#might be able to use the same mold as well.... hm | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

piceuscelus · 4 years ago

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The witchers buy a teenage omega (Jaskier) so that they can augment their dwindling population. The Witchers treat their slave like little more than a walking womb, stuffing him full with a half dozen or more pups each year and using him during their ruts even if he's already knocked up. I know birth isn't your thing but if you could focus on how big Jaskier is and how little the witchers care about his comfort as he gets more and more swollen with their young, that would be great :))

hhhhhh anon this is just - hhhhhnnnngggggg jesus christ

i had so many ideas for this and like,,, so many specific things i wanted to try and do but it was just Too Much. i might have to write more if the inspo strikes me tbh.

non-con, breeding, and pregnancy below. (no birth, only vague mentions of babies.)

It’s somewhat rare that an omega is compatible with Witchers, but when they do find one – well.

Jaskier is his name – at least, that’s what the slave trader had told them. What his name is doesn’t really matter, overall; he’s a breeder. The world needs more Witchers, and the easiest way to make them is to find a compatible omega, and he’s a compatible omega. Past that, none of them really care.

When they first buy him, he’s a tiny thing, thin and just barely coming in to his purpose as a womb; his breasts are tiny, his hips barely wide enough for birth, but that’ll change soon enough. It always does. After the first pup, an omega’s body gets the message and adjusts.

And they’ll be giving him much more than just one pup.

– – – – –

“Present,” Vesemir orders, and the omega squeaks but does as he’s told. Either because he’s been trained or because omegas always do what Alphas say, none of them know, but like his name, it doesn’t matter enough to think on.

Jaskier goes to hands and knees first. Eskel kicks his wrist out from under him. He squeaks again at the kick, but doesn’t protest; instead, he just shifts his arms back and drops his chest to the floor, turning his head so he can press nearly flat. The motion raises his hips higher, but Geralt nudges at his waist to make him lift them even more, until he’s nearly unbalanced on his knees.

“Hands,” Vesemir says, and Jaskier wobbles a little but manages to stretch his hands out behind him so he can grasp at his asscheeks and pull himself open, baring his cunt and his asshole. His cock is just barely long enough to see it past the curve of his pussy, probably a bit longer if he gets hard, but none of them care much about that. It’s not the important part of him, after all.

Vesemir bends and prods at the omega’s asshole, then his cunt, spreading the folds and testing the automatic production of slick by shoving two fingers inside him with no preamble. Jasker makes a sound, shocked, but there’s no pain in his scent and no blood on Vesemir’s fingers, just the first thin, watery beginnings of slick. It’s a good sign, means they’ll be able to fuck him full properly once his body gets the message that he’s being bred.

“Never had a pup, have you?”

“N-no,” Jaskier mumbles. Vesemir tuts and smacks the tender join of ass and thigh. Jaskier shouts, but quickly tacks on, “Alpha, no, Alpha, I’m sorry.”

“Good,” Vesemir says. “Well, you will with us. More than one. Probably more than a dozen.”

Lambert snorts. “More than that,” he says. “Between the four of us…. Never mind if any of the others join in.”

Vesemir chuckles. “True. Alright, up, omega.”

Jaskier grunts and scrambles to his feet, shivering when he’s finally standing. He does look good, even with as thin as he is, and he smells like a dream – he’s probably the most fuckable omega they’ve ever found. Just means they’ll be putting a lot of pups into him.

Vesemir reaches out and adjusts the omega’s collar so that the decorated ring is at the front. “We’ll have to get you some matching cuffs,” he muses. “Be easier to get you on the bench if we have something to anchor to.”

“Y-yes, Alpha,” Jaskier murmurs, looking at the floor.

“When’s your heat due?” Vesemir asks.

Jaskier makes a little, thoughtful sound, and there’s a moment’s pause where he clearly does the math in his head. “Two months, Alpha,” he declares, and Vesemir hums.

“Lambert, your rut is closest, right?”

“Two weeks.”

“Right, then you’ll pair with him first. That should trigger his heat, and that way we have a better chance to get him bred with a litter the first time around.”

“What if his heat doesn’t trigger?” Eskel asks. Ever the pragmatist, he’s been the most concerned about the logistics of such a young omega as a breeder since the moment they bought him. “Lambert’s an unfamiliar Alpha.”

“If it doesn’t, we’ll use the potion,” Vesemir says. “It’ll increase fertility anyway.”

Geralt hums. “Lambert’s pairing first,” he says, “but are we joining?”

“After the first two days, sure,” Lambert says. “I’ll be too possessive before that.”

“Fair enough.”

“A-Alpha,” Jaskier mumbles, quiet and shaky.

“What, omega?” Vesemir answers, even though they all turn when he says Alpha.

“Can I – will I have any clothes?”

Vesemir chuckles. “No, omega,” he says. “You’re a breeder. If you’re not pregnant, we’ll be breeding you to get you there. If you are pregnant, we’ll be breeding you to give you a litter. And if we can’t give you any more, well, we’ll be breeding you for the stress relief. Got it?”

Jaskier makes a small noise. “I – y-yes. Alpha.”

“Good, omega. Now, come on. We’ll need to measure you for those extra cuffs.”

– – – – –

They end up lucky; Jaskier is even more fertile than expected.

They can all smell it when he catches the first time, when Lambert’s rut starts and he takes Jaskier to the floor without preamble. Jaskier cries out and struggles, but only for a split second before Lambert’s cock is sinking into him and he’s going pliant, instincts much louder than any of his conscious thoughts. He catches on that first knot, which makes Lambert preen like an arrogant knothead.

Never mind that when Jaskier catches again the first time he takes Geralt’s knot, and then again on Eskel’s turn, they both preen the same damn way.

Three for a first pregnancy is a lot, but it’s fine. Omegas are built for birth, for breeding; and if he doesn’t survive it, well – omegas are plentiful. It’ll be harder to find a compatible one, but if they spend a season searching all the slave auctions, it shouldn’t be too hard.

And really, Lambert’s rut is more likely to kill him than the pregnancy.

“Alpha,” Jaskier whines, clearly overwhelmed as Lambert knots him for the fifth time in as many hours. “Alpha.”

Lambert chuckles. “Feel full yet, omega?” he asks, rubbing a large hand over Jaskier’s belly. “You’ve caught three times now – you’re gonna be bedridden, you’ll be so big.”

Jaskier squirms and sobs, thighs trembling as his body milks the knot settled deep in his guts even though it hurts. “Alpha, please.”

“Please what?” Lambert asks. “I’m already giving you more than you could ever want, omega. Got you all nice and knocked up, and you’ll never be empty again. Not if we have any say in it.”

“Too much,” Jaskier pleads, and Lambert snorts.

“Should probably get that phrase out of your vocabulary,” he says. “Oh well. We’ll train you up soon enough.”

– – – – –

Since Jaskier’s heat had triggered with Lambert’s rut, it means they spend even more time breeding him. Even with him already caught, the heat is vicious, as if his body thinks it can take more.

They’re definitely not complaining. Jaskier makes the sweetest noises strung out on their knots, pained and desperately wanting all at once, and he’s so full of their seed that his belly is swollen no matter how long they leave him to leak.

“Hell of a claim,” Eskel says, petting over the curve of it as he shoves his knot into Jaskier’s abused hole. The omega gives a choked scream, but his hips jerk back into the pressure all the same, eyes hazy with the heat. “Wonder if he’ll go into heat again like normal after this.”

“Shouldn’t, since he’s caught,” Geralt points out, shoving three fingers into Jaskier’s mouth to muffle his sounds. He sucks at them, sloppy wet and obscene, and Geralt’s cock twitches slowly back to life between his thighs. As soon as Eskel’s knot goes back down, Jaskier will get Geralt’s again.

“Yeah, but this heat is pretty brutal considering he’s already caught. Wouldn’t be the strangest thing I’ve ever seen if he still cycles as usual.”

Geralt hums. “Gods, that’ll be something – knotting him when he’s really swollen. Three pups already – he’s already shaping up to be the best breeder we’ve ever had.”

Eskel grunts and grinds his knot further into Jaskier’s body, making the omega choke on Geralt’s fingers. “Yeah,” he agrees.

Lambert mumbles sleepily where he’s still recovering from his rut. “Still need to train him, too,” he says. “Think it’ll be easier or harder with him carrying?”

“Easier,” Geralt guesses. “He’s already pretty suggestible. Obedient, too. All hopped up on pregnancy hormones and surrounded by alphas I think he’ll be easy to mold.”

“Hope so,” Eskel sighs, giving one more grinding thrust before his knot deflates and he shoves Jaskier’s hips toward Geralt’s lap. It’s easy to turn him, he’s so small and light, and slide right into his hole, gaping wide from the constant use over the last week.

Jaskier melts into him with a high, pained little noise. “Alpha.”

“You can sleep,” Geralt offers. “We’re not going to stop, but you don’t need to be awake for it.”

Jaskier sucks in a trembling breath. “Oh – oh...okay.”

Geralt snorts and grinds his cock deeper just to feel the way Jaskier’s body spasms around him.

– – – – –

“Witcher pups don’t need milk as long,” Vesemir informs Jaskier, as he’s lying bedridden and so round with three pups that he almost looks comical. “You’ll birth, breast feed for two weeks, wean them off for one, and then we’ll give you more.”

Jaskier groans, clearly upset, but doesn’t protest. “Yes, Alpha,” he mumbles. “I – oh.” He jolts and reaches up to rub at his side. “Kicking,” he explains, when Vesemir raises a brow.

“Hm. Well, it’ll be over soon,” he says. “Get some rest. You’re due to go into labor in a handful of days, if that.”

“Yes, Alpha,” Jaskier says.

– – – – –

The timing of the birth ends up great. Vesemir ends up going into rut almost as soon as Jaskier is ready to be bred again, the triplets weaned.

He’s exhausted, clearly, bags under his eyes and a frown etched on his face, but none of them care. And he’s obedient, well-trained after an entire pregnancy of being fucked whenever they wanted; when Geralt gets him out of bed just to drag him downstairs and strap him to the breeding bench, he only grunts his discomfort at the pressure on his still-sagging belly.

“Don’t worry,” Geralt reassures him. “It’ll be swollen and full again soon.”

Jaskier mumbles something unintelligible, but when Geralt pets over his cunt, he’s already wet.

“Good omega,” he praises, chuckling when Jaskier shivers clearly against his will. “Vesemir’s probably gonna give you another three all by himself. Wonder how many we could get you to carry, hm?”

Jaskier just makes more unintelligible noises, but then Vesemir is striding into the room, eyes bright with rut-fever, and Geralt backs up quickly.

Vesemir is mostly silent for his rut, no teasing or humiliating words like the others. For some reason it’s almost worse for Jaskier, being treated entirely like an object.

His cunt is still wet, though, and the more cum Vesemir pumps into him, until the pressure of the bench on his belly is more painful because of the swell, the wetter he gets.

“Look at that,” Lambert whistles, coming in to watch near the end of Vesemir’s rut. “Fucked you all through your pregnancy and you’re still desperate for it. What’s that rule we taught you, omega? Repeat it for me.”

“Whenever, wherever, however,” Jaskier repeats, voice breaking with each of Vesemir’s brutal thrusts. His knot is forming and against his will, Jaskier wants it.

“Again.”

“Whenever, wherever, however,” Jaskier says. Before Lambert can even ask again, though, he’s doing it again, and again, and again, until Vesemir’s knot slams into him and he’s taken in an orgasm he can’t control, body shaking hard enough to rattle his restraints on the bench.

“Good little bitch,” Vesemir growls, and Jaskier just clenches harder onto his knot to milk it.

“Think I’ll have a go when Vesemir’s done,” Lambert muses. “After all, you’re already on the bench. No reason to waste the position, is there?”

Jaskier moans tiredly. “Whenever, wherever, however,” he repeats.

“Exactly. Good little breeder.”

– – – – –

Jaskier gives them nine pups in his first three years as a breeder. In his fourth year, between Geralt and Eskel’s ruts hitting at the same time alongside Jaskier’s heat, and several fertility treatments, they manage to give him seven at once.

It barely takes two months of that pregnancy for Jaskier to be bedridden and beside himself with the intensity of it. That doesn’t mean they stop using him, though.

Why would it?

Lambert’s rut hits just after Jaskier becomes bed bound. He spends the whole week of it in the same bed as Jaskier, forcing Jaskier to hold his own weight up on hands and knees so Lambert can take his pleasure, filling Jaskier even more full with cum.

“Look at you,” Lambert growls, grinding his knot into Jaskier’s body just to yank it out and then do it again. Jaskier screams with it, arms trembling where he can barely hold himself up, belly heavy and painful as it sways below him with each of Lambert’s movements. “All fucked full with our pups and still so fucking wet for it, like your cunt doesn’t know it’s done it’s job. We got seven this time, think we could get you to nine at once?”

Jaskier sobs. “Alpha,” he pleads. “Alpha, please.”

“Hush, omega,” Lambert orders. “Take your knotting like a good little bitch. What’s your rule?”

“When – ah – whenever, wherever – h-h – ow, however.”

“Exactly. We get to decide when you’re done being a nice little hole to fuck, not you. Gods, you squeeze so fucking tight when you hurt, fuck.”

Jaskier sobs again, and hears as well as smells Vesemir’s approach. “Alpha,” he mumbles, head dropping. He’s so tired and everything hurts and – oh.

“Yeah, just like that,” Lambert coos. “You always do come on our knots. Such a good little omega. You do know your purpose, don’t you? You just get a little forgetful, sometimes.”

Vesemir chuckles. “Think we should bring the other two in here again? Make him remember for real?”

Lambert laughs, too. “Oh yeah,” he grunts. “Fuck, he feels so fucking good when he’s all sloppy and tense at once like this.”

“Oh, I know,” Vesemir agrees, and a hand cups Jaskier’s jaw. He lifts his head with the pull to find a cock in his face, and he takes it into his mouth with ease, not bothering to repress his gagging or choking as Vesemir slowly fucks his face. They’ve knotted his mouth so he passed out, before; a little gagging is hardly enough to put them off using his body. “Best breeder we’ve ever gotten. Think we’ll keep him once he can’t pop out pups anymore, even. He’s already such a good toy – may as well keep him for it.”

#celus writes #prompt fill #dead dove #dead dove: do not eat #celus non-con CW #celus breeding kink CW #celus pregnancy kink CW #celus free use CW #celus dehumanization CW #celus A/B/O CW #oh boy this one got filthy #god bless this prompter #Anonymous #breeder jaskier verse

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realityhelixcreates · 4 years ago

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Lasabrjotr Chapter 77: Like a Good Old-Fashioned Barn Raising

Chapters: 77/?

Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: pg

Relationships: Loki x Reader

Characters: Loki (Marvel),

Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Party Time

Summary: Buridag begins!

Loki was awake long before you were, getting preparations ready, loose ends tied up, last minute orders sent out. He allowed you to sleep until you woke on your own, having removed his little illusory alarms from you some time ago.

Sometimes flower petals still rained upon you, and perfume rose from your footsteps, but no more snakes in the bath.

So you rose slowly, stretching and yawning the grogginess away at your own pace. Time was very hard to tell by looking out windows at this time of year, but when Loki entered the room carrying an egg sandwich, a little pile of fresh potato chips, and a glass of coffee, you placed yourself firmly within brunch territory.

Loki flicked on your sunlamp, gestured at the chair, and handed you your brunch once you'd taken your seat.

You munched your food and absorbed your light while Loki laid out the day's plans. You'd get dressed in a ceremonial outfit that included your armor and helmet, and join the parade that was gathering even now.

They were initially going to put you on Sleipnir. You had asked them not to. Sleipnir was magnificent, but you had no connection to him, nor to Leynarodd, who was the second choice. Your sweet, stout, shaggy little Acorn was who you preferred, a horse that belonged to no one initially, but who had formed a trusting bond with you.

Your clothing was, predictably, green, the underdress and apron a dark mossy color, hemmed on all edges with fine gold braid, embroidered with stripes of delicate knotwork, and your mark, also in gold. Over the top of this went your quilted tunic, in it's shimmering jade, and then your armor; the breastplate, the tassets, the bracers, pauldrons, greaves, and poleyns, though the last two were not visible. They went on over the leather trousers you'd been given to wear under your dress. They were sleek things, made of tough black leather, pleated in diagonal patterns, just like something Loki would wear. You thought the pleats had the advantage of putting more leather between you and any danger, and were flexible as well.

There were actually places where your familiar oval brooches could be fastened, your strings of shining beads strung between, your chatelaine dangled. Your belt was tooled leather and brass findings, hung with a leather purse, your Yggdrasil phone case, a small drinking horn carved with your mark, and of course, your knife. A little burst of deep pink against all the gold, green, and black.

You wore a minty-green velvet cape, a gift from Andsvarr, and your beautiful helmet to top it all off. You truly looked like something out of a fantasy novel, someone who looked like they should be standing next to the legendary figure that Loki currently cut.

He looked enormous, with his many asymmetrical layers, and molded shoulder guards, his billowing cape and hair spilling from beneath his magnificent curling horns. He shone with nornbein, and his cloak, shot with silk, shimmered subtly.

“You're so beautiful.” you mumbled. Loki smiled, and leaned down to adjust your cape, cheeks dusted with pink.

“Thank you.” he said, “I make every attempt. Though I think I will fade into the background under the power of your radiance.”

Warmth rushed to your face.

“Um, I know we've got to hurry and get Acorn, but I want to ask you a favor, Loki.”

“Anything. Tell me what it is and I'll make it so.”

You took a deep breath.

“I need you to stop trying to impress my father.”

The pink on his cheeks transformed into bright red.

“Ah. Yes, I rather hashed that, didn't I? I apologize. I thought that was still standard procedure, but your father, uh, explained otherwise.”

“Mhm, I'll bet he did. Look, I know you wanted to surprise us, but when it comes to things like that, you really oughta run it by me first. I could have told you that wouldn't work out the way you thought it would. You know, saved you from being chewed out like that. You can let me save you sometimes too.”

“ Like with the Huldra.”

“Kinda. Dad's not as bloodthirsty as she was, but he's a lot more stubborn.”

“Like father, like daughter, hm?” he teased.

“You have not seen me be stubborn yet.” you warned, and he gave you a quick smooch.

“A blessing, I'm sure. Very well, I agree. Surprises get run by you. Anything to save me from another tongue lashing. That man truly does not hold back.”

“I mean it though.” you persisted. “I'm not saying that you can't have any surprises at all, but talk to me about big stuff like that. If it's something that Asgardian law or custom would demand, but would be insulting to a human, we can maybe hash out an alternative that would satisfy both. That's the point, isn't it? Please, I really don't want to deal with anymore trouble between you two. Don't get hung up on impressing him, he has every reason to reject it, and he will. No more gifts, no toasts, no calling attention to him in public, nothing. He hates being the center of attention. Just let him be a guest, and see, without interference, that his little girl is doing fine on her own.”

“I really didn't mean to make him so angry.” Loki said, a little crestfallen. “And the more I tried to explain, the angrier he became. I just wanted him to know how much I value you. I wanted you to know too.”

“Material culture is different where I'm from. There are places in the world where that would have been understood and appreciated, but we've stopped doing it. In the same vein, fathers don't make all the decisions for their daughters anymore, so you don't actually need his approval. But...I need you to understand, it's not just that you took away his child, though that's bad enough. It's that I'm the only family he has left. My grandma only had one kid, and that was my dad. And she's dead, and so's my granddad, before I was even born. And then my mom died, and Beth too, and so I'm all that's left for him. And I have this giant Sword of Damocles hanging over my head all the time, and he's had to worry about that for my whole life. Most of the women on my mom's side all died from this, but occasionally, rarely, there's one that doesn't. I'm starting to hope that might be me. Maybe the magic is protecting me. But he's not going to be able to accept that so easily. I'm all he had left, and you took me away. That's all that's going to be important to him. You didn't even have to do the things you did in New York, this is the worst possible crime you could commit, in his eyes.”

Loki heaved a sigh of remorse. “And I cannot even return you to him. It seems there is one more thing I cannot set right.”

“The best you can do is make sure I'm okay. And don't bother him anymore. And maybe let him come visit more often. The more he sees me living my life and being fine, the more confidence he will have that I'm actually safe here.”

“I shall endeavor to help you thrive.” Loki promised.

“All right, so if that's settled, we should go get our horses.”

