#ONE MUST WONDER HOW HE AVOIDS INJURY WITH NO DEFENSES OF ANY KIND

[llycaons]

random but I fear I must share: when I was a young creature I read a terrible yet memorable historical vampire novel by the name of blood ninja. the detail I must impart is that the mentor character had magical tattoos over every square inch of body that rendered him invisible to vampires at night. he would literally have to get naked to fight because otherwise his clothes would give him away. BUT to this day whenever I remember this character all I can think about. is. he had to have gotten. dick tattoos.

[no-droids]

Out of a Trillion

gif credit: @bestintheparsec​

Part Fifteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 12.6K

Warnings: uhhhh so there is a bit of SMUT in this one, not too much and I imagine if you’ve made it this far then that won’t be too big of a deal LMFAOOO uh some ANGST and my attempt at HURT/COMFORT and also violence/blood/injury description, so look out for that!

A/N: I started writing this before the season finale aired and I know we all want a bit of goodness and softness after it, but hopefully this will be okay!  I’ll start working on the next part tonight

***

Everything changes and yet somehow nothing does.  

From that point on, it’s like… like you’re both just suspended in this perpetual state of wondering, waiting for the other shoe to drop.  You know he said it’s up to you, but what the fuck?  Look whenever you want?  That’s way too much fucking pressure, he’s out of his mind.  You’re not equipped to handle that, who does he think you are?  Someone that can just… decide things?

And it’s not like you’re afraid of the commitment, or that you don’t want to look.  You do, but every single time a moment comes, it just never… feels right.  You don’t know what you’re waiting for, what feeling or meaning you’re expecting to magically present itself to you, but you can’t shake the idea that there should be more to it than just randomly deciding to open your eyes at some point, shouldn’t there?  Din said there was no ceremony, nothing fancy, and he gave you permission to look because he said he’s not allowed to ask outright, whatever that means.  It’s a standing offer because you guess he isn’t allowed to prompt it for some reason, but unfortunately, that leaves you in just about the shittiest position possible.  Now everything falls to you—initiation, execution, and consequence—and Maker knows you’ve never been that great making decisions under pressure.

But you do want to look.  Sort of.

Sort of.  Because… well, this probably won’t make that much sense, but you’re afraid.  Mostly for him.  What if he’s making a mistake?  It sounds stupid, but you’re afraid of what this means for him, the sheer perpetuity of this decision he’s now expecting you to make for the both of you.  This isn’t your creed, not yet, and you feel like there’s still so much to learn.  Not only about the Mandalorians and his culture, but about him.  To know is to love, and so you’ve taken to asking any nonsensical question you can think of whenever he’s around.  Though you weren’t expecting it at first, you’ve learned that he’ll always give you some sort of an answer.  Some of the highlights include:

“How old are you?”  (“I don’t know.  Probably mid-forties, but there’s no way to tell anymore.”)

“You don’t know your birthday?”  (No, I… think it was in the winter.”)

“What’s your last name?”  (“Djarin.”)

“Do you have any freckles?  Or moles, or birthmarks?”  (“No, none that I’ve ever noticed.”)

“Do you cut your own hair?”  (“Yes, but it’s been awhile.”)

“Do you have dimples?”  (“I don’t smile in mirrors.”)

“Are your earlobes attached or detached?”  (“What kind of question is that?”)

And so forth.

He also gives you so many fucking opportunities to look.  One right after the other.  You used to think Din was incredibly trusting with how often and voluntarily he decided to take his helmet off around you—he didn’t wait a single day once he first felt your hands on his skin to take it off in your presence.  You remember being blown away by his unexpected willingness to part with it after hearing so many tales of the Mandalorians from Kuill; stunned by the ever-present ability to just open your eyes at any moment and that’s all it would ever take.  One simple movement—life-altering, and so easy.

Now you find it nearly impossible, muscle memory just won’t allow it to happen naturally.  And yet somehow, avoiding it is like stepping around land mines.  He doesn’t trick you—he doesn’t set it up, he doesn’t surprise you or anything, but he’s… less careful.  When the kid is awake, Din acts normal—he walks around fully armored, he goes on hunts and returns a few days later with a quarry, teaches you more self-defense techniques in the cleared out hull while the kid watches and giggles at your pain from the safety of his floating crib.  But when the baby goes to sleep, he’s taken to lounging with the helmet off.  He only used to remove it to eat, sleep, or… do other things with you, but he never used to take it off just… because.  Now he does.  Now he’s less careful about darkness, less strict about how much light he allows to touch him.

Now he shares every single meal he can with you, sitting just off to the side so you’ll never see him on accident but providing the free exercise thereof should you ever decide to seek it out purposefully.  Now he interrupts you in the middle of your complaining about the bruises on your knuckles just to lift the rim of his helmet the slightest bit, lean down and give you a quick kiss, and then lower it back into position again before you can even catch a glimpse of the lips you only recognize by touch.  Now he keeps the light on when he goes to take a shower, he leaves the door cracked.

It’s starting to give you heart palpitations, you swear.  At one point, he lets you to see the entire back of his head and it nearly launches you into a fucking crisis.

It’s the middle of the night and he just got up from bed to use the restroom.  He’s quiet enough not to wake you on the way over, but then across the hull and with his back to you, Din flicks the light on in the small bathroom without closing the door.  Immediately rousing you after being so accustomed to the pitch blackness, you lift your head from the warmth of your shared pillow just enough to blearily make out the sight of him leaning a hand up against the wall and dropping his head down, and it takes you a second to realize that it’s actually him.

Soft, dark brown locks ending at his collar but somehow looking longer than you ever imagined when you’ve run your fingers through them.  Cascading in shaggy, natural curls—tall, broad shouldered and trim waisted, naked as the day he was born.  Your heart starts to squeeze in your chest and it just never stops, and for the second time in your life, you feel like he woke you up in the middle of the night just to show you one of the most beautiful things the universe ever decided to hide.  There are trillions of people in this galaxy and how many of them have ever seen a sight that would compare?  He’s just a man, you don’t think a single person would bat an eye.  But to you, he’s… his own monument.  Constructed in honor of everything dazzling that happens to lie just underneath something else.  A breathtaking view, even from this angle, that could only ever mean something to you.

Would you ever be able to know him?  No, that’s not phrased right.  What you mean is that… over the course of all your time together, you remember thinking that if he ever took his helmet off, he could walk right by you and you’d never be able to tell the difference.  He could be anybody.  There are trillions of people in this galaxy and how many of them have the same features?  Brown hair, brown eyes, sunkissed skin that only one person is allowed to kiss, not even the sun.  Would you ever be able to know him?

Staring at his back in the blissful silence of hyperspace and feeling like the Maker himself is letting you in on one of his proudest secrets, some wild thought suddenly occurs to you that… you think you would.  Somehow.

You can’t explain it and you’d never be able to prove it, but you feel like if you lined up every single person in this galaxy shoulder to shoulder, all however many trillions of them there are, then you could walk the entire length of it and somehow come to a stop right where he’s standing.  Every single time.  You feel like you could do it in the pitch black.  You could do it with your eyes closed.

And, he must just be so gorgeous.  Maybe not in a traditional sense (or maybe in one, you’d have no way of knowing), but mostly in just… the rawest sense imaginable.  Not like how symmetry and straight lines are gorgeous, but how a mountain is gorgeous.  Rocky, dangerous, steep, the product of constant conflict between two immovable sides.  He’s got scars littering his body, one of which you remember giving him yourself with a cauterizer on his lower back.  He holds himself like his shoulders could tell their own story if anyone ever asked them; built to endure, weighed down and made strong with a collection of burdens he chooses to strap to them, steel or otherwise.

You don’t want to close your eyes once Din slowly turns around to look at you, but it happens anyways and you’ve never been so disappointed in your own cowardice.

But then, in a way, it could just be your own self-preservation instincts taking over.  No matter how stunning and life changing the spectacle would be, why would anyone ever stare directly at a supernova?  For so long, you’ve told yourself that his face is something you shouldn’t ever see on principle, but in a way, you suppose it’s fair he put this decision on you because he always has, even from the very beginning.  He trusted you to keep your eyes closed for months on end and you never had a problem with it, so why is it so hard to open them now that he’s given you permission?

A couple weeks of that, and you start to worry that you’re unintentionally rejecting him.

It’s the last fucking thing you want, but how can you avoid it?  Din is… different, he notices.  He’s made a living off of finding things that inherently don’t want to be found—he knows all too well what secrecy looks and sounds like, he’s quick and observant and you don’t stand a single fucking chance against him in all the years of his practice.

But strangely, for as often as you feel like you can figure out what he’s thinking without ever seeing his face—realizing what his intentions are ahead of time and not feeling slighted when he phrases things a certain way or just chooses not to speak at all—you never truly realized how much that extended back to you.

He knows you, too.  He told you so.

For some reason, you didn’t even consider the possibility of it working just as well the other way around.  That you could choose to stay silent, and he’d know why.  You feel like the mystery of him just eclipses you in every single way that you don’t consider even yourself much of anything, much less something else to be contemplated and understood.  While you wouldn’t necessarily qualify the conflict as not being ready to commit, he seems more than willing to respect it regardless and nothing about the way he treats you or interacts with you changes.  Normally you’d say it’s like he forgot the whole thing ever happened, but it’s almost the exact opposite.  Like he was just naturally expecting it from you.

Are you truly so predictable, you wonder?  He said you’d say no.  Was he right?  You’re not saying no, you just… can’t remember the word for yes right now.  It’s right there on the tip of your tongue and the harder you work for it, the more frustrated you become with your own inability to find it.

But, instead of waiting, you think Din just decides to continue the conversation with the promise to come back to you when you finally figure it out.

Sometimes, especially when he’s gone, you find yourself thinking about what moment you’d choose, if you could.  Since you can never seem to find the right one naturally, how would it all go if you could construct everything yourself?  Where would it be?  Naboo?  No, that’s too cheesy.  One thing you and Din both have in common is your practicality, your respective propensities for wanting to tackle one thing at a time and not needing frills attached to something in order to find a deep connection to it, a personal value to it.  You weren’t even bothered when he didn’t claim you as a girlfriend to Peli, that’s how reasonable you used to be about labels.  Now you’re your own antithesis, trying to conjure meaning where there isn’t any just so you don’t feel like you’re the one who’s ripping it away.  You want this decision to feel as permanent as it is.  You want it to be a happy thing, something that happens when you’re both so in love that you can’t bear to have metal separating you any longer.

You think… you’ll just know it when the time comes.

***

“I have to leave,” comes Din’s hushed voice through the darkness, and even though it’s the first thing either of you have said in hours, it sounds frustrated.  Like it’s been bothering him for awhile and he’s just now finally telling you.  “I… fuck, I can’t stay here, I should’ve left a long time ago.”

You whine softly into the pitch black, turning your head into the pillow and curling your fingers into his hair.  “But it’s still so early…”

“It’s mid-afternoon,” he groans back, dropping his forehead down against your skin and breathing hot air along it.  “We’ve been parked here for hours, I don’t know how you can sleep so long.”

“I’m not sleeping,” you pout, before gently dragging your nails down his scalp and feeling his whole body shudder with it.  “Earlier I was.”

“Mhm,” he murmurs, leaning down to give you one last long, slow kiss.  You sigh when his tongue comes out and glides soft and hot against your lips, tightening your grip on his hair.

But soon he pulls away, lifting the covers from over his head and pushing up from between your spread legs.  “This one shouldn’t take long,” he gruffs, planting both palms next to your head and kissing you once more in the darkness, dipping his tongue into your mouth this time.  You moan softly and taste yourself on him, moving to wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, but he breaks the kiss and leans back before you can, preemptively avoiding the possibility of getting lost in it.  “I’ll be back around dawn.”

You’ve known it was coming for hours now, so you’re able to play it off way better this time around.  “Okay,” you breathe softly, dragging your palms up his bare chest as he lifts himself tall over your body.  The slight disappointment underneath is so masterfully hidden, you’re almost positive you’re going to get away with it.  “Be safe.  Please.”

But then… well.  Bounty hunter.

Din pauses for a moment like that in between your open legs, letting you slowly slide your hands down his ribs and over the lines of his stomach.  You wait for him to move, find his clothes so you can get around and make some food, wake the kid up from his nap in an hour or so.  Can’t stay in bed all day, no matter how much you wish you could.

Only, he still hasn’t moved and you start to become concerned.  “Din?”

But then he suddenly groans like he just can’t help it, grabbing both of your spread legs and easily lifting them up.  You make a sound of confusion as he maneuvers them until they’re pressed together and draped over one of his shoulders, and then his hips drop and push forward to slide himself thick and perfect into your blazing hot cunt.

Still drenched and swollen from cumming in his mouth so many times earlier, you gasp and he just groans louder, a ragged thing scraping out of his throat while you struggle through blind and unexpected euphoria to reach him.  But you can’t—Din hugs your legs tight to his chest and settles in just like this, turning his head to drag soft lips and a hot tongue over your ankle before he starts fucking you.  Right up against your g-spot, with your whole lower body in the way and preventing you from slowing him down.

You just have to clap both hands over your mouth just to keep quiet since you can’t reach him.  You feel his teeth sink into the meat of your calf, hips pistoning far beyond your reach and it feels so fucking good that you almost don’t hear his gritted words against your skin.

“I have to go,” he groans, repeating it over and over until his voice begins to pull tight and it just sounds like a plea.  “I have to go, I have to go, I h—have to… h-have to go, I have to, I have to, I have…”

*** 

When Din finally steps foot out of the ship, fumbling with his rifle and cursing quietly through the modulator, it’s the middle of the night some twelve hours later.

***

Steady…

Steady………

Fire.

—and… you blink as bark splinters.

Did you…?  You look down at the blaster in your hand and then back to the ginormous charred tree trunk for a few seconds, wondering if you’re just seeing shit.

No, it’s real.  You actually fucking did it.  You…

… hit the target.

All of a sudden, your ecstatic giggle echoes loudly throughout the foresty autumn wonderland around you, reds and oranges and yellows crunching under your feet while you start to dance.

“Hey!  See that, bug!?”  You call out, shoving the blaster into your waistband and shimmying up to your enthralled audience of one, who just so happens to be smiling as wide as you are as he’s scooped up into your arms.  “I hit the target, I hit the target,” you sing, beginning to sway the baby back and forth as he squeals, laughing while you bounce him.  “No demon powers necessary, little man!  I figured it out, I just have to use one hand instead of two.  You can retire now, you’re the right age for—”

A twig snaps in the distance somewhere to your left, and you quickly spin around while reaching for the blaster behind your back.

Except all you see is a blue Twi’lek standing out amongst all the fall foliage, his hands cuffed behind his back and stumbling a few steps at a time while a considerably taller suit of beskar shoves him forward.  You relax and immediately turn to look down at the ground, trying to bite your lip so you don’t smile too hard while they both approach.  You did it—finally, you did it, you’re on top of the fucking universe right now.

You wait for them to pass by and move up the open metal ramp to the carbonite chamber, but then Din apparently decides to pause when he’s directly behind you, yanking the quarry to a sudden halt.  

You know you should probably turn around to address them, but you can’t hide the happiness from your expression, it’s way too obvious.  Though, after a moment, you decide to shyly turn to face the two men while continuing to bounce the baby in your arms, hoping that his and your matching expressions of excitement aren’t too terribly inappropriate right now.

Din looks from you to the splintered bark on the tree, and then back to you again, before slowly tilting the helmet up in a way that feels… proud of you.

“Congratulations,” he finally says, and you can hear the genuine smile hidden in the modulated drawl.

“Thank you,” you beam up at him, feeling the blood rush to your cheeks.  “Was pretty awesome.”

“I’m sorry I missed it,” he tells you, and you don’t know why, but the tone of his voice makes you go so warm.  It’s not like he’s openly flirting with you, but coupled with your giddiness and sounding like that in front of a bounty he caught in record time, it just makes your heart fucking throb for him.

“It’s alright,” you murmur, shuffling your feet through the crunchy leaves below and trying to play it as cool as possible.  You have company.  “I’ll be able to do it again.”

“Let’s see it, then.”  He tips the helmet over at the tree, and you look between him and the unfamiliar quarry for a second, not used to Din just… ignoring their existence entirely for you.  It’s not like the Twi’lek has said anything or inserted himself into the situation at all, but still.  Din has one hand latched onto the cuffs behind his back to prevent him from booking it, but other than that, it’s like he’s pretending he’s not even there.

“Uh…”  You immediately feel yourself get nervous.  “I can… try.”

He nods one single time in silent encouragement, and you slowly turn to face the tree once more.  The kid stays cradled in your arm while you reach for the blaster in your waistband, removing it and using your longest finger to flick the safety off with a practiced fluidity.  Then, extending it out in front of you and taking advantage of your newfound strategy of only firing with one hand, you line up the sight and pull the trigger.

You wish you could say it hits.  It would be so fucking cool and impressive if you hit the target like that, wouldn’t it?  But it doesn’t hit.  It misses, like usual.  Miserably.  And then an amused snort comes from behind you.

“Right stormtrooper, you are—” you hear an unfamiliar accent begin to snark, but the rest of it turns into a garbled howl the second Din jerks his elbow back to slam it in his face.

You whip around just in time to see a cascade of blood pouring down blue lips and sharp teeth—holy fuck.  You gasp and take a step backwards with the kid, not horrified by the sudden display of violence (not after Din spent an hour teaching you how to do that, too) but not quite expecting it at that moment, either.  But then, well… that’s the second time he broke a quarry’s nose for addressing you with disrespect.  There was that other one he choked, you’re pretty sure—though you can’t remember exactly what initiated that.

Din yanks the bounty up the ramp without another word, leaving both you and the kid there to process while he shoves him through the hull and towards the carbonite chamber none too kindly.  However, by the time he seals the quarry to his fate and eventually makes his way back to you, you just… 

Fuck, you feel so stupid.

You shouldn’t even bother, what’s the point?  All that practice and nothing to show for it.  If you can’t even hit a stationary target with the pressure of others watching, what makes you think you’ll have any hope at all in a situation where you actually need to shoot?  Are they gonna stand still for you?  Are they gonna be as wide as a fucking treetrunk?  You’re horribly embarrassed, so downtrodden in the face of a cruel taunt that you don’t even want to look at Din when he steps in front of you.

“Hey, just try it again,” he says without delay, but the damage has already been done.  It’s not his fault, you’re just… not the kind of person who is meant to shoot a blaster, maybe.  

“Ah… it’s alright,” you look out and smile sadly at the line of trees surrounding you, wondering how it’s possible that you only managed to hit one of them this whole time.  You don’t see it, but Din quickly touches the tips of his fingers to the side of his helmet twice before you look back at him.  “I hit it earlier.  I did, I promise.  You can see the mark if you look.”

His glove reaches out to brush your hair back, so unbelievably gentle after using the same arm to shatter bone just a few minutes ago.  “I know you did.  It was a perfect shot, you hit dead center.  I see it.”

“I did it with one hand, that’s why I tried the thing,” you mumble stupidly, looking down at your feet.  Dumb.  Dumb.

A strand of your hair is tucked behind your ear.  “Wish I was here.”

You glance over at him, feeling your expression suddenly go soft with a wave of affection.  It stops all the harsh criticisms, halting your negativity in its tracks and replacing it with just… soft, abstract things.  Mostly just warm, nonsensical fluff, but one clear and resounding thought breaking through.  You wish he was here, too.

“Maybe I’ll get good at it eventually,” you sigh, slowly handing him the blaster with the barrel pointed down and away from both of you.  Din carefully takes it from you, tucking it away somewhere on his utility belt while you gaze out at the designated target and victorious char mark decorating it.  “Or hopefully just okay at it at some point.  I guess I just need to practice more, right?”

“That’s right,” he tells you warmly, catching your free wrist.  “Try using this one when you do.”  And then a lightweight piece of metal is gently pushed into your empty hand.

Your expression furrows while you quickly look down at it, and—

You go utterly still at the gift, not even knowing what to think.

The first thing that you notice is the craftsmanship.  Brilliant, structurally flawless, the perfect size to fit your hand.  You don’t recognize the specific kind of metal that was used—definitely not beskar—but you think it might be constructed from the same material as Din’s old armor.  Dull silver, but with reflective chrome filigree accents around the handle, trigger, and safety.  It’s uniquely constructed and unlike any weapon you’ve ever seen before—no hard lines or edges, just a soft fluidity to the design that’s so aesthetically pleasing, it doesn’t really even resemble a blaster at all.

You can feel the visor silently studying your reaction while you continue marveling, noticing something new every time you look.  The safety is towards the back of the chamber, just like he said it’d be.  The sight is electronic, and you examine the way it’s built directly into the barrel.

Are those extra magnets on the inside?  Is this able to micro-adjust the plasma release for the best shot?  Holy stars, it must have cost a fortune.

“Din, this is…” you can’t decide where you want to look—the gorgeous crafting, the custom design, or him.  Standing so close to you, not saying a word while you search for the right ones.  “It’s so beautiful, I…”

“Was made for you,” he murmurs.  “Had to be.”

You look back down at the blaster to stop your eyes from tearing up.  He didn’t have to do this.  This is so… sweet, such a lovely thing to do.  Don’t cry, don’t cry—

“What is this?” You ask breathlessly instead, rotating the gun until he can see the symbol branded on the handle.  You recognize that it’s his signet, but you never bothered to ask him what it’s called, you never saw it as your place.  It’s an animal of some sort, one with a giant spike attached to its skull, and you’re glad you’ve never come face to face with one.

“It’s a mudhorn,” he answers quietly.  “They’re… dangerous animals.  Fiercely protective, preferring solitude.  The kid saved me from one a few days after I met him.  It’s… the mark of my clan.”

How fitting, you think, and an honor.  Perfect for him, and a bone-deep reminder of your two favorite people in the galaxy on your hip wherever you go.

“Thank you,” you tell him, hoping the sincerity in your voice sounds anywhere close to how you feel.  You haven’t even had it in your hand for longer than a minute and it’s already your prized position, the most important thing you’ve ever called yours.

Din nods and takes a small step back.  “Now hit the target.”

Feeling invigorated and renewed in every single way, you keep the kid tucked firmly in one arm while raising your blaster with the other.  The safety clicks off and your back straightens, chin lifting until something about the angle feels… right.  The trigger moves easily under your fingertip, and there’s almost no kickback considering how light the weapon is.  What you’re not expecting is the pure white beam of plasma shooting out of the barrel—unlike any blaster you’ve ever seen before—but then the immediate sight of it hitting the tree dead center sends a roar of triumph through your ears.  Fuck yes.

“Look at that!”  Din calls out over the kid’s happy squeal, and there’s nothing you can do to stop your loud whoop of victory.  Even though you know it only hit with the addition of those extra magnets to correct your terrible aim, that still feels so good—you feel so fucking powerful and dangerous.  You glance over to Din with a wide smile, but then his arm extends out towards the trunk directly next to the one with charred bark.  “Hit that one.”

You automatically swing the blaster in that direction and shoot.  A few pieces of wood split on impact and send sharp bits flying as soon as the bright white beam collides with it.

“That one,” Din tells you, and then bark splinters a half second later.  “That one.”  Bark splinters.  “That one, that one, that one—” hit, hit, hit, white plasma flying through the air and bark splintering in rapid succession.

He stops and spins around, pointing to a tree at the very edge of the clearing.  “That one?”

It’s furthest away but the trunk’s diameter is enormous.  As you lift the blaster, you know you’re likely to get it easily with this sophisticated weapon, even across the considerable distance.  So instead, feeling like nothing at all can touch you right now and wanting to see how smart the aim mechanism is, you raise up a few degrees higher before pulling the trigger.  Pale plasma launches from the barrel, and then one of the tree’s most prominent branches comes creaking and crashing to the ground right where you split it.

You’re beaming by the time Din turns back to you, the most excited you’ve ever been with your own progress.  He holds there for a moment while you lower your blaster and wait for him to speak, both of you looking at each other and not moving, until suddenly you hear his voice coming back to you.

Hit the target and I’ll marry you.

One of Din’s hands slowly comes up to the edge of his helmet, but before you can even process the implication behind the gesture, you’re immediately looking down at the crunchy leaves under your feet and clearing your throat.

There’s a beat of silence where you stare down at the dead foliage and wonder why the fuck you just did that.  Right in front of him, right to his face, too startled at how quickly you were being confronted with the possibility that you responded in an equally startled way.  It was instinctual, automatic and entirely out of your control, but that doesn’t mean you don’t want to take it back.

But… you can’t take it back.  That’s the way things are, and after a few moments, you hear his boots begin to cross the distance to you.

“Come on,” Din murmurs gently through the modulator, carefully taking the blaster from your hand and clicking the safety back on again.  “We have to get going.  The fifth quarry is far.  Three day trip through hyperspace.”

He doesn’t sound upset or disappointed by your unintentional rejection, thank the Maker.  You want to explain yourself somehow, but it appears it isn’t necessary in the slightest.  His arm wraps around your lower back and he leads both you and the baby back up the open ramp of the Crest, squeezing you close enough to his side that you have to learn how to walk in a different way to stop yourself from tripping over his boots.

The helmet turns and presses to the top of your head while you focus on moving straight.  “Proud of you,” Din murmurs quietly, and your chest fills with enough air that you’d be worried about floating away if he wasn’t latched onto you so tightly.

He eventually releases you and walks over to the armory, pressing a button to unlock the doors while you hold the kid and watch him start to remove the multitude of weapons strapped to his body.

Maybe… maybe this isn’t the right time, but something brave surges up inside you.  After receiving the most precious gift imaginable from him, hitting all those targets and hearing him say that he’s proud of you, you’re buzzing with just enough energy that for better or worse, it makes you open your mouth and ask.

“Could I… come with you this time?”

Din nearly jerks upright and looks over at you immediately, but he takes a while in responding.  You hope he sees it in your eyes.  You hope he sees just how much you don’t want to be stuck here again when this is possibly the one time you’d be able to tag along.  It’s a bullshit quarry, one he could do in his sleep, and you’ve been getting increasingly restless while stuck on this ship.

When Din eventually does respond… well, judging from his shift in tone, you’re assuming he was just shocked at the question and didn’t take any of that time to actually consider his answer.

“No.”  Short.  Unfeeling, and not sorry about it in the slightest, before turning back to return the blasters you were using previously to the armory as if you said nothing at all.

Okay…  Um.  Not great, not what you wanted to hear, but maybe if you explain yourself better, he’ll listen.

“I just… I’m the only reason you have to get this quarry in the first place.”  Your voice is quiet, trying to let go of some of the concerns you’ve kept to yourself over the past two weeks.  Your fingers fiddle idly with the kid’s little woolen sack as he hangs out in your arms, wanting to plead your case but feeling slightly nervous now.  “You were out having a crazy expensive blaster made for me while I shook hands with Karga and agreed that you’d take more work for less pay.  I hate that I did that.”

“You had no choice,” Din mutters, turning around and striding past you while pressing a button on his vambrace to close the Crest’s ramp.  “My fault for being late.”  And… for as warm and comforting as his voice sounded earlier, it now just sounds… dismissive.  Aloof.  Half-listening, not really wanting to talk but forcing himself to.

“Well this time, I thought maybe… I might be able to help?  Maybe?”  Maker, you feel yourself going quieter the more he walks around the hull and ignores you.  “Karga said it was just a missing person, not even a criminal…”

“Karga says a lot of things,” he grunts with his back to you, voice completely monotone through the modulator.

Come on, speak up.  You’ve lacked a backbone for so long, you’ll never get what you want unless you say it out loud and let it be known.  You take a deep breath and straighten your shoulders, trying to put a little bit of spine into it.  “I can be useful.  I can fight now, I’ve been working on my—” 

“You think I’m telling you no because I don’t think you’re capable?”  He suddenly whips around, voice ringing sharp and challenging throughout the hull while you freeze.  You don’t move but everything about you suddenly feels like it shrinks.

“I-I didn’t—” But he cuts you off, taking a step forward.

“I know you can fight, a Mandalorian taught you how.  I know you’re useful, I know it’s just a missing person, and I know you hate it when I leave.”  He pins you with his eyes through the visor, his tone harder than you think you’ve ever heard it before.  “No.  Your job is to stay here, on this ship, with my son, where it is safe, and my job is to go get the quarry.  Quit asking.  I’m not telling you again.”

The baby makes a tiny little distressed sound in your arms and you blink a few times up at the cold metal, feeling all the good feelings from before just… drain out of you.

Okay, that’s fine.  Uh.  You… the cockpit is behind you, you’ll go up there and fly then.  No reason, just… he should get going.

“Okay, yeah,” you nod and tell the wall over his shoulder brace in immediate agreement, before abruptly spinning around and grabbing the ladder.  Din doesn’t move a single fucking muscle while you try to find your way up to the cockpit with the baby held to your chest and a dead stone sitting heavy inside of it, hoping your face doesn’t show the vulnerability you feel wanting to take over as you retreat.  Get to the cockpit first, get to the cockpit first, get to the—

“Sweet girl, I…” you barely hear murmured through the helmet from the floor, soft enough to sound slightly shocked, but you scramble into the cockpit and shut the door behind you before he can say anything else.

***

Silence didn't used to feel like this.

At first it was eerie, unnatural and stifling when you spent years in a wide open desert, wind swirling and dust pelting.  It suffocated you the first few times you jumped into hyperspace, a phenomena you read all about and considered mathematically fascinating before ever experiencing for yourself.  It was… foreign and strange, but you began to value it more and more as time passed.

Then, you started to get to know him and silence just became comforting.  Something you could bask in, knowing it was a comfort to him.  A choice he made because it just fit him best.  You felt safe in it, you felt like you didn’t have to be anything else but you.  You never had to break it just to avoid awkwardness, you became… closer to it, until you learned to fall in love with it.

But only when he was with you and it was his silence.  Not… everything else’s.  Now it’s haunting again.  Now the sheer lack of sound through hyperspace is a stranger to you, and the distortion of light surrounding the cockpit feels less about the sheer magnificence of manipulating space time and more about the fundamental disconnect it causes.  Gorgeous, but at its core, a severance.  Ripping the fabric of the universe apart, tearing a wound in it.

It’s been a few hours and nothing exceptional has happened since your conversation in the hull.  

You’ll admit that you’re a sensitive person, and because of that, you’ve always had a problem knowing if you were right or wrong when someone comes at you with a hard enough will.  You second-guess yourself, it’s one of your worst traits, and you feel like trying to squash that tendency without knowing the limit is partially to blame for why you’re holed up in this cockpit with the kid.  You’re quiet but in a different way from Din.  When he doesn’t speak, it’s because most of the time, he’s sure of himself and doesn’t need to.  When you don’t speak, it’s because most of the time, you’re insecure and don’t want to.

After being left alone with your thoughts for this long, you’re starting to realize that… he was right.  What were you thinking, wanting to tag along?  Wanting to hang out while he risks his life for this occupation, you probably sounded so fucking ignorant.  Maybe… maybe he didn’t have to say it like that, but his point is still very valid and you’re not sure if you’re really justified in hiding like this anymore.

The way he said… your job, though.  That still stings a bit.  This hasn’t felt like an actual job in a very long time.  Was that just an expression, or did he mean it literally?  You’re stuck on it, you’ve just been going over this for hours in your head, trying to figure out if you should be the one to apologize or not—or if this is just you overreacting from the start and no apologies will be necessary at all.

“Sorry you got stuck with me, kid,” you mutter sadly to the baby, watching him fiddle with his favorite metal ball in your lap.  He makes a little gurgle, purring in that weirdly adorable little way of his and it somehow feels like a reassurance directed to you that he’s just fine the way he is.

Maker, you haven’t heard anything from the hull in a fucking eternity; it’s like Din turned into a ghost, hasn’t even made a single footstep that you could hear since you last left him standing there.  You remember performing a quick flight check as soon as you got up here, lifting off as fast as you could and hoping the thrusters would rumble loud enough to cover your series of pitifully shallow sniffles at being yelled at unexpectedly by a very large and intimidating man, not really crying but not really able to breathe normal either.  The little monster was able to wiggle himself around in your lap as you were trying to punch in the correct coordinates for the fifth quarry with rapidly blinking, watery eyes, and then proceeded to give your belly the smallest hug you think you’ve ever been given and pretty much break your heart with it.

Lovely little boy, so sweet when he wants to be.  He’s sat with you this whole time, he even tried giving you his metal ball to play with but ultimately decided to keep it to himself when he realized you aren’t nearly as fascinated by it as he is.  You know it’s probably getting late for him, and you’ve been weighing the idea of handing him over to his father so he can at least get a good night’s sleep somewhere that isn’t your arms.  There’s no blankets in here, just your lap.

“I think I gotta go take you to your dad soon, tiny.  He’s probably missing you,” you tell him, trying to keep quiet enough that you won’t disturb Din in the hull.  There’s a good chance he’s already asleep.  “I think… he might still be mad at me.  Maybe you can give him the big eyes, soften him up a little?”

Right on cue, his enormous eyes start to droop closed, and you let out a tired sigh of exasperation.  That’s not gonna work, come on.  They gotta be open, booger.

You watch him slowly drift to sleep, his ears relaxing until they too start to droop, but when you try to take the ball from him and set it down on the console, his eyes immediately pop back open and the toy slips from your fingertips.  It levitates right back into his tiny hands as you watch, and then he closes his eyes once more while tightly cuddling the thing he loves most to his body.

Unbelievable.

He’s a child, and yet he’s…

“How are you so strong?”  You ask him, unable to even fathom.  “You’re the smallest, most helpless little thing I’ve ever seen and you’ve got such… strength.  You defy the universe for a piece of metal.”

He doesn’t hear you, you think he’s asleep again.  It’s just as well, you figure.  He needs to go sleep in his crib, it’s time.  You scoop him up and make sure the little ball stays tucked snugly in his arms, before finally standing up and stumbling over to the door on numb legs.

Only, when it slides open, you quickly stop short.

Because there, sitting on the floor and resting his helmet against the corner of this small little platform leading to the ladder, is the Mandalorian.

So much closer than you expected him to be.  So big, crammed into such a tiny place.  You didn’t hear his footsteps climbing the ladder, and you would’ve noticed it during the hours you’ve spent in the suffocatingly muted quiet of hyperspace.  He can be silent but not when absolutely nothing else exists and he’s got a thousand fucking pounds of steel weighing him down at any moment in time.  You took off almost immediately once you barricaded yourself inside the cockpit, so has he… did he follow you up in those last few seconds, right after you shut the door?  The ones when you were sniffling like a child and trying desperately to turn the thrusters on before you let the tears come?

His head lifts and his back straightens as you’re looking down at him with his sleeping son cradled in your arms, your eyes slightly redder than they should be.  You’re a mess and… he’s been here this whole time?

“Could you hear me in there?”  You whisper in sudden mortification, but Din just keeps gazing up at you through the impenetrable metal visor.  A complete mystery again.  Unreadable—he could be anyone.

When he doesn’t answer you, your heart twists with the possibility that he’s still upset with you, and you quickly turn to the ladder to figure out the best way to get down without jostling the baby.

“I’m sorry.”  His voice stops you dead in your tracks.  It’s so soft, nearly flipping in and out of the modulator from the lack of volume, the most cautious sounding thing you’ve ever heard coming through the filter.  “I… hurt your feelings.  I’m sorry.”

And…  Maker, if anybody else had said it.  If literally anybody else had said it, you know it would’ve sounded like the most sarcastic, dickish remark in such a delicate moment.  But, you also remember him telling you once that you were tenderhearted.  That the galaxy would never be as kind to you as you are to it.  This… comes out sounding like he’s trying to change that.

It comes out sounding like he’s trying to use his voice to hold you because he doesn’t think you want to be touched right now.  Like… like he’s doing everything he can to be as careful as possible here because you think he might be attempting to do something he’s never done before.  Apologize for saying something he didn’t mean.

“You don’t have to,” you quickly tell him.  He’s not good with words and apologies are difficult enough to phrase for normal people, you don’t want him to fret over it if that’s what this is.  “It’s okay, I know you’re not… you don’t have to.  It was stupid of me to ask.”

“It wasn’t,” he instantly counters, his voice finally seeming to find the floor when it was just hovering before.  Not loud—still gentle, still making sure the kid doesn’t wake up and you’re not frightened away, but a bit more grounded this time.  “It wasn’t… what I wanted to hear, and I didn’t take it well.  Not stupid.”

