#sincere i might not have survived it. i am barely holding it together as is.

[exercise-of-trust]

now why have i had old man yaoi peppering the dash for MONTHS without anyone ever telling me what conclave (2024) was actually about

[acertainmoshke]

15 for injury prompts?

Am I doing a variation on the one I JUST did? Yes, yes I am because this never gets old.

15. “This is going to hurt, okay?"

Story: Halara book 2

Warnings: general blood and pain

Blood splattering the snow. Snow everywhere around them, beneath them, stretching into the distance. They should probably feel colder. That was probably not a good sign.

Then again, maybe they were distracted because that was…their blood…splattering the snow beside them. Aryel’s head swam. An ambush. They had been ambushed…arrows blotting out the sky and enemies with swords…

It was too quiet. They had to see how many of their people had survived! Their own wounds could wait.

They managed to sit up before the full blast of pain hit, shooting out from their chest like lightning. Breathing felt wrong, sharp. They made the mistake of glancing down and the front of their jacket was too soaked in blood to guess how many times they’d been hit. The long shaft of one of the new barbed arrows stuck straight out of their chest. Their head swam and they couldn’t get a full breath and then the world was tilting and snow puffed up around them as they fell.

It was their job to check on the others. They had to get up. But their second attempt was even less successful. The slightest move sent agony screaming through their entire body. They might have cried out.

They probably had, because a moment later Etlin was kneeling next to them. That was someone still alive, then, though not unharmed; they were holding their sword arm tight against their body and stumbling a little in the snow. Breathing hard as they reached out to pull at Aryel’s jacket and inspect their wounds underneath.

They weren’t proud of the way their voice shook, the way they could barely force it past their lips. “How…bad…?”

“You’ll be fine.” But Etlin's voice was tight, their brow furrowed in concern.

“Liar…”

“No. You will. It just might not feel like it for a while. I’ll take care of you, I swear.” Etlin was so sincere, so loyal, so desperate…it was that more than anything that convinced Aryel they were going to die.

Etlin took a breath, nearly as shaky as Aryel’s ragged gasps. “You lost a lot of blood but the bleeding’s almost stopped now. I’ll get you back to camp, but I have to get the arrow out before it does more damage. This is going to hurt, ok?”

“Tonic? Or whiskey?” Their voice was no more than a whisper.

“I don’t have anything, I’m sorry. I’ll try to do this fast.”

Aryel let their eyes drift shut and waited several long seconds. There was no warning. They had thought the pain already filling their body was as much as they could handle, but this was so much worse. Ice and burning heat shot through them simultaneously and they couldn’t think of anything but needing it to stop. They were definitely screaming, echoing around the silent slope.

The steps of whatever Etlin was doing blended together into heat and cold and stop. By the time it was over, Aryel was startled to notice half-frozen tears on their cheeks. They didn’t bother opening their eyes, lying still in the snow and waiting to pass out. Their whole body felt like it was floating, it couldn’t be long. The agony, dulled again to a relatively bearable level, was a sharp contract to Etlin’s gentle hand wiping away their tears and tucking strands of loose hair back from their face.

[soundsaboutrighttumblr]

This show really said: Maybe sometimes pain cannot be dissolved, maybe it’s all about finding ways to carry it, together, and find growth alongside it all and that’s okay.

This show  - Xun’An, really - really said: Your way of surviving and carrying the pain is valid as it is your reality, but you don’t have to go it alone, let’s share the burdens, and accept each other as we are to grow along the way, in that future we will have together, because we can and want to and chose each other.

This show. That episode.

I’ll also put the ramble I’ve rambled on someone else’s post here, too, to gather my thoughts, lol.

That scene where Xun’an says: I won’t tell you it’s not your fault, it would not mean anything, because you already believe it is your fault. Instead let’s just get through this together from now on, that’s all there is to it?

Yeah, that scene made me hijack someone else’s gifset, so here again, to put it all together for now:

“... that approach is actually so inspiring to me, laid out like this? Maybe because I have a friend that I try to support best way I can and this approach feels so true?

This show and Xun’an’s choices and behaviour are psychologically strategic in a way, I mean he is a doctor and a dentist and maybe he has crossed paths with the fields of psychology, too, maybe in the course of treating patients with anxieties or maybe it even is an integral part of the professional education as it should be, but i don’t know, I am neither dentist nor therapist, just interested in the latter field.

He is leading/guiding Bai Lang in a lot of ways, but always with the goal of Bai Lang finding his own agency.

His grumpy notes, his keeping his distance/playing hard to get are things Bai Lang needs to see, for one as an example of a person setting healthy boundaries for themselves, standing up for how they deserve to be treated thus leading by example how Bai Lang should treat and respect himself, but also the responsibility you should hold yourself up to with yourself and others, the realization that it’s not just you and your mind, but other people affected.

This is laying bare misguided excuses and defense mechanisms and toxic routines and arriving at actual self-aware choices and allowing other’s agency and choices too.

But balance is the thing, and keeping Bai Lang hooked and drawn in  and soothed as well is an integral part of it?

The point where Xun’an pulls him in by the hand after being cold and dismissive and thus provoking agency in Bai Lang all the way, just when he might feel too dejected or rejected to carry on? Necessary. Xun’ An’s finally lightening the mood with that crazy teeth cast story and the revelation he’s been playing fun on some level with it all, and underneath has not changed his affectionate stance towards Bai Lang, it still is all BECAUSE he wants Bai Lang with him? Vital. Because it reassures and rewards Bai Lang’s choices of fighting for what he wants, but also cements that he won’t lose Xun An’s affection, Xun’an is IN this.

Or this here. Where Xun An does NOT contradict Bai Lang, NOT telling him it’s not his fault, because Bai Lang is just not ready to even hear that. His guilt and self blaming - as his way to carry the pain - is so enforced by years of treading that path, that Xun An contradicting him simply, saying no it’s not your fault... it wouldn’t even get through because Bai Lang has such strong hold on his blame, it would rather put distance between them, because Bai Lang would feel Not understood and dismissed.

But this? The sincere way in which it is delivered is so... disarming? Disarming those mechanisms and thought circles that Bai Lang has done in his own mind and with his stuffed animals for so long?

Xun An has approaches to break Bai Lang out of these circles, but knows it can not be done over night. Those are long term approaches, the only ones that there are.

But it’s there in so many scenes and the acting, like the long shot discussion in the last ep, or this scene here, you can see when Bai Lang is not meeting Xun an’s eyes, lost in his own circles, but then Xun An says something that breaks through and Bai Langs eyes go up to meet him, to meet that new thought because he is interested and invested in what Xuan An says, because he senses it might bring movement and betterment on some level, because Xun An is someone, maybe the first one, who can get through to him.”

End rant for now, for sure more to come.

[neonlights92]

RUN: Chapter VII (Epilogue.)

Jeon Jungkook hops from bed to bed, sleeping with as many beautiful, rich women as he can possibly find time for.  He’s young and attractive, with a silver tongue that gets him practically anything he wants.  So when his friend and boss, Kim Taehyung, tells him it’s time to settle down, Jungkook takes it pretty badly.  And when he finds out that the woman he’s destined to marry is, in fact, his little sister’s best friend, he is less than impressed.

You have spent your entire life trying to forget the way you feel about Jeon Jungkook.   So when you find out that Jungkook is to be your husband - and that he is anything but pleased about it - your world is thrown into chaos.  How can you survive a loveless marriage with the man you are hopelessly in love with?

Hey friends! Enjoy the epilogue <3  Namjoonie next..

You were pissed.

Jungkook had promised you he wouldn’t be late tonight.

It was your one year anniversary - one whole year of being married to the love of your life - and you were meant to be celebrating at a fancy restaurant with champagne and good food. 

You’d gotten all dressed up - squeezed yourself into some ridiculous contraption of a dress - just for him, and now it looked like you were going to miss your booking.

Eight o’clock passed…

Then eight-thirty…

Then nine…

By the time your husband finally decided to make an appearance it was more than an hour passed your reservation time.  You’d taken off your dress - kicked off your heels - and made a move on your makeup when the door to your bedroom clicked open.

“Hi Angel…” 

Jungkook’s sheepish tone greeted - and you chose not to answer - instead glaring at his reflection in your vanity mirror.

“I know, I know I’m late,” He’s pulled his tie and blazer off, the sleeves of his crisp white shirt rolled up to his forearms.  You chose not to comment on the suspiciously red coloured stains peppering his collar.

“Happy anniversary to us, I guess.”  Your own voice was sharp and angry - in the year you’d been married to Jungkook he had made you feel special and loved - but that didn’t mean he still didn’t fuck up.

“I’m sorry baby,”  He moved towards you quickly, and you stood turning to face him, “It was - y’know… God.  It’s Bangtan.” The desperation on his face pulled at your heart strings.

You knew your husband’s job was important - you knew that as a member of the Special Seven - as Bangtan’s shadow he had more responsibilities than he would probably ever tell you. 

And you knew that you wouldn’t be able to stay mad at him for long.

But still.  It was meant to be a special night for the two of you.  An acknowledgement of everything you’d been through together.

An acknowledgement of your love for one another.

You couldn’t help that you were disappointed.

“It’s alright,” You shrugged, “It’s part of the package, right?”

He sighed heavily and reached up to push some of your hair out of your face, “I hate disappointing you.”  His tone was tender and a little more of your anger fizzled out, “I love you so much Angel.  I always want to be with you - I always want to make you happy.  But I’m not always very good at it, huh?”

You chose not to say anything - slipping your bottom lip between your teeth and staring into the eyes of the man who had changed your life.

God.  Your heart swelled to nearly three times it’s size at the look on his face.

Such reverence and adoration - like you were a work of art.

He always made you feel special, like that.  

“I’m sorry baby,” His voice was sincere, “I really am.  I know tonight was meant to be special…. God.  What kind of husband leaves their wife waiting for them on their anniversary?” 

He laughed without humour, and you felt a stab of guilt.

“It’s okay Jungkook,” You licked your bottom lip and shrugged, “We’ll celebrate another time.”

He touched your face gently and frowned, “I know you’re disappointed… And you have every right to be, Y/N.  Tonight should’ve been about us.”

You sighed heavily, “What kept you out so late?”

His eyes darkened and you noticed for the first time how tired he seemed.  He’d been out all day - and if the blood on his shirt was any indicator it hadn’t been easy.

“Namjoon.”  He answered hoarsely, “He barely comes out on missions with us anymore.  Barely wants to be around any of us…” 

You felt a stab of guilt.

Since the night you’d been kidnapped almost four months ago, Kim Namjoon had turned into a shell of his former self.  You knew you couldn’t have done anything - you were just as much a victim of Sana’s brutality as he was - but you still felt awful.

“What happened?”

“We tried to help him… Lord knows we’re all emotionally constipated.  But Jimin thought it might be nice to take him out for lunch.  So we did.  And then…” Jungkook shook his head, “Namjoon cut himself with his steak knife.  He hasn’t gotten used to his prosthetics yet.” 

“The blood?” He clicked his tongue, “He was sitting beside me.”

You instantly felt terrible.  You moved to wrap your arms around your husband, pulling him down for a fierce kiss.

“I’m sorry baby,” You whispered against his mouth, “I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head and frowned, “No stop - don’t.  I’m sorry.  I’m sorry I can’t take you out for anniversary meals like normal couples.  I’m sorry I come home with blood on my shirt -” 

“It’s okay Jungkookie.”  You pressed a hand to his cheek and he smiled softly at the nickname he’d begrudgingly accepted, “I know who you are - I know the world we live in.  I accept it.  I accept you.  Is it annoying? Of course.  But I won’t give up on us.  Ever.”

He leaned into your touch and kissed your palm, “I love you baby.”

“Me too.”

“Next time though, text me alright?” You pulled a face, “I wouldn’t have bothered getting dressed up.”

He nodded and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“I will Angel.”

He spent the rest of the evening showing you just how sorry he was, and how much he absolutely adored you.

Needless to say, it wasn’t the worst way to spend an anniversary.

//

“I have something to tell you.”  Nayeon had shown up not five minutes ago, with a promise that you had to sit down and listen to her.

You’d obliged of course - she was your best friend after all.

But her confession had knocked the air out of you.

“I’m getting married.”

She was grinning from ear to ear.  You almost dropped the cup of tea you were drinking.

“What?”

“I’m getting married.”  She didn’t seem upset, “That’s why I came round.”

“To who?”

Her smile widened, “Song Mino.”

“Oh!” You mirrored her expression, “Song Mino.  He’s… Nice.”

“And hot.”  

Your face flushed and you nudged Nayeon playfully, “Stop it.”

“I’m happy.”  She told you honestly, “I might not know him very well but he seems like a decent guy.  And like I said… Hot.” You laughed this time at your friend’s unabashed appreciation of her husband-to-be and clicked your tongue, “Well if you’re happy sweetie, then so am I.”

“My dad told me last night.  Mino’s father approves - so does Taehyung….”  Her eyes flitted to yours guiltily and immediately you realised what this was.

A setup.

“You want me to tell Jungkook.”

Her lips stretched into a thin line.  She grimaced.

“Yes.” 

“Why can’t you tell him?”

She frowned deeply, “Because Jungkook’s hated Song Mino ever since they were kids and he stole Jungkook’s first girlfriend.”

“Your brother is not that petty.”

“Yes he is.”  She raised a brow and scoffed, “Don’t tell me you don’t know that about him.”

You bit back a laugh at the thought of Jungkook holding a grudge for as long as he apparently had with Mino.  Then you frowned.  Tonight was meant to be a different kind of surprise for your husband.

“I also had some big news for Jungkook tonight.  I was going to wait to tell you but since you’re already here….”

For a brief moment Nayeon seemed confused by what you’d said before her eyes widened and she shot out of her seat.  She moved towards you like you were a glass of water and she hadn’t drunk in a week.

“Oh my god.  Oh my god.”  She pulled you in for a hug, “You’re pregnant aren’t you?  Oh my God! How far along?”

You laughed at your friend, “I only found out this morning.  We’ve been trying for a couple of months… But I’ve only missed one period.” 

Nayeon’s eyes were sparkling with tears and you were sure your own weren’t too far off, “Oh my god!  Don’t worry about telling him about the wedding.  I’ll do that sweetie.  You just worry about telling my brother he’s going to be a dad!” 

A loud thud caught both your attention and you turned sharply to find the brother in question - your husband - staring at you both in shock.

“Wait… What?”

Jungkook’s eyes flitted between yours and his sister’s.  He blinked slowly, as if slotting everything into place.

Nayeon pulled away from you quickly and shot you an apologetic look.

“Surprise?”  She said to her brother with a weak smile before grabbing her things and making a nervous beeline for the exit. 

Nayeon mouthed “I’m sorry” to you as she disappeared and you had to stop yourself from laughing at the entire situation.  Of course it would all happen like this.

“Was she… Was that…”

You stood quickly and moved towards your husband, cupping his face in your hands softly.  Your eyes roved his his features carefully, looking for any sign of apprehension.  But all you saw was surprise… And joy.

“I’m going to be a dad?” He whispered, eyes wide, “For real?”

“For real.”  You smiled up at him and pressed a kiss to his lips, “You’re going to be the best dad.”

He broke out into a wide grin and bundled you up in a hug, raining  his own kisses down across your face.

“Oh my god Angel.  We’re going to be parents.  Oh my God!” 

You giggled at his reaction and squealed when he lifted you off your feet.

“Pregnant wife.”  You warned him, and he put you down quickly, patting your head and shoulders to check for signs of injury.

“Oh my god.  Pregnant wife,” His smile was dazzling, “I love you so much Angel.”

“I love you too Jungkookie.”

You had spent so long running from your feelings for Jungkook.  And he’d done the same.

Thank God you finally decided to stop and rest.

Things would never be perfect - but you were happy.  And so was he. 

And that was all that really mattered to you.

//

[synesindri]

Bestie I want to hear your thoughts today about adamnick

hehehehe yey <3 i'm about to talk too much

What made you ship it?

i just really fucking like the concept of vessels. i think it's so neat. i want to know so much about everybody who ever said yes and why they did that and what kind of experience they had and how they feel about it afterwards if they survived. i think they should be weird, i think they should feel barely human and have a hard time relating to people except each other anymore. nick is such a cornerstone for my understanding of vessels and angel-vessel dynamics and adam is such an interesting guy who has had so many things happen to him, and i was rotating them in my mind separately for a long time before eventually going "what if i rotated them in my mind together?" and now here we are.

i think i landed on them instead of nick/jimmy or whatever other options for a few reasons, one being that lucifer and michael are weird about each other so their temp vessels might as well also be weird about each other (albeit differently), another being that neither of them has living ties to the world anymore whereas jimmy does, and another being that the hints of their personalities seem compatible to me? like obviously we don't know a ton about either of them from canon (esp only s5 canon) but nick uses his two seconds of screen time to be DEEPLY sincere but also kind of an even-tempered sarcastic bitch, and adam uses his to be skeptical and cunty but also strongly motivated by a desire to be with the people who deserve his love and to do Right. those are similar enough that it made me feel like there could be some chemistry there that would manifest in, well, the dynamic i ended up giving them lol

as usual i'm on the fence about whether i ship them or if i don't ship them and just write about them fucking sometimes lol but i think what got me started on feeling like it is legitimately a ship to me (and not just two shells of guys who need to reconnect with their own bodies somehow) is that adam is dead but not anymore, and sarah is dead, and that's complicated. the mental image of adam lying in bed next to nick having a quiet flashback to being killed bloody in a way that is in some ways similar to how nick's wife was killed bloody did something to me. there is a lot of tension for adam about whether nick has room in his head to care about adam anymore after having loved and lost so spectacularly at least twice, and inevitably that becomes a question about "am i wife stand-in" — and my answer to that is generally, no, but kind of. and that's a bit ugly, but it's also hard not to think of it as shippy, when i consider it that way. What are your favorite things about the ship?

