#he gets nearly sliced in half as he’s trying to make his way to rescue the prince!

[doriansbutt]

I’ve been rewatching all the buzzfeed unsolved supernatural and true crime and I have a borderline migraine I’m trying to get rid of rn so to entertain myself my brain decided to talk about one of my ocs like Ryan and Shane discussing some unsolved crime 🫡

[treviso-nights]

by blood & thread - crow!rook/lucanis oneshot (rookanis)

word count: 4.7k rating: M (tw: blood, gore) summary: lucanis stitches up crow!rook after a near-fatal battle. there's blood, tension, and a confession slipped out like an apology. somehow, it ends soft. (suuuper angsty. takes place directly after 'blood of arlathan')

:)

The sound of the Venatori’s dagger slicing through flesh was a whisper amidst the cacophony of their fleeing.

A child. They’d had to hold the eluvian open because an elven child, no more than ten, had fallen behind. It would’ve been all right if they’d made sure every defeated Venatori was actually dead, but in the haste of trying to usher several dozen Dalish elves through one of the forest’s magical mirrors, time had been scarce. No sooner did Rook escort the child through herself did a half-eviscerated Venatori soldier pick himself up and launch a throwing dagger into her belly. It hadn’t mattered though… only the rescued had mattered, along with how close they’d all come to being wiped out by Elgar’nan…

Rook’s grunt of pain went largely unnoticed—save for Lucanis and Bellara at her side—the former of which blanched in alarm.

“Go,” she forced out through gritted teeth, speaking to her companions and the child alike. “Get the Dalish somewhere safe! Find Neve and the others and take them all through the eluvians. Don’t stop until you can find someone to put them up for awhile.”

Bellara’s terrified expression belied her next thought. Her trembling hands were already glowing, preparing to cast magic as she took in the blade buried up to its plain, polished hilt. “Rook, no. Let me heal you now—”

The request was promptly interrupted by Crossroad guardians, their metallic bodies shimmering with fury as the large group of refugees darted down a walkway. Rook, Lucanis, and Bellaris took to dispatching them at once while the rescued Dalish elves looked on in dismay. Where Rook fought, blood splatter slicked the ground, viscous and bizarrely saturated in the gray of the Fade’s atmosphere.

“Bellara,” Rook nearly growled, jamming her shortsword into the spirit’s neck. Her next inhale was a gasp. “Get. Them. Out. Of. Here.”

Protest was written all over Bellara’s face, but she nodded, squaring her shoulders. “Lucanis, get Rook back to the Lighthouse. The Vi’Revas is about a mile away—it’s faster if you run.” Loose, damp strands of dark hair were plastered to her neck. “Please tell me you can still run, or I’m going to have to—”

“She can run,” Lucanis replied. After sheathing both daggers, he closed in, slinging one of Rook’s arms across his shoulder.

“GO!” Rook urged again. When she and the other elves were far enough away, a groan unwillingly left her as Lucanis held her body to him, supporting Rook’s weight.

“If the blade severed an artery, you won’t even have minutes,” he murmured, hobbling them down the main walkway. “I don’t think it did, though.” Glancing down to make sure, Lucanis quickly gauged the severity of the wound. “Based on the angle of the entry wound, we should have enough time to get you back and put some stitches in you before Bellara or Emmrich gets back.”

“Great,” Rook hissed. “I’m so looking forward to the tremendous lack of pain relief.”

The path beneath their feet slowly began warping, shifting from cobblestone to grass. A signal that they were already one-third of the way back, though the two Antaam soldiers barring the corner they had just turned around clearly begged to differ. 

“For fuck’s sake!” Rook cursed, lunging out from beneath Lucanis. Swearing, he barreled forward, and his expression was a thunderstorm, all harsh lines and unforgiving fronts. With the two fanning out in opposite directions, dividing the Antaam was easy. Lucanis was deadly, whirling with rage rather than precision, each dark eye narrowed in on his target. 

Rook, meanwhile, took to her knees, biting back a cry of pain at the impact. She swiftly delivered several slashes to the Antaam’s gut, fresh gore splattering the side of her neck. He toppled forwards, forcing Rook to clumsily scramble away on an even bloodier ground. The red was everywhere—on her clothes, her hands, in her hair. She wasn’t able to stay horrified for long though, as Lucanis was crouched beside her in an instant, breathing laborious.

“On your feet,” he urged. 

The command was impossible. She felt so incredibly heavy.

“Please,” Lucanis begged. His umber-brown eyes were wide with anxiety. “I need to get you away from here.”

Like Bellara, Rook wanted to protest, but the palpable fear radiating off his body just served to close her mouth instead.

“With me,” he said. “One, two, three.”

They didn’t get far off the ground at all. Rook was too weak, too limp to hold herself upright. And as Lucanis pulled, she was unable to swallow the scream that tore through her throat. Stiffening immediately, he lowered them back to the ground.

“I don’t mean to scare you,” Rook sputtered slowly, “and I’m only telling you this for triaging purposes, but I’m starting to feel cold.”

She watched the anathema land, settling deep, as she knew it would against an experienced assassin.

Panic entered his gaze one moment before it was forcefully banished. “Consider me scared,” Lucanis said. He grumbled deep in his chest, paralyzed by the instinct to flee. Each breath was uneven, as though he was the one who couldn’t get enough air, though his expression was carefully smoothed of any terror. A mask.

“Save… HER.”

Purple light exploded from the First Talon, drenching both their foreseeable environment and them in it. As the air around them pulsed, warping their surroundings, magical aura began to gather around Lucanis as his two-toned voice sounded off again.

“SAVE. her. NOW,” Spite demanded.

Spite’s possession retracted enough for Lucanis to peer down at Rook’s face, at its pale and sickly hue, the blood rushing out of her lovely tawny skin. “Rook?” Lucanis asked, shaking her gently. 

When she didn’t respond, Lucanis shook her again, placing a gloved hand upon her cheek. “Tria?” 

“Here,” she eventually sighed, voice a sluggish whisper. Her eyelashes, however, did not flutter with any discernible movement.

Lucanis swore. “No, no, no,” he chanted. “Please, Rook, just hold on. I’m getting us home.”

“NOW!” Spite bellowed.

At once, wings erupted from Lucanis’s shoulder blades, feathered black and shot through with violet. Scooping her into his arms, and at the behest of Spite’s insistent shouting, they raced through the sky, with swirling clouds of gray, emerald, and beige roiling above them.

“I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before,” Lucanis muttered to himself. “Mierda.”

Rook stirred just as Spite’s unsteady cadence rang out once again. “I DO,” he snarled. “Love. Makes Lucanis. blind and. STUPID.”

“I heard that,” Rook chuckled.

Perhaps it was the internal bleeding, but the unabashed relief on his face when Lucanis gazed down at her helped to warm some of the chill away. “I don’t care what you hear as long as you stay awake,” he replied softly. “You are not dying. Not here, not like this.”

Hopefully not. The dagger in her gut, however, seemed to have other plans, though Rook was doing her absolute best to regulate her breathing and keep her eyelids from shutting closed again. After a particularly lucid moment, she zeroed in on a long, thin cut across Lucanis’s jaw. And although the cut itself wasn’t that deep, it would still scar. She made a little noise of protest at the thought, pressing a trembling, weak fingertip to the corner beside it.

“You’re hurt,” she scolded. “You better have Bellara heal that when she can.”

Lucanis scoffed… loudly. His subsequent glare seemed to be a scathing reproach to the reprimand, but after swallowing whatever it was he obviously wanted to say, he sighed, exhaling roughly.

“No. I think we should have matching mortal wounds to remember this pleasant evening out, don’t you?”

“... Hilarious.” Rook rolled her eyes at the jab, though the gesture was dangerously unhelpful in her attempt to keep her eyes open. Her next blink was lethargic, and she swore under her breath.

“ROOK. stay AWAKE AND. ALIVE,” Spite pressed. “Or Lucanis will be. SAD.”

As the wind tore through her braid, Rook found herself scanning the Crow, the hard lines of his cheekbones, his temples, the little twist his mouth did before glancing down, laying himself bare.

Despite the tautness in his arms and chest, Lucanis’s visage was a portal of stained-glass glimmering in the morning sun. Soft. Sacred. Accepting. His voice, and the musical lilt of his accent, was ever the same.

“He would, indeed.”

xxxxx 

No sooner had Lucanis laid Rook down in the Infirmary Room was he darting towards the nearest cabinet.

“Drink this,” he ordered, handing her a potion. “It should help staunch blood flow before I begin stitching.”

Rook did as he asked, weakly tossing the empty vial away. The blade’s guard, a two-pronged design that stuck out of her like some sort of cadaverous joke, was coated in crimson blood which had long since cooled. The sight was nauseating, and Rook’s head threatened to swim even as the health potion steadied her pulse. 

Before she could vomit, however, another vial was shoved into her hand. “A regenerative potion, for the pain.”

She downed that one even quicker.

“And this,” he added, tossing yet another vial her way as he flitted about the room. “Anti-venom. Those amateurs wouldn’t know a good poison if someone slit their throat with it, but still. Better to take precautions.”

The anti-venom went down less smoothly, tasting bitter and acrid.

“Agh,” Rook spat. She inhaled slowly, pressing a red hand to the dagger’s handle. 

“No,” Lucanis said. “Not yet.”

Dropping to his knees beside the cot, Lucanis unsheathed one of his own daggers, and with several quick and sure slashes, began to cut Rook out of her leathers. He carved with the utmost precision, befitting of a First Talon, and kept one hand against her collarbone, steadying her while the armor was forcibly peeled away. 

The shock of air upon her sweaty, blood-soaked body sent goosebumps rippling down her chest and stomach. Rook was not aware of the little sound she made in her throat, and so when Lucanis froze, gaze flashing to hers, she quirked an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“Did I hurt you?” The question was filled with worry.

Under normal circumstances, Rook would’ve waved it off, deflecting the attention like a well-timed parry. 

This was not a normal circumstance, however. And she had sustained a shit-ton of blood loss. 

Rook rolled her eyes, fixing a stare on the ceiling. “This is not how I imagined you seeing me in my smallclothes for the first time.”

“... Oh,” Lucanis replied, brows crinkling with thought. He continued to cut away the leather, politely averting his gaze from the sweat-stained breast-band. “But I’ve already seen you in your smallclothes before. Plenty of times. In fact, just this morning, in Arlathan. After all, we do travel together, you know. We’ve all seen each other like that.”

When he was finished, Lucanis stowed the dagger beside him and gently shoved what remained of the leather armor away from her belly. The throwing blade–completely exposed now–glinted even more ominously in the lowlight of the Infirmary Room.

“Yes,” Rook said airily. “But you’ve never been the one to take the clothes off of me. Until now, I suppose.”

Lucanis unexpectedly squeezed his eyes shut, drawing her attention back to him. “Rook,” and his voice was a low growl. “I am trying to save your life, and this… that mental image–it is not helping right now.” 

A pleased grin pulled at Rook’s mouth. Why was she grinning? Shit. This was definitely because of the blood loss. “As long as it gets the job done,” she chuckled, warm and fuzzy.

Wait. That didn’t sound right. Warm? Fuzzy? Hm. Rook was either about to die, or… 

“...Did someone put gingerwort truffle into that health potion?”

Lucanis, not making eye contact, nodded. “Davrin suggested it, as the truffles help to enhance base magical properties.” A pause. “Clearly, whoever mixed these together used too much of it.”

“... Ah.”

Lucanis, leaning over to the gathered supplies, retrieved another regenerative health potion. “Here. We have to stop the bleeding before I can stitch the wound. This will help your body to produce blood more quickly.”

Well, that certainly did not sound pleasant. She drank, and then sighed at the trouble of it all, running a trembling hand across her face. “Just tell me when you want me to take this blighted thing out of me.”

A moment later, Lucanis shifted, preparing the gauze, needle, and thread at his side. “Would you like to be the one to do it? Or do you want m—”

With a savage yank, Rook pulled the dagger out of her body.

“WAIT! MIERDA, Rook—”

Horrified, Lucanis expertly proceeded to slap gauze over the newly gushing wound as Rook shouted, “—FUCKING Venatori and their whore mothers!”

Eyes round as saucers, Lucanis gaped down at blood soaking into the cotton. “What did their mothers ever do to you?” 

Rook groaned as he pressed down. Maker, that had sobered her the fuck up.

“You’re right,” she said, freshly enraged. “I should leave their mothers out of this. What I should do is go back there and have Emmrich raise their spineless, useless corpses from abject DEATH so I can level them properly this time.”

For a moment, neither of them said anything else, and Rook allowed herself to breathe. “All right. I think I’m ready to be stitched now.”

Still kneeling over her, Lucanis attempted to smile, though it was really more of a grimace. “Good, because if I keep feeding you health potions and you overdose on gingerwort truffles, Spite would be very, very angry with me.”

Only a foot remained between them, and even half-conscious, she couldn’t help but take the opportunity to luxuriate in the feel of him so close—openly gazing at the flush in his lips, in the churning, nameless emotion simmering behind his deep, amber eyes.

Another moment passed, and Rook looked away. “I’m never actually ready, so, do it anyway.”

Wordlessly, Lucanis shifted, grabbing the needle and thread into his hands. “As you well know, being an Antivan Crow has necessitated that I become good at this,” he said. “It shouldn’t take long.”

Steeling herself, Rook huffed out a sharp breath and swallowed. 

When there was an uncharacteristically long hesitation, she worriedly glanced at Lucanis, and then down at the hand which still pressed gauze to the wound. “What is it?”

Lucanis grimaced. “I’m sorry for this, Rook.” He offered her a piece of twisted cloth. “Bite down. I know this is not your first time being stitched, but it still helps.”

She took it, muttering, “Don’t tell Viago if I scream,” before clamping her teeth around the cotton. 

Perhaps it was the anxiety cracking across her face that compelled him, but Lucanis slowly reached up, pushing back a few loose curls, also blood-stained, from her eyes. The touch itself was so gentle that it did help to calm her, if only minutely. Rook could see it–he did not want to hurt her. But until Bellara or Emmrich returned, there was no other way.

The entire room seemed to hold its breath, and then, he began stitching.

The noise she uttered wasn’t exactly a scream, but it was close. Very close. With every stitch, Lucanis seemed to gain focus, his warm, strong fingers a strange sort of comfort, even as the sensation of a needle passing through her flesh coated her entire body in cold sweat. It was impossible not to tense her muscles–she knew she should try to relax them, but she was so incredibly tired and there was hardly anything more in her world than the pain. 

Still, when Spite’s wings materialized, bursting into existence and splaying wide, there were suddenly tears in her eyes, and for reasons she couldn’t quite discern.

“Spite’s worried about you,” she heard Lucanis murmur, though his eyes never wavered from his task. “I can feel it.”

Rook choked back a sob, completely unwilling to acknowledge the hot liquid seeping down each temple. Removing the cloth bit an inch from her lips, Rook clenched her jaw against the agony. “I’m all right, Spite,” she whispered before promptly returning the bit to her mouth.

And as if Spite had heard this and yearned to reply, no violet light appeared anywhere in Lucanis’s face, though the raven-feathered wings at his back flexed and beat once in an answer.

The fresh blood–her blood–on his fingers was spellbinding in the room’s dim lighting. Another draw of the needle elicited a groan from Rook, and Lucanis allowed himself a singular glance at her, alarm further tightening his expression. 

“Breathe, Rook,” he urged, his honey-voice a soothing balm. “I need you to keep breathing for me.”

Rook’s next inhale stuttered, fractured by pain, though she heeded Lucanis and forced the next breath to be a little smoother than the one before—and the next, even more smooth, until the only thing she allowed herself to focus on was the feel of his hands on her skin, not the needle carving its way through her. 

She only allowed herself to see Lucanis, concentrated and capable, dedicated to the task of saving her life rather than the crimson red blood which had long since crusted on them both—the graceful line of each brow, the bridge of his nose, the widow’s peak which showed so prominently everytime he pulled his hair back for battle.

No doubt due to her Crow training, the pain, though a raging, roaring inferno, was at last shoved to the back of Rook’s awareness, until her jaw ached from biting down and Lucanis’s gore-soaked hands finally tied off the strings. 

Using another cloth, Lucanis wiped the red from his fingers, and then suddenly his hands were on her, calloused and stained and gently cradling her cheeks. “It’s done, my love,” he soothed. “It’s done.”

It’s done. Several more tears slipped from her eyes, trickling onto Lucanis’s skin as she removed the bit from her mouth. Rearing up on his knees, Lucanis suddenly peered into Rook’s face, fully, intently, before the mask he wore finally crumbled away, leaving nothing else there in his expression but reprieve.

And fear. A little fear, just behind the eyes.

“How do you feel?” 

“Tired.” Her entire body felt like sludge, though she no longer felt the threat of unconsciousness lingering behind that fatigue. “So tired. But… better, somehow.”

Lucanis nodded, searching each eye like he could see into her body, her blood, to make sure that she was the right kind of tired. Rook was about to say something else, but then Lucanis exhaled, short and sharp, before pressing their mouths together. 

Their first kiss.

Neither of them noticed that Rook’s hand was filthy when she slid her fingertips into the loose hair near his neck, nor were they bothered by the general ambiance of blood and gore, old and new, quietly settling around them. There was only the overwhelming sense of release and the knowledge that they were alive—that they were both alive…

When he pulled away, she could feel Lucanis shaking. “Are you okay?” she asked him, scanning him for any unaddressed cuts or injuries.

“Forgive me,” he said, sheepish. “I am not accustomed to… feeling like this, after a job.”

Despite the ache burrowing deep beneath her ribs, Rook managed to smile. “Are you finally feeling how the rest of us do when a contract goes awry?”

Lucanis’s stare turned hard. “You were dying in my arms, Rook. I would hardly call that ‘a contract going awry.’” 

“Right…” she sighed. “Not my finest moment. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s just… I get it now. I understand.”

Rook frowned. “Understand what?”

“What happens if we lose.” His thumb stroked over one cheek, still wet with her tears. “All this time, I’ve been so afraid that Spite… that I would hurt you. But then we barely escaped Weisshaupt, and after that, I watched Illario try to harm you, because of what he knew you meant to me—”

Lucanis’s voice was tender as he continued. “Today, I almost lost you again.” He leaned forward, pressing another feather-light kiss to her lips. “And now that I realize what’s at stake, it changes everything, Rook.”

Holding each other’s gaze, Rook uncharacteristically flushed as Lucanis smiled her most favorite smile—the heavy-lidded, easy smile that spoke of utter and complete contentment. The one he gave before their almost-kiss, in his room, when everything had seemed so much harder.

“I’ll do whatever I have to in order to keep you safe, Rook.” And his voice was a promise, the resolve in his eyes a steely, living thing. “This is not going to happen to you again. I swear it.”

Fresh tears tracked down her face, but there was joy in each and every one of them. She returned the smile, leaning into his touch.

“Sleep,” Lucanis whispered, gazing deep into her icy-green eyes. “You should be okay until the others get back.”

“Don’t go,” Rook pleaded, eyelashes fluttering with exhaustion. “Stay.”

“Always. Who else is going to make sure you keep breathing?”

That made her snort. “Thank you… Lucanis. For saving me.”

She was already halfway under, though the distinct sensation of his mouth against her forehead was still noticeable, as were his next words.

“You’re the one who did the saving, Rook.”

xxxxx 

An hour or so later, Bellara hurried into the Infirmary Room. “I’m so sorry we took so long. We had to hop through a few mirrors before we found any suitable hide-aways for the Dalish. How is she?”

“Shh, she’s been out for some time now.” Lucanis finally rose, stretching out the knots accumulated from sitting in one place for so long. He hadn’t been able to bear the thought of moving one inch away from where Rook slept on her cot, and so the evidence of their bloody afternoon—along with the dried blood upon his own hair, skin, and armor—remained a glaring precursor of the day’s events.

Bellara gasped, but wasted no time in approaching Rook’s sleeping form. She took in the cut-way armor, the supplies beside the mattress, and the thin blanket Lucanis had presumably used to cover Rook while she rested.

“Bad,” Lucanis admitted, grimacing. “It was a close call. I had to stitch the wound myself.” A flash of something soft, like regret, passed over his face. 

“She was awake for it.”

Bellara paled, slowly peeling back the blanket. “Creators…”

“I know.”

Splaying her hands over Rook’s belly, green, soothing light illuminated the room, eliciting a long, steady exhale from Lucanis while he watched. 

“Wait.” Rook’s voice was a hoarse whisper.

The green healing spell guttered out, Bellara flinching away from her in surprise. “Rook!” she exclaimed. “What’s wrong? Was I hurting you?”

Rook’s lilac, gore-stained braid wriggled as she shook her head. “Are you able to heal it enough so that it leaves a scar?”

The subsequent tilt to Bellara’s head communicated the mage’s bewilderment. “I’m… sorry?”

From behind, Lucanis stepped forward, a similar puzzlement written across his features. “Rook?”

Rook did not repeat herself but merely awaited, patient. If one were to look closely, however, a mischievous glint peeked out behind her icy-green, silvery bright eyes. 

Bellara was the first to break. “Sure,” she said slowly, deliberating. “But you’re still not going to tell me why?” And it was the little pout on her face was enough to force a Rook’s hand. Rook smiled, a sleepy gesture, and then very deliberately, flicked her gaze behind Bellara’s shoulder, where Lucanis hovered, brows furrowed in thought.

When she finally understood, Bellara’s mouth popped open. “Ohhh.” She turned just enough to join Rook in scrutinizing the First Talon, a feline grin plastered on her face. 

“Malidta sea,” he grumbled, gaze alternating between the two women. “What are you…?”  

Bellara’s subsequent snicker was what eventually gave it away.

Lucanis proceeded to go slack-jawed. “Oh.” But he quickly composed himself, a quirk of the mouth turning up in fondness. “I see. How… sentimental of you, Rook.”

“... I am clearly in the middle of something,” Bellara said, and she didn’t at all seem unhappy about it. “So let me do what I came here to do and get out of your… very unwashed hair. No offense.”

Laying still, the Infirmary Room was again suffused with emerald healing magic, its color and hum so much more vivid in the Fade. As the layers of tissue in her belly mended, Rook’s exhale of relief joined the spell’s song, the sound seeming to draw some of the lingering tension from Lucanis’s shoulders.

A neat, pink line remained in contrast with the brown canvas of Rook’s belly, and Bellara pulled back, satisfaction written on her face. “Is that okay?”

Rook, peering down, nodded gratefully. “Thanks, Bel. And thank you for overseeing the Dalish’s retreat. I know it was… risky.”

At this, Bellara’s large eyes narrowed. “If you ever do that to me again, Rook, I will never, ever, cook you that curry you like so much.”

“Hey!”

Lucanis’s voice was a growl in the back of the room. “Ditto.”

Rook’s tangible shock was only present a moment before Bellara threw herself upon her—albeit gently, with the mage’s arms coming to encircle Rook’s shoulders.

“I was really scared, Rook,” she confessed, the words full of a lingering anxiety. “I’m so glad you’re all right now.” 

Bellara’s cheek was warm where it pressed against hers. Reaching up, Rook embraced Bellara back, holding her for a length of time that was surprising, even for Rook. “... Me too.”

“Okay, then.” Bellara righted herself, clearing her throat on the way up. “Lucanis?” Pivoting, she took in the thin cut across his jaw. “Do you need that healed too? I have enough mana—”

“I’m good. I don’t mind another scar or two.” Lucanis smiled warmly, and this time, Bellara did not miss the quiet exchange of glances between the two lovers. 

“Antivan crows are so bizarre,” she mumbled out loud. “But…” and she sighed, deeply, forlornly. “So romantic.”

Lucanis snorted and began unbuckling his dirty, torn leathers. “Well said. Now, I don’t know about Rook, but I definitely need a nap after all of that.”

Hesitation entered her face. Bellara paused, glancing between Rook and Lucanis and asked, “Do you want me to ask Harding or Taash to watch the Vi’Revas for you?”

“No, that’s okay.” He proceeded to quietly drag another cot across the room while Bellara watched, confusion somehow present in every one of her blinks. 

“I have a feeling Spite isn’t going to hound my sleep anymore,” he elaborated, pushing the new cot directly against Rook’s. Rook’s expression brightened immediately.

“Oh! That’s good then!” Bellara tentatively agreed. A pause. “Er… why is that, exactly?”

Lucanis’s boots thumped on the ground. “Spite is… approving,” he said, settling himself on the cot.

Rook kept silent when Bellara glanced at her in question, another one of those mischievous smiles twisting her features. “... Of?”

Lucanis huffed. He ceased his undress and gestured vaguely at Rook, looking increasingly more comfortable with this line of questioning. “You know what?” he said, suddenly avoiding eye contact. “Forget it.”

Bellara frowned, chewing on the inside of one cheek before—there! The utter adoration in his eyes as he scooched in close beside Rook’s lithe body.

Her eyes nearly burst out of their sockets at the realization.

Lucanis immediately held up a hand. “Bellara—”

“Ohh, my gosh!” she gasped, jumping up and down on her toes. “It’s official? This is so exciting!” Bellara turned back to face Rook. “This is exciting, right?”

He wanted to scowl, that much was clear. Yet, instead, Lucanis found himself allowing the tiniest smile to appear… perhaps because he was tired, or maybe it was that Rook was still alive, and Bellara—along with Spite, after all—was happy for them. 

Lucanis sighed. Tenderly placing one hand atop Rook’s, he couldn’t tear his gaze away from her, the little crinkles at the sides of his eyes deepening with his smile.

“I suppose it is,” he admitted before laying flat, where he would undoubtedly drift off into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

[im-a-wonderling]

Rescue Me, Part 2 ~ Obi-Wan Kenobi

Dedicated to @sassysaxxy for quoting my own writing at me, showering me with compliments, and sending me your screams and other genuine reactions to my snippets. Your enthusiasm as a reader ignites my enthusiasm as a writer. I hope you enjoy this! 💗

Summary: Y/N is succeeding as Obi-Wan Kenobi's padawan, but who knew succeeding brought other kinds of difficulties with it?

Word count: 7.7k

Warnings: war

Rescue Me masterlist | Main masterlist

I swiped at my forehead, wiping the moisture that had collected there away with my sleeve. Obi-Wan warned me about the thickness of Felucia’s climate, but I hadn’t realized this was how it felt to breathe in equal amounts of water vapor and actual air. I felt as though a mesh swatch had been implanted in the back of my throat, making me work twice as hard to gain half as much oxygen. 

All the Coruscant patricians spending hundreds of credits on expensive moisturizing hair and skin treatments just needed to visit here. 

Obi-Wan’s voice flowed through the comm in my ear. “We need more fire towards the east!” 

“Units C3 and 4, fire three clicks east!” I shouted over my shoulder. The brief telltale clatter of the artillery units calibrating behind me was nearly deafening. 

“Yes, sir!” two clones chorused. I twisted my neck slightly at the sound of it. All Jedi were called ‘sir’, but that didn’t mean I would ever get used to it. 

“How’s the view from up there?” Obi-Wan asked. 

“It’s stunning. Too bad you can’t see it.” His huff made me grin as I raised my binocs to my eyes, looking out at the southernmost front in some hope of catching sight of him. But the only thing I could see were the white flashes of clone armor and the streaking red and blue blaster bolts. “How’s the view from down there?”

“Clanky.”

Droids. 

“How many of them?” 

I heard the telltale sound of Obi-Wan’s lightsaber slicing through metal. “One less now,” he grunted. 

I sighed. “Only a few hundred thousand to go.”

The war continued to gnash its way through the galaxy, and few planets were as devastated as Felucia. Sparsely inhabited, the value of the planet came from nysillin. The Separatists and the Republic had been battling for months over control of the precious healing herb. My master and I had only been here for a few days to resolve the current standoff, but I was ready to leave the moment we were allowed to. 

Directly in front of the mountain I stood on was Master Plo Koon’s battalion, arguably the most important part. If the middle of the field was lost, the battle was lost. To the south was Obi-Wan’s battalion, steadily gaining ground, in no small part because of my master. 

The northern regiment, the smallest group of the three, was currently at a standstill. Commander Cody reported no action and no sightings of the Separatist forces, and so, that battalion was currently out of combat.

My position with the artillery gave me the perfect vantage point, not only of all three fronts, but of the village at my back, one of the only villages the Separatists hadn’t managed to pillage. It would stay that way, if the Republic had anything to say about it. 

My master’s voice crackled in my ear. “There’s more trying to cut through the mountains.”

“Unit B, two clicks to the south!” I relayed to the closest artillery gunman. 

“Yes, sir!” He immediately started punching in calculations for trajectory, and I preemptively clapped my hands over my ears to try and hear Obi-Wan’s next words. 

“When the droids fire up their backup generators-” My master’s voice garbled, becoming unintelligible amidst the horrid clatter from behind me.

“Repeat orders!” I requested, pushing my comm-link further into my ear in the hopes of hearing better. But instead of getting clearer, the words got softer and more garbled before completely cutting out.

“Obi-Wan?” No response. “Obi-Wan, can you hear me?!” No response.

I waved over at the comms technician. “I’ve lost Master Kenobi. Can you restore the connection?”

“Right away, sir.” The clone’s helmet tilted down as he started tapping on his screen. Then, his fingers stopped. “Uh…sir?”

My brow furrowed. “What’s the problem? Is the machine malfunctioning?” 

The helmet shook from side to side. “No, sir, it’s not the machine, it’s something external.”

“What about Master Koon? Can we reach him?”

“No, sir, I can’t locate any signals on any frequency, much less hone in on what they’re saying.”

“No other signals?” I said under my breath. Surveying the ground below me, I searched for any suspicious movement, anything that could resemble a jammer. But the battlefield resembled how it looked before with conflict on the central and southern fronts. Desperate, I panned to the north. My eyes caught sight of the glimmering of the shiny, gray armor of battle droids.

“Oh no.” I quickly adjusted the settings on my binocs and let out a gasp. 

Four clicks ahead of Commander Cody’s battalion, the Separatist AATs were charging. And because of the foliage, Commander Cody wouldn’t be able to see the tanks until they were already within range.

“Scrag!” I ripped the binocs from my eyes, breathing heavily as I stared out at the valley. 

“What’s going on?” one of the clones asked. 

I didn’t reply, still staring. What was I supposed to do? Communications were down. If Commander Cody’s unit was overcome, the Separatists could easily incapacitate the artillery before storming the village.

It’d be a massacre.

And they didn’t even appear to have a jammer with them.

The group marching on the front were still a few minutes away from firing distance, which meant I had a chance to act. How should I seize it? How could I seize it? I was here, with the artillery, removed from the battlefield. 

“Obi-Wan,” I said weakly into my comm, knowing he wouldn’t hear me. “What do I do?” I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to calm down.

In the darkness, Obi-Wan’s wisdom came back to me.

From the Force were we formed and to the Force will we return, he once told me. Sitting cross-legged, his tone perfumed with his seemingly infinite patience, even as I struggled to master the elusive practice of meditation. The Force is your ally. Let it use you, and it will let you use it.

Sentiments that appeared contradictory, but instead formed a perfectly balanced harmony, like the Force itself.

The beginning and ending of all things.

I took in a deep breath, inhaling the humid air before breathing out, letting the cacophony of worries and what-ifs go.

I am here, I thought. 

And the Force answered.

“Commander Y/L/N?”

My eyes flew open to reveal a nervous looking clone.

“What is going on?”

“Communications are down, and there’s a massive force about to reach the 3rd regiment.”

“What are your orders, sir?”

“Fire two kilometers in front of the 3rd regiment’s line and keep firing!” I gave a strained smile. “You’ve just gotten a promotion, trooper.”

There was no path leading up or down the mountain. The artillery was only set up here after being transported by a slow carrier, and I wouldn’t be able to land that thing down on the field. A target that big would be shot down by the Separatists immediately. 

So I stepped right to the edge of the mountain, looking down below. 

I reached out with the Force, took a few shallow, bracing breaths, and jumped.

One of the clones let out a cheer, but the sound whipped away as I free-fell, gaining speed. The wind whipped past me in a roar, and my eyes watered so badly, I had to shut them.

Blindly, I reached out for the Force and felt its aura surrounding me, imparting soft comfort instead of hard, cold fear. The wind around me slowed. I suddenly felt as though I were floating instead of tumbling. I opened my eyes, and I could see the whole valley. 

A searing warning came, and I immediately tucked in my head, bent my arms and legs, and waited for impact.

My feet touched the ground, and I immediately rolled forward.