“It was stupid,” you return amicably, looking down at your feet.  “That’s not my… job, like you said.”

Din suddenly hangs his helmet down to his chest, pressing his gloves to the part that curves over his forehead and rubbing it.  “Shit.  I didn’t mean—”

“You were right,” you acknowledge, having spent the past few hours coming to the understanding that it’s the hard truth and he just phrased it poorly.  “I’m not… built for it, I’d only get in your way.  I barely just managed to shoot stationary targets with a blaster today, and that’s only with that aim corrector built into the barrel.  I’m here to be helpful, not—”

“What are you saying?”  He suddenly lifts the beskar to study you, sounding genuinely confused.  “What aim corrector?”

That… makes you pause.

“The, uh…”  Now you’re confused.  “The one that adjusts the plasma release on the gun you gave me.”

He doesn’t move an inch or say a single thing to you in response and you awkwardly shuffle your feet for a second, everything so quiet that you can hear every little snore that goes in and out of the kid’s tiny button nose.

You blink at him after way too long of that, not knowing why he still hasn’t said anything.  “There’s an electronic sight and like a bazillion extra magnets packed into the barrel, Din, what else could—”

“Sweet girl, that’s… that’s for the Philithiorium,” Din breathes out, like he’s absolutely blown away by you right now.  “That gas is less stable than normal canisters, it takes more magnets to focus the white beam without overheating the metal.”

You stare at him, not truly processing.  He’s saying that… you made all those shots today without any help at all?  By yourself?

Your eyebrows furrow and you blink a few times, but then his slow, heavy sigh echoes throughout the metal walls with disappointment… and you don’t think it’s directed towards you.

“You’re just… always so unsure of yourself.”  He sounds genuinely distraught as his helmet tips down to look at the ground.  “I made that worse today.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you quickly shake your head, your chest already beginning to loosen slightly by just being around him, hearing his voice, seeing the metal glint under the fluorescent light overhead when he’s in such a vulnerable position on the floor.  “It’s okay, let’s just… pretend neither of us said anything at all, okay?”

“Is that what you really want?”  He asks you after a moment of quiet, and for some reason, you hear something in your mind tell you that his arms look so nice right now, don’t they?  You could fit right there, perfect and safe again.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” you smile at him, feeling a bit of the ache trapped inside you continue to work itself out little by little.  You’ll be back to normal soon, it’s fine.

“No, I mean… do you really want to come with me?”  Din asks you, the words sounding cautious.  Confused, like he truly never expected the proposition from you at all.  “Or… do you just not want me to go?”

Oof, what a fucking question.

Why would he ask this?  It’s not pointed; it’s the softest, gentlest inquiry you’ve ever been posed.  Maybe in other circumstances, you’d say that him leaving doesn’t have anything to do with it, but… you’re certain that internally, it absolutely does have at least something to do with it and he was just able to know it before you did.  Which is probably why his sharp words seemed all the more cutting earlier.  It hurt because he said the truth first, verbalized a very deep insecurity you’ve been trying to hide from him and threw it right in your face when shutting you down.

Though, if it worked differently and you were the one who had to be away while he stayed here, you’d like to think you’d handle it way better than how it is now.  At least you’d have a real mission to focus on, new things to see and experiences to have.  You just feel… confined sometimes.

You take a deep breath and figure you’ll use sitting down as an excuse to think for a second.  There’s practically no room but you find it in the back of the cockpit near the doorframe anyways, doing your best to keep the kid level while you slowly lower yourself to the ground near him.  Not touching him, but close.

“I just… I lived my whole life stuck in one spot, wanting to see the galaxy,” you finally admit to him, staring at his chestplate but seeing the helmet tilt slightly in your peripheral.  “Sometimes it’s just… hard to see the galaxy and still be stuck in one spot, I guess.”

“…You want an adventure,” Din proposes quietly, and though there’s not a single hint of mockery in his voice, you suddenly feel like it’s really fucking dumb when he phrases it like that.  What are you, an eight year old?  Wanting to go on an adventure, see things you’ve never seen without any concept for real life?  Credits?  Time?  Resources?

You shrug a shoulder to make it seem like it’s no big deal.  Why is he even entertaining this right now?  “It’s stupid, I kn—”

“Like on Naboo,” he goes on, ignoring your harsh self-criticism, not allowing you the ability to even get it out once he heard the first couple words.  “Going through the forest, seeing that waterfall.  Someplace to find for yourself.  Explore.  Experience.”

You… you want it so badly that you think your eyes might tear up just hearing the words coming out of his mouth when he says them like that.  Like he… just inherently understands.  He knows.

He knows you.  He’s not good with words and yet he found the single most succinct way to put what you thought was a complex yearning without even trying.  You can’t even answer him, he hit the target dead on and you’re left with nothing to say that wouldn’t just be a miserable lie.

“Okay,” Din says after a moment, giving you a small nod.

You’re lost now.  “…Okay?”

“You’re never going on a hunt with me,” he tells you very seriously, no room for arguing.  “Ever.  And not because you can’t handle it, understand?”  He inhales, quickly adding on to his response before you’re able to analyze it the way you want to.  “But if you want an adventure, then… I can try and find a way to give you one.”

Stars.  He’s… too kind.  You somehow feel like it’s more than you deserve.  You were honestly hoping to just shadow him on a hunt, watch him work and stay well out of the way when he needs you to.  Helping if you think you’d be of any help; an extra set of eyes and hands.  You would’ve been fine even if he didn’t apologize for raising his voice at you, he doesn’t have to do this for you.

“Thank you,” you say for the third time today, feeling like each one has somehow multiplied in sincerity.

“It can’t be right now,” he quickly tells you, apologetic but earnest about it.  “I have to find the quarry, and I’m supposed to meet with Karga again in a week.”

You never did let him know about the other part of the deal you made with Karga, you admit.  Four pucks, no hassling, no hard time constraints.  That’s what you shook on, but you just never found a way to bring it up to Din.  Especially since you’ve been so preoccupied with hiding your growing disappointment from him whenever he has to go.

“If…” you pause, wondering the best way to phrase this.  Yikes, this is a toughie.  “Um.  If Karga… I don’t know, hypothetically, if Karga decided to loosen the time constraints back to the way they were before the Corellian bounty, would you… still need to meet with him again in a week?”

You don’t think he even bothers shuffling through all those words.  “Say what you mean.  Please.”

“That was part of the deal I struck with him,” you quickly explain.  “You can hunt on your own timetable again and he’ll keep giving you four pucks like before, no more or less after this one extra quarry.  It’s like a… replacement of sorts, for the one I kept you from getting the time before.  If credits aren’t an issue, you can take more than a week.  But only if you want to, you don’t have to.  It’s just there and you should know, that’s all.”

He takes his time responding, lifting his helmet just the slightest bit in… surprise?  Maybe?

“You never told me you did that,” Din finally murmurs.

“Ah.  Well.”  You look down at the sleeping kid in your arms.  “I didn’t want you to think I was trying to… keep you here.”

It genuinely is a struggle for you, and you think he’s just now realizing that.  As much as you know he gets frustrated with you for always wanting him to be here when he physically can’t be, you think it’s only now that he’s truly realizing the lengths you go to in order to stomp that part of you down whenever you feel it threatening to come up.  You allowed him to leave every single time without telling him he could stay, knowing that all that was left for you was babysitting and target practice for days on end.

“Will you come over here?”  Din finally asks, and the tone of his voice just punches you in the chest.  So soft, so distressed from having you so close yet so far from him and just… full of a quiet hope, like he’s fully expecting you to say no.

“Will we fit?”  You whisper after a moment, even quieter.

He doesn’t answer, he just reaches for you.  You do your best to scoot over to him without waking the kid, and then Din pulls you the rest of the way once he has a grip.  You go right into his arms, laying sideways across his lap and supported by his steel embrace.

Oh, it’s not comfortable but you’ve also never been more fucking comfortable.  One of his knees lifts and allows you to rest your back against it without worrying about falling over sideways and down the ladder to the hull, thank the Maker.  The beskar pauldron over his shoulder digs into your cheek, but Din immediately pushes an arm up to nudge his helmet off and make it better for both of you.  Your face automatically fits into the crook of his neck while he sets the beskar on the bend of his knee, and then he silently cradles you while you do the same to his little boy… who does the same to his favorite metal ball.

“Ni tar’tayl su,” he murmurs into your hair, the one phrase in Mando’a you do recognize, especially with how beautiful and elegant it sounds rolling off his tongue.  “Forgive me.  Ni ceta.”

You sigh your contentment and melt into him, well aware that you’d still be more comfortable in bed.  But when you’re pressed hard against his chest like this and the baby is fast asleep in your arms, you get to feel both of them breathing.  Din’s right lung is probably bigger than the kid’s whole entire body, but you like the radically different cycles they go through.  You think you count six full breaths coming from the brown sack in your palms for every one of Din’s and two of yours.  It creates the most beautiful little symphony that sometimes gets a little off track, but always finds its way back around again.

“How do you say…”  You ask, feeling his hand slowly move down the curve of your spine, mindless and hypnotic.  It catches the edge of your shirt and goes underneath, and even though it’s not his bare hand and there’s no skin to skin, it still feels so good.  Not sexual or sensual even, just… a comfort to you.  “In Mando’a, how do you say… out of a trillion?”

Din’s breaths pause for just a second, his portion of the synchronized rhythm faltering.  Soon it starts back up, and his head turns to press his lips against your hair.

“I don’t think there’s a word for it,” he admits, gently brushing a thumb across the baby’s forehead while he snoozes.  “There could be, but I don’t know it.  I’d use… out of a million million millions.  Dayn alanyc bal alanyc bal alanyci.”

Your eyes begin to drift closed, exhausted from keeping them open after shedding a few tears earlier.  Your first fight and you’re already completely in love with him again after a handful of hours of sulking and one conversation.  How is that possible?  You’re normally a very forgiving person and it wouldn’t have taken much to make you feel better, you just never expected him to… actually want it from you that badly, care enough about it to get on the floor and ask.

Din doesn’t move the entire night through.  You assumed he’d make everyone get up at some point and move to the hull, but he doesn’t.  You fall asleep against his chest, comforted by the silence once again.

***

The next morning, Din quietly climbs into the cockpit while you’re humming in the shower.  You’re too busy basking in the indoor rainfall to feel the ship pull out of hyperspace, and then jump back into it a few moments after.

***

“How long do you think you’ll be this time?”  You ask two days later, sitting on the extended flattop of Din’s old cot and swinging your legs back and forth.  The baby is currently sitting on your lap and trying to roll the metal ball down your knee so you’ll kick it in the air, you think, because he keeps dropping it at different moments and forcing you to stop moving your legs to prevent accidentally denting a wall.  Every time the ball clatters to the floor, he makes a sad sound and it immediately lifts back up into his tiny hands for another try.

Heavy boots clang against the metal floor as Din drops down from the ladder, having just landed the Crest on the surface of whatever planet you’re on.  “I’m not leaving yet.”

“Oh…”  You blink, surprised.  “Okay.”

“I wanted to do some more training with you first, if that’s okay.  You can say no if you want, but maybe not,” Din drawls, striding over to the armory and opening it.  He carefully removes your blaster from the front shelf, speaking with his back to you.  “You’re going to run.”

“Um.”  You take a moment to glance around the enclosed hull, before turning to look back at him with your eyebrows raised.  “What, like… in place?”

Din sighs and closes the armory before leaning back against the doors, rubbing the face of the helmet in exasperation.  “From me, sweet girl.”

Your legs stop swinging, and the baby grumbles and slaps three fingers against your knee.  “What?”

“We’re on Sanctuary II,” he explains, turning to grab his black bag from one of the storage shelves.  He unzips it and reaches back into one of the larger pockets on his utility belt, before grabbing a handful of credits and stuffing them inside.  “It’s a moon, the New Republic occupied it years ago and made it a safe world for refugees and orphans of the Empire.  You’ll have your blaster, some credits, a communicator, and a day head start.  You’re going to run from me.  Show me how much you’ve learned.”

Is… he for real?

Right now?  You don’t even know how to respond, you’re too surprised.  Even when Din approaches and carefully trades the kid for your blaster, setting the bag down next to you on the metal bed, you still haven’t answered him.

“If you want?”  He asks after a moment, and you quickly jerk your head into a nod and jump off the raised platform, almost knocking into him with your sudden excitement.

“Okay!  Fuck yeah,” you grin, but Din shakes his head.

“Rules,” he says seriously, and you quickly do your best to frown, trying to compose your thrilled expression to match his tone.  “One.  This is a safe world, but things can always happen.  You have a blaster now, but it’s for emergencies only.  Do not shoot me with it.  Do you understand?”  You nod, but Din reaches forward to grab your elbow.  “Out loud, please.  For me.”

“I will not shoot you with this blaster,” you vow obediently, carefully cradling the precious firearm in your hands.

“Do not shoot me,” he repeats while pointing a leather finger at you.  “Do not… shoot at me.  Near me.  Around me.  No, just—don’t shoot.  Unless I am… very far away.  Okay?”

Well, he didn’t have to phrase it like that.  You frown, but acquiesce regardless.  “I will only resort to blastering if it’s an emergency and you are not around.”

He nods a thank you for putting it into better words.  “Second rule.  Since you don’t have a ship, I won’t either.  We’re on foot.  I don’t doubt you can hotwire a piece of junk to do what you need it to do, but I’d prefer it if you didn’t.  Good?”

Entirely accurate and entirely fair.  “Good.”

“Three,” he says.  “I’ll have the kid with me, which is both good and bad news for you.  Good news is he’ll slow me down, bad news is I can’t promise he won’t also try to intervene at some point if you’re serious about putting up a decent fight.  What I can promise is that I won’t encourage it.”

“Reassuring,” you nod.  “Also not really a rule.  Please continue.”

“Four.”  He pauses for a second.  “I think I’m wanted by the New Republic.”

You nearly jerk back.  “What?”

“I can’t confirm it and I’m not proud of it,” Din quickly tells you, probably the vaguest possible explanation he could provide.  “I’m only telling you so that you’ll know your advantage and find a way to exploit it.  I can’t be seen by any officers, or they might arrest me.”

Is he fucking serious?  “I don’t want you to be arrested, Din, I—”

“I won’t be,” he assures you.  “They owe me one, I just don’t want to cash in yet.  Trust me.”

You… do.  Insanely, and against every logical thought flittering through your head, you do.  If you were ever going to bet money that someone would be able to navigate a safe world on foot without being caught by the numerous officers scattered across the surface, then you’d put all your credits on Din Djarin.  It… also shouldn’t really surprise you at all that the people seeking his incarceration also owe him a favor, should it?  It actually sounds right on par for him.  “Okay.”

“Fifth, and this one is important, so listen up,” he continues gruffly.  “You check in with me tonight over the e-comm, alright?  I don’t care where you are or how safe this planet is, if you don’t check in, I’ll come find you before the sun rises.  Say you understand me.”

“I understand you,” you tell him, your heart beginning to pound in your chest at the reality of this actually happening.  “I’ll check in tonight.”

“And if,” he goes on, “by some miracle, you manage to make it more than a full day, you check in with me tomorrow night, too.  Say it.”

“I will check in with you every single night for the full five days it’ll take you to find me,” you assert, the adrenaline starting to make you brash and giddy.  

Din tilts his helmet at you sternly.  It is a very, very stern tilt.  “Okay.  New plan, forget everything I just said.”

Your expression furrows.  “What’s the new plan?”

“That is the new plan,” he says, dead serious.  “Us.  Not doing this.”

“Oh, come on,” you grin cheekily up at him, poking his chestplate.  “I’m just giving you some motivation to find me quicker, that’s all.”

Din stares down at you, and… yeesh.  Tough crowd.

“Tell you what,” he finally grunts, sounding incredibly unamused with your jesting.  “If you can last that long with only a day head start, I’ll let you come with me to collect the fifth quarry.  You can even cuff the bastard yourself.”

You know it’s just because he’s rightly confident in his own deadly skill, but hearing him propose the possibility still shoots a thrill down your spine.  “Oh ho, you are gonna regret saying that, shiny,” you beam up at him, starting to hop back and forth on each foot with excitement.

“But if I’m able to find you, you can’t ask me ever again,” he finishes shortly, and you immediately go still in front of him.

“What?”

“If I’m able to find you in five days, I don’t want to hear about you coming with me on a hunt and you can’t ever ask me not to go on one,” Din tells you, his voice rough and gravelly through the modulator.  Not mean or harsh, but firm.  “From now on, it’ll be off-limits.”

You… take a moment, not knowing if you should feel scolded or not.  When you don’t immediately say anything in response, he sighs and turns the helmet away from you.

“Leaving is hard enough as it is,” he mutters, looking at the ground.  “Hearing you ask… makes it impossible.”

You slowly lower your gaze to the floor as well, feeling your heart constrict tight in your chest.  There’s a real pull under his voice, telling you that information even though it sounds like he doesn’t really want to admit it out loud.  It… really is a struggle for him too, then.  You understand.

“Okay,” you nod.  There’s not a single part of you that actually thinks you’ll be able to stay hidden from him for five days while stuck on foot, so this is essentially a given.  You’re not thrilled about the idea, but you’re going to do your best to respect it nonetheless, especially if he cares enough to put off hunting and allow you this experience for yourself.  It’s a better compromise than you ever imagined, and you’ll do everything you can to hold up your side of the bargain.

Din clears his throat and straightens his spine, turning the visor until it faces you head on once more.  “Final rule.  I reserve the right to break any rule we just agreed to, or any fucking rule in this galaxy to keep you safe.  Good?”

Your cheeks flush with heat, your stomach suddenly filling with butterflies.  He doesn’t do that.  Din says what he says or he doesn’t say anything at all, there’s no… taking things back, he’s already breaking his own code.

“What happened to The Way says no take-backs?”  You ask quietly.

“This is my way,” he answers you.  Quick, not even taking a moment to think about it, before pulling out a fancy looking wristwatch thing and clipping it on you himself.  “This is your communicator.  It takes more power than the one you have now but it’ll reach a further distance.  I have one just like it, they’re locked into the same frequency and timesynced together, and the batteries need to be charged every three days.  If you make it that long, I’ll remind you.”  Din grabs the bag while you slide your arm into it, helping you hook it around your shoulder with one hand while he cradles the kid in his other.  Your heart is pounding now, pumping with adrenaline as he pulls you towards the middle of the hull and then wraps an arm around you.

“Hey,” he murmurs, pulling you tight to him and pressing the helmet to the crown of your head.  His voice is barely a whisper through the modulator.  “Gar darasuum.”  For an eternity.

You find some way to wrap your arms around him, even with your blaster in your hand and the kid hanging out in his dad’s other arm.

“Dayn alanyc, bal alanyc, bal alanyci,” you murmur dutifully against the beskar chestplate, knowing your accent is probably butchering the words but hoping they still carry the same sentiment.

And then you’re squeeeeeezed hard enough to get a little air out of you, before you’re let go and he turns around, pressing a button on his vambrace so the ramp begins to lower.

It’s bright outside but not too bright, and everything is warm and gentle and breezy, right in the middle of a lush plain.  You inhale the fresh air into your lungs, looking out across the wide open field, having no fucking clue this is where your day would be leading when you woke up this morning.  Oh Maker, it’s gorgeous here.  Not like Naboo, where every single thing is picturesque and fit for an e-card, but in a soft, understated kind of way.  The sky is a canvas of swirling pastel clouds, pale pinks and yellows and blues, and the communicator on your wrist lets you know that it’s just after noon here.

You take one single step down the ramp, before immediately stopping and turning around to bite your lip at him.

“How am I… how am I supposed to outrun you?”  You ask, already clueless.  “You’re too good, better than me at everything.”

“That’s not true,” Din reminds you sternly, grabbing your hand at your side.  “You already know who’s after you, that’s an advantage nobody else has ever had against me.  You know how I think.  I don’t know how, but sometimes it’s like you can…”  He slowly shakes his head.  “See me.  Through the metal.”

“But… but that works both ways,” you point out, breathless at hearing him say that but needing to focus right now.  “You know me, too—you’ll know exactly where I—”

He shakes his head again, but quickly this time.  “Remember what I told you a long time ago?  What your best weapon is?”

You… do not.  He told you so many things, and you’re assuming every single one of them is going to come into play during this endeavor if you want to outlast.  You’re going to have to think back and remember all of them individually, find the time to figure out your best plan of action based on the remarkably little you know about how he hunts.

“You’re smart, remember?”  Din murmurs, squeezing your fingers.  “Your mind works differently, it sees things in ways I’ll never be able to, not even with this helmet.  So…”  He shrugs a shoulder like it’s the simplest thing in the galaxy.  “Don’t try to outrun, okay?  Just try to outsmart.”

You give him a nod after a moment, still not really sure about it, before giving his hand one last squeeze in return and eventually letting go.  

Outsmart.  Outsmart him, use what you know about him to be the most elusive quarry he’s ever hunted down.

As you make your way down the ramp, you’re already thinking.  His helmet tracks footprints, that’s a thing you know.  You’ll have to find someone to trade shoes with, then—yours aren’t too beat up, maybe you can find a local who’d appreciate a better pair.  Are you going to a city?  Would there be one in walking distance?  The wilderness won’t work, you’ll be too exposed and it would make you an easy target for either him or wild animals.  The weather seems clear here though, and you don’t think you’ll need to worry about rain or snow, but if—

“Oh—but when you do see me,” Din decides to add when your feet finally touch the grass, and you pause once more to turn around and look at him.  He stays quiet for a second, studying you through the helmet for too long.  Like the anticipation is getting to him already.

You bite your lip back at him and adjust the bag on your shoulder, tummy swirling with nerves and excitement.  He tilts the visor up, gazing down at you from the hull with the kid tucked in his arms.

“Try to outrun,” he says gruffly, before turning back into the ship and letting the ramp slowly close behind him.

[merakiui]

Frostbite

yandere!childe x (gender neutral) reader art credit - GNSN_FA on twt cw: yandere, blood, minor gore (lacerations), unhealthy behaviors/relationship, mentions of death/hypothermia, fighting

It’s borderline animalistic, the way you cling to warmth and life like a starved, neglected hound. Your fingers stiffen in a vain attempt to flex—to successfully grasp your sword like a true warrior. The furs that were once draped over your body are ragged, torn to shreds from a dangerous battle between the elements and him. There’s no mistaking the excitement that lights his every nerve like bulbs hanging from a Christmas tree, coated in the maddening swell of potent bloodlust. If surrender was an option, you would have done it long ago.

Even then, you’re certain he wouldn’t give you such a benevolent chance no matter how hard you were to beg and plead.

Your breath materializes like a phantom in front of your face, a cruel reminder that you’re still breathing in a battered body. Your fingernails are chipped, blood running down the tips from an icy struggle, but you refuse to succumb to the cold. Instead, you allow yourself to be swept up in his electrified stare. 

“What’s the matter, comrade?” There’s a wry smile pulling his chapped lips apart, showcasing flawless teeth aligned in a perfect face. Despite the brutal wear of this current fight, he’s still handsome. And that makes you sick. “I thought you said you’ve gotten stronger. If I wanted a real battle, I would’ve challenged one of my subordinates and that’s nowhere near as fun as this!”

Keeled over in the snow, your lungs burning with each rattled inhale, you struggle to meet his eyes. The deathly chill of the Snezhnayan climate claws at your exhausted form like the porcelain fingers of a skeleton. You might as well surrender to the freezing temperatures. After all, the frostbite is far kinder than the fighting machine looming over you, the toe of his boot nudging your trembling self. 

“I... I am strong,” you manage to say before the dangerous wind pierces your throat like a dagger. Like the icicle Childe’s wielding, a happily convenient reaction between Hydro and Cryo elements. You cough and crimson paints the snow. “Strong. I’m strong.”

“Then get up.” There isn’t any warmth in his tone. Cold like ice and devoid of his former playfulness. Under all of that nonchalance, a fierce, chiseled warrior lies in comfortable wait. When his eyes trace your hunched form and he spots the blood that dribbles past your lips, practically freezing as soon as it makes contact with the frigid air, those dull hues widen. Surely he’s hit a weak spot, a vital organ or something close to a fatal blow. He wonders for a brief moment if you’re afraid of death. “You’ll freeze if you don’t move.”

A flash catches your attention and then there is the flow of suffocating water. Sharpened blades of ice surround you on all sides, nearly scraping your arms, so you force yourself onto unsteady legs. Internally, you’re searching for a way out—for a way to give up before you bite off more than you can chew. This sparring match wasn’t your request, but you had been a fool to accept, having been so certain of your strength and wit. But you aren’t accustomed to Snezhnaya, whereas Childe has spent years of his life here: training, learning, and fighting until he was worthy of the Tsaritsa’s praise. 

With sloppy movements, you cut through the ice as if it’s butter, eternally grateful for the sharpness of your trusty sword. You can’t tell when this fight will end, but you hope an opening with present itself. As soon as it does, you’re running as far as your frozen legs will take you. Like a feral beast who fights desperately against the unfair hands of the Grim Reaper, you stumble forwards, slashing blindly at your target. He’s thoroughly amused with your struggle, having seen this sort of desperation many times before on the battlefield.

It’s a depressing thing, knowing you’ll be destined for failure and yet you still push onwards. As if that will turn the tide of this battle in your favor. Childe almost admires your persistence, but it isn’t all that special. He’s seen it all before but not quite in the way you portray it. Your despair is far more delectable than that of any low-ranking Fatui soldier. Childe could bask in this for eternity and he’d never grow bored. To have you by his side as his punching bag—it excites him just a little too much. 

Naturally, the more he spars with you, the more he’ll grow accustomed to your attack and defense patterns. A strategy is only worthwhile if it rakes in victory. No matter the cost. No matter how many fall and grovel, begging for their pitiful lives. In a way, his moral compass is rather skewed. He supposes that makes him a bad person, but he’s never been one for the hero role. 

Childe taps your shoulder and you whirl, slicing upwards with your sword. The blade cuts the air, not the torso of the man who jumps back with such deadly precision. The expression he’s wearing haunts you: a wicked smile, pupils blown wide with the thrill of life and death, and a blooming bruise from where you managed to hit him in your earlier scuffle. In any form, he looks good, be it blue and purple, red and pale, or even frozen stiff by the very ice that reacts to his Hydro abilities. You can’t stand your weak heart, as you’re well aware of the face he’ll bear tomorrow. Friendly and disarming, a total opposite to the grinning madman twirling water-turned-ice blades like they’re circus batons. 

Like always, you’ll return his kindness because you’re a fool. Because you like the soft, wholesome Childe that cares lovingly for his family—the side he’s displayed in rare instances that glimmer beyond the gilded portrait of a battle-hardened soldier. 

You fall hard on your back, landing in the thick snow with a wheeze. There is no warmth on the battlefield. Only pain, suffering, and the certainty of death. You push yourself to get up, but your muscles won’t move, too heavy and sore. You know you’re strong—you’ve faced many opponents before and you’ve lived to boast of your successes. You can beat Childe. You have to if you intend to avoid fights with him in the future. 

“Well, this is upsetting.” He’s frowning now, idly tapping the crystalized water while he circles you like a sharp-toothed predator. “Didn’t expect this to end so quickly.”

Liar. You already know I can’t beat you, you want to say, but the words escape you. Not yet, anyways.

A sneer splits your dry lips and blood trickles down your chin like a woeful river. You don’t need a mirror to witness the damage. 

“Teucer won’t like this,” you say, staring up at Childe with dead eyes, hoping to prod at his weak spots. If the mention of his brother affects him, Childe doesn’t let it show.

“He doesn’t have to know,” he retorts, brushing aside such a possibility with ease. 

Right. Because you expect me to put myself back together like a toy. Of course, almighty Childe, the greatest toy salesman in all of Snezhnaya. 

“Well.” You pause to exhale and pain shoots through your side. Through your bleary gaze, you can see a deep laceration. Blood stains what’s left of your attire, and you move your rigid hands over the wound to prevent anymore blood loss. “Congrats. You won.”

“You’re giving up?” Bewilderment flashes across his face for an instant before it melts away into an emotion you can’t place. Anger? Sadness? Is he unhappy with this win? 

“What does it look like? I can’t possibly fight with these injuries.” 

It hurts to speak and you wish he would just stop. If he could accept the outcome of this battle, this wouldn’t be such a problem. You’d be able to patch and heal yourself up before your condition gets any worse. With the chill seeping into your open cut, harshly kissing slick, wet blood, you doubt you’ll make it inside before passing out. Vaguely, you recall the unfamiliar stages of hypothermia. At worst, if you stay out in this fatal weather, pinned like an entomologist’s butterfly under Childe’s monstrous gaze, you’ll freeze to death. At best, you’ll escape, build a fire, and warm up to the best of your ability. Weighing your options, you’d rather lose a finger or a toe as opposed to your life. 

“You can fight.” His blade is at your throat, the pointed tip niggling into your jugular. It’s more of a threat than a warning, a means to spur you into action. “You’ll never get stronger if you’re always running away, comrade.”

Your life has some value; Childe just can’t see that. In his eyes, a fight should be seen through to the very end, even if it’s marred in death and destruction. Yet here you are, choosing to abandon your pride. That must have some strength in itself, right? You hate his face, his childish nature, and the fact that his everything is making you reconsider. You’re doomed to fail if you continue to push your frostbitten body past its natural limits. 

“I...” The blade slices along your throat, a mere surface wound. You can’t feel the sting or the sticky blood that spills out like flowing tears, having become as numb as a fish-eyed animal near extinction. “Childe—“

You don’t want to hurt him and he knows this. It twists his insides like a knife in flesh, turning and turning until organs pop and leak into soupy conflict. The blade leaves your throat and another harsh wind blows between the two of you, glacial and prickling. He distances himself, tracking your form in case you happen to move. You’ve stopped shivering at this point, lying flat on your back and staring up at the dark sky. Snowflakes cling to your lashes like the hands of death, pulling you closer to an invisible grave. 

“You can fight.” Is that desperation in his voice? You almost laugh at the idea. He’s not a desperate man; he doesn’t need to be when he has it all. “Get up, comrade.”

“I think...I’ll stay here,” you whisper, your heartbeat irregularly slow. You’ve never counted the beats before, but now it makes for a fun distraction. “Good job, Childe. You’ve definitely...”

Gotten stronger.

You possess strength, just not the type Childe wants to experience firsthand. He has no use for a lonely, unseeing corpse. And when your eyelids flutter, closing upon a face that reflects frozen death, he releases a sigh. His blade falls at once, landing in the snow with a thump, and he bends down to gather your fallen frame in his arms. Somehow, whenever he spars with you—whenever he’s within touching distance—he feels alive. As if you’ve breathed meaning into his frostbitten soul, warming the cold beast that lurks and pounces at the sight and smell of fresh bloodshed. 

If he’s learned anything, it’s that there’s always going to be room for improvement. You just need to train more, and he’d be over the moon to fight you until it’s your blade slicing through his skin. In the meantime, though, he’ll have to kiss color and life back into your monochrome world of death and despair. 

As the greatest toy salesman in all of Snezhnaya, it’s only fair if he repairs the damages done to his favorite toy. Break, repair, and repeat. A cycle befitting a messy relationship and an even messier slew of choices. Rinse and repeat, like waves licking up a carcass bound to the shore. 

Come morning, you’ll be shiny and new, ready to sit by his side for another leisurely ice-fishing outing. Childe isn’t known as the greatest toy salesman for nothing, and you’re just barely scraping by with each battle scar and bandage—courtesy of such an illustrious, experimental toy salesman. 

[floating-mid-air]

The Princess of all Saiyans

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 Masterlist

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Hey Everyone! It's been a while. My life's been kind of hectic the past couple of months. Long story short: I Graduated from Highschool this year, so I was busy with everything having to do with that. Then my summer job sadly prevented me from writing as well. And then I started College, which was a big change for me. For now, there are no more chapters in my life opening or closing. Now I'm finally in a place where I feel comfortable continuing this book again. I could've honestly been writing during all of this chaos. But I wouldn't have been pleased with the quality of my writing. I'm really excited to get back into the swing of things. I don't think this chapter panned out the way I originally planned, but I'm still happy with it. As always, I hope you enjoy it. And if you have any comments or concerns, feel free to let me know. My inbox is always open!

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Chapter 11

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You've been walking for quite some time now, and the experience has been excruciating. You haven't been in this much pain since you and Raditz were on planet Telia, ten-something years ago. Those damn underlings were able to get a good sneak attack on you. Though you can't say, you let them get away scot-free. You made sure to make their entire dreadful race pay for that injury. You and Raditz had covered up that incident, much like you're doing with your current injury.

"So---" You can hear Goku talking to Krillin from just slightly left of you. "Did you guys find the senzu beans?" Wow, Kakarot may be the least subtle creature you've ever encountered.

"Ya." Krillin chuckles. "All four of us were in pretty rough shape." Goku glances at you with a worried look on his face. You glare at him as Raditz eyes the two of you skeptically. He knows something's off between the two of you. Maybe something serious did happen while you and his brother were trapped together. 

A bit more time has passed, and you've been trying your best to keep up with the others. But it isn't as easy as you thought. You're now trailing behind the rest of them, with Raditz turning back to look at you every so often. The largest Saiyan slows down to catch up with your slower pace, now walking beside you.

He turns to you, whispering in a low tone. "Something's off." Raditz can no longer stay silent about his concerns. First, it was the strange vibes between you and Kakarot. And now it's your out-of-character demeanor making him uneasy.

"About what?"

"You. Typically you walk beside your brother, and when he doesn't let you, you make sure you're always only a few paces behind. But right now, you couldn't be more content to trail everyone. Plus, you're far too confident to not be in the very front." Raditz has been around far too long for your liking. Damn him. He knows you far too well, and you hate him for it.

You roll your eyes at him. "So this conclusion of yours is based on the way I'm walking? I'm tired. When I fought, Burter, that physically drained me. And then I got trapped in a ditch with your moronic brother, that mentally drained me. I'm exhausted, Raditz." 

"It's not just the way you're walking. It's your mannerisms as well." He points at your side. "Your hand hasn't moved from your side from the moment I first saw you."

"God, Raditz." You scoff. "Stop overanalyzing everything."

"Getting defensive now? That's your M.O whenever you're hiding something." He looks back and forth between your face and your hand that has remained glued to your side. The gears in the older Saiyan's head slowly but surely turning. " Y/N, are you hurt?" 

"No." You snap your eyes shut, biting your lip hard enough to draw blood in an attempt to suppress a wince of pain. "I'm fine."

He tilts his head at you. "Y/N, I know you claim otherwise, but I'm not stupid. I know you're in pain."

You chuckle softly in a self-pitying way. "Am I that easy to read?"

Raditz shakes his head, smiling to himself. "No, I've just known you for a long time now." He returns to his serious demeanor, his gaze returning to the area of your wound. "How bad is it?"

"I barely feel it at all. Though, climbing out of that ditch must have reopened the cut."

Raditz snickers. "You're a bad liar."

"That's strange. I've been told in the past that I'm quite good at lying."

A smirk spreads across Raditz's lips. "Well, you apparently aren't when I'm involved."

The larger Saiyan glances at the back of your brother's head. You respond with a glare, firmly pulling on a large chunk of his hair. You know what Raditz wants to do, and it's not happening. "Don't even think about it."

"I-I think we should tell him Y/N."

"No." You let go of his hair, tapping his chest with extreme force. "You're going to keep your big mouth shut. Vegeta will freak out. You know how irrational he gets."

Raditz decides to let you have your way--- for now. The man can't help but wonder why you're so stubborn, but then again, his nature isn't much different from yours.

With every minute that passes, your condition only seems to worsen. Your eyes even start to droop. "Y/N?" Raditz turns to you, his features beginning to fill with worry. He places one of his large hands on your forehead. You're burning up. "You have a fever. Your wound must be infected."

"No." You shake your head in disagreement, almost like a child. As your mental state becomes more and more delirious. 

"Vegeta!" Raditz shouts, gaining your brother's attention.

"Fuck you, Raditz! You're such a blabbermouth!" You shout at the larger Saiyan in front of you.

