#I could only run for so long before I conceded and bowed and just motioned over the back of my neck like JUST DO IT

[raycatzdraws]

@zolanort's "Who has the best worst tanlines" graphic is one of the funniest things I've seen. The closer you look at it the better it gets! I was inspired to draw goofs!

[wheneclipsefalls]

Ma Neteyam pt.1

Part 2

Pairing: Neteyam (20 yrs old) x Original Male Na’vi Character 

Summary: Neteyam is kidnapped by the Olo’eyktan alpha from a nearby clan who claims that Eywa has destined them to be soulmates. Only weeks away from fully presenting as omega, Neteyam is caught between trying to find his way home and giving in to his primal desires. 

Warnings: more smut as the story continues, alpha/beta/omega universe so unequal power dynamics, swearing, stockholm syndrome, more warnings with the coming chapters. 

Author’s note: This is my first fanfic I have posted online and the first smut I have ever written, so please be nice. If you don’t like, just don’t read. This first part may be shorter than the coming chapters. It will act as a test run. If you like it, please let me know and I will continue updating. Also please ignore some of the plot ambiguity. 

The night air was crisp and soothing with the sounds of wildlife purring throughout the forest. Neteyam lay soundly asleep alone in his hammock dreaming of the ride on his ikran he planned to pursue the next day. He was proud of the independence his father had been granting him lately, letting him go solo on certain journeys and even hunt on his own every now and then, despite his omega gender. It was no small feat to convince the man he would be safe alone, especially with all of the Na’vi young males that had been constantly pining for his affections. Jake was a proud and protective father so when high strung navi warriors made grabs at his only omega son, he was known to retaliate and tighten the reins. 

On normal days Lo’ak had the luxury of an alpha title and therefore was able to pounce along the forest without a second thought from his parents. For Neteyam, he was stuck weaving baskets and making bracelets with his mother or occasionally following around his father and brother in their less dangerous pursuits. Recently however, his father had finally conceded to letting his son go on solo rides that didn’t stray from the hallelujah mountains along with hunts that brought him back to the clan before eclipse. Freedom was paradise to Neteyam even if he wasn’t known to fly as far as his brother. 

A loud crack startled the boy into opening his eyes. There was no accompanying sound to follow but nevertheless he now lay slightly lucid in his hammock wondering if the sound was only his imagination. After a long pause in silence, he finally decided it was nothing and turned to his other side to sleep. However, he did not get the chance to continue dreaming. This time a chilling ikran call echoed throughout the forest from a short distance. Neteyam didn’t even have time to sit up and look for the source before a sudden impact hit his side causing the hammock to swing dramatically. 

The motion had him gasping and practically swinging completely out of the bed before he was able to get a grip on the mesh material enough to keep him there dangling high above the forest ground. The village slowly began to hum as others awoke and searched for the threat. Neteyam ignored the distant conversations slowly erupting as he looked down below for the best way to fall. He slowly felt his heart rate recover from the startling events as he decided on a route that would take him colliding from leaf to leaf till he could hit the bottom. 

“Neteyam!” His father’s call interrupted his thoughts as he strained to see his figure a few trees behind him. 

“I’m fine!” He yelled across the distance, but the commotion continued and kicked up in urgency.

To his surprise families started emerging from their beds and warriors were scrambling for their bows and arrows. 

“Climb! Climb!” Jake commanded with great intensity while rushing closer. Neteyam was confused at the objection to safe fall but knew better than to disobey his father. He flexed his arms and core as he tried to lift himself back up into the hammock. 

Suddenly, ikran calls and war cries echoed around and below the Na’vi male. He made the mistake of whipping his head around to identify the threat only to nearly get knocked down by an ikran and rider aiming directly for his hammock. Without another thought his instincts kicked in and he gracefully swung his body back before using that inertia to propel himself at the nearest tree. Desperate hands and feet grasped at the vines on the tree as he threw his body into a climb. 

The ikran circled around the tree giving the boy glimpses of the tall rider crouching in a determined stance. Blood racing through his veins at a quicker speed, Neteyam threw all of his groggy energy into flinging himself up the tree in unpredictable directions. His hands were already forming small cuts and his legs aching with the surprise of the unprepared physical exertion. At this point the village was in a full riot as the ikran and mystery riders swirled through the forest. 

Neteyam leaped from the tree to nearby hanging vines allowing him to travel to a smaller tree deeper in the brush. His impact was clumsy; the tree was weaker than predicted but he was now out from under the riders radar and able to see the chaos for what it was. From a distance he could now see that the intruders were flanking his abandoned hammock. His father was the first to charge at the navi and engage in combat. His mother was not far behind as she picked up her bow and arrow already pointing at one of the riders. 

Strong claws gripped Neteyam by the shoulders before lifting him through the air. The boy gasped and hissed while frantically trying to maneuver his way out of the ikrans claws. 

“NETEYAM!” His father’s call rang out with desperation but the boy was too busy writhing and reaching for the claws to spot him. 

After only a few seconds the claws suddenly released him and he found himself quickly falling through the air. He tried to get into the proper flat position to fall upon the protective leaves but instead of hitting the greenery he found the air almost knocked out of him as he fell onto another ikran’s back. His body started to slide across its smooth skin before a strong hand reached back to grip his arm. 

Neteyam was too busy to identify the rider gripping him but instead focused all of his efforts on prying the fingers off of his arm. If he could just get the man to release him he might still have a chance at cascading into the leaves down below for a safe landing. The Na’vi male’s grip didn’t budge as he hosted Neteyam’s dangling body from the back off the ikran to instead lay across his lap. Before he could push himself up from his lap the intruder was already wrapping an arm around his waist tightly and moving to position the omega in front. 

Neteyam quickly elbowed him in the nose once in a slightly upright position. The rider’s grip loosened enough in shock to allow Neteyam to break free and start to slide off of the ikran. His efforts were in vain however as the ikran banked to the right and the omega went sliding towards the rider instead of away. Muscular long arms wrapped themselves around the boy’s shoulders and waist while he hissed angrily. 

“Calm, little one.” The stranger’s deep voice purred at the infuriated omega as he positioned the boy’s smaller body in front of him. 

“Let me go before I skin you!” He bellowed struggling in the grasp. The man was back into position to direct the Ikran while still trapping Neteyam. They soared left towards an opening in the forest. Cries could be heard from all around as ikrans flowed past them along with arrows and running villagers. 

His father was already on his own ikran swiping through the air quickly to reach his son. The sight of him gave Neteyam a sliver of hope. With this motivation he sporadically sunk his teeth deep into the arm around his shoulder. The coppery taste in his mouth confirmed he had drawn blood. The male let out a pained and frustrated hiss before using his other hand to grab Neteyam by the hair and pull him off. 

“Hold on Neteyam!” A cry came from far behind.

The stranger repositioned the bleeding arm to securely encircle the boy’s middle before his other hand pressed firmly against the pressure points in his neck. Neteyam went limp against the man as he lost consciousness. 

“Sleep now, Ma Neteyam.”

Kxolo admired Neteyam, still asleep peacefully on the mat of his village. The journey from the Omaticaya village to his own was short but difficult as he and the other warriors fought to escape the defending villagers’ advances. Jake Sully was particularly enraged as he chased down Kxolo, streaming out war cries. Kxolo found it a challenge to direct his ikran with the delicate omega limp in his arms but luckily he had practiced and planned the escape route with such precision that even the infamous Taruk Makto could not catch up to them. 

His clan crouched around the boy trying to get a good look at the omega Kxolo had been determined to bring home. He could not stop thinking about the young omega since his visit to the Omaticaya clan. His beauty and presence were enthralling. Jake had refused to let Kxolo court him, not even letting the boy in the village that day upon hearing of his intentions. Despite his persuasions and promises, Toruk Makto stayed firm in his decision. It was only after receiving a sign from Eywa of their soulmate bond that Kxolo decided to kidnap Neteyam. As Olo’eyktan, his warriors followed through with carrying out the abduction, eager to find their chief mated. 

 “He sure put up a fight.” Pulo, his second in command and best friend, chuckled while gesturing to Kxolo’s bandaged arm. “Looks like a little more than a love bite if you ask me.” 

“Ma Neteyam has spirit. A feisty little omega he is.”

“I would expect nothing less from an omega mated to you.” Kxolo rolled his eyes fondly at his friend. “Although it may make the first few weeks challenging. I hope you have selected warriors that are up for this task of special babysitting.”

“He will be a handful I’m sure but Eywa knows he will come around.”

Eventually Neteyam started to groan and stir as he regained consciousness. His gaze was unfocused and confused for a few seconds as it took in the sight of the crowd surrounding him. His large amber eyes widened as realization struck and he instantly sprung up and into a crouched fighting position. He hissed at the strangers while eyes shot around the circle to look for an opening. Kxolo recognized the signs of a male about to pounce and attack, lowered ears, focused eyes and swishing tail. Neteyam let out a cry as he flung towards the far side of the crowd. The warriors standing there were unfazed and simply tightened formation to create a wall that he could not get through. 

“Let me through you skxawng!”

“Neteyam.” Kxolo’s firm alpha call was barely heard by the omega as he continued to fight against the crowd. The alpha rose back to his feet and quickly caught the thrashing omega in his arms secured around the waist and shoulders once more. “Hush little omega and calm. I do not want to bind you, lovely.”

“Who are you? Let me go!” The alpha’s arms were like bands of steel easily holding the smaller male to his chest. This however did not stop Neteyam from thrashing against him with all the strength he could muster. 

“Shhhh” The alpha purred against his ear while letting the calming pheromones wash over the struggling male. “Calm, little one. Calm.”

Pulo turned to Tamil in a silent command to grab the bindings in preparation. It was evident that no amount of pheromones was going to calm the raging omega. 

“Get your hands off of me! Let me go before I skin you!” His words were unwavering but frantic movements showed that Neteyam knew he was no match for the stronger male holding him. 

“Looks like we will have to do this the hard way. Brother, help me bind.” Tamil used the strong cords to bind Neteyam’s arms behind his head quickly while Kxolo held him still against his chest. A string of curses left his mouth as he now fought off the two alphas. In the end he found himself bound and secured to one of the higher branches of the nearby tree. “My love, I will give you a couple minutes to let out your frustrations and energy out here but I will be right back.” Kxolo affectionately stroked the omega’s cheek as he hissed at the alpha. 

Kxolo turned back to the crowd quickly setting into motion the preparations for Neteyam. More warriors were sent out to the borders along the village to keep watch for Omaticaya intruders. Some of the women informed him of the prepared clothes and jewelry for Neteyam. The unneeded warriors and villagers were dismissed, although some tried to stay in order to get a better look at their leader’s future mate. 

“Jake Sully will not be far behind, brother.” Tamil warned.

“Toruk has flown these grounds for years. It is only a matter of time before he leads his rider to the entrance.” Pulo added.

“I know, in fact I am counting on it.” The two exchanged a look of confusion as Kxolo adjusted his bow to lie on his back. “It is important that he comes to confront us. Only with Neteyam safe in our hands will I be able to explain the nature of the situation.”

“He will be angry.” Pulo reminded him.

“Of course he will be, but it won’t change things. Call when you see him coming. I need to go talk to my mate.”

He advanced confidently back towards the omega still struggling. Despite the tension of the situation Kxolo could not help but stare at the lean boy's toned body stretched out against the tree. The curve of his small waist even more accentuated than he last remembered with the occasional freckles littering his gorgeous hips. They locked eyes as Kxolo came to tower over the boy. Golden eyes glared back at him defiantly. He fought the smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as he admired how adorable the young warrior looked trying to intimidate him. 

Neteyam stood still now, still angry but Kxolo could tell the boy was losing energy. It did not help that he was bound to fully present soon, making his omega body tire more easily. Kxolo imagined the poor omega was exhausted after the night’s events. The weeks leading up to presenting were exhausting enough without having to fight off strange alphas in the middle of the night. 

“Neteyam,” The Sully boy weakly went to bite at the hand Rxolo used to cup his cheek. “Have you calmed yourself now, baby?” The nipping stopped with exhaustion but his glare stayed in place trying to mentally scorch the man in front of him. 

“I know you must have many questions. Now is the time to ask them.” For a second it seemed like the smaller male was not going to speak but finally a small mutter left his lips. 

“You’re Kxolo Te Iiyi Letvesi’itan. The Olo’eytkan that visited my father last month.”

“Glad to hear you remember me.”

“Why am I here?”

“Ma Neteyam, I have brought you here to be my mate. Eywa has destined us to be together.” Surprise and fear flickered in those gorgeous eyes but were soon covered up by an angry hiss.

“I am not your mate you skxawng! Abducting an omega in the middle of the night does not make them yours.” Kxolo ignored insults and remained calm as he continued to explain.

“I spoke with your father about my intentions of courting you many times but he has forbidden it. The day after I left there was a sign from Eywa confirming our destiny as soulmates from Tsahik, but he has continued to dishonor these prophecies. I was forced with no other option than to carry them out without his permission.”

“You liar and thief! My father is Taruk Makto. He will rip your heart out in front of your eyes before you have the chance to ask for forgiveness.” His words were like venom but the alpha could see the strain of them on the omega’s body. His muscles were giving out and chest heaving at the effort of maintaining the show of bravery against the alpha. 

“I know you are upset, little one. It is going to take time for you to adjust but I am willing to be patient and guide you along the way. I see you, Neteyam.”

“A rock sees better than you, you fool! I will never be your mate!” The smaller male spat at the alpha. 

Within a breath Kxolo’s larger frame was pressed up against him and strong larger hands encased either side of Neteyam’s head. The stern unmoving look the alpha gave him made his mind sputter to a stop. “No amount of fighting or running is going to keep you away from me. You are mine. Eywa has written us in the stars. I love you more than you will be able to understand. I have known you and I are meant to be since the moment I saw you. I do not care how long it takes for you to acknowledge this connection. I do not care how many times you kick, bite, scratch or try to kill me, I will always come after you. You are my world now, Neteyam. In time you will come to love me too.”

Silence fell over the pair. Neteyam’s heart rate was skyrocketing causing his chest to rise up and down till he was practically panting. The night was too much and Kxolo could tell his omega was telling him to rest. The alpha lovingly stroked the boy’s cheek with his thumb. 

“You poor thing have been through so much tonight. I promise I will have you back in bed resting soon my love.”

 He reluctantly stepped back and turned towards the warning cries of warriors. Toruk Makto was here. 

The red banshee was easy to spot, even in the dead of night. There was no chance of Jake surprising the clan in an environment he had never scouted out before. Kxolo knew that Jake Sully would have to confront him directly. 

Toruk soared towards them with a loud cry before landing in front of Kxolo and the warriors set around them. Jake was armed with only a knife he must have grabbed in the haste of chasing after his son. He stared down Kxolo with hatred and burning that only a protective father could muster. 

“Dad!” Neteyam cried desperately struggling against the binds once more. The upstart of thrashing was starting to cause the cords to dig into the omega’s arms. Kxolo placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder trying to prevent more damage.

“Kxolo! You let my Goddamn son go now!”

“Calm, Olo’eyktan Toruk Makto. I told you this would happen. You decided to ignore the signs of Eywa.” 

Jake withdrew his knife from its sleeve with a growl. “You have my son tied up to a damn tree in the middle of the night and have the nerve to speak to me about the signs of Eywa?!”

The warriors surrounding the area slowly started to circle in at the sight of the knife. Despite their uneasiness, Kxolo remained relaxed as if the conversation was a small chat about the weather. 

“Steady Jake Sully. It would not be wise of you to attack.”

“We passed wise a long time ago.” The warriors around him let out tentative cries in response to Jake’s fighting stance. Kxolo could feel Neteyam’s pulse speed up in anticipation of the fight ahead. “Get your hand off my son.” He hissed at the hand still placed upon the omega’s shoulder. 

“You are not only outnumbered but also at risk of starting a war by attacking. I have conversed with the Tsahiks of the nearest clans and they have confirmed the sign. In addition their Olo’eyktan have agreed to honor and defend Eywa’s will even into combat if necessary. Be reasonable. You do not want this fight.”

Jake’s stance never let up for a second but fear could be seen in his eyes. He was faced with an impossible ultimatum. Neteyam was growing more restless by the minute as he watched his father’s hesitation. 

“There is still time to talk. We can still come to terms with the situation and find the best course moving forward for Neteyam.”

“How is any of this the best for Neteyam?” He ground out through gritted teeth. Pulo inched closer to Jake, still in anticipation of things going south. 

“You know I will take care of him. I would never hurt him. I meant what I said to you about loving your son. You can trust he is in good hands.” Jake gripped the handle of the blade in restraint. “If you and I work together I am sure there is a way that Neteyam can still visit his family.”

The comment sent Jake lunging at Kxolo in anger only to be stopped by the warriors’ aimed weapons protecting their leader. Jake hissed in frustration while hopelessly looking at his struggling son. Tears were starting to well up in Neteyam’s eyes no matter how hard he tried to hold them back. Kxolo wanted more than anything to comfort the whimpering omega but that would have to wait till the threat at hand was taken care of. 

“Neteyam.” Jake’s voice rose barely above a whisper.

“Dad.” The boy barely gasped out without crying.

“Do not worry. Everything is going to be alright. I am going to figure this out.”

A small sob escaped the omega’s throat before the stream of heavy tears gushed down his cheeks. He knew what that promise entailed. His father would not be taking him home tonight. Kxolo could see the heartbreak in Jake’s expression as he forced himself to focus back onto the chief. 

“This is not over. You harm a hair on his head and I will tear you apart limb by limb till you are begging me to kill you.”

The alpha simply gave a short response of “He is safe,” as Jake backed away towards Toruk. He didn’t miss the murder in Jake’s eyes as he mounted the Ikran. Watching the large ikran soar off into the distance, Rxolo knew the fight was not over but for tonight Neteyam would finally be in his arms where he was meant to be. 

Neteyam took a long time to console after his father left. Once the tears had started, they did not stop. It was still not safe to leave the boy completely unrestrained but Tamil quickly adjusted it so that it was a simple binding of his wrists behind his back. This allowed Kxolo to scoop the boy carefully into his lap and against his chest. Neteyam was too far into his fit to really put up a fight as the alpha swayed him back and forth and hushed him softly. 

“My poor Neteyam.” He cooed while stroking the boy’s braids. The alpha once again released calming pheromones and found it more effective. Neteyam started to go limp in his arms as the sobs continued. It was clear that at this point his body was ready to give out. 

“Pulo, are we set for the night?”

“Guard shifts are organized and underway and the hammock is ready for Neteyam.”

“Perfect, thank you brother.” Looking down at the omega he could tell his cries were softening and eyes lided as he fought to stay awake. “I think it is time we get you back to bed sweet one.” Neteyam only stared off into the distance completely lost in his exhaustion.

He continued in this state as they led him towards the sleeping area of the village. Kxolo guided him with a hand to his lower back all the while peeking over consistently for signs of resistance or distress. Finally, they reached the hammock set up for Neteyam. The omega halted.

“Come Neteyam. I can help you down.”

“Aren’t you going to unbind me?” He writhed his arms against the cords in emphasis. 

“Can we trust you to stay put?” Pulo intervened, although the alphas knew they would untie him regardless. 

“Do I have a choice?” The boy gritted out. Pulo simply shook his head and chuckled softly at the Na’vi’s anger. 

“Oh you have a choice. You are free to leave your hammock but you may find the journey back over a guard’s shoulder to be counterproductive.”

Neteyam shot Pulo a look that could kill before tugging at his restraints once more, a silent request to be released. Kxolo motioned for him to be brought over. 

“You need rest Ma Neteyam. Don’t be foolish and waste your energy tonight causing trouble.” Kxolo slipped an arm around the omega’s waist. Before the young warrior could manage to escape his hold, the alpha laid a sweet kiss at the crown of his future mate’s head. “I will let you sleep on your own tonight but if you need me, simply call. Sleep well my love.”

With that, the bonds were cut and Neteyam was helped into the hammock reluctantly. However, it was not until the alpha could hear the soft snores coming from the omega that he left to find sleep himself.

[the-scandalorian]

Tempered Glass: Chapter 7

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader Rating: M (will become explicit) Word Count: 5.5k Warnings: slow burn, canon-typical violence, cursing, pining, Din in suspenders, fluff Summary: Din takes a job with his old crew, and you and the kid wait for him on Arvala-7. Notes: Sorry this took me forever!

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

Image from The Art of Star Wars: The Mandalorian

After you left the atmosphere of Tatooine and jumped into hyperspace, Din swiveled his chair around to face you in the copilot’s seat.

“I should take a job. Everything we made went to Peli, and I don’t like being low on credits. There’s a crew I used to run with...I can reach out to them...” he hesitated then added, “but you and the kid can’t come with me.”

“What do you mean I can’t come with you?”

He sighed, shoulders dropping. “I mean, I don’t trust them enough for you and the kid to come.”

“If you don’t trust them, wouldn’t it be better to have backup?”

“I just—,” he looked away, “I don’t want them to know either of you exist.”

“If you don’t trust them, should you be taking a job with them?”

“We don’t have a lot of options.”

“I could get work somewhere. We could go somewhere safe enough for a few weeks. There are some places where I have contacts, and non-bounty hunting work is usually less conspicuous.”

“I don’t think we should stay anywhere that long right now.”

“But—”

“I’ll feel better if you and the kid are safe together.”

“I—”

When he bowed his head in a silent appeal, your determination crumbled.

“Ugh, fine.”

He sighed in relief, reaching out to rest his hand on your knee briefly. His touch was reassuring.

“But, just so you know, this is only going to work once, so don’t think that my staying back with the kid is going to be a regular thing.”

He removed his hand and turned back around to face the viewport.

“I am taking your silence as tacit agreement,” you said to the back of his helmet.

He chose to ignore that, fiddling with the controls instead.

***

Now that you’d both admitted you wanted to stay together, abandoning the pretense of strategy and convenience all together, things were a little off between you and Din. Neither of you were used to being vulnerable, so conversations were slightly stunted again. You found yourself being overly polite, and Din was doing the same.

That first night back on the Crest, he offered you his bunk.

“I’m not taking your bed. You need it to take off your helmet.”

Besides the unshakable lingering chill of the hull, sleeping there wasn’t that bad. You usually slept with every sweater you owned on and that kept you warm enough.

“Use it when I’m not. You shouldn't have to sleep on the floor.”

“Sure, thanks,” you agreed, knowing you’d never take him up on that. You didn’t want to be on a different sleep schedule than he and the kid.

You did try to nap with the kid in Din’s bunk the next day because there wasn’t all that much to do in hyperspace. As soon as you lay down, though, you knew it was a mistake. First of all, it was crazy uncomfortable (somehow not better than the literal floor and the close walls made it slightly claustrophobic), and second—and far more importantly—it smelled overwhelmingly like Din. It smelled like his pine-y soap and beskar and blaster residue and leather and whatever else made up his infuriatingly good scent. It conjured images of crackling fires and golden skin and warm embraces and taut muscles.

Shit.

There was no chance you were going to be able to fall sleep when all you could think about was him.

The kid, on the other hand, was snoozing contentedly beside you. When you’d fully given up on napping, you edged your way out the bunk carefully, doing your best not to wake him.

Din was sitting in the hull on a long crate against the wall, cleaning his blaster, the pieces spread out next to him. Usually, when you were in the hull at the same time, you’d find a place across from him. Instead, you purposefully sat next to him, drawing your knees up to your chest and leaning against the wall.

You decided you were going to push through this awkward phase and make things not weird right there, right then. And you were going to do that the best way you knew how.

He tilted his helmet toward you momentarily then refocused on the blaster in his hand.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yes,” he said, running a rag along the barrel.

“How does one develop a catchphrase? Does it happen organically or is there an iterative brainstorming process?”

Din paused, sighing dramatically, set his blaster and the rag down next to him, and pushed himself back until he was also leaning against the metal wall. His helmet clunked slightly as he relaxed it back. “This is the way is not a catchphrase. It’s a tenet of the Creed.”

“And ‘I can bring you in warm or I can bring you in cold’ is also a tenet of the Creed?”

He lolled his helmet to the side, looking down at you. “Okay, fine, that one isn’t,” he conceded.

“So you admit it—you have at least one catchphrase that you regularly use on bounties.” You smirked up at him.

Without missing a beat, Din fixed you with that unreadable visor and quipped: “I’ve been told I have a sexy voice. I’m just giving the people what they want.”

Your jaw dropped, a shocked laugh echoing through the hull. You had planned on teasing him and had not expected him to turn it around on you so smoothly.

“Uh... I was sort of hoping we’d stick to our unspoken agreement to not bring up the stupid things I said when I was drunk.” You looked down at your hands, suddenly unable to meet his gaze.

“Oh, definitely not.”

You looked back up. “Alright, well then in the name of fairness, we’re going to have to get you really drunk the next time the opportunity presents itself, so we can see what embarrassing things you say.”

He paused for a moment, considering, then said, “Does that mean you’ll carry me home?”

You cracked a smile, nodding vigorously. “Of course. That would only be fair.”

A warm laugh rasped through the modulator. You crossed your ankles in front of you, letting your knee rest against the cold beskar on this thigh.

“I feel skeptical of that promise.” He dropped a gloved hand to your knee.

“Okay, okay I can’t promise to carry you home, but I can promise to tie your shoe if needed.”

“My boots don’t have laces.” He lifted a foot off the ground to show you.

You shrugged playfully: “Well, that’s not my fault.”

“This doesn’t sound like a very good deal for me. I tied your shoe and carried you home.”

“To be fair, both were against my will.”

“But necessary.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Okay, okay, I can’t carry you, and I can’t tie your shoe... so I’ll...,” you bit your lip as you fished around for something else to offer, “...hold your hand? And not let anyone tickle you.”

He huffed and rubbed his thumb over your knee: “I’m not ticklish.”

You pursed your lips. “Right, sure, of course not. My mistake.”

He harrumphed. “Can I ask you something now?”

“I’ll allow it,” you intoned seriously.

“Where are you actually from?”

“Naboo. Most of my back story was true—I just left out the one major detail.”

“Your favorite color?” he deadpanned.

You laughed. “Yes, exactly. What about you? Where are you from?”

“Aq Vetina.”

You waited, hoping he’d elaborate.

“When my parents died there, I was rescued by the Mandalorians and raised in the Fighting Corps.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, placing your hand over his and squeezing gently. “That sounds like a tough life for a child.”

“It was all I knew,” he explained, shifting slightly.

“Still, that can’t have been easy. It makes sense that you couldn’t leave the kid.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly, solemnly. There was a tension in his shoulders that hadn’t been there moments ago.

“Less serious question,” you replied, changing the subject to something lighter.

“Okay.” He relaxed a little.

“Why don’t you ever use a straw to drink with your helmet on?”

“These are the things you think about?” he laughed. His laugh was usually a quiet, muffled sound through the modulator, but it was getting easier to pick up on it. “There’s a seal on the helmet, otherwise the filters wouldn’t work,” he tapped the release on the side of his head. “So a straw isn’t a possibility, unfortunately.”

“Mmm,” you responded, “that is disappointing.”

He gripped your thigh lightly, turning toward you. “I, uh, heard back about the job... while you were asleep. It’s a go.”

“Ah... great. I was kind of hoping you wouldn’t hear back.”

“I know. It will be fine.”

“Okay... So, any ideas for where the kid and I should stay?”

To your surprise, Din explained that he had a trusted friend on Arvala-7. When you agreed to the plan, he disappeared to the cockpit to set the nav—a two-day trip.

***

That same evening, you discovered a new favorite activity on the Crest. Before bed, the kid was being particularly fussy, so you pulled out your data pad and downloaded the first children’s book you could find. It worked liked a charm.

From then on, it became a daily routine: you’d read to him until his eyelids drooped before his nap and before bedtime. Regardless of his mood, listening to you read seemed to soothe him. You’d pull him into your lap and settle onto your stack of blankets against the wall. He’d watch your face, enraptured, as you relayed story after story to him. His favorite—the story that elicited the most chirps and grabby motions and ear wiggles—centered on a family of frogs. You revisited that one at least once a day, sometimes more if he was grouchy.

You weren’t sure how to feel about his hyperfixation on that particular story given his appetite for frogs.

At this rate, your digital library was going to be largely children’s books. You didn’t mind.

You noticed that Din would find something to do in the hull while you read. The first couple times, he sat and cleaned one of his many weapons or sewed a hole in his flight suit. Very quickly, he stopped bothering with an ostensible task and would just sit and listen.

When you were still 15 hours out from Arvala-7, Din was seated on his usual crate in the hull, the one next to the weapons cabinet, as you finished the final page of a particularly thrilling story about a snail. The kid was snoring softly in your arms, so you clicked off your datapad, and got up to settle him in his hammock for his mid-day nap.

“You’re good with him.” Din was leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.

“I guess,” you shrugged, snapping the door to Din’s bunk shut and turning back to him. “I just think about what I liked as a kid. I loved when my parents would read to me.”

He nodded, helmet trained on the floor between his boots.

“I’m sorry—” you started, realizing how that must have sounded to Din.

He looked up and cut you off. “Don’t be. It’s nice for him to have some normal kid experiences.”

“You know what he’d really love?”

“What?”

“If you read to him.”

He dipped his helmet slightly in acknowledgement, rolling his shoulders back at the same time like he was uncomfortable agreeing with that.

Several hours later, you pulled Din down next to you in your normal pre-bedtime story time spot. He had the kid in his arms. You switched on your datapad and toggled through the catalog of books you’d downloaded, all of which had colorful covers and silly, whimsical titles, until you found the frog book.

“Here,” you offered, passing it over to him.

You leaned your head back against the wall and closed your eyes, listening to Din’s serious, even voice narrate the heartwarming hijinks of a family of frogs. The kid cooed and babbled along.

To your (and the kid’s) utter delight, Din’s rendition slowly evolved into a full-on dramatic reading, complete with sound effects and slightly different voices for each character, as he leaned into whatever prompted the most enthusiastic responses from the kid. You kept your eyes closed and said nothing, worried that if you drew attention to this new development, he’d get self-conscious and stop. You couldn’t help from smiling a little though.

When the story came to its conclusion, you opened your eyes. Din was scrolling through the library of options, browsing for the next book. “What do you think? Which one next?” You looked at him, but he wasn’t asking you. The kid let out a string of gibberish, pointing with a teeny finger. Din read out the titles of several options, selecting the one that triggered the most animated trill.

As Din began the story, he shifted until his body was flush with yours. The places where his beskar made contact with you were cold, even through the fabric of your clothes, but you didn’t mind.

By the time Din finished the second book, the kid was displaying the telltale signs—drooping ears and unfocused eyes—that bedtime had arrived.

Din handed you the datapad and stood to tuck the kid into bed.

As he shut the door to his bunk, you said, “I think you just put me out of a job.”

He scoffed, but you could tell he was pleased.

***

As you got more comfortable around each other, Din took to walking around without his armor—beside his helmet—on. Most of the time, he’d even leave his gloves off. He wore either a flight suit that zipped up the middle or a black shirt and pants...with suspenders. The first few times, it was jarring to see him like that, without his armor. He looked wrong. It was like seeing a turtle without its shell... but if turtles were sexy.

The first time he emerged from his bunk with the suspenders hanging loosely by his sides, you stopped dead, mouth hanging open. He tilted his helmet sharply at you: “What?”

“You sometimes wear suspenders under your armor?”

“...Yes?”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you and the goofy grin that spread across your face.

“What?” he prompted again, shoulders pulling up toward his neck.

“I just really wasn’t expecting that,” you laughed.

“What were you expecting?” The playful note in his voice left you flustered. He took a step closer, much more relaxed now that he was the one doing the teasing. He was getting too good at flipping things on you.

Instead of answering—because you were not about to address the fact that you had absolutely thought about what he wore under his armor—you strode up to him and pulled the suspenders over his shoulders. He stood uncomfortably still, arms hanging awkwardly by his sides.

“What are you doing?” He looked down at his shirt then back up at you.

“I just want to get the full picture.” You looked him up and down.

“Thought about this a lot, have you?” He quirked his helmet down at you suggestively. It was only the second time you’d gotten that particular flavor of head tilt, and you...didn’t hate it. It made your neck feel hot. You disregarded the intense desire to grab him by the suspenders and jerk him toward you.

Instead, you narrowed your eyes at him, enjoying this new bold flirtation. Without looking away from his visor, you hooked a finger through one of the suspenders and pulled it out a couple inches, letting it snap back against him.

“Ow.” He stated it so matter-of-factly that it obviously hadn’t hurt, but for dramatic effect, he rubbed the spot on his chest where it hit him.

“You’ll survive,” you assured him, patting his shoulder and brushing past him to climb the ladder to the cockpit. When you sat down in the pilot’s seat and kicked your feet up to rest on the console, you still had a smile on your face.

***

A few hours later, you were seated in the copilot seat with the child held tightly in your lap as the Razor Crest descended through the atmosphere of Arvala-7. On the way, Din shared how he’d met this friend—he had helped Din when he was originally tracking down the child months ago.