I stayed there for a moment, my heart pounding in my chest as I fought against the water vapor to catch my breath. 

Then, I took off running, ripping through the Felucian vegetation as I sprinted towards the northern front. 

No other planet I’d been to had plants which compared to the size of the ones on this one. The cyan pitcher plants, shaped like the bulb of a flower, stretched far above my head while long, wispy red growths bent and curled every which way. The dangling parts of the yellow plants made them seem like they dripped with sticky yellow syrup. The dull light from Felucia’s yellow sun was colored by the translucent nature of the plants, shining all manner of different hues around me. All the plants grew so fast, it was all the Republic forces could do to keep clear paths between battalions. If I hadn’t been on the mountain looking down at the battlefield a moment ago, I might’ve taken a wrong turn. As it was, I knew precisely which paths to take.

My heart raced when the white tents and equipment came into sight. I tore through the camp. “Where’s Commander Cody?” I asked the first clone I found. He wordlessly pointed, and I rushed in the provided direction. 

A helmetless Commander Cody stood above a projected map of the area, the very view I’d just seen from my position. The commander looked up, clearly surprised to see me. “Commander Y/L/N? What are you doing here?”

I skid to a stop. “I saw the Separatists moving on this position, they’ll be here any minute.” My own voice sounded so even, a marvel considering how out of breath I should’ve been. 

Commander Cody cursed. “That’s why the long range comms aren’t working.”

I nodded.

“We have to hold this line while Master Koon and Master Kenobi are informed and push their lines forward.” Cody turned to one of the clones standing beside him. “Take my speeder to inform Masters Koon and Kenobi of the situation!” The clone nodded and ran the direction I’d come. 

“How long until the troops can be deployed?” 

Commander Cody’s face went grim. “There’s only a platoon assigned to the front. The rest are sleeping or eating. The clankers will be here before I can get them ready.”

I started running towards the front. “I’ll buy you that time!” I called over my shoulder.

Subtly reaching out with the Force, I let the life forces of the clones ahead of me guide my path, and it was a good thing I did. 

The only reason I recognized the edge of the battlefield when I reached it was the gradual dwindle in the number of large pitcher plants, allowing for a slightly more unobstructed view ahead. Heart pounding, I dodged the ferns and giant mushrooms, waiting for the thick air to suddenly fill with blaster shots.

SCREECH!

That was my only warning before a shell screamed over my head. My heart dropped, because I knew I hadn’t reached the squad in time. 

“AATs ahead!” the voice of a clone yelled, and all hell broke loose.

The air filled with blaster shots, and I was surrounded by the high pitched whines following their discharge and the heat that followed them. I deflected as many shots as I was able, trying to reach the platoon. I spotted the camouflage helmet of a clone scout trooper and bounded towards it. 

“Where’s this fire coming from?!” one of the clones behind me cried from his defensive position. “We didn’t hear a warning!”

I managed to reach whom I assumed was the squad leader, an ARC trooper I recognized as being called Driver. “Commander Cody is rallying the troops now!” I shouted over the noises of combat. 

Driver gave a curt nod before crouching out from behind the pitcher plant to fire a few shots at the Separatists and then rolling back to safety.

I glanced around at the other clones I could sense, all valiantly returning fire. Nine clones and a Jedi had no hope of winning against the infantry corp that was bearing down on us, but we just needed to buy time.

Another shell barreled towards us, and I threw my hand out, diverting it into the trees. Sending a glare at the AAT that came so close to destroying the platoon, I deflected every blast I could. “Hold your ground!”

But it couldn’t last forever.

“Dank’s been hit!” one of the other squad members yelled.

Distracted, I looked behind me to see the white-clad body of a clone on the ground, not moving. Turning away to parry another shell, I reached behind me with the Force to feel Dank’s life.

I felt nothing.

And in that nothing, suddenly, everything slowed down.

A shell came hurtling towards me, slowly rotating in the air as it came closer and closer. With a yell, I threw out my hand, sending the shell back in the direction it’d come from. 

The explosion of an AAT made the corner of my mouth twitch up. Take that, I thought with satisfaction. 

“Engage!”

I dared a glance over my shoulder to see scores of clones running out of the foliage, taking cover behind the pitcher plants and returning fire.

Commander Cody joined me behind the pitcher plant I was using for cover. “Took you long enough!” I called over to him. He waved his hand in the air, dismissing my teasing. “Have either of the masters sent back word?” The commander shook his head, and my heart sank. To win this battle, it was imperative that the other two battalions pushed forward. Cody could hold the line, but he wouldn’t be capable of pushing the Separatists back. 

I ducked behind another pitcher plant, gripping my lightsaber in front of me as I panted for breath. “Obi-Wan,” I said quietly. “Where are you? Why aren’t you here?” I shut my eyes, tuning out the commotion around me.

I am here.

The Force rose up, the crackles of energy surrounding me.

Obi-Wan. I need Obi-Wan.

The answer was a grab of my consciousness. The Force dragging it at top speed, not bothering to weave through the trees and fighters. It was an odd sensation, to fly through solid things and feel only the energy that knit them together.

Then, I felt the light.

“Obi-Wan,” I breathed, my own voice sounding far away. “You need to attack.” The light didn’t react, and I knew he hadn’t felt me. Reaching out with my conscience, I prodded the light sharply. “Attack.”

Suddenly, I got ripped away, flying back to the confines of my own body. I opened my eyes, once again hearing the blasters firing.

Had he heard me?

I wasn't sure.

I peeked over the edge of the plant. The hundreds of droids were nearer, and with it, the crowd of AATs. I was about to turn away when an AAT in the middle caught my attention.  Standing with its top half outside the hatch of an AAT, was a droid, tapping onto a large, welded addition to the AAT.

It could’ve been anything, but I knew better. 

Eighty meters away, there it was.

If I were still with the artillery, I could order them to fire on that AAT, but I was in the battle, and my options were limited.

I scanned the field. The fighting was thick, but the foliage was thicker. With Cody holding up the rear, I might be able to sneak past the droids, get to the jammer, incapacitate it, and turn the tide of the battle.

I’d need back-up.

My eyes fell on Driver, and the plan started to form. “Driver!” I called. The ARC trooper turned, and I waved him over. “On me!” Without hesitation, I started on a zig-zag path, darting from cover to cover, never staying still enough to be a target. Driver and two other clones followed me.

It was harrowing, leaping from side-to-side, hoping that no droid would notice us before we got around. Finally, we got to the edge of the battlefield.

“What’s going on, sir?” Driver asked.

I peeked over the tree we hid behind. “We’re going to take out the AAT that's jamming our comms,” I told them breathlessly.

Driver and the other two clones exchanged looks, but none of them raised an objection. They nodded at me, and together, we snuck through the foliage, trying to keep the battlefield within sight, but remain unseen.

Finally, we reached as far as we needed. Maybe fifteen meters into the battlefield, and we’d reach the AAT.

I singled out the AAT with the welded addition. “That’s the one!” I shouted above the clamor on the battlefield. 

“Click,” Driver yelled, “you’re up! We’ll cover you!”

One of the clones nodded, his hand drifting to his belt where a number of dangerous looking items lay. He took off in a zig-zag jog, ducking around droids and staying low to the ground.

I watched him, my anticipation rising.

Click reached out to lay a hand on the AAT when suddenly his body contorted. I caught sight of a blaster mark in the center of his chestplate before he crumpled to the ground, unmoving.

Horror rose up in me, and with it, the distress of the two clones standing with me.

I shook my head. Time to do my job. My eyes shifted to the thermal detonator on Driver’s belt. 

“I need your detonator!” I hissed at Driver. 

Driver’s helmet shifted slightly, and I could feel the sense of duty that tugged at him. “Sir, I should be the one to–”

“Driver, now!”

Grabbing the detonator from his belt, he tossed it at me, and I caught it. Before I could talk myself out of it, I sprinted into the battlefield, the air around me filling with red and blue blaster bolts alike. I didn’t check my surroundings to see if the droids or other AATs had noticed me, trusting the Force to warn me of an impending threat. 

I felt the blaster bolt before I saw it and ducked, the bolt whizzing over my head. I didn’t bother to look in the direction it’d come from, solely focused on my target. 

Finally, I reached the AAT and jumped onto it, throwing open the hatch door. Hitting the activation button, I dropped the detonator into the interior and slammed the hatch closed. 

I slid off the AAT as fast as I could. Dropping beside Click’s body, I hooked my arms underneath his armpits and yanked. 

Another clone appeared beside me. “Sir, we need to lea–”

The detonator blew. 

The vigor of the blast threw me backwards. I landed hard on my back, my head snapping back.

“–and do it now!”

I nearly cried with relief upon hearing my master’s voice through my comm. 

“They’re retreating!” said Commander Cody’s voice in my ear. “Push forward!”

I lifted my head up in time to see droids retreating…right in our direction.

The clone beside me let out a groan, and I caught sight of the bashed side of his helmet. I was on my feet in an instant, slinging his arm over my shoulder and practically dragging him with me. 

Driver ran from the tree, coming to the clone’s other side. 

Together, the three of us reached cover, just in time to hear the shouts of victory and aggression as the clone forces ran forward, chasing the Separatists away. 

Driver and I leaned the clone against the tree. I could sense his pain, which only increased my guilt. This clone had just been trying to get me to safety and ended up injured because of it. I was not going to let him die like the others. I crouched in front of him, reaching out to inspect his helmet. “What’s your name?” I asked softly. The clone didn’t respond; his arms were out to the sides, as if he were trying to balance himself. Resting a firm hand on his shoulder, I asked again. “Soldier, what’s your name?” 

“CT-7563.” Even through the modulator of his helmet, I could hear that he tripped over the numbers. 

My eyes flicked to Driver, who now kneeled beside me. “What’s his other name?”

“We call him Exit,” Driver answered. 

I grabbed both sides of the helmet, preparing to ease it off. “Okay, Exit, I’m going to take off your helmet so I can see your wound better.”

I could feel Exit’s hesitation, but when he raised no objection, I gently tugged on the helmet, pulling it off his head. 

The right side of Exit’s head was already swelling, and there was a nasty gash oozing blood into his buzzed hair. Exit blinked rapidly, and I wished I had a flashlight to check his pupillary response. But I didn’t have a flashlight; I didn’t even have a bandage to stop the bleeding.

I glanced around to see what was available to me, and my eyes fell on a red spotted plant—the very plant responsible for this skirmish. “Here,” I said. I delicately plucked a leaf. “Chew this, it’ll help.” 

Disoriented as he was, I didn’t expect Exit to hold up his hand. “I s-shouldnnn’t.” 

I threw him a stern look. “There’s more than enough to go around. Chew it.” Exit obediently put the plant in his mouth, and Driver knelt down to help him up. “Help him back to the FOB, will you?”

“Yes, Commander Y/N.”

Another clone joined them, and together, they brought their injured brother onto the battlefield, towards the camp. 

I stopped, crouching onto the ground to take a moment. As my adrenaline receded, the muscles of my neck started to ache from the detonator’s kickback. I could only hope for no more explosions in the near future. 

Click’s body still lay where I’d abandoned it, and the sight made my chest feel tight. 

“May the Force be with you,” I murmured under my breath as two clones walked up to their brother, rolling him onto a stretcher so they could carry him off to the field. Had he died on Coruscant, his body would be cremated. But I’d been in this war long enough to know his body was headed for a mass grave, marked only with the helmets that no longer had anyone to claim them.

The only funeral rites these warriors were likely to receive.

A hand patted my shoulder. “You did good,” Commander Cody said. Through the thicket of gruff and stern words, I could make out the undertone of pride. 

I sighed, knowing it was undeserved. “I deserted my post.” I reflexively tightened my grip on my lightsaber. “I was supposed to stay with the artillery.”

“You saw a problem no one else did, and you acted before it was too late.” Commander Cody glanced over at where the Separatists had been minutes ago. “Your leadership prevented the worst case scenario and turned it into a victory.”

I straightened. “We can only hope my master agrees.” 

“Padawan Y/N!”  Master Plo Koon approached. Normally, his presence was a calming one, but at that moment, I was unnerved by the inability to see his eyes.

“Master.” I bowed my head, ignoring the twinge from my neck muscles.

“I’m glad to see you’re alright.”

“Thank you, master.”

Master Koon and Commander Cody started for the camp, sharing information on the battle as they went.

The sound of humming light filled my head, causing me to look up.

Obi-Wan walked straight towards me, dirt covering his grim face and unignited lightsaber clenched tightly in one hand as he crossed the field with his long, uninterrupted strides. He looked tired, but uninjured. 

I walked to meet him, a soft smile on my face. “In one piece, old man?”

Obi-Wan huffed. “Of course it would be too much to hope the Separatists might’ve goaded you into holding your tongue.”

“Well, they couldn’t goad me into holding onto my thermal detonator.” I grinned.

“Equally as explosive,” Obi-Wan muttered, shaking his head, but he couldn’t hide a small smile. “Come, we must go check on the village while the troops secure the field.” 

Obediently, I fell into step behind him. “How long do you think the Separatists will take to regroup?”

“No way to know,” Obi-Wan answered as we strode through the camp. “They took a hit today, but it’s just another step in the dance.”

I lowered my eyes somberly, the day’s victory coming into perspective. He was right, as always. In fact, I couldn’t think of a single time when Obi-Wan had been wrong about–

“Master Kenobi?” a voice from behind us said.

Commander Cody stood there, his arms folded in an imposing stance. 

“Yes, commander?” Obi-Wan asked. 

Commander Cody jerked his head to the right. “The village is that way.”

I pursed my lips to keep from smiling.

-

“Don’t put any weight on that leg, y’hear?” I said, playfully narrowing my eyes at the Felucian villager as I wrapped bandages around her wound.

She laughed, bending her long neck sheepishly. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Alright, let’s get you up.” I helped her shift to the end of the rickety cot in the med tent, hoisting her up onto her right leg.

“Thank you,” her husband told me, bowing his head as he reached his arm around his wife, helping her balance. 

“No problem,” I replied, watching the two of them hobble towards the mess tent to join the other villagers that had joined the Republic camp to receive some nourishment. Judging by the tightness around the villager’s eyes, she was still in pain, but her husband watched her with such tenderness, as if he was counting himself lucky to be nothing more than a crutch.

“How’d she get injured?”

I jumped, then relaxed when I recognized the voice as Obi-Wan’s. I’d been so focused on the villager, I hadn’t noticed the nearing of his light. “She got caught in a Separatist trap and nearly lost her foot. Unfortunately for her, the village still hasn’t found a shaman to replace the last one.” I walked over to the makeshift sanitizer, quickly cleaning my hands. “Honestly, she still might lose the foot if she’s not careful.”

When my statements were met only with silence, I glanced up at my master and caught sight of the calculation on his face. 

“What?” I asked. 

“Nothing. Shall we go eat?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. He was thinking something, and he was thinking something about me. “What aren’t you telling me?”

He let out a little sigh, his mouth curling into a smile. “Seeing you acting as a healer. It’s…satisfying.”

Heat bloomed in my cheeks. “Well, don’t go getting any ideas about jumping in a Rathtar den again, ‘cause I’m not patching you up this time.”

Obi-Wan laughed easily, clearly aware that I would patch him up every time he needed it regardless of my complaining. “C’mon, let’s go eat.” 

Perhaps when the clone wars ended, there would be things I missed. I would miss getting to explore new planets and meet new people. I would miss the demands of battle, whether it demanded more energy where there was none or ingenuity in the face of stress.

I would not, however, miss the rations.

I popped another sweet energy cube into my mouth, chewing it and trying not to grimace. 

Opposite me, Obi-Wan was staring at the cube in his palm with great distaste. The delighted cry of a child filled the air, and a stampede of them started to run past in the strange waddling way of Felucians. 

Obi-Wan slyly reached out to them, allowing one of the children to pluck the cube off his palm and into her mouth with a grin. 

I sent him a sideways glance as the children ran out of the mess tent. “You’re going to go hungry.” 

Obi-Wan conspiratorially lowered his voice. “Better an empty stomach than a stomach with that stuff inside it.”

I snorted. “I’ve fought on an empty stomach. Trust me, it’s no good.”

Obi-Wan’s face fell. “Krell?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to, Obi-Wan already knew more than I’d ever meant for him to know. Instead of dredging up the past, I looked down at my plate. "Agh," I blurted at the burst of pain that ran up my neck.

Obi-Wan tensed. "Is something wrong?"

"No, no." I rubbed at the sore spot. "Caught the wrong end of an explosion and earned myself some whiplash."

"I think I saw some cream in the med tent." Obi-Wan started to get up, but I grabbed his arm.

"I'm fine."

Obi-Wan didn't ask me if I was sure, he simply fixed me with his classic I-know-better-than-you look.

"It'll clear up on it's own," I insisted. "Save the supplies for the clones and the villagers."

Obi-Wan opened his mouth.

“Are you ready, Master Kenobi?” Master Koon approached our table. “The council is waiting.”

My master threw me another look and then got to his feet. “Yes, Master Koon.”

“Your padawan will have much to tell us,” Master Koon said. 

I shot upright in my seat. “What?” I looked at Obi-Wan, hoping he would provide me with insight, but he was staring at Mast Koon as well, a slightly wary expression on his face. His Force light was flickering with uncertainty.

“What am I telling?” I asked Master Koon.

“We will want to speak of your actions today,” Master Koon replied, seeming absolutely calm. 

My…actions?

An uncomfortable tension settled in my stomach, and the souring of the previously sweet energy cubes made me wish I’d followed my master’s example and refrained from eating. 

“Whenever you’re ready, Master Kenobi.” Master Koon left us, walking towards the erected tent for the council meeting.

Obi-Wan didn’t move for a moment. He kept his eyes on Master Koon’s retreating back, but I could feel the buzzing surrounding us, like the Force was flocking to my master. Whatever he was thinking, the Force was drawn to it. 

Obi-Wan started walking towards the tent, not sparing me another glance as he left me alone in my panic.

If Master Koon thought my actions deserved a place in a council meeting…perhaps my desertion of my post in the battle was a bigger deal than I thought. 

Of course it was. What had I been thinking? I must’ve been possessed by some maverick spirit, urging me to leap into battle without instruction from my superiors. Perhaps the spirit of Skywalker, I thought nervously to myself, except I don’t have the role of the Chosen One to cushion my fall. 

Now I was to defend my actions in front of the council? Not once in all my appearances before the Jedi council had they asked me to speak. Every time, I stood in Krell or Kenobi’s shadow, keeping my thoughts and feelings to myself. 

The longer I waited to be summoned, the greater the buzzing of the light grew. Only Master Koon and Obi-Wan were physically inside the tent. If the Force gathered around any of the other members, I wouldn’t be able to feel it, not this far away from Coruscant. What could the council be discussing that would send Obi-Wan into such a flutter?

After what felt like ages, Obi-Wan poked his head outside of the tent, making eye contact with me. 

I sucked in a breath, slowly rising to my feet.

But then Obi-Wan’s eyes moved to something behind me. “Commander Cody, the council wishes to speak with you.”

Commander Cody appeared as aghast as I felt. “As the council wishes,” he said finally. He got up from his chair, shooting me a look before ducking into the tent. I stared at the tent flap. Why did they want to speak to Cody? Was it simply for a report on the battle? Or were they asking Cody to give a report about me? 

Altogether too soon for my tastes, the tent flapped opened as Commander Cody came out. I searched for something in his face to clue me into what he’d said about me, but his stoic face revealed nothing.

“Y/N.” My master stood, holding the tent flap open. “We’re ready for you.” I stayed where I was, trying to read his face, but the words there were in Shyriiwook. 

“Hells,” I muttered. “Here comes the heavy weather.” After lingering a moment to lift my chin high, I walked inside the tent.

Master Koon stood off to one side while Obi-Wan moved to stand at the other. In between them, life-sized holograms of each member of the Jedi Council was projected. With the glitching and imprecision of the transmissions, it was impossible to tell what expressions they wore. 

“Padawan Y/N,” Master Windu began, “the 3rd Regiment went into conflict under your discretion, correct?”

Aware of Master Windu’s deep distaste for excuses, I erred on the side of brevity. “Yes.”

“And you joined them once the comms went out?”

“Yes.”

“Can you please tell us why?”

“When the comms went out, I surveyed the battlefield with binocs, and I spotted the enemy making a move towards the 3rd Regiment in force. Knowing they weren’t expecting conflict and being unable to communicate with them, I left orders for the artillery to fire upon their position while I got to the line as quickly as I could.”

Master Fisto tilted his head. “Commander Cody informed us you arrived on foot.”

It wasn’t a question, and yet there was still a suspicious silence. “I…looked for a speeder of some sort, but the only ship with the artillery was the command platform, and I wouldn’t be able to land that by the front without it getting shot down.”

“How did you get down off the mountain?” Master Windu asked.

“I jumped.”

The humming of the light dissipated for a moment, and it took everything in me to keep my focus on Master Windu. 

Master Windu cleared his throat. “So once you…jumped…and you reached the northern front, then you took control of the regiment?”

I hesitated. “No.”

“No?” Master Tiin asked, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

Sweat gathered on my palms. “I told Commander Cody of the oncoming fighters, and once a messenger was sent to Master Koon and Master Kenobi, I went to the front line to buy enough time for the regiment to deploy.” A few of the masters glanced over at each other, and I couldn’t keep quiet. “I didn’t give Commander Cody orders. I informed him of the situation and gave him the time he needed to rally his troops.”

“But you did take three clones with you to bring down the jammer.”

“Yes.”

“And you brought it down how exactly?” 

I swallowed hard. “A thermal detonator.”

“Why didn’t you go to Master Koon or Master Kenobi directly when the comms went out?” Master Mundi asked. 

I hesitated. It felt like a trick question, but it was impossible to know what the masters wanted me to say, so I opted for the truth. “Protecting the village was the most important. That’s why the Republic is here, to defend life. There was very little time, so I trusted my–”

Gut, I very nearly said, but Jedi didn’t make decisions on gut feelings. 

“I trusted my training.”

No one spoke, and a skittish feeling scratched at the walls of my stomach. To stand in front of the most powerful Jedis while none of them spoke? How royally had I screwed up?

“Impressive,” Master Yoda muttered, stroking his chin. “Impressive, very.”

…impressive? 

Did he speak of my disobedience? Were my actions a kind of wrong of epic proportions, it was impressive someone could have behaved so poorly?

My hands started shaking. 

“Padawan Y/N, have you started preparing for your trials?” Master Unduli asked. 

“Yes,” I said hesitantly, unsure of where the question was leading. “I’ve been studying for months.” A strange, shuddering pulse of light shot through the Force like a bolt of lightning, and I couldn’t stop myself from glancing at my master. His stony face offered no insight. 

“I don’t think you’ll be studying for your trials much longer,” Master Unduli said.

Desperation rocked through my core. I knew it, I thought. Abandoning my post would get me kicked out of the Jedi Order.

“The way I see it,” Master Unduli said, looking over at Master Windu beside him, “Padawan Y/N acted as a Jedi Knight in this situation and turned the tide of the battle.” My mouth fell open as murmurs of agreement rippled through the tent. I quickly closed it, hoping none of the masters had noticed it.

“We commend you on your quick thinking and serenity under pressure,” Master Windu said.

Commend? Serenity? I hardly dared to believe it. “Thank you, masters.”

“The jogan doesn’t roll far from the vine, eh, Master Kenobi?” Master Fisto asked, and appreciative chuckles rippled through the room. Not even my years of strength and endurance training kept me from smiling. They were comparing me to Obi-Wan? That was surely one of the highest compliments in the galaxy.

Aching to see the approval on my master’s face, I dared a peek at him.

But instead of a beam of pride, Obi-Wan’s brows were furrowed and his lips downturned. My stomach flipped. Was he displeased with me?

“We’ll be keeping our eyes on you, Padawan Y/N,” Master Mundi said, drawing my attention once more. “As for right now, you are dismissed.”

“Yes, master, thank you, master.” I bowed low and left the tent, leaving Obi-Wan and Master Koon to finish up their business with the council. Once the tent flap closed behind me, I breathed in the heavy air, trying to process what had just happened.

“Well?” Commander Cody asked from his chair, helmet off and eyebrows raised. “What did they say?” 

“They’re pleased with me,” I answered, surprised by my own words. “They commended me.”

Commander Cody rose from his seat to clap me on the shoulder, celebrating with me in his own grisly way: without saying a word. No reassurances or comments.

“I thought they were going to kick me out of the Order,” I confessed. “Or give me some consequence, not…not tell me I did well.” I smiled at Cody. “But they did.”

Cody went back to his chair. “I’m sure your master is very proud.”

I stopped.

Obi-Wan didn’t seem proud. In fact, he hadn’t said a single thing about the battle. If I’d done something right, Obi-Wan would’ve given a quick affirmation before we went to the village. If I’d done something wrong, we would’ve been knee-deep in a lecture instead of spending time with the children. But Obi-Wan hadn’t done either. If I didn’t do anything right and I didn’t do anything wrong…then what had I done?

Was the Jedi council being generous in their commendation? 

No.

The Jedi Council showing kindness to me had never been much of a priority before, so they must’ve meant it. 

Why was it, then, that Master Windu of all people praised me, and Obi-Wan hadn’t even smiled? Was Obi-Wan simply withholding his pride to save it for the right time? Or did he disagree with the other masters? Did Obi-Wan believe that I’d acted rashly and deserved to be scolded for my disobedience?

I felt weirdly jittery, as though my bones were shaking underneath my skin.

“Safe travels, Master Kenobi,” Master Koon said as he and my master came out of the tent behind me. “May the Force be with you.”

“And with you,” Obi-Wan replied. 

With a nod in my direction, Master Koon walked off in the direction of the mess tent, and Obi-wan brushed past me to walk in Commander Cody’s direction.

I caught up to Obi-Wan. “We’re leaving? 

“The council is pulling us out,” he said, not bothering to look over his shoulder at me. “The Separatists have pulled back, and the Felucian platoons can advance without us here. Master Koon will remain to supervise until this heats up again.”

Dreams of Coruscant filled my mind. The tall buildings, the tempered weather, the crowds. “Are we returning to the temple?” I asked hopefully.

“No, they're assigning us to a diplomatic mission.”

“Diplomatic mission?” I echoed, coming to a stop. I’d never been on one. They were rare these days, and in the days when they’d been common, Master Krell would most certainly not have been the council’s first choice to go, which meant I wouldn’t have been either.

Obi-Wan, the great Negotiator, would be. 

My master and Cody exchanged quick words.

“Y/N, let’s go,” Obi-Wan said, his every word clipped.

There was no point in telling me to gather my stuff; the only things I possessed with the robes on my body and the lightsaber at my belt.

Cody flicked two fingers out from his forehead in a tiny salute. “See you later, kid.”

“Next time you see me,” I said with a smile, “I might be a Jedi Knight.”

“About time,” he said gruffly.

I could’ve hugged him for his words, and I stood for a moment, debating doing so.

“Y/N,” said a firm voice behind me.

Ducking my head, I followed Obi-Wan towards the rudimentary spaceport. His light was casting uncertain shadows through the Force. I tilted my head, honing in on the flickers, but the nearer I got to it, the more light skittered away from me.

How strange that I'd felt him as clear as day across a battlefield, but now I couldn't when I walked beside him.

When we reached the ship, I wordlessly went to the cockpit, preparing to take off. According to the rumors, Obi-Wan was an excellent pilot, but I only saw him occupy the pilot’s chair when we were under fire. If we were simply navigating from one planet to another, he left the piloting to me.

“Where are we going, Master?” I called behind me.

“To Taris, in the Outer Rim.”

Taris.

A planet of overgrown swamps and yellow smog that choked the atmosphere. And if we were headed there for a negotiation, we were headed to the far side, where all the wealthy lived. 

Fantastic.

-

The ship’s engine hummed as it hurtled through lightspeed. 

I settled myself on the floor, ducking my head to catch sight of what I needed in the mirror I’d propped up against the wall. I lifted the pair of scissors in my head, grabbing a section of hair.

“What are you doing?” 

Obi-Wan stared down at me, the grime gone from his face. He must’ve washed it.

“My hair’s too long, so…I’m cutting it.” 

A strange heaviness shot through the Force, as if Obi-Wan’s light had tumbled to the ground with a loud and hollow thunk. Before I could try to reach the light, Obi-Wan turned away from me.

His Force signature was confusing me left and right today. The exorbitant turmoil I felt through the Force seemed disproportionate to the lack of words coming out of his mouth. Usually when I sensed this much distress in him, we dialogued about it.

Perhaps the issue now wasn’t with him, but with me. As the battlefield on Felucia had shown, sometimes the receiver was a problem just as much as the transmitter. 

I shook my head softly, raising the scissors again to make the first cut.

“You’ve been my padawan for less than six months,” Obi-wan said suddenly, nearly making me jump out of my skin. He stood above me again, his lips pursed. 

Why was he mentioning our timeline? “I’m sorry?”

“I didn’t realize,” he said, the words curt, “that you were studying to take the trials.”

“Oh.” I looked away, my scissors hovering uncertainty as I tried to decide whether to go ahead with cutting or put them down. “Well, I’ve been a padawan for years.” Obi-Wan said nothing. I shifted to face him, gripping the scissors in my lap. “I’m twenty-two. Everyone I trained with as a youngling has passed their trials already, and some of them even have padawans of their own now.”

“Right,” came Obi-Wan’s unenthusiastic reply. 

“Do you think I’m not prepared?” I asked worriedly.

“No, no!” he burst out. “I mean, yes, you are, you’re capable, to be sure.” He scratched his chin. “I guess I thought I had more time…” he trailed off, his expression troubled. “More time to…to teach you, to help you…improve.”

“What do I need improvement on?” He didn’t answer, sending my anxiety through the roof. I got to my feet, abandoning the scissors on the floor. Obi-Wan took a step back so as to keep us from colliding. “If there’s something I should be working on, something that would hold me back, I would like to know.”

“There’s…” He paused, his eyes darting all over my face. Why did he seem so…uncertain?

Then it dawned on me, the reason he was reluctant to speak. I crossed my arms, trying to hold the pieces of myself together through the implosion of disappointment. “It’s because of Master Krell, isn’t it? No one wants me to pass the trials because no one trusts me.”

“That’s not true,” Obi-Wan said sharply.

“It’s because of what I did with the regiment, then. I should’ve found some way to contact you first."

“Y/N-”

“Or maybe it’s my combat skills, I know I’m not the best fighter–”

“Y/N!”

I bit my lip, keeping the flood of words from bursting forth. 

With the opposite problem, Obi-Wan didn’t form any words, didn’t move. He just…examined me.

“Why am I not ready?” I asked, slowly and clearly.

“It’s…you’re…I think…” Obi-Wan visibly wrestled with the words coming out of his mouth, seemingly unsure of which sentiment to land on. Finally, he let out a large sigh. “You’ll be a good Jedi Knight.”

I blinked. That was not the answer I was expecting, nor was it a true answer to my question. When Obi-Wan minced words like this, he minced with great care. So what was the hidden meaning, the intent hiding behind his words?

Obi-Wan shuffled towards the cockpit, leaving me alone with the burgeoning company of my thoughts.

He had doubts. He must’ve, for why else would the echoes of his thoughts fall so heavy?

It was strange. Obi-Wan fought for me, fought to overpower my reputation within the Order and establish me as a true Jedi. The council had always been skeptical, and it hadn’t hindered him one bit. In fact, it seemed to spur him on. 

Now I’d received affirmation from the council, yet Obi-Wan had doubts?

I returned to my reflection, trying to resume my planned activity. But my hands were shaking so much, I couldn’t hold the scissors straight. Every time I worked up the courage to make a cut, the scissors faltered.

-

Part 3

Overall tag list:

@thelastpyle @valiantlytransparentwhispers

Rescue Me tag list:

@penfullofwordsaheadfullofstories @starlazergazer @blackqueengold @ajwild220 @exploringalaxiesfarfaraway @mortallycrispyglitter @nerdory10 @shinybananapastanickel @sassysaxxy @sunshine-girl013

[goldenlionprince]

2024 AO3 Wrap Up

Thank you @jmagnabo92 for tagging me! :)

Fandoms: HP

Number of Fics: 15

Number of Words: 23,355

Which is A LOT for me, coming back to writing only this year after not writing at all for years (since ~2016). So Prongsfoot Week and Jilypad Week kicking me back into actually writing and posting something was a huge deal for me this year (I'm like a vampire, I need to be invited into spaces or I will just lurk in the shadows and feel like an intruder, so if anyone wants to talk to me, please do, I'm a chicken and can't start a conversation)

~*~

Full list :

~*~

October

Prongsfoot

Who hired the hooker? (717 words)

It's James' birthday when he runs into a beautiful stranger at a bar.. and Peter very nearly ruins all his chances. Or maybe he doesn't.

how not to stop a know-it-all from showing off (1k words)

Sirius Black - Ravenclaw know-it-at - is absolutely infuriating to James. He always has to have the last word, clever pain in the butt that he is. It's time to make him shut up.

