#i just think that’s interesting. i have a headache can’t expand but like. i want to study him like a bug

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

i think it’s very important that curly's an extremely flawed person who has misogynistic biases, but also, like, not an inherently terrible or ill meaning one. curly is the average man in a patriarchal system, basically- he benefits from the system and sees it as normal and as such perpetuates it. he genuinely wants to help anya and wasn’t trying to throw her to the wolves but his deeply ingrained ideas that his friend couldn’t do something so horrible (bc rape has to be this monstrous evil thing that’s only done by monsters who hurt everyone in their path, right?) and that anya must be in some way over-emotional and in need of calming down more than legit protection lead to him basically doing that. he isn’t trying to cause harm, but he's a reflection of the harmful system he comes from. even genuinely well meaning men participate in the patriarchy, and conversely, the patriarchy self-cannibalises to stay alive. it as a system ultimately did not save curly from abuse because it’s not designed to. the system needs abusive men, as much as it needs passive enforcers, and it doesn’t particularly care who those men brutalise if it keeps women down.

[absolute-flaming-trash]

Been a hot minute, my friends, and I'm sorry for that.

This is something that has been sitting in my drafts for a bit and with how long it's been taking me to get other work out, I figured why not even if I'm not fully pleased with it.

I hope you enjoy regardless 💛

Pairing: Yandere!Chrollo x Reader

SFW

Word Count: 910

Warnings: Yandere, Kidnapping, Forced relationship, Murder (mentioned)

Please be nice, I don't write for this man often

“May I ask you something?”

It was a simple question, but one you regretted the moment it left your lips because of how it silenced the room.

Gone was the soft scratching of pen against paper as Chrollo looked toward your seated position, his expression thankfully that of neutrality mixed with a hint of slight intrigue.

You swallowed and looked down at your lap. Better than annoyance, you supposed.

“I just… I can’t stop thinking about it, and I have to ask...” Your fingers picked at the frayed ends of the couch while your graze returned to his. “Why me?”

He arched a brow, amusement creeping into his eyes. “Why you?”

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

“Yes.” You replied with a little more conviction in your own tone this time. “Surely keeping one person alive when the rest were doomed to die is more trouble than it’s worth.”

“Are you saying that you would’ve preferred to have shared the same fate as the rest of your fellow party go-ers?”

Your cringe followed by a beat of silence was more than enough of an answer, but you felt obligated to continue since you were the one who started this conversation in the first place.

“...No.” Your teeth found your bottom lip while you tried to gather your thoughts in a way you hoped would make sense, all while pushing the memory of the fundraiser-turned-bloodbath out of your mind. “I’m saying I don’t understand.”

Chrollo leaned back in his own seat, still looking directly at you. “You’re here to keep the police from doing anything foolish.”

“I know that!” The frustration in your chest made itself known. “But you could have taken anybody. One of the sponsors of the damn thing, or even some other random woman, yet you kept me alive. I want to know your reasoning for it.”

He didn’t seem upset by your outburst, if anything it just served to increase his growing interest in the conversation.

Likely because these were the most words you had ever spoken to him at a given time.

Bastard.

“I liked you.”

Such a simple answer, and one you did not expect from someone who typically played their cards so close to the chest. It threw you off whatever balance you mentally had, and you recovered with a scoff.

“You liked me?”

“Yes.”

A twitch went through your eye when he didn’t expand on that - the sound of pen on paper filling up the room once more. You refused to let the conversation die there.

“I don’t believe you.”

That was a lie, but one you were willing to risk if it meant bringing the topic back to life, and boy did it work.

Not only did he stop writing, he set the pen down on the desk in front of him and turned his whole body to face you. “Oh?”

Shit.

“I mean, I don’t know how you could decide using something like that in a situation that was such a spur of the moment.”

“What makes you think any of what I do is ‘spur of the moment’?”

That made you pause. He had a point there. In the short time that you knew him, he had proved himself to be anything but impulsive…

Your temples throbbed with a quickly encroaching headache.

“If it wasn’t, then what? Your choice was made before the bloodshed started?”

The words were spoken sarcastically, but you had no idea just how right you were until you saw his expression change from amused neutrality to one of…

Come to think of it, you had no idea what to call the look on his face. Admiration came closest to mind, but that didn’t feel right.

“You catch on fast, well done.”

You made a face, not a fan of the condescending tone. “So, what? If I’m not sacrificed to the cops in a hail of bullets, you’re going to keep me as some kind of pet?”

Amusement crept back onto his face. “Is that what you think?”

“If it is, I hope you know I’ll fight that with every fiber in my being.”

He hummed lowly, your promise of violence completely brushed to the side. “As intriguing as the notion is, I have no intention of doing such a thing to you.”

“Then what do you intend to do?”

A small smile appeared on his face, but he didn’t answer, allowing you a moment to draw your own conclusions.

When you did, you frowned.

“Not a chance.”

“Why?”

You gave him an indignant look. “You can’t seriously expect me to willingly be with you after everything that has happened.”

“I don’t, hence your current circumstances.”

Silence filled the air again after that. A nice reminder that whatever outcome you could’ve hoped for during this exchange, you were doomed to lose regardless.

All you could do was shake your head in malcontent and pick at the frayed ends of the couch again, unable to come up with anything further to say.

More amusement flickered across his face. “You do not wish to be my pet, nor to be my lover.” He sat back ever so slightly in his chair. “Tell me then, what do you wish to be?”

“Free.” You replied without a sliver of hesitation, locking eyes again with him once more. “But we both know that will never happen, will it?”

Chrollo threatened to genuinely smile at your answer and he shook his head once.

“No. It won’t.”

© absolute-flaming-trash 2023. Do not repost, modify, copy, or claim.  

[elliebyrrdwrites]

Marriage Law Trope part 3

Obviously, Granger refused to have the ceremony at the manor, despite all of my mothers requests and horde of howlers. Mother wanted to save all of the time and money she spent planning her only sons wedding. So, she brought the ceremony to Granger.

Inside of the ministry, is this sad little room for the kinds of witches and wizards who want to get married without all of the hoopla. They either don’t have the money to spend on a big wedding, or they just need the marriage for legal purposes.

But mother fills this room with the white Lillie’s and the pink carnations and she charms to ceiling to sparkle. There’s a massive wedding cake in the middle of the room on a table she set up herself. It’s three tiers with the smallest one holding two figurines of a bride and groom. The bride originally resembled Astoria with her black hair and pale skin. I had to ask Theo to transfigure it to resemble Granger. He managed to transfigure the skin to resemble the sandy color of Grangers and the hair to grow two sizes bigger, but it’s still black. Not brown.

With a shrug, he moves back to my side. We’re both leaning against a wall, and I’m dressed in the first clean(ish) suit Theo could find before forcing me out of the door.

The finality of last nights drunkenness simmered into a buzz and is now boiling rapidly into a hangover. It starts with a headache that begins at the base of your skull and then it wraps around and you swear you can feel your brain scraping against your scalp because you’re so hungover you think everything has shrunken or expanded. You aren’t really sure, but all of those scenarios pop into your head and you just can’t even blink without the pain landing into your brain, behind your eye sockets.

The point is, I feel like shit on what some may consider the most important day of my life.

Theo peers at me from where he’s leaning and begins to dig through his pockets. Inside of his jacket, in his pants pockets. I don’t know what he is looking for and I can’t understand how he keeps digging around in the same pockets for long periods of time but finally. He produces a vial of something bright red and holds it out to me as I watch my father hiss into my mothers ear. Across the room, he’s telling me, my mother, the worl, that at this is the worst thing to ever happen to the Malfoys.

“Take this.” Theo says and I take the vial, without looking it. I take the vial and uncork it before tossing the entirety into the back of my throat.

Because potions are not new to me. Potions are what I do. It’s just that, ever since Granger rolled into that room last week, I don’t want them. I hate them. They dull everything inside of me and everything around me. And so, every other night, I skip them. Every other night, I let myself feel the spread of my sheets as i lay down to sleep. I mull over data and information, mostly about the things insane and heard and I felt.

And then I close my eyes. I blink and then it’s morning. Everything stops and then speeds up until the sun is shining through my curtains. Sometimes I doubt that I even fell asleep.

The point is, I didn’t take my potions last night because I wanted to feel the enormity of this day. I wanted to remember the way it felt to watch Granger say ‘I Do to Draco Malfoy.

It’s not like I have any romantic feelings. It’s just interesting and something about the way she stood up to father makes me think she’s going to do something stupid and reckless and I really just want to remember it. I want to feel it all.

The point is, we have to kiss. This isn’t just a business deal, because we’re expected to get intimate. We’re expected to stick my parts into her parts and make a fucking baby.

But the point is, I got stupid drunk last night because I couldn’t figure out what kind of kiss to give her. It’s not like I even want to kiss her. But if I don’t, or I do, what is then outcome? If I kiss her like she’s repulsive, she’ll likely hex my balls off.

If I kiss her like I want to fuck her, like I want to consummate this, she will likely still hex my bullocks off.

And I don’t. Really, I don’t.

It’s just that, she has the greatest set of tits I’ve ever seen wrapped inside of fabric.

The potions tastes like pepper up with a kick of something tart. And my tongue tingles just as the door to the room opens.

Granger is dressed in a white dress. Her shoulders are bare and the dress is simple, like something you’d wear to an afternoon garden party and her hair is pulled back with intricate braids that meet at the back of her head but the rest of her hair is down and wild and she feels like the falls of Asaranca during summer. It’s Warm and wild but there’s a cool steady mist blowing in your face.

Trust me, I know.

But, behind Granger, there’s Harry Potter and there’s Ginny Weasley. And there’s Ronald Fucking Weasley.

Ronald Weasley is as freckly as ever, but that’s not why I hate him. Freckles don’t bother me. He’s combed up and dressed in a suit that actually looks new and fits his big gangly body, but that isn’t why I hate him, either. I don’t even hate his copper colored hair. Copper has its appeal.

The point is, just the mere presence of him grates at my nerves.

It’s like being lit on fire and being able to do nothing about it. Your blood is boiling and it feels like your skin is tightening around your temples but really it’s just your nerves getting frayed and there’s nothing you can do.

And the point is, that when Granger steps into the room, his hand moves to the small of her back and I can feel the possession in his touch, even from here I’m standing.

And the point is, I’d rather die than have my wife be something Ronald Weasley feels like he owns.

The room fills with the tension that spreads and reaches out for all eight of us. It’s threading itself into our skin and through the fibers of our muscles until it settles deep into the gut or carves itself out a little space in our chest.

There isn’t enough room in there for my heart and my lungs and all of that tension.

Because it’s pounding and my lungs are contracting over and over and Granger is looking at me from across the room like she’s just seen life on the moon. She takes her big dumb eyes and shines them on me like I’m that thing she lost years ago, and totally forgot all about it until this moment.

Until she’d stumbled upon it like we stumbled upon it in the middle of looking for something else. And now she can’t remember what she was looking before she found me.

And the point is, it’s unnerving. The look of this witch with her lips parting and her eyes glimmering, it’s too much. Because she’s about to give herself to me, and I’m going to pull her into my life and into my chest and lock her in there. I’ll have to protect her from everyone,even my father. I’ll have to care for her and we don’t even like each other.

My magic is buzzing and my heart is pounding and Theo is nudging his shoulder into mine, telling me to calm down.

“Either the potion’s kicked in, or you’re very excited to see your bride to be,” Theo says and when drag my eyes away from Granger, he’s pointedly looking at my nose. There’s steam pouring out of my nostrils and my ears and I can feel it wafting up my throat as I step away from the wall to greet my bride. But, I cough and puff out a cloud of tart flavored smoke.

Grangers face lights up in a way I’ve never seen before.

Her lips quirk and her eyes latch onto mine and then she smiles. She’s smiling at me like she can’t help it. Like the smoke and my nerves are all something precious and I feel like I’m being bolted to the floor. I can’t move and the best of my heart increases and so I just stare.

I stare and staresndstareandstare. I can’t stop staring at the way her lips lift and show the row of pearl like teeth, the slight sliver of her top gum.

“Ahem,” father clears his throat and the spell is broken. The mudbloods magic fizzes out and her smile transforms into something cruel and bitter as she looks to look at my father.

The tension thickens as the Marriage Commissioner enters behind Grangers gang of Gryffindors.

“Are we all ready?”

The little room is bursting with flowers and tension and the nine of us.

Nobody is ready. We’re all fidgeting and on edge.

Potter is shifting from foot to foot as he squeezes onto the hand of Ginny Weasley. She’s narrowing her eyes on me, a brow lifted like she’s sure I’m about to take a shit on the entire thing. Theo is fiddling with his bow tie and I don’t know why he’s nervous. He thought the entire idea of me and Granger getting married is hilarious.

But now he’s adjusting his tie and shaking his hair from his face and staring at my parents like they might do something.

Mothers just wringing her fingers together and watching Granger with something like wonder filling her blue eyes, rounding them out and lifting her brows.

Father is scowling as he watches everyone step into place.

I step up to the little alter that is on the far east side of the room. The commissioner stands at the podium.

Theo and my parents line up on one side. Potter and the Weasleys on the other.

Granger steps up to the podium and then all of the eyes in the room are on me.

They’re poking and prodding. They’re waiting and predicting.

Because what will Draco do?

Something stupid, his fathers eyes say. Theos eyes are begging me to be reckless.

Harry thinks I’m going to do something to hurt Granger.

Ron Weasley is telling me to run away. His eyes are gobbling up his golden princess and he’s begging me to give her back, give her back.

Granger barely looks over her shoulder, and her eyes don’t land on me. I don’t know what Granger wants.

But I step up beside her and her shoulder brushes against my arm and my headache is gone but in its place, my heart has spread into my throat and into my head. I can feel and hear it in every part of my body.

The commissioner doesn’t drag it out. It’s like ripping off a bandage. It’s better to just get it over with, don’t prolong the pain. Just pinch the edges and pull.

And before I know it, I’m turning to face Granger and she’s turning to look up at me and there’s a ring shoved into my hand. I slide it onto her little fingers that look like they belong between my teeth and I’m promising to care for her and protect her. I’m promising to love her and she’s doing the same and isn’t that some shit.

Were promising to do something that we had no choice in. They’re forcing us together and now they’re making us swear to love each other when we never got the chance to figure it out on our own. And we don’t. We don’t love each other. We hate each other but now we’re going to love each other for the rest of our lives.

You may now kiss the bride.

The words crack into my mind like a whip. I’m jolted back into a moment I can never forget because I’m not being dulled down by the potions my father encouraged me to take. And this is why I drank last night.

Because I’m forced to make a decision that neither of us wants to make.

I clear my throat and I can see Granger swallow as her eyes flick to her friends, to the commission, who nods encouragingly.

She looks to my parents and to Theo.

I lean forward and I have to bend my knees so that I can lower myself to her height and gently place my lips against hers.

I settled on a respectful, closed lipped kiss.

Her lips are soft and firm and warm. There’s a spark of magic that dances against my mouth and I gasp. I gasp and make to pull away.

But Grangers hands suddenly clasp over the back of my neck as she lifts up onto the tips of her toes and deepens the kiss. She takes advantage shock forces her tongue into my mouth and, I think I’m falling.

The point is, my hands hold onto her, grasping at her face and her waist and I’m falling. I’m falling into Granger and she takes me, catches me and devours me.

The kiss is wild and it’s inappropriate but I think I’m cursed because I can’t stop kissing her back. I can’t stop slanting and molding my mouth to hers. I can’t stop letting her massage my tongue with hers I can’t stop her little fingers from gripping onto my neck or from finding their way into the little hairs at the nape of my neck.

I can’t stop the way my fingers press into the fabric of her dress like I might rip into it. I can’t stop the way I, forcing her body to crowd into mine.

The kiss is like a dance that is synchronized and well practiced, like we’ve been doing it forever.

Someone clears their throat and Granger slows the kiss down, kissing me once, twice, three times before she pulls away with my eyes still closed.

She pulls away and when I open my eyes, she sends a smirk at my father and the point is, I can’t care.

The point is, that ancient beast that was a part of me is now a part of her and something wild and frenzied is suddenly brewing right here. Here in this space between her body and mine, my mind and hers The point is, it’s here to stay and the point is, I can’t stop this, even if I tried.

Trust me, I know.

[walkawaytall]

For the ask game?

👽 What's the weirdest idea you've had for a story?

You know what? I wrote this out like six months ago because I thought it was hilarious at the time, but I am never going to do a darn thing with it because it's too meta and winky even for me and it doesn't actually have a plot and I'm not certain it's even all that funny anyway, so, here, y'all can have the weirdest idea I've had so far -- aptly labeled Moonlight in my docs -- as a treat:

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

“Leia, you’re basically a girl,” Wes said.

“Stunning observational skills you have, Janson,” Wedge responded, smacking Wes’ shoulder harder than strictly necessary.

“I’m just saying he’ll believe her.”

Leia looked the group over, interest piqued. “Who will believe me about what?”

“Luke thinks we’re messing with him.”

Han, who’d been pressing his fingers to his forehead with his eyes closed — Leia assumed he had a headache — looked at her. “Trust me, sweetheart, you don’t wanna know.”

Well. That settled it. How does he know what I do and don’t want to know?

But, then again, Shara was right there with them. Why didn’t they ask her? Is this a prank? Leia looked at Wes, trying to read his face. “Shara’s right here.”

Shara rolled her eyes. “Luke thinks I’m lying.”

Luke was oddly quiet, his cheeks flushed pink. He stared at the floor.

Leia raised an eyebrow and looked at Wes. “Well, let’s have it. What do you need to know that requires a woman’s knowledge?”

“Lukey here thinks you can’t—“

“You cannot talk to her about this,” Luke interrupted forcefully. His ears were bright red now.

“Why not? We asked Shara. You just won’t listen.”

Luke shook his head. “It’s different.”

Wes rolled his eyes and looked at Leia. “Luke thinks you can’t wear bras in space.”

Leia squinted at them. Wes was nearly laughing, Wedge and Shara appeared mildly amused by the situation, Luke looked like he wanted to melt into the floor, and Han shook his head, clearly done with all of them.

“What?” Leia said.

Wes kicked Luke’s boot. “Explain.”

Luke continued to stare at the floor as he spoke. “It’s just something I was told��Bodies expand when you’re in space, so anything really restricting can cause…It can strangle you basically. So it’s safer to just not—It’s just something I was told.”

“Whoever said that was messing with you bad,” Wedge said.

Leia found herself giggling despite not wanting to make Luke feel bad for his ignorance. He looked up sharply when he heard her laugh and she bit her lip. “Luke, no:” She shook her head and composed herself before continuing. “Swelling only happens when there’s no gravity, but we have artificial gravity, so…” She shrugged. “Anyway, even if it worked that way, bras stretch—What do you think they’re made of?”

Luke’s face turned even redder after she said bra. “I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“Ain’t made of durasteel,” Han said flatly.

“Okay, but I’m not totally wrong,” Luke said, still avoiding eye contact with Leia. He glanced between Han and Wes. “If the gravity went out and it wasn’t made of flexible material—“

“That’s a lotta ifs, kid,” Han said.

Luke finally looked at Leia. “I was sort of right, right?”

Leia snorted. “I don’t know,” she said wryly. “Next time I’m in a metal bra, I’ll let you know if any strangulation takes place.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

((and, in case anyone somehow missed the inspiration for this ridiculousness:

))

Thank you for asking! I recognize that this isn't even that weird, but it's all I could think of tonight :D.

Another Writers ask game

[lilmissnatcat24]

SMS HISTORY: Messages between Urdnot Wrex and Delia Shepard 10.3.2184 11:29-12:01 [Archived: Friends]

[Urdnot Wrex]: Thought of you today, princess. 

[Delia Shepard]: You know I hate it when you call me that. 

[UW]: Then stop acting so much like one. 

[DS]: I’m active duty N7, you know. 

[UW]: Bragging about being a soldier for the Alliance is like me bragging about five shots in five minutes. Even a child could do it. 

[DS]: Is there a reason you’re talking to me, or are you just out to insult me? 

[UW]: (Link) 

[UW]: Just reminds me of all those times you nearly pissed yourself trying to set off some pitiful warp on some sandblasted merc working for Saren. 

[DS]: Okay, a few things. 

[DS]: One, if you ever send me a fucking vid of krogan porn ever again, I will block your old ass. 

[DS]: Two, who is even the audience for this? That’s disgusting. No one wants to see that. 

[DS]: Three, I did not piss myself. I expanded myself far beyond my capabilities back then. My biotics are a lot more stable now. 

[UW]: You pissed yourself when you and Vakarian broke me out of prison and that security bomb knocked you out. 

[DS]: You seem to be very interested in me pissing myself. And the porn? Wrex, baby, is there something you wanted to get off your chest? 

[UW]: How stable are we talking? Warps? Singularies? Stases? 

[DS]: Mostly warps. Singularities drain the meter so fast, it’s not even really worth it. And stasis is fine. Can be a little glitchy, I can’t get it to last more than about thirty seconds before it fails. As soon as I drop my concentration, it’s gone. I think I still prefer short bursts, shockwaves and throws and that sorta stuff. 

[UW]: And you do those breathing exercises I sent? Does that help at all? 

[DS]: With the recovery, yeah. Less headaches. I barely get nosebleeds anymore.

[UW]: What about the diet? 

[DS]: Oddly enough, Alliance biotic stipends don’t have a ton of auxiliary funds for me to be constantly snacking on pyjak jerky. 

[UW]: Your loss. 

[UW]: Although, if you really want to test out your biotics, you should come by on your next shore leave. I can teach you how to reave. 

[DS]: Since when could you reave? 

[UW]: Since I suddenly became a major enemy of about a dozen neighboring clans filled with bloodthirsty mercs with selfregenning capabilities. Occupational job hazard. 

[UW]: Although now, I have a wealth of knowledge to pass down to whatever fledglings I see fit. 

[DS]: Humans can’t reave. 

[UW]: If any human could, it would be you. You, or Alenko. Which, I’m coming to understand, is stationed with you out in the Terminus? 

[DS]: You know that’s classified, Wrex. 

[UW]: Even for an old friend? 

[DS]: When that old friend gets officially classified by the Alliance as a Potential Enemy of Humanity, then yeah. 

[UW]: Is that what the little birdies are saying about me? 

[DS]: I was under the impression that krogan ate little birdies for breakfast. 

[UW]: Gotta run. Think about the offer if you ever get sick of the Alliance. 

[DS]: As soon as I want to desert, you’ll be my first call. 

[UW]: And listen, you didn’t hear this from me. But keep your eyes open. Hearing some rough things from the Terminus. Even rougher for human colonies. Stay awake. Drill those biotics. Don’t let anyone get the jump on you or Alenko. 

[DS]: Heard. You too. 

uh oh im doing it again im giving shepard and wrex far too much sexual chemistry

[stellocchia]

There is one thing I sometimes mention in my rants about c!Dream’s and c!Tommy’s relationship that I never expanded on, which is c!Dream assiging c!Tommy an almost divine value, well, that changes now! 

Turns out I just cannot write short and concise analysis it seems, so I put everything under the cut...

/rp

I’ve talked a few times before about how Dream in his mind gives Tommy added value (again, Tommy has value as a human being already, but Dream most definitely doesn’t see that), but I want to go a bit more in depth about it. 

So, we know by now that Dream has been obsessing over Tommy for quite a while now, though it really worsened with the beginning of season 2. 

It is important to note that, at that point, Tommy himself was back on the idea of there being a friendly rivalry between him and Dream for the disk that was still in Skeppy’s possession, nothing more then that. He most definitely didn’t hate Dream yet (although their relationship has always been complicated) and he shouldn’t have posed much of a threat to Dream, right?