******

Acorn was, like you, a bit overdressed in your opinion. Long tabbards and blankets covered her from nose to rump, green and gold, embroidered with oak leaves. They were so long, they almost brushed the ground. Ribbons were braided into her wild mane and tail, and bells jingled with every movement. Like you, she could barely be seen under her splendor. But she was probably warm, and happily accepted a carrot from your hand. Placid as always, she let you up on her back, and fell into step behind Leynarodd, who likewise, followed up behind Sleipnir, whose hooves still rang like bells even over the thin layer of packed snow that covered the recently cleared streets.

There was a whole procession of people-this was a parade after all, and Thor, on Sleipnir, was preceded by the twin Valkyries, carrying Asgardian banners, as well as several musicians, and Beli, who chanted an ancient epic on the exploits of Buri.

Saga had translated the chant for you a while ago, and it sounded something like the sensationalized, self-aggrandizing boasts of pharaohs, or Mesopotamian kings-the kind that claimed to be rulers of the world, or rulers of the heavens themselves, to have battled armies of demons, killed giant lions with only a stick-that sort of thing. But when Beli called out those verses in such an ancient dialect of Asgardian, the words themselves felt powerful.

Thor followed slowly, Sliepnir plodding along, both of them absolutely huge. Loki and Leynarodd came right behind, only slightly smaller. And then you and Acorn, almost comical in your stature, diminutive by comparison. You were keenly aware of it, but either all of Asgard was too polite to say anything about it, or they simply didn't care.

The human guests, corralled in roped off areas, whooped and cheered when when you passed. Behind you, more musicians played, and a circle of Seidkonas walked in silent dignity. Then came more banners, the rest of the Valkyries, representatives of each noble house and guild, and the rest of the Aesir in Asgard, provided they didn't already have another position in the parade.

After them, the gathered Asgardians began following, lengthening out the procession, bright balls of magical light bobbing overhead. The sun had barely peeked over the horizon, and would be slinking away in a mere three or so hours, so the mage lights sparkled everywhere. Helpful Einherjar herded the humans to the next specially roped off area, so they could follow the parade as well; you caught a few amused faces at the playful rowdiness displayed by celebrating humans.

That was just how humans were when they were excited about something. Humans loved to holler, to jump, and dance, and clap. Some of them were even trying to keep time with the music.

You weren't actually able to pick out your father or Tara in the crowd, nor anyone else you knew, so you just kept your head forward and your back straight, trying to look as dignified as you could.

You'd only ever seen a few of what you considered 'proper' parades: in a small town a parade mostly consisted of people waving from the backs of neighborhood pickup trucks and tractors, maybe decorated with balloons or paper chains, blasting music from dusty old speakers. In the autumn, there might be pumpkins and corn stalks, and usually hayrides. But never anything like this spectacle.

As you got closer to the construction site, the apprentice mages responsible for all the floating lights started throwing sparks from their hands, like colorful sparklers. The gathered Asgardians began lining up in their designated areas, ready to play their part. The foundations had already been dug, and everything that needed to go into them was already there. All that remained was the pouring.

Thor, Loki, and yourself dismounted as close to in unison as you could manage, the horses carefully lead away to a temporary enclosure. You headed to the stack of decorative bricks, and took your place among the Asgardians there, while Thor gave the order for the cement to pour.

While this went on, Beli gathered his students and skalds in front of the Huldrastone to recite a modern epic. Within the first few verses you realized that it was about the Huldra's attack, and your confrontation with her.

Of course, the poem was much cleaner and more elegant than the actual events had been, but certain things had still been included. Your ears burned beneath your helmet when Beli reached the part where you had 'bestowed upon the fallen prince, a gentle sacrificial kiss, knowing that to trade life for life would grant him breath once more.'

You had finally spotted your father and Tara in the crowd; he crossed his arms and glared upon hearing the verse, while Tara gave you a cheezy grin and thumbs up.

As the poem reached its conclusion, the cement finished pouring, and a new recitation began. As Thor and Loki knelt and began scratching ritual runes into the wet cement, Beli's current group of student came forward and began telling the story of Beli, while apprentice mages illustrated the words with colorful, stylized illusions.

There were harrowing battles against huge stone people, the construction of the original Bifrost, which at that time connected a fleet of alien ships to one another. The illusions showed the gathering of construction materials, the building of a platform in space, and the grand revelation of the crystalline platform upon which Asgard slowly grew. Mountain and plain, river and ocean, building after magnificent building rose into the sky. Their ships captured and carved an asteroid, then set it in orbit as a bright new moon. All this was accomplished by the use of a glowing, icy blue cube that was difficult to look directly at. It was compelling though; it caught and held your attention with its beautiful, sparkling light.

You knew what that device was: you had learned about it in your lessons with Saga. It was the object known as the Tesseract, a four dimensional creation meant to house the incredible energy of an Infinity Stone. Perhaps that was why it was simultaneously fascinating, yet hard to perceive. Your curious human brain was drawn to its uniqueness, yet equally unable to fully fathom it.

That device was the key to Asgard's existence and eventual success. It was unthinkable to you that Odin had just lost it on Earth, as Sagas histories had proclaimed. It must have been a terrible loss.

Thor and Loki completed their carving, and began the process of imbuing the foundations with divine power. Goosebumps rose on your arms, and there was a pricking in your sinuses, like you were about to sneeze. There was almost a flavor to it.

The actual blessing didn't take nearly as long as the rune carving ritual, and soon, the two brothers stepped back, to allow others to begin their work. More mages worked a spell together that lifted the water out of the cement, drying it within moments. People came forward with wires and pipes, floor and wall supports, insulation, hammers, plaster, bricks, and mortar. In rotating lines people laid flooring and installed fixtures, scraped grout and assembled frames. Every now and then youths moved through, sweeping up dust, always away from you.

It suddenly became clear that that was why you were so far back in line, why you'd been assigned a decorative brick, something that would be placed near the very end of the construction. There would be no dust then. Gratitude swelled in your chest, but you said nothing. There was singing now, simple, repetitive melodies that sounded like work songs.

Every hour, volunteers carted huge, heated cauldrons around the lines and groups of human spectators, dipping out hot drinks like witch's potions, and it was possible that there was a simple sort of magic in things like hot chocolate, strong coffee, and buttered rum on a cold day.

The building went up faster than you thought possible, the widows, doors, and lights being set into place as auroras began ribboning across the sky.

Finally, there was one brick left. You lifted it up, as the singing seemed to intensify, scooped some mortar from the pail, and fitted it all into the only remaining slot. Giving the brick a light pat to make sure it was secure, you turned back to the assembled crowd.

“We did it.” You said, and the cheering began.

#lasabrjotr #loki (marvel)#loki x reader

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yhwhsdaughter · 4 years ago

Note

oh, in that chase could i get headcanons or Scenario of Deidara With a fem!S/o who is part of the royal family (of his respective nation) but it´s also (and opposite of how it has to be a princess) a ninja of anbu level and it becomes a traitor of her nation when they discover the relationship

I’m still not that far into Naruto, so apologies if Deidara is a bit ooc. Hope you enjoy ✨

𝔻𝕖𝕚𝕕𝕒𝕣𝕒 𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣

As a member of the royal family, you had to abide by the etiquette that was imposed on you at a young age. It was important that, as the nation’s only princess, you act graciously.

You never found the appeal of pretending to be someone you were not, often rebelling against these royal rules.

However, you wouldn’t have to worry about these for much longer. Near your sixth birthday, an assassin would infiltrate the palace killing all members of the royal family, except you, before he was intercepted.

Left as the sole heir, you were destined to take the throne but because you were too young to rule an entire nation, self-appointed leaders began to appear. A civil war ensued, tearing the once peaceful country into shambles.

You had been sent to live with your uncle, the Third Tsuchikage of Iwagakure while the aftermath settled down.

The village was surrounded by mountain ranges, built from the same stone as those. Villagers, especially shinobi, were headstrong. They had rock-hard attitudes they applied to their lives. In fact, many of them practiced Earth Release techniques.

You quickly took an interest in becoming a shinobi to distract yourself from the pain of losing those closest to you. It wasn’t a healthy coping mechanism but your uncle allowed it. He thought if you used that as an outlet to let your anger and negative emotions out, you would eventually healed.

He was partly right. The events that occurred during your youth marked you permanently and would have led you into a darker, self-destructive path if it wasn’t for Deidara.

You met him through training. He was rather talented and his presence brought you peace. Deidara always seemed relaxed, even in battle, but that wasn’t what attracted you to him. It was his passion. More specifically, his love of art.

The two of you were resting from practice. “You see (Name), art is a fleeting moment of beauty that vanishes gloriously.” Though you weren’t necessarily an artist yourself, you nodded, holding your chin like a wise old man with a long beard. “Hm, art is explosive?” “Exactly!”

Being the Tsuchikage’s niece, you had more insight than the average genin. From time to time, you’d eavesdrop in conversations between high ranking nin and your uncle. “(Name) we know you’re there..” “!!!”

Your skills as a shinobi had improved dramatically throughout the years. Still, you were forbidden from joining any type of elite force as you were still an heir. “(Name)-sama, your safety is a priority. One day, you might become the next Tsuchikage if not the Queen of your country.” “Ugh! Uncle Ōnoki will never step down. He’s too proud to choose a successor.”

Deidara reluctantly let you braid his hair. He knew you were upset and knew that this was one of your most peaceful ways of distressing. Had it been someone else, he would have blown them away. “Deidara, you’re so lucky you get to join the Explosion Corps” you sighed mournfully.

The man in questioned mediated on your words. “I like using my clay sculptures in missions—” You interrupted, “They are great.” “But I want to be greater than this. I want my art to be elevated, yeah?”

Your fingers threaded gently down his scalp, giving Deidara goosebumps from the pleasant sensation. For someone who behaved rather roughly, you sure were tender with his hair. “I heard uncle talking about one of the village’s kinjutsu. It’s only passed through generations..”

Intrigued, your blond companion shifted positions to look at your face. “Supposedly it allows users to knead chakra into objects. Perhaps with your—”

It seems Deidara was thinking the same as you. “I could combine that with my Explosion Release!” He grabbed your hands, “(Name), do you know this technique hm?” You shrugged, “No. Only when I become—if I become Tsuchikage, I’ll be taught this.”

Deidara, initially excited, slumped. “That’s too long.” You couldn’t help but chuckle at his change in demeanor. “Are you in a hurry or something?”

Looking into your eyes, Deidara closed the space between you both. His stare felt intimate, speeding up your heart. “If I were to leave the village, would you come with me?”

You blinked in surprise before biting your lip guiltily. “I would love to, but I can’t. As much as I hate it, my duties lie within the village and my country.”

Deidara looked down, absentmindedly playing with your fingers. He said nothing but he didn’t have to, his actions spoke louder. “Why would you want to leave the village anyways? And, how would the two of us live a-alone?”

At your naivety, Deidara stood up ready to go but you grabbed his hand, stopping him in his tracks. “Wait. Don’t leave me..”

“Would you be able to locate the location of the scroll that contains it, hm?” You stood up, still not releasing from. “I guess so, but why—”

“Could you just do it…please..”

Perhaps you knew from that moment what Deidara had planned but you pushed yourself to think otherwise.

As promised, you used your skills to find where the scroll was being kept before passing on that information to Deidara.

He ran his fingers up your arms before settling on your elbows. “This face.. its so beautiful it should be considered art..” one of his hands settled on your waist while the other cupped your cheek. You figured what he was trying to do and kissed him. Passionately.

It lasted a while. Before this, neither of you had made a move. There were always the longing looks and casual yet intimate touches. Everyone around you noticed the closeness between the two of you, even deciding that you’d make a good couple. “You should go to sleep.”

“Okay..” you bid him goodnight. “See you tomorrow?” He smiled, “Sure.”

It was the middle of the night when you were awoken by loud explosive noises. Some of them shook the tower in which you lived. Clicking your tongue, you detangled yourself from the covers, running towards the window.

Curses left your mouth as you connected the pieces together. “Damn him..!” He’d really done it.

You rushed to get dressed and chase after Deidara. Though you were technically not allowed to leave the village, you could sort that out with your uncle later. You struggled to put on your shoes, jumping around in the darkness with one foot while the other refused to enter the shoe.

You weren’t given the chance as shinobi filled the room. Meeting your eyes with the Tsuchikage, disappointment reflected in them. He knew. He knew that you were the one that had given Deidara the information. The two of you were practically inseparable.

Bringing your other foot down, you didn’t spare anyone a last look before running towards the window and jumping. Shinobi were quick to follow but Ōnoki stopped them. “Let her go.”

The Tsuchikage was showing you the ultimate mercy he could afford. He was never a father figure to you, he knew that Deidara was the only person left who you loved.

Besides, you were an extremely skilled nin despite not joining a special unit. It was probable you would make matters more difficult for them. Not to mention, that no one knew if you’d stolen any secret techniques either.

You tried. You desperately tried to find Deidara now that you were considered a traitor. A traitor to your country and Iwagakure. There was no use going back.

Truthfully, you were lucky the Tsuchikage allowed you to go without repercussions. Like Deidara, you were now a rogue nin without means to travel or survive.

Speaking of which, Deidara seriously considered taking you with him even if it was by force but upon further thought, he couldn’t.

You were better off without him. By stealing from the Tsuchikage, Deidara knew he’d become a traitor and a fugitive. It was safer for you to not be associated with him. Maybe you could find a prince to marry or finally become the Fourth Tsuchikage.

His heart would heal with time. Deidara would be able to forget you, your face, your mouth, your soft lips..

Two years would pass before you found information regarding the whereabouts of your beloved. Word had it that there was a bomber for hire. People’s description of this individual sounded incredibly familiar so you sought him out.

Deidara had been hired by a mysterious person. He’d been given an address to meet and discuss the deal but they hadn’t shown up.

The place was bare so it couldn’t be a trap, but as the seconds trickled by he couldn’t help but doubt. As he was about to leave, a certain figure tackled him.

Deidara had not sensed them. Were they in the room the entire time?? He could barely process this as the cloaked figure grabbed his wrist and pinned them to the side of his head.

During the struggle, the hood fell revealing the individual behind this attack. You smiled, though the anger behind your eyes was clear. “I thought..” your hands tightened around his wrists “I had made it clear that you wouldn’t leave me.”

Not a lot of time had passed but you had become even more beautiful. Deidara couldn’t help but stare. Your face showed signs of maturity; eyes sharp and those sensual lips molding into a straight line.

You had abandoned everyone, everything you knew.. for him? You’d become a traitor, a deserter, a rouge nin for his sake. Was your love for him truly that strong?

Upon spotting the tongues on his hands, you tilted your head curiously, bringing back some of your innocence.

“Well, we can work with that.”

#naruto #naruto deidara #deidara #deidara x reader #akatsuki

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myriadlabrynth · 4 years ago

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Kiridai vs Type of Girl They Like

With more explanation. All just my opinions, and headcanons (Not the most in depth analysis because they are overall self-explanatory)

Hanamiya - Stupid Girls

There are a few ways to look at this

We know from the light novel with Imayoshi(Chapter 6 of Replace V), and also the online-gaming drama cd(Knb Season 2 Drama Cd 4), Hanamiya puts up this facade as this friendly and humble guy. Whether this is something he does all the time or only sometimes, is up for debate.

A stupid girl would be someone who still falls for this facade. Since there are of course girls who already know what Hanamiya is really like. Unlike the early years of middle school, where most people thought Hanamiya was this nice kid, his reputation is now well known(he’s the “bad boy” for a reason). So all things considered, you might have to be really stupid, or just blissfully ignorant(so still stupid to Hanamiya)to fall for the facade still.

Another way to look at it is, you know how people say “Are you stupid?!” when they do something risky? Same type of deal here.

It’s not just with brains, it’s also a girl who is too brave to an idiotic degree. Or perhaps impulsive. Someone who stands up to him,who doesn’t quite know what they’re getting into when they confront him. It would be someone who did figure it out. They know Hanamiya is not a good person, but they were merely scratching the surface, and they’ll learn that eventually.

Either interpretation, it’s simply good entertainment for him really, especially the ecstasy he gets when the girl eventually realizes exactly who they are dealing with.

I think his type being “stupid girls” would imply he’s not really going into relationships, expecting anything serious? To give an exact quote from the knb 3ds game(knb: miracles to victory)in his conversation with Moriyama:(translation by grimmfeather)

“ I’m completely focused on basketball right now. I want to lay every moment of my high school years on the line, put my best foot forward every day, and win with the rest of my team… That’s why I don’t even have time to think about love and whatnot at the moment.”

(I haven’t actually heard the voice acting for this part, so idk if he said it in his fake nice persona, but regardless, most of this is probably half-heartedly said, especially the “best foot forward everyday and win with the rest of my team”, but the gist of it is true, about not thinking about love)

I think if he was actually serious, he would prefer someone with some degree of intelligence, not a complete lost cause. But who knows, life might/probably will throw him a curve ball.

Since he’s not expecting any relationship to go very far, he is caught off guard if/when one actually works out

Also side note, regarding the light novel with Imayoshi, can I just say how concerning it is that Hanamiya has apparently been doing rough play since he was twelve years old???? And possibly earlier??

Seto - Intelligent Girls

The opposite of Hanamiya obviously. I mentioned that there are girls who already know what Hanamiya is like, regardless of the phony nice persona, that is an example of who Seto would prefer.

Just someone who is smart enough to see through it(since Hanamiya’s nice act is apparently pretty convincing, though Seto saw right through it just like Imayoshi did), especially if it's a girl who is meeting Hanamiya for the first time and doesn’t know anything about him. The girls who do know Hanamiya’s nature, knew from word of mouth, not from actually interacting with Hanamiya.

Seto isn’t really someone who wants to be in a relationship anytime soon, but Seto would see yet another girl who is fooled by Hanamiya and think “Well I know I wouldn’t want a girl that’s that dumb“ that would be why his preference is someone smart.

I mean I’m not saying that the only girls that Seto would be interested in are the ones who go through hanamiya first, but they would certainly intrigue him.

It’s interesting to think about what else Seto considers to be “marks of intelligence” though, since his intelligence is on another level.

Romantic or not, Seto generally is more drawn towards intelligent individuals.(which is part of why he has his eye on Imayoshi, according to Kurofes)He just likes having someone who he can have an intellectual conversation with, it's part of why he gets along well with Hanamiya. Simple small talk doesn’t really bode well, or won’t get you very far.

Cause the things he finds interesting, other people might not understand or know anything about.

Furuhashi - Masochists/Someone with Masochistic Tendencies

It reminds me of the shoujo manga Ookami Shoujo to Kuroo Ouji.Basically the guy is an ass to this girl, even when they start dating.

And the girl was described as a “Masochist”, because she puts up with the guy’s rude and sadistic tendencies. And basically one of the reasons why the relationship worked is because the girl kind of just accepted the way the guy was(and the guy ended up softening up on his own anyway). Other girls would run away or call him a jerk, and never try talking to him again. But this girl was persistent and stuck around and didn’t try to change him. The Guy just needed someone who would accept him for who he is, cause he was just the way he is.(a very watered down version of the manga, idk if i’d recommend it, but it’s out there.)

(Now that I think about it, the manga fits Hanamiya’s situation too...cause the guy puts up a kind “prince-like” facade, and finds enjoyment when the numerous girls he meets sees his true nature…..hm)

ANYWAY, this is how i’d describe Furuhashi’s preference as well. Him being a sadist is just the way he is, and he’s not going to change for anyone. He may soften up a bit, but he’ll be the same guy overall.

Masochist in this sense, would mean someone who would accept Furuhashi for who he is, a sadist. They wouldn’t expect him to change for them. Someone who will love him for him.

To actively choose to still be with him, despite everything may be considered “Masochistic”

He gets pissed when girls try to change him. When they think that just because they’re dating,he’s supposed to change who he is. Because he would think that the girl never actually loved “him”, they were just painting a fake version in their head and tried to make it a reality. Or mold him into their ideal boyfriend. I think Furuhashi has trust issues because of past experiences.

And yeah sure, we can also look at it in the typical sense as well (in a perhaps ‘nsfw’ type of way ) He gets great joy from the things he gets to do on the basketball team, and that he is able to get off scot-free. So of course he would want other means to be able to do similar things, when he eventually leaves basketball.

He’s intrigued at the idea that someone would enjoy being hurt(cause he’s used to being met with anger)

But I think there’s more to it than that.

