#it's a very rough drawing but i figured someone might get a kick out of it idk

[dazzelmethat]

Outfit planning for my Vocaloid space opera au that plays inside my brain. They'd all be androids but Neru/Teto/Haku would be made up of pirated software and an unofficial unbranded AI while they all fly in space together.

[ramshacklefey]

Friend group red flags exist, and we should talk about them.

This has come up for me recently because one of my house-mates (bless her heart), has been coming to talk to me every couple weeks about some new drama in her online social circles. She's probably been through five different sets of online friends in the last year (and more irl friends before she stopped interacting with people entirely), and she's got this idea in her head that this is all just an inevitability.

I have restrained myself from pointing out to her that it sounds like she just needs to rethink what kinds of people she hangs out around, because I know it won't do any good. But it has made me think a lot about stuff I've figured out through long hard experience, about how to find healthy social groups, and I want to share.

So, here are some things that you might want to think about before you enmesh yourself too deeply in a particular friend group:

Is this group of people totally centered around one person (or much smaller group of people)? Does that person seem to have a ridiculous amount of influence over everyone else in the friend group? While it's true that many social groups have someone who is very much a leader within the group, that shouldn't look like one person wielding power over everyone else. A healthy leader figure within friends is someone who others respect for their good qualities. They give advice rather than issuing edicts. They sow harmony between people rather than stoking conflicts.

Do the people in this group talk incessantly about problems within the group? Sure, they may just be going through a rough patch, but even if that's the case, a healthy social circle will be thinking and talking about other things. If two people in a group are fighting or breaking up, the rest of the group won't be taking sides or constantly gossiping about it like it's the biggest political drama of the century. They'll leave it to those two people to sort their shit out, and won't unload it in front of someone new to the group.

Does there seem to be a list of people that this group has previously kicked out? Sometimes it just comes down to it and someone has to be gently exiled from a particular social circle. But if there's a list a mile long, it suggests that this group has some kind of overly authoritarian unwritten code for who's "allowed" to be in their group. Getting involved in a group like that means you'll constantly be walking on eggshells to avoid being exiled yourself.

How do they treat new people? A healthy group will be curious and friendly toward newcomers, but they won't immediately draw you into their deepest confidence.

Do the people in the group in general seem happy and content with themselves? Strong, healthy social bonds between people will make us stronger and happier. Even a group of people with significant trauma backgrounds can be stronger together. Unfortunately, if people have not healed themselves and continue to rely on unhealthy coping mechanisms, they often form groups of dysfunctional, unhappy people. Joking about trauma and difficulty are part and parcel of a lot of younger people's lives these days, but take a moment to look at what behaviors this group actually encourages. An obvious example might be that they all handle their stress by binge drinking. A less obvious one might be that they are hostile towards the idea that they have any agency in their lives and could, in fact, take actions to make themselves happier.

How do they respond to people with different views and values than their own? A healthy group accepts and values the fact that not everyone is going to agree with them morally, politically, or philosophically. As long as no one is being deliberately nasty or bigoted, and everyone is genuinely trying to treat each other with dignity and respect, people aren't being ostracized or hated on for not sticking to a particular dogma. People aren't being dunked on or told off for having different views on an issue.

How do they handle conflict? People don't always get along, and it's actually fine for a group to have some people who straight up dislike each other. A healthy group can absorb those things, and the people who don't get along will act civilly towards each other. Being civil and friendly towards someone you personally dislike is not "being fake." It's acting like a normal, healthy adult.

Do they try to tell you who you should and should not be interacting with outside the group? Someone you barely know sidling up to you to inform you that so-and-so has done or said such-and-such so you shouldn't ever interact with them is a big warning sign. Even if someone was cut off from the group for genuinely bad behavior, it's not their job to police who else is allowed to interact with that person.

Do they try to tell you what you should and should not be saying on social media? Do they try to tell you what you should and should not be reading/watching etc? Related to how they deal with people with different viewpoints, however this hits a deeper level. You always have the right to enjoy things and talk about things, even if your friends don't. Similarly, you have no obligation to join in a particular topic on social media!

Who isn't in the group, and how do they talk about or treat those people? This is easy to see if they're, say, openly racist or homophobic, but also. If it's a group of mostly women, are they constantly hating on men? If it's a group of mostly queer people, are they openly hostile towards anyone who isn't queer, or isn't queer in the right way?

A health social group has lots of different people in it. Those people have varying views and backgrounds. They treat each other with love and respect, and the group is resilient when there's conflict rather than dissolving into warring factions.

I know it's hard, especially when you're young and marginalized. You might feel like if you don't hang out with these people, you won't have any friends at all. But I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say you're better off alone than stuck in a group that's actively making your life worse.

[random-introverted-blog]

So I've been on this injury/hurt comfort kick for a little while. Tav/Durge getting hurt and the angst that follows has been scratching my itch. But every time, it's like a day at most and then everything is okay.

So I propose a new type of drabble or one shot/short series. Use creative license to the fullest for this.

Ahem.

Knock out Protag/Whoever for a week. A month if you're feeling really devious.

You can do this for any character. But for the sake of simplicity I will describe it for Tav.

The best time to have the incident occur would be Act 2. You want it to be at a point where the party really looks to them for leadership and guidance for it to have the most impact. If you do it too soon and knock them out for too long, more pragmatic party members would likely decide Tav is dead weight and leave them behind, at best. Very Late act 1 would be the earliest I'd try it. Any earlier, and you'd need to really bend/twist your Tav's importance to the group. They have a power, skill, or connection that would be invaluable. Without either of those, you need them to be loyal, care and respect their leadership. Which I find difficult to believe earlier than the tail end of Act 1.

In my mind; without Tav's definitive say and leadership, they would have to take votes. No one would be able to take the mantle of leader for themselves without serious pushback. There would be many rough arguments and debates around the campfire as they worked out their next steps.

Now I'm going to take it a step further. This is suggested with a good aligned Tav in mind. Something I'm super keen to write soon myself.

Act 2, all the party members are likely eyeballing their crossroads as they draw closer to the fork in their path. Shadowheart with Shar, Astarion with the ritual, the others you can headcannon like Lae'zel maybe mulling over a return to Vlakith (perhaps she came with her offer sooner) and Gale might be thinking "what if I don't blow myself up", Wyll and Karlach are the tricky ones to this.

The lack of Good!Tav to help steer and ground their friends shakes them too deep. Shadowheart turns to Shar and pleads for her intervention. Shar agrees, if she completes the trials, kills Nightsong and faithfully abides Shar's instructions in the House of Grief. Boom, Dark Justiciar Shadowheart.

Astarion panics and believes he can bring them back if he Ascends and uses his power/resources to heal them OR EVEN figures out how to cut a new deal with Mephistopheles to bring Tav back. Which involves completing the ritual and maybe even a few extra souls. Boom, Ascended Astarion (sacrifice Duke Ravengard... Karlach??)

Lae'zel even convinces Vlakith in exchange for her unwavering loyalty.

Regardless, the board is set when Good!Tav finally awakes. All their friends, who was making such headway on their companions good sides, is now left with the worst possible versions of them. And they are not sorry. Maybe even creepily overprotective... yandere anyone?

LOOK YOU CAME TO A BLOG WITH YANDERE IN THE NAME, YOU CAN'T BE SURPRISED WHEN I THROW IT OUT THERE.

It's something I DEFINITELY want to try and write myself when I find free time from my current AO3 story. But in the MEANWHILE if someone drabbles it, give me a heads up! I'd love to read it!

[wearywinchester]

Tender

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: When hiding an injury from Dean doesn’t go to plan, he’s there to give you the comfort you need.

Requested by @latenight-daythoughts: “Hey! I have a request for a Dean one shot please, could you do one where she gets hurt on a hunt and tired to play it off until they get back to the bunker and when dean patches her up it hurts more then she thought, so she starts crying and Dean comforts her and is all cute and sweet? I love your writing btw!!”

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: angst, injury, blood, fluff, comfort, kissing

Hurt. You got hurt on that hunt and you weren’t quite sure how you talked yourself out of it with Dean. Maybe you actually did, but a part of you told you that was more than likely impossible. Not with the look he gave you or the glance he spared down at your leg. But he seemingly took your word for it at that very moment.

Your eyes squeezed shut for a moment as you took a breath, trying your hardest to make it to the Impala sitting just a few feet away. Every ounce of pressure on your leg made it ache all the more as you walked, walked like you insisted you could do to a persistent Dean the moment he saw the look on your face. But you told him you were fine, staving his worries with a smile and a witty counter that had a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

It was fine, so long as you kept your weight off of it as much as possible until you could clean yourself up, it’d be fine. At least that’s what you’d told yourself.

You were relieved once you’d slipped in the front seat after Dean suggested you sit up there with him, Sam in the back, a quiet sigh leaving your lips as you slumped back against the leather seat. The fabric of your jeans over the wound on your thigh had been frayed on the brink of being ripped, but not enough to draw your eye should you be anyone but yourself or Dean Winchester. Stains of crimson hadn’t been visible on the dark denim material, but you were sure it’d be obvious the moment they came off.

As you sat, you felt that ache on your leg begin to lighten some, that pain shooting down it dissipating now that you hadn’t been standing on it.

It shouldn’t be that bad, not really, you’d snagged it along the edge of something sharp when that demon had thrown you with so much as a flick of her hand. You were sore overall, something a hot bath might help with when you make it back to the bunker. But you’d yet to see your leg, to see just what damage lay beneath your jeans.

“You sure you’re okay, sweetheart?” Dean asked, pulling your attention from your thoughts.

You looked to your left, Dean’s gaze shifting from the road to look at you for a moment or two before looking ahead.

“‘M fine, De,” you murmur, that aching burn on your thigh threatening to spill over your emotions and give you away in an instant.

He looks at you again in a lingering glance, his lips pursed in disbelief, brows furrowing at the way you looked down at your leg with a frown, or the way you brushed your thumb over that very spot you said was nothing. He saw how your lips twitched downward in a deeper frown for only a mere second, quickly brushing it off with a sigh and a bite to the inside of your cheek before he looked forward once more.

You knew, by the light tension in his jaw and the crease between his brows, you knew he could see there was more to it than that.

After a moment or two you scooted a little closer to him, your hand grabbing his own. He felt the way you brushed your thumb along his knuckles in an absentminded habit, your gaze fixed out the window in an attempt to set your attention on anything other than the burning feeling that simmered on your skin.

It was okay. You were fine.

Your hand hadn’t left Dean’s nearly the entirety of the trip, something he noticed and something he didn’t mind, something that had him smiling softly at the mere thought of it. But something that was just as quick to steal that smile was the very look on your face each and every time he glanced over at you, a slight frown on your lips that you weren’t even aware you had, and that crease between your brows very much there.

You sighed when he parked in the bunker’s garage that night, getting out before he could come and help you do it. The look on his face was evident that he wasn’t happy with that, those dimples appearing by the corners of his mouth as he looked at you over the roof of the car.

“I’m fine, Dean,” you say, meeting him and Sam at the trunk where you’d grabbed your bags.

“You say that every time, sweetheart,” he counters.

“Maybe this time you’ll take my word for it,” you say, brows raised as you put your bag over your shoulder.

He chuckles then, head shaking as he closes the trunk. You tried your best to be convincing, and so far he hadn’t pried, but that very same feeling was back now that you were up and walking around, pressure back on your leg seemingly worse than before.

You found yourself grateful that Dean had chosen to walk ahead, Sam beside you, making it just a little easier to hide the change in the way you walked. Just enough to get you to your shared room without being terribly obvious. But it hurt, it hurt more and it was becoming increasingly more apparent to you.

You were home, and that’s what made things a bit better for you. You weren’t in some motel anymore, weren’t in the Impala anymore, you were home in the comfort of your familiar place with your room, your bed, and Dean. Despite the nagging pain wearing away at you with every movement of your leg, you tried not to think about it that much, and tried not to think about how it’d feel upon taking your jeans off. How it’d look given that you haven’t even seen it yet.

Dean dimmed the lights in the hall and bid Sam a goodnight like he always did, twisting the knob to your shared room and pushing the door open. Everything was as you’d left it just three days prior, the bed still made and ready to climb in and Dean’s slippers still tucked halfway under the bed, his pajama pants still slung over the back to the small desk chair.

“There’s no place like home,” Dean chuckles, sighing as he drops his duffel bag on the floor at the foot of the bed right next to yours.

You watched as he untied his boots and stepped out of them, unease settling over you as you took your own boots off, fighting the urge to scrunch up your face at the way your jeans pressed into your leg as you bent down.

You couldn’t hide this from him forever, you don’t think that’s possible when you really think about it. But you still weren’t willing to give it up, you could see the look on his face already if he knew. So, you bit the inside of your cheek and shrugged off your jacket, eyeing him with a soft sigh.

“I’m gonna go shower before bed,” you say, smiling when he turns to face you.

He simply hums, dipping down to kiss you.

“Don’t be too long,” he murmurs against your lips, pulling back with a grin.

“Is it ‘cause you’ll miss me too much, Winchester?” You ask, brow raising in amusement.

You watch as the corner of his mouth quirks upwards, a laugh leaving his lips as he nods to himself, tugging back the blankets on the bed. It very much was the reason and he knew it, no matter how much Sam picks on him for it all in good fun, he just can’t help it.

“That’s exactly why,” he says, tossing a clean flannel of his your way along with a pair of boxers because he knows just how much you love to wear them to bed. Doesn’t even need you to tell him that very fact because he sees you snag a pair from his drawer every night without a care that he’ll see you stealing them either.

You stand there for a moment more as you look at him, your smile soft and fond as you hold the clothes in your hands. After that moment, you find it in yourself to turn on your heel and step into the hall, heading towards the bathroom. Your heart was bursting with the very thought of him sharing his clothes with you, of the very idea that he’d been so thoughtful, but the wound on your leg was making it awfully difficult to think about anything other than that.

You switched the light on and closed the door behind you, setting the clothes down on the counter. You turned the faucet on and stuck your hands under the tap, the water cold as it splashed across your face. It was a little more refreshing than you felt before it, soothing the fatigue that’d been settling over you only temporarily.

Dread simmered in the pit of your stomach at the thought of having to take off your jeans, but it wasn’t doing you any good to keep them on.

You exhaled a sigh, eyes squeezing shut as you hooked your fingers in your belt loops. It was fine until you got about halfway, and you found yourself fighting the urge to let out the cry that’s been sitting in the back of your throat, the feel of the rough material scraping over your thigh making it all the more difficult to stifle it.

It was then that you saw it, the blood smudged over your leg and the scrape that ran across your skin, angry and red as it tapered just above your knee. You ran your hands down your face at the sight of it, having been less than ideal but you knew it couldn’t have been good.

You kicked the dirtied jeans to the side in frustration, sighing as you opened the cabinet below the sink. You snagged the first aid kit and the bottle of peroxide just next to it, grabbing a clean wash rag.

This could have been avoided, maybe, but at that moment you were struggling to figure out just how it could have been. Demons were unpredictable, able to sense a trick with ease, able to tell when someone’s lurking with the intent to leave one less demon in the world. They give ample opportunities to be outsmarted, though, but this didn’t seem to be one of those times. There was no match for a human against the powers they hold save for the weapons that served you no use that day. You were thrown clear across the room without a beat of hesitation, something done with ease.

So maybe, just maybe it wasn’t avoidable this time.

You knew Dean saw it, he had to. It was more than obvious that there’d be repercussions to being thrown a good seven feet into a less than unforgiving cabinet. He knew you better than to believe that you were as fine as you say you were. He knows you like the back of his hand, can see your stubbornness from a mile away because he’s the very same.

You wet the wash rag at the sink, taking a seat on the bench by the showers. You began to blot away the blood, nose scrunching and eyes squinting as the burn of the jagged scrape worsened from it.

It was then that there was a knock on the door, a more than familiar voice on the other side.

“Sweetheart? ‘M coming in, I forgot to—”

Your eyes widen as the door opens, gaze meeting green eyes before his stare shifts downwards to the rag in your hand, splotches of a pale crimson staining it. They bounce to the source, to the irritated and red scrape dragging along the outside of your thigh, nearly classifying as a cut but not quite.

“Y/n.”

“Dean, it’s not—”

“What, ‘it’s not a big deal’?” He says, anger seeping into his tone. Not at you, never. It was when he thought back to that hunt that has him angry.

“Dean,” you sigh.

He’s quick to cross the tiled floor, kneeling in front of you. He nudges your knee with his hand gently, the tips of his fingers brushing along your skin. You saw the crease between his brows deepen, lips parted as his eyes bounced over the entirety of the wound on your leg. You can see the way his jaw tenses, tight and unwavering and if it were possible, steam would be coming out of his ears at that moment.

“Damn it, Y/n,” he says quietly, a frustrated huff leaving his lips. “You didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to freak out,” you reason, brows furrowing as you tilt your head to the side slightly.

His gaze narrows up at you in disapproval, your reasoning something that was near laughable to him, you even knew it was ridiculous too the moment the words fell from your lips.

“You can bet I’ll freak out,” he says, his chuckle humorless as he runs his hand down his face. “This is exactly why I didn’t want us to split up.”

“Well, we did.”

He bit the inside of his cheek as he looked at you, breathing out a huff through his nose. He was upset more than anything, with himself you could tell, could see the frown on his lips as he grabbed the wash cloth from your hand and picked up where you left off.

He was gentle as he wiped away the dirt and blood smeared around it, more so than you despite the white-knuckled grip he’s got on the tattered cloth. You tried to keep your attention on anything else, anything other than the way your leg had been so sensitive even the most mild of touches as hurt. You tried to keep your gaze on him, distract yourself with the abundance of freckles speckled across the bridge of his nose and over his cheeks.

They were easy to distract yourself with on any given occasion, on times where you didn’t need to be distracted, when you shouldn’t be. But for the life of you, you couldn’t bring yourself to get lost in counting them this time, not with the numbing pain serving as a painful way of keeping you fixated on just that.

“You should have told me,” he says quietly, residual anger still wrapped around his tone with the softness of his words. But he was more concerned than angry.

You puffed out a humorless laugh through your nose, your grip on the bench you sat on tightening some. “I’m not exactly jumping at the idea of running to my boyfriend every time I get hurt on a hunt.”

Your tone is frustrated, embarrassment simmering in the pit of your stomach over the current situation you were in, not to mention the way it happened. You’d never get taken seriously if you ran and cried to Dean each and every time you got hurt. You barely felt like an adequate hunter as it is, you didn’t want to add to it. You would have been fine if he hadn’t seen it.

“Y/n, this isn’t some puny little paper cut, okay? This is way different than just slapping a bandaid on it and kissin’ it better.”

“I said I’m fine, Dean,” you say, jaw tensing as you look away.

You hated the way your voice was beginning to falter, swallowing thickly in hopes to push down the persistent lump in your throat. Now was not the time to cry, not in front of him. That would only make matters worse and you don’t think you could handle that.

“It doesn’t make you weak to ask for help, not even a little bit. You don’t have to play the tough guy act all the time.”

You stay quiet as you continue to look away from him, the pressure building behind your eyes. When you glance down you see he’s got that dreaded bottle in his hand, popping the cap open with his thumb. He’s hesitant as he tips the bottle, the clear peroxide having poured steadily over every inch of the wound on your leg, bubbling and stinging the moment it touches the damaged skin.

You felt your lip begin to quiver, near uncontrollable as it throbbed and burned, the pain worse than you thought as you bit down on your lip. It was almost unbearable, a numbing kind of pain that brought heat to your cheeks and quickened your heart. That pressure behind your eyes increased then until you just couldn’t handle it, lip free from your teeth as you hid your cry in your shoulder.

But it turns out, you’re not that good at hiding, not from Dean Winchester. Not that it was very hard to notice either.

He stopped immediately, gaze flickering to you, cheeks wet with hot tears and lip quivering in a way that tugged at his heart. His hand settled on your cheek, a gentle nudge to get you to look at him.

“Sweetheart,” he starts, the fond nickname something that makes you cry all the more in that moment.

You wrap your arms around him and he settles back a bit as he holds you closer, brows furrowed and jaw tense because seeing you so upset is one thing he can’t handle. Seeing you cry is something that tears him to shreds every time.

His grip on you is tight, his stubble pressing into the side of your neck. He’s cautious of bumping your leg, his throat clearing to try and stave off that pressure constricting around his throat from that very same lump forming as it did you. You could feel the kiss he pressed to your cheek, one to your temple, lingering and sweet. Dean Winchester could be the gruffest man anyone’s ever seen, but he’s got the softest heart, and if there’s one thing he can do without fail it’s comfort.

He finds himself pulling back when you loosen your grip, lip still wobbly as ever as you look at him with glossy eyes. You wipe your cheeks with the back of your hand, cheeks that burn with embarrassment for crying even though he didn’t mind it in the slightest. He didn’t mind the tears on his shirt, didn’t mind the snot to go with it. That’s the least of his concerns, they all pale in comparison to you.

“It hurts,” you whisper, your gaze shifting to his at the feel of his hand on your cheek, calloused and warm.

“I know it does, baby. Hell, I couldn’t even imagine what that feels like,” he says, smiling softly. “But ‘m almost finished and the ugly part is over, I can promise you that. You just gotta let me take care of you, okay?”

You nod, the patience in his words having set you at ease as you sniff, wiping your tears once more when his hand falls from your face in favor of sorting through bandages. He comes up with a few cotton pads, laying them over the length of the freshly cleaned wound as you sit there, still sniffling from having cried.

He’s more than careful as he takes the roll of gauze and wraps it around your thigh, securing the bandages completely with care to not make it too tight before he tucks in the loose end.

“You’re good as new, sweetheart,” he says, looking up at you.

You flash him a look, biting the inside of your cheek as you laugh softly, not quite humorous. “I’d hardly call it that.”

You’re grumbling, but he takes that hint of a smile as a good thing, standing halfway to press a kiss on your cheek and one to your lips, another to your forehead as his hand brushes over your cheek before he stands fully and swipes the clean clothes from the counter.

You stand with a look of unease, trying your best to keep the pressure on your good leg before that dreadful pain can jolt up your other. You shrug off your shirt in favor of his flannel, the soft material hanging loosely from your shoulders in a heap of warm and fabric softener and a hint of his cologne. It’s a simple thing that amounts to more comfort than you can express, the mere feeling of it putting you at ease.

He helps you with your pajama bottoms, trying not to fuss over you as you did it yourself, instead offering his arm for your balance that you found yourself needing more than you thought.

Your bed was more comfortable than you’d imagined coming home to, leaps and bounds better than that motel mattress. The sheets were soft and they too smelled like Dean, the blankets warm and hefty as they rested over top of you.

Dean brought you close enough to nearly share a pillow, the events transpiring earlier that day on the hunt having sunken deep in the pit of his stomach and simmered there, bringing with it that anger that hadn’t quite left. It made his stomach twist and churn each and every time you got hurt, the blame he put on himself having picked at him every single time without fail. Especially when it brings you to tears, especially when it’s got you so bothered it’s got you crying into his shoulder.

He hates it, he hates that part of hunting.

But regardless, those kind green eyes meet your gaze as he looks at you with a soft smile, his fingertips brushing along your cheek. He’s got that look on his face, one that’s telling of something humorous sitting on the tip of his tongue just waiting to be spoken.

“What, De?” You sigh, feeling the residual tension of your tears beginning to dissolve just a little more.

He chuckles, looking down for a moment as he shakes his head. “If I were you, ‘think I might’ve cried way sooner than you did.”

You roll your eyes then, a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Dean, that’s a lie and you know it.”

“Is not,” he insists, lips pursed to stifle his smile.

You look at him, tired and amused as you make no effort to hide your smile. He’s got that smile, that one that makes your cheeks burn and your heart flutter every time he looks at you like that.

“Whatever you say, Winchester,” you sigh, leaning up and pressing a kiss to his lips.

You find yourself lying atop his chest as he turns the tv up a little bit more, his chuckle rumbling against you. He tossed the remote down, the very tip of your finger tracing over his chest. Your legs tangle with his own, your injured one on top as you turn a bit more on your side. He’s got reruns of your favorite show on because he knows you’re too tired to watch the new ones, knows you like to have it on when you fall asleep.

“Goodnight, De,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his chin before sinking back down on his chest.

He smiles in that moment, soft and sweet as his thumb brushes back and forth over your shoulder lightly.

“Night, sweetheart.”

You’re fine. You’ve got him and you’re okay.

—

Tags: @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @elegantbutedgy @humanmistakes @agalliasi @deandaydreaming @campingmonkey @lanea-1 @akshi8278 @kidd3ath @taikawho

[soulmate-game]

Harley’s Plea for Help: Chapter 2

Chapter 1

“How long do you think it’s gonna take before she decides to sneak out?” Nightwing asked over his comms, lazily leaning against the balcony railing in front of him with his head resting on one hand.

“Dude, I started sneaking out almost twenty minutes ago,” a girl’s voice made Nightwing squeak and turn around, to reveal a teenage girl leaning against the door that led to the balcony he was on. “I didn’t want to draw attention to myself by doing unnecessarily showy gymnastics down from my hotel room’s balcony, no matter how much fun that would be, so I just snuck out one of the hotel’s back exits. Then I looked up to admire the moon and saw you here, staking out what is clearly my suite, and decided to come pay you a visit.”

“How long have you been there? And how did you even get behind me? I hope you didn’t break and enter, that’s an actual lived-in apartment behind us right now,” Nightwing asked, turning around to analyze the daughter of Harley Quinn for the first time in person.

She looked just like in her pictures, of course. Jet black hair like her father’s, except it seemed to have a bluish shine in the light. And her eyes were definitely Harley’s— thank goodness for that —vibrant blue and clearly analyzing him with the same amount of intensity as his did her. He had to bite back a chuckle. In a turn of complete irony, she really did look like a Wayne kid. Fit all of Bruce’s usual criteria to be adopted. But she was tiny, even smaller than Harley’s lithe form. He, Bruce, and Tim were of the hypothesis that the exposure both her parents had to Ace Chemical’s vats of acid likely had an effect on her DNA that stunted her growth. Perhaps there were other effects that they wouldn’t be able to figure out until they got to know her better, too, though it was clear that her skin was a likely one. It wasn’t unnaturally pale like her parent’s after their acid dips but it was paler than normal for sure, just a shade or two shy of being paper white.

And he could see, now, what Harley meant when she referred to Marinette as a powerhouse. It wasn’t very noticeable in pictures, but up close Dick could see the carefully honed muscle of an acrobat curling over her otherwise slim build. Combined with the knowledge that Marinette had been taught at least some serious self defense from a young age, he could see how such a tiny package could be a remarkable threat when necessary.

Marinette grimaced as the other Batfam, who were all nearby staking out her room from different angles, dropped onto the large balcony with them.

“Uh, well. I didn’t break and enter, I rather not get off to a criminal-ly start on my first night in Gotham, you know? But I realized that even though I was able to figure out the exact room you were staking me out from, I realized as soon as I got into the first floor of the building that I had no idea how to actually get to you. So I just climbed the stairs all the way to the roof and scaled my way down to this balcony, and pretended I’ve been here for a while when really I was barely able to hear you ask when I was gonna sneak out. I’m still out of breath, actually,” she put a hand on her chest and sure enough her breathing was still slightly fast. But not enough to be worrying or even all that noticeable. Yet another piece of evidence to show that she was a very active individual and had resistance built up to physical activity.

