#those little things that make people's hearts unexpectedly full and glowing

[henrycangelbaby]

In which: Ellie allowed herself to be held for a second. The only sounds were their soft breaths and Joel’s light snoring. She felt silly asking it, as if she were still a toddler. Then again, she hadn’t had much comfort even in her toddler days. Ellie let out an exhale.

Or

Ellie seeks comfort in those who love her the most.

Things are finally good for Joel. He and Ellie have been settled down in Jackson for a while now. They no longer have to fight to survive. Ellie can attend school and has made quick work of befriending many kids her age. They were finally happy.

Joel had even found himself a few friends; he had his brother in close proximity, was friendly with the neighbors, and cracked a smile whenever Ellie brought a friend over for dinner. And there was also Y/N, his precious darling girl.

Truthfully, Joel had never considered the prospect of settling down again. He had lost far too much to ever consider being truly happy again, but then he had found Ellie, been reunited with his brother and his new family, and then he had met Y/N.

She had come into his life rather unexpectedly, the prettiest thing he had seen in many years. He was only just settling down in Jackson when they had met. She was a little younger than him and had been so kind that he had been rather turned away at first, but with time (and quite a bit of Ellie meddling), they had grown close and eventually fallen in love.

It had been subtle, but people had noticed. He had been caught more than once wearing a hair tie around his wrist, and gradually her things had shown up in his and Ellie's house. Ellie isn't sure of much, but she doesn't even bother hiding her laugh when he walks downstairs in a slightly too-small, very faded Spice Girls t-shirt that his soft stomach peeks out of the bottom of. (Y/N also makes sure that Joel knows how much she appreciated him accidentally putting on her shirt that morning, but her and Ellie have very different reasons for thinking of his soft tummy).

For the first time in what felt like forever, he was happy and carefree. He still took patrols, but they seemed rather dull in comparison to the life he had lived outside of Jackson's protection. They were also fewer and further between as he reluctantly felt the effects of his age and life on the run. They had caught up to him rather brutally in the form of dodgy knees and full deafness in his left ear. For the first time since the outbreak, he felt at peace with the world.

Ellie had settled down well; it wasn't like she was a feral kid, raised by herself having to fight to survive. She had been raised in a school, had friends, and was educated to a somewhat proper level, but Jackson had been good for her. She was glowing with happiness most of the time, running around with her friends and even (much to Joel's dismay) girlfriends.

She had taken to Y/N instantly; they were both charmers in their own way, and Ellie had all but been swept off her feet by his darling’s kindness. Y/N, in return, had taken to the kid. The quick sense of humor and chatty nature in Ellie had caused Y/N to often joke about Ellie being better company than Joel. Truthfully, they did get along very well; he would find them bent over a puzzle on the kitchen table or wreaking havoc while cooking in the kitchen.

Ellie was getting older; she needed Joel and Y/N less, but she still found time to hang out with them. If it made his heart ache when they had family dinner together, or when he would come home from his depleting patrols to find Y/N and Ellie accidentally fallen asleep on the couch together, movie night long forgotten, it had been like this for years now, and it still made him emotional.

The sun had all but retreated behind the clouds, Joel barely awake as he peered out of the corner of his eye at his baby. Y/N seemed to be in a similar position to him, her head dropping slightly onto his arm, rubbing her eyes as if to try and run the sleep away.

“Darlin’,” she hums in response, turning to face him.

“Let's go to bed, baby,” he offers her his hand, pulling them up. She holds onto his arm, walking next to him as they sleepily made their way to bed together.

“Is Ellie still up?” Y/N asks, sitting on the toilet, waiting for him to finish brushing his teeth.

“She’s out, told us not to wait up for her, baby.”

God, he was getting old, having to go to bed early while his teenage daughter stays out too late for him to wait up for her. Ellie was hardly a teenager anymore; she was technically an adult, but he still felt as if she was a little girl.

They fall asleep quickly, as they always do. Joel is very secretly the small spoon. He sleeps peacefully with his back pressed against her chest, one of her legs in between his, her arm thrown over his stomach.

Ellie gets in late. She creeps through the house, well aware that Joel and Y/N have probably long gone to sleep. If she wasn't feeling so sullen, she might giggle at the old-people-ness of the adults in her life. Perhaps she had stayed up a little too late, past the point of late-night fun, into existential dread territory.

Everything is fine for Ellie. In fact, things are great in Jackson: a family that she can finally call hers, friends, and even dating prospects. Most of the time, Ellie is fine—she is more than fine, thriving even. Going out with her friends late into the evening, it was nice to be able to mess around with no repercussions.

But maybe she should have called it off this evening. She hadn't felt great all day, anxiety and dread settling at the bottom of her stomach and putting her off eating. She had learned to deal with it, mostly. The terrors she had seen in her past were just that—in her past. She would never have to fight again, never have to kill again; she was safe.

She was rather embarrassed to repeat those words over and over again to herself as she moved quietly through the house. She heard it in Y/N's soft tone, as she had once repeated it to Ellie after a bad panic attack. Ellie was safe, here in this house, with two people who cared about her like no one else did, in this town with all her friends, protected by the heavy walls and forever ongoing patrol shifts.

She was safe.

She tried to convince herself, unsuccessfully, as she fell into an uneasy sleep.

She wakes with a gasp. Her bed sheets feel far too suffocating; there is sweat dripping down her back, and as she brings a hand up to her face, it feels wet with tears. She doesn't remember what happened, but her heart won't stop beating fast, and the tears won't stop flowing down her face. She feels dizzy, like she might throw up.

Night terrors aren't unusual to Ellie. She has had her fair share of trauma to make up bad dreams. They had been bad when she was younger, in the beginning of her time in Jackson. She would often wake up crying and sweating, or she wouldn't sleep at all, kept awake by her haunting memories.

But as she, Joel, and eventually Y/N had settled down into their new life, they had become less and less frequent. Ellie’s life was going well, and most of the time she could escape her mental health problems. They came back to haunt her occasionally in the form of nightmares or panic attacks.

She had confessed to Y/N one night about how scared she felt sometimes, at the time confiding in Joel’s rather new girlfriend her problems and fears, which she felt too scared to tell Joel about. Perhaps she had secretly longed for the comfort that Y/N had given her, when she had been held close to the older woman’s chest, a kiss on the head as she slowly rocked Ellie back and forth.

Ellie loved Joel incessantly, but the introduction of Y/N into her life had filled a hole in her heart that she hadn't known she had.

She pushed herself up from the bed, quickly making her way to the other bedroom, where Joel and Y/N had resided for the night. The door creaked slightly as she pushed it open. It was rather comforting to see the room as it always was. The moonlight peeked through the window, revealing the messy bedside table and the photo of the three of them tacked above the bed.

Everything was the same, everything was fine. Ellie squinted in the darkness to see Y/N closest to her, her back facing the girl, her arm thrown over a much broader back and waist. She felt somewhat bad for waking her. She didn't want to scare her too badly. Y/N wasn't quite as switched on as Joel (Ellie still giggles thinking about how bad Joel had felt after he had cornered her against a wall—it had not been her best idea to stand behind a door to scare him).

She coughs awkwardly before shaking Y/N gently.

“Y/N?” she whisper-yells urgently. “Please, Y/N, wake up.”

Y/N turns around slowly. “Hmmm?” She rubs her eyes, still basically asleep, until Ellie nudges her again.

“Joel?” Y/N murmurs. She jumps slightly when she opens her eyes, scared by Ellie’s face so close to hers.

“Fuck,” she breathes, putting a hand on her chest as she pulls herself up. “Ellie, honey, what's wrong?” she asks, immediately alarmed by Ellie’s late-night appearance.

Ellie can't help as the tears begin to leak out of her eyes again. She tries to speak, but nothing comes out.

“Oh, my baby,” Y/N reaches forward to wipe the tears quickly. “Come here,” she says, while pulling Ellie up to sit beside her on the now somewhat squishy bed.

“I had a nightmare,” Ellie confesses quickly. She feels Y/N pull her in even closer.

“Was it bad?”

Ellie could only nod in response as she felt Y/N stroke her hair gently. “I’m sorry, baby,” was all Y/N said for a moment. After a beat, she spoke again. “I’d offer for Joel to go scare away the monsters under the bed for you, but I think you might be a bit old for that.”

It caused Ellie to let out a watery chuckle. “And also, I don't feel like waking Mr. Grizzly Bear tonight,” Y/N joked. They were silly, but they made Ellie smile.

Ellie allowed herself to be held for a second. The only sounds were their soft breaths and Joel’s light snoring. She felt silly asking it, as if she were still a toddler. Then again, she hadn’t had much comfort even in her toddler days. Ellie let out an exhale.

“Can I sleep in here, with you?”

She hadn’t expected to be laughed at, per se, but it felt like a silly request to be making nonetheless. But Y/N answered quickly.

“Of course, honey,” she said as she quietly pulled them both down to lay back down.

It was certainly a bit more of a squeeze with three of them, but she felt so warm and loved. Pulled close to Y/N, able to hear Joel’s snores close by, her nightmare felt like a thing of the past for a moment. So surrounded by comfort and love, perhaps everything she had suffered through had all been worth it if it led up to this moment, so loved by the best family she could ask for.

Joel's alarm went off at 6 a.m. sharp, just as he had set it to (much to his dismay). He was quick to turn it off, not wanting to wake Y/N—she didn’t deserve to be punished for his rather early patrol duty. He sat up slowly, feeling his neck creak. There was a pain in the bottom of his back that he couldn’t quite place, and his arm had gone somewhat numb in the night.

Fuck, he was getting old.

As he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, he peered around the room. There was little light creeping in through the windows, and Y/N was still peacefully sleeping next to him. He smiled slightly before leaning to get out of the bed with as little disturbance as possible.

He pulled himself off the bed as quietly as he could until he hit another body. Wait, what? He flinched for a moment before recognizing the face of his other family member that lived in this house. Now when had she gotten in here? She was sleeping peacefully under Y/N’s arm, much like he did most nights. Come to think of it, he had been a little colder than usual last night.

He climbed carefully over both of them, not wanting to wake their peaceful sleeping states. His heart felt so full as he peered down at his girls, so sweet and lovely. He pushed Ellie’s fringe off her forehead, leaning down to kiss her forehead lightly.

“Love you, babygirl.”

He moved to hover over Y/N now, gently cupping her face in his hands before leaning down to kiss the corner of her mouth and then her lovely lips.

“Love you so much, baby.”

He was whispering to himself, but it was still true. He loved his girls so much; his chest felt like it was aching with the love. He willed himself to walk away—he had to get to work, and he couldn’t spend all day fawning over his family. With one final glance back, he closed the door behind him, wanting his loves to get as much rest as possible.

He couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. He had everything he needed, and it just so happened to be sleeping in his bed. His loves, his girls, his family.

[robininthelabyrinth]

The Other Mountain - ao3 - Chapter 24

Pairing: Lan Qiren/Wen Ruohan

Warning Tags on Ao3

———————————————————————-

Not even having to explain to Yu Ziyuan why they had ruined the Jiang sect’s event for a second time running could put a dent in Wen Ruohan’s good mood.

“You can’t really blame us for it,” he told her, wondering with amusement if he should mention that the sound of her teeth grinding in irritation was becoming almost audible. “We came here at your invitation to enjoy your sect’s little party and then were unexpectedly set upon by murderous assassins…assassins, let me remind you, that somehow managed to defy your sect’s security precautions, borrow your disciples’ clothing, and then attack your guests, when by all the rules of hospitality we ought to be under your protection. If the party also happened to be ruined as a result, well, that’s really nothing to do with us. In fact, we’re quite upset by it all.”

“Really,” Yu Ziyuan growled. “If that’s the case, then why – are – you – smiling?!”

That was mostly because Wen Ruohan couldn’t help it.

Lan Qiren was in love with him. Lan Qiren loved him. Lan Qiren was willing to trust him. Lan Qiren loved him!

That wasn’t anyone else’s business, though.

“Just trying to put a good face on it for the sake of your sect,” Wen Ruohan said, voice almost syrupy with how condescending he was being. “After messing up not one but two gatherings in front of the whole cultivation world, you practically have no face left at all…really, a smile or two is the least we can do for the sake of our good friends in Yunmeng Jiang.”

Yu Ziyuan’s eye was twitching. So was the finger upon which she wore Zidian, which hadn’t quite started crackling but had started emitting an almost subsonic hum of spiritual energy as if it was considering it.

Hmm. Perhaps he was overdoing it a little.

Not that Wen Ruohan cared.

Still, in the interest of not starting yet another fight that he was presently in no condition to win…

“At any rate, as you can see,” he added smugly, unable to feel any genuine caution when his heart was full of repeated refrains of I am loved, I am loved, “my husband has taken today’s events to heart.”

He nodded over at where Lan Qiren was sitting, still cleaning his sword and glaring balefully at everyone around him as if he suspected them of wrongdoing, having apparently decided to appoint himself as the paranoid one for the day.

If Lan Qiren were anyone else, Wen Ruohan would say that it was a beautiful display of subtle intimidation. The almost pristine glow of Lan Qiren’s almost entirely white outfit, marred only by the almost artful flecks of drying blood that highlighted the subtle red suns at the hems, acted as vivid contrast to the gory imagery of the bloody and at times incomplete bodies the Jiang sect disciples were still carrying out on mats from the room behind him, while the steady and sure motion of his hands drew the eye to focus on his sword, the one that had slain most of those people – an unspoken but extremely clear threat.

Of course, since this was Lan Qiren, he probably hadn’t thought about that at all.

Lan Qiren was a very good politician, when he put his mind to it – but he often forgot to put his mind to it. In fact, if Wen Ruohan had to bet, he’d say that Lan Qiren was probably currently thinking about some obscure Lan sect rule about cleaning your sword as soon as possible to avoid rust, about how it was valuable and taught all sorts of larger lessons and so on and so forth. Also, he’d probably want a bath as soon as possible, quite understandably, and certainly at a minimum by the time they got back to the Nightless City. He could just change clothing to get rid of the bloodstains, of course, but there was that general rule on changing clothing after bathing, and Wen Ruohan knew that Lan Qiren, with his fondness for routine, would prefer to do things in the proper order whenever possible.

(Lan Qiren, who loved him. Who was in love with him. Who would probably make that part of his routine as well, an everyday reminder that he belonged, body and soul, to Wen Ruohan…)

Lan Qiren was insisting on their leaving at once, which was quite reasonable under the circumstances. Wen Ruohan certainly wasn’t objecting. His sect’s disciples, who had rushed over as soon as he’d been able to properly signal them, had managed to keep a few of the assassins alive, including the one Lan Qiren had purposefully preserved. They had all been taken away to be interrogated – with the Fire Palace for once serving in its traditional capacity as a prison rather than Wen Ruohan’s personal playground – and answers would be forthcoming. Wen Ruohan had made that extremely clear to all of the assembled sect leaders.

Wen Ruohan had also made a number of very ominous statements about the vengeance he was imminently going to undertake as soon as he found out who was responsible for sending the assassins. Moreover, he had made clear that, as the victim of a dishonorable attack, he fully expected the cultivation world to back him in seeking reprisals, no matter what penalty he demanded – or else.

His announcement had spread a great deal of consternation throughout the crowd, all of whom were already somewhat keyed up due to the last near-war they’d been drawn into. It had caused any number of people to consider departing early as well, each to go back home to think over what to do next in peace rather than stay any longer in the Lotus Pier. Presumably it was those impending departures that had caused Yu Ziyuan to march up and pull Wen Ruohan aside for a quiet confrontation, with all of the seething, barely-concealed rage that had made her old Purple Spider moniker quite so famous visible on her face.

Again: not that Wen Ruohan cared.

Oddly enough, though, it seemed that something he’d said had soothed Yu Ziyuan’s fiery temper, or at least distracted her from it. Zidian was no longer making that irritating humming noise and her fingers no longer shook as if they were on the verge of being clenched into a fist; she was practically verging on normal.

Well, normal rage.

“Sect Leader Wen is very open-minded,” she said, very begrudgingly.

Wen Ruohan looked at Yu Ziyuan with some suspicion. Was she referring to the fact that he wasn’t blaming the Jiang sect for the assassination attempt? He’d wanted to, even though he was fairly certain they had nothing to do with it. Even if they hadn’t hired the assassins, it had been their negligence that had allowed the attack to occur at all, which meant that they ought to carry some share of the blame, and therefore some of the responsibility of making it up to him���but Lan Qiren had objected.

He’d said something about not sowing discord, or maybe about being easy on others. Wen Ruohan thought it was more likely that he just felt belatedly bad about having accidentally incited Cangse Sanren into stealing away the Jiang sect children at the same time she’d taken his nephews.

(They hadn’t told anyone that Cangse Sanren had brought them to the Nightless City, or indeed that Cangse Sanren and her family were currently residing with them rather than traveling the cultivation world. It seemed unwise to officially confirm it, lest they attract unwanted attention.)

“I will still be expecting Yunmeng Jiang’s support against the perpetrators, of course,” he clarified, but unexpectedly Yu Ziyuan waved her hand dismissively.

“Naturally you will have it,” she said coolly. “Whoever planned the attempt on your life, Sect Leader Wen, deliberately chose to use our Jiang sect as its scapegoat. In order to restore our good name, we must of course take every measure necessary to seek vengeance. That was not what I meant.”

“What, then?”

Very uncharacteristically, Yu Ziyuan hesitated for a while before answering. Just as Wen Ruohan was about to lose patience, she finally spoke, saying, “I meant…in the matter of your marriage.”

Wen Ruohan arched his eyebrows. What about his marriage? He’d made an excellent marriage. He’d known it from the start, and now the rest of the cultivation world was starting to realize it, too. And they hadn’t even figured out the bit about the classes yet!

None of that seemed to him to fit the criteria of rendering him “open-minded,” though. So what was Yu Ziyuan talking about?

Yu Ziyuan seemed to realize that she’d lost him, a frown appearing on her face as she watched the confusion on his.

“Do you really not mind?” she asked. “You are the stronger party, politically and personally, and you’re both men, not restrained by convention – shouldn’t Lan Qiren be the one calling you husband, rather than the other way around?”

Oh, so it was that again.

Ridiculous. Hadn’t they already covered that?

“My husband,” Wen Ruohan said, emphasizing the word mostly for the amusement it gave him to see the way it made her frown deepen, “is an innate conservative. He’s very fixed in his habits, and averse to change. Having been raised with the expectation that he would one day become a husband, it pleases him to be one, and it pleases me to see him pleased. What more does there need to be than that?”

“It cannot be that simple.”

“Why not? As you said, we’re not restrained by convention.” He smirked, deciding to needle her further. “Isn’t that part of your Jiang sect’s motto? Isn’t it ‘Make it work’?”

Her eye twitched again. “Attempt the impossible.”

“Isn’t that what I said? Make it work despite it being impossible.”

Yu Ziyuan scowled at him. “A mountain cannot contain two tigers,” she said testily. “A household cannot have two husbands. If he is the husband, then you are the wife, Sect Leader Wen. You cannot possibly be satisfied with the expectation that you are to submit to him, to abide by etiquette and decorum for him, to restrict your own activities for his sake…!”

“Does the sun care for the expectations of the earth?” Wen Ruohan asked carelessly. Lan Qiren had never demanded his submission in anything, except in bed – and even there, it was only ever something that added to Wen Ruohan’s pleasure, never something that had turned into an expectation or an insult. Lan Qiren had never once thought that what they did in bed meant anything about how they conducted their life outside it, as some men might have. On the contrary, when they were in public, it was Lan Qiren who sought wherever possible to abide strictly by etiquette, and part of that etiquette was supporting Wen Ruohan’s sect as the sect he’d married into, which in turn by default meant supporting Wen Ruohan himself as sect leader. “I have never restricted myself for the sake of others. I hardly plan to start now.”

“Really. Then does that mean, Sect Leader Wen, that you plan to take on the duties of a wife as well?” she asked scathingly.

“Actually, Qiren seems to have gotten it into his head that it is the duty of a husband to do the satisfying,” Wen Ruohan said dryly. “A Gusu Lan peculiarity, I expect. I wasn’t planning on disabusing him of the notion.”

Yu Ziyuan turned red. “That’s not what I meant!”

Wen Ruohan scoffed. “Then what do you mean? Do you expect me to manage my household like some commoner? I manage my sect, that’s close enough.”

“It is exceptionally different.”

“Perhaps for you,” Wen Ruohan said condescendingly. “Allow me to remind you that I am sect leader. I am free to implement my will as I wish – however I wish – and you have not identified one good reason why I cannot deviate from tradition.”

“At least you know you are deviating from tradition,” she snapped.

Wen Ruohan just barely restrained himself from saying something sarcastic like And of course your marriage is such a model of happy compliance with tradition, mostly since he was pretty sure she really would try to kill him if he did.

From the look on her face, he’d managed to convey the message anyway.

“If it matters to you, then it matters to you,” he said indifferently instead. “It certainly doesn’t to me.”

Yu Ziyuan’s expression somehow worsened, which he hadn’t thought was possible.

“We’ll be leaving now,” he said smoothly, deciding that it would be impolitic to drive his hostess into apoplexy. Not to mention that it would be such a shame to rob himself of the moral high ground right after a perfectly good assassination attempt had given it to him. “Qiren wants to fly back to the Nightless City to avoid any threat of ambush, and we must leave early if we are to arrive before the end of xu shi, which of course we must. You know how Gusu Lan is.”

Everyone knew how Gusu Lan was.

(If Wen Ruohan was ever to seek to invade the Cloud Recesses, he would be wise to launch his attack in the evening, right when their internal clocks would be urging them to rest instead of fight. Not that he would, of course – he couldn’t even imagine Lan Qiren’s reaction if he did, not even if it was forced upon him by Qingheng-jun’s actions. It was only something he’d considered before, in the abstract hypothetical…)

“Have a good journey,” Yu Ziyuan said. She was gritting her teeth again.

Wen Ruohan smirked and took his leave.

And then he took Lan Qiren, who was very relieved to hear that they were finally departing, and went home.

Wen Ruohan spent the entire flight back to the Nightless City, painfully long and boring as it was, feeling lighter than air.

Sure, there were still problems to be dealt with, not least of which was figuring out who had tried to have him killed – not just killed, but drowned, and at a party surrounded by the rest of the cultivation world, no less. Whoever it was had figured out that Wen Ruohan had used up all of his spiritual energy, that he was temporarily vulnerable, and they were undoubtedly already thinking through the next step in their plan, knowing that they only had a brief window in which to act before Wen Ruohan regained his invincibility.

Really, his paranoia ought to be going completely haywire, questioning everyone and everything, trying to figure out who was behind it – given that it couldn’t be Qingheng-jun, who was too newly out of seclusion to have the resources necessary to train up assassins unless there was something very significant Lan Qiren had left out of his descriptions of the Lan sect – and his political instincts ought to be focused on how all of these developments would impact the balance of power in the cultivation world and how to turn them in his sect’s favor. Even considering it purely from the standpoint of cultivation, he ought to be worrying about how weak he still was, how tired he was, how much the fight and even this journey home was taking out of him.

Instead, Wen Ruohan couldn’t stop smiling.

(Interestingly enough, it turned out that genuine smiles while issuing threats only made people even more inclined to worry – exceeding even their reaction to an intimidating smirk or ominous scowl. Who knew?)

But in his defense: Lan Qiren was in love with him.

There was always that.

There was always going to be that, because Lan Qiren was a Lan, a good Lan, in the classic model of his sect. When he gave his heart away, he did so irrevocably. Even if things were to shatter between them, the way things had gone somehow wrong between Wen Ruohan and Lao Nie, or the way they had with his first wife, with his brother, with his family – even if Wen Ruohan did something utterly beyond the pale, utterly unforgivable, the fact that Lan Qiren loved him wouldn’t change.

Of course, if he did something like that, Lan Qiren would make his life absolutely miserable, up to and including leaving him in the dirt, and that probably after yelling at him until he went deaf. Lan Qiren had been quite emphatically clear about his intentions in that regard, repeating himself several times, though Wen Ruohan privately thought that it was all a little unnecessary.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t already know.

He’d figured it out after the fiasco with the Fire Palace: the price of Lan Qiren’s continued good regard was nothing more or less than his own good conduct, persistent and maintained.

Once, that would have been infuriating.

Wen Ruohan had always been his own person. He had always gone his own way, done things in his own style, bowed to no one – his Wen sect’s symbol was the sun, and he as their sect leader was the sun in splendor, directly overhead and shining in full midday glory. Even among his brothers he had always been the most stubborn, the most bull-headed, whether in his insistence on learning the sneered-upon “support skill” of arrays to the point of mastery instead of focusing on the sword or his slow but persistent approach to becoming sect leader, which had been successful in the end. He had never yielded to anyone, whether through force or coaxing. He had never adjusted his behavior for someone else’s sake.

But now…

Well.

After a lifetime of betrayals, his own or others’, Wen Ruohan was willing to consider it an equal trade.

Love for love, that was easy. Trust for trust would be more difficult, but he was the best of the best: he was Wen Ruohan. He wasn’t afraid of a challenge.

And it wasn’t as if he was going to find someone else he wanted more. Who could be more fascinating or full of ridiculous contradictions than Lan Qiren – a rigid moralist who had nevertheless demonstrated his sincerity through slaughter? That had always been a surefire way to Wen Ruohan’s heart, though not a route he’d previously believed Lan Qiren likely to take. It had always been more along the lines of what he’d gotten out of his relationship with Lao Nie, both of them vigorous and blood-thirsty and suiting each other perfectly – or at least, they had before the other man had grown distant and disdainful…

Well, never mind about that.

Wen Ruohan had Lan Qiren now, and if he played his cards right, he would have him forever.

That was surely something worth smiling about.

He continued smiling even when they arrived, frightening his servants. Lan Qiren didn’t notice, but then he was practically falling asleep standing up. Whether that was because of the energy expenditure of having to fly such a distance immediately after a vicious fight and emotional upheaval or simply that it had gotten late enough for all good proper Lan disciples to go to bed, it was impossible to tell.

“Do you require my services tonight?” Lan Qiren blearily asked Wen Ruohan, who snorted involuntarily in amusement at his serious expression.

“I think not,” he said dryly. “Look at you, you’re already yawning. I doubt you’d be able to, ah, rise to the occasion.”

Lan Qiren frowned censoriously at him. “Even if I cannot, I can still do my duty, if that’s what you desire.”

Wen Ruohan did desire, as it happened – he had a great deal of appreciation for Lan Qiren’s hands and tongue, both of which had become exceptionally skilled through the application of consistent practice – but he still said, “No need. You can make it up to me with interest tomorrow.”

It was an interesting novelty to deny himself for another’s sake. He’d observed that Lan Qiren, lacking as he did an internal instinct towards desire, at times also lacked a good sense of judgment as to when it was appropriate to offer to have sex, although tragically he’d picked up enough etiquette to be resistant to frolicking in public where people could see. It therefore fell to Wen Ruohan to bear the responsibility of being the final arbiter of such things, to ensure that Lan Qiren would be in a position to enjoy himself as well as providing enjoyment for his partner.

With a final yawn, Lan Qiren nodded and went off to find his bed, not bothering to wait for Wen Ruohan to join him. Presumably he’d figured out that Wen Ruohan was too full of nervous energy to rest, meaning that tonight was going to be one of his occasional bouts of insomnia.

Normally, on nights like these, Wen Ruohan would stalk through the halls of the Nightless City like a wandering ghost before eventually finding himself drawn to the Fire Palace and its screams, its reminder that he was alive, but that was unnecessary tonight. Tonight he already felt wholly alive, completely vibrant. In fact, that was the issue: he felt full of energy, like he wanted to do something. And not just anything, but something productive – to set up an experiment in arrays, perhaps, or practice sparring with the sword against some worthy opponent, or even…

Even…

Wen Ruohan smiled.

Cangse Sanren found him the next day.

“It’s already noon, you know,” she announced, having entered the room without knocking. “Also, my husband was the one who actually found you here, but he decided to nominate me to be the one to interrupt you. I’m less killable than he is.”

“Is that the case?” Wen Ruohan asked, not looking up from what he was doing. “And here I thought all you celestial mountain disciples were doomed.”

“We are. There’s some big scary beast marching towards my future, coming to tear me limb from limb; it’s inevitable, as sure as the dawn, but that also means there’s no point in worrying about it now. But putting that aside, people are more used to me being annoying, so they put up with it more.” She paused. “Are you painting? I didn’t know you knew how to paint.”

Wen Ruohan ignored her. He was almost done, so he wasn’t going to stop now just to talk.

“You’re a good painter,” she commented, peeking around his shoulder. “I had no idea. And I mean…you’re really good. Exceptionally good – ”

“You can stop sounding surprised about it at any point.”

“I’m just saying, I didn’t know you had hobbies other than torturing people.”

“This is not a hobby,” he clarified, finishing the final few strokes and putting down his brush. “This is an aberration. It’s a gift. For Qiren.”

“As if you would pick up a brush for anyone else,” she snorted, and inelegantly tried to shove him to the side so that she could get a better look at what he’d created. It didn’t work, of course, since he was stronger than she was, but he stepped aside anyway. “…huh. That’s…not what I expected. This is the first painting you’re going to give to him?”

Wen Ruohan shrugged. Other than his brief flirtation with portraiture, which had been an exclusively financial decision during a period of time when his backing within the Wen sect had been especially shaky, he’d always treated painting the way he did his cultivation: something to develop and nurture and even perfect, but not to force.

Back when he’d been alive, his favorite brother, Wen Ruoyu, had been Wen Ruohan’s primary target for these sorts of painting gifts. He’d had a fondness for collecting things, so he always accepted the gifts, but he’d found them confusing. You say this is meant for me? As in, you painted it specifically for me? he’d often asked, squinting at whatever the latest one was. What in the world do you mean by giving me this in particular? What’s the symbolism here stand for? What does it mean?