Hara - Girls with Pretty Legs

Not much to it really. It means exactly what it says.

Interesting that Hara’s preference is the only one of Kiridai that is a physical attribute.

He’s actually one of four(I think) knb characters whose preference is physical attributes (the other ones are Aomine and Murasakibara, and kinda Tsugawa)

This would mean Hara is someone who is (usually) attracted to one’s appearance first, before their personality.

It’s really just legs that Hara finds to be pretty. Doesn’t have to be slender or anything like that.

Huge fan of thigh highs of course, especially when they’re visibly squeezing the thigh, even if it's barely(he’ll notice)

He's the type of guy who sees those pics of girls with thigh highs just barely squeezing the thighs, it’s barely noticeable, and says they’re “thicc”

If we’re thinking about personality traits that Hara would prefer, if there were any, it would be someone who is a bit laid back just like him.

Someone who understands his jokes, won’t be like a “stick in the mud”.

But at the same time, I can see Hara being interested in someone a bit more serious(not too much), because those people are more fun to mess with and tease lol

Yamazaki - Cheerful Girls

So pure…

A girl with an infectious smile. He would try his best and do all he can to see that smile over and over again. They would be a ray of sun in a room and happy-go-lucky

I think it could provide a nice break from his time in the team?

Constantly seeing bruised and sometimes bleeding players takes a toll on Yamazaki, who barely supports it. The vibes of the team are overall dark and can be overwhelming.

A cheerful girl gives him a break from that and the boost of serotonin he needs.

Just someone who is positive cause he doesn’t always want to think about crushing other players or other people’s demise.

I can see Yamazaki having a crush on a girl who is super friendly to him but he always thinks “She’s nice to me, but she’s nice to everyone so there’s no way she likes me in ‘that way’”

The girl would be someone who accepts his “loudness”, for lack of better word? I can see Yamazaki holding back to try to seem more “presentable”. The girl would be someone who Yamazaki is comfortable with being himself.

Can I just reiterate how cute Yamazaki’s preference in girls is….we have stupid girls, intelligent girls, masochists, girls with pretty legs, and Yamazaki is here like “I like cheerful girls…”

An angel indeed….

#kirisaki daiichi #kiridai #kirisaki daichi #knb #hanamiya makoto #seto kentaro #furuhashi kojiro #hara kazuya #yamazaki hiroshi #kiridai analysis #i love yama...#this was fun to write #though these are also nerve wracking to post too...#long post

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mxndoscyarika · 4 years ago

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Red Sunsets (Javier Peña x Chinese!Reader) | Chapter 10: Al Fín Se Hablan

Author’s note: I’m still here! I’m soooo sorry this took so long, I know we’re close to the end but school and applications took up all my energy 😭 Thankfully, I have a writing class this quarter that’s been helping to keep me inspired! Hope you guys like this one, it’s not much but it’s cute 😘

Summary: Family fights, grudges, and determination. Those three things defined your journey as you navigated through the workings of the DEA. Getting in was hard, and catching Escobar was even harder. You joined Javier Peña and Steve Murphy in the hunt for Escobar, forming bonds and life lessons along the way.

Like my writing? Here’s my masterlist.

Red Sunsets masterlist

Warning(s): smoking, discussion of marriage 👀, one(1) vaguely sexual innuendo

You sighed and rubbed your face, trying to rid yourself of the haziness that came with staring at pages of small text. You lifted your face from your hands as a steaming mug of coffee was set onto your desk. It was made just how you liked it, and you knew exactly who was next to you. “Thanks, Javi.”

“Of course, hermosa,” he rasped. You smiled as he rubbed your back and kissed the top of your head. “How are things coming along?” “They’re not,” you lamented. “Nothing makes sense and I haven’t been able to make even the dumbest connections.”

“I can take a look at them in a few minutes,” he soothed, nodding at the typewriter on his desk. “Just let me finish something up for Messina.”

“Okay,” you sighed, pouting at him. You pulled him down so you could press your lips to his, smiling at the familiar pressure. “Thanks, baby.”

Javi hummed softly and sat down at his desk. “Anything for you, mi amor.”

You two didn’t notice Steve’s slack-jawed expression as you went back to work, the rustle of papers and clicking of the typewriter filling the office space. Whorls of steam tickled your nose as you took a sip of coffee, the fruity notes lingering on your tongue. It was certainly watered down, but you appreciated the caffeine nonetheless.

“So were either of you going to tell me you got together,” Steve asked, looking between the two of you, “or was I supposed to find out myself after you two sucked face? When did this happen?”

Neither of you looked up from your work as you replied simultaneously, “A while ago.”

The blonde scoffed, set down his cigarette, and crossed his arms. “So you’re telling me that you’ve been together this whole time, and I never knew?”

“Yup,” Javi grunted, pulling the finished report from the typewriter and examining it for errors.

You rolled your eyes at his gruff reply. “We would’ve told you, but we haven’t had the chance. But I guess you know now, so there’s no need for that.”

“Wait, so you two are together?” Steve asked in disbelief.

Javi cringed at the volume. “Thanks for announcing it to the whole world, Murph.” He held out his hand for the folders, which you silently passed them to him.

“Oh, as if the entire embassy didn’t know you two had a thing for each other,” he scoffed, taking a drag from the smoking cigarette. Wagging his finger, he stated, “But this- this is a cause for celebration. Connie’s going to freak out when I tell her the news. How about a double-date tonight? Just the four of us getting some drinks.”

“I don’t mind as long as Javi comes.” Taking another sip of coffee, you silently begged for the caffeine to stamp out your growing headache.

“With you? Always,” Javi said, squinting at the small print. A lock of hair fell from its place, making you want to run your hands through his silky hair. But he was too far from your reach, and you didn’t feel like getting up from your chair. He didn’t notice Steve choking on air across from him.

---

Despite being a weeknight, the bar was fairly full. Music played softly as you searched for an open table or booth. The warm weight of Javi’s hand rested on your back as you rose to your tiptoes for a better view. You spotted Steve and Connie sitting towards the back, tucked away in a booth for four.

“I knew it!” Connie exclaimed when you arrived at the booth, slapping her husband’s arm.

“You knew what?” you teased, scooting across the seat. After work, you and Javi went home to change into more comfortable clothes. While Javi was content with simply changing his shirt, you slipped into a mid-length dress and some stylish slip-on shoes.

“That you two were together,” she said, pointing between you and Javi. “If you were trying to hide your relationship, you weren’t doing a very good job. Though I guess there’s something to be said for Steve not picking up on it earlier.”

“When you work with them every day, everything starts to look the same,” Steve scoffed. “They’ve been acting like this for months by now. Hell, they’re probably married and didn’t tell us.”

“That’s some fantastic detective work,” you said, sharing a look with Javi. He smiled softly and looked down at his drink, swirling the amber liquid. “But we’ve only been together for a couple weeks.”

Although you and he were officially in a relationship, you had quickly realized that not much changed. For some reason, part of you had expected grand gestures and declarations of love, but you also knew that wasn’t Javi.

No, your Javi expressed his love through small favors, gentle touches, and attention to detail. In many ways, it was all you ever wanted; someone who cared about you and would make you feel cherished in a world that was so busy.

Instead of waking up alone in a cold bed, you now woke to Javi pressing warm kisses on your shoulder and nuzzling along your neck. His stubble would scratch your skin as his soft lips worshipped your body, sweet murmurs of “good morning” and “I love you” rumbling in his throat.

The mornings were always your favorite for that reason.

“So, what made you two take the plunge?” Connie asked, bringing you back to reality. You must’ve looked like a deer caught in headlights, because she shrugged sheepishly. “I’m just curious.”

“Why don’t you tell them?” you asked, nudging Javi’s arm.

He sighed softly and downed the rest of his drink before telling them what happened.

---

The city glowed beneath the overlook, the silhouettes of comunas like mountains during a sunset. You and Javi stood together by the edge. Although it wasn’t particularly cold, Javi gave you his leather jacket, draping it around your shoulders before pulling you into his arms.

It smelled like him, the scent bringing you back to the night of your first undercover mission. The difference was, you and Javi and Steve and Connie had gone to a bar not as DEA agents, but as couples.

A couple. No matter how much you’d wanted to be Javi’s, and for him to be yours, you still couldn’t quite fathom that he’d chosen you. You wondered how your family would react if they found out. Would they be happy that you finally found love, or would they disown you because you broke tradition?

Javi kissed the side of your head and murmured, “Come back to me, baby. What are you thinking about, mi amor?”

“You. Us.” You held his face in your hands and kissed him deeply, your lips molding together. “Te amo, Javi.”

He stilled, your lips brushing against each other. The soft rumble of his voice warmed you from the inside out. “Hm, you know, ‘te amo’ is normally only reserved for the love of your life, as in someone who you’d marry.”

“I know,” you replied, kissing him again. A soft groan escaped him as you wove your fingers through his hair. “I didn’t stutter, did I?”

“No, you said it perfectly,” he said. In the faint light, you could see his eyes sparkling. They were dark, like the comfort of a bedroom. Like the warmth of coffee in the morning. Like the star-filled sky. You leaned into his hand as he cupped your cheek. His voice was velvet as he murmured, “Eres el amor de mi vida. Nunca imaginé que podría tener un amor como el que tenemos. But then you arrived, got off that plane, and blew us all away. You blew me away.”

You smiled and bit your lip, eyes burning with unshed tears. “You fell in love with me that early on?”

“It wasn’t hard,” he answered, kissing the tip of your nose. When you scoffed lightly, he pouted. “It’s true!”

You rolled your eyes. “Well we can’t both fall in love at the same time. That just makes us look like a couple of fools.”

He laughed softly. “It would, wouldn’t it?” He paused, then said your name softly. When you hummed for him to continue, he asked, “Do you ever think about settling down? Giving up on all this and going home to live your life?”

“Honestly,” you began, “more often than I’d like.”

The warmth of his lips against your temple made you smile as he asked, “Why is that?”

You let out a sigh. “There’s just always been that pressure for me to settle down, get married, and have some kids. And when I was younger, I fought against it. But now that I’m here with you….”

“Let me guess,” Javi started, a half smirk on his face. “You realized that men are pendejos and you’re better off alone?”

He grunted as you smacked his chest lightly. “No,” you objected. “I realized that all I needed was the right person to share my future with.”

“And who might that be?”

“I think you know who it is.”

Translations:

“Eres el amor de mi vida. Nunca imaginé que podría tener un amor como el que tenemos.” You are the love of my life. I never imagined that I could have a love like ours.

Tagging:

Permanent taglist: @cinewhore @randomness501 @theghostwiththemost-babe @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @catfishingmorales @halfwaythereroyal @fioccodineveautunnale @talesfromtheguild @tortles @ladamari68 @theokatcov @snivellusim @starryluce @inked-poet @this-cat-is-dea @shedobewritingalittle @chews-erotically @thefandomimagines @emesispo @mindless--ramblings @phoenixhalliwell

Red Sunsets taglist: @engineeredfiction @reylo-hope @yespolkadotkitty @geistbuster @far-too-tired-to-exist @faiinal @promiscuoussatan @thewaythisis @earl-01 @honestlystop @dishonouringmycow @chibi-liz05 @thedazeinmylife @babybelou

#javier peña #javier peña x reader #Pedro pascal #javier pena x reader #narcos #Red Sunsets #my writing

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oikirstein · 4 years ago

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𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 | Kuroken | Day 1

Synopsis: Kenma has has loved his best friend, Kuroo, for a lifetime. After a misfortunate occurrence which was photographed by the media, the PR team for Bouncing Ball Corp. decide that it’s a good idea for Kenma and Kuroo to play along with the public to increase the sales of their upcoming product release. Will Kenma be able to control his emotions, or will he lose his best friend in the process?

Contains: Angst, unrequited love, fake relationship

Posted: 12/21/2020

Word count: 3,342

Haikyuu Angst Week Prompt List here.

I have been in love with Tetsuro Kuroo since I was seven years old.

I still love him—eighteen years later.

Growing up as best friends, he was never a hard person to love. He looks out for me, brought me out of my comfort zone, hell, he’s the reason why I’ve grown into who I am today. I’d never admit that to his stupid face, though.

I was seventeen when I realized my love for him was more than just platonic. He was a year older than me, so by the time I started my third year, he was already off to university. The harsh reality of the situation finally weighed heavy on me when I waited outside of his house for thirty minutes and remembered he’s not coming anymore.

He called me later that evening apologizing, although he did nothing wrong, because that’s just the type of person Kuroo was. The next week he surprised me by waiting outside my door to walk me to school.

“I miss this,” he reminisced, staring up at the sky.

“What?” I turned to him, heart racing just a little more than usual, hoping for a certain string of words to come out of his mouth.

“Walking to school like this every morning.”

They didn’t.

I don’t know what I was hoping for. Maybe I wanted him to say he missed walking with me. I’m not sure whether I’d rather hear lies or the truth. That was the day I admitted to myself that he’d be the only person for me.

Now here we are, me at 25 and him at 26 sitting in my office with my publicist yelling at us for being so reckless in public. It was a misunderstanding, really.

“How could you do that at a party where you knew there’d be press coverage?” Kata was pacing back and forth while I rested my forehead on my crossed arms that laid on the glass desk and Kuroo leaned back in his chair on the other side of the table.

“Kata,” she stopped mid-stride and turned her attention to me as I muttered, “how many times do I have to repeat myself,” I lifted my head back up, “IT ISN’T WHAT YOU THINK.”

Kuroo found it difficult to hold back his laugh.

“I don’t think you should be laughing, Kuroo-san. You’re in just as much trouble as Kozume-san.”

He stopped laughing.

“Anyway, it doesn’t matter what I think. It was never about what I thought. The point of my job is to make sure you look good for the public. Thats what a publicist does. Now the issue here, is that the public thinks you’re dating.”

“Okay, wow so all it takes is for me to fall, Kuroo to catch me, and some no-name photographer to snap a picture of us for us to be considered ‘dating’ now?”

“Kozume-san if you play into this little charade, say for a couple months, just long enough for the new product to be released, sales will go up, and then you can just announce that you two called it quits.”

Was it really worth playing with my heart just to earn a quick buck?

“No. I don’t want Kuroo to be forced to date me, that’s weird and embarrassing.”

Kata walked forward and took a seat in the chair next to Kuroo before she leaned forward and rest her chin on her hand, “Here’s the thing Kozume-san, you two ‘dating’, doesn't even have to be real,” proud of her award-winning idea, she leaned back in her seat, arms folded across her chest, and a smug look written all over her face.

“So what you’re saying is to do this as a cash grab?” Kuroo seemed genuinely curious.

“Well somewhat. Think of it more like...fan service.”

“Hmmm...I mean if it’s a show they want then it’s a show they’ll get,” he reached over and smacked my back, “What do you say kitten? Be my scene partner?” he smirked.

Ugh. Why does he have to use those stupid nicknames that always make my heart flutter. My face was visibly cringing as i scrunched up my nose and scowled at him. He knows I could never truly refuse when it’s him.

“Fine,” I mumbled under my breath as I looked away.

Kuroo’s footsteps were light as he got up from his seat and went around the desk to sneak up behind me. He bent down and leaned in close towards my ear.

“What was that, puddin?” he whispered, his hot breath whipping through my loose strands of hair.

I jumped out of my seat and rubbed my ear with the sleeve of my jacket and he laughed his ugly, stupid, hyena laugh.

“See! Look at that! You two aren’t even ‘dating’ and yet you have so much chemistry!” Kata said enthusiastically while clapping.

Of course we have chemistry. We’ve been best friends for eighteen years. Soulmates our whole lives. It was always easy to be around Kuroo. That’s one of the things I love about him. Why wouldn’t we have chemistry?

“Well, when you’ve been best friends with someone for like, your whole life, of course you’re gonna know exactly how to push his buttons,” his voice was breathy as he wiped tears from his eyes.

I didn’t realize it then, but I truly did sell my heart for pocket change.

A full month later was when we went out in public together as a “couple” for the first time. It was a simple brunch at a well known restaurant, but Kata made sure to anonymously tip paparazzi that we would be at that establishment. Together. It wasn’t even 30 minutes into our meal when we were bombarded with cameras.

“Today we are here with Kenma Kozume, the young CEO of Bouncing Ball Corp., and his supposed boyfriend, Tetsuro Kuroo, from the Japan Volleyball Association. Are any of you able to speak on the rumors spreading about the two of you?”

Kuroo had always been good at talking. He's been smooth with his words for as long as I could remember him. He was...a people person. The complete opposite of me, which is why we agreed that Kuroo would do most of the talking, should a camera crew show up.

He laughed, not the ugly hyena kind, it was an attractive laugh. That’s how I knew it wasn’t real.

“Well I mean we won’t confirm or deny anything right now, won’t we kitten?” he winked at me and suddenly all the attention was directed towards my direction.

Idiot. Two can play at that game.

“Im pretty sure whatever the public is thinking is probably true, hm Tetsu?”

I’ve never called him that before, so it was obvious he was shocked. Big eyes and blushy cheeks. We gave the camera exactly what it wanted.

“Is that a confirmation?” the man behind the camera was provoking us for an answer.

“It’s whatever you want it to be,” he smirked before taking his chopsticks back into his hand and grabbing a plate full of beef, “Now if you gentlemen will excuse us, we’d like to continue our lunch date.”

Satisfied with the content they would now be able to work with, the cameras slowly started retreating from the scene until it was just us two again.

“Damn maybe I should’ve gone into show business,” he smirked.

“Shut up, they might still be around,” I whispered while looking down, incase we were still being watched.

“How do you know I was talking about that. I could just simply be saying that I would’ve been amazing on T.V.”

“No you wouldn’t,” I replied, monotonous voice, as I took a bite of some barbecue and rice.

“Kenma, why do you have to break my heart like this? What if I was born to be an actor?”

“Uhm I don’t know about you, but I’ve never seen an actor that has the same hairstyle twenty-four seven, three hundred sixty-five days a year.”

“That’s a technicality. Why should hair define my amazing acting abilities?”

“Then I want to see you shave your head and wear a wig.”

Kuroo froze in the middle of whatever movement he was making and just stared at the grill in the middle of the table with a horrified expression written on his face.

“You know what? Maybe I wasn't meant to be an actor...”

Outings usually continued on like this. We would have little interviews with paparazzi, slowly dropping more and more hints about our “relationship,” and once they left, we’d have breakfast, lunch, or dinner, like we usually do. I suppose to any outsider it would seem as though we were on a date, but I wouldn’t allow myself to call this pitiful get together as such.

I could pretend this was real. I could tell myself that Kuroo reciprocated my feelings. I could tell myself that we were truly in a relationship. I could tell myself I have a chance, but a mere sliver of probability isn’t worth risking our friendship.

Since I was seventeen I accepted the fact that I’d be happy as long as he was in my life. I mean, he’d still smile the same. He’d still laugh the same. He’d still love me...

I’m supposed to be content with what I have. It’s either we stay as best friends, or we go on as strangers, and I’d rather avoid the latter. So why do I feel such a tightness in my chest whenever we’re forced to go out together? Why do I feel so selfish for wanting more?

Two months went by until we had to make an actual appearance together at a party. Me under Kuroo’s arm like some sort of bittersweet candy.

He was always good at reading people—especially me. Which is why he pulled me aside before we walked into the huge rental house. The only reason I agreed to show up was because it was Shoyo’s team celebrating their win against some team who’s name I can’t remember.

“You okay Ken?” he rested both hands on my shoulders with my back against the wall.

“Yeah, I just need a second.”

I never did like big crowds.

After taking a few minutes to breathe before submitting myself to the abyss of rowdy adrenaline-high athletes, Kuroo took my hand in his as we walked through the front doors together. It was warm. Like my fingers were molded to fit perfectly into his palm. Must’ve been why I felt so cold when he let my hand go.

As soon as the camera flashed and Bokuto called him from the other side of the room, he whispered an “I’ll be back kitten,” before joining the beefy player by the bar.

I guess I’ll go find Shoyo.

It wasn’t long until I saw a bush of bright orange bobbing up and down through a sea of people.

“Shoyo!”

“Kenma!”

“Congratulations on your win.”

“Thank you! I wouldn’t want to disappoint my sponsor,” he winked, “Do you want to step outside? It’s a little loud in here.”

Whether he means to or not, Shoyo’s always been good at making sure people feel comfortable.