“Yup,” Robin groused grumpily, crossing his arms. “With all that rambling, you couldn’t be anyone else’s child but Quinzel’s.”

Marinette’s face immediately flushed pink all the way to her ears. “I’m sorry! I’ve been trying so hard to quit that habit, too!” She grumbled a bit to herself, putting her face in her hands. They all chuckled at the display. Red Hood ambled over, draping his arm over her shoulders (he nearly had to bend in half to do it, the height difference was that bad).

“As adorable as your freak out is, why’d you even come up here anyway? There’s no way you’d scale down a ten-story building just to say hello.”

She let out a heavy sigh at that, slowly peeling her face out of her hands. “Yeah, I recognized you guys right away. And honestly, as much as Momma Harley would be super proud of me for managing to give an entire group of vigilantes the slip, she’d also ground me for life if she found out that I saw you guys and still snuck away even though she probably swallowed her pride and asked you guys to babysit me, right? Self preservation. Contrary to popular belief, I do actually have some.”

“Wait,” Red Robin held up a hand, brows clearly furrowed under his cowl. “You expected her to ask for our help?”

“Well,” she made a so-so motion with her hand. “I didn’t think of it beforehand, but it all clicked once I saw Nightwing. I know how much my mom is worried about me, especially since you-know-who broke out a few days ago. She is more than worried enough to ask you guys for help. Even if she does complain about you guys, a lot actually, she also has made it clear that she trusts you guys with the stuff that actually matters.

“‘You know who’?” Batman repeated, arms crossed. If Marinette squinted, she thought there might have been a grin on his lips. “Is that how you always refer to him?”

“What else am I gonna call him?” she asked, face going deadpan. “Sperm donor? Source of a large amount of my self doubt and depreciation? The prime reason I haven’t been able to see my mom in person more often over the years? Oh, I know! How about I just always refer to him as ‘that bastard I wanna punch,’? That sounds good!” she rolled her eyes sarcastically. “Only one person in this world has the right to be considered my father in any capacity, and it sure as hell isn’t him. Genetics notwithstanding.”

Red Hood straight up guffawed at that, landing several rough pats on her back that made the girl stumble a bit. “Yep, I like this one! But as fun as it would be to see you give that jackass a mean left hook, it’s better if he never finds out who you are or knows that you’re here,” the vigilante’s voice got dark and serious very quickly. “He doesn’t forget people he finds interesting easily, and if he ever finds out about the connection you have to him, he’ll be a constant threat in your life.”

“I know,” Marinette agreed with a nod. “And if this conversation was happening two years ago, I’d say that my mom’s concerns aren’t unfounded. That I am too easily emotionally compromised and despite my deep seated issues and hatred for that man, I couldn’t guarantee he would be unable to get to me.”

Batman straightened up, as did all of his sons around him. None of them had missed the ‘if’ there. Batman’s voice went from charmingly deep to it’s usual gruff grumble. “What changed in two years?”

They all watched as Marinette gulped, taking a deep breath as she stalled for time, looking out at the view on the balcony before seeming to steel herself and return her gaze to Batman’s. When she did, it was suddenly full of iron will.

“I didn’t lie when I told Mom that I came to visit her— but that isn’t the whole truth, either. If I just wanted to visit her in Gotham, I would have waited until I was eighteen like we agreed. But I can’t wait, Paris can’t keep going on like this. I entered that contest because it was the fastest way to see you. I didn’t know if I would win, but… I had to take the chance. There was no way I’d be able to get to Gotham behind my mom’s back otherwise.”

“What are you talking about?” Robin hissed, stepping up to his father’s side. “Paris has been silent. If anything were happening, we would have heard about it by now.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Marinette corrected, never losing that ironclad look in her eyes. “Because a combination of magic and politics is keeping it quiet. No news about Paris’ situation is able to leave the city limits. Magic makes any non-native who leaves Paris think that everything they experienced was just a crazy dream. Natives won’t forget, but politics has all of us under very strict NDAs if we leave city boundaries, and all of our local news and social media is blocked from being accessed by anyone outside the city. But, I figured a little breaking of the rules wouldn’t exactly put a stain on my family’s reputation or anything, so,” she dug in her pocket and pulled out a thumb drive, holding it up for all of them to see. She swallowed again, but never stopped her eye contact with Batman. She held out the thumb drive.

“I came to Gotham to ask for your help. This sped things up, I didn’t expect to see you on my first night here, but two years in Hawkmoth’s Paris has really taught me how to roll with the punches. This,” she shook the thumb drive. “Holds videos of every fight since HawkMoth first showed up. It has all the information I’ve gathered over two years, tracks his movements and lists all his targets and— everything. But I’m not a detective, I’m a designer. I make clothes, I spar on the weekends, I am not good at getting evidence to prove that someone is a magic-abusing villain holding an entire city hostage.”

“We’re gonna need some details, Little Q,” Red Hood finally removes his arm from around her shoulders, instead crossing his arms and looking down at her sternly. “If your city has a villain holding it hostage, is anyone fighting him? And if you do have someone fighting him, why don’t you need our help, or why didn’t they call the Justice League? The JLE should be in Paris, right?”

Marinette snorted, face scrunching up in obvious distaste. “I’ll have to answer those a little out of order. First; the JLE was kicked out of Paris. They moved their headquarters to Italy about five years ago, I’m just surprised they apparently kept that secret from you,” she gestured to all of them, who indeed seemed very caught off guard by that tidbit. But Marinette just sighed and continued. “Though that’s a good thing, actually. We do have heroes, it started out as just a pair but it’s grown into a small team out of necessity. They didn’t call the Justice League because the last thing we need is any powered heroes coming in and making it worse— your league doesn’t have the best reputation for letting newer heroes take the lead even on their home turf, you know,” she pointed out, which made Batman shift a bit guiltily. He knew the JL was often a bit… heavy handed in their methods.

“What makes the situation so bad that you don’t want to bring experienced heroes into it?” Red Robin cut in, sounding as if the whole situation was a puzzle he was determined to sort out. Which, really, was exactly what Marinette had been counting on. She shot him a finger gun, grinning.

“That’s exactly the point! Hawkmoth uses a magical artifact, like I said— but this artifact can brainwash anybody who experiences even the slightest negative emotion. Sadness, anger, fear— anything negative. And it gives them powers, but puts them largely under his influence,” her expression twisted again, this time into a wry little grimace. “I guess you can say that my momma’s psychiatry background has secretly come in handy a lot over these past two years. And Hawkmoth is exactly why I try to tell Momma Harley to stop visiting me— I have worked my butt off to keep her from finding out about his attacks or getting Akumatized. Every time she shows up it gives me a heart attack!”

“Akumatized?”

Marinette waved a hand dismissively. “It’s the term used for when someone is turned into a super powered villain because of HawkMoth. The brainwashing— really it’s more similar to a straight up corruption. The person usually lacks their usual moral compass, and just seeks to soothe whatever set off their negative emotion in the first place. Usually, that means they seek a bloody revenge. And if someone who already has extensive training or extremely strong powers gets Akumatized, guess what?” She made jazz hands even though her face was deadpan. “Extra powers, or amplified ones, for the metas or superheroes who are Akumatized. And imagine what someone with, say, Batman’s level of experience could do if he had powers and no moral compass,” the silence that followed her words was deafening. She just nodded, knowing she had gotten her point across. “I’ve been working my butt off to stay positive, because if I’m Akumatized…” her shoulders fell, and she had to swallow a lump in her throat. “... I have no idea what I’d turn into, but if you take into consideration both my training and my family history… it’s really best if we never find out what kind of magic-powered supervillain I’d make.”

“So, let me get this straight,” Nightwing said after another long moment of silence for that to all sink in. He gestured at her with an open palm. “You’ve been dealing with a terrorist for two years who targets emotional vulnerability, you apparently have never been corrupted by this magic at least to present day, but your mother still worries about you being very emotionally fragile. And your heroes are not detectives, which is clearly what you need or you wouldn’t have asked us for our help.”

Marinette nodded. “I used to be very impressionable. At the start of all this, I was a huge people-pleaser. I got attached to new people in a matter of minutes. My mom always said I reminded her too much of herself— but two years of fighting off a guy trying to get into my head—“

“Wait,” Batman nearly barked, taking a step forward. “He’s been targeting you? You specifically?”

Marinette nodded grimly, mouth a straight line. “Not from the beginning, but this past year it’s been painfully obvious. He might be able to sense the strength of people’s emotions, and unfortunately I don’t exactly experience my emotions very… gently. All of my emotions tend to the much more intense side of the spectrum. If that’s true, then he might know that any negative emotion I feel will make an extremely strong Akuma. Either that, or he’s going by process of elimination. All of my friends, except for one, have been Akumatized already. So has my Papan and my grandmother. But it’s obvious when he’s targeting someone, I’ve felt him try to override my will on several occasions. But I can’t just repress all of my negative emotions forever, so consider us working against the clock right now. That thumb drive has all the details you need about our heroes, how exactly Hawkmoth’s powers work, and so on.”

“Do your heroes know you’re asking for our help?” Red Robin asked, gaze burning a figurative hole through Marinette’s face. “Better yet, if this drive has as much information as you say it does, how did you get it?”

Marinette handed the drive over to Batman, who finally took it and tucked it in his belt as she answered.

“Momma Harley might have a lot to say about your detective skills, but you are all still strangers to me. So consider this a test of your abilities— I expect that you will all go to extreme lengths to verify all of the information I gave you anyway. After all, I’m still the daughter of your most hated enemy. Right?” She met each of their gazes, one by one, with a challenging one of her own. “You’ll just have to figure out my connection to the heroes on your own. And how I got the information, too. It shouldn’t be too hard for the so-called world’s greatest detectives. And maybe this can double as a trust exercise. I fully expect you guys to scour through every inch of my past, and dig up everything you can on me. I encourage you to try to find everything you can, so that hopefully you can decide to trust me on your own once you have all the details laid out in front of you. By the way, for your own sanity? I’d start with reading about all of our heroes’ powers and abilities before you watch any footage of past attacks.”

Red hood rocked back on his heels, trading glances with the other vigilantes before they all shared a nod. Apparently having decided their course of action, Red Hood leaned down and hoisted Marinette up into a princess carry. All traces of her previous iron will melted away in favor of the high pitched squeal of surprise she gave, and once more she became an overly flustered teenager.

“Alright, little cutie. Let’s get you to your mom’s place before she and her crazy plant lady fiancé come hunting us down.”

“I can walk! I can freerun on my own! Mon dieu please let me down! Eeeeek!” She squealed again as Robin slapped a domino mask over her eyes and Red Hood wasted no time jumping over the balcony railing with her still in his arms. The fact that they were lowered down by a wire wrapped around Hood’s waist didn’t seem to take away any of the fright that came with a sudden drop over an eighth-story balcony.

Part 1

@emotionalsupportginger @alysrose-starchild @emistar0 @kibastray @justanotherfanficlovinbitch @alyssadeliv @blackroserelina @blackstarlight-co @readingalldaysleepingallnight @maanae @aespades @jaybird-and-co @fleursroses @probably-a-hologram @misterpianoman (didn’t work sorry)

[wherethewordsare]

I am once again hitting up your ask box to ask for fic

Can i pwease get selkie jask🥺👉👈

Cheese... As always, sorry this took a fucking age? I hope you like it? And just in time for Monster March!!! <3 <3 <3 

There had always been something about Jaskier that set Geralt on edge. But not in the way that he was used to. The way he would smile so easily even when Geralt was gruff and unrelenting left him disarmed and at ease. But it was also the way that there were nights when the moon was high and Jaskier couldn’t seem to find sleep that Geralt’s medallion seemed to buzz with a low but urgent hum. Those nights the smell of brine and sun and sawgrass was nearly chokingly strong, rolling off of Jaskier in waves stronger than a riptide. 

Magic. What kind, Geralt could never figure out. There had been something about the way Jaskier wore his heart on his sleeve that made it feel like there was so little the bard would actually hide from him, but this one thing. Maybe there was siren blood in him after all, maybe it was fae? But no matter what it was, Geralt wasn’t about to send Jaskier away for something he couldn’t definitively prove. And even if he could, would he?

They were near Oxenfurt, summer coming to an end and Geralt watched with interest as every so often, Jaskier’s head would pop up from where he sat around their campfire, looking westward. The way he tilted his chin as though someone had called his name. 

“What are you doing?” Geralt asked. He kept his tone light, his own eyes following Jaskier’s gaze west. 

“Hmm,” was all he got, Jaskier not turning to look at him, his eyes focused on the line of trees across from him. It took him by surprise, their sudden unexpected role reversal. He chuckled. 

“Jask!” Geralt set down the armor he was cleaning, waving a cloth in front of Jaskier’s face. 

“Ah! Right, sorry. Got lost in thought for a moment,” he turned to look at Geralt, his eyes still glazed over with that lost look. “You know, my home isn’t too far from here.” 

“Oxenfurt is just a day’s ride. Have someone waiting for you?” Geralt teased but the idea of Jaskier having someone that could pull him away from the path they traveled together made his tone more accusatory than he had intended. 

“No, not…” Jaskier’s eyes wandered back west again as he fidgeted. “Geralt, I need-” he licked his lips as if he was ready to say something. 

Geralt’s medallion gave a soft hum where it rested against his skin, warmer than it had been. There was nothing here to fight, only Jaskier, face flushed from sitting too close to the fire, his white linen shirt clinging to him slightly in the late summer heat. The nights wouldn’t be cool for another few weeks and they wouldn’t part for a few weeks after that if the snows held off. Or maybe. 

Whatever it was that Jaskier wasn’t saying hung between them in the slight vibration of low magic and crickets. 

“Come with me to the coast? There’s something I need to take care of,” Jaskier was suddenly on his feet, striding with unsure steps to his bedroll, his hands wringing in front of him. The magic stopped and Geralt watched as Jaskier turned his back on where he had been watching. He could see it for what it was, an offer to an answer of a question neither of them had been brave enough to ask. Not yet. 

“Could be some contracts that way,” Geralt mused, reaching for his sword to clean next. 

If he hadn’t been a witcher, if his sight hadn’t been so keen and had he not been already so attuned to Jaskier, he might have missed it. They had been traveling together for what must have been well over a decade now, and never once had Geralt seen Jaskier pull away from him not even remotely. In the fading daylight, it was hard to miss now. The moment Geralt wrapped his hand around the hilt of his sword, Jaskier had flinched away. 

He made no comment, only letting the sword rest back against the log as he changed tactics, reaching instead for another piece of his armor to clean. He couldn’t seem to catch Jaskier’s eyes as the bard finally settled down into his bedroll, turning over so his back was to Geralt. 

There had always been something about Jaskier that had put Geralt on edge, the smell of sea salt and warm sand and kelp that always surfaced, even with all the oils and perfumes he would soak himself in. A kind of worry gripped him, a beginning of an end to the unsaid things between them. Geralt waited patiently for him to drift off, keeping an ear open for the steady even breaths that came when Jaskier slept. Only then did he reach for his swords to clean them.

Silently he prayed to whatever deity would hear him that he would not find reasons to draw them when they reached the coast. 

--

It had been an easy kind of journey, a day to Oxenfurt then another few days to the coast proper. Once they had left the last village behind, Jaskier led the way, keeping always a few strides out front, his fingers nervously tweaking out half conscience tunes on his lute, barely paying attention to anything other than moving onward. Geralt found that there were moments of unending chatter and then complete silence. 

The last night that they camped, the trees had become pine and the grass was rough under Geralt’s hands as he gathered wood for the fire. Jaskier sat quietly by his bedroll, his eyes brighter than they had been in what felt like weeks. He moved his jaw every now and again as though he was trying to find the words to say but the most Geralt could get out of him was broken off sentences and hesitant glances. 

“Do you always kill the monsters?” He asked finally, setting aside his quill and lacing his fingers together in front of him, thumbs twirling anxiously.

“Only the dangerous ones,” Geralt said quietly. He had made sure not to reach for his swords in front of Jaskier since that night he had asked to go to the coast, afraid that the answers would slide away like the tide. 

“Oh, and how do you know when they’re not dangerous?” It had been a conversation they had had before, but then Jaskier had been less pensive, more chatty, taking notes for his ballads. Now his eyes barely looked up from the fire. 

Above them, the moon hung heavy and full, silver catching in Jaskier’s dark hair and casting his features into ethereal shadows where the firelight did not quite reach. Geralt risked moving a little closer, using the poking the fire as pretense before sitting beside Jaskier. 

“What are we doing here, Jaskier?” He wasn’t accusatory or flippant. There had been answers that he needed and he wasn’t sure what the right ones would be. 

Jaskier sat very still, his tongue darting out for a moment. “You know I trust you?” 

It wasn’t what Geralt had been expecting. Hell, it wasn’t something he had even really knew needed saying, not out loud. But they sat there, the words hanging between them like a door that would either be thrown wide open or slammed shut and locked forever. 

Jaskier chuckled, looking away. “I… Can you trust me, Geralt?” He looked over then, his eyes seeming endlessly blue just then, and so full of something that tugged at Geralt’s chest. He only nodded and let the night slip into an easy quiet between them. 

“Fall isn’t too far off at this point. It will be winter before you know it.” It felt so off-balance, Geralt being the one to keep breaking the silence between them. “Unless you have an engagement in Oxenfurt already lined up, I was wondering if you might-” 

Jaskier made a choking sound, his head whipping around to look at Geralt. “Wait!” There was panic in his voice as his hands came up as if to protect himself. 

It wasn’t hard to scent in the air, the sharp sting of fear and anxiety, Jaskier’s heart hammering behind his ribs. His eyes looked wild and it took Geralt a moment not to pull back himself. 

“Wait,” Jaskier took a shaky breath, swallowing. “There’s… Before you ask anything of me, let’s get down to the beach tomorrow. And then-” He looked down, pulling his hands towards his chest. The fear was gone but the anxiety only seemed to grow. It spelled of kelp in the sun and cold oceans in a storm. “Then you can decide if you still want to ask.” 

“Jaskier-” 

“Not here, witcher. Let me get to the shore first?” It wasn’t uncommon for Jaskier to ask things of Geralt but it was rare that they felt this important, this urgent. 

The sound of the fire and the crickets and the ocean far down the hill were the only sounds between them after that. Jaskier after a time made a murmured good night and slipped into his bedroll without another word. Geralt tried to ignore the sharp scent of salt that came from him, different than the ocean, deeper, tinged in everything that made up Jaskier. He doubted either of them slept much that night. 

--

Geralt must have drifted off at some point, however. When he woke up early, the sun was barely up, the fire had banked itself overnight and he was alone save for Roach who grazed in the hazy morning light. 

“Jaskier?” Geralt called, bolting upright and turning. 

“Let me get to the shore first,” he had asked. 

He debated with himself for a moment before deciding that he would leave his swords behind him, though Geralt couldn’t quite bring himself to leave the dagger in his boot behind as well. He moved down towards the beach, following the path through the thinning trees. 

Something was off the moment he stepped out past the first dune. There in the sand, clothes trailed down to the water, Jaskier’s boots kicked off just at the bottom of the first outcropping of rock. Down the beach, a wall of stone rose above the breakers. It would no doubt have a system of caves throughout it. The last of Jaskier’s things seemed to lead that way.

Geralt followed, wishing that he had in fact brought his swords. His medallion hummed then vibrated, shaking against his chest violently as something broke above the waves just to his right. 

A smooth head and wide eyes tilted towards him in the early morning light. The sky above the ocean still dark, the last stars slipping over the far horizon with the last sliver of the moon. The thing in the water moved up to the beach, a large slick body, flippers pushing into the wet sand. 

It gave a kind of greeting, nodding at Geralt as it rested in the sand. 

He hadn’t seen one in so long, Geralt almost didn’t recognize it as a Harbor seal, it’s pelt dark around its face, fading into a spotted silver coat. He didn’t move, let alone breathe as they watched each other for a long moment. 

 When the seal began to push up its body contorting unnaturally, Geralt took a step back, automatically reaching for the knife in his boot. Dark eyes watched him and seemed… disappointed suddenly as the body of the seal continued to convulse and shift. 

The sun broke above the trees and caught the creature in the face and those eyes suddenly shimmered a bright blue. He couldn’t throw his knife down fast enough as the hood of a cloak fell back from Jaskier’s face, sullen and terrified. 

“Well, was worth a shot,” Jaskier gave a wet laugh, pulling his cloak tighter around him. 

“You’re a selkie.” Geralt said flatly, his hands coming up to show he had no weapons. “I thought you were a viscount.” 

To his surprise, Jaskier snorted, the tension in his shoulders relaxing some as shuffled his feet in the sand. 

“I am in fact a viscount and a selkie, on my mother’s side,” he winced. “My father keeps her cloak from her. I just barely managed to-” he swallowed looking down. “Listen, Geralt, I know you plan on going back to Kaer Morhen this winter, and even if you-” he huffed, his hand shooting out from his cloak to rub at the back of his head. 

“You need somewhere to hide your cloak.” a decade of unasked questions started to click into place.

“Yes,” Jaskier sighed. “But you don’t have to-”

“And you trust me? A witcher? Jaskier, if something happened to your cloak you-” would be stuck, would die, would never be free again. He left everything to blow away out to sea in the wind. 

“I do, I trust you as a man, Geralt. I know what I’m asking,” his eyes were sad and suddenly infinitely vast. 

The wind tugged the hem of Jaskier’s cloak, the silvery ends snapping in tune with the crash of the waves. Geralt could see the top of his one thigh peeking between the slick material and suddenly he was far too aware that Jaskier was standing naked in more ways than one on a beach telling Geralt he trusted him with his life. 

He pinched the bridge of his nose as he took a steadying breath. “Get dressed bard.” This level of vulnerability left him feeling dizzy with a feeling he wasn’t ready to look at just then. 

Before going to collect his clothes, Jaskier closed the distance between them, sliding his cloak from his shoulders, the fabric shimmering in the sunlight as he folded it carefully and rested it over Geralt’s arm. 

“Hold this for me?” he asked softly, not meeting Geralt’s eyes. “Keep it safe?” 

There was no hesitation in him as Geralt nodded, laying a careful hand over Jaskier’s, still on the cloak. “Always.”

[miekasa]

your dad!levi headcanons made my day. would you happen to have any thoughts about dad!eren?🥺

Unfortunately... I do 🤒🤒 he’d be such a determined but fun dad, like I don’t think he'd be completely lax, but he's not an authoritarian either, but he definitely butts heads with his kids when they get a little older and more rambunctious, and you gotta remind him to be patient with them because... because they're exactly how he was when he was 8 😭😭

He was stupid excited when he found out you were gonna have kids. Like, way more excited than you thought he’d be; you’ve maybe mentioned kids in passing or casually, and he was never negative about the prospect of them, but he had never shown this level of excitement before.

He gets even more excited when you find out you’re having twins. And then reality hits him that you’re having twins. That means two of them. At the same time. Yeah, he might have been excited about one, but two... the whole dad thing really kicks in right there. 

He has this period of time where he’s definitely still supporting you and being positive throughout your pregnancy, but then he’ll lay awake at night scared shitless of the fact that he’s gotta raise two kids. He starts freaking out so bad, Mikasa has to slap some sense into him. 

He’s losing it one night at her place, completely having a downward spiral of doubt and anxiety, going off about what ifs and how maybe you’d be better with someone else being a dad to them and Mika literally slaps him to shut him up. “You are going to be a dad to those kids, and you’re gonna be a good one, too, Eren. Nobody’s saying you won’t fuck up, but you’ll have help along the way.” 

He feels better after that (his cheek hurts like hell for two days tho), and the reassurance from Mikasa and you really does help, and he’s back on track to bouncing off the walls about having kids. 

Obsessed with the concept of baby clothes (“Babe, are they really gonna be this tiny??”), but he doesn’t understand the sizing of them. Is there really that big of a difference between four month olds and ten month olds?? He hasn’t grown that much in six months, why would they?? 

Don’t even get him started on baby shoes, he thinks those are completely ridiculous: “Their toes are gonna be the size of my pupils, why would we put shoes on them?? That’s dumb, we’ll just get those fuzzy socks to keep em warm when they’re cold, I don’t wanna squash their growing toes.” 

He cries when he holds them for the first time, because, they are, predictably, tiny. Tinier that he ever could have thought imaginable; he can hold is son and his daughter with one hand each and it’s an incredibly tender and heartwarming and humbling thing to him. 

He literally cried more than you throughout the whole delivery, too. He was a complete emotional wreck; happy and jittery one moment, anxious and nervous the next, crying no matter what, and yeah, he might have passed out once or twice, but don’t mention it. 

Gives the twins a “house tour” when you take them home from the hospital, narrating it every bit of the way. He holds them both to his chest, slowly parading around your house like, “And this is the kitchen, and this is the fridge where we keep your baby mush. It tastes bad, I tried it, but hopefully you’ll like it.” 

Your daughter looks like you, but also like Carla; and your son has damn near all of Eren’s features, and they both got his green eyes (lucky them). Eren is obsessed, and loves playing peek-a-boo with them. 

When his paternity leave is up, he figured he’d go back to work first and leave you at home with the kids to give you more time to rest and let your body have more time to adjust after giving birth. Half-way through his first day back, he calls out early under the pretenses of being sick because he misses you guys that much. 

He calls out sick for the remainder of the week too, and finally by Friday he sits down with you and is like, “I know we said I would go back to work first but I don’t think I can do it, babe. I wanna stay and hang out with them all day before they’re too big and have to go to school.”

And that, is essentially, how Eren comes to the conclusion that he wants to be a stay at home dad. It doesn’t surprise you, or anyone really, it was only a surprise to himself; but it was a surprise to him that nobody else was surprised. 

“What do you guys mean you ‘saw this coming?’” he questions you, Mikasa, and Armin sporadically, “I could have gone back to work if I wanted to!!” To which, you look around at his friends, before Armin finally speaks up, a slight roll to his eyes, “Eren, you can hardly leave them with me or Mikasa for two hours. How did you expect to make it through the work day.”

When they get a bit older, he’s the champ of playing games with them. Acts out the most dramatic “deaths” when he gets shot by a Nerf gun, becomes the most convincing doctor when playing fake hospital, and has learned a pretty damn impressive Mickey Mouse impression to entertain them. 

It’s your daughter that turns out to get most of Eren’s... determined personality. She might only be three years old, but she can argue with him as if she graduated from law school, and swears he never wins with her. How could he; it’s like arguing with himself, please they both stomp away and have to cool down after. 

They make up pretty quick tho, because Eren hates it when they’re mad in general, much less mad at him or you; and he sulks to you, borderline whining about how he doesn’t want her to hate him. You reassure him that she does not hate him, she’s just... feisty like he is. 

It’s her twin brother that consoles and calms her down, because he’s the more tame of the two. By the time Eren’s knocking on the door to their room to talk it out and apologize, she’s already knocked out, leaning up against her brother as they both take a nap. (It’s a sight that could bring him to tears, and he slowly closes the door and goes to cuddle up to you, while he waits for them to finish napping). 

He absolutely loves to lift them up, and even has they get bigger, he insists they’ll never be too big for him to hold them. Both he and the twins get a kick out of having them hang off his arms while he spins around in a circle like a little human sprinkler. 

Family picnics and/or beach days happen often, and more often than not, it ends up with Eren and the kids coercing (see: pulling) you to the water or to play with them.