Rumor Has It (744 words)

“He said,” Peter leans forward over the table. “That he really can't wait for Sirius to become a Potter so he finally doesn't have to deal with them sharing the same last name anymore.” James stares at him. “So naturally,” Remus continues, grabbing another slice of toast from the basket in front of him. “Half the school thinks you two are engaged now.”

fangs and all (1.9k words)

After Sirius disappears from an Order mission gone wrong James sets out to find him. When he does, Sirius is a little changed… (vampire!Sirius)

~*~

November

Jilypad

Inevitable (1.8k words)

It's the summer after seventh year and Lily finds herself in love, not once, but twice. It's like James says - inevitable.

Birthday Morning Blues (1k words)

It's the morning of Sirius' Birthday only days after Halloween in Godric's Hollow and the fall of Voldemort. They are all a bit shaken still, but they will be okay, eventually.

Blame it on the Mistletoe (744 words)

It's a normal Tuesday and they are on their way to dinner at the Great Hall when a mistletoe decides to make them realize a few things. And kiss.

only time will tell (2.4k words)

This is how it starts. Over the years it grows. They grow. And they grow into something beautiful. - Jilypad from their sorting to a wedding

Between Friends (281 words)

The first time it happens they are a little drunk, trying to forget the looks on the Prewett brother's faces, still shaken to the core. The second time they come fresh from a fight, Regulus' voice from behind a mask still ringing in Sirius' ears. The third time is after they stumble back home, still shocked that they have faced Voldemort directly and are all still alive. They stop counting after that.

Front Page News (1.2k words)

It's been a few weeks since the fall of Voldemort on a cold Halloween night and no one has seen our three supposed heroes since. Is there maybe a reason they hide from the press? Are they trying to cover up a sordid affair? The people need to know! -- aka here comes Rita with possible tea

Elevator Boys (1.3k words)

Lily is on her way to an interview for a very interesting research company when she gets stuck in the lift. Good thing she's not alone but with two handsome, very interesting men who help her pass the time while they wait to get rescued. Good thing they have coffee too and are willing to share with her.

What happened to calling me Evans? (243 words)

The blow comes unexpected from the side, breaking though Sirius' shield charm. It's softened by it, but still stings when it connects, numbing her arm from the shoulder down. She stumbles back, nearly going down but catching herself on the crumbling wall of the manor behind them. “Lily!”

Prongsfoot

teach me your ways (1.6k words)

James just had his first kiss with some girl at a Quidditch party and it was... not great. Of course he has to tell Sirius all about it immediately. Of course Sirius claims he can do it better. Of course James wants prove of that. After all, if he's that great at kissing, he should share his knowledge with James and teach him.

~*~

December

Prongsfoot

Ho Ho Ho (Bring A Bottle of Booze) (7.1k words)

James wakes with a groan. Twenty-nine seems to be the age where downing half a bottle of firewhiskey and being more or less fine the next morning without the help of a potion is not in the cards anymore. Who would have guessed. * Waking up on the morning of Christmas Eve after a drunken night spent together, James and Sirius decide to keep this up for the Holidays. Why not? No one has to be alone on Christmas, win-win! But then James realizes, throughout family visits and Christmas markets, that he would like to keep this for a lot longer than just for the Holidays. Because maybe, possibly, he's a little bit in love. Or maybe a lot.

Jilypad

I saw Mummy kissing Santa Claus, only Mummy is Lily and Santa is really Sirius and ... why are you laughing, James? (1k words)

Peter walks in on Lily and Sirius kissing in the kitchen and really needs to tell James about it.. only he doesn't seem to be too concerned about it. At all.

[mt-musings]

The Last Silverboughs

Halsin struggles to put his past to rest, but it's haunting him in more ways than he realizes. He'd thought his time in the Underdark was long behind him, an unpleasant pitfall of youthful hubris, but remnants of his captivity remain, the youngest of which unwittingly stumbles to his rescue.

Lythra can't stop running from her past--hasn't, since she managed to make it out of the Underdark. She has no love for Menzoberranzan, or her House, or anything she left behind in the dark. Or nearly anything.

Still, she'd rather die than return--a prospect all the more likely with a tadpole jammed behind her eye. But perhaps, with the help of a renown druidic healer, she can go back to what remains of her half-life in the sun.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24

Read on AO3

Lythra remembered the feeling of hands crushing her throat, fingernails digging deep as her assailant tried to wring the life from her. She reacted without thinking, years of Xaryn’s martial training and terror spurning her forth. She dug two of her fingers into her attacker’s eye socket while she grabbed their elbow in an attempt to to break their hold. They screamed as she ripped the eye from their head, reeling back as blood poured from the socket. 

She caught the glint of a dagger at the figure’s belt and lurched forward to grab it—she wasn’t allowed weapons in her room, or outside of the training grounds. She didn’t want to call on the magic, didn’t know what it would do—if it would even answer. The figure lashed out at her, swiping for the knife and it slipped in her grasp, slicing her palm. 

She fumbled for a moment as the figure clawed at her, trying to force her into a headlock, fingernails raking across her skin. Still, in the struggle she managed to right her grip, even with the handle slick with blood. She brought it down wherever she could reach, with as much force as she had in her body, over and over, until the bruising grip released her and the figure stumbled and fell and Lythra dropped to her knees, raking the blade of the knife over their throat again and again and again until she felt bone and she knew—she knew they were dead. 

She froze then, breathing hard as she stared at the body in front of her, the body that had just been a living person, the body that was soaked in red, the whole room stinking of iron, its neck nearly severed from its shoulders. 

The knife clattered from her hand as she fought the urge to vomit. She scrambled away, slipping twice on the blood before she managed to stand. The door to her room was still open a fraction, not locked as it always was. She darted through it without thought.

She didn’t care that she wasn’t allowed to leave her room, or that she’d get a dozen extra lashes for disobeying. She just ran through the halls until she found the familiar door of her father’s chambers. She pounded on the wood, wrapping her arms around herself. She tried swallowing, but it hurt—it hurt simply to breathe. Her heart was still pounding, so much so that she was almost scared it would burst from her ribs. 

The door flung open and her father appearing half-dressed and rumpled, clearly having just awoken from his trance. 

“Lythra! By the Goddess—what happened, ssinssrigg?”

“I—I killed them, kel’nar. They—I—“ she broke off, her voice sounding like gravel. She could feel tears rolling down her cheeks as her breath came faster and faster. 

“Someone attacked you?” He asked, wide-eyed. She nodded, wincing at the motion.

“Okay, okay—it’s okay, ussta ssinssrigg,” he said, pulling her into a hug, so tight it almost hurt. “Does anyone else know? Did they see you?”

“No,” she rasped. “I just—I ran to you. I know I wasn’t supposed to leave—“

“You did the right thing, my darling, of course you did. Come here,” he said, and pulled her into his chambers, sitting her at his desk as he rang for a servant to wake the Matron. He fumbled in a drawer for a handkerchief and pressed it to the cut on her hand to stem the blood.  

“I can’t—I can’t heal you until your grandmother sees. I am so sorry, ssinssrigg,” he said, cradling her face as he tried to brush away her tears, though they only came faster when she really looked at him. 

He hadn’t put on a shirt before answering the door, and there were deep bruises across his ribs and fresh scars. He’d been beaten, badly, and she could see rings of deep bruising around his wrists, bruises she knew were from restraints. 

He caught her looking and pressed his lips together as he looked away, jaw tight.

“Give me a moment. Keep holding pressure on that,” he said, pressing a kiss to her hairline before striding to the door that lead to his bedchambers as fast as his limp would allow. He returned a moment later, pulling a long sleeved linen shirt over his head.

“Kel’nar—“

“There’s nothing to worry about, ssinssrigg, it’s nothing.”

“But Kel’nar—“

“Please, Lythra. It’s fine. I need to focus until you right now. Where else did they hurt you?”

“I don’t—It was so fast—“ she said, panic overtaking her again as she thought of the attack. He knelt and wrapped her in a hug, combing his fingers through her hair to soothe her. She clung on, scared that if she let go she’d blink and be back in that room, pinned to her bed as she was strangled to death. 

“Breathe, darling, breathe.”

“What on earth could be the reason for waking me in the middle of the night, Elendar?” Her grandmother spat as she let herself into the room, not bothering to knock. She froze, though, brow furrowing, as she spotted Lythra bruised and splattered with blood in his chair.

“I apologize, Matron. We had an assassination attempt and I thought it imperative you knew right away,” Elendar said evenly, still holding onto Lythra as she trembled. Her grandmother’s face softened, minutely. 

“Yes, of course. Oh dear. The first one is always the hardest, lotha orbb,” she said, in a way Lythra knew she thought was comforting. It only made her want to throw up. “What happened to the assassin?”

“I—I killed them,” Lythra said, her voice barely more than a whisper. To her great surprise, her grandmother’s face split into a smile. 

“Of course you did, my dear! And at just thirteen—we shall celebrate this in the morning! I the meantime I need to figure out who it was and how they got around our guards. I trust you’ll see to her injuries,” she said, turning back to her father.

“Of course, Matron.”

“I will have another room prepared for you, child, while we deal with body.”

“Can—can I just stay with Kel’nar? Please?” She asked, voice so hoarse it was hardly understandable. 

“Yes, of course. Has Myrymma been informed?” She asked her father. He shook his head.

“I will see to it. I will see you both at breakfast.”

Lythra watched her sweep out of the room, the mention of her mother bringing a fresh wave of tears to her eyes, a new wave of panic constricting her chest. 

He mother would be furious at her for leaving, for going to her father without permission. She’d beat her until she could hardly stand a shirt on her skin, until she threw up from the pain. She’d—

“We will worry about your mother later, ssinssrigg. Let me focus on healing you now.”

“Kel’nar—“

“Don’t argue with me, Lythrana,” he said, tone uncharacteristically severe. She shrunk back, nodding as she dropped her eyes to the floor. She flinched as she felt his hands at her throat, the burning sting of healing magic seeping beneath her skin. It took longer than she thought it should have for bruising. Then he healed the slash on her palm, the superficial cuts on her arms. He hovered his hands over her, probing for more injuries with his magic. She glanced up at his face, finding a quiet sort of fury on it, though it softened when he caught her looking. 

He reached up, gently cradling her face in his hands. 

“You did what you had to, Lythra. You defended yourself, as you should, as Xaryn’s been teaching you all these years. I know you didn’t want to kill anyone, but you didn’t have a choice.”

“It was bad. I—I scratched their eye out. I—“ she broke off, breath coming too fast once more. He pulled her into a crushing hug, the tightness helping to steady her. 

“They would have killed you if you hadn’t fought with everything in you, ssinssrigg. I’m glad that you did, I am so glad. You were so brave,” he said, voice breaking, tucking her under his chin as she sobbed, the sound raged and unrestrained. He held her tight, almost as if he was scared to let go. He only released her when her sobs had subsided to hiccoughs, once again searching her face. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, alright? I’ll get you a fresh shirt and we’ll get you tucked in, okay?”

“Don’t go!” She said, panic flaring once more at the thought of being left alone. He gave her a small smile.

“I’m not going anywhere, I promise. Just—go wash up, the bathroom is through there,” he said, pointing through another door she’d know lead to his bedchamber. He walked with her, hand reassuringly on her back as he pointed to the proper door. She quickly washed the blood from her skin, not caring that the water was freezing and straight from the pump. There was a knock on the doorframe and she looked up to see her father holding out what she recognized as one of his shirts, large enough to be a nightgown for her, and a thick pair of woolen socks. He set them wordlessly on the counter before pulling the door mostly shut to allow her privacy to change, but open enough that she could still hear him walking about in the other room. 

She pulled it on before carefully folding her bloodstained pajamas, her hands shaking slightly as she stared at the splatters of red. There had been so much blood, so much that it had pooled on the ground, more blood than she’d ever seen at once, and she’d thought she’d seen a lot. 

She took a deep breath before she pushed back into the bedroom to find her father halfway through changing the sheets on his bed. He looked up, his eyes flicking to the bloodstained clothes in her arms. He crossed to her and pulled them from her hands, tossing them unceremoniously into the fire.

“Kel’nar! Those are my clothes! I don’t—“

“I’ll have new ones bought. I don’t—I’ll have them in before you wake.”

She just stared at him for a moment, trying to make sense of his face before she nodded. He forced a smile, turning back to finish making the bed. 

“Come here. Let’s get you tucked in.”

“I don’t want to go to sleep. I don’t—“

“You don’t have to go to sleep, but I need you to lie down and try to relax. Would you like me to read to you?”

She nodded, and he crossed to his bookcase to pull out a volume bound in purple linen. She recognized it, even if she couldn’t read the title. He ushered her into bed and she grabbed his hand, tugging him to join her. He sat against the pillows, wrapping an arm around her as she curled against him, her head on his chest. She squeezed her eyes shut, focusing on the thumping of his heart beneath his ribs. 

“Do you want to start with the High Forest?” He asked and she nodded without opening her eyes. He huffed a laugh before flipping through the pages to find the right place, the page long ago dog-eared. 

“Just south of the Silver Marches lies a forest nearly as old as the realm itself. Its trees remember days long past, days when the world was ruled by elves and giants and great dragons, days when magic ran wild and unchecked and the Tel-quessir still lived as one…”

She snuggled closer as her father read, her fingers knotting into the fabric of his shirt as she held onto him tightly, as if he’d disappear if she didn’t. She felt her heart begin to slow, her breaths lose the frantic edge they’d had since she jolted awake to hands crushing her throat. She didn’t know what fresh Hell tomorrow would bring, but she did know that here, in her father’s arms, she was safe. 

She drifted off to sleep as her father read of the Grandfather Tree and its guardian spirits, his fingers carding gently through her hair. 

~~~

Halsin looked up from his whittling to find Lythra standing next to his tent, her brow furrowed. Her hair was twisted back in a handful of braids once more and tied back with a leather cord. For some reason the sight reminded him of Naeris, of the braids she’d wear woven back into a plait when she went out hunting.

He hadn’t heard her approach, quite the feat considering how in tune he was with his surroundings, though she’d always had a particular talent for moving silently. He smiled up at her, though worry nipped at him as he took in her pale face, still looking drawn. She had begun to look more sickly, her cheeks hollow. Still, she smiled back at him, the expression softer than he was used to seeing on her face.

It suited her, far better than the usual sharp one she hid behind. 

“What are you making?” She asked, cocking her head to the side to get a better look at the block of wood in his hands.

“I haven’t quite decided yet. Truly, at the moment it is little more than to keep my hands busy. How are you feeling?”

It had taken far more magic than it should have to treat the stab wound she’d acquired the day before, her own magic, the necrosis of it negating most of it. He’d talked to Gale about its odd behavior, about his theory, but he’d been unable to answer for sure. 

Even he’d never heard of another case similar. 

“I’m fine. Nothing lingering. Thank you, again,” she said quickly. He gave her a look.

“Really—it doesn’t even ache.”

“Well—that is good to hear, then. Did you need something, little one?”

“I—I had a question. It’s—if you don’t want to answer, you don’t have to. Just—I wondered if you knew how someone becomes a Dark Justiciar,” she asked quietly, glancing over her shoulder to double check that none of the others had wandered over. 

Halsin surveyed her, brows furrowed as he tried to read her face, discern the intent behind the question. He knew she already had some sort of plan, some theory she was trying to confirm or deny. 

“I don’t know for sure. There were rumors it involved a sacrifice on some kind, but I am not certain. Jaheira might know better than I.”

“I will ask her, then. Thank you.”

“May I ask why you wish to know?”

She made a face. “Shadowheart still wishes to undertake the trials. I—I have a bad feeling about it, more than just it being a Sharran rite. I—I don’t know. I’m figuring it out.”

He looked at her, noting the disgust that slipped past her usual neutral expression, the vestiges of anger. He didn’t blame her—she had more reason than most to revile Shar and her machinations. 

“I assume you ask because you plan to sabotage her efforts?”

She just stared back, face tight, though that served as all the confirmation he needed. It was a bold plan, one that he could see backfiring, violently. 

“I will accompany you, when you plan on having any sort of confrontation.”

“No, you don’t have to—“

“No, but I would like to. Should…anything happen, I would not wish you to be without a healer in the bowels of that temple.”

She stared at him, mouth firmly pressed in a thin line before she nodded. “Are you—are you sure you’re okay with that?”

He nodded. He was never one for wanton violence, but he understood her refusal to allow the ascension of another Dark Justiciar, understood why that would be a line she was unwilling to have one of her companions cross, especially after how she’d been tortured. He didn’t disagree with her reasoning, nor the decision, and he knew, simply by the fact that she hadn’t done anything yet, that it was not a decision made lightly. He’d bet she still hoped to talk Shadowheart from such an evil path. 

Not only that, but he wouldn’t leave her to that sort of fight alone, should it devolve to that. 

Not again.

Still, she looked unsure, brows drawn together as she searched for something in his face. He reached out, gently cupping her cheek for a moment to try and reassure her.

“I told you, little one. I am with you—against the Curse, the Absolute, anything.”

She looked away then, ducking her face before he could see the expression that flashed across it. 

“You don’t have to be, though,” she said, after a long leaden pause.

“Lythra—“

“You have a whole life beyond all this—I mean, you just got Thaniel back, you could return to the Grove, you could help him rebuild here, you could—“

“Do you not want me at your side, little one?” He asked, surprised at how much the idea made his heart ache. He thought they’d gotten closer, as they traveled, that she was fond of him, now.

“I don’t want you to get hurt—or worse—for a fight you have no stake in. You don’t have to risk anything because you feel like you should, or we expect it, or you think you owe us, because you don’t.”

“You think I’m offering my help simply out of a sense of obligation?” He asked, and he could hear the hurt slipping into his voice. 

“Or some misplaced guilt, or both,” she replied, without looking at him. 

“Little one—“

“No, Halsin. I don’t—I don’t want your death on my head too. I’ve—I’ve gotten enough good people killed, I— It’s not your fight anymore. You will be much happier back at the Grove. I—thank you, for the information,” she said quickly, turning on her heel. He watched her go, debating whether or not to go after her or give her space before deciding on the latter, for now.

~~~

“You’re in a foul mood, especially for someone who just talked a devil to death,” Astarion said, glancing at Lythra side long. She clenched her jaw, but didn’t respond. He hesitated before grabbing her by the elbow and pulling her into a small alcove while the others picked through what remained of the orthon’s stronghold. He searched her face, glancing at her ears to see if she’d started to bleed from them again, but found nothing. 

“What is it?” he asked, keeping his voice low, measured. He didn’t want to frighten her anymore, even if his first reaction to most things was to lash out in irritation and anger—he didn’t like seeing that anxious acceptance as she waited for him to snarl at her. She looked down in that that way that usually left him wondering if she’d answer at all, though he’d come to realize it usually meant she needed time to choose her words, to figure out how to string together what was going on in her head. He waited, as patiently as he could muster, merely reaching out to tuck a stray piece of hair that had fallen from her braids back behind her ears. 

“I told Halsin he should return to the Grove.”

“I thought you liked the druid,” he said making a face. H

“I do.”

“Then why would you tell him to leave?” 

“Because he has no reason to stay. He was talking nonsense about fighting the Absolute with us—“

“Do you really think we’re in a position to be turning down aid?”

“No, I just—he should return to the Grove. He has no dog in the fight anymore. Thaniel has returned and once we figure out this Nightsong business and deal with Ketheric, there is no reason for him to stay.”

“He offered. I don’t see what the issue is.”

“He doesn’t have a tadpole like us, he doesn’t have to be here.”

“So? Is this one of your martyrous moments, because I just watched you convince a devil to drive a sword through his own chest, so I don’t know that I’m qualified to talk you out of it.”

He watched her force a smile and sighed. He wished he knew what she wanted from him, how to give it to her—in the past he’d have just tried to distract her with a salacious comment or offer the distraction of his body, but he knew, at least, that she didn’t want that. But anything else, anything real that didn’t involve cutting down an enemy threat or keeping her alive he found himself floundering. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Lyth. I’m no good at this sort of thing,” he said quietly, the admission sticking uncomfortably in his throat.

“I’m not looking for anything from you, Astarion,” she said quickly, brow furrowed at his unease. “I’m just—I’m just thinking.”

“Always dangerous,” he shot back. That, at least, brought the ghost of a genuine smile to her lips. “We can—we can talk about it later, if you want. After you’ve had time to think.”

She looked at him then, her face softening and nodded. She reached out hesitantly towards his hand, pausing to search his face for permission. He bridged the distance, threading their fingers together. She gave his hand a little squeeze, swallowing hard.

He still couldn’t quite believe something as simple as the touch of his hand brought her such comfort—that she wants such comfort from him. 

“Thank you. I—I think that might be best.”

“We’ll add it to the list, alright?” He said, bringing the back of her hand to his lips. He grinned at the way she flushed to the tips of her ears at the affection, at the way her heart fluttered in her chest. 

He reveled in her reactions to his chaste affection. He worried, still, that she would tire of him, of them, without the bindings of sex, without his best cards in play, but she hadn’t pushed, even a little. He wondered if she was content as she seemed with naught but hand-holding, chaste kisses, and late night cuddles, if that was really all she needed. 

He reluctantly let her go, letting her lead him further into the orthon’s chambers. He didn’t bother to disguise his laugh when she declared the devil’s bed of skulls to be ‘a bit tacky’, much to Gale’s horror.

~~~

“Do they know who it was?” She heard her father ask, voice low so as not to wake her. She wasn’t sure if she was half awake or half dreaming, her whole body leaden with exhaustion and and the aftermath of terror.

“They weren’t associated with a noble house, at least that Balok knew. He’s looking into it for Grandmother.”

She recognized Xaryn’s voice, though it wasn’t nearly as severe as she was used to. She wondered idly what he was doing, reporting to her father—she’d hardly ever seen them interact, though she only ever really saw them together when her grandmother called for a family gathering. 

It must be a dream, then, a strange dream. 

“I doubt he’ll find anything. No one would be stupid enough to send someone who could be traced back to their House. Besides—“ he broke off, his fingers momentarily stilling in her hair as he took a deep breath. “How did your mother take it?”

“An appropriate amount of shock and rage. Though Grandmother was livid at the state of Lythra’s room. Well, the state besides the fresh viscera. She’s having her moved out of the tower to the main house.”

“Where?”

“The north wing. I suggested the chambers next to yours, but she wanted her in a more heavily patrolled part of the house.”

“She wants to keep a direct eye, then.”

“Her and Mother had words. I don’t know what was said, but Mother was…displeased.”

“Tread lightly, then. I don’t want you to incur her ire in Lythra’s place.”

“I’m well aware of the game, ilharn. Just—focus on Lythie, I can look after myself. I think Grandmother will ensure you have a few days with her.”

“That’s something, at least. Though your mother is patient.”

“Yes, well, from what I gathered Lythra will not solely be under Mother’s oversight any longer.”

“Who’s, then?”

“I don’t know. I assume Grandmother’s. Nobody outside the immediate family and very limited staff should know she exists, after all.”

“Well—we’ll have to see. Just, keep your head down. And let me know if you find out where Kelennar was. It was too sloppy for—“

“Yes, yes, I know. Just—enjoy the this, while you have it. Let me worry about it. Oh—here. I grabbed it before Grandmother went scorched earth.”

“She still has it?”

“Course she does. You made it.”

“Yes, well—thank you, Xaryn. I am in your debt, as always.”

“You’re so stupid sometimes,” Xaryn replied, irritation coloring his voice. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“She’ll be happy to see you.”

“I doubt it. Make sure you’re both at breakfast tomorrow, early. You need to stay in Grandmother’s favor.”

“I know. You needn’t worry.”

“Don’t lie to me, ilharn. I’m far too old for it, now.”

There was the sound of booted feet stomping off, followed by a door shutting, too hard. She heard her father sigh, and shift in the bed next to her, tightening his hold as he pressed his lips to the crown of her head. His chest shook, slightly, and she could feel something wet against her scalp. 

“I’m sorry, ussta ssinssrigg. I am so sorry, for everything, for every way I have failed you. I will never forgive myself, never. You deserve so much better and I—I can’t—“ he broke off, voice hardly more than a choked whisper.

She wanted to wake, to reach out and assure him that it was okay, that everything was okay, because he was here, that that was all she needed—all she ever needed. She tried to rouse herself, but she couldn’t force her eyes open, her lips to obey her. She could only drift, forced to listen to her father’s misplaced guilt.

~~~

Lythra sat up as the dream lost its grip on her, pressing her face hard to her knees. She wasn’t sure if it was a dream or a nightmare or simply a memory she’d buried long ago.

It had been a long time since she’d thought of the first time she’d woken to an assassin, the first time she’d ever killed anyone. They, at least, had deserved it, offering her some peace of mind. 

Still, if there was any truth to what she dreamed, it seemed it might have been a more calculated attack then she’d thought as a child. 

That and her father and Xaryn had been closer than she’d thought. 

He’d called her father ilharn in her dream, something that didn’t quite make sense—he wasn’t Xaryn’s dad, after all, and her father held no honorifics in the family. Had her father looked after Xaryn too, as much as he was able? Had they been close? How could she have missed that? Xaryn always kept everything so close to his chest, but her father didn’t hide things in the same way.

Or maybe she had just never realized all he hid from her.

That thought turned her stomach, that the abuse could have been so much deeper and she had been completely ignorant to it. It was more possible than she wanted to admit, considering how little time she had been allowed with him.

It was all her fault. 

There was rustling beside her an Astarion sat up, pushing his hair out of his face as he wrapped an arm around her waist, propping his chin on her shoulder. 

“Nightmare?” He asked, groggily.

“I don’t—I don’t know,” she answered honestly. He sighed, his breath warm on her neck.

“Those ones are irritating. They linger, longer than the horrors, sometimes.”

She hummed her agreement, pressing her forehead harder to her knees, arms wrapped tightly around her legs. She concentrated on the feeling of his breath, on the absent circles he traced into her skin with his thumb, squeezing her eyes shut.

She couldn’t help but remember the bruises that had littered his skin, the scars she knew hadn’t been nearly as numerous when she was a small child, the torment he’d suffered, to stay by her side.

It wasn’t worth it. It had never been worth it. 

She reached up to brush away a few stray tears, feeling that familiar, aching hollowness she’d grown so accustomed to. 

She had to make Halsin go, before he suffered for staying too. Astarion too, once she’d helped him free himself from Cazador. She’d only get them hurt, especially if Kel and her mother were still searching for her. She knew either one would love to break her by torturing someone she cared about, by making her watch them break them. 

She was being selfish, now, stealing what time still remained with Astarion. She was only putting him in more danger, the longer she lingered at his side.

She didn’t want to go, though. 

Selfish, she thought bitterly. Selfish and stupid and evil, when she knew what would happen if what remained of her family got their hands on him, after what he’d already endured. She hadn’t even had the decency to properly inform him of the danger, of what they’d do, what they’d already done.

“That’s enough, darling. I can practically hear the mental self-flagellation. I’m sure it can wait at least until dawn’s light,” he quipped sleepily, tightening his hold around her waist.

“You don’t understand—“

“Oh I don’t doubt that, considering how painfully withholding you are.”

She cringed at that, moving to pull away from his embrace. He didn’t allow her to.

“You know I say that in jest.”

“But it’s true.”

“It is. But I know you have your reasons, and I trust you will share them in time.”

“I don’t—I don’t think we should do this anymore.”

“Do what?”

“This. Us.”

“What?” He asked, suddenly sitting fully up, any tiredness erased from his face. “What’s going on? Did I do something?”

“No—no, you’re—you’re wonderful. That’s the problem.”

“I don’t understand what the problem is, then? Are you unhappy?”

“No.”

“Do you not like me any longer?”

“No! Of course not. I—I adore you.”

“Then I’m failing to see your logic here, darling,” he said, voice clipped. She rung her hands, staring at the blankets rather than his carefully controlled fury.

“Because—because it’s not safe for you, Star.”

“Oh—this is the same nonsense as with the druid, isn’t it? I have no interest in sanctimonious self-sacrifice, my dear. It’s terribly dull at best.”

“I’m not being sanctimonious! You have no idea what danger you’ll be in if Kel finds out how important you are to me. I won’t put you into such danger—“

“I am perfectly capable of defending myself, Lythra, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“But you shouldn’t have to! And even then—Astarion, you have no idea the resources they have available.”

“Then tell me, Lyth! Tell me the stakes, but don’t make my decisions for me! I’ve had quite enough of that in my life, thank you very much!”

“I’m not—if—if they drag you back with me, they’ll make you a slave, just the same as Cazador. They will use you to keep me in line, hurt you because they can, and do all they can to break you. You will never again see the sun, never again know an ounce of freedom, never again go a day without torment. You will be a thing, to them, and then you will be alone, because I am a weak, pathetic thing and won’t be able to bear going back, not after knowing what else life could be, not when I know the monster they want to turn me in to. I won’t damn you to that, not for anything in this godsforsaken world, not for all you’ve given me! So, those are the stakes, Star—we get rid of these brainworms, kill Cazador and none of it matters, because there’s just another set of chains at the other end. It is pain and misery and death, if we’re lucky, because that is all that I have ever attracted and you deserve better than that.”

“And you don’t?”

“We don’t get what we deserve. You know that better than anyone. It is my reality, my future, and I won’t damn you to it.”

“And you expect me to just, leave you to it, then? Sit back after all this and watch you get dragged back to the Underdark by your shit-heel of a brother so you can, what? Kill yourself out of some sense of desperate nobility? I don’t think so, darling.”

“Astarion—“

“No, Lythra. I’m not going anywhere, do you understand? Let them come—we shall cut them down together. I told you, you won’t go back, and you won’t die—that wasn’t an empty promise, my darling. So, please—let us forget this foolishness. I don’t want to speak of it anymore.”

“Star—“

“No. I’m done discussing it. I will not be shorn of the first person I’ve genuinely cared for in two hundred years because of fear. Whatever happens, we will face it together.”

She just stared at him, stuck somewhere between miserable, suffocating guilt and a sick sort of elation that he wouldn’t cast her aside so easily, even if it was wholly misguided. She couldn’t help but feel she was damning him if she agreed. 

He sighed, a horrible, soul-aching sadness behind his eyes. He reached out and tugged her close again, so her head lay on his chest, his arms locked tight around her. She could feel him take a steadying breath, feel the way it rattled in his lungs. 

She shut her eyes, hard, burying her face in his shirt and inhaling his soothing scent of rosemary and brandy and that sweet citrus she couldn’t quite name.

Perhaps, in morning’s light, she’d be braver. 

[angelique-of-the-volturi-guard]

AssClass fandom, you all have to suffer (and feel joy) for my art today.

It's been three years since class E-3 Graduated. At Kunugigaoka High School, Karma is called to the principal's office. He figures it's retribution for the assembly he skipped. When he gets to the office, however, Irina Jelavić is there- now married to Karasuma. And she tells him that she needs his help- specifically, the help of all the Class 3-E kids. Karasuma is missing. And so are several tentacle specimens from the place they were hidden and locked away. She wants the help of the Assassination Classroom to help save him.

Karma is the last of them to be recruited since the walk to the mountain is the shortest from his high school. He and Irina go up the mountain, and everyone is there. There's hugging, talking, occasionally catching up on each other's lives, but seeing Irina stops their happy reunion and they go inside the classroom.

They go over where he was last seen, the specimens stolen. Ritsu figures out Karasuma's location, and pulls up blue prints. After they layout is squared away, teams are created to handle different aspects of the infiltration and rescue. When all of them have had a bit of time to resharpen their skills, they all head out to the compound where Ritsu tracked him to. It's a warehouse that used to be one of the Ministry of Defense's secret compounds- holding all sorts of secrets inside.

The infiltration is successful. They discover that a scientist that made it out of the wreckage managed to snag a few of the tentacles left at the scene, studied them to recreate them, and then wanted to use them against Class 3-E for successfully killing their project, and they wanted to use Karasuma to do it- not knowing that Irina is his wife and she had all the info beforehand. They also realize they're there before everything is ready. While half of them stay to wipe out the work, the other half go with Irina to save Karasuma.

