#anyways i just removed everything from my bed and methodically searched Everything. looked all around the bed too. cannot find a spider | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

earliebirb · 4 years

Text

say your name like a prayer

steve/tony, au: mob, hurt/comfort, established relationship, 3005 words

From behind him, Steve hears the sound of the door opening and closing.

He dog-ears a page from the book he was reading to mark his spot, but otherwise doesn’t bother getting up from his chair or turning around to look. There are only three people in the world that can enter a room with Steve Rogers inside without knocking and leave unscathed.

At the moment, one of them is already inside the room with him. The remaining two are the only people that can make it through the twenty-five men Steve has stationed throughout the hospital floor, the only two people on the clearance list approved by him.

Three people, if one were to count Helen Cho, the doctor Steve has personally handpicked to oversee everything.

After all, Steve wouldn’t leave Tony’s care in the hands of just anybody. Helen is unfalteringly loyal to him—has been, ever since Steve took her under his wing ten years ago and paid off her family’s debts.

Only a select number of people are aware of her true loyalties, of course.

The rest of the hospital staff won’t be able to make it through his men without thorough searching and his explicit permission, barring any medical emergencies.

Stationing his men throughout the floor wasn’t difficult to set up, considering the fact that his men have infiltrated various institutions, his network stretching over almost every single industry imaginable, including the medical field.

“I brought you the extra blankets you asked for.”

“Leave them on the armchair by the door,” Steve orders, eyes fixated on the motion of his own thumb, moving in repeated one-way strokes across the ridges of Tony’s knuckles.

He hears some quiet shuffling, but when he doesn’t hear the sound of the door being opened and closed, he asks, “And why aren’t you leaving?”

Thumb not once faltering in its methodical stroking, Steve’s eyes travel up Tony’s wrist. His gaze lingers on the ugly mottles of black and blue forming a loosely connected ring around its circumference. Both of Tony’s wrists had been tied behind his back, rope pulled tight with enough force to bruise.

“Boss— Steve. People are starting to talk. It’s been some time since you attended a meeting. They think you’re… unwell. I’m afraid further absence will cause something bigger than just flimsy rumors. I think it’s time that—”

His thumb stills.

“Get out,” he says, and to people who are not familiar with him, his voice is low enough to be mistaken as a request.

Bucky knows better, though. Should know better.

Steve is not asking.

“Steve—” Bucky tries anyway, and Steve clenches his jaw.

“Barnes,” he barks out.

Steve hears his right hand man immediately go quiet at the invocation of his last name, the very usage of it a scalding reprehension that kills any argument he might have thought to bring forward.

“I’ve made it very clear that in my absence you are to act as my proxy, have I not?” Steve asks, speech measured.

“Yes, Boss.”

“Then that’s all you need to worry about.” Steve goes quiet after that, letting his answer sink in. The pregnant silence stretches out for a few moments, the air between them growing almost suffocating with tension. “Now, if you don’t have anything actually important to talk about, leave.”

Steve stares at the frail figure lying on the hospital bed, looking even smaller than usual in a loose-fitting hospital gown. Tony’s pallid complexion and state of restful sleep are even more jarring when juxtaposed with his usual lively demeanor—full of vigor and always ready with a witty remark. His right eye is a dark blue and purple mess, swollen shut. Sutures hold together a cut on the left corner of his upper lip.

This is everything he never wanted. His biggest fear materializing right before his own two eyes.

This is exactly what Steve had warned Tony of. Once Tony was in, he was in for the long haul. There was no going back from this, no ordinary life to return to once he was well and truly involved with Steve.

When Steve had voiced his concerns, Tony kissed him in lieu of a reply.

Because Steve had always been weak and selfish when it came to Tony, he decided to keep him. He decided right there and then, that if he didn’t have the strength to turn Tony away, then he would pour his everything into protecting Tony instead.

Clearly, his everything wasn’t enough. Maybe it would never be enough. Perhaps, in some ways, this outcome has always been inevitable.

That doesn’t mean that it doesn’t make Steve’s blood boil and his bile threaten to rise up to his throat.

Heart twisting with worry, he closes his eyes. He inhales and holds his breath, trying his best to focus on the slow and steady beeping of the EKG machine in the background, like the room’s own heartbeat.

A grounding reminder that Tony is still alive and breathing. That he is safe now, right in front of Steve, within arm’s reach.

“You’re disturbing his rest,” Steve says, clipped tone brooking no further argument.

It takes a minute, but eventually Bucky does leave.

Steve gets up to gather the blankets on the armchair. He covers Tony’s body with one of the blankets, providing an extra layer of warmth on top of the sheets already covering him, making sure to leave Tony’s arms resting on top of the layers. He wraps another blanket around Tony’s bare feet, hoping it would keep them warm. He knows how much Tony hates having cold feet.

“Sorry for the intrusion, sweetheart.” He leans down to press a kiss to Tony’s bandaged forehead, careful and tender. Sitting down in his chair, he opens the paperback copy of 1984 to the previously dog-eared page. He keeps the book open with one hand while the other takes hold of Tony’s, squeezing it to feel what little warmth is left to comfort him.

“Now, where were we?”

***

Sixteen days since he was admitted into the hospital, Tony wakes up.

He comes to gradually, eyes opening and closing periodically. The first time Steve catches Tony opening his eyes, he struggles to breathe through the wave of sheer relief and calls out Tony’s name with his heart in his throat. Tony gives him no reply, blinks once, twice, and drifts back into sleep.

Tony continues to slip in and out of consciousness for what seems like eternity.

Throughout it all, Steve never lets go of his hand.

Hours later, Tony lets out his first coherent word in over two weeks:

“Steve?” Tony’s voice is more breath than sound.

“I’m here, sweetheart,” Steve whispers, a tight knot loosening in his chest. He squeezes Tony’s hand reassuringly.

Tony blinks wordlessly at Steve, looking like he is trying to map Steve’s features with his eyes. The bandage around his head has been removed a few days prior, allowing Steve to brush his hair away from his forehead with the knuckles of his fingers.

At this, Tony swallows. He blinks once more, slow and languid, before closing his eyes with a weary sigh and falling back asleep.

The next time Tony regains consciousness, he spends some time looking his fill of Steve before registering his surroundings, eyes darting around the room.

“Where?” he croaks.

“Hospital,” Steve answers. Tony takes in the answer quietly.

“Steve,” Tony says. “I’m tired.”

“Go back to sleep, sweetheart.” Steve lifts Tony’s hand, holding it against his own face. The warmth of Tony’s calloused palm seeps into Steve’s cheek, solid and comforting.

The lines of Tony’s face soften almost imperceptibly, brown eyes gazing at him softly.

“Steve,” he breathes, eyelids growing heavy.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t leave.”

Steve swallows around a lump in his throat and turns to press a long kiss to the center of Tony’s palm.

“I won’t, sweetheart. I’ll stay right here,” he promises.

Sometime during the long hours of his continuous effort to remain vigilant, Steve’s exhaustion catches up to him and without meaning to, he falls asleep.

***

At first, Steve thinks he is still dreaming in his sleep. He had fallen asleep with his cheek against the sheets, hand holding Tony’s. The next thing he registers in his slow drift back to consciousness is the feeling of fingers carding through his hair repeatedly. He squeezes his eyes shut, determined to stay asleep.

Then he feels the same fingers wander down to his unkempt beard and he hears an amused huff of breath.

The pad of a thumb presses the corner of his mouth gently. “I know you’re awake.”

Steve stills. Ever so slowly, he lets his eyes flutter open. It takes him a while to convince himself that Tony is indeed wide awake and that the fingers on his face are very much warm and real.

When he straightens up in his seat, his back muscles protest after having been bent at an unnatural angle for the past few hours in his slumber.

“Hey there, Sleeping Beauty.” Tony’s soft smile greets him, eyes crinkling at the corners. Steve stares at him with wide, unblinking eyes and finds it impossible to return his smile.

“You’re awake,” he says instead, voice gravelly with the last remnants of sleep. Tony looks significantly better, like life has flooded back into him. Absently, Steve notes the new presence of a glass of water on the hospital nightstand, a straw sitting in it.

“Since around two hours ago. Helen even came by to check up on me.”

Steve bristles. “Why didn’t—”

“Shhh. It’s okay.” Tony’s fingers curl around his wrist, giving it a gentle squeeze and killing Steve’s anger before it has a chance to rise. “I told her not to wake you.”

“You look dead on your feet, Steven,” Tony says. Steve’s chest grows tight at the familiar way in which Tony says his full given name, a soft and fond cadence to his voice that turns the word into a personal form of endearment.

Tony’s brown eyes are fraught with worry. It’s all ridiculously outrageous but so painfully Tony. He has only been awake for a few hours and already treating his own condition with well-practiced flippancy, worrying about Steve like Steve is the one who just woke up from a two-week-long coma.

Steve’s mouth twists. He swallows audibly, eyebrows furrowing in an effort to stave off the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. He directs his blurry gaze down at the hospital bed, upset and ashamed.

Tony’s fingers slide over his fist, which Steve has just realized is clenched tight around a handful of bed sheets, knuckles turning white.

“I’m here, my darling. I’m right here. I’m okay.”

Unable to hold back for another second, Steve stands up and gathers Tony in his arms carefully, mindful of his injuries. He lets out a long and relieved breath before pressing kisses to the crown of his head. Tony buries his face in the crook of Steve’s neck and inhales deeply.

“You stay. You stay right here,” Steve chokes, voice splintering.

“Not going anywhere,” Tony murmurs, pressing a kiss to the column of Steve’s throat. He slips his hands under Steve’s shirt, fingers gliding across his ribs, inches away from where he knows the initials of his own name are tattooed vertically down Steve’s breastbone.

“Is it just me or did you lose weight? Have you been eating properly? And don’t even try lying to me ‘cause you know I can totally ask Bucky or Sam and they’ll tell me the truth, Rogers.”

Steve’s hand slides up to cradle the back of Tony’s head. Tony is warm, he is so much warmer now. Tony is okay. He presses another grateful kiss into Tony’s hair, eyes shut in silent prayer to whatever deity is kind enough to deliver Tony back to him.

“I’m never letting you go anywhere without my men ever again,” Steve whispers.

Tony huffs, leaning back to look up at Steve and trusting Steve’s hand to take the weight of his head. “I’m okay, sweetheart. I’m right here, with you. Besides, no one saw it coming, okay? It’s not—”

Tony breaks off abruptly with a soft grunt, hand reaching up in an aborted motion to touch his own head. Steve pulls back in alarm.

“Sweetheart? What’s wrong?” Steve hears his own voice turning even more hushed, panic wrapping tight like a vice around his vocal chords. “Do I need to call Helen? Hold on, I’ll—”

Tony catches his arm before he can press the button to alert the hospital staff, bringing it down.

“Does it hurt, Tony? Tell me the truth.”

Tony shakes his head, eyes closed, eyebrows furrowed.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Tony breathes. He leans forward to rest his forehead against Steve’s shoulder. Steve hears him inhaling deeply before letting the air leave his lungs in one long and tremulous sigh.

“Let me get Helen just in case—”

“I’m fine,” Tony says breathlessly, pulling back with his eyes still closed, “just let me catch my breath.”

“Okay. Okay. Get some rest.” Steve plants one last kiss to his temple before sitting back down in his chair, hand holding Tony’s. “If anything hurts, tell me.”

Tony nods and continues to focus on taking deep, long breaths, sinking back into his pillow. Eventually, he swallows, eyelids fluttering open again. He lets his head loll slightly off to the side on the pillow, eyes roving over Steve’s face.

“I suppose I shouldn’t ask what happened to the people that took me?”

For a split second, something cold and hard lodges itself in the pit of Steve’s stomach and his grip on Tony’s hand tightens ever so slightly. He concentrates on the sight of Tony’s kind, brown eyes trained on him and the cold subsides, warmth trickling back in. He brings Tony’s hand up to his mouth.

“Yeah,” he whispers, lips brushing Tony’s knuckles, “you probably shouldn’t.”

He doesn’t say what Tony already knows—that he would give Tony every single detail of what he has done to them without even a moment’s hesitation if Tony really did want to know. Steve will tell him anything and everything he wants to know, because he keeps no secrets from Tony.

Tony studies him for a long moment. Steve is unable to make out the thoughts running through Tony’s head, but his eyes stay warm and kind as they gaze at Steve through the companionable silence. When Tony pulls his hand away from Steve’s grip, it is to tuck a lock of Steve’s long and overgrown blond hair behind his ear.

Something shifts in his honey-brown eyes, like a puzzle piece sliding into place, and his hand cups Steve’s cheek, palm pressing against the bristles of Steve’s beard.

“Climb into bed,” Tony says. “You need to rest and I need to be held.”

Steve ends up holding Tony close as he sleeps, arm secure around his waist. Contentment washes over him as he indulges in the warmth of Tony’s back pressed up against his chest. He takes his time in trailing light kisses from the back of Tony’s ear down to his nape, ending with a reverent kiss to the eagle tattooed on the back of Tony’s neck—a well-known insignia bestowed only to the inner circle members of Steve’s organization.

Tony’s tattoo has a distinctive characteristic that distinguishes itself from the eagle tattoos given to the other members. Whereas the eagle tattoos decorating the necks of the other inner circle members are simply black in color, the wings of Tony’s eagle have red and gold feathers interspersed with the black. It was an idea proposed by their resident tattoo artist, Clint, intended as an extra measure of protection.

Most people in Brooklyn and the surrounding boroughs know to look out for the eagle insignia, because it is in their best interests to avoid an altercation with one of the Captain’s inner circle people.

People also know, however, to look out for the eagle with red and gold feathers in particular, because finding someone with that symbol tattooed on the back of their neck means you are dealing with the Tony Stark, and messing with Tony Stark is a guaranteed death sentence.

Everyone knows you don’t touch the Captain’s beloved.

Still, Steve thinks grimly, some idiots try.

Sam and Bucky had offered to finish them off for Steve, but as far as Steve is concerned, people who don’t possess the common sense to not lay a finger on Tony don’t deserve the mercy of a swift death.

Steve knew that he needed to deal with them himself, for his own peace of mind.

So, he had brought out the toolbox—the one he usually only brings out for special occasions—and spent a few gratifying hours in a secluded warehouse with the two men who had orchestrated Tony’s abduction. From pliers to knives of varying sizes, he took his time to find out which ones worked best, which tools were the most effective in eliciting screams from the men. With his own two hands, he made sure that they paid for their sins.

Maybe he shouldn’t, but he finds comfort in the thought of those dismembered corpses sinking down to the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean.

In his line of work, Steve has cultivated a moral compass of his own. He has always marched to the beat of his own drum, other people be damned.

He is definitely not going to start developing scruples now, and especially not for protecting the one thing that he can’t live without—the only person on earth whose thoughts and well-being he puts before himself, before everything else.

With his power and status, there are no guarantees in the life he leads. Loyalties are fickle and ever-changing. Rules are bent and broken. Lives are lost on a near daily basis.

Well, no guarantees but one: Tony Stark will always come first. No matter what, no matter who, no matter when.

Always.

Even if Steve had to burn down the entire world to keep him safe and sound.

#stevetony #stevetony fic #stony #stony fic #superhusbands #steve/tony #steve x tony #mine #earl wrote something

158 notes · View notes

jadekitty777 · 3 years

Text

On Your Six, Chapter 1

Okay first of all, did we all coincide the Taiqrow Week with Father’s Day... accidentally? Because that’s secretly genius.

Secondly, whoops we’re also meshing with Qrowin week - hope y’all are okay to share!

Finally, let’s get down to business. Hi y’all, hope you haven’t missed me too much. Hopefully I can make up for my silence with this absolute beast of a fanfic. This is going to be a single, interconnected story matching the prompts of the entire week. I hope those of you who choose to read it, will enjoy it!

Day 1: Tattoos for @taiqrowweek

Rating: T for this chapter, M for overrall

Words: 2.3k

Summary: Qrow was what most of society would call a small-town criminal. But to those oppressed, he hoped only to be a healer. In an effort to make a change in the world, he moves from kingdom to kingdom, searching for branded omegas in need. His goal? To turn the derogatory words the reformatories forced them to bear on their skin into works of art.

Then one day, his past catches up to him in the form of Taiyang, his former best friend, with a brand of his own stained onto his skin and a plea for help in his eyes. Qrow has no choice but to answer, even if it means he’d have to face his mistakes once and for all.

[An ABO-style universe in a modern-day style Remnant. No Grimm, because people are the real monsters in this one]

Ao3 Link: On Your Marks

The day Taiyang walked into his shop, before even a single word was spoken, he knew.

It wasn’t from any particular mannerism. Everyone’s body language was different. A chattering mouth. Averted eyes. A tapping foot. A drooped posture. In the short time Qrow had been doing this, he’d learned no single action could encapsulate the variety in which people expressed their shame.

Yet, not a single one could escape the stench. It was a foul thing. Sharp and smokey, like a tire fire on a junkyard, it lacquered over an omega’s scent so completely that it was near impossible to catch a whiff of the true smell that was originally there.

Even now, as Qrow inspected the damage upon his former friend’s bare back, mere inches away from the man’s scent glands, he couldn’t pick out a hint of the sunflowers and fresh soil that was Tai. Nothing left except the reek of burnt rubber and dishonor.

He didn’t call attention to it, just like he didn’t call attention to the shake in his friend’s shoulders as he placed a hand over the first mark. “This is extensive.”

“I know. But, I didn’t know who else to turn to.” Even as he turned his head to look at him, Tai hunched over a bit, and the brand seared across his shoulder blades stretched with the movement. “You’ll help me, right?”

Qrow’s eyes flitted between watery eyes and stained skin where the word SLUT, all in caps like some mockery of a grand declaration, taunted his every decision since their falling out and left the taste of bile on his tongue.

“Of course.” He promised.

It was widely thought that it was a farmer that first came up with branding back during the Early Modern period. Having been “inspired” by the tagging of the cattle which kept them in order, the alpha decided to do the same to omegas, ascertained the same outcome would follow. The practice was later adopted by prisons and other corrective facilities. Back then, it was merely a way of keeping track of those who had been in and out of the system by searing the skin with an iron that had the center’s insignia on it.

Advancements to the printing press and mail systems did away with that particular need, but while the jails abolished the practice, reformatories did not, releasing studies that claimed the procedure resulted in more ‘proper’ and ‘desired’ behaviors in omegas and were absolutely critical to full rehabilitation. Despite newer evidence showing these original claims were likely falsified simply for convenience and often actually had a devastating effect on an omega’s psyche, the three-century long old policy had yet to be abolished from the system.

The most the outcries had done the past few decades was change the method on which the ‘brand’ was applied. Instead of an iron, it was done with a tattoo needle and instead of an insignia, it became a single word that was like a permanent reminder of what landed the omega in the facility to begin with. The stench was caused by the use of the chemically enhanced ink that made it impossible for laser technology to fully remove.

In short, if an omega wanted the mark gone, their only choice was to cut out their own skin. Most, like his mother, accidentally killed themselves trying.

Which led to where Qrow was today, trying to shake things up in the only way he knew how. So, he jumped off society’s grid, took up a needle and his drawing skills, and turned the marks into works of art. More importantly, he gave the omegas who came to his door a way to recover and take back their lives.

He just never thought Tai would be one of them.

Once he’d taken the pictures he needed and Tai’s shirt was back on, things were relaxed enough he could brew some tea. As he handed the other man his cup, Qrow finally asked, “So, how’d you find me?”

“Wasn’t that hard.” He replied, fingers wrapping around the porcelain. “The omegas back at the reformatory would whisper before bed. It didn’t take me long to figure out they were talking about you.”

Qrow froze, trying to hide his trepidation. “Oh? They say my name?”

Tai snorted. “Not your name, but a name.” His expression turned cheeky. “Don’t worry though. Only someone who knows Harbinger used to be your Relics & Wyverns character could put the pieces together.”

“Ah, can it!” He barked as a flush worked its way up his neck. Still, tension drained from him. While there were no laws that specifically stated what an omega was required to do with their mark after their rehabilitation was complete, if he was caught tampering with it for them, he knew the courts could claim he was willfully interfering with a person’s emotional stability. Might even get him on a few counts of practicing mental health care without a license too.

Still, he didn’t particularly want to be sent to the slammer, which was why he worked so hard to keep to the underground. Never told anyone his name. Moved often. Kept minimal contact with clients. Whatever it took to make sure only the people who needed to find him could.

“I’m glad that you’re doing alright for yourself.” Tai said, giving a cursory glance to the shoddy working space that doubled as his apartment. Beyond his tattoo kit, he rarely took much with him when he relocated. Sometimes he got lucky on the accommodations and the place would already be partially furnished, other times he had to make do with what he could afford from the nearest thrift store.

This place was one of those latter times. He had a mattress on the torn up box spring with a chipped nightstand beside it, a circular, rickey table with two chairs for the dining room, a fairly barren kitchen area, and a slightly beat-up leather recliner for the clients.

It wasn’t hard to see Tai was really reaching as he said, “Your place is… nice?”

It was Qrow’s turn to snort. “At least be honest and tell me I live in a shithole.”

“I was not going to – okay, yeah it is kind of a shithole. But, you’re eating okay and everything, right?”

What an omega. “Yes mom, I’m getting my three squares a day and I’m even brushing my teeth before bed.” He lent back, the plastic chair creaking underneath as he did so. “But you didn’t exactly come here to critique my living conditions. Think there’s a lot more important stuff to talk about, don’t you?”

Suddenly, the tea was much more interesting than his face. “Yeah. Right. Um, guess there’s a lot to catch you up on, huh? You don’t even know about-”

“Whoa, hold up a sec.” He quickly interrupted. “Let’s get one thing straight: I don’t ask for any of my clients’ stories unless they feel like sharing. Some do, some don’t. But my help doesn’t come with any strings attached.” He met his gaze, stressing the next part carefully, “Even if they’re friends, okay?”

Tai still seemed to hesitate. “But, don’t you want to know about Yang?”

Of course, he did. He had about a thousand and one questions whirling through his head. But that didn’t matter right now. “You ready to talk about her?”

For the second time that day, tears shimmered in Tai’s eyes. He looked away quickly, saying nothing.

Yeah. He figured as much.

“Then no.” Qrow cleared his throat some. “Besides, I’m still a total disaster when it comes to handling people when they cry.”

That one, at least, earned him a weak chuckle.

“Some things never change?” Tai said with a sniff, rubbing the corner of his eyes with the heel of his hand.

“If it ain’t broke…” He shrugged. “Anyways, what I meant was, how do you want to change up that lil’ blemish a’yours?”

“I, uh, I don’t know. What do you normally do?”

“Turn it into a single design. But, I’ve never had to work on one so large before. That thing’s taking up about half of your back. Still doable, just… more difficult.” It was easy to busy his designs enough the word got lost under all the rest. Working on a scale of this size though, there weren’t many things he could think of that would both look nice and cover up the word. “Not to mention, we’ll have to take a lot of breaks, so your skin can heal.”

“How long do you think it would take?”

“Well, with three weeks between each session and the scale and details… probably nine to twelve months?”

Tai’s face fell. “Oh.”

“Something wrong?”

“Oh, no I mean…” He sighed. “I was just, kind of hoping it would be done before October, is all. Before the kids come home.”

Kids?!

As in plural?!

Qrow had to bite his tongue to physically stop himself from breaking his own rule. Took a deep, steadying breath.

Okay. That was six months away. There was no way. Unless…

“Well, we could make it four separate designs. One for each letter. That way I could work on one side and then the other while it’s healing. If we meet every week, should be doable. Gonna be some long hours under the needle for you though.”

Tai lit up just like the sun he was named after. “I can handle it. I’ll do anything. Oh-! We could even make it four dragons, couldn’t we?”

Qrow barked out a laugh. “I mean yeah, if that’s what you want. Give me your scroll deets. I’ll work up some designs over the next few days and send them to you.” As he pulled out his device to input the information, he added, “We gotta work out a schedule too. What days are RO?”

“She visits on Tuesdays and Saturdays right now. It’ll go down to once a week pretty soon. I’m also TA-ing at Sanctum Middle, so weekdays are pretty full.”

It was all par for the course. Even after doing time at the reformatory, omegas still had to have frequent visits from their rehabilitation officer, to make sure they were keeping a steady job and homelife. That meant good evaluations from his superiors and a living space that looked like not even a speck of dust had had a chance to touch down. This was especially important for omegas like Tai, who would have to fight for every top mark he got. If he failed to, the RO would claim he was still unfit to raise his own children and keep them in the fostering system.

Qrow knew that was the reason for the six-month time limit. He had no doubt that once Tai was out of parole and had his pups back, he’d be hightailing it out of the kingdom. But for the RO to still be visiting at that frequency… “Did you come looking for me right after you got out?”

“I-” The tea had become interesting again. And cold. “Yeah. I knew you were working out of Mistral, and Atlas allows for transfers to Argus.”

At this rate, his tongue was probably going to have indents from his incisors. Once he knew he wasn’t going to start prying or, worse yet, shouting at Tai - because really how stupid could he be?! – he opened his mouth and said, “So, Sundays then?”

For the first time in nearly six years, Tai smiled at him. “Sounds perfect.”

For the next few days, Qrow did nothing but draw. Whether it was with a buzzing needle or a pencil, his hand was rarely empty. Even as he downed his morning coffee or spun his suppertime noodles onto his fork, his other hand was moving over a sheet of paper, his muse on overdrive as he tried to pick out the perfect designs for each letter. By nightfall, he was sending at least half a dozen pages full of sketches to Tai, then checking his phone every five minutes as he impatiently anticipated his reply.

It didn’t actually matter where they started, because once they decided on which letter was going first, Qrow’s focus would narrow to the second one over. The tricky thing was, Tai had always been the type who was simple to please – well before a reformatory could ever drill that lesson into him. Even when they were young, whether it was a question of what game they wanted to play or what food they wanted to eat, Tai would almost always just grin and say ‘whatever you want’. Which meant, every sketch was perfect and Qrow had to work twice as hard to actually find something he truly fell in love with.

He knew he finally struck gold for S when Tai figured out how to use the circling tool on his scroll and sent the shot back with an exuberantly loud ‘THIS ONE’, followed by a horrendous amount of exclamation points.

Qrow had never felt prouder.

It was a small effort to resketch the piece in full and line it. Adding color was more challenging, as he had to balance what looked nice with the limitations of his inks. But leaving it without was absolutely not an option. Not for someone who used to decorate his walls with paintings of tropical beaches and autumn-locked forests and had had a Crayola box spectrum of begonias sitting on his windowsill in his childhood room. Tai was a man who radiated a rainbow both in his life and in his heart. To try to dull that by leaving him in nothing but blacks and grays was a crime Qrow wasn’t willing to commit.

