#I just thought it sounded nicer than “Why do I need a book to be a good person?”

[getindumdums]

Atheist here! There is a story here that I have heard (atheist dad). It was something like this.

There once was a Christian man that was drowning. He asked for god to save him. A man on a boat came to him and offered his hand. The man said “No thank you, god will save me.” Three different people came to save them, and each time the man said no, and that “god” will save them. When the man drowned, he asked god, angry, “Why didn’t you save me?” God said that he sent 3 times people that would help him. But he did not accept his help.

This story illustrates how the flawed mindset where people expect a “miracle” to help them, instead of thinking that people who help others, vaccines, doctors, etc. are perhaps god sending them their miracle.

I believe that there’s a rendition where there’s people in danger, and the religious man passes each one saying “God will help you”, leaving each person to die. When the religious man passes, he is condemned to hell. As he did not act virtuous, like he thought he had.

While we’re at it, the phrase “God will help you” kind of has a negative meaning to me? It’s just I hear it often used towards LGBT, or people of different religions, who did nothing wrong. It’s just said to us. So it’s like I’m hearing “you’re going to hell” for being who/what I am. When I just want to help people.

When I try to reason with religious fundamentalists, it’s because I know their interpretation is actively harming people. I’ve been asked the question, “How can you act good without the Bible?” And my mindset is “If you need a book to tell you how to be a good person. You’re not a good person.”

this is why being religous and a bad person is so wild to me. you have your god, who encourages you to love and be lovable, and yet

[violetarks]

hello hello!! congrats on 3k. i love your work so much so you deserve it!! ^_^

if it’s okay could i request luka from alien stage with miscommunication & high school au? ( ´ ▽ ` ) and if it’s okay could the reader be amab? thank you!!

congrats again!!ヽ(；▽；)ノ✨✨💖💖

“but we can’t take back all the words that we said!”

show: alien stage

character: luka

summary: you overhear luka tell his friends that he missed being in ‘the single league’.

warnings: g/n! reader, no pronouns used (i didn’t end up put any gender indications at all, i hope that’s okay!!), miscommunication, high school! au, hurt/comfort, angst/comfort, reader is very self-conscious, established relationship, popstar! luka, he’s nicer in this au LMAO

"are you kidding me?" luka laughs out from inside the classroom.

you recognised that sound from anywhere. it was lunch time and you had told your boyfriend that, as class president, you had to prepare some things for the upcoming school festival during lunch, so you wouldn't be able to eat with him. he was a bit whiney and teasing, but soon let you go. you thought he'd be with some of his friends from his choir class, but no; he was in the classroom with a few of his peers.

you stop before you enter to talk to him for a bit. you were wondering what he was doing here.

"i mean, it's a bit hard, isn't it?" someone says.

"i wouldn't say it's hard," luka sighs out, "it's just a bit of a hassle trying to work around other people."

you're even more curious now. you hold your clipboard to your chest and wait to hear more.

"do you ever miss it? being on your own?" another person asks.

you stop, even halting your breathing in case he would stop talking because you were there.

dating someone as popular as luka was hard, but it was worth it. he was such a handsome guy and had an even sweeter voice. it was hard not to fall for him. you felt lucky enough that he loved you too. he was always on tv or always in the studio, and he brought you along too. you wondered the same thing sometimes; did he miss not being in a relationship?

you weren't a jealous person, but you didn't enjoy luka having a partner in music videos or anything. you had told him such, and he told you that he could fix that. maybe he didn't like the hassle.

"oh, of course," he replies far more quicker than you'd like, "i'd much rather be a single idol. i could do whatever i want, but now… i always gotta’ think of others. such a pain…"

the others around him begin to ask questions about why, but you only stand still. hearing it for yourself only confirms it; luka didn't really want to be with you. it only made his life harder. you somehow always knew that.

he probably didn't want to be rude in fear that you might spread something around to everyone that he was a bad boyfriend and ruin his reputation. or maybe he was just bored.

after all, you weren’t a popstar like him. you were just another student.

“y/n, hey,” mizi and sua turn the corner to see you. the pink-haired girl holds out a pamphlet to you with a smile. “here, this is what we came up with for the concert. is it okay?”

you take it from her and try to ignore the tears threatening to spill. you don't care to stay and listen to more. instead, you turn around and walk away with the girls at your side. you couldn't let him know that you knew, not until you were ready.

after school, luka is waiting at your locker. he is leaning against the wall and scrolling on his phone with his bag on his shoulder. once you're close enough, he tucks his phone away and smiles.

"hey, pretty thing," he greets you as you put your books away, "how was your little presidential duty?"

"it was fine," you retort shortly as you pack up your things, "don't you have a recording today?"

"oh, uh, yeah," he says as he watches your face, "it's later though, i can walk you home."

"it's okay, luka, i need to do some things before i go home anyway," you state as you shut your locker. you look back to him and his pretty face that tilts at you. it takes everything in you to not show that you’re upset. “i’ll see you on monday.”

“hey, wait,” he grasps your wrist as you try to walk passed him. he’s a music sensation, he knows when people are upset and when people are angry with him. you have both of those looks on you. “what about…?”

you two are supposed to go out together on sunday. you had organised something this time — a nice picnic by the lake. the both of you were so excited for it. until now, that is.

“oh, right,” you sigh out. he freezes as you lean closer to him and press a kiss to his cheek. “have fun.”

with that, you slip out of his grasp and leave. luka doesn’t call out. maybe you were just not in the mood, or it slipped your mind and you would come to your senses later.

he texts you when he gets home, when he leaves two hours later for his recording session, and when he gets home. he even sends you photos of his dinner with him and his new band. you only heart the photo and reply dryly. you’ve never acted like this.

you just want to make it easier for him to break up with you. maybe if he realised how little you added to his amazing life then he’d finally agree to let you go.

saturday comes and goes, and finally sunday does too.

sweetheart

sorry, can’t come today, i have some things to organise before the school fest next week

luka stares down at the text with his other hand holding the picnic blanket. he stands outside his door in dismay. at this point, he’s had enough.

love

seriously? whatever.

there, you think, he’s finally done with you.

he's gotten annoyed with this change of pace. you weren't acting like yourself, and he hasn't had any good time to ask you about it properly. you just shrug it off and then leave.

he tries to think about what he did, if he did anything, and nothing comes to mind. maybe he forgot to pick something up for you? or maybe he made you miss an important meeting? he couldn't think of anything.

monday comes around and you’ve prepared yourself. you two haven’t spoken since sunday morning and you’ve found it a bit hard to do so.

luka is upset with you, and you feel unable to be enough for him. so you put your things away, attend homeroom and explain the plans for the festival that runs from wednesday to friday, and head off to help your peers.

“y/n,” a voice calls from the doorway. you glance up from painting something. luka stands there with crossed arms. “can i talk to you for a sec?”

you stand up and and follow him out to the school yard. everyone else is planning their things for the festival, so nobody would be out yet.

“okay, out with it,” he grumbles with furrowed brows, “what’s going on with us? you’ve been totally gone and i have no idea why. did something happen?”

you don’t say anything, despite what you want to say. and that makes luka a bit more upset.

“y/n, seriously. can you just talk to me? i really wanted to see you yesterday and…” he holds his breath as you continue to stare at the floor, “why are you being so distant? you act like you want nothing to do with me! and instead of talking to me, you just—”

“you’re the one who wants nothing to do with me,” you grumble out with a hot face. luka stops. “you and… you just want to be by yourself, you don’t want to be with me anymore, luka.”

“what are you talking about?” he questions, now even more confused.

“i heard you!” you say as you jab a finger into his chest, “you told your friends that you missed being single and—and you didn’t like having me around. so i… i just thought that if i stopped being around you so much, that you would break up with me. at least then it would make sense.”

you have tears pricking your eyes. luka is almost the same, simply by looking at you. he knows what you’re talking about.

“i know it’s impossible, but i sometimes wish you and i were the same,” you mumble out, “it’s hard for the both of us, i guess. i’m sorry.”

he lets out a small sigh to himself before a smile dawns on his lips. he pushes his hair back and tugs you closer, gently.

“c’mere,” he mutters out. you’re reluctant, but seeing him with a sorry smile makes you step forward and wrap your arms around his waist. he holds you around your shoulders and presses a kiss to the side of your head. “oh, you poor thing. that must’ve been holding you down all weekend.”

“luka…” you say against his shoulder as tears stain his blazer.

“i know, baby, i’m sorry,” he shushes you, “i didn’t know you were nearby when i said that, i confused you. i wasn’t talking about you, sweetheart. i was talking about how much i missed being a solo idol.”

you blink and slowly lift your head from him. with slightly puffy eyes and an embarrassed look on your face, you stare at him.

“solo idol?” you repeat.

he chuckles and reaches a hand up to brush away the tears from your cheek.

“yes, i was talking about music,” he states, “not you, my love. i’m sorry that i said it that way, i didn’t intend on making you feel that way. i would’ve never said something like that if i knew it would make you feel like this.”

you can’t even look at him anymore. you cover your face with your hands.

“ah, i’m so sorry, luka,” you mumble into your hands, “i made a big deal out of nothing.”

“it’s okay, i understand, sweet thing,” he replies to you, “you can make it up to me with that picnic date if you feel so inclined.”

you nod your head at him before luka begins pressing chaste kisses to your tear-stained cheeks.

“aw, look at you, my poor baby,” he says to you, “don’t ever think i’d say such a thing. you’re my favourite person in the world, okay? don’t want you thinking otherwise.”

you wipe away your tears and nod your head again with a smile. luka grins as well at your return of personality. he leans forward and finally presses a sweet kiss to your lips.

“now c’mon,” he says after he pulls away from you, “let’s skip the planning stuff and go get something to eat.”

“no, luka," you chuckle out as he tries to drag you away. he forgets that you take your job as class president seriously. "i need to talk to class c's representative about their event."

"ivan's such a bore," he groans, "hang out with me instead."

you have to pull him by his blazer back to his classroom as he sulks behind you. you were glad that things were back to normal, at least.

[lloydskywalkers]

three sword style

Or, Lloyd and his evolving relationship with what it means to choose a weapon, as supervised by Kai. listen I know Wu technically gives them all their new weapons in season 11 according to some random book referenced in the ninjago wiki (or at least Lloyd’s sword) but you know who ACTUALLY has a degree in making weapons and canonically has made a golden sword SO. My canon now. (also spot the brain rot I infected myself with in the title) 

Lloyd grows up in a world of weaponry and at the speed of light. 

There are worse ways to grow up, maybe. There are also better ones — one where kids get to grow up instead blasting into teenager-hood in the span of seconds — but Lloyd doesn’t like to complain about where he’s ended up. 

Second to the speed of light thing, though, the weapons part is pretty big. 

Weapons determine the single biggest turning point in his life, after all. It’s the Golden Weapons that make him the Green Ninja, a title that’s a lot more important than Lloyd’s ever been. It’s also that particular title that makes Lloyd the weapon, so that’s fun. Ninjago’s prophesied emergency failsafe, the Green Ninja — that’s him. 

On a nicer note, it’s the Fangblade that gets him a big brother, and proves that there’s someone out there who cares about Lloyd over some stupid weapon, so hah. 

Getting back to the point, though—

Weapons. Lloyd’s been making do without one, and he’s been making pretty good do, thank you very much. He’s got his power, and he’s got himself. That’s all the weapon Lloyd needs. 

But no one else seems to agree, and since ninety percent of the time whatever prophecy-of-doom crops up this month involves cursed weaponry of some sort, they all figure it’s a good a reason as any to stick Lloyd with a reliable weapon. 

And while wielding all the elements is one thing, wielding every kind of weapon at once would be kind of difficult, even for his dad. 

So Lloyd finally gets an actual, for-real, decision that he gets to make all by himself. 

It’s a monumentous occasion — and yes, that is a word, Nya, Lloyd knows some stuff — so if Lloyd was smart he’d treasure it and take his time. 

With that in mind, it takes all of thirty seconds for Lloyd to choose. This is only mildly insulting to some parties. 

“Fine, sure, go with the most basic pick in the world,” Jay scoffs. “Swords. Boring.”

“Sounds like you’re just jealous,” Kai shoots back.

“Jealous of swords? Please. I just thought Lloyd was a little more creative than that.”

“I like swords,” Lloyd says, at a loss.��

“Jay is only relieved that no one will one-up his nunchuck expertise, now,” Zane smiles. 

Jay sputters indignantly. “No one’s one-upping me, I’m the best there is!” 

“Uh-huh,” Cole shakes his head. “Well, if that’s what Lloyd wants, that’s the end of it.” His mouth quirks. “Means more training time for Kai, anyways.” 

“More training to be better than you,” Kai retorts. 

“Like the rest of you, Lloyd will continue to work toward mastering at least the basics of any weapon,” Sensei Wu sighs. “A ninja confined to one weapon alone—”

“Is a dead ninja,” Jay nods.

Sensei Wu cuts his eyes at him. “That is not how I was going to finish.”

“The point stands though, right?”

“The point,” Sensei Wu pinches the bridge of his nose. “Is that while Lloyd will continue to train with all of you, focusing on swordsmanship will become the priority. So yes, in a way. More training for Kai.”

Lloyd rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry…?”

“Why are you sorry?” Kai beams, more proud than smug. “I finally get an official katana apprentice. We’re gonna be awesome.”

And that alone, Lloyd thinks, makes it worth all the complaining. 

“Great,” Jay throws his arms up. “Now we’re stuck with two slice ‘em dice ‘em ninjas.”

“Oh, c’mon,” Cole says. “It’s Kai, how dangerous can he be.”

“I resent that,” Kai says. “Just because you beat me once or twice—”

“Try thirteen times, and counting.”

“—it does not mean I’m not as dangerous as you,” Kai narrows his eyes. 

“Oh yeah? Wanna prove it?”

“Bring it on, rock man.”

“Not in the kitchen, for FSM’s sake—“

Whether or not Cole beats him (which he does, pretty badly, because Cole is kinda terrifying like that) Lloyd knows that to some degree, Kai is dangerous. Very dangerous, with or without his swords.

It’s hard to think of Kai like that, though. When Lloyd thinks of Kai, he thinks of warm arms wrapped tight around him in the Fire Temple. Thinks of the first hugs he’s gotten from someone other than his father that felt like home. Thinks of protection — thinks safe. Thinks family. 

He’s wanted to be like Kai for a while, now. So yeah. It’s an easy choice. 

Plus, swords are way cool.

______

Kai starts training him in Dareth’s dojo. It takes about a week for them to get banished to the roof of their apartment, which is mostly Lloyd’s fault — but Kai’s the one supposed to be teaching him, so he can take the blame this time. 

…well, maybe Lloyd’s the one who keeps losing his grip on the katana, but that’s not quite his fault, either.  

Kai is better than basically any swordsman on this side of Ninjago in years, if not all Ninjago. Lloyd knows this because Uncle Wu told him so, and because Kai wipes the floor with him the first, second, and twenty-ninth time they spar.

“The point is to keep your grip on the katana, you know,” Kai says, as Lloyd retrieves his sword from where it went flying (again). “What kind of hold it that supposed to be, butterfingers deluxe?”

“You said not to grip it too tight,” Lloyd complains. 

Kai rolls his eyes. “Yeah, ‘cause you had it in a death hold. I didn’t say, ‘let go and let it fly’.”

“I didn’t let it fly, you knocked it out of my hand!”

“Aha, so you’re admitting I won. Again.”

“N-no!” Lloyd protests. “I’m just warming up. I’ll show you this time.” 

But as Kai takes his stance again, his own katana held with a kind of grace Lloyd has zero idea how to ever accomplish, Lloyd thinks he might be a bit of a lost cause. 

It’s difficult, because every time he goes to swing his sword, his power thrums in his blood, in his hands, always ready to lash out. It’s quickly become a habit, to start every fight slinging green blasts around. Lloyd’s already grown fond of the little bell-like sounds his power makes, the steady pulse as bright green builds in his palms. 

Lloyd is the Green Ninja, after all. His power is what makes him, well, him. He’s his own best weapon — he’s the one the prophecy needs to make things right.

Kai keeps putting weapons in his hands, anyways. 

Training katanas, mostly. He got to hold the Sword of Fire once, before his dad took it. It was beautiful — Lloyd kinda gets why Kai’s so up in arms about it getting stolen.

That and the whole don’t-give-Garmadon-the-Golden-Weapons thing.

Kai seems confused that Lloyd remembers it, which is weird because the Golden Weapons are kind of a big deal, but Lloyd decides to chalk it up to all the other weirdness in his life. 

The first true katana Kai ever gives Lloyd is…not quite as cool as the Sword of Fire, and definitely not as beautiful, but in a way that Lloyd likes. 

“We’re kinda short on weapons,” Kai admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “And I don’t exactly have access to smithing equipment right now, which means you’re stuck with one of my old ones. Sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Lloyd adjusts his hands around the hilt, taking an experimental swing. “This is a great sword!”

“Yeah, okay, liar — and don’t swing it around like that, you look like you’re waving a pool noodle.” 

Kai grabs his hands, forcing Lloyd’s arms to hold steady.

“Like this, okay?” Kai says. “We’re gonna start by practicing single movements.” 

“Aw,” Lloyd visibly wilts. “More katas? I thought I was gonna get to learn some cool moves.”

“This is a cool move. If you’re good, you finish things in one hit,” Kai says. “One strike, and the fight’s over.”

“Like a headshot,” Lloyd nods.

“No,” Kai rolls his eyes. “This is not a video game. This is a real sword, and you’re going to learn to use it right.”

“And then we can do the cool moves?”

Kai narrows his eyes. “Do your katas or I’m firing you.”

Lloyd sticks his tongue out at him. “You can’t fire me. I’m the Green Ninja.”

“Yeah? I’ll demote you to Green Washer-of-Dishes for the rest of the month.”

“No! You can’t, Nya and I have a deal!” 

Jokes aside, Lloyd is sure to remind Kai, as he scrubs dishes and Kai dries them, that he does take training seriously.

He takes all his training seriously. It’s kind of his only job. 

Lloyd practices hits until his knuckles split and scab, masters high kicks with shins colored violent blues and purples, forms green starbursts in his hands until his fingers crack and bleed. 

When his palms blister from the sword hilt on top of it all, Kai makes him hold still until he’s wrapped the first-aid bandage around his hands at least five times, then shoves his old gloves on him when he starts to form calluses.

He wants to argue that he doesn’t need them, but Lloyd still wears the gloves everyday and tucks them away each night, storing them with the other few, treasured things he’s been gifted.

______

The longer he trains with swords, the more Lloyd gains calluses and nicked fingers and perpetually smells a little like cloves. 

That last part Lloyd enjoys, though he’ll never admit it. He’s not about to go and tell people he enjoys cleaning stuff, no thanks. 

But there’s something nice about helping Kai take care of the katanas, in a relaxing sort of way. The wood-smoke tang of cloves smells like home, which Lloyd treasures, because home isn’t something he’s very used to. 

Treasures is probably an understatement. Lloyd latches onto it like he’s starving. Part of it’s because this is something he gets to have with Kai, all by himself. He’s never had something like that before, either — a special thing that’s shared just with him. 

Well, maybe besides the green gi, but the Green Ninja is something that belongs to everyone. Whatever Lloyd does when he puts the green gi on is everyone’s business, since it determines the fate of the world or something like that, and it doesn’t really even feel like his. Not yet, at least. 

But sitting cross-legged in the weapons room while Kai teaches him how to clean katanas without damaging them — that belongs to Lloyd. 

He learns a lot with it too, because Kai always starts rambling about ten minutes in — not the confident, cocky way he does sometimes in front of everyone else, but in an honest way that Lloyd isn’t entirely sure he even means to be. 

“—not the best oil, but it works when you’re in a pinch. S’what my parents left behind, at the shop, so it’s good enough.”

Lloyd looks up at him, curious. He keeps quiet — Kai and Nya don’t talk much about their parents, if at all. Lloyd gets it, of course, but it makes the little tidbits they share valuable. 

“I don’t remember a lot about my parents,” Kai continues. “But I remember some things. About my dad. He was a great smith, I know that much. Could make about anything. Swords were his favorite, though.” 

Uncle Wu’s candlelight casts Kai’s eyes with a glow that makes it seem like he’s on fire himself, flickering and fading. He looks very far away, all of the sudden, and Lloyd has the urge to grab for his arm and make him stay here. 

“Guess I latched onto that,” Kai smiles ruefully, and he’s back again. “Never could reach his level, but I learned how to make an okay sword.”

Lloyd chews on his lip. He knows all about latching on to your parents — wanting to be great at the things they are.

That maybe, if you’re good enough, they’ll be proud enough to come back. 

He doesn’t think that’s a happy thing to say, though, so he tells Kai instead, “I think your swords are great.”

Kai’s lips quirk. “Uh-huh. Then you better treat them like it.”

“I do,” Lloyd protests. He gestures at the katana across his lap. “See? I did it perfect this time.”

Kai nods his head at a spot Lloyd noticeably missed. He flushes.

“Almost perfect.”

“Practice, young student,” Kai says, in a gravely voice that’s probably supposed to sound like Uncle Wu. “A thousand hours of practice for you.”

“Ugh,” Lloyd groans. “All I do is practice. Practice practice practice, and then I’m still not enou—”

He cuts off. Oops. Maybe Kai’s honestly is a little too contagious. 