The tentacles have worked to make him unstable, and have peaked his rage. What he's raging at, however, is the idea of the tentacles themselves. Class 3-E was nearly torn apart by them. Those tentacles slapped him around when they were on the reaper. Those tentacles put his wife in danger before they married, and were another source of trauma. So he's in there looking for all the research to destroy them, with the intent of drowning himself after.

Then, Class 3-E comes in. They want to get the tentacles off of him, but he has enough sense to tell them that he won't let them until they're destroyed, and to stay out of his way. It's when the tentacles start acting of their own accord rather than his that there's a problem- and they do. The variant of the tentacles he was exposed to acts to their own will, and not his.

Irina sees that she has to get her husband to fight, but she knows it's ridiculous to walk into a fight unarmed. She has to have a plan. Then, she sees an old piano- put there long before the defense ministry moved in and out- and knows what to do. The two of them have a rule in their marriage- when their wedding song plays anywhere, they have to dance with each other. She realizes she has to get him to fight for control from the inside, so that's what she plans to do.

Hearing the piano, he stops in the destruction. The tentacles try and go for her but stop before they can reach. She's telling him about their memories together and Karasuma is straining against them, telling them to leave her alone. It works, for a while, but then they wrap her around them. She prepared for this, however, and knows exactly what will get through to him. When she's close to him, she drops what's in her hand on the ground and he looks. It's a pregnancy test. And it's positive.

She tells him to fight back or they will never get to be a family together. He shuts his eyes, trying to get them to let her go. Meanwhile, Karma slips her a knife, and she slices through the tentacles, before Nagisa comes and gets the remains of them off of his neck.

The rest of the Assassination Classroom takes to destroying the samples of tentacle that had been here in the first place, before helping Karasuma in his wish to destroy the remains of the tentacles, traveling to plenty of places in groups to ensure their destruction. Meanwhile, Karasuma asks Irina if it's true- if she really is pregnant or if that was just something clever to get through to him. She confirms it's the truth, and the two of them share a moment together.

When all the tentacles are destroyed, Class 3-E meets at the old school to hoot and holler it up together, while celebrating both Irina and Karasuma's marriage and pregnancy. In that moment, they all feel that Koro-Sensei is there and watching over them, very pleased.

And that's the story of Class 3-E's first reunion. Which I will be writing at some point.

[putalabelonit]

Teen Wolf fanfiction recs:

Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski [Part 3]

"Moved on from Whispers" (E) by wishingonalightningbolt | 5,346 | Stiles didn’t break into Lydia Martin’s upstairs bathroom to take a piss. He broke into Lydia Martin’s upstairs bathroom while Derek was in it, because—because of reasons.

"Let your bones show (won’t have to hide anymore)" (M) by dearericbittle | 4,082 | Stiles returns from college, and Derek is surprised to find out he’s hot now. And that Derek is extremely attracted to him. It’s like Stiles is rubbing it in his face - and Derek is only a humble werewolf trying not to have the rest of the pack sniff him out.

"The Morning When It's Clear" (E) by BarlowGirl | 13,593 | Somewhere between the Alpha pack, the horrific thing that was what was left of Gerard Argent at the end, those witches that Derek managed to piss off completely without meaning to and got himself cursed and nearly dead, he let Stiles in.

"(I Hate to Be) The One to Ruin the Night" (E) by wishingonalightningbolt | 14,550 | High school senior Derek Hale only has one goal for the rest of his time left at BHHS: avoid Stiles Stilinski. He's wreaked enough havoc as it is, having spent all summer breaking Derek's heart. Everything would be better for both of them if they just never saw each other again.

"torch song" (T) by anonymous | 1,851 | Stiles knows Derek likes herbal tea, and he thinks that it’s a ridiculous thing to like, but he brings it to him anyways. Derek has never been in so deep in his life.

"Any Way You Slice It" (E) by thebodyeclectic | 19,366 | The pack reunites for a handfasting ceremony involving Derek and another pack. Stiles must deal with how that affects what he and Derek have been avoiding for years.

"White Satin and Lace" (E) by dragonspell | 5,518 | Stiles has put in his time. He’d stood nicely through the ceremony while Derek had stood next to him looking downright beautiful what with the smile and the tux and the way the sunlight hit his hair, had sat through all the toasts and the small talk and his father’s tear-jerker of a speech, had even managed to keep his hands to himself when Derek’s tie had come off about a half hour in to the reception. Okay, mostly. He’d kept it above the waist. Now, he just wants to get that perfectly tailored suit off of his perfectly tailored husband.

"What I Wish You Saw" (E) by Julibean19 | 7,254 | There were marks everywhere. More scars than he could count, some dark with age, some shiny and pink, new, like they must have happened within the last six months. Stiles didn't look like the carefree teenager he once knew. He looked like a veteran. When Derek looked at him he saw someone who had lived a life full of horror and pain, but also someone who had survived. He suddenly felt fiercely protective.

"The Accidental Hale Brood" (M) by Julibean19 | 42,370 | Stiles and Derek have been BCPD partners for years when they are assigned Halloween duty and run into a couple of kids from the orphanage. One fake marriage and two real adoptions later, they somehow become a family.

"Just Act Normal" (E) by zosofi | 78,677 | If someone had told Stiles back in high school that he would be an Oscar winning actor by the time he turned 25, he would’ve probably told Scott to punch them. The thing is, though…they would’ve been right. Which makes returning to Beacon Hills, center of all that is supernatural and better left avoided, all the more awkward.

"Where You Still Remember Dreaming" (E) by yodasyoyo | 95,612 | On the run after Laura's death, Derek ends up in Beacon Hills and meets Boyd, Isaac, and Erica, who he forms an unlikely bond with. Then there's Stiles—the fae protecting the land. And before he knows it, he has a pack; and just in time because his past is right on his heels.

"Perfect Storm" (M) by yodasyoyo | 5,362 | Insinuating himself into an ongoing investigation in order to rescue Derek had just been the logical extension of the ongoing pattern they’d established back in Beacon Hills — not a plan to get laid.

"Spook: A Ghostly Love Story in Three Parts" (T) by zosofi | 38,154 | Derek is fifteen when he dies. He's been fifteen for six years when he meets Stiles.

"Don’t Take the Money" (E) by standinginanicedress | 53,469 | Stiles is an omega escort who develops an unhealthy perception of alphas based on his experience dating rich assholes when Derek enters the picture.

"The Domestication of Canis Lupus" (G) by zoemathemata | 3,000 | The age old story of a boy and his dog werewolf. They play in the woods, they go for walks. They don’t talk about it. Ever.

"Pet Therapy" (G) by wangler | 2,109 | Stiles and Derek quietly bond as boy and wolf.

"Catching Your Breath (in seven simple steps)" (E) by circa | 29,508 | It's the way Stiles slips out from the loft like a cheap fuck leaving before sunrise could damn him; the way they avoid each other's eyes at pack meetings and the constant thrice fold-showering before he could rub the smell of Derek out of his skin. But sometimes he feels like this is all he'll ever want to know: the thrill of being shoved in-between places like he's a well-kept secret, the constant precariousness of the line they're treading. He likes to think his heart was an acrobat, his sanity the balancing act. And there is Derek, holding the other end of the tightrope that's keeping him afloat.

"Breathe out so I can breathe you in" (M) by circa & Gorgeousgreymatter | 9,151 | There’s barely enough dry weed to make a particularly fat blunt fit for one werewolf and one kid with ADD. Stiles looks dumbly at his rolling paper in consideration of his predicament. “Ever tried shotgunning?” Derek asks. Stiles feels his throat constrict.

"If I should stumble, catch my fall" (M) by Gorgeousgreymatter | 4,493 | Well, friendship is canceled. That's all Stiles can think when he walks into the locker room and finds it empty, with Scott's dumb werewolf ass completely AWOL despite the text message he'd received assuring him otherwise. Which wouldn't be that bad, if not for the fact that now Stiles is face to face with a very wet, very naked Derek Hale.

"in response:" (T) by stilinski | 2,756 | Derek had clambered out of the shower to a new text - "Pics or it didn’t happen, big guy" - which had sent Derek’s mind racing to approximately twelve different conclusions. Eventually, he’d decided to take a photo of his shower, condensation and water still clinging to the glass and tile walls, and sent that.

"Enamour Me" (G) by stilinski | 3,417 | or, 'How to Woo An Oblivious Human College Student According to Derek Hale.'

"third time's the charm" (T) by stilinski | 4,900 | So Derek's back in town – it seems like he didn't even tell Scott, so why would anyone tell Stiles? Sure, Stiles has a mark on his chest that belies the depth of his feelings, but it's not something anyone can see unless he decides to show it.

"Twice in a Lifetime (AKA The Importance of Snuggle Buddies)" (G) by normalcatbehaviour | 1,761 | It takes him a while to actually notice it’s not just Stiles sprawled across their couch, but to be fair to him, he isn’t really thinking about anything but finally getting some sleep and maybe liberating one of the cookies that Stiles thinks are well hidden behind the microwave. He's half way to covering the boys up with a blanket when he finally notices. That is definitely not Scott McCall. It is in fact definitely Derek Hale.

"(Sacred) In the Ordinary" (E) by idyll | 78,759 | The Pack, after college, graduate school and the starting of careers, comes back to Beacon Hills. Nothing's gotten less complicated after all this time.

"Take Shelter" (E) by tresshots | 19,028 | It didn’t take more than one suggestive curl of Derek’s eyebrows and Stiles got on his knees, just like that. So what if Derek doesn’t want to hold his hand in public? He hits all Stiles' kinks at once.

"Still Frames In Your Mind" 🔒 (E) by elisera | 15,868 | Celebrity!Stiles and photographer!Derek AU through snapshots.

"Only Seems Like Yesterday" 🔒 (T) by elisera | 1,950 | After eight years of avoiding each other, Stiles returns to Beacon Hills to find Derek the new sheriff.

“I Want You To Want Me” (NR) by pandacowhipster | 3,781 | Derek isn’t used to wanting things.

“Tether” (T) by alocalband | 3,902 | Stiles starts heading down a darker path. Derek attempts to reel him back in.

“A Problematic Loyalty” (T) by alocalband | 4,673 | The problem isn’t that Stiles is stubborn. The problem is that people keep hitting on him.

“A Life Less Ordinary” (T) by Jebiwonkenobi | 19,209 | It takes a few years but eventually they manage to agree on something; Derek Hale is an asshole, and Stiles Stilinski is in love with him.

“Rumour Has It” (T) by WhoNatural | 12,979 | Lydia helps Stiles realize he isn’t in love with her anymore.

“Only if For A Night” (T) by ACR | 2,570 | “Here,” Derek pulled Stiles’ red hood over his head and leaned down far too close to his personal space, “Pretend like we’re just making out. Maybe he’ll let us off with a warning.”

“Fight or Flight (or Freeze)” (T) by TamIsMyFather | 11,115 | Stiles expects Derek to hit him, or shove him, or throw him against the wall. He does not expect to have two rough hands seize his head, or for Derek’s mouth to press suddenly against his own.

“powerful in-scent-ive” (T) by kellifer_fic | 14,533 | Stiles holds up a hand, because he really can’t listen to the bites-are-all-right speech that Derek has given Scott dozens of times. “Dude, don’t.” “Look-” Derek tries again, oddly persistent. “Derek, man, my worst nightmare is not me getting bitten, it’s him. It’s always been him.”

“Haunts the Blood” (M) by sullymygoodname | 38,066 | After the events on the night of the lunar eclipse, the Nemeton’s influence pervades the town, affecting Scott, Allison, Stiles, Lydia, and Derek. Something in that creeping darkness is calling out, drawing them all back together. Derek feels it from miles away, but it only becomes more complicated upon his return to Beacon Hills.

“When You Stop Believing in Santa You Get Underwear” (T) by owlpostagain | 7,817 | Stiles gets Derek’s name in Secret Santa.

“Slightly Damaged, Still Good” (T) by anonymous | 1,564 | “You gave me your sat-on half-dead flowers,” Stiles said, waving them at Derek’s back. “Are you going to ask me out, or what?”

“I Won’t Sit Outside Your House” (M) by Lapin | 2,068 | Derek won’t define what they are, despite how the wolf wants to, because the man knows better. He knows Stiles will find someone else, will be better off with someone who can just be a man, not someone pretending he’s one. He knows this. He knows.

“Can’t Stop The Feeling!” (T) by tresshots | 4,868 | Derek places the bouquet carefully on the table. “Do you mind?” he smiles like the inconsiderate asshole he is. And there it is, the reason Stiles has been sulking for the past hour. A physical reminder that one day Derek will settle down with someone, and no matter how much Stiles wants it to be him, it won’t. God, he wants to burn it down to the last petal.

“Work” (E) by Unloyal_Olio | 22,482 | When the Sheriff lost his job in Season 2, the effects were worse than Stiles realized. Determined to help his dad, Stiles heads to San Francisco for a summer job.

“Joker” (E) by Unloyal_Olio | 40,406 | Sometimes, when they’re close like they are now, Stiles wonders if Derek is seducing him. He wonders if the fingers rubbing calming circles into his thigh and the warm, salty breath against his neck are maneuvers to earn his trust. He wonders about Derek’s plans, if—once he has Stiles fooled—Derek will rip his throat out. The thoughts might seem paranoid, except that’s exactly what Stiles did to Peter.

“Birthdays Suck” (E) by Unloyal_Olio | 2,338 | Stiles backs away until his butt hits a stool. “Um, I’m used to the version of Derek that sort of toler-hates me, so you being flirt-hate-cious—total mind fuck, dude. Mind fuck.” Unfortunately, Derek has no sense of humor.

“with the words you borrow (only place that you’ve known)” (M) by hito | 6,701 | Stiles thinks it’s hilarious how Derek gets all nervous around his dad, because c'mon, really, it’s Derek.

“be here in the morning just to hear me say by” (M) by hito | 5,898 | When Scott ditches Stiles for Allison and the rest of the pack goes back to ignoring him as usual, Stiles decides to get a dog. A cat wouldn’t get along with the pack, but a puppy would have to, right? …Or not. Most definitely not. Who knew?

“Straight Adjacent” (T) by flashbangtechnicolor | 1,622 | Derek’s brow furrows, face scrunching into a frown. “You’re bisexual,” he says, but with a tinge of uncertainty. A cloud of breath twists out in little wisps of vapor as Stiles chokes out a laugh. “I am?” he says, affecting that faux-shocked sarcasm that seems to spill out of that unfiltered mouth like it’s an actual reflex, something Stiles literally can’t control. “Someone should have told me!”

"Prince Among Wolves" (E) by Rawren | 101,000 | Looking for full day/evening sitter. 2 twin boys age 4. Must have exp. w/ werewolves. Must be human. No pedophiles. No teenage girls. Pay negotiable.

"Stay, Maybe." (E) by toraten | 15,635 | Stiles meets Derek Hale on a business trip and immediately gets attached to the man's surly, overworked attitude. Luckily - surprisingly - the attraction is mutual. Once they get back home Stiles figures that it's at least worth a shot, right? So he asks Derek out.

"He Takes His Coffee Black" (M) by breenwolf | 16,844 | On the cusp of actual, responsible adulthood with no ambitions to his name, Derek Hale (soon to be Derek Hale, Master of Physical Therapy) is faced with the dishearteningly underwhelming notion of his future. For his final winter break, Derek returns home to his family's coffee shop where he spends the dry winter days filling aggravating orders for equally aggravating people and burning his hands with scalding milk. It's the last place on earth he expects to find a kindred spirit, but some twitchy kid named Stiles-- with his simple order of one black coffee and a wry little grin-- turns out to be just that.

"To Be A Good Person" (T) by WhoNatural | 4,725 | "I wanna set Derek up with someone," Stiles announces, and Scott’s character gets blown up by a rocket launcher. He pauses the game and turns to look at Stiles like he’s truly crazy - like out of everything that’s happened over the last six months, this is the weirdest thing he’s ever said. Isaac looks up from Melissa’s magazine and frowns. "What?"

"On Building an IKEA Den for an Alpha Werewolf." (M) by idek_idic | 13,892 | Senior Prom is coming up, and Stiles doesn't have a date. Additionally, Derek has an unfurnished apartment, and no one to take him to IKEA.

"Reach Out" (E) by weathervaanes | 20,246 | Stiles sees the flyer on his very last day at Beacon Hills High School. It’s an advice hotline for a whole range of things, from teenage angst to how to deal with your parents telling you you’re adopted and a whole mess in the middle. Stiles thinks it’s funny, though, that they offer advice on sexuality and sex education. So it starts off as a joke.

"Take What I Have To Give" (T) by alexenglish | 5,419 | [ You have reached the voice mail box of Derek Hale – ] “Uh, sorry about the other day. I forgot to take my meds and I got all pissed. I guess it’s partially justified, because seriously? It’s been months. I just want to know that you’re good. Like, maybe you’ve settled or whatever. You know I – I want you to be happy, right? Derek, I really –” [ The mailbox is full and can not accept any messages at this time. Goodbye. ]

"i'm all strung out, my heart is fried" (E) by twnkwlf | 10,627 | “He’s an 11, Stiles,” she says glancing toward Derek, who is a few feet away, saying hi to some people Stiles doesn't know, and filling a red cup with beer. “That’s the kind of guy who ruins the scale for all men. The scale is broken. Now all you can do is stick out your ass and hope for the best.”

"Stay With Me" (T) by the_painless_moustache | 3,842 | He knows it’s childish to avoid their calls. Knows it’s stupid to blame any of them for this. But he doesn’t want to talk, doesn’t want to hear them telling him it’ll be okay because as far as he’s concerned, it won’t be. Derek was something good, something that made him better. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

"The Right To Remain Silent" (M) by werewolvesandarrows | 6,696 | When he pulls into the station all the on-duty deputies seem to be gathered around the glass doors, watching as Derek pulls the kid out of the back seat of his cruiser. The kid winks at the group of them and they start cheering loudly, or well, Tara and Parrish start cheering. Derek’s not all that surprised; the kid is obviously a little shit, it would make sense that he would be well acquainted with the law officers in town. It’s not until they take their first step into Sheriff Stilinski’s office that he realizes just how wrong he is.

"Strange Days" (T) by entanglednow | 3,918 | "I don't want to talk to Deaton. I don't want to be another supernatural problem to be dealt with."

"You've Got Your Head In the Clouds" (T) by angelgazing | 2,083 | The trouble--like most troubles in Stiles' life--really starts with his complete inability to learn to shut his mouth.

"When the Universe Comes Knocking (It’s Polite to Open the Door)" (M) by isthatbloodonhisshirt | 135,399 | It was like a door he’d nailed shut in Derek's brain suddenly exploded open, all of his past confusion and anger and hurt and adoration flooding out at once. Stiles? Was it actually Stiles?! Stiles, the guy he’d had a crush on for fucking years growing up. The guy who’d been an absolute dick to him their whole last year of high school. The guy who’d told him he loved him in a dirty men’s bathroom on prom night while drunk and upset because he thought Kira was Derek’s girlfriend. That Stiles?

"Better Fortunes" (T) by SmallBirds | 39,618 | When a group of sinister men attempt to kidnap Stiles Stilinski from the Brooklyn apartment he shares with his stepsister, Lydia, Stiles is forced to activate a spell that translocates him to where he'll be safest. Derek Hale isn't sure what to do about the soaking wet young man he finds wandering down a Beacon County roadside during the middle of a thunderstorm, but he feels compelled to help him.

"The Distance Between Two Points" (E) by SmallBirds | 4,849 | Stiles isn't totally inept- he knows that he and Derek should probably talk about the fact that they keep falling into bed together, and they will. He thinks. Maybe. He just wishes that Lydia would stop using mathematical proofs as a basis for relationship advice. Archimedes, eat your heart out.

"The Talent" (E) by reillyblack | 41,388 | The story of how Stiles almost got into porn, and how Derek got out of porn.

"Love Story" (M) by skoosiepants | 3,279 | But, like, Derek's nice, when you get past all the growl and bluster, and he's way too trusting for his own good, but he's reliable. He's loyal to the point of idiocy, which Stiles can relate to, and he's still able to open up his heart and be vulnerable, even after all the absolute shit that's happened to him over the years, and, okay, Stiles is aware he's kind of describing a stray dog, but he's always admired the way Derek's shirts wear his arms, so, like… "Holy fuck." Scott's eyes are puppy-dog wide. "What?" "I think we're under a fucking spell."

"You put a Hallmark on my Heart" (T) by giantteenwolforgy | 3,325 | Stiles is funny and smart and kind and is also his daughter's teacher and his boss's son. On the list of people who are off-limits, Stiles has held the top spot for as long as Derek has known him. Since Derek is Derek, Stiles also happens to rank number one on the list of people Derek is in love with. Seriously. His life is like a bad Hallmark movie.

"When Your Teachers Have No Chill" (E) by giantteenwolforgy | 4,314 | Derek's not his boyfriend, but sometimes it feels like he should be.

"strawberries taste how lips do" (T) by giantteenwolforgy | 1,754 | He goes for the pies. Mainly. And if Derek Hale happens to be there in all of his sinful glory, well, he's not going to complain.

"every version of me falls in love with you" (T) by stilinskisparkles | 9,578 | A little girl wearing a bright pink tutu flies down the steps and towards Derek. Derek has time to remember that according to Scott, her name is Rosaline, she’s five and that she’s Derek’s daughter, before she’s leaping into his arms. He catches her easily, breathes in her scent of milk and oranges and to his pleasant surprise, Derek, and someone else, too. Someone that smells good. She smells like home to him.

"baby daddies" (T) by stilinskisparkles | 5,828 | The third time he has to climb out of bed to deal with MJ, he calls Stiles. If he’s missing out on sleep, it seems fair Stiles has to, too. “Dude,” Stiles croaks down the phone, “This better be a booty call.”

"Taste The Way That You Bleed" (M) by dinglehoppersaplenty | 5,633 | Derek can’t tell if the thumps and cries around him are his pack or hunters or both, but Stiles needs to get out, get everyone and get out. He doesn't know what the hunters will do to him, but better him than anyone else in the pack.

"Nobody Does It Better" (T) by HalfFizzbin | 2,019 | “Blue Wolf, come in, Blue Wolf. You should really thank me for suggesting the pink tie, as it’s clearly bringing all the ladies to the yard.”

"Monsters" (E) by nightanddaze | 10,183 | Two (three) souls walking in the woods, looking for and finding monsters.

"8.7 Megapixels" (M) by nightanddaze | 2,094 | Derek's not up-to-date with phones.

"pucker up, sucker" (G) by extantecstasy | 1,276 | “Can I kiss you?” Derek asks forcefully. Stiles has been shoving Funyuns into his mouth and he can’t imagine any combination of wolfy olfactory cells and artificial onion taste that would be appealing.

"punch-drunk" (M) by elisela | 6,530 | Derek knows he’s staring, knows he should stop, drag his focus back to his daughter and not this—this stranger, gorgeous as he is with his slight upturned nose and bright eyes, lips that Derek is going to see in his dreams and long fingers folded into a fist that his jaw rests on. He should stop staring but he feels punch-drunk, knocked off his feet by the overwhelming attraction he feels, blood pumping so fast he can hear it rushing in his ears, can feel it in his pulse points.

"Shop Talk" (E) by aussiebee | 12,648 | Deputy Derek meets Shopkeeper Stiles. Derek likes Stiles and Stiles likes Derek. There are puppies and flowers and an awesome Sheriff and an awesome Hale grandmother.

"Whisper Through the Din" (E) by HyperLittleNori | 38,655 | He watched Stiles for a long heartbeat; his own head slightly cocked as he listened to Stiles’s heart simmer back from the enraged crescendo it’d worked itself into. When it settled back to something sad and steady, like the vibration on a string instrument, Derek offered an uncertain echo of Laura’s words. “We’ll work this out, Stiles.”

"Let Words Fall From Your Mouth" (T) by birdlaced | 1,481 | Stiles and Derek's fingertips are pressed together. "This is real. I'm real. You're real."

"Tell Me Another Beautiful Lie" (T) by whentheywrite | 2,213 | Derek didn’t think the boy that stood in front of him was Stiles. But he was too scared to call him Void.

"(isn't) everything" (G) by elisela | 2,278 | And then Professor Velasquez says, “today we’ll be shifting our discussion into trauma,” and Stiles’ world drops out from under his feet. He only hears snatches of the lecture: long lasting adverse effects, changes in neurobiological makeup, difficulty coping, feeling trust, managing cognitive processes, and regulating behavior. He hears agitation and anxiety, withdrawing from social situations and personal relationships, and anger, rage, feeling disconnected from things around you. Through it all, his brain screams Derek, Derek, Derek.

"just my type" (E) by sterekhale | 8,880 | After another failed date, Stiles' friend sets him up with her co-worker, who she swears is "his type."

"make me lose control" (T) by elisela | 2,021 | “Okay, let’s just look it up,” Scott suggests. “We’ll google it, see if it’s safe for the baby—wait! Let’s just call OB, that would be better.” He spins around and slumps against the counter, letting his feet slide across the floor until he can hit the side of his head against Scott’s thigh repeatedly. “Absolutely not,” he says. “Hell will freeze over before I call him for help.”

"The Werewolf Companion" (E) by MargaretKire | 64,517 | Stiles volunteers to be a companion for an isolated werewolf he's never met. He thought he knew way more about werewolves than it turns out he really does. Derek didn't technically ask the Werewolf Conservation Committee for a companion human, but they insisted he have one for his mental and physical health.

"The subtle seduction of Stiles Stilinski" (E) by DropsOfAddiction | 5,851 | Derek’s not used to having to make the first move and it terrifies him; even with his limited romantic experience with a few homicidal women, they usually just took what they wanted from him. Derek’s never wanted anyone like he wants Stiles and every time he sees him lately, it’s like it gets a tiny bit worse.

"Cookies, coffee and shut the fucupcakes" (E) by DropsOfAddiction | 26,236 | “Ok. I’ve got a few shirts with me because I came here straight from work, but I think it’s going to be a tight fit. I know I’m not as skinny as I used to be but I’m not exactly the same hunky physique as you, oh grand macho werewolf,” Stiles shrugs. Derek runs his eyes blatantly over Stiles’ chest. “I’m not so sure about that,” Derek mutters, and he slams his mouth shut, teeth audibly clacking together, as if he really hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

"My Shirt Looks Better When You Wear It" (G) by elysiumwaits | 1,058 | Stiles runs off with one of Derek's shirt when he goes to college. Derek shows up to collect.

"4 AM Knows All My Secrets" (T) by elysiumwaits | 3,815 | But Derek is crouched beside the couch, and he tugs Stiles’ hood back off of his face, and Stiles doesn’t really know how to decipher the way that Derek’s fingers linger on his cheek. “I can’t sleep,” Stiles says, in a little half whisper, half sob combination that he’ll never admit to. He can feel his hands shaking where he’s got them curled up under the pillow. “I know,” Derek replies, soft in that way he gets sometimes when someone’s really hurting.

"all the blue-gold sky" (T) by elysiumwaits | 2,885 | Derek really just wants the girl from his Introductory Poetry Lab to stop hitting on him. He gets a little more than he bargained for.

"Happiness is Effortless" (G) by clotpolesonly | 5,210 | Derek just wanted an excuse to run out on his date. A very public fight with the fiance he didn't know he had is not exactly what he was expecting, but he'll take it.

"The Final Cry in Bethlehem" (T) by circa | 8,152 | The five times they risk it all for each other out of loyalty, and the one time it was out of love.

"things you said after it was over" (M) by drunktuesdays | 583 | "I’m dating someone," Stiles says, when everyone’s heading toward the cars. Villain vanquished, monsters defeated. He hefts his bat over his shoulder, and looks out towards the treeline, focused on keeping his heart rate even. "Is that right," Derek says slowly, turning to face him.

"Out of Habit" (T) by elysiumwaits | 711 | And then, well, it becomes more of a hassle to come out and tell everyone they’ve been secretly dating for months than to just… keep it secret. And honestly, it’s not like they go out of their way to hide it.

"This Modern Love" (G) by rabbitxheart | 2,837 | "You could move in with me?" "Huh?" Stiles' head snaps up.

"little boy lost" (T) by crazyassmurdererwall | 14,862 | If someone asked Stiles to write a parenting book, Stiles would say the best and most important rule is to love your kid. Just love the hell out of them, and make sure they know it. The second most important rule would be don’t turn your back on a curious three year old with supernatural speed.

"Open the Door" (M) by eternalbreath | 24,871 | Derek backs away and the move, maybe the only time Derek has moved that direction in a Stiles-related context, shocks Stiles so much he stops. "I made a mistake. It happened, but it won't happen again. If that's not good enough, this is my pack and I'm drawing the line. Your emotions are all over the place, and if you can't control them yet, that's fine. But I can control how I react to them." For the first time, Stiles has nothing to say. He's been hoping for an answer and here it is. One-sided, as expected; a mistake, as predicted. "Am I out of the pack?" he asks finally.

"You Really Shouldn't Be Laddering" (M) by reillyblack | 3,381 | Back in college, Derek hooked up with a stranger at a party. That stranger is their new software engineer. [deleted]

"No Refunds or Exchanges" (E) by badwolfbadwolf | 18,916 | Stiles is the newest deputy in the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department, and has maybe just been a little in love with Derek Hale since Stiles had made a fool of himself in front of him at the SD summer picnic a few years ago. Being married to him—only for the sake of not getting deported—is going to suck in new and unusual ways.

"CSI: Beacon Hills" 🔒 (T) by Jerakeen | 8,243 | Back when Stiles was in high school Beacon Hills didn't have a crime lab, because they simply didn't need one. Those were the days.

"If nothing scares you about me and you" 🔒 (T) by RurouniHime | 4,975 | “Where do you think you are?” Stiles asks, carefully. He still hasn’t moved. Derek searches for his heartbeat as his mother has been teaching him and finds it easily: a steady lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub. Derek looks around. Dressers and a closet door and bookcases. He’s never been in this room. “Smells like home,” he says anyway, cautious, and Stiles’ smile softens. “Okay. Okay, that’s great.”

"One Thread" 🔒 (M) by RurouniHime | 11,599 | In the middle of the night, his dad comes into the room and crawls onto the bed behind him, easing Stiles into the vee of his legs. He settles back against the headboard with a groan and doesn’t say anything for a long time. Stiles wraps his arms around one of his dad’s legs, presses his cheek to warm flannel, and tries to be still. “Oh, kid,” his dad exhales. His hand comes down on the side of Stiles’ neck and his fingers press gently. “I never wanted you to know this pain.”

••••••

That's 100.

[icequeenbae]

Daddy’s Struggles (m) | BBH

Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader

Dad!Baek, domestic au, established relationship (duh), a slice of life, fluff, a lil smutty(!)

Warnings: some friskiness between mom and dad if you know what I mean, mentions of teenagers watching porn (I’m not promoting it, you guys lol), also this gets fluffin’ sweet get a bucket in advance

Word Count: ~2.2k

Summary: Baekhyun overhears your teenage daughter watching porn. You have to handle a small crisis.

Event: the BBH day @supermwritersnet​

© Please do not copy/ post on other platforms without permission.

Author’s Note: This… came out of nowhere:D I blame my dear beta @baekshoney​​ – we'd once discussed the idea of Baek being a teenager’s parent (in relation to a different story). Don’t we all love dilf Baek though? lol Anyways, this is a tiny glimpse into his future as a cute af father and husband <3 Let’s name him puppydad!Baek 😊 I hope this lifts your mood a little on a day like this!

On that note – happy birthday to our genius idol (aka mochi-cheeked hyperactive puppy), I wish that he stays healthy and happy and on the radar throughout the next 2 years (and forever)!! Don’t be too sad, guys, he’s hopefully going to finally lead a somewhat normal life for a bit 💞 Ok, I’ll let you get to it already~

A yawn.

You rubbed your tired eyes and dictated a reminder for tomorrow morning to your AI assistant. It was pretty late and you had your hands full all day with your kids. And while family time was always great, there hadn’t been a spare moment for you to tend to your own business. But two decades of dealing with your hyperactive yet loveable children (and husband) taught you to make the most out of what you got. So you were doing just that, organizing your errands and sorting important emails after everyone had scurried off to their rooms, and your husband — to the shower.

