontal slit of her visor, his heart beating behind his eyes as he found himself wondering what color hers were, and what they would look like if he could see her now, what she’d look like, wanting this. 

Wanting me.

She tilted her head down, a tiny motion that he might not have even noticed if not for the way the firelight flickered in the reflection of her helmet. “And I’m,” she paused and he felt her shoulders and back expanded under his arm as she took a breath. “I’m glad I got to see it with you, Djarin.”

“Din.” Like the number six, his name leapt from his tongue before he could pull it back, and its release into the world left him feeling almost dizzy. That’s- I just...I shouldn’t have- He felt her freeze and stiffen, heard her shocked gasp, and knew he’d made a mistake. I shouldn’t have told her. She doesn’t...we’re- we aren’t- 

“You...did you just-” She brought the hand that was still twined with his up between their bodies, resting them both against his chestplate. Something in the weight of them and the way they looked covering the carved ironheart symbol in the center, made him wonder if maybe it wasn’t a mistake. She’s still… she hasn’t moved. She didn’t get up or… The fingers of her other hand curled around the back of his neck, gripping him more tightly. “Djarin, is that your-” 

“Yes.” He watched their hands rise on his chest as he took a deep breath, then glanced up at the place where he wished he could meet her eyes, finding only the smoky lens of her training visor. “My name.” Wished he had followed her lead and shed his gloves too, he ran his thumb along hers, pressing down. “It’s-” 

“Din.” She whispered it back to him. Though the times he had heard his given name since swearing the Creed had been few, he knew that it had never sounded like that. Before he could fully appreciate the charged, electrified way that it made him feel, she was sending another jolt through his chest as she spoke again, lowering her forehead even closer to his. “Aashi.”  

That’s her...She told me her n- He moved the hand he had on her shoulder to her back, flattening his palm over her spine as the charge ran through his bloodstream. Gulping down another breath, all attempts at keeping his reaction from her discarded, he pressed her closer. “Aashi.”   

Until that moment he’d only known her by her house name, Zurn, and the clan signet that she’d painted on the dented steel plate that covered her left thigh. Two daggers. He never thought that the symbol fit her. It was perfect for her Buir, the woman more than proficient with blades. But she- Aashi, his heart flipped in place just thinking it- was just as skilled and dangerous without knives or vibroblades, maybe even more so without them. He’d known that from the very first day he’d met her, when he first referred to her only as buyca. And now I know her. 

She closed the remaining space to let the curve of her helmet meet his with a soft but audible, tangible clink. “Kar'taylir, Din Djarin.” 

He sighed out her name again as her fingers slid higher up beneath his helmet in his hair. And to think I was impressed with the stars. 

That night, for the first time since coming to live among the Mandalorians, Din Djarin felt the press of lips to his bare skin as she sat behind him and lifted her own helmet just enough to kiss the back of his neck. 

Kar’taylir, Aashi Zurn.  

--  --  --  --  -- 

He noticed right away. 

As he looked back over his shoulder, the tilt of her helmet was off. She was moving too slowly. A sudden chill gripped his chest making it hard to take a breath as he shoved his way back through the fray to get to her. No! Cyare! Another blast hit the wall of a nearby home that came crumbling down, and he knew that at her current pace she wouldn’t get out of the way in time. Launching himself at her, he caught her in his arms and rolled them both safely out of line of the debris, shielding her battered body with his own. He was extremely grateful that they had both just received their beskar helmets, knowing that the metal placeholders they trained in would do nothing to protect them in this situation. 

But as he dragged her into an alley to safely assess her injuries, he saw that having the beskar wouldn’t matter. Not for her, not this time. No… No, Aashi… His hands shook as he placed them over the growing red bloom at her shoulder. 

Aashi’s helmet, one pauldron and both thigh plates were pure Mandalorian beskar. The rest was just durasteel. Since the Great Purge beskar had been extremely hard to come by. The Armorer had to be discerning in her distribution of new pieces, oftentimes awarding warriors with beskar for achievements or special services for the Tribe. It was how he had also come to possess select pieces made of the precious material. Her wound though, was on the shoulder not encased in impenetrable armor. And he knew what that meant. She did, too. 

Another year had passed since the night by the fire- a year that had kept them and the rest of their squadron busy in protecting their covert from the encroachment of Imperial violence. A year that had been spent deepening their bond not only as warriors but as partners. A year that made him certain that he was bound to her in all but ceremony. 

“You h-have to go, Din.” Her voice was hoarse and thin, the modulator in her helmet doing little to hide the obvious agony she was in. He felt her weak grasp on his wrist as she tried to pull his attention from her bloodied shoulder to her face. “Din…” Hearing her speak his name in that tone broke him, and he dropped his head, letting her take his hand, letting her bleed slowly into oblivion. 

“I won’t leave you.” He could hear how stubborn he sounded and he hated it. Hated that he couldn’t detach like he’d been trained to, hated that he would have to leave her, hated that he hadn’t been there to take the hit that she’d taken. 

Using what little strength she still had, she brought her hand up behind his neck, fingers sliding slowly into his sweat slicked hair. He let out a shaky breath and realized his eyes were damp. “You could n-never leave me, cyare. You are a p-part of me, always.” She bent her fingers gently to nudge his helmet down to meet hers, and he placed both of his hands on the sides of her head. “B-but you have to...to warn the others. You n-need to… the covert. They need to…” 

“Shh,” he silenced her, moving one hand down to mirror her touch, placing it on the back of her neck. “I know. I… I will.” He knew that she was right. He had to get back to the covert to help as many of the Tribe escape off planet to Nevarro as possible. He hadn’t gone through additional training, sworn additional oaths just to forsake it all to die in this ally with her and let the rest of the Tribe suffer the same fate. “I will.” 

“Kar’taylir, Din Djarin…” She managed once more to tell him what he’d felt for so long, and then he felt her go limp, felt his heart stop, felt the world dim. 

She was gone. 

No. He shook his head, banishing the heartache that threatened to claim him. No. Not gone. She could never be gone. Like she told him, he was a part of her. And she was a part of him. She would be, always.

Leaving her there was the hardest trial he’d ever undergone, but there was nothing more he could do for her, and he refused to let her death be for nothing. He pushed himself back up and ran back to the covert, alerting who he could and helping as many to safety as possible.

It wasn’t until night fell three days later on Dantooine that he allowed himself to finally feel the cuts, the breaks in his heart. He had stayed behind with the rest of the elite squadron until all of the Tribe’s members were accounted for, either fallen or fled to Nevarro. Only he, Hast, Vizsla and a handful of others remained on the planet, and would be leaving in the morning never to return. 

He’d spent that day solemnly traveling to the place of their first mission together, to the outcropping of rock where they’d hidden from the rebels and bared their souls to one another. When he arrived there, he felt her, as though some part of her presence had stayed there that night. He thought a part of himself must have, too. Silently, he knelt down and took the blade from its sheath on his boot. Kaysh meg miit'gaana, oyacyi. The act of writing, even something that was unlikely to be read, even something that only he knew existed, was an act of commitment. Though Mandalorians were not known for making monuments to the dead, remembrance was of personal importance to all who swore the Creed. Placing his other hand on the cool stone, he brought the sharp edge to the rock face and began carving into it. One symbol, then the next, etching the lines until all five were legible. He didn’t know how long it took, but when it was done he knew how long it would last. 

“Kar’taylir, Aashi Zurn. Darasuum.” 

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Thank you for reading! Please feel free to let me know if you would like to be added to or removed from the tags! :)

tags: @something-tofightfor @alraedesigns @pheedraws @valkblue @malionnes @gollyderek @fific7 @becs-bunker @commanderlola @greatcircle79 @cannedsoupsucks

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

NSFW Alphabet: Crosshair

A/N: Not officially a request, but I thought I’d better cover the whole Bad Batch while I’m at it. And as a reminder, remember to REBLOG AND COMMENT IF YOU LIKE THIS!!! The tumblr tags are fickle at best and it’s the only real way to support creators on this hellsite.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He’s always stuck between wanting to keep your body against him, but at the same time not wanting to come across as needy. He’ll probably start kissing your shoulders and neck, before nipping at the skin and telling you to go take a shower. Once you do, he’ll try to play it cool like, “you can stick around if you want, not that I care either way”. But, he does. He does care.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He likes your waist. Odd, but true. It’s the natural place to put his hands when he pulls you close to him. He likes the way you shiver when he runs his fingers along your skin. Not to mention it’s the perfect place to grip you as his fucks you senseless.

For himself, he likes his legs. Yeah, they’re not as thick or muscular compared to regs, but they’re distinctly his. Plus even if he’s not any taller, it helps with the illusion that he is.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

His favorite place to cum is all over your chest and stomach. Seeing you a sweating, blissed out mess with his cum sticking to your skin is the single hottest image his mind can come up with. Second only to you hazily swiping his cum onto you finger and sucking with a moan.

You better be prepared if you do that because you won’t be able to walk the next day.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He has an impressive collection of dirty holos you’ve sent to him while away on missions.  He’s kept every single one.  It’s gotten to the point where he just picks a random holo and that’s the fantasy he indulges in to get himself off until he can see you again.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Like the rest of the batch, he’s had a pretty healthy string of one night stands since leaving Kamino. He actually has the most notches on his bed post which he is not ashamed to bring up whenever Wrecker is getting just a little too cocky. So, he’s pretty experienced all things considered.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Taking you from behind and against a wall. That’s the popular image of him in the fandom and I’m ain’t here to dispute it.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Not funny, but he’s definitely a smug asshole who can’t help but comment on every sound you make.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He keeps it pretty well groomed down there, almost complete shaven.  Also, dark hair down below, if you’re curious. 

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

It’s very rare for Crosshair to be emotional in bed.  He uses sex more as a way to get rid of tension or get a solid hit of dopamine.  Actually being open with someone is not something he’s comfortable with.