If I could have told you what it meant, I wouldn’t have needed to paint it, now would I? Wen Ruohan had always retorted. Tell me if you like it or not. If you don’t, I’ll take it back and give you another.

I like it, I like it! Don’t you dare take away things that are mine!

“Well, it’s not like I didn’t know you were several kinds of fucked up in the head,” Cangse Sanren remarked, interrupting Wen Ruohan’s wandering thoughts. “If there’s anyone who’d think that painting a war scene is a good gift for their lover, it would certainly be you. But lucky for you, Qiren’s taste in art runs towards the complicated, so I think he might like it anyway.”

Wen Ruohan had indeed painted a war scene, though he was mildly impressed that Cangse Sanren had been able to identify it as such. There were no people in it – it was mostly trees, and rocks, and blood, the occasional glint of broken steel and furrows dug deep. Hidden in the painting were the signs of cultivators at battle: splintered bark with smoldering anchor points, smeared ash and cinnabar left behind by burnt talismans, sharp and unnatural angles revealing cuts by sword or string.

Color had been used only sparingly, as an accent, and his brushwork was as brutal and ruthless as it had ever been, leaving the whole image with a gloomy and morbid air, grey, hopeless, and depressing.

He’d even painted it from the angle he’d once seen it from, with the trees reaching up into the heavens, tangled limbs suffocating the sky.

It was probably not an appropriate gift to give to one’s lover.

Wen Ruohan was going to give it to him anyway. Maybe he really would get lucky, and it would suit Lan Qiren’s tastes. Even if it didn’t, though, that would be fine – the point had always been in the making and the giving.

“Where is Qiren, anyway?” he asked.

“Meditating in your yard. He did sect business for a shichen in the morning, earlier on, once he realized you were busy, but as soon as he finished the urgent business, he told them all to come back tomorrow with the rest.”

“Good.” Wen Ruohan hadn’t been planning to do any business at all. Lazy days were what secretaries were for. “Next question: where are the children?”

Cangse Sanren arched her eyebrows. “Yours, mine, the Lan or the Jiang?”

“I meant Qiren’s nephews, as it happens. But you referred to mine – did you just mean Chao-er, or is Xu-er back?”

“Yes, he arrived yesterday morning, so there’s both of them here. He’s in his room, as are all the others. Do you want to see him?”

Oddly enough, even though he had no specific purpose in mind, Wen Ruohan found that he did.

“Father!” Wen Xu stood up quickly when Wen Ruohan strode into his rooms. So quickly, in fact, that he accidentally knocked all the papers off his desk and all over the floor. “I didn’t – I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I wanted to confirm that you were in one piece after what happened with the army in Jiujiang, Xu-er,” Wen Ruohan said mildly, doing his best not to smirk. Unfortunately for his son, Wen Ruoyu had also been a master of the “knock everything off the table so that they don’t see what I was looking at” dodge, and it hadn’t worked when he’d done it, either. “I am pleased to see that you are.”

“Uh, yeah,” Wen Xu said. He was blinking rapidly. “I…Teacher Lan said the same thing.”

Wen Ruohan arched his eyebrows. Lan Qiren moved quickly when he wanted to, it appeared – Wen Xu was already calling him “Teacher Lan” despite having undoubtedly met him all of maybe once. “Did he?”

Wen Xu looked embarrassed for whatever reason, so Wen Ruohan put his hands behind his back and gave his son an expectant look.

“He said you were proud of me for how I handled myself. Even though all I did was get sent away!” Wen Xu blurted out, then looked horrified at himself. Presumably at the gross sentimentality of what Lan Qiren had said, which was more than a little ridiculous – Wen Xu really hadn’t done anything of note, not unless one counted not complaining about being sent away and listening to the generals’ advice to avoid making the situation worse. And, well, not getting kidnapped and used as blackmail at any point while retreating.

Which Wen Ruohan supposed had been rather helpful.

Well, be your spouse’s partner and all that. If he wanted Lan Qiren to have a genuine shot at improving Wen Xu, it wouldn’t do to undercut his authority as a teacher before he’d even had a chance to get started.

“I am,” he said, and reasoned virtuously to himself that it wasn’t a lie even if he hadn’t given the subject a single thought before this exact moment – after all, he was always proud of his sons, who were his bloodline and therefore superior to all others. Anyway, even if it was, it wasn’t like the Wen sect abided by Do not tell lies. “You did well.”

Wen Xu looked stunned to the point of breathlessness.

Actually, he looked like he’d stopped breathing entirely.

Wen Ruohan decided that that was probably enough torment for a teenager for one day.

“You should write to your master in the army and advise him that I will be keeping you by my side for the near future,” he said, moving to practical matters instead. “If he wishes to continue your training, he should send someone here.”

Wen Xu recovered with admirable speed, straightening his spine and looking as dependable as he could at fifteen. “Yes, Father. I’ll do that at once!”

Wen Ruohan nodded. And then, because he could, he added, nodding at the pile of paper on the floor: “I’ll leave you to your romance novels, then.”

The horrified sound Wen Xu made was appalling.

Wen Ruohan walked off, chuckling to himself.

Continuing his inexplicable impulse from earlier, he decided to check in briefly on Wen Chao as well.

“Go away,” Wen Chao said, not looking up from where he was lying on his stomach reading something with a great deal of pictures and absolutely no substance. He wasn’t even trying to hide it.

“You do not command me, Chao-er.”

“Father!” Wen Chao jumped up at once. He didn’t make any effort to hide his picture-book – a heavily illustrated adventure, rather than a romance – and scurried over, looking delighted to see him, as usual. “Father, you’re here, you’re here!”

“Mm. Tell me what you have been up to.”

“I’ve been spending time with the other sect heirs, just like you told me to,” Wen Chao said proudly. “They’re very annoying, lots of trouble, but I can handle them. They’re no match for me!”

Wen Ruohan had no difficulty in discerning that this was extremely high praise for Wen Chao’s new friend group, potentially even gratitude and joy that they’d willingly included Wen Chao in their antics, and also that Wen Chao desperately wanted the present state to keep going forever.

“Good,” Wen Ruohan said. “Continue as you are. Become close to them and learn more about them, learn from their virtues and vices both. And listen when Teacher Lan tells you things meant to improve you. Make me proud.”

“Yes, Father! I will!”

That done, Wen Ruohan finally made his way down the hall to where his original targets, Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji, were being housed. He needed the two of them to do something for him.

After all, he owed Lan Qiren a debt, and it was time to deliver.

“Qiren,” he said, walking into their rooms later that afternoon. “I have something for you.”

He’d picked a good time: Lan Qiren was neither meditating nor playing his guqin, and neither was he composing – an activity that also involved a guqin, but a great deal more angry plucking, grumbling, and furious scribbling. Instead, he was only writing something down on scrap paper, though whatever the content of the note was, it was making him frown deeply, with a furrow between his brows that suggested that the subject was genuinely concerning to him.

“There you are,” Lan Qiren said, looking up. “I have something to say to you as well – ”

He paused, his expression suddenly clearing, discomfort making way for an expression of surprise, as well as something that seemed torn between pleasure and apprehension. “Did you say that you had something for me?”

“I did,” Wen Ruohan said agreeably. “Several things, in fact. Is what you have to say urgent?”

“Not at all,” Lan Qiren said bemusedly, rising to his feet and coming over. “It can wait, and indeed I would insist that it do so, given the alternative. What have you gotten me?”

Wen Ruohan produced two small booklets from inside his robes and handed them over.

Still looking somewhat wary, Lan Qiren accepted them, then opened the first one.

A moment later, he let out a surprised bark of laughter.

Wen Ruohan smirked triumphantly, watching the tension in Lan Qiren’s shoulders disappear. The man was too used to bad surprises, to everything that was unknown or a change being a bad thing – it was about time that he learned that some changes were good.

“I realize that my behavior was inappropriate, both in the specific situation and in general,” Lan Qiren read out loud. “When I am angry, I should withdraw from the situation and do what it takes to master my emotions, to better maintain my own discipline, before making any bad decisions. Under no circumstance should I take my mood out on other people, and especially not family. Additionally, I particularly recognize that I should always take the time to listen to you before making a final judgment. I have learned a valuable lesson from what I did, and I will not do it again – Wen Ruohan, did you get Xichen to write you an apology essay for me?”

“I got both your nephews to write me apology essays to give to you,” Wen Ruohan corrected him. “The second one is from Wangji.”

“Of course it is.” Lan Qiren’s shoulders were shaking with suppressed laughter again. “That’s - this is terrible. Your apologies keep getting worse and worse – and this one is unnecessary! I have already forgiven you.”

“This one isn’t an apology. It’s punishment.”

Lan Qiren’s eyebrows went up. “Oh?”

“You said the purpose of punishment is deterrence and remediation – that I need to take some loss in order to show my sincerity, to pay for the past and to make a deposit as assurance for good conduct in the future. A loss that means something to me, the way pain and time don’t.” Wen Ruohan reached out and cupped Lan Qiren’s cheek with his hand. “Something that can show you that I really have…how did he put it? That I ‘learned a valuable lesson from what I did, and will not do it again’.”

Lan Qiren leaned into his touch, smiling faintly. “And you think you have done that with this? What is your logic?”

Wen Ruohan found himself returning the smile. There it was, there was what he’d been looking for.

Lan Qiren was giving him the benefit of the doubt.

On the surface, it was patently ridiculous to think that convincing two boys to write essays could be a sufficient punishment, something that it could constitute a loss for someone of Wen Ruohan’s stature and power. Lao Nie would have thought he was joking, would have laughed along with a jest he wasn’t making, while his wives would have thought he was being sarcastic, that he was mocking them; they would have stormed out, maybe after throwing something at his head.

Lan Qiren just waited, certain that an explanation (of whatever quality) would be forthcoming.

“In our first visit to the Lotus Pier, I offered to help your nephews find you,” Wen Ruohan said, withdrawing his hand. “But not for free. I asked each of them to promise me a favor: one each.”

Lan Qiren frowned. “Unrestricted?”

“Your Xichen tried his best – he insisted on it being ‘nothing bad.’ But he’s young. He put no other restrictions on it, neither time, nor goal, nor extent…”

Lan Qiren winced. An open-ended favor like that, from a future sect leader, from a sect that did not make promises lightly, that did not break promises lightly, not even when they were extracted under duress…he knew exactly the sort of mischief Wen Ruohan could get up to with something like that. He’d seen it, even. In the ten years that the Lan sect was under his leadership, Lan Qiren would have been well aware that Wen Ruohan had twice utilized far more limited favors he was owed to devastating effect.

No, Lan Qiren well knew to be wary of such favors. He understood the gravity of such a thing – and just as he recalled it, that was when the understanding hit.

Wen Ruohan had the pleasure of seeing Lan Qiren genuinely shocked.

“You used those favors to get them to write these essays?” he exclaimed. “Surely not!”

Wen Ruohan smirked. “Is that sufficient loss for you?”

“More than sufficient! I would not have asked you to give up an advantage like that,” Lan Qiren said, frowning at him. “I might have sought to blunt the effects of the favors they had given, particularly in light of their age and immaturity, but a promise made is a promise made. Surely you know that – you are sect leader, and this is not a personal matter between us. Favors between sects is a matter of your sect, which is your first priority. I would not wish to abuse my position as your husband to interfere.”

“You might not wish to, but you might regardless,” Wen Ruohan said dryly, having figured out a little more of Lan sect cleverness with words by now. “And you might not, though I wish that you would.”

“What do you mean?”

“You are my husband,” Wen Ruohan said, as much for the pleasure of seeing Lan Qiren automatically smile at the reminder as to make the point. “That makes youhalf-master of my Wen sect in your own right…of our Wen sect. Our Wen sect is known for its arrogance, our superiority, our certainty that we deserve everything good in the world, and I would be very happy to see the same in you, Qiren.”

He shook his head.

“It is not abusing your position to want things, even things that are not necessarily to our Wen sect’s immediate benefit,” he said. “I want you to want things. I want you to ask for…no, I want you to demand everything that you want. I want you to learn to expect to receive what you ask for, rather than expecting to have to struggle to obtain it.”

Lan Qiren didn’t understand, Wen Ruohan could see that.

He found his voice softening. “You deserve the best, Qiren. You deserve to have the best given to you: without pain, without struggle, without effort, just for the asking. The world is your rightful due, and if you only ask for it, I would give it to you.”

“You are not using me as an excuse to take over the world,” Lan Qiren informed him primly, but there was something in his eyes that suggested that he had understood a little of what Wen Ruohan meant, even if he didn’t comprehend the fullness of it. At minimum, he’d understood that Wen Ruohan meant that he was family now – Wen Ruohan, who had always put his family over everyone, for good or for evil, with reason or without, following faithfully in the path laid out by Wen Mao in prizing their Wen clan over the whole world. Perhaps he even understood what Wen Ruohan was really saying: that he would now put him first, first before anything.

It might take some time before Lan Qiren could really bring himself to believe what Wen Ruohan told him, and even longer before he was willing to act with that glorious arrogance that Wen Ruohan so longed to see in him, that carelessness and freedom that accompanied true power. But at least he understood that that was something Wen Ruohan wanted to give to him.

A good change, rather than bad.

“This is my promise to you,” Wen Ruohan told him, nodding at the essays. “My loss, yes, my sect’s loss, also yes, but it is the loss I should take. It is my payment for not trusting you, as I should have, because not trusting you is a loss.”

Wen Ruohan was known for many things. He was blood-thirsty, a tyrant, a madman who delighted in torture; he was brilliant, a master of cultivation, ancient and terrifying. He was paranoid and cruel and selfish, and he put his ambitions above everything else.

He might be all those things, but Lan Qiren had chosen him anyway. The least he could do was choose him in return – to let Lan Qiren change him the way he wanted to change Lan Qiren. To trust him, yes, but also…to be worthy of his trust in return.

To be anything less –

Now that would be the real loss.

And, of course, Wen Ruohan did not lose.

Lan Qiren was staring at him open-mouthed.

“Do you understand?”

“…yes. I understand.”

Wen Ruohan kissed him. After a moment, he released him.

Lan Qiren still looked dazed. It was a good look on him.

“Now tell me,” Wen Ruohan teased. “Was that a good enough punishment?”

“If I were grading you, I would pass you with honors,” Lan Qiren said fervently.

Wen Ruohan laughed.

“Now, it is your turn to tell me,” Lan Qiren added, recovering a little. “Do I dare read what Wangji wrote…?”

“I genuinely have no idea,” Wen Ruohan said cheerfully. “He did it all in musical notation.”

“Oh no.”

“I like your second nephew. He’s clever.”

“Please refrain from getting any bright ideas. I am already working diligently on helping him recover his equilibrium; he does not need any further assistance in growing any more feral, and still less does he need to grow any more tyrannical than he already is.” Lan Qiren shook his head. “I will review the essays in full later, and I expect to be greatly amused by them, both immediately and for a great deal of time into the future. Thank you.”

“Of course. Would you like to see what else I have for you?”

Lan Qiren glanced at him sharply. “There’s more?”

“No need to sound so plaintive,” Wen Ruohan chuckled. “Do not do things in excess, or however the rule goes.That was all for the punishment. This one is an out-and-out gift – I painted something for you.”

“You painted…? Is that where you were all morning?”

“All night and all morning,” Wen Ruohan corrected. “It’s in my secondary study, if you’d like to come see it now. Or would you prefer to first discuss the subject that you mentioned earlier?”

Oddly enough, that caused the worried furrow to return to Lan Qiren’s brow, and he hesitated for a long moment before eventually saying, “Do not harbor doubts or jealousy, do not fail to carry out your promise. I think we had better discuss it now.”

That didn’t sound promising. Wen Ruohan tilted his head to the side. “Very well. What is it that you wanted to discuss, then?”

“It is about Lao Nie,” Lan Qiren said slowly. “I promised to myself that I would speak with you on the subject at the first instant I could. And yet, as time goes on, I find myself searching for further reasons to refrain for a little longer – which is misconduct on my part, although understandable. I have only just had you confirm that you returned my feelings, which has brought me tremendous joy. When one feels great joy, one seeks to preserve it…I suppose I wished to have you to myself for a little longer.”

“You do have me to yourself,” Wen Ruohan said, a little confused. “Lao Nie and I are not on the best of terms, as you yourself have seen. While it is true that we have never officially broken off our relationship, his recent actions and behavior make it clear enough that that will be the inevitable result, and sooner rather than later. He suspects me at every turn, disdains me, becomes angry at anything and everything I do – ”

“He had a qi deviation.”

Wen Ruohan stopped.

For a moment his mind rebelled, refusing to accept what his ears told him they had heard. “What?”

“He had a qi deviation, not long ago,” Lan Qiren said. His voice was solemn, serious, and Do not tell lies. He was telling the truth. “His son, Nie Mingjue, told me about it. You know what fate awaits the sect leaders of Qinghe Nie. You know how it looks, when it starts. You know what it does to them. How it makes them feel – ”

“Rage,” Wen Ruohan said, finding that his lips had started tingling, even if the rest of his face felt strangely numb. He did know. He’d seen Lao Nie’s father and grandfather suffer from the very same thing. “Disdain. Irrationality. Suspicion, paranoia…are you saying that you think his qi deviation is the genesis of his recent behavior?”

“I believe it is likely. You know how subtle qi deviations can be, particularly the small ones that the Nie sect initially suffer from – even if it was only discovered recently, it is likely that the deviation has been affecting him for months, perhaps even a year or two. From what I have observed of your disintegrating relationship, and based on your description of past events, his seeming distrust and your reaction to it…yes, it seems likely.”

Wen Ruohan…

Wen Ruohan didn’t know what to do with that information.

He didn’t want to believe Lan Qiren. He wanted to accuse him of lying, even though he knew he didn’t. He wanted to throw something, hit something, hurt something – he wanted to claim that this was all some sort of sick scheme, designed to strike him right when he was most vulnerable. But he’d promised to trust Lan Qiren, and he did trust him, and if there was one thing he knew, it was that Lan Qiren did not lie.

Lao Nie had had a qi deviation.

Lao Nie was dying.

Lao Nie – Lao Nie had come to Wen Ruohan when he’d been at his lowest point, when he’d been sick and tired of living, entertained by pain and nothing more. At that time, Wen Ruohan had been on the verge of considering entering the way of clarity, a path that cut off his feelings entirely as a means of avoiding the endless misery of having them mostly cut off already. He’d been searching for some method, any method, to stop the way he felt dead inside most of the time, dead and bored. Dead, and bored, and…and alone.

Lao Nie hadn’t let him be alone.

Lao Nie had brought to bear all the good cheer his considerable force of personality gave him, and he had aimed it at him. Lao Nie had laughed at him, had teased him, had all but demanded a place in his bed, and Wen Ruohan had found him amusing. It hadn’t been anything more than that at the start of it. He’d been glad that it’d been nothing more than that – he’d thought at the time that he didn’t want any more connections to the world to tie him down, to hold him back. What Lao Nie had offered him had seemed perfect.

A friend, an occasional lover, someone willing to slaughter his way into Wen Ruohan’s good graces, but without any serious commitment…it’d been easy. Casual. Light-hearted, the way Lao Nie always was, no matter the circumstances.

Even when their sects had been at odds, it hadn’t ever gotten any more difficult. Lao Nie was a Nie after all; he was straightforward and blunt, even when he was being clever or tricky. He held no fear of lying, did not refrain from it like Lan Qiren, but his actions, at least towards Wen Ruohan, were so lacking in malice that it was impossible to take offense from them. He’d always saved his malice for other people, and let Wen Ruohan share in the fun with him…

Yes, that was it. Lao Nie had always been fun.

And then he’d disappeared for a while, and returned with Nie Mingjue.

That had been the first break between them. A small one, but still a break – it wasn’t that Wen Ruohan hadn’t expected the man to marry eventually, since as sect leader he had a duty to continue his family line, but for whatever reason he’d expected to be involved in the process. Helping pick out some likely girl, debating her merits, that sort of thing, the same way they amiably argued over the pick of prostitutes during parties they attended. He hadn’t expected to be taken by surprise.

He hadn’t expected to care.

It had been only a little consolation that everyone else had been taken by surprise, too.

And of course it had helped that the First Madam Nie, Lao Nie’s much talked-of goddess, never actually made an appearance herself, even if she did get full honors in the Nie sect’s family record. It had been awkward, yes, and had made Wen Ruohan realize that he felt more things for Lao Nie than he really ought to – he’d reacted by ignoring said feelings for nearly a decade – but it hadn’t really felt like a betrayal.

The second wife felt like a betrayal.

They’d argued over that one. Lao Nie hadn’t understood why Wen Ruohan would care, and Wen Ruohan was too arrogant, and too embarrassed, to admit the truth that he did. After all, hadn’t he been the one to insist on them being nothing more than casual friends who occasionally indulged in more than that? And that was all he wanted, too, or thought he’d wanted, only he’d also wanted to be the most important part of Lao Nie’s life, and it came as a nasty shock to discover that he wasn’t. To discover that Lao Nie was actively pursuing others, and that he would pick them over Wen Ruohan if it came to it.

Things had never quite gotten better after that.

Oh, once Lao Nie’s second wife had died – or disappeared, whichever – they had fallen back into each other’s orbit, being almost too familiar with each other not to. They were the leaders of Great Sects, who knew virtually no peer; of that smaller group, they were the only two who were genuinely powerful in their personal capacities, or at least so Wen Ruohan had thought at the time. He’d known that Lao Nie was exceptionally fond of Lan Qiren, fond enough to almost drive Wen Ruohan into jealousy, but luckily he’d heard enough of Lan Qiren’s lectures to know that the two of them would never be compatible in any real sense. Even if Lao Nie had managed to get Lan Qiren into bed, the way Wen Ruohan had semi-seriously suggested to the man a few times that he try to do and which Lao Nie had laughed off as impossible, he’d been confident that Lan Qiren would never eclipse his own position in Lao Nie’s regard.

It certainly hadn’t occurred to him that he might be the one to fall for Lan Qiren in the end.

Wen Ruohan felt confident that he would have acted in the same way, fallen in the same way, even if his relationship with Lao Nie had not deteriorated to such an extent before he’d married Lan Qiren, but that didn’t change the fact that it had. It didn’t change the fact that Wen Ruohan had been growing steadily more offended by the way Lao Nie never seemed to trust him anymore, the way he always ascribed the worst possible motives to him, the way he seemed to think so little of him. Lao Nie had always had a suspicious side to him, which Wen Ruohan had once liked, a point of similarity between them, but he hadn’t liked it when it was aimed at him. Especially when he actually hadn’t done anything to deserve it!

Suspicion – anger – disdain –

It had never occurred to Wen Ruohan that it could have been caused by a qi deviation.

Perhaps it should have, given Lao Nie’s poisonous heritage, but it never had. Lao Nie was Lao Nie: he laughed where his ancestors would have shouted, let his anger carry him forward without letting it master him. He’d looked for solutions to his familial issue, of course, the way all of his ancestors had, but he’d done so idly, not serious, never serious. He always took things so easily. How could he die of rage?

How could he die?

“How long?” Wen Ruohan asked. The Nie sect doctors knew their business by now, after as many generations as it had been. “What do they say?”

“Ten years,” Lan Qiren said, and Wen Ruohan actually took a step back, staggering, horrified: that was so short. “Nie Mingjue said they’d expressed hope for fifteen, maybe even twenty, but that may have been meant only as comfort. As you know, Nie sect leaders die faster the more powerful they are, and Lao Nie’s cultivation is very strong.”

Wen Ruohan shook his head in denial, but he knew even as he did that it wasn’t something that he could deny.

Lao Nie was strong. And now that very strength was going to take him to the end of his life – too young, too soon, even for a Nie. It was all well and good to speak of trading your future for your present, but one day the future would come calling to collect the debt that had been incurred…

“I told Nie Mingjue that we would help however we could, do whatever we could about it,” Lan Qiren said. “Both of us. I assume you do not object?”

“There isn’t anything to be done about it.” Wen Ruohan pressed his fingers to his temples, which throbbed with a sudden headache, his body already starting to express the grief his mind could not yet accept. “Do you think the Qinghe Nie hate their children? They know what inheritance they are passing to them, they know what it costs, what it will take. They all look for a way out, every one of them…if it was easy, if there was a solution, don’t you think they would have found it by now? Every generation has its geniuses. Medicine, cultivation, esoteric arts; they’ve tried them all.”

“I know. There is no guarantee of success. We can only continue to try.” Lan Qiren hesitated, his face twisting into some strange expression that Wen Ruohan couldn’t quite parse. “If you wish…I had already told you that – that I would not object, if you wished to – with Lao Nie – ”

It was unusually garbled for the typically eloquent Lan Qiren, but Wen Ruohan still got the gist.

He shook his head.

“His mood at the party was foul,” he said. “He’s not taking it well, I assume? He’s still processing the revelation himself. Right now he wouldn’t accept a kind word, much less anything else.”

Lan Qiren nodded.

“And…” Wen Ruohan grimaced. “And I don’t know if I want to, anyway.”

That took Lan Qiren by surprise, Wen Ruohan could tell. He hadn’t been expecting that.

In fairness, before he’d said it, Wen Ruohan hadn’t been expecting to say it. If a few months ago someone had come to him and told him that they could prove that Lao Nie hadn’t really meant all the ways he’d been cruel or distrusting – and even if they’d warned him that there was no way to fix it, no way to have the old Lao Nie back, back as he’d been when things had been good – then Wen Ruohan wouldn’t have hesitated to jump right back into his bed.

But that was then. That was before he’d had Lan Qiren – Lan Qiren, who wasn’t light-hearted, who didn’t take everything easily, who was serious and sober and sincere. Who’d given Wen Ruohan his heart, whole and entire; who trusted him, and had faith in him, and forgave him, even against his better instincts. Who loved him, and wasn’t afraid to tell him. Who had let Wen Ruohan change him, who hadn’t been afraid to seek to change Wen Ruohan in turn.

Lan Qiren, who’d told him with all seriousness that he had lost his mind over him.

Wen Ruohan wasn’t alone anymore. He didn’t need to be content with the scraps of Lao Nie’s inconstant heart, which in truth belonged to no one and likely would never, could never. He didn’t need to be constantly hurting himself by wanting more than he could get, and never getting even what he deserved as the man’s friend.

“The qi deviation might have been the cause of his changed behavior,” Wen Ruohan said slowly, feeling it out for himself even as he spoke. “But it still happened. He still did it. Isn’t it the same for you, what happened with the Fire Palace? Just because there was a valid explanation doesn’t change the reality of it – what happened, still happened.”

He’d been hurt by Lao Nie’s seeming disregard of him. He’d been angry, yes, his vanity offended, but…it had been another betrayal, in a lifetime full of them.

Wen Ruohan was so very tired of betrayals.

He could admit, if only to himself, that some of the incompatibility between him and Lao Nie had preceded the qi deviation. Wen Ruohan was ambitious and greedy, he couldn’t be content with only a part of a person’s heart rather than the totality of it, and Lao Nie wasn’t capable of giving him what he wanted. And Wen Ruohan wasn’t able to give Lao Nie what he wanted, which was a connection that didn’t come with jealousy or unhappiness, something to enjoy without concern, without any strings attached.

“I forgave you for the Fire Palace,” Lan Qiren protested.

“Not everyone is you,” Wen Ruohan said, and omitted to mention you’re also in love with me, so your judgment is skewed in my favor – I’ll never complain about having an unfair advantage, but I prefer to recognize when they exist. “Anyway, like I said, it’s not the time. Lao Nie has ten years, and we will help him, just as you promised Nie Mingjue. Maybe we’ll figure out some way to give him a little longer – ”

Alternatively, they could try to find a way to make him immortal.

Wen Ruohan knew that most people thought he was joking when he said that becoming a god would solve a lot of his problems, but it really would. He was already so powerful, surely he just needed a little bit more…

Anyway, that was a later problem. As was the fact that Lan Qiren was also not yet immortal, though Wen Ruohan felt very confident that he’d be able to solve that problem before it became a pressing issue.

(And once they solved the problem of Lao Nie dying, they could perhaps once again discuss the other question. Lao Nie had always been very good in bed, and Wen Ruohan would be delighted to have the chance to introduce Lan Qiren to that fact, if he were willing. But he would only invite him in as a guest, the way Lao Nie preferred, and this time he would leave his heart out of it.)

“For the moment, we need to figure out who is trying to kill us. That’s the immediate issue,” he concluded, deciding not to think further on the subject of those he loved dying when there was a more pressing practical concern, denial and postponement having always served him very well in the past. Anyway, it was relevant. After all, immortality, in the sense of not dying of old age, was all well and good, but it wouldn’t help you if someone assassinated you.

In fact, even knowing that it had happened, even having lived through it, the whole thing still seemed somehow fake to Wen Ruohan. Who would dare try to assassinate him? With actual assassins, no less. Even if he was personally weakened, he still had all his influence, all his army, all his sect behind him. Surely whoever had ordered it would know that he would take vicious reprisals against them? Why would anyone risk such a thing…?

“There should be an answer to that by now,” he added. “Should we go see what it is?”

Lan Qiren blinked owlishly at him, as if surprised. “Have you not already figured it out? It took me a little time, thinking about it, but in retrospect it seems obvious.”

Now it was Wen Ruohan’s turn to be startled. He most certainly had not figured it out.

“What,” he said, a little disbelievingly, “surely not your brother again?”

“No,” Lan Qiren said. “It was Jin Guangshan. We are going to have to go to war.”