Besides, the design wouldn’t translate well without it.

So, he kept working at it until he knew it was just right. When the omega’s excitement only seemed to grow, he knew his labor was over.

#qrow branwen #taiyang xiao long #Taiqrow #taiqrowweek #rwby #fanfiction #Chase Firekitten's Tale

6 notes · View notes

satonthelotuspier · 4 years

Text

Truly Indomitable

I’m still here! Honestly, I’m still writing, I just haven’t posted much to tumblr recently for various reasons. I’m still quite active on twitter and AO3 though, for anyone who’s interested, links on my blog header.

That being said, I finally got around to writing the post canon golden core rejection fic I talked about many moons ago. This is endgame Xicheng with some Yunmeng Shuangjie reconciliation (because once you’ve written one rec, you need to write more). There is a pre-fic to this I wrote for the Untamed Spring Fest back in April or May, its been so long I can’t remember when it was (2020 has been A Year right?) but the odds of me being able to find it with tumblr like it is...(it’s series linked on AO3 if anyone is interested)

15k+ words with a happy ending.

Introducing Jiang Cheng’s Vipers.

CW for: Body dysphoria, blood, past torture, MC peril, discussions on death.

“Jiang-zongzhu!” Jiang Cheng heard the call, and ducked behind a tree to avoid one of myriad people who had been bustling for his attention over the past day.

Was there little wonder, with the kind of hassle he was subjected to when attending conferences like this, he was virtually becoming a hermit in Lotus Pier most of the time?

If it wasn’t sect leaders looking to curry favour, or arrange marriages with their daughters (even though he was officially persona non gratis in the eyes of most female cultivators now, due to one or two...unfortunate – yet highly convenient...mishaps,) it was Wei Wuxian and his horde of adoring ducklings, after permission for Jin Ling to join them on this adventure or that adventure. As if the little shit didn’t do as he pleased and paid no attention to Jiang Cheng’s opinions, anyway.

Not that that was necessarily a bad thing, his nephew was the Jin sect leader now, after all, and if he could continue to show that kind of spine in that role, all the better.

He froze, his musings halted, as his body temperature rose suddenly, and he automatically dropped to the ground, placing the bottle of contraband Emperor’s Smile beside him, and tried to clear his mind.

He rarely got much pre-warning when it happened, but he never had, and twenty or so years later, he was more than used to dealing with it.

It began with the increase in temperature, and then the qi began to roll through his channels, burning like fire as it surged and flowed, molten and rampant.

It was the usual mixture of meditation methods Lei Shirong, his sect physician, had vaunted, and force of implacable will, that he eventually quelled the tide, though he knew it was becoming harder and harder for him to gain control as time went by.

He had suffered periodically from the same issue since he had been a young man.

He had initially thought the problem was attributable to the fact he had been given a new golden core, and he just needed time to grow used to it, it hadn’t been the one he formed himself, after all, and was one Baoshan Sanren had given him, with all the implications that had.

No matter how long he’d waited, however, no matter how much he’d worked to bed the new core in, it had always felt like something alien in his body, something uncomfortable, painful, and always unpredictable. Several times, usually in the midst of battle, where he called on his spiritual energy for extended periods of time, he had completely lost control. Once, he had been saved by Lan Xichen, who had carried him away from a Sunshot campaign battlefield and settled his meridians with his own spiritual energy.

When the fact that it was actually Wei Wuxian’s core, rotating behind is lower dantian, had been revealed, it was like everything clicked into place.

How could the core behave like his own, when it had been formed by his shixiong, who was as different from Jiang Cheng as day was to night?

The fact it had been so many years, and it had still not been fully responsive to him, still felt like a stone in his gut, now made sense to him.

And since the Guanyin Temple, Jiang Cheng had felt it suddenly spiral out of control with much more frequency, and it was becoming harder each time to steady that surging tide of qi.

It had never been meant for his body, so how could it behave as if it had?

How could he control it as if it had?

He placed an open palm against his navel, where the core twisted and churned behind his dantian.

It was only a matter of time now, surely, before it reached the point he couldn’t settle it’s reaction. It wasn’t exactly caused by qi deviation, but he thought the outcome would likely be the same.

Hopefully he had a little more time, to make sure Jin Ling was secure as Jin Sect Leader, and make arrangements for the succession of his clan. There were several promising candidates who he could add to his family registry, to ensure the clan he had given everything for, survived after he was gone. Not least his physician, Lei Shirong, or his head disciple, Yang Hai, or his sister, Yang Mei. All were extremely competent, intelligent members of his sect. All were strong cultivators in their own right. And all were unfailingly loyal to Yunmeng Jiang.

He was climbing back to his feet, intending to return to his accommodations and continue his quest to get drunk, when the strident call of; “Jiang Cheng!” had his hackles rising.

Not Wei Wuxian, not now. He genuinely didn’t think he could face the man knowing his body was making the final move towards rejecting the core his shixiong had sacrificed everything to give him.

Wanted or not, it had cost Wei Wuxian so much, he couldn’t look him in the eye and pretend everything was fine at the moment, so he scooped up the jar of Emperor’s Smile, and slipped carefully deeper into the shadows. He found himself in a courtyard surrounded by residences. They were all dark and unlit, silent, probably empty. It wasn’t yet the designated Lan sleeping time, so he thought he had fallen lucky, and, at the sound of Wei Wuxian’s quick, heavy tread still approaching, he did the only thing possible, and slipped over the windowsill of one of the empty buildings, intending to wait Wei Wuxian out.

He settled himself on the floor next to window, and removed the seal on the jar, tipping it up and taking a deep drink. He might as well wait in style.

“Jiang-zongzhu,” a rich, timbred voice sounded from out of the darkness, and the lamps placed around the room suddenly leapt to life, illuminating the sparsely, yet elegantly, furnished rooms, “it’s very kind of you to drop by, quite literally. Altough, I believe it’s customary to wait to be invited.”

He was frozen for a few beats of his heart, which then began rabbiting in his chest thanks to the shock of hearing a voice from the darkness.

How in the world had he been stupid enough, unlucky enough, to accidentally breach the Hanshi; who’s master was currently in seclusion after the events of the Guanyin Temple?

Could he have made a bigger mistake if he’d tried?

The elder man was currently hidden from his sight, sat behind a screen which partitioned off that side of the rooms, and the gentle click of a tea cup being placed on a lacquered table sounded.

“Lan-zongzhu…” he was about to offer his apologies, but heard Wei Wuxian’s still-loud voice from somewhere outside the Hanshi.

“Jiang Cheng! I know you’re here somewhere.”

Lan Xichen murmured an understanding, “Ah,” then remained silent for a while, until they were both sure Wei Wuxian had moved his search on elsewhere.

“Lan-zongzhu, I apologise unreservedly for intruding on your seclusion.” It was now time for him to salvage what he could out of the encounter, and beg for forgiveness.

There was a few moments before the other answered, “No harm done. Perhaps, if you will, merely stay that side of the screen. I assume you wish to wait a while to ensure Wei-gongzi is well and truly gone?”

He flushed a little at the other reading him so very easily, but there was no use denying he had been avoiding that man, like a coward.

“Then I’ll trouble you for a little while longer.” He couldn’t deny it, however, and there was nothing for it other than to accept the elder man’s generous offer.

He lifted the jar in his hands to take another deep, settling drink. Except he had forgotten…

“Jiang Wanyin, is that Emperor’s Smile that you’re drinking, in the Sect Master of the Lan sect’s private rooms, which you have just breached, without permission?”

Suddenly, he was a fifteen year old boy again, caught in the process of sneaking Emperor’s Smile into the Cloud Recesses with Wei Wuxian, and he felt the flush creep up his neck as he put the earthenware jar back on the floor like it had suddenly become red hot to the touch.

Luckily Lan Xichen couldn’t currently see his blushes of shame.

He also couldn’t see that the jar Jiang Cheng held was Emperors Smile. He could just lie.

But that felt very wrong to him, so he made a non-committal sound, to which Lan Xichen chuckled gently in response.

“Some things never change.” Lan Xichen said, a hint of something like nostalgia in his tone, then; “And some things change completely.” And then he was silent.

Jiang Cheng didn’t feel like breaking that silence. He was, after all, intruding on the man’s seclusion. So he sat there for a while, making no sound. He was therefore surprised when eventually Lan Xichen was the one to speak. He had been on the verge of getting up to leave, but Lan Xichen’s voice made him pause.

“How is Jin Rulan fairing, Jiang-zongzhu?”

Jiang Cheng was thrown, and wasn’t entirely sure how to answer. Well, he obviously knew how Jin Ling was fairing, but he didn’t know how much it would be sensible to refer to the Guanyin Temple, it was, after all, what had driven Lan Xichen into secluded meditation, all those months ago. He played for a little time to order his thoughts.

“How is it I was Jiang-zongzhu, then Jiang Wanyin, then back again, in the space of minutes?”

“Jiang Wanyin.” Lan Xichen took the hint, and settled on the less formal mode of address. Alone together in the Hanshi, it made the most sense.

He had decided, in the precious extra seconds the comment had bought him, that there was no point prevaricating. Once the other exited seclusion, the world couldn't be expected to never bring up the subject in front of him ever again.

“It was a blow to him, no doubt. It’s taken a lot of adjusting for him, and the weight of a sect leader sits heavily on his shoulders, he’s so young…”

Even younger than Lan Xichen had been, than Jiang Cheng had been, when they had taken over their respective clans.

“I thought we were done with a world that forced it’s children to grow up as quickly as we had to, when the Wens fell. That I was party to that…that I enabled it…” there was a catch to his voice.

And there was a part of Jiang Cheng that uncharitably thought Lan Xichen should suffer for his guilt, but that was the part of him that had watched, powerless and vulnerable, in the Guanyin Temple, as everyone in the world that he cared about, was put in danger at the hands of Jin Guangyao. Considering his past, no one could have blamed him for his fear for them.

But he also understood what kind of a person Lan Xichen was, and it was a good person. He had a lot of advantages in life, there wasn’t a doubt about that; he came from one of the richest sects in the world, he was an extremely powerful cultivator, he was impossibly handsome, and he could be whatever he wanted, but he was still a genuinely kind person. And they were so very rare.

He knew, in his heart, that Lan Xichen couldn’t be held accountable for Jin Guangyao’s villainy; the man had fooled the entire world for years, with his dazzling dimples and accommodating smile. Jin Guangyao alone was responsible for what had happened. And there would have been no guarantee that his twisted little snake mind wouldn’t have found some way to remove Lan Xichen, if his naivety hadn’t left him blind to what the Chief Cultivator was doing.

Really, the twists and turns of that man’s plots didn’t bear trying to follow, someone as straightforward as Jiang Cheng just couldn’t fathom him.

And he was glad for that.

He might not be perfect when compared to Jin Guangyao’s perceived perfection, he might be rough around the edges when compared to Jin Guangyao’s smoothness, his forcefulness might have looked overbearing when compared to Jin Guangyao’s subtle misdirection, but people got what they saw with Jiang Cheng.

Jiang Cheng was a blunt instrument compared to Jin Guangyao’s sharp little dagger.

Did it make him a better person? He couldn’t say. And he didn’t care much anymore.

Would he have preferred that his nephew was able to be a carefree child for longer? Yes. Of course. Although, since his cousin’s death there had always been an understanding that he was the heir to the Jin sect, and had been treated as such, trained as such. Jiang Cheng knew from personal experience that the heir to a sect only had so much freedom to be a child.

But Jin Ling would be fine. He was strong. He would be fine. He had Wei Wuxian now, and his friends, when Jiang Cheng was gone.

He wet his lips with his tongue. Despite the fact he tried to consider the positives, the thought of leaving Jin Ling alone, like so many others of his family had, tasted sour on his tongue.

There wasn’t much he could do about it, however, the core inside him was a measure of his mortality, and when that measure ran out...

They had drifted into unhappy silence again, each man lost to the abyss of his own negative thoughts.

To try to distract himself, Jiang Cheng picked up the jar, and raised it to his lips. He glanced at the screen, trying to imagine the expression the Jade might be wearing on the other side.

“He seems to have made some firm friends out of the experience, however,” Jiang Cheng said, suddenly uncomfortable at the lack of discussion, “I’m glad. It was something he never had growing up, and it was something I could never give him. I could protect him, and teach him, and be his uncle, but I could never be his confidante, or his peer.”

“The younger generation don’t want old relics like us spoiling their fun.” There was a hint of a smile back in Lan Xichen’s voice.

“Just so.” Jiang Cheng agreed. Wei Wuxian, with his breezy personality and easy charm, however, would tame the birds from the trees.

He was just the kind of “uncle” teenagers would find fun.

He settled back against the wall, and, giving the Emperor’s Smile the attention it deserved, began to recount one of the many incidents he could remember from their time at the Cloud Recesses, where they had gotten into trouble, mostly at Wei Wuxian’s fault for the famed alcohol.

He was feeling a little nostalgic, a little melancholic, and perhaps, a little mellow.

Jin Ling would probably be surprised he was capable of the latter.

“In your honest opinion, is it to be as vaunted as Wei Wuxian would have us believe?” Lan Xichen asked as his low laughter faded.

Jiang Cheng took another mouthful and savoured the taste, considering Lan Xichen’s question.

“Perhaps. It’s very smooth. But Wei Wuxian always had a better head for this kind of thing than I do.”

He had drunk as a youngster to keep up with Wei Wuxian, who had always had more of a taste for alcohol than the young Jiang Cheng. Now, he occasionally overindulged to numb and forget for a while.

“Did it never bother you, growing up with so many rules? Being expected to be so damn perfect all the time?” Perhaps it was the Emperor’s Smile that loosened his tongue enough to ask Lan Xichen that very personal question.

“You of all people know as much as I that a sect leader in waiting is expected to be so much more than any other children of the sect, Wanyin.” Lan Xichen answered, eventually, his voice low. And the use of his courtesy name on it’s own caused the hairs at the back of his neck to stand on end. “But I learned a lot earlier than Wangji it was possible that, while some rules should be considered absolute, others we can learn to bend sometimes, if necessary.”

It was a fair comment, Lan Wangji had been a stickler for rules and order back then. Much less so now, if it came to his beloved Wei Wuxian. Whereas Lan Xichen never seemed to see the world is such shades of black and white. Perhaps it would have been kinder if he had, and hadn’t been quite so accepting of Jin Guangyao’s grey. Perhaps not.

The evening had drawn on, and it was only as Jiang Cheng heard the other stifling a yawn that he realised his intrusion had kept Lan Xichen up beyond his clan’s sleeping

time.

It appeared Lan Xichen still bent those rules when the need arose.

He climbed to his feet, “My apologies, Lan Xichen, it appears as well as being rude enough to trespass on your seclusion, I’ve intruded upon your rest as well. I appreciate your kind, if unwillingly provided, hospitality.”

“Jiang Wanyin, I’ve enjoyed having your company, perhaps you could visit with me again before you’re due to leave.”

“I’m sure you’re merely being kind, and I thank you for it, I would hope not to disturb you again, and bid you a good night”

“Quite the contrary, I would be very happy if you did, Jiang Wanyin. Goodnight, sleep well.”

He took his leave.

He wasn’t sure if it was the numbing effect of the alcohol, but he did, indeed, sleep well that evening.

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

The unusual feeling of being well-rested stayed with Jiang Cheng for most of the rest of the next day. The morning was taken up with routine discussions, and the afternoon was set aside for a joint hunt.

As a sect leader Jiang Cheng wouldn’t be taking part, and he intended to take the opportunity to meet with Jin Ling on his own, and press him on how he was faring, as his friends would all be busy in the activities.

He would search Jin Ling out after he had seen Yang Mei and Yang Hai on their way as Yunmeng Jiang representatives in the same.

To that end they made their way towards the front gate, where the party would be forming.

Yang Hai was recounting the news from Lotus Pier, that he had received via dispatch that morning, but Jiang Cheng, unusually, only half paid attention to him, the other part of his mind had wandered to Lan Xichen’s words of the previous evening. He wondered if he could take them at face value, or whether Lan Xichen was merely being polite?

He had sounded genuine. But Jiang Cheng, as ever, didn’t always trust his ability to read people.

He was jerked out of his thoughts at the sudden appearance of Wei Wuxian, annoyed and frowning.

“Jiang Cheng!”

“Shit.” He didn’t realise he’d verbalised the curse, until Yang Mei stepped forward and into Wei Wuxian’s path.

“Wei-gongzi, Jiang-zongzhu is particularly busy at the moment, perhaps you would like to make an appointment, if there is something you wish to discuss.”

“Jiang Cheng can stop pretending to be too busy to talk to me, and face me like a man.” Wei Wuxian said it mockingly, like he always had. Unfortunately he was now walking among people who didn’t understand his, admittedly trying, character. Wei Wuxian hadn’t been part of Yunmeng Jiang for too many years. Then, he made the mistake of reaching out to take her by the shoulders, intending to move her to one side, so he could pass her to reach Jiang Cheng.

Jiang Cheng of course expected the series of events, and moved quickly to enact what damage control he could. He was between Wei Wuxian and Yang Mei in an instant.

Behind him, the air crackled as two identical navy-coloured whips appeared in Yang Mei’s and Yang Hai’s hands, but Jiang Cheng spread his arm, hand flat and indicating they should stay back as he also raised Sandu, hilt reversed in his hand, to catch Bichen’s forward thrust.

He knew Lan Wangji wouldn’t have moved to kill, and merely reacted to defend Wei Wuxian, but he was also aware Yang Mei and Yang Hai didn’t particularly like Lan Wangji. They were loyal to a fault to Jiang Cheng, and his less than harmonious relationship with Wei Wuxian’s husband was no secret to anyone in the cultivational world. He didn’t know how they would react to the perceived threat. Therefore, he put himself between them before they could all find out.

The greater part of him hoped Lan Wangji would recognise his actions as the de-escalation they had been, but there was a small, secret, part of himself that wished he wouldn’t, Sandu had never been tested against Bichen, and it was a battle that was probably long overdue.

Considering his own impending mortality, it wasn’t really a battle he could lose.

They were all frozen in the odd tableau for a few beats of the heart, before Wei Wuxian, who had been shocked at the demonstration of the twins’ link to his mother’s clan, turned to take Lan Wangji’s wrist, and pull it back, “Lan Zhan,” he said soothingly, and Lan Wangji took his eyes off of Jiang Cheng to look at Wei Wuxian.

Weak, to take your eyes from an enemy, but what was love if it wasn’t a weakness they all shared?

“I shouldn’t have laid hands on one of Jiang Cheng’s Spiders.” Wei Wuxian continued, and Lan Wangji withdrew Bichen after a few seconds, with a nod of agreement.

Jiang Cheng sheathed Sandu, and the pressure in the air behind him indicated the Yangs’ spiritual weapons had also been dismissed.

“We need to go, or we’ll be late.” Jiang Cheng stood back, and turned to Yang Mei, who nodded, and fell into step with her brother, at Jiang Cheng’s shoulders.

“Why are you avoiding me, Jiang Cheng?” Wei Wuxian called after him.

He stopped short, and turned, temper flaring. Even now, the things he did for Wei Wuxian were never enough of him. “Wei Wuxian, you said everything was settled, and we should forget the past and go our own way. You don’t get to yank at me for your amusement, like I’m a dog on a rope. If you wish to speak to me on sect business, make an appointment, like everyone else.” And he spun on his heel and marched off, his Vipers in tow.

His mother had had her Spiders, and Jiang Cheng had his Vipers, sent by his relatives in Meishan Yu shortly after the Siege of the Burial Mounds, the twins had their orders to assimilate into the Jiang sect and protect him, as Yinzhu and Jinzhu had for his A-Niang. They had quickly earned positions as his most trusted disciples.

“Foul-tempered wretch.” Wei Wuxian called at his retreating back.

But he ignored it, Wei Wuxian wanted him to react, to interact. Wei Wuxian didn’t deserve that from him anymore.

“Jiang-zongzhu-,” Yang Hai began to question.

“We have somewhere to be,” he repeated, and that was the end of the matter.

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

Later than evening, and for some unknown reason, he found himself in the Hanshi’s courtyard again.

He had another jar of Emperor’s Smile tucked into the crook of his arm, and he made his way up the steps, and decided entering through the window two nights in succession was pushing his luck. He sat, instead, beneath the window, on the verandah.

It was a relatively warm evening for the time of year, although the mountains of Gusu were always significantly cooler than the lakes of Yunmeng.

Jiang Cheng found it quite soothing to be there though, and unstopped the jar of alcohol, drinking deeply.

There was a soft sound from inside, and Jiang Cheng thought it was likely Lan Xichen sitting on the floor beneath the window, mirroring Jiang Cheng’s posture through the wall.

“You came, Wanyin.”

He made a non-committal sound; but he was a little embarrassed at how happy Lan Xichen sounded about that. He had returned, but he really didn’t know why, except that the more he thought about it, the more it seemed to him that Lan Xichen’s invitation had been a definite request, rather than a suggestion. It wasn’t too much to believe the other had become very lonely in seclusion, and perhaps he was now working towards re-entering society, chatting with Jiang Cheng might be Lan Xichen beginning to interact with the wider world again, in a situation that was still relatively safe for him.

“I was passing, drinking my Emperor’s Smile.” He said it almost challengingly, but Lan Xichen let it pass, as Jiang Cheng had expected him to.

They talked on lighter subjects that the previous evening, it was pleasant and undemanding, to sit and talk about things that didn’t matter in the slightest. This was something Jiang Cheng had never really had. Not since he’d lost his A-Jie and his Shixiong had Jiang Cheng had anyone to talk about anything but the most important matters. He knew that was his own fault, and due to the nature of his personality; he wasn’t easygoing or personable like Wei Wuxian was. He never had been, he had always tended more towards shyness, and seriousness as a boy, even despite Wei Wuxian’s best efforts to change that, and as a man, the seriousness hadn’t changed, but he had become cold, closed off, as a defence. He had lost too much to let anyone else in.

That evening Jiang Cheng excused himself again at the point that it became obvious Lan Xichen was flagging and ready to sleep. Again, the other expressed his hope that they could continue at a later date, and Jiang Cheng again wondered at anyone choosing to spend their time with him.

He wasn’t much of a charming conversationalist, he wasn’t erudite, or witty, but still Lan Xichen had asked him to return.

It became a regular meeting, this faceless companionship through the open window of the Hanshi, some evenings they talked of nothing at all of worth, and others they touched on more delicate, important subjects. It was almost like some form of mutual therapy.

Except Jiang Cheng never touched upon the most important subject of what was happening with his core.

Beyond Lei Shirong, his sect physician, Lan Xichen probably was the closest to knowing about the issue. Not even Wei Wuxian himself knew Jiang Cheng had suffered losses of control, as he had sworn the other two to complete secrecy on the matter. Not that Lan Xichen had reason to believe it had been anything more than a qi deviation he had rescued Jiang Cheng from.

That over the last few days there had been several more instances was a good indication that the core was becoming increasingly unstable. It was likely only a matter of time until he actually went into whatever form of qi deviation it would cause.

He thought he probably ought to return to Lotus Pier. He wanted the end to come in the same place his parents had fallen.

It would be of no real benefit, but it was his wish.

Luckily the conference would only last a few more days, then he could return.

That night, he found Lan Xichen in quite an introspective mood. He spoke more of Jin Guangyao, and how he had tried his best to change the darkness he had always sensed lurked beneath the surface.

Jiang Cheng sympathised, he knew himself how helpless it left a person feeling when someone you cared for began to slip through your fingers, and, like sand, no matter how tightly you tried to grasp it, it only made it trickle away faster.

“I felt so guilty for my part in what happened, for enabling him-,” Lan Xichen paused.

“I don’t think you’d be human if you didn’t feel a sense of guilt, we all do, that we let things happen they way they turn out, even when it isn’t our fault. It’s not unusual.”

They drifted into contemplative silence again. There were very often periods of silence between them, but they didn’t feel uncomfortable, neither felt forced to fill them with pointless noise.

Left to silence, his mind wandered, he had been thinking a lot on the subject of his impending demise recently, and he was again, just full enough of Emperor’s Smile that it had loosened his tongue a little.

“What do you think death is like? Not what you’re told to believe it’s like, what you actually think it’s like?”

The question seemed to have surprised Lan Xichen; he made no immediate response.

“I don’t know,” was the eventual reply, “sometimes I wonder if it might be kinder if there just wasn’t anything, a soul may just find rest in oblivion, unhampered by what it had suffered, and caused to suffer, in life. But that’s also a scary thought, isn’t it? That everything you do, or struggle to be, in this life, doesn’t matter after all. Oblivion isn’t what we strive for as cultivators,.”

Jiang Cheng made a sound of agreement.

“Perhaps this would be a discussion best had with Wei Wuxian-,”

“No.” He realised as soon as he spoke the single denial it was too forceful, too much. “No need to bother him, it was merely a musing.”

Silence again.

Then, “I take it things are still...difficult between you and your shixiong, Wanyin.”

He let the shixiong pass, “We’re different people now, Lan Xichen, that’s all. Wei Wuxian left that life behind him.” He stood up. He knew it was earlier than any of their previous evenings had ended, and he knew it was running away. But there were some things he wasn’t equipped to deal with. And Wei Wuxian, was one of them. “You’ll excuse me, I have an early start tomorrow. There’s still much to get through before the end of the conference. Good night, Xichen.”

“Good night.” Gods, why did that touch of sadness tug so much at Jiang Cheng’s heart? Like a kicked puppy, and if puppies weren’t Jiang Cheng’s biggest weakness. “I’m sorry if I overstepped any boudaries. Sleep well, Wanyin.”

“I-,” he had no idea what he had been about to say, Lan Xichen hadn’t really overstepped, but he was so sensitive on the subject of Wei Wuxian. He closed his eyes; he didn’t know how to extract himself out of this situation without hurting either Lan Xichen, or himself. In the end, he made the same decision he always had when the choice was his, and chose himself. “You didn’t overstep, I’m sorry I’m so-,”

“Don’t, Wanyin. You don’t owe anyone anything you aren’t willing to give. I’m sure you really are busy tomorrow. Perhaps you’d be kind enough to forgive me, and come again tomorrow evening. I know your time is limited, and the conference ends shortly.”

Lan Xichen really was too kind for this world of theirs.

“I’ll do my best.” It was so easy to give such a promise to Lan Xichen. “Sleep well, Xichen.”

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

There was no disguising from himself that Lan Xichen was on tenterhooks after their awkward parting the previous evening. He spent a lot of the following day wondering how it was possible he had become so very dependent on the company of Jiang Wanyin, in such a very short time.

