#he's a liberated man he knows crying's not weak but he's still embarrassed about crying in front of others

[binary-bird]

25 expressions challenge feat. david!

[porcelain-blue]

Let Me Help Your Aching Bones

Canon Divergence AU where Lan Zhan doesn’t run away from Wei Ying after kissing him in the Pheonix mountains. 

----- 

What if it didn’t turn out the way it did; not fire and blood and years of Wei Ying’s absence like a discordant note of a guqin song?

What if Lan Wangji catches Wei Ying right before he hatches his plan to liberate the Wen civilians? Maybe it would be something like this.

The dark circles and angry set of Wei Ying’s shoulders feels like a punch to the gut, and leaves Lan Wangji’s chest tight, out of breath. It feels like the boy he fell in love with is fading before his eyes, and Wangji must do something about it before Wei Ying is lost. He has a sour feeling in his gut, a grim certainty that if he does not reach him now, Wei Ying might forever be lost to him.

So he goes, corners Wei Ying during the Night-hunt on Phoenix mountain, pushes him up against a tree as the dusk settles around them like a lover’s embrace. He cannot help himself, despite his shame, his patience and heart frayed beyond measure after months of worrying, worrying about Wei Ying dead, and after the brief elation of hearing him alive, worrying about Wei Ying dying, eaten from inside by the resentment of the path he walks. 

He kisses him, and there is enough of the sunlit boy he fell in love with in Wei Ying’s response, fluttery and flighty, an awkward laugh even as he is pushed against a tree and kissed by a stranger. Wei Ying’s hands flex despite being pinned, and something in Lan Wangji’s heart breaks, knowing that even in this vulnerable a situation, Wei Ying is compassionate enough to not fight, to let someone take something Wangji is sure he thinks is expendable, for the sake of another. His hand pinning Wei Ying’s wrist spasms at the thought, angry that Wei Ying could give something like this away, ashamed that he himself is the one taking it, when it was not something that belonged to him. 

Wei Ying does not belong to him.

He pulls back, guilt coursing through him, and hesitates a moment before releasing Wei Ying’s hands. He pauses, waiting to see what Wei Ying would do. 

He does nothing, and Wangji’s heart lurches. He can almost imagine Wei Ying’s mind working, quicksilver in its deductions, assuming that someone had plucked up all of their courage to approach him when he couldn’t see them, holding himself back instead of pulling his blindfold off, so that he doesn’t embarrass his attacker.

Wangji knows Wei Ying well. He would give everything for the sake of another. Wangji knows how, having taken for himself the sweet breath of Wei Ying, knows that he cannot bear to see Wei Ying give anything else to him without wanting it. Lan Wangji will do everything in his power to stop Wei Ying burning himself whole for the world.

For that, Wangji must atone. He does not run away. He grips Bichen so hard that he is sure a lesser sword would shatter in his hands, the way he is sure his heart will do soon. He speaks.

“Wei Ying,” he says, softly, with shame.

At his voice, Wei Ying stills. Wangji knows he has been recognised, and he feels like everything inside him will break at once.

Wei Ying rips off the ribbon, staring at him with wide eyes, a flush still high on his cheekbones. 

“Lan Zhan?” He says, confused and unsure.

Lan Wangji steels himself. Lying is prohibited. He gathers every ounce of courage that has been pressed into him since he was born, every virtue and precept that has formed into his core and he prepares his integrity like a weapon he is using to stab himself with.

“Wei Ying. I am sorry. I have taken what I should not have. I have forgotten myself.”

He bows, back straight even as his hand shakes around his sword, and hopes that Wei Ying can see that at least in this he is sincere, he regrets.

---

Wei Ying is quiet for many moments, the shock of seeing Lan Zhan bowing so deeply almost eclipsing the shock of seeing Lan Zhan in front of him after that kiss. The usual animosityshamelonging that usually surges in him at the sight of Lan Zhan’s stupidly perfect face has apparently been kissed out of him temporarily, and Wei Ying feels like he can breathe without the dead in his lungs for the first time since he came back with Chenqing in hand and the dead at his fingertips. 

“Lan Zhan, what-what why? Were you the one who..?” He doesn’t know what to say, even as heat flushes through him at the idea of Lan Zhan kissing him. Kissing him! It is obvious, though, in the shame and pink in Lan Zhan’s ears that he is he one who had taken Wei Ying’s first kiss. Despite how ridiculous the situation is, something soft unfurls in his heart at the sight of Lan Zhan like this, so noble, so full of integrity after doing something that, apparently, his heart desired. Wei Wuxian thinks of the cloud recesses, the sharp straightness of Lan Zhan as he kneels beside him and takes the punishment that Wei Ying had gotten him into. He hasn’t changed at all. The pain that pricks him at the sight of such perfect morals comes back, then, and Wei Wuxian wonders what the paragon of virtue is doing, kissing him in the backwoods of the Phoenix mountains. 

Still though, the first kiss of his life from the man he has been in love with for years tugs stronger than his self esteem, for once tugs stronger than the gaping hole in his chest where his golden core once was, where now resentment pulses like a sick parody of what power his body once held. It tugs, and the soreness of his lips and wrists pull him right into the present, and Lan Zhan is still here, trembling and bowed in shame.

He steps forward and places his hands gingerly under Lan Zhan’s elbows, pulling him out of his bow and tilting his head so he can look him in the eye. Lan Zhan’s mouth is pressed into an unhappy line, despite being a little swollen, and his eyes-

Oh.

His eyes are soft and looking at him like Wei Ying is going to break, like Lan Zhan, Hanguang-jun, one of the twin jades of Gusu, cares. He looks frighteningly like he is about to cry, and Wei Wuxian finally sees in that perfect face that what he assumed was derision and judgement was something far simpler and purer- it was worry. 

“Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan, I’m not mad, please don’t cry,” he stammers, still gripping onto Lan Zhan’s elbows as though those two points of contact in his palms are the only thing keeping him from becoming unmoored.

“I’m not mad, it’s not a big deal, it’s just a kiss, even though it’s my first one, so you should be really proud, okay?” Nervous chatter pours out of him as he shakes.

“I just. I just need to know. Why? Lan Zhan? Why did you kiss me?”

If it is for a joke he will shatter, and the only thing that is allowing fragile hope to grow in him is the knowledge that Lan Zhan is the most honest man he knows, the most un-shameless, un-flirtatious person ever to exist in the cultivation world. So by process of elimination-

“Because I care for Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, resolute even as the flush travels even further down his neck. He has chosen this path by not running away, by revealing himself to Wei Ying. At the very least, he is glad to know that by owning up to his lack of control has returned him to himself, and his own character. Honesty comes from him now, as it always has, frank and unvarnished.

“I have always cared. Since we fought in the cloud recesses. I did not show it well, then, but I am tired of lying,” he continues before Wei Ying can interject or object, determined now to get the words clawing out of his chest a space to exist. 

“I do not expect anything from Wei Ying, and if you wish it you will never see me again. But I.. I wanted Wei Ying to know, that he does not have to do things alone. I will stand beside you, if you wished it.”

Wei Ying is staring at him, mouth agape. He closes it, opens his mouth, and closes it again. After a moment, he speaks. 

“Lan Zhan, are you serious?” He looks lost, and Lan Zhan wants to hold him until he knows he is found, if Wei Ying will let him.

He nods. “Lying is prohibited, Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying huffs a little laugh at that, and Lan Zhan’s poor, pathetic heart jumps at the sound, and impossible hope beating with his blood. 

“Lan Zhan, did you forget that I’m going down the path of evil? I thought you didn’t approve? Your reputation is going to get dragged through the mud if you’re with me, you know that, right?” 

Wei Ying’s hands are clutching at his sleeves, and they are warm through the fabric of his robes. Lan Zhan frowns, and answers haltingly, as honestly as he knows how to.

“Wei Ying is not evil. There is something else that I do not know. You are not one to be reckless without reason. And… my reputation is good enough for both of us.”

He cannot help but be a little petulant as he says it, even as he flushes with guilt. Arrogance is prohibited. It is true, though, and Lan Zhan is not above using his social position if it means he can help Wei Ying through this.

Wei Ying groans, and pulls his hands back toward himself, leaving Lan Zhan’s elbows and forearms bereft of his warmth. His heart drops, fearing that Wei Ying will want nothing to do with him now, that he messed up and now he will be unable to even watch him from afar, but the Wei Ying drags a hand down his face and sighs, looking back at him with a wry smile that is achingly familiar. 

Wei Ying steps closer, looks at Lan Zhan with eyes more open and clear than they had been for years, even. A hand comes up to rest over Lan Zhan’s heart, fingers curling slightly in the white fabric. 

“You’re serious. You really are.” The dawning realisation tinges his voice with awe, and Lan Zhan dares to hope, again.

“If I said. If I said I was going go against all the sects. What would you do?” 

“I would help.” The answer is simple, a clear, honest truth.

“If I said I was weak, I couldn’t fight equally with you without the demonic path, what would you do, Lan Zhan?” 

He hears it now, in the crack in Wei Ying’s voice, that they are closer now to the thing that is haunting Wei Ying, that is hurting him in a way that turns him into somebody that Lan Zhan does not know.

“Then I will protect you. And I will help bring you back, when the powers are too strong. If Wei Ying will allow that.”

A sharp intake of breath comes, and Lan Zhan hates to hear Wei Ying’s breath hitch like that, like a small broken thing when Wei Ying is always stronger than anyone he knows. But, Lan Zhan amends, if Wei Ying is wounded and hurt and not strong, Lan Zhan will protect him until he is again. 

The hand curled into his chest tightens, snagging the fabric and pulling Lan Zhan forward, until his chest hits Wei Ying’s forehead. They stay like that for a while, and Lan Zhan finds patience in him again, having said all he could say. Wei Ying’s shoulders are shaking, and he is mumbling into Lan Zhan’s chest, his voice broken and muffled. 

“You. You’re crazy, Lan Zhan. You’re so fucking crazy. I must be too, I shouldn’t let you go down with me, but god, I want to,”

Lan Zhan places his hand over Wei Ying’s, closes his palm gently over the white knuckles. 

“Then let me. But I will not let either of us go down.”

Another watery laugh. Wei Ying nods, and his head up at Lan Zhan, and smiles.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay, I’ll allow it, Lan Zhan. Please, please stay with me, I like you so much, I don’t want to let you go now,” Wei Ying pleads, as he cranes his his neck up to look at Lan Zhan, their breaths mingling now, puffs of white in the settling cold of the mountain night

Lan Zhan’s heart soars as he leans down to graze his lips against Wei Ying’s. 

“Then I will stay.”

Every nerve inside him feels cleaved open, every sense alight and narrowed in on the sight weight smell taste of Wei Ying this close to him, kissing him shyly and softly, so unlike the heated press of their first kiss earlier, but so much better.

The night-hunt ends and Wei Ying and Lan Zhan are the only two cultivators who haven’t gotten a single kill, and the cultivators murmur amongst themselves that the infamous Wei Wuxian must not be that powerful, must be all talk and hot air, and Wei Ying finds that he does not mind.

———-

Wei Ying goes to Gusu with Lan Zhan after, telling Jiang Chen that he needed to pay respects and catch up with Lan Zhan. After an irritable slap to the shoulder and a reminder to not cause trouble, Wei Ying is free to go. He feels lighter, now, even though technically nothing has changed him, but he still feels that the pull of the resentment is weaker, frail and easy to break out of. He runs to catch up with Lan Zhan, who is walking at the back of the group travelling to Gusu.

Lan Zhan looks up when he sees him, and while his face is impassive as ever, Wei Ying sees his eyes soften, and warmth suffuses him at the knowledge that that look is for him.

They talk, quietly, about everything and anything, carefully skirting around what they both want to say, mindful of the other disciples. When they finally stop at an inn, Lan Zhan gracefully talks his way into letting them share a room since they did not account for Wei Ying accompanying their party. Wei Ying plays along, dutifully bashful and thanking the esteemed hanguang-jun for his hospitality. The years had tempered his mischievous spirit, but his silver tongue, now reigned into a shape resembling propriety, makes the sect leader and other disciples pause and reassess him against his reputation. He smiles, and they retreat for the night.

Despite the temptation to get Lan Zhan back into his arms and continuing the whole kissing thing, he knows he must get some truths out of the way. Ushering Lan Zhan to the table, he puts up a silence talisman on the door and window before joining Lan Zhan at the table.

He looks beautiful, in the low light of candles and moonlight, straight backed and gentle faced. Lan Zhan has always been patient, and now that the patience has extended to him, Wei Ying truly understands why he is heralded as the paragon of virtue. He thinks about himself, his reputation, the gnawing hole inside him, and tries not to freak out about the two of them together. At the very least, he does not want to disrespect Lan Zhan, who would not be here if he did not mean it.

So he talks. He tells Lan Zhan what happened at Lotus Pier, lets his voice shake and talks into the quiet of the room, and Lan Zhan listens, ever so patiently as Wei Ying spills the truth that has been suffocating him for months. 

Core melting hand, Jiang Cheng’s own golden core melting away to nothing, the mountain, Wen Qing. How the golden core he had developed now sits behind the sternum of his brother, how Jiang Cheng must never know.

“Wei Ying.” 

Lan Zhan’s voice sounds so broken, and Wei Ying tamps down the desire to lash out, fear and shame squirming inside him as he wonders whether Lan Zhan will even want him now, knowing what he knows. His heart stutters until Lan Zhan is kneeling in front of him, grasping his wrists gently with his long, slender fingers. Wei Ying waits. 

“I will protect you, so you do not have to shoulder this alone.” There is something warm and fierce inside those golden eyes, and Wei Ying’s breath stutters as finally, the last knot in his heart loosens, the burden of shame and secrecy halved. He knows, knows that Lan Zhan will not coddle him, knows truly that he is no longer on this godforsaken path alone.

He holds Lan Zhan’s hands in his own, and squeezes his thanks, throat too constricted to reply. Lan Zhan seems to understand, and his eyes do that not smiling but smiling thing again as he moves back to sit, keeping one hand clasped with Wei Ying’s. 

The warmth of Lan Zhan’s hands is an anchor, and he finally breaches the topic of the Wen civilians, and his plan to liberate them.

“What was Wei Ying planning to do?” There is no judgement or censure in his voice, and Wei Ying lets his eyes close for a second as he replies.

“Go in, play the flute and fight my way out?” It sounds feeble, when he says it like that. A small furrow appears between Lan Zhan’s perfect eyebrows.

“Wei Ying.” Ah, there, there’s the censure.

“Wei Ying is usually smart, what happened this time?” Lan Zhan sounds pained, and Wei Ying sputters in indignance. Before he can protest, Lan Zhan continues. 

“What about after? If you liberate them all alone, who will heal you, or them? Where will you go? How will you feed yourselves?” 

The familiar defensive anger wants to surge forth again, wants him to throw the warm hand off his own and tell Lan Wangji that he can do all that and more by himself, but even as his blood heats along with the resentment he knows that Lan Zhan is right, and his plan had been incredibly short sighted. He drags his free hand across his face and through his hair, and sighs.

“What do you think I can do, then? No one else cares, all the sect leaders think all Wen people are dogs for slaughter. What am I supposed to do, Lan Zhan?” 

Lan Zhan thinks for a moment, considering all the information he now has.

“The sect leaders don’t care about the Wen civilians, but they do care about losing face. Now that they are vying for power to fill the Wen clan spot… reputation is important to them now. It’s why they like using you as a scapegoat, so they seem whiter against your black.”

Wei Ying nods, patient. Lan Zhan is like he always is, precise, laying out his answer as though they were at their desks in front of Lan Qiren in the lecture halls of the Cloud Recesses. 

“Wei Ying’s strength is his power and cultivation, but you forget you have other skills.”

Wei Ying blinks, tilting his head to the side in question.

“Your mouth, and shamelessness,” Lan Zhan says, ears going pink. “Wei Ying is good at talking around people until they see your point. If we use it well.. we might be able to turn the tide. The Jin sect will be wary of another uprising.”

The surprise at his shamelessness being a good thing in Lan Zhan’s books notwithstanding, Lan Zhan does have a good point. Wei Ying smiles, wry and soft. In the horror of the past few months, the loss of his home and core, he had forgotten parts of himself and tried to fill the holes with darkness and power. But Lan Zhan remembered. 

He nods in assent, and they start to plan, talking through the night.

———

They begin the next day. Lan Zhan had played Cleansing for him that morning, pulling the roar of resentful energy in him down to a manageable hum. He feels better than he has in months, and greets the Lan Xichen with grace and a genuine smile. Lan Zhan’s brother smiles in surprise, and they have a relatively calm morning as they prepare to continue their journey to Gusu.

Along the way, he chats with disciples of the Lan sect, gossiping with them until their wariness bleeds away when they see that Lan Zhan is amicable with Wei Ying’s antics. They gossip about everything and anything, and slowly the conversation moves towards the Wen clan.

It doesn’t take long before one of the Lan disciples, bless their virtuous hearts, wonders aloud about all the civilians in Qishan who aren’t cultivators. Some of the older disciples shush him, but the topic has ignited an ethics debate, and Wei Ying makes a well placed comment worrying about another clan becoming a new Wen clan with too much power.

Soon most of the desciples are talking about it, enough so that when they stop for a meal at another town, the waiters and innkeepers, mouths loose with such a large party of paying customers, ask them about it.

Wei Ying regales them with the stories, knowing that cultivator gossip is usually eaten up very willingly. He lets the disciples at the table talk first, so that he isn’t the one spreading the story.

“Are there kids too? And old people?” The innkeeper asks, alarmed.

“Yes, they’re just normal people with no cores,” a Lan disciple piped up, indignant with righteousness now that everyone is talking about the Wen camp. “How can they do something like that, they’re just defenceless people!” 

A round of restrained, but unanimous assent goes around the table.

“Aiya, what can we do?” Wei Ying says, sighing with exaggeration. “I tried to bring it up, but the sect leaders probably have more important things to consider, I guess.”

He lets a little bit of bitterness come through the slump of his shoulders, the perfect image of a disappointed young man who tried to do the right thing.

“I guess it’s true that people only care if you’re from an important clan, no one listens to me because I’m just a commoners kid. Maybe those Wen people are also just commoners to the big sect leaders…”

He looks at the innkeeper and the disciples gathered around their table. Their eyes are suspiciously wet, seemingly moved to tears at the idea of the inequalities of life. Wei Ying knows that most of the disciples have never had to consider just how much higher their lives are valued just because of their birth, and smiles at the reminder that he can always count on Lan sect disciples to be full of empathy, even if they are a little lacking in street smarts. 

Lan Zhan, who is quietly eating by Wei Ying’s side, puts down his chopsticks, having finished his meal. 

“They can only be helped if all the sects come together. It would be unfortunate that the cultivation world lets more bloodshed happen even after the Sunshot Campaign has concluded.” 

The juniors look on in awe, and quickly chorus their agreement. 

“You said it right, Hanguang-jun, it’s true, I would hate to be compared to the Wen sect especially so soon after the uprising!”

The conversation continues after the innkeeper leaves their table, and Wei Ying knows that in days, every traveller will be regaled with the story of the plight of civilians suffering just because of the prejudice of the big sects, and also that the infamous dark cultivator Wei Wuxian is actually a tragic underdog that is maligned because of common birth.

———-

 A night before reaching the cloud recesses, the party camps in the woods, with Wei Ying and Lan Zhan accompanying the junior disciples on the night patrol. When they encounter a few angry corpses, Wei Ying nags at the juniors, pushing them to deduce the situation from clues on the corpses, while playing chenqing just enough to keep the disciples safe. Between the two of them, it becomes a practical lesson, and the corpses are dealt with magnificently by the students, and by the end of their journey, at the very least the Lan disciples have lost most of their fear of Wei Wuxian, cultivator of darkness. He eventually becomes senior Wei, and he ribs them all with good nature as Lan Zhan stays behind and beside him, watchful but never overcrowding, a warm, comforting presence. 

They finally reach the cloud recesses, and Wei Ying is ushered into the jingshi for the first time. He laughs at the austere decor, amused and fond as he settles down by Lan Zhan at the guqin.

The notes sound, resonant and rich with spiritual power, and Wei Ying feels Cleansing wash over him, then Rest, calming his mind as the music sinks into his empty, sluggish meridians.

“Thank you, Lan Zhan. It.. it feels better now. Clearer.”

Lan Zhan nods, hums a response, and finally he is there, close and clean and smelling of sandalwood, pressing his forehead into Wei Ying’s as he kisses him, chaste at first and then insistent, hungry. Wei Ying feels like he shouldn’t be allowed to have this, not while people are dying and hurting and maybe he could do something about it, but the spiritual power humming in his veins anchors him, reminds him that he is doing something, that this might, probably will be, more effective than whatever stupid plan he came up with without Lan Zhan. 

For once, he decides to trust, and lets himself go, sinking into the steady wet warmth of Lan Zhan, tugging at him till he is lying atop Wei Ying, chest to chest and dark hair spilling around them, tickling Wei Ying’s nose.

“I still don’t believe you like me like this, Lan Zhan,” he teases, voice lilting as he cards his hands through Lan Zhan’s hair.

“Mn, I was not truthful before. You did not know because I was too afraid.” Lan Zhan’s voice is wry but open, and the warmth and honesty of it all bowls Wei Ying over. It’s dizzying, the knowledge.

“Aiya, you Lans and your show no feelings rules. I’ve been flirting with you for so long, and you didn’t know I liked you? Lan Zhan, I gave you cut sleeve porn!”

Lan Zhan sputters, pale skin giving way to a deep flush at the memory.

“I know now. Wei Ying can keep flirting with me, I will not misunderstand again.”

The determination in his voice makes Wei Ying laugh, terribly fond and almost normal again. He pulls him down for another kiss, and smiles into Lan Zhan’s mouth as he asks, “Did you read any of it? Did you think about doing any of that stuff to me, Lan Zhan?”

The thought makes a bolt of heat rush through his spine, and Wei Ying feels like he is drowning. Lan Zhan presses his face into his neck, embarrassed. Wei Ying heaves himself back up onto his elbows, taking Lan Zhan up with him. The shift pulls the fabric of his inner robe apart, exposing a wide expanse of collarbone and chest, the brand mark an angry welt on his left.  The sight draws a breath out of Lan Zhan, who gently reaches fingers out to graze at the scar. Wei Ying’s breath hitches, and again, that bolt of heat curling in his body at the sight of Lan Zhan’s pale eyes darkening at the sound. 