[fanficsforheartandsoul]

Not Like This | Valeria Garza x Fem!Reader

Note: A literal brain fart that I unexpectedly wrote in the afternoon after listening to girl in red today. Angst is seriously the only thing I can produce and feel good about somehow, like what the hell. I should bring this up in therapy next time. I didn't do much research for the fic so lots of stuff is just pulled out of my ass. Get ready for some typical cliché "dying-in-one's-arms" story. Feat. some random google translated Spanish sentences.

Fandom: Call of Duty: Modern Warfare II (2022)

Warnings: Non-Canon Story, Character Death, Angst, Unrequited Love, Just Pain, Blood, Ghost made an oopsie

Summary: You wanted to touch and kiss her but not like this...

Word Count: 2,6k

If you want to be tagged in my stories send me a pm with the fandom/character name! Or comment on the fic :)

Masterlist

"You don't have to do this!"

You practically beg but she just looks at you with that gaze, the one which says that she won't change her mind, no matter what.

She had held the same gaze when she informed you about her decision to take over the cartel and abandon your brothers and sisters in arms.

She is already in too deep at this point. You both know.

You had known for years since the moment when she took Pascale's hand and danced with him in that god-forsaken club.

He enticed her with an idea and she created El Sin Nombre. And it's all your fault. When you dumped that barrel with the son of La Araña in the river, you thought you had done the right thing and you turned your back on Alejandro and the others.

You watch her, her face is full of determination; it's almost like she's looking through you instead of at you, too captivated by her thoughts.

"It's for us. That deal will make sure our families and the ones after us won't ever grow up and live like we did."

"It wasn't that bad! And compared to how many people will suffer because of that man-"

"Not that bad? Y/N, we drank rainwater while my dead mother rotted in the bedroom! I had to stop Feliz from eating her! Your legs are like this because we didn't have access to proper medical care even in the military! We both suffered so much... But like this... With the authority I have now, these days are nothing but a bad dream! We have established schools and hospitals, and with this money, we'll help even more people!"

Your heart stings when she mentions your disability and the hand grasping your cane burns. She's right. You had suffered. But that was in the past. And compared to the suffering that this terrorist and his organization would bring upon the world...

You couldn't even look the people on the streets of Las Almas in the eyes anymore, how could you bear the weight of responsibility for the horrible crimes of that man?

Maybe you shouldn't have taken her hand when you were discharged from the military due to your increasing leg pain and weeks later she had shown up in front of your doorstep to take you into the hands of the cartel.

"He and those missiles will kill people, dozens of them! Innocent families, brothers, and sisters, little girls like Emilia... Valeria, please- Don't do this. The people hunting him will hunt you too. The Los Vaqueros, Alejandro-"

"We already made the deal. There are no takebacks, Y/N." There's no escape.

You stare at her. The ache in your chest that has been buried deep for years now, grows stronger.

You almost don't recognize her.

She's not the girl who took your first kiss at the age of 7. She's not the best friend you had since childhood. Not the teenager who made out with you when she was drunk at 17 and then didn't remember. Not the one who motivated you to follow your dream of joining the high school basketball team. Not the one who mesmerized you with her naturally glowing character who drew you in like a moth to a flame.

And yet...

You still love her.

And what could you do? You're already in too deep.

Years ago you decided to follow her until your feet couldn't carry you anymore.

You're a fool for her and if she decides to walk straight into hell, even then you will follow her.

You smile bitterly. She takes a step forward and grabs your right hand, her eyes staring straight into yours. Your heart flutters as always. The bitterness in your heart grows.

"You're my best friend Y/N, mi hermana. You know I'm doing this for us. Para tiempos más brillantes."

She doesn't see the tears threatening to fall from your eyes when she embraces you and you quietly sob into her arms. She holds you close and yet you've never felt farther away from her.

"para tiempos más brillantes" you whisper in her shoulder and for you these words are like a prayer, begging God or whoever to forgive you for your foolish heart and your foolish love.

-

A few days later you arrive in a black SUV for the cartel meeting.

The atmosphere in the house is already strange when you enter with Valeria. Diego greets you with a kiss on the back of your hand like always and once again you discreetly wipe your hand on your dress.

You hate participating in those meetings but to the cartel you're like a symbol, a symbol for the wealth and power that one can gain with the help of the cartel. So it's expected that you attend. And she likes it when you're with her.

You feel like a doll in that expensive dress Valeria gifted you. It's a light blue backless dress and compliments your shape.

She gave you this one with her typical words about wanting to make you feel good about yourself but you neither feel pretty nor good; the slit on the side shows off the scars on your leg and with your cane you give the image of a circus actor instead of a rich woman.

"You can rest upstairs", Valeria tells you and pats your shoulder and one of Diego's underlings wearing a black mask steps forward to accompany you.

"I'll see you in a bit."

"Yeah", you mumble and follow the guy. He tries to be discreet but you notice him looking at your feet right away and you huff inwardly. Yeah, she couldn't gift me expensive high heels unfortunately.

You're wearing flats because anything with heels hurt not only your feet but your legs as well.

On the highest floor you pour yourself a drink and sit on one of the chairs at the long round table.

You stare at the ice cubes in your class and watch as they slowly melt. Time ticks by and Valeria is nowhere to be seen.

It's pathetic how you wait for her like a puppy. But it's always been like this. She goes somewhere, you follow. When she's away, you wait for her, the only company your anxiety and worries.

Your thoughts are interrupted by a knock on the door.

The atmosphere has been weird before but when the guard tells you in a breathless voice that he will be right back, you know something is definitely off.

You're not on the comms and you don't have a weapon, you never bring one to these events because it "ruins your outfits".

But you don't have to worry much because right when you think about grabbing a kitchen knife just in case, Valeria and her lackeys storm through the door.

She's armed - unlike when you two entered the house. You immediately know something went wrong.

"Y/N", she says, her tone cold and you stand up quickly, "go on the terrace for a bit."

You blink perplexed. "What? Why?"

She gives you a look as she grabs the phone one of her men holds up for her.

"Solo hazlo!"

You continue to stare for a few seconds, but she turns away, not looking at you.

"Yes, El Sin Nombre" you sigh eventually. A guard offers you a gun and you take it silently.

You walk to the back of the room and leave through the door, the gazes of Valeria's guards burn on your naked back.

You sit on one of the loungers, letting your cane and gun rest by your side and you stare at the darkening sky. You know who she's calling in there and the guilt plagues your mind.

How did you two end up like this? This isn't the future you imagined for yourself.

Yes, you wanted to be by her side but not like this.

The 16-year old Y/N L/N didn't see herself as the closest confidant of a drug cartel boss. Your younger self didn't see herself involved with corruption and the distribution of narcotics. You didn't see yourself lying next to her, back to back, in a bed with a pistol under the pillow.

In your ideal future you would lay in her arms in a cozy bed in a house with room for you two and your family, her sister Emilia, your grandparents, maybe even a dog like Feliz. Just you, the love of your life and your family.

No guns, no drugs, just a happy life, satisfied with what you have.

But you know better. That dream will never come true. Valeria loves you, always has, but not like you love her. You'll never be more than her best friend.

And even if she saw you in a different light, your dream can never come true. The things you both have done in your past will haunt you.

You know it's only a matter of time until the USA will hunt you and the other drug cartels down. They'll purge everything they can get a sniff of. And then El Sin Nombre will pay the price. But you'll be right beside her.

"At least we can be together in prison", you say to no one in particular, a bitter smile on your lips.

You stroke the frayed strap of the bracelet Valeria had gifted you all those years ago in high school. Memories come up but they're interrupted by a low hum. Confused you turn your head, searching the sky when a loud bang and sudden gunshots ring out in the house.

In the blink of an eye you're on your feet, gun in hand with the safety off, your cane disregarded.

You hurry to the door right when it gets slammed open and Valeria runs into you. Shocked you lower your hands, mierda you almost shot her!

"Y/N!", she shouts, grabbing you by your arm. "We have to move!"

She pulls you with her but the low hum has turned into growling and the roar of spinning rotors accompanies the black helicopter who suddenly hovers over the house. You're trapped.

"Down! Get down, now!", someone in the helicopter shouts and god, you're so stupid but she's in danger and without a second thought you shoot at the man standing at the open in the helicopter, while trying to cover her with your body.

"Y/N!"

A lot happens in mere seconds. The man at the helicopter door ducks inside, the other soldiers scream and point their guns at you and you shoot once more when someone shoves you and the force sends you to your knees.

"Cease Fire, Immediately!!"

Shouts echo around you, two more men run on the terrace, rifle and gun pointing at you but you don't care.

You turn and stare at her and she looks you in the eyes. The brown is basically black in the dusk. The corners of her lips twitch as if she wants to smile. You notice the rapidly growing spot on her grey shirt, underneath her necklace on the left side.

You scream and she hugs you, forcing her whole body weight on you. You crumble completely to the ground, holding her close, one hand still clutching the gun.

"Target is hit- I repeat target is hit! Ghost what the fu-"

"Don't shoot! I know that woman!"

Y/N she whispers. She's not moving her lips but you know she called you. You stare into her eyes as she gasps for air.

"Ria, I got you- It's okay- I got you, I-"

You drop the gun and press onto the wound from the back. Your hands turn slippery from her blood.

One of the men walks up to you and kicks your gun away from your reach and as he hovered over you, you pull her closer, shielding her with your upper body.

No, no. This can't be happening!

Your heart beat resounds loudly in your ears, it drowns out the helicopter noise and the shouting soldiers. You feel naseous from the surging helplessness you feel. Until you hear a certain voice. It's familiar.

"Y/N, hey! It's me, Alejandro. Let me have a look at her, please."

Alejandro?

You lift your head, still holding eye contact with her. Her eyes are wide, shocked probably at the sudden development. You gulp but bile still rises in your throat.

Hands grab you, but they're not forceful and you straighten your upper body to give Alejandro the chance to look at her in your arms. You look at him, begging him to do something, to help- save her.

"...dro", she wheezes and he smiles but his raised eyebrows give his worry away.

"Valeria."

He reaches for her back where you hold her and when his hand finds yours, his face darkens. He stands up and turns towards the helicopter and waves at the blonde man inside, his red hand glistening.

"We need a medic now!"

The sentence flings you into the past.

"Necesito evacuación médica para Y/N!! Gómez, hijo de puta, call it in now!!"

Gunshots whizz past you two but Valeria doesn't care.

She puts more pressure on your legs and you just watch how her expression stirs from worry to determination.

You adore that face so much. Her sharp eyebrows, the straight bridge of her nose, her long eyelashes, the lines when she smiles. She's your own personal Aphrodite.

"...s beautiful..."

She looks at you scowling. "Shut up, Y/N! Don't go all woozy on me now! We'll get you out of here and you'll be just fine, okay?!"

You smile. Of course. You'll be just fine. After all, she's by your side.

"..can't do anything for her..."

You blink. The words pull you out of your distant memory. She's holding onto you, you realize belatedly. Her fingers dig into your skin but her grip is weak, too weak.

The two soldiers who got in front of you and checked her body retreat. You open your move to say something but she touches your face to get your attention.

"Y/N..."

She pulls you down, while moving her lips as if she wants to whisper something to you. Your chest painfully constricts.

Instead your lips meet. Someone says something but you don't hear them, too shocked by the sudden kiss.

It's more like a peck and it tastes like the alcohol you drank before but your chest almost explodes.

"D-Don't do that, Ria", you croak. The nickname is like poison on your lips.

She smiles. And kisses you again. Longer this time. You taste salt.

"Not like this- I don't want it like this! I haven't even- me cago en la puta, Valeria Martina Garza, you-"

You cover her hands with yours, smearing her blood on them as you grip her fingers tight, holding on like she's your lifeline. Your foreheads touch. The pain in your chest is tearing you apart. You feel like dying.

"Para tiem...pos más brillantes...", she whispers breathlessly and you sob, showering her face with kisses while cradling her in your arms. She huffs as if she's protesting.

"Don't fucking say that! Yo no puedo vivir sin ti!! I love you, Ria, I-"

The smile is still on her lips when her body goes limp in your arms. Your chest constricts as you breathe in shakily.

Tears fall and you rock her in your arms, holding the only one who ever mattered in your life in your arms and you scream, the pain in your chest never stopping.

How can I wish for better times when you're not with me?!

-

"Y/N L/N, what do you know about El Sin Nombre?"

"Ella era mi alma gemela. I'll tell you everything."

[kendrene]

Theirs is a poor house.

They’d done relatively well before her father passed — a good blacksmith brings in steady work, and food or other goods if customers can’t pay in coin. Things are different now. Harder. Their home is suffering as they are; walls are warping, the roof leaks, new problems spring up the second the old ones are dealt with.

There are times, especially in the strange hour that separates evening from night, when Kara has the impression she exists inside the chambers of a rotting diseased heart. Sorrow clings to every surface, light and warmth and laughter gone. What once had been a home has become an inhospitable place, soaked through with the inherent cruelty of the wilderness that surrounds it. It’s like staring into a mirror — the three of them are struck by grief, and so the house is too.

The small kitchen at the bottom of the stairs is the one place that hasn’t been affected. A fire burns in the hearth at all hours, no matter how tiny the flame, and every day after supper it is Kara’s task to bank the glowing embers for the night, so that the blaze can be easily revived the following morning.

Today a chill hangs in the air, and long shadows gather at the corners of the room. Alex sits at the table, a bowl of porridge in front of her. Kara joins her and helps herself to a second.

“Your absence at the fires was noted last night.”

“Good morning to you too.” The porridge is thinner than it was a week ago, and lukewarm. Kara eats it anyway. Having her mouth full gives her an excuse not to talk.

“I’m serious, Kara.” Alex’s eyes flick to her face. They narrow. “I’m pushing hard for you to be considered for apprenticeship, and you need to—”

Kara swallows a bite of dried apple and pushes the bowl away, still half-full.

“Have you ever stopped to consider that maybe it isn’t what I want anymore?” The thought has hounded her, given no respite. To voice it, unexpectedly even to herself, makes her ribs try to constrict and expand at the same time. That’s how it must feel to be trussed and quartered by horses, Kara thinks. Perhaps, she’ll rip apart too.

“What are you talking about?”

“This.” Kara plucks at the front of her stiff-collared uniform. Alex wears the same, except that red and gold chevrons are embroidered at the shoulders and cuffs, denoting rank. “You’ve  not asked me if I still want to be a part of it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” They’re sisters, they’ve fought plenty. The cutting, almost dismissive edge in Alex’s tone is something new. “Of course you do. Witch hunters have protected the village for longer than either of us has been alive. It’s an honor to be picked for enlistment. We help people, Kara. I thought that’s what you wanted too.”

“I do!” Kara snaps, more harshly than she means to. She can tell that things are escalating, and yet doesn’t know how to keep the words from spilling out of her now that the dam has been broken. “I’m starting to wonder, is this the right way? Things are getting worse.”

“Keep your voice down.” Alex practically growls. “This is the kind of talk that can land you in a fire. You’re not wrong. Things are bad. The sickness, the failed harvests, the scarcity of game.” Alex sighs, and for the space of a breath she drops the act. Behind the mask, Kara sees tiredness. She senses fear. “It’s hard to come to grips with all of this misfortune. Do you think it’s easy for me? That I don’t question why nothing we do seems to be helping?”

The harvest wouldn’t be so poor if farmers were permitted to rotate their crops more often, Kara itches to point out. Game would be abundant if Lord and his ilk hunted a little less. The illness — people have begun to call it the Brittles on account of how easily the bones of those afflicted break — she has no explanation for. But with the earth and living things around them wasting away, what right do men have to fare any better?

“And what do you tell yourself?”

Alex’s expression hardens again. “That our work isn’t done. That it won’t be until every last witch is gone.”

“And after that? What happens?”

“I don’t understand.”

“I mean—” Kara leans forward, hands flat on the table top. She isn’t sure whether she’s steadying herself, or readying to go for Alex’s throat. “Suppose you get rid of all the witches. What happens if things still don’t go back to how they were? If it’s not them, doing all you’re blaming them for?”

Swan song - supercorp witch/witch hunter au - read now on Patreon.

[lavendermin]

when it storms | kazuha

pairing | kazuha x reader

word count | 1.9k

genre | light angst, soft, first encounters

The skies had been cast over with rolling clouds of dark grey. Where the sun and moon used to glow so reverently, there now only fell a heavy rain in their wake.

It was fortunate for the land, your father had commented after a few days of downpour. The rain season was hardly this generous in recent years, and with the nation currently closed off there was an uneven flow of imports due to adjustment. More paperwork, longer shipment times. The people would have to endure less patron flow as the rain kept most indoors, but harvests and plenty of crystal clear lakes would be a sight to behold in the coming months.

This is good, you convinced yourself. Perhaps the dry storm seasons won’t be as many.

The streets outside slowly became less and less active with the usual flow of people. You stand against the door frame of your family’s restaurant, watching the never-ending sea of grey clouds above. The rain is cold against your skin as you stick out a hand curiously. It feels refreshing, pleasant.

“We’re closing up a little early today since the rain is starting back up again. Bring in the sign that’s outside. It would be a shame if it got blown away by tonight’s storm,” your father said as he wiped down the counters and put away clean bowls.

With a nod you happily went outside, umbrella in hand. The rain pattered quietly and rolled off the sides of its protective roof, surrounding you with a soothing atmosphere. The day had dwindled to a lethargic close, and with a languid fondness you watched the last few shopkeepers huddle back into their shops and homes.

The streets emptied out within minutes leaving muddy streets behind. The smell of wet earth hung in the air nostalgically.

Maybe it was fate, that double-take you took. With one last gaze out across the rainy-soaked street, you noticed them. The figure was so still—statuesque— that you wouldn’t have noticed them through the rainy mist if it hadn’t been for the bright crimson of their clothing that stood out.

Had they nowhere to go? Or were they someone who enjoyed standing in the rain? Better yet… How long had they been standing there in the pouring rain?

The question made your heart sink just thinking about it.

From within the building, your father’s voice called out with amusement. “Y/n, come in quick or you’ll get soaked. I don’t want you getting chilled and falling ill because you wanted to watch the rain.”

There was a squeeze of your chest when you turned back to the rain—a pang of guilt that gripped onto your mind. Rain fell relentlessly hard as it picked up, and it filled your mind with concern for that stranger in the rain.

Your body only partially turned toward the door, a quick hesitation stopping you in your tracks as you took one last look over your shoulder. That person… would probably get sick at this rate. Something in the way they stood rigidly against the elements held no joy for the downpour. No childlike amusement like the one you held for rainy days.

“I’ll be right in,” you reassure. “I forgot I left something outside.”

Peering your head quickly through the door frame, you see your father wave you off with a patient smile.

“Be quick.”

With a nod, you wait until you see him disappear up the stairs to the second floor to turn in for the night. You are quick on your feet making your way down the street of shops and houses. The patter of your boots on the rapidly-forming puddles pushed your aching legs forward, umbrella tightly gripped in hand.

The stranger was still unmoving as you approached, steps sounding out with the splash of water with each step. You were sure he heard you, yet he did not turn to meet you as you drew near.

“You’ll get sick if you stay out here in the rain, stranger,” you lightheartedly commented as you stopped next to him, holding your umbrella over him just enough to still partially shield you from the rain.

His eyes remained on the grey sky above, only now torn away slowly from the trance. There was a sorrowful haze that gripped those misty, crimson eyes.

“Do you think the rain is beautiful?” he asked.

This sudden question took you by surprise. The way he looked out at the sea of clouds held anything but sympathy for the grey skies that rained mercilessly.

You blinked, not knowing how to respond to this mysterious stranger. Unexpectedly, though, you felt at ease in his presence.

“I think the feeling of it is beautiful,” you responded, looking at the sky with him.

He hums at this answer, seemingly contemplating it. The answer comes from someone who spends their life indoors, and he understands it. Somehow, these small differences in experiences from person to person brings a little comfort to him. To know that not everyone’s simplicities of life are plagued by grief soothes his soul.

Brief silence overtakes you both as you stand in the downpour.

“Do you not like the rain?” you quietly ask after a while. There’s a worried crease in your brows as you look at him, and he cannot help but feel like he gravitates toward your warmth.

Only the harsh patter of the rain on your umbrella and flooding of the streets fills the silence for a beat as he remains in his thoughts.

“It’s been a while since I heard that question directed at myself,” he chuckles. The small smile that graces his features doesn’t reach his eyes, but answers fondly all the same. “When I was younger, I loved the rain.”

There’s weight in the words as he speaks them. You choose not to pry into the emotional scars tied to his answer.

“Are you travelling?” you ask, changing the subject.

He gives you a smile, and you notice how his snow-white hair clings to his face from the rain. It leaves a pleasantly warm feeling in your chest—how gentle he looks.

“Something like that.” Though his answers are vague, you aren’t one to pry—not when his eyes hold a distant sorrow in them. “It’s best to head inside. You could get sick out in the rain.”

“Come indoors with me, then,” you offer simply. With a warm smile you add, “If you’d like.”

He blinks at you, watches as you hover the umbrella closer over him. The rain is soaking most of you by now, and your smile is radiant— innocent in it’s bright sincerity as you offer him a roof over his head.

It makes this kind gesture all the more difficult to refuse.

“Kazuha,” is all he responds with, a thankful smile softening the gloom that surrounds him as you both hurry back down the muddy street. You introduce yourself just as briefly and lighthearted.

With a motion to the bar counter, you tap your hand on its surface to offer him a seat while you close up the shop and disappear into the kitchen. Kazuha wordlessly takes a seat, the warmth of the restaurant enveloping him pleasantly. His hands grip the towel that now rests around his shoulders a little tighter.

Within minutes, there’s a steaming bowl of noodles placed in front of him. “You’re too kind. I couldn’t possibly—“

You wave him off, plopping down on the seat next to him. “If the food is available, why not share a meal?” you interject simply, settling down next to him to begin eating your own noodle dish. “It’s hard to cook small portions when you’re only ever used to making large amounts for hungry customers. So, please, help yourself.”

“Thank you.” And Kazuha means it. “I’ll take my leave once I’ve finished.”

The look you give him is a little incredulous.

“In this rain? It’s an awfully harsh storm we’re expecting tonight.” You set down your chopsticks, looking at him fully with wide, concerned eyes. “You’re free to stay in the guest room until the storm passes. I would feel terribly guilty to leave you out in the rain.”

It’s silent, and you’ve both left your food untouched as Kazuha becomes a little tense. There’s something weighing on his mind with how he avoids your gaze, hands anxiously clenching and unclenching in his lap.

He reaches into his pocket, clutching something in his palm shielded from your view.

Now you’re curious.

His voice lowers, soft and cautious. “I don’t want to put you in danger with my presence.”

The smooth metal of the vision’s frame clangs quietly as Kazuha places it on the table, sliding it towards you.

“I’m a wanted man.”

There’s no response from you for a brief moment. Visions are rare to see nowadays, and even more dangerous to have. Your fingertips smooth over its surface momentarily, eyes sparkling with intrigue and wonder.

“The vision… Why is it missing?” you wonder silently.

Kazuha looks down. “That’s—“

“You don’t have to explain anything. This doesn’t make you a bad person,” you quickly defend. It takes him aback, caught off by the sudden emotion that makes your eyes twinkle. “Stay.”

“It would put you in da—“

“I don’t care. Your life is important. I’ll help you.” There’s a fire in your eyes as you hold his gaze, face serious. Your expression softens as you place the blank vision back in his palm with a reassuring gentleness. “I won’t lose another person to them.”

There are details that both of you do not know, information left out of each other’s backgrounds and circumstances. But one thing reigned true—there was goodness in his heart, and in yours, too. Perhaps this is what convinced him to accept your generosity.

He’s smiling, gentle upon his expression as he picks up his chopsticks once more.

“You aren’t the first to put your life on the line for me,” he adds quietly. The atmosphere has relaxed once more as you both continue eating through idle conversation in the dim restaurant lighting.

You hum, mouth full of food. “And I’m sure I won’t be the last. But,” you bite your thumb, pondering. “I’m sure you’ve been running for a while.”

With a quiet sigh, he answers, “Longer than I thought I would last, if I’m being honest.”

There’s a glint in your eye, and you’re deep in your own onslaught of thoughts. There’s an underlying anxiousness that falls upon your shoulders. Kazuha wishes he could read you better.

For the remainder of the quick meal, you hold your tongue but he can see the gears turning in your head. The bowls are emptied, hunger satisfied, and you show him to the guest room through hushed voices.

“Kazuha,” you call quietly before leaving the room you prepared for him. Your voice lowers further, barely above a whisper and you make it a point to sidle closer to him. “If you had the chance to escape Inazuma… would you?”

His eyes go a little wide for a moment. “You couldn’t mean…”

“I have a plan.”

And in that moment, he gazes at you with reverence and trust. His heart would be safe in the palm of your hand. You wait for his approval to continue with the idea. The smile he flashes you is contagious, and you are a beacon of hope in this tumultuous uncertainty.

He sits on the sleeping mat you've prepared, patting the spot next to him where he plopped down. “Let's hear it, then.”

In the late hours of the night, two hushed voices debate their best chance of escape.

“I have a close acquaintance, captain of her own fleet from Liyue.”

[eskelstits]

Okay okay so hear me out:

Jaskier has been acting odd lately, though the bard was either too shy or too stubborn to acknowledge it. At the very least, he was stubborn fool for thinking Geralt, of all people, wouldn’t take notice. Jaskier had suddenly become adamant about more generous rations for his Witcher, started to insist on larger dinners at taverns, and was always quick to suggest another round of food and drink— only to insist that Geralt finish it. The witcher pretended not to notice the way Jaskier watched intently while he ate and hid his wry amusement when the bard hurriedly looked away upon being caught. Geralt had so far played along with these antics in feigned ignorance, admittedly feeling a small thrill as his body started to bulk and strain against his armor. And now that he was paying closer attention, he found himself fond of just how delicate his bard looked by comparison. Armed with his suspicions of what Jaskier is up to, Geralt decides to satisfy his curiosity by embracing the bard’s antics and seeing just how much he can him squirm.

I was thinking some stuffing and size kink ~ with increasingly daring taunts thrown from both sides of the table bc let’s be real neither of the boys would give in easily.

THANK YOU i definitely had fun with this prompt

[ masterpost - ao3 ]

"Are you ill?" Geralt asked the question hunched over the plate of eggs and bacon he was enjoying for his breakfast.

More accurately, Jaskier's breakfast. Geralt had already finished his own serving, but then Jaskier had deftly stacked his own half-full plate on top of Geralt's empty one. To be fair, as it turned out, that particular tavern did tend to dish out surprisingly hearty portions, and Geralt had to remind himself that Jaskier was not a witcher, and therefore did not have the appetite of one. It was not the only occasion on which Jaskier had passed off a good fraction of his food to Geralt, however.

In fact, it seemed to be happening more and more frequently lately. He would demand seconds, larger portions, extra bread or more ale, only to immediately claim that he was full and offer it up to Geralt. After a tough life of fighting for survival, Geralt was a rather opportunistic eater, and so he always took advantage of Jaskier's leftovers. It was … strange, but Geralt could not say he exactly minded it. He did like going to bed warm and satiated rather than starving, tossing and turning and kept awake by his growling stomach. The only thing that really puzzled Geralt was the staring. Jaskier would look at him like Geralt was the most fascinating thing on the Continent whenever they sat down together to eat, but as Geralt had recently discovered, Jaskier would always quickly look away the moment Geralt met his eye.

Jaskier gaped and sputtered for a moment, eyes wide and hand settled over his chest as though Geralt had just viciously insulted him.

"Ill? Geralt, you wound me. I will have you know that I'm positively glowing with good health," Jaskier huffed.

Geralt grunted. Eyes narrowed, he examined Jaskier for just a brief moment longer, then bowed his head again to continue eating. Out of the edge of his vision, he could see Jaskier watching him.

Geralt had been willing to ignore the odd behavior up until his trousers started feeling tight. He still was not quite upset. It was not an overly drastic change, just a slight layer of padding over top of his muscles, making him look more like he did after he had been settled for a while over the winters he spent at Kaer Morhen, but there was a definite difference. Jaskier seemed to be noticing, too. Though he had not said anything about it, he still stared, and whenever he and Geralt fell into bed together, the bard's hands smoothed all over him, wordlessly worshiping Geralt's fuller frame.

Geralt enjoyed it, too. He had always been broader than Jaskier, but putting on a bit of weight had only highlighted that contrast. The day before, Geralt had caught a glimpse of his reflection looming behind Jaskier's in the mirror as the bard stood there checking over his own outfit for the evening's performance, and he had looked almost … delicate in comparison to Geralt. The sight had ignited something deep and primal and exciting in his core, and he wanted to chase that thrill.

No, he was far from upset. He was curious, though. While he had pieced together what was happening, there was still one more question: Was Jaskier doing it on purpose? Geralt supposed he could simply ask, but the thought of setting himself up for vulnerability like that was horrific. He had to find some other way to weasel out the truth. He had to beat Jaskier at his own game.

"Do I look different to you?" Geralt dared to ask that evening while they waited for the barmaid to come back with their dinner order. Jaskier looked anxious for just a brief second, but then he relaxed again and hummed inquisitively as he scanned Geralt's face.

"Is that a new doublet? Oh! Have you trimmed your beard?" Jaskier said.

Geralt hummed. By trade, Jaskier was a performer, but Geralt knew him well enough to be able to tell when he was lying -- or 'acting,' as Jaskier often corrected him. Two could play that game. Feigning ignorance, Geralt nodded and falsely agreed that he had gone to a barber, and he watched Jaskier decompress with relief. When the barmaid returned and set a full plate down in front of each of them, Geralt cleared his throat to get her attention.

"I want another," he said, pointing to his own plate.

"Ah … Another leg of chicken?" The barmaid looked a bit confused, like she was hesitant to believe that Geralt had been referring to the entire meal.

"No. Another plate," Geralt insisted. A brief pause, and he tacked on, "Please."