"What's wrong this time? Is my sister trying to pull you into another one of her elaborate schemes?"

"Y/N's hurt--- bad." Vegeta's eyes widen, and not even a millisecond later, he rushes to your side. "She has a fever. I think her cut is infected."

"Where is it?" He crosses his arms at you, noticing your hand placed firmly on your side. He moves your hand out of the way with ease, lifting your armor. "How did this happen?"

"Burter nicked me during our fight. It's no big deal."

"No big deal? It's infected, you stupid woman!" He turns his attention to Kakarot. "Did you know about this?"

You snicker. "Oh ya, Vegeta. I get hurt, and the first person I run to tell is Kakarot." Vegeta's fists clench at your sarcastic remark, turning his fit of rage back at you.

"You know, in certain situations, you're more prone to infections. And a planet like Namek checks all of the boxes! You know you need to be more careful. Damn our mother and her faulty genetics!" Sadly that's a trait you had inherited from your mother. On most planets, you'd be fine, and injuring yourself would be no big deal. But Namek has specific conditions that result in you being more vulnerable. 

"Raditz, pick her up." Raditz picks you up, giving you a piggyback ride. You wrap your arms around his neck, giving yourself better balance. Vegeta glances up at you. He looks even madder than usual. "With the condition, you're in, you will not be fighting. You will stay away from Jeice, and you won't even enter the same proximity as Ginyu. Do you understand me?"

"But--"

"No!" His voice booms, gaining the attention of every creature for miles. "I'm not kidding around. Do you understand me?"

You bite your lip, tilting your head downwards, avoiding your brother's gaze like the plague. "Yes, Vegeta." Vegeta returns to the front of the group, his mood sourer than ever.

As Raditz begins to walk, he starts talking to you again. "Are you mad at me?" You don't verbally respond. Instead, you claw into his shoulders, your nails digging into his flesh. "Fuck. I'll take that as a yes."

"You're a tattletale."

Raditz chuckles. "No wonder why Vegeta babies you. You'll thank me for this later, you stubborn woman. And I've kept your secrets before, handfuls of them, actually. Like what happened on planet Telia----" Raditz realized the grave mistake he had just made, mentioning that incident in the presence of the very being you worked so hard to hide it from.

You slap the older Saiyan upside the head as Vegeta turns backward, a scowl plastered on his face. "What happened on plant Telia?" It was a rhetorical question, mocking both you and Raditz. "Oh, the three of us will be discussing this in length later. Because it sounds to me like you both lied to me on that initial report." You and Raditz gulp, you've heard that tone from your brother millions of times now, and it has never once become any less terrifying. 

"Oh, lighten up, Geta." You groan. "That was like, what? Around thirteen years ago?"

"The amount of time that has passed matters very little to me. As I said before, this is a discussion for later."

A few more hours have passed, which honestly feels like days at this point. And considering Namek's strange day cycle, it very well could've been. "How much farther?" Your question was clearly directed at Vegeta. And at this point, you're not even sure he has any idea where you're headed either.

"I don't know why you're the one complaining." Raditz huffs.  "You're not the one doing all of the walking! And if you ask him that one more time, I'm going to drop you." Ok so maybe, that wasn't the first time you've asked that question today. Or the second, or third, you're very bored. 

"Man Raditz." You roll your eyes, which are barely open at this point. "You sure complain--- a lot."

"You were just complaining." The long-haired Saiyan grumbles. 

"No, I simply asked Vegeta a question. There's a difference Raditz. I know it's hard for your feeble mind to understand." When you're sick, you tend to act, oh what's the word? Bitcher than normal. And that's saying a lot.

Raditz clenches his jaw. "Vegeta. I need a break from your sister."

"That's how I felt ninety percent of the time I was stuck in a room with you, Nappa, and Cado. And you didn't see me running to wine to Frieza about it."

Before Raditz can retort, your brother interjects. "That's enough! From both of you!"

Krillin, Gohan, and Goku have identical bewildered expressions on their faces. Krillin turns to Vegeta, lowering his voice to a whisper. He doesn't want to be the next victim of your wrath. "Do they always fight like this?" The human finds this perplexing. Back on Earth, the pair seemed inseparable. They appeared to be the Saiyan equivalent of what on Earth would be considered best friends.

Vegeta lets out an exaggerated sigh. "Yes, but typically it's more playful in nature. When my sister is sick, she becomes even brattier than usual."

Vegeta's warning to both of you seems to have fallen on dead ears. Because your quarrel has not ceased, in fact, it has only elevated. "I will drop you, you royal brat!"

"I dare you to you second-class runt. I could still kick your ass even in my delirious state. I wouldn't even have to try very hard."

"I'm considering----"

Before Raditz can even get three words out, your bickering is once again interrupted, and not by the person you may think. "Enough!" Gohan shouts. You honestly forgot the others were here for a moment."If you two keep fighting like this, you're going to get all of us killed!" You and Raditz stare at the boy in shock. It's been a long time since the two of you have been yelled at by a child. The last time being when you were children yourselves. Vegeta hasn't changed much since childhood. He's been bossing you around and shouting at you since you were children, but I'm sure that's not very surprising. 

"Ya, and I can take Y/N---- if you need a break." Goku rubs the back of his neck, chuckling sheepishly. "Not that I want to hold Y/N or anything."

"No." You rapidly shake your head. "Raditz, I'm sorry. I'll be good now--- I promise."

A wicked grin spreads across Raditz's lips right before he grabs your hands with his larger ones. He loosens your grip around his neck, moving your body with ease, scooping you up into his arms. Every step Raditz takes toward Goku seems even more antagonizing slower than the last. Until he's standing directly in front of his younger brother. He elevates his arms slightly, dropping you right in front of an unsuspecting Goku.

Lucky for you, Goku has sharp reflexes. That allows the Saiyan to catch you easily. Raditz look's his brother dead in the eyes, his typical arrogant grin still on his lips. "She's your problem now, Kakarot." Raditz gazes downward to look at you. "Stop pouting. Maybe next time, you'll be nicer to good old Raditz."

A low growl echoes in the back of your throat as you glare daggers at the Saiyan standing before you. "Ya, or maybe next time, I'll rip out your tail and strangle you with it!" The only thing that's stopping you from lunging at Raditz is Goku's firm grip holding you in place.

Rather than arguing that the entire group has become accustomed to, the whole area has become dead silent. You're no longer pouting. Instead, you are glaring at the man who continues to carry you bridal style. You've never liked being held like this. It makes you feel weak like you have no control over your own body.

What makes you even more irritated, Is how Goku reacts to your death stare. He just grins at you. Does he just never get angry? What kind of Saiyan is he? It fills you with so much anger that someone as dopey as Kakarot has Saiyan blood flowing through his veins. 

You clench your fists. You just wanna punch Kakarot so badly. He just has such a punchable face. If you could take away his cheery personality, he'd actually be quite attractive. Wait--- what the hell are you thinking? Kakarot is stupid and way too friendly for you to ever think of him in that way.

 You move your fist up, finally giving in to your urges, attempting to punch the man holding you. Probably not your wisest moment, but your brain isn't functioning normally right now. Goku catches your hand with ease. His reflexes are unreal, or maybe this fever has you more sluggish than you believed. You'd prefer to think that it's the second option. He chuckles to himself. He's still not upset. What the hell is wrong with him? "Come on, Y/N. You gotta be quicker than that." He's challenging you. How Saiyan like of him. You seem to always be able to find specks of Saiyan nature in the cheerful man. And those are the aspects you actually like about him. 

Your eyes begin to once again feel heavy as your eyes droop shut, just before you fall asleep in the arms of your enemy. 

Twenty-Something Years Ago:

You're sitting on your bed, sitting crisscrossed, a book laying open on your lap. Since your father is currently off-planet, you can read all you want. You're enamored with your newest book. It's all about a topic referred to as diplomacy. It's fascinating and has many concepts that are entirely foreign to you, yet at the same time, some of these ideas are also familiar. 

As you read, your door slams open, but you pay the interruption almost no attention, not even bothering to look up from your book. Honestly, the unwelcome intrusion has you more angered than anything else. "God, Vegeta." You roll your eyes. "Haven't you ever heard of knocking?" Something's not right. When Vegeta usually bursts into your room, he's automatically shouting at you.

Out of pure curiosity, you look up from your book. However, standing at your door, you don't find Vegeta. A boy with a very similar appearance but with a much smaller stature stands in your door frame. He's out of breath, desperately huffing for air. "Tarble?" You furrow your brows at your brother, launching off your bed to get closer to him. "What's wrong?" You have this sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. Your twin has never behaved in such a manner before. 

"Captain--- Captain Ginyu is here." Tarble is shaking, his eyes watering slightly.

You scowl ever so slightly. "But Ginyu's not scheduled to be on planet Vegeta any time soon." 

"It's--- It's a surprise visit. What do we do, Y/N?"

You contemplate for a moment before your features fill with alarm. "Tarble? Where's Vegeta?"

His lip quivers as he looks down at the floor. "He's with Captain Ginyu."

"Damn it." You mutter under your breath. Diplomacy is a skill you need right now. And Vegeta doesn't have a single quality that a diplomat possesses. Your elder brother is more likely to unnecessarily provoke the Captain, putting your entire race in hot water with the Frieza Force. 

You rush over to your bedside table, rummaging through the drawer. Once you have your scouter in your hand, you run back over to your brother. "Stay in here, and use this to channel our father. Let him know what's going on." You push past your twin, about to leave, before Tarble's voice calls out to you.

"Wait, Y/N!" You turn back to look at him. "Where are you going?"

"I have to go stop our older brother from doing something stupid. Everything will be fine, I promise. Just calm down and do as I said." And with that, you take off, praying that Vegeta hasn't already done something rash.

As you sprint down the halls of the palace, you run face-first into the torso of a large body. "Princess?"

You look up at the bald Saiyan, the one who's supposed to be at your brother's side at all times. Since the future king of planet Vegeta needs to be protected. "Nappa, Where is my brother?"

The imbecile scratches the back of his neck, contemplating much longer for your liking. "I'm not sure. I haven't seen the runt in quite some time. You should probably ask Vegeta." 

You scowl at the Saiyan. "Not Tarble, you fool! I'm asking you where Vegeta is!"

"Oh, Why didn't you just say so?" It's taking every ounce of restraint you have in your body to not viciously attack Nappa. "He's just outside of the palace." 

You run through Nappa, intentionally knocking the large Saiayn onto the floor. His stupidity lost you precious time. It was quite an amusing sight, though. A mere child, being able to take down one of your father's best warriors. 

You arrive outside of the palace, your eyes landing on your target. This is the first time you've ever seen Captain Ginyu. Sure, you've heard stories of the purple man. And much like your people, Ginyu is just as bloodthirsty and just as ruthless. Much to your surprise, the Captain doesn't have an army behind him. This was just before the Ginyu Force had formed. All Ginyu was at this point in time was a captain of one of Frieza's many armies. 

You walk over to them, now standing at your brother's side. "Captain Ginyu." You speak with your hands, an exaggerated smile appearing on your lips. "To what do we owe the honor?"

The man looks down at you, clearly analyzing you with his scouter. "Well, if this isn't a surprise. I think this is the first time I've had the pleasure of meeting you, Y/N." Ginyu extends his large hand out to you, causing Vegeta to feel a great deal of alarm. Your brother's body has gone tense with an apprehensive look on his face. But when your older brother looks over to you, there isn't even a glint of fear in your eyes. You're calm, almost as if one of Lord Frieza's deadliest warriors was not standing before you. You accept the Captain's hand, presenting him with a short but polite handshake. "Your father doesn't like showing you off much, does he?" 

You chuckle softly. "My father likes to hold his cards close to his chest. I'm sure a man like yourself is quite similar." Sucking up to Ginyu is not your favorite pastime, but it needs to be done. And every Saiyan on this planet knows your big brother is far too prideful to do it himself.

Ginyu looks between you and Vegeta carefully. For someone so highly regarded by Frieza, he sure isn't subtle. He's trying to read your facial expressions. Unfortunately for him, your father has raised you both much better than that. A poker face to you feels more natural than a genuine expression. "Speaking of your father, where is he right now?"

"He's of---"

You quickly cut Vegeta off. "He's in a meeting. That's why our father sent me out. He wanted you to know he sends his regards, but his hands are tied at the moment. He will be here at soon as possible. I hope my brother and I can suffice your needs in the meantime."

Captain Ginyu eyes you skeptically, tilting his head at you ever so slightly. "That sounds serious. I hope it's nothing too pressing."

"Of course not. It's nothing my father can't handle."

You're about to continue your schmoozing, but you're stopped by Vegeta aggressively yanking on your arm. "We need to talk-- in private."

You grimace at your brother's words. He just always has to make everything that much more difficult for you. You turn back to Ginyu, offering the man a cheerful smile. "Will you excuse us for a moment? We'll be right back."

Vegeta drags you around a corner, concealing you both from Ginyu's prying eyes. "What do you think you're doing?" He huffs at you in a whisper. "I had everything under control."

You snicker, crossing your arms. "You were just about to tell Ginyu that our father was off-planet. It sounds to me like I got here just in time to prevent you from making a grave mistake."

"I don't see why that matters."

"And that's the issue, Vegeta. Now we don't have time for this. Let's go." You turn back around, walking back over to Ginyu, Vegeta trailing not far behind. "I'd like to apologize for my brother's rudeness, Captain Ginyu." You shake your head but with a slight smirk across your lips. "All Saiyan men are the same, and my brother is no exception. They're incredibly thickheaded and quite savage. I'm convinced they don't even realize what brutes they are." You watch your brother ball his hands up into fists from beside you. It fills you with an immense feeling of joy knowing you're getting under Vegeta's skin for once. You turn back to Ginyu, plastering that disingenuous grin on your face. "Now, how about we give you a tour of our wonderful planet?"  

You and Vegeta have shown Ginyu around almost the entirety of your planet, and you must admit you're beginning to grow worried. Luckily you've managed to hold off any more questions about your father's whereabouts by charming him with various facts about planet Vegeta. But to be honest, you're not sure how much longer you can hold up this charade for. You've exhausted pretty much every idea that you've been able to come up with.

"Captain Ginyu!" Your father's brash voice invades your ears as you turn around to finally see the man you've been anxiously waiting for. You've never seen your father walk in such an urgent manner, and it's pretty funny watching your twin struggling to keep up with your father's pace. 

Your father places himself between you and Vegeta, ruffling your hair affectionately. You look up at him. "How'd your meeting go?"

Your father meets your gaze, catching onto your deception almost immediately. "It went very well. Thank you both for keeping Captain Ginyu company in my absence, but I think I can handle it from here." He directs his attention back onto Captain Ginyu. "Now, how about we discuss you're abrupt arrival somewhere more private."

The two men exit your field of view, leaving the three of you alone. Tarble, in his typical fashion, glues himself to your side. "What the hell was that?" Vegeta spits out with venom. "Where was your pride? You were basically groveling at his feet."

You furrow your brows at him. "I was doing what needed to be done. And if you think our father isn't currently doing the same thing, you're a bigger fool than I thought."

"I know our father is being more agreeable with him, but not at the cost of his pride."

"It's always about pride with you." You step closer to Vegeta, closing the distance between you. "Your pride today would have cost the loss of countless lives today, Vegeta."

"Then so be it. If there are Saiayn's that inadequate on our planet, we should probably just exterminate them now. It'll save us the hassle later on."

You snicker, shaking your head at Vegeta. "Some King you'll be." You turn to your twin. "Let's go, Tarble. I have no desire to be near our foolish brother right now."

The conversation between Captain Ginyu and your father was brief. It was a very anticlimactic ending to the naked eye. The briefness of this encounter only set off more alarm bells in King Vegeta's head. It was clear to the man that Ginyu's excuse for being on his planet was bullshit. He's just not quite sure what the captain's intentions were, but he sure as hell is going to find out.

As soon as Ginyu left planet Vegeta, he promptly set course for his next destination. He's headed straight to Lord Frieza to report his findings, and he's eager to do so.

 Ginyu arrives on the planet in record time, heading straight for the throne room. Ginyu kneels before Frieza, waiting for his boss to speak. "Captain Ginyu. You're sure back early. I trust you were able to gather enough information on the young prince."

Captain Ginyu nods enthusiastically. "Of course, Lord Frieza. The Price was exactly the same as the previous data we collected on him. He's powerful and quite intelligent for a Saiyan. Though, he did inherit that nasty temper from his father."

Frieza sighs. "How disappointing."

"But I did discover something that you may find interesting, Lord Frieza."

Frieza tilts his head at the man. He can't help but feel intrigued. "Go on." It's not that easy for him to find an advantage over those monkeys, so he'll take any information Ginyu can give him, no matter how minuscule. 

"Y/N--- King Vegeta's daughter piqued my interest greatly. She's not even close to as strong as her brother, but she's remarkably clever. She's very good with words, she knows how to manipulate people. I'd say she might even be better than King Vegeta himself."

"Now, that is fascinating. Good work, Ginyu. I'll look into the Princess's abilities more in-depth later. You're excused."

-

This is just something I felt the need to clarify: So in this chapter's flashback, Vegeta is around three, and Y/N and Tarble are about two. In my head, I picture children on planet Vegeta behaving like miniature adults. My idea is once they leave their chambers (the tanks they are raised in to get their basic Saiyan instincts under control), their minds are fully grown, but their physical growth is quite delayed. That's why they curse and stuff. I have a minuscule window of time to squash in all of my plot ideas. So this was the best way to do so.

[carnegiemuseumnaturalhistory]

Survival of the Fishiest: Astonishing Adaptations of the Aquatic World

by Shelby Wyzykowski

For Charles Darwin, all sorts of species—from birds and large land animals to flowers and tiny invertebrates—captured his interest and encouraged him to explore the great diversity of life. After years of observation and research, he published his famous book On the Origin of Species in 1859. In it, he presented his revolutionary and controversial theory of natural selection, which is also commonly referred to as “survival of the fittest.” His theory suggested that individuals of a species are more likely to survive when they inherit traits from their parents that are best suited for their specific environment. Essentially, beneficial adaptations give an organism the greatest chance to live and carry on its genetic line. This well-known theory is in part rooted in Darwin’s early experiences with and on the ocean. In 1831, he embarked on a five-year journey on the HMS Beagle, serving as their on-board naturalist. As the crew surveyed and mapped the South American coastline, Darwin marveled at the wonder and beauty of the sea, observing and collecting surface plankton as well as theorizing how coral reefs form. Unfortunately, with no photography and limited technology, studying ocean life was difficult even in shallow water. So, in Darwin’s time, little if anything was known about life far beneath the waves. But if he were alive now, Darwin would no doubt delight in all of the incredible underwater discoveries that have been made by modern-day science. And he would more than likely be awestruck by the many amazing adaptations that sea animals employ to survive.

Aquatic Adaptations: Antarctica

Image by Andrea Spallanzani from Pixabay.

When one thinks of an environment in which adaptation is of the utmost necessity, Antarctica may be the first spot that comes to mind. The Southern Ocean, which encircles Antarctica, is an unforgiving and inhospitable place to live. Rotating currents almost completely isolate these waters from the rest of the Earth’s much warmer seas. This keeps temperatures low…it can drop to 28.6 degrees Fahrenheit in the winter! To combat the cold, Antarctic icefish produce and carry special antifreeze proteins in their blood and body fluids. These proteins bind to ice crystals, dividing their crystalline structures and therefore inhibiting crystal growth. Without this antifreeze, microscopic ice crystals would form in their bodies, severing nerves and damaging tissues to a deadly degree. It’s an incredible adaptation, but it did not happen quickly. About 25 million years ago, the Southern Ocean, flowing around the isolated Antarctic continent, began to cool. Aquatic life in this area had to evolve the special antifreeze proteins, find some other way to adapt to the cold, or go extinct. Today, thanks to their special cold-water adaptation, icefish make up more than 90 percent of all fish species in the Antarctic!

Aquatic Adaptations: Mariana Trench

But Antarctica is not the only harsh environment that demands extreme adaptations. You’d be hard-pressed to find living conditions that are more punishing and severe than in the Mariana Trench. Located in the western Pacific, it is considered to be the deepest part of the ocean anywhere on Earth. Near the trench’s bottom, the lunar-like landscape is pitch-black, and the pressure of the freezing cold waters would instantly kill any land animal. But, amazingly, sea animals have found remarkable ways to thrive.

In most places in the trench, the temperatures are between 34 and 39 degrees Fahrenheit. This extreme cold would not be good for most animals’ bodies because it would damage their cell membranes. These membranes are of a fatty consistency and must stay liquid to function properly. The Mariana Trench’s frigid temperatures would make the fat in a land creature’s cell membranes solid like butter. But deep-sea animals have evolved in a unique way that enables them to avoid such a chilly catastrophe. They have lots of unsaturated fats in their membranes, and these kinds of fats remain liquid at low temperatures and keep their membranes loose and intact.

Besides the bone-chilling temperatures, these aquatic creatures must contend with the pulverizing pressure. Extreme pressure can have a devastating effect on a body’s proteins (these are the molecules that do much of the work in a cell). To keep their proteins healthy and working well, sea life collect tiny organic molecules called piezolytes in their cells. These piezolytes prevent water from distorting and damaging the proteins. The deeper in the ocean an animal lives, the more piezolytes they need to have in their cells. One type of piezolyte, called TMAO (Trimethlyamine-oxide), gives fish their “fishy” taste and smell. Since TMAO increases with depth, being “fishier” is crucial for survival in the deep-ocean environment!

But food is also crucial for the survival of any organism; how is it possible to hunt in a world of darkness? Sea life have found many ways to deal with the lack of light. The stout blacksmelt, for example, has giant eyes that can capture the faintest glimmer of fleeting prey. The tripod fish has such unreliable vision that it mainly relies on sensors in its pectoral fins to detect the movement of a potential meal. And the anglerfish actually emits its own light by a process known as bioluminescence. The light from their built-in “headlight” will actually attract the prey to them!

Aquatic Adaptations Near the Ocean's Surface

Marine life that live a bit closer to the ocean’s surface have also developed ingenious ways to search for food. The Great White Shark could very well be thought of as the bloodhound of the sea. Its sense of smell is so good that it can detect one drop of blood in ten billion drops of water! But, if the prey is close enough, it need not spill one drop of blood for the Great White to detect its presence. This is because these sharks are experts in electroreception, which is the ability to detect weak electric fields in water. Unlike in air, the ability to conduct electricity in water is extremely easy. This scientific fact allows many underwater species, including Great Whites, to sense the weak electrical fields of biological sources (such as their prey). These sharks are known to react to charges of one millionth of a volt (for reference, a tiny AA battery has a mere 1.5 volts of stored energy). This acute sensitivity to electrical fields can be traced to electroreceptors in the shark’s skin. Pore openings peppered over its head receive minute electrical signals from the water and channel these signals into tubes of highly-conductive gel. Each tube ends in a bulb known as an ampulla of Lorenzini. Sensory nerves are activated in the ampulla and send the message to the shark’s brain. Their electrosensitivity is so precise that they can detect prey hiding in the sand bottom!

With such an extraordinary adaptation, Great Whites can be a formidable and terrifying predator. But sometimes even the hunter can become the hunted. If a Great White is foolish enough to go after a sick or young Bottlenose Dolphin, they might find themselves biting off more than they can chew. Living in groups called pods, dolphins have tightly-knit family groups with complex social structures. They actually have their own cultures and display positive cultural behaviors such as compassion and cooperation. So when one member of a pod is targeted as prey, the others will come to its defense and work in a coordinated effort to combat the Great White. They’ll surround the shark and attack it relentlessly. Some use their sturdy, bony snouts like battering rams and slam into the shark’s underbelly and gills, causing massive internal injuries. If the shark is lucky enough, it can make a quick escape, but pods have been known to actually kill sharks. These incidents involving selflessness and cooperation have also crossed the species barrier from time to time when pods of altruistic dolphins have come to the rescue of humans in distress. There have been many reported cases of dolphins encircling and protecting swimmers as they work to successfully fend off a shark’s persistent advances.

The altruistic and cooperative behaviors of dolphins are adaptations that exemplify the true meaning of Charles Darwin’s theory of natural selection. Believing that compassion was the key to evolutionary success, Darwin was in fact frustrated with the way many readers misinterpreted the phrase “survival of the fittest” (a term that he himself did not even coin…biologist Herbert Spencer did so in 1864). This phrase implies the use of selfishness, ruthlessness, and callousness to ensure survival. There’s certainly no denying that these actions have definitely played a part in evolution and in the realities of life. But Darwin chose to believe that sympathy, benevolence, and cooperation played even greater roles in the survival, flourishing, and evolution of a species. In the end, it’s the positive adaptive traits that determine as well as define the overall success of life on Earth.

Shelby Wyzykowski is a Gallery Experience Presenter in CMNH’s Life Long Learning Department. Museum staff, volunteers, and interns are encouraged to blog about their unique experiences and knowledge gained from working at the museum.

[an-ambivalent]

Yandere! Claude [WMMAP]

WARNING:  This post contains yandere themes and mentions of other toxic behaviours that can be triggering and uncomfortable to read. So, read at your own risk. This work is purely fiction. I do not condone this behaviour irl. And uh, PSA, I haven’t been writing for a long time so its rusty :’) ok thanks. 

Fandom: Who Made Me a Princess 

Pairing: Reader-Insert

No beta, we die like men. 

dedicated to my friend @spiritualotaku​ 

First Meeting 

~ After the betrayal of his brother and his first partner, and then losing Diana, the only time Claude would be able to “love” again is after the black magic he casted upon himself has done its job and erased the memory of his last deceased partner. Even though he had hoped to freeze his heart so he would not be hurt anymore, a part of the spell worked but in a twisted away. So, the next time he does love someone else, his feelings were going to be different than how he may have felt for Penelope and had felt for Diana. 

~ There’s not really a particular scenario to exist that would be a catalyst for his “interest” in you. That would be something that would develop over time, so you would have to be in a position where you interact with him frequently. Nothing like a maid or something because Claude always keeps these types of servant roles at an arm's distance. It would have to be a role where you are able to interact with the Emperor, but not significant enough that he would become aware of you right off the bat. Perhaps you’re the blacksmith responsible for the royal guards’ weapons, or the assistant of the magician who is the healer for the knights; being in an occupation that allows you to have regular interactions with Felix, who is completely trusted by Claude and friendly with you, would allow Claude to have a more favourable first impression of you. 

~In this instance, let’s assume the role of the assistant healer. The royal guard magician healer and you were scheduled to visit to conduct the regular health check ups that happen for the guards. Since Felix was not there, you were told by your senior to go find and do his check ups and they would look after the rest. One of the castle workers guided you to the royal garden where you see your client, and the cold ruthless Emperor he is assigned to protect.  

“Blessings and Glory upon the sun of the Obelian Empire,” you and the maid greet simultaneously bowing, and both Felix and Claude’s gaze shift towards you. Recognition flashes across Felix’s face when he sees you, but the coldness glistening in Claude’s bright blue jeweled eyes is unmatched and new, as a murderous aura starts to radiate off him. You and the maid freeze under his overwhelming terrifying presence. 

“You must not value your life so much if you barge in here however as you please and disrupt my peace,” he said stoically. From the corner of your eyes, you saw the maid beginning to tremble in fear. Along with this, although your face was looking at the ground in order to avoid the Emperor's gaze, you felt a spike of magic from him. You didn’t mean to, but you subconsciously released your own magic output, and put up a defensive shield around you and the maid in case the self-entitled Emperor was going to harm her or you for “disrupting his [poor] peace.”

This, of course did not go unnoticed by Claude who narrowed his eyes at you, wondering how you could be gutsy enough to usher him a challenge like that. Luckily, the situation did not escalate to that point since Felix jumped in. 

“Your Majesty, please don’t harm them. They’re here for me, I had forgotten I am meant to see the magician today. I ask that you do not hold them accountable for this.” 

Claude fixed his cold stare on Felix for a few seconds, who was accustomed to it, so he was able to hold his ground. And then,it was obviously evident that his gaze was fixated on you with the way you felt goosebumps rise at the nape of your neck. 

“I wasn’t aware the magician was a woman,” Claude pointed out, and the way he stated this made it seem like an accusation of some sort because everyone flinched as he had spoken. Felix stepped in front of you and the maid to act as a shield, and addressed Claude with a stern tone. 

“I’m sorry for the trouble that’s been caused for you because of me, Your Majesty. To not be of inconvenience to you anymore, we will excuse ourselves.” Felix bowed, and then led you and the maid out of the garden. You would have breathed out a sigh in relief and thanked Felix, but your breath and your words were stuck in your throat (coronavirus). Because for the entire time until the garden was out of your sight, the cold and intense gaze of the royal jeweled eyes, stayed fixated on you. 

How it happens 

~Although your first meeting with the Emperor had started off with a slight rift to say the least, other employees in the castle had noticed that an odd acquaintanceship had developed between you and Claude. Actually, it was an acquaintanceship in their eyes. In reality, it was completely one-sided because you entertained his whims to stay alive. He was the Emperor who could have your head whenever he wanted, and you were forced by your magician boss to interact with him in hopes that you making a good impression on him would somehow benefit him. 

~Claude’s interest in you had developed from the things he heard about you from the knights. They spoke of how attentive you were to their care each time, and whenever they were suffering from a painful injury, you made sure to numb the area around that injury to reduce their pain as much as possible. They spoke kind words about your humour, and the homemade sweets you always brought with you to give to them once their check up was over; it was a small action, but the thought behind it was really appreciated by the knights. You conversed, informed, and asked for their consent each time before you did something unlike your boss, who just wanted to finish the job as soon as possible. 

Claude also recalled how you had instantly jumped to the defense of that incompetent maid when he had unleashed his mana to intimidate her -- you had done this as if it was second nature to you. You had acted against him and not even paused to consider the consequences you may have faced for going against the Emperor. It intrigued him and he wanted to understand you. Although Obelia’s residents’ quality of life had improved after Claude became the sovereign and reduced the corruption from his father’s and brother’s reign, there were still many greedy and power hungry scum that he had to deal with. For this reason, his desire to approach someone seemingly as kind as you became stronger. 

And so, your regular tea time with Claude commenced. 

Yandere  

~Once Claude develops affection for you, he would have possessive traits as a yandere. He has lost so much already too, to make sure it does not happen again, he would want you to belong solely to him. He would keep you away from everyone else. 

~He will be clingy; there is no respect or regard for any boundaries you set. If he wants to touch you, hug you, and show affection, but you find his touch aversive or ever try to pull away, he will simply ignore you and force you to comply with him. If you struggle too much, he will use a spell that acts a relaxant to cease your thrashing. 

~Although Claude is rather temperamental and threatens people easily, he would have a bit more patience with you. But, he will not hesitate to threaten you if you give him too much trouble. If anything or anyone else tries to hurt you or take you away from him, he will hurt them. Ruthlessly. 

~He keeps you isolated so the chances of someone else trying to steal you away from him are low. However, in any instances you were out in public, he expects you to stick to his side and not initiate or respond to anyone. He expects you to stay quietly and obediently by his side, and let him do the talking for you to keep you fully to himself. 

General things 

~Once your relationship has been there for enough time, he will gift you your own palace. But even before that, he will spoil you lavishly with the most beautiful jewels and clothes he wants to see you in, or think you will look beautiful in. 

~When it is just you and him, he prefers you to wear simple robe dresses that are revealing and easy to access. When he wants to cuddle you, and with any physical intimacy, he enjoys the touch of your warm skin against his own. 

~When he is stressed, he likes you to lay down on your lap and nap while you play with his hair. 

And Claude is a boobs man

[mdelpin]

The Red Dragon - Chapter 35 (Final)

Cover Art by @khaoticvex​

AO3 | Tumblr: Ch1 | Ch34

And here we are at the end. 2 years and 10 months and a little over 200K words later.

It's been a long time coming and I want to thank you all for your patience as this was not an easy story to write. I hope you enjoy this final chapter, I tried to get in everything I reasonably could.

Chapter 35

Gajeel gazed at Wendy as she watched the huddled figures of Natsu and Gray sadly. He could tell she was about to go over there, and he held out a hand to her.

“Don’t,” Gajeel warned. He’d directed it at Wendy, but he meant it as a warning to the others as well. “I don’t have the first clue what the hell all that was about, but I do know Natsu doesn’t need us all over him right now.”

“But-” Wendy protested, seeing as Happy had crept closer, but even he was giving them some space, content to rest near them.

Gajeel could hardly blame her. He felt the same urge to comfort Natsu. He knew exactly what it felt like to have your parents ripped away from you unexpectedly. Could relate to the emptiness and shock Natsu was undoubtedly feeling, which was why he also knew that his friend wouldn’t want anyone but Gray and Atlas near him at the moment.

It had been a long, exhausting battle, and it left him feeling battered. It all felt so anticlimactic. They’d finally put an end to Acnologia’s carnage, but he could find no joy in it. His heart felt heavy in his chest and all he wanted to do was collapse on the ground and avoid moving for a while, maybe thinking too.

Whatever they’d just witnessed, and Gajeel understood precious little of it, Igneel had been someone he’d cared about deeply. The fire dragon had always taken an interest in all the dragon slayers, chatting with them and making them feel at home from the first moment they had met him and the rest of the dragons. And he’d always seemed larger than life. Gajeel was still having trouble accepting he was gone, but with Natsu out of commission for the moment, it fell to him to once again be the leader of their little band of misfits.

The battle had taken a lot out of all of them, especially Natsu and Happy. They wouldn’t be flying home for a while. The best thing they could all do for now was to get some rest and recoup some of their energy.

Gajeel moved away from the three dragons, nudging Wendy to follow. He found them a spot where they could sit somewhat comfortably and wait for Atlas to return with Irene and Oliver.

“Do you- do you think he’ll be alright?” Wendy fretted, as was her way.

Gajeel could only shrug, “I’m sure he will, but he’s going to need some time. We all will.”

Wendy nodded and Gajeel changed the subject for both their sakes. “Rogue handled himself pretty well out there, don’t you think?”

“Yes!” Wendy immediately perked up. “Those legs you made him work really well. He fought just as well as he did before.”

Gajeel was about to say something about it to Rogue when he noticed the Shadow Dragon slayer and Sting were still locked in an embrace. “Ugh, you’re all disgusting. I seriously need to find a girlfriend. I’m so tired of watching all of you.”

Wendy smiled, “Well, you should definitely have better luck with that in Talos than you did in Drak Aast.”

In his defense, it wasn’t like there had been that many female dragon slayers in Drak Aast to begin with, and the few there had been were not overly fond of him.

“Oh great, here comes yours,” Gajeel groaned as he noticed Atlas approaching.

The hellfire dragon landed near them and as he crouched down, his tail swished, yeeting Acnologia’s corpse several yards away from them, where it slammed to the ground with a terrific thud.

Atlas looked completely unrepentant.

“Holy Shit! What did I miss?!” Oliver asked, sliding off Atlas’ backside and studying the remains of the clearing in dismay. Irene followed him down in a more dignified manner.

“Everything.” Sting rolled his eyes at the lightning dragon slayer before sitting down near Gajeel. “As usual.”

“Hey! Don’t say that like I do it on purpose,” Oliver complained.

Gajeel had to snort at that. Oliver had always been slightly accident prone, but once they’d arrived at Drak Aast, hardly a day had gone by without him coming to see Wendy for healing. They had soon come to realize he had a massive crush on her and had gone to splendid efforts to make his life a living hell until Wendy had made them stop.

“Oliver!” Wendy rushed over to her boyfriend, using what little magic she had left to check his injuries.

“I’m fine, and even if I wasn’t, you need to rest.” Oliver scolded, wrapping Wendy up in an embrace and kissing the top of her head as he looked the others over. “Wow, you all look like death warmed over.”

“Yeah, well, not all of us got to sleep through the fight,” Gajeel grumbled from where he sat leaning against a downed tree trunk.

Wendy took Oliver by the hand, leading him back to the others.

“Is it really over?” Rogue wondered out loud as he collapsed tiredly next to Sting. He set about removing his metal legs, seeking to ease some of the pain in his stumps after all the running he’d done.

“Yes, it’s finally over.” Atlas assured him. “I’m so proud of all you kids. You put up one hell of a fight.”