Kai goes quiet, hands stilling on the katana. There’s a deep furrow between his eyes as he stares at Lloyd, in a way that makes him feel a little like a bug under a microscope. Or that Kai can see right through him, which is bad, because all Lloyd’s got in him is a bunch of tangled thoughts and worries and nothing an actual ninja should have. 

“You know,” he says, carefully. “We probably need to stock up on the good oil. I’m kinda running low.”

Lloyd knows darn well Kai has enough choji oil to get them through an apocalypse. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Kai nods. “If we go now, we can probably hit the convenience store, too. Get a sugar boost before—”

“I’m in!” Lloyd shoots to his feet before he can stop himself, any protests forgotten. Training has included a healthy diet lately, so Lloyd doesn’t collapse and pass out because his blood’s eighty percent sugar — Zane’s words, not his. 

If he needs to get his blood sugar up, why can’t he just eat sugar all the time? It makes no sense. 

“Do not tell the others,” Kai hisses, as they make their way into the city. “Especially Cole, if you don’t wanna lose your sweets before you can take a bite. We’re just getting polish for katanas, as far as you know.”

“I know nothing,” Lloyd says obediently. “Hey, do you think we could use olive oil on the katanas?”

Kai’s stare could heat iron. “I’ll kill you.” 

“It was a joke! A joke, heh.”

______

For all that Lloyd’s life revolves around training to defeat anyone and everyone, the guys are still weirdly protective. Over anyone and everyone, including Lloyd himself. 

“C’mon, I can handle the cool attacks,” Lloyd complains, as Kai drags him into place.

“They’re not cool — okay, they’re kinda cool — but that’s not what we’re learning now,” Kai sighs. “You’re learning Aikido. Well, a form of it, technically. It’s focused on defending yourself, but in a way that lessens the chances of injuring your attacker.”  

Lloyd frowns. “Isn’t that counterintoo — counterintuitive?”

“Big words today,” Kai mutters. He shakes his head. “And it’s counterproductive, by the way, but — no,  because now that we’re training, half your attackers are us, and I’d like to leave practice with my arms intact.”

Lloyd grins. “So you’re admitting I’m better than you.” 

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” Kai says pointedly.

“Don’t need to. You’ve already admitted defeat.”

“And, brat—” Lloyd yelps as Kai digs his knuckles into his hair. “Defending yourself is incredibly important.”

As they settle back into position, Kai pauses, a muscle in his jaw working. He looks as if he’s having an internal argument with himself, before finally sighing. 

“The thing about any weapon, but especially swords,” he says, correcting Lloyd’s grip on the katana. “Is that they can be used a lot of ways. But the one thing you never, ever want to forget—”

And Kai’s tone grows serious, his jaw tensing again. “Is that they can kill.”

Lloyd looks down, to the sharp edges of the blade. It suddenly feels a bit heavier, and the room just a bit darker. 

“The way we’re training you, the way we were trained, we don’t always — we try to avoid it.” Kai’s voice wavers, and for a moment, Lloyd remembers that Kai isn’t all that much older than he is. 

Well, now, especially. 

“But sometimes, it’s…you don’t really…well.” He lets out a breath. “This is a sword. It can take a life really quick, if you aren’t careful. And sometimes, you don’t get the choice to be careful or not.”

Lloyd swallows. He hasn’t thought about it much — hasn’t wanted to, but it lives in his mind like a terrible itch he can’t get rid of. 

He’s no stranger to the idea of killing someone. Darkley’s was blunt as it was cold. But as a ninja, it’s suddenly realer than it ever was in school. 

As the Green Ninja, with his destiny drawn out in front of him, it’s pretty much unavoidable. 

He’s going to kill his father, or he’s going to die. 

Kai’s hands grab tight around his shoulders. “We’re gonna do everything we can to make sure you don’t end up in that situation, okay?” He gives Lloyd a small, strained smile. “Don’t ever feel like you have to change who you are, just ‘cause you’re a ninja now.”

How do you know who I am, Lloyd wants to ask. How do you know I’m not a murderer? How do you know I’m not awful? 

Kai’s eyes are impossibly kind and far, far too knowing. 

“But,” and his tone grows serious again. “If it’s your life or theirs.” 

Lloyd feels a bit like the oxygen’s been sucked out of the room. 

“Promise me. You have to promise — you will always, always choose your own.” 

Lloyd stares back. Kai gives him a little shake.

“You promise me?”

Finally, as if moved by puppet strings, Lloyd nods. 

“I promise,” he rasps. 

Kai looks relieved, but it’s not quite in a happy way. “As long as you come back alive, that’s what matters. I don’t care what else happens — you come back alive, and we’re good.” 

“Okay,” Lloyd says. His eyes feel wet. It’s strange, someone caring so much about something like that.  

“Which is why,” Kai says, finally stepping back as his tone lightens. “You’re gonna nail that block this time. Or I’m making you polish every weapon in the dojo again.”

“Oh, no,” Lloyd stares at him in horror. “I’ve been practicing that stupid move for hours!”

“And you’ll be cleaning weapons for hours if you don’t get it.” 

“You suck,” Lloyd grumbles. “Worst teacher of all time.” 

“Uh-huh,” Kai claps him on the back, and Lloyd lets out his own sigh of relief at the lightened atmosphere. “You’re the one that picked swords, buddy.”

______

Kai’s a hypocrite, though, and Lloyd could hate him for it, because as they slide down the snowy mountain-side, Lloyd’s body clashing against his family in ways he’d never, ever let it if he had control, he has to watch as Kai — again — chooses a life other than his own. 

Because Kai doesn’t have the experience Morro does, but he’s better with a sword, he’s better than anyone Lloyd knows, and he loses. And Lloyd’s arm drags the Sword of Sanctuary up and Kai is a stupid, stupid, stupid hypocrite—

Lloyd’s angry enough that tearing control back from Morro is easy. 

He knows a thing or two about swords himself, and Morro’s holding it wrong, anyways. 

______

Training had already taken a hit after they lose Zane, for obvious reasons. Everything had taken a hit after they lost Zane, and between the tournament and Morro and everything else Lloyd’s pointedly ignoring, it’s suddenly been ages since he’s had a proper sword lesson. 

Kai decides to make up for it by finally teaching him the fun stuff. 

“Don’t — call it that in front of Cole,” Kai grunts over the loud screech of metal on metal. His knee bends, just the slightest tell—

Lloyd falls back, dancing away from Kai’s returning strike. He knows now, just how dangerous Kai can be — he’d like to forget it, but it’d be doing him a disservice. 

Besides, Lloyd’s had his body dragged left and right over Ninjago, used as the worst kind of weapon to hurt the people he loves, and they still trust him. Being on the dangerous end of Chen’s stupid staff is nothing to being on the dangerous end of a katana Kai’s made himself, and Lloyd’s determined to hold onto the faith he’s had since that day in the volcano. 

Kai won’t hurt him. 

He’ll kick his ass in training, though, so Lloyd had better get back with the show. 

He retaliates with a feint to the right — too obvious for Kai, but enough to steal his attention for Lloyd to land a high kick to his side.

“Watch that,” Kai scolds, forced two steps backs. 

“Why?” Lloyd grins over the edge of Kai’s blade as he catches his blow dead-on. “Scared I’m gonna beat you too soon?”

Kai snorts. “You aren’t beating me at all, shortstack—”

“Not short—”

“And,” Kai’s katana moves so fast Lloyd barely manages to dodge, rolling into a somersault before surging back up to meet his backstrike. “You’re advertising your weak point.”

Lloyd frowns. “S’not a weak point.”

Kai’s katana flashes — Lloyd moves right just before he realizes it’s a feint, cursing himself — then the hilt of his katana is smacking hard against a bone in his right ankle. 

There’s a hot flash of pain as his body completely betrays him, his ankle buckling and sending him stumbling with a yelp.

Kai’s expression isn’t gloating, at least. On the downside, he has that sad kind of look that usually means he’s feeling guilty. 

“It’s not usually that bad,” he tries, even as his cheeks flare hot. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Kai shakes his head. “You need to protect that. Make sure no one knows it’s a weak point but you. Putting it in reach of your opponent is a bad way to do that.” 

Lloyd grits his teeth, but he knows Kai’s right. He’ll never regret pushing himself the way he did, clambering up the tower steps on a broken ankle. The fate of Ninjago was a lot heavier on his shoulders than any thoughts of consequences. 

It still sucks, that it’ll never heal quite right. 

But it isn’t like he’s the only one with an old wound turned weak spot, he reminds himself, as he wraps his aching ankle once again. Jay’s got zig-zagging lightning scars all down his arms that ache during heavy rain. Nya can only rotate her arm so far before her shoulder goes numb, a souvenir from a broken arm. Cole’s the worst, maybe, with how he’s strained himself lifting impossibly heavy weights, fractured fingers and broken bones that throb in the cold. 

Kai’s got his own share of weaknesses, though he works hard to hide them. Lloyd’s managed to pick out most — some of them he’s helped treat himself.

He doesn’t like to think about those times, though.

“So I’ve got an idea for a move,” Kai grins at him, once Lloyd’s ankle is stable. “It’s gonna take some timing, but since I don’t have a weak spot there — you’re gonna run and launch.”

Lloyd tilts his head. “Launch off your right ankle?”

“No,” Kai rolls his eyes. “I’m gonna go down for a handspring. When my legs are low, you’re gonna jump on, so when I shoot up—”

“Ooh, I go flying,” Lloyd concludes. 

“Exactly.” 

“Let’s do it! I’m gonna look so cool—”

“Okay, but we’re gonna look stupid as it gets if we don’t get the — timing, timing!” 

It takes about five tries to get it right. That’s all they agree on admitting to — the less said about the forgotten sixth and seventh tries, the better. 

But on try eight, Lloyd finally feels his left and right foot connect with Kai’s just as he hits the lowest point of the handspring — and this time, he remembers to bend his own knees and launch up, and with a sudden weightlessness, he’s flying. 

“Slash, slash, don’t forget to slash!”

 Years of training are the only reason Lloyd’s able to get his arms to obey him fast enough, the wind-up pulling on his shoulders before he sweeps the katana down, slashing out—

“Yes!” Kai’s cheer abruptly turns to a yelp as he loses his balance, crumpling to the floor. Lloyd’s already sprawled across the training mats, since landing was a whole lot harder than he’d planned for — but the training dummy is cut in half. One perfect hit. 

“Now, if we can just manage that in an actual fight, we’ll look awesome,” Kai grins.

Lloyd glances at him. “Are you gonna fall flat on your face then, too?”

Red stains his cheeks. “No,” Kai sputters. “That was — you didn’t see that.”

“Uh-huh,” Lloyd snorts. He tilts his head, considering the unfortunate training dummy. “Y’know, I bet I can manage a flip in there,” he mutters. 

Kai shrugs. “Yeah, probably.” He lips quirk up. “It’d look pretty cool. Y’know what, let’s go for it. I wanna see the look on Jay’s face when you flip down on him during sparring.”

______

It takes Kai all of ten minutes into the next fight to start regretting that one. 

“Got a runner!” Jay calls, as one of the thugs they’ve been rounding up breaks loose from where Zane’s kindly explaining the terms of surrender and Cole’s standing with his lava punch ready to show them what happens if they don’t agree. 

“I got ‘im!” Lloyd calls, darting after the masked man. 

He tugs his katana free from its sheathe, mind already racing. The time spent on his own, guarding his own back, gave Lloyd the rare opportunity to learn things in ways the guys probably would’ve had his head for.

With the lessons Kai’s drilled into him, the steady form of swordsmanship driven into his nerves, Lloyd’s found a creativity in tweaking things to match his style. 

So when the thug sprints past a number of abandoned boxes, scrabbling as he narrowly avoids stumbling on the concrete, Lloyd’s already got the perfect move in mind. 

Step, step, jump — tuck in tight, so there’s enough momentum to rotate at least twice — and bam, it’s like a wind-up toy. The more spins he gets in, the harder his landing is, disarming the guy with a perfect slash while kicking his teeth in. 

Neat and effective, in Lloyd’s opinion.

Sadly, his opinion is not shared. 

Kai sputters. “What was that?”

“Cool as heck, that’s what it was,” Lloyd grins. 

Kai is supremely unimpressed. “What did I say about wasting movements?”

Lloyd shuffles. “Don’t…do it?”

“Then why, exactly, did you feel the need to flip three — not one but three — times before striking?”

“Because,” Lloyd says. “It was cool. As heck.”

Kai pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers. Lloyd valiantly bites back any comments about him taking after Sensei Wu. 

“There’s a difference between adding your own flare,” he finally says. “And squandering your energy like a spinning top.”

“Squandering — spinning top—” Lloyd sputters. “Hey, I got the guy just fine, didn’t I? I didn’t squander anything.”

“And what’re you gonna do if someone wises up and snipes you mid-flip?”

“Who’s gonna snipe me, there are no snipers around, dummy—”

“There could be, hypothetically!”

“Hypothetically, please. You’re just jealous ‘cause you can only do two flips—”

“I can do sixteen if I want, I’m just smarter—”

Despite his arguments, Lloyd does resolve to try for restraint. Unfortunately, Lloyd’s also got the memory of a goldfish, so Kai should really know better. 

He just can’t help it. The next time they clash with a run-of-the-mill villain who’s stealing secret plans for bombs or whatever ridiculous thing it is that week, Lloyd finds himself on one building with the criminal on the next. 

The solution is obvious. Kai doesn’t agree. 

“FIVE FLIPS?! THAT WAS A THREE-FOOT DISTANCE!”

Lloyd carefully places the now-unconscious criminal on the rooftop, stands back up, and wisely back-flips the heck outta there. 

______

As his sword movements grow more complicated and the green power take a near-constant presence in his veins, the gentle pulse of energy as familiar as a friend, Lloyd grows stronger, too.

This kickstarts an entirely new problem, because Lloyd can’t go five steps without ruining something, it seems. 

In his defense, he doesn’t start breaking swords at a criminal rate until after Morro, so Lloyd’s gonna blame it all on him.

He stares blankly at the katana in his hands — or the remains of it, to be exact. Half the blade is somewhere across the street, where it went skidding after Lloyd’s final hit snapped it clean in two. 

Kai stares just as blankly when Lloyd wordlessly offers the pieces up. 

“Okay,” he finally says. “Maybe I went wrong with the balance, or something? This was probably just a fluke.”

He turns it over, frowning. “Wouldn’t hurt to reinforce the next one, I guess…”

Reinforcements or not, it takes the third shattered sword for Kai to wise on. 

“I’m so sorry,” Lloyd warbles tearfully, the remains of Kai’s careful metalwork cradled in his arms. “I don’t know what happened, I was just swinging it, and it went — it went—”

“It went in six different directions, apparently,” Kai mutters. 

Lloyd slumps. “It was only four this time,” he mutters. 

“I guess this is what we get for training you as well as we did,” Kai says. “Cole and his super strength, I’ll never be free of it.”

“Didn’t he beat you by tripping you flat on your face?”

“I don’t wanna hear it from you, oh cruel destroyer of my swords,” Kai scowls. 

“I didn’t mean to!” Lloyd protests. “I tried really hard this time, but the last guy had this giant bat, and I thought I could cut it in half, but I swung so hard I screwed up my strike and went…in six…different directions…”

Kai scrubs a hand over his face. He glances at Lloyd, eyes searching. 

“But you beat him?”

“Duh,” Lloyd says. The faith people have in him.

“And you didn’t get hit yourself?”

Lloyd shakes his head. “Not a scratch.” It’s not even a lie this time.

“Then I guess it was a noble sacrifice,” Kai sighs. “I can live with that.”

The katana’s sad remnants join the equally sad — and steadily growing — pile of scrap metal made by Lloyd’s awful sword skills. They have a pretty fun time melting it all down though, watching the metal bubble as Kai starts drafting the next run of layered steel he’ll shape into a katana. 

“I’m gonna be a master katana maker at this rate,” he huffs, wiping at his forehead. Lloyd, who’s hanging over the forge to watch the different colors the liquid metal makes, taps lazily at his knee with his foot. The forge flares brighter as Kai’s fire does, and he mumbles a distracted thanks. 

“A master hothead,” Lloyd says. Kai rolls his eyes. “If I ever figure out how to be a master swordsman, maybe you can take a break and figure out how to make other weapons.”

“Hey, I’m great at making other weapons.”

“Yeah, like ‘block of metal’ and ‘triangle of metal’ and ‘weird rectangle of metal’, and—”

“You’re gonna get a stick for next battle if you keep that up,” Kai growls, but his lips are twitching.

“Hypotenuse of metal,” Lloyd whispers.

“The heck, that’s not even a shape—” 

The forge grows steadily hotter as Kai works, bright sparks popping and steam hissing up in little curling wisps. It doesn’t bother Lloyd too much — ever since that day in the volcano, the press of heat is more like a second skin. He’s nowhere near as durable as Kai, of course, who could probably hop in the forge and come out with only a sunburn, but it’s enough to feel cozy instead of sweaty and dizzy. 

“Y’know, you don’t have to use a sword,” Kai says hesitantly, as he inspects a hammer. “There are a lot of other weapons that would fit your style. If you ever wanna try out a spear like Nya, that might suit you pretty well.”

“No!” Lloyd says sharply. Biting his tongue, he amends, “I’ve already been training with swords for forever. I don’t wanna change my whole style for something else.”

Kai eyes him shrewdly, but his lips finally twitch up in amusement. “If you say so,” he says. “But I swear, break my sword again and you will get a stick for your next weapon. Or chopsticks. A butter knife—”

______

Lloyd gets a new sword, of course. And another one. He might grouse and complain, but Kai doesn’t truly get angry about the swords. He does, however, get very angry over Lloyd’s total idiocy with what happens to said shattered swords. 

His first mistake is the usual one — Lloyd swings a bit too hard at a sloppy angle and there’s a high-pitched screech as the sword dies a sad death, splitting in two. 

Lloyd stares blankly at the now much-shorter katana in his hands, which is his second mistake. The delay costs him, and he scrambles to duck the thief’s vicious punch, their own sword having been knocked away in the scuffle. Their boot comes up, swinging for his head, and Lloyd springs back, landing palms-first on the floor and launching himself out of range. 

He also, unthinking, drops the broken katana — mistake number three. 

His fourth mistake is the worst one possible, because Lloyd brings his hand up to block what he’s sure will be another punch, only to get slashed by the jagged end of the katana he just dropped.

A sharp, burning pain explodes across his hand, and Lloyd stifles a shriek. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid move. 

The thief comes in for round two, Lloyd’s own snapped katana glinting in the fluorescent building lights, and Lloyd freezes. It occurs to him that he should probably just go ahead and hit the thief with an burst of green, but that’s also when Kai mows them down with a viciousness that reminds Lloyd — Kai always goes easy on him in training. 

“I had him handled,” he still protests, after the thief’s been hauled off to prison (or the hospital, possibly).

Kai ignores him, sheathing his katana and storming his way. 

He grabs Lloyd’s hand before he can protest, pulling back the torn fabric of his glove and slapping his own hood against the gash on his hand to stem the bleeding. 

“What did I say,” Kai says angrily. 

Lloyd flinches at the stinging pain in his hand, and tries to glare back. 

Kai’s having none of it. “Your sword is supposed to take the hits,” he snaps. “Not you!” 

“It did take the hit,” Lloyd finally throws back. “I just broke it, and — I was fine!”

“You hand’s bleeding all over my hood, that is not fine!”

“Then take your hood off and it won’t get blood on it!”

“My hood isn’t what I’m worried about!”

By the time Zane’s stitched Lloyd’s hand up, wincing barely kept at a minimum, Kai’s cooled down.

Somewhat. 

“It was an accident, okay?” Lloyd says, for the billionth time. “I didn’t realize he had a weapon. I wasn’t trying to sacrifice my hand, or whatever.”

“Oh yeah? ‘Cause that sounds a lot like something you’d do.”

“Coming from you, that’s somewhat hypocritical,” Zane murmurs. 

Lloyd snickers. Kai turns to Zane in utter betrayal. 

Of course, this means that Lloyd’s next lesson is how to treat sword wounds in emergency situations, in painstaking and excruciating detail. His hand stings every time he grasps the katana handle for solid week, though, so Lloyd takes equally careful notes.

______

Lloyd goes and breaks another three katanas after that. At this point, he kinda thinks Kai should just give up and let him go into battle weapon-less again. You don’t need weapons to do Spinjitzu. The green power won’t break, and Lloyd certainly won’t split into six pieces.

(He hopes.)

Kai keeps putting swords in his hands anyways. 

Lloyd could always just say no — he’s supposed to be leader or something, he can make his own decisions.

But he thinks of sparring sessions and smelling like cloves every other evening, thinks of the tiny dragons Kai still takes the time to carve into his katana handles, and throwing all that away would feel as great as sawing off his own arm. 

So he picks the katana up, does his stupid katas, and promises to do better this time.

That doesn’t magically fix things, of course. 

“How,” Kai says blankly, staring at the katana that now lies in a record eight pieces. 

“Um.” Lloyd twists his fingers together. “I definitely didn’t use it to prop open a door like you said never to do.”

Kai gives him a smile that shows exactly all of his teeth. 

“You have five seconds to run.”

______

All that training on treating sword wounds pays off. Possibly more than learning how to fight with a sword in the first place, when Kai drops in the middle of battle with a wicked slash across his lower thigh. 

“Of all the — stupid, embarrassing—”

“Shut up,” Lloyd says tightly. He’s already focusing half his energy on not throwing up at the amount of blood soaking between his fingers where they’re pressed tightly over Kai’s leg. “Stop moving, I gotta see if it — if it hit an artery.”