The barmaid blinked, but she chose not to argue. Rather, she nodded and scurried back to the kitchen. When Geralt looked back towards Jaskier, the bard was staring. Again.

"... Hungry, are you?" Jaskier questioned.

"Very."

Geralt held Jaskier's gaze for a moment longer and watched as just a hint of color began creeping over the bard's cheeks. Without another word, Geralt began to eat. He tore into the half chicken and the hearty portion of roast vegetables he had in front of him, and each time he glanced up, he found Jaskier trying and ultimately failing to be subtle about the fact that he was watching Geralt like a hawk. Geralt thought that he would have wanted to shy away before he managed to get his questions answered, but that was not the case. In reality, he actually liked the attention, those enraptured eyes fixed on him making him feel alight with a strange mixture of pleasure and shame. The barmaid came back with the rest of the food Geralt had requested, and she set it down quickly almost as though afraid of getting bitten if she ventured too close. Geralt grunted his thanks around a full mouth. Jaskier had been uncharacteristically silent the entire time, all the way up until Geralt finally broke for air and a drink of ale.

“Are you … sure you’re going to be able to finish all of that?” Jaskier sounded both tentative and almost laughably eager.

“Yes,” Geralt answered.

He met Jaskier’s eye again, his gaze dark and smoldering. The bard’s throat bobbed enticingly when he swallowed, and Geralt only barely held back a smirk. Whether or not Jaskier had been feeding Geralt up on purpose, it was obvious that he enjoyed the show, and it was always fun for Geralt to try and get him flustered.

“Ah, yes, well … I suppose you have had quite a healthy appetite lately,” Jaskier said. He spoke hesitantly, testing his luck. Geralt pushed right back.

“Someone has to eat all your leftovers.”

“Mm, yes. You are rather good for that.”

Geralt made it about halfway through his second plate before Jaskier was getting restless again. The bard still had some food remaining on his own plate, and judging from the way he kept glancing between it and Geralt and tapping his fingers anxiously against the table, he was hoping to see the witcher finish it off for him.

“Going to eat that?” Geralt spoke around a mouthful of chicken.

He had inched past satisfied a few bites ago, but he could keep going comfortably enough, and he so desperately wanted to see how Jaskier was going to react to his more deliberate goading. Geralt watched while Jaskier blushed and tried his best to act as though he had not been hoping to hear that exact question. It had been painfully obvious. Their many years together had given Geralt the ability to be able to read Jaskier like an open book. Sometimes, it was useful, likely saving Jaskier from some fights when Geralt was able to pick up on the body language that meant foolish determination or rising anger, but other times, like in that moment, it was simply amusing.

“Come now, love, you can’t possibly still be hungry,” Jaskier teased. Somewhat unexpectedly, it sent a jolt down Geralt’s spine. The witcher made a noise somewhat like a little growl, and his pupils widened. Jaskier did a much poorer job of veiling his own smirk. Perfect. Geralt was baiting him, and he was falling for it so easily. “I know you’ve been eating a great deal lately, but honestly … you’re getting greedy.”

Geralt’s heart fluttered nearly as quickly as a human’s as Jaskier scraped the rest of his food onto Geralt’s plate. By then, Jaskier seemed to have accepted that it was useless to hide his interest. He sat with his elbows braced against the table and his jaw cradled in his palms, alluring blue eyes fixed unwaveringly on Geralt. Near the end of his meal, Geralt was at last starting to struggle, the fact that his armor clung to him a bit more than he would have preferred only keeping it pinned in the forefront of his mind just how full he was. Jaskier’s reddened cheeks had only grown more vivid, the color even dusting the tips of his ears. Geralt rarely saw the bard so silent, so unwaveringly focused, usually only when he was in the middle of a fit of intense writing inspiration, and while Geralt felt scrutinized, he was actually enjoying it. Feeling bold, he grunted around his last mouthful and then reclined back in his chair, hoping to give Jaskier a glimpse of his distended belly where it strained against his clothes. Judging from the look on the bard’s face, it had worked.

“Are you finally satisfied, then?” Jaskier asked, and something about his tone of voice had something hot and exciting churning in the pit of Geralt’s stomach. He sounded almost condescending, but in the most deliciously arousing way possible.

“Mhm.” It was little more than a grunt.

Jaskier evidently had very little regard for how sluggish Geralt was looking. Lithe fingers curled around Geralt’s wrist and tugged insistently, and although Geralt easily could have kept himself planted in place if he had truly wanted to, he allowed Jaskier to haul him up onto his feet and lead him upstairs. Such a short trip normally would never have affected him, but with a full stomach weighing him down, Geralt found himself panting softly by the time he and Jaskier had reached their room. Distracted by the unfamiliar feeling of his trousers digging into his skin so tightly that it was almost painful, Geralt had little time to react before he was suddenly backed up against the closed door and drawn into a heated kiss.

“Jask --” Geralt breathed, cut off abruptly by yet another kiss.

Clearly, he had guessed right. Jaskier did enjoy that display, even more than Geralt had been anticipating. Soon, Geralt gave up on speaking, and he yielded to the kiss, lips parting for a teasing swipe of Jaskier’s tongue through his mouth. There was a pleasant warmth against Geralt’s middle that he soon recognized as Jaskier’s hands, kneading gently through stiff leather.

“Look at you,” Jaskier murmured. Geralt bit back a dry remark about how it was difficult to do that with the bard plastered up against him. “You’re getting so big.”

A thrill ran through Geralt at that. He curled his hands around Jaskier’s slender hips and squeezed, drawing him in closer, and Jaskier gasped against his lips. In truth, Geralt did not look too terribly different than he usually did, but there had been a little tone of hopefulness in Jaskier’s voice, a subtle but unmistakable hint that he wanted more. The next few seconds seemed to blur together, but somehow, Geralt had ended up spread out on the bed, staring up into Jaskier’s darkened eyes where he had perched himself on Geralt’s hips. Jaskier’s usually agile fingers trembled with anticipation as he worked Geralt out of his armor, putting him on blatant display. Where he had once been all sharp angles and overly defined muscles, he had accumulated a small layer of padding, and most noticeable of all at the moment was the rounded curve of his belly, warm and full and demanding Jaskier’s complete attention. His hands smoothed over it, rubbing and exploring, interspersed with little appreciative pats and scratches.

“Knew you were doing it on purpose,” Geralt said. Much to his amusement, Jaskier actually looked shocked. “Weren’t very subtle about it.”

“Yes, well --” Jaskier paused, seeming to be struggling to decide on what to say. Eventually, he just huffed, then decided to deflect and taunted, “Are you sure you aren’t just a glutton?”

Geralt smirked. Without any warning, he rolled over, pinning Jaskier beneath him. He heard Jaskier’s pulse flutter. A heated fantasy sped through Geralt’s mind, thoughts of how easily he could subdue Jaskier, how much stronger and bigger Geralt was, how much deep trust it took for Jaskier to lay himself out so vulnerable for a witcher, a predator. Jaskier’s arms snaked around him, and his hands splayed out over Geralt’s shoulder blades. Geralt laid heavier against him and growled in his ear just to feel Jaskier squirm. Jaskier would be unable to get away even if he wanted to with Geralt’s full weight holding him down. Oddly, that was a deeply pleasurable thought, and Geralt had very quickly decided that he would take no issue with it if Jaskier wanted to keep feeding him, making him broader and heavier still, only further exaggerating that contrast between the two of them. If the way Geralt could feel Jaskier’s hardening cock digging into his thigh was any indication, they were in agreement on that.

“Going to get me something good for breakfast tomorrow?” Geralt purred into Jaskier’s ear.

Jaskier groaned, hooked his legs around Geralt’s waist to grind their hips together, and moved one hand to tangle into the witcher’s hair. His opposite hand snuck downwards, and he pinched at the slight, growing plushness at Geralt’s hip.

“Certainly. You’re just wasting away.”

Geralt’s mouth was far too busy then for any proper response.

[thinkingisadangerouspastime]

Love of My Life

It was then Katara’s turn to stare up at the fiery sky, the multitude of clouds glowing in red and orange glory. “Aang,” she murmured, his name falling from her lips like a prayer. “Please.”

After the final battle, Katara and Aang reunite.

(Written for Day 3 of Kataang Week 2021: Missing Scenes/Post-Canon, hosted by @kataang-week. Read here on AO3, or continue reading below.)

Azula was taken away at some point, maybe by the Fire Sages, but her bloodcurdling screams and broken sobs were hardly a pinprick at the back of Katara’s mind as she kept her attention trained to the lightning wound blasted across Zuko’s solar plexus. Her hands glowed with the water she was continuously pulling from the now-burst piping system in the courtyard around them. She had no enhanced spirit water as with Aang, but fortunately Zuko’s injury was less severe and—thanks to her quick defeat of Azula—no longer life-threatening.

Zuko winced, and guilt flashed through Katara’s stomach for silently dismissing his pain. “Sorry.” She moved the water further upward on his chest, over a spot where the skin was more blistered. “Better?”

A low hiss escaped Zuko’s lips as the cool liquid skimmed the wound, and he managed a weak nod. “Thanks.” His voice was raspier than usual. To be expected. “For this, and for… and for stopping Azula.”

The urge to laugh rose in Katara’s throat, which she immediately suppressed because Tui and La, what was wrong with her? How was now an appropriate time for laughter? “Well, you’re welcome,” she said instead, giving him a weary smile, “but next time, how about you don’t taunt her about the lack of lightning, hmm?”

Zuko grimaced, and Katara knew that particular reaction had nothing to do with the wound across his chest. “Let’s just hope there will never be a next time.”

Katara couldn’t argue with that.

The following minutes were quiet as Katara slowly moved the water up, down, and around Zuko’s injury, her hands themselves hovering less than an inch above his chest. While she knew it was only a figment of her imagination, Katara could’ve sworn there was still blue lightning—Azula’s lightning—flickering across the wound, sparking at her fingertips and prickling across her skin.

Maybe, then, it was this lingering remnant of the Avatar’s slayer that had Katara so on edge. Maybe that was the reason why tension still thrummed through her body despite that she and Zuko were safe now, despite that they’d won.

“He’s going to come back.”

Zuko’s words broke the heavy silence, startling Katara so badly her concentration flew out the figurative window. The water around her hands lost its glow and splattered across Zuko’s chest like she’d emptied a full bucket on top of him. Frantic apologies spilled from her lips as she bent the water off his upper body with similar haste, but Zuko—wincing—pushed himself into a sitting position before she could begin the healing process again.

“Zuko, what are you—”

“Aang is going to come back,” he repeated, staring at Katara with an intensity that probably shouldn’t have been possible for someone in his grievously injured state. A testament to her healing skills, truly, and also to Zuko’s general stubbornness.

“I know he will,” Katara said after a pause, bending the water she’d again collected around her hands into the leather waterskin that hung at her hip. “If memory serves, I was the one telling you that on our way here.”

Zuko chuckled. “I know. Sorry. You just seemed like…” His eyes flickered across her face, searching for vulnerability Katara refused to bare. “Like you needed the reminder.”

Katara sighed, not meeting his gaze. “Look. I know Aang will come back. I know he’ll win.” Spirits, maybe he had won already. “I mean, he’s the only one who can. But I guess I’m still—” Katara cut herself off with another sigh, blinking back exhausted tears. “Fine, you’re right. I guess I’m still worried.”

Aang would return victorious, yes, there was no doubt in her mind. But at what cost? What price would he have been forced to pay? Sacrificing his body through the loss of a limb? Sacrificing his soul through the loss of that which his people valued above all else? Katara knew, she knew that if anyone could stop Ozai without killing him, it was Aang. But what she didn’t know was—was how.

Spirits, Katara wouldn’t be able to handle it if Aang returned to her broken in a way she couldn’t heal. She’d already witnessed him die once, watched his body go limp as life left it. She wasn’t ready to watch his spirit disappear, wasn’t ready to watch hope leave his heart, too.

Zuko opened his mouth, presumably to offer more words of comfort to her, but he was interrupted by Appa’s body stiffening—the sky bison was so large it was impossible not to notice the reaction. He’d originally been standing guard, for all intents and purposes, while Katara healed Zuko, but now his eyes were glued to the sky as he released a bellow that shook the stone of the courtyard beneath them.

Katara grabbed Zuko’s arm to keep him from toppling over, but instead of resettling himself, Zuko tried to stand up, as if the giant wound on his chest was nothing more than a mere papercut.

“It’s Aang!” was the only explanation he gave as Katara relented with a huff and helped him to his feet. “It has to be. What else would get Appa acting like this?”

Privately, Katara agreed with him. Hope beat in her heart so rapidly it ached. But since Zuko had wildly, unexpectedly, completely out of the blue transformed into an optimist—seriously, had the lightning gone through his brain?—well, that meant she had to be the one to temper his optimism with a little realism.

“It could be a threat,” she responded honestly, not releasing Zuko’s arm until she was certain he’d gathered his balance.

Zuko shot her a doubtful look. “You sure?” He pointed at Appa, whose tail had started shaking—okay, yes, probably with excitement, Katara would admit that much.

It was then her turn to stare up at the fiery sky, the multitude of clouds glowing in red and orange glory. “Aang,” she murmured, his name falling from her lips like a prayer. “Please.”

Seconds later, those otherworldly clouds split open to reveal a Fire Nation airship, and on the exterior Katara could see flashes of blue and green fabric—Sokka and Toph, it had to be. Spirits knew she probably should have been concerned about who was steering the balloon, but once it was clear the ship was heading steadily towards the ground and wouldn’t face a disastrous crash, Katara’s mind returned to its previous mantra.

Aang. Aang. Aang.

“Remember to breathe, Katara.”

Katara shot Zuko a mild glare at his wry tone, but exhaled, because he was right—she’d been holding her breath. In fact, she was still holding far more tension in her body than could be considered healthy, but Katara knew that overwhelming stiffness wasn’t going to ease until she saw her friends alive and well, until she felt Aang’s heartbeat in sync against her own.

Katara’s breath hitched as the airship came to a stop far from herself and Zuko, hovering above the stone ground of the courtyard. It was much larger up close—no wonder it couldn’t land properly. There was a deep rattle as a metal plank, of sorts, some kind of steel pathway lowered from the ship and scraped across the ground with an earsplitting screech. Onto it stepped—

“They’re alive!” Katara gasped, blinking back elated tears as Sokka, Aang, Toph, and Suki—and Momo atop Suki’s left shoulder—stepped out onto the platform. One of Sokka’s legs was in a splint and he had to lean onto Suki’s side for support as he hobbled along, but— “They’re all alive!”

Aang was alive.

They’d done it. A little bruised, a little broken, maybe all around worse for wear, but—

They’d done it.

“Come on,” Zuko urged, taking an unsteady step forward and immediately wincing. He didn’t let the pain stop him, though, powering another foot ahead. “Let’s meet them halfway.”

Katara rolled her eyes, ducking under Zuko’s arm to brace him against her side, careful to avoid his injury. “Idiot.” Standing on his own was one thing, but walking by himself was an entirely different matter. She could already tell Zuko was the kind of person who made a terrible patient.

But Katara walked with him all the same, slow and steady. As they got closer, she could better see the physical state her friends were in. Toph had only a few scrapes across her arms and face. Same for Suki. Sokka had clearly done a number on his leg, as he was hardly putting any weight on it despite the well-made split, and not to mention that Suki continued to brace him while he walked. Aang was—

“Appa!”

Well, Aang was getting smothered by Appa, Katara noted with silent amusement as the sky bison practically tackled Aang to the ground, nuzzling and licking him with unabashed eagerness.

“Buddy, I’m okay!” Aang managed to wheeze out amidst his laughter, giving Appa a tight hug. “I’m okay, I promise.”

He seemed to be telling the truth, at least based on what Katara could discern from afar. His orange robes were torn to oblivion, with only his Fire Nation pants remaining. She could see minor burns across his chest and one area on the left side of his ribs that looked to her like it would become a painful bruise, but overall—

“If you guys are here with no Azula,” Sokka joked as they all came to a stop, snapping Katara’s attention away from Aang, “does that mean Zuko finally gets to rule the Fire Nation?”

Katara allowed Zuko to keep some of his weight on her even as they stood still. He laughed at her brother’s comment. “Katara’s the one who technically defeated her in the Agni Kai. Maybe that makes her the Fire Lord.”

Katara groaned and rolled her eyes, ignoring the amused snickers of her friends. “Tui and La, no. I refuse. I resign. I—I abdicate. The throne is all yours, Zuko.”

She turned her attention to her brother’s injured leg as Suki began recounting the details of their battle in the air, including how they’d managed to pilfer an airship of their own. Up close, Katara was relieved to see that no bone had broken through the skin in Sokka’s shin or thigh—that would have made it much harder for her to heal. She made sure Zuko was stable on his feet before stepping away to study the injury further. But as she crouched at Sokka’s side and went to bend water out her flask for the preliminary healing process—

“Hey. That can wait.”

Katara blinked, staring up at Sokka in utter confusion. “Excuse me?” His leg was broken, she couldn’t just—

Sokka jerked his head towards Aang, who was busy freeing himself from beneath Appa’s weight. “Go greet the hero of the hour. My leg will still be here when you get back.”

Toph snorted. “Of the hour?” She shook her head. “Give him credit, Sokka—Twinkle Toes is the hero of the century.” Momo chirped before jumping from Suki’s shoulder onto Toph’s, as if agreeing with her.

Katara turned to look at Aang, her mind tuning out the rest of her friend’s teasing banter that followed. He was—Aang was more than the hero of the century, at least to her. More than the Avatar, more than an airbender, more than—

Aang must have felt her eyes on him, because he paused in petting Appa to turn around and give her a shy grin. “Hi, Katara.”

With those two words, the dam burst, and Katara sprinted over to Aang with all the speed of a roaring wave. Her arms crashed around his bare shoulders like water beating against the shore, and Aang wrapped his arms around her waist in return. Katara could only squeeze him tighter, his face pressing into her shoulder.

“You stopped him,” Katara whispered. Her words were shaky, or—spirits, maybe it was her entire body that was quivering. “Ozai. You stopped him.”

Aang nodded into her shoulder, and Katara slackened her grip just enough so he could lean back and reply. “Yep.”

Katara’s right hand instinctively rose to cup his face. She could see it in his eyes—tired, yes, but still so full of hope, the warm gray as rich as the shimmering moon. “You found another way, didn’t you?”

Aang smiled at her, laugh lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes, and spirits if that wasn’t an image Katara wanted traced into her memory for the rest of time. “Ozai is alive. But he can’t hurt anyone ever again.”

Katara had a million questions, the first being the obvious How? How did you do it? But no query fell from her lips despite her overwhelming curiosity. Instead, all she could do was stare at Aang, tears of relief sliding down her cheeks as she smiled and smiled and smiled and—

“I am so proud of you,” Katara said, the words halfway to a sob as she pulled Aang into another crushing hug, marvelling at how perfectly his body fit against hers. “I knew you would do it, Aang, I knew it. Only you could.”

Aang laughed. “Must’ve been your belief that got me through it.” His arms tightened around her, as if he, too, needed the unspoken reassurance that Katara was there, that she was real, that they had won, the same way she needed such comfort from him. “At one point, I’m not even sure I believed I’d succeed.”

“It’s a good thing I never doubted you, then,” Katara whispered, and Aang laughed again.

“Yes. Thank you.”

Katara wasn’t quite sure what Aang was thanking her for—her faith then, her presence now?—and in truth, she had a feeling Aang didn’t precisely know, either. But what did precision matter? They were here, together, alive. Beaten and bruised but not broken beyond all repair. Neither of them had lost what they couldn’t live without.

For Aang, the vestiges of his peaceful people. And for her…

Aang.

Katara hadn’t lost Aang. Not like she had before, not like she couldn’t bear to ever lose him again.

“Alright, lovebirds! That’s enough time spent hugging the life out of each other. Come tend to the wounded, please.”

Katara rolled her eyes at her brother’s obnoxious interruption, but she released Aang after a final tight squeeze. She really did want to take a look at Sokka’s leg. Besides—she and Aang now had all the time in the world. All the time in a peaceful world, at that.

Aang followed her back to the rest of their friends, and Katara had just knelt down to examine Sokka’s injury when Aang burst out into loud, unprovoked laughter. The sudden sound made her jump, and it was only thanks to some quick thinking—and inelegant bending—that she avoided spilling the water from her waterskin all over the stone courtyard for the second time in the past ten minutes.

“What’s so funny?” Zuko asked, the apparent reason for Aang’s laughter. “What did I do?”

“No—you didn’t—” Aang cut himself off with a wheeze, and Katara couldn’t stop herself from glancing behind her to see what on Earth had him in stitches.

Aang pointed at Zuko’s chest, biting down hard on his bottom lip in a clear attempt to withhold further laughter. “That. Azula shot you with lightning, right?” When Zuko nodded, he said, “And Katara healed you?”

“I did,” Katara confirmed. Sokka gave her a disapproving look, probably because she was yet to begin healing his leg, but—well, this time Katara had no real excuse beyond her own intrigue. Whoops. But it wasn’t as if his splint wasn’t holding up perfectly. The expertise with which it was secured suggested Suki had been the one to fashion it, and that meant Sokka would be fine for a quick moment longer.

Aang’s laughter returned in full force, one arm wrapped around his stomach while his free hand gestured wildly behind him. “We—We match!” He turned around, and—

“Oh, for Agni’s sake,” Zuko groaned, and Katara found herself unable to contain her laughter. In a matter of seconds, they were all laughing at Aang’s revelation. Even Zuko, once he’d gotten over himself.

Tui and La. Katara loved her friends, she loved her life, she loved being alive with her friends by her side and—

Aang.

She loved Aang.

Oh, spirits.

[kataraslove]

katara: “do you hear that?”

aang: “sounds like it’s coming from over there...”

for kataang week day 3: post canon @kataang-week​

newly wedded aang and katara (now sporting a cute little bob) were travelling across the world for their honeymoon. on their way to the kingdom of omashu, the two decided to stop and revisit the cave of two lovers. as aang and katara leaned in for a quick kiss by the entrance of the cave, they heard a blood-curling scream come from inside. immediately pulling away, the couple shared a suspicious look with each other before deciding to investigate.

katara cautiously grabbed her pouch as aang drew out a small flame to lead the way. however, the waterbender stopped her husband to remind him that the tunnels were filled with fluorescent crystals that glowed in the dark. 

“oh yeah,” aang recalled. he looked down at the flame dwindling in his palm. “i’ll put it out when we get further in there. if we hear screaming again, we’ll be able to find out where it came from.” 

“you can also use your earth bending this time around.” 

aang nodded. “that i can.” the gentle lines of his face - reserved especially for his wife - quickly switched up to the avatar look, the signature look that he bore whenever there was danger and people in need of his help. 

“let’s go.”

(continued under the cut, 2.4k words)

the broad sunlight of the summer day was reduced to a small crevice against their backs, as the two lovers made their way into the shadows of the labyrinth. their primary light source came from aang’s flame, which had grown brighter the farther they travelled. the avatar could not help but become a little bit mesmerized with the vivid red and orange hues that danced in his left palm, the warmth that occupied his hand having stretched out to his entire body. the flame synchronized so perfectly well with his heartbeat. fire is life, he recalled the words of the sun warrior chief. not just destruction. 

aang nearly chuckled out loud. firebending came so naturally to him now - almost as natural as his airbending. to think that there was ever a time that he had outright hated the element and vowed to never learn it, even if it had meant jeopardizing his avatarhood.

however, a small voice crept to the back of his mind, uncomfortably reminding of the exact reason as to why he initially refused to learn the element at the age of twelve. it was the same reason that brought shame and guilt inside his gut - even eight years later - whenever the memory unexpectedly crossed his mind. what he had done to katara on that day, how he had refused to listen to jeong jeong’s advice and lost control of his fire, the image of her fresh burns - it was all there, forever smeared across his brain and heart as a painful reminder. no matter how many times katara had insisted that good had come from that day through the discovery of her healing abilities, aang could never wash away the trauma associated with that event.

he inhaled sharply. it won’t happen again. he wasn’t twelve anymore, and he had full control over all the elements now. fire was energy, he had learned, and life.

sparing a glance at katara, who had been awfully quiet since they got into the cave, he noticed that his wife was chewing anxiously on her lower lip. the trouble in her beautiful features was easily detectable by the bright flames within his hand. he moved closer to her, his shoulder gently bumping hers in an attempt to comfort her. “you okay?”

she met his eyes, and he could see the hint of fear reflected in them. “aang, i’m worried.”

“you have nothing to be worried about,” aang reassured her with a small smile. “whatever it is, or whoever it is, we can take ‘em.”

katara shook her head. “i’m not worried about the who. we’ve probably dealt with far worse than whatever is lingering in this cave. but i - aang, what if it’s bad?”

he frowned, confused. “what if what’s bad, then?”

she studied her hands carefully. her hands were the hands of a fighter, of a healer. the same hands who had resurrected an avatar back to life and saved a firelord from near death, while dismantling another firelord from the throne. he felt the sudden urge to draw her hands in his own, to hold her tight enough to ease away her fears.

“what if there’s a bunch of dead bodies stashed away in this tunnel, rotting away for days or even weeks?” she answered in alarm, eyes widening at the dark path ahead of them. “or, what if there’s a bunch of people lying around in pain, on the brink of death, and I don’t have enough water to save them all?”

his eyes turned to the road ahead. he saw nothing, except for earth and more earth. but he knew better than to dismiss those kind of fears. 

“that wouldn’t be your fault.” he responded gently. “we’ll do our best to help, to make sure that whoever is out there is safe and unharmed. but if they do happen to be harmed - or worse, dead - and we’ve tried everything that we could,” he shuttered out a breath at the imagery. “i don’t want you to blame yourself for whoever you can’t save, katara.”

“and i don’t want you to blame yourself, aang.” she placed a hand on his shoulder as they walked on. he tried to ignore the immediate sweep of panic churning in his stomach at her proximity to the fire. if he envisioned a future with both katara and firebending, he would have to get used to accepting that she would be around the times when he required the element. 

“i know you feel a sense of responsibility, as the avatar, to ensure that the world is kept safe,” she continued on. her voice softened, a sad tone. “i know it upsets you when it isn’t.”

“wasn’t i the one consoling you just a second ago?” aang joked, deflecting. 

“we’re consoling each other.” katara insisted with a small smile. the corners of her mouth dropped at her next statement: “i know you don’t like to talk about it, aang, the stress and pressure that you feel. but i also know how it keeps you up at night. why you choose to sometimes spend long periods of time meditating.”

just like that, she had flipped the switch on him in the way that only she knew how. katara was undoubtedly right. of course he had seen and experienced his fair amount of injustice and morbidity; they all had. but the guilt of not being able to do anything about it - to know that people all over the world were counting on him to end their suffering and plight and despair, while there were many days when all he could do was sit in lavish cushions arguing endlessly with politicians who could not relate to the earth kingdom boy who had nothing to eat, or to the water tribe girl who had lost her parents, or to the air nomad who was the sole survivor of an entire culture - ate away at his heart and mind at every minute of every hour. even now, when he was supposed to be enjoying his blissful vacation with his wife.

“aang.” he felt katara lightly pull his chin towards her, forcing him to look at her before his mind could wander down the same dangerous road that it had so many days and nights before. she stopped the two in their tracks, the light from his palm illuminating their darkened features.

the fire reflected back in the indigo of her eyes, embodying the energy and intensity and life that was katara, his best friend, his saviour. suddenly, he was transported back to a time during the war, when he had just been a fidgety twelve year-old boy staring up at his fourteen year-old best friend. his heart thumped furiously against his chest the closer he inched to her face. when their lips met, he felt electricity course through his veins and wondered if the warmth that pooled in his stomach was what love felt like. 

as he caught her lips in his own again, this time at the age of twenty, he could confirm - a memoir to his twelve year old self - that the warmth was indeed love. but love was also so much more, he came to realize over the years. love was the cautious hands of a fourteen year-old girl spending weeks at his side, healing him from his coma, sobbing in despair and frustration when he would not wake up. love was the way that he had thrown his arms around her waist, and she around his neck, relief flooding each other’s veins at the knowledge that they were both alive and safe and together after his defeat of ozai and her defeat of azula. love was the way her hand fit so perfectly in his, palm pressed to palm and fingers intertwined, as the two watched the early formations of republic city from their home, vowing to leave a lasting legacy on a world where benders and non-benders of all types could live together in safety and harmony.

love was also the brief kiss in an abandoned cave that said a million more things than he could ever say in words. 

when the two pulled back, he noted the way that her eyes twinkled up at him under the fluorescent light. the crystals shone overhead, leading them down a familiar path, just as how it had done when he was twelve. aang checked his left palm and realized that he had extinguished his flame during the kiss. 

katara’s smile reached her eyes when she grabbed for his hand, pulling him along. “funny,” she said, bemused. “that thing you said when we were kids. guess it held up all these years, didn’t it?”

“what thing?”

“oh, you know,” she replied with a casual shrug, a mischievous glint forming in her eye. “you choosing to kiss me over dying - ”

he groaned. she was never going to let him live that one, was she?

“did i say that?” aang feigned innocence. “i can’t quite recall. maybe what my awkward twelve-year old self had meant to say, instead, was that the thought of not being able to kiss you is just so unbearable that i would rather have chosen death.”

“mmhmmm. sure you had.” a blush slowly crept up her cheeks, betraying her sarcastic tone. success.

“good thing that hasn’t happened yet, though. the not being able to kiss you anymore part.” he paused, adding as an afterthought: “the death part, too, if we’re being honest.”

“don’t speak so soon. what if there’s a serial killer in here?” she hushed him, looking around conspiratorially. 