We also all seem to recognise that Dream would not have let up until Tommy was exiled, but I haven’t seen many people discuss the WHY of it. Why was it so important to him? Did he just do it because he hated Tommy? Did he do it because he was bored and wanted chaos? 

Well, I think it’s because Tommy DID pose a threat to Dream. He WAS a threat to Dream because Dream had seen him during Pogtopia. He had seen him rally the troops, he had seen him keep people’s morale high even after Wilbur detonated the tnt and Techno released the withers, he knew what Tommy could do if Dream threatened L’Manburg while he was there, even while not being president (I mean, he still managed to lead a revolution against Schlatt even while never being the official leader). And Dream wanted to get rid of L’Manburg because of what it represented, because L’Manburg represented freedom from him, freedom from his rules. L’Manburg was a HUGE problem, so he needed to take out what kept L’Manburg together and that was Tommy.

But that’s not the only thing. If Dream only wanted Tommy out of the way, he could have just let him unalive himself or he could have killed him himself and pretended it was an accident. Heck, he could even have pushed for an execution in the first place instead of the exile! But he didn’t... and later on, during the Season 2 Finale, he outright refused to kill Tommy even in self defence. So for Tommy to have so much importance that Dream needed to keep a constant eye on him in exile and keep him alive, Dream’s mentality of Tommy being sort of the “key” to power must have already been in place when he formulated the exile plan (perhaps it was there from before then, but we can’t know this for certain). 

I mean, he also ordered a whole prison that could have been meant to hold Tommy from the start (it has been confirmed by Sam out of character that it was made with c!Tommy in mind and the only indication that it wasn’t comes from c!Dream in a converstaion with c!Tommy, which we really shouldn’t trust at all) and a curious thing to notice on that, if that was the case, is that the prison itself is called “Pandora’s Vault”, why calling it “vault”? A vault is something that’s supposed to hold valuable items. It’s supposedly a secure location where you hide away your most precious things. Why calling a prison that? Anyway... that was just an interesting tid-bit I’ve been thinking about. 

Back on the main tangent now! 

So, what does Dream think of Tommy exactly? 

“Listen Tommy, since you joined the server, you’ve been a headache! Okay? You’ve brought war, you brought terrorism, you’ve brought bad everything! But! But! The cause of all the wars, of everything, was attachment, alright? Your attachment to the disks, your attachment to Henry, to pets, to friends, to land, to countries, to items, right? (...) That’s- That’s the one good thing that you’ve done. The one good thing you’ve done is that you brought attachment to the server. So it took me a LONG time to realize how important attachment was, but, when I did, you know? It made me stronger, and I realised that you- you’re- you’re important, right?”

This is a quote directly taken from the season finale. I know it’s a long one, but it’s seriously important. Because Dream, with this quote, just asserted that Tommy is the reason attachments exist at all, even if that isn’t true of course (the whole disk war was kickstarted by Ponk getting mad when Sapnap retaliated to his prank by burning down Ponk’s lemon tree because he was attached to it), but to Dream it is. 

Tommy, a normal human teenager with no “main character powers” (you know, like being a life and death god, or silk-touch hands, or having the brains to create nukes or being able to bring yourself back to life out of spite, basically he has nothing normally considered “special”) is deemed the reason why people are able to care at all. THAT is the added value I’m talking about. Dream doesn’t see Tommy as Tommy, he never did, he sees him as his own idealized version of him. And in Dream’s mind Tommy has so much importnace that, without him, attachments would just stop existing. “How do we know that” you ask? Well, why else would Dream have been so adamant about needing Tommy ALIVE? He already did his thing if bringing attachments was all the value Dream assigned to him. Now attachments exist, surely Dream can get rid of Tommy, right? Well, no. Because, as I said, to Dream Tommy is the embodiment of attachments. 

I mean, he admitted so in that quote, didn’t he? He starts by telling Tommy that HE is the cause of everything: of war, of terrorism, of everything. But then, then he says that those same things are caused by attachments. How can we have both be true at the same time? Easy, make Tommy the concept of attachment personified!

“If I can control the things people are attached to, then I can control the server again!”

All we said before kinda puts this more in perspective. THAT’S why Dream is in constant need of controlling Tommy. If Tommy is the embodiment of attachment in Dream’s mind, then he is the embodiment of control and power as well. Because, if controlling a singular attachment gives you control over one singular person, then controlling the embodiment of everyone’s attachments gives you control over the server right? 

“Look, it’s not fair! But Tommy listen: I need you, okay? I need you to keep bringing attachemnt to the server, because without you people weren’t really attached to things, but then you came and you brought ‘friendship’ and ‘countries’ and ‘things’ people can be attached to, right? And you brought that! And you’re- you’re the KEY, right? You’re the key to unlock the full potential of the server and power and everything”

Can’t get much more obvious then this... Dream literally described Tommy as “the key to everything”, that’s A LOT of extra value put on a random 16 yo. It would be a lot of value for ANYONE to have. In case it wasn’t clear, what Dream is saying is that controlling Tommy basically makes you a God. And, if it wasn’t clear enough yet, let me grab a quote from Tommy’s 3rd canon death stream:

“Tommy your life is literally IN MY HANDS, does that piss you off? Does that make you mad? Does it make you soo mad that I- you can’t kill me... I MIGHT AS WELL BE A GOD TOMMY! You can’t kill me and I can kill you!”

So, here’s the thing: killing Tommy is not that hard. A LOT of people on the server are stronger then him, even with the same equipment. At the same time killing Dream IS very hard. He’s literally one of the 2 best pvp-ers on the server. So why would this situation make Dream a “God”? Well, that’s because, based on his own philosophy, having Control over Tommy is what makes someone a God (it’s what gives you power over everything after all) and he here is fully in control. Not only because phisycally he is the stronger one, but also because Tommy admitted himself that he can’t kill Dream (Dream may wrongly assume that that’s because Tommy still has some attachment to him, which gives him another layer of control, truth is he’s just not much for killing people, the kid got too much empathy), which means he’s in control of Tommy’s mind and emotions as well to a certain degree. 

And here’s the thing: wouldn’t Tommy need to be somewhat godly himself to be the ONE THING that can grant people the ability to become a God? Dream, by now, has elevated Tommy to a point where Tommy himself might as well be God. That’s why Dream was so eager to become immortals together, to study the powers that make Dream now think even more that he is a God, together, because, in his mind, they’re already on the same level, albeit in a very skewed way (and I say a “skewed way” because Dream still doesn’t see Tommy as a person, he still sees him as a tool, only he is a tool that grants people godlyhood apparently). 

My theory on why c!Dream has this kind of perception of c!Tommy is because Tommy is his only remaining attachment. Dream got rid of all his attachments in order to gain absolute power, so he has to somehow justify to himself why this one particular attachment still doesn’t make him weak. Why still hanging onto Tommy (albeit in the most scewed up way possible) actually makes him stronger. He needs Tommy to be something more then a random 16 yo he once picked a fight with.

@ladycatland pretty sure you’d be interested

[moeruhoshi]

I've been watching anime all day so here's a late nalu day gift

Lucy slammed her bedroom door and flopped down on her bed with a weary sigh, weeping into her pillow as her day finally came to an end.

The open door of her patio allowed her to hear the neighing of carriage horses taking away her most recent suitor, a man who barely knew what the meaning of personal space was.

Just how many princes and dukes had to waltz through their gates before the princess’ father realized that they had no interest in adequately courting her? It was painfully obvious how the lot of them were only interested in her well-displayed décolletage over her personality and spent more time schmoozing up to the king instead of trying to win her favor.

What hurt, even more, was knowing that she could never be with the one who was truly meant for her.

She stared at the red string tied to her pinky, the fiber ending far off in the distance where it connected to her destined partner. It calmed her in some ways, allowed her to feel a sense of clarity, knowing there was at least one more person out there who could give her the true love she craved.

She hoped every day, when Spetto called her down to meet another suitor, that it would be him, the one on the other end of her string, waiting to hold her as she wanted to hold him.

They could instead be a peasant, she thought as her hopes for him to visit one day were beginning to fade. Not that she cared about that kind of thing, but it meant that they didn't have the means to enter the castle easily. Or maybe they were somewhere in a neighboring country, too far away to find her. Maybe he hadn't been gifted the power to see the string and didn't know she was waiting for him but felt just as empty without her by his side.

She was sure if she voiced her knowledge of the red string to anyone else, they would call doctors from all over Earthland to analyze her cognitive function. 

But she desperately wanted to tell everyone that she had no intention of selecting a suitor through their gaudy traditions. She would instead venture out into the world to find her soulmate, the person at the end of her red string of fate. But knowing her father, he would only let her marry with the promise of the expanded wealth she would gain him from a political marriage.

"Miss? Are you still awake?" Spetto knocked lightly, the princess holding in her sniffles to hear what the maid had to say. "I'm sure you are…but I won't bother you. Your father wants you to know that he'll be inviting the Duke Cream from Veronica for another visit tomorrow. He's eager to correct his…insolent behavior from the last time he saw you."

The princess didn't bother answering and instead let out a frustrated sigh as the sound of her maid's footsteps echoed down the hall. The setting sun illuminated the crimson strand and her fingers loosely wrapped around it, her weak pout quivering as she tugged on the phantom satin.

"I'd rather have you, whoever you are..."

~000~

"The princess!" Spetto screamed as she ran into the King's throne room. Jude was sat upon his seat with the Duke at his side, their conversation halting at her interruption. "She's gone!"

"What in the world do you mean, woman? I'm sure that no good daughter of mine has just buried her nose in one of those god awful fairy tales again. Have the guards search the library for her," He gruffed, rolling his eyes as her demeanor became more hysterical and shaken.

"I have, your highness! The princess has run away, she's truly nowhere to be found!"

"And just when I was about to be introduced to my bride," The Duke frowned and tossed his bleached hair aside. "Send hounds after her, why don't you? I will not let this girl make a fool of me on this glorious day."

"Go on, then," The King glared at his guards standing nearby who quickly rushed out the door. "I should have known that girl would be trouble. Her mother had always filled her head with nothing but pure nonsense."

Lucy lifted her billowy skirt as she ran through the woods, deep within its darkness, trying her best to ignore the now wailing trumpets of distress audible in the distance. She knew it wouldn't have been long until someone noticed her absence, especially after having heard the reality behind Duke Cream’s visit.

It was by chance, an incident that occurred while she was passing her father's office the night before. Lucy heard the plans he made to arrange her marriage to the Duke, ensuring that their kingdom would absorb the principality. This meant her father would have an entire stronghold on the country of Fiore.

A life with that obnoxious and narcissistic Duke was not one she wanted, nor could even stand the thought of.

So, in a panic, she made plans to run away, leaving when the guards wouldn’t be around, going as far as she could go without any clear signs of which direction she'd taken off in. She persevered through her tiredness with the lone thought of her meeting her soulmate who was sure to greet her with a wide smile and open arms.

"This way! C'mon now, you'll never make it running without anywhere in mind!" A voice tinkled through the line of trees, halting the princess in her place as she breathed harshly and darted around scared eyes.

"Who's there! I-I'm not going back to the castle!" Lucy shouted as she turned about in circles, shrieking as a short blonde girl suddenly appearing from thin air

"Did I say I was trying to take you home? No! Now hurry it up! You'll never make it there if you make stops like this, follow me!" She instructed, turning toward the trees and beginning to run.

"Who are you?" Lucy asked between pants as she followed the shorter blonde, mesmerized by the trail of sparkles she left behind her, and the cute wings peeking out from beside her ears.

"A friend," She smiled as she continued maneuvering them through the woods. "And a guide! You’ll never get where you need to go without my help,"

"So you know where I'm going? You can see my string too?"

"Well, sure! I let you see it after all. Boy, was he worried when I told him you were stuck out here without your magic. Idiot almost killed himself trying to find his way through, but it can't be done by anyone but a spirit." She sighed and shook her head, rambling as they avoided a patch of bramble bushes 

"My soulmate...? He was looking for me too? Really?" Lucy felt her heart swell, beating stronger even as she ran, a dazzling smile taking its claim of her lips.

"Yup! You have a very loyal man waiting for you," She giggled. "He can't wait to meet you, said he'd get his house ready and everything while I was out looking for you. I apologize for taking so long, moving around in this realm isn't easy, there’s barely any magic in this land!”

"Magic? Like in books? Isn't that practice all made up?" The princess quirked a brow as the strange girl only giggled again and slowed her movements as they found purchase under the wide berth of a willow tree.

"It's quite amazing someone like you was born here when your home is with us, in the right Fiore. Now, come on! Everyone's waiting!" She grinned, ignoring Lucy's confusion as she pulled them through the hanging branches, the two suddenly falling into the void of the trunk.

"E-Eh?! W-Wha…!" Lucy fell to her knees as she suddenly felt queasy, holding a hand to her head and waited for her headache to subside. She looked up to see where the other blonde had gone, not finding her anywhere and instead met a new and sunny skyline. "Wasn't it…night just a moment ago?"

She stood to her shaky feet, finding her body no longer weighed down by exhaustion, tears, or dirt on her dress. Whatever was in the air made her feel light as, well, air. She'd never felt so amazing before! Just where had she gone when they fell through that tree?

Taking some small steps through the field in front of her, she looked down to her finger, the red string extending into the distance behind her.

"Oh wow…" When Lucy turned around, she was met with the image of a town she had never seen before, curiosity pulling her towards the bustling streets.

It was as she always imagined the streets of the village she ruled above looked; stalls serving food and selling fresh produce, children running and laughing, patrons bartering and making light conversation, happiness in everyone's eyes. Their smiles created her own, and she followed the string eagerly, feeling just right in the Fiore she’d been led to.

She worried this would all turn into a dream soon enough, there couldn't possibly be another Fiore…or the existence of magic at that. Her steps quickened as she feared Spetto would be in at any moment to wake her, feet carrying her towards a patch of woods that broke off from the town.

It would’ve made nice for a peaceful walk if she didn’t think the calm scenery before her would disappear.

“Oi, Gray, watch it!” A sharp voice boomed from the nearby distance. 

“Shut it! I know what I’m doing, it ain’t hard to paint a wall, flame brain!” 

“Don’t start a fight! We had to rebuild that side of the house five times because you two keep knocking it down!”

Lucy slowed down her pace as the volume of their argument increased but kept her eyes on the string that told her he was just ahead. 

Her eyes landed on a red-haired girl pointing a large sword at two boys who kneeled respectively in front of her, bowing their heads as she scolded them. 

Breaking through the line of trees, Lucy smoothed down her stray hairs and dusted off her dress, holding herself nervously as she continued forward.

Each step closer made her legs feel like jelly, flushed her cheeks, and made her heart beat a million times faster, her fingers twitching as she held her hands together. 

“U-Um...excuse me…?” Lucy’s voice was shaky as she approached the three, her eyes watery as she stared at the pink-haired boy who raised his head at the sound of her voice. The string fell into his lap; he was her soulmate.

The red-haired girl turned to face her first, eyes concerned as they fell on her disheveled appearance. “My goodness, are you okay? You’re not lost, are you?”

“N-No...I—“ 

"Oh, crap! It's you!" 

"Don't say that to a girl, idiot! You have no idea who that is!" The raven-haired boy threw a glare at the pink-haired one who quickly stood up.

“Mavis didn’t tell me when you’d get here, I would’ve come to pick you up if I knew you were...oh, hey, don’t cry, okay? Um, here,” He quickly took the end of his scarf to wipe her tears, feeling a knot in his throat as she gently fell against his chest. "It's gonna be okay."

"I just...I just can't believe…" She shook her head, not minding the stain she created on his shirt. "That you're real...that you were waiting for me."

"'Course I was! Having a new family member is always exciting, and my hearts been leapin' like crazy waitin' for you! You were stuck out there all alone and I couldn't come find you. I'm sorry it took so long." 

Erza forced herself and Gray to look away as the blonde hastily kissed their wild companion, his shock present in the stiffness of his back.

He was startled by the sudden action but felt himself melting into the touch, desperate as well to be close to his soulmate.

"I'm home," Lucy laughed with a bit of surprise, Natsu's eyes widening along with his grin. 

"Yeah! Welcome back!"

[thisisawonderfulusername]

feelings

klaus hargreeves x reader

requested: anon

prompts: 165- “this might hurt” 291- “is that blood?” 300- “i can take care of myself” and 302- “i can’t breathe”

summary: when trying to save vanya and the world, you get a bit hurt

warnings: cursing, tooth rotting fluff babyyyyy

word count: 2k

a/n: holy shit i uploaded something! anyways, the requestor gave me an option between five and klaus and i had to do klaus because i haven’t written anything for him yet and i want to so baaaad so thank you anon

also @generouswombyrat , yours is next i promise lol

it’s loud, and the flashing lights would have made you pass out if you hadn’t made it to the cover of the counter to protect yourselves while you thought of a plan.

“vanya’s in the room at the end of the hall.” diego has to raise his voice to be heard over what the woman was causing.

allison has her hands on the sides of her head, you assume to block out some of the noise that is threatening to rip your hearing away from you. “how do you propose we get to her?”

“you can count me out.” klaus says from beside you, defeated and with a flask held in his hand. when the two siblings look at him in disbelief, he tries to defend himself, “what? you guys should save her. you’re great at all the hero shit.”

after allison reaches over to slap him, he leans against your shoulder while you roll your eyes. “listen, listen, vanya would understand ‘cause she has realistic expectations of what i am. and what i am, is sexy trash!”

“you’re a big pussy, that’s what you are,” diego tells him in annoyance.

“guys, this is not the time,” you speak over their small argument.

“why, because i don’t want to die? who does?” klaus questions you, waving his hand around in front of you, “and martyrs aren’t around to enjoy the victory party, ‘cause they’re dead!” he ends his sentence with a shout and you roll your eyes.

diego crawls over to where klaus sits, grabbing onto his shirt, “you are going out there,” the other grabs at his arm to push him away, complaining, “or i’m gonna beat you!”

“that’s my cue.” your head whips away from the argument and to allison as she moves from behind your only cover. the others stop fighting and the three of you shout at her to stop, but she’s already began to fight against the wave of energy flowing from the room vanya was being held in.

after hearing her yell out for the woman, there’s a thump on the other side of your cover, and you suck in a breath.

“alright, i’m going.” diego tells the two of you after peaking out from behind the wall.

“no, wait, wait, wait, wait,” klaus grabs onto his arm to stop him from going.

the other looks at him in annoyance, “what?”

“if you don’t make it back, there’s one thing that i need to tell you.” diego was beginning to wave him off, since you didn’t exactly have time for a heart to heart. “you look like antonio banderas with the long hair.”

you slap a hand to your forehead as diego looked at him as if he told him the most sincere thing. “thanks, man.”

“my god,” you groan, crawling over klaus in order to peak around and watch as the man digs his knives into the floor. as he begins to slow, you bite your lip, “keep going!” you shout, “you can do it!”

“i’m not gonna make it!” he shouts back to you, and you shake your head as you look back to klaus, who was still curling in on himself. “you guys have to do it!”

he pulls on a tie holding some sort of rope coiled, and it comes flying towards you. a second later, you feel another thump against the wood.

you take a deep, shaky breath. you have to do this. “okay, klaus.” you glance over at him as you reach up towards the rope, “if i die, just know...” you think for a moment as you bite into your lip, wondering if it’s the best idea to pour your feelings out at a moment like this.

“no,” you sigh, “i’ll make it.”

“wait!” klaus yells as he grabs onto you, “what do i need to know?”

you shake your head, “it’s not important.” you make sure your grip is tight, enough for you to make it. “i’ll see you on the other side!”

“don’t die please!”

when you pull yourself from behind your protection, the force of the wave vanya was sending was much stronger than you expected it to be. your eyes were watering as you tried to look forward, into the flashing lights, but they were already giving you a headache.

you hear klaus shouting at you, but you can’t hear him over the energy. just as you were getting closer to the door, your strength was weakening, but you continued moving one hand at a time to pull yourself forward.

when you pull your eyes away for one second to look away from the lights, your hand misses the rope, and your eyes widen as you lose your grip and go flying back, straight into the wall.

-

your head feels like it’s spinning when you wake up, the lack of the whooshing energy making your ears ring. it feels like the air has been knocked out of you, and it probably was. “oh god, i can’t breathe.”

“are you okay?” the one who caused all of this runs to the four of you.

“vanya,” allison breathes out from beside you.

you groan as you push yourself up, ignoring the dizziness you felt. “physically or emotionally?” klaus questions as he holds himself up on his elbows.

diego pushes himself onto his knees, looking up to her with a smile. “you’re alive.”

“did we save the world or what?” klaus questions as he finally sits up.

you run your fingers through your hair, “i think so. the building’s still here.”

the ticking of diego’s watch catches your attention as you look to it. “kennedy’s a few minutes away.” he points out, quickly getting to his feet, “i can still save him.”

allison calls to him as he begins his way down the hall, following after him in an attempt to stop him.

“is that blood?” you look to klaus as he questions you, and it’s only then that you notice the metallic taste in your mouth.

reaching up to touch your lip, you flinch when you realize it had somehow split open. you cringe at the slight sting the contact brought. “nah, it’s ketchup.” you chuckle as you wipe the blood from your lip.

he rolls his eyes. “we need to patch it up. i’m sure there’s some sort of medical kit stashed away around here.”

“no need,” you wave your hand in the air, “i can take care of myself. we have some more important things to worry about.”

shaking his head, he pushes himself up off the ground before holding his hand out to you. “we already saved the world. everyone else can deal with diego.”

sighing, you take his hand and he helps you up off the ground.

after searching all nearby rooms, you eventually find a med kit. being in an office, it was easiest to hop up onto the desk to let klaus take care of the wound.

once he had opened the kit and grabbed everything he needed, he stepped in front of you. “that was an interesting experience.” he comments about the whole ordeal you just went through.

“that’s our lives.” you respond with a sigh.

nodding, he grabs a paper towel that had been soaked in water. you both decided it was the best way to clean it, at least a little bit.

“this might hurt.” he tells you softly, carefully grabbing your chin to press the paper to your lip. he’s right. it felt like it was burning from the slightly rough texture, but you were able to ignore it. you had gone through worse, after all.

after a second of dabbing at the cut, he pulls the towel away with a smile. “there we go. all clean.” he throws the towel to the side and grabs one of the surgical tape strips, carefully using it to close the wound. “hopefully that works.” he claps his hands together.

you smile, quickly stopping when you feel the tape and your cut trying to pull open. “thanks.” you hum, before you notice the blood that had poured from his nose.

without saying a word, you grab the wet towel. after folding it over to avoid the part covered with your blood, you grab his chin to pull him towards you. “what are you doing?” he questions.

“blood.” you tell him simply, wiping away at the already drying liquid. your eyebrows furrow as you tilt his chin, “how did you get some on your neck?”

he simply shrugs as you clean it up.

shaking your head, you look him over to make sure there wasn’t anymore blood on him. you still hold his chin as he looks at you, a small grin on his face. “checking me out?”

“for blood, yes.” you chuckle, releasing him and tossing the towel into a nearby trash can.

he’s still looking at you, and you let your shoulders fall slightly to release some of the tension in them, “why are you staring at me like that?”

“i’m glad you didn’t die.” he tells you.

you let out a soft laugh, “well, i’m glad you didn’t die either.”

he grins, glancing to the side for a second, “what were you going to tell me?” he asks.

“hm?” your eyebrows raise a bit.

“before you tried to make it to vanya,” he expands on his question, “you said you wanted me to know something.”

you knew exactly what he was talking about, but you thought about just acting clueless. apparently you didn’t think enough before sacrificing yourself earlier.

sitting up slightly, you shrug, “i... i don’t know. it doesn’t matter.”