“I don’t know about that. If you and Gray hadn’t shown up when you did, we would’ve been screwed,” Sting said, “I know I sure as hell didn’t have much left.”

Gajeel grunted his agreement. His clothes were in tatters, his body covered in bruises despite being as hard as iron. “Tell me about it, I think I’m gonna sleep for a week once we get home.”

“I know you said there wasn’t time to explain before, but-” Wendy glanced over at Natsu and Gray again. “How is any of this possible?”

The dragon looked as tired as they all felt, making Gajeel think he wouldn’t answer, but after peering over at Natsu, Gray and Happy, he launched into an explanation.

“It was Igneel’s idea. When Gray didn’t set off the warning sigils we’d placed in the cave, he became determined to figure out why. He had this theory that dragon souls were being born in human bodies. That was how it all started.”

What followed was a story as shocking as it was tragic, and Gajeel had to admit his estimation of Gray improved greatly in the telling. He’d certainly seen how love made people do all sorts of crazy shit, but he would never have expected Gray to go that far, especially given how much he’d always hated dragons. It filled him with a strange sense of pride, like what he imagined Anna felt when she looked at all of them.

“So hang on, does that mean we have dragon souls too?” Rogue asked while pointing at himself and Sting.

“There’s a lot we still don’t know, but I think it’s likely, given that you’re soul bonded. As for the rest of you, it’s possible? Maybe that’s why some dragon slayers took to the enchantment better than others. If you really want to know, I can check all of you when we return.”

Gajeel let that idea sink in for a minute. It was certainly interesting to consider, but he doubted it changed anything for any of them.

The sound of heavy, unsteady steps alerted them to Gray’s approach. He tottered towards them with a sorrowful expression on his face. Once he reached them, he nudged Atlas.

“Natsu wants you.”

Atlas closed his eyes briefly and nodded. “How’s he doing?”

Gajeel knew the dragon well enough to know that he was really asking.

Does he blame me?

All eyes were on Gray as everyone waited for his response.

“He’s doing better,” Gray said, although his eyes never strayed from the ground. “Still a little shell-shocked, though.”

“What about you, how are you doing?”

Gajeel could see the concern in the hellfire dragon’s eyes and it made him wonder just how difficult this entire experience had been for Gray.

“I’m fine.”

Atlas frowned at the response, and for once he seemed to be at a loss for words. But he tried.

“We always knew he wouldn’t take it well. How could he?” Atlas nuzzled Gray’s head gently. “But as much as I hate to admit it, Igneel was right. We needed to do this. If we hadn’t, Acnologia would have killed them all. Remember that.”

“Yeah.” Gray said, although he didn’t sound very convincing. He watched Atlas walk away towards Natsu, the frown never leaving his face.

Gajeel noticed Sting watching Gray thoughtfully and got a bad feeling. Oh gods, he wasn’t dumb enough to bring that up, was he? Now of all times?! Rogue must have had the same idea because he grabbed on to Sting’s hand like a vise and shook his head.

It was Wendy who got up and approached Gray. She wrapped her arms around him as best she could and cried.

“Wendy?” Gray gawked at her. “What's wrong? Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m just so happy for you guys!” She smiled through her tears, “Now you can be together, just like before.”

“Well, not exactly like before.” Gray didn’t really feel like smiling, but he tried for her.

He was glad to see them. He’d missed all of them so much and had spent the last few years worrying about them. As he gazed from one to the other, he noticed all the changes with his newly enhanced eyesight, which he was slowly getting used to.

Gajeel looked to have changed the least, at least outwardly. His hair was a lot longer, but the biggest difference, as far as Gray could tell, was in the way he held himself. He exuded an even tougher air than he used to. Wendy looked nothing like the young girl she’d been when she’d left, although the war didn’t seem to have affected her sweet disposition any. Natsu had told him about Rogue’s legs, but it was still jarring to see it. And Sting, well, Sting looked like he had aged the most out of all of them.

“You all look so different.”

“We look different?” Gajeel scoffed, “That’s rich coming from the guy who turned into a dragon.”

“What kind of dragon are you?” Wendy asked. “You don’t look like any ice dragon I’ve ever seen.”

“We don’t really know. Atlas thinks I might be the equivalent of a hellfire dragon for ice dragons.” Gray shrugged his shoulders.

“That magic of yours sure came in handy,” Rogue chimed in, “Although it almost gave me a heart attack at first.”

“Sorry about that, I wasn’t sure how it would work.” Gray admitted, “To be honest, I was kind of winging it.”

“That was you winging it?” Sting finally spoke, peering at him in awe. “Damn! Those soldier dudes were badass.”

Gray nodded absently, becoming distracted by a scent that wafted towards him. It smelled familiar, but also different. He sniffed the air and searched for the source until determining it came from the red-haired woman that stood by Acnologia’s corpse, which had reverted to its human form after releasing all the souls he’d held captive.

“Is that Erza’s mother?”

“Yeah,” Wendy glanced over at the woman sadly.

“Is something wrong with her?”

“Not exactly, she began to dragonify, so she’s worried about how Erza and Anna will react to her appearance.”

“Dragonify? You mean like one of those renegades? Is it going to get worse?”

Wendy must have seen the distress on his face because she shook her head vehemently and immediately said, “No, no, nothing like that. Natsu removed her magic, so it won’t get any worse. But she has some red scales on parts of her body, kind of like Natsu did after-” Wendy’s voice drifted off and she looked away.

“Oh.” It was funny how his guilt over his past actions still lingered, but he chased it away. None of that mattered anymore, and he knew in his heart that neither Anna nor Erza would care one bit about what Irene looked like. They just wanted her back.

“I’ll go talk to her.”

He said that, but it was easier said than done, given the distance between them. Moving was getting easier, but he still felt so awkward. He made his way over to Irene slowly, gasping as she turned to look at him curiously.

She looked just like Erza!

Her hair was styled into two thick braids, and Gray couldn't help but notice that her outfit left just as little to the imagination as Erza’s requips. It was more ribbons than clothing, but that wasn’t even the most striking thing about her. That would have to be her face, or rather the large patch of torn skin that began just below her left eye and covered most of her cheek, revealing bright red scales underneath.

“You must be Gray, it’s nice to meet you finally. I have to say you look a little different from what I expected,” she said with a slight smile before turning back to the corpse and doing something that shocked him so much he forgot all about Erza and Anna.

Kneeling down, she closed Acnologia’s eyes and whispered, “May you find your way to peace.”

“How can you-” Gray stopped himself, realizing anything he said would only sound rude.

“How can I say that after everything he did?” Irene sighed. “I suppose it's because he wasn’t always like that. He was a good man once, before a dragon destroyed his village and killed all his loved ones. It changed him.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I don’t agree with any of the things he did, and I would have killed him myself, given the chance. But even so,” she bowed her head. “I’d like to remember the good that once lived inside him.”

Gray sucked in a breath at her words, causing her to look up at him inquisitively. She stared at him for a moment, recognition suddenly dawning on her face.

“That’s right, Natsu mentioned something like that had happened to you as well. I’d like to say that the dragon slayer spell played a large part in what happened to him, but the truth is, Acnologia’s hatred was boundless. He fed it every chance he got, and in doing so, he created a literal monster.”

Her mouth curved up into a soft smile. “I’m happy to see you chose love instead.”

“I chose Natsu,” Gray said simply, not wanting to get caught up in a discussion of his past and how it may or may not compare to Acnologia’s.

He’d set his hatred aside once he’d finally understood how much pain it had caused Natsu over the years. Deliora was dead, and now Acnologia- who had devastated their lives in even more ways- was gone as well. Gray was content to let his hate die along with them. All he cared about now was being there for Natsu and helping him get through Igneel’s death.

He stepped closer to the body, curious to see what the man had looked like, but his nose instantly rebelled at the overwhelming stench of blood and guts the body exuded. He was about to leave when another more subtle scent caught his attention- a familiar one that was mixed in with the man's. It smelled of rain and those blue flowers that grew at the base of their mountain.

Juvia?

But what would Juvia be doing with Acnologia? He shook his head at the thought. That was ridiculous.

But was it?

Why else would her scent be on him? And what did they really know about Juvia’s mystery boyfriend? What was it she’d said?

Gray tried to remember her exact words, and he let out a groan as soon as he did.

Then Juvia met Logan, and he was very interested in Juvia and Juvia’s friends.

That sonofabitch!

He must have been using Juvia to spy on them all along!

A maelstrom of emotions engulfed him at the realization - rage at Acnologia for using Juvia when she was already vulnerable, guilt for telling her when Natsu was returning, and pity for the loneliness she felt that caused her to get into these situations.

Whatever the renegade had told Juvia to explain his absence, she would await his return.

And Gray knew exactly what it felt like to live in constant wait. Hoping and praying that the one you loved would come back to you. Standing in place while everyone around you went on with their lives. He couldn’t just sit back and let that happen to her. Not when he knew damn well “Logan” was never coming back.

He wanted to scream in frustration, knowing Natsu was holding on by a thin thread as it was. But as much as he loathed the idea, he knew what he was going to have to do, and just how much it was going to piss everyone off.

“Is something wrong?” Irene peered at him with concern.

Gray could only look back at where the slayers were sitting, and past them to where the red dragons were talking to Natsu.

Fuck my life...

0-0

When Erza woke up that morning, she’d barely been able to contain her excitement. After so many years spent worrying about her mother and childhood friends, her wait was finally over.

Lyon had teased her as they’d gotten ready, but he’d taken her to her favorite bakery for breakfast and then they’d gone for a walk around town before work. It was a beautiful day, with nary a cloud in the sky. A soft breeze played with their hair and clothes as she chatted about the welcome home party she wanted to throw for their family and friends.

As excited as she was, it took her a few minutes to realize Lyon had gone quiet, even longer to understand why.

“Oh gods, I’m so sorry!”

“You’re fine.” Lyon chuckled, squeezing her hand. “I love to see you like this, and I am excited, too. I’m just feeling a little conflicted. It makes me glad to know Gray is happy. The gods know he deserves to be, but he’s my little brother and it makes me sad when I realize he won’t be a part of these things anymore.”

“I’m sure we’ll still see him.” Erza rested her head on Lyon’s shoulder, smiling when she felt him wrap his arm around her waist. “Honestly, the idea of those two being dragons is terrifying.”

“And just think, you won’t be able to keep them in check anymore,” Lyon said.

Erza stopped in her tracks. Oh gods, Lyon was right! She’d been the only one able to keep those two under control. Who was going to do that now? How much destruction would they be capable of during one of their squabbles now that they were both dragons?

“Relax, I was joking!” Lyon laughed, “They’ll be fine.”

Erza wasn’t as sure of that. She knew that while it would make Natsu happy to have Gray at long last, it would also devastate him to lose his father. She wished, not for the first time, that Natsu would have confided in her over the years. That she could have helped him through some of the things he’d held inside for so long. And more than anything, she hoped that he’d come see her so she could make him understand how much she still loved him.

But maybe it was time to take matters into her own hands. Now that everyone was coming home, she was done with worrying and waiting. If he wouldn’t come to her, then she would just have to go to him.

0-0

“Watch out!” Sting yelled as Gray came within a few inches of colliding with Happy.

Again.

“I’m doing my best.”

Sting held on to one of Gray’s fin spikes for dear life, even though it made him feel like his body was going to turn into a popsicle. He didn’t understand how Irene could remain so calm, and he honestly wished she’d stop interrogating Gray about Lyon so that he might at least focus more on his flying, which sucked royally.

To be fair, the guy had only been a dragon for a couple of hours, but still. Sting had lost count of how many times they’d almost crashed or suddenly lost altitude, and while Gray was apologetic, it did nothing to improve the feeling of impending doom Sting felt.

Although he knew a lot of that had more to do with the fact that they’d be home soon. As much as he’d tried to prepare himself mentally for any outcome, he still dreaded the disappointment he was sure to see on Anna’s face once she learned what he’d done. And he could only imagine how furious Erza and the other guards would be.

Sting knew he deserved all of it. After all, he’d put everyone in danger. He didn’t even want to consider what might have happened if Natsu hadn’t been there to fight Acnologia.

His biggest fear, though, was that the Talos village elders would decide to exile him. If that happened, he didn’t know what he’d do. He didn’t want to take Rogue away from his home, but he also knew his mate would refuse to stay without him.

Please, please let them forgive me. I will do anything…

Rogue’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

Everything’s going to be fine.

He turned his head to glance at his mate, who along with Gajeel rode atop Natsu, and flashed him a sheepish smile.

How did you know?

I don’t have to read your mind to know what you’re thinking. I know you… They’ll understand.

I hope you’re right.

I know I am. Have faith in them.

He could feel Rogue’s love pouring into him and it calmed him down some, right until Gray dropped a few hundred feet all at once. It was terrifying enough that Irene finally stopped with her questions.

“Gray!”

“Sorry! I’ve never flown holding anything before.”

“Yeah, well, no one asked you to bring him along.” Sting snapped, thinking back to the tense fight that had ensued when Gray had made his bizarre request to bring Acnologia’s body back with them.

All of them had been against it, but no one as much as Atlas. The fighting had only ended when Natsu came out in Gray’s defense. No one was about to argue with him in his state.

Sting sighed in defeat. Really, who was he to judge about doing the wrong thing for what felt like the right reasons?

“I’m sorry. I get what you’re trying to do, and it’s nice and all, but it burns me up that we’re bringing him home like some kind of war hero.”

“That’s not what I’m trying to do.” Gray hissed. “I just want Juvia to move on.”

“I know. But have you given any thought to how she’s going to feel when she realizes she led him straight to us.”

“It wasn’t her fault, she didn’t know!”

“Do you really think that’s going to make one bit of difference to her?”

“It doesn’t matter. What’s past is past and nothing is going to change it.” Irene joined the conversation, peering back at Sting with a knowing look. “If this Juvia feels guilty, she’ll just have to work through it while she grieves. Just like everyone else.”

“That wasn’t exactly subtle, Irene.” Sting grumbled.

“Wasn’t trying to be, dear.”

“Ugh, I don’t know if I can handle having two Erzas around again.”

“Oh Sting,” Irene chuckled, “You never could.”

“We’ll land in front of the village gates,” Natsu announced, and the dragons grunted their assent.

All but one.

“Hey, Gray?” Sting called out, trying not to let his sudden panic show in his voice.

“Hmmm?”

“You do know how to land, right?”

“Sort of?” Gray’s nervous chuckle in no way made him feel any better.

Oh well, he’d lived a good life. At least he got to see that fucker die before he bit it.

“I’m not worried at all,” Irene said as she patted Gray’s neck. “And I have to say if your brother is half the man you are - well, uhm dragon, I guess - then Erza is a very lucky girl.”

“He’s better,” Gray said. “I’d have never gotten this far if it hadn’t been for him. But I will forever deny having said that.”

Irene laughed. “I can’t wait to meet him.”

“So, uhm, Wendy mentioned you were nervous about Anna and Erza seeing your scales.”

“I was, but almost dying earlier made me realize how silly I was being. I think everything will be okay.”

“Good, because I saw them last night, and they were really excited to see you.”

Sting tuned them out, paying more attention to their surroundings. It had been quite a while since he’d been home, but he recognized their mountains up ahead. They would be at the village in the next few minutes. He knew he was right when he felt Gray tense beneath him and Natsu appeared next to them.

Not a word passed between them, but as Gray made adjustments, Sting knew that Natsu was talking to him through their bond.

He reached out to Rogue through their own bond.

Nice knowing you!

Stop being so dramatic, he’s doing fine.

Sure, for someone who learned to fly in the astral realm, whatever the heck that is.

The sound of Rogue’s laughter was exactly what he needed to hear to relax.

I love you.

I love you too, dork. Might want to hold on now.

In the end, Gray mostly glided down, with Atlas and Natsu on either side of him. It wasn’t a bad landing overall. There had been plenty worse during the war, but Sting still felt the need to kiss the ground after he jumped down.

The village gates stood in front of him, looking slightly different from what he remembered, but still familiar.

Behind him, he could hear everyone else dismounting, as Natsu teased Gray about his flying skills while Happy and Atlas laughed along.

The rest of the dragon slayers joined him in staring at the doors, None of them making any effort to enter. Then Wendy grabbed onto his left hand, while Rogue took his right. One by one, they linked hands and squeezed tightly before taking that first step together.

They were home at last.

0-0

Erza didn’t know how it was possible, but this day felt longer than all the years she’d waited put together.

She’d managed to keep her good mood for most of the morning, but as the hours passed and there was no sign of the dragon slayers, she began to worry. Her mind filled with all sorts of worst-case scenarios, and no matter how hard she tried to dismiss each and every one as ridiculous, another would rear its ugly head to replace it.

She attacked her work with vigor, hoping to distract herself from her thoughts, and that worked for a time, until she ran out of things to do. Lunchtime came and went, but she remained in her office, too worried to be in the least bit hungry.

Where the hell were they? Why was it taking so long?

That sense that something was wrong was stronger than ever. But what could she do? She didn’t know what direction they were coming from, so even if she sent some guards to investigate, what would she tell them? Well, she could always-

A knock on her door interrupted her planning. She looked up from her desk to see Juvia standing at her door.

“Is Erza okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” she lied, plastering a smile on her face. “How can I help you, Juvia?”

“Lyon was called away to deal with a disturbance in town. He asked Juvia to make sure Erza ate lunch.”

“Lunch?” As riled up as she was, the idea of food was unappetizing, so she tried to placate Juvia with another lie. “Oh, yes, thank you. I’ll be sure to grab something later.”

Juvia crossed her arms in front of her chest, and studied her, “Lyon said Erza would say that, and to not take no for an answer.”

“Did he now?” Erza made no attempt to hide her irritation. She’d never enjoyed being babied or handled. It was one of the quickest ways to ensure her wrath.

Just who did Lyon think he was, anyway? She’d taken care of herself just fine for years before meeting him. If he thought he could just come in and-

“Lyon also said to tell Erza he’d asked the cook to make strawberry cake for dessert today.”

Strawberry cake?!

She wanted to laugh at Lyon’s blatant attempt to manipulate her. Like she was so simple that she’d submit to his whims just because he’d asked the cook to make her favorite dessert.

It was just cake.

Sweet, moist, delicious cake with frosting and luscious fresh strawberries on top…

She tried to resist the temptation, but her stomach had already broken rank, grumbling its opinion on the matter, and whether she meant to or not, she was already walking towards Juvia.

“I suppose a quick break for lunch would be fine.” Erza ignored Juvia’s knowing smirk as she fell in step beside her.

“Erza’s friends will be home soon.” Juvia said, putting her arm around Erza’s shoulders and giving her a side hug. “Juvia just knows it!”

“Let’s hope so.”

The dining room was mostly empty, as everyone had already eaten. Lyon was true to his word. There was indeed a strawberry cake, and even better, the cook had saved two slices for her.

“Mind if I join you girls?”

Erza looked up from her dessert long enough to nod at Anna.

“I thought you’d be in your office,” Anna smiled.

“Can Juvia get Anna anything?”

“No, thank you. I was just going crazy waiting at the orphanage, so Andrius offered to watch the kids for a few hours.”

“Didn’t you get any sleep?” Erza asked, noticing the dark circles under Anna’s eyes.

“Not really, I started worrying about Gray, and that got me thinking about Igneel and Porly, which then led me straight to Natsu.” Anna sighed. “That poor boy, I can’t even begin to imagine how he’ll take it.”

“Yes, I thought about him this morning as well.”

“Why is Anna worried about Gray?” Juvia peered at Anna with obvious alarm. “Did something happen?”

“Oh, uhm, I-” Anna bit her lip, clearly not knowing how to respond to Juvia’s question.

Erza wasn’t doing much better. How much could she tell her? When he’d resigned a few days earlier, Gray had told everyone he and Natsu were moving away. She should have realized that meant he had no intention of telling Juvia about his actual plans.

“Anna worries about all of us. She can’t help it. After all, she raised most of us.” Erza tried to defuse the situation by acting purposefully obtuse. She cringed internally at her words, knowing how lame they sounded, but couldn’t come up with anything better.

“Yes, but it sounded like it was more than that.” Juvia insisted.

One of the younger guards, a woman by the name of Alyssa, chose that moment to run into the dining room, slamming into a table and cursing out in pain. All three of them winced in sympathy, but before Erza could ask her if she was alright, the girl yelled out.

“CAPTAIN, CAPTAIN!”

“There’s no need to yell, Alyssa. I’m right here. What is it? Do you have something to report?” Erza kept her composure, but she was tense. Could this be what she’d been waiting for?

“IT’S DRAGONS, MA’AM!”

“Dragons?” Erza jumped out of her chair, quickly followed by Anna and Juvia. “Where, how many?”

“FOUR DRAGONS, MA’AM, HEADED TOWARDS THE TOWN FROM THE NORTH.”

“Do you know if they were red dragons?”

“YES, MA’AM, THERE WERE-”

Erza didn't know what else Alyssa might have said because she ran out of the dining room as fast as she could. If they were red dragons, it had to be them!

She sprinted down the long hallway until she reached the doors, stopping only long enough to pull them open. She heard others running behind her and hoped the door didn’t hit them when she raced outside.

However long it had taken Alyssa to find her was enough time for the dragons to have landed in the grassy area in front of the village gates. Erza could see them clearly now. There were indeed four dragons, three red ones and a blue one with wings and horns made of ice that had to be Gray.

However, she filed that away for later, for as majestic as the dragons were, they were nothing to her when compared to the individuals who stood in a line in front of them. There was one among them Erza didn’t recognize, but once again, the details meant little to her at the moment.

Her eyes filled with tears as she watched them take a step forward together.

“You’re home,” she whispered.

And then, as if a spell had broken once she’d said the words, she yelled them out with all her might, wanting everyone to hear the joy that was in her heart.

“YOU’RE HOME!”

She lunged at them, not paying any attention to which one of them she tackled. Not that it mattered, as they all fell to the ground in a chorus of grunts and laughing complaints.

“Well, it’s nice to see you’re as impulsive as ever.” The sound of her mother’s laughter left her reeling, and she pushed herself up to search for her, taking a moment to see who was underneath her.

She could feel the blood rushing to her face as, to her dismay, she’d landed on the one person she didn’t know. She scrambled to get off him, and in her haste, landed back on the grass. “Oh gods, I’m so sorry!”

“Don’t even worry about it.” the man said, waving at her with an amused grin. “I’m Oliver, by the way. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Erza nodded at him, too flustered to say anything else. There was a light tap on her shoulder and she looked up to see her mother offering her a hand up.

She grabbed hold of it and found herself pulled into a familiar embrace.

“I missed you so much,” Erza cried, holding her mother close.

“I missed you too.” Irene ran her fingers lightly through Erza’s hair, playing with it as she’d done when Erza was a child. “I’m sorry I was gone so long, sweetheart.”

They separated, and Erza got her first good look at her mother. It horrified her to see a patch of red dragon scales on her cheek, not because it marred her beauty, but because of what it could mean.

“Mother, those scales- are you?”

“Turning into a dragon? No.” Irene assured her. “I used a lot of dragon magic during the war, but Natsu removed the dragon slayer enchantment. It won’t get any worse.”

“If it bothers you, Atlas said he could create some sort of illusion spell-”

“No, you’re perfect!” Erza was so relieved to learn she wouldn’t lose her mother again that she crushed her to her chest in a violent hug.

“I’m not going anywhere, Erza. I promise.” Irene said once she’d regained use of her lungs.

All around them there were sounds of people laughing and yelling greetings and as much as she wanted to hold on to her mother for a little longer, she knew that there was someone else who had been awaiting her return just as anxiously.

“There you are!”

She turned at the sound of Lyon’s voice and saw him hurrying towards her, looking entirely out of breath. “I came as soon as I heard. Did you see your mom yet?”

“Indeed, she did,” Irene answered, moving to stand next to Erza and stopping Lyon in his tracks.

He gawked at her for a moment, seeming uncertain of what to do next, but Erza rescued him. She stepped forward and grabbed his hand, pulling him to her side.

She felt a little anxious, remembering how intimidating her mother could be and knowing how easily flustered Lyon could get when he was nervous.

She really wanted him to make a good first impression.

“Mother, I’d like you to meet Lyon Vastia.”

Erza wanted to tell her everything wonderful about Lyon, but to her horror, she got tongue tied instead.

“I’m pleased to finally meet you,” Lyon said, bowing his head briefly in a gesture of respect before offering his hand. “I’m Erza’s husband,”

Erza watched her mother’s face nervously. It stunned her when Irene merely shook his hand with an amused smile. “The pleasure is all mine. A little dragon told me all about you on the way here.”

“A dragon?” Lyon sounded puzzled, and Erza could almost work out the second he figured out Irene was referring to Gray.

“You mean it really worked?”

“See for yourself,” Irene said, pointing at the blue dragon that Erza had noticed earlier. It stood some distance away from the crowd of people, along with the red dragon that had become their town’s protector.

The dragon they now knew was Natsu.

Erza tore her eyes away from the dragons to focus back on her mother, and she saw Lyon do the same, but Irene waved them away.

“Go to them, I’m not sure how much longer they’ll stick around.”

“Are you sure?” Erza hedged.

“Yes, we’ll talk more later. There’s someone else I need to say hello to. Assuming the kids let me anywhere near her, that is.” Irene said with a laugh.

It didn’t take long for Erza to sight Anna surrounded by Sting, Rogue, Wendy and even Gajeel. All of them were talking at once while Anna laughed at them and asked them to slow down.

It reminded Erza so much of their younger years, though back then she and Natsu would have been in there too, demanding their own slice of attention.

“She’s even more exquisite than I remember,” Irene mused.

“Aren’t you going to go to her?”

“In a bit, let them have their moment. I’ll have her to myself soon enough.”

She shooed them away, turning to greet one of the village elders.

0-0

“That really is him, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I’d know that resting bitchface anywhere.”

“And I suppose yours is better?” Erza taunted, but Lyon only snorted in reply.

It didn’t take them long to reach the dragons. Lyon wasn’t all that surprised by Gray’s appearance, having seen the ice sculpture his brother had molded weeks earlier. Although even that paled compared to the real thing.

Lyon found himself mesmerized by the ice that made up Gray’s wings, horns, talons, and the tip of his tail. It was flawless and he couldn’t help but wonder what creations made of it would look like. But he shifted his focus to Erza as she slowly approached Natsu.

He could see the uncertainty on her face, and he couldn’t blame her. He knew how much she loved and missed Natsu. There was a lot of guilt mixed into her feelings as well, but he knew she’d face it as she did everything else.

Natsu relaxed slightly in their presence, but his expression remained guarded and he inched closer to Gray.

“Hello, Natsu,” Erza said, reaching her hand out tentatively. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Hey Erza,” Natsu leaned into her hand for a moment, allowing her to pet his snout.

“I know this isn’t the time for long conversations, but,” Erza touched her hand to her heart. “I’d like to talk with you sometime, if that’s alright.”

Lyon watched with bated breath, waiting for Natsu’s response just as much as Erza.

“He wants to talk to her,” Gray told him. “He was just afraid of how she’d react. Now that he’s seen she’s not angry or scared of him, I think they’ll be fine.”

“Well, that’s good. I know she’s missed him terribly.” Lyon said, switching his attention to his brother. “I want to apologize to him for our last meeting as well, but I doubt he’d want to hear that now.”

“Probably not.” Gray agreed, “He’s been doing a little better, but I want to get him home.”

“I can hear you, you know.” Natsu complained, sounding much more like his usual self than Lyon had expected. He refrained from responding with one of his usual put downs, regardless.

Instead, he studied Gray and Natsu closely, pleased to see they already radiated that same bubble he’d always noticed around them. He was sure whatever happened next, wherever they went, they’d be alright. And that was all he’d ever wanted for them.

“Well then, we won’t keep you, there will be plenty of time to talk later.” Lyon backed away and tripped over something. He looked down at it with a puzzled expression.

“Just one thing before you go, though. What’s with the corpsicle?”

“Oh crap, I almost forgot about him.” Gray groaned. “That’s Acnologia. He ambushed them some miles from here. Atlas and I barely got there in time to help finish him.”

“You were in a fight already?!” Lyon sputtered.

“So that’s what happened,” Erza said, “I was wondering why Sting and the others looked like they’d been in a fight.”

“How can you sound so calm?!” Lyon protested, peering at Gray more closely in search of injuries.

“Don’t be such a worrywart. I’m fine. You realize I’m a dragon now, right? Plus, all of us fought him together.”

Lyon wanted to ask more about what had happened, remembering how terrifying that black dragon had been, but quickly realized it was better for his sanity if he didn’t.

“You’re trying to tell me that man is the black dragon that attacked the village?” Lyon examined the body again, feeling decidedly skeptical about what he was being told, and wondering what on Earthland would have possessed them to bring the corpse back here.

“Yeah, he was one of the renegade dragon slayers. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the only thing he was.”

“I don’t follow.”

“I think he might also be Juvia’s mysterious boyfriend. Her scent is mixed up with his.”

“Her scent? Okay, first of all, that’s creepy. How do you even know what she smells like?”

“I just do. I know what you smell like too.” Gray replied crossly, “Would you like me to describe it?”

“Oh no, poor Juvia! She was crazy about him.” Erza interjected, trying to keep them from derailing into their usual pointless bickering.

Lyon searched for any sign of the water mage and found her by the village entrance, watching along with a few of the newer guards.

This was going to break her heart.

“I had to bring him back once I caught her scent on him.”

Lyon immediately understood what his brother was getting at. Gray had wanted to shield Juvia from suffering through what he’d felt while Natsu was off fighting, even if it hurt her.

Erza also looked in Juvia’s direction and sighed. “Just get out of here. We’ll deal with it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, you’d never planned on telling her about any of this,” Erza gestured at Gray’s body. “Besides, if he really was her boyfriend-”

“Well, that’s a lot to handle already.”

It took Lyon a moment to grasp everything Erza hadn’t said, and he couldn’t agree more with her assessment. He remembered Juvia joyously telling him about how Logan was so interested in everything to do with her, especially her friends.

“Off you go,” Lyon made a shooing gesture. “We’ve got this.”

“Won’t she know about the dragon thing, anyway?”

“No, the slayers have always kept any information about the dragons to themselves.” Erza reminded him, “Even I knew very little, and I grew up with them. I see no reason for that to change, especially now that the dragons want to be forgotten.”

Gray peered at Natsu, who nodded his agreement with Erza.

“I’ll leave it to you then,” Gray said. “Can you tell her- can you tell her I’m sorry?”

“Sure.”

“Natsu,” Erza implored, “Don’t be afraid to call for us if you need anything. We’re still your family.”

Natsu’s expressions softened slightly, and he offered a half smile in response.

They watched the two dragons fly off, Lyon snickering when he saw how sloppy Gray’s flying looked compared to Natsu.

Maybe he should hold off on getting that ride.

His thoughts turned to Juvia. He’d always been suspicious about the man’s refusal to cross the lake to come see her, but she’d seemed so happy. And he’d been glad that she’d finally put her obsession with Gray behind her, so he’d turned a blind eye. And that had almost proved fatal to their friends.

He intended to be a better friend to her while she mourned.

0-0

While they had flown the short distance home, Gray had worried about how Natsu would react to seeing the remnants of the spell, but Atlas had obviously expected that. He’d already removed all vestiges of it from sight.

He’d also dispelled all the furniture in their room save for the bed, which was now large enough to fit both of them comfortably. Natsu’s scarf lay folded neatly on top of it. Gray couldn’t tell if the temperature spell had been removed, as the cave’s heat didn’t seem to bother him anymore.

He was grateful for Atlas' actions, but it was also a tad disconcerting. It felt like his previous life had been erased, and he didn’t know how to feel about that. Natsu hadn’t said a word since they’d left and that worried him a bit as well, but he’d left it alone knowing he shouldn’t expect anything different. He had no idea how many memories Natsu had of Igneel in this cave, but Gray was sure he was thinking about all of them.

He could still recall how he’d felt immediately after Deliora had killed his parents, and while he knew Natsu had grieved for his mother, he’d never really known her. This type of grief was different. It would take time to heal, but that wasn’t a huge deal. After all, time was something they now had plenty of.

Natsu made no remark about their room being different, just walked in and curled up on the bed, with his head resting on the scarf. It would have been adorable if it wasn’t for the sadness in his eyes.

Lie with me?

It had been a long, emotionally draining day, and Gray had to admit he was exhausted as well.

Always.

Gray joined his husband on their bed, smiling happily when he felt Natsu coil their tails together. He cuddled him, murmuring sweet nothings and reveling in how perfectly they fit together. They soon fell into a deep sleep.

0-0

Gray woke before Natsu and, deciding to let him sleep a while longer, he ventured out of their room in search of food. Hearing an unfamiliar noise, he tracked it down to a room he’d never entered before. Inside it, Sting was packing up his and Rogue’s belongings into boxes.

“You guys are moving out?”

“Oh, hey man, you’re finally up.” Sting said, looking up from the box he was working on. “Yeah, it’d be kind of uncomfortable for Rogue to make the trek every day, unless he went, you know, shadow form.”

“Oh, right. I’m sorry, I didn’t think about that.”

“Nah, it’s fine.” Sting waved away his apology. “Anyway, we found an apartment to rent in town, close to that bakery Rogue likes and to the Guard Headquarters. We moved in a couple of days ago.”

“Wait, days? How long were we out?”

“About three days. It's been raining, so I hadn’t been able to grab our stuff yet.”

Three days?!

Gray knew they’d been tired, but damn. “Well, I guess that explains why I’m starving.”

Sting laughed, “You’d better get used to it, you have a dragon’s stomach now.”

“I have a dragon’s everything now,” Gray pointed out smugly.

“Including their sense of humor, I see.” Sting rolled his eyes.

“So what else did we miss while we slept?” Gray asked, leaning against the cave wall.

“Oh plenty. Let’s see,” Sting began counting off on his fingers. “Anna was reinstated as a Village Elder, and she and Irene got engaged. Gajeel and Wendy also rented apartments in town, they’re right next to each other though, so Oliver’s screwed. Speaking of which, he took over your spot in the Guard and Erza moved him into your old apartment.”

“That’s fine, it’s not like I'm ever going to use it again. Did everyone else go back?”

“Most of us did. Rogue is going to help Erza part-time while he figures out what he wants to do. Wendy will help out in emergencies, but she’s mostly going to work at the orphanage with Anna and continue to train as a healer. Talos hasn’t had a powerful healer since Natsu’s mom died.”

“Hey, uhm, how is he?” Sting was still looking at his hands when he asked, but Gray could hear the worry in his voice.

“He’s still asleep. He didn’t say much when we got back.”

“I’m not all that surprised by that. He’d already run himself ragged even before we left. Plus, you know- everything. He must’ve been exhausted.”

“He was.”

It touched Gray to know that Sting still cared for Natsu, but he didn’t like discussing his mate with him. It was awkward, and he didn’t want to get caught in the middle of their fight. He’d already tried to get Natsu to talk to Sting before he’d left, and that was as far as he was willing to go. This was something they’d have to sort out for themselves.

So he tried to change the subject.

“Do you happen to know how Juvia’s doing?”

“Well, like I said, it rained nonstop for the past couple of days, but the sun came out today, so I guess she must be doing better. You should ask Irene or Erza. I heard they talked to her.”

That was something, at least, although he wasn’t sure if learning more about who Logan was would help. Gray just hoped that whoever she set her sights on next would be someone more deserving of her affections.

He wondered what they’d done with Acnologia’s body. He knew Atlas had wanted to incinerate it personally, he’d made that much painfully clear during their fight.

“Do you think we could talk for a minute?”

Gray blinked at him blankly. “I thought we were talking.”

“Yes, no, I mean talk about what happened. You know, what I did.”

To his credit, Sting didn’t look away, even though he was obviously uncomfortable.

“Sting, you don’t have to.” Gray tried to wave him away. He’d already forgiven him.

Now that everything was over, he didn’t see the need to carry a grudge. And if he was being honest, if it had been Natsu who had been in danger, he wasn’t sure he’d have been able to do anything different.

“Please, I need to apologize to you.” Sting begged, “I understand Natsu may never be able to forgive me, but I feel so terrible about how I fucked up your lives. Gods, and after I gave you that if you hurt him speech, too.”