He licks his lips and summons some of that famous shamelessness that he is known for, pulling his robe open further in invitation. Lan Zhan’s eyes open even wider, and the sight of him staring at Wei Ying, lips spit slick and bruised, eyes wide and dark with his hair in disarray is enough to pry a groan out of Wei Ying.

“Lan Zhan, please, you can.” He clears his throat, and tries again,  “You can touch me. In fact please, please Lan Zhan, I need, I want you to touch me.”

At those words, Lan Zhan finally moves, wide hands splaying on his chest as he runs his palms down Wei Ying’s body, callouses catching on smooth skin until they reach his belt, and after getting a breathless nod, he pulls the belt loose, parting his inner robe completely.

Wei Ying whines at the cold air against him, trying to hold off his embarrassment at being laid bare, flushed and aroused. He tugs at Lan Zhan’s robes, pulling them off his shoulder. Lan Zhan shrugs out of his own robes, bends down to kiss Wei Ying, and wraps his hand around him. He can’t help but gasp, hips bucking as Lan Zhan begins to stroke him, and Wei Ying is going insane, knowing that Lan Zhan is doing it. The thought of being the only one to see Lan Zhan like this, debauched and breathless, sends a thrill through him, and before he loses all his composure he grasps at Lan Zhan’s biceps, squeezing at them until Lan Zhan shifts further up, close enough for Wei Ying to reach down between them and- 

Oh god. 

Lan Zhan is thick and heavy in his hand, the soft, keening sound Lan Zhan makes when Wei Ying grasps him sends a jolt right through every vertebrae in him. He takes a shuddering breath, and wriggles down until their cocks are lined up against each other, gasping at the searing sensation of blessed, perfect contact. Lan Zhan’s fingers stroke the both of them together as Wei Ying gasps into his mouth, incoherent moans and pleading escaping him as he rocks up against the man he has loved for years without knowing that he was loved in turn. The cracking edge of loneliness and warmth chokes him, and he sobs a little, mindless with emotion and pleasure as he crests closer to the edge. 

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, please,” he breathes, “I’m close, please, please,” he trails off into more incoherent mumbles as Lan Zhan strokes them hard, once, twice, and Wei Ying throws his head back and arches against the hard floor, pleasure whiting out every other thought in his brain outside of Lan Zhan’s name, Lan Zhan’s body, Lan Zhan against him heavy and solid and perfect as he follows Wei Ying, hips and hands stuttering until they lie panting, pressed together in a sweaty tangle on the floor. 

After some time Lan Zhan shifts up, leaving to grab a cloth to wipe them both clean before pulling Wei Ying up on his feet. He winces, rubbing his sore back.

“Lan Zhan, why didn’t we do this on your bed? You have a perfectly good bed right there!”

Lan Zhan hums, fond and warm.

“Next time,” he says, leading him to the bed and settling the covers around them as Wei Ying’s brain tries to process the idea of a next time, tucking it somewhere safe like an idea to be treasured. He smiles, warm and sated, snuggles closer to Lan Zhan, and drifts off to sleep, more content than he has been in a long time.

————-

In weeks, the rumours of the Wen camp in Qiongqi has spread far and wide, exaggerated and heated by the indignant murmurs of innkeepers and travellers spreading news where they go. The general dissent and disapproval from the people is palpable, and while that normally might not have any effect, many minor clans, many of which live more off taxation than actual exorcism and hunting, were starting to lean towards the general public. Coupled with the testimony of Lan Wangji, whose flawless reputation somehow caused the rumour that Wei Wuxian had been tamed and brought back to the light by the righteousness of the Lan clan, meant that the general animosity had been moved off from him and towards the Jin sect.

Caught between wanting to bristle at the idea of needing to be tamed and somewhat pleased that Lan Wangji’s reputation didn’t seem to suffer much from his acquaintance, Wei Ying endeavoured to fan the rumours, behaving relatively nicely while maintaining some roguish impertinence to ward off any suspicions. 

He goes back to Lotus Pier, drinks his shijie's soup and finally apologises to both her and Jiang Cheng for making them worry. He doesn’t tell them about the core, but he tells them about being thrown into the burial mounds, how he had to fight his way out with resentful energy, and talks about how it makes him angry and violent. He apologises, and means it.

Jiang Cheng’s hands are clenched at his sides, and Wei Ying thinks he’s going to get yelled at before he’s roughly pulled in for a hug, too tight to be called comfortable, but he wants to cry all the same. 

“You idiot,” Jiang Cheng grits out, and Wei Ying laughs and pats his back, swallowing hard around the lump in his throat when he feels Yanli join the hug from behind. For a moment, it feels like they’re children again, huddled together in the dark. 

When they finally pull free, he and Jiang Cheng talk.

“What about the resentful energy now?” He asks, evidently confused by the general lack of dark foreboding brooding that Wei Ying is doing.

“Ah, Lan Zhan is helping me. His ah, guqin keeps it under control so I can practice controlling it,” he explains, sticking to the truth. His brother seems surprised at that, and Wei Ying can see the moment his brother comes to his conclusion, the familiar brows furrowing as he nods in assent.

“I’m glad he’s willing to do that for you, then.” Everything else he is thinking goes unsaid, but Wei Ying smiles, understanding. He thinks, with this, the relationship between YunmengJiang and GusuLan might improve, if Jiang Cheng upholds propriety and gives due thanks to the Lan sect for helping a member of the Jiang sect. For the first time in months, Wei Ying settles into that knowledge that he still has a place in Lotus Pier.

They talk about the Wen clan next, almost coming to an argument again. But the notes of Lan Zhan’s guqin are still humming in his veins, and he stills himself, patient, remembering all the things that Jiang Cheng is. He knows now that Jiang Cheng is scared, angry and hurting, and wants his revenge wholly. He feels small to Wei Ying, now, and it is clear to him, without the resentment crawling in his lungs, to give his shidi what he needs.

He pulls Jiang Cheng roughly into another hug, tight, and lets his grief for Lotus Pier bleed through honestly, for the one person who would understand, who was there with him all.

“Jiang Cheng, I know. I want to burn everything to the ground for them too.” He shakes his brother, who is still a little shell shocked at the embrace, anger and grief in his eyes as he tries to understand why Wei Ying doesn’t want to kill every person named Wen. He tries to swallow the anger bitter betrayal and listen to his brother.

“I was there too. I wanted everyone dead. I used the dead and had them rip Wen cultivators apart till you couldn’t even tell their corpses were human anymore.”

Jiang Cheng nods, and lets him continue.

 “Think of Wen Qing and Wen Ning, shidi. Think about Shi Jie,” 

Jiang Cheng jerks at the mention of their sister.

“Do you really think she’d be okay with us running around and killing a bunch of children and old people? Are you okay with letting her see us go so low?”

Jiang Cheng falls to his knees, bringing Wei Ying down with him. His grip on Wei Ying’s arm is tight, and Wei Ying feels the fury and grief and sorrow, knows his brother feels things fully, incandescently, just like his mothers zidian, and Wei Ying holds him through it.

“Then what am I supposed to do, Wei Wuxian? I can’t just let it go. They’re gone, and there’s nothing else I can do!”

Wei Ying pulls him up, forcing his back straight and chin high. 

“Shidi, we do the right thing. We do the right thing because that’s what shushu taught us, so shijie can still smile at us. When she has kids with that stupid peacock, we can take care of them with our heads held high and tell them we were the good guys. They’re gone,” And at this, Wei Ying chokes a little, the words thick on his tongue, uncomfortable in the way that honesty always is, but he tries.

“Theyre gone, but we’re still here. I’m still here, shijie is still here. We can’t forget that.”

Jiang Cheng presses his eyes shut, and Wei Ying knows that every instinct is screaming inside him. He waits, knowing his brother, hoping that the boy he grew up with is still there, the boy who is quick to anger but quick to forgive, who loves harder than he hates. He hopes he has reached him, the way Lan Zhan had, reminded him of the lighter things he has forgotten.

Jiang Cheng nods, eventually, resolute, bitter.

“The Yunmeng Jiang clan will do what needs to be done.”

———-

Lan Zhan conces Lan Xichen easily, knowing his brother walks with virtue in his path. Instead of discussing whether or not to help, the discuss how to help, in a way that is in keeping with the limitations and powers of their sect.

Lan Qiren, proud that the Lan sect has been attributed to bringing Wei Wuxian into decorum and propriety, credits Wangji and Xichen, and listens to their petition, clearly listing the responsibilities their sect to live by their rules, to uphold virtute and not tolerate arrogance, cruelty, and violence. 

Lan Qiren signs and stamps his name, aligning GusuLan with the other sects petitioning for non-cultivator Wen civilians to be released, in return for "the recognition by all clans herein to pledge allegiance to a Jin sect that is wholly unaffiliated with the very actions that led to the Sunshot Campaign.". The threat of another uprising from the united front of the major sects is very much implied. 

The pressure is unanimous, and the Jin sect, wary of another campaign against them, decide that a bunch of commoners are not worth the censure and trouble they are receiving. A couple branch families are made scapegoats, and the Wen civilians are released to a shouldering Qishan.  

They eventually settle, moving further to the outskirts of Qishan province where the fires have not spread, and change their names to a different character Wen, to start rebuilding their lives. 

Wei Ying visits with Lan zhan, delivering supplies as reparations. It feels like absolution, to see turnips and potatoes sprout after some time passes, green and tender. He buys Wen Yuan toys, throws him in the air and drinks with the uncles in the new Wen village.

Lan Zhan talks to Wen Qing about Wei Ying's core, finds out what he can do to at least help alleviate the physical symptoms of a body used to having one, that now must do without. 

Wen Qing gives him a list of herbs that Wei Ying must take nightly, as well as a reminder that Cleansing must be played after every battle that Wei Ying fights with resentful energy. 

Lan Zhan nods, grateful. He will always be happy to play for Wei Ying. 

They return home to the cloud recesses, pausing on the way to stop by the one month celebration of Jin Ling. Wei Ying has made a bell for him, and Lan Zhan has brought a tiny flute, small enough for a young child to play, when he is old enough.

----

When they finally are done paying respects and enter the safe haven of the jingshi, Wei Ying lets out the breath he has been holding onto.

"We did it, Lan Zhan. The Wens are safe, I have a nephew, I can't.. I can't really believe it." 

Lan Zhan pauses from setting up the guqin, walking over softly to pull Wei Ying into him.

"Do I really.. can I really have this?" Wei Ying asks, and Lan Zhan tightens his arms around him.

"Yes, Wei Ying. You can have this." 

He kisses his forehead, his temples, and pulls him towards the guqin to soothe the ache in his beloved's bones.

After Cleansing, after Rest, he plays WangXian -forget envy- the two of their names a song he imbues with the depth of his love, and lets his spiritual energy suffuse the notes that sink into Wei Ying’s meridians, enough to soothe the ache.

When the song ends, Wei Ying is calm and warm and soothed, and they go to bed amidst soft touches, curled up around each other.

----

The "treatment plan", as Wen Qing puts it, works, and for the most part Wei Ying manages to cultivate his demonic path in peace without it taking a hold of him. He spends his days tinkering, coming up with talismans and inventions that change the way cultivators have worked for centuries. 

He takes the juniors on night hunts, relishing in thr act of teaching, of being surrounded by people and laughter and the thrill of improvement. 

He goes to Lotus Pier regularly, even though he has made his home in Gusu with Lan Zhan, at which Jiang Cheng scowls and punches his arm to hide how happy he is for Wei Ying. He helps, when he can, with the rebuilding of YunmengJiang, lends his expertise and mediates between GusuLan and YunmengJiang.

He visits his nephew Jin Ling even more, teasing him and teaching him. With Jiang Yanli's influence, his pride is tempered by humility, his anger is wielded towards injustice, and his laughter is free and clear like a chime when he plays with his uncle, getting in trouble for stealing lotus seed pods and running amok. 

---

He goes home, to the Cloud Recesses, to find his husband, to drag him out to go play with rabbits and otherwise do mischief instead of working.

Pulling Lan Zhan to him, he kisses him. 

"Thank you, Lan Zhan, for staying that day on Phoenix Mountain. You could have run away, but you didn't, and I'm here now because of you." 

Lan Zhan pulls him close, and murmurs against soft hair. 

"Between us, there is no need for thanks or apologies, Wei Ying."

He walks amongst the cloud recesses, feeds rabbits with Lan Zhan, and is content, no longer alone.

[mythiccheroacademia]

Okay bcuz this manga has me fucked all the way up,I need me some happy headcanons with Shigi and Dabi,like how would they be if they had a childhood sweetheart s/o that stayed with them ever since they knew each other?Knew each other better than anyone kinda deal?

A/N: The way this manga is fucking with my emotions don’t sit right in my spirit. I hope these headcanons add a little fluff to your life. Sorry it’s not all the way fluffy. I had to stick to character. But, they're as fluffy as a homicidal maniacs can be🥺     

Warnings: implied sexual activity, toxic relationship dynamics, death?, idk man

Tomura Shigaraki:

if there was one thing shigiraki’s enemies saw redeemable in him, it was his care for his friends

yes, he had a hard time trusting people (who can blame him), he wasn’t patient, he threw temper tantrums at his big age, and he barely showered

but he cared about his friends bc the only genuine love he felt, besides his sister, was from his friendship with you

before his quirk manifested, he and you would play with heroes all the time!

even when his dad would yell at him and give you dirty looks, you were still his friend

he never really forgot about you after his disappearance

your love and presence would always be in his heart

he was just busy dealing with, y’know, psychological trauma and world destruction

then, one day, you both saw each other when he was doing his daily walks and took time to catch up

you meet up all the time, and in those moments, you start to fall for one another

he was frustrated that he started becoming self-conscious about his skin, but you never failed to tell him how he still reminded you of the cute, shy, boy back in the day

then you’d recoil in embarrassment and tell him to forget you said that

it was annoying, but you actually made him blush

wears half gloves so he can touch your hand

he even stole a phone so he could text you

he doesn’t feel the need to wear the hands with you

at first, shigaraki kept you away from the LoV bc he didn’t know if he could trust you

and he didn’t want you a part of the violence, but he eventually couldn’t hide it when you started questioning him about his whereabouts—and it was so hard to lie to you

not when you still looked at him like he looked at you—like you were the world

little by little shigaraki starts to reveal his history, his thoughts, ideologies, and plans to you

at first, you’re horrified, and you immediately try to convince him to stop his plans

it ends up in a fight and he walks away before he does something he regrets

he laughs at the pain coursing through his chest bc why would you agree with him? he was a fool for thinking you’d join him. how could you? you were miss perfect

doesn’t cry but is noticeably angrier

heartbreak is a bitch

but then he gets a text from you to meet him at your apartment

it’s cryptic and so fucking dramatic but he shows up only bc he wants to set you straight

he’s surprised to feel you connect foreheads, just like you two did when he got nervous as a child, and tell him

“i don’t agree with your methods, but i’ll follow you if it’s to keep you safe. i lost you once and i refuse to lose you again”

in a moment of weakness, shigaraki kisses you

and the deal is sealed

it’s true he wants to destroy everything

and it’s true he doesnt want to be around after he does

but, at least he’ll enjoy the time he has with you

you mask your identity to everyone but shigaraki, only showing up to save him

throughout your time, you watch him grow, mature, and truly fit into the role of a leader when he becomes the head of the Paranormal Liberation Front

finally keeps up with his hygiene lmao

you spend countless nights talking, kissing, and other not kid-friendly things

you two knew everything about the other

you start to see his POV as you observe the poor actions of heroes and the civilians

soon, you’re always by his side—there’s never a time he’s somewhere and you’re not and vice versa

people catch on that you’re not just some bodyguard

they start treating you like they would shigaraki based on your power and their leader’s own demand for them to

many try to ask about your identity and shigaraki is quick to shut that shit down

you even dutifully watch him as the old doctor takes him through his torturous transformation

and when the heroes come to capture him, you’re in the shadows waiting…

Dabi:

he’s a Todoroki

no, I don’t accept criticism

anyway

when he was young, you and the older todorokis would hang out together

you only knew each other bc you were rich and your parents were internationally recognized pro-heroes

you were dragged to so many boring hero events

you’d talk so much shit about how two-faced heroes were

that’s how all four of you bonded

there were times touya would disappear and you’d be confused

fuyumi and natsuo said he was “training”

you didn’t really think much of it so you went on with life

every time he came back, he was covered in bandages

after the fifth time, you ask him about it and he just breaks down and tells you everything

he tells you all about endeavor’s harsh training, how much he thought of him as a failure, and about how he was literally burning from the inside out

you were young and could barely process this

your life was perfect, how could you ever relate?

however, you promised to always be by his side

you wouldn’t let him feel alone

even after a day of abuse, touya would look forward to texting you

you’d talk about movies, comics, who was the best hero, who would win the world cup this year, etc.

would sneak into your house to play video games

it’s ended up in cuddling more often than he’s willing to admit

it wasn’t long before you two knew everything about one another

even about the dark thoughts in his head

it worried you, but again, you didn’t think much of it

how could you know it lead him to faking his own death?

something you didn’t know he had done until he appeared at your door years later

who the hell was this and why did he look like an overcooked omelet?

you didn’t even believe it was him until he told you he was right about Barcelona winning the world cup in 2009

you spent half the day crying and the other cussing him out for letting everyone think he was dead

goes, “lol, yeah that was wild. help me dye my hair?”

what an asshole

your relationship is weird and toxic

you guys are best friends teetering on lovers but it’s confusing bc dabi is cryptic is hell

he confessed that he liked you but tells you that he’s too dangerous for you

like this was some Twilight fanfic

like, okay Edward Cullen

but he’s serious bby, my mans is out here committing homicide

not good

he’ll text you from time to time and randomly shows up at your apartment like he owns the place

you’ll talk, have sex, and talk some more

eventually straight up tells you about his end goal and you’re like

????

you: touya, no???

him: dabi, yes

speaking of which, makes you call him dabi when he’s not in your guts

despite him being a dick, he’s quite charming when he wants to be

takes you to the best spot to see the city lights

or the stars on the beach

always tells you not to worry about him and that he has everything under control

very very protective

won’t like if you're involved with anything hero or villain-like

if you’re a civilian, ensures that you stay that way bc he’ll be damned if you get involved with what’s happening

stalks you (for “safety purposes”)

you two always fight when you catch him snooping around

but has the audacity to ghost you and come back like nothing happened

it’s so toxic

hates knowing that you cry when he comes back battered and burning from fights but he’s got a mission, srry bby

someone’s gotta take out endeavor

being close to him is not for the faint of heart, but you have to take it or leave it bc he’s set on his life’s purpose

the night before the war takes place, he’s suspiciously touchy

makes you promise that no matter what happens, you’ll find him if society starts to crumble

you're like…what the hell, dabi? stop speaking in riddles. just say you wanna marry me and go

but honey, he’s 100% serious and you’ll find out soon enough

[ipuckwithhockey]

Always In Your Corner- Part 4

a/n: Originally this chapter was going to be a little longer, but I’m not satisfied with the second half so I decided to go ahead and post. Sorry about the long wait! Please ignore my grammar mistakes. I hope y’all enjoy! Let me know what you think!

Summary: You were happily engaged to your perfect boyfriend when everything came tumbling down on you. The person you turned to just so happened to be your long time friend, Boone Jenner. The ever loyal Boone is there to help you get back on your feet. Little did you know, Boone had been pining after you for all these years, he’s just not sure if you’ll ever feel the same way about him.

Warnings: mentions of cheating, swearing, drinking

-------

Almost a year later…

The season wasn’t quite under way yet, but everyone was back in Columbus for camp and preseason. The summer without Boone was a long one, but it was good for you to be independent after relying on him for so long. You still talked everyday and he came back to Ohio a couple of times to visit. Since he got back you’ve been spending more and more time together. Boone would be lying if he said that one of his trips back to Columbus was just for a voluntary charity event. He would have used any excuse to be back in the city with you.

You had grown a lot since you walked out on Craig. Living on your own was a hard transition but you got the hang of it. You were starting to find the head strong and excited girl you used to know. You also felt like you had finally started becoming your own person, independent from a man. For the first time you did what you wanted, when you wanted, and you loved that part. There were always days that were harder than others, but you had come along way, and you were proud of yourself.

The first time you ran into Craig was definitely one of the hard days.

It was nearly six months after you had walked out, and shortly after Columbus had been knocked out of the playoffs. You were walking out of a coffee shop one morning when you saw Craig, hand in hand with Chelsea. They looked happy and if you hadn’t known them you would have thought they made a cute couple, but you did know them. You knew that she was the girl who your fiancé had slept with. You also knew, that the blame couldn’t just be put on her. Craig made the choice just as consciously as she had.

You thought that if you looked down and didn’t say anything they may not even notice you, but just as you passed them you heard Craig’s voice, “Y/N? Is that you?”

“Oh hey! I didn’t even see you guys!” You probably seemed too eager, but they were both being overtly nice too.

“Wow, I didn’t even recognize you at first.” Craig was probably referencing the hard work you had been putting in at the gym over the last few months, in an attempt to help yourself get back on track.

“Your hair is a lot longer, I don’t think I’ve ever seen it styled like that.” Chelsea was now referencing your grown out hair that you recently added some highlights to. You knew she was trying hard to make polite conversation. You hadn’t been dying to do go full on break up bangs, but you figured some fresh color couldn’t hurt.

“It looks really good,” Craig was looking at you, and you knew he was looking at you in a way a taken man shouldn’t be looking at a single girl. You knew that look, proving that you still knew parts of him like the back of your hand. But the thing was, he was never a huge fan of your hair when it was long. Once he even said that he thought you should keep you hair short like some celebrity he had seen on tv. You always thought it was kind of sweet that he cared about little things like how your hair was, but now you saw how controlling he was.

You wanted to be the bigger person, you wanted to just let it go, but you couldn’t, “That’s funny, you never liked my hair when it was long,” You let out a laugh as a weak attempt at keeping it light. You could tell Chelsea was uncomfortable and Craig was searching for the right thing to say. “Well, it was good seeing you guys, but I’ve really got to run!” You gave a fake smile and made your way back down the street to where you had parked your car.  

Finally, you got to the car and you slammed your door shut behind you. In the silence of your car, your strong facade was stripped away, and you felt tears pierce the corners of your eyes. Feelings of sadness, embarrassment, and anger filled you to the brim. For months you had been working on recovering from your downfall, and in this moment you couldn’t help but feel like it was all for nothing.