The most intimate he gets is when he feels he might lose you, either in the field or to another man.  Then, he uses it as a way to assure himself you’re with him and his. In that case, it can get pretty intense.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He jacks off often, before and after meeting you.  He’s got a higher sex drive than his brothers and needs someway to work off the tension after a mission.  He prefers doing it in the shower when he has the time, but he’ll honestly whip it out anyplace where he can get some privacy for fifteen minutes.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Let it be recorded that Crosshair is not only a Dom, but the only true Dom in entire Grand Army of the Republic. (With the exception of Commander Wolffe.)

Seriously, the man likes nothing more than pinning you down and using your body as his personally fuck toy.  His ultimate fantasy is keeping you tied up in various positions, your body spread open and willing for him to use whenever the mood strikes him.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere with a relatively flat surface. I cannot emphasize how much he does not care where he does it: bedroom, shower, locker room, bar bathroom, sparring room, between a couple of boulders out of view of the rest of the Bad Batch. He does not care.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

His ego...let me explain.

There are two ways to really get him going, but they both come down to how they effect his ego.

Number one, praise.  If you compliment him on a shot, confirm that he did, in fact, beat Wrecker at something, or rasp a dirty promise in his ear that he’s the only man who has ever made you cum that hard; that’ll get him going more than anything.

Number two, jealously.  If he sees another man actively flirting with you, he’ll all but sling you over his shoulder and carry you to the closest abandoned alley he can find to fuck you senseless.  He doesn’t care if you were interested in the guy flirting with you or not, you’re his and he needs to remind himself and you of that.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Humiliation for him is a no go. There’s the more obvious stuff, like the idea of you putting him on a leash or something equally degrading just gets him frustrated, and not in a sexy way.  But, more specifically verbal humiliation. He genuinely gets upset if you’re the one to say he’s not good enough for you in some capacity or compare him negatively to somebody else. That’ll kill the mood in seconds.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Much prefers receiving to giving.  Seeing you on your knees with his cock in your mouth his heaven.  And being able to cum all over your face and chest when he’s done? He’s in heaven.

That being said, he’s not bad at giving, he just ends up mostly using his fingers while he runs his mouth.  He can’t help it.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Fast and rough, like all the time.  He basically has no other mode.  Now, whether it’s more intense with pent up emotions or a fun stress reliever depends on his mood.  Either way, if you’re not a sweating, panting mess by the end of it he feels like he’s failed in some way.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Yes.  He’s going to say yes to quickies.  Where ever and whenever is good for him.  But, don’t think it’s really over when it’s over.  He only considers it a preview of what he’s going to do to you once you actually get some time and a little more privacy.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He’s certainly willing to try different positions and kinks, but he’s not big on getting more toys in the mix.  He’s more than happy to tie you up and spank you, but he’s not so keen on adding a paddle or something like that, if that makes any kind of sense.  It’s about his body and what he can do to you.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Just as good as every other clone, with a fantastic recovery time. A solid average of three rounds per night lasting as long as either of you can stand it.

That all being said, he’s in constant competition with himself on how long he can last and for how many rounds.

Current record for time is two hours before he came once with you cumming a total of five times. Current round total is him cumming five times in one night while you lost count of yours.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Surprisingly not his thing. He’s got some cuffs he uses on occasion with you, but not much else. Like I said, he’s in competition with himself, not him and a toy.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He doesn’t tease often, but when he does, he’s an asshole.  He’ll keep you pinned down, lazily rubbing the tip of his cock against your opening, never fully going in until you’re squirming and begging him to just fuck you already.  Sometimes he will and sometimes, he’ll leave you hanging there.  It all depends on his mood.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Not especially. In the beginning he keeps it almost conversational, as he talks dirty into your ear. But, it all changes when he comes to the end. It’s like whatever control he had over his vocal cords gets shut off. He curses a lot combined with grunts and borederline feral growls as he rams his cock harder and deeper into you.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Crosshair has a real jealously streak, especially when it comes to regs. 

While he’s confident in his abilities, he’s aware more than Wrecker or even Tech that they’re basically a bunch of freaks the Republic likes to keep under wraps.  A funny little lab experiment.  While regs were made just as much as he was, they actually have a chance at being...well, normal after all is said and done.  He’s not sure he’ll ever be normal.  So, the fear of you realizing you’re dating an actual freak of nature weighs on him constantly.

He needs to remind himself that you’re with him, that you chose him and you’re not going to walk away.  It drives him crazy that you make him feel that way, but it’s the truth.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Just as long as his clone brothers (a solid 8-inches), but not as thick.  Not that he need that extra edge.  His talent is precision after all.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

I’d say he has the highest of the batch, actually getting agitated if he hasn’t had a good fuck in more than a few days.  His hand can only do so much for him before he gets down right hostile.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

I’d say it takes him a solid half-hour to finally fall asleep after sex. He’d never tell you, but he likes the feeling of you asleep in his arms. He’ll savor it for as long as he can.

[carryon117]

Chapter Fifty-Three:

With every dagger that Loki’s illusions throw, I use the air around me to reroute them back to him. Each return is accompanied by a dagger of ice. It took me a long time to get used to the idea, but I don’t hold anything back while sparring with him. He always insists that I don’t pull punches since enemies in the field won’t either.

As Loki’s illusions try to keep me occupied, the real Loki tries to find a place to sneak in. Keeping my senses up I can feel him circle, just outside the ring of his doubles. I can feel every footfall in the ground, vibrating through my form, each movement creating a disturbance in the air. I feel him make his move towards me long before I even see it. Swiftly, I turn on my heel and face him, throwing a bright wall of fire in between us.

The bright flames momentarily distract him. Long enough for me to side step, and come up behind him. I summon a dagger of ice and hold it to his throat.

“Surprise.” I grin, mischief clear on my face.

Loki freezes and his doubles melt away in green light. “Fantastic, darling. You have finally bested me.”

Thor runs from the sidelines and picks me up in a huge bear hug. “You have defeated my brother in combat, little one. You are a small mighty warrior!” His yells echo through the gym, bouncing off equipment scattered around.

“Easy you oaf. She is still mortal.”

“Sorry, little one. I was excited.” He gently sets me down, my legs a bit shaky as they connect with the mat.

I brush myself off, fixing the collar of the suit. “It’s alright Thor. You just got excited.”

“Still I apologize, little one.”

“No need. Now I’ve bested one of the Asgardian Princes.” I roll my shoulders and crack my neck, psyching myself up for another round of sparring. “How about I try my hand at the other one?”

Thor gives me a blinding smile, “It would be my honor to battle with you, little one.”

Where Loki focuses on strategy, Thor focuses on strength. He swings Mjolnir in my direction but her presence is sound within my mind.

Do you mind just not hitting me? I ask her.

She doesn’t respond but it’s soon very clear that Thor will get nowhere when attacking with Mjolnir. I give him a smug grin.

“Remember, you aren’t the only one who is worthy here.”

Thor returns my smile, “But, I do not need her to do battle with you, little one.” He sets down Mjolnir and dashes at me with surprising speed for someone his size.

I quickly side step, going to aim a gust of wind to knock him off balance. Being top heavy, Thor goes crashing to the floor, but is quick to jump back to his feet. A fist is swung towards my face and I am barely able to dodge it. His knuckles barely graze the side of my head but it is still enough force to knock me backwards, my brain vibrating in my skull.

Sitting on the floor, I try to catch my breath as the room spins in my vision.

“You oaf!” I can hear Loki yell at Thor.

I can feel them both approach me, on either side. Each grasping my shoulder, hurried whispers passing through their lips. I slightly tilt my head, my brain unable to figure out what they are saying. I’m pretty sure what they are saying is English but I can’t be sure. Their whispers grow in volume, and I can see their worried faces swim before me.

The room shifts in angle and I realize that Loki is picking me up and walking out of the gym with Thor close on our heels.

With each quick step that Loki takes, I can feel my brain jostle inside my head. It takes what feels like hours but can only be moments before we burst through the doors of the medical bay. Bruce is waiting there. I’m guessing they told JARVIS to have him meet us here.

Loki gently sets me down on the exam table before Bruce approaches. Again I can hear him talking but I can’t make sense of the words. I shake my head to indicate that I don’t know what’s going on and almost fall over.

Both Bruce and Loki are quick to steady me. After he deems me steady enough, Bruce turns and has a discussion with the two worried princes. I can only guess they are telling Bruce what happened.

Thor looks sheepish and keeps rubbing the back of his neck nervously, while Loki keeps casting worried glances my way. Bruce takes in what they say before he approaches me. Carefully, Bruce begins the exam.

He goes to check my lungs first, holding the stethoscope to my chest. He holds it in place for a moment before letting his arms fall. He tilts his head and speaks to the ceiling before turning to Loki.

Darling, can you hear me? His voice cuts through the fog.

Yes, what’s going on?

Banner believes you to have a concussion but won’t be sure without an exam. Unfortunately your suit is prohibiting that currently.

Okay, well unzip it.

Before he replies he ushers himself and Thor out of the exam room.

I have told Banner of your permission. However I thought it best for the two of us to not be present while you are indecent.

Thank you, Loki.

Of course, darling.

Once the door shuts behind them, Bruce slowly walks behind me. He finds the hidden zipper and slowly unzips it, giving me time to stop him if I feel uncomfortable. He continues slowly before he stops about mid-way down my back and again presses the stethoscope to me, this time directly on my skin. The cool metal feels like a refreshing sip of water, furthering the mission to clear away the fog from my mind.

He moves around to my field of vision and peels the collar of my suit away from my skin. Once he has pulled it just past my collarbones, he stops and instead reaches the metal instrument down and under the fabric of the suit. For a beat he listens to my lungs or heart, I’m not sure.