By the end of the day, Eren’s laying on the blanket lazily eating a sandwich hich you’d packed earlier, with his son sat criss-cross on his stomach. He teases him by airplaining the sandwich near his mouth, only to take a bite of it himself after, because he adores the betrayed exclaimation of “Daddy! No fair!” Eren’s always sure to give him a bite for real after, and a little kiss on the head to make up for it. 

Your daughter sits in your lap, half-asleep, even tho moments before she was oh-so determined to play volleyball against her dad again (“And I’m gonna win, mommy, watch! Daddy’s tall, but I can win!”)

He lets them draw/color/paint on his back. He’ll just lay down on a blanket in the living room and let them go to town. Face painting, too, though that’s for when they’re a bit older; he learns the hard way that a two year old can have pretty rough hands. 

The complete and utter disappointment and betrayal in his eyes when he hears your son proclaim that he thinks Jean is “cool.” Eren has to take a lap, he can’t believe his own kin would say some shit like that. 

Your daughter loves Mikasa, thinks she’s the absolute best person in the world, and always asks if she can be the one to babysit. They both like Armin, too, but Armin’s gotta stay away from your son for a bit because for whatever reason, his blonde hair is very amusing to him, and the kid’s got a pretty strong grip. (“Stop bullying your Uncle Armin, it’s not his fault he’s blonde.”)

You often catch him doing push ups with either one or both of them on his back, and the kids fucking love it. They’re cheering him on, counting completely out of order about the amount of push-ups he’s done, and clapping every time he comes up again. It becomes his favorite workout. 

He swears they’re his best friends and his favorite people in the entire world. He does everything with them: getting the oil changed in his car, going to the store, picking up the mail. He just loves being around them and swears he’s gonna be the best dad for them. 

[peachyyykid]

Deceivers Ch. 11 - Revenge

Word Count: 4089

Chapter 10 - Parting

Chapter 12 - Daytrip (nsfw)

Disclaimer! tw: y/n is having a panic attack

As someone who experienced panic attacks before, I realised that writing one invested me a lot emotionally. If a detailed description of a panic attack triggers you, you might want to skip that part. Also, everyone experiences them differently and coping mechanism differ as well. Just remember that all of these experiences are valid and that you are loved! :)

---

"Kid!"

You didn't question the urge to run into his arms, but you didn't expect him to catch you either. But he did, and as his non-metallic arm pulled you into his chest, you felt something you hadn't felt in a very long time: safety.

You clawed at his fur coat, muffling your sobs with the soft fabric.

"What did he do to you?", he whispered into your ear lowly, while his angry eyes never left Deku, who was scrambling around on the floor with his trousers undone.

"G-get off my ship, p-pirate scum", he stuttered, visibly scared of the huge pirate that just sent his door flying.

"I will", Kid snarled at him, "but you're joining us."

And with that he extended his metal arm by adding more and more random metal, grabbing Deku's throat. He tried to get away, but to no avail. Kid strengthened his grip and he let out a gargling sound, kicking his legs in the air.

The redhead spun Deku around and hurled him right through the empty doorframe towards his ship. Killer was waiting on the other side and knew exactly what to do. He caught the flying man (who was looking awfully pale) and slammed him down on the deck. You heard a faint scream in the distance, right after Deku's body hit the ship.

After making sure that Deku couldn't run away, Kid looked down at you, wiping away your tears with his rough fingers. He had let go of all the metal, but his eyes were still angry as he took in as much of your face as possible.

"Tell me what happened", he whispered in a commanding tone, and you sniffled before you spoke.

"W-we fought, and he said awful things to me, and then he tried to rape me and he... he had my parents killed. K-kid, he's responsible for all this. He killed my parents!"

You started sobbing desperately again and your knees felt weak. They gave in and you sunk towards the floor, but Kid picked you up. He pressed your trembling body against his and held you safely while he jumped aboard his own ship, the cold air cooling your tear-stained face.

Deku was trembling as well, but for different reasons. Killer was towering over him with his arms crossed and the rest of the crew was shooting him intense, blood-lusting glares. No one in this world would want to swap with him.

Kid landed and gently placed you on the deck. You slumped down to your knees immediately, staring into the distance with blurry eyes. The sun was setting already, painting the sky in beautiful red and orange hues. It would have been a wonderful start into a new life, but Deku took all that from you. Your body felt weak and lifeless, your arms hanging down your sides.

Kid kneeled down in front of your trembling frame and looked at Deku, who was sitting a few metres away from you. He was whimpering pathetically, looking for a possibility to flee, as if Killer would let him.

"Wire, take some men and ransack the ship. Then sink it", Kid commanded.

"Roger, Captain", Wire's calm voice answered, and he and most of the guys entered Deku's ship.

Then his face turned back to you. He gingerly took your jaw in his big hand and brushed your cheek with his thumb, just like he did in that one night.

"Look at me", his rough voice told you, and you obeyed.

Seeing your puffy eyes and your tear-stained face awakened something deep inside of him, and he wanted to destroy whatever was causing you this kind of pain. You looked at him like he was the only one who could make it all better, and he understood, his face absolutely serious.

"Angel. I want to hear it from you."

His amber eyes bored into yours. They were full of rage, but not because of you.

"Do you want me to kill him?"

Killing was wrong. No matter what kinds of horrible things someone had done, killing wasn't the answer. That's what a previous version of you would have said. But looking at Deku, you only saw a monster. A deceiving monster that had dared to take your life into his hands. You wanted to hurt him like he hurt you, he didn't deserve forgiveness.

Kid knew exactly that you couldn't do it yourself, so he had asked you if you wanted him to do it for you. And you really wanted it. There was not even a hint of compassion that you could spare for this man.

You looked at him, his eyes were pleading with you. Kid had asked you to make a decision. You could easily show mercy and say no. Deku mumbled apologies directed at you, rambling about how he shouldn't have overreacted and that he would treat you well as a mistress.

With empty eyes and the calmest expression on your face, you took in the satisfying sight of Deku shaking with fear.

"Yes."

It was merely a whisper, but everyone on the ship was silent. The only sound to be heard was Deku's pathetic whimpering. You didn't take your eyes off him, not even when Kid stood up slowly, revealing his full height again. The setting sun stretched his shadow, and it swallowed Deku's body whole.

Kid slipped off his coat and put it over your sunken shoulders without saying a word.

His shadow was coming closer to Deku with every heavy step he took, and he anxiously scrambled away from him, only to bump into Killer's legs. He was cornered between the two men, and he yelped in fear when Kid took the shiny knife out of his bandolier.

The knife fell, and Deku probably thought that Kid had dropped it by accident, because his eyes widened, and he opened his mouth when the knife didn't hit the ground. It hovered under his chin instead, the blade forcing him to look up at Kid.

"W-what kind of magic is that?", Deku screeched.

"It's a devil's fruit you moron", Killer mumbled and shook his head in dismay.

"I'm just making sure that you know who's the boss around here", Kid growled and pushed the blade a little further into Deku's skin, drawing a thin line of blood.

"I really wonder what she saw in you", he scoffed.

"P-please I will do anything... y-you can have the 15 million b-berry! You can have e-everything, just let me live!", Deku pleaded, trying to grab Kid's trousers. He looked up at him with doe eyes, in a futile attempt to gain his pity.

Kid bared his teeth and kicked off Deku's hands as if his futility was contagious, while an array of swords gathered behind his tall figure. They hovered in the air, framing Kid to make him look even more dangerous.

"You're not even worth listening to. Just by looking at your stupid face I can feel the wretchedness trying to rub off on me", Kid growled.

His signature smirk was back, and with a flick of his hand, all the sword's blades turned towards Deku. They made a clunking sound that filled the silent air and seeing their reflection in your glassy eyes gave Kid the final push.

With another flick of his hand, each and every of the swords sped towards Deku's trembling body, swallowing his cries for mercy.

He screamed in pain and desperately tried to protect his body, but there were just too many blades impaling him. They pinned him to the ground in an upright position, covering him in his own blood. His breathing became more and more shallow, and he looked at you with pain-filled eyes.

You watched the sight like in a trance. You felt inner peace for a split second, but then

nothing.

Nothing at all. It was gruesome to look at, but it didn't bother you the slightest.

With wheezing breaths, Deku's life ended in front of your eyes and your face didn't show any signs of remorse.

"Feed him to the fish", Kid growled and then blocked the space between you and Deku's body so you couldn't see him anymore.

You snapped out of your trance and realised what had just happened. It was good that you didn't see your ex-fiancé's dead body anymore because your stone-cold facade might have faltered.

Kid kneeled down in front of you again and you finally looked at his face. His frown was back, but his eyes were almost too soft for someone who just murdered a man without hesitation.

"Thank you", you mumbled flatly, but he didn't say anything.

"I'm going to take a bath", you added instead, sounding absent. Your body was there, but you felt like your soul was just hovering over it. The bath didn't actually matter, you just wanted to get away.

You tried to get up, but your legs were still too shaky. Kid was watching you for a few seconds, huffing at the fact that you couldn't take even a single step without tumbling over.

Suddenly, Kid flung you over his shoulders without a warning, ignoring your shriek.

He just scoffed and carried you to the cabin's bathroom, placing you in the empty bathtub. You raised an eyebrow at him when he sat down on the toilet, making no move to leave the room.

"I'm really thankful that you took revenge on my fiancé for me, but that doesn't mean you can watch me bath... naked...", you said quietly.

"There's no fiancé anymore. You're single and I saw your tits already", he smirked.

Although you couldn't deny that, it wasn't the best time to point it out and no excuse to creep on you in the bath.

"That's not the point."

"Then leave on your underwear, but I'm talking to you right here and now", he demanded with a growl, and you were too worn out to discuss and you knew that he wasn't really the patient type anyways.

Your gut didn't give you any warning signals either, so you just rolled your eyes and slipped of your shirt, shoes, and socks. The bra that Charlos had given you didn't cover anything and didn't give you any hold, so you had gotten rid of it immediately. Once your training had started, you made your own bra out of bandages from the infirmary, so this was what you were wearing at the moment.

Not ideal, but better than being naked.

You let the water run into the bathtub under Kid's watchful eyes, and when it was half full and after you put a nice foamy soap into it, you realised that you could have taken a bath later, after Kid was done talking to you. But it was too late for that now.

You watched the foam floating around on the surface for a second, thinking about the events of today with a frown.

"Where do you think you're going next?"

His question caught you of guard and you blinked some tears away that you couldn't really prevent from building up.

"I don't know. I need to see my brother."

What happened with Deku today absolutely destroyed your chance to be reunited with Tenmon and it became painfully clear to you right now.

"And where do you think you're staying until you find him?"

"I don't know", you said again.

He was quiet for a second and then displayed his signature smirk.

"If I promise you to help you find your brother, you will stay on the Victoria Punk as our doctor."

You shot him a sudden look and raised an eyebrow. Why did he offer you so much help out of the blue? Suspicion rose in you, and you narrowed your eyes.

He just scoffed in response.

"That's it, sweetheart. There's no catch. I will protect you until you find him, and you'll protect my crew in return."

You thought about his offer. If there was no catch, you could only win. And you had to be honest with yourself, there was no way you would even last a day in the New World on your own.

He held out his hand and you looked at it before you slowly put yours in his. Your hand was tiny compared to his, and you studied all the calluses and the roughness on them. It was obvious that he had worked hard with these hands, and it just added to the fascination that you already felt for him.

Suddenly, as soon as his hand enclosed yours, he pulled you towards him harshly. The water splashed against the edges of the tub and Kid's grip was strong around your hand. You let out a startled yelp and to your dismay, you felt your face redden.

His face was so close to yours now. It had become a familiar feeling to you, just like the smell of expensive rum, mint, and metal. He licked his lips and pulled you even closer. Your tits were pressed against his hard chest, and he placed his mouth next to your ear.

"We're gonna be a great team", he purred into your ear lowly, his breath tickling your neck.

You prayed that he didn't see that you had goosebumps all over your body. Your face felt so hot that you were sure you looked like a tomato and a tingling feeling spread from your chest to your stomach, to your crotch, and even into your thighs.

What the fuck is that?

Who were you kidding, you weren't stupid and not as innocent as Deku and your parents had wanted you to be. Just because you never experienced lust, didn't mean you wouldn't recognise the feeling if it ever came. You were sure that this was it, but why today and why with Kid?

He leaned back and your heart told you to pull him back, but the rational part of your brain interfered, so you just sat in the tub dumbfounded.

His smirk didn't falter, and something told you that he knew what an effect he just had on you. How embarrassing, you thought and slowly turned around, facing the wall.

He chuckled and finally left the room, and once the door was closed you took of the makeshift bra and let yourself slip under the water surface, mentally cursing yourself and Kid until you had to come up for air.

You stayed in the bathtub for as long as you could justify, to avoid Kid. You hoped that he was either not in his room, or already fast asleep. You dried yourself extra slowly and scolded yourself for not having asked Killer for another shirt.

You tried to put on the white button-down but as soon as the material touched your skin you had memories of Deku leaning over you and pinning you down flashing through your mind. You shuddered and bile rose up in your throat.

You looked at the shirt and felt new anger and sorrow in your heart. With gritted teeth and a frown, you pulled on the sleeves as hard as you could and ripped the shirts to shreds. Seeing the heap of white cotton pieces gave you a small feeling of victory. You couldn't let a dead Deku control you like that.

After putting the bandages around your chest again, you took a deep breath and slowly opened the door to the bedroom.

Kid's back was turned towards the room, and he was breathing steadily, probably meaning that he was sleeping. As quiet as possible, you made your way to his desk. There must have been a place where he stored his clothes, but the desk was really the only option in this room. Actually, thinking about it, you had never seen him with a shirt on.

You carefully pulled out one of the bigger drawers and to your surprise, you saw a few neatly folded shirts in there. All black.

I bet Killer folded these...

You grabbed the first one and couldn't resist taking it up to your face. It smelled as you expected: Fresh laundry and metal. It smelled comfortable.

You shook your head rapidly and slipped the shirt over your head. You looked absolutely lost in it, but it would do for sleeping.

On tiptoes, you neared the bed and slipped under the covers. You didn't feel the need to roll one of the blankets into a sausage anymore, and you looked at the ceiling wondering why. So many thoughts were ghosting around in your head...

Why do I trust him all of a sudden?

Just because he killed someone who did me wrong?

He didn't just do me wrong though, he literally had my parents killed.

But still, why would Kid kill him? There's no personal gain for him.

Why is he so keen on helping me lately?

What's in it for him?

Does he still hate me? He's still complicated, but it feels different.

He could have done unspeakable things to me the last week, but he didn't.

Don't even get me started on the other night... or today.

How he touched me. Like I'm precious.

I haven't felt precious in such a long time.

And why do I get butterflies when he touches me?

Why the fuck did I feel lust when he touched me tonight?

Oh my God, what on earth is wrong with me?

Your eyes widened almost comically when another thought hit you.

Do I like him?

You covered your face with your hands and tried not to scream into the quiet room. You gave yourself a small slap, but you couldn't deny that Kid was... interesting. He definitely was, but that didn't mean that you liked him.

Yes. Yes, that's the point. He's interesting, but that's it. It's just a very stressful time I'm going through. Of course I would feel fascinated by someone like him.

You sighed in content. You found an explanation that was fitting your narrative.

The mattress shifted abruptly, and your heart jumped, thinking that Kid was awake. But he had just turned around and his face seemed peaceful, the kind of peaceful look that one could only have while sleeping.

You couldn't turn your face away without studying his. You took in the sight of his sharp features and his fluffy, red hair. It fell on his forehead because it wasn't held up by his goggles, making him look a little younger. It was refreshing to see him without his furrowed brows.

You couldn't resist the urge to take a strand of his hair into your hand. You never touched it before, and it was just as soft as it looked.

It was also the first time that you could look at him without him noticing. There was no smirk, no angry eyes or frown.

He didn't look like a pirate anymore, just like a young man. He almost looked vulnerable, and you realised that he must have seen a lot. You wondered about his motivations to become a pirate and if all the things he had experienced left marks on him, inside and outside.

Like you said, he was fascinating.

You watched him breathing calmly, the blanket raising and lowering in a steady pace. It hit you like a brick.

"You saved me so many times", you whispered so quietly that he couldn't wake up from it.

You were right when you thought that killing Deku had no personal gain for him. He could have taken his ship and his belongings anyways, but he made sure that you decided Deku's fate and then acted accordingly.

It was a twisted sense of justice, but you had to admit that you didn't care.

It had been another hard day that left you absolutely drained. The knowledge about the circumstances of your parent's death scooched in between the thoughts about Kid and became prevalent.

You never got to say goodbye and they died without knowing what had happened to you. They never got the chance to see Deku's real face. You regretted not telling them about the conversation in the garden back then, maybe everything would be okay right now. Deku's words were ringing in your ears.

You chose to disrespect me that night, so I made you pay.

Yes, your parents wouldn't have backed out of the marriage deal. Deku had them wrapped around his fingers. He had buttered them up completely to make sure that anything you would say about him would fall on deaf ears.

You tried to steady your breathing when you felt hot tears forming in the corners of your eyes. The insufferable feeling of guilt washed over your whole body. Throughout your childhood you had learned how to speak to a future husband, and if you hadn't decided to throw all that courtesy stuff overboard at some point, your parents would still be alive. Of course, your life with Deku would have been horrible, but at least your family could have been happy.

Screw you for becoming your own person with your own wishes and morals.

Deep down you knew that it wasn't your fault, but the guilt felt so strong. It was crushing you, causing you to question every decision you ever made.

Suddenly, your heartbeat was picking up. It happened so rapidly that you were scared it would rip your chest open, so you clutched at your shirt and pressed your hand down. But feeling your speeding heartbeat like this made it even worse. It made your chest hurt like someone had punched you. It tightened and it was becoming gradually harder to breathe, a lump of suppressed tears forming in your throat. Your body felt hot, and you couldn't move, only shake. Your eyes darted around frantically and breathing felt more like choking. You wanted to get up, get fresh air or a glass of water to calm you down, but you were losing control over your body. Wheezing breaths mixed with the sound of quiet sobbing, while your vision blurred. Every cell in your body was screaming for help. You tried to get at least some air into your lungs, but it felt like they had shrivelled up.

You weren't in the right headspace to think anything of Kid opening his eyes suddenly, now looking at your shaking body while you still fought for air, your sobbing and whimpering filling the room. He let out a low growl and moved his hand towards you.

You tensed up immediately but surprisingly, his touch didn't scare you at all. As soon as he saw that you didn't flinch, he grabbed the small of your back and pulled you into his chest, enclosing your trembling body with both of his arms.

"Breathe with me", was all he said.

Your chest was flush against his and you could feel how he inhaled and exhaled slowly, in a steady pace. His heartbeat was calm, and you tried to concentrate on his breathing, mentally counting the intervals between each breath.

After a few more ragged breaths, your heartbeat synchronised with his and you followed his breathing pattern. You were still shaking a little, but the scariest part was overcome. Soon, the sobbing died down as well.

With each inhale and exhale you got calmer, and soon you felt like you were in control of your own body again. Hesitantly, you wrapped your arms around Kid's body as a silent thank you.

He stiffened but didn't push you away. He expected you to let go at some point, but you didn't. You didn't want to. You experienced the same feeling as earlier this evening when he held you after saving you from Deku. It was a comfortable feeling of absolute safety, like nothing in this world could do you any harm.

You wanted more of this feeling, so you kicked off your blanket and went under his instead, entangling your legs with his. He let out a breath he had been holding and snuck his other arm around your head to place his hand on it, brushing your hair with his thumb.

There was no empty space between the two of you, but at this very moment this was exactly what you needed. You forgot about all the pain and guilt in his embrace and enjoyed the comfortable feeling of warmth and safety.

It didn't take him long to fall asleep again, and you followed soon after.

Memories of the last week rushed through your mind and you realised that being here wasn't all that bad.

[goddessofroyalty]

I was so intrigued by your Zaun family idea, and I'd love to ask your thoughts on what Silco's pregnancy and birth with Viktor was like. You've already mentioned what Vanco was like with baby Vik, but what about when Silco's body was growing a baby at a young age while they were busy leading a revolution? Obviously Silco isn't the type to let Vander do all the work just cos he's pregnant, but how would their dynamic change during such a high-risk period, esp during the birth itself? Thank you!

So for some reason my brain is really set that Silco gets bad morning sickness with his pregnancies. I don’t really know why seeing there isn’t anything directly about him that would generally be the kind of thing that would indicate it to me. Maybe because it’s kind of funny to picture him being halfway through verbally tearing someone a new one and having to pause while he hurls his guts up before just continuing on.

But I think for the pregnancy itself that was his One Bad Symptom. Yes he did get the general tiredness + aches from the additional weight of a baby on his body but that was all very much in the expected level (at least for his pregnancy with Viktor). So he can just keep doing most things he was doing before and he (possibly unfortunately) learns that being pregnancy seems to magically draw a lot of suspicion off him. So if they need something smuggled past an Enforcer checkpoint or something he always volunteers because what are the Enforcers going to do feel up a pregnant person? Which yes is very stressful to Vander but, hey, it works every time.  

Generally I think it’s like the First Big Trial of their relationship and as such is what really solidifies their trust and how they work together. Because they both step up for it and also because of Narrative Symbology it’s also their period they get their first few Wins (whether that’s successfully setting up their first smuggling operation or stealing some enforcer weapons cache or probably a mix of those kinds of things). So while there’s a lot of stress there’s also a lot of excitement and a lot of realising that yeah they think they can do this.

I think Silco would back and forth a lot throughout the pregnancy between “I’m pregnant not incapable I can do the thing” and “I am pregnant with your stupid child do the thing for me Vander”. With a lot of other factors determining exactly when he’s which that Vander never fully figure out. 

I do talk a bit about Viktor’s birth in the previous post but basically because this is my verse and I like to explore class differences in things like this, Viktor was breach, absolutely should have been a C-section but was not and it generally was not a good time for Silco. Little more under the cut though (tw for traumatic birth stuff). 

Funnily enough though I don’t think Silco was that nervous about the birth before/during the early part of labor - he’s lived a rough life he figures he can handle it and is kind of over the pregnancy generally so will be glad for it to be over. It’s when the midwife advices him that he might want to brace himself because this is probably going to hurt a bit that the panic and the this is how I die is it? kicks in.

I don’t actually think Vander was there for especially Viktor’s birth (father’s being there for the birth is a VERY modern idea (like 1980s modern) and I think it’s maybe maybe starting to come in when Viktor and Jayce are expecting) but I do see Silco getting to a point by possibly Mylo’s birth where he just makes Vander stay with him so Vander can see what he has to do for their kid. But for Viktor’s birth Vander is probably near enough to hear Silco’s screams at it, so he does have some idea that it’s not a good time for Silco. Plus he knows Silco and knows Silco has a pretty high pain tolerance, so the fact that SIlco basically stays lying in bed in shock for two days after also tells him that it wasn’t good. So he takes a lot of the baby-care for the first couple of days (other than feeding obviously) while Silco recovers a little.

[live-the-fangirl-life]

The Last One

The Court - Throne of Glass x FRIENDS - Fic Series

S10, E17/18 : Rowan, after realizing he's still in love with Aelin, chases her down, refusing to let her go. Meanwhile, Elide and Lorcan welcome their baby...or babies, into the world.

Episode chosen for Rowaelin Month 2021. Day 12: Delayed Love Confession

Fic Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Read on Ao3 | Rowaelin Month Masterlist

Warnings: Language, Mentions of Sex, Mentions of Birth

7860 words

*******

Rowan woke up to the bed shifting. He cracked an eye open, still cloudy with sleep, and watched Aelin sit on the opposite edge while she pulled her shirt over her head, concealing the bare expanse of her back.

“Hey.” He croaked, voice still rough.

She turned and gave him a soft smile, whispering, “Go back to sleep, I have to go home.”

Rowan wanted nothing more than for Aelin to never leave his bed, but he knew she had things to do so instead he said, “Oh, okay.” He reached a hand across the sheets and grabbed hers, “Last night was amazing.”

She finished putting on one of her shoes and looked back at him with that same soft smile, “It really was.”

Rowan tried to read the emotions that flashed across her face but then she was standing and bending over to draw him into one last kiss. Her palm rested on his cheek while his gently cupped the back of her head before they pulled away. Rowan kept his eyes on Aelin as she left his room and he didn’t fall back onto his pillow until he heard the sound of his apartment door clicking shut behind her.

***

Elide was scared. Scratch that—terrified. Elide was terrified, but she kept her calm as best as she could while she held Asterin’s hand.

Elide had thanked all the gods she could name for Asterin coming into her and Lorcan’s lives. After getting married and enjoying the first few months of bliss, she and Lorcan decided to try having a baby, but after months of negative pregnancy tests and too many doctors visits, they were told it likely would never happen for them. Devastated, they thought through their options and settled on adoption. But even then, they knew it would take some time.

Elide remembered some afternoons spending hours sitting by the phone desperately hoping it would ring and be someone from the adoption agency to tell them they’d been picked. When they’d finally gotten the call and met Asterin, a young woman who was looking for the perfect parents for her baby, they knew it was meant to be.

Now, standing in the delivery room, Elide held Asterin’s hand as the woman powered through another contraction.

“Breathe, breathe, breathe,” Elide coached encouragingly, “good.”

“Are you fully taking over, or do I get to say breathe?” Lorcan asked as he walked to Elide’s side beside the bed.

She scoffed and tilted her head to meet his eyes. “No. Last time, you said it like a sociopath, and it creeped her out.” She turned back towards Asterin who looked tired, “Can I get you anything? Ice chips?”

“No,” Asterin shook her head, “I’m okay.”

Elide nodded and smiled, “Alright, I’ll be right back.”

As she started to walk out of the room, Lorcan’s hand shot out and gripped her elbow, stopping her.

“Where are you going?” He asked. She could almost detect a hint of nerves as he spoke.

Elide raised a brow, “To the bathroom.”

Lorcan lowered his voice so that only Elide could hear. “You can't leave me alone with her.”

“What?” She asked incredulously.

Lorcan ran a hand through his long hair, and now she could definitely see nervousness etched across his face. “This is exactly the kind of social situation that I am not comfortable with” he grumbled.

Elide snorted, “What kind of social situation are you comfortable with?”

He leveled a stare at her. “It's just that we've never spent any time, you know, alone together.”

Elide rolled her eyes at her husband, “You’ll be fine,” she took a step and turned back, giving him a small smirk, “No, you won't, but I'll be back in two minutes.”

Lorcan sighed but grumbled okay.

He walked back over to the woman lying in the hospital bed, trying his best to seem calm, but by the grimace she shot him, he wasn't doing a very good job.

“So, uh,” He grasped for something to say, “any plans for the summer?”

“I don't know, maybe travel? I wanna do some flying again.”

Lorcan hummed, still not sure what to say. If Elide had still been in the room, she’d have laughed at how ridiculous he looked. Standing well above six feet, with his hands fidgeting and swaying on his toes from being so uncomfortable in the moment.

“So, you ever wonder which is worse, you know; going through labor or getting kicked in the nuts?” Lorcan asked the first thing that came to mind and immediately regretted it. He should've just kept his mouth shut.

“What?” Asterin asked, her eyebrows scrunching in disbelief.

“I mean, uh,” He rubbed the back of his neck, “One of life's great, unanswerable questions. I mean, who knows? Maybe there's something even more painful than those things?” Lorcan cringed and suggested, “like this.”