It’s like Boone knows when you need him, and you felt your phone vibrate in the pocket of your jacket. When you looked down and saw that it was him you automatically answered it, “Hey B, what’s up? Miss me already?” You tried to hide your uneven breathing caused by your sobs from a few seconds ago, but it did little to deter from the fact that you had been crying.

“What’s wrong? Did something happen? I’ll get on the next flight to Columb-“

“Boone, I’m fine. Really. I just ran into Craig and Chelsea, and I know it’s stupid, but it just sucked seeing them together and now I’m just crying in my car, and I’m pretty sure I freaked out some little kid when he walked by because I look scary when I ugly cry.” You stumbled your way through the rest of the story and Boone did his best to understand you through your crying and hiccups. When you first went to stay with Boone, you had been reluctant to share things with him, not wanting to overshare or burden him with too much. Now, you were more comfortable talking with him, even if he did have to pry a little at first. 

“I’m not sure if I got all of that, but fuck him. He’s a loser and so is that Chelsea bitch. I wouldn’t care what you did with your hair. Your hair is great, don’t get me wrong, but it isn’t the only reason you’re beautiful. You’re a good person, and you’re probably the smartest person I know. You’re funny, even though I hate to admit it.n Plus, you’ve got killer friends, like me. I meant it when I said I would come back. If you need me, I’m there. You know that.”

You of course hadn’t asked him to come back, but take note that his protective manner towards you has definitely grown over the last few months. After reassuring him that you were going to be fine, you decided that you weren’t going to wallow in this. It was in the past, and you knew then more than ever, that you had made the correct decision in leaving Craig.  

Tonight, Alexander’s girlfriend Felicia, was throwing a party for his birthday. As always you were invited, and Janelle had insisted that you come. This was their last big hurrah before the season started, and most the mom’s in the group had made sure to get babysitters for the special occasion.

The “small party” you were invited to didn’t seem that small when you arrived. The house party was full of people you didn’t recognize and it wasn’t until you made it to the kitchen that you found some familiar faces.

“HEYY! Y/N! YOU CAME!!” Pierre and some of the other guys cheered and pulled you into hugs as you entered the kitchen.

“I don’t think Janelle really gave me a choice.” You’re laughing but everyone standing around knows that it’s true. She can be very persuasive.

Pierre starts making you a drink when you feel an arm come around your side. You don’t even have to look beside you to know that it’s Boone. You take in his scent and the safety of his arms settle you in this crazy party setting.

“Hey, there you are.” He greets you.

“Hey,” The way Boone looks down at you makes your heart rate rise. Lately, you’ve been feeling differently around Boone, and it’s taking everything in you to suppress those feelings, especially with Boone’s arm hanging around your body. You wonder if he’s noticed that your hugs have been a little longer and that you keep to his side more often.  You try to tell yourself that it’s because you have become closer friends, and not because you might have feelings for him. 

“So, who’s going to claim me for their beer pong team?” You ask the room, and all the guys jump at the offer. You were known as a pretty big competitor on the Jacket’s beer pong circuit. Usually Josh would rope you into being his partner, but tonight Boone seemed eager to draft you for his team.

An hour later, you and Boone have basically defeated all of your worthy opponents, and you part ways to get a new drink. Josh and Seth wave down Boone to come join their conversation.

“So what’s going on man?” Seth asks.

“What do you mean? I just kicked your ass in beer pong!” Boone chirps back at Seth knowing that’s not what he’s talking about. The guys, and even some of the girls have asked him about the status of your relationship. The thing is, nothing has actually changed.

When Boone got back to Columbus a couple weeks ago you started to hang out almost everyday. Whenever either of you had time free, you were together. The ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’ hugs seemed to linger longer, as did the accidental touches, and cuddling on the couch.

“Dude, what’s going on with you and Y/N? You guys both look at each other with heart eyes. It’s disgusting, but it would be better if you just made a fucking move. At least just fuck already! I think everybody in here can feel the awkward sexual tension!” Josh is chiming in now, and the alcohol he has consumed is making him a little more liberal with his words.

“Fuck off man. We’ve barely even seen each other in the past four months. I’m not sure if she’s ready to date at all, let alone wants to date me.” Boone chooses to ignore the “fucking” suggestion.

“Booner, I say this with the utmost respect, but you’re a fucking idiot.” Seth just pats him on the back and leaves the two other guys to talk.

While Boone goes to hang with the boys, some of the WAGs pull you into their conversations. Eventually Felicia pops the same question, “So, what’s going on with you and Boone?” Everyone is quick to turn to you with big eyes, waiting for a big reveal that isn’t going to come. “Nothing, we’re just friends.” You shrug and hope that they will leave it alone. You had been feeling differently about Boone lately, but you couldn’t let yourself think about it that way. He was your friend, and he helped you get back on your feet when the world’s biggest asshole cheated on you. You probably just thought you liked him because he was so nice to you. He would do anything for you because he’s your friend, not because he has feelings for you.

“Ok, you can keep living in denial, but all of us will be over here waiting for you guys to get your shit together and just confess your love to one another!” Janelle has been on you about this since they got back to Columbus, saying that you needed to get back out there, and that Boone was perfect for you. She insisted that he had feelings for you too, but you knew she was just determined to get you back into the dating scene.

Boone watches you from across the party and wonders what you are talking about. He thinks about how well you fit into his life here in Columbus. Natalie Atkinson must have said something funny, causing you to laugh. He loved watching you throw your head back when you laughed. For a long time after Craig he wasn’t sure when the next time he would see that would be.

He didn’t want to seem too clingy, especially with the guys already on his back about the two of you, so he tried to keep a safe distance for most of the night. He made sure to keep an eye on you for two reasons: one being he wanted to make sure you were safe and the second being the fact that he quite literally couldn’t help himself from watching you.

Throughout most of the night you talk with the other girls, but somehow Pierre and Tex pulled you into doing shots. It was nice to let your hair down a bit, but your alcohol tolerance wasn’t anywhere close to that of the hockey players you were trying to keep up with. It’s not until almost 2am that Boone finds his way back to your side. Somehow Boone had been pulled into a deep debate over whether or not a hotdog was a sandwich, and had missed you getting pulled into doing shots. When he glanced around the room to find you he didn’t see you, so he went to see if you were in the kitchen. That’s where he found you, multiple shots in, with Pierre and Tex.

“Hey, where have you been?” Your words are definitely slurring, and you can’t stop yourself from wrapping your arms around his neck. He looks so good tonight and your inhibitions have been clouded with alcohol.

“I’ve been here the whole time, but it looks like these guys have gotten you into some trouble.” Pierre and Tex are trying to play coy and leave the two of you in the kitchen before they get scolded anymore. You’re just trying to focus on Boone and not on the fact that his hands are balancing you on your hips.

“Well I missed you,” not able to control your tongue, some honest thoughts escape your mouth. 

“I missed you too, but we should probably get you home.” He laughs. 

Boone, ever the responsible adult, stopped drinking a while ago and was planning on driving home. The two of you say your goodbyes as you continue to hang onto his sturdy arm.

“Do you need help getting in the car?”

“No. I can do it!” The false sense of confidence that was induced from alcohol gave way when you tried to lift your leg to the car step. You about fell on your ass. Boone was of course there to catch you, and help you into the car. He makes sure you’re all buckled in before he hops in the driver’s seat, and pulls out of the drive.

“Hey Boone?” You move your head to face him and you admire the way his beard is perfectly trimmed to emphasize the outline of his strong jaw.  He’s just so goddamn handsome under the lights that line the streets of downtown Columbus.

“Yes?”

“Can we go back to your place? Cus, it’s just that, your bed is so much comfier than mine, like it’s just so warm and cozy. And it smells so good.”

He can’t help but laugh at how cute and small you sound, “Sure, but you know you have the same mattress at your house, right?” He glances over to see you staring up at him.

“Yeah, I know. But it’s not the same….”

“…Hey B, you’re pretty handsome, you know that? Like you’re kind of a total man rocket.” He can’t help but laugh, but your confession lingers in his mind. Maybe you did feel something for him… 

You can’t really stop yourself now, words are falling out of your mouth without warning. “You’re like way hotter than Craig ever was. AAND you’re so nice. Like what’s with guys being selfish assholes all the time? But you’re not like that. You’re one of the good ones. Some girl is gonna be really really lucky one day.”

Once your rant is over neither of you say much else until you pull into Boone’s apartment. You’ve dozed off, and Boone is careful not to wake you as he picks you up out of the passenger seat. When he makes it into the apartment he brings you to his room and sets you gently on the bed. He works to take your shoes off and moves around quietly, getting ready for bed.

“Hey B?”

Your whisper startles Boone at first, but he moves over to check on you, sitting on the edge of the bed, “Yeah? What’s up?”

“You’re not gonna leave are you?” The look in your glazed over eyes could have broken his heart. He wasn’t ever going to leave you.

“Not if you don’t want me too.” You give him a soft smile back as he moves to turn the light off. When he gets into bed, you roll over to snuggle into his side, and his natural reaction is to wrap his arms around you. The way your bodies fold into each other feels so right, and even though you’re halfway passed out, you can’t help but feel a sense of serenity wash over you.  

Just as you’re about to fall back to sleep you ask again, “Hey B?”

“mhmm?”

“I love you.”

[shesawriter39049]

|THE PLUG|M| 5|

(I picked this because he looks genuinely happy here...once you read you’ll see why)

SMUT/ANGST/FLUFF

Pairing: Jimin X Reader

About-Post sex come down...a little pillow talk..some feels...and maybe another orgasm or two....

**Your local plug aka your weedman is now offically your boyfriend....

2K SNEEK PEAK

WARNINGS: For this part? Praise kink/Light edging/ Grinding/Non penetrative sex/ Kissing/ Overstiumlation/ FEELS OH THE FEELS/mentions of subspace (1st time) OH breif mentions of previous physical abuse

NOTE- This is a series but you can read this part and not be totally lost...however all the emotions running through Jimin’s body will hit you a little diferent if you later go read the others!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey” He coos, low, warm, a little concerned, as he soothes his palm down your back, feeling the way you try and arch up into his touch no matter how weak your body is! So he grips one hand around your neck, the other at the small of your back, and slides you up further. Bringing your forehead flush to his where you can feel a deep, slow exhale leaves Jimin’s tattooed chest as if he’s been holding his breath the entire time.

“How you feelin’ baby?” There’s slight hesitation behind the question and honestly, that was understandable, this wasn’t something either of you expected. You don’t respond, or even fully acknowledge him right away, just blinking slowly, lashes fluttering, eyes trying to readjust, feeling, and looking somewhat disoriented. Yet no matter how confused you initially are, something that’s clear the moment you regain consciousness... it’s how safe you feel in Jimin’s arms right now. I mean yeah, your a little sticky, and need a long-ass shower, but you feel good, you feel secure! Reaching up to scratch his fingertips through your scalp almost as if you’re a cat, and you find yourself smiling, eyes fluttering shut as you tilt your head into his hand.

Honestly, your not sure how to process what you currently feel washing over your body! I guess because the couple times you ran through how this scenario may play out in your head, it didn’t go anything like this! It wasn’t this warm and comforting afterward….it all just felt a lot darker, scarier..almost belittling. You’re independent by nature, maybe even a female alpha by some standards, so the thought of giving yourself over to anyone in that capacity, giving them full control...As much as you’ve always wanted it, realistically it always felt scary, intimidating, even a little embarrassing in your mind! Whereas this, this right here, felt natural it felt right, your body felt loved, sated, you personally felt empowered, it was nothing like what you imagined in your head. The weight behind it was so much heavier, the connection felt deeper and more liberating than you ever thought it would. Which is what makes you endlessly grateful that you saved this for someone like Jimin. Someone who would actually appreciate the notion, and understand the mental and physical side of it all, the parts that make it more than just a kink.

Of course, we can’t disregard how you feel physically, this level of exhaustion after sex is somewhat foreign to you. Your body feels sluggish and weak, your eyes are heavy, and you already know your voice is fucked. But mentally which is where your biggest concern came from, your good, you’re at peace with it all.

Lashes fluttering up in his direction, offering a faint hum in response, nodding softly against his chest. “Jus’ tired…” giving him the best smile you can muster hoping it reaches your eyes so he believes it.

He nods, slow and understanding, “Take your time baby, sleep…you were perfect” The words smiled gently into your hair, as his fingers trickle up and down your spine. Jimin knows he told Yoongi an hour, he also knows the topic of Dom being out of jail is a serious situation and needs to be addressed. However, he can’t and won’t allow himself to pull away from you until your in a stronger state than you are right now. He just can’t, so he reaches for his phone sending the elder a quick text, essentially explaining that he’s not sure when but they will talk at some point tonight.

Eventually, he feels your breathing completely even out, and your lashes still against his skin. Indicating your exhaustion has officially washed over your body and you’ve drifted off into what he hopes is a peaceful night's sleep.

Jimin’s not even sure how much time has passed and to be honest he really doesn’t care, the silence is comforting just laying in bed breathing as one. He’s far from tired, though he has every reason to be exhausted, there’s just way too much swirling around his head right now. The only sound in the room is the faint hum of the fan and the occasional playful banter he can hear from his boys downstairs. His heart feels... full, it feels complete as you lay here with him, your body feeling completely at ease against his own. After allowing him to have you in your most vulnerable state of being, after trusting him to take care of you the way you needed, even if you didn't really know what that was!

He’s not sure why or when but his eyes start to burn again and this time he lets the tears gently stream down his face. Reclining his neck, staring up at the ceiling, securing his hold around the nape of your neck and the small of your back. As if he’s reminding himself that you're here, right here and you’re not going anywhere! Jimin knows these are happy tears, and they are, he can’t even remember the last time every aspect of his life has felt as though it’s come together at once. Yet he also can’t help that ache in the back of his heart when he thinks about Dom...he’s not scared of him by any means. They use to be boys, but it’s not a secret they’ve always road slightly different waves until they eventually crashed into one another! What he is scared of is the person Dom might turn him back into if he oversteps his boundaries, especially where you’re safety’s concerned. Jimin told you that night in the car about the situation that eventually led to him leaving his parents for good. About how abusive his dad was to his mom and even after he helped her move she still let him come back. About that one night, he walked in on his dad on top of his mom and completely blacked out! The way his mother had to physically pry him off his father or he's not sure if or when he would have stopped on his own.

Jimin never thought he’d meet someone else that could get him to that point if need be, to the point that he’d do any and everything to keep them safe! Maybe it’s fucked up repossession for the fact that he feels like he couldn’t really keep his mother safe...But as he looks down at you, laying so pliant and trusting on his chest, he vividly recognizes that sense of protectiveness streaming through his veins! A feeling he hasn’t felt in years, he just prays, he never has to go there with anybody where you’re concerned, because what’s evens scarier is he knows he will, in a heartbeat!

Jimin’s not that reckless 16-year old with nothing to lose anymore, and that’s what he has to remember when his mind goes off the grid like that! He’s a  grown-ass man! A man that has so much going for him regardless of how others may feel about is life choices, he knows he’s doing well for himself! He also knows he has so much to look forward too, and more importantly he has so much worth keeping! Including the beautiful woman laying on his chest that’s choosen to walk head first into a hurricane with no fear...because she knows it’s worth it. She knows Your worth it ….

He opts not to fight it and just let it be, and continues to allow himself to feel everything he needs to, trying his hardest not to wake you in the process. Periodically wiping his face so his tears don’t trickle down his neck, trying to keep his body at ease so his abdomen dosen’t tense the more he cries. Allowing his mind to wander continiously flowing from thought to thought. The overall consensus of it all though, is he deserves this he deserves to be happy, all he can hear is Tim telling him at the end of every day they spent together…

“It’s worth it kid, it may not feel like it right now but it is, trust me one day it will be!” And he was right because right now, everything he’s ever been through feels so minuscule in comparison to how overwhelmed and happy his heart is. He almost wants to feel like he doesn’t deserve to feel this overflow but he won’t allow himself to sink there be he dose! He fuckin does….Jimin’s eyes are cloudy and heavy it hurts to keep them open at this point and he’s sure he looks like a damn blowfish. That’s when his phone beeps in his hand and his body stills praying you don’t wake up, instantly turning the phone on silent. Glaring at his phone through clouded vision to see a text from Yoongi that simply reads.

“Whenever you’re ready”

And he can’t help but smile and cry a little more because he swears the elder has a sixth sense when it comes to him. Always knowing exactly when to push and when to just ease up, Yoongi’s been a friend, a big brother, a shoulder, hell even a father in some instances since Tim’s past. Honestly, he really wonders where he’d be right now if it wasn’t; for Yoongi cheering him on, and being his right hand whenever he’d needed one! Jimin’s also very acutely aware that he does owe his “Hyung” (which is a name he’s never called Yoongi in his life mind you so, he still can’t get over the fact that he reffered to himself as such. ) A thank you, for making sure you came over here tonight because fuck if he didn’t need it! Whipping his eyes somewhat agressivly as if to say he’s gotten frustrated with himself from crying so damn much!

“Go, I’m okay…” The words muffled low and horse against Jimin’s chest but he heard you loud and clear. Eyes wide and a little disoriented at your sudden response. I mean he obviously knows what you’re referring to he just- I guess didn’t think you were fully conscious when Yoongi called initially to even know what was going on!

“What baby?” Fingers playing idly in your hair, as he felt you shift against him, head tilting in his direction, trying to let your eyes readjust to the now pitch-black room.

“That was Yoongi earlier right? Go I’m’ fine, I prom-”

‘Baby” Tone a little sharper than before but the concern is overtaking any authority he’s attempting to have right now!

“Stop,” Gently pressing your palm against his chest as if to slow him down “ I know this weekends crazy for you, I wasn’t nexpecting your undivided attention when I stopped by…I just needed to see you.” Reaching out into the dark to stroke his jaw, gently thumbing along his plump bottom lip. “Plus...mm..kinda hungry” Ohhh and the beauiful moment has now ended...smooth transition...smooth.

You could feel Jimin’s face split into a smile beneath your fingers which quickly transitioned into a full-blown cackle, loud, airy, and just fuck relieved...so damn relieved that you genuinely did seem to be okay…

“Ohh so that’s what this is about? Just trying to use me for my car huh? I see how it is…” A blatant pout laced within his delivery though it was clearly playful.

Shifting against his lap slightly, leaning down to search for his lips, which didn’t take long to find. Jimin flicked his chin up to meet yours immediately, sighing out the minute you made contact. “Yup, just wat you for your car...oh and your weed lets not forget your weed” 

A stated smile playing on your lips, as you kissed him,honestly the two of you were smiling so hard at first it took you a minute to even get into a groove! It started off slow, and chaste, initially, until Jimin reclined his jaw to allow you to lick your way back into his mouth for the umpteenth time tonight. The kiss was slow, deep, heavy, the gentle slide of his tongue against your own, as you swallow each other moans triggered by faint touches on the edge of your fingertips. Tattooing goosebumps along the soft planes of your skin after every featherlike touch…Jimin’s hands moved through you like an ocean. Ravishing every inch of you he could reach, gently massaging your aching body between his strong nimble fingers. You could feel the heightened sense of urgency within every kiss that fell of Jimin’s lips, he was kissing you as if he was afraid to let you go. As if he was trying to say something he really wants’t ready to say quite yet, but needed you to feel...

“Thank you” Pants from your lips and brushes agaisnt his, thumbing at the hinge of his jaw “For taking such good care of me, for keeping me…”up” as they say. I know at some point will need to talk about it. But right now, I’m tired, really fuckin hungry...and honestly, I feel good baby, I’m good…” Nuzzling against his nose, a faint smile playing on your lips.

You could vaguely see him nod, though even in the darkness you could sense the hint of concern and hesitation within his eyes as he pulled you back down.  So you reiterated it one more time, only there seemed to be a hint of something more than excitation dripping of your tongue once you realized the way your man was looking up at you.

“I’m good” Nipping his bottom lip between your teeth gently....

“Mmm, yeah, you are good, so damn good...” Placing another lingering kiss along your lips, hands moving down to massage the swell of your ass. which eventually leds to him rocking his hips up into you, causing you to subconsciously grind down against his lap.”Your fucking perfect”

 Panting and moaning lightly against his mouth at the sudden stimulation,within seconds he had you feeling like you were burning from the inside out. Hands gripping down to guide your hips, so you don’t have to move, rolling them even harder against his length which is now rock hard. Well aware that he’s grazing your clit every time which is exactly what he’s aiming to do. Your pussys dripping down his cock, lips spread apart giving him the perfect slide to rip you apart all over again. And your just hanging on for the ride, tt’s not long before your thighs are shaking, and your clits rock hard against him. Your bodies still overly sensitive from your two orgasms barely an hour prior, lets also not forget to mention your body still recovering from its first subspace on top of it all.

“Jimin” You whine out low and shaky, eyes barley ajar “Fuck, your gonna-”

“Yeah, I know..I know...you can do it for me, baby, I know you can...come one more time for me before I go...” There's this slight whine laced within Jimin’s voice right now, as if he’s truly saying he, needs you to come..he needs it. There a silent “please” placed within his delivery that has your toes curling into the sheets. Lips ghosting against yours, as he slowly slides his tongue back into your mouth hot and heavy. Continiously guiding your hips in a deep, hard wave  until he feels you crying against his tongue, body going completely ridget on top of him, as he edges you through it. “Yess” Slurs off his tongue over and over againas he feels you come undone, as if hes cheering you on. Nails digging into his bare chest, and he doesn’t let you breathe he doesn’t give you an inch he just kisses you right through it. Smiling against your lips as you fall completely limp against him…moaning against your tongue as he feels you driping down is cock. ‘Good girl.....my good girl” Gently rolling his hips into you, as he eases you through your comedown, body jerking in oversensetivity the entire time.

“Fuck” Panted from your lips and into the side of his neck, chest still rising and falling against his own. 

Jimin chuckles low and pleased against your lips “I just had to make sure you fell right back asleep once I leave… “ Feathering an array of kisses against your lips that you were far too spent to reciprocate but you appreciate nevertheless.

“I’m gonna assume you want Taco Bell?”

Only offering a faint hum in response I’m not sure what else he really expected you to do at this point, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck. Gently soothing his hand up your back, giving you a moment to fully come down before he tenatively shifts you off of his chest. Reaching over for his phone with his oppisite hand, shooting Yoongi a quick text

Jimin: Come ride with me to get food for Y/N, we can talk about Dom then, I’ll be ready to leave in 15!