Baekhyun was quite exhausted himself, so you realized he must’ve gotten in the common bathroom by the time you exited the one in your bedroom. He did that sometimes when you locked the door out of habit. Not that he couldn’t come in, it was just… You used to scold him pretty badly for breaking into the bathroom. Picking locks wasn’t something you wanted your juniors to acquire as a habit. They had enough of their daddy’s traits as it was.

The thought made you chuckle. Your eldest son had already outgrown his father by at least five and a half – gotta be precise here! – centimeters (which made daddy very proud, but also a teeny tiny bit jealous). Despite his height, which, you were sure, was going to break the golden 180cm in the next few months, your boy’s build was exactly the same as Baekhyun’s. His shoulders were broad, his hips wide, and his waist was naturally narrow. Legs long and lean, and eyes always mischievous. He was eighteen and already seemed more like Baekhyun’s best friend rather than his child. Being both the hyung and the oppa of the household, he was the most mature out of the bunch, and always a big help to his parents.

Your middle child, your precious daughter, resembled you a lot. Her wavy hair and her big eyes with the longest eyelashes either of you’d ever witnessed. Seriously, that was the first thing Baekhyun’s friends had commented on when they came by to meet your new baby. ‘Is this even normal? Can she see through those? That’s one pretty baby!’ She was even prettier now, at her sweet sixteen, cheeks still a bit chubby, which – just as her button nose – were definitely an homage to her dad. Not to mention her hands that were even more delicate and exquisite than his.

The youngest, your six-year-old son, was a blessing. You weren’t planning to have more children after the first two until you suddenly thought… why not? Cannot say that you weren’t a little bit under the influence at the time. It was one of those rare weekends when your kids had a sleepover at their grandparents’, so you had the whole house to yourself. Deciding to have a domestic date and enjoy shameless daytime drinking, you indulged in a whole glass of wine before both of you were tipsy and giggling, then you added one more to the mix. At that point, all kinds of crazy things were brought up.

‘We should do this more often…’ You informed your partner. ‘This is exciting! We can walk around naked the way we used to before we had teenagers in the house!’

‘I miss our naked Saturdays…’ Baekhyun whined, almost spilling his wine while trying to sip it gracefully. ‘Now I barely even see you naked with your shower locking obsession!’

Pursing your lips, you dismissed his complaint.

‘After that incident… You cannot blame me for my caution.’

The incident was, well, your son needing to use the bathroom while his sister was taking too long and heading to the one in your bedroom. He nearly walked in on… an adult scene.

‘He didn’t even see anything, Y/N-ah,’ your husband grumbled, but you waved him off, downing your drink as if it was a shot of tequila rather than a glass of wine.

‘I don’t see a problem though,’ he blinked at you, not following. ‘We’re alone. Why not… See each other naked again?’

‘Right. We can also- Y/N-ah!’

‘What?’ You eyed his suddenly enthusiastic form with nothing but suspicion.

‘We can create a distraction!’

‘Hm?’

‘A distraction for them. So that they’d be busy with something else while we’re away.’

‘Hmm?’ You still couldn’t locate the source of his excitement.

‘Lemme show you,’ he slurred, tugging on your wrist to get you up and dragging you to the bedroom.

Let’s have another baby – that was his brilliant idea. Had you both not been such poor drinkers, one of you would’ve thought this through.

Nevertheless, you were glad that you didn’t. Because your little angel, who could sometimes be more of a tiny demon, to be frank, was the single sweetest thing to ever exist on planet Earth. He had his entire family wrapped around his little finger, and you – most of all. How could anyone blame you? That troublemaker was the spitting image of his dad and had a personality to match — just as playful and affectionate.

The chill spring breeze from the window licked at the bare skin of your arm, causing you to shiver slightly, coming back from the land of reminiscing. You stretched on the bed, noticing how protruding your nipples became from the cold even while hidden by the gentle fabric of your nightgown. Pulling the covers up, you grunted under your breath, wondering what was taking Baekhyun so long.

Just as you did, the door cracked open, and your husband sauntered into the room.

‘Ah finally, I thought I needed to go rescue you again,’ you chuckled.

That had happened before. He once used the common bathroom to shower before bed and ended up captured by your daughter, who was around six or seven at the time, in the hallway. She then demanded cuddles, knowing that her father was too weak to turn his precious girl down and send her back to bed. You found them both huddled up asleep on the couch, with your husband’s head tilted dangerously to the side. Terrible sleeping postures always had consequences, so you spared him the agony of the next morning, waking him up mercifully and helping to get your little girl to her bed. This was only one of many occasions – Baekhyun was a softie.

This time, however, he was a bit stupefied.

He didn’t react to your remark and seemed like he was going on autopilot when he came closer and sat on the bed.

You lifted the covers, inviting him to join you, and he followed your lead, still staring at the wall across the room.

‘Yeobo,’ you called, getting slightly alarmed. ‘Are you okay?’

He blinked, the stupor breaking, and looked at you with astounded eyes.

‘I- I think,’ he began, making you shift to face him properly. ‘I think I just overheard our daughter watching porn!’

His voice lowered to a whisper by the end of that sentence.

‘Oh my god,’ you whispered back. ‘How do you figure?’

‘I was walking down the hallway, and I thought I heard something from her room. I didn’t fully register what it was, but now that it processed… It was definitely porn!’

The signs of distress on his face almost caused you to break down in a fit of laughter. You held it in with all you got. Fathers and daughters, the eternal struggle.

‘First of all, ew. Aren’t you even a little bit ashamed to be eavesdropping on your kids like that?’ You didn’t let him protest. ‘Also, how do you even know it was porn, you know she sometimes mumbles and whimpers in her sleep. Like someone else we know…’

Giving him a pointed look, you leaned over his chest to turn the lights to the lowest mode, leaving the room dimly lit. It was always effective when you wanted to help him relax.

‘I wasn’t ea- And you think I can’t tell what porn sounds like? There are some generic… sounds. That give it away.’

‘When was the last time you watched it?’ You murmured, eyeing him curiously.

Of all people, you knew best how short his attention span was. Sometimes it could work to your advantage. Like right now, when you needed to de-escalate this before you could reason with him.

‘I- wh- I don’t know, probably when you were pregnant,’ he recalled. ‘The third one was somehow the toughest on me. You looked way too attractive for a heavily pregnant lady, let me tell you.’

‘Heavily pregnant??’ You scoffed, softening right after. ‘Well, you have a point, he was pretty huge. I swear, if he doesn’t grow up to be taller than Chanyeol, I’d be offended. That boy’s giant head prolonged my healing by at least a month.’

Baekhyun sighed and looked up at the ceiling, thinking back to that time.

‘He was the only one who caused you to tear, right?’

‘Yeah. Which is weird, considering that he was my third one. Ah well, I guess I’m not getting any younger…’

‘Aren’t you though? I’m constantly being asked about my pretty young wife,’ Baekhyun smiled at you charmingly. ‘And you only became prettier after the third pregnancy. I say it’s the hormones.’

Your cunning little plan was working. He was incredibly easy to distract.

‘Tell me the truth, was it the boobs? Or my butt? I did gain the most weight with the little daredevil, that’s for sure.’

‘It was all of you. You always looked so sexy when pregnant, I just wanted to have you all to myself,’ he cooed at you. ‘To feed you handpicked strawberries. And smother you with kisses. My beautiful young wife.’

At some point during this conversation, you shuffled closer to each other, now cuddled up snugly on the bed. Your finger slowly traced abstract patterns on his chest, happily exploiting the access to his skin where his pajama shirt was unbuttoned.

‘Ah, you’re just saying that to get under my nightgown,’ you batted your eyelashes at him, and he shook his head.

‘Maybe a little, but that’s true. And it’s not surprising that people are noticing – you are younger than me.’

‘A couple of years is nothing at our age,’ you murmured, bending your knee and moving your leg slightly up his to get cozy.

‘Well, you know what people say… Small kids make parents younger. Wanna have another one?’ He nudged you gently and laughed at the dirty look you gave him.

‘Yeobo- please don’t make jokes like this. I’d rather look for other elixirs of youth than go through that entire ordeal again.’

You knew that he was kidding, but the thought made you shiver.

‘I know, honey, I know. Like I said, you’re not in need of any elixirs.’

At this you relaxed, melting into his shoulder, and guiding his arm to wrap around you, warming your exposed shoulders.

‘Well, Mr Byun, same to you. Still as charming as two decades ago.’

‘Hey, I’d like to think that I’m more charming now. The experience and all.’

‘Who helped you gain all that experience though?’ You poked him lightly, and a low chesty laugh escaped his lips.

‘Of course, it was my one and only, my young, and beautiful, and smart and sexy little wife,’ he punctuated each compliment with a chaste kiss to your cheeks, nose, lips, and neck.

You squirmed in his arms.

‘Ah, you make a woman go mad,’ you purred into his lips mockingly.

He snickered softly, ready to lean in, but then stopped abruptly.

‘Wait a second- What about-’

‘Baekhyun…’ You murmured as he fussed on the bed.

‘I should probably go in there, and-’

‘And what? Embarrass your daughter?’ You held him down. ‘She’s sixteen, honey, it’s just the hormones. We’ve both been there. Let her be.’ You nuzzled his neck, pressing your lips to his sensitive skin lazily.

His mind was growing cloudy again since your hand was now caressing his inner thigh foxily. He’d probably realized what you were doing by now, but you were right, so he allowed you to sway him into giving the idea of an immediate intervention up.

‘Besides, I’m sure you wouldn’t be nearly as appalled if that was our eldest,’ you scoffed and added in an exaggerated tone. ‘Never took you for a sexist.’

‘But- he’s eighteen, and she- she’s my little girl…’ He mumbled in a small voice, hazed further by your not-so-subtle seduction. ‘I can’t let her- watch that-’

‘Don’t worry, yeobo,’ you whispered soothingly in his ear, slipping your hand into his loose pants. ‘I’ll talk to her tomorrow. Without you. No need to traumatize the poor girl, that’s how daddy issues develop.’

‘You should know,’ he bit back meekly, sighing when you finally wrapped your fingers around his semi-hard length.

‘The sass! It’s almost like you still got it, Mr Byun. Care to impress that young wife of yours?’

‘I sure will, you cunning woman,’ he growled playfully, completely giving in to it and attacking your laughing mouth as he lifted the covers over your head.

A/N: Thank you for reading! As usual, feel free to share your thoughts in the comments/ asks, and if you’re new – check out my Masterlist ^^

[mooshys]

the silver lining of bad first dates

summary: a date gone wrong. a walk in the rain. a simple conversation in a ramen shop. mundane slice of life and mutual pining with kuroo.

word count: 2.1k

author’s note and warnings: curse words galore. set in time-skip. pure word vomit. kuroo’s one of those characters that I’m so scared to even consider writing for because I feel as though I’ll never truly be able to “get” his character. whatever though, I tried.

This date fucking sucked.

Point-blank. No sugarcoating because the dude sitting on the opposite side of the dinner table was more interested in the JASDAQ than your name. Seriously, he couldn’t even be bothered to listen to you talk about your alma mater before he swooped in and started blanketing his insecurities with his recent Bitcoin investment. 

Talk about lame.

Wine and hors d’oeuvres be damned, you were making an escape before he started mansplaining the economy. Even wagyu couldn’t save this candlelit disaster.

Making no attempt to be discreet, you whipped your phone out of your bag and typed up a quick text:

Mind picking me up? Shitty date.

Ping! 

Seriously? Again? What’d this guy do this time?

Ping!

Send the address

Ping!

I swear, this is the last time I’m picking you up

You smiled at the screen, thumbs moving fast.

That’s what you said last week

A bubble with three dots appeared, disappeared, and reappeared.

Ping!

Five minutes.

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

Like every cliché bad first date, the weather made sure to mimic the mood. The rainfall was nothing less than dreadful, a downpour that left the streets empty as most people kept indoors to avoid getting soaked.

“You’re so lucky that I didn’t have to work overtime tonight,” Kuroo began, standing close to you in an attempt to shield you both from the shower with his janky umbrella. “Otherwise, you’d be walking in the rain or sitting there having your dinner ruined from hearing that guy talk about his gains in the market.”

You laughed at the truth of his words. There really was no one else who knew you like Kuroo. 

“And you know I would’ve walked in the rain out of the two options. I can’t believe someone so dick-ish exists that I’d bail out on a free meal,” you said, raising your voice over the heavy pelting.

Without any warning, a trio of college kids rushed past you two, not paying attention to the other pedestrians walking the sidewalks as their only priority in mind was making it back home before catching a cold. They had their backpacks held up to cover their heads, but it wasn’t much help as their clothes were completely soaked.

“See that?” Kuroo jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “You would’ve been running like those kids all the way back to your apartment if I didn’t show up.”

You lightly elbowed him and rolled your eyes. Rain fell on your shoulder from the sudden movement, but Kuroo repositioned the umbrella to prevent you from getting wet. “As if,” you murmured, hugging your body in an attempt to keep warm. “Thanks for picking me up. Again.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re oh so welcome,” he waved off your words and then cackled when you narrowed your eyes at him. Sometimes he really knew how to push your buttons. “Anyway, are you trying to date a bunch of crappy guys on purpose? Because I feel like that’s what you’re trying to do.”

“It’s not like I ask to go through a bunch of crappy first dates!” you said, letting out a huff of hot air. The past month had been riddled with unsuccessful first dates. Statistically speaking, you were an outlier; the average person probably went through a handful of bad first dates in a single year: you went through that number in a mere month. Multiple standard deviations past, you were way out of the norm. “Maybe I’m just a magnet for awful guys who only have a thing for themselves.”

Kuroo scoffed. “Or maybe you just like to make my life a little bit harder.”

You smiled at his words.

“Maybe.”

Besides the realization that you were like a honeytrap to flies when it came to bad first dates, another constant came from the start of it all: Kuroo. You weren’t expecting much from the first SOS call; really, just someone to walk you back home when it was late and the taxi fares were jacked up. But you would never forget the first time he waited for you outside that overhyped bar with a bag of take-out, his tie loosened and hair messy because he had just left the office and rushed to the nearest place that sold yakisoba for a decent price.

Maybe you did make his life a little bit harder. It was selfish, but whenever you had a bad date, you actually started to anticipate your escape because that meant Kuroo would be there for you.

He was your silver lining for the past month.

Red brick walls came into view once you two rounded the corner into a more secluded alley, revealing a familiar site that made you hungry. A neon sign which turned brighter due to the haze of the rain drew you in like a moth to a flame. It flickered, but still kept its light. Another constant.

Underneath the awning of the restaurant, Kuroo retracted his umbrella and shook the excess water off of it. He shoved it in the small bin filled with umbrellas belonging to the other patrons and dragged the soles of his shoes on the mat before pulling the door open. 

“Let’s just get some ramen,” he said, ushering you inside. You took the first steps and situated yourself at a lone table. He followed and a waitress quickly took your orders, soon rushing back to the kitchen to help with the line of tickets pinned to the wall. 

“Ramen on a rainy day,” you said, giving a low whistle. “You know your stuff.”

“Duh, ramen tastes best when you’re freezing,” he replied, pulling on his necktie to loosen it. He grabbed two pairs of chopsticks along with a pair of spoons, placing a set in front of you. “And it tastes pretty good after bad dates too.”

“You’re talking to the queen of bad first dates.”

“Oh, I’ve had my fair share too, Your Highness.”

As if on cue, two bowls of ramen were brought over from the kitchen along with an extra soft boiled egg as soon as he finished his sentence. The soup had small ringlets floating at the top from the fat of the broth along with bright green scallions acting as a garnish to offer a vibrant and appetizing color. Wasting no time, you both gave thanks and started to dig in.

“You know,” he started, breaking his chopsticks apart and dipping them into the broth. He pulled up a nice amount of noodles, the steam rising up higher than before. “I really think you should quit dating guys who suck.”

Following Kuroo, you did the same and blew at your noodles. “You say it like it’s easy.”

“It is. It’s so easy.” He ate a mouthful and swallowed before speaking again. “You have your top tier guys, your average guys, and then your totally shitty guys. I mean absolute trash—these are the guys you’re dating. Avoid them and all your problems will be solved.”

“Ugh, I feel like we go through this conversation after every single mishap of a date.”

Translation: Kuroo, you sound like my nagging mother.

“Because you never learn.”

Translation: I will nag at you all I want.

You sighed. “Love’s a lot more complicated than you make it.”

“Whatever. Just find a guy who isn’t an asswipe, and then we can talk.”

As you two continued to eat, the kitchen staff remained lively. The sounds of ceramic bowls clattering together along with the static hum of an old radio buzzing some city pop tune your mom would have listened to in her youth acted as background noise while chatting. 

“So... what kind of guy do you think you are?” you asked, curious to hear his answer. Kuroo was in the middle of slurping his noodles and held a hand up to signal you to give him a second.

“Me?” He pointed at himself and you nodded. Who else would you be asking? “I’m your average guy.”

You frowned. “No way.”

“What, you think I’m an absolute trash kind of guy? Harsh.”

“No, I think you’re definitely top tier. Average guys don’t go out of their way to do stuff like this.”

Kuroo raised a brow at you and set his chopsticks down. His bowl was half finished, but he was more interested in what you had to say. “Stuff like what?”

“You know,” you motioned the space between you two, “doing this awful-first-date-rescue-at-the-drop-of-a-hat kind of stuff. No questions asked. Average guys don’t do that. Average guys just pay for your meal and maybe give you their jacket when it’s kind of cold. And sometimes they call you some gross pet name like...” You shivered at the thought. “Kitten or something.”

He looked slightly taken aback. “You don’t like being called kitten?”

“No, something about it sounds gross.”

“That’s just because you haven’t found the right guy to say it to you when—“

Not wanting to hear the rest of what he had to say, you quickly crumpled up a napkin into a ball and tossed it at him. He threw his head back, putting on an act as if you actually did any damage to him.

“Stop. Please. Enough. Don’t even finish what you’re going to say.” You went back to devouring your bowl, the noodles more soft than before. Still tasted great as you shoveled in mouthfuls. “I don’t wanf tew heur et!”

Sporting a disgusted look, Kuroo grabbed a few napkins from the dispenser and slid them to your side of the table. “Jeez, you eat like that whenever you’re on a date? Maybe I saved that guy from you.”

“Well, you’re the one stuck with all of this now,” you motioned a hand to your entirety and wiggled an eyebrow. “Consider yourself lucky.”

He held his chin in the palm of his hand and stared at you from across the table, eyes still holding a glint of amusement under the low lighting of the restaurant. His bowl was nearly finished, yet he focused his attention on you, allowing a small smile to grace his lips as he pondered your words.

You eyed him, his gaze feeling a bit different from before. “What are you doing?”

“Considering,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“...It shouldn’t take you that long to,” you mumbled and ate another mouthful of noodles. He kept at it and soon started to crack up. When you narrowed your eyes at him, he shook his head and pushed another pile of napkins your way. 

“There’s a scallion at the corner of your lips,” he tapped a hand on his bottom lip and cackled when you rushed to grab a napkin and wipe it away. Heat rose to your face and you sucked on your teeth.

“You know what? Forget about me calling you a top tier guy. It never happened.”

He placed a hand over his heart, wounded by your words. “It was kitten, wasn’t it?”

Unable to contain yourself, you laughed into your hand, shoulders shaking. You had to set your chopsticks down as you fanned your face, trying to get rid of the tears threatening to spill from the corner of your eyes. “If I ever heard that from another guy, I would walk out. The second the word came out of his mouth, I would pack up my things, leave, and never look back.”

“But you’re not right now.”

“I’m not.”

“Because I’m a top tier guy. Admit it.”

Because it’s you.

You shook your head and waved the white flag. “Right, that’s exactly it.”

Kuroo crossed his arms in front of his chest, satisfied with your answer. Like he won something from this conversation. He liked the way your lips tugged into a smile, not too tight, but enough to showcase the apples of your cheeks; he liked these nights when he could unwind after a long day of work and laugh about stupid pet names; he loved how easy it all was. 

Consideration done and over with, he went back to finish his bowl, the steam from the broth no longer visible to the naked eye.

“Eat up or it’ll get cold,” he said and sipped on the broth. It was still warm, much to his surprise. “I’ll walk you back home when we’re done.”

You took small bites, prolonging the meal in any way possible: listening to him talk about his lazy cubicle partner, ordering another side of gyoza, folding a napkin to tell him his fortune through grade school methods. Both your bowls were empty, pushed to the side with a sliver of broth left as the focus was neither the food nor the JASDAQ jerk from hours before, but rather mundane conversation that went in circles until the shop emptied out.

A hundred dates could go wrong only for Kuroo to show up and make things right.

Maybe it was time for him to become more than a silver lining.

[ashdumpsterpile]

of siblings and spies

@libblyster said: edmund rescuing lucy from danger (only a year or two into their reign as kings and queens)

ao3

Edmund finds her one week into her captivity.

She’s not expecting someone to show up (read: she’s not expecting Edmund of all people to suddenly come flying down from the rafters and take her guard out with one well executed kick to the head).

Her expectations lie more in Peter storming the castle or a tense, but nonviolent trade of prisoners or whatnot. But here her brother is, quickly frisking the unconscious guard of his keys and swiftly trying each one in the lock.

(This really should be an indicator of things to come, but it will be several more years before Oreius finally recognizes Edmund’s potential as a spymaster. Lucy likes to say she knew it all along, but to be perfectly honest, all she can think about is the pain in her ankle and how cold she is.)

Edmund finally finds the right key and throws the door unceremoniously open.

She flies into his arms, forgetting about her twisted ankle for a moment, and buries her face in his neck. “What are you doing here?” she hisses, pulling away after a moment.

He has a cut on his cheekbone and dirt on his chin. She reaches up, trying to rub it away.

Edmund bats her hand away. “Did you really think I wouldn’t come?” He frowns, eyes quickly sweeping over her, assessing the damage.

“No, but I didn’t think that Peter would be alright with sending you straight into a den of traitors,” Lucy says back, eyes darting toward the door. They’ll need to move swiftly if they want to avoid capture again.

Edmund’s lack of reply tells Lucy everything. “Edmund,” she groans. “Please tell me Peter knows you’re here.”

“Peter knows I’m here,” Edmund replies obediently, clearly lying. He quickly takes off his cloak and wraps it around her shoulders when he notices her shivering. “Don’t worry about it, Lu.”

“I’m worried,” she mumbles, knowing that if she has concerns, Peter’s are tenfold.

“Can you walk?” Edmund asks, eyeing her swollen ankle with trepidation.

Lucy takes an experimental step. Pain shoots through her leg, but it’s bearable. “Yes, I should be able to.”

Not fooled for a second, Edmund pulls her arm over his shoulder and let’s her lean the majority of her weight on him. He carefully leads her out of the cell.

The room beyond is just as Lucy groggily remembers it--she was mostly unconscious when they arrived--no windows, one door, which is locked. Lucy frowns.

“How did you get in here anyway?”

_______

Their escape does not go smoothly. The path Edmund had taken did not lend itself kindly toward two travelers--particularly one of which was incapacitated and could not take a single step without limping. They end up accosted by guards on more than one occasion, and--worst of all--nearly taken out by a werewuff.

Edmund handles the situation quite masterfully, Lucy reluctantly admits, save for the bit with the werewuff.

The growling and howling from the distance had immediately put him on edge--face paling and hands shaking--and by the time the creature had come across them, he was already a bundle of nerves.

After taking a truly nasty slice to the side, Edmund manages to unsheathe his sword. It’s Lucy, though, who surprisingly deals the killing blow.

While he’s fighting the wolf creature off, a few badly aimed stabs to the side that mostly angered it, she manages to grab ahold of his dagger and slam it with all the strength left in her into the monster’s heart.

Edmund stares at her with round eyes as she pulls the blade out, wiping it on her borrowed cloak. “I think we need to sign you up for fencing lessons.”

“Susan will like that.”

“Susan’s not the one gutting werewuffs in her nightgown.” He holds out his hand, helping her to her feet. “Come on, we’re almost out of here.”

_______

“I hope you’re fully prepared for Peter to murder us,” Lucy says, pressing her cold nose to the back of Edmund’s neck. Her brother jerks his head away, but can’t get very far with her perched so precariously on his back.

He sighs, readjusting his grip under her knees and continues his unsteady gait through the forest.

They’ve been walking for about two hours now, because apparently Edmund did not have the foresight to bring a horse with him. He took the ribbing with a good-natured grin, though, and hoisted her up onto his back after she began to tire.

Despite her own exhaustion, she can’t help the concern slowly taking over. It’s a long walk back to Cair Paravel, and Edmund hasn’t been able to do much for the wound in his side beyond staunching the steady flow.

She doesn’t think he’s going to pass out from exhaustion, but wouldn’t put it beyond his already flippant constitution.

“What Pete doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Edmund finally replies, realizing that she’s waiting for an answer. She can hear the smirk in his voice and rolls her eyes.

“I’m fairly certain he’s going to notice the two of us covered in werewuff guts, strolling merrily through Cair’s gates,” Lucy snorts, wrinkling her nose at the smell of said entrails. “Not to mention your absence will have been noted by the entire court by now. Really, you didn’t even think to leave a note?”

“He would have stopped me.” Edmund sounds winded.

Lucy sighs, ducking her head to lay on his shoulder. “For good reason,” she mumbles.

Peter’s been particularly over protective of Edmund of late, and by late she--of course--means since he bled out in his siblings arms on the battlefield. Peter had excellent reason to be cautious concerning his little brother.

Still, Lucy is glad that Edmund came.

“To be frank, I’m more scared of Susan,” he says, breaking the silence.

Lucy groans. “She’s going to kill us.”

_______

Susan is crying.

Lucy’s still half asleep, but she dimly registers being handed over to her big sister, who tearfully wraps her up in her arms. She smells of expensive perfume and the velvet dressing-gown is soft against Lucy’s raw skin and her embrace is warm. Lucy sinks into it with a sigh, allowing Susan to pet her hair and lay kisses on her forehead just this once.

She sneaks a peak out of one open eye over to her brothers, who are quietly arguing over something.

“Sorry for scaring you,” she says, as Susan lets out a particularly loud sniff.

“If you ever do that again-” Susan threatens, but then cuts herself off. Lucy gives her a weak grin.

“It’s alright. Edmund came for me.”

That gets her a raised eyebrow, which Lucy primly ignores. Susan wouldn’t get it anyway. Younger siblings have to stick together.

“You smell terrible,” Susan finally says.

If Lucy wasn’t so tired, she thinks she’d hit her. Instead, she settles for huffing loudly. Trust Susan Pevensie to be flustered over a little smell when Lucy had quite literally been locked up in an impenetrable fortress for seven days and then fought off a werewuff with a borrowed dagger.

“I-Ed?” Peter’s panicked voice breaks through Lucy’s annoyance. She squirms in Susan’s grip, trying to get a better look at the commotion. Edmund is on his knees, clutching his side with a pained expression. Peter is hovering over him, one hand tentatively on his shoulder. Edmund pulls his hand away. It’s coated with blood.

“I thought the werewuff didn’t slice you that deep,” Lucy frowns.

Susan stills.

Peter makes an intelligible sound, sinking down in front of Edmund. He shouts something to one of the guards who runs off, presumably on Peter’s orders. Edmund leans forward, dropping his weight into Peter’s waiting arms with an unamused laugh.

“Oops?” he offers, brow pinched in pain.

Peter smooths his hair back from his forehead. “What am I going to do with you,” he mutters, glancing between him and Lucy, who gives a lazy wave. “Both of you.” The annoyance in his voice doesn’t detract from the fear she sees in his eyes.

Lucy shrugs. Edmund mumbles something intelligible that has Susan rolling her eyes. Peter just sighs briefly, and holds his brother tighter. Lucy smiles, closing her eyes, trusting her older siblings to take care of them.

_______

Lucy wakes up in the infirmary.

The bed isn’t terribly uncomfortable--it’s a damn sight better than the threadbare cot in her cell--and the blankets piled up are soft. She runs her hand over one of them, watching as the fur rubs the wrong way and then smooths it back. It reminds her of Susan’s velveted dressing-gown.

Ah. Susan.

Her sister is nowhere to be found, but Peter is sitting in an uncomfortable wooden chair by her bed, head pillowed in his arms by her legs. There are dark purple bruises under his eyes and the faintest hint of tear tracks on his cheeks. Heart aching, she reaches out to wake him.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Edmund says, startling her. He’s perched on the windowsill, shirtless, legs dangling in the air. His side has been expertly bandaged and there’s color in his cheeks. Lucy feels her worries slowly lift. “Unless, of course, you would like to experience round 3 of ‘Edmund gets yelled at,’” he adds, lips twisting into something of a grin. He lets his legs swing back and forth for a moment, watching her considering.

“Should you be out of bed?” she asks, voice low.

Edmund shrugs and then winces. “Probably not,” he admits.

Lucy rolls her eyes and scoots over as much as she can without waking their older brother. She lifts one edge of the blanket nest up as invitingly as she can. “Well, come on then.”

Edmund tentatively pads across the floor, slight limp in his gait. After a brief moment of hesitation, he ducks beneath the blankets and settles beside her.

The two of them stare at the ceiling for a moment.

Lucy is reminded of a time, years and years ago--before things got complicated and Edmund got cold and Lucy became alone--when she used to crawl into Edmund’s bed after a particularly bad nightmare. This is like that, but better. Better, because this time Edmund lets her shift closer and drop her head onto his shoulder. Better because he wraps an arm around her and buries his nose in her hair. Better because that’s what both of them are now. Better.

“Hey Ed?” she mumbles, exhaustion making the edges blurry.

Her brother hums in response, angling his head toward her.

“Thanks for coming to get me.”

Before she falls asleep, she feels his thin arms tighten reflexively. “Of course, Lu.” His voice is impossibly gentle. “Always.”

[shima-draws]

Aww yeahhh time for Kiyo to make his entrance!

I wrote an entire essay about him (again whoops) so it’s very long and under the cut for your viewing pleasure ;)

Kiyo

Age: 29

Hair color: Green

Eye color: Brown

Element: Stars

Kiyo, the Guildmaster of the Asterstone Guild! He only took up the position recently and has had the Guildmaster title for about a year and a half. He was the previous record holder for youngest Guildmaster until that title was stolen by Taku. (Kiyo holds a grudge about it but it’s playful.) 

Kiyo, just like lots of other characters in ATS, was taken in by the Asterstone Guild at a young age. He’s similar to Shima in that he has no previous memories before showing up outside the guild one day, battered and bruised. (That marks three characters in this series with amnesia now! Wrow) He grew up under the watchful eye and tutelage of the previous Guildmaster, and because of how attached to him she’d gotten, it wasn’t long before he began to express desires to take over the guild once she retired. After a lot of thought and contemplation she eventually handed over the position to him. This initially resulted in a lot of outrage from the guild members because they did not think Kiyo was suited to be the Guildmaster, but he eventually proved them wrong once he stepped up to the plate and showed them he could act like a true leader!

They did have good reason to be nervous about that, though, as Kiyo is normally a very laid-back and carefree person and is strictly non-violent. This has lead into lots of situations where he’s opted out of fighting, leading his guildmates into lots of trouble when they needed a hand, and they labeled him as both a coward for avoiding necessary battles on missions (which is practically a requirement for a guild member going out on dangerous quests, you sort of have to have a battle prowess to take on any foes) and lazy for not participating when he should. Initially this bothered Kiyo a great deal, but the previous guildmaster assured him that not everybody is suited for battling others, and that he can still pave his own way to success in a non-violent manner. While Kiyo may not have a liking for fighting, he has an extremely smooth tongue and is very capable of talking himself out of sticky situations (mostly by bribing. He is VERY good at that lmao). He has a talent for manipulating others into doing what he wants them to, though he rarely uses this on people he considers friends. When Kiyo’s able to complete a mission and win the day without resorting to using their elemental powers in a fight, his guild members have to stop and think for a second like. Hold on. He just did that so easily, he made it look so simple, we really need to stop underestimating him and calling him totally useless (Kiyo: Hey. HEY).

Kiyo’s pretty close to all of his guildmates despite their constant ribbing—the one person he’s close to that adores him completely is Lacie, because he was the person to bring her into the guild (she was around 10, he was 17), and being the first person to genuinely show her kindness that wasn’t for ulterior motives, Lacie became very attached to him. Kiyo acts like an older brother to her, and Lacie supports him in whatever he does. She was thrilled when he took on the Guildmaster position, and he has a very soft spot for her :’) She always sings his praises to anybody outside who will listen, and gets angry at Emrys the one time he called Kiyo incompetent.