But the fog in my mind is finally lifted by the door of the exam room slamming open. Tony rushes into the room, giving me a once over to see if I’m in one piece before he opens his mouth.

“You must be fine kid if you are letting Jolly Green here feel you up.”

Luckily Bruce only has red coloring his cheeks instead of green.

“Knock it off, Tony. He’s making sure I’m okay.” I groan.

At the sound of my voice, Bruce perks up. “You can hear us now?”

“It’s not that I couldn’t hear you, exactly. Moreover, I couldn’t understand you.”

Bruce nods, setting down the stethoscope before picking up the next tool.

“Good to know the suit works, but you may need a helmet.”

“Har har.”

“Okay, Y/N. I need you to keep your head still, but have your eyes follow the light.”

He picks up the tool and shines the light into my eyes. The onslaught of brightness makes me flinch and blink away the stars and spots that dance in my vision.

“Sorry.” Bruce murmurs

I respond with a pained hum but let him finish his exam. Tony watches, occasionally making remarks or quips to which we ignore.

Finally Bruce takes a step back, “You have a concussion. You should be fine after a few days but maybe even a week of bedrest, then you should be good as new.”

“Wonderful.” My tone is clearly sarcastic.

I want to train with everyone and I -no- we need to get ready for what is coming.

Tony’s voice drags me from my thoughts, “So no more training with gods for a while, huh Elsa?”

I glare at him and he simply laughs me off.

“Don’t worry, everything will be fine.” Bruce assures me and I really hope that he is right.

[anjuschiffer]

Amira Wayne [Unclassified]

So I’m creating a series dedicated to unused chapters/scenes from Amira Wayne... Since these aren’t part of the actual fic, I will not be using the same tags from the fic themselves. If you wanna be tagged, just comment on the pieces themselves or send an ask :D

-

This was originally going to be the official Day 6 fic, but then I ended up changing the plot too much to be able to use it...

If I had followed my OG plot, then by this chapter, Bruce, Dick and Amira would still be in good terms, healthily healing from Jason's death.

Also, Tim would've be adopted by Bruce when Amira finds out that Tim has been severely neglected by his parents.

-

Tag: @theatreandcomicfreak @damianette-is-life @toodaloo-kangaroo @elijahcrevan

-

MASTERLIST | A03

-

Day 6 - Deleted Chapter

It was another boring day at the WatchTower, some of the heroes lounging around while those with proteges kept an eye on them. 

Wally was immersed into the new game Tim had brought in the other day, only for his ears to catch the sound of the zeta tube opening.

While his first thoughts were to ignore it, the voice of the person to whom had just come changed his mind.

“Hello everyone! Sorry for our delay! Batman has a few things to work out before coming here, so I hope these pastries make up for it.” 

“And you are?” Wonder Woman asked, wondering who this child was. 

“Diana. Barry. Arthur. Meet Ladybug, Batman’s war-“ Superman started, only to get cut off. 

“Bug!” Wally squealed with a grin on his face, running up to hug his favorite person in the world as soon as she finished handing the box over to Superman.

Sure, the two have only met a few times, but can you blame Wally? She made the best cookies in the world! And not only that, she was able to get on Batman’s good side! Batman even let her drive the Batmobile!

Ladybug erupted into a fiery pink blush, earning chuckles and giggles from some of the adults in the room. 

She quickly averted her eyes when she saw Bart and Uncle Kent smile at her, Diana giving her a knowing face. Arthur simply looked at her with confusion, Ladybug hoping he wouldn’t figure out why she seemed so familiar with him. 

“S-See too nice to you! I mean! Nice to-to see you too!” Ladybug stammered, hoping he wasn’t able to hear her heart. 

Who was she kidding? Of course he was probably able to hear her hearty happily thumping away. 

Wally finally let go of Ladybug, grinning at her. 

“You won’t believe who’s here!” Wally said with a smile, catching Amira’s attention. 

While this wasn’t Ladybug’s first time at the WatchTower, it certainly was her first time on her own and having to meet other League members. As far as Wally knew, Ladybug had only met Superman, Wonder Woman, Aquaman and Flash. And maybe Martian Manhunter...once. 

“Who?”

“Hal! You know? Green Lantern!” 

At those words, Ladybug gaped, a smile quickly overcoming it. 

“No way! This is probably the first time I’ll be able to properly meet him! Oh no!” Ladybug quickly brought her yo-yo to her face, checking for any flour left behind. “I want to make a good impression. Wally, do I look alright?” She asked as she put her yo-yo away. 

“Splendid as ever.” He replied with a grin, causing her to blush once more. 

“Careful there. Wouldn’t want Batman to hear those words towards his new ward.” Bart reminded Wally, taking a cookie from the box Ladybug had brought in for them. 

“Relax.” Wally assured, grabbing hold of Ladybug’s hand. “Now, let’s go and find Hal! He’ll be so excited to finally meet you!”

“I hope I make a good first impression.”

“He’s going to love you!” Wally said, giving her a toothy grin. “You’ll see.”

Wally and Ladybug ran through the doors, Flash and Wonder Woman following them, not wanting to miss the events that have yet to happen.

Arthur, meanwhile, fought with his thoughts, attempting to connect the dots in his mind. 

-

Bruce let out a sigh as he finally got to the WatchTower an hour and a half later, surprised to see Clark sitting near the Zeta Tube waiting area.

“Kent. What are you-”

“Waiting for you.” He quickly replied, handing Bruce a napkin, a bat shaped cookie on it. “Aside from Amira being a kind girl, she’s also quite the baker. Alfred must be happy to have a set of hands to help him around the kitchen.”

Clark had accidentally found out about Amira being Ladybug one foggy night while visiting Bruce. Clark was waiting for the man in his study when he caught her entering it via the window in full Ladybug costume. 

“Not only can she bake, but she also knows how to get the boys to listen to her with a single command.” Bruce said with a sigh, regretting letting Amira go ahead without him. Making sure that Dick wouldn’t go off solving cases without backup and for Tim to not wander into the BatCave by himself is what held him back. “So where is Amira?”

“Last I heard, she was busy arguing with Hal-”

“Jordan’s here?” Bruce asked, only then realising that two were heading towards the sparing room, hearing muffled shouts coming from the room.

“Knowing that Amira wanted to meet him, Wally offered to introduce her to him.” 

“And you let them?” Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose, fully knowing the headache that was awaiting. “Let’s just hope-”

Bruce wasn’t expecting to see what he saw when he entered the room.

There, in front of them, Ladybug finished slamming a robot against the floor as a timer went off, the crowd cheering for their victor.

“That was amazing!” Bruce heard Wally shout, looking over to Ladybug, a prominent blush on her face as she held her hand in the air. Bruce wanted to throw a glare the boy’s way, but chose not too.

She let her hand drop to her side, feeling as her entire body almost fell down with it. She let herself take in big breaths of air, fully knowing she badly needed it.

“That’s the fifth time in row that I’ve beaten you.” Ladybug said after catching her breath. Sparring with robots was nothing compared to fighting her brothers...brother. She straightened herself up, doing a few bends to the side to calm down her aching body. “If you still want to go another round to try and prove-”

“Ladybug.” Bruce’s voice boomed, making everyone quiet down and causing Ladybug to harshly flinch.

“B-Batman.” She said, slowly turning to face. “I know you said that I should wait for you to arrive so that you can properly introduce me as your ward, but-”

“She’s your ward?” Hal asked, glancing between Batman and Ladybug. “Should’ve known.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Bruce asked, narrowing his eyes. 

“Using underhanded methods to destroy-” 

“I didn’t use any underhanded methods!” Ladybug defended, holding back a blush when she heard ‘She fought fair and square!’ from Wally. “Batman taught me how to make the most of my surroundings and of my abilities! He’s the one who taught me to access my situations instead of charging in...unlike you.”

“Excuse me? Are you-”

“Instigating that you solely rely too much on your ring’s power? Yes.” Ladybug said, stepping out of the ring. “Makes you think you’re invincible.”

“Not like you’re any different.” Hal retorted, pointing at Ladybug’s earrings. “Your earrings are also magical. As for how I know, I scanned it earlier. I know what they are.” Hal said with a smirk when he saw Ladybug scowl. 

“My earrings-”

“-are just like my ring.” Hal completed, walking up to Ladybug. “You too rely too much on your magical earrings.”

“No, I don’t.” Ladybug sternly said, straightening up. “And to prove it. Let’s have a simple sparring match. One round, no time limit. And to make things fair, no magical item for me since you believe I rely too much on it.”

Everyone watched as Ladybug went over to Bruce, who simply looked at his ward with pride. 

Everyone watched as Ladybug called off her transformation, watching as she held her earrings in her hand before giving them to Batman.

Wally’s jaw dropped at finding out that it was Amira behind the mask. 

“Dad, hold my earrings.”

“Dad?!” Hal yelled, wondering if this meant death. “Batman is-”

“My father? Yup. Name’s Marinette by the way,” Amira said, bowing her head as she said it. 

Wally looked at her in confusion. Wasn’t that Amira?

Technically, Amira wasn’t lying. “And before I forget, let me just tell you,” Marinette stepped into the ring, stretching her arms for the upcoming fight. “Just because I’m a girl doesn’t mean you should underestimate me.”

-

“-and that hold you did at the end! That was...amazing!” Wally blabbered away, causing Amira to turn a shade redder than what she already was.

As soon as the match started, Hal wished he hadn’t challenged the young girl.

No matter how many times he would hold her down or throw her across the ring, she would never. Back. Down. Ever.

She fell on her back? Did a flip to get back up or twist her body to attack him from below, oftentimes kicking him in the jaw.

She rolled towards the edge of the ring? No problem. She simply stopped herself and went back to dodging Hal’s chains and weapons. He hated it when she would grab a chain and use it against him, or even better. She used it as a step stone to land a hit on him.

He hated her axe drops the most. That thing hurt like the devil.