Jimin: Oh, have Tae or Kook go to her car it’s unlocked and bring her bags in, leave them outside my door.

Jimin: Thanks hyung ;P

__________________________

HEYYYYYYY,

If you guys are excited for part 5 show this some love and come talk to meee!!! I’ve been playing with this chapter for about a month now....

Also, CH.5 is the rest of 4:20 weekend...which hint, hint does involve Yoongi and Jimin meeting with Dom, and some other little domestic-esq moments! This also obviously isin’t the only smut in the chapter I actually wanna have them have sex in a fun location I just dont know where yet. Yoongi and Tae are in chapter 5 a little more as well! 

Part 6 is where it Jumps ahead to the wedding she and Jimin attend in miami btw!

PART 4 :

[edengarden]

Hi! May I have a romantic heaven box BNHA matchup, please? :)

I'm Flo, a 19 years old bisexual girl.

Appearance: I'm 164 cm(~5'3) tall, with slim, kinda athletic body. I have medium long brown hair and same coloured deer-eyes(probably most attractive part on me), I also wear eyesglasses. I have thin mouth unfortunately. Also, I have a tiny little scar above my right eyebrow(I opened our car's door on my head years ago lolol), it's barely visible. I'm vain and always dress like a lady: so dresses and skirts, I have a classy, elegant or cute style, depends on my daily outfit. I wear light makeup, but not all the time.

Personality: Ambiverted, Virgo with Leo ascendant and Pisces moon. Slytherpuff. Needless to say, these already represent how confusingly dual my personality is. My behaviour constatntly changes, depending on who I am with: I try to sell myself, being two-faced, wearing a mask(sometimes I appear to be talkative, other times full-stoic), but to people I really do love, I'm quite blunt. Most of the time I'm caring and relatively kind person(but can be an asshole&harsh if tired emotionally). Highly critical, opinionated and rational-thinker, and I usually analyze everything: movies, books, other people, myself. HATE small talk, I always want to talk about some deep shit, sharing my opinions, thougts(only if you ask for it). Enjoy debating. Also, I'm the REALLY clumsy, like clumsy af and I have an invincible talent in getting myself into the most embarrassing, cringe situations. Hate appearing to be weak or crying in front of others(I never do), and generally I can get melancolic and depressed easily. I don't really trust even my loved ones, I always hide my deepest emotional(or whatever) issues, I just can't stand the fact being emotionally vulnerable. Also, I bottle up feelings well. But I can be soft sometimes which suprises people. One of my best friends said, I am suprising, always doing something unpredicted. Additionally, I stress over something all the time. About my humour, it's kinda ironic, dark, morbid, troll-ish; roasting, teasing people 24/7. Don't worry, despite my sometimes serious act, I can be a total dumb idiot. Selfish, vain, lazy,  snobbish hahah. Quite liberal, and I almost never judge people, I mind my own buisness. When I can talk about something I love or just sharing my opinion, I am passionate and be ready for a LONG rambling. Oh, I love alcohol and going out with friends, also I smoke those occassions. Plus, I have god-like hands, everyone told me that I could earn money bc of my massaging skills(I just know by instict how to touch people lol). Oh, and I daydream and zone out a lot. I love going out and drink alcohol with my friends(and sometimes somoke too), the drunken me can be a real asshole, but also hugs out of the blue, I get softer. Oh, and I curse fucking much, I have a disgustingly flithy mouth, bc of my rather innocent appearance and behavior ppl are suprised how much is... cruse.

Relationship: I don't really have a 'type' but I get bored easily: I takes a lot for me to really like in long-term a person, so I fall easier for complex and charismatic ones(but like I said, I can fall for other personalities too!!). I'm a quite difficult person to be with and to love, so I'm suprisingly flexible in a relationship. Only thing I need and without it wouldn't work at all: DEEP CONVOS AND SOME INTELLECT. Also, I have a quite roasting-bullying type humour, so my lover should understand and being able to handle that. Anyways, I'm not much of a PDA person(but I don't mid handholding, short hugs etc. if my partner really want to), and not romantic at all(also cannot flirt hehe), and for a long time I can be bit distant. Love language is words of affirmation&quality time, and if I have to express my feelings I'm best with acts of service. I love cuddling, ppl are suprised when I initiate hugs but tbh I love physical affection. I'm probably more likely the 'friend' lover. I need a lot, lot, lot alone time.

Hobbies/Likes: classical literature, theatre, politics, hiking, sightseeing, mysteries, reading about disappearances(crimes), trying out new things, yoga, running, horse riding, table tennis, listening to music, cats, thunderstorms, rainy days, cider, tequila

Music taste: Oh man, MIXED. I listen to literally everything except techno, it depends on my mood honestly. But if I had to say something, I think indie, alternative rock, electronic and psychedelic songs are the closest to me, but I've grown to listen more and more rap. Most of the songs are depressive as fuck, I mean I can be at my happiest, but I'd still listen some dark shit. But still, I enjoy pop(2000s pop at parties FUCK YEAH), jazz. Also, some occassions all my ears and mind need is some good ol' classical music. Some faves: Tame Impala, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Jack Stauber, Fink and some Hungarian bands that no one knows unfortunately. :(

Sorry if I was too long and more sorry if I've already requested before(my brain just rots lol), then just ignore me, hehe~♡

Did you,,, did you just copy paste like 3/4 of who I am

Man when I was reading your persona I was going “RinRinRinRinRinRin-“ but I decided against it UwU

ALL IN ALL you honestly sound like my type of person?? Like deadass I’d wanna befriend you. Fuck them small talks tell me what you think of the expansion of the universe and let’s talk about what if drugs are illegal bc they make us perceive true reality-

I’m going to match you up with... Shindo!

This one is a Battle of Wits, I swear. You didn’t trust him a single bit when the two of you first met, no one even thought you’d ever become friends. Shindo could practically see the gears turning in your head and quite frankly he was impressed?? You’re a highly intelligent individual who was able to keep your guard up and seclude yourself from others while not appearing TOO unapproachable? Boy was whipped and he didn’t even realize it. While others thought you were sort of cold and pragmatic, he thought you were the most well-balanced human in the world.

You guys 100% had an enemies to lovers thing going on, but it was slightly different. YOU started off completely uninterested in him, but while he made you think the feeling was mutual, I think Shindo found himself gravitating towards you. You can bet he secretly celebrated every little victory and step forward he made with you. Boy did NOT let up.

I seriously think he’s entertaining enough for you to keep interest in him. Shindo is as two-faced as you are (if not more), and he WILL change his behaviour within a second to keep your interest (somehow no one noticed his habit of doing that when he was crushing on you?? SUSPICIOUS). Also not a big fan of small talk; if he’s interested in you, he wants to know how you tick. He wants to know what you enjoy, what you like and what you dislike. And when you tell him while trying to still keep an emotional distance from him, he takes it as a challenge. No, he doesn’t think your relationship is a game, but he does think it’s highly entertaining and interesting.

When you start softening up to him, he won’t even grow bored. He’s worked so hard to get close to you and it finally pays off and he’s so happy??

But he won’t ever initiate PDA, just because he too has an image to uphold lmao if others don’t personally know you they’d never know y’all are falling for each other.

Songs!!

- One of My Turns, Pink Floyd (“don’t look so frightened this is just a passing phase one of my bad days” just hits different for the two of you?? I’m not saying your relationship is toxic bc it really isn’t but the VIBE is there)

- Do I Wanna Know?, Arctic Monkeys

- Dollar Days, David Bowie

- You Give Love A Bad Name, Bon Jovi

[dreamdaydreamer]

27 Years [Adult Stan Uris]

A/n: This is over 2000 words, I got carried away, sorry about that! But anyway, hope you enjoy. Requests are open! :)

***

Twenty-two years. That’s how long it’d been since you’d last seen Stanley Uris. He left Derry in 1994, just like you, to go to university. You promised to keep in touch, to see each other as often as possible, you were in love after all. But for some reason that had never happened. At first you would call each other as often as possible. Then it slowly became less and less. Until one day you just stopped speaking. Stopped meeting up. Stopped everything.

Soon after you finished your degree, you ended up back in Derry, having to move back there when your father died and deciding to stay. Until then, you’d forgotten all about Stanley Uris, it was only when you had gone back to Derry that you started to remember. Started to remember him, and the days you would spend together, bird watching, playing board games, studying. You had a lot in common with him, at the time you had believed that you were soulmates, but you didn’t believe that anymore. You didn’t even believe in soulmates anymore. 

You’d tried to pursue some sort of happiness in Derry. You dated a few guys, no one special though, no one like Stan. You never fell in love with anyone like you had been when you’d been in love with him. So instead you settled by yourself, opening a little book shop in town, quite popular with the locals. You lead a quiet life, and for the meantime, you were happy with that. You attempted to push Stan to the back of your mind and, although you really did try, it proved very difficult, seeming to be able to relate anything to memories of him.

The autumn season had started to come into its own. The weather cooling down from the blistering summer, breezes whistling through town although it still wasn’t cool enough to wear a coat, orange and gold leaves scattered the path.

It was just a routine day in your simple life, stocking shelves and serving the few people who came in. It wasn’t really the shopping season yet, most of your customers came closer to Christmas, burdened with the rush to buy presents for others. And so today you mainly sat behind the counter, reading a copy of one of your own books, sighing to yourself from time to time when the reading strained your eyes too much and you had to put the book down, boredom overtaking you once again.

Stan made his way through the Derry streets, reminiscing about all the time he’d spent there as a kid. When Mike had first called Stan, memories of Derry had come rushing back to him. Mostly the Losers Club, what they had faced together, as well as the good memories they had made over the years. And then he remembered you. He wondered how he could have ever forgotten about you. You were his first love, his only love. Quite possibly his soulmate, Stan realised this was probably why he had never married over the past twenty-two years. He had tried to settle down, to be in a serious relationship, but he never could. The people he had dated were nice but there was always something that wasn’t quite right, Stan could never put his finger on it. Until now.

Throughout his short time back in Derry, Stan had wondered whether you were here. He knew that you’d gone to university, and he knew that you had bigger dreams outside of Derry, but maybe, just maybe you were here. Maybe he would get to see you again.

Derry hadn’t changed much since the last time Stan had been there. The shops were mostly the same. The antique shop, the pharmacy, the ice cream shop, all stood exactly where they had done twenty-seven years ago. It was like Derry was its own time capsule. History trapped in modernity. The buildings looked more derelict than Stan could remember, but the signs and decorations stayed the same, paint peeled off them now. There was something new though. A bookshop. A bookshop that stood on the corner of the street, the most recent shop to open judging by the appearance of it. The oak wood hadn’t faded, the windows were sparkling clean and the signs hadn’t started to peel off. Stan had to double-take when he saw the name of the shop. Y/n’s Corner. His mind instantly thought of you, you had always loved books. He crossed the road, moving to stand in front of the window, peering in. At first, he couldn’t see anything, and his heart sank. Of course, you wouldn’t be here, you were probably out living your best life, successful, married maybe, a family. The thought chewed Stan like a dog would a bone, sinking its teeth into his flesh. It’s not that Stan wouldn’t be happy for you, he would, he would just wish that it would have been him you had married, him that you’d chosen to settle down with. As he flipped the idea over and over in his mind, he caught a glimpse of someone at the counter of the shop, and with a closer look, he knew it was you. Even though it had been so long since you’d seen each other, he recognised you immediately, you were still the same beauty he had been in love with twenty-two years ago. You disappeared into the back of the shop as Stan entered, the little bell above the door chiming.

“I’ll be out in a minute!” God, Stan thought, even your voice is the same. Lilting, and made Stan’s heartbeat twice as fast. In a few moments, he would be face to face with you, after all this time. What would he say to you? He had too much to say, not sure where to even start. He wanted to apologise for being away for so long, for forgetting, he wanted to tell you that he’d missed you, even if he hadn’t remembered you, there was always a part of him missing, and that it was you, he wanted to tell you how much he loved, loves, you, and how, even now, after all of this time, his heart beats only for you. How when he hears your voice, a smile makes its way onto his face subconsciously, how when he sees your face, he can hear the blood pumping round his body, he becomes light-headed and his knees turn weak, just like they had done when he saw you for the first time. He feels like a teenager again, feelings all jumbled and messy but it’s perfect and he feels liberated for the first time in years. He’s planned a speech in his head of everything he wants to say and how he wants to say it, maybe it will be just him spilling out his thoughts and feelings into one big sentence, the words tumbling out of him before he’s able to pull them back into his mouth. But they’ll be there, out in the open, no matter how they get there, then you’ll know. You’ll know how much he loves you. But how will you react? What if you hate him? What if you resent him because he forgot about you? What if you don’t love him anymore? Stan wouldn’t know what to do. What would be the point in carrying on when all he’s lived for is gone. You’re the reason he forced himself to come back to Derry, to face this clown, the hope that he will finally be able to live the life he’d always wanted too, with you. Even so, he’s ready to tell you all that he feels, no matter the outcome.

But then suddenly you’re stood in front of him. And everything he had planned to say, everything he wanted to tell you, runs away from him so fast that there’s no point chasing after it. Neither of you say anything, there was no reason too. Everything that the both of you wanted to say hung in the air between you, hidden in the irises of your eyes, pushed out in the short breaths. You couldn’t believe that he was there, in front of you, and your face paled, like you were seeing his ghost. He’s looking at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen in his life. And to him, you are. You’re every star in the sky, every pearl in the sea, every flower on the land. You’re every breezy spring day and romantic winter night wrapped up into one, emitting warmth and light and love with every movement. He’s looking at you in awe, he’s making you feel like he used too twenty-two years ago. He’s making you feel loved.

Twenty-two years ago, you had been in love. Twenty-two years later, you were still in love. You wondered whether it was Derry, everything here always stayed the same, maybe that meant the people within it too, maybe the reason why you still loved him was because Derry had frozen you in time. Still ageing, but always the same. But you also wondered whether it was just Stan. Stan. The man you’d loved for so long simply because of who he was. Maybe you were still in love with him because it was too hard to fall out of love with a man like that.

Then he smiles at you shyly, almost like he’s embarrassed, and in that moment, he looks younger, much younger. Like when you first met and he was looking up at you from the floor of the school corridor, after you’d shouted at Henry Bowers for pulling Stan’s Kippah from his curls. Any thought that the man in front of you isn’t Stan, that he’s some kind of imposter, fades away from you as realisation sets in. It is him. For some reason the thought shocks you more than his presence, after believing for so long that you would never see him again, the fact that he’s here, before you, makes you violently shiver and you wrap your arms around yourself as a tear slips down your face. You don’t know why you’re crying; you’re feeling too many emotions at once. Elation, love, relief, but also sadness too, sad that you’d missed out on so much time with him.

Stan doesn’t know why you’re crying either, so he panics, maybe he shouldn’t have come back. Maybe you really do hate him. He’s hurt, of course, but he only wants the best for you, only wants you to be happy.

“I…I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have come. You must hate me, and I understand, I mean I…” Stan continues to ramble, listing all of the reasons why he should leave, and then he is. He is leaving and you’re pulled out of your trance. You can’t let him leave again. Stan makes his way to the door, but he’s stopped by a small tug on his woolly cardigan, when he turns, he sees you stood there, tears streaming down your face as you continue to cling to him.

“Please don’t leave me again, Stan.” You push yourself into his arms, burying your face into his chest and crying even harder than before. Instinctively, his arms come to wrap around you as he immerses himself in your scent. Your hair still smells heavenly and your scent takes him back to when he was young, warming him from the inside out and sending tingles down his spine, a feeling of safety blooming in his stomach. Stan doesn’t think he’s ever been as happy as he is right now, knowing that you’ve missed him as much as he’s missed you.

The past twenty-two years Stan had been frightened, frightened of his past. And sure, he has good reason, he was traumatised by a child-killing clown. He almost nearly skipped out on returning to Derry altogether, not sure whether he was brave enough to face his fears again, but now he’s glad that he did. Now, Stan’s more motivated than ever to kill IT, so that he can have the life he’d always wanted, with the person he’d dreamt about could never quite remember.

You and Stan spent the next hour catching up in the back room of your shop. It served as a mini kitchen, small but practical, with a little breakfast table pushed up to the wall. You both sat, sipping from your warm mugs, as your hands intertwined on the tabletop, neither one of you wanted to let go now that you had found each other. The way that you both talked, it was like you’d never been apart. Stan tensed up after you asked what he was doing back in Derry.

“It’s…a long story. A story I don’t think you would believe. Hell, I don’t think I believe it myself.” You nodded, in slight disappointment, Stan had never been the type to keep anything from you. “I want to tell you, I do,” Stan rushes out, “I just don’t want you to think I’m crazy!”

“You know I would never think that about you, Stan.” You try to reassure him, but he wouldn’t crack.

“When this is all over,” he starts, unsure that it ever would be over, “I’ll tell you, I promise.” You nod slightly. “I need to go. Duty calls.” A small chuckle escapes the both of you before Stan pulls himself out of the chair, reluctantly slipping his hand out of yours. He reaches the door, but then turns to look at you, a soft smile on his face.

“I’ll come back, if that’s alright with you?”

“Be careful, Stan.” You couldn’t explain it, but somehow you knew that this thing, whatever it was, was serious. Dangerous, even. “Promise me I’ll see you soon?”

Stan’s heart flutters, you did want to see him again. He nods,

“Very soon. I promise.”

[gaycrouton]

Joy

Words of Love 10/27 [ Mulder has a moment of panic when he thinks the cancer has returned. ]

Joy : (noun) a feeling of great pleasure and happiness.

Mulder had a tendency to worry. It was something he had dealt with for as long as he could remember. He didn’t think ‘anxiety’ was the right word, there were just certain, particular things he really, really worried about. Scully was one of them, specifically, her health.

He had always been concerned for her well being, but after the cancer, there was a nagging fear that it would come back. He would like to think that she would tell him if anything was of concern, but at the same time, he knew what a private person she was. She wasn’t one to concern him unless she was positive she had answers. Most of the time the worry was able to reside in the back of his mind, unless he saw a nose bleed.

Back when it was really bad, she would get a nosebleed two to three times a week, and that was just in his presence. They varied in severity most of the time. Sometimes she could wipe it away with a tissue while other times she had to take a ten minute bathroom break to recover. Their relationship was a little tense back then. Looking back on it, he was kind of treating her health like it was her duty to report back to him. She took that as him condescending her abilities to gauge her own health, but really he just wanted reassurance. It broke him that there was nothing he could do to help.

Now the cancer was gone, and their relationship was stronger than ever. Which is probably why he had reacted so intensely when he caught her clutching a bloody hand to her face.

They had been investigating a series of murders in a small town in Colorado. Eventually they found out it was a bartender at a local pub, and they went to arrest him, they were met with a bit of a hassle. It resulted in Mulder having to chase the six foot man around the area like a madman. Eventually, the police arrived on the scene and were able to apprehend him when he burst out of the bar. It was only a few moments after that when he realized Scully was no longer behind him.

While he walked back inside, he passed by a big burly group of men shoving themselves out. He paid them no mind when he noticed Scully’s small form leaning into the counter top of the bar. He couldn’t see her face, but from where he was standing, it looked like she was hiding her face. Concerned, he rushed up behind her and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Hey, Scully, everything alright?” She turned at his touch and his blood ran cold.

Her eyes were clenched shut and her hands were pressed white-knuckled against her nose, blood seeping in between her fingers and dripping grotesquely off her chin. It was like everything going on around him came to a sudden halt, all he could see was the red liquid and the tears gathering under her closed lashes.

The cancer was back. She had been FINE. They didn’t have to worry about this anymore. This isn’t fair, this isn’t fair, this isn’t fair.

He felt like a little boy again facing an enemy he had no idea how to fight. He felt a cold sweat creeping out of his body and dampening his palms. He wanted to hear her say something, he wanted her to tell him what she was feeling. He violently ripped a few napkins out of the canister next to him and nudged them at her. “Scully? Talk to me,” he didn’t realize he was about to cry until he heard the sound of his own voice coming out like a strangled sob.

The sound must have alarmed Scully, because she opened her eyes in shock and moved her focus to him. “Mulder, are you alright? Why are you so upset?” She took the napkins from his hands and liberally started pressing the napkin to her blood-stained face. This was the most blood he had ever seen. It was bad.

He gestured a weak hand to her face in explanation, only offering an equally weak, “Your nose is bleeding. Is it back?” She looked at him in puzzlement before his meaning clicked in her head.

Her words were rushed in an attempt to comfort him, “Oh! No-no-no, Mulder, this isn’t that. One of the patron’s was mad we arrested his friend and he punched me in the face, that’s why I hadn’t followed you. A few of the bigger guys here took care of him and brought him outside so the cops could arrest him too.” She paused before adding softly, “This isn’t the cancer.”

He felt his heartbeat in his ears because of the immense adrenaline rush that had just possessed his body. He opened his mouth to say something, but he didn’t know what to say. In those few minutes, he had to relive the possibility of life without her and it terrified him. Mulder never was one for big displays of emotion, he was verbal, but expressing himself had always been a bit awkward. He felt his cheeks flush slightly and he knew his eyes were still a little misty. All he could focus on was her face.

She must have seen the tears because she immediately reverted into the role he made her take on so many times. “Hey, hey, hey,” she took one of his palms and pressed it to the side of her face, nuzzling her cheek against the rough surface. “Everything’s alright. I promise. We’re safe right now. I don’t even think it’s broken, it just took me by surprise is all. Mulder look at me,” she squeezed the back of his hand with her own, making sure he was fully focused before continuing, “I am okay.”

Joyous relief filled him like a drug and he let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. He raised his other shaky hand and pressed it to the other side of her face, beaming down at her.

He was appreciative of Scully’s unrelenting patience and understanding, because she stood there and warmly accepted his examination of her. Muttering “thank god” under his breath like a religious chant, he took his hands and ran the everywhere he could touch; her arms, her neck, her cheeks, her lips, her hair. All before taking her tiny body and enveloping her into a hug. The hug was shrouded with so much desperate gratitude, that it felt like he was trying to absorb their bodies to become one.

He heard her start to chuckle and he pulled back a little bit so he could see the smile on her face. She had set the tissue on the counter so she could reciprocate the hug, and he could see her nose had stopped bleeding. Looking up he noticed appreciation and adoration in her eyes and it made his heart ache.