While they had always been cordial in the past, they were never particularly close. Lan Xichen was ashamed to remember he had been too tied up in his brotherhood with Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao, too focussed on trying to help them, to pay very much mind to the young man in Yunmeng who had lost virtually everything, and still limped on, dragging his sect up from the remains of Lotus Pier, by the sheer force of his hard work and will, to return as one of the strongest, most influential sects in the world.

He had been considering for a while, before Jiang Cheng had crashed through his window to avoid Wei Wuxian, that he would shortly start making a move to leave seclusion. He thought he had taken away what measure of peace, and atonement, he could from the process. He knew from personal experience with his father, that when a Lan entered seclusion, the people left on the outside were hurt the most, carrying on the burden, and therefore it had only ever been intended to be a temporary measure for him, to reflect on and repent for his own part in the villainy Jin Guangyao had undertaken, and to mourn for Nie Mingjue properly.

The Jiang Sect leader had smashed into his seclusion, and, with his personality, an odd mixture of sarcasm, matter-of-factness, pragmatism, humour and cutting insight, had reminded Lan Xichen that life was for the living, and there was a world outside the Hanshi, and it wasn’t all bad.

And he had accidentally stepped into a hornets nest last night, and hurt Jiang Wanyin, which he would never wish to do.

What if Jiang Wanyin hadn’t forgiven him? What if he didn’t come back tonight?

Lan Xichen gnawed on his lower lip, glancing at the door to the Hanshi. He could visit Jiang Wanyin, and apologise again, if needed. If he left the Hanshi.

He began pacing as the evening mealtime passed, and the time approached that Jiang Wanyin had normally arrived outside his window, with his jar of Emperor’s Smile.

Nothing. The time came and passed.

He paced a little more.

But it grew obvious Jiang Wanyin wasn’t coming.

He could genuinely be too busy, sect leaders were greatly in demanding during discussion conferences, especially from the larger sects, as lesser sects jostled and fought for a little of their time. Jiang Wanyin was also a very eligible bachelor, despite, as he understood it, most female cultivators having put him on a blacklist.

More fool them.

He paused in his pacing as he examined the thought.

Yes, Jiang Wanyin was a catch. But one had to look beneath the tough exterior, the facade, the defence, to the man underneath.

Something he doubted Jiang Wanyin himself wanted people to do. He wouldn’t be entirely surprised if the other had ended up on this “blacklist” through his own machinations. While the other was blunt, and had a temper, he had still been raised a statesman, politically aware, and he doubted anyone, female or otherwise, would have the power to make Jiang Cheng say, or do anything, that would put him under their scorn, without him meaning to. It just didn’t make any sense.

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He would almost want to be a fly on the wall, to see how the gruff Jiang Cheng play-bumbled his way into a woman’s bad graces over the course of an afternoon, or evening.

His paused, and licked his lips. Much like he had, accidentally? In upsetting Jiang Wanyin?

He lost his smile, and moved to shrug into an outer robe. He would just pay Jiang Wanyin a visit. He would likely find the other was actually busy with sect business, and be able to return to the Hanshi, his conscience clear.

Jiang Wanyin didn’t owe him anything, but he did value the sort of companionship they had fallen into over the past evenings.

He of course realised the flaw in his plan as soon as he left the sheltered private clan areas around the Hanshi; he’d had no input into the planning for this event, and he had absolutely no idea where Jiang Wanyin might be located.

Except, it seemed, luck was on his side, as he saw a pair approaching in what were obviously Yunmeng Jiang colours.

The pair noticed him almost at the same time as he noticed them, and they paused, covering their shock up quickly.

He vaguely recognised the pair, always at Jiang Wanyin’s shoulder during other night hunts and conferences.

“Yang-gongzi, and Yang-guniang.” He dug their names out of his memory, Jiang Wanyin wasn’t the only one who’d been groomed to have all these little tricks at his disposal, Lan Xichen had received just as rigorous an education in politics and people pleasing.

“Lan-zongzhu.” The twins greeted him in perfect unison.

“What a fortuitous meeting, I wonder if you can direct me to Jiang-zongzhu’s accommodations? I wasn’t party to the arrangements this time, for obvious reasons.”

They both paused, their respect for another sect’s leader, and their host one at that, fighting against their well known preciousness over their own sect leader.

“We have an appointment.” He smiled. It was only bending the truth slightly, he had come to think of their evening meetings as a set thing, even if Jiang Wanyin hadn’t. And it worked in breaking the pair’s reluctance.

“Jiang-zongzhu was assigned the house next to the magnolia tree, Lan-zongzhu.” Yang Hai gestured in the direction, “please allow us to accompany you,” and Lan Xichen lowered his head in thanks and acknowledgement of their joint bows.

He set off, trailed by the Yang twins, and soon arrived at the residence Jiang Wanyin was currently in possession of.

He paused at the foot of the stairs, at the sound of a sword tearing through the air and burying in something wooden, from inside the house.

He drew Shuoyue automatically, and heard the swords of Yang Mei and Yang Hai slide out of their scabbards behind him, along with the crackle of Meishan Yu spiritual whips.

“Jiang Wanyin?” he called out, half warning that he was outside and intended to enter, half hoping the other would just call out to acknowledge them, and provide a perfectly reasonable explanation for why there was a sudden breaking of something like pottery. And then something flew through the window and smashed into a hundred pieces in the courtyard. It had been a small table.

He could wait no longer.

“Jiang Wanyin!” He dashed up the stairs, and into the residence, the Yangs barely a footstep behind him.

He paused just inside the completely destroyed interior, and sucked a breath in.

Jiang Wanyin stood in the middle of his rooms, he was surrounded by the debris of what had been a table and tea set.

There might have been some confusion over what had happened, except Jiang Wanyin had Sandu in his hand, and Zidian was active.

Blood had begun to leak from his nose, and the corner of his mouth, probably only the start.

He spun to face the door at the sound of the new arrivals, and, not even pausing to identify who the intruders were, swung Zidian.

Lan Xichen had no time to hope he wasn’t too rusty, no time to think. He countered Zidian with the flash of a sword glare, and summoned Liebing.

Except he hesitated at the thought of playing Song of Cleansing, after recognising the qi deviation for what it was. It was a fatal pause. Or it would have been, if Yang Hai’s sword hadn’t flashed over his shoulder to catch and deflect Sandu.

It shocked him out of his indecision, “Use your whips to hold him.” Liebing was returned to the ether, and he raised Shuoyue again defensively.

Although Jiang Cheng was stronger due to the qi running rampant through his channels, he had no control, and stood no chance against three highly trained cultivators, and was soon trapped in the coils of identical navy whips.

As he struggled the first trails of blood collected in the corners of his eyes, and began to roll down his cheeks like tears.

Lan Xichen swallowed. He hadn’t been there, of course, when Nie Mingjue had qi deviated, but it was still a harsh reminder of what had happened to him. He was determined he wouldn’t lose another friend to this.

Decisively, Lan Xichen stepped forward, placed a palm against the struggling Jiang Wanyin’s chest, over his middle dantian, and began to feed qi into the other, quelling and reversing the surging tides causing the other to deviate.

It was no easy thing to achieve, either, the tides were fierce.

Jiang Wanyin eventually lost consciousness, and Yang Hai caught him as he fell. The Yangs’ whips were both dismissed, and between the three of them, then managed to carry the unconscious sect leader to the bed, where he was placed comfortably on top of the blankets.

“I’ll summon a physician.” He left them briefly, to waylay the first Lan disciple he came across, and send the boy to collect Xiao Qingyue, despite the fact he nearly tied his own tongue in a knot at having Lan Xichen, last known to be in seclusion, suddenly appear in front of him like this.

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

His head pounded when he woke up. Jiang Cheng raised a hand and pressed his palm to his forehead. He didn’t remember how much he had drunk last night; it didn’t usually affect him enough to give him a hangover, but why else would his head hurt like this?

He pushed himself upright in the bed, and concentrated on trying to stop his head spinning, then he had to work out why he couldn’t really remember the previous evening.

He glanced up, and gaped at the small coven surrounding his bed. Yang Hai and Yang Mei were at the forefront.

“What in all the gods names are you doing hovering over me like that?” his hands automatically went to his chest, to check he was wearing his inner robe and his chest was covered from prying eyes. It was, so that was a worry dealt with. “Is this some kind hazing ritual? Was I meant to wake up naked in the middle of the woods?” As usual, sarcasm was his default setting when he didn’t feel like he had control of the situation.

There was a soft chuckle, which Jiang Cheng couldn’t process at the moment, because his eyes landed on Lei Shirong, stood against the wall with his arms folded, talking with a serious looking woman in Lan sect robes. She didn’t have the cloud motif stitched into her headband, so she wasn’t a blood Lan.

He realised Jiang Cheng was awake, and staring at him, and they both turned to face him.

“How much do you remember, Jiang-zongzhu?” Lei Shirong asked, and he shook his head. Obviously the headache wasn’t caused by a simple overindulgence in alcohol then.

Which meant it had finally happened.

So why wasn’t he dead already?

“Well, considering you were almost certainly back in Lotus Pier at the last point I can remember, I assume it’s been at least a few days.”

Did that mean those present now knew the truth? That he was a walking corpse, just waiting for the end?

The thing that had been tickling at the back of his mind for a few minutes now solidified, and he turned to the owner of the soft chuckle he had heard earlier.

“You’re out of seclusion.” it was a statement, not a question, it was obvious that he was, after all.

“I am. I came to check up on a friend. Just in time, it seems.”

Yang Hai dropped a bow to Jiang Cheng, then Lan Xichen.

“Lan-zongzhu saved your life, Jiang-zongzhu. We’re eternally grateful, Lan-zongzhu.”

Lei Shirong stepped towards the bed then, followed closely by his Lan equivalent, and picked Jiang Cheng’s wrist up, testing his qi flow and meridians.

“Unfortunately, Jiang-zongzhu, I believe it’s time for you to come clean. We can’t ignore it any longer.” Lei Shirong said, as he stepped back, and the Lan sect healer enacted the same examination. He was about to snatch his wrist out of her hands, when he looked up and met her gaze. He settled like a quelled puppy, and she nodded once in congratulation for his sensibility.

He turned back to Lei Shirong. “Even if I did “come clean”, who here would be able to do anything about it, Lei-dafu?” he asked mockingly, then glanced around the others. He was about to comment that he owed none of those gathered here a damn thing in terms of explanation, but he realised he probably did, and the words died. Yang Hai and Yang Mei definitely needed to know, seeing as they were likely due to inherit a sect very shortly. Perhaps even Lan Xichen deserved the truth, having been concerned enough to check up on him, and then rescue him. And he had referred to himself as a friend.

That caused Jiang Cheng an odd kind of feeling.

But he ignored it for now.

“Where is Wei Wuxian?” he asked instead, looking specifically at Lan Xichen.

The other answered immediately, “Wangji and Wei Wuxian left the Cloud Recesses yesterday morning on a night hunt. They weren’t aware you hadn’t already departed for Lotus Pier, we thought you would prefer Wei Wuxian didn’t know.”

He relaxed a little. The last person in the world he wanted to know was Wei Wuxian. And knowing he was out of the way was soothing.

A low sigh of relief left him, before he began, matter-of-factly, “Very shortly after the razing of Lotus Pier, Wei Wuxian and I were hiding in Yiling, on the way to Meishan to seek safety with my mother’s people. In the streets, Wen soldiers were searching for us, and Wei Wuxian had gone out to bring food back. I created a diversion, and was taken back to Lotus Pier.” He forced himself not to lay a hand over the scarring on his upper chest, like he wanted to, and to keep his voice neutral. “Wei Wuxian and Wen Ning rescued me later, but it was too late to save my core. Wen Zhuliu was more than worth his title.”

He saw Lan Xichen wince. “The title wasn’t merely grandstanding?”

Jiang Cheng’s laugh was half-hysterical, but he controlled himself again, eventually, “As literal as can be.” Or how else could that worm Wen Chao best the Violet Spider?

“And that was why Wei Wuxian cooked up his insane plan to have Wen Qing transplant his golden core into me. He lied, and told me he had heard that his mother’s Shifu, Baoshan Sanren, could give me a new core. And I, stupid, naive little boy, believed my shixiong, because if it wasn’t true, what did I have left? I didn’t know the truth until after the second siege of the Burial Mounds, but in hindsight, I do wonder how I could have been so blind as to not realise, even once, in all that time.”

Most of those gathered were hearing this information for the first time, only Lan Xichen, who had been at the Guanyin Temple, knew some of it, and Lei Shirong, who he had told the bare minimum to, as his physician.

“Ironically, ever since the operation, the core has been fighting against me. What you thought of as qi deviations, like when you carried me from the battlefield during the Sunshot Campaign, were instances where Wei Wuxian’s core got away from my control. They usually happened after extended periods of calling upon my spiritual energy, but occasionally they happened without anything apparent being the cause. Until recently I was also been able to redirect and quell the qi with a little concentration and effort, however, they’ve become more frequent, and almost impossible to control. The core is going to kill me, sooner or later.”

“You asked me to keep the incident on the Jianglian front from Wei Wuxian all those years ago, Wanyin, are you seriously telling me Wei Wuxian isn’t aware your body has never really accepted his core?”

Jiang Cheng shook his head. “Telling him his greatest sacrifice was actually a death sentence for me? That would be cruel,” he laughed, because the world probably thought Jiang Wanyin wouldn’t hesitate to be cruel. “And besides, at that time, back on the Jianglian front, I genuinely thought it was this new core that Baoshan Sanren had somehow made, taking time to become used to me, to synchronise with my meridians, channels and dantians. In reality it was never going to, because it was made for Wei Wuxian’s body to use, never mine.”

He settled more comfortably back against the headrest.

There was something almost freeing in finally speaking the truth, as much as it left him exposed and feeling vulnerable.

“Is there really nothing that can be done about it?” Lan Xichen looked at Lei Shirong, who shrugged.

“I’ve been researching for years, Lan-zongzhu. And we never found what happened to Wen Qing’s books after the Sunshot campaign, I did have a hope that after Wei Wuxian found the Jin’s secret treasure room at Jinlin Tai, they may be discovered among the things Jin Guangyao kept there, but they weren’t.”

“Do we have nothing in the Lan Library, Xiao-dafu?” Lan Xichen asked his own sect’s healer, who also shook her head.

“Not even in the forbidden library, Lan-zongzhu, Wen Qing was the theoriser, and the only doctor in the world to perform a Golden Core transplant. The idea is ludicrous on it’s own, without being put into practice. I do wish I could have discussed it with her.”

Lan Xichen rose to his feet, and strode over to stand at the window, looking out into the silent courtyard.

Jiang Cheng threw the covers back, and rose, “Perhaps you could excuse us now, I have some important sect business to take care of.” He turned to Lei Shirong. “I don’t suppose you thought to bring my family registry along with you, did you?”

“It wasn’t foremost in my mind, no.” Lei Shirong replied dryly.

Jiang Cheng frowned at him, and then turned to Lan Xichen, “Perhaps you could be witness and executor for my wishes, then Xichen.”

The other turned back to look at him. Jiang Cheng had almost forgotten how intense those dark amber eyes could become when the Lan sect leader was being serious, focussed. All the time they had spent together since he’d arrived at Cloud Recesses and barrelled unwittingly into the Hanshi, had been without seeing each other face to face.

“Wanyin-.”

“I apologise for having to ask, Xichen, but unlike the Lans, I have no clear blood successor, and have to ensure Yunmeng Jiang will be well cared for after I’m dead. If I make it back to Lotus Pier, I will add Yang Hai and Yang Mei to the registry, it’s my wish my head disciple succeeds me as sect leader upon my death.”

Lan Xichen continued to regard him, “As you wish, Wanyin, I will bear witness to that wish.”

There was something further he wanted to say, but he didn’t know if he could, Jiang Cheng realised, at the look in those eyes.

He waited, never one to push. He had the agreement he wanted, anyway.

“I know of someone who may be able to help. But I don’t know if they would be willing. I’ll dispatch a messenger.”

Jiang Cheng frowned, who could possible help him now? The only person in the world who might have been able to remove the core again had been turned to ashes long ago by the Jins.

Lan Xichen refused to be drawn further on the matter, however, merely begged Jiang Cheng to stay in the Cloud Recesses a little longer.

For Jin Ling’s sake, he agreed. While he may be perfectly ready, willing, and able, to die with equanimity, and at peace with his life, for Jin Ling’s sake he wouldn’t give up. Lan Xichen also promised him that if “things” got much more out of hand before help arrived, he would personally ensure Jiang Cheng was taken back to Lotus Pier to die amongst his ancestors.

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

It was nearly a week later before the one who Lan Xichen had sent a missive to, arrived at Lotus Pier.

In that time there had been a few more incidents, but, with Lan Xichen’s help, they had been kept relatively minor.

It had been trying on Jiang Cheng’s patience, however, that the other had barely left him alone in that time. But he couldn’t complain, as it was to ensure his safety. And at least Lan Xichen wasn’t terrible company. It was just that Jiang Cheng wasn’t used to relying on others, and it was odd to feel the indebtedness to someone else for it.

He frequently fell to wondering, in those days spent waiting, who it was that Lan Xichen thought might be able to help him. And what that help might look like. He was a pragmatic man, and he knew the likeliest form that salvation could take was the complete removal of the golden core. Whatever happened, his life was going to change drastically. He could look on the possibility with equanimity now, something he hadn’t been able to do as a younger man.

He was in a reasonably secure position politically in the current climate, not a refugee running for his life, desperate to avenge the deaths of his parents and sect brothers and sisters, his sect was almost certainly powerful enough to withstand the loss of his personal cultivational power, especially if he maintained good relationships with the other large sects. One of which he was tied to through familial bonds, the other through a childhood friend he was still on reasonable terms with, and the third; well, even though his relationship with Lan Wangji was a fraught one, he thought he and Lan Xichen understood each other quite well now.

The morning was spent in such musings, and sect correspondence. He had already sent Yang Hai back to Lotus Pier, despite his protests. Yang Mei had chosen to remain, despite the assurances there was nothing she would be needed for. Some time in the afternoon a Lan disciple arrived to inform Lan Xichen their guest had arrived, and Lan Xichen rose, Jiang Cheng close on his heels.

“I cannot promise anything, Wanyin.” Lan Xichen paused at the doorway, and turned, to place a holding hand on Jiang Cheng’s arm.

“I’m aware, Xichen. Whatever happens, happens.” He tilted his head a little, gazing into the dark amber depths of Lan Xichen’s, “I’m grateful for your concern, and the fact you’ve done as much as you’re able. I don’t fear my own death at this stage of my life, but I would be incredibly sorry to leave Jin Ling after all he has already lost.”

“I wish you wouldn’t talk so cavalierly about your life, Wanyin.” There was a hint of censure in his voice, but Jiang Cheng shook his head.

“With my relationship with this core of Wei Wuxian’s, I’ve had many years to contemplate my own mortality, that’s all. I did originally think it was just going to take some getting used to, but its been a long time now, since I began to understand it only gave me a limited lifespan. It’s one hell of a way to focus on what matters, Xichen, that I can assure you.”

“And you can honestly say to me you don’t feel like you’ve left anything undone, no regrets, nothing you wished you’d achieved, if this was the end?”

He didn’t hide the flicker in his gaze fast enough, he knew that, and damn Lan Xichen for being able to understand him so well.

“Nothing I can control,” he said instead.

Lan Xichen’s perfect eyebrow raised a little, but he turned to move out of the door, Jiang Cheng, again, following.

They made their way through the Cloud Recesses, and Jiang Cheng wasn’t too proud to admit to himself he was actually nervous over the outcome. He genuinely couldn’t hazard a guess over who the person who Lan Xichen had sent a request to was, but they were about to find out.

They entered the Yashi. There were two visitors, one he recognised immediately, and felt a flare of…defensiveness…anger…but it was quickly overtaken by shock.

The pair rose to their feet, and the tall, slim figure of a woman in dark robes turned to face them.

The Ghost General Wen Ning had been enough of a surprise, to be faced by another ghost, was a bigger shock still.

“Lan-zongzhu, Jiang-zongzhu.” Wen Qing greeting them both with a slight bow, despite the distaste on her face. Lan Xichen returned her greeting, and Jiang Cheng must have do so too, although he didn’t recall.

He didn’t miss how carefully watchful Wen Ning was as his sister interacted with the pair.

“I hope your journey wasn’t too taxing, Zhao-guniang.” Lan Xichen said pleasantly, and she made some non-committal response.

“I won’t waste your time, Lan-zongzhu. I came because of the debt I owe you, and because I don’t like the thought of my work being so shoddy it killed someone. There is no love lost between us, but I will assist you, Jiang-zongzhu, if you give me your word I will be left alone afterwards. Lan-zongzhu obviously trusts you enough to reveal what his clan did for me to you, but I would like your personal guarantee on the matter.”

He pressed his lips together, but nodded. His need for vengeance had never stretched to the pair here, but he had never felt any personal responsibility for their fate either; he had just detested the sight of them, it being a grating reminder of everything he had suffered and what he had lost. If they existed in the world still, he didn’t care, as long as he didn’t have to interact with them, see them, be reminded by them. His vengeance on their clan was long since spent, the feeling dead and buried with the deaths of Wen Chao, and, ultimately, Wen Ruohan.

“You came because you’re a healer, Zhao-guniang. You owe me nothing, after all.” Lan Xichen was speaking to Wen...Zhao Qing.

She gave him a sharp, searching look. But it wasn’t mere politeness from Lan Xichen, he was too good, too kind, and a little naive. His actions were never about what he could personally gain from them, his kindness was selfless, genuine, the kind of paragon someone like Jiang Cheng could never hope to emulate in this life.

And, as usual, it confused people.

Lan Xichen understood her implicitly though, in the way that she was a healer first and foremost, and it was very obvious she wanted nothing more than to get to work.

Jiang Cheng had no wish to prolong their contact. And he wasn't even entirely sure he wished to put himself in Wen...Zhao Qing’s debt. He didn’t consider himself in that debt already for what had happened before, between the others, between Wei Wuxian, and Wen Ning, and Wen Qing, as she had been then, they had stolen his right to make an informed decision and choose for himself, to turn down his shixiong’s core, to decide what was put inside of him. That negated any gratitude he should feel, and always had, from the moment he had discovered what had truly happened.

The next few hours were spent in examinations, consultations, and discussions.

After those she spent some time in consideration, and consulting the books she had brought with her, and with Lei Shirong and Xiao Qingyue, who seemed to hang on her every word. In the end, the only treatment option she could offer him was, as he expected, the full removal of the core.

And he had already had quite a long time to consider that. He had always known it was likely the only way to save his life. Basically, he was reconciled to it. Considering it was that, or death, for Jin Ling’s sake there really wasn’t a choice.

He agreed instantly, which seemed to throw those present.

But he would hear no arguments, he had long ago prepared himself for this. In reality, Wei Wuxian had loaned him this core, to enable him to enact his revenge, and resurrect his sect. He had achieved both. He didn’t need anything more, except to be there for his nephew as he grew to full manhood.

“What will happen with the core? Will you be able to return it to Wei Wuxian?” he asked. Ideally, he would avoid Wei Wuxian ever knowing, or being involved, but practically speaking, there was no point in it core going to waste.

He already felt incredibly guilty that Wei Wuxian had sacrificed so much for him, but Jiang Cheng had virtually thrown that away, by being unable to assimilate the core his shixiong had given up for him, wanted or not. If it could be returned, then it would still be useful, still serve a purpose, and salve his conscience. It wouldn’t make what Wei Wuxian had suffered better, wouldn’t remove that, but nothing could turn back time, for any of them.

“I think I will be able to, if you’re willing to be awake when the core is extracted, and if the core survives the process.” Zhao Qing informed him matter-of-factly.

“Whatever is needed.” He agreed without thought.

“You don’t know what being awake entails-,”

“I don’t need to, I’ll have Xichen send a messenger to find them immediately. We don’t have very long.” He left the infirmary, where Xiao Qingyue had invited Zhao Qing to set up her surgery, and delivered his request to the Lan sect leader.

Lan Xichen complied, and dispatched a butterfly messenger, then invited Jiang Cheng to sit and talk for a while, over tea. He was aware Lan Xichen was eager to know the outcomes of his examinations, and Zhao Qing’s findings.

He seemed genuinely disappointed for Jiang Cheng, when he informed him that he had agreed to the removal procedure.

Jiang Cheng told him he was genuinely accepting of the outcome, but, uncomfortable with Lan Xichen’s sadness, he changed the subject.

“It seems I should apologise to you, for dragging you out of your seclusion before you were ready.”

Lan Xichen accepted the change of subject, but not the apology.

“Not necessary, Wanyin, I had been considering it time to end my seclusion, you merely took away the agonising and overthinking about when it should be.”

He laughed at the cheeky smile Lan Xichen directed at him.

Really, he had enjoyed their clandestine discussions through the Hanshi’s window, but talking to Lan Xichen face-to-face, being able to watch the warm expressions flit across his face, the teasing light in his dark amber eyes, was far superior.

“I’m a treasure, its true,” he said, his tone loaded full of self-deprication.

“You truly are, Wanyin.” Lan Xichen agreed, but he meant it sincerely, and their eyes met, and held, but Jiang Cheng couldn’t bear the surge of emotion it caused, and had to break the contact after a few moments.

It was his nature to read too much into another’s feelings; he always had, he knew his own mind well enough to know he was far too ready to cleave to someone who showed him even the smallest amount of affection. He was well aware, and he hated that about himself, but he couldn’t change it. He could stop himself making a fool of himself over it, however.

He rose and made his excuses as soon as it was polite, and made his way back to his accommodations next to the magnolia tree. There was a fat, full moon hanging in the sky and there was a new crispness in the air that suggested autumn had finally arrived, and winter wouldn’t be too far in the future.

There was now a hope in his heart that he might see that winter.

He was a little distracted, and extremely comfortable in the protection of the Cloud Recesses, which was why he was slow to recognise the danger for what it was.

He had reached his door before he felt it. He turned to identify the threat, reaching for Sandu’s hilt.

There was the sudden sound of a dizi, and he only had seconds to identify the twin red pools of rage in the darkness, before something hit him solidly in the chest, and sent him backwards into the residence. Dark, smoking tendrils wrapped themselves around him, pinning him against the wall, he could summon, but not swing Zidian, nor could he form a sword seal to infuse Sandu with his spiritual energy and defend himself with her.

The dark figure stalked into the residence behind him, shadows swirling around him, the only brightness in his blood red eyes. It had been a long time since Jiang Cheng had seen the Yiling Laozu in all his rage-filled, vengeful glory. Even if he was significantly shorter these days…

“Wei Wuxian, you fucker-,” his air was cut off suddenly, a tendril tightening around his throat. He glared daggers at Wei Wuxian, as it was the only response he could make. Not that it had ever worked on that man.