“I honestly don’t think that there was anything else you could have done, and I know Natsu understands that too. If you need to hear it, I’ll be happy to say it. I forgive you. And who knows, maybe with time Natsu will too. But even if he never does, you need to stop torturing yourself and just move on from this whole fucking mess.”

“I know, I’m working on it. I already told Erza and the Elders about what I did.”

Gray sucked in a breath, “Oof, how did that go?”

“About as badly as I’d expected. The Elders wanted to kick me out of town, but Irene and Erza came out in my defense. So, I’m not the most popular guy in town right now, and I’ll be pulling the crappiest job details indefinitely, but I can stay and that’s all I could have hoped for.”

“That’s great.” Gray gave Sting a knowing glance. “This mate stuff is brutal, huh?”

“But it’s worth it.”

Gray couldn’t agree more.

“I’m gonna go figure out something to eat before you start looking edible.”

“Oh, one last thing!” Sting snapped his fingers. “The town is throwing a big celebration tomorrow night, and they wanted to invite the dragons to take part.”

“I’ll let them know.” Gray said, and with a wave he left to check on Natsu, smiling at Sting’s whispered Thank you.

It felt good to let it all go.

0-0

Rogue looked up as Sting entered their apartment, looking sweaty and disheveled and carrying far too many boxes. He got up to help, but Sting shook his head, holding the door open for someone Rogue couldn’t see as they were behind a stack of boxes.

It turned out to be Oliver, looking just as flushed as Sting. He uttered a cryptic ‘Don’t forget what you promised’ to Sting before waving goodbye to Rogue and heading out.

“What was that about?”

“Oh,” Sting chuckled nervously, “I sort of bribed him to help with the promise of distracting Gajeel so that he could spend some time with Wendy without him hovering. So I guess we’ll be having him over soon.”

He put the boxes down and collapsed on their sofa, and Rogue hurried to bring him a glass of cold water.

“You got the fridge working?”

“No, Lyon stopped by earlier and molded an enormous block of ice to keep in there for now.”

“This place is a shithole,” Sting sighed.

“It’s not so bad, and it’s close to the bakery,” Rogue reminded him.

“I’m sorry, love. It’s all my fault that no one would rent to us. I’m sure this place is nowhere near where you imagined us living.”

“Sting,” Rogue said, in fond exasperation. “We’ve lived in a cave for longer than I can remember. We’ve either slept on the ground or on magical furniture designed by a dragon who had zero concept of human comfort. This is fantastic. Besides, I told Erza how much the guy was charging us and I’ve never seen her leave a room so fast. I expect our rent will go down shortly.”

Sting gaped at him and then erupted into a fit of giggles, “Well, when you put it that way.”

“There is only one thing I require anywhere I live, and this place has it in spades.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

Rogue didn’t know if Sting was being purposefully dense or not, but considering how rough the last couple of days had been for him, he didn’t mind boosting his ego a little.

“You, stupid. You’re all I need to be happy.”

“And wine?”

Rogue snorted, “Yes, you and wine. Speaking of which, Lyon dropped off a few bottles as a housewarming present when he came by. Would you like some?”

“Fuck, yeah!”

Rogue opened the fridge and pulled a bottle out quickly, not wanting to let too much warm air in. He didn’t bother with any cups, just removed the cork and brought the bottle back to the sofa with him.

Sting had already shifted on the sofa so he was lying on it, his legs slightly spread so Rogue could lie between them. He handed the bottle over while he got comfortable. Sting took a swig and handed it back.

“This is good.”

Rogue agreed once he’d tasted it, although given how little wine he’d been able to get his hands on since they’d left, he wouldn’t have been all that picky about quality.

Lyon, however, had always had excellent taste. Something Rogue had learned during nights spent sneaking drinks in the barracks while riding out some punishment or another.

It became a tradition of sorts for them, and it was one he hoped they could pick back up again, minus the punishments, of course.

Sting ran his fingers through Rogue’s hair, tugging on it and massaging his scalp as they continued to pass the bottle back and forth. It felt wonderful and the combination of that and the wine were making him feel incredibly relaxed.

“You know, it feels kind of strange.”

“What does?” Rogue murmured.

“Just lying here like this,” Sting said. “Not having to worry about being attacked, ambushed, or even seen. I like it.”

“Hmm, I do too. We can do anything we want now. Gives me a few ideas.”

“Oh yeah? Any in particular?”

Rogue heard Sting put the bottle down on the floor and grinned. He turned until he was facing his mate and leaned in for a kiss, sucking gently on Sting’s bottom lip before delving inside his parted lips.

Sting wrapped his arms around Rogue’s waist, pulling their bodies closer as they kissed.

“Hmm, I like that idea.” he said, chasing Rogue’s mouth as he pulled back to peer down at him mischievously.

“Yeah? Well, I’ve got plenty more,” Rogue assured him. “And a lifetime to try them out.”

“I’ll be right here with you.” Sting promised solemnly, pulling Rogue back down for a kiss of his own.

0-0

Natsu stood at the entrance to Igneel’s room.

Atlas had told him his father had left him a letter, but he hadn’t worked up the courage to read it until now. He could see the long parchment on the desk, along with the writing supplies his father had favored. Natsu had so many memories of Igneel in this room, working away on a spell or writing messages for the dragons to take with them to the war front.

Knowing he’d never see him there again, well, it was crushing, but he couldn’t hide from it any longer.

“Do you want me to go in with you?” Atlas wandered out of his room and eyed him with concern.

“No,” Natsu said, after giving it some thought. “This is something I need to do by myself.”

“Alright, but I’m right next door if you need me.”

Natsu knew that both Atlas and Gray were walking on eggshells around him at the moment, both worried about how he felt about them going along with Igneel’s plan and it saddened him to see it. He wasn’t quite feeling like himself, that much was true, but he loved both of them deeply and he knew that anything they might have done, it had been for his sake. And how could he really fault them for that?

To be honest, he wasn’t sure what he was hoping to find in that letter, but it felt like he was drowning in his loss and he wanted to find the strength to move forward.

And Igneel had always been good at giving him direction.

That wasn’t fair, though. At some point, he had to grow up and decide his own path, beginning with easing the minds of those he held dearest.

“I don’t blame you, you know.” Natsu said, “Although I wish you had told me.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Atlas’ fire dimmed, reflecting his mood, and he moved to enter his room.

“Hey,” Natsu called out, suddenly worried by how meekly Atlas had been acting. “You’re not planning on doing anything stupid, are you?”

“Always, kid. But I have no plans to go anywhere, if that’s what you’re asking. You’re stuck with me.”

Atlas’ smile was but a shadow of his usual one, but it heartened Natsu to see it.

“I’m gonna hold you to that.” Natsu grumbled, hugging his uncle as hard as he could, just to feel him against him.

Atlas hugged back just as hard until finally pulling away and gently shoving Natsu towards the entrance. “Get in there, already.”

Natsu took one step, then another, and everywhere he looked, the ghosts of his memories comforted him with their warmth.

0-0

“I thought I’d find you here.” Gray huffed, catching his breath from having climbed up the mountain.

“Did you seriously just climb up the mountain?” Natsu gawked at him. “Why didn’t you just fly?”

“Cause I suck.”

To his chagrin, Natsu didn’t disagree with him, but he laughed out loud and that made Gray’s hardship worth it.

Natsu patted the ground next to him invitingly. “It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?”

Gray plopped next to his mate and gazed up at the sky. It was indeed beautiful to watch as the sun’s last rays mingled with the stars. But he was more concerned with Natsu and he studied him, trying to figure out what was going on. He didn’t feel any of the sadness that had been present earlier.

“Are you okay? You’re acting-” Gray struggled to find a word that wouldn’t be misconstrued.

“I take it Atlas told you I read the letter?”

“Yeah. Do you want to talk about it?”

Natsu nodded, staring off at the sky as he collected his thoughts.

“He told me about everything. Your struggles in the astral realm, how you and Atlas both fought with your decisions, and all the guilt he felt over his mistakes.”

“There was so much I didn’t know about him, and some of it hurt because I never understood how truly lonely he felt over the years. But most of all, what I saw in that letter was how much he loved me and how determined he was that I have the life that he only got the barest glimpses of.”

“And that’s what I want too. I want to live that life with you.”

Natsu rested his head on Gray’s shoulder. “I love you, Princess.”

“I still can’t believe you gave up everything to be with me. I can’t imagine how hard that must have been.”

“It wasn’t as hard as you might think.” Gray admitted, and it was true. Once he’d let go of his fears, it had been a simple decision to make. “I love you too, Natsu. So much it scares me sometimes. If there was any chance we could be together like this, I had to take it. I was just worried you’d hate me for it.”

“I could never hate you. You’ve always been everything to me.” Natsu lowered his head. “That’s why I could never really let you go, even when I knew it was what was best for you.”

Gray wasn’t having that. He lifted Natsu’s head so that he could look into his eyes, and see how serious he was. “And now, you’ll never have to.”

Natsu frowned, looking uncomfortable with his next words. “You know we can’t stay here forever, right? We’ll have to move to the island.”

“Is that what you’re worried about? I already figured as much, dummy.”

“We can come visit during the summer solstice, though. I’ll have to leave the island anyway.”

Now that he hadn’t counted on, and it pleased him to learn he’d get to see his friends at least once a year.

“Hey, do you think I’ll change too?”

“We won’t know until then, but it could happen.” Natsu grinned just thinking about it. “That'd be pretty fun. But we’ll definitely need to work on your flying just in case you don’t. That would be a pretty pathetic way for me to die.”

“Jerk,” Gray grumbled at Natsu’s teasing. “You know, I seem to remember you were pretty ticklish as a human, I wonder…”

He pounced, attempting to catch Natsu off guard.

Dragons, apparently, weren’t ticklish at all, but Gray didn’t care because soon they were wrestling around, nipping and scratching as they each sought to pin the other down. It was more difficult than he expected, but that was probably because neither one of them could seem to stop laughing.

And all Gray could think about, besides gaining the upper hand, was just how much he’d missed this. Playing together and just having fun, without the weight of the world constantly on their shoulders. For the first time since Natsu had left him to go fight, he finally felt like everything was going to turn out alright.

They continued until they were both laid on their backs, spent and out of breath.

“I’m so going to get you next time, Flame Brain.” Gray panted, repeating a taunt as familiar as it was empty.

“In your dreams, Ice Princess.” Natsu said with his usual fanged grin.

Gray rolled onto his belly, his attention caught by a movement in the sky. “Hey, is that a shooting star? Hurry, make a wish.”

“I have nothing left to wish for.” Natsu said, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he righted himself and gazed at Gray with awe.

Stupid romantic dragon!

He’d never tire of the way Natsu always knew exactly what to say to make him feel all flustered.

Gray draped his body over Natsu’s, hugging him to his chest so that he wouldn’t see the blood he could feel rising to his face. He’d recently discovered that his favorite thing about being a dragon was his tail. He loved how it instinctively sought Natsu’s whenever they touched, just as it did now.

Sitting here, doing nothing more than staring at the stars, it was perfection.

It had taken them years, more than Gray cared to remember. Both of them had made mistakes, but against all odds, they had been granted a second chance to find their home in each other.

And they lived happily ever after…

THE END

Thank you for reading!

[starlightinhumanform]

Friday Night Lights: Chapter Two

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Ship: Romantic Prinxiety, Platonic Sleepxiety 

Summary: Roman and Virgil play opposite positions on their rival high school football teams. It’s the Homecoming game and tensions are high. Neither are willing to lose but one must rise above the other...

Warnings: Descriptions of pain/injury, Moderate language, One mention of drinking (Please tell me if anything needs to be added)

Genre: High School AU, Rivals to Lovers, Fluff 

A/N: Well... nearly a year since the first chapter came out I’m finally writing again!!! I really love this AU (even though I know very little about football lmao) and I have a lot of ideas about how I would like to include more Sanders Sides characters into this world. If I can get some more of my unfinished fics done, I really want to expand this series. Until then, I hope you enjoy! Love you all 🖤✨

Chapter One   Ao3   Fic Masterpost   Fic Request Info

The first play passed by in a blink. Most of the guys at the front went down quickly, even the largest crumpling under Prince and his brigade. Somehow in the chaos, the ball had been passed to Remy instead of Virgil and the fullback was tackled to the ground.

Virgil rolled his eyes at Remy as the team fell back into formation, only a few feet forward from where they had begun, “Dude, why’d the fuck did it get passed to you? It’s not like a knucklehead like you would know what to do with it.”

Remy huffed a laugh in response, “I have no clue. I’ll make sure it gets to you this time… hopefully.”

He glanced over in the direction that Remy was grimacing. It was Prince, of course, lumbering toward his position with what seemed to Virgil to be nothing but brutish arrogance. Roman acted like the entire game was about him; he acted like it was West Shore Vs Roman instead of West Shore Vs Knights. He probably didn’t even care about the game— it was all about showing off.

Crouched in the back of the formation, it was hard to see anyone at the front but he could picture Roman, somehow managing to smirk behind his mouthguard. Virgil hoped that Remy would rub his face in the turf.

—————————————-

Roman prepared for the second down, glad to see that the jock in front of him wasn’t looking nearly as confident as he had at the first down. Knocking someone to the ground always seemed to do the trick.

The ball was hurled straight back to Tempeste and the bitch who had growled at him earlier didn’t even try to block Roman. Good. All that was left between him and the weird little halfback was Remy Ristretto.

Roman tried to steady himself before the expected slam, but Ristretto’s tackle hit him low in the stomach, managing to knock him off balance. From the ground, he could just barely see the purple form of Tempeste weaving down the field and avoiding every single one of the Monarch Knight’s defense.

Roman tried to throw off the weight of the boy on his back but found himself thoroughly pinned down. His mouth was filled with the taste of plastic turf and dusty rubber and almost the entirety of his vision was blocked by the grape juice flavoured uniform on top of him. It was humiliating. And Tempeste was still running, reaching the end zone without being touched by a single Knight. It was like his feet didn’t even touch the ground, flying across the field.

The West Shore team were given the chance to make a field goal, and made it, but Roman hardly noticed. He was too busy grumbling about how he was going to get back at Tempeste the second he got the chance.

—————————————-

By halftime, Virgil felt like he had been driven over by a steamroller. Multiple times. A steamroller covered in baseball bats.

As the marching band paraded past where Virgil was sitting, he wondered vaguely about the operability of a steamroller that had baseball bats attached to it. Maybe the hit he had taken to the head earlier in the game had been harder than he thought.

Remy sat down besides him, “What’s going on in that big old head of yours?”

“Uhhhhh, a lot of cartoon gong sound effects. Now that I think about it, that might just be the band.”

Virgil looked out across the field as the marching band made their final pass around the turf. The sky was completely dark by now but the stadium glowed bright as day under the huge lights. It was always wonderfully surreal to Virgil, the time of night when the field became its own little world still holding onto the glory of day. He hoped glory was still how he felt about this field by the end of the game. The alternative would be shame; the alternative would be defeat.

And defeat was not an option for a game right before homecoming. It’s not that Virgil particularly cared about the school dances, quite the opposite in fact, he hated them. They were crowded, noisy, and you had to wear uncomfortable clothes and stand around with a bunch of people you don’t like instead of being at home watching scary movies and eating pizza in your pajamas. But there’s only one thing worse than going to a school dance— going to the a school dance after losing the biggest game of the season.

“You’re worried, aren’t you?” Remy’s voice broke through Virgil’s thoughts, “Well stop it. We’re ahead of the Knights—“

“Barely.”

“—you’ve made some great runs so far—“

“I’ve gotten blocked plenty of times too.”

“—and you’re always at your best in the second half of the game. Now stop putting all your energy towards making the little hamster wheel in your brain turn faster and go use it on the field. C’mon man, the third quarter is about to start.”

Virgil shook his head as if to dislodge the distracting thoughts, letting his purple bangs fall in front of his face for a moment before brushing them back and putting his helmet on. Remy was right. Virgil had started football as a way to channel his anxiety, not to cause himself more. He just needed to get on that field and start running.

He jumped up and started bouncing on his feet, letting the adrenaline flow through his body until it felt like he was buzzing. Virgil was ready to win.

—————————————-

Roman was ready to win.

He could feel it boiling in stomach, the drive, the push to alway be the best. The teams had been neck-and-neck the entire game but West Shore’s grape-coloured menace had managed to scrape by with a slight lead by the end of the second quarter. Roman had no idea how Tempeste could even run that fast; he had short little legs and was about as delicate as a twig. Maybe West Shore just hooked him up to a car battery and gave him 20 energy drinks before every game.

However they made it happen, the kid could run. He didn’t look like he belonged on a football team, more like a trackstar or even a dancer. Roman knew he looked like a football player— tall, with broad shoulders and a thick waist, his extra weight part of what made him such a good defense. But Tempeste... he was like no player Roman had ever seen. Maybe that’s why Roman couldn’t beat him like any other player.

As the teams fell into formation, Roman looked across the row of helmets and accidentally made eye contact with Virgil. His stare burned with intensity. Roman hated to admit it, but he liked that about the rival school’s halfback, the feverish energy that seemed to storm around him. In fact, if Roman was being really honest, he loved playing against the West Shore because he loved playing against Tempeste. The energy was infectious. Playing against him made Roman want to run faster, hit harder, be better.

Roman smiled behind the mouthguard that rested on his bottom teeth. Maybe he did know how to beat Virgil; maybe he had to be just as crazy and vicious as his opponent.

—————————————-

Virgil knew what it felt like to get tackled. In his high school career he had gotten jumped on top and thrown to the ground by various sweaty, muscly dudes more times than he could ever dream of counting or would ever care to. He had been dragged to the ground, sat on, and pushed over from every angle and in every way.

But he had never, never felt a tackle like Roman’s in the beginning of the third quarter of that game.

He saw it coming, practically in slow motion, before Prince actually hit him. The boy’s shoulders were nearly twice as big as Virgil’s even with all his gear. He came charging towards Virgil head-down like a bull, his bright red helmet set with a direct trajectory to Virgil’s solar plexus.

Virgil tried to sidestep, skirting just past the moving wall of Roman Prince, but somehow Roman was moving simply too fast. The impact struck just at his core and a deep kind of pain, like a bruise that goes all the way to the bone, resonated outwards through his entire body. A vibration ran all the way to his fingertips.

Virgil could see the crowd going wild, booing and cheering and maybe just screaming with no inflection, making noise for the hell of it. He couldn’t hear any of it. Maybe the entire world had been put on mute or maybe the ringing in his ears was drowning it out.

He fell backwards and Roman flew over him, momentum carrying him forward. When he landed— and boy, did he land— he fell on directly onto Virgil’s chest. Virgil thought Roman had knocked the wind out of him by hitting him in the sternum. By landing flat on his chest with the entire bulk of his body, Roman found another ounce of breath left in Virgil’s body to shock out of him.

His vision and hearing tunneled out, focusing on the one thing capturing his entire attention: Roman. The boy on top of him was heavy, crushing Virgil through his thick shoulder pads. The heat of Prince’s body spread through his gear as well, although, based on the sweat damping his hairline, Virgil really wasn’t one to talk.

Roman was strong, stronger than him. Virgil tried to squirm away but he could feel Prince throwing his weight downwards and his arms straining to keep Virgil caged to the ground.

Just as intense as his physical strength, Prince’s eyes seemed to burn. Before, they always seemed to be depthless, simply dark and brutish like a bear. Now, breathlessly close, there seemed to be a light behind them, a thousand times brighter than the stadium lights. Gold tones shining through the dark brown of his eyes. It was the most beautiful thing Virgil had ever seen. It was also easily one of the most terrifying things he’d ever seen.

Virgil kept the ball close to his chest. As long as he could keep it, the West Shore team would still have possession and could continue to move forward across the field. They could still win.

—————————————-

Roman had Tempeste pinned to the ground and somehow it was the most exhilarating thing he had ever done. Which isn’t to say he had never tackled the halfback before— they had been playing against each other for several years now— but this was different somehow, more personal.

Tempeste growled beneath him, wriggling to escape the tackle like water slipping between his fingers. Roman push down harder, refusing to let him go.

Footsteps pounded behind them, turf crunching under the stampede of Knights quickly charging forward. Roman braced himself for the pile-up he knew was coming, over a thousand pounds worth of his team jumping to join the tackle.

One guy slammed into Roman’s back then another, then another. The pressure of the game must have been getting to them as well because they threw themselves at Roman and Tempeste like a pack of wild animals.

It felt like every single Knight, including the offense players, were joining the tackle. And feel was the correct term. He could hardly see anything besides Tempeste’s face within his purple helmet. But he could feel everything, every hit of his teammates as their full weight fell against his back. Beneath him, Tempeste’s breath began quickening, like he was sprinting again. But of course he wasn’t, he was pinned down just like Roman was.

Roman glanced down into the depths of Virgil’s helmet, searching past the grill. Shining in the dark, his eyes caught a small reflection of the stadium lights. They were large, startled, and obviously panicked. He looked like a trapped animal and his breathing only continued to become more rapid.

Their eyes met as Roman looked down and he realized this was the first time he had ever seen Virgil look really, truly afraid. He had seen Tempeste in the fourth quarter, 20 points behind and looking as determined and fierce as ever. He had seen Tempeste sprint across the field, followed by the entire Monarchs team, with a huge grin on his face like there was nothing he would rather do than be hunted after. He had seen Tempeste stand toe-toe-to, small chest puffed out and jaw set confidently, with some guy over a foot taller than him because he tried to mouth off about Virgil’s ability. He had never seen him like this.

“Hey, it’s going to be ok,” Roman set his helmet grill against Virgil’s. He knew Virgil couldn’t hear him and probably didn’t even know why he was putting his face so close. Hell, Roman didn’t even know why he was doing it. There was something about Virgil’s genuine fear that he felt the need to comfort him, tell him that it was just a game, that he would be alright.

The weight of another player hit him and Roman was slammed against Virgil’s chest. The sudden shift forced Roman onto his wrist, the small joint carrying him and the entirety of his team. Something cracked. He gasped sharply as pain struck every molecule in his body. Roman’s vision went black.

—————————————-

Virgil sat in the locker room, staring vaguely across at the rows of blue shelves in front of him as he held a pack of ice against his shoulder. The nurse said that it might have been dislocated in the pileup.

He wished he could blame it on Roman, that oaf was the one who had tackled him to begin with. He couldn’t though. It was Roman’s job to tackle him and that’s exactly what Roman had done and as much as it confused and somewhat infuriated Virgil, he also knew the other boy had protected him from the blunt force of his teammates. Why? Why would he do that?

Dull pain throbbed through the entirety of his body, clouding his mind. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t quite wrap his head around what had happened.

Virgil was pretty sure Roman got hurt too. As he had walked off the field, gritting his teeth, he caught a glimpse of Prince cradling his hand as he walked in the opposite direction.

It was one hell of a pileup; four years of football and he had only been in a tangle that bad the first time he had played against the Monarchs. Maybe he and Roman were just destined to create disasters.

Virgil grimaced as his mind kept wandering back to Roman. He didn’t know why, but he couldn’t help but worry if Prince was alright. Virgil had no idea what was going on in his mind, or on the field, or in the locker room on the other side.

—————————————-

Roman was bored. He sat on the bleachers, watching the game drag on ahead of him as he held a pack of ice to his wrist. The nurse had told him it was probably just strained but Roman wasn’t convinced. He could feel the ache throbbing up his arm with every beat of his heart. Between the pain and the pressure spreading out from grinding his teeth, Roman’s head was trapped in a haze that he could barely see through.

From what he could tell, the Monarch Knights were winning. With Virgil out, Westshore’s offense had been greatly weakened. Roman hardly cared; he wasn’t out there, Virgil wasn’t out there, none of the spark was left in the game. What was the point of winning if there was no one to win against?

The crowd roared as the final quarter came to a close. The Knights won, but Roman didn’t. He felt disappointed, dejected, and like he didn’t quite understand where he was. This wasn’t his game.

The night came to an end and Roman opted to go straight to the locker room instead of shaking hands with the other team, blaming it on his wrist.  Usually, he loved facing the other team after a win— admittedly because it gave him a chance to gloat over them— but he just couldn’t find that same feeling tonight.

—————————————-

Virgil leaned against a cold concrete wall of the bleachers, staring up at the stadium light’s false sun above him. If he looked far enough, he could find the dark sky and the twinkling lights of the city below him and beyond the intense glow of the school.

A cool breeze was picking up as the world shifted into night. It was beautiful but Virgil couldn’t appreciate it. He just wished there had been some sort of ending, a closure of some kind. He and Prince’s last hurrah against each other. But they hadn’t gotten a hurrah, all they got was a game that petered out and came to sputtering stop as they both sat on the sidelines. Virgil didn’t even care that West Shore lost; it was never about West Shore and the Monarchs. It was about him and Roman.

Someone cleared their throat behind him, “You mind if I join your sulking or would you rather be left alone to mope?”

Virgil spun around, his body tensing at Roman’s voice and sending a twinge of pain down from his shoulder, “What do you want?”

Roman stepped closer, “I told you, I came to sulk with you because that’s obviously what we’re both doing.”

Virgil rolled his eyes, “Yeah, right well... fuck off.”

“Man, I thought you might bite before but now I’m sure of it.”

Prince took another casual step forward as Virgil’s mind began racing. What is he doing? Virgil’s eyes swept over Roman. He had never really seen him out of his football uniform and damn. In denim jeans and a red tee shirt, Virgil was actually able to see him for the first time. Most guys were greatly exaggerated by the uniform, making them look bigger and stronger, but nope, Roman was really just built like that. His gaze reached Prince’s face. Like the rest of his body, his features looked like they had been sculpted and chiseled like some type of statue. He was reminded of how beautiful Roman’s eyes were when he actually took the time to look at them, the warm shades of brown filtering through each other.

“Uh, what are you looking at?” Roman laughed, a hint of nervousness creeping into the edge of his voice.

Virgil felt blood rushing to his face as a deep blush rose to his cheeks. He had been staring, hadn’t he? “Sorry.”

Roman stepped even closer, clearing his throat again, “I actually came over here because... I wanted just wanted to tell you I’ve really enjoyed playing against you. And it can’t just be summed up by saying ‘good game;’ it’s been a hell of a good four years... you’re a phenomenal player.”

Virgil stared down at his feet. This was not what he had been expecting, not that he had been expecting any of this, “You know... it hasn’t been easy to be the smallest person on the team— shit, I’m the smallest player in any of the district teams. I don’t think I would have kept playing, or would have tried as hard to stay on the team if I wasn’t absolutely set on kicking your ass.”

Roman laughed— a deep, genuine sound flooding from somewhere in his broad chest— and Virgil couldn’t help but grin.

“So yeah... thanks for that. And good game,” Virgil smiled up at the other boy.

“Well, we can’t exactly shake hands like usual,” Roman glanced down at his swollen wrist and Virgil’s shoulder that he was still nursing.

“Can we do something else then?” Virgil moved so he was standing face to face with Roman, his heart pounding in his ears.

Virgil could feel Roman’s breathing quicken as he reached up with his good arm, sliding his hand to the base of Roman’s neck. Put he didn’t startle, he didn’t try to move away. If anything, he seemed to be leaning into the touch.

Virgil moved forward, standing on the tips of his toes to press his lips against Roman’s. For a horrific second, he thought Roman wouldn’t return it but after a moment of apparent shock, Roman bowed his head to deepen the kiss. He tipped them forward, supporting the entirety of Virgil’s weight with his uninjured hand.

When they finally broke away, Virgil was completely breathless. He definitely hadn’t seen that coming at the beginning of the evening.

Roman looked equally surprised but he began grinning like an idiot as the realization of what had just happened settled over him, “Can we do that again??”

Virgil laughed at Roman’s eager, puppy-dog-eyes expression, “At least buy me a drink first.”

“Well, I can’t exactly do that seeing as we’re both like 17–“

“Excuse you, I’m 18,” Virgil stuck his tongue out in mock indignation.

“Yeah, well, uh, would you maybe want to go to homecoming with me?” Roman began rushing his words out, “I mean, I totally get if not. There’s absolutely no pressure. And I’m sure you already have plans so—“

“That’d be cool,” Virgil broke in, “I’d really, really like that.”

Roman’s face once again broke into a beaming smile, “Really??”

“Yeah you big idiot, that’s why I said it. Besides, it’s awful going to a dance after losing a game so I might as well bring a trophy,” Virgil slipped his hand into Roman’s and began leading them out of the stadium and into the parking lot. Nothing could have prepared him for what happened tonight. He had started the evening determined to win, but even though West Shore lost, he didn’t feel disappointed.

Virgil looked at the silhouette of Roman against the fading campus lights as he walked alongside him. Maybe he had won something even more important than the game.

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[rainydayhogwartsimagines]

Whoops.

(Draco!Healer x reader!teacher)

Note: I am writing way too much about Draco, damn

Summary: Draco is a healer for Hogwarts, his best friend is a teacher and the students have seemed to notice a possible romance in the works

Warnings: Fluff, injuries, swearing, and yes you are shirtless in a scene or two, the phrase "eye shagging"

You stood beside your desk. "So in summary, no Gaston, you can not use that in a potion because it'd explode." You laughed out. The students all chuckled. "Ma'am.. i cut myself on my beaker can I go get a bandage?" A student asked. You rose a brow. "There's a broken beaker?" You asked. "Yeah, Gaston kind of used eye of newt when your back was turned." The student said. "...Great. Gaston, fifteen points from Gryffindor, miss Weasley get a band aid out of my top desk, class dismissed." You said with a small sigh. You got a bucket and picked up the broken glass. "Miss Weasley, class is--" "I know. But dad would kill me if I didn't help." She said. You chuckled. "I'm sure George wouldn't." You said, picking up shards of glass from the floor. You however picked up the shard the wrong way, cutting your palm. "Shit!" You hissed. "Oh no! Do I need to get a bandage--" "I'm a afraid a bandaid won't fix this." You laughed. "Thank you dear, you should get to class. I got lucky that I don't have students this hour." You assured. She nodded and left, leaving the small mess of glass. You cleaned it up, walking to Madame Pomfrey. "Oh dear, what happened to your hand!?" She asked. "Gaston Burkley decided eye of newt looked fantastic in a antidote for common poisons." You explained. "Goodness that boy loves to cause trouble." She huffed. "Draco will tend to you." She said. "Wait did you say--" A head popped out from a curtain. "Hello there." He greeted with a smile. You smirked. "So when you said 'I got a new job' this is what you meant?" You asked. He chuckled. "Yes." He nodded walking over to you. "Holy crap what happened to your hand?" He asked looking down at it. "A kid decided to add eye of newt to a potion that did not require eye of newt." You said. He chuckled and asked you to sit down. You sat in a seat and he pulled a stool forward, grabbing disinfectant, tweezers and a bandage. He pulled your hand forward. "How big was this shard of glass?" He asked. "Well it was a big beaker so-- Ow!" You winced. "Focus on the questions Y/n." He said. "So you became a potions teacher." He said. "And you became-- Ow-- a pain in my arse apparently." You winced. He chuckled. "After the battle I wanted to help people. I decided medicine was the best way." He said. You smiled. "You always were so kind for someone who pretended to be such a dick." You teased. "I only showed that side to you though." He chuckled. You looked up at him. "We were really close weren't we?" You asked. He smiled looking up. "You were the reason I stayed with the students." He said softly. You felt your cheeks heat up. During the battle his father was so determined to get his son to be a deatheater and side with Voldemort. But the moment he even shifted you just took Draco's hand and he didn't budge. Knowing you were the whole reason he stayed... Really changed the atmosphere of the room.

He cleared his throat, looking down at your hand. "I don't think you'll need stitches but it will definitely scar." He said. "there goes my options of being a hand model." You joked. He chuckled. "I mean you have another hand" he teased. "True true. I think I'll stick to teaching though." You said. "I'm going to warn you this is going to burn." He warned. "I'm sure it's not that bad-- OW HOLY CRAP WHAT DID YOU DO, LIGHT IT ON FIRE!?" You winced. He tried not to laugh, ultimately failing and almost going red. You frowned, almost pouting at him. "Ass." You said making him laugh. "Forgive me but when you said 'I'm sure I can handle it' followed by the equivalent of 'No I can't' I can't help but laugh at that." He laughed out. "He's lucky he's cute. Bastard." You thought internally. He wrapped your hand. "Come to me if you need anything else okay?" He said. You nodded and returned to your classroom.

Class the next day was odd, to say the least. A student's wand seemed to be on the fritz. "What in the bloody blazes is--" "DUCK!" a student yelled. You ducked in time to avoid a bolt. "someone hexed his wand!" A student concluded. "Lily, go get the defense teacher-- Crap!" You dodged. You sighed in relief, narrowly avoiding a spark until "MISS Y/N LOOK OUT--"

You didn't exactly miss that last one. The defense teacher found you on the floor with a gouge in your chest. "Goodness! What happened?" She asked. "Someone hexed Francis' wand!" A student ducked under a desk answered. After removing the hex, she brought you to the wing. "Oh my goodness-- Draco!" Madame Pomfrey called. Draco walked out and saw you, his heart dropping as he did. "What happened!?" He asked. "A student's wand was hexed, tell me she's going to be fine." The teacher said. Draco pushed aside the uncomfortable feeling from removing your shirt and looked at the wound. "It's going to require stitched but I think she'll be fine." Pomfrey concluded. Mcgonagall ran in. "I heard a teacher was injured." She said. Draco was stitching you up, best to his abilities. "Goodness gracious these students will quite literally be the death of us." She sighed. Students were outside of the wing, catching Mcgonagall off guard. "Is she going to be alright?" A student asked. "she'll be fine--" "Who did this?" Mcgonagall asked. Everyone turned to Gaston. "Detention. You're lucky I don't expell you either." She said sharply. "Yes Headmaster." He sighed.

You were out like a light for a few days, Draco sitting by you any free time he had. Occasionally students would visit to see if you were okay, and maybe see the cute medic, but would leave after a few minutes.

You finally woke up though, wincing as you leaned up. "What in the bloody hell happened?" Your first words were. Draco resisted a snort. "That Berkely kid loves to cause trouble." Draco answered. You chuckled. "Ah. Reminds me of--" "Fred and George" both of you said before laughing. "How are those two?" Draco asked. "Mmm. Well I have to deal with the WONDERFUL offspring who clearly get merchandise from their shop." You answered. "How is... All of them?" Draco asked. You smiled. "They're good. Ron and Hermione had a nice wedding. Harry and Ginny did too." You said. "Ah." Draco nodded. "they've asked about you." You said as Draco grabbed antiseptic. He rose a brow turning around. "They have?" He asked. "mmm hmm." You nodded. "Molly says she's sent you sweaters..." You said. He chuckled and nodded. "How in the blazes did that woman even get my measurement.... y/n did you give her my measurements?" He asked making you chuckle. "Mayyyybbbeee." You said. He rolled his eyes. "I'm surprised they would even want to know about me after..." He shook his head. "You saved Fred's life. Molly would never forget something like that." You said. "I blasted a rock." He said. "You saved him." You corrected. Draco looked at you with a bandage in hand. "I'll write to her then..." Draco said with a small smile. "Is this the burning stuff?" You asked. "Sadly, yes." He said. "You must hate me. You've got to, to be using that." You groaned. He rolled his eyes. "Y/n I need you to remove your shirt." He said. You sighed unbuttoning it. "So did never got married?" You asked catching Draco off guard. "Uhm... No. No I didn't." He answered. "Huh." You said. Hermione would never let you here the end of this one. He applied the antiseptic and you winced. "Fucking hell." You groaned. Yep. That's definitely proof you never changed. You always had such a strong mouth. Strong will to back that up too. You leaned forward, allowing Draco to apply the bandages. "Thank you Draco." You said sincerely. He smiled. "You're welcome Y/n." He said. "Uhhh Mister Malfoy, Wesley fell off his broom again." A student called. "Again? Jesus how directionally challenged is this kid?" Draco asked making you laugh.