***

Lysandra walked into Fenrys’ apartment to see him holding two small fuzzy animals.

“Good morning,” She said hesitantly.

“Hey!” Fenrys grinned, lifting up the creatures.

“What's that?” Aedion asked, following Lysandra into the room.

Fenrys grinned, “It's my house-warming present for Elide and Lorcan.”

Lysandra and Aedion shared a look.

“It's a baby chick and duck,” Lysandra said, unnecessarily. “You know they’re living in the suburbs right?”

“Uh-huh,” Fenrys nodded, “And I named them Chick Jr. and Duck Jr.”

Aedion snorted, “I didn’t see that coming.”

“Yeah, I figure they'll love it at the new house, you know?” Fenrys set the animals down, “It has that big backyard. And then, when they get old, they can go to that special farm that Lorcan took the other chick and duck to.”

Lysandra raised a brow at Fenrys and hummed, unable to say what she actually wanted to say.

Aedion barely held in a grin as he nodded sagely to Lysandra and mocked, “Yeah. It's a shame people can't visit there.”

Fenrys was cut off as Rowan showed up and joined them in the apartment,

“Guess what?” Lysandra whirled on Rowan, smiling, “we’re almost all aunties and uncles!”

“What?” Rowan asked, confused.

“Yeah,” Fenrys said, “Asterin went into labor last night. Elide and Lorcan are at the hospital right now!”

“Oh, my gods.” Rowan grinned at the thought of a massive Lorcan holding a tiny baby. He shook his head, glancing around, “Is Aelin here?”

Fenrys glanced towards Aelin’s room, “Uh, I think she's still asleep. Hey, how did it go with you guys last night? She seemed pretty pissed at you.”

Rowan couldn’t—wouldn’t—suppress his smile as he thought about the night before. Being with Aelin again was better than he remembered, and he cursed himself for all the time they’d missed out on.

“Yeah, we, uh, we worked things out.”

Lysandra’s eyes widened as she watched him, “What's that smile? Did something happen with you two?”

Rowan chuckled, “Hey, I'm not one to kiss and tell,” then he muttered, “but I'm also not one to have sex and shut up.”

Apparentally, his last words weren't as quiet as he thought.

Aedion groaned, wincing “Dude, that's my cousin.”

Rowan ignored Aedion as Fernys laughed, “Oh my gods, You and Aelin?”

“I know, it's great.” Rowan didn't think his grin could get any wider.

Lysandra hugged him, squealing, “So what does that mean? Are you guys getting back together?”

“I…” He trailed off, frowning. They hadn’t actually talked about it before Aelin had left earlier that morning. “I don't know. We didn't really get to talk about it.”

“But do you wanna get back together?” She pushed.

Rowan didn’t hesitate as he said with certainty, “Yeah, I do. it just felt so right. When I was holding her, I mean, I never wanted to let her go. I want to be together.”

Lysandra, Aedion, and Ferys all had matching smiles as they listened to Rowan.

Then Fenrys spoke up and Rowan felt himself deflate.

“So is she still going to Paris?” He asked, still holding the small animals.

Rowan had been so caught up in the happiness of last night and that morning that he��d completely forgot the reason why he and Aelin had been so emotionally worked up their argument caused the tension to finally snap, leading them to spend the night together.

Aelin had been offered an amazing job. A perfect job. Perfect, except for the fact that it was in Paris and not New York

She'd had said goodbye to each of their friends. Except him. She’d cried and laughed and reminisced with all of them. Except for Rowan.

He’d been so upset, so angry. How could Aelin not have anything to say to him, after all these years, after all they’d been through?

When he’d confronted her, she’d told him, devastated, “If you think I didn't say goodbye to you because you don't mean as much to me as everybody else, you're wrong. It's because you mean more to me.”

He’d stopped her, not needing to hear anymore as he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her in for a searing kiss. She’d been shocked, unprepared for Rowan’s actions. She’d stepped away, searching his face, before pulling him towards her and kissing him again.

Gods, how could he have forgotten that she was leaving?

“Wow, I hadn't thought of that. I hope not.” Rowan didn't know how he would deal with Aelin leaving now. He’d just realized that he still loved her, and now he might lose her. But how could he expect her, or ask her, to stay? What kind of person would that make him? A desperate one? A man in love? Or an overreaching, entitled one who thought he could step in the way of one of the best opportunities she'd ever been given?

He would have to talk to her before he spiraled any further.

“Oh, this is so great!” Lysandra exclaimed, unaware of Rowan’s churning thoughts, “You guys might get back together, Elide and Lorcan are getting their baby, and there are chicks and ducks in the world again!

They all looked towards the sound of a door opening to see Aelin emerge from her room.

“Good morning,” She smiled at them and ignored the pointed looks and wiggling eyebrows of her friends.

“Hey,” Rowan smiled at her.

She walked up to him and greeted him quietly, “Hey.”

“How’d you sleep?”

She smiled, “Good, you?”

He matched her grin, “Good.”

Fenrys snorted, “I bet you did!”

Aelin flipped him off, shooing him, Lysandra, and Aedion away. Once they’d left, Rowan cupped her face and swooped down to kiss her. It felt like coming home.

When they broke apart, they both wore soft smiles.

“Last night was wonderful,” Aelin told him, rubbing a hand down his arm.

“Yeah, it was.”

She kept her eyes on his as she told him, “I woke up today with the biggest smile on my face.”

He tried to keep the satisfaction off his face but failed and she huffed a laugh, rolling her eyes before softening her features again.

“I know, me too,” Rowan told her, moving one thumb to brush along her cheek. “It was...you know, it was like one of those things you think is never gonna happen, and then it does, and it's everything you want it to be.”

She nodded, “I know,” Aelin leaned up to press another soft kiss to his lips before pulling him into a hug to say into his ear, “it was just the perfect way to say goodbye.”

In that moment, at her words, Rowan felt like his heart shattered into a million little pieces.

***

The hospital room buzzed with excitement.

“It's just a little bit more, honey.” Elide held Asterin’s hand as the young woman pushed again.

She sobbed, more in frustration than anything else “Help me! This hurts!”

Lorcan stood a step back and asked, “Is it really that bad?”

Both women glared at him with a ferocity that made him want to be swallowed up by a hole in the ground.

“Yeah,” Asterin answered through gritted teeth, “I think it's time to kick you in the nuts and see which is worse!”

Elide sighed as she was reminded of the words Lorcan reluctantly relayed to her earlier. She looked back at him, “No tact.”

The doctor cleared his throat, drawing all their attention towards him, “The baby's head is crowning.”

“Oh my God!” Elide cried, walking around to see, “That is the most beautiful top of a head I have ever seen! Lorcan, you have to see this!”

Lorcan had never looked more uncomfortable. “I'm okay.”

Elide whirled on him, “Lorcan, you don't wanna miss this. This is the birth of your child!”

His child. The words rang through him and sparked some sense of resolve. He shook himself of his discomfort, outwardly at least, and stepped up behind Elide to see what she was seeing.

“Wow.” He murmured reverently, “Disgusting.”

Elide scoffed but Loracn gripped her shoulders and kissed her forehead.

“Here we go,” The doctor said, glancing back up at Asterin “Start pushing.”

A shill cry broke through the air and Elide and Lorcan watched as the doctor held up a beautiful little baby. When Elide ripped her eyes away from the infant as the nurses cleaned it, she looked up to find Lorcan already staring at her with tears in his eyes. They didn’t have to say anything, they both felt the same overwhelming sense of love.

“It’s a boy.” The doctor said, leaning back and adjusting his gloves.

“A...a boy!” Elide beamed at Lorcan as he stood open-mouthed before showing her the widest smile she’d ever seen on the man.

“A boy.” He breathed.

“Oh, you did it!” Elide went back to Asterin’s head and wiped the sweat from her forehead. She leaned closer to the girl and whispered, “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Asterin smiled at them both, “I'm really happy for you guys.”

“How do you feel?” Lorcan asked.

She sighed, “So tired.”

The doctor sat back into position, saying, “Well, you don't have that much time to relax. The other one will be along in a minute.”

The hand Lorcan had been rubbing down Elide’s back froze, as did both of their breathing as they slowly turned to face the doctor with eyebrows up to their hairlines.

“I’m sorry,” Elide said slowly, aware that Lorcan hadn’t resumed breathing yet, “who should be along in a what now?”

The doctor gave them a weird look, “The next baby should be along in a minute.”

“One.” Lorcan finally regained his ability to speak. “One baby. We signed up for one baby.”

“You know it's twins, right?” The doctor asked slowly

Elide laughed hysterically, “Oh, yeah! These are the faces of two people in the know!”

“I…” The doctor trailed off, “I can't believe you didn't know it's twins! This has never happened before.”

“Oh wow,” Loracn snorted incredulously, “That makes me feel so much better.” He ran an agitated hand through his hair.

“Wait,” Elide faced the doctor, “did you know it was twins?”

He nodded slowly, “Yeah, it's here in the paperwork we got from the clinic.”

Elide then spun around to Asterin, “Anybody tell you?”

Asterin furrowed her brows, “I don't think so. Not explicitly.” she insisted. “they did mention something about two heartbeats. But I thought that was just mine and the baby's. They kept saying both heartbeats are really strong, and I thought well, that's good 'cause I'm having a baby.”

Elide let out a shaky breath trying to wrap her mind around what was happening. “This is unbelievable.”

Lorcan gripped Elide’s arm and tugged into the corner of the room. “Can I see you for a second?”

Elide had never in her life seen Lorcan look more unsure of what to do. His hands were shaky as he gripped hers. “What do we do?”

She took a deep breath and looked directly into his eyes. “What do you mean what do we do?”

“Twins.” He stated urgently, “Twins!”

Seeing Lorcan so frazzled oddly calmed Elide down. “Lorcan, you’re panicking.”

“I sure as fuck am, join me!”

She cracked a half-smile, “Lorcan, take a breath, it’s going to be okay.”

“Elide, we are not ready to have two babies!” his eyes were still wide in shock and fear.

“That doesn’t matter!” she hissed, grabbing his arms and making him focus on her. “We have waited so long for this. I don't care if it's two babies. I don't care if it's three babies! We are taking them home because they are our children!”

Lorcan’s face softened and she watched as a steady resolve found its way across his face and through his body. They took a breath together and he pulled her into a hug and kissed her forehead gently. When he pulled away, he had a small smile reserved only for her. “Okay.”

“Okay,” she repeated, her arms still wrapped around him.

“Okay.”

“Okay!”

“Okay!” he laughed, and this time it wasn’t fear clouding the sound, but joy.

“It looks like we're about ready over here.” the doctor called, and Elide and Lorcan walked back towards Asterin.

When another cry sounded, the doctor lifted the second baby, declaring, “It’s a girl.”

“A girl?” Lorcan asked quietly, a smile growing.

“Indeed.” The doctor replied, passing her to be cleaned up.

Spinning towards Elide, Lorcan said excitedly, “Well now we have two different ones!” then he whirled back to the doctor and put on his stoniest glare, “And that's enough!”

***

Lysandra, Aedion, Fenrys, and Rowan sat in the coffee house, Cadre Coffee, as Rowan told them what Aelin had said earlier.

“And then she hugged me and said it was the perfect way to say goodbye.” Even repeating it now, felt like chewing on broken glass.

“What did you say?” Fenrys pried.

Rowan sputtered, “Nothing. What do you say to that?” What could he say to that?

“Rowan,” Lysandra pleaded, “you've got to tell her how you feel.”

“I can’t do that to her.” He sighed, defeated. “I can’t lay that on her right before she’s supposed to leave.”

“Rowan,” Aedion leaned forward, making sure he held the silver-haired man’s attention, “Aelin doesn't know that you wanna get back together. If she did, she might feel differently. She might not even go.”

“You really think so?” he asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.

Just then, Aelin breezed into the coffee shop.

“Hi, guys!” She waved before walking up the counter.

Rowan watched her a moment. “Alright, you know what? You're right. I should at least tell her how I feel.” He could do that. He had to do that.

"Rowan, wait!" Fenrys called from behind him.

Rowan spun around, "What?"

Fenrys grinned, "Can you get me a muffin?"

Rowan gave him a one-finger response and took a step towards Aelin.

“Aelin?” Nox, the barista who’d worked at the coffee house for as long as any of them could remember, got her attention.

“Yeah?”

“I know you’re leaving tonight, but I just have to tell you. I love you.”

Rowan stood frozen in place, mouth open, as he watched the scene unfold.

“I... I don't know if that changes your plans at all, but I thought you should know.” Nox nodded earnestly.

“Nox, Oh,” She placed a hand on his shoulder, “I love you too. Probably not in the same way, but I do. And, and when I'm in a café, having coffee, I'll think of you.” She kissed his cheek before waving towards the group and leaving the coffee house.

Rowan sat down, meeting the shocked gazes of his friends. “Oh, my gods!”

Lysandra snorted, “Unbelievable!”

"Hey," Fenrys leaned forward, "you know what might help?"

Rowan glared at him and scoffed, "I'm not getting you a muffin!"

***

“We're going to take Asterin to recovery now.” The nurse told Elide and Lorcan as they each held one of their babies.

“Oh wait,” Elide caught Asterin’s hand, “There's something that we want to tell you. We decided to name the girl-baby Asterin.”

She smiled, “Oh, that’s just like my name!”

Elide held in a laugh. It was clear Asterin was either still on some medications or just very, very tired.

“Okay,” the blonde woman said, “I'm gonna go and get some rest. I'm really glad I picked you guys. You're gonna make great parents. Even Lorcan.”

Despite his eye roll, Elide saw the pride and gratitude in Lorcan’s eyes.

“Bye, Asterin.” Elide called as she was pushed out of the delivery room.

“Bye.”

Moving closer to Lorcan, Elide cooed, “Oh look at all their teeny fingers and toes.”

“I know,” he smiled widely, making him look younger, “You ready to trade?”

“Okay!” They tried maneuvering a few different ways but eventually gave up. Switching babies when you only have two hands is not an easy feat. “Alright, let’s see…”

“Maybe later?” he suggested.

“Perfect.”

***

At Elide and Lorcan’s apartment, Lysandra found Fenrys hunched over the coffee table.

“Hey, what are you working on?” She asked, walking into the living room.

He grinned, “It’s a ‘Welcome Home’ sign for the baby.” He held up the large sign which read Welcome Home Baby in red paint beside a funky-shaped red blob.

“Uh,” Lysandra squinted, “Is that supposed to be the baby?”

Fenrys rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “No, I sat in the paint.”

She snorted just as Rowan walked in.

“Hey,” He nodded at them.

“Hey, so did you talk to Aelin?” Lysandra asked.

Rowan ran his hand through his hair and sighed, “No, and I'm not going to.”

“What?” Lysandra asked incredulously at the same time Fenrys jumped up and asked, “Why not?”

Rowan dropped into a seat at the kitchen table. “Because she's just going to shoot me down. You guys saw what happened with Nox.”

Lysandra scoffed and lightly hit him upside the head. “How can you compare yourself to Nox? I mean, sure, he's sexy in a more obvious way.” She smirked as Rowan glared. “You have a relationship with her, you slept together last night. For gods’ sake, you’re Rowan and Aelin! You’re Rowaelin!”

Rowan huffed, standing up, and told her harshly, “Yeah, and she still wants to go! It's pretty clear where her head is at.” He sighed, shoulders slumping. “Look, even if I were going to tell her, I don't have to do it now. Okay? I'll be seeing her again. We've got time.”

“Gods, Rowan!” Lysandra tried to make him see reason. “No, you don't! She's going to Paris! She is going to meet somebody. Do you know how many hot guys there are in Paris?”

The door opened before Rowan could get another word in and Aedion strode in carrying a rolled-up paper.

“Hey,” He said as he walked over to Lysandra to kiss her before setting the paper on the table.

“Hey, babe,” Lysandra smiled. “Whatcha got?”

“Oh,” Aedion brightened and unrolled the piece of paper. “I made a little something. If I had more time to work on it, it'd be better, but.” He shrugged, revealing a precisely drawn sign reading Welcome to the World, Baby Lochan.

“Damn, Ashryver,” Rowan nodded appreciatively “that’s really good.”

Fenrys scoffed, still standing next to his sign, and rolled his eyes, grumbling, “You know, the baby can't read, Aedion.”

Lysandra laughed as Aelin opened the door and strode in.

“Hi. You guys, my car just got here,” she said dejectedly. “I can't believe they're not home yet! I have to catch my stupid plane. I wanna see the baby!”

Fenrys spoke up, “Elide called a few minutes ago from the car. She said they should be here any minute. And apparently, there's some big surprise?”

As if on cue, Elide carefully pushed the door open and stepped inside carrying a small baby.

Aelin couldn’t hold in her gasp and none of them tried to hide the misting in their eyes.

“Oh, my gods!” Aelin beamed as she walked to Elide, resting a hand on her shoulder.

“Oh, El!” Lysandra gushed, rushing forward.

“So tiny,” Rowan murmured, coming up next to Elide as Fernys and Aedion joined the small group, too.

They turned as they heard another set of footsteps enter, turning to see Lorcan walk in carrying his own small bundle.

“Oh!”

“What the—”

“What?”

“Oh, my gods!”

“Holy sh—”

Five different exclamations happened simultaneously as all their eyes darted between the two babies.

Rowan shook himself and clasped Lorcan on the shoulder, “Okay, awkward question. The hospital knows you took two, right?”

Lorcan glared at Rowan but neither man could keep the grins off their faces as they looked down at the infants.

“Yes, Whitethorn, it’s twins.”

“They’re precious,” Lysandra cooed, making funny faces at the one in Elide’s arms. Aelin, having said hello to that baby, stepped next to Rowan to gaze down at the one Lorcan held.

“This is a boy,” Elide told them, gesturing to the one she held. “And that’s a girl,” she nodded to Lorcan’s.

“Her name is Asterin,” Lorcan told them, not looking away from his daughter’s face.

“Oh, hey, that pregnant lady’s name was Asterin.” Fenrys nodded.

Aedion snorted, “It’s a shame you two didn’t spend more time together.”

Aelin aww’d and patted Lorcan’s arm, the two of them sharing a rare, warm smile.

“The boy we named Cal, after my dad.”

“Oh, you guys,” Aelin whined, “I can't believe this. But I have to leave now, or I'm gonna miss my plane."

“I’m just so glad you got to meet them,” Elide said, watery, pulling Aelin into a hug.

“Me, too,” Aelin told her. “I'm just sorry I'm not gonna be around to watch you two attempt to handle this! Alright, I can't say goodbye to you guys again. I love you all so much.”

I love yous were exchanged and Aelin walked to the door.

“Rowan?” She caught his eye, “come here.”

He nodded and followed her into the hall, shutting the apartment door behind him.

“Rowan, I,” She paused, grabbing his hands and looking into his face with such genuine sadness it made his heart crack and made him want to pull her into his arms and not let go. She took a breath and continued, “I just want you to know, last night...I'll never forget it.”

He cleared his throat, willing the lump in it to disappear. “Neither will I.”

He cupped her cheek and she leaned into the touch. Aelin pulled him in for a hug, holding on tight. When she pulled away, Rowan used every ounce of strength to unwrap his arms from her body, to step away as she walked down the hall and away from him.

When Rowan walked back into the apartment, Lysandra sat next to him and asked, “So, you just let her go?”

Rowan couldn’t reply, he just replayed the last two days over in his head.

“Maybe that's for the best.” Fenrys chimed in, taking up the empty chair. “You know? You just... Look, you gotta... You gotta think about last night the way she does, okay? Maybe sleeping together was the perfect way to say goodbye?"

Lysandra groaned, “But now she'll never know how he feels!”

Aedion walked over and said not unkindly, “Maybe that's okay. You know? Maybe, maybe it’s better this way? I mean, now you can move on. I mean, you've been trying to for so long, maybe now that you're on different continents…”

They kept talking but all Rowan could hear was a buzzing in his head.

“I don’t want to move on.”

He said it quietly but they all stopped talking and looked at him.

“What?” Aedion asked, unsure he heard Rowan correctly.

“I don’t.” Rowan shook his head and stood up. “I want to be with her.”

“Really?” Fenrys asked, excitedly

“Of course really!” Lysandra answered for him.

Rowan kept nodding. “Yeah, I’m gonna go after her. I have to.”

“Yeah, you are!” Lorcan cheered from the living room. Rowan didn’t even have time to find his friend’s enthusiasm funny.

“Finally!” Elide added her own cheer, smiling between Rowan and the babies.

“Come on,” Lysandra urged, standing up and following Rowan to the door. “My car’s downstairs, I’ll drive you to the airport.”

“Okay!” Rowan faced his friends again, “wish me luck!”

A chorus of Good Lucks followed him out the door.

***

“Hey,” Fenrys called excitedly to Lorcan and Eide once Rowan and Lysandra had left, “can I give you guys your house-warming present now?”

The couple shared an amused look before Elide told him, “Now, that you can do.”

“Great! Hang on a minute.” Fenrys left their apartment to walk across the hall to his.

“Okay, my little feather babies where are you?” he muttered as he caught sight of the empty box he’d put them in earlier. “Oh shit.”

He hastily looked in the kitchen, living room, and bedrooms. “Chick Jr? Duck Jr?” he called, running a hand through his hair anxiously. “Don’t hide from mama!”

***

“Lysandra, slow down!” Rowan urged as they almost took out a bicyclist.

She rolled her eyes, “Do you wanna get to Aelin in time?

“Of course I do, but I want to be alive to do it.”

Lysandra huffed at his dramatics but eased up on the gas. Slightly.

Finally arriving at the airport, Rowan and Lysandra rushed past the hoards of people, trying to maneuver their way towards Aelin.

“Rowan!” Lysandra called as he made to run down the hallway. “Where are you going?”

“To talk to Aelin.” Obviously.

“What?” She grabbed his arm, pulling him towards the ticket counter. “What, are you just gonna walk up to her at the gate? Have you never chased anyone through the airport before?”

“Not since the last time I chased the love of my life—no I haven’t Lys!”

She rolled her eyes as she kept dragging him away from the terminals. “You have to get a ticket to get past security, Idiot.”

Oh, right.

“Shit, we’re never gonna make it.” he hissed as they got caught behind the human embodiments of snails on their way to the counter.

***

“Miss, your boarding pass, please.” The gate attendant asked Aelin as she approached.

“Right, of course.” She dug through her purse then frowned, not seeing it. Flashing an apologetic smile to the people behind her, she took her purse off her shoulder and rummaged through it frantically. “Shit, shit, shit.”

The attendant cleared his throat. “Your boarding pass.”

Internally cringing, she put on her most charming smile. “You know, I had it,” she forced a chuckle, “Oh, you wouldn’t believe this—”

He looked unimpressed. “Miss, if you don't have your boarding pass—”

“I have it, I have it! Okay, I don’t have it, but I remember that I was in seat 32C,” she leaned in closer and winked, “because that’s my bra size.”

He sighed again. “Miss, you must have your boarding pass.”

Aelin huffed and stepped out of the line. “Okay, fine! But you know what? If I was in 36D, we would not be having this problem.”

Muttering to herself, Aelin scoured all her bags, finally brandishing the ticket and rushing back to the counter. “Here it is!”

***

Finally getting up to the ticket counter, Rowan slammed down his wallet, demanding, “I need a ticket.”

Lysandra pouted. “Just one? I drive you all the way down here, and I don't get to see how it works out?”

“Fine, fine,” he corrected irritatedly, “two tickets, I need two tickets.”

Lysandra sighed dramatically and leaned into Rowan, giving him her most overexaggerated doe-eyes. “We're on our honeymoon” she stage-whispered to the woman behind the computer.

The ticket agent merely raised a manicured brow and asked, “Destination?”

Rowan already had his credit card ready, “whatever’s cheapest.”

Lysandra sighed again, “I’m so lucky.”

Rowan leveled a glare at her and she tried not to laugh.

Once inside the terminal, Rowan sprinted toward the first departure timetable he could find. “Okay, flight 421 to Paris. I don't see it, do you see it?”

Lysandra stood next to him, eyes scanning the board. “No, did we miss it?”

“No, no, no. That's impossible,” Rowan told her. “It doesn't leave for another 20 minutes.”

“Maybe we have the flight number wrong? Hang on, let me call Elide.”

She stepped aside, impatiently waiting for Elide to pick up her phone.

“Hello?” the new mom answered.

“Hey! It’s me. Here’s Rowan.” Then she thrust the phone into Rowan’s hand.

“Elide, do you—”

“Oh, my gods, Rowan, wait until you hear the cute little noises the twins are making. Listen.”

“What? No, Elide.” Rowan cursed as he heard unintelligible baby sounds. “Elide, Elide, Elide, Elide—”

“Oh sorry,” she said, “They were doing it before.”

“Elide! Listen, please. I need Aelin’s flight information.”

“Oh, sure, hang on.” he could hear ruffling paper as he paced back and forth. “Here it is, it's flight 421. Leaves at 8:40.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought, its not on the board.

“Flight 421,” Elide repeated, “leaves at 8:40, Newark airport.”

Rowan froze, his heart sinking. “What?”

“Newark airport.” Elide gasped. “Where are you?”

But she already knew the answer.

“JFK.” he breathed, utterly defeated.

***

If Rowan wasn’t so upset, he would be fearing for his life as Lysandra sped through the streets at breakneck speed.

“Lysandra, forget it, okay? Newark is like an hour away. There's no way we're gonna make it in time.”

“She’s got her phone,” Lysandra braved a glance at him, narrowly avoiding another car, "you could call her.”

Rowan scoffed, “I am not doing this over the phone.”

“You don’t have any other choice!” She insisted before reaching for her own phone and calling Aelin.

It rang once. Twice.

“Hello? Lys?” Aelin’s voice rings out from the speaker and it was like a tether Rowan desperately wanted to hold onto.

“Aelin?” Lysandra answered, relieved. “oh, good. Hey, by the way, did you just get on the plane?”

“Yeah, I did.”

Leaning over, Lysandra hissed, “For what it's worth, we would have caught her if we were at the right airport.”

“Fan-fucking-tastic.” Rowan sniped.

“Uh, Ae, hang on,” she tried pushing the phone into Rowan’s hand but he adamantly refused to do this without being able to look Aelin in the eye.

“Lys? Is everything okay?” Aelin asked, worriedly.

Glaring at Rowan, Lysandra struggled to find a reason for calling. “Uhm, actually no. No, you've...you have to get off the plane.”

“What? Why?” Aelin sounded bewildered.

“I just,” Lysandra sighed, shooting another glare at Rowan, “I have this feeling that something's wrong with it. Something is wrong with the, uh,” she paused again before snapping her fingers and declaring, “with the left phalange.”

“Lys, babe, I'm sure there's nothing wrong with the plane. Look, I have to go. I love you, and I will call you the minute I get to Paris.”

***

On the plane, Aelin hung up the phone only to feel the man beside her tap insistently on her shoulder.

“What was that?” he asked, looking anxious.

“Oh,” Aelin waved a hand dismissively, “that was just my friend. She told me I should get off the plane because she had a feeling that there was something wrong with the left phalange.” She chuckled, sure it was just Lysandra’s way of finding an excuse to talk to her again before the flight took off.

But the man started to fidget. “Okay, that doesn't sound good.”

“I wouldn't worry about it.” Aelin again waved him off, “She's always coming up with stuff like this, and you know what? She's almost never right.”