After becoming the guildmaster, Kiyo actually does a good job at taking charge despite the general opinions that he wouldn’t. He’s still very casual about it though and is a bit more flexible with how the guild is run, preferring to let the guild members do things their own way and be less strict about the overall rules. He’s basically got the “Do whatever you want!” and “Just wing it!” outlook, and while a lot of the members don’t like this attitude, a lot of them do. At the end of the day they all do respect him, though! While he isn’t a fighter he’s very good at giving orders and keeping things in check around Asterstone lol

Despite Kiyo’s insistence on staying out of battles, he’s actually an extremely skilled fighter, and is probably the strongest and most dangerous person in the entire guild. The issue with this, though, is that whenever he gets into a fight, he tends to get too “serious” and starts going off the walls, treating the battle as a game and something fun and entertaining. This leads into him not knowing when to stop, and nobody else being able to stop him, so he’s seriously injured other people without meaning to—revealing that he’s actually terrified of violence because he loses himself in it, and why he prefers to stay on the sidelines. It’s only when Kiyo gets really serious in battles that a darker side comes out, and where the star mark in his eye appears. It’s only been seen a few rare times throughout his life at the guild, so nobody really thinks much of it or notices it. It’s only after the star mark appears that Kiyo passes out afterwards, having exerted a lot of power and extremely skilled battle prowess nobody has ever seen before. However, after a grand guild tournament where Kiyo faces off against Taku and gets too into it, revealing his star mark and almost slicing Taku’s head clean off, one of Kiyo’s advisors at the guild starts to look into it out of concern for both Kiyo’s safety and that of others.

In the middle of all this mess, Kiyo meets Toru, and after nearly forcing him to join Asterstone, the two start growing closer 👀 Toru joins the squad of not putting up with Kiyo’s bullshit, but that’s only after he gets over his starstruck fanboy phase. Because Toru is newer to the guild and because he’s a non-elemental not suited for fighting, Kiyo instantly becomes attached to him, finding similarities in their preferences and backgrounds. While Toru does think Kiyo’s an idiot sometimes he treats him very kindly, and is usually the first to defend him when the other members playfully tease him, so Kiyo’s just like you are an angel sent from heaven just for me and I adore you. Still though with Toru being a non-elemental Kiyo stresses about his safety CONSTANTLY, even after Toru gets official training in self defense. If Toru’s in danger Kiyo will blow off literally everything else to go rescue him first, which the other members have to get used to as it happens more often than they’d like akdasbmlads

Later down the line the guild is caught up in something terrible, and find themselves being targeted by a descendant of a great inventor and sorcerer (not Elymas this time tho lol). She’s apparently seeking what’s known as the Velle Nova, and has reason to believe Asterstone is in possession of it. After Kiyo’s forced to fight and unleashes the power behind his star mark, the descendant reveals that Kiyo has the Velle Nova, and then the truth finally comes out…

Kiyo remembers everything about his past. Years ago, his town had been caught up in a great disaster, and he was the only survivor. He was forcibly taken in by several scientists, one of them being the ancestor of the girl descendant. They were attempting to recreate the Velle Nova, one of the great sorcerer Elymas’ inventions, which is said to grant any sort of wish imaginable. They wanted to claim that power for themselves and possess the powers of the universe itself. However every attempt had failed, and without the real Velle Nova they couldn’t achieve what they were after. So they decided to pour all of their research into Kiyo instead, and try to create the weapon inside of a human being. This ended up making a twisted, broken version of what should have been the Velle Nova. But Kiyo couldn’t contain its power—it was going to unravel the universe itself and either destroy everything or alter it tragically into something unimaginable. One of the scientists working with the group realized how awful their experiment was and, being a Time elemental, decided to erase Kiyo’s memories (with some help) and send him centuries into the future so that the rest of the group couldn’t get their hands on him. Hence Kiyo winding up outside of Asterstone with no memories, and the truth behind his star mark. It had been granting Kiyo his wish the whole time—the longing to protect the things he cares about by being able to defeat any threat in his way. Of course with the unstable power that he can’t control, it usually leads into disaster;;

Kiyo, now having recovered his memories, realizes that the same thing is going to happen again, and decides to seal himself off to protect Asterstone and the world before the universe unravels. Cue an epic PMD-esque goodbye scene where he bids farewell to Toru, gives him his trademark scarf, and vanishes, escaping into a dimension between time and space where his power can be contained. *Starts playing I Don’t Want To Say Goodbye*

Toru, absolutely devastated by Kiyo’s farewell, decides he’s going to break time and space to save his man, except there’s one small issue...nobody else remembers that Kiyo even existed, and Toru only managed to by some miracle (and also maybe bc Kiyo handed him his scarf idk some magic soul connection thing). But after a while...a long while, maybe like a year or more...they finally unlock the key to finding Kiyo!!

Toru and Kiyo share a tearful reunion, and Kiyo cries a lot because it had been so lonely sitting in that black hole all by himself for so long. Toru begs Kiyo to come back, and suggests that Kiyo separate himself from the Vella Nova in order to live a normal life, but Kiyo informs him that he and the Vella Nova...are the same. They’re the same combined entity! Kiyo says that if he tries to unfuse, he’ll just end up destroying himself, because there’s nothing to separate, being one singular existence. So Toru points out uh hey since you’re the same thing, don’t you get a say on how your power is used? “It’s your power, Kiyo” yes we’re referencing Tododeku here we go

Kiyo’s like hmm uh yeah I guess you have a point;; so we went through all that for nothing huh. And Toru tells him you’re a fucking moron and Kiyo’s like ahh yes but you loved this moron enough to come rescue him from the void ;) And they kinda sorta confess but not really? Kiyo’s too nervous and Toru’s too distracted trying to figure out how to get them out of there but no worries they sort it out later. Kiyo tells him that hey I’m still dangerous and I could lose control at any given moment and Toru’s just like well I guess we’ll just have to stop you and bring you back to yourself. So with the knowledge that he’s got a whole guild of awesome people backing him up and a boy who broke the laws of the universe to save his ass, Kiyo and Toru escape the rift and finally return home together 💕 And that’s pretty much how their arc ends!

Extra personality traits

-He has a really short attention span so this makes things painfully hard on mission briefings, which leads to Kiyo usually screwing up the mission one way or another

-He often charges ahead without thinking and is the first one to become a target in a bad situation. Nobody really feels bad for him though because most of the time it’s his fault for walking right into it LMAO

-He can be very childish sometimes and most of the time he does it on purpose. His guildmates complain that their leader is a whiny, immature brat

-He is an expert on how to annoy people do not test him oh my god

-He can be incredibly selfish;; He’s gotten better with it during recent years, but he got scorned for it a lot when he was younger. He’s also very emotional, and you can read what he’s thinking like an open book! When his friends can’t read him that’s when they start getting worried.

-He has no experience in romance whatsoever and it’s the one (1) thing that can get him flustered. Nobody at the guild has ever seen Kiyo get mildly embarrassed or caught off guard, so they begin to think it’s impossible to make him blush. Then Toru shows up and ruins everything lmao

-He has a great sense of humor and can always make others laugh! He’s also very mischievous and sometimes plays pranks on other members of his guild.

-He’s very stubborn when he wants something and not in a good way. He also pouts a lot when he gets like this

-He loves his guild and his guild members man :'( If any of them are ever in any real danger he's quick to offer himself up first as a target. He's protective of his friends and will do anything to keep them safe!

-A very very affectionate person. He mostly shows this through physical acts like hugging and generally touching other people. In return he also craves affection and gets very soft when it’s given back to him. I’d probably say he’s a little touch starved despite being in close contact with others all the time lol

[the-purity-pen]

PTC: part v

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x Fem!Reader

gif by @pascalsky

Word Count: 2,312

Rating: PG

Warnings: sweet moments, little bit of angst.

A/N: here’s the next part! some reveals. did you guess correctly? @creativekat and i are having a blast writing this and we really do love this story and these characters!

Series Masterlist

You looked around the large rented ballroom and shook your head nervously. You had brought up the idea of taking the kids out on field trips to facilitate their learning and the Heroics school board had decided to hold a fundraiser to help take this from an idea to reality. You hadn’t imagined that they might opt to raise said funds by auctioning off dates with the Heroics themselves. Since the event would be opened to the public, it couldn’t be held at HQ (a logistical nightmare) so a local Events Center had been the next best option. Now, as you watched the room beginning to fill with people you could see why. This was, apparently, the event of the century. 

Soft classical music was being piped in from speakers in the corners of the room as people mingled, getting drinks from the bar. Your students were all wearing black outfits and acting as greeters and coat-checkers so the gathering masses would see just who their money would be helping. You quickly realized, for some here, it wouldn’t matter where the money was going. A night on the town with one of the Heroics was a hot commodity. 

Glancing over at Marcus, surrounded by half a dozen women, you understood the appeal. The urge to go over and rescue him from his adoring fans was strong, but you couldn’t do that. For one thing, as the teacher of his daughter and the other Heroics’ kids it was inappropriate. For another thing, you’d spotted your brother in the crowd and you just knew he’d have an opinion on your feelings for Marcus Moreno and you just didn’t want to hear it. 

Wearing a suit and tie was really nothing new but wearing it that evening made Marcus super uncomfortable. Not that the women who were flocked to him would have complained. A few of them tried chatting him up casually but there were a few making comments about what their ideal date night would consist of. One of them even tried slipping him actual cash to try to rig the auction.

Marcus shook his head with a forced polite smile as he got more uncomfortable until his gaze looked out and found you. “Ladies, I have to go do my part in helping set up,” he explained with a slight lie as he gently pushed through them and walked over to you. His smile changed from forced to nervous as he approached you and leaned in to speak to you.

“What else is left to set up? Please tell me there’s something so I can keep myself busy,” he added with a soft chuckle as his eyes did a very quick, brief scan over your scan to take in your outfit. “You look beautiful by the way,” he commented quietly as he attempted a smile at you.

At his compliment you couldn’t help the heat that rushed to your face. You didn’t feel beautiful most of the time. Cute, sure. But beautiful? No.  But, if Marcus Moreno was saying it maybe you needed to believe it. You shook off the exhilaration of the moment to focus on what he was asking. “Ummm, do you want to add the raspberry sorbet to the punch?” 

The two of you walked to the end of the table where several pints of fruit-flavored frozen goodness had been softening and you handed him an ice cream scoop with a smile, “Thank you.” You giggled before adding quietly, “You look really good yourself. I’m sure you’ll bring in a lot of money.” You were surprised when Marcus blushed. A little thrill shocked your spine realizing you were the cause. 

Missy cleared her throat getting the attention of you and her father, “We’re done getting all the coats hung up. We were wondering if we could get some snacks?” Marcus looked at you for the answer since you were the one in charge for this event. Nodding, you said, “You guys have done more than enough. You’ve earned a break.”

As she walked away, Marcus leaned closer, asking, “Are you going to bid on me?” His smile nearly melted you.

With a nervous laugh, you replied, “I don’t think that would be a good idea.” Marcus’ brows knit together in a frown as he scooped some of the sorbet into the punch bowl, watching it fizz as the softened dessert melted more into the liquid.

“Why’s that?” he asked, trying to conceal the slight disappointment in his voice. He was excited to participate in something that would help raise money for Missy and her friends and the school but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t see this as an opportunity to finally have you on a date night with him.

Just then, a clearing of a throat and a slap to Marcus’ shoulder caused both of your attention to break from one another. “Well, well, well,” Miracle Guy’s voice broke your concentration on Marcus and caused you to turn to look at him. You forced a smile as the blond male continued talking, “Looks like we’ll be in some pretty heavy competition tonight huh Marcus?” 

The question seemed playful in nature but Marcus, and you, knew better. Any chance that Steven could show up Marcus, he would absolutely try to. You shook your head slightly and went to the other end of the table, suddenly feeling tension in your shoulders. 

You absent-mindedly straightened a stack of napkins that were already pristine and watched as the two men finished their conversation. Was it too much to hope Steven wouldn’t press the subject with you? You watched as Marcus handled the other Heroic smoothly, then Miracle Guy, also known as your older brother Steven, approached you. Again, you molded a wobbly smile onto your face. 

“How’ve you been?” The question was ignored as Steve glanced around before casting his imperious gaze on you. 

“So, are you and Marcus Moreno going out now?” He said the other man’s name through clenched teeth. 

With a shrug you replied, “No. What gave you that idea? Why would you think that?” Inwardly you cringed. You were never very good at hiding your feelings.

Steven picked up a small plate and helped himself to a couple slices of cheese, “I overheard the kids talking. Wheels seemed to think you were interested.” He popped some gouda into his mouth and then, “I just don’t want you to get hurt… and getting your hopes up that a Heroic like Marcus would… well, I’m just worried he’ll get bored, that’s all. I’m looking out for you.” 

You scoffed. The way your fists clenched around the napkin you were currently holding, crumpling it should have been a sign that you wanted to punch your brother for being so rude. The guy hadn’t even had a serious relationship and yet he still managed to have a son by a woman he so-called loved. What did he know about love or relationships or even what it was like to be with you in a relationship? He had no right.

His name was called across the room and he gave you a pitiful smile. Your nostrils flared, trying to calm yourself before Miranda came up to remind you that it was just about time to start. You nodded, thankful that she had broken your frustration towards your brother. You walked with her towards one of the front tables as she kept walking to get onto the stage and welcome everyone to the event.

Marcus had watched as you and Miracle Guy talked, narrowing his eyes when you clearly got agitated. But, then Miranda had interrupted and the blonde hero had walked toward the stage. He yearned to go to you and take your hand, to make sure you were okay, but the event was starting and he had to join the other Heroics at the table reserved for them. 

Miranda introduced the emcee for the evening, a local newscaster, and joined you at your table while the rules of the date auction were explained. Reaching across the table, she grabbed an open bottle of red wine pouring two glasses, “You look like you could use a drink.” She knew your family history, since she’d been on the interview committee when you’d gotten hired and you appreciated her support now. 

Taking the glass, you smiled, “I shouldn’t let him get to me. I’ll be fine.” You glanced over at the Heroics table and saw Marcus looking at you. He smiled and you couldn’t help but smile in return, your heart fluttering in your chest. Your attention was again diverted when you heard the emcee announcing that Miracle Guy had pulled in $870 for the school and then Marcus’ name was being announced. Your stomach turned while the women around you all cheered wildly. You felt jealous of whoever won this date and watched Marcus walk up to the stage. 

Marcus fiddled with his tie as he made his way onto the stage. His face felt hot even before he stepped under the hot stage lights. The cheering and hollering didn’t quiet down until the emcee shushed the crowd at least four more times. Marcus was smiling but he felt his palms get a bit sweaty. For a man who was constantly in the news saving the world, being in front of a crowd to be auctioned off for a date seemed to make him nervous.

His eyes squinted as he adjusted to the light and when he scanned the room, his eyes landed on you for a long moment. His breath caught in his throat, secretly hoping that you would bet on a date with him. Everything in his mind was trying to telepathically tell you to bid.

The emcee barely got his words out to start the bidding before the first few hands rose up, shouting $100, then $150 and $200 in rapid succession. There was a murmur of giggles and whistles as the emcee shouted out the bid numbers and kept trying to explain what a date night with Marcus would entail.

Your eyes couldn’t leave Marcus even after he had caught your gaze a few times. Your heart was hammering as you thought about the real possibility of someone else going on a date with him. The bids had gotten up to $700 and it was down to two people. Both of the women in question had been acting especially thirsty when talking to Marcus earlier. 

Throwing caution to the wind, you raised your hand, “$750!” Every eye in the room seemed to turn in your direction with varying reactions. Miranda’s eyebrows shot up, but she grinned at you. The two other bidders glared in your direction. Your students all shared happy grins (especially Missy and Wheels). Steven looked disappointed and aggrieved. But, the only person who mattered to you in that moment was Marcus and he looked relieved and happy, a wide grin forming on his face. 

There was some more bidding back and forth while you did math in your head trying to figure out how much you could actually afford. You really didn’t want to lose this. Finally, you bid $1390 and everyone in the room waited to see if either of the other two women would raise the stakes yet again. Finally, the emcee announced, “At $1390, the highest bid of the night so far, a date with Marcus Moreno to the lady at Table 4!” 

Breathlessly you leaned back in your seat then gasped, “Oh my God… what did I do?” Marcus was just as breathless as he heard the applause and watched your face as he finally stepped down from the stage.

As he approached your table all eyes were on him and subsequently, you. He stood in front of you, towering over your sitting frame and you audibly gulped at the impressive broadness of him. "So a date it is," he said quietly as he sat down in the chair next to you.

His heart was hammering as he placed his hand over yours and patted it gently before looking back to the stage to see Mrs. Vox coming onto the stage to be bid on.

Off to the side, Steven was furrowing his brow at you and Marcus, trying to see if he could study what your lips were saying to each other. His nostrils flared slightly as seeing how relaxed and comfortable Marcus was around you. Almost as if you had been together already.

You could feel your brother’s eyes on you, and you were sure he suspected you’d lied to him about your relationship with Marcus earlier, but you ignored his glares. You had bigger things to worry about right now. Like the fact that you’d just paid an overwhelming amount of money to go on a date with the parent of one of your students. You’d never crossed the line like that before and the fact that you’d done it this time had you reeling. 

Not to mention the fact that he was a Heroic!  Growing up powerless in a family full of superpowered people had always made you feel like an outsider in your own home. And they hadn’t done anything to dissuade you of that notion. If anything they’d made it worse, amplifying the sense of inadequacy you’d experienced. 

Glancing over at Missy, who was trying to hide an enormous grin, you remembered the talk you’d had with Marcus at the Parent/Teacher Conference. She was, essentially in the same place you’d been back then. But, Marcus made her feel loved and accepted for who she was. As you moved your gaze away from your students your eyes met Steven’s and you gave him a determined tilt of your chin before turning back to Marcus. 

Leaning forward you whispered, “I can’t wait.” Then kissed him on the cheek.

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[rainsongdean]

you’re always golden to me

post-mockingjay / pre-epilogue everlark healing together, appreciating the sunset, and maybe even falling in love

"We should head back before it gets dark." Peeta's words rang out in the open air between them, but they were not enough to pull Katniss from her trance-like state.

It had been a rough day. Not enough so to be classified as a bad day, seeing as Katniss had found the motivation to move from the bed to the couch at some point in the afternoon. Now, though, watching the clouds paint watercolors in the sky seemed to bring her back to life. She was encapsulated by the sight.

"Not yet," she eventually spoke, her voice somewhat hoarse from not using it for a while. "I want to stay until it's over. Besides, we could walk home blindfolded from here."

It was true. Katniss had discovered the hill nestled in the woods behind Victor's Village not long after returning from the Capitol. She found solace in being embraced by the wilderness rather than being suffocated in her old home, so when she accidentally stumbled upon the tall mount that overlooked the wide plains and open sky, she knew she had found what she had subconsciously been searching for.

It had taken a few months before she brought Peeta to her secret spot. He'd only returned to District 12 a few days before she had found the hill, and they both needed some time to warm up to each other again. But one day, after suffering through a particularly vivid flashback that ended with him handcuffed to one of Haymitch's spare cages for his geese, Katniss figured it would do them both good to escape into the forest for a while.

That was the first night they watched the sunset from the hill. It had been slightly uncomfortable, sitting inches apart on the dewy grass, no attempt at conversation made by either party. Eventually, Peeta suggested they return home to make dinner before it got too late, but Katniss insisted that she could tell by the shape of the clouds that they would put on an impressive show.

As usual, she was not wrong.

It was the most vibrant spectacle either of them had seen - far more breathtaking than any Capitol party or fireworks display. Sure, they had both watched the sun go down in 12 before, but their view had always been clouded by the thick layer of dust in the air from the mines or obstructed by the cluster of buildings stacked practically on top of one another. Here on their hill, nothing stood between them and the sky. Beyond that, the best part was they got to share it together, just the two of them. 

Since that night, the pair made an effort to hike the two-mile trek to the hill at least once a week, though they typically found themselves there more often than that. Katniss still liked to visit the spot alone, sometimes using the safe space to speak aloud to Prim or Finnick and imagine what they would say back. Other times she just enjoyed the silence.

Peeta, too, ventured to the hill a few times by himself. He had tried on several occasions to paint the landscape, and while he was able to perfect the morning glow and mid-afternoon sun, he couldn't capture the colors of nightfall that he most desired to paint.

Despite the significance that the holy ground held for each of them individually, neither one could deny that they preferred to visit the hill together. Katniss had been unofficially living with Peeta for weeks now, and they even shared a bed most nights, but there was a different breed of intimacy that came with being in the woods, nestled in their own little corner of the universe. 

"Fine," Peeta sighed contentedly, breaking the silence again. "We can stay as long as you'd like." With that, he leaned toward the picnic basket they had brought and reached in, shoving aside the empty containers that once held a selection of berries, cheeses, and breads to reveal a neatly folded fleece blanket he had stashed in the bottom. "I came prepared," he announced with a sense of pride.

Katniss briefly pulled her gaze from the view for the first time since the sun had begun its descent to offer Peeta a small smile of gratitude. The gesture warmed his heart with the blaze of ten thousand sunsets.

Taking care to wrap the soft cover around their legs, Peeta pulled the fabric up to their chests and then eased his back to the ground until he was laying horizontal on the hill. Katniss followed suit so they were both engulfed by the blanket.

Their new angle only served to better showcase the colors stretching endlessly above them. One hue in particular transported Katniss back to a seemingly ancient memory of the two of them.

"Orange. Muted... like a sunset." Katniss didn't break her eye contact with the sky but smirked to herself as she spoke.

Peeta nudged her shoulder playfully in response, easily picking up on what she was referring to. Their conversation on the train about favorite colors was one of the first to come back to him after he had been rescued from the Capitol. Shifting slightly toward Katniss, he reached out and twisted his finger gently around a stray strand of hair that had escaped from her braid. "You're so poetic when you quote me," he mused sarcastically.

"Well, your choice of favorite color is much more poetic than Effie’s choice of wig," she quipped. It was ironic how some of her and Peeta's best conversations had happened in the midst of some of the worst times of their lives. And yet, there they were: safe and relatively happy, just two kids trying to piece themselves back together with some pastel paints, cheese buns, and hidden hills. It may not have been anything profound, but it was living, and Katniss figured that, for time being, that would be enough.

She inhaled deeply, trying to absorb the moment. They had reached the peak of the sunset when every particle in the air seemed to glisten from the giant star's final attempt to remain on the topside of the world. There was only one word to describe it.

"Everything is golden."

And, for an instant, it was.

But as the sun succumbed to the pull of dusk, the raging reds and oranges that had scorched the sky swiftly turned to delicate pinks and purples, paving the way for the black of night.

It was then that Katniss realized Peeta had been uncharacteristically quiet, his sunset commentary usually being much more prolific than hers. When she turned her head to the left to face him, she found he was already staring back at her, still toying with her hair. His deep blue eyes twinkled like he knew a secret and was about to let her in on it.

When they first met, that kind of look from Peeta overwhelmed her. Sometimes Katniss would catch him staring at her like she carried the world in her hands, or spun threads of gold with her words. It puzzled her, annoyed her, and at times even enraged her. But after his hijacking, it had been so rare for that young, innocent Peeta to reappear and give her that look which spelled out his love for her so plainly on his face, and she had grown to cherish it.

"I change my mind." For the third time that night, Peeta's voice sliced open the veil of silence that covered them. 

Katniss abruptly rose to a sitting position, an expression of confusion clouding her face as she leaned over Peeta's resting form. "What do you mean?"

"I change my mind," He repeated calmly, shrugging as if the answer to her question was obvious. "The sunset isn't my favorite shade of orange anymore."

Katniss bit her lip and furrowed her eyebrows, causing the wrinkles on her forehead to deepen. Peeta could tell she was trying to keep herself from challenging him, so he decided not to torture her any longer.

"You are my favorite shade of orange," he reached his hand up to caress her cheek, easing away the signs of worry that had risen on her face. "You, sitting here with the sun reflecting in your eyes, your skin glowing in the light." He lowered his voice to a whisper and retracted his hand, slowly guiding Katniss's head to rest on his chest so she could hear his heart beating. "The way you make me feel like I'm on fire inside, all the time."

Girl on fire. The words echoed in his mind and, although he did not dare speak them, he internally admitted they rang true. And it was in moments like those, as he held her under the night sky with millions of stars blazing above them, that he saw Katniss burn the brightest.

"Oh, shut up," she exhaled, turning away from him in an attempt to conceal the blush that had overtaken her smiling face, but Peeta didn't have to see it to know it was there. "You're so cheesy."

"Hey now," he feigned a hurt expression, "I thought you liked my cheese."

Katniss couldn't hide her outburst at his nonsense and they both fell into a fit of laughter together. They hadn't spoken much about what exactly their relationship status was at the moment, hesitant to put labels on anything, but he still wanted her to know how he felt about her. And while Katniss had never been proficient in using her words to convey her love, the way that she clung to Peeta, burying her head in his arm while gasping to regain her breath from laughing so hard, told him everything he needed to know.

"Come on, we should really head back before Haymitch gets worried." Peeta attempted once again to persuade Katniss to return home after they had both calmed down. His stomach was beginning to growl - the small rations of their picnic earlier weren't nearly enough to tide over his appetite until morning - and now that the sun had set, he'd much rather snuggle up with Katniss on their couch than on the cold, hard ground. And besides, while he didn't really think their mentor would be waiting up for them, he figured the argument might be enough to persuade her.

"Seeing as it's past 3 p.m., I think it's safe to say that Haymitch is passed out on his couch," Katniss countered, but her actions said otherwise as she began to gather herself up off the ground. Peeta knew she had a soft spot for the old man.

It took them a little over half an hour to walk home, leisurely following the path that their own footprints had created over time. Upon entering the house, Peeta made a beeline to the kitchen to heat up some leftover stew from the night before. While he ate, Katniss headed to Haymitch's house, opening the unlocked door to find him asleep in his living room as she had predicted. She pried the half-empty bottle from the arm that hung off the couch and set it on a nearby table before turning the lights out and closing his front door behind her.

She had recently made a habit of checking in on her friend, especially during the weeks when Effie travelled back to the Capitol for work. She knew he had done the same for her countless times. Haymitch never seemed to question why he would sometimes wake up with a blanket draped over him or a pillow propped beneath his head, and Katniss didn't plan on bringing it up. Like most things between the two of them, it went unsaid.

Later that evening, tucked under the covers of Peeta's bed - their bed - Katniss felt more at ease than she did most nights. Maybe it was the serenity of the particularly striking sunset, or maybe it was Peeta's roundabout confession of the feelings he still had for her. Either way, she was pleasantly content. 

On the other side of the mattress, as Peeta danced on the cusp of sleep, his mind dragged him back to something Katniss had said on the hill. Everything is golden. He knew what she meant; that the landscape had been blanketed by the radiance of the sunset. But he felt it was true in another sense, and that maybe this new phrase was an even more appropriate way to describe the true essence of Katniss Everdeen.

Before drifting off herself, Katniss heard Peeta mumble one last line of admiration, causing her to fall asleep with a smile ingrained on her lips.

"You're always golden to me."

[secretlysheikah]

Mistakes

Welcome to chapter 8 of Hide and Seek. I hope you’re ready! 

Note: Hide and Seek is the second arc to Tower Troubles. If you haven’t read those I suggest you start there! I’ll drop a link here:

Looming Shadows series

I wanted to take this time to thank you all for taking the time to read this insanely long fic. I never thought so many people would want to read my stuff and it makes me smile every time I see a comment and a like. You guys are amazing and I love you all!  Remember to take breaks if you are just starting to read this story. It is a dark one and I want to make sure you all know so you can take care. Be safe! 

Start here:

Wind was the first to react when the trio rounded the corner to the spring. Legend hated to admit it but he had froze entirely at the scene that was laid out before him. Hyrule with his back arched in the grips of agony while that dark son of a bitch smiled and held a writhing string of golden white light between his black fingertips. His mind had immediately slammed to a halt even as his heart juddered and raced with an all encompassing horror. Nothing else existed outside that moment, not his companions, not the spring, not even the air that whistled between his teeth. His vision was a tunnel and all he knew was that at the other end of it was Hyrule, Dark and the debilitating feeling of fear and failure that permeated his mind.  

No, it was Wind who had acted, not himself. Before he could even think about taking a step the boy had already shouted in alarm and was on the move. He watched as the boomerang was sent hurtling through the air with deadly precision and sliced through the form of the monster that had taken advantage of his stupidity. Hyrule’s body falling into the water below was the only thing that had jarred him into motion once again. He felt the thrum of his magic race through his legs calling his boots to jump to life at his call as he dashed forwards. He sped past Wind in a blink and nearly overshot where Hyrule had landed. His sudden stop made the joints in his legs cry out in pain as bones were jammed back into their sockets but he paid it little mind. He was already shoulder deep in the water grasping desperately for the still form of Hyrule that laid just under the sloshing waves. 

He pulled the unconscious hero from the cold grips of the water and watched as his head lolled bonelessly. His lips held a touch of blue and watery blood leaked from his nose and at the corner of his mouth. Hyrule’s eyes were barely open showing a small sliver of faint green irises from between his lashes. Legend resisted the urge to shake him and instead hefted him forwards to lean against his arm as his other hand clapped against Hyrule’s worryingly still back. He couldn’t tell if he was breathing, couldn’t tell how much water he might have breathed in. 

Suddenly Wind was beside him fluttering around like a fairy as he peered at Hyrule’s eyes then moved to place a finger under his nose. His face paled and he immediately shifted to Hyrule’s other side and began helping Legend with hitting Hyrule’s back. Wind didn’t have to say anything, Legend knew that if Wind was concerned that it meant it was bad. 

“Come on ‘Rule, Come on,” Wind muttered as he pounded against the other’s back. After a couple more slaps against Hyrule’s back he paused before smacking himself on the forehead. 

“Get him to shore, move now,” He commanded and suddenly he was pulling at Hyrule’s arm, struggling to get him towards the small beach. Legend blinked at him, not understanding what the other was saying. Still Wind struggled to pull Hyrule to land but he couldn’t move. Time appeared by his side like a specter and quickly grabbed Hyrule’s other arm and together they pulled him away and back to shore in quick succession. They dropped him to the sand, body half in the water and Legend watched as Wind dived to his side and started chest compressions. Legend watched, completely numb, unable to move or even process what to do next. This was his fault, and he could do nothing to help, couldn’t even get his body to twitch a finger, utterly useless. 

After a couple minutes of chest compressions and rescue breathing Hyrule choked and coughed, sending pinkish water pouring out of mouth and nose. With the help of Time and Wind they turned him on his side and waited for him to cough up all the water. Legend didn’t know when he had moved, but suddenly he was falling in front of Hyrule, hand shaking and tears falling to the sand below him as he rubbed circles on his brother’s shoulder and coaxed him to take deep breaths. Wind for his part had fallen back onto the sand, arm thrown over his face seemingly drained and weak from the ordeal. 

“Thank you,” Legend choked from his place next to Hyrule, his watery eyes made the sailor’s form waver and ripple before he stubbornly blinked the tears away.

“I was stupid, I should have done that sooner,” Wind muttered mostly to himself before pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. Time made an indiscernible noise as he patted Wind’s elbow.

“You aren’t stupid, you did great sailor,” He said before turning his attention to the shaking Hyrule who was now starting to look more lively. His eyes were wide and his breaths were coming in sharp gasps.   

“Hyrule, can you hear me?” Time asked as he knelt by Hyrule’s head and brushed the waterlogged hair away from his face. Hyrule didn’t say anything, didn’t even acknowledge Time’s question, only clawed at the sand until he was on his hands and knees before he grabbed at Legend’s tunic. 

“It’s gone, Legend, I can’t feel it,” He croaked in a desperate sob before he practically collapsed into Legend’s arms. He grabbed at Hyrule, holding him close and rubbed more circles on his back. Hyrule was trembling and clawed desperately at the back of his tunic and Legend felt dread beginning to pool in his stomach. He licked his lips, terrified to ask the question he knew he had to ask.

“‘Rule, what’s… Gone?” He asked, as images of the white and gold string trapped between Dark’s fingers flashed in his mind and the words struggled to leave his tight throat. Hyrule gave a gasping sob and pulled away from him, hands still gripping Legend's tunic in a white knuckled grip. His eyes looked pale, not the deep forest green like he was used to seeing. He watched as Hyrule’s face contorted before he dropped his head and pulled his hands away, letting them fall limply into his lap. 