You went back to teaching, coming in during your breaks to change the bandages and catch up. However your wounds were almost healed and you were now just taking potions prescribed by Draco. Draco knocked on the door frame and you turned around. "It's that time already?" You groaned. "Afraid so." He said. "This stuff tastes like piss." You groaned as he handed you a glass. The students laughed. "You still don't have a filter, even with your students." He chuckled. "Draco, when have I ever?" You asked. "How long have you two known each other?" A student asked. Both of you pondered. "Way too long." You chuckled before drinking it. You coughed and gagged. "Seriously? Whoever designed that must have dead taste buds." You said. He laughed and you smiled. A student's nose began to bleed and he walked over, helping them. "Allergies?" You asked the kid. "I hate them." She grumbled. You smiled and sighed, turning back to write on the board. "At least you get more time with mister Malfoy though." The student said making both of you freeze in place. "What was that?" You asked turning back around. "We've all noticed it, the whole heart eyes, puppy love look you two give each other." A student said. You shook your head, picking up a bottled water and sipping it to get rid of the medicine's taste. "Please, they're practically shagging each other with their eyes." Fred's son, Arthur declared making you cough up the water and Draco turn crimson. "Weasley!" A student scolded. "Those were my Dad's words when describing those two! He said ever since third year the two of them were always looking at each other that way." He said. Draco chuckled. "Of course Fred did." Draco muttered, mentally punching Fred in his mind. "Seriously though, it is obvious that you two are in love." Another student said. "We aren't--" "No we aren't--" "That's--" you both stuttered over every word. "See, you can't even lie about it." Arthur said. You blushed and turned back to the board. "Wait your dad knew them in their third year?" A student asked. "Mister Malfoy saved my dad's life in the battle of hogwarts." Arthur answered. A bunch of students let out "Woahs" and "oohs" but you snorted. "Told you he held you in high regard!" You said to Draco. "Oh sod off." Draco laughed.

"My nose is still not letting up, am I dying?" The student asked. "You're not dying, you might've scratched the inside of it though" Draco said turning back to the student. "Miss Y/n also comes over for all of the holidays and talks a lot about Mister Malfoy too." Arthur said making you snap the chalk with how hard you bared down on it. "Can we please change the subject Arthur!?" You asked. "Yes ma'am." He laughed out. Draco smiled to himself but noticed you didn't ask them to stop talking. You actually would chime in on the personal conversation occasionally as you wrote. "Wait so you knew the Auror Harry?" A student asked. "The Potters go here dude, this isn't new." A student replied. "Yeah but still." They said. "We both knew him." Draco said, cleaning up the remnants of the nosebleed. "My mum knew you too. Said something about punching you in your third year" the student said making you snort. "Is your mother Hermione?" He asked. "Yes." The girl nodded. "That's true." Draco said making the students laugh. "Let's not forget he was a good quidditch player too." You reminded. "Not as good as you were." Draco corrected. "Draco, you could've been in the big leagues if you wanted." You said. "You're the one that managed to trigger a sonic boom while flying." Draco reminded. "You both played quidditch?" A student asked. "Yes. Draco had won most of the matches he was in." You said. "Aside from you and--" you both mimicked the voice Draco would use when talking about Harry "Potter." You both said making the students laugh.

"Do you like teaching instead miss Y/n?" A student asked. You turned around, a sincere smile as you faced the class. "I wouldn't trade this for the world." You said. Draco's heart skipped a beat looking at your happy expression. "It is strange teaching my friends' children though." You added making the students laugh. Draco smiled at that and a student noticed his look. "Was it fun going to school with our parents?" Another student asked. "Oh most definitely. Especially Arthur and Bill's parents. Those two were insane." You laughed. "Oh are you referring to the underground business they ran or the explosives they set off to anger Umbridge?" Draco asked. "Wait what?" A student asked. "Oh yeah, that was a fun day wasn't it?" You laughed. "Fun? It was fantastic." He said. He shook his head "But nothing will ever beat--" "Hogsmeade." Both of you said. You both exchanged looks and the students all felt the tension between you two. "They're doing that thing again." A student whispered. "Oh you mean SHAGGING WITH THEIR EYES!?" Arthur yelled making both of you dissolve into laughter along with the students. "I should go, sorry for disturbing your class." Draco said. "Bye Draco." You waved. He left and you shook your head.

"You so take after your father." You said to Arthur. "We were serious about you and Mister Malfoy though!" A student said. "you two would be perfect for each other Miss Y/n!" Another agreed. "Goodness knows he's in love at least." Another student said. You shook your head with a small smile. "what on earth would make you think that?" You asked. "Maybe the fact that while you were asleep he never left your side. Or the fact that you're with him everytime you're given a break. Or as Arthur said 'the eye shagging of a lifetime'." The student declared. "Oh won't you admit it Miss Y/n? At least say he's attractive!" A student begged. "Don't you guys have anything better to do than gossip over faculty members?" You groaned. "The student's drama is so DULL. This is the highlight of the year! Give us something! Pleassee!" A student begged. You sighed turning back to the board making the students groan. "He's cute." You said making the students roar with delight.

That day was so tiring. You walked into the medic wing and he looked up. "Hey you." He said with a smile. "Hi. I'm exhausted." You said, face planting onto an empty bed. He laughed. "Students tired you out?" He asked. "Oh God. Do not remind me of those little mongrels." You groaned. He shook his head with a smile. "they seemed fixated on me and you" he said. "Oh they love to talk." You chuckled. "One of the students came for their medication earlier." He said grabbing something. "Oh?" You asked. "they said that you concluded that I was 'Cute'." He said with a teasing smile. Snitch. Thar kid was a little snitch.

You rolled your eyes. "These students will be the death of me." You groaned. Draco noticed your avoidance around your answer. "Did you actually call me cute?" He asked, a smirk coming to play on his lips. "I'm not answering that." You laughed out. "Hmm. I'm thinking I know the answer now." He said. You rolled your eyes. "Yes Draco I called you cute." You finally answered. He shook his head with a chuckle.

The two of you never brought it up again until the next time he came with that disgusting medicine. "Oh yay! Poison!" You said. "Y/n you act like a child when it comes to this." Draco said. The students laughed at the banter. You drank it, again, gagging as you did. "It tastes like tar." You wheezed making him laugh. He handed you a bottle of water and you took it. "So did you two talk?" A student asked. "Yes, Madi he's aware of what I said." You said with an eye roll. Draco shook his head, walking towards the door. "No I mean about what he said about you." She said. You looked up with a brow raised. "What?" You asked. "Uhhh..." Draco didn't move, why wouldn't he move. "He said he regretted not telling you something in your forth year." The student said. "Oh?" You asked noticing the nervous look on Draco's face. Arthur leaned off of his hand, perking up like a dog. The students were all hushed. "Draco, care to comment?" You asked. He took his hand off the handle and turned back. "I'm not saying this in front of your students." He declared. "Saying what Draco?" You asked. "Nice try." He said with an eye roll. "You're dancing around the subject." You said stepping towards him. "Maybe I am." He admitted. "Maybe? Sorry do you need tap shoes for the way you're dancing right now?" You asked. He sighed. "What are they talking about?" You asked again, still walking towards him. "It's nothing." He lied. "Draco if it were nothing you would've told me by now." You said. The students were all watching intently. "What are they talking about?" You asked, looking straight into his eyes and he cracked. "That I've been in love with you since our fourth year and I haven't said anything because I didn't know if you felt the same." He said. You blinked and the room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. ".... Draco..." You said, standing so close to him that he could feel your breath. "I never said anything because I didn't know if you felt the same way either." You admitted making everyone almost gasp. He looked into your eyes, cupping your face and kissing you making the entire class cheer. "IT'S ABOUT TIME!" Arthur yelled. You both smiled against each other's lips. "We're never hearing the end of this are we?" Draco asked. "Hell no." You said making him laugh and kiss you again.

You were the talk of everyone's morning for a while and that spark definitely turned into a flame after you two got engaged. Best part: it happened during class. Draco would sit in the back of your classroom watching you teach, occasionally answering kid's questions about what their parents were like in school. He was sitting there watching you and you were laughing at someone's joke. "You two seem so in love." A student said. "We are." You both said, smiles as you answered. "Thanks to us!" Arthur said. "Yes, you and your wonderful 'eye shagging' comments just made me fall head over heels." You snorted. Draco laughed and you smiled. "Have you two thought about getting married?" Bill asked. You both froze during that question. "miss Y/n?" A student said. "Well that's uhm..." You turned back to the bored. "Have you?" Draco asked, noticing the avoidance to the question. "Everyone woman thinks about that when she's in love Draco." You concluded. "So you have?" He asked. "Yes. Have you?" You asked. He got up, walking up to you and setting something in your hand. "I don't know. Have I?" He asked. You looked at your hand to see a ring resting there and you gasped very loudly. "Oh my God Draco." You said. "Will you?" He asked. "Well you have to ask me properly!" You said, tears clouding your eyes. He chuckled, taking the ring and getting down on one knee making the students gasp. "Professor Y/n L/n. Will you marry me?" He asked. You nodded and kissed him making the entire class basically scream.

The two of you did get married, Bill and Arthur taking the credit for the two of you being together in the first place. That came back to bite them though when Fred ended up being the substitute teacher for when you went off on your honeymoon, Fred busting out baby pictures when he'd misbehave. "DAD NO--" "And here's him in his first Weasley sweater!" "DAD!"

[cozy-the-overlord]

Dances and Daggers

Summary:   The Summer Festival is upon Asgard, as is the tradition of the dagger ceremony, where each unmarried gentleman chooses a lady to bestow with the honor of carrying his dagger for the night. As Prince Thor’s betrothed, Teki’s only goal is to accept his dagger with grace and hope that her violent stepfather doesn’t find fault with her in the process. But Prince Thor is unpredictable, and when he ignores his engagement on a whim Teki finds herself in a desperate situation. Luckily, Thor isn’t the only prince in Asgard…

Pairing: Loki x Original Female Character

Chapter 11: The Games

Previous Chapter  |  Next Chapter

Word Count: 2,322

Chapter Summary: The long-anticipated Summer Games have arrived.

A/N:  This is probably my favorite chapter in this story and I'm really excited to post it. I got some bad news yesterday and have kind of been in a weird headspace ever since, so this has really been giving me something positive to look forward to. Seeing your likes and comments really make my day every week :) 

I hope you enjoy it, and as always, thank you so much for reading!

TW: Violence, child abuse

Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae @moumouton4 

if you want to be tagged, feel free to just send me an ask/message! :)

Read it on Ao3!

The first day of the Games arrived in all its vicious glory. Feasts, festivities, toasts, the clinking of mugs and the cheering of names—it seemed the whole of Asgard was gathered about the arena, the usual level of pandemonium descending upon the crowd as each warrior was introduced.

Teki sat stiff as a board in her seat, hands properly clasped in her lap as she stared straight ahead, unblinking. The swelling by her temple hadn’t completely gone down, but her mother had been able to manipulate a loose hairstyle that mostly hid it from view. While that worked seemingly well, Teki was afraid to move the wrong way, lest her hair shift and reveal her injuries. Even clapping seemed dangerous.

The princes were soon called forward as well, raucous applause erupting across the masses as Thor, the three-time defending champion, leapt with a bow and a winning smile. Loki’s name was somewhat lost in the ensuing chaos.

Teki was careful to keep her face neutral. She didn’t know where Osvald was seated, but wherever he was chances were high that he had a good view of her atop the royal platform next to Frigga. She knew he’d be watching her for any kind of improper reaction. She was determined not to give him one.

Besides her, the Queen clapped halfheartedly for her sons. Teki was rather surprised at her lack of enthusiasm. Shouldn’t a mother be more unhampered in her support? But Frigga’s brow was creased with worry. Teki gazed at the boys choosing their weapons alongside the other fighters—swords, knives, axes. She wondered if she’d be able to clap if Brant was in the arena.

The first day was dedicated to contests and non-confrontational competitions—archery, footraces, axe-tossing. Supposedly, this was the less violent segment of the Games, although the words “less violent” and “the Games” didn’t really match up. Inevitably, a judge made a bad call, the affronted contestant sprang up in insulted frustration, and then suddenly everyone in the arena was shouting at the top of their lungs and throwing each other to the ground. These brawls were a staple of the Games, and more often than not Thor was one of the first to start them, so King Odin usually let them go on for a bit before silencing everyone with a clang of his spear.

Teki tried to watch with the diligence expected of future royalty, but the summer heat worsened her headache and stifled her attentiveness, sending little beads of sweat dripping down her face and irritating her bruised skin. At least the royal platform was shielded from the sun—she felt bad for the people huddled around the ring with no cover whatsoever. Still, it was far too hot to properly follow anything.

The only time the competition truly held her attention was during the knife throwing, although she was ashamed to admit why. Loki dominated the event like it was his life’s calling. His movements were almost feline, cutting through the air as if he were a blade himself, carrying a kind of fluidity that even the veteran participants lacked. Teki didn’t think he missed a single throw. When the judges crowned him winner, she couldn’t resist her tiny grin.

It made her think of the gold-hilted dagger wedged beneath her mattress along with her father’s journal. She found herself fantasizing about wearing it to the Games, sitting here in her seat with Loki’s blade at her waist. Lots of women did something like that—wearing their warrior’s weapon of choice to show solidarity with him during the tournament. She imagined how Loki would react, if he looked up at the podium and saw her wearing his dagger. She wondered if his face would light up the way it did when she came to watch him practice …

The trumpets blared, announcing the next event. Teki shook herself from the daydream. What was she thinking? She was betrothed to Prince Thor, destined to be his Queen. She couldn’t allow her thoughts to wander elsewhere. The next group trooped into the arena. Teki only sunk lower in her seat.

One-on-one duels began the following day. This was what everyone had been waiting for. The crowd was absolutely feral as the order was announced. Most of the people were foreign to Teki, but her ears perked up at a few familiar names: Loki would be fighting towards the beginning, against another novice combatant. Thor was going against a hulking man from Vanaheim. Fandral was paired against another one of Thor’s friends: the slender, controlled warrior who preferred a spiked mace to a sword and whom Teki had rarely seen lose.

Good, she thought as the two shook hands, I hope he kicks your butt.

Again, she found herself struggling to stay focused throughout the duels between people she didn’t recognize. The first one ended when one of the men yielded. The second went through until the loser was knocked to the dirt, unconscious and bleeding. The third went on so long that by the time a winner was called the crowd had almost completely lost interest.

But then it was Loki’s turn. Teki perked up when he arrived in the field with a slight bow, adjusting his golden breastplate as he did. He met her gaze when he turned to the platform, his impassible expression relaxing a moment when he saw her smiling.

His opponent bowed as well. He was a crazed looking thing, wisps of his wildfire hair curling past his neck like a lion’s mane. His name was Geirr, and while the master of ceremonies said he was the same age as Loki, Teki was certain he looked a bit older.

The two boys took their stances in the arena with their staffs. Teki swallowed. She wished Loki could use his daggers. The games were set up in a series of rounds, with the winners of each duel going on to fight each other in the next. They changed the weapons each time: round one was quarterstaff, round two was sword, round three was axe, and so on until the final round, where the last two warriors used their weapon of choice. While Teki knew well that Loki was more than capable with the weighted staffs, nothing could compare to his deadliness with his daggers.

At the sound of the trumpet, Geirr was quick to jump to the offensive.  He leapt forward with several well-aimed stabbing motions that Loki deftly avoided. He blocked another swing and attempted a hit of his own, grazing Geirr’s torso before the red-haired boy pushed him back.

It was a very even match. The two chased each other into every corner of the arena, each sharp clap of their staffs meeting echoing across the thrumming crowd like thunder. Teki found herself leaning forward in her seat. At moments, Loki seemed just on the edge of victory. He got the first hit, smacking his opponent against his ribcage and causing him to double over in pain. The crowd cheered, but then Geirr was on his feet again and rushing at the prince, and once more Loki was on the defensive.

Teki’s chest hurt from holding her breath. Come on. Loki was right on top of him, landing blows on his shoulder, his hip. Geirr was struggling to stay on his feet. She dug her nails into the palms of her hands. So close. Come on—

Geirr feinted to the right. It was a sudden jerk that caught Teki off guard, and she inhaled so sharply it stung.

It seemed to catch Loki off guard too. When he moved to block, Geirr whipped the other end of the staff around from the left. It collided with the prince’s face with a sickening crack. Her hands flew to her mouth, muffling her gasp. Loki fell backwards. For a moment, the crowd was silent.

Loki didn’t move.

The master of ceremonies rushed into the arena, raising Geirr’s hand. “The winner! Geirr Alfrson!” The people erupted into cheers.

Teki barely heard them. Loki was still on the ground, flocked by individuals in the blue robes of the healing ward. Was that blood on his face? She stared at them with a knitted brow. Was he unconcious? How hard of a blow must it have been to knock him unconscious? The healers were caring him out of the fighting area on a pallet of some sort. He still hadn’t moved.

Frigga was already on her feet, rushing down the stairs to the medical tents set up just outside the crowd. For once, she didn’t think of Osvald. Teki hurried to follow her.

The Queen stopped at the entrance to the white tent, speaking in hushed tones with one of the healing women. Teki slipped past them, seemingly without notice.

Inside, Loki was awake, and Teki exhaled in relief. He was sitting up on a cot as another woman in blue held a blood-soaked cloth to his nose.

“How are you feeling now?” she was asking.

He shrugged. “Fine.”

“Any lightheadedness?”

“Not really.”

“Very well.” The woman stood, patting him gently on the knee. “It was a simple heal. You should be able to rejoin the festival without issue when you feel ready.” With that, she exited the tent, nodding slightly as she passed Teki on the way out.

Loki heaved a sigh, cradling his head in his hands. Teki approached him slowly, kneeling at his side.

“Hey,” she asked quietly. “Are you all right?”

He glanced up quickly. Once he saw that it was only her, he relaxed a bit.

“I’m fine.” He huffed bitterly. “I could’ve taken him. Easily. One quick illusion, and he never would’ve seen it coming.” She jumped when he smacked the mattress. “I thought maybe—for once in my life—”

 He was crying, Teki realized with a start. Tears pooled in the corners of his eyes, dangerously close to spilling over. She didn’t know what to say.

“You did wonderfully,” she murmured. “There’s no reason to be ashamed. He just got a lucky hit—”

“There shouldn’t have been a lucky hit!” There was something dark in his face, something Teki had never seen there before. It scared her. He scowled. “Thor wouldn’t have let him get a lucky hit.”

“But—you can do things Thor can only dream of,” Teki pointed out. Where was this coming from? “Like the liquid light, with Brant—”

Loki laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. “That doesn’t matter! It’s just a trick, nothing but a trick. Tricks don’t win the day. Father wants real warriors, not childish pranks.”

“You are a real warrior!” she insisted. “You won the knife toss yesterday, and you still did really well today—”

“You don’t understand!” he cried. “It’s not enough! It’s never enough.”

He fell forward, covering his eyes with his hand. His body shook with barely restrained sobs. Teki’s heart was breaking. She reached out hesitantly, fingers brushing against his shoulder. When he didn’t flinch away, she moved closer. Loosely, giving him plenty of room to pull away if he wanted to, she eased the prince into an embrace.

At first, he stiffened, and Teki almost made to let him go, but then his arms encircled her torso, gripping her as if she were his only anchor to land. She held him tighter in return.

And with that, the dam broke. Loki sobbed into her shoulder openly, unabashedly, no longer attempting to keep up appearances. Teki didn’t say anything. She had never been very good at comforting people, never really knew how. All she could do was rub his back and let him cry.

She wasn’t sure how long it went on for. Eventually, Loki stopped, pulling away to wipe at his eyes with the heel of his hand. He kept his head down, seemingly ashamed to meet her gaze.

“Forgive me,” he murmured hoarsely.

She frowned. “For what?”

“It’s—” His voice caught in the back of his throat “Pathetic. Selfish, to complain. Forgive me.”

“No it’s not.” Teki reached out to push his chin up so he’d look at her. Still, he avoided her eyes. “How is it selfish?” Norns know how many times he’s put up with my tears.

“I just—” He shook his head. “Here I am, whining to you about my gripes with my father, when you—when you’re suffering through conditions I can’t even imagine.” His fingers brushed against her temple, just barely running across the swelling. Now it was her turn to face the floor in shame. He had noticed. Of course he had.

“It’s so selfish…” he repeated, his voice so soft it seemed to be coming from somewhere else.

“No,” she whispered. She turned back to him, hoping the determined sincerity came across in her expression. “You always can complain. Anytime. I’ll always listen. You’re not selfish.”

He stared at her, his eyes tired and swollen. His hand traced her profile, down from her temple to cup her cheek. She shivered.

“But I am,” he said finally, almost too quiet to hear. “Because I don’t want you to marry my brother. And the reason is entirely selfish.”

Teki’s heart stuttered to a halt. What? Her mouth fell open, but no words came out. What should she say to that? What could she say to that?

Just then, the tent flap pushed open. Loki stiffened, pulling away from her immediately. Twisting around, Teki found herself melting under the iron gaze of Odin AllFather. Frigga stood not far behind. She felt the color drain from her face.

For a moment, they just stared at her. Teki quickly scrambled to her feet, burning (she had been kneeling, how must that have looked?).

“Your Majesties,” she faltered, somehow managing to sink into a clumsy curtsey. “If—if you’ll excuse me.” And with that, without waiting for a response, she fled from the tent.

[carminite-wyrm]

Hero-of-Kvatch!Nyx AU, Part 2!

aka, Nyx continues to not have a great time in the tunnels beneath the Imperial Prison.

Again, story under the cut.

Part 1

The most ridiculous part of this whole matter, Nyx decided, was not the not-daemons (the creatures had certainly looked the part, but they hadn’t disappeared into a cloud of miasma after he’d killed them) he had encountered in the tunnels as he made his way out of the prison. It was the fact that no one had commented on both his injuries, or his tattered uniform that was very much not fitting the ‘high fantasy novel’ aesthetic he was also wrapping his head around.

Even as the brisk pace that the elderly man – who was apparently Uriel Septim VII, the Emperor of the nation Nyx now found himself in – and his entourage set through the tunnels did wonders for working out the lingering stiffness in his body, (as did the vaguely nightmarish path earlier full of the largest rats Nyx had ever seen), Nyx found his mind starting to spiral off into multiple tangents, trying to process the wealth of information he had already managed to gather.

He had died, that was almost an undeniable fact. And then he had awoken in what he was now absolutely certain was a different universe, to find himself in a cell that he was shortly released from by the Emperor of the land of Tamriel, who was fleeing cultist-assassins who had most likely already claimed the lives of his heirs. On top of all of that, the Emperor (and Nyx, apparently), were mixed up in some sort of shared fate or prophecy, that likely had to do with the gods of this realm if Nyx was understanding things correctly.

Nyx was fervently doing his best to try and ignore how the situation was rather similar to what he had just lived in his own world. It had been almost too easy for him to slip back into the role of a bodyguard and defender of a King, to the point that one of the guards, Baurus, had given him several suspicious looks when he had found their group once again, and introduced himself as Nyx.

He silently cursed the lack of his kukris, the weight of the short sword he had found in the tunnels slightly awkward in his hand, as he fended off one of the strange assassins that were chasing their group, the blade nevertheless good enough to sink through a chink in his opponent’s armour. Even the slightest drop of magic to blast some of them away faster would have been useful, but he was fairly certain that the magic he once had was now gone. Dead and gone, vanished when Regis’ body had-

He grit his teeth, shoving that thought away along with the dead body that slid off his blade.

Even if this Emperor Uriel was supposedly meant to die at some point in the coming future, Nyx would do his best to help him avoid that ‘fate’. Quite frankly, he’d had enough of talks of fate and destiny, and the fact that the Emperor looked about as resigned to his fate as Regis had been-

The group halted as they found the way to the sewers to be barred, and Nyx suddenly had a sinking feeling. He readied his sword, just in time for one of the guards– Blades, the Emperor had called them –to call out that it was a trap. He followed them as they tried a side passage, only to find that it was a dead end.

“Wait here with the Emperor,” One of the Blades ordered, as the sound of assassins entering the previous chamber grew louder. “Guard him with your life!”

And before Nyx could even muster up a shred of disagreement, that perhaps leaving their Emperor with a man who they had previously thought to be a criminal, and also visibly injured even if he wasn’t actively bleeding or burning to death was a terrible idea, the two Blades had rushed off to engage the assassins.

“Well, at least this room is somewhat defensible,” Nyx sighed, readying his sword as he briefly gave the room a once-over to see if there was something he could use to barricade the entrance. Finding nothing, he instead took up a post by the doorway, readying his sword. Once confident that he’d be able to see any danger that would appear, he turned his attention back to the Emperor, only to find an amulet with a bright red gem being held out to him.

“…Isn’t that yours?” Nyx asked, a sinking feeling starting to settle into his stomach. This was starting to look very, very, familiar. “Why-“

The Emperor’s eyes were startlingly clear, and kind, as he explained that this would be where he was to die, and that he wished for Nyx to not only take his amulet, but find his last son, a secret son that only another man named Jauffre knew the location of.

“This amulet…it isn’t just some family heirloom, is it?”

The Emperor shook his head. “It is the Amulet of Kings, and must pass to the last of the Dragon’s Blood.”

“…Don’t tell me this contains some sort of great power that only someone blood-related to you can wield, a power that was granted to you by a dragon god. And that it will help to end a world-ending calamity.”

“That…is exactly it.” The Emperor gave him a curious look. “That is not common knowledge.”

“I…I’m not quite sure how to explain it.” Nyx admitted. “It’s…a long story.”

“Take the Amulet, and then in the little time we have left, I would hear what you can tell of your story. Your fate lies past the moment of my death, I do not worry that you will fall with the Amulet.”

Nyx glanced around the room, finding it still clear of danger for the time being, even if the sounds of fighting had moved ever so slightly closer to them. He slowly took the Amulet, tucking it away in one of the pockets in his uniform.

“So…Would you believe me if I said that I’m not from this world? Or universe, probably.” Nyx began. “And that I had died, then woken up in that cell, and then a few minutes later you and your guards showed up.”

The Emperor’s eyebrows creased in thought, before he nodded slowly. “The ways of the Divines are mysterious indeed. But you are here, as I have foreseen. Your origins, or your past deeds, do not concern me.”

“I’ve already lived through this!” Nyx blurted out, before he realised that probably wouldn’t make sense without some level of explanation. “I mean, the events leading up to my death, are startlingly similar to what’s happening right now!”

He agitatedly twisted one of his braids in his free hand, decidedly not looking in the direction of the Emperor.

“You are afraid.” Nyx snapped around to stare at the other man.

“I-“

“Even though we have only just met, and yet you still care enough to fear the consequences my death will bring.”

“I just. Don’t want to fail to protect another person. I don’t want your guards, your Blades, to also fail to protect someone they swore to keep safe.” Nyx muttered.

“Oh.” The Emperor sighed, and briefly closed his eyes. There was a sudden presence in the room, ever so slight and yet Nyx could sense it, almost vibrating through the vein-like scars on his arm, the feeling similar to the rush of power that he had felt when confronting the old Kings of Lucis when he had put on the Ring.

The Emperor opened his eyes once again as the moment passed, and looked straight at Nyx, his gaze this time almost as piercing as Regis’ had been when he had spoken up for Nyx in front of the old Kings.

“Your kindness, and dedication, is a gift in these dark times. I am honoured to have met you, Nyx Ulric, and to have been granted the knowledge of the weight you bore before you were brought here. I regret the fate that has been passed onto you, so soon after your sacrifice in your old world, but, I have faith that you will not only face it, but also surpass the expectations laid upon you by the Gods. After all, this new life you have gained will not be without its blessings.”

“Wait, what do you mean-“

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a now-familiar flare of red magic, and broke off as he spun around to meet the assassin, the enemy’s mace rattling against the blade he just managed to bring up in time. The two traded blows furiously, moving across the room as Nyx attempted to use his free arm to gesture or herd the Emperor back away from danger.

Nyx hissed in pain as the mace briefly slid past his guard, the sharp edges of the weapon slicing sharp lines through the side of his uniform. The enchantments that had once been imbued into the fabric clearly had not survived his appearance in this world, though that was not surprising, given how they had hinged on Lucis Caelum magic anyways. He stumbled back a few steps from the impact, and ducked as the mace came down at his head once again. This assassin was clearly a cut above the others they had encountered earlier, Nyx thought, briefly eyeing the cracked stone where the mace had hit.

The assassin cackled, and moved to attack again, when Nyx heard the sound of stone grinding against stone. He looked around for the source of the noise, and spotted, in that half-second, a figure in red robes, wearing an even-more ornate set of black armour, a wickedly-long dagger in his hand. And that figure was stepping out of a passage that had just opened up, right next to where the Emperor was standing.

Instinctively, he flung his sword at the assassin, bracing himself for the pulling sensation of a warp. And then he remembered.

He no longer had the ability to warp.

“Shit!” He yelled, now scrambling under the first assassin as he tried to reach the new assassin in time, trying to reach the Emperor before– and why was he just standing there?! – the new assassin struck.

His fingers had just skimmed the edges of the hilt of his sword, other hand outstretched to try and push the Emperor or the assassin out of the way, when he saw the knife sink into the Emperor’s heart.

He watched as the Emperor toppled to the ground, the assassin’s knife dripping blood onto the stones. He heard, more than saw, as one of the guards appeared in the doorway and gave an anguished cry.

And then the assassins were attacking them again, and he had no time to further process the situation as he and the guard – Baurus – ended up fighting back-to-back, a grieving desperation in Baurus’ attacks as together, they managed to kill those last two assassins.

There was silence, finally, as the last assassin slowly bled out on the ground, and Nyx watched with blurry eyes as Baurus fell to his knees next to the corpse of his Emperor.

[jadethest0ne]

Alive

Summary: “Donnie is in trouble. Shelldon had seen the containers begin to tip over. Donnie isn't in a position to get out of the way in time. The thought that immediately rushes through Shelldon's head? Gotta save Donnie. So he moves as quickly as he can. He is a fast drone. Nearly won at the drone races, after all. Donnie had saved him then. Donnie had given Shelldon life to begin with. And Shelldon would do anything to return the favor. “ Word Count: 3435 Rating/Warnings: General Audiences; Injury, Self-Sacrifice, Hurt/ Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending Notes: Oh look, I can write prose, too, I guess. It’s just been a while... Read on AO3. Related to this idea.

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"Is this the safe, Draxxy?" Mikey flashes an excited smile in the direction of the formerly villainous yokai as he gestures at an unassuming, yet still obviously solid looking container hidden under some sheets amongst the machinery in Draxum's old lab.

The yokai lets out a grunt of affirmation. "Yes it is. Now move aside while I input the code."

Mikey skips out of the way to stand beside his purple-adorned brother who had accompanied them.

Donatello was not particularly pleased to be asked on a mission with their now semi-reformed creator, but he was needed "in case anything science-y happens", in Michelangelo's words. Truth be told, they really only needed the help of Shelldon, who is perfectly capable of being by himself, thank you very much. The drone in question hovers by his own creator with an easy expression on his robotic features.

"So you left a whole jar of ooze in your lab where just about anyone could get their hands on it?" Shelldon remarks, sharing a sarcastic smile with the softshell.

"Not very smart for a warring warrior scientist," Donnie monotones, and both he and Shelldon share a fist bump of sorts, looking smugly at the sheepman.

Draxum lets out an irritated humph and says, "I kept it in a secured location where no one could easily find it and kept it locked up. See, it's here." He gestures at the now open safe with a container filled with glowing green liquid inside. "Have your drone pick it up for me and we can be on our way. When we get back, I can find a way to safely handle and dispose of it."

Donnie lets out a dry "uh huh" and waves to the drone. "Shelldon, if you would be so kind."

"No problemo broseph," Shelldon says, floating over to the container and securing it with a clamp on his back.

"I just need to finish shutting things down and wiping the information from my systems. Then we can be out of here before the police resumes their rounds of investigation,” says Draxum.

He walks over to some computers and begins typing away.

Donnie's eyes remain narrow and unhappy as he pulls aside Mikey and mutters to his youngest brother, "Remind me again why we're helping him wipe his records of this place? It's like we're helping him get rid of evidence."

"It's not that," Mikey's voice changes to that of his Dr. Feelings cadence, "I thought it'd be a good way for Draxibald to cleanse himself of his past, by letting go and deleting all of his evil experiments." His voice shifts back to something more natural and cheery. "Besides, this way no one else can find this information and use it for bad stuff ever again!"

"Fine," Donnie huffs out.

Mikey looks at his older brother with some concern. "What's wrong?"

Donnie looks away. "It's nothing."

"Donnie."

Something seems to catch Donnie's attention then. "Hey, look at that."

"Donnie, what did we say about avoiding your feelings?"

"Scoff! I'm not avoiding anything," he says, crossing his arms defensively, obviously avoiding something.

Mikey raises his brow, unimpressed.

Donnie ignores this and points to a corner of the lab. "Really though, look at that."

Mikey's narrowed gaze shifts to one of awe as he follows Donnie's pointed finger to a couple of large containers filled with aged looking yellow liquid with some solid forms floating inside. Though shriveled and pale, the forms were unmistakably that of large sea turtles.

Shelldon lets out a long "Wooaaaaah" at the sight and quickly hovers himself over in that direction. “Neato!” he exclaims.

Mikey and Donnie follow, also looking on in amazement at the sheer size of the turtles. They are much larger than the two youngsters. Even larger than Raph. And the size of the containers holding them must require gallons upon gallons of liquid to accommodate their giant bodies.

Upon closer inspection, however, the site is a little less wondrous as the large turtles are obviously dead and preserved in the large vats. Mikey's face scrunches up in discomfort and quickly clings to his brother, whose snout wrinkles in disgust.

"Planning on mutating more than just us, huh, Draxum?" Donnie calls over to the scientist.

Draxum looks on, expressionless. "I had at one point considered making a more solely aquatic group of warriors, but I was worried that the size of the leatherback turtle would be too difficult to deal with. Now please step away from there. I'm going to cut power to the specimen preservation units and they may become unstable."

Not eager to stay near the somewhat morbid sight, Mikey scampers over to where Draxum is. Donnie lingers, however, giving the specimens another once over before slowly turning away.

That's when the shift happens.

It is all too quick. A hiss of escaping steam. A light clinking of glass as the containers tip over.

Donnie isn't nearly out of their range and he looks on in horror as the large containers loom over him.

He barely registers his brother screaming his name before he feels a sudden thud against his side, and he is pushed out of range by the small purple figure that is his drone.

"Shelld--" Donnie isn't able to finish his cry before many tons of glass and preservative chemicals come crashing down on his beloved drone.

--------

There is a stillness in the air as the tinkling of glass and the trickling of liquid comes to a halt.  The leatherback sea turtles are all but disintegrated after having been kept for who knows how long in the vats, and their pieces are scattered about in the mess of the oozing yellow liquid. Donnie stares wide-eyed into the middle of the wreckage where Shelldon lays. A large shard of glass has pierced straight through his robotic body. Sparks of electricity buzz out of the small drone, but other than that, he does not move.

The purple clad turtle lets out a strangled yelp as he calls his drone’s name. “Shelldon!” Donnie rushes over to the drone, not caring about the glass or debris scattered about. He reaches out for the small bot, but something catches him around the middle and holds him back, right before he can get to him.

Donnie yells angrily, “no, NO! Let go of me!” He turns around to see Draxum holding him in place with one of his vines.

“I told you the containers were unstable,” Draxum chides, expression flat.

Donnie tries again, “Let me go! I need to check on him!” Donnie squirms in the grasp of the vines trying to reach out for the drone.

Draxum continues, “I wouldn’t touch it if I were you.”

Donnie spits fire back at Draxum, “How dare you tell me what I do with my drone! This is your fault!” His voice cracks as he turns back worriedly to Shelldon. “I need to see if he’s--!”, but Donnie is cut off by a gentle touch on his shoulder.

“He’s right, Dee,” Mikey says sadly. “Look.”

Donnie’s watery eyes focus on Shelldon. The ooze container that was clamped onto his back earlier had shattered and the mutagen now covered the drone’s entire body, seeping into his cracks, causing his normally pink glow to be tinged with a sickly green.

Donnie stops struggling, but his hands still linger in the air over Shelldon’s body. Hovering and unable to touch him. To either help or provide comfort.

Draxum slowly releases Donnie from the vines. Mikey goes to stand next to him, holding onto his brother’s arms lightly - half in a hug and half to prevent him from getting any closer to the dangerous ooze-covered drone. Donnie’s hands lower in shock and defeat and he leans a little into Mikey’s touch.