“Appointment made, dear Shidi. I see now is a good time for you.” Really was there anyone in the world who could get under his skin as quickly and effectively as Wei Wuxian? He was going to kick him in the balls the minute he got free. “So, were you ever going to tell me about the core? Why didn’t you tell me it was failing as far back as the Sunshot campaign, when we could have done something about it? What if Xichen-ge hadn’t accidentally found out, and summoned Zhao Qing? WHAT IF YOU HAD DIED OF A QI DEVIATION WITHOUT ANY OF US KNOWING IN TIME TO STOP IT, JIANG CHENG?”

The tendrils pinning him to the wall vanished, and he dropped back to his feet, coughing and choking at the sudden rush of air returning to his lungs.

He looked up just in time to catch the flash of a fist, but not stop it, as Wei Wuxian punched him in the face.

“You stupid fuck.” Wei Wuxian snapped, smashing Chenqing into his belt, then raising both hands to run them down his face as he calmed a little, rage spent.

Jiang Cheng, painfully aware of his own strength compared to the coreless Wei Wuxian, knew he couldn’t return like for like with physical violence, not unless he wanted to break Wei Wuxian’s jaw. And, as tempting as it was, he didn’t really want it.

Verbally, he could definitely fight fire with fire however.

“Try because you fucking lied to me, for years, Wei Wuxian. I didn’t know it was yours, I just thought I needed to get used to it. If you’d told me, even after it was done, I’d have known it wasn’t going to get any better, it wasn’t going to stop feeling like something painful and invasive inside of me. But you never did, you lied and you lied, and kept me in the dark like a stupid child, so don’t blame me.”

“You didn’t tell anyone…”

“Wrong, Wei Wuxian, I discussed it with my physician, who was the only other person in the world who had a right to know If I wished him to know.”

How could Wei Wuxian argue with that?

Except it was Wei Wuxian, who could argue with his own reflection, because he was just that contrary.

“You’re so fucking petty, Jiang Cheng, age hasn’t improved that about you.”

“And you’re so fucking annoying, Wei Wuxian. You haven’t noticeably improved either.”

They stared at each other for a few moments, before Wei Wuxian turned, and walked to the window, planting his hands on the sill, and pulling in a deep breath.

“I don’t want the core back.”

“Fine, then W-Zhao Qing can throw it away.”

Wei Wuxian spun at his comment, frowning, “Why are you always so bloody minded?” he demanded.

“Bloody minded? Wei Wuxian, as much as I hate throwing your sacrifice back in your face, your core is going to kill me if Zhao Qing doesn’t remove it. I can’t use it anymore, my body is rejecting it. Either you take it back, or you don’t, but I can’t keep it.”

Wei Wuxian’s hips hit the windowsill as he leant back, a sigh left him. “I’d hoped she was just grandstanding because you’d asked her to. It’s really a case of it has to come out then.” It wasn’t a question. Wei Wuxian folded his arms and looked away. “I’ll speak to Zhao Qing tomorrow, we’ll finalise things and arrange the operation for as soon as possible.” He stepped away from the window, then, placing a soothing hand on Chenqing, “You know if the core needs to stay viable you have to be awake during the transfer, don’t you? You know it’s painful? You know you can feel your qi settling and never reawakening in your channels, don’t you?”

“Zhao Qing may have tried to mention something of the sort. It’s a novel idea, but perhaps it’s time to stop treating me like a fragile piece of glass, who’ll break at the slightest pressure, Wei Wuxian. I’ve walked through hell in this life, and survived. Perhaps it’s time to start crediting me with having strength, and a mind, of my own.”

Wei Wuxian’s face was unusually expressionless. “Perhaps it is.”

~ Several Months Later ~

He opened the chest, and gently lifted the scroll out. It was an exquisite rendition of a lotus lake, in full bloom, with a shadowed pier in the distance. It was done in beautiful shades of purple and blue and was truly a gorgeous piece.

He had seen enough of Lan Xichen’s paintings over the years, like the sceneries in Jinlin Tai, that he had painted for Jin Guangyao, to know who the artist was, if he had any doubt. Which he didn’t, because it was the third gift that had arrived this month.

It would go over his bed.

“I really should send a return gift,” he said to himself. Unfortunately, himself currently also included his new shadow, Wei Wuxian, who was laid out on top of his bed, swinging Chenqing through the air and watching the tassel trace patterns.

“He doesn’t want a return gift, stupid. He wants your hand in marriage.” His shadow sat up, and stared at him like he was insane.

Perhaps he was.

But he wasn’t yet insane enough to take Wei Wuxian’s words at face value. How could Lan Xichen, the foremost cultivator of his generation, the most handsome man in the cultivational world, want his hand in marriage? He was nothing. Less than nothing. A nobody holding on to power by default, not a cultivator anymore, nothing special, just an ordinary man living his life, and definitely not worth such a man’s regard.

He sighed, and placed the painting back in the chest. He resolved to have it hung later, and send a thank you note for the very kind gift to the Cloud Recesses.

“Why are you even back here? Hasn’t Yang Hai already removed you from Lotus Pier once? Why won’t you stay away?”

“Actually, three times this week, so far, I don’t understand why I keep getting kicked out and Lan Zhan doesn’t, I’ll get a complex, and start feeling like I’m not wanted here.”

“Please do.” Jiang Cheng snapped, and thought he’d have a word with his head disciple, there was no earthly reason Yang Hai and Yang Mei should keep ignoring the Second Jade and just remove Wei Wuxian. Why should this pair of freeloaders be suffered to stay in Lotus Pier just because his supposed right and left hand were scared of Lan Wangji?

“I don’t like your head disciple much, Jiang Cheng, he’s very...dull.”

“Really? You mean efficient, responsible, and dependable.” He recognised Wei Wuxian’s petty jealousy for what it was, and couldn’t help needling him.

“Yes, like I said, dull, boring. Not the kind of head disciple my shidi needs.”

“Exactly the kind of head disciple I need, Wei Wuxian, and we’re not having this discussion.” He stalked over to the bed and caught Wei Wuxian’s wrist, pulling him into a sitting position. “Why don’t you go home, Wei Wuxian? Lan Wangji must be getting bored here by now.”

“I am home, Jiang Cheng. I’ll need to divide my time up a little, but I’m here for now.”

“I don’t need you here.”

“And yet here I still am. Get used to it. And order more alcohol, your kitchens ran out yesterday for the second time. It’s truly an embarrassment.”

“You’re the only embarrassment around here, Wei Wuxian. Don’t drink so much.”

In the time since the transfer, when Zhao Qing had returned Wei Wuxian’s core to him, Wei Wuxian had hovered over Jiang Cheng like a mother hen over her chicks.

It had grated on his nerves from about the second hour, now, it was just a constant irritation. Actually akin to how it had been in the past, really.

He knew why, he really did, and while he appreciated the thought, it was unnecessary. But convincing Wei Wuxian of that was impossible, Wei Wuxian never changed his mind, he was tenacious and stubborn, and he always thought he was right. They’d always had that in common.

Hopefully, though, Wei Wuxian would leave after the mid-year alliance conference, which was due to start in a few days. It was a short catch-up event, meant to build and improve on the agreements and plans that had come out of the larger meeting at the Cloud Recesses several months ago, and so it would only last a day, with a celebration feast in the evening to close. It would also be the first time Jiang Cheng had taken part in the wider cultivational world since Wei Wuxian’s core had been removed. It was safe to say he was anxious over how the world would react to him now.

Recovery had been slow, at least slower than he had wanted, so he pushed himself relentlessly, but at least the constant discomfort and pain, like having a rock in his guts, had gone. And the ever present fear of losing control was now refined solely to his temper.

There was still tenderness around the second incision wound, just below the first, now-white scar on his navel, that Zhao Qing had made; it was still pink and angry, although it would be even more so if Wei Wuxian didn’t wrestle him down and pin him long enough to feed him qi every now and again, usually when the wound was particularly troubling.

Mentally…he thought he was getting there. He hadn’t lied before, there had been some measure of making peace with everything that might happen, this was a definite step up from death, after all.

But it had still been a huge shock.

The procedure itself had been incredibly taxing. Although he had been warned, it hadn’t been the things they’d told him to expect that affected him. The pain he could deal with, and the sensations of his qi flow, of being able to guide and direct it, vanishing, was traumatic, but it was mostly due to the feelings and long buried memories it brought back to the surface. It had felt like being back under the power of the Wens, tied and helpless and begging for mercy as his core was destroyed.

It had brought the nightmares back with increased frequency, although they had never really gone away entirely.

If he felt a little adrift, a little lost, a little like an imposter again, it was to be expected. He was dealing with it the best he could.

Having Jin Ling at Lotus Pier like a protective, yet bad-tempered little bodyguard was actually a help. Not least because his nephew was trying particularly hard not to rile Jiang Cheng up into a temper too often. It wouldn't last, but it was nice while he had it.

Even having Wei Wuxian back, with all the annoyance and aggravation that man caused just by breathing, was a benefit.

As was Lan Xichen’s kind friendship.

He wandered back to the chest and took the scroll out again. It really was an exquisite piece.

“How do you really feel about Xichen-ge, Jiang Cheng?”

He almost dropped the scroll in shock at the question, so sudden in the silence that had fallen. He had almost forgotten. Forgotten that Wei Wuxian was there. Forgotten how shrewd he was behind that sometimes clownish exterior. And forgotten how well he knew Jiang Cheng.

“How do you really feel about broken legs?” But what was the point in pretending? Wei Wuxian already knew, or he wouldn’t ask. And if he decided to tease Jiang Cheng about it, no force in the world, not least Jiang Cheng’s denials, would stop him. “You already know,” he said instead, “you know me far too well to doubt it. We both know I’m in love with him. Like a whipped dog shown an ounce of kindness, ready to wag my tail and beg for scraps of affection. Isn’t that what I’ve always been like?”

Wei Wuxian sighed, which made Jiang Cheng turn to him in surprise. He had expected to be teased, but the other was exasperated with him instead. He didn’t understand.

“What?” he demanded, but Wei Wuxian shook his head.

“Jiang Cheng, Xichen-ge is courting you. Anyone else in the world would recognise it, but you’re so blind you can’t see it for what it is. Just don’t be an idiot when he asks you.” And there went the teasing.

“How can he be? Why would he? Lan Xichen..he’s everything, Wei Wuxian, and I’m nothing. I’m not even a cultivator now.

“I don’t know how to be amusing, or witty, or cute. I have a foul temper, and I don’t know how to let people in. I can’t even be honest about my feelings.”

Wei Wuxian spread his hands, helplessly, then walked towards the door. He paused on the threshold, and looked back, however, “You took me to task, a while ago, for treating you as if you were weak, as if you weren’t able to make your own, informed decisions. Do you remember that, Jiang Cheng?”

Of course he did. He nodded.

“You are not nothing. You are Jiang Cheng, courtesy name Jiang Wanyin. You are the Sandu Shengshou, a mention of your name is enough to make grown men tremble in their boots. You are Yunmeng Jiang; the bones that this sect, that rose from the ashes like a phoenix, are built up around. You did that, Jiang Cheng, not my core, not Lan Xichen. You.

“So maybe you should remember that strength that you promised me you had. That indomitable spirit that you said had walked through hell and survived. And perhaps you should do Xichen-ge the honour of accepting that, just perhaps, he also knows his own mind.”

It was a long time before Jiang Cheng could respond, and Wei Wuxian had long left the room. And the thought terrified him, but when had Jiang Cheng, courtesy name Jiang Wanyin, the Sandu Shengshou, able to make grown men tremble in their boots, ever allowed himself to be scared into inaction? “Perhaps I should,” he whispered.

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

The alliance conference came in the blink of an eye, and the morning passed in a whirlwind of arrivals, and social niceties. There was little time to give anyone, not even Lan Xichen, anything in the way of personal attention, and he had one huge hurdle to overcome before he felt he could actually address what may or may not be between himself and the Lan sect leader.

It was that afternoon, in the hall, where Jiang Cheng had to take the Lotus throne under the eyes of the assembled sect leaders, that loomed large in his mind. Everyone there, who didn’t live under a rock, that was, would likely know the truth. He was spiritually weakened now, coreless. But he had learned at the side of an expert, how to cast the facade of strength, of being an equal to these vultures. Wei Wuxian had swaggered amongst them for years, convincing them he was the most powerful being on the planet, and his ‘fuck you’ attitude had been an integral part of that, (and the demonic cultivation, which actually had made him one of the most powerful beings on the planet, but he chose to ignore that fact). If there was one thing Jiang Cheng had gained over the years, as he had grown up, as his sect had turned into the powerhouse it was today, it was a ‘fuck you’ attitude to rival his shixiongs’.

He stood outside the doors for a few seconds, Yang Hai and Yang Mei, the Sandu Shengshou’s faultlessly loyal Vipers, stood at his back, and at his shoulder stood the Yiling Patriarch, unusually serious, and well-behaved, but with the new look those that knew him well were just growing used to again, that being a Wei Wuxian who carried Suibian, although now her scabbard had been altered to add hooks to hold Chenqing too.

He had told Wei Wuxian his presence wasn’t necessary, with Yang Hai and Yang Mei there. Which was actually a sure-fire way of ensuring he would be there, because he was just that contrary.

“I’m the Chief Cultivator’s husband, I go where I will.” Wei Wuxian had argued, and Jiang Cheng hadn’t actually felt like pointing out that the Chief Cultivator’s husband wasn’t a political position, and even if it had been, that position wouldn’t have given him the right to march in there at the shoulder of the Yunmeng Jiang sect leader.

Because, he actually drew strength from knowing Wei Wuxian was there, and, curling the hand held behind his back into a tight fist, setting his face into it’s usual resting frown, fingers tightening around a sword he couldn’t use, until the knuckles showed white, he stepped forward.

It was quite a sight, no doubt, as they swept down the central aisle, and to the throne, and as he settled, flicking his sleeves out, and resting Sandu against the arm, he threw a look around the room.

There were speculative looks, neutral looks, nothing overtly confrontational. At least not yet. He tried to avoid the one gaze in the room that he wanted to to see, but it was the one he wanted to assess the most, and it was a losing battle. His eyes searched out Lan Xichen’s gently smiling countenance, and he felt something warm and nourishing grow in his chest.

It felt like the moment lasted for a long time, but it was likely mere seconds, before their gazes broke, and business, very much like during any other meeting, began.

It almost went flawlessly.

But, as Jiang Cheng spoke up in the midst of a dispute, someone decided to test the waters.

He would have laid money on Sect Leader Yao being the one to do it, too. He had dared to put Jin Ling down after the Guanyin Temple, because he thought the Jin Sect too weak to retaliate for a slight against one of it’s juniors.

For a man who had a strong moral compass, who claimed to be on the side of justice, he had something of a bully about him.

Still, the statesman in Jiang Cheng allowed his comment to pass, knowing overreaction to a perceived slight would come across as grandstanding from a position of weakness, although he heard Yang Mei let out a small breath of irritation.

Sect Leader Yao decided to push it further, however, and dared to ask why Jiang Cheng thought he was qualified, now, to try to railroad smaller sects.

Despite the fact he had been mediating, and had made no such move, it gave Jiang Cheng the opportunity he needed. He had hoped to get through this conference without a show of power, to give himself more time. But now, or in six months, or a year, it had always been something that would have to happen sooner or later.

He rose, and strode into the centre of the room.

A gesture, and Zidian crackled to life in his hand, her coils falling to rest around his feet like a purple snake, still and threatening, just as deadly in her readiness to strike.

“Yao-zongzhu. I know you think now might be the time to test me. But don’t ever make the mistake of assuming I’m weak, or defenceless. Stronger men, cleverer men, than you have tried to destroy me in the past, and failed. They’re dead. I’m still here, like a phoenix, rising again and again from the ashes of my enemies. I was thirteen when I formed my first core, our generation was quite precocious like that, under the threat of Wen tyranny it was cultivate and become stronger or die. How long do you think it will take me to form a second? With the foundation of thirty years training? Two more years? Three? I’m a stubborn man, too obstinate to know when I’m beaten, you see.” He sucked a breath in through his nose. “Now, may we continue, there is an excellent feast awaiting us after we finish here?”

As expected, Yao backed down, full of bluster and claims Jiang Cheng had misunderstood. He ignored him, and allowed Zidian to return to her resting state.

He had so much iron in his spine at the moment he couldn’t relax, as he sat down. He thought if he did, he’d sag, and reveal his exhaustion, his hands had retreated into the deep sleeves of his formal robes, to hide their shaking. The only part of his body that didn’t show his drained state was his face, which he kept carefully set in it’s frown. He had, of course, been too verbose, and as a consequence had had to use too much spiritual energy to keep Zidian active while he spoke, as a visual demonstration of his power, a reminder of who the Sandu Shengshou was.

He didn’t quite have as much foundation as he might have suggested, yet. But he was working hard towards it; he really was too stubborn to know when he was beaten.

He projected that facade for the rest of the meeting, and made it out of the hall in one piece. He even made it as far as an antechamber, where he dismissed Yang Hai and Yang Mei, and a hovering Wei Wuxian, ordering them to begin the feast, assuring them he would be there shortly, he just needed to meditate for a while, to rest for a few minutes and recover his reserves.

They knew he’d overtaxed himself as well as he did, and he was surprised this wasn’t one of the times he had to fight Wei Wuxian off, from his invasive sharing of qi, but the other went docilely enough, as if knowing Jiang Cheng didn’t have the spare energy left to argue.

He closed the door behind them, and slid down it.

The silent, wrenching sobs, a tangled mixture of exhaustion, relief that he had managed to pull off the biggest act of his life, and pent up emotions over everything that had happened over the past few months, grief, hopelessness, frustration, and anger all mixed together, wracked his frame.

Then, exhausted, he wiped at his eyes, let his head drift back against the door, and cleared his mind enough to meditate.

He couldn’t deny he felt lighter, the biggest obstacle had been overcome, now the rest was just hard work, which he had never shied from.

Well, there was one other thing, that caused his stomach to explode in a sudden fluttering of butterflies. He had promised himself, though, that after the alliance discussion, he would devote himself to the second issue.

A little while later the click of a jar being placed on the floor by his side drove his eyes open.

He almost wished he hadn’t at the dazzling sight of the First Jade of Lan, all pure white robes, and beatific smile, sat cross-legged on the floor in front of him.

The click had been a jar of alcohol.

He fought the urge to lift his hand to protect his eyes from the brightness.

He was about to ask how the other had entered the antechamber, considering he was still rested against the door, but he realised there was a window.

He hadn’t needed a door himself to crash into Lan Xichen’s carefully cultivated seclusion, and it seemed that the other had only taken a page out of Jiang Cheng’s book of impressive entrances.

He failed to hide the chuckle, which made Lan Xichen smile even wider.

Was it rude to tell a man to stop smiling because he was more blinding than the sun?

Probably.

“Xichen.”

“Wanyin.”

They were silent for a while after the greeting.

Then Lan Xichen broke it, “You were magnificent in there, Wanyin. Truly stunning.” Then, no doubt knowing how badly Jiang Cheng was equipped to deal with compliments, he moved on. “Dare I hope the Lan meditation techniques are helping in qi refining?”

He had felt the beginnings of a flush at Lan Xichen’s praise, but could do nothing but pretend it wasn’t happening. How should he respond to someone telling him that he were magnificent?

He really didn’t know. A simple thank you seemed...either like he didn’t care, or received such compliments at least once every Thursday, whereas the truth was no one had ever described Jiang Cheng as magnificent before.

Perhaps Lan Xichen’s seclusion had addled his mind?

But that wasn’t fair was it?

And perhaps you should do Xichen-ge the honour of accepting that, just perhaps, he also knows his own mind.

Wei Wuxian’s words had profoundly affected him. How could he want that for himself if he didn’t offer others the same respect?

“I have never felt magnificent in my life, Xichen, but I thank you for the compliment. The Lan meditation techniques are very useful, thank you again. I’m not always the best suited to them, I’m not always able to find the level of focus they require, but when I can, they’re incredible.”

A gentle smile was his answer, and another pause.

Jiang Cheng thought he knew...hoped he knew...what came next. And Wei Wuxian was right, Jiang Cheng wasn’t weak, he wasn’t a scared child, he was strong, he was driven, he had known what he had to do at every stage in his life so far, because it was what was expected, what was needed.

This time it had to be about what he wanted. He deserved that.

In one single leap, although admittedly, it was a slightly wobbly-legged one, he had closed the distance, and overbalanced the first Jade of Lan.

“Lan Xichen, I love you.” He said, ignoring the fact his face still burned, his embarrassment stronger than a thousand suns, and lowered his head to capture the soft-looking lips of the most handsome man in the cultivational world. He was met half way, and Lan Xichen’s arms found their way around his neck. It was regrettably short, but he poured his whole heart into it, and it was beautiful, as was Lan Xichen, who’s ears were just as pink as Jiang Cheng’s cheeks when they pulled apart, who’s well-kissed lips glistened in the evening light seeping in through the window, who looked at him with such love in his amber gaze.

“I love you, my Wanyin, you gave so much of yourself to me, so selflessly, when I had nothing, and you thought you were at the end, and must have had a million more important concerns that one lonely man stuck in the past, how could I fail to fall for you?”

His embarrassment intensified. How was it even possible at this point?

But love confessions required certain amounts of reciprocation, he wasn’t such a novice he didn’t know that.

“I only gave you what you deserved, what you’d give to anyone in return. Xichen, you’re kindness incarnate, and this cruel, vicious world might have taken advantage of that, but it never killed it in you, and that truly is the most amazing thing of all, a testament to who you are. You deserve to be treated like the beautiful soul you are.”

“And you like the treasure you are. No matter how much the world took from you, you still had more to give.” Xichen reached up to trace his cheekbone gently, “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met, Wanyin, truly indomitable. Marry me?”

“Is tomorrow soon enough?”

48 notes · View notes

therainbowwillow · 4 years

Text

Almost forgot: part 6 https://therainbowwillow.tumblr.com/post/640534863652552704/therainbowwillow

Okay I’m going to start writing part 7 NOW because I can’t handle this Orpheus-torture for longer than two seconds.

Tw: attempted murder (okay didn’t think I’d be using that one when I started this), blood

Premise/last time on the is increasingly depressing Hadestown fanfiction: Hades learns Thanatos has not killed Orpheus as promised. A king, he realizes, must do everything himself. But Hades (like the author) can’t stand to watch Orpheus suffer for more than two seconds, so he stabs the poor kid and skeddadles. Orpheus got stabbed. He realizes now that he is not dead and tries his best to hold on to his last shred of life. Hermes drags Apollo into the center of Hadestown. Dionysus and Persephone argue about the fact that Dionysus cannot follow simple rules. Eurydice does not know her boyfriend is dying (yet). Achilles and Patroclus are just trying to get the hell out of dodge before Hades finds out they’re escaping.

————————————

As the heart of Hadestown draws closer, the air grows thicker with smog and the world brighter with the neon lights of the city.

“A city that outshines the sun,” Apollo mutters.

Hermes whirls around to face Apollo. “Would you shut up? I don’t like this place anymore than you, but it’s a lot better without your whining. My son is dying and you’re complaining that it’s too bright down here?”

“Look, I’m sorry. I’m just... I’m not used to this, alright? I’ve never been here before. No place I’ve ever seen casts such dark shadows...” he shudders.

“We should be planning anyway.” Apollo nods, glad for a distaction from his unease.

“We’ve got to find them first,” he says.

“I think I know where Orpheus is,” Hermes says. “Hades will keep him locked up in the dark. Nothing could break my son’s will as well as a dim, lonely cell.”

“If you’d forgotten, I’m the kid’s father,” Apollo replies.

“Are you kidding me? We’re doing this? Right n-” a flash of silver catches Hermes’s eye from the top of a factory roof. “Get down!” He shouts, throwing Apollo to the ground. The arrow whizzes over their heads.

“What was tha-”

“We need to get to cover. Come on!” Hermes glances at the archer, notching a second arrow. He grabs Apollo’s hand and runs in erratic zig zags towards the bowman.

The archer releases his arrow. It flies past them. He draws another. Hermes hears it fly past him. Apollo yelps. He doesn’t look back. “Almost there!” They dive to the factory wall, out of range.

“Are you hit?” Hermes pants.

“That bastard, using archery against the god of-”

“Would you give me a straight answer?” Hermes shouts.

“It only grazed my cheek.” He wipes the golden blood away. “But the bowman is dead.” Apollo stands.

“Would you think? For two seconds, Apollo?” There’s a flash of golden light and a bow appears in the god’s hands.

Hermes pinches the bridge of his nose. “I can’t die anyway.” Apollo winks and steps back into the line of fire. He pulls his bow taught and releases it with a twang. There’s a grunt from overhead.

“What can I say?” he shrugs. “I’m a good shot!”

“Apollo, we’re being hunted down. Can you take a second to consider the severity of our situation?”

Apollo rolls his eyes. “We should keep moving. Thanks to you, we’re almost there.”

Hermes sighs. “You’re right. But keep your eyes open.”

“Of course.” Apollo pulls Hermes to his feet. “So you know where Orpheus is. What about Hyacinthus?”

“There’s only two possibilities. He’s working in the mines or in one of those factories or Hades discovered he had a connection to you and locked him up.”

Apollo bites his lip. “It would take us an eternity to search every one of these damned mines. And if Hades finds him first...”

“So we check the prisons first. Here’s the deal. If I find Orpheus, you’ve gotta help me keep him alive. If he ends up back at the Styx, I’d never find him,” Hermes says. “If you find Hyacinthus, we’ll protect him, but I’ve still got to find my son.”

Apollo nods reluctantly.

“We’re close. That tower is where Hades spends most of his time. The prison is at its base.”

——————————————

Orpheus’s ears ring. He’s slumped against the back wall of his cell, the knife still in his stomach. He’d managed to tilt his head to the side to prevent himself from choking on his own blood. Still, his breaths are uneven and when he coughs, the pain racks his entire body.

It’s been an hour, he thinks, maybe more. Hyacinthus in the neighboring cell had spoken up a few times, but his words had spun together in Orpheus’s mind, incomprehensible. When the cell door opens, he hardly moves. If Hades is here to finish him off, it won’t take much.

“Orpheus!” A familiar voice exclaims. He lifts his head a little. The man runs to his side. Orpheus coughs.

“Baby, I’ve got you. I’ve got you. We’re gonna get you home. Eurydice’s waiting.”

“H-Hermes.” Orpheus gasps.

“Lay down. You’re alright.” Hermes rests his head on a folded up jacket. “Apollo, help me out!” Orpheus doesn’t have the energy to open his eyes.

