#on the other hand they're making each other worse

[azsazz]

Shots & Spins

Hockey!Azriel x Ice Skater!Reader

Summary: Req from @kristijenner19: I saw you were thinking about hockey!AZ because same. How about a fic where she's a figure skater and they're trying to teach each other their respective sports. Imagine poor Az trying to do a spin/jump/twizzle and a reader who can barely ever make a shot into a goal

Bonus points if they switch their skates and have to re-learn how to skate with the new blade

Warnings: Mild panic attack, mentions of readers injury (torn ACL), trauma from coaches (verbal) mentioned.

Word Count: 3088

Other Fics in the Hockey!Az AU: Penance, Shut Out, Out of Order, All's Well That Ends Well, Brr-eakdown

HOCKEY SZN SOON MY LOVES 💙💙

Notes: I swear I meant to make this cuter but of course, I had to give it some angst 😅

_________________________________________

“What is this?” You question. You’re probably being rude, with your nose scrunched in disgust. With the way you’re holding the pair of skates as far away from your body as possible, you’re pretty sure you look like the biggest bitch on all of campus. But for the life of you, you can’t figure out why Azriel has handed you hockey skates.

“They’re skates,” Azriel answers. You rip your glare from the offending skates at his obvious response. Your heart stumbles in your chest at the sight of his pink lips twitching, begging to reveal that grin he spends most of his time expertly hiding.

You don’t even realize you’re leaning closer in anticipation, so eager to see that smile until the hitch of his breath snaps you back to consciousness.

You rock back on your heels so quickly you nearly tumble over. Would tumble over if it weren’t for Azriel’s quick reflexes, his large hands enveloping your waist and steadying you back on your feet.

“Thanks,” you reply flatly, dipping your chin to the ground to hide your flaming cheeks. There’s not an ounce of amusement in your body.

“You’re welcome.” You don’t like the smugness in his tone or the way he’s playing with you. Tilting your face back up, you muster all the annoyance lancing through your veins at his retort, shooting him the nastiest glare.

“That’s not what I meant, Az, and you know it. Why am I holding a pair of hockey skates?”

Azriel sits on the bench beside the empty arena, and you want to pout. Why would you want to spend any more time at the rink than you already do? You’re bone-fucking-tired and your knee is feeling stiff. You overdid it in practice this week, trying to get back into the shape you were in before the time you’d been forced to take off, and it’s hitting you hard. All you really want to do is crawl home, roll out your muscles, and dive into a pint of Ben & Jerry’s.

When you don’t join Azriel, he says, with a humor you don’t feel, “Don’t tell me you forgot about our little bet. Or how you so gracefully lost it.”

Of course you hadn’t forgotten. Who could forget losing at something as simple as a race across the arena? Afterwards, you tried to blame it on the differences in the ice, how it was colder and harder than you were used to, as it was prepared for the hockey team’s game later that weekend.

A rookie mistake, honestly. One that you’ve been kicking yourself over up until this very moment. Well, if you could kick with your injured leg, that is, you’d be doing just that.

You grind your teeth as a memory rises to the forefront of your mind. Your coach’s voice rings in your head, shrill and reprimanding. Why would you take such foolish chances? You need to get your head in your sport or you’re never going to make it on the Olympic team, let alone the University team.

Shame presses down on you, and your eyes prick at the criticism you should be used to by now. Your private coach from your time before Velaris University, Amarantha, had been very creative with her insults, always coming up with comments worse and harsher to cut down any semblance of confidence you had in your sport.

You bet she’s thrilled that you won’t be back in her presence until you’re healed enough. If you heal enough to relearn the very trick that took you out of the running for the Olympic team in the first place.

It must be a thing, coaches insulting their prodigies. You glance at Azriel from the corner of your eye and wonder if his coach is the same way. If Rhys is brutal with his teammates.

And you hate losing. It was Azriel who you wished forgotten about the bet you’d so stupidly agreed to, but here he is, wearing the same look that got you into this position in the first place.

You take your time studying him as you mull over how to get out of this. Azriel’s broad shoulders take up the space of two people, and his deep, dark hair falls over his brow, growing out into the perfect flow all the players seem to be sporting right now. You wonder if it’s superstition or they actually like the look. His thick lashes sweep as he bats them, and your cheeks take on a pink hue as he pretends to preen under your attention.

“Look,” he all but sighs, giving up his act. He leans back, reaching over to grab something out of sight. When Azriel rightens himself, he holds a pair of figure skates, a sheepish smile on his face. The apples of his cheeks mottle with pink. “I got myself figure skates, so we can both look like fools out there. Together.”

Fuck. The sentiment makes your throat tighten. He doesn’t have to be so damn thoughtful, you’re hardly even friends for Mother’s sake.

“Fine,” you manage when you can speak again. You plop onto the bench beside him. Your knee throbs dully in protest, but it’s nothing you haven’t been able to smother before. You’ve worked through worse conditions than hockey prepped ice, have skated in casts and aches so deep you weren’t sure you’d be able to compete at all if it weren’t for your raw love for the sport and your brutal stubbornness, holding yourself to the highest of standards.

And it’s not like you’re going to be doing your usual tricks. No, that’s all Azriel. All you have to manage is a few forward spirals, twizzles, and perhaps an axel just to show off a little, because there’s no way he’ll be able to recreate all of that in one go.

You just hope your knee stays steady for a few more hours.

The both of you lace your shoes in silence. The hockey skates are so different from your figure skates, you note. The blade is much thicker than you’re used to, more curved too. The boots are shorter, and you grimace at the lack of ankle support.

Not to mention you’re not entirely sure how well you’ll be able to stop without your toe pick.

Azriel leads you to the ice. You step on tentatively, giving the new skates a test. They have a lot more give than you’re used to. They’re not as snug, but easy enough to navigate. Muscle memory kicks in and after a few sluggish runs up and down the ice, you think you’ve gotten the hang of it.

The rest of this bet should be a breeze, especially compared to how Azriel is faring.

His face is contorted with a concentrated frown. He looks stiff as a fucking board, which make you giggle and him complain about. “How the hell do you wear these things? I can barely even move my ankles!”

“Practice makes perfect, young Padawon,” you tease, testing how best to shift your weight on the new blades. The pressure on your knee isn’t terrible, thanks to the looseness of the hockey skates.

“Yeah, yeah,” Azriel waves you off. He trails behind you at a slower rate, focused on getting used to the stiffness of the figure skates on his feet. “Just wait until we scrimmage.”

Ugh, no thanks. This is just perfect for you, the both of you out on the open ice, all alone. You don’t want to ruin this peaceful bliss by bringing your competitive personalities into it.

“I knew if we raced under different conditions I’d have won!” You exclaim, zipping past Azriel again, showing off. He glares playfully, but you’re much too busy admiring your skates to notice the way he’s tucked his lip between his teeth, hiding a satisfied grin.