He didn’t know if it was the adrenaline or years of longing, but he took a chance. Putting one hand on the small of her back and the other on the base of her neck, the key to her life resting underneath the skin beneath his fingertips, he kissed her.

Not a New Year’s peck, he gave her the kiss that bared his whole soul. He felt his heart leap when, after only a beat, she was pressing up on her tiptoes and wrapping her arms around his neck. Her lips were warm velvet against his own and he couldn’t have imagined better in his dreams. Dana Katherine Scully was kissing him. He could feel her mouth pressing against his with a matching vigor and the kiss only broke when they started smiling into each other’s mouths.

Breaking away, they met eyes with unrelenting joy, years of teasing and tension accumulated into this one moment. And it was amazing. She laughed shyly before whispering breathlessly, “I’m sorry I scared you, but I’m happy with your reaction.”

Not losing their embrace, he ran a hand through her hair and rested it back on the side of her face, “You’re sure you’re okay?”

She smiled up at him, their height difference really exacerbated by the closeness, “One area of my face throbs, but the rest of my body feels amazing.” He laughed at her response before running one finger gently over the currently forming bruise.

“I never want to lose you,” he whispered. He was slightly embarrassed by his vulnerability these passed few minutes, but the payoff of having Scully in his arms with that look of love on her face was worth every moment of worry.

She turned her head so he could kiss the middle of his palm, “You’ll never have to.” They stayed like that for a moment before making their way back out to the car. The held hands the whole way back, the only time the broke apart was so Mulder could give someone in handcuffs a little payback.

[etaeternum]

Bond of Blood

Mother of Griffons Ch. 12 Bond of Blood Alistair reflects on his experience when Caoilainn left the castle.

Find it on AO3 here or read from the beginning on tumblr

Alistair observed the small specks of dust floating in the sunlight the next morning as he rested in the bed at Skyhold. But this time he was not alone. He savored the moment with Caoilainn as she curled up under his arm, finally sound asleep. Deeply touched by the vulnerability she showed in what she admitted, and then as she cried herself to sleep, he was appreciative. He saw that her resentment ran deep, and he knew he was not responsible. None of his actions meant to harm her, and she would realize that with time. The clarity he gained for himself and the woman he loved came with their time apart, time alone.

Caoilainn did not realize that her connection to the Grey Wardens, her constant link to them, and them to each other, through the Taint in their blood was something he had learned to live without. It was a part of him he had to grieve the loss of when he left her at Vigil's Keep. The loneliness caused by the sudden absence of the hum of the union that became so vital to his life once he completed his Joining was devastating. He rejoiced when she returned to the castle. Willing to pretend he didn't know about her affair, contented by the reunion with the familiar spark of the Grey Warden connection, Alistair thought he would regain that part. And he did, at first. It was all he could ask for, and when they failed miserably to have a child and her depression worsened, she took it away. Again, he was alone.

'Blood of my blood,' she called her Wardens. Caoilainn seemed to forget that he too shared that bond of blood, long before she was the Mother of Griffons .

The anger he felt toward Caoilainn when she left  the castle did not subside for years. His anger grew to rage, and collapsed into despair, sorrow, and pain. Losing his wife, and his last connection to the Grey Wardens when she disappeared into the night. And he knew exactly where she went as soon as he realized she was missing. Vigil's Keep was her sanctum and once there, she would be unreachable. It was heartbreaking to discover he could not meet the needs she had filled as commander, and to be deserted yet again as a Grey Warden.

None of his advisors speak of the time after Caoilainn disappeared from the castle. The King's outbursts and fits of violence, often at the influence of alcohol, were numerous. There were also days at a time when he didn't leave his room. But at some point, he shifted. He stopped drinking, upheld his responsibilities as King by attending meetings, permitting audiences, signing treaties, and he returned to his combat training. Over time, the pain of losing Caoilainn faded. Or more specifically, it morphed into impetus. He took care of himself, made his own decisions, and stopped writing to her, accepting that he would not receive a reply. He kept his scouts at Vigil's Keep and gathered information about her. But what had been an obsession, an attempt to control the unruly woman, became a chance to learn about her.

And that was not his priority. It was merely a factor of a whole and he refused to lose himself again to her indifference. The new outlook developed as he hardened in his grief. He would no longer be stepped on, walked all over by his advisors or his wife. He would no longer be a pawn. Rather than resent her for his callousness, he was grateful to Caoilainn. Her leaving, his disconnection from the Grey Warden blood tie, it all empowered him. He became the king he wanted to be, not who he was told to be. It was liberating. The castle and kingdom was required to adapt as he held his ground, changing policies and no longer acting on the whim of others. He was consistent. The only person left to experience the new version of him was Caoilainn.

Despite her selfishness and her immaturity masked as a bullheaded and gorgeous queen who always got her way, he loved her fiercely. Unsure of his belief in soulmates, his need for her in his life was irrefutable. She was his mirror. Without her, he would not know where he needed to improve. Caoilainn challenged him, his patience, his commitment, his love, and he needed that.

He maintained unsettling clarity of this fact, and it founded his stability. When she was ready, he would tell her about what happened when she left and what he came to understand of himself. But for now his goal was to break through the walls she established, fortified, and strengthened. Because those walls were thick and reinforced, he knew of the requirement of his self-control and persistence. Alistair welcomed the challenge.

She stirred under his arm, blinked and looked up to him, embarrassed. Her eyes were puffy from a night of crying and dark circles showed the poor quality of rest she received. The best of her sleep being in the last few hours before daybreak. With a groan, Caoilainn laid on her back, looking up to the ceiling. Her mind a mixture of thoughts, confusion, fear of what Alistair would expect of her now that she had opened up to him. Distressed with this idea and angry with herself for allowing its potential, she closed her eyes in hopes it would go away.

"We have a meeting with the Inquisitor and her council today," he said calmly, professionally. She heard the vigilance in his tone.

"I need a bath," she replied, not directly responding to his comment but identifying what she desired before that could happen.

"Ah yes. Preferably with bubbles and a glass of wine?" He joked at her request, remembering her favorite way to unwind in the castle.

"If only," she laughed lightly, longingly. "I suppose a bucket of water and a cloth will have to do." She rose from the bed, her lean form visible under her chemise as the light shone on her; gooseflesh appeared on her exposed arms and legs as it met the cold air. When she reached the sink, she brought the cold water to her face, several times. She was grateful for the coolness soothing the puffiness of her eyes and awaking her nerves.

"I'll just lay here and watch," Alistair sat up on the bed and leaned against the headboard. His hands came to rest behind his head. He was in his small clothes. The defined muscles of his bare arms, chest and stomach were obvious.

Caoilainn turned to look at him, mildly annoyed but mostly amused. Pleased with what she saw, her attempt to stifle her smile failed. "Don't you have King things to do?"

"They can wait," he shrugged with a grin.

The attractiveness of the half-naked man lying on her bed was indisputable, and that confounded her. "Well your little peep show will have to wait. I have to get to the training yard and direct my Wardens since I'm short a lieutenant." Testing the tension between them, she was curious of how he would react to her words.

He was silent as he stared at her with a smile that she couldn't read. Unable to define if it was sarcastic, annoyed, or genuine, her heart fluttered.

Then Alistair rose from the bed. Her stomach tightened. Is this fear? Excitement? What the fuck is he doing?

With slow steps, and unflinching eye contact, he came to her. She stood frozen, and he stood close. Her head tilted back as she looked up to him, regaining control, her arm pressed lightly against his muscled chest. Her voice a plea for space, "Alist…."

He didn't let her finish. His large hand weaved through her hair and his head bowed to meet hers. His kiss, forceful and passionate, screamed of a merciless love. It staggered her, and she welcomed it, devoured it, without inhibition. When it was over she was still, overcome. He gave a smile, kissed her forehead, and walked to his belongings on the other end of the room.

A blank stare, startled by her own pleasure, she watched studiously as Alistair dressed, part of her still waiting for his response to her plans for the day. When he was fully clothed, he walked to the door and turned to look at her. Grinning, but undoubtedly serious, he informed: "You'll give me that show tonight, my love."

Her stomach danced with elation and she nodded dumbfounded. "...Yes, my King." The words fell out of her mouth on their own accord. Caoilainn's hands covered her lips in response to the shock of what she just said.

His smile widened, and he bowed his head before he left the room.

Flabbergasted, excited, Caoilainn recovered from the interaction and dressed. She went to the Grey Warden training yard to direct the Wardens and prepare them for the departure for the Arbor Wilds that would occur in the next few days. Orders given to other lieutenants to lead training, and herself directing the warriors. She practiced with her longsword and dagger. Previously Duncan's longsword and dagger. It was something she rarely got the chance to do, but her years spent battling darkspawn and acting as commander proved effective. Her skill with her blades had not diminished.

But today, her mind kept wandering back to Alistair. Back to their communication that morning, the smile he gave as he watched her at the sink, his kiss. Her stomach continued to flutter anxiously as she thought of what he might require of her that night. It was irritating. The interfering thoughts caused her to miss numerous opportunities to parry as she practiced. It required overwhelming effort to block the thoughts and focus on her training. Disappointed with her performance, she spoke with another officer of the Wardens and gave orders to continue without her. She made her way into Skyhold for the meeting with the Inquisitor, aware of the terribly inconvenient distraction Alistair would be. Part of her was giddy. Another loathed the experience she expected and the personal weakness she saw within herself.

Just before dawn, the Grey Wardens rose and packed their camp. The night passed with no threats from any bandits, animals, or other enemy. Silent and diligent, the group broke down the camp and loaded their horses without needing orders from Nathaniel. When they finished, Nathaniel called the group to a circle.

"Wardens, we're making good time. Keep it up. The earlier we can get there, the more time we have to survey the area for risks. We must be cautious and thorough. Our archer, Isenam," he gestured to one of the Elven archers in their party, "will help us navigate the Arbor Wilds." The archer nodded his head in a respectful reply. "We are a safeguard to the Inquisition and we have an advantage with our skills as scouts. And some of us," he looked at Hale with authority and she shifted her weight onto her left leg. "Have the opportunity to learn more about how Grey Wardens do things." He took a deep breath and scanned the members' reactions. All looked ready, determined as Grey Wardens should. Then he raised his fist to his chest and met their eyes. "The motto," he directed.

The group sang their motto together, united by their bond and the depth of their words. "In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice."

"Let's ride!" Nathaniel called as they separated and went to their mounts.

[thebrierpatch]

BEING WHOLE

It was hot the whole day. The breeze that came from the mountains made early evening very pleasant at the monastery. I found the Old Man, as we affectionately called the oldest monk of the Order seated in a comfortable armchair on one of the verandas from where one had the most beautiful view of the surrounding valleys extending down from our building. I asked permission to sit next to him, and he consented with a nod. Because he has known me for quite some time, he went straight to the point: “What is the matter with you?” I told him that many times, even when I was sure I had taken the right decision, I felt some discomfort, and that was contradictory. He asked me to be more specific: “Tell me about the actual case.”

I explained that a good friend of mine had asked me to borrow money, a considerable sum. Even though I had it, I was saving it for other purposes and refused the loan. This had robbed my peace over the past few days. I mentioned I thought my own feelings odd, because if I was sure of my decision, my heart should be appeased. With his gaze wandering over the horizon, the Old Man said: “The spirit, our true, eternal identity, in its infancy, its current stage, has the ego distanced from the soul, as if we were split in two. On one hand, the ego strives for material achievements and sensory pleasures, applause and social shine. On the other, the soul rejoices with the victory of feelings over instincts, with the overcoming of hardships and transmuting its own shadows into light. The ego wants to be praised by the world; the soul wants the best it has within to emerge to the world. Ego is related to passion; soul, to love. Ego is the domain of the self; the soul thinks about us. On the journey of improvement, the Path forces us to make choices. With the being split in two, decision-making begets internal conflicts that cause imbalance at all levels.” He made a brief pause and added: “We have to align the ego to the soul, so that the wishes of the former are harmonious with the quests of the latter. Similarly, we must work on the self without leaving the “us” aside, and vice-versa. This means, we must care for the world without forgetting the self. They are parts of the same whole. Hence, the being becomes one, is freed from mundane distress, knows plenitude and peace.”

I asked if the ego should be annihilated. The monk denied: “The ego is extremely important; it just has to be educated. It presents the exercises that strengthen the soul, the precise stages that the being must overcome. Even though in its early stage the ego is connected more to appearance than essence, it is concerned with the body and the physical well-being, which are essential to the maintenance of life. We need the ego to take an interest in the mundane, so that the sacred that dwells in the soul manifests itself; one is not to suppress, but to be harmonious with the other. To the good walker, all material hardships end up strengthening the emotional, mental and spiritual musculature he or she needs to move on. Struggles, doubts, conflicts, problems, anguishes are important to make one’s self-awareness, still dormant in the core of being, emerge. By understanding him or herself, the person gains the wisdom of the world, potentiates his or her gifts and discovers the magic of virtues. Love flourishes. The ego, in its primary stage, is prone to the shadows of envy, pride, vanity, sorrow, greed and jealousy. These are terrible jails without bars. The first step is to accept the shadows and, later on, transmute them into light, on the journey of the liberation of being. Hence, thanks to its imperfections, life shows itself perfect.”

I wanted to know if anytime I thought of myself to the detriment of the other I was being selfish. The Old Man furrowed his brow and spoke seriously: “Of course not. Each one is responsible for the spring of their own lives and should pay heed so that it never dries out. To quench the thirst of other with the water that spouts from you makes us sacred. But to believe that the other has the obligation of letting us drink from his or her spring is the root of conflicts.” He turned his face to me and asked: “What is the core lesson of the Sermon of the Mount?” I answered that it is ‘love thy neighbor as thyself’. The monk moved his hands, as if words were not enough to explain the obvious, and said: “So? If you do not love yourself, you will not be able to love anyone”. He became silent for a moment, so that I had time to think about what he had just said, and asked a rhetorical question: “How is it possible to feed the other, if we do not carry bread in our baggage? How can you give what you don’t have? We must have our soul showing to the ego the joy of sowing the fields of the world to supply the barn of our heart; to harvest the wheat and turn it into bread; to eat the bread and share it with everyone.” Without waiting for my reply, he continued: “We can only share what we have. And what we do have, in fact, is only what we were already able to share. This is our true asset.” He furrowed his brow and continued, with a serious tone: “Sometimes, however, what the other actually needs may not be exactly what he asks. This is why there is ‘yes’ and ‘no.’”

I said that what my friend needed he had asked me, and I had denied him. The monk suggested: “Give the other cheek.” I said I had not understood what he meant. He explained: “Put yourself in his shoes.” I thought for a few moments and replied, embarrassed, that I was wrong in not responding to the cry for help of a dear friend.

“Maybe you were, maybe not”, the Old Man commented, much to my surprise.

In fact, those words were somewhat annoying to me, and I said he was complicating things. The monk laughed heartily and said: “This is an exercise filled with traps.” I interrupted him to say I had not understood. The Old Man calmly explained: “To face a problem with the eyes of the other does not mean to deliver exactly what the other wishes. In addition to love and generosity, one must have wisdom and sensibility; these are powerful virtues that complete one another. They will give you the precise measure of whether the other must be carried in your arms or encouraged to walk on his own legs. There are times for the former and times for the latter. One must be careful about what to do, because the limit between feeding a weak person and making a person weak is very slim”.

I said I did not understand the importance of the ego in this process. The monk explained: “The power of the ego propels us to material achievements, as it is connected to issues related to appearance and survival. This is quite important, because in these battles the spiritual values emerge, showing their importance and setting in motion the essential transformations. Victory is having the ego continue with its march, but more and more in love with the illuminated values of the soul and having the noble virtues as fighting weapons. Material achievements are not to be despised, much the opposite. However, they must be in tune with spiritual achievements. The ego can either be a mean villain or a valuable ally. The ego turns into a mighty warrior if we pay attention to which feelings drive its choices. This is essentially important. When the ego dances to the tune of the soul’s love songs, distress is appeased, the battles become sacred and the victories are consecrated into pure light.”

I insisted that it was still difficult for me to understand how the ego would show itself useful. The Old Man was didactic: “As I told you, the ego is related to ‘I’, and the soul to ‘us’. Imagine you are crossing a desert, at the verge of dehydration, and you find a canteen with fresh water. If you drink it all, those who come after will be stranded; if you don’t drink at all, you will die of thirst; to drink some then leave some to who comes after you is what makes you holy. It is the perfect integration of being; it is loving the other as thyself.”.

I became silent for a few moments. Then, I confessed I regretted having ignored, in the past, hands that asked for help. I did not want to make the same mistake again. The monk corrected me: “You should not feel guilty for not responding to requests. You must accept you did you best according to the levels of awareness you had at the time. What is important is to be committed to evolution. A commitment each one makes with themselves not to act in a way they believe is wrong. You must move on without the guilt that paralyses, but with the accountability that transforms. Remember that the most beautiful stories are those of overcoming problems. So, don’t worry. The Path will always provide a new chance for you to correct he course. And other, and another, in infinite possibilities of improvement. Try to make use of each one of them, even though you must accept that it is normal that some be wasted. Opportunities will always come, even if in different angles, according to the learning needs of the walker.”

“‘To do differently and better, always’. This is a mantra and a prayer.”

“The universe expands constantly and infinitely. We are part of it. Therefore, it is within ourselves. Hence, our chances are beyond ordinary imagination. If you do not grow up, the whole gets stuck. This makes us understand why we are essential and will never be abandoned by the universe, even though many a time we do not understand its educational method and determination in making us move forward. As we are not yet sensible to feel its infinite love and understand its immeasurable wisdom, oftentimes we question such interaction. However, you must pay heed, as there is reciprocity: even though we walk alone, we are committed to the work or the whole, it does not matter how you call it. At this stage of existence, our lessons are in the form of personal relationships, with the hardships and opportunities they provide. Each conflict may be a problem or a master, it all depends on how you look at it.”

“The Path is lonely and solidary. Independently and conjoined. In complete synchronism.”

“We are ego and soul; the part and the whole. This is the power, the grandness and beauty of the unification of being; with yourself and with the farthest star.” He turned his gaze back to the mountains that embraced us, quieted down his heart and mind for a moment, and completed his reasoning with a question: “Yoskhaz, if you carry the entire force of the universe within you, can you imagine what you are capable of?”

Kindly translated by Carlos André Oighenstein.

Other texts by the author at www.yoskhaz.com/en/

[chrisbransdon]

On the limits of experience and reason (or, another take on the culture wars that you didn’t ask for)

In her book The Human Condition, Hannah Arendt explains the etymology of the word privacy. In ancient feeling, its meaning was indicated in the word itself: it had to do with privation; it literally meant a state of being deprived of something. Slaves and women were relegated to the private sphere because they were deprived of the opportunity to participate in public life.

I recalled this recently as I was re-reading 1 Timothy 2. This is a passage many Christians have been embarrassed by, but which, when considered in light of the Roman sensibilities it would have offended, was extremely radical for its time. After all, for a woman to learn implies that she must participate.

If this cultural moment has taught us anything, it is that who learns is just as significant as who is able to teach. In fact, I would suggest that given the preoccupations of our time, this text remains radical. 

I say this because education as a rallying cry has been taken up to great effect by the left. I share articles on my Facebook page regularly, and although I do so for the purpose of educating myself and anyone who chooses to read along with me, it never occurs to me to caption the article with ‘educate yourself.’ It is curious to me that this sort of rhetoric accompanies certain kinds of knowledge shared by certain people. Generally, this knowledge is informed by personal experience. It has been argued, not least by the signatories of the letter published in Harper’s  recently, that this knowledge is being used and abused to shut down open debate.

I think that experience has become the highest epistemic authority for the left because it is universal knowledge (in the sense that it can’t be bought, nor does it require a certain level of education), and therefore, everyone has access to it. If this knowledge is recognised as authoritative, it has the ability to bestow power, even to the least (of course the trouble is, what makes this knowledge so accessible is also what makes it so exclusive). 

I also wonder whether a purely logical and scientific approach to the world may have generated a backlash. Sure, reasoned argument is helpful and good, but funnily enough, it does not encompass all of human experience. Perhaps our knowledge is not limited to what we can see and the next generation is overcorrecting this philosophy. Or perhaps it’s bad parenting. Whatever. The circle keeps going round. 

However naively for my part, I don’t feel a sense of alarm when I consider the culture wars because wherever one sits on the political spectrum, the measure of all things is still man - whether according to experience or to reason. I like to remember that the Bible tells us not to put our trust in princes, whether they come to us as resistance fighters of the new establishment or as defenders of classical liberalism.

I’ve told anyone who will listen that I’m not the biggest fan of Douglas Murray’s The Madness of Crowds, but there were certain things that stood out to me. In his chapter on race, Murray draws attention to extreme examples of cancel culture, one example being the cancellation of the professor Bret Weinstein at Evergreen college. Murray recalls for us a situation in which Weinstein was accused of racism and attacked by hysterical students (most of it caught on film):

Weinstein tried to point out that there is a difference ‘between debate and dialectic’. As he said, ‘Debate means you are trying to win. Dialectic means you are using disagreement to discover what is true. I am not interested in debate. I am interested only in dialectic, which does mean I listen to you and you listen to me.’

This suggestion did not go down well with the assembled students. ‘We don’t care what you want to speak on,’ one young woman screamed at Weinsten as he held his hands on his head. ‘We are not speaking on terms of white privilege.’ Others barracked and shouted as the general mood got uglier. ‘This is not a discussion,’ one student yelled. ‘You have lost that one.’

I take it that one is supposed to read this and be horrified. I read it and I was fascinated. I was fascinated because I was struck by the limits of human reason. There was nothing this Professor could say in order to placate these young students - his path to salvation was not theirs, and he had no higher authority to appeal to. Reason was not enough.

Don’t get me wrong, I am saddened to read that the next generation of young people are ill-equipped to put forward reasoned arguments with a sympathetic professor in the hallowed halls of a university. However, perhaps it is not entirely to the disadvantage of the Christian that the weakness of these institutions is exposed to a wider audience. And perhaps it’s a weakness that predates cultural Marxism?

Once upon a time, the greatest institutions of learning were built on Christian foundations for the purpose of genuine education, but those purposes have long since been lost. Hubris in the form of secular humanism infected academia long ago, well before the rise of the ‘new religion’. Christians may be joining hands with the likes of Richard Dawkins now to decry the degeneration of discourse, but we have short memories if we cannot remember the mockery levelled at us in the form of the flying spaghetti monster. 