“you’d rather a serial killer kiss you instead of your own husband? ouch.” 

she smacked his arm. “aang! i’m serious. with the recent bender supremacy uprisings going on in major cities of the earth kingdom, it’s not out of the realm of possibility. what’s stopping a bender supremacist from kidnapping a bunch of non-benders in omashu and dumping their bodies in this cave right now?”

“well, for starters, we would’ve heard by now if that were the case, wouldn’t we have? there’d be rumours, like with what happened with hama. so far, there hasn’t been any reports of mysterious non-bender disappearances in the cities where the uprisings are taking place. definitely not any in omashu.”

a dark look settled across katara’s face at the mention of the estranged bloodbender. “an earth bender supremacist could be dragging bodies from the city and burying them in the rubble of the tunnels. no one would even think to look because the legend says that the cave is cursed.”

aang scratched his head, suddenly very wary about his surroundings. his eyes scanned everywhere around him, from the plethora of crystals that provided them light on top to the solid stone that held the cave in place, trying to spot any semblance of a decomposing body. just as before, he couldn’t detect anything unusual.

while he knew that katara’s suspicions had merit to them, his mind still hesitated over the idea of a bender supremacist trapping people in caves. he would have heard something by now, if that were the case. besides, they were drawing all of these inferences from a scream that he wasn’t even sure came from a human. the high-pitched sound could have belonged to a species of wolfbats, for all they knew. and even if it were to emerge out of a person, who was to say that it was connected to the victim of a bender supremacist murderer? it could have been from a lost and hungry traveler stuck in the cave for days, unsure of their way out. or perhaps it was from someone whose foot was trapped under rubble, screaming out in sheer pain. maybe it even belonged to a villager being chased by an angry spirit.

he walked over to one of the walls, running his hand over the sharp rocks that pricked at his skin. or perhaps, he thought bitterly, gritting his teeth, it was his own refusal to accept that he was failing the world again that led him to dismiss such possibilities. given the political climate, it was entirely possible that bender supremacists were using their bending to hide bodies within the cave. he just wasn’t aware of any of it because it was all taking place underneath his nose, while he remained in blissful ignorance with the women he loved on what was supposed to be his vacation.

aang closed his eyes. he focused on the vibrations emitting from the ground, trying to detect if there was anything that could give him a clue, like a direction to the source of the scream. he was even searching for the large footsteps of badger moles or the fluttering wings of wolfbats. while he was no toph, his earthbending had vastly improved over the years to the point where he had gotten very good at perceiving the world around and underneath him through vibrations. but this time around, he was sensing absolutely nothing. 

well, not entirely nothing. aang noted that some parts of the earth below his hand felt kind of fresh. and quite warm. it didn’t take an earth bender to realize that their texture and temperature were evidently different from the rocks comprising the rest of the cave. this new formation of rock - whatever it was - also felt very familiar to him, almost like he had dealt with this type before. 

his eyes widened in recognition. it was rock that had hardened after the eruption of a volcano. and not just any ordinary eruption; a special kind of eruption that didn’t require any volcano whatsoever.

lavabending.

“hey, katara. would you be able to come over here? i think i found something.”

aang’s words were interrupted by the sudden howl of a blood-curling scream. this time, he had felt the vibrations perfectly through the earth, and spirits did they hurt. he winced in pain, his ears ringing, reflexively removing his hand off the ground.

the screaming did not seem to stop the longer the seconds passed. multiple more emitted from the path ahead in unison, echoing off the chambers of the cave. his heart pounded. there was no denying that the cries had unmistakably belonged to humans. 

katara already had a stream of water out from her pouch. she had sprang into action, pointing in the precise direction that the noise was coming from. 

“this way,” she shouted, running ahead. 

be careful, he couldn’t help think as he trailed after her.

--

this art was adapted from the following comic panel in imbalance part 2:

[escapewithbts]

Secrets in a Foreign Language (Part Five) - Jungkook

*Quick Warning* This chapter contains some smut! If that makes you uncomfortable I’m so sorry. Once it starts it ends at the very end of the chapter so you can skip it if you want. It’s pretty vanilla and loving but it’s definitely still detailed. Oh! And it’s unprotected! Please wrap it (do as I say, not as I write!!!!) Also! This is my first smut I’ve ever written and it was a little difficult and I didn’t feel like editing it right away so I apologize if it sucks. I wanted it to be sweet and meaningful but still satisfying? idk anyway... that’s it for the warnings :) I hope you enjoy!

<<previous_next>>

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After the kiss between you and Jungkook there was a significant shift in your relationship. You still came over every Tuesday to hang out, but now you were much more flirty, touchier, and most days you ended up on the couch in a heavy make out session. You absolutely loved kissing Jungkook; loved the way he tasted, the way he let out soft moans whenever you sucked on his tongue, the way his hands would slightly pull at the hair that rested at the nape of your neck. The sexual tension between you two was building; you had let him feel you underneath your shirt once while he was busy leaving red marks on your neck, but you still had yet to completely give yourself to each other, and you couldn’t deny that you wanted him.

You wanted him so bad.

And based on the bulge you felt in his pants whenever the two of you were ravishing hungrily at each other’s mouths he wanted you, too. Honestly, you didn’t want to wait much longer, you couldn’t wait much longer. Jungkook wasn’t the only one with those pesky things called hormones you know, and yours were practically screaming his name. It was only a matter of time.

 On one particular Tuesday in the evening, it was pouring outside and the two of you were cuddled under a blanket on his couch watching an episode of a Korean drama. Jungkook’s arm was wrapped around your shoulders as your head lay on his chest, his resting on top of yours. He was warm and smelled like laundry, and the fabric of his t shirt felt soft against your cheek. You were so comfortable and content.

Eventually, the end of the episode neared, the credits rolling on the screen, and suddenly you felt a wet droplet of something land on the arm that was laying on Jungkook’s lap. You furrowed your eyebrows and looked up in confusion, only to be met with the red nose and tear stained cheeks of Jeon Jungkook.

Your eyes went wide, and you immediately sat up to face him.

  “Kook are you-are you crying?” you questioned in concern.

He quickly wiped the tears from his face and hid it in his arms.

  “What? No! I’m not crying!” he muffled out from his sleeves.

Then he let out a loud sniffle.

  “Jungkook,” you shook his upper arm gently, “…is it because of the show?”

There was a silence before he muttered a barely audible,

 “Maybe…”

A huge grin spread across your face and you wrapped your arm through his, running your other hand through his soft black locks.

 “It’s okay, Kook. You’re allowed to cry, I don’t mind.” You tried reassuring him, making sure he knew he had no reason to be embarrassed.

He slowly lifted his head up revealing his blotchy face and puffy eyes, a small shy smile on his lips.

 “It’s just…” he hesitated then motioned to the tv screen, “they’re so good for each other. They’re meant for each other. Why can’t they just be together? It’s tearing them apart.”

You shrugged and wiped away a tear on his cheek with the pad of your thumb.

“I don’t know… I guess sometimes life gets in the way. It’s not always that easy. Even though they seem happy when they’re together and might be soulmates it doesn’t automatically mean it will work out.”

He stared down at his lap and fiddled with the fingers of yours that he held in his hand.

“But can’t they find a way to make it work? When people are meant for each other, isn’t there always a way?”

You couldn’t help but smile at his sensitivity and obvious hopeless romantic ideals... just when you thought you couldn’t like him any more.

He suddenly shot his head up to look at you, his doe eyes wide, lips slightly parted. Then he shook his head and scrunched his eyes tightly shut, putting fingers up to the bridge of his nose.

“Aiiishh, you probably think I’m such a loser.”

You quickly took his hands in yours and squeezed them firmly, making him open his eyes to face you again.

 “No Jungkook, no. I don’t think you’re a loser at all. I think it’s sweet. Really sweet. Okay? Your huge heart is one thing I like most about you.”

And you really meant it.

He ran a hand through his hair, a blush on his face.

 “Thanks, (y/n).”

You gave him a warm smile.

 “And we’re not done with the show yet, you know. Who knows what will happen between them.”

He let out a small chuckle.

 “That’s true.”

You then patted his thigh and removed the blanket before standing up.

 “Hey, how about I make you something for dinner? Maybe some kimchi fried rice with pork? I think I saw you have all the stuff to make it.”

Jungkook eagerly nodded his head.

 “I do and I would love that, (y/n). Can I-can I help?”

You grinned down at him and shook your head.

 “Nope, I got this.”

He blushed shyly and put his head down.

 “Ah thank you. It’s not often I have someone cook dinner for me, you know.”

You ambled into the kitchen and looked over your shoulder saying,

 “Well just sit back and relax and I’ll try to let you know if I think I’m about to set something on fire!”

Luckily, you didn’t, and the meal you made for the two of you turned out even better than you could have imagined. Who knew you had a knack for cooking Korean food? It was delicious, and definitely something you could get used to having.

When you both finished you just sat at the island laughing and talking for a while before you stood up to clean.

 “No,” Jungkook swiftly rose to his feet and took the dirty bowls from your hands, “it’s okay, I will clean.”

 You cocked you head.

“But isn’t that what I get paid to do here?” you joked.

He just smiled and rolled his eyes and strolled over to the sink.

Suddenly a yawn unexpectedly escaped from your mouth and you glanced at the time on your phone.

 “Whoa, it’s a lot later than I thought. Maybe I should get going.”

With his back to you Jungkook just replied with an ‘okay’ and you opened the Seoul Subway app on your phone to see when the next train was coming.

 “Wait, what??” you suddenly exclaimed.

Jungkook turned around in confusion.  

 “Is everything okay?”

You didn’t look up as your eyes quickly scanned through the urgent message on your screen.

 “The subway system… it’s-it’s not running tonight! Shit…”

He furrowed his eyebrows.

 “What? Why is it not running?”

You put your face in your hand in frustration.

 “Because of the rain. I guess it has flooded the tracks at a lot of the stations and it’s not safe to run the trains. Fuck! Stupid monsoon season! How will I get home??”

You bit your lip in thought. A taxi? But if it’s even too dangerous for the subway to run wouldn’t the streets be flooded, too?

You swiftly shuffled over to the large window in the living room and peered down to see if you could gage the current condition of the streets of Seoul, but it was raining so hard nothing was visible but just a few feet down. You only saw the soft yellow glow of the streetlights through the torrential downpour.

You groaned and turned back around where you noticed Jungkook had followed you into the room.

You looked at the ground awkwardly.

 “Do you mind if I stay just, like, an hour longer? See if it let’s up a little out there?”

Jungkook nodded his head and for a brief moment your heart sank. But then he said,

 “I was going to say why don’t you just stay for the night.”

Your heart suddenly sped up, an obvious shocked expression apparent on your face since a deep blush appeared on his and he added,

 “You know, because I have another bedroom that no one ever sleeps in and… yeah…”

Wait, did you suddenly feel slightly disappointed?

 “Thank you, but I really don’t want to be a bother…” you mumbled.

Jungkook stepped toward you and engulfed you in a hug. You let yourself relax into his muscular frame.

He chuckled against you.

 “You could not be a bother. It would be nice having you here with me.”

The sincerity in his tone made your stomach flip.

 “And I would… rather know you are here safe,” he whispered, sending a shiver up your spine.

That made your heart feel full as you peered back up at him. His dark brown eyes were hooded and staring directly into yours with such ferocity you almost had to look away.

But you didn’t. And immediately his hand was cupping your cheek and he was crashing his lips onto yours. He wasted no time in running his tongue along your bottom lip, making you gasp slightly, allowing entrance. You relished in his taste, the wrestling of tongue on tongue. You moaned when he nibbled your bottom lip, pulling it away gently. Your hands went to his soft hair, running them through it, tugging lightly. A deep moan emitted from his throat and it was a sound you knew you couldn’t wait to hear again.

Jungkook’s large hands found their way under the hem of your shirt, lightly grazing the skin of your hips and creating goosebumps at his touch. He slowly slid them upwards, taking your shirt with them, until it was up and over your head and you were left in just your nude-colored bra. He then began sucking and biting gently at your neck which caused you to tilt your head back, a subtle invitation for him to invade more of it with his heavenly feeling mouth to which he happily obliged. At the same time, he reached behind your back, slowly unfastening the hooks of your bra. You let it slide down your arms and onto the floor beneath you.

He wasted no time in giving your breasts the attention they deserved. His tattoo covered hand began massaging one, flicking his thumb across your hardened nipple. His lips moved from the sweet spot of your neck down to the valley between your breasts and finally they encapsuled your other nipple. He suckled on it lightly and flicked his tongue over it in unison with his thumb on the other which caused a soft moan to erupt from your throat and your hand to pull at his hair. When you looked down at him worshiping your mounds, you were met with his messy black hair, eyes shut, nose rubbing against your sensitive skin. He had never looked more beautiful to you than in this moment. And you wanted him to know.

 “Kook…” you groaned out tenderly.

His big brown eyes opened and peered up at you, his tongue still swirling around your hardened nub.

 “I-I want you. Please.”

Hearing that, he immediately stood up straight and crashed his lips back onto yours. Then he wrapped his well-built arms around your midsection and hoisted you up, making you yelp at the sudden action of being lifted. Your legs instinctively went around his waist, and he held you tightly under the back of your thighs, your ass resting in his palms. He squeezed it roughly making you whimper into his mouth and wanting him even more.

He led you both out of the living room and down the hallway towards his bedroom, your lips not once breaking apart from each other.

Once you reached the bedroom, he gently laid you down in front of him on the edge of his king sized bed. You broke apart and clawed at his t shirt until he shimmied it over his head and threw it on the floor. You had seen him shirtless once before, that one time after his shower when you were over, but this time you were able to touch him, feel him. And you wasted no time in doing so. With your mouths reconnected once more, your hands went to his forearms, caressing the large veins there, then up to his biceps that were flexed from hovering over you, to his firm shoulders. Then you ran them down his prominent pectoral muscles, and over his abs. oh my god his solid, rock hard abs.

As much as you loved finally feeling all of his upper half, you found yourself still craving more of him, and therefore, since your hands were down there anyway, you hooked your fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants and pulled them down as far as you could before he finished removing them for you. Jungkook did the same to you, taking off your leggings and tossing them to join his clothes on the floor.

Then he gently spread your legs apart and shifted himself, so he was in between them. He started kissing your neck again and you suddenly felt the bulge in his underwear against your clothed core. The contact made you moan and jut your hips upward to grind on his crotch, hoping he got the memo. But just in case it wasn’t clear enough, you wrapped your hand in his hair and whispered directly into his ear,

“Please, Jungkook, I want you in me so fucking bad.”    

He sat back just a little so he could run his hand down your stomach then down in between your legs. He slipped a couple fingers under the waistband of your underwear, and then slowly dragged them between your already slick folds, coating his digits in your juices. The action made you moan loudly which encouraged him to gently rub the pad of his thumb on your already throbbing clit. You gasped.

 “Oh f-fuck yes…” you breathed out.

 “I have to make sure you are ready for me, (y/n),” Jungkook said in a deep raspy tone that made you shudder, “And fuck… you are so fucking ready.”

With that he removed the hand that was toying with your heat and swiftly pulled your underwear down and off your legs, not wasting a minute to tear his own off, too.

Then he lined the tip of his member up with your entrance and ran it up and down your folds a few times, eliciting a whimper from you, so eager to feel all of him. Then he ever so slowly pushed his entire length into you, parting your warm and velvety walls and filling you to the brim. He sucked in a breath as he felt you constrict around him, moaning at how tight and wet you were, even without much foreplay.

The two of you were connected at the most intimate place, and it had been so damn long you forgot how good it felt to have someone inside of you.

 “Fuck, Kook, please move,” you begged.

He instantly did as you requested, gradually pulling all the way out of you just to ram himself right back in. You yelped at the pain, but mostly pleasure as he did it again, faster this time and then again, over and over, finding a pace and strength that had you groaning out almost incoherent curse words between sounds of pleasure.

He leaned down so his face was right in front of yours, his hips thrusting so expertly and hitting all the right spots inside you. He put his forehead against yours and your eyes met, his pupils dilated and staring right into yours. Beads of sweat were causing his dark hair to stick to his neck and his chest started heaving heavily; you could feel his hot breath on your face.

  “You feel… so good, baby,” he panted out between thrusts.

You briefly felt your heart skip a beat at the pet name, that sounded so sweet yet so sexy at the same time, but you were quickly refocused on the task at hand when Jungkook sat back up and placed your feet on his shoulders. The new position welcomed a whole new sensation between your legs as he was now able to hit your g spot directly, causing shocks of intense pleasure to coerce through your whole body. And if that wasn’t enough, his tattooed arm wrapped around your leg in order for his fingers to gain access to your clit, rubbing it unhurriedly so not to overstimulate you.

With all this happening at once you knew it wouldn’t be long until you were coming undone, the coil in your lower belly snapping, the tidal wave of pleasure washing over you, your walls squeezing as tightly as possible around Jungkook making him unable to pull out anymore.

You arched your back and squirmed underneath him, yelling his name, the world around you becoming blurry from such an intense orgasm, your breath stilling in your chest, your hands gripping the bedspread so tightly your knuckles turned white. You almost felt like you were going to blackout; you had never felt so much pleasure spreading throughout your whole body in your life.

As you began to come down from your high, breathing heavily, your body still twitching, Jungkook started thrusting again, harder and faster than before, needing his own release, too. He bent down, his hands on the pillow on either side of your head.

 “Where do you want me to cum?” he breathed out.

Your mind was still foggy from your heavenly orgasm as you replied,

 “I don’t care.”

And that was all he needed to hear as his eyes shut tightly and he suddenly stopped thrusting. You felt his cock twitch and warm spurts of his seed coat you somewhere deep inside you.

He let out a “F-fuck, (y/n)”, and you were pretty sure it was the most heavenly thing your ears had ever heard.

Then he fell on top of you, completely spent, coming down from his high, too.

The two of you just laid there for a few seconds, catching your breaths, and coming back to reality.

When you looked down you saw Jungkook’s head resting on your chest and you couldn’t help but run your hand gently through his hair, the sweat making it stay slicked back from his forehead. At your touch he lifted his head up, a shy yet cheeky bunny-like grin across his face. The sight of it made your heart feel full.

Then he weakly peeled his naked and sweaty body off yours and slumped down on his back next to you. He smiled sweetly at you and ran his hand down the side of your face. Then he turned on his side and beckoned you to him.

 “Come here…” he murmured softly, opening his arms for you to crawl into. You did, pressing your bare back against his chest, feeling his face nuzzle into your hair and arm wrap around your chest to pull you closer.

You traced some of the tattoos on his arm with your finger as you two lay there in a content silence, completely wrapped up in one another. It was the most blissful feeling.

In fact, you didn’t think you could feel any calmer and content in this moment until Jungkook broke the silence and whispered,

 “I really, really like you a lot, (y/n).”

At those words you felt like your heart could leap out of your chest. You turned in his arms to face him and looked up at him with a big smile.

 “I really, really, like you a lot, too, Jungkook.”

He returned your smile, equally as large, his nose scrunching as he was unable to contain his happiness. He just pulled you closer to him and you buried your face in the crook of his neck while he rested his chin on your head. You sighed contently, breathing in the comforting natural scent of his skin.

You had never felt safer or more loved than in this moment with Jeon Jungkook.

*

next>>

Masterlist

[harmoni-me]

a poly komahinanami + reader request comin' through!: teaching crush reader emotions and how they work, how to interact with people, also stuff like romance, friendships, and having a real family.

thank you! don’t forget to stay hydrated!💙

My oh my, guess who’s back!? And with the longest story I’ve ever written just for you at that! This totaled up to be 17 pages on a Google Docs document, which is absolutely crazy by the way, but I just couldn’t stop writing this! But it’s now done, so I hope you enjoy!

Nagito Komaeda x Hajime Hinata x Chiaki Nanami x Reader Who Wants to Rediscover Emotions!

“Ugh...so not even that, huh…” Chiaki crashed onto a nearby sofa, slamming her face into a plush pillow, catching herself with a comfortable squish. You had just been shown one of those guilt-trip puppy adoption videos to try and kick-start your tear ducts, but it just honestly didn’t work. Though you desperately wanted the tears to flow, or at least have your eyes a little misty, nothing ever came. You couldn’t help it, but you were willing to do anything in order to feel, and know about everything that has to do with fruitful human emotion.

Just a mere few weeks before this moment, you were left with no one, going to a school for the talented and the elite. You did some research about social gestures, wanting to know what to do if someone wanted to talk to you. 

Well, apparently you did something okay, because now you were sitting here with three people who are bumbling around, trying to figure out your emotional and social problems. It was most likely luck that you met these three that wanted to help you out of your own ditch, but you definitely weren't complaining. Not one bit.

You had people by your side, and you felt something warm bloom in your stomach when you realized as such. It was nice, like when you let the sun soak up into the pores of your skin on some sandy shores.    

“Well, It’s not really their fault, you know? They were raised to be the Ultimate Perfectionist, their family must have done some terrible things in order for them to get this way...those bastards…” Hajime sat up against a wall, weaving his fingers into his hazelnut hair.

“Even though you’re simply reserve-course leftovers...you’re not wrong, Hajime. (Y/n) is in quite a predicament, wouldn’t you say?” Nagito laid cross-legged next to Hajime. Hajime just simply rolled his eyes at the white-haired boy's remark about his useless school status.

“Just a theory, but does talent honestly determine status? Wouldn’t it be like comparing someone’s grade’s to their natural IQ? Someone could simply just work harder, Nagito, and it’s that simple, most likely, to get on an Ultimate’s level.” You looked at Nagito, causing him to stiffen just a bit. 

…uh

Was it something you said? 

“Ah, (Y/n), your glaring. Practice softening your eyes a little bit. Giving off a serious look can make people uncomfortable sometimes.” Chiaki pointed out, gesturing to her own eyes, switching between a glare, and back to normal again, as if giving you a quick tutorial.

“Ah, um, sorry about that. I had no such intentions, so please forgive me, Nagito.” You bowed your head in forgiveness, already knowing what that gesture ment from social experience. Nagito just shook his head, causing his hair to sway along rhythmically, chuckling a little while doing so.

“No worries, please scold me whenever you please. I enjoy it.” Nagito let out a beaming laugh, shoulders bouncing at his own comment.

Hajime just clipped his thumb and index finger onto the upper-bridge of his nose, shaking his head to Nagito’s comment. Though, he could never stay mad at him for long… even with all of the degradation talk.

“Ok then, we need to get back to the situation at hand, because I have an idea!” Chiaki spoke out, making everyone in the room turn their head, ready to hear her out. The girl then picked herself up from the couch to stand tall among all of the sitting frames in the room.

“This situation is exactly like finally getting that shiny Pokemon you’ve always wanted, but it’s only level one. So you’ve got to go back and make it fight the smaller guys in order for it to start beating up the bosses.” Chiaki explained. Hajime nodded, apparently understanding exactly what she was talking about. Nagito was just sitting there, a clueless smile painted onto his face, listening with full intention of agreeing anyway.

You...you think you got the gist...but what the hell is a Pokemon?

“(Y/n) is our precious shiny Pokemon, and we need to take them out to experience all of the experiences, in order to gain all of the experience!” Chiaki finally proclaimed, confidently puffing out her chest in pride. Nagito just chuckled, while clapping at Chiaki’s idea, praising her. Hajime tilted his head a bit, seeming to want to know the stickler details.

“So, what’s the best way to go about this?” Hajime stood up from his seated position on the floor, stretching out his arms, sounding out a couple of pops from his tense muscles. Chiaki went silent for a moment, but then quickly jumped up with an idea.

“We divide it into levels, and create our own scenarios to fit within what we want to focus on in each level. For example, level one can be about trying to trigger certain emotions, like happiness. (Y/n) will pass the level when she completes the task provided. This will keep her motivated, and we’ll all have fun! I think.” Chiaki proposed, walking over to your listening form. You were confused, but you were also willing to try anything for you to feel like everyone else.

“So, (Y/n), are you ok with this?” The pale pink haired girl crouched down to your level, head turning, waiting for your approval.

“I’ll do anything to feel again. Of course I’ll do it.” You blatantly said, raising your tone to puppet a sort of happy emotion, though this time, it didn’t really feel as forced as it usually was, which made your heart jump in surprise. Your heart hopping domino-affected to your eyes widening in shock, as well as a jerk of fear in your body. You didn’t really know what you felt, but you wanted to figure it out more than anything in the world at the moment.

“Perfect! So, ah, what do the arcade machines say again...oh! Level 1, Start! Or maybe I’m wrong…” Nagito, stood, looking in your direction, as if signaling to you that everything was going to go great.

LEVEL 1: EMOTION TRIGGERS

You were sitting in a chair, while being surrounded by the three friends of yours. It was kind of how it went just a few minutes ago, with each person trying to show you something that might trigger something in you, but this seemed like it was going to be just a bit more...difficult.

“Well, what we’ve got planned is in order for you to go onto the next level, you need to achieve the following three emotional responses: Happiness, Repugnance, and Sadness. We’ll help you out on trying to trigger them, so don’t worry about it too much, alright?” Chiaki lightly said. You always enjoyed her voice, as well as her understanding personality. It was probably those character traits of hers that caused her to be your friend, most likely.

“Ah, well repugnance should be easy since I’m here, after all! Poor (Y/n) here would probably hurl after staring at scum like me for too long!” Nagito said with a smile dancing on his face, stepping into your vision, standing there for you to scan your eyes upon him. Hajime and Chiaki didn’t really object, but just wanted to see what would happen out of their own curiosity.

You observed him from your seat, as he said to do. The longer you looked at him, the more he just looked even more pretty than you thought he looked in the first place. His body was abnormally slim, making you wonder if he gets a proper amount of nutrition. You also noticed upon observing his features that his face fits perfectly within the four-division rule, which basically proves his face to be perfectly symmetrical. You also got a warm, sort of bubbly feeling when you looked into his eyes. It almost seemed as if they glowed a light, neon green. It was so enchanting...so-

“Pretty.” You said deadenly aloud, making everyone in the room so completely wide-eyed at your words, er, word. It was a surprise to them, to say the least.

“Uh...huh?” Nagito sounded, the tips of his ears darkening in a slight blush, not really knowing what to say.

“Oh, apologies. I was just thinking about your pretty eyes. Oh, yes, sorry. I think your eyes are very nice. Also, did you know that your face fits perfectly into the four-division rule, which is very hard to find naturally. I think modeling agencies would really like your face, though you look underweight...do you eat on a regular basis? If not, I can recommend some meals that are high in protein and low in fat in order for you to gain a healthy amount of weight and-” You rambled about your findings about the man in front of you, causing the darkening hue to spread from Nagito’s ears to his cheeks. A snort of laughter could be heard from Hajime, while Chiaki snickered into her arm, trying to conceal the noise.

“Ah...ahahah..uh, HAJIME, YOU MENTIONED AN IDEA JUST A BIT AGO! WOULD YOU MIND PUTTING IT INTO ACTION FOR US PLEASE!?” Nagito blurted out unexpectedly, making his way over to the “sideline” where the two others resided.

“I don’t remember making any idea, Nag-” Hajime said, just wanting to tease the lucky boy around some more.

“SH-SHUT UP! JUST DO SOMETHING!” Nagito slapped Hajime’s shoulder in embarrassment, causing Hajime to laugh at his successful teasing attempt.

“Okay, okay, I did have one idea I wanted to try. Though, I might need (Y/n) to take off their school sweater. Just for a moment. You can put it back on if you’re uncomfortable without it.” Hajime walked over to your seat, and steadily waited for the removal of your sweater vest.

“Oh, I honestly don’t mind. I trust you, Hajime.” You simply stated, carefully slipping the school sweater vest off of your form, and lazily plopping it down on the ground adjacent to you. Hajime then stepped a bit closer, fiddling with the ends of his shirt a little, a light blush spreading across his cheeks.

“Sorry, but...d-do you mind closing your eyes?” Hajime quickly stuttered out. You nodded, fluttering your eyes shut in obedience.

You felt Hajime’s presence close in on you. Closer and closer his presence got, making you go just a tad ridged, until you felt something.

It was as if feathers started to dance on the dips of your hips, causing you to squirm from the feeling. You weren't sure what was happening at first, but the more the feeling continued, the more you felt as if a gigglish sound was about to burst from your lips.

“Uh, I’m close, but I need more hands. Can someone- Ah, thanks Chiaki…”

It was when the other pair of hands started to skip across your skin that your lungs exploded. A loud, joyous laughter rang through the room, raspy and unused. The hands just kept on going, making your laughing increase even more, to the point where tears pricked at the edges of your eyes, making you open them out of pure instinct.

It was a weird sight, but you weren't surprised; it was what made you laugh out in delight. Hajime and Chiaki were tickling your sides, making your laughter return to your emotional memory. You haven’t heard the sound of your own cries of happiness in such an incredibly long time, that you knew you didn’t recognize it from the decade or so that it had been buried and locked away deep inside you. 

But here you were, laughing with the people you charised the most in that moment.

….

The room was at a standstill. Everyone was extremely overjoyed at your new emotional upbringing of happiness. It was amazing, and almost a miracle on how much you laughed and smiled, making you seem like a totally different person. It was to be celebrated about later, but things weren't nearly finished yet. Two more emotions still needed to be freed from within you, and finding the key to giving your feelings wings was difficult at that.

“I know exactly what will make her cringe!” Chiaki shot up from her thinking position, running to her console that was stuffed into her school bag. She pulled out the glossy pink electronic, powering it on, while simultaneously walking towards you.

“I will force you to watch a sim of Teruteru take a shower and make him woohoo with a ghost, making him have a ghost baby.” Chiaki stuck the screen up to your staring eyes. It was on what seemed like a digital Teruteru in a house, who was walking into the restroom of his abode. Once you saw that the character took off his clothes to bathe, you knew the threat wasn’t a farce like you thought it would be.