His toe pick digs into the ice, grinding down as he gets a feeling for the foreign piece, but his eyes stay glued on you.

“Ready for a stick and gloves already, sweetheart?”

“I don’t know,” you throw a smirk back in his direction, crossing your arms over your chest and cocking a brow. “You ready for twizzling?”

“Twizzlers?”

You roll your eyes at his lame joke, but your heart still skips at his wry smile. It’s more than cute. You push off your blade, moving closer to him.

Which is fine, until you try to use your toe pick to stop, only for the realization to hit that there isn’t one on these skates.

You go barreling into Azriel, who catches you in his arms. Your motion throws him off balance and before you even have the chance to squeeze your eyes shut and brace yourself, you’re both falling to the ice.

Azriel hits with a grunt that reverberates through your bones. You’d think that Azriel breaking your landing would be less painful than it is, but with the way the muscle is packed on his body, he’s just as hard as the ice that’s no longer beneath your feet.

“Sorry,” you cringe. It comes out breathless and embarrassment flushes your cheeks, but you’re frozen to your spot and all too aware of how his large, warm hands are wrapped firmly around your waist.

“No worries.” Your lashes flutter as his breathy whisper caresses your face. He’s probably just winded, that’s why he sounds like that. Yes, that’s exactly what it is. “Didn’t think to remind you how to stop.”

“I know how to stop,” you argue, but there’s none of your usual fire tainting the words. You can’t even muster one of your famous glares that you reserve for the normally broody hockey player. You break eye contact as the humiliation begins creeping in. You scratch your nail distractedly down the waffled fabric of his olive colored henley. “I just…forgot, I guess.”

The hitching of his breath in his chest shifts your body and you jolt, the situation slamming into you like a truck.

You scramble off Azriel, grimacing at the sound of your blades clinking against his. His grip loosens, hands falling away as you slip to the ice beside him.

You shoot to your knees, then not-so-carefully climb to your feet. Azriel holds his hands out from where he’s still lying on the ground, like he’s more than ready to catch you again should you fall.

You’re positive the heat of your cheeks could melt the entire arena’s ice right now. You need to get the fuck out of here before you embarrass yourself further. You need to never show your face around here again. You’ve already transferred schools once, what’s one more time?

Azriel calls your name, but you hardly hear him over your racing thoughts. If the sheer embarrassment wasn’t enough, Coach Weaver’s voice now fills the rest of your head, screeching about your recklessness and how you could’ve injured yourself—

He’s quicker than you thought, or you’ve been trapped in your mortified headspace for too long because Azriel’s on his feet, towering over you and pulling you into his chest.

“I’m sorry,” your voice trembles and his hands tighten around you. He lets you bury your face into his chest and pretends not to notice the tears dampening the fabric of his shirt. You’re fucking trembling, and his heart is pounding just as hard.

This is all his fault.

“Breathe, sweetheart, breathe,” he tries to console. He looks around frantically, like one of the sports therapist students or coaches might be walking past the rinks this late at night. There’s no soul in the building besides the both of you, everyone resting for their busy weekends of competitions and away hockey games. “Please.”

You focus on his words, how he guides you, three seconds in, three seconds out. You focus on the soothing patterns he’s drawing down your back, focus on the beating of his heart and latch onto his scent: night-chilled mist and cedar.

“Sorry,” you croak when you finally manage to calm yourself and slide a step back. Your gaze sits pointedly on the ice. You don’t want him to see you like this, a woman who’s about to fucking crumble.

“Don’t be,” Azriel says softly. His hand finds your face, and as much as you don’t want him to, he lifts your chin. You don’t fight it, emotionally exhausted. You should have asked for a raincheck, but you can admit to the fact that Azriel’s gentle touch is a comfort that you can’t help but lean into.

Sad, hazel eyes meet yours. They’re more golden brown than green, a forest of hues backlit by a burst of gold. Your breath hitches as he drags a thumb softly across your lips. They part, even though you don’t mean them to, and the whisper of breath that leaves you passes over his hand, crawls up his arm, and sends shivers down his spine.

“You okay there, sweetheart?”

You’re not sure you can hold yourself together enough to answer his question without completely melting into a puddle at his feet.

Your silence must be answer enough. Azriel takes both of your hands in his own and guides you back toward the bench where you left your shoes. His grip is reassuring, and you’re so tired that you don’t even have it in yourself to sling a witty remark his way.

For what might be the first time in your life, you allow yourself to be taken care of.

You can’t even muster a chuckle at the way he stumbles over the toe pick on his way off the ice, or the way you’re waddling in these skates. You feel anything but graceful and strong right now, but with Azriel’s hand in yours, it’s not as off-putting as you feared it might be.

“Sit,” he says, keeping his fingers clasped around yours as you heed his command. It brings you eye-level to his hands, puckered and pink and scarred to hell. They’re beautiful in every way. He embraces his story, and it’s an incredible strength, one you’re much too terrified of attempting to recreate.

“Azriel, no,” you protest, jolting forward when he lowers himself to his knees before you. You plant your hands on his shoulders, ready to force him away because you’re more than capable of taking your own skates off.

He catches your wrists, and you didn’t think his eyes could soften any more, but they do, and you melt. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Let me take care of this for you.”

You try to swallow past the knot in your throat to thank him but are unable to. Instead, you nod and reluctantly sit back.

Azriel’s gentle with his movements, like you’re a wild doe that he’s helping free from a snare. He unties the tight knots, and your heart pinches when he struggles for a moment. You wouldn’t notice if you weren’t watching so intently, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

Like he knows you need to see this.

You carefully keep your mind from wandering into how good he looks like this before you.

He slips the first skate off, and you stretch your toes. It’s a reflex. Azriel smiles, peeking up at you just in time to catch your blush. His gaze ducks away before you become embarrassed, setting your foot down and holding your other ankle, lifting to get to work.

You hiss softly at the ache in your knee.

“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” Concern laces his voice, and you’re quick to reassure him.

“No, no,” you cringe a little at the lingering sting. “It’s nothing.”

“Sweetheart.” Azriel says sternly. Seriously. “That reaction wasn’t nothing. What’s wrong?”

You sigh, defeated in more ways than one. You don’t want to admit that the injury that threw your entire career off-kilter is acting up again. You’d rather not have anyone know.

Perhaps Azriel is different. Or, maybe he’s forcing you, because the gold in his eyes is intense, pinning you to your spot. His mouth is set in a straight, firm line. He looks like he means fucking business.

You avert your gaze. You’ve never admitted defeat like this, but if Azriel can wear his scars so proudly, maybe you can too.

“I tore my ACL a few months ago.” You admit, sniffling. You can feel the shock in Azriel’s gaze, but you refuse to look him in the eye. He’s the first person at this school outside of your coach who’s hearing it. You’ve never been so vulnerable, especially with someone you hardly know. You press on nonetheless. “It’s been fine up until now.” A white lie. “But it’s been a little sore since I started practicing my jumps again.”