So, what then? Retreat? Well, no. I’m just trying to point out - I don’t think the Christian necessarily has a comfortable affinity with any side of the spectrum, and indeed, I think we have far more to offer. I think there is a time and place for advocating for black lives, or for freedom of speech. These are issues that Christians care about, and I think there is freedom for them to pursue the causes that move them. But I think all of us should do so remembering that as Christians, we are not at home. This is not our world, not our language. Where the experience of the left and the reason of the right fail, Christians hold out an integrated and holistic knowledge of God, the world, ourselves. 

Since I’ve tried to justify the observation that each side of the culture wars is hamstrung by limited knowledge, I’ve been thinking about how it is I know that the Bible is true, and the circumstances in which it is taught to me. As I’ve reflected on these things, I have found great comfort in my local church, which conducts itself so differently to the noise online and in the world. I’ve been grateful for God’s word to me, expressed in his Son, and for the qualified men of character who teach it to me with all humility. It is clear that most people in our world are afraid of losing their power. The men of the church, if they are worth their salt, spend all of their time actively trying to divest themselves of it. 

Each week, the one who preaches in an evangelical church does so with the aim of educating (to put it very simply) the ones in their care. And this preaching is done within the framework of revelation. This means that the knowledge we receive is only mediated to us by the teacher who is just as beholden to the words of God as we are. In fact, he is in a far more precarious position because it is his job to demonstrate that he has rightly handled the word of God. He is accountable to his congregation members, and ultimately, to God himself. This is why it is no small thing to learn. It is also why I do not begrudge the injunction to teach. What happens in the pulpit has nothing to do with the glory of the speaker, and everything to do with the glory of God. 

Perhaps it is anti-climactic to spend all of your time dwelling on theories of secularism only to find that the Christian’s main task hasn’t changed in the slightest. I’m not sure why we keep raising new questions about what evangelism looks like in our changing world, as though the fact that the gospel never changes could be anything other than our greatest strength. 

[osakaso5]

Yamato Nikaido Birthday Photobook Rabbit Chat Part 5: All Their Gratitude.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Mitsuki: Yamato-san!!!! Happy birthday!! And your photobook's really popular, too--!! 

Nagi: Happy birthday, Yamato! This Onii-san will celebrate you. 

Riku: Yamato-saaaan!! Congratulations!! I'm glad we got to celebrate you again this year! 

Sogo: Yamato-san, congratulations. We couldn't do anything big this yer, but I hope that you'll let us pamper you today. 

Tamaki: Yama-san, hbd. Today I can forgive you if you eat my pudding

Iori: Happy birthday, Nikaido-san. Judging by the popularity of the Yamato Photobook, my vision was  correct. 

Yamato: Geez, you guys are seriously gonna give me a heart attack

Tsumugi: Yamato-san, happy birthday! Are you having fun? 

Yamato: I'm surrounded by a bunch of half-naked guys in glasses and everything. 

Riku: We decided to celebrate in Yamato-san cosplays, after all!! 

Tamaki: Don't upset your stomach, Rikkun

Iori: You're going to put some clothes on soon. Imitating the cover of Nikaido-san's book is taxing on you. 

Nagi: Today, I will even copy Yamato's manner of speech. This Onii-san is  feeling a chill on his stomach. 

Mitsuki: I didn't wanna do this because I was so sure I wouldn't look good dressed like Yamato-san!! 

Yamato: Most people wouldn't wanna be dressed like that... 

Sogo: Mitsuki-san, there's no way this look suits me better than you. I don't have a nice body like everyone else... 

Tamaki: So-chan, you're no good in so many ways. 

Sogo: Uuh, I'm sorry for being such a useless adult... 

Tamaki: Go get dressed with Rikkun. 

Iori: Nii-san, it does suit you. The glasses are wonderful, as well. 

Mitsuki: Oh, thanks, Iori! lol

Riku: Iori, what about me!? 

Iori: Good grief, you already look good with glasses to begin with! Nevermind that, please go get something to warm your abdomen up with already!! 

Tamaki: Iorin, do me next---

Iori: It suits you too well, to a point where it's dangerous!! 

Tamaki: I wanted  you to say something nice like you did to Rikkun

Yamato: Why don't you all just go put some clothes on (lol)

Nagi: This Onii-san will put on some clothing. 

Yamato: You don't have to announce everything! 

Yamato: Ah jeez, I've got no place to avert my eyes to in this dorm. 

Tsumugi: So everyone was dressed up as your cover photo, Yamato-san >< lol

Yamato: I'd rather have some girls do it. 

Tsumugi: Highlights from this conversation will also be published online, so please watch what you say! 

Yamato: >_<

Mitsuki: Anyway listen, I went to buy the Yamato Photobook, and a bunch of people saw me do it!! lolol

Nagi: Mitsuki, at times like that, you need to put it inside another magazine as you buy it. 

Mitsuki: That's way too suspicious, lolololol

Iori: Nikaido-san's the one who should feel embarrassed that that cover is on display all around the city. 

Tamaki: lmao Won't they ask my age if I try to buy it

Sogo: But wouldn't it have a R-15 age restriction at most..? 

Yamato: You guys  know my photobook isn't that kind of book, right. 

Riku: Yamato-san, do the pose that you did on the cover! It's so cool that I want to see it in real life! 

Yamato: Riku, I'm not spending a morning with someone I like right now, so I can't--. 

Iori: Nanase-san's ability to make unreasonable requests is plain for all to see. 

Mitsuki: Iori, you seem happy all of a sudden, lolol

Iori: That's just your imagination, Nii-san. 

Sogo: But, in contrast with the cover, the photo of Yamato-san waiting for a date looked refreshing. 

Yamato: I got so many instructions from Ichi-sensei on what angle to put the hand I had my phone in. 

Riku: Iori's really  picky, after all--! 

Iori: If it had been pointing too downwards, it would've looked lazy, and if it had been too upright, it would've looked like he was taking selfies, so I was trying to get the perfect angle. 

Nagi: Yamato's selfies, such a powerful concept

Tamaki: Yama-san, you take selfies? lmao

Yamato: I do not! 

Riku: Hey, let's have a contest to see who can look the most like Yamato-san! I'll put some clothes on once we're done! 

Sogo: What will we do, exactly? 

Riku: We'll line up and do the pose from the cover! Then, whoever Yamato-san  likes wins! 

Tamaki: I'm getting fired up

Iori: Wait a second, we can choose whether we participate, right? 

Riku: Everyone has to do it~! 

Mitsuki: Well, since it's a scenario you came up with, you have to participate, Iori! 

Iori: Urk... 

Nagi: Let us also say his catchphrase. "I like you lots."

Mitsuki: lololololololol

Yamato: Can I go back to my room? 

Tamaki: Yama-san, you're the star! Don't run!! 

Riku: C'mon, let's line up already! 

Iori: Why did it come to this... 

Tsumugi: You're all going to lie down and do an impression of Yamato-san? lol

Yamato: Apparently. 

Riku: Yamato-san, my arm's getting tired!! Please choose the winner!! lol

Sogo: This is too embarrassing... Yamato-san is so amazing. 

Yamato: Huuuuuuh

Yamato: Then, I'll go with Riku. 

Riku: Yaaay!!! 

Nagi: Please tell us your reason for choosing Riku, Judge Yamato. 

Yamato: Gap moe? 

Nagi: NO! The Japanese are too weak against gaps. Try and resist it. 

Yamato: I don't know if I can---

Yamato: Anyway, Nagi. What's with the "master detective" schtick. What trick did you pull to find him. 

Nagi: OH, how boorish of you, Yamato. We can have this discussion later. 

Sogo: I've put on a shirt. 

Riku: Me too! 

Tamaki: So-chan's better like that. 

Sogo: Really..? 

Tsumugi: Everyone, could you please talk about your thoughts on the Yamato Photobook a bit more? ><

Mitsuki: It’s  erotic--. 

Mitsuki: That's all!! 

Yamato: Mitsu, isn't that kinda mean? Is that all I am? 

Tamaki: All we're talking about is the cover, lol

Iori: Impact is everything. 

Mitsuki: Aaalright, now that we're done with our thoughts, it's time for the main spectacle!!! 

Riku: Time to start changing, Yamato-san!! 

Yamato: Oh, my~~~~

Choices/outcomes:

1. I want to see Yamato-san in rabbit glasses!

Yamato: Manager, you're way too into making me wear stuff like that..! 

2. We'll make you wear that outfit, too!

Yamato: Which one of you almost  took off more than needed just now (lol) I wanna change myself (lol)

3. Dress him up cutely, everyone!

Yamato: This is more like a mugging than a dress-up game, though... 

Tsumugi: Are you ready! 

Mitsuki: Congrats--!! 

Nagi: Six crackers have been popped! 

Tamaki: All that's left is Yama-san’s. Do it

Yamato: I'm good. Let Riku or someone else do it (lol)

Iori: Stop trying to escape from this moment. 

Riku: Yamato-san! We can't finish this without you! 

Sogo: I think you'll regret not popping that cracker. 

Yamato: Ah  jeez fine, I get it. I surrender. I'll pop a cracker or   whatever. 

Nagi: The seventh cracker has been popped! 

Riku: Congratulations---! Your pose looks so cool, Yamato-san! 

Nagi: Here is a very nice picture of Yamato. He dons a liberated expression, as if he has just shed a burden of some kind. 

Tsumugi: I'm glad you managed to pop the crackers and take a picture! Well then, please write your birthday messages, as per usual! 

Iori: Nikaido-san, happy birthday. You may be a slovenly and bothersome lover of alcohol, but even that lazy act is a big help to us. I hope that you start thinking not only of us, but yourself, as well. 

Mitsuki: Yamato-san, happy birthday! This wasn't so bad, now was it. We'll do everything we can to make sure that you're happy forever! Just you wait! 

Tamaki: Yama-san, hbd. You always play with me, so I'll play with you too Tell me if there's any place you wanna go

Sogo: Yamato-san, happy birthday. I believe we've become closer than last year. I'd like for you to enjoy things more openly. And I'll do my best to be able to support you as our leader. 

Nagi: My beloved Yamato. I could not be happier that I get to see your smile once again, on this day you were born. I hope that these days will continue. 

Riku: Yamato-san, happy birthday! Thank you for always lazing around, playing, and reading books with me! You said you didn't want to take your glasses off because you've got mean-looking eyes, but I think you have kind eyes! You'll always be our leader--! 

Tsumugi: Happy birthday!! 

Riku: Happy birthday--!! 

Yamato: I can't believe it's already been a year. Time flies by when I'm with you guys. 

Tamaki: Yama-san, you gonna cry? 

Mitsuki: Hand over your glasses--! lolol

Iori: Yotsuba-san, make sure not to miss this shutter chance. 

Riku: Do you need a tissue!? 

Sogo: Yamato-san's crying face is a rare sight! Make sure to give me a copy of the picture too, Tamaki-kun. 

Nagi: Both Tamaki and I have our cameras on Yamato. This cannot fail. 

Yamato: As if I can cry when I'm surrounded like this (lol)

Iori: Can you still say that after taking a look at this? 

Yamato: Huh? 

Yamato: This is

Yamato: The card..? 

Tsumugi: It arrived to the agency this morning. I'm sure your former boss must've sent it because he wanted you to receive it today! 

Iori: Your photobook was only the beginning, Nikaido-san. 

Riku: You've always been loved by lots of people! It's so full of text that you can't even write any more on it!! 

Tamaki: There's so much stuff on it. Wow

Sogo: "When I was giving up on my dream of a major debut, you told me to keep chasing my dream until I die, and it stuck with me. Do you also have something you want to chase after now, Nikaido-san?"

Sogo: You do, don't you. 

Yamato: Sou... 

Mitsuki: We're not gonna let you look all gloomy ever again, old man! You've got not only us, but your fans, too! 

Yamato: Right. And I'm still in charge of producing the Mitsuki Photobook, too. I've got a lot more to do. 

Tsumugi: Well then, Yamato-san, please write a message for your fans again this time! 

Yamato: Roger that. 

Yamato: Thanks for celebrating this Onii-san again. Did you manage to buy my photobook without feeling embarrassed? 

Yamato: I'd never felt this attached to anything before. And that's exactly why I was so scared to find a place where I belong. But this time, I got to talk with all kinds of people, which made me realize that it's okay for me to stay here. That I'm wanted here. I was reminded of that fact. 

Yamato: I hope you all keep being my fans, too. Don't abandon me. 

Translator’s notes..? 

next up: mitsuki’s matsuri chats! 

[praphit]

She-Ra Season 3 - the search for her old behind

That's right! A She-Ra review.

I know that I'm not exactly the demographic. 

So, let me explain.

How many of you are familiar with the beer "Tropical Bitch"? I know, it sounds made up, but it's a real thing.

It's actually a pretty good beer. If you like IPA's with a lil fruitiness and a lot of attitude, then TB could be the beer for you. This post brought to you by Flying Dog Brewery.

Well, I had more of the TB than I was striving for; I'm an overachiever. I had a host at a party who just kept chucking them at me. As soon as I finished one, another beer was flying towards my face - that's hospitality, ladies and gentlemen... and some damned fine enablement

I got home, went to my room, turned on Netflix, fell out on the bed, and what do I SEE??! - "She-Ra and the princesses of power"!  - it was the new joint though, and season 3.

Now, new or old, I normally would have said "What the hell? Netflix, how dare you think that I'd watch this??!" and moved on, but I was bewitched by Tropical Bitches... plus the Sandman was creeping closer and closer to me. I think it was the Sandman (no one really knows what he or SHE looks like, right??), it could have been something paranormal/X-File-worthy... or maybe that homeless guy snuck into my place again. 

Regardless, me, TB power, and the cuddling Sandman decided to watch "She-Ra". I didn't make it far, BUT what I remember... Whew!

Yeah, not much... but that won't stop me from reviewing it.

Like I said, She-Ra is new now... and YOUNG! Where did old She-Ra go? I was first introduced to She-Ra back when I was a kid, and I used to watch 

He-Man!

He-Man was dope when I was a kid. Then, they brought in She-Ra, and we all thought they were gonna hook up! 

But, years later, we remember He-Man, and...

I'm sure he hooked up with people, but not anyone who looked like She-Ra.

Old She-Ra's probably kickin about 60 now, right?? Madonna's 60. Madonna's still got it! 

I mean, I’m not always sure what look she’s going for, but

...

...

But, she’s still got it!

Though Madonna had better be careful with those dance moves that she still does. She could twist the wrong way, and her hip bone could pop out; nothing sexy about that.

Sorry, is that not Madonna in there? My bad.

Regardless, this She-Ra issue is straight up ageism!

They probably said "It's reboot time!"

She-Ra shows up -

"What? No! Getcho old ass outta here! Nobody wants to see you dressed like that no more!" I bet you she put up a fight, and threatened to go to the papers! Now, while they shouldn't have been scared (cuz, c'mon, it's 2019... "THE PAPERS"??) she prob still "disappeared".

Her wardrobe though - 

She'd grab the sword powered by feminism, grow to like 10 feet tall, and her skirt would shrink to like 4 inches in length.

C'mon, man! Now, y'all are doing that with a teenager?? Have some decency!

I saw a black dude in there. He was standing next to She-Ra in a band of princesses. 

She-Ra did her growth thing, the black dude looked up to talk to her and... well, you can imagine. It was awkward. I want to know what happened to all of the other men, cuz he is the only one that my previously tropical-bitched mind can remember. And what did he have to endure in order to be the one guy left around... getting blamed for everything:)

Being the only guy in a room full of women - I've been there:

(watching Tv - Elizabeth Warren pops-up on the screen):

Woman 1 - "I love her so much!" Woman 2 - "Me too!" Woman 3 - "I'm drunk! I mean, me three!"

Woman 1 - "What do you think, lone guy?"

Lone Guy - "Yeah, I mean, she's aiight. I WAS riding with Hickenlooper. You know, he's name makes me laugh and all. But, yeah, she's ok."

Woman 1 - "Ok?? *shakin her head* Of course you're going to vote for a MAN, even one with a ridiculous last name."

Lone Guy - "No, it's not that."

Woman 1 - "Just wanna keep us down, don't you?"

Lone Guy - "... no?? Hey, why don't we change the channel?"

Woman 2 - "Mmmhmm" (changes channel - stops on a Nicki Minaj video)

Lone Guy - "Aw Yeah! That's my jam!"

Woman 2 - "I bet it is... Psssh, Oh my God, Woman 3, look at her butt. It's SO BIG. Lone Guy, you only like her cuz she looks like a total prostitute."

Woman 3 - "I think it's liberating to dress like that!"

Woman 2 - "Woman 3!"

Woman 3 - "Sorry. I meant I'M DRUNK!"

Woman 2 - "It's SO BIG! I can't believe it's just so round, it's like out there... I mean gross, look... she's just so...

Woman 1 - "Alright, alright, Woman 2. We're changing the station. Apparently, women are good enough to shake their asses in Lone Guy's face, but not good enough to run our country."

Lone Guy - "... *heavy sigh* Let's eat! What do you say??! (Long Guy eats some homemade pie). "Hmm! Woman 1, you made this, right?! It's delicious!"

Woman 1 - ("Hey, rambling Praphit, we DO have names!") Actually, my husband baked it. Ok? He let allowed me to leave the kitchen for a little bit." *glaring at Lone Guy*

Lone Guy - (taking a long gulp of vodka) "Did I mention how good you look in those jeans?"

Tammy (previously Woman 1) - "I know what you're doing... BUT THANK YOU :)  *now all smiles*

Gladys (prevously Woman 2) - (thinking to herself - "Wait a minute, he told me that I look good in my jeans. Hmmmmmmm") *glaring at Lone Guy*

Becky (previously Woman 3) - "I'm drunk!" (she passes out)

---------------

This is his whole life.

I remember him raising his voice to the ladies at one point. He was like "She-Ra, we're going the wrong way!"

She-Ra: Are you telling ME what to do? Black Dude: "Well... it's just that you're holding the map upside down." She-Ra: "Oh, I'm a woman holding a map, please send the man to come explain it to me!"

Black Dude: "No, no... "

She-Ra: "You condescending asshole."

Black Dude: "I would never be that way with you... holding such a large, sharp sword.

*dead silence*

She-Ra: "Take him to the room!"

Black Dude: "Please no! Not again! I'll be good!"

She-Ra: "I'll deal with you later." --------------------

I don't know whether I dreamt this or not, but I visualize a room that She-Ra sends people to. We never know what goes on in there, but they hate going in, and they always leave crying and broken.

People, I didn't want to mention it, but there's some race stuff too!

There was a point when She-Ra and the team meet at an abandoned house. They want to sleep there.

Now, there's a Latina character named Catra, and she's drawn as a beast. 

PEOPLE I'M JUST TELLIN YA WHAT I SAW. She-Ra and the others decided to rest for the night, but she finds a broom and tells Catra to clean this place up a lil first.

Catra: "What?! By myself?! Why?!"

She-Ra: "Cuz you're so good at it."

Catra: "But I always have to do this kind of thing!"

She-Ra: "So you won't mind doing it again."

Catra: *Growls*

She-Ra: "Now, Catra, no reason to get all uppity. Be quick about it though, we need to get bed early. ... oh, and we seem to be low on beds. You don't mind sleeping on the floor do you.?"

One of the other girls: "Or in the tree, you are a CAT hahahaha."

She-Ra: "... What? She's only joking, Catra. But, I mean, she's right, you are... "

Catra: "THAT IS IT! *strangles She-Ra* 

(They help She-Ra)

She-Ra: "*breathing heavily, while holding her throat* You just earned yourself a ticket to the room! Two of you take her back there now. I'll deal with her later."

Wild for a kids cartoon, right?? I know! I couldn't believe it either.

Despite all of this, it's a colorful, action-packed, a lot of positive team building messages, a good girl power cartoon. There are also some monsters, and some thrilling moments. You just have to ignore everything I've said previously :)

And that's not a big deal to do. Kids don't see that type of thing anyway.

Remember Wile E Coyote and the Roadrunner? 

The coyote kept getting seriously and continuously injured due to using those damned ACME products! All he was trying to do was feed his family. He never did catch the roadrunner. His family probably starved, and devoured each other. Meanwhile, we're just yucking it up!

Ha! It IS funny though. Wile E Coyote, comedic genius.

All in all I give She-Ra Season 3 an A*

* = drunk on Tropical Bitch

I imagine the end of season 3 being dark. She-Ra goes walks into her basement, and then through a secret path, down a long poorly lit hallway to find... ... OLD She-Ra. 

She's chained to a chair. Her clothes and body all dirty and stanky. Her hair mangled. Her body weak from not eating. Her legs have grown hairy. No, you don't understand - like, REALLY REALLY REALLY HAIRY. 

Young She-Ra looks down at Old She-Ra - 

 "I can't believe that you really thought your old ass could be She-Ra. 

I’M SHE-RA! You should be thanking me for locking you up, so that you don't embarrass yourself out there. (she gets real close to the former She-Ra) You know they're never going to find you, right? They don't even know that you're alive."

Old She-Ra: "My friends... my friends WILL come for me."

Young She-Ra: "I doubt it... especially since the old friends that you have left keep having accidents."

Old She-Ra: "What?"

Young She-Ra: (Pulls out a bag from behind her back. She opens it and turns it upside down... the head of an old He-Man plops down.) "Hahahahaha"

Old She-Ra: *speechless and horrified*

Young She-Ra: "I know you're upset. But, I'm gonna turn that frown upside down. We're about to have some fun."

Old She-Ra: "Wait, no no! PLEASE! You can't do this! Please!"

Young She-Ra: "Say my name, bitch."

Old She-Ra: "No! She-Ra No! Please! She-Ra plase! (camera turns away) 

"SHE-RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

(Cue cheesy coked-up 80's producer voice: "And the princesses of powerrrrrrrrrrrrrr! *echo*"

THE END

Hell yes! I can't wait for season 4.

[joeygoespolitical]

Hillary Clinton’s Self-Pity Tour Makes a Stop at Wellesley College

Hillary Clinton apparently has no intention of going away, even after humiliating herself on Election Night and her embarrassing months-long blame game she’s been stuck in since. 

She made a commencement speech at her alma mater Wellesley College, an all-women’s college, to the class of 2017. The first ten minutes or so were fine. Clinton talked about her experience at Wellesley and cracked a few mildly funny jokes to an audience who laughs were so over-the-top such a laugh track could be used on an episode of The Big Bang Theory. Whatever, she had a crowd to please and she was doing it. 