(this hinges on the fact that they are an extreme rarepair made up of characters i like a lot who have very little screen time who never met each other in canon so i can kind of do whatever i want 😂) i have an inexhaustible need to play with situations that are simultaneously grim, mundane, and gentle, and holy shit are they the perfect set of dudes to enact that. they're SO not the main characters; they get to make it up as they go or they can decide to just sit down on the ground and rot; it's all up to them; there's no pressure and they have no real reason to care about anything anymore, and yet.

(i also just. personally get a lot out of writing them. idk it's like...it's good for me to think about them as two facets of one being, not really understanding each other in a way that can always be put in words but that coordinate well, who hold each other up and help each other find little nice things to hold onto in a life that might feel aimless. good for my relationship with age as well, how people are different and the same at different ages) Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

i think my most unpopular opinion about them is that they are shippable 😂

[ddarker-dreams]

Comfortably Numb. Yan Chrollo x Reader [COMM]

warnings: mentions of anxiety, just general uneasiness. word count: 2.6k.

Home is where the heart is. 

It’s meant to be the sanctuary where you can unwind after a long day of work, dress in your most comfortable pajamas, and feel no qualms for the opinions of others. A safe haven of your own making. Granted, there was a time that you felt this way, no matter how long ago it seems. A coveted period of your life that you wish you could return back to. On a surface level, any onlooker might take a glance at you and think you are as normal as they are. If only that were the truth, you bitterly lament. 

Now, what do you need to check on next? Milk is in good supply, not set to expire anytime soon. Hm… can’t say the same for the fruit. You jostle down some of your favorites onto the ever growing grocery list. What else is there? You’ve got to be missing something. Standing on your tiptoes, you open the overheard cabinet, that is now noticeably more barren than it used to be. The bags of tea that had once populated this area have vanished, all but a lonesome pack of matcha. Huffing, you close the cabinet doors, ready to voice your irritation.

Pivoting on your heel, you look over the kitchen counter and towards the occupied living room. “You drank all my tea?” 

“Not at all of it,” your unwelcome guest corrects, much to your displeasure. “Besides, you never said I couldn’t have any.” 

You raise an eyebrow at this conjecture. Who would’ve thought him a stickler for semantics. “Yeah, well, I never said you could have it either.” 

“That’s a fair enough point. I’ll be sure to reimburse you for it later.” Chrollo ends the conversation before it even begins. His attention returns to his original activity of reading, freely helping himself to yet another one of your belongings. An exhausted sigh leaves your lips at the sight. If you somehow make it out of this situation unscathed, you may take on a more pious lifestyle, having survived way more than you should’ve. It’s a wonder that Chrollo hasn’t seen fit to strike you down where you stand. Where you lack self-restraint in the verbal department, you make up for it in your overall composure. Surely anyone else would’ve been crushed under the immense pressure of having a murderer crashing at their apartment. 

That’s just about the best way to describe it, you think. How desensitized do you have to be to no longer shiver at the thought? In all fairness, Chrollo himself is treating this as the most ordinary arrangement in the world. At his own leisure he’ll start conversations with you, inquire about your day, and even offer insight that you never asked for. It’s gotten to the unfortunate point that you’re even starting to do the same. Treating him more as a peculiar roommate than the threat he truly is, though it could be your way of coping. That’s the explanation you’re going with.

Chrollo puts a bookmark into his read, and places it aside. “Is there anything you’d like for dinner?”

He asks the question as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. Your normally schooled expression is broken, lips parting and eyebrows furrowing together. Is he being serious right now? There’s no way to tell for certain. Not on a lack of trying from your behalf, his countenance never hints at his innermost thoughts. You get the feeling what little Chrollo does reveal to you is intentional. How creepy. 

“I was just planning on warming up leftovers,” you accentuate this by opening your fridge. On the shelves sits lentil soup, apples, and some protein yogurts. Shit. “Scratch that. I’ll be settling for yogurt instead.” 

“You had that for breakfast, if memory serves.” Chrollo points out, as if you’re incapable of remembering that yourself. It’s odd that he feels the need to pay attention to every detail about you. How often is Chrollo observing you without you taking notice? You push the thought aside with a frown.

“What are you, my hostage-taker and nutritionist? Besides, this is what I like to call a struggle meal. Or, meals, technically. I’ll go shopping tomorrow to make up for it.” You grimace while picking up the gourmet cuisine for tonight. Strawberry cheesecake flavor. It’s better with stuff added to it for texture, but this’ll have to do. It’s doubtful someone who is hiding a stolen merchandise worth hundreds of thousands can empathize with your position. Not that it matters if Chrollo Lucilfer holds you in high regard, with all the blood on his hands. He’s got no room to judge.

“Hm, in the time we’ve spent together, I never considered you as dense,” he gets up from his seat, making his way towards the kitchen. You don’t get a word in edgewise before your dinner is plucked from your hands. Chrollo places it back in the fridge, while you stare at him with a slackened jaw. “I’m offering to buy you food, [First].” 

How considerate of him to spell it out for you. 

“Appreciative as I am for your gesture of goodwill, I’ll pass. I don’t want to be indebted to you.” You make for the fridge once again, scowling as he holds it shut with unnatural force. Damn, he’s strong. Maybe you’re playing with fire by provoking him, considering the power imbalance, but your tongue is faster than your brain. Both a blessing and a curse. Leaning more towards the latter, you muse.

“I insist. It’s only right that I repay you somehow, for allowing me to stay here. You wouldn’t be indebted to me.” Chrollo’s smile never reaches his eyes, you notice. Standing here in close proximity to him, there’s a lot more you can pick up on. Every little detail of his disposition is intentional. From his even keel tone, to his polite speech, and way of acting like you have any say in the matter. You’re all bark and no bite. Both of you are keenly aware of this, and still he talks to you as if he’s none the wiser. It’s demeaning in its own right. 

“I guess it is sacrilegious to turn down free food. Alright, you win.” You throw your hands up in mock defense. This uncomfortable interaction helped you remember the position you’re in, how every breath might be your last. He’s broken into your residence, forced you to hide him from encroaching hunters, and made your past ten days a living hell. It was the threats to your loved ones that ultimately earned your compliance. 

You can’t help the self deprecation that’s followed since that day. The law is what you’re supposed to be protecting, not protecting criminals from. Going to the station everyday with the knowledge that you’re harboring such a dangerous criminal is weighing heavily on your soul. Life sure is full of the worst ironies. Had it not been an A class bounty, you may have stood a chance. 

Chrollo reaches into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out one of his many burner phones. “You’re being more agreeable than I expected, if I’m being honest.”

“What can I say? I become a bit of a yes man when my life is being threatened.” You respond with an empty smile of your own. Instead of earning any ire from him, he lets out an airy chuckle, of dubious sincerity. Whether it’s at you or with you is difficult to decipher. He pulls up a food delivery app, showing you the options. This was all prepared in advance, he must’ve taken the time to download it. So it wasn’t a spur of the moment decision to mess with you? 

“Y-you’re really letting me pick?” There’s no hiding your incredulous tone of voice. This series of events is far too bizarre to fathom, like a nightmare stepping into reality. Just a week ago you were contemplating how to poison Chrollo without him taking notice. Now you’re ordering food together. There has to be an ulterior motive lurking around, your gut won’t tell you otherwise.

He tilts his head at your apprehension, and repeats himself. “That’s what I said, yes.” 

Fuck it. When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade, or so the saying goes. You’ve suffered enough at Chrollo’s hands, it wouldn’t hurt to make the most of it. You take the cheap phone from his hands, scrolling through the options, and realizing now just how wonderful the variety of food sounds. Working up an appetite hasn’t come naturally with your uninvited guest skulking about. He has enough prepaid visa cards to cover what you want, so you hold nothing back. 

After returning his phone to him, you can’t help but throw an additional sarcastic comment in. It’s second nature at this point. “Happy now?” 

“Very much so,” Chrollo doesn’t mention your indignation, eyes raking over your expansive order. It’s not until he gets to the end that he quirks an eyebrow. “... A one hundred dollar tip?” 

“Feel free to add some extra zeros to the end of that. It’s not binary code for ‘help me, there’s a criminal in my apartment’, if you’re worried about that.”

He hums in consideration. “I can’t say that came to mind.” 

“Shit, looks like I went ahead and busted my own master plan.” Your response is notably dry. A headache is already in the works, courtesy of speaking to Chrollo for too long. He never fails to keep you on your toes. For all the sardonic remarks you make at his expense, anxiety has never stopped plaguing you. It’s a miracle that your heart is still functioning properly. You don’t even know why you ordered the absurd amount that you did, other than from pure spite, since your stomach is churning too much to want to eat. Maybe that’ll change when the food shows up. If not, your co-workers are going to be in for quite a treat tomorrow. 

You return to your newfound favorite activity of ignoring Chrollo, busying yourself with anything that comes in sight. Watering your plants, putting mugs from the dishwasher away, menial stuff that keeps you busy. A new feat lies in your wake. Whoever designed this apartment didn’t do so with you in mind, your larger plates just barely out of reach. Not willing to concede to using a chair just yet, you keep up the gallant attempt, stretching as far as your body allows. Your fingertips graze just over the prized handle, only for you to fail again.

That’s when you feel an over looming presence behind you, a shadow encompassing your figure. Chrollo gets the plate you were reaching for with ease, his chest brushing over your back in the process. You feel your face flushing, your body going taut, standing still as a wooden plank. He sets it down beside you with a knowing smile. That bastard…! He’s doing this on purpose. Damn him. 

“It looked like you could use some help.” He tells you. It takes every ounce of your self restraint not to lunge at him, instead taking a deep breath and nodding your head. Why is he so intent on getting a reaction from you? It’s exasperating, serving no practical purpose other than his own amusement. Inundated with your thoughts, you don’t realize how sour a look you’re sporting. This is what he wants, you remind yourself. To get you riled up. You refuse to play into his hands, and manage to get a grip. 

Time passes by at a lethargic pace. After around forty minutes, your front door rings, and you pick up the order. Sitting at your counter, you help yourself to the meal, grateful that Chrollo has seen fit to leave you alone. There can never be anything good in this world, as he eventually joins you. You try not facing him as an act of defiance. The plan that seemed ingenious in theory has a rockier execution. Sitting in silence feels worse somehow, like a ticking time bomb. Shifting in your seat, you decide to strike up a half baked conversation.

“So, uh, about the whole being hunted down thing,” your voice wavers and you hate yourself for it, “Do you have an idea of when it’s going to be over? I’m starting to run out of excuses for why my friends can’t come over.” 

This is true. There have been no more lively gatherings at your apartment since Chrollo’s unwelcome appearance, and you’ve been pestered about it. In between the lines is the prospect of your friends finding this reclusive behavior suspicious. In your optimism, you hope he takes it as a hint to get out of here faster.

Chrollo takes on a pensive appearance, his chin resting on his hand. “I’d been meaning to talk to you about that, so I’m glad you brought it up.” 

How nice it is to be on the same page. This could be the light at the end of the tunnel, the last page in this awful chapter of your life. Ten days seems like a reasonable amount of time to lay low. Maybe he’s already packing his bags, planning to leave you far behind, so you can forget any of this ever happened. Maybe you’ll treat yourself to a vacation. From the gut wrenching anxiety Chrollo has inflicted on you, you feel deserving of one. 

“They’ve stopped searching for me a while ago.” 

Wait, what?

You look at him, silverware dropping from your lax hand. He’s never been into joking around. Does that mean he’s being serious with you? That all this time, you’ve been holding out for something that already happened? Fists balling by your side, you don’t bother hiding a sharp glare directed towards him. There’s no playfully wry response, no comeback, only disbelief and abhorrence. The bountiful meal in front of you is forgotten. 

There’s no point in asking, but you still do, voice low. “... How long?” 

“According to my sources, about a week.” comes Chrollo’s response, hammering the final nail in the coffin of your patience. His motivations have never been any less clear. You know you shouldn’t have taken the word of someone like him seriously -- you’re so painfully aware of this that it hurts -- but now leaves a final question. Why? What does he get out of this? You feel sick to your stomach, knowing that it’s going to bad no matter what. Your breathing has picked up, eyes dilating and body threatening to crumble under the tension. Everything feels out of place. 

He responds as if he was reading your thoughts. “You’re an interesting person, [First]. You never cried, pleaded, or anything of the like. Instead you accepted the situation for what it was, all while staying true to your values. I find that admirable. I’d like to learn more from you.”  

“Stop talking to me like I’m a -- a fucking -- science experiment, instead of a human being. How does any of that shit even matter?” You feel the blood draining from your face, every word coming out more forced than the last. Getting riled up here is the last thing you should be doing, but you can’t control yourself. All your negative emotions from your time with him are regurgitating into a final mess.

“I don’t know, truth be told.” Chrollo checks the watch on his wrist, and you gulp at the smile that forms on his lips. It feels like a sentencing, a foreboding omen. There’s bile rising in your throat, and you scramble away from your chair. You need to get out of here. You need to run, to scream for help, to alert your family, this is not going to end well, what is he planning-- 

There’s a hurried knock at your door.

“However, what I do know is that I have no intention of leaving this place without you by my side.” 

[hlizr50]

Update: The Raven and the Songbird

Chapter 6

A little pain relief for everything I've put you through

Read on AO3

When Azriel landed in the training ring he shook his head, exasperated with himself. Now that he was here, what exactly did he plan to do? He couldn’t very well find Gwyn’s room, shake her awake, and beg her to forgive him.

He took a moment to survey the ring, racks of wooden weapons, steel, shields. The Valkyries had grown from desperation to get Nesta on the right track to three females surviving the Blood Rite to a small legion of Illyrians, priestesses, and other fae. They would be outgrowing the space soon, and he pondered that as the stone glowed blue in the moonlight.

Gwyn had never spoken much about the Blood Rite, not that he could blame her. The Illyrian tradition was barbaric under normal circumstances, and much more so with Briallyn’s meddling – with the intention of killing all three of the females. Azriel couldn’t help but grin to himself.

How spectacularly had her plan backfired.

He had not admitted that Cassian was not the only one sleepless and mortified that week, but where the general was a barely-contained force of will and expression Azriel was schooled in hiding his emotion. He’d had to stay stoic – to find Briallyn and Koschei, to support his brother while his mate fought for her life. But his relationship with Gwyn had begun to develop by then, as well. Slowly. It was all he could do some days not to fly in and destroy them all. She had already suffered unspeakable horrors, and the possibility that she had been at the mercy of Illyrian males – bred with a thirst for blood and flesh – had been nearly unbearable.

When that general is finished hurting her she has to feel the soul-crushing terror of watching the next soldier take his place because you don’t come to save her.

He ran a hand through his onyx hair, remembering Nesta’s words. His shadows seemed to wither around him, drooping over his shoulders and wings. How had it come to this?

The shadowsinger sat himself down on the ground, knees drawn up. He rested his forearms on them and gazed at the ink-dark sky painted with stars. Much like his High Lord, seeing the stars had always been a comfort to Azriel – a reminder that he was free from the prison of his upbringing, that he had escaped and had replaced his father and brothers with a family that cared for him and showed him what love and brotherhood really meant.

His found family had grown so much in such a short time. He was grateful for that, for so many reasons. Rhys had emerged from Under the Mountain a broken male and Feyre had helped piece him back together. She had quickly become a glue for all of them, holding them tight and treating them with such love that Azriel was often awed by it. It wasn’t hard defending her, being dedicated to her safety as High Lady. She was far more than a monarch to him.

Then came Nesta and Elain, and what a storm that had been. Cassian and Nesta were meant to be since the beginning, but that path had been long and painful, and not just for his ears and the new… sanitation concerns for public living spaces in the house. Sometimes he was surprised that he counted Nesta as his friend. She had been intentionally hurtful so many times. How often had he seen the pain in his brother’s countenance because of something she had said or done? And yet now he understood her, maybe more than he cared to admit. She had been hurting and afraid and overflowing with self-loathing.

He had hurt Gwyn for those very reasons.

Gwyn.

He felt his shoulders and wings sag with the weight of Nesta’s questions tonight. Accusations thinly veiled as questions, and each one like a carefully crafted throwing knife plunged into his gut. He’d made her cry for at least the third time in as many weeks. Training and working to exhaustion, and not being able to sleep because of the worsening nightmares – nightmares that had cruelly transformed to remind her that he had abandoned her.

Even his shadows felt heavy.

The spymaster hung his head, shame like a blanket smothering him in summer heat. How could he ever forgive himself for causing that pain? It was a fate he had personally prevented, and now she was forced to experience it in her dreams. Because of him. Because he was a coward.