“How many months is ‘a few’?” He questions, and he’s not going to like the answer, so you opt for brushing over it.

“I’ll go back to seeing my therapist,” you offer instead, but even you’re not too sure how much truth your words hold.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Azriel says, and you don’t want his sympathy, but you’re too exhausted for your usual anger to stir to life. “You need to take care of yourself, before it gets any worse.”

His sentiment has your nose stinging, eyes prickling once again. What the fuck is wrong with you these days? Get it together, girl. You can cry in your own room, not in front of the hot boy who’s helping you with your godsdamned shoes.

You drag your gaze back to his. “I will.” You think.

He studies you for a moment before nodding, accepting your answer whether he believes it or not. You don’t have it in yourself to care right now. No, you just want to be back in the safety of your dorm.

Azriel is even more careful removing this skate and helping you slip into your shoes. He makes quick work of his own, and while his head is down, you admire his stature. Broad shoulders and chest that tapers into a tight waist, an ass for days.

You’re not done drooling over him when he stands, offering you a hand.

You slip your palm into his, ignoring the electricity that zips down your arm. You’re hyperaware of him by your side, and it’s only when he’s absolutely sure that you’re steady on your feet that he drops your hand.

You try not to feel too disappointed at the loss.

“Let’s get you home, sweetheart,” Azriel offers, and you trail him from the arena, your heart feeling a bit fuller with the nickname.

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Azriel Hockey!AU Tags:

@whyonearthisyourusernamethi-blog @going-through-shit @crazylokonugget @lilah-asteria @girl-who-writes-stuff @moosemahboi @sherayuki @lyinginameadow @acourtofatboydreams @blackthorngirl @shadowsingercassia @evergreenlark @hannzoaks @bloodicka @whyshouldihaveanam3 @elle4404 @cherry-cin @quinzzelx @i-am-infinite @feeriqueivre @blightyblinders @kennedy-brooke @nyxbranwenn @dee-writes-smut @konaanaria13

[002yb]

Suspension with no pay is a generous punishment, given how severely Dick knocks another officer's lights out. He's lucky no charges will be pressed. His 'colleague' probably isn't keen to air the dirty details of his provocations to the police commissioner; to have them put on paper.

Dick isn't too eager to discuss it, either. Just thinking of it tests his temper and his resolve not to tear through the precinct to the infirmary the bastard hides away in; to grab him by the collar of his uniform again and wail on him for being a sick fuck.

Gordon wants an explanation. Because he knows Dick. Because he knows Dick doesn't do shit like this without reason.

Dick keeps his mouth shut. He sets his jaw, clenches his teeth. He wants to scream, but he swallows it down. Looks just over Gordon's head instead, and waits to be dismissed.

He takes his punishment. He slams the door on his way out.

The only thing he wants is to go home, but he doesn't want to bring his bad mood past the threshold. So Dick sits outside, back to the wall, and makes himself breathe.

His knuckles are still red and swollen, but they'll bruise in the coming hours. He picks at split skin, smudging away blood that beads up.

There’s no cleaning up the mess he is, so Dick settles in. Dropping his head back against the wall beside the door. Breathing. Meditating. Glaring off at nothing as he sits, stews, and broods. Hands clenching periodically because he still wants to hit something.

Someone, specifically. Because Dick wasn’t done fucking them up before other officers stormed in to intervene. Alerted by shouts and familiar sounds of a scuffle. Baffled, probably, that good boy Dick Grayson can lose it worse than any of them ever could.

So Dick sits there. For a long time, until he feels numb. Until he can compartmentalize and put all his anger and irritation and hurt behind him. Because he’s not bringing it home.

Not this.

Not with Jason there.

Jason who, after some hours, comes up the stairs and startles at the sight of Dick sitting just outside their flat, quiet and unnaturally still.

Jason who sees the damage to Dick’s hands and the storminess to his expression with just a quick glance, and who takes that ugliness in stride and sits beside it anyway. Because it’s Dick.

Somehow it’s both easier and harder to breathe with Jason there beside him.

Mercifully, Jason doesn't pry. Not yet. He just sits there with Dick, quietly shuffling through the mail he must have grabbed on his way up. Ads, bills, notices.

It's so normal, so mundane that Dick feels winded by it. The easy slope of Jason's shoulders, the quiet contentment in his expression. They're outside their flat, sorting through mail; when they go inside, they'll debate on eating in, going out. They'll talk casework, get distracted by their own banter. They'll go on patrol, come home and tend each other's hurts. And they'll go to sleep together, same as any other day. One of many.

Fuck. Dick looks skyward. Blinks. Breathes.

Then he turns to look down at that pile of mail. Distracts himself with the cluttered ad that shows deals at a nearby grocery that Jason scans and scoffs at or stops to consider.

'Are you happy?'

'Depends who won the fight.' Is the cheeky reply.

Dick snorts, but doesn't comment. Doesn't trust his voice, or what words might pour out of him. Despite the lack of bruises anywhere but along his knuckles, Dick doesn't doubt it looks like he's the one that got fucked up.

Apt. Because to Jason, Dick doesn't look upset - he seems hurt.

And Jason isn't going to badger Dick. Or chide him. He trusts Dick's judgment, his reasoning, even if Jason likes to be contrary and challenge Dick at every turn.

But he's a Robin at heart, always curious. And he's also a street kid in soul, nosy because intel is an invaluable resource. He's also Jason, who worries even if he's prickly about it.

'Must've been fucked to get under your skin so bad.'

The words are there, but they're ugly. Dick swallows them down and deflects:

'Got suspended.'

'With pay?'

'Without.'

'How long?'

'A week.'

Jason clicking his tongue and scoffing about it, but he doesn't care about the lost income. It's a line of questioning to gauge the severity of the fight.

When Jason asks about on a scale of Damian to Jason, how mad will B be about it, Dick can't help the quiet laugh that bubbles up in him. He considers, then shrugs, 'Tim levels, maybe?'

Jason sitting with that, puzzling it over until something seems to click and he grimaces. Because, 'what the fuck would you be fighting over me for?'

Dick can't talk about it: about how an officer implicated themselves in the solicitation of a 'back alley whore,' a child, at the time. Provoked by the picture Dick keeps of Jason as his lock screen. Unable to resist the temptation of mocking, ridiculing Dick 'perfect golden boy' Grayson by going after his boyfriend, 'How much is that running you? Used to be dirt cheap, back in the day.' , 'Gotham's sloppiest seconds, or mine at least. Does he still cry pretty when you--?' Etc. Etc.

So maybe Jason figures it out for himself and makes an accurate guess. Because since Jason came back, he hasn't dealt with the police in any notable way. Not as a civilian, at least.