He grabbed her? She would pull him towards her and knee him in the stomach or chest and then punch him square in the face. But wait! When she didn’t feel like doing that, she’d simply throw him towards her side and push him down, letting some distance go between them before she would flip towards him and do a dropkick on him.

Their fight continued until Amira landed the final blow. 

Hal was too late to notice the girl behind him, grinning at him like a madwoman.

Using his projectile as a foothold, Amira launched herself towards him, the heel of her foot connecting with his shoulder, causing him to fall onto the floor, Amira using that opportunity to grab Hal.

But Hal wasn’t going to go down that easily. 

Grabbing her arm, he attempted to tuck it behind her and hold her down, but she proved to be quicker than him.

She pulls him towards herself, placing his arm under his body, wrapping her legs around his body.

Hal felt his arm ache in pain from the unnatural stretching, the pressure on his back not helping his lack of breath. 

It also didn’t help that he also had pressure going against his chest due to Amira’s leg pushing his arm into his chest and her hands pulling his head into his compressed body.

His head was starting to become light, his vision starting to spin.

He wanted to breathe, but he just couldn’t. 

Feeling the last of his energy beginning to leave him, he tapped out, gasping for air when Amira released him.

“It wasn’t anything, really.” Amira finally replied to Wally, internally smiling as she recalled how smoothly her plan went.

With his focus on breathing, Hal’s concentration slipped from his ring, allowing Amira to guarantee her win. She slipped his ring off his finger temporarily, making sure that he wouldn’t attempt to use it as she waited for him to tap out.

When he did, she quickly slipped it back on, grinning as she claimed her victory.

But that was a low move, even for you.

Yes, it was, but something had to be done to knock Hal off his pedestal.

“You think you could teach me how to-” 

“Sure!” Amira chirped, internally screaming at herself for saying that. “I'd be happy to teach-“

“Nightwing could teach you.” Batman cut off, causing Wally to shudder and Amira to giggle.

While her first meeting with Hal didn’t go as planned, she sure hopes they can spar with him again in the near future. It’s not everyday she was able to spar without having to hold out after all!

“Can’t wait until our next visit Father!” Amira said, quickly slipping into her Ladybug costume. “And I can’t wait to see you again.” Amira told Wally, waving to him as she stepped into the Zeta Tube.

While she enjoyed visiting the Tower, she couldn’t help but wonder how Jason would’ve reacted had he had the opportunity to see it himself.

[disastermages]

A Different Kind of Gusu Trio pt.3

Jiang Yanli’s blood runs cold when word of Cloud Recesses burning reaches Lotus Pier, her knuckles white against the railing of the deck as she listens to the messenger tell her parents that Lan Xichen is missing and Lan Wangji had been taken with the rest of the sect heirs. She wasn’t meant to hear, she knows that, but there was no rule against eavesdropping in Lotus Pier, so she stays with her feet rooted firmly in place, listening to every word and every noise that she can make out.

Only when the messenger is sent away and her parents have left the Sword Hall does Jiang Yanli allow herself to crumple and weep.

She weeps for her brothers, for Lan Wangji and Nie Huaisang. She weeps for Cloud Recesses and all the lives they’d lost fighting off the Wen, thinking of all the rules Lan Xichen had taught her and Nie Mingue to skirt, mourning for their favorite places they’d hidden in for hours, probably all burned beyond recognition now. She saves her tears for Lan Xichen for last, leaning heavily against the deck railing to keep herself up as her tears fall into the lake.

She hopes and wills herself to believe that he’s safe, that he’s being careful wherever he’s gone, her tears drying into tracks along her face as sobbing breaths become hiccups. Her shoulders stay clenched as she forces herself to breathe, eyes staring listlessly across the lake until she hears the clearing of a throat behind her.

“Lady Jiang,” The servant greets, bowing to her and refusing to meet her eyes, “Madam has requested your presence in her quarters, she asks that you bring your sword.” Jiang Yanli wishes she could sigh, visiting with her mother hadn’t helped her feel better since she’d been nine, her health had just started to fail her, and her mother had been understanding then.

Instead, Jiang Yanli nods, pressing her mouth into a fine line as she returns the servant’s bow, uncaring if she’s gawked at before the servant hurries away again.

She walks slowly back to her own rooms. She'll need to wash her face and fix her makeup before she sees her mother. Tear streaks would only broadcast that she'd been listening.

Holding Wuyun up to the light, Jiang Yanli sighs. He was a beautiful sword, he had been on the day she'd received him and he was just as beautiful now. Her mother had thrown a fit to have her family's forgemaster come and make the sword for her.

Care had been taken to carve a lotus into the top of the sheath, and just below it, an open mouthed serpent. A reminder from her mother.

"Look like the delicate flower, but be the serpent poised beneath it." Her mother's hand had been gentle on her cheek when she'd said it, though the cold ferocity behind her eyes sent a different message.

Jiang Yanli had only seen something similar in her own eyes once, when a merchant selling handcrafted mirrors had thought he could get away with treating her brothers cruelly.

Her own reflection in the man's wares had scared her enough that she confined herself to the kitchens for a week and a half. Her health had started to decline after that.

Slowly, carefully, Jiang Yanli draws Wuyun out and lets the light from her window shine on the blade. "Mother wants to see the both of us." She tells the sword, her breath catching in her throat at the answering vibration.

She could hold her sword now, she could even wield him for a few minutes at a time, though when she'd left for Cloud Recesses, she could only do the former.

Wuyun wasn't a sword meant for a weak cultivator, he was demanding and pulled on her core at times. But then her parents hadn't thought she would be a weak cultivator either.

Once, while they'd still been in Cloud Recesses, she'd collapsed while sparring against one of the Lan Disciples and had woken up to Lan Xichen giving her spiritual energy while she sat propped up in Nie Mingjue’s arms. The disciple had gone to get one of the healers, but Lan Qiren had arrived first and made to scold all three of them until Lan Wangji had stepped forward and given his account.

Jiang Yanli regretted ever thinking of him as cold.

Sheathing Wuyun again, Jiang Yanli puts the memory away, she'd have to set out for her mother's rooms soon, or another servant would be sent to fetch her.

Her sword is a heavy weight in her hand as Jiang Yanli makes her way through the halls, nodding at the other disciples as she passes them. They'd all been grim faced and worried since A-Cheng and A-Xian had left, but so had she, she couldn't blame them for their worry.

Yinzhu and Jinzhu stand at her mother's chambers like the guards they are when Jiang Yanli rounds the corner, regarding her for only a moment before nodding to each other and pulling the doors open. They'd been friends when they were girls, but they hardly spoke a word to her now.

They fall in step after her as she comes in, the door closing behind her as she bows to her mother.

Yu Ziyuan rises from her seat as her daughter comes in, but she doesn't smile, one arm is held behind her back and the other against her chest as she steps forward.

"Cloud Recesses has burned, A-Li," Her mother says, the faint smell of ozone covering her perfume. Jiang Yanli hadn't heard Zidan crackling from where she'd been listening, but that didn't mean it hadn't happened.

"The Wen are getting bolder in their attacks on Qinghe and we have reports of them at our borders." Her mother is standing in front of her now, her voice tight but gentle as she speaks. "Your father and I have agreed that you'll go to Meishan."

Since when have her parents agreed on anything? Jiang Yanli wants to ask, but what comes out of her mouth is, "I won't go."

Her own words surprise her, but not nearly as much as they surprise her mother. Yu Ziyuan draws back as if Jiang Yanli had burned her, her eyes wide, but not angry yet.

"I don't have time for your stubborn streak today, A-Li." Two of her mother's fingers are pressed against her temple, and Jiang Yanli almost feels bad for being the cause of it.

"I will not leave Lotus Pier, Mother." Jiang Yanli says, gripping Wuyun tighter. He wasn't pulling at her core now, she was pulling on him and trying to look bigger than she was in the face of her mother's glare.

"What will you do if the Wen attack us?" Her mother asks, voice suddenly colder as the scent of ozone climbs, "Your health has only just begun to allow you to carry Wuyun for longer than a few hours, let alone wield him in a fight." As she speaks, Yu Ziyuan grabs for Wuyun, but Jiang Yanli steps back.

"I'll strengthen my core." Jiang Yanli refuses to look back even as Yinzhu and Jinzhu come to stand behind her. She says it as though it would be an easy thing to do, like her current, meager, core wasn't working overtime just to keep her heart from failing.

Yu Ziyuan's mouth hangs open in something between shock and rage now, the hand against her chest clenched so tight Jiang Yanli feared her bones would snap. "To say something like that to your own mother so easily!" Yu Ziyuan spits, gesturing wildly with her hand, she only gets louder as she gets angrier.

"The doctors said my condition was improving."

"They said your health was stable, A-Li, that's hardly an improvement." It was true enough, stability didn't promise improvement, it only meant she wasn't getting worse, but a stronger core would only improve her health, wouldn't it?

These thoughts weren't coming out of nowhere, she'd been thinking about them since her health had started to improve. If her core had been stronger, would she still have gotten sick? If she had been allowed out of bed for all those months, would she have been able to recover it? Would she have been able to wield Wuyun without fainting while sparring with her brothers if she'd been allowed to?

"Do you want me to have my children and die young like Auntie?" Jiang Yanli demands, invoking her mother's oldest sister who'd suffered from the same condition. She hadn't been permitted to recover her core either.

There's a long moment where her mother looks wounded, like Jiang Yanli had slapped her, but then she's speaking again, a tired shake to her voice. "Perhaps you are my daughter after all."

Jiang Yanli swallows thickly at that, her mother often said things with the intention of hurting, but if need be, two could play that game. She'd apologize for it later.

"If you won't help me, Mother, I'll find someone who will." Jiang Yanli chooses the words carefully, her grip on Wuyun shaking just slightly. "If you send me to Meishan, I will come back on my own." Her threats weren't empty, but her mother might think they were, and there was no way she'd help her if she even suspected they were.