“Stay with me, Orpheus. Hang on. Please,” Hermes begs. He places both hands over Orpheus’s stomach and presses hard. Orpheus gasps in pain.

“If we remove the knife,” Apollo says, “he’ll bleed faster. But it’ll be easier to stop the bleeding, so it’s our only choice. Hold him down.”

He grips the handle of the blade and pulls, slowly and methodically. Orpheus yelps in pain. Hermes holds him to the ground.

“Keep his head to the side. I’ll get the bleeding to stop.”

Hermes lays Orpheus’s head in his lap. “You’re okay. Look at me, Orpheus.”

He does. “Hermes...” he whispers.

Hermes nods. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“H-Hades will find us... and...” Orpheus is cut off by his own coughing.

“Don’t waste your breath. Hades won’t lay a finger on you. You’re okay.”

“I... I can’t sing,” he studders.

“It doesn’t matter, Orpheus. Focus on me.”

“Hades... Hades said I’m alive.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“But...” he coughs again.

“We’ll talk once we’re out of here. Apollo, any progress?”

“Yeah,” he responds, “it’s a deep cut, but survivable. Don’t let him pass out.”

Hermes nods. Orpheus is trembling against him. “I’m so tired...” he whispers.

“I know, Orpheus. But you can’t go to sleep.”

“W-why?” Orpheus asks.

“Because we’re not quite home yet. When we are, you can sleep in a nice, warm bed.” Orpheus smiles. “Eurydice will be there when you wake up. It’ll be springtime. You remember spring? We picked flowers together when you were little. We stayed up late and watched the stars.”

He nods slightly. “I love you, Orpheus. And I’ll always be here. So will Eurydice. You’re never gonna feel like this again.”

“Got it! The bleeding’s stopped.” Apollo exclaims. “He’ll heal quickly, but he needs better medicine than I can give him down here. I’m going to look for Hyacinthus. If you need me, I won’t go far.”

Hermes nods.

“H-Hyacinthus?” Orpheus mutters. “I know the name... the next cell to the right..”

Apollo beams. On Orpheus’s instructions, he finds the right door. Inside, a young man leans with his ear against the wall. “Hyacinthus!” Apollo cries.

The prisoner turns. He blinks. “You...”

Apollo kneels at his side and pulls him into his arms. “We’re not doing that again, okay? You’re never leaving again.”

“Apollo?”

“Yes! Yes, it’s me!”

Hyacinthus sinks into his embrace. “I missed you,” he whispers.

Apollo lets him go. “Are you hurt?”

“Not badly. But the cell over...”

“I know, he’ll be fine.”

“I think I broke my nose,” Hyacinthus says.

Apollo lifts his chin and examines him. “Yes, you did. Your breathing’s rough, love.”

“It’s the smog down here.”

“No, I think you’ve broken your ribs. Take a deep breath.”

Hyacinthus winces.

“Broken. You’ll be okay. We’ll get you out of here, but you’ve gotta be careful, promise?”

“Hades will never let us go.”

“He’s not going to find out we’ve left.” He helps Hyacinthus to his feet. “Lean against me. Walk carefully. With Hermes’s help, the walk isn’t all that far.”

Hermes craddles Orpheus in his arms. “I... I can’t walk,” Orpheus sobs.

“I’m going to carry you. We’ll be on the train out of here in less than day, kiddo.”

“What if... what if he catches us?”

“He isn’t going to catch us. You ready?”

Orpheus nods. He’s light as a feather when Hermes scoops him into his arms. “You tell me if you feel like you’re gonna fall asleep, okay?”

“Okay.” Orpheus promises.

#hadestown au #hadestown fanfic #hadestown #therainbowwrites

7 notes · View notes

angelicthor · 5 years

Text

billion dollar man - part 8

pairing: tony stark x reader

summary: after mounting bills and debt cause you to look at alternative means of making money, you’re thrown into a whole different kind of life when one of the most famous billionaires on the block offers to be your sugar daddy, of course in exchange for a different from of payment. non-superhero au.

warnings/genre: +18 only, sugarbaby/daddy relationship, angst + mentions of ptsd

masterlist | billion dollar man masterlist

a/n: feedback is always appreciated! pretty please

When you woke again a few hours later, the sun was filtering through the curtains and flooding the room, casting a warm glow about the place, but it did nothing to brighten your mood. You couldn’t forget the sight of Tony’s face contorted in agony as he was trapped in his nightmare, body thrashing about the bed as he struggled to fight of the monsters plaguing his sleep. You knew you couldn’t just ignore what had happened, no matter how much Tony would try and push the issue aside and with a heavy sigh, you threw the covers off you and went in search of Tony.

You found him in the kitchen, serving up your breakfast from the various containers Pepper had dropped off today but even from the doorway you could see the tension in his shoulders and back; he knew you were there and he was going to try his hardest to deflect from the elephant in the room, much to your chagrin.

“Mornin’ Gorgeous, want some coffee?” Tony asked in a chipper tone and if you didn’t know any better you would have believed it. But as it was, given all the time you two had spent together, you had undoubtedly noticed many things about Tony Stark. Like the fact that his voice strains ever so slightly, like it had just done, whenever he faked cheerfulness with clients and business associates at the galas you two would attend.

Never before had he used it with you.

“Tony.”

“Pepper pretty much got the usual, so I’ll serve you a bit of everything, that ok?” Tony kept his head cast down as he flat-out ignored you, pretending to busy himself with the food in front of him.

“Tony. Please,” You pleaded, watching as he froze, chest rising and falling heavily as his eyes avoided your concerned stare, “Please don’t ignore this, we need to talk about what happened last night.”

“I’m sorry, alright; I didn’t mean to scare you, it won’t happen again. I promise. Can we please just forget it?” Tony begged you, eyes frantic as he took in a shuddering breath, barely holding the tears at bay.

Confusion flooded you at Tony’s pleas; why did he think he’d scared you? Why was he even apologising?

Slowly approaching him as if he was a wounded animal you cautiously stretched your arm out to him, watching with bated breath as he stood shaking, tremors wracking his body until you finally touched him, hand gripping his forearm and running up the length of his arm soothingly. Reassured he wouldn’t shrug you off, you moved to wrap your other hand around his neck, both hands cradling his jaw and forcing him to look at you.

“Tony what are you apologising for? I’m not and I was never scared of you – I’m scared for you. I’m not going anywhere, ok? I promise you that, but you need to address this; you can’t just brush it aside, it isn’t healthy.”

Tony still remained silent, conflicted between listening to your advice or going with along with the same method of self-protection he’d used his whole life; avoiding the problem in the hope that it would somehow magically solve itself.

You watched the internal battle rage on in his mind, the struggle evident in his eyes and with a sigh you relented, moving closer to press your forehead against his, his arms quickly wrapping around your waist to keep you close to him. “You don’t have to tell me Tony but you’ve trusted me this far, why stop now? Just know that no matter what, I’m not going anywhere. And you could never scare me.”

Pressing a soft kiss to his chapped lips, you moved away from him to continue dishing out breakfast for the both of you, humming to the song playing on the radio as you watched from the corner of your eye: Tony moved across the kitchen to sit at the table, clearly mulling over what you had told him as he lost himself in his thoughts, so far removed from the present moment you wondered if he would ever return.

Placing his plate in front of him, you squeezed his hand that was resting on the table reassuringly and Tony offered you a lazy smile as way of thanks but you could see from the dazed expression still painted on his face that he was still working through your advice and so you both ate in comfortable silence, the only sounds in the room the radio still playing and the slight scratch of cutlery on plates.

When you had both finished, you picked up the empty and plates and took them over to the dishwasher, loading it up and turning it on as Tony still sat there staring into his cup of coffee as if it could provide him with the answers he wanted. Knowing this was a decision he had to make himself, you pressed a kiss to the crown of his head before going back to Tony’s room to shower and change.

As the hot water soothed your muscles, your thoughts uncontrollably turned to Tony. How could they not? You weren’t even sure if you had stopped thinking about him since last night. This was all so different to what you had known before, far more damaged then you had ever known him to be, than he had ever let you see him be. You wondered just how tiring it was to pretend you were ok all the time when in reality you were one small stone’s throw away from crumbling under the pressure of everything.

Why Tony was having these nightmares was one problem but why he felt he had to hide such a thing was something else entirely and you knew that to help him would require him to be honest, if not with you, then someone. Preferably a trained professional who could help him in ways you simply couldn’t. But you also were aware of the fact that if Tony was going to share this with you, then it would have to be on his terms when he was ready. Forcing him to tell you anything would do no good, of that you were certain.

By the time you had finished in the shower and changed into fresh clothes for the day, Tony was back to being his usual self as if nothing had happened last night or this morning and although part of you was disappointed you kept hope that he would reach out to you at some point.

It was another week of nightmares before you finally got your wish.

There had been no other instances where Tony had violently woken himself again but you had taken to staying awake to watch him sleep, noting the slight twitch of his eyes under his lids, the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the sheen of sweat that clung to his skin and knowing that he was trapped in whatever horrors his mind was showing him. You wanted to prove to Tony that you genuinely wanted to help and so you lay awake, waiting until the terrors he saw in his sleep finally woke him and you could be there to wrap your arms around him and comfort him until his body ceased to shake.

Tonight was the same as the others, Tony’s face grimacing in distress as his hands fisted the sheets beneath him, you traced the furrow of his brow with the featherlight touch of one fingertip, trying to ease away the worries there without startling him.

Slowly rousing himself, you watched as Tony glanced around in confusion before realising where he was, turning to you with wild, tear-filled eyes as he sorted reality from his dreams. You wasted no time in pulling him to you, wrapping your arms around his quivering form, heart-breaking as you felt his hands clutch at you, the wet drops of tears staining your skin as he broke apart in your embrace.

“It came out of nowhere,” He murmured so quiet you weren’t sure you were even supposed to hear him. You simply remained silent, letting him tell you what he needed to in his own time, stroking his back in reassurance that you were listening; “It was just meant to be a simple weapons demonstration, everything was fine and then we were in the hummer and the firing started.”

Tony took in a sharp breath and your eyes widened in realisation that this was the day he was taken hostage in Afghanistan all those months ago. “There was a soldier in there with me, wanted a photo – God he must have been little more than a kid, had his whole life ahead of him until a fucking bullet took it away.”

He pulled away from you, laying on his back and staring up at the ceiling, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes as if it could purge him of the memory; “I don’t know why, instinct I guess, but I tried to run, tried to find Rhodey but before I could a missile was launched,” He paused to take in a shuddering breath and you leaned over to lock your fingers through his, “And it had my name on it, ‘Stark Enterprises’ in big bold letters. They had my weapons, terrorists had my weapons and I still don’t know how they managed to fucking get them.”

“Anyway; the blast went off, buried shrapnel in my heart and I was patched up by a doctor, Yinsen, who was also being held hostage. I had to be kept alive by a car battery for four days until I could design something more portable with a box of scrap metal. They wanted me to make more weapons for them, they wanted to cause as much death and destruction as possible but me and Yinsen made a plan, we tricked them, used the weapons we designed for ourselves.”

“We were nearly out when we heard more soldiers coming and we knew we couldn’t fight them all off, so Yinsen sacrificed himself without a second thought and I managed to escape. Rhodes, he found me a little while after that somewhere in the desert and I was taken home. Eight hours of surgery and the battery that was powering me was finally able to be removed, shrapnel too, now all I’ve got is this scar and the nightmares to remind me that it was even there at all.”

You bit down on your lower lip to stop it from wobbling, tears stinging your eyes, threatening to fall at any moment as you fought to keep them at bay, remaining focused on Tony as he finally told someone what had been weighing his mind down for so long now.

“All those people,” Tony choked on his words, letting out a solemn snort before continuing with a thick voice, “All those people died because of me, of what I created, because people were so willing to kill them just to cause more killing. That’s when I realised what my legacy was; it was never about technology or engineering, never about helping the U.S., hell it was never even about the soldiers who’s hands I put weapons in. It was about death and the price I charged to cause it, I don’t know who sold under the table to those terrorists, but they opened my eyes. It doesn’t matter whose hands they’re in, the fact that they’re out there is enough, it’s a never-ending cycle that I no longer wanted to be a part of.”

“I can’t shake it, every time I try and sleep I’m back there seeing everyone die in front of me, knowing that it was because of me. Every time I hear a bang I flinch and panic just seizes me. I’m broken Y/N, I can’t function anymore and now that I’m not producing weapons, now after all these years I’ve finally grown a conscience, I’m no good to anyone.”

Unable to take any more of his self-loathing, you moved to straddle Tony’s waist giving him no chance to escape and forcing him to look at you. “Tony, please, please believe me – none of what happened is your fault. You didn’t sell those weapons to terrorists; you can’t hold yourself responsible for other people’s actions ‘cause it only takes away their accountability. I’m worried about you Tony, all of this is starting to take its toll on you, it’s not healthy. And I’m not the only one that notices even if I’m the only one that knows why; people care about you Tony, you have friends, you have support you just need to trust them enough to be open with them. I’m by your side Tony, you know I am, but you need to see a therapist about this, there’s only so much I can do for you and you need more than what I can give.”

“A therapist? I can’t-”

“Can’t what? Tony you’ve been through a traumatic experience and it’s clearly effecting you more than you care to admit. If you broke your leg you wouldn’t keep walking on it without seeing a doctor so why the hell would your mental health be any different?” You were losing your temper, voice rising with every word you spoke, annoyance growing at Tony’s refusal to see that this was actually a serious matter that would require professional help, hoping beyond hope that some tough love would finally help you get through to him.

Just as he opened his mouth to give you some other bullshit excuse, the emotional weight of the past week caught up to you, failing to stifle your sobs, tears staining your cheeks as you took in a shuddering breath. “Please Tony,” you choked out, the thought of his torment going untreated causing your stomach to twist into knots.

The sight of your obvious distress caused Tony to pause, brows furrowing together as he observed just how deep your concern for him ran, hating the fact that you were crying because of him. Swallowing thickly, Tony slowly nodded as he pulled you down to him, your head resting on his chest as his arms wrapped tightly around you, one hand running through your hair as the other traced patterns on your hip. “Ok, ok I’ll call someone tomorrow morning. I promise. Just, go back to sleep ok? We’ll deal with it tomorrow I swear but we both need sleep first.”

Sighing, you nodded your consent as you burrowed your face further into Tony’s chest, body draped over his as your fingers clutched at the vest he was wearing, afraid that when you closed your eyes he’d slip away from you and try to pretend that none of this had happened like he had done before.

The friendship you had developed with Tony over the past few months together was hard to define; you weren’t dating, everything that you two did in public was a pretence, an elaborate show in order to fool the world into thinking that Tony Stark could handle a long-term relationship - contrary to popular belief - but that didn’t mean there was nothing between you.

In the months you spent together, you had starting to get to know Tony on a much more personal level then many others got to see; maybe it was due to the amount of time you spent together or maybe it was because Tony simply couldn’t keep the charade up all the time and considering he had pretty much bought your silence it was presumably safe to lower the mask he constantly wore. Maybe he didn’t even realise but you saw him, the real him, the one that few other people ever had the honour of witnessing. The one that doubled down on his work when he was stressed, the one that made sure Pepper and Happy always had enough time and funds to plan their wedding stress-free, the one that was constantly checking up on Rhodey and his upcoming baby, the one that would do pretty much anything for his friends but regardless of his label of an egotistical narcissist would never let them know it was his doing.

What you couldn’t figure out was why he felt the need to hide so much of himself from people, why he had such difficulty being open with his friends, the people that loved him. Part of you worried that you concern for Tony was bordering on a line you knew you shouldn’t cross in fear that certain unwanted feelings may begin to grow for the man beside you but that small fear was drowned out by the need to help Tony, he had done so much for you and you had sworn to him to help and you were a woman of your word if nothing else.

When you woke the next morning, your heart dropped at the absence of Tony, wearily pulling yourself from under the covers in order to find him. Like always, Tony was in the kitchen sipping on his coffee as he arranged the breakfast that Pepper had brought you both onto two plates. You hesitantly walked further into the room, fearful of Tony brushing off the promise he made you last night, the thundering of your heart echoing in your ears.

“Mornin’ Gorgeous,” Tony hummed, placing your plate and a cup of coffee on the table before sitting down with his own as a sense of déjà vu threatened to consume you whole. You mindlessly followed him, trying to stop your lower lip from trembling as you sat opposite him, brows creased together as you watched him eat as if last night had never happened.

You couldn’t even lift our fork to your mouth, the idea of eating even a bite making you feel nauseous – there was a shard a of dread buried deep in you last night that feared this would happen, but you didn’t expect it to feel like such a betrayal. Tony had promised you that he would call someone, did that really mean so little to him? Did you mean so little to him?

Tony paused his eating, watching as you gazed off into space, gnawing on your bottom lip the unease you felt so evident in your eyes. He knew what you were thinking right now, and he couldn’t blame you either but after seeing how open you were with him last night he knew you deserved the truth.

“I called a therapist this morning, Dr. Foster, she’s got quite the professional reputation. I have an appointment for tomorrow,” Tony spoke with a hushed voice, not raising his eyes from his meal as he sat rigid across from you.

You almost missed his confession, his soft voice nearly drowned out him the humming in your ears. When you finally registered what he had said, your head snapped up, eyes wide in incredulity before relief flooded you, a dopey smile on your face as you reached across the table and took his free hand in yours, giving him a reassuring squeeze as your thumb traced circles on the back, his eyes flittering from his food to the motion.

“Thank you, Tony.”

You dropped the whole issue after that and had your breakfast together as you normally would, talking about your plans for the day and about when you would next be needed to make a public appearance, except this time you didn’t once let go of Tony’s hand.

Although he didn’t say it Tony was grateful for you letting the matter go wanting nothing more than to regain his sense of normality, but he knew deep down that you were right, something needed to be done about the panic attacks and night terrors that were getting all the more frequent, he didn’t know how much more longer he could last with how little sleep he was getting.

It was going to be a long road of recovery; therapy would help but Tony still had a lot of emotional issues he needed to sort through and you were aware of how hard that was going to be for him. But you’d be by his side every step of the way. You were, after all, a woman of your word.

a/n: i don’t have a tag list but if you want alerts please follow @angelicthorwrites and turn on notifications

#tony stark x reader #tony x reader #tony stark x you #tony stark x y/n #tony stark series #angelicthorwrites

345 notes · View notes

the-red-angel · 4 years

Text

Death, comes for us...

The sound of thunder rolls across the sky, as the pitter patter of rain falls upon the roof of the house. Vincent Dranoth a man known by many, A man loved by all, and hated by some lies upon his back, the jade green eyes gazing upon the ceiling...unmoving. Drip...drip...drip...a single sound that filled his ear, a leak drip...drip...drip...Vincent sighs gently, only one thought rings out through his abnormally quiet mind, "Yet another issue I have to fix...another leak in this world I will repair...". He closes his eyes attempting to rest, but with the silence in his mind would be there and only one thing filled it. Drip...drip...drip...the water kept falling, as another crack of thunder reverberated in the room. The lightning lighting the room in a flash before fading to darkness once more, Drip...drip...drip...the sound was deafening The human turned his body away from the noise to find something to distract him from the sound.

Vincent's eyes fall upon a familiar face, Livian...Dranorth and for those who knew what she truly was...Livigosa Dranorth. Her face pale and beautiful, her eyes closed and chest slowly rising and falling, she was at rest, quiet, content, and happy...a smile tugs at her lips even in her sleep. A goddess among mortals, a creature of unparalleled power and pride, his wife, his love, his mate, and his drake. The women Vincent would give everything for, there was nothing in this world that he would not give....nothing. Livian was his; and he was her forever more. Never apart in life, never apart in death...together forever, his mind settled once more....quiet over taking his thoughts again. Drip...drip...drip the liquid kept dripping from the tiny crack in the room, yet another deafening crack of thunder as the lightning kept the room a lit, before shadows overtook the bedroom.

Vincent's body shifted once more laying on his back, the jade eyes meeting the ceiling once more the water ever present, the dripping drowning out the rain across the roof, his eyes blinking, the human had been restless unable to sleep, something had been plaguing his silent mind. A dream that kept him awake something that his mind could not fathom, something that was ever present in it, a thing that he could not put into his words. The Rogue moved a hand across his body and stealthily removed the covers that layed across his body. He moved his legs first carefully placing the feet upon the wooden floor his body soon to follow as he was now sitting at the edge on his bed, muscular body hunched over as Vincent's elbows were on the top of his knees, hands running across his face. His mind still silent as the rain as not stopped, and with it...Drip...drip...drip...

Vincent was sitting trying to reach a conclusion of why his mind was still so silent as if a thought had never have manifested its self within him, he had always had something there to keep him company, the second personality one who was created through sheer trauma. Lanathor, the cold killer, the assassin without emotion, despite not agreeing with his methods Vincent has always sought council within his own mind, in times of hardship the comfort that the stronger him would be in his mind to aid him. It was gone, silence remained as once more, drip...drip...drip the noise of the water filled his ears. The human rose to his feet his body his nude body striding silently across the room, not a sound was heard, with the rain crashing against the roof the foot steps being drowned out.

Vincent reached the desk that was across his room, the human gripped a candle and with a wave of his hand it was alight, a simple cantrip he did this for three more sticks of wax the Witt being set a blaze with a subtle flame just enough to a light the surrounding area with a orange glow. The human moved papers around engineering schematics, and pieces of art that he has done in the past, he moved in front of him a blank sheet of paper, his hands move to grip a utensil for writing and dipped it into the ink. The jade eyes staring at the paper Vincent wanted to attempt to put his dream into words...but the silence still there, the memory of it a haze, unable to remember or draw upon the words to describe it. Drip...drip...drip, the liquid came almost as if it was heavier, thicker, Vincent halted for a moment and looked behind him as if he was intently listening to the deafening liquid that plagued his ears, before he shook his head bringing the eyes upon the paper once more.

Vincent placed the ink covered pen and began to write, drawing on anything that he remembers, anything that comes to mind. After what he thought was a hour or two of sheer writing, drawing, and sketching the Jade eyes refocus on the paper and it was blank, the pen still on the paper where he placed it, but no progress was made. Drip...drip...drip, the sound came more viscous in nature, the rogue brushed it off as the wood it was falling upon became damp and thus muddled the sound. The rogue stared at the paper once more, and with his mind silent he closed his eyes and focused upon the liquid the was dripping...the one sound that had claimed his ears over the others, it was then that once he accepted the sound in his mind did the dreams return....

Vincent slowly opened his eyes the landscape in-front of him changed, no longer was the mortal in his room with the love of his life and his child they bore. Vincent was in a desolate realm, the sky dark with these thick black smog like clouds blotting any light to reach the floor, his eyes trail down to the masses of boulders and rocks, no real architecture could be seen only blacken stone of jagged rocks leading him in one direction, The rogue was no longer nude Vincent was covered in thick woolen robes that covered his form head to toe, but no urge was made to remove them, he was comforted in knowing he was not bare in this uncharted land.

With the sound of foot falls on stone the human moved his way across the land Jade eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of life, architecture or otherwise. The mortal was walking for what seemed like miles, the path he chosen to walk upon twisting and turning, raising and falling, it wasn't until three hours of walking with a steady pace did the human spot anything different. Tombstones, one after the other they came into view, his eyes scanned them reading the name that was upon them, non the human recognized but there was many, if he were to guess, thousands upon thousands of them. All in different shapes and sizes each with a different first name, and some with sharing last names families perhaps, he was unsure.

Still did Vincent tread the new tombstone ridden path, his pace remained steady as he glided across the blacked ground the path ended with a hill and a singular tombstone atop the cliff. Vincent's eyes focused upon it, as it seems the path way had lead him here, the end of this forsaken land with no signs of life, upon reaching the hill the human approached the large grave marker and started to inspect it, the words were unclear, his Jade eyes unable to acquire a focus upon the words. The Rogue brought his right hand up and rub his eyes his voice muttering under his breath "No, I am so close...come on..", and attempted to scan the marker once more his left hand reached out to the smooth stone, fingers gliding across the words engraved in the stone as his eyes began to understand the words upon the stone.

Vincent began to read the name out loud, he knows not why, but he did so anyway a deep and smooth voice rang out in the silent air "Cedric", He turned his head as he knew this name, but many are named Cedric nothing more then a coincidence he continued to read the last name, his eyes widen as he scans the surname. His voice still with the deep and smooth tone "Dranorth.....Cedric Dranorth, my father...why is my fathers grave here...". Vincent's heart begins to pound in his chest as he turns around and scan the other graves that are below him the thousands and thousands of tombstones that blanketed the horizon as far as his eyes can see, the realization hits the human harder then anything has hit him before, these are all that he has killed in cold blood.

As soon as Vincent was able to make that connection his body wracked with pain, his eyes shot open as the jade iris were shooting back and forth scanning for what was causing this pain. He fell to his knees breath heavy as his skin felt as it was on fire, both of his hands moved to remove the robes upon his body trying to free the fire that was raging over his skin, the robs were tossed aside and all that remained was the nude form of Vincent. The human gazed upon his skin, as torment racked his mind once more, the wild eyes of the man gazed upon his skin as a crimson mist was pouring from every scar upon his body as if the human was being drained of his essence, his hands moved in fear as he tried to move but instead was caught upon something the ringing of metal groaned against his resistance. The Jade eyes frantically searching to what is causing this as metal cuffs were around his wrist and ankles holding the human taught, unable to move.

Another flash of crimson mist seeps from his scars, causing the human to cry out in agony and suffering. Vincent rapidly moves his head around to the surrounding the tombstones still there, the innocents he has murdered plaguing his thoughts and emotion, he blinked and they were all gone, no longer was Vincent in a desolate wasteland of tombstones, his eyes search the room but all he could see was blackness the chains still holding the human down, the scars a faint glow of red still present upon them, as the crimson mist was extracted once more and another cry of agony was heard the light of his essence being drawn out shows a sculpted room of the same blacken stone he was walking on, formed and crafted.

With heaving of his breath Vincent fought against the chains his muscles straining, as yet one more of his life essence was drained from the Human this time words came with his cry, his voice full of pain and anguish "Livian!", the one person on his mind, the one person who has kept him going in his life, the little light in his heart. He was panting as he pushed against the chains once more "Livigosa! my love....wait for me...", the human screamed out, as the skin glowed red as yet another agony inflicting torture was being charged up before the sound of thunder boomed, Vincent's eyes shot open, his face resting against the desk with only one sound that stood out beyond the rest. Drip...drip...drip...the water was once again falling from the ceiling.