“It better not have,” Kai pants, wincing as Lloyd presses down harder. “If it hit an artery I’m screwed.”

“Shut up.” 

Lloyd’s heartbeat is a thunderstorm in his ears, panic welling up in his throat as Kai’s blood swims in his vision. 

“Hey, hey,” Kai’s hand falters, then clasps Lloyd’s own. “M’gonna be fine. Takes a lot more than a stupid leg wound to take me out.” 

“That’d be so lame,” Lloyd breathes, somewhat hysterically. He’s torn his own belt off for a tourniquet, which is step one, he thinks — hood can go around the actual wound, and if he steals Kai’s belt, then he can double reinforce it— 

“I can always cauterize,” Kai says shakily, sounding like he’d rather do anything else in the world. “It’ll be — move!”

Lloyd manages to roll them both out of the way as the assassin who nailed Kai comes in to finish the job, sword scraping sparks across the rooftop. Lloyd flashes a furious glare over his shoulder, mind racing as he holds himself in front of Kai. 

“Here.” The familiar hilt of Kai’s katana slaps against Lloyd’s open hand — the other is quick to follow suit. “Remember, double wielding — better for defense.”

Lloyd nods on instinct. He adjusts his grip on both swords, the blood on his fingers making the hilts tacky and sticky. It’s going to be a pain to clean later, a vague part of his mind notes. 

Of course Lloyd remembers dual wielding. It is better for defending, but you lose power on striking and reach — he can deal with that. Kai does. 

And it’s exactly what he needs, right now. The assassin won’t even get close to Kai.

One spin, then another. The katanas’ weight is familiar, balanced in the slightly-weird way Lloyd likes best, the way Kai makes all his swords. He finds his footing, finds the stance, and moves.

When Kai fights, he fights like the first flash of flame from a match strike — quick and bursting, fast enough it all but blinds the enemy. 

When Lloyd fights, it feels like dancing — slower to start, picking steps deliberately, building to that bursting strike faster and faster. 

It only takes one strike, after all. And Lloyd’s got two swords. 

Silver flashes across the rooftop, a piercing screech as one of his katana meets the assassin’s broader blade, forcing it back—

The assassin drops with a cry before falling silent, the shattered pieces of a katana scattered around him. 

“Saw that…one coming,” Kai moans. 

Still breathing heavily, Lloyd tries not to cringe.

“I’m so sorry,” he repeats, after Kai’s securely in a hospital bed and enduring Nya’s forty-five minute lecture about the many ways your arteries can kill you. 

Kai waves his hand, slightly cross-eyed and loopy from medication. “Y’know what? I wanted a new sword anyways. You saved me, so…skip the lecture and we’ll call it square?”

Lloyd lets a small smirk crawl up his face. 

“You know, I feel like there’s something very important you should keep in mind, about your weapons taking the hit, instead of you—” 

“When I get out of here, you’re toast.”

______

“I think I know where I’m going wrong,” Kai says. 

He’s spent the weekend with his father, the two of them either shut up in the forge or buzzing and forth about blacksmithing. It leaves Lloyd feeling a little weird — some mix between happy for Kai and achingly jealous, which then leaves him mostly just sad, which sucks. Lloyd sucks — it’s terrible to feel that way. Everyone was happy when Lloyd got both his parents back after that first battle, and even if he’s lost that — the least he can do is be happy for Kai and Nya. 

It ends up working out pretty great in the end, because Kai looks a little like he’s unraveled the mysteries of the universe right now. 

Half his right eyebrow is also scorched off, but Lloyd decides not to mention it for now. It’ll be funny to see the look on his face, when he notices. 

“I was talking with my dad, who’s got a lot more experience with this stuff, and he suggested something,” Kai continues. He fiddles with whatever he’s got hidden behind his back, and Lloyd has to stifle the urge to dart around him and see. 

“No more katana,” Kai says. “You’re good with ‘em, but I think we need a change-up.”

“You mean good at breaking them,” Lloyd mutters.

“If the sword breaks on you, it’s my fault,” Kai says. “I’m not exactly the world’s best blacksmith. Y’know, you should really think about getting someone else to—”

“No.” Lloyd bites his tongue immediately, aware of how bratty he sounds. 

And selfish. It’s not like Kai has tons of time to just make Lloyd swords all the time. 

As if reading his thoughts, Kai scuffs his hair. “Stop that. I like making swords.” The small edge of a smile pulls at his lips. “I worked pretty hard to become a blacksmith. So it feels kinda good, that someone appreciates the work for once.”

He shakes his head. “Anyways! Meet your new battle buddy. This is called a dao sword.” 

Lloyd stares at the curved, silvery blade Kai’s handed to him. It’s thicker than the katana he’s used to, the blade growing broader at the end before tapering off. 

“Historically, it’s better suited for quick slashing, but it’s fairly versatile,” Kai continues. 

Lloyd carefully lifts the sword, his eyes widening just a bit. 

“And heavier,” Kai grins. “Which means it’s gonna be at least a little more difficult for you to shatter.”

His hands fit easily around the handle — there’s plenty of room for a two-handed grip, and enough balance if he wants to switch back to one. 

“The guard’s a bit better with protection, and it’s got this tassel here you can wrap around your hand — yeah, like that — to help keep it steady. Or just look fancy.”

Stepping back, Lloyd adjust his hold. Normally he’d do something silly, or needlessly complicated, just to make Kai roll his eyes, but something about this one feels heavier — he doesn’t want to mess it up. He takes a single, experimental swing instead. 

“Oh,” Lloyd blinks. “It’s sharp.”

“I’d hope so. What do you think I am, a half-rate blacksmith — don’t answer that, by the way.”

Lloyd simply grins, taking a few more swings. It is heavier than the katana he’s used to, broader and chunkier — but it feels at home in his hands. 

“It’s incredible,” Lloyd says, turning back to Kai. “Thank you.”

Kai colors, just a bit. “You don’t have to lie.”

“I’m not lying! I love it. It’s perfect.”

“Well, as long as it holds up, that’s good enough for me,” Kai says, rubbing the back of his head. “Wanna give it a test drive?”

“Yeah,” Lloyd says. “I bet I can do even more flips with it.”

“And stab yourself in the leg in the process, but sure, go ahead, squander my gift—”

______

Lloyd’s careful, more so than ever, with the dao sword. When they all split across Ninjago, Lloyd clings to the piece of his family and tries to remember Kai’s instructions, making sure his hands are firmly wrapped and his right ankle always stays low. 

So when it breaks on the river with Harumi, Lloyd wants to cry.

He wants to cry for a lot of other reasons, but it still hurts — another thing he cares for that Harumi’s managed to break so easily. It hurts that they all work so hard, time and again, and it always ends up shattering around them anyways. Hurts that they pour themselves out for this city again and again and it’s still not enough. 

(Hurts that he’s never, ever going to outrun that worthless little kid in the snow.)

He learns, later — he’s got much more to lose to her than just a sword. 

It hurts all the same.

But the sword’s broken and Lloyd’s on a one-way collision course with his father, and it’s much too late to turn back now. 

Lloyd enters Kryptarium Prison with nothing but himself and his power. It was enough the first time, it’s got to be enough this one as well. 

Lloyd was enough the first time — if he isn’t enough now—

If he isn’t—

______

He isn’t.

He throws himself against his father and shatters his heart with every hit. Then the rest of him goes and shatters too, ribs cracking and skin splitting as he’s battered through walls and bruised against stone. His power sparks and screams as it tries to save him, pushed to its limits.

A part of Lloyd finds it funny — he can’t even keep his power together. He wonders if he’ll snap into six pieces and fly everywhere, just like Kai’s poor katanas, with nothing left but broken pieces of Lloyd to melt down for scrap. 

Kai doesn’t find it funny in the slightest. Not the muffled voice Lloyd hears breaking as his family tries to put him back together, not the filthy embrace Lloyd gets when it’s finally over, not the multiple hour-long lectures Lloyd’s forced to sit through even three months out. 

“I don’t care how many swords you break,” he hisses, giving Lloyd a shake that’s forceful enough his teeth almost rattle. “I don’t care if you shatter a thousand. They’re supposed to protect you. You’re supposed to choose yourself. Don’t you ever, ever, put yourself out there to break again.” 

Lloyd must’ve broken a hundred promises by now. He can’t seem to do anything right, truly — not being the Green Ninja, not being a good brother, not being Garmadon’s son.

But, as he nods and makes another promise, he can try. 

For Kai, he’ll try. 

______

Things are different, after his father, but it’s the same way things are always different after their family escapes by the skin of their teeth. Each new threat leaves another lingering wound, but Lloyd likes to think it stitches them closer in the aftermath. 

With everyone’s attention so laser-focused on Lloyd after everything, it makes it easier for him to spot the others’ bad days. 

It only takes him five minutes to track down Kai this time. Lloyd carefully lowers himself cross-legged next to him on the floor, katana laid across his lap.

Kai tenses, as if preparing for another speech. 

Please. Lloyd’s methods are way sneakier — and better — these days. 

“So,” he starts, as he dips the edge of a rag in Kai’s choji oil. “I was patrolling today, and I saw like, a demon cat, I think? I mean, it was definitely a cat. It looked kind of like the one Zane used to feed when we lived at the apartment, all stripey and stuff. I was gonna try and pet it, ‘cause patrol was pretty boring and what was I supposed to do, ignore it? So I did the whole pspsps thing, and it was not a fan — and I swear, it hissed at me, and it looked just like my dad. When he's all Oni, y’know? Which is rude, cats are supposed to be comforting, not traumatic—”

Lloyd’s rambling grows more and more nonsensical as he goes, jumping from topic to topic as he works on the katana. He can feel the tension seeping out of Kai where he sits beside him though, bit by bit until Kai’s finally leaning against his shoulder. 

“Missed a spot,” he speaks up suddenly, his voice only cracking a little.

Lloyd squints at the sword. “Where?”

Kai taps a bandaged finger on the blade. 

“Oh,” Lloyd blinks. He adjusts the rag. “Thanks.”

 Kai speaks up again, after a minute, “You’ve gotten good at this.”

“Had a good teacher.”

There’s a faint snort. “Debatable.”

“With who?” Lloyd says. “I’m your number one sword student. And your only one. I win automatically.” 

“The others use swords. Sometimes.”

“Yeah, and Jay still whines every time the super special weapon-of-the-week to defeat evil ends up being a sword again,” Lloyd says. 

“S’cause Jay’s better with nunchucks. Totally different concept.”

“But he isn’t better with a sword.”

“Definitely not better than me.”

“I’m your best student,” Lloyd says. “Jay can’t be better than me. That’s illegal.”

“If the Green Ninja declares it,” Kai says, but there’s an edge of laughter in his voice, a thawing out of the numb blankness he’d worn earlier. He slumps, just a bit heavier, against Lloyd.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really,” Kai mutters. 

“‘Kay.” Lloyd turns the sword over, squinting at his reflection. “Sometime, though?”

“If you can manage not to break anymore katanas before I finish your new weapon, maybe.”

“You guys won’t even let me out to fight,” Lloyd grouses. “It’s not as if I’ll have a chance to.”

Kai makes a huffing noise. “Maybe if you’d sit still long enough to heal—”

“I don’t wanna hear it from you,” Lloyd scowls. “Look, I know I messed up with — with her, but—”

“That’s not what this is about,” Kai says sharply. “It’s about you being okay.”

Normally, Lloyd would protest. Should protest — he doesn’t deserve to get off that easy. But Kai’s gone tense again, so he lets it go, just this once. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs anyways. 

“No, don’t. You’re doin’ good,” Kai sighs, and he sounds so very, very tired. “Just…take it easy, okay? ’Til I get your sword done.” 

“Sorry for breaking the old one, too,” Lloyd says. “I really did try to keep it safe.” 

“I’ll make you a hundred swords,” Kai says. “A thousand, if I have to. Just keep using them, okay? Swords are your weapon.”

Like Lloyd’s ever going to forget that, at this point.

______

It’s only after the Oni are more a memory and Lloyd has been subjected to an unholy amount of recuperation that Kai allows him to even see the sword he’s made this time.

It’s well worth the wait, though.

“It’s gold,” Lloyd murmurs, reverently holding the new dao blade. 

“Yeah, well,” Kai shrugs, a little bashful. “I thought you should match us, at some point.”

Lloyd has to try very hard not to pretend that doesn’t make a small, lingering part of him want to tear up.

“Is this jade?” he says instead, carefully tracing a finger over the single panel of green that decorates the blade. 

“Technically it’s jadeite, and no, you don’t wanna know where I got it,” Kai corrects. 

“I don’t care,” Lloyd says. “I love it. It’s the best sword ever. I — thank you, so much—”

“Okay, okay, that’s enough,” Kai says quickly. “You’re welcome, or whatever, just — you’ll use it, right?”

Lloyd gives him a long, flat look. 

“You’ll have to pry it from my cold, dead hands.”

“You are not allowed to joke about that—!”

______

The golden dao sword never breaks. 

It takes Lloyd several fights with it to stop holding back, but once he realizes this sword won’t shatter to pieces in his hands, he lets himself get creative.

And the sword holds, again and again. 

Against Aspheera’s burning soldiers, against the bitter chill of the Never Realm, against the Skull Sorcerer’s monsters in the depths of Shintaro, against the heavy weight of water and cold crystal — the dao blade holds.

Kai tells him it’s because Lloyd’s finally learned how to stop using his weapon as a glorified baseball bat. Lloyd thinks it’s because Kai knows blacksmithing for ninja better than anyone else in the world.

His powers grow, too — along with his options, which he’d really have preferred to just…avoid. 

Real fun that it wasn’t the many years of pent-up anger issues, but crippling traumatic grief, that’s the key to unlocking his shapeshifting abilities. Hilarious. 

It still stings, a bit, that no one ever bothered to tell him he was walking around with the blood of two mythical beings just chilling in his veins, Would’ve been nice to know, maybe, before he got stuck having a whole crisis about it smack in the middle of another world-ending crisis. 

Oni, dragon, Green Ninja. Like he needs another title.

In the end, it doesn’t matter much what he thinks. Everyone moves on and Lloyd is a multi-bred freak of nature, or something. 

His father thinks he should hone his Oni powers. Sensei Wu thinks he should listen to his father but also remember his dragon side. His mother thinks he should read the eight-hundred page historical brick of a book about all known history of the Oni and the dragon. He doesn’t have a clue what his great-grandparents think of him, except that a family reunion would be world-ending levels of terrible. 

Lloyd, who’s grown attached to looking like himself and happens to like being human, keeps reaching for his dao blade first. 

Swordsmanship is something he’s proud of. He’s worked hard for it, through blisters and bruises and blood. It’s something that belongs to him and Kai, something shared and freely given. Something passed onto him, something taught and earned, something treasured.

Lloyd doesn’t have a lot of things like that, so he treasures it all the more himself. 

Treasures the humanity of his family, and how lucky he is to be part of that.

Treasures the things he’s learned from them like family heirlooms he’s never had.

Treasures the fact that they’re there—

Treasures the—

______

The monastery is so quiet, Lloyd’s starting to understand how people lose their minds.

Not really. He hasn’t started talking to himself yet, so that’s a good sign, right? It doesn’t count, if you’re yelling for other people. Doesn’t count if you’re screaming curses at your stupid grandfather who let your whole world split apart and tore away the only people that were yours. 

“It doesn’t count,” he whispers to the sword in his lap. 

Lloyd stares dully at his reflection in the dao sword, marred by the splotchy wear and ugly chipping at the blade’s edges. It’s in miserable shape, worn down and neglected.

A lot like himself, maybe. 

He shudders, drawing in a breath. Sulking won’t sharpen swords. And when Kai gets back — which he will — he’ll be so disappointed that Lloyd’s gone and treated his sword like dirt. 

The smell of choji oil makes his eyes sting, but the familiar sound the rag makes across the blade soothes it. 

He’s glad he took the time to sharpen it up, too, when he visits the city. More than glad when he finds himself atop the train, his missing hood leaving him distinctly uncomfortable as he prepares to fight. 

Lloyd’s hands have warped and twisted, burst in purple and grown claws sharp enough to slice. If he can make them his own again, after that, he can make them hold steady now. 

The handle of the dao blade is worn and familiar, the fraying tassel the same bright green where it brushes the back of his hands, and Kai’s voice yells in his head as loud as ever as he swings it once—

One flip this time, he decides. One flip, one strike.

Swords are his weapon, after all. It’s important for him to remember that.  

And even if he doesn’t—

______

Lloyd’s grown up in a world of weapons, and far faster than he probably should. 

But with every sword swing, every familiar callous carved into his hand, Kai’s there to remind him that his sword is the weapon.

And Lloyd, power or no power, is just Lloyd. 

[eowynstwin]

gravity

previous - neighbors - next

John takes you out to dinner. cw: alcohol, somewhat heavy drinking

It’s a cold and windy morning that, as you hover just a little closer to his warmth, you ask him about decent places to eat nearby.

“Fancy pub food?” he asks in response, and it takes you a moment to process what he’s said. Today he’s in a thick, soft-looking knit sweater, which makes it infinitely difficult not to imagine huddling up against him.

You think he’d let you. You’re not sure how you know this. Maybe it’s the way he positions himself next to you, standing at an angle toward you just slight enough to be casual, but open enough to be purposeful. Maybe it’s the way he looks at you, like he’s trying to warm you up with his eyes alone—he asked you once why you always bundled up to be outside, and you told him you were just sensitive to the cold.

Since then, you’ve often caught him checking on you, surreptitiously. Simple once-overs that you think are searching for evidence of discomfort.

What would he do, you wonder, if he found any? Would he send you inside, as he had the first morning?

Part of you thinks that would be better. It would give you an out, open up a path diverting away from whatever this thing is that hangs in the air between you and John Price, this thing that you pass back and forth between the pages of borrowed books.

It’s a thing that breathes with the both of you into the early morning, and you don’t know how to look at it. You don’t understand its shape. It’s a thing you wish you wanted to walk away from.

“Who doesn’t?” you reply, sipping at the cold dregs in your cup.

“How ‘bout tonight, then?” John says, and you swallow a little too quickly.

“W-what about tonight?”

He smiles at you, as if he’s thrown you off on purpose. “Dinner, on me.”

You blink several times. “You—I—I mean—really?”

He shrugs, easy and casual as you wish you could be. “Could show you what’s best on the menu. And I wouldn’t mind having dinner with someone besides m’self.”

You hesitate, because your gut reaction is to say yes, John, I’d like nothing more, and that is not a reaction you want to satisfy. These past several mornings have been nice—nicer than you could have expected. You’ve stopped interrogating yourself as to why you keep bothering, because each time his smile greets you as you step outside is answer enough. The routine has been easy to settle into, even comforting.

You need to protect that comfort, you know, even from the allure of something more.

John does not press for an answer, seeming content to savor the last few inhales of his cigar. You wonder if he’s guessed at your inner conflict, wonder if the quiet he’s giving you is an intentional moment to sort yourself out.

He never presses for anything, ever.

“I suppose I could meet you after work,” you finally say.

The smile that breaks across his face nearly knocks you off your feet. You’re relieved when he says, “Sounds good to me,” because if he’d said it’s a date you think you might have dissolved on the spot.

John texts you the pub’s address, and it’s close enough to walk to. You arrive that evening, in your usual two coats plus a knitted hat, to find that the place exceeds a set of expectations you didn’t know you had. The patio seating is closed in with a white picket fence and hung with strings of fairy lights, and it flanks a red brick building with a large, friendly lantern hanging over the door.

You might have expected something a little grubbier, if you’d given the place any more thought beyond this is John’s pub and he’s having me for dinner here.

Warm air envelops you as you step inside, and your gaze is drawn as if by a magnet to a table further in—John has already seen you, and beckons you over with a wave.

He’s still in the knit sweater, and his fleece jacket is hanging on the back of the seat across from him. He stands as you approach, rounds the table, and pulls that chair out for you when you join him.

You don’t know why the chivalry makes you falter, makes you want to turn and sprint all the way back home. All you know, as you sit down, is that you can practically feel the aura of his presence behind you as he helps push your chair in, can feel it move as he leaves your side to return to his seat. You feel yourself gravitate into it, leaning a little over the table as if trying to keep it close.

“This place is tidy,” you say earnestly, trying for that morning normalcy, as you begin to shuck your layers.

“It’s alright,” he agrees. He’s smiling gently, the cool blue of his eyes vivid in the contrast of warm lamplight.

“Do you—” and then you can’t help but giggle, because it’s such a cliche question “—do you come here often?”

He grins, huffs that little laugh. “Too often,” he says as he sits back in his chair, putting a hand on his stomach. “It’ll start showing soon, probably.”

You look at the flat of his stomach, the broad paw of his hand. Remember the trim waist of that very first morning. “You know, somehow I doubt that.”

He meets you eyes, laughs again, and it warms you to the bone.

Seeing him like this, at night, is an unknown quantity. The John you know how to interact with exists on his front doorstep, painted in the cool palette of sunrise, cold air, cigar smoke. This tableau, composed upon the table between you, might as well turn him into another man entirely. Who is this John, awash in warm light, nearly twelve hours older than the man you spoke to this morning? Who are you, now, seeing him after work and before the end of the night?

You feel a little untethered. Your feet still itch for the door, for the measured, predictable floorboards of your own home.

Maybe John notices, because he takes a menu from the stack of two at the end of the table and offers it to you with a reassuring lift of his brows. “Hungry?”