Finally, her mother relents, turning around and walking back to her seat with a flick of her sleeve. "Don't stand there like you have nothing to do, A-Li, there are things we must discuss before your training begins."

Yu Ziyuan's voice is scolding again, Jiang Yanli could work with scolding.

~

A week of training in the middle of the night passes when Jiang Yanli is summoned to the gates of Lotus Pier, a harried courier waiting for her between two guards.

"I was instructed to give this to no one but Lady Jiang." The courier announces with a bow, holding the letter out to her before she even rights herself.

Jiang Yanli takes the letter carefully, suspicious of any attempt at putting a curse on her the Wen might make.

There is no curse when Jiang Yanli opens the letter, there's only a relief that nearly makes her drop to her knees.

"I am safe, tell Mingjue."

The letter is that short and unsigned, the handwriting hurried, but not illegible or unrecognizable.

Jiang Yanli thanks the courier profusely, paying her extra for her efforts before she sends her own hastily drawn note to Unclean Realm. She would send Nie Mingjue a proper letter later on, the two of them had been dependent on their letters to each other since Lan Xichen had disappeared.

If she fights with more vigor than usual that night, her mother indicates it with nothing beyond a satisfied nod of her head after they've finished.

~

It happens during training one night, Jiang Yanli had built enough stamina up to be able to dodge Zidan, but her mother had stepped out in front of her, and Jiang Yanli had reacted on instinct.

Her foot makes contact with Yu Ziyuan’s backside and she sends her mother to the ground with an undignified noise. Wuyun clatters to the ground and someone, either Yinzhu or Jinzhu, snorts but pulls herself back together as Yu Ziyuan climbs back to her feet and turns around, eyes cold and glassy and her robes dirtied.

“I did not teach you to use such underhanded tricks in a fight, A-Li.” Her mother says, quietly fuming after she’d snapped at Jiang Yanli to pick her sword back up.

She’s right, Jiang Yanli thinks, she hadn’t taught her how to fight like that, Nie Mingjue had when he’d found out just how weak her core was. He’d decided on the spot to show her the tricks he’d taught Nie Huaisang if he ever got into a fight.

It had served her well until now.

“You will fight your mother honorably.” Jiang Yanli nods and bows her head in a fake apology as Yu Ziyuan walks away from her in a huff, the color on her cheeks faint in the moonlight. Jiang Yanli has to bite her tongue to keep herself from laughing.

She would tell A-Xian when he got home.

~

A-Cheng and A-Xian come home, and Jiang Yanli can’t help but immediately fuss over them, they’d both lost weight in Nightless City, but A-Xian had come home with a burn mark she was amazed hadn’t gotten infected. A-Cheng had disappeared into Sword Hall with their parents and hadn’t come back out for hours, and when he did, he looked exhausted.

Jiang Yanli cooks for them, she cooks until they say they can’t eat anymore, and then she lets them tell her what happened, holding their heads against her shoulders.

Her brothers wouldn’t get hurt like that again, she could help them now.

~

Something is wrong. Jiang Yanli can tell when she and her father reach the dock. Usually, her brothers and the disciples come to welcome them back, but Lotus Pier is quiet and Wuyun is rattling in his scabbard, tugging at her core and urging her to run ahead of her father.

She ignores him when he calls her name.

Throwing open the gates, Jiang Yanli sees a woman in Wen sect colors struggling with an emergency flare and hears more yelling coming from inside Sword Hall.

She doesn’t think, she just throws Wuyun with a burst of qi and cuts off the woman’s hands at the wrists before she can set off her flare.

The woman screams, her eyes locked onto where her hands used to be as Jiang Yanli calls Wuyun back, her legs starting to shake as she looks at the blood on her blade. She’d never done that before, hadn’t ever been able to do that before.

The woman, Wang Lingjiao, Jiang Yanli has figured out, is rushing towards her now, calling out for someone else to come help her, ordering him to crush her core, but then she’s tackled by A-Cheng.

Jiang Yanli is leaning against a lamppost as Wen Zhuliu emerges, his hand already outstretched when Zidan wraps around his throat and drags him back to her mother.

“Not my daughter.” Yu Ziyuan says, her eyes furious as she drives her sword through Wen Zhuliu’s back and stomach, twisting it as she pulls it out and allows Wen Zhuliu to crumple beneath her feet. A-Xian limps out behind them, one hand pressed against his chest and the other holding onto the walls for support.

The sight of him in such a state breaks Jiang Yanli from the trance she’d been in, Wuyun still held at her side as she runs to help him, barely hearing the way her mother orders A-Cheng to get off Wang Lingjiao before she hauls her up by her arm.

Jiang Yanli can hear Zidan crackling, she knows what’s going to happen next, but she feels A-Xian flinch against her and presses her lips into a fine line. A-Cheng is standing at A-Xian’s other side before she can ask, the look between them tells her everything she needs to know.

Later, with all the survivors gathered in the manor, Yu Ziyuan whips Wang Lingjiao until she doesn’t move anymore. Jiang Yanli and her brothers all sleep in the same room like they’re children again.

Lotus Pier does not fall.

~

The first thing Nie Mingjue does when Jiang Yanli and Lan Xichen turn to look at him is cry, the tears already running down his cheeks as he gathers them both into a bone crushing hug. They’re both tall enough to leave her dangling when they straighten, her arms as tight as they can be around their shoulders. Propriety didn’t matter in a war, and it had been too long since she’d last seen them for her to care.

“You pull a disappearing act and she takes up the sword.” Nie Mingjue says, both he and Jiang Yanli wiping at their eyes with their sleeves as he speaks. “What’s next? Is Wei Wuxian going to start living by Lan sect’s rules? Am I going to see A-Sang using his saber when I get back home?”

Jiang Yanli’s hiccups turn into laughter, her grip on Wuyun loose as Lan Xichen guides the three of them to sit down, his hands lingering on both of their wrists. “A-Xian could follow Lan sect rules if he really wanted to.” She defends her brother halfheartedly, leaning past Lan Xichen to look at Nie Mingjue, and Lan Xichen puts a hand up to stop her.

“Lying is forbidden, Yanli.” For a moment, Lan Xichen looks serious and stoic enough to pass for his brother, but then the corners of his lips turn up and Lan Xichen laughs at his own joke, leaning forward as he laughs and bringing Jiang Yanli and Nie Mingjue down with him.

They talk until a golden butterfly reaches them, announcing the start of the war council, and then they climb the stairs of Koi Tower together.

~

As a rule, Jiang Yanli says close to her family during skirmishes and battles, if not at her mother’s side or her father’s back, she’s standing with A-Xian and A-Cheng, their backs pressed against each other as they cut down the swarms of puppets. Wuyun’s energy surges in her hand whenever he makes contact, and she assumes he’s happy to finally be used, but she refuses to linger on it as she polishes the blade each night before collapsing onto her bedroll.

Her core nears exhaustion in each fight and her heartbeat roars in her ears, but she’s yet to collapse or be hauled off the battlefield by her physicians, so she continues, even when she has to lean her weight against someone else by the end of it.

~

Their siege on Nightless City is carefully planned out, every strategy thought out and every role decided by the time they reach Qishan.

Her brothers spent months here, Jiang Yanli remembers, lined up in rows while Wen Chao droned on and on at them about the Quintessence of the Wen, until he’d taken them out and left them all in a cave to die. A small, vengeful voice in her head, the serpent underneath the flower, tells her that Wen Chao had deserved the death he’d gotten, though she’d gagged when she heard the story repeated.

Wen Xu had fallen underneath Nie Mingjue’s blade in a skirmish at Dafan Mountain, leaving Wen Ruohan without any more children to lead his armies. He would have made puppets out of both his son’s bodies if they’d been recovered, Jiang Yanli had heard A-Xian say it to A-Cheng, and there had been a pit in her stomach because she knew he was right.

The battle had lulled around them, the puppets lying motionless on the ground before a second wave came, pushing her against Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen. A-Xian had run towards the front and A-Cheng had followed, refusing to let him go on his own, but now they were both out of Jiang Yanli’s sight and it struck her heart cold.

The puppets only get more aggressive when the palace doors fling open and Wen Ruohan steps out, his voice barely cutting above the fight, and then, Jiang Yanli looks up, her eyes wide and her heart in her throat.

“A-Xian!” She calls out, breaking away from Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen as they reach out for her, calling her name. There was no way she’d be able to get close enough, Wen Ruohan had her XianXian by the throat and there was no way for her to get closer than she was already.

Jiang Yanli spins around frantically when her eyes land on it, a bow and a quiver of arrows still attached to the corpse of a Wen soldier, his eyes still wide open as she pulls it off of him and takes aim.

She has one chance to get it right, and she forces herself to breathe as she remembers the archery lessons from her father.

Shoulders down, stance wide, and her arms straight, Jiang Yanli puts the last of her qi into guiding the arrow as she lets it fly, the arrow’s tail brushing against her cheek.

Her arrow catches Wen Ruohan in the throat and he drops A-Xian, and Jiang Yanli only has a single moment to watch as Meng Yao drops the knife he was prepared to stab Wen Ruohan with before she faints. Her legs go out from underneath her and the puppets fall right along with her, no one left to pull at their strings.

There are too many voices calling her name, too many hands pressing against her arms and shoulders as she dips in and out of consciousness, but eventually they’re too distant to hear or feel, and Jiang Yanli is grateful to slip into the darkness.

~

When Jiang Yanli wakes, her eyes are still heavy and her back is stiff, as if she’d overslept and laid in the same spot for far too long, but distantly she can hear the playing of a flute and the sound of someone gasping as she opens her eyes to stare up at the ceiling.