Not long after Vincent opened his eyes another sound filled his ears, one of comfort. Alysa his daughter started to cry, instinctively Vincent rose to his feet, stumbling only slightly as he gazed down and a very, faint red glow was emanating from the scars, before fading away, the Jade eyes blinking as a coldness shot through his body, causing it to shudder. Vincent shook his head shaking the feeling off and heading over to Alysa, his eyes scan his child making sure she was okay and it seems she was started awake from the cracking of thunder. Vincent and Livian a pair of unlikely beings brought together to create a miracle that was named, Alysa. She was crying, the booming thunder must have awoken her, Vincent speaks in a low voice as to not wake Livian from her beautiful slumber "Shh shh, Alysa my ayana, your father is here worry not my child for I will watch over you eternally...".

A smile was upon Vincent's face as he cares for his child, the sound of rain and thunder being drowed out, slowly but surely Alysa was calmed and gently rocked back to sleep her face a smile upon it as she was sent back into a restful slumber. Drip...drip...drip...the sound echoed out, The human looked up towards where the sound was the coming from the droping of water from the ceiling.moving across the room Vincent grabbed a bucket and made his way to the leak and stopped just before it, placing the bucket under it, almost immediately was the noise snuffed out, his jade eyes gaze upon the leak, and what he saw in the...dream that he witnessed, the pain felt so real, the agony and anguish...the repentance for the souls he murder in cold blood, the repentance he was feeling for killing his own father. he moves a hand out and lets the water fall upon his hand drip...drip...drip, he pulled it back and gazes upon it, running his thumb over the liquid. Another crack of thunder was heard as yet another flash of light filled the room, Vincent's Jade eyes flickers to a vibrant sapphire as the water that was in his hand becomes viscous and crimson, smearing the blood across the skin. His mind which was empty that not even Lanathor was present begins to fill with this ever present dread, as the emotionless voice of his other personality rings out clear as any other day "Death...comes for us".

1 note · View note

ashann7 · 5 years

Text

Pride & Glory - Part 9

They were Strucker’s first success story, but I - I was his pride and glory.

Series Masterlist

A soft knocking on the door woke Y/N from her sleep. She carefully untangled her limbs from Pietro’s and left the bed. A small smile formed on her face as she looked down at the sleeping man. She knew she loved him long ago, but after losing him completely, the adoration she felt was nearly overwhelming.

Another soft knock pulled her from her daze and she quickly grabbed a silk robe from her closet and made her way to the door.

Y/N quietly pulled the door open just far enough to see Wanda standing outside. A smile grew on Y/N’s face upon seeing the Scarlet Witch and she quickly opened the door further and pulled her into an embrace.

After a moment, Wanda pulled away, her face suddenly serious.

“Everyone’s awake and they’ve been talking… I’ve been trying to keep their minds from wondering, but I think it might be best if you go down and talk to them.”

Y/N’s smile faded as she nodded in agreement. “You’re right,” she began as she stepped back into her room and pressed the door closed. “I’ll be right down.”

Before Y/N could shut it completely, Wanda reached her hand out and caught the door.

Y/N raised her eyebrows and Wanda smiled once more.

“I missed you, Y/N, and I’m glad you’re back.”

The smile returned to Y/N’s face at the witch’s comment. “I missed you too, Wanda.”

With that, she pushed the door the rest of the way closed and turned to return to the bedroom.

“I missed you too, you know,” a sleepy, Sokovian voice spoke from within the room.

Y/N looked to see Pietro now awake and leaning against the headboard, his arms propped casually behind his head.

“Oh did you? I didn’t realize.” Y/N said through a smirk and sent Pietro a quick wink.

As Y/N turned to head into the bathroom, Pietro was instantly in front of her, his hand toying delicately with the silk bow holding the robe closed. “Perhaps you should come back to bed and I can show you just how much I missed you… again.”

Y/N’s smile grew and she rose up onto her tip-toes to plant a small kiss onto the corner of his mouth. “As great as that sounds, I need to get downstairs. Natasha’s missing and the team…” Y/N sighed before forcing a smile and looking up at Pietro. “The least I can give them is an explanation.”

Pietro’s shoulders slumped slightly in disappointment, but a small smile formed on his face. He removed his hand from the tempting bow and placed it, instead, on the side of her head. Y/N’s eyes fluttered closed as he gently pulled her forward and placed a lingering kiss on her forehead.

“I’ll be right there with you, princeza.”

---

The team all gathered in one of the meeting rooms within the tower. Bruce and Tony took a break from the cradle and Clint begrudgingly momentarily stopped his search for Nat.

All of the eyes in the room were quickly turned on Pietro and Y/N as they entered. The once quiet conversations that filled the space were soon replaced with silence as the team waited for Y/N to speak.

“I remember… I remember everything.”

Y/N’s eyes locked with Steve’s and he gave her a small nod, silently encouraging her to continue.

“I grew up in a small village in Prussia. My life was normal – I had loving parents, a little brother, a-“

“Sorry, I gotta ask,” Tony interrupted. “How, exactly, did you turn into a lab rat?” Steve shot Tony a stern look, but Tony simply shrugged. “Oh come on - Everyone’s wondering it.”

“It’s fine, you have a right to know.” Y/N took a deep breath before continuing. “When I was 14, an influenza virus spread through many parts of Prussia. My little brother was the first one to get sick and my mom started showing symptoms soon after. Mom begged my dad to take get me out of the village and somewhere safe.” Y/N paused, a dry chuckle leaving her. “I was so mad at her for making me leave. I didn’t understand…”

“My father took me to Sokovia where he believed I would be safe. He left me with some family friends and returned to finds blockades on the road - our village, like many others, was quarantined and he had no way of getting back to them.”

“The quarantine lasted nearly 18 months, but the second the barriers were removed my father and I were back home.” Y/N brow furrowed as the memory played in her brain.

“The house was empty. We searched for them and eventually found that my brother had died just days after we had fled. He was so little and the virus just…” Y/N shook her head to keep the tears from falling and instead continued to speak. “My mother, about two months after him. Alone.”

Despite her attempted control, Y/N’s voice broke slightly as she spoke the list word and she quickly cleared her throat in recovery and took a deep breath as she continued with her story.

“You have to understand, my dad was a good man, but what happened to them, he never stopped blaming himself. He started obsessing over different diseases and experimental vaccines and when I asked him to stop and just be my dad again, he shipped me off to boarding school. He drove himself mad trying to make amends and I guess that’s when he found Hyrda.”

Bruce’s brow was furrowed as the listened intently to Y/N’s words.

“Strucker…”

At his muttered interruption, each of the team members turned their heads in his direction, further confusion clear on their faces.

Bruce’s face lit up as he connected all of the dots in his head. “You’re Baron Strucker’s daughter…”

Y/N nodded her head, confirming his claim.

“After the tesseract found its way into his hands, my father brought me back to Sokovia and showed me his plans… I knew that he was troubled when he sent me away. I knew that he was struggling, but I had no idea what he had become – a monster.”

Y/N’s gaze connected with Steve’s, his brow deep set as he focused on her words, but his eyes still soft and encouraging.

“It didn’t matter that he was the only family I had left – I felt that I had lost him the moment he sent me off anyway. So, when I saw what he was doing – the way he was devaluing human life – I told him I was leaving and that I never wanted to see him again. But he didn’t let me go. The moment I tried to leave I was grabbed by guards and locked up. It didn’t matter that I was well cared for and kept comfortable. I was my father’s prisoner … Hydra’s prisoner. I thought it was because he feared I would expose everything they were doing, but I was wrong.”

As Y/N’s voice waivered slightly, a warm hand wrapped itself around her own and she looked up to see Pietro smiling down at her reassuringly.

“Wanda and Pietro weren’t his first test subjects,” Y/N continued. “Not even close. There were many that failed and died before them, but the two of them survived. Pietro gaining the ability to manipulate his body, and Wanda her mind.”

Y/N’s gaze fell to the floor and Pietro gave her hand another reassuring squeeze. “With two successful subjects, my father felt comfortable moving forward…”

A tear silently fell down Y/N’s cheek and she quickly reached up to wipe it away with her free hand.

“I begged him not to, but he wouldn’t listen to reason. I’ll spare you the gory details, but he combined the individual methods used on Pietro and Wanda, and he used it on me. When all was said and done, I was able to manipulate both my mind and my body. Thus, becoming Hydra’s stolz und ruhm (pride and glory),” Y/N’s voice was filled with disdain as she quoted her father in their native tongue.

“The twins were his first success story. But I” A dry laugh escaped her mouth. “I was his pride & glory and before I knew what had happened, I was one of Hydra’s favorite weapons, too.”

As she finished speaking, Clint approached her and pulled her into a hug. “Whatever you did – whatever they made you do, it doesn’t matter now. You’re one of us.” He pulled back slightly, keeping his arms firmly on her biceps.

“I mean it. I’ve seen the look on your face before and I watched that very look tear my best friend apart for entirely too long. You are not a monster; do you hear me?”

Although her lip quivered, she nodded in response.

Y/N’s attention was drawn away by the conference room door opening and she felt her heart sink as she watched the captain’s back as he left the room.

Excusing herself from the rest of the team, Y/N followed after him and found him in the hallway, not far from the doorway, leaning on the wall for support.

She cautiously took a place next to him on the wall, though neither one said, or did anything to acknowledge the other’s presence.

The door opened again causing Y/N to look up as Clint entered the hallway. He offered her another small smile before his eyes fell on Steve whose eyes were still glued to the floor and his brow knit in deep thought.

Clint’s departure to continue searching for Natasha left Tony and Bruce alone in the conference room with the twins; a situation Tony was all too happy to take advantage of.

“So let’s talk about the earthquake last night.”

Pietro’s nostrils flared and his fists clenched as Tony spoke. He had spent more than half of his life hating the man – that kind of rage doesn’t go away overnight.

Sensing her brother’s sudden mood swing, Wanda quickly spoke.

“A nightmare,” she simply offered.

Tony nodded slowly and absentmindedly stroked his goatee as he thought over her short response.

“Right… So let me know if I’m off base here, but nightmares generally consist of a bit of tossing and turning, maybe some screams,” Tony’s features feigned a sympathetic look as he turned to the other scientist, “and in extreme cases bed wetting. Right Banner?”

Bruce only rolled his eyes before Tony began to speak again. “Touchy subject, I assume.”

His attention quickly turned back to the twins, “what I’m saying is I don’t buy it. And I suggest you start offering real explanations before my bedwetting buddy here,” he jabbed a thumb in Bruce’s direction, “turns green.”

Pietro had heard enough and quickly stood face to face with the man he still held disdain for.

“You think that you can just threaten us and we will tell you everything? We are not afraid of you, Mr. Stark, nor your green friend. My sister alone proved that she could handle him, no?”

“Pietro!” Wanda scolded; quickly placing herself between the two men.

She sent her twin a warning glare before turning to face Tony. “They are nightmares – I’ve seen them. They began when Hydra started messing with her brain. That level of confusion – of terror… you couldn’t even imagine.”

Tony’s eyes narrowed momentarily before he resigned his skepticism. “Okay fine, so they’re nightmares That still doesn’t’ explain why my building turned into a shake weight.”

“She was trying to get away.’’ Pietro spat at him.

“I’m still sensing some hostility here – do I need to remind you that you’re currently under our protection?”

Pietro scoffed, “Protection?”

“Piet, enough.” Wanda commanded. “What happened last night has happened before. Not often, but enough for us to know what was happening as soon as it started.”

Wanda sighed and sat down. Her eyes met Pietro’s, silently telling him to sit as well. Reluctantly, he took a seat and the two Avengers joined them sitting opposite them at the conference table.

“If she ever said no or didn’t play the perfect soldier role, Hydra put her back in the chair and destroyed her memory - it’s how they keep their assets in line. After it happened for the first time, Pietro and I helped her find her way back. She would leave herself notes, do little tests, anything to help her make sure she remained her. When her memories were triggered, her conscious mind could handle the influx of memories. There were times when it was painful for her, but mentally, she could handle it. But when she’s unconscious, it overwhelms her.”

She turned to glance at Pietro before continuing. “Pietro is right, she is trying to escape it, but she is so fixated on the memories flooding her mind that she can’t focus on anything else.”

“The building shook because she was trying to get away,” Pietro repeated himself. “Because she could not focus on just teleporting herself, the building was going to go with her.”

Bruce leaned forward; a new level of interest clearly written on his face. “She could do that?”

Wanda quickly shrugged her shoulders. “She may be able to, but it has never gotten that far.”

Tony’s eyes narrowed as he turned his gaze to the speedster. “So how did you make it stop?”

“Pietro is the only one who’s been able to,” Wanda quickly answered.

“The tests Wanda was talking about. It is one of them. It pulls her back to me – er back to reality. It makes her feel safe.”

---

In the hallway, Steve finally broke the silence.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

She offered him a small smile, but didn’t speak. What would she say? It’s okay? No, what happened to her wasn’t okay. She did appreciate his gesture though and hoped that a smile would sufficiently show that.

“I have no right to ask. I shouldn’t and I know that, but I have to know-“

“Yes,” she answered before he could finish.

“What?”

“Yes, I met him. Yes, they controlled him the same way.”

He took a deep breath at her response. “Do you… Do you think that he’s still in there? Do you think he can find his way back?”

Y/N turned her body to face him, her eyes sad. “Steve… I don’t know. I only crossed paths with him once that I remember and he – he wasn’t a man. He was a machine.”

Steve’s face fell in disappointment and Y/N quickly put her hand on his bicep. “I don’t know if he is still in there, but when all of this is over, I will help you find him. I will do everything I can to help you get him back. I promise you, Steve.”

Pride & Glory - Part 10

Tags are Open

Pride & Glory Series Tag List

@imayormaynothaveanaddiction @mysteriouslysharkbait@wnygirl2012 @carrietoddrick @fangirl570 @lostsoldieronahill @a-girl-who-loves-disney @lordofblamo @devenmalone9 @sonarsyndor@thomaslefteyebrow @screamingintothevoidsass @littlewriter55@aebeessun @xlizabxthh @nouspouvonsvoler @darling-parker@theflash-trash @xxashy999xx @rarityshimmer @otaku-fangirlse@canisayhello @winter-widoww @kyleighsfavs @laterpineapple@uwu-sebastianstan @bilesxbilinskixlahey @mybarnesmyhero@mummy-woves-you @diansaprince @hoeposey @animegirlgeeky@technolilly @purple–nebula @andy-blur @avengersassemblee @scary-coconut @redryderdesigns

Permanent Tag List

@wrongxwriter @jack4xx @keepyourdreamsalive @vivideley

121 notes · View notes

aconitemare · 5 years

Text

[jaydick] Before That, And Colder

Chapter 2

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

AO3

A breeze lifts gently over the port, sweeping Dick’s dark curls from his face as he adjusts his tortoiseshell sunglasses on his nose. He smiles appreciatively at the valet who opens his door and quickly switches his call from bluetooth to phone. There’s no need for the valet to hear the frustrated growling on the other end of the line.

As he steps out, he deposits the keys to his sleek and silver Audi R8 Spyder — a recent gift from Bruce, justified as mission-based although Dick could see the quiet excitement in Bruce’s tugging lips when he led him to the Batgarage, understood this was a gift — into the valet’s open palm, along with a cash tip. “Thank you,” he mouths, hand cupping the receiver.

A recent stalker with a penchant for crowbars pushed Jason into requesting Tim’s — and, by extension, everyone else’s — help. Last night, he agreed to let Dick join Tim on surveillance; the stalker likes to leave Jason pictures of their assaults, which means it’s likely only a matter of time before they catch some distinguishing trait on camera. Unfortunately, time is of the essence and Jason is short four Outlaws and Dick gets antsy playing the waiting game. He’d rather investigate Red Hood’s Iceberg Lounge associates. He called Jason to update him on the change of plans the minute he pulled into valet and not a minute before.

“I mean it, N,” Jason insists. “Don’t come here. I don’t need bats up in my belfry. Vigilante-types make my guys nervous.”

“And you don’t?” Dick challenges. A bellhop removes a suitcase from the trunk and quickly wheels it past the shiny glass double doors, which another attendant holds open while Dick leisurely walks towards the entrance. Seagulls squawk, diving in and splashing upwards from the engulfing Atlantic. The air is cool and carries a light, briny taste.

“No, I make them terrified.”

“That’s a good thing, right?” asks Dick. “If they’re busy soiling themselves because the big bad Hood looked at them funny, they’ll hardly even notice me breathing down their necks. So to speak.”

“Wro-o-ong,” drawls Jason on the other end. Dick imagines him rolling his eyes, or maybe reclining in exasperation if he’s on a nice office chair. Jason is a casino-owner now, or something along those lines. He might even wear a tie. “Terrified is good for them. It makes them efficient. Nervous people get clammy hands and drop the ball,” explains Jason.

“They won’t even notice me,” Dick appeals. He nods politely at the door attendant and stops at the front desk for his room key, where another bellhop promptly escorts his luggage. He tries not to speculate inwardly over anyone’s salary here. He resolves to just tip very well, as the tried-and-true Wayne method of resolving one-percenter guilt.

“I’ll notice you.”

Key card in hand, Dick pushes his sunglasses over his bangs, tapping the desk in an appreciative gesture. He follows the direction the receptionist pointed out. “That’s flattering, Jase, but sounds like a you-problem,” he says absently. He’s watching the virtual fish that wade through the pixelated water of the lobby’s walls. Beside the crystal elevator is an extravagant fountain that burbles and gurgles. Dick inhales the air around him: filtered by salt, not chlorine. Nice touch, he thinks wryly. Though he doubts Cobblepot had anything directly to do with the interior design of this place.

“Har-har,” Jason responds without much humor. “Look, I’m not a complete jackass. I appreciate the help, trust you’re all fairly competent, etcetera, but this is my territory. I don’t swing into Bludhaven and criticize how you’re running things.”

The clamshell-shaped light switches on as a ding sounds. “Who’s criticizing?” Dick asks innocently. The doors part and Dick steps inside. The walls are crystal but not completely transparent, warped as they are by the cleavage and cast in a sickly blue light from above. There’s even air conditioning, which makes the confined space frigid. He’s certainly in the iceberg now.

Jason sighs into his speaker. “Nothing, absolutely nothing about the Iceberg Lounge is legal,” he confesses. This confession is not much of a revelation, however, as news of Red Hood’s latest operation circulated the bats via Batman more-or-less immediately. Jason shares major updates on the Underground he plans to infiltrate and, in exchange, Bruce turns a blind eye to the everything-else part. The whereabouts of the Lounge’s original owner, Mr. Cobblepot, is anyone’s guess — although everyone’s guess is pretty good.

Dick watches the number on the screen tick upwards. He can’t wait to be out of this icebox after mere seconds. He misses his first apartment in Bludhaven, the one with the dirty carpeted stairs and the humid lobby and the friends. The hotel’s design is foreign and cold by comparison, although if he’s being fair, most of Gotham has felt like that since his return.

He’s preoccupied by several thoughts and not giving his all to this conversation — which he did start, yes, but only out of courtesy to Jason. He’s mostly amused that Jason seems to expect Dick to crash through a window in full Nightwing get-up and arrest everyone on the spot. Then again, maybe Jason’s paranoia isn’t wholly unfounded. Tiger did always say Dick was a terrible spy.

For the sake of this conversation, however perfunctory, Dick pretends to gasp. “Jason!” he stage-whispers as the doors finally, gratefully, open. “Don’t tell me — is this a money laundering scheme?” He makes sure to add an extra dollop of shocked horror to his words.

Dick partly expects Jason to hang up on him, as people usually shut down when Dick tries on sarcasm for size. It’s not a good tone on him, he’s been told. That’s a miscalculation on Dick’s part, of course, because Jason isn’t affected by words the same way others are, especially Dick’s words. “Yeah, among other things,” Jason mutters instead. “Just stick to parking lot surveillance where my bike is, alright? You know, the original deal. No offense to you, but I don’t like people touching my shit. I’ll let you or some other bat-brat know if my human resources need outsourcing.”

Dick hums agreeably; he hadn’t expected Jason’s utmost cooperation anyway. It’s always best to obtain someone’s blessing, if he can, but permission just gets in his way. “‘No touching,’” Dick repeats as he wanders down the hall in search for his room. “Not a request I hear often,” he teases.

“Not a request, or I would’ve added please.”

3401, 3402, 3403, 3404...

“Yes, yes,” Dick placates. The floor here is a sandy-beige marble topped by a molding made entirely of tiny seashells. He resists the urge to crouch down and run his fingers against the texture. “If you won’t let me in your cool casino gang, then I can’t force you. Batman didn’t supply me with a gun to your head,” he assures.

3410, 3411, 3412…

On the other end, Jason snorts. “No, he just gave you a lifetime supply of entitlement and an annoying personality.”

3414, 3415, 3416…

“Hey, the latter was home-grown, thank you,” Dick defends, feigning offense. “Also, I unfortunately must end this conversation because — ”

The line goes dead. Dick removes the phone from his ear and frowns at it.

He discovers he likes this floor better, especially after the preternatural blue of the elevator. Here, the light is a warm yellow cast from plastic conch shells. The mosaic walls are made entirely of pale blue sea glass with waves of green rippling through. It’s an artistic take on the beach. An artful interpretation with central air conditioning.

He arrives at his room shortly after the phone call, sliding his key card in and waiting for the green light to appear with a short buzz. It does, and Dick pushes in to find his Coach suitcase already beside his California King bed. The style is less minimalist than he had expected, with bold blues and reds splashed across the walls in a lucky imitation of the violent sunsets over Bludhaven’s waterfront. Dick is almost nostalgic, he thinks.

The first thing Dick does is check for bugs. This takes some time, since Bruce called the hotel before Dick could and ordered his version of “modest and undercover,” which still qualifies as a suite. Dick doubts the room is bugged, as certainly most of the nefarious higher-ups’ attention would be paid to the casino and not the hotel. Still, best to begin and end all missions with routine since the middle parts always get too chaotic for formalities. Dick adapts better than Bruce himself does, but he still knows the value of order and tries to accommodate it when he can.

The minute corners of the ceiling and the floor are dustless. The carpet is soft and thick, Dick’s feet sinking in with each step. The nightstand has a phone, a notepad, a lamp, a service menu, and a casino itinerary, but no bible. Dick wonders who made that decision during the hotel’s design. The television is expansive, flat, and mounted across the wall facing the bed. The extravagance elicits from Dick the same feeling as if a giant mirror has been hoisted onto the ceiling too. Does Bruce also ever get disgusted by such ludicrous excess? Or has he become used to it, like a buzzing in his ear, like tinnitus? Bruce accumulates and accumulates, yet never seems to care for that accumulation one way or another. To be fair, though, Dick has never felt a certain way about grass being green. Or air having smells, as might be the better analogy; sometimes good, sometimes bad, but always taken for granted.

The sweep proves the room clean, as expected. Well, Dick has his own suspicions about government agents and corporate drones peering through the shiny flat-screen, but Lex is a busy man so Dick thinks he’s safe. This is the kind of spot-on humor Tim would appreciate if he hadn’t objected to tagging along. Tim is also a busy man apparently.

Evening won’t fall for another few hours, but Dick should get a head start on socializing. Deciphering who’s actually important, who’s within the Red Hood’s board of trustees, won’t be easy in the intoxicated, big-talking, narcissistic casino crowd. In preparation, Dick accessorizes with a range of subtle tools and weapons: a miniscule switchblade, disguised as a pendant and hidden under his shirt; bandages slipped into his jacket pocket; and a flask of disinfecting alcohol slipped into a pair of white boots. He’s roughing it in designer shoes.

Satisfied, Dick sticks his key card into his wallet and sets about trying his luck.

___

The casino keeps to the same ice-white theme as the hotel. The gaming floors shine like chromium, solid as a frozen lake. The floors winding between the games and shops and restaurants, however, are watery blue with digital fish splashing beneath guests’ feet. It’s novel, really, and it’s possible Dick might’ve even liked the whole schtick if it weren’t so Penguin-y.

The woman beside him places her hand on his wrist. From the ceiling plays an inoffensive pop song, the singer’s voice autotuned to sound as if coming from deep underwater. Dick smiles down at the woman. “Oh, sorry, were you trying to get my attention?”

She’s pretty in a forgettable way, with long blonde hair and a sloping nose. “No, no, sorry!” she says, pulling away clumsily as if remembering herself. She has a plastic water bottle on her, but no alcohol. Trying to sober up still. “I just thought you looked really familiar, like I might know you — ?” Her voice pitches upward at the end, waiting for him to finish her half-formed idea.

Dick communicates to the dealer he’s doubling down and pushes a stack of orange chips forward. He’s hoping the dealer will make a face, however unlikely that is, or do something to attract the attention of a supervisor. He wants to attract the house’s attention as subtly as possible, suss out anyone who might be high on the chain.

“I was at a televised event recently,” Dick responds, because he doubts they met personally. “The Wayne Foundation was heading a protest against the detention centers in Texas.” The girl’s mouth opens, gulping, fish-like, and Dick wonders if he should talk more about the protest or leave it at that. She’s impressed, but only hazily so, as if she’s recognizing the patterns of words and their moral virtue — foundation, protest, detention centers — but can’t make sense of the detail. Dick muses inwardly; it’s been a while since he was last inebriated, but he’s always been a drifting, Play-Doh-brained drunk like her. He’s tempted to order himself a drink, but that would be counterproductive to Mission: Find Jason’s Mole.

He initially tried chatting with the dealer directly, on the off-chance of information trickling down. She’s young, barely Dick’s age, and has shaved half her head in that edgy-punk-rock style Dick recalls Shawn being fond of. Unlike his ex-girlfriend’s cropped hair, which she had dyed with the same warning colors of poison dart frogs, the dealer’s is a natural black that tumbles down her shoulders. Dick did not get far with her as she gave only clipped responses. Now, from under her curtain of hair, she peers with sharp eyes that leap across players’ hands.

The man on his other shoulder slaps the table roughly, startling the dealer and dragging Dick’s attention away from the cards. “You’re one of Wayne’s kids!” he exclaims, pointing a finger. He has a faint Chinese accent ground out in gravelly tones. The knuckles are hairy but bejeweled with smooth rings, and the nails are perfectly manicured. “I’ve been looking at you, trying to figure out!”

Dick would’ve noticed him staring, in that case, but one doesn’t have to stare to watch. The thought alerts him momentarily and his eyes do a quick sweep of the floor again. I’ll give it another hour, he decides. If no one seeks me out, I’ll just have to go snooping.

“That would be me,” Dick confirms. He takes the man’s hand and they shake cordially.

“Should’ve known,” the man continues. “You always dress so — colorful.” He took a moment to decide upon the that adjective, but he doesn’t sound disrespectful so Dick grins. The man is right; Richie Grayson does generally go for the pastels. For the night, he’s dressed himself in a white blazer with muted paisley designs whirling across the silk. Over his breast rests a peach-colored pocket square to match the interior peach fabric he’s displayed by rolling the cuffs to his elbows. No tie, jacket left unbuttoned, and hair gelled carefully-carelessly: he’s the picture of insouciant extravagance.