That question, at least, has an easy answer. You smile a little. “Starving.”

His advice turns out to be necessary—everything looks good, and you both end up ordering too much food. Over a spread of fresh, hot chips, halloumi kebabs, and katsu chicken served liberally with curry sauce, John also has a bottle of scotch brought to the table.

“No, that’s too much!” you protest as the waitress sets the decanter down with two clean glasses. “John, really.”

He sets to pouring, his expression pleased, though you’re not sure what about. “Humor me, love. I don’t get to share very often.”

He hands you a glass, and lifts his own above the food. You acquiesce, and clink the rims.

“Do I take a shot or a sip?” you ask, bringing the glass up to your mouth.

“A sip,” says John, and his expression is genuinely distressed. “Please, don’t ever suggest shooting scotch again. That hurt to hear.”

You smirk, and take a slow drink. It hits your tongue with the prologue to a burn, rolling across your taste buds as the twinge fades and you close your eyes. The flavor opens like smoke exhaled into still air; you purse your lips a little and swirl it in your mouth; nutmeg, vanilla, and even a little apple expand across your palate. When it hits the back of your tongue, a short floral burst surprises you, and you swallow it down eagerly.

You find John watching you when you open your eyes.

“Where did you learn to drink like that?” he asks, and there is a new tone in his voice that you’ve never heard before.

It’s low. Resonant. Almost—purring. The look in his eyes, too, is different, the pale blue sharper somehow. Focused keenly, and with some unknown, honed intent, on you.

It pins you where you sit. John is looking at you. John is seeing you.

“Doesn’t everyone learn to drink at uni?” you reply, trying for airy and light. It doesn’t work. Your voice trembles, just a bit.

He’s still watching you, and you think he sees that. Recognizes, perhaps, a change in your expression, some telltale sign that he has shaken you. He looks away from you, takes a drink of his own scotch, and when his gaze returns the keen edge of it has softened. You breathe, and realize you hadn’t been.

You seek something comfortable, something you can measure and control. “How is Actium treating you, then?”

He smiles, and it’s a little rueful. “Octavian’s being a cunt.”

As talk of the most recent book he’s borrowed carries you into more comfortable territory, the two of you make your way through dinner, which is every bit as delicious as John had promised. The food is hearty, greasy in a way that isn’t too heavy, and pairs perfectly with John’s scotch, which you indulge in liberally.

When the alcohol has outpaced the food that is meant to offset it, you think back to what he’d said earlier, about not often getting to share.

“So am I the first person you’ve brought here?” you ask. “Or do you take every neighbor out to dinner?”

John lifts one dark brow, leans in with a tilt of his head. “Only the pretty ones.”

You give an unladylike snort and swirl a cut of chicken around in curry sauce. “You’re incorrigible, John, really.”

The smile he gives crinkles the laugh lines around his eyes, and you feel yourself want to melt at the sight. It is unfair how handsome he is, in that warm sweater, in that golden light, haloed softly in the haze of your verging intoxication.

“When will you believe me when I compliment you, hmm?” he asks, low and resonant in the depths of his chest.

You shoot the rest of your scotch in answer, stuff the chicken into your mouth, and proffer the empty glass.

John squints at your heresy, but obediently pours.

“I suppose your line of work isn’t really great for your social life, then,” you comment. “Always coming and going.”

“My calendar’s certainly empty,” John agrees. “Honestly, it’s been a while since I’ve sat down with someone like this. I suppose I’m out of practice.”

“You’re eating with a fork and knife and not your hands.” You grin. “I’d say that’s pretty good already.”

He smiles back. “Would that chase you off?”

You sip your scotch. “Not if you keep pouring.”

“And she complained when the bottle came out. What about you, then?”

“What ‘bout me?”

“How many blokes have you been to dinner with, lately?”

You scoff at that and wash your food down with a sip. “None. As if they’re throwin’ ‘emselves at me.”

John’s expression changes, and it’s slow grin that spreads across his face, a smile you have never seen on him before. It isn’t the sad smile he’s given you at times, melancholy and resigned; nor is it the one he gives when he sees you in the morning, warm and soft and friendly.

No, this one is—energized. Invigorated. As if someone has given him good news he hadn’t been expecting.

“They’ve got to be,” he says, and his tone is humorous. “You must have your pick of the lot. And none of them have struck your fancy?”

You press your hands to your too-warm face. “John, don’t tease me.”

“Seems I’ve got to count myself lucky tonight, then,” he continues, leaning his elbows on the table. “If you’re as choosy as all that.”

You give him a droll look, and swirl your drink around in your glass. “If you must know, I got out of a relationship not long ago.”

John’s brows lift, and you want to smack yourself for letting that little detail escape you. “Is that so?”

You drink. “That is so.”

“What kind of idiot would let you get away?”

“My head is already spinning, and you’re abusing that,” you protest.

“Sorry, love,” he says, clearly not sorry. “But now you’ve got me curious.”

You sit back in your chair, staring at your plate to avoid his gaze. “I’m afraid it’s not all that dramatic. It just…didn’t feel right. I guess he liked me more than I liked him. We would go out, and I would think, ‘I want to leave him and go home.’”

And you still felt guilty about it. You hadn’t liked him that much in the first place, when he’d asked you out—you’d just said yes, because it seemed like the right moment in your life for something like that to happen. When you’d ended it, your extended social network had scratched its collective head, because there truly hadn’t been any good reason.

You just weren’t happy.

“Suppose I didn’t give it enough of a chance,” you say, downing the last of your glass.

“Hey,” John says, soft and gentle. You look up to meet his eyes—the expression on his face is a mixture of sympathy and resolution. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Sure, John.”

“Love.” His brow creases, insistent. “You deserve something you want.”

You press your lips together tightly, and suddenly you’re struck again with that sensation from earlier, that feeling that John’s presence is a tangible aura, something that rolls and settles across your awareness like a physical touch. You realize you’ve been leaning into it again, drawn toward him like a comet into the snag of a planet’s gravity.

“I’m definitely drunk now,” you say, because the only other words that want to come out are an emphatic I want you.

John smiles. He doesn’t press the issue. “Will I be carrying you home, then?”

“Oh, John, really!” You give a scoff, surprised at the sudden humor. “You couldn’t carry me all that way.”

One dark brow lifts.

“No,” you say. “You’ll have to put me down. I’m not light.”

The smile remains.

You hold his gaze, suspicious, and finish the last of your glass. It does not take long to polish off the last of dinner, and when the two of you agree that the last chips have finally gotten too cold to eat, John pushes his seat back and stands.

“Done, then? I’ll settle the tab. Love, put that away.”

You sheepishly lower your half-lifted wallet back into your purse.

Accounts settled, you make it outside the pub, and then you have to lean against a wall as John watches you, amused. The world is swaying, its pendulum arcing near-horizontal at the amplitude of each swing.

“I just need a minute,” you whisper.

John does the worst thing he could possibly do—he gives you his back and kneels down, arms a little open. “Come on.”

“Come on? Come off it, John, really, you’ll drop me!” you exclaim.

He looks over his shoulder at you. “I won’t.”

You don’t know what convinces you to do it. Tomorrow, you’ll blame the many glasses of expensive scotch, but in the moment you know it’s the way the hanging lights limn his silhouette in gold. You know it’s the soft expression on his face that you are already too fond of. You know it’s the quiet confidence in his reassurance, and above all those things it’s the familiar comfort of his kind blue eyes.

“All right, John,” you say.

As you wrap your arms around his shoulders, John scoops your knees up into the bend of his arms, and you can add now the feeling of his strength to your mental registry of his body. He is broad against you, the width of him obliging your thighs to part farther than they have in a long, long time.

It brings a heat to your face that dwarfs the low simmer of your inebriation. When he lifts you, straightens up and hoists you a little on his back, like you weigh almost nothing, you are unable now to shove back and contain what he has inspired since that first morning.

“This feels nice,” you murmur, tucking your chin on his shoulder. The scotch has the reins of your tongue now. There is no stopping the words that come out. “I wondered if it would. This morning.”

John’s reply is low, humming in his throat as he begins the trek home. “This morning?”

You breathe. “You always look warm and soft. You’re so handsome every morning. Even the first. I wanted to touch you back then. I wanted you to hold me.”

He doesn’t say anything. Maybe he’s trying to focus on the walk back and not dropping you in the middle of it. He hoists you a little, cupping his hands beneath your knees, squeezing.

His silence prompts more of your honesty. “I don’t want to go to dinner with anyone else, John. Even if someone did ask. You’re the only one.”

“You’re drunk, love,” John says. You don’t recognize the tone of his voice, why it sounds…pleading.

Your face is very close to his, your chin pillowed in the fleece lining of his collar. You resolve fully to blame what you do next on the scotch, and touch the tips of your fingers to the coarse umber on his cheek.

His thumbs press into the divots beneath your kneecaps. John says your name, low and breathy. It must be the strain of carrying you that shows in his voice.

You lean in. You press your cheek against the bristles of his beard, inhale, take in the ever-present Maduro that saturates his skin. The friction is a million little pinpricks of sensation, and you think in that moment that if his beard doesn’t leave hot, welted scratches on your face, you might fall asleep crying.

“Oh,” you murmur, not recognizing the languorous, almost wanton sound of your own voice. “Feels good, John.”

“That’s,” he huffs, and audibly swallows. “That’s good. We’re—ah—we’re almost there.”

“Okay,” you say, sighing against him, settling fully into the expanse of his back.

You doze, unburdened now by what you’ve admitted. He does not waver once on the walk, makes no complaint of your weight as street lights pass and the night moves slowly by. He is as steady, when he makes it to your front door, as he was when he first picked you up.

“Where’s your key, love?” he asks.

“Oh,” you murmur blearily, “um. Let me down.”

Even after your feet are back on the ground, his steadying hand does not leave you, ballasting your elbow as you dig around in your purse. It seems like an embarrassingly long time before you find your keychain, and when you try to unlock your door you miss the slot twice.

John’s big hand wraps around yours then, engulfing it with long fingers and broad palm, and guides the key steadily into the lock. The slide of the deadbolt is loud in the quiet night. You have to lean against the door, suddenly devoid of the strength to turn the knob as you look up at John’s concerned face.

“Let me help you in, love,” he says, brow creased. “Please. I’m worried you’ll fall and hit your head.”

Your entire body feels like it’s sinking into a glass of champagne, his words caressing you like rising bubbles, little pearls of air tickling your face as they touch you. You openly stare at him, watch his throat work as he swallows again, rest your eyes along the broad tendon that flexes as he tilts his head.

“Sure,” you whisper, too out of breath to speak aloud. “If that’s what you want.”

So John turns the knob, loops your arm around his shoulders, and walks you inside.

It is very hard to focus now, as John sits you down on your couch. There isn’t much you can hold in your mind besides the moment his hands leave you, and you inexplicably want to cry at their loss. You don’t see where he goes, vision going dark and blurry around the edges—you think he might have left until he comes back with one of your glasses, filled with clear, cool water.

He kneels in front of you and proffers it, doesn’t let go of the glass until both your hands are wrapped around it. He watches you as you take a sip.

“Drink all of that, alright?” he says. “You had a lot.”

You hold the glass back out to him. “You did too.”

His brows lift, lips parting. Have you surprised him? He pulls the glass closer with a little tug, puts his lips to the rim and tilts it from the bottom as you hold it. His eyes do not leave yours as he drinks, as he takes only a little, and then he pulls away and gently pushes the glass back toward you. Your gaze falls from his eyes, down to the little droplets of water clinging to his mustache, down again to the steady line of his mouth.

You bring the glass back up and take a deep gulp.

“Good girl,” he says, low and rumbling, and heat floods your body.

You realize then that his other hand is on your knee, the weight of his palm heavy and broad, his thumb rubbing a comforting circle into the edge of the cap. You are washed in the blend of his warm comfort and the sudden, almost violent sear of your own desire.

When the glass is empty, he eases it from your hands and sets it aside on your coffee table. When he turns back to you, your hand comes up, unbidden, to curve itself along the angle of his jaw. Umber bristles are coarse beneath the sweep of your thumb.

“Not soft, is it?” John murmurs, and there is something stormy and intense in his gaze.

You take a deep breath. “Maybe I’m okay with that.”

His hand grips your knee suddenly, vicelike, and you know this is pushing too far. He does not lean in to you, makes no move toward you, but his entire body is a bank of energy that he is holding, holding, holding back. His chest rises and falls rapidly. His eyes pin you to the couch as he works the muscles in his jaw.

“You’re drunk, love,” he says. It is not the pleading assertion he’d given earlier. It is a conclusion—fond, but resigned.

The room has begun to gently spin, with John at its axis. “I’m drunk,” you agree, whispering and fragile.

It breaks whatever has been building since you’d left the pub. John draws back. Nods. Gives you a smile—that smile. The one that had taken hold of you the first time you saw it. Trying, with every scrap of willpower it had, to be happy, to be alright with what little it had. Failing to do so.

Unable to hide how much it wanted.

“You got a spare key?” he asks. “I can lock you in.”

“Key hook,” you say.

His hand drags down from your knee to stroke along your shin, and then he’s rocking back on his heels, standing to his full height. He looks at you for a moment longer.

“Get some sleep,” he says.

When you blink, he’s gone, and the deadbolt is sliding home.

[jqmalikhsgib]

stars

twelve

aaron walks into his office a little later than usual. last night he barely got any sleep. with yn being gone he’s been extremely worried about her and the baby.

it’s not like he’s not use to her being gone days at a time. it’s just now that she’s pregnant it worries him. yn is somewhat like penelope when it comes to the world! she sees the good in people. but being married to aaron has taught her that their is also bad in this world and to be careful with the people who surround you. she’s had to witness that first hand herself to know.

now that she’s pregnant aaron had to worry about her and about the baby! and with what yn had told him last night, he was even more worried than before. yn had told him about an over aggressive paparazzi who nearly knocked her over. he was pissed when he found out.

aaron almost quick to get a plane ticket and fly to her. if she hadn’t begged him not to, he’d be gone already. he called her all night to make sure she was at home safe and sound.

aaron barely got any sleep. that meant coming in later than usual due to his lack of rest. the team noticed bags under their bosses eyes but didn’t say anything about it. aaron hadn’t looked this bad in a while!

when aaron got a call he dreaded hearing he had to leave. but after hearing it’s in arizona he immediately felt better. and finding out he’d be in the same city that his wife is in made him feel so much better.

aaron knew her location and decided to just book hotel room where she’d been staying. the team didn’t question how this time they’d be in a nicer hotel than normal—knowing sometimes aaron booked them a nicer hotel so they’d have a little bit of a mini vacation while working a case—after discussing the case at the roundtable, everyone got their bags and headed to the private jet.

once they got to arizona aaron hands everyone their keys. aaron was lucky he could even book this place considering yn was staying here.

“im sorry sir, their seems to be a mix up. we do not have a room key for you.”

aaron shakes his head. “im here to surprise my wife. she already has a room!”

“oh? and do you know which room?”

aaron shakes his head.

“it’s probably under the name yn fenty.”

the guy furrows his brows. “im sorry sir, but you cannot go to miss fenty room. if this is some plot to get photos or to meet miss fenty, you and your group need to leave.”

“excuse me?!”

“miss fenty doesn’t have time for crazed stalker fans! i wasn’t even suppose to allow you all here but since you’re fbi agents my boss allowed it! im guessing you’re not even that! security!”

“hold on a minute,” aaron pulls out his badge.

“as if that’s real. yeah, escort this man and his friends out! they’re trying to get into miss fentys room.”

the security was about two inches shorter than aaron. he gently pushes him and leads his team towards the door.

“boss?”

“hang on! look, this man isn’t lying. but if it helps im a best selling author, david rossi.”

“never heard of him. out!”

they were soon being pushed out until they heard screams and a few security guards along with yn coming into the hotel room.

“baby!”

“sir!”

“aaron?” yn runs to her husband and hugs him tightly. “aaron, what are you doing here?”

“got a case. thought id surprise you.” aaron smiles.

yn kisses him passionately. “nice surprise, babe. what’s going on though? why are you touching my husband and his team?” yn questioned the security guard.

“you know them miss, fenty?”

“it’s misses hotchner, and yes!”

“i tried to explain to them who i am and they didn’t believe me. guess people still don’t know you’re married.” aaron smirks.

“im so sorry miss fenty. i just assumed they were crazed fans.”

“again, misses hotchner! and please, next time call me babe. i could have straightened this all out. come on.” yn grabs her husbands hand.

the rest of the team head to their own rooms while yn and aaron head to the top floor.

when they got to their room, aaron smiles at how big it is. yn really lived a luxurious life!

“damn, this whole room couldn’t even fit into our house.”

yn rolls her eyes.

“well mister money bags, i told you we could always get a bigger house ourselves. but you insisted on a modern home.”

aaron wraps his arms around her. “we just need a house big enough for us and our children. i don’t want us flaunting around our money, baby.”

aaron and yn are both pretty wealthy. aaron makes quite a lot of money being the unit chief. but he didn’t like spreading that information or showing off how much money he has! aaron also has money saved from his father—who was a very successful lawyer himself—it’s one of the reasons why his brother was able to switch careers any chance he got. their father left them a shit ton of money.

when yn and aaron moved in together, yn wanted to live somewhere a little more gated and private. aaron just wanted something modern and classic. they decided to compromise and found a place that was a little bit luxurious and modern all in one. not too big but not small either.

“i know! im just messin’ i love our home. missed being in bed beside you.” yn sighs. she rest her head against her husbands chest.

“i miss you too, baby. last night you had me worried sick about you!”

yn lifts up her head and looks at her husband with a pout. “im sorry.”

aaron kisses the top of her head. “you, jack, and peanut are my world. i don’t know what id do without the three of you.”

“i didn’t mean to worry you aar. i just didn’t want you reading about it on some social media platform first. they’ll probably make it out to be much worse than it truly was.”

“i want that guys name, yn! he shouldn’t have put his hands on you in anyway!”

“aar, it’s fine. im ok!”

aaron shakes his head. “how many more press tours do you have, babe?”

“just two more. and the last one’s back home!”

aaron hums. “good! need my beautiful wife home with me. miss waking up to you.”

“that all you miss?” yn smirks.

“why?”

“cause i can feel you pushing against me, babe.”

aaron smirks. “can’t blame a man for loving his wife. his sexy, beautiful, gorgeous, wife. plus that instagram post with the cakes wasn’t fair! i felt so bad i couldn’t destroy my pretty little angel.” aaron whispers in her ear.

yn whines.

“aaron! are you gonna tease me? or are you finally gonna get on with it?” yn asked.

aaron smirks. he lifts yn up, careful not to harm her baby bump, and rest her on the bed.

“im gonna give you what you want, and more!”

[jaynemia]

"Your Dream"

Armin Arlert x gen-neutral!reader

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❥┆Angst + fluff I think idk honestly

❥┆WC: 3228

❥┆Notes: This is kinda modern AU and also inspired by "Curtain Call" by Hitomi (An eruri fan thingy ahaha..anyway) Apologies for mistakes and such ++ Slight spoilers

══════

“And that’s my dream!” Armin beams as he closes his precious book about the outside world.

“To see the ocean?”

He excitedly nods his head, “me, Eren, and Mikasa are gonna do it. And, well- I thought that.. maybe you’d wanna join too?

You scoff at his invitation and wave your hand dismissively. “That’s impossible in these walls. Plus, it’s a boring idea. The only time we’d be able to see the ocean is if we're about to die as soldiers.”

The blonde boy sighs and looks down, clearly hurt by your indifference. “Oh. I dunno.. I just want you there with me when I do. I won’t give up.”

Regrettably, he didn’t give up. You wish he had.

Your eyes soften upon seeing the sadness in his expression. “I mean, who knows? Maybe we can.”

══════

“Armin-!”

You come crashing down from a sudden gust of steam during a deadly battle with the Colossal Titan. Just before you could figure out where you landed, your eyes shot open from an aching pain. You wince, look down, and get overcome with a wave of despair when you see a large metal rod piercing your flesh. You try to move, but you’re bound to the rubble that sits under you.

“Hel-”

Your pleas are left unheard as the only sound you can produce are coughs of blood and labored breaths. The impact of your fall caused severe damage to your ribs and lungs, leading to internal bleeding. It hurt to even think, but thinking was all you could do.

“Armin was with me when I crashed, did he fall too? He’s here somewhere..!”

Regardless of the blood staining your clothes and running down your mouth, you had more important priorities.

“I need to find him. He’s here, he’s not dead. I’ll save him.”

But you couldn’t.

The only thing you could do was lay there helplessly and feel your life draining away. The sky blurred, then cleared when you forced yourself to wake up, and then blurred again. An endless cycle of pain tormented you for what seemed like hours. No one was around to save you.

As the sun begins to hide behind the buildings in front of you, you hear a muffled, yet familiar voice. You could barely make it out, but you assumed a conversation was being held near you. There was a shriek of anguish from a woman that echoed through your ears, followed by another woman talking.

“Mikasa-! You — to know ———!”

“Mikasa? Mikasa was near?” You thought, but whoever was near, their words were fading in and out of your ears.

“— Armin could do that, too..!”

Your eyes weakly flutter open and you begin to cry even more than you already had. Armin was alive? You smiled weakly and got overcome with hope that maybe his injuries weren’t as bad as yours. Maybe he wasn’t injured at all!

“But — doesn’t have Erwin’s experience ————”

Erwin?