“But she is sometimes?”

“Well…” Aelin trailed off, thinking about all the things Lysandra has had an intuition about.

Her hesitation was apparently enough to send her seatmate into a tail-spin because he instantly got up and tried to grab his suitcase, only for the flight attendant to stop him.

“Excuse me, sir, where are you going?” The woman asked, curtly.

“I have to get off this plane, okay?” he insisted, then gestured towards a wide-eyed Aelin. “Her friend has a feeling something's wrong with the left phalange.”

He said it loud enough that other passengers began to panic, while Aelin sheepishly shrugged at the annoyed flight attendant.

“There is nothing wrong with the plane, sir.”

He finally got his bag down and cried, “The left phalange!”

The attendant looked incredulously between the man and Aelin, “There is no phalange.”

“Oh my God. This plane doesn't even have a phalange!”

Aelin watched, wincing, as more passengers overheard and insisted they, too, get off the plane. Person after person marched out the aisle and soon Aelin loosed a long breath, “This is ridiculous,” she watched another two people leave. “Yeah, okay.”

Grabbing her own bag, she followed the crowd off the plane.

***

Rowan doubted he’d ever felt as frantic or desperate as he did right now.

He and Lysandra finally made it to Newark, bought another ticket, and raced to Aelin’s gate.

“Where is she?” He muttered, almost pulling out his hair with how forcefully he raked his hands through it.

“I don't see her,” Lysandra answered.

“Aelin!” Rowan shouted, not caring about the stares he garnered. “Aelin Galthynius!”

“Oh!” Lysandra gasped, pointing towards a crowd, “There she is!”

“Aelin!” He yelled again, pushing past people as he tried to run onto the boarding gate.

“Woah,” the gate attendant stopped Rowan, “excuse me, sir, do you have a boarding pass?”

“I just need to talk to someone,” he pleaded.

“I’m sorry, you cannot go any further without a boarding pass.”

“Gods, please, I just need—”

“AELIN!” Lysandra shrieked, getting everyone’s attention including a specific blonde who rushed back out the gate and stood gaping at Lysandra and Rowan.

“Oh my gods,” she looked back and forth between the two before her gaze locked and held with Rowan’s as she breathed, “What—what are you guys doing here?”

“All you,” Lysandra nudged Rowan then made herself scarce

“What? What is it?” Aelin demanded, pulling Rowan aside, “Rowan, you're scaring me. What's going on?”

“Aelin,” Rowan didn’t know where to start. “Okay, the thing is,” he trailed off again. How could he tell that he loved her? How could he wrap up ten years—more than that—of falling in love with her, even at times when he didn’t know it. How could he explain that to her?

“Rowan?”

He took a deep breath. “Don’t go.”

“What?” Aelin asked, shocked.

“Aelin, please, don’t leave. I am so gods damn in love with you. Please, don’t go.”

Aelin stood open-mouthed, her eyes shimmering with an emotion he didn’t dare name. “Oh, my gods.”

He groaned, “I know, I know. I’m an idiot and a bastard, and any other name you want to call me. I shouldn't have waited until now to say it, Hellas, I shouldn’t have waited until now to realize it, but,” he shook his head, locking his gaze with hers. “That was stupid, okay? I'm sorry, I’m so sorry, but I'm telling you now. I love you. I’m in love with you. Please, do not get on this plane.”

“Miss?” a throat cleared behind them, making Aelin blink and drag her watery eyes away from his. “Are you boarding the plane?”

“Aelin,” Rowan took her hand, urging her to stay, “Aelin, please. I know you love me, too. I know you do. Don’t go. Stay.”

“I,” Aelin looked between Rowan and the gate attendant with shock and regret etched across her face. “I have to get the plane,” she whispered.

“No, you don’t.” Rowan held tightly to her hand.

“Yes, I do.” despite her protests, she didn’t pull her hand away.

“No,” Rowan stepped closer, cupping her cheek and reveling in the fact that she leaned into his touch. “You don’t.”

“Rowan,” her words barely louder than a breath, “They're waiting for me, I can't do this right now, I'm sorry. I'm sorry.”

He couldn’t understand what was happening. Rowan couldn’t accept that she was walking away.

“Aelin.” he pleaded, one final time.

She took a shuddering breath. “I’m so sorry.”

Rowan stood unmoving, felt his breathing freeze and his heart cease beating if just for a moment as he watched Aelin walk away from him and board the plane.

He wasn’t aware of people moving around him or of Lysandra coming to stand next to him before pulling him into a hug murmuring I’m sorry. He wasn’t aware of his surroundings as he walked towards Lysandra’s car or his walk back to his apartment. All he knew was that he’d just watched the love of his life walk away and there would soon be an ocean between them.

***

Lorcan sealed the last box of his and Elide’s things.

“Wow,” Elide sighed, looking around the bare apartment. “Everything’s packed.”

“It’s weird,” Lorcan replied, looking around the space he and their friends had occupied for so many years.

“I know.” She stood on her toes and he leaned down to meet her for a kiss.

“So, uh,” Fenrys spoke up from the kitchen, “does this mean there's nothing to eat?”

Elide snorted while Lorcam tried his best to reign in his smirk. Turning, Elide told him, “I put three lasagnas in your freezer.”

He beamed, “I love you!”

She chuckled as the door opened and Lysandra walked in.

“How’d it go?” Elide asked

“So did you guys make it in time?” Aedion spoke at the same time from his place against the fridge.

“Yeah,” Lysandra sighed, “Yeah, he talked to her, but she got on the plane anyway.”

“Where’s Rowan?” Lorcan asked her, knowing Rowan would be hiding away, brooding.

“He went home,” Lysandra frowned and leaned into Aedion’s embrace. “He didn't want to see anybody.”

***

Sitting on his couch, Rowan noticed his answering machine beeping. More out of muscle memory than an actual urge to listen, he pressed the button.

“Rowan, It’s me.”

Rowan jolted, a mess of emotion flying through him as he listened to Aelin's voice filter through his machine.

“I just got back on the plane. I feel awful. Gods, Rowan, that was so not how I wanted things to end with us.”

End. Rowan braced himself, he had to get through this message.

“It's just that I wasn't expecting to see you, and all of a sudden you're there and saying these things...and now I’m sitting here thinking of everything I should’ve said that I didn’t.”

Rowan heard her take a shuddering breath.

“I didn't even get to tell you that I love you too.”

His breath caught, and hope filled him for the first time since he’d been standing in front of her.

“Because of course, I do. I love you. I love you. Gods, Rowan, I love you.”

He held his breath, he almost couldn’t wrap his brain around what he was hearing, what he’d longed to hear.

“What am I doing? I love you! I need to get off this plane—”

“Oh my gods,” Rowan listened, wide-eyed as he heard Aelin argue with a flight attendant.

“Excuse me? I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, but I need to get off this plane, okay? I need to tell Rowan I love him.”

“Miss, can't let you off the plane.”

“Let her off the plane!” Rowan screamed at his machine.

“Oh, please, you don’t understand. Isn’t there any way you can just let me off—”

Beeeeep.

The message ended and Rowan was left sitting on the edge of his sofa staring disbelievingly at his answering machine.

“No!” He jumped up, carding a hand through his hair, “No! Aelin! Oh, my gods, did she get off the plane?”

“I got off the plane.”

Rowan whirled around so fast he thought his neck might snap. Aelin stood in his doorway, suitcase in hand, staring at him with a watery smile and eyes that blazed with surety.

“You got off the plane.” Rowan breathed and strode towards her, holding her face in his hands as she grabbed his arms, each clinging to the other, not able to let the other go.

Rowan wasn’t sure who moved first, but the next moment he was kissing Aelin, It was as if all the years of pining, love, heartbreak, and friendship, barreled through them and into a kiss full of promise. All the mistakes of the past, all the time wasted, was over. Now, they could finally be Rowan and Aelin. Finally.

When they pulled apart, still unable to let the other go, Aelin leaned her forehead against his and told him, “I do. I do love you.”

Rowan brushed a tear from her cheek and smiled down with all the warmth he could gather. “I love you too, Fireheart. And I’m never letting you go, again.”

“Good," She nodded, gripping him tighter, “because this is where I want to be, okay? With you. Always with you. No more messing around.”

“That’s right,” he agreed, “we’re done being stupid.”

Aelin kissed him again. “You and me, alright?” She looked him in the eye and saw everything she felt mirrored there. “To whatever end.”

“This is it. To whatever end” He echoed, pulling her in for another kiss.

***

The seven of them stood in the now-empty living room of Elide and Lorcan’s apartment. The new parents each held a baby, Fenrys sat with Lysandra and Aedion near the large window, and Aelin leaned into Rowan who had his arms wrapped around her as they stood to the side.

“Wow,” Aelin murmured, looking around the bare space.

“I know,” Rowan said into her hair, “It seems smaller somehow.”

Fenrys glanced at the walls a minute before asking, “Has it always been purple?” His answer consisted of several snorts.

Lorcan and Elide strapped Asterin and Cal into their stroller. Elide sniffed, facing everyone else, “Oh, uh, I promised the landlord we’d leave our keys.”

She said it to Lorcan, but each of them walked toward the counter to place their own keys. Elide laughed, looking at seven pairs of keys to a two-person apartment.

“I guess this is it,” Lysandra commented mournfully.

“Yeah,” Aedion wrapped an arm around her shoulders, “I guess so.”

At Elide’s sniffle, Lorcan pulled her into his arms. Through the fabric of his shirt, they could hear her say, “This is harder than I thought it would be.”

Gathering herself, Elide unwrapped her arms from Lorcan’s middle before turning to hug Aelin who’d come to stand next to her.

“Do you guys have to go to the new house right away?” Aelin asked, “Or do you have some time?”

“We have some time.”

“Okay,” Rowan grabbed Aelin’s hand, “should we get some coffee?”

“Sure,” Fenrys smirked. “Where?”

They all laughed as they walked out of the apartment that had become so important to each one of them. Aedion helped Lorcan carry the double stroller down the stairs, followed closely by Elide. Lysandra and Fenrys were bickering, but smiling as they walked. And Rowan and Aelin had their arms wrapped around each other, not daring or wanting to let the other one go. They shared a smile, and with one last glance at the closed apartment door, they left.

*****

Taglist:

@acourtofsnakes @allthebooksunderthemoon @astra-ad-mare @becarefuloflove @bisexual-genderfluid-loki @booklover41802 @charlizeed @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @danibutterr @doubt-less @emily-gsh @enormousbooklover @foughtconquered @fromthelibraryofemilyj @hakunamatatazz @i-have-but-one-brain-cell @in-love-with-caramel-macchiato @jorjy-jo @lemonade-coolattas @mariamuses @mayhemories @midsizewitch @miserablesmusings @morganofthewildfire @nehemikkele @rowaelinismyotp @rowansfirebringer @sayosdreams @sheharahu @sleeping-and-books @stardelia @story-scribbler @superspiritfestival @surielandiareendgame @swankii-art-teacher @tomtenadia @westofmoon @whimsicallyreading @moodymelanist @angelic-voice-1997 @realbookloverproblems @gracie-rosee @julemmaes @yesdreamblog @the-regal-warrior @rowanaelinn @thestoriesyoutell @autumnbabylon @sunflowermoonshinewrites @maastrash

[idontblushsrry]

SFW Alphabet|| Megumi Fushiguro

A/N: Uhhhh I’m back on my bullshit >:) it’s missing Fushiguro hours folks.

Word Count: 2050

A: Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

(If you want some more in depth affection headcanons click here)

Fushiguro is someone who isn’t big on pda but makes up for it in private. In public, he’ll hold your hand but in private he’s laying i your lap while you massage his scalp. Basically, he’s a big softie that just represses his urge to cuddle until he’s alone with you.

B: Best Friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Best friend Megumi is literally the president of the Y/N defense squad. If anyone has a problem with you, they have a problem with him. Of course, you have to rein him in sometimes and remind him you can fight your own battles, but just know he’s lookin out for you.

C: Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Fushiguro loves to cuddle, but he will repress the urge to do so for as long as possible. Because of that, he doesn’t let you go, preferring to cling to you throughout the night. His cuddles are always deceptively loose too. His arms give you just enough wiggle room but the second you try to get up, it’s like fighting two pythons.

D: Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

I don’t think he ever really planned on settling down, Megumi figured that he’d die long before he ever got the chance to settle down. Everyday is pretty much a new experience in terms of domesticity for him, he doesn’t have plans for the future, but as long as you’re with him, he’ll be happy.

E: Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

If he ever had to break up with someone, he’d probably ask for help on how to do so. The first person he’d ask (regrettably) would be Gojo who’d tell Megumi to just ghost the person. After asking around some more, he figured Kugisaki’s approach of getting it over with as bluntly as possible (although less mean) was the best option.

F: Fiance(e) (How would they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Megumi isn’t really the type for wedding ceremonies. He’s all about commitment (even though working up to marriage for him is longer than most) but he’s not a fan of being the center of attention, so a wedding ceremony/reception wouldn’t be his thing. If you wanted a ceremony, he’d be willing to compromise somewhat but otherwise, he’s perfectly fine with just going to the courthouse.

G: Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

He’s kind of rough around the edges. In private, he can be the sweetest, most tender soul, but in public he’ll put 7 yards of distance between you both if you try to hug him. Basically, he’s very shy, so anything that’ll draw too much attention is a no go (he isn’t opposed to linking pinkies though).

H: Hugs( Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?

At first Megumi really only hugged you when he was missing you, sad, or tired. Over time though, he got better at becoming more open with his affection and he’ll hug you whenever he feels the urge to. Despite that though, his hugs still have an undercurrent of desperation in them. He holds on just as tight each time like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

I: I love you (How fast do they say the L-word)

He’s operating on a very strict ‘If you don’t say it, I won’t’ policy and as such this man will not say a single thing to you unless prompted. He knows deep down that he loves you and that you set off butterflies in his stomach every time you smile, but he never really thought to verbalize that until you say ‘I love you’ first.

J: Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous)

Megumi doesn’t get jealous, he’s fought side by side with you and he knows you’re more than capable of fending off any unwanted suitors. Megumi put a lot of trust into you by already being in a relationship so to him, it makes no sense to be jealous over you. That all being said, he’s not above the occasional side eye if someone’s getting a little too buddy buddy.

K: Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

On a normal day, his kisses are so natural, he’s so slow and the pressure is just enough to have you thinking you’ve got all the time in the world. In near death/ post-near death circumstances, he’s a little more feral. When he kisses you like that, it feels like it’s the end of the world and he’s trying to make the most of it.

L: Little ones (How are they around children)

Fushiguro isn’t good with kids that aren’t old enough to communicate. Older kids are fine with him, but guessing what a baby needs based on how loud it’s crying? Hard pass for him and he doesn’t even feel bad about it. The last time he had to watch a baby, he tried to leave one of his shikigami to watch it; long  story short, he had to explain to a cackling Gojo why his demon dogs wouldn’t let him leave to go to the bathroom.

M: Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Mornings with Fushiguro are pretty rare. Most of the time you guys don’t really get to sleep in or even spend mornings together since most of the time there’s missions or trainings you’ll have to go to. When you do get the rare morning off, Fushiguro makes the most of it. He sleeps in and doesn’t wake up before 10 no matter what you try. When he does finally wake up, he loves cooking breakfast with you, he’s not the best cook, but he treasures the experience over anything.

N: Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Nights with Megumi are also rare as most curses come out at night and that’s kinda your guys’ job. If all goes well though, you’ll both come back a little earlier and just go straight to sleep. If it’s a late night where the curse took more out of either of you than expected, yall usually stay up and talk and snack until one of you falls asleep or the sun comes up.

O: Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

It takes him an extremely long time to open up to you about his past. Not because he doesn’t trust you, but because he’s embarrassed and doesn’t want you to think less of him for it (especially during his problem child era). To be honest, you probably find out about certain things from other people. Once he’s cornered confronted, he’ll be completely (albeit a bit grudgingly) honest about it.

P: Patience (How easily angered are they?)

His anger is kind of weird, whereas before, he was a lot quicker to explode, bluntly telling off or even fighting whoever pissed him off, he’s changed. He tries his best to repress his emotions and as such, he comes off as patient, never expressing his true feelings/desires until pushed to the brink. 

Q: Quizzes (How much would they remember about you?  Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

He’s the king of remembering details you mention in passing. His love language is partially acts of service so for him, remembering details about you helps him later. Oh remember that one time you needed a pen/pencil but didn’t have one? Never again, this man has a section of his shadows dedicated solely to pencils because of you. Oh what’s that, you like this random song? Guess what just got added to the playlist he made for you. Basically, while he may not look like it, he’s actually a simp and so if he can make your life easier/ make you happy, it’s worth it.

R: Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

So Megumi is someone who doesn’t play video games but is really good at them for no reason. One day, you’re playing a game of smash bros. and he’s just kicking your ass, like it was sad. Needless to say, after his 4th win, he “accidently” pressed the wrong button and let you win. He thinks you don’t know he did this but when you won, you kissed him and completely flustered him, to the point that he couldn’t play for a solid 5 minutes. 

S: Security (How protective are they? How would they like to be protected?)

Despite knowing and trusting that you can defend yourself, he’s still super protective of you. You’re one of the few people that he cares about in the world and he’d give everything to see you safe and protected. As for how he’d like to be protected, knock some sense into him every once in a while. He has a habit of self sacrificing so if you want to protect him, remind him that you want to keep him alive as much as he wants to keep you alive.

T: Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

On the outside, his dates are very simple. They usually consist of you and him either staying in or just hanging out at stores and the like. Every once in a while, he’ll try to take you somewhere special, like a cove he found or a festival. For most people, these may be simple dates, but Fushiguro puts so much effort into so may aspects of your dates that honestly, anything bigger would lose the personal touch your dates have.

U: Ugly (What are some bad habits of theirs? (I’m gonna add arguments here because they aren’t on the prompt list I found))

One of his worst habits is his self-sacrificing tendencies. Even during a baseball game, he can’t help but sacrifice himself (especially if it means his friends/ you get to get the glory). With time though, he grows out of this and realizes it’s not selfish to want the best for yourself.

V: Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

He’s giving “I woke up like this” and it’s... it’s something. One might think the style is intentional since obviously, the look could only be achieved with gel, and to an extent, it is intentional. He might use gel to spike it a little more but the man legit rolls out of bed and chooses to leave his hair up like that.

W: Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

No, as much as he loves you, Fushiguro is an introvert. He needs time to just be by himself and unwind every once in a while, so he’s got no complaints if you leave him to his own devices or have to be gone for a long time.

X: (E)xes (Any previous relationship experience. How does that factor into your current relationship?)

Megumi has negative zero relationship experience. He’s never found someone that was worth the risk/ worth opening up to, hell, he just barely got friends when he entered high school. Because of this, every part of your relationship is like navigating uncharted waters.

Y: Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner)

He’s less someone to dislike a specific thing/ personality trait, and more someone who doesn’t like different people for different reasons, ex. Todo and Mai. If he had to pick a single trait, it’d probably have to be hypocriticism.

Z: Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

He is someone who will fall asleep spread eagle one night and the next be huddled into a tiny little section of the bed. Mercy on you if you try to cuddle because now you’re wrapped up into his unconscious acrobatic routine.

[secretlysheikah]

Discovering Hyrule

So just what was Hyrule like when the chain stumbled upon him in his natural habitat? Well read and find out. Did someone ask for bad ass Hyrule? No? Well too bad you’re getting it today. 

I like to dedicate this to the lovely @vengeful-sock for always being there for me and always being willing to listen to my rambles.  

Don’t wanna read it here? OKAY! Check it out here on Ao3 Please enjoy my take on our most precious of beans:

Start Here: They stuck out like a sore thumb, Link thought to himself as he watched the three men walk through town. They were dressed strangely and they were all together too clean, making them completely at odds with the town they strolled through. One was tall with odd markings on his face and wore very nice and shiny armor. The other who was slightly shorter sported what looked like a rather nice animal pelt around his shoulders. The last, well that white cape would have drawn anyone’s eye but the large gem that clasped the cape around his neck certainly wasn’t helping. 

They were already drawing the eyes of the hardened townsfolk and Link could see the avarice that burned like coals deep in their eyes. The three men didn’t seem to notice however and simply continued to go about their day. They simply talked amongst themselves in hushed tones and went about buying potions and other supplies that hinted at adventure, completely oblivious or maybe indifferent to the various gazes that clung to their backs. Link kept his eye on the group too, though it was more out of curiosity and concern rather than greed. They were certainly odd characters to be sure. His guess was that they were some kind of nobility playing at being adventurers, though he had never seen them whenever he would visit Zelda. He supposed it wasn’t out of the question that they came from a neighboring Kingdom but he had his doubts.    

Link tugged the hood of his cloak over his face and sipped at a bowl of thin broth and half wilted vegetables he cradled in his hands as they passed by. They were muttering something about finding the hero of this land and he smirked. He must be quite popular if nobles from other Kingdoms were looking for him. He took another long sip from his bowl, too bad they wouldn’t find him. He was quite adept at avoiding unwanted attention especially from a group of odd men looking to find him. If he could hide from monsters that called for his blood, and the various thugs that wanted his head as a trophy these guys were shit out of luck. He felt a twinge of apprehension pinch at his gut at the idea of just avoiding the group all together however. The whole situation was odd and he didn’t care for it one bit, but he had to admit he was curious.

He blinked away the steam from his eyes and slurped the rest of the thin soup down before he stowed the bowl away in his pack and dropped a few rupees on the merchant’s cart. Then he was away, following the three hopeless men at a distance. As much as he wanted to leave them to their own devices, he knew he would feel terrible if he heard that anything happened to them. He didn’t know why, it wasn’t like they were his responsibility but still the feeling clung to him. 

‘What if they need my help?’ He thought to himself as he kept his eyes down as he walked. He slowed his pace just a smidge, making sure he blended in with the half starved and filthy townsfolk that bustled about their day, unwilling to call attention to himself just yet. Even though he had just got into town he was already ready to leave, in fact he was on his way out of town when he had spotted the strange men walking down the lane. He had to admit that when he saw them his curiosity had been peaked, and it appeared he hadn’t been the only one. As he meandered along he noticed that it wasn’t just him that was following the group. A quick glance to the side granted him the sight of one of Brutus’s boys following at a pace on the other side of the lane. He looked casual enough, but Link could tell what he was up to. 

He tugged on the edge of his hood, making sure it was well and truly covering his face as he quickened his steps. The group was still dawdling around the different street vendors and he noted how they seemed to have bottomless rupee bags. He grimaced at them, were they just clueless or were they stupid? Could they not notice the eyes on them?

“Stupid nobles,” Link grumbled to himself, they were going to get themselves mugged at this rate and he severely doubted they knew how to even use those swords they had strapped to their backs. 

Link watched as they were in the process of putting away some fresh bread they had just bought when he spotted the rest of the local thugs. Just ahead of the group there were two other men, both with their heads down and hulking and all together not the people he wanted to see. They were a part of Brutus’s crew alright, if the dull red cloaks they wore were any indication of their alliance.

The way they were standing shoulder to shoulder, blocking the way of the odd group only meant one thing. Any doubt he might have had about what the men had planned was erased when out of the corner of his eye he watched as the other man quickly crossed the lane and grabbed the man in with the white cape. In a blink all three men were bundled into the alley way just past a clothing stall. Link let out a small curse and jogged forwards to the mouth of the alley way with renewed urgency. 

“What is this all about?” Link heard the man with the fancy armor ask as he rounded the opening of the alleyway. The tone of voice commanded respect, though it didn’t seem to faze the three brutes. Still Link was taken aback. The voice hadn’t been haughty, but instead firm and rough like he was used to ordering around a band of rowdy soldiers. The command hung in his chest like a weight and it wasn’t even leveled at him. He blinked in surprise, he had not expected that sort of militaristic tone to come from a noble, so maybe this ‘noble’ was in fact a soldier? A warrior perhaps? Either way it was clear he was clueless of the situation he found himself in. 

Link was about to call out when one of the more burly of the muggers laughed and drew a blade. Before any of them could react he slammed the man in the fur pelt against the wall of the alley and pressed the edge of the knife into the soft flesh of his throat. Blood trickled ever so slightly from the place where the knife sat and it felt like the world was holding its breath. This was not good. 

“That’s a nice fur you got there, I think it would suit me nicely,” The brute said blatantly ignoring the other man’s question as he eyed the pelt on the man’s back. The man in question bared his teeth like a beast but the hulking thug just smiled and dug the knife just a touch deeper into his throat.

“None of you move or I’ll have Garret here slice his throat,” the cloaked figure that grasped the man in the white cape said and Link could tell he was grinning under the hood. The other two travelers nodded quickly and raised their hands so they were in plain view. 

“So what, you just want our stuff?” The man pressed against the wall asked with an incredulous laugh and Link noticed the way all three of the odd travelers looked at each other. They seemed confused, and maybe a bit relieved? But that didn’t make any sense. Link felt his confusion building to a fevered pitch and before he could stop himself he found himself responding to the man’s question himself. 

“I thought that was fairly obvious,” Link said quietly and was rewarded with six sets of eyes looking at him. He shifted uncomfortably under the weight of their stares and grasped the handle of his sword just a bit tighter. He let out a light cough and straightened before he addressed the group at large.

“Hello there, I’ll give you a few seconds to get that knife away from his throat. If you’re quick about it I may even let you keep your dignity,” Link said cheerily from beneath his hood, shifting slightly so that his smile flashed from it’s depths. There was a pause, where no one seemed to know what to do and Link waited. He watched as it seemed his words finally broke through the surprise of the pseudo leader of the muggers as he finally turned to face him fully.

“Oh, it’s you,” The man sneered and Link offered him a small wave. 

“You are correct, now, please let them be on their way,” He said and frowned when the three men began to laugh loudly. Link pursed his lips and nodded, letting his hand fall away from his sword and joining in with the laughter. He quickly scanned the faces of the three travelers, letting his eyes meet with the taller traveler before he gave a curt nod. 

“And what makes you think we have to do a damn thing you say? Now get out of here now and maybe we won’t tell Brutus that you snuck back into town,” He said and Link felt his heart race in anticipation. He watched as the taller man shifted ever so slightly so he was closer to the knife wielding mugger. 

“So does this mean you’re not going to let them go?” He asked and was answered by more derisive laughter. 

“So be it,” Link muttered and in one smooth motion he dashed forwards quicker than blinking and reached up, grabbing the man’s wrist who was holding the knife and twisted. The knife fell to the ground with a clatter and the brute let out a yelp of pain, then all Hell broke loose. 

As soon as the knife had been dropped, the man who had been pinned to the wall lunged forwards like a wild animal and tackled the person holding on to the man in the white cape. Link felt an arm snake around his neck and he was hauled backwards off his feet. His hands flew up to the arm that was now choking off his airway and he grunted. He tried to bring up his legs and kick off the wall but the thug must have stepped back because he felt nothing but air.  

The man holding him only managed a couple steps backwards when he was stopped by the taller man with the shiny armor. Link watched out of the corner of his eye as the traveler grabbed the arm that was compressing his airway and pulled it away causing him to drop to the ground. Link sucked in a grateful breath before he got swiftly to his feet again and scanned the alley for the last man but he was nowhere to be seen. That would be a problem. He didn’t dwell on it too long before he spun around hands raised and magic flaring to face the others and saw that the remaining men had already been taken care of. The scuffle had barely lasted a minute, which he had to admit was impressive. He had not expected them to hold their own so well. He blinked, letting his hands fall to his sides as he looked at each of the odd travelers in turn. They all looked okay for the most part besides some bruises and the one slice on the feral man’s throat. 