“Uhm, Shoyo?” I grabbed the hem of his shirt and tugged a little to get his attention.

“What’s up?” he practically had to yell over the loud music and the incessant yelling of the surrounding people.

“Can we get a beer first?”

A smile spread across his face, “Of course, just wait for me by the fire outside.”

I followed his instructions and sat in one of the red lawn chairs that snaked around the circular bonfire.

“How’ve you been?” the ginger said while handing me an opened beer and sitting in the chair next to me.

“I’ve been alright. Things are running smoothly for the product release—”

“I didn't ask about how work was, Kenma,” he interrupted, “How are you?”

“Oh. Uhm...I’m keeping it together.”

He leaned back in the plastic chair and took a sip from his drink, “So you and Kuroo-san, huh?”

I looked around to make sure no one was near us. I could never lie to Shoyo.

“Barely,” I mumbled as I, myself, took a big gulp.

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“It’s an act. All because of a misunderstanding from a few months ago.”

“Well did you have a choice?”

“Not really.”

“That's unfortunate. I thought you would’ve told him how you felt by now.”

“Wait- what do you mean ‘how I felt?’ You knew?”

“I may not be that bright, but I have eyes, Kenma. I can see the way your eyes gloss over when he calls you one of those cute pet names, or the way your cheeks redden when he does that weird laugh at your jokes.”

“Hmm... You’re more observant than I thought, Sho.”

“So why haven’t you told him?”

Just thinking about confessing scared the shit out of me. All I can imagine is the disgusted look on his face when I tell him. The scenario plays over and over again in my head—the one where he walks away and fades into the background. I don’t know when I started crying, but I had only realized it when I heard the glass of Shoyo’s bottle tap the ground.

“What’s wrong?”

I wiped the hot tears from my cheeks with my wrist.

“I guess I just love him too much to lose him.”

Two weeks after that party, we had another meeting at the office.

“This has been going great so far!” Kata exclaimed, obviously proud of her idea, “Have you ever thought of being an actor?” she teased Kuroo.

“See! That’s what I’ve been telling Kenma, but apparently my untamable hair is standing in the way between me and fame.”

“You’re already all over the news, idiot.”

“And all thanks to my little kitten,” he walked over to my seat behind my desk and peppered my cheek in kisses.

“We’re not in public, you can stop acting all lovey dovey,” I spat. I didn’t even think about my words until Kata’s effervescent expression changed into a state of confused shock. She wasn’t sure how she should react to my outburst.

“W-what? It’s all fun and games, Ken,” Kuroo was taken aback by my response as well, but he hid it much better than my publicist.

“It always is with you,” I got up and walked out of office. I couldn't take it anymore. All this pretending and toying with my heart. I felt bad for blaming it all on Kuroo, when he couldn’t have possibly known about my feelings, but it was easier to blame him for my pain than to admit to myself that I’m a coward.

I rounded the corner and continued on my way to the vending machine to get an energy drink. Those always seemed to put me in a better mood.

Kuroo knew me well. Who wouldn’t after eighteen years? That’s probably why he knew exactly where to find me.

“What the hell was that, Kenma?”

I pulled up the tab of the can and let the hiss of carbonation fizzle out before I took a sip and leaned against the wall.

“What was what?”

“You’re little scene in there? What’s going on?”

“Nothing is going on.”

“You’re lying to me.”

I looked off to the side, my eyes scanning every row in the vending machine, “I just think it’s time to call quits on this charade we have going on,” I responded dryly.

“Huh? Why? It’s only a couple more weeks until the release. Why end it now?”

“I’m tired, Kuroo. I don’t want to have to pretend all the time anymore.”

I was never an emotional person, so I knew that in this moment Kuroo knew something catastrophic was going on inside my head, for me to put myself before the potential success of the company.

“It’s just for a little while longer and then we can go back to normal, okay? Can you just hold out until then?”

“No. You’re not listening to me. Why the hell do you want to keep doing this. This doesn’t benefit you in the slightest.”

“Because I love you,” my heart rate went up at these words although I knew he didn’t mean them in the way I wish he did, “You’re my best friend and I want to see you thrive.”

“Why are you always putting yourself on the line for me?”

“Putting myself on the line? What are you—”

“I’m so selfish! And then you over here,” I rolled my eyes at him before kicking my weight off the wall, “You constantly give but you never take!”

“I don’t see the issue with that.”

“You’re too good for me,” I looked to the ground because I knew that if I looked up into his gorgeous hazel eyes, I would definitely cry.

“That’s not true—”

“Yes it is and you know it,” my voice was on the verge of cracking from how tired I was from arguing.

“You know what? You look like you need some space. Think about things okay? I’m only a phone call away. I’ll see you at the launch party,” he walked away.

The day of the launch party was a bore. Just a bunch of business men in suits and the growing anxiety in the pit of my stomach, for Kuroo had yet to show up like he promised.

It was half-past twelve when I stepped outside the venue to get some fresh air. The second I opened the doors was when I saw him pacing back and forth, deep in thought.

“Kuroo?”

“Kenma! I’m so sorry about what happened a few weeks ago—”

I did nothing but hugged him like I was going to lose him.

“Why are you apologizing? I was the one that had a tantrum.”

“Well you’re not the only one that got mad.”

“Let’s go for a walk?”

He nodded and draped his heavy arm over my shoulder before he took another step.

“Well so far sales have been good. Almost linear.”

“I’m glad I was able to help. So this is the end, huh?”

We both stopped in the middle of the side walk. I didn’t want it to end. The handholding, the hugs, the camera kisses. I wanted all of it. I so badly wanted all of it to be real. Maybe it’s because I spent half the night drinking, or maybe it’s because his midnight hair ricocheted the moonlight ever so perfectly, that I felt a courage rush through me like never before.

“Why does it have to end?”

“Didn’t you say like three weeks ago that you wanted to end our little ‘relationship?’”

“I don’t mean it like that. I mean,” I unwrapped myself from his limb and stepped in front of him, “I’m in love with you, Tetsu. I have been for eighteen years.”

A piece of my heart cracked when he took a step back, face pale, and eyes widened.

“What?”

I wanted to take a step forward, but for some reason, my feet were glued to the ground.

“I love you.”

He smiled assuringly before he laughed to lighten the air. The same type of laugh he’s used to fool reporters.

“You’re my best friend, Kenma.”

“I know. I’ll never be more than that, right?”

“You know I love you,” I wouldn’t dare get my hopes up again at those words, “You’re like a little brother to me.”

Damn. Is this what it feels like for my heart to be so irreparably shattered? Physical pain spread from my chest throughout my body. To the tips of fingers and toes.

“I—” he started, before giving you that diabetes inducing smile, “I should go.”

I watched him walk away. It was a vision from my worst nightmare. When did it all change? Is this what my selfishness was bound to lead to?

What was supposed to be a simple marketing tactic, turned out to be a fate worse than death. I was heartbroken to think he was my soulmate, but I wasn’t his.

reblogs are greatly appreciated :)

#haikyuu #fanfiction #haikyuu fanfiction #kuroo #tetsuro kuroo #kuroo tetsuro #kenma #kozume kenma #kenma kozume #kuroken #angst #haikyuu angst #kuroo x kenma #kenma x kuroo #kuroken angst #i am so sorry for this #haikyuu angst week #haikyuu angst week 2020 #gel scribbles

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angst-fairygodmother · 4 years ago

Text

Break My Heart Right: Kiss Me Jack Frost (Luba x Reader)

A/N: The gif isn’t super important, but visually it is? Or maybe I just like it. Prompts: Blizzard/Snowed in, “Your hands are like ice!” Word Count: 1692 Content Warnings: Spoilers for Mute, alcohol consumption, implied smut Taglist: @sean-falco (let me know if you want to be added) Cross-posted to AO3

The wind howled on the other side of the glass store-front as you and your studio partner, Alexi, rushed to finish everything you needed to do, anticipating a shut down at least several days long. Storms like the one brewing outside weren’t frequent in the city, but when they struck, there was no denying Mother Nature’s will, and the weather predicted that this one was going to be particularly powerful. You fully believed that, glancing at the thick white haze. It was already fierce and picking up further, and at this rate you were just hoping to make it home. Alexi was lovely and a dear friend, but you didn’t fancy spending several days locked up with them at work, especially when the other option was shacking up with Luba for a while with absolutely zero interruptions.

The thought had just barely crossed your mind when there was a loud click, a fading hum, and the studio plunged into darkness.

“Shit,” you heard Alexi shout.

“Are you alright?” you called back, unsure where exactly they were and concerned that the sudden blackout had resulted in them hurting themselves with some sort of equipment.

“Yeah, fine. Just...not a fan of the dark to be honest.”

You couldn’t really blame them. After all, until this moment you couldn’t remember the last time you had known true darkness. There was always at least a distant, muffled glow of streetlights and neon, cars and advertisements and screens everywhere. You weren’t exactly thrilled with it either.

“Do we have a generator or any battery lights in the back?” you asked, cautiously hopeful. Alexi was big on photoshoots of new pieces, and not everything could be captured with the overheads.

“We might have a few blacklights? But I can’t even see to find them.”

By the time you scrounged up the lamps, the temperature inside the studio was already starting to drop, your fingers feeling numb as you shrugged on your jacket while you kept working.

“Alright, I’m headed out, Y/N. You should too, before all the taxies stop,” Alexi said finally, wrapping their scarf around their neck as they talked.

“I will, I will,” you said, brushing off their concern. “I just want to make sure this is braced so the mold doesn’t seize while we’re gone and then I’m out.”

They gave you a disbelieving look, knowing you had a tendency to be forever coming up with ‘one more thing’ to do.

“I promise. I don’t want to get stuck here.”

“Especially not with that gorgeous partner of yours waiting at home for you,” they wiggled your eyebrows at you and you blushed hotly. “I still don’t know how you managed to get that to yourself but I’m insanely jealous.”

You rolled your eyes, waving at them to get going.

As promised, you were only a few minutes behind Alexi, leaving the last dying blacklight by the door in case you needed to go back for something. You were daydreaming as you trudged down the street about what might be waiting at home: warmth and cuddles, and if you were very lucky, several days to just enjoy spending time with...

“Luba?!” you called, spotting the object of your mundane little fantasy through the swirling snow, hunched in his thick coat, pale hair stained blue by the one remaining sign lit on the street (you felt a little jealous of whoever owned the shop for being able to afford to waste a generator on powering it). “What are you doing out here?”

You rushed over to him as best you could through the nearly knee-deep snow. He shivered violently beneath your touch as you wrapped your arms around him, and you fearfully suspected that the blue tinge of his lips wasn’t makeup.

“I came to find you,” he said sheepishly through chattering teeth. “When you didn’t come home or pick up when I tried to call...I got worried.”

Your heart twisted painfully as you read between the lines, the words written in his sad, mossy eyes, currently framed by lashes coated in so much snow that they matched his signature work look without artificial assistance: ‘I was scared. That you left. That you were gone forever. Like Naadirah. Don’t leave me. Please.’

Unsure what else to do, you squeezed tighter, hugging him closer.

“Can we go home now?” his voice was soft, pleading, before taking on a clearly faked lilt. “This weather is a nightmare on my skin.”

“Actually…” you looked around at the barren streets. “I don’t think we can. Unless you want to walk the whole way…”

His shoulders slumped. “I won’t make it, I’ll freeze to death.”

“Luckily, my studio is right back down the street. It’s got no heat for now, but at least we’ll be out of the snow. Actually, you know that, so I’m not sure why you didn’t just come inside to begin with.”

He shrugged, mumbling something that was lost in the wind. You decided not to push it, more interested in getting inside than arguing over details.

Stomping snow off your boots, you flicked the little lamp back on, it’s purple bulb flickering and popping in protest. Despite the instinct to stay in as many layers as possible, you knew the melting snow would only make you colder, so you reluctantly peeled off your coat and made Luba do the same.

“There must be something around here we can use to keep warm,” you muttered, rubbing at your shoulders and watching as your breath misted unpleasantly in the air.

“We’re going to die here,” Luba’s tone was matter-of-fact, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

“The battery on that light isn’t going to last long, so can you please help me look around before you accept popsicle-y fate?”

“Slave driver,” he muttered, glaring slightly, though the effect was defeated by his chattering teeth.

Still, he moved to the opposite side of the studio and began looking around. Eventually, but not before you were both shivering and close to giving up hope, you found a stack of drop cloths. The stiff, paint-caked canvases wouldn’t be the most ideal substitute for blankets but they’d do a little something, or at least you prayed they would.

“I think we can use these,” you said, “and if we huddle together, it might be enough. We’ll be okay.” You grimaced, your voice sounding decidedly unconvincing.

“Mightn’t these work better?” he asked, pulling out some worn and ragged towels from one of the cupboards.

“I don’t know about better, but we could just pile it on. It’s so cold I’ll take everything we can get.”

Luba continued to look around as you started building a nest for the pair of you dragging over the rough mats on the floor to insulate you from the concrete and arranging the makeshift blankets to be easily pulled up.

“Well well, what do we have here?” he said, pulling something out of one of Alexi’s drawers. “This will certainly keep us warmer.”

You looked up, raising an eyebrow as he shook the bottle at you.

“I feel bad taking Alexi’s whiskey…” you said, biting your lip.

“I think they’ll understand an emergency situation.”

You sighed, relenting to his logic, and more importantly his big, puppy dog eyes. “Fine, bring it over here. But we should really bundle up now-ish before one of us starts really feeling the effects of the cold.”

If you were being honest, you were already feeling a dangerous and sudden kind of sleepy, and you noticed that he was shivering less than he was initially, even though the temperature had, if anything, dropped.

“You don’t have to make up excuses for a cuddle you know, Y/N,” he teased, sauntering over and draping himself dramatically around you.

You tugged him down to the floor, wrapping the layers of cloth around you. It was heavy and awkward but you already felt a little bit warmer. He took a swig of alcohol and then held it up to your lips to sip while you arranged the covers better. Setting the bottle behind you where it was in easy reach, he shifted you onto his lap, long elegant fingers holding onto your waist.

“Jesus Luba,” you shrieked, jumping as you felt his skin on yours when he slipped them under your shirt. “Your hands are like ice!”

“Hm, I wonder why.” He rolled his eyes at you, frowning when you didn’t laugh along. “Don’t worry about it, I’m sure I’ll warm up in no time.”

The implication in his tone was obvious, but in case you somehow missed it, his lips began to wander along your neck, leaving hot, teasing kisses across your skin at the same time his chilled fingers continued to travel upward beneath your clothes.

“No. Absolutely not,” you protested, trying to squirm away from him without losing the protective warmth of the piles of fabric.

He pouted at you. “Please, darling? You know how much I need you…”

You knew that he knew exactly what buttons to press to get you to surrender to him, and you were close to doing just that. You scowled half-heartedly, trying to remain strong.

“No. I love you, but it’s too cold. I’m not taking my sweater off no matter how much you look at me like that.”

“That particular article of clothing isn’t in the way, darling.”

He winked and you felt your resolve shatter. Lightly, giving you every opportunity to pull away if you wanted, he drew you back in, kissing you tenderly, tongue slowly exploring every inch of your mouth as you melted, putty in his hands. You slid your hands up over his shoulders and neck to tangle your fingers in his gentle curls, pulling him closer.

“So is that a yes?” he teased, eyebrows raised and warm breath ghosting over your face. “Or do I still need to convince you?”

You laughed, nodding and pulling him down into another kiss. The weather might be terrible and the situation a mess, but the company was good, and it was shaping up to be a pretty splendid night after all.

#I'll be honest: the first time I saw the image above it was a tiny version as someone's profile picture #and I couldn't tell it was Robert but my first thought was 'Jeez who tried to make an edgy hot version of the Miser Brothers'#then I was listening to Alexander James Adams' Life's Flame album and got the song 'Stormbringer - Kiss Me Jack Frost' stuck in my head #then I watched Mute #and it all fell together #Break My Heart Right #Luba x Reader #Mute (2018) fic

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cuteandtwisted · 5 years ago

Note

are bfyt isak and even living together at this point? miss them xx

i miss them too 💛. here’s what they’re up to. (i got carried away. sigh.)

“I could put my desk here.”

“Why not there?” Even points to a wider corner in the empty bedroom.

“Hm. Your desk could go there instead. It’s bigger.” Isak responds absentmindedly as he continues inspecting the walls of the bare living room.

Even’s gasp is barely audible, but Isak hears it.

He stifles his own when he realizes what he’s just said and wills his feet to remain glued to the floor. His back turned to Even. His ears and neck probably flushed already.

“My desk?” Even asks behind him, his voice soft, his tone playful. Isak knows he’s smiling. “Why would my desk be in your apartment, Isak?”

Ugh.

“I don’t know. Most of your shit is currently at Kollektivet. Figured it’s only a matter of time before you start carrying your furniture to my new place as well,” Isak responds with a shrug, then walks away to where the person showing them the apartment is standing.

Good save, he tries to tell himself. But was it? His therapist would argue that he’s falling back on his usual coping mechanisms, that he’s regressing by resorting to sarcasm and evasion tactics instead of voicing how he truly feels, what he truly wants, what he truly needs.

What I really want.

But Even understands. He’s currently chuckling at Isak’s weak and unconvincing retort to his teasing. He always does. He’s never upset. He’s never impatient. He’s always kind and forgiving. He understands that Isak’s years of social ineptitude and prickly responses aren’t just undone and done away with because he started getting professional help.

Still, Isak isn’t sure that what he wants is right, that it deserves to be voiced and spoken out loud. Because wanting something doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s the right thing right now.

As though sensing the turmoil currently eating Isak up (and knowing that a touch would suffice to anchor him and bring him back), Even squeezes his side as he walks past him and absently presses a phantom kiss to his hair before continuing to the broker. An uninhibited touch that carries so much meaning, so much weight.

‘Stay with me. Don’t get too lost inside your head. Stay here with me.’

It’s so casual yet deliberate that Isak feels like melting into the hardwood floors.

“Do you have any apartment facing East?” Even asks the lady with a smile so blinding, Isak can see her blushing too. “Isak has trouble waking up in the morning if it’s not bright enough. Also counter space. Isak needs more counter space. Do you have anything with more counter space?”

Isak watches Even complain about details and nice-to-haves he would never otherwise care about to the broker and feels his chest swell, a warm and fuzzy feeling settling there and spreading down his limbs.

It’s Sunday morning and Isak can’t think of any other place he’d rather be.

He walks up to Even mid-rant about the height of the ceiling and presses a sweet kiss to his cheek, making him pause and blink, visibly flustered.

“What was that?” Even smiles, turning away from the broker lady almost completely.

“I don’t like this one,” Isak says simply, before linking his arm with Even’s.

“No?”

“No. It’s too far from your school.” Not the full truth. But a truth nonetheless.

Even just stares at him, smiling fondly like he’s keeping himself from speaking his mind. The real estate person somehow feels like she’s left the empty apartment.

“What?” Isak asks, embarrassed.

“You’re being cute. Why are you being cute?”

“Am not,” he scoffs. “I’m being pragmatic. I just don’t want to spend money commuting to you.”

“I could just get an apartment next to this one.”

“What if you spend the night here and have to commute to school or what if i want to pick you up from school?”

Even cups his face with both hands and kisses him on the lips. It’s just a kiss, but Isak still feels dizzy when Even lets him go.

“You’re being cute again,” Even says before kissing him again.

They’ve been apartment hunting for two weeks now. Separately, however.

Isak had been crashing at kollektivet since he moved back from Trondheim, and it was only a matter of time before he had to find a place to live.

But when he asked Mutta if he knew of any good options, he found out that Even was looking to move out of his mother’s house as well.

It was rather embarrassing to hear it from a third party when they spent every single night together, either in Even’s bed or latched onto each other on Eskild’s couch. (Isak secretly loves the latter sleeping arrangement the most. He loves not having to justify curling himself around Even and molding into him like he can’t bear being apart from him).

“Heard you were looking for an apartment.”

“Heard about you, too.”

“Maybe we can go to places together. Share one broker. Save time. We’re probably looking for different things anyway.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

But they’re not looking for different things. They hate the same living rooms and fall in love with the same bedrooms. Isak thinks about where Even’s desk would fit and Even complains about Isak’s counter space and sun exposure. Even wants a large bedroom that can fit a king sized bed, and Isak wants a living room that can fit a couch big enough for two tall men. Even thinks about the distance to Isak’s lab and Isak thinks about the one to Even’s uni. They bicker about hardwood floors and appliances, and somewhere along the line, their broker stops asking who the apartment is for, a quiet and knowing smile on her lips.