A robotic whine then comes from the scene in front of them. Shelldon’s head twitches and his eyes open, but the light that illuminates them flicker unsteadily.

“Shelldon?” Donnie says hopefully.

Shelldon’s gaze focuses on his creator, but his eyelids droop a little and he stutters out a weak laugh. Did he always sound so robotic? Donnie wonders vaguely. “I, uh.. really beefed it this time… didn’t I, Dee?” Shelldon says in an attempted lighthearted tone.

Donnie shushes him and leans down towards him. He wants to hold onto his drone so badly; to pat his head, to give him a scritch behind the ears and tell him he’s okay. But he forces himself to keep hold onto Mikey’s grip instead. He plasters a smile on his face and uses the uncharacteristic soft tone that he only seems to use when he is sorry about something. Or when he’s scared. “No, no buddy, you did- You did great!” His lower lip trembles. “You saved me!” He holds a hand to his chest for emphasis. The hand forms into a fist as if to put a clamp on his breaking heart. “And- and I’ll make sure to- to bring you home, and fix you up, and I’ll even let you charge until noon!” It’s getting harder to smile.

Shelldon blinks, or perhaps it's the lights in his eyes flickering on and off. “My core is damaged, Dee…. Contaminated liquid… leaking into my memory systems… Probability of recovery is minimal...” Shelldon’s normally laid back tone being replaced by more purely technobabble sounds unnatural and unnerving to Donnie. But he doesn’t remark on it. Instead he shushes the drone again. “Shh, don’t, talk more, you’ll drain your power.” His smile stretches into something almost hysterical and his voice pitches higher. “I can fix this! I can fix anything!”

“Yeah…” Shelldon’s eyes droop tiredly, and he says, as if from rote, “You are the greatest turtle, Donatello…” The flickering of the lights behind Shelldon’s eyes stutter once more before fully going out.

Donnie sinks down to his knees. Mikey follows him to the floor, supporting his weight. Tears start streaming from Donnie’s eyes and he buries his face into his younger brother’s shoulder. Mikey clutches Donnie’s shaking form tightly as his body is wracked with quiet sobs. Small tears form on the box turtle’s own features, but he holds onto his older brother and tries to whisper words of comfort as best he can.

The quiet sadness is broken by Draxum’s voice. “Why are you crying over a piece of technology? You can always make a new one.” It is all too cold and uncaring.

Donnie stiffens in Mikey’s grip, and Mikey stares wide eyed at the sheepman. Donnie lifts himself out of Mikey’s hug. “‘Make a new one?’” He straightens himself up. “‘Make a new one,’ he says!” He turns to look at Draxum, hot and angry tears pouring from his eyes. “Make a new Shelldon? His memory chips will be flooded! Corrupted by YOUR ooze! I can’t get that back! How DARE you suggest that I REPLACE Shelldon?!”

Draxum’s expression falters slightly, suddenly aware that a nerve had been touched. But unsure of exactly what he had done wrong, he remains stoic. “It’s just a drone. Don’t you have more?”

Donnie’s eyes widen and his face contorts in rage. “He is not just a drone! He is Shelldon! He is our family! He’s my---” He shuts his eyes and grinds his teeth, throat constricted with emotion. “But of course,” he continues, in a low and dangerous rumble, “someone who only sees his creations as weapons to use for his own gain wouldn’t understand.”

He glares at Draxum challengingly. Draxum’s eyes widen a hair and he stares back, not saying a word.

Mikey is left watching them, eyes shifting nervously between the two, unsure of what to do or say, with no small amount of grief tinging his own heart. But then a glowing something catches his eye.

"Omigosh, guys, look!" he whispers with astonishment.

The two scientists pull their gaze away from each other and look over to what Mikey is staring at.

The ooze that had covered Shelldon's body is now giving off an otherworldly glow, and is seemingly pulsing with energy.

Draxum leans closer with his own look of astonishment. "Fascinating," he exclaims. "The ooze seems to be trying to initiate a mutation..."

Mikey looks at the sheepman curiously. "You mean he could be mutated?"

Draxum lets out a thoughtful hum. "The ooze shouldn't be able to mutate inorganic material... Yet nothing's ever been exposed to this large of a dose before... And perhaps it is also reacting due to the leatherback samples that the drone has been exposed to..."

Mikey perks up. "Could this help save him, then?"

Draxum closes his eyes and shakes his head, "No. Even if it is able to mutate the drone, there is no way it would be a stable mutation. The only organic DNA available is from these leatherback specimens which have been long dead and are now largely destroyed."

"What if we combined it with DNA from a stable mutation?"

Draxum and Mikey turn to Donnie who had remained quiet during the whole exchange. Donnie's expression and voice are strained, as if not wanting to indicate hope, but his jaw is set in quiet determination. "What if we used my DNA to help stabilize the mutation?"

Draxum put a hand to his chin, scientific intrigue getting the better of him, "Hmm... that could potentially work..." But he quickly waves his hand as if waving away the thought. "No, starting up my machines again could alert the police and I'm not risking getting arrested again for some drone."

Donnie is about to retort, but Mikey beats him to it. "Please, Draxum!" He places a hand on Draxum's own. "Shelldon's not just a drone. He's family!"

Draxum looks at Mikey, expression faltering under the young turtle's imploring gaze. His eyes move over to Donnie whose determined look is more firmly set on his face.

The yokai lets out a defeated sigh and says, "If we're going to do this we must be quick about it. And then leave as soon as it is over and I've shut everything down."

The two turtles share a triumphant smile. "Well, we are ninjas after all," Mikey says smoothly. "Speed and stealth are our middle names."

Draxum rolls his eyes before turning to the purple brother. "To make this work you will have to go through the same procedure as your father did when I transferred his DNA to you." He locks eyes with him and gives him a serious look. "It will be painful. And I cannot guarantee that it will work, or that it will be the same Shelldon that you know."

Donnie stiffens, but clenches his fists at his sides and does not falter. "I don't care. I have to try."

Draxum's eyebrows arch and a small hint of a smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. He looks almost impressed? Proud, even? But the moment is over and he turns to his machines saying, "Let's get started."

--------

The machines are turned on, and using his vines, Draxum maneuvers Shelldon's broken body into a liquid container. Donnie is strapped below it, and he vaguely wonders if this is what it was like for Splinter. Because if he's honest with himself, he's terrified. But looking up at the drone that had saved him, he swallows his fear and nods to Draxum. Draxum nods back and starts the machine.

Shelldon is not just a drone. Shelldon is family. Shelldon had saved him. And Donnie would do just about anything to return the favor.

Draxum was right about one thing though - the procedure was very painful.

-------- --------

Donnie is in trouble. Shelldon had seen the containers begin to tip over. Donnie isn't in a position to get out of the way in time. The thought that immediately rushes through Shelldon's head? Gotta save Donnie. So he moves as quickly as he can. He is a fast drone. Nearly won at the drone races, after all. Donnie had saved him then. Donnie had given Shelldon life to begin with. And Shelldon would do anything to return the favor.

--------

Everything is dark. Like a blank screen with nothing on it.

His memory is fuzzy. It's not usually like that. His memory systems are normally flawless. But right now he's struggling to remember just what happened and why he currently feels like his battery is drained almost all the way. Like he can't get out of sleep mode. Not cool. Flashes of a lab, some large containers, and a humanoid turtle in purple cross his mind. That turtle is important, he's pretty sure. Something twinges at his core at the thought of him. Who was he again..?

He hears a voice.

"Shel...n… cn… y... he.r.. me?

The voice is familiar. It's nagging and he's pretty sure that it's ruined his fun on more than one occasion. Yelling at him to stop charging so late or to stop drone racing around the lair. But it's... comforting. Safe.

He tries to concentrate on it.

"Shelldon!"

Shelldon? Was that the purple turtle's name? No, he's pretty sure that's his own name. Man, his memory is really jacked today.

The nagging, fun-ruining, safe voice is still there, calling him. It sounds desperate, and a part of Shelldon is desperate to answer it. It is important, like that turtle. Is this that turtle? The turtle... The greatest turtle. Something in his thoughts click into place.

Shelldon opens his eyes. He looks up at the purple-adorned softshell holding onto him. There's a lot of pain and worry in the turtle’s eyes, and Shelldon is reminded of why he went through the trouble of saving his beloved creator.

When he speaks his voice is quiet and weak, and without any hint of mechanical reverb, but the name is now clear in his mind. "...Donnie?"

Donnie's expression turns into one of pure relief and joy. Tears form in his eyes, but he smiles widely and lets out a hiccupy laugh. "Shelldon! It worked! I can't believe it worked! You're okay! You're alive!"

Shelldon is enveloped in a tight hug. It is impossibly warm; one hand cupped lovingly behind his head. Shelldon still feels weak, so he can't do much to hug back. But he sinks into the touch. Donnie always did give great hugs, even if they were rare, but this one feels different. It is warm and soft, but not in a way that Shelldon could calculate by numbers. No temperature reading comes to mind. No pressure sensitivity indication. Just. Warm. And soft. And somehow that means more. It feels like more.

Suddenly Shelldon becomes aware of a word that Donnie had used. Alive.

Shelldon looks around. He sees Draxum and Mikey off to the side. Mikey has a bright smile on his face, his hands clasped in front of him. Draxum looks almost downright flabbergasted, as if he doesn't believe what he's seeing.

Shelldon blinks for a second and tries to move. To take stock of the rest of his body. He had been sure he was damaged in that accident. And everything feels off. But for some reason his systems aren't sending him any indications of the damage.

Donnie, perhaps sensing the movement, releases Shelldon from the hug, but still holds onto him for support. From this angle, Shelldon is able to actually take a look at himself.

He looks down, but what he sees confuses him. There are no rotors, no purple metal. What? There's a yellow plastron. Dark green arms with three fingered hands. Legs. These aren't Donnie's. The color is wrong. And besides, Donnie is holding him and he is in Donnie's lap. The arms move and Shelldon realizes that the one moving them is himself. He can feel them. He wiggles the fingers then brings them to his face. It is fleshy. Scaly. Turtle-like.

That word that Donnie used comes to mind again.

He looks to Donnie again, eyes wide with wonder. "I'm... alive..?"

Donnie cracks a half smile and huffs out a tired laugh. "You're a real boy now, Shelldon."

Shelldon's mind has trouble wrapping around the concept. It's a lot to take in. He quickly becomes aware of various new sensations. Breathing. Touch. The absence of ones and zeros. The presence of intangible emotions. It is very overwhelming, and along with the tiredness - that's what it was, not low battery - that he felt earlier, it is almost too much. His body starts to shut down - no, fall unconscious - again.

But he likes this word.

Alive.

And all he can say before he passes out again in Donnie's arms, with a wobbly smile on his face, is "Radical!"

[twoidiotwriters1]

Written In The Stars XCVIII (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: Updated: I will be dropping the next few chapters this week, so stay tuned -Danny

Words: 4,487

Series’ Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Chapter Thirty-Three: The Final Task.

"He really trusts Snape, even though he knows he was a Death Eater?" Ron asked.

"Yes," said Harry.

"Rita Skeeter," Hermione mumbled rubbing her forehead with both palms.

"How can you be worrying about her now?" said Ron.

"I'm not worrying about her. I'm just thinking... remember what she said to me in the Three Broomsticks? 'I know things about Ludo Bagman that would make your hair curl.' This is what she meant, isn't it? She reported his trial, she knew he'd passed information to the Death Eaters. And Winky too, remember... 'Ludo Bagman's a bad wizard.' Mr Crouch would have been furious he got off, he would have talked about it at home."

"Yeah, but Bagman didn't pass information on purpose, did he? And Fudge reckons Madame Maxime attacked Crouch?"

"Yeah, but he's only saying that because Crouch disappeared near the Beauxbatons carriage."

"Makes no sense because then all her students were there to see, and Hagrid as well, unless he thinks Hagrid's unreliable too..." Mel added.

"We never thought of her, did we?" said Ron. "Mind you, she's definitely got giant blood, and she doesn't want to admit it —"

"Of course she doesn't! Look what happened to Hagrid when Rita found out about his mother. Look at Fudge, jumping to conclusions about her, just because she's part giant. Who needs that sort of prejudice? I'd probably say I had big bones if I knew that's what I'd get for telling the truth."

"I'm hardly a supporter of liars," Mel sighed, "but I'm with 'Mione in this one, the wizarding community can be pretty judgy when they want to."

"We haven't done any practising!" Hermione gave a start, looking at the time on her wristwatch. "We were going to do the Impediment Curse! We'll have to really get down to it tomorrow! Come on, Harry, you need to get some sleep."

Hermione and Ron stood up as well as them, then Mel stopped, watching them climb up the stairs. Harry noticed and stayed behind as well, giving her a questioning look.

"I wonder," She said quietly. "How different our lives would be if any of those things had never happened... D'you think it'd be completely different from what it is now?"

"Maybe," Harry shrugged. "My parents would be alive, we wouldn't be neighbors..."

"We would still be friends, though, wouldn't we? But maybe not best friends," She frowned. "Is it wrong that I'm a little glad that's not the case?"

"No," He smiled. "But we're not exactly friends, are we?"

"You know what I mean," She mumbled.

Harry got closer and kissed her temple. Having no height difference really was convenient for them. He finally mumbled a goodnight and left, Mel soon following his example and going to her bedroom.

"You're supposed to be studying for your exams as well, you don't need to put all your efforts into helping me," Harry told them one afternoon after lunch. "I don't mind practising on my own for a while, you know?"

"Don't worry about it," Hermione said, "at least we'll get top marks in Defense Against the Dark Arts. We'd never have found out about all these hexes in class."

"Good training for when we're all Aurors," said Ron casually.

Mel and Harry shared an amused look.

"Hermione's right," She added. "I don't do any of these in my lessons either, it's more of an academic thing, most unusual when I do practical magic. I read and read until my eyes get all heavy. I know a lot of things about magic but it's not quite the same as knowing how to do it."

"I bet it's ten times easier than this," Harry groaned, cleaning his robes after falling on his butt for the third time thanks to a hex he hadn't been able to avoid.

"You're still doing really well, though," Hermione said, reading the list she'd made to make sure Harry had a full training. "Some of these are bound to come in handy."

"Come and look at this," Ron was looking out the window, squinting. "What's Malfoy doing?"

They all huddled up in front of the window. Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle were sitting down the shadow of a big willow tree, Malfoy was holding his hand up to his mouth and speaking into it, the other two were looking around with silly smirks on their faces.

"He looks like he's using a walkie-talkie," said Harry.

"He can't be– I've told you, those sorts of things don't work around Hogwarts," Hermione shrugged it off, quickly losing interest. "Come on, Harry, let's try that Shield Charm again."

"Look at this," Harry said in a tone of exasperation, he was reading Sirius' letter to Mel. "'If Voldemort is really getting stronger again, my priority is to ensure your safety. He cannot hope to lay hands on you while you are under Dumbledore's protection, but all the same, take no risks: Concentrate on getting through that maze safely, and then we can turn our attention to other matters.' Makes me sound like I have no control!"

"He's just stressed like we all are," Mel responded lazily, barely looking up from her Charms essay. "Give it a month and he'll be back to his usual self, joking about eating rats and all..."

"I already did all I could to prepare myself," Harry folded the letter and prompted his head on one hand, watching her as she continued writing. "The task is tomorrow, I don't think there's anything else I can do..."

"You sound extremely calm about it," She said.

"I just think that whatever comes, at least this time I'm prepared. Besides, it's the end of the tournament, which means..." He raised his free hand and grabbed a lock of her hair, playing with it like he often did. "It's all going to be over, and Skeeter will be out of here."

"We won't have to worry about our love lives being published for everyone to see..." She nodded.

"And I'll be able to take you to Hogsmeade on a proper date and all..." He smiled, his mind drifting to a brighter future.

"What a gentleman," Mel put down her quill and admired her work with pride. "I'm all done! No more homework!" She looked up to meet his gaze. She frowned a little, slightly confused. "Is everything okay?"

"Espectacular," Harry smiled broadly, releasing the lock of hair and kissing her cheek.

"Snuffles sent me a good-luck card!" Harry said, sounding delighted.

She leaned closer to examine it. It was a piece of parchment with a paw print that Mel found adorable, Harry seemed to like it as well.

"Emily didn't send anything though, d'you think she dislikes me now because of all those articles?" He asked jokingly.

"Oh yes, I reckon she must hate you for being such a conceited little git," Mel snorted.

Hermione choked on her drink as she held onto the Daily Prophet an owl delivered to her a few seconds earlier.

"What?" asked her three friends.

"Nothing..." Hermione tried to hide the paper, but Ron was quicker.

"No way," He breathed. "Not today. That old cow..."

"What?" Harry insisted. "Rita Skeeter again?"

"Bad news?" Mel raised a brow.

"No," Ron said, hastily pushing the paper out of sight.

"It's about me, isn't it?" said Harry.

"No," said Ron, but his voice broke a little in the end.

Just as if on queue Draco Malfoy shouted from across the Great Hall:

"Hey, Potter! Potter! How's your head? You feeling all right? Sure you're not going to go berserk on us?"

"Oh, bloody hell," Mel frowned. "What is it now?"

"Let me see it," Harry turned to Ron. "Give it here."

Harry took the paper from a very reluctant Ron. A picture of him was displayed on the front page, with the title right under it:

HARRY POTTER "DISTURBED AND DANGEROUS"

The boy who defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is unstable and possibly dangerous, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. Alarming evidence has recently come to light about Harry Potter's strange behaviour, which casts doubts upon his suitability to compete in a demanding competition like the Triwizard Tournament, or even to attend Hogwarts School.

Potter, the Daily Prophet can exclusively reveal, regularly collapses at school, and is often heard to complain of pain in the scar on his forehead (a relic of the curse with which You-Know-Who attempted to kill him). On Monday last, midway through a Divination lesson, your Daily Prophet reporter witnessed Potter storming from the class, claiming that his scar was hurting too badly to continue studying.

It is possible, say top experts at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, that Potter's brain was affected by the attack inflicted upon him by You-Know-Who, and that his insistence that the scar is still hurting is an expression of his deep-seated confusion.

"He might even be pretending," said one specialist. "This could be a plea for attention."

The Daily Prophet, however, has unearthed worrying facts about Harry Potter that Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, has carefully concealed from the wizarding public.

"Potter can speak Parseltongue," reveals Draco Malfoy, a Hogwarts fourth year. "There were a lot of attacks on students a couple of years ago, and most people thought Potter was behind them after they saw him lose his temper at a dueling club and set a snake on another boy. It was all hushed up, though. But he's made friends with werewolves and giants too. We think he'd do anything for a bit of power."

Parseltongue, the ability to converse with snakes, has long been considered a Dark Art. Indeed, the most famous Parselmouth of our times is none other than You-Know-Who himself. A member of the Dark Force Defense League, who wished to remain unnamed, stated that he would regard any wizard who could speak Parseltongue "as worthy of investigation. Personally, I would be highly suspicious of anybody who could converse with snakes, as serpents are often used in the worst kinds of Dark Magic, and are historically associated with evildoers." Similarly, "anyone who seeks out the company of such vicious creatures as werewolves and giants would appear to have a fondness for violence."

Albus Dumbledore should surely consider whether a boy such as this should be allowed to compete in the Triwizard Tournament. Some fear that Potter might resort to the Dark Arts in his desperation to win the tournament, the third task of which takes place this evening.

"Gone off me a bit, hasn't she?" said Harry casually as Mel finished reading, to which she only sighed.

"How did she know your scar hurt in Divination?" Ron asked. "There's no way she was there, there's no way she could've heard —"

"The window was open," said Harry. "I opened it to breathe."

"You were at the top of North Tower!" Hermione exclaimed. "Your voice couldn't have carried all the way down to the grounds!"

"Well, you're the one who's supposed to be researching magical methods of bugging!" said Harry. "You tell me how she did it!"

"No idea," Mel shook her head. "Unless she's learned to train insects and have them all around the school, which would give the bugging a whole new meaning..."

"Bugging," said Hermione, deep in thought. "It's like... like..."

"Are you all right?" said Ron.

"Yes... I've had an idea– I think I know... because then no one would be able to see... even Moody... and she'd have been able to get onto the window ledge... but she's not allowed... she's definitely not allowed... I think we've got her! Just give me two seconds in the library — just to make sure!" She stood up at once and left the Great Hall in a hurry.

"Oi! We've got our History of Magic exam in ten minutes–! Blimey," Ron turned back to them, "she must really hate that Skeeter woman to risk missing the start of an exam. What're you going to do in Binns's class, Harry — read again?"

"S'pose so," Harry shrugged.

"I wish I'd know what she found," Mel said, looking out to where Hermione had gone. "Maybe if I go after her..." But her thoughts were interrupted as Professor McGonagall came to them.

"Potter, the champions are congregating in the chamber of the Hall after breakfast, Miss Dumbledore, you and Flint are needed at the entrance now," Before Mel could object she added, "Your teacher has been notified and knows you'll be arriving at your examination a bit late, as well as Flint. He'll give you extra time."

"But the task's not till tonight!" Harry's eyes widened.

"I'm aware of that, Potter. The champions' families are invited to watch the final task, you know. This is simply a chance for you to greet them."

Harry and Mel stared at her in disbelief after she left.

"She doesn't expect the Dursleys to turn up, does she?" Harry asked in horror.

"Dunno," said Ron. "I'd better hurry, I'm going to be late for Binns. See you later..."

"I'd better go too," Mel sighed, getting up as well. "I wouldn't worry if I were you, I doubt the Dursleys would have the nerve to show up." She kissed the top of his head, Harry gave her an anxious smile and she walked away a bit reluctantly. At the entrance she was met with a lovely sight:

Mrs Weasley, Bill, and her own mother were there, next to them were Mr and Mrs Diggory, a woman that looked a lot like Fleur along with Fleur's little sister, and two wizards that could only be Krum's parents.

"Mum!" She ran up to the woman and hugged her tightly, doing the same with Mrs Weasley and Bill. "What are you doing here?"

"Can't miss the last task now, can we?" Her mother smiled. "I tried to convince Remus to come as well, but he thought that people wouldn't react kindly after the whole scandal of last year."

Mel's attention got caught on three figures on the other side of the hall. Erick was standing next to his cousin, and on Jo's side, there was a very old man on a wheelchair. They seemed to be arguing with him.

"I'll be with you in a moment," She told her mother and the Weasleys. "Hold on..."

She walked up to Erick shyly and cleared her throat, the boy gave a start and turned to look at her.

"Yes?" He asked in a grumpy voice.

"We have to take the families to the chamber... is everything okay?"

"No– Yes," He looked over his shoulder and back at her. "My Grandad had a relapse yesterday but insisted on coming anyway. Joseph and I had to force him to sit so he doesn't tire himself out, he's throwing a tantrum."

"We can always send him back via floo," Joseph stepped in, half-joking. "Hi, Mel!"

"Hi," Mel beamed, she couldn't help but feel a little excited every time he'd talk to her.

"Well well," Mr Flint spoke over his grandson's shoulder. "You must be Miss Dumbledore!"

"Good morning Sir," She tilted her head to see him.

"My, you're pretty!" He laughed loudly, Mel found it endearing. "I see the resemblance between you and your father– Great man he was, he used to visit my store often. How's your mother?"

"She's right over there," She pointed over her shoulder. "Came to wish Harry good luck, he's my friend, you see."

"I've heard," He looked at his grandson with a knowing smile. "Oh! Haven't introduced myself, have I? Eliot Flint at your service dear girl– You've made quite the impression in my family. Erick's told me about you, and Joseph mentions you at least twice in all his letters!"

"Oh!" Mel didn't know how to respond to that, so instead, she looked at the boys.

Joseph spoke first, noticing the way Erick was positively glaring at his Grandfather.

"You're a great host," He admitted, "I dare say better than my cousin..."

"Thanks," Erick replied with a scoff.

"Well, it's true!" Joseph laughed. "I barely got to talk to you during the school year, and even then you weren't much of a talker. I'm surprised you even mentioned Mel to our Grandad– Mind you, Mel, he doesn't talk about anyone at all, sometimes I suspect he fancies–"

"I talk enough!" He snapped. "Now, if you excuse us we have to take the families to the chamber– You two stay here. Let's go..." Erick grabbed Mel's arm and pulled her away.

"You know," She chuckled, "there's nothing wrong with caring about people."

"I care about people," He replied. "Which is why I feel like I've aged five years this term."

She laughed, stopping in the middle of the large group. They all turned to look at her, which caused her to feel a bit self-conscious. Luckily for her, Erick had no problems with talking to crowds.

"If you could follow us to the chamber, you'll see your kids in a moment," He said in his best formal and controlled voice. Mel got closer to her mum.

"Harry'll be ever so pleased about you coming! He was dreading the idea of his aunt and uncle..."

"The day a Dursley sets a foot in this castle hell will freeze," Her mother laughed.

"I just couldn't miss a chance to come back, really," Bill explained. "All is exactly as I remember..."

Once in the chamber, the families divided into smaller groups. The champions walked in, all except for Harry. Erick left to present his exams and she was about to go as well when he came in, looking around curiously before his eyes landed on the Weasleys and her mum. Then he approached them with a broad smile.

"Surprise!" Mrs Weasley said once he got to them. "Thought we'd come and watch you, Harry!"

"You all right? Charlie wanted to come, but he couldn't get time off. He said you were incredible against the Horntail."

"My little boy!" Emily pulled Harry in for a hug. "You've been so brave this whole year! All the things you've done– never been more proud of you!"

"This is really nice of you," Harry muttered. "I thought for a moment — the Dursleys —"

"Hmm," said Mrs Weasley sternly.

"Sorry for that," Emily laughed, finally letting go. "But the Dursleys won't get to call themselves your family on these grounds as long as I'm alive."

Mel watched them interact, in a way, they were her little family. She couldn't wait to tell her mother about the recent events regarding her relationship with the boy.

"It's great being back here," said Bill. "Haven't seen this place for five years. Is that picture of the mad knight still around? Sir Cadogan?"

"Oh yeah," said Harry and Mel at the same time.

"And the Fat Lady?"

"She was here in my time," mentioned Mrs Weasley. "She gave me such a telling off one night when I got back to the dormitory at four in the morning —"

"What were you doing out of your dormitory at four in the morning?" Bill gaped.

"Your father and I had been for a nighttime stroll. He got caught by Apollyon Pringle — he was the caretaker in those days — your father's still got the marks."

"Fancy giving us a tour?" said Bill, looking at Mel and Harry.

"Yeah, okay," said Harry.

"Oh, I can't," She pouted, "my exams..."

"How about we walk you to class?" Emily offered. "This place is full of memories! I'd love to see the halls one more time..."

As they moved to the door, Amos Diggory spoke to Harry.

"There you are, are you?" He sneered. "Bet you're not feeling quite as full of yourself now Cedric's caught you up on points, are you?"

"What?" Harry stopped.

"Ignore him," said Cedric, giving his father a look. "He's been angry ever since Rita Skeeter's article about the Triwizard Tournament — you know when she made out you were the only Hogwarts champion."

"Didn't bother to correct her, though, did he?" said Amos Diggory. "Still... you'll show him, Ced. Beaten him once before, haven't you?"

"Rita Skeeter goes out of her way to cause trouble, Amos!" Mrs Weasley said. "I would have thought you'd know that, working at the Ministry!"

"Honestly Amos, believing a word she says it's the same as asking to a dog what he thinks about the weather," Emily added.

Mel didn't need the extra time, in the end, she finished her exam at the same time as the rest of the group. Ron asked her if Harry's relatives were in fact there and she answered with a mysterious 'you'll see'.

When they went to the Great Hall for lunch, Ron was surprised to see his brother and mum there.

"Mum — Bill! What're you doing here?" He looked at Mel's mum. "Hi, Em!"

"Come to watch Harry in the last task!" said Mrs Weasley. "I must say, it makes a lovely change, not having to cook. How was your exam?"

"Oh... okay. Couldn't remember all the goblin rebels' names, so I invented a few. It's all right," Ron said to calm her mother's spirits, "they're all called stuff like Bodrod the Bearded and Urg the Unclean; it wasn't hard."

Hermione turned up a bit later, Harry tried to find out what she'd discovered about Skeeter, however, before he could finish his sentence Hermione shut him up, her attention moving to the mothers of her friends.

"Hello, Hermione," said Mrs Weasley, rather coldly.

"Hello," said Hermione shyly.

"Mrs Weasley, you didn't believe that rubbish Rita Skeeter wrote in Witch Weekly, did you? Because Hermione's not my girlfriend," Harry was quick to point out.

"Oh! No — of course, I didn't!" Mrs Weasley blushed lightly.

"Was it all rubbish, though?" Emily asked pointedly.

"What'd you mean?" Mel asked.

"Dunno, something about you and that Diggory boy," The woman fought back a smirk, "and a french boy..."

Mel inhaled sharply and choked on her food. She shook her head energetically as Hermione patted her back harshly.

"That was rubbish too, yes," Harry added, kicking Ron's leg under the table so he wouldn't speak.

"Okay then," Emily replied. "Not that I wouldn't support you, but if my daughter's dating someone, I'd hate to find out through the Daily Prophet."

"Oh, yes," Mel glared at her mother playfully. "I'm well aware of how invested you are in my love life."

Emily winked at her without saying anything, Harry gave her a questioning look but Mel shook her head, brushing it off like it was nothing.

The way the Emily’s eyes shone throughout the day helped Harry picture her at fifteen-years-old, walking around the castle with his parents and Matthew, much like Mel: happy and beautiful. Carefree, with dreams to spare.

Mel's exams went by without any troubles, and by the time they had the feast, she sat next to him, holding his hand under the table while no one else was looking in an attempt to ease his nerves.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Dumbledore said. "In five minutes' time, I will be asking you to make your way down to the Quidditch field for the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament. Will the champions please follow Mr Bagman down to the stadium now."

As they got up, the Gryffindors broke into applause for Harry; the Weasleys, Emily and Hermione wished him good luck, and they finally left the Great Hall to enter the quiet evening.

"How're your nerves?" Erick asked her. "I must say you're keeping it together better than before..."

"I've grown used to the knot in my stomach," She shrugged. "After the tenth time, this turns into a routine."

He chuckled lowly.

"My Grandad liked you, apparently you reminded him a lot to one of his girlfriends."

"Oh," Mel frowned, "...thanks?"

"I didn't know how to respond to that either."

"I think he's nice," She said. "Very lovely."

"Yeah," Erick replied, a look of fondness betraying his usual cold demeanour.

"Hey," Harry quickly caught up with them, looking considerably more nervous than before. "You remember what the jelly-leg jinx counter spell was? Because I keep trying to remember and–"

"Glasses," Mel scowled. "Don't do that, if you keep repeating things over and over you'll get them all mixed up!"

"Focus on the fact that you got here in a quite respectable place," Erick added. "Unexpected, but definitely something to be proud of."

"Er, thanks," Harry said.

"You just pull through this one, then it'll be over," She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "You'll be okay."

He nodded, his eyes fixed on the tall maze ahead. Erick and Mel got separated again, the boy had to guide the students to their seats making sure there were no empty spaces and Mel was with the champions.

She walked past Moody and brushed past him, a wave of something hit her and she stopped in place, feeling extremely dizzy.

"Is everything all right, Miss Dumbledore?" Moody asked, eyeing her up in a calculating way.

"I..." She stared at him, wondering why the feeling reminded her so much to Riddle's diary. "Yeah... just nervous, I think."

Moody nodded once and kept walking, Mel did the same.

"This way!" Erick told the students as he walked backwards. "McLaggen, if you can muster a bit of brain to pay attention to what I'm saying, there's a seat right behind you– No, you idiot, I said behind–!"

"Hello?" Emily said to the boy. "You may not know me, but I think you've been reading my books all summer... I'm Emily Sultens."

Erick's cheeks turned pink at the statement. He cleared his throat and raised a stiff hand to shake hers.

"Nice to meet you, ma'am," He said a bit hurriedly.

"Just wanted to let you know, if there's anything we can do to help– more books, or even have you over a few days during summer... I'm happy to help, kid."

"Thanks," He replied clumsily. "I should- uh, I should go back..."

"Sure," Emily smiled, moving out of his way. "See you..."

Erick didn't respond, he merely nodded and walked back to where the champions and his teachers were.

"We are going to be patrolling the outside of the maze," Professor McGonagall explained. "If you get into difficulty, and wish to be rescued, send red sparks into the air, and one of us will come and get you, do you understand?"

The champions nodded.

"Off you go, then!" said Bagman.

Mel gave Harry one last hug before leaving.

"Good luck," She said. "I'll be looking after you."

"I know," He smiled. "You always are."

"And I'm brilliant at it," The girl grinned, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek before finally stepping back.

"Ready?" Erick asked her as they were to part in opposite directions around the maze.

"I think so," Mel replied, holding onto her wand tightly.

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

@dee123ksha​ @vampiregirl1797 @siriuslysirius1107 @stardusthigh @mikariell95 @vernon-dursley @thesuitelifeofafangirl @tomshollandz @kylosleftbuttcheek @reverse-hxlland @bloodorangemoonlight @omiwashere​ @t-rexs-world

[it-stheaulifeforme]

“I didn’t say kill the damn boy!!”

“You said to break the bones in his body---”

Sakharine aggressively shoved Allan against the wall of the cabin by the front of his long coat. “You simple minded---” he spat, “there’s a difference!! I still want him alive!! You think I can get a scroll from a dead wretched little brat??”

The man in red let go, trying to remain calm and adjusting his own jacket, still with a glint of fury in his eyes as he looked at the other man. He sighed exasperatedly, briefly glancing away. “Did you manage to get him to say anything important?” he asked, a rigid firmness in his voice.

Tom, standing behind Sakharine, exchanged nervous looks with Allan.

“Well??” Sakharine angrily insisted, looking very expectantly at both of them.

There was a small silence. “Nothing, boss.”

He looked at both of them like they’d just lost their entire minds. Not that he didn’t always think that, but this was baffling enough as it is for even these two.

“What do you mean, nothing?”

Another silence.

“He said nothing.”

“You beat him within an inch of his damn life and he said NOTHING??”

Sakharine was more infuriated than ever, mainly showing it in his eyes, before his voice leapt up louder and more aggressively this time. Allan and Tom practically jumped out of their own skin at his raised voice before trying to stammer out a reply. Predictably, they were cut short.

“I’ve had grown men break before they’ve hardly had a finger laid on them but you couldn’t even get a teenage boy to crack??”

Sakharine wondered who he had more problems with; his idiotic crew who couldn’t get answers from a literal boy to the little brat himself. He didn’t understand how such a young person would not give in despite the physical suffering he was put through. What had this ginger brat been up to that made him that defiant to remain quiet through that?

If the simple minded crew couldn’t get an answer out of him, he’d do it himself. He couldn’t refuse to say anything forever.

They were interrupted by a noise outside the door, followed by a low growl and barking. How in god’s name had that stupid mutt of the boy’s manage to get onto the damn ship??

The door swung open to reveal one of the crewmates, the small struggling bundle of white fur snapping at him with the fur of his neck in his right hand. “Found this mangy dog looking around, boss,” he remarked snidely, trying to avoid being bitten, “must have been searching for its young master.”

Before anything else happened, Snowy managed to wriggle free, landing on all fours with a thud, baring his teeth and barking ferociously at the people that surrounded him. Sakharine was about to bat the damn dog with his cane to get it to shut up before it stopped, bounding over to the metal cage on the other side of the cabin.

Sakharine narrowed his eyes at the sudden change in the behaviour of that dog. It had gotten all the way here and the first chance it got, it had leapt straight towards the boy, a curled up bruised and bloodied figure. It whined, pawing through the bars, standing on its hind legs to get him to wake up. Clearly distressed, it eventually poked its head through, pulling on the boy’s blue jumper to get him to respond.

“What on earth---” Allan made to say, taking a step forward before his path was blocked by Sakharine’s cane who was fixated on the dog’s behaviour around the boy. There seemed a particular thought running through Sakharine’s mind as the dog desperately tried to get his owner to wake up. A noticeable shift in the latter’s movement despite his injuries caught his attention.