You honestly didn’t feel like witnessing something so...unnecessarily eerie and gross at the same time.

“Ew...”

That was all you said, scrunching your nose, and turning your head away from the screen as fast as possible to avoid from seeing such a monstrosity take place.

“Wow, that was...surprisingly simple! Such talent from an ultimate such as yourself, Chiaki!” Nagito praised the girl who willingly soaked it up like a proud child after getting a lollipop of accomplishment from the doctors office. You giggled unconsciously, astonishing yourself from the gesture, but you smiled, knowing that things might just return to how they once were in the past sooner rather than later.

“But, uh, can you actually have a ghost baby in that game?” Nagito questioned, and rightfully so, because you were coincidentally wondering the same exact thing. Chiaki darefuly glared into Nagito’s pale irises, signaling that she was dead serious, honest to God. Wow...must be quite the odd game she must be playing…

….    

“Can’t we just...skip the sad one? We already got the other two down.” Hajime asked, not wanting to see you in a gloomy state, especially since the sight of seeing you so vulnerable might break his heart into two.

“No way, Hajime! Everyone needs to bawl their eyes out at least one time in their life, right? Despair’s tears are needed in order to live a balanced emotional life!” Nagito exclaimed, a slightly crazed look twirling within his eyes, reflecting his love for the subject at hand.

Nagito skipped over to your form, leaning close to your stature. An innocent smile was stitched onto his face, though it was quite obvious that he had completely ulterior motives. He was going to make you complete this level, no matter what he had to do.  

“Just imagine, dear (Y/n), that you were blackmailed into killing me. What would you do?” His voice vibrated deep within your consciousness. It was a strange question, but it didn’t fail to make you feel incredibly uneasy. You looked down into your lap, thinking about your answer, for your response could affect the possible outcome.

“Report the threat to the police.” You simply said, because it was the truth. Putting a situation into more capable hands was the most logical thing to do. Wasn’t it?

“Oh, but it’s blackmail, is it not? You might get killed if you do such a naive thing...let me change the question for you, just to make things easier…” Nagito’s hand drifted to lightly grasp your chin, raising it up to make stern eye contact. His nimble fingers held onto the bottom of your chin, gently squeezing your cheeks inward, puckering your lips.

“How would you kill me?” The darkness in his voice didn’t even try to be hidden, for it scared your heart into beating out of it’s chest even faster than it was before. What kind of question is that? Why would he ask something like this, and to you, especially?

“I don’t want to answer.” was the only thing you could push past your lips, which has started twitching at the thought of the question given. Nagito’s smile downcasted, the disappointment evident on his face. His grip on your face grew tighter, tighter as his nails dug a little into your delicate skin. His hold on your cheeks was like his way of wanting you to spit out every single detail of your answer, wanting to know so desperately how you would murder him. 

You never wanted to answer that question, for you would never think about it in the first place. Nagito was someone you treasured, along with Hajime and Chiaki. The thought of seeing their own blood spill made you want to hurl everything on the floor, with the burning residue of stomach acid sizzling away at your throat.

“Tell me.” Was all he said, with shivering silence following straight after.

“No.” Your voice cracked. This was viewed as a terrible situation to be in. Never in such a long time have you felt this emotionally trapped. You were clueless on what you were feeling, but you knew that you never wanted to feel it again. You wanted to drown it, hoping it dies beneath much better emotions that you’ve resurfaced. But it never went away, only increasing, taking over all of your senses.

“Nagito, I think that’s enou-”

“Shut it.” Nagito sharply turned his head to face Chiaki, who had objectified.

Who was this? Was this the Nagito you’ve always gotten to know?

“You look like the poisoning type, in all honesty. Maybe you would slip it into my drink, or maybe just force it down my throat, none of which are bad choices. Maybe you would stay to watch scum like me convulsing on the floor, vomiting blood and mucus. What a pathetic way to go, wouldn’t it? You would have to live with the burden of my soul hovering over you for the rest of your life, wishing for yourself to be dead as well...What do you think? I bet you can do better than tha-”

“N-NO! P-please stop!” You screamed out, wanting the vivid picture in your mind to burn within a hellscape, never to be seen again. Your form was hiccuping and shrugging in sobs, wanting the images to go away. Nagito was your friend, and the vision of him laying in his own liquids and-

WHAM

“What the hell are you doing, Nagito?” Hajime fist has made contact with Nagito’s face, causing the boy to stumble back from the impact, his hand detaching from your face, leaving little red marks from the indentation of Nagito’s nails grounding themselves into your cheeks.

You started to shiver and shake, your heart so full of disturbance and sadness that you honestly just felt like dying. You wanted to go back to anything, anything that could be better than this feeling, but no matter how hard you tried, everything just kept on elevating. It was like a never ending hustle of feelings reaching over the brim, spilling over while also breaking the vessel.

Chiaki rushed over to your side, hugging you with all of her gentleness and consideration, patting down your hair in the most comforting way she could. Hajime went over and did a similar gesture, holding your hand, while bringing it into himself to embrace it. You don’t really know why he did, but Hajime lightly kissed the knuckles on the top of your hand, then once again bringing it into himself. 

Nagito just stood there, dazed at the sight he was beholding. He really wasn’t sure what he did wrong, because he did what he was supposed to do, right? Yet, the heavy guilt building up within his stomach begged to differ.

He shuffled up lightly to your slightly shaking frame. He then dropped to his knees, a thump sounding from the action. Carefully, he laid his head in your lap, while tenderly placing his arms around your lower body. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry you had to see that…” Nagito pleaded, his mumbling apologies verberated lightly from his mouth. You didn’t know what came over you, but you unsteadily placed your hands in his hair, patting it like you would with a delicate puppy. After a few seconds, you could feel a sudden dampness on your legs, and you could only guess it was Nagito’s down regretful tears. 

“It’s...okay...you were trying to help. I understand, so everything is okay.” Was all you said.

The four of you all gathered in that position for a while, with some people switching around to give you the ultimate care and affection. The rest of the time together was used as a break from your emotional journey, with all of you guys gathering up on the couch to watch as many Star Wars movies you could possibly watch within a certain time frame.

….

LEVEL 2: HUMAN INTERACTION

The four of you were in a restaurant that was one of the most popular places in town. The menu was expansive and expensive, and the desserts were rumored to be on par with one of the best confectionery institutes in the country.

Chiaki had helped you to get dressed for the occasion beforehand, wanting you to learn the basics of dress code and why it’s placed into different areas. You learned that in places that excel in wealth, status, as well as being full of influential people, were usually required of a dress code. Fancy, one could call it, was usually the status quote. Though, if it wasn’t those things, then you could basically wear whatever you wanted to unless stated otherwise. Interesting….

“I’ll be paying the bill today, in case anyone is wondering.” Nagito said, shifting his suit a bit to fix the minor details. His hair was up in what seemed to be a half ponytail, with the rest of his wild hair flowing downwards as per usual.

“Well, yeah, you kinda are the only one that can pay for this kinda thing…” Hajime rang out, checking his watch from underneath his white dress shirt sleeves. You really liked how the shirt fit Hajime, for it accentuated his slightly muscular chest a little more, as well as his smaller waist being hugged by his black dress pants and belt.

Chiaki sat next to you, a pink dress hugging her curves perfectly. Not too tight to a point where it made her uncomfortable, but it still made her figure known, which was a cute, hourglass figure. It was too bad that she hid herself underneath her hoodie most of the time, she honestly deserves to flaunt it more often from your perspective, but you still respected her personal conservatism when it came to her own body.

“So...what do I do now? I know this has to do with my social development. I think. Right?” You questioned, wanting to know what you needed to do in order to improve, and hopefully lead you to be more bearable during social activities.

“We were thinking just simple things for now, like ordering for us, calling over for the check, asking for refills, and that stuff. You’ll have plenty of opportunities to do so, and we’ll correct you on anything when needed.” Chiaki quickly explained, with you nodding along, signaling that you were indeed listening to her. 

“If (Y/n) is going to take our orders and give them to the waiter...then I guess i’ll have to tell you what I would like. A six ounce filet mignon with a caesar salad, please and thank you, dearest.” Nagito carefully listed off his order. You didn't really expect him to be a fan of steak, but you record the information with ease.

“Lobster and a side of soup for me.” Hajime smiled.

“I’ll have the french onion soup then. No side, I’m saving room for dessert!” Chiaki eagerly bounced in her seat, seeming to be quite excited for the treats this establishment would offer.

“Got it, then I’ll order just that, along with my food as well.” You confirmed the list in your head, just to double check, and once the waiter came around for the order, you did what you needed to do with ease. You were getting better, and that made everyone at the table extremely proud of your progression into becoming a better you.

“I want (Y/n) to practice in drama talk, I think that would be funny.” Chiaki commented, giggling at the suggestion. You figured “Drama talk” was just the spreading or finding of interesting rumors. You didn’t know that Chiaki was into that kind of thing, but it was quite humorous all in the same. 

“Hm, interesting. Well, what kind of things have you seen around the school that could fuel into this conversation, (Y/n)?” Hajime asked, resting his head on his propped-up hands.

Interesting….you couldn’t really think of anything right off the bat. You looked back into your memories to see if there was anything that could be of interest...until you found it.

 “I think I saw Kazuichi and Sonia walk into a cafe two days ago.” You attempted to spark something interesting, and apparently it worked, because Chiaki went absolutely feral at your comment.

“No. Way. I don’t believe it, are you sure it was actually them!?” Chiaki hollered, eyes sparkling out of a childlike curiosity. 

“I’m almost positive, there’s only a few people I know that have pink hair, and another with blonde locks that reach to their ankles.” You confirmed, making even Hajime and Nagito’s attention draw into the topic. It seems as if they weren’t really expecting it either. It was funny how both of their eyes blew up all of a sudden, as if you said something completely ridiculous.

“Is it...really that unbelievable?” you asked, genuinely wanting an answer. You kind of were seeing it all along, though it was merely one sided at first, like, really one sided. Eventually you expected them to hook up somewhere in between.

“I don’t really know him very well since we don’t really share the same class but I’ve heard from Chiaki that he can be a bit…” Hajime tried to search for the words, as if he wanted to pick something out of the dictionary that is not as offensive as he wanted it to be.

“Hyperactive with a dash of a perverted young teen.” Nagito finished bluntly. He wasn’t wrong, but you believe that he could be a grown man...sometimes. 

Alright, maybe not as much as what was ideal, but still.

“Oh my god I still can’t believe this is happening…” Chiaki was sitting there, looking like she was a woman in her thirties experiencing her first midlife crisis. You figured you succeeded in the drama department...or maybe you had said too much.

….

The night ended off extremely profitable to your social skills, and to your stomach. You learned correct table mannerisms, as well as waiter manners and gestures from the three of your friends. Not to mention that you have never tasted anything more delightful than the multitude of desserts that Nagito had ordered for the table. Although he wanted to get the whole dessert menu, he knew that the proportions could probably not fit all on the table, so he just got what he believed to be the best five deserts. And let’s just say that you and Chiaki were having a ball with all of them, while Hajime and Nagito were sharing a lava cake with vanilla ice cream, in their own little conversation. 

You and Chiaki felt like you couldn’t walk, and truth be told, you two actually couldn’t. It was so funny that Nagito probably busted a lung, and Hajime chuckled profusely while helping the two of you hobble out of the restaurant with your full bellies.

All of you had an eventful sleepover after that, with all of you falling asleep on each other while watching the Home Alone series. All of you passed out after the first movie, because it was boring compared to the first one. Nothing could ever beat the first one.

Once everyone woke up the next morning, apparently Nagito had prepared another lesson for you, wanted everyone to join and participate, for this one was “Special” compared to the other ones.

You don’t really know how it happened, but now you were stuck on the couch of Nagito’s house, being lectured about a topic you honestly didn’t know that much. Well, other than the movie’s that you’ve watched about it.

LEVEL 3: ROMANCE

“I think we can all agree that (Y/n) here will definitely get asked out dozens of times throughout their lives, wouldn’t you say?” Nagito stated, as if it was an obvious fact that everyone in the world should know.

“I mean, yeah. I really wouldn’t be surprised if she got asked out a few times.” Hajime replied, trying his best to be as nonchalant as possible, though the light blush on his face was quite evident in that moment alone. You never got to see his face as flushed as it was very often. And it was amazingly amusing.

“Therefore, I propose we teach her the swooning basics! Romantic gestures, if you were to frame it that way.” Nagito spread his arms out, as  if he were a ruling king among a giant kingdom. 

You were a bit dumbfounded by the idea, purely because of the fact that Nagito, of all people, came up with this idea. You will admit that you were completely inept when it came to anything close to romance or love, but that doesn’t really mean that you weren’t open to trying to be in a relationship. Though, you don’t really know what to do if that circumstance ever were to pass.

“Wait, are you sure that they’ll even be comfortable with this? This is some intimate stuff we’re talking about.” Chiaki chimed in, proving a point. You have heard about some actions that only lovers do, and you honestly didn’t really want to practice them, based on the descriptions that those actions beheld.

“As long as it’s nothing overboard, I don’t see the harm.” You confirmed, wanting to let everyone know that you’re ready for probably one of your toughest challenges yet. Or not. Who knows?

“Wonderful! Now, where to start...suggestions, anyone?” Nagito looked into the mere three person crowd he had going on, pointing at a Hajime who had raised his hand. When did this suddenly become a classroom scenario?

“Well, we should probably think about what couples do, right? Like, I dunno, holding hands and hugging. Things like that, right?” Hajime indicated, listing off the activities with his fingers.

“Perfect! Well, you know what to do then…” Nagito went over to Hajime, nudging him a little bit towards you. He rolled his eyes in response, seeming to be tired of Nagito’s antics of teasing and prodding.

“I...guess I’ll try…” Hajime murmured, picking himself up from the couch, then plopping himself closer to you. You turned to look into his eyes, which had quickly darted away from your own, a spreading red blooming onto his cheeks.

“Well, I guess I’ll teach you how to, uh, hold hands first.” Hajime stated, nervousness evident in his voice. You could hear Chiaki giggle in amusement from her spot on the couch, along with a chortling Nagito, who was snickering through his toothy smile.

“Usually,” Hajime began, “Couples hold each other's hands like this.” He softly took your hand into his own, intertwining his fingers to fit the spaces inbetween yours like a perfect fit to a puzzle piece. It was cheesy to just think about it, but it honestly felt like it belonged there, and it made your chest begin to feel warm, resembling hot coals within a fireplace.

“People can do this basically whenever, like when they're walking together, laying down with each other, and some people even do it when they, uh, sleep with one another. But either way, it feels nice, doesn’t it?” Hajime inquired, lifting up your tangled-up fingers, smiling kindly. The whole thing was so incredibly comforting and sweet, making you face unconsciously heat up. You’ve only blushed a few times in your life, and half of those times you had no clue you were even blushing, but now, you were pretty damn sure your face was as red as a freshly picked strawberry. 

“‘Oh, yeah. You can also do this, I think this is kinda a common thing too.” Hajime then undid the bond of the two hands, gently putting his own hand underneath yours. With his thumb, he dragged it back and forth across the top of your hand, making your heart leap from the gesture.

“Woah, Hajime, you really know your stuff, don’t you?” Chiaki pestered, giggling herself into even higher spirits. Hajime huffed out in an embarrassed annoyance. Can he just...have this moment for a god forsaken minute?

“Can...can I try?” You suddenly spoke, causing Hajime the look up in attentive stature. He let go of your hand, but still left it pretty close to your dominant one.

“Of course, you’re the student here, after all. So, go ahead.” Hajime then offered his hand, leaving it suspended in the air, waiting for you to reciprocate.

You nervously approved his hand with yours, your heart beating so hard up against the inside of your chest, that you were partially convinced that it was begging for an escape. You then shakily intertwined your fingers, causing Hajime to reciprocate your hold. Your hand was probably clammy from all of your apprehension, but Hajime looked pleased with what you had achieved.

“Look at that, all by yourself, huh? Look at you go.” Hajime chuckled, playfully gripping tighter onto your hand, then started to shake it around lightly, making you laugh a little from the gesture.

It was strange, but you really wanted to know what it was like to hold Nagito and Chiaki’s hands as well...maybe it was just your brain’s curiosity kicking in, or maybe it was the yearning that your heart was reaching out for. You didn’t know, so you let the feeling flourish, letting it be.

….

“And how in the world is Nagito good at anything romantic again?” Hajime exclaimed, making Nagito mock offence from the comment, then wickedly laughed it off. Chiaki shrugged her shoulders, rolling her eyes a bit, wanting her point to be shown through.

“You can’t deny that he’s pretty creative when it comes to names.” Chiaki explained, “He’s probably the most qualified person here if we’re going to teach them about pet names.” She turned her head to the lucky boy in question, who was playing with one of his bottom curls with his index finger, twirling it around, then releasing it in a transfixing way.

“Hm? Oh, well if I could be of some use...then of course I’ll do it for our little sunflower!” Nagito seemed to brighten the room a few levels of hues with merely his speech alone.

“Ok, well I see what you mean now…” Hajime mumbled into Chiaki’s ear, causing her to puff up in pride.

Nagito seated himself next to you, making himself comfortable. He gestured for you to do the same, wanting for you to be relaxed while he did his wordy magic.

“I’m honestly not the best for something like this, with me being a piece of lonely trash and all, but I’ll try to introduce you to some ‘Pet Names’ your future lover might bestow upon you. Better yet, you could use these to give to your lover yourself, which is also a fine option.” Nagito seemed to fully lean his weight onto the couch, closing his eyelids, and sighing out in a relaxed bliss.

“Hmmm...a common one is baby, babydoll, or even the bland bae are all some simple ones. They’re calling you cute, like a giddy child, but personally those are quite the lazy names, in my opinion…” Nagito chuckled.

 So...getting basically called a kid by your lover means that they think you're cute? That confused you...because you didn’t really like the idea of you being compared to a child on the cuteness spectrum. It seemed wrong...but you got why others would enjoy it.

“These one’s I enjoy more, they’re all based on sweet foods, indicating you’re, well, sweet. Or maybe just scrumptious in your own way...Anyway, people can say honey, cupcake, buttercup, and probably a lot more.” His hands started to sway around him, aiding him in his explanation.

You could call someone a sweet-tasting food and they’ll be flustered from the complement? That sounds simple enough.

“Ah, we still have so much more, I could go on forever…” Nagito exhaled, smiling, seeming to be experiencing a lot of inner peace in that moment.

“No, please continue. This is interesting to me, and I’m also learning a lot!” You proclaimed, curious for more. Nagito just snickered, moving on with his long list of names.

“People sometimes like to nickname after animals. The ones that are known to be small or cute, like bunny, bambi, kitten, and my personal favorite, dove. So pretty, is it not? Naming your lover after the bird that represents inner peace, and the bringer of love…”

You nodded and hummed in agreement, even though he couldn’t see you with his eyes closed. The fact that humans named other humans based off of animals for the sake of endearment made sense, but you hoped it didn’t get too extreme, or was used in offensive language... 

“What one’s do you like the most?” You asked, to Nagito’s surprise. He had to stop and think for a moment, as if he was about to prepare himself what he was about to say.

“I’m...picky. I like names that are meaningful, yet roll off the tongue just right. Though, I also want my partner to be comfortable with the name as well. It’s hard to pinpoint a single one but...maybe it would have to be between love, or precious. They’re simple...but for some reason it makes my heart feel warm.” Nagito put his hand to his chest, humming in satisfaction from his own touch.

“Hmmm….I think if I wanted to give you a pet name Nagito, I think it would be…” You sat in thought, furrowing your brows to think of something endearing your can say to the hopeless romantic.

“Ah, now there’s no need for tha-”

“Flower.”

“Huh?” Nagito opened his eyes to look at you, staring into your thoughtful orbs.

“Like a dandelion, because when you blow on it to make a wish, then it comes true. So I think it matches well.” You tried to break down your reasoning, but it just left Nagito more confused, and not to mention more flustered.

“I...don’t really seem to understand really.” Nagito shifted around on the couch as a sort of a nervous tick. It was obvious to even you that the way his eyes flickered around like someone in a frantic state indicated much apprehension.

“It’s because you're the flower that made my wishes come true.” You stated, smiling at the boy who started to radiate steam from his ears, seemingly not able to take anymore of the emotional turmoil.

In the end, Hinata had to lay him down on the couch for a while, while Chiaki pulled out a bag of frozen peas to place on Nagito’s burning cheeks, who was mumbling something along the lines of “I’m so lucky…” like a crazy mantra.

You just watched it all go down, while also using the term “Flower” in sentences out loud, honestly not helping with Nagito’s heart, which was out of control.  

….

“So...I have to teach you how to cuddle, right? Well that’s easy. Boys, get off this couch. It’s cuddle time. ” Chiaki blatantly said, though she did keep that pretty smile on her face at all times. Your knowledge on cuddling was limited, but you did it a couple times as a whole group, so that counts...probably.

“Lay down so we can get started, okay?” Chiaki gently said, laying herself down on the couch, opening her arms to you, inviting you into her seemingly warm embrace. You eminently fell into her arms, your head nuzzling unintentionally into her chest. She giggled at your actions, obviously enjoying herself. 

Hajime and Nagito, not really knowing what to do, just sat down together in a large cushioned recliner, the both of them leaning back into the chair, bodies pressed up against each other. Nagito had grabbed a book beforehand, so he took this time to simply enjoy his novel. Hajime, being curious and bored, kept on bugging Nagito with questions about the book, which Nagito honestly didn’t mind him doing.

“Ok, let’s start with the common stuff, little spoon or big spoon?” Chiaki said, holding up the number two on her fingers to indicate the options that she had just listed. You had no idea what she had just ment. Spoons? Like, soup spoons? Or ice cream spoons? Your mind was rushing with questions, and Chiaki snickered lightly from your inquisitive irises, knowing how perplexed she had made you.

“Sorry, you’re probably confused, so I’ll just show you.” She shifted herself so that she was facing away from you, so that all you could see was her back. She then wiggled closer to you from that angle, so that her spine was pushed up lightly against your chest. You just laid there, rigid in not knowing what to do with your arms, which were tense from Chiaki’s actions. 

“Wrap your arms around me. Don’t be shy, I’ll tell you if you’re doing something wrong.” She said, waiting for your embrace to bestow itself around her.

Humming in agreement, you used your arms to comfortably wrap itself around Chiaki’s dipped waist, instinctively pulling her closer to you. The pink-haired girl had mumbled from the movement, but then stuck up a little thumbs up to you, indicating that you did everything perfectly.

The two of you stayed in that position for a while, getting comfy from each other's radiating warmth. It was something so peaceful, that it filled your heart with an unknown bliss. You wanted to stay like this forever, but you knowing that it had to end eventually made you feel just a bit of disappointment.

“M’kay..les’ do another one.” She finally spoke, sleepiness obvious within her voice, making you smile a bit. She turned over to you, then started to shove your shoulder lightly with her palm.

“Go on your back…I’m gonna lay on you.” She murmured, pushing you down on your back, and shifting her form onto your chest. Her head was snuggled into your neck, while her arm lazily laid on your abdomen. What surprised you about the position is the fact that Chiaki’s leg had tossed itself over to drape over your lower body. It was as if she was just a baby, clingy koala who wanted their nap time to begin already...actually, this was exactly that, Chiaki was definitely a cute, sleepy koala who just wanted to snooze.

“This is the sweetheart’s cradle...you make a good pillow…” Chiaki mumbled into your neck, making the area feel hot from how flustered you were. Yet, it was so incredibly soothing, that you just wanted to just...rest here until the day you died. You weren't even exaggerating either, because if you were to die like this, you definitely would be the happiest person on earth, and definitely the most snug corpse out there by a longshot.

“Can...can the other’s join too?” You managed to mutter, causing Chiaki to slightly stick her head up.

“Mhm...you’re lucky this couch is big…” she answered, then turned her head to the two boys, who were bickering about the protagonist from Nagito’s book.

“(Y/n) wants you guys to join, come on...don’t keep me and them cold and waiting.”

From that point forward, nothing could compare from the warmth of all three of the people that meant the most to you. The warmth of family...the warmth of true friends...and the warmth of love, all sang such a bright song in your heart, helping you to finally find yourself again. The hardened plaster covering your emotional bank had cracked, leaving the feelings to leak free for the first time in a decade.

And with that layer of facade broken by the people you grew to love the most, you couldn't have wanted it any other way. It would always be them to break down your walls. It would always be them that lead you down the path to find the you you’ve always been searching for. And it would always be them that provided you with the love that you’ve missed out on in life. 

[destiniesfic]

A little dark!Alina for Tumblr user @darkalinas​. Merry Christmas, Maven! I was your Secret “Sankta” for @darklinadaily​’s Darklina Secret Santa. 👼 I had a blast writing this and I hope you like it. ♥

Fandom: Grishaverse (post-Ruin and Rising and King of Scars) Pairings: Darklina & Malina Word Count: 5,000 Rating: T+ Summary: Three years after the end of the Ravkan Civil War, the woman once known as Alina Starkov begins to dream.

Or: he can go anywhere he wants (just not home).

Read on AO3 or read below:

It would have been easy to think the mistress of Keramzin, who saw that the orphans straggling through her door were fed and cared for, little more than a girl herself. Boys of twelve seemed tall beside her, and the more daring among them would ask her to stand back to back with them so they could measure the difference in height and come away whooping at how they’d grown. She wore her hair unbraided and walked the halls with bare feet. Sometimes she would lose herself in a daydream and move to tackle a different section of her latest mural with her brush still wet in her hand, trailing little drips of paint like a line of kisses on the floorboards.

But appearances deceived, for the girl was a woman now, and married. She and her husband took their meals sitting among the teachers and staff, not their charges, although either of them could be tugged away from the table with the slightest excuse. Some of the youngest children, confused by her snow white hair, called her Baba like she was a grandmother. Though she was still a young woman, she sometimes moved stiffly, after she had sat too long or hunched her shoulders up to her ears while she painted, like whatever she had done before coming here siphoned some of her youth away.

When the woman slept at night, it was stretched out beside her husband under a warm duvet, safe. Neither of them dreamed often, and when they did they dreamt mainly of sunlight dancing over skin, of the woods’ silent call. But the other times, the few bad times, he was there when the nightmares reached for her with greedy fingers.

“It’s all right,” he would whisper, gathering her into his arms. “You don’t have to carry it all alone. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Although they were the right words, the things a person should say, her mouth always went dry before she could tell him that she knew.

When one night she arose from their bed in the very early hours, nothing seemed wrong. She had not woken from a nightmare, just suddenly, with no preamble and no cause. Her husband slept on beside her, his brown hair rumpled, one shoulder, sun-kissed from work outdoors, turned toward the ceiling. She thought about kissing it, but she didn’t want to wake him. She left her bed and went to the window, sitting on the bench in front of it and looking out at the pond.

The moon was strong tonight, a silver dish suspended in the sky. Everything she touched—the grass, the sliver of creek—seemed to glow. Her light spilled in through the window, washing the floor and the foot of the bed in desaturated hues, somehow making them both more and less. Where the light did not reach, shadows pooled on the floor like tar.

Most people thought that darkness was the absence of light, its opposite. She knew a different truth. Without light, there could be no shadow. Where one ventured, the other kept close.

And then, out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw one of the shadows move.

She spun around, but her room was as she always knew it: sleeping husband, solid oakwood furniture, dead fire in the grate. Across the room, a ghost stared back at her, hollow-cheeked and bright-eyed. She startled, but it was only her reflection in the full-length mirror. Then, in her periphery, motion: darkness like smoke, sliding under the closed door and into the hall.

She followed.

The rebuilt Keramzin was completely dark this time of night, orphans and staff alike asleep, lost to their own dreams of tomorrow. Patches of moonlight glimmered at her feet, but the shadows between them seemed to grow darker, deeper, until she thought she might fall into them if she took a step forward. Yawning chasms, or hungry mouths.

This was like no dream she could remember. As far as she could see there was no one beside her, no one behind her. Yet she could feel a presence, she would swear to it. Something winding around her, working its way up her body. Something with a voice.

Alina, it murmured. A name only her husband called her now, when the fire was dying and they were alone, the children tucked safely in their beds.

“Alina is dead,” she said. “No one here has that name.”

A lie—Ravkans began naming their daughters for the Sun Summoner as soon as they learned of her. There were two little Alinas, both under four, in the nursery where the youngest children slept. But she didn’t think this phantom cared for technicalities.

The voice chuckled. Are you really so eager to forget yourself? She felt the brush of lips against her ear, but when she turned her head there was nothing. She was alone in the darkened hall, and she thought he had left, but then a whisper slithered into her other ear. Are you so eager to forget who you are?

“I am the mistress of Keramzin,” she told the voice. “I am the painter of these walls. I am the guardian of these children. I have made my home here, and if you won’t leave it, I will drive you out myself.”

There was silence. Then:

With what power?

“Darling?”

She turned. Her husband stood in the doorway of their room, his hair sticking up endearingly at odd angles, pajamas slung low on his hips. The shadows reverted to their normal shade, strangely innocent, keeping their secrets.

“What is it?” he asked. “I heard you talking.”

She blinked back to herself and reached for a plausible explanation. “I don’t know. Must have been sleepwalking.”

He nodded, distantly, then walked over and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Back to bed,” he said, a yawn stretching the last word wide.

“Back to bed,” she agreed, but not without a last glance over her shoulder.

---

“Have you heard from our friend in Os Alta?” the woman asked her husband over breakfast that morning.

That’s what they called the king, that or sometimes their friend in the palace. They had a handful of friends in Os Alta, of course, the lingering remnants of another life entirely. But those friends—the Grisha Triumvirate, the king’s bodyguards, and others—could be mentioned by name occasionally. Davids and Nadias were common enough. Nikolais were, too, but it was better to be cautious with him. Better to leave nothing to chance.