It’s the perfect apartment.

Isak can just picture where everything would go. All of Even’s film equipment and art supplies. All of the little props he takes to the kindergarten where he’s completing his training. He can tell where Even’s drawings would go on the walls, where he’d leave his backpack as soon as he enters through the door, where Isak would find his socks crumpled on the floor. He can see himself on the kitchen counter, legs spread for Even to fit in between, their heated kisses filled with laughter and ease and ‘scientific’ foreplay. He can see the cupboard they’d keep forgetting about and against which Isak would hit his head every time Even kisses him too deep. He can see where Isak would retract to brood when Even calls him out on something. He can see where Even would nap and where Isak would just perch up to watch him, happy to just be able to watch him.

It’s the perfect apartment.

“I might as well put an application down now, right?” Even grins at him, seemingly agreeing with Isak’s entire train of thought and reminding him that he’s the one who found this apartment.

“Right.”

Even talks with the realtor about faucets and finishes and where the washers and dryers are located in the building while Isak recoils into himself.

They walk out into the night after Even fills out an application and Isak feels a lump in his throat.

“What’s up?” Even asks, eyes curious and pensive.

“Nothing.” Isak shrugs.

“You’re quiet.”

“It happens to me sometimes.”

“Oh does it, now?” Even laughs.

“Ugh.” Isak laughs too, shoving him playfully.

“Are you upset I found an apartment before you?”

No.

“No.”

“Then what is it?”

Isak considers his next words carefully. He could say how he truly feels or he could go down the pragmatic route.

“Iss?”

“I just don’t think it’s a very economical decision,” Isak huffs out. His therapist would be so disappointed right now.

“Huh?”

“The apartment, I mean. The rent, for starters, it’s too high. I mean where are you gonna get all that money every month? It feels like a waste because, well, it’s too big, honestly.”

“Are you telling me to find a smaller apartment?” Even muses quietly. He doesn’t sound irritated. He’s smiling, like this is amusing to him.

“No! No. The apartment is perfect. Like it’s actually perfect. I’m not saying that.”

Even furrows his brows in confusion. Frankly, Isak is confused by his reasoning, too.

“Hm. Are you trying to steal my apartment by any chance? Is that what this is about?” Even laughs.

“No. No, I wouldn’t do that.”

“Then what is it?”

Isak looks up at him then. Even is smiling. And he’s so self-assured, so present, so intimidating like this.

“I’m saying we can both have the apartment,” Isak blurts out, his heart pounding hard in his ears.

“Hm. And how would that work exactly?”

“We’d call the lady and ask her to add my name to the application,” says Isak. “I’d fill out my part and that way we’ll have more chances of actually getting the apartment with our salaries combined. Not to mention that we’d pay half the rent. And half the utilities! Half the electricity and heating bill! We could share groceries that way food doesn’t go to waste. And we won’t even have to spend money commuting from each other’s places. It’s perfect.”

Isak’s face is flushed by the time he finishes his rant. He’s beyond embarrassed. Even is probably fighting a smirk right now.

“So this is a money saving strategy?” Even asks. He’s still smiling.

“What?”

“You want us to share an apartment to save money?”

“No. Not just money. I mean, it would be energy, too. Right? We’d lower our carbon footprint. We’d share one fridge, one radiator, one set of lightbulbs. We’d only have to use the vacuum once at a time. We could even share laundry cycles. It’s quite the responsible choice actually.”

“So.. you want me to be your roommate to fight climate change?”

“Not roommate.”

“I mean it sounds very close to what you were doing with Eskild.”

“I never showered with Eskild!”

“Oh, we’d be sharing showers, too. To preserve water. Of course.” Even laughs, but Isak doesn’t feel like laughing.

“Even. This is not funny to me! I’m serious!”

Oh.

There it is. A crack. A small crack. Isak raising his voice and being visibly upset because he is. Because he feels cornered. Because he doesn’t know how to say what he truly feels, what he truly wants.

And it hits him then. The reason why Even didn’t tell him he was looking to move out of Julie’s apartment in the first place. The reason he never brought up the fact that they spend every single night together and that it doesn’t make any sense that they’re looking for two separate places.

It hits him then: Even doesn’t want this. Even doesn’t, because Isak doesn’t give him enough.

Isak doesn’t tell him that he loves him very often. He writes it. He implies it. He traces it on his skin, presses it against his lips, whispers it into his neck late at night. But he doesn’t say it. And while Even is kind and patient, he probably wishes Isak were more open by now, more normal. Isak wishes he were, too.

Even is getting sick of him. Even doesn’t want-

“Isak? Isak, hey, stay with me.” Even brings him back with both hands on his face. A sweet touch, the most comforting touch. Isak will never stop burning for his touch. “I’m sorry for teasing you. It’s not nice. Forgive me.”

I should be the one apologizing.

“Come on, let’s go back to my place and talk about this later. Yeah? Don’t worry about it.”

“But-”

“No buts.”

It’s late and dark. It’s past midnight. They’re in Even’s bed at Julie’s apartment, sleeping. Even spooning him. But Isak can tell Even is awake too, his breathing too shallow, too uneven.

“Even?” Isak asks, his voice a whisper.

“Hm?”

“I don’t want to share an apartment because of money.”

Even tightens his arms around Isak’s stomach.

“What about climate change?” he asks, making Isak elbow him lightly.

“Don’t be a dick.”

Even laughs. They both do. Then it’s quiet again.

“Why do you want to share an apartment then?” Even asks then, his voice wavering with nervousness.

It’s late and it’s dark, and Isak can feel Even’s heartbeat against his back.

He turns around in his arms and tangles their limbs again. He can almost see the blue in Even’s eyes, even in the dark.

Even is scared, Isak realizes. He’s holding his breath and he’s scared.

“Because I love you.” Isak says simply. It’s simple because it’s true.

Even lets out a soft but heartbreaking sigh. Isak wants to hold him until he knows. Until he knows just how deeply and impossibly Isak loves him.

Isak wants to tell him so much. The words tumble inside his brain while they hold each other in bed rather desperately for a warm night in June.

I want to share a home with you because I want you around. Because I love hearing you put on clothes in the morning when I’m still sleeping and I love the sound of you unzipping your jeans after a long day before you proceed to sing terribly in the shower. Because I love having you around and watching you make art or marathon some pretentious show or simply take a nap in the middle of the day.

“Because I’ve never had a home until I had you,” Isak confesses with a tremor to his voice.

Even kisses him then, and it’s wet and salty and desperate.

Isak can’t tell whose tears he’s tasting.

“Odd night to get emotional about climate change,” Even sniffles with a chuckle when they finally part for air.

“Ugh. Fuck you.”

“Ugh. I love you, too.”

They kiss again and again and again.

“My home. You’re my home, too.”

They move in together a week after that.

#someone teach me how to answer an ask in 200 words or less #bfyt #isak x even #skam fic #ask #evak fic #ehhh

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green-and-grey-kenaz · 3 years ago

Text

Solace in Plato

Language: English

Characters: Nico di Angelo, Will Solace, Chiron

Summary: With the now rather alarming prospect of actually reaching adulthood being a reality, Nico has agreed to tutoring under Chiron's guidance. When Plato is suggested as something to study, Nico is not impressed and avoids it. A few weeks later and Will Solace asks him whether he's actually read Plato or just an abridged version.

Just a little fic exploring their relationship and Nico's internalised issues with being gay.

Word Count: c. 2 500

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32634607

“I hate Plato.” Nico muttered, staring at the book placed in front of him as he sat in the library of the Big House. Having not had any formal education since the ‘30s, Chiron had taken it upon himself to help educate Nico should he wish to get exam results - which would be useful for getting a job or Athena believe it, going to University. Neither was a prospect that he had ever really considered possibilities but the alternative was staying here and helping out with the new recruits while Will went to University in a few years time or doing the same thing but in New Rome.

Because Will insisted that he wanted to help the world, not just demigods. Nico didn’t deserve him.

So he’d agreed to go along with this and when Chiron had asked him if there was any subjects he thought he might take at University (and after Nico had suggested undertaker, mortician or detective based on a TV show Will had told him about, don't ask) he had begrudgingly admitted that he had more than a passing interest in Classics. Try as he might, his childish obsession with mythomagic had left him with more than a passing knowledge of Classical characters and he got a strange, warm feeling in his chest when he knew the answer to ‘how do we kill this obscure monster’ and no one else did.

Based on these answers, he had a somewhat tailored learning with Classics in both Italian, English and the Original Ancient Greek (his Greek was amazing for his age - a by-product of being a half-blood - but apparently his English reading skills were that of a kid and his Italian not much better, Hades knew why) and more than his fair share of biology and chemistry. Will had been only too delighted to help him with the sciences, although was suspiciously absent when it came to physics and math, but that was OK, really, and he probably wouldn’t make a good mortician anyway because he shouldn’t pick careers based on how many spirits he could raise, tempting as it was. The rest of his schooling thought? That fell to Chiron.

And today? Well, apparently they had progressed onto Philosophy and a man who's work made Nico's stomach plummet. Plato.

“Why is that?” Chiron asked, a patient expression on his face. Nico just glowered at him but like Will, he seemed impervious to it. It was irritating when people did not cower and cave in to his glares. He was used to inspiring fear in others.

“Do I need a reason?” Nico his arms, leaning back on the chair, returning a dark gaze to the book as if he could cause it to wither and crumble under his gaze. If he could do it to food, why not books? Plato sat cheerfully happy there without so much as a speck of mold coming to grace it.

“When discussing philosophy, it can be rather helpful.”

“Well I just don’t like him. Pick some other philosopher.”

Chiron had stared at him for a good few seconds before relenting, choosing some other book and asking no further questions about it. Nico hated that he could feel just how his heart rate had picked up, thundering in his chest as if it would crack open his rib cage. He knew people suspected… that the people he tolerated as friends already knew and accepted him for his inclinations… for what he was… but he wasn’t ready to confront the proof that he was different. Wrong, a voice always threatened to whisper in his ear. An abomination. A freak of nature. Nico knew that he couldn't read Plato, not with Chiron standing there and dissecting the merits of this particular work. It was never easy to look in the mirror and see just how messed up you were.

Despite the time it took for his heart to return back to normal, he did manage the text they’d chosen and perhaps sensing his unease, Chiron had used it as a chance to work on his reading more than the philosophy. He even finished the lesson with a kind smile and was informed that his modern language skills had far approached where they should be for someone his age. This followed with a suggestion that he could go into translation work. It was tempting, he would be better able to hide away in a darkened room as a translator than becoming an academic (sadly, these days academics had more obligations to teach), so Nico nodded and promised to think on it.

Two weeks later found Nico sitting in the shadows of the forest while Will quizzed him on anatomy which counted as studying for both of them. Annoyingly Will was refusing to sit anywhere other than the sunlight and so had coerced Nico into what they had settled on as being called ‘a potential threat to his aesthetic’, or in other words, dappled shade. It had promised to be a rather lovely day until a topic best avoided reared its head.

“Why do you hate Plato?” Will asked suddenly, looking up at him with those bright eyes and that warm smile that made something in his stomach twitch and his throat clench. Nico knew he shouldn’t feel so ill at ease with these feelings. They hadn’t put a word on it but it was a thing that they were doing. Having feelings together, exchanged smiles and moments of laughter when he thought no one was watching. Once, Will had even placed his hand down a mere inch from Nico’s and he had let his little finger flicker to just once lightly tap against Will’s in thanks for the silent support. He’d felt sick with guilt afterwards, but what was new? The little moments of happiness more than made up for it.

“I just do. And Chiron shouldn’t have told you that.” He muttered, shifting to move back under the full shade of a tree, pulling his legs in to his chest as Will closed the book. Right, study was over. Nico wrapped his arms around his legs, finger shifting the skull ring as he felt the pressing anxiety to run and escape the potential fallout. How many people knew? No doubt his unnaturalness was being spoken of throughout camp as he sat here. They would prove Jason wrong that times had changed. Their eyes would follow him, judging and radiating hate for someone who was so different. He’d have to leave and go back on the run, abandoning all he had built here. Nico closed his eyes as the feelings became overwhelming and claustrophobic, grass yellowing beneath his feet.

“He was concerned.” Will said softly, shifting over to sit next to Nico and breaking his silent panic.

“I’m not talking about it.”

“Is it Plato’s Sympo-?”

“No.”

“Hm. That’s what Chiron thought as well.” Nico could hear amusement in Will’s voice and concern. He dropped his hands from twisting the ring, suddenly subconscious of his tell and instead twined blades of dead grass between his fingers and yanked. His hand opened to let the picked grass tumble back to the earth.

“Did you read the original or just hear an abbreviated version?” Will pressed.

“Have you read it?” Nico challenged, ripping up more grass.

“Not until last week. Chiron sat me down with it and we discussed it.”

“Then you know why I can’t stand Plato.”

“Abbreviated version, huh?”

Nico looked over to Will who did not look disgusted, upset or any of the other myriad of emotions that he would have expected. Did he not read the whole mankind were once male and female, now split and eternally trying to recombine with their other half? Which left them and whatever they had rather in the dirt. Because if there was one thing that was worse than knowing he wasn’t right, that there had been some huge mistake with his creation, it was knowing that someone as good as Will Solace had the same affliction. Sure, he could be annoying but Will deserved more than that. He shouldn’t be a broken half. If anyone deserve to be able to become whole once more, it was Will. Will, who was staring at him like he expected some answer and Nico shrugged, yanking more grass.

“So what? I was like eleven. Not exactly likely to go and read the actual version. I deserve credit for even doing that much.” He couldn't actually remember how he'd heard it. He had found out that it was from Plato's Symposium after he knew the story, that much he knew. He assumed either he had read it very young or perhaps some ghost had told him. Most of his pre-Camp Half Blood lessons had come from ghosts in one form or another.

“Perhaps you should. I rather liked the bit about the straights all being nymphomaniacs and adulters.” Will smirked.

Nico frowned, his body freezing as he blinked very slowly trying to make what Will had said align with what he knew. A frown tugged at his brow.

“What… do you mean…?”

“Well, the whole bit about there being people made of two parts, either two men, two women, or a man and a woman, always trying to get back together. And the same sex ones generally being the better lot. Well, more the two men combos because they weren’t necessarily the most progressive in Ancient Greece. But in the end, that’s just a story that Plato had Aristophanes, who was a comedic playwright, tell. It’s not really anything to be taken too seriously.”

How had no one told him that? A dark anger settled into the pit of Nico's stomach and he found himself wanting to track down whichever spirit had lied to him and- Will continued speaking, his voice too light for Nico to continue his thoughts and the seething hatred dissipated.

“Honestly, read it if you don’t believe me. Chiron sat me down and took me through the whole story, every boring line after every boring line. I’m not supposed to tell you this because he’d rather you told him when you’re ready but he kind of clocked that you and I-” Nico shot Will a death glare and Will held up his hands.

“I was going to say get on well! And yeah, considering your aversion to Plato, he thought it might be you heard a misrepresented version of that story. We both know about festering wounds so agreed you should learn the truth of the matter. Preferably not by forced study so I kind of had to get an impromptu philosophy lesson. I think Chiron intended me to be rather more subtle about his involvement but my assessment is that it is better to know that you’re not alone and that it’s OK.”

Nico did not want to stare at Will. He did not want to look shocked nor rattled. He focused on plucking more grass and trying not to feel pleased that Will could sit in silence, knowing he needed time to speak and for it not to feel awkward.

“I just.” Nico frowned. The story had not exactly haunted him but it had lodged itself into his chest as further proof of all he had been raised to understand. It felt like a screw had been loosened somewhere deep within. “It isn’t saying that… well…?”

“No,” Will smiled. “And, I mean, the best thing about it is Plato actually wasn't arguing for the gays or the straights. There’s just like this collection of discussion by some old dudes on the meaning of love and then Socrates comes in boom at the end and we get Platonic love , or the basics of it. Big advocation for love being about the search for the meeting of minds rather than physical stuff, which I think is a rather good way to look at it. It goes on to being about then true love is a love of knowledge. That’s what the whole thing is kind of about. I think. Most of it went over my head.”

“That… doesn’t sound so bad.” Nico admitted, his hands winding around some grass but not yet pulling. He focused on the texture of it in his palm and it ground him.

“Besides, it’s not like it’s the be all and end all.” Will continued. “It’s just some guy arguing about love two thousand years ago and what do they know?”

Nico hummed, chin resting on his knees as he stared out at the camp below them. Will moved to sit closer, mirroring his position merely a foot away. If either of them leaned just a bit, their head might rest on the other one’s shoulder and Nico did not shift away.

“I just… As long as I can remember I’ve always been told that love is between a man and a woman. I just seemed inescapable. It didn’t matter who was teaching…” It wasn’t easy and words caught in his throat.

“Look, I know it’s complicated and none of this is going to be easy but I just want you to know that if you need to talk about something, you have me. And if you don’t want to talk to me about it, then Chrion is there too-”

“No.” Nico said hastily, blinking in surprise at that. “That is… I’d rather talk to you than Chiron. About things.” He noticed that at some point, Will had placed a hand, palm upwards between them. Hesitantly, Nico slipped his hand down, ghosting his fingers over Will’s. He did not move or even look at him and somehow feeling safer in that knowledge Nico let his fingers intertwine.

It was better than the grass.

“But when I’m ready. There’s… I’ve got a lot to figure out about all this but I know whatever I think, I enjoy what we have and I don’t want to not feel this.” He twisted their hands so Will’s was on top now and his fingers brushed against Will’s knuckles and down the proximal phalange before circling the knuckles again. Will’s thumb brushed against his and Nico felt his body begin to tense against the warmth and sparks of feelings. In moments like this, it was hard to believe that what they had was wrong.

“I don’t want to not feel like this either.” Will smiled and the distance between them seemed less, although Nico could not say how the gap had closed.

If they really were two halves of a whole, Will had to be his better half, Nico reflected as he felt his head drawn to rest feather light on his… on Will’s shoulder. Yes, it felt like this might be completion or at the very least something that Nico had not felt for an even longer period: contentment.

#Nico di Angelo #will solace #percy jackson series #heroes of olympus

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lloydskywalkers · 5 years ago

Text

skywalker syndrome, pt. II

*sweats nervously* this is...so long. This is so, so long and it’s not even the last part, but i just have a loT OF FEELINGS about it okay T-T

Anyways! here is the continuation of my extensively angsty, s9-Lloyd-loses-an-arm-AU that i posted about a year ago, now featuring four whole over-concerned siblings who are finally back in the same realm.

The funny thing about life as a ninja extraordinaire, is that there are certain things that you can totally suppress, and never deal with ever. Like, they might still be there, lurking in the dark corners of your mind like vaguely threatening mold or something, and sure, one of these days they could blossom into actual issues, and then threaten to destabilize whatever’s left of your emotional stability, but you can at least ignore them for a while. And if you’re Lloyd —which he is — you can get really good at ignoring them, to the point where you almost forget they’re there half the time. Bam, problems solved.

But as it turns out, unfortunately, there are also some things that you just can’t.

One of those, even more unfortunately, happens to be losing, say, an entire limb. And to top off the entire stack of unfortunateness — the unfortunatetest — most unfortunate? — part about the whole thing: Lloyd currently happens to fall into the second category.

(Will always fall into the second category, he doesn’t know why he’s saying currently, it’s not like his arm is gonna grow back—)

Anyways. Lloyd has finally met an issue that he can’t ignore, and that’s…another issue, he guesses. Oh, he’s tried, but walking off a lost arm is just a lot more difficult than ignoring trauma, or a broken rib or something.

“But I mean, it also could have been a leg, and then I’d have real trouble walking it off, haha, get it?”

“There are so many concerning things in that essay’s worth of words you just threw at me, I don’t even know where to start,” Nya sighs.

“Aw, c’mon,” Lloyd nudges her shoulder with his fist from where he sits in the battle wagon next to her, metal fingers clanking oddly against her shoulder armor. “That wasn’t even my worst pun.”

“That’s not what I’m referring to, and you know it,” Nya side-eyes him. Then, after a beat— “And that one was low-hanging fruit. I know you can do better.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll come up with something better when we’re not running on zero hours of sleep,” Lloyd yawns, propping his elbows up on the dashboard and leaning against them, scrubbing at his eyes. He flinches back at the cold of his metal hand, and scowls at it instead, as if its inability to create heat like a normal limb is a personal insult. He lets it fall limp against the dashboard with a dull clank, laying his normal, warm human arm on top, and using that as a pillow.