“My magic, I can’t feel it. Or rather it’s… Numbed, almost distant in a way,” He whispered, like speaking it would only make his words true. Legend felt his jaw clench so tight he thought his teeth might crack. Rage, sudden and hot blazed in his lungs and suddenly he was standing, his fury making him pace.     

“Legend?” Time asked cautiously from where he sat next to the traveler, one hand resting heavily on Hyrule’s shoulder even as the other was held out beseechingly towards him. Legend shook his head holding up his own hand, demanding silence. He had to calm down, he didn’t want Hyrule to think he was angry at him and for that he had to calm down. 

Dark had done some horrible things but this, this was too much. If he had wanted to kill Dark before, now he wanted to absolutely destroy him. He threw his head back and let out a long and measured breath before returning to Hyrule. He knelt down carefully in front of the traveler, and offered his most gentle and level voice. 

“Hyrule, can you try something for me?” He asked and waited for Hyrule to make eye contact. It took a moment but he raised his head and nodded ever so slightly. Legend took that as a good sign and took up Hyrule’s chilled hands and pressed them in between his own. He sucked in a deep breath and gave him an encouraging smile. 

“Try to use some magic for me? Let’s see what we’re working with, yeah?” He asked and watched as Hyrule went pale. He was shaking his head before the question was done but Legend squeezed his hands tighter. 

“Come on, you can do it, just try,” He said fervently, practically begging. When Hyrule only continued to shake his head Legend had to carefully school his face into a mask of friendly calm. When Hyrule still hadn’t moved to try, Legend forced some steel into his voice and pressed harder. 

“Come on Roolie, please I know you can,” He said and this time Hyrule sucked in a breath, squeezed his eyes shut and grit his teeth. There was a moment where nothing happened, Hyrule grimaced and struggled and Legend could feel the strain as Hyrule dug deep for his magic. 

There was a slight tremor in his hands and just the barest tingle of magic before a small, guttering pale blue flame burst to light just above his fingertips. The flame lasted only a few seconds before Hyrule listed to the side hands going limp in Legend’s own. Time was there in an instant grabbing hold of him and pulling the boy close to his chest. Legend let their hands fall away, his mouth numb and eyes hot. He gave a look to Time over top of Hyrule’s head and he could tell the older man knew it wasn’t good. He swallowed and patted Hyrule’s knee. 

“See, I told you you could do it,” He said, forcing false cheer into his voice but he could tell by the wretched look in Hyrule’s eyes that he knew better. 

“Legend, my magic, it’s…” Hyrule started and was stopped by Time. 

“It’s still there ‘Rule, that’s all that matters,” He said comfortingly, his hand coming up to run through Hyrule’s slowly drying curls. 

“Time’s right, that shadowy bastard can’t keep a great magic user down, we just gotta work at it, that’s all.” He said as he stood and plastered a determined smile across his face. He didn’t want to tell Time, but he could tell that just that little magic that Hyrule could use wasn’t without monumental effort on Hyrule’s part. It was like something was missing, a crucial link broken and stolen away. Sure Hyrule could use magic, but it wasn’t going to be the same. It would be like losing your dominant sword arm, sure after enough time maybe you could get back to the way you were, but you would never be the same. Dark had effectively cut off a large amount of Hyrule’s magic, and sure he could strengthen and grow it again, but it wouldn’t be the same.

They all sat in silence for a few minutes, everyone working to catch their breath from the ordeal they had just overcome. Time shifted and slowly pulled Hyrule to his feet before he gestured for Wind to come and help support him. The sailor obeyed without question and with a little convincing they all moved to go back to the tiny treehouse. Legend hung back, away from the others as they made their way back, lost in his own thoughts and blind to the world. He startled as he felt a light tap in his shoulder and he looked up to find Wind and Hyrule a bit further ahead and Time at his side. 

“Legend, are you okay?” He asked and Legend nearly let out a disbelieving snort. That must have been answer enough because Time frowned and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

“He’s still alive, that’s all that matters. We can help him with his magic, not all is lost,” He said and Legend knew it was meant to be comforting but it only raked a trench through his heart. 

“Time, do you know how magic works?” He asked softly and Legend could feel how Time stiffened. 

“Honestly, not really,” Time admitted and Legend nodded slowly. 

“Think of it as woven threads in a shirt. They are intricately woven within our souls. There are some who can command those threads, growing them and strengthening them so they not only just reside in the soul but spread like vines through our whole bodies. Magic becomes an extension of us and therefore acts like a connection between us, and the world around us making it possible to create or destroy as we wish. It is like a force of nature.” Legend said in a monotone. He didn’t look at Time to see if he understood, only kept his eyes on Hyrule’s back. Time was silent, waiting for him to continue. Legend coughed, gathering his thoughts before he started again. 

“Imagine a tree that has been struck by lightning.” He said carefully before choosing his next words. 

“The trunk gets split and torn asunder, alive but only just. It could grow again, Hell it could even thrive given the time and the care it needed, but it will have a scar, it will have pieces missing. It will never truly be the same again. That is what happened to Hyrule, that is what the bastard did, that is what my stupidity allowed to happen.” Legend whispered, voice low and boiling. Time let his arm fall away as he processed his words and Legend waited to be damned. 

 “You made a mistake,” Time said slowly and Legend nearly crumbled under the words. Angry tears flooded his eyes and his breaths grew shallow. Time’s hand came to rest on his shoulder once again and Legend swore it burned his skin.

“That being said, it doesn’t mean all is lost. You made a mistake, yes, but no one is perfect and to come down on you for it would make me a hypocrite in the worst possible way. Legend please, do not let this destroy you. We must continue forwards, tread this new path and adapt. We are heroes, not Gods. We’re all alive, we are mostly together, we will get through this and Hyrule will thrive again,” He said determinedly and this time Legend couldn’t stop the snort that left him. 

“I should have never left him there alone, I should have never allowed this to happen. How can I even look at him Time? How can I even begin to fix this extreme level of fuck up?” He said breathlessly. Time stopped him as they were about to round the corner to the opening just out front of Twilight’s house, allowing the other two to disappear from sight. He gripped Legend’s shoulders and leveled a hard look at him. 

“There is no point in dwelling on the ‘should haves’ there is only now. Now we come together, now we fight and become stronger. Legend, my friend, my brother, I forgive you and never truly blamed you, and I know Hyrule never blamed you in the first place. We are family, we are strong together and we will win.” He said firmly and Legend almost wished Time would have damned him. He didn’t deserve this, his ‘mistake’ as Time put it was just too large to be forgiven so easily. 

He didn’t realize he had been crying until Time pulled him into a crushing hug and he felt his tears make the armor Time wore slick under his cheek. Time placed a hand on the back of his head and held him while he cried all the while making calming noises and rubbing his back. They didn’t stay that way for long before they were being called for by Wind. 

“Uh guys, there’s a portal here,” Legend felt himself stiffen, mind reeling. A portal? Already? But why? Time let out a sigh and kissed the top of Legend’s head before he patted Legend’s back and pulled away. 

“It looks like it’s time we move forward, yes?” He said with a kind smile and Legend let out a rumbling cough and wiped his eyes. Time was right, it was time to move forward, he could dwell on this later. He gave the old man a determined nod of his head and squared his shoulders.

“Atta boy, now go and meet up with the other two, I’ll go and see if I can’t collect the others. Hopefully Wars is back from town.” Time said as he moved to walk away. 

“But what about Twi?” Legend asked before he got too far. 

“We will burn that bridge when we get to it, let me worry about that. You just go and be with your brothers, I’m sure they would like to see you.” He said with a kind smile before he turned back around and strode off to go and get the others. Legend took a deep breath, wiped his eyes again and followed after him to join Wind and Hyrule by the portal.         

******

The door shut quickly behind the three heroes as they dashed out of the small tree house leaving Four alone with his thoughts. His mind was eerily calm as he stared at the closed door, the only noise to fill the air was the fire’s gentle crackling and soft wheezing breaths of Twilight as he slept in peaceful oblivion. He flexed his fingers absentmindedly as he stared at the door, and let his eyes trace the whorls in the wood grain. 

‘They’ll be okay, surely they will find the answers we need,’ the soft voice of Green drifted through his thoughts but he still felt stuck in place. He wasn’t fully convinced however there wasn’t much to be done about it. He was instructed to stay, protect Twilight, and that was what he was going to do. 

‘Then at least make it look like you’re doing something,’ Blue huffed lightly in annoyance before his voice drifted away to meld with the snaps of the flames. Four gave a slight nod and blinked rapidly, dispelling the malaise that had consumed him. Resting his hand on the Four sword at his hip he meandered around the small living quarters. 

‘You know what I can’t stop thinking about?’ Vio asked from somewhere in the back of his mind and Four found himself tilting his head in curiosity. He had gotten better at not talking out loud to himself, and he found that even now when he was practically alone he still practiced the habit. 

‘Did Twilight actually read all these books?’ Vio asked and Four let his eyes drift to a small bookshelf that hid in the shadows next to the loft ladder. He focused his sight and could see a hint of Vio standing in front of the small shelves. He was leaned over, closely studying the spines of the books. Four let out a little huff of amused breath and watched as the faint outline of Red sidled over to Vio and shoved him playfully. 

‘Of course he did, don’t be a jerk,’ Red chided lightly and ducked out of the way of Vio as he lunged for him. Four rolled his eyes and let his mind relax and watched as their scuffle faded from his sight leaving only the image of the bookshelf behind. He would never get over the oddity that was the ability to see himself, the other colors? Standing in multiple places at once. Though he had gotten good at ignoring their antics, sometimes it was hard to ignore. They could be very distracting if they wanted to be and that had led to many awkward situations until he had learned how to tune them out. 

He shook his head ruefully at the thought, no one told him this would be a side effect from his adventure. Granted He doubted that anyone could have known that seeing your fractured being  as faded image overlays was even a possibility.

‘Come on, you love us,’ Green said with a fond chuckle and Four could practically feel a subtle bubbling of humor in his chest.

‘To be fair, we are him, so I would hope that he loves us,’  Blue snorted and Four was about to nod his agreement when he heard a soft groan from Twilight. The other voices of the colors melted away and he walked quickly over to the couch and rested a hand on Twilight’s forehead before taking Twilight’s hand in his own and squeezed. He was still so warm and that worried him. He wished he would have paid attention the night before, been more firm in his protests for Twilight to rest but there was nothing to be done about it now. He studied Twilight’s flushed face closely watching the way his eyes flickered under his eyelids and tried to figure out if he was about to wake. He wished the others would come back with news or at the very least more water to soothe the heat that was radiating off his forehead. 

Twilight settled down quickly again and Four felt himself relax though he still didn’t move away. Instead he gently ran his fingers through Twilight’s sweaty hair and prayed the others wouldn’t be too much longer. As if Hylia herself heard his prayers the sound of the door handle rattling sounded through the house. Four straightened with a relieved sigh and withdrew his hands before turning to face the newly opened door.

A head of curly brown hair peeked around the door and Four felt himself smile. Hyrule was back, and he made his way over to greet him and paused as he watched his fellow slink into the house. He felt a hum of suspicion drift through his mind, Hyrule was acting weird, like he wasn’t supposed to be there. He heard the colors in the back of his mind muttering about it and he felt his spine starting to straighten. 

“Hey there ‘Rule, where’s the others?” Four asked, drawing slightly too pale green eyes towards himself. Was Hyrule’s eyes always that light? Maybe it was the lighting, but it was another thing to add to his apprehension. Hyrule blinked at him a couple times and a smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. 

“Ah Four, yes, the others are still at the spring, they might be there for a bit. I wanted to come by and see how things are here,” He said with a light laugh and began walking around and examining everything as if seeing it for the first time. 

“Oh, have there been any developments?” Four asked as he tried to keep his voice level, and observed the other closely. He couldn’t put a finger on it but there was something wrong with Hyrule but he didn’t have enough information to make a judgment call. Hyrule hummed for a moment, as he picked up a piece of bread off of the small kitchen table and examined it. 

“Not much sadly, I think Legend was seeing things earlier.” He said casually and replaced the bread on the table. 

“So, you didn’t see Wild?” Four asked casually as he very slowly as to not make it obvious moved to keep himself in between Hyrule and Twilight. He apparently didn’t do a good job of it because Hyrule raised an eyebrow at him in question. Four let out a cough and continued on ignoring the look. 

“Legend was rather adamant that you both saw him, I was just curious,” He said stiffly before he coughed awkwardly again and tried to loosen his stance. He didn’t know why but Hyrule just didn’t seem right to him, something was making him feel on edge and he just couldn’t pin down why. There was a chance that he was overreacting but judging by the muttering in the back of his mind it made him think otherwise. The colors were agitated and Four knew better than to ignore their cautious words.

“Did you bring any water back?” Four asked conversationally, it was clear that he hadn’t but he still secretly hoped that maybe he had just left it outside. Hyrule shrugged, clearly choosing to ignore Four’s tense stance.   

“Must have slipped my mind, I’m sure the others will bring some when they catch up,” He said smoothly as he clasped his hands behind his back, the picture of calm. 

‘That’s not right,’ Vio whispered in the back of his mind and the other’s agreed. The clear confirmation only hardened his reserve. 

“Are you sure nothing happened at the spring? It’s not like you to forget something like that when we need it,” Four asked and winced at the warnings that came flooding through his mind. 

‘He is acting weird for sure, don’t push too hard,’ Blue muttered cautiously and Four could feel the subtle jitter of anxious energy work it’s way through his blood stream, ready to act at a moment's notice. 

Hyrule just shrugged and examined a small figurine of a goat on a shelf before he addressed him again. 

“It got a little hectic with everyone shouting and searching the water. Like I said the Vet must have been seeing things. Anyways I wanted to see how things are here. How is Twilight?” He asked pointedly and Four felt himself starting to wind up like a spring that was close to snapping. 

“He’s okay, just needs some water and rest is all,” Four said with a slight chill to his tone. Even though Hyrule’s tone had sounded genuine it still didn’t sit right in mind, it sounded false. Hyrule hummed and moved towards the couch and Four practically had to force himself to keep his hand away from his sword. A small part of him, dim as it was, was still warring against his instincts. Hyrule came to stand in front of him, letting a gentle smile grace his face. The smile didn’t reach his eyes. 

‘No, no no, this isn’t right,” Red practically screeched and he could feel Green begging for him to grab his sword to keep Hyrule away from Twilight at all costs. 

“Four, he is clearly not well. Let me have a closer look won’t you?” He practically purred and that small part of him that argued in Hyrule’s favor vanished in a blink. He was on full alert now and before he could so much as even twitch Hyrule pushed past him and loomed over Twilight’s feverish form. Twilight twitched and grasped at his blankets like even he could feel the wrongness that was Hyrule. 

“I don’t think that will be necessary. Back away ‘Rule,” Four growled as he drew his blade and brought it to rest just under Hyrule’s chin. Hyrule for his part leaned back slowly away from the sword and slowly raised his hands. 

“Why Four, maybe you’re the one that is unwell here,” Hyrule breathed, making Four bristle in newfound anger. His breaths quickened and he pushed the sword closer towards Hyrule’s throat forcing him away from the couch made sick bed. 

“I doubt that. You aren’t Hyrule are you,” Four accused and Hyrule lowered his head to look down at the sword. Carefully he placed a finger on the tip of the blade and stepped away so he was standing in front of it. Four felt a snarl pull at his mouth as he moved to stand in front of Twilight. 

“You don’t think I’m Hyrule? What makes you think that Smithy?” Hyrule asked dangerously, daring to take a step closer. 

“The way you talk, the way you skulked in here like a criminal, the way you asked about Twi like him being sick was something new. It’s all just wrong.” Four said firmly and watched as Hyrule nodded along. 

“Not to mention that the real Hyrule would have brought the others back with him. He is not foolish enough to come back alone, he’s too cautious for that, especially with all that has happened in the past week or so,” Four practically spat and now Hyrule was smiling. He almost seemed delighted that he had been found out.    

“How astute of you. I have to admit Legend could use some lessons in not running off, I was disappointed,” Hyrule said sadly before tilting his head to the side and began making little tutting noises.

“It looks like I will have to keep my eye on you, you’re so very perceptive,” Hyrule continued and Four felt a cold chill run down his spine. He was about to make a snappy remark when the door opened behind him as the sound of someone striding in the house split the heavy air around them. The footsteps stuttered to a stop and the sound of a bag hitting the ground not seconds later punctuated the thick atmosphere of the room. 

“Four? What the Hell is going on?” Wars asked loudly and Four was distinctly aware of how this must look. 

“Apparently Legend isn’t the only one who needs to learn,” Hyrule muttered under his breath  and Four growled as he pressed the sword closer. 

“Wars, this isn’t what it looks like,” Four said quickly but was cut off by Hyrule. He must have also noticed the opportunity to confuse the situation because he leapt on it gleefully. Suddenly the sly smile that had been on his face not moments before morphed into one of confused worry and he threw his hands up into the air. 

“Wars! Don’t listen to him, I don’t think this is Four!” He cried and Four let out a curse and bared his teeth.

“You little bastard,” He snarled, meeting eyes with Hyrule, Four could see a glint of malicious glee. It almost dared him to act, to cut him down. 

‘Careful, that's what he wants. Don’t play into his hand, we’ll be dead before he hits the ground,’ Vio warned and Four knew he was right. He was stuck and the only hope was to convince Wars that he was in the right. He heard Wars draw his own blade but he didn’t dare turn around. 

“Wars, please, listen to me. This isn’t ‘Rule.” He said calmly even as his heart raced and sweat beaded at his brow. Wars didn’t respond, instead he could hear him move towards them and in the next second he could see the Captain standing just to the side of them. His sword held defensively in front of him as he looked between the two. Four decided to take that as a good sign all things considered. 

“Explain,” Wars said sternly, clearly directing his question at Four. He gave a tight nod and in the most level voice gave a quick rundown of the situation. How he had returned with Wind, finding Time alone with Twilight before Legend came bursting into the room exclaiming how he and Hyrule had seen Wild at the spring. How he had been instructed to stay with Twilight and how not too long after Hyrule had returned and how he was acting strangely. When it came to this point in the story Hyrule made an audible noise of protest but Wars quieted him with a look before gesturing for Four to continue. Four licked his lips and pressed on. 

“I knew something wasn’t right almost immediately, but now I am positive this isn’t him. Hyrule wouldn’t just come back by himself, not with everything that’s been happening. Please Wars, you of all people should see this isn’t right,” Four finished quickly and risked throwing a desperate glance over to the Captain. His face was flat, showing nothing of his thoughts and Four got a sinking feeling in his gut. Wars turned his attention to Hyrule next and eyed him up and down. 

“You’re turn,” He said tersely as he sent him a tight nod. Hyrule bobbed his head quickly and shifted his weight. Four watched him like a hawk ready to dive into action at a moment's notice.

“Well I went to the spring with Legend and when we were getting more water he just kinda freaked out. He was screaming about seeing Wild and then he just left!” He exclaimed, flailing his arms around in emphasis. 

“I looked around the spring but couldn’t see anything, and then suddenly Legend came back with Time and Wind in tow. He must have told them quite a tale because there was lots of yelling and confusion.” Four didn’t miss the way Hyrule shifted again, moving ever so slightly closer to Wars. He moved to match the movement but a quick gesture from Wars stopped him.

“Both of you stop moving or I’ll cut you down where you stand,” He said darkly, causing both Four and Hyrule to look at him with wide eyes.

“You would cut me down Wars?” Hyrule whispered, causing the Captain to wince ever so slightly. 

“Not if I get to you first,” Four whispered under his breath, heedless of the sharp look he received from Wars. 

‘Shut up, you’re going to get us killed!’ Vio hissed at him and Four worked to swallow down his growing frustration. There was a shifting of fabric from the couch and the world seemed to hold its breath. All eyes fell to Twilight as he groaned from his place on the couch and sat up slowly, putting his hand to his forehead before turning to look at them. There was a moment where everyone stood stock still as they watched Twilight’s eyes flick from person to person in clear befuddlement.

‘Well, this is just peachy,’ Blue said in a humorless laugh as Twilight very slowly withdrew from the blankets and placed his feet on the worn floorboards. Four could see the cogs turning in his brain, and he wondered what must be going through his head. 

“Am I still dreaming?” Twilight croaked after a tense minute of staring and Four nearly let out a laugh. 

“I can see where you may get that idea,” Wars said slowly and Four nodded his agreement. 

“I can confirm you are not dreaming,” Four said slowly as he shifted his attention back to the situation at hand. 

“If I’m not dreaming then who the Hell is that?” Twilight asked as he gestured shakily to Hyrule who squawked in indignation. 

“Twi? Not you too!” He said as he threw a desperate look over to Wars who was now looking at him with renewed suspicion. 

“Come on Wars, you can’t actually believe this?” He said desperately to which Wars narrowed his eyes and continued to look him up and down. 

“I don’t know what to believe but that is two against one here, you can imagine my predicament.” Wars said slowly as he shot another look towards the pale looking Twilight and the hopeful looking Four. 

“Okay, but consider, Four has been alone with Twilight, it’s possible this thing could have done something to him! Please, Wars, end this now!” Hyrule argued and now it was Four’s turn to squawk in indignation. 

“I have done nothing of the sort! Wars listen to me please!” He could see the battle that was happening in the Captain’s head and he could tell he didn’t know what to believe. He was breathing hard, a clear conflict on just what to do. 

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t,” Wars stammered helplessly, his sword dipping in uncertainty as cracks appeared in his mask of calm authority. 

“Wars, it’s me please, look at his eyes. You can see it in his eyes, he wants to kill me, please I’m… I’m scared, Wars,” Hyrule whispered softly causing Four to blink in surprise. The voice was so painfully Hyrule like that it even caused him to pause. Four opened his mouth to refuse, to appeal to the Captain once more but stopped when War’s sword finally pointed right at him. He could tell in Warrior’s pained expression that choice hurt him but it was clear that his mind was made up. 

“Wars, no, please,” Was the only thing he could choke out before the blade of War’s sword leveled out and pressed against his throat. Four felt his own sword dip slightly at the betrayal, his own brother didn’t even believe him. He could see Twilight leap unsteadily to his feet, hand raised in a desperate anger. 

“Stop this! What are you blind?” Twilight shouted as he made his way over to Four’s side. He wished Twilight would just stay put, he didn’t want him to get hurt and he wasn’t sure what would tip Wars over the edge.

“Twi don’t come any closer! You’re ill and clearly not thinking straight. I don’t want you to get too close.” Wars said, cold blue eyes never leaving Four. 

“You’re being played for the fool!” Twilight protested but his arguments seemed to fall on deaf ears. 

“Wars is right, you’re ill, don’t get too close, we don’t even know what that monster has done to you,” Hyrule said calmly, hands still raised in supplication. 

“Shut up! You aren’t Hyrule!” Twilight growled but he stopped moving nonetheless fists balled at his sides and face red with a heady flush of fever and rage. 

“Who are you?” Wars growled at Four and somehow that just made the betrayal hit even harder. 

“Wars, it’s me, your brother,” He whispered through his tight throat as he fought back angry tears. 

“Don’t lie to me,” Wars hissed and Four felt distinctly lost for words. He didn’t know what to do, what to say to even try to convince him. 

“Wars you absolute moron, that is Four!” Twilight raged though it did little to help. 

“Shut up,” Wars spat and shuffled just a hair closer. The press of the blade was just on the verge of piercing his skin and Four swallowed harshly. He opened his mouth, closed it again, his voice lost in the tumult of raging voices that were the colors. He felt stuck in a hopeless situation, at a complete loss as to what to do. 

“Lower your sword,” Wars bit out and with nothing else for it Four complied. The tip of his sword thunked heavily into the soft wood at his feet. He hoped that would be enough to show that he wasn’t a threat. 

“Who are you?” Warriors demanded again and this time it was Hyrule who answered. 

“It has to be Dark, he must have somehow taken the real Four. Oh Goddess, where is he?” Hyrule whispered and Four could have exploded with rage. 

“You liar,” He snarled and was graced with the sword finally piercing his throat. There was a small gleam to Warrior’s eyes, not rage like they had once held but a flame of determination and hope.

“That is enough out of you, bring him back, bring all of them back!” Wars yelled, causing Four to flinch and shoot a desperate look at Twilight who had subtly moved closer to the group. 

“Wars please see reason, this is Four,” Twilight pleaded softly trying his best to defuse the quickly spiraling situation. Four could see it was doing nothing to sway the man, he was too caught up in his newfound conviction and desperate hope to see the truth. He blinked away tears, in a way he could sympathize with the Captain, he was hurting and hopeful and that made the whole situation cloudy and dangerous. He could feel smug satisfaction rolling off of Hyrule as he watched, delighted at the turn of events even as he hid it behind a mask of mock concern and fear.

“Wars,” Four choked out but was stopped by the hard look that pinned him in place. He couldn’t tear his eyes from Wars, could only hope that his pleading look would somehow cross the massive divide between them, that it wasn’t too late. He swallowed, tried to speak again but the words refused to come. Even the colors had gone silent and still. He could see Hyrule leaning forwards out of the corner of his eye but he dared not look away. He could feel violence heavy in the air and was struck with a maddening urge to laugh. The whole thing was madness and judging by the way everyone was steadily moving closer he could tell it wouldn’t be long until someone’s head would roll. And given the blood that trickled down his throat there was a good chance it would be his. 

Just as the electric atmosphere reached its peak, the sound of swiftly running footsteps came racing up behind him and Four was thrown to the side, and away from the blade. He crashed to the ground and rolled gracelessly to a halt. Twilight was at his side in a moment, fever hot hands fumbling at his throat as he assessed the damage. Time stood in his place, his big Goron sword swinging as he stepped forward towards Hyrule. 

“Stay away from my boys!” He roared as his sword slashed across Hyrule’s chest, opening a large gash through his tunic causing him to fall backwards into the bookshelf. Books tumbled to the floor in a heap as Hyrule slumped against it, head down and listless. 

“Time! What are you doing!?” Wars cried, sword now pointed to the new threat but it was clear he had no idea where to even begin to handle this new turn of events. Time didn’t respond, only stood with sword raised, visibly shaking and eye hard. Four watched the goings on with wide eyes and clutched at Twilight desperately still shocked by his sudden rescue. Before Wars could demand another answer Hyrule shuddered and stood slowly, head still bowed as a hissing laugh filled the air around them. 

“Well this has been fun, but it looks like I must depart. It was so nice to see you all, but I shouldn’t keep my guests waiting,” Hyrule said as he stood straight and fixed his rumpled tunic, ignoring the too dark blood that wetted the front of his shirt. 

“W...What, no, I…” Wars stammered, sword falling from his slackening fingers as Dark leaned his head back and let out a raucous laugh and disappeared in a blaze of black fire and twinkling pink lights. Four looked from Time to Warriors and then finally to the scorch mark on the ground in front of the bookshelf. He felt Twilight grabbing at his face and he turned his attention back to him. 

“Are you okay?” Twilight asked as he searched his eyes with his own. His pupils were dilated and his hands shook with the adrenaline that must have been coursing through his veins. Four nodded slowly and brought his own hand to the cut on his throat as he eyed the healing cut on Twilight’s. He could have laughed, now they were a matching pair. 

“Fine, I’m fine,” He said and offered him a weak smile that he was sure wasn’t convincing in the slightest. Twilight said nothing, only pulling him close and practically crushing him in a desperate hug. 

“Four, by the Gods Four,” Wars said and Four felt himself flinch despite himself. Twilight hugged him tighter and Four felt the sudden urge to sob. He beat the feeling back and withdrew from Twilight before turning to face Warriors. He looked absolutely wretched, Time’s hand on his shoulder kept him from moving towards them. 

“There’s a portal outside. Four get Twilight outside and get ready to depart. Wars and I will collect our things. It’s time to go.” Time’s voice was hard and he kept his eyes fixed on the Captain as he talked. Four nodded quickly and got to his feet before helping Twilight do the same. He grabbed one of the rancher’s arms and draped it over his shoulders for whatever it was worth considering the height difference. 

“We will meet you outside,” Four said as he gently coaxed Twilight to follow him. As they passed by the pair they slowed and he placed a hand on Time’s arm. 

“Don’t… Don’t blame him, this whole thing, it was a mess,” He said but didn’t receive a response. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Warriors but he could feel his gaze heavy on his back as they left to join the others outside. He prayed that Warriors would find it in him to forgive himself, that Time wouldn’t be too hard on him. Dark’s words floated unbidden through his head, he had called him a monster, and War’s had been inclined to agree. Is that what he was? A monster? What had War’s seen when he had looked into his eyes? He decided that he didn’t want to know, it was probably better that way anyways. They left the pair of heroes to their work as they left the once cozy home behind.

[animemangasoul]

You Are Wanted Obi-Wan Kenobi

Summery: Summery: Qui-Gon lives and Mace gets a new Padawan.

[In which Qui-Gon repudiates Obi-Wan and Mace isn't about to let the kid leave the order without a fight.]

Chapter: 8/10?

His mission debrief was held in private with only himself standing in the middle and Master Yoda sitting across from him. Feemor was grateful for that. It was a small thing, a tiny gesture of consideration but it meant a lot to him and Feemor was sure his Great Grandmaster was aware of it, after all, Yoda had always been kind to him and that hadn't changed even after Qui-Gon Jinn disowned him.

So standing there; ignoring his throbbing knee for all it was worth, he carefully and with enough detail to suffice, summed up his mission.

The disastrous mission that nearly cost him everything. Might still be costing him everything. With the haunting voice at the back of his mind, echoing a constant reminder off his stripped humanity, of his lost dignity of……

When he closed his eyes at night, he could still hear it. The roars, the thirst for blood, the calling of death. He could still feel the grim of filth under his nails, the rot of expiration on his skin and he could taste it, the pain.

He'd fought in the Pits for over a year and a half and it clung to him like the stink of penance yet to be absolved.

After all, how could he call himself a Jedi if he'd killed to survive?

And yet….. here he was, back in old Jedi robes, skin clean, shaved head although marred with scars, actually alive with dust of blonde locks peaking out and hiding his damaged scalp.

He was tainted, Feemor knew that all too well. Maybe if he'd been a Shadow he would have been able to set aside the disgust, the horror, the guilt, but…. He wasn't. He was just an ordinary Jedi Master who'd gotten himself into more than he could handle and then felt too honour bond not to do the logical thing. The smart thing. He'd let his emotions rule him and now…now he was giving his report as if…. As if what he'd done, what he'd sacrificed had all been part of the mission.

"Hard on yourself you are," Master Yoda spoke up, breaking him out of his spiraling thoughts. "Believe this you might not, but the right thing you did. Saved those Padawans and force sensitive kids you did with the choice you made."

Feemor swallowed thickly, eyes blinking furiously to hold back the stinging of tears. The pride in Master Yoda's voice was obvious as the sun was bright and any other day, any other time in his life Feemor would have soaked it in like a starving wild animal thrown a piece of meat . But after everything….. After his failed mission….. After all that he'd been through. The praise felt like hot coal against his skin and he found himself recoiling away from it. Eyes drilling into his boots, bottom lip catching between his teeth.

How had everything gone so wrong?

The mission had been simple. Track down missing lightsabers currently being sold in the black-market by a notorious black-market dealer, known to have belonged to the Coruscant Temple's missing Padawans. Report back and let the Shadows handle the rest. Simple enough. Or it should have been. It's after all the reason why he took it in the first place.

Coming back from a grueling long mission on the outer-rim, Feemor had taken it as a chance to finally get that break he'd been putting off for so long. He would go, track down the dealer, report back and let a Shadow take over.

Simple enough.

Simple….enough.

But it wasn't. Because loathe as he was to admit it, Feemor was nothing if not Qui-Gon Jinn's former Padawan and if there was anything that their lineage was infamous for was their ability to get into more trouble than was imaginable. The simplicity of the mission should have clued him in from the very beginning. But it hadn't and that was his first mistake.

And now here he was, unable to breathe a single minute without remembering the hands touching his skin, without recalling the foul breaths of those masked men, sizing him up like nothing more than the slave he'd become. Unable to go a day without remembering the fear, the terror of even taking something as innocent as a nap for you never knew……

["Left, you could have," Master Yoda had said when he'd come off the ship yesterday. "Choose to stay you did."]