However, when you asked what his friend’s name was, Din said he didn’t know. Honestly, you weren’t even that surprised. Just exasperated.

Din told you the details of when he tracked down the child, including the assassin droid he'd crossed paths with. He explained how he’d teamed up with IG-11, but in the end, he had to destroy the droid to protect the kid. The anger in his voice was raw when he described watching IG-11 point his blaster at the child.

As the dusty, cracked surface of the planet came into view, you asked, “Is that what caused your thing with droids?”

“What thing?”

“Din.”

He was silent for a long moment.

“Droids destroyed my home planet, killed my parents. They’re the reason I was a foundling as a child.”

His words washed over you, and your heart dropped. You leaned forward in your seat to put a hand on his shoulder. He stayed perfectly still, helmet trained on the controls in front of him.

“I’m sorry.”

He nodded stiffly and reached up to squeeze your hand briefly.

“We’re about to land.”

You took that as a cue to drop the subject for now.

***

You and Din, the kid in his arms, approached a small collection of low structures. You swept your eyes across the uniform landscape—all was dry and sienna and flat. The Ugnaught’s homestead was the only sign of habitation in sight. The buildings were brown and domed, and windmills creaked slowly in the warm breeze. Three blurrgs in a large corral watched you balefully.

“Mandalorian!” the Ugnaught greeted, emerging from the door of his low home.

“Ugnaught,” Din replied with a nod.

“I did not think I would see you here again. What business brings you back to Arvala-7?”

“I was hoping that my friends could stay with you for a couple nights—I’ll pay you for the lodging.”

Of course he'd refer to me and a literal infant as his "friends."

You introduced yourself, offering your hand.

The Ugnaught bowed his head slightly as he clasped your hand: “It is nice to make your acquaintance. I am Kuill.”

At least Din knows his name now.

Kuill turned back to Din. “The child remains in your care,” he observed.

“Yes,” said Din, offering no explanation. He set the child down on the ground, and he toddled his way slowly over to Kuill.

Kuill scooped up the baby, and he chirruped happily, reaching toward his whiskery mustache.

“It hasn’t grown much.”

“I think it might be a Strand-Cast.”

You shot Din a skeptical look. He’d never shared this particular theory of his with you.

“I don’t think it was engineered. I’ve worked in the gene farms. This one looks evolved. Too ugly,” mused Kuill.

You raised your eyebrows at the frankness of his statement. He is not ugly.

“Your friends are welcome to stay with me. No payment will be necessary. I have spoken.” Kuill turned and headed back inside without so much as a backward glance.

“I insist,” Din said to his back.

Kuill disappeared into his home.

Din turned to you: “He does that. Just ends a conversation like that.”

“I understand why the two of you get along so well. Men of few words.” You raised an eyebrow at him.

Din nodded, reinforcing your point inadvertently.

You and Din stepped closer to each other at the same time. For the first time, you let the concern you were feeling color your features.

“I’ll be back in three days, if not sooner.”

He was padding his timeline in response to the worry that was etched across your face. You knew Din could defend himself—that wasn’t your fear. It was that, whether he liked to admit it or not, he occasionally let trust blind him. The irony of that wasn’t lost on you, considering how long it had taken for him to trust you. This was the trademark paradox of Din. He was loath to fully let people in, but he had a tendency to take people at face value and assume they would keep their word—because he always kept his word. He had a surprisingly generous worldview for someone with such a violent profession and brutal past.

Din reached down to grab something small that was tucked in his belt—the metal ball from one of the controls in the cockpit that the kid loved to play with. He occasionally pretended to be irritated whenever he wanted to play with it, but you knew he found it endearing.

He handed it to you. “He’ll want that.”

You smiled and nodded, looking at the sphere in your palm. Din raised a hand to your chin and tilted your face back up to his.

Do we... hug? He doesn’t seem like a hugger.

So instead, you offered, “Be careful, okay?”

“I will,” he promised. He stayed there for a moment longer, looking at you and rubbing his thumb along your cheek. Before you could decide if you should also try to hug him, he turned abruptly to walk back to the Crest.

You stayed and watched him as he walked the distance back to the ship and disappeared up the ramp. You stayed and watched as the Razor Crest rumbled to life and took off. You stayed and watched as it ascended through the atmosphere and vanished from view.

***

It was a relief to be off the ship for a few days—even if Arvala-7 wasn’t exactly your ideal planet. It would be a treat to eat real food, instead of shelf-stable ration packs, and to have more than the limited space of the ship to move around in... not to mention an actual bed.

Kuill was a kind and welcoming host. He offered you his spare room, where you placed your things, and you sat down for tea together in his small kitchen.

“How did you come to be in the company of the Mandalorian and the child?”

“I guess he has a soft spot for people who are wanted by the Empire?” you chuckled, and Kuill nodded somberly. “Now, we’re just helping each other out.” You weren’t really sure how else to explain it.

Kuill didn’t press you anymore than that, nodding sagely. Instead, while you sipped your tea with the kid on your lap, he told you about his background—decades of indentured servitude to the Empire before he worked off his debt and bought his freedom—in the solemn, frugal way that was clearly characteristic of the Ugnaught. You understood why Din trusted him: he was forthright, calm, wise.

“What can I help you with while I’m here?” you asked, already anxious to find something to occupy your time.

“You are my guest. You do not need to do any work.”

“I would be happy to,” you insisted. “I would rather be busy. I can help with cleaning or repairs—whatever you need. My formal training was in programming, but I’ve picked up general skills along the way.”

Kuill nodded and said, “Come.”

He turned and walked out of his house. You set down your tea on the table and followed him, the child tucked in the crook of your elbow, happily clutching the silver ball. Kuill stopped in front of the workstation that was a short distance from his doorway. Tools and wiring and various speeder parts were arranged on and around a long workbench and a collection of smaller tables and shelves. The circular backdrop of the workbench was the repurposed window of a TIE fighter.

An assassin droid was laid across the tabletop.

“Is this the droid that Mando shot?”

“I believe so, yes. It was left behind, in the Mandalorian’s wake of destruction. I found it lying where it fell—devoid of all life. I recovered the flotsam and staked it as my own in accordance with the Charter of the New Republic. Little remains of its neural harness. Reconstruction will be quite difficult.”

“What are your plans for it?”

“To convert it from an assassin droid to something more useful: a protocol and nurse droid.”

You nodded. “Handy.”

“I will have to reconstruct the neural harness, and then it will have to relearn every function from scratch. It will be a blank slate on which to program something nurturing instead of destructive. You may help me restore him if you would like.”

“Of course.”

The two of you got to work.

***

That night, when you lay down to sleep, you tossed and turned. The child was snuggled in a makeshift crib next to your bed. You found yourself sitting up periodically to check on him. Every time you checked on him, he was sleeping soundly.

Eventually, you slipped out of your bed, tiptoed quietly through the house, and walked out into the cold, clear night. You walked aimlessly for a while, circling the corral of blurrgs. They were asleep, eyes shut tight, standing in a close clump. Then you turned to head out across the open plain and watch the stars through the thin veil of clouds that dusted the sky.

You were starting to regret that you hadn’t pushed harder to go with Din. He was with a whole team of people who sounded untrustworthy at best, malicious at worst. You couldn’t help but think of all the things you should have said to him before he left. You hadn’t even hugged him.

It was freaking you out a little just how attached you were to a man who you’d known for a couple months.

You walked until the chill of the night air became too much, then turned back.

In the morning, you sat at Kuill’s kitchen table again, feeding the child. Kuill moved around the small food prep area, pulling together breakfast and making tea.

You followed Kuill as he went about his daily jobs, caring for the blurrgs, doing routine maintenance, and continuing the work on IG-11.

You were sweating in the sun, hands covered in grease, concentrating on refitting a damaged arm joint when Kuill’s calm voice brought you out of your train of thought.

“It is curious that the Mandalorian elected to keep the child.”

You looked up at him. “He secretly has a soft heart,” you said, smiling to yourself.

“Yes, that much is clear, but he is also set in his beliefs, and this choice went against the Guild Code. What is curious is that such a small being could inspire a change of heart in such a rigid person.”

You considered his words.

“I... think he was just waiting to find a greater purpose than hunting, to find someone to love, you know? It comes naturally to him, but I don’t think he’d ever had the chance.”

Kuill hummed thoughtfully. “Is that not what we are all doing—looking for a greater purpose?”

“I guess?” You shrugged.

“And have you?”

“Have I what?” you asked, wiping a bead of sweat off your forehead.

“Have you found the greater purpose you were looking for?”

You considered for a moment then said, “Well... I found a purpose a long time ago, when I joined the Alliance, and since then, I’ve been too busy trying to escape the wrath of the Empire to really think about what’s next in the larger sense... Staying alive has been the main priority.”

Kuill hummed again, glancing over at the kid. “You weren’t looking for something greater, but it appears to have found you.”

“I...,” you started. You watched the child, who was siting on the hard ground admiring the silver ball clutched in his hand. “I’m not sure.”

“I have spoken,” said Kuill, bowing his head, and he lapsed back into silence.

You watched the kid as he dropped the ball and staggered to his feet, squealing excitedly as he chased a lizard that darted past him. You wondered where Din was at this exact moment, and your heart squeezed in a familiar way.

***

The second night was much like the first. You walked outside for some time, thinking of all the awful things that could be happening to Din.

What if they turn on him?

What if another hunter finds him?

What if he doesn’t come back?

It wasn't a crazy thought. You were used to people not coming back.

Until that moment, you hadn't considered that you'd be the sole guardian of the kid if Din didn't return. For a split second, you felt the crushing weight of responsibility for the life and safety and happiness of the tiny green child that Din must feel at all times.

Eventually you fell into a fitful sleep, waking early, and the day dawned bright and cold. As the sun climbed, the chill rapidly dissipated, making way for a dry heat that seemed to be the only weather condition on Arvala-7.

You spent the morning helping Kuill continue the repairs on IG-11. You did your best to not count the hours that slipped by. He’d said it could take three days, so there was no reason to be concerned yet.

But... did he mean he would return ON the third day? Or the fourth day?

And for that matter... did the day he left count as day one? Or was yesterday day one?

Did he mean seventy-two hours from the time he left? Or that he’d be back at the start of the third day?

How did I not clarify this before he left??

That evening, you were in deep in discussion about artificial intelligence when Kuill said, “I believe your Mandalorian has returned to you.” He pointed behind you, and you whipped around to see the Crest touching down in a cloud of dust in the distance.

“Will you—?” you asked, turning back to Kuill.

“I will watch the child.” He seemed vaguely amused by your enthusiasm.

You sprang to your feet and walked as fast as you could toward the Crest. You briefly considered running, but that felt dramatic. He’d only been gone a couple days.

Why did he land so fucking far away?

You’d made it about half the distance when the ramp of the Crest finally began to lower with a hiss. Your resolve snapped, and you started to jog. Din descended the ramp, and you were so relieved to see him that you weren’t even embarrassed anymore that you were literally running to him.

Din cocked his head—a curious head tilt—when he saw you sprinting at him across the dusty ground. He paused at the bottom of the ramp.

“Are you—?” he started to say as you crashed into his chest and wrapped your arms around him. He barely budged upon impact.

His shoulders relaxed immediately, and he pulled you tight against him.

Well, if he wasn’t a hugger before, he is now.

“I’m okay,” he reassured you.

“Good,” you said into the fabric bunched around his neck.

After a moment, you released him and stepped back, the steadying weight of his hands remaining on your arms. He looked like he was in one piece, but the slight heaviness in his shoulders told you that the job had taken a toll on him.

“I, uh, missed you too,” he said, a little awkwardly.

You smiled at him and took his gloved hand in yours to walk back towards Kuill’s home. You felt slightly giddy that you were casually holding the Mandalorian’s hand. He seemed taken by it too, his helmet tilted down to where your fingers were intertwined.

“The kid?” he asked, looking up to your face.

“He’s good. Misses you, I think. Ate several frogs. And one lizard. The usual. He is disgusting,” you laughed.

Din made a sound that you would almost swear was a snort. “Yeah, he is,” he agreed fondly.

Kuill was waiting outside his home, the child in his arms. When you and Din were close, Kuill set him down, and the baby tottered over to wrap his tiny arms around Din’s calf.

You watched as Din bent stiffly, slowly to pick up the kid.

“You’re hurt,” you realized.

“I'm fine,” he said.

You felt sure that wasn’t true, but you let it be for the moment.

“Thank you,” Din addressed Kuill. He reached into the pouch of his belt for credits.

“I will not accept payment,” Kuill insisted, shaking his head. “In fact, your friend here helped me make great progress on my current project.” Kuill raised his eyebrows at you.

“Very well,” Din acquiesced.

You gathered your things and said your thank yous and goodbyes, returning to the Crest, which—with a jolt—you realized was already starting to feel like home.

***

Chapter 8

***

Taglist: @bbdoyouloveme @beskarhearts @bookloverfilmoholic @elinedjarin @eury-dice3 @dincrypt @dunderr @honey-hi @jagi-yaaa @just-me-and-my-obsessions00 @mbpokemonrulez @red-leaders @speakerforthedead0 @tuskens-mando @spideysimpossiblegirl @theflightytemptressadventure @ubri812 @zoemariefit

If you want to be added or removed, let me know!

[eggtoasties]

Pairing: Akaashi Keiji x Reader

Rating: G for extreme levels of fluff

Word Count: 1k

Summary: Akaashi doesn’t know who’s responsible, but all he can think is, “thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Akaashi struggles to turn the page of his book with one hand. His right arm is draped over her shoulder, tracing patterns on the bare skin as she watches TV. Tugging on his hand to pull his arm across her chest then burrowing herself into him, he melts.

She pulls his free hand up to her mouth and kisses his open palm and he thanks every one of his past lives for bringing him to her because he swears he’s entered nirvana since the day they confessed their love for each other.

He must’ve been a saint, he reasons, to be able to experience her daily acts of divinity in the form of sweet touches. He puts his book down to wrap his arms around her, squeezing her so tight she exhales a sharp breath which turns to a contented hum as he peppers kisses across her temple.

Akaashi unwraps his arms to squeeze her shoulders before gently raking his nails down her arms, delighting in the hairs that rise in response and holds her hands in his. With her full gaze on him, he suddenly feels shy and closes his eyes to kiss her knuckles.

He opens his eyes when she pulls her hands from him only to intertwine their hands together and squeeze. Taking one of his large hands in hers, she presses her thumbs into the fleshy part of his palm and massages. Nodding at the way his shoulders droop in relaxation, she flips his hand, palm up and paints a finger across the worn lines.

“I can read palms, you know,” she nearly whispers.

Akaashi quirks his lip. “Can you now?”

She looks intently at his palm, thumbs stroking his hand until she points her index finger at the long line curving away from his thumb.

“This,” she says, tracing the crease with a nail, “tells me that you will be successful in life.” Choosing the line next to it she brings his hand closer to her face, and furrows her brow. “You may find yourselves at a cross roads in terms of your career.”

“I see,” he responds, more so enjoying the feel of her fingertips—featherlight, making tingles run down his neck to the base of his spine.

Pointing to short lines at the side of his palm she explains, “These mean you’ll have two to three kids.” Then following the expanse of another long line, “And this one,” she pauses, “means you’ll turn into a frog.”

He laughs as she nods solemnly.

“That would be unfortunate.”

“But don’t worry,” she says cheerily, pulling his hand close to her once again. “Your palm also tells me that if you give me enough kisses, you can circumvent this great tragedy.”

He pulls her into him, her back against his chest and breathes the smell of her perfume. “Sounds like extortion,” he huffs against her neck.

Wiggling in his grasp to face him, she pouts. “I would do no such thing.”

He rolls his eyes playfully and plants kisses on soft cheeks, tickling the peach fuzz as he delicately traces the tip of his nose across the expanse of skin.

“Would you still love me if I were a frog?” he asks between kisses.

She hums in thought. “It’d be tough, I think.”

Affronted, he scoffs in disbelief, pulling away from her.

“Like, would I have to buy you a fancy terrarium or something? Or do frogs live in tanks?” she wonders out loud.

“You wouldn’t keep me in bed?”

“’Kaashi, I’d crush you.”

Conceding, he pouts a little and she laughs at his disgruntled sigh.

“I didn’t know your love for me ran so deep that you’d keep me around even if I turned into an amphibian,” she jokes, placing her chin on his shoulder.

He sniffs. “Well, of course.”

“Is the romance story you’re editing at work that good?” she teases. “Is that why you’re feeling extra sappy?”

Her eyes feign innocence but twinkle with mirth as he tries to deliver an expressionless stare but fails when he feels the edges up his lip curl. Akaashi motions for her hand and smooths it over his open palm. He traces the creases and taps at a random one.

“This one tells me you’re a heartless monster who’d deny her frog boyfriend a warm bed.” He deadpans at her laughter but feels warmth bloom from his chest.

Pointing to another line he says, “And this one tells me you have no respect for the epic mermaid romance story I’m editing.”

She gasps dramatically and brings her free hand to her chest, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He looks down at her open palm but fails to come up with another quip. She states that the fates would never giver her so many bad omens and demands a refund.

“This was the worst fortune I’ve ever been given,” she complains.

“Don’t blame me—the ghosts told me what to say.”

“The huh—” she furrows her brows, “you were reading my palm via ghost?” she asks disbelievingly. “Didn’t know you were a medium now,” she huffs. Narrowing her eyes she pouts, “Sounds like you were just making stuff up to me.”

“Oh?” Akaashi quirks a brow. “And you weren’t?”

She grasps at his hands and pull them to her chest. Looking up at him earnestly, she vigorously shakes her head. “I swear it.”

Snorting at her theatrics, she breaks out in giggles. Then into a full laugh, throwing her head back, tears collecting at the sides of eyes. Akaashi can’t help but join her, bowing his head and laughing into their clasped hands. His shoulders shake and he loses his breath at the ridiculousness of everything, but can’t help to wonder again what he could possibly have done to deserve this form of bliss.

When they stop laughing their gazes meet. Cheeks flushed with happiness, eyes dewy with tears, he smiles at her. For all the emotions he feels for her, for all the words in his expansive vocabulary he could string together to convey how much he adores her, he settles for squeezing her hands and utters a quiet ‘I love you.’

[xjoonchildx]

guarded | jhs x reader | chapter one: fan mail

summary: you’ve tried to separate yourself from your infamous crime family, but a new case has your carefully-constructed world crashing down around you.  now you have to figure out how to heal old wounds and handle the new man who enters your orbit.

pairing: hoseok x reader

genre: mafia AU, E2L, slow burn, tsundere, eventual smut

rating: 18+

word count: 2.8K

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | EPILOGUE

***************************

You stare at the words for a moment before folding the paper in half and slipping it back into the envelope you pulled it from.  

Honestly?  

It’s not the first time you’ve gotten a threat. It happens from time to time in this line of work.

But this note plucks a chord of anxiety inside of you. Must be the eleven missed calls you suspect go hand-in-hand with your little love letter. Your phone hasn’t stopped buzzing for a half-hour now.

“Are you okay?”

Hyejin’s voice filters through your thoughts. She’s taken stock of the strange look that crosses your face in the split-second before you school your features back into a mask of calm.

She’s observant like that.

“Oh yeah, it’s nothing,” you say, shaking your head.  “Just some fan mail.”  

Your phone buzzes against the papers on your desk -- again -- and Hyejin raises an eyebrow.

Make that twelve.

“Tell you what,” she says, standing to stretch her legs. “I’m ready to go blind from reading these files and I could use an Americano.  You want one?”

“Actually yes,” you exhale.  “That’s exactly what I need. You’re a lifesaver.”

She gives you one last are you sure you don’t need to tell me anything? look before opening the door to your office.  You reassure her with a soft smile but the second the door to your office closes, you blow out one long, heavy breath and reach for your phone.

you: what the hell? [ 3:15 PM ]

namjoon: this can’t wait [ 3:15 PM ]

you: clearly [ 3:16 PM ]

namjoon: come in ASAP [ 3:16 PM ]

You groan.

Namjoon knows you avoid that place at all costs.

It’s not a good look for you to be seen there -- and so as a rule -- you’re not.  Your brother is usually understanding about your stance on the matter. But it’s not like him to push so there’s probably a damned good reason why he’s summoning you to his office like some wayward employee.

You glance back at the stack of files on your desk, riddled with notes and highlights.  Even after a morning spent tag-teaming with Hyejin, there’s still a shitload of work to be done. But then you look back at that envelope sitting on your desk and pick up your phone again.

you: give me thirty minutes [ 3:19 PM ]

namjoon: okay [ 3:19 PM ]

Paperwork is going to have to wait.

*****************************

You’re not a moron.  

You know what people say about your family, what they say about you.

You know what they whisper when you show up to charity galas and fundraising dinners. You know what they murmur the second their false smiles fall and you turn your back. They say that the money that paid for your prep schools and top-notch legal education is blood money; paid for by one of Seoul’s oldest and most powerful crime networks.  They say that you took a job prosecuting crime to assuage for your family’s sins.

They’re not wrong.

Your father -- your cruel, unsophisticated father -- shelled out top dollar to put you in fancy schools and fancy clothes and fancy riding lessons.  He threw elaborate birthday parties where he showered you with extravagant gifts in front of guests who were only there to celebrate because they feared turning down the invitation.

So others saw your material good fortune and mistook you for a pampered mafia princess. None of them had to come home every day to the stench of death and destruction. None of them had to endure the gossip and the looks and the cold shoulders.

That was a burden you shared with only one other person.

You and Namjoon huddled together during your lavish and turbulent childhood, leaning on one another for strength because no one else understood. He was the only safe harbor you had in the storm you both lived every day.

And then you left.

You walked away from your father and the Gajog and crossed the country to study law.  Far from the vicious gossip and prying eyes and violent drama that always awaited you in Seoul.  You walked away and decided that you weren’t going to live that life anymore.  

But you also walked away from Namjoon.

Now it’s a cold comfort, seeing your brother seated so naturally at the throne of power your father vacated when he died.  The old-school brute-force organization your father ran for decades is a thing of the past.  In its place, a well-oiled, highly-organized machine -- making far more money and far fewer mistakes.  

Namjoon single-handedly pulled the crime syndicate into a new era, dusted it off and dressed it up.  He legitimized parts of the business, took up residence in one of the city’s most expensive buildings, and basically dared law enforcement to come get him.

They still haven’t.

And there isn’t a day that Namjoon doesn’t cross your mind.  

There isn’t a day that you don’t pray that the menace that existed inside your father never takes root inside of your brother.  You pray that he can shoulder the burden of his responsibilities without rotting from the inside out.  

If anyone can, you tell yourself, it’s him.

**********************

Namjoon cuts an imposing figure behind his grandiose wooden desk.

He’s seated when his assistant first opens the door to his secure private office, but as soon as you follow her inside he makes to stand.

He looks so tall now, you think -- as though it’s been years since you’ve seen him.  

In reality, it’s only been a few months since your last brief encounter, but it’s still hard sometimes to recognize the handsome, polished man in front of you as the kid you grew up with. You’re hit with a pang of regret that it’s been so long since you’ve seen one another face-to-face.

Two men stand guard on either side of Namjoon’s desk, which doesn’t surprise you. Your brother is always surrounded by guards these days.  

The only one you recognize is Min Yoongi, who gives a slight bow in your direction as you cross the broad expanse of the office.  You’re certain you’ve never seen the second man, who stands eerily still on your brother’s other side.  You can feel the stranger’s stare from a distance and avert your eyes.

You bow to Namjoon and take a seat in the plush chair facing his desk.  A fond look passes over his features but when he opens his mouth to speak his tone is businesslike, serious.

“I know you don’t like coming in here,” he begins carefully, “and so I have to apologize for asking you to make an exception.  I hope you understand this can’t be helped.”

“Yes, of course,” you say softly. “Sorry it took me a while.  I’m buried with a new case.”

Namjoon nods.

“That case is the reason why we’ve run into a bit of trouble in the past few days,” he admits. “Some of our friends across town are pretty upset about it.  Apparently very agitated and hoping to leverage the fact that you’ve been assigned to this case to their advantage.”

“I see,” you murmur.

You knew the men you’d been assigned to build a weapons trafficking case against were part of a rival organization -- but on paper they were low-level foot soldiers, considered expendable in a business like theirs.  Why the Ssijog were so worried about losing a couple of nobodies from their ranks was a bit puzzling.

“I guess that explains this,” you say, reaching into your bag for the letter delivered to your office.  

You hand it to Namjoon and he reads the words with a tight expression before turning it over to the man you don’t recognize.  It’s a relief when the stranger’s focus moves away from you and onto that paper. You take the opportunity to get a closer look at him.

The first word that comes to mind is sharp.

Everything about the man is sharp -- from his meticulously tailored suit to his severe jawline to the angles of his body.  Intense dark eyes set in honey gold skin and black hair carefully styled off of his face. You’re caught staring when his eyes snap up from the paper and back to you.

You clear your throat, gaze darting back to your brother.

“They want you to make this go away.”

You sigh.

“I can’t do that. I don’t have that kind of authority. And besides, it would attract all the wrong kinds of attention to me and -- “ you pause, choose your next words carefully, “ -- to my ties to this organization.”

Namjoon concedes your point with a slow bob of his head.

“Right.  So we have a problem,” he admits.  “Because the message we’re getting is that they’re willing to do whatever it takes to get what they want.  And it’s been made quite clear to me that hurting you is not off the table.”

You take in a deep breath.

“This is Jung Hoseok,” Namjoon says after a short silence, motioning to the stranger at his side. You straighten when the man acknowledges you with a barely-there bow.  

“I’ve assigned him to your detail.”

“Detail,” you repeat slowly.  “Like a bodyguard.”

“Exactly like that.”

“Namjoon, I -- “ you look away from the man to turn your attention back to your brother,  “-- I can’t have one of your guys following me around.  People are going to talk.”

“Amsaja,” he sighs, “They talk anyway.”

You bristle at his use of your childhood nickname.  

You know it’s meant as an endearment but it still feels infantilizing in front of his men -- one of whom hasn’t seen you in years, one of whom knows nothing about you at all.  You’re a grown woman, a successful prosecutor, and more than just Kim Namjoon’s little sister.

“Joon -- “

There is annoyance behind the way you fire off his name and one of your brother’s eyebrows lifts in warning.  A silent reminder that in this room, in this building, in this realm, he is the absolute authority.  You swallow back the argument on the tip of your tongue.

“Namjoon,” you start again, this time with a restrained calm.  “Please. Let’s have this conversation in private.”

He drums his fingers across the surface of his wooden desk before nodding his agreement and raising a hand to motion his guards out the door.  You wait until both men are gone and the heavy door to Namjoon’s office clicks shut to speak again.

“You’re putting me in a terrible position here,” you exhale. “I’ve worked so hard to -- distance myself.  I can’t walk around with a reminder of my family history at my heels.”

Your brother stands from his seat and walks to an ornate sideboard, pours liquor from a heavy crystal decanter into a highball glass.  He takes a slow drink before speaking.

“You are worried about your image; I’m worried about your safety.  Those two concerns are not equal. Not to me.”

Your face heats at the kernel of truth in your brother’s assessment.  

Certainly, it’s about how it looks, but it’s so much more than that. It’s about the life you’ve worked so hard to build away from the drama surrounding your family name.  It’s about a future that depends on the burial of your past.

Namjoon leans against his heavy wooden desk, arms crossed.

“You should know me by now,” he continues.  “If I thought these were empty words, I wouldn’t have bothered you with them.”

“I know that,” you admit quietly.  Doesn’t make the pill any easier to swallow, though.

“Hoseok is under orders to stay with you at all times. Obviously, he won’t be physically at your side while you’re working, but he will be close by.  And he will be staying at your apartment for the time being.”

You blink.  “In my apartment?”

A flash of irritation crosses your brother’s face. “Yes, in your apartment.  I’m privy to information you don’t have.”  He takes a long drink from the highball glass.  “It’s necessary until we have this situation under control.”

“I don’t know this man,” you argue, and that eyebrow lifts again at the rising heat in your tone. “Can���t you give me Yoongi or Seokjin or someone else?”

“No.”

“Thanks for considering that, Joon.”

You don’t even bother to hide your displeasure now, climbing out of the plush chair and walking over to the massive window that makes up the back wall of your brother’s office. You look down at the street. From this height, the cars below look like toys and the people look like ants.  

Namjoon joins you in front of the window, drink in hand.

“I don’t want to fight with you, I want to protect you. Jung Hoseok has worked for me three years now and he spent many more years serving in the military.  He is the man I want for this assignment and I need you to trust me on that, too.”

You say nothing, staring out the window and feeling suddenly exhausted.  You hate everything about today -- the letter, the case, this arrangement you now have to endure.  You hate that this is the first real conversation you’ve had with your brother in months and you’re locking horns.  

“Okay,” you whisper after a while, reluctant to let the tension escalate. Your brother has asked so little of you since you severed ties with the Gajog -- and effectively, with him.  You swallow past the taste of guilt when you turn to look him in the eye.

“I’ll play ball, Jaegyueo.”

Your brother seems to soften when you use his childhood nickname in return, shoulders relaxing as he takes another sip from the highball and looks out over the city he basically runs.  

“Thank you, Amsaja.”

*************************

Hoseok

“Has she seen this?”

Hoseok stares down at the glossy photograph in his hands.  

There’s little to be gleaned from the details in the picture.  There are no shadows, no reflections, no personal items to give away any clues as to who took it or when.

You are asleep, one bare shoulder peeking out from underneath your plush bedding -- your hair spilling out onto your pillow. You appear blissfully unaware of the danger standing just a few feet away.

“Hell no,” Namjoon exhales.  “And I would like to keep it that way. She’d probably never sleep again if she saw that shit.”

Hoseok hands the photograph back.

“I need the two of you to figure out who got into her apartment.  And then I need you to bring him here.”

Namjoon doesn’t finish that train of thought -- he doesn’t have to.  Hoseok and Yoongi hear clearly everything he hasn’t said.  

“We’ll find him,” Yoongi vows, and Hoseok nods his agreement.  “It’s gonna be handled.”

Namjoon scrubs a hand down his jaw, eyes still glued to the picture on his desk.

He’s an uncharacteristically even-tempered boss, particularly in this line of work.  Seeing him this unnerved is unnerving to Hoseok, who’s seen him handle countless shitty situations with an unnatural calm.

“She’s my sister,” Namjoon says quietly.  “I don’t expect any of you to understand our dynamic, but I need you to know that her safety is my top priority.”

“Understood,” Hoseok murmurs and in that moment, the heavy door to the office opens wide. Namjoon shoves the photograph into his desk drawer.  

Hoseok studies you as you trail Namjoon’s assistant across the length of this massive office.

The first word that comes to mind is small.

You’re much smaller than Hoseok imagined you’d be, basing that assumption almost entirely on Namjoon’s tall and solid frame.  Physically, you are nearly the opposite of your brother, delicate features set in smooth skin, any appearance of height owed directly to the high-heeled shoes you’ve carefully matched to your business suit.  

Hoseok notes that you have the same stubborn set to your jaw, though -- a defense mechanism that slips momentarily when you lock eyes with your brother.  He catches the brief flash of sadness in your face before you manage it away.

In the years he’s been with the Gajog, he’s only heard your name a handful of times --  almost always followed by hushed exchanges and pained expressions.  Never once has anyone breathed your name in front of Namjoon, though.  That appears to be an invisible line everyone understands not to cross.

But now you’re here, in the flesh. One piece of the puzzle revealed.

Hoseok watches your exchange with Namjoon with curiosity. It’s not the easy back-and-forth one would expect to see between a pair of siblings -- but there is an underlying affection between the two of you. A quiet respect.

Amsaja, Namjoon had called you.  Lioness.

Hoseok doesn’t see a lioness when he looks at you, though.  

He sees a rich girl desperate to prove how much better she is than her own flesh and blood.  He sees a social climber so eager to make a name for herself in this city that she walked away from her own brother to make it happen.  

This is the moment that Hoseok decides that you’re not the kind of person he could ever respect.

Because unlike you, he would never put ambition above loyalty.

Never.

**********************

tag list:

@yoongbug @brilliantlybasicb @lemonjoonah @illnevertrustmyselfagain​@sunkissed75 @taetaewonderland @shadowhale​

[syndianites]

A Queen Serve and Protects

Chapter Six

First Chapter –> Last Chapter –> Current –> Next Chapter TBA! Summary:

Post-Style Queen, Pre-Queen Wasp.

Chloe finds the Bee Miraculous, but instead of finding an obliging, subservient Kwami, she finds the Kwami of Order and Subjugation, and Pollen is not about to let herself be used like Nooroo was.

Granted, the only danger in a teenage girl is the damage she poses to herself. Can Pollen shape Chloe into a hero? Or will she stubbornly refuse to change and remain the bitter, harsh person the city has long since known?

[My take on how Chloe’s character could have developed] ——————————————————————————————

Pollen tapped the tablet pen on the table. School had ended and the duo was officially home.