Her arms feel heavy when she flexes her fingers, turning her head and smiling when she sees A-Cheng staring at her with his mouth wide open. “Zewu-jun! She’s awake! A-Jie is awake.” The music stops, but Jiang Yanli still winces a little bit, A-Cheng was being too loud, but she doesn’t scold him, she simply motions for him to come closer.

When he does, Jiang Yanli strokes his hair back, smiling as he grabs her other hand and holds it too tightly. “A-Cheng, you look so worried, your jiejie didn’t scare you that badly, did I?” Jiang Yanli keeps her voice gentle as she strokes her thumb over A-Cheng’s cheek, only looking up when Lan Xichen comes around the partition, his own eyes wide with worry as he stands at the foot of the bed. His grip on Liebing is white knuckled and a flash of guilt hits Jiang Yanli.

“How are you feeling?” Lan Xichen asks, deciding to forego manners for the moment as he sits down, it isn’t what he wants to ask and Jiang Yanli can tell, he was saving those kinds of questions until after A-Cheng left.

“Just a little tired.” She answers, the same answer she’d given after she’d collapsed in Cloud Recesses and both Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue had treated her as though she were breakable for the rest of the week.

“A-Jie, you’ve been asleep for a week, Zewu-jun has been playing for you everyday.” Jiang Cheng says, still kneeling at his sister’s bedside, still holding onto her hand like he was seven years old again. “Chifeng-Zun has also been visiting each day.”

Jiang Yanli smiles in spite of the gnawing guilt. “I didn’t mean to worry you all so much.” She says, her smile turning sad when she looks at Lan Xichen.

His eyes soften in return and he sets Liebing to the side, a worn smile on his face. “You exhausted your spiritual power,” Lan Xichen says, eyes focused on Jiang Cheng’s hand still holding onto hers, “but the doctors could find no damage done to your core or any worsening of your condition.” There’s a bit of pride in Lan Xichen’s voice as he speaks, his smile becoming a bit more honest as he reaches for her shoulder.

She smiles back in the face of it, leaning back against the pillows and sighing. She hadn’t thought of it in the moment, she’d only been thinking about protecting A-Xian, she would have been willing to risk her health for both of her brothers.

Jiang Yanli doesn’t get the chance to hold onto those thoughts for longer than a second because the door of her room is thrown open and A-Xian all but trips over the partition as he comes to kneel right next to A-Cheng. There’s an apology half way out of his mouth already, but Jiang Yanli stops him, brushing her finger against his nose with a shake of her head. She wouldn’t allow him to apologize for this, she’d done it on her own.

She almost misses Lan Wangji standing just behind her brother with a tray held in his hands. “Back in Gusu, we have a soup for just this occasion,” Lan Xichen says, his arms behind his back as he looks towards the bowl, eyes mischievous when he looks back at Jiang Yanli. “I’ve asked Wangji and Young Master Wei to prepare some for you.”

Keeping the smile on her face is a task as Lan Wangji steps closer with it, the bitter scent catching in the wind and threatening to show how she really felt. “I tried to add spices to it, Shijie, but Lan Zhan wouldn’t let me.” A-Xian pouts beside her, though it quickly melts into a grin when he looks up at Lan Wangji.

“The recipe does not allow for additional seasonings, Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji says, sounding like he’d explained it a hundred times already as he settles the tray over Jiang Yanli’s knees.

The soup doesn’t smell any better up close, if anything the scent is somehow more bitter. She doesn’t doubt it’s healing qualities, but Jiang Yanli wonders if this is Lan Xichen’s version of a punishment for worrying him, she also wonders if Nie Mingjue was in on his plan.

Still, she can’t bring herself to turn it down, smiling graciously at Lan Wangji and giving one last look of suspicion to Lan Xichen as she stirs it and lifts a spoonful to her mouth.

The soup is awful. Never once did Jiang Yanli think something could be so bland and taste so much like dirt at the same time. She swallows it down before turning her attention back to Lan Wangji.

“Thank you, Hanguang-jun, it’s very good.” It’s a lie. A lie Jiang Yanli fully expects her friend to call her on, but Lan Wangji speaks first.

“It is not, it is medicinal.” He shakes his head as he speaks, looking resolute even as Wei Wuxian grins beside her.

“Lan Zhan is joking with you, Shijie!” When she looks up again, she sees the barest hint of a grin on Lan Wangji’s face and laughs in spite of herself.

It makes choking down the rest of the soup that much easier.

[wordsfromthesol]

Replacement (1/2)

Author: @wordsfromthesol​ Pairing: Tim Drake x Reader Warnings: Language, violence Word Count: 2.2k Requested: @beebosclique​ A/N: Thanks for the request because I’ve been on a real Tim Drake kick lately. Which is probably why this story is so long (not sorry). Also (not) sorry for reusing superhero names in my stories…I’ve only come up with like 2 that I like. Also also, thanks for the love 💛💛

Part Two

You had no real memories of your life at the circus, you were only three years old when Bruce Wayne took you in. He and Dick were the only family you knew, well until Jason came into the picture. Jason, unlike Dick, realized that you could take care of yourself. In fact, Jason often sparred with you and secretly taught you as Bruce and Dick taught him. When he died you begged to take over the Robin mantle. You knew there needed to be one, Bruce would go too far, you were even worried Dick would go to far. Tim becoming Robin was the final punch in the gut you needed. They would never allow you to be in the family business, no matter how prepared for it you were. The day Tim passed the gauntlet was the same day you finished your costume. That day Eclipse was born and she quickly made a name for herself, all while avoiding Tim Drake, both at home and in the field.

Jason returned and the Robin mantle got passed once again. You didn’t even ask for it this time. Your silence is what led Jason to discovering your secret identity. You had to admit, it was nice to finally have someone to talk to about it, someone to patch you up if you ever got too injured.

**

“Y/N/N, I don’t get why you won’t just tell them.”

“Because Dick would murder me. He wouldn’t let me be Robin, you think he would be okay with me going out there solo?”

“Yeah, but it would make my life way easier, especially when you need your shoulder reset.” Jason shook his head and mumbled, “can’t believe you waited until morning to come to me.”

“You know if you tell him, he’ll kill you.”

“Hm, well I’ve tried that. Didn’t like it too much, so I guess I’m stuck.”

You nodded at Jason, bracing yourself for the pain. “Shit…” you mumbled as you felt the joint jolt back into place.

“You do remember that I’m your older brother too, right? I don’t like you going out by yourself either.”

“Yes and I have you on speed dial every time I’m out there.” You sighed, trying to give him some reassurance. “Plus…if my vitals drop below a certain point, my suit automatically sends a message straight to Dick and Bruce explaining everything. I can’t override it.”

“Still doesn’t make me feel great, especially since you probably have the settings set to when you’re dead.” You just stuck your tongue out in response. “So I didn’t hear Tim or Damian on that list…”

“Well, I barely know the demon brat. It’s been like a year since he stumbled into our lives, plus he’s a child.”

“Fair enough. You know you can’t blame Tim.”

“I’m not…blaming.”

Jason threw his hands up in defense, “If you say so.” Jason peripheral vision caught Tim’s figure and a smirk grew on his face. “Hey Timbers!” He shouted as you whipped around, hoping Jason was just joking. He wasn’t. “Y/N here could use a sparring partner. Someone to teach her the ropes.” You looked back at Jason, an angry glare in your eyes.

“She…uh…she wants me to teach her…?”

“Well I would love to Timbo, but I promised…uh…Dick that I would help him out.” Tim eyebrow’s shot up, clearly not believing his brother’s lies, before he turned towards you looking for clarification.

“That would be great Tim.” You gritted through your teeth, trying not to sound sarcastic. “Let me just go change.” You shot daggers back at Jason before scampering off. Tim waited until you faded from view before speaking again.

“You know she hates me, right Jay?”

“She doesn’t hate you. She hates what you took from her.”

“I didn’t take anything of hers.” Jason looked at his brother, solemnly.

“Tim. This…” Jason gestured around him, “has been her whole life. Don’t you think she wanted to be Robin? To prove that she belonged in this family.” Jason quickly dropped the serious demeanor. He was never very good at it anyways. “I think once she sees the real you, not the Robin you. She’ll come around replacement!” Jason’s eye caught you in the doorway. He jogged up next to you, “Remember to see past Robin.” He winked at you before leaving the two of you alone.

“Well that was weird.” Tim commented, gesturing you towards him.

“Eh. Jay only pretends not to care about family.” You brushed off the comment as you took your stance.

**

Hours went by, and your shoulder was well beyond it’s limit…something Tim noticed and used to pin you down one final time.

“Alright, I think you’re done.” He clamored as he held out a hand to help you up. A hand which you denied. “What did you do to your shoulder anyways? Need me to look at it?”

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” You swatted his hand away.

“Y/N/N!” You heard Dick’s voice in the distance.

“Don’t tell him anything.” You mumbled to Tim, before turning to greet your brother. “Dickie! Tim was just showing me some new moves.”

Dick stopped at your side, “Tim…you let Tim teach you?” Even Dick was in disbelief. You just shrugged, not offering a response. “Well I was looking for you to let you know I took the night off! I don’t have to leave after dinner.”

“Ohh…” You stammered, “I…uh…I have plans. With Ellen. Mo…movies.”

“Awe, can’t you cancel? I need time with my little sister.”

“I…I so would. But she’s going through this tough time. Her, uh, her boyfriend just broke up with her and…I just I need to be there.”

“Fine,” Dick whined out. “But we’re still on for the diner, right?”

“Of course. Wouldn’t miss it.” You pressed a kiss to Dick’s cheek before running out of the room. You were never good at lying to your brother and thankfully, due to his nightly activities, you rarely had to. Grabbing your phone, you quickly sent Ellen a text, just in case Dick decided to fact check you. Only it wasn’t Dick you needed to worry about. Dick would never believe that his baby sister was lying to him, Tim on the other hand witnessed the entire train wreck.