“what are you talking about? of course it matters.” he hops up on the desk to sit next to you, his legs swinging slightly. “just spit it out. you know it will feel better.”

looking to him, your shoulders slump slightly. “it’s hard to say.” you sigh, running your hand down your face, and beginning to feel that your heart is beating just a little bit faster than before. “okay, i’m just gonna say it. i like you. i might even be in love with you, i-”

you’re not able to finish your rambling about your feelings, since the moment he had heard you admit to them he had leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours.

your heart felt like it was soaring as your eyes closed, and you could feel the slight sting in your lip but it didn’t matter because shit, klaus was kissing you.

you’re not sure how long it lasted, but it didn’t feel long enough once he pulled away. it took a moment for your eyes to open again, as you were relishing the moment. but a smile is on both of your faces when you look at him, and you know then that you are definitely in love with him.

taglists

main: @horrorklaus @megasimpleplan4ever  

tua: @rasberrymay @noodlextrash @atomicpillar @malfovs  @andreasworlsboring101​  

klaus: none yet

it was also requested that i tag @theumbrellaamattemy​

[demonlovesangel]

Elucien VS Elriel throughout the books

Brace yourselves because this is going to be a LONG post but I'm going to do it because people seem to disregard Elain's feelings at all times, especially regarding how she reacts around both Lucien and Azriel. So here we go!

And by the way I'm only going to count actual interactions to make it fair, and the most important ones because if not I would be here all day.

Acomaf

Elucien

As Lucien took off his jacket, kneeling before Elain. She cringed away from the coat, from him-

~

But Elain was staring over Nesta's shoulder.

At Lucien- whose face she had finally taken in.

Elriel

Elain said, "It's all very disorienting."

"I can imagine," Azriel said. Cassian flashed him a glare but Azriel's attention was on my sister, a polite bland smile on his face. Her shoulders loosened a bit.

~

Rhys chuckled, Cassian's wrath slipping enough that he grinned, and Elain, noticing Azriel's ease as proof that things weren't indeed about to go badly, offered one of her own as well.

In Acomaf we can see the start of both relationships, but they start with a real difference. Elain and Azriel get along from the very beginning, whereas with Lucien she cringes away because he's one of the reasons she was turned and she doesn't know him, even if she did realize he's her mate.

With Azriel though they talk about his flying, how beautiful it is, she smiles and asks him directly every time. Their interactions come naturally.

Acowar

Elucien

For a long moment, Elain's face did not shift, but those eyes seemed to focus a bit more. "Lucien," she said at last, and he clenched his teacup to keep from shuddering at the sound of his name on her mouth. "From my sister's stories. Her friend."

"Yes."

But Elain blinked slowly. "You were in Hybern."

"Yes." It was all he could say.

"You betrayed us."

He wished she'd shoved him out of the window behind her. "It- it was a mistake."

Her eyes went frank and cold. "I was to be married in a few days."

~

She looked away- towards the windows. "I can hear your heart," she said quietly.

He wasn't sure how to respond, so he said nothing, and drained his tea, even as it burned his mouth.

"When I sleep," she murmured, "I can her your heart beating through the stone." She angled her head, as if the city held some answer. "Can you hear mine?"

He wasn't sure if she truly meant to address him, but he said, "No, lady. I cannot."

Her too-thin shoulders seemed to curve inward. "No one ever does. No one ever looked- not really." A bramble of words. Her voice strained to a whisper. "He did. He saw me. He will not now."

~

Elain sidled toward Nesta, who seemed to be at a near-simmer. "It felt... strange," Elain breathed. "Like you pulled on a thread tied to a rib."

Lucien exposed his palms to her. "I'm sorry."

Elain only stared at him for a long moment. And any lucidity faded as she shook her head...

~

But Elain said nothing. Did not so much as take one step downward.

Lucien inclined his head in a bow the movement hiding the gleam of his eye- the longing and sadness.

And when Lucien turned to signal to Rhys to go... He did not glance back at Elain.

Did not see the half step she took towards the stairs- as if she'd speak to him. Stop him.

~

"I'm fine," Elain said quietly. And then asked, noticing the gore on him, the torn clothes and still-bloody weapons, "Are you-"

"Well, I never want to fight in another battle as long as I live, but... Yes, I'm in one piece."

A faint smile bloomed on Elain's lips.

~

Lucien shrugged. "First- here. To help. Then..." Another glance at Elain. "Who knows?"

I nudged Elain, who blinked at me, then blurted, "You could come to Velaris."

Elriel

Elain peered up at his patient, solemn face.

Azriel smiled faintly. "Would you like me to show you the garden?"

She seemed so small before him, so fragile compared to the scales of his fighting leathers, the breath of his shoulder. The wings peeking over them.

But Elain did not balk from him did not shy away as she nodded- just once.

Azriel, graceful as any courtier, offered her an arm. I couldn't tell if she was looking at his blue Siphon or at his scarred skin beneath as she breathed, "Beautiful."

~

"I can help her," said Azriel, stepping to the table as Elain silently rose. No shadows at his ear, no darkness ringing his finger as he extended a hand.

Nesta monitored him like a hawk but kept silent as Elain took his hand, and out they went.

~

The shadowsinger angled his head.

Lucien murmured to me, eye still fixed on Elain, "Should we- does she need...?"

"She doesn't need anything," Azriel answered without so much as looking at Lucien.

Elain was staring at the spymaster now- unblinkingly.

"We're the ones who need..." Azriel trailed off. "A seer," He said, more to himself than us. "The Cauldron made you a seer."

~

Azriel gently removed the gag from her mouth. "Are you hurt?"

She shook her head, devouring the sight of him as if not quite believing it. "You came for me." The shadowsinger only inclined his head.

~

Yet Elain didn't seem to notice them as she rose up on her toes and kissed the shadowsinger's cheek...

~

Elain weighed my words... And slowly closed her fingers around the blade.

(...)

Elain looked up at Azriel, their eyes meeting, his hand still lingering on the hilt of the blade.

What is funny to me here, is how the relationship between Elain and Lucien seems forced but at the same time they kind of try. She directly says to him he betrayed them, continued to ignore him and eventually she did try to get close (in her own way) but apparently decided against it. And at the end even Feyre has to nudge Elain to say something to Lucien, which she did.

Elain's relationship with Az starts off from him putting her down on the town house's foyer, and her never balking away from him. Like literally never, in all their interactions she takes his arm, his hands, looks at him unblinkingly, and even kisses his cheek. Ends up accepting Truth-Teller too, and locking eyes with Azriel. The sweetest girl is not afraid of the most frightening illyrian male... Considering how Elain is, that says a lot.

You can look at this in many ways, but no one can deny that by this book, Az and Elain have a mutual understanding and chemistry.

Acofas

Elucien

A sidelong glance toward Elain, swift and fleeting. "Both of you."

Elain said nothing, but at least she bowed her head in thanks.

~

My sister rose to her feet. "I should get refreshments."

Lucien rose as well. "No need to trouble yourself. I'm-"

But she was already out of the room.

Elriel

Azriel emerged from the sitting room, a glass of wine in hand and wings tucked back to reveal his fine, yet simple black jacket and pants.

I felt, more than saw, my sister go still as he approached. Her throat bobbed.

(...)

But I strode to my seat- nestled between Amren and Mor- in time to see Elain say to Azriel, "Hello."

(...)

But Azriel only took Elain's heavy dish of potatoes from her hands, his voice soft as night as he said, "Sit. I'll take care of it."

Elain's hands remained in midair, as if the ghost of the dish remained between them...

~

Elain bit her lip and then smiled sheepishly. "It's for the headaches everyone always gives you. Since you rub your temples so often."

Silence again.

Then Azriel tipped his head back and laughed.

(...)

Elain smiled again, ducking her head.

~

Azriel and Elain remained in the sitting room my sister showing him the plans she'd sketched to expand the garden in the back of the town house using the seeds and tools my family had given her tonight.

Honestly, for me, this is by far the most telling book even if it is a novella.

The interaction between Lucien and Elain was so forced. She didn't want to be there, he was kind of uncomfortable too and he even says he can't stand being in the same room as her. Afterwards Elain clearly shows no interest in him and even leaves the room. And Elain says to Feyre that he's not entitled to her affections of attentions, we really need to pay attention to her!

With Azriel though... Wow, their interactions just kept on growing and growing. Elain is clearly affected when she looks at him, her throat bobs, she gets all shy (in a good way), smiles at him too, and even gifts him the headache powder because she was paying attention to him throughout the previous months. That clearly says how much she's been noticing Azriel. Not to mention she explains all her gardening plans and they stay talking after everyone went to bed.

I honestly think it's really cute and that's how a relationship should develop.

Acosf

Elucien

Elain, the wretch, had taken the seat between Feyre and Varian, about as far from Lucien as she could get.

~

He and Lucien did not exchange gifts, though the male had brought a gift for Feyre and one for his mate, who barely thanked him after opening the pearl earrings. Cassian's heart strained at the pain etching deep into Lucien's face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing. Elain only shrank further into herself, no trace of the newfound boldness to be seen.

Elriel

"I always thought she was born on the wrong side of the wall," Elain admitted. "She made ballrooms into battlefields and plotted like any general. Like you two," she said, nodding to Cassian, and then, a bit more shyly, to Azriel.

Azriel offered her a small smile that Elain quickly looked away from.

~

"I was just checking on dessert," Elain explained as they approached the doorway and Azriel. Nesta met the shadowsinger's stare and he gave her a nod. Then his gaze shifted to Elain, and though it was utterly neutral, something charged went through it. Between them. Elain's breath caught slightly, she gave him a shallow nod of greeting before brushing past, leading Nesta into the room.

By this point it's just painfully obvious. Both Lucien and Elain are uncomfortable with each other even if Lucien still does try (but I still think it's because of the mating bond, not because he likes her). He even says in a previous chapter that he's not always in Velaris to see his mate and looks uncomfortable saying that.

With Azriel we can see something has happened or is happening. Small glances, Elain getting shy but smiling at him, him smiling at her and her looking away? That charged look? Elain's breath caught slightly? There's definitely something going on there and we know what it is from Az's PoV. By that point they have been looking at each other, smiling and brushing hands, not to mention Elain started every single interaction in that PoV. She wanted to kiss him, and gifted him another funny and thoughtful gift yet again because she notices him.

~

I didn't put every single one of the interactions, just the ones that said a lot from Elain's reactions because that's the point of this post, to show how she clearly acts around the two males. And I didn't put the PoV because it's a bonus chapter even when it clarifies Elain's feelings.

With Lucien it's forced, she cringes away, doesn't know what to do, and in the end she's just uncomfortable and clearly doesn't want anything regarding their situation.

With Azriel it started off naturally, they developed a friendship with mutual understanding and respect, and it evolved into something else. The interest in each other was always there. Clearly both of them don't know what to do with this because the feelings are strong and have been there for a long time (at the very least a year because of the last Winter Solstice). From the PoV we know it's not easy, even if both of them like each other (Elain has a mate whether she likes it or not). By this point, because of all the external influences, they can't be together, but I think that's what going to play off in her book, choice.

We need to take into account Elain's reactions and choices. Elain's book is most probably the next one, she's going to be the main character as Feyre and Nesta were. What she wants or needs is what matters, not what everyone else thinks. And from all her scenes we can gather that she's going to fight to make everyone change their mind regarding what she wants to do, who she wants to be.

As you would with a female friend, be supportive of her journey and choices and don't bring her down because it's not what you would have chosen for yourself. Everyone deserves the world, and everyone needs to follow their own path and make their own choices.

[lettheladylead]

Not Your Aunt

Chapter 3: Gladstone [ao3 link]

It’d been a year since Scrooge started regularly babysitting his niece and nephew. Goldie had only had the misfortune of interacting with them a handful of times, though one of those handfuls was a week-long bedridden visit where they asked too many questions and got way too attached to her. So before leaving, she stole from their piggy banks to teach them an important lesson: Goldie O’Gilt is not their family and she’s certainly not their aunt.

The next time she visited after that, the kids seemed properly sour and uninterested in her, so clearly they got the message. Or they just had a bad day. Either way, she could focus on Scrooge and treasure and then move on with her plans. She was able to visit without interacting with children a good half a dozen times after that, which really made her days go faster. It was nice.

She was stopping by in early February to grab some items she’d left behind (for safekeeping, of course) when Goldie learned that Scrooge’s family was continuing to...expand. There were now twice as many children in the mansion and the two new kids were apparently not deterred by Donald and Della’s attempts to warn them about their uncle’s thieving ex.

The kid in green found her in the foyer and lifted up his sunglasses to wink at her. “Well hello there!”

She blinked down at him. “...hello.”

He shuffled closer and stuck out his tiny little hand. “Gladstone Gander! And you are…?”

Goldie pinched his hand between two fingers and gave it a single shake before letting go. She didn’t appreciate the tone she was getting from this child who couldn’t have been more than eleven or twelve. “You can call me Miss O’Gilt.”

Gladstone pouted at her response and then shrugged before putting the sunglasses back. “Suit yourself. I’m a real catch!”

“I’m sure,” Goldie groaned. “Where’s Scrooge? I need to talk to him.”

The kid pointed towards the stairs. “Uncle Scrooge is in his office, I think.”

“Uncle?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Did Hortense have another kid or...are you Matilda’s?” The concept of Matilda having a child had Goldie immediately confused. She was pretty sure she knew that woman’s goals and motherhood was never on her list. They’d bonded over the lack of interest once in the past.

“Huh?” Gladstone tilted his head. “No, Auntie Hortense is married to Uncle Quackmore, who’s my mom’s brother. Who’s Matilda?”

Goldie closed her eyes and put two fingers to her temple as she felt a headache forming. She supposed if they stretched the definition enough, then Scrooge could be literally anyone’s uncle even if they had some gigantic distant relation to him. It was kind of annoying. “I guess she’s...also your aunt. You’ll probably meet her someday.” With that, Goldie turned around and started towards the stairs.

The kid followed her and she resisted the urge to punt him into another room. “So you know Uncle Scrooge and Auntie Hortense? Are you Uncle Scrooge’s secret wife?”

“No.” She didn’t even give him a glance as she headed up the stairs.

“Does that mean you’re single?” he asked with a toothy grin.

Goldie looked down at him again and then rolled her eyes. “You’re a bit young to be at this level of annoying.”

“Annoying?” Gladstone put a shocked hand to his chest and frowned. “You must be unlucky like Donald and Della. Only unlucky people call me annoying!”

Alright, that was a curious enough statement to make Goldie pause and lean against the banister. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Gladstone walked up another few steps so his head was about the same height as her’s. “I’m the luckiest goose in the world! Even luckier than my mom!”

Goldie quirked an eyebrow. “Luckiest in the world, huh? How would you know that?”

“I know that ‘cause...I’m Gladstone Gander!” He did a little spin and stuck his hands into his pockets before pulling out a dozen twenty dollar bills. “I found all of these just on my walk earlier!”

She stared at the money and, on reflex, plucked a few out of his hands. He didn’t even react as she pocketed them. “That’s pretty normal when you’re walking around Scrooge McDuck’s mansion, kid.”

He reached into his pockets again and pulled out another dozen bills. “No, no, these aren’t from Uncle Scrooge! I got these while walking around town!”

That caught her attention a bit more. Goldie pocketed a few more of the twenties before putting a hand against the bottom of her beak. “That does sound particularly lucky.”

He gave her a thumbs up, clearly happy that he’d convinced her of his gift, and Goldie thought about her plans for the weekend. She’d intended on grabbing a pair of earrings she’d left in Scrooge’s dresser and a mystical gem-finder he’d locked up in his Other Bin before heading to Macaw, but...perhaps she could use a partner. Well, more like a sidekick. Or a mascot.

“How would you like to go on a trip and really put your luck to the test?”

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

Despite him being a very, very annoying little kid, Goldie had to admit that bringing him along was worth the frustrations.

She’d never done this well at the Galaxy Macaw, especially not at the slot machines. She could cheat her way through any old card game, but playing with other people brought too much attention to her presence. And the owner would be very unhappy if he saw she’d returned after what happened last time.

Her disguise wasn’t particularly artful - just a short black wig and green-tinted sunglasses - but it was enough to keep security from noticing her striking blonde amongst the sea of dark-haired birds around them. Gladstone managed to win a new little outfit for himself within a few minutes of entering the casino, and Goldie was happy that no one questioned the child’s presence. After a few wins at the slot machines, earning herself and her little partner a significant bit of cash, Goldie let the kid wander off on his own and started casing the place, getting ready for the actual reason for her travels.

“Miss O’Gilt?” Gladstone asked as he reappeared, tugging at her hand to get her attention.

“I told you not to use my last name here,” she hissed in response, glancing around to make sure no one overheard.

“Oh, right!” He tapped a finger against his chin. “So, then...Aunt Goldie, why exactly are we here? Not that I’m not having fun, but…this all seems kind of random.”

She held back a growl at the name - why did these kids always lean into the “aunt” moniker first? - and plopped her hand on top of his head. “Don’t worry about it. You should just keep having fun while I cash out and take care of some business.”

He shrugged. “Alright, but I bet I could help you with whatever you’re really here for! Uncle Scrooge never lets me help him find stuff ‘cause he says it’s cheating, but this is just how I live, y’know?”

Goldie removed her hand from his head and laid it on her hip. “I appreciate the offer, but this is something I need to take care of alone.” She glanced around the room and paused at the sight of a line of phone booths. “If I’m not back in a half hour, call your uncle to pick you up, alright?”

Gladstone followed her line of sight, then turned back to look up at her. “Are you doing something dangerous?”

“Hopefully not, but you never know.”

The kid pouted and leaned back on his heels. “...are you sure I can’t come with?”

Goldie crossed her arms over her chest. “Just stay here,” she said sternly, and quickly disappeared before Gladstone could follow.

He frowned and looked around himself. He knew nothing bad would happen to him, but it was still weird for an adult to leave him alone in a place so filled with strangers. Goldie was certainly unlike any other adults he’d spent time with, and he wasn’t at all surprised that Donald and Della had such conflicting feelings about her.

That being said, he could see a snack stand not too far away, so he rushed over to grab some pretzels. As soon as he arrived, the man running the stand gave him a big toothy smile, said he was the one thousandth customer of the day, and then handed him a giant pretzel for free.

It was nice being Gladstone Gander.

As he chomped away, a big banner above some of the slot machines caught his attention. In bright, bold letters he saw the words THE MACAW RUBY and more information about it being some rare, potentially mystical artifact that would be on display starting at 5 o’clock sharp.

He thought about that for a moment. From what he knew about Goldie, which wasn’t much but he’d understood the gist of it, she liked to steal things. Really cool, expensive, fancy things. He didn’t have to be a genius to put two and two together and realize she was after that ruby.

Whether or not she wanted his help, Gladstone decided he was going to be a part of this. After all, maybe the ruby would just come into his possession thanks to his luck! No one would need to steal anything, it would simply belong to him. And then he could give it to her and she’d give him a hug as thanks and who wouldn’t want that?

By the time he arrived at the place where the ruby was going to be displayed, it was only a few minutes to five and Gladstone took note of the extremely heavy security detail in front of the curtain. If Goldie hadn’t already gotten the ruby, there was no way she was going to get past all of them.

So he walked up to one of the guards and locked his hands behind his back. “Hi there!”

The guard looked down at him and didn’t respond.

“I’m Gladstone!”

Still no response.

Gladstone pouted, but he was pretty sure he could charm this guy into showing him the gem. “Can I see the fancy ruby?”

The guard made a face at him before turning to look at another guard and then proceeded to speak in a language that Gladstone didn’t recognize. He realized after a moment that it was probably Mandarin, which would make a lot of sense, considering where they were.

The other guard walked over and grabbed Gladstone by the back of his shirt, holding him up in front of his face. “Where’re your parents, kid? You shouldn’t be walking around here by yourself,” he said in a rough, heavy accent.

Gladstone frowned and crossed his arms. “I’m no kid! I’m just really short for my age! And I’ve won, like, fifty thousand dollars today, so you can’t tell me what to do!”

The guard frowned and his grip on Gladstone’s shirt tightened. “What’d you just say to me? I’m not in the mood for some brat and his-”

“Excuse me, sir,” a new voice called out.

All three boys looked over to see Goldie standing there, arms crossed and looking certainly unhappy, and with a purse over her shoulder that Gladstone didn’t remember being there when they’d arrived at the casino.

“That’s my nephew you’re manhandling, you oversized hog,” Goldie growled, reaching out and grabbing Gladstone so she could properly plop him down next to her. “You treat all your guests like this?”

The guard stood up straight and glared at her, pointing angrily towards Gladstone. “You might wanna teach your kid some manners, lady! He won’t be so lucky next time he pisses me off.”

“I’m sure that’s very difficult to do,” Goldie said with an eyeroll. “Come on, Gladdy, it’s time for us to go.”

Gladstone just nodded and took her hand. As they were leaving, a bunch of rich-looking snobs were walking in the opposite direction, probably excited to see the fancy gemstone that was about to be unveiled. He was pretty sure Goldie had already taken it and it was sitting in her bag right by his face. Though he wondered if she replaced it with a fake or if things were about to go crazy in this casino.

A moment later and Gladstone turned his head at the sound of an announcer and some clapping and a stunned silence and then an audience-wide gasp. Goldie clutched his hand a little tighter at the sound of the gasp and he noticed she’d picked up a tiny bit of speed.

With her walking faster, he fell behind her and looked up to see a shocking and unfortunate sight: a few strands of long blonde hair had fallen out from under her wig and were completely visible to anyone who could see her back. He opened his mouth to say something when he was cut off by the loudest scream he’d ever heard from someone that wasn’t Donald.

“IT’S GOLDIE O’GILT! GET HER BEFORE SHE GETS AWAY!”

Suddenly Gladstone was picked up and being held in Goldie’s arms as she quickly exited the building and ran towards the nearest available taxi. He didn’t even have a second to breathe before she had the driver heading towards the airport as fast as he could go.

She tore off the wig and sunglasses and shoved them into her bag, which Gladstone noticed didn’t seem to get any bigger as she did. He looked into it and saw what seemed to be some sort of endless vortex. Neat!

Goldie laughed and patted his head. “Good job out there, kid. That was fun,” she said as she reached into the bag and pulled out another wig - this time it was brown and wavy. It seemed she was prepared for the possibility that someone might try following her.

“Thanks, Aunt Goldie,” he responded with a smirk, remembering how much that name annoyed her earlier. “So where’s my cut of the profits?”

She raised an eyebrow at him and clearly looked like she was about to laugh at his question. “Why don’t we focus on getting you home before we talk about that?”

Gladstone put a hand to his chin in thought. Really, money wasn’t an issue for him. He found money all the time, and even when he didn’t, his parents had plenty of money of their own. But he did feel like Goldie owed him for all his help. “Okay, sure.”

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

First their taxi driver gave them a free ride because he was in such a good mood, then their plane tickets ended up being free thanks to a clerical error, and they were given a free ride from the airport to Scrooge’s mansion because who the hell could keep track of all the reasons why things were free? Goldie was certainly enjoying the perks of carrying around Scrooge’s little luck magnet. If she didn’t have places to be, she’d stop by his office and yell at him for not telling her about the kid sooner.

That being said, he was starting to get a little too attached and it was bugging the hell out of her.

“So when are you gonna visit again? We could go to another casino!” Gladstone said excitedly, bouncing in his seat. “Or some other place you’d need my luck for. An underground poker game, maybe?”

Goldie chuckled and leaned back, recognizing the area the taxi turned into as only a few blocks from Scrooge’s place. “Look, kid -”

“Gladstone!”

“...right. Gladstone. This has been lots of fun, but you shouldn’t get confused. I’m not a part of your family, I’m not gonna just stop by and visit and take you on trips all the time. I just conveniently already had plans to go somewhere where I’d benefit from some luck.”