Azriel let his eyes drift closed and focused on his breathing. Sleep would not be an option tonight, and he could only pray that the priestess was sound asleep in the house, getting the rest she so desperately needed. Training didn’t seem to be in the cards either, as he sifted through the torrent of thoughts and emotions. He just needed to sit and think. And in the morning, he would speak with Gwyn as soon as he could. He would fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness if he had to.

“Azriel?”

The inky tendrils flitted to life around him at the sound of that voice. Cauldron damn him, of course she would find him now. But part of him was relieved to be able to talk to her so soon – that she was even here.

“Azriel, are you alright?” His heart squeezed at the softness of Gwyn’s voice, music to his ears – a sweet melody with harmonies of concern and kindness. How could she still be so kind to him?

“I don’t deserve to be asked that. Especially not by you,” he murmured, staring down at the stone between his feet.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Azriel.” Her soft footsteps seemed to echo in his head, a ringing alarm that she was coming closer. He didn’t want to run from her, but his heart was still racing. How could he face her inevitable rejection? He noticed her shadow fall over the space between his legs and when he looked up she was crouching in front of him, eyes shining with sincerity. “You deserve for people to care about you. And I do. I won’t just leave you out here alone when anyone could see the weight of the world pressing down on you.”

Gods, but wasn’t that exactly what he had done to her?

The shadowsinger had no air in his chest as he studied her. The expression on her face was difficult to describe – caring and teasing and scolding all rolled into glittering ocean eyes and the slightest quirk of her full lips. She rose and his gaze followed as she held her hand out to him, beckoning him to stand with her. It took more courage than he cared to admit to place his violence-scarred hands in hers, but their warmth spread through him like sunshine warming his bones as she helped him to his feet.

She didn’t let go, and that gave him the strength he needed.

“Nesta found me at the river house tonight. She had… a lot to say,” Azriel began as he saw color bloom on Gwyn’s cheeks. She looked down to their hands.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for her to –“ He squeezed her hands and she snapped her head back up to meet his gaze.

“I deserved every single bit of venom she threw at me, Gwyn. Do not apologize.” The shadowsinger looked down, then, unsure how to move forward or which of his many transgressions he should address first. So he asked, “Is it true? About the nightmares? That… that I don’t come for you?” He could feel the emotion catching in his throat, cracking his voice. His eyes burned as he looked back to the priestess. Her lips were pressed together as she tried to keep the silver lining her eyes from spilling down over her cheeks.

“Yes,” she whispered, lashes lowering as the silent tears fell. Each droplet was a nick in his heart, the guilt and pain salting those wounds. How could she be so strong, to endure this agony and yet hold the hands that caused it? He released one of the hands and lifted it to her face, hesitating with his fingers a breath away from her cheek. Azriel had his mouth open to ask if he could touch her when she leaned her face into his palm. He brushed at her tears with his thumb before bringing up his other hand, cupping her jaw.

“Gwyn,” he breathed, pleading silently for her to look at him. The shining pools that opened to him were so enthralling, depths shimmering with trepidation. Gods, what he would do to bring back the joy in those eyes. “I will always come for you. No matter what. And I will never be able to forgive myself that there might be any part of your mind or your heart or your soul that could believe otherwise.” He watched as she took a shuddering breath, but her eyes held his and he was emboldened.

“I’m so sorry, Gwyn. For all of this. I was a fool and a coward and I let my guilt and my fear own me. And it only hurt you.”

Gwyn’s hands covered the scars on his own as she pulled them away from her face, returning them to their place entwined between them. Azriel stayed silent and her head tilted as she studied him.

“What could you possibly be afraid of?” she released a hoarse, hiccupped laugh. The shadowsinger could only gulp down a breath and look toward the stars.

“I… I was afraid of the feelings I was developing for you. And of the pain I would feel when you would see all the things I have done and the monster that I am and run away from me. Or that you would be hurt because of this darkness inside of me.” His eyes had returned to hers and, while he saw understanding swimming there, her expression was uncompromising.

“Have I not been hurt already?” Her bluntness shocked him, and he felt the slightest twinge of panic that told him to run. Her fingers tightened like a vice around his hands and he saw her eyes darken, as if she knew what he was thinking. “Don’t you dare even think about running away, Azriel. Not now. I deserve better from you.” Even his shadows seemed focused on where their hands touched, intent on keeping them tied together.

She did. She deserved so much better. Better than what he’d done. Shame washed over him that he could have thought to flee from her. Again. He had already wronged her… too many times. But he had come here determined to right those wrongs. Azriel wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to give her what she deserved, if he would ever be good enough for her. But he sure as fuck was going to try.

“You’re right,” he conceded, that panic replaced by resolution and a faint, foolish glimmer of hope. “I’m not going anywhere.” She grinned softly and he thought his chest would burst from relief. They were still here, together, talking. They were going to figure this out.

“Why did you run, Azriel? If you care for me, like you say,” she demanded, that sea-deep stare piercing straight into his soul. “Why? Why are you afraid of me seeing who you are?”

He should have known that she would demand an explanation. Gwyn was strong and confident. She knew her worth and what she deserved, and him sharing the story behind all of his idiotic decisions was the very least of that. But he was not prepared, and he didn’t want to. He never wanted to darken others’ lives with his history.

“That’s… a long story, Gwyn,” he huffed, hoping that might be the end of it. But he saw her eyes, determination and challenge and fire blazing blue in the moonlight.

“We have all night.” She released his hands and gestured to the darkness around them. She would not be deterred, would not back down until she accomplished her goal. It was one of the many things he admired so much about her. “Should we sit?”

Azriel found himself smiling as he nodded, sitting cross-legged on the stone. Even though the impending admissions rang as a death knell in his mind, it warmed his heart to know that she cared so deeply – that she wanted to know the worst of him.

He had put her through enough, and he could relive his pain and push out his fear for this night, if only for her.

“I don’t know where to start.” He scratched the back of his neck, a nervous tick he was usually good at hiding. But then Gwyn – that sweet, incredible, special female – gathered his other hand with those long, pale, graceful fingers and he felt the tension ease. He looked at her, taking in the beauty and serenity of her features. Freckles were scattered over cheeks stained pink, an encouraging smile crinkling the corners of her eyes.

“The beginning seems like a good place, don’t you think?”