“Chloe,” Pollen began. “It has come to my attention that you don’t do your own work.”

“So?” Chloe nonchalantly replied, crossing one leg over the other from where she sat on the chaise in front of Pollen.

Pollen tried not to roll her eyes. “So, I want you to learn how to be self-sufficient.”

Chloe scoffed. “I am plenty self-sufficient.”

“Really?” Pollen had a sweet smile on her face. “Then prove it.”

:readmore:

Before Chloe could make any remark, Polle flew over to her school bag. It looked more like a purse, honestly, with how much makeup and accessories she had stashed away inside. Seriously, what did you need an extra pair of heels for?

Pollen shook off the thought and grabbed the binder Chloe used for class, as well as her homework folder. Brining both items back to the table, she flipped the folder open. She pulled out the first sheet of homework she saw- something math related- and waved a paw at it.

Chloe gave her a dumbfounded look. “You want me to do that? Sabrina normally does.”

Pollen raised an eyebrow.

“Ugh, fine, I get it.” Chloe grumbled. “What does doing my own work have to do with being self-sufficient anyway?”

“When was the last time you did your own school work.”

“Ughhhh!”

Letting out a little giggle, Pollen decided to make a compromise, “For every question you get correct, I’ll let you ask a question about the Bee miraculous and its powers. However!” Pollen held a paw up before Chloe could get too excited, “For each you get wrong, you have to listen to some history and background on the miraculous.”

“Ooo-kay? How is that a loss for me? I still get to know what I want to know,” Chloe replied.

If only the poor girl knew.

Pollen beamed. “I’m glad you asked! You know how much you love our ‘Bee Nice’ Sessions?”

Chloe groaned.

“Anything I tell you will come along with lessons. I will tell you tales that are important for a number of reasons. And you have to sit through all of them!”

Chloe’s eye twitched. That sounded excruciating. Buuuut, she did want to know more about what powers the Bee miraculous could give her. It was just a simple math worksheet. Surely, it couldn’t be that hard. So Chloe took out a blank sheet of paper and began working.

She was wrong. So, so wrong. Chloe was by no means a bad student. She got solid B’s and pleased her daddy enough with her grades to get by. Did she need to have a study session with Sabrina before each test or quiz to get the contents down? Yes.

But that was all pish-posh. She figured if she could pick up enough for a test or quiz a day before it, she could do homework with no problem. Apparently, she hadn’t been giving Sabrina enough credit. That girl made it so much easier than this.

It didn’t help that her notes were a total disaster. Half-finished sentences, unclear instructions, and a clear lack of interest in each page. For a moment Chloe cursed her own apathy. She wanted to know more, damnit! 

By the time she finished she felt exhausted. Pollen, ever chipper, hummed as she looked through each question. She procured a pen and started making marks. That was a lot of red. Oh GOD, there was so much red.

Pollen tapped the pen to her chin in thought. Giving a nod, she wrote a score at the top of her sheet.

6/15. 

That was just under half! And that meant she would have failed had it been a test. Chloe resisted the urge to hit her head on the table. She could not afford to be forced into tutoring. Again.

Despite Chloe’s despair, Pollen was excited. This was better than she was expecting! Sure, she had been hoping for closer to a 75% or 80%, but Chloe at least had the idea down.

Plus this meant she could drill some more lessons into her charge.

Rubbing her paws together, she addressed Chloe. “Alright. Since it is almost an even split, let’s go back and forth with questions and history. I’ll start with a history lesson first, since you missed more than you got correct. But since I’m feeling nice, I’ll give you a choice here: Would you rather hear some history about my previous holders first, or about all the miraculous as a whole?”

“Your past wielders, of course! I need to know who would be so lucky to use the same miraculous as moi.” Chloe flipped her hair back to accentuate her point.

Pollen huffed. Nonetheless, she thought back to her past holders, humming all the while. Who would be the best to start with to help Chloe learn? 

She smiled as someone came to mind. “Now, before we start, I should say that we aren’t always deployed to battle some great evil. Sometimes, we are let out into the world to help inspire something. For me, I either inspire Order and Control. Or, when that gets to be too much, I inspire freedom from Order and Control.”

“Wait,” Chloe interrupted. “Why would you go against your whole Order thing?”

“I thought you wanted to talk about past wielders first,” Pollen brought a paw up to her lips to hide a smile. “To get into that would mean I would have to talk about all the miraculous.”

“Ugh, fine, whatever. Tell me the basics about all the miraculous first. But! You better tell me about your past users after!” Chloe conceded, pouting at the little god.

Pollen started again. “Like I said, we don’t always need a great evil to fight. At their core, each miraculous is meant to balance out their respective aspects. Tikki- Ladybug’s kwami- is the kwami of Light and Creation, for example. She is largely put out into the world to inspire new ideas and innovation.”

Chloe scrunched her nose in confusion. “Didn’t you say you also get put out to stop Order and Control? Why would you ever want to stop Light and Creation?”

“Well,” Pollen looked off to the side. “You can’t endlessly create. Tikki works on a more individual scale. She inspires Light and Creation in people as individuals. I, however, inspire Order and Subj- Control in a much larger scheme. After all, a bee’s focus is on the hive, isn’t it?”

“In any case, sometimes people burn themselves out when creating too much or spreading too much light. If you give and give and give, what is left for you? Nothing. And those left with nothing often crumble and fall apart- or worse. Tikki, when she is needed to, can either help her holder ease off themselves or help their holder teach others to let go of such demanding responsibility.”

Chloe nodded slowly. That… sort of made sense. “So it’s like when Adr- a friend of mine kept being happy and smiling even after his mother died to help others stop being sad. Because he wanted others to feel ‘lighter’” She made finger quotes, “Despite the tragedy that happened?”

“Yes, that could be a good example,” Pollen agreed. “If your friend gave away all his light and such to others, it could burn him out and leave him feeling empty and cold. Though, in this case I would lean more into the Peacock- he worked to give good emotion to others to cover their grief. But we’ll get there in a moment.”

“Plagg, Chat Noir’s kwami, is Tikki’s counterpart. He is the kwami of Dark and Destruction.” Pollen stopped as Chloe seemed to ponder that.

“If he is all about dark and destruction, wouldn’t that make him more likely to be evil?” Chloe mused.

Pollen, for her part, wasn’t bothered by the question. “If I am all about order and control, wouldn’t I be more likely to use and abuse people?”

Chloe bit her lip, but shook her head no.

“Exactly. Just because that is what we represent it does not mean we are prone to be good or evil. In the balance of all things, there IS no good and evil. Really, it just comes down to what a certain group likes or dislikes, or how a person’s morals are aligned.”

“Okay, no, Hawkmoth is totally evil. There is no doubt about that. How could taking control of others and using their emotions to turn them into monsters be seen as a good thing?” Chloe didn’t like the idea of Hawkmoth being in the ‘right’ at all. It went against everything he had done to Paris.

“Well,” Polled offered, “Does Hawkmoth see himself as evil?”

Chloe sat back in her seat. If movies were anything to go by, he probably didn’t. She sighed and motioned Pollen to continue

Pollen pushed on. “In any case, Plagg is often put into the world to ruin things. Surprising, isn’t it? But sometimes the best things are made in the ashes of destruction. Growing from losing things is important for many people. Like how your friend lost his mom- he likely felt sad and lost. But if he grew from that? He could learn to see that others will have his back and he can lean on them. Even in the hard times.”

Chloe looked away from Pollen. She was right, sort of. When Adrien’s mom died, Chloe had been there trying her best to cheer him up. Did it really work? No. But she helped him escape the house and run around the city with her, and watch stupid cartoons and shows, and sometimes, just sometimes, get him to smile.

“But losing your mom isn’t a good thing!” Chloe snapped back. “That devastated my friend and his family.”

“I know, and I’m sorry I painted it as such. Loss is a horrible thing to endure. But I wanted to make a connection to something you mentioned.” Pollen bowed her head. “Destruction is rarely a happy thing. But, a more positive example would be something more metaphorical- the destruction of insecurities, or breaking a bad relationship, or- or bashing down a wall so you can open up a room to have more space!”

Sighing, Pollen shook her head. “It is far too easy to see Dark and Destruction as a bad thing. Darkness can be used to hide when you don’t feel safe. Or it can be used to tone down how bright something is when you feel blinded. It can also be used as a complement and give things more depth.”

“Of course, Plagg has also been put out to tame destruction. Have you ever heard the phrase ‘fighting fire with fire’? It’s the idea that you fight destruction with destruction. But he can also help people see their bad habits, or the things that hurt them, and get them to reign them in and stop themselves before it’s too late.”

“Okay, sure, that makes sense. But didn’t you just describe Tikki and Plagg as opposites anyway? Light and Dark, Creation and Destruction? Why do they need to get people to go against their aspect when the other IS the opposite?” Chloe butt in.

Pollen brightened. “That’s technically later in this lesson, but I can touch on it now. You’ve likely noticed that Ladybug and Chat Noir came together as a pair, correct?” At Chloe’s nod, she continued. “That is because they are like Yin and Yang- opposites that complete each other. While other kwamis do have opposites, none quite work the same as Tikki and Plagg. They were once a single being- one that was the kwami of Balance.”

“Well,” Pollen rubbed her cheek, “They weren’t a kwami, per se. But that is too much to explain for right now. You recall how Hawkmoth’s goal is to get the Ladybug and Black Cat miraculous?”

“Of course, that’s all he ever talks about when he akumatizes someone!”

“Well, that’s because when you combine the two into one you can have any wish granted.”

“What!” Chloe slammed her hands down on the coffee table, startling Pollen. “That’s horrible! I mean, the power is cool, but if Hawkmoth got his grubby hands on that wish who knows what he would wish for!” 

“Exactly! But there’s a catch with that- whatever you wish for will have an equal and opposite consequence. If you wished for someone to come back to life? Someone else must die. If you want to have all the power in the world? Everyone else must become powerless. These may sound simple, but the gravity is just as dire as the wish would be grand.”

Chloe fell back. “So, if I- well, if I wished for my mom to love me..?”

“It depends,” Pollen shrugged. “Maybe everyone else around you would hate you. Maybe your father would stop loving you. Or, in a more subtle fashion, she wouldn’t love the real you, just a facsimile of you. Whoever she thinks you are. Sure, there are ways to make a wish that has a mostly positive outcome- for the one making the wish- but the consequence will always hurt someone. Even if it has to be a lot of someones.”

The two fell into silence after that declaration. It was a heavy thought. What could drive someone to want to change something so badly they would be willing to suffer or let others suffer for it? How cold hearted must you be? 

The whole thing baffled Chloe. She could just ring her father and have what she wanted with no consequence. Could she imagine doing something so drastic as to ruin someone’s life to make hers better?

Instead of voicing any of this, Chloe leaned forward. “So tell me about the other miraculous…”

[arvandus]

Touch (pt 3)

Pairing: Dabi x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: 18+ only please!  Drug abuse/withdrawal, adult language/themes, heavy angst, past trauma/abuse, anxiety/panic attacks, PTSD, fluff, pining, slow burn, eventual emotional SMUT. *please pay attention to the chapter tags as these warnings will apply at different times*

Synopsis: When you first joined the LOV to lend your healing quirk, Dabi  terrified you.  Not interested in attachments, he wanted to keep it  that way.  That is, until he needs your help. (Slow burn, soft Dabi).

Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future chapters.

Recommended Chapter Song:

Dizzy by MISSIO

Part 1   Part 2

Artwork credit to @hellowon31​ on Twitter (https://twitter.com/hellowon31)

Part 3 - Resistance

The next day, Dabi woke up feeling like a complete wreck of a person.  A mockery of a human being, made of faulty parts stitched together haphazardly by a cruel universe.  He was angry. Furious.  Wasn’t your quirk supposed to last longer than this?  His head pounded.  The sun peeking through the crack in his curtains was an assault. Sweat covered his exposed pale flesh and yet he felt cold, clammy hands shaking.  Dabi laid back on his bed to cocoon himself into his blankets when he realized…his back was still painless.

Your quirk was still working.

Dabi’s bleary eyes caught sight of his empty pill bottles on his nightstand, and realization dawned on him. Withdrawal.

It started sooner than he had hoped.  He would have refilled his stock by now, but his usual seller went missing, most likely picked up by the feds.  Dabi had already reached out to Giran to find a new source, but the old man hadn’t returned his text messages.  So, Dabi spent some of his time the day before following connections within the villain network.  His search came up with nothing; what he could find wasn’t strong enough to justify the expense or the sellers were obviously trying to swindle him with a diluted product. Long story short, he felt like shit and had no quick fix for it.

He wanted to crawl out of his skin.  Fuck. Everything.

The memory of your cool touch on his skin came forefront to his aching head and he wondered if your quirk would be useful for his withdrawal symptoms…

Dabi pushed the thought out of his head.  He wasn’t going to let that be an option.  It was a slippery slope leading to a dependency that he simply couldn’t afford and definitely did not want.  He was already on edge from yesterday’s conversation. His sympathetic thoughts, no matter how brief, made him see a man he didn’t recognize, and the thoughts plagued him ever since.  He had never considered himself a soft guy.  It wasn’t that he didn’t have feelings.  Things could still bother him if he let them.  But he had learned very early on that what he felt didn’t matter. Perhaps it was the gradual silencing of his conscience, small pieces of him chipped away like stone worn down over years of crashing waves.  Only rarely, every once in a while, did the waters of his vengeance and bitter hatred recede enough to allow sunlight to touch his burnt heart.  And in that moment, he saw you, a fragile boat approaching rocky, dangerous shores.

He frowned.  As long as you did your job, what should it matter? You chose this life just like everyone else did.  It wasn’t his responsibility to protect you from it.

As if his heavy thoughts summoned you, your familiar knock rang through his door.  He cursed under his breath.  During his misery, Dabi had forgotten that you were going to visit him this morning.  He had planned to be gone before you came looking for him, a silent show of defiance to your mothering.  But instead he here was, stuck, feeling the shittiest he felt in a long time.  Maybe if he just ignored you…

You knocked on the door again, your pounding louder, incessant.  You were so fucking stubborn.  He glowered at the wooden barrier angrily, the intolerant noise sending a ringing like a tuning fork into the depths of his brain.  He contemplated setting the door on fire just to make a point. He held his restraint by hair, only vaguely aware that doing so would make him feel even worse, if such a thing was even possible.  Plus, you were the only person here with a lick of sense for medical care – he was ninety percent positive you had some sort of medical background.

“What?” he growled as he sat up begrudgingly, unwilling to let you see him so weak.  Nausea permeated him from his sudden motion.

On the other side of the door, you stared at the wood in confusion.  The sound of Dabi’s voice shocked you – low, scratchy, slurred… menacing.

You almost wanted to concede to the unspoken request, but your determination to treat him held tight to your will.  “It’s me.” You replied, hoping your voice didn’t sound as small as it felt.

A pregnant pause greeted you before he finally spoke. “Come in.” It sounded like an order.  Or was it a surrender?  Could it even be both?  How did this man always seem to have two versions of himself running simultaneously?

You came into the room and closed the door behind you with a quiet ‘click.’ You were met with a dark stuffiness, the air unusually warm and infused with the stink of sweat. The curtains were drawn closed, light straining to seep out along the edges of the fabric.  A thin slit of light stretched across Dabi’s bed where he sat, his back facing you.  He looked like a fallen angel, a broken soul.  His shoulders were hunched, drawn tight like a bow string, struggling not to fold in on himself and break.

His bravado was gone, his casual presence muted in the deafening silence.  He wasn’t even trying to pretend this time.  His distress was palpable.  You felt shame being here, your presence intrusive.  You weren’t supposed to see him like this.  So why did he let you in?

A mild panic filled you. Did he hurt himself again since you last saw him?  Or was this your fault?  Did your quirk wear off already?

“What’s wrong?” you asked. He didn’t respond.  You stepped forward cautiously.  “Dabi…?”

Your voice grated on his conscience – words of concern, a tone meant to soothe. He didn’t want your compassion.  He wanted you to be cold and indifferent, a mechanic repairing a broken part.  Or maybe even have you be as crazy as the others, waxing poetic about bloodlust and freedom.  That was a language he understood, that he could navigate with ease.  Not this benevolence.  Not this normalcy.  Why were you so different?

“You’re annoying.” He growled just loud enough for you to hear.

You halted your approach and your back stiffened.  “What?”

“Stop acting like you fucking care.”  The words spilled out of his mouth without a concern as to their damage.  He knew you cared, even if it was on a basic level, which was why he desperately, accusatorily denied it.

Everything bothered him. His head.  His body.  The stink of this room… you seeing him like this.  Why did that bother him?

You pressed your lips together, your jaw taut.  The tension in the room became as palpable as the stifling air.  What could you possibly say? That you did care?  Well, did you? You cared enough to be here, at least. You had a responsibility to treat him, and you’d be lying to yourself if you said he hadn’t been on your mind more than usual the past couple of days.  Of course, he’d never know that…. But were you friends by any stretch of the definition? No.  Definitely not. So, if he wanted to be a jerk and suffer with his pride, then you’d let him.

“If you want me to leave, just say so.” You replied coolly.  “I’m just here to do my job.”

Your answer satisfied him, cold and to the point, a counterbalance to your overwhelmingly gentle nature.  It provided him the emotional distance he needed, a cloak he donned willingly to shelter himself from your prying eyes.  And through his mental fog, he realized in mild amusement that it was the second time you called his bluff, grinding in your heels to deflect his verbal strikes. You weren’t easily bullied; at least, not as easily as he’d originally thought.

“Whatever.” He grumbled. “Let’s just get this over with, I got shit to do.”

You clenched and unclenched your hands around your bag.  You were grateful Dabi caved, your conscience breathing a sigh of relief.  You’d make it quick, to address what you needed to and leave him to sort himself out in solitude, like you knew he wanted.  You began to approach him, quiet steady steps around his bed so you could get a closer look at him. If he was going to let you treat him, you might as well try to make the most of your limited time and see if you could figure out what was wrong.

As soon as you could see his face, you realized he was holding something in his hand. An empty pill bottle.  His eyes stared at it like it held the answers to the universe while also cursing its existence.

Suddenly, everything clicked.  The agitation.  The pain. The misplaced anger… Of course.

You closed the distance between you until you were standing in front of him.  Without saying anything, you quietly took the bottle from his hand, which, surprisingly, he let you.  You read the name and the dosage.  It was a strong one.

“Dabi,” you said quietly, hoping you didn’t sound patronizing, “How long has it been since you’ve had your medication?”

There it was.  That kindness again.  You brought it forth so effortlessly, as if he didn’t just insult you a moment ago. Somewhere, behind his defenses, the itch of guilt settled itself into his mind like an unwelcome guest.

He was quiet for a moment as he stared at the bottle in your hand, his eyes either unable or unwilling to meet yours.  “Two days.” He replied, his voice scratchy.

You quickly did the math in your head.  He had mentioned that his pain meds ran out when he first asked for your help, but you had thought nothing of it at the time, assuming he had ways of fixing his problem.  You should have known.  You should have checked with him.  Drug withdrawal was no joke.

“When are you getting more?” you asked.

“Not sure, doll.  My supplier has gone AWOL and I haven’t found a backup.” He put his head between his hands and rubbed at his temples.  You watched him with quiet concern.  At first you wanted to use your quirk to try to help him, your hand starting to reach out to his wild raven hair instinctually. You faltered.  Would your quirk even work with this?  This wasn’t a cut or a burn or a broken rib… this was a chemical imbalance in his brain.  What if you hurt him or messed him up somehow?  Slowly you lowered your hand.  He needed his drugs.  

“How many of these did you take a day?” you asked as you looked at the bottle again.

He answered.  Your eyes bulged slightly.  How was this man not stumbling around when you first met him? He must have built up a tolerance over years of use.  Besides, quirkology affected everyone’s body a little differently.  Still, it definitely explained his bored expression and overall body language – this guy was constantly high.

“Don’t look so surprised, doll.” He stared up at you with shining bloodshot eyes.  His forehead was beaded in sweat, his skin so ghostly pale that only the rise and fall of his shallow chest indicated he was a breathing, living human.

You watched him, taking in his current state.  If he did finally get a hold of new meds on his own, would he be able to show restraint? Logically, you knew that he was experienced with this – it obviously wasn’t his first rodeo.  But still, a part of you couldn’t help but worry.

“You could really hurt yourself with these.” You replied softly.

“I know my limits.” He stated firmly, annoyance starting to seep in.

“That’s what everyone says, until they don’t.”

His brow furrowed, dark eyebrows pulled together like closing gates.  “Look, doll.  If you’re gonna lecture me, then you really can leave.  I don’t need your help with this.  I got by just fine before you came along.”

You wanted to snap back at him, to defend what seemed common sense to you, but you held back.  Poking the bear would help no one.

You kneeled down next to him and opened your bag, rummaging through your things.  “I’m not trying to lecture you.  I’m trying to help you.”  You found what you were looking for and pulled it out.  Nervousness filled you – you hoped he didn’t ask too many questions.

Dabi eyed the bottle of medication in your hand in hunger.

“It’s not as strong as what you’re used to,” you explained, “but it will take the edge off.”

“What kind of doctor are you, aiding a drug addict?” he teased.

A pang of guilt shot through you, but you steeled yourself against it.  “If you’re going to be taking pain meds, then I’d rather have it be something reliable and safe that I can monitor instead of something you find on the street through dubious means.”

“Oh yeah?  Like all of your little supplies don’t come from shady sources.  You can’t exactly get this stuff from anywhere.  Those are prescription only.” Dabi nodded at the bottle clutched so tightly in your hand, that he couldn’t see the label on it.  He couldn’t help but wonder… was it your name on that white sticker?  Or someone else’s?  What other items did you have in that bag of yours?

You lifted your chin pridefully.  “I have an inside source.  Trust me, the stuff I get is the real deal.  And that’s all you need to know about that.”

Dabi grinned as you gave him two of the pills from the bottle.  “Well, look at you, doll.  What a criminal.  You could get in serious trouble for this, sweetheart.”

“Oh, I think we’re well past that by now…” you replied with a grin, which earned you a chuckle.

Dabi popped the pills into his mouth and swallowed them dry.  Your smile faded slightly as you felt the urge to say one more important thing to him.

You stared at his hands in front of you, long fingers intertwined together and suspended in the air as his elbows rested on his knees.  “Look, Dabi…” you started.  Your eyes traced the metal rings holding his skin together.  “I can’t imagine the kind of pain you’re constantly in.  I understand why you take drugs. I think anyone would.  That’s why I’m helping you.  Not having pain meds isn’t really an option for you.”

“So, does that mean you’re gonna let me have that bottle?” his eyes stared at the bottle still clutched in your hand.

You held the bottle to your chest protectively, a part of you afraid he’d try to snatch it from you. Withdrawal made people do desperate things.  He raised an amused eyebrow at your defensive action, a small smirk upturning the corner of his mouth.

Your body felt warm and you broke eye contact.  “Not yet.” You replied.  “I want to make sure you’re okay with it.  It’s different from what you were taking before.  It might feel weaker than what you were taking or might have different side effects for you.  I don’t want you to overdo it.”

“And what makes you such an expert?” Dabi pried, his bloodshot eyes narrowing as his head tilted.

You put the pills back into your bag as you looked away from him.  “I have a medical background, so I know a lot more than you might think.”

Dabi grinned, despite his headache, the skin pulling tight enough along his rings to send an ache of pain along his jaw.  He was right. Not that it was that hard to figure out, but he liked that you answered him honestly.

“You don’t trust me, doll?” Dabi’s teasing tone made you look up at him to find his fiery eyes piercing yours.  That familiar spark of life, dangerous and wild, was starting to return to his drawn features.  Oddly enough, you found it comforting even if it did send your pulse racing like a scared rabbit.

Meanwhile, he was amused at your caution.  Little did you know how many drugs he’d tried over the years, how many times he came close to ‘overdoing it,’ as he learned what his body could and couldn’t handle. Sure, he needed his drugs to keep the pain at bay… but he also needed to carry out his mission.  He refused to let himself devolve into a zombie when he still had unfinished business.

You rolled your eyes at him.  “I just want to make sure you transition to this new pain medication okay.  Switching drugs can be a messy business.  If I decided to trust you and something went wrong, well…” your words faltered, unable to finish your statement.  It almost surprised you how much the thought of something horrible happening to Dabi bothered you… especially if it was caused by your own negligence.

“Aw, doll, you’re making me blush.” Dabi grinned.  “You better not try to take advantage of me. I’m under the influence.”

You raised an amused eyebrow at him.  “Really? Who’s taking advantage of who here? Someone just got free drugs.”

“Trust me, sweetheart – you’ll know when I’m taking advantage of you.”

A proper comeback couldn’t find its way to your lips while your mind was so distracted by suggestive thoughts.

He continued on unfazed, as if his previous words meant nothing to him.  “So, how are we gonna do this then?”

You cleared your throat and wet your parched lips with your tongue.  Dabi watched the gesture intently, but you didn’t notice as you avoided eye contact.  “We’ll start with what I gave you. When it wears off and you feel like you need more, you come find me.  If you have any issues or feel anything weird, you come find me.  I don’t care what time it is.  If it’s 3 in the morning, you come find me.”

A devilish grin spread across Dabi’s features as his head got a rather detailed less-than-pure mental picture of a late-night visit.  He knew that wasn’t what you meant, but he enjoyed where his imagination took him, nonetheless.  He eyed you for the first time since you came into his room, allowing himself to take in your appearance from head to toe, his eyes lingering where he wanted them to, without a care as to if you noticed.  He might not be willing to touch, but he was definitely willing to look. Life was too short to not appreciate the finer things in life, and at this moment the finer thing was you.

You shifted nervously under his penetrating gaze, your pulse quickening under your skin like a raging river. You weren’t quite sure what he was thinking, but the light of his eyes made you feel exposed.  You resisted the urge to wrap your arms around yourself protectively, your self-consciousness fighting to get the better of you.

Your forced yourself to continue, looking away abashedly.  “I’m still coming to take care of your bandages, so I’ll be checking up on you again tonight.  Do we have a deal?”

Dabi was quiet for a moment as he stared at your determined face.  Finally, he smiled.  “Yeah, doll. We got a deal.”

“Good.  Now let me check those bandages.”

He stood up and you instinctively took a step back as his presence filled yours within the tight space between his bed and the wall where you stood. The scent of him filled your nose and you resisted the urge to inhale.  You liked it and you couldn’t explain why.  He turned his back to you and removed his sweat-soaked shirt.  You waited to see if he would move to the more open space of his room, but he didn’t, and you stood awkwardly before deciding to just change his bandages where he was.  Maybe he had a headache and moving was a little too much for him.  It’d take about thirty minutes for the pills you gave him to really get into his system and start working, and you’d be long gone by then.

You changed his bandages quickly and efficiently as well as added a little boost with your quirk to make sure his back was pain-free until you returned to check on him later in the evening.  He seemed to have enough on his plate to deal with without having your quirk wear off.

He was silently grateful you changed his bandages in silence as he waited for the pills you gave him to kick in. He was familiar with them, of course – they weren’t the best for what he needed, but you were right when you said they’d take the edge off.  Still, he didn’t want to use up your supply.  He didn’t know if that was your only bottle, and at the rate that he typically popped pills, you’d be out within a few days.  He’d reach out to Giran again to get a hold of his own.

Once you were done, you packed up your items to leave.  But before you did, you reached into your bag and pulled out a bottle of water and handed it to him.

“Hydrate.  Please.” You said.  “You took those pills and they might make you nauseous on an empty stomach.  Besides, your body needs more than coffee, energy drinks, and alcohol.”

Dabi grinned.  “Have you been watching me, doll?  You’re not stalking me, are ya?”

“I watch all of my patients.” You replied with a critical eye.  “Nice try, though.”

“You got any ramen in that bag?” Dabi teased as he opened the water bottle and took a swig.

“No, but I got a granola bar.  You want it?” you replied casually. You pulled out said item and waved it in Dabi’s face.

Dabi’s lip turned up in disgust.  “That shit’ll get stuck in my rings.  And it’s disgusting.”

“It’s healthy.” You replied with an extra wave for added emphasis.

“You’re like a walking drug store.”  Dabi commented as he watched you put the offending food away.

“I feel like a damn mom with all this stuff, but you’d be surprised how often it comes in handy.” You replied.  “Alright, well I’m gonna go and let you rest.  Do you have my number?”

You said it so casually, that Dabi had to stare at you to process your words for a moment.  He didn’t easily fluster, but he also didn’t ever have pretty girls offering their number to him, his scars always scaring them off.  It was such a personal gesture and completely alien to him.

“What for?” he finally replied.

“In case you need me for anything.  Like if the drugs wear off, or your bandage comes loose or something. We might not always be in the same place at the same time and I’d hate for you to not be able to reach me if something’s wrong.”

The tension in Dabi’s chest eased slightly.  Of course, it had to do with his health.  He noticed that about you – when it came to business, you cut straight to the chase.

He wanted your number.  But as soon as he realized it wasn’t for health reasons, he immediately shot it down, his iron wall crashing down.  “I’ll be fine.”

You stared at him and shrugged.  “Suit yourself.  Just trying to be efficient.  If you change your mind, you can reach out to one of the others.  I think you’re the only one who doesn’t have it.”  You walked to the door and turned back to him.  “Like I said, I’ll be back tonight, probably at around 9pm.  You’d better be here, or you won’t get your pills.” Mischief danced in your eyes and Dabi realized you were teasing him. He grinned.

“You think you can manipulate me?” he challenged.

“We’ll see…” you replied casually and left his room.

After you were gone, he stood there for a moment staring at the water bottle in his hand before he realized he had a dumb fucking smile on his face. He threw the water bottle in his trashcan.

You were a goddamn pain in his ass.  And he was a damn idiot, getting flustered over a pretty face being kind to him. What was this, fucking middle school? Like he’d never been around a girl before?  You were here to treat him.  As soon as his wounds were healed up and he got his own drugs, things would go back to normal.

It had to go back to normal.

__________________________________________________________

Part 4

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Taglist: @lemonfvck @vs-redemption @inanabsentia ia @sheedaabee @toshiuwuu @marydragneell @chillinwithmybakubros​ @genuinelytodorokisbitch @sam-i-am-1025 @redflannel @axerrri​ @necccomancy​ @miadraws0​

[ryqoshay]

Putting on Hairs: Patronizing Meeting

Primary Pairing? Trio?: MariKana... Dia? Hinted: RinPana, KotoUmi? Words: ~2.1k Rating: G AU: Theater, Werewolf, Werebeast, Monster, Cryptid

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Author’s Note: A bit of a detour from NicoMaki. Honestly, I thought the spotlight would first swing to YohaRiko, but this is what came to mind, so here we are.

Summary: The theater’s primary patron pays a visit.

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“Oh, park there, Kanan-chan!” A voice cried excitedly from the back seat.

Kanan sighed and shook her head. “We can’t just park anywhere on the street, Mari-chan.”

“Uuu…” Mari pouted. “But I want to have a good view of Dia-chan’s new theater.”

Kanan chuckled. “You can see it just fine from here, and you’ll get to see it close up in a little bit. Let me just find your designated parking slot.” She turned the steering wheel to direct the car into the lot.

“We have a designated spot?”

“Of course, you do. Didn’t you read the email Dia-chan sent the other day?”

“I skimmed it.”

“All of the top tier patrons have designated parking slots.” Kanan explained. “And since your donation was the largest, even managing to edge out the Nishikino family, you get the best spot.”

“Of course mine was the highest, I want to help my Dia-chan however I can.”

Her Dia-chan… Kanan mused silently. If only…

While it was true that the three of them had grown up together, they had lost track of each other back in high school when Mari spent her second and third years over seas in the United States before going to college in Italy. Dia also left to attend college in Tokyo, leaving Kanan alone in Numazu.

It had barely been a year since Mari tried to reestablish contact. She managed to convince Kanan to leave the dive shop in the capable hands of a cousin, move to Tokyo and open a new shop right on Odaiba Beach. However, she ended up spending much of her time driving Mari around and leaving the shop to her employees. Not that she minded this arrangement. She enjoyed the excuse to spend time with Mari, and if she was being completely honest, knowing the blonde’s habits behind the wheel, it let her worry less for her friend’s safety.

Driving was also a way for Kanan to feel like she was contributing to the household. Mari was obviously the primary bread winner, so Kanan liked to do things in return.

Mari had found a huge 3LDK penthouse apartment where she invited Kanan and Dia to live with her. However, thus far, only Kanan had accepted. Dia, unfortunately, had been less responsive to either of their efforts to reconnect. But there was a room was open for her to accept at any time.

“Ah, here we are.” Kanan spotted the slot and pulled in.

“Eh? The best parking is on the second level?” Mari sounded confused.

She really didn’t read the email… “Of course, this is where the skyway entrance is.” Kanan explained.

“Skyway? Booo… I wanna see the main entrance!”

At this Kanan laughed. “Alright, just let me message Dia-chan to tell her where to meet us.”