His first time out with Damian as “Richie,” Damian was infuriated by the silly pastels and airheaded conversations Dick cloaked himself in. Damian ranted about Dick’s public persona being an “odious script he must’ve concocted as a bad joke.” Dick spares him the embarrassment of the truth, which is that Dick appreciates a vacation from himself. The breezy talks and airy outfits are less of a deep-cover character and more for fun. Of course, Damian is also embarrassed by his usual wardrobe of sweats and running pants, so Dick doesn’t bother trying to live up to the kid’s standards. They’re both just glad to have each other back. Dick has missed out on so much, but Damian hardly notices the changes in either of them. It’s because he’s still young and time isn’t finite yet. Childhood clings to Damian’s full cheeks and attitude. His stubborn youth relieves Dick. He’s missed out on a lot, but not everything.

“Yes, I keep up with Bruce Wayne, men like him,” the man at the table continues for explanation. He taps his head. “They’re smart. Can learn from them. Or I try to, at least.” With that, he laughs all the way from his gut. Dick can feel himself warming up as he often does around good-humored people. He can’t help it; he’s a sucker for laughter.

He buys drinks for the table, except for the woman, whom he buys another water. The hour drags on. He wishes he was playing poker and not blackjack, although poker gets too vitriolic for his tastes and doesn’t concern the house much, which is what he needs to do. He’s beginning to doubt his plan, though, and he wonders if it would be easier just to beg Jason to let him in on the case in full. He’s not going to do that however. He hadn’t expect a yes, but that doesn’t make Jason rejecting his help any less irritating. At this point, he’d prefer swimming with sharks ( again ) over playing nice with a guy who’d apparently rather get assassinated than just cooperate a little.

He’s close to leaving the table when he spots a person of interest. The man is on the shorter side, just shy of scrawny, with tan skin and dark hair. He’s not paying any attention to Dick, just meandering through the tables, but Dick recognizes him from Batman’s Teen Titans database. Miguel Barragan: otherwise known as Bunker, a former member of the Teen Titans and the current owner-on-paper of the Iceberg Lounge. Dick is almost giddy to have such a solid lead right off the bat. He quickly collects his winnings and bids everyone a goodbye, Miguel locked in his peripheral throughout.

He doesn’t approach Miguel directly; he’d probably alert Jason right away of his casino’s sneaky guest. Dick trusts his charisma to carry him through most confrontations, but he also considers anyone associated with Jason to be a bit of a wild card. He’s not sure how he could win Miguel over to his side because he’s not sure how Jason won Miguel over. Dick doesn’t understand how Jason wins anyone over — or, perhaps more accurately, how anyone wins Jason over. Dick hasn’t been able to parse out what grounds the amorphous Outlaws have been founded on, since their modus operandi changes as frequently as their roster and these outlaws seemingly share one characteristic, which is that they are all outlaws.

Dick is admittedly guilty of avoiding Gotham, focusing instead on reestablishing his life in Bludhaven after Spyral. He still receives updates, some of them about the Outlaws, whose guns sometimes shoot rubber bullets and other times kill. Batman occasionally sends the Outlaws on missions, making them either private contractors or accidental, honorary bats. Dick has long given up on deciphering and disarming Bruce’s relationships. Or maybe he hasn’t, since on the practical level, it is on Bruce’s behalf that Dick’s helping Jason. Dick responded to all of Bruce’s messages, albeit late, and Dick himself doesn’t know if his recent lateness is as accidental as he pleads. Dick’s life has always been hectic, yet he’s always made time for Gotham.

What is different now? Dick sees the past year like a literal timeline laid out before him, and if he could just follow that line, eventually he’d find what had changed. Maybe he’s missing a step, though, because he just keeps going back to the dormitory at St. Hadrian’s. He sees himself sitting on the twin-sized, standard-issued bed, back hunched, phone attached to his ear like a lifeline that might disintegrate at any moment. He hears himself leave a message for Mr. Malone; then Dick turns around, abandoning the scene before the line can disintegrate and he shares the same fate as this sad, forgotten figure on the bed.

Dick’s response to Bruce’s latest message was immediate, as Bruce probably assumed it would be. He dangled Jason’s vulnerability like a bait over Dick’s head. Dick, with the stench of death curling into his nostrils at the mere suggestion, took the hook in his mouth and allowed himself to be hauled aboard out of Bludhaven’s hazy depths. So he has resurfaced in Gotham, which he knows is for the best. It gives him the opportunity to right a wrong of his, when Jason first was in danger and Dick had busied himself elsewhere, away from Bruce.

Of course, Jason is not as helpless as he was in his Robin days. The Outlaws are fittingly named, operating more like a loose group of friends egging each other on than a true team (or so it seems to Dick, and indeed everyone else watching them in suspense), but they do pull through for the Hood. Miguel is one of these friends, and therefore likely knows about the Park Row victims and the photos, although whether his priority is Jason’s safety or Jason’s trust is up for debate. Dick has to play it safe and assume that Miguel would report his good intentions and have him thrown back into the parking lot to watch a bike. Or forced off the case altogether, Dick thinks with exasperation, as Jason is prone to theatrics and extremes. Roy and Kory, at least, he does not have to worry about, being off-planet with the Justice League. Artemis and Bizarro have recently disappeared, but Dick doesn’t write them off yet. In his experience, those whose lives defy death rarely stay gone for long. This is both a comfort and a conflict of interest.

He watches Miguel furtively; he accomplishes this by mingling gregariously, camouflaging himself within a dense thicket of drunken socialites. He works crowds consecutively, easing himself in and out of dialogues, his split attention unnoticed in an atmosphere that cultivates distraction. He keeps his face turned away from Miguel at all times. He moves his tortoiseshell sunglasses from his mussed hair to his eyes. He follows.

Miguel does not stay among the blackjack tables. He eventually moves towards the floor with the digital fish, his pace brisk but not hurried. Flashing shop signs and stumbling, moseying guests help blur Dick into the background. He wonders how long he can keep this up for and where he might end up. Best case scenario: Miguel talks to several key players in Red Hood’s operation for Dick to investigate and provides an insider’s look at the map of the casino before he can slip behind a door Dick can’t reasonably follow him through. Worst case scenario: Miguel notices he’s being followed by a weird man who wears sunglasses inside, confronts him, and Jason yells at him about respect and boundaries, as if those are things that exist in their makeshift family. Scenario of undecided goodness: Miguel is the leak and Dick catches him.

From a yard ahead, Miguel shifts his hand from the pocket of his slacks. He presses his ear, tilts his chin downward and to the side. An earpiece, for sure. He’s communicating with someone; perhaps Jason, Dick’s brain immediately supplies, and he does feel some guilt laden over the little kick he gets from the idea of pulling one over on the uncooperative prick. Dick gets his jollies from helping people against their will. Probably not everyone’s idea of fun, but his family just wouldn’t be his family without the unnecessary shadows cloaking every kind act.

Then Dick notices Miguel twist his head just slightly so that his eyes address the floor. Is he looking at Dick? Has he been caught? Dick hangs back, pausing to admire a shop window. He’s grateful for his sunglasses now, which enable him to keep track of Miguel’s progress. Hopefully he looks more eccentric than suspicious in them.

He melts back into the loose crowds once he’s confident Miguel has lost him. He knows Miguel took a right at the escalators, didn’t go up them. Dick keeps a bit of swagger in his walk, feigning leisure while taking broader steps than usual. He needs Miguel to lose track of him without losing track of Miguel himself.

Dick rounds the escalator corner, hands shoved in his pockets. A uniformed woman sweeps a plastic straw into a dustpan. He smiles graciously and sidesteps her. He glimpses Miguel’s figure retreating into a misshapen circle of the line spilling out of a burger joint. His body is swallowed whole by the hungry mass, absorbed neatly into the membrane of good-timers and luck-triers. Dick feels a little of the excitement go out of him. Where, really, can he get with this? He might have to pay Jason a visit as Nightwing after all.

Still, he may as well continue for a bit longer. He’s less than subtle while maneuvering through. His passage doesn’t feel half as smooth as Miguel’s looked. The people in line are glassy-eyed with dumb, slack-jawed smiles. Dick can’t help envisioning them as blind, newborn kittens under his feet. He pushes through in a series of mumbled apologies and penitent smiles. He receives, in return, a few blank smiles delivered on auto-pilot. Mostly he’s just ignored, which does irk him but he reasons that if they’re not bothered enough for a reply, then they’re content and so is he.

He finally breaches the wall of people. Miguel has stopped walking and stands, back facing Dick, near a bistro. A waitress, tufts of blonde locks sticking up like macaroni, intercepts the two of them, carrying a tray from the bistro to the nearest gaming floor. She all but waddles in the standard short white dress and tiny black blazer, throat pinned to her head with a stiff bowtie. When she passes, Dick realizes Miguel is not alone. Leaning against a load-bearing stalagmite is someone else, sneakered heel digging into the floor with their toes pointed up, their fists plunged into the pocket of a pullover. A hood hides their face, though the tip of a nose peeks out. Dick takes a step forward only to be reeled backwards, shoulder jerking where a hand has caught it.

Dick nearly grabs the hand and yanks, but remembers his surroundings and stifles the impulse. He lets himself be dragged towards an unmarked set of double doors. A small box is mounted to the wall in front of him, and another hand reaches out to wave a card over it. A light flashes green and buzzes. Dick’s feet have to dance for purchase as he’s pulled awkwardly by his side. The second the doors swing shut behind them, Dick breaks out of the grasp. His shades have slid down his nose and he pushes them up. He has time to recognize the people milling about as normal employees, some resting in chairs with stained cushions and others carting hampers and vacuums or talking into radios. Name badges abound.

The hand roughly grabs him by the collar. “Easy!” scolds Dick at the same time he gets a good look at the person attached. He’s a big guy with furry arms that could constrict a boa. A gray vest stretches over his broad frame, accentuating his size as well as any muscle tee. He wears a high collar fastened with a wide tie. His throat is as thick as a tree trunk, though, and the overall effect is that of an ill-fitting leash.

“I don’t work here, what are you doing?” Dick demands. He doubts the casino employees here are expecting dignity anyway. Maybe he should even try for tipsy, just to put on a show for anyone watching him get hauled across the room from the scruff of his neck by Hulk Hogan. This has all turned out surprisingly well for him, really. Whoever this guy is, he’s not a hero.

“Behave,” the man orders as he shoves Dick — unnecessarily roughly, for that matter — through another set of double doors. These ones give way without identification.

Dick skips nimbly forward so he doesn’t fall on his face. The man’s hand is on his neck again in an instant, which screams overkill considering Dick hasn’t put up a fight or attempted escape. “‘Behave’?” Dick quotes. “What am I, your long-lost son?”

“Good question,” says the man. The walls here are more eggshell than snowfall with air pockets bubbling beneath the wallpaper. People with name badges eye them curiously but say nothing. Dick wonders how anyone would get rescued in this heads-down atmosphere. It occurs to him, grimly, that they probably wouldn’t.

“Is it?” Dick prods. “Did someone forget to file for a paternity test?”

“What are you, smartass.”

Fingers tighten around his neck, a warning to behave or a threat for what’s to either way. Dick guesses it’s the latter and replies, “What is manhandled, for 300.”

“Yup, keep it up,” the man replies. He takes a sudden left, Dick spinning after like a sidecar held to the driver by a rope. There’s another box-shaped scanner around the corner, presumably for the narrow, metal door adjacent. This device doesn’t scan from afar but requires insertion, and the man feeds it a different card from the one before. There’s no buzz or green light. Just the same, the knob turns easily in the man’s grip.

“Lot of doors here,” Dick observes at the same time that he’s unceremoniously launched, face first, through a door.

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

#jaydick #dickjay #fanfiction for the void #dc

2 notes · View notes

bytheangell · 6 years

Text

Sooner or Later

(Read on AO3) (set after the Malec 3x12 Sneak Peek)

Alec is home and resting. He’s healing and he’s going to be alright with time. With much reluctance his family and friends leave their constant vigil by his bedside at the Loft and go home, back to the Institute, until only Catarina is left waiting in the living room.

“I’ll be right back,” Magnus says, placing a soft kiss on Alec’s cheek as he gets up to leave the bedroom. “Do you need anything before bed?”

Alec shakes his head, then looks considerate. “Maybe a glass of water.”

Magnus nods. “I’ll be right back, I just have to say goodbye to Cat.”

“Thank her again for me, will you?” “Of course, dear.”

Magnus looks back twice before he even finishes crossing the room, afraid if he takes his eyes off of Alec for even just a second something terrible might happen to him. He’ll suddenly vanish, or the hole in his chest will open back up, or Lilith will return to finish what she started. He knows it’s ridiculous, and that even if he were to remain in the room he could barely help with any of those possibilities, but he fears these things all the same.

Magnus shuts the door softly behind him, walking to meet Catarina by the sofa. She’s tired from healing, and from being awake well beyond her double shift at the clinic, but she remains there resolutely waiting for him as requested.

“So?” He asks eagerly, voice low.

“The wards are reinforced. I made three batches of the healing potion Alec took earlier - two should be more than enough but better safe than sorry. Also a sleeping drought, in case the pain is too much and he’s restless.” She looks around the room, searching for any sign of something she may have forgotten, nodding when she’s satisfied there’s nothing left.

“Thank you,” Magnus breathes out, the relief palpable. “This means so much more to me than I can-” his voice breaks off. “I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”

“Don’t worry about it. But Magnus… you have to tell him.”

“No,” he says, and he doesn’t bother to hide the dread from the word because Cat would see it in him anyway. She always does. “Not yet.”

“You can’t hide it forever. He’s going to find out sooner or later, and it’ll be a lot better coming from you now.”

“I know. And I promise, I will. Just… not now. With Clary gone, and Jace recovering, he-- there’s enough on his mind without this. He doesn’t need to worry about me, too.”

“...doesn’t he? Because I certainly do.”

Magnus winces at her words, at the implication that he needed to be worried about. “I’m fine.”

“Please don’t wait too long. It isn’t protecting him to keep him in the dark about this. And if you aren’t going to talk to him, will you at least talk to me about it?”

“I’m--” he starts, but his words fall off at the sound of shuffling feet behind him.

“Talk about what?” Alec asks from the hallway.

Magnus pales, a panicked look at Catarina crossing his features for just a moment before he recovers. “--About how to keep a certain someone from getting out of bed the moment I turn my back,” he covers quickly. “What are you doing up?”

Alec knows Magnus is deflecting but he’s too weary to make a fight of it, much to Magnus’ relief. “No one would let me so much as sit up in bed all day. I needed to get out of that room.” Alec goes to the fridge and flinches against the effort of pulling the door open to get the water out. “Just the water, then I’m back on bedrest. Promise.”

Cat looks like she might say something but a warning look from Magnus stops her. They hold a silent conversation between them over the course of the next 15 seconds, pleading glances and stubborn head shakes ending only when Alec starts to walk back towards them.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Cat. Thank you again.” Magnus says, clearly ending any discussion for now.

Catarina can only sigh in return. “Goodnight. Rest up, both of you. Doctor’s orders.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Magnus lets her out and turns back to Alec.

“You head back to bed, I’ll be in in a minute.”

It isn’t until Alec is back in the room that Magnus methodically checks every potential entrance to the Loft, starting with double-checking the locks on the door. He moves to the latches on the windows, every last one of them in the entire loft, before circling back to check the front door one more time. He’s almost back to the bedroom when he can’t remember if he stopped to check the door to the balcony, and the fact that he managed to forget that one the first time around brings him circling through the doors and windows one last time, just to be safe.

He knows the wards are up - no part of him doubts Cat’s abilities, but… he can’t feel them, not anymore. All he feels is the vulnerability of being defenseless in his own home, and now he can’t even sense the protective warding up around them enough to take any comfort in even that. Magnus feels the anxiety well up in his chest at the thought of anything happening while Alec is here and he’s unable to protect him, the way he wasn’t able to protect him against the Owl, or from Lilith when she took Jace away from them in this very spot.

He walks around and blows out any still-lit candles. He turns off the lights, one by one, nearly forgetting where half of the light switches are located along the walls for how long it’s been since he used them. Everything takes so much more time than he imagined it would, doing it without magic. He washes the makeup from his face, takes the chipped nail polish off of his finger nails with pink tinted remover that smells terrible, and removes his jewelry a piece at a time. The whole process takes so long that Alec is nearly asleep by the time Magnus finally returns to the bedroom.

“What took you so long?” Alec mumbles, eyes blinking slowly, heavily. “Oh, just tying up a few loose ends,” Magnus says as he sits on the edge of the bed. It isn’t a lie, he reassures himself. He doesn’t want to lie to him, he just doesn’t want to tell him the truth. That isn’t the same thing.

“What was Cat saying earlier? What did you need to tell me?”

"Nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow, darling. Get some rest, now.”

And Alec is too exhausted to argue, eyes already falling shut longer and longer with every blink until he’s fast asleep.

Magnus eases out of bed to lock the bedroom windows before sliding under the covers himself, though sleep doesn’t come for a very long time. Tomorrow, he thinks. He’ll talk to Alec tomorrow.

---

Magnus wakes up before the sun rises. Alec is still snoring softly beside him when he shifts off the side of the bed, sliding his feet into slippers to make his way silently to the bathroom. He washes, dries, and styles his hair, thinking all the while that he doesn’t remember it taking this long before. The product doesn’t hold the way his magic normally would and it takes him an extra 15 minutes just to get it to stay. Even as he tells himself that he’s going to tell Alec the truth this morning he’s already subconsciously trying to hide any sign that anything is amiss with his magic.

He has just enough time to apply basic eyeliner before he first rays of sun shine in through the windows and he’s forced to abandon his makeup before he even has a chance to paint his nails. Not that it matters, he promises himself, since he’s going to tell Alec and he’ll realize why his boyfriend is lacking all of his usual adornments.

Magnus starts breakfast, makes coffee, and nearly ruins the eggs when he forgets how long they take to cook the mundane way. He ignores the knowledge that he woke up two hours earlier than he had to in order to get all of this done before Alec starts to stir, because he isn’t covering anything up - he’s cooking so there’s something nice to soften the blow. He’s definitely going to tell him.

Alec is already sitting up in bed, golden sheets pooled around his stomach and over his lap, when Magnus comes in with the tray of breakfast and coffee, a single flower in a small glass vase just for show.

“Is today a special occasion?” Alec asks, eyeing the breakfast in bed with a pout. Magnus knows that look - Alec’s trying to remember something, something from the night before, but he can’t. His mind is hazy from sleep and medicine and potions and Magnus knows he should just get it over with. But when he opens his mouth what comes out instead is: “It’s your day off, and I want to make the most of it.” Magnus sits on the side of the bed, sliding the tray over with a small, satisfied smile. It took his entire family and the insistence of himself and Cat to convince Alec to take the extra day off after waking up to just relax and heal properly, no matter how insistent he’d been the night before that he was well enough to sit behind a desk at the Institute.

“It’s actually really sweet.”

“Mmmm,” Magnus hums, smiling wider now. “I thought so.” Alec smiles back and in that moment everything feels like it might be okay. That this is a new normal they can fall into, and maybe it isn’t going to be as terrifying as he’s worried it might be… And then Alec reaches for the tray and winces, biting back a gasp of pain when the movement pulls at his wound.

“Alexander,” Magnus says, already bringing his hands up towards his boyfriend’s chest before stopping abruptly and allowing them to fall over Alec’s own hand instead, giving it a squeeze. Full of muted horror at the realization that in this moment there’s nothing he can do to help him, Magnus can only watch and wait. Alec is in pain and he can’t heal him. He can’t even conjure up a glass of water when the sharp intake of breath makes the Shadowhunter cough, forcing him to reach for the coffee on the tray instead.

Magnus is afraid to ask if he’s alright because if the answer is ‘no’ he doesn’t know what he’ll do, and he knows now that his previous moment of hope was foolish. This isn’t okay. This is never going to be okay and it certainly isn’t a normal he ever wants to get used to. He feels empty and broken and more afraid than he did getting ready to go to Edom. The void he feels threatens to consume him but he won’t allow it, repeating to himself that he’s fine and it’ll pass - it has to, because how can he expect Alec to rely on him if he’s falling apart more and more with every passing moment?

“I’m okay,” Alec says, setting the drink down on the tray after a sip. Magnus feels the tension ease a bit. “Just moved it too fast.” “I’ll go get the draught Cat left behind,” he says, and Alec gives him a questioning look. “It’ll be far more potent than anything I can do. You know her healing magic is the best of the best.” It isn’t a lie. It’s better than anything he can do because he can’t do anything, and he has to turn away from Alec almost immediately to hide the tears that sting his eyes. Magnus makes a quick retreat out into the hallway to wipe them away, careful to fix his smudged eyeliner with some paper towels in the kitchen before returning to the bedroom.

“Here. Not quite as delicious as a mimosa but it’ll have to do,” he says, forcing a smile back onto his face. Maybe there was a moment he considered saying something but it’s gone now. Alec huffs a laugh, smiling up at him, and Magnus can’t bear the thought of saying anything to take that away.

There’s a sharp knock on the door that echoes through the loft and Magnus starts at the unexpected sound, despising himself for the flash of fear the surprise carries with it now. Magnus hides it all beneath a carefully crafted smile. “I’ll go get that. You stay here, and eat, and drink every last drop of that. I’ll be back in just a moment.”

Later, he promises himself, trying not to think about how as much as he doesn’t want to lie to Alexander he has no issues with lying to himself.

He’ll talk to Alec later.

#malec #magnus bane #alec lightwood #shadowhunters #shfanficnexus #catarina loss #AFTER A MONTH OF FLUFF I RETURN WITH SOME MILD ANGST #this honestly isn't as angsty as I meant for it to be #the fluff has ruined me #elle writes a few deadbeat lines

171 notes · View notes

spyrograph · 6 years

Text

DS9 airport AU

It’s a tiny regional airport in a small city that’s fallen on hard times. There are maybe two gates and only one runway. It looks like it was built in the 40′s and has never been remodeled. Most of the traffic is private planes and the smallest connecting commercial flights.

Quark’s Restaurant & Bar & Grill always smells like breakfast and cigarettes. The carpet has been replaced in sections and none of the squares quite match. Vintage arcade games line the narrow hall that leads to the restrooms.

There’s a news stand that sometimes has fresh flowers. There’s always a religious nut handing out beautifully illustrated pamphlets about the alien oppressors. The baggage carousel never stops rattling.

Nobody’s really sure why Garak chose to set up shop in the space that used to be the car rental office. Most of his business seems to come from dry cleaning pilots’ uniforms.

((This got long for something that isn’t a fic.))

Corrupt Mayor Dukat has been trying for decades to shut down this tiny airport so he can get funding to build a larger, more modern one. The entire region is in decline and it seems entirely due to Dukat’s political scheming.

Don Enabran Tain from the big city upstate has had a run-in with the Feds. He plans to reroute his “business” through this tiny airport until everything blows over. Tain is giving his bastard son one last chance to prove his loyalty. Garak’s Clothiers is only a front for a drug smuggling gig.

There’s an old hotel across the street from the airport. Everyone is convinced that it’s haunted but it’s the only 4-star hotel in the city so that’s where travelers and flight attendants stay. Julian Bashir (jet-setter, old-money, dilettante) has been spending a suspicious amount of time there. The rumor mill says he’s having an affair with one of the city’s residents.

Julian Bashir is actually working for the federal government under duress. If he doesn’t help the Feds he’ll loose everything- because Richard Bashir committed an ungodly amount of tax fraud.

Odo is the city’s sheriff. He’s working closely with the Feds on this case. Odo absolutely cannot stand the fact that organized crime is happening in his city.

Kira is the city’s overworked District Attorney. She honestly just wants Mayor Dukat to die because that would fix 90% of the city’s problems.

Sisko is the airport’s new manager. He took this job because he wanted to raise his son in a wholesome small-town environment. Sisko has always had very vivid, lucid dreams.

Worf is a TSA agent. His inflexibility and anger issues are the reason he was reassigned to this tiny airport with basically no traffic.

Jadzia, is the air traffic controller. She’s too young to have ulcers but she has them anyway because her job is unreal levels of stressful. You wouldn’t know it though- she’s really good at compartmentalizing.

Miles is an aircraft technician. He’s a shell-shocked veteran. Keiko is merciless about making sure he takes care of himself.

Rom is a baggage handler. He wears two pairs of ear plugs under his ear protection because he gets overstimulated at least five times a day.

Leeta is a flight attendant. She once jokingly said that she would marry the man who could guess where she was born. Quark has been methodically listing off cities for years.

Damar is a pilot. He went to school with Dukat. They played football together. They attended the same college and they planned to run for office together. They had a serious falling-out and neither of them will say why.

The Dominion is a multinational corporation that takes advantage of Mayor Dukat’s ambition. The Dominion promises to create jobs and stimulate the local economy. What they actually do is monopolize literally everything and convert the whole city into a next-level dystopian “company town”

The economic woes of this small airport and this small city are a microcosm of what is happening all over the planet in the wake of the Dominion’s aggressive capitalism.

((This is the point where the plot goes from “realistic crime drama” to “actually, i lied, this is science fiction,”))

THE BIG TWIST:

The Founders are actually alien invaders. The Dominion Corporation is just the most cost-efficient method of subjugating the population.

The Vorta are actually aliens. They’re also lawyers, secretaries, regional managers, and every other corporate stooge you might think of.

The Jem’Hadar are hired thugs. They’re mostly human. “Ketracel White. It’s transformative!” is a slogan.

COMEDY BITS:

Quark gets busted for smuggling exotic fish.

Worf is genuinely embarrassed by the sex toys he encounters while searching luggage.

Julian uses bad pickup lines on Leeta, “You must have been born in the clouds because you’re an angel.”

Benjamin keeps dreaming that his baseball turns up in weird places. His baseball keeps turning up in weird places.

Garak goes over-the-top flaming-homosexual-cliche in an attempt to get Julian out of his shop. It has the opposite effect.

ROMANCE BITS:

Garak and Bashir have a torrid this-could-be-my-last affair because both of them have everything to lose.

Worf and Jadzia’s love-to-hate-you relationship escalates to a full-on-brawl. They fuck in the men’s room and then pretend it never happened.

Rom accurately guesses that Leeta was born on an airplane over the Pacific Ocean and proposes. She accepts.

DRAMA BITS:

Jake Sisko uses Ketracel White in order to gain entry to the Dominion factory and uncover the truth. He is successful but the long-term effects of the drug are devastating.