So that’s where he began.

~~~

Azriel was not proud that he could not find the strength to look at Gwyn as he walked her through his story, but he could still hear and feel her reactions. And he dared a glance at her from time to time, trying to read everything her eyes were saying. He told her about the cell he was kept in as a child, how little touch or affection or love he had experienced, and how the shadows around him seemed to move and react and speak. She clutched his hand tighter when he told her about what had happened to them, that his brothers had set fire to them to see how he would heal. She hadn’t said a word, but he smelled the salt from tears and felt impossibly soft strokes of her thumbs over those scars.

He explained his time in Illyria and the fearsome reputation he and Cassian had to maintain, simply to make up for the circumstances of their birth. And while Cassian had been brute force and power, Azriel was deadly calm, precision, intellect, terror. He admitted to her how he had hoped to find validation in his role as spymaster under Rhysand’s father, and that he could truly revel in his duties under the right circumstances.

“Those soldiers I killed in Sangravah,” he told her. “I would have enjoyed dragging out their deaths as long as possible for what they did to you.”

Gwyn’s hands were so gentle around his as he told her how much the death and darkness grated against his soul, and how he’d had nothing to tether him to the light. He talked to her about Mor, a waste of literal centuries. And then, somehow, he told her about Elain. Not that he’d loved her, because he never had. But that he’d felt entitled to her, like he deserved what his brothers had found with the other two sisters. That he was the third brother and she was the third sister and that was all that mattered. His entitlement, his lust and desire for the bond - as opposed to love for the person - just another ugly facet of his true self.

“So I suppose that brings me to you, to these past few weeks.” Azriel made sure to meet her gaze for this. “I panicked after the necklace, because I wasn’t prepared for what it would do to me to see that hurt in your eyes. And when I told you things would go back to normal I still didn’t know what to do. I thought distance would be best between us, because I knew you would be able to draw me out of myself. And that was dangerous.”

The shadowsinger’s throat burned with emotion when Gwyn smiled softly. He could see so much roaring in her gaze, but there was no sign of pity or disgust or fear. Azriel ran his free hand through his hair before resting it atop their other clasped hands. Wetness burned his eyes, but he didn’t care.

“When I found you in the rain that night, I could smell your tears and I saw your hands – split knuckles and bruised, swollen fingers. And,” he choked down his feelings even as the tears began their descent, “and I was torn apart with the guilt. It was my fault that you were doing that to yourself. I might has well have put those marks on you with my own two vile hands.” Azriel closed his eyes and let the tears fall – not many, but enough. The silence rang through his ears, his history hanging between them. He waited for the fear, the rejection, especially when she drew her hands away from his. But his eyes snapped open when delicate calloused fingers stroked his cheeks. Gwyn had risen to her knees to dry the wetness on them, her stare a storm of trust and understanding... and compassion.

“Thank you for telling me your story, Azriel,” she whispered. “I see you. You have nothing to fear. I’m still right here.” Then she smiled brightly, and he unraveled.

“Gwyn, I don’t know if you can ever forgive me – I wouldn’t blame you if you couldn’t. But I care for you as more than a teacher, more than a friend. You are a light in my dark life and these past few weeks have been miserable without you in them.” Her smile widened slightly and he reached out a thumb to catch a stray tear that had fallen from those precious, beautiful eyes. He felt his own grin pushing his cheeks against her warm hands.

“I care for you, too, Azriel. As more than a friend.”

He held that watery stare until she released his face. She stood up, brushing off her knees before reaching her hands to him again to help him to his feet. He tilted his head curiously at the determination flashing in her eyes.

“Here is what’s going to happen,” she began, looking down at her hands in his. “Before we pursue anything… romantically, I need to be sure that this isn’t something that will happen again.”

He opened his mouth to speak but she pressed her fingers against his lips. “We both have darkness and fear and I understand that. But if you feel it taking over, I need you to come to me, to talk to me. Because if I open my heart to you and this happens again – if you insist on shutting yourself off from me or deciding for me what I deserve or want – I will be heartbroken.” The confession left Azriel raw.

“What can I do, Gwyn? How can I reassure you?” He could hear the desperation in his own voice, but he couldn’t find it in him to care.

“We are going to go back to how things were before this mess.” She had returned her hand to his and gave both a squeeze. A shadow darted down around them, as if to approve of the contact. “The way it was that led us to realize that we feel the way we do. And you are going to prove to me that we can have what we had before I found out about that stupid, lovely necklace. Do you think you can do that?” He could have fallen to his knees seeing the hope in those ocean eyes, mirroring the spark of hope inside of him. It was something he hadn’t dared to let himself fully feel with her.

“I will.” Azriel’s voice was low and rough. “I swear it.”

“And then we can decide what comes next. And I can prove to you that your hands and your darkness are just as important to me as the rest of you.”

He was grinning like a fool, he knew. He still had a chance, because Gwyneth Berdara was the definition of grace and love. And by the Mother he would not screw this up.

He felt more than saw her wrap her arms around his back, pulling herself into him. For a moment he was frozen by the intimacy of it – shocked by her initiation of it – but he quickly let his arms settle around her waist. He breathed in, pulling her tighter, and leaned his cheek on the crown of her head.

“Don’t let me down, Shadowsinger,” she muttered into his chest. He chuckled and dared to move one hand to comb through her hair. “I want to see… what comes next.” He wanted to see, too. He wanted to know what it was like to look to the future and see more than dread and loneliness and exhaustion. He could see it with her.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Berdara.”

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[demonictales]

P O I S O N - ZEWU JUN x READER

request: The reader and Lan xichen meet at a fancy banquet and the reader gets poisoned. At first she just doesn't feel to good but then it gets worse and Lan xichen is super worried. She almost dies but he takes care of her and saves her

TW: POISONING, NEAR DEATH, extremly ooc xichen

As most cultivators knew by now and were gathered at Koi Tower to celebrate the first full birthday of the little heir to the Lanling Jin sect, all of the town was filled with people from everywhere. It was bustling.

Your small clan had been invited as well and since your parents were busy handling your new born baby brother Zizhen you attented as the oldest child from the Baling Ouyang Clan and entered the Koi Tower a few minutes ago, just a little after you had arrived you were greeted by Jin Guangyao. You returned the gesture of bowing respectfully and thanking him for the invitation you had received as well as apologized for your parents absence due to your little brother being born.

The gap between you and your brother was about twenty three years, quite a lot but your parents had birthed you rather young, so it was no big deal. You were excited to have one more family member and a plus point was that you had a little brother by your side now.

Moving along into the hall, you spotted the familiar blue and white attire of the Gusu Lan sect. Immediately your features seemed to be even brighter as you approached Lan Xichen. "Zewu Jun. --- Pleased to meet you here. How have you been these days? "

You had met him several times before, either through lectures or other meetings and occassions where you had crossed paths. It always delighted you to meet him and be able to exchange a few words with him. " Greetings, Lady Y/N. I've been quite alright. I shall hope you had nothing to worry about either." Xichen spoke in his usual quiet and refined tone and you nodded with a smile. "Yes, I've been fine. My brother was born a couple days ago. -- It will be very lively for the next few years in Baling. " You answered him with the news of your brother coming to walk this planet. "Congratulations. He will be a happy and strong boy with an older sister like yourself by his side. --- " A rose colored blush graced your cheeks before you smiled. "Thank you, Zewu Jun. I will let him know you think this way. My parents will be joyful to hear such words of blessing for Zizhen."

Soon the dinner would commence and lots of guest were talking and enjoying the festivities including yourself during the night, cheeks adorned by the blushing heat of the wine that did give you a little to much warmth. You told yourself you'd drink no more as you felt rather dizzy from what you were given. It was so unusual since you were not a lightweight, you could hold your liquor but something about this red firewater was setting you off. Perhaps it was just stronger as you expected it to be though it did leave a bitter taste on your tongue.

Excusing yourself you went outside, you needed air and to cool down a little. Clenching your eyes together to get a better vision was one thing you did as you stood up and started walking towards the doors, however, the room did not stop spinning and you felt incredibly nauseaous when your heart started racing like crazy. Holding onto the door frame for security got you no where.

Lan Xichen had joined a few cultivators outside for a talk when he noticed your struggling figure at the entrance. He did not think much of it before you in fact threw up a massive amount of blood unbeknownst to yourself for you had blacked out the moment you fell to the ground. "Ouyang Y/N!" Zewu Jun hurried over to you, feeling your pulse. It was weak, barely tangible. Crimson colored blood ran down you lips and nose, your already dark red colored robes were sweat drenched. None other than Jin Guangyao rushed to Xichen's side wondering what happened. "She has been poisoned. If we are not quick to find the culprit and the antidote, it might bring terrible consequences."

Zewu Jun requested Meng Yao's help to send out people to find out who poisoned the young lady of Baling. What nobody knew was this seemed to be an assasination attempt on Jin Guangyao which had been failed as your wine had been switched by an unknown servant and was served to you instead of Meng Yao.

It was only a matter of time before the perpetrator either escaped or was caught. You were given into the care of the doctor of Lanling which was instructed to give updates on your health as each of the cultivators present and the apprentices of the Jin clan were sent in search of the assassin. Even Lan Xichen was involved. He knew you didn't have much time and you needed the antidote before the sun rose high in the sky to survive or it would be too late for you.

Hour after hour passed as your health and sign of life disappeared within you and the closer they got to find the culprit. He was disguised as an errand boy inside the clan of Lanling when being searched they had found someone fighting back. Everybody was doing their best to get the antidote or Jin Rulan's name would be tainted by the death of an accquired clan members death. They could possibly not let that happen.

Meanwhile you were losing strength to hold onto live, you did no longer react to the doctor calling your name, your unconsiousness dragging you deeper and deeper into the dark void of nothingness. However, your subconcious could make something out just a little, a liquid was running down your lips and every bit inside tingled by a slight burning sensation. It wasn't too strong of a pain, but it was bearable. What once felt like you had been turned to mush inside now felt like it was burning and restoring itself. What in god's name had happened? What is happening and why were you coughing all of a sudden.

Bright light blinded you when you opened your eyes, your head bumping tremendously , a stinging pain as you sat up, the song of clarity being played in the far corner of the room you were resting. As your dark orbits adjusted to the sunlight you were surprised to see Zewu Jun who sat and played the melody. You watched quietly taking a deep breath as the calming effect took over you. Eventually, you got up and quietly walked over, steps still a bit wobbly as you did so. "Zewu Jun. "

Your voice was dry and it matched your even dryer mouth. His eyes met yours as he came to a quiet and soft stop of playing the guqin. "You are finally awake. Let me pour you some tea. " He spoke in his usual quiet and calming voice. " How long have I been out? -- The celebrations were yesterday, am I right? " All you remembered was that you had maybe drank a bit to much wine, and went outside, but that was it. "Lady Y/N, you have been resting for three days. Do you not remember what happened? "

You were slightly confused because you did not quite understand what he was saying. You shook your head and took the tea he offered you with a small smile. "Thank you. --"

After a brief explanation of the events of the past five days you starred at him blankly. You had been poisoned, which had been an assasination attempt on Jin Guangyao but the maid ended up serving the poisened wine to you on accident and basically Jin Guangyao was the one who had recovered the antidote while Zewu Jun had fed it to you and played the Song of Clarity for your quick recovery. Lips were parted as you tried to speak but no words came out. How? That was the question, how did you end up getting caught up in an assasination attempt on Jin Guangyao.

"I believe I owe you very sincere thanks. " Quietly you stood up and bowed to Lan Xichen, who had stayed two days and three nights playing the clarity song for you. "The Baling Ouyang clan is deeply indepted to you, Zewu Jun. --- You have our undisputed loyalty for as long as the Ouyang Clan exists. I myself am indebted to you as well. " Lan Xichen's reputation was much more than that and you knew how humble he was but you did not bent. You were sincere in the fact that he had safed your live.

"There is no need to bow. " His hands touched your elbows and brought you up. " Instead rest well for another two days before you go home. " He insisted. You nodded and did as he spoke.

From that day on, you had sworn yourself as a sister to Zewu Jun for saving your life and he greatly accepted your offer.

[lillotte17]

Bird Nest

Continuation of my post-canon drabble things!! Who is ready for some Emotional Whiplash?!

~

Domesticity is not something that Zhou Zishu has much experience with.

Even before becoming the Four Seasons’ Manor Lord and the Leader of the Window of Heaven, his family had always kept servants. He has never been like Jing BeiYuan, who seems to like nothing more than luxuriating amidst finery, but he has never had to concern himself with the everyday tasks of cooking and cleaning and doing laundry, either. He knows how to look after himself well enough, when he has to, but his standards of ‘well enough’ are not especially high. He was always content to make do with the things on hand, and wait for his fortunes to shift towards something better. Or to simply drown himself in wine until the state of his surroundings and his body no longer mattered.

It has never bothered him before, but in these last few days spent in the cold dusty ruin of the World’s Armory with Lao Wen, he is beginning to notice the gaping holes of his inadequacies.

He does not know how to take care of someone.

He knows how to protect someone, how to fight off enemies and hide from pursuit and outmaneuver any opposition. He knows how to treat a simple wound or a fever when someone is suffering. He knows how to care about someone, but after words of affirmation and patience and physical intimacy, he is at something of a loss.

When they had been staying at the Four Seasons Manor with Chengling, he could wave off the fact that he was not doing most of the mundane work of keeping them all fed and healthy because he had a disciple to train and poison burning through his veins, and later, an injured shoulder to contend with. He had focused more on their defenses, and taking stock of their food and medical stores. Making sure that the secrets of the Manor had remained hidden and safe, so that Chengling could inherit them once he was ready.

But now the Manor is gone, and there is only the mountain and the armory and Lao Wen, and Zhou Zishu…is not entirely sure what to do with himself.

The first three or four days had been lost to fear and grief, clinging to Wen Kexing’s limp body and pouring as much of his internal force into him as he could before slumping over in exhaustion. Once he had come back to him from the brink of death, the two days following had been surrendered to hands and mouths and ravenous devotions. They had spent most of their time in various stages of undress, lounging about on the random assortments of tattered mats and blankets they had made into their bed, neither one willing to venture far from the other’s line of sight.

The fifth or sixth day finally had Lao Wen declaring that he felt grimy past the point of endurance, and sent him puttering about the maze of bookshelves and farming equipment in search of the tools to shape the armory into a livable space. Rong Xuan and his friends had come here to train, so there were still some useful things here and there. A few chipped bowls and a dusty teapot. A moldering wash basin that is not yet beyond salvation and a small stew pot with a rusting handle. He had swept and bustled and rearranged things in nearly a frenzy, and Zhou Zishu had not done much more than keep him company and carry and few things when he was bidden.

It had taken the better part of the day, but now they have a dining area, a cozy nook in a well-lit corner for reading and writing, and even a few battered screens set up for privacy while bathing or changing clothes, if they feel so inclined. It nearly feels like a home, even if everything they have is in some state of disrepair. They heat enough water to wash themselves, tend to their outer robes as best they can, and sit down to their first meal of ice and snow in nothing but blankets. It is not especially filling, but then again, their bodies do not seem to feel hunger as they did before, either.

Wen Kexing seems buoyant with his successes, his damp snowy hair glistening in the soft light of their little table lamp.

“How long do you suppose it will take the others to come dig us out?” he asks.

“It is hard to say just how bad the avalanche was from in here,” Zishu hums thoughtfully, “Even if they find the markers you left and follow you here, I am afraid it will take a few weeks at the very least. Transporting large amounts of men and equipment through the mountains is slow going even in good weather.”

He smirks at him.

“Why? Are you sick of me already?”

“Impossible,” Wen Kexing laughs with a dismissive wave of his hand, grinning from ear to ear. “It was more of a practical concern. If we are trapped in here for months, we might survive it well enough, but there is no telling what state we will be in without access to any sort of grooming tools. The old monster did not exactly tell me what to expect if the technique succeeded. Will our hair keep growing? What about our fingernails? Are we going to look like horrible mountain beasts by the time they finally come for us? Your poor dumb disciple will start crying in fear again.”

“Chengling will cry when he sees us no matter what we look like,” Zhou Zishu sighs, exasperated yet fond. “But I would assume that since our bodies are no longer using food to fuel themselves in the typical sense, that our metabolisms have slowed, or possibly even stopped. Even if our hair and nails keep growing, it will likely be some time before we become terrifying.”

“Hm,” Lao Wen nods in acceptance, “What will we do about keeping clean, though? Luckily, we do not have to concern ourselves too much with dirty dishes, but what about our clothes? What about ourselves? Water can only do so much on its own.”

“I did not expect you to be this squeamish about a little dirt,” Zishu chuckles.

“Ah Xu,” Wen Kexing says flatly, “It is hardly going to be ‘a little dirt’ after several weeks. You should know by now that to touch and be touched by you is one of my life’s dearest delights, but if you truly intend to forego soap and cleanliness for an entire month or more, I am not sharing a bed with you. For sleeping, or anything else.”

Zhou Zishu arches a brow at him in disbelief.

“Would you care to know how long it had been since I had a bath when we first met?”

“Just because I could tell you were beautiful beneath all of that filth does not mean I was willing to bed you before you got a chance to wash yourself,” Lao Wen huffs, “I do have standards.”

Zishu makes a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, but his expression is still doubtful.

“Ah well,” Wen Kexing sighs, deciding to sidestep the obvious but unspoken opinion about what his standards are, or lack thereof, “There must be something in here we can use. Maybe there are stores of rice in with the grain and farming supplies. I doubt it would be safe to eat, but if we cook it, the water leftover might still be good for washing… And Rong Xuan was married. Perhaps his wife left something behind.”

“Perhaps you mother did.”

Lao Wen tenses in reflexive discomfort, as he still does at any mention of his past, but then the moment passes and he smiles.

“I doubt my parents would have come here very often,” he tells him softly. “They supported the idea of the armory, but neither of them were that invested in becoming martial masters themselves. They wanted to heal people. But…it would be nice, if we found something of them here. If they left something behind that we could use to make a life together.”

“You are good at this,” Zhou Zishu compliments him sincerely, gesturing to the living space they have already arranged, “I never would have thought this place could feel even half this hospitable. You did a good job with our manor too, before it was destroyed. Chengling barely knows how to boil water, so I know you must have helped him with more than you claimed. The Valley Master is truly a man of many hidden talents.”