Jason would know that if someone saw Dick's lock screen and talked shit about Jason's appearance or other superficial bullshit, Dick wouldn't be so quiet about it. He'd be ranting and raving, incensed because he insists Jason is handsome, gorgeous (and it's sweet, because Jason isn't anything to write home about; a fun fight to provoke, some days, if only because Dick gets so up in arms over it).

And if it's not anything to do with present!Jason, that only leaves all the shit of his past, which is...

They haven't talked about it. Jason doesn't doubt that Dick knows, it's just - Jason doesn't want to talk about it.

Just Jason recognizing Dick's kindnesses for what they are. How Dick defended him. How he hurt enough for him that Dick risks it all. And then he comes home and waits outside because he won't bring that anger home like Jason's dad would. And he goes so far as to bite his tongue because he won't corner Jason into talking about shit he doesn't want to.

Just Jason, breathing steady and changing the topic entirely: 'I'm happy.' So happy. Happier than he's ever been. It's jarring, sometimes, how happy he is. Because there was a time when he didn't think he'd be allowed it. But here he is. With Dick. At their flat; a shoddy home, but theirs. Where they'll make dinner together and complain about romance not existing in the kitchen, get outta my way )< ; and where they'll talk circles around case work before they start bantering, gossiping, laughing. And where they'll leave for patrol but still flirt over comms and come back and hide their hurts only for the other to poke at them because they know. And they'll sleep. And it's warm. And of course Jason is happy.

It's a simple life, but it's theirs.

Oh, Jason looking at Dick's bruised hands and feeling overwhelmed at just how happy he is - to be loved and cared for so much. ;////////;

Getting all bashful as he tells Dick again, 'I'm really...really happy.'

And because it feels a little too heavy, a little too raw, Jason would cough and deflect in his own way. Grumbling because, 'Would've been happier with an expulsion, but...' Shrug.

Dick laughing under his breath. Taking the out. 'On my way. It was a 'formal reprimand'.'

Then Jason snickers because, 'Could I give you more names? Speed up the process.'

Which oops. Too dark, too soon. But after the initial grimace is a brittle laugh because wow.

Then something something Jason standing up and offering Dick a hand to pull him up, too. And they go about their routine. When Dick settles down, Jason starts prompting for details on the fight. How fucked was the officer's face? How many men did it take to tear Dick away from him? (♡ˊ͈ ꒳ ˋ͈)

Dick teasing him about it sounding like Jason likes that Dick lost his shit. And Jason owns up to it fully. Of course he likes it; it was for him. (ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ.ﾟ

Jason makes it easier for Dick by teasing him about it. Taking some of the weight away from it. Because this is how they look after each other. ♡

[wings-of-ink]

Since I'm feeling angsty after reading the "Why do you think I love you ask?" I came up with the following scenario (for Oswin alone):

So, MC learns they are not going to survive no matter what. And they should return home. By that point both Oswin's and MC's had confessed their love to each other. Yet, very much when they were about to reach MC's home so they could rest from the unsuccessful journey, MC falls from their horse.

Oswin, of course, goes to assist them. The fall, fortunately, didn't cause any damage. But even if it had, it wouldn't have changed anything. MC is about to die, and there is little to do now.

Oswin of course screams, so everyone can come. They are so close to home... Yet, maybe they won't reach them in time. Maybe Oswin alone would be the only one to be with MC when they eventually die.

MC stops Oswin with a gentle hand on his cheek. Their face, while sickly and full of sweat, somehow is as radiant as it could be. MC could be the sun, and Oswin was a simple planet orbiting around them. Their eyes, so calm, so loving. MC's voice is both tender and painfully weak as they say:

"Don't worry. It'll be fine. Could you just hold me? If there is anything in the other side... I want to go remembering your warmth... Your scent... Your embrace... Please Yarrow... Hold me, just once. I won't ask for more".

The childhood name had slipped from MC's mouth. Neither said a thing about it.

When everyone reaches them, MC is gone. A smile slowly fading from their face.

Ouch, Nony. You okay? This is rough. What makes it worse is that technically, if the curse does get the better of MC, this would happen on their 25th birthday. So yeah, that hurts a little extra, lol.

I don't have it in my soul to do a POV with this for poor Oswin (giving him a little break), but I can tell you some things he might do in response.

Not take it well, naturally. We're talking nuclear levels of not okay and unhealthy coping. It would take all his family and friends to keep him functioning and from working himself to death.

He'd change his name. No one can tell him no. If he was Yarrow in the end for MC, he will be Yarrow until the end of his days.

I don't think he could love again, not in the same way.

He'd quit is job and stay with his family, probably getting more obsessive over their care and well-being for a while. I am actually also thinking that Kip and Dov would be under this banner. I can honestly see Oswin moving in with them so they can be there for each other.

Grief would be a huge uphill battle for a tremendously long time. And it never is really over (grief never is) - time and space just lets him breathe a little easier. I think eventually he would meet some sort of peace, but it would take just so much time and working through. He would always look forward to meeting MC again in the hereafter. He secretly holds to the belief that their souls will be reincarnated together.

Thank you for the ask, Nony! We'll find something sweet today to go with this angst too. ^_^

Just a disclaimer: I don't have plans of killing off poor MC, not that life will be getting much easier for them or anything, lol. (I can't torture them if they're dead!)

[lightlycareless]

I’m sorry if this is a weird question. It’s totally cool if you just delete this if it is but when faced with another guy bothering Y/N, would he be the type to punch a guy out, intimidate them, or talk out of it(y’know that suave way of staking claim so to speak) :3

Hello anon!!!

Ah yes, the ask I thought I hallucinated by some strange reason 🤣 like, I believed I already posted the answer to this but I didn't???

Either way, this gave me the perfect opportunity to do a bit of angst :) a little "Naoya and Y/N realize being together isn't all rainbows"

warnings: highschool au, kind of. slight mentions of violence. you really worry for naoya. he has yet a lot to learn about being a good boyfriend. it's the early stages of the relationship.

Enjoy!

Honestly, this moment… is something everyone around you awaited.

I mean, Naoya is brash, stubborn, rude, selfish, nobody gets along with him, doesn't have that many friends, so on and so forth.

Thus, it was only natural that he'd eventually rub someone the wrong way…

Or be rubbed the wrong way.

Your boyfriend, as stated, was a threat by himself, but when you were added into the mix, it's like all his foul traits doubled. Not to you, of course not, never to the only other person he considered worthy of him.

But towards those foolish enough to think they still had a chance with you after making his claim. To defy the heir of the Zen'in is to have a death wish—wasn’t that common knowledge by now?!

Yet, to those ignorant of this fact, he is nothing but patient enough to remind.

“—Naoya!”

It happened all so quickly. One moment you were being pestered by a faceless student, insisting you’d leave your boyfriend for someone better, a bit more grounded, implying himself to be that person…

And the other, you were crying, heart thundering and hands trembling as the horrifying sight of Naoya beating that same guy unfolded before you.