He frowned. “So this is it? You’re just done with me now?”

“Well…” She shrugged. “I don’t like to limit myself. Who knows what the future will hold? I just wouldn’t get your hopes up or plan for me coming back anytime soon.”

Gladstone pouted again and let out a quiet hmph! before turning to look out the window. They’d arrived at the front gate of Uncle Scrooge’s house and he’d decided he was just about ready to leave.

They came to a stop and Gladstone quickly opened up the door and stepped outside, stretching dramatically and yawning. He turned to say something to Goldie when he was cut off by a loud, familiar screech.

“THERE HE IS!”

Gladstone turned to see Donald and Uncle Scrooge running towards him from down the sidewalk. He was very confused to see that they’d gone for a walk instead of hanging around the house, since they never wanted to go for walks when he was in the mood.

“Hi, Uncle Scrooge-”

Scrooge ran over and swept Gladstone up in a giant hug. “We’ve been lookin’ everywhere for you, lad! Where’ve you been? What did you…” Scrooge’s words faded out as he noticed the familiar smirk staring at him from the inside of a taxi.

“Hey there, hun.”

“G-Goldie?!” Scrooge looked at her and then down at Gladstone and then back up at her. “Did you take him?!”

“Sure did,” she responded with a shrug. “I left you a note in your office. You should really pay more attention to these things.”

Donald just watched this conversation with a frown. He wanted to assume that Aunt Goldie was lying about leaving a note, but he also knew that Uncle Scrooge definitely didn’t check and just assumed the worst when they couldn’t find Gladstone all day. He’d been screaming about how Daphne was going to kill him for losing her son, but it seems he didn’t lose anyone at all.

Scrooge sputtered angrily at Goldie, holding Gladstone against his legs and trying to find his words. “You-! You...you kidnapped him!”

“I did no such thing, you old miser. He wanted to come along,” Goldie said, glaring angrily. She turned towards her cabby and said something that the boys couldn’t hear, then the car started to drive away.

Scrooge glared right back until Gladstone, a few moments later, shook himself out of Scrooge’s grip and ran towards the car. “Wait! But-! What about my profits?!” he shouted as it turned onto the next street over.

Gladstone sighed, realizing his luck wasn’t gonna bring his money back to him. Though he guessed he still had a really fun time and he didn’t exactly need the money, so maybe that was enough. He looked up to see Uncle Scrooge staring down at him. “What’s up?”

“Should I be concerned about this?” Scrooge asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Gladstone shrugged. “Should I be concerned that a stranger came into your house and took me on a trip across the globe without you knowing about it?”

That one shut Scrooge up, and he huffed before turning around and heading back to the manor. Gladstone looked over at Donald who just seemed to be confused.

“What’s wrong, Donald-o?”

He frowned and shrugged. “I’m just surprised that Aunt Goldie took you on a trip, is all. She’s never taken me or Della anywhere.”

Gladstone slapped Donald on the back a little harder than he meant to, making the slightly younger duck quack. “Eh, I wouldn’t think too hard about it. Ladies can’t resist my charm, after all!”

Donald rolled his eyes. “You know she’s Uncle Scrooge’s girlfriend, right?”

“Huh?” Gladstone put a hand to his chin and thought about some things Goldie had said to him over the past twenty-four hours. He nodded slowly. “You know what? That makes a lot of sense. Yup, yup. That explains everything.”

“So happy for you,” Donald mumbled and started the long walk back to the manor.

Gladstone quickly caught up to him and smiled brightly. In fact, he just wouldn’t stop smiling at his cousin. He was smiling so much that it was making Donald even more irritated than he’d already been.

“What?”

“Don’t you wanna know about my trip?”

[angelz-dust]

masters of none (jason todd x reader)

summary: welcome to my jason x celebrity fic, based on this headcanon. pls enjoy. 

word count: 5.2k

warnings: gun mention. food mention. 

part 2

626 bedford avenue

baby let's have a conversation and god forbid we have a connection

...

"are you sure? i don't wanna leave your here alone," dex had said to you as he put his jacket on. the two of you were in the studio when he got a sudden invite to a party.

"i'll be fine. i just wanna finish this track tonight. or attempt to, i guess," you explained, spinning in your chair to face him. you watched as he used his wooden military brush to fix his waves. "everyone else is going so you should go."

"you should also go," he chuckled, shaking his head before sighing and pocketing the brush. "at least let me take you home now."

"i have to finish this, dex. seriously. just go," you told him, turning back around to face the monitor.

"fine, but i'm coming back when it's over and i'm taking you home. i don't care if you're not done or passed out on the couch," he told you firmly, grabbing his keys off the coffee table. "are you hungry? i can get you something to eat."

"i already ate."

you did not, but you weren't hungry. you were too invested in working to be hungry. you'd eat later when he picked you up.

"alright. make sure the doors are locked when i leave. you know where the gun is, right?" he asked and you lifted your arm up, giving him a thumbs up. you had your headphones back on and were about to focus on that again. he rolled his eyes before leaving, making sure the doors were locked himself.

your work in progress played loudly in your ears as you stared at the meticulously placed loops on the monitor. you didn't like hearing your own voice but you loved the rush of putting together the puzzle that was a song, so you let it go. you worked for hours, unmoving from your spot until you felt a familiar tingle make place in your temples. a hunger headache was coming on and staring at the monitor, probably without blinking, wasn't helping.

it was midnight and dex probably wouldn't get back until 2 or 3. you weren't sure if you'd last that long. there were snacks in the mini fridge that could tide you over but it wouldn't be satisfying. you stood up, your legs feeling like jelly from not being used for so long. your ass had gone numb, too.

you wobbled your way to the fridge of wonders, resting on it to balance yourself as you opened it. you were looking for the yogurt you had stashed in there but...

"fucking jordy," you breathed out, recalling how he had eaten it that morning before you both left for your video with gotham insider.

...

"hey, i'm jordy rivas."

"and i'm y/n l/n."

"we're here with gotham insider and we'll be answering your burning questions."

you had a bucket filled with slips of paper in your lap as you waited for the cue to start picking. you took in your surroundings, not being able to see much with the bright lights illuminating you from above and keep everyone else in the dark. sometimes you couldn't tell if you were on set or on an operating table. jordy, your group mate, noticed that you two had plenty of questions to answer as he peered into the bucket.

how you got here was still a blur. your rise to stardom alongside your friends felt so sudden, it was hard to believe. you didn't expect to have such a large following at this point, or ever. and you never thought you'd have a band of brothers and sisters who loved music as much as you did. it was like a dream come true. not only did you have them but you were able to expand your horizons musically. you were just a below average producer before but now you produced music of all genres at such a high caliber. hell, you even sang a little now.

being a celebrity was overwhelming at times, but you loved interacting with fans or the family, as you affectionately called them. you'd take a simple q&a or fan meet over an award show or social event any day.

"alright, go ahead and start," a staff member said from behind the camera and you stuck your hand in at the same time as jordy, both pulling out a slip.

"how did you guys come up with the name cloud 9?" jordy read from his slip.

"stockholm syndrome," you said simply, getting a little laugh from jordy and some staff before he spoke up to explain.

"we were unofficially going by seven heavens before y/n and dex came along. we had just dropped music under our own names before but we couldn't really do that if we were going to do a group album so we needed a name."

"we were just producing a song each for the album," you spoke up to clarify. "i decided to call our studio session 'on cloud nine' since it fit with the theme of the group and there were nine of us working together."

"then we realized y/n and dex were geniuses and we asked them to produce the whole album," jordy chimed in with a smile. "they had already put so much work into it, so we asked them to join the label and we dropped the album as cloud 9."

best decision i ever made, you thought to yourself, a smile playing on your lips. on cloud nine took ages to produce but the results were worth it. for you, it was more than the money and the charts. creating music was a labor of love and an extension of yourself. you helped create a piece of art that you loved and allowed others to love too. it was the greatest feeling in the world.

"next question is... how do you guys decide who collaborates on what and when you do it?" you read, shrugging your shoulders softly. "we just do it on a whim. covers, singles, eps, full albums, it doesn't matter. we still operate as a group but sometimes we wanna do our own separate projects. we're in charge of ourselves so we do what we want."

the rest of the questions were pretty tame, mostly asking about your music and your label mates. occasionally they got more personal, asking about your interests and families. you both answered with enthusiasm, joking around a little and keeping certain things private when you felt necessary or when you were contractually obligated to. can't go around spilling secrets about upcoming music and other projects.

you and jordy were actually working on an album but it hadn't been announced yet. that was why you two came together, as a way of hinting at it and getting ready for promotions to come. the album was nothing like what you both normally did in a lot of different ways. the sound, the aesthetic, all of it. it was an ambitious project and you were looking forward to seeing how it would be perceived.

you were just about done with the q&a, pulling out the last question from the bucket that jordy had then ceremoniously punted out of frame.

"who is your favorite vigilante? i don't know actually. i've never thought about it," you softly clicked your tongue with a pensive look.

"i like signal," jordy answered as you thought it over. "i saw him kick ass up close one time and he has a cool costume."

"i like nightwing's costume! uniform? whatever," you said with a confused shake of the head, not really sure what to call it. "the blue bird is cool. i personally enjoy the color blue, so he gets points for that. it's a sexy shade of blue."

that last part elicited some laughter from jordy. "is that some roundabout way of you saying nightwing turns you on?"

"it's a direct way of me saying i like the color blue," you corrected him. "but yeah, he looks like he'd be hot. it has no bearing on how i feel about the blue, though. two separate feelings."

"who else is there? you got batman and robin. red robin. uh..." jordy trailed off, trying to think.

"batgirl," you supplied, getting a nod from him. "orphan? right? and uh..."

"red hood!" jordy said with a smile. "that dude is cool as hell. i like his jacket."

"doesn't he shoot people?" the staff laughed again at your delivery of the question. clearly you were on a roll today.

"he doesn't have a hood, though," you realized, looking perplexed. "why is he red hood if he doesn't have a hood? why doesn't he just call himself... red helmet?"

"because that's fucking stupid," jordy said through his laugher, shoulder bouncing. that would have to be censored in post.

"he's fucking stupid."

that too.

the staff watched as the two of you managed to go off on this tangent that had nothing to do with the original question. one of the interns looked to the camera man, who looked equally intrigued and confused at where the conversation had gone. "do we... stop them? we're going over on time."

the camera man shrugged and the manager shook her head. "god, no. do not stop them. this is gold."

"he doesn't need a hood, y/n. it's just a name. nightwing doesn't have wings," he reminded you and you rolled your eyes, a subtle pout on your lips.

"yeah but the bird does. it's still on brand. just like batman. and robin. and red robin. and signal. and batgirl," you listed matter of factly.

"what about orphan? is she an orphan?" jordy asked you with attitude.

"probably, bitch. why else would she call herself that?" you said, the both of you riled up now, hence all the sudden cursing. you two kept it (mostly) clean up until this point. "red hood is the only one off brand."

"why are you being a hater right now?" jordy asked with lopsided grimace and you rolled your eyes. "you completely derailed the conversation."

"oh, i'm sorry. i didn't realize you were on his payroll."

"red hood doesn't need payola. he's cool by himself."

"why are you dick sucking red hood?"

"don't ever say that shit again," jordy said immediately, almost cutting you off at the end of your question.

he crossed his arms, looking annoyed as you looked into the camera with a blank expression. you were trying to fight it, but a tight lipped smile appeared on your face, making you look down and scratch the tip your nose lightly with your nail. then your ear. then back down to the side of your neck. your body shook with silent laughter when you glanced at him.

"i'm sorry," you said convincingly after having collected yourself in record time, just barely getting cut off by jordy again.

"no you're not."

"no i'm not," you shook your head, your facade dropping as quickly as it was put on. "you still haven't answered the-"

"i hope red hood shoots you," he told you seriously, giving you a blank look. your jaw dropped, a surprised noise that almost sounded like laughter came out of your mouth as you looked back at the camera. you knew that he was just playing around but it didn't change the fact that it outrageously juvenile.

it was silent. you and jordy knew this was just friendly bickering but the staff weren't too sure. you rubbed the inside of your cheek with your tongue, slowly dragging it over your teeth as you contemplated his words.

red hood wouldn't actually shoot you. right? he's a bit more morally gray from what you've heard about him but he wouldn't just shoot somebody for making a joke, would he? that seemed kind of ridiculous. overkill, if you will.

your eyes darted between jordy and the camera. back at him. then the camera. jordy again. your head jerked a little in his direction before fully turning to look at him.

"do you think he'd actually shoot me?" you asked quietly, looking at him with a smile on your face as your expressions quickly mirrored each other.

"i would," he told you and you laughed, looking at the camera again.

"mr. red hood, if you're watching his, m-my bad bro," you stuttered through yours and jordy's laughter. "i was just talking shit. please don't shoot me. i-if you don't i'll uh... i'll be your bard!"

"what the fuck?" jordy cried out, hiding his face in his hands as he laughed harder.

"i will write and sing about your adventures and conquests," you pleaded with the man who definitely wasn't going to see. you made a heart by lifting your arms up and having your fingers meet at the top of your head. it was really a waste of time in hindsight but you had to cover your bases just in case he did see it. getting shot was not on your bucket list. "please don't shoot me. seriously. i didn't meant it."

"that's all the questions we had," jordy's voice was pitchy from all the laughing. "i'm jordy."

"and i'm y/n," you smiled, doing a little dance as you stayed in your heart position before waving with jordy. "byeeee!"

...

you weren't entirely sure how long you had been standing there with the door open, letting all the cold air out of the fridge. you assumed it was too long since your nipples felt hard as rocks now, which only added a layer to how uncomfortable you felt. your stomach was touching your back at this point and that headache wasn't going anywhere. and now your nipples felt like they were going to fall off. you were pretty sure exhaustion was going to start claiming on you, too.

killing yourself seemed to be the only option and what you were thinking of doing was practically suicide. you wanted to go walk to the corner store that had the yogurt. your craving was too strong. you needed it and waiting for dex was not an option. there was nothing of substance in the fridge anyway. just drinks and snacks that weren't yours to eat.

a normal person could probably do it and not die. but you were in gotham and you were convinced that the moment you opened the door killer croc or one of the penguin's goons would be waiting for you.

taking the gun would be the smart thing to do but you didn't feel comfortable walking around with it. the feeling of cold steel against your skin was unsettling and the chance of it going off on you was even scarier. yes, you would have the safety on, but that wasn't enough to ease your mind. it felt like walking around with a bomb strapped to your chest. you didn't even wanna think about it dropping it or something while you were in the store. you were sure the ock wouldn't like that.

you grabbed your keys, slipping the wristband on. you had a little card holder and pepper spray hanging off the key ring. you also had a small switchblade for all your stabbing needs. you hadn't used it for murderous intent yet and you wanted to keep it that way.

i'll have red hood put me out of my misery, you thought morbidly to yourself. maybe jordy wishing death on you this morning was a blessing in disguise because you were progressively feeling more like shit with each passing moment.

you braced yourself for the crisp nighttime air and the dangers lurking around every corner before opening the door. it was dark, as expected. you had your hands stuffed in the pockets of your sweatpants. your right hand rested right on top of your phone carefully stashed away in the black polyester pocket.

your sense of direction was, to put it lightly, dog shit, and the pitch blackness of night wasn't helping. you had your airpods in with the gps telling you where to go. if it had a mind of its own, it would probably be judging you for needing to locate a building that was 5 minutes away. nevertheless, hearing the robo voice in your ears was oddly comforting.

the walk there wasn't that bad once you got to the area with all the traffic, illuminated with fluorescent lighting from the surrounding stores. it was the first time you felt comfortable under blinding white light.

you walked into the store quietly, beelining for the cold food section. you grabbed hot fries and sour skittles on your way over for dex, wanting to soften the blow for when you told him you left the studio by yourself. you spotted the salted caramel flavor through the condensation on the glass and you could already taste the creamy treat on your tongue. you smiled to yourself, grabbing the handle to the door when you heard the automatic door to the store open, accompanied by a chime.

"hey, man, what's going on?" you heard the voice of the cashier from behind you. you grabbed your yogurt and turned around, freezing in place when you saw who had entered.

red hood!

you could hear jordy's enthusiastic voice from this morning bounce around in your head like a pinball. the man you had been talking shit about earlier was right in front of you. jesus christ, was he there for you? how did he even find you? the video hadn't even dropped yet!

he must have felt your intense gaze burning a hole in the side of his head because he turned to face you. thankfully, you slid to the side, hiding behind the chips. he knew you were there and that you had been staring at him, even though he didn't catch you in the act. you attempting to hide yourself behind the buy two, get one free mini chip bags was slightly suspicious, but to be fair, he did just walk into a public place as red hood, so he let it go. turning back to salim, the cashier, he grabbed the bag of m&m's he had slid him.

he always paid for the things he picked out when he came to the store, but salim always gave him m&m's for free. red hood kept his store and community safe, so in salim's eyes, giving him candy that only cost a dollar anyway was nothing.

you started grabbing some other snacks, slowly weaving through the aisles as to not cause alarm to the huge man standing not to far from you. you knew he was big but fuck. he was built like a freight train. probably hit like one, too.

"anyone give you trouble tonight?" you heard a voice, his voice. it was distorted behind that mask... helmet... thing. it sounded robotic. was he actually a robot? like cyborg or something?

"nah, it's been quiet tonight," salim shook his head as the vigilante grabbed a little bag of cookies from the shelf behind him, setting it on the counter before asking for a carton of cigarettes. "i heard that jewelry store on bedford ave got hit though."

bedford avenue? your studio was on bedford avenue, tucked away from the main street. the store wasn't too far from it, either. you must have been so wrapped up in working that you didn't hear the commotion because it was definitely close enough for you to hear it.

"just came from there," the vigilante informed him, his robotic voice being both intriguing and off putting to you. he walked back over with the warm cup of liquid in his gloved hand, setting it on the counter next to the cookies.

must have just missed it then, you thought to yourself, if he just came from over there. lucky me.

"you alright, honey?" salim called out to you with familiar affection. he always treated everyone who came to his store with respect and like family. he was always very sweet to you and he felt a sense of pride knowing that he had both celebrities and vigilantes frequenting his store.

"don't tell me you're trying to rob me," he added on at the end, getting the attention of red hood. he wasn't sure if salim was being serious or not. it would confirm his suspicions about your weird behavior from earlier. it would be kind of ballsy to try something while he was standing there, though.

"uh... yeah. this is a stick up. give me everything you got," you said lamely, standing on your toes to peek at him over the shelf.

salim's rich laughter filled the store and he shook his head. "just checking," he said before redirecting his attention to red hood, who loosened up when he realized it was just banter between friends.

you realized the longer you spent in the store, the later it would get. you waddled your way over to the counter with your snacks in your arms a comfortable distance away from red hood, who set cash on the counter. he looked over at you again, making you shrink under his gaze. he was essentially faceless, which was a little unsettling, to say the least. he turned away, grabbing his things and moving out of your way.

you put all of your snacks on the counter, trying to ignore the man's presence. he wasn't doing anything but being intimidating.

"you here by yourself, honey?" concern laced salim's words as he rung up your snacks. "it's a little late, isn't it?"

"oh, uh, yeah," you nodded, pulling your card out to pay. "everyone else is at a party in maywood."

as red hood was walking out, his brow furrowed when he heard what you were talking about. maywood was where all the big social events took place. he had been out there a few times with bruce. not anyone could go to a party out there so...

"ah, one of those celebrity parties you all go to, huh?" salim grinned, giving you your bag of goodies. he still felt unsure about you being by yourself, though. "hey, red! you should walk her back home."

he was almost out the door when he heard salim call out to him. he turned, looking at the both of you. you felt awkward looking at him and you quickly shook your head.

"no, no, it's fine. the studio isn't far," you told him and salim firmly shook his head in protest.

"it's late. you shouldn't have even walked here to begin with," he scolded you a little. it was just out of concern, of course. "she's a big time celebrity, you know."

you frowned at salim's description of you. not being able to read red hood's expressions to gauge how he felt about this whole thing was frustrating, too. he was probably glaring daggers at you.

"i can take you," the robotic voice said. normally he wouldn't be escorting civilians around but he was done for the night and if you really weren't that far, it wouldn't kill him to walk you back to wherever you were headed. he was in a good mood, even if it didn't appear that way.

"see? let the man take you back," salim pushed and you complied, giving him a little nod. "you two stay safe out there! i don't need my favorite customers getting hurt."

you waved goodbye to salim, turning to see that red hood had already started walking off. you quickly shuffled your way out to follow behind him.

"where are we going?" he asked, not even giving you a glance as you both stood on the sidewalk.

"bedford," you said quietly and he turned to face you, his look of disbelief hidden under the mask. why the hell would you leave? you had to have left while the heist was still going on. no wonder salim asked him to take you home. clearly you had a death wish.

"lead the way," he said to you, trailing behind you as you listened to the gps tell you where to go. you hoped he didn't have supersonic hearing or something, because needing to use the gps was still kind of embarrassing.

you two walked in silence, the sound of your plastic bags and the ambient city noises being the only sounds ringing in your ears. you felt a little safer having red hood as your temporary bodyguard but you'd rather risk dying to avoid the awkward silence.

"so big time celebrity," red hood spoke up, startling you a little. you almost thought it was the gps talking to you. "what do you do?"

he knew you were feeling awkward and probably afraid walking with him. he wasn't trying to scare you, though. he figured talking to you would ease the tension a little.

"oh, uh... music," you said simply.

what a dry response. were you expecting him to carry the whole conversation? because he wasn't.

"why are you out here and not in maywood?" he asked, carrying the conversation anyway.

"the studio is here so i'm here."

"so you're working?"

"yeah."

you were not fun to talk to. he wasn't going to hold it against you though. he himself probably didn't come off as a guy who wanted to talk.

"do you shoot just anyone?" you asked suddenly.

well that was one hell of an icebreaker. did he just shoot anyone? where the hell did that come from? were you that afraid of him?

"no," he said, hoping you couldn't hear his smile in his words. it was such an odd question to ask. "why? you think i'm gonna shoot you or something?"

"are you?" you asked panicked, whipping around to face him.

he put his hands up in mock surrender, letting out a laugh this time. "relax. you haven't given me a reason to want to shoot you. or have you?"

"i hope not," you said honestly, turning back around to continue walking.

"i'm not going to shoot some innocent girl, let alone a famous one. it's a bad look," he explained to you, hoping the humor behind his voice would make you relax a little.

"why don't you wear a hood?" your line of questioning continued. "you're red hood but you don't wear a hood."

"why do you keep asking ridiculous questions?" he asked rhetorically before answering your question anyway. "a hood doesn't protect the face."

well, that made sense, actually. it looked like that helmet thing he wore was made of metal or something. much better protection than cotton. it was still off brand but you could respect it.

"what the hell are you wearing?" the man had exclaimed suddenly, making you furrow your brows and look back at him. his gaze was down at your feet. "how did i not notice those before?"

"clearly that stupid helmet obstructs your vision," you pouted, looking down at the cute bunnies that sat on the strip of your pink slides. "they're my slides."

"they're hideous," he told you seriously and you scoffed.

what an asshole. how dare he insult your babies like that? they were minding their fucking business, chilling on your feet. they didn't asked to be attacked like this.

"you're hideous," you retorted childishly. "my bunnies are cute, thank you very much."

"how am i hideous? you can't even see me," he reminded you, tapping on his helmet.

"your outfit is hideous. you look like... i don't know. ugly. your face is probably ugly, too," you huffed, crossing your arms.

you wished you could go back in time and not apologize for insulting him earlier. he deserved it.

"you wound me," he said sarcastically, placing a hand over his heart. "how will i recover?"