“I got a case to work on…” Tim gestured towards the computer before leaving Dick standing in the training room alone. Tim went back and forth in his mind, but ultimately decided he would check your phone just in case you were in trouble. That’s when he saw the text message. The one you just sent to Ellen.

Hey girl, used you as a lie to Dick. If he asks we are going to the movies and you just broke up with your boyfriend.

Man you really didn’t want to hang out with your brother tonight.

Yeah, well I already had plans and didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!

That doesn’t say much…

😜😜

**

You were finally able to ditch your brother and were posted on a rooftop, just outside a supposed new drug den.

“What are we looking at?” The sudden voice made you jump. You quickly regained composure, striking a defensive stance. “Relax…” Red Robin came out of the shadows, “I only want to help.”

You huffed at the sight but attempted to contain your discontent, “You don’t normally patrol tonight.”

“Just wanted to keep the criminals on their toes.”

“I’m sure they’re shaking in their boots…to answer your question, I think it’s a new drug den. Followed someone here a few days ago.”

“Well, why aren’t we moving on it?”

“I’m waiting for someone.”

“And that would be…?”

“Someone who still has a choice. If you’re staying, I’m on channel 3.” You commented before dropping into the alley below. Red Robin moved to follow but stopped once he heard your voice come through his comm. “Stay there. We move when I say.” He looked down watching you corner someone.

“Jake.” You calmly called out towards the man. He spun around, realizing he was now stuck in the alley. “What are you doing here?”

“I just…I need money. My baby girl…I don’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice. I’m about to give you another one.”

“I can’t –” You cut him off.

“I’m not asking for anything regarding those idiots.” You gestured towards the drug den. “This is a choice for you. You can leave right now and trust that I’m going to help you. Or you can go in there and warn them that I’m coming. Maybe they’ll overpower me and maybe you’ll be rewarded for the tip. But think about the life that that leads to. You’re better than that life.”

“How…how would you know that?”

“Because I saw the desperation in your eyes a few nights ago. Then I did some digging. That was your first deal.”

“My daughter.”

“I always thought I never had a choice. I was groomed for this life and then it was held just beyond my reach. I was stuck until I made a different path for myself. Now I try to give that opportunity to others. People who thought they had run out of options.”

Tim was stuck in a trance as he watched this Jake character run the opposite way of the drug den. Eclipse was you; you had just made that painfully obvious. Though he wondered if you intended that or if your mind was set on helping Jake.  Suddenly he was shaken from his mental state as your voice came over his comm yet again. “I’m going in the back door. Meet me there if you still want to help.”

You didn’t wait for his response, but noticed a shadowy figure following just above you. The two of you got to the door at the same time, Red Robin spoke first. “I’ll take left.” Tim wanted your sore shoulder exposed as little as possible.

**

“Your shoulder looks pretty bad…”

“It’ll be fine.” You tried to ignore the searing pain as the two of your waited for the police to come round up all the men.

“Do you want me to take a look?”

“No.”

“Do you at least want some high strength pain killers? I can bring some by –”

“Why are you insistent on helping?”

Red Robin shrugged, “Guess us vigilantes gotta stick together.”

“Right. I’m more of a solo gig kinda vigilante.” You saw a smirk graze his face as you heard the sirens approaching. “And that’s my queue.” You gestured towards the sound and bounded out the door. This is Tim. Tim Drake. He stole Robin from you. The words resonated through your head as you tried to forget tonight. It felt different. Or maybe Jason was right…

Once you got to your secret apartment, you showered and attempted a self-evaluation on your shoulder. You jumped upon hearing the sound of tapping against the glass. Shit. You raced into the bedroom, grabbing your discarded mask and throwing it on before sauntering into the living room.

“What do you want?” You questioned Red Robin’s presence as you opened the window.

“Thought you might want these.” He said, tossing you a bottle of pills. “Also, it would probably help if you wear this for a couple days.” Tim held out a sling.

“Yeah, can’t do that.”

“Hm. It’ll take twice as long to heal if you don’t.” He walked over, inspecting the bruising already forming on your shoulder. “This definitely didn’t happen tonight.”

“It was reset this morning.” You glanced at the time, 3:20am, “Well I guess yesterday morning. It’ll be fine.”

“Alright alright,” Tim held up his hands in defense before reaching into one of his pockets. “Well I know you’re a solo vigilante and all…but if you need me.” Tim placed a card and sling in your hand. Before you could respond he was out the window.

You decided it was probably best to wear the sling. Now all you needed was a lie for why you weren’t staying at the Manor.

**

It had only been a few hours before you woke up clouded in smoke. A fire raged around you. Maybe Tim wasn’t the only one who had followed you home. You shot up, immediately donning your mask and throwing your suit into a nearby duffel bag. Running around, you attempted to start collecting your equipment and paper trails as your phone dialed Jason. No answer. You then tried the comm in your mask, no answer. Shit. I’m going to have to call Tim.

“Eclipse?” The voice sounded groggy on the other end.

“Yeah so…I may be in some trouble.”

“Shit. Your apartment?”

“Yeah.” You jumped out of the way as the kitchen beam collapsed.

“What was that?!”

“Just…let me know when you’re here.”

You ignored his plea to stay on the line and focused on fastening everything to your body. This is going to hurt. You freed your arm from the sling and stepped onto the window ledge. Unfortunately, you were right. Tim was not the only person to follow you tonight, and this person wanted you dead. They were waiting for you to leap from that window. You didn’t even make it to the pavement before you heard the gun fire.

[raendown]

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 3235 Soulmate au: The one where any tattoo that you get shows up on your soulmate and vice versa

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header! 

Chapter 218 

It had been dozens of generations since the Uchiha clan discovered the secret of their most powerful weapon hidden in the love they so fiercely protected, just as many since the discovery that their greatest strength was also their greatest weakness, the curse that could bring low any warrior from the weakest to the most battle hardened. They were not so self centered to believe that other clans did not love their important people fiercely but there had always been a certain extra level of passion in an Uchiha’s emotions that just didn’t seem to exist for anyone not of their blood. Were they born of any other clan the sheer weight of their love would have been labeled oppressive. For an Uchiha it was nothing less than expected, necessary in a way. Without the crushing weight of love to hold them against the earth an Uchiha was cursed to spiral in to madness with only their bloody sharingan to light the way forward. It was not a future any of them looked forward to. 

Some escaped the curse, of course. It wasn’t an inevitability for anyone who chose the life of a civilian or followed a path that did not lead to the battlefields. Madara found himself envious of those people sometimes. The artisans who spent their worries on sourcing materials and feeding orphans had a hard life in their own way but a much more peaceful one. He was willing to bet very few of them had ever come awake at night with their eyes spinning red and their mind filled with horrors that would never - could never - be forgotten. He wished sometimes that he could have such an uncomplicated life. 

He wished sometimes that he had never fallen in love.

What should have been the center of his happiness, the anchor that weighed his sanity against the storm of a shinobi’s life, walked ahead of him with confident strides and eyes that looked forward, unaware of the power they held. Sometimes Madara wondered if Tobirama knew about his feelings. To anyone else in his own clan he was sure what he felt was as clear as day. Even if Izuna hadn’t said anything yet he’d felt his brother’s gaze on him when the fire in his veins overflowed in public, something he tried so hard to muffle and failed more often than not. He supposed in a way it could be considered an advantage in this case, the fact that his people seemed to love just a little differently than the rest of the world. If Tobirama knew he surely would have said something. The fact that he didn’t was probably the closest thing to mercy he was likely to get. 

Because Tobirama, cold and distant and so very perfect for the man that Madara had shaped himself in to, was not the soulmate he was meant for. The proof of it was right there on his face in three thin lines red like blood. Red like passion. Red like the sharingan he still didn’t seem to trust very much. Madara was only too aware that if they were indeed meant to be soulmates he would have woken up with those same tattoos the day after Tobirama received his own. But he hadn’t. His skin was clean and bare of any marks except for the scars of battles he couldn’t count. Whether that was because his true soulmate was waiting on him to guide them in with ink of his choosing or simply because they did not exist he didn’t know. Didn’t care. It had been a handful of years now since he stopped caring whether they might still be alive out there somewhere. 

It was hard to imagine what his soulmate could ever offer that might turn his eyes away from the man walking in front of him now. Harder still to imagine the monumental force it would take to peel the layers of emotions away from his heart until he stopped loving Tobirama. He was, after all, an Uchiha. Not a people known for giving up on love very easily. As a whole they tended to prefer death, not something he was very eager to run towards when the village he’d dreamed of as a child was less than a decade off the ground. He was aware that this love was likely to be the thing that drove him in to his grave and yet as he watched Tobirama stop to soften the blow of a child crashing headlong in to his legs Madara couldn’t bring himself to care about that either. 

“Having second thoughts, Uchiha?” 

“What?” Madara snapped back to reality to see that the child was leaving, scampering back to her mother with a smile made of crooked teeth, leaving Tobirama to look back at him with one eyebrow raised expectantly. “You wish, Senju. I’m going to grind you in to the dirt!” 

“I’m shaking in my boots.” Words spoken with absolutely no inflection. Tobirama blinked once and then turned to continue walking towards the training grounds mostly frequented by him and his brother. It took a special kind of terrain to contain two such powerhouses without the effects of their training spilling over to bother the surrounding populace. Madara would know. He had chosen his own favorite training ground for just the same reason. 

Possibly it hadn’t been one of his best ideas to suggest Tobirama spar with him instead after walking in on Hashirama apologizing for having to cancel the time they’d set aside for training together. Madara watched the mesmerizing walk of a shinobi built for speed and decided he didn’t care whether this was smart or not. Their skill levels were close enough and well balanced enough to make for an interesting fight so whether or not he made a fool of himself it promised to at least be an interesting afternoon. If his heart just happened to get broken along the way, well, it had been breaking every day since he first recognized these hopeless feelings for what they were.