“Snowy...?” It was quiet and cracked, but audible. The crewmates observed a more malicious glint in their boss’ eyes almost as if to know what he had in mind. It didn’t help also observing the particular sickly, self satisfied grin that formed soon after on his face at this vocalisation.

Perfect.

Not looking back, he took the cane from in front of Allan. “I’ll handle this,” he remarked, “unlike you lot.”

He strode forward towards the dog, obviously named Snowy, who turned to him defensively, growling viciously under its breath. “Oh for god’s sake,” he muttered, batting at the dog with his cane, “will you shut up---”

He finally kicked it and it responded with a yelp, managing to tumble over into the metal cage. “Finally, you dirty little mutt,” he dryly remarked and stepped in, slamming the door with a loud clang behind him.

Tintin, the boy, flinched in surprise and managed to lift his head, displaying the mess that had been made of his face. Sakharine wasn’t one for hands on work - his henchman did that for him - so naturally he felt the physical inclination to recoil. Of course, despite the bruising along his cheekbones and the blood that had run down mainly from head wounds and especially a vivid dark purple bruise around his right eye, there was still a sense of defiance in his face.

Whether that was by the curl of his split lips upwards in an expression of disgust or fire that seemed to burn in those clear pupils of his, he could see it. He was almost endeared by it.

Almost. Unfortunately, it was an obstacle and he wasn’t about to be a victim of sentiment. Maybe what he was about to do next would make him see sense. Not like those traitorous crewmates back there managed to be of any help in that area.

Snowy almost darted forward but Sakharine was quicker this time, abruptly yanking the dog with a grip on the fur of his neck. He yelped again, but this time he was more whimpering than growling, flailing his legs. He turned down to look at Tintin, whose eyes seemed to burn with a new kind of anger but also remained cold, reading almost like a new level of fiery disdain specifically for what was happening to his dog.

Sakharine raised his eyebrows in a faux affable gesture. “Why don’t we try this again?” he asked, a sickening politeness in his words. Tintin merely glared at him.

“Put him down,” he stated through gritted teeth, a sneer across his bloodied lips.

Sakharine wanted to laugh. This felt like Marlinspike Hall again, but with more control over his side. This brat wouldn’t be able to walk away with an attitude like that this time.

“Perhaps you’re forgetting something,” he continued in a conversational manner, as if to ignore that rebellious tone in Tintin’s voice, “I still need to know what you’ve done with that scroll.”

“I said I don’t---”

Tintin was cut off by a vicious kick to his ribs and he practically choked out a scream, eyes widened from the unbearable pain. Not long ago he felt like he’d had one or two broken and the kick did enough to make the pain flare up, but he was not able to do much about it apart from a choked scream that tore itself from his throat.

Snowy was now throwing up more of a fuss, though quietened into whimpers as Sakharine singlehandedly ripped his sword from its holder, an agonised cry coming from Tintin as the blade was held to the dog’s throat.

“Don’t play games with me, you stupid boy,” he seethed, watching Tintin’s clear eyes appear to set alight with multiple emotions in the dimness of the lower decks, “you knew exactly what you spoke about earlier, so unless you want your dear dog you love so much to die, I suggest telling me where the scroll is.”

Tintin didn’t think he could get any angrier, or even show more of it with how much pain he was in. “You’re sick, you know that?” he spat, hints of distress clearly making themselves known with the shake in his voice and the shine of his eyes, “Don’t you even dare!”

Sakharine laughed, amused. “Only because I know how to get the job done, you insolent child,” he remarked, the blade glinting underneath the dog’s jaw, “so would you rather let your dog live compared to remaining secretive about scrolls that were none of your damn business in the first place?”

The sickly grin appeared back on his face, and Tintin couldn’t help but flick his eyes between the other man’s face, the blade and the black, pleading eyes of his beloved dog, Snowy. He wasn’t remotely in a position to argue, emotionally or physically. He wasn’t just a boy though, even though he knew he was always that despite everything that he’d done. He couldn’t possibly let this man get away like this; he just wanted a nice ship and he’d thrown himself face first into this mystery with the criminal dealings underpinning it all.

But he couldn’t bank on solving this mystery and catching criminals at the cost of his own dog. How much could come close to how much Snowy meant to him? Even if he wanted to figure out the means to stop these people. Not like he didn’t know that these kinds of people had many ways to play dirty. Of course they would.

Of course he would.

“It’s be a real shame to stain such lovely white fur...” Sakharine trailed off with faux sympathy in his voice, before the cracked voice of the boy spoke up, fervently.

“Stop!” he cried, feeling nausea in the pit of his stomach at the description, “just stop! Please, don’t!”

Sakharine stopped, moreso at the distress in the boy’s voice, however much he tried not to. Not like he had the strength, anyway. The shine in his eyes was very clear, as if something was going to fall from them. He was grinning now, contemptuously, self-satisfied, as if the mere idea of reducing what appeared to be a strong-willed boy almost to tears was enjoyable, in of itself.

“And why is that?” he asked, that grin not budging in the slightest.

“I...” Tintin started, hating himself for saying it, “I don’t have the scroll on me.” Evidently putting emphasis on that last part. “It’s still on the mainland, because it’s in my wallet that was stolen from me.”

Sakharine raised an eyebrow. That explains why the brat didn’t have it on him. He frowned; it was frustrating enough that this was the case without it being back where they started. But he appeared satisfied enough, pulling the sword away from the dog’s throat and dropped him as if was diseased. Predictably, the dog scampered over, now more concerned for the worse state his owner was in, licking him and whining in his face. The boy was more or less zoned out now, eyes bright with tears, a hand absentmindedly stroking the mutt’s head.

He looked down, patronisingly, though his voice remained clear to the crewmates outside. He could see anger and hurt boiling behind that deadened expression. “Never underestimate the influence of the bond between a boy and his dog,” he spoke, his voice once again sickeningly polite, “especially when he forgets to value the life of the animal over business that had nothing to do with him to begin with. Anyone can be influenced if you just do it right.” He glared over at his henchman, but didn’t say anything else.

He left the metal cage, putting his cane back together, the boy and dog barely flinching as metal hit metal. “It’s a real shame,” he said aloud, his thoughts wandering with a malicious undertone, “Killing that damn animal would’ve been frankly enjoyable.”

[arcticfox007]

The Yeti, the Witch, and the Angel

Hi everyone - this is a continuation from days 2&3 which you can find under the same series as this one on AO3.

It will continue with Day 5. I had a great time writing this, it has more action than ther previous ones. Some fluff, some angst, general audiences.

I’m happy to add and/or remove people from my tag list, notes/comments/kudos on AO3 are all appreciated and I’m always open to feedback!

Destiel December 2020

Day 4: Sledding

Sam and Dean were running for their lives – again. Dean noted, somewhere in the back of his mind, that it was much more difficult to accomplish this in knee-high snow. Unfortunately, the Yeti, yes, an actual goddamn Yeti because their lives weren’t bizarre enough, anyway - the Yeti was much better at running through the deep snow. They were hoping to make it to the abandoned park station up ahead, maybe they could barricade themselves against the creature long enough to figure out a plan.

“Dean, c’mon already!” Sam had less trouble in the snow with his stupid giraffe legs. Dean had resorted to running by basically leaping as far as he could to try and stay above the wintery fluff trying to get him killed. Thankfully, the station was now in sight.

The brothers managed to make it before the snow monster had caught up with them. The station was right by a rather steep hill and was surrounded by trees on most sides. Dean quickly accessed the area as Sam reloaded his handgun. Dean started to push the bookshelf over to help block the door.

“I don’t think that’s gonna kill it man. We’ve already unloaded two clips into that thing, just made it madder.” Dean looked around for anything else to barricade the door but there wasn’t a whole lot in here and he doubted the Yeti would be slowed down by much.

“Do you have a better idea?” Dean was about to snap back sarcastically at his brother when his eyes fell on the massive trash and recycling bins that must have been pulled aside when the station was shut down for the worst of winter.

“Well, no, but I do have a crazier idea.”

Dean knocked over one of the bins and started working the lid off of the top. “Come help already!” Sam and Dean together popped off one of the massive plastic lids just as the door shook with the Yeti’s weight. The thing screeched in rage and pounded harder.

“Shit Dean, what good will these do against that thing??”

“Just shut up and get the other one!” The second lid was wrenched off and Dean shoved it into Sam’s arms. He took a second to reload his gun which made him feel slightly better, even if the bullets hadn’t phased the monster. Then Dean picked up the other lid in his free hand. When he glanced over at Sam, his overly tall brother was looking at Dean like maybe he had finally lost it for real. Dean just shoved Sam towards the back of the building.

The Yeti screeched again and Dean thought that maybe it was part banshee. He was starting to wonder if his ears would ever work properly again. Dean threw open the back door just as he heard the front one start to shatter. The sight of its prey escaping seemed to give the Yeti a burst of energy and Sam’s eyes widened at the sight of the door and walls being ripped away as if they were nothing more than paper.

“Dean! We could use that plan anytime now!” Dean ran out the back door pulling Sam with him towards the hill. It was steeper than he remembered but he only hesitated for an instant. He threw the lid on the ground in front of him.

“This is the plan Sammy, we’re going sledding!” Sam’s jaw dropped.

“What kind of plan is – shit!” They both turned to see the Yeti barreling towards them and Sam stopped arguing about Dean’s questionable plan as they both turned to throw themselves down the tree speckled drop off. Sam started yelling something about Dean’s plan being terrible as Dean just tried to steer the trash bin lid enough to avoid the trees, which was getting harder as he picked up speed.

“Fuck!” This was a terrible plan; the service road was coming up on them fast as Dean spotted a car turning the corner. He wasn’t sure if crashing into a tree, getting mauled by a Yeti, or hit by an incoming car was a better way to go out. Meanwhile the Yeti was still chasing them.

“Dean, it’s right behind you!” Impulsively, Dean spun his lid around so he was now speeding down towards the road backwards. Hoping he didn’t hit a tree he managed to pull his gun out and shoot at the rampaging monster. Not that he managed to hit it more than once.

“Crap, crap, crap!” Before Dean had time to spin back around, he felt as if the bottom of the lid dropped from under him as he heard it crunch on gravel. With the last vestiges of his adrenaline he managed to throw himself off of the lid and roll – right into the Yeti. Dean only had a moment to stare up into the face of the vicious spitting creature before hearing a pop-pop noise and then the hairy snarling thing tipped over. Onto Dean. Dean felt his head crack on the ground. “Ermph!”

“Sorry, Dean.” Dean gasped for air as his guardian angel rolled the creature off of him. Dean looked up at Cas still trying to catch his breath, and damn, if he wasn’t the most beautiful thing Dean had ever seen. Cas crouched down and briefly checked Dean over for injuries. When he seemed satisfied that there was nothing immediately wrong with the hunter, he glowered at him. Dean had no idea what he had done to piss Cass off, but honestly even his glower was fucking beautiful. Dean continued to stare at Cas but the angel turned to look in the other direction.

“Are you alright Sam?” Dean heard his brother let out a high-pitched laugh that was just shy of sounding manic.

“Yeah, Cas, I’ll survive. Is Dean okay? What did you shoot the Yeti with?” Dean could see Cas’ mouth turn down into a frown. So pretty, Dean just wanted to touch his face.

“Dean will be fine, but there are no such things as Yetis, Sam. It was a witch that transformed itself, I used the witch killing bullets.” Dean heard Sam’s boots in the snow as he approached them but Dean stayed on the ground staring at Cas as he reached his hand up and started pushing his fingers into Cas’ face. Cas swung his attention back to Dean as the older Winchester started pinching Cas’ cheek between his fingers.

“Dean. What are you doing?” Dean smiled hazily at the angel.

“You’re so pretty Cas. I just want to squish your face.” Dean let out a breathy giggle. Cas gazed more closely at Dean. All of a sudden Dean could see Sam as his younger brother came to stand by Cas.

“Did you hit your head Dean?” Cas’ voice was so gravelly and sexy. He tried to move Cas’ chin to make him say more. Cas just caught Dean’s arm and looked up at Sam. “I think he has a concussion, give me a moment.” Sam nodded and went to check out the Yeti. Meanwhile Dean was enraptured by Cas’ eyes, they were just so blue.

“Blue is my favorite color Cas. Blue, blue, blue.” Cas ignored Dean in favor of pushing his grace into Dean’s bruised head. Dean felt warm and a soothing feeling spread through him. He sighed and then felt the world snap back into place. Cas continued to cradle Dean’s head making sure there wasn’t any other injury he needed to heal. Dean just lay still until Cas looked into his eyes. He was vividly aware of Cas holding his face with one hand and his forearm with the other.

“Better?”

“Yeah Cas, thanks. Um, could you help me up?” Cas raised an eyebrow, and all Dean could think of was how hot that was. Crap, maybe he still had a concussion? No, his head was fine, he’d known for a while now that he was attracted to him best friend, he was just usually better at shoving those feelings down. While Dean was struggling with his thoughts Cas had stood up and pulled Dean up with him. Dean staggered for a moment and Cas helped steady him. As soon as Dean seemed stable on his own two feet Cas resumed scowling at him.

“What?”

“What? What? You just text me to say you and Sam found the trail of a YETI, and then refuse to answer your phone? What if I couldn’t find you in time? What if I hadn’t already figured out it was a witch? I COULD HAVE TOLD YOU IT WAS A WITCH IF YOU HAD ANSWERED YOUR PHONE. Instead I make it just in time to see the two of you throwing yourself off of a mountain!” Dean was all ready to get angry and defensive but found himself defusing as the whole “it was just a witch” thing sunk in. Crap. Cas seemed to have run out of words and was now just glowering intensely at him.

“Uh – sorry? My bad man.” If possible, this seemed to make Cas even madder. He turned his back on Dean and went over to Sam and the Yeti corpse. Dean just stood there for a moment feeling like an idiot. Then he headed over to help the two of them get rid of the body.

***

Later that night Castiel was still unhappy with Dean and had left them at the motel to return the car he had borrowed when he had frantically scrambled to get to Dean and Sam in time. He mumbled something about the Impala not having snow tires and that they were lucky the local deputy was generous. Dean hoped Cas would cool off while he was out, Dean hated feeling like he was in the dog house which he mistakenly mentioned to his brother.

“He’ll calm down. You could try a more sincere apology though.” Little brothers were obnoxious, especially when they were right, thought Dean. He frowned at Sam but couldn’t keep it up as he sat on one of the beds with a heavy sigh.

“Yeah, okay. I’m not great at apologies, but he’s right, I should have answered the phone. I was just so caught up tracking the Yeti-witch thing, I dunno, I just didn’t think.” Sam rolled his eyes.

“So, tell him that.” Dean nodded and stared at his feet, thinking. Sam must have assumed the conversation was over because by the time Dean looked up, he was absorbed in his laptop.

“Sammy. I need to do better than that. Cas, well, he’s important. He’s my best friend and I feel like I always, um, take him for granted or something. I want to do something really great for him for our Christmas present thing. But I ain’t got a single damn idea of what.” Sam turned back towards Dean and smiled at him.

“I think that’s a great idea Dean. You can’t think of anything? I mean, I’ve had a hard time thinking of something too, but I don’t have as much to apologize for.” Sam smirked and Dean was already regretting asking his brother for help.

“No. I mean I know some things he likes – like bees.” Sam snorted. “But I want to show him that I really do, er, value his friendship, y’know?” Dean was skirting around the idea that he wanted to show Cas that he valued him, just his presence in his life. Who was he kidding? He wanted to show Cas he was loved, but without actually saying it. Dean wasn’t even sure angels could be in love. There was a reason Dean kept his feelings buried, and it wasn’t just because he couldn’t imagine an angel, an actual freaking angel, loving someone like him. Sam just looked thoughtful.

“You know, that reminds me of something Mom told me.” Sam watched his brother carefully, but Dean had seemed calmer about Mom leaving since Cas had come back. “She told me she asked Cas how long it had taken him to feel like he belonged here – I guess because technically, she and Cas both had to experience adjusting to Earth after being in Heaven. Anyway, Cas told mom he still wasn’t sure he belonged. She said he seemed, uh, sad about it. Lost.” Dean felt like he had been stabbed through the heart. Cas felt like he didn’t belong?

“Why… why would he say that? He’s always chosen us over Heaven, chosen humans.” Dean started to internally panic at the idea of Cas deciding to leave one day.

“No Dean, he’s chosen you over Heaven.” Sam wasn’t right, was he? Dean felt a massive headache starting, he was drowning in thoughts. “Dean. Pay attention.” Dean’s head snapped back up and looked at Sam.

“What do I do Sam?” Sam looked at Dean, the exasperation clear on his face.

“You need to do something to show him he belongs here Dean.” Sam said this as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. And of course, it was. Dean’s head partially cleared and he started thinking, thinking back to when Cas was the happiest, when he seemed to fit in here on Earth the most, and then Dean knew what present to get his goddamn angel on Earth.

“Sam, I know what I’m going to do for him.” Sam rolled his eyes.

“Well that’s good, Dean, because you only have eight days left until Christmas.”

***

@jellydeans, @galaxycastiel, @nguyenxtrang, @my-favourite-hellatus

[goldensilvan]

bitter air and winds of spite

rating: pg13 for mild swearing 

words: 3771 (way more than i intended to write. ‘it’ll be a short fic! maybe 1-1.5k words!’ i said, foolish and naive.)

summary: in which their ship crashes, hux insists that kylo ren is an idiot with a concussion, kylo ren can't really muster much of a defense with his horrible pounding headache and nausea, and they must overcome their differences with the power of stabbing, shooting, and general lightsaber-ing.

happy holidays everyone!! this is my submission for @starwarssecretsanta

i had so much fun participating in the gift exchange this year, and had the opportunity to write a kylux fic for @gay-agents-and-generals, which i had an absolute blast with. i always forget how much i love writing for this ship, which funnily enough is the reason i got into star wars fandom at all!

so here’s an absolutely self-indulgent, long-winded, only-the-tiniest-bit-serious fic with the barest semblance of a plot.

Read on Ao3

Everything about General Hux was sharp.

Kylo Ren had known a lot of weapons in his life, had known he was a weapon to be used for as long as he could remember. An advantageous friendship to have. A pupil to be molded. An example to be paraded around. A mark worth targeting. An assassin to send. A source of information and control.

He was a lightsaber, bright and showy and deadly. A symbol.

Hux was a Krath war blade. Such a fine blade that you could take a step before even realizing your throat had been cut, so deeply imbued in the Dark Side that it was impossible to even get a reflection.

His grin was sharp. His thoughts were sharp. His ambition was sharp.

The only thing that wasn’t sharp was his Force presence. General Hux was as Force Sensitive as his boots, and about half as overtly emotional. He was brilliant of mind and tremendously ambitious, but he was not of particularly vibrant personality.

Which suited Kylo just fine. He could only shudder to imagine just what a man possessed of irrationality could do with Hux’s abilities. And that’s considering the massive superweapon that he was building to wipe out literal star systems. Hux, at least, had no plans to run off on his own and destroy civilizations for the hell of it. No, everything, every moment, every breath, every plan had a purpose.

At least, that’s what Kylo was telling himself as they trekked miserably across Bumfuck, Nowhere, Wild Space in the pouring rain and high winds.

Hux hadn’t exactly asked Kylo along, had in fact requested he not come at all, but really. In what galaxy was Kylo going to sit around and wait while Hux gallivanted around the galaxy, investigating potential assets for the Order and having wild adventures without him? At least, that’s what Kylo assumed the intention was. Considering the ship had been shot at upon entry to the system and had promptly crashed, the original mission, whatever it had been, had been scrapped in favour of Surviving Long Enough For Rescue, so he hadn’t really had a chance to quiz Hux on his motives.

The three troopers that had survived the crash were working on the ship to see what, if anything, could be salvaged or used to call the Finalizer for rescue, and Hux and Kylo were hiking through the wilderness for… something. In full honesty, his brain had been vibrating since the crash and he was decently certain he was still bleeding a bit, but he didn’t really want to take his helmet off. Not in front of General Armitage ‘You-Should-Strap-Yourself-In-Ren-And-If-You-Don’t-You’d-Better-Not-Complain-When-You-Get-Hurt’ Hux.

“We’ll stop here,” Hux announced, cutting through Kylo’s thoughts. “Any closer, and we’ll be spotted.”

Kylo’s eyes snapped towards where Hux was gesturing and belatedly noticed the almost completely hidden base. The only signs that there was anyone in the weirdly shaped dirt mound was the machinery just barely poking out – anti-aircraft guns. The very same that had probably brought them down. Anger roiled in his belly, deep and hot, followed by a wave of nausea.

Hux crouched, bringing himself as close to the edge of the ridge as he apparently dared, pulling macrobinoculars from somewhere and lying down on his stomach to begin to assess the situation. Kylo reached out his mind, because if Hux did all the work while Kylo sat around, he’d be an insufferable bastard about it later, and he could sense a few dozen people, all adults, all filled with the grim satisfaction of bringing down an enemy ship.

He’d enjoy killing them. Maybe a little blood would help with his headache. Certainly couldn’t make it worse.

“About thirty-five lifeforms, definitely the bastards who brought us down,” Kylo announced smugly.

“New Republic base, about fifteen years old, three planetary defense grade ion cannons. Small hangar for speedercraft. No ground cannons.” Hux turned to smirk at Kylo. “I thought your weird mind powers were supposed to be helpful?”

“Shut up,” Kylo grumbled.

Hux seemed put off for a brief moment, his eyes narrowed just a bit, but then he turned back to watching the base without snarking back. “They don’t seem to be expecting an assault; they probably think that we all died in the crash. Imbeciles.”

“So, I’m going in, murdering them all, and then we’ll call for extraction?”

“We’ll see,” he answered cryptically. “I want to do a little more surveillance first so we know exactly what we’re dealing with.”

Kylo shrugged, sitting unceremoniously on the ground. “Suit yourself.”

He wasn’t sure just how long they sat there without speaking, but the hope that sitting quietly for a little while would make everything less wrong faded more with every second. Concussion, his mind supplied grimly, and a pretty bad one. But it was fine. He just had to stick it out for long enough to get back to his quarters, which wouldn’t be long now. He’d go in, kill everyone in his way, call Phasma, and then he’d get to sleep, and it would be fine. Was fine now, in fact. He’d done more with worse injuries.

Hux seated himself right in front of Kylo. “Okay, Ren, ready to tell me what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Kylo said, because nothing was wrong and everything was fine.

He hummed doubtfully. “Mind taking off that helmet for me?”

“Why?” he yelped, scooting backwards just a bit. “I do not need to do that. Why would I do that?”

“Because you clearly have some kind of brain injury and if we’re going to be clearing out that base, I need you to be coherent.”

“I’m coherent!”

He rolled his eyes. “Your standard for coherency is pretty low, but I have noticed marked downgrades from even your usual grunting and melodrama. As much as I very much do not miss it, you haven’t tried to argue with me once, and head injury is far more likely than sudden appreciation for the chain of command.”

Kylo opened his mouth to dispute that, but Hux was already on top of him, trying to simultaneously pin him down and get the helmet off. Even concussed, though, Kylo was stronger than Hux and he wasn’t about to go down without a fight. Even though it was kind of nice to be pressed so close to Hux. Even though it was certainly nice to know Hux was worried about him. Even though Hux was surprisingly good at this.

“Just – take it – off – you bastard!” Hux grunted out, knee pinning Kylo’s flailing arm.

“Get off me!” Kylo snarled, squirming harder.

Hux got his other knee onto Kylo’s legs, but Kylo wrenched them both around so that he was on top and pinning Hux instead but ooooh, that was not good on his stomach. The world tilted alarmingly for a long moment and then vomit was filling his helmet and he was yanking it off so he could throw up onto the ground and maybe onto Hux too. If he was gonna be miserable, then everyone was gonna be miserable.

“Hey!” Hux protested, disengaging completely and rolling away, well out of puke-range.

Kylo had a weird, incongruous moment of missing the press of Hux’s body on his before it was discarded in favour of dry heaving into the grass. It subsided as quickly as it came on, and he was left feeling disgusting, wondering just how he was going to solve that particular problem, when Hux shoved a wet rag into his face. He accepted it with slightly muted surprise, wiping away the mess.

“If you’d been less of a bastard from the start and just told me that you weren’t well, I would have given you something for it hours ago,” Hux said crossly. He’d at least had the grace to wait until Kylo had gotten himself clean, an unexpected mercy. The bottle of water he’d clearly used to wet the rag – which Kylo could now identify as a torn spare shirt – was on the ground within reach along with a few stim tabs of varying purpose. The labels swam just a bit as he stared at them.

“You absolute moron,” Hux muttered, passing the stims over one at a time. “For the dizziness, the nausea, and that one’s a stimulant to get your brain moving again.” He grabbed the other half of the shirt and wet it, rising just enough to loom over Kylo threateningly as he dabbed at the blood in his hair.

It was… oddly sweet, Kylo thought, just a little amused at their situation. He injected the three tabs and downed the remainder of the bottle of water, and he hated to admit that he felt almost immediately better.

He turned narrowed eyes onto Hux, once his mind was clear. Just what was the General getting out of treating him kindly? A more efficient attack dog, he supposed, although if Hux thought he was just going to roll over and obey his plans after that mildly humiliating display with the helmet, he had another thing coming.

Speaking of… “Where’s my helmet?” Kylo asked, once he was certain that he would start vomiting again the second he opened his mouth.

“You’ve got to be kriffing kidding me,” Hux said flatly. “What makes you think I’m giving that back to you?”

“It’s mine.”

“It’s full of vomit, Ren. While watching you torture yourself needlessly is usually a mildly entertaining pastime, I really do think that I would give myself a concussion to avoid thinking about you putting yourself through that.”

“It’s mine. Give it back,” he added in a low growl.

Hux sniffed imperiously. “Launched it into the river when you weren’t looking. It’s disgusting and I will gladly replace it. I’m fairly certain you would have had to replace it anyway, given that the structural integrity was definitely compromised.”

Maybe he would have. Maybe he wouldn’t have. Maybe it’s none of Hux’s business. Either way, the helmet was gone, and he was stuck without it.

His first instinct was to knock Hux down a peg – see how he likes his stuff being thrown into rivers – but they were alone with unknown hostiles and even through the haze of anger, Kylo recognized that he was a useful ally.

“I’m throwing your coat into space when we get back,” he threatened.

Hux raised his eyebrows. “Sure. Feel up to killing some jackasses?”

“It’s insulting that you even have to ask.”

“I only ask because a mere fifteen minutes ago, you were vomiting very enthusiastically in my direction,” Hux reminded him, and Kylo had to firmly tell himself that Hux was not one of the jackasses he was planning on killing today. Or, this afternoon, at least. This evening was another story.

Kylo’s only answer to that particular jibe was a sneer as he pulled out his lightsaber. “Let’s go.”

“Just a moment,” Hux said. He shrugged off his greatcoat and folded it neatly, laying it beside his pack, and then his uniform jacket was laid gently beside it. Out of his pack then came four vibroblades, two blasters, and what Kylo assumed would assemble into some kind of heavy assault weapon but was strapped on in separate pieces. He looked ready to murder his way through that rebel base, and if Kylo was being honest, that was a really nice image.

Getting back down on his stomach, Hux primed one of the blasters, its whine soft but insistent. Charged enough to kill. “Ready,” he said. “You head down and kick the nest.”

He didn’t bother saying anything, just turned on his heel and jumped off of their little crest, moving as quickly as he could towards the two guards. They fell quickly and easily, surprised expressions etched onto their faces. It didn’t take long for others to begin swarming him, but he was never overwhelmed – pinpoint blasts took down almost as many as fell to his lightsaber, and he had to be grudgingly impressed that it seemed not a single shot missed its mark.

He counted the bodies piling up – twelve of his original count of thirty-five.

Another came around the edge, laying down heavy blaster fire and Kylo lunged forwards, only for a shot from behind to scream past his ear. He turned, sensing the imminent danger a second too late, only to be treated to the sight of the man who’d shot at him falling limply to the ground, Hux holding a dripping vibroblade and smiling pleasantly. Kylo very pointedly did not think about that image as he turned again, crossing the distance between himself and the shooter in a single movement. They fell down, bringing the body count to fourteen. Almost half, and they hadn’t even made it inside yet.

“Do we want to see if any of these shitstains have ID to access the door, or do we want to just laser-sword it into submission?” Hux asked casually, coming to stand beside Ren and look the door over critically.

“My way’s faster,” Kylo got out, absolutely not distracted by the spray of blood that had painted Hux’s cheek.

Hux gestured grandly at him to go ahead, a movement Kylo vaguely remembered from his diplomacy lessons as a kid to be for royalty on one of the Outer Rim planets. Whether it was a compliment or an insult, Kylo did get them in there pretty quickly, carving a massive hole in the door and then kicking it down with a dramatic, athletic move.

Hux didn’t seem too appreciative, but it’s not like he was trying to impress him anyway, so whatever.

Four guards waited just inside. Each of them got two, and Kylo wasn’t sure when he’d decided he needed to have the higher kill count, but he was definitely going to. Seventeen left, and he was already up by a few.

Without waiting for input from Hux, Kylo headed off down the leftmost hallway, his senses telling him that the highest concentration of life forms was down there. Sighing obnoxiously, Hux followed, and Kylo could hear the soft rustling of fabric and knocking of durasteel as weapons were swapped out.

They approached quietly enough that no one seemed to notice them, all scrambling to pack up data and other equipment. It seemed to be a command hub of some kind, since there were loads of screens and one platform where a leader could ostensibly look out over everyone to direct workflow, with thick barriers holding up the leader’s tech.

Hux tapped his shoulder, indicating the platform. Evidently, he’d had the same thought, and they moved as one.

Kylo reached out with the Force, throwing one against the wall while he speared another, and Hux nailed three in quick succession as he sprinted across the room. Kylo covered their move to the platform with wide, sweeping motions, the smell of burnt flesh so much worse without his helmet to filter it all out. There was screaming and moaning and yelling and total chaos, which was honestly just how he liked it. He could feel his pulse thrumming in his ears, and he grinned at Hux, who gave him a bloody, vicious smile in return.

Once they got up to the platform, it was game over. Hux hefted the heavy assault rifle with practised, eager hands and laid down fire on anyone who tried to approach. Kylo reflected any attempts at shooting them right back at the perpetrators, lightsaber spinning in both his and Hux’s defense.

It seemed to last for both an hour and a second – he blinked and suddenly none of the Rebels were standing. One was groaning, and then Hux shot him again, and he stopped groaning.

He did a body count – thirty-four. And where was –

“Lucky number thirty-five,” he growled, reaching out with the Force to snatch the last one, who’d been sneaking up to Hux with a blade in hand. Eyes just a little wider with more surprise than he usually let himself show, Hux turned to see his would-be assassin choke for a long moment before she collapsed.

There was a long pause. “Thank you,” Hux said, as if it grated on him to do so.

“You’re welcome, General,” Kylo said, and then seized on the opportunity to gloat. “I know you wouldn’t have made it without me.”

“I’m happy to let you believe that,” he said stiffly.

“And I’m happy to let you believe whatever you want, too,” Kylo shot back, pouring as much amused condescension as he could muster into his voice. “Either way, let’s find the comms.”

Hux huffed out an annoyed breath, seeming to weigh having the last word against Kylo choosing to be productive. He chose the latter, but didn’t seem happy about it, which figured. “It should be this way,” he said, not waiting on Kylo to follow.

“I think we’re going the wrong way,” Kylo said, just to be a jerk. There really weren’t that many hallways around here.

“If you have nothing useful to contribute – oh, there it is.” Hux pulled a First Order beacon device that would let them connect to Phasma from his pocket, crouching to inspect the communications panel better. It was smoking slightly and the door wasn’t latched on properly, and Kylo knew what Hux was going to say before he said it. “Damn. They wrecked it before leaving.”

“We’ll just need to rewire it,” Kylo said confidently.

They both reached for it at once.

“I can do it,” Hux said, and the probably quicker than you can went unsaid but heard loud and clear.

“So can I,” Kylo shot back, annoyed. Whether he liked to think about it or not, his first calluses had been from playing with janky wiring on Han Solo’s beloved but barely functional rustbucket, and he was pretty sure that that made him more qualified to play technician on this bit of janky New Republic wiring.

Hux rolled his eyes and gestured for Kylo to go ahead. Kylo narrowed his eyes but didn’t hesitate to start in on the wiring, assessing the mess with a critical eye. Maybe being on the Finalizer had him spoiled, because this somehow seemed worse that what he was used to. How in the kriffing Force the New Republic managed anything when their movement was, at best, a squabbling collective of similarly minded but disconnected systems with what he could only guess amounted to about seven credits, nine starships from the Clone Wars, and more fancy dresses that one could shake a lightsaber at, was well beyond him. He was so glad that his job had nothing to do with politics.

“You should connect the red and the green,” Hux said, cutting through his thoughts.

“I know what I’m doing,” Kylo snapped. The red and the green did need to be connected. Dammit. He slipped in the beacon and started just prodding around to find the loose connection.

“Next –”

“Shut up, Hux, I know what I’m doing!”

Hux raised his eyebrows and took a step back, arms raised in mock surrender. “Sure, you do,” he said mildly, as if Kylo’s annoyance was a personal attack on his innocent soul. Ha!

“Yes, I do!” he said firmly, jamming his hands back in and tuning Hux out.

As expected, Hux refused to be tuned out. “I’m just saying –”

“You always undermine me –”

“You always undermine me!”

“This isn’t about you!”

“Because everything has to be all about you, all the time?”

Kylo clambered to his feet. “I didn’t mean it like that!”

“Didn’t you? Because you are the most self-centred person –”

“That is rich coming from you!”

Hux was right in his face, his eyes blazing. Kylo didn’t think he’d ever seen him this worked up about anything before.

There was a long pause – Hux’s tangle of anger and anticipation was heady on Kylo’s tongue, the air itself seeming to still as if the world itself hung in wait to see how badly they were about to murder each other.

But then –

He wasn’t sure who moved first, but when they kissed, Kylo could feel Hux’s body heat pressed against what felt like every inch of him. Gloved hands gripped his hair tightly, yanking just enough to pull a soft growl from him, vibrating against both of their lips.

Kylo slammed Hux back against the wall, and they jumped apart at the sparks that erupted from the forgotten communications panel, breathing heavily and eyes locked.

There was a sharp crackle, and then Phasma’s voice – staticky and jumpy, but definitely hers. “General Hux?”

“Captain Phasma,” Hux greeted, and although outwardly, he was controlled and even, Kylo could hear his thrumming pulse. “Is this a private channel?”

“Yes, of course, General. What’s going on down there? We lost contact with your ship,” Phasma said.

“We got shot down,” he said, with the kind of casual airs of someone reporting on the weather. He was smiling, and it made the blood on his cheek crinkle.

Phasma sighed, and when she spoke, the disapproval was heavy in her voice. “Why can’t you ever play nice with the other kids, sir?”

“He’s an insufferable bastard,” Kylo suggested, earning himself a swift punch to the arm. He made a face right back at Hux’s sour expression.

“I do suppose there’s that,” she agreed, clearly amused. “I’ll gather a strike team to take care of the rebels on the planet and an extraction team to get you two out of there.”

Hux sniffed imperiously. “How inefficient do you take me to be, Captain? We’ve cleared the rebel base. That’s actually where we’re calling you from. We’ll need an extraction team, and the troopers left at the wreckage will also need transport.”

“The teams will be en route as soon as we can get ships in. Are there any injuries they should be aware of?”

“Nothing serious,” Hux said.

“Unless the troopers decided to play landmine hopscotch in our absence,” Kylo added. “They didn’t seem very bright.”

Phasma sighed again, and he could almost sense her exasperation from orbit. “They were perfectly competent soldiers. I’m sure they’re fine.”

“If you say so,” he said, infusing as much doubt into his voice as he could.

“Captain, please send the extraction team as soon as possible. Being surrounded by rebel stupidity is giving me hives,” Hux cut in, apparently also inclined to be kind of a dick to Phasma for no good reason. Actually, no, it was fun, and that was as good a reason as any.

“They’ll leave shortly. Can you keep yourselves entertained in the meantime?” Phasma asked wryly.

They exchanged a sharp grin. “I’m sure we’ll find a way,” Hux said.