“I was only the leader of the ghosts for eight years,” Wen Kexing reminds him, bitterness seeping into his smile, “Even if the old chief favored me for my ruthlessness, I was still more of a servant or a slave than a ward. If I am good at building a life from ruins now, it is because I was never given an option to do otherwise.”

“Lao Wen, I-”

He holds up a hand to halt his apology.

“You do not have to be sorry,” he says, “Not for what happened, and not for making me talk about it either. We have eternity to share together, so I imagine all of our old wounds will eventually be dragged out into the sunlight at some point. It is not the easiest thing to discuss, but…I want to tell you. I want to tell you everything.”

Zhou Zishu puts his hand over his on the tabletop, squeezing his fingers in reassurance.

“There is no rush,” he reminds him, “As you said; we have time. I will be here, and I will listen when you are ready.”

He chuckles softly.

“Of course, those things are easier to talk about while enjoying a jar of wine together, like we used to,” Zishu sighs wistfully, “Of all the things we are going to give up for this life, that might be the most difficult for me to part with.”

“But Ah Xu, we brought the sweetest wine with us!” Wen Kexing grins, leaning towards him over the table.

“…You mean in your flask?” Zhou Zishu blinks at him frowningly, “We cannot drink it anymore, even if you brought some.”

“I have been drinking this wine every day,” Lao Wen insists, eyes curving upwards as his smile deepens, mischievous and extremely self-satisfied. “This is a taste I would not sacrifice for anything.”

Zishu’s brows furrow in consternation, sensing a ruse, but not certain what the endgame could be yet.

“…Do you not want to know where the wine is?” Wen Kexing asks sweetly.

“If I ask, will it end this silly game any faster?”

“Hm, perhaps. That is entirely up to you.”

“…Where is it?” Zhou Zishu huffs out with a grumble, looking terribly put-upon.

“Here!” Lao Wen exclaims happily, placing one long finger directly against Zishu’s lips.

Zhou Zishu catches his hand on instinct, fighting a losing battle with the urge to roll his eyes.

“You are utterly preposterous.” He informs him evenly.

“I am also hopelessly charming and completely inescapable,” Wen Kexing agrees without the slightest hint of shame. He moves his finger to lightly trace one corner of Zhou Zishu’s mouth. “You, on the other hand, are both delicious and intoxicating. If were not trapped inside, I would whisk you out beneath the moonlight and drink you in until both of us were dizzy with sensation.”

“Do these types of brazen declarations actually work on people?” Zishu wonders.

“They worked on you,” Wen Kexing points out with a shrug, still smiling like a fool.

Zhou Zishu lets out long-suffering sigh, seemingly defeated, but he meets Lao Wen’s gaze without hesitation. A few heartbeats pass, and he turns his head slightly, just enough to brush the barest whisper of a kiss across the tip of the finger still hovering near his cheek. He smiles at the surprised silence that follows, pulling the hand in his grip closer to him, deciding to press a kiss into its palm as well.

Wen Kexing’s eyes on him are molten.

Zhou Zishu laughs.

“Well, I think we both know what works on you.”

“Ah Xu,” Wen Kexing exhales his name with a stuttering breath, a thread of supplication weaving through his voice.

Zishu’s expression softens exponentially.

“Alright.”

~

Zhou Zishu wakes up the next morning with a mild soreness that is becoming typical. His freshly rinsed clothes from the day before are folded neatly near the bed, along with their battered little washbasin and a damp handkerchief so he can wipe himself down before dressing. Wen Kexing is sitting at the narrow table in their reading nook, the sun sifting in through the high windows painting him with sweeps of warm golden light. His hair is still unbound, softening the angles of his face as he pours over the open book in front of him. A comb is loosely clasped within his left hand, seemingly forgotten.

Zishu takes the time to admire the scene in silence. He thinks again about what it means to take care of someone. To make a life from the ground up with nothing but your bare hands and your sincerity. To build a home within the walls of someone else’s heart.

He is still not certain he knows how to go about it, but no one said that the first step had to be the largest one.

It takes him a few minutes to quietly sweep away the traces of sweat and other things from the night before and pull his robe on. He is certain that Wen Kexing must have noticed, but he seems to be engrossed with his reading. Without waiting for acknowledgment or invitation, he pads across the room to pluck the wooden comb from Lao Wen’s elegant fingers.

“You won’t be able to read properly with your hair falling in your eyes like that.” He says it more brusquely than he meant to. His mouth twitches downward briefly in discontentment. That was not how he wanted to begin this.

For his own part, Wen Kexing simply turns his head slightly to blink up at him, a mix of warmth and mild surprise on his face.

“Are you offering to help me look pretty, Ah Xu?”

“You hardly need my help with that.”

Lao Wen shifts in his seat a little, as though he is so pleased with the compliment that he cannot quite hold it in.

“By all means,” he tells him, trying and failing to hold back a wide curling smile, “If you want to touch me anywhere, I would be that last person to stop you.”

Zhou Zihsu laughs.

“This I already know,” he says, leaning over to poke at one of the round mouth-shaped bruises along the side of Lao Wen’s throat.

Wen Kexing hisses and pulls a face as Zishu moves to sit behind him.

“And here I thought you were going to be tender with me,” he quips lightly.

Zhou Zishu stills for a moment, a portion of Lao Wen’s silvery hair already gathered in his left hand. He fiddles with the comb and stares and the shoulders of the man in front of him. His expression slides back towards uncertainty.

“I am.” He says finally. Wen Kexing reaches back and pats his knee. He can tell that he is smiling by the tilt of his head, and somehow it seems to ease the tension back out of his shoulders.

Without another word between them, he beings carefully running the comb through Lao Wen’s hair. He does his best to be gentle, but there are a few places with some especially stubborn tangles. Wen Kexing makes a low pained sound as he tries to pull the teeth of the comb through them, and Zhou Zishu pauses once again.

“Have you ever combed someone else’s hair before?” Wen Kexing wonders.

“…No,” Zhou Zishu confesses.

“Not even your shidi’s?” Wen Kexing presses, sounding surprised, “Didn’t you raise him once our master passed? Qin Jiuxiao was still too young to look after himself at the time, was he not?”

“We had servants at the Four Seasons Manor,” Zishu reminds him, “I was the new leader of a struggling sect. I was not going to spend time doing something that could easily be allocated to a maid. I helped him with his studies and I trained him in martial arts. He came to me with his troubles, but the more mundane chores of childrearing were handled by other people. I had too many other things to look after to go out of my way to make sure he was groomed every morning.”

“It was not a condemnation,” Wen Kexing says softly.

“I know.” He sighs.

“Do you wish you could have done more for him, now?”

“I…don’t know,” Zhou Zishu admits, “I don’t know if there was any more I could have done for him even if I wanted to. I was only sixteen when I became responsible for him. I barely knew how to run our sect, let alone how to be someone’s father figure. As his older brother, it was my job to keep him out of trouble, so that is what I tried to do. He had a good heart. A pure heart -like Chengling- and he was just as silly. I tried to make sure he never got his hands dirty the way I had to. We used to dream of the day the Window of Heaven would no longer be needed, and we would wander the jianghu together. Maybe, if that had happened, we might have had the chance for more moments like this.”

His hand trembles slightly and he tugs the comb harder than intended.

“Ai,” Wen Kexing winces, “Start closer to the bottom. It will be easier to get rid of the knots higher up once the ends are free of tangles.”

“Mn,” he acknowledges. “Sorry.”

He glances down at the comb in his hand. A crisp bouquet of carved wooden flowers in a dark cherry lacquer. Almost violet. He runs his thumb over it thoughtfully.

“Did you find this in the armory?” he asks, “It’s a woman’s comb, isn’t it?”

“Ah, no, I brought it with me,” Lao Wen says. His tone is casual, but almost abnormally so. Zishu squints down at the comb again to see if there is anything peculiar about it. But it just looks like a comb.

“Did it belong to your mother?” Zhou Zishu hazards a guess. “I thought the only thing you managed to take with you when the ghosts came was the hairpin.”

“…It belongs to Ah Xiang.”

Oh.

“When she was little, I would help her get dressed and do her hair up in the ugliest little buns you ever saw,” Wen Kexing continues in something of a daze, “I am sure I pulled her hair so many times, but she never complained. She was too scared I would throw her out. When she got a bit older, she would scold me when her braids were sloppy, but she wouldn’t let any of the girls from the department of the unfaithful do them, either. She only wanted me, and to this day I don’t know why.”

By this time Zhou Zishu has managed to tie back a portion of Lao Wen’s hair so it is no longer falling in his eyes. He thinks about attempting the usual little twist he wears it in, but it is already a bit crooked as it is and he suspects that would be beyond his abilities. He smooths the hair back from his forehead one last time, gently pulling a few strands loose at the sides to frame his face the way he likes it.

“She loved you.” He tells him quietly.

“I loved her, too.”

“I know.” He squeezes his shoulder.

“I found the comb in with my things when I woke up after…after…” Wen Kexing’s breathing becomes erratic, and Zhou Zishu wraps him up in his arms, pulling him back against his chest. Kexing refuses to meet his eyes, but he eventually seems to calm himself, reaching up and holding onto Zishu’s wrists for dear life. “I don’t know if there was some sort of mix up in the rush to leave Ghost Valley, or if Ah Xiang left it for me on purpose. Maybe she thought it would give her an excuse to come back, if she wanted. Maybe she just wanted me to remember all those early mornings when I used to do her hair for her. Or maybe… Maybe she thought I would forget her if she didn’t leave something behind.”

“She knew that she was going to miss you,” Zhou Zishu says, pressing a kiss into the crown of his head, “She wanted to make sure that you would miss her, too.”

A child takes after their parent, after all.

“I…was not as nice to her as I could have been,” Wen Kexing says thickly, “At first, it was because it was too dangerous. If the other ghosts knew she was precious to me, they would go after her as soon as it looked like I might be any sort of threat to them. I had to keep her at a distance to keep her safe. But later… Later on, I think I just forgot how to be kind to someone. And so, I was always making her worried that I would throw her away…”

“She knew,” Zhou Zishu soothes, “She knew your intentions. Who else could know you better?”

“You know me better,” Lao Wen sighs. “She was a bit too silly to understand me completely. Her heart was better than mine. She deserved better than me.”

“You raised her well.”

“Not well enough.”

They sit together in silence for a while, each lost in the memories of the children they could not save. There is grief, but there is understanding, too. The wordless empathy of touch. Zhou Zishu holds Wen Kexing in his arms and sees the ways their hurts fit together in perfect likeness. How just to know someone who knows him, someone with whom he freely shares his words and his space and his time without resentment or restraint, has allowed them both to become more of the people they had always wanted to be. And that…is a kind of caring, too.

Perhaps the most important kind.

The rest will come later.

“Lao Wen, I am afraid if you don’t get up, your hair will need combing again,” Zhou Zishu says after a long time has passed. He makes no move to relinquish his embrace, however.

“I’m not getting up,” Wen Kexing says stubbornly, “You can just comb my hair again for me later.”

“Oh?” Zhou Zishu laughs softly, “I thought I wasn’t very good at it.”

“You are not,” Lao Wen tells him bluntly, “But I’m spoiled now. You have to brush my hair for me every day.”

“Forever?”

“Forever.”

Zhou Zishu smiles, and holds him that much tighter.

“Alright.”

[fangirlshrewt97]

Underneath Your Clothes

Fandom: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)

Pairing: Joe x Nicky

Read on AO3

                                                        ///

You're a song Written by the hands of God Don't get me wrong 'Cause this might sound to you a bit odd But you own the place Where all my thoughts go hiding And right under your clothes Is where I find them Underneath your clothes There's an endless story There's the man I chose There's my territory And all the things I deserve For being such a good girl honey

- “Underneath Your Clothes” by Shakira

Nicky hummed mindlessly to the Italian song that was floating in through the open window. The singer was barely sixteen, but his voice was reminiscent of the great crooners. He always left with a tidy haul at the end of the day whenever he stopped by their corner. Nicky made a mental note to give him one of his pastries if he caught him before he left for the day.

The timer went off as the kid finished off his song. Nicky removed the baking tray into the oven, closing the door behind him with his hip. He placed the tray on the counter before turning off the timer. He smirked at it, a novelty “Italian Chef” timer Nile had gotten him for Christmas a few years ago. That had been a fun one.

He transferred the baked goods into a couple of large boxes once they had cooled and set the tray in the sink to soak. Once that was done, he cleaned the rest of the kitchen, satisfied only when the counters gleamed and the rest of the dishes were either put away or drying on the rack. Wiping his hands on the kitchen towel, he stepped away from the room. Rolling his neck, Nicky massaged one of his wrists, relieving the tension built up from a day spent rolling and preparing dough.

Glancing at the clock showed that it was 3 in the afternoon. Not bad for a day’s work. Checking the doors and windows were properly closed, Nicky made his way further into the house. Some of their down times were spent just catching their breath from a rough mission. Others, like this one, were to ground themselves back into the world, to remind themselves that their lives did not have to just be blood, vengeance, and seeking to bring justice to the evils of the world.

The breeze that drifted through the bedroom was tinged with the warm sunshine of the Mediterranean sun and the salty tinge of the sea. He leaned against the doorway, smiling softly at the sight that greeted him. Joe, sitting up with his back to the door, both hands in the air, fingers interwoven as he grunted from the stretching exercise. Once he finished, releasing a heavy breath, he placed his hands at the small of his back, curving backwards as far as he could go. The next exercise was placing his hands firmly by his hips and twisting his body until the cracks rang out. Nicky winced at their volume. Unfortunately muscle tension was not something that their healing cured.

Joe had decided to volunteer himself to help out with the renovations happening at the orphanage down the street because his husband had the largest heart that Nicky knew of. For the past three weeks they had been here, Joe would wake up without complaint when Nicky woke him at sunrise and leave for work. He would usually return after sunset, having stayed behind to wrangle the kids for dinner, hair covered in dust, plaster, paint, or on one memorable occasion, all three. Nicky occasionally dropped by to help with the kids, otherwise he occupied himself with cooking food for the crews and for the children.

But today was Sunday, so Joe had spent his day off sleeping most of the morning and afternoon away except for the meals Nicky had forced into him.

“Need help?” Nicky said softly as Joe grunted for the third time trying to stretch his arms all the way up.

Joe turned his head to see him quickly, shooting him one of his signature smiles. His shoulders betrayed his tiredness though. “I would never say no to your hands on me, ya amar.”

Snorting, Nicky made his way over to Joe, going around the bed to stand between his open legs. Gently, Nicky cupped the back of Joe’s neck with both hands and dug his thumbs into the space between his jaw and ears. Joe groaned, tipping forward until his forehead rested on Nicky’s stomach.

“Don’t stop.” Joe whined as Nicky moved to massage the back of Joe’s neck.

Nicky dipped down to press a kiss to the top of Joe’s head, the root of his palms  skating their way down his back in a firm press. Joe’s spine seemed to melt beneath his hands as his husband went floppy in his arms. He repeated the motion twice more, switching to a faster pace, and then to using folded fingers.

“Maybe you should take a break Joe, just because our bodies don’t stay hurt or ache doesn’t mean we cannot be sore if we push ourselves hard enough.” Nicky said while bringing his hands back up until they rested on Joe’s broad shoulders.

Joe let his head fall back, eyes half closed as he peered up at Nicky. “We are so close though Nicky. Just one more week.”

Nicky sighed. “Alright my love.”

Joe smiled at him and fully closed his eyes, nudging his head back into Nicky’s hands.

“Si, si, I am getting to it.” Nicky said fondly, bringing his fingers up to bury themselves in Joe’s curls. Systematically, he gathered the hair into two fists, squeezed, and then relaxed, moving to cover all of Joe’s scalp. He moved down to squeeze intermittently at his forehead, then to his ears, tugging and rubbing at them. He pressed his thumbs to Joe’s temple, the hum from his husband’s throat vibrating through his hands. A firm swipe down his proud nose, another two across the faint field of freckles spotted near the bridge of his nose. Strong hold of the jaw, fingers curling through the beard.

When Joe was halfway to sleep, Nicky leaned down to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. And then another two over his closed eyelids.

Joe’s eyes fluttered open. “Hayati, I love you more than anything in this world, and will give it to you if you ask me.”

Nicky raised an eyebrow when Joe paused.  “But?”

“But I will fall asleep on you if you try to have sex with me right now.” Joe said sincerely, and with regret in his eyes.

Nicky laughed, fondness overflowing from his heart at his ridiculous fool.

“I will do my best not to have sex with you now then.”

Joe let out a mournful whine which just made Nicky laugh harder. It seemed to increase in volume when he stepped away from the reach of Joe’s outstretched hands.

“Oh you will survive Joe.” Nicky said as he walked over to their dresser. He hummed as he sorted through the contents of the drawer until he found the bottle he was looking for.

Opening it, he inhaled deeply, a content smile forming as the soothing scent of sandalwood and rose oil rose to greet him. Turning around, Nicky snorted at the sight. Joe was leaning back on the bed, body weight resting on his elbows as his head tipped back. The line of this throat called to Nicky.  

Moving towards him, Nicky placed the oil on the bedside table. He then gently pushed at Joe’s shoulders, the gentle shove enough to send Joe falling fully against the mattress. Carefully, Nicky threw a leg across Joe’s lap, hands running over his chest before they paused at the topmost button of his shirt.

“I thought you said we weren’t having sex.” Joe pouted at him, hands coming up instinctively to rest at Nicky’s hips, their warmth seeping through the thin cotton t-shirt Nicky had on.  He sometimes wondered if it would be possible for skin to indent from the constant press of something against it, like water cutting its way through a rock, or a leaf falling in wet cement. Wondered if at a microscopic level, his skin would be marked by the whorls of Joe’s fingertips.

“We aren’t.” Nicky said as he unbuttoned Joe’s shirt. He paused when it was fully open, lightly running his fingers across the length of the toned chest he could recall from memory.

In the later afternoon light, Joe was painted golden, and Nicky went dizzy with the wave of want that suddenly washed over him. So long together, and yet Joe made him burn hotter than anything else he had ever known.

Joe was his miracle, more than his immortality, a miracle in the shape of a man who had found it in him to not only forgive a man who had committed unspeakable atrocities against his people, but to love him so deeply, Nicky could feel it in his bones. The sun rose from the east, the Mediterranean was home, Joe loved him.

Joe let out a little giggle when Nicky’s fingers caressed his sides, a ticklish spot Nicky was not afraid to exploit when he needed it. That wasn’t what this was about though. Joe did not need a tease. He deserved a reward.

Humming in apology, Nicky set about stripping Joe down and manipulating him until he was laying at the center of the bed on his stomach, naked. Joe for his part let Nicky shift him to his heart’s content, settling heavily into the mattress.

After arranging him comfortably, Nicky straddled the back of Joe’s thighs, armed with the bottle of massage oil. Pouring a handful out, he closed it tightly before wringing his hands, making sure to oil them thoroughly. He placed his hands on Joe’s shoulders, thumbs settling near the start of Joe’s spine while his other fingers curled around the meat of Joe’s shoulders. He squeezed tightly, pushing his weight into it as he worked to relieve the knots he could feel underneath his hands.

Joe started moaning, a deep and heavy sound that Nicky tried to tune out lest they distract him.

Here were Joe’s shoulders, that had once slung an injured soldier across them, a child who had come to frontlines in the name of patriotism. He had trekked through the trenches till he’d delivered him to a field hospital.

Here were his arms, corded with muscles honed through fighting with scimitar and broadsword and gun, but also honed with the manual labor of tilling fields and repairing houses.

And here, his forearms, his wrists, his hands. Long fingers capable of creating masterpieces that could rival the artistic geniuses of the past centuries.