With that said, Kanan exited the vehicle and was about to open the door for Mari, when the blonde hopped out herself instead.

“<Let’s go!>” Mari cheered in English, offering a brilliant smile and pumping a fist into the air.

Kanan pulled out her phone as she followed her energetic friend toward the stairway.

Krakanan: Mari-chan wants to see the main entrance, so we’re heading there instead

KurosawaDia: Very well. See you two in a few minutes.

KurosawaDia: Umi-san will be joining me.

Krakanan: I figured as such

Krakanan: I look forward to meeting your new business partner

Krakanan: I’ve heard good things about the Sonoda Theater Group

Not expecting a response, Kanan returned her phone to her pocket and continued her way toward the front doors of the theater. She and Mari made their way across the street, around the corner and..

“Dia-cha~n!” Mari cried, running up the handful of steps between the sidewalk and the entry and all but tackle hugging the raven-haired woman at the top.

“Salutations, Mari-san.” Dia greeted. “Thank you for coming today. I look forward to introducing you to the cast and crew.”

“Always so formal, Dia-chan.” Mari pouted. “It’s been for~ever~ since we saw each other, you should be more excited.”

Something changed in Dia’s expression. Just for a second. Had Kanan blinked, she would have missed it. And she had no idea what to make of it.

“Anyway,” Dia said after a moment “please allow me to introduce you to my partner in this endeavor, Sonoda Umi.” She pulled an arm free of Mari’s embrace to indicate the blue-haired girl beside them.

“Thank you for your generous donation, Ohara-san.” Umi said with a bow.

“Ohara-san?” Mari repeated. “<No, no, no.> You can just call me Mari. Any friend of Dia-chan is a friend of mine, Umi-chan.”

Pink dusted Umi’s cheeks undoubtedly caused by the casual referral. “V-very well, Mari-san it is.”

“Anyway, what a lovely place you two have here.” Mari finally released Dia and stepped down a few stairs to get a better view of the façade above her. “But, Sonoda Kurosawa Theater? Really?”

“We decided it best to put Umi-san’s name first.” Dia explained. “Her family is more renowned here in Tokyo than my own.”

“No, that’s not it.” Mari dismissed. “I meant, why just your names? That’s so boring!”

“How do you mean?”

“You should call it something more exciting, like The Monster Mash!”

“That is a song, and a dance type.”

“Or how about Tales from the Cryptids?”

Dia sighed. “That’s just a play on the title of an old television show.”

“But I mean that’s what this whole place is about, right? Giving our kind a place to be what they are while excusing any slipups as movie magic?”

“Theater magic, but you’re not exactly wrong.”

“I hate to interrupt,” Umi spoke up “but should we really be discussing such things out in the open like this?”

“Oh, you worry too much, Umi-chan.” Mari waved her hand at the other woman.

“No, Umi-san has a point.” Dia conceded. “Let’s head inside, shall we?” She turned and motioned for the others to follow.

“Fine.” Mari crossed her arms before moving back up the steps. “But you guys hired that Yoshiko girl, right? I think we’ve all seen how her claims are reacted to by the general public.”

Kanan couldn’t help enjoying the show as she watched her friends behave pretty much the same as they did back in high school. They really hadn’t changed much… except for whatever that crack in Dia’s demeanor had meant. She decided she could explore that issue later and smiled to herself as she followed the others into the theater.

“<SHINY!!>” Mari proclaimed, throwing the front doors wide as she entered.

“Pigi!” A voice squealed as a head of red hair ducked below a nearby counter.

Ah, of course Dia-chan would bring Ruby-chan here with her. Kanan thought to herself. I wonder if that means Hanamaru-chan is around here somewhere as well.

“You can come out, Ruby.” Dia said, her tone softening immediately as she called her younger sister and moved toward where she was hiding. “It’s just Mari-san being her usual boisterous self.”

“Mari-chan?” Ruby poked her head up. Emerald eyes sparked with recognition. “Mari-chan! Kanan-chan!” She ran to greet the two excitedly.

As Mari happened to be closer, she greeted the blonde first with a warm embrace. However, she was quick to shift to Kanan to welcome her as well.

“Good to see you again, Ruby-chan.” Kanan said as they parted. “We’ll have to catch up sometime soon.”

“Mm.” Ruby agreed with a smile. “Are you two the reason for the meeting?”

“They are.” Dia confirmed. “I want everyone to meet some of our generous patrons. I believe we have the Nishikinos slated for tomorrow?” She turned to Umi who confirmed with a nod. “Anyway, speaking of the meeting, we should head to the stage now for it.” She was about to turn and resume walking when…

“One last thing, Dia-chan.” Kanan spoke up.

“Yes, Kanan-san?”

Kanan spread her arms wide. “Hagu.”

Dia flushed a little but smiled anyway and stepped into the embrace.

“It’s… good to see you again, Kanan-san.” Dia spoke quietly, surprising Kanan. “I’m sorry if I’ve been a little cold as of late.”

Then, all too soon, as far as Kanan was concerned, Dia pulled out of the hug and resumed leading the way through the theater to the stage. Upon arrival, Umi and Dia began their introduction of the theater’s patron, Mari.

It seemed Dia��s penchant for long drawn out speeches hadn’t changed. Kanan considered. And it seemed she had found a business partner with similar tastes.

Ah, there’s Hanamaru-chan. Kanan thought as she scanned the crowd gathered on stage. Next, she picked out Chika and You, remembering their faces from back in Numazu. She made a mental note to greet them all after the meeting.

She recognized Nico and Maki from pictures included in emails sent by Dia about the lead roles for their first production. A few other faces looked familiar from other pictures, but she couldn’t readily place their names.

Still, it was amusing to observe some of the body language of those gathered. There was a young woman with red hair both longer and darker than Ruby’s. She was giving nervous side glances to a shorter girl near her. That girl had some of her blue hair tied up in a bun with a black feather sticking out. Wait, was that the Yoshiko girl Mari had mentioned a few minutes ago?

Next was an ash blonde whose attention seemed focused on Umi. Then, there was another redhead with braided twin tails who looked quite friendly standing next to slightly taller woman whose aura was as cool as the dark blue of her hair. A bespectacled brunette was looking at Nico like a fan waiting for an autograph. A darker brunette with a lovely red ribbon in her hair next to another ash blonde sporting an uneven, though cute haircut. A short pink haired girl with a blank expression stood next to a taller blonde with a brilliant smile. Then a sleepy looking brunette, a raven-haired young woman giving off a fiery aura, another with the tips of her dark twin-tails dyed green and a redhead with a stylish bun surrounded by a braid.

Quite the crew. Kanan found herself wondering what each might be.

“Food’s here, nya!” A voice cried from somewhere in the auditorium before an orange-haired blur scampered down the aisle. “Where do you wanna set up, Umi-chan?” A young woman asked, not seeming to care that Dia was still talking.

“Rin.” Umi scolded. “You’re early.”

“Better than late, right? Oh! Kayo-chin is here!” Rin scampered over to the brunette with glasses.

“R-Rin-chan...” Kayo-chin? said as Rin rubbed their cheeks together. That must be a nickname.

Kanan wondered if the nya had been indicative of her actually being a cat or just a verbal tic. Based on her running speed, Kanan suspected the former, though both wouldn’t surprise her.

“Special delivery!” Another voice rang out.

“Honoka, you’re…” Umi started.

“Ooo, what did you guys order for us?” Mari interrupted.

“We got lots of stuff!” Rin announced proudly. “But I gotta set up the tables and such for Honoka-chan to put things on.”

“Do you need help carrying anything?” The braided redhead spoke up.

“Sure! Lemme show ya, nya!” Rin sped back up the aisle.

“Emma-san…” Umi sighed as the redhead followed.

“It’s alright.” Dia said. “We’ve already lost Mari-san.” She turned back to her staff. “It seems the meeting is adjourned. Please be sure to thank Mari-san for sponsoring this meal, brought to us by Kousaka Catering.”

“I thought she didn’t know what was ordered?” Umi raised an eyebrow.

“I placed the order. Mari paid the bill.”

“I see.”

“There’s plenty of food!” Mari announced loudly. “Don’t hold back! Eat all you want! Take some home if you want. I don’t want to see anything left.”

As Kanan headed up the aisle to see what else needed to be carried in, she mused about the appetites of those she knew. If those were any indications of the others, she wondered just how much had been ordered. She figured it would probably fill an entire…

Box truck.

Sure enough, parked haphazardly on the sidewalk, emblazoned with Kousaka Catering on the side, sat a box truck. And it indeed appeared to be completely packed.

She spotted Emma carrying several catering boxes, stacked past her head.

“The breadsticks are buono!” The young woman said as she passed.

Part of Kanan wanted to break out her other arms in an attempt to carry even more boxes, but as there was no shortage of witnesses on the public street, she settled for a similarly sized stack as Emma. Perhaps some other time. No more than three steps later, and Rin was already slipping past her, carrying only half as many boxes, but speeding along at probably thrice Kanan’s pace.

Again, Kanan found herself wondering what all everyone was. She knew Mari would want to stop by the theater on a regular basis, so perhaps over the next week or so, she could find out.

----------

Author’s Notes Continued in Followup Post

[angelrider13]

A Sea of Lotus Flowers: Leviathan Extra

I finally finished it!!!

So I meant to have this up before the holidays were over - obviously that didn’t happen - and then real life hit that crazy post-holiday rush and I didn’t have the spoons to finish this out, but it is done!!!!

Admittedly, I got a little carried away with this one. I started and was like ‘it’ll be a short oneshot, maybe ~2,000 words. Well here we are, 12,482 words later.

This is a reply to @hamelin-born‘s reply to my post from a while back (I’m sorry it took so long!!!!) and I saw your post the other day about needing a pick me up, so I hope this makes your day better. Technically not canon in this verse - it’s 100% indulgent and I had fun with it and I guess it could be canon if you want it to be.

A little clunky in some places because I didn’t edit this and I kinda half-assed proofreading so forgive me any errors!!!

Lan Wangji resists the urge to step between Wei Ying and Jiang Wanyin as they argue. He’s come to understand that arguing is largely how these two communicate, but that does nothing to change the fact that his hand twitches toward his sword every time Jiang Wanyin says something biting or Wei Ying flinches.

He’s been lectured by multiple people, both subtly and blatantly, that their relationship has nothing to do with him. As a third party, it is not his right to interfere. He may advise and support, but he has no say in whether or not the relationship exists. He is, contrary to what these people lecturing him seem to think, aware of this. If Wei Ying wishes to have a relationship with the man he still considers his brother, then who is Lan Wangji to stop him?

He would never.

That doesn’t mean he’s going to allow Wei Ying to face the man alone.

Despite Wei Ying’s many assurances, he does not trust Jiang Wanyin with Wei Ying. Jiang Wanyin cast him aside before, hurt him before, and Lan Wangji has seen no evidence that he would not be willing to do so again.

So he watches.

It helps that their reason for being here this time is the Discussion Conference. It means they are less likely to be thrown into the lake – though he knows that such a small reason will not even register to Madame Jiang. Still, it means that Jiang Wanyin doesn’t have the authority to throw him out should something happen. As much as he detests political maneuvering, he will concede that sometimes it has its uses.

Wei Ying is punching Jiang Wanyin’s arm as he laughs. Lan Wangji can’t stop his twitch when Jiang Wanyin shoves him in turn, scowling as he opens his mouth to say something Lan Wangji is sure he will disagree with on principle when the Sect Leader’s eyes catch on something over Wei Ying’s shoulder. His face shades through confusion to alarm to horror in the span of a second before he’s shoving past them.

Wei Ying blinks, turning after him, “Hey, Jiang Chen – ”

But he cuts off, eyes widening as he sucks in a sharp breath and Lan Wangji turns just in time to see Lan Yun shoving a glowing array against Madame Jiang’s chest.

There’s a single moment where everything is completely still.

And then Madame Jiang drops like a stone.

The world explodes into motion.

Jaing Wanyin is screaming, Lan Yun looks stunned, and Madame Jiang is so horrifically still where she lays collapsed in a heap on the ground.

“What did you do?!” Jiang Wanyin roars as Jiang disciples converge on Lan Yun.

“I – I didn’t – it wasn’t – ” Lan Yun stutters out as his arms are grabbed and his swords taken. “It wasn’t supposed to do that!”

“And what was it supposed to do?” Sect Leader Jiang grits out.

“It was just supposed to reveal the truth!” Lan Yun blurts out when the disciples holding him wrench his arms back, violent glints in their eyes and mouths pressed into grim lines.

“The truth?! What about this looks like the fucking truth to you?!” Jiang Wanyin yells, Zidian sparking furiously up his entire arm.

He looks like he could go on, but Madame Jiang’s body suddenly twitches before it starts convulsing.

Lan Wangji only has a second to register the building energy before he’s moving, intercepting Wei Ying from running towards his brother and wrapping his husband up in his arms just as the energy explodes outwards in a wave that nearly bowls him over. He manages to turn so that his body is shielding Wei Ying’s, but there is nothing he can do but ride the wave out. He’s distantly aware of Wei Ying screaming his name, but he just tightens his hold.

The energy is vast. Deeper and richer and far, far larger than any reserve of energy – spiritual or demonic – Lan Wangji has ever felt. It is as if someone cracked open an egg and an entire ocean spilled out, flooding the entirety of Lotus Pier in a matter of seconds and drowning all of them under the sheer weight of its might.

Just when Lan Wangji thinks he can endure no more, he feels the wave of energy pull back, condensing inwards and shooting towards the sky. The crushing pressure on his lungs releases and he drags in a ragged breath, Wei Ying gasping in his arms.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying breathes, hands frantic as they check him over, “Are you alright?”

“Fine.”

Wei Ying huffs at him. “Don’t do that, Lan Zhan. I’m fine, you know! But what was that? What –?”

Lan Wangji watches as all the color drains from his husband’s face and his voice comes to a strangled halt. Worried, he follows Wei Ying’s gaze. And promptly feels his heart drop into his stomach. Lan Wangji is well aware that he has seen many impossible things in his lifetime, even for a cultivator. At this point, such a thing is not unexpected.

That does not mean he is in any way, shape, or form prepared to be facing a dragon suddenly in the center of Lotus Pier.

Its body is long and sleek, scales a deep, rippling blue, with fins and spines flaring out around it’s towering form. Molten gold eyes stare down at them – eyes that Lan Wangji has seen hundreds of times before today, eyes that he has never thought twice about meeting, eyes so familiar they make his heart move up to his mouth.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whispers, “You see it too right? You see the dragon?”

“Mn,” he manages, throat too tight for anything else.

“Oh, okay then,” Wei Ying wheezes faintly, “Does this mean I’m not crazy? Or are you also crazy? And I just want it on record that this is absolutely not my fault.”

“You dare?” Madame Jiang breathes out, voice a deep, rumbling growl, revealing rows of razor sharp teeth as her burning gaze finds Lan Yun below her.

The man is paler than Lan Wangji has ever seen him. He hadn’t known it was possible for a living person to be that color. But Lan Wangji cannot find it in himself to feel any remorse for him – not even pity. A senior disciple of the Lan should know better.

“You idiotic little fool,” she snarls, fury practically dripping from her voice even though she’s holding herself oddly still, “Were I any less than I am, you would have killed every person here. All of Lotus Pier, every cultivator here for the conference, every civilian in town. Every. Single. Person. All those lives. And for what? So you could win an argument?”

Lan Yun seems incapable of speech, mouth flapping uselessly, before he seems to give up, collapsing into the arms of the Jiang disciples that are still restraining him despite the wave of energy that had been crushing them only moments before.

Madame Jiang sneers, disgust obvious. “I don’t expect any better from you Lan at this point, but this?”

She throws her head back in distain and Lan Wangji can’t even summon the usual offence that her open contempt of his sect would bring. Not when a member of said sect just tried to kill her within her own home – or not kill, so much as…reveal, he thinks, Lan Yun’s words echoing in his head.

It was just supposed to reveal the truth!

Lan Wangji looks up at the dragon towering above them and suddenly feels so very small.

“Hairong?”

He turns to see Sect Leader Jiang looking up at the dragon, concerned, but not surprised. In fact, none of the Jiang disciples seem surprised. Shaken, perhaps, but not shocked by this turn of events. Did she tell them? Did the Jiang Sect know that they were harboring a dragon this entire time? It would explain their deference to her despite her disrespectful behavior. Though, if this is in fact Madame Jiang’s true form, then perhaps it was not really disrespect at all. Lan Wangji cannot imagine having the gall to demand a dragon of all beings bow to him just because propriety dictated it.

Madame Jiang shifts to look down at them. “Little Lotus,” she replies, her voice gentling, “This is unexpected, but not…unwelcome, despite the circumstances. It has been a very long time since I wore my scales.”

Jiang Wanyin’s eyes narrow. “Can you change back?”

There’s a pause as Madame Jiang seems to consider this, head tilting to the side. “No,” she says after a moment, “I am as trapped in this form as I was in the other.”

Jiang Wanyin scowls, turning back to the disciples holding Lan Yun, who appears to have passed out. “Find out what he did,” he orders, “Figure out how to reverse it.”

The disciples bow as best they can while holding an unconscious person between them before dragging him off. Lan Wangji makes no move to stop them. None of the Lan do, not even Uncle.

“In the meantime,” Madame Jiang drawls, “I’m certain that the Lan will be more than happy to pay for the damages Lotus Pier has incurred from this little incident.”

Ah, Lan Wangji thinks as he follows the length of her body and sees the broken buildings, buckling under the sudden weight of an entire dragon atop them.

“And, of course,” she continues, “There will be reparations for any injuries sustained as a result of the Lan’s carelessness.”

The implied or else is so heavy in her tone, it is like a physical weight.

“Oh, they will,” Sect Leader Jiang agrees darkly, glaring at any and all Lan cultivators within his line of sight.

“Da-jie doesn’t need to be here for that though, does she?” Sect Leader Nie suddenly cuts in, fan fluttering in front of his face. His eyes are shrewd despite the tentative levity in his tone. He has been acting the part of the useless headshaker less and less these days, but it’s still rather difficult to get anything of substance out of him. “She should go for a swim.”

Madame Jiang chuckles. “What a splendid idea, my little hunter. A swim sounds lovely,” she says. Rather than make to leave, however, she carefully folds in on herself so that she can lower her head without shifting her body. “Will you be terribly upset if I leave you to deal with the mess?”

Jiang Wanyin huffs, reaching up to place a hand against the line of her jaw, seemingly lowered for the sole purpose of being within the Sect Leader’s reach. As if the action of touching a dragon is something simple and easy and common. Though, Lan Wangji supposes, given the way Madame Jiang has a tendency to drape herself over people she likes, perhaps it really is that easy.

“I always deal with the mess,” Jiang Wanyin retorts.

“That’s not true,” Madame Jiang pouts. Pouts­ of all things, as if she is still a small, young woman with a delicate face rather than a towering being of legend. “Sometimes you never know there’s a mess to begin with.”

“That’s terrifying,” Sect Leader Jiang says flatly, “Go away.”

“Very well, little love,” she says, nudging him almost playfully with her muzzle, “I will be in the lake.”

She straightens up, fins flaring out as she delicately lifts herself. Wood splinters and glass shatters with every movement as her coils lift out of the rubble. Madame Jiang glides easily through the sky, circling over Lotus Pier. Lan Wangji can hear the exclamations from town, they are so loud. They have good reason to be. It’s not everyday that a dragon passes overhead.

They watch Madame Jiang fly over the lake. She circles for a moment, scales glinting in sunlight, before diving straight down. She cuts through the water easily, not a single wave displaced despite the large body entering it, the only sign of her passage an echoing ring of ripples.

Lan Wangji had never known silence could be so loud before.

“Well,” Sect Leader Nie cuts through it cheerfully, “Let’s get this sorted out, shall we?”

-

“Seclusion?!” Jiang Cheng asks incredulously, face thunderous.

Privately, Nie Huaisang agrees. The Lan seem to solve everything by shoving the problem in seclusion. Not that it ever seems to work. It seems to be an ‘out of sight, out of mind’ solution more than anything. If the Lan don’t have to see the problem, they can pretend it doesn’t exist.

“Lan Yun,” Jiang Cheng says with a forced calm, keeping eye contact with the idiot who had confidently announced Lan Yun’s punishment. Lan Qiren doesn’t seem inclined to save him, Nie Huaisang notes with amusement, “attacked a member of my sect, a member of my family, in the middle of our home and you think sticking him in seclusion to reflect on his mistakes is a just punishment?”

Well, it sounds stupid when you say it like that, Jiang Cheng.

“It is our way,” Elder Idiot says, apparently completely oblivious to the furious sect leader that is two seconds away from going straight for his throat.

“Hairong could have died!” Jiang Cheng snaps.

“And had she, the punishment would be much more severe,” is the reply, “But she did not. Therefore, seclusion will suffice.”

Jiang Cheng’s eyes narrow. “If Lan Yun ever shows his face in Yunmeng lands again, his life is mine. In the meantime, it seems the Jiang Sect needs to make some revisions to its trade agreements with the Lan. You’ve demonstrated a reduced need for Yunmeng goods. Does that suffice?”

Oh look, the elder is turning red. It’s always fun when someone manages to make a Lan lose their cool, Nie Huaisang muses, fanning himself. It makes things much more interesting.

“Enough,” Lan Qiren cuts in, “The exact details of Lan Yun’s punishment have yet to be decided by the elders of our sect and it will, of course, be pending Sect Leader Jiang’s approval.” He holds up a hand to stall the protests of his clan members. “As the Sect Leader of the one who was wronged, it is his right. Now, onto the matter of the damages.”

Trust Teacher Lan to steer things back on course without causing an explosion. Though usually, he is the one doing the exploding. Perhaps dealing with Da-jie and Wei-xiong has finally tempered him some? Nie Huaisang eyes the tension around the old man’s eyes, the grim set of his mouth, the tight line of his shoulders. Then again, perhaps not. Perhaps he is simply well aware that Jiang Cheng is not making idle threats. He really will cut off the Lan Sect if he feels it justified. And he has both the power and the means to do so without it hurting his own sect.

The Jiang Sect has always kept largely to themselves, even before Jiang Cheng became Sect Leader. The benefit of maintaining such a stance is that most people tend to leave you to yourselves and, as a result, stop paying attention to you. From a purely technical stand point, Nie Huaisang would consider the Jiang Sect the most powerful sect – even among the Great Sects. The only reason they aren’t considered as such by the world at large is because of the above-mentioned isolation stance. The last time the Jiang Sect was publicly entrenched in politics was the Sunshot Campaign and the period of rebuilding that followed. As soon as the disaster that was the battle at the Nightless City happened, the Jiang Sect had all but withdrawn from the cultivation world. If it weren’t for little Jin Ling being a Jin and therefore outside of the Jiang Sect’s jurisdiction, Nie Huaisang is willing to bet that Jiang Cheng wouldn’t have even shown up to the Discussion Conferences all Sect Leaders were expected to attend, or in the rare cases they were unable to, send a representative. Before Da-jie showed up, Nie Huaisang wouldn’t have been surprised if Jiang Cheng had one day decided to never step outside of Yunmeng again. The cultivation world hadn’t given him much reason to want to.

Now, though, he has reasons to want things.

And Lan Qiren knows it to.

Most of the Lan may be content to think themselves above the petty politics of the cultivation world, but Lan Qiren can’t afford to. He was the unofficial Sect Leader Lan for decades after his brother’s seclusion and he has once again been unofficially thrust into the position. Lan Wangji may help, but most of his attention these days goes to either Wei-xiong or his duties as Chief Cultivator and with Er-ge – with Lan Xichen still in seclusion, Lan Qiren must once again contend with sect politics.

Nie Huaisang isn’t sure how aware Teacher Lan is of Jiang Cheng’s power as a sect (There are, after all, many an incident with Jiang Cheng’s children that prove just how very many people don’t pay attention to the Jiang Sect even though they really should.) but he knows that the old man is shrewd enough to realize that favoring his own clan in this will hurt them more in the long run. Better to suffer a blow to your pride now than to lose it all later.

What follows is an intense round of haggling that he and most of the other Sect Leaders in the room are only witnesses to. The conflict is between the Lan and the Jiang after all – minor sects would have no say regardless and the Jin and the Nie are officially uninvolved. (Everyone knows that the new Sect Leader Jin will side with his uncle. If anyone is actually paying attention, they’ll know the Nie will side with him too. Nie Huaisang has never taken threats to his older siblings well.) The list of damages is impressive both because of how much it is – Nie Huaisang doubts Lotus Pier has been in such a state since the Sunshot Campaign, something that is likely making Jiang Cheng twitchy – and because of how little it is – Nie Huaisang saw how big Da-jie was and he might not be a great cultivator, but even his little spark of ability allowed him to feel the veritable flood of power that is now living under his Da-jie’s skin.

A budget is set and a contract is drawn up and signed, before the meeting is dismissed. Nie Huaisang finds himself walking with Jiang Cheng, Jin Ling and Jiang Cheng’s head disciple, Xia Lian, trailing behind them.

“So who won the bet?” he asks, glorying in the way Jiang Cheng sighs the sigh of a man who suffers far too many fools. Xia Lian snorts and Jin Ling almost manages to stifle his laugh in time.

“Huaisang,” he warns, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“A-Cheng,” he returns with a smile.

“A-Sang,” Jiang Cheng glares at him.

Nie Huaisang pokes him in the side. “Come on, tell me, tell me! Who won the bet?”

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes. “Guess.”

“Grandma Ming,” Jin Ling says immediately.

“We’re still checking the books,” Xia Lian says with an easy shrug, a wicked grin tugging at her lips. The way it pulls at the scar across her face is really quite fetching. He’ll have to ask her to let him paint it later. “But Grandma Ming is a pretty good guess.”

“Grandma Ming always knows,” he muses.

Jiang Cheng scoffs and rolls his eyes again, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips as he stalks off to undoubtedly check on his people, so Nie Huaisang will call it a win.

-

“Young Mistress!”

Jin Ling immediately feels a stab of annoyance.

Ouyang Zizhen chuckles next to him as he raises a hand in greeting. “Lan Jingyi! Lan Sizhui!”

Lan Sizhui smiles at them as they draw near, falling into a proper bow. “Sect Leader Jin,” he greets.

Oh. No. Nope. Absolutely not.

“Never call me that again,” he snaps, pushing the older boy up from his bow.

Lan Jingyi snorts. “He prefers ‘Young Mistress.’”

“I prefer my name, you absolute disaster of a person,” Jin Ling shoots back.

Lan Sizhui’s smile somehow becomes warmer without his expression shifting at all. “Jin Ling,” he corrects.

“How are you?” Ouyang Zizhen asks, “Neither of you showed up with the rest of the Lan for the conference. Did something happen?”

“Nothing serious,” Lan Sizhui reassures, “We were on a night hunt that ran long. A restless ghost. He wasn’t…malicious, but he very much did not want to rest.”

Lan Sizhui’s slightly strained expression implies that the night hunt was more complicated than that and did not even slightly go according to plan.

“Forget the night hunt,” Lan Jingyi cuts in before Jin Ling can ask, practically vibrating out of his skin, “Are the rumors true?!”

Ouyang Zizhen blinks, head tilting to the side. “Rumors?”

“Gossip is forbidden,” Lan Sizhui sighs in such a way that implies he has said this many times in the last few days.

“Little Mother says that all rumors are based on something. The important part is checking your facts,” Lan Jingyi immediately retorts. “This is me checking my facts.” He grabs Jin Ling by the shoulders. “Is your aunt a dragon?”

“Oh that,” he says as blandly as he can manage.

Lan Jingyi starts shaking him. “Oh that? Oh that? Explain, you stingy – ”

“Jingyi,” Lan Sizhui admonishes.

Lan Jingyi obligingly stops shaking him but his glare does not diminish in the slightest.

“She’s in the lake,” Jin Ling offers after a long moment of aggressive staring, “We can go visit her if you like.”

Lan Jingyi makes an embarrassingly high pitch sound in the back of his throat, even as Jin Ling starts nudging him in the right direction. “Oh my god, your aunt is a dragon!”

“How did that happen?” Lan Sizhui asks, eyes wide as he moves to follow them.

Ah. Hm. Right. Is there a polite way to say that one of your sect members tried to kill your aunt?

Ouyang Zizhen makes an awkward sound that might have been a laugh in a different situation. “Are either of you particularly attached to Lan Yun?”

Jin Ling snorts. Lan Jingyi and Lan Sizhui exchange bewildered looks.

“No?” Lan Sizhui offers after a moment. “He’s not in our generation so we’re not really familiar with him.”

“Oh good,” Ouyang Zizhen says brightly.

“What did he do?” Lan Jingyi asks eagerly, leaning forward.

Jin Ling crosses his arms. “He attacked Jiuma in the middle of Lotus Pier,” he says flatly.

He watches the Lans’ mouths drop open in shock and Ouyang Zizhen immediately launches into the story. He’s good with words and makes it sound like an adventure rather than the heart stopping moment it really was. Jin Ling pointedly doesn’t think about the way his aunt looked when she collapsed, limbs splayed awkwardly where they fell and oh so frightfully still. Lan Jingyi is hanging on every word, gasping at all the appropriate parts which only seems to egg Ouyang Zichen on. Lan Sizhui, on the other hand, looks concerned. There is a furrow between his brows and a frown tugging at his lips.

“What happened after?” he asks, “Is everyone alright?”

“There were a few injuries, but nothing too serious,” Jin Ling answers, “Most of it was property damage.”

“And your aunt turning into a dragon,” Lan Jingyi adds.

“And Jiuma turning into a dragon,” he agrees.

“She’s always been one though,” Ouyang Zizhen points out, “She just had a different shape before.”

“About that,” Lan Jingyi says, “Can’t she just change back?”

“Nope,” Jin Ling answers, “She says she’s stuck.”

“Do you know what array was used?” Lan Sizhui asks.

He shakes his head. “Only that it had some sort of truth element to it. Lan Yun claimed it was to ‘reveal the truth’ whatever that means. Senior Wei has been working on reversing it for the past few days and he says it’s not that straight forward.”

“Well, if Senior Wei is working on it, I’m sure it’ll turn out fine,” Lan Jingyi says. Privately, Jin Ling isn’t convinced. But he does concede that if anyone can figure it out, it would be Senior Wei. “But what happened to Lan Yun? Sect Leader Jiang wouldn’t have taken any of this lying down.”

Jin Ling snorts. “Oh, he didn’t. Lan Yun’s currently in a cell with his spiritual powers sealed and his sword confiscated. Even he isn’t really sure what he did, so he hasn’t been much help in reversing it.”

“I thought for sure Sect Leader Jiang was going to gut the Lan Elder that suggested seclusion as punishment,” Ouyang Zizhen pipes in, because as heir of the Ouyang Sect, he had the pleasure of front row seats to the disaster that was that meeting.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jin Ling scoffs, “Jiujiu would never do that in the middle of a meeting.”

“But he would absolutely do it elsewhere,” Lan Jingyi drawls and Jin Ling doesn’t disagree, “Was anything actually decided or did everyone just shout at each other?”

“The Lan are paying for the damages,” Ouyang Zizhen answers, “They’re covering the cost of the materials and half of the labor costs.”

“Good,” Lan Sizhui says firmly, disapproval over this entire situation heavy in his voice, Lan Jingyi nodding his agreement. It makes something in Jin Ling uncoil. Not that he was worried either of his Lan friends would be upset over the backlash the Lan would likely face for this, but it was still nice to have the confirmation that neither of them agrees with the actions that were taken against his family.

“As for Lan Yun,” Ouyang Zizhen continues, “No official punishment has been decided yet, but it’s pending Sect Leader Jiang’s approval.”

“Well,” Lan Jingyi says after a beat, “It’s a good thing neither of us are particularly attached to him. We’ll be sure he gets a proper burial.”

“Jingyi,” Lan Sizhui tries to sound disapproving, but the slight upward tilt of his lips gives him away.

Soft laughter cuts through their conversation. Startled, they look up to see Sect Leader Nie grinning at them. They’re passing by the pavilion he’s been using to observe the lake. Jin Ling has seen his paintings of his aunt’s dragon form. They are very beautiful.  Jin Ling has already extracted a promise from the sect leader for one of the paintings, he just has to decide which one.

“Jiang-xiong wouldn’t kill him,” Sect Leader Nie says with an amused smile.

“…I’m pretty sure he would?” Lan Jingyi says slowly. Lan Sizhui elbows him in the side and he adds, “Sect Leader Nie.”

Sect Leader Nie’s smile widens. “Oh, to be young and innocent,” he sighs fondly.

“Stop trying to be vague and mysterious, Nie-shushu,” Jin Ling says, crossing his arms, “It doesn’t make you look wise.”

“I’ve no idea what you mean, A-Ling,” he replies airily.

Jin Ling snorts. “What are you doing? Did you make another painting?”

“Mm. I just finished one. Would you like to see?”