Her husband frowned. “No,” he said. “Were you expecting something?”

She shrugged. They had briefly housed the king’s escort a few weeks back, sans king; the orphans had crowded the windows to gawk at the gilded carriage. When the riders went on their way to the palace, she sent a letter with them. Nothing serious, for there was nothing serious to report from Keramzin, just well-wishes and a request for news from the court. The king was a lively correspondent and usually quick to reply, happy to unburden himself of gossip or fears which he could not, or would not, share with courtiers.

“I wrote to him,” she said, spooning sugar into her tea. “But I haven’t heard back. He’s probably busy.”

“Busy choosing a wife,” her husband replied, with a hint of a snort and a solemn undercurrent that said he did not envy the king one bit.

The woman looked into the glassy surface of her tea. “I forgot,” she murmured, though that news had reached them even in Keramzin and the staff had been buzzing about it for weeks. A royal betrothal was a rare event, and an important one.

Her husband bumped her knee with his, and teased, “Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”

“Hardly,” she scoffed, and smiled at him. That ship had sailed long ago.

Still, it bothered her that she hadn’t heard from her friend. She knew that court obligations must be keeping him occupied, especially with eligible young women swarming the capital, but she wished she had a letter back so she could reply in kind. He was the only person who understood the way darkness had lodged itself between her ribs like a long thorn, reaching to pierce her heart. If she could just slip in a question about his demons, if she could just have reassurance that all was well with him, then maybe she would cease to worry about the impossible.

She took a deep breath, inhaling the earthy scent of her tea. It seemed silly to have those fears here. The air was bright with the chatter of children being herded into their first lessons of the day, with cooking smells, with autumn sun. Half the walls were covered in paintings of fantastical scenes, her own doing, and she wondered if she had been trying to create a ward to keep the darkness out.

“I heard there were earthquakes last night,” her husband said, changing the subject. “Maybe that’s what woke you.”

She frowned. “Earthquakes? Here?”

“All over Ravka. As far south as Dva Stolba.”

Dva Stolba. A shiver ran down her spine. “Why do they think it happened?”

“An act of nature,” said her husband, unbothered. “These things happen, beloved.”

The woman nodded and looked back into her tea. Strange things had been happening all year, it seemed—bridges of bone, statues sprouting flowers, forests falling in the night. It might mean nothing.

And yet when she tried to paint that day, her blues kept running into her blacks, and shadows marred her paintings like bruises. She retired to her room early, dreading her dreams.

---

She did not dream that night, nor the next, nor the one after that, and she breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that her husband was right, that things do happen. That sometimes earthquakes were only earthquakes, and dreams only dreams.

The next time she woke unexpectedly it was to the sound of a bright, sustained note, like ringing in her ears. Someone was playing the piano downstairs. One of the kids must have gotten up and decided to wander around in the night.

Her husband slept on next to her, bracketing her back, and she knew it would fall to her to handle this before the playing woke up the rest of the orphanage. She sighed, pushed her hair back from her face, and slipped out of bed, quietly pulling the door to behind her.

The child fooling around with the piano kept playing and holding the same note, as if not sure where to go from the single key they’d discovered. It was in one of the upper octaves, and although she’d begun to learn how to play the piano alongside some of her more gifted charges, she did not have the knack for knowing which note it was.

But when her feet found the cold tile of the foyer and she hurried to the drawing room where the piano stood, she saw the person sitting at the keys was not a child at all.

The phantom had shape now. He wore a long cloak of all black, with the hood pulled up to cast his face in shadow. She knew what he would look like if he drew it down, and it was that terrible knowledge which rooted her to the spot. He sat on the piano bench like there was real weight to him.

“You’re not here,” she said, as if the words alone were a revocation, a shield.

The phantom pressed the piano key again, and the note held, high and wavering, suspended in the air between them. She looked around, thinking it might wake the staff, or maybe some of the children would stumble bleary-eyed from their rooms, but in her heart she knew no one would come.

“You’re not real,” she insisted.

“Come and sit,” he said. His voice was cool like a poisoned spring at the height of summer, the last drink of the desperate.

She refused to slip into the well of him and stayed where she was, folding her arms over her chest. “You’re in my home.”

“Yes, and such work you’ve done, rebuilding it.” He didn’t need to remind her that he had once burnt Keramzin to the ground, slaughtered all those that had a hand in raising her. She could hear the smile in his voice, picture the way his lips curved under that hood. “Sit with me. I’ll be on my way soon enough.”

“Is that a promise?”

“Would you believe a dead man’s word?”

She shook her head. She wouldn’t have believed him when he was alive. “All you’ve ever done is lie, dead or not.”

“I bent the truth to my will, Alina. I omitted.” There it was again, the name that was hers and wasn’t. She hated the tenderness with which he said it, the same her husband’s voice held when he called her beloved, or my heart.

“A lie of omission is still a lie,” she said.

He made a small, skeptical sound, and then began to play in earnest, coaxing sad, strange music from a piano more accustomed to the clumsy fumblings of students. She had never heard a song like this, composed of discordant notes that didn’t quite fit together and made the hair on her arms stand on end. She found herself moving closer to the piano, watching his bone-white fingers move over the ivory keys, trying to figure out how he was doing it.

He softened his playing, gentled his touch, so that he could speak to her with his head still bowed. “How long has it been since you’ve seen my face at night?”

“Years,” she whispered. Another lie. She couldn’t keep him from entering her thoughts, the man she’d almost loved, the man she killed. She would go weeks at a time without thinking of him, and then he’d glide into her last thoughts before sleep, or she’d feel her husband’s callused hands on her skin and think of the one breathless night he’d gripped her thigh and nearly had her, all of the other evenings that weren’t.

“Would you like to see it again?”

“No.”

He chuckled and stopped playing, then reached up to draw back his hood.

At first she saw only what she expected: his familiar, beautiful face, with its high cheekbones, his thick, dark hair, his cruel mouth curving up at the corner. There were the faint scars that marked his survival of the time she stranded him on the Fold. But that was what she wanted to see. The other half of his face was a rotten mess. Mottled grey skin flaked away from bone, a dark hollow gaped where his eye should be. There were no lips to hide his straight white teeth, and no nose at all. How he would have rotted, if he hadn’t burned.

He smiled.

She screamed.

The cook, emerging from her room to set out breakfast, found her asleep at the keys, her forearm slung in front of the music rack, pillowing her forehead.

---

The woman was led to her bed, skin hot, buried in blankets as soft and heavy as the first snow of winter. A doctor from the nearby town was summoned to diagnose her with influenza, told her husband to see to it that she rested and drank her tea. She had always been prone to sickness when the weather changed–except for the one glorious, blazing year that her ill health could not touch her, when the light she wielded kept it at bay.

She gave that up. She was supposed to have her happily-ever-after.

“I saw him, Mal,” she said, clutching at her husband’s sleeve as he pressed a cool compress to her forehead. “I saw him.”

“Your temperature’s still high,” he replied, cupping her cheek in his work-roughened hand. She closed her eyes. “Fever dreams. He’s gone, love. You saw to that.”

Later, she saw her husband standing in the door, speaking in a low voice to the doctor, asking about paranoia, about delusions, about what it meant that his wife saw ghosts. The doctor shook his head, told him she needed to sweat it out, that after a few days she would be right as rain.

She told no one there was a weight on her chest that had nothing to do with her flu.

But her body won its fight eventually. After a few days her skin cooled, and instead of sipping clear broth from a bowl held carefully by one of the orphanage nurses, she was able to join the rest of Keramzin at dinner, seated at her husband’s side. The staff all greeted her warmly and told her how much better she looked, even though she knew they whispered about the circles under her eyes even when she was well.

Sitting there in the dining room, she was struck suddenly by a sense of profound dissatisfaction with her life. Why should she endure gossip and speculation? Why should she have her counsel so easily disregarded by the physician, by her husband, her words of warning dismissed as flights of fancy? She, who had been a saint. She, who was nearly queen. Why—

But then one of the little girls threw her arms around the woman’s legs and said, “Baba, I’m glad you’re better,” and the world righted itself. She let her hand rest on the back of the girl’s silken head, and breathed.

---

“Keep me awake tonight,” she told her husband later, as they turned down the gas lamps and climbed into bed. “I don’t want to dream.”

“You need your rest,” he replied, smoothing a lock of white hair back from her face.

She twined her arms around his shoulders. “I’m not glass,” she murmured. “I won’t break. Keep me up.”

He tried his best, and so did she, but sleep, ever the creditor, claimed its debts in the end. Although at first she did not realize she was asleep, having sild into it sideways; one moment she watched her husband’s chest rise and fall, and the next she blinked, and the waning moon had moved outside the window. The back of her neck prickled with the creeping certainty that she was being watched. There was someone else in the room with them.

She reached for her sleeping husband to wake him, to tell him, to show him, but her hand passed over his shoulder like rain running down a windowpane. She jerked it back, as if she had burned it. Her husband didn’t stir.

“He won’t wake,” said the soft, cool voice from behind her. “You’re in my domain now.”

The woman closed her eyes and drew a deep breath, steadying herself before speaking. “I thought it was ours,” she said after a moment. “Not yours. I could call to you, too.”

“But you haven’t, have you, Alina?”

“There’s no point calling on a dead man.”

“Am I so dead?”

The more fool her, expecting a nightmare to know he was deceased. The more fool her, for thinking him just a nightmare. She turned over, holding her blankets close to her chest, and found a figure standing at her bedside, nearly human, not a shadow, not half corpse.

She blinked up at him. “You’re whole now.”

“I only wanted to remind you of the damage you did,” he said.

How could she forget? She killed both him and her husband that day, so much heart’s blood gouting warm over her hands. If one had returned to her, it didn’t seem so unlikely that the other would as well, even though she’d watched him burn.

But she wondered if that was it, or if he simply had the strength now to appear as he liked. He had been formless at first, just a whisper in her ear. Now he stood at her bedside, lifelike. His hood was pushed back from his face, and the moonlight glimmered on his sharp, elegant cheekbones, haloed his dark hair. His scars, which had appeared after she stranded him on the Fold, were gone. He looked down at her with his pale grey eyes, and she very much wished she were clothed.

“What do you want?” she asked, smoothing her hand over the blankets.

“A word. A walk.”

“And what if I don’t want to give you those things?”

His mouth curved into a smile, but she read sadness in his eyes. “Then I will come again, Alina. The tracker may think he has you in the day, but your nights are mine.”

She closed her eyes again and imagined him eroding her dreams over and over, until he became the only thought left in her head. She imagined sitting up for days, trying to avoid him. It chilled her blood. If they had thought her paranoid before…

“No tricks,” she told him. “Look away. I need to dress.”

He scoffed, “You act as though we’re strangers.”

“Some things belong to me,” she reminded him. “Look away.”

He pursed his lips, but turned his head away from her. She slipped out of bed, careful not to touch him, and gathered up her discarded nightgown, her underwear, dressing as quickly as she could. She stepped into her slippers, determined to make him wait as long as possible, before asking, “Where are we walking?”

“Around your orphanage, to start.”

“Fine.” She crossed her arms and tucked her hands under her armpits so he couldn’t take them.

The door to their room had a squeaky hinge, one her husband had been meaning to grease for a couple of weeks now. When the phantom opened it, it made no sound. She listened, hard, for his footfalls on the floor.

“Tell me, does this life suit you?” he asked, as they walked side by side through the darkened hall, the only two awake in a house, or perhaps a world, of sleepers. “Do you enjoy being painter and patroness?”

“I do,” she said. It did not taste like a lie.

He hummed. “Do you enjoy being a mere wife, when you might have been a queen?”

“Men wanted to make me their queen,” she reminded him. “That was never something I chose for myself.”

“All the more reason you would have been a good one,” he said. “Power is wasted by those who crave it. It’s twisted, perverted, misused. You would have made an excellent queen.”

“That’s a rare moment of self-awareness from you.”

An amused glint lit his eyes, a candle flame in a darkened window. “I never wanted power for power’s sake, Alina. I loved my country.”

“Did you?” She paused for a moment to consider a painted vine snaking around a bannister, which was already beginning to flake off. She scratched at a leaf with her index finger; green came away under her nail. “Then why couldn’t you stop destroying it?”

“Ah,” he said.

“Well?”

“So young, so wise, so married,” he mused, “and yet you know nothing of love.”

He took the stairs without waiting for her to follow. She did, of course, determined to chase him down and to explain all the ways that he was wrong, then realizing, partway down, that he would only take her arguments as defensiveness. So she reminded herself of what she knew. She loved her life. She loved the children in her care. She loved her husband. Her love would not destroy them. It would not destroy her.

But she had loved power, too, once. And now her power was dead.

He waited for her by the two grand double doors that stood at Keramzin’s main entrance. She tried to follow the lines of his cloak with her eyes, but it bled into the shadows at his feet. He watched her steadily.

“Now what?” she asked.

“Now we walk.” And he held out his hand.

She stared at him.

“You won’t get to where we’re going if you don’t take it.” He spread his fingers out a little, beckoning her. “Alina.”

She held his gaze as she slipped her hand into his. She half-expected to feel the surge of power, familiar and wild, that used to always manifest when she touched him. She didn’t feel that, but she didn’t feel nothing. Some dark thing fluttered just to the side of her heart, a fledgling raven not quite ready to leave the nest.

“Aleksander,” she said.

He pushed open the door.

They stepped together, and for a moment it was as if the shadows had swallowed them whole. She felt like she had stepped back into the nothingness of the Fold, an all-consuming, weightless darkness. But then it resolved itself, and she saw that she was in a grey, windowless room. She blinked and pressed her hand to one of the walls, feeling cool stone under her palm. With a surge of panic, she looked over her shoulder and saw the only door was metal and sealed tight.

“This is a cell,” she said, her heart sinking. Had she stepped into a trap without knowing? Would she be able to leave? “Why would you bring me here?”

“A glimpse of the future,” he said, ever inscrutable.

And then his mouth was hot and hard on hers, and her back collided with the wall. She was so surprised that for a moment she didn’t react, for a moment her lips parted and she let herself be kissed, and then she grabbed his shoulders and pushed him away.

“What are you doing?” she cried, as if someone might hear, someone outside. Someone who could intervene.

“What you want.”

That dark thing fluttered behind her ribcage again. “I have a husband.”

“Your husband,” he said, voice heavy with derision. “The tracker. Have you forgotten? You murdered your husband the day you murdered me.”

“Clearly it didn’t take.” She kept her hands firm on his shoulders. He certainly felt real, firm and strong, all lean muscle.

His laugh was low and dangerous. “Are you so deserving of good things? Are you so deserving of kindness? You put a dagger in both of us, Alina. Tell me why I shouldn’t repay you in kind.”

She felt one of his hands slip up her nightdress, settling on her thigh, a strange echo of the position they’d been in years ago, that very different night. Her blood pulsed hot in her ears, and she knew it was not a dagger he was planning to stick her with. “You’re dead,” she said, trying to keep her voice even. She refused to let him rattle her. “I think that would make it difficult. No blood to spare.”

He gave her a narrow, rueful grin. “If I’m truly dead, does it matter what we do?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

His other hand traced a half-circle over her collarbones, where Morozova’s antlers once sat, before gently tilting her chin up. She could not look away from him. In life, there was always such intensity in his gaze, and the gaze of this nightmare, this dream, was no different. “I’m going to kiss you again,” he said. “Tell me to stop, if that’s what you want.”

She didn’t tell him to stop. He was gentler this time, his lips ghosting over her cheek before finding hers, molding to her instead of forcing his way in. She shut her eyes tight, but her grip on his shoulders turned into something else, a near embrace, another battle in their war. She could even smell him, cool and crisp like the approach of winter. His hand was warm on her thigh.

“You have something of mine,” he murmured against her mouth. “Do you know how to use it?”

“What?” she asked breathily.

She felt him smile. “I’m not so far away, Alina,” he said. “Come and find me.”

---

When she opened her eyes, she found herself standing in the middle of Keramzin’s drive in her nightdress and slippers. Although it was late autumn and a breeze brushed her white hair back from her face like a lover’s fingers, she didn’t feel the cold.

Dawn was just beginning to break in the east, a pink tinge illuminating the dark branches of naked trees. She stood there, watching the morning sun rise, and held her hands up to it, hoping to catch the rays in her palms and hold them for a while. But they glided over her skin, indifferent to what she wanted. She tried not to let her disappointment swallow her. She had felt a tug when he touched her. She had hoped...

But maybe that wasn’t the answer.

“There you are,” said a voice from behind her. She turned and found her husband standing in the door, his feet bare. He had dressed in haste, and his shirt didn’t quite sit right on his shoulders. She saw the nurse peeking out behind him.

“Sleepwalking,” she called from the drive. “Don’t worry.”

“You should come in,” he said. “You’ll make yourself sick again.” She could hear his concern warring with his impulse not to frighten her off. If they could only pretend everything was fine, then everything would be.

“In a minute.” She looked toward the trees bordering the drive, their little patch of forest. “There’s something I want to try.”

“Ali—” he began, then stopped, remembered himself. “Just come in.”

She smiled at him like she couldn’t still feel the ghost of another man’s kiss on her lips. “I’ll see you at breakfast.”

Before he could say another word, she walked off into the trees, where the shadows grew thick like underbrush, even at midday. But it was dawn, with the sun’s light slanting at an angle, and the thick trunks of trees sprouted long, dark shadows that blanketed the leaf-covered ground. She walked until she was sure she could no longer be seen. Eventually, someone would come to bring her in. Better to be quick. Better to be sure.

Alina held out her hands.

The shadows greeted her like an old friend.

[diamondcamefromhell]

Blood Moon

Part One of the Blood Moon series

A/N: for A/N see after the fic

Blood Moon summary: Lena (pronounced as Le-na, not Leena) is a renounced witch, a grisha feared. Aleksander goes by many names, not many of which ring true. The pair is similar in more ways than one, but also as different as can be. One seeks power, another fears what the hunger might cost them both, however there is something about the darkness that invited them both. They meet in the middle, where the world collides. 

Important info: this takes place before the shadow and bone/six of crows, before there even is a shadow fold, and there isnt that much information about grishaverse in those times (note i havent looked much outside what books provide) i am taking a lot of creative freedom with it!

enjoy!

Lena wasn‘t sure how she ended up here, but she knew better than to ask questions. Aleksander, as she knew him, was a kind man. To her. Or maybe she was just one more foolish girl to him, whichever it was, he had accepted her for who she was.

A blood witch, many called her. All across Ravka and even beyond. They both had extraordinary talents, but for whatever reason, Aleksander was more accepted than her. Or, as accepted as grisha could be in these times. However, Lena remembered making the King himself kneel before her, then downing his entire army to do the same.

The power she felt, the name she earned. She used to wear lifeless colours, blending in, but she wore deepest of reds now, which seemed to be more fitting. It matched Aleksanders black attire quite nicely.

She counted herself lucky to even know him by that name, as he would never use it nowadays. He was known as something else, a shadow just passing through.

Aleksander was looking at the girl now, remembering his own mother, who once pretended to go by that name too – just like Lena did now. To him, she was Telyna, but for many reasons she didn’t like sharing, she despised that name.

Telyna was who she was before she became worthy of being a blood witch, it was a time of drowning and fear and pain. She broke through, but it cost her greatly, sometimes she wondered if it cost her humanity herself.

Aleksander liked that about her, as she stood there, glowing and graceful, radiating the power she had within. He saw the army kneel against their will. The world could be theirs, as they knew it.

But he needed to get stronger, to be worthy to stand next to her.

Lena looked at the man as shadows danced around them and he caught her gaze, smirking. The shadow extended, and she couldn’t see the light anymore.

“Impressive.” She said lazily, rubbing her hands on her cloak.

“Not enough to take down an entire army.” He said, letting the shadows drop – sunlight returned making Lena cover her eyes.

“No, I’m afraid not.” She agreed as he came to her, placing his hand on her shoulder. She felt the surge of power rush through her, as a reminder that he is an amplifier. Her mind for a second thought about what she could be is she bore his bones permanently, but she chased the thought away.

“Together we could-“

“Have the Ravka, Shu Han, Fjerda. Our reach might take Ketterdam and the whole world.” She finished as Aleksander just grinned.

She glanced at him and he involuntarily stepped back. His face grew tense but there was playfulness behind his eyes.

“I thought we agreed you wouldn’t do that.” She let him go, dropping herself to the grass and staring at the surrounding area. They were in an opening in a forest north of Ravka, close to the border.

“I thought we agreed not to discuss your plans to take over the world, Aleksander.” He pressed his lips tightly. This was a discussion neither of them really enjoyed.

“You almost took down the king.” Lena shot him a glance, sending him to his knees. He grunted but remained silent.

“It was for his treatment of grisha. Now he may never forget that if we wished to, we could destroy him and all he stands for.” Her voice trembled in anger. “That was his final warning.”

“Until he hurts another grisha.” Lena looked at Aleksander, who was still on his knees, staring at her. Shadows seeped out of him, seemingly not out of his will. She looked away.

“Then I will have him bring me his own head.” She said through her teeth. The woman couldn’t see Aleksander grin, as if he was twisting up a plan.

She only heard grass move and they were surrounded by darkness again. Even in it, she could see Aleksanders face change, as his shoulder relaxed, his skin began to glow. He looked better the further the darkness reached, and Lena wondered, what was happening to his soul in these moments.

Was he letting the darkness out, hence the glow, or was he letting it in, nest inside of him tainting all there is, eating him from inside out.

Lena has met Baghra once, even if she has been acquainted with Aleksander for some years now. The woman looked at her son with so much love, the girl felt herself grow jealous, even if just a little. But there was something behind her eyes there too, and only weeks later Lena had realized it was fear.

At first, she thought that it was for him, but perhaps it was for the world. Aleksander seemed to grow more and more power hungry every day he spent traveling across Ravka with her. They had no goals. After their visit to the royal court, they were both, hunted and feared.

But neither of those things really gave them power. And Aleksander wanted power.

Lena was scared to let him too close. To drink up his darkness, out of fear for becoming more like him, for wanting the world. She hated herself for what she did at court, yet she felt ecstatic about it too – using her power to it’s full potential. The fear in their faces.

She couldn’t see her cloak anymore, but the dark red was getting in her skin like permanent ink. She was owning the blood witch status. She loved being a scary story kids, to otkazat’sya. She was legend, she was seen and feared.

She hated how it made her feel. But she loved it too. She understood Aleksander better than anyone.

The sun reached her again as the man looked at her, gracing her with a full-toothed smile.

“That was better.” For a moment, he looked like a child. They never discussed their true age, but in the many lifetimes they are yet to have, perhaps they were just kids now. Two small children playing with fire they might not be able to contain.

“It was.” She said, against her better judgement.

There was a steam nearby. She felt the water as she was a Tidemaker, a name that seemed to stick to those of Small Magic who learnt how to manipulate water. She couldn’t see it behind the trees, but her lips twitched as the tried to hold back a grin.

She lifted her arm, twisting it a little, and then flicking it. Water rushed from its source, soaking Aleksander who seemed to be struck by it unexpectedly. He was staring at her in disbelief as she allowed the water to fully drop, her laugh echoing across the forest.

“You should see your face.” She was bent over with laughter, but she still could see Aleksander biting back a smile too, until he burst out laughing. Lena knew he must be freezing though, so she did her best to get water off of him and his clothes once they had finished laughing.

They set camp then, sitting close by the fire. There was a comfortable silence between then as it seemed they have had all of the conversations through the years. Lena still felt herself yearn to hear him speak, tell a story of his earlier life, but he didn’t have many happy ones.

Nor did she.

“Do you think there is more people like us?” She asked, curiously, watching the embers in the fire.

“There aren’t anybody else like us.” Aleksander was looking at the girl, so she met his dark eyes. “And there never will be.”

“What makes you say that?” Lena asked as Aleksander smirked, closing his eyes and leaning in. Her heart skipped a beat as the girl shut her own eyes, but the man simply landed his forehead on hers.

“You and me, we are going to change the world.”

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

A/N: Hey, hey, so, I am kinda back? Idk if I will be writing Y/N fics (tho I do plan to do it) Ive had this idea of Darkling [kinda] fic for awhile, and i have it started on AO3 HOWEVER, the story there takes place in Grishaverse as we know it, aka, around Shadow and Bone trilogy era, whereas what I am sharing here is the backstory of Lena and Darkling, so I hope y’all enjoyed?? Let me know what u think, anonymous feedback can be left on my ask page. This part is short and they all might be, so i can get them out faster, that is if you actually like it?

either way, shooting my shot.

CANT WAIT FOR TV SHOW

[jaskicr]

i’ve been screaming about women witchers a lot lately and i finally wrote a yentriss fic in which they’re both witchers, they’re bamf, they’re soft, and they’re lesbians, your honour, i love them

summary:

The chill of winter has faded away, the joy of spring pervading the air. Triss waits in the tavern, surveying the humans around her - then two arms encircle her from behind, and Triss smiles when she recognises the familiar scent of lilac.

“Missed you,” she murmurs, twisting around to press her forehead to Yennefer’s. They’ve spent a long winter apart, and Triss has missed her so much, missed her warm embraces and gentle touches, her sly smiles and soft laughter. “How was your winter?”

“Good,” Yennefer hums, winding her arms around Triss’ waist. “I have a contract. There’s a lord -”

“Yes, Yenna, I’ll be your backup,” Triss cuts in with a playful grin, glowing warm with the high of their reunion and the prospect of setting out on the Path together once more, and Yennefer sends her a grateful smile, capturing her lips in their first kiss after a winter apart.

Or: Triss and Yennefer are two witchers in love, reuniting after going their separate ways for the winter. Together, they take a contract on a corrupt lord - a contract that goes unexpectedly wrong.

----

Leaning back in her chair, Triss surveys the tavern, filled with chattering humans, halfway drunk on ale and warm food, their faces bright with the arrival of spring as the chill of winter melts away. Triss had spent the winter with Julian, the only brother of hers who’s still alive, holed up in the same small village they always spend their winters in - it’s possibly the only village on the Continent where witchers aren’t hated, where Triss and Julian are given nothing more than a quick glance as the villagers get on with their quiet lives.

Once winter had retreated enough for Triss to travel safely, she’d set back out on the Path, bidding goodbye to Julian, who headed up north towards Kaedwen while she started making her way down towards Redania, stopping every once in a while to take contracts in order to keep her purse full. She’s in the centre of Redania now, where the colours are bright and the people are joyous with the arrival of spring, and their joy is infectious, sending thrums of anticipation running through Triss as she shifts in her seat, the ale untouched in front of her.

The humans in the tavern give her a wide berth, seeing the gold of her eyes glowing in the dim light, the slash of scars across her face, the swords strapped to her back, but Triss pays them no heed - she’s used to it, and besides, she has more important things to care about. 

The door to the tavern opens, letting in a gentle gust of spring breeze, and Triss snaps her head up, her slow heart speeding up slightly, only to deflate when a group of young boys stumble in, loud and raucous as they push and shove at each other, the door swinging shut behind them. 

It’s only been a few days, she reminds herself. She’s waited longer.

She could wander around town, maybe, catch a glimpse of the colourful festivities that herald the arrival of spring. Or she could find a contract, keep herself occupied for a day or two. 

Glancing out the window, she twists her fingers around her medallion, rubbing at the flower charm that hangs next to it, and takes in the view outside, humans rushing about their day through the crowded streets. 

Everyone buzzes bright with the joy of spring, and Triss is suddenly acutely aware of how alone she is, sitting in a shadowy corner of the tavern as the world around her spins and hums with the anticipation of a new year. She taps her fingers on her medallion, tracing the image of the roaring Manticore, clutches at the flower charm, and wonders -

Two arms encircle her from behind, and Triss reaches instinctively for the dagger at her hip before she recognises the familiar scent of lilac, the familiar weight of those arms. She grins, twisting around in her seat, warmth filling her when she meets bright violet eyes.

“You were watching the door,” Yennefer murmurs, low and husky as Triss stands up, still held in the circle of Yennefer’s arms. “You should know that I wouldn’t come through the door.”

“It’s a normal thing to do,” Triss protests, reaching out to return Yennefer’s embrace. 

“You do this every time,” Yennefer points out, amused, lips tilting up in a playful grin, and Triss leans down a little, presses a kiss to the corner of those enticingly red lips.

“Maybe one day I’ll catch you walking through an actual door.”

“You’ll be waiting for that day for a long time, then.” Yennefer rests their foreheads together, and they’re silent for a few moments, breathing each other in. Their armours are an uncomfortable barrier between them, but Triss lets herself bask in Yennefer’s presence, finally feeling warm and full after a long winter apart. 

“Missed you,” Triss murmurs, and Yennefer hums in response, eyes bright and fond. She can feel the weight of numerous eyes on them, can sense the confusion and fear of the humans at the sight of two female witchers embracing in the corner of the tavern, but she ignores them, pulling Yennefer closer. “How was your winter?”

“Killed one or two corrupt nobles -”

“Just one or two?”

Yennefer rolls her eyes, continuing, “But otherwise I laid low. I couldn’t be bothered to cause too much trouble, and a nice villager actually offered to let me stay for the winter, so I was fine.”

link to ao3 in reblog!

[clan-sayeed-fic]

Business (Kamilah Sayeed & MC)

Previous chapters: 1, 2, 3

Book: Bloodbound (property of Pixelberry Studios)

Pairing: Kamilah Sayeed & MC: Amy (I do not own those characters, they’re the property of Pixelberry Studios as well)

Warnings: angst, strong language, illustrative descriptions of situations full of violence and brutality, might cause distress

Rating: Mature

Author’s note:  I’m not a native English speaker, I’m sorry for any mistakes (feel free to correct me).

It's been a month or so since I've posted the previous chapter. From what I remember, we've ended the last part on Kamilah and Amy having an intimate moment. At one point, the girl got second thoughts and left Kamilah's penthouse.