His strong back, his spine, which bent but never broke, that never stayed down for long. That did not bow in the face of injustice, and willingly took punishment to spare an innocent the scars that would not mar his skin for long.

His hips, which had seated countless kids when they had downtime during rescue missions, a throne and a safety cushion from which they could learn the old names of the constellations, and about seeing the beauty even in the war-torn landscape.

His ass, which Nicky would truly never get enough of.

Further down, his thighs, his calves, hard from decades of walking, running, marching, criss-crossing Earth. Nile had attempted to do the math once, to see how many miles they had walked in their long lives, how many times had they theoretically circumnavigated the globe. The average person from the 21st century would walk 110,000 miles in a lifetime. She had despaired trying to figure out if she should combined Nicky and Joe’s steps or count them individually, and then given up entirely when faced with Andy’s history.

His feet, soft only because of their healing powers, feet that had carried him barefoot over every terrain, through grass and sand and snow and sea.

When Nicky reached back up to place a kiss on Joe’s neck, he heard Joe’s soft snores.

Smiling softly, he pressed another kiss to Joe’s cheek and got out of bed.

He returned to the kitchen, scrubbing the baking tray clean and leaving it to dry. He grabbed one of their disposable boxes and placed two pastries into it. Checking to make sure he was dressed decently, Nicky jogged down the steps of the house just as the busker was placing his guitar back in his case.

“Lorenzo!” Nicky called, signalling for him to wait up. Lorenzo blushed, and huh, maybe Joe wasn’t so far off with his theory the kid had a crush on Nicky. He gave him the box, Lorenzo accepting it with wide eyes.

Nicky shrugged and looked at his sweetly. “You should eat enough to have the strength to keep singing.”

Lorenzo grinned and nodded before waving bye to him. Nicky watched until the kid had boarded the bus before making his way back home. Just before entering, he purchased a handful of dahlias from the flower vendor.  

Joe had shifted to his back when Nicky re-entered their bedroom, his arm slung over his stomach, fingers twitching as though they were searching for something. Nicky placed the flowers with the vase by the bedside table so Joe would see them when he woke up.

Walking one last time around the house to make sure everything was locked up, Nicky removed his own t-shirt and pants so he was in just his underwear. He folded the clothes neatly and placed them on top of the laundry hamper before he crawled into bed. Gently lifting Joe’s arm, Nicky settled on top of Joe’s chest, ears filling with the sound of Joe’s heartbeat.

A subtle hitch in Joe’s breath and the tightening of the arm around him alerted Nicky to his husband’s wakeful status.

“Thank you for the wonderful massage, cuore mio.” Joe breathed softly.

Nicky turned and nuzzled into his side, making him let out a laughing gasp. “Anytime, vita mia.”

Joe drifted back to sleep within a few breaths. Nicky laid awake for some more time.

Nearly a thousand years he had been by Joe’s side, had had the permission to touch him like lovers do. And yet the thrill of it was always present, the gift never unappreciated.

He did not know whether or not he would ever atone for all the sins he committed over his long life, and at this point he did not much care.  The only person who’s opinion mattered to him was right here.

Joe, who had seen first hand what Nicky had done. Joe, who had been killed by his hands. Who had killed him his fair share of times. Who had allowed him to stumble his way but never left him. Who had heard every secret fantasy and dream and fear Nicky had thought of, and promised to guard them. Joe who had been with him for every adventure and story this crazy life threw their way.

Joe who spent their vacation helping with renovations at an orphanage.

And here, bare between them, this was Nicky’s reward. Call him selfish, Nicky would share a lot with the world, but this was his. This love, this trust. This life.

Joe was his. His love. His territory. His sanctuary. His to keep.

[littlemrcaprisun]

TW: brief mentions of miscarriage

(This is a rewrite of an old fic from a previous ship and I just changed the names and POV so if there are errors in that... well sorry.)

Despite all of the odds and challenges that face you, you both decide to go through with having a baby. It takes months to see results, whether it be the it just not working or it working and ending in heartbreak. You’re about to give up on the dream when the fifth pregnancy makes it past the first trimester and halfway through the second. You decide to tell your family and friends, well Alcina does. You only tell your parents and it goes over just as well as expected: poorly. Your parents still aren’t happy with the fact that their child left their husband, the rich doctor with the hefty salary, for another woman twice their age. While they have grown to love and accept Alcina, and your newfound sexuality, a baby announcement was the last thing they wanted to hear out of your mouth. You don't tell Alcina about their reaction for a long time, after all stress is the last thing she needs right now considering how this whole process has gone so far. What you can’t afford is stress risking this precious thing they’ve fought so hard to build. However, Alcina catches on quickly and confronts you about why you’ve been so quiet and reserved lately, especially where the baby is concerned.

“I’m just… I’m… processing.” You shrug after dinner one evening as Alcina helps you get ready for bed. Alcina furrows her brow and stops to turn to you.

“A-are you having regrets?” Alcina asks quietly, her hand flying to your belly immediately. You are barely showing but still enough to be noticeably pregnant and the palm of her hand wraps perfectly around the swell of your bump.

“Oh, no. God, no.” You look up to Alcina , fervently shaking your head. “Never.” You pull Alcina’s chin down to look into your eyes and you make sure Alcina can feel the sincerity burn through her eyes

“Then, please, tell me what’s really wrong.” Alcina carefully lowers both of you onto the bed, just to be precautious. Your belly barely protrudes through your hoodie as you lay back against the pillows, but it’s enough that Alcina can see it and she can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners of her lips.

“It’s just my parents… they aren’t very supportive yet… of the baby, I mean.” You admit and sit up on the edge of the bed. You lean back and brace yourself on your hands and try to focus your energy into not crying. Alcina pulls you toward her until you are comfortable and she is lying between her legs, ear pressed to belly. You feel yourself relax almost instantly as she feels the warmth coming from you and the life growing inside you.

“I know your parents’ opinion means the entire world to you, but… I don’t know.” Alcina sighs. “I don’t think there’s anything I can say to make you feel better about it. We’ve just fought so hard to get to where we are now and I hate the thought that you might… that you might regret it.”

You lift your head and place a hand on Alcina’s cheek and another on your belly. “I don’t regret anything… I just wish this were easier.”

“So do I. I am terrified I am gonna wake up and this is all going to be over. I couldn’t take it if… if…” Alcina chokes on her words before she can finish her sentence. You try to comfort Alcina and tell her everything is going to be okay but she shakes her head, recomposes herself, and speaks again. “You are six months pregnant. You’re in the ‘safe zone,’ but I can’t let myself believe it’s real. I don’t want to know if it’s a boy or a girl, I don’t want to name it, I don’t want to build a nursery. I don’t want to accept that we’re going to have a baby because I don’t believe that we’re going to have a baby… I’m sorry this isn’t even relevant. It just kind of came out. I’m just so scared of losing this one too.”

———

“Cina... I’m having some regrets.” You whisper, your voice seeming to go on forever in the cool dark room. Alcina shifts next to you in bed and opens an eye.

“What’s wrong?” She asks and when she rolls over she feels the cool damp surface beneath her hip. Immediately, she jumps out of bed and flips on the light. You both cringe at the brightness but quickly adjust and the sight before you comes into focus. You are lying on your back, clutching your belly and your hip, the white sheet around you has turned grey from the water surrounding your bottom. “I-is it time?”

“I think so.” You nod, smiling widely. You’ve had a few contractions since your water broke and you didn’t find them to be that painful, however the ones that follow aren’t such a breeze. As Alcina is helping you out of the bed, so she can change the sheets, you have another contraction. You let out a quiet cry and lean over the side of the bed. “Time it, time it!” You yelp between heavy breaths. Alcina is quick to start counting before she can get your phone out to use the app the midwife recommended to both of you. Within a few minutes, you are back to normal and standing up right.

Alcina sets to work “birth-proofing” the bed by taking off the wet sheets, putting down new ones, placing waterproof shower curtains, then places not so new sheets over top of that. You, meanwhile, make your way out of the bedroom, down the hall, and to the guest room, where your mother, who had finally started to come around, has been camping out for the past four weeks in anticipation for the arrival of her first grandchild.

“Mom…” You whisper hesitantly, anxious about waking your mother up in the middle of the night despite the situation at hand. “Mama, my water broke.”

She doesn’t move and you panic for a moment, unsure of what to do, when you hear her mother’s voice. “Are you in labor?”

“I’m having contractions.” You bite your lip. “They’re about 30 minutes apart.” And with that your mother sits up and switches her bedside lamp on. She climbs out of bed and rushes over to you, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“What can I do for you, sunshine?”

“I’m okay for now, I just want to get back to bed before I have another contraction.” She helps you back down the hall towards the bedroom but before you can make it, you have to stop and brace yourself against the wall. “Fuck.” You curse as this contraction takes hold and all you can think about is counting how long it lasts. Your mother stands behind you and gently massages your upper back in an attempt to calm you. Alcina hurries out of your bedroom to your aide.

“Don’t worry I started the timer for this one.” Alcina leans against the wall next to you and runs her hand through your hair, but you stop her by grabbing her hand and squeezing. “You’re at 17 seconds, darling. You can do this.” Alcina assures you. 25 more seconds pass before you are able to relax again.

“When are we supposed to call the midwife?” Your mother asks.

“They told us when the contractions are about 5 minutes apart, so I think we have awhile.” Alcina explains and you huff.

“This is going to be a long night.” You murmur as you check the time on the wall clock. “It’s 2:10 am and this has already been going on for about 2 hours since my water first broke.”

“It took you a whole hour to wake me up?” Alcina furrows her brow.

“I didn’t want to wake you up. I wanted you to get as much sleep as possible before the chaos.” You shrug and Alcina kisses your forehead. “And I wanted to be sure too.”

Six hours pass and your contractions are still about 25-30 minutes apart but increasing in discomfort. You don't know if they’re actually increasing in pain or if you’re just getting worn down at this point. At 9:02am, they run a hot bath for you to soak in, to try to ease some of the discomfort. It only helps a little bit. You try sitting normally in the tub, then kneeling against the wall of it, then sitting on all fours, before ending up back in a normal sitting position.

Despite the amount of pain and stress you’re in, you remain fairly positive and bubbly, and even joke around with Alcina. Your mother decided to go back to sleep around 3:45, with some convincing from you, so she’d be ready when the baby actually decided to make an appearance. But at around 10:23 she knocks on the bathroom door and is let in by Alcina. She kisses the top of your head and hands Alcina a light breakfast for both of you.

“You gotta keep your strength up.” She smiles at both of you. “How are you doing, my sweet?”

You, resting her head against the side of the tub look up at her mother and smile weakly. “I’d be doing a lot better if this baby would come.” Just as you finish your sentence another contraction, one of the worst yet, comes on and you start to weep.

“I’m going to call Dani.”Alcina murmurs. The daughter of your girlfriend who had become more like a sister to you.

“Please!” You gasp, your voice a mixture of exhaustion and pain, tears rolling freely down your cheeks. Alcina sits behind you and wraps her arms around your shoulders, whispering words of encouragement into your ear. After about a minute and a half the contraction passes and you sigh. “I need to get out of here. I’m getting pruny and I’m tired. I want to rest.”

You get in a rough nap before the contractions interrupt your sleeping too much. When you wake though, you’re pleasantly surprised to see Dani sitting at the foot of her bed.

“Hey, Tiny.” Dani smiles. You smile softly and reach out for Dani’s hand. “How’s it going?”

“Oh you know, I’ve been in labor for…” You pause to check the clock and calculate the time. “13 hours with no pain medicine. I’m surviving.”

Alcina wants to give you and Dani some time together but when you have another contraction, once again, that’s seemingly worse than the last, she can’t help but run to your side. “Talk to me, darling. What’s going on?”

“They’re barely 10 minutes apart. I think this one is 7 minutes after the last one.” You spit out the words and cling to Alcina, digging your nails into her arm.

“I’m going to call the midwife as soon as this one passes.”

It takes the midwife, Janet, over 30 minutes to get to the castle from outside the village . It’s exactly 2:00 pm when Janet walks through the door. By that time, your contractions are less than 5 minutes apart and so intense you have to hold onto both Alcina and Dani. You’re sweating, crying a little bit, not nearly as bubbly as before, completely drained, but focused and still positive.

“Hey, sweetstuff.” Janet hums and she greets you, and you give her a soft smile. “I know you’re miserable so I’m gonna save the ‘how are you doing’ speech and get to it. First things first, can I check to see how dilated you are?”

Janet determines you are about 6 centimeters dilated and you arebeyond thrilled to be over halfway to the end. “So now we wait and we breathe and try to relax and keep drinking water. You are a trooper. I know I couldn’t do what you’re doing, but it is so worth it and so wonderful for you and your baby.” Janet’s warm and assuring tone makes you feel like maybe you didn’t make the wrong choice by going with a natural home birth and some of your regret fades.

You eventually go back to the tub, where you find kneeling against the side of it helps to relieve some of the pressure this time. Your contractions are closer together and they’re shorter, but they are worse than any pain that you’ve ever felt before. Each one makes you feel like you’re going to fall apart at the joints.

At around 4:30, the contractions are enough to make you cry and moan in pain constantly, and it is almost too much to bear for everyone witnessing their sweet little Tiny suffer so much. You’ve moved from kneeling against the tub to your bed. Your knees are planted on the floor, your chest is resting against the side of the mattress, your shoulders are curled in on yourself, and your head is pressed into the bed. You want to push so bad and every passing second the pressure continues to build. You feels like if you don’t push immediately you’re going to explode

“Alright, baby, you’re 8 centimeters dilated. We’re almost there.” Janet isn’t so calming anymore when she doesn’t say what you want to hear.

“How much longer?” You whimper.

Janet sighs. “I wish I could give you an answer. It could be 30 minutes, or it could be three hours. There’s no way to tell.”

You curse Janet for even mentioning three hours because sure enough with your luck it is another five hours before you’re fully dilated. By this point, you don't even know how you’re going to find the strength to push. It’s been almost 24 hours since your labor began and now you’re just getting to the point where you can start pushing. You’re still squatting next to the bed when Janet gives you the first instruction to push. You thought for hours that pushing would provide some kind of relief, but when the pressure worsens as you push you want to stop more than any other moment of the process.

An hour passes with barely any luck or movement from the baby and both you and Alcina start to get worried. Janet assures them that it’s normal and the delivery itself can take two to three hours, especially without any medication. You move to the bed and lay on your side with your leg towards your chest as far as they’ll go. This seems to do the trick and soon Janet is exclaiming that she feels a head.

The final, and 25th, hour of labor passes and soon the house fills with the most beautiful sound you've ever heard: the sound of your baby crying. Janet lays your baby in your arms and that first moment of skin-to-skin contact feels like heaven. You look down and the little face in your arms and start to openly sob, as does everyone else in the room.

“It’s a girl.” Janet smiles. You can’t pry her eyes away from her, from your daughters.

“Cina… we have a baby. We have a daughter.” You whisper. Alcina is a mess, with tears streaming down her face and trembling with soft sobs. After feeding her, Janet wants to give Alcina the skin-to-skin contact as well and kicks Dani and your mother out so the new mothers can have some privacy. Alcina holds him against her chest while you lie in bed next to her, resting and recovering. “What’re we going to name her?”

“Slowpoke because it took her so long to get here.” Alcina teases in a soft voice directed towards the now sleeping baby.

You smile and reach over to touch the baby’s cheek. “Honestly, not to be one of those moms, but what if we just named her what she is?”

“What’s that?” Alcina asks, raising a brow at you.

“A bearer of good news and hope..”

“My dear, I don’t think that’s a name.” Alcina chuckles a little.

“No, but Evangeline is.”

Alcina’s face twists into one of pure joy. “Evangeline Dimitrescu.” She nods. “That’ll do just fine.”

[iclaimedtobethebetterbard]

the sky’s open wide, i’m running with the wolves - chapter 1

Fandom: Sanders Sides Characters: All the sides, background Remy, background c!Thomas Rating: Teen & up (see Warnings) Relationships: Platonic/brotherly Virgil with Logan and the Creativitwins; platonic/parental Patton & Virgil; platonic/brotherly Logan and the Creativitwins with each other; platonic/parental Janus with Logan and the Creativitwins; background endgame Moceit.  Warnings: Probably some language; references to Christianity; non-graphic violence.  Word count: 1570 Notes: Wolfwalkers (2020) AU! You don’t need to have seen the movie to enjoy this, though. 

Read on AO3!

My writing masterpost

start - previous - here - next - masterpost

Summary: When Patton is charged with hunting down the wolves in the woods, he believes he is protecting his young son Virgil. But Virgil is afraid to watch his father vanish into the woods, and sneaks after him. When Virgil runs into three wolf cubs who hold the secrets of the forest, he has to make a choice: obey the rules he’s known all his life? Or try to help the three shapeshifting boys find their missing father—even though Virgil's always been taught that the only safe wolf is a dead one? As Virgil explores the wonderful world his new friends show him, and uncovers the lies his town is built on, he may be too late to realize that his choices will cost him more than he ever bargained for.

Chapter 1

Remy would never have particularly considered himself a God-fearing man. Oh, he said his prayers and went to church, of course, but it was more a comfortable habit woven into the fabric of his life than something he devoted much thought to. Even at nineteen, he preferred to occupy his day-to-day thoughts with such matters as the tending of his sheep, the comfort of a nice dry pair of woolen socks, the avoidance of wolves, and, most of all, the brewing of a good cup of tea.

Remy was good at his job. He tended his sheep; he stayed well away from the woods. Everyone knew you didn’t mess with the woods. Stay away from their territory, and keep up the deal of old, and always be safe. He had never put much thought into this, either; it was much more important, in Remy’s eyes, to consider the fine taste that a brew steeped just right could carry.

He never expected his thoughtless respect for the woods to pay off.

The first time Remy saw a Wolfwalker, he was twenty-five years old and had started to wonder if he even believed they were real. But after that day, he never doubted again.

After all, how else could one explain the way the huge, snarling gray wolf, poised to deliver a killing bite to one of Remy’s finest sheep, had heard that commanding howl come from the woods, and put its tail between its legs and run back home in response?

Remy had watched the wolf run, standing frozen in fear and shock—and then he’d seen the Wolfwalker. A tall, tremendous wolf standing at the edge of the treeline, easily twice the size of the largest man, with dark gray fur and eyes gleaming yellow, a jagged scar running down one side of its face. Lean and powerful. Remy instinctively knew this was no ordinary wolf.

Remy had never considered himself a God-fearing man, but staring at the Wolfwalker and the way it commanded the pack of ordinary wolves surrounding it, he thought to himself that perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to pray a little harder.

“Thank you,” he croaked out when the Wolfwalker turned its eyes on him. “Thank you, m’lord—bless ye—I’ll never cross your territory, you may be sure of that—thank you for protecting my sheep—” He barely even knew what he was saying, babbling out his thoughts in more than a little healthy terror.

He wasn’t quite sure if the way the Wolfwalker bowed its head was a nod of acknowledgement, but the next moment, the Wolfwalker was leaping away, the pack of wolves trailing in its wake. And not a single sheep of Remy’s had been harmed.