The fight did not go without retaliation of course, your instigator never intending to take your boyfriend’s punches without retaliation, which lead you to shriek when a particular sharp blow landed against Naoya’s left side of his face, prompting you to run to their side and do all in your power to separate them—

To no avail.

“Stop it, Naoya!” You cried, helplessly trying to get them away from one another; but you never could compare to his strength. Less when he was determined to continue so. “Please! St—stop! You're— you're going to— you’re going to kill him!”

“What is going on??” Nanami exclaims. It wasn't his intention to get near the commotion, always one to avoid trouble whenever possible, but upon hearing your frightened voice, he ran as fast as possible to your aid. “Y/N!”

“Ken—Kento—! You— You have to stop them!” You wailed, frantically tugging at this arm and evoking a sense of urgency. “They're going to—they’re going to kill each other if you don’t!”

The ones that ultimately manage to separate the two are Suguru and Satoru, just before the teachers stepped in, but not enough to prevent them from being reprimanded by them, taking them to the principal’s office to discuss their rightful punishment—regardless of who provoked who.

“After my family sues you, you're fucking dead!”

“Ha! Do you not know who I am?! I'd like to see you try!” Naoya guffaws.

“Stop it already!” Yaga exclaimed “You're already knees deep in trouble, the last thing you both need is to be expelled!”

Ultimately, the threat of being away from you is enough to keep Naoya willing. One would think that he'd worry more about his family and the issue this small disturbance would bring, but truth is that he's gotten out of worse predicaments: him getting into an altercation with a nobody is not something that would prevent the elders, or him, from sleeping.

Though your prolonged silence, the cold judgment imposed by your piercing eyes, and the subtle annoyance displayed in your touch would; feeling tiny for the first time in his life before you, even when you were so attentively tending to his wounds once dismissed.

“Why are you so quiet, princess? Don’t tell me I scared ya’?” Naoya begins, cutting through the awkward silence settling between the two with a teasing tone he hopes would make light of the situation—make you forget of the blood curling screams you let out when he was entangled with that irrelevant kid who’d more likely disappear tomorrow, and move on…

But oh, how wrong he’d be to choose that path. Make fun of your poor heart.

“What? Thought I wouldn’t win? You know me better than—”

“Is this what it is to you? A joke?” You sternly state, stopping tending his wounds and subsequently quieting Naoya up.

“A joke?” Naoya repeats. “A joke would be him thinking he could win against—"

“Seriously, Naoya?! Is that all you have to say?!” You cry, beginning to crack. “Why must you always take it a competitive thing??”

“Ah, so what was I supposed to do? Let him beat me??” Naoya countered.

“There you go again, taking my words out of context! I didn’t even say that!” you whined.

“Well, it’s not like you’ve given me much to work on, princess.” He scowls. “Why are you even so angry? If anything, I should be the one upset because I got hurt for you, and this is the thanks I get!”

“Oh, so it’s my fault now?!” you gasp, offended as tears began to form in the corners of your eyes. “Was I the one that wanted this—this fight to happen? Did I tell you I wanted to see you get hurt?!”

“It’s kind of expected, don’t you think?” He states, making your eyes go wide. “We’re sorcerers, we’re bound to get hurt—if you didn’t want that then maybe you should’ve considered a different career—

Or a different boyfriend.”

“Is that—is that what you’re going to go with?” you firmly ask, as if giving him one last time to reconsider his words…

Which he did after you set aside the first aid kit, standing up with all intentions of leaving the room that he realized how gravely he’d messed up, quicky to grab your arm and pull you back to him; and though the wounds of his fight made it hurt, more so since you struggled against him, he did not relent.

“Wait, Y/N, please—That came out wrong, I didn’t mean—”

“And what did you mean, Naoya?” you say, with a trembling voice that made his heart sting even more. He’s just gotten out of one altercation to walk right into another one—how delightful. “If it isn’t to mock me for worrying?!”

“No, I wasn’t.” Naoya says, tightening his hold on you, as much as he could anyways. He just… he just didn’t want you to leave, not like this. Not when he needed you the most. “I would never!”

You don’t respond, there wasn’t much to say when his words didn’t match his actions.

“…I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“But you did.” You responded, and now he was able to hear the tears that had begun to slide down your cheeks. “You… you got into that awful fight instead of letting him go and almost got yourself expelled—no, worse! Killed!”

“But it didn’t happen, you know? You… you called for help, and we stopped!”

“Because you wouldn’t listen!” You wept, turning around and taking a good look at his face. Naoya wishes you hadn’t, however, because seeing you cry just broke his heart into a million pieces. “Neither of you!”

“Y/N—”

“You were like… like an animal out there.” You added. “Nothing seemed to snap you out of trance, and I—I got so scared—!”

“I didn’t mean to scare you either.”

“Does it even matter? You said so yourself, this is what sorcerers are supposed to do.”

“No, you know what I meant—”

“No. I don’t. I really don’t know what you meant.”

…

…

…

“I did this to protect you.” Naoya quietly adds. “I just… got so angry seeing you being bothered by that idiot, that I… I needed to do something. I needed to get him away from you!”

“…Why can’t you understand this isn’t what I wanted?” You sniffle. “I didn’t want you to get hurt, no matter the reason why.”

“I know, I know you didn’t—”

“Then… why did you do it? What made you so angry, enough to beat him up and risk your career?”

The thought of being undeserving of you. Naoya concluded. Because his words had unwittingly struck a nerve, a thought he’s tried his hardest to push deep within the confines of his mind, but until he makes amends with himself, he’ll never be able to escape that fear.

The notion that perhaps there is someone better out there for you… and that person isn’t himself.

And after the way he’s made you cry, such bitter tears… perhaps that was the truth.

“I’ll leave you alone, if that’s what you want.” Naoya quietly concludes, making your eyes widen once more. “So I will never hurt you again.”

“Naoya, that’s—that’s not what I want!” you gasp, heart clenching at the prospect of him leaving you. “Not at all!”

“What good of a boyfriend could I be if I all I do ends up hurting you?”

“And you think that leaving me wouldn’t do just that??” you fret. “That living a life without you won’t make me miserable?!”

“It seems I already do…”

“N—No! I don’t—I don’t want that! I—I can’t allow it!” you sob, immediately wrapping your arms around him. “I just got you… I don’t want to lo—lose you…!”

Now with tears in his eyes, Naoya tightly embraces you, pulling you as close as possible as he reassures your fears away.

“Princess…” Naoya breathes, cupping your face and making you look to him. “It’ll take a whole lot for me to ever leave you. Probably the end of the world—but you’ll never lose me, ever.”

“You don’t—you don’t know how awful it felt to not be able to do anything!” you confess. “I… I tried to get him off you but I—I couldn’t do it—I couldn’t protect you!”

“No, no, Y/N—That’s my job. I’m supposed to protect you, not the other way around.”

“But you—what about you? What if you need me? What am I supposed to do?”