"give me your gun and let's find out," you said, holding out your hand jokingly before getting it swatted away by his.

okay, fine. he wasn't that bad. you were actually kind of enjoying the conversation and so was he.

"arrived," you heard in your ears, looking up and seeing the studio right before your eyes.

you had been so wrapped up in bantering with him that you forgot what you were doing in the first place: going back to the studio. you almost felt disappointed that you were about to go your separate ways. you had just gotten comfortable.

"this is the place," you said, gesturing up to the building. "thank you for walking me here."

"try to keep your late night excursions to a minimum."

and with that, he used his grappling hook and disappeared into the shadows of the night. creepy. kinda cool but mostly creepy.

you walked around back to the side door, letting yourself back into the studio and locking up immediately afterwards. another successful snack run. now all you had to do was wait for dex to get back.

...

it had been about two weeks since your encounter with the vigilante. jason had long forgotten about it. he had been at the manor, lingering around after a meeting in the cave with bruce and his brothers. he didn't like sticking around once business was taken care of but alfred offered to make him chili dogs. it was a calculated move to get him to stick around and it worked.

tim was lounging on the arm chair while dick and damian were both seated on the couch. jason stood off to the side, directing his attention to the television that sat above the fireplace. tim had been watching youtube videos all day and stumbled across a gotham insider q&a that had a clickbait-y title about vigilantes. naturally, he was intrigued and wanted to watch it with the rest of them.

"what am i looking at?" he asked, taking a bite of his chili dog.

"something hilarious. i've been waiting to show you guys all day," tim explained, grabbing the remote.

"i hope this isn't something juvenile, drake," damian chimed, resting his body against the arm of the couch.

"or gross," dick co-signed with a grimace. "we just ate."

"just shut up and watch," he sighed, unpausing the video.

jason felt a little tingle in the back of his mind at your face was on the screen. you looked familiar. he silently watched as you and jordy discussed your feelings about vigilantes. dick snorted when he heard your comment about nightwing. tim began to snicker in anticipating for the main event: the red hood argument.

as jason watched, everything made sense. you were that weird girl he walked home. that was why you asked him those stupid questions. he was a little annoyed at you calling him stupid and off brand but he had to admit the segment was funny. especially the part at the end where you were begging him not to shoot you. you seemed so much more relaxed and naturally funny than you did when he was with you that night. it almost gave him whiplash.

"you should shoot her. for good measure," damian told jason once the clip ended, making the older boy roll his eyes.

"nah. i can't shoot my bard," he smiled, making dick smile too. he had expected jason to be all grumpy about getting talked about but he seemed to be taking it fairly well. tim was kinda disappointed that jason didn't seem more bothered by it. he wanted to tease him a little.

"i think red hood payola is probably the funniest thing i've heard in awhile," dick said, laughing along with tim. even damian cracked a little smile.

jason walked back to the kitchen, recalling that night he ran into you now that he had seen the video, finally understanding why you were acting so strange.

his bard, huh? cute...

[c-optimistic]

stay

or, dani has a chronic illness (alternatively: tried getting a friend to write this but she said no—I know, cruel right?—so I wrote it and am posting it even though absolutely no one asked for it)

Jamie notices it first.

(At first, it’s surprising to Dani, that Jamie is paying just as much attention to her as she is to Jamie. It makes her cheeks flush with warmth, leaves her unable to look away from Jamie’s soft eyes, has her aching to reach out and take Jamie’s hand and—

Dani breathes in, shoving those thoughts aside.)

Flora’s raced off into the garden, Miles chasing after her, and Dani leans against the entrance to Bly Manor, hands on hips, trying to manage her breathing. Her heart is pounding away in her chest, her head spinning, vision spotty. For a moment, she’s worried she’ll collapse—she’s been so careful for so long and she hasn’t felt quite this bad since well….

She’s not sure. She doesn’t think it’s ever been this bad.

Just as she straightens, feeling a bit more certain on her wobbly legs, she feels a hand on her shoulder, a gentle tug pulling on the back of her sweater.

“I’ve nothing to do right now,” Jamie tells her, grinning at her as she releases Dani’s shoulder and steps up next to her. “Why don’t I watch the goblins for a bit?”

“You really shouldn’t call them that,” Dani protests, but it’s weak and she doesn’t actually care, knowing that Jamie doesn’t mean it and much more interested in the way Jamie’s fingers brush against the back of her hand as she releases her sweater and walks backwards just past her. “And only Miles is really the goblin. Flora’s an angel.”

Jamie’s eyes rove over her face, clearly looking for something, and she ignores Dani’s comment. “Why don’t you take a break? Owen and Hannah are having tea—the real kind, not whatever it is you make. You should join them.”

“Oh, I don’t know—”

“—c’mon, Poppins. Everyone can use a break.”

Dani swallows, pretending she doesn’t hear the knowing undercurrent in Jamie’s assertion, and she nods, tearing her eyes away from Jamie’s and focusing on her shoes. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. You’re right. I’ll go...get some tea.”

Jamie waits, clearly intending to watch Dani turn and go back inside, one eyebrow raised, as if daring Dani to do what she wants to do—sneak past Jamie and get to the kids. “The tea will be getting cold then, and despite what you think it’s not supposed to be cold,” Jamie prods, gesturing with her chin towards the Manor, and Dani caves.

“I’m going, I’m going,” she says, holding her hands up in surrender. She doesn’t need Jamie’s huff of laughter to know that she’s still being watched as she turns back around and heads towards the kitchen (though all she really wants is to go up to her room, to sink into her bed, to drift off into an undisturbed slumber), accepting that she has no choice but to take a break.

(And when she sits down with Owen and Hannah, they’re all smiles, not questioning why Jamie took over for her, Owen pulling out the cookies—or were they called biscuits?—Dani likes that he makes sure to keep on hand for ‘special occasions,’ Hannah telling her about her latest foray into town, and Dani wonders if Jamie was the first to notice after all.

She wonders if maybe Jamie was just the first to call her out on it.)

x

“Miss Clayton?” Flora begins, dropping her doll and turning to look at Dani with an oddly mature expression of worry. “Are you all right?”

Dani stops picking up Flora’s clothes and frowns, confused at the question. “Yeah, of course. Why do you ask?”

Flora doesn’t seem to want to say. She gets to her feet, abandoning her massive dollhouse, and slides into bed without prompting, pulling her covers up to her chin. “Do you promise not to tell anyone I told you?” she asks, waiting for Dani to nod and sit down on the edge of the bed before she continues. “Miles and I played hide and seek the other day, and I hid in the stairwell near the kitchen. Mrs. Grose spoke to Jamie about you. They said they were worried about how you’re doing.”

(Dani is conflicted. On one hand, she appreciates the obvious concern everyone in this house has for her, the affection that leads them to notice she needs a break or to worry about how she’s doing. But a less charitable part of her is annoyed.

She’s not some weak damsel in need of saving, and she doesn’t appreciate the others talking behind her back and treating her as if she is.)

“You don’t need to worry about what they said,” Dani tells her, reaching out to smooth back her hair. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sick?” Flora asks, her concern not dissipating.

“No, Flora, I’m not sick.”

Flora doesn’t seem very convinced, but she nods into her blankets and shifts to her side. When Dani is halfway across the room, ready for bed herself, Flora speaks up once more. “Is it something that gets better?” she asks, sounding far older and wiser than a child had any right to. Dani turns around and gives Flora her best smile.

“Good night, sweet girl,” she says, and she thinks that her non-answer is answer enough.

x

She didn’t know about it until after Eddie. After what happened to him.

(She’d see his face, his illuminated glasses, and she’d think—for a heart-stopping moment—that her fiancé was haunting her. But then, as she regained control over her lungs, she’d notice it was a trick of the light, a glare off a window.

Eventually, she’d see a doctor. Eventually, he’d tell her there was something very wrong.

Eventually, she’d packed up and just...left, tired of all the looks from everyone back at home, at the whispers of ‘isn’t it just tragic?’ and ‘first him, now her.’)

Sometimes, she doesn’t think anything is wrong at all.

Sure, she’s more tired than usual. And sure, sometimes she wakes up in the dead of night, clutching at her chest, trying to ignore her heart’s abnormal stuttering, wincing at the ache in her head. But usually, usually her heart beats slow and steady, usually her breathing is even and measured, usually her head is filled with nothing but the day’s plans for the children and how the shirt Jamie is wearing suits her.

Each reminder that something is wrong, each time she’s forced to confront the truth that her own body is failing her, betraying her, it feels like the first time—sitting in that doctor’s office, listening to him talk but not really hearing, the words washing over her as her heart began an irregular beat with which she’d soon become quite familiar.

Dani has always been very good at hiding things. She hid how she only felt friendship for Eddie for years, only breaking at the prospect of life in a loveless marriage. And now, she hides this, the headaches, the seeing things, the exhaustion, the stuttering heart soldiering on despite every agonizing beat.

She hides, but Jamie’s watchful, tender eyes are on her, ready to rush forward at a moment’s notice; Hannah’s soothing presence is always just within reach; Owen’s thoughtful care has him anticipating her needs before she knows what they even are.

(She’s not used to this. People who see her, who love her, who stay even when things get hard.

And it breaks her heart that once they learn the truth—when they discover that her faltering heart is sending defective blood to her every extremity, that her rattling lungs struggle to fill with air, that each step is a step closer to the point of no return—they will want nothing to do with her.

More than that, she wouldn’t want them to.)

x

One afternoon, as Jamie, Hannah, and Owen watch Dani force the kids to work in the garden, looking terribly amused by the turn of events, she finds herself thinking that it’s unfair she only got to meet Jamie now.

Jamie is like...a breath of fresh air. Or, perhaps more accurately, that first inhale after being submerged underwater for a touch too long. It’s as if her chest was bursting from the pressure and then—

—then came Jamie, then came release.

(She looks like second chances and Dani would swear she tastes like possibility and there’s a part of her that’s desperate to find out.

Desperate to know if her touch would feel like home.)

But Dani doesn’t know how to put those feelings—feelings she’s never had for anyone else—into words. So she settles for long stares, for wistful looks, for furtive glances—hoping against hope Jamie hasn’t noticed how many times Dani looks her way throughout the day.

(She rather wishes it hadn’t happened at all, instead of happening now. Meeting Jamie, getting drawn into those eyes, gravitating to her presence.

Because now...well, now it’s all moot. Now it doesn’t matter. She’s marked, she’s damaged, she’s broken.

She has timer ticking down to an uncertain but looming date, and she can’t afford to allow anyone to be in the vicinity when that last second arrives, doesn’t want anyone to be hit by her leftover shrapnel in the resulting explosion.

But Jamie looks at her like she’d brave it anyway, and sometimes Dani wants so much to cave.)

“I think you missed a section,” Jamie says from where she sits, gesturing to an untouched plot of the garden, giving Miles a grin. She doesn’t even try to hide her enjoyment when he looks to Dani for help and doesn’t get it, when he crawls over to where Jamie pointed out and begins to tug on weeds. “Y’know, Poppins,” Jamie says conversationally when Dani gets up to go sit next to her, feeling the beginnings of a headache forming, “this wasn’t a half bad idea. There are plenty of plants that need watering too, spare me waking up before sunrise every morning.”

Dani looks at her, wanting so much—so much—to cave (to reach out, to touch, to—). But she just smiles and shakes her head, forces herself to focus. “I think they learned their lesson.”

Jamie shrugs, turns her attention back to Hannah and Owen, and it feels like Dani’s been submerged again.

x

She has a really good week—no aches, no pains, no exhaustion, her lungs expanding without any effort on her part.

One week, and it’s like maybe she’s fine. Maybe it had all been in her head.

(A week to hope, a week to think about everything she’d stopped allowing herself to think about—like hopes and plans and endless tomorrows.

A week to feel normal, to feel excited, to look forward to what the future would bring.

She got one week.)

One week, and then she collapses on the stairs as she’s chasing after the kids.

(Flora screams, at least she thinks so. She hears something, but her vision is spotty and her head feels full of cotton, and she’s unsure for a moment where she is. A part of her expects to open her eyes and see Eddie standing over her, his expression hard and set.)

The next thing she knows, she’s being looked over by the sole doctor in town as she lays on the couch in the sitting room, everyone (Hannah, Owen, Flora, Miles, and Jamie) gathered around her, a fire roaring in the fireplace.

The doctor pockets his stethoscope and gives her a sad smile when he notices she’s awake. “I told you when you first came to me, Miss Clayton,” he begins softly, everyone listening in with rapt attention, “your health—”

“—I know, I know,” Dani interrupts, and he seems to take the hint, pulling back and nodding slowly. (When she got this job, she’d sought the kind doctor out, telling him about her diagnosis, telling him about exactly what she’d need from him. And she remembers the way he had looked at her, the way he hadn’t questioned her, just looking over all the records she’d brought with her and nodding slowly in silent acceptance.)

“Rest, won’t you?” he says, patting her shoulder before taking his leave, Owen and Hannah following him, as if intent on getting him alone to get some answers. But Dani only has eyes for the kids and for Jamie, the three of whom are looking at her worriedly, Flora going as far as coming around to take Dani’s hand.

“I’ve an idea,” Jamie says before Dani can think of an explanation, an excuse, some way to make her collapsing less serious than she knows it is. “Why don’t we all hang out with Miss Clayton a bit?” she asks, looking at Flora, then Miles. “Keep her company?”

“Like a slumber party?” Miles asks, a smile appearing on his face.

“Oh, that would be perfectly splendid!” says Flora, releasing Dani’s hand in order to clap. “Can we, Miss Clayton? I’ll stay up all night!”

Dani shifts on the couch, noticing Owen and Hannah making their way back and then catching Jamie’s eye, and she decides that caving a little—just a touch—couldn’t possibly hurt. “That sounds like a good idea,” she finds herself saying.

“Excellent,” Owen laughs, making a face at Flora that has her giggling. “How about some hot chocolate for the kids, and some adult hot chocolate for the rest of us?”

“Can I have adult hot chocolate?” Miles asks, looking to Dani and Hannah for permission, shoulders slumping when he gets two unequivocal no’s.

(And much, much later, long after Jamie helps Dani carry the kids to their beds, long after she finds Jamie sleeping on the couch in the morning, long after Owen and Hannah disappeared to who knows where, Dani finds herself caving once more.

She finds herself reaching out and squeezing Jamie’s hand, holding on for just a touch too long, finds herself memorizing the look on Jamie’s face in response, finds herself smiling at Jamie’s quiet who the hell knew?, and finds herself thinking that yes, Jamie does feel like home.

And she finds herself wanting it even more.)

x

She confesses nearly everything to Jamie in her greenhouse, surrounded by the plants Jamie loves so much, feeling remarkably safe in the dark and pressed up against Jamie’s warmth.

(Later, she thinks it was the influence of the alcohol, the fact that Owen’s mother just passed, the fact that she hadn’t slept well in what felt like decades.

But the truth—something she thinks she’s only able to admit to herself in the dead of night, when exhaustion has seeped in, leaving her vulnerable to honesty—is that she’s been desperate to tell Jamie. She’s wanted to, needed to, felt absolutely driven to, from the first moment she laid eyes on the gardener and knew—somewhere deep in her stuttering heart—that she’s something special.)

“You must think I’m crazy,” she mumbles after she’s finished, unsure which part she’s referring to. The fact that she’d thought she could see Eddie after he died? That she ran to the other side of the world to get away from pitying eyes? That she took a job in the middle of nowhere, with children who’d dealt with more than their fair share of grief, because it offered an escape she was too weak to resist?

Jamie’s eyes don’t stray from Dani’s. “No, you’re actually surprisingly sane, considering,” she says lightly, surprising a laugh out of Dani. “So is that your big, dark secret, then?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you’re a bit of a weirdo, Poppins. And I would’ve thought it’s because your ex-fiancé is haunting you, not something normal like this.”

Dani’s heart stutters, but not in the way she’s used to. It’s a swooping feeling, like your breath has been knocked out of you by a surprise, not because your lungs can’t fill with air. “Normal?” she repeats, knowing—knowing—she’s looking too intensely at Jamie, but not able to stop.

“Well, yeah,” Jamie says, shrugging a little awkwardly. “Something in your body is shit at its job. People are shit at their jobs all the time. It’s—”

And Dani caves.

She cuts Jamie off with a kiss, does the one thing she’s wanted to do since she first met the gardener, pulls her closer by the collar of her jacket, fingers snaking into Jamie’s hair, and—

—and her head swims, dizziness sets in, and she knows if her eyes had been open, her vision would be spotty.

Dani pulls back with a start, at the stark reminder of the ‘shit’ job her body is doing, and her heart resumes its irregular, erratic beat.

“It’s okay, Dani,” Jamie tells her repeatedly, “we’re good.”

But even as Jamie smiles at her reassuringly, Dani can’t help but feel she’s let home slip between her fingers.

x

She caves again (and again).

She caves and goes to Jamie (replaying the words ‘Poppins, you flirt’ over and over again in her head), caves when Jamie shows her the moonflower, caves that night as Jamie is fast asleep and Dani is wide awake, tracing her fingers lightly over the scar on Jamie’s back. She caves when she asks Jamie to come back and Jamie tells her there will be other nights and she can do nothing but ask ‘promise?’ and try not sway on her feet as she feels a rush of warmth when Jamie answers back with a nod and ‘promise.’

She caves again and again (and again).

And somewhere in between all that, she stops noticing her heart’s erratic beat, stops associating breathlessness with anything other than Jamie’s kisses, stops focusing on the pain that Jamie’s touch somehow manages to dull.

Dani caves and somewhere along the way she thinks, maybe. She thinks yes, I can have this too. She thinks it’s okay to do this.

She caves, forgetting what’s lurking in her own heart and lungs and veins, forgetting she’s making a mistake.

x

Hannah is lighting candles again when Dani goes looking for her, wanting to ask her to watch the kids later in the week. She doesn’t look up when Dani sits at the second pew, but she does let out a soft sigh as she finishes lighting the last candle and then moves to come over and sit next to Dani.

There’s silence for a moment, Dani wanting to be respectful, but then Hannah turns to her, looking a little curious. “It’s none of my business, but I just wanted to say, Jamie’s the happiest I’ve ever seen her. I’d wager that’s got a lot to do with you.” She doesn’t sound anything but pleased, so Dani meets her eyes, feeling a little flushed.

“She makes me happy, too,” she says, ducking her head. “But I just…” She trails off, not quite sure how to word her thoughts, how to admit that in the depths of her heart she’s got no doubt she’s known Jamie her whole life, that she’s meant to have found Jamie, to be with her. She doesn’t know how to say that she’s terrified out of her mind because even if Jamie is happy now, the only thing Dani can promise her is a great deal of pain.

(She is intimately familiar with how loss can hollow you out, how it can leave you feeling helpless and hopeless in the face of a vast, cold universe.

She doesn’t know how to condemn someone she’s pretty sure she’s falling for to that sort of pain. She doesn’t want to.)

Hannah reaches out and pats her hand gently, then leans back against the pew.

“Love is funny,” she begins, seemingly reading Dani’s mind. “It’s sweet and freeing, but just as much as you don’t have a choice in who you fall in love with, I don’t think you can choose what someone is willing to endure for you.”

“But it’s not fair, it wouldn’t be fair,” Dani protests, drawing Hannah’s eyes.

“Well, whoever said love was fair?” she asks with a laugh. “All any of us can do, really, is love with our whole heart with whatever time we have. That has to be enough.”

x

The second time her health takes a turn for the worse, it’s not as dramatic as collapsing on the stairs. Instead, she just can’t get out of bed.

It’s painfully embarrassing, the way Hannah brings her breakfast, helps her sit up in bed, even steadies her shaking hand as she tries to sip her tea. It’s somehow worse when Owen drops by with lunch later, telling her he’d ‘gone full American’ and made some of her favorites.

But when Jamie arrives, not covered in dirt for once, Dani feels a bit of panic set in at the very thought of what she has to do—how she has to convince this woman to move on, find someone who isn’t tainted like she is.

(This is what Dani knows without a doubt: Jamie is the ‘spend forever with you’ sort of person for her, the only one who has ever made her feel safe in the storm, heard in the silence, seen in the dark.

This is what Dani knows without a single doubt: Jamie already expects everyone she meets to in someway disappoint her, and it would break Dani’s heart if she was one of those people too.)

So she decides on telling the truth.

“I’m sick you know,” Dani says just as Jamie sits down at the edge of the bed, hand resting remarkably close to Dani’s.

She raises an eyebrow. “I gathered that much, yeah.”

“No, Jamie. I’m sick,” Dani tries, the words getting stuck to the roof of her mouth, suddenly unwilling to say more. “I won’t get better, I’ll never get better. It’ll just get worse and then—” She cuts herself off, blinking rapidly, trying to prevent the onset of tears.

Jamie doesn’t say anything for a beat, just stares, before she pulls her hand back. It’s just an inch, barely even that, but it feels like miles, and Dani wishes she could take it all back. “Oh,” Jamie says eventually, her previous wry amusement fading entirely to be replaced by a soft frown.

“It’s just,” Dani starts, “you don’t get it. I have this feeling, you know? Like I’m walking through this dense, overgrown jungle and I can’t see anything. Nothing but for the path immediately ahead of me. But I know there’s this thing hidden, this angry, empty, lonely beast. And one day, who knows when, that’ll be it. I’ll be devoured.” Her tears finally escape, rolling down her cheek and onto her covers. She thinks Jamie follows the path with her eyes, but she’s not sure, can’t tell when her vision is blurred by tears. After a second, she more feels than sees Jamie shift on the bed.

“Do you want some company?” Jamie asks, and when Dani blinks her vision clear, she can see that Jamie’s holding up her hand, pinky sticking out.

“What?”

“While you’re in that jungle, waiting for the beast, do you want some company?”

(She thinks about what Hannah said, about not being able to choose what someone is willing to endure for you. She thinks about how Jamie has offered this in light of the entire, complete truth.

She thinks about how Jamie is still here, still wanting to be present, even as Dani confesses the thing she’s run from since Eddie died.)

Dani hooks their pinkies together, nodding, and she’s pretty sure—if miracles or magic or the fantastic truly existed—her body would have repaired its damaged cells when Jamie presses a kiss to Dani’s hand.

And yet, she finds Jamie's presence—her warmth, her smile, her choice—to be miracle enough.

x

They decide to leave Bly.

(Flora hugs her tightly, makes her promise she’ll visit soon; Hannah and Owen tell her to take care of herself, that they’ll keep in touch; and as Jamie helps Dani put the last of their things in her truck, as she pulls away from the Manor, Dani looks back once, idly wondering if she’ll ever be able to make her way back here.)

At first, they choose to just travel. They make a list of things they always wanted to see, then systematically go through it, hopping from place to place with no real intent—no real idea of what tomorrow will hold.

But then one day, Jamie starts to plan.

She hands a cup of tea over to Dani, raising her eyebrows as if to say this is how it’s done, then tugs out the journal where they’ve listed all their travel destinations. “I think we can skip over seeing the south, I’m not too keen on going anyway, but I hear the fall here,” she points at one of the places Dani has listed, “is quite nice. So we could start heading that way.”

“Fall is months away,” Dani says, setting her tea aside.

Jamie doesn’t notice, just sips at her own tea and hums. “That’s how the seasons work, yeah,” she says absentmindedly, clearly trying to map out their next few months in her head. She seems to finally register Dani’s stiffness and her tone, because she looks up after a beat, giving Dani the softest of smiles. “Don’t worry that pretty little head of yours,” she says, holding out a hand. “The beast’s not come yet and I want to stay, here with you. All you have to do is let me.”

(Stay.