Remy didn’t see the Wolfwalker often; over the next decade or so, he crossed paths with—him? Remy somehow got the feeling it was a him—perhaps half a dozen times. Every time he came away filled with awe and fear and a renewed sense that though the Wolfwalker was terrifying and fearsome, Remy would far rather live under his odd protection than whatever farce could be provided by all these guards the new Lord Protector kept bringing around.

Before he knew it, Remy was nearly thirty-seven and his appreciation of a good cup of tea had only strengthened over the years. He went to church and said his prayers with gusto, and every night he glanced out to the woods and gave a little nod of respect. For the Wolfwalker and, these last few years, the little cubs that followed in his wake.

As long as the people kept themselves to themselves and stayed out of the woods, Remy knew there was nothing to fear from the wolves.

***

“I don’t want you to go!” Logan clung to Janus’s wrist, digging his heels into the ground and trying to physically hold him back.

Janus lifted his powerful arm and picked the near-teen right up off the ground with almost no effort at all. “This is terribly grown-up of you,” he informed his eldest son dryly.

“There are too many humans,” Logan insisted, dangling from Janus’s arm, the little claws of his hands pricking at Janus’s skin. “You said only the forest was safe!”

Janus drew a long breath. “And that has been true for time immemorial. But things have changed. I like it no more than you do. But I need you to stay here and look after your brothers, you understand me, Logan? I will find us a new forest, a safer one, without any humans who want to cut and burn the trees or trap us with iron. And then I will come back and get you three, and we will go there.”

“But this forest is ours!” Logan protested. “No other forest will be ours like this one is.”

“Logan,” Janus said, and his voice bore an undercurrent of a warning snarl now, “I am doing what I must to protect my cubs.”

He didn’t know where to go, only that they couldn’t stay here. Not with the way the humans kept getting bolder and bolder and venturing deeper into the woods. Between Logan’s poor eyesight and the twins’ recklessness, and the way all three of them were only cubs and couldn’t defend themselves well yet, Janus was getting twitchier and twitchier by the day.

Logan stilled, an unhappy look on his face. “Can I come with you, at least? I can help! I’m very good at figuring things out! We could find a new forest together!”

“No,” Janus responded at once, his heart rate quickening at the idea. “I don’t—” He broke off and reconsidered what he was about to say. “I need you to look after the twins,” he said at last, striving to keep his voice casual.

Not casual enough. Logan stared at him, a look of dawning horror on his face. “You think you might not come back!” he accused.

Janus refrained from speaking the curse he wanted to let out. Logan had always been far too observant. “Of course I’ll come back,” he lied through his teeth, running a comforting hand through Logan’s tangled hair. “I only want to make sure the way is safe for my little ones first.”

Logan had spoken the truth a moment ago: there were too many humans these days. Janus wasn’t sure it was possible to safely venture past the borders of the forest anymore. He wasn’t sure there was anywhere left to take his little ones.

He wasn’t sure he would survive this search.

But it wasn’t like there were any other options left at this point. “Logan,” Janus said, kneeling down and putting his hands on the boy’s shoulders. He focused on making his voice honey-sweet and sincere. “I’m going to keep you safe, you understand? I would never abandon you. You are in charge of keeping your brothers safe until I return, but I will be back in a month or two.” Janus held the little boy’s brown eyes and tried not to think of humans with their traps and spears and guns and the way that once Janus left the forest he would have nowhere to hide.

“I will come back,” Janus told Logan, and he put his whole heart into his lie. “I promise.”

***

“I don’t want to move to some stupid village.” Virgil kicked his feet against the edge of the wagon petulantly, poking a piece of straw through the bars of his kestrel Thomas’s cage.

Patton sighed and reached back to ruffle his son’s hair, not taking his eyes from the winding dirt road. “I know, kiddo. We’re going to have a better life there. The Lord Protector offers a handsome salary to Hunters who can bring down wolves. They say the town is terrorized day and night, and they need to rid the forest of these pests so they can safely harvest the wood and expand the borders of the town.”

“But I hate when you go hunting!” Virgil crawled up to the driver’s seat beside Patton and clung to his arm. “I’m always so scared you’ll get eaten up! Or step in a trap! Or fall off a cliff! Or drown! Or—”

“Hey, there. Hey, now.” Patton wrapped an arm around Virgil’s shoulders. “Breathe, child. Breathe for me.” He murmured soothingly for a few minutes. “Now, come on, tell me: who taught you to draw a bow and arrow?”

“You,” Virgil mumbled.

“Good lad. And who taught you to track?”

“You did.”

“And what do you think? Am I a good Hunter? Haven’t I always kept you safe as can be?”

“Yes, but—”

“Virgil,” Patton interrupted, gentle but firm.

Virgil fidgeted for a moment. “It only has to go bad once, and you’d never come home again!”

“It’s a good thing I’d never do that, then,” Patton said, chucking Virgil under the chin and chuckling. “I mean, I have a sturdy little lad to look after, I must always make sure I hasten home to him at the end of the day.” He drew Virgil close and gave him a protective, reassuring hug. “Nothing’s going to get your Papa. I promise. I will always protect you, Virgil, you hear me? And today, the best way to protect you is to find ourselves a new home out here. We’ll make do, never you worry. I’m sure you’ll have lots of new friends in no time!”

--

Taglist (ask to be added/removed!): 

@theimprobabledreamersworld @private-snippers @fivehargreeves05 

[beewolfwrites]

And When I am Formulated, Sprawling on a Pin - Chapter Twenty-Two: Until Human Voices Wake Us

I know how this chapter finishes, but before you worry, it’s not the last one :) 

As always, this is a Chishiya x OC/Reader fic, and if you’re new, feel free to read the full fic here on AO3. 

(If I can figure out how to do it, I'll probably create a master post at some point.)

Thank you for all the positivity with the previous chapter, you’re all so kind! I hope you love this one as much! 

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

I saw a white flash and the blinding rage of Niragi’s eyes, before my body was ripped from the balcony. My back slammed against the stone pillar, and the force knocked the air from my lungs. For a split second, panic took over me. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t breathe. But then a familiar scent of laundry detergent and sweat overwhelmed my senses, and I knew I was breathing, even if I couldn’t feel the air.

I’m alive, I think.

Chishiya’s body was pushed against mine, his hands pressing my shoulders into the pillar as bullets tore past us. Through the thin fabric of his hoodie, I could feel the elevated thump of his heart, and his hair tickled my face with each quick breath.

Suddenly, the bullets stopped.

‘Chishiya?’

He stepped away, his eyes scanning over the both of us as he checked for any injuries. There was no blood on him that I could see, however a bullet had torn through his hood, shredding the fabric in two.

‘I need to go down there,’ I said. The flames were spreading thick and fast, and it was becoming harder to breathe. ‘I need to help them, or at the very least, apologise to Usagi and Arisu for what we did. And I need you not to stop me again.’

His eyes narrowed, but after a moment of hesitation, he said, ‘meet me by the river afterwards. And use your head, stay away from Niragi.’ Shoving his hands in his pockets, he began walking towards the hallway that would lead upstairs.

‘Where are you going?’

He half-turned, replying ‘there’s something I need.’

Then he disappeared, and no matter how much I despised him for the way he’d treated me, I couldn’t help but pray he would return unscathed.

The riverside, I thought, focus on the riverside.

Holding my sleeve over my mouth and nose, I ducked under flaming ceilings and sidestepped burning carpets like hopscotch. Then sprinting down the staircase, I reached the lobby just in time to witness Niragi pointing his gun at Arisu’s head.

No!

I ran, seeing nothing but the glistening burns of Niragi’s skin, and the finger resting on the trigger. But when the shot fired, it didn’t hit Arisu.

Aguni charged like an animal, even as the bullets burst through his skin. His body slammed into Niragi’s, carrying the both of them off into the flames and smoke. There were several gunshots… and then nothing. It all happened within seconds, but his sacrifice held everyone’s attention as we all looked at the space where they had both disappeared.

Thank you, Aguni.

‘THREE MINUTES REMAINING.’

There was no time to check if they were dead. Several survivors jumped into action as they lifted Momoka’s body, taking it through the entrance and out towards the patio. It turned out they didn’t need my help. But it was okay. There was still a loose end I had to tie.  

Usagi was sitting on the ground, inspecting Arisu’s injuries as he winced and insisted that he was okay. They both froze when they saw me approaching.

‘ごめんなさい,’ I said, sincerely. ‘苣屋の本当の予定が知らなかった.’ I’m so sorry. I didn’t know about Chishiya’s real plan.

Usagi looked unsure of whether to believe me, and truth be told, I didn’t expect her to, let alone forgive me. Arisu didn’t seem as hesitant though. He searched my expression as if he were solving a puzzle.

‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘I’m guessing he tricked you too.’

I nodded, wishing I could go back and change things. After this, I would meet Chishiya by the river, hopefully to put this chapter to rest so I could move forwards and focus on surviving. But for now, I extended a hand.

Arisu gladly took it, and supporting his weight between us, Usagi and I helped him out of the building. I tried not to look back, I really did, but there was no trace of Chishiya in the flames.

Please don’t let the riverside be another lie.

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

‘GAME CLEAR - CONGRATULATIONS!’

The singsong voice echoed through our phones as we all gathered to watch the fire of judgement consume Momoka’s body. Countless hands and legs extended out of the pile, blackened and stiff. Eventually, they would all char away into a single pool of ash. Nobody spoke, and yet somehow, the screams still rang out over the crackle of the embers. Our ‘utopia’ was burning to the ground, there were barely any survivors, and there was nothing left for us but a pyrrhic victory.  

One by one, the others began filing out of the patio to get away from the hotel before it collapsed. Following behind, I took one last look at the entrance.

There’s no sign of either of them…

I should’ve been mad. No, I was mad. But that wasn’t to say I’d stopped loving him, and the thought that he might not have made it out was too difficult to bear. The same went for Kuina. Even if she probably knew that Chishiya had been screwing with my mind this whole time, I still loved her like a sister, and that would never change.

And so, while the others headed for the bridge, I broke off from the group and changed course towards the river. Noticing my disappearance, Usagi and Tatta looked back.

‘Aren’t you coming?’ Usagi called.

I smiled and shook my head. ‘また後でね,’ I shouted. ‘See you later!’

It’s not a goodbye. I just have some things to sort out.

The two looked at each other, doubtful, then waved as they disappeared into the darkness. They would probably all form a camp together, so if things with Chishiya ended here, or if he never made it to the river, it wouldn’t be too difficult to find them.

Without the heat of the fire, the night was cool, and I shivered as I made my way down the pebble banks to the riverside. I sat near the water’s edge and watched from afar as the roof of the Beach collapsed in places, bringing my hope down with it. There was still no sign of Chishiya, but I couldn’t keep my eyes from the hotel.

There’s always a chance. He wouldn’t die that easily.

Even as the cold of the pebbles seeped into my skin, and the wind blew through the burnt holes in my hoodie, I waited and waited. Before long though, I sank my face into my knees and wrapped my arms around my head to stave off the cold. It did nothing to ease the hollowness growing inside me, nor the empty sound of the water lapping against the bank.

‘Crying again?’

My heart jumped, my head snapping up instinctively.

You’re here.

Chishiya ambled along the bank, coming to a stop a few feet away from where I was sitting. Aside from the grey tinge of soot on his white hoodie, he was unharmed. ‘You don’t have much faith in me,’ he said with a half-smile, and held up the Ten of Hearts card.

That was what this was all about. Everything he had done, it all led up to the last card. I got to my feet, unsure of how to feel now he was standing before me. Even though I was relieved, it didn’t change anything.

‘You’re right,’ I said. ‘I don’t have much faith in you. All you’ve done is lie to me.’

‘Hmm….’ He looked towards the Beach. ‘That’s not strictly true.’

He was referring to what he’d said on the rooftop, but even that was probably a lie. After I had chosen not to follow him and Kuina, he must’ve realised he’d lost one of his chess pieces.

‘Kuina,’ I said. ‘Is she....’

‘She’s fine.’

I released a breath, relaxing. ‘That’s good to hear.’ I was afraid of the answer, but I had to ask. I needed to know. ‘Did you tell her to become friends with me, for your plan?’

He carefully considered the question. ‘At the very beginning, when I asked her to take you some food, she offered to become your friend,’ he said. ‘But that was before she met you. She asked me to change the plan to keep you out of it.’

While I was relieved to hear that my friendship with Kuina wasn’t orchestrated by Chishiya, I still felt disappointed. ‘So that’s why you decided to switch from me to Arisu.’

‘Kuina had nothing to do with it. I changed my mind for my own reasons.’

I shook my head, quickly growing irritated. We kept going round and round in circles, and  he wasn’t registering anything I was saying. It no longer mattered whether he was telling the truth or lying, because there was no trust left to give. And even now, he just kept persisting with the same tactics.

‘I already told you back then,’ I said.  ‘I don’t know what’s real and what’s not, so I can’t believe in anything you say anymore.’

Chishiya nodded slowly. ‘You also mentioned proof.’

‘Only because you can’t prove it.’

He tilted his head. ‘Actually, you’re wrong.’ Fishing around in his pocket, he pulled something out and stared at it in his palm. In the darkness, it was impossible to see what it was.

‘What are you doing?’

With a sly smile, he replied, ‘I’m forcing the moment to its crisis.’

My thoughts stopped abruptly. That was… he couldn’t have researched it, could he? Memories of the pharmacy flashed through my mind, the oceanic blue light that saturated the room, him wrapping my arm in bandages, and me reciting lines of poetry.

He read the rest of the poem?

If he did, he must’ve realised what it was about. My eyes dropped to the item in his hands, right before he tossed it at me. Catching it, I found it was a small box. I had a feeling what it was, and my fingers shook as I opened it. Inside, propped up in the middle, was a silver ring set with a peridot stone.

The jewellery store...

Back then, I had told him about my real-world obsession with stones... all my childish dreams.

And peridot.

It was a stone brought to earth through a cosmic explosion, known by Ancient Egyptians as ‘gems of the sun’, and considered ‘evening emeralds’ by Romans because of their bright warmth, radiating even under candlelight.

‘I was in a game, when I saw it,’ he said, staring out across the river. ‘The Eight of Diamonds. At the time, I didn’t know why I took it.’

Tears dripped down my chin as I closed my eyes, embracing the pain and the relief and everything else I couldn’t even begin to describe in words. Chishiya didn’t approach me, let alone try to comfort me, but simply stood there by the edge of the water, waiting for me to stop crying like an idiot.

‘This isn’t fair.’ I hated the way my voice cracked.  ‘You can’t just do this after everything. You can’t just expect things to be okay now.’

‘I know.’

‘And you can’t just pretend like none of it ever happened.’

‘I know that too,’ he said.  

‘You…’ I stepped forwards, wrapping my arms around his body and clutching onto the back of his hoodie. ‘I… I hate you so much.’

At first, he tensed. Then I felt his hand on the top of my head. ‘No, you don’t.’

We remained like that for a minute or so, until a light rain pattered down around us, and it became clear Chishiya was growing uncomfortable. He had never been one for human contact. Moving back to give him his space, I slid the ring onto my finger. It was almost a miracle that he’d gotten a perfect fit.

Chishiya took one look, regarding it coolly. ‘Before you get the wrong idea,’ he said, ‘this isn’t a—’

‘I understand.’ I smiled, using my sleeve to wipe the tears and rain from my face. ‘I don’t care about any of that. Especially not while we’re still in this world. Just stay with me for a while. That’s all I want.’

When he didn’t respond, I suddenly became aware of the gentle weight knocking against my side. The copy of Wuthering Heights was still in my pocket. After all we’d been through, it had completely slipped my mind.

I tugged it free. The spine was bent, and the pages were curved from being crammed into such a small space, but it was intact, and I was glad I had rescued it before the hotel burned down. Using my hand to try and shield it from the rain, I flipped through the pages and held it open for Chishiya, who only looked at it with contempt.

‘Of all the things to save,’ he muttered.

I gestured to the mysterious quote, determined to get an answer this time. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you about this for ages. You’ve underlined it but I can’t seem to translate it.’

He took the book from my hands and scrutinized the quotation. ‘“I’m tired of being enclosed here. I’m wearying to escape into that glorious world, and to be always there; not seeing it dimly through tears, and yearning for it through the walls of an aching heart; but really with it, and in it”.’ Once he finished translating, he closed the book and held it back out to me. ‘I didn’t underline that.’

Wait… but how?

‘You didn’t?’ I asked, confused. ‘Why was it highlighted then?’

‘It was used when I found it.’ He shrugged. ‘It probably belonged to a student at some point.’

‘Oh…’

I couldn’t help but feel let down at how the big reveal had been nothing more than a student’s annotation. But at the same time, the quote still meant something. It had been me all along.

‘Chishiya…’ I said quietly, ‘I don’t want to be afraid of things anymore.’ I glanced down at the ring on my finger. ‘I don’t want to be afraid of you either.’

I want to start a new page and write a new book.

When looked at me, he had that same unreadable expression. ‘Then don’t be.’

And then, soft as the rain on the river water, I kissed him. It was awkward and clumsy, and his whole body went rigid, but he didn’t flinch. Instead, his hand came to rest on the back of my head, neither moving nor resisting. Eventually, I pulled away, and the only sound was the silky surface of the water breaking against the pebbles.

‘Let’s go,’ he said. ‘Kuina is waiting for us.’

It was the beginning of a new chapter, but this time, there would be no secrets. We’d write it together.

‘Okay.’

[mostlycompetentwriter]

You Can STAY - Part 12

Pairing: Y/N x Felix (Side Pairing: Y/N x Stray Kids)

Genre: Fantasy AU; OT8; Scarlet Heart AU

Warnings: Lots of Angst; Major Character Death

A/N: This is the final part of You Can STAY. I have determined that I am very bad at writing series, and I apologize for the ending...I imagine that many of you will express mixed emotions.

However, there is a epilogue coming soon in the future! And I will, of course, add all of the parts together into one easily accessible story for future readers!

Nine Months Later

If I were to tell the end of my story, I would want it to go something like this: “At the edge of the Kingdom, secluded in the northernmost woods, a former Castle Mage lived with her husband and unborn son, dreaming about the King who stole her heart.”

I don’t like sad endings, but sometimes there are sacrifices whose consequences are too grave to ignore. While Felix ruled the Kingdom exactly as I had once urged him, I did my part by spending long hours tucked away inside a little cabin as my stomach grew rounder and the days grew shorter.

Jisung was good company, when he was around. In between his visits, he worked on the margins, watching over Felix and working with Chan to secure our borders and alliances. He was still very much ostracized from political life, and Felix, to my knowledge, had never forgave his brothers for their part in the rebellion that changed the Kingdom. 

“I can deal with his wrath,” Jisung told me one morning. “I’m perfectly content.”

I managed a smile in return, but it was half-hearted. I knew that Jisung was referring to our marriage, one that only existed on paper, so that he could support me in isolation. He was more than content to live with me and provide anything that my heart desired.

But my heart’s most fervent wish lived in the Castle beyond the horizon, and I could easily glimpse the tops of the tallest towers, wondering if Felix ever looked out from the balcony and thought of the woman he once loved.

Of course he does, a voice at the back of my head reminded me.

“Hyunjin tells me that Felix speaks of you often,” Jisung added, even though it didn’t do much to assuage my guilt. 

Thankfully, Felix had accepted Hyunjin back into the Castle as a personal advisor, likely because Hyunjin had nothing to do with Jisung, Jeongin, and Chan’s plan to overtake the Kingdom and dispose Changbin.

It seemed like a distant memory, and I sighed at the nostalgia of those memories: occasions where I walked through the hallways of the Castle, exploring the gardens and distant grounds, thinking of the day when Felix and I would finally both be free to love without constraint.

It belongs in that past, those sort of thoughts, and I had long ago given up on the prospect of a complete family where I could simply exist as someone who wanted to love and be loved.

Of course, there was also the issue of my health.

Despite early good reports on my pregnancy, our doctor had recently decided that my prognosis wasn’t as easy as he had initially perceived: “You might have difficulties,” he told me. “During the birth.”