“Leave all the heavy lifting to me, and you…” Naoya smiles, intertwining his hands with yours. “You can patch me up after, eh? Heal me up.”

“Nao—Naoya.” You sniffle, lips trembling as tears continued to flood your face. “Promise me you—promise me you’ll always be careful… please.”

“I promise.” He says, taking your hands to his lips and gently kissing your knuckles. “Though I doubt someone as talented as me might need to make such promises—it’s a given.”

“Don’t be silly…” you murmur, he chuckles. “As long as you’re a sorcerer, I’ll always worry…”

“Good thing I have my mochi to take care of me, hm? Have me in her thoughts while I’m away.” Naoya smiles.

“You better not come back too roughed up, then. Or I—Or I won’t be able to help much…”

“Not that I need much, your kisses are sufficient enough to make me feel much—ah, shit, princess?!” Naoya gasps, startled by the stinging sensation of the alcohol-soaked cotton pressed against his skin. “Should’ve given me a warning, at least!”

“I thought you only needed my kisses?” You gently tease, he frowns. “Sorry, I just needed to clean you up before you do anything else, you started bleeding again.”

“…Fine, I guess.” Naoya pouts, hissing whenever feeling the alcohol against his wounds.

“What will happen with… him, by the way?”

“I don’t know, he’s getting expelled I guess.” Naoya shrugs. “I’ll make it happen if not.”

“Naoya…”

“What? He was bothering you—think I’m going to let that slide? No one annoys my princess outside of me.”

“… Thank you, for protecting me, really.” You eventually murmur, putting away everything once done. You then lean forward, placing a chaste kiss over his lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too, little mochi.” Naoya smiles, kissing you once more. “My sweet damsel in distress, are you going to nurse me until I’m all better?”

“Don’t call me that—and do I have another choice?”

He snickers. “I guess not, but you wouldn’t want it any other way, would you?”

You smile.

“No, I guess not.”

…

…

…

“I wouldn’t mind if you dressed up as a nurse too, you know? Heard it helps for a faster recovery.”

“Don’t push it…

…

…

…

here, at least.”

Naoya smirks. Maybe he should get a bit roughed up once in a while.

Yes he'd beat up someone for you, naturally. let's not forget his go-to solution in grave situations is killing someone lol.

Anyways, I hope you liked this little something!! It's kind of refreshing to write the Naoya that has yet to learn how to approach you; like, I know I tend to write him perfect in certain aspects, but he was once a... brat, I guess haha. He doesn't know how to treat people, less the one he loves! We're bound to see more of this flawed Naoya very early in the relationship and I LOVE IT hehehe. I wonder what other stumbles I can write...?

Now, take care and hope to see you soon!!

[aladaylessecondblog]

Red Mountain Waffle House pt. 13

Author's Note: Tw for some blood. Jiub is a troll. For those looking for canon Sotha Sil behavior, boy are YOU gonna be disappointed

This one snuck up on me

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

One week, then two.

Jiub found his Venmo occasionally pinging with small amounts from Sadara, who sent apology notes in each one. Honestly, he didn't blame her, but he wouldn't say no to to the extra money. He turned her room into another grow spot and it was doing okay, but still not to the level that having her there to contribute to rent had.

She hadn't come back, but there hadn't been much for her to come back for. A dresser, a bed. Those handful of receipts from Suran in the trash can he still hadn't emptied.

The Waffle House was doing a little worse for her absence, at least in his opinion.

The new waitress was an ashlander, and icily polite to those with corprus. Maybe they weren't the best people, but their money spent like anyone else's, and he couldn't figure out why all of a sudden NOW Nibani would want to piss them off by instructing new employees to act like this. It had driven off a few of them, or at least he thought so - it was hard to tell some of the ash ghouls apart from one another.

A few of the ash creatures had asked where Sadara was. The new waitress didn't know; neither did Nibani, whose answer was, "She no longer works here."

Jiub kept silent; he sure as hell wasn't talking. Sadara had sent him a Discord message (she'd outright deleted Morrotwitter) asking him to not tell anyone where she was, and he'd kept to it.

She didn't hadn't added any specifics about what exactly had happened on her little trip to Red Mountain. He'd asked a second time and she replied, 'Nothing we're not used to hearing.'

For a few days after that she sent random pictures of gnarly wounds from fighting cliffracers and other wildlife, and then of the scars once she healed up. There were also a few pics of cliffracers being turned on a spit over a fire, and a little 'wish you were here this thing tasted great' message a couple days in row.

Then there started being images of the inside of some cave along the coast near Tel Fyr.

The Fyrs are paying me 200 gold a week for blood and plasma, apparently I'm RH null blood type. it's special or something. and being immune to corprus makes them want it too, so. Not doing too bad.

Sounds great. What's up with the cave?

Oh, it's near Tel Fyr. Easy access. There's some khajiit and argonians here too, cave's big enough to share, so we do.

How do you share a cave?

We just have bedrolls in different areas. I feel like I got the biggest spot because it used to be a slave pen and they don't want to sleep over here ever again. It's not that bad. We've even got pets.

the fuck kind of pets do you have over there? lost scribs?

couple of fat slaughterfish we feed fish and scraps to. One we call Betty White and the other we call Wilson. They try to bite us but honestly they're big enough it's hard for them to move fast enough for it. So they'll mainly just hiss and make noise until they get food.

"Excuse me, cook? Are you paying any attention to the food at all, or are you destroying my eggs on purpose?"

"Your eggs are fine," Jiub replied, tucking his phone away. The customer in question had come in a few times, and was - well, honestly, such a stick in the mud it was fun to tease him. He was very particular about his food, wanted his waffles turn an even number of times...so Jiub always made sure not to do that.

Sotha Sil himself. Not all that impressive, at least not to Jiub. He said he came there because the sound of the blight winds was relaxing, and when he needed relative silence this was a good place to have it.

And his fried eggs were always just slightly runny.

"Here, I'll redo 'em if you want, I was hungry anyway."

He handed a newly finished plate of waffles to the new waitress, who took them to another ashlander in the corner.

"Do you have no pride at all in your work?"

"I'm cooking eggs and waffles for 10 septims an hour, there is no pride in this work," Jiub replied with a shrug.

"You are an insubordinate imp--no. No, I will waste no more time on your shenanigans. This is not what I am here for. Just cook the food." Sotha Sil huffed, and turned back to the laptop in front of him.

It was a far cry from the nigh-emotionless construct Jiub had heard Sotha Sil described as. Something, it seemed, had set the man on edge...he'd asked a couple people if something had happened to set Sotha Sil off what he was usually like. Most people couldn't see such little things, little signs of being potentially angry, or annoyed, or any number of similar things. But due to long experience, Jiub was a master at seeing it.

He'd reached a point in his life where he was looking to get humbled again. His success with Almalexia had made him feel almost bored - if he could off her so easily (however temporarily it lasted), really, how much farther was there to go? Maybe Sotha Sil would be different. Maybe he'd be tougher, somehow...