And he had. He had chosen it. No one had forced his hand. No one had been there to force him. The slice of a knife, the burns of hot metal rods, the combats of death, he'd endured it all for a chance to track down the kids. Kids he'd found out weren't actually dead but being……

He'd chosen to stay in the darkness. Freedom had been in touch. Fresh air, warm clothes, home, it had all been so very close. He'd managed to escape the clutches of Mir'randa, managed to collect his lightsaber, info chip in hand, just a step away from his passage out of the accursed planet. He could have taken it, but he hadn't because at the end of it all. Despite everything he'd been through, everything he would continue to endure, he was a Jedi. So when he'd sensed the new shipment.

The force sensitive shipments.

The choice became obvious. So painfully obvious.

They'd been kids after all. Some unknown, unfamiliar but most of them….. They'd been theirs. Jedi Padawans. Their missing Jedi Padawans, and now those kids, terrified, hurt, having been through force knows what were about to be pulled into the very nightmare Feemor wanted to escape, and what had he done?

He'd watched as his window of escape closed. Watched as his last hope off the planet disappeared with a single droid; carrying a single chip meant for the Jedi temple and he'd made his way back inside. Back into the darkness. Back to the clutches of Mir'randa, back to being less than human. Less than a Jedi. Knowing this might very well be the last time he'd be able to sense the force dancing and flittering around him because this time around he knew his force-suppressant collar would likely be impossible to remove.

And for what?

For…..

What……

Gritting his teeth, Feemor dug his fingernails into his palm, the jolt of pain bringing him back to reality. Back from there.

"Sit down, you should." Feemor choked down a strangled noise of despair and shook his head, left knee straining under him.

"No thank you, Master." For he would be damned if he let himself show weakness. Not when he'd failed so spectacularly. Not when he'd only manage to save seven of them. Just seven. Four Padawans and three force sensitive kids.

Only seven when there had been sixteen.

He'd only managed to save seven……seven kids out of sixteen.

His stomach turned. An image of the Pit flashing through his mind for a single agonizing moment before he brutally shoved it to the back of his mind with the rest of his darkest deeds.

Seven.

"Will that be all, Master Yoda?" He managed to keep his voice stable even as his knee screamed, his heart thudded like the dreams of war and his scars ached with every breath. "Because I need to find my former Master and have a long overdue conversation with him."

A flicker of amusement danced across his Great Grandmaster's eyes before it was drowned out by concern yet again. If the concern was for him, for Qui-Gon, for Obi-Wan? Feemor didn't quite know. But he appreciated non-the-less. "A talking to he needs," the old troll rumbled, gimer-stick hitting the ground twice. "But first to the Halls you need to go. Grateful I am for the people of Dugmulo for taking care of you and the young children, but a secondary check up by our own, ease my heart it would."

Feemor smiled, it made his cheeks ache, strain. "Of course Master," he said, clasping his hands under his robes and giving a shallow bow; his knee protested but he refused to let it bother him. "I'll do that right away."

After all, he had all the time in the world now, didn't he?

He'd busted the ring, he'd shut down Mir'randa's Games, he'd…..yes, yes he'd failed to save them all but he'd saved some and those he hadn't been able to, he….. those Padawans, their bodies, he'd recovered them for the proper Jedi burial they deserved and for the others, Master Yoda had secured a journey back to their own families as their last resting place. Had it broken something fundamentally vital within him to do so? Perhaps. Had it cost him sleepless nights fraught with horrors brought on his creaking shoulders, horrors he'd been subjected to and caused himself to keep them all alive for just one more day. Yes, of course, yes. But…..

It was all over now, wasn't it?

He'd come back. He was home. Where he belonged. It had taken weeks.

After the Pit, after the Jedi came to the rescue, weeks of bacta tanks and treatments and several weeks more to ensure the safety and security of those kids who still----

He swallowed thickly, refusing to allow himself to collapse in front of his Grandmaster, no matter how much that might help liberate the choking guilt clawing at his throat because how could any of these kids trust him still after everything they'd seen him do? After the scars and burns and tears and blood. After seeing the filthy arena filled with the bodies of their fallen under the same sky as the cheers of their spectators?

How did anything he'd done to get the word out, to stop the trafficking, how did any of that lessen his desperate actions to keep them alive for another day, another week, another month, year…..how did it make up for it?

But he had all the time in the world now.

All the time.

And he'd come back for a reason. For Obi-Wan Kenobi. Because with all his newly acquired scars, still, no matter how, somehow being repudiated by Qui-Gon ran the deepest.

So what could he do but try and help his Padawan brother the only way he knew how? Running off to go fix what his former Master had somehow managed to break in his absence. As if Xanatos hadn't been enough of a nightmare to deal with as it was.

Maybe after he took care of that he could answer back Kuflo's insisting messages and Androlet's updates on how things were going Dugmulo. Maybe, maybe.

The Halls would just have to wait a little while longer. Because if he could do one right thing today, maybe it would be his first act to wipe away the blood marring his soul.

He took a step back from Master Yoda and turned to the door, wincing at the strain that simple action put on his knee; saying a soft goodbye.

"May the force be with you Great Grandpadawan."

Feemor's lips twitched, it didn't reach quite reach his eyes. "May the force be with you as well, Master." And with that, he left.

One foot in front of the other. Eyes focused on nothing but the path ahead. Ignoring the murmurs around him, the gossip, the looks of concern at his bandaged appearance and his limp. He ignored it all. Only allowing himself the briefest glimmer of satisfaction at the positive mutters on one Obi-Wan Kenobi that he caught every now and then. Apparently being the new Padawan of the Master of the Order was something to behold.

It did hurt a bit, Feemor silently had to admit to himself, not having had the chance to take on the kid himself.

After all, that was the primary reason why he'd wanted to rush back to begin with, despite initially deciding to supervise the imprisonment of the Gamers, but it hurt less knowing that the kid hadn't been thrown to the side for too long. That he hadn't been alone, confused, broken hearted for months as he wondered what he'd done wrong to be discarded like his time with Qui-Gon meant nothing that he was worthle…..clenching his fists tight enough to leave dents, Feemor gritted his teeth.

This wasn't about him. Going down this path would only lead to his suffering. Only reopen old wounds he was not quite ready to acknowledged. So he needed to focus on the here and now. This wasn't about him.

It was about Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon and little Skywalker and what he, Feemor could do to make things better. That was it. Nothing more. After all, hadn't he already lost his chance to get to know his Padawan brother with his own indecisions? He could have gotten to know him any time he'd wanted, but he had….he'd been so angry, so hurt, and he'd refused to have anything to do with the must innocent party in all of it. And that wasn't, shouldn't be an excuse.

So Master Windu was fine. Great even. The perfect Master probably. The one who stepped up when no one else would.

And…. He…..Feemor….he was not well. Not anymore. So taking on a Padawan brother who probably didn't even know who he was, that was just a recipe for disaster. So this was good. 'Yes,' he told himself firmly, taking one step after the other as he traced his steps from the council chambers to the Room of Thousand Fountains. 'This is good. Master Windu is a perfect choice so all I can do for Obi-Wan now,' when his knee nearly buckled under him, he again regretted not putting on the brace. 'Is to find Master Jinn and set things straight. For the betterment of everyone.'

'One problem with that plan though,' he grimaced, slamming a hand against the nearest wall for stability. Taking a moment to be grateful he was in an empty hallway and no one was there to witness his momentary weakness.

Frowning down at his right leg, he bared his teeth in frustration. Looked like his knee would refuse to carry him all the way to his destination after all.

"Kriff it," he hissed, teeth biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. "Kriff it all."

The agony coursing through his leg was almost unbearable. It had stiffened significantly on his walk over to the Council debriefing and Feemor should have known then that he wasn't going to make it but……

Weakness Is Death

That had been a mantra, his mantra that he'd lived by for what felt like forever. Instilled it in the kids. Bad'kuu, Kuflo, Gaa'ah, Androlet…. Everyone. He'd said it so many times it was all he knew how to say to them anymore. Weakness is death. To show a vulnerability was to allow yourself to be broken. To be scrapped from the inside out. The fingers. The touching, the prodding, the dragging…….

Weakness Is Death.

So Feemor refused to show it. To wear the brace, not in front of Yoda. Not in front of those who'd already seen his failures. Not when he needed to be strong and honorable to show…. To show he hadn't fallen.

He hadn't even been allowed to come back until several Jedi Masters had confirmed he hadn't turned. He was good. He was still a good Jedi, tainted yes,  but not fallen. Not yet. And what a relief that revelation had been. To know that despite everything he'd done, he could still call himself a Jedi. But he wasn't delusional enough not to know he was still under keen observation. Falter once, fall one time and it was all over.

So, no knee brace.

He'd managed to make due in the Pit. Fighting with a bad knee was disadvantage enough without him broadcasting that fact to the entire arena. Spectators and fighters alike. He'd always had a weak right knee ever since that disastrous first mission he took as a Master, but it hadn't been too hard to deal with at first, even if he'd had to take up Jar'kai to make up for his lack of mobility when it acted up.

Jar'Kai had been a way for him to compensate for his damaged knee at first, nearly two years in the Pit however, and it had solidified itself as the only form he could trust to keep him safe. To keep him alive.

Protect yourself for no one else will protect you under the skies of Miiir.

Sinking to the floor, eyes blinking back the sudden wetness burning at the edges, Feemor allowed himself a moment to just loathe it all. The regret, the pain, the failure, the shame. And then he breathed in and let it go.

It wouldn't do to dwell on the unchangeable.

Shoulders sagging he let his head drop back with a gentle thud against the wall behind him and he let his eyes fall shut. It all felt rather heavy. Being back here, being back home.

Maybe a moment to rest his eyes would be enough. Just a moment. Until the pain dulled. Then he'd go see Master Jinn, talk to him about missing his recent appointments with the mind healers and maybe…..maybe finally get the chance to talk things out. Yeah, maybe.

But a moment turned into two. And two turned into three and before Feemor could help it, he was clutching at his knee with both hands. The agony unparalleled.

It burned like thousand knives being sliced through his skin simultaneously. Feemor grimaced, head throbbing with the nausea bubbling in the pit of his stomach, screaming at him in aguish. 'Make it stop,' he thought, squeezing harder, fingers digging into the joints, face ashen and bottom lip bleeding. 'Kriff, make it stop.'

And then, it did. Not by much, not even half way but enough to bring a sense of clarity to him. And it was only when his mind wasn't being clouded by the bolt of sheer agony dancing through his body; paralyzing him in place, that he noticed the cold hand resting across his forehead and one atop of his joined hands. Soothing sense of warmth intermingling with his force signature and somewhat dulling the pain coursing through his veins. And Feemor breathed, raising his eyes to come face to face with one Obi-Wan Kenobi.

----------

"Stop," he ordered when he finally found his voice behind the sudden lump in his throat, gently pushing those hands away even as he instantly missed the soothing force healing that came with them. But Obi-Wan looked like death warmed over himself and Feemor would be force damned if he let his first action back home be to hospitalize his Padawan brother. "Thank you, but I'm okay."

The young man kneeling in front of him didn't look convinced, brows furrowing slightly and lips pursed, but he did back away, choosing to sit down next to him; grunting as he adjusted himself against the wall, cane coming to rest by his side. Feemor raised a brow in question, making his Padawan brother laugh lightly.

"Anakin had his first lightsaber practice today," he said in answer, tapping his cane lightly. "I still have a hard time getting around so---" His smile is hallow and Feemor felt it echo in his soul.

"Yeah," he muttered back, looking down at his knee, toes curling with each pulsating burst of electric pain shooting down his leg. He shouldn't have walked on it for so long. "I get it."

"I suppose you do."

Feemor snorted. "When you say Anakin?"

"Skywalker, yes." Obi-Wan's voice was much more lighter this time. "He was….really excited about it and asked me to come so I did. I was on my way back when I----" here he trailed off, but Feemor knew exactly what he was trying not to say, and it made him flush with embarrassment.

"When you found me lying on the floor trying to tear my leg off with my bare hands?"

"Well," Obi-Wan muttered. "I wouldn't exactly say, lying." Feemor stared and Obi-Wan snorted. "Okay, you looked pretty helpless."

"Hey, you don't look so great yourself."

The answering grin was a lot brighter and more real than Feemor had expected and it tugged at his heart. Because somehow despite the dark circles under the kid's eyes, despite the paleness and the fragility to his frame, somehow, when he smiled, really smiled, Feemor could almost drown in the regret of all the wonderful years he'd missed with this kid. The years he could have known him if he had been less of a coward.

Checking up on him religiously didn't make up for not being there for him. For not protecting him against what was likely Qui-Gon's darkest years. To not be a buffer, a confidant, to be a brother. In that sense, Feemor supposed he was a lot like his former Master. Who was just as guilty in tracking his movement as he was in tracking Obi-Wan's without ever taking the first step in meeting the other party half way.

Obi-Wan Kenobi.

His not so Padawan brother. Or all the more his Padawan brother for being tossed aside like himself.

Running a bandaged hand over his head; still feeling that momentary flicker of surprise at brushing against tufts of growing out blonde hair, the broken Jedi Master breathed in deeply and let it all out.

"Feemor," he said, pointing at himself. "My name is Feemor Einar."

Obi-Wan's eyes glittered. "I know."

"Oh?"

The Padawan nodded, fingers tapping away at his wooden cane. "You're the talk of the Temple."

"Is that so?"

"Yes," Obi-Wan's voice was neutral as anything and Feemor silently allowed himself to be impressed. He'd never been very good at keeping his emotions in check. "Sounds to me like you stopped a force sensitive trafficking ring and ended a barbaric gladiator tournaments in one single mission."

Feemor couldn't quite suppress the flinch at those words, and it made him burn with shame. "Not soon enough I'm afraid."

"I didn't mean---" Obi-Wan started, clearly noticing his sudden change in demeanor. The harshness in his force signature, the darkness and Feemor internally cursed himself for losing his grasp over his emotions, for his Padawan brother should never sound so uncertain and worried around him. "I didn't mean to bring it up I only heard----"

"It's okay," Feemor cut him off, careful to keep his voice gentle this time despite how his soul screamed and his heart longed for him to hide away for all eternity. "I didn't mean……" He sighed. "It's just been….tough."

Obi-Wan nodded. "Yeah."

Digging his nail into the crack between the tiles, Feemor focused on the pressure on his barely growing in nails and opened his mouth, keeping his voice playfully light. "I hear you're pretty famous around these parts yourself."

A beat and then another, silence filling up slowly between them and it's all Feemor could do to try and find a way to backtrack and try again? Figure out another way? Help? When his Padawan brother, pressed himself even tighter against the wall and clutched at his cane. "You could say that," he whispered, tone strained and part way broken. "You could say that."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

A single shake of the head.

Feemor hummed softly in understanding. "Then Obi-Wan Kenobi, it's a pleasure to officially meet you."

A huff. "Likewise Master Einar."

"You know who I really am, don't you?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"Not for long. Just after," The kid pulled at his braid. "Thanks for the bead by the way."

Dragging his focus away from his knee, Feemor nodded. "Of course."

A welcoming silence fell between them this time and Feemor was content with it. To sit there with his Padawan brother, after everything, just sit there with him. Not moving, not doing anything. And enjoy his company even if he didn't quite know how to connect with him yet. Even if they still had so much to talk about. And it's not like he didn't have a good reason. After all, the simple thought of trying to stand on his busted leg made his stomach do nauseating flips. But he couldn't stay here forever, not when he needed to see Qui-Gon and sort this all out, not when he still had that medical check up and the kids back at----

So when Obi-Wan bumped his cane against his shoulder and said "You look like you need this more than me," it's all Feemor can do not to drag the haunted looking kid into a desperate hug meant to suffocate with affection. Instead he grinned, taking the offered cane but still remaining seated.

"About Qui-Gon---"

"What about him?"

"I'm sorry that he did that to you."

Obi-Wan paused. And then, "I'm sorry he that to you too."

Feemor nodded back. "Thank you." And he meant it. Of course he meant it for there were very few who could truly understand what he'd been through and sympathize, even if he would never wish this on the kid given a choice, he was still so very grateful for the shared understanding no matter how much it grated on his dignity to admit so. "And I know it doesn't mean much, but I promise you Obi-Wan it wasn't your fault. Master Jinn, he's just…." He should really be getting up, but----. "He lashes out when he's cornered and that reflects badly on him and not you." He really really needed to get up and or he might never get up at all today and yet----. "You are wanted Obi-Wan Kenobi, I promise you that."

He should get up, but when the kid took a sharp intake of breath, then tentatively rested his head on his shoulder after a brief second of hesitation; auburn hair brushing under his chin, Feemor couldn't quite make himself do what he had to do because there was something that was so much more important right here, right now. "I'm going to punch him in the face." He didn't know why those words came out, but he meant them. And---

Obi-Wan laughed, it sounded a little bit broken and a little bit wet but it put a smile on Feemor's face and this one didn't quite ache as much. "Good luck with that."

"Thanks," he said, shifting closer so the kid could rest on his shoulder more comfortably. "I'll make it a good one."

Obi-Wan bumped their shoulders together and Feemor bumped him back, eyes feeling suspiciously damp.

Repudiated Padawans of Qui-Gon Jinn ought to stick together after all.

The End

Chapter: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10

[fieryhonesty]

The life of You

[AO3]

 “I’m sorry! My brain was everywhere this week I should have update this earlier! But certain Adeptus took all of my attention...”

Words: 3525

Not sure how long has passed but when you woke up you could feel a ticklish feeling on cheeks. Kaeya's head was hung down, snuggled close to you. His uncovered eye was closed shut, breathes were even and his arms were firmly wrapped around your waist. How can he sleep like this?

Before you could stop your hand it hesitantly reached towards the male's face. Gently brushing against his skin with your fingertips. It surprised you when he snuggled against your hand. Thinking he was asleep, how naive you are? This man is a light sleeper and good actor at once. He was probably awake even before your hand mindlessly shot up to his cheeks.

"I could get used to being woken up like this.~" Whispering while still having closed eye.

"How comes you are all flirty even after just waking up..." Remarking and retreating your hand. Hearing a disappointed sigh coming out of the male's lips

The rain has stopped, freeing yourself out of Kaeya's arms. Feeling how your clothes are still uncomfortably wet. Not as before but it was far from dry. He helped you to pack up things and then you headed back to the city. You two joked about how it would be funny if you would actually end up sick. You had proudly announced it’s impossible for you to get sick. It’s been a while after all. 

Well how it always goes. When one's boasting about something too much, it gets back to them. And of course you got sick. Feeling horribly and unable to get out of bed. You quickly ran out of stocked food and since your cooking skills are miserable... Well even if you could cook there's no way you would be able to stand up and make something.

Maybe it's time to bother neighbors if they could fetch you some food but even that seemed like too much work. Laying on the sofa, listening to your protesting belly. Perhaps if you fall asleep it will stop making noises. 

As much as sleeping with an empty stomach proved to be difficult. You managed to fall asleep, only to be woken up by knocking at the door. 'Archons, I can't- no I don't want to move...'

The knocking didn't stop and instead got more loud. It must be really urgent. Forcing yourself to get up, slowly reaching the front door. Using walls as support. Not even bothering to look through the peephole and open the door.

It took you several seconds to realize who you were looking at. Normally you would give him a smile but in your current state all you could manage was a silent groan. Expecting some earful remark but instead the scarlet haired man pushed the door open and slid inside. 

Noticing he carried bags, you could smell something yummy. Eyes going up to meet up with his crimson ones. What's that look of his? Is it worry? Considering how Diluc usually behaves, you would have expected he would be angry at you. Clearly remembering that one day when it was colder and he met you wearing just light clothes. He gave you a long lecture and made you go home to fetch something more warm. 

"H-Hey... what's with that look?" You coughed, nearly losing balance. Feeling a pair of firm hands supporting you. "M-My hero..." Murmuring before leaning against the tall man. You had long forgotten how it does feel to be sick. 

You had no strength to protest or say anything when he moved your hands around his neck, securing his grip on your thighs and carried you. If you were not so busy with feeling 'I'm dying' you would have probably paid more attention to butterflies in your stomach. This way you just blamed it on hunger than anything else. 

Diluc laid you back on the sofa, as gently as he could. If he was not sick worried about your well being he would probably scold you on the spot. When he heard from your landlord you fell ill he was not so worried at first. But giving it a second thought. He decided to pay a visit, now being glad he did so. Even more glad for being mindful and fetching some food and meds.

Something was telling him it will come handy. Little did he know his friend is irresponsible enough to not have any kinds of meds at home at all.

Not even painkillers?! One thing was sure, he will have to have a word with you later. For now he will just try to get you to feel better. Moving a spoon with syrup towards your mouth, ‘say: aah'. It felt like taking care of a kid more than an adult. 

He didn’t need to check your forehead to know about the fever. Giving you a cold cloth over it. Hearing your little whine about it being too cold. When he was about to turn away your hand gripped on his coat.

"Diluc... I'm hungry..." 

"Just wait a bit." He said, gently releasing from the grip. 

Moving to the kitchen, looking around a bit and searching for needed stuff. Being aware of how you can barely cook, burning even the easiest things. He put his coat away, rolling up sleeves and getting rid of his gloves. 

First he chopped veggies then sliced meat into tiny pieces. Being mindful you might have a sore throat and not being able to gulp too well. It's been a while since he cooked, however that meant nothing as he was quickly creating yummy magic in the pot. Stirring it every now and then.

The kitchen was quickly filled with the pleasant smell of chicken soup. Meanwhile he was waiting for it to be done. He made a lot of tea and some small snack. He planned to drop by later again to check on you and probably bring more food. By looking at you, he knew you would be laying down for a couple of days.

By the time when the soup was done he already made you drink a cup of tea and eat a part of an orange and banana. Your eyes were sparkling when he brought two bowls and placed one right in front of you on the coffee table. He was glad to see you have appetite, that's a good thing.

Giving it a try, despite your taste buds being sleepy. You could feel the intense chicken flavor complimented with a gentle and sweet carrot aftertaste. Eating was probably the most happiest moment of the whole day. It was good, and made you feel warm and full. 

When you were done with the bowl, pleading eyes looking at the chef who was just half way through his own portion. He noticed your gaze, looking at the bowl. You didn't need to say it out loud for him to get the message. 

As you were going through your second bowl he noticed your face is getting more color into it. Feeling a bit relieved but keeping his stoic expression. For some reason he was doubting his cooking abilities. He knew you wouldn’t say anything as you were hungry and all but still. That little uneasiness was there, trying to get under his skin.

Once you were done with food, having a happy and full belly. Leaning back on the sofa, feeling a bit better. Not sure if it's because of the meds he gave you or because of the food. Probably both. You let out a satisfied sigh.

"You are truly my hero, Diluc." Whispering as you patted your belly. "I didn't know you could cook."

"What's wrong about it? I might have maids but I can cook just fine, only if I had more time for it." He retorted before disappearing into the kitchen and bringing a small platter with cut fruits and more tea.

You were touched. Was he doing all of this just for you? Really?! You didn't know how much he could be caring. Yes he always seemed to be concerned whenever you showed up with some scratch or something. But this was a whole different level of caring. 

Your heart skipped a beat when he reached to your forehead. 

"You are still burning."

"Uh, huh?" 

Not sure if you were burning because of being sick or because of his sudden touch. Averting your eyes and laying down. Feeling a bit confused why your body was reacting the way it was.

"Here." Giving you fresh cloth over your forehead. 

"T-Thanks..."

Diluc hummed in response before retreating to the kitchen to fetch his clothing. He still has to take care of a few things. Before he left you called out to him.

"I will drop by later on in case you are worried I'd let you starve." Clarifying as he was adjusting his gloves.

"That's not it... I wanted to say thank you. I appreciate what you did, really." 

He did not think of it that much. For him it was just a simple worry about somebody who's close to him. He'd be rather if you could spend your sickness at his manor as there is always somebody who could check on you. However in your state it’s better to stay where you are.

"Oh, Diluc! I guess you could take my spare keys... in case I faint so you can find me, heh." 

It was a good sign as your humor was coming back a little. Although he would have preferred not to find you unconscious or something else. Still taking your spare keys felt a little too personal, glancing at you.

"Are you sure about it?"

"Ah, c'mon. If you were somebody else I'd reconsider it but I trust you. Besides, I was thinking of giving you spare keys before. It's not a big deal."

Letting out a sigh. He still does not feel right about it but coming to the conclusion it will be better if you just stay in bed. Also in case you will be sleeping he could just quickly leave food here and disappear again. 

"Alright then. Where are they?" 

"They are in- uh. Kitchen, first drawer. I hid them under cutlery."

Strange place where to hide spare keys but part of him was glad it had been the kitchen and not your bedroom. Not sure if he would have dared to venture in there. As much as you two know each other he has some boundaries and privacy respecting. 

After he secured the keys he took his leave. Leaving you alone. You wanted to sleep but at the same time your brain was replaying last hour. It was somehow hard to believe somebody came to rescue. He literally came here just to cook and give you meds. And did not ask for anything in return. 

This was the first time when somebody did it for you. It was a new thing to you. And the warm feeling inside, what is it? You were used to your assistant being worried, bringing some tea. But in fact you never were sick that much to end up in bed. Unable to get up or take care of yourself. It was usually just some minor cold which faded after two or three days of resting.

Diluc was dropping by for the next few days, sometimes staying for a while to exchange a few words, sometimes he just left food in the kitchen and left. It was mostly because of his schedule. 

You felt a bit bad for him for making time specially for your needs. When you tried to bring it up and tell him it's fine, that you feel much better now. He gave you a lecture about how it would be more than irresponsible to roam in streets while being ill.

Also adding remarks on how stupid idea it was to hang out with Kaeya. When he first heard what was the cause of you falling ill he wanted to go after the said man. But you grabbed his hand, convincing him it was not Kaeya's fault. Like how was he supposed to know it will be raining? Which Diluc retorted with 'You could have hid somewhere before getting wet.' 

You wanted to try and explain it more in detail but he didn’t care. Anything related to Kaeya was always making him at least annoyed. He refused to talk about him. Diluc let out a defeated sigh. He was tired to reason with you about it. Leaving it at remark "the knights are irresponsible as always, including their Captain..."

You deadpanned.

"Here we go again." 

"What. You can't deny it."

Rather not answering that and just cuddling into your fuzzy blanket. Feeling much better than before. Fevers were gone and you could move around the apartment without feeling like you will die at any second.

He got quite used to just opening the door and entering like it was something he did for years. His first uneasiness tied to intruding his friend's place was gone. Perhaps he should have stayed more cautious for a bit as one day he came in and couldn't find you.

He ran into you as you just got out of shower. Probably both of you had a heart attack, he quickly turned away and murmured an apology. You also felt guilty, you could have got dressed in the bathroom, not to walk around just in a towel. Answering him with a little apology and asking if he could wait for you in the living room.

As you felt good enough to take a shower, you didn’t expect Diluc would come at this hour! Usually he dropped by around lunch or before dinner. There was no need for him to come twice a day.

Your fridge was filled with home made dishes tweaked to you likings. You really didn't know why he cared so much, why he troubled himself to cook for you. Maybe you should take some cooking classes once you are fit again. Just for the sake of not making your friends worried in future.

Now when you were dry and in fresh clothes, feeling more like a human. You could face Diluc who was just staring at the coffee table. Coughing to get his attention, exchanging embarrassed looks. And just like that you promised to each other to not talk about it. 

Being glad it was just him who saw you. You were sure if it was somebody else he wouldn't let you be and tease about it for several days.

"So, what's new? Also fancy to have some tea or you gonna swoosh away?"

"If I were to swoosh, I wouldn't be here now. I have time. Also I brought you some fresh grapes, you need vitamins." 

Giggling at the way he repeated the swoosh. Waltzing into the kitchen and putting the kettle on the stove. Finding it funny how the stove lately was used much more and it was only because of your friend cooking on it. You rarely used it, mostly to boil water or heat up some quick made food you bought at the market. 

Checking the fridge and seeing a quite bountiful amount of grapes. When he said some you expected like one twig not three. 

"Um, Diluc? Those grapes are from your... won't you miss them?"

You shouted at him while your head was still partially stuck in the fridge, plucking a few pieces. 

"Do you really think this little will affect the wine production? Besides those wouldn't be used for wine."

You peeked into the living room mouth filled with several grapes.

"So you gave me some bad ones I see."

"No, it's not like that. You know we grow separate grapes for selling."

"I know. I'm joking, thanks by the way." Returning back to the kitchen as the water was boiling already.

A bit later you brought two cups of steaming tea and somehow managed to balance a plate with grapes on one of the cups. Diluc raised an eyebrow at you.

"You wouldn't die from going there again, you know." 

"Ah yes, the Diluc I know is back. How about you compliment my uh... waitress skills instead of being sarcastic, hmm?"

Moving the plate closer if he wants but he just shakes his head. He brought it for you after all. Observing how you were happily stuffing your face with the fruit.

"You asked about the news. Your new sword is finished."

"A new sword? Since when I- DILUC?!" You had issues not to spit in surprise. Grapes on Diluc’s face was the last thing you wanted to see.

"What? The sooner it's done the sooner you can use it to keep yourself safe."

How can he say it so casually. Like it’s nothing?! You were staring at Diluc in horror. 'Please tell me you didn't pay for it too...' You already felt bad and paying for a sword was not a joke. Weapons are expensive, especially the sturdier ones.

"S-So... how much do I owe?"

"A promise you will look after yourself." 

"YOU CAN'T BE SERIOUS! IT'S EXPENSIVE!"

Diluc smugged at you. That damn smug was somehow fitting to him but that’s not the point. He paid for your sword?!

"Well how about this. Consider it as a gift. I still didn't give you anything to welcome you back despite you being here for a while now."

"But you don't have to give me anything! You already did enough with letting me sleep under your roof for a while and now you have been nursing me." 

You couldn't resist the urge to massage your temples. "You better forget about my birthday and Christmas existence, you hear me."

Why was everyone giving you welcome back gifts?! The mugs you drink tea from are from Lisa. The bathrobe which was currently in the laundry basket was from Jean. Then there's Kaeya and his sleepover. Well the Darknight Hero was topping all of these in terms of price. 

You were pondering over if this was his way to flex over a certain cryo user. Rather not asking him that out loud and changing topic.

"How's business? Last time you said you were rushing to a meeting or something like that."

"Not really meeting. Somebody was hosting a celebration and wanted a few barrels." 

"Barrels..." You repeat mindlessly while Diluc drinks from his mug. 

Your eyes lingered at his face for too long. He is really handsome, no wonder the girl from florists has hearts in her eyes whenever he passes by. His face is perfectly decorated with the loose hair which couldn't fit into his pony tail as they were too short. 

"Why don't you tie up your hair higher more often?"

It escaped your lips before you could stop yourself. Realizing what you had said out loud. Inner panic was taking over you. Just why did you say that?! If you could you would jump behind the sofa and hide away from his surprised gaze. This feeling is mortifying.  

"You think I should?" He asked with tilted head to the side.

"Um, forget about it. It was just a slip of tongue. Uh.. Any other news?"

You have to quickly change the subject. Diluc's gaze was killing you, you could swear your cheeks were slowly turning into the same color as his hair. In panic you pulled the blanket next to you over yourself. Diluc was just winking as he was confused with what his friend was doing. Clearing his throat.

"There's nothing much new. Well other than Aether will leave in a few days."

Peeking out of your cover. "Huh? Where to?"

"Liyue. There will be soon a rite of descension am I right?" 

You hummed in response. 

"I wonder. Where could his sister be? Also do you think once he finds her he will visit us before leaving to their world?" More than a question it was a slight worry. You weren’t sure about the boy’s plans, nor wanted to feel him like he is obliged to do something. He came here to search for his sister anyway.

Diluc sips from his cup again. "Probably."

"Mhhh, I suppose I could tag along. I'm sure he'd welcome a guide." Pondering over it for a while until you noticed Diluc’s gaze.

"What? I'm feeling fine. Thanks to your care. Besides, I have a feeling Mrs. Yue would like me to attend. Last year was so hectic and previous ones I was too busy. I mean... I'm a little eager to see it. So far I have only seen it once and it was just part way..."

Diluc couldn't say anything about it as he knew about the policy between you and the assistant. From what he heard people in Liyue tend to follow traditions and you look well. Probably you will be ready for the travel. 

"I see. I guess I should give you back the keys."

"Keep them- in case of emergency. Or~ in case I adopt some adorable street cat and I will need you to feed it in my absence."

Grunting in disapproval. As if he didn't have enough keys already…

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