Your hopes begin to diminish when you hear Mikasa plead with them to save Armin. It sounded like they were either going to choose to save the Commander, Erwin, or your best friend. Why not both? What the hell was happening?

No matter how much anyone pleads, whether that was Mikasa, Eren, or even you, everyone knows saving Erwin would be the best choice. Armin had no chance. Your tears continue to fall and mix with the blood on your body. There was no time to grieve, so you forced yourself into acceptance. You were at least glad that you were to die the same day he would have.

“I’m sorry I was so mean,” you thought hopelessly, “I’m sorry I was so angry all the time. I’ll be nicer, I promise. Let’s go see the ocean. I’ve loved you forever, that’s why I never forgot about your dream.”

But you can’t talk, so he never heard.

══════

BEEP BEEP BEEP BE-

Your hand flies to your phone as you sluggishly press the “stop” button and begin to get ready for work. Unfortunately for you, your chosen line of work was not as interesting as you would have hoped as a child. When you settled for being a librarian at a public library, you quickly got comfortable with the satisfying pay, but wished for something a little more engaging. You’re grateful for the well-paying job, nevertheless.

After cooking up some breakfast, you head over to the library. The air was nice when you walked out; the yellow color of the sun seemed to comfort you more than anything else.

Luckily for you, the library was only a walking distance away and you quickly got to work tidying things up and making sure all the computers were ready for use. Without delay, you flip over the “we’re open” sign in front of the door and wait for people to come by.

One by one, people of all ages visit and find solidarity in the peaceful place. Although some annoying people regularly visit now and then, the job was pretty nice. Still, you find yourself wishing that you could at least switch occupations just for one day at least. Most of your friends had much more exhilarating jobs, such as a bartender, a firefighter, a policeman, an anesthesiologist, and a vet.

“Me? As a policeman?”

You begin to daydream of all the exciting missions you’d be assigned to if you had these kinds of careers. For a firefighter, you’d have to save people. As a police officer, you could hunt bad people down. As you continue to think, another idea slips into your mind, “what about a soldier?” Weirdly, you shiver a little and shake your head. “Who’d willingly wanna be a soldier?”

“Uhm- excuse me..” You hear a timid voice call out; it was so quiet but loud enough to snap you back into reality.

“Oh! Sorry, did you need somethin-”

Your eyebrows raise a bit at the sight of the young man in front of you. He was a pale, nice-looking blonde boy who looked not too far from your age. On top of that, his face looked extremely horrified. It confused you, to say the least. As he hands you his library card, you notice his hand shaking.

“Sir? Are you okay?” You suddenly ask, making him jolt slightly and almost drop the books in his hand. Soon after, his horrified expression slowly dropped into a slightly sad one.

“I’m sorry,” he chuckles, “I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

You nod in understanding, giving him a friendly smile as you scan his card. “Armin Arlert,” it said. What a pretty name.

As you look back up and hand him his card, he stares into your eyes as if he was expecting his card to be denied like he was paying for groceries. There was a strange glimmer of a random hope behind his gaze, but when you simply handed it back, he quickly looked down and shoved it back in his wallet.

“I’ve never seen you before. Is this your first time visiting?” You ask, trying to make small talk with the nervous man.

He sighs, “yeah, this is my first time. I needed some new copies of this history book since the school I worked at ran out.”

You raise an eyebrow, “you’re a teacher?”

Armin, you assumed his name was, nodded and returned a smile. “Yes! Uh, Shiganshina High School. Have you heard of it?”

You conveniently have been quite familiar with it as it’s fairly close to your house. “Yeah, it’s not that far from where I live. That’s cool, you being a teacher and all, Mr. Arlert.”

“Ahahaha! Ahaah- ah..” He seemingly switches back to his anxious state and laughs a bit loudly. “Please, just call me Armin.”

After nodding slowly, you respond with a softer tone. “Alright, Armin.”

Armin closes his eyes and sighs once more. “Okay, well, I-I should head back. Sorry for taking up your time.”

“Oh no, that’s alright. You didn’t at all.” You respond, trying to reassure him as best you can. After he looks at you one last time, you watch him walk out the door as a weird sense of loneliness overtakes you. What an interesting guy.

══════

Day after day, your usual routine quickly got interrupted by the same stranger you met that very day. Armin came in at the same time and constantly checked out and returned books not even a day after borrowing them. He claimed they were for students since their school’s library was being “renovated,” but its renovation had been ongoing for two months now.

“Morning,” he greets you while walking in with one book and hands it to you as usual. His nervousness seemed to fade slowly day by day, hinted by his more confident, albeit still quiet tone.

“G’morning to you.” You smile and take his book. When you look down, you smile again at his choice of reading. It was a large book about geography, not just maps, but the history that lies within the lats and longs of the pages.

“Do you, I mean, do the kids really like this stuff?”

Upon hearing your first words, he clears his throat and nods. “Well, yes, they’re very interested in.. human geography.”

“I’m sure,” you say in between a snicker.

Armin chuckles softly as he grabs a random book off your counter, that being just a magazine, and hands it to you. When you take the magazine, he fiddles with his fingers and looks down. Naturally, you could easily notice that he wanted to ask something, or at the very least, talk. So you talk first.

“Something on your mind? I can read you like a book now. Pun intended.”

He immediately shakes his head and rubs the back of his neck. “No, well.. yes.”

After letting a shaky sigh slip through his lips, he begins, “I was wondering if- ah- you’d wanna.. go to my house for some coffee?”

Your brows raise at his sudden invitation. He was pretty cute after all, but you’ve only known this guy for two months.

Hesitantly, you give him a soft smile and decline. “Sorry, I’d like to, but I don’t go to anyone's house on first dates. You understand, right?”

Armin’s face flushes a bit and he waves his hands defensively. “D-Date? No, I mean- yes, I understand.”

You shrug, “maybe a coffee shop?”

His face falls into a more disappointed one. “I need somewhere that’s secluded. Well, I’m not gonna do anything,” he chuckles nervously, “look, I just need to talk to you. It’s been on my mind since the day we met.”

Suddenly, your interest peaks. There was something about this man’s urgency that made you trust him. Maybe you were crazy.

Soon, you think of another suggestion. “How about the school you work at? There are probably some empty classrooms there, right? Or maybe we can use yours when the kids are on break?”

Armin’s face lights up and he nods excitedly. “Yes! That’s perfect! Today, then?”

“Today?”

You think for a moment, then decide to just call and ask one of your coworkers to take your shift. His enthusiasm was rubbing off on you.

“Fine, let’s go.”

══════

As you step out of his car and into the building, you look around and laugh a little at the commotion of the high school students.

“Shiganshina, Shiganshina, where have I heard that before?” You mutter while walking beside Armin who’s leading you to his classroom. He noticeably clenches his fist upon hearing your words and opens a door. As you enter, you stare in awe at how cozy it looks. The interior is full of soft string lights and funny posters with motivational text on them. Definitely fits his aesthetic.

“So, uh..” He pulls a chair beside his desk and motions you over. You take a seat and watch him sit in his chair, incredibly nervous as he looks down. “I don’t know how to word this, I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” you say soothingly, “take your time.”

“Basically… I used to know you. Like, in another universe, I think?”

You tilt your head, completely confused. The air around you seemed to grow dense. “What..?”

“I’m not crazy, please let me explain.”

Armin begins to explain to you in detail what this previous life was like. He recites every small memory he held on to that you both shared like when you protected him from bullies and shared your food with him. He also told you the bad memories he had, like watching all his friends die in battle, and how you both were soldiers who served and protected the people from “titans.” He listed a bunch of names, claiming them to be your friends too, like “Mikasa, Eren, Sasha, Connie,” none of whom you’ve ever heard of. By the end of his rant, he seemed to be tearing up after hesitating for a bit.

“And then.. we fought the Colossal Titan. I don’t remember how it happened, but you..” He suddenly leans forward a bit and holds his mouth like he was about to throw up.

“Jesus!” You hold his shoulders tight as you begin to rub them in hopes of calming him down. “It’s alright…”

Armin’s soft sniffles echo through your ears and you furrow your eyebrows. “And then..!” He cries out, “we found you..! Dead on the ground, impaled, and dirtied with your own blood!”

You felt yourself getting colder as he told you this “memory;” this sight he had to bear witness to. When you look down at your palms, you imagine what they would look like with blood soaked in each crevice of your skin. You cringe.

Even though you were skeptical this whole time, that feeling slowly began to fade as he shared with you one of the most traumatic experiences he’s had. It felt like you’ve dreamt about it before, or like it was deja vu.

“How..” you speak up as quietly as possible, “how do you know that it was me? What if I just look like the person you’ve- uh, met before?”

Armin looks up at you with tears staining his eyes. He speaks in between sobs and grabs your shoulders. “I can’t forget your face! How could I? After that, I died a natural death, waiting every second for you, even though you died so many years before me. For so many years I wished it were me. That’s something I could never forget.”

You slowly shake your head. “I don’t understand..”

He shakes you a bit and the desperation in his tone makes your blood run cold.

“You feel it too, don’t you?! I’ve seen your face when I mention these things! I know you’ve seen me before! You’ve heard of Shiganshina before, right?! That’s where I was born! That’s where you were born, too!”

Your face softens and you hug him while he continues to choke on his tears. “It’s okay now, shh. I remember.”

He seemed to have calmed down by your comfort, but your words were just a lie. You tried and tried to think, but guilt overwhelmed you when you simply couldn’t recall anything he was talking about. However, he just seemed too emotional to be lying and too adamant about this to be insane.

You pull away and give him a bittersweet smile. “Crazy ‘first date’ huh? A classroom wasn’t really somewhere I’ve dreamed of going to, but it’s alright.”

Armin giggles at your lighthearted joke and nods while wiping his tears. “I-I don’t think it’s that bad, but yeah, I’d have picked something different.”

“Oh? Where would you go for a first date then?”

He grins eagerly and sits up. “The beach!”

You raise an eyebrow at his words and scoff. “The beach? What a boring idea.”

Boring?

A sudden cold chill ran down your spine as you slowly started feeling your head ache. “That was mean, why’d I say that?” You thought.

When you look up, you're met with Armin’s hopeful eyes. “Yeah, you said that before, too. Something like it anyway.”

After nodding your head and rubbing your temples, you begin to think rapidly. “The beach, the beach,” you thought over and over again. It never posed any significance to you, but something weird overcame you as you subconsciously rubbed your side.

“You know what,” you say as you click your tongue, “I need to get home anyway, ya’know, to run some errands.”

Armin checks his watch and gets up to lead you to the door. “Ah, my class is starting in a few minutes anyway, good timing!”

After you wave goodbye, he pulls you into an unexpected embrace. You feel your cheeks heat up as you pat his back and return the hug. “Goodbye, Armin.”

“Goodbye.”

As you walk out and head home for the day, you force yourself to shake off that strange feeling welling up in your body and mind. There was no use in dwelling on it and trying to make sense of this entire situation. Plus, Armin’s recollections just sounded so bizarre. At the end of the day, he was most likely just a crazy man who lost someone who looked like you and didn’t know how to grieve. That’s probably it.

When you finally find yourself comfortable enough to sleep, you let your mind drift as your limbs slowly relax.

══════

“Why are you always so mean?”

You look up and see your best friend pouting in the seat in front of you while you both eat inside the dining quarters. As you take another bite of the small loaf of bread in your hand, you wave dismissively at him.

“I’m not, Armin. I’m just honest.” You shrug.

Armin sighs and shakes his head, “Eren says he wants to go, too. Why can’t you be nice like him?”

You put a hand over your chest, feigning offense. “Me? Not nice? Come on, all I said was that silly dream of yours was boring. And Eren can suck it.”

He grumbles and looks down, playing with the soup in his bowl. “You’re never gonna change that opinion, huh?”

After pondering for a moment and jokingly putting your finger to your chin, you answer bluntly. “Nope!”

Armin glances up at you and his lip quivers slightly. Soon after a few seconds of awkward silence, he speaks up again; this time in a much more quiet tone.

“I know.”

══════

There was a sudden sensation that you couldn't seem to grasp or explain. All you could see was a white flash, and when you opened your eyes, you were met with your dark room in the middle of the night. You gasp after realizing you hadn’t been breathing the entire time following your abrupt awakening, and you just clasp your shirt.

A dream? What kind of dream was that?

Thoughts and possible solutions spread through your mind like wildfire. The soup, the bread, the table, your clothes.. what did it mean? Where did you get all these seemingly specific thoughts? You thought long and hard, trying to figure out what kind of TV show or video you watched to dream about something like this, but to no avail, nothing came close to whatever it was you dreamt about.

When you begin to remember the face of the boy you saw in that dream, you slowly hold your hand up to your mouth.

“Oh, shit.”

══════

❥┆End notes: hey so funny thing this is actually NOT finished and idk if im gonna finish it 😎😎

[steddieas-shegoes]

this place is such great motivation for anyone trying to move the fuck away from hibernation

chapter 2: how have you been? are you bored yet? also on AO3 Chapter 1 Rated E for future chapters

🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰

“It’s totally fine. I am not panicking. I am cooking spaghetti just like I do every Saturday. Right Mia?” Eddie looked over at Mia sitting on her playmat.

Wayne had made it from an old blanket and some thrifted baby toys to save some money and she loved it. She could sit on it for hours, though Eddie was pretty sure that would only be until she actually did figure out how to crawl.

Mia ignored him, too busy trying to make her plastic keys fit into her box of shapes, her brows furrowed in the most adorable way as she twisted them around.

“It’s just a regular night,” he said to himself as he looked down at his Metallica shirt that had a hole in the shoulder and his sweatpants with a suspicious stain that could be baby food or puke. “I should change.”

Just as he considered scooping Mia up to go change, the front door opened and Steve walked in.

He looked amazing.

He always did.

Eddie hated it.

“Um, sorry. I was just going to change,” Eddie said from behind the counter, doing his best to hide whatever the hell that stain was on his pants. Maybe it was actually beer?

Steve looked him over, coming closer with his hands behind his back.

“Why? You look comfy. It’s your house. You worked all day,” Steve sounded genuinely confused as to why Eddie would want to change out of these clothes.

“I mean. You just. You’re-“ Eddie sighed. “You just look a lot nicer than I do is all. And I invited you here so I should at least look like a person.”

Steve stopped next to Mia’s playmat, smirking at Eddie before sinking down to his knees.

“Mama!” Mia exclaimed when she looked up from her toys, clapping her hands and then raising her arms like she wanted to be picked up.

“Hi princess,” Steve said, fondness seeping through his voice as he reached over with one hand to boop her nose. “I have a present for you.”

Steve looked over at Eddie, suddenly realizing he probably should have asked for permission first.

Eddie just shrugged, never one to stop someone from giving Mia a gift. Anyone who cared enough about her to get her something was fine in his book.

He ignored the thought that it was different with Steve, didn’t let himself think about how much he wished Steve would stay.

Steve placed a bag of building blocks made for babies and toddlers in front of her, smiling when her eyes went wide and she started making loud noises like she was trying to speak.

“These are blocks, Mia. You can build houses and castles and anything your imagination can come up with!” Steve started taking some of the blocks out of the bag, showing her how they went together and pulled apart. She didn’t have quite coordination for taking them apart yet, but it was still a really thoughtful gift.

“You didn’t have to get her anything,” Eddie said, trying and failing to hide his fond smile at the way Mia was banging two of the blocks together.

“I know. I wanted to.”

Steve said it so simply, like this was the thing that made him happiest.

“Mama!” Mia yelled, waving the blocks in her hands around, probably trying to ask Steve to play with her without knowing how to actually ask.

He got it, though.

Eddie fell a little bit more.

“Need any help, Eds?” Steve asked from the floor, smiling at Mia trying to put two blocks together.

“Uh. Nope. Keeping her entertained is probably a bigger help than anything else,” he admitted.

Often, if he was alone and had to do something that would take more than 5 minutes, he’d have to put her in her high chair or her bounce seat so that he knew she wouldn’t get into anything.

Wayne had spent almost an entire Saturday last month baby-proofing the entire trailer to the point where Eddie couldn’t even get into some of the cabinets. But that didn’t mean he felt comfortable leaving her on the floor with his back turned, even if they were in the same room.

He was a tiny bit overprotective.

“That’s easy enough,” Steve said as he pulled apart two blocks so she could put them together again. “But seriously, don’t worry about changing. You look good.”

Eddie would have assumed he was teasing if he didn’t sound so damn earnest.

He fought the insistent urge to at least put on some jeans and turned back to where he was prepping the sauce.

He listened to Steve talking to Mia, listened to Mia call him Mama and laugh, listened to what it would sound like if he could keep Steve around.

Jesus, Eddie. This is bad even for you.

He sighed a bit louder than he meant to and startled when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“You okay?” Steve asked him quietly.

“Yeah. Do I seem not okay?” Eddie was focusing on the sauce simmering in the pan in front of him and pasta just starting to boil in the pot next to it.

He was not going to look at Steve.

“You seem like you’re uncomfortable with me being here. I can go if you want.”

Eddie didn’t want that.

He just wanted to be able to look at Steve without his heart breaking all over again and hear him talking and playing with Mia without wishing that Steve was his.

He wasn’t uncomfortable.

Quite the opposite, actually.

He was scared that he was somehow too comfortable.

“I want you here.”

It was honest, painful to admit, but even more painful for him to try to keep contained.

He’d spent the last year holding back feelings, and not just the ones about Steve.

Maybe he should try to let some of them go.

Mia let out a loud squeal, banging the blocks in her hands against the floor, somehow almost completely off of her playmat at this point.

Steve turned to her and smiled, then looked back at Eddie.

“She’s a really happy baby. Seems like you’re doing pretty great,” Steve nudged him, finally managing to get Eddie to look at him.

“Yeah, well, she’s a good baby. Always has been. I got pretty lucky,” Eddie shrugged it off, just like he did when anyone complimented him on his parenting.

“She’s a good baby because she’s loved and has all of her needs met. That’s all you.”

Dammit.

“Yeah.” He shook his head, physically trying to clear out the thoughts rushing through his head. “Um, could you actually do me one favor?”

God, Eddie needed a minute. He needed fresh air. He needed about eight beers, maybe some weed despite the fact he hadn’t smoked at all since Mia was dropped off here.

“Yeah, of course,” Steve replied, oblivious to Eddie’s internal breakdown.

“I just need to run to the bathroom if you could keep an eye on Mia and the food for a minute?”

“I think we can manage, right Mia? You won’t try to run away?” Steve stood in front of her with his hands on his hips.

“Mama! Uh!” Mia raised her hands up in the air and Steve, who was clearly already a pushover for her, bent over and picked her up.

“Already getting everything she wants out of you,” Eddie shook his head, but couldn’t hide the fondness in his tone or on his face.

“Can’t help it. She’s got your big puppy dog eyes.”

Eddie was blushing.

He tried to hide it, but he failed miserably, the heat across his cheeks spreading down to his chest.

“Yeah, well, right now it’s just picking her up. Next it’ll be a car,” Eddie mumbled as he walked out of the kitchen towards the bathroom.

“Your daddy’s silly, isn’t he, Mia?” he could hear Steve say as he walked away.

He closed himself in the bathroom, grabbed a folded towel from under the sink, and screamed into it.

“It’s okay. You’re okay. This is okay,” he whispered into the towel.

“Eds? You okay?” Steve asked outside the door.

“Yep! Be right out!” he yelled back, putting the towel back under the sink quietly.

He heard soft footsteps walking away from the door and took in a deep breath.

“We aren’t gonna let him do this to us. Not now,” he pointed at his reflection in the mirror as he whispered. “He’s more trouble than he’s worth and he’s just gonna leave at the end of this week anyway.”

He sighed.

As if those words would actually stop what was already becoming a major problem.

He flushed and turned on the sink, going through the motions as if he’d actually used the bathroom, keeping up the facade that he was completely fine.

He wasn’t, but he was good at faking it.

He walked out to the kitchen to see Steve stirring the pasta, Mia on his hip babbling away while he rocked from foot to foot as if he were dancing.

The bathroom mirror pep talk was useless; He was in too deep.

“You guys look like you’ve got this handled. Maybe I’ll go take a nap,” Eddie joked.

“Yeah, if you want one, you should,” Steve said over his shoulder, not even taking his attention away from the food cooking in front of him or Mia in his arms.

He looked so natural.

Like he was meant to be here, to be a part of their lives.

“No, I’m good,” Eddie said, clearing his throat as he walked closer to the stove to take over from Steve.

Things seemed a bit easier when he had something to focus on, something for his hands to stay busy. Steve was more focused on entertaining Mia, so he didn’t feel like he needed to try to make any conversation.

He got lost in the background noise of Mia squealing and giggling while Steve played with her on the floor, barely even noticed the phone ringing until Steve called his name.

“Need me to get it?” he asked.

“Sorry, no. I got it.”

Eddie walked over to the phone and picked it up, pretty sure it was Wayne calling to make sure the day went okay while he was on his break.

“Hello?” Eddie answered.

“Hey, Ed. All good today?” Wayne asked.

“Yep. You?”

“Uh huh. Mia okay for you?”

Eddie looked over at where Mia was sitting in Steve’s lap on the floor, banging her blocks against the floor.

“She was a little fussy, but um. Someone helped out.”

Maybe he would get away with being vague. Maybe Wayne would just assume one of the guys was able to calm her down.

“Oh? Who?”

Shit.

“Just an old friend.”