So, here we are, in chapter 4th, right after the situation. I hope you'll enjoy the continuation of the story 💕  

Also, I'd like to thank Anons that have been asking me about the fic, and @saratustra4 for asking me about the next chapter 💕 For some reason, it helped me come back to the writing. Also, if I fail my study because of that, I know who to blame hahah *kidding* 😂😂

~2300 words

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

Chapter 4

"Fuck..."

Harsh tone flew all the way to smooth surface of the car window, hitting it hard, only to bounce off the reflection of green eyes trapped inside.

Amy brushed stubborn hair away from her blushing face. Blonde strands left marks behind as if they had burned her skin permanently. Her lips were red and hot after the kiss she had shared only a few moments before.

The kiss to which she agreed so foolishly.

What were you thinking, she cursed herself in thoughts, letting anger rage inside her veins. She was slowly losing control over her body as a small spark dared to shine inside her irises.

The girl closed her eyes, leaning against something that felt like a block of ice, rather than her car. Coldness reached nerves under her skin, easing the tension, helping collect thoughts on what she should do next.

Because it didn't seem like fate was on her side that day. Amy forgot to grab her purse from the dresser at Kamilah's penthouse, so she didn't have keys to her car and phone to call for a lift.

But most of all,

she had no courage to come back and face the woman.

What if she suspected anything? Question screamed inside her mind, forcing her to move away from the car. Fear pulled her closer into the embrace of a much greater danger, fooling her judgement.

It tricked her mind enough to make her forget about the threat waiting in the darkness.

***

New York City was resting after a full day of events. It was then that Amy found herself alone in the street, left in the company of her loud thoughts.

The girl considered asking someone for help, but the idea seemed almost equally risky as walking on her own at this hour. It would only call unnecessary attention, not mentioning what could happen if she came across people who wished harm to her family.

Being one of the Paines had its consequences.

Amy moved toward the dark alley. She finally got out of the sight of warm light peeking outside from apartments. It seemed to watch her every move, trying to hunt her down at all costs.

One of the girl's hands moved to her mouth. Fingers subtly traced over her lower lip as to remind themselves of the previous desire. The desire that made Amy feel things she never expected to experience.

Not when it went to vampires.

Her body should have reacted differently. It shouldn't have let her fall for tricks of these beasts. She was supposed to be better than that. Too smart to get fooled by their attractiveness. Too powerful to get fed with their poisonous words.

So what happened this time? What made her give in to Kamilah's touch? What was responsible for this feeling inside, this...

Suddenly Amy heard a noise coming from behind. The urge to turn around and follow the sound was tempting, but she managed to fight it. She had been through the training before, so she knew the most important rule.

Never rely on your sight.

The girl closed her eyes, focusing on the feeling overwhelming her body. Listening to her accelerated heartbeat, accompanied by the growing tension in her muscles as her body sensed attackers.

They were passing through the alley like a shadow desperately seeking for the opportunity to escape the moonlight. To finally creep up on both sides, cutting off only ways of escape. It was too late, and at once, too soon to react, so Amy stood in place patiently, preparing herself for what was to come.

"Who do we have here?" shudders travelled down her spine.

As soon as the voice pierced through her ears, all of the colours vanished from the world around. Values of the surroundings became muted as if they were just a useless distraction for her eyes. Instead, everything took the tones of grey, leaving the earth on its own in the fight between light and darkness.

"She looks familiar, huh?" her eyes moved, following the second voice.

Only to catch a spark of crimson in the man's stare. No one else but vampires could make her body react this way. Their presence heightened her senses, changing them into something inhuman.

The girl raised her hands, showing an act of surrender. She needed to buy herself more time because they still didn't come close enough.

The adrenaline was not high enough.

"Look, guys, I am not looking for trouble," calm tone of her voice hid fear growing inside her chest.

But both men ignored her words, continuing getting closer. It was clear that they didn't realize how big of a mistake it was. Because with each of their step, she was getting better access to thoughts inside their heads.

"Oh, I got this," the one behind her spoke again. "Blonde hair, sweet voice, and even sweeter smell of blood. It must be Paine's daughter."

"I guess we found her without company," the one in front of her tilted his head slightly. "Our master will be so pleased to meet you."

Amy turned her body to the side enough to have a clear view of both of them.

"One more step," the girl growled, feeling every muscle in her body tense.

But it only made them more amused.

"Uuu, I feel threatened," a sarcastic tone challenged her nerves.

It came from the one on her right, a total blabbermouth. Amy squinted her eyes and gazed into his, spotting this characteristic glow inside them, a remnant of humanity. That was a clue to recognize a newly turned vampire.

"You should be," a tiny smile danced in the corner of her mouth.

She turned away from him, focusing all her attention on his friend instead.

And the game began.

Sounds of vampires' talk faded away into the darkness, blending with shadows. As the world around her calmed down significantly, moving in slow motion from then on. The wind on her shoulder became barely noticeable as coldness lost all its intensity in the air. Amy's heartbeat was steady and loud, drumming inside her head, not giving peace. Her blood seemed to stop running inside her veins, replaced by the adrenaline instead.

The same adrenaline that made her green eyes shine with gold, creating a bridge of connection between her and the man. Giving her a sense of his principal thoughts. How badly he wanted to..., kidnap her.

Her mind raced on the wires of his thoughts as she slowly lost herself in the labyrinth of memories. But she stayed there, travelling through his life until she reached the part with his weaknesses. Amy grabbed them with her mind, ready to manipulate his fears. There was only a hint of hesitation before she twisted the most painful memory inside his head, playing with it like a toy.

Until he had no other choice left, but to surrender.

His stare lacked previous confidence, showing unsureness that she planted all over his chest. The roots of anxiety grew deep inside him, almost reaching his dead heart.

That's how the hunter became her prey.

"I am not," Amy whispered, putting the idea inside his head.

"She's not," words left his mouth emotionless.

"I am not your target," her breathing got sharp and unstable, her body was getting weaker one second after another.

"We've made a mistake," he spoke aloud, staring emptily at the darkness.

"What?" the other man's high pitched tone reached them from behind. "What the hell are you talking about, man?"

Amy almost had him wrapped around her little finger, locking the idea inside his mind. Making him realize that she was not the person they had been looking for, that they should let her go free.

But then something interrupted her.

Wires of his mind twisted unexpectedly, pulling her out of this part of the brain. Instead, she witnessed a different memory, finding herself in front of a stranger hidden under a black cloak. A deep shadow covered the person's face, keeping all the features unrecognizable.

But something about the scene seemed so wrong.

"It's not a memory," she spoke, forgetting about attackers. "It's a vision."

She had no control over things appearing before her eyes. Amy wanted to leave the scene, but it was holding her tight in its claws, draining too much energy from her body. The pressure inside her head was growing as the bridge between her, and the vampire was falling apart.

But then the vision deformed, drawing her attention to the figure's movements. Black fabric flew in the air, dancing and twisting in front of her, increasing dizziness. Presence of the mysterious person brought back coldness on Amy's body, stabbing her deep under the skin.

She looked at the stranger one last time to spot a smirk dancing on their pale lips, a smile of victory and pride. But then the vision went blurry, filling her head with unbearable pain.

And at the same time, breaking her connection with the vampire.

"You...you are..." the man stuttered, waking up from the trance. And as soon as he fully realized the threat, his eyes flashed red. "Get her!"

His partner jumped toward Amy immediately, using his vampire speed, leaving her no time to react. So before she even thought about avoiding the attack, he was already there, pushing her away. The force of the hit sent her body high in the air until it met a hard surface of the wall before finally landing on the ground.

Blonde strands of hair changed into light red, dyed by the liquid running down from the wound on her temple. It leaked on her cheek, leaving a mark before her shaky hand wiped it away from the skin. A hiss of pain accompanied by fear escaped her mouth when she realized what happened.

As those green eyes stared emptily at her fingers covered in blood.

"That explains why you're so valuable," the vampire spoke aloud, freed from her influence.

In a flash, both men were standing next to her, tempted by the smell. The flavour of iron tortured their throats, begging to satisfy the thirst.

The leading vampire grabbed her throat, lifting her body against the wall with no mercy. Amy's feet were hanging above the ground, desperately searching for balance. The growing pressure around her trachea caused her to choke in a last-ditch attempt to catch a breath.

"I need to taste it," the younger one licked his lips hungrily, hypnotized by the path of blood on her neck.

Go ahead, Amy's thoughts screamed, challenging, drink, and it's going to be the last thing you ever taste.

"We will deliver her to our master first," the older one interrupted harshly. "That was the plan."

Against these words, his temptation was not any weaker. The desire to dip fangs into the girl's neck was messing with years of training. But at that moment, nothing mattered more than the idea of blood running down his throat as he drinks every single drop from her mortal body.

If only both vampires weren't so distracted, they would have noticed a stranger emerging from shadows.

"I'll take it from here," an icy tone sounded behind their back, drawing attention.

But it was too late.

In one moment, both of them were pushed far away from the girl who fell on the ground heavily, unable to keep balance.

As soon as the grip around Amy's throat loosened up, her lungs began screaming for help. She was desperately searching for air, but it seemed to avoid her chest, leaving her breathless and weak instead. All she saw were blurred figures moving with impossible speed before her eyes. There was no way to guess which ones were her attackers and which one the saviour, no way to figure out who was on the winning side.

But there was no point of knowing that, no hope left for her.

Amy's eyes filled with tears because of the lack of air until she shut them down completely. That's when noises of cracking bones flew through the alley before leaving it alone with silence.

The fight was over.

Hers was over too.

"Amy, I need you to calm down," a familiar voice echoed inside her head followed by a soft hand on her arm. "I need you to focus on my breathing. With me, in..." the woman took a breath, and let it out with the other words," and out."

Amy opened her eyes, but there was nothing else than darkness in front of her. The soothing touch on her shoulder eased her anxiety, helping to follow the advice. Her first attempt failed but soon after the air filled her lungs, giving long-awaited peace.

"Take it easy," Kamilah said when the girl tried to move too rapidly.

"How did you..." her voice was shaky, lacking its previous sweetness.

She looked through the alley nervously, but bodies of vampires were nowhere to find. There was no sign left after the situation that had put her life at risk.

"You forgot your purse," Kamilah interrupted with an explanation as her eyes travelled through Amy's body, searching for injuries. At least other than the obvious one. "I saw your car in the garage, so I knew I have to track you down" she swallowed hard. "Your bleeding made it much easier."

It made Amy realize that she still had her temple and hair covered in blood. Her eyes stared at Kamilah with mistrust, watching her moves.

"Let me take care of it," Kamilah pulled a handkerchief out of the pocket and carefully placed it on the injury.

Amy's hand moved there hurriedly, taking the cloth from her. But as soon as their hands touched, some spark of electricity ran through both women's bodies. Their eyes connected again, gazing deeply into one another with a sudden understanding.

"Apply pressure right here," Kamilah whispered, moving away.

"Let's take you home, shall we?"

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Next chapter: 5

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tag list: @evexofxtime  @kamilah-is-queen @scarletheart @helpconfusedpersonhere @ayushixo @nydeiri @vonda-b-real

[the-river-person]

Epilogue

Wind swept through the red grass like a wave upon the sea, sending ripples down the slopes of the endless hills. In the lowest valleys the grass vanished into a soft white fog, making the hilltops seem as if they were detached from the earth and floating through an ocean of clouds. Sans gazed around in wonder, while also having to shield his eyes a little. Above them the sky was a thousand blending shades of purple, everything from a deep angry bruise to a very soft lilac. At the edge of the Horizon was the sun, and from here it looked a very deep red color, and though it wasn’t terribly bright, he still had to shield his eyes. It seemed that he needed some time for his eyes to properly adjust to seeing the surface in all of its overwhelming brightness after living in the muted and shadowed Underground for all his life. Well for lifetimes on end, really. Mouth open wide, and eye lights nearly pinpricks in shock, Gaster too appeared to be too stunned for words at the sight of this world. Sans knew that his uncle had been around to see the Surface of their own Universe, and judging by Gaster’s reaction, it was nothing at all like this. The River Person had taken them to this place because he said it was still a relatively safe Universe to visit for a little while. Comfortably seated in his ferry boat, the River Person didn’t seem inclined to go anywhere soon, so they’d opted to explore for a bit while staying in sight. Arriving at another Universe was just as bizarre as leaving one had been. It was as if there was a reflective orb in the distance, only when you got closer it wasn’t you that it was reflecting, but a place. And if you got close enough it was as if the reflection warped and twisted itself so that it swallowed you and you were sitting in another Universe as smoothly as if you’d landed your boat at the docks. Actually the ferryboat itself was sitting in the middle of the red grass, and looked perfectly natural there as if it were supposed to sail across the sea of red grass and plants instead of up and down a river. Out in the distance the world got even stranger. To the right, he wasn’t sure what the compass direction was because the red sun appeared to be circling the horizon instead of crossing overhead in an arc, he could see bright glow that spanned the whole edge of the sky in that direction, as if the area was filled with light. And to the left the sky seemed to get darker and darker until the horizon that way was shadowed and still. “Pretty, isn’t it?” “Yes,” he breathed, still trying to take it all in. The next moment he leaped away in shock as he realized the comment had come from someone who had unexpectedly been standing beside him. It was a skeleton, somewhat similar to himself in appearance but not quite. Wearing brown pants that might have been tucked in overalls by the green straps that were sticking out from one side of the waist, a white shirt, and a long brown scarf... the skeleton’s clothing alone made a strong first impression of him. But more interesting than that were the splotch of black ink that coated the bottom right side of his jaw and the enormous paint brush that he carried on his back like a sheathed sword. Over his chest was a belt holding a series of tiny phials with heart shaped stoppers, each phial held a different colored liquid within, and altogether and in order they formed a kind of rainbow pattern. Finally, around his neck and hanging down his back was an incredibly long scarf of some brown fabric. The Skeleton was grinning at him, mischief dancing in his eye sockets, which Sans had only just realized contained some odd shapes. In his left eye, the pupil was shaped like a bright, five pointed, golden star (☆), twinkling merrily as if to say “I’m excited!” to all the world. And in his right eye the pupil took the shape of... and this left Sans feeling more bewildered than anything else, a small purple 7. But even as he watched the pupils changed shape, and again, and again. A spiral (๑), a triangle border with nothing inside (△), a check mark (✓), an eroteme (?), a small crescent moon (☽), a pair of squiggly lines that might have been either water or a double tilde (≈), a silcrow (§), a percontation point (⸮), and a very small umbrella (☂). “Hullo!” said the skeleton. “I’m Ink! Guardian of the Multiverse and Protector of AUs!” Gaster, who had turned around to see what Sans had been reacting to, was examining the newcomer with something akin to professional curiosity. “AUs?” he asked, tilting his skull slightly to the side. “Alternate Universes,” clarified Ink. “And parallel ones. And pretty much any other kind of universe that springs up. So... now that I’ve introduced myself, who are you two?” Other universes, the thought was a little frightening. Sure he’d heard Gaster practically wax poetic on the subject numerous times, and here he was standing in another universe entirely. But it was different hearing someone else talk about them existing, as if they’d seen them with their own eyes. An entire multiverse full of them. And if Ink was truly the Guardian of that Multiverse and every universe inside of it, then he must be a really important person. “I’m Sans-” he started to say, not sure whether there was special protocol for introducing yourself to a Multiverse Guardian, but Ink was already cutting him off, flapping his hand impatiently at them. “No no no. There are way too many Sanses and Gasters floating about. Even I’m a Sans. We like to use... well I guess you’d call them nicknames. They help keep us from getting confused. More confused. Some people use the name of their AU, others ” Somewhat at a loss, Sans turned to look at Gaster, who only shrugged unhelpfully. Well alright then. A nickname huh? His thoughts raced back years and years, decades, centuries, all the way to that very first therapy session with Doctor Whimsol. She’d suggested that he didn’t have to be a Sans if he didn’t feel like one. For a while he’d toyed with various other names, mostly Fonts in the style of Skeleton naming conventions. But he’d never really made anything of it. Perhaps one of the ones he’d liked would do? Something that suited him the way that he was now. He’d changed a great deal since then. There was no way anyone would think of him in formal terms, even now. But he was a bit more serious, even though he tried to stay approachable. He wasn’t suffering from depression and guilt, and he was a lot more active than he had been. So something light-hearted but serious, informal like, with a sense of movement.... It came to him and he grinned suddenly. “Mistral,” he informed the Guardian of the Multiverse. “I’m Mistral.“ Looking intrigued, Ink nodded enthusiastically. “It suits you! A little rough of a font, sort of like brush writing, but with this... um... crystal stuff on your bones, it really works.” Oh yeah, Sans had forgotten about the Kenón still growing on him. It had sped up its growth a bit in the Void, which made sense because they were already connected. Small spikes of silvery-grey crystal were now easily seen growing up from the collar of his shirt and from his sleeves, and tiny lumps were beginning to form under his usual overcoat that betrayed the crystals growing underneath. “I think,” said Gaster suddenly, “That I would like to be known as Majuscule.” Sans stared at him. “You want to be named after Capitalized Letters?” he asked incredulously. It wasn’t a font. Though they weren’t really required to stick to those if they truly didn’t want to. But it was related enough that it was odd that Gaster would want to choose that of all things for a name. The smile the scientist gave him was a smug one. “When I use the Wingdings Sign variant it really doesn’t differentiate between Minuscule and Maguscule symbols like the font does in physical writing. And since I cannot speak it out loud and adjust the volume of my speech, it is as if I am saying everything in capitalized letters, constantly speaking with maximum intensity all the time.” Oh Angel, of course Gaster would choose something that convoluted. Sans groaned and rolled his eyes, surprisingly Ink only looked amused and actually giggled, his eyes flitting between an octothorp followed immediately by an S (#S) , an ecphoneme (!), an on/off symbol, and an asterisk (*). “I’m guessing you guys are new travelers to the Multiverse. That means you’re the ones I was looking for. You see, I felt a Universe die recently, and I went to go protect it from whatever was causing it to be destroyed. But it was dying on its own, of old age. I’ve never seen a Universe do that before, reach its natural ending. Then I found a trail in the Void, the sort of paths the River Folk make when they travel, and I knew that someone must have escaped before everything fell apart. And well... here you are!” Ink smirked and stuck out his tongue in a sort of “blep” way. Somewhere in the back of his head, Sans couldn’t help but notice that the tongue was rainbow hued. But now that he was reminded, he had more important questions. “Did you see anyone else?” He asked. “A ship in the Void? Any survivors? Papyrus? Well, my Papyrus anyway. He’s the Captain of the Royal Guard. And there were a lot of people on the ship before it fell into the Void. Please, if you’ve seen anything...” He trailed off hopefully. Ink’s eyes had suddenly become two ecphonemes (!). “Wait, there are more than just you two?” asked the Guardian excitedly. “It’s pretty rare we get more than a Sans or a Gaster. For some reason the Sanses seem to be inclined to go traveling more than others, though we do get Papyruses and Gasters here and there. But I don’t recall seeing a ship...hmmm.” Then Ink reached back and pulled on his scarf. Upon closer inspection, Sans could see all kinds of writing on it, scribbles and notes. Ink was using the thing as a planner. For a moment Ink squinted down at the scarf, searching through all the notes. They could see his mouth moving as he silently muttered some of the reminders he was reading. At last he looked up. “Nope, sorry. I haven’t seen any ship. But I’ll make a note to keep an eye out for one. I definitely don’t want to miss seeing that. Oh, but I did write down something else. I found this where your universe used to be.” And digging into his pocket, Ink produced something that was difficult to see. It was like a point, but without any width, depth, surface, or length. It flickered strangely and Sans heard Gaster’s intake of breath behind him. “There it is!” said the Scientist as he stepped forward, reaching for the thing. “The last fragment. The final percentage. What bit of me are you hiding in such a small form?” His hand closed around it and he closed his eyes, looking triumphant and relieved. Just as quickly he snapped them back open again in alarm. “Sans!” “What?” “I had three assistants, Sans. Three! Not four! I don’t know who Goner actually is!” * * * The Tem had managed to push the wreckage away from itself, freeing its trapped hind leg. Nobody else was in this part of the Ship, mostly being occupied in repair work or attempts to plan and reorganize. He’d volunteered to come out here and replace the spark plugs in this area because it would make it easier to get away from people for a while. A low creak, like metal under strain, made him turn. It was similar to the sound he’d heard earlier before the ceiling fell. This ship had taken a lot of damage in the crash, it was no wonder it was all falling apart at the seams. There was no one there. Yeah, probably just more infrastructure damage from the crash that needed to be repaired. Turning back brought him face to face with the grey torso of Goner, who was looming over him with his pale whitish-grey eyes. “Your name is Bob, right?” Said Goner in an expressionless tone. It wasn’t really a question exactly. More like a statement with a question tacked onto the end like an afterthought. Suddenly Goner’s expression seemed almost sly, sinister. Perhaps it was just the lighting, but the Tem shrank from the Monster as he leaned forward. “My name is Goner, I have a feeling we’re going to be very good friends.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ink!Sans belongs to @comyet Special Thanks to @msaoa12345 for their continued reblogging, praise, and excitable and positive commentary. Without their support, this story wouldn’t be anywhere near finished.

[tsbikersau]

Christmas Special

Hi folks! this one is a bit different from the other ones. I feel like you deserve a heads up as to what you’re about to read: the first half is crack-like, if not crack in the best way possible (it was really fun to write and i hope it will be as fun to read). The second half is much, much softer (and shippier), so please, do get through the not-so-serious bit!

This is in the canon world but you may take it as a “what if” or just a parralell universe, or something that can happen in the future. This is NOT connected to what’s happening next in the main storyline at this point.

For everyone who celebrates Christmas, have fun celebrating, don’t eat too much and if you do, don’t feel bad about it, it’s Christmas, if not now then when?

For anyone who doesn’t but still gets to have a break, really do take at least a full one day off to relax and reload batteries. It won’t hurt if you give yourself just that one day, I promise.

For everyone reading, I hope you’ll like it!

Oh, and it’s a slight swearing warning for this one!

Word count: 1810

Craaaaaaash

Okay, that was more than enough, Logan thought as he stood up with enough force to shake the desk if he happened to hit it – which, fortunately for all the papers that were scattered on it, he did not – and walked to the door only to open it equally as abruptly.

He couldn’t believe his eyes.

He knew that there were people doing things in his garage, of course he did, there always were people doing things in his garage while on the clock, after all, it was their job which they were getting paid for. What they didn’t get paid for was destroying the living shit out of the whole working space.

Logan didn’t know what to focus on first. Patton was standing over a pile of spare parts that was probably the source of the loud noise, Logan deduced, as Patton was looking extremely guilty upon seeing his boss in the door, and started smiling apologetically.

Looking a bit further away, Remus was cackling because whatever he was trying to help Patton built just came undone and for some reason he found that hilarious – Logan grew concerned at the sound of said cackling, to the point of wondering if the noise that finally alarmed him wasn’t by change the man itself.

At the other corned there was Virgil crouching on a table, with his phone in his hand. Why did he have to be up there to record whatever was happening, Logan had no idea, and frankly, he was so used to the oddities of his fellow mechanics that he might have as well let this one slide.

As soon as he noticed that the phone is not directed at the pair opposite to him but slightly to the side, his eyes followed suit and he saw Roman on a stool, trying to put a star on top of a tree that was way too big for the small space it got crammed into (when did he even manage to bring this thing to the garage?), the racer just barely keeping his balance. So the question why Virgil was even recording got answered.

“What the HELL is going on here”, Logan finally found his voice and yes, that was the question that was the most important. He threw a look that clearly transferred the message of ‘clean this up’ at Patton and the pile, which finally made the man move, maybe a bit too quickly because he stumbled on one of the parts and had to be caught by Remus in order not to fall and slice his face open, to which Virgil’s instinct turned on the “action mode”, and he was right beside the pair in no more than two seconds.

The fact that he, too, in his haze stumbled on his own feet didn’t go unnoticed, but he caught himself without help and was soon asking Patton if he was alright.

Seeing all of that unfold in just a few seconds, Logan started moving from the doorway to stand beside Roman in case he was the next one to stumble. He didn’t think about that too much, acting on instinct for once in his life.

Lo and behold, Roman got startled when he glanced over to check if everyone’s still alive and saw Logan right there, causing him to wobble on the unsteady stool and fall right into Logan’s arms.

The impact came unexpectedly and made them both tumble to the ground after a quick second when both of them thought Logan would be able to keep them upright (which he certainly could have, he just wasn’t ready for the momentum to be this strong).

(Roman would be very impressed and very flustered, so while a part of him was wailing because of the embarrassing situation and the fact that his ego got bruises too, a small part of him was glad that at least he wasn’t blushing like crazy staring up at the nerd from his arms).

They both got up from the ground, groaning, accompanied by the very same inhumane cackle from before, to which Roman answered with a middle finger as soon as he finished dusting himself off.

“Can somebody, please, explain to me what is happening?” Logan asked once again, scanning the room once more as well, noticing more Christmas decorations on the walls and stopping to give each of the men in the room a few seconds of his unfiltered stern look.

“Christmas is coming!”, came the answer from Patton, though he soon regretted bringing the attention to himself as Logan focused his eyes on him. “So… We thought… We could decorate a bit?”. He moved his hand to adjust his collar and glasses, realising that it might not have been the greatest idea.

“In the garage?”. Logan raised his brow, voice steady.

A nod.

“With all of the materials scattered everywhere?”

Another nod, more unsure. The rest of their little group starting to grow concerned of how calmly Logan was taking it.

He just took a deep breath and sighed, pinching his nose.

“Just clean this mess up”, he motioned to whatever was meant to be done from all those metal that still laid on the floor, “and you can focus on that tree since it’s already there”, he added, knowing that if they had a star, they must have had other decorations as well.

Patton squealed and jumped to give Logan a quick hug before he could really change his mind.

Virgil was smiling slightly as he bent down to start cleaning up, seeing as Patton got immediately pulled to the tree, forgetting of the first request Logan made. He didn’t really mind that.

“Thanks, Lo”, he heard right next to him, looking at the racer for a second before asking him to not let Patton try and get the highest branches and leaving for his office once more, this time hoping for no such disruptions.

***

It was after a few hours, when Logan had heard them say goodbye and the space behind his door grow more and more quiet with each bout of time when he finally finished all that his position required him to do. He was finally free to close up and rest.

He stretched before standing up, fingers rubbing at his eye under his glasses as he made sure everything was turned off and got ready to leave. Long hours in front of the computer were never the softest on his eyes, but it was nothing he couldn’t manage.

The main lights in the garage were off, but the strings of Christmas lights his mechanics used to line the walls were strong enough to cast everything in a moderately strong glow, while also making the place look quite cosy.

He couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the tree, somehow organised in its disarray.

“Oh, you’re still here?”, a voice said suddenly, startling Logan a bit before the figure of the star racer came into view. “You shouldn’t work so late”.

“There is nothing I can do about that”, he answered simply, watching the other walk towards him before stopping at his side, turned so that he could look in the same direction.

Roman hummed a short sound before changing the subject. “The lights really set the mood, huh? Wonderous how just a few strings of colourful lights make everything look so different.”

Logan didn’t say anything to that, letting himself drink in the quiet and peace of the place that’s usually full of chatter and different machine sounds, from the roar of the engines to the clattering of accidentally dropped tools.

He let himself close his eyes just for a second, fully enveloped in the pleasant surroundings, forgetting about Roman being there in the first place. This was his safe heaven, owned by him, giving him the means to support himself and to be himself with the company of his own choosing.

He was brought back to the reality when he heard a small laugh from the side, immediately frowning at the conclusion that it must be directed at him, but when he looked at his companion his eyes were cast upon the ceiling, confusing him for a second.

“Roman”, he spoke up, tone level, when he followed his fellow’s line of sight. “Did you put mistletoe in my garage?”.

This question made Roman laugh out loud, the sound tinted with surprise and humour.

“I didn’t! I would have remembered if I did, Mr. Big Boss”. Roman looked at him, smiling, and that’s when the situation fully set in and Logan’s heart started to beat a little faster.

The fairly lights and the dimness of the rest of the garage, just how close they were, the smile shining all the way to Roman’s eyes that moved away from Logan , leaving him staring at Roman’s profile – there was something that made the whole situation feel like a dream.

The silence, though, was getting prolonged. Not tense, not asking for one of them to break it, but prolonged.

“I do think traditions should be celebrated, but I don’t demand it”, Roman said after a while, casual, keeping his voice vague enough so that his words may be easily converted into a topic for conversation rather than hinting at the sole action.

Somehow, that was the thing that made Logan feel the warmth of the season even more, or maybe it was just the warmth of Roman as a person? He was sure there was no other who could make their consent clear without any pressure on the other person to act on it in any way, and to do it in such gentle and clear way without being explicit…

Well, Logan was always partial to poetry.

And there is was, a kiss on the cheek, nothing more than the slightest brush of lips, to fulfil the tradition Logan would never predict he’d want to fulfil.

"Thank you" Logan said quietly after moving back just a tad, lingering close for a short second longer, looking at Roman's face with consideration before moving back to stand in their previous position, side by side, looking at the decorated interior. He wasn’t entirely sure how Roman would interpret that gratitude, but it didn’t matter at the time.

As soon as he moved, Roman's eyes glanced at him, the smallest bit of the smile he was desperately trying to hold back showing through, making Logan smile the slightest bit as well.

Roman stepped to the side, closing the distance once again, making their hands brush but not making any moves to do anything else. It was nice, Logan more felt than thought. The contact was relaxed and unobtrusive, open but not demanding. They both felt like this was enough, at least for now.

It was quite an eventful day and that peaceful moment was its ideal conclusion.

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Masterpost

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