Sadly, it didn’t take long for her to pivot her speech from being about the graduates to being about herself. 

Clinton is obviously still bitter about the election, so after she had yet another coughing fit, she took the opportunity at his commencement ceremony to make jabs at President Trump. She invoked Watergate, which occurred not long after she graduated back in 1969, when saying this:

“We were furious about the past presidential election of a man whose presidency would eventually end in disgrace with his impeachment for his obstruction of justice after firing the person running the investigation into him at the Department of Justice.”

A few things worth mentioning; 1. Nixon was never impeached because he resigned while the impeachment process was underway. 2. It was actually her husband Bill Clinton who was impeached for obstruction of justice (along with perjury) during the Monica Lewinsky scandal. And 3. the comparisons between Trump and Nixon are incredibly weak. 

She went on to trash Trump’s newly-released budget plan by essentially calling it evil as she claims it would hurt the young, the old, the sick, the poor, etc and that it will put the country and the world at risk because it doesn’t do enough to tackle climate change. Wasn’t this speech supposed to be uplifting?

Here’s my favorite part. 

The former Secretary of State gave a battle cry for the truth and warned the class of 2017 with this:

“You are graduating at a time when there is a full-fledged assault on truth and reason. Just log on to social media for ten seconds and it will hit you right in the face. People denying science, concocting, elaborate hurtful conspiracy theories... drumming up rampant fear about undocumented immigrants, Muslims, minorities, the poor, turning neighbor against neighbor and sewing divisions at a time when we desperately need unity....

And this:

“If our leaders lie about the problems we face, we’ll never solve them. It matters because it undermines confidence in government as a whole, which in turn breeds more cynicism and anger, but it also matters because our country like this college was founded on the principles of the enlightenment, in particular the belief that people, you and I, possess the capacity for reason and critical thinking and that free and open debate is the lifeblood of a democracy. Not only Wellesley but the entire American university system, the envy of the world, was founded on those fundamental ideals. We shouldn’t abandon them, we should revere them...”

And also this:

“As the history majors among you here today know, all too well, when people in power invent their own facts, and attack those who question them, it can mark the beginning of the end of a free society. That is not hyperbole, it is what authoritarian regimes throughout history have done...”

Why is this my favorite part? Because there is so much hypocrisy, it can clog an artery. 

Let’s tackle the first portion. Clinton claims there’s a “full-fledged assault on truth and reason” and perhaps she’s right. There’s so much fake news out there that’s pushed by both sides. Most reports now solely rely on anonymous sources so that the media can essentially publish whatever it wants and not face any sort of consequence if something is debunked. She says people are “denying science”, which she is obviously referencing to climate change skeptics, but she doesn’t acknowledge the science deniers on the left who don’t believe chromosomes determine one’s gender and don’t believe that a fetus is a living thing. She says people are “concocting conspiracy theories”. Another valid point, but Democrats have concocted this conspiracy theory that the Trump campaign colluded with Russia without any sort of evidence! They’re jumping to a conclusion they want to believe while disregarding reality that currently lacks the proof. She says people are “drumming up rampant fear,” yet her entire presidential campaign was drumming up the rampant fear of Donald Trump. For nearly a year and a half, she basically told the American people “vote for me because Trump is the boogeyman.” And that’s partly why she lost because she had no message of her own.

Now onto the second portion. She says that when our nation’s leaders lie, it “undermines confidence in government as a whole, which in turn breeds more cynicism and anger.” Again, what she says is right but she nor President Obama have any sort of moral high ground on the subject of honesty. From lying about how you can keep your healthcare plan to the lies pushed about the Benghazi terrorist attack being sparked by an internet video, she’s making it seem like the Trump administration is the first to be dishonest. For goodness sakes, her husband Bill Clinton coined the most infamous lie in presidential politics when he said “I did not have sexual relations with that woman.” When she says that “critical thinking and open debate are the lifeblood of our democracy” and that how “the American university system was founded on those ideals” I chuckled because the liberal left no longer believe in such principles. Democrats call you racist if you criticize Obama, or sexist if you’re against abortion, or homophobic if you’re against same-sex marriage, or xenophobic if you want to build the wall, or Islamophobic if you use the term “radical Islamic extremism.” They have no interest in having a civilize discussion on the issues we face because anything they see as politically incorrect enrages them and their knee-jerk reactions remove any sort of rationality. And while the university system used to be the epicenter of robust debate in America, it is now where “safe spaces” keep naive students in their own bubbles and where conservatives who is invited to speak on campus face violent protests and riots, which often times leads to the suppression of their free speech. 

Finally onto the last portion, where she eluded to the Trump presidency turning our country into a dictatorship because they “invent their own facts” and that they’ll “attack those who question them.” Perhaps the clapping seals among the Wellesley graduates don’t recall all the facts Hillary Clinton invented. Just look at the press conference she gave at the UN just as the email scandal emerged. Everything she told the American people in March 2015 was a lie. She lied about not having classified information on her computer, she lied about having a private server for convenience. Heck, before he let her off the hook, then-FBI Director James Comey disproved all her lies during his infamous press conference. And the clapping seals don’t recall how Hillary Clinton is known for attacking those who refutes her, particularly her husband’s victims who she tried to bully and shame into silence. 

In a speech that was supposed to be about the graduates, Hillary Clinton proved that not only is she the Queen of Hypocrisy, she’s still the biggest victim in her own mind. Instead of encouraging them to look forward to the future with optimism, she made them feel just as miserable as her. 

[ladyofthefanart]

Dana and Grievous: A: 1, 2, 7, 14, 15, 20 B: 3, 4, 5, 10, 13 E: 1, 3, 6 I: 3, 5 J: 1, 2, 3, 8 L: All of them :P

Gonna pop this under a read-more to avoid being an asshole to mobile users

A QUESTIONS:

1.What of the Meyers-Briggs personality types they most fit into? INFP, ENFT, et cetera…

Well, Dana is an INFP if I remember the last time I personally took this correctly. I just took one for Grievous and it spat out ISTJ, which I think fits him. He’s very observant (S) and tactical and pragmatic (T) and CERTAINLY an introvert no matter how good he is at public speaking and politics; that’s something he learned, not something that comes naturally to him.

2. What alignment are they? Chaotic neutral, lawful evil, et cetera…

Grievous is probably Neutral Good. I mean I just took a test for him and that’s what it said. He may be the villain of his story, but history is told by the victors, and he wasn’t one of them. And the protagonist of the story will ultimately find out how wrong they are and how right he is.Dana is probably Chaotic Good?

7. Is your OC confident in their reactions to life in general, or do they get embarrassed or easily shamed for it? I.e., if something startles them, do they insist it WAS scary? When they cry, do they feel like they overreacted?

Grievous is usually fairly confident about his reactions. I mean, when he says something is stupid, it’s stupid, end of story. He’s usually right. It’s only when he disassociates that he can start doubting how he feels and reacts, because he’s losing his grip on reality. Dana is more easily embarrassed, but she’s still fairly confident.

14. Is your character empathetic?

Dana is. Grievous has the empathy of a teaspoon.

15. Is your character observant?

Grievous is. Dana…..eh.

20. Are they harsh on themselves?

I mean, Grievous has spent 60+ years with serious survivor’s guilt, which is to be expected when you’re indirectly responsible for the annihilation of your entire species and the ONLY one who survived. He has come to regard emotion as weakness, and gets disproportionately pissed off at the slightest deviation he makes from the norm–like falling in love with Dana, for example. He was beating himself up over that for months. And Dana is likewise hard on herself. It’s always her fault, she could always do better, stuff like that.

B QUESTIONS:

3. Under what situations would they get angry at servers, staff, customer service, et cetera?

I kind of find it hard to imagine him getting mad under any circumstances, unless they were horribly rude to himself or Dana, or he saw them being rude to others. (Like, being racist, or sexist, or classist, or rude to the point of being insulting)

4. Do they tip well? How easily can they be moved to not leave a tip?

They both tip well. Dana has worked in retail and has many friends in retail so she’s always going to tip her best. He tips stupidly generously, because he has the money to do so.

5. Do they hold doors open for people?

Yes.

10. Does your OC find any “bad” or “mean” humor funny? Do they wish they didn’t?

Not sure what this means…Grievous doesn’t find racial jokes funny, and he’ll probably stab you in the eye socket if you make a rape joke or joke about pedophilia. However, Cards Against Humanity is a whole ‘nother animal and anything goes in Cards.

13. Do they have a large or small group of friends? 

The answer is ‘no friends’. Grievous HAD a very small group of friends that consisted of the nobility he grew up with, who became his most trusted generals when he became king. He also had his sister and brother. (He also realized his sister and one of his friends really liked each other and wound up pushing them together) They’re all dead. Right now his friends consist of…Dana, and Garausup, the only one of that original friend group to get resurrected.

E QUESTIONS:

1. Would you say that your OC is intelligent? In what ways? Would your OC agree? 

Grievous is hyper-intelligent, we would consider him a genius by our standards. At least in some cases. The boy can’t draw a picture to save his life, his idea of a car is a box with a smaller box in front and four circles underneath. He’s good at perspective drawing, though, mostly because he’s more of a logical, mathematical person and not an artsy one. And he’s socially inept as hell no matter how good a politician he was. But yes, he’s extremely intelligent. Something of an idiot savant in some ways, but very intelligent and fiercely analytical.Dana is quite smart! But her IQ scores when it comes to math and science are pretty abysmal. In English, she’s in the top 1%. She also knows unecessary amounts of completely random knowledge.

3. How many languages do they speak?

Grievous speaks several. He isn’t a native English speaker, not that you’d ever know aside from his faint accent. He knows his native Vashaen, which is now a dead language, and he knows basic English and ‘Monarchy’, which is a bastardized version of English that actually makes SENSE, as compared to regular English where goose is geese but moose is not meese. He also speaks Septran, which is another language from his world, Latin (because he felt like it) and he knows some French, some Maori, and some Lebanese, since he likes learning languages in his free time and god knows he’s had ample amounts of it over the past 200 years.

6. Do they enjoy learning? Do they actively seek out sources of self-education?

Yes! Both of them do enjoy learning, Dana loves learning obscure new facts and Grievous just likes learning new subjects, which he will sometimes decide to try and master overnight. He has actually considered getting a doctorate, but ultimately decides against it because that would require a human glamor and interacting with other people and…no. I mean he might as well have one in political science, though, he knows more about that than our current President.

I QUESTIONS:

3. Are they vegan/vegetarian (if their overall culture/species generally aren’t)? If so, why? Do they think animal products are wrong in all circumstances?

No. Grievous is an carnivore and has no problem with actually going out into the woods and killing a deer with his bare teeth. His species consists of mostly mesocarnivores with maybe a few obligate carnivores and fewer hypocarnivores depending on location and availability of meat and plants, but all Vashaens have carnassial teeth and thick skulls for holding prey, and at this point Grievous is almost completely an obligate carnivore as his digestive track has been so severely damaged that it can’t process vegetation anymore. And while Dana may not necessarily agree with the way animals are treated in the food industry, she thinks the basic premise of most veganism is stupid. She won’t bitch if you tell her you’re vegan, but she will shove turkey in your face if you try and shove veganism down her throat. Also, if you try and feed your animal a vegan diet she’ll try and kill you.

5. Are they a good cook? 

Grievous is fairly decent, though not out of necessity, out of boredom. He no longer really needs to eat. Most of the reason he learned to cook was various girlfriends who taught him/liked cooking with him. Dana is not.

J QUESTIONS:

1. Where does your OC stand most politically? What would they align with most?

Grievous is vehemently against tyranny and dictators, and his bitterness honestly extends to a lot of forms of government. He was a very, very good king, and his people loved him, but after they all died he kind of veered towards tyranny himself, without realizing it, when he became the Demon King. (technically Emperor.) Dana is mostly liberal but fiscally conservative and fully recognizes that some liberal policies are just stupid.

2. How politically aware are they?

Dana is…not the greatest at this. Grievous is very aware.

3. How politically active are they?

Depends on the world. Dana isn’t very and Grievous doesn’t get involved with American politics much, although he did vote against Trump, for all the good that did. (Yes, he’s a citizen.) In his own world, I mean….he brought down the corrupt government. If that isn’t political activism I don’t know what is. (Okay that’s more a one-man revolution but)

L QUESTIONS:

1. How have your characters changed since you created them?

I mean, Grievous wasn’t even originally an OC, he was an interpretation of General Grievous that flew so far away from canon that all I had to do was change species and name and he was an entirely separate person. Dana has veered further away from a perfect, innocent little Mary Sue to an actual person. She’s kinda naive, but knows and understands more than you’d think, she’s resourceful, she’s got a thing for monsters, she’s nowhere near as selfless as you would expect after seeing her taking care of Grievous, she isn’t afraid to put him or anyone else in his place, and she has weaknesses, she cries, she feels.

2. What do you consider the biggest themes in your character, if any? 

Grievous: Pain and suffering, a need for someone to understand, a broken monster finding love, Beauty and the Beast, no one is beyond redemption, villains are not necessarily evil, etcDana: Humanity, compassion where others wouldn’t give it, a need for someone to understand, romance, true love, Beauty and the Beast, giving and caring.

3. Did you create the character to be like yourself, did they end up being like yourself, or are they very different from you? 

Is this a call-out? I feel like this is a call-out. Yes, Dana was originally constructed as a self-insert and in many a ways she still is, but she has key differences from me that fit her world in ways I’d never be able to fit in.

4. Would you hang out with your OC if you could? 

I’d hang out with both of them.

5. Which OC do you think is the most decent morally or behaviorally? 

Out of the two, Dana. Out of all my OCs, Dana, with Ashley as a close second.

6. Which OC do you think is the worst morally or behaviorally? AKA, which is supposed to be a “good guy”?

What? How do these correlate? This makes no fucking sense.Senra is the worst “good guy” and Amon is just the Worst, period. Amon does not grace Tumblr with her presence because I’d be lambasted into the fucking ground for having a character like her.

7. Which OC do you think is the most attractive? AKA, which is supposed to be a “bad guy”?

Again what the fuck do these two have to do with each other what the fuck does attractiveness have to do with moralityGrievous is the most attractive, DUH. Asmodeus and the Shadow are close seconds.

8. What’s the longest you’ve had an OC for?

Ashley. Since third grade. And Dana has been around since 4th. Actually, technically she’s been present longer than Ashley because she was a character in my second-grade stories about my imaginary friend but I don’t necessarily think that counts.

9. How did you come up with your OC?

I’ve answered this question for Grievous a million times so I’m not doing it again, same for Dana, but for her I’ll say she began as a self insert.

[i-read-good-books]

fic for victuuri week day 6!

I’m late! So sorry but i am a busy bean. The rest will be coming soon. This is based off @tanaw (who is awesome) ‘s reincarnation au art (so go check that out!)

Title: in another life

Rating: Teen

Wordcount: about 5.7k

Summary: 

Yuuri doesn’t know how long they stay there, frozen in that moment, how long he thinks about the things he wants to say to Victor, the things he wants to say - not now, but in time, as he grows to know him better. How long he thinks about the fact that he truly wants to know him better, that he’s letting his soul be touched by someone for the first time in years.

He doesn’t know how long they stay there, a knight and a mage - the unlikeliest of companions - but he does know he never looks away.

Link on ao3: here

Full fic under the cut

They meet in the heat of battle.

The mage comes to his aide when he’s surrounded by fire and  deafened by the screeching of evil spirits near the eastern waterfalls. There’s a whirl of blue ice suddenly, stepping between him and his enemy and just a flash of teeth in a quick smile. Their movements match the other’s effortlessly, a predetermined partnership weaving itself as they dodge attacks and try their best offensive, sweat dripping from both their brows.

It’s been twelve years since the fight against the nymphs began; three since it became serious enough that the roads aren’t safe. People say it takes a dozen men to take down one of their basic spirits.

They do it between the two of them in under ten minutes.

“What’s your name?” the mage asks, lips curling into a smirk. There’s no trace of the spirit left, just the residual faint smell of rotting apples in the air, the most surefire way to know if nymph magic is involved.

He looks up from where he’s leaning against one of the rocks that make up the waterfalls. It’s almost impossible to hear him over the wind and the rushing water, but somehow the mage’s voice reaches him without trouble, clear and strong. He has an accent. The knight wipes his sword against the rock on instinct, sliding it smoothly; it doesn’t have any blood - spirits don’t bleed -, but old habits die hard.

He meets the mage’s eyes, and smiles, slightly shy. He hasn’t seen a mage that powerful in the last decade, and certainly not one that beautiful and kind enough to help him when he was in need. “I’m Yuuri.”

“Yuuri,” the mage repeats, his voice curling over the syllables like he’s licking honey, savouring every drop. He has an accent, his consonants resonate in a way he’s never heard before. The mage smiles back at him, relaxing his smirk, and holds out his gloved hand, “Hey, Yuuri, I like you. I’m Victor.”

…

“Oh my god,” Yuri groans, burying his face in his hands and pretending to barf. “What the hell is that bastard doing?”

“Who are you talking about?” Victor smiles, moving to ruffle his hair and pouting when the teenager hisses at him, recoiling and raising his arms to protect himself. He’s in that age. “Did you make a skater cry again?”

“Stop bringing that up, I was twelve the last time it happened,” Yuri groans, as if it wasn’t simply three years ago, but a distant era in the past. Victor will never get over how teenagers measure time. “And I’m talking about Yuuri Katsuki, otherwise known as a walking fucking disaster.” He grabs Victor’s shoulder, shaking him a little, and points him in the direction of the ballroom, where people are gathering to chat, forming small groups that are divided into which complexity of English one can speak, and if they’ve known the other skaters for some time. Following Yuri’s finger, he looks in its direction.

Victor’s eyes go wide, jaw dropping open. His breath hitches.

Yuuri Katsuki (he’s heard of the name before, a champion in Japan - great step sequences, last place this final) is dancing.

He’s dancing, completely free, in front of all the exhausted athletes and expensive patrons. His hair is messier than it was during his programs, a bit longer now, which Victor thinks is a great improvement, and it’s far easier to notice that his trousers fit him almost ridiculously well when he’s moving around without the edge of nervousness competition brings.  Every aspect of him seems liberating; his shirt buttons are undone, his eyes shut,  and his  hands are clapping to the music, following the rhythm perfectly.

Honestly, Victor thinks, he looks like he’s having the time of his life.

Before his eyes, Yuuri lets out a short, delighted laugh as the music picks up, sinking to his knees and jumping back up in a sudden movement, receiving a loud whoop from where Mila is talking to her friend. Yuuri notices and waves at her, winking and falling to the floor again with expert control.

Victor can’t help but think, He’s beautiful.

On cue, he takes his phone out, giggling like a schoolboy, “I’m taking a video of this.”

“To share online?” Yuri raises his eyebrows. “I didn’t think you were that cold, Nikiforov. The guy’s drunk off his ass.”

“Um,” Victor doesn’t say, No, I wanted to take a video so I can watch it during my lonely, lonely nights and cry about how pretty this man is. “Yeah, I won’t share it. Just - for other stuff.”

Like crying. And debating whether or not to send him a Facebook friend request at 2 am.

The young skater huffs, crossing his arms over his chest, “And anyway, it’s pretty fucking sad.” He turns his nose up, “That dancing’s terrible.”

Victor smirks, “It is?” Frankly, he thinks it’s absolutely mesmerizing and yes, zoom in, Victor, good man. He yelps, excited, when Yuuri starts jumping around, humming and smiling. “So you think you could do better?”

Yuri frowns at him, scoffing, offended, “I know I could do better.”

“Hm,” Victor flutters his eyelashes. “Can you prove it?”

The skater’s eyes narrow.

It takes him ten more seconds of innocently sipping his glass while struggling not to drop his phone (that’s still recording), and then Yuri is marching up to Yuuri Katsuki and break dancing it out.

Victor’s laughing like he hasn’t in months; snapping pictures, clapping along when either of them manages a pretty risky move, and politely awwwing for Yuri when he loses, rubbing his shoulders in reassurance. Well, what did he expect, going up against such an obvious master of the craft? God, Victor needs to fan himself after watching Yuuri Katsuki slide on the floor without a care in the world. The only thing missing is a stripper pole.

It’s maybe because he’s thinking about Yuri, wondering if he’ll develop an eternal grudge against Katsuki, or because he looks away from the man for a few seconds to steady himself (don’t embarrass yourself against a king, Victor, this is your only chance to look good!), that he doesn’t notice Yuuri standing in front of him until he turns around to find him waiting there.

Their noses are almost touching.

Yuuri smells like champagne, and sweat, and he’s panting, blinking rapidly. He has the hugest smile on his face Victor’s ever seen, something so purely joyful that it tugs at his heartstrings. Clumsily but firmly, he bows a little, wobbling as he goes down, and holds out his hand, beaming, “Dance with me, Victor?”

He’s got a slight accent, and his speech is slurred from being drunk as fuck, obviously. This is silly, and there’s people here who pay for Victor’s livelihood who probably don’t want to see him dance it out with the person who got last place, no matter how much Victor doesn’t care about that. Plus, he doesn’t know the guy at all, really, he could be a jerk who just dances really nicely.

And yet, Victor, feeling like his heart might burst from his chest, doesn’t hesitate before taking his hand, breathing out, “I’d love to.”, and letting himself be led.

…

Victor and Yuuri get to know each other slowly.

It’s not easy to travel, even if it’s in a small group and the both can pretty confidently take on several enemies at once. The roads are solitary, slivers of grass growing between the stones in the path, marking the fact that they haven’t been stepped on for months. Weak nymphs and their basic spirits are everywhere, showing up at the most inconvenient of times; transforming the mere act of bathing in the river or managing to stop and eat a chore that makes Yuuri’s skin prickle with alarm, his heartbeat quickening. It’s quite understandable that he doesn’t chit chat much.

But being with Victor the mage and not speaking to him seems something akin to a crime, for him.

“You know,” the mage murmurs, hands curling around his hood. The inside of it is covered with pale furs, glowing next to his creamy skin. “You haven’t told me your story, you know?”

“You haven’t asked,” Yuuri mumbles, feeling his cheeks heat. He’s been hunting for nymphs for as long as he can remember, training until daybreak to strengthen his muscles, sharpening his reflexes without rest - and he gets tongue tied whenever Victor smiles at him. Sometimes he gets unbearably embarrassed about his crush. “It’s not that interesting, anyway.”