Ouyang Zizhen’s eyes go wide and pleading. “Can we? Your paintings are so beautiful, Sect Leader Nie!”

Nie-shushu waves them in with his fan. “Don’t touch though. It’s still drying.”

“Sect Leader Nie has been painting Little Mother,” Ouyang Zizhen explains as they enter the pavilion, “They’re really quite lovely pieces.”

Jin Ling walks over to the table, ignoring the others that have been hung up in various spots. He’s seen them already. This new one has been done entirely in blue inks – a blue dragon dancing gracefully over a lake. The dragon is a darker blue, cutting through the water with an elegant ease. The lake seems to rise up to join in the dance, tendrils of water curling around the dragon’s form. It’s a scene that Jin Ling has seen often these past few days. It’s breathtaking.

“Nie-shushu, I want this one,” he whispers.

“Mmm? You’re certain? I might paint another one you like more,” Nie-shushu replies.

“I’m sure. I want this one.”

Nie-shushu smiles. “I’ll set it aside then.”

“Did this actually happen?” Lan Jingyi interrupts loudly.

Ouyang Zizhen is already nodding. “Every day,” he insists.

Jin Ling turns. They’re looking at the painting of Hairong sunning herself in the shallows of Lotus Cove. She’s taken to doing so every afternoon since this entire thing started. Pretty much all of the younger disciples and all the children in town have taken to swimming around her, climbing her coils and using her fins as slides. It’s fun and it makes Hairong laugh, though she isn’t above shifting suddenly to knock them into the water just because.

“Do Lans even know how to swim?” he asks dubiously, because he’s a little shit as his aunt fondly informs him, and he likes to tug at Lan Jingyi sleeves just as much as the older boy tugs at his.

Lan Jingyi puffs up in offence exactly the way he thought he would. “Of course we do!”

“Then you should join us!” Ouyang Zizhen says.

“Ah,” Lan Sizhui says, “Maybe not.”

Right. Lan Sizhui got boat sick.

“You could just sit with Jiuma,” he offers, “She keeps herself close to the shore and tells stories. Jiujiu meditates on her head sometimes.”

Lan Jingyi’s jaw dropped. “He does not.”

“Sometimes he even naps on her head,” Nie-shushu adds shamelessly, always ready and willing to embarrass Jiujiu at any given opportunity.

“You’re lying,” Lan Jingyi says as Ouyang Zizhen claps his hands over his mouth to hide his smile, “There is no way Sandu Shengshou takes naps in public.”

“I’m not very familiar with the Lan rules,” Nie-shushu says mildly, which is a lie if Jin Ling has ever heard one, “But I’m fairly certain that lying is forbidden.”

Lan Jingyi squints at him. “I’ll believe it when I see it,” he says, because apparently even he will not call a sect leader a lying liar who lies to their face when Lan Sizhui is standing right next to him. “Speaking of, no one has actually shown me a dragon yet and I demand proof.”

Nie-shushu blinks. “Proof?”

“Gossip is forbidden,” Lan Jingyi informs gravely, “So I have to find out for myself.”

“A sound policy,” Sect Leader Nie agrees, “She’s in the lake.”

“That’s what I said,” Jin Ling huffs.

“Best get on that, then,” he replies waving them towards the entrance of the pavilion, “You’re burning daylight.”

“Like she wouldn’t be around at night,” Jin Ling grumbles.

“Ah, but little Lans have bedtimes.”

“We do not!” Lan Jingyi protests.

“You kind of do,” Ouyang Zizhen says.

“Let’s just go down to the lake, shall we?” Lan Sizhui starts herding them out, “Apologies for disturbing you, Sect Leader Nie. Thank you for letting us look at your paintings. Zizhen was right – they are very beautiful.”

Nie-shushu just smiles. “Thank you, Young Master Lan.”

Jin Ling lets Lan Sizhui drag them out of the pavilion and down towards the water. Lan Jingyi is urging them on, anticipation bright across his expression. By the time they reach the docks, he’s all but bouncing in place.

“Where is she?” Lan Jingyi asks, looking out at the lake, “I see no dragon.”

Jin Ling rolls his eyes and kneels so he can dip his fingers into the water. “Jiuma?”

He can feel the confusion pouring off the Lans, but between one blink and the next, Hairong is raising out of the water. Instead of towering over them, only her head breaks the surface and she grins at them.

“Nephew,” she replies, taking in his companions, “Little storyteller. And little Lans too. Have you come to visit me?”

Since Lan Jingyi’s jaw seems to be somewhere around his ankles, Jin Ling answers for him. “Jingyi is fact checking.”

That seems to amuse her. “Oh?”

“Apparently there are rumors everywhere and since Lans don’t gossip, they’re here to see with their own eyes.”

She chuckles. “And what do your eyes tell you?”

“You’re a dragon!” Lan Jingyi suddenly erupts. “Why didn’t you tell us you were a dragon?!”

Her eyes are bright and Jin Ling can hear the laughter in her voice. “I never told you I wasn’t,” she says.

That’s true – Jiuma is always frustratingly vague. Jin Ling has never cared personally, but he’s overheard many people ask Hiarong who or what she is before and always, always, her reply is non-answer. She never confirms any guesses, but she never denies them either.

“Besides,” she continues, “You never asked.”

Lan Jingyi splutters.

“I apologize on behalf of the Lan Sect, Madame Jiang,” Lan Sizhui says, going into a perfect bow – one suited to the spouse of a sect leader rather than one for a legend. Jin Ling didn’t think it was possible, but apparently he can like Lan Sizhui more than he already does.

“I do not need, nor do I want, your apologies, little star,” she says, “The wrong was committed by one and they alone hold the blame. The only apology that is appropriate is one from him. Children should not shoulder the blame for the faults of their elders.”

Lan Sizhui looks conflicted, but he nods after Lan Jingyi tugs his sleeve and Ouyang Zizhen gives him a supportive smile.

Jin Ling isn’t sure how to make Lan Sizhui not feel guilty by association, but he can at least distract him. Jumping onto Jiuma’s head and demanding a story seems to do the trick, if Lan Jingyi’s shouting is anything to go by. But Hairong just laughs fondly, indulging them as they lay back against her scales.

He falls asleep under the afternoon sun surrounded by friends and his aunt’s voice.

-

Wei Wuxian sighs as he leaves the library, rubbing a hand over his face.

Over a week and he still hasn’t found a solution. He’s almost there – he can feel it. He’s got most of it figured it out. There’s just one element he can’t decipher. The array Lan Yun used shouldn’t have done what it did; at least that’s not how it was intended to be used. Which means there’s no actual transformation element in the array and therefore nothing for Wei Wuxian to reverse. If he can get past this one hurdle, he’s certain he can create an array that will fix this entire mess.

The problem is that he has no idea who to get past this hurdle.

Lan Zhan would tell him to step back and rest, to try again in the morning, but he has too much anxious energy in his system to sleep right now. If he tried to join Lan Zhan in bed now, he’d only disturb his husband and he doesn’t want that.

He’ll take a walk to clear his head. That should help.

“What are you still doing up?”

Wei Wuxian spins around. “Jiang Cheng!” he exclaims and then winces at his own volume.

Jiang Cheng scowls at him. “It’s late. What are you still doing up?” he repeats.

“Aaaaah, well you know me, Jiang Cheng,” he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, “I get sidetracked when I work on a project! I have too many ideas to sleep!”

“Are any of them good ideas?” Jiang Cheng asks, eyes boring into him.

He feels himself deflate. “No, sorry,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I keep getting stuck on the transformation aspect of the array. That’s not written into the original function, so I have no idea where it came from which means the only ways I have of reversing it are all guesswork at best and I don’t think any of us are comfortable risking everything on a guess we aren’t sure will even work.”

Fuck, he’s babbling.

“Anyway, what are you doing up?” he attempts to redirect, though from the flat look Jiang Cheng gives him, it doesn’t work.

“Can’t sleep,” Jiang Cheng admits easily.

Ah. Right. He imagines he’d have a hard time sleeping too without Lan Zhan in his bed after his husband had been attacked.

He places a comforting hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I’ll figure it out, Jiang Cheng, I promise,” he vows with all the sincerity he can muster.

Jiang Cheng just rolls his eyes though and knocks his hand aside and Wei Wuxian tires not to flinch. “That was never in question,” he says, and oh, he hadn’t realized that, that Jiang Cheng thought like that, that Jiang Cheng would put such faith in him, and it makes him ache in his chest for an entirely different reason.

“But you’re stuck, aren’t you?” his brother continues, snagging his sleeve and tugging him along, “Why haven’t you asked Hairong?”

Wei Wuxian blinks, caught off guard and lets Jiang Cheng drag him down to the docks. “Uh. No?” he admits, “She’s not a cultivator, so I hadn’t thought to…”

Jiang Cheng is giving him a flat look and Wei Wuxian kind of agrees with him now that he’s thinking about it. Hairong may not be a cultivator and may have no interest or ability to cultivate herself, but that doesn’t mean she’s clueless.

“When was the last time you slept?” Jiang Cheng asks bluntly.

“…two nights ago,” he admits. He’s pretty sure at least. Lan Zhan would never let him neglect himself like that, even if he was neck deep in the middle of a breakthrough. “But it’s not that bad, Jiang Cheng, really! Lan Zhan brings me meals and makes me take naps and doesn’t let me get lost in my head. I’m fine, I promise.”

Jiang Cheng looks at him skeptically, and yeah, okay he deserves that. But he’s telling the truth this time!

“Someone has to look after you, I suppose,” he grumbles after a beat, “Come on.”

They walk in silence and Wei Wuxian tries not to fidget. They’ve gotten better. They’re still not – good. But they’ve talked and they been doing better. He thinks they have, at least. He knows that Lan Zhan doesn’t like Jiang Cheng and that the feeling is mutual, but Hairong is always here with a smile that’s filled with far too many teeth, ready to pounce should Lan Zhan cross over a line she has decided he has no business being near. Wei Wuxian is glad that his brother has someone like her in his corner; someone who will take his side no matter what. It’s good for Jiang Cheng to have someone like that in his life.

He knows that Lan Zhan is mostly angry on his behalf, but he wishes he wasn’t. Lan Zhan shouldn’t have to shoulder that burden and Jiang Cheng has every right to be angry with him. (He tries not to think about that time Hairong had found him drunk on the roof and he had been far, far too honest. She had looked at him blankly for a long moment and then carefully pushed back his hair and told him oh so gently that yes, Jiang Cheng had every right to be angry. But he had every right to be hurt by that anger. It was the softest she had ever been with him. He doesn’t know if he believes her.)

If Wei Wuxian is being honest with himself – and he tries to be these days – he’s been avoiding Hairong. He hasn’t gone down to the lake at all since she took up residence there. He’s seen her from a distance, lounging in the shallows with the children, arching over the lake, sunning herself on the rocks. But he hasn’t approached her directly. He’s not scared – he just. Doesn’t really know what to say to her. It’s easy when she’s just Hairong, his little brother’s wife who sometimes-passive-aggressively-sometimes-aggressively bullies him into communicating with Jiang Cheng like the two of them are real, functional adults instead of jagged, broken pieces of pain and trauma held together in the vague shape of a person through sheer, stubborn willpower.

When she’s a dragon, it’s. Well, it’s a bit different.

So he isn’t really sure what to expect when Jiang Cheng leads him down to the docks, but Hairong singing isn’t it. In hindsight, it’s a rather foolish thought – Hairong is a performer. She loves singing and dancing and storytelling. Why should that change just because her shape did?

There a different tone to it though. A different element to it that Wei Wuxian has never witnessed before.

Hairong glides through the water with the ease and grace of long practice, twisting in the air with water curling around her form as she dances over the center of the lake. Her voice echoes across the water, haunting and joyful and longing all at once. He doesn’t recognize the language, but he doesn’t feel like he’s missing anything by not being able to understand the words.

It’s beautiful.

She’s beautiful.

“You’ve never seen her do this before?” Jiang Cheng murmurs from his place beside him. Wei Wuxian had entirely forgotten he was there.

He shakes his head, unable to look away. “I’ve been mostly holed up in the library. Haven’t really had the time,” he answers softly.

Jiang Cheng makes an amused sound. “I didn’t mean recently,” he says, “This isn’t a new thing.”

As he says it, Wei Wuxian can picture it – Hairong as the woman he knows, small and lithe and so full of life, dancing across the waves, head thrown back and a grin on her face.

“Oh,” he says dumbly, “I hadn’t thought – but that makes sense.”

Jiang Cheng snorts. “She wouldn’t mind if you watched, if that’s what you’re worried about. She’s more shameless than you.”

A fact Wei Wuxian is well aware of. He hadn’t thought he’d ever meet such a person, but here they are.

“…she doesn’t like me,” he says.

“She likes you fine,” his brother immediately shoots back, “She just won’t let you avoid your own bullshit.”

Wei Wuxian makes a vague hum of acknowledgment. Hairong doesn’t let anyone avoid their own bullshit. But that doesn’t mean she likes them. Still…Jiang Cheng knows her best. “I’ll take your word for it,” he says.

“You could just ask her.”

“I could.”

He knows without looking that Jiang Cheng is rolling his eyes at him.

Hairong twists on the surface of the lake, arching up towards the sky before she falls still, her song ending, the last note fading into the night. Jiang Cheng kneels and dips a hand into the water.

“What are you – ?” he starts to ask, brow furrowed, only to be interrupted when Hairong suddenly collapses, sinking beneath the surface of the lake.

He’s left little time to wonder about if because twin spots of glowing gold appear in the water by the dock right before Hairong raises up in front of them.

“Little lotus,” she greets, “Little innovator.”

Wei Wuxian will never admit that he likes it when Hairong calls him that.

“Wei Wuxian has hit a wall,” Jiang Cheng announces like a traitor.

He twitches. “Jiang Cheng!”

Hairong just chuckles. “There are always obstacles in the road. It’s just a question of how you are going to get around them.”

She looks at him, expectant.

He groans, rubbing a hand over his face. “Okay,” he says, “I’ve figured most of it out. The original array wasn’t so much meant to reveal the truth as it was to reveal hidden things. I mean, there’s an honesty compulsion to ensure that the things revealed are true, but that’s not really the purpose of the original array. Which would be simple enough to reverse on it’s own because we’d just have to switch the ‘revelation’ components to ‘hidden’ and – ”

“You’re babbling,” Jiang Cheng cuts in, “If you’ve already figured that part out, then what’s the problem?”

“The problem is that there’s no transformation component in the original array,” he admits.

Jiang Cheng blinks. “What? But – ” he gestures at Hairong, expression incredulous.

“I know,” Wei Wuxian says, “But I’ve deconstructed the array at least six times and there’s nothing that should prompt this kind of reaction there!”

“You are approaching the problem from the wrong angle, I think.”

Wei Wuxian stares up at Hairong. “What do you mean?”

Hairong shifts, sinking slightly to be closer to their level. “What was the intent behind the array?”

Jiang Cheng frowns. “Lan Yun maintains that the array’s purpose is revelations of truth,” he says glancing Wei Wuxian.

“It’s really not,” Wei Wuxian confirms.

“The purpose does not matter in this instance,” Hairong says.

Now Wei Wuxian is frowning. “What do you mean?”

“Truth is…a very odd thing,” she says, “When most people think of it, they think of something that is always true no matter how it is picked and prodded. It is not something that can be changed. It is objective.”

Wei Wuxian raises a brow, interested. “But…?”

Hairong grins at him. “They aren’t wrong. But most everyday truths that people face are not objective. They are subjective.”

“How?” he asks.

“Because they depend largely on your point of view,” she answers, “Something you should be more than familiar with, Yiling Patriarch.”

“Ah,” he winces.

“You mean people manipulate the truth to suit them,” Jiang Cheng says.

She shakes her head. “No. They believe it to be true with all their hearts – but that doesn’t mean it is. For you, midday is when the sun is high in the sky. But for the owl who hunts at night while you sleep, midday is when the moon is high in the sky. So which is the truth?”

“Both of them,” Wei Wuxian says, mind working, “Lan Yun’s intent was to reveal the truth regardless of the actual purpose of the array. But he was as surprised by the results as the rest of us.”

Hairong looks pleased. “Indeed. I have many shapes, little innovator. Some human, some animal, some that are in between. All of them are still me. And yet, of all of them, this is the form that was revealed. Why?”

Wei Wuxian exchanges a look with Jiang Cheng. Hairong has a point. He knows that her relationship with the Lan has been…contentious at best and for one of them to actually act against her, in the middle of Lotus Pier no less, it would not be with the intention of revealing her to be a dragon. That would only prove her to be in the right and make the Lan lose face in the process. Which is exactly what happened. Lan Yun would not have intended for this to happen – had looked surprised when it did. So…

“Hairong,” Wei Wuxian says slowly, narrowing his eyes at her, “Are you a dragon?”

She laughs softly, an amused gleam in her eyes. “In your culture? Who’s to say? In mine?” she grins, revealing rows of razor sharp teeth. It should be terrifying and yet Wei Wuxian can see her all but radiating mischief. “The dragon has always been my brother.”

Jiang Cheng snorts. “Oh, well if you’re related to dragons,” he mutters, crossing his arms as he shoots a searching look at his wife, “Lan Yun wanted to reveal you as a monster.”

Her smile dims into something more solemn at that. “And he got one.”

There’s a pause.

Hairong is many things, but monstrous is not even remotely close to anywhere on Wei Wuxian’s list. He’s seen her with people. The juniors, the elderly, the children, civilians, cultivators, prostitutes, sect leaders. He’s seen her in all kinds of situations – he’s seen her be kind and cruel, gentle and harsh, proper to the point of pain and so shameless that even he is red in the face.

Wei Wuxian has known monsters.

Hairong is not one of them.

“I think we have different definitions of what a monster is,” he says flippantly.

She huffs at him. “Oh? And my appearance doesn’t do it for you?”

“More than half the people here are tripping over themselves just to bow to you,” Jiang Cheng says flatly.

Hairong clicks her tongue in disapproval. “Then what of the fact that I’ve killed more people than are currently alive?”

Wei Wuxian stares. “…How old are you?”

“Don’t you know to never ask a lady her age?” she asks coyly.

“Even if that’s true,” Jiang Cheng starts, his tone and expression conveying that he knows very much that it’s true, “What the fuck does that have to do with us?” he asks gesturing between them.

“I’m really not in a position to be throwing stones about that anyways,” Wei Wuxian adds softly, crossing his arms over his chest. The events of the battle at the Nightless City are more like bloody fragments of jagged glass than actual memories, but that doesn’t mean he has no clue what happened. He’s all too aware. He knows what he did. What room does he have to criticize another for the murder of thousands? And he knows that’s what it was. For Hairong, it doesn’t matter if it was in self-defense or cold blood, if there was a good reason or not. Killing is killing is killing. And he, someone who has more blood on his hands than he cares to think about, understands that very well.

Hairong hums and Wei Wuxian gets the distinct impression that she’s shrugging even though she doesn’t have the appropriate body parts for such an action.

“I am what I am,” she says, “Your feelings on that are yours and yours alone.”

“As if you don’t already know what they are,” Jiang Cheng scoffs.

Hairong giggles of all things and dips down to nuzzle her husband. Jiang Cheng leans into her, resting his forehead against her scales.

…Is this how Jiang Cheng feels when he and Lan Zhan are together? This is terrible.

“Anyway,” he says loudly and Jiang Cheng pulls back to scowl at him, “Don’t worry, Hairong, Jiang Cheng still loves you a lot.”

“He does,” Hairong agrees and Wei Wuxian watches with barely hidden glee as Jiang Cheng turns bright red, but then she turns to him. “And what of you, little tease, do you love me too?”

She even bats her eyes at him, which is all kinds of strange when she’s reptilian.

He splutters and he can feel himself flushing.

Hairong throws her head back and laughs, long and loud, the sound echoing over the water.

“We are getting off topic,” Jiang Cheng cuts in, blush still high on his cheeks. He turns to Wei Wuxian. “Did this help?”

He blinks and then mentally redirects. “Ah. Right. Well, if we don’t have to worry about a transformation component, then I suppose I’ve already reversed the array. We just need someone with the right intent to cast it.” He eyes Hairong speculatively, hand absently coming up to rubs his nose as he thinks. “If you were a cultivator, I would just give the modified array to you and have your intent cast it, but…”

“But she’s not a cultivator,” Jiang Cheng finishes.

“Lotus can cast it.”

Wei Wuxian watches Jiang Cheng whip around to face her. “What? No!”

“You know me best,” she says simply.

“That doesn’t mean I’ll do it right!” he snaps back.

Wei Wuxian watches, bewildered, as his brother argues with his wife over his ability to reverse the array correctly. Jiang Cheng could do it, he knows. He’s the best candidate for it – Hairong is right, Jiang Cheng knows her best. Wei Wuxian just can’t understand why he’s refusing.

“Don’t ask me,” Jiang Cheng grits out, “We have a difference of opinion on this. I don’t want mine to have any influence that might effect yours.”

Wei Wuxian doesn’t get it, not at first. But then Hairong goes still and her eyes go impossibly sad and soft.

Oh.

Hairong isn’t a cultivator.

Jiang Cheng is.

Hairong is going to die long before he does.

Wei Wuxian knew that, he did. But he’s never really stopped to think about it before, about what it means that Hairong doesn’t have a golden core. He knows what it means. (He knew what he was subjecting himself to when he gave his away.) Yet, it’s never before occurred to him what it meant for Hairong specifically. And considering he’s not the one married to her, but his first instinctive reaction is a violently visceral no, he can understand Jiang Cheng’s refusal.

He can’t make his brother do that. Not to his wife. Not to someone he loves.

So he needs to find a different solution. Hairong can’t cast the array, but she as the correct intent needed for it. Jiang Cheng won’t cast the array, but has the spirit energy needed to activate it in the first place. He tilts his head to the side, turning the idea over in his mind, shifting the pieces until they slot together neatly. It could work – a slight adjustment to compensate for dual casting, but with a single power source.

It should work.

“Okay,” he says loudly, clapping his hands together and pasting a bright smile onto his face as he pushes through the heavy atmosphere like it isn’t there, “Jiang Cheng’s spiritual energy will power the array, but Hairong will be the one to actually cast it.”

“…Will that work?” Jiang Cheng asks skeptically.

“I will make it work,” he says.

“Thank you, Wei Wuxian.”

Wei Wuxian stares up at Hairong with wide eyes. Something he’s long noticed about Hairong is that she doesn’t use names. Ever. This is the first time he has heard her use one and it’s his.

Her gaze is heavy and he feels it like a physical weight on his chest. He understands.

“You’re welcome,” he says.

It isn’t until he and Jiang Cheng are on the way back to their rooms that he remembers to ask the question that has been burning in the back of his mind for the entire week.

“So you married a dragon? What’s that like?”

“Wei Wuxian!”

-

Lan Qiren feels as though he has aged forty years over the course of a single week.

The last conference that had devolved so badly was the one when Wei Wuxian’s return was revealed to world after the then Madame Jin, Qin Su, had committed suicide and started a chain of events that shook the cultivation world so hard that they were still recovering. Lan Qiren thinks this one might be worse. The last one was – regrettable. But understandable once everything had come out. This though…

This time, he isn’t certain how to even begin wrapping his head around these new revelations. This time, it is the Lan that have lost face, not the Jin.

The Discussion Conference has more or less come to a standstill in the wake of Lan Yun’s actions. They still meet daily but little of what is actually discussed is actually what they are meant to be discussing. It’s mostly become nothing more than an attempt to subtly interrogate Sect Leader Jiang about his wife. Jiang Wanyin is not known for his patience, but Lan Qiren really must give the younger man credit for enduring such nonsense without snapping – that’s not to say Sect Leader Jiang is taking things lying down. He’s had no problem making his displeasure known and Zidian is almost constantly throwing off sparks.

It’s a wonder no one has been struck down by the lightning Sect Leader Jiang wields so naturally.

When Wei Wuxian comes up with a way to reverse what has been done to Madame Jiang, Lan Qiren is not surprised. As much as it galls him to admit it (and he will never do so out loud), for all the he is an undisciplined deviant, Wei Wuxian is brilliant. Which is way they’ve all gathered at the docks today; to witness his work in action and hopefully revert Madame Jiang to human form. Wei Wuxian seems confident it will work and he doubts that Jiang Wanyin would let any such array near his wife if he was not confident in the same.

Lan Qiren does not allow the general unrest in the air to affect him. The Jiang Sect are the only ones completely unsurprised by recent revelations and he has decided he will reexamine that fact at a later time – preferably in private far away from the stress that seems to follow the Jiang Sect like a shadow. The Nie and the Jin are surprised, though their Sect Leaders are noticeably not. The Lan were completely caught off guard. He has been completely caught off guard. In his defense, he’d never expected a member of his sect to have the audacity to attack a member of another sect completely unprovoked. Lan Yun has much to answer for when they return to the Cloud Recesses – and not just for his attack on Madame Jiang. His entire approach to the situation was wrong. Lan Qiren cannot take the risk that Lan Yun would not have acted in a similar fashion with someone else who disagreed with him. Contrary to what some of his contemporaries seem to think, seclusion is the least of what Lan Yun deserves. His actions will have lasting consequences, not just for him, but for the entirety of the sect.

At the very least, Madame Jiang herself doesn’t seem inclined to take action against them. He’s seen Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi sitting on the dragon’s head with Sect Leader Jin and the Ouyang Sect heir multiple times since they’ve arrived. And Sect Leader Jiang has been almost alarmingly reasonable about the entire thing – though Lan Qiren has no doubt that if he’d failed to bow his head to the younger man, that would be an entirely different story.

The gathered cultivators watch as Wei Wuxian ducks in close to explain something to Jiang Wanyin. The Sect Leader nods and Wei Wuxian retreats back to Wangji’s side.

Madame Jiang, who has been waiting silently in the water near the docks, carefully lowers her head.

The soft glow of spiritual energy shines between husband and wife as Sect Leader Jiang applies the array. He steps back and Madame Jiang sinks into the lake.

Lan Qiren can sense the energy in the air – heavy and potent and vast in a way that is honestly terrifying – building similarly to the way it had at the beginning of this entire fiasco but in a far more controlled manner.

Madame Jiang emerges from the center of the lake, shooting into the sky without displacing a single drop of water. She glides through the sky as easily as she did that first day for all she has not left the lake since she entered it. She dances through the air with a grace that would look unnatural on any other creature, coils twisting and turning, scales glowing with a golden light far brighter and purer than sunshine. That golden light builds and builds and builds until it is too bright to look at. The energy begins to compress, sinking in on itself until it becomes a single point of light.

And then it falls.

That single point of condensed energy crashes into the lake, waves rippling outwards. Golden energy bleeds out with the ripples, expanding until the entire lake shines like the sun, soft waves of light lapping at the docks.

The light slowly fades, leaving the water looking exactly as it was before and yet Lan Qiren cannot help but feel that something has changed. He blinks the spots from his vision and ignores the whispers that have risen around him as Jiang Wanyin approaches the edge of the dock.

Just as the Sect Leader reaches the end, a hand reaches up out of the water, slapping down on wood before a human body hoists itself out of the lake.

A very naked human body.

The whispers turn into loud exclamations and Lan Qiren pointedly turns his gaze away, forever lamenting the fact that his peers are apparently incapable of rational thought in the presence of improperly clad woman. Or an un-clad woman, as the case may be.

“Hairong,” Sect Leader Jiang’s voice cuts through the noise, aggrieved and resigned in equal measure.

His wife simply laughs. “Did you expect my clothes to survive that?”

Jiang Wanyin heaves a put-upon sigh. “It would have been nice,” he says, followed by a rustling sound.

“I don’t know what the fuss is about,” Madame Jiang says, “I’ve little need for clothes. My scales are fine enough.”

Lan Qiren is suddenly struck by the realization that Madame Jiang’s constant disregard for what is considered appropriate attire is because she doesn’t consider it worth her attention. After all, why should a dragon worry about how many layers is proper for what occasion?

Even though he’s been doing so all week, Lan Qiren is going to have to reevaluate every interaction with Madame Jiang.

“You don’t have scales right now,” Sect Leader Jiang replies flatly, “You have fragile human skin and you are soaking wet. If you don’t wear clothes, you’re going to get sick.”

“Fine, fine.”

“There. You’re decent.”

Carefully, Lan Qiren turns. Jiang Wanyin is adjusting the way his outer robes lays across his wife’s shoulders. It’s a hopeless endeavor – the robe is far too large for her small frame, and though Sect Leader Jiang has managed to tie it in such a way that it won’t fall right off her, the sleeves still cover her hands and the robe pools at her feet.

“I’m always decent,” she says, lightly bating his hands away and walking down the dock towards the assembled cultivators watching her attentively.

The robe drags along the ground revealing a highly improper amount of leg, but Lan Qiren does not allow his eyes to stray. He can not say the same for many of his fellows.

She stops before them in an overly large robe, legs on display, hair unbound and in complete disarray and dripping wet, completely soaking her clothes. Her expression is serene and distant, eyes half-lidded as she looks over them, still glows with residual energy, golden light shining brightly.

She looks like an empress.

“Lan Yun,” she says, golden eyes locking on where he stands bracketed by Jiang disciples, voice echoing and far too large for her small frame, more suited to the towering creature of legend Lan Qiren now knows her to be. “Are you satisfied?”

Lan Yun falls to his knees, pressing his forehead to the ground.

“A thousand apologies, Madame Jiang,” he says, “This lowly one begs your pardon. He acted foolishly in his arrogance and delivered harm upon both your person and your home. This one swears on his sect and his sword that such a thing will never happen again.”

Madame Jiang scoffs.

“What pretty words,” she says. There are glowing points of gold across Lan Yun’s shoulders where her gaze bores into him. She flicks a sleeve and the Jiang disciples haul Lan Yun to his feet so she can look him in the eye. “Are they for Hairong, the mortal woman who speaks her thoughts freely without censure? Or are they for the immortal legend you worship as if it were a god?”

Lan Yun visibly flounders. “I – they are for you – ”

Madame Jiang sneers at him. “You were willing to use spells and trickery because I did not agree with you. You could have killed me over a difference of opinion. What value do words have when they come from a mouth such as yours?”

Lan Yun cannot answer, face red with embarrassment and shame, nor can he retreat held in place as he is.

“If you ever use such methods again, no matter how mundane or mild you think the situation to be,” she continues, “I will find you. And I will rip your throat out with my teeth,” she says calmly, simply.

It is not a threat.

It is a promise.

And Lan Qiren realizes, with a cold, sinking dread, that the woman they have known for over the past decade, the woman who openly questions their ways, who sincerely and eagerly debates their philosophies, who flaunts her impropriety in their faces without shame every chance she gets, who constantly drives their sect to its wits end trying to deal with her – that all of that shameful, improper, aggravating behavior was her being polite.

And her patience is now at an end.

“Do you understand?”

Lan Yun gives a shaky nod, trembling from head to toe.

“Excellent. Get out of my sight.”

The Jiang disciples release him and Lan Yun makes a hasty retreat.

Madame Jiang casts her gaze over the assembled cultivators and Lan Qiren notes with growing unease that she seems to linger on anyone in Lan colors.

“I am a patient woman,” she says after a moment of heavy silence, “But even I have my limits. I have grown tired of dealing with spoiled children who throw temper tantrums whenever the slightest thing doesn’t go their way. As things stand, I would be within my rights to declare war over this, would I not?”

She turns towards Sect Leader Jiang, head tilted in inquiry. Jiang Wanyin raises an eyebrow in question, but nods in acknowledgment.

“An attempt on your life was made,” her husband answers, “We would be in our rights to retaliate.”

She laughs. “Oh, the Yunmeng Jiang would not be going to war,” she says, turning back to them with a smile that looks far more like a baring of teeth, “It would be me.”

Her words land amongst them like a stone, heavy and blunt and shocking. Lan Qiren feels as if he cannot breathe.

“That’s how things work amongst you lot, isn’t it?” she asks, head tilted in earnest curiosity, “You tried to kill me so I kill you back? That’s what I’d do if I was like you. Oh, but I forgot,” she muses thoughtfully, “I wouldn’t stop there, would I? The Lan are dangerous. They attack individuals for the simple act of having thoughts. Such a dangerous sect to leave unchecked. They are a threat and must be dealt with. Isn’t that what I would think, if I was like you?”

There’s a pressure in the air, pressing down on his shoulders, squeezing around his lungs. Lan Qiren’s heart is in his throat. He has not felt fear like this since the Sunshot Campaign.

“I could, you know,” she continues, “It would be easy. You’ve all done it countless times and never batted an eye. If I was like you, it would be easy. The Lan are a threat to me and mine – too dangerous to be left alive. If I was like you, I would wage war, wouldn’t I? If I was like you, I would claim each cultivator’s life in retribution. But not just yours, right? If I was like you, I would slaughter you all. The oldest, most feeble elder down to the infants in their cradles. The servants. The non-combatants. The children. That’s what I would do, if I as like you.”