On Jamie’s lips it sounds like more, like a confession neither of them have been brave enough to utter yet. And Dani’s heart stutters at the thought, but not because it’s struggling to beat, not because it’s working too hard.

No, her heart stutters because she’s excited.

For so long, she never thought past today. But now, with Jamie, she’s looking forward to countless tomorrows.)

Jamie looks at her, chooses her, stays with her, and once again (because it’s Jamie, because she’s starting to think maybe she’s not so broken after all) Dani caves and takes Jamie’s hand.

“Actually,” she says with a small smile, her eyes on the future, “what do you think about starting a business together? Maybe a flower shop?”

Jamie smiles brilliantly, taking the idea and running with it, flipping to a new page in the journal and jotting down ideas as she speaks, and all Dani can do is soak it all in. And she thinks, when they finally go visit Owen and Hannah in Paris, she’ll tell Hannah that loving someone with your whole heart with whatever time you’ve got is more than just enough—it’s everything.

[carelessannie]

here’s the second part of my winteriron mermay au! enjoy!

while we’re devoting full time to floating chapter two: boy you better do it soon

Rating: M (for now) Word Count: 6.8K Relationships: Tony x Bucky Warnings: Smut adjacent (unintentional sex toys), sexual tension, profanity, kinda drug/alcohol use Read on AO3 Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three

- - -

His eyes blink open slowly. It’s strange to wake up without a blinding headache. Actually, it’s strange to wake up without any pain. And with the sun shining in his face.

To his left, he sees a small form on the water’s surface. In his mind’s eye he knows the form is familiar, knows that there should be someone inside— but it slips quickly, evading his memory as the dark form fades over the horizon.

Tony shakes his head. He smacks his lips.

Where is he?

First of all, he’s definitely not in the ocean. It seems like he’s resting on some type of rock formation, with just his tail hydrated in the water. Interesting. He seems to be inside a cove, the shelter working wonders to hide him from the mid-afternoon sun.

Secondly, he’s alone. He never travels alone, especially not to the shore. It hurts to try and remember, but reality slams into him like an orca whale. Rhodey and Pepper. The exploration to colonize. The fucking Tiger Sharks, dammit! Tony’s tail slaps the surface of the water in frustration, and he lets his body slip into the shallow pool.

He hopes the sharks didn’t get his friends. The memory of the fight is hazy at best, but he knows he shouldn’t be feeling this good afterwards— he’s pretty sure he got hit at least once. There are no scratches or bruises anywhere on his body, and it’s confusing that he doesn’t even have a headache.

That’s a problem for later, though. Now, Tony needs to find his friends— or, what remains of his friends. He swims out of the cove and down, through the reefs. Fish seem to be tentatively peeking out of their hiding spots, and he follows the empty spaces to trace the path a shark might have taken. He whistles, sharp and quick, to try and map out the figures in the surrounding area, and is satisfied when his call is returned with a low chirp. Thank the sea.

“Rhodey!” he hollers, pushing through the crowded reef, searching wildly for his closest friend, his faithful number two. As Tony breaks into the clearing, he freezes at the sight in front of him.

Rhodey and Pepper are swimming territorial circles around all three Tiger Sharks— and, from the looks of it, all three are dead.

“Tony!” Pepper notices him first and beckons him closer. When he swims up, she throws her arms around his neck, sobbing briefly into his shoulder, before reeling back and lightly slapping his arm, “How dare you worry me like that! I was sure all we’d find were scales— how did you get away?”

“I…” Tony tries to remember, he really does, but the only things coming to mind are brilliant blue eyes, an ethereal glow, and a deep, alluring voice, “I think someone saved me. But, by the time I woke up, they were gone.”

“You didn’t recognize them?” Rhodey swims closer, looking him up and down, inspecting for injuries.

“No, I don’t… I don’t think they’re part of the Kingdom,” Tony murmurs, reaching up to subconsciously play with his signet ring. His memory is usually so sharp, it’s strange that—

“Holy shit, Tony— look!” Pepper interrupts, pointing at his chest. He looks down, but all he can see is a slight illumination around his sternum.

“What—”

“Stay still,” Rhodey snaps, gently lifting the ring off of his skin. Pepper reaches in to trace a delicate circle on his chest, and both of his friends look awestruck. And afraid. He tries to crane his neck and see, but all he notices is that the glow fades the longer the ring is kept from touching his body. Rhodey hums, thoughtfully, “Seems like the ring is enchanted. I haven’t encountered a witch in ages— but I guess one came out of hiding to save you.”

“I guess. Pep, do you have a mirror?” The longer Rhodey holds the ring, the tighter Tony’s chest feels. He plucks it out of Rhodey’s hand as Pepper pulls a mirror out of her satchel, turning it around so Tony can take a look.

His signet ring lays in the center of his chest, a steady weight, and radiates a faint glow. It’s more concerning that, surrounding the ring, there’s a few inches of light emanating from under his skin. Tony reaches up to trace it— the gold ring and blue haze, so similar to the eyes he remembers saving him. Still, nothing hurts, and Tony pushes the mirror away.

He ignores their concerned looks and starts to tie up the sharks, concentrating on getting them back to the Kingdom before any larger predators arrive to investigate. After a moment, both of them swim down to help him, shouldering the bodies and heading back towards the Kingdom’s butcher.

It’s a few more minutes before Tony breaks the silence, giving his friends a break, “So, uh… do you think I’ll be a lanternfish forever?” He throws them a smirk and laughs at Pepper’s exasperated sigh.

Rhodey bumps into his shoulder, “You have trouble blending in as it is— at least now we’ll be able to keep track of you… in night clubs.”

Tony gwuafs, offended, and shoves at Rhodey’s shoulder. With everyone happy and laughing, it’s easy to forget about his mysterious savior and the inevitable conversation he’s going to have with his father later on. They head straight for the butcher when they enter the city, several citizens cheering and praising their kill. Tony knows he’ll get the credit for it, even though it was Rhodey and Pepper who slew the sharks, so he takes off as soon as they drop the bodies, heading to the castle to see the King.

---

Hours later, Tony sits at the far perimeter between two sentinels, staring out into the open ocean. The nocturnal fish have emerged, sending an eerie glow onto the city as the lights dim, throwing the Kingdom into gentle darkness. It does nothing to soothe Tony’s anger.

He takes Pepper’s satchel, full of rocks and shells and other samples from their journey, and dumps it over the side of the wall. Useless. It’s almost as if his dad doesn’t even want to explore anymore, just sending Tony out to keep him distracted. And he knows that’s probably the case, he’s not stupid, but he can tell there’s something deeper his dad isn’t telling him.

Well, fuck ‘im. Tony’s more than capable of figuring it out on his own.

For now, he stares out into the distance, throwing a silent Tony pity party.

There’s movement in the distance. At first, Tony thinks it’s debris. It’s not uncommon for items to fall from the surface— but this object suddenly twists, and he sees… shit, he sees arms. Fuck. It’s a person.

“Stay alert,” he instructs the guard on his right, “I’m gonna check it out.”

Tony takes off into the dark, distantly aware that one of the guards is hot on his tail, and heads straight for the figure still drifting towards the ocean floor. He slows down as he approaches, thankful for the light in his chest that illuminates his surroundings. When he gets to the spot, sand is settling in a cloud around where the figure landed. It takes a moment for everything to clear, and Tony waits patiently, the guard at his side prepared with a weapon.

It’s a man. “Holy shit,” Tony breathes out, swimming closer to the limp body stretched across the sand and rock.

“Be careful, your Highness,” his guard warns, and Tony waves his hand in dismissal.

The man landed facing away from him, giving Tony a good view of strong, muscular shoulders and wavy, shoulder-length hair, half tied back behind his ears in a small knot. His back rises and falls, expanding with slow breaths that reassure the man’s gentle sleep. He leans over and pulls on his shoulder, carefully turning him onto his back.

He’s absolutely gorgeous. Lips slightly parted and turned down in sleep, his face is utterly serene. His lashes are dark and cast a delicate shadow over sharp cheekbones, sprinkled with a tasteful amount of scruff, not quite enough to hide his full jawline and smooth, tanned skin. Tony can’t help himself— he reaches down and cups the man’s jaw, brushing his thumb over full lips and wishing he could look into this man’s eyes.

With a gasp, the man jerks awake, and Tony gets his wish. Deep, electric gray eyes bore into his own, the handsome face overtaken with shock and confusion as he bolts upright, pushing Tony away and looking around frantically.

“Hey, hey— it’s alright. You’re okay, please don’t panic,” Tony tries to calm him down, sighing in relief when the man turns his focus back on Tony, still looking desperate and confused, “My name’s Tony, you’re outside Howard’s Northern Kingdom— can you… can you tell me your name? Where you came from?”

The man shakes his head. He’s shaking slightly, and Tony watches as he runs his hands over his chest, his hips, and his silver and crimson tail— as if grounding himself in the present. Tony understands and gives the guy some space.

He hates the devastated look in the man’s stunning eyes, but is grateful when he croaks out, “The… the Northern Kingdom? Under water?”

Tony snickers, motioning around, “For now, yeah— that’s where sea life generally lives.”

The man nods, a little too quickly, “Right, I… of course, right. My name…” he grimaces, as though it’s painful to remember, “I’m James, but… but people call me Bucky.”

“Bucky,” Tony repeats, liking the sound of this stranger’s voice, somehow familiar, “I’m Tony, and King Howard is my father. Unfortunately, before I can help you out, I’m gonna need to know why you’re here, or where you’re from,” he gestures to the guard behind him, “otherwise this guy’s not gonna let you come home with me.”

Bucky’s smile is a revelation as it breaks over his face. Tony feels something twist in his chest as he ducks his head, looking up at Bucky through his lashes and watching the other man’s cheeks flush pink in delight. Oh, Tony likes this a lot.

“Well, I’m… I’m from…” the smile falls from Bucky’s face as he concentrates, a painful grimace maring his features again, “The Kingdom of Brooklyn, and my brother is the King. His name is Steve. And I… I don’t know why I’m here,” his brow furrows and a small whimper leaves his throat as he concentrates harder, and Tony has to stop it.

“Hey, Bucky? Please don’t— don't’ hurt yourself, okay?” He grins in approval as Bucky relaxes, “We can work on it, sweetheart, for now, what you’ve given me should be sufficient. I’ve never heard of Brooklyn, but if you’re a Prince and not one of our enemies, our King shouldn’t have a problem with offering you temporary residence.”

“I… okay,” Bucky agrees, looking down at his hands, “I don’t want to impose.”

Tony holds out a hand and pulls Bucky along with him.  They swim back through the gate and into the city— most families are already tucked into their homes for the night, so no one sees them on their way back to the castle. Bucky looks absolutely stunned, barely talking during their journey, and it amuses Tony to no end. Obviously whatever Kingdom he’s from is small and underdeveloped in technology and population.

They travel shoulder to shoulder, and Tony can’t help but feel a familiar warmth when their arms brush against each other, the ring around his neck pulsing brighter. It seems like Bucky notices it too, but the expression on his face is difficult to read.

“So this is a weird question,” Tony starts, fiddling with the ring as he studies Bucky’s face. The other man smiles encouragingly, so Tony continues, “have we… met before? Like, specifically earlier today?”

Bucky stops suddenly, looking at Tony as if he’s actively growing another tail. For a moment his face looks surprised, filled with recognition, but it quickly disappears as Bucky hunches over and lets out a pained gasp, clutching desperately at his head. Tony has no idea what to do— and in panic, he pulls Bucky closer, wrapping the larger man in his arms.

“Shh, I’m so sorry,” Tony whispers, trying to soothe away the pain. Bucky is trembling like a leaf in his arms, and he’s helpless to do anything about it. He’s also aware that they’re drifting in between several dwellings, and Tony needs to get them inside, soon.

Soft, red-rimmed eyes blink up at him, and Tony brings up his hand to push a few wayward strands of hair out of Bucky’s face. Even upset and in pain, this man is flawless. He sniffles and blinks a few times, struggling to turn a reassuring smile up at Tony.

“T-thank you,” he murmurs, face flushing pink again in embarrassment, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Everything is… familiar. But I can’t remember you, I’m sorry.”

Tony clicks his tongue, following the blush with his fingers and enjoying the close press of their bodies, “It’s okay, Bucky— we’ll figure it out.”

---

They make it back to the castle in one piece, and Tony knows it’s going to be best to present his guest to the King immediately. He knows his presence isn’t welcome due to the argument earlier in the evening, but the consequences will be worse if Tony tries to hide what he’s found.

The two of them wait outside of the King’s rooms as a steward leaves to announce them to his father. Tony tries to fill Bucky in on procedures, but it seems his guest is already familiar with a number of expectations and etiquette.

“Oh, and remember to tuck your tail as well. And if he tells you to be informal, he really means you can call him ‘Your Grace,’ not to call him Howard. He’ll hate that.” Tony rambles, listing off everything he can think of.

“Wait,” Bucky stops him, “tuck my… tail? Why?”

Tony chuckles, backing up slightly to face Bucky. He looks around to make sure no others are watching— it would be improper for the Prince to bow, even in jest— and when he’s satisfied that the coast is clear, tucks himself into a formal bow.

“Oh,” Bucky breathes, and Tony unfolds himself, his smile erased completely by the intensity in Bucky’s eyes. Fuck. “That’s… that was…”

And then smoothly, gracefully, Bucky mirrors his bow, curling his tail forward, dipping his head, and crossing one arm over his chest respectfully. Tony is speechless. The show of respect— even casually— from this breathtaking man, has him breathing deep to keep his desire at bay.

It seems as though Bucky’s having a similar problem. As he unfolds from his bow, Tony can see his pupils blown wide, the scales around his groin flushed pink in arousal. Tony can bet his own scales look the same, and tries to laugh, tries to calm them down as he backs away slightly. It won’t help either of them to see the King looking like this.

Of course that’s the moment the King’s steward chooses to return, giving both of them a disapproving once over before opening the door wide, “His Majesty will see you in his library.”

Okay, not the worst then. If Tony was in deep shit, Howard would just see them in the drawing room. At least Tony likes the library.

He leads Bucky down the hall and into the library, hiding a smile at the awe clearly written on Bucky’s face. He takes a second look, trying to view his father’s library with fresh eyes, but has trouble when his gaze keeps landing on the handsome man swimming next to him.

Howard is reclining near a window, absently eating a few fermented algae— his usual method of winding down from a difficult day. As the King looks their way, a piece of algae still in his fingers, Bucky dips into a formal bow. Triton, he looks good like that. Tony dips his head, informally, and both of them straighten up a moment later.

“What is it, Anthony?” his dad sighs, putting the piece of algae on his tongue to dissolve. Tony suddenly feels parched, but holds his arm out to present Bucky regardless.

“An hour ago, as I was watching the border of our Kingdom, a figure fell from the surface. I went to investigate with a guard, and we found James, here, unconscious and unarmed. James claims to be a prince from a Kingdom called Brooklyn, with a King named Steve, and is seeking asylum until he can resume his travels. His mind is damaged, and I wish to extend my care and hospitality towards him for the duration of his stay.”

The King looks at both of them, his face refusing to give anything away, but Tony knows from experience that he’s much more perceptive than Tony gives him credit for. He crosses his arms and addresses Bucky, “Prince James, then,” he says, testing out the title, “if not hostile, what are your intentions towards my Kingdom and my son?”

Bucky ducks his head and nods, “My intentions are to know your Kingdom and know your son, if he so desires, Your Majesty. I am healing and recovering my memories, and once I’ve reclaimed my original destination, I shall depart immediately.”

Howard nods, satisfied with this answer. He points to the small pail on his side table, “Anthony, would you bring your… friend a refreshment?”

Tony spares Bucky a shrug and swims over to the chilled container, lifting it slightly to scoop out a small bundle of algae into a glass, trapping them quickly with a lid. He grabs a few for himself and makes his way over to where Bucky floats, his eyes wide and curious as Tony hands over the refreshment.

Bucky looks down at the cup in his hands, obviously and adorably lost. Tony glances over at Howard— his dad looking between them in amusement— and touches Bucky’s shoulder, catching his gaze and motioning for him to follow Tony’s example.

Reaching into his glass, Tony fishes out a piece of algae, showing Bucky how it sticks slightly to his finger. Bucky copies him, and grabs a smaller piece in between his forefinger and thumb. Tony wishes he could feed the bit to Bucky himself, place it on his tongue and feel his pretty pink lips suck it from his hand.

Instead, he quickly places it on his own tongue, humming happily as the sweet and sour algae dissolves, sending a warm shiver down into his belly, clearing his head and heating him up from the inside out. Damn, his dad always has the best shit.

He turns his attention back to Bucky, watching intently as he follows suit and places the morsel in his mouth. His eyebrows shoot up, he looks down at the cup in shock— as if the remaining algae could provide some explanation— and then, to Tony’s dismay, Bucky lets out a guttural groan, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure as his cheeks hollow out, lips curling tight around his fingers while he sucks them clean.

Tony is having something close to a stroke, and his dad is laughing loudly in front of them, obviously finding Tony’s distress amusing. He’s going to commit regicide, and it’s going to be slow and painful and bloody.

He overcompensates by taking the lid off his glass and throwing the rest of the algae back, breathing deep as the sensation hits him all at once. As he sways a bit in place, he catches Bucky staring at him in amusement.

“Anthony,” his father sighs, shaking his head in annoyance, “do whatever you must. He can stay… in your rooms, primarily. Or in the guest lodging— as long as you have security on him at all times. Get Jarvis to set up residence wherever you’d like, Anthony. Just don’t let me hear it, and don’t let me see it.”

Bucky is frozen with another algae halfway to his mouth, flushed red and eyes wide. Tony is convinced that flustered is his natural state. Before his dad can embarrass them further, Tony takes Bucky’s hand and excuses them, swimming quickly back down the hallway.

He doesn’t stop until they reach his rooms and slam the door. They’re already cackling before they hit the nest, and Tony can’t catch his breath. He rolls over and tucks close into Bucky’s side, enjoying how his chest shakes as they laugh together.

“What the fuck did I just eat, Tony,” Bucky wheezes, and Tony loses it again, ducking his face into Bucky’s neck and sobbing into his skin.

“Fer… fermented algae, baby.”

“I— I can’t believe… it tasted like…” and Bucky’s voice cuts off, his body stilling. Tony looks up to see what happened, and Bucky is staring straight forward, unmoving. Frozen.

“Bucky? What did… what did it taste like?”

“It. I can’t…” And again, Bucky’s face contorts, breath stuttering as his hands come up to cradle his face, sighing in pain. Tony immediately pulls his hands away and replaces them with his own, massaging his temples until he’s met with deep, gray pools of sweet relief.

“Don’t push it, honey,” Tony purrs, resting his body gently on top of Bucky’s, rubbing their noses together and blowing a few bubbles, making Bucky giggle and relax. He lays his head down on Bucky’s chest, before realizing how close they are together— and how little they’ve actually gotten to know each other.

“Dammit,” he curses, pushing off of Bucky’s chest and floating away, “we don’t— shit. I don’t even know you. You have no idea who you even are. I am so sorry, I just fed you an unknown substance, oh seas,”

“Tony, it’s okay—”

“I’ll get you your own room, I promise. You don’t have to put up with—”

“Tony! Hey,” Bucky swims off the nest and presses him up against the ceiling, pinning his shoulders and staring into his eyes, “I remember who I am, I just can’t recall where my home is. I know the name of my brother, and my best friends. I have a…” small grimace, “pet named Alpine. I’m a scientist and a Prince, and I’m almost completely convinced that I’m—”

He pauses, a familiar blush traveling down his chest and filling his cheeks. Tony blinks down at him, “That you’re what?”

“That I’m already, irreversibly infatuated with you.”

Tony feels the ring around his neck pulse, bright and hot on his skin, as if agreeing with the sentiment. He wants to respond, really does, but everything is too new, too important. Bucky is too important.

They’re close, though. Tails brushing together, bubbles of air mixing and joining in front of their faces. Tony can hear his own heartbeat, frantic and longing for the man in front of him. Bucky reaches up, acting as if he wants to touch the ring, but he hesitates. His fingers flex, his eyes blink rapidly, and then he’s reaching into Tony’s hair, pulling on strands tenderly and cradling his face in strong, sure hands.

And Tony just melts in his palms, an absolute jellyfish for this mysterious stranger. The tension between them is heavy, thick and magnetic. He drifts into Bucky’s space and tries to watch for a sign, any sign, but his eyes are closed— when did his eyes close? And then their scales rub together, catching and pulling, tearing a desperate moan from Tony’s lips. There’s a hand in his hair and eyelashes on his cheek, and their lips— their breath—

“I can’t,” Tony whispers, forcing his eyes open to watch Bucky frown in confusion. “I’m sorry, I’m crazy about you, but you deserve…” and he can’t remember, right now, everything that Bucky deserves, but he knows it’s a lot.

“Oh, I… Okay. I get it,” Bucky nods, devastating resignation taking over his handsome features, “I’m not… I can’t…”

“Can we just sleep? Talk and spend the day together in the morning?” Tony suggests, like an adult. Bucky nods, suddenly yawning and glancing up at Tony sheepishly.

“Sounds perfect, Anthony,” he smirks, chuckling again as Tony swats at him playfully.

It only takes a few minutes to set up a guest room for Bucky, fit already with a flawlessly woven nesting kit and other amenities. Tony even makes sure to include a pail of chilled algae, ugly laughing when Bucky discovers it by the dressing mirror.

The next day comes soon enough, and Tony has enough sense to cancel his engagements, asking his steward to clear his schedule and plan a tour of the kingdom for the two of them.

Before Bucky wakes— Tony assumes he’s still asleep in the guest suite— he has the royal gardeners collect fragments of coral and deep sea sponges to present to his new… friend. He asks for crimson and gold, colors not only of Tony’s scales, but also of Bucky’s as well.

When the arrangements arrive, he spends a few minutes weaving them together with a few ties from his nest and small strands of his hair, intimate details that he’s sure Bucky will love.

He waits in his living space for Bucky to join him. The windows are thrown open, letting a gentle morning current sweep through, and Tony sits with the coral and sponges draped over his arms. And he waits.

After a few minutes, he’s done waiting. He calls his steward to check on Bucky, and watches as the boy disappears down the hallway. There’s a knock, the faint sound of the door being opened, and then low, urgent voices. The steward swims back to him, looking guilty.

“He sends his apologies. He says that he’s not used to rising without direct light, and missed the wake up call completely. He should be around in a few moments, sir.”

“Oh, yes— that’s fine,” Tony places the arrangement in front of him and dismisses the steward, choosing to pick on the assorted breakfast foods instead.

It’s only a few moments before Bucky joins him, looking absolutely delicious and well rested. He sits next to Tony— very close, actually— and takes a suspicious look at the meal prepared for them.

“It’s… fish? For breakfast?”

Tony’s surprised again by his confusion, “Yes, honey, we generally eat fish for breakfast. If you’d like, I can have the cook crack you open a few clams instead? Oh, he makes the best sweet clam mix— it’s to die for,”

“No, no that’s fine,” Bucky waves his hands, reaching for an assortment of fresh eel instead, “these should be… these should be good.”

Tony watches in glee as Bucky slurps down the eel, grimacing and gagging slightly when it hits his tongue. He hides a smile when Bucky sits up straighter, obviously testing the flavor on his palette, before turning to Tony and putting his hands on his hips.

“Okay, but… why was that so good?”

Tony splutters, “You ass! You had me fooled— thinking you didn’t like fish for breakfast, like a fucking lunatic.”

Bucky chuckles, but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes. For a moment, he looks so lost and confused that all Tony can do is urge him to eat more fish, shoving three or four more plates in his face.

After they finish eating, Tony picks up his arrangement, feeling like a guppy as he hands it to Bucky, waiting for his reaction. Bucky— seas bless him— gives him a lopsided smile, holding the coral and sponges like they’re about to bite him. It’s confusing.