Garak travels to the big city upstate and confronts Don Tain. Tain, on his death bed, forgives Garak but bequeaths the “family business” to Pythas Lok.

Odo is revealed to be a Founder. He was sent ahead as a scout but fell in love with the planet and it’s people.

Damar’s falling out with Dukat happened because Damar (drunk and/or coked out) killed Ziyal in a car accident. Dukat believes that Damar did it deliberately.

Ben Sisko realizes that his “lucid dreams” actually effect reality. He is kidnapped by the Dominion. The Female Founder interrogates him because she believes he is an alien! That’s ridiculous! Isn’t it?

Dukat (hyped up on Ketracel?) assaults Kira. She destroys him; physically and politically. She then proceeds to kick asses and take names.

HORROR BITS:

Wiki How To Make a Jem’Hadar Army with Disenfranchised Youth and Ketracel White.

CLIMACTIC BITS:

A joint FBI/mafia assault team retakes the airport and prevents SOMETHING BAD from happening.

Miles terrifies the living shit out of everyone with his sniper skills.

Damar does a kamikaze with an empty 747, destroys the Ketracel factory, and eliminates the Female Founder.

Benjamin is rescued. He accepts that he is not entirely human and uses his “lucid dream” ability to remove all traces of Ketracel from Jake’s body.

Sisko and Odo board a Dominion space ship: they hope to intercept the Dominion forces and convince them to turn around.

ENDING BITS:

Kira is elected mayor.

Jake’s investigative reporting earns him a Pulitzer or something.

Rom and Leeta get hitched. Garak and Julian slow dance at the reception.

The airport gets rebuilt. (It was totally trashed in the climactic battle.)

Nobody knows what happened to Sisko and Odo. Either they were successful or the world will be destroyed sometime in the near future. People are preparing for the worst but hoping for the best.

483 notes · View notes

pumpkin-spiced-oscar · 6 years

Text

Fingertips

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fandom: Marvel

Words: 1,337

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader

Warnings: Angst, PTSD, but also lots of Fluff!

(A/N): This method was always something that used to calm me down when I was younger. Don’t know if any of you have ever tried it, but it’s very nice. So one day, I sat down and thought: ‘Huh... What if this could calm Bucky as well?’ So I wrote this. I had one of my friends read it, and they thought it was weird... That’s why I’m writing this author’s note. To me, it wasn’t weird at all. It kept me from having nightmares, it calmed me down when I was scared out of my own skin. I hoped I could somehow recreate it... Anyway, Enjoy!!! 😁

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bucky couldn’t decide which was worse: what he was seeing, or what he was hearing. He was seeing blood... Tears... Fallen, innocent, crying people, he was hearing them begging for their lives... screams.

Screams that awakened him from his sleep with his own screams mixing in as well. Before he knew it, he was sitting on the edge of his bed, sweating and breathing heavily, eyes wide with fear as they stared into the darkness of his room in the Avengers Tower. It was 4:00 a.m. Bucky thought he heard the sound of a gun cocking... He jumped up and turned toward the direction that it came from, stumbling back a few steps. When a dim light flooded the room from a now open door, Bucky was relieved to find that it wasn’t Hydra threatening him to kill more innocent people. It was just the sound of the door clicking... Nonetheless, he still continued to breath heavily and stare wide-eyed at the doorway in which your figure was silhouetted against the hallway light.

“Bucky...?” You questioned, your hand already searching for the light switch. When you had found it, your fingers immediately flipped the tiny switch upwards, and the room was engulfed in bright light. You shielded your eyes from it for a few seconds, but blinked a few hard times when your eyes started to clear from sleepiness. “B-...”

When you had fully regained your sight, your eyes widened as you focused on what was on the other side of the bed next to you.

“Shit... Bucky...” You walked around the bed slowly, as not to scare him even more. He looked like a frightened kitten... It hurt to look at, but you were sure that he was hurting even more. When you arrived at the other side of his bed, you stood right right in front of him.

“Bucky, hey. It’s me... It’s (Y/N).. Everything’s gonna be okay, you are safe now....” You tried to say anything you could to make him feel less scared. “Just breathe, Buck, breathe. In for four seconds, then hold for four seconds, then out for four seconds, remember? It’s okay...”

You had noticed that after a while, his breathing did seem to calm down by a lot. His eyes were not wide anymore, and he didn’t look like a scared cat. Now, he just looked tired... You sat him down on the edge of the bed, settling right next to him as well. You kept your hand on his shoulder, where it had been since you got there. Bucky buried his head in his hands. “I can’t do this anymore... I can’t-... I’m not safe to be around...”

“Hey... Don’t say that.. That’s not true.” Your voice started to get slightly shaky as well. You pulled him closer to your chest, allowing his forehead to rest on your shoulder.

“Yes, it is, (Y/N).”

“Buck. No it’s not.” You replied almost scornfully but still gentle. You placed your hand on his head, very gently running your fingers through Bucky’s soft chocolate-colored hair in a way that sent chills down his spine.

“What are you doing?” He questioned.

“Shh. Lemme work my magic. Trust me.” You whispered in response. You ran your hand down his bare back, switching from calming strokes to very slow and gentle featherlight scribbles using your fingertips. At first, he flinched away, not used to any light touch...

“Sorry...” he apologized.

You smiled slightly at his apology. “Nothing to apologize for.” You continued to trace your fingertips up and down his back, not pressing in at all. Bucky’s tears have dried, a small huff of air leaving his lips in response to the chill-inducing touches that you were providing. He would shiver every time your fingernails traveled from his shoulders down to the small of his back; not because it was cold, but because of how it felt sensitive but pleasurable. There wasn’t that much talking that went on between the two of you. That is, until you decided you needed to get something off your chest...

“Y’know, Bucky, I don’t know if I’m wording this correctly, but... I don’t blame you, and will never blame you, for anything you might have done... You’ve been told this before, but that wasn’t you... when you talk about hurting people, killing people, not being in control of your own mind, you’re talking about the Winter Soldier. But you are Bucky Barnes. You are the same Bucky Barnes who grew up with Steve Rogers. The same Bucky that used to do anything and everything to protect Steve’s skinny weak pre-serum ass. You know him better than any of us do. You’re the same Bucky that used to go out and dance, smile, talk, laugh, maybe get a little drunk... The same Bucky that took Steve to an amusement park and forced him to ride The Cyclone, which made him throw up, but he had fun anyway... You’re the same Bucky that-.... That I fell in love with...”

By then, your hands have stopped moving. He removed his head from your shoulder, locking eyes with you. After a while, you felt that you had totally just embarrassed yourself... You covered your face with your hands and started to scramble to stand up to leave the room, your words also jumbled and nervous.

“I’m-so-sorry-I-shouldn’t-have-said-that-because-I-know-that-you-probably-don’t-feel-the-same-way-about-me-and-that’s-okay-I-don’t-know-what-I-was-thinking-or-what-I-thought-would-happen-I’m-just-gonna-leave-now-and-...”

You stopped as you felt a hand on your shoulder. After removing your hands from your face, you looked over to Bucky. He was smiling. That’s the first time you’ve seen him genuinely smiling in what seems like forever... He pulled you back down to where you were before, only this time you were both lying down.

Just a few moments ago, he was terrified and trembling. Now, with just a soothing touch and a ‘few words’ from you, Bucky was seemingly even happier than normal. At this point, you had almost fully forgotten what you had said. You were already too lost in his beautiful smile and ocean blue eyes to remember. Only when you felt Bucky’s lips on yours did you react to something other than that peaceful look on his face. Your eyes widened for a second, and there was a sharp intake of breath, similar to a gasp, that escaped you.

Soon enough though, you melted into the kiss. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you a bit closer, while you placed your hand on the side of his head. After a few more seconds, you both pulled away for some air.

“Ho....ly shit!”

You whispered in reaction to the kiss, both eyes still closed. You did open them, however, when you heard Bucky laugh... Actually laugh, not just some short amused exhale like he usually does. It was a beautiful sound; one you’ve never heard before. Like music to your ears. It was adorable the way he smiled, how his eyes were shut tightly, how the sound of it seemed to fit him so well even though it doesn’t get used often. The best part about it, though, is that it really was genuine. He was happy. You could see it. Hear it. Feel it in the atmosphere. It made it seem almost like he’d never had a nightmare in his life. That the guilt and fear of blood on his hands all disappeared...

You smiled, draping your arm around Bucky’s waist and hugging closer to him. You cuddled into his chest, both of your bodies now pressed together comfortably. You fell asleep first, feeling the calm, caring touch of Bucky playing absentmindedly with your hair. After you had fallen asleep, Bucky was finally able to close his eyes, surrendering to the sweet call of a peaceful and sound sleep.

And the nightmare was finally over.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

2 notes · View notes

occasionalfics · 6 years

Text

The Ones To Go, 1 (Thor X Reader)

masterlist | the one to stay masterlist | the ones to go masterlist

Summary: It’s been a month. Thor’s been gone a month. He should’ve returned Bruce to Midgard by now, and yet, you’re still ruling your kingdom on your own. You’re doing what you can, but it all feels like too much, especially with your older brother - a man you’ve never met - visiting.

A/N: Playing around with formatting!! Also first chapter of a sequel! Wooh! Yeah so I don’t think I’ve ever written a sequel to anything ever. But I like where this one went. The end is...super fluffy. All the fluff. Get ready.

Tags are all gonna be at the end of the posts from here on out. It just looks nicer, with the new way I’m organizing them. If you want to be added, let me know!

Warnings: Nada for this chapter. It’s pretty tame. Mild spoilers if you haven’t already read the prequel: The One To Stay (linked above).

Words: 3,663

He’d told you his trek would take a few weeks at most. But as one week bled into two, and two faded into three, you grew more and more worried. You had every right to be, as his wife, but as Queen, you had obligations. You had a Kingdom to oversee, people to keep happy and safe, and a God of Mischief brother-in-law to watch over. Thor had taken Brunhilde with him, so you had only Loki and Heimdall to keep you close counsel.

You’d grown fond of the Gatekeeper. He was kind, loyal, and understanding; he was also stern and hardworking, which you appreciated. He knew the Asgardian people personally, which aided your court decisions beyond what you could’ve ever expected. He seemed to believe in you the way Thor did, and that gave you some comfort as you waited for a sign from your husband.

“He’s still alive, my Queen,” Heimdall told you as the fourth week rolled in. “I can feel that much.”

You nodded and patted Heimdall’s hand on the long oak table you were seated at. “I thank you for watching as closely as you can,” you said. You didn’t mention that you knew he would’ve watched over Thor anyway, since he’d been Heimdall’s king from the start. “Can you see if Bruce is alright?” you asked, not for the first time.

Heimdall nodded. “Just fine, Your Majesty. Brunhilde as well.”

You smiled as best as you could. “Good.”

“May we get back to the matter of your brother’s arrival, my Queen?” Loki asked from down the table. He sat back against his chair, and had a disinterested look on his face. He usually did, you noticed. But you didn’t normally mind. You knew he wasn’t quite enthralled with the idea of being stuck on the planet under your jurisdiction, especially not without Thor. You were sure he still hadn’t fully forgiven you for...how you’d all met.

“He’s not staying long,” you responded, pulling back to sit straight in your seat. “He and his wife got word of the...change of sovereign. They simply wanted to see who sat on the throne.” You chose your words carefully around the court. Not all the members were happy with how the transition of power had gone, nor were they satisfied with Thor’s prolonged absence.

“Are you not worried about a possible coup?” a court member asked from closer to Loki.

You sighed. “Of course I’ve considered the possibility. But my brother has assured me this is simply a leisure visit. He means to be gone soon, and I intend to see he’s treated with respect and trust while he’s here.”

“Should we not have him sign a peace treaty, at least?” Heimdall asked.

The members of the court all muttered at that. You looked from one of them to the next, trying to decipher what they were saying but it was all too much at once. You called their attention back and said, “If we can draft a set of terms that are fair and comprehensive, then yes. For the safety of the kingdom, we’ll see about a peace treaty.”

They nodded, but otherwise stayed silent. Not for the first time, you wished Thor was with you. He was a king before he married you. He’d held counsel with his father and knew how to lead using methods nearly opposite of your own father’s. You wanted him with you, guiding you in being Queen, only to hold you tight, as his wife, later in bed.

You’d never longed for a person like this before. You’d never pined after another being for so long, with such passion and need. The feeling was foreign, but you tried not to let it distract you for too long. He’ll be back soon you reminded yourself, unsure of exactly when that would be. In the meantime, you sighed and stood from the table. “If no one else has any matters to bring to the table today,” you said, “then I call this meeting to adjourn.”

No one said a word. You nodded, then turned from the room. You heard them all stand as you exited, something you were still getting used to. You’d been queen for just barely a month, and all of the new formalities were still making you dizzy. So you shook your head, took a deep breath, and headed into the corridor.

Heimdall followed you out, catching up with you easily. “You did well, Your Majesty,” he said in a low voice. “They’re coming around.”

His words were nice, you thought, but they weren’t enough. Doing well and coming around weren’t quite as good as commanding the room or actually getting things done. You clasped your hands together as you went away from your chamber. Loki stepped up beside you as well, on the opposite side as Heimdall. He’d gotten in the habit of following you around, perhaps because he had nothing better to do.

“Has Thor disappeared this long before?” you asked him without looking. You could’ve been asking them both, you supposed.

Loki nodded. “Usually only when there’s trouble,” he said.

You nearly stopped in your tracks. Of course there was trouble - it seemed to follow your husband, even if that constituted you as trouble. It did. You were. You wished, again, that you’d gone with him, or that he could’ve sent Bruce home on his own. But Bruce had never been outside of Midgard before. He had no concept of how to get back, where Thor clearly did.

Stars, you thought, bring him home safe. Please.

“King Thor’s rather good at fending off trouble,” Heimdall said. Again, his words sounded better than than their meaning.

You nodded, stopping only when you made it to the room you’d placed your brother and his wife in. You forced your hands apart, rose a fist to the door, and knocked. Heimdall and Loki were both silent as you waited for the call to enter from within; when it came, Heimdall opened the door and allowed both you and Loki in before him.

“Ah, Sister!” your brother said, standing from the comfortable seat he’d been relaxing in. His wife had been perched on the canopied bed reading a book, but she stood and bowed when you came into the room.

You bowed to them as well and asked, “How are you both doing today?”

Your brother smiled. “Very well, thank you,” he said. He adjusted his jacket. “Any word from your husband yet?”

You shook your head. He’d been waiting days to meet Thor, to see the King that had joined his sister’s throne. The King of Asgard, no less. But Thor had left weeks before your brother had shown up - weeks before his letter pronouncing his arrival had been delivered. “Unfortunately, not as of yet.” You almost told him you feared something might be wrong on Midgard, but ultimately decided against it. You still hardly knew this brother, though he did bare an uncanny resemblance to a much younger version of your father.

“Well,” he said, “hopefully he’ll make it back before we leave. Which I regret to inform you must be soon.” He looked at his wife before continuing. “Our children miss us dearly, as does our court.”

You nodded at them both, but didn’t know what to say.

Heimdall, however, did. “The Queen was going to read to the children in the Town Square this morning,” he said. “We wondered if you might accompany us, to help with handing out goodies.”

Your brother turned back. “Goodies?” he asked.

“Cookies,” you said. “Sweets, maybe some trinkets if I can find any. It’s a tradition my mother started before she passed away.”

“That sounds rather familiar, actually,” he said. You wondered if he’d known your mother before you’d been been born. Once again, he looked at his wife and asked, “What do you think, dear?”

She closed her book on the bed and smiled. “That sounds delightful!” she said.

So it was settled. You went about the palace in search of sweets and trinkets, finding a few worthless jewels and some string for the children to put together and play with. You were organizing everything into a satchel in your chamber when a faint orange light began to sputter in the center of the room.

You put the jewels down on the bed and watched as the orange light turned into what looked like sparks, and then a rip in the space in front of you opened up. Through the rip, you saw a vast grassland surrounded by huge, foreign trees, and a snow-capped mountain range beyond the trees. The grassland was bright, as if the sun was directly above it - and then a body moved in its way.

You stood from the bed, and your heart skipped a beat as Thor stepped through the rip. You called his name softly, then forgot all about formalities and expectations and ran right for him. You nearly tripped on your dress at least twice, but you just picked up your skirts and continued toward him. He stood tall and opened his arms, hoisting you up against him when you’d cleared the space between him.

You were busy laughing, kissing him, touching his beard, smelling him - allowing him to occupy every one of your senses - and you completely missed the second body that passed through the rip. Whoever they were, they allowed you your reunion for some time. Thor let you down, but did not remove his hands from your body as he leaned down to properly kiss you, running his tongue along your lips to taste you as if he’d been gone half a lifetime.

You didn’t know how long you’d gone on like that before the second person cleared their throat. Thor pulled himself away from you just enough to remember that he’d led someone else through the rip in space, then he looked over his shoulder and said, “Oh. Right.” He chuckled, then removed one of his hands from you.

You had to stop yourself from reaching out to put it back, but only momentarily. In the next instant, you saw the Midgardian standing just behind Thor with an expectant glare on his elongated face.

“(Y/N), my Queen, this is Doctor Stephen Strange,” Thor said. “He’s a physician and a magician.” Thor was shaking, and when you looked at him, you saw how large his smile was. You wondered if he was happy to be home or happier to be introducing you to what you assumed was a friend.

Doctor Strange bowed to you and said, “It’s quite an honor to meet you, Your Majesty. Thor’s told us a lot about you.” He stood straight again.

You looked at Thor, then Dr. Strange, then back. “I would...love to return the honor, Dr. Strange,” you said, “but I’m...a little confused, I suppose.”

Thor paused a moment, then looked directly into your eyes. You’d missed his one blue pupil so much that you hadn’t even noticed until your knees actually felt weak beneath you. You were glad he was holding you up, because otherwise, you would’ve fallen to the ground in front of your...oddly dressed guest.

It was then that you noticed the long cape with the high collar that Dr. Strange wore over his blue peasant shirt and black trousers. He didn’t look like a Midgardian, not that you had much experience with what Midgardians actually wore. You’d found Bruce in Hulk form, and when he’d transformed, he’d worn clothes customary of your planet for months.

“Right,” Thor said, cutting through your thoughts. “I’ve been gone for some time, haven’t I?”

You nodded. “Almost a month,” you said. “One of my brothers has joined us for a while. He and his wife were about to join me on a trip to the Town Square.”

The air in the room grew tense. Doctor Strange stood taller. Thor moved to stand between you again, towering over you with his hands around your back. He sighed and shook his head slowly, his whole demeanor changing in under a few seconds.

Your eyes widened, knowing this could only mean a worst-case scenario.

“My love, I’m afraid you’ll have to send your brother and his wife in your place,” he said, bending slightly to whisper to you. “I’ve returned, but only temporarily, and with grave news of Midgard.”

“Is Bruce alright?” you asked.

He gave a half-smile and nodded. “Yes, Bruce is fine. It is the rest of Midgard that may not be, I fear.” He tucked hair behind your ear - something he hadn’t done before, but which still sent shivers up your spine. You didn’t know if that was because of his somber tone, or because you liked the sensation.

“Let me find Heimdall and Loki,” you said. “And I must send my brother off to the children.”

Thor nodded, then he and Doctor Strange stayed in your chamber while you walked the palace. Heimdall and Loki were by the throne room, discussing something that you weren’t listening to. You sent them back to your chamber without much explanation, and they obliged - though Loki needed a nudge from Heimdall to go quietly.

Your brother and sister-in-law were waiting for you by the palace doors. You frowned at them as you approached and said, “I have good news and bad news.” You gave your satchel to your brother. “The good news is that my husband has returned from Midgard.”

Your brother’s face lightened, and he was about to congratulate you, but you couldn’t let him go on.

“Unfortunately, the bad news is that I must hold an emergency council meeting. I won’t be able to bring you to the Town Square. But please, still go, if not for me then for the children. They love stories and treats, and I hope you find them pleasant and agreeable,” you said. Without much further prodding, they left.

You bit your lip as you made your way back to your chamber. When you came to the doors, you could hear the men inside bickering, though not over what exactly. You went in, shutting the door softly behind you, fiddling with your fingernails as you made your way across the room, back to the knook between Thor’s bicep and his chest. You’d missed that spot more than words could express.

“What plight is befalling Midgard now?” Loki asked, crossing his arms. He was leaning against your bureau, far too close to your mother’s trident that stood against the wall for your comfort.

Thor and Doctor Strange exchanged glances. You placed a hand on Thor’s chest and tried to draw his attention back to you, only to remember then was not the moment to be selfish. You needed to listen and strategize and plan for whatever was ahead.

“Thanos,” Thor said.

You pushed back from him slightly and asked, “Excuse me?”

Loki chuckled. “Great, here we go off to fight yet another tyrant!” he said, throwing his arms up.

“Thanos is headed for Earth,” Doctor Strange said. “The Guardians of the Galaxy are attempting to help us prepare, but we’re not sure how much more we can do.”

You turned to face him and asked, “The...Guardians? Who?”

Thor groaned. “We have much to discuss,” he whispered only to you. “Who the Guardians are doesn’t matter right now. Two of their group are children of Thanos. He’s coming for Midgard and the Infinity Stones-”

“The Stones are on Midgard?” Loki asked. He shuffled his feet, and seemed to force himself to keep Thor’s gaze.

“Some are,” Thor answered shortly. “If you’d been around then, you’d know I gave the Aether to the Collector.”

Loki didn’t respond.

“The Nova Core have the Orb so far,” Doctor Strange said.

“My King,” Heimdall called, stepping away from your bed, where he’d been perched at the foot. “If Thanos is truly headed for Midgard, we must rally the troops at once.”

Thor nodded. “That’s why I’ve returned,” he said. His hand on your hip squeezed gently, just enough for you to notice but - hopefully - no one else in the room. “To recruit our army, and my wife. The Goddess of War.”

There was a brief silence where Doctor Strange sized you up. He saw how much smaller you were than Thor, but he appeared to take his word about you. He still said, “You neglected to mention that to the Avengers.”

You didn’t know who to listen to or look at. Honestly, you were overwhelmed. There was so much going on, and you’d had to deal with all of it with only Loki and Heimdall for almost a month. And now...this. Thanos, headed for Midgard. But, you wondered, why Thor needed your army. And you - you had no allegiance to Midgard, after all. But if Thor did, didn’t you?

You were confused, to say the least. “I can’t leave,” was what you said. “Our Kingdom needs a leader.”

“Midgard needs divine intervention,” Thor mumbled, though everyone in the room heard.

“You said Thanos is after the Infinity Stones,” Loki said. “Does he have the gauntlet?”

Thor and Doctor Strange exchanged glances once more. You held your breath without meaning to because you knew what it would mean if Thanos did, in fact, possess the gauntlet. He’d come for the stones - most of which appeared to be on Midgard, you supposed, though you couldn’t guess why. Midgard had never seemed particularly special to you except in fairy tales, but perhaps you’d missed a memo or something. You knew that, if Thanos got what he was after, the whole universe would be in danger.

Doctor Strange nodded. “We believe so,” he said.

There was a collective sigh - or maybe a gasp - around the room. Thor pulled you closer to him, but you stared at the carpeted floor beneath you.

You had to go. Regardless of your indifference towards Midgard, your husband and King needed you. Maybe you wouldn’t be able to defeat Thanos on your own, but you’d certainly be able to help this...Avengers team Doctor Strange had spoken of.

“I must speak to the court,” you said, pulling away from Thor without looking up. “I have to find my brother and draft the treaty now.” You went toward the door before anyone could follow you, suddenly hyper-focused on the task at hand. “We must make arrangements - Heimdall,” you called, still moving.

He reached you easily, just as you were pushing the doors open once more. “Your Majesty?” he asked.

“Call the members of the court back, please,” you said. “I’ll send a maid to find my brother and his wife. I must go to Midgard - we’ll need you, too.” You looked at him, noticing how he took one step for every two of yours. “And Loki, most likely.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he said.

“Well don’t go making all the plans without me,” Thor said, suddenly standing behind you. You hadn’t noticed him following you - hadn’t even heard him call your name as you’d left the bedroom, although he had.

You paused, then breathed deeply before stepping toward him. “You’re right,” you said, putting a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, my love. I’m almost too used to making decisions around here on my own.”

Thor looked at you with a soft sadness in his eye. He was about to say something when Heimdall cleared his throat.

“Do you need anything else of me?” he asked, clearly reading the situation better than you.

You shook your head. “Thank you, Heimdall,” you said before he left. You turned back to Thor and wrapped your arms around him as far as they’d go, then put your forehead against his collarbone. You were just a few inches too short to reach his shoulder, but he was tall and broad, and when he put his arms around you, he nearly engulfed your whole being.

“I must apologize, (Y/N),” he whispered. You started to shake your head, but then he continued, “I’ve been gone too long, too early in our reign. I wanted to come home sooner, but even before I reached Midgard, I learned of Thanos’s coming.”

“Why did you not come for me sooner, then?” you asked.

He winced. “We didn’t make it to Midgard as early as we thought. We were attacked.”

You leaned away from him, reaching a hand to his cheek. You remembered your invasion of his ship, how you’d held his throat in your hand with more strength than you appeared to have upon first glance. Under other circumstances, you might share a laugh and a joke about Thor never stepping on another ship again, but that didn’t feel quite right at that moment.

“You have the worst luck,” you said instead, still an attempt to see him smile. And he did, a small smile that was more likely meant to humor you than himself.

“The Guardians of the Galaxy helped us get to Midgard safely. But we arrived later than planned, and for the last week we’ve done nothing but plan for Thanos’s arrival. I had to wait for Doctor Strange to come to make it here in time.”

You weren’t sure what he meant by that, but you didn’t have the mind to ask him. You sighed and nodded, then stood taller and kissed him just because you missed being able to do so. His warmth gave you strength enough to know that going to Midgard was unavoidable. At least you’d be going with him, fighting with him once more. You’d get to see his friends and then some. You’d get to see a world you’d never been to before, even if it was just to defend it.

You pulled back from him and nodded. “We have preparations to make and a treaty to write.” You wrapped your arms around one of his and led him down the corridor, simply happy that he was back in your grasp.

TAGS (send a dm if you want to be added or change categories!)

Thor Tags: @thewayilookatbacon @athorable-and-deanlicous

Permanent/Global Tags: @infinityblogger @champion-ofthe-sun @hopefulblazetriumph @httpmcrvel

The One to Stay/The Ones to Leave Tags: @mysweetcookie99 @tegan-eva @kinglyhemmings @markusstraya @dragoste-lunes @arrowswithwifi @ourdreamsrealized

#thor x reader #thor odinson x reader #the ones to go fic #the one to stay fic

73 notes · View notes