Her pause is like a physical weight, her glowing gold gaze piercing straight through them. Her voice has gotten quieter, softer, as she spoke and yet it echoes across the entirety of Lotus Pier. Her next words are little more than a whisper, but they strike Lan Qiren to his core.

“Aren’t you so very glad that I am not like you?”

And then the pressure is gone.

The energy that saturated the air has vanished and Lan Qiren pulls air into his lungs as if he had been drowning just a moment before. He’s not the only one. All around him, cultivators are gasping, staggering as if released from a great weight.

The Jiang Sect’s First Disciple, Xia Lian, steps from the crowd and offers Madame Jiang her arm, completely unruffled by the scene she just witnessed.

“Come, Little Mother,” she says, “You must be tired, no need to linger. Sect Leader can deal with the guests.”

Madame Jiang huffs. “Don’t call them guests,” she says, voice once more that of a mortal woman, as she threads her arm through Xia Lian’s, “That implies that they’re wanted.”

“As you say, Little Mother,” Xia Lian replies, a smirk tugging at her lips.

“Except you, little hunter,” Madame Jiang flaps a sleeve in Sect Leader Nie’s direction as they pass, “You’re an angel and we’re all thrilled you’re here.”

Nie Huiasang just smiles, leisurely waving his fan. “Always a pleasure to be here, Da-jie.”

Jiang Wanyin snorts before stepping forward. “Alright, show’s over,” he says pointedly, “I’m sure we all have far more important things to do.”

Lan Qiren has never been more glad for a Discussion Conference to come to a close.

-

Jiang Cheng is not surprised when Hairong slides into his bed.

She plasters herself to his side, head resting on his chest, hand over his heart. He curls an arm around her shoulders, fingers smoothing down the soft fabric of her sleep robe. The first few times this had happened, Jiang Cheng had nearly bodily thrown Hairong from the room. Sometimes, he still doesn’t welcome it. But sometimes, times like tonight, he silently yearns it.

“Are you angry at me?” Hairong asks, tracing patterns on his chest.

A sigh explodes out of him. He should be. Her little show earlier had spun the sects into a whirlwind – half of them tripping over their own feet as they beg him to reign in his ‘wife’ and the other half demanding to know if they need to prepare for war. Lan Wangji had been visibly unnerved, but Wei Wuxian seemed to have been the only other one in the room to understand what had just happened. But with three of the Great Sects firmly in agreement that no war preparations were necessary, there was little that could be said.

Nie Huiasang pointed out that Hairong had every right to be upset about what happened and nothing she said was untrue.

Not a statement that had helped really, but it got the point across.

As it stands, Jiang Cheng isn’t feeling particularly charitable to any other sects at the moment. They only care now that Hairong’s ‘true’ form has been revealed as opposed to just last week when they would have been content to slander her name and gossip as soon as her back was turned. Now they are going to fall over themselves to flatter her, to gain her favor, when before they would have ignored her existence. They will fear her and revere her and Jiang Cheng is almost looking forward to watching her put them all in their places.

But more than all of that – more than the damages and the other sects and politics of it all – Jiang Cheng keeps seeing that moment Hairong hit the floor.

All week, every time he closes his eyes, he sees her there, sprawled out on the ground, still and limp and lifeless. He sees her, Hairong, his friend, his family, collapsed in a heap, dead, in the middle of Lotus Pier. While he stands there, helpless unable to stop it. He’d told himself, years ago, that Lotus Pier would never again be filled with the bodies of people he cared about. He’d promised.

And yet.

And yet.

“I’m not angry,” he whispers into the quiet between them.

Hairong hums. “But you are upset.”

He breathes, closes his eyes, sees her body seared into the backs of his eyelids.

Hairong is patient, hand over his heart, fingers taping out a mindless beat. She doesn’t prod or pry. She merely waits.

“You were dead,” he says after a long silence, “For that single moment, you were dead. And I could do nothing.”

The tapping over his heart stops. Hairong pushes herself up and braces herself over him, elbows on either side of his head and looks him in the eye. He meets her gaze and lets everything he won’t say, everything he doesn’t know how to say, show in his eyes.

Her face softens and she dips down to press her forehead to his.

“My death will never be your fault,” she says firmly, “Regardless of the how or why or when. Regardless of if you are standing right next to me or on the other side of the world. My death will never be your fault. Do you understand?”

“Logically,” he replies, because he does. He understands what she’s telling him. But emotions rarely follow logic and Jiang Cheng has never been particularly inclined to listen to logic when his emotions run wild.

Hairong pulls back enough that he can see the rueful smile quirking her lips. “Fair,” she says as she settles back against his side.

They breathe together for a moment and now Jiang Cheng waits. He knows what’s coming next.

“I am going to die, Jiang Cheng,” she says quietly, “And it will not be your fault.”

He pulls in a breath, holds it for a moment, and then releases it all at once. “I know,” he answers, “And part of me will hate you for it.”

“I know,” she echoes back at him, “But just because I will be leaving you in however many years does not mean I’ll never see you again. Death isn’t a goodbye. Just a see you later.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” he can’t help but grumble.

She huffs a laugh against his throat as she curls into him. “No,” she whispers to him as if imparting a secret, the weight of years in her voice, “It is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.”

Jiang Cheng gives in and turns, wrapping himself around Hairong’s smaller form. “Then why do you keep doing it?”

She smiles, small and sad and fond, hand coming up to cup his cheek. “Oh, A-Cheng, nothing is forever. I would have rather loved and lost than never loved at all. You know that.”

“I do.”

And he does. They’ve had this talk numerous times over the years. It never gets any easier. He understands all too well what Hairong means when she says death is something that happens to the living. It makes him cling that much harder to the things that are his.

“You’re not allowed to die of anything other than old age,” he announces.

He can feel her smile against the hallow of his throat.

“I will do my best.”

It’s not a promise. Hairong never makes promises about things out of her control and Jiang Cheng loves her for it. She never promises impossible things. Still.

“You’re a Jiang,” he grumbles at her, closing his eyes and settling more firmly against her. “Attempt the impossible.”

A breath of laughter warms his chest.

“As you say, little love.”

[isis-astarte-diana]

Milk and Honey: Day 1

Day 1 ‖ Day 2 ‖ Day 3

Summary: “I can’t keep a houseplant alive, never mind a Time Lord.” You aren’t thrilled when the Doctor asks you to observe a wounded Missy while she heals, but in close quarters you see a side of her you’d never expected.

Warnings: Mentions of injury, blood and gore, but nothing too graphic. Sexual tension and a teeny tiny bit of non-sexual nudity. Missy is her own warning (I’m going to start using an acronym for this because it comes up far too much). SFW. Very, very soft.

Word Count: 2820

NB: This ran away from me so badly, so it will be continued! I read the whole Wiki page on Gallifreyan physiology for this. They really do have orange blood, and they really can’t take aspirin. I also took the liberty of throwing in the “only one bed” trope and making it gay.

“I don’t even know first aid.”

The Doctor scoffs, dismissing you with a wave of his hand. “Wouldn’t help much anyway. Very different anatomy.”

“Doctor, I’m serious. My Nintendogs all ran away from neglect. Every Tamagotchi I’ve ever had has starved to death. I can’t keep a houseplant alive, never mind a Time Lord.”

“Time Lords are easier. They tell you when they need feeding. Look,” he reaches out to touch your arm, his voice lowering. “I wouldn’t ask you to do this if I didn’t need to. I can’t monitor the vault all day while I’m working, and somebody has to keep watch while she recovers. Bill doesn’t have her own place and Nardole is... Nardole. She doesn’t need medical care; she’ll heal on her own in a few days. She just needs observation.”

You cross your arms tightly and throw a glance at the closed bathroom door. “Observation while she rips my throat out?”

“Don’t be like that. Missy gets on with you. Besides which, she’s in no condition to cause trouble.”

“Okay, see, that?” You point an accusatory finger at his chest, close to yours where you stand in the narrow hallway of your flat. “That sounds far too much like tempting fate.” He takes your hand in both of his. The pleading look on his face makes you soften. “What happened to her, anyway?”

“Ah. Silurians, apparently. Stabbed in the back. They fight dirty.” He chuckles. “So does she.”

“Are you sure she doesn’t need stitches, or anything?”

“No need; it’ll take care of itself. Temporal platelets. Ad-hoc regeneration.” Sensing your confusion, he explains, “surface wounds heal quickly. It’s probably already scabbed over. It’s the internal damage that takes time.”

“I just don’t know if I’m the right person to do this.”

“You are.” It’s heavy with sincerity. “There’s nobody else in the universe that I would trust.”

You scoff. “Flattery won’t get you anywhere.”

“Of course it will.” He grins and gives your hand one final squeeze before dropping it. “I’ll come and check in on you both tomorrow, alright? I’ll drop some things off for her.”

“Yeah, alright.”

He’s halfway out the door when he pauses and looks back over his shoulder. “Oh, don’t give her any aspirin. Incompatible with Gallifreyan physiology. It works like rat poison.”

“Duly noted.”

+++++

You’ve been standing outside the bathroom door for the best part of two minutes now, trying to decide whether or not to make your presence known.

Inside, over the sound of the bath running, you can hear Missy swearing. She’s always had a more colourful taste in language than the Doctor, but this is something new. There are choice words that you recognise and strange sounds you can only assume to be Gallifreyan expletives, all strung together in a near-constant stream of profanity.

You jump back when there’s a loud thud against the door. It sounds like she’s slammed her hand into it. Already wincing in anticipation, you reach out and knock tentatively.

“Missy?” Your voice is apologetic. “You okay?”

Silence. The door cracks open just enough for you to see her face, still stained with dry blood. Her eyes are red and puffy.

“Could you give me a hand?” She winces like it pains her to ask. “Please.”

You think it might be the first time you’ve heard her say that.

“Yeah, yeah, of course. What- what do you need?”

“I can’t- I’m having trouble with my laces.” A half-smile as she tries to claw back the power she’s unused to handing over. “On account of the whopping great stab wound, and whatnot.”

“Yeah, those can be inconvenient.”

She pushes the door wider and lets you into the bathroom. Your eyes are drawn to the pile of white and violet on the floor, her discarded skirt and blouse. Her cameo brooch is balanced on the sink. Its ivory face is obscured with smears of orange.

“I just need somebody to loosen them,” she continues, turning to show you her back, mercifully ignoring the way your gaze flits about the room and tries to avoid settling on her. “Unfortunately I’m very good at tying knots.”

For some reason, that makes your mouth go dry.

“I’ll do my best.”

She’s facing away from you, towards the mirror. Her hair falls down over one shoulder, already brushed conveniently out of your way. The chemise she wears is thin, pale linen, stiff and brown in places with dried blood, pinned in place beneath the corset she can’t remove herself. It curves under her bust and across her back.

From here, you can see how the knife must have entered between the laces in the small of her back, caking them with blood. The tight bow is undamaged. You begin to pick it apart, trying not to touch her, as much in modesty as for fear of aggravating the injury.

“Let me know if I hurt you.”

“Hmm.” She grips the sink, angling her body to give you better access. Drawing your bottom lip between your teeth, you focus on the knots slowly giving beneath your fingers, trying in vain to ignore her closeness and the way her hips are just barely touching your own.

You’re glad of the cacophony of rushing water from the tap. The pressure of your pulse in your throat is almost painful. Sweat beads at your temples. Steam. It’s a hot room. That’s all.

“Okay.” The laces fall slack in your hands, the bow finally coming apart. “Just- loosen them?”

“Please.” There it is again.

“This might- you know-”

“I know.”

Her hands tighten on the sink when you hook one finger beneath the first row of laces above her waist and tug, drawing slack from the loose ends, releasing some of the tension. When she doesn’t make any sound of protest, you move higher up and repeat the motion. It’s not until the entire top half of the corset is loosened that she lets out a slow, shallow breath you hadn’t realised she was holding, shifting her position.

“Okay?”

“Fine.” It comes out short. She makes an effort to soften her voice. “It’s fine.”

“I’ll carry on.”

You know that the other side will be worse. The wound is just lower than where the bow had been, and the stiff garment has probably held it closed quite effectively. Removing it is unlikely to help the pain.

Sure enough, when you pull on the first lace Missy makes a low noise behind her teeth. She’s white-knuckled on the edge of the sink, threatening to crack the cheap porcelain. You imagine explaining that to the landlord and try to hide an inappropriate smile.

“Keep going,” she prompts tightly.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

You work as gently as you can, but it’s clear that even the smallest motion is painful. By the time you reach the bottom of the corset, her breathing is ragged and her eyes are screwed shut. You feel profoundly guilty.

“Can you- take it off, or should I?”

“Could you?” She gestures to her stomach and quickly steadies herself again. “Clasps are at the front.”

“Sure.”

Swallowing thickly, you move closer to reach around her waist. The backs of her thighs press against you from the position. When your hands land on her stomach, gripping the starched material at the bottom, you can feel her four-beat pulse through the panels. Your fingers are trembling.

The hooks and eyes slide apart with a chorus of metallic clicks, leaving just the top fastenings still holding. She grunts, twitching, pushing back against you. She’s warm.

“Almost done.” It’s as much for your benefit as hers. You follow the material upwards, drawing back as if burned when the fabric of her chemise brushes your fingers, and release the final two clasps. She lets out a heavy exhale in relief, glancing up from the sink, and for a long moment she catches your eye in the mirror. Her features are strained from the ordeal, messy hair in her face, lips parted as she catches her breath. You look awestruck.

“Thank you,” she murmurs into the reflection.

You pull back too quickly, dropping the corset to the floor with her other clothes and reaching over awkwardly to turn the tap off. The bath is full.

“I’ll put you some clothes ready,” you say hurriedly, nearly tripping on the pile of laundry in your haste to leave the room. “Just shout if you need anything else.”

Back in the kitchen, you wash the orange-brown stains of Missy’s blood from your hands. When you drag them harshly down your face, trying to steady yourself with a splash of cold water, they smell like pennies.

+++++

“Don’t laugh.”

“Jesus!” You nearly jump out of your skin, dropping the butter knife you’re holding and throwing a hand up to your pounding heart. “Don’t you make any noise when you walk?”

“Not if I can help it. Which I can.” Missy pauses. “What are you doing?”

“Making toast. Pretty standard human stuff. Breakfast? Toast. Flu? Toast. Tonsils out? Toast. Mortally wounded?” You shrug. “Toast.”

“I’m not mortally wounded,” she snaps. “You have to be mortal for that. I’m temporarily, slightly incapacitated.”

“Oh, of course,” you concede, looking back at her over your shoulder. “Luckily, there’s toast for-”

Your voice catches in your throat.

She’s obviously found the clothes you set out for her; an oversized tee shirt that swamps her frame and a pair of pyjama trousers. Her dark hair falls in a thick, wet braid. With her face clean you can see for the first time where she’s injured.

There’s a graze on her cheek, spanning across her nose, pink and sore-looking. Her bottom lip is swollen and split on the same side. A long, dark scab bisects the patch of rough skin, reaching from her jaw up towards her eye. It looks like her face has been slammed into the ground repeatedly.

You’ve never really seen her without her trademark boots and careful tailoring. She’s shorter than you imagined. There’s a soft, feminine curve to her stomach that’s usually concealed by the corset, and a faint musculature to her biceps.

“You look-”

“Don’t,” she cuts you off sharply. “Don’t say it. Let’s not add insult to injury.”

“I was going to say that you look nice.”

“Oh.” Her face softens. Some of the tightness leaves her brow. “Nice is fine. You can say that.”

It’s true, but the unsaid hangs heavily between you. She looks human. Hurt and freshly showered, standing in your kitchen in a pair of your pyjamas and with fuzzy striped socks on her feet, she looks so... soft. Touchable. Loveable.

Wait, what? Where did that come from?

The toaster pops and you turn to it, infinitely grateful for the distraction. You can feel her eyes on the back of your neck.

“Anything I can do?”

“No, I’m good.” The words come out too quickly. You throw her a weak smile. “I’ve got this. Thank you. You sit down.”

“Matron knows best.”

Her fingers brush over your elbow as she turns to leave. It could be a thank you. It’s hard to say.

+++++

You’ve been to other planets. You’ve travelled in time. You’ve seen cyborgs, and dinosaurs, and aliens of every description; but nothing has ever felt more bizarre than sitting on your sofa beside Missy, having tea and toast, watching a soap opera on a Thursday evening.

She’s leaning against an armrest, two pillows propped behind her back, keeping her weight off the healing wound. Her bright eyes are fixed on the television. She’d actually requested this programme, finding the endless human conflicts relentlessly amusing.

“He’s buried under the allotment.”

"Who is? The brother?”

“Definitely.” She sips from one of your prized novelty mugs. It’s purple and shaped like a cartoon octopus. “It was his wife. She poisoned him.”

“It’s always poison when it’s a woman.” You munch at your toast. “You know, most poisoners are men.”

“Most murderers are men, love.” The endearment nearly makes you choke. “You’re privileged enough to be sitting next to one of the minority.”

“Girl power,” you mutter around a mouthful of crumbs. She laughs. There’s something warm and genuine about it that makes your heart clench. You finish eating in companionable silence, watching as Missy’s prediction is revealed to be true just before the credits roll. 

“Told you.” She leans in to set her empty plate down on the coffee table on top of yours. As she moves, she winces and lets out a soft sound of discomfort. One hand reaches back to press against the injury. You frown.

“How’s it feeling?”

“Quite a lot like I was stabbed, actually.” She rubs her forehead. “I think I need to do that thing. What’s it called? Like a healing coma, but less.” Glancing sideways at your furrowed brow, she prompts, “you know. You do it all the time. Eight hours a week, or something.”

"Sleep?”

“Sleep! That’s the one. Clever girl.” You can’t supress a shiver at the way she rolls the ‘r’. “Been a while since I’ve done that.”

“That would explain a lot.” You move the dishes, leaving them for the morning. “Just let me get changed and grab a blanket. You can take the bed.”

“Oh, no need.” She waves you away. “I’m perfectly fine here. Think I was in the desert, last time, so this is a step up.”

“There’s no way I’m leaving you to sleep on a sofa when you’re recovering from a stab wound, Missy, Gallifreyan constitution or not. Besides which, this is a particularly bad one to spend the night on. Believe me, I speak from experience. The desert may actually be preferable.”

“I’m not throwing you out of your own bed,” she snaps, so harshly that it makes you flinch. “I’m enough of a nuisance as it is.”

Here we go.

Wounded pride is something you’ve dealt with from the Doctor time innumerable, but you’ve never had to address it with Missy before. You realise how difficult it must have been for her to ask for your help with the corset and wonder how much pain she’d put herself through trying to do it alone. For the first time, you imagine the conversation she must have had with the Doctor before he brought her here. How long did she fight him on it? How long did she insist that she could cope on her own in the vault? You’d assumed that he wanted to keep her supervised in case the injury didn’t heal well, but maybe there was more to it than that. Maybe he just didn’t want her to be alone.

“We could share.”

She lifts her head, setting those ancient eyes on you. “Share?”

“Share the bed. It’s big enough. No point in one of us being uncomfortable if we don’t have to be. Bill and I share when she comes over.” You feel like you’re babbling. This may be the worst idea you’ve ever had.

“Do you?”

“Course we do. Friends do that.”

Friends. She blinks a few times.

“Well then. When in Rome, as they say.” She rises unsteadily to her feet, one hand braced on the arm of the sofa. “Although apparently, that doesn’t mean that you can crucify someone for stealing a mule. The Doctor was so cross with me that weekend.”

+++++

“You’re going to fall off the bed.”

Missy’s voice is muffled by the pillow jammed awkwardly under her cheek. She’s lying on her stomach, arms under her head, her face twisted towards you so that she isn’t leaning on the injured side.

You wince at having been caught out. You’re as close to the edge as it’s possible to be, balanced uncomfortably on your side with your back to her. Even so, you can feel her behind you; she has no such qualms about taking up space.

“I’m not contagious, you know.” In her exhausted state - she’s been half-asleep since her head hit the pillow - she actually sounds insulted. “There’s no epidemic of knife wounds.”

“Please don’t jinx it.”

She snorts. Suitably chagrined, you squirm back towards the middle of the bed, settling into your usual sleeping position. You still make sure to keep your face turned away. There’s an odd feeling of dread in the pit of your stomach. You can’t shake the idea that if you roll over and look at her face, the cuts and grazes there cast in sharp relief by the thin light of the bedside lamp, something terrible will happen.

You reach for the switch. “Light off?”

Her leg brushes against yours, warm even through the pyjamas, and your heart skips a beat. “Leave it on?” She sounds so small in the dark. You pause for a second before tucking your arm back under the duvet.

“Of course.” It sounds rough. You clear your throat. “Goodnight, Missy.”

“Night,” she murmurs back, already thick and drowsy.

Sleep comes easy to you both.

[ragingbookdragon]

Under Enemy Fire PT. 2

A Shay Cormac x Reader Story

Word Count: 1,670 Warnings: Explicit Language, Mentions of Death

Author’s Note: Hi...I have no excuse for not updating this :D. Enjoy! -Thorne

“Did you know she could fight, Master Haytham?” His eyes flit from the pages of the book to the man sitting across from him.

He inhaled, snapping the book shut with a crack that seemed to echo inside the carriage. “Surprisingly, Shay…no.” He paused, gaze shifting to the window. “But a great deal of things are now becoming clear about her that had been hidden before.”

“Like?”

“She’s been trained. From birth…much like I was when I was a child.”

Shay regarded him a moment. “Did your father teach you?”

Haytham nodded. “He did, as did other teachers when he died. I suspect Lady (Y/N) has had masters of all kinds train her.”

“Why keep it hidden?” Shay wondered aloud, arms crossing over his chest. “If she’s the only living child of one of ours, that means at some point she’ll have to take over for him. Why not go ahead and establish herself in the Order?” He looked to the templar across from him. “I think we can both agree that she’s strong enough to hold a high position in the order…higher than me.”

Haytham went silent a moment, then hinted, “Perhaps she’s been waiting for a more opportune moment to reveal herself.”

“And when would that be? When she’s found a suitable partner?” He frowned. “If that happens and she marries, she’ll lose the inheritance. She—” Shay shut his mouth, a look of amazement crossing his face as he remarked, “That must be the reason she’s refusing all the suitors. So that she can keep her inheritance.”

Haytham merely tipped his head to the side. “We’ll never know until we ask.” The hunter turned his eyes to the manor in the distance, settling back in his seat as they arrived.

The doors opened and as they climbed out, they were met by a stoic man. He turned, letting them pass before addressing, “Masters Kenway and Cormac, welcome to the (L/N) manor. I am Jameson, the family butler.” They nodded. “I regret to inform you that Lady (Y/N) has yet to return from her morning activities.”

Shay cocked an eyebrow, quipping, “And what are those? Balancing books on her head and needlework?”

The butler simply looked to the manor doors. “Swordsmanship and hand-to-hand combat, in fact.”

The templar went silent as Haytham let out a rare snort before asking, “Shouldn’t she be practicing in the manor?”

Jameson hummed as they climbed the steps, and he opened the doors, letting them inside. “She was earlier, but then she went off into the woods for a bit of hunting.”

“What’s there to hunt?” Shay had taken to picking at the trays of food on the dining table, much to Haytham’s dismay.

“Other than the normal wild animals such as bobcats and deer, nothing special. She simply leaves and returns hours later with a few pelts.” The butler handed Shay a handkerchief, watching as the Irishman thanked him. “A few years ago, there were poachers on the lands. After multiple requests for them to leave, she gave them a final warning to leave the land or she would take matters into her own hands.”

Haytham arched an eyebrow. “I assume they didn’t take her seriously?”

Jameson nodded. “She came home that night covered in blood. We did not ask…and she did not say.” He cleared his throat, motioning to the table. “She requested you to stay in here if she had not returned in time. But I suspect she should be back soon.” The two nodded and he bowed his head. “Then I shall take my leave.”

He disappeared down a hallway, and Haytham reached over, whacking Shay’s arm. “Quit eating!” He hissed, glaring as Shay dodged another swing to shove one of the hors d'oeuvres into his mouth.

“Oi, it’s here for us! We might as well eat it!” The Grandmaster grunted, turning his eyes to the forest behind the manor; he could feel Shay lean close, gazing out the window as well. For a moment, neither spoke, then the hunter muttered, “Please don’t tell me we’re going to do what you’re thinking about.”

Haytham stood straight, making his way to the back door. “We are.” He opened the door. “Come along Shay, we’ve a huntress to collect.”

Shay groaned, but conceded, keeping in step as they made their way across the field. “This is going to take forever.”

“It certainly will if you keep blathering about it.”

“Well begging your pardon, sir, I didn’t expect to be tracking down a master huntress.”

Haytham tossed a look over his shoulder. “That’s your possible betrothed you’re speaking of.”

The hunter felt is cheeks warm and he grunted, stepping over a fallen tree branch. “It’s a little early to call us that. We just met a week ago.”

“And yet, you seem captivated by her already.”

“Speaking of betrothals, if her father is the one having her meet with members of the order…have you and her…you know…”

Haytham let out a sigh, reaching up to run a hand down his face. “Oh, for God’s sakes. That’s where you’re taking this conversation?”

Shay shot him a grin as he passed in front of him. “I was simply wondering if the two of you were set up for a possible marriage. What are you talking about, Master Haytham?”

The other templar shot him a pointed look. “It’s honestly surprising that you haven’t been shot yet.”

“Oi, I’ve got the scar on my shoulder blade to counter that.” He waved a hand. “Really though, were the two of you introduced at some point?”

Haytham hummed. “We were. That’s how she and I met a few years ago. I’m surprised I didn’t see through her façade back then.” A silence stretched between them and he glanced over, ribbing, “Don’t think about it too hard, Shay. Your brain might explode.”

Shay snorted and shook his head. “You seem to enjoy her presence…you definitely respect her. The two of you are from well-known and respectable families…why didn’t the two of you marry then?”

They stopped in the middle of a clearing, and Haytham said, “I do respect her. I can count on one hand how many women I genuinely enjoy being in the presence of and she is one of them. I asked her if she would want to marry, but she politely declined.”

“Any reason why?”

“I didn’t ask.”

Neither spoke and Shay looked into the forest, sighing, “We’re never going to find her. This forest spans hundreds of acres.” He met Haytham’s eyes. “She could be anywhere.”

Before he could respond, a voice sounded from above. “Giving up so soon?” The two templars reacted like startled deer, spinning on their heels to gape at the woman crouching atop the hunting platform. “I figured you would at least try and find me.”

Shay cocked an eyebrow. “How long have you been following us, Lady (Y/N)?”

She turned her head, nodding to the way they came. “I saw you come up the pathway…then I heard you enter the forest.” (Y/N) looked back at them before descending the platform, landing a few feet away; she stood, slinging the musket across her back as she made her way past them. “With all due respect, Master Shay, you are rather loud.” Haytham let out a chuckle as the hunter began to silently gripe. “I apologize for not being back before now. I made the mistake of leaving my pocket watch.” (Y/N) paused, looking at them. “I do hope you can excuse me for my tardiness.” They waved her concern off and she nodded, turning back towards the manor. “Not that I do not mind the visit, but I am curious as to why you are here. This does not feel like a friendly house call.”

At that, Haytham finally spoke up. “We came to speak to you about your position within the order.”

Though her steps faltered a bit, she was quick to hide it. “Even though I am not a templar?”

“You’re good at lying, Lady (Y/N), but you’re not flawless at it.”

(Y/N) spun on her heel holding a challenged spark in her eye. “I have seemingly fooled you and the rest of the order for a few years now.”

Haytham stood apart from her, steely gaze matching hers as he countered, “And now it is crystal clear that you were the one who helped to conquer the bases in Boston from the assassins a few years ago.”

She pursed her lips, then tipped her head in agreement. “That is a fair point, Master Haytham.” (Y/N) waved a hand. “So, what is my position within the Order? I cannot imagine many will be accepting of me taking up a spot.”

“Why do you say that?” Shay inquired.

She glanced at him. “Have you met half the men who are Templars? They are sexist pigs who would rather order a woman around than listen to one.” (Y/N) sent a withering glare to Haytham. “If you even think of putting me under any of the men from Boston, especially Hickey or Lee, I will put them six feet under.”

He narrowed his eyes with a rather amused fashion. “You truly hate Thomas and Charles, don’t you. Lady (Y/N)?”

“I despise them.” She corrected. “Hickey is crude and salacious, and Lee cannot seem to pull his head from where he has shoved it up his ass since becoming a Templar.” She let out a huff, then took a deep breath to calm herself. “They might be efficient at their jobs, but they sully the Order with their actions and behavior.”

“I think you’ll do fine where I’m going to position you.” Haytham said.

“And where will that be? Here in New York? My standing already dictates I oversee much of the business within the city, even Templar business.”

He smiled at her, though his eyes were holding a humored look. “Oh, have no fear, Lady (Y/N). I’m actually putting you on the Morrigan.”

She and Shay both had the same reaction. “WHAT?!”

[rewritethestars5218]

Febuwhump Day 3

I know I am 4 days behind, but this last week was really busy at work and I refuse to stress myself out over this challenge. I am doing this not only for the fun of the challenge, but to also teach myself that it is okay to fall behind and not view writing as a “second job”. I hope you all enjoy! I will try to catch up this week, but if not I’m not going to beat myself up.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29163078/chapters/71866215

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Hostage Situation 

It started off as a tip of a possible camp of infected bokoblins.

The group had landed in Wild's Hyrule the night before. Thankfully, the goddess decided to drop them just outside Dueling Peaks Stable. 

The stable didn't have anyone staying the night, so the boys were able to spread out. 

The owner didn't mind. He was always happy to see Link and his friends show up because that meant business, and Link often paid more than was asked.

Two Hylians were sitting at one of the tables, quietly conversing. 

It didn't escape any of their attention that the two kept glancing back towards them.

Finally, one of the Hylians stood up and approached the group.

"You guys look like fighters," one stated somewhat nervously. 

"Whatever gave you that idea," Legend mocked under his breath, earning a chuckle from Wind.

Wild sighed at Legend's lack of tact. 

"Is there something we can help you with?" Wild asked.

"My friend over there said that he saw a large monster camp just off the path leading to Hateno Village," the stranger explained, wringing his hands nervously. "He said they have been terrorizing travelers for weeks now."

"Did your friend happen to say were along the path they were?" Wild asked, glanced back at the timid-looking man at the table. 

"He said they are in the wooded area just before you get to the Quince pass."

Wild silently groaned. Of course there would be a monster camp outside that pass. 

There was no way to get to Hateno without going through that narrow pass. 

"We'll head that way first thing tomorrow," Wild assured. 

"Thank you," the man said quickly, not meeting Wild's eyes. 

He turned and walked towards the exit, his companion quickly following behind.

Wild turned back where a few of his friends were watching the exchange curiously. 

"They seemed a little skittish," Four observed.

"Maybe the run-in with the monsters shook them up a bit," Hyrule suggested. 

"Still, that was weird, right?" Four asked.

"They definitely seemed to be on edge," Twilight agreed.

Wild nodded. "They definitely looked nervous, but we are a pretty intimidating looking group."

Four shrugged, conceding the fact. It would make sense for an ordinary traveler to be nervous if they saw 9 strangers, armed to the teeth.

"We have to head to Hateno anyway," Wild continued. "At least now we know there is a monster camp on the way."

As the group settled in for the night, Wild found that he couldn't sleep. 

Four was right; there was something strange about that exchange. 

It wasn't anything the man said, more the behavior that both strangers displayed. 

Wild learned long ago to trust his gut. He wasn't sure what was off about those two, but he made a note to keep a lookout for them when they were back on the road. 

------------------------------------

The group was on the road shortly after sunrise. 

A few of them...Legend and Sky...were not happy to get up so early, but Wild wanted to make sure they made it to Hateno before nightfall. 

The first few hours of the journey was uneventful. The nine heroes naturally split off into smaller groups as they walked, engaged in their own conversations.

Wild stayed up front, unable to fully relax. Something didn't feel right; he just couldn't put his finger on why.

Twilight had joined him early into the walk. 

His mentor talked about something Colin did that he found amusing, but Wild was having difficulty concentrating on the details.

Twilight must have noticed because he stopped halfway through his story and looked at Wild curiously. 

"Are you even listening," he asked jokingly. 

Wild startled, "Sorry...I was listening. I must have spaced out for a moment."

Twilight furrowed his brow. "Is everything alright?" 

"It's those two men from last night." Wild explained. "I don't know...there's just something about them that keeps eating at me."

"They did seem very uncomfortable to be around us. But perhaps it's like Hyrule said, maybe they were just a little shaken up, Maybe they have trust issues,"

Wild nodded. There were several logical reasons to explain their behavior, but that didn't quell the little voice in the back of his head telling him something was wrong.  

Suddenly, the group heard a maniacal laugh echoing all around them.

Wild spun around just in time to see an arrow flying right for them.

He shoved Twilight down and spun to deflect the attack, but the arrow managed to graze Wild across his bicep.

He hissed in pain as he grabbed his arm, looking up just in time to see a Yiga footsoldier disappear into a cloud of smoke.