How little a thing would it take to push him over and make him screech?

He could already hear Sadara's voice chiding him for it. You little troll, you just want your ass kicked, don't you?

Well. Maybe he did.

The waitress went outside to handle the garbage, and so Jiub was the one to deliver the plated food. He glanced down at the laptop, and saw a familiar sight.

A Pokemon battle.

And more importantly...

"Superiorsil? So it's YOU! I should've guessed," Jiub set the food down and went over to clean the stove.

"What do you mean, you should've guessed?" Sotha Sil's voice had turned accusatory.

Jiub turned back, and gave a deep smirk as he extended his hand. "Jiuberjabber. How ya doin'?"

A pause.

A long, uncomfortable pause.

And then, Sotha Sil - master of the monotone, king of the cutting politeness, suzerain of stony looks - leaped over the counter and wrapped both hands around JIub's neck.

Both mer crashed to the ground and despite the pain and increasing lack of oxygen all Jiub could do was laugh.

"You idiot--pathetic--little WORM!" Sotha Sil was snarling, "You broke my perfect record!"

"It's just a game, man," Jiub struggled, trying to get one hand into his back pocket. Still the laughter persisted, even harder because he saw how much it infuriated the mer above him. Or maybe it was due to the choking. "Don't take it so seriously."

He managed to get his trusty box-cutter out, and took a few stabs in the area of his opponent's ribs. Jiub and Sotha Sil wrestled about in this fashion another few minutes, getting the latter's blood all over the floor.

"What happened to the calm magus, huh?" Jiub, still giddy from the lack of air, went on, finally getting to his feet and backing away, box-cutter at the ready. "Oh, wait, you are what the people need you to be, right? I've read the sermons."

"That wasn't IN the sermons you illiterate cretin," Sotha Sil stood, his pristine white robe now utterly ruined. The stab wounds were healed over quickly, and he looked ready to fight--

--and then suddenly bristled, snatched a to-go box, stuffed the food he'd left uneaten into it.

"Come back soon," Jiub, still in the mood to tease, energized by the fight, blew a capricious kiss at the furious mer before him.

Sotha Sil left, muttering under his breath.

Jiub then looked at the ashlander in the corner.

"You gonna tell the Temple about that?"

"Who the fuck would believe me?"

Grumbling, and thinking he was far too sober for this, Jiub moved off to the bathroom to snort some skooma. Nibani would be in within an hour, and he needed the blood cleaned up by then. The waitress, utterly horrified by what she had just witnessed, didn't look like she was going to be staying long enough to do the job.

[kisuminight]

For the record, Staged Duo is... even more of a mess in this AU. DSMP canon is already pretty fraught with them--no matter how willing them may have been, both c!Punz and c!Dream spent a long time killing each other, in as many different ways as they could imagine and achieve. Maybe at one point or another, one of them felt wrong about doing it; didn't want to kill their partner, was scared about dying at their partner's hands, and accepted it anyway out of a mix of sunk-cost fallacy for the Plan and the fact that both of them have such strong masks it would be hard to say if speaking up to say "No more" would break their relationship. When they were the closest things to friends that they even had anymore, even with it all tied up in blood and death and a near-impossible goal.

I wonder how many times the experiments felt less like murder and more like assisted suicide? Especially when they would've tested those types of death to find the limbo they produced.

And in this AU, they are emotionally tied together in a very literal way by the Resonance.

The bulk of Dream and Punz's experiments with Blade memory come in the 6 month-ish period after the Staged Finale and before the Red Banquet really kicks off. Dream spends the majority of it in Resonance with Punz, meaning they both feel each other's emotions and they both feel a Blade's instinctual need to protect the other members of the Resonance.

Blades don't get different limbos, so there's no need to test multiple types of death. They just need to do enough damage to overwhelm a Blade's natural regen. And since Punz is the link to Purpled as the main Driver in the Resonance chain, Dream is the only one it is safe to test the deaths on.

Punz's Soul Weapon is a sword, and it's strong enough to complete the task as long as the blow is to the neck or heart. They negotiate what will happen beforehand, but that doesn't stop the fear. That maybe this time the Memory Patch won't work, that the new version they're trying to make will be bugged. That maybe Punz will leave Dream as a core crystal and he will be put behind glass in a display case, never to be reAwakened.

~

Imagine the scene. Dream is sitting in a chair, waiting. Punz is across from him, standing. He calls his Soul Weapon to his hand with a curl of darkness. The emotional bleed of the Resonance starts screaming.

"I'm ready," says Dream. He is still and his breathing is even. His voice does not shake. But his eyes are shadowed and the aether lines on his body are flickering with the echo of terror terror terror. Punz can feel the way it catches him in the back of his teeth, feels his own instincts as a Blade roar that he needs to protect his Resonance partner, needs to find the threat and kill it.

Punz is the threat.

Punz uses a piercing thrust to destroy Dream's heart in one blow. Going for the throat would be easier. Going for the throat was how Tommy ended Dream's previous life. Dream shatters into light, and the core crystal thumps softly on the cushion of the chair.

Everything aches, but Punz can already feel the diamond-edged ruthlessness taking over, guiding their hands to dismiss their sword. They need to check the core crystal. Make sure the readings are okay. Make sure everything is ready to reAwaken Dream when he's recovered enough aether. It shouldn't be long; as a powerful healing Blade, Dream's recovery time runs closer to two days than the three-and-a-bit of most others.

Is this what a Heartstealer feels, the moment they pry open their Driver's chest?

~

It doesn't really get better, as time goes on. Both of them are secretly relieved when they reach the point where no more death trials are needed. Except it's not a secret, when they're living with each other and half in each-other's heads.

This is the kind of situation that creates a co-dependence, even with EW!Ranboo checking up on them and trying to provide something of a balance. It does not help that Blades are predisposed to that kind of thing anyway.

It turns out that a lot of the blind obedience of a newly Awakened Blade is because the Blades don't have any reference point to what a Driver should be like, or what kind of relationship is healthy. Dream is grateful enough to cry. Punz tries to ignore the way homesickness for the Resonance with George eats at what they've built now.

Purpled only reaches out once about the mess the experiments are making of the Resonance. Punz tells him it's something they're working on, and that Purpled shouldn't worry about them. He doesn't reach out again, and Punz tries to ignore how that hurts, both their hurt and faint whispers from Purpled. The problem with Dream and George was that they misinterpreted what feeling they were receiving from the emotional bleed. Punz knows every emotion. He can name them in all their intensities and shades, and usually even what caused them. But he doesn't know how to fix it.

[thisisallthehattersfault]

Wei Ying smiles like the sun.

When they were younger, Lan Wangji had felt scorched by it. It had seared into his bones and behind his retinas, ivory-bright and burning, and so, for fear of what would become of him if he looked too long, he had turned away.