“An old friend.” Wayne sounded like he was expecting a full explanation, but Eddie could not do that with Steve sitting right there.

“You remember Steve?”

“Harrington?” Wayne sounded pissed already and he didn’t even know the half of it.

All Wayne knew about Steve was that he was here one minute, gone the next, and that he’d left Eddie heartbroken in a way he’d never seen before.

“Yeah.”

“I remember how upset you were when he left town without a goodbye. What’s he doin’ here?”

“Mama!” Mia screeched, ending in a giggle.

“Since when does Mia know that word?” Wayne asked, nearly choking on whatever he was eating.

“I-“

“Hey, Eds? I think she needs a change. I can do it if you just tell me where her stuff is,” Steve said from the floor.

“Ed. What are you doing?” Wayne didn’t sound mad, just a bit worried, and rightfully so.

“Can we talk about it tomorrow?” Eddie asked Wayne, desperate for this conversation to be over as soon as possible.

“We will. You’re gonna tell me what the hell is goin’ on and I’m gonna try not to wring that boy’s neck,” Wayne said. “Love you and Mia.”

“Love you too.”

He hung up and turned to Steve, who was holding Mia and looking at Eddie, patiently waiting for directions.

“I can change her. She’s a bit of a wiggle worm so it’s not easy.”

“I think I can handle it,” Steve smirked. “Does the princess have a tower?”

“We share one,” Eddie nodded towards the hall. “End of the hall, last door on the right. Changing table and crib takes up most of the room so you can’t miss it. Diapers and wipes in the top drawer.”

“Aye aye, captain!” Steve saluted and then tried to get Mia to do the same, much to everyone’s amusement.

She waved her hand, seemingly trying to copy Steve, but not quite able to.

It was a cute attempt, and Eddie couldn’t resist leaning in to kiss the top of her head, completely forgetting how close that would put him to Steve’s face.

He froze as he pulled away, letting himself breathe in the scent of Steve’s cologne, a spicy citrus that he was certain had to taste as good as it smells.

Steve was frozen too, watching him with unblinking eyes and parted lips, like he was expecting Eddie to lean in and kiss him.

He pulled away.

He fought every urge he had, and he pulled away.

Steve left the room, thankfully not commenting on anything that just happened.

Eddie tried, he really did. He tried so hard to focus on draining the pasta and mixing in the sauce.

But he could hear Steve making Mia babble and giggle, and his heart flipped in his chest.

He walked down the hall enough to hear everything Steve was saying, even though a part of his brain was telling him not to let himself.

“You’re a lucky girl, Mia. You’ve got the coolest dad. I bet he plays his guitar for you all the time,” Steve said, and Eddie could hear the drawer opening as he spoke. “You like listening to your dad play? I don’t blame you. He’s good, huh? Could be a rockstar.”

And God, did that hurt. It was bittersweet to hear Steve believing in him, especially knowing it was too late.

“Yeah, you think so too? Think he could play with Ozzy?”

Eddie’s heart was going to beat right out of his chest,

“Or maybe Metallica? He saved us with one of their songs. Did you know your daddy’s a hero?” Steve was whispering now, making it harder for him to hear.

“He risked his life so we could all beat the bad guy and get out alive. I don’t think any of us ever really thanked him for that,” Steve continued while Mia babbled on as if she was responding to him. “I don’t think he really agrees with us, though. And I know he’s not really happy with me. But maybe we could go back to being friends. Maybe- well, just maybe.”

Eddie kind of hated that he sounded defeated, like he knew Eddie was keeping an emotional distance for a reason.

Steve had always been perceptive, always got a sense of what the kids needed before they asked, usually could read Robin’s mind depending on her mood. He was good at sensing when Eddie was overstimulated.

But that was all before he left.

The anger started flooding through him again.

He walked back to the kitchen, finished making dinner, and started cutting up the plain pasta he set aside for Mia to eat.

“Fresh and clean princess ready to feast!” Steve said, dramatically holding Mia out in front of him, smiling as she kicked her legs in the air.

Eddie smiled at Mia, but avoided eye contact with Steve.

“Can you put her in her high chair please?” Eddie asked as he plated their food.

Their dining room table was designed for two people, but the high chair had been set up along the corner of the table so Mia could still feel like she was sitting with Eddie and Wayne.

Steve did as he asked, then walked over to the fridge to grab them drinks, acted as if he was right at home.

Eddie was going to die tonight. His heart would crumble into pieces.

He set that thought aside and tried to get through.

He set Mia’s plate down in front of her, smiling when her hands went straight to the noodles and grabbing a fistful to shove into her mouth.

Steve set their plates down on the table wordlessly, possibly picking up on the sudden awkwardness.

They mostly ate in silence, Mia’s noises the only thing keeping the dinner from being completely miserable.

“So-“

“We don’t have to do this, Steve.”

He felt Steve’s eyes on him, but he refused to look back at him.

“Do what?”

Eddie sighed, finally giving in and looking up.

“The whole pretending we’re okay thing. Pretending we’re friends. You made it pretty clear you didn’t want to be when you left. I don’t expect you to try just because you ended up at the place I work earlier. You can just go stay with Dustin and then leave,” Eddie knew he sounded detached, unemotional.

Nothing like himself.

“Eds-“

“Don’t. I really appreciate what you did earlier and tonight, but please don’t come back expecting to just pick up where we left off. You’re leaving again. I have to watch out for me so I can be here for Mia and I know I can’t go through what I did last time,” Eddie added.

Mia was watching him, suddenly quiet.

He didn’t want her to catch onto any negative feelings.

“Mama?” she asked, looking at Steve.

Steve softened slightly, looking over at her with a small smile.

“You need something, pretty girl?” he asked her, his voice sounding unsure.

“Mama!” Mia started waving her hand, fist still full of noodles. “Uh!”

“No, sweetheart, you have to eat first,” Steve said before Eddie could interrupt.

Eddie watched as Steve looked back down at his plate of barely eaten spaghetti.

“I think maybe I should go. I-“ Steve sighed. “I don’t know what I thought would happen. It was really great getting to see you and meet Mia. She’s amazing. You’re a great dad.”

He wasn’t looking up.

Eddie knew he was biting back tears, could hear it in the slight tremble of his voice and see it in the way his cheeks were red and his hands were clenching into fists against his thighs.

“Let me get Mia to bed and then we’ll talk, okay?”

Steve’s head shot up at Eddie’s words, watery eyes full of a hope that Eddie couldn’t quite dash.

“You don’t owe me anything, Eddie. I-“

“No, but you owe me.”

Steve nodded and looked back down at his plate, slowly twirling some spaghetti on his fork.

“Alright, princess. Let’s finish dinner so you can get cleaned up and in bed,” Eddie poked Mia’s cheek, making her giggle and focus back on the pasta in her hand.

She shoved it into her mouth, still learning exactly where her mouth is and how to get her hand there. She was hopeless with her plastic silverware, but that was normal for babies her age.

He couldn’t help laughing when she pulled her hand away, tried to pick up another handful, and the noodles slipped out of her hands.

Steve let out a small laugh too.

Eddie looked over at him, couldn’t help the flutter in his stomach at the fond smile on Steve’s face.

————————————————————————————————

When Mia was done eating, Eddie excused himself to give her a quick bath and get her ready for her bedtime bottle.

Steve started cleaning up their dinner, shrugging Eddie’s argument off about how he didn’t have to do anything.

“You cook, I clean.”

Which is what Eddie always said to him when they would spend hours hanging out, usually ending in Steve cooking them both dinner.

He couldn’t think about it right now, needed to stay levelheaded.

He needed to get Mia to bed, and maybe have a shot of Wayne’s good whiskey so he could say what he needed to say.

“You’re gonna fall asleep easy for me tonight, right? Let me talk to Steve?” Eddie asked as he changed her into her pajamas, smiling at her long blinks and a big yawn.

“Mama.”

“Yeah, sure, Mama,” Eddie agreed.

It wasn’t Mia’s fault that she barely knew enough sounds to make even the most basic words and had somehow latched onto calling Steve the one thing that would hurt Eddie most.

Steve wouldn’t be around after tonight anyways, and she’d forget all about it, all about him.

Maybe they both could.

Mia fell asleep before she’d even finished her bottle, her fingers wrapped around Eddie’s thumb.

He smiled down at her, getting wrapped up in the peacefulness that always existed when she first fell asleep. The quiet of the room was enough to let him forget for a moment that he was about to have a really difficult conversation.

He set her down in her crib gently, keeping his hand on her chest for a moment when she started wiggling like she was waking up. She calmed immediately, sighing as she fully settled into sleep.

“Hey,” Steve whispered from the doorway.

Eddie turned his head and looked at Steve leaning in the doorway, hands crossed over his chest with a soft smile on his face.

“Hey,” he whispered back, pulling his hand away and walking over to the doorway.

Steve dropped his arms as he got closer, standing up straight as his his smile became more hesitant.

“We should talk,” Eddie said, nodding his head toward the living room.

“Yeah,” Steve sounded resigned, like he knew this wouldn’t go well.

Eddie waited for him to walk away, closing the door behind him, but leaving it open a crack to hear if Mia started crying.

He couldn’t sit, the nervous energy bubbling in his stomach and chest to the point that sitting would feel like holding himself back.

He couldn’t do that tonight, not with Steve.

Steve sat on the couch, his leg bouncing as he leaned forward like he was ready to run the moment things got real.

“I feel like I should apologize-“ Steve started.

“Do you even know what you’re apologizing for? Do you know what it was like to be so close to something and then have it ripped away without a reason, an explanation, anything? And I needed you. I needed a friend, I needed you, when Mia showed up. I needed someone who could talk to me like everything was normal, and treat me like everything was normal when everything was not normal. I couldn’t go to the kids, I couldn’t go to the guys, everyone else had left already. I thought you would be here and you weren’t.” Eddie choked on a sob. “I didn’t need you to be anything you weren’t ready for, Steve. I didn’t need you to love me the way I loved you. I didn’t need anything except your friendship. Do you know how fucking terrible it felt to find out you left from Dustin? Dustin, who called me in a panic because he thought you were hurt or worse and I couldn’t even give him an answer.”

“Eds-“

“And then the way Robin covered for you for months before you even talked to the kids? I was hurt about you not wanting to talk to me, but the kids? They practically worship the ground you walk on. The way they asked me if I’d talked to you every time they visited. I don’t think I can ever forgive you for that.”

Eddie took in a deep breath, the tears streaming down his face.

“You can’t crash into my life again, acting like you didn’t rush out of it, and expect an apology to be enough. Especially not when I have Mia. She needs me to be my best and having you coming and going is not going to put me at my best,” Eddie sat on the coffee table, looking away from Steve’s still figure.

“Eddie, I.” Steve touched his knee, grabbing his attention. “I am sorry. I don’t have an excuse and I wouldn’t try to come up with one anyway. I just…I was scared and Robin was the only person who would let me run. She didn’t want me to, but she’s my best friend so she let me. It was stupid and I was stupid, I am stupid.”

None of these words were helping Eddie feel better; In fact, he was feeling worse.

He felt like Steve was being sincere, and he was feeling like he wanted to forgive Steve, and worst of all, he was feeling like he could let Steve in in ways he’d been totally prepared to do before he left.

He couldn’t let himself do that.

He couldn’t let Steve in and get hurt again, couldn’t let himself love Steve and end up with a broken heart.

Not when Mia depended on him.

He had to let Steve go, leave Hawkins again, for good maybe, and hope he found someone so his stupid heart could repair itself quickly.

“I believe you,” Eddie whispered out, not trusting himself to speak louder.

“You do?”

Eddie hated that he sounded hopeful.

“I do.” Eddie looked up at Steve, sad smile in place. “But it doesn’t change things. You left, you’re about to leave again, and I can’t keep my expectations high with you.”

It was a low blow, poor phrasing, and Eddie could sense how much it hurt Steve from the full body flinch.

Steve sat in silence, mouth opening and closing as he searched for a response.

“I think you should go. I’m trying to be a good dad for Mia, and be responsible, and not do something stupid, so you need to go.”

Eddie heard his own voice break at the end, but hoped maybe Steve would leave him.

“Can I please just…” Steve touched his cheek. “Can I kiss you? I wanted to before. I wanted to come here before I left. I just knew it wouldn’t change anything.”

“It won’t change anything now,” Eddie stared at him wide-eyed, half wishing he would kiss him and half wishing he’d walk away.

“It would be a reminder to me. Of what I gave up because I couldn’t face what I could have had.”

Eddie blinked once.

He should say no.

He should.

But he gulps, he leans in, and he presses his lips to Steve’s.

It’s soft, softer than Steve deserves and softer than Eddie knows he can handle dealing with later.

It’s barely anything really, he only considers it a kiss because it’s everything he’d wanted with Steve from the first time he woke up to him in his hospital room after nearly being eaten alive.

It’s also long, surprisingly so for something that’s barely a kiss at all.

Steve clearly doesn’t want it to end, but doesn’t push to deepen the kiss at all.

Eddie knows he’ll have to end it.

He doesn’t want to.

He ends it.

He pulls away slowly, feels a small droplet of spit that isn’t his sticking to his bottom lip, wishes it could stay there forever.

He kept his eyes closed for a moment longer, savored the feeling, the taste, the knowing.

When he opened them, Steve was staring at him, eyes glassy with unshed tears.

“Please go,” he said softly.

Steve let out a small whimper, but nodded and stood up, no longer looking at Eddie.

When he got to the door, he turned.

“I loved you, too. I do, still. And it’s not fair for me to say that, but I just need you to know that I think about what I gave up every day. And after seeing you with Mia today, I know I’m never going to find anything like what I’ve gotten to share just in a few hours with you two.” Steve huffed, clearly trying not to cry. “I don’t think there’s ever gonna be a time when I don’t love you, Eds. I’m sorry I couldn’t show that when you needed it most.”

He turned to leave.

Eddie slid to the floor and let out a sob.

He had at least four hours to cry before Mia would wake up for a bottle, and another two or three after that before Wayne would be home.

Hopefully the tears would dry up by then.

🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰🧰

TAG LIST: @goodolefashionedloverboi @disrespectedgoatman

Chapter 3

[ourloveisforthelovely]

Black Heart Part 4

Regulus Black AU

Request: Will you write a Regulus x Reader fic where Regulus is older than the reader? She comes to help the Order and Regulus falls in love with her. The relationship isn’t easy because of the war and Regulus’ denial that he would be a good boyfriend.

Summary: Admitting that he was in love had never been something that Regulus wanted to do. Now that you were in his life, Regulus didn’t know how to react. Should he love you or push you away just like he had everyone else?

Pairings: Regulus Black x Reader  

Link to Part 3

_____

“Yes, it's what I want. You can help me learn to love properly. Help me learn, and I’ll make you queen of everything I have…”

Over the next few days, Regulus’ words seemed to stay in your head. Those words had been without a doubt the most romantic thing that Regulus had ever said to you.

Everything will be fine…somehow.

You thought as you stirred that night's dinner. Playing housewife…girlfriend…whatever didn’t seem so bad.

“Mistress Y/n, Kreacher can fix dinner. That’s Kreacher’s job.”

You turned to look at the house elf standing in the corner looking totally confused. The night you moved in, you heard Regulus talking to Kreacher about being nice to you. Hearing him say “my girlfriend” and “my baby on the way” made your heart happy. While Regulus told you that he was happy, parts of you still wondered if he was just talking to appease you.

Regulus doesn’t talk to appease anyone.

That was the second thought that you had. In all of the time that you had known Regulus, you knew he never said anything to make anyone happy or preserve good feelings. If something needed to be said and it would hurt the other person’s feelings in some way…Regulus just said it and went on with his day.

He’s the perfect person to have around if you want to know if your ass looks fat in something.

Sirius commented to you a few days ago when you were worrying about how big you were about to get. That comment also earned Sirius a book to the back of the head from Regulus.

Regulus meanwhile, stepped into the house and froze. The sound of soft music and what smelt like nice candles burning caught his attention right away. He hung up his coat and took a few deep breaths.

This is nice.

Regulus thought with a small smile. It was definitely nice coming home to a not-so-empty house. It was even nicer that you were making Grimmauld Place more “homey” and less “haunted house.” In all of the years that Regulus had been on planet Earth nothing had ever made his house feel like home. He was used to walking into screaming, yelling, and Merlin only knew what else his parents were up to. With you…it was totally different. He came home from work to a kiss and food that he didn’t have to cook (or food Kreacher had to cook).

It had been a few weeks since you moved in and Regulus was wondering why he was even concerned about it in the first place…

Because I’m me.

Regulus thought, answering his own question. He was afraid that you would get on his nerves. Regulus never liked living with anyone so how would he get used to a woman who shared every bit of his sacred space? He secretly feared that he would loathe seeing you put your stuff all over his house but he didn’t. You were making Grimmauld Place livable and not so lonely. Regulus was actually enjoying waking up to someone snuggled against him. Having someone who genuinely cared about him and asked about his day was certainly new. It was…nice.

“Master Regulus?”

Regulus turned to Kreacher who stepped into the hallway.

“Yes, Kreacher?”

Regulus asked, softly. He wouldn’t say it but he was thankful that you were so kind to Kreacher. You were treating the old elf more like a family pet and for that, Regulus would forever be grateful.

“Mistress Y/n is cooking again. Kreacher can’t do his job…”

Regulus tilted his head to the side.

“Kreacher just let her be. It’s fine. You don’t have to do everything anymore.”

“But this is most irregular, master. Kreacher isn’t a pet…”

Regulus smirked.

“Kreacher, you don’t have to do everything anymore. All I ask is that you keep an eye on Y/n when I’m gone. How has she been today?”

Kreacher looked thoughtfully at Regulus’ question. Regulus had asked Kreacher to keep an eye on you one night after you had gone to sleep. Kreacher had a feeling that you weren’t in on the “know” on that subject and he kept it to himself. If Regulus asked Kreacher to keep an eye on you then clearly it was important.

“Mistress Y/n appears to be fine. She did get sick this morning. Kreacher suspects it's the baby causing that problem. Kreacher offered to make her tea and she did it herself…why is she so stubborn?”

Regulus couldn’t help laughing about that one. Yes, you were stubborn. You were nearly as stubborn as he was. Regulus sighed at the thought of you being sick…

So it begins…

He thought before turning back to Kreacher.

“She’s used to doing everything on her own, Kreacher. Just overlook it. Get to know her, you’ll like her.”

Kreacher nodded.

“Mistress Y/n is nice. She must be special for you to like her, Master Regulus.”

Regulus glanced toward the kitchen door with a smile

“Yeah, she is. Excuse me.”

Regulus walked past Kreacher and stepped into the kitchen. You stood at the stove quietly humming.

“What are you doing?”

Regulus asked. It was a silly question but it just came out of his mouth. You turned, giving him a small smirk.

“Playing house girlfriend.”

You took extra care not to say the word “wife.” Something about that word clearly freaked Regulus out. Even if being his wife was the end goal…it was best not to mention it now. You were pleased to see how well Regulus had accepted the terms of the new living arrangement.

“I don’t believe this house has ever been used for that.”

Regulus commented before coming over to wrap his arms around you from behind. His eyes fluttered shut as he breathed in the sweet scent of the vanilla perfume that you were wearing.

Merlin, this is nice.

He thought quietly.

“Well, it is now.”

You replied, wanting to say more but decided not to. Regulus kissed the top of your head and moved to sit down at the table.

“What did you do today?”

He asked. You turned, after putting the bread back into the oven.

“I had to work until noon…more kids sticking things in their noses then I went and had lunch with Tonks. Oh, Sirius is coming over for dinner. I think he’s decided to leave Tonks and Remus alone for an evening.”

Regulus rolled his eyes. Sirius would miss no chance to eat your cooking. It was no secret to Regulus that Sirius was over the moon for you in a friendly way. Sirius had made the comment to Regulus that you deserved a medal for getting that stick out of his butt.

I’m glad that you found a woman that I can tolerate. Y/n deserves a medal for getting that stick out of your butt and making you tolerable.

Regulus shook his head at that comment. Sirius had been on him for years about his less-than-stellar track record with keeping a girlfriend. Now that you were here, Sirius didn’t have anything to fuss about so he was just going on and on about what an angel you were and Regulus better not fuck this up.

“Don’t fuck this up.”

That had been Sirius’ comment when he came to see Regulus earlier that afternoon. Regulus had ignored most of what Sirius said until the word love came up.

“I think that you are in love with her and you just can’t admit it.”

Love…Regulus felt nervous at the thought of that word. After not having that word in his vocabulary for 35 years, he was almost afraid to think about it now. Looking up at you, Regulus had to get a grip on the surge of nervousness that went through him. Did he love you? Regulus still wasn’t for sure?

Yes, you love her. Just get over it. She isn’t Walburga and you aren’t Orion.

The soft side of his mind commented. Regulus was well aware that you weren’t anything like his mother but he was still slightly uncomfortable with uttering the phrase “I love you.”

You had come close to saying I love you several times to him but always stopped yourself when Regulus began to squirm.

I’m being a dick.

Regulus’ mind added. He knew that you saw him squirming when you came close to saying I love you. In ways, he was thankful that you hadn’t said it because he didn’t know if he would be able to say it back. In others, he wished that you just said it and ripped the band aid off.

Would it be so bad to be told that he was love? Parts of Regulus really didn’t think so. He had never been told that he was loved before…except by Sirius and that really didn’t count. Regulus knew that he would have to say it eventually. You deserved to know that you meant something to him. Regulus didn’t want you thinking forever that he was only with you because of the baby. You didn’t need to spend your life thinking, “If he hadn’t gotten me pregnant then we wouldn’t be together.” That wouldn’t be fair and even Regulus, with his aversion to love, could agree to that.