"Yiga!" Wild shouted as the rest of the group were already pulling out their weapons. 

Wild had his bow out in a flash. He looked around frantically, waiting to see where the Yiga soldier would appear next.

Wild heard two familiar puffs cut through the air. He turned and saw two Yiga soldiers materialize, one behind Four and one behind Wind.

The Yiga grabbed Wind and Four before they could react and held their demon carvers to their throats.

Both Wind and Four slowly raised their hands in surrender. The Yigas' eyes were locked on Wild. 

"I knew it!" Wild yelled, gripping his bow tighter. "You are the two from last night!"

A third puff of smoke appeared, revealing a Yiga blade master. 

The blade master laughed, "Those fools? They were just two pathetic travels we captured. We told them we would let them live if they passed along a message to the scared 'hero' of this land."

"Cowards!" Twilight growled. It didn't escape his attention that the Yiga intentionally targeted the two smallest of the group. 

Twilight readied his blade, his eyes locked on the Yiga who had Four.

Wild glared dangerously at the Yiga soldier who had Wind, an arrow nocked and pointed at the soldier's head. 

"Let them go!" Wild snarled as he took a threatening step closer to his target. 

The Yiga soldier tightened his grip around Wind, pressing his rounded blade into the young hero's neck.

Wild's eyes briefly flashed with concern when he saw blood slowly trickle down the sailor's neck. 

"Master Koga warned you!" the blade master spat. "He told you we would track you to the ends of Hyrule!"

 "To what end?!" Wild snapped. "You have no masters left to serve!"

The Yiga holding onto Four laughed. "Foolish hero. Ganon's hatred lives on. Surely you feel it; choose one!"

Wild felt his stomach drop. 

"You lie!" Wild spat back. "I killed Ganon!"

The blade master laughed. "To kill a snake, you must first cut off its head."

Wild dropped his bow slightly, his brain grappling with that statement. 

"Ganon will return again...” the blade master threatened. “...and this time he won't fail!"

Twilight saw Four’s eyes flash blue. The older hero smirked. 

He recognized that look. 

These Yiga were about to realize they targeted the wrong Hylians. 

The Yiga soldier holding Four dropped his guard slightly as he listened to his leader's monologue. 

That was all Four needed.

Four quickly grabbed the Yiga's blade hand with both of his. He twisted the footsoldier's wrist and pulled it down and away from him.

Four quickly slipped under the Yiga's arm and twisted it, locking the arm behind the soldier's back. The Yiga struggled to grab Four with his free hand but couldn't. 

The Yiga holding Wind turned at the sudden disturbance, giving Wind an opening to pull off a similar move. 

The only difference was, instead of twisting the Yiga's arm behind his back, Wind bit the footsoldier's hand...hard.

The Yiga yelped in pain as he dropped his blade. He pivoted and went to kick Wind in the stomach, but the young hero anticipated the move and rolled out of the way.

Wind stood up, sword in hand, and drove the blade deep into the Yiga's exposed side. 

Almost immediately after, Wind heard a sickening thunk, and he knew Wild had fired his arrow. 

The Yiga soldier crumpled where he stood, an arrow protruding from between his eyes.

The Yiga blade master took advantage of the chaos. 

He slammed his hand into the ground, red magic pouring from him into the earth.  

A stone pillar appeared and started heading straight for Wild. 

At the same moment, Twilight dashed towards the Yiga struggling with Four. 

He brought his sword up diagonally, slashing the footsoldier across his chest and face.  

The Yiga howled in pain as he stumbled out of Four's grasp. 

The Yiga immediately locked eyes with Twilight, his mask marred with a deep gash. Before Four could unleash an attack, the Yiga vanished in a puff of smoke. 

Warriors noticed that Wild was in the direct path of the column that the blade master unleased. 

He charged at the champion and tackled him to the ground before the column slammed into him. 

The blade master was suddenly on top of the two, his speed surprising the captain. 

Warriors saw the blade master's sword heading towards him. He brought his sword up to parry the blow, but this Yiga was powerful, and the captain wasn't able to keep the wicked blade from piercing through his side.

Warriors couldn't bite back the cry of pain as the blade master slowly pulled his sword out.

Wild felt his blood run cold when he saw the blood dripping off the windcleaver. 

His hand instinctively went to his slate. He jumped up and was already in the motion of swinging when his scimitar materialized in his hand.

The blade master was agile for his size, and he backflipped just out of Wild's reach, leaving Wild standing defensively over Warriors.

"Pathetic!" the blade master taunted. "I am going to send you all straight to hell!"

Just then, the blade master stumbled forward. He let out a wet cough as a large blade burst out from his chest.

Time tightened his grip on his biggoron's sword as he leaned closer to the blade master.

"You first," he growled as he twisted the blade, drawing a cry of agony from the Yiga.

He pulled his sword out, and the blade master collapsed where he stood.

Wild abandoned his sword and dropped next to Warriors. 

He let out a curse when he saw how pale the captain looked. Not only that, but his breathing was shallow and quick.

Time appeared next to Wild, worry written all over his face. He saw Wild frantically swiping through his slate.

"I know it's in here..." Wild said tensely to himself. Time grabbed Warriors scarf, balled it up, and pushed it against the wound.

Warriors groaned painfully and tried to push Time's hands away.

"Don't," Legend said sharply, appearing next to them, unable to mask the worry in his voice. "You're only going to make it worse." 

He carefully pulled Warriors' hands away from Time's.

"Move!" Hyrule barked as he squeezed in between Wild and Time, his hands starting to glow.

"Wait!" Wild shouted.

Hyrule paused when he saw a fairy materialize from Wild's slate. 

The little fairy went to work, allowing her healing magic to flow into Warriors' wound.

By the time the fairy was finished, the wound was much smaller and shallower, and Warriors' breathing had stabilized.

"Don't," Warriors ground when Hyrule started to channel his healing magic. The captain attempted to sit up, but a hand shot out and pushed him back to the ground.

"Quit being a stubborn ass and let Hyrule heal you," Legend exasperated. 

Once Wild was satisfied that Warriors would be alright, he stood up and scanned the area.

He saw Sky and Four trying to talk to a very agitated Wind. 

The sailor pressed his hand to his neck, and Wild could see where the blood had trickled down.

When he thought back to when the Yiga had pressed the demon carver into Wind's neck, Wild heart sank. 

"I said I'm fine," Wind protested as Sky gently directed him to sit on the ground. 

"I know," Sky said calmly. "But even small wounds can get infected. Let me treat it, and it will be healed come nightfall."

Wind grumbled under his breath but didn't protest further. 

Four understood Wind's mood. He knew the younger hero's pride hurt more than anything. 

Being caught off guard and used as a temporary hostage did not sit well with Four either.

 Being the smallest of the group was never easy. Four found that enemies usually pegged him as an easy target. He always made sure those enemies paid for their misjudgment.

Wind had it worse out of the two of them. He was the youngest, which caused the others to treat him differently at times.

 It wasn't done purposely. They all respected Wind and knew he had gone through his own journey and defeated Ganondorf. Still, the older members of the group couldn't help but be more protective of him.

 Wind usually shrugged it off with a witty comment, but there were times where it got under his skin.

In this instance, Four was sure Wind was angry because the Yiga had pegged him as an 'easy' target and got the jump on him. The fact that Warriors had gotten hurt definitely made the whole situation worse.

 The sailor had quite a temper, but thankfully Sky always seemed to be able to calm him down.

Wild wanted to check on Wind, but he hesitated. He didn't want Wind to think he was fussing over him, but he still felt incredibly guilty about what happened.

Before Wild could decide what to do, he felt a hand grab his wrist. 

He glanced up to where Twilight was standing.

"If you want to talk to Wind, do it later, "he said quietly as if he could read Wild's thoughts. 

"Besides..." Twilight continued as he twisted Wild's arm to get a better look at the gash across his bicep. "...I need to wrap your arm."

Wild couldn't help the small hiss that escaped his lips at the sudden motion. He also knew there was no point in protesting. He sat down as Twilight rummaged through his bag. 

 Thankfully, neither Wind's nor Wild's wounds were serious. Both Sky and Twilight applied a small amount of red potion to the bandages before wrapping the wounds.

Four looked over and saw that Warriors was sitting up with Legend's assistance as Hyrule wrapped his injury.

Time made the executive decision to set up camp early. Unsurprisingly, no one protested.

As everyone was unpacking, Wind approached Wild.

"I just wanted to say thanks...for saving me back there," he said as he scratched the back of his head. 

"Were we watching the same fight because I distinctly remember you getting out of that situation all on your own?" Wild asked in mocked confusion.

"Only because Four distracted him," Wind countered.

"So? You took advantage of an opportunity. All good fighters do that."

Wind didn't look convinced.

"Wind, you bit the guy's hand so hard he dropped his blade. Not only that, but you dodged his kick and used the opening to stab him in the ribs. You didn't need me. I only shot him because I was pissed."

Wild wasn't lying. Sure he shot the Yiga to keep him from lashing out at Wind, but he was sure Wind would have finished the job if he didn't. 

And he was pissed.

Wind smirked. "It was a good shot."

"How's your neck?" Wild asked as he eyed the bandage.

"Fine," Wind said. "Sky made a bigger deal out of it than it had to be. He's such a mother cucco."

Wild glanced down at the ground. "I'm sorry," 

Wind crinkled his eyebrows. "For what? Sky being a mother cuccu?"

Wind smirked again but dropped it when Wild's frowned. 

"I let my anger get the better of me. I advanced on that Yiga instead of staying back. Had I not done that, he wouldn't have cut you. Besides, I am the reason you and Four were targeted. They went after you to get to me."

Wind didn't know how to respond. He started the whole conversation with the intent of thanking Wild for saving him, and somehow it turned into Wild apologizing to him. 

"Are you seriously apologizing for having a psycho cult chasing after you?" 

Wild tried to give Wind a stern look.

"That look only works when Time does it," Wind quipped. Wild held the look anyway.

"I must have missed it when you snuck off and told the Yiga to take us hostage." Wind continued sarcastically.

"You know what I mean," Wild protested.

"No, I really don't. You didn't tell those assholes to attack us. Hylia above Wild, here I was trying to thank you for saving me, and you're over here thinking the whole damn thing was your fault."

Now it was Wild's turn to feel embarrassed. When Wind put it that way, it did seem silly.

This had been the longest the group had spent in Wild's Hyrule, and he found it nearly impossible to stop himself from feeling guilty anytime one of them was in danger. 

The reality was they were always in danger. It didn't matter whose Hyrule they were in. 

He shifted uncomfortably when he noticed Wind was still staring at him.

Wild sighed (again). "Fine, you made your point," he mumbled. Then he smirked. "So long as you admit you're a badass, and you didn't need my help back there."

Wind laughed. "Maybe they'll think twice before they pick on the little guy."

"Or maybe you and Four will be our secret weapons," Wild smirked.  

Wind chuckled at the idea. When he looked up at Wild he saw that the champion's smiled had dropped, his gaze locked onto Warriors.

"You know, what happened to Warriors wasn't your fault," Wind offered.

Wild shook his head. "I allowed myself to get distracted," Wild argued. 

Wind cocked an eyebrow. "I see. So it wasn't my fault that I wasn't paying attention and let that asshole capture me, but it's totally your fault for not noticing a sneak attack sent your way while you were killing the very asshole who took me hostage,"

Wild shot him a dirty glare, but Wind was unphased.

"Not so good at taking your own advice, are ya?" Wind mocked. "If I'm not allowed to blame myself, you sure as shit aren't allowed to blame yourself,"

Wild opened his mouth to argue but knew he wasn't going to win.

Instead, he just signed. "Point taken."

[a-fanatic-fangirl-requests]

Here is last one in the Black Butler x Injured!Assassin!Reader from @nightroze this time, featuring Ciel. Like always, I hope it is to your liking!

Don’t Hide Things from Me (Ciel x Assassin!Reader)

Warning(s): blood, bodily injury

Word Count: 1,763

You were immensely grateful that the Phantomhive estate had such a capable and able butler. One hell of one to be precious. If Ciel had not sent him without you knowing on this assassination, well, chances were you would not have made it out with as seemingly ‘good’ of an injury as you did.

“Stay still, Lady Phantomhive.” Sebastian chided you as you quickly rode back to the estate, having been seated in front of him on the horse.

You snorted a little at that, your hand applying pressure to your right side to try and slow the bleeding. “Easier said than done, when the horse is makes it hard.” You groaned, still doing your best to stay as motionless as possible.

Sebastian hummed above you as the mansion came in sight, starting to slow the horse down. “Even so, I don’t think our Lord would appreciate you bleeding out.” He slowed the horse to a stop in front of the manor. “Besides, I don’t think he’ll be too pleased with you as is. Didn’t your promise to return unharmed?” He mused, a glint of humor in his voice.

“What he doesn’t know won’t kill him.” You said in reply as he dismounted and assisted in pulling you off the horse.

“Yes, but it may kill you.”

“It won’t.” You growled out. There was no way something as insignificant as this would stop you from doing your normal duties. Your eyes trailed up to your bedroom window and saw no lights flickering in the dark. Good, he was asleep. “Just patch me up and we will not discuss this any further, understood?” Your eyes glared into his, which was met with veiled amusement.

Sebastian placed his hand over his heart and bowed before you. “As you wish, My Lady.”

 You made sure that Sebastian stitched you up on the opposite end of the manor. Ciel was a light sleeper and you did not need him waking up to your screams of pain. Especially given the butler stuck his finger inside to make sure no vital organs were punctured. That hurt far worse than the dagger that was thrust into your side. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that he was deliberately slow and painful on purpose.

Either way, he helped clean and bandage it and fetched a nightgown for you to wear after getting your (H/T) (H/C) hair ready for sleep. Escorting you to the master bedroom, you gave a nod of thanks before quietly walking into the room.

Your right hand was pressed to your side to apply some relief as you pulled back the covers and slid in next to your husband for the night.

Just as you were falling asleep, his voice reached your ears. “What took so long, (F/N)?” He asked, turning in bed to face you. Of course he was awake. And suspicious.

“Nothing to be concerned about.” You whispered, snuggling up next to him to feign innocence. He sounded tired enough that he may just leave it.

A deep hum sounded in his chest as he pulled you close, his arm pressing against your wound. It took everything in you not to groan in pain, instead, opting to clear your throat. “Whatever you say.” Ciel said, placing a kiss to your forehead. “I’m just glad you’re safely back in my arms.” His hand found his way to the back of your head, bringing it closer to his heart. “Good night, my love.”

With a deep breath, you nodded your head. “Good night, Ciel.”

 Seeing as you came back so late, Ciel let you sleep in. This made it considerably easy to check on your wound without prying eyes. Going into your shared bathroom, you went to the full-length mirror and lifted your dress, exposing most of your (S/C) skin. “I hope this doesn’t scar.” You muttered, undoing the bandage to get a clean one for the day. Hearing a knock on the bathroom door, you quickly pulled your dress down before saying ‘enter’.

Opening the door, Sebastian came in, his gaze fixated past your shoulder as it would be improper to stare at a lady in the bathroom, even if she was clothed. “My Lady, if I may make a suggestion on our scheduled training session….” He trailed off, hoping you would take the hint that he wanted to cancel it due to your injury.

Shaking your head, you strode past him to find he had set out a dress for the day. “No, we will continue with it as scheduled.” You said, taking the dress to put back into your closet, instead opting for a pair of pants and a shirt. It was far easier to move in pants and shirt than in a dress and corset.

“But My Lady—”

“Sebastian, my answer is final.” You said, going back into the bathroom to change.

You could sense the irritation coming from him. “Of course.” He said and waited for you to come out.

Once you did, the white blouse you were wearing was tucked into the black high waisted pants. Pulling on a pair of black boots, you stood back up and motioned to the door. “Let’s go.”

 For the fifth time, you found yourself on your back, the wind knocked out of you. Gasping for breath hurt in your abdomen and you rolled to the side with a groan.

“My Lady, I really must suggest we stop.” Sebastian pleaded, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, his waistcoat laying over a chair in the combat room.

Your eyes glared back at him. There was no way you would stop and let yourself get lax. You were stabbed for goodness sake! Clearly you needed more training and that was to happen immediately. “I suggest you stop attempting to command me.” You spat out, pulling the ‘hierarchy’ card on him. It was by no means something you enjoyed doing, but it seemed to happen with Sebastian more than anyone else.

He sighed, his hand reaching out to help you up. “Of course, My Lady, it is just that I am concerned for your wellbeing.” Sebastian admitted. After all, his Lord would not be happy if she injured herself even more than she was.

“Noted.” You replied, letting him pull you back up only to go back in a fighting stance.

He only sighed and waited for you to come at him, quickly and easily deflecting your hits. You had wanted this to be a challenge, more so than usual, so that was what you were getting

Sweat was starting to appear on your forehead as you lunged, dodged, and blocked. You needed to get better. This could not happen again.

Sebastian suddenly moved behind you to strike on your side, attempting to get you to block. However, the sharp and sudden twisting action made your stitches come out. Instead of blocking, you merely ducked and jumped out of the way, holding your side. Panting, you shouted out, “Again!”

The butler’s brows furrowed as he looked at your side, seeing dots of blood seeping through the white shirt. “My Lady….” He said slowly before you lunged at him, attempting to strike his shoulder. Not letting the blood distract him, he flipped you and pinned you do the ground, knee to your back and holding your arms to the side. “Concede.” He stated, not wanting to have to risk injuring his Ladyship.

“I refuse.” You said simply, ignoring the deep ache on your side as you pushed yourself to roll him off before hoping back up, your breathing becoming more ragged. Oh, what a stubborn one you were.

Sighing, Sebastian came at you again and again, trying to tire you out to the point you’d give up. But you kept blocking and dodging hit after hit, telling yourself this was necessary to toughen you up.

However, moving so fast combined with attacking and getting hit meant your heart was pumping more, causing your wound to let out more blood. It made your vision appear unfocused, making it difficult to follow Sebastian’s movements.

The door to the room opened, Ciel poking his head inside as he intended to ask you for tea. However, seeing the blood stain clearly seeping through your clothes made him come running towards you. “(F/N)!”

The sudden noise caused you to whip your head towards your husband, only to get hit in the right side by the swing of Sebastian’s leg. You immediately collapsed, Ciel having just been able to catch you in his arms as you whimpered in pain. Sliding to the ground, Ciel quickly pulled up your shirt, yelling at Sebastian to go retrieve the medical kit.

His hands pressed against your now open wound, making you hiss in pain. “I knew something was wrong.” He muttered, his voice laced with worry as he turned his blue eye to look at your (E/C) ones. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You raised your arm to cover your eyes, you couldn’t stand to see the hurt on his face. “I didn’t want you to worry. I didn’t…want you to think I was incapable of doing my job.” You whispered, your voice a little hoarse.

This only made Ciel sigh and shake his head. “It’s my job to worry. You’re my wife. My life. I would never think anything less of you.” He whispered back, his body trembling a bit. There was no way he could lose you, it would be far too painful without you in his life. “Please,” he begged, his hand sliding under your arm to gently cup your face, “don’t work yourself like this. If you’re injured, you need to rest. Save the training for later, ok?” He asked.

While you wanted to argue, say that you were fine, it would have been a moot point. You were injured, nearly seriously so. And you only made them worse by pushing yourself too far. You face began to scrunch up as you let shed a few tears. “Ok. I promise.” You said back to which he immediately pressed a soft kiss to your now uncovered eyes before crashing them down to your lips. “I’m going to hold you to that. Because I love you, and I cannot stand the thought of being without you. For better or for worse, remember?” He laughed a little, smiling as he reminisced your vows.

It made you sniffle and give a small laugh in return. “Heh, yes, for better or for worse.”

Ciel smiled, a true one as he straightened back up, “That’s my girl.”

[ambiengreyarts]

For @archiveofidentityconstellations, based on these ideas. Also on AO3.

Dick & Bruce

Stars spark across his vision; a new kind of darkness blossoming in patches all over the usual black of Gotham’s nighttime. His blurred, blackened vision is accompanied by a burst of pain at his temple that stings sharply then throbs.

His heart is racing and he might be shaking. It takes a long moment for him to realize he’s not standing anymore. His knees must have buckled, but he hadn’t even felt the hit to the ground for the pain in his head.

It isn’t a second later that he feels himself swept off the ground and with the motion, panic takes hold. He hasn’t the strength to move, maneuver himself from the firm grip that has him about the back and shoulders, and beneath his knees. He can’t see – eyes shut tight as if that might lessen the pain in his head, and besides, he’s ashamed to realize, he’s crying. At least he’s not sobbing audibly, but his throat burns at the resistance, while the tears gather at his lashes, and then pools behind the eyelids of his mask when he blinks them free, no way for them to roll down his cheeks.

The best he can do is to desperately thrash about, try to wriggle his arms free, kick out with his legs; trying to dislodge himself, however unceremoniously, from his kidnapper’s hold. Once he’s dropped to the floor, he figures, he could make a run for it, call to Batman, so long as he’s not restrained this way—

“Robin,” the low grumble of Batman’s voice just above him makes him go immediately still, breath hitching in his throat. His knees drop, legs no longer held up, and then he’s being pressed tightly against the body that holds him, as the cool night air comes rushing past – they’re moving; upward.

Every muscle has gone tight, and while he wants something to hold onto, his arms are pressed firmly to his sides, Batman’s arm wrapped all the way around him. A moment later they’re stationary, and he’s set onto his feet ever so gently. His heart is still pounding, from the hit to the head, and the panic, and the adrenalin and the realization that he wasn’t being kidnapped after all. His knees feel weak. He’s afraid he might collapse if not for Batman’s hold – large, solid hands on his shoulders.

The sob finds him then; a loud, gasped squeak from the back of his throat. He clasps his hands across his mouth, and his knees nearly do buckle. Batman holds him firmly upright. He’s almost certain Batman is speaking to him, but the words aren’t registering.

His eyes are still closed, and his head bowed, and he can feel the tears starting to slowly leak in under his mask. His throat burns, but he will not sob again.

He needs to push this aside. It was only a little hit to the head. He’s Robin. Robin doesn’t cry.

Robin. Does not. Cry.

“Dickie,” Batman whispers though, and he shrinks a little into himself. He can’t be Dick Grayson right now. He needs to be Robin. For Batman. He can’t be crying. Robin can’t be crying. He shakes his head, opens his eyes, blinking more tears off his lashes. There’s no way to wipe at his eyes with the mask covering them.

“’m fine,” he attempts from behind his hands, but it’s pitiful and small. His bottom lip trembles involuntarily; if he can’t stop crying, Batman’s going to bench him. He’ll never be Robin again.

“You’re not,” Batman says, and he shakes his head in response but Batman doesn’t care. “Sit,” Batman all but orders, large hands pressing down on hunched shoulders. His knees have started shaking anyway. He drops more than sits, but Batman goes down with him, still holding firm, keeping him from hitting the rooftop hard.

He wants to apologize, but he’s afraid if he drops his hands the sobs will leak out. They do, inaudibly, just a shake and a hitch of breath one after another, when Batman pries his fingers loose, and gently lowers his hands onto his lap. He finds he hasn’t any more resistance to offer.

Batman removes his gauntlets and his fingers find the edges of his mask. It pulls off more easily where the tears have leaked under.

He clenches his hands against his thighs, keeps his eyes lowered at the ground.

Batman makes no comment on the tears. Somehow that makes him feel worse. Instead, Batman pushes back his fringe, and he flinches when his fingers brush against the newly-obtained bump. Batman makes a noise – of disapproval. He inspects the area with a small flashlight pulled from the utility belt, gently pressing against the wound.

Very carefully, he doesn’t flinch again, or hiss, or cries.

Batman’s fingers are under his chin the next moment, pushing his bowed head up. He doesn’t raise his eyes, though.

“Robin,” Batman says. “I need to check your eyes.”

He wants to shake his head and look away and claim to be fine again, but then Batman’s thumb runs across his cheek, wiping at the wet tearstains there, and he knows it’s useless to pretend he hasn’t been crying. So he looks up, nostrils flaring at a sudden intake and release of breath. He swallows hard past a lump in his sore throat.

Batman’s little light shifts this way and that across his vision, but he keeps his eyes on the white slits of the cowl, imagining Batman’s blue eyes squinting at him. There’s a rush of heat beneath his skin, brought on by the embarrassment and shame he feels.

“You’re concussed,” Batman declares, finally lowering the light. He rummages through his belt again, and then he’s gently wiping the wounded area clean with a soft cloth, before carefully rubbing some ointment or other into the lump against his hairline.

“’m sorry,” he squeaks out, eyes lowering and then shutting again tightly. He can’t keep the sobs in any longer.

He cries, uncontrollably, bending forward, all the more into himself the louder he gets. Batman’s pulled back, but—

It’s only for a moment. Batman’s pushed him gently upright by the shoulders, snaked an arm about his torso, and pulled him into his lap. His head rests against Batman’s shoulder. Batman’s wrapped both arms all around him, is stroking his hair, careful not to brush against the bruised bit.

He shakes all over, and can’t seem to stop for the longest moment.

It’s only once the sobs have lessened, his breathing slowly starting to even out, that Batman speaks.

“It’s alright, Dick,” Bruce says, and when no reply is forthcoming, he adds almost urgently, “Don’t fall asleep.”

He shakes his head slightly, his wet cheek pulling this way and that against the bat-suit. “’m not,” he mumbles.

“Good,” he can feel Bruce sigh.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, before he can change his mind. “I wasn’t being careful enough—”

Bruce shushes him before he can get any further, “It’s not your fault. I should have been quicker.” He wants to protest, because Batman was already taking on three opponents at once, and it was Robin’s job to be the distraction. He’d been caught cocky and off-guard. He should have done better. His lips thin and he’s not sure how to protest or plead, or if he even has the strength for it, but he wants to insist on still being Robin before Batman can dismiss him of the position.

“Let’s get you home,” Batman says before he can gather his thoughts, though.

“No!” he says at once, pulling off Bruce’s chest and sitting upright, levelling his best glare at the cowl. “I’m Robin—” his voice cracks. “You can’t, please—”

“Dickie; chum,” Bruce says, putting one hand against Dick’s face and pushing the cowl back with the other. It’s hard to tell, because there’s not much light this high up to illuminate his face, but—

He could almost swear Batman’s eyes are puffier than what sleep-deprivation usually equates to…

“You have a concussion,” Bruce says firmly. “Alfred would skin me alive if I kept you out here in this condition.”

He bites his bottom lip; blinks, swallows. “I’m…” he doesn’t know how to adequately finish that sentence with the prospect of Alfred’s wrath looming. “…Okay,” he concedes.

“There’s a good lad,” Bruce says, and shifts as if to lift him from his lap, but he holds fast to Bruce’s shoulders a moment, and Bruce settles back into his seat, expectant.

He swallows. “Are…are you mad at me?” he whispers, not meeting Bruce’s eyes.

“Heavens, no,” Bruce says easily and immediate. “Why on earth would you think that?”

He sniffles, rubbing furiously at his nose. “I—I can’t even—” he chews at his lip.

“Dick—”

“H-handle a little b-bump to the head, and—”

“That was anything but little,” Bruce says fiercely, and the force of his tone makes him jump. “I—I’m sorry,” Bruce says, more quietly, rubbing circles across his back. “…You’re still a child, Dick. And…when I saw you take the hit, and – drop like that…”

Tears swell in his eyes again, his chest heavy with the memory of his parents – dropping—

He’s flung his arms around Bruce’s neck before he can think on it twice. “I’ll never leave you,” he promises. “I’ll be better next time. No one will ever get me like that again, ever.”

Bruce’s shoulders droop a little, but he also squeezes a little tighter. “You’re…you’re incredible, Dickie; do you know that? You’re going to be amazing at this. Better than I could ever be.”

It makes him giggle, because he doubts it very much, but feels a little proud and flattered to hear it. He pulls back, “I have to recover from a concussion first,” he says, quips.

Batman laughs, a soft, quick thing easily missed. “Let’s get on that, then,” he says, pulling the cowl back in place.

He reaches back for the gauntlets and hands them to Batman one at a time to pull on. He nods once, firmly, and then winces at the way it makes his head swim. He’s all too aware of Batman watching him carefully so he knows Batman’s noticed. He tries to brush it off all the same, making to scoot out of Batman’s lap, but Batman holds him fast the way he’d done before, and comes smoothly to his feet with him in his arms.

He clings to Batman’s shoulders, feeling immeasurably safe.

“My mask,” he says, realizing he has no idea where Batman had put it.

“Don’t worry about it,” Batman replies, and he’s aware now Batman had stood holding onto one end of his cape, effectively providing cover for his exposed features once he’s tugged it neatly overhead and settled comfortably against Batman’s shoulder.

He grins.

“Don’t fall asleep,” Batman warns again, but despite the dull ache at his temple, and the lingering burn in his throat or the heaviness of his eyes from crying,

“I wouldn’t miss this,” he says, peering out from beneath the cape.

“Hnn,” is all the reply he gets, lilting at the edges with amusement. Batman drops from the building, holding him fast with one arm while the other launches a line through the night and Batman’s cape only half-bellows as they swing homeward.

[chemicalmagecraft]

Taiyuu OCT Round 1

@taiyuu-oct

Yukino stretched, appraising her teammate for the hero vs. villain exercise they were doing. She guessed that they had some sort of slime body Quirk. Mostly because their body appeared to be made entirely out of blue slime. "So I'm guessing your Quirk is being made out of slime, Rimuru-chan?"

"Yup!" they said, despite the fact that they didn't seem to have a mouth. Or lungs. "I can basically turn myself into a liquid, or make myself super sticky. I'm weak to water and fire, so look out for those. What's your Quirk."

"Cryomancy." Yukino showed off with a small puff of white mist that didn't really do much aside from look cool. "I can freeze things, and then I get psychokinetic control over whatever I freeze. I can actually absorb fire, though I also don't like getting wet."

"Good to know. What should we do for the exercise, then?"

Yukino knelt down and started giving the Lumin they were supposed to escort to the other side of the forest pets. "Right, I'm... kinda acrophobic, so it's probably for the best if we go for the low route. That cool with you?"

"That's fine," they nodded.

"Thanks. I should probably stay with Inu-chan because my Quirk is great for defense. What do you think?"

"Sounds good, I can scout out ahead, try to see if I can find who we're supposed to be fighting."

"Sounds like a plan."

As they waited for the okay to start, Yukino pulled out her staff with a twirling flourish. Unlike the entrance exam, this time they let the students bring some basic equipment with them. Yukino had also tried to ask for a bow, but the teachers denied it when she explained that she could make arrows from ice... Though to be fair, that probably could've gotten pretty dangerous if she didn't have practice with it. Like the entrance exam, she was wearing a nice, warm hoodie, though this time she had her P.E. uniform under it.

"You two can start now," Aura-sensei told them. Rimuru-chan melted into a puddle of blue ooze, then flowed ahead of Yukino.

"C'mon," Yukino told the plant wolf. She started walking, and the wolf followed her. Yukino hummed to herself as she walked down the dirt path in the middle of the forest. One hand was on Inu-chan's head, both rubbing behind his ears and making sure neither of the villains pulled some sort of teleport surprise. She didn't think anyone in Taiyuu had a teleporting Quirk, but better to be safe than sorry, right? Her other hand was holding her staff, obviously. Yukino tried to act like she wasn't paying attention to her surroundings, but in truth she was scanning the forest. She glanced around the trees. Occasionally she heard some rustling leaves in the distance, but nothing closer. Still, she didn't let her guard down.

Some time down the path, Yukino saw a rope in the middle of the path. It looked like it might have been a snare or something. Of course, the rope was almost the same color as the dirt path, so if her eyes weren't so good. "Stop," Yukino said, pushing down on Inu-chan to make him stop. She calmly held out her hand. A small blade of ice condensed from the air in front of her hand amid a puff of mist. The clear knife floated over to the rope, then dropped, propelled by her Quirk as well as gravity. The blade went clean through the rope and sunk into the ground. Half of the rope zipped off, and a second later a large rock tied to a rope fell by the side of the path.

"Right, let's go," she told the dog. Just in case, she cleaved the half of the ice knife that was still sticking out of the ground off of the rest of the knife, then shot it forward in a bit of a sweeping motion. It didn't hit anything, so she figured the path was clear for a bit. A little bit later, she heard a loud popping noise. Ball bearings spilled from a tree above the two. Yukino managed to react in time to make a hexagonal shield of ice above them. Her shield prevented them from getting hailed on by the small metal pellets, but there was still the problem of there now being ball bearings scattered on all sides of them.

Yukino growled. "That's annoying..." She snapped her fingers, and as she did her ice shield snapped into long, thin segments. Yukino floated the segments down to the ground and used them to brush the ball bearings off the path. "Is this all it's going to be?" she asked as she started walking again.

It didn't take long for Yukino to get accosted again. This time, Rimuru-chan jumped out of the foliage. "They're coming!" they shouted, then hid back in the bushes. "The girl who uses balloons and another girl with space hair! I'll try to surprise them, you hold them off!"