He then squeezes his eyes shut, enjoying the brief relief from the thundering headache he’s had the last few days, before screwing them back open. Nya is staring at him fully now, face pinched in concern. Lloyd thinks that’s rather unfair, because her eyes are every bit as bloodshot as his, and he’s definitely caught her wincing from a headache of her own like, six times today already.

“Lloyd.”

“What.”

Nya sighs again — she’s been doing that a lot lately — and finally takes her hands off the wheel, leaning back in her seat, pulling her leg up and wrapping her arm around her knee. “You can’t do that.”

“Do what?” Lloyd says petulantly, knowing full well what she’s talking about.

Nya knows too, because she gives him a look. “Ignore that kind of stuff,” she says, waving a hand absently in the air. “Trauma, and whatnot.”

“I’m not ignoring my trauma,” Lloyd rolls his eyes, because they’ve had this conversation a minimum of sixty times now, so he’s ready for it. “I’m just waiting until I have a thing of ice cream big enough to cry it all out over.”

He’s probably going to need an entire ice cream parlor at this point, he muses—

“I’m serious, Lloyd.”

“Uh-huh,” he mutters, burying his face in his arms. “Sure. You wanna talk about Nadakhan while we’re at it, then?”

Nya sucks in a breath, and Lloyd feels a hot flash of guilt for having brought it up.

But like — it’s true. If he’s gotta sort out his issues, then Nya needs to, as well. Fair’s fair, and she needs someone looking out for her. Even if Lloyd’s been doing a pretty terrible job of it lately.

“Sorry,” he murmurs anyways.

Nya presses her lips together, then shakes her head. Her eyes are far away, staring out across the ruined city through the windshield. “No,” she says, her voice a whisper. “No, you’re right. I — you’re right.”

“Well, I’m sorry for that, too.”

Because he wishes he wasn’t right. He’d love to be wrong, about this. He’d love it if they were all just fine, and the guys were back and cracking jokes with them, and Nya had never died after being nearly forced into some twisted marriage, and the city wasn’t crumbling down around them because his sort-of-ex brought back his dead dad, and Lloyd still had both whole arms, and they were all drinking like, strawberry lemonade on the beach right now or something.

“We’re a real mess, huh,” Nya says, and there’s a sniffled edge in her voice that Lloyd doesn’t like.

Lloyd bites his lip, then reaches out, uncurling her fingers from where they’ve gone white around the steering wheel, and squeezing her hand lightly instead. “Kai would say we’re hot messes, though.”

Nya snorts, squeezing his hand back, ad Lloyd feels a bubble of warmth at her smile. They sit there in silence for a bit, watching the smokey clouds drift past above, waiting on Pixal or Skylor to finally call in on the radio, and tell them they can move out already.

Lloyd’s just considering trying for another nap, when Nya speaks up again.

“Really through. Lloyd, we gotta talk it all out eventually. You don’t wanna end up all emotionally suppressed, like your uncle, do you?”

Lloyd sputters, then glares at her. “You take that back. I’m not gonna end up like Uncle Wu.”

“Oh yeah? Just wait, any day now you’re gonna walk in on us, with a big straw hat on, and say ‘terribly sorry, my loyal ninja, but there’s something I haven’t told you’—“

Lloyd throws his mask at her, even as he breaks into snickers at the deep-toned voice she’s using. “I am not!”

“—you’ll have a beard, too,” Nya continues, grinning. “Like, ten feet long—“

“Ten, please, have you seen my hair? I bet I can do twenty—“

“Oh yeah, Rapunzel? What’cha gonna do then, trip over it into your enemies?”

“No, I’m — I’m gonna strangle them with it.”

That mental image is the final straw for Nya, and she doubles over in loud cackling, stuffing her fist against her mouth to try and silence her laughter. Lloyd’s already dissolved into giggles, but his attempt to keep them quiet sounds a whole lot more like rheumatic wheezing, which only makes them laugh harder.

“Please,” Nya breathes, when they’ve finally wound down. “Never grow a beard.”

“I dunno,” Lloyd says, stroking his chin, in what he hopes looks like an accurate impression of Uncle Wu. “I think I got the face for it—”

“You don’t.”

“Ouch, right in the heart.”

“It’s for your own good, bud.”

“We’ll see what Kai says.”

“He’s gonna agree with me, and you know it.”

“Hmph.”

“…and Lloyd?”

“Hm?”

“ ‘Unfortunatetest’ isn’t a word.”

“You aren’t a word.”

The other funny thing about life, though, is that no matter how miserable it gets, it’s always bearable with Nya.

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

Which is probably why Lloyd doesn’t really start to crack until Nya goes down.

“Oh no — oh no, Nya, you’re okay, you’re fine, you’re all good, just — you’re okay—”

“I’m fine, stop telling me what I already know,” Nya gets out, through gritted teeth against the pain. She couldn’t be more clearly not fine, but between the two of them, they seem to believe that if they can say it’s fine enough, it’ll all work out. It’ll be just fine. Nya just had a car fall on her and probably shattered her arm but it’s — it’s fine, she hasn’t lost it yet, and if it comes down to it, she can have his other arm, because Nya is not losing a limb today.

Between him and Dareth, they finally manage to get the car — the entire car, Lloyd is losing the battle to panic by the second — off Nya, and Lloyd’s right back at her side to worry more. Nya shrugs him off, squeezing her eyes shut against the pain as she struggles to rise, wobbling in place.

But she still pushes herself up, on her feet, and picks up her spear with her good arm, and Lloyd decides for like, the tenth time this week, that Nya is the strongest person he knows. Right up there with Skylor, who’s actually insane, as it turns out, holding off an entire Colossi with his father’s stolen power — Skylor’s incredible.

But Skylor’s also currently unconscious in the battle wagon, and now Nya’s in severe pain and down an arm, and she doesn’t have a handy — aha —replacement like Lloyd does. And Pixal’s in Kryptarium so all that’s left of the ninja is Lloyd, and Dareth looking to him for answers, and Lloyd should be used to this, he’s leader, he could practically write the book on being in desperate, all-consuming-panic situations like this, but—

Harumi’s dead. Lloyd’s powers are gone, and people are dying now. Because of his dad, because of this stupid vengeance spree, because of him.

Lloyd’s eyes smart painfully, and he tightens his grip on Nya’s good arm, wondering, not for the first time, how in the world it had all come to this.

“We need to — we need to—” Nya cuts off, biting the inside of her cheek. Her composure falters, and Lloyd can see the same hopeless sort of exhaustion in her eyes, the weeks of running on fumes taking their toll. They need to get moving, they need to regroup, but there’s no one to regroup with. It’s just them, Lloyd and Nya, and they might be able to function independently better than anyone else but they’re also chronic younger siblings. The reminder that they’re not supposed to be alone is driven so deeply into their heads that it’s not even annoying anymore.

Not when they’re so very, very alone now.

“We can fall back,” Lloyd suggests, his voice wavering. “We can—” He swallows. Hide feels cowardly, but even he knows it’d be useless to suggest, anyways. They’ve run out of hiding places from Garmadon. He’d find them, Lloyd knows he will. His father is a lot of things right now, and relentless is one of the stronger ones.

“We can move, at least,” Dareth says, panic tinging his voice. “Those Sons of Garmadon will be on us any minute.”

It’s not Dareth’s fault, but it certainly feels a lot like karma as, at that very second, the sound of motorcycles echoes down the street, mixed with the familiar cries of the Sons of Garmadon.

They all go tense. Nya and Lloyd look at each other, and Lloyd wonders if the expression of fear on her face is mirrored on his, or if he looks closer to terror.

Either way, he’s frozen in place, and that’s bad, because they’re all frozen now. Maybe this is it. Maybe they’ve finally run out of the will to keep going. Maybe this is for the better. At least it’s not his father.

But then he remembers that they’ll probably take him to his father anyways, and if Lloyd didn’t have terror on his face before, he does now.

The loud roars of the motorcycles are circling now, and if Lloyd’s right, they’ve got barely a minute left before they’re surrounded. That’s not enough time to make it out. Not with everyone, not with the condition they’re in.

And Lloyd’s not about to leave anyone behind.

Nya sucks in a shaky breath, her face white from pain as her bad arm shifts. “Lloyd, do you — do you have any ideas?”

Lloyd stares up at the smoke rising above the city, his city, and the skin that meets his prosthetic throbs. His head does too, exhaustion mixed with pain mixed with dying adrenaline leaving him sick.

You’ve failed, Green Ninja. Your father won this round.

Like he does every round, Lloyd thinks bitterly. Morro had it right, back in Styx. He doesn’t deserve to be the Green Ninja. Not when he can’t win the fights that matter.

But he’s still Lloyd. He’s still Nya’s little brother, and even Garmadon can’t take that from him if he tried. So he shakes his head, croaking out, “Sorry, I’m stumped.”

It takes Nya a minute longer than usual, her eyes confused in her pale and dirt-stained face, but then—

She slumps against him, wheezing out what could be a laugh. “If that was an another arm pun, I swear—”

Lloyd tries to keep his face passively blank, but he can’t help the breathless huff of laughter that escapes. It very quickly threatens to turn into hyperventilating, so he cuts it off quickly. They all step closer to each other, forming a tight circle as the motorcycles roar into view, and Lloyd’s knuckles turn white with the fist he’s making.

He almost says I’m sorry, because it feels like what he should say right now, him and his whole sorry bloodline and everything that’s led to this. But Nya would probably hit him if he did that, and get that sad look on her face, so he doesn’t.

“This would be a really good time for the guys to get back,” Lloyd finally says instead, a bit hollowly. Nya gives him a weak smile that threatens to crack into despair as they’re surrounded, the blinding headlights from the Sons of Garmadon pinning them in place.

But maybe, just maybe, karma is on their side after all. Because, not half a second after Lloyd’s said those words, the sky opens up and roaring out from the bright portal, filthy and battered but alive, come the super late — like so late, for real, Lloyd’s gonna give them heck for this — rest of their family.

Lloyd doesn’t think he’s ever been happier to see his big brother’s ridiculous, spiky head of hair in his whole entire life.

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

In the euphoria of reuniting with the guys and his uncle, Lloyd kind of forgets that he’s lost an arm for a second. He also forgets that the last time the guys saw him, he might have been a half-dead mess on Mystaké’s kitchen table, but he also had both arms. So it’s probably not — not the best of welcome back surprises he could’ve offered.

But the thing is, Lloyd’s at least been thinking his arm looked fine now. Like, it’s obviously not his arm arm anymore, but it’s a whole lot better than the ugly empty space that was there. And Nya put the dragon on and everything, so he can look sick when he either defeats his father or dies horribly.

But for all that it looks fine, the guys’ faces still go ten shades of white when they finally catch sight of it.

Lloyd thinks that’s rather unfair, considering they just burst out of the sky on a bunch of dragons after having been presumed dead, but he’s not gonna pick now to argue with them.

“Wha — how — what — is that—” Kai, predictably, is the first to go to pieces, his eyes wide as dinner plates in his dirt-stained face, his fingers hovering shakily over the metal arm as if touching it will make it real.

“Your arm,” Jay informs him blankly, gaping at him. “It’s gone?”

Oh, Lloyd’s aware.

“Yeah, it’s uh, it’s gone,” he explains, quickly. Then, because he needs to see a different expression on their faces than horrified shock— “It’s — it’s pretty disarming, haha, right?”

Kai looks like he’s either going to combust on the spot or physically smack him.

In the end, he makes this heartbreaking kind of “oh Lloyd” at him before throwing his arms around him, then immediately jumping to the absolute worst conclusions possible.

“Was it your dad — it was your dad, right? Was it Harumi? It must’ve been your dad, oh I’ll kill him, I’ll slaughter him for you Lloyd, I swear to FSM—”

This is followed by a general meltdown of “if only I’d been here,” which spirals into self-blame pretty fast, which Lloyd neither wants nor needs to happen right now (nor thinks is accurate, what could any of them have done anyways), so he throws Nya a desperate look.

“Look, stuff happened, okay?” she says, shouldering her way between Lloyd and the guys, wincing as her wrapped arm pulls. “The city’s on fire and Lloyd’s down an arm, we dealt with it. Right now we need to focus, because Garmadon and the Colossi are still out there, so please tell me those dragons are going to help us out.”

Again, Nya is one of Lloyd’s favorite people in the entire universe.

This distracts them enough that they momentarily get off Lloyd’s back, though he has a feeling he’s either gonna have to answer two hundred questions later or find a really good hiding spot.

But that’s a problem for a different Lloyd to worry about, and this one needs to focus on his father. And the fact that his uncle now looks ten times younger and is, much more importantly, about to let him ride on his dragon.

Lloyd’s halfway to the dragon when Cole catches him. He doesn’t grab him or anything, just touches his arm gently, his eyes horribly sad. “Lloyd,” he murmurs.

Something in Lloyd’s chest twists. This isn’t how it’s supposed to work. How is he supposed to pretend he’s not sad when they’ve all got this look on their faces?

“It’s fine,” he blusters, with a smile that is only half-forced. Fortunately, he has this part rehearsed by now. “It’s not a big deal — it doesn’t even hurt or anything. Don’t worry about it.”

Cole looks like he has every single intention of worrying about it, because Cole is Cole, but Lloyd can’t even find it in himself to be annoyed because he’s missed them so, so much. Sure, he’s mad at himself for giving them something to immediately worry about the second they even get back to the realm, but Lloyd’s too happy to see them at all to mind that much.

Plus, there’s like, a fifty-fifty chance his father is about to kill him pretty soon anyways, so he tries to enjoy it while he can. He’s sure Uncle Wu will do his best, but unless he’s got something big up his sleeve — besides the, uh, age thing — Lloyd isn’t so sure.

Winning against Garmadon isn’t something he’s ever been particularly good at, even with both arms.

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

Lloyd wins this round.

Somehow, somehow — bruised and bloodied and down an entire arm — he wins this one. It’s almost surreal, standing on top of Borg Tower, the wind whipping eerily around them as he stares down at his father, kneeling on the ground before him. His father, defeated. Lloyd didn’t have to break this time, he didn’t even have to bend. He defeated his father, without his powers, without any cursed venom fueling him, and without his arm.

Take that, you stupid snake.

Well — technically. Technically, he did defeat his father with his arm, because there are going to be some spectacular bruises on Garmadon where he got sucker-punched by a solid metal fist in the morning. But still.

Lloyd didn’t have to kill him. Not this time.

The relief that hits him is so dizzyingly crushing, he almost throws up.

But oh, it figures. The one time Lloyd can end things with his dad alive, and it’s the time his dad hates him.

But Lloyd knows a little too well that things could’ve ended a lot worse. He’s got his family back, his whole family, Kai and Jay and Cole and Zane and the people that have stuck through the worst of it with him, and that’s more than enough for Lloyd to be happy. He doesn’t die, they win back the city, and Kai only cries about it like three times, so honestly, it’s almost the best he could hope for. The worst part is out of the way now, so really — it should be smooth sailing from here. The guys are upset about the arm thing, obviously, but it’s not really that big a deal. Lloyd just has to convince them of that, which shouldn’t be a problem.

A piece of cake, compared to the last few weeks. Besides, he’s already been through the worst of it.

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

As is his luck, Lloyd finds himself eating his words half a week later.

“First Master—“

Lloyd chokes back a curse, stumbling out from bed as quietly as he can, teeth clacking as he clenches them together to keep from making any more noise. The guys don’t move, still solidly asleep, but that’s going to change real quick if Lloyd starts cursing up a storm over his stupid arm.

He bumps into the doorway on the way out and almost screams, biting his lip hard instead and fleeing down the hallway. Ow, ow, ow. He must’ve rolled his shoulder into his sword sometime in the night, because that’s what it feels like, a horrible kind of deep ache that leaves him wanting to sever what’s left of his limb as he stumbles into the kitchen. At least then, there would be less to hurt.

Lloyd passes by the several large windows in the apartment they’ve been staying in, and his heart immediately sinks. It’s dark outside, but the city lights illuminate the growing clouds above, and he can spot the flash of lightning in the distance. If the slight buzz in his blood at the oncoming storm wasn’t enough to clue him in, the building pressure in the atmosphere certainly is.

And he used to like rain, Lloyd thinks miserably, leaning his head briefly against the wall.

There’s a distant roll of thunder, and something in his arm — his stump, there is no arm there to hurt, that should help — throbs, deep and aching. Lloyd squeezes his eyes shut, fighting back the budding tears of pain, and remembers his mission. They went shopping earlier, and he knows for a fact there’s pain killers somewhere in the kitchen. The promise of relief from the pain is enough to spur him from where he’s slumped against the wall, and he drags his feet down the rest of the hall, finally ducking into the kitchen, which is quiet and empty in the late-night hours.

Great. Now he’s just gotta find the stuff, and he can — well, he can try to go back to sleep. Maybe he’ll just watch cartoons instead, or stare blankly into oblivion, or something. His shoulder throbs again, and Lloyd forces himself to focus, blowing his breathe out. Right. Cole was the last one to take the meds, ‘cause he’s got all those nasty healing cuts. So if he was the one to put the bottle away last, that means it’s probably…on the…top shelf…

Lloyd carefully, quietly drowns the whine of despair in the back of his throat. He’d eat dirt before he admits he’s a shortie, but compared to Cole, everyone is, and Cole has a terrible habit of leaving all the meds on the highest shelf or cabinet possible when he’s done, which are always the ones Lloyd can’t reach. And right now, with the first drops of rain just starting to fleck on the windows, moving his arms anywhere above mid-waist sounds like death.

But sitting here with his arm on fire sounds even worse, so death it is.

Biting the bullet, Lloyd toes the handle on the drawer closest to the floor, bracing his good arm on the counter, and pushes himself up. He wobbles precariously, but he catches himself quickly, breathing out a huff of relief. Now comes the hard part. Gritting his teeth in determination, Lloyd swings his prosthetic arm up as quickly as he can, knocking against the uppermost cabinet and—

Lloyd’s vision blurs out as the pain in his shoulder decides to go nuclear, and he slips back down with a strangled choking sound, clutching the edge of his shoulder and desperately willing himself not to blast through the wall with his powers in agonized frustration. When the pain finally ebbs enough for him to think again, he slumps over the counter, bracing his good shoulder against it and letting the bad one hang loosely, where the pain pulses in and out like a heartbeat.

Like death, he thinks dully, hissing his breath out through his teeth. Right. Okay. He’ll just — take a nap on the counter then, until he can work himself back up to the cabinet.

Lloyd cracks an eye open, glaring hotly at the cabinet out of reach. Maybe if he like…rattles it? With his…leg, or something? He can do a pretty impressive high kick, if he tries. Anything not to move his stupid shoulders, because the pain radiating from the prosthetic port is — oh boy, it’s something.

…with hindsight, he should’ve been prepared for this. But still.

Lloyd kind of just….crashes on the counter, for as long as he can, but the pain finally gets bad enough that he’s willing to risk more for any kind of relief. Gritting his teeth again — his jaw is beginning to hurt — he squares his shoulders, instantly regretting the action as little lines of agony flare in his right side in tune with the thunder from outside. At that point, Lloyd’s brain finally decides it’s done with the situation on the whole, and he’s backing up to make a running jump for the cabinet, when—

“Who’s — stand down, I’ll blast you!”

Lloyd aborts his charge just in time to duck the bolt of lightning that flashes through the room with a yelp, sliding to the floor as his momentum sends him crashing into the lower drawers. His vision whites out for a good minute as he whacks his bad shoulder on the metal edge of a handle, and he might make some kind of muffled scream that sounds enough like him for Jay to recognize, because by the time it clears, Jay is staring at him with wide eyes, his face pale but clearly no longer registering Lloyd as a threat.

Still, just in case— “Don’t shoot,” Lloyd croaks out. “I’m unarmed.”

Jay’s expression spasms, but the crackle of electricity silences, and the blue light extinguishes as he lowers his hands. Lloyd notes the way they’re trembling, despite how hard Jay’s trying to stop it. “Lloyd, seriously,” he mutters, but he’s at Lloyd’s side in a beat, hovering anxiously.