Now the clouds have covered the sun, and it shines through so rarely that every glimpse of it is a treasure beyond reason or compare, and so -- even though he knows he should not -- Lan Wangji creeps forward on silent footsteps, peering a little closer, desperate in a wordless, formless, twisting way for even a glimpse, even a glimmer, even a tiny flash of that smile.

The bunny burrows deeper into Wei Ying's robes, and he grins, and it is like Lan Wangji is standing in the sun again after so many weeks of rain.

Then the wind shifts. Lan Wangji's robes, his ribbon, his hair suddenly lift and carry out far enough to catch the corner of Wei Ying's eye, and the clouds return so quickly Lan Wangji feels dizzy with it, feels sick. Wei Ying's back goes perfectly straight, and his face falls into an expression of cold neutrality. Lan Wangji has to clench his jaw to choke back a cry of despair.

His husband turns to face him without actually looking at him. Wei Ying solutes him with formality and grace. Greets him with "Hanguang-Jun."

The sun is gone again.

The sun is gone, and there is nothing Lan Wangji can do to bring it back -- not when he is the cloud that covers it. He should have turned away as soon as he saw Wei Ying in the field. He should not have intruded on this private moment of happiness, not when Wei Ying seems to experience happiness so rarely, now.

Lan Wangji returns the bow, greets his husband. Tells him "I am being sent on a night-hunt. I will depart this evening, and estimate it will take me three days to return."

Wei Ying does not ask to come along. His eyes do not light up in curiosity, he does not bounce on his knees and pester Lan Wangji for information about where he is going or what he is hunting. All Wei Ying does is incline his head and say "Alright."

Come with me, Lan Wangji wants to say, but he knows he hasn't the right. Wei Ying is likely relieved to have Lan Wangji out of his hair for a few days. Maybe, without Lan Wangji there to cast a shadow over him, Wei Ying will allow himself to smile.

I didn't mean to take it from you. I didn't know I could. I didn't realize how much power I had, how much I was hurting you. I would do anything to make you happy here. I wish I could figure out how.

Lan Wangji accepts the dismissal for what it is. He turns, and leaves, and hopes his husband will breathe easier with him gone. Maybe he should start taking more night hunts.

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

He doesn't know how long Lan Zhan has been standing there, but it's definitely been long enough to see Wei Wuxian rolling around in the dirt with the rabbits like an idiot. He tries to correct his posture, schools his face. Maintain a proper seat. Do not smile for no reason. Excessive displays of emotion are prohibited. Act with decorum.

It isn't enough. By the time he has himself presentable, Lan Zhan is visibly grinding his teeth. Even from here, Wei Wuxian can see the way his jaw flexes when he clenches it. He's expecting to be scolded -- pets aren't allowed in Cloud Recesses, and this clearing technically isn't in the bounds of Cloud Recesses but no Lan has ever cared about technicality when it came to obeying their rules. (Or punishing people for not obeying their rules.)

Still, it isn't Lan Zhan's fault that Wei Wuxian is exactly as much of a terrible husband as Madam Yu always told him he would be, so he salutes exactly as is proper between married spouses and calls Lan Zhan by his title, as respectfully as he can.

Lan Zhan bows back, and doesn't immediately drag Wei Wuxian off to be punished. Huh.

Maybe... maybe he appreciates the attempt?

Wei Wuxian is trying. He's trying so fucking hard. Does Lan Zhan see that? Does he -- does that mean anything to him? Does it matter to him that Wei Wuxian is trying as hard as he can, even though he keeps fucking up?

"I am being sent on a night-hunt. I will depart this evening, and estimate it will take me three days to return."

Ah. He's just in a hurry, then. That makes more sense.

Wei Wuxian nods. Says "Alright," to show he understands. Lan Zhan will probably pass his punishment on to someone else, then, or he'll decide what to do about Wei Wuxian when he gets back.

The stupid, childish part of Wei Wuxian that refuses to fucking learn wants to say be safe or come back to me. Wants to take Lan Zhan's hand in his and kiss the backs of his knuckles as a goodbye. Wants to help him pack, and see him off at the gates. Wei Wuxian has accepted that he'll never step foot outside the Cloud Recesses again, so going with Lan Zhan isn't an option for him, but at least a proper goodbye, at least something --

He crushes that stupid, childish part of himself as ruthlessly as he can. He has bothered Lan Zhan more than enough. The poor man is literally trapped with him now, and Wei Wuxian still can't be a decent husband for him. Lan Zhan deserves a few days to himself.

He knots his hands in the skirt of his robes, and bites his tongue hard enough to hurt, and doesn't move, and doesn't speak, and doesn't lift his eyes from the fluffy back of the little white rabbit until his husband's footsteps have vanished down the path, and Wei Wuxian is alone again.

[skitskatdacat63]

I literally can't stop thinking about this sequence of pictures, actually completely brainrotting me

[i-like-anything-water]

what if I give into my thoughts and write a shinomitsu fic where Mitsuri finds out about Shinobu's plan early on and instead of confronting her she devises her own plan to make sure the Insect Pillar lives because she would throw hands at Hell or Heaven if someone took her away from her and ends up going slightly obsessive which is very much reciprocated by her beloved who is swaying from her death sentence to cheat death to run away with her big strong girlfriend and have a happy married life. then what huh?????

[jynersq]

+

[aromantic-eight]

@gorgeousgalatea and I, picking up a ship from the river and brushing the flesh-eating fungus off of it while exclaiming about what a pretty trainwreck it is.

The entire ship fandom, coming around the corner like a tidal wave: But if they care about each other that means the ship can't be toxic in any way, how dare you imply they have EVER hurt each other in their lives.

[happi-tree]

we love silly gays in THIS household!!! gimme the sweet sweet oakworthy and swiftli thoughts 👉👈

Aye aye, Nyx!!! o7

Oakworthy up first! Absolutely tragic that they don't have a bingo </3

Now for the Swiftli stans out there... also no wins hell is REAL

[br1ghtestlight]

i love to make up horrible toxic fanon ships for my own ocs. its so funny 2 me and also interesting..... like every combination of characters that could conceivably happen i have thought about. some of them would 100% without a doubt make each other WORSE. some of them i genuinely think couldve worked if i had come up with them earlier and invested the time into their romantic relationship. some of them are actual jokes between my characters in "canon" bcuz specifically i think the idea of jayden thinking two is hot is funny Tbh. like he doesn't want u bro!!!!!! he barely even wants sunshine!!!!!

[leatherbookmark]

oh god okay i understand that maybe not everyone is as indecisive/comfortable with saying "it depends!" as me, but like, i'm sorry, i'm sorry, but i just can't take people who call izzy a villain seriously

[sillimancer]

day 1 of trying to pack up my apartment and it really sucked but I couldn't tell you if the physical damage or the psychic damage was worse

[thiefscant]

me when i think about anais and astarion <3