Yukino got into a ready stance, but couldn't help but snicker. "Balloons, huh? What's she gonna do, amuse me to death?"

"You'd be surprised," a voice said from the treetops. A spherical object fell in front of Yukino, and before she could smack it away a plume of thick smoke erupted from it.

"Smoke bomb!" Yukino shouted, then swung her staff. Frost crept along it as she swung, and as she hit the smoke bomb she generated more wind than should have been possible by swinging a staff. The smoke bomb was launched into the woods and the smoke it released was dispersed. Just in time for Yukino to see a purplish balloon heading straight for Inu-chan, as well as the clown-looking girl that threw it. Acting quickly, she swung her staff in front of Inu-chan, using telekinesis to speed it up a little. An ice shield condensed just off the staff, between Inu-chan and the balloon. The balloon hit the shield with a dull thump. Yukino snorted.

And then the balloon exploded. Technically it was probably just the balloon popping, but it exploded with so much force that it shattered the shield. Luckily Yukino regained control over the large shards before they hit Inu-chan, though it was close... Yukino threw the shards at the girl as she threw another balloon. The shards hit the balloon, exploding it with enough force to pulverize most of the ice.

"Okay, so 'balloons' is a much better power than I gave it credit for, that's on me," Yukino conceded as the diamond dust settled. She saw some blue ooze move behind the clown girl, but kept a neutral face. "Doesn't mean you're gonna win, Makku-chan."

Makku-chan giggled. "Like MacDonald's! You're funny, but I've gotta run now. Toodle-loo!" She turned and ran.

Right into Rimuru-chan. "What the heck?" she shouted as her shoes got stuck.

Rimuru-chan rose up, wrapping around her legs. "Now!" they shouted.

"You activated our trap card!" Yukino quipped as she dropped to one knee, slamming her hand into the ground. White vapor spread from her hand as a line of frost streaked to Makku-chan and Rimuru-chan. The line split just before them, flowing past them and converging on the other side as a circle. Ice froze up from the circle as it formed, forming itself into a clear dome of thick ice. The dome wasn't quite solid, though. There were small airholes out of the bottom, though rather flat and not nearly large enough for a person to squeeze through.

A normal person, anyway. Rimuru-chan seeped out from one of the holes easily. "Good," Yukino said. "I was hoping I made the holes big enough."

"Hey, you've got a dog on you," Rimuru-chan said.

"Well yeah, isn't that kinda the thing of this excercise?" Yukino said.

"No, another one." They made a pseudopod to point at something below Yukino's waist, then made an annoyed sound and changed their aim slightly.

Yukino looked down to see a dog circling around her. Not a wolf like Inu-chan; wolves are, usually, larger than dogs. Still, it was kind of on the big side. And weirdly enough, it was almost like... like the dog wasn't entirely there. Whenever Yukino tried to concentrate on where the dog was it was like it shifted and was suddenly a little to the left, or to the right. The dog walked over to Inu-chan, and Yukino decided that was probably a bad thing. She swung her staff, using her Quirk through it. The dog dodged, but Yukino was satisfied to note that it was only just barely. Yukino felt... something off when she nearly hit the dog, but she just chalked it up to whatever weird effect was around the dog. And as for where the dog came from...

Yukino looked up and saw the starry-haired girl. Except... logically she knew the girl was there somewhere, but for whatever reason Yukino couldn't tell where she was. It reminded her of the dog, just several times worse. The girl was trying to sneak up on her. Maybe. "I'm guessing the dog is yours, then?" Yukino asked.

"I suppose it's pretty obvious," she said, still walking in a direction that Yukino was only mostly sure was towards Inu-chan.

Yukino didn't bother trying to break through the effect through willpower alone. She planted her staff in the ground, letting go of it and making it stay upright with her telekinesis. She held her hands out in what she felt might be the girl's general direction, white vapor pouring from them as the air around them started to cool. The air she cooled, just barely cold enough for her telekinesis to work on it, was pulled to a point in front of her palms. A ball of white mist quickly formed from the compressed air. "That's a pretty annoying power you've got there, Lucy-chan, but I think I've got a workaround!"

Lucy-chan just barely had time to let out a confused "Wha-" before Yukino fired. The ball of compressed air decompressed in Lucy-chan's general direction. Violently. The annoying part of air control was how much Yukino had to concentrate on her air just to keep it from spreading out and becoming useless quickly even if she made it really cold. Her air blast didn't solve that problem at all, but by making it only barely below freezing she ended up with very little "cost" for what was effectively a one-use attack anyway. Of course, being just at the point where her bond broke with it also made it harder for her to feel the air with her bond, so that combined with Lucy-chan's aura of "vagueness" meant that Yukino only had a general idea of where she was.

Still, it was enough that she hopefully had her. Yukino didn't waste time as Lucy-chan reeled from the gale-force winds. She grabbed her staff and channeled her Quirk through it. She made another ice dome, this one a little bigger to make up for the fact that she wasn't entirely sure where Lucy-chan was. As soon as she saw that Lucy-chan was inside the dome, she turned back around to see Rimuru-chan grappling with Lucy-chan's dog.

"Run, I'll hold the dog off!" they said.

Yukino followed their order without complaining. "Inu-chan, come on!" she shouted. She ran as fast as she could... which admittedly wasn't that fast... Even aside from how short her strides were, Yukino was never the fastest runner. And she assumed Inu-chan was under orders to not to too fast, so when she noticed he was lagging behind she had to slow down and let him catch up. Still, she went as fast as Lumin would allow her to. Between Makku-chan's balloon having broken her ice shield and the fact that she thought she'd seen Lucy-chan summon things that weren't a disorienting dog at some point in the past month, Yukino wasn't entirely sure how long those ice domes would hold...

Speaking of... Yukino shook out her numb hands. "Ah, cold hands, cold hands!" She shoved them in her hoodie pocket to try and warm them up. "Still... I'm starting to get the feeling that I'll be getting a lot of mileage out of those ice domes."

"What are you doing, go faster!" Yukino heard Rimuru-chan shout behind her.

"Inu-chan won't go any faster!" she said.

"Can't you pick him up with your ice?"

"Oh yeah, good point." Yukino created a platform out of ice and set it down in front of Inu-chan. "C'mon, Inu-chan, get on!"

The plant wolf hesitated for a second, then got on. "Good boy!" Yukino said, petting him. "Now you get on Inu-chan," she told Rimuru-chan.

"What? Shouldn't I walk with you?"

"I have to focus on floating the platform if I want to go fast, so you should watch our backs. Now get on."

"Okay, if you say so." Rimuru-chan got on the wolf.

"Good slime!" Yukino said, petting them.

"Okay, now go!"

Yukino nodded and started running, having the ice platform float next to her. She was a little slower than she could've been because she still had to concentrate on the floating platform, but she still went a lot faster than she would've if she was just walking with Inu-chan.

They were already out of range of Yukino's ice, which was both a good thing and a bad thing. The good part was that that meant they were putting distance between themselves and the villains. The bad part was that Yukino couldn't tell if her ice was broken if she wasn't within range of it, so unless one of the villains picked up some of her ice after breaking their way out she had no way of telling if they were free...

"So I'm guessing I should work on restraining them so you can do that ice dome thing if they get to us again?" Rimuru-chan said after a bit.

"Yeah, that'd be great," Yukino agreed. "The only real problem with the ice domes is that they take a few seconds to form, unless I'm dealing with someone like you."

"Heh, we make a surprisingly good team, then!"

"I gues-"

"Behind us!" Rimuru-chan warned.

Yukino turned around, readying her staff. The villains were sneaking around the trees, but their stealth was pretty much ruined by the weird burning table floating near Lucy-chan... They jumped out of the bushes when Yukino turned around, ditching stealth. Yukino jammed her staff into the ground, activating her Quirk. Vapor rolled off her hands and horns as a line of frost extended from her staff in front of her, freezing up into a giant wall of ice.

"Ow, cold," Yukino said, shaking out her hands. She turned back around and started running. Hopefully that wall would...

Something weird happened to the wall. It felt like it was melting, but... not melting? Yukino looked back at the wall, seeing the remains of a giant ball of fire that had pretty much instantly melted a large hole through the wall. But... Yukino could still feel her control over... something. It was... cold air? Yukino didn't get it, but she didn't complain. She grabbed as much of the air as she could and compressed it into a ball of misty air floating in the middle of the hole. Yukino let the air loose as the villains approached the hole, blasting them back.

As they reeled from the blast Yukino flung her hands to the side, forming ice crystals with her Quirk. She noticed that that one weird table had disappeared. Maybe it had limited charges or something? Good. Though Yukino didn't like that cloud of green fog starting to grow around Lucy-chan... By the time the duo had recovered Yukino threw the two chunks of ice at them. Two icosahedrons of pure, perfect ice with numbers carved in them hurtled at the two villains. "Roll for initiative!" Yukino yelled.

The green fog around Lucy-chan formed into claws around her hands. "Draco!" she yelled, then smashed both with her claws.

"Nat 20, crud..." Yukino muttered.

"Get them!" Rimuru-chan shouted, jumping off Inu-chan.

Yukino grinned and made the large shards of ice left from the giant dice fly at the villains. "Ice knife!"

Lucy-chan deflected the shards with more speed and force than Yukino thought she was capable of. Yukino winced, forming more chunks of ice to throw. Makku-chan darted out from behind Lucy-chan, carrying a rather large balloon, and threw it at Yukino. Yukino quickly splintered a needle of ice off of one of her crystals and shot it at the balloon. The balloon popped, and even from a few meters away Yukino had to brace herself from the force of the explosion. Rimuru-chan, who was a little closer at that point, was flung back.

Yukino growled and threw her ice at Makku-chan. Like before, Lucy-chan deflected it all with clearly enhanced speed, smashing the ice into shards. Yukino just barely suppressed the urge to grin as she made more ice, and only then because of the sting of the cold on her hands. The shards from the ice that Lucy-chan broke hadn't fallen. Instead, they started to fly at Makku-chan as Yukino drew Lucy-chan's attention with more ice.

Makku-chan shouted as the ice flew towards her. Lucy-chan turned on a dime, swinging at the ice that was now dangerously close to Makku-chan.

Just as Yukino planned. She snapped her fingers, the ice darting away from Makku-chan. Unable to fully stop herself in time, Lucy-chan accidentally punched Makku-chan in the chest. She had greater control than Yukino thought, because her hit didn't look like it hurt Makku-chan too much. Of course, the next few would hopefully throw them off a bit...

The ice shards that Yukino had feinted Lucy-chan with looped around and slammed into her back, blunt sides first. Just for good measure, she threw the ice she'd just made at the villains too. It didn't look like it hit Lucy-chan too bad, but the heavy hits in rapid succession still knocked Lucy-chan and Makku-chan over into the puddle that was made when Lucy-chan melted Yukino's ice wall. Yukino grinned. While they were still trying to disentangle themselves and get up, Yukino drove her staff into the line of frost Cryomancy had already made when she made the ice wall. Her Quirk's freezing effect chained through the frost, letting her create an ice dome anchored to her existing ice wall just a bit faster and for less "cost."

"Okay, back on the dog, Rimuru-chan," Yukino said. "Before they bust out of that again." Yukino thought it'd probably take them a bit, what with how whatever power Lucy-chan was using actually seemed to be more defense-oriented, but Yukino wasn't taking any chances.

"Dang, that was awesome!" the slime cheered.

Yukino gave them a toothy grin. "You know it. Now, let's go!"

Rimuru-chan nodded and hopped on Inu-chan. Yukino picked the floating disk of ice back up and went as fast as she could. She let her staff go, keeping it from falling with her telekinesis, and started rubbing her hands together. Those attacks might've been awesome, but it was cold, too...

SLAM!

There wasn't even enough time to get out of range, this time. If Yukino had to guess, it was less than a minute before she felt a heavy blow put cracks in her ice dome. Yukino turned around to see a giant green snake slamming its head into her ice a second time.

SLAM!

"Oh, come on!" she shouted. The ice wasn't going to take more than a hit or two, even if she put everything she could into reinforcing it.

"That's a big snake!" Rimuru-chan said, pointing out the obvious.

"I know!" Yukino said, picking up her pace as much as she could.

SLAM!

That was the last hit the dome could take, next one would burst a hole right through it. "RUN!" Rimuru-chan screamed.

"I KNOW!" Yukino screamed back.

SLACRASH!

The dome broke. Yukino grabbed her staff back and sent Rimuru-chan and Inu-chan up above the trees and away from her. There was no way she was outrunning that thing, so she could at least try to make sure those two got away. Then she turned around and readied herself to at least try to defend herself from the giant snake. It slithered toward her, though Yukino noted that it looked like it floated just a bit over the ground. She gritted her teeth and readied her Quirk, white vapor curling from her fingers and frost starting to spread on her staff.

The serpent roared and lunged at Yukino. She held her ground, forming a shield of ice in front of her with her staff. The snake bit down on the shield. It tried to throw the ice away, but Yukino resisted telekinetically. She took a few steps to the side and swung at the snake with her Quirk-affected staff. Instead of frost blooming from the blow, though, the serpent roared as part of its body dissolved into some form of luminous green fog.

Yukino blinked. "Huh." That did not taste like normal body heat. It was... weirdly fruity?

"What did you just do to Ophiuchus?" Lucy-chan asked, a mix of curiosity and horror tinging her voice.

Yukino noticed that the two villains were running over to her, Makku-chan already making another balloon. Yukino sighed and drove the butt of her staff into the dirt. A small wall of ice erupted from the ground between herself and the villains, circling around to trap the snake with her. Unless it could float over the wall, anyway...

Her hands were starting to get cold again, but if she was right about what just happened that wouldn't be too much of a problem. She bared her teeth at the serpent, a predatory grin that showed off her sharpened teeth. The snake certainly looked unnerved, at least, as Yukino lashed out at the snake with a Quirk-enhanced palm strike. Instead of bouncing ineffectually off of the snake's thick hide, her hand passed through the snake with little resistance and a roar of pain and terror from the serpent. As with before, the summon's body deformed into a luminous lime green cloud that her Quirk sucked up as greedily as it did anything else it deemed thermal energy.

Yukino dropped her staff and plunged her other hand into the snake. It roared in terror. Yukino winced, but continued eating the snake with her Quirk. The mixed fruity taste it left on her Quirk's metaphorical tongue reminded her of... "Rainbow sorbet," she realized. "I could go for some of the real stuff, actually..." The serpent spat out the chunk of ice it was gripping and tried to escape, but Yukino managed to block it with the ice before it could. "I guess my name for Lucy-chan was pretty spot-on, then..." Yukino muttered to herself, moving her arms around to suck up more of the snake. "I've never tasted a star Quirk before, but between the combination of flavors and the fact that Lucy-chan called you Ophiuchus earlier... You're a constellation, aren't you?" she asked the snake. It was just scraps and green starfog at that point, and just a few moments later it dissipated entirely.

Yukino sighed like she'd just eaten a big meal, her arms feeling nice and hot. While using her Quirk to chill objects to below her body temperature made her body just a bit colder due to the fact that she wasn't completely immune to her own Quirk, sucking up an excess of heat, like a fireball or, apparently, a giant snake made of star matter(?), always left her feeling pleasantly warm. And because of that, Yukino felt almost as good as she did before they'd started the exercise. Maybe a little tired, still, but she felt like she could do something really big with her Quirk. And she knew just what.

Yukino idly noted that Makku-chan had cracked her ice wall a little, though she wasn't too worried. She grinned at the two. "Hey, wanna see something cool?" Yukino dropped to all fours, digging her claws into the dirt a little. Her horns and claws seemed to turn to ice as she readied her Quirk for something big, white vapor streaming from her arms. "Special move!" she shouted as the villains panicked and started to run away. Not that it'd help them...

Frost spread from the ground beneath Yukino's hands, permeating even below the surface of the ground. The frost expanded in a wave, going under Yukino's ice wall and spreading across the forest. It even climbed up the trees. "SUNDERING CLAWS OF THE ICE DRAGON!" The frost quickly overtook her opponents, but they blinked in surprise as nothing bad happened to them. No ice spread up from the ground to trap them, their feet didn't even freeze to the ground. It wasn't even slippery.

"That was anticlimactic..." Makku-chan said, turning back around. She started blowing up another balloon.

Yukino hissed in discomfort. She hadn't cooled the ground as much as she normally cooled things, but her arms were still starting to go numb from the cold... She planted her staff into the dirt and used to to pull herself onto her feet.

"Oh, and look at that," Makku-chan rolled her eyes at Yukino. "All that bluster, and in the end all she accomplished was frosting the ground over and taking herself out. Should we even bother with her?"

Lucy-chan frowned. "I... don't think she's done quite yet."

Yukino laughed as she shook her hands off, trying to return some semblance of feeling to them. "Yeah, she's right." She wasn't freezing again anytime soon, but the thing about Yukino's Quirk was that it was two-step. Even though she could feel the drawback of the first part of her Quirk in full force, the warm, full feeling in the pit of her stomach told her that the energy pool her telekinesis drew from was filled to the brim, almost demanding to be released.

She obliged, spreading out her legs into a wide stance and dropping her clawed hands into a position like she was about to throw something underhanded. Yukino never really needed to physically move to use her telekinesis, but sometimes for bigger things like this it felt like it helped. "Know what 'sundering' means?" She made a slow clawing motion, her hands shaking from the cold as she brought them upwards. As she clawed at the air, the ground started to rip itself apart. Small chunks of ground rose at first, but they slowly grew in size.

Makku-chan and Lucy-chan, quickly realizing that this was not a good sign, scrambled for the sides of the frost-covered ground. Yukino snapped the ground up, blocking them from fleeing with walls of earth.

"Cryokinesis, air blasts, energy absorption, and now geokinesis?" Makku-chan listed... incorrectly. "What kind of Quirk does she have?"

Yukino smirked, drawing more on her telekinetic energy. The ground cracked apart, lifting up in giant chunks. The villains slipped down the suddenly-uneven ground, though Yukino took care that they didn't get too battered from the fall. Once they were stuck in the bottom of a steep-walled crater, Yukino stacked the earth she'd pulled from the ground into a makeshift wall around the hole, trying her best to compact it into something that they'd have trouble climbing or breaking through.

The problem with having a general telekinesis-type Quirk instead of one of its more specialized cousins, Yukino was well aware of, was the fact that it was harder to perform the same sort of fine manipulation that was usually easier with specialization. Yukino could only make her perfect ice because she shaped the water as it was freezing, and even then it took a lot of practice and concentration. Still, Yukino was hopeful that her patch job would make do until her team won. It didn't feel like it'd collapse and bury the villains in dirt, at least.

She hissed again, shivering and rubbing her hands together. Her arms were still super cold, and she was starting to notice that her Quirk's energy reserves were already pretty low just from that one special move. Yyyeah, it was probably back to the drawing board for that one... Yukino almost fell as her legs turned to jelly, only just barely managing to grab her staff before she did. She winced, it was still freezing cold. "Well, at leas' they're probably not gettin' out of there anytime soon..." Yukino muttered to herself. She turned around to walk away and hopefully rejoin with Inu-chan and Rimuru-chan-

And banged her head into something cold and hard. "Ah, what the-" Yukino rubbed her head and looked in front her her face. Oh. Right. Ice wall. "Been a long time since I ran into my own ice..." she muttered to herself. It'd be hard to break out with her energy so low, and forget about climbing over. Yukino sighed, then remembered the part of the wall that Makku-chan cracked. Probably the best place to try...

Yukino walked over to the cracks in the wall. She leaned on her staff and kicked at the crack, trying to enhance her weakened telekinetic force with her weakened physical force.

Crack!

The ice cracked under her foot, but didn't break. Yukino sighed and kicked it again.

Snap!

It broke. Good, Yukino didn't think she had enough energy in her for a third one... She used her staff to knock out a few bits of ice that were only just hanging in there. The hole still wasn't that big, but it looked wide enough for her to climb through, at least. She pushed her staff through, then carefully pulled herself through. She tried not to touch the sides; without enough energy for finer telekinesis, she hadn't been able to smooth out the jagged edges of her hole. She managed, though her hoodie was torn up a little. Shame, Yukino liked that hoodie...

Yukino sighed in relief once she was out of her accidental trap. She slowly picked herself back up and dusted herself off. She looked back at the earth wall, thinking. Should she wait by the wall, in case the villains managed to get out?

She heard a pop, then a voice shouting, "Oh, come on!"

Yeah, they probably weren't getting out of there anytime soon. Not that Yukino would put up much of a fight if they did, come to think of it. Lucy-chan probably wouldn't put any more of her summons in a position where she could eat them again, and without her Quirk Makku-chan would probably take her out easily. Accepting that, Yukino turned around and started walking down the path to where she threw Rimuru-chan and Inu-chan. She was starting to feel pretty sluggish, though... She always felt really tired when her energy reserves dipped too low. The fact that it made her feel colder as well didn't help.

Yukino felt herself nodding off as she walked down the path. She shook herself off, trying to keep herself awake and get her blood pumping. She slapped her cheeks lightly, balancing her staff in the crook of her arm. Just for extra measure she pinched her cheeks, accidentally drawing a little blood because her claws were sharp. At least it woke her up a little.

After what felt like an hour, Yukino managed to shamble over to Inu-chan and Rimuru-chan. Rimuru-chan, who was currently in their more humanoid form, was trying to push Inu-chan faster than he was willing to go, but it didn't look like it was going that good. "Hey," Yukino said.

"You're back!" They harrumphed at her, making cheeks just to puff them up. "You're lucky I managed to catch Lumin, that could've gone a lot worse!"

"Yeah, yeah, let's jus' get to the finish line before the villains get back out again," Yukino waved them off. "Unless you can set things on fire I'm probably not gonna be much use if they fight us again."

"Wow, that snake must've really done a number on you, huh?"

Yukino shrugged. "Th' snake was actually the easy part, I kinda wiped m'self out dealin' with the villains. Shouldn' be too easy for 'em to get outta the hole I dug for 'em without some help, though."

They nodded. "Well that's good, at least. I think we're almost done, hang in there."

True to what they said, Wolfy-sensei was waiting for them at the other side of the next turn in the path. "You two won, good job," he told them. "Take a break, we'll have to get Laccadaisy to repair the course anyway." He was definitely glaring at Yukino when he said that. "Speaking of which, Takeda-chan." Yukino sighed to herself. She knew that stern tone of voice, Ryuji just loved using it on her. Lecture time... "I don't want to see you doing something like that again. It doesn't matter how many villains you take out if it takes you out with it."

Yukino sighed, but nodded. "Yeah, I know, I know. Won' do it again."

He nodded. "Good. Now do you need anything?"

Yukino shivered again. She dropped her staff and leaned against one of the trees. "Need to warm up."

Wolfy-sensei nodded again. "I'll call Laccadaisy, then see about setting up a bonfire or something. You gonna be fine if I leave you here for a bit?"

"Yeah, thanks."

[vespertineflora]

You said you're open to any combination of 3zun so does that include... nieyao? 🥺 If it does, could I beg for something canon-divergent and sweet? Back when Meng Yao was at Qinghe and/or he makes better life choices. If that's too vague a prompt, I do also love anything involving their ridiculous size difference.

YES NIEYAO IS ABSOLUTELY INCLUDED they deserve to be soft and sweet too, i love them 🥺🥺🥺 and yes THE SIZE DIFFERENCE I CRI. thank you very much, i’m so soft for this

(feel free to drop me a prompt for 3zun/any combo of 3zun or wangxian and i may write a drabble or short fic!!!)

~~~

Meng Yao slowly rolled his head back from one shoulder to the other, his eyes closing for a moment as he stretched his neck and tried to stave off his exhaustion. His eyelids were heavy, had been heavy for ages, but there were supply orders to review, battle plans to triple check, infantry requests to sort through, and if the war wasn’t going to sleep then neither could Meng Yao. They were leaving the Unclean Realm in less than two days to head down to the front lines for yet another battle and everything needed to be ready for them by then...

Even as his feet started to go a little numb from standing in one place for too long, even as his eyes started to burn with the strain of keeping them open, even as his back started to ache, he fought to keep himself awake, reviewing everything page by page, checking boxes, making alterations and additions wherever necessary.

He was so absorbed in the task that he didn’t hear the door opening behind him, and nearly jumped as he heard--

“Meng Yao, what are you doing in here?”

Continue Reading on AO3 or below the cut

His head turned quickly to see Nie Mingjue closing the door partially behind him, giving him the faintest frown, and out of simple reflex, Meng Yao greeted him with a bow.

Nie Mingjue’s frown immediately deepened and he waved off the gesture. Meng Yao heard the dismissal without Nie Mingjue needing to say it; he’d told him months ago, when they’d first stumbled into being something more than sect leader and his second in command, that such things weren’t necessary when it was just the two of them--but Meng Yao was so used to doing it for an audience that he’d found it a hard habit to break when the were alone.

He let his arms fall, and his gaze motioned to the papers stacked in neat piles across the table as he offered in explanation, “I‘m trying to sort through all this before we leave, Zongzhu.”

Nie Mingjue had also told Meng Yao that there was no need to address him so formally, but that was something Meng Yao hadn’t been able to bring himself to do.

“Hm,” Nie Mingjue replied lightly, stepping toward the table, but moving into the space directly behind Meng Yao.

Though Meng Yao nearly expected it by now, his breath still caught faintly as he felt Nie Mingjue’s chest pressing softly against his back, as Nie Mingjue’s larger hands settled naturally on his slender waist, as his chin rested easily atop Meng Yao’s head--a move that always flustered Meng Yao--so that he could peer over him at the stacks of documents, judging their contents...

“You could do this tomorrow,” Nie Mingjue commented softly, the disapproval obvious in his voice, “And I thought Cheng Guo was supposed to be handling these requests from the front line.”

This time it was Meng Yao’s turn to frown, though having Nie Mingjue’s warmth pressed up against him was making it extremely difficult to resist his exhaustion, and he found his eyes slipping shut. “He was,” Meng Yao admitted. “I decided he was taking too long.”

Nie Mingjue huffed out a soft, almost amused breath; his arms moved to wrap around Meng Yao’s waist, and Meng Yao’s body reacted almost involuntarily. He exhaled slowly, letting himself lean back against Nie Mingjue’s firm chest, feeling... safe and supported by the arms embracing him and nearly ready to collapse. The exhaustion he’d been fighting back for hours was suddenly hitting him quite hard.

“You’re working too hard,” Nie Mingjue scolded gently, holding Meng Yao a bit closer as he felt his weight sinking into him.

“You like that I work too hard,” Meng Yao countered with a faint smile as his hands moved to cover Nie Mingjue’s and hold them in place against him.

“I do,” Nie Mingjue agreed easily, as it would be futile to deny that Meng Yao’s industrious nature was a quality he valued very highly in him, “but not when it keeps you from coming to bed.”

Meng Yao felt a soft heat on his cheeks as Nie Mingjue’s face nuzzled down against his hair. Even now, months later, Meng Yao still wasn’t fully used to the affection Nie Mingjue showed him, the nuzzling, the embraces, the soft kisses, every time Nie Mingjue tucked Meng Yao’s head ever so comfortably beneath his... Being raised the way he was, Meng Yao would hardly do more than blink at even the most depraved sex acts, but the moment Nie Mingjue held him close and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, Meng Yao’s heart started to race, fluttering about his chest in a way that was almost uncomfortable and was definitely embarrassing.

When this had all started in a fever pitch of an unexpected and intoxicated makeout session, Meng Yao hadn’t realized how soft Nie Mingjue would be with him. He had anticipated correctly that Nie Mingjue wasn’t one for long winded platitudes or mushy sentiments, of course, but physically... when they were alone together, Nie Mingjue was far more gentle and tactile with him than Meng Yao could have ever imagined, Nie Mingjue’s hands and lips lingering on him sweetly every chance they had--and though the two of them had had their fair share of heated and rowdy moments in the bedroom, it was Nie Mingjue’s dedication to tenderness that had caught Meng Yao by surprise.

“You were already gone by the time I woke up this morning...” Which was saying something, because it wasn’t as if Nie Mingjue was someone who slept in late--Meng Yao had just woken up very early. “And I spent the last hour waiting for you to join me. You’ve been working later and later every night.”

Meng Yao exhaled, deflating a little and feeling Nie Mingjue’s arms hold him a little bit closer. He tried to open his eyes again, as he’d really been hoping to finish at least one last pile of papers... but now that he’d closed them, his eyes were stubbornly refusing to open again. “We’re leaving soon,” he said with faint exasperation. “I want to make sure everything is in order before we go.”

Nie Mingjue’s head was dipping down now so that he could press his lips lightly to Meng Yao’s temple. “Meng Yao, you’re very skilled,” Nie Mingjue said, offering up the praise plainly before pressing onward, “but the Nie Sect has survived without you for hundreds of years. I’m certain the Unclean Realm will manage to hold itself together for a few weeks in our absence.”

If Meng Yao had had the energy for it, he would have laughed. Nie Mingjue was right, of course, this was just... Meng Yao’s fear of inferiority rearing its head, his worry that if he didn’t work harder and harder, if he didn’t constantly prove his worth, if he didn’t keep topping his own efforts that... this would all fall apart. He’d worked so hard to get where he was, and he’d worked even harder to prove to himself and others that he deserved the position he’d been given. To slack in those efforts even for a moment felt like a slippery slope towards failure, even if his definition of not slacking involved what others would consider a neglect for a regular sleeping schedule.

He just... finally felt like he found something good here. It wasn’t what he had hoped for, it wasn’t the acceptance he craved so desperately from his father, but... His position in the Nie Sect had granted him a level of respect and power he never imagined he would have, and his relationship with Nie Mingjue...

Well, to put it simply, Meng Yao’s expectations for romantic love in the course of his life had been... non-existent. He’d grown up barely knowing what a romance should look like beyond the depiction of it in books his mother had gotten her hands on in order for him to practice his reading, beyond observing couples in the marketplace when he was sent to run errands. The brothel was pretty much the last place to find examples of a healthy romantic relationship, so... Meng Yao had grown up knowing more about purchased companionship and sex than he ever had about love, and therefore hadn’t spent much time imagining what that might look like for himself.

He’d been with Nie Mingjue only a handful of months, and yet... already, Nie Mingjue had shown him more loyalty and affection than Meng Yao could have asked to receive in his whole life. The thought of losing that because he’d failed in his duties, the idea of all of this shattering like it was no more than some frail illusion, and Nie Mingjue finally seeing him as the son of a whore that everyone else immediately took him for...

It was more than his heart could bear.

“You’re right, Zongzhu,” he conceded. Even if he didn’t already agree Nie Mingjue’s point, he would have been too tired to argue. With some effort, he forced his eyes open, taking a few seconds to make the table come into focus as he said with a sigh, “Let me finish reviewing this last pile and then I’ll join you.”

He was just about to free himself (somewhat reluctantly) from Nie Mingjue’s embrace, when... he realized that Nie Mingjue wasn’t letting go of him.

“No,” Nie Mingjue denied him bluntly.

And before Meng Yao had even the faintest chance to react, in the blink of an eye, Nie Mingjue hoisted Meng Yao into his arms, picking him up as effortlessly as if Meng Yao was made of down and not flesh and muscle. Meng Yao immediately felt his cheeks burning, his heart hammering as he gasped to fill his lungs with air as the maneuver had quite literally left him breathless. Naturally, his arms wrapped around Nie Mingjue’s neck, though it wasn’t as if he wasn’t perfectly and easily supported by Nie Mingjue’s incredible strength.

“As your sect leader, I’m ordering you to get some sleep,” Nie Mingjue said, his tone taking a step closer to authoritative--and though it obviously wasn’t a real order, Meng Yao decided to give in to it anyway. It wasn’t like he could do much about it in his current position.

“Yes, Zongzhu,” he said with a defeated smile. Nie Mingjue had won this round.

Exhausted, Meng Yao let his head rest against Nie Mingjue’s chest as Nie Mingjue nudged the door open with his foot and carried him down the hallways to their room. Meng Yao was... thankful for the late hour, allowing them to encounter no one on their journey; Meng Yao felt flustered enough to be carried around like this, much less be seen in such a position.

Inside their room, Nie Mingjue carefully set him on his feet and then helped the both of them strip off the outer layers of their robes, before tugging Meng Yao into bed. Almost immediately, Meng Yao found himself tucked neatly to Nie Mingjue’s chest, his face pressed comfortably into the crook of his neck; Nie Mingjue’s arms circled around him completely, easily, the heat coming off of his skin an instant comfort in the chilly room. Meng Yao allowed himself to press close to Nie Mingjue’s form, already somehow comfortable sleeping together like this as he half-draped his body over him and took a slow breath against Nie Mingjue’s skin.

His eyes closed, and he swallowed the thoughts that still questioned how this could be real, what he’d done to find himself in such a position... but it didn’t take long for the fiercely battled exhaustion to take over, letting him fall asleep peacefully against Nie Mingjue’s chest.