“Let me be the judge of that?” Victor asks, voice soft. Around him, small snow crystals glow into existence before melting and falling to the ground. It continues to amazing, this way in which Victor displays his magic openly and unashamedly, despite what some think about mages.

Trying to be courageous, Yuuri gives in, “I lived in Hasetsu all my life. I was there when the attack happened.”

The mage frowns, his blue eyes colouring with concern, “That’s not… Japan?” At his slight, sombre nod, his expression tightens, alarmed. “But it was destroyed by the nymphs.”

“Aye,” Yuuri sighs, fingers grasping his sword’s hilt. “I remember. Lost my horse, my money, and my home. Thankfully, my family survived.”

I considered Vicchan to be family, he doesn’t say, keeping his voice level. He’s learnt to be tough, after fighting with Mari to defend their home, temporal as every place they stayed in was. Now that they’re no longer together, now that Mari defends their parents with her archery and Yuuri has chosen to travel alone, he has to fend for himself. She can’t coddle him anymore.

“I’m glad,” Victor says firmly, taking him out of his thoughts. He moves until they’re almost beside one another, stopping and standing in front of him, mouth slightly parted.

Yuuri blinks; Victor doesn’t walk like normal people - that would defeat the purpose, what with him being a mage - he glides on the floor, making no sound, white light flickering around his feet. They’re closer than they’ve ever been right now, if he doesn’t count their battles, now that they’re motionless in the middle of the deserted road. Victor takes his hand - Victor’s powerful, delicate, warm hands take his, so incredibly gently, and he brings them upwards, brushing Yuuri’s skin with pale lips. “I’m glad that you didn’t lose them, Yuuri.”

Yuuri doesn’t know how long they stay there, frozen in that moment, how long he thinks about the things he wants to say to Victor, the things he wants to say - not now, but in time, as he grows to know him better. How long he thinks about the fact that he truly wants to know him better, that he’s letting his soul be touched by someone for the first time in years.

He doesn’t know how long they stay there, a knight and a mage - the unlikeliest of companions - but he does know he never looks away.

…

“Oooh,” Victor crows, resting his arms on Yuuri’s shoulders  from behind the living room couch at the onsen, smirking at him. “You ever have a lover, Yuuri?”

The man blushes bright red, turning his face away as if to hide his obvious embarrassment. He fidgets with his hands, nervous, and murmurs, “Um, not really.”

“Never?” Victor can’t really believe it. Does he expect him to believe that? The man who boldly asked for a dance at the banquet? The man who shines on the ice like an angel? The man who skated his program without faltering?  “A man like you?”

That makes Yuuri snort, just a little, “Yeah, Victor, a man like me. I’m not that much of a catch, you know.”

“Nonsense,” Victor dismisses it immediately, patting his head in reassurance and beaming when he sees Yuuri smile at that, just slightly. “You’re a national figure skating champion! You’re young! You’ve got a university degree! You’re extremely nice! And well,” Victor coughs, swallowing.“You’re beautiful.”

“I’m not -” Yuuri chokes over his own words, flushing even more deeply and waving his arms in front of him. “I’m not beautiful.”

Victor narrows his eyes, poking at his side, “Modesty doesn’t suit you, Yuuri.”

It’s a lie. Everything suits Yuuri. He’s annoyingly wonderful like that.

“Well,” Victor jumps over the couch and sits beside him, fluttering his eyelashes seductively. “I think you’re gorgeous.”

“T-thanks,” Yuuri says, ears red. He runs his fingers through his hair, still flustered, before murmuring, in the softest, most tentative tone he’s ever heard him use, “I think you’re pretty, too.”

Victor’s dead. He’s deceased. Victor needs - he has to go, and bury his face in his pillow. Yuuri’s voice there? Fucking adorable. He can’t help but think, giddy, he called me pretty! Yuuri Katsuki thinks I’m pretty! Me! Yuuri!

Out of the corner of his eye, while he’s freaking out, he sees Yuuri relax slightly, and subtly nudge his thigh closer to Victor’s. It’s a bit unsure, a bit uncertain. So Victor nudges back.

…

“Let me handle this,” Victor tells him, smirking.

They need information from a nymph expert in the area who’s rumoured to frequent this tavern. Also a large fan of pretty boys and not a huge fan of people asking for information, according to their source (lovely village lad called Eimer). Apparently, he knows where this region’s main spirit, the Dragon, is located.

Yuuri’s grip on his sword tightens. If they can get rid of the spirit, the nymph will be weakened enough to be vulnerable to their attack. Nymphs have to distribute a large amount of their power to their main spirit so as to keep their basic spirits in line and control the region, which means it depletes their energy levels if they go down suddenly.

Victor requests surprises him, though. He blinks, “You want to get the information by yourself?”

“Oh, Yuuri,” Victor throws his long hair back, letting out a soft sigh and curling his fingers around the cords of his cape, teasing the motion of unlacing. “Trust me, I can make him talk.”

His eyebrows shoot upwards, a smile curving his lips, “Oh?”

The mage shoots him a dirty look, “I’m a very desirable man, Yuuri Katsuki.”

“I don’t doubt it,” he replies, holding his hands up in surrender. “I’m just wondering if it wouldn’t be suspicious for a mage to be sniffing around a nymph expert. You’re not exactly welcome around here.”

Victor sniffs, turning his nose up, “Stupid belief that nymphs are mages gone mad. As if that has any basis in reality.”

“I know,” Yuuri says, lightly touching his forearm in support. They’ve had a few close runs with angry people calling Victor a nymph and throwing stones at them. It’s almost impossible to hurt them, of course, not with Victor’s shields and Yuuri’s skills in play, but it must hurt to hear someone condemn him like that. Mages are raised in the academy, so they often don’t meet other people until adulthood. He saw Victor’s face, the first time a child insulted him. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do to never see that again.

“I can do it, too, you know.”

Victor’s eyes soften, “You’re such a sweetheart.”

“Maybe I’m just possessive,” Yuuri suggests, feeling brave, and relishes the startled blush on the mage’s cheeks. He coughs lightly, pleased, “I’ll be out of there in ten minutes.”

“... Optimistic,” Victor chokes out, still rattled. It isn’t often that Yuuri initiates the flirting, he knows that. But well. It wouldn’t have been nice to watch Victor drape himself over a potentially dangerous informant. Sometimes he really is a bit possessive.

“Just watch,” Yuuri winks.

They both go in, although Victor puts his hood up. His features are too fine to be any common villager, telling the tale of a life spent at the academy instead of in the fields, his hands uncalloused, and his snow crystals are too noticeable. He can pass for some time, but Yuuri will have to be quick.

No worries. He’s been quick before.

He leaves his sword with Victor, warning him to be watchful, before he changes in a small closet space he finds empty, taking off unnecessary furs and struggling not to feel observed. There are eyes everywhere. Once he’s got his clothes on, he messes up his hair a bit, erases some of the bags under his eyes with powder Mari and him used to buy at the Hasetsu market, and nods, satisfied.

Yuuri walks out of the small closet swishing his hips and letting just enough of his chest show, and ten different men and women turn to stare at him. Victor, from where he’s skulking near a table in the back, drops his glass noisily on the floor, eyes wide.

Aren’t you supposed to be subtle? Yuuri muses, slightly excited. He doesn’t really unsettle Victor much, and it’s nice to see him lose his composure a little.

He seduces the guy into telling him all the possible info, dropping spare touches on his arm and fluttering his eyelashes. He makes sure to trail his fingers all over the man’s face, and leaves before the guy realizes he’s just spilled important data to a travelling man working at a nearby ‘entertainment venue’ (code for pleasure house).

“...I did not expect that,” Victor gulps when they’re out of the tavern, glancing back at him, already wearing his regular clothes, in amazement. “That was...extremely educational.”

“Oh, really?” Yuuri blinks innocently, very purposefully pulling on his sword’s hilt before letting it drop all the way into its sheathe, watching Victor’s eyes track the movement. “I think I held back too much.” His heart is beating its way out of his chest, but he powers through. “If you want to learn though,” he licks his lips unconsciously. “I could always teach you.”

Victor lets out the tiniest whimper he’s ever heard, chest quivering up and down, and quickly walks ahead.

…

“I know!” Yuuri shoots up from the dinner table, breathless, with his cheeks flushed red. “I finally know what my eros is!”

He turns to look at Victor triumphantly, curling his fingers into his fist, “Pork cutlet bowl!”

For a moment, Victor wants to tear his hair out, to shake him and tell him, “No.”, because he’s seen Yuuri’s eros, seen him seduce him more expertly than anyone he’s ever met in his life, reeling him in and digging his hook all the way in. He wants to kiss him until he can’t think, his head is dizzy, and he finally lets go.

But Yuuri isn’t ready, that’s plain to see. Yuuri shuts the door at night, and hesitates when Victor is close, blushes at proximity incredibly easily. Yuuri is still figuring out what he wants, apparently, and the fact that he might have made the first move while drunk can’t change that. He’s going to have to be patient; it’s worth it, for a guy like Yuuri.

So Victor beams at him, grabs his arm, and declares, “Then you will be the pork cutlet bowl that enthralls men!”

The way Yuuri smiles at him, relieved and reassured in his choice, lets him know he did the right thing.

…

The Dragon spirit is at the top of the mountain - at least, that was what Yuuri’s informant claimed - in an area without many trees but near a stream, so the nymph can feed off its energy. There’s a minimum of two days travelling uphill in desolate terrain until they reach its hideout, and it’ll be tough, with no moment to rest. It’s extremely dangerous to fall asleep while so close to a main spirit; anything can attack, masking themselves with the spirit wards; basic spirits sneak into dreams if they’re strengthened by the main spirit’s power, and the mind must be alert at all times to stop nymph possession.

Yuuri knows this. He’s lived amongst nymphs for the better part of his childhood; Japan was a disaster that fell quickly enough, but nymphs followed their journey all the way out of the island, attaching their main spirits to vessels and landing in fertile grounds.

Nymphs are terrible, parasitic creatures who barely have any distinguishable emotions and lack an organized society. Contrary to what the stories said about them before they took over, nymphs aren’t beautiful maidens with kind words, but shorter, sickly-looking tiny women with sunken cheeks and bottomless black eyes. Yuuri won’t ever get the image of a nymph spreading her wings as she flew away with a child out of his mind, not for as long as he lives - her yellowed teeth shining, her claws wrapping around the baby, the way she glowed as her feet touched the earth.

They are distinctively non-human, and they aren’t mages, either. No one could mistake a nymph for them. They don’t have feelings, they don’t lure unsuspecting travellers to their doom. It’s almost ridiculous, how easy it is to hate them for sucking the life out of their home, out of their people, out of their hope.

But their blood is just as red as Yuuri’s is. And the screams of terrified agony - high-pitched, desperate, pleading - as he drives his sword through them while not allowing himself to falter, sound just like people’s.

“Do you want to do this?” Yuuri asks, swallowing hard. He’s been through too much to give up now; he’s already killed nymphs before. But Victor… Victor fights because he wants to practice his magic in peace, because he smiles at his ice crystals and draws snow mustaches on Yuuri’s face while he’s sleeping. Victor fights for the Academy, for his apprentice, a boy named Yuri, too.

Victor deserves better than risking his life alongside a mediocre knight; he deserves battalions, legions, armies.

Victor’s standing in the middle of the path, his bag with their provisions lying at his feet. His hair falls loosely all over his shoulders, covering up his hood. He looks at Yuuri, and says, very quietly, “I want to fight with you.”

“Are you certain?” Yuuri needs to know. He takes a step forward, biting his lower lip. “Victor, are you sure -?”

“I want to court you properly, you know,” Victor cuts him off, eyes fixed on the outline of the mountain in front of  them. “I want you to get to know my apprentice. I want…” His hand curls into a fist, cold wind whipping his hair back. “I want to fall asleep next to you on the road without fear, Yuuri.” He finally looks up, determined. “I can’t be with you until I die if there’s creatures trying to kill us every second now, can I?” He smiles, amused. “And I still haven’t introduced you to the mage academy scholars, Yakov would never forgive me for marrying without his approval, anyway -”

Victor doesn’t continue then, but that’s because it’d be a little complicated, what with Yuuri’s lips monopolizing his mouth for the moment.

…

It’s cold, Barcelona.

Not as cold as St. Petersburg, of course; Spain’s got nothing on that. But cold enough that Victor sees Yuuri - sniffing every couple of minutes and sneezing - and frets, wrapping scarf after scarf around his neck, taking out gloves from every pocket he has, not even hesitating to warm up his face with breathless kisses.

“Victor,” Yuuri whines, pushing him away slightly. “We’re in the middle of the street!”

“But you’re freezing,” Victor pouts, wrapping his arms around Yuuri stubbornly. It’s almost his birthday, goddamnit, isn’t he allowed to hold his lover close, at least? “You’re not used to these cold winters.”

Yuuri raises an eyebrow at him, a small, amused smile on his lips, “I’m from Japan, not Brazil, Victor. I’ve seen snow before.”

“Was it frightening?” Victor teases.

“You’re sleeping on the couch tonight, I hope you know that.”

“So cruel,” Victor clutches at his chest desperately, biting his lip to keep himself from smiling. He knows Yuuri enjoys thinking his threats come off as serious most of the time, when really anyone can see from a mile away that he crumbles in the face of puppy dog eyes. Yuri has so far gotten soda six out of the six times Yuuri swore not to let him have some. His Grandpa hates them and won’t allow the kid to stay at their place.

“Hmph,” Yuuri rolls his eyes. “I can see when you’re being patronizing, Victor!”

“Right,” Victor replies cheerfully, dropping another kiss on his cheek.

“I-I’m telling you,” Yuuri chokes out between giggles. Ooh, ticklish. “This is so embarrassing…”

“No one knows you,” Victor whispers, his lips brushing Yuuri’s cheekbone as he moves to speak into his ear. “We can just have fun here.”

“Yeah,” Yuuri whispers back, and then says. “Except for the fact that there’s two teenagers taking pictures of you.”

Victor turns automatically. It’s true; two teens wearing ‘I HEART NIKIFOROV’ t-shirts with his face plastered on the front. The minute they notice him being aware of their presence, the short one screams and grabs the other one’s forearm in what seems like a death grip, before yelling, “¡No me lo puedo ni creer, tía! Aaaaaah, nos está mirando.”

Victor doesn’t know much Spanish, but he’s willing to bet there’s something about how cool he is, right there.

“They’re saying you’ve gotten old,” Yuuri tells him, as if the git knew Spanish.

“That is a lie,” Victor gasps, quickly switching his attention to glare at Yuuri. “I am not old. And even if I were,” Victor flicks his hair, “I would still look amazing.”

“You’ve spent the last few months drinking and binge-eating pork cutlet bowl while you had me on the steamed vegetable and pure protein diet,” Yuuri reminds him. That comes up a lot, in their arguments. Yuuri’s not the diet kind of guy, regardless of how loyal to his career he is. Victor currently has three chocolate boxes hidden in his part of the closet. “You deserve to be called all the insults in the world.”

“You still love me, though,” Victor says, his voice soft. He reaches out for Yuuri’s hand, and he immediately takes it, entwining their fingers without thinking. It’s become almost second nature these days, to reach out and find Yuuri waiting, to wait until Yuuri reaches out to him.

“Yeah, Vitya,” Yuuri goes on his tiptoes, gracing him with a single kiss on the tip of his nose and chuckling when he blushes bright red. “I still love you.”

…

Yuuri has never doubted the fact that Victor is strong. He’s always known that, and has worked tirelessly to match his level and grant him a chance against their enemies, to cover for him and compliment his style.

They’re strong, together.

The Dragon is stronger.

…

“Victor,” Yuuri starts. He looks troubled, his fingers curling into a fist on top of his thighs.  

“Yes?” Victor smiles, trying to be reassuring. Tomorrow’s the final, and they’re engaged. It’s only natural that he gets nervous, especially if it’s Yuuri. He just hopes his anxiety isn’t too bad.

“Victor,” Yuuri begins once more, voice firm. “After the Grand Prix Final, let’s end this.”

…

It all starts to go wrong once Yuuri lets himself think they can actually do this.

They caught the Dragon while it was resting, thanks to Victor’s stealth, and managed to attack it in quick, efficient hits, staying light on their feet and saving energy for the entire battle. Even when the situation worsens, when the Dragon rises up to its full height, glorious and lethal, they maintain their composure, making sure that everything goes according to the plan.

The spirit feeds on the nymph to gain its power and although she’ll likely be aware that losing the guardian to her region is not a viable option, she’ll still take time to redirect her powers to one particular entity. Besides, she won’t be able to keep it up for long if someone else chooses to fight her. They must wear the Dragon out then, must outlast it. This nymph isn’t like the half-dead ones Yuuri’s seen in the wastelands or on the paths, the ones who can barely muster up three basic defense spirits. It’ll be dangerous.

They’re doing well, and then Yuuri gets hit by the spirit’s blast of pure white fire.

It’s unlike anything he’s ever experienced before. Yuuri has been stabbed, has been stepped on, thrown against walls, hit, slapped, has survived attempted drownings… he’s known violence all his life, has grown to expect it rather than recoil at the first sign of it, to accept it as part of his life.

But then the flames lick his skin, teasing and biting, and he starts screaming.

It bites at him, gnaws on his body, ripping apart the folds that keep him together. There’s nothing to run away from, nothing to shake off, no wound to put pressure on, no possible remedy - there’s just heat, unbearable, eating away without mercy, burning through cloth to sink its claws into him and make him choke.

He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe he can’t breathe.

- cold.

Yuuri’s body cools down immediately, a change in temperature so brusque he feels dizzy with it, panting and clawing at his throat. He’s shivering while his blood pulses from the fire, while red rivers leak out of his red-hot wounds. There’s snow on the ground where he’s lying, he can feel it cushioning his body, recognizes its texture from being around it so much because of -

“... -uuri, Yuuri, oh for the Mage’s soul, Yuuri, pl- please.”

“V-Victor,” he rasps out. “Victor,” he repeats.

“I’m here,” Victor chokes out. Yuuri can’t open his eyes, but his heart constricts at the pure agony in Victor’s voice, gut-wrenching. “Yuuri, come on, I have to get you something -”

Neither of them are healers. The most Yuuri can do is tie a tourniquet, from days at the camps he and his family stayed at, but his knowledge of medicine doesn’t extend to burns like this. He can’t - he’s not sure he’ll survive this.

“Dragon,” he whispers, coughing. He manages to see a little, from between his eyelashes. Victor still looks gorgeous, even when his vision is blurry. It makes him want to  smile, a little,  and touch his cheek. He looks really worried. Victor shouldn’t be that worried about him.“Dragon.” he insists.

“I don’t care about the stupid Dragon,” Victor bites out, as if they haven’t spent the last few days chasing after it, sacrificing hours and hours of sleep and time because of it. He’s crouching protectively on top of him,  “Yuuri, stay with me, I’m begging you.”

“You’re pretty,” Yuuri blurts out, woozy. It all hurts so much. The words seem to come from far away. “Want to dance?”

“What -? Nevermind,” Victor dismisses it, fussing over him. His hands are shaking. Why are they shaking? It’s still cold, but Victor’s immune to that. And anyway, the place is heating up. Yuuri’s hot. Should he be hot? That doesn’t sound right. “My wards won’t hold for much longer, we need to get you somewhere safe, I’m going to call Otabek, he can help you -”

“Be my coach, Victor,” Yuuri slurs, barely conscious.

…

Victor doesn’t notice he’s started to cry until his tears are pooling together on his lap.

…

Yuuri comes to with the worst headache he’s had in his life, spitting out blood as he writhes on the floor.

The cold - the sweet, blessed cold - is gone, and now there’s fire again, except his skin isn’t the one suffering under it this time. It’s everywhere, poisoning the air, making him cough black smoke and struggle to breathe. The only thought on his mind is - where is Victor?

…

“I’m retiring, after this,” Yuuri says, with that half-smile of his Victor knows better than he knows his own hand, the half-smile that fights to show how completely happy he is with what he’s saying, while burying the regret underneath.

Victor imagines a world in which he skates and Yuuri doesn’t - a world in which Yuuri doesn’t spend his morning hours lazing in the rink, in which he doesn’t stay up until 3 am because that’s when the best offers for skating equipment come in, in which he doesn’t rehearse jumps in Victor’s living room, accidentally breaking his lamp for the fourth time. Figure skating has become so deeply integrated into what he associates as Yuuri in the time they’ve known each other that, although he can say without a doubt that he’d stay with Yuuri regardless of whatever he did with his career, he doesn’t know if Yuuri would be happy with that.

If Yuuri would want that.

“Your career isn’t dead, Yuuri,” he whispers, trying not to plead and yet desperately wishing to.

“It’s dying,” his fiancé murmurs, shrugging.

…

Victor’s losing.

Victor’s fighting on his own at the top of the mountain, defending himself and Yuuri as best as he can. He’s on his last resources of power; Yuuri can tell by the way there’s no snow around him like there always is, just faint droplets of water hanging in the air.

“Victor!” Yuuri yells, wincing at the sound of his voice. His lungs are filled with smoke. “Victor, I’m coming!”

For a moment, Victor turns, his blue eyes widening, his lips quivering with relief before they decide on an exhausted smile. His shoulders go down, losing some of their tension. He says, “Yuuri -”

That’s the precise second when the Dragon’s claw comes down, almost as if in slow motion, and tears through his neck like it’s sandpaper.

…

“Oh my god,” Yuuri breathes, eyes following the shape moving on the TV screen. “Who is that?”

“That’s Victor Nikiforov,” Yuuko answers, not missing a beat. She sounds giddy, grabbing his hands to get his attention. Her ponytail swings from side to side as she gushes. “He’s like, the best skater in the world. Can you believe he’s only 14?”

“...Yeah, I can believe it.”

There’s something familiar about Victor Nikiforov, something that calls out to Yuuri immediately. He moves swiftly and surely, like the ice is his element, like his jumps are supported by rising and falling tides.

He’s watching him, curious and interested, when Victor Nikiforov gives a look at the camera after his spread eagle - an intimate, heated glance accompanied by a perfectly delivered wink, and Yuuri’s heart skips a beat.

He bites his lower lip, “Hey, Yuuko, can we learn that program?”

Maybe he could meet him at a competition one day.

Yeah, right, Yuuri sighs much later as they’re actually practicing the program, which is absurdly complicated. He purses his lips. As if he’d meet the best skater in the world. In another life.

fin