“Are — are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Lloyd says, trying not to wince as he shoulder twinges. “I, uh, sorry if I scared you. I was just getting some water.”

Jay looks up to the cabinets, then back to Lloyd, where he’s yet to rise from the floor. He needs to get up already, because he’s got like, an image to keep here, but he’s also too scared that his stump of a limb is going to attempt murder again, and that’s keeping him pretty solidly rooted to the floor.

“You’re on the floor, you know that, right?”

“Yeah,” Lloyd shoots back, making a face. “Maybe I like it here.”

“Uh-huh.” Jay’s expression is narrow-eyed in skepticism, and Lloyd shrinks in on himself a bit. Still, though — the expression is better to see than the stark terror that had been written over Jay’s face when he’d walked in. The remnants of it are still there, if fading quick — Jay doesn’t look quite like Jay yet, bright and happy and quick on the uptake.

He looks tired, dark circles like bruises beneath his eyes, and his movements are slower than usual, as if perpetually lagging a step behind. Like he’s being dragged down by something, and it’s taking an extra amount of strength to fight it off that’d usually go toward bad jokes.

Which is sad, because Lloyd could really go for a bad joke right now. The atmosphere’s been heavy enough around their little apartment after everything, and it’s only worse now, with Lloyd curled up on the floor and Jay watching his arm with hollow eyes. And that’s not even talking about the actual atmosphere, which is currently trying to make Lloyd consider knocking himself out to escape the pain. Bad Jay jokes would be nice. Lloyd misses having something to laugh about.

But you know what, that’s quitter talk. Lloyd can make bad jokes, too.

“You uh, you wanna give me an arm up, here?” he says, grinning weakly at Jay. “Could really use a hand, if you get what I’m saying.”

“You — you’re terrible,” Jay sputters, but he cracks the edge of a smile, and Lloyd silently congratulates himself on that small victory.

“But you love me.”

It comes out too much of a question, and Lloyd bites his tongue. But Jay’s eyes soften as he pulls him up, and he’s gentle as he does it, so it barely hurts.

“Yeah, short stuff,” he says. “I do.”

And that’s — Lloyd swallows. That’s too much emotion for him to deal with in Jay’s voice right now, even if it is the kind of reassurance he clings to with a desperation these days.

“Short stuff,” he scowls instead. “You’re one to talk.”

“Nuh-uh,” Jay grins, a bit weaker than his usual one. “I grew a half an inch in the First Realm, bud. I’ve got you now.”

“No way,” Lloyd counters, squinting at him. “You look shorter, if anything. I’ve got you now.”

“I do not.” It’s Jay’s turn to scowl. “And please, the only height you’ve gained is your hair. Fluffing it up all crazy does not count.”

Lloyd snorts, despite himself. “My hair, you should see-ee—”

His voice abruptly pitches higher, strangling off mid-sentence as a fresh wave of bright pain sears through his shoulder, throbbing with the increased thudding of rain against the window. Lloyd almost bites his tongue in half as he dips forward, words momentarily lost as his teeth grind together.

Jay’s at his side in an instant. “It’s the storm, isn’t it,” he says, his eyes bright in concern. “Your arm is hurting extra.”

“T-technically, it’s not,” Lloyd breathes out. Words are back online again, that’s good. He exhales, shuddering. “S’just what’s left of it.”

Jay worries his lip, and then realization sparks in his eyes. “You were going for the top cabinet,” he says, slowly. Then— “Cole had the pain meds last, didn't he.”

Lloyd nods, his good hand clutching and un-clutching at his shoulder. Jay makes a sympathetic noise in his throat, then moves for the cabinet himself. He uses the same drawer handle as a step-up that Lloyd did, but he doesn’t wobble, snatching the bottle from the top shelf and stepping down neatly. Thunder shakes through the apartment, and Lloyd squeezes his eyes shut tight, barely conscious of the sound of running water. When he opens them, Jay is in front of him again, a glass of water and four larger pills held out.

“You look like you could use the extra,” he says, in explanation.

Lloyd nods gratefully, shoving the pills in his mouth before grabbing the glass and draining it. “Thanks,” he croaks out.

Jay nods, his eyes lingering on Lloyd’s prosthetic. He opens his mouth once, then closes it. Then opens it again, inhaling like he’s gonna say something, then shuts it again. Then again—

“Jay, spit it out.”

“CanIlookatit,” Jay blurts out, red immediately rising in his cheeks.

Lloyd blinks rapidly, trying to parse out the jumble of words. “Can you — huh?”

“Look at it,” Jay repeats, shifting awkwardly. “Your, uh, your arm? The prosthetic one, I mean. Just ‘cause I think I can help it! Help you, I think I can help you, ‘cause you kinda look like it’s hurting you, which would make sense, with the storm, and I might be able to — to help, if that’s not like, a problem with you — if it is that’s fine! I totally get it, I mean if my arm had got — was lost, I��d be—”

“J-Jay, slow — Jay,” Lloyd tries vainly to cut over him once, before succeeding the second time. Lloyd gives him a weak smile, then flops his arm out. He immediately regrets the action, as it feels like he’s shoved a knife or two into his arm. “It’s — ow — fine. You can look at it.”

“Oh! Cool,” Jay says, deflating in relief. “Ah, thanks for trusting me?”

Lloyd waves him off, with his good arm his time. “There’s like, six people left I trust, but I trust ‘em with my life. You’re one of them.”

“Oh,” Jay repeats, but he sounds sad this time. A little too understanding, too, and Lloyd wonders if their entire team isn’t suffering similar issues with putting faith in people, after everything.

“Here,” Jay says firmly, as if shaking that sobering thought off. He points to the couch, eyeing Lloyd as he winces with the thunder again. “Wanna lie down, so I can look at it?”

“Sure,” Lloyd mutters, flopping down on the couch (and immediately regretting the action, again, you’d think he’d learn by now), lying with his head at the left end so he can spread his prosthetic out on the edge of the cushioned footrest. Jay steps over, carefully sitting down on the floor by him, hands hovering hesitantly over the arm.

…his arm. His arm, just a bit different.

“I like the design here,” Jay says quietly, his fingers ghosting over the engraving Nya had put on one quieter day during the Resistance. It’s in the shape of a dragon, like the one of his other spare prosthetic, but this one is a little subtler, almost sketched into the metal. “It’s cool.”

“Nya did it,” Lloyd says. “And you can touch it, if you want.”

“Oh — yeah,” Jay gives a nervous laugh. “Um. Could I, like, see where it…attaches?”

Lloyd blinks, glancing to where the sleeves of his too-big (Kai’s) t-shirt fall well over where the metal arm meets his stump. He swallows, then nods, carefully rolling back the fabric until his shoulder’s exposed. “That good?”

Jay, to his credit, just gives a quiet, hissing little intake of breath, and nods. And it really is to his credit, because while Pixal did all she could, the surgery was — well, Lloyd was in and out during it, but it was haphazard at best, and the scarring it left all up to his shoulder is…

It’s not pretty. And Lloyd’s been thinking he doesn’t mind, but now that he actually has someone looking at it, he’s realizing he might.

Time to invest in a lot more long sleeves, he thinks dully.

Jay’s frozen for a second, and Lloyd bites his lip, trying not to squirm as he stares openly at the scarring. Then he shakes his head, bright eyes gaining the steady determination Lloyd knows, and sets to work, fingers carefully skimming one of the compartment edges.

“Lemme know if anything hurts.”

Lloyd just nods. It’s weird, at first, feeling but not really feeling as Jay fiddles with the arm. He still doesn’t like not being able to truly feel stuff with it, but right now, with the pulsing pain still lingering from the storm outside, he’s almost glad for it. To the point where the idea of feeling anything else in what’s left of his poor arm almost has him flinching away from Jay.

Jay’s fingers are careful, though, and he finally clicks something in the arm into place that shifts the whole thing, the throbbing pressure on a few particular nerves in Lloyd’s arm letting up some, and his shoulders go loose in relief, the tight rigidness he’s been holding them in easing off.

“Oh,” he exhales in relief, a bit shakily as he sits up. “That’s better. That — thank you. That’s a lot better.”

Jay beams, clearly pleased with himself. “No problem, green machine,” he says. “Just glad I can help. I mean, Nya did a great job with it, but the uh — the wires right here, you see? Those can get twisted up if you move around a lot, and that’ll create pressure on the nerves, and then you’ve got the gears here, and…”

Lloyd quickly loses track of Jay’s technical babble, nodding along like he understands instead. His brother’s stream of chatter is a nice sound against the rain in the background, warm and familiar, and Lloyd slowly relaxes further, his shoulders crying in relief as they lose their tension. The meds are kicking in now too, and the pain’s ebbed into something a lot easier to manage. Enough for Lloyd to start feeling guilty, anyways.

“I’m sorry if I woke you up,” he finally says, after Jay’s wound down from his explanation, ducking his head.

Jay waves him off. “I was already up, anyways,” he shrugs. “The storm woke me. They…they do that a lot.”

Lightning flashes, as if to echo his statement, and Lloyd notices the twitch that runs through Jay this time, how he almost seems to vibrate with the thunder that follows.

“Does it bother you?” he asks, a little hesitantly. “The storm?”

It feels like a silly question, because Jay can practically create storms, he thrives in them, Lloyd’s seem him straight-up catch a lightning bolt in his hand and chuck it like a baseball without breaking a sweat. But even though Lloyd's definitely not the ninja of lightning, it is the element he found easiest to wield, when he’d had all four, and he remembers the way the connection would buzz at him.

Jay bites his lip, his fingers tapping some vaguely familiar beat on the table as he fidgets, turning the question over in his head.

“It’s — I feel it under my skin, you know?” he finally says, bouncing a bit in agitation. “I mean, it’s not bad, but I can — I can hear the lightning outside, like it’s talking to me, and I can’t sleep through it. I normally can, I mean, but — but normally it’s not this loud.”

He trails off, frustrated as he glares out the window. “Everything’s been loud since the First Realm,” he mutters, beneath his breath.

“Oh,” Lloyd says, quietly. The guys have told them about the First Realm, sure, but like — not really. The same way Lloyd and Nya have told them about the Resistance, but not really. An outline of the events, sure. A plot-like summary of important details, as detached as possible, sure. But all the worst parts, the crushing grief and despair and the awful headaches from too little sleep and too many held-back tears, all that? No way.

So while Lloyd knows they went through heck in the First Realm, he doesn’t really know. But with the way Jay’s eyes are shadowed, the dark circles beneath them and the way he looks like he’s years older as he stares at the storm out the window right now, he can guess.

“That must’ve been tough,” he finally says, hesitantly. “Being stranded, and everything. I can’t imagine what I’d do if I was cut off from everything like that.”

Jay blows his breath out, his fingers trembling slightly where they lace together. “It wasn’t fun,” he says, a little distantly. “I…I was kind of a mess, at first. I think I scared the guys. I wish I hadn’t, but it was just — it was a lot.”

Lloyd’s not sure what to say to that, so he just squeezes Jay’s forearm with his good hand, and hopes it’s worth something.

Jay shakes his head, almost as if to himself, “I just wish I’d been useful.”

Lloyd blinks at that, taken aback — and pretty concerned — at the gaping insecurity in Jay’s voice. He knows Jay struggles with that, but to see it this raw—

It hurts.

“Kai says you helped build that dragon,” he says, nudging Jay’s side with his knee. “That plan wouldn’t have worked without you. And you drew up the actual plans, and kept them secret and everything. And I saw you, when you guys came back. You saved us, right in the nick of time. It sounded like you were pretty crucial to the whole thing, to me.”

Jay gives a huff of laughter, but some of the tension in his expression eases. “You’re just saying that. Buttering me up,” he shakes his head, knocking his fist against Lloyd’s leg.

“Am not,” Lloyd says, kneeing him back. “I’m serious. You’re all kinds of useful. I’d totally hire you, if you came to me with your ninja resumé.”

“Yeah, ‘cause job number one on it would be ‘green ninja babysitter’. You’d have no choice."

Lloyd sputters. “I’m not — you guys don’t babysit me.”

“I have a whole lot of evidence that proves otherwise,” Jay says, grinning. “The others would agree, too.”

“This is mutiny,” Lloyd glares. “The nerve, the utter disrespect. I’m your leader.”

Jay actually laughs at that, further proving Lloyd’s point that his whole team is awful. But it’s a genuine laugh, one that softens the lines of stress at the corners of Jay’s eyes, so Lloyd figures he can let it go and laugh a little himself.

This time. They’re gonna have to talk about the babysitting thing later.

“We really missed you guys,” Lloyd finally says as his laughter ebbs, his traitor voice cracking in the middle. “A-a lot. I’m really glad you’re back. Like, you have no idea.”

“I think we kinda do,” Jay breathes out on dying laughter. “We missed you too, you know. We couldn’t even check if you were alright, we had no idea what was happening. You guys were realms away.”

Lloyd swallows back the ‘but you were dead’. Jay doesn’t need that knowledge right now. Jay needs to be able to relax, and to get more than three hours of sleep for once.

“Well, we’re in the same one now,” he says, with a wry smile. “Hopefully we can stay that way, for a while.”

“Do not jinx us,” Jay points his finger at him, and Lloyd manages a grin that feels genuine this time, shrugging. He’s beyond pleased to find out that the action doesn’t hurt so much, only feeling the faint twinges of pain this time. Lloyd stifles a yawn instead of replying, and Jay fixes him with a look, jerking his head back toward the bedroom.

“If your arm’s better, you should get back to sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lloyd mutters, biting back a groan as he stands, wobbling a bit as his arm swings loosely. “That goes for you, too.”

“I’m not the one with designer bags for eyes,” Jay says, even though he clearly has dark circles worse than Lloyd. He pauses, eyeing Lloyd’s arm. “You really shouldn’t sleep with this on, you know,” he adds, tapping his wrist, nails clacking oddly on the metal.

Lloyd cringes. “I know,” he mutters. “I’m just — I don’t wanna have to put it on, if we…”

“If we’re attacked in the middle of the night?” Jay says drily, but there’s understanding in his voice. “Yeah, I get that. But hey, how about this: you sleep with it off for tonight, and if anyone comes in to kill you, I’ll take ‘em out.”

Lloyd raises an eyebrow. “Lightning blast to the face?”

“Lightning blast to the face,” Jay nods solemnly.

Lloyd shifts, arms wrapped around himself, his real fingers clenching anxiously at the juncture where his prosthetic meets his arm. It’s tempting, the idea of having the heavy weight off for the night. Really tempting.

But that also means taking it off, and that sounds…less than fun, especially after all the pain he’s already been in tonight.

“I’ll consider it,” Lloyd says, smiling weakly. “But I have full faith in you.”

Jay’s eyes are understanding as he nods, knocking his fist gently against Lloyd’s arm again. “Good. Now, bed. Practice starts back tomorrow, remember? You don’t wanna be dead tired for that.”

Lloyd’s heart sinks. Oh, no. He’d forgotten.

“Aw, man,” he moans. “This is gonna be a disaster.”

“Don’t say that,” Jay says, clearly trying to sound optimistic. “It’ll go fine. Wait and see.”

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

It is, in fact, a disaster.

The first practice with the guys after everything reminds him a whole lot of his first time sparring with Nya down one arm, and that — well, sucks. That’s about as cheerfully as he can put it.

“Do you need a hand?” Lloyd looks up at the voice, shielding his eyes against the afternoon sun. Zane’s standing over him, looking slightly apologetic, his hand outstretched.

Lloyd takes the offered hand, pulling himself with a grunt of effort. “Yeah, a right one would be nice.”

Jay and Nya groan in unison. Zane just flicks his eyes skywards, his mouth curving up slightly as he hauls Lloyd the rest of the way to his feet. Lloyd wobbles a bit, caught off guard, and Zane steadies him, grabbing for his prosthetic before he can lose balance. Zane’s hand lingers a little too long around it, his eyes flashing in concentration where they rest on the metal fingers. Lloyd’s about to ask him what’s up — growing slightly defensive — when Zane lets go, blinking once. The look of furrowed concentration stays on his face even as he steps back, though, and Lloyd’s not sure if he likes that.

“Sorry, Lloyd,” Cole says, interrupting his train of thought as he steps forward, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck in guilt. “I didn’t think you’d — I shouldn’t have been hitting that hard.”

“Yeah, you shouldn’t have,” Kai snaps testily, his eyes flashing in the dangerous kind of protectiveness Lloyd’s used to seeing against people not in their family. He quickly intervenes, waving his hands.

“It’s fine, it’s fine, chill out,” he says, hastily. “I wasn’t paying attention, it was my fault. Besides, it’s not any worse than what Nya gave me the first time we sparred with, uh…the arm.”

Nya rolls her eyes. “You kept tripping everywhere. That’s not my fault.”

Lloyd goes a bit red, but he doesn’t argue back. He’s pretty sure Pixal has video footage that would invalidate any argument he’d have, anyways.

Kai looks between the two of them, then seems to lose some of the fire, shoulders sagging. “Just…be more careful,” he mutters. “Lloyd’s arm is still pretty new.”

Lloyd’s head swivels to Kai, his mouth half-open, incredulous. He begs Kai’s pardon, who, again, lost their arm here and who definitely didn’t? Who knows what they’re talking about, and who knows absolutely nothing—

“Yeah, no, for sure,” Cole nods back, like Lloyd isn’t even here. “I’ll let up on the heavier attacks, too.”

Lloyd snaps his mouth shut tightly. He wants to scream. They’re all acting like Lloyd is glass, like he’s fragile. And that’s not the problem. The problem isn’t his arm. The problem isn’t even that he’s not used to the prosthetic, because at this point he kinda is. (He’s getting there.) No, the problem is that the guys are all walking on eggshells around him, to the point where the hits they do throw at him are so sporadic it’s completely throwing Lloyd off. Like he’s being attacked by uncoordinated chickens with no heart in their attacks, or something.

It’s actually a pretty good strategy to keep in mind, he muses, for another time when the target isn’t him.

“Um, no, you won’t,” he says instead, biting his cheek to keep the edge out of his voice. “You’re going to actually attack me. You’re holding back so much right now you’re handicapping yourself worse than me without a metal arm.”

Cole looks taken aback. “I just sent you to the ground, bud,” he says. “Hard.”

“You only sent me to the ground because I wasn’t expecting you to hit like Jay,” Lloyd shoots back.

“Hey!”

“If that’s the tactic you wanna use, fine, but only if you’ve got a plan for when I blast you right back from the ground.”

Cole blinks. “Do your powers even work with the prosthetic?”

“I do have another arm,” Lloyd growls. He immediately feels bad, because he sounds angrier than he should be, but that subject’s touchy. He hasn’t tried to use his powers with the prosthetic yet, apart from the blinding blast of energy he’d given off when he’d first gotten them back, and he doesn’t want to find out if another use will blow his arm to pieces or not.

“It should work with it, anyways,” Nya assures them, though there’s a spark of uncertainty in her eyes. “Your powers are pretty intuitive. They protect you, so it wouldn’t make sense for them to hurt you like that.”

Lloyd doesn’t say how completely unfounded this is, because his powers tried to protect him during the fight with his father and they sure as heck hurt him then, but she does have…a bit of a point. And again — there’s like, the glaring fact that his arm did not explode when he went supernova on top of Borg Tower. And Lloyd’s control is way better these days, so in all honesty, it’ll probably be fine.

But on the off chance. Lloyd is trying to be more careful, lately.

Now the guys, though. The guys are taking careful to a completely ridiculous level.

“Maybe we should tone it down for today, just to be safe,” Kai says, exchanging looks with Cole. A vein somewhere in Lloyd’s forehead begins to throb. “We don’t want to take any risks.”

“Oh, yeah, like we weren’t taking plenty of risks while you guys were gone in the First Realm. Oh wait, we did, and we were just fine then,” Lloyd snaps.

He immediately regrets it, because Kai’s expression does this awful crumpling thing, and Cole’s eyes widen painfully. Jay just looks down, and Lloyd hates himself.

“I-I didn’t mean—” he stammers, grasping desperately for the words to apologize, when Zane lays a gentle hand on his shoulder, silencing him.

“How about I train with Lloyd one on one for a bit,” he says. The corners of his mouth quirk up, humorlessly. “I think cooling down might be in order.”

Lloyd feels his cheeks heat, but he ducks his head, nodding. Kai looks like he want to protest, but he shuts his mouth, nodding as well, and Lloyd’s relieved to see a kind of understanding in his eyes.