“Thank you, Tony. I’m not… I’m not supposed to eat it, right?”

“What?” Tony chokes, throwing his head back in laughter, “no, honey. It’s a gift. To admire. From my gardens.”

Bucky’s eyebrows draw close as he concentrates, something from his memory probably slipping away again, so Tony takes the arrangement from him. He sets it on the table, perfect decoration for the room, and grabs Bucky’s hand, leading him out of their rooms.

“Let’s go,” Tony urges, giving Bucky a reassuring wink as they head into the city.

Their day is incredible. Tony had no doubts before that the two of them would get along, would laugh and talk and joke as naturally as breathing. He’s proud of his Kingdom, too. Welcoming Bucky and treating him like a Prince— draping chains of flowering wildlife around his neck and offering them both assortments of salted meats— shark and squid and flounder— and dozens of fine jewels and beads.

If Tony purchases a number of those jewels for Bucky, it’s no one’s business but his.

He’s enraptured by the way Bucky experiences things. He’s always gasping and blushing as if each moment is special, new and unique, instead of normal and mundane. Tony feels drunk on it. He wants to spoil Bucky rotten, hoard all of his reactions to himself and make sure Bucky is always smiling like this— happy and soft and warm.

So Tony might be a little infatuated as well. He’s not supposed to fall in love this quickly, especially not with a stranger, but he feels inexplicably drawn to Bucky, as if by fate.

The days after pass similarly. Even when Tony has to resume his responsibilities, they still spend most of the day together— Bucky helping him delegate and problem solve issues in the Kingdom.

There are some bad days for Bucky— when he tries to remember too much and ends up with headaches that won’t go away. It’s especially bad when Tony leaves with Pepper and Rhodey to explore near the surface. Bucky refuses to go with them and spends those days in his room, clutching his head and sleeping restlessly. Tony thinks he may have repressed trauma that’s related to the surface, to the day Tony found him, but without access to his memories, it’s hard to know for sure.

Even with a few bad days in the mix, most of the time they spend together is indescribable, and, after only two weeks, Tony already has the crown jeweler fashioning traditional courting gifts for Bucky.

He whistles on the way to pick them up, swimming faster than usual, and even doing a few twirls when the excitement is just too much. As he inspects each piece, he knows the smile on his face is ridiculously wide. They’re perfect. He can’t help but imagine Bucky wearing each item, draped and adorned with metal and jewels and his family crest.

Bucky’s lounging in the garden when Tony finally finds him, admiring the array of coral on the south side of the palace. His hair is tied back— half up half down, framing his face beautifully— and he looks up when Tony swims into view.

“Hey, honey,” Tony greets, silently hating himself for being so soft around this man, “do you have a minute?”

“For you, I have all the time in the world.”

Tony ducks his head, the warm twist in his chest pulling him towards Bucky, and he watches the other man swim over from under his eyelashes. Once Bucky is in front of him, Tony hands him the box, looking at his face patiently for a reaction.

He turns it over, and looks at Tony, confused. “What’s this?”

“Oh, sorry,” Tony touches the lid, trailing his fingers over the crest engraved there, “it’s um… they’re traditional jewels I had crafted… for you.”

Bucky still looks unsure, “Okay,” he says, toying with the clasp on the box, “is there a special occasion, Tony?”

Tony just shakes his head, giving Bucky a reassuring smile, “Just open it— you’ll see.”

He gets a small smile in return, and Bucky lifts the lid, revealing the intricate set of jewels— chains and cuffs and clamps, all symbolizing Tony’s intent to court Bucky.

Unfortunately, Bucky looks absolutely horrified. He extends his arms, pushing the box away, and looks up into Tony’s eyes, “I… what the fuck, Tony?”

“... what?”

Bucky puts the gifts back into Tony’s hands and crosses his arms, “I’m sorry if you misunderstood our relationship, but I’m not… interested in this. I don’t want this. At least not yet.”

“Oh,” Tony is shocked still, gripping the box tightly in his arms, “I just… I thought we were…”

But Bucky is shaking his head, “I like you, Tony. I’m probably even falling in love with you. But I’m just not into that. I have a few friends who are, but we’d have to be… I don’t know, married or something, before I’d want to talk about that.”

Tony looks down into the box, suddenly confused, “Bucky, what do you think I’m trying to do?”

“Those are… aren’t those—” Bucky flushes, all the way down his chest and bites into his lip, “— like… for sex?”

What?

“No?” he is so confused, and a little offended. Why would anyone use these things for sex? Sure, they can be sexy, but—

“Tony, in what other context would I wear these?” Bucky pulls out a strand of jewels connected together with a chain, two fasteners at the ends to hold them in place.

“You’d wear them when we go out.”

“Tony! These are nipple clamps!” Bucky shakes them a little bit, trying to emphasize his point. Tony, for his part, doesn’t see the issue.

“Yes? But they’re traditional, not sexy.”

And then it looks like something dawns on Bucky— his face lights up and he chuckles, dropping the jewels back in the box and reaching forward to touch Tony’s face, tenderly scratching behind his ears.

“Tony— I need you to tell me, as if I’m a child and have no idea what’s going on, exactly what these gifts mean.”

And then Tony gets it. Wherever Bucky’s from, he’s never seen courting gifts like these. Damn, he’s such an idiot.

“They’re family jewels, forged with precious stone and metal, to create the traditional set of courting gifts presented by a royal family member to their potential spouse. Or consort, I guess. But yeah, it’s… I’m basically asking if I can court you, officially. And if you accept them and wear them in public, it’s a symbol of our relationship and eventual engagement.”

“Fuck,” Bucky curses, still playing with Tony’s hair, “yeah, yes— I’ll wear them for you. I’d love nothing more than to be yours, Tony. I just… do I need to give you something in return? For you to wear?”

“Actually, half of those pieces are for me,” Tony replies, pressing his cheek into Bucky’s hand. “If you’d like, we can try them on?”

“Sure, darling, let’s go try them.”

---

Tony can definitely see now why Bucky would think these jewels were made for sex. They lay each item out on Tony’s dressing table, organizing them neatly, and Tony has Bucky float in front of him, keeping his arms outstretched in front of the mirror so he can adorn Bucky with each jewel.

“So, first is the necklace— set with gold and twenty-five rubies,” he explains, draping the necklace around Bucky’s neck and clasping it underneath his hairline. He can’t resist, and places a delicate kiss on top of the clasp.

“Next is the belt,” he says, bringing his arms around Bucky’s waist to set the belt just above his scale-line, “usually these are more feminine in design, but I’ve had a larger crest engraved to rest over… well— let’s just say it implies masculinity.”

Tony busies himself with fastening the belt around Bucky’s waist and ignores the laugh he gets. He straightens up and hooks his chin over Bucky’s shoulder—

“Shit, you look beautiful.”

Bucky gives him a shy smile and turns his head to look into Tony’s eyes. He could get lost in those eyes, drowning daily in pools of ocean blue and gray.

Tony clears his throat and pulls back, “Okay, next we have, uh—” Triton, “the chest piece.”

He doesn’t even bother explaining this one, focusing on attaching it and quickly moving on before he can embarrass himself. Tony brings the chain around, holding it in place in front of Bucky’s chest. Unfortunately, his nipples are soft and there’s no visible place for a hold. Tony huffs and uses his left hand to reach out, lining up steadily, before quickly pinching Bucky’s nipple.

“Shit!” Bucky curses, looking down in surprise, but Tony is fast— attaching the first clip before Bucky can react. He keeps up a string of curses, gingerly touching the left clamp, and Tony uses his distraction to attach the second clip to Bucky’s now straining and hard right nipple. He backs up a bit to give Bucky space, waiting for the other man to calm down until he stops cursing and curiously touches the chest piece.

Bucky looks divine. Each chain floats lightly, reflecting light and casting shadow onto his pink skin, darker than usual due to residual embarrassment. Regardless, seeing Bucky in his jewels and colors is doing something to him.

“Only a few more,” he murmurs, picking up the wrist cuffs and motioning for Bucky to extend his arms. Bucky still looks overwhelmed— a mix of anger and confusion and arousal, probably— but Tony slips the cuffs on, fastening them snugly, and hooks a few rings around Bucky’s fingers, attached with delicate chains.

“Tony—” Bucky breathes, twisting his wrists to admire the jewelry. Tony’s determined to finish this, so he ignores his impulse— to touch and touch and touch and touch.

The last items are a set of jewels for his ears and a head piece. “Can you move your hair, Bucky?”

When Bucky obliges, Tony goes to thread the jewels, only to notice that Bucky’s ears are perfectly smooth. He feels around just to be positive, and Bucky giggles a bit at the sensation.

“So, we have a bit of a problem,” Tony backs up, showing Bucky the ear jewelry.

“Oh.”

“— if you don’t want to wear them, I won’t ask—”

“No, I…” Bucky feels around his own ears, pinching and tugging the lobes, “is there a way to fashion them with clips, like…” he motions to his chest, refusing to meet Tony’s eyes.

“Yes! Here, it shouldn’t be a difficult change, either,” Tony swims to his main doors, handing the jewels to his steward with a quick word of instruction for the craftsman. He swims back to see Bucky admiring the headpiece.

Tony takes it from his hands, giving him a reassuring smile, and Bucky dips his head forward. With perfect access, Tony lays the headpiece over Bucky’s dark waves, securing it behind his ears with two pins, and adjusting the chains and jewels to lay perfectly across his forehead.

It’s too much. Tony lets out a shuddering breath, finally finished with the gifts, and leans his head against Bucky’s, closing his eyes and holding on to Bucky’s shoulders.

“You look gorgeous, Bucky. I can’t believe you’re wearing my colors… that you’d agree to this.”

He feels a light touch on the back of his neck, and holds on tighter. Bucky pulls away— causing Tony to open his eyes, following his movement— and he draws Tony closer, dotting a kiss to his temple. They stay like that for a few more moments, enjoy the closeness and warmth, before Bucky chuckles and drifts away fully, turning back to the box.

“Alright— now how do I put these on you?”

Bucky holds up two cuffs, identical to the ones he put on earlier, and tilts his head. Tony grins and extends his arms, guiding Bucky gently in how to slip on the cuffs, tighten them, and attach the rings. When they’re fastened, Tony is captivated by the sight of both pairs of jewels shimmering in the light, practically shouting their attachment to each other.

The final pieces for Tony to wear are a necklace— similar to Bucky’s, but with a space for the signet ring around his neck— and a matching sash and belt. Bucky helps him put them on, and soon they’re floating and facing the mirror, mouths agape.

“Absolutely perfect,” Bucky murmurs, eyes never leaving Tony’s in their reflection.

Tony inhales slightly, “I know, the jewels are stunning.”

“No, darling,” Bucky turns him and looks down into his eyes, “it’s us. We’re a perfect match.”

He can’t help but smile, his stomach twisting with affection as he loops his arms around Bucky’s neck, pulling them close enough that their bodies are touching, tail to shoulder. Bucky gasps, the motion pulling on the chain across his chest, and suddenly all Tony can think about is getting his mouth on this man, wringing every drop of pleasure from him, watching him come apart with Tony’s name on his lips like a prayer—

“Your Highness, my apologies, but the King would see you in his drawing room.”

Tony laughs— unbelievable, “Tell the King I’ll see him within the hour,” he answers, never taking his gaze off Bucky, his dark, deep eyes, shining like the sea—

“I’m sorry, Your Highness, but the King insists on your immediate attention.”

“Shit,” Tony curses, letting Bucky go and turning to follow the steward from the room. He looks back, giving one last promise, “I’ll be back in a moment, I swear,” before disappearing out the door, heading down the hall to meet his father.

[lady-of-the-lotus]

Looking through a paperman's eyes, Xiao Xingchen can suddenly see again.

See Chengmei's face.

Xue Yang's face...

His mind split between multiple papermen, Xingchen fractures.

Xue Yang breaks with him.

E - Xuexiao - Read on AO3! - Head the tags! ; ) The art here is only tonally appropriate for this chapter... Chapter 2

Chapter 1 of 2

They walk for an hour and a half, cross-country. Rumor of a new threat had found its way to their corner of Yi City. Disappearing people, strange sightings, the usual, except there have been none of the normal signs of demonic activity.

Chengmei, impatient as always, had wanted to fly, but Xiao Xingchen had insisted they get some exercise.

“The weather is nice, and there’s no need to rush home,” he says. “A-Qing has gone off again.” Every few months, A-Qing’s restlessness resurfaces and she disappears for a few days, making Xiao Xingchen worry until he hears the tap-tap-tap of her stick on the stone of the courtyard.

“She’ll be fine,” Chengmei says. “She was on her own her whole life.”

“I know, but…”

“She was doing better than you were, my friend.” Chengmei laughs, touching his elbow, sending a little spark up Xingchen’s arm. “I still can’t believe you gave her your coin purse.”

“What was I supposed to do?”

“Well, if you’d asked me—”

Xiao Xingchen smiles in anticipation of whatever he’s going to say, but Chengmei breaks off abruptly with a low whistle.

“We’re here. A burial mound. Or rather, a mass grave.”

Xiao Xingchen’s sword is already out. “The resentful energy is quite strong.”

Chengmei snorts, something Xiao Xingchen has learned is his way of rolling his eyes so Xiao Xingchen can hear. Xingchen smiles to himself. He does this on purpose sometimes, winds Chengmei up, ruffles him. He delights in how expressive Chengmei’s voice is, how he wears his emotions on his sleeve, good or bad.

“‘Quite strong’?” Chengmei teases. “It almost bowled me the fu—the hell—no that doesn’t work—”

Now Xiao Xingchen does laugh. He can’t see Chengmei’s face, but hears the smile in his voice.

“Bowled me the fig over,” Chengmei finishes.

“A good save.”

“I know, right?” A creak of leather as Chengmei crouches. “There’s a stone headstone type thing here. I can’t quite make it out in this light.” Another creak as he seats himself on what seems to be a small cenotaph. "Probably from the war."

Xiao Xingchen frowns at him.

“How did you know I sat on it?” Chengmei shuffles his feet in the grass as if he’s risen, but he remains seated on the cenotaph.

“I know you too well, I suppose.”

Chengmei laughs. “You really are something else, daozhang.”

Xiao Xingchen waits for him to expand on that. He’s long since learned that Chengmei does that sometimes, throws out a non sequitur or random statement, sometimes to get a reaction, sometimes to change the subject, without really thinking it through.

Xiao Xingchen likes it, usually. Keeps things interesting. Often just by his remaining silent, as if uninterested, Chengmei will immediately follow up with something even wilder.

Tonight, however, his companion is silent, as if lost in thought.

“Get up, Chengmei, please. Let’s at least try not to anger malevolent spirits this time.”

A creak as Chengmei rises. “Still mad about what happened last week, I see.”

“That ghost almost killed you, all because you had to make fun of her fingernails, of all things!”

“You should have seen them. Just because you’re dead doesn’t mean you can’t be well-groomed.” 

“Chengmei…” He sighs, but he can’t contain a smile. “Describe what’s around us. What are we looking at? …You looking at,” he corrects himself before Chengmei can.

“Bones, all over the place. Scattered over the burial mound. Rather homey.”

“Human bones?”

“Human and animal, by the look of things. This reminds me of the time at this little inn in Bianzhuang, where the soup had the most suspicious-looking pieces of—”

A bellowing sound cuts him off. “On your left!” he hisses, but Shuanghua is already up.

A crashing of underbrush, a foul stench of rotting meat, a rattle of displaced bones. The earth shakes beneath the creature’s hooves, he hears the rush of air around a supernaturally huge monster, but there’s not a hint of demonic energy, and for the first time since he lost his eyes, Xiao Xingchen is afraid. 

Chengmei is reckless—

He lashes out, aiming at the sound. He hits something solid, and the beast roars, enraged. A cry from Chengmei and Xingchen is flung out of the way, tumbling to the rocky ground, out of the path of the charging beast.

The all-too-familiar sound of something piercing flesh. The scent of blood.

Xiao Xingchen slashes at the smell, aiming far enough away from the sound to avoid striking Chengmei. Shuanghua strikes flesh, hits bone, and is almost jerked out of his hands by the bucking creature. It turns and charges at him, dragging Chengmei along with it, by the sound of his tangled curses—

He ducks out of the way at the last moment. A crash as it thunders through the underbrush, turns again—

Chengmei’s voice, raised, half-choked: “Fuck you, stay away from him—” A stabbing sound, an angry cry, and something strikes him hard in the midriff, sending him slamming into a rock.

Blood again

His blood—

A bellow of pain. Distant, echoing. Chengmei’s shout, the whistle of a blade through the air.

A stabbing sound.

More blood, blooming thickly on the warm night air.

Xiao Xingchen passes out.

* * * *

 At first, the only way he knows he’s alive is the blinding pain in his skull.

Blinding pain. Ha. That’s funny. Something Chengmei would have teased him for saying—

Memory rushes back to him. Patting around for his sword, he tries to get up but falls out of bed.

He’s safe at home in the Coffin House, on the floor beside Chengmei’s bed. He recognizes the creak of floorboard, the scent of the drying herbs strung from the rafters, the melancholy whistle of wind through the gaps in the walls.

“Daozhang!” A hand at his elbow, guiding him back into bed. “You’re awake!”

“What happened?”

“You saved my life. The usual.”

“What was it?”

“Hell if I know. Some kind of boar monster. Take more than some pig to kill me, though.”

“What time is it?”

“Still night.”

Xiao Xingchen struggles to marshal his thoughts. “You almost died.”

He can almost feel Chengmei’s shrug. “Not the first time, and it won’t be the last time. Well, the ‘almost’ part might be the last time; I might actually bite it next time.”

Xiao Xingchen doesn’t bother trying to parse that one out. “Are you hurt?”

“Nothing serious.”

Xiao Xingchen frowns. “Come here.”

“Come…”

“I can’t get up. Come here.”

Hesitating, Chengmei crawls into bed beside him.

“Take off your clothes.”

Normally this would elicit an off-color joke that would have Xiao Xingchen frowning at him and blushing, but now Chengmei hesitates again.

“I…well…”

“You are hurt!” Xiao Xingchen pats him down, forgetting his headache in the sudden flurry of panic. He should have reacted faster last night, should have killed the beast with his first blow, should have protected Chengmei—

Bandages beneath his fingertips, bare skin, a slight stickiness.

“The tusks!”

“Ruined a good robe, having to cut it off,” Chengmei says, back to his usual casual, flippant self. “Not sure even you can sew it back up. The robes, I mean, not my side.”

Xiao Xingchen’s heart is beating so fast he feels dizzy. “You almost died, Chengmei—”

“So did you.”

Xiao Xingchen pinches his temples. “You shouldn’t have shoved me out of the way. The boar—the boar gored you—”

“Just a flesh wound.”

“We—we should go back to its lair when we’re better, bury the bones—”

Chengmei snickers. “ ‘Lair’?”

“As soon as you’re stronger, we’ll go back.”

“I’m fine now.”

“How many stitches did you need?” An inane question, but something simple he can use to ground himself. It’s starting to sink in now, his mind fully clearing: his blindness in the face of the beast, the boar’s agonized bellow, the fear in Chengmei’s voice—

He had almost lost him tonight. All because Xingchen had insisted on going night-hunting, continuing to push his own egotistical agenda on Chengmei despite the fact that he couldn’t see, selfishly endangering everyone around him. What had he expected to happen?

“Didn’t exactly stitch myself up,” Chengmei says. Lost in his own thoughts, Xingchen had almost forgotten his own question. “I sealed up my meridians, so it’s just pain, and I can handle pain.”

Xiao Xingchen reaches out again, touching Chengmei’s arm, and Chengmei inhales sharply.

“Your arm!”

He imagines Chengmei wrinkling his nose. “Well, the boar did a poor job of killing me, but an excellent job of shattering my arm. You know how it is.”

“I certainly don’t know how it is!”

“Left arm,” says Chengmei, as if that makes it better.

Xiao Xingchen is not a hugger, but he has a sudden overwhelming urge to fold Chengmei in his arms, hold him till Chengmei understands that this is not a normal way to react to grievous bodily injury.

“Not the first time it’s happened, and not the last,” Chengmei says, and Xiao Xingchen reaches out to take his good hand.

“I’m going to set your arm and stitch you up,” he says, “and then you are going to eat and go to sleep.”

“Fine, have it your way,” says Chengmei, teasing, but Xiao Xingchen does not smile.

He does not smile as he fashions a splint for Chengmei’s arm, or mops the blood from Chengmei’s torso, stitches the deep gashes in Chengmei’s side, or as he fastens the bandages around Chengmei’s middle.

“—nasty-looking bugger; I think it was some kind of boar crossed with a wolf, twisted and bloated by some kind of magic—it was powerful enough to mask its energy; that’s probably why Shuanghua didn’t sense it—”

Xiao Xingchen barely hears him. His heart is beating fast, and he’s so distracted by the fact that Chengmei almost died trying to save his life that he reaches up to adjust his blindfold and leaves a smear of wetness across his cheek.

The last of his clean blindfolds.

Another inane thought.

He’ll have to wash it out in the morning—

“All done? It was nothing, really.” Chengmei’s hand is on his arm. He’s very close to Xiao Xingchen as they sit on the edge of the bed, so close Xiao Xingchen can feel the brush of his shoulder against his. He radiates warmth, and Xiao Xingchen, perpetually cold, is seized again by a fierce desire to wrap him in his arms, curl into his heat, whisper to him that of course it matters if his arm is broken—

“You need to be more careful,” is all that comes out.

“I give you my solemn word that next time we go night-hunting, I won’t let you get knocked out again.”

Xiao Xingchen isn’t sure if he’s baiting him on purpose or if he genuinely means it. “I mean you need to take care of yourself.”

“Bathe more often. Got it.”

“Can’t you be serious for once?” Xiao Xingchen's voice is sharper than he intends, but it’s too late to take that back now. “If you were to be killed, I—”

“—would have one less mouth to feed.”

Xiao Xingchen grips Chengmei’s good wrist. “Chengmei—”

Chengmei laughs, bending his head slightly, his silky hair sliding over the gap in Xiao Xingchen’s open inner robe, tickling his chest.

“Chengmei, please be serious for once. If you were to be—”

“You look so pretty with blood on your face,” Chengmei interrupts, and that does something to Xingchen, sends a quivery rush of heat through his body. Chengmei slides to the floor, kneeling before him, trembling good hand resting lightly on his knee.

“I—”

Cheingmei's hand moves up his leg, finds Xingchen's hand gripping the blankets on the edge of the bed, strokes it gently, fingertip sliding over the sensitive skin between his fingers, over his palm.

Xiao Xingchen swallows hard. He’s trembling too now, heart pounding, the warmth flowing through his limbs gathering to pulse gently in one confusing, embarrassing place.

“Ever done this before?” Chengmei asks, almost murmurs. His voice is a mere shadow of its usual blunt, teasing self.

Xingchen twists at the sheets with his free hand, trying to keep his voice steady. He must be mistaken. Concussed, perhaps. Hallucinating. The pulse between his legs has become a throb, and that’s not helping his perception of things, either. “No, it’s not something I…get…get up, Chengmei, we were having a serious conversation. If you were to be seriously hurt, I don’t know what I’d—”

Again Chengmei cuts him off before he can finish. “You almost died tonight, daozhang. Let me take care of you.”

“That’s not what—” He gasps slightly as Chengmei’s hand moves back to his leg, creeps over his inner thigh, just grazing the half-hard flesh he wishes he could somehow hide.

Heat rises in his cheeks. He wants to pull away, cover it before Chengmei notices, but there’s a brush of fabric, a whisper of warmth breath, and then his half-hard—his half-hard cock is plunged in wet heat.