“Who are you people? There’s no way you’re from around here and I doubt you’re nobility from a surrounding Kingdom,” He asked quickly as he moved forwards and began unclasping the cloaks from around the unconscious men on the ground. 

“Nobility?” The one with the fur pelt choked out and Link watched as he smacked the man with the armor on the arm. The man with the armor let out a deep laugh of his own and Link felt like he was being made fun of. He pointedly ignored them and turned back to the task at hand. 

He had a hard time getting the cloak off one of the downed men and he shot a look up to the man with the white cape and gestured for him to help. He seemed to know what Link wanted and he hurried forward and helped pull the cloaks free from both of the unconscious thugs.

“Uh we are, well it’s sort of a long story,” The man in the white cape said and offered him a small smile. Link eyed him up and down and threw the cloak at him.

“Put this on,” he said quickly before he turned to the other man with the fancy armor and repeated the action. 

“You too, you guys stick out like a sore thumb.” He said as he dusted the dirt off his pants and eyed the last man. Blood was collecting around his collar, and he seemed a bit pale around the eyes, though he was putting in a good effort at hiding his discomfort. Link moved forward and grabbed at his water skin and handed it over to him. 

“Are you alright? You look a little pale,” Link asked as he moved a bit closer to get a better look at the cut on his throat. 

“I’ll be alright, thank you for the assist,” He said in between gulps of water. Link nodded towards him and turned to face the others. 

“Quickly now, explain,” He snapped and waited impatiently for the answer. 

“Quick answer is that we are the Heroes of Hyrule from the past and future on a mission from Hylia. We don’t know exactly what the mission is yet but we assume, at this moment we are looking for the hero of this era, or at least that is what the sword on Sky’s back says.” The man with the odd markings said quickly as he pulled the hood over his head and crossed his arms. Link didn’t know what to say to that information, and honestly he was not expecting that whopper of a tale. 

They were looking for the hero, to join a quest that they didn’t even know all the details for? Why? His mind was filled with a whirlwind of questions and he didn’t even know where to start. One thing was for sure though, this whole thing reeked of a trap in the making and he wasn’t  liking the idea of joining. Not without more information first and even then that was still debatable. He opened and closed his mouth for a moment as he tried to figure out just what he wanted to ask first. 

“Who is Sky?” Link shook his head, out of all the questions that was the one he asked first? The three other’s blinked and looked at each other. Clearly they hadn’t been thinking about that question either. 

“Oh, uh, well my name is Sky“ The one with the white cape answered. Then he pointed to the armored man, “his name is Time and that,” He said with a quick gesture to the man with the pelt, “...Is Twilight.” He finished and each of them gave him a nod as confirmation. 

“Those are strange names, but we really don’t have time for that now. We have to get out of here. You guys have drawn way too much attention to yourselves,” Link said curtly as he jogged to the opening of the alley and peered around the corner. He didn’t see anyone actively looking for them but he was sure that wouldn’t last long. 

He eyed the cart of cloaks next to the alley way and snagged a dark green cloak from the rack. He paused and dug through his meager rupee pouch and tossed what he hoped would be enough on the counter top. He was loathed to steal anything from the townsfolk. They were all struggling and he rather himself missed a few meals than have the shop keep suffering for his selfish choice.

He jogged back to the group and tossed the newly dubbed Twilight the cloak. He put it on without any prompting and drew the hood up around his head. Deeming them good enough to sneak out he gestured for them to follow and they made their way back to the lane. 

“Slouch your shoulders and stop looking around so much,” Link hissed to them as they hurried their way to the town’s gate. Even with the cloaks it still appeared that they stuck out. They stood too tall, walked with a gate that spoke of authority and were all together too curious. 

“Honestly you’re supposed to be heroes. Didn’t you have to, I don’t know, blend in? Sneak around? At least be the slightest bit aware of your surroundings?” Link grumbled as he physically grabbed Sky’s hood and forced him to look down. 

“Who are you? Why are you so keen to help us?” Twilight grumbled from behind them and Link spared him a look. 

“Just a hermit, a traveler if you will. I just… Don’t like the idea that Brutus’s goons were going after more people is all,” It wasn’t completely a lie, he reasoned as he bowed his head a bit lower. He could feel the stares on him and it made him nervous. He didn’t like all the attention on him. Tugging his cloak tighter around him he stepped up his pace and didn’t look back. 

Finally the town gate was in sight and Link could have skipped with joy. They were nearly there, just a few more yards and they could put the town behind them and then he could slip away and be done with this mess. 

“Oh HERO, where do you think you’re going?” A heavy voice called after him and Link stiffened before slowing to a stop. He bent his head forward as he heard the rag tag group stop as well, and turned to look at him. He closed his eyes for a moment before he straightened and turned to face the much larger man. 

“Brutus,” He said in a clipped tone, pointedly ignoring the stares of the others that were now boring into him. So much for keeping who he was a secret. Brutus sauntered towards him and Link took a slow step back, making sure to give himself enough room to work. Brutus, unlike the thin and hard eyed townsfolk, was a burly man. He was clearly well fed and used to getting what he wanted and it stuck in Link’s craw. He had risen to infamy in the town about a year ago after he managed to usurp the other more prominent gang that had once called this little town their own. Ever since then he had made it a point to show off at any chance he got. He would strut around in blood red cloaks and demand the merchants give him whatever he wanted. The few that had fought back were found dead in their beds the next day. 

Link had kept his eye on him since then, and had only allowed Brutus to remain when the townsfolk practically begged him to stay out of the situation. It had bothered him greatly but no matter how much he tried to change their minds he was always told to stay out of it. So he had respected their wishes, but had made it a point that whenever he was in town he would pay more rupees for goods as well as cause trouble to the thugs when he saw them bullying the merchants. Naturally this had garnered Brutus’s attention and they had their fair share of scuffles and earned a bounty on his head. 

“Did you ever find that tooth of yours?” Link asked casually and was graced with a sneer. Even from this distance he could see the black hole where one of Brutus’s front teeth had once been. Link felt a smile creep unbidden across his face. He remembered the scuffle fondly, even though he got a knife to the ribs he had still gotten his fair share of hits in. 

“I still owe you for that. I think your head would be a fair trade off,” Brutus said and Link let out a belly laugh. 

“I would love to see you try,” He scoffed, pleased at the red flush that colored the larger man’s cheeks. He really shouldn’t be snarking off at the brute, but he found he couldn’t help it. The man annoyed him and he could do with a knocking down of a few pegs.         

“Sadly today is not the day Brutus, I have things to attend to,” Link dismissed and turned to usher the others who were staring at him wide eyed. He offered them a nod and began to stride away when he heard footsteps running up behind him. Sensing danger, Link ducked and felt the wind of a sword swipe over top of his head. Before he could turn around he heard the screech of metal screeching against metal and he turned around to see a green cloak blocking his view of the larger man. He stood quickly and looked on in amazement as the feral man, Twilight snarled and pushed back against Brutus’s sword with his own. 

“How dare you, attacking when your opponent's back is turned,” Twilight snarled and forced the man back a few steps before breaking his sword away from where it was locked with Brutus’s. 

“What is the runt to you? Some sort of bastard child of yours?” Brutus snarled and Link could see the way Twilight bristled at the insult. 

“He is the hero of Hyrule, show some respect,” Twilight growled and Brutus squinted his eyes. 

“Respect for that pitiful waste? He should feel honored to be in my presence!” Brutus said as he brandished his sword once again. Twilight readied his own blade, ready to go on the attack once more but this time Link was the faster one. He stepped smoothly in front of Twilight and with power booming through his veins summoned one of his more powerful spells. There were bursts of white hot light and the smell of fresh ozone as the bolts of lightning thundered around the brute effectively breaking up the scuffle. Link grit his teeth and continued the barrage until Brutus made a hasty retreat as the bolts continued to strike the browned earth around him. 

“Enough!” Link shouted as he let the magic go, satisfied with the distance he created between Brutus and the others. He straightened and let his hand fall. He could taste the copper tang of electricity that still hung in the air around him. He felt slightly breathless at the display he had just released and he worked on steadying his breaths. He could feel a tremor starting to build in his muscles and he clutched his hands in order to slow the trembling that was building in his arms before he addressed the other man. It wouldn’t do to show weakness now, not with so many eyes on him.

“Please, Brutus, I don’t wish to harm you, but I will if I must. Go now and leave us be,” Link called out to the hulking brute and threw a gesture out to the group behind him, signaling them to continue on. Link placed a hand on Twilight’s shoulder and squeezed until the other hero sheathed his sword and stalked away to follow the others. He held Brutus’s wide eyed, terrified gaze and couldn’t stop the pang of guilt that zinged through his heart. He didn’t care for the man but that didn’t mean he wanted the other dead, even if the feeling wasn’t shared. He let his eyes fall away from him and turned to follow the others out of town. He could hear stuttered insults and threats coming from behind him but he paid them no mind. 

Link worked at keeping his gait steady as he made to catch up with the three others. He had really used too much magic just then but he didn’t want to show it. He could feel the tell tale ache in his muscles that spoke of the strain he just put on his magic stores and he hoped that it wasn’t too obvious. As it was, Link barely noticed that the others had slowed to a stop to wait for him until he almost ran into them. He could feel their eyes on him and he struggled not to look away.  

“Were you really going to strike that man with lightning?” The man named Time asked him incredulously as he pulled his hood down. Link grimaced and shook his head slowly, inwardly wincing at the poor impression he must have given them. 

“And waste my magic on a thug like Brutus? It’s not worth my time. Now put your hood back on and let’s get out of here. There are too many eyes watching us still and they will follow. We have to lose them.” Link said as he tried his best to play off the question and keep the others moving. He didn’t look behind him to check if they were following, choosing to trust that they would. 

They walked for a little while until Link found a cave that he deemed hidden enough to make sure no one from the small town would find them and made a small fire to rest by. Link watched as the other three men removed their cloaks and settled down for the night. He still hadn’t removed his own, not wanted to get too comfortable in case this all turned out to be an elaborate trick.

“So I suppose you have questions, where would you like to start?” Link asked after everyone had sat for a little while. He looked at them all in turn and waited for someone to ask the question he was sure to be coming. 

“The man from the town said you were the hero, is this true?” Time asked as he held Link’s gaze. 

“That is correct, I am the hero,” Link answered in the affirmative and waited. 

“Well that makes things easier,” Sky said happily as he pulled the bread he had bought from the merchant in town. Link felt his stomach twist painfully at the scent and he prayed that his stomach wouldn’t growl. He watched as the other man ripped off a large piece and offered it to him. Link blinked in surprise, no one had ever tried to share food with him. 

“But that’s, no I couldn’t,” Link stammered out quickly even as his stomach growled angrily at his own refusal of the proffered meal. Sky offered him a warm smile and only continued to hold the bread out to him. 

“Don’t be silly! There is more than enough to go around, and after you helped us out in that alley it is the least we can do,” He said and to Link’s surprise the other two nodded before offering him provisions from their own packs. Link could feel his mouth water at the promise of more food and he could feel the tremors from over exertion beginning to ramp up. He forced himself to breathe and shuffled back a little. 

“Honestly, I’m fine,” He said stubbornly, still refusing the food that he was offered. He couldn’t trust it, he had learned long ago to never accept gifts from strangers and as much as he wanted to he had to be strong now. 

“Please, continue with your questions,” He said pointedly and watched as they slowly put their food away. 

“Alright, please let me know if this is rude but I must know, what happened to the land? It looks rather…” Sky trailed off and Link nodded, there it was. He knew it would come up eventually. He could guess by their full cheeks and general healthy appearance that they probably didn’t have to go many days without a meal. 

“This land, these people, have been through a lot as you might have guessed. We are still trying to get back on our feet so to speak. Gannon and his followers have not been kind.” Link said slowly and found that he had a hard time lifting his eyes away from his hands that were knitted tightly in his lap. He didn’t want to see the looks on their faces. If what they said was true, and they were heroes from Hyrule at different points in time they must be ashamed of what had been done to this land. He swallowed down the lump in his throat and raised his eyes to meet theirs. 

“We are a strong people, we will be okay and the land will heal.” He said firmly, lifting his head in defiance. He was startled at the sudden wave of anger that was washing through him. He could only imagine what they were thinking. Disappointment, disgust maybe even shame for what he had allowed to happen to their home. Well they could think what they will, he loved this land he called home, no matter it’s flaws and scars. There was still beauty to be found here, tucked away in corners and hiding in plain sight, all you had to do was look. Even now Link could see the land healing, growing and thriving despite the harm done to it. 

“I have no doubt in your abilities and the strength of these people to grow and thrive. The strength and resolve in your voice is conviction enough and I know you will succeed.” Time said from his place by the fire and was joined by proud smiles and nods from the other two. Link felt a smile creep onto his face, he felt honored in a way. Even if this proved to be some elaborate trap in the making he was willing to accept their compliments. 

“I am curious, you say you are heroes from other eras. Tell me how did you get here?” Link asked, crossing his arms over his chest and waited. 

“A portal brought us here,” Sky answered and continued quickly, apparently knowing what Link was about to ask next. “And no, we don’t truly know why we are here besides knowing that we needed to find the hero of this time. Though we have noticed one common factor.” He said, glancing at the two men he sat beside.

“That being?” Link prompted, and watched as the three of them shared a brief nod. 

“That being a rise in monster activity,” Sky said slowly and Link felt his eyebrow beginning to rise despite himself. 

“That’s it? That’s all you have?” He asked incredulously and was graced with shrugs and half hearted ‘yeahs’. 

“There has to be more than that,” He said and was once again met with more shrugs.

“Unfortunately that’s all we have,” Twilight said as he rubbed the back of his neck. Link couldn’t help it, he let out a disbelieving snort before he could stop himself.  

“And you want me to join? You guys can see how suspicious this sounds right? What makes you think I’m going to join this, whatever this is just because there’s slightly more monsters about?” Link asked and this time was met with a rueful smile spreading across Sky’s face. 

“I don’t think you’ll have a choice in that matter. I saw that portal for a week straight and refused to go through it until finally, kind of just… Pulled me in,” Sky said and Link felt himself slump against the wall of the cave suddenly very tired. He pressed his fingers against his temples and squeezed his eyes shut. This whole situation made him want to sleep for the next century, though he couldn’t deny he was the least bit curious to see what new places he would discover. After a moment he let out a sigh and opened his eyes.

“Alright, I guess I’ll need a name. I assume Link won’t cut it considering you all have nicknames,” Link said and judging on the looks he was getting he knew he was right. He watched as Sky leaned back and tilted his head to the side as if he were listening to something. After a second he gave a nod and smiled warmly at him. 

“Looks like your name is Hyrule. Welcome to the fold.” Sky said with a chuckle and stretched his hand out for him to shake. He eyed the hand thoughtfully before taking it and felt a tingle of magic flood through the contact. He pulled his hand away quickly and stared at his palm expecting to see a mark left behind on his hand but saw nothing. He wiped the feeling away on his tunic and nodded slowly. 

“Now that that is out of the way, I think we need to get something out of the way,” Twilight said and Link offered him a quizzical stare. Twilight dug through his pack and once again offered him some of his food.

“Eat, I know you’re hungry. Don’t try to deny it.” He said sternly and this time Hyrule accepted the offer, though he didn’t take a bite until Twilight gave him a knowing look and took a bite of his own food. The others were quick to pull out their own meals then and they all tucked into their dinner in silence, all of them lost in thought. He chewed the bread and didn’t miss how both Time and Sky were quick to share their own meals with him. This time he accepted the offers gratefully, he didn’t want to admit it to the others but he was starving. They ate in peace for a while and even though he knew he probably wasn’t going to sleep tonight he had to admit it was nice to share a meal with others for once.

[mmvalentine]

The Bargain Pt 9 | Feysand

Modern AU. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 10

Rhys had not intended for Feyre to ever see the drawings he turned into tattoos. He had made them impulsively and figured she'd never know and so it wouldn't matter anyway.

When Rhys first saw Feyre in the initial meeting, the thought of his tattoos did not enter his mind until later that night. He had been nervous then, but just made sure to wear long sleeves during the week and wasn't too worried. After all, there had been many occasions where he had had to hide his tattoos before.

He had not expected the spike in the weather today, making him warm under his black shirt. He had not expected to forget himself and push up the sleeves. He had not expected Feyre to react the way she did when she saw his arm.

He had not expected to wind up kissing her on her couch.

In fact, Rhys wasn't exactly sure how they got there, how drawing had turned to touching, and how touching had turned to kissing. What he did know is that he'd never had anything quite so sweet as Feyre on his tongue.

And at first, this was enough. The exchange of his breath for hers, the slide of her petal lips, and the heat of her mouth were all he wanted for a long, star-filled minute.

Then some dark longing clawed its way up his throat and the desire to bite and scratch, to mark her like she had asked came bubbling up out of him. Rhys pushed it down, tried to keep the kiss chaste. But then Feyre's tongue touched his and the next thing he new he had his teeth in her soft lower lip, and his grip tightening at her waist.

For a long time after Aramantha, Rhys had wanted to be the kind of person that was capable of a gentle, sweet kind of a love. He was so scared of hurting someone the way he had been hurt- but as a result the encounters he had after that long-term relationship were brief and didn't seem to mean much at all.

So on the one hand, Rhys was desperate to keep Feyre safe to keep himself in control. On the other, it was both fear and the deepest relief when she curled her arms around his neck and said "more." Knotted her fingers in his hair and said "more." Climbed right into his lap and said "more."

Rhys moaned raw and rough, and then he was scraping his fingers up her back under her shirt and crushing her body to him like he could absorb her whole.

The truth was that Rhys had always needed to feel things very deeply. Had needed tight hugs as a child, had wrestled in high school, had learned to tattoo on his own legs. Had spent a lot of time trying to hold himself back from being too rough with other people.

And yet here was Feyre, wrapped around him and squeezing him right back. He changed the angle of their kiss, and lit up all the way down his spine when Feyre licked the inside of his teeth.

"Where have you been all my life?" Rhys mumbled. "Somewhere in a studio, probably," Feyre replied, taking his lip between her teeth. Rhys shivered. "I've been in all the wrong places, then," he said. He moved his nose along her jaw. "I told you to start painting," Feyre said, her head tipping back. "I should have listened earlier," Rhys lamented, and kissed down to her shoulder.

"Still want me to mark your skin?" he asked against her collarbone.

Feyre said nothing, just pulled her hair over her left shoulder and tugged her shirt down on the right, to expose the stretch of skin there.

Rhys' eyes went dark. He slid one hand in her hair to cradle her skull, and the other behind her scapula to tug her in. Then he closed his mouth over her join of her neck and shoulder, and laid down a soft, slow bite that gave way to a suck. Kissed the small bruise tenderly, reverently and then smoothed his thumb over it. Then he nipped his teeth just once at her throat, before pulling away. Reluctantly.

"Has anyone ever told you, you have perfect skin?" he said. "People have told me a lot of things," Feyre replied, a half smile tilting her face.

"I thought it the first time I tattooed you," Rhys said. "It was so easy." "And what makes good skin for tattooing?" Feyre asked. Rhys shrugged, and kept running his fingers over the mark he had made.

"I don't know what exactly. But with some people, you have to really work the ink in there. For some people if falls out, or worse, bleeds like a shadow. But you? You make it easy like drawing on silk."

"Well thanks," Feyre said, picking up his hand and running her lips along his knuckles. "Maybe my skin knows what it wants. Maybe it likes your touch."

Rhys shuddered at this and cupped his hands around her face. Slid his thumbs down the column of her throat. Her eyes fluttered closed and he bit his lip to prevent himself from kissing her again.

"I should go," he said quietly. Feyre's eyes snapped open. "Why?" she asked. "Because," said Rhys, his fingers squeezing very lightly around her neck, "if I don't leave right now I think I might eat you whole."

Feyre's eyes flashed. "Maybe I'd like it," she said. Rhys gave a rueful grin. "Seriously," he murmured. "Why haven't I had you always?" "You've got me now," Feyre said, and a low growl slid from Rhys' chest. He closed his eyes, to regain control.

"I'm not good at this," he said quietly. "I get too intense and too fast and too much." "So you're deciding for me?" Rhys laughed, and then looked at her with eyes that did not match his mouth.

"We've got all day tomorrow. You can tell me exactly how you want to spend it. I just..." Rhys looked away for a second, searching for the words. "I know this all sort of just started happening but I couldn't stand it if you thought it was a mistake."

Feyre looked at him a little oddly, but then nodded.

"Okay," she said. "I'll think about it, and when I'm sure I'll tell you I'm sure. But Rhys?" she asked. "You have to believe me when I tell you."

Rhys nodded. "I will."

Then he pressed his lips to her forehead, picked up his jacket, and waved as he walked out the door.

The walk back to the hotel was a good opportunity for Rhys to clear his head. Part of him was kicking himself for leaving Feyre's apartment, but he also knew himself. How many times had he scared people off by moving too fast, by feeling too intensely? He was not going to fuck it up this time. Even if he was due back in New York the day after next.

By the time Rhys was riding the elevator to his floor, he was feeling calmer and had talked himself into believing in his decision.

The lift stopped with a 'bing' and Rhys padded down the carpeted hallway. Turned the corner to his room, and found Feyre leaning on his door frame.

"I thought about it," she said casually, "and I'm sure."

****

I'm sorry for the cliffhangers everyone got so mad last time 🙈🙈 But I'm writing the next part right now I promise!!

MASTERLIST

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[kenjikutie]

Starlight [Dabi x Single Mom!Reader]

summary: when you and your children are saved by a man covered in burns, you offer to repaire his staples and clean him up, an offer that gets you much more than you’d bargained for word count: 2.6k warnings: a tiny bit of violence pairing: dabi x fem!reader

waking up at five am every morning to prepare yourself for the day certainly was not how you saw your life turning out four years ago. but, the moment where you opened the door to your twin son’s room washed away all over your regrets and filled the space with nothing but love. you thanked whatever was above you each day that they had ended up looking like you, rather than their father. you didn’t know what you would have done if you had to look at his face for the rest of your life

kindly stroking hibiki’s cheek, you watched as your son squirm awake, blinking away the sleep in his eyes. you smiled softly and whispered your morning greeting to him, watching as he beamed at the sight of his mother. hibiki kicked his small legs at you, a signal for your attention. with a huff, you lifted your son from his bed and sat him on your hip, slightly ticking his sides to see him giggle

when you felt a small tug on your pant-leg, you glanced downward to see hitomu giving you a pout, clearly jealous of the attention his brother was getting. you set your hand on his head, ruffling his soft y/h/c locks before setting down hibiki to present them their outfits for the day. the two had rambled on and on last night about how excited they were to attend their first day of preschool

though you would never tell them, you were just as happy to get a day to yourself while your sons were taken care of. you had so many errands to run, bills to pay and groceries to buy. living as a single mother in the city was tough, both financially and mentally, but it was worth it. you didn’t want to rely on the boy’s father for anything

while you were caught up in your thoughts, hitomu took your hand in his much smaller one, showing you a bright smile, though it was missing a few teeth. he proudly held up his all might lunchbox and you came to the realization he was trying to imitate his idol. hibiki took your other hand, beginning to mutter about how the three of you should get going before they miss breakfast

after locking up the apartment, you kept a steady grip on their hands, not wanting them to get lost in all the hustle and bustle of the city. the boys seemed to glare at everyone who past you, taking their roles as the ‘men of the house’ very seriously. you, on the other hand, were focused on reviewing the route to their preschool, praying that you didn’t get lost along the way

suddenly, you felt a sharp tug on your elbow, causing you to gasp, preparing to let out a scream before a rough hand clamped over your mouth. hitomi and hibiki gripped tightly to you, calling out to you as the three of you were dragged into a nearby alleyway. you were harshly thrown onto the concrete, wincing when you felt your knees scrape against it, surely drawing blood

hibiki clung to your left side, burying his face in your stomach with a sob, “mommy! are you h-hurt?”

you reached upward and set your hands on his cheeks, “hitomi, take your brother and get out of here right now! please!”

darting your eyes around, you caught sight of hitomi but your stomach dropped down to the pits of hell when you saw what he was doing. hitomi had his hands balled up into fists, holding his all might lunchbox in front of him

“l-leave my m-momma alone!”

“hibiki, stop!”, you screamed, terrified of what could happen next

the man laughed, a cruel, wicked sound, before snatching the prized possession out of your son’s hands and throwing it against the brick wall, smirking when he heard it split open. you pulled yourself off the ground, doing the best you could to ignore the throbbing pain in your skull. swiftly, you wrapped your arms around hitomi’s torso, pulling him behind you

with a tightening of your fist, you laid a punch on the attacker’s face, wanting to scream from how bad it hurt. he wiped the blood off of his nose and gripped you by the collar, slamming his forehead onto yours, causing your vision to become nearly entirely black. you could hear your sons crying but couldn’t speak a word

then, a bright flash of blue brought back your vision, feeling yourself slip from the man’s hold and back to the ground. you didn’t even look back at the attacker, despite his screams of pain and agony. hitomi and hibiki were holding one another, tears running down their horrified faces. quickly, you held the back of their heads and tucked their faces into your chest, hoping to hide whatever gruesome thing was happening behind you

when everything went quiet, you shyly lifted your head, flinching when bright blue eyes stared right back at you. the man in front of you was lanky and tall, scars littering his chest and face, along with staples holding his normal skin together. he looked like he was in so much pain and it made your heart ache

“you good?”, he asked, voice gruff and rougher than any sandpaper

“n-no, but,”, you looked up at him with wide eyes, “thank you. thank you so much.”

he didn’t move or acknowledge your thanks, only walked behind you to pick up the lunchbox that now had a huge crack in it, right over the face of your son’s hero. hitomi pulled away from you reluctantly when he felt a tap on his head. his eyes watered at the sight of his lunchbox but he took it back anyways, clutching it to himself

you slowly stood up, but even that was too much for your head. your knees buckled as soon as you were on your feet and you would have fallen back down again had it not been for the hand that steadied your lower back. everything was turning hazy again and you were sure you head a concussion. the last thing you saw was the concerned eyes of your sons and their mouths opening, surely calling out your name

---

you slowly fluttered your eyes open, feeling yourself relax into the softness of a familiar bed. then, you remembered the events before you fell asleep. lifting yourself forward suddenly, you felt the pain in your head come back but you pushed it away, determined to know how you got home and where your children were

the first place you checked was the living room, heart beating even faster when you didn’t see them, only the mess that had been left from their toy playing session the other day. where were your sons? how did you get home? and where-

a relieved sigh left your lips when you opened the door your sons’ room, only to see them snoring softly in their racecar beds. you had never been happier than that moment. when a cough came from the doorway, you jumped, holding out your hands in defense while the figure chuckled

“geez, chill out jumpy. it’s all good.”

the man from before stared at you with humor in his eyes. a part of you said to hit him until he left your home, to chase him out but, another part was begging you to make him stay. you just had to know who had saved you from something so terrible

taking one last look at your sleeping sons, you joined him in the hallway, keeping the door open out of paranoia. he kept his eyes on you, making you more nervous by the second

“um, thank you for back there. if you hadn’t come-”

“you already thanked me. hit your head that hard, jumpy?”, he teased and you felt your fists clench

“well, im sorry if im a bit uneasy after being attacked in an alleyway!”, you threw up your hands and stormed into your room, hearing him cackle behind you but follow you nonetheless

taking a seat on the edge of your bed, you felt tears begin to pool in your eyes. hurriedly wiping them away with your hand, you could feel the bed dip beside you, but neither of you said anything. you held your face in your hands, softly crying your heart out

dabi winced at the sound, the noise of a mother sobbing bringing back memories he would much rather have forgotten. when he had seen you and your kids get pulled into the alleyway, he had contemplated doing nothing to help, just continuing back to the bar. but, the face that had comforted him throughout the nightmare that was childhood would not leave his mind until he saved you

you peeked out from between your fingers to see a tissue being dangled in front of your face. eyes widening, you reached out to accept it, dabbing at your eyes with the soft tissue

“im a failure of a mother.”, you whispered and dabi quickly placed his hand on your shoulder, turning you to face him

“from what i saw, you punched the dude in the face and managed to protect your kids even after gettin’ the life headbutted outta ya. you’re not a bad mom.”

when he began to stand up, you latched onto the sleeve of his long jacket, head hanging down, “why are you doing this? i don’t even know you.”

and at that moment, all he saw was his mother

“you remind me of someone i know.”

raising your head, you tossed the tissue into your garbage can and looked up at him with a pout. he nearly laughed at how much you looked like a little kid but your splotchy eyes made his heartache

“let me repay you.”, dabi raised his eyebrows with a teasing smirk and you blushed, “not like that! i meant that i could fix your staples, they look like they hurt.”

after thinking for a minute, he nodded, “lead the way, jumpy.”