He hopes he does, Lloyd thinks to himself, as Zane leads them away from the others, to the other side of the yard they’re using for training. He hopes, that Kai and Jay and Cole know he isn’t actually trying to attack them for getting yanked into another realm instead of being crushed to death, because that is definitely not something he would ever complain about—

“So, how strong is your arm?”

Lloyd blinks rapidly, yanked back to the present. “My — what?”

Zane repeats the question, patiently. “Your arm, the prosthetic one. Do you know how strong it is?”

“Like…as in durability, or how hard can I hit with it?” Lloyd asks, flexing a metal wrist.

“Ah. That’s a good question,” Zane tilts his head. “Both, I suppose.”

“Um, pretty strong, I guess,” Lloyd winces, remembering the last time he’d tested how strong it was, and he’d sent the punching bag through the wall instead. “Most of the strength is in my forearm, ‘cause it’s just metal and gears there. It gets a little dicey where it connects, up here, but it can take the heavy hits.”

His father had the honor of testing that part out, he thinks bitterly.

Zane nods, his eyes calculating. “Good. Then show me a heavy hit.”

It takes a second for the question to register, but when it does, Lloyd blanches. “No,” he says, firmly. “No way.” He remembers how the punching bag crumpled beneath his metal fist. He remembers too well how his father, full power, had actually buckled under several of his hits. The idea of hitting one of the guys with that same force makes him sick.

“Ah,” Zane says, and there’s a spark in his eyes. “So now you want to start holding back.”

“This — this is different,” Lloyd grinds out, trying not to go red in embarrassment. “It’s one thing to hold back entirely, but my arm is — its different, Zane, it’s way stronger now, and I don’t wanna hurt you guys with it.”

“I’m not going to break, Lloyd,” Zane says, cooly.

Lloyd bites his lip. “Look, I’m serious, you don’t understan—”

The end of Lloyd’s sentence cuts off with a yelp as Zane sweeps his leg out from beneath him, sending him sprawling to the ground. He looks up at him, wounded, and Zane just tilts his head.

“You said you want us to stop holding back,” he says, challenging. “You want a real fight, so fight back. Hit me.”

That’s all the warning Lloyd gets before Zane sweeps another kick toward him, forcing Lloyd to roll out of the way, somersaulting backwards before springing back to his feet. He opens his mouth to protest, but Zane’s elbow is already whistling toward his head, followed by his fist, and Lloyd’s too busy blocking and dodging to get any word out edgewise.

He’s not going to hit him with it, Lloyd tells himself fiercely. He’s not, but — but Zane is actually attacking him now, with all the cool calculation and devastating accuracy Zane is really good at, and if Lloyd doesn’t launch a counterattack soon, Zane’s going to obliterate him in full view of everyone.

Through the buzz of adrenaline, Lloyd bites back a curse. He’s forgotten, for a crippling moment, how smart Zane is. The way he’s pressing on him is leaving his left arm for blocking, which means the only way he’s gonna get a decent hit in is with his right. So either Lloyd sucks it up and hits Zane with the metal arm already, or he’s going to eat dirt the rest of the day.

Darn it, Zane, Lloyd thinks heatedly, barely dodging the next barrage of hits, wincing as one clips his shoulder. He’s just gonna have to do it. They both asked for this—

Lloyd suddenly ducks, darting beneath Zane’s blow then squaring back, bringing his fist up and swinging hard — just to crash right into Zane’s own blocked fist with a loud, screeching clang of metal.

Lloyd blinks. The hit he’d just thrown wasn’t holding back — it was way harder than he should’ve thrown, actually — but Zane just slides a few feet back, barely flinching. He flexes his wrist, a grin curving up the edge of his mouth.

“You aren’t the only one with a metal arm, you know,” he says evenly, and oh. Oh. Lloyd stops dead, staring at him.

So Lloyd’s just an idiot. Here he is, freaking out about how different his arm is now, how no one gets it, and Zane’s been metal this whole entire time.

“I…” Lloyd trails off, staring at him wordlessly. He feels so stupid, a total sham of the leader he’s supposed to be. He’s overlooked the most obvious fact ever, to the point where he’s been severely misjudging Zane, and that’s…that’s bad. That’s very bad, if he’s calling himself leader here.

And that, Lloyd realizes, with an unpleasant jolt, is the real problem with all this. Not the guys, not the arm. It’s Lloyd, failing to lead them against Harumi, failing to lead them against his father, and failing to lead them now. No wonder they can’t take him seriously, when Lloyd can’t even give them the decency of doing the same.

“Oh,” he whispers.

“It’s difficult,” Zane says, quietly. “To see yourself as one way, then suddenly as another. Even if it’s just one limb. Adjusting can be…difficult.”

Lloyd ducks his head, swallowing. “I’m sorry.”

Zane makes a noise that could be a huff of laughter, if it wasn’t so exasperated. “You don’t need to apologize. That is not the point I’m trying to make.”

Lloyd stares at the ground, not meeting his eyes. Zane’s footsteps draw close, until he’s right in front of him.

“Lloyd.” Zane’s hand is gentle on his shoulder, and Lloyd slowly looks up at him, feeling very much like he’s nine years old again, and Zane is the older brother who knows infinitely more about the world than he ever will.

“We are more than just a team for you to lead,” he says, gently. “We’re your family, above all else. We may not have been here when you needed us, but we are here now, and we want to be. We trust you. We just want you to trust us back.”

“I do,” Lloyd says, fervently. “I do, Zane, and I didn’t mean to — I never blamed—” He cuts off, shaking his head and swallowing. “I wanted to be there, too,” he rasps. “I — we couldn’t be there for you guys, either. You were alone, too. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to any of us.”

“No,” Zane says, sounding very tired. “No, it wasn’t.”

Not for the first time, Lloyd wonders how heavily the guys edited their own story of their time apart, and how much of the darker stuff they decided to leave out. The hollow look in Zane’s eyes leaves his stomach sinking. Probably a lot.

“B-but we’re together now,” Lloyd finally speaks up, cringing at the waver in his voice. “And, um. I know I’ve been most of the problem, but — but I trust you guys. I trust you, so — could you show me how to use my arm?”

Zane looks at him, and Lloyd offers him a tentative smile. “Since you’re the resident expert, and all.”

Zane’s mouth quirks up in a grin of amusement, and Lloyd feels a happy flare of victory at the action.

“I wouldn’t call myself that,” he says, lightly. “But yes, I can help adjust your training. Provided, of course, you throw better hits. No offense intended, but that one was…pitiful, at best.”

Lloyd chokes on a laugh. “Okay, if that’s how it is. I’ll show you a real hit. Just don’t go crying to Cole when I wipe the floor with you.”

“I assure you,” and there’s an edge to Zane’s smile that promises Lloyd’s not leaving here without his fair share of bruises. “I have no intention of doing so.”

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

Training with Zane helps even more than he’d thought it would. Not only does Lloyd start to learn how to better use his prosthetic to an advantage, the others pick up on it and start actually fighting Lloyd again, well-practiced moves and techniques that force him to fight back, and by the third week of practices they’ve all slid back into a steady routine, even if there is still the occasional hesitation when it comes to Lloyd’s right arm.

Except for Nya. She’s been sending him sprawling across the mat since day one, no problem, and even with her healing arm she’s never stopped threatening to do it again.

Lloyd’s beyond grateful, though — he’s starting to almost feel normal again, to feel a little like his old self, with his proper place on the team, and he finally, finally feels like he’s doing something right. So he’s got no right to complain whatsoever, when the increased training leaves his arm feeling so sore he may as well have gotten hit by a truck.

A throbbing ache shoots through his right wrist again, pulsing up through the bones of his arm. Lloyd’s fingers grasp on air, wavering once, twice before it clicks that there’s nothing there. A croaking laugh almost bubbles up in his throat. His arm is in agony and it’s not even there. There is no wrist there to hurt, he doesn’t even have his prosthetic on right now. So why—

Phantom pain, he reminds himself firmly, before clicking the prosthetic back into place, the motion slowly growing familiar. It’s just a ghost, like Morro. Lloyd survived him, he can survive this.

Besides, he doesn’t have time to be hallucinating an arm that’s not there. He’s gotta have his best face on right now, because this…this is going to take a lot out of him.

Lloyd stares at Kryptarium Prison with hollow eyes, trying to rid himself of the icy shiver that’s crawling up and down his spine. They’ve since fixed the damage to the walls, and he’s eternally grateful for that — but the stretch of stone that’s been recently repaired is obvious, and Lloyd can easily pick out exactly where he went bursting through when—

When Lloyd’s brain was an idiot, he scolds himself, as the shiver threatens to turn into a full-blown panic attack. Those memories need to go right back into the dark hole he’s shoved them in, where they can stay for the rest of his entire life.

Besides, the person he’s about to see is gonna bring back enough bad memories, as it is.

Lloyd swallows, forcing past the fear closing in around his throat as he finally starts walking again, his feet practically dragging toward the prison doors. His arm throbs in pain with every step, spreading to the aching twin points on the back of his right hand.

Which isn’t there, he reminds himself fiercely. There’s no hand to hurt, move past it, brain.

The doors slide open for him with a mechanical hiss, a chiming bell warning the guards of his entrance. Lloyd’s in full gi, hood pulled back, so no one stops him, the outermost guards just nodding to him as he passes. Lloyd barely manages a grimace of greeting for them, where he’d normally have at least something sincere. But it’s hard enough, trying to keep his expression impassive. Each step further into the prison feels like a step closer to his doom, and this is ridiculous because the only other time he’s felt this nervous walking up a set of stairs was the Overlord—

“Name, please?”

Lloyd blinks, abruptly realizing he’s already reached the check-in gate. He shakes his head, trying to reorient himself. Name, please, he thinks drily, as he looks up. Like this guard doesn’t know who he is, entirely decked out in green, it isn’t like he’s been on TV a whole lot in the last month—

Anyways.

“Lloyd Garmadon,” he says, hoping his voice doesn’t sound like a gasp for air. “I’d like to see my — um, Lord Garmadon. He should be in heavy lockdown.”

Private lockdown, somewhere dark and deep, probably, Lloyd thinks. He tells himself he doesn’t feel anything at that. His father probably likes it, anyways, being alone and in the dark. That’s all it seems he’d even wanted, except for maybe her—

Lloyd thrusts the hot flash of emotion down deep along with the rest of that thought, and tries to focus on the guard’s reply.

“—terribly sorry, but I can’t let you in.”

Lloyd’s brain stutters to a halt. “Sorry, could you repeat that?” he frowns, taken aback. He doesn’t like to throw his weight around, but Lloyd’s pretty sure that the ninja are supposed to have clearance to the entire prison. Especially after everything that’s happened, he and Nya practically have clearance to the entire city at this point.

“Your name’s been blacklisted,” the guard chews on the edge of his lip nervously. “Y-you aren’t allowed access to the prisoner in question.”

Lloyd blinks rapidly. “What?”

The guard is visibly sweating now. “The, uh, the records say I can’t let you in. To see him. Not without a signature.”

Lloyd’s stomach does a weird swooping thing, like he’s missed a step on the stairs. If he needs a signature, then someone had to go out of their way to block him — specifically him — from seeing Garmadon. Someone who the warden apparently decided had the right to make decisions for Lloyd.

“Who’s signature,” Lloyd grits out, fury barely held back.

The poor guard — because he really doesn’t deserve this, but oh, Lloyd is angry — shrinks even smaller in his seat, swallowing.

“Wu,” he finally says, stammering. “Your uncle, he — I’m sorry, but he technically has the right…”

Lloyd steps back, metal creaking as his fist forms. “Thank you,” he clips out tightly, then spins in place, hoping his eyes haven’t gone supernova yet.

No, he’s saving that for his uncle.

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

“How could you do that.”

Sensei Wu barely stirs, visibly unaffected by the way Lloyd’s just slammed his door open, and is currently fuming in the doorway like a very angry part-Oni crime of nature.

“It was, at the moment, the correct course of action to take.” He sips evenly at his tea, not even attempting to pretend he doesn’t know exactly what Lloyd’s talking about.

Lloyd sees red. “You had no right.”

Sensei Wu finally looks at him, sighing wearily. “I’m your family, Lloyd. I have every right—”

“Not this one!”

Sensei’s eyes are sympathetic, but unrelenting. “Your mother told me what happened, Lloyd. What you did.”

Lloyd almost swallows his tongue at the shock of surprise, but it quickly mixes with a hot flare of betrayal in his chest. It’s his arm, it’s his story to tell.

“Cool.” The words scrape through his teeth. “That doesn’t mean you can block me from seeing him!”

“Your head isn’t in the right place to see him, Lloyd. Neither is your heart. I believe you know this, too.”

“My head—” Lloyd trips over his words in anger. “My head is fine! So’s my heart, thanks.”

Sensei Wu’s eyes narrow. “You’ve never been the best of liars, nephew.”

Lloyd is going to smash his stupid teapot. “Then maybe your perception is still off from the First Realm, uncle.”

A part of Lloyd’s soul dies at the sentence, because it’s the most dangerously rude thing he’s said to his uncle since he was like, eight. But he swallows it back, because he has a bad feeling it’s not going to be the worst thing he says in this conversation.

His uncle’s lips press tightly together, and Lloyd feels more than sees the crackle of anger in his eyes as the atmosphere heats, no longer a conversation between sensei and student. It’s a family conversation, now. “I hardly need much perception to see how traumatized you are from recent events. It’s not difficult to miss.”

“Traumatized—” Lloyd sputters, his own eyes narrowing. “You know what, fine, so what? It’s not like I haven’t been — been traumatized, or whatever, before,” he snaps. “Morro put my head pretty out of place, and you were fine with that.”

Sensei Wu’s eyes flash. “I was not ‘fine’ with that. I was nowhere near fine with that, but at that time you were equipped to deal with it. And you were not forcing yourself to face Morro on some shred of false hope you know will only hurt.”

Lloyd full-body flinches back at that last part. But it’s not that — it’s not because —

See, Lloyd knows. He’s had it physically beaten into him multiple times, that he’s not the father he knew. He knows that he’s not really him, that he will never be him, that he will never regain the father he lost no matter how much this one looks like him.

But — but Lloyd’s heart can only take so much at once, and he’s dangerously close to reaching a point where nothing will repair that kind of break. He can take a hundred prison walls and his arm cut off fifty times in a row, but that is something he’d rather die than have to face right now.

And to hear the phrase false hope coming from the one person he’d hoped would understand nearly breaks Lloyd on the spot.

So he gets angry instead.

“You taught me not to give in to fear,” his voice is icy, words measured and slow. “You taught me not to put off until tomorrow what I can deal with today, and you wanted me to make my own decisions.”

“Yet I do not recall teaching you to disregard any and all concerns for your wellbeing,” his uncle replies, his voice just as glacial. “Nor do I remember teaching you to argue back against my orders.”

“You made me master!” Lloyd nearly shouts back, barely restraining himself. “You told me to start giving the orders, how am I supposed to do that if you don’t trust me? You can’t keep doing this to me, either you trust me or you don’t!”

“I do trust you, but I will not lose another member of my family because they believe they’re stronger than they are!” Uncle Wu snaps, his eyes flashing, and for a beat Lloyd can almost see the Oni in his blood, as well. “I’ve forced you to face your father too many times, Lloyd. I will not let him continue to hurt you.”

“He isn’t hurting me!” Lloyd bursts out, despite knowing those words are a stone-cold lie. But— “He’s already hurt me, I almost died, what worse can he do from a prison cell?”

“More than you will acknowledge!” his uncle barks back. He exhales tightly, eyes closing briefly before re-opening. “Lloyd, I understand that you are upset with my decision. But in time, you will see that this was the right one. Your perception is clouded to the point where you can no longer see yourself properly, and a leader who continues to put themselves further into that state is not fit to be leader.”

Lloyd’s teeth snap together with an audible clack, and his fists tighten, fingernails biting into his palms and metal fingers creaking. “You’ve been gone for months,” he grinds out. “For a year, and I led just fine that whole time. You can’t just come back now and say I’m — I’m a screwup—”

“That is not what I—”

“And you keep talking about decisions, when you didn’t even ask me before—”

“Lloyd—”

“—going behind my back is way out of line and you know it!”

“This is not—”

“And my perception is fine, I do see myself—”

“Lloyd, I said—”

“—and I’m fine, Uncle Wu, I swear, I can face him I’m fine—”

“That is enough, Lloyd!”

Lloyd flinches back as his uncle’s voice cracks out, angrier than he’s heard it. Wu’s knuckles turn white around his cup handle, and his eyes glint with the steel of his glare. “This is my decision, and I will not move from it until you can prove that you are ready.”

Until he can prove he’s ready. Like Lloyd hasn’t had to prove again and again—

Like he doesn’t believe in Lloyd either when he was the one—

Like Lloyd wasn’t willing to lose an arm not to fail him—

Something dangerous in Lloyd snaps.

“You’re just as bad as him,” he spits, venomous like a snake. “You’re all the same, you think you know what’s best for me and you never care how I feel! You don’t even care about me, you just care about the stupid Green Ninja and your stupid prophecies and I’m sick of it, I’m so sick of being your Green Ninja, I hate it!”

Sensei Wu goes stark white. His fingers tremble and his teacup drops to the table, his eyes painfully wide. “Lloyd,” he whispers, weakly. “That’s not—”

“Fine,” Lloyd snaps over him, blinking back angry tears. “Fine, I’ll stay away from him. I’ll stay away from all of you. I hate being part of this family anyways.”

He turns on heel before he can look at his uncle a second longer, before the tears can start to fall and he has the chance to say anything else. There’s a high-pitched buzzing in his ears as he storms back down the hall, the lightbulbs above him sparking wildly in his wake before shorting out, exploding into tiny bits of glass that rain over the floor.

Lloyd darts past them, hurrying his footsteps as he tries to escape the apartment with the rest of the lights unscathed. Shoving open the stairwell door, Lloyd makes a break for the rooftop, where he at least knows it’ll be quiet, and there won’t be as many lights for him to burst, and his uncle can’t—

Lloyd pushes the rooftop door open and stumbles out with a heaving gasp, drawing air in desperately as if that’ll ground him. His heart is racing way too fast, way too angry, and his power is zinging all over his skin like a swarm of angry bees. He’s almost dizzy with how angry he is — except that’s not right, he’s not just angry, there’s a whole wave of emotion coming in from somewhere that’s threatening to — to drown him, and this is why Lloyd should always keep things bottled back where they belong—

A transformer across the street blows, and Lloyd jumps in alarm as it explodes, showering sparks down toward the street below. Lloyd blinks past the blurring tears, his stomach dropping. There’s a flickering of lights before the apartment complex below it goes dark, power lost as startled cries sound from the open windows. The power lines around him start thrumming dangerously, reaching a higher-pitched whine that prefaces bursting. Lloyd’s throat closes over in panic. Oh, no. He didn’t think — he can't be this bad. He doesn’t lose control like this, he — he needs to stop, right now, or the entire city’s going to lose power.

He clenches his fists again, trying to reign the power in, to pull it back to him, but it only sputters more wildly out of control. Lloyd’s hands are trembling now, shaking worse than before, and in a desperate attempt for it to stop he crumples to the rooftop, pulls his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them, burying his head in the crook of his flesh elbow and squeezing tight, metal digging painfully into his leg as he draws in tighter and tighter — like he can crush himself down into something small enough that he won’t feel so much anymore, and his power will stop, stop—

But it’s like he’s back in the prison, his power sparking wildly out of control and not listening to him. Just like her. Like his father, like his uncle, nothing he’s gotten from his family ever listens to him when it matters, and why should they. Why will they ever, when all Lloyd’s ever going to be is a weapon, a scribbled line in a prophecy or a stepping stone for power—

It’s his power. His power, and he can’t even get it to listen to him.

Lloyd listens to the power lines around him explode and lets his sweatshirt sleeve soak up the tears.

Lying to himself can only get him so far. He’s never going to be able to prove he’s ready to face his father.

Not when he doesn’t even know if he can.

#lego ninjago #ninjago #lloyd garmadon #nya smith #kai smith #jay walker #zane julien #cole brookstone #the focus is on jay and zane tho #for this part ahaHA i'm not kidding u guys its so long #anyways a huge thanks to everyone who requested more!!#u sadists #and special thanks to ninjawhoa for making sure i don't totally butcher lloyd's arm #i love u #my fic

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