“So he’s going to come to haunt us?”

Regulus had to get himself out of his thoughts. You giggled before turning back to the stove.

“It's either that or eat more of those Ramen Noodles that he thinks is a delicacy.”

Regulus shook his head. How Sirius was still standing vertically some days was a wonder to him.

“So, tomorrow is the healer appointment…right?”

Regulus asked, changing the subject. He wanted to get his mind off of his brother. You stirred the contents of the soup before nodding.

“Yes, at 9:30. Are you still coming?”

“I wouldn’t miss it. Why would you think that I wouldn’t come?”

You turned, looking at Regulus carefully. His grey eyes were locked on you in a way that made you nervous. Whether you would admit it or not, he was one of the most intense people that you had ever met.

“I didn’t know if you changed your mind or not…a lot of men don’t go to the first appointments…”

Regulus stood up and walked over to you. He tilted your face to his. You sighed against his mouth as he kissed you softly.

“I’m not one of those stupid guys.”

You were relieved by that comment. Maybe it was silly to worry that Regulus would not want to be involved but you couldn’t help it. You were concerned that he would be scared off once he realized what he was really in for.

“You say that now.”

You whispered. Regulus shook his head.

“I mean it. I don’t care how…this experience is about to be I am not going to be like my father and let you go through this alone.”

The next morning, you sat beside Regulus at the healer’s office. You hadn’t said much since checking in and neither had Regulus. His eyes were focused on the floor in front of him.

“So…what is going to happen exactly?”

He questioned. This had been the third time that Regulus had asked this since yesterday. You smiled and squeezed his hand.

“They’ll probably do an ultrasound with the machine the muggles us and let us hear the heartbeat. If there is anything wrong…they’ll let us know.”

Regulus looked up with wide eyes. He was thankful that you were a healer too but until this lady, the two of you were seeing said all was good…Regulus would be a wreck.

“What could be wrong? Like the kid have more than two legs? With at all being at all to specific, what could happen?”

You took a breath.

“There could be a lot of things…no heartbeat…not being formed correctly…genetic…”

“That’s too specific.”

Regulus replied, ending the conversation. You gently rubbed your thumb over his hand.

“I’m sure it will all be fine. I’ve been taking vitamins and being extra careful.”

Regulus only nodded. He took a few deep breaths before speaking again.

“This healer that we are seeing…is she any good?”

You nodded.

“Dr. West is a very good healer. I’ve worked with her a lot. She’s been doing this for years. I really like her too.”

Regulus nodded muttering “doing this for years” as if to comfort himself. The last thing that he wanted was some novice healer straight out of school to be taking care of you.

“Reggie, it will be fine. I know that you are nervous but…”

“Yes, I’m nervous. I have never been more scared of anything in my life! I wasn’t even scared of Lord Voldemort this bad…and that’s saying something.”

Regulus was relieved when you giggled. After that comparison came out of his mouth, he was afraid that you would be pissed. What kind of man compares his baby on the way to the fucking dark lord…Regulus that’s who.

“It's alright to be scared. I am too. I know exactly what’s going to happen and I’m still scared.”

Regulus turned to you looking more relieved.

“I’m actually glad to hear you say that. I was afraid that I was being a big dumb jerk for being scared of a baby. Y/n, I don’t have any idea what I’m doing here. How are we supposed to know what this kid needs? Will we be damn mind readers? What if this baby starts crying and we can’t make it hush? I am freaking losing my mind…”

You reached over and kissed Regulus on the cheek.

“It will be fine, Regulus. We’ll figure it out. The fact that you are here and worried tells me that you care. If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t be here nor feel any emotions to this.”

Regulus only nodded. He wondered how his own father didn’t care when he and Sirius were born. Regulus knew that Orion didn’t come to any healer appointments nor was he in the hospital when they were born.

He didn’t care. We were only part of the status.

Regulus thought, answering his own question. His panicked thoughts were interrupted when a nurse stepped out. She looked right at Y/n and smiled.

“I knew that I would see you one day. Come on back.”

You gently squeezed, Regulus’ hand before standing and walking back to the room.

Regulus was silent the whole time the nurse did all of the vital information phase of the exam. He was beyond thankful that you so effortlessly handled everything with grace and confidence. Where his confidence was, he wasn’t for sure.

A few moments later an older woman in a white lab coat stepped in. She automatically smiled.

“Hi, Y/n. I see someone finally caught you.”

You chuckled before turning to Regulus.

“This is my boyfriend. He does talk just not right at this moment.”

The older woman turned to look at Regulus and nodded.

Another petrified father…

Dr. West had seen plenty of those over the years. She knew, with confidence, Regulus would start speaking soon.

“He’ll be fine. Let’s have a look at you, sweetie.”

You lay back and kept your eyes on Regulus’ face as he watched Dr. West’s every move. Had the situation not been so serious, you would have made a comment about how pale he was. Squeezing his hand, you hoped to provide him with some comfort.

“This is interesting.”

Dr. West commented. You poked your head up knowing that healers typically didn’t say “This is interesting” if something interesting wasn’t happening. Those were words that could rock someone’s world.

“What is interesting?”

You asked, carefully. Regulus’ eyes were wide with fear. The last thing that he wanted to hear was interesting. He wanted to hear “Mr. Black, your baby is fine. Everything looks normal and we’ll see you next time.” He was not getting that now. Had Regulus not promised himself that he would keep a grip on himself for you, he would probably have had a panic attack by now.

“Is the baby fine?”

You asked. Dr. West helped you sit back up.

“Oh yes.”

You nodded in relief and now self-confidence. The baby was fine. That was what you needed to hear. Getting up off of the table, you grabbed Regulus’ hand and tugged him toward the door. All of your fears were vanishing now that you had the knowledge that your baby was fine. You could do this after all!

“See Reg, everything is fine. We have nothing to worry about.”

Dr. West tossed her exam gloves away before chuckling to herself. She knew that she was about to totally rock your world.

“Your babies are fine.”

Regulus was the first to stop. He turned right around with wide eyes as you joined in.

“Excuse me, did you say babies?”

Regulus choked out. Had he heard the older women correctly? Did she babies…as in plural? He quickly turned to you looking absolutely petrified and in total shock.

“Did she say babies?”

You said, coming back into the room. The word “babies” had finally hit home and now you had to make sure that your hearing was correct. Dr. West grinned.

“I did. You’re having twins.”

_____

@amelie-black @jessyballet @knreidy1 @georgeweasleydumbhoe @justfinishthis @acciosiriusblack @siriuslyceleste @livshifts @stelleduarte @millies0bsimp @coffeeaddictednymph @rogue-nyx88 @readtomeregulus @starsval @daddyslittlevillain @panpride @f4iryluvy @saramaple @missgorldafirst @i-love-scott-mccall @s-we-e-t-t-ea @taylor-will-be-the-death-of-me @buttercup-beeee @padf00ts-l0ver @gugggu6gvai @jag9000 @quinis @goldensunshineshit @haroldpotterson @aurorasnape12 @mentally-unstable-hoe @yousmellllikecaca @lostarc24 @play-morezeppelin @ravenhood2792 @un-lovesherself @ad-astra-again @rubyroscoe1 @spideyxalmighty @lucasfilms77 @melaninnbarbie @criminalyetminimal @mimisparkle12 @teletubiswszpilkach @brokencasbutt67-writer @authoressskr @moldy-old-boot @hankypranky @summer-novak @emiwrites3reads @shaylybaby2032 @knight-of-gleefulness @untoldshortsofthefandoms @deanwherescas @shitfaceddaniel-blog @wontlookaway @sprnaturallover @li0nh34rt @tas898 @mycuddlycorner @marichromatic @dumybitch

[marmie-noir]

What else can you do?

TW: None honestly, cute lil idea I had while I work on some more intense chapters :)

I hummed as I worked, standing behind the bar and wiping at the nicer crystal glasses that had just come in, making sure to get any water spots off them. Dwight, per usual, was perched before me next to Pops. The newest addition was Scruff, tucked away in Pop’s flannel shirt he had opened, the little dog’s head sticking out and showing he was clearly sleeping, the little snores also a great indicator. It was a nice, peaceful day at Bred-2-Buck, something that was rare in general. 

“So Sunny,” Dwight said, elbows on the bar as his dark eyes focused on me. I glanced up at him, setting the glass down. “Pretty good with a gun. What else can you do?” I contemplated a moment, thinking over what I would consider a ‘skill’ versus something I’d rather keep to myself. With a childhood like mine some skills were better left as surprises for later. “Well,” I started, giving a small shrug. “I can hotwire most anything. But I haven’t tried on anything newer than a 2015, so I wouldn’t swear on that. And I’m a pretty good pickpocket.” I said, lifting a hand and wiggling my fingers with a little smile, mischief dancing in my eyes. “Why?”

“How good of a pickpocket?” I gave another shrug, unsure how to quantify it. Dwight thought for a few moments, fingers brushing over his chin, eyes narrowed slightly as he inspected me. “Show me.” “How?” I asked, hands falling to my hips as I gave Dwight a slightly exasperated expression. If he expected me to go into town and come back with a handful of wallets he had another thing coming. Dwight leaned back in his seat with a grin, meaning he was absolutely up to something. “Hey Mitch!” He called, deep voice practically booming through the empty bar. There was the sound of shuffling and Mitch appeared, drying his hands on a dish towel, cigarette hanging from his lips. “Yeah?” He asked, cigarette bobbing, blue eyes glancing up at Dwight. The New Yorker grabbed one of the menus and let it land on the bar, pointing at something. “I think we should talk about the menu for when we redo this place. The ribs are great, but the burgers.” “What is wrong with the burgers?” Mitch asked, heading towards where I was still standing behind the bar in front of Mitch. Dwight looked at me, giving me a little look, and I caught on. I flashed Mitch a smile as he came closer, moving as if I was going to get out from behind the bar and having to pass him to do so. It wasn’t a tight squeeze by any means, the two of us could easily move around the other in the space, but I played up being in his way, the two of us moving in the same direction. “Sorry.” I said sweetly, chin tipped up as I reached out, hands on his hips as I sidestepped him. Mitch quirked a brow at me with an amused expression but didn’t say anything, not feeling when my fingers dipped into his pockets as I brushed past, pulling a well loved leather wallet from within. 

I walked around the bar and moved to sit next to Dwight, my proof in my hands. As Mitch wound up about how the burgers were good and didn’t need to be changed I flipped open the wallet, looking at his license. A younger Mitch was on the ID and I grinned, scanning over his name. “Hold on.” I cut him off mid-burger justification, eyes lifting to meet his. “Your middle name is Wayne?” Mitch’s brows shot up and I lifted the wallet up like it was a book. “Mitchell Wayne Keller? Born- oh my.” I said playfully, snapping the wallet closed as he patted his pockets, looking very confused as to how it ended up in my hands. 

“Where the hell did you find that?” He asked, snatching it out of my hands as I smiled up at him. Really I didn’t care how old he wasn’t, it was like it was a huge age gap either way. But I did like to pick on him when I could, Mitch was normally so collected it was nice to shake the cage a little bit. 

“Your pocket.” Dwight said next to me, Mitch and I both turned to look at the man. 

“Pardon?” “She took it out of your pocket.” Pops added, looking far too amused on his usual perch. Mitch looked between me and the other two men, processing what they said before leaning on the bar in front of me, wallet between his fingers as he focused on me. “You mean to tell me, darlin’, that you just snatched this out of my pocket?” I nodded, looking up at him innocently. He narrowed his eyes slightly before looking back at Dwight and Pops. “You two are bad influences, you leave this girl alone.”

“Mitch!” I laughed, Dwight and Pops both cracking smiles as well as the bar owner huffed, rolling his eyes before winking at me. The warmth in my chest had my cheeks coloring as I laughed, shaking my head and hopping off the stool to go clean the last few tables. 

More Sunny and Mitch here

[madamefluffnstuff]

Now We're Stressed Out

Fandom: Elder Scrolls Online

Pairing: Bastian Hallix x Fem!Vestige

Rating: K

Warning(s): Daily life stresses, Vestige is generally burnt out. Bastian and the Vestige are in an established relationship and thus share a bed.

Words: 1,028

AN: I think I had started this one around the holidays (which makes too much sense tbh), but this week I've been having Not A Good Time (TM), so I finished it up.