---

dabi was sat on the edge of your bathtub, watching your every move. when you bent down to take the supplies out of the cabinet, his eyes trailed a bit lower but he shook his head with a smirk. you would so not be into that, he thought

“it’s probably gonna hurt but don’t worry, i took a few nursing courses in college so i don’t think i’ll kill you.”, you joked and it made him feel a bit better that you had calmed down

“that’s good to know, jumpy.”

you stood up and set a hand on your hip, looking down at the man with a look typically reserved for your children, “would you stop calling me that?”

kneeling down in front of the tub, you began to wet a cotton ball with some peroxide while dabi shook his head, “no can do. i don’t know what your name is.”

“well, i don't know yours either.”

“and you’re not gonna- jesus!”, dabi jumped at the sudden sting on his cheek and you quickly apologized, rambling about how it was supposed to hurt less if it was a surprise

the two of you entered a comfortable silence, you gently removing and replacing his staples after disinfecting his raw skin. dabi began to look around your bedroom, at least what he could see from the doorway. no photos of anyone but your kids and someone he assumed was your mom. the right side of the bed looked like it hadn’t been used

“your husband probably won’t be happy to find me here, ya know?”, he was pressing slightly, watching to see any reaction you made but your face stayed neutral as you tossed another cotton ball into the trash

“i don’t have a husband, just me and my sons.”, your eyes held sadness, a different one from earlier, this one was dull and seemed very old

“oh. did he-”

“yes.”, your hold on his skin turned harsher and dabi caught your wrist, meeting your eyes before pushing your hand back

“sorry.”, you muttered, going back to your work while dabi watched you intently

the father of your kids must have been someone pretty stupid to leave the three of you. your sons seemed to love you a ton, considering how their walk home consisted of one of them glaring at him while holding your hand and the other quietly telling him where to go

he remembered looking down at your face while you slept in his arms. you were one of the most beautiful women he had ever laid his eyes on, so it was only natural to think you had someone waiting for you at home. but, the only boys who had your heart where the four-year-olds who wouldn’t leave your side until they fell asleep

he had been so deep in thought that he hadn’t even noticed you had finished up. you were right. dabi felt much better. he could finally move his arms and face without feeling like he was about to rip his skin off. maybe he would come back here again if it ever got too bad

“thanks, jumpy.”, dabi said, watching as you glanced down at the tile floor

“y/n. i’m y/n.”, he hadn’t expected you to tell him your name, figuring your paranoia would still have the better of you

dabi fixed his coat and let you walk him to the front door, taking a glance at you from the side. you were gorgeous but, there was nothing he could do about it. he was one of the most wanted villains in japan. it was a miracle you hadn’t noticed who he was yet

the two of you stood in the entryway, you avoiding his gaze and him refusing to look anywhere else. he would probably never see you again with how his life was going but there was a pull in him, a part of himself he had locked away a long time ago, that wanted him to stay here, to fall in love with you

you felt a rough hand place itself on your cheek and you gasped, locking eyes with the man who had saved your life. dabi leaned in and couldn’t help but notice that you did too, but, all you received was a peck on the forehead

“you don’t have to leave, you know?”, you said and he could see the worry in your eyes, but it wasn’t fear for yourself

“sorry beautiful, but i have some prior engagements to take care of. but, you ain’t gotta worry, nothing like that’s gonna happen to you again.”, furrowing your eyebrows as the man opened your door, you reached out to grab him, but he was faster than you

“see you tomorrow morning, y/n.”

the end.

[robininthelabyrinth]

My fav MDZS stories are ones where Mo Xuanyu lives and WWX takes him under his wing when the Sacrifice Summons goes slightly wrong. I would love to see your version of this au bc your writing is very very good and I've fallen in love. However you want to character MXY is fine, but I know you'll make him compelling.

also on ao3 because long

“It’s not wrong if you write it down,” Mo Xuanyu muttered to himself like a mantra as he scribbled down a rough explanation of what he was going to do. “If you write it down, it’s just an experiment, and that makes it okay.”

That’s what they used to say back at Koi Tower. Not all of them, no – most people didn’t talk to him, stupid shy useless stuttering bastard that he was.

But Jin Guangyao had smiled at him, smiled the way he smiled at everyone no matter how lowly, and Mo Xuanyu, flattered at the unfamiliar feeling of positive familial attention, had tentatively smiled back. That had been a mistake, of course, but he hadn’t realized it at the time – he was still young, then.

He hadn’t been crazy, then.

(Had he? He didn’t remember. The screaming nightmares weren’t until later, after he’d swallowed down that medicine that Jin Guangyao gave to him, that he’d forced down his throat with Xue Yang holding his shoulders down – they’d been regretful about it, he remembered that. That’d been nice. No one’d ever been sorry about what they’d done to him before. Or after, for that matter.)

That came later, though. Towards the end. The experiments – that was earlier, wasn’t it?

Yes. Back when Jin Guangyao still thought he might be useful, and he let him follow him around; back before Xue Yang had disappeared – wait, if Xue Yang had disappeared, who’d held him down? – back when he still called him Xue-gege because Xue Yang thought it was funny, and if he did that he could sit around in a place where no one would find him and watch while Xue Yang did…stuff.

Usually bad stuff.

Still, it was better than being anywhere else in Koi Tower. With Madame Jin, who hated him and threw things at him, just like Auntie Mo did, and his father who wanted him to talk about girls (Mo Xuanyu didn’t know anything about girls), and all the people who giggled at him and talked about him behind their sleeves as if he couldn’t still hear them.

If you write it down, it’s just an experiment, Jin Guangyao told him, smiling, because he always smiled. That’s why what Xue Yang does is okay.

Xue Yang taught him the basics of drawing arrays, how to hold the brush in your hand and push spiritual energy into it. Mo Xuanyu didn’t have very much, so it made him very tired and then he dropped the brush; that made Xue Yang laugh at him, push him down until his face was on the ground so he could get a better look at what he was drawing, and then he got bored and pulled him back up to try again.

It was still better than being taught by the Jin sect cultivators who sneered at him and ordered him to get hit with boards any time he made a mistake, and Mo Xuanyu made a lot of mistakes.

Mo Xuanyu didn’t like to talk to people much, wasn’t very good at it. Wasn’t much good for anything, really.

Except this, he supposed. This was something he could do.

Xue Yang taught him the basics of drawing arrays, but it was only ever the basics – as soon as he figured out how to do it, Jin Guangyao took over the teaching, and he only ever wanted Mo Xuanyu to learn one array in specific.

It didn’t have a name. It was an ancient, forbidden technique; those didn’t get names. Jin Guangyao’d found it in a book, hidden on an abandoned old mountain – a place where lots of people died in a battle a long time ago, and then again not so long ago – and he’d thought it was just right for Mo Xuanyu.

The array required blood, blood of the caster, incisions all over – painful ones – and the point of it was to offer up your body to some extremely villainous ghoul so that it could take revenge for you.

“But I don’t want revenge,” he’d told Jin Guangyao, plaintive and naïve. “And I don’t know any villainous ghouls.”

“You don’t have to ask for revenge,” Jin Guangyao had told him, patient. He was always patient when he wanted something. “You can ask for something else, if you want. Revenge is just the usual reason.”

“Not many things besides revenge are worth sacrificing your soul for,” Xue Yang had opined, and Jin Guangyao had glared at him like he’d said something stupid. “What? It’s true.”

“We’ll discuss the Chang clan later, Chengmei. I was talking to Xuanyu.”

Mo Xuanyu had been poking at the manuscripts, feeling doubtful, and Xue Yang’d huffed and grabbed them. “Don’t touch the papers! Wei Wuxian didn’t leave much behind; I’m not losing the bit we got.”

“Wei Wuxian,” Mo Xuanyu had said, feeling the weight of it on his tongue. He didn’t know much, but even he’d heard about the Yiling Patriarch. “Is he the villainous ghoul you want me to summon?”

“No,” Xue Yang’d giggled. “He wants you to bring back Nie Mingjue.”

Mo Xuanyu hadn’t known that name – he really didn’t know anything – but the weeks that Jin Guangyao thought that he could one day become him were probably the best in his life. He’d never been petted or coaxed before, never been treated so well; he ate nice food every day, wore nice clothing, slept as late as he liked, took lots of baths…Jin Guangyao wanted his body to be in good condition before he did the ritual. He gave him lotions to make his skin feel soft, used medicine to nourish his organs, spent hours and hours teaching him to braid his hair the way the Nies did, all complicated and pretty yet practical.

(“He’ll hate it so much,” Jin Guangyao whispered in his ear on the nights he let Mo Xuanyu share his pillow. “Soft and decadent and weak – you’ve got the weakest golden core I’ve ever seen, Xuanyu, weaker even than me, and you’re too useless to even have any ambition to make it stronger. I could push you down with one hand, overpower you, make you crawl…no one will ever be scared of you. Let’s see how much you like being the weak one, da-ge.”)

It’d only been when the ritual failed – not just once, but many times, no matter how many cuts Mo Xuanyu made on his arms or how well he painted the array – that Jin Guangyao had given up on Mo Xuanyu.

They hadn’t been able to figure out why it wasn’t working, back then, but now Mo Xuanyu thought that maybe he just hadn’t wanted it enough back then. He’d wanted to make Jin Guangyao happy, yes, and he hadn’t really cared what it cost to do it – Jin Guangyao’s arguments that he was useless and pointless, his life worthless, and so he might as well do something useful with his death were pretty convincing – but he hadn’t wanted it.

He wanted it now, though.

Something worth sacrificing your soul – it really could only be revenge, couldn’t it? Xue-gege knew what he was talking about. Revenge was something you needed, something that ate away at your soul until sacrificing it was the only thing left to be done with it, and that, that, was what was going to make the ritual work this time.

Mo Xuanyu was going to get revenge. Revenge on Auntie Mo, on Master Mo, on Mo Ziyuan, on A-Tong…they deserved it. He hated them. He hated what they did to him and how often they did it, he hated that this was his life and that nothing would ever get better, he hated hated hated…!

(“You don’t have to do this,” the young sect leader surnamed Nie had told him when they’d had tea for the last time. He’d bought Mo Xuanyu the cosmetics he liked – he’d offered to buy him something nicer, but Mo Xuanyu had his preferences; the expensive stuff didn’t feel heavy and greasy on his face, didn’t make him feel like he’d painted himself into being somebody else, someone braver. “Just so you know.”

“I know,” Mo Xuanyu’d said. Sect Leader Nie had come to ask him for any information he had about Jin Guangyao. He didn’t say why, but – Nie, Mo Xuanyu’d thought to himself, Nie like Nie Mingjue – he hadn’t been at all expecting to hear the story Mo Xuanyu’d had to tell him. He hadn’t been the one to suggest the ritual, that’d been Mo Xuanyu – he hated, hated, hated – but Mo Xuanyu never did learn the name of any of those extremely villainous ghouls so he’d asked him for a suggestion.

He’d suggested Wei Wuxian, and that’d made Mo Xuanyu giggle to the point of hysterics. Don’t touch the papers, Wei Wuxian didn’t leave much behind – oh, Xue-gege, you’d think this was so funny!)

“Gotta write it down,” he said to himself as he made the cuts and drew the array: it was already starting to glow in a way it hadn’t any of the other times he’d done it, and it wasn’t that he’d gotten any stronger. “Writing it down makes it okay…”

He went to get some paper, and that’s when the cat came in. A big old fisher cat, vicious and mean.

And, well, Jin Guangyao and Xue Yang were always talking about how you’re supposed to try stuff out before you do the real thing – practice makes perfect, that’s what they always said, until the day Jin Guangyao got tired of Xue Yang’s practice and made him disappear, and after that it wasn’t all that long until the day that he got tired of Mo Xuanyu, too, and made the sect kick him out.

(They said he was a cutsleeve, which was true, and they said he’d attacked Jin Guangyao, which was laughable – wasn’t Jin Guangyao the one who was always commenting on how weak Mo Xuanyu was? But that was after he drank the medicine that came with the nightmares and the weird spasms and the rest of it, and it wasn’t as if anyone in Koi Tower had ever listened to anything he said even before that.)

He wasn’t actually going to do anything bad to the cat. He just wanted to use it to make sure he got the markings all done right; it wasn’t as if the array would actually work, not without him in the middle – this array ran on resentment, on revenge, and how much resentment could a cat have?

Apparently Mo Xuanyu’d underestimated cats, or possibly his array-drawing skills, or maybe even it was only that he’d poured so much hatred into the array that when he put the cat down in the middle to see if the positioning was right the whole thing exploded right in Mo Xuanyu’s face.

He woke up to Mo Ziyuan kicking him and yelling about how dare he report him to his parents (he hadn’t reported anything, just asked for his stuff back, he hadn’t even meant to do that because he knew it was pointless but they’d asked what he was thinking about and it had just slipped out) while A-Tong broke all his stuff, but that was pretty normal so he didn’t think too much about it.

The cat leaping for Mo Ziyuan’s face, howling something that sounded an awful lot like the words fuck you except sort of halfway into being a cat’s meow, was new.

Kind of funny, too.

Mo Xuanyu giggled and lay back down on the floor while Mo Ziyuan ran out, crying for his mother, with A-Tong right on his heels as always.

The cat made its way back over to him and jumped up on his chest, looking down at him. It was a pretty handsome cat, now that Mo Xuanyu was looking at it: long and black, with white on its chest and like little socks on its forepaws, a noble appearance that had been concealed by the messy state of its fur.

“I’m sorry I accidentally nearly sacrificed you to a villainous ghoul,” Mo Xuanyu said to it.

“Who told you that I’m a villainous ghoul?” the cat said back. “You couldn’t find another wandering ghost as harmless as me!”

Mo Xuanyu was crazy, yes, but it wasn’t – it wasn’t that type of crazy. He had fits that sent him down to the floor, limbs thrashing crazily; he had days in which he wanted to do nothing but die; screaming nightmares at night and sometimes during the day, hearing and seeing things that weren’t there…

This was still new.

“Did you just talk?” he checked.

“You bet I talked,” the cat said. “Now tell me, how in the world did you manage to offer up the body of a cat? That’s not how that ritual’s supposed to work!”

“It was supposed to be my body, Master Cat,” Mo Xuanyu explained. “But they said that you should always try something out first –”

“First off, you shouldn’t be sacrificing yourself either,” the cat said. “That’s your soul you’re talking about – the ritual just says the soul goes back to the earth, but what if it destroys it entirely? You could’ve been doomed never to reincarnate!”

“That sounds restful,” Mo Xuanyu said wistfully.

“…you have serious issues. You know that, right?”

“Yes, Master Cat.”

“Stop calling me ‘Master Cat’. You know my name, you can use it.”

Mo Xuanyu blinked, long and slow. “But I don’t know your name? You were just the stray that lived out back behind the grocer…”

“I’m Wei Wuxian! You summoned me here and offered me a body!”

Mo Xuanyu hadn’t realized it’d worked. “Does that mean you won’t help me get revenge?” he asked, disappointed.

“I don’t exactly have much of a choice, do I?” The cat – Wei Wuxian – huffed. “That stupid ritual…how many cuts do you have?”

“Four,” Mo Xuanyu said automatically, except when he checked they were about half-there, half-gone, and after a little bit of investigating it looked like the other half of them were echoed in appropriately parallel locations on Wei Wuxian’s fuzzy feline body. “Oops.”

“Oops, he says,” Wei Wuxian said, but he already sounded cheerful again. “Seems like you bound our souls together when you brought me back – probably because there were too many souls in the center of the array, once you added in the cat. Anyway, don’t count me out – two legs or four, I can still help you get revenge. Who on, by the way?”

Mo Xuanyu tried to explain. He wasn’t very good at it, tongue tripping over his words as he tried to put into words why he hated them so much that the idea of killing them had possessed him in every one of his three souls and seven spirits, and it all sounded really stupid when he said it so he went off on a tangent and explained how his father had wanted to use him but he was too useless for that, and his half-brother wanted to kill him but he was too useless for that, and his family just wanted him to die, but –

“Too useless for that,” Wei Wuxian said, and his ears were pinned back against his head with his hackles raised and fur all puffed up all over. “Yeah, I got the gist. Okay. I’m sold. Let’s kill ‘em.”

“Really?”

“…I’m actually pretty bad at cold-blooded murder, even if the people you want me to kill do sound like scum. Hmm. Maybe we could just cause them a lot of trouble? A lot of trouble?”

“That seems like a bad idea,” Mo Xuanyu said doubtfully.

It was, if only because Mo Xuanyu was about as terrible at causing a disaster as he was at anything else.

Wei Wuxian ran off into the main greeting hall and started knocking things around, bellowing unconvincing meows as if he’d never met a cat in his life, and Mo Xuanyu wanted to die of embarrassment, stuttering apologies at the visiting Lan sect disciples that looked about as awkward about the whole thing as he was.

(They’d tried to get him to deal with the fierce corpses first, sending him out to the hills and yelling at him to do something, but he’d never been invited to night-hunts back at the Jin sect so he just stood around uselessly until they’d given up and invited some real cultivators.)

Auntie Mo was furious – even more so when Mo Ziyuan showed up and started trying to hit Mo Xuanyu for being a liar, except he wasn’t lying (Wei Wuxian had shouted something about theft and robbery, about cutting off someone’s hand if they stole from him again, and everyone thought it was Mo Xuanyu doing the yelling and then he’d had to explain, hadn’t he?) and eventually the entire thing got to be so stressful that it brought on one of his fits.

He woke up not long afterward, with his head in a Lan sect disciple’s lap – he was transferring spiritual energy, which was nice of him but unnecessary – and Wei Wuxian on his chest, frantically licking his cheek and trying to whisper questions of “Are you okay? Mo Xuanyu? Can you hear me?” into his ear.

“I’m okay,” he said, blinking away the daze. There were broken teacups and wine jars tossed all around – it must have been one of the screaming fits, where he threw himself down on the floor and tossed and turned and screamed and sometimes frothed at the mouth. He broke a lot of things during those fits, almost always his own. “Sorry for disturbing you.”

“I told you he was a lunatic,” Auntie Mo said, her voice shrill as always. “Always breaking our things, and then he still complains when A-Yuan borrows a little, as if he wouldn’t just break it himself anyway…! Wretched thing! Useless thing! Honored cultivators, please pardon us this embarrassment, forgive me. We’ll take him away at once –”

Mo Xuanyu flinched, and the Lan sect cultivator who still had his fingers on his pulse frowned. He was very young, and Lan sect; he’d probably never encountered a lunatic before. “No need,” he said. “We need to go and get started with setting up the array in the Western Courtyard. Senior Mo here can show us where it is…can’t you?”

“I can,” Mo Xuanyu said, eager to avoid being locked away again. He scrambled to his feet, not forgetting to scoop up Wei Wuxian the troublemaker. “Follow me.”

They said a few more words, reminders not to go outside once the array was set up, and then they followed him, talking quietly behind him –

“Why’d you call him Senior, Sizhui?” one of the Lan sect disciples was asking the other in an undertone. “He’s a lunatic!”

“He’s a cultivator,” the one that had helped him earlier said. “He has a golden core, and he’s older than we are; that means he’s a senior.”

“He’s got a golden core? No way! He paints his face like he’s a hanged ghost!”

“Jingyi! What does it matter what he does with his face? It’s true, I felt it when I transferred him spiritual energy. Anyway, I didn’t want him to get punished just for having a fit…hey!”

That last exclamation had been because Wei Wuxian had twisted out of Mo Xuanyu’s arms and leaped towards the flags they were carrying, snatching one to the ground and rolling around with it.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Mo Xuanyu said, wanting to cry. He didn’t have any grudge against these Lan sect disciples; why was Wei Wuxian making trouble for them? “I didn’t mean to mess up your flag formation, or the…”

“Spirit Summon Flag,” Wei Wuxian muttered from his feet and Mo Xuanyu quickly used a foot to slide him back behind him and pretended he’d been the one to speak, smiling earnestly at them. “Weak, with a range of no more than five li, but serviceable enough; they can go ahead and use it.”

“You know about Spirit Summon Flags?” the taller Lan sect disciple – the one who’d been called Jingyi – asked, looking surprised, and Lan Sizhui elbowed him in the ribs.

Mo Xuanyu shrugged helplessly. “They used them sometimes at the Jin sect,” he said, which was true, even though he’d never gotten involved in that sort of thing. Saying that just made them all look even more surprised, though; probably at the idea that a lunatic like him had been part of the Jin sect in any way shape or form. “That was back before I went crazy. And you don’t have to call me senior – I got kicked out before I learned anything useful.”

“You’re still a fellow cultivator,” Lan Sizhui said, and smiled at him. Mo Xuanyu felt his face go red and he looked away, regretting how easily he showed his emotions; it would probably embarrass Lan Sizhui later on, when he heard the rumors about Mo Xuanyu’s sexual preference. That wasn’t the reason he’d blushed, he’d never had any interest in children – it was only that he liked it when people smiled at him.

“I’ll be going,” he said, and grabbed at Wei Wuxian again, only to miss and nearly trip before finally managing to pick him up. “Good luck with your hunt. I hope it goes well.”

It did not go well. Mo Ziyuan got himself killed by stealing a Spirit Summon Flag – Mo Xuanyu and Wei Wuxian both checked their left arm or forepaw at the same time, seeing the cut there heal up before their eyes; apparently the curse considered it to be close enough, maybe because Wei Wuxian had invented the thing – and somehow Mo Xuanyu ended up being accused of his murderer.

And that was before things got really bad.

“Set up a blocking array at the corner,” Wei Wuxian hissed in his ear.

“I can’t!” Mo Xuanyu said, hiding behind a tree. “I don’t know any arrays!”

“What?! Impossible. You did the body offering array – that’s extremely difficult, especially for someone of your cultivation level.”

“It’s the only one I was ever taught,” Mo Xuanyu explained, and Wei Wuxian’s fur suddenly puffed up all over again.

“Someone is going to die, and not necessarily the Mo family,” he said darkly; it might have been more intimidating if Mo Xuanyu hadn’t tied a red ribbon around his throat earlier to try to make the idea of him being someone’s pet a little more believable. “Whoever did that really only wanted you for one thing, didn’t they? I wonder why they wanted me back so badly.”

Mo Xuanyu was about to explain that actually Wei Wuxian hadn’t been the original target, but then there was more yelling – the Lan sect juniors were very competent but the ghost hand was terrifying – and Wei Wuxian got distracted, hissing at Mo Xuanyu to kick Lan Jingyi.

He obeyed on instinct, which saved Lan Sizhui’s life, and then Wei Wuxian was out of his hands again, streaking towards the corpses like a bolt of feline lightning, and suddenly there were three more corpses standing up and fighting against the possessed remains of Auntie Mo.

“Looks like I can still cultivate,” Wei Wuxian said happily, strolling back over and using the tree to leap back up to Mo Xuanyu’s shoulder. “I thought I should be able to use your golden core, given the way the curse bound us together…how are we doing on the curse, anyway?”

Mo Xuanyu checked. “I think that’s everyone, actually? I should thank whoever sent the ghost hand.”

Wei Wuxian was silent for a moment. “Huh, you’re right,” he said. “I wasn’t thinking about it at first, but those Spirit Summon Flags definitely didn’t have enough of a range to summon a ghost hand like that from far away – and we would have heard of a lot more deaths if it’d been that close. Someone must have released it near here.”

Mo Xuanyu hadn’t been thinking along those lines at all. It was only that no matter where he lived, Mo Manor or Koi Tower, there was almost always someone causing bad things to happen.

“Should we do something to help?” he asked hesitantly, watching the battle unfold and then flinching when there was an unexpected sound – two strums on a guqin, full of spiritual power.

“Nope!” Wei Wuxian said. “In fact, we should leave. Right now.”

“Leave…?”

“You can’t be planning on staying at Mo Manor now that everyone’s dead? Come on! Let’s go! Hanguang-jun’s here; he’ll take care of the ghost hand.”

“I wasn’t planning anything,” Mo Xuanyu argued even as he headed towards the exit obediently. “I was going to be dead, and the body would be yours, and you could do whatever you liked with it when you were done.”

“Well, we’re done,” Wei Wuxian said. “And you’re not dead. You’re just going to have to live with that.”

“Live with…not being dead?”

“Just accept the glorious wisdom of your elders already,” Wei Wuxian said cheerfully. “Either way: we go. As quickly as possible. Before anyone notices. Is there anything you need to pack? We should take the donkey in that courtyard.”

“And money,” Mo Xuanyu said practically, heading for Auntie Mo’s room first. After all, she was dead and wouldn’t need it, and he was the last living heir of the Mo family – it was only reasonable that he take the first pick before everyone else got it. “You can always use money, even if you’re dead. Or a cat.”

Travelling was a bizarre experience.

Mo Xuanyu hadn’t been allowed to go outside of Mo Manor in a few years – Wei Wuxian hissed and spat some very impressive curses on the Mo family name, present company excluded – and even at his time in the Jin sect, he’d always been taken places by other people. Now, for the first time, he was alone…well, alone but for Wei Wuxian, who insisted that they had to stay together, curse or no curse, because of how they’d been bound. Mo Xuanyu suspected the real reason was because he didn’t think Mo Xuanyu could make it by himself, and he was probably right.

At any rate, he didn’t have anywhere to go, so instead he followed Wei Wuxian’s instructions to head towards Dafan Mountain to see if they could find some tombs that Wei Wuxian would be able to use. He still had fits, still wanted to die rather a lot, but he ended up spending so much of his time trying to coax the donkey (dubbed Little Apple by Wei Wuxian after they figured out that apples were the best and possibly only incentive to get it moving) that he didn’t have time to think about it too much.

Not being around either Auntie Mo or anyone from the Jin sect helped. Wei Wuxian wasn’t too bad – he may have been a villainous ghoul once, but now he was a cat.