One thing he had not taken in to account was the stretching. Sparring was one thing, the rush of adrenaline and the rapid movements as opponents danced around each other, together and apart again over and over. The necessary step of stretching out their muscles was quite another. Without the high of mock battle Madara was forced to turn his body away just to stop his eyes from being too obvious with the way he couldn’t seem to tear them away. He wanted those elegant fingers to trace his skin, wanted those steely arms to cage him in like he was something precious, something to be treasured like he treasured the smallest glimpses of things he would never call his own. Facing somewhere other than the chest he wanted so badly to press his ear against just to hear the heart beneath it was much easier. Instead of making the usual show of himself Madara watched the clouds scudding across the blue sky above them, leaning deeper in to his stretches to let the burn clear his thoughts. Only when he was sure none of his emotions were showing on his face did he finally turn around and demand they get on with it. 

“Someone seems eager to injure his own pride,” Tobirama noted with a hint of a devastating smirk. Madara scowled. 

“You think a lot of your skills. Shall we dance, Senju, so we can put them to the test?”

“Let’s,” was all the warning Tobirama gave him before the two of them exploded in to motion at the same time. 

It felt good to focus on the flow and pull of his own body undulating across the field, dodging and weaving through Tobirama’s attacks, breathing fire hot enough to evaporate the water used against him. Nothing would ever be as good as battle for clearing the mind of any other unwanted thoughts. After barely a couple of minutes Madara was relaxed enough to let slip a feral grin, truly enjoying himself enough to forget his romantic woes for just a little while.

Unfortunately it really was only a little while. With the sheer power they both had Madara thought the two of them could have locked themselves in to a stalemate for a good long while but it seemed as though the difference in their skill sets was just enough to give one or the other the upper hand fairly quickly each round, the victor declared depending on who spotted an opening first. Barely more than an hour had passed before they were half a dozen rounds in and both of them were drenched with sweat from giving it their best effort. Madara chose to delude himself that Tobirama was working as hard to impress him as he was to impress the younger man. A harmless delusion, at least compared to the other ones he entertained when he was alone and free to dream of the impossible. 

Or so he thought. This apparently harmless delusion is exactly what cost him the spar, distracting him with a sensation of triumph and a need to overextend himself in an attempt to look good. Like a feral animal Tobirama seemed almost able to smell when his opponent was weak. In a flash he had Madara pinned on his back with a blade at his throat and for one interminable moment in time the wild glint of his eyes was the only thing that existed. The entire rest of the world faded away, narrowed down the same look Madara had been drowning in since his cursed heart first latched on to someone he knew he couldn’t have. 

He didn’t realize he was staring until Tobirama frowned and pulled away to stand up. Then he silently berated himself. So much effort put in every day to keep his feelings private, knowing they would not be returned, and now he’d given up all his secrets for nothing but a pair of pretty eyes. Tobirama was a smart man, after all. It would certainly be too much to ask that he not draw the right conclusions from whatever foolish expression Madara had just been wearing. 

“I…” Jaw hanging open for the space of two heartbeats, Tobirama closed it again with a helplessly bemused expression. It was obvious he wasn’t sure what to say. There wasn’t really much to be said. 

“Don’t,” Madara warned him. “Just...don’t.”

Covered in sweat, breathing like a civilian after running a mile, he was painfully aware of the incredibly unattractive picture he made. Not exactly an image to swoon over, let alone fall in love with. As if he’d ever had a chance of Tobirama falling in love with him. Something dangerous pulsed behind his eyes and Madara turned away before either of them could discuss what his sharingan was trying to do, ignoring the tempting voice that called for him to come back and talk about this like adults. Instead he coiled his legs and launched himself towards the trees without actually paying attention to where he was heading. Anywhere was better than here. 

Literally anything in the world was a better use of his time than having his heart broken by a rejection he could have seen coming with both eyes closed. 

Avoiding Tobirama was both simple and complicated. Not many of their duties overlapped, their talents leading them to work in different departments. Unfortunately they did sit on a number of the same councils and committees and it was quite the challenge attending each of his duties without getting caught by a man who could move so much faster than he could. It took twisting and planning and every dirty trick that Madara had up his sleeve but he managed it, somehow, for several weeks. He couldn’t imagine what Tobirama could possibly still want to say after so much time had passed but he was very sure he didn’t want to hear it. All he wanted was to enjoy these last few years of sanity before the inevitable curse of his clan at last began to shred the barrier between his heart and good sense. 

Obviously he couldn’t run forever, though, not from someone as determined as Tobirama. Madara wondered why he still found that such an attractive trait even as he watched the other man bear down on him in the records room where several heavy layers of seals prevented him from using a body flicker to escape. 

“We need to talk.”

“No, we really don’t,” he snapped back in the hopes that his natural grumpiness would cover the dread choking his voice. 

“Don’t look at me like that, Uchiha. Are you or are you not the same idiot who faced the Raikage and his personal guard all by yourself with no backup? Quit looking so...so…”

Madara scowled. “So?”

“Afraid of me,” Tobirama finished his sentence with the slightest note of hesitation, like he knew exactly how badly Madara would despise hearing those words. And indeed they did bring a scowl to his face. He’d never been afraid of anything in his life except for losing his precious people. This wasn’t fear. This was nothing more than a healthy predilection for not landing himself in painful situations. 

“I’m not afraid of you! Go away!” 

Rather than scurrying off for the hills - because of course he wouldn’t, Tobirama had always taken a lot more than one quick snap to run off - he bullied in closer until he had Madara hemmed in to a corner, boxed in on all sides with nowhere to look but forwards. 

“Clearly we’re not going to be able to talk about this calmly but I don’t know why I expected any more of you. You’re as ruled by your emotions as my brother is. To make this as painless as possible how about you just shut up and let me lay out the facts, yes?” Raising one hand, Tobirama began to tick off his fingers as he continued. “You have some sort of feelings for me and yet you chose not to speak to me about them. I wondered why until I realized it probably had something to do with either your heritage as an Uchiha or your status as unbonded. As someone outside of your clan those answers were not available to me. However, the second option was one I was more than capable of testing for myself. If you would just-”

Madara tried to balk when pale fingers reached for his arm but Tobirama pinned him with a look so venomous he could do nothing but stand absolutely still while his sleeve was pulled up to reveal his forearm, a particularly boring part of the human body in his own opinion, something he was utterly baffled by the need to see until he looked down and noticed something new for the first time. 

“That wasn’t there this morning,” he breathed. As he spoke his eyes remained fixed on the small shape exactly halfway between wrist and elbow. The stylized leaf of Konohagakure was something he’d helped to design but he certainly hadn’t expected it to show up on his skin without warning. A soul tattoo. If he hadn’t put it there himself then the only possible explanation was that his soulmate had branded themselves with a tattoo at last, echoing itself on to Madara’s skin through the bond they shared. Suddenly it felt very difficult to swallow. Breathing, too, felt nearly impossible as he watched Tobirama hike up one of his own sleeves and turn his arm.

“It appears my suspicions were correct,” he heard the man say in a strangely gentle voice. “We are soulmates.” 

“How?” 

Startled, Tobirama blinked at him several times before venturing, “What do you mean how?”

He looked even more startled when Madara began to flail like he always did when his emotions got the better of him. 

“I mean how! This doesn’t make sense! It has to be some kind of coincidence, someone else saw your tattoo and got the same one. Something! How the hell can we be soulmates if this ink shows up but the ink all over your face doesn’t show up on mine!?” 

“What? Oh. Oh! I see.” Confusion blossomed in to understanding only to fade away in to something soft, something very much like the expression Tobirama reserved only for the rare moments he chose to show his fondness for the few people he was close to. Having such a look directed his way made the poor heart in Madara’s chest leap in several different directions at once. Or at least that was what it felt like. 

Feeling almost left behind, he demanded, “You see what?” Then he gasped when Tobirama reached up to touch one of his cheeks. 

“The marks on my face are not tattoos. They’re seals, much like the one Mito wears on her forehead, meant to store chakra in case of some emergency.” He traced the line of Madara’s jaw and leaned impossibly closer until they were breathing the same air. “Is that why you refused to speak to me? You wanted this. But you thought- ah. My own reticence comes back to bite me yet again. I’m sorry for the confusion.” 

“You should be,” was all Madara could think to say. Forming any thoughts at all felt incredibly difficult at the moment. 

“And how shall I make it up to you, hm?” 

It would have been impossible to name all the many emotions running through Madara’s veins at that moment. Years of watching and yearning in silence, years spent waiting for the inevitable madness so many Uchiha had fallen victim to, years of cursing his heart for treading this path towards his own doom. All of it had been for nothing. The man he loved was his soulmate after all - and more than that, Tobirama had not rejected him, seemed willing to entertain the notion even. Relief and happiness and consternation and anger and joy and confusion and desperation all wound together in a tight knot he feared would never come untangled again. Words failed him. And so he turned to action.

Tobirama, by some whim of mercy, did not laugh at him for having to stand on his toes in order to crush their mouths together. In fact he seemed more eager to reciprocate than anything else and Madara wondered if turning his eyes away so often had left him blind to things that could have been his a long time ago. He resolved not to ask. Whatever the answer was he was sure it would make him ashamed of his own dramatics. 

Several minutes had passed by the time his heels touched the ground again, though his hands remained where he hadn’t even noticed them twisting in to the other’s shirt. Madara closed his eyes and simply breathed for a moment. He still wasn’t entirely sure this wasn’t a dream. 

“Uchiha don’t love by halves,” he murmured in warning. “If we do this then we do it for real.” 

“I know.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“Shut up and kiss me again.”

With a bone deep shudder Madara did. He fell in to Tobirama the way he’d never thought he would and when his soulmate caught him as easily as breathing he thought oh. 

So this is what it feels like to be loved.