(Don't worry, I'm feeling much better now! Just had a rough week is all ^^)

~~~~~~~~~~~

"What's that you're reading?"

Bastian paused his walk to the inn wardrobe and craned his neck to try and see what the Vestige was looking at. The way the desk was placed meant her back was turned to him, and her slightly hunched posture didn't help either.

"A letter," was the blunt reply.

"Who's it from?"

"...Lyranth."

He made a face; the Dremora, while undoubtedly a helpful ally, had a tendency to be rather... demanding. And be very cryptic with those demands. And then tease mercilessly when all was said and done. A trait which grated on his nerves on more than one occasion.

Not that he'd be foolish enough to voice those thoughts out loud, of course.

"She's asking for a "favor"", the Vestige continued, an icy bitterness lacing her voice.

"You do realize there will most likely be strings attached, right?" Bastian responded dryly as he picked out a change of sleep clothes.

The Vestige nodded. "Not to mention this is the fourth letter this week that someone has asked me for help."

"Fourth?"

"Yep..."

He was quiet as that information sunk in: she always had a hard time telling people "no", and turning down those who needed help. That was something they had in common. They wanted to save everyone they could. But they couldn't be everywhere at once.

"I just... ARGH!" she screamed in frustration, slightly starting him as she did. "Why can't things just stay fixed!? Why does everyone need *me* to help them all the time!? Why can't people fix their own problems-" her voice cracked as her eyes welled with angry tears.

She had reached a breaking point. All the recent frustrations and grievances finally boiled over as she lost her temper. She was exhausted, stretched thin, and burnt out. Had her companion realized this sooner, Bastian might have done something to help relieve her burdens. He felt a little guilty for not realizing it sooner.

"It's not your fault," he reminded her gently as he approached her. "You can't expect yourself to solve everyone's problems on your own. They need to help themselves sometimes as well."

"But all of these people... so many ask me for help. Sure, they pay me, but do they ever ask *me* if *I* need help? Of course not..."

Bastian reached over her shoulder and, as gently as he could, removed the letter from her trembling hands. He made his way around the chair, picked up a book sitting on the corner of the desk, and slid the paper under said book. Out of sight, out of mind, as a wise mage once said. Firm but patient hands found their way onto The Vestige's shoulders.

"Come on. Away from the desk."

She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, rubbing her tired eyes. Bastian gave her shoulders a soft squeeze. After a moment, she realized she truly was in no position to argue or protest. The Vestige gave another heavy sigh and stood up, allowing her companion to guide her away from her work station.

"Alright. Lay down for a minute," Bastian moved the bed covers for her. "I'll see if the innkeeper has something to help you relax."

As the sound his footsteps faded into the hallway, the Vestige felt herself to sink into the soft blankets. This was one of the nicer inns they had been to, especially the beds. Very plush and soft. She sat up to rearrange the pillows to her liking before plopping herself back down. The silence was unexpectedly peaceful, lulling her into a calm as her mind began to settle.

It only took a few minutes for Bastian to return from his errand. As the door opened, The Vestige immediately smelled hot tea. She perked up as he approached the bed. He smiled, "You're already looking better."

She smiled back. "Just a bit."

He offered a hand to help her sit up, which she graciously accepted. As the Vestige swung her legs over the edge of the bed, he passed her the cup and sat down next to her. She let out a contented sigh as she inhaled the sweet scent of the beverage. Bastian rested his hand on her leg and gave it a soothing pat. "You alright?"

A nod.

"You sure?"

Another nod.

He watched her carefully as she drank deeply, without blowing on it. A mix of concern and amusement spread across Bastian's face as he waited for a reaction- she just downed a near boiling drink. When she did not react, only stared at the adjacent wall unblinking, he slowly nodded and assumed she'd be fine.

Bastian quietly cleared his throat. "I'm sorry you got to this point," he apologized. "If I had realized sooner I would have helped you."

"You don't need to apologize, love," the Vestige assured him in kind. "I should have asked for help sooner."

They sat in a comfortable quiet while she finished her tea. Once she had, Bastian suggested they go to bed early. Some extra sleep would do them both good.

"No, no, I can't right now. I need to think of how to tell Lyranth-"

"All right, look," Bastian said, putting his hands back on her shoulders and looking her in the eyes. "It's late. You're exhausted. You're stressed to Oblivion. And you need to sleep. Forget about all of that for right now."

"But, I-"

"No "but's". You've done enough." His hands slid soothingly down her arms, wrapping around her own hands in a protective manner. "You need to be more gentle with yourself..."

She was silent for a long moment before sighing and admitting he was right.

It didn't take long for them to get comfortable under the blankets- Bastian even went and found an extra one for her so she could "nest" into the covers. The Vestige nestled herself into his arms as he pulled her close, resting his chin on her head. A heavy exhalation of relief escaped her lips; she was safe. She had a support system. She would figure this out in due time.

"Promise me you'll ask for help next time?" Bastian murmured into her hair.

"I promise."

~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag List: @lithiumrev, @arisenlicious, @alaxon, please let me know if you want to be added because I've never had a tag list before and I don't know who to put in it. ;A;

[acourtofthought]

I'm very sorry to bug you. But can you explain to me the thing of the E/riels and the earplugs theory? 'Cause I don't even remember the earplugs passage in the books. I know is an anti Gwynriel theory and this blog is purely a pro Elucien one theory but I don't have anybody to ask this to.

Love your content💖

Hope your having a nice day!

You're not bugging me at all and I definitely am in the Gwynriel camp even though Elucien is 100% my favorite ship (Elain and Lucien are individually my favorite characters too) 😊

Elain gave Az the earplugs as a Solstice gift in the Az POV Bonus Chapter, claiming she thought he might need them to block out sounds now that he's living with Nesta and Cassian. Which is definitely a gag gift of sorts, she's trying to be funny, just like she was with the headache powder last year.

Anti Gwynriels and E/riels have developed the theory that Elain actually gave the earplugs to Az to prevent him from being exposed to Gwyn's singing which they claim is luring Az away from his "true love, Elain". That she had a vision that Gwyn would attempt to manipulate Az and she's trying to prevent it.

There are so many problems with this theory. First, they are discrediting Elain's character if they really feel she'd handle something she considered a threat in that way. Gag gifts are rarely, if ever used (as evidenced by Az never actually using the headache powder because of the "headaches everyone always gives him"). If she truly feared for Azriel's safety, they don't think she'd sit down and have an actual conversation about it? Instead, she'd risk him being influenced on the hopes that he'd actually use the earplugs at the appropriate times, picking up on her secret message which was disguised as a joke? Something she hadn't even planned on giving to him directly since she was trying to sneak down and leave it with the rest of his presents?

Second, it doesn't change the fact that Azriel did not even hear Gwyn singing until after he left the training ring and in that time, what happened? Gwyn gave Az an out to leaving once he realized someone was in the ring, she wasn't trying to keep him there, yet Az chose to stay. Az also noted how far she's come since Sangravah. He admired her growth and noted her charming irreverence well before she sang. He felt something in him settle, BEFORE SHE EVER SANG. Nicer thoughts than any he's ever had about Elain as individual because it's about Gwyn's character and not just her physical appeal.

And finally, Gwyn is a big part of why Nesta recovered from her depression. Do they care so little about what Gwyn has come to mean to Nesta that they'd be fine with having Gwyn's character turn evil all so E/riel can reign victorious?

Could Gwyn have some sort of Siren Song powers? Sure! But is she purposely using them for evil, to break up true love and force Az to love her instead? I find it incredibly unlikely. I find it more likely that Gwyn would have a Sirens Song power and be worried about what that means, whether that makes her unworthy. Which would make her the perfect match for Az who also has a dark power, tortures people, and feels he's unworthy as a result. I think Gwyn having a dark power is another point in favor of Gwynriel being Mates.

The issue I have with E/riels is that in order for their ship to work, they have to burn bridges left and right in relation to other characters.

"Rhys is evil for trying to keep E/riel apart!" (I mean, it couldn't possibly be because he didn't want Az to use his sister in law for just sex while he can't confirm whether he's over Mor, right?)? "Forbidden Love! Let's hide the relationship from the ones who actually care for us and support us!"

"Gwyn is evil for trying to steal Az away! Let's get rid of her and take away half of Nesta's found family, leaving her to sink back into despair over having misjudged her friend!"

"Lucien is evil for forcing Elain to be with him! Let's have Az defeat him in the Blood Duel and make SJM changing his entire storyline to be Helion's heir pointless because he doesn't deserve a HEA since he's such a bad guy......unless it involves him ending up with a human!"

I think if two characters are meant to be together, it should not involve everyone else becoming the enemy and that's exactly what E/riels do. The "us against them" mentality makes no sense in an SJM book when her major theme is found families.

Thank you so much for your message! ❤️

[star-shard]

Elvis and the Mermaid 

Premise: Elvis unexpectedly goes into little space alone, lucky for him, an imaginary friend is there too.  Note: Age Regression Words: 1.2k

The list had hit the floor. The list of things to do, the list of what came next. Elvis was out here because sand felt better than shag carpet right now. There was too much cigarette smoke lodged into that hotel room. That overheated room, full of other people’s business. As if his own business wasn’t enough. 

He could tell it was in full swing when the alcohol came out. Now, he was no stranger to a drink to celebrate. But it was his mood right now. It’d been pressing him since this flight to Hawaii. Elvis knew a regression might happen but he went to this small get together anyway. And the couple that had occupied his bedroom made it so that he had nowhere to run.

Elvis told himself not to cry. That these were his friends, they didn’t know he was getting overwhelmed. Elvis framed it like he was just going to get some air but he used that excuse to go to the private beach. He kept his head down. He wasn’t the rock star people wanted right now, and the closer he got to getting away, the closer he came to the self that needed to be right now.

The music sounded nicer out here, quieter. When it was just a distant sound from the hotel, rather than right in his ears. This way, he could hear it gently. Elvis had been age regressing not long after he started first touring. He’d never told a soul about it. 

The sunset was hitting, but right now he was more interested in the sand. Right now he was just making a castle with his hands. Since he didn’t have a pale or shovel.  

Well, he hadn’t quite decided if it was a castle or a monster yet. Right now it looked like a lump. Elvis dug his thumb into the base, it made nice mouth. And then, two quick pokes for eyes. Alright. He was starting to calm down now-

The waves.

Elvis looked at his hands. Full of wet sand. This little lump, pulled away. 

He’d been brave all day. Elvis had been brave all /day/. Acting big, acting strong. He didn’t even grab anyone’s hand when the plane touched the runway. 

“No,” he rumbled wetly, his fingers grabbing in the sand like it might bring what he built up back. “Why, why’d you do that!” He smashed his hand down and it splashed back. Practically spit at him.

“I’m sorry.” Elvis sniffled as he sat up, looking up at who might have said that. “I just thought, it was a really nice monster. I wanted to have it.”

He got a little sand on his nose upon wiping it, but Elvis was no coward, “who said that? If it was a crab? Crab’s don’t talk.”

The sun kept getting lower. That meant it could only be one thing. Elvis knew for sure, he’s read himself enough story books, that mermaids came out when the moon went up. In fact, if he squinted, he was sure that he saw a tail slap against the water. “I’m not a crab, but I think I have a cousin that is,” the voice said again.

“You’re a mermaid, aren’t you. Don’t, don’t come out of the water, you can’t breathe air.” He said with a precautionary hand out towards the wave, to make sure the mermaid did not fully show herself. Surely she was smart enough to know a good sand lump, she’d know not to go against the waves.

The mermaid stayed under, but Elvis had a feeling she was smiling, “oh, thank you, little boy. I almost came up. Are you a prince on dry land?” The mermaid lapped with the waters, the way she moved, she looked just like a reflection of moonlight. But if Elvis looked just right, he could see her.

“Sometimes people call me a king, I guess.” Elvis mumbled, noticing a little shell and giving it a flick into the water. He was sure that the mermaid caught it. “Hey toss that back.” But, the waves pulled it away, alright then. She could have that too. This mermaid sure did take a lot.

“Why are you alone, human?” The mermaid asked, it sounded like she might start crying. That couldn’t be right. Mermaids couldn’t cry in the water. “Listen now, I think you’re real nice. The ocean goes up and becomes rain, so, anything you give, I’ll give back… Just wear a helmet.” 

Elvis laughed, So did she. He laid back in the sand and let his legs get wet. He wondered if it’d pull him out. Didn’t mermaid do that? But it didn’t grab him. He just felt the water, and that was all. “I hate caviar, what’s what they had in that room,” Elvis said, though he was sure he did not pronounce caviar right, rubbing at his eyes. They felt a little wet. 

The water then had a huge lapse, almost got all the way up to his chest, Elvis squealed and pulled back from the water, “you did that on purpose,” he said, pointing to the shore, the clever little mermaid slapped her tail in time with the water, surely just playing a game. 

“Just waking you up," she said. He couldn’t help himself in smiling.

He’d always liked the idea of something magical, he loved the idea of something like that to be here now. “You were the one with your feet in my face, I get feet in my face all the time,” the mermaid said back, but Elvis could tell she wasn’t mad at him, it was the way of water.

In his defense, he hardly could have her next to him. “There was a lobster tank in the hotel. You could live there.” The water spat at him, he supposed that was an answer. “And you couldn’t shrink to a fish bowl…” He could hear her mutter ‘could you?’

Sometimes. Sometimes Elvis could wish he could shrink. Then maybe, people wouldn’t ask him to be so big all the time. He sat in the sand holding his knees loosely. The moon got higher, he got lower. 

The water felt a little softer on him. He could feel the mermaid’s hand. She spoke. “It’s hard to see underwater. Doesn’t mean the moon is gone, does it? Just look up.”

Elvis did. And he wasn’t alone. He heard footsteps in the sand, coming towards him. He was scared. He wanted to just jump into the water, swim away so no one would see him. But as he squeezed the sand, the water gave him a push.

“Elvis.” Jerry. He looked down with a kindness Elvis didn’t see enough. “You weren’t on the back porch, just wanted to check on you, are you alright?”

The mermaid. She’d swam away.

The regression was fading. But Elvis knew he had something to say. He stood up, he dusted himself off. “Jerry, I think I need to talk to you. There’s something about me, something… I’ve been hiding and- I didn’t want to tell anyone about.”

Jerry put a hand on his shoulder. Firm, caring, “I’m here, man. What do you want to tell me?”

The mermaid was no longer at the beach. In terms of imaginary friends, he had a feeling she was more comfortable out in the open ocean, swimming free. 

Fic inspired by: @mooodyblue little!E content :)

[your-stranger-halfblood-things]

ok wait as a byler can you sell me on why i should ship will x gareth :)) i think will deserves #better sometimes (after every fight) but why is gareth better?? thx happy shipping

Oh I'm a Byler too. And a Greatwise. I love them both. They give me life. I think I just like seeing Will happy. But yeah, of course, I'll try to turn you into a Greatwise shipper.

1. Gareth is just a nicer version of Mike. Okay, I know, that sounds mean. Yeah, Mike can be real nice, but he can also be real mean, especially to Will and the rest of his friends. I feel like Gareth wouldn't say things like "it's not my fault you don't like girls" when it literally is (I find that so funny though, like mike, shush). Also, I imagine Gareth to be a really chill, smiley, goofy punk teen with a lot of friends who actually enjoy him. Like, he puts his friends first. And I think Will really needs that in life.

2. They have similar interests. All three of them do. Mike, Gareth, and Will. They're all nerds who like DnD and comic books about super heroes. But I feel like Gareth really likes art, not making art, but inspecting it. He likes to look at Will's art and look at the detail that the other boy made. Also, Gareth can introduce him to music that he's more into. Mike doesn't know good music- he listens to the radio. Gareth listens to rock and metal, stuff that Will likes and could relate to. They could talk about it for hours, maybe even write music together.

3. Do you know how much Jonathan wants to wack Mike with a chair? I think we all wanted to wack Mike with a chair at some point, but for Jonathan it's a constant thought. But you know what? He never thought about it with Gareth. Ha. There. That's a whole point. Plus Hopper doesn't hate Gareth like he hates Mike. Argyle (basically part of the family at this point) doesn't like Mike, he thinks he's weird. But he definitely thinks Gareth is cool.

4. (This one is from my sibling) Gareth doesn't have a crush on Eddie. Mike clearly has a crush on Eddie and needs to get over it before dating anybody. Gareth on the other hand is free from crushes, until he sees Will. Like, Gareth makes fun of Mike for having a crush on Eddie because it's so obvious. And Will knows about this crush that Mike has from the ranting Mike does on Eddie. (No, I don't ship Eddie x Mike. Mike is a kid. Eddie is an adult. Also just no. I'm a Byler and Steddie shipper)

5. Will deserves better than Mike, the boy that makes him cry every season. Even if we don't see it, Will probably cries himself to sleep. And I'm blaming it on Mike. This boy played with his feelings ever since they were kids and he still has a crush on him. I feel bad for Will. He deserves so much better. I think Mike just needs to get his shit together and then he could date Will. But until then, Gareth could cuddle Will.

6. The name Greatwise sounds cooler than Byler. Ha, I added another point. (this is a joke, I'm just running out of points)

7. And lastly, Gareth gives better cuddles than Mike. And better hugs. And better kisses. And better advice. Plus, I already know Mike is probably gonna get Vecna'd in season 5, so to stop Will from having even more trauma, he should just cut ties with Mike all together. (I can't believe I'm writing this. I literally ship Byler more than I ship Greatwise)

But yeah, I hope this helped. Have a good day :)

[siriannatan]

How to Make An Unlikely Friendship - Witch!Scott and Empires!Shelby

Just a funny little Idea that suddenly hit me :}

AO3

Evil Sausage turned out to not be as nice as Shelby thought. And she couldn't stop him herself. And no one could find Sausage. He would know what to do. Shelby was a witch and not a mage or a sorcerer or a wizard. Evil Wizards were a bit beyond her capabilities. She would have to find Sausage. The normal, good one who could contact his goddess.

She did have a plan for how to find him. She could not ask witches at the academy or her grandma or even other emperors for advice so... she found a spell to communicate with great witches of other dimensions and even times. Someone considered great by magic itself would without doubt be more than capable of helping her. There was no way it could go wrong.

The ritual was relatively simple. Some ingredients for the chalk she needed were a bit troublesome to get but she managed. And other than that it was just the correct phase of the moon. Prepare the circle and candles and the herbal effigy to burn and she was good to go to invite a Great Witch for a chat. She wasn't sure how exactly that would work, the book she was using did not explain that part, but that probably meant it was not a big deal. The Greatest Storm Witch, as the author was signed, must have known what they were doing. They were the Greatest after all.

And so Shelby went through the ritual. For a second, after she cast the spell, nothing has happened but then there was a whole bunch of smoke. And coughing. "What in the sake of all hells?" Shelby heard a somewhat familiar voice. Scott? She thought. did she end up summoning a Scott from some different dimension? A Great Witch Scott? "Are you playing with magic you should not again, Pris?" the 'Scott' asked.

"I'm not a 'Pris', I'm Shelby, A Great Witch of this area," Shelby introduced herself and cast a small gust to get the smoke away faster. "I'm sorry if I interrupted anything, I can't really control who this spell summons," she added.

This was certainly not the Scott she knew. Not with all the black and dark green and spooky vibes. And was he not breathing or was it her imagination?

"No, no, some rest will not hurt me, others are no challenge anyway. I'm Scott, the necromantic witch, a candidate for the Supreme Witch," Scott introduced himself with a bow and the sass Shelby very much connected to the Scott she knew. "What was that spell even supposed to do? I have a bit of expertise with summoning. And why did you summon me?" he grinned as he dusted off his robes. They were rather nice, nicer than any set of robes Shelby ever had herself. But it made sense he was a candidate for a Supreme Witch. Whatever that was sounded impressive.

So Shelby explained her predicament. And Scott listened, nodding along and not saying anything until she was done.

"Yeah, your friend sounds like the best solution, we have no idea what would happen if I dabbled too much in that. And while I can't get him back, I know someone who can. A demon, friendly one, don't worry, he helped me a lot," Scott finally said and pulled out a thick, bound with dark leather and metal. An impressive book. "Well, he's harmless as long as we're staying safe," he added with a grin.

Scott was not a 'good' kind of witch. Not in the academy's way. He was more of a 'whatever solves the problem without causing too many other problems' kind of witch. Curses. Demons. Necromancy. And one of the participants in a competition for the title of Supreme Witch. Not something that happened in this dimension, sadly. Shelby was sure she'd do great in that.

Summoning Leonard - as the demon was called apparently, took them only a few hours. Scott really knew what he was doing. And it was more than eager to help when Scott offered to 'let him meet Pris again' whatever or whoever this Pris was must have been an impressive person if a demon was interested in them. The demon easily brought Sausage who, without paying any mind to a demon or a necromancer just rushed off to Sanctuary to fight his evil alternate self. 

"He could not see us, I can vanish and Leonard went home," Scott explained before Shelby could even ask. "I suppose I still have a few hours here, the spell, I believe, keeps me here for 24 hours at best," he hummed looking around the foggy swamp. "This place looks... fun."   "The fog's dangerous if you get lost in it, I'm working on getting rid of it," Shelby explained and invited him for tea and cookies. She might as well since she was the one who dragged him to this dimension.

Scott was more than eager for tea and cookies. "I don't remember when someone else booked or baked for me last time... Zombies are rubbish at it," he snickered, offering Shelby an arm.

They spend the rest of Scott's summoning time talking about magic and how limiting the idea of 'good' was. And Shelby learned about Pris. Apparently, she was Scott's self-proclaimed rival and 'fighter of good'. 

"She accused me of wanting to take over the world even, like... Do I look like I want that responsibility?" Scott laughed, he was telling a story of a duel he had with Pris. A duel she requested, lost, and denied Scott's win, demanding an instant rematch like four times in a row. "If she kept away from my magic and apologised for being rude I'd leave her alone, I did it when Joey did," Scott sighed shaking his head.

Another familiar name. And that Joey sounded just as annoying as the local Pirate so Shelby told Scott about her problems with him. And how cool Katherine is. And Scott told her about his best friends Eloise and Cleo, and some other witches he knew. Like the Storm Witch, his dimension's Shelby. Shelby was honestly a bit jealous this Scott had so many witch friends. She never had many friends back in the Academy. She did stay off the topic of local Scott since just mentioning him had her guest looking down.

It was a bit sad when he vanished in a puff of greenish smoke.

[adrianasunderworld]

I was thinking Jamil is jealous of Kalim getting some attention from Jasmine during chapter 4. Jamil clearly has someone in mind yet it ruins once Kalim gets along with him

Jamil: Say Jasmine, wanna- huh? *He eavesdrop on their conversation*

Jasmine: You really a fun person Kalim and even nicer than any of NRC students especially when most of them are egotistic and prideful.

Kalim: You really think so? That's awesome to hear, Jasmine. I always love meeting new people and meeting you is one of the best.

Jasmine: You remind me of my father, I don't know why. My father and I usually argue regarding who I will end up and my freedom, but I still deeply love him with his fun and energetic nature like you.

Kalim: Your father sounds like a sweet one, it makes me want to meet him too and telling him that he is lucky to have a daughter like you.

Jasmine: I am happy to let you meet him. We might go carpet riding.

Jamil just stared with glaring look as he didn't want him to be closer to her. Kalim doesnt have romantic attraction to her but it seems more friendly to her. I also feel when Kalim is in 180, he made sure that he says terrible things to Jasmine for her to hate her which made her upset and for Jamil to help her calm down.

Jasmine: You know, Jamil. You're a great guy, I wish there's a way I can help you and your family but I don't have that power.

Jamil: You don't have to worry, being servant means looking out for everyone especially a beautiful girl like you.

Jasmine blushed when he said and of course that time made her heartbroken once he realized he is using everyone. It makes me think Jamil and Jasmine didn't want to remember the kiss but some people kept reminding her.

Floyd: It's unfair that you get to kiss one of the princesses. Maybe I should overblot to get little mermaid to kiss him.

Jamil: You don't even have much negative emotions. And please don't make me remember that.

Tiana: I never thought you end up kissing him.

Jasmine: It's complicated but I don't know why but he seems better than someone I know but older.

Jasmine and Kalims relationship is 1000% platonic. Kalim is just way too much like her dad to view him in any way beyond that. Maybe Jasmine also reminds Kalim of one of his sisters, so he acts very brotherly towards her. Like if you didn't know them you would swear they were siblings.

But even so, even though Jamil knows this, he's already going off the deep end, and he's not going to give something else for Kalim. So when he has him go 180, he's particularly hurtful to Jasmine so Jamil can look even more like a better person than him.

It's in these moments that Jamil and Jasmine hit it off. I think out of all the ships, Jamil has come the closest to actually kissing Jasmine before the blot. Like they're talking and bonding, maybe Jamil makes the beautiful comment, they come so close, only to get interrupted by Grim or some Scarabia students needing help.

The thing is Jamil has always been interested in Jasmine. He saw her around all the time and wanted to talk to her but was always too busy to. Now that he's actually spending time with her, he likes her a lot and wants to go out with her. But this is book 4. We already know he's getting out of hand and so caught up in his plan to overthrow Kalim that he's seeing how much he's fucking that up.

After the events of Book 4, Jasmine acknowledges that Jamil is genuinely trying to do better and work on his relationship with Kalim. But even if she forgives, she isn't going to forget that easily. She's to tolerate Jamil around for Kalims sake, but their relationship is going to be strained all of Book 5, because she is rightfully pissed at him.

And yes Jamil has not known peace at basketball since then. Floyd will not let him hear the end of it and neither will Ace when he gets all the details.

Meanwhile at Ramshackle, they all want the details.

Anna: So how was it? Was it at least a good kiss?

Jasmine: Drop it. I'm not saying anything else on this.

Mulan: That means yes.

Jasmine: Shut up!

[zoe-and-quinn]

Whumptober Day 7

Alleyway / Radio Silence / "Can you hear me?"

TW: Burns, torture, restraints, dehumanization, referring to people as 'toys', captivity

Georgia stumbled into Alexei’s arms when he released her chains. He lowered her slowly to the floor, where she quickly curled up and away from him. Everything was muffled, ringing with the sound of screams.

Her screams.

She didn’t dare look at her arms. She knew she would find burnt flesh, mottled and angry red. She didn’t think the damage could be too bad, though. Her wounds hurt too much for her nerves to be fried.

The cool stone floor felt like ice against her fever-warm skin, and she leaned into the wall, letting everything slip away, just for a second.

She whimpered when Alexei picked her up, jostling her wounds, but she didn’t have the strength to protest. She hardly even noticed when he laid her on the floor again and shut the door as he left. There was cotton in her skull, and it was so much nicer to pretend she couldn’t feel anything at all.

“Hey, can you hear me?” Reluctantly, she opened her eyes, and a stranger was looming over her, concern in his eyes. She drew in a shuddering breath before giving a small nod.

“Ok, good. I’m Casey, what’s your name?”

“Georgia,” she whispered. Her voice was hoarse and raspy, raw from screaming. She tried not to think about it.

“Ok, Georgia, I’ve got some bandages I’m going to wrap around your arms. It’ll help them not get infected. Is that ok?”

She wanted to say no. The thought of anything touching her burns make her want to puke. 

Finally, though, she nodded again. She didn’t know what would happen if her wounds got infected. Would Alexei even treat them, or just let the disease fester and spread until it rotted her from the inside out?

“Ok, I’m going to have you stay laying down for now. Felix, think you could help me with this part?” Casey looked to a person Georgia hadn’t noticed, standing on her other side. A closer look confirmed that they were the person who had watched Alexei… who had watched. Felix nodded and walked over to kneel next to Casey. 

“Go ahead and close your eyes,” Casey said to her with a half-smile. “Try to stay still.” He brought a roll of bandages out from a small cloth first aid kit. “Hold her hand and upper arm,” he instructed Felix. “Try to hold her steady, but don’t touch the burns.”

The process of wrapping the wounds was unpleasant, but it wasn’t like she had another choice. The second arm was easier, and it was over in a matter of minutes. She was… exhausted. But at the same time, she needed some answers.

“Ok,” Casey said, packing up the bag. “Felix, do you mind helping her sit up against the wall?” Felix shook their head and offered their hand, supporting her until she was semi-comfortable, propped once more against the cool stone.

Felix sat next to her, a few feet away to give her space, and Georgia took her first real look at the new room. 

It was a good deal bigger than the one she had been in previously, and a bit less empty as well. Two thin mattresses were pushed against two of the corners, each with a blanket and pillow. There was a toilet, too, one with a sink built in on top. Casey had put the small first aid kit on the room’s only shelf, next to two books and a cup with two toothbrushes and a tube of toothpaste.

“We get a bigger space than the others,” Felix explained, apparently seeing the curiosity in her eyes. “He needs to keep us for longer, so he tends to care a bit more about our health and sanity, hence the beds and books. He said he’d get another mattress for you, but you can take mine tonight, if you want.”

Georgia nodded, absentmindedly. “I just… I still don’t really know what’s going on. Why is he doing this?”

“It’s… It’s a lot to take in,” Felix said, reluctance in their voice. She had already had a painful day, and they didn’t want to make it worse if they didn’t have to.

“Please,” Georgia whispered, meeting their eyes. “Please, I need to know.”

Felix sighed. “Ok. Alexei… well, he makes money off of us. And others. Calls us ‘playthings’ or ‘toys’. Mostly, he kidnaps and tortures people into submission before selling them to rich sadists who want their own personal punching bag. But some people can’t keep a prisoner themselves, so he also has a few people that he’ll keep and rent out. He lets clients have an hour or two in private, to do whatever they please to a helpless person. That’s… that’s us.”

“And… what do people do… with us?”

Felix shrugged. “Depends on the person. Alexei doesn’t allow anything sexual, and nothing that’ll kill. Other than that, it’s mostly free reign. It… always hurts, though.”

Georgia closed her eyes. This couldn’t be happening, it couldn’t.

“I’m… I’m so sorry, Georgia,” Felix whispered. “Today was my fault, I messed up and you paid for it, and I can’t say it enough. I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok,” She whispered. “He was the one hurting me. I’m not mad at you.”

Casey came and sat on the other side of her. “I’m sorry too. Sorry you have to go through this.”

She wanted to say that she had hardly been through anything, that, if Felix was telling the truth, so many more horrible things awaited her in the future. But thinking about that hurt almost as much as her burnt arm.

So she said nothing at all.