“Didn’t you used to cultivate with a flute?” he asked as they walked along the mountain paths late at night. Well, the donkey walked, Mo Xuanyu rode the donkey, and Wei Wuxian rode in Mo Xuanyu’s arms. “What are you going to do about that? You can’t play a flute anymore; you’re a cat.”

“Cats are innately musical creatures,” Wei Wuxian said. His voice had become a lot more human in the past few days, rich and compelling and increasingly lacking the rough meows that had initially interrupted his speech. It was no surprise that someone as talented as him could pick up being a cat faster than Mo Xuanyu had ever learned to pick up being human.

Mo Xuanyu narrowed his eyes. “That’s a lie, right?” Wei Wuxian had been trying to teach him how to distinguish those, but they weren’t having very much success with it. “I don’t think I’ve heard a single decent sound out of –”

“Why don’t we see who’s making that noise?” Wei Wuxian said loudly, so they dismounted and went to go look.

There were people yelling, caught in a golden net.

“Can you get them down?” he asked Wei Wuxian, who reached out with his claws to grab a leaf, muttering something that was probably uncomplimentary.

And then –

Oh, no.

“Why are you hiding behind a tree again?” Wei Wuxian asked him, not keeping especially quiet. “Don’t tell me you’re hiding from that little Jin sect boy who clearly didn’t have a mother to teach him?”

Mo Xuanyu dropped him like he was a boiling hot skillet.

Like everything he’d ever done on instinct, the move immediately backfired: Wei Wuxian landed on Little Apple’s foreleg claws first and suddenly Little Apple was braying loud enough to wake the dead, which set Wei Wuxian off yowling and hissing right back at him.

“Who is that?!” Jin Ling demanded, striding over with an extremely cross expression that suggested he’d heard the bit about mothers. “Who is – oh. It’s you.”

Mo Xuanyu weakly lifted up a hand. “Uh…it’s nice to see you, Jin Ling.”

Wei Wuxian’s yowls cut off as if he’d been suddenly smothered.

Jin Ling glared at him. “Stupid cutsleeve, you think I didn’t hear what you said earlier?”

“I didn’t!” Mo Xuanyu said immediately, starting to shake at once. He couldn’t bear it when people in bright yellow were angry at him, not since those last few days at the Jin sect; it was a sure-fire way to bring on a fit. “I swear I didn’t! I – I –”

Jin Ling lifted his sword and Mo Xuanyu squatted down to cover his head at once, feeling his eyes overflow with blubbering tears as he began to panic. “I didn’t, I didn’t, I didn’t,” he wailed. “Don’t hit me! I don’t want to drink any medicine! I don’t want to get hit! I didn’t do it!”

“You…!” Jin Ling didn’t seem to know what to do now. “You’re such a coward! You – damnit!”

Mo Xuanyu had his face hidden away, so he didn’t see what Jin Ling did next, braced as he was for a blow. He could vaguely hear the sword being put away, but that didn’t diminish his fear in the slightest: the majority of the Jin sect had never been willing to use swords on each other, thinking it disgraceful. Even Jin Guangyao didn’t use his sword very much – he preferred other methods.

Mo Xuanyu was most afraid of those other methods.

He flinched violently when someone lightly touched his shoulder.

“Stop crying, you’re making a fool of yourself!” Jin Ling said, his harsh voice at odds with the gentle touch of his fingers. “Have some thought to your face, okay?! You can’t embarrass yourself like this! Aren’t you my uncle, after all?”

“He’s your what?!” Wei Wuxian’s muffled voice came from under a bush.

“It’s true no matter how you look at it, even if I don’t want it to be,” Jin Ling said with a sniff, clearly assuming the exclamation had come from Mo Xuanyu. “Listen here, what are you doing on Dafan Mountain anyway?”

Mo Xuanyu snuffled, wiping his nose with his sleeve. “Well, my cat –”

“Night hunting!” Wei Wuxian hissed.

“I mean, I was night hunting,” Mo Xuanyu repeated obediently, then frowned. “That’s not really believable, is it?”

Jin Ling looked pityingly at him. “Not really. Do you need – is there something…?”

“Those words from earlier were really rude,” Wei Wuxian said from the bushes, and Mo Xuanyu covered his face with his hands. “They shouldn’t have been said.”

“Yeah, well, whatever. It’s not like I haven’t heard it all before –”

“Jin Ling, get away from him,” a low, cold voice said from behind him.

Mo Xuanyu’s shoulders slumped. It wasn’t relief so much as it was resignation: if there was one thing he knew, that everyone knew, it was that you didn’t cross Jiang Cheng. They said he could smell the stink of demonic cultivation on you, and once he did, that was that, and Mo Xuanyu was pretty sure, though no one had ever said for sure, that the body offering array was some form of demonic cultivation.

They said Jiang Cheng would take demonic cultivators back to the Lotus Pier to be tortured to death.

Mo Xuanyu was almost looking forward to it. Other than the horrible sword flights back and forth to Koi Tower in Lanling, Dafan Mountain was the furthest from home he’d been, and Wei Wuxian had been waxing poetic about the beauties of the Lotus Pier for days now; it would be nice to see it, however briefly, before he died.

He’d probably get to see lots of Jiang Cheng, too – he’d only ever caught glimpses of him before, when he was visiting Koi Tower, so he’d never had a chance to look his fill. And whatever could be said about the man’s temper, it couldn’t be denied that he had a first-rate face.

“Why?” Jin Ling asked, not moving. “It’s only Mo Xuanyu. Did you ever meet him? He’s –”

“Not him,” Jiang Cheng said, and he looked – bemused? That wasn’t the expression Mo Xuanyu would have been expecting. “It was – Wei Wuxian…wait, the cat?!”

Mo Xuanyu’s mouth dropped open in shock. How did he know?

“Definitely not!” Wei Wuxian blurted out, which didn’t seem smart, and suddenly Jiang Cheng looked extremely confused and abruptly sat down.

“Uncle, what are you talking about?” Jin Ling said. “Are you okay?”

“No,” Jiang Cheng said, a hand to his temple as if he had a headache, or possibly questioning his sanity. “It’s – it’s the cat. I heard – that voice – Wei Wuxian wouldn’t be sniveling on the ground like a newborn infant, and the only other thing around is – so it must be –”

“Is lunacy contagious or something?” Jin Ling demanded. “Uncle, I know you’ve been looking for him for years, but you can’t seriously think Wei Wuxian resurrected himself as a cat!”

“Meow!” Wei Wuxian said desperately, except it was as awful a meow as it’d ever been – entirely human. “Meow, meow –”

“That voice –!”

“Uncle!”

“Shut up!” Mo Xuanyu abruptly yelled, pushed entirely beyond his limits. “All of you! Just shut up! Stop yelling and stop harassing my cat!”

With that, he grabbed Wei Wuxian and ran blindly into the woods.

He kept running until the air wouldn’t enter his lungs anymore, and then he fell down under a tree and burst into tears again, the fear and panic and exercise all escalating uncontrollably until he fell into another fit, no matter how much Wei Wuxian tried to talk him down.

When Mo Xuanyu woke up, he felt as though he really had gotten beaten up by Jin Ling, even though he knew he hadn’t been. He groaned.

“You’re awake again, good,” Wei Wuxian said. He was standing on his two hind legs, forepaws behind his back as he slowly paced a circle. “Those fits of yours – they only started after you went crazy, you said?”

Mo Xuanyu nodded and sat up, rubbing his face – he didn’t have a mirror to check, but all those tears must have messed up his make-up. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the case of cosmetics he’d insisted on taking the time to remove from Mo Manor, no matter how much Wei Wuxian had urged him to leave quickly before they were found.

“Based on the things you’ve said, it seems like there was a particular point in time where you went crazy – enough that you can accurately pin-point things as being before and after.”

Mo Xuanyu nodded again, using his fingers to apply more red paint around his eyes, which were still a little swollen and tender from all the crying.

“And you said something when Jin Ling was holding his sword – damnit, that was Suihua, I should have recognized it at once – anyway, you said something about…about not wanting to drink medicine?”

Wei Wuxian certainly fixated on the strangest things, Mo Xuanyu reflected. Maybe lunacy really was contagious.

“Someone poisoned you,” Wei Wuxian concluded. He still had the red ribbon around his neck – in combination with the way he was just barely maintaining his upright balance and the way his tail was lashing around, it was rather cute. “If it took place in the Jin sect, it was probably something with quicksilver, since they use it to make vermillion. It damages the brain and liver if consumed in high quantities, and it’s associated with epilepsy, hallucinations, and terrible nightmares; it’s been used since ancient times to make men into fools.”

Mo Xuanyu nodded politely, mostly disinterested. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know who was behind it, and it didn’t really matter what exactly was involved – if anything, the medicine could almost be seen as Jin Guangyao’s way of being nice. He could have had Mo Xuanyu disappeared the way he did for Xue Yang, or he could have fed him to Xue Yang’s fierce corpses, or even just slit his throat...at least by going mad, Mo Xuanyu would still be useful to Jin Guangyao, a vivid demonstration that any madness in their bloodline must have come from their shared father’s side, not the mother.

He wasn’t sure why Jin Guangyao cared about that, but at least he wasn’t dead. No, wait, didn’t he want to be dead? His half-brother was so confusing sometimes.

Maybe sending Mo Xuanyu back to Mo Manor, back to Auntie Mo and all the others that Jin Guangyao knew Mo Xuanyu feared, maybe it was supposed to teach him how to hate enough, so that he could make the ritual work – if so, Mo Xuanyu’d probably disappointed Jin Guangyao all over again.

“…some ways to at least ease the symptoms, maybe more if we can find a good enough doctor.” Wei Wuxian was still talking, for some reason. “At least you have your golden core; if you were a regular person, there wouldn’t be any hope at all.”

“Hope is overrated,” Mo Xuanyu said. “It just makes it worse when you’re inevitably disappointed, and then you die, if you’re lucky.”

Xue-gege had taught him that one, and he was even pretty sure he’d quoted it correctly, but Wei Wuxian didn’t look particularly impressed.

“I’ve heard that quicksilver poisoning can cause qi deviation, which is associated with suicidal urges,” Wei Wuxian said, dropping to all four legs and then hopping onto his shoulder. “Let me try to stabilize your qi – maybe it’ll keep you from saying things like that all the time. Go on, get up and stretch your legs a bit; they’re probably sore from all the running and thrashing you were doing.”

Mo Xuanyu walked all right, walked right into a confrontation with a stone goddess, which was honestly just how this day was going. Wei Wuxian really needed to stop being so surprised when bad things happened.

“Can you play the flute?” Wei Wuxian hissed into his ear, all thoughts of qi stabilization forgotten. “I need to summon something powerful, and yowling, while surprisingly effective, isn’t going to cut it.”

“I can play the dizi,” Mo Xuanyu offered. “But I’m not good at it, and anyway we don’t have –”

“Good enough! Grab that piece of bamboo and give it to me, I can use my claws to make the holes, and you can follow the tune that I show you –”

Wei Wuxian meowed, Mo Xuanyu played, and Wei Wuxian’s ears went flat backwards in apparent agony.

“Whoever taught you should be tortured to death,” he said briefly before resuming his guidance, focusing in on whatever demonic cultivation technique he was doing – it made the Ghost General appear, so Mo Xuanyu assumed it was successful, although Wei Wuxian’s shocked muttering suggested something had gone wrong regardless. Again, not much of a surprise.

One thing led to another, and then a tall man in Lan sect white showed up along with the juniors from Mo Manor, along with Jiang Cheng and Jin Ling, and at that point Mo Xuanyu decided that some of this bad luck had to be Wei Wuxian’s, because even the worst of his bad days weren’t usually this bad.

Wei Wuxian panicked when they bumped into the tall man – Hanguang-jun, apparently? Mo Xuanyu vaguely recalled hearing about him, but he’d never come to Koi Tower while Mo Xuanyu had been there – and it was very uncomfortable to have a panicking cat on his shoulder, especially when he was still trying to remember enough flute-playing to follow along with the tune Wei Wuxian was meowing, something more relaxing to try to calm down the Ghost General.

“…Wei Ying?” Hanguang-jun said, staring at the cat.

Mo Xuanyu stopped playing and turned his head to stare at Wei Wuxian. “How are you this obvious?” he asked.

“This is not my fault,” Wei Wuxian exclaimed, aggravated. “I’m a cat! Nobody should be blaming me!”

“I think I’m losing my mind,” Jiang Cheng, located somewhere further away on the field, said, his voice sounding strangled. “I really do swear I just heard….”

“That was me!” Mo Xuanyu said quickly. “Totally me! I picked up ventriloquism to better process the auditory hallucinations! I’m very sick, and also a lunatic – you can just ignore me!”

Nobody seemed especially convinced.

“…Sect Leader Jiang,” Hanguang-jun said after a while. “There are very good healers dedicated to the calming of the mind at the Cloud Recesses. I can take Young Master Mo – and his cat – with me to see them, which I think will be beneficial to everyone involved.”

“Fine,” Jiang Cheng said. “But I’m coming too. I think I need it.”

Hanguang-jun frowned for a moment and the two of them stared at each other for a long time, unspoken emotions crackling in the air between them. Finally, he nodded. “Very well.”

“You know, I don’t think we’ve ever agreed to go to -” Wei Wuxian started to say, but Mo Xuanyu stuffed his fingers over his little snout. Hanguang-jun was the second master of the Lan sect, which meant Zewu-jun was his brother, and Zewu-jun was Jin Guangyao’s friend – and you didn’t go against what Jin Guangyao wanted, not if you knew what was good for you.

Mo Xuanyu might be stupid, but even he could figure something out after it hurt enough.

“It’s fine,” he said. “We’ll go with you for a little, but you have to promise to let us go afterwards. You have to promise, you hear me? I don’t want to be locked away again!”

Hanguang-jun had a strange expression on his face, which was about the same as the expression on Jiang Cheng’s face, and Jin Ling’s, and all the Lan juniors – had Mo Xuanyu said something wrong?

“Your freedom and safety will be assured,” Hanguang-jun said.

“And my cat’s!”

Jiang Cheng put his hand on his head, looking pained.

“And your cat,” Hanguang-jun agreed peaceably, and turned and started to lead the way.

Mo Xuanyu and all the others followed behind.

“Fine,” Wei Wuxian muttered in Mo Xuanyu’s ear once the others were far enough ahead to not immediately overhear. “We can go with Lan Zhan back to Gusu one time. They really do have good healers there, anyway – but I want to talk to him about that ghost hand. Someone released it right next to Mo Manor, probably the same person who wanted me back so badly that he taught you how to do the body offering array, and I want to have words with that person.”

Mo Xuanyu was a little confused: was it Sect Leader Nie he wanted to talk to or Jin Guangyao? And why was Wei Wuxian so angry at them? They were both so nice, at least some of the time…better not to ask.

“You should get some Emperor’s Smile when you get to Gusu,” Wei Wuxian added.

“I don’t drink,” Mo Xuanyu objected.

“For me.”

“Cats don’t drink.”

“I’m not planning on being a cat forever,” Wei Wuxian said. “And won’t that be a surprise to everyone?”

Mo Xuanyu thought about it. “No,” he said after a moment. “I really don’t think it will be, actually.”

[forasecondtherewedwon]

3 Simple Rules for Dating a Centenarian

Fandom: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier Pairing: Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes Rating: T Word Count: 2374

Summary: After seeing Steve's shield handed over to some stranger, Sam calls up Bucky, certain he's the one person who can properly commiserate. He doesn't really expect Bucky to answer though (the guy's become a bit of a recluse), or to hear the hints that he might be missing Sam as much as Sam's been missing him. Not that he'd ever say it straight out.

Sam is almost completely still as the feelings rattle through him like a roller coaster’s last run on a derelict track. He only lets it out—the blend of frustration, betrayal, and regret—in the way his fingers squeeze his knee through his jeans, skin damp against the denim. Keeping his hands clasped, and watching those clasped hands, was more grounding, but he needs one of his hands to hold the phone to his ear, and that activity is getting pretty damn tired.

Bucky’s voicemail clicks on for the third time in a row.

“Bucky,” Sam says, “I know you prefer calls to texting, so what are you doing ignoring me, man? Haven’t used your cell in so long that you’ve forgotten how to hit the answer button? At least it rang. That’s something, I guess.”

He sighs away from the speaker where it won’t be recorded for Bucky to hear later. Maybe he did divert his message from the snarky sarcasm he was planning to leave the guy, but Bucky doesn’t need to hear him sigh on top of that.

For a few moments, Sam taps his foot along with the muffled music of his nephews’ video game coming through the closed door. He knows the boys’ routine (and if he ever forgets, he sees the copy Sarah has on the fridge door) and that this isn’t their usual scheduled time for whatever they’re playing out there. Best guess: Sarah wants them hogging the TV so she won’t be tempted to peek at that government-sanctioned shitshow. Sam can’t blame her. Actually, he wonders if she blames him. The disappointment was so clear in her eyes before he stopped making himself meet them. He thought he was doing the right thing when he handed the shield over. Are there people out there who think he’s let them down, or just his sister? Just himself?

He can’t talk to Sarah right now and he’s thankful that she’s giving him some time to himself, but as soon as he got it, he realized he didn’t know what to do with it. Just like that shield. Dialing Bucky over and over—tapping in every number every time because that appears to be part of this pity ritual he’s performing—seemed like the thing he should do. Probably won’t answer. That asshole is terrible at staying in touch. Still, Sam’s heart feels a little heavier with every word closer he gets to the end of this message. Feels like he’s trying to keep the thing afloat in his chest, like his parents’ boat down at the dock. This is what he knows he should do when everything in him wants to sink—reach out, talk to people. Kinda self-sabotage when he picks the one person almost guaranteed not to answer.

Oh, he’ll hear back from Bucky eventually, probably a handful of choppy texts sent in the middle of the night two weeks from now. Sam knows his pattern; Bucky’s chattiest between 3am and 4am, so chatty that what are likely intended as longer blocks of text arrive in broken fragments because he wants to make everything into neat paragraphs, like he’s writing a damn letter, instead of just getting to the point, but he hits send too soon. Sam would teach him—with plenty of mocking and name-calling, but he would teach him—only while he’s been running ops all over the planet, Bucky’s shrunk his own world way down. He’s gone local to the extreme and it aggravates Sam, even though Bucky isn’t his responsibility, isn’t his other inheritance from Steve. It’s sorta just easier to feel like Bucky is a misplaced bequest than to acknowledge that maybe he misses the guy and his sharp-shooter’s eye and his caveman hair. He can’t keep calling him.

“Thought I’d give you a heads-up,” Sam says, voice weary with this half-true excuse. “Maybe you already saw.” He clears his throat and says quickly, “Anyway, guess I’ll hear from you when I hear from you.”

He’s pulling the phone away from his head and has barely ended the call when it’s ringing in his hand. He answers and catches Bucky’s voice saying his name before it’s even back up to his ear.

“Bucky?” Sam says. “You have a senior’s moment and forget where you left your phone?”

“Nah,” Bucky says. “I saw it was you and decided to ignore it.”

“But you called back.”

“You wouldn’t quit calling. Seemed like you needed me to tell you directly to knock it off.”

“Jackass.” Sam’s gaze darts to the door, but it’s still shut. No chance Sarah saw him grinning over this easy banter. Always the banter with this idiot. Always easy. He sniffs and turns his chair away from the black TV screen. “Did you see that joker on the news?”

Bucky’s either less self-conscious or more inept because he sighs right into the mouthpiece, an exhausted breath in Sam’s ear that has his fingers fleetingly digging into his knee.

“Couldn’t believe that shit,” Bucky tells him in a rough voice. He’s clearly holding back his own feelings about today’s events and, from the sounds of it, they’re more along the lines of anger, hurt, and a simmering desire to wrench the shield from the arm of the new Captain America. “You know that thing’s supposed to be yours.”

“You saying I should’ve done something to stop it?” Sam demands.

“Coulda.”

Sam forces his shoulders to drop, draws a slow breath in and pushes it back out.

“It wasn’t mine anymore, if it ever was. I gave it to the Smithsonian. They sealed it in this glass case and added it to the exhibit.”

“Not a very tight seal.”

“Guess not,” Sam agrees.

“You shouldn’t have turned it over,” Bucky says. Sam’s silent, frowning, and Bucky goes on. “Forget about the shield being given to somebody else—it shouldn’t have even been in a glass case. Doesn’t belong there.”

“I do just fine without it,” Sam assures him. The practicalities of carrying that shield around are more straightforward to discuss than his yawning uncertainty in the face of Steve’s legacy and his place relative to it. “The shield would only get in the way of the wings.”

“You and those wings.”

“Hey, they carried me over Tunisia recently. Show some respect.”

“Didn’t hear about that,” Bucky says in a tone that’s difficult to interpret, though Sam squints thoughtfully as he listens.

“Yeah, well, I shouldn’t even be telling the likes of you, but it was discrete. As far as the major players are concerned, I was never there.”

“So it was illegal?”

Sam’s head tips back as he laughs hard.

“Why, you wanna turn me in?” he jokes. “Working on the government’s trust? What’s the next level up from a pardon? Knighthood?”

“You are such a pain in the ass,” Bucky groans, which really does make Sam smile.

“I’m sure it would’ve been illegal if you were there,” he says automatically. Too fast, his imagination fills it in, a fictional alternative materializing in his mind. Him and Bucky, cocky in reckless freefall. Him and Bucky, fighting back-to-back in a plummeting aircraft. Sam screening Bucky from enemy fire with his wings. Bucky deflecting a stray bullet with his arm before it could hit Sam.

“Nah, I can’t do that no more.”

“Uh huh. I’m sure you’re an angel.”

“Anybody get hurt?” Bucky asks.

Sam glances through the window at the blue sky, the truck rolling unhurriedly past with the driver’s arm hanging out to catch the sun. Beautiful day. He remembers a kick that sent a guy through the door of the plane, sucked out into the sky, another guy tossed aside who tried to fight him in midair, and a helicopter aflame as it went down. He shrugs and figures Bucky’ll hear the gesture in his voice.

“Nobody who didn’t know the risks.”

“Of going up against Captain America?” Bucky probes. Sam rolls his eyes.

“You know, that would almost be a compliment if you got my name right.”

“Don’t tell me you’re not using the name just to avoid compliments from me.”

“I honestly can’t say which one would feel more wrong,” Sam says, passing a hand over his head as he leans back in his chair, “calling myself Captain America or hearing a little overdue praise from you.”

“I’m not really a words guy. Ask my therapist.”

Sam sits with that for a second. He’s happy that Bucky’s talking to someone. He needs it, badly, after decades of violence and being belted into the passenger seat of his own brain. It’s more than Bucky’s ever admitted to him before, but Sam would bet—and bet big—that seeing some stranger named as Steve’s successor today has gotten to Bucky as much as it’s gotten to him. Something like that is bound to open Bucky up a little. He’s the only other person Sam can imagine the news having such a monumental impact on.

“You could try words,” he goads, not wanting to leave Bucky hanging more than a few seconds after his admission. “What else do you have if you don’t feel like being a human action figure?”

“I have my system. My rules.”

“Oh yeah? What rules?”

“Three of ’em,” Bucky informs him. “Nothing illegal. Nobody gets hurt. Making amends for the actions of the Winter Solider.”

“You don’t have to make amends for something you—”

“Don’t. It… helps.”

And who is Sam to question what’s helping Bucky? After the multiple-lifetimes’ worth of hell the guy’s been through?

“Good for you, man,” Sam offers softly.

“Save it, Sam.” The words are clipped but light. Sam grins.

“No words for me either? You more comfortable with me sticking to actions? How are we supposed to talk to each other when you don’t come to Tunisia with me?”

“Wasn’t invited,” Bucky quips back.

“You mighta been if you answered your phone more often. I’m not gonna send you the details to a covert operation in a text.”

“You wanted me in Tunisia?”

“You get shit done,” Sam acknowledges simply. You wanted me in Tunisia? echoes in his head. His heart’s bobbing like a buoy now. You wanted me in Tunisia? You wanted me?

“Not like that.”

“‘Not illegal,’” Sam repeats. “‘Nobody gets hurt. Making amends.’”

“Right. Can’t do any of that.”

“Well, I’m glad this regime’s working for you, but you have to admit it’s weird that I saw more of you when we were fighting alien hordes.”

“What can I say?” Bucky asks in a tone that seems to consciously flatten the charm out of it. “I’m old-fashioned now.”

Sam snorts.

“You were old-fashioned then.”

“I assume you had a team on the ground.”

“I had to,” Sam says over the sound of a squabble in the other room. Immediately, he can hear Sarah’s voice rising slightly above, breaking it up. Just like that, there’s the looping music of the video game again. She’s raised those boys well. “Couldn’t wait around for you.”

“I might show up if you asked me on better dates.”

“It wasn’t a date, it was a goddamn op.”

It’s startling to hear the sound of laughter. Not hearty, deep, rich, or loud, but definitely laughter. Bucky laughs? Sam backtracks a minute. Bucky makes jokes? About dating? About the two of them dating? Evidently, that is something he’s capable of, along with returning calls during daylight hours.

Sam shifts in his seat.

“You could come around sometime,” he suggests, nervously rubbing a hand up and down his thigh. “If you like fish and you’re ever in Louisiana.”

“I do like fish,” Bucky says. “I’ve been going to this sushi place a lot lately.”

It’s not his taste that surprises Sam—it’s the readiness with which he responds to the invitation. He would’ve sooner guessed that Bucky would tell him to shove it up his ass. In a joking way, but still.

“On dates?” Sam asks, telling himself he’s providing some good-natured hassling and that it has nothing to do with the odd feeling he got when Bucky’s joke about them dating caught up with him.

“One. Mostly, I go with Mr. Nakajima.”

“And that’s not a date?”

Sam laughs and wishes he could shut his own mouth as firmly as he’s (many times) told Bucky to shut his.

“I’m pretty sure he’s in his eighties, so he’s more age-appropriate for me than most people, but I murdered his son,” Bucky says grimly.

“Amends?” Sam guesses, adjusting his tone to cope with Bucky’s emotional switchback.

“I haven’t told him yet, but, yeah, I’m working on that.”

They’re both working on something, Sam thinks. Both confronting something that feels too big to tackle—the decision not to announce himself as the new Captain America, guilt for assassinations Bucky had no control over but which span the better part of a century. Sometimes it seems to Sam that they go up against the easiest situations as a team and face the hardest stuff alone. But he called Bucky, and Bucky called back.

“You could bring some of those amends down here and trade them for a snapper dinner,” Sam proposes, aiming for irritatingly cheerful to pull Bucky back out of the dark.

“What do I have to make amends to you for?”

“Being a dick. I’ll text you my sister’s address.”

Sam swiftly ends the call. There are two possible sources to which he can attribute the small surge of adrenaline he feels: hanging up on Bucky and the fact that he might’ve just asked him on a date. When Sam dialed, he knew it was because he didn’t want to do this alone, but he thought that meant watching the appointment of an upstart Captain America. Although he believed he could count on Bucky’s understanding today and for the near future, asking him down to have dinner with Sarah and the boys (or tricking him into it, since he didn’t exactly say it’d be a thing with the whole family) lengthens the timeline. Near future? Inviting Bucky to meet his family and see where he grew up means recognizing that he’ll be in his life a little longer. Alone? Sam might forget the meaning of the word.