“Oh,” was all I could manage, and I barely felt Jisung squeezing my hand as everything changed in a single moment. 

One day, along the bright edges of the morning, Hyunjin came to visit.

“You look well,” he told me, accepting a drink from Jisung who then came to sit next to me.

“I feel good,” I said, even though there was still a prickling of doubt at the furthest reaches of my subconscious - a reminder that my future was suddenly difficult to presume.

“I’m glad,” Hyunjin replied sincerely, and he turned his attention to Jisung. “I just got back from a meeting with a Southern convoy. Things are turning around.”

“Good,” Jisung said, reaching out to take my hand. “We were worried for a while.”

I forced a smile, barely listening as they continued talking, discussing the same politics that I could barely stand since they had cost me everything. 

“Where are you going this weekend?” Jisung asked, and I was faintly aware of Hyunjin’s response, but more than anything, my attention was suddenly preoccupied with a sharp pain in my abdomen.

I winced immediately, and Jisung noticed my discomfort, falling down onto his knees in front of me. “Y/N?” he asked, tone hesitant.

“Hurts,” I managed, and I could see Hyunjin getting up from the corner of my eye.

“Do you need the doctor?” Jisung asked, and I managed a nod, keeling over when it felt like a thousand knives were piercing me all at once. 

“I’ll go,” Hyunjin volunteered, but his voice sounded distant, like I had abruptly been submerged beneath the water, struggling to hear.

“Y/N!” Jisung repeated, and his eyes were frantic as they found mine. “You’ll stay with me, right?”

I tried to say something, but there was a peculiar pull to the dark that was far more compelling, and I fell under its spell while Jisung became nothing more than a distant shadow.

When I woke back up again, the shapes and figures surrounding me were difficult to discern.

My stomach rolled and my skin felt like it burning! I groaned at the discomfort, attracting the attention of the two men standing at the door. “Y/N,” Jisung’s familiar voice spoke through the reverie, and he was at my side within moments, taking my hand in his own. 

“Hello again, dear,” another voice said, and I recognized the doctor as he released a tired sigh. “Seems like we’re at a difficult point.”

I nodded, opening my mouth to speak, but ultimately deciding to remain silent. “I’m so sorry, Y/N,” Jisung whispered to me, and my heart ached at the pain in his eyes. “Do you feel like seeing a visitor?”

Not really, but I agreed nonetheless, expecting Hyunjin to enter the room. But nothing could’ve prepared me for the sight of a familiar mess of red hair and bright green eyes. “Y/N.”

“Felix,” I said, voice hoarse and gravelly, but there were tears falling even without my awareness, and I quickly noticed that Jisung and the doctor had vacated the room.

It was a little awkward though, after all this time, looking back at Felix as he looked back at me, gaze heavy with something striking. “Y/N,” he whispered, and I was shocked to see him breakdown, making it to my bedside before falling onto the edge of the mattress. 

“Are you okay?” I asked, instinctively, reaching out without hesitation to card my fingers through his hair.

He sniffled in response, looking up at me with tear-streaked eyes and a beautiful smile. “I am now.”

My heart stuttered at his sentiment, and I wanted nothing more than to curl myself into Felix and lose myself there in his embrace. “I missed you,” I whimpered. 

“I know, love,” Felix said, and he pressed a kiss to the back of my hand. 

“I’m sorry I left,” I whispered - as if it were an afterthought.

“I understand,” he replied, looking at me to expose the truth - he was aware, despite what I had burdened myself with believing. He knew why I had to leave, and there was nothing but peace left between us.

Peace and Love.

“At first, I was angry and confused,” Felix said. “But I read your letter, and I had Hyunjin to help guide me. He helped me realize that you left so that I could fulfill the destiny I had been denied as a child. It was painful without you, but our circumstances were far from trivial.”

“Yes,” I exhaled, tightening my grip on him. “I never wanted to leave.”

“It’s okay,” Felix reassured me, and his eyes were soft as they paused on my lips. “We’ve always been tethered at the soul. Together, even if it couldn’t be in the way we truly desired.”

He kissed me then, igniting a furious passion that had laid dormant inside of me for months. “It’s yours, you know,” I said, pulling back to graze the pretty line of his lashes. “The child is ours.”

Felix inhaled abruptly, looking down at my swollen stomach. “Truly? Hyunjin said that you were pregnant, but I didn’t want to assume-”

“It could’ve never belonged to anyone else,” I interrupted him. “It’s always been you.”

Felix nodded, allowing one hand to smooth down over the sheets, following the outline of my stomach. “This is more than I could ever ask for.”

I smiled at his pretty words, but then I felt a cold sweat break out against the back of my neck. “Felix,” I said. “The doctor told me that the pregnancy might bring some complications.”

He shivered, and I was surprised by the unfiltered grief written across his expression. “I know that too.”

“If I don’t survive-”

“If,” Felix growled, emphasizing that nothing could ever be certain.

“If,” I agreed. “I want you to raise our child. He deserves to be with his father.”

Felix visibly swallowed, looking away as if having trouble completing such a promise, but I forced him to look at me again. “Alright,” he eventually conceded. “If such things manifest.”

“And you need to forgive your brothers,” I said, holding him at attention in case he tried to move away again. “After all this time...”

“Y/N,” Felix sighed. “Why does this sound like a goodbye?”

I held my tongue, glancing down at our intertwined hands. “Think of it as a start to the next chapter.”

Felix chuckled, affectionate gaze meeting mine. “I’ll be here until it’s over. When you can rest for as long as you want.” 

“Thank you,” I said. “And you will always have me. In one way or another.”

“I can rest easy,” Felix said, and he started murmuring something soft and sweet to the unborn child inside of me, and I found myself able to breathe a lit bit easier for the first time in months.

I even managed a smile, knowing that I could still give Felix a piece of me after I was gone. Unlike our complicated time together at the Castle, our unborn son would be free of those heavy restrictions, and perhaps it was the better outcome. Because, when I really thought about it, our son wouldn’t just be a piece of me. It would be a little part of Felix as well, and I felt nothing short of triumphant when I imagined a world with the right combination of Y/N and Felix. Together at long last. 

Victorious until the bittersweet end.

[dawn-of-tomorrow]

PGR COMMANDANT Q & A

FINALLY TOOK THE TIME TO ANSWER THIS-- ssdsjdlksd

link to OG post here! (made by @punishing-gray-raven-ocs)

1) How do you feel about being a Commandant? Are you proud of your job? Terrified of failing at your job?

Higetsu: Honestly speaking, it's nothing new compared to what I went through in the past-- just that now I've become an authority figure that has to lead people. ...Truthfully, however, a little unnerving, but it has to be done, and I knew what I was getting into when I decided to become one.

Yoko: Mhhmm... it's tough, I'm not gonna lie. Sometimes I have to make decisions I personally don't like but the situation demands it, and it ends up not sitting right with me. ...That's why an occasional loophole exploitation here and there is fine in spare amounts, ain't it~?

(Higetsu: Who the hell taught you to think like that-- you know what, never mind, I'd be shooting myself in the foot if I finished that sentence. // Yoko: *giggles, does a victory pose*)

2) Why did you become Commandant in the first place? How did you become a Commandant?

Yoko: Brother and I decided to become a Commandant to honor mom's memory. It sounds kinda childish to have that as a reason to take up a career as dangerous as this, but, at least to me (though I'm sure brother shares the same sentiment as I do), mom was everything to us, so we wanted to experience what she did, see the sights she did-- all the good and bad.

Higetsu: "That person", huh... Speaking of which, the relatively-fresh flowers at that grave--... No, it's nothing. In any case, "that person" took us in as her children after finding us in the remnants of our old home, bringing us back to Babylonia, to her home and husband. Well, things went as you can see, no?

3) How do your Constructs feel about your leadership skills? Are they comfortable with you? Do they fear you?

Higetsu: There's no issues at the moment with either Strike Hawk or Gray Raven. After all, if there was any problem, either Chrome or Lucia would've told me. ...Leading isn't my strongest skill, though, and sometimes they worry me. Actually, scratch that, not sometimes, FREQUENTLY. Haaaahh.

Yoko: Hrmm~... honestly, I'm not entirely too confident with my leadership skills, and the others often say that I'm a bit too lenient when it comes to dealing with Gray Raven, but... they're still people, you know? I don't want them to get hurt too much, but they don't seem to value their own lives as much as I'd wish they do...

4) Do you think the war against the Corrupted will ever come to an end?

Yoko: It will certainly come, I know it. As long as everyone continues to fight for a future, a future where we can all live in peace, then I believe that this war will come to an end. Be it in our lifetime, or the next generation.

Higetsu: ... Honestly speaking, I'm not as optimistic as Yoko. This war has been going on for a century at this point, and we are still barely scratching the surface of our objectives; that and it would seem like a bunch of rats managed to infiltrate the higher-ups. ...In any case, while I do think that the odds are stacked against us, it doesn't mean I don't believe that, one day, this entire hell will come to an end.

5) Are you in love with anyone? What drew you to them?

Higetsu: ....No comment.

Yoko: Brother~~!! It's no fun if you don't answer a harmless question like this~~!! Or do you want me to talk about your ex-penpal--

Higetsu: I evoke my right to remain silent, and DON'T YOU DARE- LIKE I KEEP SAYING, WE WERE ONLY FRIENDS-- Don't make me not let you come to the Oasis with me next time.

Yoko: Hrrmph...! Fiiine~. In any case, I'll answer here right now. I--

Higetsu: It's Lee. We all know it, you're way too obvious in your affections for him.

Yoko: Ehehe... E-Ehem--! I-In any case~~ the things I like about Lee, gosh, there's so many I might not be able to tell everything (and it would take too long)--!

Higetsu: Then just list off the top 3 things you like about him (to shorten the exposition).

Yoko: Hmmm, top 3 things about Lee, huh.... well, for starters, I like his caring nature; it's not that obvious at first glance, but he really does care about the people around him, so much so that while he may gripe and verbally snark at others, in the end he chooses to do good by them and will protect them. Secondly, I like his focus and determination; he's a man of his word, and he doesn't make promises lightly, seeing them as something that must be upheld in sincerity-- ehe, his face whenever he's working on his tools and machinery is something I can't ever not look at. Thirdly, I like him; he's equally easily flustered and annoyed by a lot of things, but at the same time, he's also very serious and earnest in what he sets out to do; he's not honest with himself, but his actions speak for itself. ....That got long, didn't it?

Higetsu: Very much so.

Yoko: Ehe~.

6) If you had to choose between saving your squad, or saving yourself to make sure you would fight on in their honor, which would you choose?

Yoko: Both. I would save myself and my squad. I won't accept any other option; rather, if there's no other option, then I WILL force that third option in!

Higetsu: Logically speaking, both of my squads would tell me to survive and live another day, and I would agree with that. ...However, such a thing doesn't sit well with me. Even if there's only the tiniest sliver of a possibility that I could save them, no matter how reckless or dangerous it may be, then I'd save the Strike Hawks and Gray Ravens.

7) You have to make a difficult choice that will affect your squad and another squad. Which squad do you prioritize? Why?

Higetsu: We can't always save people from out of our reach, so it's best to protect the ones closest to you.

Yoko: But if there's a chance that we could help them, then--

Higetsu: ...I know. ...In the end, it's your choice to do what you think is right, Yoko.

Yoko: ...Yeah. I get it. Brother wants to protect me, Gray Raven, and Strike Hawk, even at the cost of other's lives.... that's why I wish to save the others too.

8) Who is your least favorite Construct/person to be around? Why?

Higetsu: Nanami.

Yoko: EEEHHH!??! Why?! Nanami's fun to be around!!

Higetsu: Shall I list off the reasons?

Yoko: ....Ok you have a point, but she's not at all that bad--!!

Higetsu: True, but the amount of headaches she causes us is just... haaaah.

Yoko: Ah, you're starting to sound like Watanabe. Is Brother becoming an uncle now? (laughs)

Higetsu: ...I'm leaving.

Yoko: Wait I was just kidding-- brother-- BROTHER--!!! (We're not even finished with answering the questions yet~!!)

Higetsu: Just kidding.

Yoko: Really--!! (pout)

Higetsu: (amused chuckle) What about you, Yoko?

Yoko: Eh? Me? Hmm.... I suppose... it would have to be Gabriel. It's a first that I'm saying this but, I really do hate him.

Higetsu: ... Don't worry, I can say the same thing.

9) What other Commandants would you like to meet? (a clear invitation for you to involve any of my Commandants lol, because I'm always up for interacting with others)

Yoko: I'm always happy to meet other Commandants~. It's always nice to meet your colleagues whenever, especially during off-work hours.

Higetsu: Except Vanessa though. I'd rather not deal with her again.

Yoko: Ehehe... Brother, you're making a scary face right now~. In any case, I've always wanted to meet Qiu, Ash, Xiao, Kyrie, and Noir!

Higetsu: Aaaah, them. They're interesting people, not gonna lie.

10) What will you do once the war is over? Will you miss leading your squad, or will you be happy that the war is over?

Higetsu: What will I do after the war is over? ...I haven't actually put any thought into what I would do after this is all over. What about you, Yoko?

Yoko: Hmmm... honestly, I wanna join the Association of Arts, specifically the Archaeological team! Because, you know, by then, there would be no more worry of the Punishing attacking, and we could finally be able to recover in peace the remnants of the Golden Age. I want to see it all-- what other stuff left have we not unearthed from the sands of time, what potential wonders are there left from the past. ...And of course, I wanna settle down with Lee someday too, ehe.

Higetsu: I see. You've really thought about this through, huh.

Yoko: Only a little, and just fairly recently. ...Not gonna lie, I'm gonna end up missing these days; where we're all together, even through pain and suffering, because there are still a lot of good moments to cherish.

Higetsu: But it doesn't mean that you have to cut off your connections, now does it. So long as you still value them wholeheartedly and sincerely, those bonds you hold close to you will never die out.

Yoko: Aaawww, brother, you're being finally honest~! (pokes)

Higetsu: ....Shut it. (pout)

Yoko: What about you, brother? What're you gonna do after the war ends?

Higetsu: Like I said, I don't know, since I haven't thought of it yet. ...But, I suppose quietly settling down somewhere would be nice.

Yoko: Oh, right, speaking of which-- didn't Watanabe extend an offer for us to join the Oasis? ...Don't tell me, brother is thinking--

Higetsu: No, I am not.

Yoko: But you ARE thinking about it, yes?

Higetsu: ....

Yoko: Hehe~. To be fair, the Oasis isn't so bad. The people there are really nice and warm. They really do seem to be people just trying to live and get by, helping and supporting each other.

[alls-fair-in-pride-and-prejudice]

Fluff Fandom Fic Request: Modern day Aaravos coming home to significant other who's had a rough day and he tries to cheer them up and they be cute n shit idk go nuts xD

Modern Day Aaravos x Reader - Chase the Darkness Away

A/N: The premise of this AU I’m using is that in the centuries that Aaravos was in the mirror, Xadia advanced to modern day technology. So, we still have magic and Aaravos is still the same sparkly elf. How did he escape the mirror? How did he meet the reader? Who knows and who cares! As I told you, king-bito in a private message, I turned this into therapy for myself, so it might be a tad more angsty than I planned. Sorry, but hopefully it can provide you or someone else some comfort in a dark time.

“Darling? How long have you been sitting there like that?”

I did not hear him come in, curled in on myself in a ball on the couch. I straighten myself, causing my back to protest in pain. “Um… what are you doing home already?” I ask, hastily wiping at the dried tear tracks on my face.

Aaravos furrows his brow ever so slightly. “It’s six pm.”

Oh… that means I have been sitting like this in my miserable state for… seven hours. My stomach growls, protesting the fact that in that time I forgot to eat. Aaravos sits next to me, reaching out to take one of my hands in his, unclenching my fists with some gentle prodding. “When was the last time you ate?” His lovely voice is laced with concern and gentleness.

Ashamed, I mumble my answer, “I had some cereal around ten-thirty.”

He shakes his head. “That’s not enough. You need to take care of yourself.” With surprising strength (or not so surprising, he had a lot of time to build up his strength during his solitude) he pulls me off the sofa and shoos me to the bathroom. “Go take a shower while I make dinner. You’ll feel better, and I expect you to eat when you get back.”

He has such a commanding presence that even my depressed ass cannot refuse him, although my shower consists more of staring into the void than actual cleaning. When I return with towel-dried hair, Aaravos is putting the finishing touches on a pasta dish. His options for sustenance were so limited in the mirror that he has really taken to cooking ever since regaining his freedom. When I sit down at the kitchen table, he places a heaping portion in front of me. “Try not to eat too fast; I would not want you to get sick.”

He sets up his own serving and sits next to me on the small table. All I can do is stare at the food in front of me as tears well up in my eyes. Aaravos stops in the middle of a bite to lean over and stroke my cheek, catching a tear with his thumb as it spills over my lashes. “What’s going on, love?”

I do not deserve him, this gorgeous, magical man that, after a long day, comes home to see me having done nothing of worth and sets about taking care of me with barely a word. I feel too pathetic, too weak to be in his life, and there seems to be nothing I can do about it, about the demons that came to plague my mind and body today. There is nothing I want more than to be better for him, to rely on my own strength instead of having him help care for me. Why should he care about my struggles? When will he see that I am not worth his love and leave me?

But on top of everything else wrong with me, my voice decides to stop working now, too, and I cannot share with him what troubles me. Aaravos waits patiently for me to answer until all I can give him is the indication that I cannot speak. He pulls his chair closer to me and touches his fingers to my forehead. “May I?” he is asking permission to use a spell on me, to which I nod.

With a few muttered words and a sweeping motion on my head, his eyes begin to glow, light sunlight shining through an opal. I bring all my thoughts to the surface, all the pain and conflicting emotions, hoping he will understand. When the light fades, Aaravos pulls me into an almost crushing hug, arms like a vise around me. “It’s okay, I understand,” he whispers in my ear.

When he pulls away, he takes a forkful of food and holds it up to my mouth. “Please just eat a few bites,” he requests. Then, with a teasing tone and that hot smirk of his, he adds, “Do not make me feed you, I know your pride would not survive it.”

I take the fork from him and eat a bite. It is delicious, of course, because apparently this elf has to be amazing at everything he does, the lovely bastard. We set about eating together in silence, until I see a butterfly flit over my food. It floats along and lands on the back of my hand, wings opening and closing lazily. It looks like a piece of the night sky was caught on its wings.

Glancing up, I see the entire kitchen covered with these butterflies, flitting around and glowing like fireflies. It makes the room feel like a planetarium and butterfly garden all at once, my two favorite places to go brought to our home. I leap out of my seat to enjoy the sight better. They are clearly illusions, since they disappear if I touch their wings, and I cannot feel them if they land on me, but I could care less for how beautiful it looks. I twirl in the swarm of butterflies, my worries temporarily forgotten. Aaravos stands from the table to hug me from behind and presses a kiss to my shoulder. “It is good to see you smiling again.”

I lean back into him, turning my head to kiss him on the lips. “You’re an expert at making me smile.”

Aaravos continues to hold me, resting his chin on my shoulder. “Did you think I spent every day in my prison constantly productive? Reading and improving myself and attempting to escape?”

I am a bit surprised by the question. “Well… yeah I guess I did,” I admit.

Aaravos chuckles, a hollow sound that seems almost sad. “I did not. There were days that all I could manage was to stare into space, days I felt so numb that I could barely move. I did my best, but there were many times that my best only consisted of breathing.” He spins me around in his arms so I can see the sincerity in his golden eyes. “So, do not, for a moment, believe that I think less of you for these days you struggle. I help you because I care about you and because I had no one to help me.”

When I am in pain, I can forget about how much Aaravos has been hurt, especially since he carries himself with such grace and strength. I pull his face to mine so our foreheads touch, a reminder to the both of us that we are no longer alone.

One by one, the butterflies dissolve into stardust and disappear, and when we go to bed, we hold each other close, the mere presence of the other enough to chase the demons away for a little while, leaving us refreshed to fight again in the morning.