“I’m—I’m not—”

The wet heat disappears. “Is that a no?”

“It’s—” And suddenly all he wants is a return of the wet heat. Proof that Chengmei is still alive, still warm. “I’ll tell you when to stop,” he says. Trying to compensate for his inexperience, it comes out more commandingly than intended, but Chengmei gives a little whine and eases Xiao Xingchen’s knees farther apart, his bad arm wrapped around one leg, good hand wandering, slipping underneath him, brushing the soft, sensitive spot he’s never thought of touching before, fondling his—

“Not there,” he wants to say, but all that comes out is a little whimper that sets a flush of shame rising in his already-hot cheeks. Reflexively he digs his fingers in Chengmei’s hair, tugging it slightly, and Chengmei gives a little moan that sends vibrations over his painfully hard cock.

Chengmei’s head is moving now, up and down, tongue gliding along the sides of his cock, sucking hard on the sensitive nerve bundle beneath the tip, taking him deep into his throat. Xiao Xingchen forgets to breathe as he digs his finger deeper in his hair, tugging it again, and Chengmei full-on gasps, throat clenching around Xiao Xingchen in rhythmic convulsions. 

Xiao Xingchen comes, spilling deep into Chengmei’s throat. Chengmei swallows, an embarrassingly filthy wet choking sound, and Xiao Xingchen pulls his head off of his cock.

“I’m so sorry—” he starts, but then he’s on his back on the bed, and Chengmei is kissing a string of bruises into his throat, branding Xiao Xingchen.

“Good thing A-Qing isn’t home,” Chengmei whispers, and Xiao Xingchen laughs, shame gone.

“Let me try it,” he whispers. He feels like his bones have been ripped out, limbs calm and relaxed, but his heart is still fluttering.

The kisses stop. “Try what?”

“Lie down.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

“You want to?”

Xiao Xingchen’s heart thuds against his bruised ribcage. His hands are shaking slightly, and he hopes Chengmei doesn’t notice. “Yes.”

“I…”

“Let me try.”

And then Chengmei is on his back, and Xiao Xingchen is trailing his lips down his bruised chest, down his naval, working himself up to do the thing he’s afraid of wanting as much as he does. 

A tinge of shame returns. To want to do something like this—

But Chengmei is warm, Chengmei is alive, Chengmei is his.

He takes Chengmei’s cock in his hand, squeezing it gently, examining it with his fingers, rubbing his fingers along the hot, firm sides, smearing it with the little pearls of moisture leaking from the tip. He’s never been so close to another man’s cock before. A new pulse rises between his legs, prickles over his legs, clouds his thoughts with renewed need—

And then Chengmei’s cock is in Xiao Xingchen’s mouth, a living thing, silk-smooth and pulsing with life.

It fills more of his mouth than he’d expected. Thicker, hotter. Heavy on his tongue, pressing up against the back of his throat, making his eyes tear up and jaws ache. 

“You don’t have to—” Chengmei whispers, fingers of his good hand tracing the top of Xiao Xingchen’s blindfold, thumb stroking the bridge of his nose, and Xiao Xingchen makes a little humming sound to let him know that it’s all right, that he wants to do this—

Chengmei pulls him off his cock moments before he comes, ejaculating into his own hand.

A flash of disappointment, as if he’d wanted to take Chengmei deeper into him, swallow him down, ingest him, absorb him.

Bind him to him.

He bends down to lap at the wetness slicking Chengmei’s cock, cleaning it with his tongue. Chengmei gives a little whimper but doesn’t push him away. Xiao Xingchen licks at the cum, thoroughly cleaning him before turning to Chengmei’s hand.

Chengmei, who has been lying very still, breath coming in soft little starts, suddenly comes to life. “Don’t—”

“It’s fine.”

“But—”

“Shhh. I want to.”

Carefully, Xiao Xingchen runs his tongue over Chengmei’s palm. It tastes of blood and the salty tang of his cum. He cleans the palm, between the fingers, taking two fingers into his mouth when he’s done. He likes the feel of having Chengmei inside him again, even just his fingers. Warm, alive —

Chengmei raises his legs slightly, framing Xiao Xingchen between his thighs. He tilts his knee, sliding his foot under Xiao Xingchen’s groin. He moves his finger inside Xingchen’s mouth, sliding over Xiao Xingchen’s tongue, soft and slow. Xiao Xingchen sucks harder, rolling his hips into Chengmei’s ankle, one hand on his knee, the other on his hip.

He doesn’t quite come, not so soon after his last climax, but the friction feels good against his groin, Chengmei’s legs solid against his sides, the pain of his bruises reminding him of how fortunate he is to have Chengmei here, Chengmei beneath him.

He releases Chengmei’s finger and inches up to lie beside him. Chengmei rolls into him, nuzzling his throat with his nose.

“If your body is shattered in six places, we can’t do that again,” Xiao Xingchen murmurs into his hair. Chengmei’s heart, pounding against his chest, beats faster, but Chengmei’s tone is his usual flippant one as he asks, “Again?”

“If you promise to take better care of yourself. No more stunts.”

“I promise. Word of honor.”

“That’s what you said when you swore you’d stop teasing A-Qing.”

Chengmei laughs, the vibrations soothing Xiao Xingchen’s aching ribs. “Yeah, but I actually mean it this time.”

Shaking his head, but smiling to himself, Xiao Xingchen pulls him closer.

* * * *

Chengmei is up before him that afternoon. He’s prepared a meal of eggplant and rice he just saves from scorching, something he only manages about half the time. Xiao Xingchen isn’t sure what there is in the Coffin House to get diverted by, but Chengmei is easily distracted.

“And then I have a surprise for you,” he tells Xiao Xingchen. He rocks back and forth on his chair the whole meal—he’s never been good at sitting still—and jumps up to clear the dishes when Xiao Xingchen has finished eating.

Xiao Xingchen sits and lets him despite Chengmei’s broken arm, afraid of mentioning the injury and bringing up what had happened the night before. Everything is all so—so normal, and he’s afraid that if he so much as asks Chengmei how he’s feeling, the spell will break, or worse yet, last night will have been revealed to have been a dream.

“I brought you this,” Chengmei says when he’s finished, setting something down on the table. He takes Xiao Xingchen’s hand and lays it on the pouch set down on the table, then pulls his hand away quickly, as if the touch of Xingchen’s skin is something forbidden.

An awkward silence. The warmth of Chengmei’s touch lingers on Xiao Xingchen’s hand—

Xiao Xingchen reaches up, lays the hand on Chengmei’s elbow, and the awkwardness is dispelled as if it had never been there. Chengmei leans over his shoulder, reaching around him. His cheek grazes Xingchen’s, as warm as his hand had been.

“I removed the beast’s core last night,” he says. “It was a spirit beast, the first I’ve seen in years. The core is strong. You can—you know, take it, use it to make spiritual tools or whatever…” He pulls away, and Xiao Xingchen quickly turns to glance sightlessly up at him over his shoulder.

"A real core?"

"As real as they come."

It’s an impressive gift, the core. The spirit beast’s magical essence, it can be used in elixirs and spiritual tools. Xingchen has never encountered a beast with a core potent enough to do more than make healing draughts and powders, but he can sense the thrum of power clean through the containing pouch.

Instinctively he knows that this is more than a mere gift. That for someone like Chengmei—a survivor, a forager, a scrounger, a child of the streets—to give up such an advantage, something that he could use—

He rises, pouch in hand, and lays the other on Chengmei’s shoulder.   

“Thank you, A-Mei,” he says.

He has nothing to give Chengmei in return except for that—“A-Mei”—but it seems to be enough.

Silence. And then, “Well, I’d best be letting you play with your new toy,” says Chengmei. “Be careful with it. It’s got more malevolent energy than I’ve seen anywhere for a while. You wouldn’t want a corrupted spiritual tool killing you in your sleep, would you?”

“Could that actually happen?”

“I wouldn’t let it happen,” says Chengmei, a bit too emphatically, and he slips out of the house as if he’s said too much.

Xiao Xingchen sits back down. He wants to rush out after Chengmei, plead with him to be careful, to not exert himself with his wounded side and broken arm, but instead he smiles fondly after him, hoping he’s looking over his shoulder, and turns to the pouch.

After a moment he rises, rummages through Chengmei’s small store of things. Normally he would never look through his things—(“Look.” Ha. What would Chengmei have to say to that?) but this is going to be a gift for Chengmei, as he’s not so presumptuous to think a pet name is much of a gift.

But this will help him keep Chengmei safe, and he would do anything to keep Chengmei safe.

Carefully, he cuts a paperman out of Chengmei’s talisman paper and lays it flat on his hand.

He’d only done this once before, under Shifu’s supervision, and it had drained his spiritual powers for a week afterward.

He’s stronger now than he was then, but he still knows the dangers of being trapped outside his body, of fracturing his mind between two loci, of the damage to his psyche if the paperman is harmed while he’s still in it.

He hasn’t dared risk anything like this since losing his eyes. He’s relied too heavily on his spiritual energy to find his way around and defend himself to risk losing it for a week. Had no one to protect his body while he was in the paperman, keep him from the thousand dangers of the road.

But he has a home now, and he can rely on Chengmei to look after him if he drains his powers for a few days. And he doesn’t think he will drain them—the beauty of the core is that it will provide an alternate source of power for the consciousness transfer.

Or rather, consciousness splitting.

If all goes well, he can split his consciousness between his body and the paperman on night-hunts, seeing through the paperman’s eyes, being able to see threats, monsters, demons, beasts, defend himself and Chengmei, so that last night’s events will never be repeated.

And—he can’t help but blush at the thought—he’ll finally get to see what Chengmei looks like. It’s not as if it matters to him. Chengmei is Chengmei. He’s his, no matter what. He already knows he’s good looking, going by overheard scraps of conversation, but that had meant nothing to him as a blind man, and he knows it will mean nothing even after he sees his face.

But to be able to gaze upon his face as he lies next to him in bed, look across the table at him at dinner, see the light catching in his eye as he laughs, finally see the smile that sounds so very infectious—

It’s worth the risk involved in splitting his consciousness between his body and the paperman.

And the risk in using the malevolent core. Chengmei was right—there’s a strong dark energy in the deceptively bright and golden core.

But he can handle it. Use the light, leave the darkness in the pouch.

He wonders how long he has till Chengmei returns. He checks the shelf—so he took a basket with him, that must mean he was going to the market. Not something he should be doing in his state, but at least it gives Xiao Xingchen a bit more time before he’s expected back.

He sits cross-legged on the mediation mat beside his old coffin—they really ought to move that out, make more room in the house—what will they tell A-Qing?—he’ll leave that up to Chengmei—he doesn’t think she’ll care much, but they’ll have to swear to secrecy; he can’t imagine the neighbors will like having two cut-sleeves in their town—

He takes a deep breath, trying to order his thoughts, but for once they refuse to be calmed.

Is he a cut-sleeve? Is that what this is? Outside friendship, he'd never had so much as a flicker of interest in anyone before, man or woman, but he’d taken an innate interest in women for granted. He should go back and examine the last ten years of his life, recontextualize the last fifteen years of his life, see if there were signs, revisit his time with Song Lan—

Another deep breath. None of this matters now. What matters is that Chengmei will be home soon, and Xiao Xingchen wants to surprise him. And how now Xingchen willl be able to examine last night’s stitches, make sure the splint is in correctly place, ensure that Chengmei heals properly.

Eat dinner on the porch, watching the sunset together.

See the moon.

Lie on his back, looking up at the stars....

Best not think about that. Best not get his hopes up in case he fails—

He does not fail.

It’s like a red-hot razor is slicing slivers from his brain, carving it in half. He’s about to cry out when the agonizing pain is gone and only the heat remains.

His own face looks down at him, its wide mouth hanging open slightly, eyebrows raised above the blood-streaked blindfold.

He drops the paperman in shock, and the room dips and whirls around him. Dizzied by the sense of motion despite being still, he immediately bends down to snatch at the fluttering paperman, stop its fall. It eludes him as, nausesous, he watches his giant hand snatch at his paperman face like an enormous white hawk grasping at its prey—

He slams his head into the table and falls off his chair.

Sitting on the floor with the paperman tucked safely in his robe, queasy with motion sickness, he laughs to himself at his own clumsiness.

He can see.

He can see.

He can see.

Xingchen is about to rise, look around, examine every nook and cranny of his suddenly-new home, when he hears off-key whistling from outside.

His pulse quickens. Chengmei is home, sooner than expected—

Chengmei steps over the threshold.

“I’m back, daozhang!” he calls. “Where are you hiding? I bought you some fresh apples; I thought we could cook them in honey or something, maybe add some sweet wine—”

Xiao Xingchen gazes at him in mute horror through the paperman’s eyes.

It’s him.

That’s Chengmei’s voice. His familiar cheerful, irreverent voice.

But the face—

Xiao Xingchen leaps to his feet, stumbling backwards over the chair and falling in a tangle of limbs to the floor.

Chengmei—not Chengmei—the imposter—is beside him in a moment, apples rolling across the floor and smashed egg oozing from the dropped basket.

“Daozhang!” He lifts him to his feet with his customary combination of gentleness and roughness. “I knew I shouldn’t leave you alone with your head injury!”

Xiao Xingchen’s knees give way. “I’m—I’m—you—”

Chengmei—the imposter—Xue Yang’s—eyes are wide. “What is it?”

“I—you—”

“Lean on me, daozhang. I’ll help you to bed.” Looping Xiao Xingchen’s arm over his shoulder, Xue Yang half-carries him to bed. The paperman is nestled inside Xingchen’s robe, vibrating against his skin. “You just lie there, and I’ll peel you some apples. Perk you up a little. Maybe don’t go to sleep for a bit, I once half-cracked my skull, and I passed out in a ditch, and when I woke up I—”

Xiao Xingchen doesn’t hear the rest of his story. Weak with horror, he stares at Xue Yang as he slices apples at the table, holding the fruit steady with the elbow of his bad arm. 

Bad arm. The arm with the hand that—that—

He hadn’t felt the glove the night before. Xue Yang must have taken it off.

Taken it off when they had—

He rolls over on his side and vomits into the water jug.

 * * *

Like it? AO3

[hookedonapirate]

Book Update

If you've noticed I've been updating my cs fics a lot lately, it's because I had to take a break from my original fic. And I've kind of been discouraged lately because when I worked on my first book, Follow My Lead, I got stuck for a whole year where I was unable to write one word for it. And I was afraid the same thing would happen for this one I'm work on. Last time, I wasn't able to push forward with the story until I scrapped the outline. So I didn't use an outline this time.

Then I got to thinking yesturday, maybe that's why I was stuck. Because each story will be different and will not always require the same process, for me at least. Some people can't write with outlines and some can't write without them. When I'm writing Cs, I normally don't need an outline because it comes so much easier to me because I'm already connected with the characters so the stories pretty much write themselves. But that's what I struggle with when writing original fics. So, for those of you who write or plan to write fics, either original or fanfic or anything with characters, it's very important to CONNECT with your characters first. It is essential and will save you a lot of time and energy and headaches, and will be much less stressful and mentally draining.

Anywho, what I'm trying to say is I started outlining for this and was able to get through the obstacles I had before. So to celebrate having a successful writing day for this book, I'd like to share a sneak peek.

In this sneak peek, I mention the rule of three and it's inspired by a conversation I had with people at work. Before someone pointed this out, I never realized how much we actually utilize the rule of three. Then I did some research and it turned out to be perfect for the chapter I'm writing.

Teaser

“I have to say, it’s refreshing to get to talk about the exhibits with someone.”

She looks at me with with an arched brow. “Oh? Why’s that?”

“Well, one, because I usually come here alone, and two, because when I came here with my ex, she had her face buried in her phone the entire time. So it was pretty much as if I went alone. Mind you, she was the one who suggested coming here. The only reason I never suggested it was because I thought she'd be bored.”

Her brows furrow, as though she’s baffled by this. “Why come to The Met just to be on your phone the entire time? That’s like going to Disney Land and waiting in the car. Or going to Universal Studios and not visiting the Wizarding World of Harry Potter.”

My eyes widen in excitement. “You’re a Harry Potter fan?”

She nods. “Are you kidding? My sister and I are diehards.”

"The books or movies?"

"Both." 

I chuckle and wag a finger at her. “I knew I liked you.”

She laughs. “I'm no Seer, but I think a Harry Potter marathon might be in our future.”

“And The Stand?” I add.

“And The Big Bang.”

“Okay, fine,” I chuckle. “But aren’t there like twelve seasons?”

She nods matter of factly. “279 episodes to be exact.”

I scratch my head in uncertainty, not knowing if I can sit through that many episodes of a show I don’t really care for.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” she laughs. “It’s a lot.”

“No, I’ll give it a try. Who knows, I might actually like the damn show.”

“You will, I promise.”

“Well, how about this - I’ll watch the first three episodes, and if I still don’t like it, I don't have to continue,” I suggest, certain I can sit through three episodes of pretty much anything. 

“Okay, but why three? Won't you know whether you like it or not after the first episode?"

"Nope."

She narrows her eyes. "How can you be so sure?"

I shrug. “The rule of three.” 

She cocks a brow. “Rule of three?”

“Yeah, we subconsciously apply it to most things in life, including the way we make decisions." When she looks at me like I just grew two heads, I expand. "The average person typically gives something or someone at most three chances before they've made up their mind about whether or not they'll stick with it. If we’re not hooked by the third joke of a standup show or the third chapter of a book or the third date with the same person, we're usually emotionally done with it at that point. As they say in baseball, three strikes you’re out."

She nods. "And third time’s a charm?"

I point a finger at her. "Exactly. If something isn’t successful after the first couple times, chances are it will be the third try. So if it's not successful after three, it’s not meant to be.”

She purses her lips in thought. “Huh, I never thought of the number three as an unspoken rule before.”

“Yeah, it works for a lot of things in life. Including survival. You can survive three minutes without breathable air or in icy water, you can survive three hours in a harsh environment, you can survive three days without drinkable water and you can survive three weeks without food. In the Marines, we lived by the rule of three when it came to survival tactics and completing tasks. Worrying about more than three things can be confusing or overwhelming. And regarding organizational structure, officers usually have fire teams of three or squads of three teams and so forth. You see trios in a lot of stories and movies, too - The Three Musketeers, Three little pigs, The Three Stooges. The Declaration of Independence has three main purposes and uses the phrase, Life, liberty and pursuit of happiness. There are a lot of other famous quotes that use clusters of three. Love, honor and obey. I came, I saw, I conquered. Stop, drop and roll. There are three meals a day, and three-course meals.” I pause when I realize I’m rambling. “I could go on, but I don’t want to bore you...if I haven’t already.”

She laughs and shakes her head. “No, not at all. It's interesting because you’re right; we do live by the rule of three.” She bites her bottom lip, pondering that thought for a moment. “So, do we usually apply that rule to sex, too? Like if the first three dates are successful, is that when a person makes up their mind to sleep with the other person?”

My cheeks heat and I chuckle, trying to ignore the nerves in my stomach. I definitely wasn't expecting that question. Certainly not from her. She just seems quiet, a little shy and kind of reserved. But I guess I shouldn't be surprised. This is the same woman who invited me into the ladies' room at the diner for a hot, steamy makeout session.

Fuck.

I have to shake the thoughts out of my mind, otherwise I'll be hard as a fucking rock until I drop her off. "Well, I can't speak for women, but I think men typically decide after the first date. Sometimes long before a first date is even established. Scratch that. Definitely before that."

A shy smile tugs at her lips as she looks away, her cheeks painted with an adorable shade of rosy red. “Sorry, it's just been a while since I've dated. My last boyfriend was my highschool sweetheart."

"Really?"

"Yeah, we started dating when we were both seventeen and were together for five years. I haven't dated anyone since we broke up."

"Wow. That is a long time. As far as your question goes, I don't know if the rule of three applies in this case, regardless of gender." I scratch my head nervously, trying to answer her without saying something stupid, but it's extremely hard when her question painted a very vivid picture in my mind. 

Extremely hard, indeed. 

"I mean, uh...it doesn't have to? That's up to you." I clear my throat, trying to get my thoughts straight. "The point I was making before was, if I don’t like The Big Bang Theory by the third episode, chances are I won’t like the rest of the series."

"Yeah, I get it now," she laughs.

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[lilolilyr]

And ohhhh, anything you can tell us about any future projects? 👀

Sure! I'd love to :D

For TOG, I don't have many new WIPs, but I do have

- about 2 more chapters of the Andromaquynh University AU coming up soon(ish)... It's still a damn slow-burn, I swear if I end up only having the getting together in the last chapter, I'll write an epilogue for some established feels xD

- As far as I remember I ended up never posting the (smutty) Andronilynh fic with Quỳnh in lingerie? Was supposed to be a discord collab with a fanartist months ago, but I think by now I can assume they've abandoned the project xD (vague so I won't call them out lol), so... I'll just post the fic itself, I think it's finished already, just gotta dig out the draft

- Sth more for the Just You And Me series maybe? I do have a bunch of ideas but no concrete plans yet...

Then, I've got some Milippa fics coming up:

- a getting together ficlet (2k, T) I wrote in the middle of the night and after looking at it earlier today and then just closing the Word doc with a headache, I think I'll just post that without further edits lmao - edit- posted!

- I want to write a longer(ish, probably still just a ficlet of 1-2k) version of this photostory for ao3! I was thinking about whether to make it established or pre-relationship, then came up with an idea for a getting-together variant that I like, and now I've just seen @onaperduamedee's tags here, and I love that idea as well! But maybe as a separate ficlet some day (if you'd be okay with me writing that, Flo?), as I don't think it'd work out with the idea I already drafted now.

- The very very slowly growing fic (I have more or less abandoned the idea of turning it into a longfic, but maybe that means that I'll post it soon-ish now... Damn, I really love the idea but I just can't seem to bring myself to write much for it, why brain whyy) that's a follow-up to this post by @georgiov :)

- a mirror/mirror idea @forestcircle reminded me of earlier today :D

Thanks for the question! <3

Feel free to ask me more about these, or send me other asks/prompts for thirsty thursday!

I also have some vague ideas for projects in other fandoms (below the cut):

- Rly want to continue my 666words Good Omens series, but no actual wips started and they're all one-shots anyway

- a bering&wells artefact story that I thiink I posted the summary of on discord somewhere, but who knows whether I'll actually write it... guess it goes on the list of Might Write It If I Get A Reply to both remind me of the idea's existence and show that there's an interest for it

- Thinking about whether or not and if yes for which ship I should write the suburbs AU I posted about on my WIP blog @thelucyverse

- I'd love to finish my Heistwives Kinda Job series one day, but goddammit I know I probably won't anytime soon lol

- Thinking about whether or not and if yes when to start podficcing part 4 of Leo Inter Serpentes by @aeternumregina, a wonderful longfic series (and I've seen you've started posting the last part!!! Really need to catch up), problematics being a) time (podficcing is hella time extensive and I'm not sure I want to get tied down in weekly uploads again, but on the other hand a slower upload schedule would make it harder to remember the voices and all when reading), b) it's partly NSFW, which I'd censor for the audio, which again is Work, c) it's HP and... Well... I've been working on getting the overterf's name /out/ of my ao3 fandom top5 (the ones that are shown without clicking expand on the list) by getting my Star trek disco fic count to higher than HP, which it now nearly is, and I don't want to ruin that lmao, d) if I do start another long podfic, I'd actually love to podfic my own Andromaquynh fic In Your Stead? Because for once I have a story I wrote myself that I feel would be worth it... But like... I also really do want to continue Leo Inter Serpentes! But it's 7 monsterlong fics! And just...aaah! XD #strugglez

- Wanna write more lezbean smuttttt